#I ALSO NEED TO REPLY TO SIN ABOUT THAT THANKS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pearlessance · 2 months

Text

Moral Modification

Summary: When you decide to pierce your nipples, Joel Miller breaks his moral code to lend a helping hand.

Pairing: JacksonEra!Joel Miller/reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, seduction, age gap(undefined), piercings and needles, nipple play, moral ambiguity, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size difference

NOTE: this one shot was written for my bff joelmillersgirlfriend and all of the bolded words are titles of her fics over on AO3!! if you haven't read any of her work i def recommend going over there to check it out she's incredible. we also have a 3-part co-write we did on AO3 called False Pretenses! thank you to everyone for reading, love u all <3

[cross posted on AO3]

[masterlist]

You find it on a scouting mission.

Maria had sent you and Joel out in search of books to fill the shelves of Jackson’s overused library. It was a leisurely mission, moving slowly from house to house, searching through broken shelves and dressers and nightstands.

The blistering summer heat has you feeling exhausted by midday, and so the sun hasn’t even set when you pick a still-standing apartment complex and settle in for the night.

You drop your pack and flop onto the moth-eaten couch while Joel triple-checks every exit and every entrance in the tiny apartment he’d picked on the very top floor. He’s going at it again, glancing out of the wide windows with his rifle in hand, when you say, “If there was a way in or out, I think you would’ve found it the third time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not a man of many words, Joel Miller. But he was certainly fun to torture with lewd suggestions.

“It’s real hot today,” you say. And it’s the goddamn truth—your skin is warm and your shirt sticks to the small of your back, and even though you’re wearing jean shorts the fabric chafes at your thighs.

He does nothing but grunt in agreement as a reply. Few words.

Though you try, you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you tell him, “We’d be a lot cooler if we took off some of these clothes, you know.”

Joel Miller is a good man. A really good man. This is why he pretends you don’t get to him, why he pretends to shrug you off as just a naive little girl whenever you brazenly flirt with him.

But you see it.

The way his calloused hands tighten around his rifle, the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he turns his head just enough to keep that smirk from out of view. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. But he leaves his spot at the window and joins you on the couch instead.

You set your legs in his lap and when he rests his hand on your calf you half expect him to push you away. But he doesn’t—his fingers linger, pressing into the tender muscle. “How am I ridiculous? It’s only common sense, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes catch yours at the name. He’s never directly said it, but you have a hunch that it does something to him, speaking to him as an authority. A part of you wonders if he ever thinks of you in the way you think of him, wonders if his mind is often filled with sinful, raw images. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” You do. Of course, you do. But you’re out here all alone and he’s sitting beside you and you can feel the heat of his skin against yours and he’s so big and warm and masculine. You want him, need him in a way you’ll never even try to understand. “Explain it to me,” you urge.

Joel leans his rifle against the arm of the couch and reaches up to rub the tension from his jaw. He smiles, one of those all-knowing smiles that makes your heart flutter. It’s a secret sort of smile, meant for just you and him. “You got any idea how old I am, girl?”

You shrug and say, “It doesn’t matter.” Because it doesn’t. “I like that you’re older. Besides, I’m not talking about that.” You are. “I’m talking about the weather. The heat. I’m going to take my shorts off.”

Slowly, carefully, you trail your fingertips over the curve of your chest, down the center of your abdomen. His eyes follow your every movement, pupils blown wide and jaw set firmly. His hand flexes around your calf, squeezing softly.

When you slip the edge of your pinky beneath the denim waistband his lips part. You trace the seam, from one hip to the other and back again, real slow. Joel watches you and you watch him, transfixed, thighs pressed together to abate the ache that forms between them.

For a moment, a single moment, you think you have him. You can see the temptation on his face, clear as day. You think you’ve finally cracked the eternal goodness and strength of one Joel Miller…but his hand covers yours the moment you reach for the silver button.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you feel a little like you’ve been caught red handed.

His fingers squeeze yours, but his touch is so sudden and electrifying that the faintest whimper erupts from your chest. You want him to touch you with those hands, to touch you everywhere. You want him to take all that you offer and more.

But he’s just so good. “Stop,” he says, breathless.

The hesitance is palpable. The strain in his voice. You know he wants you, can see the growing erection pushing at the metallic zipper of his jeans from the other end of the couch. You know it’ll only take a little more convincing, a little more of the delicious chase…but you want the final decision to be his. You want him to need it, too.

So you relent.

You stand to your feet and move towards the staircase in the abandoned apartment. But when you step between his thighs, you linger. “Did you check for any books upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “No. Don’t think whoever lived here before were much the readin’ type.”

“Yeah, well…didn’t think you were much the reading type, either. But here you are.”

Joel shrugs. “Not much to do at the end of the world. Helps pass the time.”

You knock your knee against his playfully. “You even know how to read, old man?” He chuckles softly and it feels like a victory. “Never seen you in the library.”

He spreads his legs further to give you more room, settling into the couch with his head tilted back. You know he doesn’t mean to look that fucking good doing it, but he does. Taking up all that space, commanding without even trying. It makes your mouth water, makes your skin prickle in every spot he allows himself to look. And then he says lowly, “I’ve seen you.”

It gives you pause. Because if he’s seen you in the library back in Jackson but you haven’t seen him, it means he notices you. Even when you’re not out here alone, even when you’re not urging him to touch you, even when you’re not trying. A seductive smirk finds your lips. “You gotta crush on me or something, Mr. Miller?”

Joel scoffs and shakes his head, turning away from you to hide the redness on his face that has nothing to do with the heat.

You giggle softly and decide to grant him a little reprieve. “I’ll be back,” you say, escaping the growing tension and focusing instead on the task at hand. “If they don’t have books, maybe they have something else that could be useful. Clothes or shoes or batteries or something.”

It only takes a few minutes before you realize what he meant when he said the past inhabitants of the apartment don’t seem much like the reading type. There’s not a single bookshelf to be found. Nothing on the walls, nothing standing in the spare room. There are three computers, though. Not that they’re worth anything now.

Still, you try your damndest to find something. Anything. You rifle through drawers and find nothing but a cracked and weathered bible, of which you have a thousand and one copies in Jackson.

The closest thing you find to a real book is a stack of magazines in the cluttered bathroom. All are covered in a thick layer of dust and most have images of sports cars on the front, but they’re worth grabbing, anyway. You’re sure Tommy or Greg or someone wouldn’t mind skimming through them, so you grab the whole stack and return downstairs to Joel.

You’re halfway down the stairs when the magazine on the bottom of the stack tumbles from your hands. And it’s not a sports car on the front page.

Instead, it’s a woman all dressed up in leather. She wears platform boots that reach her knees, adorned with heavy silver buckles down the front. Even though you were born not long after the outbreak, you’re not oblivious. You know what pornography is, but you’ve never seen anything quite like this.

You pick it up and put it on the top of the pile.

When Joel sees the small stack in your hand he asks, “Anything good?”

“Mm. Not sure yet.” You set the pile onto the floor beside your pack, nestle back into your spot in the opposite corner of the couch, and flip open the magazine with the leather-clad woman on the front, reading the title aloud. “Have you ever heard of a porno mag named Dreadnought?”

“What are you—is that—?”

“I’m just curious, Mr. Miller. Relax.” You lift your feet and put them back in his lap and discover he is anything but relaxed. You can feel the stiffness in his thighs even through the thick soles of your high-top sneakers.

“No, what? No, you shouldn’t—you should…”

You ignore his stuttering, flipping quickly through the pages. Most of them are filled with erotic images of women dressed similarly to the one on the front page. They each have a man in a curious, submissive position. But none of this interests you, none of it even surprises you, in truth.

Near the end of the magazine is where you find exactly what you’re looking for. The woman on the front page is in different outfits, one in leather, another in red lace. But it’s the third page of her feature where she’s completely naked. Her breasts are full and sit too high on her chest to be real, but they’re beautiful. Not for any reason other than those pretty silver barbells that are pierced through her nipples.

You lean up, tucking your legs beneath yourself, and show Joel the image. “Was this common? You know, like…before?”

His face is red and you think maybe he’s forgotten how to speak. Because no words come out, he just sputters. “Is…what…which part—are you…I don’t—”

“I’ve never seen anyone with pierced nipples,” you interrupt. “That’s what I’m talking about. Was it common?”

He seems to find himself. “Uhm…no. Not really, I guess. Why do you ask?”

You shrug and find yourself leaning into his side, flipping to the next page. There’s another image of the woman, and though she’s back in that red lace again, you can see the piercings pushing against the thin fabric. “It’s pretty,” you say. “I like it. Do you think you could do something like that still?”

“Well, back then they had people who’d do that sorta thing professionally,” he says. “But as long as you’re careful, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

You let it go, and the two of you ration what food you have left, deciding to head back to the commune within the next day or two. You fall asleep leaning up against him, head resting on his shoulder. And you know Joel doesn’t rest much outside of Jackson’s walls, always too worried about being found or threatened in some way. But halfway through the night, you wake covered in a thin layer of sweat, scorched by the warmth of his head against your belly.

At some point in your sleep, you’d shifted, laying on the couch on your back, and Joel must have followed you. His arms are wrapped around your waist and his torso covers your legs, body heat warming you to uncomfortable temperatures.

But you don't dare move. Instead, you slide your fingers through the soft tendrils of his hair and scratch softly at his scalp, smiling in the dark as he moans in his sleep.

Your luck the following day is much better. You stumble upon an old strip mall, and inside there’s a small, indie bookstore. Joel picks through the science fiction section, stuffing his pack with everything he thinks might be interesting. He finds a few children’s books and pockets those, too, while you browse the romance section.

Half the books are crumbling dust in your hands and the others have so much water damage they’re hardly legible, but you pick up what you can. While you’re rifling through the horror books, stashing anything written by Stephen King or H.P. Lovecraft, Joel comes up behind you and says, “You really read that kinda thing?”

“What, scary stuff?”

He nods, takes the copy of Carrie from your hands, and flips it over. “Yeah. Ain’t we got enough horror out there already?”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “It’s not the same,” you explain. You flick the corner of the book in his hands and go back to browsing the shelves. “ This you can turn off,” you try to explain. “If you get too scared you can just close the book. Have you ever read anything scary before?”

Joel shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Try it one day,” you say. “The best time is in October, though. Under the sheets with a flashlight, scared out of your mind. It’s so good, Mr. Miller.”

His jaw feathers as if there’s something he wants to say. But the words never pass his lips. He simply slips the book into your pack and remains silent as he watches you.

It takes a while, but eventually, you’re satisfied with your haul. The day is still early, and so you say, “If we head back now we could save some time. Get home before dark tomorrow.”

To your surprise, he agrees with you. The extra weight of the books has you feeling sluggish an hour into your journey back home, but you persist. And even though it’s significantly less hot today than yesterday, at least once an hour Joel’s passing you his plastic bottle and urging you to drink water.

It’s a sweet gesture, in truth. Joel’s got this innate instinct to provide for others, you know. You’ve seen it a hundred times, the way he just silently takes care of the people he cares about. Ellie, Tommy, Maria, you. You’ve observed him for long enough to know that he’s a protector, a nurturer.

The only problem with Joel taking care of you is how much you like it. It makes you feel soft and gooey on the inside, producing sordid images in your brain of repaying the favor on your knees. You think about Joel’s big hands on you often—in your dreams, even.

But…today is different because you can feel the weight of the magazine at the bottom of your pack. You can’t shake the image of the woman on the cover and that metal through her breasts, can’t get over how elegant and edgy and bewitching she looked. You begin to wonder how it would feel to have Joel touch you if you had the same body modification—would his calloused hands feel more intense, sensations heightened with the sensitivity? Would he be gentle and slow-moving? How soft would his tongue feel against your skin over the adornment?

He seems to sense your distracted thoughts. “You okay? Seem quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer a little too quickly. “I’m just…just hot is all.”

Joel reaches behind him for his water bottle again but you shake your head.

“No, no. Not like…not like that.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face but you don’t have the energy to tease him about it. Not when you can’t stop thinking about his fucking hands. “Let's, uhm…let’s find someplace to rest for the night. Sun’s startin’ to set anyhow.”

“Yeah, that’ll be good.” As long as you stay six feet away from him. As long as you can keep your godforsaken hands to yourself. As long as he doesn’t look at you too long or ask too many questions or grunt an answer.

You find yourself praying, hoping to keep yourself from any further embarrassment, hoping to fight off that ache that seems to have made a home inside your belly. You cross your fingers at your sides and hope God’s got a private channel open for young girls with an insatiable desire for rugged, older men.

It feels like divine interference when you crest the hill of the street you're walking on to discover a run-down tattoo parlor. It still stands in perfect condition apart from the crumbling siding. Windows dirty but intact, door closed and stagnant.

A distraction will work.

And it looks sturdy enough to rest for the night. You know Joel will circle it a hundred times before he’s satisfied, but you think eventually he will be satisfied with it. “Didn’t people do piercings at tattoo shops, too?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, they did. At most of them, anyway.”

The thought seems to cross Joel’s mind the second you look at him. “Do you think I could…?”

“Maybe. Let’s see.”

You follow behind him as he approaches the building. He uses his knife to wedge the door open, and the two of you wait and listen for any approaching sound.

There’s nothing, though. Nothing but stale, empty air, and a whole lot of dust. You stick by his side for the first two rounds of inspection, as is your routine. But when he goes back in for a third, you decide to take a look around yourself.

In the front of the parlor, there’s a big, circular desk that sits atop the black and white tiles on the floor. The walls are painted maroon, and there’s a neon yellow leather couch near the door. You can only assume it’s where people would sit to wait, but the leather is smooth beneath your fingers even after all this time sitting unoccupied.

There are six smaller rooms behind the desk, each set up similarly with a blackout curtain and a medical-looking chair in the very center. In one of the rooms, there’s a binder flipped open, and as you begin to turn the pages you realize it’s an art portfolio.

For a moment, you wonder about the person who’d drawn all of these designs. How old were they when they drew them? Did they have tattoos themselves? Are they still alive, out there somewhere still creating art?

People in Jackson still get tattoos, you know. But not as often as you think it might have been before the outbreak. You trail your fingers lightly over the next page. It’s an image of a glass half-filled with amber liquid, some sloshing out of the side. Below it, the words Tennessee Whiskey are written in cursive.

“Should be good.” His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. When you turn to face him, Joel’s got his rifle slung over one shoulder and he’s leaning against the doorframe, curtain pushed to the side. “Help me barricade the door?”

The two of you spend the next ten minutes moving furniture around the parlor, setting it all in front of the entrance. It’ll be harder to leave in the morning, you know. But you know, too, that a barricade like this means that Joel’s feeling too exhausted to spend another night pacing and you’re happy to give him the assurance of safety he needs.

When you’re done, he spreads out on the leather couch and you put your pack beside his. “Joel?”

He turns just his head to look at you.

You sift through the books in your pack and reach towards the bottom, pulling out the magazine that’s plagued your every waking thought. “I’m going to pierce my nipples, I think.”

For several seconds, he doesn’t say a word in response. He just swallows hard and when his eyes leave yours, trailing down your neck, he squeezes them closed before they reach your chest. But you know, you know, even without any words, that he’s thinking about it. That he’s thinking about you, forgetting his morals for a single second.

It isn’t until you stand to your feet and start towards the closed-off rooms, magazine in hand, that he finally speaks up.

“Be careful,” he says. “I don’t want you hurt.”

You smirk at him over your shoulder. “Is that the Mr. Miller version of saying, I care about your tits?”

He snorts incredulously, but a chuckle follows shortly after, erasing all of your earlier embarrassment.

It doesn’t take you long to find the materials you need. In one of the cases you pry open with your knife, you choose two matching silver barbells with dainty, white diamonds on each end. You use a cloth to clean off a tall mirror in one of the rooms, and there’s a bottle of isopropyl alcohol that you use to disinfect both a steel surgical tray and your hands.

You discard your shirt and bra, laying them in the chair in the middle of the room, and flip the magazine open to further observe the woman in the image. Thankfully, you find a drawer full of individually packaged needles and take out several just in case.

Sterilizing your hands with the alcohol again, you align the jewelry over your nipple, inspecting the placement and maneuvering it until you’re satisfied. You rip open one of the packaged needles with your teeth and sterilize it too for good measure.

Carefully, you orient the needle just right, inhale until your lungs ache, and when you exhale—

“God fucking dammit!”

You can hear his footsteps before the sound of his rifle, and then comes his voice. “You alright? What happened?”

Your exhale is somehow shakier than your hands. “I’m okay, Joel,” you say quickly. You knew it was going to hurt, you’re literally piercing a needle through your flesh. But you didn’t expect it to be so excruciating. It stings even now with the needle pushed through, completely still.

He stands in the doorway, rifle lowered and pointed at the ground. Through the reflection of the mirror, you can see him glance around the room, looking at everything but you. “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t. This could be dangerous, you can wait until we’re back home and—”

“And have someone else pierce my nipples? Yeah, Joel, I’m good on all that.” You pick the jewelry up, sterilize it again, and breathe slowly as you push it through. This part, while uncomfortable, is a world easier than the piercing itself.

You twist on the tiny diamond ball at the end of the barbell and admire your work. It’s perfectly straight, much to your surprise. And though it’s just a small change, it makes you feel as entrancing as the woman in the magazine.

There’s no blood, which you take as a good sign. And as the seconds tick by the pain subsides and is replaced with a dull throbbing instead. It hurts, but it’s bearable. The only problem is that as you try to line up the second needle, your hands tremble too much to keep it straight.

Even though you try to take deep breaths, try to shake the tremors from your hand, nothing works. And you can’t just have one, can’t just leave this task unfinished, and so you gather your courage and turn fully towards him. “Joel? I need your help.”

You’ve never seen him quite like this, you think. There’s no flush to his face, no chagrin or hesitance or resistance. All of his morality seems to be replaced with a dark desire, a need unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

Immediately you know this is the Joel Miller he’s tried so hard to hide from you. Only glimpses of this terrifying man have slipped through the facade, each one smothered quickly by restraint.

Yet here he stands, hungry eyes swallowing you up, tracing the outline of the jewelry without remorse.

“I can’t…my hands are shaky. I need you to do the other one.”

His hands twitch at his sides. And even though you now know he longs to touch you just as much as you want to touch him, his words tell an entirely different story. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “It’s not…it’s not right. Shouldn’t even be seein’ you like this. Too…too young. Too sweet.”

The southern accent in his voice is thicker now than you’ve ever heard it. Deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours. He pins you with that intense stare of his and you suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe. Flickering flames gather low in your belly.

“I promise I won’t try anything. I’ll just stand here. I just need you to…to push the needle through. That’s all.”

It takes him a second, but he nods. “Alright…alright. I, uhm…okay. Yeah.” He nears you slowly and you feel crowded. You can smell the salt and sweat of his skin, can feel that warmth even though he doesn’t yet touch you.

You pour the alcohol over his hands and hand him another packaged needle. “Here,” you say. “Just do it as straight as you can, and once the needle’s in I can do the rest.”

Joel peels apart the packaging and takes the needle between his fingers. He discards the plastic and you can hear each of his ragged breaths echo in your ears. Slowly, experimentally, he reaches out and presses his fingertips just below your ribcage and it makes you moan.

He pulls away immediately as if he’d been burned by your skin. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Hold on.” You try again to catch your breath to no avail. “Let me close my eyes. I’m sorry.”

Joel nods, jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. But you do as you say, closing your eyes and trying to convince yourself it’s not Joel touching you. It’s someone else. The same person who drew everything in that portfolio.

But when he does touch you again, his hands are warm and calloused and big and familiar. You know it’s Joel. Your Joel. The brooding man of few words. The too-good man who cares about you, who lets you sleep even though he never does, who gives you his water to guarantee you stay hydrated.

His hand moves upwards, palm pressed flat against your ribcage. It stops just below your breast as if he’s feeling the weight of it in his hand and you wonder if he can feel the hammering of your heart behind your sternum, too.

You don’t have time to think about it for long, though. Because his thumb slides across your nipple, hardening it into a peak, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s touching you. He’s touching you and you want more, want to feel him on every inch of your skin.

This time you’re able to hold back your moan, but only barely. It’s more like a whimper that gets caught in your throat instead. But he doesn’t pull away, and soon his other hand joins in. “Should I…uhm,” he clears his throat. “Should I count, or…?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just…just do it. Please.” The words are desperate for a whole new reason. Your hands tremble even more at your sides.

The biting cold of the steel reaches you before you feel the pain. You try to breathe through it but the second one is somehow even worse and obscenities fall from your lips at the agony. It hurts so badly that you don’t even register as Joel slides the jewelry through and screws the diamond onto the barbell.

Ultimately, it’s his voice that cuts through the fog.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Hey, c’mon. Finished. Look at me, pretty girl. Open your eyes.” You do because that thick, southern drawl is more enticing than anything you’ve ever heard. You’d follow it anywhere, you think. Do anything it asks. “There you go. Atta girl.”

His words make your mouth water. You want to taste them. Joel’s hands are still on you, holding your hips, pressing into the exposed flesh. It’s all you can think about until he turns you away from him, forcing you to look into the mirror on the wall. “Oh my God.”

It surprises you a little just how much you love them. It makes you look powerful, like you are the one who belongs in a magazine.

“They’re perfect, Joel.”

“Did it hurt too bad?”

The question is so insane that it makes you laugh. “Are you kidding? It was awful. I don’t even know what to compare it to to try and explain it.”

He laughs too, a deep, throaty chuckle that brings a smile to your face. “Well, you have my sincere apologies, little lady.”

When you turn back to face him, you ask, “What do you think? Do they look good?”

You know you said you wouldn’t torture him, but the look on his face is so sweet that you can’t resist. “They’re real pretty,” he says. “They, uh…they suit you.”

“Think so?” You look up at him through your lashes, trying your damndest to look as desperate for him as you are. “Hurts a little,” you tell him, pressing your thumb gently over the center of your nipple, the one you’d pierced on your own. “Right here.”

He sees right through your false pretenses. You watch him swallow, watch his eyes darken. “Careful, little girl,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.

The name makes you squirm beneath his catastrophic gaze, thighs pressing together. He catches the movement—and you realize you want to be anything but careful with this terrifying, powerful man. Of course, you don’t heed his warning. “Might help if you kiss it better, you know.”

“S’that right?” You nod and a sinful smirk pulls at the corners of his full lips. He leans down and you can feel the scruff of his beard brushing the side of your face. Against your ear, he whispers, “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, sweetheart.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know it, and yet you can’t fucking resist. You’ve never been able to resist him. “Then show me.”

And just like that, his resolve withers. The cord snaps and the good Joel you know vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but this hungry, desperate man behind. He grabs your waist and hauls you up against him, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.

Your chest presses against his but the pressure is bliss, fighting off both the ache in your breasts and the one between your legs. He swipes everything off the metal table in the corner. Alcohol and needles and portfolio all crashing to the floor.

Joel sets you atop it and his mouth hovers an inch above yours, breath fanning across your cheeks. “Last chance, little girl,” he says.

He’s giving you an out, you realize. One last opportunity to escape him. You lean up and press your lips tenderly to his instead.

It’s answer enough for him.

Joel’s mouth moves greedily against yours. One hand rests against the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other holds the nape of your neck. His tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like honey and whiskey and sunlight. You could drown in it, you think. But Joel doesn’t linger for long.

He trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, your chest—-and when he flicks his soft tongue across your nipple, your back arches and you forget how to breathe.

“Joel,” you say, voice needy and desperate. “Touch me. Please touch me.”

His hands flex against your skin, still holding himself back. You don't understand—can’t he feel how much you want it? Can’t he see it on your face, in your eyes? “I want to,” he admits.

You grind your hips against his and the sensation of the bulge in his jeans against your center has you shaking. “What’s stopping you?”

A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of his throat. He presses his forehead against yours, kisses the tip of your nose gently. “You make me crazy, pretty girl.” His hand comes around your throat, cradling your face. With the rough pad of his thumb, he traces the outline of your lips and says, “You make me feel like I’m eighteen again.” His hand travels lower, down your neck, knuckles dragging between your breasts. “Like I’m some little boy who gets a hard-on over a bra strap.” Lower, down your belly, between your ribs. “Or these fuckin’ shorts, baby.”

Everything aches for him. Every cell in your body has been lit aflame beneath his touch, longing to feel his hands, his tongue, to feel all of him. “Joel,” you say. “Please.”

He kisses a trail that follows the path of his hand, but this time he stalls at your breasts. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg,” he mutters against your skin. And then he’s kissing and sucking and biting marks into the softness of your breast, leaving proof that he was here, evidence of his affection. “If I touch you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“I want you to,” you say. “ I think about it all the time.” Your head falls back, hips rolling against his, seeking out any sort of friction you can find. “God—I dream about it. I want you inside me.”

His eyes darken as he looks up at you.

A man of few words. This time it’s him who reaches for the metallic button. He pops it open in one smooth movement, tongue lapping over the metal barbell through your nipple. You can feel each pass over the sensitive flesh down to your toes.

He wriggles his hand into your shorts, deft fingers finding your clit easily. You let out a lewd moan at the commanding way he just takes —as if he’s right where he’s always supposed to be. Right where you want him, right where you’ve needed him for all these years.

Joel kisses a path across your sternum, mouth giving the same tender care to the opposite breast. He slides his fingers through your wetness, gathering your slick and using it to circle your clit. “M’gonna take care of her, sweetheart,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, s’that alright with you?”

His words are filthy and obscene and you love it. You’re nodding quickly and saying, “Yes, Joel, yes.”

A cold shiver passes through you as he rises back to his full height, towering over you when he takes a step back. “Let’s get these off,” he says. Joel helps you shimmy both your shorts and your panties down your legs until you’re sitting there in front of him completely naked. He’s still completely dressed and it makes you feel small and minuscule beneath the weight of his predatory stare.

He places both hands on your thighs and pushes them apart, spreading you open. And then he drops to his knees and lazily strokes his fingers through your wet heat. You can feel the chill of his breath against your clit and your fingers find the outgrown tendrils of dark hair on instinct, trying to pull him closer, wiggling your hips to the very edge of the table.

“Needy girl, hm?” He laughs softly. It’s not malicious but rather adoring, and you wonder how it is that someone so strong and authoritative can make you feel powerful and cherished in the same breath. “S’okay. I’ve got ya.”

And then his tongue is on you and it feels like heaven. So much better than you’d ever imagined, ever dreamed. His scruff scratches at the inside of your thighs as he slides his tongue through your pussy. Joel groans against you like this is more for him, and the vibration of the sound pulls staccato moans from your mouth.

He slips two fingers into you easily, encountering no resistance. You’re too wet, too eager to have him inside you. You whimper his name as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hands pulling tight in his hair. It feels so good it’s almost too much—but he seems to know what you can take more than you do.

Joel looks up at you from between your thighs and you can see the palpable hunger on his face. You think maybe he’s wanted this for longer than you, maybe he’s somehow been even more starved for this than you once thought.

You can feel your orgasm creep down your spine, inferno building and building, settling low in your belly. You try to tell him, to warn him—but then he hooks his fingers inside of you, pressing against that sweet spot and—

“Oh, God—God, fuck—Joel, I—!”

“S’alright, baby, go’head. Cum for me, oh—yeah, that’s it. There you go, sweetheart.” His voice is so gentle, a stark contrast to the assertive way he moves his hands, pulling from you everything your body can give. The southern accent is thick as he talks you through it. “Feels so much better now, huh? Y’look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. So pretty when you’re all full’a me.”

Your thighs tremble even as you begin to come down, trying to catch your breath, holding onto his arms to ground yourself as he stands back to his feet, thick cords of muscle sturdy beneath your shaking hands. And he’s right—it does feel better now, but as he eases his fingers out of you and you watch him lick them clean, your pussy clenches at the sight. It’s better, it is… but when it comes to good and moral Joel Miller you are insatiable.

A deep, rumbling groan reverberates in his chest when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. Your slick stains the bulge in his jeans, darkening the denim material. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, big hands running slowly up and down your smooth thighs. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this…shouldn’t be takin’ advantage of you. Such a little thing, don’t know what you want.”

The answer comes quickly. “You, Joel. I want you.”

You reach for his belt and he watches your nimble fingers undo it, pulling the leather through the metal fastening. He hisses when you reach into his jeans and pull him out.

He’s bigger than you thought, and wrapping your hand around him completely is a troubling task. You’re not sure he’ll even fit but it makes your mouth water, makes your swollen clit pulse with need. “Please.”

“I can’t, baby. Believe me, I want it, too, but I…you’re too good for me. Too—” He stops when you slide the head of his cock through your pussy, coating him in your slick. You watch the movement together and this time it’s Joel’s hands that shake. He curses under his breath, admiring the way he fits so perfectly.

“Just a little?” Your own voice is hardly recognizable in your own ears, needy and deprived. You slide his cock back up towards your clit and it catches at your entrance. You both gasp in tandem. You love Joel and all his goodness but right now you want the worst of him. You want all of him.

He nods and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Okay…okay,” he says to himself. “Just a little. You sure? You’re positive you want—?”

You line him up and shift your hips forward, words fading into nothingness. It’s just a little like you promised, but the stretch is so delicious you find yourself wanting more. More, always more—you think you could die without it.

Joel pushes in further, a little less than halfway, and then pulls out slowly. He groans and you feel like crying. His cock is covered in your wetness and when he pushes back in you think this just might be enough to make you cum a second time.

It’s filthy and obscene and you love it. You love him. He reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb, fucking you slowly, eyes locked on the place you’re joined. “You’re so big,” you whimper.

You can feel the tension in his shoulders and you do your damnedest to smooth it out with small, massaging motions. He touches you just right but you want it to feel good for him, too.

That heat of an orgasm begins to build again. A low, incessant thrum between your hips.

“I have to,” he mutters so softly you hardly hear him the first time. “I have to, baby. I’ve gotta feel you. I’ve gotta…” And then he eases his cock into you to the hilt without any warning, filling you so full it hurts. The invasion stings but your body adjusts quickly, making room for him in the same way your heart has. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel him shudder as he breathes the word fuck into your skin.

“Oh my God—it’s too much, too much—!”

“You can take it, baby. C’mon, spread your legs wider. I know s’alot,” he praises, circling your clit a little faster now. Your slick drips down your thighs, into the dark hair between his hips. “You got it, sweetheart. See? There you go.”

He pulls out just to sink into you again. This time there’s less pain and more divinity and your nails dig into his shoulder through his flannel as you adjust to the size of him.

Joel uses his free hand to tilt your chin up, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you deep. He sets an unrelenting pace, hips grinding against yours with each thrust. It’s so much and you’re so full of him in all the best ways. When you moan into his mouth you can feel his lips turn up at the corners, a predatory grin saved just for you.

The sounds are filthy and echo in the room, an obscene symphony of devotion. You’d let him do anything right now—anything.

He picks up the pace, hips snapping against yours. All you can think about is how right this feels, how you were made for him, how well he fits inside you.

A low grunt filters through his teeth and he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so pretty. How’s it feel? Tell me. Use your words.”

“S’good,” you whimper in response. Your brain is mush and your thighs become a vise around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper. “So good, Joel, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m—I’m close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum again already, hm?” He pushes his palm against your belly, thumb still gently stroking your clit. And the pressure of it feels so intense you let out a whine of bliss. “Yeah, you are,” he whispers. “Can feel her squeezin’ me. S’alright, baby. Wanna feel it.”

His words send you tumbling over the edge of bliss, and he fucks you through it. Stars blind your vision and your ears fill with static. But you can hear Joel though, can hear him and feel him deep inside you through it all.

“Ohh, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Pretty little thing’s just fuckin’ dripping all over me, feels so good. You feel so good.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, his rhythm falters. You can feel his cock pulse inside of you as Joel falls off the precipice. His head rolls back and the muscles in his forearms flex around the prominent veins. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you know you’ll never see anything as beautiful as this big, powerful man weak for you.

He’s panting when he slowly pulls out of you with a hiss. Sweat dots his hairline and that flush on his neck certainly seems like it’s staying for a little while longer. He’s beautiful, you think. Crafted by the hands of God himself, made with imperfect grace.

When he looks up at you he smiles in the way he always does, like the two of you share a secret. And maybe now you do. A sinful, dirty secret that’s all yours. You laugh softly and he mirrors the sound, helping you back to your feet.

You hold his shoulders for balance as he helps you back into your shorts. And when he hands you your bra and t-shirt, you’re starkly reminded of the dull throb in your breasts and think better of it before putting them on. “I think they might be too tight. I’ll look around and see if I can…”

Before you finish the sentence, he’s unbuttoning his red flannel and tossing it to you. He wears a light brown tshirt underneath, the arms just a little too tight on his biceps. He looks so good that you want to take him between your legs again even with the sweet ache that lingers. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”

You do. He helps you with the buttons and it’s too big but gives your new body modifications room to breathe and heal. You ask him how it looks.

“Better on you,” is his short response.

When you begin to fall asleep on the yellow leather couch later that night, all wrapped up in his arms, Joel presses his lips to your forehead and says, “When we get home, I wanna read that book of yours. Carrie, was it?”

You shift at his side, turning your head up to look at him. “You’re not gonna wait till October, like I said?”

Joel shakes his head. “You got any idea how old I am, girl? I’ve got no time for waitin’ till October.” He’s quiet for several seconds. And then his voice is nothing but a whisper as he says, “No time waitin’ on this to be right in the eyes of others, either.”

And you can feel the heat behind his words, can almost hear the unspoken meaning. No time for waiting until you’re older, no time for waiting until the perfect moment. Your mouth pulls into a wide grin. “Are you asking to go steady with me, Mr. Miller?”

With a scoff, he runs his hand playfully down your face and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says.

When he kisses you, you make a promise against his lips. “I’m yours, Joel.”

He doesn’t say much in the way of a reply, your big man of few words. But he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

It’s more than enough.

#joel miller #ao3 fanfic #pearlessance #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ao3 writer #joel tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou #joel miller self insert #smut #fanfic #tlou fanfiction #fluff #jackson era joel

671 notes · View notes

mariasont · 4 months

Text

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right - A.H

a/n: my girl sabrina can do no wrong and i have been listening to this song on repeat since it came out so i just absolutely needed to write a fic about it

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: aaron hotchner is a busy man and he tends to disappoint you by missing important events

warnings: angst (sorry in advance), aaron is like not a great husband, reader is also an imperfect character, reader is a girl boss though

wc: 1.2k

You were in your best dress. More expensive than you'd ever think about buying for yourself, but it had been a gift from Aaron. You had fought him on it, scolding him for spending so much on a dress you were sure to only wear once. But he had insisted, telling you that this opportunity was once in a lifetime and that it would be a sin for it to not be celebrated with a dress that made you shine like a ruby.

He was right, partly, you were shining--glowing, sparkling, glittering--as you moved through the library. It was beautiful, to say the least--all opulence and history that was almost too much to absorb. The marble floors almost seemed to amplify the conversations around you, the clinking of glasses, the swish of overpriced gowns and tuxedos.

