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echo-of-sounds · 4 years

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rejection sensitive dysphoria

How Aizawa, Toshi, Hizashi, and Gang Orca would support their s/o with rejection sensitive dysphoria.

Sorry if some of these are a little difficult to read. A lot of this is personal so I sort of prattled on. But I think I edited them down enough to make sense and read clearly.

Aizawa Shouta

Shouta struggles with a few of your ADHD symptoms, mainly clicking and tapping. He’s also growing and learning. He comforts you from sensitivities and learns to help with memory issues. But one thing that’ll throw him for a loop is rejection sensitive dysphoria. Handling people’s emotions, he isn’t that best at. Handling your self-accusations, nearly uncontrollable guilt, and alienation hurts, worries, confusions, and upsets him.

It’ll take a lot of practice on his part to understand what exactly RSD is and how it affects your thinking, behaviors, and feelings. It’s hard for him to grasp how him saying “Don’t do that” or how reading a nice, useful critique on your writing is enough to make you sob for ten minutes. Your train of thought just makes very little sense. It’s helping you. You should use the advice to improve your skills. But he doesn’t voice that. It won’t make you feel better.

While he is confused about your reasoning, he understands you’re hurting. That’s more than enough to make him sit down, hold you, and talk (which is difficult for him). After reading about RSD and gaining new insights, he prefers talking out what happened and what your thoughts/feelings were saying. It’s to guide you along a path of understanding the situation better in hopes it’ll calm you. He wasn’t disappointed. That was just your mind twisting the conversation. Now, that doesn’t stop the flooding emotions, but it’s reassuring to realize his disgust wasn’t real. He still loves you. He always will.

A behavior that puzzles him (i.e. worries him sick) is when you fluctuate between a social butter and a hermit. You try so hard to make someone like you so much, but then a week later, you’re completely isolating. You don’t respond to texts or calls. You don’t engage. You just turn dormant. It’s like you either need to be beloved or erased. There’s no in-between…

And that makes Shouta feel as stuck as you. Though he hides it to an extent. He knows if he revealed annoyance at your withdrawal, that could very well make it worse. And since he isn’t that great at emotional subjects, his choice of words could make it seem like he’s mad at you when that’s not the case at all. His annoyance is at the emotions. They take you away from the world, from your friends and life and him. It’s upsetting. He’s hurt that you don’t partake in card games with friends or join him for dinner anymore.

After a while, he will have a brief outburst. Despite the anger, underneath the scowls and retorts, you can tell he just misses you. He’s your partner. You need to have some sort of involvement in the partnership. At the end of his blowout, he apologizes. And you should, too. It’s unfair for you to disengage for so long. He understands your emotions are difficult to handle, but he doesn’t deserve you neglecting him. It’s on both of you to work with each other and figure out the best way to cope.

Yagi Toshinori

Toshinori’s great with difficult emotions. Hero work’s given him plenty of practice. But he always has a soft spot for you and loathes how you berate and bully yourself. It’s not fair. Mistakes happen. Sometimes you mishear. You won’t always reach your goals, and that’s perfectly okay! It’s also okay to not be the best at everything. None of that means you’re a failure. Anytime he notices the brittle little switch flick on that revs up your thinking, he turns his focus to you.

Like when he drives you to your doctor’s appointment. But it was at one, not four. You disappointed yourself, made Toshi drive you for nothing, and took up his time and energy for fucking nothing. You failed. You’re a fuckup. It hurts. You don’t know why. It just hurts. It’s lonely. It’s overwhelming. You can’t describe the quality, nature, or aspect. You’re just scared and fragile and ashamed and inadequate and now tears are streaming down your face for absolutely no fucking reason and it won’t stop, it gets worse and worse and heavier and heavier and you just want to disappear.

Toshi gently pulls you to his chest. It doesn’t matter how ‘insignificant’ the reason is, he comforts you, softly reassuring he isn’t angry and you aren’t a screwup. You made a mistake. That’s it. There’s no consequence. No nothing. You two can go home and spend your time together, cuddling and kissing, instead of at a doctor’s office. You can fix the mistake later and all will be well.

The high standards you set for yourself upset him. It gives him anxiety. When you get your essay back, the one you spent uncountable hours on, and you only got a 91, he doesn’t understand why or want to see you cry. Out of one-hundred, that’s an amazing grade, especially on difficult subjects. He wishes you learn self-love and accept yourself- fumbles, slipups, and all. Because the minute you fail, since the standards are simply not achievable by anyone, you tongue-lash yourself to tears. You’re scared of failure. But that’s exactly what you set yourself up for with your thinking.

To help, he will read plenty about what he can do to support you. He knows it’s not all on him to fix. You work with your therapist and practice coping techniques. But he yearns to help. He always will. During the buildup of an emotional eruption, he talks with you, directing your mind towards self-compassion: self-kindness because you deserve warmth and sympathy from yourself, common humanity because everyone has flaws and faults, and mindfulness because you can have negative emotions without judging them or yourself.

Overall, Toshi is there to bolster and comfort you. If you need certain things explained or want company to an event, he’s right beside you. He wants you to love yourself as he does, completely. That includes your flaws and mistakes.

Yamada Hizashi

Hizashi’s very in tune with your feelings. The slightest change is often felt by him. It doesn’t matter if the criticism is real or perceived, he’s hugging you, drying your tears. You aren’t an idiot or annoying or inferior. You didn’t fail or disappoint. And he certainly isn’t mad or judging or rejecting you. He loves you dearly. The instant you withdraw because of his tone, words, or actions, he explains he isn’t angry, that he loves you just as much, if not more, than yesterday.

And whether or not the initiating scene was real, he reassures you that no matter how devastating, destructive the emotions are right now, they will pass. You will feel better. Your mind is just in overdrive right now. Once it hits the brakes, it’s easier to think about what really happened. You can recognize his critique wasn’t some personal attack because he suddenly abhors your mere presence. He was genuinely trying to help improve your piano skills. It was out of love. Everything he does is out of love.

The embarrassment and low self-esteem are his chief concerns. You deserve to feel comfortable with your mind and body. Who cares if someone doesn’t like your dress? Screw them. You’re fucking beautiful and worthy of having fun and feeling good. He tries his best to kiss the tears away. If you need more kisses in the places you hate, he gladly obliges.

The idea of failing a task is too painful, so you never try. You don’t speak up even when you have a great idea. You don’t vocalize your needs because you’d rather be insignificant than called clingy and weak. Hizashi is the ideal man to help. He’s your cheerleader, supporter, and defender. He’ll tell the server your burger was wrong. He’ll listen to your ideas and bring them up, knowing they’re terrific, then make sure you get the credit you deserve. Your words are valid. You’re valid. It doesn’t matter if something you do isn’t the best. You’re still entitled to be heard, helped, and respected.

Hizashi cracks jokes galore. Sometimes they’re groan-worthy. Sometimes they’re pretty funny. Sometimes, after a stress-filled day when you’re raw and insecure, one minuscule jab in a teasing-but-maybe-not-but-maybe-bullying voice can reduce you to nothing. Because that’s exactly what you feel like- a stupid, unwanted, fruitless fool. He’s quick to catch the fumble and switches into snuggly mode, apologizing and nuzzling you under blankets. You know he never means to insult you. But that doesn’t stop the emotions from bursting.

He changes how and when he jokes by paying attention to your anxiety level. He also compliments you more, immodestly and extravagantly. It’s almost too much, but Hizashi doesn’t care. He just wants you to know how much he loves and appreciates you.

Gang Orca

Kugo struggles… a lot. Relationships and delicate emotions in general aren’t his expertise. In the beginning of your relationship, he notices your sensitivities straight away. He doesn’t bring it up at first. Thinking it’s him doing something wrong, he changes how he acts. Then it happens again and again, over things he’s plain confused by. Why does him saying “Not right now” or “I don’t care” bother you so? He was only answering your question.

The more he apologizes, the more ashamed you feel. You must start the conversation on RSD. He’d never mention it for fear he would appear rude or prying. And you’ll need to be specific about what you’re sensitive to so he can do his best to work with you. He reads all those relationship blogs and self-help magazines, hoping to find new ways to support you.

Like Aizawa, Kugo talks through what happened whenever you feel blamed or criticized. He desperately wants to understand your thinking. He hopes it’ll help you realize it wasn’t a big deal. Of course, it is a big deal when you’re sobbing and whipping yourself. But once you’ve calmed, he sits with you and just talks, openly and honestly: What about his words hurt? Was it a specific word, his tone, or what he said? Do you believe he meant to hurt you or was your mind goading itself on?

If you react with anger, he’s baffled. You asked for constructive criticism on your drawing and then when he gives it, you’re slamming your sketchbook closed and snapping at him. His go-to is to apologize. That just makes it worse because now you’re feeling angry and guilty. And his sad expression makes you absolutely incensed because why the hell isn’t he realizing that it’s not about him? And now he’s apologizing again and you’re crying and feel so exposed and threatened and judged and you can’t talk so you just run away, preferring to be forsaken than a burden.

Take the time you need to calm. Kugo will give you plenty of space. When the emotional flash dies and you realize you vilified him over nothing, find him, apologize, and explain. He appreciates both. He accepts your emotional dysregulation and all your strengths and flaws. However, he wishes you wouldn’t take your frustrations out on him. He loves you. He wants to be your backbone. But he can’t do that when you succumb to your fight-or-flight response.

To help reduce unnecessary stress, Kugo reminds you to eat right, exercise, and keep a sleep schedule. When you’re tired, he notices you’re on edge, expecting anger and rejection to come out of nowhere. He takes your phone from your fingers and carries you to bed. You’re unable to get up since he wraps you tight, so you might as well sleep. He pays attention to what you eat. If you haven't eaten healthily, he brings you a glass of water and apple slices with peanut butter. Any time you’re particularly jittery, he recommends going for a walk to get out the swirling energy. Or, if you suggest, sex to work out and get pleasure (which is always a bonus).

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kinsurou · 4 years

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Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader (Female)

Word Count: 2.2k

Beta Reader: @xplosiveboy

Category: Smut.