Your eyes settled on the tiered desks fitted with bronze reading lamps, now repurposed as a station for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The circular arrangement of desks, once centered around knowledge, now facilitated hushed gossip and the discreet laughter of society's finest.

You could almost hear what they were thinking: there she is again without her husband, that poor thing always by herself, and your personal favorite—does he even exist?

You wanted to be angry, to scold their prying eyes, for putting their noses into something that had nothing to do with them whatsoever. But could you really blame them? Every event you attended you told the same story--my husband is a busy man with an important job--a line you had grown tired of repeating.

And that was all true. He devoted most of his time to saving lives--how could you find fault in that? How could you complain to having a husband whose very essence was self-sacrifice and heroism?

This evening was set to be an exception; he was in New York for a case, and the Pulitzer Prize ceremony was not something he would miss. He had given you his word.

You understood his passion for his job, completely, because you held that same passion for your own. You dedicated years of your life to your journalism, investigating corruption at its highest levels. This is exactly how you ended up here tonight, nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for that very work. A Pulitzer Prize.

The term once seemed like a fantastical concept to you, a lofty accolade reserved for the likes of JFK, Bob Dylan, Robert Frost--icons, not someone as ordinary as you. Yet, against all odds, you find yourself among the select few, a nominee for an honor that has only been won by 1,512 individuals since 1917, a fact Spencer had supplied you with.

Someone was speaking to you, saying your name. Almost without thinking, your hand found a flute of champagne, taking a generous sip before turning to face them.

"You look stunning, and a well-deserved congratulations are in order. Everyone back at the office is cheering for you." It was your boss, her stilettos adding inches to her already imposing frame.

The flattery didn't quite mask her usual coldness, it was all too artificial. She wasn't your biggest fan, and she had made that clear from your first day. Still, you mustered a smile and thanked her anyway, taking another sip of champagne, hoping to drown away her nauseating voice.

"It's too bad your husband couldn't be here," she began, and you had to resist the urge to rip out her extensions. "This is an incredible accomplishment, but he's quite the busy man, as you say."

"Yes, he is busy, but he'll be here tonight," you replied, flashing her your best smile as you smoothed the red fabric that suddenly felt too tight. "He's actually here in New York on a case."

"Oh, how great. I can't wait to put a face to the name." You could tell by the look she shot her own husband that she didn't believe a word from your mouth. "Anyway, I have to go speak with an academy representative, but I'll see you and your husband at the ceremony?"

You responded with a nod, not dignifying her with words as she left, her giggles a bitter sound. You hated her. And you were ready to make her eat her words when your husband, who looked absolutely incredibly in a suit, showed up.

But then it was dinner, and you found yourself alone, surrounded by a table of important people whose names you couldn't remember. The seat beside you was empty and suddenly that omnipotent, cloud-nine feeling you had vanished with the time that passed.

The text you sent piled up, feeling a little juvenile, like you were back in high school again getting stood up at prom.

Let me know when you're close!

Is everything going okay?

Call me if you can.

An onslaught of anxious thoughts skyrocketed around your mind as you mechanically chewed the fancy food that only seemed to upset your stomach further. What if something happened? Was he okay? Did the case go wrong? Did he get in a car accident on the way here?

You were a bundle of nerves, gnawing on the inside of your mouth as your heel tapped up and down against the floor. But this wasn't borne from concern for his well-being; deep down, you were certain he was fine. The truth was simpler and sharper: he wasn't coming.

You should have been prepared, should have braced for this, but you were convinced that this time, this occasion would be an exception.

You name was being called, but this time not by someone wanting to extract prying information or stir speculation, no, this time it was carried across the crowed, wrapped in the microphone's static hum.

Your head snapped up, fingers ceasing their fidgeting as you struggled to mask the shock and avoid the gaping, breathless look of a fish out of water.

You had won.

People were clapped, but it seemed far away as you made your way to the stage, hands coming from all directions to offer pats on the back and handshakes of congratulations.

You had won.

Your feet were carrying you up a small set of stairs. You were trying to remember how to walk--left, right, heel, toe. There was a bright light on you now, prompting a slight squint and you worked to keep a smile on your face as you accepted the award.

You had to be dreaming. Had to be. There was no other explanation.

You were on display now, under the intense stage lights. Your body was on autopilot, stepping behind the podium, words flowing out of your mouth--a speech you had rehearsed over and over again in the slim chance that you would win. And here you are.

But the more you spoke the more you seemed to deviate from the script.

You paused, voice catching as you tried your best not to let the tears fall--your makeup was too pristine for smears.

"But tonight, as I accept this honor, I am reminded that while we may seek comfort in the presence of others, our truest strength comes from within." Your eyes dart around the audience, clinging to the slim chance he's there, that he showed up. "It comes from knowing that when we step into the moment, we step in with conviction, with passion, and sometimes, with a singularity that says we are enough."

The final words of your speech hang in the air, a brittle hope that disappears as quickly as it surfaced. He proved them right, and no amount of applause can drown out the sound of your heart breaking just a little.

part 2

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179

#aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotchner #Spotify

1K notes · View notes

hotchfiles · 5 months

Text

↪ QUIS UT DEUS? ─ chapter one.

AN IN NOMINE PATRIS, ET FILII, ET SPIRITUS SANCTI INSTALLMENT

pairing: hotch x fem!consultant!reader. summary: murders committed using catholic symbology gets emily to convince hotch it's time to ask for an expert. luckily for you, you're the expert. content warnings: canon typical violence. religious themes. spoilers to season 4. mature themes. word count: 1.5K

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti…

“Amen.” If you weren’t paying attention and side eyeing him at that exact moment, you might’ve lost the way his lips moved following the ritual, no word actually leaving his mouth.

The black haired man didn’t look too comfortable, but didn’t look out of place either, he knew the cues, he spoke the words on automatic it seemed. It amused you to observe people’s behavior on holy grounds, that was part of the reason you asked to meet in silver spring.

“Catholic, Mr. Hotchner?” Your question is met with a low scoff, the type only those with a bad bad history with the church gave you. “That much, huh?”

“My parents were.” The answer is simple and you think it might stop at that, but he shakes his head and scoffs again. “I was an altar boy for years before I left for boarding school.” You nod.

“Ah. I've met some of you in my research.” Some of you. Church babies, altar boys. Spoon fed the bible from birth while watching everyone around sin. Sin becoming a term to reflect on what they hated.

“And you? Catholic?”

“Oh no. Never been.” You don’t explain much, aware Emily probably told him of your time in Rome, where the two of you met. “Your UnSub is though. Either devoted to Saint Michael or knows enough about his roles to look like one.” You note, being reminded of the pictures Emily sent you, big stab wounds, a small scale tipped to one side, the words Hebrews 9:22 written in blood.

Hotchner doesn’t reply, making a mental reminder of the new information, he looks around the place as you both leave the church and it hits him, Silver Spring’s St. Michael the Archangel parish, the church you chose as a meeting place.

He wouldn’t usually accept consultation for cases, especially from outsiders. And to be fair, the BAU doesn’t usually need any, Reid alone has more knowledge than anyone Hotch has ever met, and despite the humbleness he tends to show, Hotch himself can take care of the general book knowledge if Reid doesn’t step up to it. But he trusted Emily, and Emily spoke more highly of you than of anyone. Honestly, he was also trying to make amends after not having her back during the Matthew case they had not long before.

“She's in town giving lectures, it’s an asset we have easy access to, so why not use it?” Were her final and most convincing words before Hotch nodded in agreement, watching Emily make the call that led to the meeting.

He thinks now, as he’s driving both of you to Quantico, that maybe Emily should’ve been the one here, his attempts to strike conversation falling flat as you don’t even remember the last time you had to make small talk with someone, it felt awkward all of a sudden, as if you were on a date.

“I'm so sorry, I'm not too good with… People.” You blurt out after a long minute of silence, your neck suddenly warm from embarrassment.

Hotch side eyes you, brows lifted in confusion. You seemed much less confident in the car now than what you showed him of you minutes before back at the church. He figures you felt confident talking about your area of expertise and that he could relate to easily. “Did you notice anything else by the pictures Emily sent you?”

The switch of topic makes you sigh loudly in relief and you mentally thank him for brushing your silliness off. “He’s using different pieces of catholic dogma and putting it together, but most of the symbology eludes to Michael, the stabbing looks like a sword, the tipped scale indicates judgment, the verse he chose doesn’t cite Michael but talks about sins being forgiven by the shedding of blood… He’s the judge and executioner of his victims.” You try not to sound excited as you ramble on, it’s a terrible thing to witness, the pictures were grotesque and would’ve made you sick on a normal day, but the cherry picking of symbols the murderer seemed to make fascinated you.

“So you believe it’s a man?”

“Oh! I–I don’t know? I just assumed… Is that misogynistic?” You mumble the last part more to yourself, but it’s loud enough to make him chuckle and you look at him quickly to make sure it’s not mean spirited.

It’s definitely not. But it is amusing from a profiler perspective, he’s so used to defining serials’ genders by their crimes he hasn’t thought about misogyny being a factor to those assumptions in a long time.

“Brutality suggests male. But posing looks remorseful, theatrical…” His grip on the wheel tightens, two victims by now, feet crossed, arms wide open.

“If there were more allusions to the crucifixion, yeah, but I–” You take your phone out to look at the pictures once more, an attempt to seem less abstract in what you’re about to say. “No crown, no nails, this isn’t about Christ, it’s about punishment–I mean, I think.” You’re not usually self conscious about your knowledge but inferring characteristics and desires to someone by looking at a crime scene was not your specialty.

“To further point they were judged and executed…” Hotch nods, understanding where your line of thought is going and completing it immediately, not leaving you much time to doubt yourself.

“A very shameful execution.”

You both spend the short ride from Silver Springs to Quantico going over the symbology present, you tried to help here and there with the associations of what you saw to who could’ve done it, even though that was not what you were called in for. Strangely enough—for him at least, Hotch didn’t seem to mind your guesses, they were educated ones.

And it was interesting to hear someone speak with such passion about religious aspects without any of the fundamentalism. It was definitely something he wasn’t used to.

“Mi amore!” Are the first words you hear as you enter the famous bullpen from Emily’s texts, her arms surrounding you in a tight warm hug you haven’t felt in years—it hits you then how long has it been. You weren’t able to come and mourn Matthew with her, his parents weren’t fond of you either (Lord almighty, you didn’t even go to church with them!) and you were busy with your lectures.

“Hey troublemaker, how’s it going?” Your question is muffled in the hug, your hands clasping together behind her back.

The reunion doesn’t last long, curious eyes set on you two and a rather impatient Hotch leading the way to what you learned was the conference room.

The briefing room. The round table. Emily told you about it when she first got into the BAU.

You end up sitting between Emily and who you would bet was Spencer—there’s this sweet kid working with us, he’s super smart, annoyingly smart, but so sweet, he reminds of Matty when we were teens—the lanky boy was the only one with what seemed like naivety enough in his eyes to be the one Emily mentioned back then.

Aaron sat in front of you almost, serious, stern, very different from the few chuckles you got from him in the car. This was unit chief Hotchner, the subtle difference was fascinating.

“Alright, as we know, DC is in trouble, second murder in three weeks.” blonde and gorgeous, you believed that was JJ, there had been no time for introductions, all you could do was try to remember the e-mails and few phone calls you shared with Emily the past years. “Richard Beckett, married, no kids, 27. He works for his father's car dealership.”

Pictures show up on the screen, showing the man when he was alive. It’s a punch to your gut, just minutes before you were fascinated by the way this real person was murdered. You’re glad you had a light breakfast by the way your stomach turns.

“Monica Dawson, divorced, no kids, 53. She’s a counselor at a local school.” The woman continues speaking, with more pictures on the screen. And then pictures of their deaths, side by side. The fascination is completely extinguished then. “Both were stabbed countless times with a large blade. Left in abandoned warehouses posed in a cross position, a tipped scale on their side. Both naked. Both were heavily drugged.”

“They didn’t have kids, is that a coincidence?” You hear Emily speak up and suddenly you can see all their brains working.

“Could that be the linking between them? The victimology is all over the place.” Derek. Oh. You’ve heard of Derek. You’ve seen pictures of Derek. He needs no introduction.

“Reid, Morgan, go talk to the first victim’s widow. Rossi, JJ, Ms. Dawson’s ex-husband can give us insight on her life. Emily and us—” He gives you a look and you understand he means you, nodding in reply. “Will head to the DC police precinct.” The way Hotch gives orders is effortless, not only his job but his vocation.

Everyone listens and agrees quickly, moving and leaving the table, even Emily is fast on her feet, even though she won’t leave without you and him. You stay still, stiff, eyes glued to the screen.

“Are you alright?” His voice is soft, laced with worry, genuine worry. You didn’t even notice he had stayed behind, but you nod again at Hotch, a question burning at the tip of your tongue.

“Do you still believe in God, Mr. Hotchner?”

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch imagine #hotch scenario #flari: in nomine patris #lari writes sometimes

518 notes · View notes

bbydoll18xx · 4 months

Text

I Love You (It’s Ruining My Life)

‘I took the miracle move-on drug. The effects were temporary.’

Paige Bueckers x reader

Themes: yearning, pining, fluff (all the good stuff)

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Nothing beats intense pining and yearning. And a Taylor song to accompany it?? Sign me up but for real my little crush on Paige is getting embarrassing im 23 years old for fucks sake

I'm working on a few requests still but if you have a good idea, send it my way!! Always looking for new ideas. Also I'm thinking about writing for Kate Martin if you guys would be interested...

------------------------------------------------

Your seemingly harmless crush on Paige Bueckers was starting to get a little out of hand.

It started out simple enough. A friendship was forged from two girls entering college, desperate to prove themselves in their own way. And now here you are, unable to fall asleep without Paige’s clear blue eyes gazing back at you in the darkness of your closed lids.

You were so fucking screwed.

Your feelings snuck up on you over time, slowly creeping over you until you were fully smothered and unable to breathe without Paige. Yet, at the same time, it was becoming more and more difficult to be around her. You were constantly at war between satisfying the love-sick pull you had towards her and wanting to keep your distance to protect yourself.

It was becoming embarrassing. The girls of UCONN’s women's basketball team had begun to notice the way your cheeks would ablaze from an innocent stroke of your arm. And they certainly did not miss the way the presence of a tall blonde had you acting like a fucking fool.

The only one who, to your relief, did not pick up on your bumbling mannerisms, was Paige. She had simply equated your idiosyncrasies to your personality. And that was something you were very thankful for.

You were walking back to your dorm, enjoying the cool autumn breeze flowing through your hair when a warm body plows into you.

Staggering forward at the sudden force, you look back, eager to yell at the person who just ran into you. Your eyes are met with Paige’s, and she’s grinning like a maniac. Your heart slows once you realize who it is, and you roll your eyes playfully at the blonde’s childish behavior.

Why did she have to be so damn endearing all the time?

Paige throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in closer to her. You can smell her shampoo, and you fight the urge to lean in more. “Hey, P. What’s up?” You ask, hoping to play off the blush on your face on the effects of the cool air.

“Just been missin’ you,” she replies. “Me and Aubrey are having the team over tonight. You comin’?”

As badly as you wanted to, you knew it would not be a good idea. Paige had been partying it up a lot lately. And everytime you were around her, she would hang on you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, her breath hitting your skin in a sinful way. She would cling to you, arms around your waist, pulling you in as if she owned you.

In a sick way, she kind of did. But Paige didn’t need to know that. You were desperately trying to avoid advancing any sort of feelings towards your best friend.

You gaze up at her, looking into those eyes, wide with hope. It almost made you completely cancel your plans, but you had made a promise to yourself. At the beginning of the new school year, you had told yourself you would try and move on from Paige. And you were starting tonight.

“I have a date,” you profess, trying to keep up an air of confidence.

Paige’s face morphs into a look you couldn’t quite put your finger on. She almost looked annoyed. “Oh. Well, have fun. Stop on by after if you’re up to it.”

You nod, a small, faux smile adorning your face, and you wave bye to her as you head back home.

Music is playing softly in your bathroom as you touch up your makeup. Your date, Ross, was coming to pick you up in 15 minutes, and the butterflies in your belly were swarming horrendously. You desperately wanted to find a way out of the situation, but your crush on Paige was going nowhere if you didn’t open yourself up to other people. That is why you’ve been distracting yourself every weekend with an endless stream of guys who just did not do it for you.

You gather your shoes and your purse before walking into the kitchen. You pour yourself a shot and down it, hissing as it burns its way down your throat. You weren’t the type to casually do shots, but you needed something to calm your nerves.

Popping a breath mint, so your date didn’t think you were an alcoholic, you straighten your skirt, and you take a deep breath. ‘I look hot. I can do this,’ you affirm. Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud knock on your door.

Grabbing your belongings, you plaster a smile on your face and open it. You become face-to-face with a tall, dark-haired guy. His smile was heavenly, and his eyes sparkled in a way that had your stomach doing flips. He was the perfect distraction, and in your head, you were applauding yourself.

You introduce yourself, awkwardly holding out a hand for him to shake.

Chuckling, he grabs it, and with a wink says, “I’m Ross. Nice to formally meet you. You ready to go?”

His large hand was engulfing yours, and once more today, a blush threatened to shroud your features. You nod and follow him out to his car. You take note of its messiness, but you overlook it. It was not the time to be overly critical.

As you buckle yourself in, Ross turns on his music, and familiar lyrics come through the stereo system. You giggle at the song. Paige loved this song, and you had heard it so many times, you knew all the lyrics.

The drive goes by quick, to your relief. Ross pulls into the restaurant and backs into a parking spot. He does it with a practiced ease that reminds you of Paige.

Fuck.

You had to stop thinking about her. Your attempts to deter your own feelings were becoming futile, you were realizing, and a sinking feeling started to overtake your consciousness.

All throughout dinner, everything Ross did either annoyed you or reminded you of Paige. He was cute; you couldn’t deny that. But he wasn’t Paige. And as time passed, you realized that this was not going to work.

Trying to get over Paige with guys who made you feel literally nothing was not going to do anything to quell the butterflies in your stomach that Paige gave you when she just smiled. And it certainly was not going to stop the way your heart pounded when she would hug you, hands sliding down your back to rest on your waist with a comfortable weight.

So when he dropped you back off, you swore off trying to force anything between you and any more random guys that could not hold a candle to what you felt for Paige. It was a harsh reality, but you simply hoped that the crush would fizzle out before things could get weird between you and your best friend.

Glancing at your phone, you notice that the night was still young. Things were probably just ramping up over at Aubrey and Paige’s apartment, and you were so very tempted to head over just so you could be close to Paige.

Before your voice of reason could take over, you are touching up your makeup and leaving your dorm to head over to Paige’s. There was nothing stopping your lovesick brain from savoring Paige’s drunken affections; you’d deal with consequences in the morning.

Meanwhile, Paige was downing shots, trying to numb the pain of your absence. The girls of the basketball team had noticed her somber spirit, and several girls had huddled in the corner, trying to decipher what was going on with their blonde teammate.

“Girly pop is gettin’ drunk real fast,” KK observed.

“For real. Who hurt her?” Ice agrees worriedly.

“Maybe it has something to do with a certain someone who is out on a date right now…” Nika trails, a smug smirk on her face

Gasps sound from the mouths of the tipsy girls, and knowing looks are shared as realizations come to head.

“She’s down bad,” Ines giggles, sipping from her cup, and the team agrees, looking over to where Paige is moodily scrolling through her phone on the couch.

Pressing a finger to her lips, KK sneaks over behind the couch where Paige is moping, and she subtly glances over Paige’s shoulder. Her face morphs into a look of sheer glee, and she runs back to the group with a smug grin on her face.

“Guess who’s Insta she’s lookin’ through!” KK shrieks, and the other girls erupt with laughter, catching the attention of the aforementioned blonde.

“Act natural,” Nika shushes, and the girls move away from their gossip circle to avoid suspicion.

Before the team could give themselves away, you walk into the apartment, immediately locking eyes with Paige. With a shy wave, you walk over to where she was sitting, plopping down on the couch next to her.

“Why are you sitting here all alone?” You ask confusedly.

Paige shrugs. “How was your date? I’m surprised you’re back already.”

You look down at your hands, fiddling with several of your rings. “He was…I don’t know? Not what I’m looking for, I guess?” You weren’t sure how to explain it. It’s not like you could confess that the real reason you had no desire to ever see Ross, or any other guy again if you were being honest, was because they weren’t Paige.

“Well, ‘m glad you’re here. Let’s get my pretty girl a drink,” she says, words slightly slurring. She stands up, offering you a hand, and you take it without hesitation. It feels so natural, and you attempt to ignore the warmth in your chest that blooms, threatening to give away your practiced nonchalance.

You completely miss how the group of girls in the corner erupt in giddy giggles as the two of you walk hand in hand towards the alcohol piled on the kitchen counter.

It doesn’t take you long to catch up to the rest of the people crowded in the apartment, and you’re soon tipsy, dancing around with Aubrey and Azzi. Your hips are swaying seductively to the rhythm of the music, when Paige is suddenly next to you, wrapping a muscular arm around your waist. She brings you closer to her, and through the haze of the alcohol, alarm bells sound in your brain.

You see Aubrey and Azzi share a knowing look as Paige hangs on you, singing the lyrics of the SZA song that was blasting through the apartment. Your cheeks heat up at the contact, and you avoid the gazes of the girls who were sending you smug smirks.

“Fuck off,” you mouth in their direction. You had been fighting the yearning allegations, and this was not helping your case.

Looking up at Paige, you notice how her eyes were glazed over, pupils blown wide from the dark room and something else you couldn’t put your finger on. Your stare drops down to her lips, and she runs her tongue across her bottom lip to wet it. Feeling suddenly self-conscious and a bit warm, your eyes quickly dart back up to meet her gaze, and you pull further away from her to seek solace in the kitchen.

Paige furrows her brow in confusion, following you to the kitchen like a lost puppy, where you’ve already seated yourself on the counter top. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as the distance is created, but it only takes several seconds for Paige to insert herself between your spread legs.

She places a hand on your thigh tentatively, as if she could break you, and peers into your eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?” She questions, her voice cracking as she calls you ‘baby’.

“Just needed some air,” you mumble, feeling hot again at her proximity. She was so pretty, and her touch was igniting a fire deep inside of you.

Shit was starting to get dangerous.

Paige cocks her head, and places her other hand on the counter next to where your butt was, caging you in. Your breath quickens, and your head spins.

Emboldened by your lack of sobriety, you hesitantly lean forward, worried your actions would scare Paige. She mirrors you, searching for a reason not to kiss you.

You nod your head, and before you can even think about the insanity of the situation you had found yourself in, Paige’s lips were on yours.

Her lips were soft, and they moved against yours in a sickening fashion, pulling a soft moan from the depths of your throat. Your hands reach up, one cupping her jaw, and the other resting on the back of her neck, pulling her closer into you. Paige’s hand moves to your inner thigh, exposed from the short skirt you wore riding up, and she draws small circles, experimenting with the pressure as she goes. Her other hand moves your waist, bringing you in even closer until your bodies are melded together in the throes of passion and need.

A whoop sounds through the kitchen, and Paige quickly pulls away to see Aubrey and KK dancing excitedly in the doorway. Your face flushes as you realize you’ve been caught, and you peek over to where Paige is now rubbing a hand across her face, a similar pink hue spreading over it.

“Knew it,” Aubrey smirks, and she exchanges enthusiastic high fives with KK.

Paige rolls her eyes at their antics before looking back over to you, still sitting awkwardly on the counter.

“Let’s go talk in my room,” she mumbles, picking you up and placing you back onto your feet.

Your heart lurches as she momentarily places her hands on the back of your thighs to help you down, and she leads you to her bedroom, shutting the door quietly.

You go to sit on her bed, thinking of ways to explain yourself for your lustful actions. You could always blame it on the alcohol, but you knew Paige would see right through that. Your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth, gnawing on it out of anxiety when Paige’s voice breaks your incessant worrying.

“Been waiting for you to kiss me forever, ya know,” she deadpans. She’s trying to hide the grin on her face, as a look of shock engulfs your own.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me, P? We could’ve been doing that for the past three years?” You respond, feeling a little less annoyed than the way it was coming off. You were actually fucking elated.

Paige chuckles, and she comes to sit next to you, brushing a strand of hair over your shoulder. “What was I supposed to do when you were always dating all those random dudes?” She asks, shrugging, attempting to minimize the gravity of the situation.

Your face softens at her vulnerability. “I was trying to distract myself from you, Paigey,” you explain quietly. Paige lets out a small puff of air at the realization, and she leans in to you once more, her breath fanning across your lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, and she pulls you in, repeating the words as if it was a prayer, over and over again.

Thanks for reading!! I'll hopefully be posting again soon

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers x you #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #friends to lovers #fluff #mutual pining #wlw yearning #i love you #its ruining my life

491 notes · View notes

theastrical · 4 months

Text

genshin men and their way of apologising

Genshin men and their ways of apologising.

kaeya, diluc, childe, (alhaitham, zhongli, kaveh on pt.2) x reader (fem!reader diluc)

ps: it’s comfort/hurt, a bit angsty but with fluffy ending!! Also if you guys have triggers with cursing, this content has cursing/verbal scolding implications so please mind that before reading!

Kaeya:

“stop doing this and that..you’ll end up being a burden.” He shuts off the door and locks it. You were just trying to help him, and unfortunately, he doesn’t like it. This happens quiet a lot, where he closed off all part of himself in order to heal himself…that’s okay, at first, but what about you? You’re hurt and he kept you out just like that; is he here to wound your heart just like the other exes who grew apart from you?

And when you start to lose your patience, he can’t do nothing about it, right? He’s just there to hurt-hurt-and make you feel as if you in deserve of such a treatment. You cried, it felt weird to cry over kaeya. He has been sweet, yes, you never doubted once that his act are truly meant for you, but at what certain point did you do to make him immediately switch up? You didn’t know, you never know. He never wanted to communicate, that’s the problem.

“if you don’t want me to help you, that’s fine, just please kaeya…talk to me like i’m a human, not somebody you can use when you’re happy. I also need a set of time to heal.” You say that-an automatic reply set on your brain to confront him even if it’s not face to face. Now door to door-you just scold him and leave.

It took him a huge amount of time to heal. he knows what he has done can’t be undone. Listening to your cries become his worst fear, he can’t just stand in front of your eyes and say sorry, he knows that wouldn’t work. That enough explains how much he hates apologising; because his apologies always ended up with him crushing over the burden of his sins.

That’s why, the next day, in the morning when you woke up. Kaeya is already there beside your bedside. Folding your palm between his. His head on the floor.

“i’ve taken your words and…* he sighs before continuing. “Apologies don’t really matter if i don’t change my attitudes, so please, if you’re still willing to give me one more chance, can i have the privilege to change, at least, for you?”…he stays quiet for a while. “Lastly, i’m sorry, i know all i did these yesterday and these past few months weren’t tolerable. I understand if you would hate me for this.”..he looks up to you, his eyes are already watery. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hugs you and that felt so good…

A mark on your neck was left, a few peck it took for him to finally calm down. And he looks at you with a smile, even when his eyes are puffy. “I love you..thank you for still being here.”

Diluc:

Diluc came home quite late, it was unusual and it worries you, after all, since the day you married him. He had never been this late-he always come home with a huge surprise which is food…for obvious reason (he’s wants you to eat instead of cooking him a meal since he knew how exhausting it can be).

you were just about to ring up his phone-and suddenly a slam from the door was heard. You came to the first floor and..there’s diluc! “Diluc!” You grin, as always, you warmly greeted him, because it’s your husband, it’s diluc, what more reason to make you adore him?

You tried to help him get his bag and put off his jacket…but his bag was so heavy…whatever does he put inside his bag? Why is it so h— oh no! The bag suddenly hit your coffee cup and spilled the remaining coffee to the bag…now his bag is tainted with coffee and he-who saw that scene in front of him can’t even hide his raging eyes. Before one word to spit out-he gives off a long sigh-squinting his eyes.

“Why…sigh…it’s always you, you AND YOU who makes the worst mistake OVER AND OVER AGAIN! In the WORST TIMING AS WELL, CAN YOU—“ you replied, cutting off his words. “I-i’m so sorry diluc…i’ll help you with th—“ , “CAN YOU STOP CUTTING MY WORDS? Listen to me lady, it’s not about the bag or the papers, its about your presence…why helping you when you can’t even help yourself fix these problems, you’re helpless.”

He said that like a drunk man with no sanity behind his eyes, yet, this time, he’s actually sober, so sober he already pulled off that bag from your grip... He’s losing his patience and you know his words are the truth…still it hurts way too much. Why? Because it’s diluc, the one you called husband. tears fell and you don’t know what to do. It’s like your body doesn’t know how to move.

You look at his eyes, your mind went blank. You can sense his anger, but the tears never stop from your eyes. It’s like you just got hit by a truck. You try to left the living room to the bedroom upstair. At the same time diluc realise his action-you’re already up there-on the stair.

As soon as your foot step into the bedroom. You slowly loses the ability to numb the tears. You lay down on the comfy covers and then just cry. Sniffling. Without words, just cry and cry and cry. Realising that it was your mistake but..it hurts when he struck you with the truth that you’re useless in his eyes.

Diluc didn’t pay mind to pride when it comes to apologizing. Hence, when he heard the sniffling become louder in each breathe you took. He storms to the bedroom and hold your body to his embrace. Covering you from his face. Covering you from the cowardice and guilt he has to face. Securing you from his words..comforting you with his presence.

“sorry princess…don’t bother looking at my face if it means you’ll hate me…i don’t deserve the sight of your eyes…i don’t deserve anything.” He hugs you closer and strokes your hair, within each stroke, it felt like his hands have just won you again. “Thank you for helping me, it ease me a lot—that’s the word you need and i’m unable to fulfil that right..here i am, rejecting you, not acknowledging the effort you took just to wait for me.” He kisses your forehead before carrying you to sit on his lap. “but do believe that i’ll fix this mistake and beg on your knees if you need me to...” he look at your eye despite you not giving him a sight of your puffy eye.

“Anything for a second chance, for my princess.”

Childe:

you really love cooking. It’s something that nobody really knows-cause not evedybody has seen you cook or even taste the food you cook. You’re known to be secretive about everything; Even childe being your husband, only 2 of your 100 friends know-especially with the fact that topic is on your top 10 secret list.

And being in a marriage with childe means you’ll cook 24/7, which at first seems fine with you-but lately, you’ve been losing interest in cooking. It’s like..whatever you make is just a rating of ”it’s okay” for childe. It’s like he doesn’t even bother appreciating your food. So today, you’re trying to confront him…

He’s in a badmood-that’s why he doesn’t bother to try and reach out to you. Though it’ll be very thoughtful if you actually make him his comfort food right? And maybe if you did so, he would’ve complimented your cooking? Right! So you did and you’re so happy with the result! It taste perfect! So you began serving it onto the small bowl and put the food in front of him, you immediately get some spoonful of the food and put it inside his mouth-which is hot-like BURNING HOT. You know you fucked up so badly, so you get some water for him before he said “fuck!” so casually.

“W-what’s wrong..? Sorry i burned your tongue, i really am..!!! Please dr—“ he immediately cut you off. “No…i don’t want to eat dinner, the food doesn’t even taste good…” oh. “and thank you for burning my tongue as well! It certainly helps!.” He mocked you. “Now i can speak while enduring the pain! Right! That’s what you want your husband to feel, right?” He happily grins, a mockery. Childe immediately walked out of the dining room like a child.

And he scoffs silently on the hallway, even though it’s easy enough for you to listen because he talks to himself like he talks to another being. “I should’ve just searched for another person..i can’t stay with an idiot…” and that push you towards a realization that childe always have think of you as somebody who isn’t worth of his time. It’s like reality finally gives you a sign that he’s just one lucky pull you got. You didn’t cry. It gives you a numbing feeling, an empty one.

You sat on the dining table, taking out your apron, you get some bowl of the food and eat it by yourself. Because, like childe said, he wouldn’t eat dinner, so why bother waiting for somebody who can’t even appreciate you?

Eating alone is such a complex feeling, especially in a marriage. It feels lonely but peaceful. At least it can make your mind steady for whatever coming afterwards. You did feel a bit better but..the pain of his words never left you. It never did. It just makes the heart feel more numb as the seconds passed.

You sighed and…there he is, all shy and embarrassed behind the walls, he has been spying on you since 30 minutes ago…he’s guilty as charged. When you see him, you ignored him, immediately. Not wanting to share another eye contact with that man who have insulted your ways of loving him.

He follows you and hold onto your arm before you go elsewhere, who knows what will you do if his arms didn’t hold yours. Childe is embarrassed-guilt on his face and a coward on his heart. He made you wait for a good 5 minutes, he was waiting for you to say something..but instead, childe was met with cold air.

“i’m a loser for insulting your way of loving me. I’m dramatic. I’m a brat. I’m everything that you don’t want in a man.” His head can’t even meet yours. After all, your eyes are blank and it pierces his soul. “You don’t need to give me second chance. You don’t need to treat me right after what i’ve done. A bad deed is a bad deed.” With the courage of the final sentence; he hold onto your hand and kisses your fingertips. “I will win that cold heart of yours again and again, if it means i can live with you in every life to come.”

#childe x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #ajax x reader #childe fanfic #kaeya fanfic #diluc fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fics #childe fluff #kaeya fluff #diluc fluff #childe x reader fluff #kaeya x reader fluff #diluc x reader fluff

520 notes · View notes

greatestexpectationss · 8 months

Text

A Quiet Moment

Luke Castellan x Fem!Daughter of Persephone Reader

Description: You and Luke get a rare quiet moment in Cabin 11 accompanied by some troubling thoughts. Luke's always there to make you feel better and you know him better than anyone else.

Can be read as a stand-alone or part 2 to Poison Ivy

Warnings: mentions of alcoholism, mentions of mental health (season depression), making out, I think thats it?? Also not edited sorry!!!!!!!

“Luke, this is not good,” you’re pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. The cabin is in total disarray, you’d left Luke and a majority of other campers there to begin to clean it while you helped the Demeter kids in the Strawberry fields. You’d come back to, though a smaller mess, a mess nevertheless.

Cabin inspections are later tomorrow afternoon, and you can already tell the Hermes cabin is so totally screwed. Cabin 11 is chaotic as always, to be fair it isn’t Luke’s fault, Hermes houses his children, unclaimed children, and minor gods' children alike. As a child of Persephone, you’ve only ever known the Hermes cabin as home other than the few nights you’ve spent in the Demeter cabin with your friend Katie, you fit in there as a child of Persephone and your power of chlorekensis makes you fit right in. Chiron in a desperate attempt to make more room in the Hermes had asked you if you’d like to move into the Demeter cabin permanently. You’d told him no, Luke needed your help managing the campers, but you’re sorely regretting it now.

Your boyfriend pouts at you from his bunk where he’d collapse in exasperated exhaustion just moments before you’d return. “This whole thing is rigged, how’re we expected to be clean, we’ve got like triple the campers?” he groans. Then he sits up on his elbows eyeing you up and down. You’ve discarded your camp half-blood t-shirt and are left in your forest green spaghetti strap and dark denim shorts. He smiles like he’s won the whole damn lottery. You're exasperated resolve melts a bit when he speaks again.

“You look pretty,” he compliments you. You smile, blush, and roll your eyes before collapsing on his bunk beside him, ignoring the campers scurrying around you to get to their activities and clean up their own messes.

“Thank you,” you whisper as he reaches over and moves a piece of hair out of your face. “Anytime Poison,” he replies, a cheeky smile on his face. Then as if remembering something he sits up and addresses the few campers that are still scrambling about the cabin, “Go enjoy the rest of your free time, we’ll take care of the rest of the damage in the morning.” They all cheer and thank him, but you know this was just a clever ploy for Luke to get the cabin empty for a second.

“How was your day?” you ask him, sitting up and sitting crisscross on his bed. He follows suit facing you and interlacing both your hands between you. “You’re looking at it sweetheart,” he gestures around to the mostly not clean cabin.

“This took you all day?” you tease. Luke flicks your forehead, you laugh in response.

“Don’t be mean.”

“Who me? I’m not being mean.”

He shoots you a look.

“Well now you know how I feel, you’re always teasing me.”

It’s takes about five seconds for Luke to wrestle you onto your back, knee slotted between your thighs, while both of his hands mercilessly attack your side. Your writhing beneath him, laughing so hard you can’t breath.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you squeal, he halts his movements and pokes the dimple by the corner of your mouth, that only shows when you’re laughing hysterically.

“That’s what I thought Poison, you know we’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” he’s slowed his movements, now one hand still stroking you cheek, moving down to your hip and pressing you depper into the mattress, his other hand holds him up so he’s not completely crushing you. You blush furiously at his implication, the last time the two of you had been in this position, it had been sinful, granted you weren’t in your cabin where anyone could walk in at any moment, but still. “You’re gross,” is what you decide to respond with, but he just laughs and leans down to kiss you anyways.

Kissing Luke is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You’ve kissed other boys before him, but something about the way he kisses you, you know he’s absolutely ruined you for anyone else, he kisses you in a way you know will screw up forever. You don’t know what you’ll do if he wakes up one day and decides he doesn’t want you anymore. The thought makes you kiss him harder, and pull him closer. His thumb rubs soothing circles against your exposed skin from where your shirt had ridden up a bit. One of your hands rests at the base of his neck pulling him closer, begging him to kiss you harder. Your other hand hovers at his lower back, when you try to pull him closer there too, he pulls his face back from yours, breathing heavily.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, he kisses your check once on both sides softly and then looks at you again.

“Nothing, just keep kissing me,” you tell him before pulling him back to your lips.

He mumbles your name against them, but then indulges you for a moment, your brain is going a million miles a minute, you don’t know why you can’t turn it off sometimes, but the thought of loosing Luke plagues your mind too often, were you destined to be like your father, who loved your mother in the spring only to be left again by the fall, he had never truly gotten over his one great love, Persephone. You couldn’t imagine ever getting over Luke either, especially with the way he’s kissing you so tenderly now.

He pulls away again, making you pout.

“I can hear you thinking, what’s up?”

You almost tell him but he’s always trying to make you feel better and for once you want there to just be nothing wrong. You’ve always been a little more darkness than Luke, you think. He’s the camp golden boy, perfect in all the ways that count. You’re Persephone’s only (claimed) daughter, who grows plants from nothing, and grows vines of poison ivy around people who piss you off. Your moods change with the seasons, and as Fall grows nearer you can feel yourself growing darker. You just want a moment with your incredibly hot boyfriend to not think of the impending darkness that’s right around the corner.

“I’m okay, really,” you tell him, he’s not convinced clearly because he stays hovering over you but he won’t lean back down to kiss you. “Luke, c’mon we’ve got like–” you check your watch, “30 minutes until the first round of campers are back.”’

“But you’re worried about something, I can tell,” he mutters, “It’s almost September, that’s what’s buggin’ you huh?”

Sometimes you hate how well he knows you, “Okay, yeah, you’re super duper smart now do you wanna make out with me or what?”

He laughs, and leans down to kiss you again, it’s a peck not at all what you were looking for and you groan. “Luke–”

“Look, I’m all for making out, and I’ll distract you if you really want me to,” his voice is husky in your ear, in the way he knows you love, but then he pulls back to look at you again, “but we both know this is still gonna be buggin’ you afterward, and I just want to make you feel better.”

You sigh, cause you know he’s right, annoyingly right, and stupidly handsome, you still really want to make out with him, but you don’t want him to feel like he’s a distraction, because he isn’t. He’s Luke, and you love him with everything you have.

“You’re never a distraction,” you promise him eagerly, you move to sit up and he follows suit, leaning against the headboard of the bunk and opening his arms wide for you to snuggle into is chest, you place a kiss over his heart. “You’re the main event baby.”

He snorts and pulls you closer, “That was incredibly corny Poison, you going soft on me?”

“Oh yeah, for sure. But seriously, you're incredibly sweet."

You lean up and kiss his jaw. He kisses your forehead in return.

A moment of silence passes before he asks the burning question on both of your minds.

“Are you going home this year?”

You’d spent most of your time at Camp Half Blood being a summer only camper, but the last two years you’d been a year rounder. Your dad had never really been the same after Persephone disappeared from him, never to return, at least according to your aunt. When you’d been younger you’d been a handful and provided your dad with a distraction from his sorrows. But as you’d grown older, made friends, and forged your own life, your father had started drinking again. The more he destroyed himself, the more he destroyed you and your already almost non existent relationship with your mother. You resented him, but you resented her more for leaving him with nothing more than a hollowed shell of who he used to be. He’s been writing you letters, but you can’t bring yourself to respond.

“Probably not,” you admit finally, “I don’t want to see him and besides,” you curl into Luke more, “I want to stay with you.”

Luke’s arms tighten around you as he peaks down at your face, “You do?”

“Of course I do.”

Luke kiss your head, you smell like flowers and goodness and the things he loves. He thinks he could stay right here with you forever. “Are you sure?” he asks you.

“Do you want me to stay?” you ask, feeling self conscious now, you don’t have the opportunity to let your anxiety consume you for long before Luke is reassuring you.

“Are you kidding? Of course I want you to stay. I love it when you’re here, you know that.”

You smile up at him softly, his brow furrows, a little crease at the center where you can tell he’s thinking really hard about something. You reach up to smooth it out, but he catches your hand with his own. “You do know that right?”

“Yeah,” you nod, and you do. You really know it, in the back of your mind, you know Luke loves you as much as you love him.

“Good, because sometimes I think you don’t get it, how much I love you. I’d do anything for you, just say the word,” he lets you reach up to smooth the crease from his brows.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“You get this little crease between your brows when you’re worrying about stuff, did you know that?”

Your pinned back down on the bed before you get a response, he’s kissing you like you’ve been wanting him to this whole time, Hot and searing with his hands in all the right places. You could die happy, right here, wrapped in his arms, his lips pressed against yours, and his tongur sneaking into your mouth. You stay like that for a few minutes, unaware of the time ticking away. You both pull away a little breathless.

“I love you,” he says quietly, “a lot.”

“I love you too,” you reply kissing the bottom of his scar softly, “a lot.”

He leans down to kiss you again but you place a hand on his chest pushing him away from you. “We should probably clean the cabin now,” you relent, sighing as you look at your watch, the first round of campers should be returning in about five minutes, Luke takes a look at your watch and groans.

“You were right,” he admits, head tucked into you neck as you play with his hair.

“I’m sure I was but youre gonna have to be a little more specific babe,” you reply matching what you’re sure is his cheeky smile buried in you neck.

“We should have just made out.”

You push him off the bed.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan #pjo series #pjo fanfic #charlie bushnell x reader #reader insert #x reader #female reader

649 notes · View notes

alphabetboyluvr · 3 months

Text

LANDSLIDES - 002 | GUILTY AS SIN - JJK

part title credit: guilty as sin - taylor swift

these fatal fantasies giving way to laboured breath... they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly... without ever touching his skin how can i be guilty as sin?

pairing: officeworker!jungkook x female reader (coworkers)

premise: jungkook asks you to dog sit over chuseok. he doesn’t ask you to steal the empty spaces in his head, the dreams he’s yet to have, nor the idea of you always just being ‘you’ to him - and yet, like a thief in the night (with his own damn dog as your accomplice), you do. (part one link)

warnings: slow burn (emphasis on slow, emphasis on burn), miscommunication, missed opportunities, missing jungkook, inappropriate mentions of masturbation between friends, frustration (sexually and emotionally!)

wordcount: 18K

note from holly: this was supposed to be a 30k chunk but the 1000 paragraph limit told me no </3 so instead, this is part 1 - part 2 will come tomorrow :)

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

When Jungkook comes to stand by your desk, his freshly pressed suit unspoiled from his morning commute and with a coffee in either hand, you know he must be up to something.

"Let me guess," you hum. "You dipped your nib in the company ink again and need me to do damage control?"

It wouldn't be the first time, and the new secretary has been ogling him ever since she started just before the Chuseok break. You've joked about it a few times, but you really wouldn't put it past him.

Popping your coffee on your desk, Jungkook toys with his tie a little, smoothing it down. "Why do you always think so little of me, you little gremlin?"

His pouty whine would be believable if you didn't know him as well as you do. Glancing up from your screen, you're greeted with a smirk. Even he can't keep up his pretence of innocence. "You know exactly why."

"I'm a good boy," he promises. "Got you coffee and everything this morning!"

"Because you want something," you laugh. "I wasn't born yesterday, Jungkook."

"Can a friend not get a friend a coffee just because?"

"Yes—but you don't."

In fact, Jungkook normally waits until midday for his first coffee. Treats it like a reward for getting through the morning without any caffeine. He's gone out of his way today—or just ordered coffee to the office to make it look like he has. Regardless, an effort has been made.

He takes a second. Purses his lips. Narrows his eyes.And then he smiles. "Fine. I need a favour."

"See, I knew it was too good to be true!"

"Oh, c'mon!" He laughs. "I'd get you coffee if you asked."

"I asked last week when I was running late, and you told me to wake up earlier and get it myself!"

"Well, it was your own fault for being out until arse o'clock in the morning!"

Your fault, you think but don't vocalise. It's not like you'd been out with him. You'd been on a date. Another with Mingyu. Hadn't stuck to your word of cooling things off. Spooked yourself with those dreams about Jungkook. Needed to bring yourself back to reality.

If he hadn't asked you to dogsit, you never would have gotten so caught in the domestication of it all. It's your biggest weakness and he damn well knows it. If anything, he should be thanking you for choosing to realign your focus instead of leaning into silly little thoughts about him. It also helps that in the cold, harsh light of Monday mornings, the thoughts just make you cringe more than anything.

"Sorry, Dad," you roll your eyes. "Didn't realise I had to ask your permission."

Jungkook's lips purse in the gentlest of ways, corners upturning ever so slightly. He shakes his head. "You're cranky this morning."

"And you're up to something," you reply. Have barely even had a chance to look over your weekend emails yet, let alone prepare yourself for Jungkook being a nuisance. His department is two floors up. There's no need for him to be here.

In the corner of your screen, an email pings through. Though your glance is quick, it connects a flurry of dots together.

Subject: International Food Expo - we're in!

The company you work at is the head office of a chain restaurant. Jungkook works in franchising—negotiations, specifically. Gets the restaurant placed in the best locations. Recently landed a spot in Starfield Mall. Got himself a nice little bonus.

You're over in the interior design team. It's a small cohort, just three of you, but you're responsible for ensuring cohesion amongst all the spaces. It's up to you that customers get the same feel whether they're in Seoul or Sokcho.

Both starting the job at the same time, directly after graduation, Jungkook had approached you with a strategy in mind. Roped you into creating the interior mood boards and mapping out the spaces before they'd even been acquired. Gave life to them that made it so much easier for investors to imagine.

It had been seen by management as a waste of resources before then—why waste time creating hypotheticals?

They just hadn't yet experienced Jungkook, and all of his charm, pitching for them, using your content to tip negotiations in his favour. It's a partnership that works. Is a practice now adopted by the company across the board, thanks to the pair of you. It's why you work together so often, even if you're on completely different floors and dealing with such vastly different tasks.

"I've been asked to go along," he says, nodding towards the screen. "Little old me is our brand ambassador for the week."

"Congrats," you beam, knowing that Jungkook is the best man for the job. He loves the company. Really believes in the restaurant. Clicking into the email, you scan the details. "A week of schmoozing, huh? However will you cope?"

He's about to joke about how tiresome it'll be, but then you hum in confusion.

"Jeju?" You question, looking at the location. You scroll, just to check you aren't imagining things—but there it is, clear as day. Location: International Conference Center, Jeju. "All the way in bloody Jeju?!"

"It's for international markets," he says, putting his best guess out there. "Seoul's been done a hundred times over for different Expos. Busan, too. I think they're trying to attract more foreign companies—and would the CEO's rather send themselves on city breaks or island getaways? Anyway, that's actually the favour I wanted to ask you..."

It all sort of clicks into place, now. "Bam?"

With a sweet nod, Jungkook offers a gentle smile. "You know there's no one I'd rather look after him. The trip is four days, Tuesday to Friday. If it's too much, I can book him into a kennel, but—"

"No," you shake your head. "Don't do that. You know I'm happy to look after him."

"Sure?"

Jungkook would rather die than leave Bam at a Kennel for the week. He doesn't trust anyone with his baby unless they've proved themselves, but the way you happily cuddle up with Bam on the floor of Jungkook's apartment on any given day of the week is proof enough to him that you love him, too.

If he's gonna trust anyone with his most prized possession, it'd be you.

"One condition," you bargain, 'cause you know that you can. Jungkook'll do anything to have you agree.

"Go on..."

"Have you replaced all the cheese I ate last time I looked after him?"

He narrows his eyes. "Yes."

"Good," you beam. "And could you be a babe and make me some of your pad kee mao? The sauce at least? I can do the rest."

If there's one thing Jungkook will never fail to impress you with, it's his cooking—but your favourite of all of his dishes is his Thai drunken chicken noodles. He imports the special basil needed for it. Goes an extra mile to make sure it's just right. You haven't been to your favourite Thai place since you learned just how well he makes the dish. Will just send him a text when you fancy it, and end up at his place an hour or so later with beers from the convenience store and ice cream sandwiches to chuck in his freezer for dessert.

"That it?" He laughs. "Cheese and noodles? God, you are easily pleased."

"I'm a woman of refined tastes," you say, pompously poised.

Jungkook knows you well enough to know you're no such thing, but he needs this favour, so he doesn't bite. Just says, "And you're sure?"

"I'm sure," you promise. "Now leave me alone. I've got work to do—and thanks for the coffee."

He nods, that little smile of his affecting you far more than it really should. You can't help it. The lighting in your office is far nicer than the rest of the establishment. Makes him look... well, makes him look like himself. Like 'home' Jungkook. The same one who hangs out with you in sweats and messy hair on Sunday mornings, not the suited and clean-shaven Jungkook who swaggers through the corridors of your workplace.

Three of you work in your specific office, and you're all interior designers. Changing the bulbs was one of the first things you did. Lea, your manager, is the most senior in your team. Below you is Jiwon. A fresh graduate, she's still learning the ropes, and as much as you like her, you really wish she wouldn't go all heart-eyed over Jungkook every time he enters the room.

It's not her fault. The warm bulbs just bring out all of those terrible, intrusive little stars in his chocolatey brown eyes. They're terrible, 'cause they're stolen from other people; intrusive, 'cause as he walks away and your gaze follows him, it seems like they've landed in your eyes, too. A secret shared that neither of you even realises exists.

"How do you do it?" Jiwon sighs once Jungkook is out of earshot. "I'd melt if he looked at me like that."

"He looks at everyone like that," you deflect. "And trust me, he's just as disgusting as he is charming. Don't let the tailored suits fool you."

It's been a little while since Jungkook last used the copier room for indecent affairs that would have gotten anyone else into a meeting with HR. Workplace violations are far easier to get away with when you're doing them with someone from the HR department, after all.

Jiwon joined the team just as Jungkook was curbing his bad behaviour. Granted, you know about more of it than most, but everyone who was lucky enough to grab his attention for more than five seconds used it as bragging rights for months.

One thing that you did enjoy about Jungkook's slut era was the lack of women he ever took home. Didn't want to introduce new people to Bam, if they were only going to be fleeting endeavours.

But you're his friend, not a casual fuck. He knew that bringing you into the fold wouldn't be fast nor fleeting. It'd be a lifetime kinda thing.

Which is what makes you feel so guilty as you stand by the water cooler a little later that morning, daydreaming about being back in his space again. Silly little thoughts about facetime calls when you were wrapped up in his sheets, and he was back at his parents' place in Busan. Memories of lazing the days away with Bam, and the look on Jungkook's face as he finally arrived home after a few days away.

You've seen him at home a million times over, but there was something different about him then. Serene. At peace. You know that he was probably just happy to be back with his baby, and tired from driving, but the lazy smile that had hung off his lips, round glasses framing his equally round eyes, just seemed... new.

Your thoughts are cut off by your boss—not Lea, but your actual boss, Mr Seo—calling you into his office. A little flustered, you realise that you've been running the water for too long. Your bottle has overfilled, and the excess tray is almost full, too.

"Hi," you greet him all rather pleasantly, waiting to be told to sit before you actually do so. "What can I help you with?"

A burly man in his late 50s, he built the brand from the ground up. It's been his life's work, and so he's selective with his staff. If you aren't pulling your weight to make the company a success, then he doesn't want you tying your name to it.

When you and Jungkook started going rogue in the early days, he hadn't been happy—but Jungkook had blagged a probation extension for the pair of you. Had told Mr Seo he'd work for free, if he could just prove his strategy would work.

In the version of events Jungkook tells you, he pretends that Mr Seo agreed without docking his pay. Filed away in the back of his cabinet which houses his contracts, past and present, Jungkook has a written agreement with Mr Seo, and a month's worth of missing wages in his salary from that year.

Your pay was never docked, though. Jungkook's a damn good negotiator, and was just as competent back then, too. He was the one that got you into that damn mess in the first place, so it was only fair that he keep you as clean as he could.

What you do know is that you both cut it incredibly fine to losing your jobs before they ever really began. While Mr Seo respects you both for what you've done for the company since then, it still scares you a little bit.

"I trust you've seen the email regarding the Expo, yes?" He says, nodding towards the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

You take it in a hurried fashion, quickly sitting down because, quite frankly, it feels like your legs are jelly. "Yes, yes. Very exciting! I'm sure Jungkook will bring the company great results."

He nods. Agrees. "And I also trust you've been making plans for our stand?"

You learned of the expo approximately fifty minutes prior. Like fuck have you made any plans.

"Oh, of course!" You bullshit. "As long as we can work out the logistics with shipping our materials to the island in time, it should be brilliant."

How the fuck you're supposed to plan a stand at an Expo for a week's time on a different bloody island is beyond you.

You'll get it done. You always do. You'll just be incredibly stressed about it until the event begins.

"Naturally," he nods. I know the turnaround is tight, so we'd like you to go with Jungkook to oversee the preparations. He arrives on Tuesday, but the event doesn't start until Wednesday evening, so you'll have a day to finalise things."

"Oh," you say, unable to hide your surprise.

"Flight and accommodation will be covered by us, and Jungkook's getting a healthy bonus for any deals signed at the Expo—I'm sure we can make a cut for you, too. After all, you two are our very own dream team."

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. You want to go. Of course you want to. A trip to Jeju with one of your closest friends? Under the guise of work? All expenses paid? Who wouldn't want to go?!

But without you in the city, there's no one to look after Bam. Sure, Jungkook could take him to a kennel, but you know what he's like. He'll spend the entire time stressed. Won't be able to relax and engage with people in such a way that deals will be cut. Punters usually like him for his carefree nature. Without it? Well, you're sure they'd like him all the same, but you don't want to tempt fate.

"Mr Seo," you awkwardly begin, uncertain which answer will slip out of your mouth. "I'm afraid I already have commitments in the city that I can't cancel. I'm not available."

Silence lingers for a moment. Just a second. It feels like an eternity.

"Very well," he accepts.

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologise, knowing that you probably look like an ungrateful employee. If there's one thing you are, it's a fixer, and so before you can even comprehend what you're saying, you're throwing solutions into the void. "But I know Jiwon is just itching to get more involved with different sides of the business. I can get her on board with my planning this week and coach her on Jungkook's strategies. I'm sure she'd be eager to work hard, if she were given the opportunity."

Mr Seo mulls over your proposition—one of you which you already regret—then nods. "Alright. I'll trust your judgement. Can you send her down to my office?"

"Sure!" You say with a little too much glee, before you retreat back to your office with your tail between your legs. Lea is at a meeting, so once Jiwon has been sent on her way, it's just you, your water bottle, and a whole lot of regret.

Laying your head on your desk, you let out a little whimper.

It's for the best. For the company, for Jungkook, for you. For the sanctity of your friendship. For your sanity.

A message dinging through on your work chat interrupts your self-pity party. Glancing up, head still on the desk, you see Jungkook's name in the corner of your screen.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: oi you little gremlin

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: i could have booked him into a kennel

"Shut up," you groan at your screen.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: it would have been fun :(

Sitting up with a sigh, you poise yourself to send a message back. Find that nothing wants to come out. Your fingers hover above your keyboard with uncertainty. Takes a full minute before you can muster anything up.

Two floors above you, Jungkook is slumped in his desk chair. Has an office of his own, 'cause it's easier for the amount of meetings he has.

In the background of his screen, an email thread with Mr Seo details how Jungkook was the one to ask Mr Seo if you could join him. Explained how it just made sense. Offered part of his bonus package up with it. Said he'd cover the extra expenses if necessary, but that he thought it would be beneficial to the company to have you there, too.

While you're the person Jungkook trusts the most with Bam, you're not the only one. He could always ask Jimin or Taehyung before resorting to a kennel.

As your reply comes through, another email from Mr Seo is delivered, too.

RE: IFE JEJU, Interior Des. Department

Jungkook—

Have spoken with Jiwon. She will accompany you.

Any problems, let me know.

Mr Seo

With a sigh, Jungkook shakes his head. This isn't what he wanted at all.

And when he checks your message, he only frowns even deeper. Unlike you, he's renamed your contact details on his list. Everyone else still has their work-focused username.

Gremlin: It's your lucky day

Gremlin: You get a hot young thing to keep you company instead, wooo

Gremlin: HR if you're reading this, ignore it

Gremlin: Try not to be too miserable without me

He sinks down a little further into his chair. Purses his lips. Would far rather be alone than with anyone that isn't you.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he decides that maybe this is for the best. While he does think it would be good for the company, he knows that isn't why he suggested it. He just remembers what happened last time he spent more than a weekend away from you. Is scared it'll happen again.

Or maybe it's the opposite. Maybe he wants it to happen again. Just you and him, away from the confines of life as you know it.

Thing is, you'd have to return home at some point. If anything ever happened between you both, it'd change the very fabric of your friendship. He doesn't want that.

So instead, he decides to reply in the same way he would have done maybe a year or so prior.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: She'll fall in love with me

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: They always do

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: Don't say I didn't warn you.

In the warm lighting of Jungkook's living room, the main light is off, lamps providing you with just enough clarity to go over the files on his coffee table.

Over by the sink, Jungkook is washing up your plates from dinner, while Bam leans against his legs. Your overnight bag is still by the door, and Jungkook's glasses are in your hair, keeping it out of your eyes. Highlighter in hand, you're picking out key markets for Jungkook to make contact with over in Jeju.

"Avoid Babiyeo," you tell him, switching over to a thin red pen, putting a star next to their name.

"As in the leisure centres?" Jungkook hums, familiar with the company but not well-versed. The soft melody of his playlist carries a tune around you both, keeping your thoughts connected and in sync.

"Mhmm," you say, flicking over to the next paper. "The CEO's son is in legal trouble at the moment. They're keeping it fairly well covered up, but to do that they're making huge expansions they can't afford. Keeping the news positive, things like that. I reckon they'll go bust before the end of the year."

"Shit," Jungkook lets a breathy laugh escape his lips. Had no idea—but you've both got friends working in various industries. Have your arms dipped into numerous grapevines. Drying up the last of his bowls, he turns to face you and is unable to continue on with his words.

He gets it. Understands why domestication is your biggest vice when it comes to feeling things you shouldn't.

"Acorn Limited are also bad news," you add, putting a little star next to their name.

"Yeah?"

Jungkook puts the now-dry bowl on the counter and walks towards where you're sitting on his living room floor. He joins. Sits on the opposite side of the table. Lets Bam clamber over his legs, and encourages him to sit, too.

"Yeah," you nod, then look across at Jungkook. "They're a hot-shot protein company. Are trying to get themselves partnerships with different restaurants. The guy running it is some twat from Singles Inferno. Company'll be done by the next quarter."

"Some of them do alright, y'know. Reality stars are raking it in—"

"He's besties with the Babiyeo CEO's son," you tell him with a knowing smile. "Kept getting pictured together outside clubs. Whatever baby Babiyeo has been up to, I'm willing to bet the acorn guy has been, too."

Jungkook presses his lips together. Accepts your expertise. Nods, then sighs, "You should be coming on the trip. I can't do this without you."

Yes, he can. He's more than capable. Has closed more deals than most people have had hot dinners.

What he means is that he doesn't want to do it without you, but admitting such a thing verges on territory that Jungkook doesn't feel comfortable entering.

In the house he likes to call his mind, he's bolted the door of the annexe. Occasionally, he will sit and stare at the locks. Wonder if maybe he made a mistake locking you—or more specifically, the idea of you—away in there.

But then he watches Bam choose to shuffle around to your side of the coffee table, and watches as he rests his head on your leg. His snout is by your knee, sniffing at your bare skin with his wet nose. There's something familiar about you. Safe. You don't smell like Jungkook, but you still manage to smell like home, in a way.

"Bam would be even more lost without me," you softly say, scratching behind his ear, and it does admittedly give Jungkook a little solace.

"True," Jungkook accepts, then sighs.

It's getting late and he's got to be up early for his flight. Is leaving for his flight at just gone 3AM, so you're staying over. Crashing on the couch, 'cause having a home gym was more important than setting up a spare room. Thankfully you've never known a couch to be so cosy. Have fallen asleep on it a dozen times over, and it's yet to make you ache in the mornings.

It's all very normal, how you set into a routine. He lets you wash up first. Sorts out Bam while you sort out yourself. Doesn't need to, but writes you out a list of feeding times and emergency numbers. Grabs a spare blanket—one Bam hasn't slept on, but by the morning definitely will have—and turns the sofa into something that really does resemble a bed.

"Sure you're gonna be alright out here?" He asks when you come back through.

He ignores the teeny tiny shirt and even tinier shorts you like to call pyjamas. Or at least he does as much as he can. Doesn't mean to look at your ass. Does it regardless. Four times.

"Yeah," you promise, grabbing a bottle of water from his fridge. There are containers full of his speciality noodle sauce and enough cheese to keep you very happy for the next few days. He got an extra block of the one he knows you like the most as a thank you. "Go to bed. Get your beauty sleep, uggers."

"Hey, you need it just as much as I do," he assures you, then tips his head and makes a small click with his tongue. "C'mon, Bammie, bedtime."

The sound of his paws tapping across Jungkook's hardwood floors is ever-so-soothing. It's hard to be in a house with a pet and not inherently feel like home, you think.

"Night night, Bammie," you coo after him. He turns back. Tilts his head, just like his daddy. Trots on over to you for a few more scratches behind his ears. Doesn't leave until you tell him, "Go find your daddy."

Glancing up to Jungkook with a sweet little scrunch of your nose, you hadn't called him that name to take the piss for a change. The scrunch of your nose is actually an outward display of your inward cringe. Jungkook just scrunches his up right back.

"Gross," he whispers, then holds his hand out for Bam to sniff. "Night, Gremlin."

"Night, Kook."

The sharp sound of Bam's bark snaps you awake. The room is dark, but enough light bleeds in through the blinds for you to see Jungkook awkwardly trying to shush him. Rucksack slung over one shoulder, he's holding a bag with his other hand.

"Leaving without saying bye?" You sleepily mumble, rubbing at your eyes with a yawn.

"Didn't wanna wake you," he whispers. Bam, apparently, had different ideas. "He knows I'm leaving."

"What time is it?" you ask, still totally out of it.

"Just gone three," Jungkook says. It'll take him an hour to get across to Incheon, and even though he knows it won't take him much time to get through security, he still likes to be on time. Would have been easier if he was flying from Gimpo, but he's guessing Incheon must have been cheaper.

Nodding, you adjust your body to sit up, and reach out for one of the files on the coffee table. Hold it across for him.

Popping down his bags, Jungkook takes it with great interest.

"Here. I was having a think before bed. Did a little research on an American company that's gonna be at the Expo. Their head marketer has shares in a bunch of baseball-related companies. Get pally with him," you mumble, thoughts not really cognitive, but you've written it all down for him regardless. "Talk to him about the K-league, or something, I dunno. I reckon Mr Seo would shit his pants if we expanded into stadiums and sports venues."

Jungkook flicks over the notes. Nods. Doesn't know how the fuck you manage to find out half the shit you do, but knows you're wasted on the interior design department.

"See," he softly whines. "This is why you should be coming with me."

"You'll be fine," you promise him, then yawn a little bit all over again. You woke up at the worst possible time.

"You can take my bed, y'know," Jungkook offers. "I'll be gone in a minute or so. It's all yours."

Would be weird getting into his bed while it's still warm, you think.

Shaking your head, terribly covering a yawn, you insist it's fine. He begs to differ, so you double down—until all very suddenly, your notes are tossed onto the sofa beside you, and Jungkook is pulling you over his shoulder. Yelping from the surprise, you don't have time to cognitively respond, let alone demand to be put down.

He wouldn't listen anyways. Instead, he walks you across to his room, and tosses you down on his half-made bed. It's a little haphazard, he finds himself leaning a little too far forward. Almost ends up on there with you. Finds that his blood pumps just a little faster through his veins for a nanosecond.

God, he wishes he wasn't leaving.

Or that you were coming with him, at least.

Can't bear to tear himself away from you when you're all sleepy and sweet and—Oh get a grip, man.

"There," he says triumphantly, pushing his thoughts well out of reach. "Now, go back to sleep, alright? I'll let you know when I fly."

Sitting up on your heels, you find yourself unsure of how to say goodbye—and so you don't really say much at all. Just mumble, "Fly safe."

"Will do," he nods, then exits his room to give Bam a farewell that is just as rough and tumble as yours had been. "Be good for the gremlin, Bammie."

"Fuck off!" You call through, knowing that you'll forever be known as a gremlin, even on your deathbed, you're sure. Tucking yourself under his duvet, you're secretly comforted by how warm his bed still is. Smells just like him, too. "Bye Kook."

"Sleep tight!"

With that, the door slams shut, and everything feels a little colder. Bam whines by the door. Scratches at it a little. Begs for Jungkook to come home.

"Bammie," you call through. "C'mere!"

The way he excitedly bounds through Jungkook's apartment and jumps up onto the bed is borderline comical. He's not used to people being in the house after Jungkook goes out. Thought he was alone—but now he knows he's not, he's quite content. Nuzzles his snout into the duvet and flops his body down on yours. Doesn't realise he's not still a puppy, but you don't mind.

Moments like these make you realise that you definitely did make the right decision.

But moments that come a little later fill you with regret—like the picture that is sent to the office by Jungkook on the work messenger. Working hard or hardly working? He captions it.

The photo is of the booth that's been set up to look like a beach house version of the restaurant. The intention was for it to look like a 'Jeju' branch, of which you're yet to open— but it looks bloody fantastic. How you were able to wrangle contractors and suppliers in such a last-minute rush was nothing short of a miracle.

And yet—

Good work guys!

Wow, looks great!

Jungkook and Jiwon, doing us proud!

Dream team! Good luck!

It's that last one that really bothers you. Dream team. Exactly what you and Jungkook have always been called in the office—but you're easily replaced, apparently. It's your own fault. You're the one who said she should go instead.

It doesn't stop you from walking around with a face of thunder for the whole day. Not a scrap of work gets done. All you can do is lament your choices.

Still, you get to go home to Bam, and that does admittedly soften the blow.

"Show me him," Jungkook immediately whines when he calls later that evening.

You shake your head. "Tell me about the day first."

"That's so not fair."

"Quicker you tell me, quicker I show–"

"Fine," he scowls at you, but softens his expression almost immediately. Yawns. His shoulders press up to his ears as the rest of his face scrunches up. He's lying down on his hotel bed, the crisp white sheets not too dissimilar from his ones back home that you'll be curled up in later that night. "The set up was fine. Most of the vendors are here already. I'm so mad we didn't manage to snag a slot in the catering tent, yanno? Give people a chance to try our menu, but whatever. There's always next year, right?"

"Right," you nod. Yawn, too—and then adorably so does Bam. "It's our first year there. We're just making our presence known. Bigger and better things next year."

"Exactly. Now show me Bam."

His impatience makes you smile. You're just about to tap the switch camera icon, when a sweet, feminine voice echoes through your speaker.

"Did you say something, Jungkook?"

He glances over the sound of the voice, and then flicks his eyes back to you. Gets a read on your face as quickly as he can before you flip the camera, 'cause you're not really sure how much your face is giving away, but you know your surprise wasn't hidden.

"Er, no," he says to the girl. "Just checking in back home—"

"Oh, is that your puppy?" the voice, of which you know all too well, squeals. There's a slight ruffle of sheets as Jiwon tucks herself beside Jungkook. Hair a little damp, the straps of her top are loose against her skin. "Oh my gosh, isn't he the sweetest."

"Isn't he just?" you reply with a smile so fucking fake that it's a good job the camera isn't on you. There's a look on Jungkook's face that you don't really understand. He almost looks guilty—but there's nothing to feel guilty about. He can do what he likes. "Gonna take him for a walk in a bit, then I'm just gonna pop out for half an hour to see Mingyu."

"Are you taking Bam with you?" Jungkook asks, brows a little hard, the ridge between them nicely defined.

"Hadn't planned on it," you chirp, your face just as hard as his. "But I can take him to meet Mingyu, if you like?"

Jungkook swallows. Tries to pretend as if his jaw isn't tense. Is incredibly stern when he says, "Rather him not meet new people when I'm not around."

"Sure," you say, then flick the camera back to you. Are pleased to see nonchalance sitting prettily on your features, no matter how perplexed you might feel."I should be off, though! Call me if you need anything."