Warnings: Dubcon (Just in case), Hate fucking, Thigh riding, Choking, Degradation, Edging, Scratching.

Summary: You never expected to run into your ex during this small vacation. Neither did you expect an old flame from the past to flicker back to life.

Here’s my contribution for the Haikyuu Headquarters NSFW Secret Santa! This is my gift for the wonderful @victoriawitch ! I’m not going to lie, I screamed after finding out you were my giftee but writing this fic was one of the greatest challenges and I hope you enjoy this little gift, babe. Thank you for being such a funny and amazing friend. Happy holidays!

A small flame ate its way through the pieces of lumber gathered in the fireplace. It crackled and flickered loudly, releasing golden embers that dissipated into the air as it kept growing, devouring its way across the burning wood with an insatiable hunger that filled the room with intense heat.

It’s the polar opposite of the raging snowstorm outside. The wild currents are crisp and frigid, just harsh enough to threaten anyone who dared step outside with a severe case of frostbite. A fine layer of frost grows on the outer part of the cabin’s windows.

The clear contrast in temperature was a perfect resemblance to the pair inside the cabin. Burning from the inside out as they spit cold harsh words to each other amidst the debauchery happening before the fireplace.

“I hate you so much…!” Your voice comes out as a whisper, with a chill as strong as the tempest outside.

“Your body says otherwise.” Ushi’s words were just as cold. Soon followed by the feeling of a big, veiny hand trailing its fingers across the soft skin of your behind. That same hand that stopped touching your body to reel back and gather enough force, before landing a barbaric smack against your skin, right between both cheeks.

Your own hands quickly covered your mouth to muffle the pained cries. God, if only it was possible to slap the smirk off this asshole’s face. Even though you didn’t see it, that arrogant smirk could easily be felt at the back of your skull, observing with sadistic glee as your body trembled under his touch.

He didn’t give your body a moment of ease and once again began his assault on your backside. Enjoying your pained cries with a cold-blooded satisfaction as every hit against the burning skin brought out more cries of pain, one after the other.

But rather than pain, the true emotion behind your cries was anger. Furious at yourself and your own body for being so weak against his ministrations. Your heart cried out in a cold rage when his hands kept tracing the outline of the burning handprint imprinted on your sensitive skin, raw from continuous torture by his spanking.

“If you hated this so much you could have left already…” He grunted as he squeezed fiercely on your thigh. “And yet you’re still here, laying on my lap like a good little bitch.”

“You fucker!” You quickly thrashed around in his lap intending to give Ushijima a piece of your mind. Just for his other hand to latch on the back of your neck, keeping it in place at the same time his middle finger prodded its way between your slick folds, brushing past the outer lips until it grazed the little bundle of nerves that made your back arch out in pleasure.

“Careful little one, don’t want to wake up the others. Do you?” He pungled that same finger inside your velvet walls and began pumping it slowly. Your toes curled in bliss by that thick finger torturing your cunt in the most delicious of ways. “Be a good little slut and stay still if you want to cum.”

“F-Fuck you!” It seemed your answer only irritated him, judging by the rough curl of the digit inside your cunt as it began pumping faster, the pace and the arousal dripping off your body made such a loud and humiliating squelching. You hated how easily he made our body quiver. You hated it just as much as you hated Ushijima himself.

Another thrust of his fingers sent you into a moaning frenzy. Your nails dug into the meat of his thigh in desperation as the coil in your stomach continued to burn your body with pleasure from the inside out.

“Keep telling yourself that you hate me, sweetheart. Maybe one day you’ll finally start to believe it...Right now you’re nothing more than a whiny bitch who’s desperate for my cock.” He gave your ass one last smack before pulling his fingers away from your cunt, ignoring the hushed complaints as your orgasm was ruined. “We used to be so much more, you and I. But then you decided to break up.”

“You know exactly why we did so in the first place...”

“Is that what you tell yourself every night? When there’s nobody else who can please you like I ever did?”

He sat down on the lounge’s carpet and pulled you along effortlessly, pushing his muscular legs in between yours. Then, he pulled your body by the hips to rock them back and forth against the ripped muscles of his thigh.

“S-Stop…” The pressure against your clit clouded your thoughts like mist. Currents of heat flowed through your body whenever he tilted his leg, grinding it harder until you couldn’t hold back the whimpers.

“Is that what you want?” He stopped moving abruptly, gripping the meat of your ass hard enough to stop you from moving. “Stop lying, your body’s so eager and hungry for my cock. It craves me so badly that it’s pathetic.”

He rocked your hips again, chuckling to himself by your desperate cries for more of this depravity. Anyone could come in at any moment and he wouldn’t care, focusing all his attention on the way you rode his thigh desperately in a second attempt to chase that mind-blowing orgasm. Just to cry out again when you were denied of any release for a second time.

But before you could complain again he rolled you both over in an instant, trapping your frame -dwarfed in comparison to him- underneath his muscular body and the rough fabric of the carpet. When he kneeled forwards, his legs pressed against the back of your thighs and pushed them upwards. As his naked hips pressed closer, and you felt the weight of his hard member resting over your lower abdomen.

It was just as you remembered, with its tip all pink and throbbing in arousal, dribbling drops of precum over your skin, desperate to be buried in your velvet walls and cover them with his seed.

You released a loud gasp when his hand wrapped around your neck, rubbing circles over the side of your neck. It pressed harder against your throat with every intake of breath as he pushed his hips back and forth against your slick cunt. He couldn’t get enough of those angry moans and that frigid glare digging holes into his face.

“You keep glaring and cursing with all your might, and yet you haven't left. Even though I’ve given you chance after chance to leave. Wonder why…?”

He grabbed the base of his cock and rubbed it all around your folds, before guiding it towards your center, but he only pressed the tip against it without the slightest intention to sheathe his member all the way. Your moans and cries for his cock put his self-restraint to test, and he had to grip on your hips to press them down against the carpeted floor.

“Come one, little one...” He gave the tiniest of thrust, hissing out when your muscles clenched around the tip desperately. “Beg for it.”

His thumb pressed down harder right below your collarbone, applying enough pressure to provoke discomfort and briefly cut off your moans. “N-No…”

He glared at you through squinted eyes and pulled his hips back, before prodding his way into your sloppy cunt one more time, a little further this time until the whole tip was inside you. “Last chance...I could just leave you all hot and bothered, crying for the only cock able to satisfy your desires.”

Tears rolled down the corners of your eyes when he applied more pressure on your throat. Desperate for the long yearned satisfaction, you finally gave in on his demands. With a brush of your tongue around your lips, Ushi finally got what he was asking for.

“Hurry up and fuck me already...please! I want you to fill me up like you used to-!!!” Your words were cut off by a rough push of his hips deep inside your walls. His cock pushed its way deep inside with an agonizing stretch that lit every inch of your body on fire.

“Much better.” Oh god. You missed this so much. The burn, the stretch, his nails digging into your thigh as he hooked your leg around his waist and slowly began rocking his hips back and forth. “Did you miss this? Being my little cockslut? Fuck...”

But answering became impossible when breathing became a luxury, supervised by the hand grasping painfully at your throat, bound to leave bruises upon the skin with its clutch. Your own hands gripped his wrist harshly, clawing their way up in mercy.

At this point, you didn’t care if anyone coming out of their rooms stumbled across the debauchery in the lounge; if they saw Ushijima’s enormous frame looming above yours as he kept ramming his girth as deep as possible inside your cunt.

“You look so beautiful crying for my cock, it’s just like old times.”

“C-Caa!! Can’t...breathe…! Toshi!”

Hearing that nickname coming out of your lips made him stop moving altogether. It triggered something inside that ordered him to ruin you. Demanding payback for all those nights his only companion was his hand because nobody else could compare to the way your body took him.

Your moans became erratic along with the speed of his thrust. The force and speed kept pushing your body back and forth, chafing the skin of your back against the carpet in a desperate chase for release.

With a loud grunt, the hand at your neck pulled away and wrapped itself under your other thigh. The other leg he had previously wrapped around his waist was also pulled forwards, both limbs were quickly pressed up against your chest as he leaned forwards, crushing your body under his weight. A warm pair of lips kissed your battered neck before biting down on it.

His thrusts wavered as you cried out, coming undone all over his length and the rug. But he didn’t stop for a moment, instead, he rutted harder into your walls, repeatedly hitting your cervix.

It was a drunken haze to him, watching your eyes roll into the back of your skull and the alluring reflection of the flames on your sweaty, glistening skin, but the best part was the sting across his sides as your nails dug into the flesh with enough strength to draw blood.

You were like a drug to him, an obsession he couldn’t get rid of despite having parted ways years ago.

“T...Too much…! Can- hnng! Toshi…!”

“That’s it, baby girl. Just a little more…Shit!” As he felt his balls swelling eagerly, Ushi draped himself over you. Right as he reached his climax. He jolted forwards as close as possible with a feral grunt, completely burying his cock to release ropes after ropes of cum inside you. At the same time that a loud, blissful cry was muffled by your hands when a second climax wrecked your entire body.

The only thing perceived amidst the sex induced haze was the loud crackle of the fire and the warm, heavy breathing that tickled your ear whenever he breathed out.

“...Get off.”

His head was lifted from the spot over your shoulder. Eyes narrowed in confusion as he noticed the way you frowned. His weight was slowly lifted away...too slow for your liking, judging by the continuous, light smacks landing on his chest in sour haste.

“I said get off, dammit!”

He sat back on his haunches, watching you laying there with the cutest frown before crawling away to keep as much distance between you as possible.

For a moment neither of you said anything. The heat inside the room is the polar opposite of the icy-cold aura surrounding the two of you. If the weather could be reflected in your words, the room would be covered in fine layers of frost.

“This changes nothing between us...”

Your attempt to stand up was comical, like watching a newborn fawn taking its very first steps. Your legs quivered as you grabbed onto the couch’s arm, attempting to use it as support to stand up and go back to your room. If only you could find the discarded clothes…But the chances to look for your clothes blew out the window when a pair of strong arms picked you off the floor effortlessly.