"Wait!" Jiwon says quickly, clearly unaware of the weirdness between you and Jungkook. She sees you bickering all the time, so must just figure this is what you're like when you're not ripping each other's heads off. "Just wanted to say thank you—I'm so glad I'm here."

Jungkook's eyes focus on your face as Jiwon gives even more thanks. He doesn't understand the sudden attitude you've developed. All he wanted was to see Bam, but you've a face like a slapped arsed and are trying to hang up. It's fuckin' rude, and if Jiwon wasn't there, he'd tell you so.

He lets you hang up. Doesn't ask you to stay.

"She alright?" Jiwon innocent chirps after you go. "She seems a little..."

"Just tired," Jungkook dismisses. "I woke her up at like, three this morning when I was leaving."

"Oh? She was at your place?"

It's really none of Jiwon's business, but Jungkook chalks it up to her being young, and unaware of when to keep her mouth shut.

"Yeah," he states definitively and plainly, ending the conversation. Heads to the bathroom to clear his head. Turns the shower up to just as hot as the one at his house has been ever since you left his apartment the last time.

'Cause Jungkook's been lying to himself.

There's no lock on the damn annexe. Or at least not from the outside.

The annexe has everything he needs. He's been sitting there, inside, quite comfortably with you for a little while now.

He really did think you were gonna call things off with Mingyu.

Is unaware that Mingyu got left on read four days ago after another dull, fruitless 'how was your day', 'fine thanks, and you?' conversation. As hot as he may be, he doesn't challenge you. Excite you. Anger you. Make you feel any kind of passion.

Which is funny, 'cause you find yourself reaching for a bottle of wine that you know is far too expensive for a Tuesday night glass, just to piss Jungkook off from afar and well in advance of him ever realising what you've done.

Just like you mentioned going to see Mingyu just to get a reaction out of Jungkook.

Childish as it may be, you feel threatened. People praising Jiwon in your place already made you feel insecure at work, and now she's in his hotel room in a state of near undress? Something about it just irks you.

It shouldn't.

It shouldn't, it shouldn't, it shouldn't.

But it does.

And so you spend your evening on Jungkook's couch with cheese, wine and Bam. Put Love, Rosie on, 'cause it's your favourite guilty pleasure film and you think it'll cheer you up.

Instead, you end up silently sobbing by the halfway point, Bam only snuggling into you even further. Can understand that you're upset. Comforts in the only way he knows how.

Sleep is hard to come by that evening. You're full of wine and cheese, so it should be easy. Lights out as soon as you close your eyes—but you toss and turn, and with every move, the scent of him wafts even deeper into your senses. Any further and it might just enter your bloodstream. Seep down into your heart.

By the time morning comes, you feel even more rotten than you did the night before. Have slept on it all. Know that he hasn't done anything wrong, which only makes you feel even more stupid for being so annoyed.

You've also slept on the idea he might have slept with Jiwon. It wouldn't be out of character, but it would be the first person in your department he's shagged. It's always been out of bounds. He knows this. For the same reason you wouldn't shag anyone he works closely with. It'd just be weird. Make meetings uncomfortable.

When you call on your walk that morning, you half hope he won't pick up.

But he does. He always will.

"Hey," he says a little breathlessly. A towel is whipped over his shoulder, sweat dappling his skin. There's something so devastatingly beautiful about mid-workout Jungkook. "Sorry, didn't think you'd call."

Almost as if you're looking for reasons to be annoyed, you take offence to this.

"I always call?"

"Well, yeah, but you were so fuckin' weird last night," he laughs, heading out of the gym and into an empty corridor of the hotel.

"I wasn't anything," you reply back with a scowl—and realise how terribly you're hiding your annoyance. Flick the camera over so it focuses on Bam as he trots along the path. "Just tired."

It's the same excuse he bullshitted to Jiwon. Knows you're talking bollocks.

"Even Jiwon asked what was wrong with you—"

"Oh, well I'm terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you, Jungkook," you snap, completely unjustified. It's too late, though. You've started. Have to see it through. "But if you don't mind, I'm responsible for your pet right now and I'd rather not be having this conversation when I need to be focusing on a million other things at once."

"Fine," Jungkook snaps right back. All he wants is to see Bam, but he doesn't want to be having this conversation either. "But you know what? Don't bother calling back until you've taken that stick out from up your arse."

You shouldn't be surprised when Jungkook hangs up.

But you are.

For the second time in as many days, you find yourself crying.

Oh, it's all so pathetic! And stupid! There's no need for it, you think.

Thankfully you're not too far from home—Jungkook's home, that is—so you can cut the walk a little short as long as you come home at lunch to check on Bam, too.

You don't even really understand why you're fighting with him. Wish you weren't.

When Jungkook zips open his suit bag as he's getting ready for the Expo opening ceremony, he finds himself wishing just the same.

Tucked on top of his blazer is a brand new tie; one of which he most definitely did not put there.

An incredibly muted bronze and black paisley pattern swirls over the material, and on top rests a note.

Jungkook rubs his face with a flat palm. Rakes it through his hair. Swallows back the awkward heat prickling at his eyes and the tickle in his throat. Doesn't wanna bawl.

But then he reads the note, and he just can't stop himself.

Dad!!!

You're gonna do great!!!!

Come home soon tho :(((((

Woof woof!!!!!!!

Your Bammie <333

P.S. I'm colour blind but the gremlin said this one is the same colour as me!!! Do you miss me??? I miss you!!!!!

The first time you had ever learned of Jungkook's tattoos was in a dive bar a few blocks over from work. It was just after you'd pulled off your first deal together—the one that set your working relationship in stone—and you'd both been blowing off steam.

The walls were red, and so were your cheeks, blushed from the heat of what it felt like to sit beside him in a tatty booth.

So used to sitting across from him at meeting tables, something about it changed your dynamic. Any threats of being on opposing teams were whittled down to nothing more than a life that could have been.

He had your back. You had his.

Blazer off, his sleeves were rolled up. You didn't ask him about a single one of the tattoos, like he half thought you might.

Instead, you just accepted him as he was. Didn't stroke your index finger up his arm, tracing the lines, like most girls do as an excuse to get better acquainted with him.

That night he made a promise to himself to never ruin the working relationship you have together.

You work too well to jeopardise it. He has goals. Knew, even back then, that you'd help him achieve his aspirations, like some sort of twin flame type of shit he didn't believe in.

Didn't. Past tense.

These days, when you think of Jungkook and his tattoos, you always think of the snake. It's the one you see most frequently for it's so close to his wrist. Have always understood snakes to represent change.

Jungkook is yet to shed his skin. He's still just the same as he always was, you think, as you get in the lift and head up towards your office floor.

Just 'cause he hadn't hooked up with anyone from the office in a while didn't mean that he'd changed his ways. More fool you for thinking that he might've.

And it's not like it even matters at all. Who he lays down with is none of your concern. You've never cared before. Not really.

It's just that you've been going to sleep in his sheets. Eating dinner he prepared in advance for you. Waking up to his pup excitedly doing zoomies around the room, 'cause he's ready for his walk.

When you get home, you put Bam's leash up next to your coat, which is hung on top of Jungkook's. Kick your shoes off by a pair of his. Use his shower gel when you get washed, and wistfully tuck yourself up into the armchair you helped him pick out for his bedroom. It's tucked in the corner. Is perfect for watching the world roll by.

You know you should have just called him this morning. Spent the entire walk stubbornly hoping that he would instead, but he's just as childish as you are.

You've bickered with him a hundred times over since you first met him, but never like this.

The elevator dings to a stop, pulling you from your tiresome thoughts of Jungkook. Pulling your body from its slumped leaning stature against the mirrored walls, you trudge into a place that endlessly reminds you of him.

Impossible to escape, is Jungkook. Perhaps that's it. Maybe you've just had enough of each other. Need a little time to breathe.

Everyone else who started at the company around the same time as you has already left. It's just you and Jungkook still here from the small pool of fresh graduates that had been taken under Mr Seo's wing.

But you like it here. Like your job. The salary you earn is great—far more than you would get anywhere else.

Again, you don't know this, but Jungkook's always negotiated on your behalf behind closed doors. He makes the company far more money, and does admittedly get a pretty huge bonus every year according to the amount of deals closed.

That being said, he also stomps down to Mr Seo's office in the fourth quarter when news of the next fiscal year's raises are shared. Will demand that your base salary is matched to his. Has threatened, on numerous occasions, to call for a pay disparity audit from external forces if your wage isn't boosted up, even if it means his is cut down to make up for it.

You went out on a limb trusting him in the early days. This is how he repays you.

That's just friendship, though, he thinks. You help him, he helps you.

He also knows you'd probably be annoyed if you ever found out he meddled with things like that.

The girls in the accounting office always think it's so lovely whenever they see the pay increases. Yours and Jungkook's are never quite what they should be, and they know exactly why. It's why they always ask you how he is whenever you go to drop off inventory reports and materials lists with the lead accountant.

You think they just fancy the pants off him.

Which is also true.

And it's also why a couple of them are curiously standing outside your office space, giggling like school girls as you approach it.

"Morning," you smile, then laugh a little too at their giddy excitement—but when you turn the corner and realise what they're so smitten over, you're a little lost for words.

Sitting on your desk is quite possibly the largest bouquet of flowers you've ever seen. Peonies, you think from afar. Pretty and pale pink, they're in a glass vase. Two dozen easily, if not more, blooming just for you.

"Oh," you hum, because it's hardly what you expect to walk into on a Thursday morning.

Mingyu flashes through your head, but you haven't heard a peep from him since you last let your conversation dissolve over the weekend. He has no reason to send you flowers.

But nor does anyone else.

"We tried working out the message," one of them admits. "But whoever your secret admirer is, they're hell-bent on keeping it secret!"

Shameless, you think, suppressing a well-natured laugh. They've got balls to admit that they've read the note.

Walking to your desk, you see it sitting atop of the flowers, and read it for yourself.

Anyone reading the note who knows a single non-superficial thing about the mystery sender would know who it is in a heartbeat. All it takes for you to know is to see the name of who it's addressed to.

Bammie—

She's right. It does match you. When I get home we can dress you up in my new tie.

Tell the gremlin that you deserve head scratches.

And extra treats.

And that I miss her.

Glancing over to the girls, who desperately want gossip, you simply shrug. If they've never heard Jungkook talk about Bam before, then they clearly don't know him at all. If he wanted his name on the note, he'd have put it there.

He could have gotten them sent to his apartment. He chose here. But he also chose anonymity.

And so you give him a little grace.

"Your guess is as good as mine," you bullshit with an apologetic smile that no one believes.

Lea just looks at you from across the room with a raised brow. Waits until the girls leave, then says, "That's not the kind of bouquet you send a colleague."

She already knows you're looking after Bam. That being said, she hasn't read the card. Has no idea what it says. Just knows that there's only one man you ever talk about with such warmth to be deserving of those flowers from.

"Apparently it is," you shrug, all but confirming who sent them with a coy smile.

"I hope he lets Jiwon down gently," Lea sighs, knowing just as well as you do that she's got a bit of a thing for Jungkook.

What she doesn't know is that it's the exact reason you're fighting with him.

Hell, even he doesn't know that!

So deep in your denial, neither do you.

"Why would he need to?" You downplay it all. Lea doesn't know about the awkward call Jiwon inserted herself into, or the fact you've already decided that he must have fucked her. "Like I said, apparently these are the kind of flowers sent by just a colleague."

Lea shakes her head. Has been observing you and Jungkook for years. Was waiting for a Christmas party, or one of those nightmarish summer tennis tournaments for the pair of you to finally figure it out. You're just as thick as two wooden planks when it comes to all of this, or so it would seem. A little push might be needed.

"Colleagues don't send flowers just because," she tells you with an air of authority. "And if I know anything about the stories you've told me, Jungkook doesn't send flowers full stop."

Just like that, you're thinking of those damn tattoos again. The snake, specifically.

Maybe, just maybe, he is changing.

And if you weren't confused before, then you sure as hell are now.

During the summer months, Jungkook often goes home to see Bam at lunchtime. It's not uncommon for you to go with him. In the winter, when the temperature of his apartment is less of a worry, Jungkook probably only goes home for lunch once a week or so.

Walking up to Jungkook's apartment in the middle of the day without him feels a little bit wrong. In one hand, you're holding a peony by its stem. In the other, you're clutching your phone just in case he calls.

In all honesty, you had planned on taking the entire vase back, but it was bloody heavy. You'll wait until he's back in the office.

It might just be paranoia, or the misplaced assumption that everyone is obsessed with what Jungkook does, but you swear there have been far more people passing your office today than usual. People you've seen maybe once or twice in your entire lifetime.

Lea was right. Jungkook doesn't send flowers.

Has a repeat order going monthly for his mother, but that's it. And even then, he's kind of forgotten about it.

You've debated it with him before; flowers and their presence in relationships.

He thinks a potted plant would be far more practical, but if he was really going to get someone something, it'd be herbs. Maybe a potted mint bush. Something useful that they could enjoy together.

A few weeks ago, you had told him he'd make an awful sugar daddy.

"Well, yeah!" He'd just laughed. "I save my money for myself. Me alone. If someone wants nice shit, they can get their own job."

"Oh, so you'd never treat a girlfriend?" You'd scoffed, forgetting the fact he never really has girlfriends. Just flings. "Never get her nice shit?"

"Well, that's different," he'd said. "It's not transactional."

"Everything in life is transactional, whether people like to kid themselves it is or not."

Jungkook looked affronted when you said this. You'd had differing perceptions of life for as long as he'd known you, but you'd always been a romantic. Always believed in the prevailing nature of love.

Bam had adjusted in his sleepy position. Curled up a little tighter, then stretched right out. Rested his hind paws on your thighs and tucked his nose into his chest.

"Bam disagrees," Jungkook assured you.

"You trained him using transactions," you reminded him regardless. "Rewarded him with a treat every time he did as you asked. Transactional."

"Okay, but this?" He gestured to where Bam was curled between the pair of you on his sofa. That's always been a rule of his. No sofa for Bam—he's got all the beds he could ever want! But when Jungkook is on the sofa, it's the only place he wants to be, too. "He knows he's not supposed to be on here. He knows he won't get a reward, so why is he up here? It isn't transactional. He just—"

"Is playing you for a fool," you had laughed. "He wants to be on the sofa, so he lets us pet him in return for us not shooing him off. He's the one setting the transaction up. You're the one getting the reward. He's playing you at your own game. Aren't you, baby?"

You'd cooed a little, scratching at Bam's thigh. He shook it ever so gently and readjusted, but didn't stop resting against you.

It was a curious thought; the way that nothing in life ever comes for free. Even the favours you do for Jungkook by dog-sitting are transactional. You get just as much out of those days as he does.

The conversation had mellowed into something else, 'cause Jungkook didn't want to get into a debate. Knows that you can defend your point until the cows come home—has been in enough meetings with you to know as such. Likes being on your side 'cause you always win—and with a negotiator like him to seal the deal, it's always so much sweeter.

As the calling screen of Jungkook's contact details takes over your screen, phone resting against a wine bottle on the coffee table, you wonder how transactional this is.

He gave you flowers, and now you're giving him a call.

Anyone with a rational mind would surely ask: is this not how romance works?

But when he accepts your call, and you're met with a stern face that's desperately trying not to smile, you're reminded of what he really is: your best friend.

Neither of you wants to be the first one who cracks and gives in first, even if you both know this is all so stupid.

You reach over to pick up the peony. Hold it in front of your face. The petals have bloomed so spectacularly that it almost eclipses you.

Jungkook's face scrunches up a little, his terribly hidden smile slightly distorted but ever so hard to hide.

"Will you stop hating me now?" Is all he says.

"Never hated you," you grumble, bringing the flower a little lower, but still in frame. Sitting on the floor, your back is to the sofa and Bam is behind you, right where he's not supposed to be.

If Jungkook is bothered by it, he doesn't mention it. "I missed him this morning."

The guilt that crawls into your stomach and makes itself at home is rancid. Anguish is her name, and she loves nothing more than ruining a good thing.

The frown that steals the pretty smile from your face isn't one that Jungkook enjoys seeing on you, no matter how cute it is when your eyebrows pinch together.

"I should have called," you acknowledge, knowing that it was cruel of you not to, even if you were fighting. "I'm sorry."

Jungkook just smiles. "I assumed the stick was still up your arse."

Narrowing your eyes, you're pleased that he's joking with you; that things feel normal.

"It's fine," he dismisses regardless. "Last night was the opening event so I was a little worse for wear this morning, and then Jiwon was rummaging about at fuckin' six in the morning. Took her fuckin' hours to get ready."

And there it is; confirmation that she's been sharing his bed.

Though you don't frown, there's a stupor to the muscles in your face. The brightness you were looking at him with fades—and very quickly, Jungkook becomes the one who looks unhappy, now.

"What?" He says, genuinely a little confused.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

You just shake your head. Dismiss it. Flick the camera around and lift your phone to focus it on Bam as you give him a little scratch behind the ear.

"He's been good as gold," you begin to waffle on. The ridge between Jungkook's brows deepens. "Best boy in the doggie park, aren't you? There's a new couple who have just started walking a Yorkie. Yappy little bugger. I don't think Bam's a fan."

"No," Jungkook supposes. "He doesn't like yappy dogs—and I don't like it when you deflect. Show me your face, gremlin. What's going on?"

"Nothing!" You insist, but don't flick the camera back. Just get a little more boisterous with Bam, and while it does make Jungkook smile, he can't shake the horrible feeling that's building in his diaphragm.

Your Anguish has a cousin who goes by the name of Confusion, and she adores wrapping herself up in men who fail to communicate in a way that is healthy.

"C'mon," he softly says. Flicks his camera around. Shows you an empty hallway of the convention centre. Says, "I've left Jiwon in charge at the height of the day just so I can answer your call. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"You didn't have to answer," you grumble.

Jungkook is smarter than most. Will have clocked the time of day and knew it was lunch. Definitely assumed you must be with Bam. It must be why he picked up.

Flicking the camera back on himself, Jungkook is almost at a loss for what else he can say to get you to open up.

A little honesty is needed.

And so you pout. Mumble, "They're calling you and Jiwon a dream team in the office."

Jungkook's frown intensifies as his dewy pink lips rest ajar. You'd say he looks distressed, but that's far too intense of an emotion for such a childish qualm.

He just knows that if he heard your partnership with another colleague—especially one in his department—being referred to like that, he'd take offence. It's you and him. You're the dream team. Always have been.

Shaking his head, Jungkook doesn't hide his contempt. Scoffs. "Fuck off. Dream team? She's using your strategies at a booth you designed, and even then, she's barely doing that—you know Acorn guy? The one you said to steer clear of? She's gunning for him—"

"Oh, you're kidding me," you gasp in disbelief. You warned her that he's bad news, multiple times. "Him?!"

"She's young," Jungkook says with a little judgement. Is scared of turning thirty, but definitely doesn't understand people who are closer to twenty. "He's just some hot guy on TV, to her. Doesn't realise his business is gonna tank. She isn't thinking about it long-term."

Which is funny, 'cause Jungkook never really used to think about things long term, either.

Sure, with investments and saving his money, he's always been a little cautious. When it comes to the business, though, it's someone else's money he's playing with. He takes risks. Does dumb shit and it gets rewards.

He really is incredibly good at his job, though. It's part of the reason the women love him, you always think.

It's not.

They like him because he's kind and also so bloody hot he should be on billboards, not in boardrooms.

You like him because he's competent.

In fact, you think there's nothing hotter than a competent man who just knows how to get shit done. And when said competent man can cook like Jungkook? Cares for his dog in the way he does? Looks like he does?

Sigh.

You ignore the way he looks a lot of the time, but you've a pair of eyes and a part of your brain that recognises attractive men. It's hard to ignore all of the time.

"Anyway," he shakes his head. "Not important. She's perfectly fine if not a little misguided—but she isn't you. So, stop worrying about it."

You take a second before you reply. Flick the camera back to you.

It surprises Jungkook, how Confusion has travelled through his bloodstream. Her bony fingers toy with his heart, and he's taken aback by just how sharp her nails are.

Looking at you never used to feel like this. He's not sure why it does now.

You muster up a little courage, even if you can't bring yourself to look at him properly. Let out a deep sigh. Now or never. You run the risk of causing another fight, but if you don't come clean, it'll only dirty everything.

"I just thought we kind of had an agreement, Kook," you eventually whine with an ever-so childish pout.

The hands that have been tearing at his heart migrate through his bloodstream. Get into his brain. Get into his house. Opens doors. Begins moving the furniture.

Stay out of the annexe, his thoughts hiss at Confusion.

Still he seems perfectly calm when he asks, "Watcha mean?"

He's not making this easy for you.

In fact, you'd say he's making it difficult. It would be far easier for you if he just acknowledged what he's already done.

"Well, just..." you take a moment or so to think about how it can be phrased with any dignity—and then you think fuck it. "She's in my department, Kook. I always thought you wouldn't fuck anyone I have to directly work with. It just makes it awkwa—"

"Woah, woah woah," he interrupts. Confusion sits on his shoulder, now, with a twisted smirk on her greyed-out face. "Wouldn't fuck anyone? What the hell do you think I've been doing?!"

"Well, I mean, it's less what and more... who," you joke a little too flippantly.

You don't think he's ever looked so offended in the entire time you've known him.

"You've got to be kidding me."

If anything, you're a bit surprised by just how offended he is. Jiwon is an incredibly pretty girl. A little young for him, granted, but not abhorrently so.

"What?!" You reply, equally confused, then relay everything back to him. "She woke you up this morning getting ready? Was in your room when I called you? Fucking got on your bed right in front of my face and cosied up with you to look at Bam."

Admittedly, that last one was said with a little venom. It annoys you the most.

"She woke me up this morning from across the room," he counters. "Was in our room because we were a last-minute addition to the convention, and it was the only room left within a ten-mile radius—twin beds, may I add! If I don't even share my bed with you when I'm at home, then what the hell makes you think I'd share one with her?! Yeah, the call thing was weird. I'm not gonna lie, it was, but I answered when she was around because I didn't want either of you to get the wrong impression."

A smile wobbles on your lips, as you try to remain stoic. Either of you. You know that you apparently got the wrong end of the stick—but you're not entirely sure what he means by either of you. You wonder what impression he's trying to give her, then decide it's not important.

You clasp your hands together. Lean forward. Put on your best noble old man voice, and say, "Well, it appears that it might have just happened, regardless."

Confusion's perch on Jungkook's shoulder is knocked loose when he laughs, though those sharp nails do claw onto his back. Leave scratch marks that will take a little while to heal—what's important is that they will.

One day, this awkward misstep will be something you laugh about. Kind of like he is, now. You'll forget your tears, but you won't ever forget the strange feeling of weight lifting off your shoulders, mind eased by Jungkook.

"You're a fucking idiot," he laughs with such fondness it almost doesn't feel like an insult. "Seriously? You thought I fucked her? And was then, what? Trying to brag about it? C'mon, you little gremlin! Give me some credit."

Never before has 'gremlin' ever sounded so kind. So warm. So much like 'darling', or 'mon amour'. Secret code for unspoken words.

"I don't know," you whine. Bam shuffles a little bit on the sofa behind you, turning his face away from the noise. You reach back to scratch his head as an apology. Jungkook smiles. Your care for his baby is so innate that you don't even realise you're doing it. "Her hair was damp, and she was practically falling out of her top—"

"Oh, but what I am supposed to do?" He laughs. "I can't tell her to cover up in her own damn room, and even then I just ignore it. I didn't sleep with her. I'm not going to sleep with her. Okay?"

He's not even thought about it. Feels nothing when he looks at her. No excitement. Even if she is attractive, he doesn't think his body would work properly.

Hasn't been working as it should do for the best part of a year now.

Or maybe it would better be referred to as 'malfunctioning'.

'Cause it seems to work okay when he thinks about you.

He 'malfunctioned' earlier on that day, as a matter of fact. Was just showering. And he missed you. And was thinking about those damn pyjama shorts. How smooth your legs had been when he'd hoisted you over his shoulder. How pliant you'd been as he chucked you down into his sheets. Your sleepy eyes and the 3AM husk to your voice. Fuck.

Even thinking about it in a dingy hallway of a convention centre, with your pretty face smiling at him through his phone, is making his heart race. If he doesn't get a hold on it, he'll go into cardiac. Might just flatline.

"Look, I gotta get back, okay?" He softly says. It's not a lie, but it is more sensible than he wants to be. "Have to make sure Jiwon hasn't sold the company to the acorn guy. There's a networking event tonight, so I can't call during Bammie's walk, but I'll check in at some point."

"Alright," you nod, a little sad to see him go, but understanding of it. "Hurry up and come home. Bam misses you."

"I miss him, too," Jungkook pouts. "Show me my baby before I go."

Phone angled to fully capture Bam, you indulge Jungkook for a few moments before he really does have to go. He lingers for a second or so after you say goodbye. Can't muster up anything good to say to make you stay.

Holding the stem of the single peony you'd taken home with you, you roll it between your thumb and fingers. Watch the petals twirl.

"What should I do, hey, Bam?" You wistfully sigh, eventually getting up to pop it in a glass of water. Jungkook has no vases, for he's never had any need for flowers.

The peony isn't the only thing blooming in his kitchen these days, though. It hasn't been for a while.

Work passes slowly that afternoon. You want to get home. See Bam. Finish off the wine you opened so that Jungkook doesn't scold you for letting it turn into vinegar when he gets back. And then you wanna sleep—just so you can wake up the next morning and take Bam on his walk.

It's not like that isn't part of your agenda tonight, too. It's just that Jungkook won't be around for that one.

Instead, his evening is spent in fancy rooms with men in even fancier suits and women who take a fancy to him, too. A whisky is in his hands at all times, his pretty lips embroiled in conversation. He talks so much he barely has any time to drink.

People gravitate towards him; those who feel threatened by his charm gravitate towards Jiwon. Mistake her for a prize he's trying to keep. Don't realise his unbothered facade is anything but a facade.

It's gone midnight by the time he's kicking off his shoes with a little wobble as he gets to his hotel room.

"I'm being serious," he almost giggles, phone between his shoulder and his ear as he loosens his cufflinks. "It's a wig. I'm positive."

280 miles away, phone on your tummy, loudspeaker on as you gaze up at Jungkook's bedroom ceiling, you're laughing too.

"It can't be," you protest the current topic of conversation—Mr Acorn (as he's now affectionately known between you both) and whether or not his hair is real. Jungkook had left Jiwon to continue her poorly judged perusal of him, in favour of checking in with you instead. There was no one else at that party he wanted to talk to more than he wanted to talk to you. Laughing and joking about stupid shit, he's glad you answered. "He went swimming on Singles Inferno!"

"So?!" Jungkook snorts, tapping his phone over to loudspeaker too and tossing it down onto his sheets. A little haphazard, he's unbuttoning his shirt. Is a little tipsy, but not enough to warrant any huge issues. "Maybe he used industrial strength glue."

"Surely he'd rather people just know he was bald? Start a trend?"

"Maybe he's got a terrible head tattoo," Jungkook theorises, tossing his shirt across to a chair, before finally discarding his pants, too. Is just in his boxers now as he clambers into the sheets. "Bald eagle. An ex's name. I dunno. But I'd take chemical burns over that."

"You'd never get a girl's name tattooed on you," you laugh in response. Legs tucked up, heels to your ass, you let your knees gently sway. Bam is curled up in his own bed by the foot of Jungkook's. You're not on facetime, mainly 'cause Jungkook clicked the wrong button, but it's also nice not using poor Bam as an excuse to talk to you.

"And I'm also not balding, so we don't have to worry about that."

"Are you not?" You hum, just to wind him up. "I swear there's a patch of missing hair—"

"Shut up," he cuts you off, voice just as fond as it is stern. "I will swim all the way back to the mainland and speed run up to Seoul just to shut you up. Don't speak it into existence. I have great hair."

"Mmm," you hum. Sinking a little further into his sheet, you turn on your side. Take him off speaker. Hold your phone to your ear. Look at the empty side of his bed and wonder what it'd be like if he were here. Know better than to indulge it. "And you are just so modest, too. Absolutely no ego whatsoever."

"It's why the ladies love me," he jokes, not realising just how true it is. Jungkook takes a moment before he says anything else. Is comforted by the silence you leave for him, totally unaware it's because you're not sure how to respond. "Not that it matters."

Though his delivery is soft and airy, like feathers falling from a well established nest, it lands in your chest with a heavy thud, like a stone from a bridge. You couldn't swerve in time. It shattered your windshield; plummeted straight into your heart. 'Causes a pile up on the freeway, all your thoughts held behind a tongue that cannot speak.

"You tired?" Jungkook hums down the speaker when a response never comes. "I'm sorry, I can let you go?"

"No," you say incredibly quickly considering you've been leaving your side of the conversation empty. "No, sorry. Just can't believe you're actually behaving yourself. Who are you, and what have you done with Cassanova that normally takes a hold of you after a few drinks?"

He's right here, Jungkook laments, knowing better than to act on the way he's been feeling lately. Just says, "Maybe I'm maturing."

"I find that hard to believe," you tell him. If the tiktok psychology gurus who have taught you everything you know about modern men are anything to go by, his brain should have finished fully developing about a year ago.

And while Jungkook would tell you to get fucked and that his brain was already fully developed, he knows that if he sat down and really thought about it, maybe it'd hold some merit. Afterall, it's been about a year since those first thoughts about you started creeping into his mind house.

It's only recently that he's been flirting with that damn annexe door, but he's been aware of someone in there for a while, now.

"What?" He smiles down the phone, resting an arm on his bare abdomen, looking up at the dark ceiling of his hotel room. "Maybe I am. Maybe shagging random girls doesn't excite me anymore."

"You're lying."

"Am I?"

"Yes," you insist, but there's a smile on your face.

There's something about his denial you enjoy.

It's why you're arguing against him. You wanna hear him deny it again. Tell you he doesn't care about other girls. You don't necessarily want him to care about you beyond what he already does. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

"No," he simply replies back. "I'm not."

"So if Jiwon—"

"Why are you bringing her up again?" He's smirking, now. You can hear it in his tone. "Are you jealous?"

"Jealous?!"

"Yeah," He insists, just like you had been earlier. "You don't like the idea of her sleeping with me."

Incorrect. You don't like the idea of him sleeping with her.

"Well, no," you admit. "But because I work with her—"

"That's not it," he fights against you. Knows that you didn't go and see Mingyu when you said you would, and also now knows you said you would after you thought he'd slept with Jiwon. He might not be able to read women's minds, but he's learnt your M.O. pretty well over the years.

"You're drunk," you whisper, trying to hide behind the alcohol that both of you have in your systems. Neither of you are in any position to make sensible choices.

"Tipsy," he corrects. "And so are you. Go on. Be honest. Tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Yeah, there is," he whispers, his words far braver in sentiment than they are in sound.

You swallow. Can't work out if he's just teasing you or not. "There's nothing."

The silence in the room around you is deafening. It's like all you can focus on is Jungkook, and the way you imagine his lips pouting together at the end of each sentence he speaks. Pretty and pink and—

"So you've never thought about it?" He interrupts your thoughts with a question you're unprepared for.

"What?" You reply a little dismissively, as if it's an outlandish think to consider.

But Jungkook doesn't buy it.

Has been driving himself insane.

Knows he can't be the only one—and if he is, then maybe he really is insane.

"Us," he replies as if it's water off a duck's back. Simple. Easy. "You've never wondered what it would be like?"

"Kook..."

It's like playing chicken. Both too scared to cross a line for fear of it changing the entire fabric of your lives.

But you can acknowledge something without acting on it. Confirmation means nothing; it's the choices that follow which really mean something,

"Yeah?" He husks. His sleepy eyes are pressed shut, his voice a slow drawl. "What is it, huh? You want me to admit it first?"

You almost laugh at how dumb this whole conversation is. You're friends. Have been for years. Colleagues. Just... Well, just you and Jungkook. He's never thought about you like that. You're certain of it.

Yet still, you ask, "Well, have you?"

He doesn't reply immediately. You half think he's drifted off to sleep, proof that he'd had too much to drink to be having a conversation like this.

But then you hear his breathy little laugh through the speaker. You know he must be nibbling down on his bottom lip as he smirks. The sound is so familiar you can picture it. You wish he was here. Want to see it. Feel it.

Fuck, you curse yourself out. This is not good.

And Jungkook's only gonna make it a whole lot worse.

"Yeah," he quietly admits, keys in one hand and padlock in the other as he stares at the annexe door in his mind. Wide open, there's no going back now. Only forward. "I think about it all the time."

Bam nuzzles the side of his head against your tummy as he adjusts into a slightly more comfortable position on Jungkook's bed. The sheets are a mess from all your tossing and turning, your body plonked right in the middle of his mattress. There's no his side or your side anymore. You've made it yours, and Bam has joined in.

He shouldn't be on the bed. You know this, he knows this. You're both disobeying Jungkook. Are in this perfectly innocent sin together, and will face the wrath of Jungkook as a unit.

There's never really much wrath that comes from Jungkook. He's the type to smirk and laugh in the face of the people who've wronged him. Believes in karma. Fate. He draws the lines at horoscopes, though. Thinks they're bollocks. Smiles, still, when you blame shitty things on Mercury.

The only time you've ever seen him angry—nostrils flaring, jaw tense, agitated beyond compare—was when some guy wouldn't stop hitting on you in a bar. You'd told him no a dozen times over and he just wouldn't listen.

It still pisses you off that he listened to Jungkook without hesitation, but you also know it looked like Jungkook was gonna break his nose. You're far less intimidating when you're annoyed. Jungkook laughs at you whenever you get frustrated. Says you're cute—or at least as cute as a Gremlin can be.

You've got a similar look on your face now, all perplexed and bereft. If he were here, he'd be teasing you, trying to make you crack a smile.

Annoyingly, you know he'd be able to.

You're staring up at his ceiling, early morning light seeping in through the gaps in the curtains. The world you wish to ignore today rudely intrudes on you regardless.

It's his karma, you think.

You disobey Jungkook, the world disobeys you.

With one hand resting on Bam, the other is tightly clutching your phone. For the past five minutes, you've been locking and unlocking it like a wind-up toy drummer.

To call, or not to call, or whatever Shakespeare said.

The faint hum of a wine-induced hangover buzzes between your ears, but it isn't so bad. Probably because you didn't really have that much to drink.

If anyone asks, you'll say you had a bottle.

And by anyone, you mean Jungkook.

If Jungkook asks, you'll laugh— We had a call? Are you sure? —and he'll laugh too— Yeah, we were both pretty drunk —and you'll both pretend like he didn't say the words that he did.

Pulling the pillow he usually sleeps on across to your face, you press it down. Scream into the padding. It's not loud enough to alarm Bam, but it is enough to make him cock his head.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it had only been Jungkook's lips that were loose last night.

The issue is that yours were, too.

You wish you didn't remember all the words you'd said. The way you'd told him to shut up.

The way he'd hummed, "Oh, come on. You know you think about it, too."

The way you'd said, "I do no such thing."

He had laughed. Said you were a liar.

You'd protested. Said it didn't matter anyways, 'cause you both know it'd never work.

"So you have thought about it," he'd teased.

"Briefly."

"How briefly?"

"Like a matter of minutes—"

"Okay, rude," he'd pouted through the receiver. "I last way longer than a couple of minutes."

"You're disgusting," you'd laughed at the way he'd made it all about sex.

For all he knew, you could have been talking about a relationship—but you're right. You both know it'd never work, so of course this is about sex.

"You the one who's thought about it, though," he'd flirted through the phone. Biting down on his bottom lip, the darkness of his hotel room had slipped him into a fatal state of hedonism.

There was a beat of his heart. One. Two. Still no response from you.

He knew you were thinking about it. Thinking about him. Decided to push his luck. Had almost whispered, his fingertips trailing down his torso, as he chanced, "Do you ever think about me when you touch yourself?"

Silence continued to linger for longer than it should have, until you finally just whispered, "Kook."

"Yeah?" He'd smirked.

"You can't ask things like that."

But he can, and he did, and your lack of an answer was an answer in and of itself.

He wasn't even really after the truth. He just wanted to get under your skin; burrow himself down into the deepest, darkest, most depraved corner of your brain. Revenge, he thinks, for that damn annexe you've assigned squatters rights to.

You set up home in him? Fine . He'll do it right back.

"So this is what I am, huh?" You'd replied, with a little faux chip on your shoulder, trying to deflect from yourself. "Just another office girl for you to fantasize about?"

There's always been a challenge to you that Jungkook has liked. You're sparring partners. Will bicker and argue and end up laughing over it all. It makes for excellent brainstorming meetings, 'cause you're always trying to win. You bring out the best in each other, even if it is in a bid to do the opposite.

Jungkook had sighed. Weighed up his options. Rested his hands over his boxers, only to find himself far too entertained by the conversation. It wasn't a surprise, nor was it unwelcome.

The frequency of his thoughts about you had been doubling, tripling, quadrupling ever since Chuseok.

His bed has become a pit of sin in recent weeks; nobody but him in the shrouded decay of a mind-house he's been neglecting in favour of the annexe shared with you.

He already knows just how bad it's gonna be for him when he returns home, and the pillows are dented by your crown, the lingering scent of your perfume wrapping around him just like he knows his hand will be around his cock. Tight. Strong. Firm. It's your name he'll whine, just like it was when he was in the shower earlier that morning.

God, it's gotten so bad.

He needs to stop before he ruins everything.

It's not like sex is an uncommon topic of conversation between you both. Casual vulgarity had been a tool used to bond with; a taboo way to tease one another. It's always been casual. Uncalculated.

It's different, now.

In the darkness of midnight, the stakes were raised almost as high as your heart rate.

"You think so poorly of me," he'd whined, a teasing smile on his lips. It wasn't rare to hear Jungkook address you so playfully. In fact, it was a common occurrence—yet it felt strange, this time. "You know you're not just another office girl."

"Do I?"

"You should."

"I don't," you'd shrugged into his sheets. "Tell me, how am I different?"

The distance between you made a flirt like this safe. Immediate consequences were null and void, and the alcohol in your system didn't seem to care for it either.

"I can't tell you."

"Sure you can."

"You don't wanna hear it," he'd promised.

"Try me," you'd challenged.

And then Jungkook admitted something he knew far better than to confess, but couldn't seem to help himself. He just wanted you to know that you were special. That you were different.

That you are different. Are special.

"None of the office girls have ever made me cum in my own bed."

It came out far less sweet than his brain had told him it would, but it was still a compliment, he thought.

"Jungkook!"

"What?!"

The way you both kind of shrieked at each other only amplified the shock of the confession, but also did well to hide the way it excited you, too. Got you hot beneath his sheets. Aroused.

"Don't say things like that," you'd scolded him with a laugh, playing it off as a joke. "I'll report you to HR."

"You'd do no such thing," he'd smirked down the line. Matched your energy. Played it off as an incredibly obscene, vulgar joke. Will turn his nose up if you ever ask him if he was telling the truth. "And anyways, the HR girls love me. You'd be fighting a losing battle."

"You're awful," you'd told him with such a tenderness that suggested you really didn't think that at all.

And so he smiled. Decided to cut his losses. Agreed. "Yeah. That's me."

The conversation dissolved into casual chatter until you both made excuses about being tired, or needing to sleep off the alcohol.

Yet both of you would spend the next hour awake, staring at your respective ceilings. Occasionally, you'd look to the space reserved for him in his bed. He'd do just the same. Would look at Jiwon's empty bed and lament the fact that it wasn't you on the trip with him.

He never should have asked you to watch over Bam—but there really isn't anyone else he'd rather have in his apartment.

Then he's thinking about you all over again, in his home, hair claw-clipped like it so often is, and how cute those little pyjama shorts of yours would look peeking out from the hemline of one of his shirts. He wonders what you're wearing; if it's your bare skin against his sheets. Wonders if he sleeps naked after he gets home, if it'd feel like your arms are wrapped around him; if the scent of your perfume would sink into his skin.

It doesn't take long for the thoughts to become lewd. He thinks of your lips, and how they'd part with a gasp if he were to stroke your skin with his fingertips. Thinks of your waist, and what it would feel like to hold. Thinks of your body in a way that really ought to get him fired.

How his lips could drag across your skin; the wet pink of his tongue learning where you liked to be touched. How he'd guide your hands. The words of approval he'd use— Yeah, like that. Oh, fuck. Yeah, just like that, baby. You're so good at that aren't you, huh? You know how many times I've imagined this? You're so much better. G'na make me cum, babe. Keep going. You want my cum, yeah? Yeah, you do. Oh, fuck—

"No," he sharply scolds himself, tearing his thoughts from you and his hand from his thick, impatient cock. "Fucks sake, man. Get a grip."

Wanting you like this is selfish, he thinks. Selfish and stupid and— God —so fuckin' dumb.

He also thinks it's your fault. You're an interior designer, after all. Have made that stupid annexe feel more like a home than the rest of his head ever has. Added candles and cushions. Hung pictures on the wall; turned off the main light in favour of warm lamps that just make him wanna curl up and fall asleep with you on the sofa.

It's so different, this little annexe in his brain, to the apartment that he actually lives in.

If he were to assess it thoroughly, he'd realise that the annexe looks just like your apartment.

But he hates your place. Has never been shy about telling you so. Hates all your nicknacks. Hates the clothing rails you use instead of a proper wardrobe, and the way your beside table is actually just a stack of books you're yet to read. Hates how there's always a cosy blanket within touching distance, and how it always smells like black cherry candles. Hates how firm your mattress is, even if he's only ever slept on it once, fully clothed after you'd both had way too much to drink after a tight work deadline.

He also hated how he didn't wake up with an aching back like he usually does. Hated how sleeping in his own damn bed began to feel wrong, and how nowadays it only feels right during those first few days after he returns from trips; when it still smells like you and the rings you take off your fingers in the night are still tucked beneath his pillows.

Kind of like they are now, as you finally decide to stop being a miserable cow and just get up. You're normally the one who calls him, and it's typically always when you're walking Bam. Last night had been an anomaly. There's no reason for him to call you, now.

It's when you're showering that your phone lights up. Only briefly. Messages, not calls.

JK: can't call this morning, gotta head to the exhibition hall early

JK: give my baby a head scratch from me

JK: send me pics!!

JK: of bam

JK: none of you

While the vomit emoji he adds onto the end of the final message is a little uncalled for, it's actually kind of a relief that he doesn't want to call. Having to face him right now, when you're in such a sorry state of confusion, would have only made the situation far worse for you.

At least that's what you tell yourself.

Your face when you walk into the office, and the state of despair Lea seems to find you in, would suggest otherwise.

By half past ten, you've managed to wrangle Jungkook into conversation eight times.

It's not until you mention him in relation to Jiwon that Lea seems to notice.

"Okay, so?" She laughs. "Everyone knows you and Jungkook are like a package deal. She isn't taking your spot—plus, you're her senior . If she tried to undercut you, do you think anyone would want to work with her?"

It's a good point, but you don't really care to listen to reason right now.

"But it's not undercutting," you pout. "You saw everyone in the group chat. Dream team. "

The way your voice heightens in pitch and nose turns up as you utter the phrase is nothing short of hilarious, and Lea makes sure to let you know.

"You're being a big old baby about this," she laughs again. "Jungkook's gonna come back, relay all of the deals he's set up, and then he's gonna whisk you up to his office to spend the next two weeks drawing up plans. I doubt I'll even see you!"

Admittedly, in the busy periods, you'll work at his desk. In the big chair. The special one he got after his first bonus. The one on his side of the desk. He'll work on the opposite side—the client side—with his laptop.

It's caused a fair amount of confusion before, whenever people have come to his office. Your nonchalance about it all makes it seem totally normal. Most people don't question it anymore—and if they do, you just say the programme you have to use runs better on his computer than it does on a laptop.

Which isn't a lie.

But you could always just work at your own desk.

The issues is that Jungkook likes to keep you close when he's working. Makes it easier for the random questions he blurts out that you're always ready to answer. Annoys him to no end when you're not there and he has to go off and find you.

By the time he finds you, the question is always half gone or you start blathering on about something completely irrelevant and he forgets it anyway. It makes him antsy not having you close.

Neither of you seem to realise it's not normal.

"Look," Lea sighs, minimising her tab so that she can give you her full attention. "You're the one who suggested Jiwon should go. It's just work! You're acting like a jealous girlfriend—"

"No, I'm not!" You gasp. "Don't be absurd!"

"Well, whose apartment did you wake up in?"

"That's hardly—"

"Whose?"

"I mean— Well— His, but —"

"Who was the first person you spoke to this morning?"

"Okay, that's not fair. I'm looking after his—"

"Who was the last person you spoke to last night?"

You pause. Narrow your eyes.

Lea just smiles.

"At least tell me you're in the spare room and not his bed," she jokes—but when she notices the look on your face, her smile drops. "Oh, you're kidding me! You know what you're like when it comes to domestication ! You're bloody nesting , aren't you?!"

"Oh c'mon," you scoff. "I'm not an animal!"

"Uh, yeah," she says, dumbfounded. "You are. That's the issue with humans. Too many bloody primal desires—"

"I do not have a primal desire for Jungkook!"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never thought about it."

"I haven't!" You assert, eyes locked on hers. It's almost believable. Or at least it is until your lips begin to twitch. The look of shock on her face is borderline offensive. "Oh my God, shut up!"

Lea's face scrunches up in revulsion. Shoulders to her ears, she whispers, "He's a whore !"

"Okay, that's not nice."

"But it's true!"

Sighing, you slump into your chair. Push your pout up to your nose, and then sigh even deeper than before.

Looking across at Lea with such perplexity anyone would think she's just asked you to design interiors for a rocket ship, you decide you absolutely cannot let this confusion get the better of you.

"It's fine," you assure her. "He's coming home tomorrow evening. Once I'm out of his house, I'll be way more rationable about things."

"You sure?"

No.

"I'm sure."

As Jungkook places his rucksack down beside a bar stool in an airport lounge, he can't help but feel like he's doing something wrong.

It's dark outside, and the dim lights of the bar give way to a seedy intimacy that he's always loved about places like this—how fleeting they are. The casual embrace of a stranger's stare can linger for hours afterwards, consuming his thoughts for an entire flight.

Yet the only people he's even looked in the eyes of tonight have been the airport staff checking him through. Even as he asks for a whisky, he barely registers the woman behind the bar.

Placing his phone down, he also discards the lanyard that's been around his neck. He forgot to take it off before heading to their airport, and just popped it back on after going through the scanners.

It's not like he needs it now. The conference centre is miles away.

He's still in his business suit. Left quickly. Just confirmed with Jiwon that she didn't mind him catching an earlier flight and in all honesty, it suited her better. Jungkook had been so annoying about Acorn guy the entire time. Kept telling her it was a waste of energy, and no business would come from her pursuit of him. She wanted the chance to prove him wrong; to achieve something by herself.

"Are you Leaving early, too?" An American accent drawls from beside him, immediately grabbing Jungkook's attention.

A burly man with greying hair takes a perch on the stool beside Jungkook. Nodding towards the lanyard, he holds up his own. Mitch Ellis his tag reads, and instantly Jungkook is reminded of the folder you had handed to him before his departure.

"Did a little research on an American company that's gonna be at the Expo. Their head marketer has shares in a bunch of baseball-related companies. Get pally with him."

The opportunity hadn't arisen. Jungkook barely even had time to breathe, let alone seek out some elusive American businessman—yet here he is, in the flesh, approaching Jungkook.

Sucking a little air between his teeth, Jungkook nods. Laughs. Says, "Got a family to get back to."

What. The. Fuck.

He doesn't know why on earth he said that, he just knows he can't take it back. A family. For Christ's sake! It's not just the abandoned house in his brain that's rotting—it's the whole damn thing. Stupid .

Pursing his lips in approval, Mitch nods. Lends an expression that Jungkook can only assume means he respects the answer.

"Family man," he says. "Don't see many of them in the industry these days."

Jungkook shrugs. Continues on with his bullshit. "I love my job, but home's where the heart is." Or at least, it's where his dog is. Of course, he loves Bam more than he cares to articulate—but a man and his dog surely don't constitute to a 'family'. "You off early, too?"

"Wife and kids tagged along for the trip," he nods, then quickly asks the barmaid for a whisky, too. "Promised I'd take them to Lotte World tomorrow."

Jungkook grimaces. "Ooft, on a Saturday?"

"The crowds that bad, huh?"

Gritting his teeth, Jungkook tips his head from side to side, then says, "Get magic passes for the family. It's worth the extra price. Trust me."

He'd never dream of going to Lotte World on a Saturday.

In fact, he doesn't dream of it full stop. Grew up going to the Busan franchise, and would opt for it any day of the week. Everland would be his second choice if couldn't be bothered for the drive. But never the Jamsil Lotte World. It's always rammed .

"I swear, kids—" Mitch shakes his head "—All they do is bleed you dry."

Jungkook smiles. "I'm yet to reach that stage, but I can imagine."

Mitch looks appropriately confused. Did Jungkook not just make up a bullshit imaginary family? Surely he hasn't faltered already?

Jungkook clarifies, "Going home to my girl and my dog. No kids—or at least if I've acquired one over the last couple of days, it'll be a surprise."

He doesn't know why he said that.

My girl.

Oh, God. He's going insane. He must be. This is ridiculous.

Those stupid dreams of his had already started migrating into daydreams. Now, they're being spoken into reality. This is terrible. Really, truly, awful.

Mitch has an easy ten, maybe twenty years on Jungkook.

His hair is greying, and there are lines embedded into his skin that tell stories of the life he's lived.

While it's his career Jungkook would typically be envious of, he finds himself jealous of Mitch's personal life. Wife. Kids. God, he hates the conformity of it all, but there's an ache in his chest when he thinks about all that he doesn't have.

And it only worsens when he thinks of you and Bam.

"Ah, young love," Mitch nods, again seemingly in approval of Jungkook and his 'choices'—which is bizarre, because Jungkook wants to punch himself in the face. "Make the most of it. You'll be longing for the good old days once the kids come."

It's too late for Jungkook to correct himself. Too late to admit to the truth. To say 'lol, jk, im single, just fancy the pants off my coworker.'

The thought of it all makes him want to hurl. Fancy.

He's never admitted his crush before, not even to himself. Oh, this is all so awful.

And so Jungkook panics. Says, "Hopefully we've got a couple years before then. We're both at the same company, so we're trying to figure it all out before doing anything we can't take back."

What is wrong with you?!

"Oh?" Mitch chirps, encouraging Jungkook to continue.

"Were interns at the same time," Jungkook begins to overexplain, as if it makes it any better. He's speaking a crush into existence that he isn't even sure exists, and declaring it as love of some sorts? Oh, this is really barbaric. He might throw up. Maybe if he pretends to faint, he can get out of this situation. He thinks it would be less mortifying. Yet, still, he continues! "Have gone up through the ranks together, but are different departments."

Why is he still talking about you?!

Oh God, his head is gonna explode. It's like you're building an extension on the annexe. He never gave you planning permission, and yet there you are, concrete trowel in one hand, a brick in the other. You're so pretty, he thinks.

Get a grip!

"HR nightmare," Mitch laughs, then leans a little closer. "Truth be told, it's how me and the missus met—I worked for her Daddy's company. Thought I'd be fired on the spot when we told him."

"But I'm guessing...?"

Mitch nods. "I'm now their longest-serving employee and am set to take over in the next five years," he laughs. Thankfully, it all worked out. Hopefully, the same'll be said for you and your missus."

Jungkook's lips curve into a tight-lipped smile. Decides he has to change topic, or otherwise he might just self-implode. "Yeah. Fingers crossed—anyway, I don't think we had a chance to speak at the conference, did we? What's your company?"

As if Jungkook has earned a gold seal of approval, Mitch nods his head over towards a couple of chairs that overlook the runways. Picks up his whisky. Begins to walk away. Says, "I was about to ask you the exact same thing. What did you say your name was again? Let's talk."

"Jeon Jungkook," he grins, picking up his whisky, finally forcing you out of his brain. "Yeah. Let's chat."

"Bammie," you whine into Jungkook's pillows when the sound of his paws excitedly clattering across the floorboards wakes you. You can't have been asleep for very long. A couple hours, tops. "It's not time for walkies yet."

Burrowing yourself deeper into Jungkook's sheets, you try and drown out the noise–but it's fruitless. Not only is Bam too cute to ignore, you worry that there's something wrong.

Sitting up, eyes all beary, the dark nothingness around you clues you in on the fact it's definitely the middle of the night. Pushing the duvet off your body, you swing your legs over the side of the bed as your phone begins to vibrate. Jungkook's face takes over your screen, and a frown takes over yours.

Part of you wants to ignore it. Wonder if maybe you've already slept through it ringing out, and that's what woke Bam up.

At this time of the evening, Jungkook should be at the afterparty. It's unofficial, and not endorsed by the convention, which only means one thing: people are getting legless.

He'd sent you a message earlier on in the day saying that Jiwon was still trying her absolute hardest to bag the Acorn man, after an unsuccessful attempt the night before. You wonder if he's wing-manning her.

Bitterly, you wonder if she's cut her losses. Turned her attention to Jungkook, instead.

He's probably shitfaced by now.

Part of you worries he'll want to continue the conversation from the night before. You're too sober to even consider flirting.

Sliding across to answer, you hold the phone to your ear and you begin to walk in the direction of wherever Bam may be.

"Yeah?" You croak down the phone, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

"You sound chirpy," he teases.

Bizarrely, you think he sounds sober. "Fuck off."

"Charming. Undo the bolt on the door," Jungkook demands down the line, but there's almost an echo, as if he's just in the other room or something like that.

Your feet softly pad into the living room, the darkness not much of a hindrance. You know his apartment like the back of your hand; the veins, the freckles, the grooves dappled in your skin below your knuckles. All it takes is a couple of steps for you to reach the light switch, and absolutely zero thought for you to flick it on.

"Hm?" You mumble a confused sound as light bursts into the room. Your eyes squeeze together, a groan catching in your throat. Blinking once, twice, you adjust quickly. Spot Bam by the entryway, looking up at the door expectantly. One of his paws taps at the steel, a soft whine trembling on his lips. Turning your attention back to Jungkook, you say, "What?"

"'I'm home, gremlin," Jungkook softly smiles down the phone. "Let me in."

"But it-" You begin to protest, knowing that his flight isn't until tomorrow.

Jungkook doesn't care to explain himself. Is just as tired as you sound.

"Let me in."

You don't need to be told twice.

He's home.

It shouldn't make you feel the way that it does, all warm and content.

But it does, and for a moment, you let yourself indulge in the sensation of welcoming Jungkook right back to where he belongs.

Hanging up, you place your phone on the kitchen counter, reaching out to scratch Bam's head when you get to the door.

"Is it daddy, huh?" You ask him as he continues to paw at the door. There's a small metallic click as you unthread the bolt, which is quickly replaced by a robotic beep as you press the easy-release button for the latch.

Before you can even properly open the door, the handle is being pressed down from the outside. The sound of Jungkook's hushed voice echoes into the hallway instantly as he coos over Bam just to wind him up a little before he can see him.

"Who is it, Bammie?" He asks through the door, and you already know exactly what he looks like—smile so large it takes over his entire face.

You help to push the door open, and find that there's sunshine in the middle of the night in Jungkook's hallway.

"You're home," you sleepily smile as you watch Jungkook crouch, arms wide and all-encompassing as he greets Bam in the most boisterous of ways. He's not making any sense. Isn't saying any words. Just lets noises rumble from his throat, of which Bam somehow seems to understand.

In a way, you understand it too. The mental translation is a bit patchy, but you know it's something along the lines of, I've missed you so much Bammie, Daddy's home now, let's never spend time apart ever again.

Glancing up to you, that daylight smile hanging off his lips, Jungkook's got a glisten in his tired eyes.

Maybe you haven't adjusted to the light as well as you think you have, but there's something different about Jungkook. Something that's making your weary heart work overtime. It's all a bit strange. All a bit lovely. All a bit terrifying.

"Yeah," he tenderly agrees, hands scratching behind Bam's floppy ears as his eyes fondly meet yours. How could he ever stay away? "Home."

part three to be uploaded tomorrow <3

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #officeworker!jungkook #fuckboy!jungkook #f2l #jungkook fluff

342 notes · View notes

latanyalove · 10 months

Text

When You're Injured PT Two

So sorry for posting this so late! Thank you for all of the support in the previous part, which is here! Part 3 is coming soon! WC: 3,513.

Please support me by liking, reblogging and commenting on this! Also please follow for more content!

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Tag list: @metonimia-de-bellota, @veroxbarnes, @plan3t-plut0, @karichu19, @awkwardspontaneity, @drakulana, @twismare, @pascalmode, @bluegalaxygirl, @lavanderdreamve, @jxstmxlly15, @rivui, @norasincubi, @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial, @athena-portgas, @aechmea01, @rossetter and @phsycochan

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

As Law worked on his paperwork, he felt the stress building inside him. He had been working on it for hours, and yet he still hadn't made any headway. He was starting to feel overwhelmed and frustrated by the seemingly never-ending pile of documents. He felt like he was wasting his time, and it was only making him more anxious.

Law took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task in front of him. He knew he could do it if he just stayed focused and kept pushing through. He took another deep breath and forced himself to keep going. He knew he could do this, and he was determined to finish the task.

Rubbing his temple, Law heard someone open the door. He looked up to see his navigator standing in the doorway, a concerned look on his face.

"Law, are you alright? You've been in here for hours and I was starting to worry," Bepo said.

Law nodded and tried to smile. "I'm doing alright, I just have a lot of paperwork to finish," he said.

Bepo nodded and stepped into his office. "Do you need help with anything?" he asked.

Law shook his head and smiled. "No, it's okay," he said. "I can handle it. But thank you for offering."

"Oh! Maybe I should bring Y/N to make you feel calm," Bepo said out loud as if it was supposed to be a thought.

Hearing your name made his eyes widen and his heart start to race. He quickly tried to compose himself, not wanting Bepo to know the affect your name had on him.

You were a special case.

Law had taken a rather special interest in you because of your Devil Fruit, the Yume Yume no Mi, the ability to shoot a cosmic ray to make people fall asleep for a desired amount of time or fall asleep so deep that they could die.

You also had the ability to control people's emotions, but only if a flower was present. He had found himself drawn to you and your ability, and you two had become close.

Although he was embarrassed to admit it, he felt calmer just by being around you.

"Have you seen her around recently?" He asked Bepo in an 'uninterested' tone.

Bepo shook his head and replied, "Nope but I saw her with Ikkaku going into the forest. Why do you ask?"

Law felt a wave of disappointment wash over him. He knew that he had no right to be disappointed, but he couldn't help it. He had been hoping to see you to help him with his paperwork, and he had been looking forward to spending time with you.

He quickly brushed away his disappointment, not wanting Bepo to know how he felt. He forced a smile onto his face and said, "I was just wondering. I'm sure I can finish this by myself."

Bepo nodded, not seeming to notice Law's sudden mood change. "Well, if you need anything, just let me know. I'll be around," he said as he was about to leave his office.

"Hey Captain, I heard my name being said," Ikkaku said, looking at Law curiously. "What's going on?"

Ikkaku stepped into the room and saw Law and Bepo, both of them looking surprised to see her.

"Oh nothing-" Law started but Bepo continued, "We were talking about Y/N, wasn't she with you last? I heard you two were headed to the forest."

Ikkaku nodded, confirming Bepo's question. "Yes, we were. We were looking for some materials but we parted ways to cover more ground. Why do you ask?"

"We were just wondering if she was coming soon," Bepo added.

Ikkaku looked shocked as she said, "I thought she already came back since I didn't see her for a while,"

Law glanced towards the window, the sun was slowly sinking behind the horizon, casting a golden hue over the sky and painting the clouds a soft pink. The sky was alight with a mesmerizing array of colors, as the sun's final rays of the day illuminated the sky in a beautiful display.

Strange, he thought to himself, you should be back by now. You usually do a daily report to him before you go to sleep so it can't be that.

He couldn't help but worry, as he knew that the forest was a dangerous place and anything could have happened to you.

He finally decided. "I'm going for a walk," He said in a nonchalant tone. He wanted to check if you were okay. He figured a quick walk to the forest wouldn't hurt anyway.

He thanked Bepo and Ikkaku and left the office, quickly making his way to the forest.

Bepo and Ikkaku watched as Law left the office, both of them with a knowing grin on their faces. They knew he was worried about Y/N and was going to check up on you. They knew him that long to know that.

They watched him leave the submarine and jump onto the island, heading towards the forest.

Ikkaku stated, "Well I think Y/N likes Captain more than he realises." Bepo nodded in agreement, "I hope Captain returns her feelings."

The forest was dark and still, with a creepy atmosphere that even Law could sense. The shadows of the trees seemed to stretch out, creating a menacing atmosphere, and an eerie silence hung in the air. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying a chill that made Law's skin crawl.

He could feel eyes watching him as he made his way through the forest, and he could almost sense the danger that lurked in the darkness. He knew that this forest was full of unknown creatures and secrets, and he was careful to stay alert as he made his way forward.

"Y/N! Y/N, where are you!" Law yelled out as he gripped the sword firmly in his hand.

His voice echoed through the forest, but there was no reply. He kept calling out your name, but all he heard was the rustling of the trees and the chirping of the birds. He finally stopped and took a deep breath, his heart racing as he tried to think of what he should do next.

He was about to turn back when he heard a faint voice calling out his name.

He immediately rushed towards the voice, pushing himself to walk faster and faster as he heard the voice call out again. He could hear the pain in your voice, and it sent a wave of panic through him.

Did something happen to you? Was there anyone still on this island? Were they after you? Why you and not him?

Suddenly, a loud scream pierced through the silence, echoing through the forest and making Law jump in shock. Without thinking, he started to run, his heart pounding in his chest as he raced towards the source of the scream.

He was filled with dread as he ran, fearing the worst. He could feel his heart in his throat as he ran faster and faster, his feet pounding on the ground as he desperately ran towards the scream.

"Don't! Please stop!-"

Anger started to boil in him as he ran, his blood pumping through his veins as he thought of all the possible dangers you could be facing. He wanted to reach you as soon as possible and make sure you were safe.

He pushed himself harder, and soon he could see the clearing ahead. He was so close, and he could only hope that he was in time. . . .

"So what are pirates like you doing here?" you asked.

You had heard rumors about the Heart Pirates docking on your island, so when you saw a ship docked near the shore, you knew it was them. You approached cautiously, not sure what to expect.

Everyone seemed to be on edge, no one daring to approach the pirates or even speak to them. Everyone was aware of their reputation, and the potential danger that they could bring. All eyes were on them, and the atmosphere was tense. Everyone was cautious, not wanting to be seen as a threat.

But you were different. You walked straight towards them with a smile on your face, your steps firm and confident. You knew that if you showed any fear, they would take it as a sign of weakness and attack.

So you kept your head held high and your shoulders back, determined to show them that you were not afraid. You kept your gaze steady as you approached them, your heart racing as you wondered what they would do.

As you got closer, the Captain, Trafalgar D Water Law, looked up at you with caution. He had a stern expression on his face. His eyes narrowed as he looked at you up and down. He was clearly not expecting anyone to approach them, and he was apprehensive about the situation.

Despite his caution, there was a hint of curiosity in his gaze as he looked at you, as if he was trying to figure out who you were and why you were here. He seemed to be assessing the situation, trying to figure out if you were a threat or not.

He remained silent, his eyes never leaving your face as he waited for you to speak.

"So what are pirates like you doing here?" you asked.

He was slightly shocked at the calmness in your voice but still replied, "We're only here to repair our submarine and then we'll be gone."

The villagers, who had been whispering and murmuring to each other before, got louder and more animated after seeing your interaction with the captain. They seemed to be surprised and intrigued by your boldness and even more so by the captain's response.

They exchanged glances, whispers, and nods as they discussed what had just happened.

"By any chance, did you see any ships around-"

"Miss. Y/N! You can't run off like that!" An elderly woman screamed as she pushed her way through the crowd in front of her. "Master wants you back immediately!...."

When the woman saw you talking with Law, she became quiet and her eyes widened in shock. She stopped in her tracks, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the two of you. It was clear that she was completely taken aback by the scene before her.

"Master? Who's Master?" "I heard she's a slave for the Leader, the poor soul," "Look at her clothes, they're filthy,"

Like an unruly flame, rumors ignited and spread throughout the crowd. The certainty that couldn't be denied, even though it was only whispered within gossipy circles.

Law looked at you with a neutral expression, as if the rumours had no effect on him. His eyes were clear and his gaze steady, showing no signs of pity or sympathy.

He seemed to accept the situation as it was, without passing judgement.

Something you haven't seen in a while.

"Y/N L/N! You are to be taken back to your cell!" Royal guards stated loudly as they charged in the same direction.

The crowd parted to make way for the guards, and the woman stepped aside without a word. The guards were armed with guns and were determined to take you away. Law remained still and watched as the guards approached.

He seemed to be deep in thought, his brows furrowed in concentration. He looked up at you and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, you raised your hand up.

"Tell the leader not to follow me, I'm not coming back,"

At first thought, a cosmic ray shot from your hand and everyone except for you and Law had dropped to the ground. The villagers were unconscious, their bodies limp and their breathing shallow.

The Royal Guards had also been affected by the ray and the only sounds that could be heard were the faint whimpers from the villagers and the echoes of the guards' armor clattering on the ground.

Law stood in stunned silence, his eyes wide with shock as his gaze shifted from the unconscious villagers to you.

He had only one thought in his mind. He had to know more about your ability.

"What were you going to ask?"

"If you've seen any other ships around the area, it doesn't matter if it's a pirate ship. I just want to leave here-"

"Then come with me and join my crew."

He didn't know why that memory flashed in his mind. The time he had first met you.

Was it because he knew there was a chance that you could die? Or was it because he felt a deep connection with you in that moment? Or maybe it was something else entirely?

Whatever the reason, the memory of their first meeting stayed with him long after.

He ran faster and faster, his heart pounding as the memory kept playing in his head. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs ached, but he still kept going, as if running away from the memory would make it disappear.

"Sir! Please stop!"

"Looks like you've lost your manners. You only address me as Master," His voice was demanding, with a hint of anger.

"I'm sorry," There seemed to be a pause. "Master. I didn't realize I had lost my manners. It won't happen again."

"Now you are going to come with me and stop this little adventure of yours, you know you're mine,"

"I bought you. I own you. You are my possession. You don't just get to leave me when you want."

As the voices grew, he felt his heart racing with fear. He knew he was going to be confronted with something unpleasant, and he felt a chill run down his spine.

He knew he had to face whatever it was that was waiting for him, so he took a deep breath and prepared himself for what was to come.

He saw a clearing ahead and what he saw made his blood run cold.

There was a man strangling you and you were grabbing his hands, trying to break free. He wanted to run in and save you, but he was frozen in place, unable to do anything.

He watched, helplessly, as the man tightened his grip around your neck, and he felt a rage unlike anything he had ever felt before.

He didn't know why, but the sense of rage and fear that had taken over his body made him forget everything else. He dropped his sword and ran towards them, not caring about the consequences and only focused on saving you. He was determined to do whatever it took to get you away from the man's grip.

Get away from her. Leave her alone. Don't touch her.

He felt a surge of adrenaline as he threw the man to the ground. He was filled with rage, and he could barely contain himself. He punched the man again and again, and the man let out a loud groan.

Law was determined to make sure the man wouldn't hurt you again. He kept punching him until his knuckles were bloody, and he could feel the man's body going limp beneath his fists. He continued to punch him until he felt the man's body go still, though he still wasn't satisfied.

Until suddenly, a sense of calmness filled his body, making him confused. He looked around, not quite sure what had just happened. He could feel his heart rate slowing down, and the anger slowly draining away from his body.

He felt a strange sense of peace and tranquility, as if he had just been released from a spell.

He was so overwhelmed by the sudden change that he didn't know what to do. He looked around and saw the man lying on the ground, unconscious and badly beaten.

There was no one else that could have made him feel like that. Except you.

He quickly turned around to look at you, your hand out towards him.

You used your power on him.

He could see the fear in your eyes, but there was also something else there, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He slowly walked towards you, never taking his eyes off you.

He felt a sudden surge of panic as he watched your hand drop to your side, and he rushed to your side.

He quickly put his ear to your chest, listening for your breathing and heartbeat. When he heard them, he let out a sigh of relief. He slowly placed his hands on either side of your face, gently cupping it in his hands. He looked into your eyes and smiled, relieved that you were still alive.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort or pain.

"I- I'm okay," You answered, your voice shaking as you looked into his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

". . . . No,"

"He's not going to touch you again, I promise." Law reassured you, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "No one will ever hurt you again," he said in a soft voice, his eyes never leaving yours.

He reached up and ran his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped your eye.

Even though you nodded at his statement, it did not provide him with any reassurance at all.

"Law?"

"Yes Y/N?"

"I don't think I'm going to make it back," You shakily said, lowering your shirt to reveal a green patch that was spreading across your arms and chest so that Law could see it.

Law's eyes widened in shock as he stared at the spots that had spread across your body. He had no idea what it meant, but he could tell that it wasn't good. He quickly put his hand on your forehead, feeling your temperature.

Too hot for you.

As soon as he noticed you were starting to close your eyes, he immediately stopped you and said, "Hey, hey, stay awake,"

"I'm sorry for troubling you-"

"You're not," Law replied, taking a position where he would be able to carry you while using one hand to grab the sword that he had dropped onto the floor.