And you found yourself being carried bridal style by Ushijima. Whose eyes had lost that coldness inside, replaced by a competitive flame you’ve only witnessed a few times in your life when he had come face to face with the most formidable of rivals.

“Then I’ll just make them change...even if I have to make you mine all over again until sunrise.”

Before you could say anything back, he began making his way to his room, ready to set your body on fire all over again...

Taglist: @unbreakableeiji @wakaoujisenhime @fanfic-me-up @iwaasfairy @sailor-manga @gr0vndz3ro @divinewhimsy @xplosiveboy @shinsotired @animefandomally @xmyshya @sugassetter @jayeray

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smut #Haikyuu imagine #ushijima x reader #ushijima and reader #p.going-dark #tw dubcon #dubcon tw

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 6

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 6 - Ruin

Words: 5.9k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of war/death, kissing, a healthy dose of the ‘sharing a bed’ trope, ANGST, sexual education because who doesn’t want to read about that in fanfiction, vague description of a female medical procedure

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

A softened sigh left me, knowing it was probably time to let Poe say his piece. He’d been so silent until now that I felt compelled to hear what had been stirring inside his mind while I’d held him in quiet contempt.

“Alright. I’m listening.”

He flicked on one of the dimmed lamps next to the bed, a gentle glow illuminating the room, watching as he proceeded to carefully extricate himself from under the sheets, the soreness as a result of the rehab we’d performed today now evident in his concentrated expression.

I drew myself up into a seated position on the sofa as he made his way to sit on the small table at my front, not attempting to meet my eyes until he’d slowly placed himself down on the metal. His face was less than a meter from mine, pupils drifting upwards until finally, our stares locked.

“I’m sorry,” he declared, his words heavy. “I understand why you’re angry. I get it, okay? Years of battle after battle, fight after fight, it becomes difficult to consider those working under the First Order’s control as people. People with families, loved ones, even children. They appear as targets, there simply to be eliminated. And it’s you or them. Either you perish, or you put the rational thought into the back of your mind and fight back.”

Poe glanced down, fixated to the floor, his jaw tight. “I do think about it sometimes, the people I’ve... murdered. I’ve spent sleepless nights wondering if killing in the name of freedom was a good enough reason to send people to an early death. When you don’t see their faces it’s…. easier. You don’t see the bloodshed, the corpses. You just see the fiery explosion of their ships fading into the black void of space.”

I stayed rigid in the sofa, hands clutching the into cushions. It was difficult to hold down the simmer of anger that boiled in my stomach, since everything so far only reinforced what I felt like I’d determined hours ago. Even while my demeanour remained stormy, Poe continued.

“All I heard in my childhood was my father reminding me of the way he and my mother fought for what they believed to be right. Both of them lived and battled through a time like ours, under the thumb of a regime hungry for power, sparing no innocents in their pursuit of it.” He became lost in memory, the aura drifting around him stained with a subtle sorrow. “‘People were hurting. People were suffering. Your father and I couldn’t sit and do nothing.’ That’s what my mother had told me, a child of two, as her reasoning for joining the Alliance in their efforts to push back against what threatened all type of freedom in this galaxy. My parents offered to sacrifice their lives on the tiniest shred of hope that me, and every other being on every planet, would see peace in their lifetime.”

His eyes finally shifted back to focus on mine. They were determined, yet soft, the chocolate fibers of his irises melting together. “I just... wanted to be like her. Like them. I wanted to do what they did. I wanted them to be proud of me, to have faith that their legacy would live on after they were gone. To provide freedom and peace like they had. Even if that meant sacrificing my own life, even if that meant killing those who opposed it. I had to. I had to join the people that wanted the same thing as me.”

A growing ferocity began to radiate, his voice severe. “I witnessed so many of my fellow soldiers, my friends, die thoughtlessly at the hands of others. And I wanted them to feel the same pain that I felt. Is it hypocritical? Of course, I know that. Is it cruel? Yes, murder is rarely not. But it's in the name of protection, defiance against control from an overpowering force. Those who fight with the First Order, who take over planets and kill innocents for the sake of power, they know what they’re doing. They know the consequences, the outcome, the hold the galaxy will be strangled under if they succeed. And they do it anyway. Our cause isn’t more noble, it’s self-defence. We’re trying to protect the ones who aren’t able to fight back, and those who don’t deserve to be born into a world that will crush them into submission.”

Poe’s features turned darker, leaning in close. “I will never stop thinking about the lives I’ve taken. I will never not hold myself accountable for the sins I’ve committed. But I will also not sit and do nothing. I don’t need you to accept it, but at least try to understand. You and I want the same thing, in the end, to save as many people as possible in our short lifetime. I’m just doing the best I can to see that through.”

While I instinctively took a breath in preparation to speak, nothing came. He’d rendered me speechless.

I had no reply to give, no counterargument, no flaw to point out. His honesty floored me, raw emotion and long-felt guilt rising up for me to observe so openly. The pain behind his eyes seemed so much more acute than any of the other injuries he’d sustained, not trying to shield it from my view as he spoke.

I tried to find words, anything to articulate my forgiveness. Because I did understand. He’d made me see it, the same anguish over death that I felt. But he’d also made me realise what a coward I was.

Against the people who would kill him or control him, he fought back. While I hid myself away under the guise of selflessness.

I thought I was the hero of my story, giving up my home, my old life, for the benefit of the downtrodden people of this planet. In reality, I was a scared little girl, too gutless to push back against those I, and so many others in this galaxy, feared. And here Poe was, putting himself in harm’s way, every day, in the hopes that he could take away our fear forever.

He began to rise in front of me, taking my lack of reply as an answer in itself. He seemed despondent, his face sullen as he turned to limp back to the bed.

A different kind of fury coursed through me, fury at myself for how easily I’d judged him, at how cruelly I’d treated him.

I couldn’t let the night end this way.

I picked myself up from the sofa and quickly lunged at his wrist, pulling him to face me. He was surprised, glancing with wide eyes to where my hand had caught him, then to my face. I tried desperately to convey it there, everything I wanted to say, struggling to find my voice. Poe waited for me to speak the words I clearly had sitting on the edge of my tongue, but everything I conjured didn’t seem to be enough, the jumbled thoughts swirling incoherently in my mind, never letting me quite grasp onto them long enough to form exactly what I needed to express.

Tension filled the space between us, thick and overwhelming. I soon began outlining the lines of his face, the crease currently stuck in his brow, the curve of his nose, the contour of his jaw, the arch of his lips.

My hands found themselves catching each side of his face, pulling his mouth to mine in a desperate kiss.

I’d held it back for so long, too long, now unable to deny the burning urge to melt my lips into his. He was alarmed at first, his mouth frozen from movement as he comprehended my sudden attack.

Yet quickly he was syncing his lips fluidly with mine, a hand rising to clutch the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His casted arm curled around my waist, pressing my body into his, feeling the heat radiating off his chest.

The fire in my lower abdomen roared into bright red flames again, spreading into the rest of my body like molten lava. He tasted even better than I’d imagined, our tongues beginning to find each other through parted mouths. Fingers moved into his hair, hungrily grasping at the curled strands, causing a low moan to seep from his throat. The sound made me even more forceful in my need for his lips to be connected with mine, barely having time to breathe in-between our eager kisses.

I wanted to have him, all of him, so deeply it was painful, the searing burn lighting up in my veins.

Don’t do this Alexys. It will ruin you.

My breath hitched as I reluctantly pulled away, looking up, seeing his pupils swollen. He was cautious then, moving his hand from my neck to push a strand of hair behind my ear, almost if at any moment I would flee from his embrace.

And that’s what half of me was begging to do, the other screaming at me to lock our lips together again. I felt split into two, a cracking beginning to divide me roughly in the middle.

I could see Poe searching through my gaze, trying to assess my thoughts, whether it was safe to continue. He leaned in gradually, testing my reaction. I didn’t recoil this time. I didn’t want to.

His lips melted into mine, less insistent than before, although somehow just as intimate. Inhibitions lowered, my hands slid down to his chest, noticing the hard muscles underneath my palms and feeling the fire inside me surge. I wanted to feel the bare skin underneath, to have it pressed against my own. To explore the other parts of him covered by clothes. To forget even for a short time that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this.

Poe gently withdrew, leaning his forehead into mine. “I know.”

“Know what?”

He exhaled a long breath. “I know you don’t want to do this.”

I replaced my hands to his cheeks. “You have no idea how much I want this. How much I want you.” The truth of the words made me feel both vulnerable and safe, for the first time giving in to the yearning I’d hoped to keep locked inside my chest.

He tensed, a slight tremble in the arm that curved around my body. But his face grew sombre, almost... sad. “You don’t. Not completely. I can feel you wanting to hold back,” he murmured. “I can feel your fear.”

I swallowed hard, unable to refute him. “…I’m sorry. I want to. But I just… I can’t."

We both looked down, my confirmation making the tone of our connection shift. He was silent for what felt like a long time, and we stayed motionless in our embrace, neither wanting it to end, knowing it was inevitable that we would have to part.

“Why?” he breathed. “Why are you afraid?”

I wanted to be honest with him, like he had been for me, so much the sensation felt like it was clawing out from inside me, determined to burst through the skin. But there was a barrier there, one I had forged long ago. Unyielding and impenetrable to anything or anyone.

Although, I felt another realisation simmer to the surface of my mind, one that was not nearly as exposing, but still true.

“You’re going to leave. And I have to stay here. I don’t… I don’t want that to hurt any more than it has to.”

It seemed to hit him then, like he hadn’t let the thought enter his mind before. The awareness of our predicament shone brightly in his eyes, a light switch flickering on.

His hand moved to my cheek, grazing his thumb softly against the skin, my heart throbbing inside its cage at his light touch. I watched as eyes scanned over my face, back and forth, as if memorising the features. It was then I knew he’d come to the same conclusion.

It wouldn’t be long before we would part, most likely to never see each other again. If we went any further, if we crossed that line, the pain of saying goodbye would become so much more unbearable.

Almost simultaneously, we let our hold on each other loosen, the disappointment in the air almost palatable on my tongue. The smouldering inside had burnt out, suffocated by the gloom weighing heavy in my chest. Poe took my hand in his, his eyes pleading. “Can I ask one thing of you?’

I moved my head in a slow nod.

“Sleep in this bed with me tonight. Just sleep. I promise.” It was an earnest request, his face imploring and unguarded.

In contempt of the voice in my head bellowing at me that this was a terrible idea, I agreed. “Okay.”

Together we tentatively walked to each side of the mattress, making no rush to slip under the covers and settle into the pillows. I faced away, fearing if I looked at Poe's charming face any longer, I would surrender to the pull of desire that never seemed to relent. I didn’t know how I was ever going to be able to fall asleep like this, his body radiating an energy that vibrated into the space between us, keeping me all too aware of his presence.

There was movement, a dip in the mattress, Poe’s arms curling around my torso, pulling me close. His face buried itself into my hair, the warmth of his gradual exhale sending charged shivers down my spine. Placing my arms over his, silently accepting his embrace, I felt my heart thump a calming glow through my chest, all the way to the end of my limbs.

I’d never felt so peaceful, so whole, becoming lost in the comfort of his hold, wishing I could bask in it forever.

But reality bit at me, cold and uninvited, reminding me of the goodbye I would have to give soon enough.

We were still entangled when consciousness came again, the dim light of early sunrise leaking through my window. Poe’s arms circled around me, my body fitting perfectly into his.

He was still asleep, his face resting just at the back of my head, slow breaths bristling into my hair. I relished the feeling of it all, trying to commit it to my memory.

I stayed there, motionless, waiting for time to run out, knowing I would be chasing the feeling of this in the months, maybe years, to come. Thinking about his future absence made me terrifyingly lonely, even with his arms wrapped around now.

Eventually the seconds ticked down to my chronometer alarm buzzing, rustling Poe awake from his slumber. I assumed he would begin to move, pulling away, this one night that bonded us together finally ending. Yet he stayed as unmoving as I had been, the only indication he had awoken the increased depth of his inhale, a small tense of his muscles. I went to move, to switch the screeching sound off, but he clutched me back into his chest, squeezing tight.

As much as my heart thumped at the pressure of his hips into mine, the noise of my alarm was grating. “Let me turn it off,” I whispered. “I’ll come right back.”

Poe loosened his grip reluctantly, allowing me to reach over to the screeching machine and mute its sound. I settled back comfortably into his arms again, as he nuzzled his face into my neck, lips faintly placing a kiss on the skin.

“Poe… please… don’t…”

His sigh whistled past my neck. “Come with me, when I leave.”

It annoyed me, his fleeting demand so easily spoken. As if I could suddenly give up all that encompassed my life before he appeared, the beings that depended on me. But his voice was so sincere, so entreating in the early morning, that the irritation dashed away from the forefront of my mind.

“You know I can’t do that.”

He acknowledged my answer in the shift of his body from around me, moving himself out of the bed we had shared for the night and leaving me alone underneath the sheets.

It burned, the unprecedented disconnection of his shape from mine, my chest forming into a black hole in the realisation I might never feel him that close again.

I wanted to let my emotion to take over, to give in to the pain that rushed to me now as the finality of our night cradled together became evident. But I refused to release it, my resolve from the night before holding strong. I knew I’d made it harder by giving in to Poe's innocent plea of sharing a slumber within his embrace, but I wasn’t going to let our farewell completely ruin me.

With a forced composure, I rose from my bedside, focusing on the appointments scheduled to fill my day. Through my haze I recalled many of them being young female patients in need of birth control. I would somehow have to shut Poe away, wanting to give these women the privacy they deserved.

Poe and I appeared to use the ‘freshers at the same time, the searing heat I usually liked being showered with restrained no matter how high I pushed the temperature button. Eventually I’d readied myself for the workday ahead, deciding on a pencil skirt and lightened blue blouse tucked into the waist, working my hair into a ponytail.

It was when I’d begun making breakfast, for both myself and all the company that I kept in the clinic at the moment, that Poe emerged back into my quarters in a set of dark black hospital clothes. I glanced at him only briefly as he entered, hearing him pull out a chair, not daring to look at his face yet.

“Smells good,” he uttered, breaking the silence that existed in exemption to the sautéed chicken eggs and nuna bacon sizzling in the large pan in front of me.

“It’s almost ready,” I remarked, feeling completely the disconnection between us in his tone. Half of me was glad he accepted the separation we needed to make, the other mourning the severed bond we had formed in the connection of our bodies. But I had to let it go, whatever was left of the fragile link that survived the night.

I continued preparing the hot meal, separating the foodstuff between Poe and Vixur’s crew. Once I’d gently placed a share in front of Poe at the table, a smile meeting him fleetingly, I took the rest with me, balancing the four dishes on my hands and forearms, moving cautiously through the hallway.

With impeccable timing Vixur and his students were conversing between each other, obviously having woken just before I came to greet them.

“I’ve got breakfast for you all,” I announced, setting it down at the meeting table across from my computer. It was generally used as a place I could sit with patients and their families when giving them their diagnosis or explaining treatment plans, but today it would have to work as a secondary dining table. All four men jabbered back thankyous as they moved quickly to sit and eat, their appreciation evident in the way they gulped down the meal without hesitation. I returned to my quarters to find Poe picking lazily at his food, only a few bites eaten.

“Does it taste bad?” I asked from behind him, before circling to my seat at the table.

He looked up swiftly, as if I’d startled him. He must have been deeply lost in thought not to hear me treading down the hallway.

“It’s delicious,” he urged. “I’m just… not that hungry.”

“Are you feeling alright? Are you still sore? Are you-“

“Alex, I’m fine,” he interrupted. “You can’t fix a bad mood with any of your treatments.”

I looked at him curiously. “Bad mood?”

Did I do that to him?

“Did you not sleep well?”

He didn’t answer me right away, a subtle scowl settling in his lips. “It was actually... the most restful sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

I fought the urge to beam at him, a smile waiting to form, but the gloomy expression he wore held it down. I had to agree with him - it truly was the most comfortable rest I’d experienced in recent memory. And knowing I would never feel that peaceful, dreamless slumber in his arms again made me fully understand why he was frowning.

“Thank you so much for the meal Alex. I just... don’t have an appetite right now.” Poe rose from his seat and took his plate to clean, his sombre mood spilling into my body and taking over. Wringing his hands dry, He turned back to me. “Is it still alright if I keep using your office to continue working on BB-8?”

I nodded. “It would actually be preferable. Most of my patients today are women, and I need privacy for their appointments. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out, okay?”

Poe understood what I’d only hinted at. “Sure thing. I won’t step a foot out that room without your permission.”

A kind smile formed on his lips, but it fell as he moved from my quarters, leaving me to my breakfast, which now seemed extremely unappetizing.

“Well, Kaia, you’ve got a couple of options,” I started. It was my 5th appointment of the day, and I was starting to lose all hope in the young generation that followed mine. “You can get the implant, which lasts 5 years and protects you from pregnancy. But it can be a painful procedure, and unfortunately the implant itself is quite expensive. There are injections which last 3 months, but you’ll have to see me again in that time frame. I know that’s hard for you being from the South village. But there’s always prophylactics, which your partner has to use, every separate time you want to be intimate.”

Kaia was a 17-year-old human girl who had obviously not been taught any helpful sex education. Although, that wasn’t uncommon in these villages.

“But, like,” she began to question. “Can’t he just, like, not, um, finish in there?”

I drew in a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time I’d explained this today. “Technically yes, if he withdraws from you before that moment comes, it does lessen the chance of pregnancy. But Kaia, there’s a lot of fluid already leaking from him before then, fluid that can contain sperm. It doesn’t protect you. Not fully.”

Kaia was thoughtful, taking in my words. “But what if he doesn’t want to use the sheath?”

“Well... that’s his decision. But then you have to make yours. A decision that you’re more than allowed to make. One night could lead to either a future of motherhood or even diseases that could cause a great deal of damage to your body.”

“Ew,” Kaia recoiled. “I mean, I get what you’re saying. But Miss Jago, haven’t you ever been so swept up in the moment that you didn’t think about any of that?”

My jaw clenched, catching me off guard with her question. None of the other women had posed it to me. “It’s not been an issue for me,” I said flatly.

“Because of the birth control, right?” she surmised. “Which one do you use then?”

Oof, caught me out again.

“I don’t have the need for it. Kaia, this is not about me-”

“Wait, what?” she gasped. “But you’re so pretty?”

I soaked my voice in its professional tone. “This is your appointment Kaia, we’re not here to discuss my personal life.”

Kaia refused to comply. “But you’ve done it, right?”

I sighed, irritated. “Yes Kaia, but we took all the necessary precautions.”

“Well that doesn’t make it sound very fun,” Kaia huffed.

I tried desperately to hold back the aversion wanting to show on my face. It hadn’t been fun. It was clunky, awkward and somewhat painful. And I felt a spike of envy that this teenager already seemed to have had better experience with the opposite sex than I did.

“Look, your options are there. If I had to choose one, and I was with a partner I could trust had nothing that could spread to me, I’d go with the implant.”

She contemplated my advice, pulling her hands up to let her chin rest on them. “I think you’re right Miss Jago. But my parents would never help me pay for it.”

“That’s alright,” I replied, already knowing the home situation Kaia found herself in. She’d made the trek to my clinic alone, without her parent’s knowledge, just to see me for this single reason. I doubted they even knew she had a boyfriend. “How about I put the implant in today, and we figure out payment later?”

Kaia’s face lit up, eyes brimming with delight. “Really?”

I smiled at her and nodded.

“Thank you!” she squealed, face barely containing her excitement.

Really, this was for both her benefit and my own. I wasn’t about to face her parents when it would ultimately be me providing the news their daughter was pregnant. I didn’t want Kaia to go through that, a young pregnancy in a poor village after her parents would most likely cast her out.

“Remember I said this can be a painful procedure, and you’ll be sore for a day or two afterwards.”

Kaia nodded, understanding, yet unable to hold back her joy.