It was then that he stood up with you and started to run back, now seeing that there were hundreds of men scattered across the area that lay motionless, having been the victims of your abilities.

When he looked down at your weak form, he wondered how on earth you had been able to defend yourself against so many people at once.

Please stay awake a little longer.

"Law?" Your lips trembled as your gaze wandered unconsciously across his chest.

"Yes Y/N? I'm right here, just keep talking."

"If I die, I just want you to know that I've liked you for a while now."

In the middle of his steps, he froze in place.

"What?"

All of his coursing thoughts were made into one single question: You liked him?

"I thought I was being too obvious but it seems that even the Surgeon of Death can't even catch on to things like that." You chuckled to yourself yet there was no amusement on your face.

As you glanced up at him, hoping to see if it was a smile or a grin, you were surprised to see that it wasn't either, but rather one of horror.

You knew it. He never did like you.

"Leave me here. More reinforcements are going to come now and they're stronger than ever. I'll keep them back so you can escape-"

"Stop talking."

"But-"

In an instant, a glance had you stop what you were going to say, instead you paid attention to your breathing and not the reaction that he showed to your confession.

Law was everything but calm at this point: you were currently dying of an unknown injury, more reinforcements were coming for you and you just confessed your feelings to him.

You were a big part of his problems, yet he couldn't just let you go.

There's never been a feeling like that for him before.

He would miss you even though he saw you an hour ago. He got into flowers because it was part of your ability. He'd let you stay in his office and he wouldn't mind.

For goodness sake, he ate bread because you asked him to!

Could it be that he was also in love with you?

Feeling your head drop back made him jump slightly, and he quickly moved to cradle you in his arms. He felt a chill run through his body as he realized you was slipping away.

He quickly put his fingers on your neck and felt for a pulse, but it was slow and fading. Fear began to surge through him as he realized that time was of the essence.

He didn't want to admit it but he was losing you. . . .

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

875 notes · View notes

halucynator · 1 year

Note

Hi! Could I please request a FIC abt Mattheo or Theodore (I’m in love with them both) and the reader always picks her hangnails (to fidget bc she is on the spectrum and has adhd) and they get her to stop by alway holding her hands and she goes to his quidditch game? (I love your fics sm)

Good luck charm

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x fem!reader

Warnings: like none? do tell if I missed any xx

Summary: (just like read the request I cba)

A/n: thanks for the request and thank you SO much for the compliment💞! Sorry for the wait xx I wrote it about mattheo because I'm in my mattheo era (plus I feel like theo wouldn't be the sporty type) but I will write a Theodore version as well if you're okay with waiting xx I also happen to have ADHD lol so I just related the story to myself. English isn't my first language so there might be mistakes xx not proof read. I don't love it but I don't hate it either xx hope you like it x

reblogs are appreciated xx

You sat down in Snape's potion class after you got scolded for being 5 minutes late. His classes were SO boring. Your ADHD didn't help either. You grabbed your quill and started to doodle but were shortly stopped by Snape shouting at you for the second time in a 15 minute span.

You rolled your eyes and looked for something to fiddle with. I mean, how could it be your fault that you had ADHD? Was it really that wrong that you needed to fiddle with something to concentrate? Snape definitely made it seem like a sin.

You noticed a hangnail on your finger and started to pick on that. Snape could take that away from you. I mean, was he going to cut off your fingers? As you pulled on the hangnail, you felt a little sting and you knew if your bare flesh made contact with even a drop of water, it would burn. This wasn't avoidable either especially since you were in potions. But you could worry about that later. As long as you could concentrate.

"You need to stop doing that. It looks painful. Plus it isn't healthy." Mattheo comments as be places his hand on yours. It's a comforting feeling but you feel uneasy, looking for something else to fiddle with.

"but I can't! I have ADHD."

"There's got to be better ways to cope."

"there's nothing else to fiddle with"

"Here." He slips one of his rings off his fingers and hands it to you.

"are you sure" you ask.

"yes love." He replies.

And so you fiddle with his silver ring the rest of the lesson but find it hard to with him holding one of your hand captive. You wanted to ask to move it, but you didn't want him to feel upset plus you kinda liked the feeling of his warm hand on your freezing cold one.

*＊✿❀　❀✿＊**＊✿❀　❀✿＊**＊✿❀　❀✿＊*

You were excited for the quidditch match, Slytherin against Gryffindor. You walked up to Pansy, Theodore and Blaise, your group of friends, as you spotted then among the crowd which was dripping with anticipation.

As the game started, you found yourself searching for a particular brown, curly haired boy.

As you spotted him, aiming to score, you felt yourself blushing. As he scored half of the crowd cheered in excitement, and the other half groaned in frustration. As you locked eyes with the brunette boy, you caught hun winning at you which made you turn even more red than you already were if that was possible.

The game ended with Slytherin being victorious (which was a first).

After the game you walked up to Mattheo to congratulate him.

"I've never been to a quidditch match before but I heard this was Slytherin's first victory against Gryffindor."

"Guess you are a good luck charm." He smiled at you.

You blushed. Something about that comment felt genuine, like it was more than just a joke.

"Ah, is that so? You were amazing out there by the way."

"Only for you princess." He winked at you. "I assumed you were awestruck by me. I caught you staring." he grinned.

You blushed as you started to fiddle with your hangnail again. You felt a comforting hand on yours. Mattheo's hand.

"Now now love. We talked about this. Use my rings instead."

You felt nice that Mattheo cared about you. You smiled at him, trying to keep your composure. You felt like kissing him right there and then but you didn't.

Your friends walked up to Mattheo and congratulated him for the win, snapping you out of your daydream about the brunette boy who, at this very moment, was holding your hand.

"You could say we had a good luck charm." He winked at you.

You chuckled at the statement. Girlfriend had a better ring to it, but for now you settled for 'A good luck charm.'

#mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x you #harry potter #harry potter imagine #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle angst #marcus lopez imagine #marcus lopez x reader #marcus lopez arguello #marcus lopez

875 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 1 year

Text

This chapter is a whole lot of Bill and Ford talking and I couldn't think of a good illustration for it, so have a funny comic instead.

Here's chapter 9 of The Pines Have Captured Human Bill Cipher And Nobody Is Happy About It (otherwise known as Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone). Sept 13 2024 - now updated for TBOB compatibility!

####

Ford knocked on the bathroom door. "Time's up. You've had your two hours, Cipher."

There was no reply.

Ford glanced at Stan.

Stan grumbled under his breath and cracked his knuckles. "BILL!" He pounded on the door. "Either you come out of the bathroom, or we're dragging you out by your ankles!"

No reply.

"That's it," Stan snapped. Ford nodded in agreement and took a step back to cover Stan as he opened the door.

The bathroom reeked of chemically-enhanced rotten eggs. From knee-height down, every single surface in the room was plastered with curly blond hair. Behind the bath tub—naked, curled up in a ball, and hiding beneath a towel like a child—was Bill.

Stan and Ford gaped at the scene. And then they cracked up.

"Most—" Stan wheezed, "Most people just use shampoo! But hey, whatever floats your boat!"

Trying to sound stern and failing, Ford said, "I hope you plan to help clean this up."

Bill didn't reply.

Stan coughed and pounded on his chest. "Gah. Almost choked on my dentures."

"How did you do this? I know we removed the blades from the room." Ford was glad he'd put on his boots. He picked up a bottle of hair removal cream from the bath tub and tested the weight. Almost empty. "You didn't use this on your scalp, did you? It's far too caustic to use around the face."

Stan asked, "How do you know?"

"I've experimented with many shaving techniques, Stanley."

Bill didn't reply.

"Bill?" Ford's smile faded. "Did you burn yourself?" If he was burned badly enough, that was an infection risk—the last thing they needed was to haul their prisoner to a doctor...

He took another step toward Bill. Bill tightened his arms around his knees and retreated further into the corner. And still he said nothing.

####

Stan and Ford agreed that dragging Bill's naked butt out of the bathroom wouldn't do anything to help protect Gravity Falls from the horrible alien triangle menace, and also wouldn't make them feel particularly noble; so they left the door open, told Bill to get dressed and get out, Stan went back to bed, and Ford sat in the attic window seat to wait.

It took almost thirty minutes before Ford heard Bill trudging upstairs. He had dressed, thank goodness, but still had the towel draped over his head, like a Victorian widow in a mourning veil. Ford wondered if it was bad to find the sight of his obvious distress so funny, or if the fact that it was Bill made it okay.

Bill got close enough to his window seat nest to spy Ford's boots from beneath his towel, veered off to the side, and curled up in a corner of the attic.

"Well," Ford said, to say something; and then drew a blank. Finally, he said, "The next time you claim you're out of practice at a basic human task, I'll believe you."

Ford could have sworn he heard the towel-covered lump hiss like a leaky tire. Had he gotten a laugh?

The ice broken, Ford went on: "Are you injured? That stuff can burn even when used correctly. And—you did not use it correctly."

No response.

"Just—why did you—why?"

No response.

"Say something so I know I don't have to call an ambulance and tell them you're in shock." Ford did not relish the idea of explaining a mysterious woman with no ID to a hospital.

Apparently, neither did Bill, because he muttered, "I don't need medical assistance." And then, "So I didn't want hair. Baldness isn't a sin. Get off my back."

"That's a heck of a way to get rid of it."

"Yeah, wow, I guess so. I wonder why I didn't just use a razor."

"You could have... You could have asked for a shave."

Bill let out another tire-wheeze laugh. At the thought of asking for help, or at the thought that he'd have received it?

"Bill—"

"Go away."

Ford frowned; but he got up, headed downstairs, and shut the bathroom door as he passed so Bill couldn't go back in.

And a few minutes later, came back with a sandwich made out of the first odds and ends he could find in the fridge, and a six pack of hard apple cider. "Here." He set the plate and six pack on the floor near Bill. "Mrs. Ramirez hasn't touched it, I promise."

Bill didn't move, not even to see what food Ford had brought.

Ford shifted his footing nervously, his common sense insisting that he'd demonstrated all the decency he was obliged to and that it was time to go; and then he sat down again on the window seat. "Listen," he said. "Bill." (He shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't be talking to Bill Demon-Triangle Dimension-Destroyer Cipher, eternal nemesis, ruiner of Ford's life, threatener of his family; but right now, it was hard to see Bill Cipher beneath the hurting human.) "I've—been here before. I know what it's like to—to be trapped in an alien dimension, surrounded by hostile locals, with no way home." He tried not to think about the fact that Bill was the main reason Ford had been trapped, or that Ford was now one of the hostile locals, or that the locals (and Ford especially) had a damn good reason to be hostile to Bill, or that they all didn't want Bill to get home. He was kind of curious find out where the heck he was going with this conversation. "I know what that... grief is like."

Ford thought it might be an insult to suggest Bill was capable of grief; but Bill didn't twitch. Ford went on. "I know how tempting it is to—to ignore everything but the fight ahead. Never mind hot food, shelter, showers, fresh clothes, a comfortable bed. Luxuries you can tend to when your work is done. But—a fire can't keep burning without fuel and fresh air. Depriving yourself those 'luxuries' doesn't turn you into some ascetic warrior-monk. It simply... burns you out. It makes it that much harder to achieve anything." Ford shrugged. "I—learned that the hard way."

He tried not to think about the fact that Bill had been the fight Ford had burned himself out for. Or the fact that Bill no doubt saw Ford as his fight. Or the fact that Ford didn't want Bill to achieve anything. He immediately regretted the decision to find out where he was going with this conversation. What was he doing?

Voice muffled, Bill said, "You think you're the only person who's ever had to get used to an alien dimension before?"

And Ford remembered—a moment too late—that Bill had destroyed his home. It was so easy to take that information, the horrific enormity of it, and stop there; but follow the implications one step further, and that meant Ford had never once seen Bill in his own dimension. As long as Ford had known him and billions of times longer, Bill had been a stranger in a strange land. Ford should write off this conversation as a loss and leave.

"This isn't my first rodeo," Bill said. "But hey, thanks for coming back up just to patronize me. It's really what I needed tonight."

To hell with leaving. Ford wasn't letting Bill get the last word in after he'd tried to do something nice. "This is your first time being a human in an alien dimension," Ford pointed out. "You said it yourself earlier—I've bathed hundreds of times since you last did. As an energy being, you've never had to make time for regular showers, or sleep, or exercise, or..." He almost said food but paused. He'd seen Bill eat as a triangle. Was that fun or necessity? Never mind. "You probably think those chores are beneath you—but your body needs them whether you like it or not."

Bill laughed harshly. "Wow, this is rich coming from Dr. Food Pills who bathes monthly."

"Hey! I've improved since my postdoc days and if you were half the stalker I know you are you'd know that!"

Bill didn't argue; he just changed his angle of attack and muttered, "'Eat better and bathe more,' says the guy who locked me out of the fridge and bathroom."

"I—" Well. Ford couldn't really argue with that. And he didn't regret it. "I know it's... not an ideal situation." The opportunity hung in the air for an and I'm sorry, and Ford self-consciously hurried past it. It was the thing one said in these situations, but it wasn't true. He wasn't sorry, he shouldn't be sorry, Bill was here on death row. "But I'm just trying to..." The sentence died. Why, exactly, was he trying to help Bill?

"Why would I want any help from you?" Bill's voice was venomous; and under the circumstances, Ford couldn't fault him for that. "Even if you didn't kill me and capture me! For all your talk of needing shelter and comfort when you're stuck in another dimension—you never accepted any help from me. But you think I can't take care of myself?"

Ford stared at Bill. (Not that there was much to stare at, except the top of a towel.) "I never accep—? You never offeredany help!" Not that he would have accepted it if Bill had, but just the outrageous suggestion that Bill had been—what?—charitably offering interdimensional refugee services that Ford had stubbornly turned down—?

"I never got the chance! You dove into the first wormhole you could find—you didn't even bother to say 'hi'!"

"Why would I say 'hi' after everything you—! Plus, you placed a bounty on my head! Within thirty seconds of my arrival!"

"So I got excited!" Bill uncurled just enough to shrug. "Anyway, the bounty was to bring you to me alive! C'mon, Stanford, I know you steered away from the frats in college, but you know what a little friendly hazing is, right?"

Flabbergasted, Ford echoed, "'Hazing'?" And then, even more disbelieving, "'Friendly'?"

"Sure!" One eye, almost luminescent in the shadows beneath the towel, peered over Bill's knees. As if Bill was as baffled as Ford and needed to see him for himself. "You built us a portal, you got cast out of your dimension into ours—you were gonna get a hero's welcome! You'd joined the gang! You were one of us!"

"I'd—spent weeks trying to stop you!"

"So?"

Ford gaped. Bill was a liar, he reminded himself—a liar, a manipulator, and a conman. He'd say anything to portray himself however he thought most useful. Ford remembered arriving in the Nightmare Realm. He'd relived it over and over—in hundreds, if not thousands of nightmares. "That was no welcome party. You were surrounded by an army of monsters."

"Hey, those are my pals you're talking about!" Bill laughed—a sincere, easy sound. It was unnerving, how real that laugh sounded. "Hate to point out the obvious, Sixer, but you've got a handshake that '30s Hollywood woulda designed a whole movie monster around. Who are you to judge appearances!"

Ford's thoughts flashed briefly to the Glass Shard Beach freak show he'd met as a child—the humans who'd called themselves "monsters" and who'd called Ford their "abnormal ally," the frightening friendly freaks who'd welcomed him warmly. He pushed the thought away. Bill wasn't running some kind of weirdo sanctuary; he thought making Ford think he was would win him some sympathy. "You were sitting on a throne. Made out of optical illusions. Like a self-appointed tyrant."

"Oh! You noticed my throne!" Bill's head lifted a little more. "Hey, I got that custom made! It's upholstered with the torn fabric of reality! Say, did it look three-dimensional to you? I'm told it looks 3D if you cross your eyes just right, but, well, you need two eyes to cross 'em."

"Wh—" Ford blinked, trying to remember what the throne had looked like. "Was it... not 3D?"

"No way! Do you have any idea what it'd cost to upholster a whole extra dimension in the fabric of reality? I'm not about to drop that kind of gold on a feature I wouldn't even use!" Bill grinned up at Ford. All Ford could see was the one eye and his teeth. "But hey, if you couldn't even tell the difference—I guess the autostereogram detailing was worth it!"

And Ford thought, he means it. Bill, mad thing he was, never thought that being Ford's friend and destroying Ford's universe were mutually incompatible. When he'd arrived in the Nightmare Realm, Bill hadn't been hunting him, he'd been welcoming him. Lounging on his stupid tacky throne, hanging out with his terrible friends, feigning a punch at the new guy to make him flinch before laughing and inviting him to the party. And Ford—sleep-deprived, terrified, paranoid—hadn't seen it.

And then Ford thought, he's lying. It was over thirty years ago—thirty-one, technically (time ticks ever on)—and Bill could say anything he wanted about what he would have done if he'd caught Ford, because he hadn't caught him. Today, Bill probably thought his comfort, if not his very survival, was dependent upon convincing his captors that he was so much less a threat than they thought he was. It's all a harmless misunderstanding! It was no misunderstanding and Bill wasn't harmless.

Ford got to his feet. "We remember that day very differently."

Bill's smile faded into the dark. "Yeah. Guess so." And then his eye disappeared as well as he curled in on himself and vanished under the towel. That wasn't like him. Ford had expected at least a little gaslighting.

Strange body in a strange land. And a recent death (metaphorical or literal, Ford still wasn't sure). Of course Bill was more subdued than usual.

Ford told himself not to worry about Bill. (He was unnerved that he had to tell himself.)

"Well." He gestured vaguely at the sandwich, decided against doing something nice like reminding Bill he needed to eat, and said, "Don't waste food."

He mentally chided himself as he walked downstairs. He'd been careless; he'd almost let his guard down in front of a friend who'd betrayed him. He'd been nice to Bill. He'd tried to encourage Bill to take better care of himself—when Ford was plotting to kill him, for crying out loud! Why? Because the human body made him forget this was Bill? No. Because Bill had tricked Ford into seeing him as a friend again, for just a moment, talking about parties and pals and—of all things—his stupid upholstery? Also no; that had come after Ford had offered compassion. It would have been nice if Ford could have blamed Bill. He'd like to think that he was being manipulated; it would free him from any personal culpability. But Bill hadn't done anything—except look miserable.

And that didn't line up with how Ford remembered Bill. Maybe that was what had thrown him off? But—he wasn't sure. Ford had spent thirty years with his thoughts spiraling around Bill, and now it was hard to think about Bill at all without second-guessing every thought that passed through his head. He was a recovering Cipherholic—and the fastest way to fall off the wagon was getting exposed to your addiction. He'd have to ask Stan for a reality check.

Another question gnawed at him as he kicked off his boots and climbed back into bed. When he'd been cast from his dimension, the portal was still functional, just uncharged. There was nothing Ford could do from within the Nightmare Realm to either reactivate or destroy the portal. Bill had seemed in too good a humor to have had punishment on his mind; and since Ford had been both useless and unthreatening, Bill probably hadn't wanted to recruit him for his help or eliminate him for Bill's safety.

So what had Bill wanted him for?

What had Bill wanted him for?

He'd probably just wanted to kill him. For no particular reason. For fun. Bill didn't need any other reason, Bill was insane.

Ford tried to convince himself that was true.

####

Bill had gotten careless. He almost let his guard down around a friend who'd betrayed him.

He couldn't really blame himself. He was a consummate extrovert with nobody to talk to. Captivity in and of itself was bad enough; but without his friends, he was... bored. That was the word. Bored.

But he was fine.

Bill's stomach ached. He peered at the food Ford had brought.

After a moment, he dragged over the six pack and popped out a can of cider. Nothing better to prove he was fine than some good old I'm Fine Juice.

That bathroom could be useful. He'd never be trusted in there for two hours unsupervised again, but if he mastered the art of the ten-minute shower and claimed he still needed an hour, that would give him some uninterrupted privacy. He could work a little magic in that time, even if he was limited to human capabilities. Most local female humans wore makeup, Melody probably kept hers in the bathroom; and in a pinch, there was toothpaste and shampoo; he could write with those. You could get a lot done with two mirrors, running water, a writing tool, and a human body full of blood.

Maybe he could call for help. Acquiring the supplies to get a call through to Hectorgon or Amorphous Shape would be difficult, much less calling any of his outerplanar pals; but Kryptos kept a psychic line open in dimension 46'\, if Bill got his hands on some candles he could reach him. At least, assuming Kryptos bothered to pick up the call. Bill hated the thought that his fate rested on whether or not the most annoying person in the multiverse felt like taking a call from an unknown number, but what could he do about it? If he could just reach the mindscape, this would be so much easier—

No, that wasn't quite accurate. He could reach the mindscape. He dreamed. He just... couldn't control it.

This body clamped onto his soul like an iron maiden. He couldn't just shed it like an old coat, the way he'd always effortlessly moved in and out of physical bodies before. He'd tried, curled up in the window for hours at a time, meditating silently, reaching for that point where he quietly detached from his borrowed form—but never grasping it. A couple of times the effort had exhausted him into falling asleep.

He knew his way in and out of human bodies—along with plenty of other earthling bodies and the bodies of aliens from countless dimensions. Leaving it should have been easy. There was no good reason for him to still be stuck.

But there were plenty of bad ones.

Three possibilities: thanks to the unconventional way he'd left the Theraprism, his power was still sealed away (if not removed entirely), and he was simply too weak to disentangle himself from this body's neurons; the reincarnation process had fully turned his soul from a triangle into a human; or, something about the Theraprism's machine locked souls into their new bodies. Maybe to keep the newly-rehabilitated from immediately shedding their body and returning to their old ways.

A lock that simply needed to be picked would be the best option—but with his limited powers, it was also the hardest to identify except via process of elimination. He could start by figuring out humans' own techniques for controlling their dreams and shedding their bodies and see if that helped him. (Part of him hoped it wouldn't. If it did, it would be all the more likely that he really was just a human—the worst possible option.) He was sure Ford had done some reading on astral projection at Bill's suggestion, maybe he still had those books somewhere. Bill couldn't just ask for them. Ford wouldn't trust Bill with them.

Not yet, anyway. But with time...?

Ford's little visit had been unexpectedly encouraging. He'd been a fool to ever offer Ford freedom and power instead of leaning on humans' soft spot for vulnerability. The whole woe-is-me routine was clearly working. Even if Ford had probably only pitied him because...

Under the towel, Bill's scalp burned. He could feel the alien contours of his head.

Never mind, never mind, never mind. This was all part of his strategy. This was his plan.

The point was—he thought, for just a moment, he'd gotten a glimpse again of the Ford that was his friend.

Bill could use that.

He'd keep working on Ford, softening him up. Ford had already brought food. Rookie mistake. So few humans realized that once they'd done one favor for someone, they'd set themselves up to make every favor after that a little bit easier. Bill would have Stanford Pines wrapped around his finger again in no time.

And until he'd worked his way back up to big favors, it might be nice to have someone to play chess with again. He was bored. He missed his friends.

He missed home.

He missed himself.

A lump formed in his throat.

To drown it, he popped open the first can of cider, chugged it in several large gulps, and reached for the second.

####

(This is sort of the first chapter we've had to slow down since this fic started, so let me know what y'all think!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

582 notes · View notes

agentstarkid · 3 months

Text

NEPENTHE ✦ DR3

NEPENTHE, a term rooted in Greek mythology, refers to a legendary potion believed to dispel sorrow and induce forgetfulness of pain. This concept has evolved to symbolize anything that eases suffering and promotes emotional healing. When applied to love and post-heartbreak, nepenthe can be seen as a metaphor for the various ways people cope with the pain of lost love. This could include time, new relationships, self-discovery, or therapeutic activities that help one heal. Just as nepenthe provided mythical relief, these modern "potions" help individuals gradually let go of their heartache and find happiness again.

✦ PAIRING: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ PIT BOARD: social media au | ✦ FC: becky g

✦ TRACK LIMITS: female!reader, latina!reader, age gap, language, drama, internet meanies.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: holi, loves! sorry for the long wait, adult life is a bitch. Hope y'all like this chapter because I'm not fully convinced I like it yet lol if there's any mistake...it's 02:21 a.m. and I'm dead on my feet but I was set on posting this today. If you've been playing attention to my easter eggs, you'd have seen this coming 😜 Pretty please tell me your thoughts!! I’ve been stewing on this for like two months so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Feeds me!! Also, shoutout to Nonnie!!! can't wait to read what you think of this 🙊❤️ Anyways, eat up, babes.

< previous chapter | series masterlist | general masterlist

JULY 1, 2022

⇥ tiktok search: y/n l/n sings devuélveme el corazón

────────────────────────

JULY 15, 2022

⥂ translation:

- Hey, friend! How are you? + Kuniii! What a surprise! I'm good, and you? What have you been up to? - Everything is fine here in Miami, enjoying a little bit of the sun. Listen, we haven't seen each other in a while. Aug 7 is City's first game of the season at the Etihad and I was invited. With Sofi we thought about taking you with us, so are you in? + Sounds great, Kuni! I've never been to the Etihad. But I don't know. Lately, things hasn't been going well for me with all the negative attention. I'm not sure if being in the public eye would be for the best. - I get it, Y/N. But c'mon, you should come! We'll be in a private box, far away from the paparazzis. No one is gonna bother you there, I promise. Besides, Sofi and I are gonna make you have a great time! + I don't know, Kun. To be honest, more drama is the last thing I want. - That's why I'm telling you this. It will be good for you to have a change of scenery, enjoy a good game and be with friends! And, we miss you. Sofi is already planning a great day for you. You can't let people's opinions to affect you like that. You have to live your life and enjoy it. Come with us, it will do you good. + To be fair, I do need a break. I'm gonna think about it and I'll give you my answer soon! - There's nothing to think about, Y/N! Come with us and let's have a spectacular weekend. Sofi and I are gonna take care of you and make sure you have a great time! + Ok ok, alright. I'm going! It's gonna be great seeing you and Sofi again. What should I bring? - Awesome! Just bring good vibes, a crazy desire to have a good time and something blue to support City. You come to Miami and and we leave in the jet, is that alright? We will coordinate better later. + Oki! I'm already excited! Thank you, Kuni. I really needed this! - That's what friends are for! I promise you that it will be very good for you! See you soon! + See you soon! Thank you for everything!

────────────────────────

JULY 29, 2022

liked by lewishamilton, daddyyankee, thalia and 2,145,873 others

yourinstagram que digan lo que sea, yo subo y bajo como la marea 🌊✨🧿

⥂ translation: let them say whatever, I rise and fall like the tide 🌊✨🧿

───

View all 2.952.512 comments

───

fioamato Se tratan de montar y tambalean 🎶🐸☕

itsvittoriasousa Muchos la critican sin conocerla 💅🏼 iamdannaschwarz Se merece tanto y recibe tan poco 😤 andrew_allen Calle como un Civic, inteligente como un Tesla 🚗 sebastianyatra Mírala cómo camina, lo que le falta es la tarima 👀 yourinstagram No pidas rosas si no aguantas espinas!! 🥀

sebastianyatra q hdptaaa fiesta con la familyyyy 🫠🩵

llane ah con que así son las cosas, acá ya a uno no lo invitan 🙄 (⥂ translation: ah so that's how it is, here's someone who doesn't get invited)

rickymontaner brother somos dos 🙄 (⥂ translation: brother same) sebastianyatra conozco unos manes que no contestan el gc 🙄 (⥂ translation: i know some guys who don't answer the gc) ricardomontaner mau y ricky + llane + sebas + y/n = peligro por donde lo mires 😂❤️ (⥂ translation: danger wherever you look at it) yourinstagram ricardomontaner pero like in the best way, tío 😝❤️

user i absolutely love how her friends are singing the lyrics of bad bunny's song in the comments 😂

userA user even Vitto's bf commented too 😂 userB user they are really specific lyrics tho 🙊

user2 Daniel can't really outrun her, can he? 😂

soficalzetti divina! te extraño 💕

user3 is that HamilGOAT???

badbunnypr Y/N, sé tú y que se mame' un bicho las personas ❤️

yourinstagram ❤️🤘🏽

user4 Andrea is honestly my fav BB song 😭

user5 not me trying to zoom in to read those 🔥 lyrics bc ya know my girl is cooking the baddest album in history 😎

user7 I tried to like this twice once I saw that first photo DAMN 😮

user8 first pic is giving mermaid baddie/H2O vibes

user9 my boy DR fumbled hard 😵‍💫 wdym he just woke up one day next to this woman and decided he wanted smth else??? like ??? bro u ok????? 🤯

lewishamilton surfing ✅📋 next time we are sky diving sis 🪂

yourintagram time and place I'll be there brother 😛 roscoelovescoco can you's take me's with you's?

────────────────────────

AUGUST 7, 2022

Instagram

yourinstagram has added to their story!

⥂ translation 1: Going to a game with Kun is having a sports commentator explaining every play and probability, and who is who on the field.

⥂ translation 2: The boy is happy with the result of the match.

──────

yourinstagram has followed rubendias!

──────

────────────────────────

AUGUST 18, 2022

liked by honeymoon, danielricciardo, rubendias and 3,145,873 others

yourinstagram Happi happi ⭐️ note to self: you da bidi bidi bom bom ✨

───

View all 1.962.314 comments

───

user DANIEL LIKED!!!!!! MY DAN-YN HEART ❤️😭

userA Mom and Dad; Divorced but never forgotten 😭🖐 userB girl don't, he's not welcome here 😤 userC does this means he agrees she was too much of a bad bitch for his weak ass to handle? 🤣

user2 stay 🤺 the fuck 🤺 away 🤺 you 🤺 unemployed driver 🤺

userA unemployed driver is cold. it's not even official yet buddy userB lmao her replacement better not see his like on our queen's photos 😂 userC homie must be hiding somewhere and crying staring at these photos because she looks 🔥🔥🔥

user3 Literally the love of my life. She's so cute and energetic

user4 you deserve real happiness and loyalty...Don't you ever settle!

juliamichaels hot DAMN

camila_cabello hot DIGGITY DAMN

user5 I'm so glad Daniel dumped her 🗿

beberexha ok hottie!! ❤️🔥

lizzo Everyone STOP TALKING I'm trying to stare at Y/N

blakelively Absolutely fking stunning wowowow

yourinstagram let me hit u with the uno reverse card

user6 this may sound cheesy but you're literally one of the prettiest women I've ever seen 💕

yourinstagram user5 that's so unbelievably kind

sza FACE CARD NEVER DECLINES

user7 i'm single you single... let's make it happen 😍

iamdannaschwarz we live for that smile

user8 such an attention seeker 🤡 because she ain't getting that man back in this life lol

user she is so obsessed with him i swear she's pathetic yourinstagram I don't really care what you think of me because first of all, if you really don't like me, what are you guys doing wasting your time on my page? tell me who's obsessed with who?

user9 Why not? 😭

userA i think when mfs bag a baddie they dont kno how to act right 😭 im not sure sum like that userB userA correct and when they do get a girl like that they leave her for way less userC Lmaoooo frr

user queen is in her idgaf era and I'm fucking here for it!!!

──────

────────────────────────

AUGUST 22, 2022

Instagram

yourinstagram has added to their story!

rubendias has added to their story!

──────

────────────────────────

AUGUST 24, 2022

liked by fioamato and 1,147,693 others

f1 BREAKING: Daniel Ricciardo will leave McLaren at the end of the 2022 season

#F1 #Formula1 mclaren

───

View all 856,548 comments

───

user See you later 👏👏

user2 that's called karma

user3 Only McLaren? Why not f1? The queu of young talented drivers is long

user4 So sad that they decided only bet to Lando. All best to Daniel I wish you find better place.

user5 I’m glad I never bought an orange shirt… where are we off to next Dan?

user6 LMAO NOT FIO LIKING THIS POST 🤣

userA that's iconic behavior ngl

user7 and you all were calling y/n a flop, oh how the tables have turned lmaooooo

user8 man lost the greatest woman he could've pulled and now he lost his seat and all in the same year 🤡

user9 mclaren you know this is the best guy you have right? It's not his fault your car is inconsistent. This is not 2021 where you had your car figured out.....this is a bad pr piece for you as well as a bad marketing look since danielricciardo has a look far beyond what your brand reach is. Fire your marketing team as they have failed you...

user10 $21 million going away present?

user11 Honestly Vettel said it best “mclaren didn’t bring the best out of him” I just hope he gets a place in 2023 and does well

────────────────────────

SEPTEMBER 11, 2022

Instagram

yourinstagram has added to their story!

rubendias has added to their story!

──────

────────────────────────

SEPTEMBER 21, 2022

──────

────────────────────────

OCTOBER 6, 2022

⥂ translation:

— salmahayek Happy birthday, my precious girl! You are a light in the lives of everyone who knows you. I'm here for you always! — jbalvin Happy birthday, lil sis. Many blessings to you always! — sebastianyatra Happy birthday, Penguin! I keep your friendship like a treasure that will always be with me. I feel lucky to know that big heart you have. I love you a lot, Pulga (Flea)!

──────

liked by rubendias, aliciakeys, alejandrosanz and 2,756,378 others

yourinstagram Thank you 23, you taught me so much. You brought me so much courage, inspiration, & healing. You reminded me that life is too short. You have brought me even closer to my true self & made me realize just how strong I am. I will remember you as the year that reminded me that living life on anyone else’s terms isn’t living… You taught me to do ME, with grace, love, and kindness. Thank you to everyone who wished me a Happy Birthday, I love you all. And, of course, a very special thank you to my favorite people in the 🌍 for going above and beyond to make me feel so loved, appreciated, & cared for. Bienvenido 24, un placer conocerte 🥳 ps: had lots of cakes this year, I couldn't be happier!! 😍

───

natalie_pinkham Happiest of birthdays to the most gorgeous of gals ❤️🥳🥂🎉

yourinstagram natalie_pinkham thank you Nat! Lots of love ❤️❤️

nina ❤️❤️❤️

parishilton happy birthday angel girl ❤️

bohnes happy birthday rockstar 🎉

markhoppus HDB kid 💥

annemarie Make a wish! 🎂✨ Hope all your birthday dreams come true ❤️

lilymhe You are such a beautiful soul, inside and out, and I’m so grateful to have you in my life ❤️

luisfonsi Wishing you an amazing day and a year full of blessings. ¡Un fuerte abrazo!

keleighteller You bring so much joy and light into the lives of everyone around you ✨

anitta feliz aniversário, meu amor! Beijos! 💖

shawnmendes Hope your day is as incredible as you are ❤️ Keep shining! 🌟

daddyyankee ¡Feliz cumpleaños, Y/N! Espero que tengas un día espectacular y un año lleno de éxitos

jenniferaniston Wishing you a day filled with joy, love, and all your favorite things. Have an amazing year ahead! 💖✨

tomholland2013 Happy Birthday, Y/N! 🎉🎂

sofiavergara ¡Feliz cumpleaños, Y/N! Que tengas un día maravilloso lleno de amor y alegría 💃🏻✨

zacefron Have a fantastic day and an even better year. Enjoy every moment! 💫

niallhoran happy birthday 🍻

selenagomez Happy Birthday angel! 🎉 Sending you lots of love and positive vibes on your special day ❤️

kellinquinn Happy Birthday, Y/N! Rock on and have an amazing day!

kellyclarkson May your day be filled with love, laughter, and everything you desire. Cheers to you! 💖✨

───

Comments on this post have been limited.