I worked my way through the process of setting her implant, my mind on autopilot while I thought more about the question Kaia innocently queried. I’d never come close to the type of desire that would have caused me to throw away all caution and rational thought. Not until-

“Hey Alex!” I heard from the other side of the curtain I’d drawn for Kaia’s discretion. “I know I said I wouldn’t come out until you said, but I’ve got something I need to show you.”

Poe’s voice was exuberant and proud, annoyingly unaware of the fact I had my hand in a very delicate place. My eyes shot to Kaia’s, her cheeks already flushing red with mortification.

“Poe!” I fumed, not hiding my anger. “I asked you to do one thing!”

I sensed his panic from behind the fabric separating us. “Kriff! Sorry!” His voice changed when he spoke next, a hurried whisper. “BB, come back here! We can’t show her yet!”

A streaming mechanical movement could be heard in my periphery, turning my head to see a shadow moving along the bottom of the curtain. I took the moment to stop what I was doing, covering Kaia with a sheet.

I was thankful I did that when the BB-8 droid slip through a break in the drape, caring little for what Poe had ordered him to do. His little head sat hovering above his balled body, for the first time actually staying in position. The photoreceptor, which looked like a singular eye, was also finally lit as he zoomed closer. While an impressed smirk started to beam as I realised Poe had managed to get his little friend working, it was rapidly overtaken by irritation at the droid’s lack of courtesy.

Poe was cursing under his breath, then apologetic. “Alex and uh, patient, I am so sorry. BB, get out of there!” BB-8 let out a few indiscernible beeps, a language I didn’t understand, although Poe seemed to. “I don’t care! They need privacy. You can see her later!” he hollered.

The droid made what sounded like a high-pitched huff as its head dropped, like it knew it had been scolded. Its head swivelled around on top it’s body and rolled away, again sliding through the break in the curtain.

“Come on, back this way.” I listened to the combination of footsteps and mechanical whirring move back into the hallway, a door eventually clicking closed. Looking apologetically back to Kaia, her face was still stunned at the intrusion.

“I am so sorry. I told him to stay put until my appointments were over. It’s okay if you want to stop for a moment,” I offered, trying to stay as calm as possible.

Kaia blinked purposefully a few times before being able to focus back to me. “No it’s okay. I’m ready.”

I admired her composure, while I remained silently boiling under the surface.

“What the hell Poe?” I snarled, barging into my office where Poe sat, seemingly interrupting a conversation he was having with BB-8. I’d clawed my anger into submission for the rest of Kaia’s appointment, but now it was ready to surge outward.

Poe stood, arms held up in surrender. “I know! I’m sorry! I didn’t think, and it was just really bad timing.” BB-8 beeped in what sounded like agreeance, rolling around from behind the office desk into my view.

“It was the worst timing!” I snapped. “That girl was 17, in a very vulnerable position, and you scared the living daylights out of her!”

“I know, and I can’t apologise enough Alex, really!” His face was pleading, brown eyes soft yet desperate. “I was just so excited about BB working again, and I wanted to show you.”

His sincerity disarmed me, my fury sizzling down, suffocated by his apology. I took a slow breath in, eyes closed, reigning it in further. “Please don’t disregard my instructions again,” I grumbled.

He nodded, as did BB-8, and my eyes focused on the droid. He was oddly cute in his appearance, his small beeps already annoyingly adorable. “Hello,” I greeted, all frustration now clean from my voice. “My name is Alexys.” I kneeled down to his eye level and he immediately wheeled directly in front of me, beeping somewhat of his own introduction.

“He said it’s nice to meet you,” Poe clarified, still hesitant at the easy change in my mood.

I looked up at him, curious. “You can understand those sounds he makes?”

“Most of it,” Poe answered. “It’s a form of Binary. Having him with me for so long helped me grow accustomed to the pitch and time changes in his beeps.”

My eyebrows rose, fascinated. “That’s so impressive.” BB-8 squealed in uneven time, his eye looking over to Poe, who almost looked bashful. “What? What did he say?”

He shot BB-8 an irritated look before meeting his eyes to mine. “It’s nothing important. His circuits are still a little fried.”

I wasn’t convinced, but then again I didn’t speak droid. "I'm glad you got him working,” I said earnestly, pleased there hadn’t been any type of casualty from his crash.

Poe sighed, relieved. “Me too. He’s the best co-pilot I’ve ever had.”

BB-8 whistled happily, evidently pleased with the praise, and its sweetness made me smile.

“Alexys?” Vixur suddenly called, his voice echoing down the hall. “Are you back there?”

I left Poe and BB-8 without a word, finding Vixur standing at the hallway entrance, his clothes smeared in dirt and dark grease. “Everything okay?”

Vixur nodded, evidently tired, still an accomplished grin filled his face. “We’re done actually. The comm-tower’s fixed.”

I wanted to smile back, to show my appreciation for his hard work, but it all became too hard to fake anymore.

This was it, the beginning of my goodbye to Poe. He would now be able to contact the Resistance, his friends, and he would soon be gone from my life just as suddenly as he arrived.

I forced the tears back as I hugged Vixur, doing all I could to hide my pain and show some kind of gratitude for the selfless work he had done.

Somehow Vixur sensed the turmoil simmering through me, patting my back softly. He pulled out of our embrace, speaking softly enough so Poe wouldn’t hear. “You needed this done for him, didn’t you?”

I nodded, the sadness hard to contain on my face. Vixur’s own expression was sympathetic as he squeezed my arm reassuringly. I didn’t need to explain anything, he just seemed to know.

“If it’s meant to be, you’ll find each other again.”

I drew in a long breath, furiously smothering the need to cry. I wanted to thank him more, for giving his time to me for little in return, but I couldn’t say the words out of fear the sudden sorrow would overwhelm me if I spoke out loud.

Vixur understood this, giving me a caring smile as he took his leave. “Well, we best be heading back to the village. I’ll see you sometime soon Alex. If I don’t, I wish you luck.”

And he was gone, the clinic door closing behind him, leaving me frozen in dread. A large part of me was reluctant to tell Poe the ‘good news’, but he’d waited long enough for his rescue from this planet.

I didn’t need to turn around to know he’d slinked out of the office to find me stuck where I stood, BB-8’s soft whirring following him.

“The comm-tower is ready, isn’t it?” Poe asked gently.

I forced myself to smile as I turned around, Poe’s expression not showing the relief I would have expected.

“Sure is,” I replied, the hint of quiver in my voice. “You can finally go home.”

I saw Poe’s lip tremble as he too attempted a smile, the disappointment in his eyes more indicative of his actual reaction to my answer.

Neither of us spoke for a long time, BB-8 looking back and forth quizzically, a few unsure beeps finally pierced in Poe’s direction. The sounds knocked us back into reality, as I moved to find the transmitter I’d stashed back into my tech station after determining its redundancy days ago.

The memories felt foreign, like they were from a different age. So little time had changed me so much, making me feel the most unstable and fragile I had felt in so long, on the verge of tipping into an overwhelming pain.

Poe had watched me in silence, unmoving. I eventually shifted the transmitter into his arms, an extremely aged, large box with an array of dusty buttons poking out of the rusted metal.

“It’s old, but it still works,” I insisted in a monotone, the emotion sucked from my voice. Poe only nodded, and gave me one last despairing glance as he turned away, carrying the machine into the study, BB-8 trailing behind him.

When the door closed, I couldn’t hold onto it any longer, the overpowering misery bursting free, its icy presence consuming me in a singular moment, the cold burn stinging as a few tears trickled down my cheeks.

What did I tell you?

The tears came faster at the sound of the voice, it’s condescension only making the suffering more excruciating.

No.

You’re wrong. I’m stronger than this.

I wiped away the errant tears defiantly, pulling myself together at the seams that had broken a few minutes ago, calming my breathing, trying to settle the trembling on inhale.

I’d made it through so much worse, pushed past crushing loneliness, fear and sadness, to make myself more resilient than I was behaving now. And I wasn’t going to let myself be caught in this vortex of emotion any longer.

I will not let this ruin me.

Next Chapter

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itsilvermorny · 4 years

Text

Blue is the Warmest Color || Obi Wan Kenobi x reader

Hello everyone! Today I was hit with a wave of inspiration and decided to write something for my favorite Jedi, Obi Wan Kenobi. I’m a huge star wars fan and avid reader of Obi Wan fanfiction, but only now I had the guts to actually post something, so please be gentle :)

(I reread this over 100 times, but I’m sure there’s still some typos somewhere so ignore that.)

Let me know what you think?

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It’s been a long time coming – that feeling of being home, the warmth of his heavy wool robes on her cheek, being engulfed by his scent. It’s probably what she had missed the most if she’s honest with herself, the way his spicy, wooden smell surrounded her every time he was near. Always a comfort, always a taunt – it would make her insides curl in the best way, yearning to be in his arms in the worst possible moments, with her face resting against his neck, where his skin is soft and warm, and where she could feel his heart beat slightly increase upon placing a soft kiss on his Adam’s apple. It was her favourite place to kiss, right after the moles on his forehead and underneath his right eye, because she was guaranteed to earn back a shiver.

He loved it just as much (if not more) as her, she knew.

He had once confessed how the feeling of being wanted and loved was foreign to him still, how sometimes he inadvertently pinched his thigh, not quite believing the look in her eyes was directed at him.

The Jedi life was a life of solitude, and as such it’s expected of him to find comfort in the Force, not on the valley between her breasts, where he was certain to fall into a slumber, lulled by her even breaths, warm skin and the feeling of her fingers combing through his hair. And so, he loved when he felt her sponge a kiss on that spot on his neck, because it reminded him how she was his as much as he was hers, and he loved how she kissed the birthmarks on his face, as he knew it was her way of telling him she would always worry for him, care for him, and think of him when he was away on missions, willing him to come back home safely, to her.

Often when his assignments turned out unexpectedly sour he would think back and let himself remember the feel of her, of her kisses and the sweet nothings she loved to whisper on his ear – she was very vocal, always making sure to tell him how precious he was, how good, and how valued, even after being together for almost a year she knew of his insecurities and never failed to battle them away in any way she could.

And so, to finally be back in Coruscant, after what was supposed to have been a simple extraction, but turned out to be a gruesome four days of torture, after being made a slave, he could finally breathe again. Rushed to the medical facilities after collapsing on the tarmac (much to his chagrin, as General Kenobi never wished to be seen as vulnerable), he was now laid on his stomach on a cold bed, a medical droid fussing over the whip imprints on his back and Ashoka crouched near his head, willing him to keep his eyes open. Not one for sentimentality, he would seldom voice out loud how much he cared for his grandpadawan, as much as his own apprentice, but at that moment he would wish for nothing more than her silence, as her tries to gather details on what had happened during his mission were only reminding him of the crack of the whip, the insults and the cold dungeon he had been kept on.

“Ashoka, please”, was all he could mutter, as his strength failed him and he fought to keep his eyes open – with his malnourishment and the state of shock his body was under, it wasn’t advisable to fall asleep, he knew, before the doctors finished their examination, lest his body give into a comatose state.

Obi Wan willed he droids to assess his wounds faster, so he could finally be treated and then give his body the rest it so desperately needed, as it was getting increasingly harder to fight the weight on his eyelids. His prayers were answered when the door opened and in hurriedly strolled his padawan, followed by none other than the person he most ached to see, even if he could feel his heart constricting at the thought of her seeing him in such a mangled condition. He should have guessed, really, that she would be the one responsible for tending to him, not only due to her control of the force and ability to heal through it, but also because of the unspoken understanding between him and Anakin, and the nights both Jedi would each seek shelter in the arms of the ones they loved – something they never openly spoke about, but nonetheless acknowledged. Her being brought to him was surely Anakin’s doing.

He couldn’t not keep his eyes open then, he couldn’t not let himself get his fill of her, of how she had her hair in a tidy up do, the way she always insisted on having whilst working, on how her mismatched eyes quickly swept over his whole body, inquisitive, assessing all the damage he had suffered, and finally lingering on his back, on the gashes of raw flesh he knew were there – the beautiful, unique eyes he loved so much, now filled with worry and sadness. He was suddenly hit by the realisation of the scars he would undoubtedly have once his back healed, would it affect the way she saw him? Would she still want him? Desire him, touch him? He closed his eyes then, swallowing the bile that had risen on his throat, he couldn’t let himself think about that then, or his body would surely give in.

Efficient as ever, she started instructing the two other droids to make a concoction that would help close his wounds faster and dull the pain he was feeling. Anakin had pulled Ashoka aside, leading her away from his bed and out of the room, to make way for the doctors. He knew his master better than Obi Wan liked to admit, and knew he was bound to be feeling exposed, vulnerable and, most of all, embarrassed (stupidly, if anyone asked him). Obi Wan was one of the most respected and well regarded Jedi and even had recently been invited to become a part of the Council, and thus Anakin knew letting the people he was responsible for protecting seeing him broken was only adding a burden to his master’s worn down shoulders.

Soon it was just them both in the room. No words had been exchanged yet, but then again, one was too immersed battling his dark thoughts, and the other didn’t think anything could be said to erase the last four days of pain from his mind, as she desperately wished to do. So she resorted to do her job as best she could, and, closing her eyes, she hovered her hands over his body, one over his auburn hair and the other over the bottom of his spine, untouching, letting the Force guide her through is injuries, first the superficial, then the internal ones.

It was a relief to see he had not sustained any internal bleeding, as she had initially thought from the purple bruises he was sporting on his sides and arms. The lacerations on his back would take a few weeks to close properly and his body required a few days of bed rest, as well as full meals to restore its energy, but Obi Wan would be fine. She couldn’t hold in a sigh anymore, as the weight she had on her chest ever since she had learnt of his captivity finally lifted. Her Obi Wan was back, and he would be fine. Stars, her knees almost buckled at the realisation.

Hearing her reaction, he slightly craned his neck to better see her face. His mouth was dry, but he still licked his lips to speak, “Hi”. His voice sounded foreign to him, rough and deeper than it usually was, he had barely spoken a word since his extraction. She looked at him and softly smiled, her eyes shining with tears as the adrenaline of tending to him started to subside. “Don’t cry”, his voice sounded again, and, instincts kicking, he tried to lift himself on the mattress. His body protested immediately, and he sagged back down, taking a deep breath in as he fought through the tremors caused by the sudden effort.

She was at his bedside at once, seeing how the medicine the droids had applied had yet to kick in, and getting a tiny neon green pill from a bottle, she made him take it with some water. Her dearest Obi Wan, who even barely able to move, still couldn’t bare to see his people suffer. She threaded her fingers in the hair flopped over his forehead and kneeled at his bedside to be at his eye level. He was blinking slowly, the weariness and exhaustion he felt clear on his eyes, “You can rest now, Obi Wan. You suffered no internal damage. You’re home, you’re safe”, she willed her voice to come out strong to try and provide him with the assurance she imagined he needed, but he wasn’t having it. He slowly lifted his right arm from the bed and grasped the hand she had rested next to his head. They had a strong bond, stronger than he thought possible for two people to have, least of all Jedi. He knew he was breaking his oath by giving in to his feelings for her, but after their first meetings, when he came to realize how connected they were – not just their bodies, but their souls -, he couldn’t deny it, them, any longer.

The first time they met had been during the Clone Wars, as she had been a part of their medical team. But after the war, as time went on, they kept crossing paths, randomly and repeatedly, as if the Force were driving them to know each other. He started to be able to clearly see her force signature, then feel it, as well as her presence, and even share her emotions, and he knew from his padawan days that even the Jedi who decided to dedicate themselves to medicine had to complete the Jedi training in its entirety, which meant she knew how to protect and close her mind. They found themselves intertwined though, as they had gotten closer, and who was he to contest a wish from the Force?

She rested her head on their joined hands, faces so close her nose almost touched his cheek. “You need sleep”, she whispered softly, “I’ll stay if you’d like me to.” There was nothing that would be able to drag her away from him, she knew.

He nodded slowly; his eyes fixed on hers. They had always been one of his favourite features, because he had never seen nothing like it before, not even on his adventures with his late master, who had made sure to teach him all there was to know about each species that inhabited the planets they visited. She was human, like him, quite ordinary as well, in juxtaposition to the multitude of species in Coruscant, except for her eyes – one was blue, clear as the water of the rivers in Naboo, and the other was a soft lilac, the same shade the sky of Tatooine would adopt in the dusk. Her eyes that told him so much, even when she wished to guard herself and her thoughts – he could always read her (as he knew she could always read him) because there were no reservations between them.

So, he saw, deep into her mind, her love and care for him, the worry she had felt in his absence painted in the circles beneath her eyes. He felt her force signature, a soft, mint green, enveloping his body, providing him with the comfort he craved, like a breath of fresh air consuming his being and washing his body into a deep sense of calm.

And when she softly left a lingering kiss on the mole beneath his right eye, he knew he was safe and that she would love him back to health.

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan x you #obi wan fluff #obi wan x y/n #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi imagine #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi fluff #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor imagine #obi wan fanfic

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thekidultlife · 4 years

Text

“Only Us” | TROS Spinoff Pt. 2 | Yoon Jeonghan

Author’s Note: You can read this immediately, but for better reading experience, I highly recommend starting at the links below so the characters will grow on you! :) I had to work a little bit harder to focus the story on Jeonghan and the fem!reader who were once passionate, reckless lovers but are now older, more matured parents.

Genre: Angst and smut and a little bit of fluff at the end (not-so-family-friendly, but definitely still about family)

Title Inspiration: I decided to name this story ‘Only Us’ as I was listening to this song from my favorite musical, ‘Dear Evan Hansen’. It strongly described how my characters felt and made decisions in this story, so if you want music to go along with reading this part, I’m leaving the link of the song here: https://youtu.be/s1Evnzkez7o

Word Count: 7,457

TROS Masterlist | before the after-party | the after-party | Ep. 3 | only us

The lights came on in your bedroom, and you heard the door slam shut. Your eyes flew open and you leapt up from the bed, your feet touching the wooden floor so swiftly that you felt the chill of that winter night creeping up your skin. You were wearing nothing but his shirt. Reaching for the robe you had carelessly tossed on the floor earlier, you slowly looked up to see the figure standing by the door.

Your heart hammered within your chest, and the slow ache that had burned inside you, the yearning that had kept you awake for so many nights, was now becoming unbearable by the minute.

You clutched at the silken clothing, and you felt your voice catch as you addressed this intruder before you. “I—I thought you won’t be back until summer—”

“—I got back early.”

The man dropped his suitcase, removed his coat, and fluidly strode toward you, immediately closing the space between you within seconds. His eyes, darkened by a deep longing, could not stop holding your gaze as his hands cupped your face close to his. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

There was a brief silence when time seemed to stop, when everything hushed as the whole world fell away beneath your feet. You could only see Yoon Jeonghan, and he could only see you. There were no words to be said, because your unrelenting eyes said it all.

I missed you, your eyes both said.

The wondrous spell of silence was broken by a groan that escaped Jeonghan’s throat as he bent his head and claimed your lips with an urgency that expressed exactly what his eyes conveyed. Your arms tightened around his waist; you pressed him closer, kneading his rock-hard body into yours as he grabbed fistfuls of your hair to tilt your head up to him. Your knees threatened to buckle as his tongue entered your mouth to deepen the kiss.

You moaned, sudden warmth washing up and down your body, as Jeonghan’s tongue urgently explored and tasted your mouth, before leaving a hot, wet trail from there to that sensitive part of your neck where he loved to make his mark, nipping and biting your soft flesh. You felt yourself melting, desire pooling between your legs.

I missed you, your bodies whispered against each other, moaning and sighing in the pleasure of being pressed into each other.

You closed your eyes in satisfaction as your skin tingled underneath the traces of heat where his tongue had gone over and you let your lips murmur his name as you felt his hands caress your body, barely hidden by the shirt you were wearing. His mouth only stopped working on your throat when you had to take off his sweater. And then he kissed you over and over to make up for that moment when he stopped as you unzipped his jeans. Your hands splayed around the small of his back before reaching for the elastic of his boxers and pulling it down; your hands encircled his hard, pulsing erection, your thumb stroking that part of the tip where he loved being touched. You felt him tremble as your hands enclosed him.