────────────────────────

NOVEMBER 3, 2022

liked by rubendias, landonorris, juliaanalvarez and 2,145,873 others

yourinstagram He(art)

───

View all 6,856,548 comments

───

sasha__rebecca 💙

itsvittoriasousa i like it, picasso

chloestroll what a gorgeous piece of art and the picasso is cute ig

user NOOOOOO WE CANT LOSE OUR MOTHER TO ANOTHER FOOTBALLER

juliaanalvarez 😎🆒

user2 I admire Y/N’s faith in love, no matter how many times she’s heartbroken and let down she still falls in love like it’s the very first time and I think this is how it should be because every single love and relationship is different and unique and should be approached as such

user agree. especially because she's not actually the crazy, guy obsessed girl the media and haters paint her as. she's falling in love when it makes sense, she's not out searching for whirlwind romances and toxic guys. she writes about it bc it's REAL anyway i hope she finds her person one day. first loves lasting forever is nice but isn't possible for most people and that's fine. i think her healthy approach is a great influence on her younger fans who fantasise about love and life just like she did

user3 girlie sure loves her athletes lmao

userA she sure loves the number 3 🤪 userB she once said it was her lucky number and apparently she was really serious about that 🤣

user4 alexa play you belong with me (taylor's version) by taylor swift 😠

user5 watch her ruin him like she ruined daniel

user6 this girl is trying so hard to stay relevant lmao bitch you are a gold digging whore and a massive flop, doesn't matter whose dick you're riding now 🤣

user7 when do we think they're hard launching we already know it's rúben 😂

userA she played the same game with mr. perfectly fine the last time userB MR PERFECTLY FINE OMG YOU'RE SO RIGHT "Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl. I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her" IS SO DANIEL CODED userC ruben literally posted the same picture on his ig 😂 inconspicuousness left the chat with these two

user8 babygirl decided to stop playing in little league, she's on the big leagues now as she fucking should

──────

liked by johnstones5, joaofelix79, nathanake and 322,873 others

rubendias life's been good lately 😊

───

View all 1,548 comments

───

user who got my boy listening to sleeping at last?

user2 Bro is winning on and off pitch

user3 i still can't believe rúben dias liked every picture she posted for years and also admitted his massive crush for her with his whole chest in a team video and ended up being y/n l/n's boyfriend a few months later

userA bro is the picture of perseverance. He played the long game and at the end, he got the girl 😎 userB he's my GOAT for a reason userC they don't make 'em like him anymore (a total simp for his girl)

jackgrealish alright romeo 🙄😂🩵

johnstones5 kunaguero 🤝🏻

kunaguero johnstones5 🤝🏻

user4 best defender in the world only deserves the best! 🧱

nathanake 🩵

user5 they are not even trying to hide it anymore

user6 Ru we are on the doorstep of the world cup you can't lose your focus with another pop star

userA she's definitely gonna bring him bad luck, everything she touches turns to ashes

user7 "But your heart is your masterpiece, and I'll keep it safe" THIS MOTHERFUCKER BETTER BE SERIOUS 😭

user "Your darkness will be rewritten into a work of fiction, you'll see" 😭😭 userA I'm really wishing that he's the one for her. She deserves a happy ending

user8 YOU WERE BLESSED WITH MOTHER'S HEART SO YOU BETTER PROTECT IT THROUGH THICK AND THIN, VOCÊ ENTENDE? 🤨🤺

♥ rubendias has liked this comment

user9 Mofo better keep his focus we need that 🏆!!!!

────────────────────────

DECEMBER 31, 2022

liked by rubendias, natalie_pinkham, shawnmendes and 2,145,873 others

yourinstagram A student of life I am. Damn it’s humbling as hell when you surrender to the fact that only thing you can control is YOURSELF. Not a person, thing or situation beyond that. Who you become in this life is 100% on you. Letting go of all that doesn’t serve you is self-care. Remember that.

2022 is a year that really marked me… It was filled with moments of all kinds. Wanted to share the ones that made me smile even in the hardest of times. Beyond thankful for the good, the bad and the ugly ❤️‍🩹

───

View all 6,856,548 comments

───

marcusstoinis was the paint supposed to go on the wall or on yourself? 😂 scottyjames31

scottyjames31 don't talk if you don't know about art bro 🤫👨🏼‍🎨 yourinstagram marcusstoinis the technique was questionable but the painter did a good job. His partner on the other hand did a marvelous job ❤️ would recommend their job if you are moving into a new house too 👍🏽 cholestroll 😂❤️

lewishamilton see you soon for the next aventure sis 😎🪂

tinistoessel te adoro muñeca 💖

andrew_allen we might have the next Alex Morgan in our hands 😮‍💨

itsvittoriasousa she said she wants to be a champ like "unca benny" 😅 yourinstagram itsvittoriasousa nah I think she said she /wants/ unca benny, little trouble gave me the stink eye whenever I got too close and didn't let me play 😂 andrew_allen 😅

user i guess it is official official now so welcome to the family dad rubendias

user2 pics 5, 6 & 9 called me single in too many different languages 😭

user3 IZA IS GETTING SO BIG!!!!

user4 sunglasses on, hand behing her back... baby iza means business

user5 OMG IT'S ED!!! ARE U GUYS COLLABING AGAIN???!!! 😭😍

user6 I really hope next year she is as active on sm as she was before, I miss her too much 🥺

user7 shut up they are the fucking cutest couple already 😍

user8 this is what she deserves!! looots of love and someone who knows how to treat a queen right

rubendias Mô ❤️

userA EEEEEEEEEEKKK!!! 😍😭😍😭 userB any portuguese or brazilian kind enough to tell us what he means? 😩 userC It's an informal abbreviation of "amor" (love), he is calling her love ❤️

──────

─── Please don't forget to reblog and/or comment! ♡

92 notes · View notes

thatesqcrush · 13 days

Text

Beautiful Sinner (Priest! Barba AU), Prologue & Ch. 1

Priest! Barba x f! reader | SVU au

Rating: NSFW for language, graphic smut, basic desecration of religious upbringing.

WC: 8.6K

AN: I am so going to hell. One way ticket for lil old me.

AN2: Big thanks to @beccabarba for reviewing and being my soundboard.

Prologue:

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been, It's been too long since my last confession.”

“Go ahead,” the voice behind the screen began. “Tell me your sins.”

You shivered at the tambor of the words spoken. And you know that your sins were also their sins.

“I'm not seeking penance for what I've done, Father. I'm asking forgiveness for what I'm about to do,” you clarified. Your voice was soft.

“That’s not how this works,” the familiar voice replied. “What exactly are you going to do?”

You let out a shaky breath and heat flushed your cheeks. You began to unbutton your blouse. “I think you already know, Father.”

— Ch. 1—

*six months earlier*

It was a blistering summer day in Manhattan, the sun beating down relentlessly, casting sharp shadows on towering skyscrapers. The pavement radiated intense heat, mirages shimmering above the asphalt street. The air was thick with a suffocating blend of exhaust fumes, unpicked garbage bags and urban heat. City dwellers sought refuge in shaded pockets, and the city seemed to pulsate with the collective desire for relief from the oppressive heat.

It also happened to be your first weekend in your new home-a nine-story walk up in Hudson Heights.

You received your pink slip and had to make the hard decision to move. Your aunt was subletting her apartment while she traveled across the Borneo rainforests. Transitioning to a more modest apartment was a challenging shift. You had to adapt to a different community vibe and recalibrate your lifestyle expectations. You had introverted tendencies but you tried to remain resilient, focusing on navigating this life change as a time to reset.

You opened the window and stuck your head out. Spanish music played outside loudly and the normally traffic filled street was closed, with people milling about. It was the annual block party for the neighborhood, with vendors and entertainment alike. The food smelled wonderful and your stomach growled in response. The sound of a knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You ducked your head, making sure to avoid giving yourself a concussion. “Coming!” You called out as your bare feet padded the floor. You knew who it was - Maria, your next door neighbor who you met on move-in day. Maria was friendly with your aunt and you knew that she had promised your aunt that she’d keep an eye on you. She was close in age to you and immediately offered you a helping hand, helping you bring up boxes. You thanked her with pizza and beer and the two of you were on your way to becoming fast friends.

When Maria had texted you earlier in the week,” ‘Block party! Want to come with?’ it was an easy yes.

You opened the door and let Maria in. “Just need shoes and my bag. Help yourself if you want anything,” you called out, heading back towards your bedroom.

You heard your fridge open, the cacophonous sounds of beverages clanking together followed by the click and hiss of a can opening. Soon enough, you were both on your way.

–

Time flew and you found yourself really enjoying yourself. Eventually Maria had to leave - she was meeting her boyfriend and his sister to head into Queens to catch the Mets game.

You were still beyond hot, the humidity was thick, almost choking you. You pulled out a claw clip from your bag and pinned your hair up. Just even having the damp strands off the nape of your neck provided some, albeit, minimal relief. In that moment, you missed your pixie cut from years prior.

The local fire department had opened the fire hydrant and there was a gaggle of kids playing in the water. You looked at the water longingly before you internally said ‘fuck it,’ and ran through the open fire hydrant. The force of the water was stronger - and colder - than you had anticipated and you let out a shriek. You ran through it once more - this time not as close to the hydrant - enjoying the water washing over your overheated skin. Sufficiently cooled off, you continued on your way through the neighborhood.

There was a generalized area with a tent set up for community outreach. Curiosity piqued, you moseyed on over. You picked up a pamphlet - St. Blaise Church. You were religious as a child, it was as how your parents raised you. As an adult, you found yourself straying away, not agreeing with the church’s ideals which contradicted your more liberal beliefs. Sometimes, though, you found yourself missing it - especially during Christmas and Easter, when the congregation would meet up together in mass throngs. There was something about community that made you wistful.

“Interested in the Church?” a voice questioned. You looked up and you locked eyes with a handsome man. That was an understatement. He was obscenely good looking. Almost as if it hurt to look at him straight on. You felt a jolt straight to your core. No one should look as good as he did.

He took your breath away with his green eyes and thick, fitted build. His hair was dark with flecks of gray at the temples. His salt and pepper beard neatly framed his jawline. The man gave you a smile, his eyes crinkling. Crow's feet gracefully fanned out from the corners of his eyes, evidence of a life rich in laughter and stories. Dressed in comfortable yet stylish summer attire, he exuded a casual sophistication. He wore a fitted polo with fitted shorts that were borderline criminal. The polo was slightly unbuttoned, which allowed for a hint of chest hair along sun-kissed skin to peek through. Immediately your brain went to the gutter.

“Miss?”

You blinked. It was as if your brain broke and you had no idea as to how to respond. He raised a brow and inwardly you melted, feeling warmth bloom through you.

“Uh, sorry. The heat is just getting to me,” Nervous laughter accompanied your lame excuse.

“No worries, it happens to the best of us. I’m Rafael Barba.” He offered his hand and you took it. As you shook his hand, warmth bloomed through you.

He offered you a beer from a cooler and you happily accepted. And over beer, you find yourself enamored with every word from his lips. You suspected Rafael was involved with the church with how passionately he spoke about it. And when he invited you to attend the Adult Fellowship group after Sunday’s mass, you found yourself agreeing.

“...the fellowship hour following the Liturgy provides opportunities to develop friendships, meet parishioners or simply exchange information of mutual interest. There are monthly birthday celebrations and seasonal events, such as Christmas and Easter parties, as well as a spring picnic. We are always looking for more—”

Rafael’s cell rang and he apologized before excusing himself. You nodded and rocked on your heels, once again taking in the scene before you as you finished your beer.

This new neighborhood was already looking up.

—

As Rafael took the call, he couldn’t help but turn around to look at you once more. His eyes raked over your form, fully drinking you in. He swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He could feel a slight stirring in his pants, and furiously shook his head.

‘No,’ his brain argued. ‘No.’

He was not being turned on right now. Rafael tried to push the thought away and turned his attention back to the phone.

After the Householder case and resigning from the D.A.’s office, Rafael decided he needed to get away from it all. He spent the next three months holed up in his apartment, avoiding anyone and everyone.

Even if he didn’t want to - there was no one who would understand what he did. His mother was horrified and stopped talking to him. He received more than one gloating, sneering call from the recidivist he should have blocked — Alex Muños. Even Yelina spurned him.

He was truly alone.

So what was an acquitted, former ADA to do?

He prayed.

He had lapsed from religion. After working in the DA’s office and seeing all the especially heinous, depraved, evil out there - he was convinced there was no God.

He couldn’t explain why he did what he did - he did what he had to. Something called him to do it.

Was it God? Was it the Devil?

He wasn’t sure. So he prayed some more.

And then one night it came to him. The calling from God.

After a lengthy period of hemming and hawing, weighing the pros and cons, he contacted the local diocesan vocational director and began the requisite training. That training looked like pre-theology for 2 years followed by a tenure at a major seminary where he studied languages—some of which he already knew -Latin, Spanish, Greek. He also took graduate level studies in theology, including Doctrine, Canon Law, Church History, Scripture, and Liturgy.

He called St. Blaise’s home for three years. He found joy in community and spreading the Gospel. He gave to the community as much as he could possibly give. He thought it would be weird - that people would recognize him and call him a baby killer. And if they did - they never did it to his face. Rather, the community embraced him.

He was still busy as ever - mass was everyday, there were funerals, baptisms and weddings. He did outreach with the youth and began a fellowship for parishioners who were in a similar age cohort. Having saved quite a penny as an ADA, he lived off his savings. A priest’s salary was meager and he still had to pay taxes. So his salary sat in another account which went towards that.

The summer block party was an annual event, but very nubile - only in its third year. It’s where he felt he could give most back and the community could truly come together.

He hadn’t felt an attraction to any form of secular life in ages.

Until you just now.

He could use the excuse that he was a man after all. A man who used to be sexually active with both men and women alike. But before you, he was able to steer his thoughts away and put that energy into something else for the betterment of the church and community.

And then you came along, soaking yourself as you sprinted through a pump before going back for more.

His eyes traveled over you again. You were soaked, the material of your clothing sticking to you. Your tank top - now sheer - showing off your nipples which were diamond hard due to the combination of the cold water and air.

‘Fucking hell, get a grip.’

But he turned around to get yet another look, while yes’ing the person on the phone. His eyes trailed over the shorts you wore, perfectly molded to your ass and thighs. The rest of your legs were equally toned and for a split second, he could imagine them wrapped around his hips.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’

He wanted to talk to you more but this phone call ate up his time. Finally after what seemed like forever, he was free again. He decided at that moment, he needed to clear his head, so he sat back down and willed his cock to deflate. He closed his eyes and was about to cover his face with a hat when you interrupted him again.

“So what’s a lapsed Catholic to do if she wants to rejoin the church?”

Rafael lifted the hat off his face and sat fully. He cocked a brow. “Well, you can start by coming to mass tomorrow.”

“I suppose,” you sighed. “It’s been awhile.”

“How long is a while?” Rafael inquired gently. He gave you a kind smile. You looked away, embarrassed. Heat flooded your cheeks.

“Years,” you supplied.

Rafael nodded and then cocked his head. “Are you familiar with the parable about Jesus and the lost sheep?”

You nodded. “I’m the one that Jesus is looking for?”

Rafael nodded. “Maybe. But what about coming to mass first and checking it out before making any commitments?”

You nodded again. “I’ll think about it.”

“Hey stranger! Long time no see!” a familiar voice called out, interrupting the conversation.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Maria, now accompanied by her boyfriend.

“I thought you were going to the city,” you asked, chucking your beer in the garbage can next to you.

“Changed our minds. Plus Robbie’s sister is being a little bitch.”

That earned a ‘hey!’ from Robbie before he acquiesced. “Yeah, she is being a little bitch.”

You turned back around but Rafael was nowhere to be seen. You looked at the pamphlet once more before folding it and tucking it away for later.

“I cannot believe you spoke to Fr. Barba like that,” Maria continued.

“Wait - what? He’s a priest?”

Maria nodded. She then pointed to your still soaked appearance. “You can see your tits through your tanktop. Wrong day to not wear a bra. You look like you could win a wet-tshirt contest.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment as you looked down and realized Maria was in fact correct.

“Probably thanked God - that celibate life must be rough,” Robbie laughed. “He’s been a priest for how long? I can’t imagine not having sex.”

You weren’t listening though, too consumed in your embarrassment and attraction. Of course the hottest man on the planet is a fucking priest. ‘And of course I would basically flash him.’

Later that evening at home, you poured some kibble in a bowl for your cat and heated up a quick meal. As you waited for your food to finish, you rifled through your closet for something to wear to church. Your eyes landed on a sundress that you knew was probably much too short for church. You frowned and kept looking until you found the perfect outfit.

You told Maria that you were going to attend mass. You had already promised the hot priest you’d come to the fellowship group. If you didn’t show, then you would be a liar, and you couldn’t lie to a priest - right?

—

The following morning you found yourself at church with Maria.

“I want to sit up in the front,” you whined as the both of you shuffled into the pew.

“I’m too hungover to sit in the front,” Maria grumbled. “You think I can get away with leaving my sunglasses on?”

You rolled your eyes. “This is probably the one mass you can get away with that shit,” you replied before slapping your mouth with your palm. “I didn’t mean to curse, shit, oh no, God damnit!”

Maria laughed at your foul mouthed word salad. “You can confess to Fr. Barba after.”

The organ began to play and you stood. You motioned to Maria to stand and she ignored you, instead choosing to rest her head on the back of the bench of the pew in front of her. You watched as the altar servers carried in the items needed for mass - Cross, the processional candles, incense and Bible. Your eyes followed as Fr. Barba walked behind. He wore green vestments and you vaguely recalled that the color of the robes indicated where you were along in the church calendar.

Mass went as typically as you remembered. You sang from the hymnal, prayed along the congregation, and actually listened to the homily instead of daydreaming about being anywhere else. Fr. Barba was straightforward, discussing Jesus’ anger.

“Paul commands us in Ephesians 4:26, be angry and do not sin; don’t let the sun set on your anger. I’ve heard a lot of sermons on the “but do not sin” part: anger can give opportunity to the devil and birth all manner of hell in relationships. I’ve also heard a lot of sermons on the “do not let the sun go down on your anger.” But I haven’t heard any sermons on these two words: be angry.”

Fr. Barba paused before continuing. “Be angry. As we look upon a world of injustice and abuse, even in the church, we can learn how to be angry in love together. And we learn this the way Paul did: from Jesus. Jesus got angry. Regularly. And we see a pattern in his anger: whenever someone vulnerable or powerless suffered injustice at the hands of the strong and powerful, Jesus opposed this injustice with loving anger.”

The Liturgy of Word concluded and then transitioned into the Liturgy of the Eucharist. You watched intently as he performed prayers and rites in Latin that had existed for thousands of years.

It was time for Communion but you didn’t feel up to receiving. So instead, you just watched. As you scanned the church, your eyes locked with Rafael’s. He was watching you, a frown on his face. You felt your cheeks grow hot once more and you turned away out of embarrassment.

Mass concluded shortly after. The fellowship hour was immediately afterwards, held in the basement of the church. Maria had zero interest in attending so you parted ways before heading down. The smell of incense and something very “churchly” permeated in the air as you walked down the dimly lit stairs.

The basement was as expected, acoustic tile ceiling, fluorescent lights, that unique slight churchy smell, boxes of various items, beige metal folding chairs, long tables, pillars in the middle of the room holding up the sanctuary one floor up. There was a life-size nativity in the back, with a Joseph whose hand was broken and an unfortunate beheaded sheep statue. Someone was setting up a coffee maker and someone else was plating store-bought cupcakes.

You chit-chatted with some congregants, majority of whom you met at the block party.

As you made a cup of coffee, you were unaware of Fr. Barba entering the room. It was only when you heard his voice and the sound of people shuffling to sit. You turned, sipping your coffee as you did so. No, Fr. Barba was no longer in those ceremonial robes that hid away everything. Instead, he wore fitted dark denim with a black shirt and his collar.

Your eyes tracked him as you continued to speak with others. You made sure to glance back to the folks you were speaking with - implying you were listening when you really weren’t. You watched as he moved easily through the room, greeting people, making jokes. What a waste of good looks.

People began to slowly sit, the chatting quietly winding down. Eventually, you took a seat. Everyone sat in a circle and you felt as if you were in an AA meeting.

“Welcome,” Fr. Barba began. “Thank you all for taking the time to come today.” He turned his gaze to you and stretched his arm in your direction. “We have a newcomer.” He gave you a small smile, his eyes crinkling in the corner.

You gave a small smile and waved, before introducing yourself.

There was a more in depth discussion of the readings from the mass. You hung onto every word Rafael said. Fr. Barba, Fr. Barba, Fr. Barba you chanted in your mind as if you were trying to ensure that stayed in your mind.

He’s a priest you told yourself. He’s Father - not Daddy.

—

You became a regular at church and also at the afternoon fellowship. You were usually quiet, opting to listen more so than anything. Today was different.

Fr. Barba asked the group to share their most favorite parts of scripture; he had anticipated the majority of responses - Genesis, one of the Gospels, Proverbs. Your comment made his stomach flip.

“I personally enjoy Song of Songs,” you offered. “It celebrates sexual love.”

“Jewish tradition reads it as an allegory of the relationship between God and Israel,” Fr. Barba offered.

“In Christianity, it is read as an allegory of Christand his bride, the Church,” you countered.

“I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for me,” Fr. Barba responded.

You flushed. “His mouth is sweetness itself; he is altogether lovely. It is an unabashedly sensuous, even at times quite erotic, paean to love,” you continued as you leafed through the Bible you held.

“No matter what interpretation you choose to believe, the book is a powerful and profound reminder of the beauty and depth of God’s love for us. It is a beautiful book that has been celebrated for centuries and one that can still bring joy and comfort to believers today.”

There was a pause and then Rafael clapped his hands. “I think that’s enough to stop for now. Thank you all for coming. I’ll see you all next week.”

You hung back, helping to clean up. Slowly the group dissipated, leaving you and Fr. Barba alone.

“You’re still here.” Fr. Barba’s voice was thick and dark. You shivered in response.

“I really enjoyed myself today,” you replied softly as you approached him. You closed the gap between you and him. You could press your hands to his chest if you wanted to.

Oh how you wanted to.

Your nipples strained against the confines of your top. You wanted to drop to your knees and show your worth - take another type of communion.

‘Behave,’ you told yourself.

“Did you now?”

His expressive, bright green eyes are now dark and stormy. His jaw is tight. You swallow hard.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I won’t have it,” he continues. His voice is clipped and you shivered in response.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not playing at anything Father. I’ll see you next week.”

Rafael didn’t reply. He watched as you turned about and walked away with a deliberate sway of your hips. His eyes were focused on your ass. All he wanted to do in that moment was to haul you over a pew and spank your ass for your insolence. His cock ached and twitched in his pants.

You turned back towards him, a full smile gracing your face. “I’m really looking forward to being a member of this congregation.”

Once you were gone, Rafael sat down on a folded chair dismayed.

He was so screwed.

God almighty help him.

—

It was a delicate dance. There was a part of you that enjoyed toeing the line with Fr. Barba. And part of you felt a smidge guilty. But fuck, he was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him.

As Fr. Barba. Well, you weren’t alone in the desperate want and lust you were feeling.

He played with you in his fantasies. He knew what he was getting into when he became a priest. He swore to God to not know another’s body. It was the least he could do considering he killed baby Drew.

He wasn’t supposed to have these kind of thoughts.

It had been so long and he was under your spell.

After the group meeting, he had to hustle back to his home - a small home attached to the rectory. He made quick work of removing his clothes. He hissed as grasped his aching cock. Stroke, stroke, stroke.

Self pleasure was also a no-no.

Masturbation involved lust. It’s to use another person for your own selfish pleasure. The person becomes an object and it denigrates their dignity as a human being.

When he was around you, he wanted to throw everything into the wind. The image of your soaked tits haunted him. He threw his head back as he continued to jerk himself. Desire. You made him fucking feral.

He imagined kissing you after the meeting the second you and him were alone.

His lips crushed against yours. He pressed your back against the wall, his knee parting your legs.

One hand tangled in your hair, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot of your skin.

It was as if you released a part of him that he had kept tucked away for so long.

He stripped away your top, before mouthing your tits before dropping to his knees. Your hand moved through his hair.

“Taste me,” you’d beg. You’d beg so nicely and who was he to deny his lamb?

He imagined grabbing your ass, pulling your dripping pussy to his mouth. You would drape a leg over his shoulder, grounding yourself hard against his mouth.

“Fuck, right there. Just like that.”

He would put his thumb on your clit, rubbing circles as he pushed his tongue inside, tasting, licking, and sucking.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” you’d moan. “Don’t stop. Oh God, I am going to come. Please, fuck me.”

He would undo his belt and drop his pants, grasping his cock in his hand. He’d rub the head of his cock along your folds, teasing you until neither one of you could stand it before burying himself deep inside of you.

“I want everything you’ve got. I want to feel it all.”

“Is that what my little lamb wants? To be fucked hard like a whore?”

“Yes,” you’d beg. “Please.”

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“Come for me little lamb,” he’d encourage. You’d fall apart at his words. He could imagine how your wet, soft, pussy would suck his cock in, deeper and deeper. He would imagine thrusting deep and hard, his cock dragging against your sweet spot. He’d come hard, deep inside of you, his come painting your walls.

In reality he grunted and groaned as his cock kicked. He came all over his hand and belly. He panted, waiting for his breath to even out.

‘Shit.’

—

It was a gloomy Tuesday morning as Rafael worked in his office. Homilies were a lot like closing arguments. Instead of trying to sway the jury, he had to connect with his congregants. Instead of evidence, it was the gospel.

He was distracted. His mind kept wandering to you. Were you some kind of a test for him?

You were under his skin. An itch that couldn’t be scratched. Or stroked. You had consumed his thoughts.

He tore the yellow sheet off the pad before crumpling it.

Rafael tried very hard to live a holy life, especially as he had known what life was like, could be like, outside of the church.

And until now, through God’s grace, he had done very well.

He looked at the time. Confession was to start soon. Confession wasn’t popular. Usually before the bigger high holidays, people would come in droves. But a regular, run of the mill Tuesday? Not a chance.

He had his regulars though, who would come without fail. They were long standing members of the community. Being bilingual was a big boost for the church.

Rafael put on his collar, and changed into dark slacks from jeans and then headed out.

—-

You peeked into the booth. Seeing that it was empty, you made your way in and sat down.

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It’s been… um, years since my last confession.”

Rafael was stunned. It was you.

‘Focus.’

You began with some menial, ordinary sins. Rafael focused on what you were saying, ignoring the throb of his cock.

“And, of course, this… all leads to the most wicked one.”

Rafael swallowed hard. “Go on.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Me?” Rafael questioned. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ “What do you mean?”

“You’re so kind and thoughtful. I probably shouldn’t say this because it’s so inappropriate, but you’re so fucking handsome. And it’s resulted in some wicked behavior.”

“Wicked how?” His hands ball into fists before he grabs the tops of his thighs hard, trying to steel his thoughts.

“I— I’m sorry. I need to go.” You’re stammering over your words, your heart racing.

Rafael heard the panic in your voice and he frowned. The confessional creaked as you stood. Rafael was filled with an overwhelming need to get you to stay. “We all sin. Including myself. God made us imperfect and can he really get to be disappointed in us when we do imperfect things?”

“I— I’ve never felt the way I do about you with anyone else. And I am filled with despair about wanting what I can’t have,” you reply softly. “What can I do about this? Can I say 10 Hail Mary’s or something?”

You continue. “And can I be absolved if I don’t feel bad about what I’ve done or said in the past? They’re all things I wanted to do.”

Rafael wracked his mind on what to say.

And before he could, he heard you open the door and leave. He stood quickly and pushed open the curtain. But it was too late. You were already gone.

—

Sunday mass came like clockwork.

As Rafael led mass, he scanned the pews for you. He was disappointed when he didn’t see you. He saw your friend and he made a mental note to talk with her afterwards.

“Fr. Barba, great service,” Maria commented as she shook Fr. Barba’s hand.

“Thank you. I- I am glad you came. You had been coming with your friend—“

“Oh! You mean — yeah, she couldn’t come today. She had some stuff to take care of. She’s new to the area and I know she could really use the community support,” Maria replied. She looked past Rafael and smiled brightly. “Oh there she is!”

Maria called your name. Rafael turned around and he saw you across the street. You were dressed more conservatively and he felt a wave of disappointment.

You half jogged across the street and before Rafael knew it, you had materialized in front of him.

“Hi,” you greeted as you tucked your hair behind your ear. “Sorry to have missed mass.”

“It’s okay,” Rafael laughed. “It’s not like God is keeping tabs.”

You smiled. Maria turned to you. “Was just telling Fr. Barba how you could use some community.”

“Uh,” you blanched. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, help is always needed at the community center or food pantry,” Rafael offered. “Meet plenty of people that way.”

“Yeah, sure. I - I saw in the bulletin you were looking for someone to go over your books.”

Rafael shifted. “Um, I was looking more for a CPA—“

“Well you are in luck!” Maria hit your arm. “You’ve got your own CPA here.”

“I-I am not a CPA. I was treasurer of my sorority years ago,” you explained. “But I lost my job and I need money,” you shrugged. “That’s all.”

Rafael sighed and rubbed his neck. As much as Olivia was a bleeding heart, he was too, especially with his roots. “Um, stop by the rectory sometime next week and we can talk it through.”

You smiled brightly. “Oh that would be great! Really! Thank you.”

Rafael nodded. You turned to Maria. “We have to go. Reservations?”

Other congregants had started to line up to speak with Rafael. He turned towards the line, but not without glancing back, watching you walk away.

Rafael admired you from behind, appreciating how your jeans hugged you in all of the right places. A flash of heat coursed through him.

‘God damnit, what are you doing?’

—

You never came by. Or to mass. Rafael thought you might have had a change of heart. Perhaps your flirtation with religion had flamed out. He found himself longing to see you but also increasingly frustrated with himself. He busied himself as much as possible so that he couldn’t even think of you. You were the absolute last thing on his mind.

When you rapped on his door two and a half weeks later, Rafael was more than surprised. He was downright startled, like a horse with thunder. He had been knee deep in the church’s financial books.

“I’m sorry, I hope I am not intruding. I know it’s late.”

Rafael relaxed. “No, not at all. Please, come in, sit.”

You slunk in the chair with ease and eyed Rafael’s outfit. “You don’t look like a priest.”

Rafael arched a thick brow. “And what do I look like?”

“Like a regular guy. Someone I would meet at a bar,” you shrugged as you waved your arm as if to make a point. Rafael was wearing dark jeans with a button down, sleeves rolled up and brown brogues.

Rafael laughed. “Well, there was a point in my life where you would have found me there. Speaking of bars, would you care for a drink?”

“I thought priests could only drink church wine.”

Rafael laughed again. “No, no, we can drink more than church wine.” You heard the clatter of glass and the sound of liquid pouring. “Here,” Rafael turned to you, his arm outstretched, holding a lowball glass with amber liquid. “Macallan 18.”

You took it from him and swirled the liquid before sniffing. You closed your eyes as you took a sip. You hummed, pleased. “This is good. Dangerously good.” You took another sip. “Oh this goes down way too easy.”

‘I bet my cock will go down easy.’

Rafael coughed and shook his head. “Uh, yeah, it does.” He took a large swallow of his glass and then poured himself another glass.

“You’re wondering why I’m here now. Instead of two weeks ago.”

Rafael perched himself on the corner of his desk. “I am.”

“I wish I had a reason that made sense, but I don’t. The truth is…” you glanced around the office and it became very apparent that the room was decorated more like a legal office than what you assumed an office in a church would be like.

“The truth is?” Rafael prodded.

You stood and started walking around the room. Your hand trailed the spines of the stacks of books lined up. It was then when you spotted the law degree in the corner.

“Wait - you are a lawyer? And a priest? How does that work?”

“Was,” Rafael clarified, before taking a long sip of his drink. “Was a lawyer.”

“You don’t practice anymore?”

“No,” Rafael shook his head. “Not anymore.”

You walked up to the bar cart and poured yourself another drink. You took the chair and pulled it until you were sitting directly in front of Rafael. “Tell me.”

Hours passed. Rafael unloaded everything on you - his time at SVU, baby Drew, the why to choose a life of faith.

And that bottle of Macallan?

You stood very close to Rafael. Your hands pressed on his chest. You swayed slightly and Rafael placed his hands on your hips, steadying you.

“Hire me. I’m really good with numbers.”

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “We aren’t going to have sex.”

You scoffed, before almost losing your footing. Rafael’s hands gripped your hips tightly. “Who said anything about us having sex?”

“Do you think I don’t realize what game you’re playing?”

“Game? I’m not playing a game. I need a job.”

“Don’t play dumb.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am not. Besides, do you even know how?”

Rafael pushed you away slightly. “Did you not just hear the story of my life?”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Father.”

“The how?”

You walked back and closed the gap between you and him. “Yeah. The how. To fuck.”

Rafael’s eyes darken. He cupped your face and you leaned into his palm. He slowly walked around and behind you. He dropped his mouth to your ear. “I know how to fuck. I’ve fucked plenty. Men. Women. I know how to make someone come.”

A rumble emanated from Rafael’s chest. You spun on your heels and looked up at him. Rafael loomed over you, your eyes growing wide. Your breath hitched. “Is that so?”

Your faces were inches apart. You were breathing each other's air, growing dizzy over the shared breath. Your heart was thumping and you were so needy in that moment you thought you were going to burst.

“Little lamb, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

You let out a whine. “Please.”

Rafael lifted your chin with his finger. Your eyes searched his before settling on his lips. His beautiful pink lips that you knew they knew how to kiss. And lick. And fuck. And make someone come.

“You’re a good priest Father Barba,” you whispered. “But you’re also a good man. And doesn’t a good man deserve a little indulgence every now and then?”

The tension in the room was thick, the air electric. You almost felt moved to tears in the desperate way you wanted him. And he wanted you.

The sound of sirens blaring broke the spell. You both jumped apart. You both stared at each other. Rafael couldn’t help but notice that you were flushed, and that flush was making its way down. You worried your bottom lip.

“It’s late,” you rushed. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.”

You spun on your heels and was about to dash out the door when Rafael gripped your wrist, pausing you in the middle of the door.

You looked back up at him with wide eyes.