You missed this. You missed him. You missed all of him that you ached for him even as you touched him.

“Love—” he began, but you silenced him with your mouth, leaving your own hot trails in his body until you reached his groin. You knelt and you took him in your mouth, enjoying the fullness of him inside, the exquisite taste of him in your tongue. But before you could pleasure him more, he pulled you up and then gently pushed you onto the bed. His glorious, naked form hovered above you, his hands hanging on his sides for a moment, his eyes beseeching, desperate—and wanting.

“I…I want you now,” he whispered hoarsely, as if his passion could not be contained by his voice.

You slowly lifted your shirt with both hands, letting the material graze your stomach, your breasts and their hardened nipples. Then you got up on your elbows, your lips swollen from his kisses, your gaze unwavering. You tilted your head back and you slowly opened your legs, wet, aching and wanting.

So many nights spent without this man. So many nights spent pining, now culminating to this moment.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” you said softly, “Come to me.”

And he did.

He made love to you all night.

The cold of that winter night did little to quench the fire your lovemaking.

He made love to you like he never had before. He made love to you until every part of him that missed you finally believed that you were now here, truly with him, real, your skin hot against his, writhing and moaning with each thrust and caress and kiss.

When he found his final release, he gave a loud cry and slumped against you, his head resting between your breasts. His panting breaths matched your own.

You heard him whisper your name reverently, over and over, until he fell asleep.

A few hours later, you watched as faint streams of early morning light filled the room. You lay beside him, still awake but fully spent and sated, with his arms and legs wrapped around you, sheets barely covering your naked bodies. Then you turned your head to look at his beautiful, sleeping form, and you thought about how he melded perfectly into you, his flesh pressed upon yours as if you were not two people, but one.

It was then that you tried to say it.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” you began, “I love y—"

You stopped before you could finish it. And you hated yourself for being so afraid of saying it.

But your fears weren’t unfounded. They were real, and they existed because of reasons that caused you to still pull away from this man who you loved so much—

—there. You have said it in your mind.

You loved him.

And you knew you had to tell him on that day.

When he had whispered those words in your ear a year ago, you could not respond to him in kind. But he said he would wait. He would wait and wait and wait, until you were ready to say it back to him.

Because he loved you that much.

Today. You made up your mind to tell him today, as you looked at his peaceful face. But how?

Later that morning, still in bed, as you gasped for breath after his mouth and fingers licked and sucked, stroked and entered you between your legs and sent your body reeling from waves of orgasms, you pulled him up to you and kissed him as gently as you could, tears streaming down your face.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” you said his name between gasps, as sobs wracked your spasming body over and over, “I love you. I love you and I am scared because I love you so much that I am in pain all over when I can’t be with you and when I am with you like this. I am so afraid, very much afraid of what comes after I tell you so, but what I’m saying right now…” you paused after your rush of words, “…is true. I love you. I love you.”

The man on top of you went completely still, his hands on your sides supporting him as he took in your sudden, spontaneous confession. His expression was a mixture of surprise and joy and raw pain at the gravity of your words.

He was no fool. He knew what you meant by being afraid. His face mirrored raw pain at your fear of being with him.

But he was also your lover, and he could feel his heart burning, burning and burning with flames of happiness.

He could not find the words to tell you the explosion of emotions he was experiencing as he processed what you just said, so he bent his head down again and kissed you.

“We will work this out together,” he finally said after you stopped crying, and he lay beside you. “What matters to me more is that we love each other. That is the truth where we will base our next steps upon. Love,” he reached out to stroke your face, “we can happen. It’s not impossible.” He pulled you in, arms protecting you from your thoughts and your fears and what lay ahead. “What matters is us. Only us.”

“Don’t say that so carelessly. Your career could do down the drain if—”

“—I love you,” he whispered in your ear.

Despite the tears that blurred your vision, you saw the deadpan certainty in Yoon Jeonghan’s eyes: the hope, fears, and sheer determination that painted them strongly. And it was then that you knew.

He would do everything to quell your fears.

You let yourself be protected in his embrace.

However, it was unmistakable, that dreadful certainty that swallowed you on the day you said you loved Yoon Jeonghan. The fear that never left your heart as you lay there confirmed it over and over.

You once watched a movie, where the protagonist said that “love changes life”. You loved that line. But what struck you then was the gnawing truth of the words that came next.

“…but life changes love.”

You opened your eyes.

You stopped remembering the past.

You felt a hand holding yours on the side of the bed.

You looked over and saw him.

Yoon Jeonghan. His head resting on an arm, eyes closed. Sleeping.

You studied his face. He had gotten older, as had you. The soft angles on his face have sharpened, but the gentleness for which his features were famous for remained. His hands looked firmer, with a few veins giving color to his otherwise marble-white skin, but they still retained tenderness in their touch. You noted indentations on his left ring finger, and you wondered about the gold band you had slipped into it five autumns ago.

Jeonghan must have sensed that you were awake, because he stirred from his sleep and looked up at you, squinting his eyes.

“Hey,” he greeted sleepily.

You just looked at him.

He then noticed that he was holding your hand. He stared at both your hands for a long time, before gently releasing yours and putting his hands on his lap.

“The doctors said that you’re well enough to recuperate at home, so you have the choice to either stay here or leave at home. Jae Eun is with my sister,” he began. “I’ll pick her up around lunchtime so she could see you here.”

You looked around at the hospital room where you were resting, your scrutiny finally ending at the table where a tray carrying an assortment of food and pills rested.

“Do you need anything?” Jeonghan began again, trying to strike up a conversation. “I could run down to get you—”

“—Can I see Jae Eun now?” you broke in, turning back to Jeonghan. “I want to talk to her about what happened last night.”

“You will be able to talk to her later, like I said,” Jeonghan replied, “but you have to rest first. She will be here later.”

You shook your head. “It was a mistake. Angelo…I told him that he can’t just bend on one knee and pull out a ring like that.” You felt yourself redden the moment you realized that you had just spoken Angelo’s name in Jeonghan’s presence. “Sorry.”

Jeonghan simply shrugged. His expression revealed nothing other than understanding of your situation. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. He’s your boyfriend.”

At that, you didn’t know what to say anymore. You just stared at Jeonghan until he took the cue and saved you both from the awkward silence.

“What happened last night?” he asked, in a gentle but cautious tone. He didn’t want to sound intrusive, just in case you did not feel comfortable talking about what happened.

Which was true. You did not feel comfortable, but this was Jeonghan. He had the right to know.

“I—I fainted,” you lied poorly, knowing full well that Jeonghan knew everything about your panic attacks at this point. “Someone was taking pictures of me again. At night.”

He acknowledged your lie about your condition, but he did not let you go on the other thing you had blurted out. “Again? So what they told me earlier was true,” he said, his voice icy. “Did this… ‘picture-taking’ also happen when Jae Eun was at home with you? Nights?”

You sat up, crossing your arms. You knew where this was going to head, and you steeled yourself for a barrage of questions. “Yes.”

Jeonghan’s eyes were like daggers, sharp and steely. “And you never told me this? That my daughter could have been photographed by gossip rags or stalkers?”

“She’s not the one they’re taking pictures of, Yoon Jeonghan,” you hissed, your eyes also ablaze with anger. “I was the one they always targeted. Not her. And besides, she was always in bed by that time, or at daycare when they follow me around at work, or with you, safe, while they hang out in front of my house and snap away.”

“And how do you know that?” he countered, his tone unrelenting and unforgiving in that moment. “Have you ever gotten hold of one and confirmed it from his very own lips that he did not take pictures of my daughter?”

“Please don’t argue with me about this, Jeonghan,” you sighed, immediately tired after such a short (but rather heated) dialogue. “I know how to protect her when she’s with me.”

Jeonghan looked like he wanted to say far harsher words in reply, but he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “That’s not the point,” he replied crossly. “These matters—they don’t just concern you, even if, like you said, they only targeted you. They also concern Jae Eun, my daughter.” He fixed his gaze on you meaningfully. “Our daughter. All I ask now is that if ever another dangerous situation like this comes up, you call me so I can make sure that I can keep you and Jae Eun safe.” He leaned back on his chair and sighed. “That’s all.”

You felt corrected by his words, but you knew he was right.

“Okay.”

Another silence reigned, but this time, no one broke it.

You took this time to study him.

A few moments ago, you had recalled how passion fueled everything between you and this man. Nights that weren’t spent for sleeping, lazy afternoons where you simply lounged around in your apartment or made love again, and the seemingly endless days that stretched on and on as your work and Jeonghan’s career took over your lives.

You recalled just how you were unable to be away from him for long. You recalled your mutual decision to live together so you could see each other easier, after mere five months of dating. You recalled the sleepless nights you spent waiting for him that spurred you to agree when he asked you to move in with him.

You looked at the man in front of you now, and you realized how much you have changed from the passionate lovers you were once before.

Everything’s different now.

You lay back on your bed and was about to go back to sleep again when Jeonghan spoke again.

“When we agreed to divorce,” Jeonghan said softly, “it wasn’t because you didn’t love me anymore, right?”

You closed your eyes. “No.”

“It was because...” Jeonghan sighed. “...we wanted to keep our daughter away from the limelight.”

“Not the limelight,” you corrected. “But she could not live in a home where dead rats wrapped in gift boxes are a normal occurrence. And just imagine Jae Eun answering angry women’s calls, telling her mom to just die. Or that she shouldn’t be alive.”

Jeonghan was silent for a time.

“That’s the only reason, right, Y/N? And I agreed with you. I agreed with you because the last straw for me came when someone attacked you in the restroom for carrying my child...”

“You did not agree.” A tear fell from your face. “You let me go because I left you. The divorce papers came after. I was the coward who wanted out. I just didn’t want my daughter to be harmed as she grew up.”

“You weren’t a coward.” Even now, Jeonghan was still defending you from yourself. “But no other reason, Y/N?”

You turned to look at him then, your face showing a frustrated expression. “No other than our daughter’s safety. We both agreed about this because the public didn’t really like me, remember? But aside from that...we were happy...” Your head started to hurt. “Why do you keep asking me this?”