“You start Monday,” Rafael gruffed. You nodded, unable to say anything.

You managed to squeak out an ‘okay.’ And before you realized it, the door was shut in your face.

—

Your first week was completely uneventful. As is the next. And the week after. You’re the epitome of well behaved and professional much to Rafael’s relief.

That still didn’t mean he didn’t imagine kissing you and then some. Or how when you leaned over his desk, he didn’t imagine lifting up your skirt and plowing into you. Or that when you chewed on your pen cap, he didn’t imagine his cock between your plump, soft lips.

Under the collar, he still was very much a man.

And you didn’t let him forget it. He lost track of the amount of times he had to get himself off. And still it didn’t nothing to quell the ache for you.

You threw yourself into the work and you actually found it quite fulfilling. You made plenty of friends and found yourself volunteering in other parts of the church - like working at the food pantry or singing as part of the church choir.

Summer ebbed into Fall. The air grew cooler. The days started to grow shorter and the leaves, once a vibrant green, were now tinged with yellow and orange, painting the city in a fiery palette.

You were working in the rectory that morning. When Myra, the arthritic receptionist, ended up in the hospital with pneumonia, you eagerly took over the job. You were busy enough with church duties as it was but it made sense for you to take over.

Utilizing your skills from past work experience, you ended up bringing St. Blaise into the 21st century thanks to Intuit and Microsoft.

Since you started, the more Rafael was able to get to know you. In turn, the more he wanted you. He did everything in his power to not even look at you for too long, at least when you were not not looking. It was hard - but Rafael was a glutton for punishment. Being around you made Rafael addicted.

It did seem as if you heeded his words - you were the utmost professional. You did such a good job that Rafael wondered if maybe he had misread the signals altogether and that one night was just the booze.

Then one particular evening, Rafael saw you walking with Maria, her boyfriend, and another gentleman. He didn’t want to stop and say hi - if anything he wanted to avoid it altogether and cross the street but you and him made eye contact. It would have been too awkward to avoid you by that point. It ended with the five of you at the local watering hole - where this gentleman who had his arm wrapped around you. Rafael didn’t enjoy how jealousy washed over him - he knew he did not have any right to you, or your body. And he would never be - you were never together like that.

You were waiting at the bar, ordering another round when Rafael joined you. You looked over at him and gave a small smile.

“So you’re on date then?”

You looked at him incredulously. “Rafael—“

“You live here, you can go on any dates and with whom.”

“He’s just— you and I— we never…

The bartender arrived with your drinks. You went to pay, but Rafael stopped you. “I got it.”

“Don’t you have to take a vow of poverty?” you asked as you grabbed some of the drinks. Rafael grabbed the remainder and the two of you walked back to the booth.

“One of the most common misconceptions about the Catholic priesthood is that all priests take a vow of poverty. In fact, most do not. Diocesan priests do not even make vows, they make “promises” of obedience to their bishop: chastity and to pray the Liturgy of the Hours. Vows, on the other hand, are typically made by members of religious orders, such as Franciscans, Benedictines, Dominicans, etc.”

You nodded. “Got it.”

You walked ahead of Rafael, a sway in your hips as you did so. Rafael’s eyes narrowed and he sucked in a breath as he followed, exhaling slowly.

When your date - Eric - as he later learned - began mouthing off about theology and religion, Rafael rolled his eyes. Still, he wasn’t going to let himself get bested and using the skills he acquired from all the cross examinations he had ever done, basically annihilated the other guy. You snickered behind the glass of your drink but Rafael saw it and felt his chest puff.

At one point - Eric whispered something in your ear. Whatever he said was enough to make you blush and shift in your seat, smiling to yourself like you had a secret. Rafael didn’t miss it at all and he felt himself stiffen and his jaw tighten. Your eyes met once more, and you witnessed the visceral reaction he was having, saw that little flex of his jaw and the way his eyes glittered with something primal and possessive. You could see that part of him would gladly punch Eric, and even as Rafael’s eyes locked with yours, he didn't hide it. Briefly, the kind and generous priest was all gone. Even the smart and sassy lawyer was superseded: you saw the man, capable of lust and jealousy. Over you. The thought of inspiring those feelings in him made heat pool in your body, and you squeezed your thighs together. His eyes registered your expression: you were certain he knew how you felt.

By end of the night, you went to hug him good night but Rafael dodged you. You frowned and bid him adieu as he dipped his head in acknowledgement. Rafael continued to head home - and had he turned around, he would have seen you still standing, watching him.

Another week went by.

The pounding on the door stirred Rafael awake. He looked over at the clock - it was a little after midnight. A breeze blew through, causing a chill to run through his body.

He tugged a t-shirt on and groused that he was on his way.

Rafael was not expecting to see you.

“Father,” you greeted. There was a very large bottle of Macallan in your hand. Your eyes trailed over the very sleepy priest in front of you. His hair was askew and he looked adorable. You swallowed at his tight white shirt and low slung gray sweats.

“What is going on?” Rafael asked. He reached in his pocket for his glasses.

“Fancy a chat about my existential crisis?” You thrusted the bottle of scotch into his arms and walked in, pushing slightly past him.

Rafael got a whiff of your shampoo and it sent all blood straight immediately to his cock. He looks back outside and satisfied not seeing anyone else, closes the door behind him. “Existential crisis?”

“Do you have any glasses?” You ask, ignoring his question, as you look around. You hadn’t ever been inside a priest’s dwelling and you were surprised at how normal it appeared.

“Wow.” You stopped misstep and looked around. “This is not what I expected.”

Rafael rubbed his neck. “Huh? Oh, what did you expect it to look like?”

“I don’t know. More holy? Crosses everywhere. Stacks of bibles? Not something out of an architectural digest - with a kitchen island!”

Rafael laughed. He took the bottle from your hand and walked over to the island where he placed the glasses. “A lot of this is from…” he waved his arm around. “Before.”

“Pre-priest Rafael.” You clarified as you walked over to where he was and took an amber filled glass.

“Yeah,” Rafael replied before taking a long drag of his drink.

You nodded and hummed before taking another sip. “When you were just a man. Who had sex. A lot.”

“I’m still a man.”

“Come on, you know it’s not the same.”

You knew better. You knew you shouldn’t.

What would your friends say, what would they do if they ever find out? What about the congregation and surrounding community?

This was bigger than you, bigger than him. What were you thinking?

But it’s Rafael. Fr. Rafael Barba. Not that it matters - he’s not actually yours. He belongs to God.

But now when he’s staring down at you the way he is right now, teeth catching his full bottom lip, sleep-tousled hair and stormy, smoldering eyes, you can’t help but fall from grace.

“Kiss me.”

“You know we can’t.”

“So? Kiss me anyway.”

“I’m a priest.”

“Kiss me anyway.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Rafael swallowed the remainder of his drink and let out a huff. He pointed a finger toward you. “You…you’re trouble.”

You closed the gap between you and him. The room felt electric. You pressed your hands onto his chest. “So? Kiss me anyway.”

Rafael sucked in a breath. You press yourself even closer, your hips automatically seeking his. Rafael pushed you away gently. “I told you we can’t. I told you I can’t.”

“Why are you denying what’s between us?” Your hands shook as you poured yourself another glass. You turned and leaned against the island. “God made us to be sexual creatures. It’s his design. It’s his idea, his gift to us.”

Rafael sighed in irritation. “Our sexual desires are no surprise to God. He made us, and He gave us a strong sexual desire to enjoy within the proper context.” He pointed to you and then to himself. “This is not the proper context. If I wasn’t a priest, then it would be different. This is real life. What we do has real consequences.”

“If you weren’t a priest,” you murmured. You swallowed the remainder of your drink and slammed it on the island. Warmth flooded your body and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or him or a combination of both. Likely the latter. “Tell me you want me. Tell me I was never imagining things.”

Rafael remained silent.

“You have the right to lose control. I know you think—”

“You don’t know what I think,” Rafael acerbically spat. “And no, I don’t have the right.” He began to pace. “You don’t know the misery I live in when you’re not around.”

“And you think I am not?” you questioned. Your voice wavered and your eyes welled with unshed tears. “It’s never been like this with anyone. Never. I want you. I can’t have you. But please - let me live in the solace that you want me too. That I was never imagining any of it. I am going crazy.”

Rafael paused mid-stride and looked at you. He took a deep breath.

“What’s it gonna be? I am begging you.”

It was like something in him snapped when you said that. Rafael slammed his own drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He walked over and pressed you against the island. You let out a squeak in response. You could feel how hard he was against your belly. He brushed some of your hair back. Your breath hitched and a flush spread along your skin.

“Say it again.”

“Tell me you want me.”

“No - repeat what you said at the end,” he all but growled. You chewed your bottom lip and nodded.

“I beg you.”

“God help me. You beg so prettily,” Rafael murmured. He pulled at you, hands grabbing at hips, lips crashing into yours in a bruising kiss. It was over before you could register and you pulled back to look into his eyes. You wrapped your hands on his face and then dove back in, returning the kiss, equally as hard.

The momentum was desperate, frenzied, hands everywhere. You let out a gasp as Rafael backed you against the kitchen island. The scruff of his beard dragged against your skin, his lips working your jaw, your ear, moving down your neck, and you let out a strained moan. You pressed your hips upwards into his, feeling his erection. Rafael had to stop and inhale sharply before resuming his attack on your skin. The tips of his fingers find skin under your shirt, and dig into your flesh. One of your hands is twisted in his shirt, the other grasping the waistband of his sweats as he felt a leg curve around his; it was as if your body functioned in tune to keep him as close as possible.

Rafael’s lips found purchase on the hollow of your neck. You let out a groan as you sagged against him, melting into his embrace. The want was overwhelming.

His hands made way to the front of your jeans and he nimbly undid the button and fly before shoving his large hand down your panties. “So wet for me.”

And you are. You’re so fucking wet, it’s obscene.

The tips of his fingers drag through your slit.

“Fuck,” his teeth scraped along your jaw. “You’re soaking.”

He slid two fingers deep inside of you. You keened wordlessly into his shoulder, biting down on his shoulder to suppress a moan.

“No, no, pretty lamb. Look at me,” Rafael husked, his voice laced with an edge of dominance.

You pulled back and met his gaze. His fingers drove deep up into you, pumping, long and needy. His thumb rubbed against your clit. Your blood is boiling, your body vibrating. You’re close. You know it. He knows it. His fingers continue their momentum, finding that spongey spot inside of you that most folks couldn’t ever find.

The walls of your pussy ripple against his fingers. “Be a good little lamb and come for me.” It was Rafael’s turn to beg. “Be my good girl and give it to me.”

You chanted his name as if it were prayer as you come around his fingers. Your body is abuzz, vibrating. You whine out his name in three syllables as you coat his hand with your arousal. Rafael swallowed your cries as he covered your mouth with his. The kiss, which was initially passionate, slowed in intensity, to just soft, slow licks that almost felt reverent, worshipful. Eventually he pressed his forehead to yours and you both drank in each other’s air, breathing heavily. You whimpered as Rafael removed his fingers from your cunt. You watched him with wide eyes as he slipped his fingers into his mouth. His eyes fluttered close as he let out an appreciative sound.

“Do I taste good, Father?” Your voice was laced with lust.

“My sweet, decadent little lamb,” Rafael complimented. “But we cannot do that again.”

“Do what?” You asked as you pushed him off slightly to give yourself room to drop to the floor. You palmed his cock through his pants, pleased with yourself as he groaned with want and need.

A car backfired and the sound caused you both to startle, effectively ending the spell. Rafael helped you up from the ground. “This cannot happen again.” His voice was firm. And before you could protest any more, you found yourself back outside, the door shutting in your face.

Rafael leaned against the door, his head pounding, his cock aching.

‘You idiot! You shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have given in to your melodic voice and sparkling eyes. You had no business being in his life.

But the crack he left open for you made him believe that he had more to lose now than when he met you at the block party all those moons ago.

He rubbed his face, tired and frustrated. And he went back to bed to once again to take matters in his own hands again. ‘Fuck.’

TBC.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba and reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fanfiction #rafael barba smut #priest kink #priest! rafael barba #priest! Barba x reader #law and order SVU au #law and order svu fanfic

59 notes · View notes

askinkiskarma · 1 year

Text

𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕀: ℍ𝕚𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕪𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader

synopsis: you decide to make Neteyam pay for all the hurt he's caused you, but what will happen when your own plan comes back to bite you in the ass?

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up! Neteyam/Reader, enemies-to-lovers, strong language, mentions of violence, blood, neteyam and reader being horrible to each other lol

wc: 5k words

a/n: i'm so flabbergasted by the incredible response to my first enemies-to-lovers fic, you don't even know! thank you so much, it means so much to see you besties enjoying it and being excited about it. I will reiterate once more than this is a trope suuper outside of my comfort zone, so i hope you enjoy me wracking my brain to figure out the plot as i go along hahahah. enjoy, and as always, thank you for every like, reblog, reply, it means the world x (thank you very much also to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art ily bestie x)

na'vi compendium: syä - bitter, yawne - beloved, tanhì - bioluminescent freckle, 'itan - son, 'ite - daughter, Tsakarem - Tsa'hik in training, tsamsiyu - warrior, muntxate - mate, 'eylan - friend

: ̗̀➛ previous chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)

Tryna wash away all the blood I've spilt, this lust is a burden that we both share

Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer, souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time, you and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time, hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

Just like most Na’vi, you’ve always felt comfortable at night. It always felt to you like the best time to be alive, is when the plants came to life alongside you, in iridescent hues and kaleidoscopes of vibrant colours. You’ve always liked how the village quieted, much like your mind, and how you were able to almost disappear in the dead of the forest, your body perfectly camouflaged in the trees and shrubbery surrounding you, glowing lights reflecting on your lustrous skin. It was heaven on Pandora, and it was yours to take, yours to enjoy, yours to experience.

It didn’t feel like that right now, as you were stalking towards the village with a hand around your neck, tears falling down your face, a forlorn disposition plaguing your mind, fear protruding uninvited through the stalks of your thoughts. You kept glancing behind you, trying to see if Neteyam was following you, and felt mildly soothed when the village came abruptly into focus. You let out a breath of relief that you felt has been lodged in your throat for too long and started running towards your tent, exalted when you reached it and pushed the flap closed, almost considering glueing it shut with the sap from the tree Na’vi use in building furnishings for the village and their homes. You couldn’t stop the scream that escaped you as a voice you didn’t expect to hear in a home you thought was deserted spoke up, filling the much needed silence.

“Is everything alright, Tanhí? Why are you so jumpy?” O'ì'en’s calming tone did very little to soothe you, but you knew you needed to settle your mind, so as to not raise suspicion. Any hint of what transpired between you and Neteyam would lead to complications you didn’t want to have to deal with, not when you had it all under control. There was no need to bring anyone into a war that only concerned two people, that would lead to destruction and ache you didn’t want anybody you cared about to have to experience. You had it all under control.

The reason for your unsightly fight with Neteyam brought back the conversation between yourself and Mo’at, that you tried your best to push away from your mind, that now came back in full swing as you finally took him in, as you knew you would have to tell him, and deal with the consequences of Eywa's vision and your decision to not talk the Tsa'hik out of it as a way to get revenge on the man who hurt you deeper and deeper with each day that passed. You and O'ì'en never made your relationship official, and never really even talked about it seriously, but there was no need - it was obvious enough. It was quite clear to most people that although undefined right now, your future was shaping up before your eyes, and its shape looked a lot like mating before Eywa, it looked a lot like kids and laughter and happiness and all the good things you thought you wanted, that you wanted to want every day of your life. You didn’t know whether you were convinced, deep down, but either way, you were always willing to try. Now, it seemed you wouldn't even get the chance.

“Everything’s fine, yawne. Just didn’t expect to see you here.” You thanked Eywa silently for the darkness in your home that hid your new-found bruises and closed the distance between you two, smiling as genuinely as you could bring yourself to, and reaching out to stroke his cheeks, the smile didn’t feel as forced when he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes and almost purring in comfortable contentment.

“I just came to check on you after the mission. You were… impressive. As you always are. It means so much, watching you out there, seeing what you’re capable of, how incredible you are, knowing the future moth-“ his eyes widened as his words registered in his mind and he stopped, and your expression couldn’t have been far removed from his in this moment, that felt all of a sudden thick with anticipation and nerves, with tension and fear. You didn’t know which emotions came from you.

“Ma O'ì'en…I…”

Both your heads snapped in the direction of the entrance, that was pushed open aggressively by a tall, muscular figure that you would recognise in every dream and every nightmare, in every waking moment, that you wished you didn’t. Neteyam stilled in his tracks as he noticed the scene in front of him, intimate and personal and clearly not for his eyes to see, and you felt a growl blossom in your throat that you had to swallow, if not for anything, for your still unflinching desire to keep this whole ordeal a secret for as long as you could.

“I’m interrupting.”

“Yes, yo-“

“No, Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan. Is there anything wrong?”

“I need to talk to her. About the… mission.”

“I shall leave you to it, then. Please give your family my regards.”

“Thank you, O'ì'en. I appreciate it.”

“No, yawne, you don’t have to leave. I can talk to Neteyam tomorrow. It’s late, anyhow.”

“Tanhi, we’ll… resume our conversation tomorrow, alright?” He gets close to you and his lips find your forehead for just a second, before he takes his leave, and you sigh, dread filling you at the thought of being in such proximity with the man that took so much space in your mind, the man that hurt you beyond words, that you would never be able to forgive.

“How touching.” his voice is filled with contempt and malice, and it hurts, still to this day, this tone you knew so familiarly, that you never managed to get used to, like a shadow following you in the night you would never be able to escape.

“Get the fuck out of my tent, Neteyam.”

“He seems to have taken the news of our impending doom of a mateship very well. I’m impressed.”

“Leave, Neteyam.”

“You would think he would leave out of here kicking and screaming, that he would punch me and challenge me to First Blood for the chance to keep you… maybe you’re not as big a catch as I thought.”

His steps were quiet, but determined, as he traversed the length of the tent and got close to you, until he took up your entire field of view and you hissed aggressively, your tail twirling so much it was almost hurting, as did your ears, pushed back until they were flat, and you removed your knife, resting in a sheath on your chest and held it a couple of millimetres from his neck.

“I said… leave.”

“Oh.. yawne, I doubt you’re going to kill me, but you’re more than welcome to try.”

He had no time to say anything else as the knife made contact with his smooth skin, and in one fell swoop, a thin stripe of blood emerged from his chest, and started dripping down his body. You looked at it, at the clean, bright red liquid spilling, then raised your gaze to his face, that wasn’t shocked or scared, or even angry, but alive with a glimmer of something you couldn’t quite place in his eyes and a lazy smirk on his face. He shrugged.

“Guess I deserved that.”

“So… why wasn’t your little boyfriend upset about our arrangement? Cause the way I see it, this means either you just conveniently left it out of the conversation, or it’s because you are actually planning on talking yourself out of it to my parents.”

Your heart was booming in your chest as his eyes bore into yours and the intensity in them scared you, but not because of any elicited fear, but of how your body reacted to it and how you didn’t know what those feelings plaguing you were, or how to make them stop.

“Leave.”

“Now why would you not tell him about it? Are you scared? Scared he’ll find out you’ll finally get to be with a real man for once?”

You chuckled.

“Is that supposed to be you? That is funny, Neteyam, congratulations! I will let Lo’ak know that you managed to actually make a good joke for once in your life. He’ll be floored.” His expression darkened momentarily, but he regained his composure as quickly as he lost it.

“If that’s not it, then, that means you will talk to my parents. I knew you couldn’t be dumb enough to accept this stupid little forced deal.” You wanted nothing more than to wipe that stupid little smirk off his face, and fortunately for you, you knew just the way to do it.

“Well, why, Neteyam, as much as the thought of being mated to you horrifies me beyond my wildest nightmares, it’s nothing compared to the joy I get thinking of how miserable you’re going to be if I don’t talk to your parents and have to watch the choice slip past your grasp, not that it was there to begin with, or the joy of - ah, there it is - the joy fading from your eyes as you realise you will have to tell your stupid little girlfriend that you and her, will never, ever happen, and she will never be Tsa’hik, and watch as you realise that everything I foretold is, in fact, true.”

It was your turn to smirk, widely and cruelly, as his smile faded a little more with every word you spoke, until it was completely removed and replaced with a snarl, deep scowl and menacing canines on full display for you, but you were no longer scared. No, pure adrenaline was rushing through your veins, heightened by the desire to hurt him, to see him crumble in front of you, to see him suffer a sliver of all the hurt he’s caused you over the years.

“Listen me very carefully, Neteyam. For one reason or another, you have made it your life purpose to make mine miserable, and only mine. I don’t want this to happen, I really don’t. I would rather be with any other man on this planet before I even considered looking in your direction, but I will make you pay for all the hurt you’ve caused me. And I have no problem burning in the pits of what Jake calls Hell, if I get to watch you burn with me.” You smiled a sweet smile, running your finger over the cut that was still leaking blood, trailing it down his abdomen, over his abs, and you ignored once more how the feel of his muscular body made shivers emanate from your fingertip, propagating throughout your whole being. You also ignored how his body shuddered under your touch. “So you and me, we’re stuck together, and there’s nothing you can do about it. And I will enjoy every moment of my life in which I get to see your life fall apart before you and know that I made it happen. So this little charming act you’re pulling, it’s all in vain. It’s all in vain. Now get out.”

You didn’t wait for him to answer you, but turned around and started preparing for bed. You removed the silk top covering your chest, and heard a sharp inhale as his eyes took in the scene, and your breath ceased, wondering if he was going to leave, like you told him to, wondering if you wanted him to. Eventually, the cold sting of the wind blowing hit your back, as he opened the flap to your tent and exited it, and all at once, it all hit you and you felt more alone, more forlorn than you ever have, and less sure than ever about your crazy, all-consuming schemes.

You woke up with doubt filling your mind and the headache to match, and you wondered if you did in fact have to leave the comfort and safety of your tent for the life that you knew would be waiting to tear you slowly at the seams as soon as you left it. Dreams plagued your subconscious last night, floating in the ether, waiting to be grabbed and inspected by an uncertain mind, and in your state, they were, and turned over onto each one of their pretty facets, bringing back memories you struggled to forget, that hurt you in their innocence and beauty, in their absence, in their contrast to your life right now and the relationship you still mourned to this day on odd occasions, on harder days, like yesterday, and like today.

In those dreams, Neteyam’s eyes gleamed with excitement and love, instead of annoyance and hatred. In those dreams, his hands were warm as his fingers intertwined with yours on the practice grounds, instead of bruising and calloused as they snuffed the breath out of your throat. In dreams, his smile brightened your whole world and made the pain of training and the struggle of excellence not only bearable, but barely-felt. You couldn’t even remember the last time Neteyam smiled your way, a true smile, a gummy smile, a playful smile he still flashed most people, he still flashed his family, and friends, and clan, all of which you used to be, none of which you still are to him.

You wondered sometimes, very rarely, if he ever thinks about those times, too. If in his undivided quest to hurt you and one-up you, in his desire to see you fail and the joy he seems to derive from it, you wondered, did he ever think about those times, too? Does he ever remember you, innocent and young, full of spark and happiness, looking up at him like he was a planet and you were just his moon, trapped in his gravitational pull, circling his orbit, offering him solace and safety from the rest of the universe, from all the meteors that always tried to take too much out of him, too quickly. He used to love you, and want to protect you, he was there when your parents died, he was there to help you mourn and heal. Does he remember what you used to mean to him?

As you made your way to the Sullys' tent, you were greeted by shouting and a seemingly unending back-and-forth, but the voices involved in it weren't the ones you expected - not when they weren't Lo'ak and Kiri's, who you found bickering almost on the daily, who you were used to having to mediate peace treaties for, but instead, Neteyam and Jake's, both angry and raising above the peaceful chatter of the village that was just coming to life in light of a new day.

"- and this is just the way it is, Neteyam. This isn't like you! You, more than all the rest of your siblings combined, have always been able to see the bigger picture, to understand that sacrifices sometimes are necessary for the greater good. You have always been the one who was able to have perspective. What the hell happened, son?"

"What happened is you're trying to get me to mate with someone who I hate, who I will never be able to accept. I had a chosen mate! I had a life, and a plan, and now it's all over. Now you're telling me I have to give her every part of me, the most intimate parts of me, my children, my future. Her!"

You cringed at the way he said your name - like a blasphemy, like a curse. Spitting it like it was blood and bile mixing together on his tongue, coating his mouth, like the vile word hurt sitting in his throat. and he desperately needed to get it out before it could do any more damage.

"This isn't my decision, son. And it's not yours, either. It's Eywa's. You know she's never wrong, you know there's a reason for this. She seems to see it, too, why can't you at least try?"

There was silence in the tent and you felt guilty for prying, your body crouched next to the tent and your ear against its woven fabric, but not guilty enough to stop. Jake sighed loudly. You heard Neytiri's calmer, more even tone take over.

"Ma 'itan... you used to love this girl. She used to be your best friend, you used to do everything together. I know things have changed between you, but deep down, you're both the same two people you used to be. You both can find each other again, you just have to try. Why won't you try?"

Neteyam huffed and the sudden commotion made you jolt back, hiding in the corner as he pushed passed the closed flap, muttering mostly to himself as he left the tent, and his family, behind.

"You know damn well why."

You let out a breath you've been holding for the entirety of the conversation, as you came out of hiding and entered the tent, trying your best not to look like you overheard the entirety of that conversation that although about you, clearly was not intended for your ears to hear. Even if you hadn't heard the whole thing, it would still be obvious you were on their minds and on their lips as their eyes scrambled in shame and embarrassment, the room drowned in awkwardness and heaviness none of you could quite shake, none of you could quite swim in gracefully. Neytiri spoke first, her motherly instincts kicking in as she noticed your pained expression, that as hard as you tried, you couldn't hide from the people you loved so much, from the people that knew you so well.

"Ma 'ite, come, sit. We saved you food." she took you gently by the shoulders and pushed you to the middle of the room, and then down until you sat next to Lo'ak, who gave you a pitying look and a half-smile, an underwhelming attempt at telling you he's heard the news, and he feels sorry for you. Lo'ak more than most people knew how it felt to be stuck to Neteyam, how it felt to know that, no matter what happened or where life took him, he'd always live in his big brother's shadow, unable to escape his majestic, adept, irritating grasp. It seems you were now in a similar boat, bound to be known as no more than Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan's mate, and eventually, the Tsa'hik of the Omaticaya. It was a good title, a worthy title, a mighty title - just not one for you, and Lo'ak knew this all too well.

"I didn't get to see you after the mission, kid. I wanted to tell you you did a phenomenal job. Neytiri and I are very proud of you, you are genuinely better and better every day."

You felt annoyance build in you at his comments, but pushed it down. They were being nice, and it wasn't their fault. None of this was their fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was Eywa's will. And Eywa knew best. And still, still, you couldn't help feel it, the frustration that gnawed at you at this situation, at the way none of it would matter soon in their eyes, how it would all be forsaken and forgotten, your skill, your prowess, everything you worked for for 19 years.

So, say something. Tell them you don't want to do it. That you're meant to be more, was born to be more than just his mate. Say something.

Nothing came out as you chewed your food apathetically, trying to focus instead of little Tuk who came to sit next to you, and you pulled her closer, sharing your food silently. She smiled up at you, and you couldn't help reach down and peck her on her forehead. It's been a while since you went out, just you girls, and you felt guilty for abandoning Kiri and Tuk for Lo'ak's training sessions and your own, and made a mental note to organise a foraging trip soon.

"Kid, you are one of the best warriors I have ever seen in my 19 years of being Olo'eyktan. In fact, you are one of the best I've ever seen, even back on Earth. You should be very proud of yourself and what you've achieved. I know there's so much still there for the taking, whenever you're ready."

"There's nothing left for me to take, Jake! Not anymore. Don't you see that? You all stand here, talking about how great I am, what a great warrior I am, but how the fuck does it matter anymore, huh? When I'll have to give it all up to become Tsakarem, to exist here, in the village, for the rest of my life instead of out there, where I actually belong, to exist to interpret Eywa's will, which I will never be able to do, because I will never be able to understand why she would ever think I could ever be this, all of this for the people, how she could think it's fair I have to give up all of me to belong to someone else who hates me, who'll get to shine in my stead, and fight in my stead, and fulfil the destiny I was bound by, that belonged to me just as much as him? I trained my whole life, side by side with Neteyam, to be just as good as him, to be just as good a tsamsiyu as he is, and now it's all in vain. So please, spare me the compliments, since they are just as wasted on me as my talent on the battlefield is."

You were no longer hungry, it seemed, and with one last kiss to Tuk, you got out of the tent, hearing a faint "Well, that could have gone better, with both of them." coming from Jake, accompanied by a deep sigh that mirrored yours. You heard footsteps follow you, but couldn't find it in you to stop, to care, not when more and more, it seemed like the ground was turning into quicksand beneath your feet, pulling you under with each moment you considered all you were giving up to get revenge on a man who you meant nothing to, who probably didn't care regardless, who was going to hurt you in this forced relationship more than you could ever hurt him. Maybe it wasn't worth it. Maybe your peace of mind, and your ability to reach your full potential was more important than the desperate, idiotic need to get Neteyam to suffer for the 7 years of indiscretions that clawed at your heart every day of your life.

"Syä, come on, don't make me chase after you."

You ignored Lo'ak, and continued walking until you hit the tree you both liked to go to think and vent, to talk and complain about anything and everything - his subjects always revolved around his father and his sisters, yours revolved around your lack of parents and the pressure that you felt to be great, the responsibility you shouldered, and you both shared one subject in particular, that occupied most of your time spent here. He climbed after you and you both settled on the branch you usually laid on.

"I'm sorry, syä."

"What about?"

"Everything. This whole thing. You don't deserve this."

You scoffed.

"I deserve what I got. That's why I got it. The Great Mother doesn't choose sides, and she's never cruel or unjust. So I must deserve this."

There was silence weighing heavily on the air around you and in both your minds. Lo'ak didn't have the most developed emotional maturity, so you knew better than to expect more. You appreciated the little he did say, because it did matter - it always will. You and Neteyam might be as far apart as two galaxies on opposing sides of the universe, but you and Lo'ak were adjacent stars in the night sky, there to shine together. You might not have a family, not truly, but he would always be your baby brother, and you would always be his big, bitter, best sister.

"I have to tell you, though... I feel bad for you and all, but it's so good to know I won't have to call that little scared, mindless yarik of a girl sister. She truly is the most dull, vapid, odious person I've ever met, and even with Neteyam's bad track record in girls, this one still shocks me to this day. Imagine her being Tsa'hik, ew."

You laughed a little. She really was bad. Not what you would have ever imagined Neteyam's type to be like, but more and more it seemed Neteyam's type was anyone who had absolutely no resemblance... to you. Like consciously or subconsciously, he just needed to make sure the person he was kissing, or touching, or fucking, had nothing of you that could hinder the experience for him. The thought hurt and tilted to balance back in the favour of your original malevolent, callous, rotten plan.

"Have you told O'ì'en yet? Can't imagine he'll be very pleased. That guy's whipped for you, for real. I've never seen someone literally have those heart eyes that you see in those old cartoons my dad used to show us when we were kids."

You sighed another bottomless sigh as you thought about yet another person who had to suffer as a result of this scheme. Your boyfriend for all intents and purposes, the man you once thought you might spend the rest of your life with. A man who was good and pure, who treated you well, who put you first. You realised with a small chuckle that, much like Neteyam, you, too, subconsciously found the opposite of him and held on for dear life, only to now have to let him go.

"Not yet."

"You should, syä. He deserves to know."

"Yeah. He does."

Lo'ak's words rang in your ears as you were walking through the village in search for the one person you needed to see, and you knew where he would be, where he always was when he had spare time, dutiful as always, responsible as he would always be. You smiled a half-smile as you saw him with a gun in hand, peering through the visor, full focus as he was aiming for one of the targets nailed to a tree 500 metres away.

"You're aiming too low." his eyes snapped to you, and the smile he gave you, so genuine and wide and comforting hurt you, it all hurt your heart that was struggling to maintain itself whole in the face of everything that it had to endure in time, and more so recently.

You joined him, motioning for him to resume what he was doing, and you placed a hand on the underside of the sniper he was holding, inching it upwards.

"You have to adjust for the distance and the gravity pulling the bullet down as it flies towards the target. Like with an arrow."

"An arrow I get. This, I don't think I ever will."

"You will, O'ì'en. I know you will." I just won't be the one to teach you anymore.

"I was hoping you'd come." He dropped the weapon on the ground, finding better luck in counting the stars on your face instead, and with a caress of your lips, you shuddered under his touch, leaning into it, exhaling softly as his own lips found yours in a soft, intimate exchange. "I missed you, and I wanted to tell you something, I needed to tell you what's been on my mind from the moment you first appeared in front of me during my first lesson."

Your heart was pounding in your chest and in your temples, the words that you knew were coming scaring you, their weight, their implication dizzying you, turning you into a breathy, untethered mess as you spoke words with barely enough strength to be heard.

"O'ì'en, I -..."

"Please, let me get this out. I love you, tìyawn. I love you, and everything about you. I love your beauty, and your strength. I love how incredible you are, and how skilled. I love how despite your tough exterior, you have a gentle heart. And you are kind, and good, and I just know you'd be the best mother one day. I just hope it's to our kids. I want you to be mine, to mate before Eywa, to finally have the lo-"

His words and the erratic beating of your heart in your ears, the tears glossing over your eyes, dulled your senses to the man who was approaching you, and you suppressed a hiss at the interruption, at the one who instigated it, at the one who always seemed to conveniently find a way to do so. Neteyam walked until he was so close to you his hips were brushing against your waist, that, much to your unadulterated shock and disbelief, he circles with his arm, holding on to you tightly as he spoke.

"I have been looking everywhere for you, ma muntxate. Father called an emergency meeting and he needs you there immediately. He asked me to go find my love, so typical of him, don't you think?" His smile was sweet and innocent, but you knew better, knew that he just ruined the last pure thing in your life, the one thing you tried to hard to protect, the one thing you were just reconsidering this whole ordeal for, once more. O'ì'en...

"What did you say?"

"Oh, ma ‘eylan, haven't you heard? Her and I are to be mated soon. Isn't that just great?"

The sound of both your and O'ì'en's hearts shattering all around you and the swift melody of Neteyam winning yet another battle is the last thing you heard before the man you cared for turned around and left, taking the future and the hopes he held safely within his soul, leaving you with more guilt and shame than you would ever know what to do with.

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif @randxmthxughts @xreadersstuff @sirezaya @kimberlyshailany-blog @gyuventure @jujudsmyst @kikookii @nxptury @nonniesworld @koing-slvt @bakugouswaif @isnt-itstrange @tpwkforevermore @alahamums @tallulah477 @gknj9495 @aquamarine001 @itssomeonereading @yumimak

925 notes · View notes