“Because I can’t understand why you had to date someone else while raising my daughter away from me,” he said bitterly, his voice breaking. “Is that Angelo less of a risk than I am? Or maybe you just wanted to be free of me entirely this time. Maybe you’ve stopped loving me after all this time apart.”

The sharp edges of his words did you in. “You don’t understand what you’re saying at all.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand. And I don’t think I want to.” You know he didn’t want to cry in front of you, but tears poured out of Jeonghan’s eyes and his body trembled with the effort not to break down in front of you. His voice was full of agony masked with indifference, and you felt it stab through you despite the crueler emotions you know he was trying to curb so as not to hurt you.

“Listen to me.” You reached out automatically to console him, but he looked away.

“I agreed to this arrangement no matter how hard it was for me because you’re right. We have to raise our daughter away from such negativity, without losing both our careers, you said. But this...thing with that Angelo...I can’t.”

“Jeonghan,” you said, your eyes also in tears now, “I love you.”

“Then why...” Jeonghan squeezed his eyes tightly as he tried to control himself, “why are you seeing somebody else?”

Jeonghan paced about the room. You did not answer him this time.

Finally, he sat back down.

“You heard me earlier before, right?” he said in a low voice, his hand once again reaching for yours. You let him take it and you felt shivers run up and down your spine as he stroked it with his other hand, unlocking more memories as he touched you. His index finger and thumb idly traced a circle around your left ring finger. “You heard what I was saying to you.”

His words. This time, along with the surge of emotions and memories, you felt yourself stiffen.

“Please come back to me.”

You closed your eyes. “Yoon Jeonghan.”

He ignored you. “I asked you to come back to me. And you reached out and held my hand as I said it.” He kept tracing circles at your left ring finger. “So…I figured you heard. Or was that just a reflex? Do you unconsciously reach out to Angelo in bed, too?” The jealousy in his tone was barely contained at this point.

“I do not sleep with Angelo,” you spat out, snatching your hand away from him. “And I did not reach out to hold your hand on purpose.”

“But you do not deny that you heard me.”

“And what do you expect me to answer to that, Yoon Jeonghan?” you hissed. You have experienced all sorts of emotions this morning. All because of Yoon Jeonghan. “Are we going to be blind about the fact that our love can’t be the answer to our problems? What do you want me to say?”

Again.

Jeonghan lifted his eyes to meet yours. The torment there was unmistakable, and you felt your breath catch. He looked just like the Yoon Jeonghan from before: young, vulnerable and in pain.

In pain because he had been away from you for so long.

At least, that was the reason for his torment before. But was it still the reason now?

“That you’re as fed up with this insane arrangement as I am. That it drives you crazy that we have to live in separate houses as we raise our daughter, and that our loneliness is driving us apart and is making us seek other people. That we’re not young and reckless anymore. That we can find a way to fight for our love this time.

“That you want me back, too. And it doesn’t even have to be because you still have feelings for me.” He eyes stabbed painful holes in your heart. “Tell me that you want me back for Jae Eun’s sake. That is more than enough reason for me. Think carefully about it.” He stood up from his chair, his eyes now hooded and his face taut, jaw clenched. “For our daughter.”

He strode off and left the room.

Lying beside Jeonghan, a thousand thoughts plagued you, driving sleep away. Your eyes trailed off to the dresser, where you had placed your phone.

“Go to sleep,” Jeonghan murmured sleepily, burrowing his face in your neck, pulling you closer to him. “You’ve had a long day.”

It was true. You had.

It was the first of many days where you would make the headlines.

About two weeks ago, a reporter had spotted you and Jeonghan getting out of his car and entering the supposedly private townhouse that you had moved into with Jeonghan. Speculation and a few leads confirmed what had been going on for months: your romantic relationship with Yoon Jeonghan.

It wasn’t just you who had a long day. Jeonghan, too, had a lot to eat on his plate today. After receiving a reprimand from his agency for “putting SEVENTEEN’s reputation at stake” with the sudden news that he wasn’t just dating someone—he was living with that someone, he had stood up for you and for what he had with you. He wasn’t going to go deny what you had or just keep silent about it. If he will be asked by reporters, he had stubbornly insisted to the management, he will answer truthfully.

You had anticipated the explosion of opinions, rumors and reactions that lay ahead.

Your fears—once just a fragment of your imagination—were now becoming your reality.

At work this morning, you had watched warily as Yoon Jeonghan was interviewed along with the other members at a talk show, from the huge plasma screen that dominated one part of the huge editing office of The Seoul Daily. Your co-workers in their respective cubicles were all multitasking, phones on their ears and eyes on the TV. Their actions were manic, all of them racing against each other to get the freshest scoop on this issue. Little did they know that the dynamite to all this—you—was just among them. You prayed that you wouldn’t be caught today. But you knew the odds were against you at this point. You know how good your company was at gathering information about any occurrence within and outside Seoul. You knew too well that they have sources everywhere. It was only a matter of time.

You had nothing to hide. You weren’t ashamed of Yoon Jeonghan or anything about your relationship. But you valued the peace and quiet. You valued privacy.

You prayed.

“Yoon Jeonghan-ssi, please forgive me for asking this question, but is it true, what Dispatch just released? The photos of you and a young woman entering a townhouse? Is she…” the host paused dramatically, “…who they say she is to you?”

Seungcheol had opened his mouth then to respond for Jeonghan, but Jeonghan didn’t need the help. He smiled and answered rather naturally, “Yes.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Another smile, this time, wider. “Yes.”

You had dropped the pencil you were holding and had looked away from the TV screen that everyone in the office was glued to. But your eye had caught that picture of you, your face blurred mercifully. You prayed then that the nosy interviewer would stop harassing Jeonghan with these questions. And where were SEVENTEEN’s managers? Surely, they would stop this brazen invasion of an idol’s privacy!

“You seem very, very open about her.”

“I am, because I find no reason not to be open to the public about her. She’s my girlfriend, and I love her.”

“Have you told your fans about her?”

“Last night, I told them all about my girlfriend. I told them that I wanted to keep it as private as possible, but since I was asked, I just answered. I want to be as real as possible on- and off-camera. I don’t live two lives. I live only one—the facts have to align.”

“You both seem to be serious.”

“Yes. We live together.”

Startled gasps and shocked reactions circulated around the room. She was sure that the writers for The Seoul Daily would be taking all of this down on their assortment of pads, tablets, computers—phones. Already she had heard a co-worker phoning Pledis Entertainment. It won’t be long before unnamed source—people who have seen her with Yoon Jeonghan—would divulge her name.

‘Wow. We didn’t even need to ask that.”

“You know anyway. I don’t think I’m telling you anything new at this point.”

Several members quickly rescued the conversation, and the host mercifully took the cue to stop asking. And while Jeonghan looked as composed as ever, you knew from the minute expressions that sometimes showed on his face that he was tired and angry about the interview.

But he answered honestly anyway, even though he had every right not to tell anyone anything that doesn’t concern his career.

Jeonghan, you had pleaded, your eyes squeezed shut, what are you doing?

The verdict about your privacy’s demise had come when your boss, the chief editor of the Seoul Daily, called you into her office.

You had stood before her, your hands behind your back, one thumb pinching the flesh on your other palm over and over. Squinting underneath her glasses, Kang Subin eyed you like a catch prize, something very valuable compared to the commonplace employee you once were.

“Ms. Y/N, is it true?” she had asked, even though she knew the answer already as far as you could see from her iPad, Wwhich showed the same picture you had seen on the interview, only this time, your face was crystal clear. Unblurred. “Are you Yoon Jeonghan’s lover?”

You looked at her squarely in the eye. “I think you already know the answer to that, Ma’am.”

“How did you two meet?”

“Respectfully speaking, Ma’am, I don’t think I have to divulge any more of my personal life other than what is being revealed by the press already.” The tone on your voice, you knew, had gone hard. But you struggled to keep a natural composure before this predator. Your very own boss.

“Your boyfriend seems to have no problems with confirming things, and telling the press details,” she said rather pointedly, and a bit icily. “And he’s the celebrity. I think it would be of no problem to him as well if you could personally give us a little bit of your story.”

“My personal life is not up for grabs,” you remember calmly saying, before retreating. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t act like you’re so protective of your privacy, Y/N,” Subin called out. “I know everything about you now.”

You opened the door and walked out.

Let them wonder how about you met Yoon Jeonghan.

You thought you would be able to stomach everything. After all, you had never been one to get bothered by rumors about you. But when you walked back to your cubicle, you noticed the stares and the shock in their faces.

Everyone now knows.

For the whole day, as you followed leads of your own and ignored snide remarks by co-workers whom you denied inside scoops, your mind was full of dread at this press fiasco. Already your phone was buzzing with messages and calls. You immediately took control of all your social media feeds and turned them into private accounts.

What was once a normal life was suddenly turned upside down.

Now, late at night, in Jeonghan’s arms, you prayed that tomorrow would be different. You hadn’t wanted all this publicity. But you knew that it was not something you could avoid. You are dating a celebrity, after all. A very famous celebrity at that.

You have now been baptized by the press and the public into Yoon Jeonghan’s world. You wondered if you would be able to take it.

“Sleep,” he murmured again, and you closed your eyes, safe in Jeonghan’s embrace. No matter the cost, being with him was worth it.

“Yoon Jae Eun.”

Jeonghan knelt, so that their eyes could meet levelly.

“I want you to be nice to your mom. She has been through a lot today. Am I clear? No crying, no angry words.” Jeonghan put his hands on her shoulders and gazed at his young, wide-eyed daughter, who was now pouting again. “Your Eomma loves you very much. You remember that and keep it here—” he touched her head gently, and then pointed at her heart, “—and here.”

Jae Eun nodded silently, but the defiance in her eyes remained.

Jeonghan sighed. She did not inherit that look from me, he said to himself wryly one corner of his mouth turning up at the thought. Then he stood up, held Jae Eun’s hand and pushed the door open.

You have already dressed and gotten your things ready. You still looked pale, and Jeonghan worried a little about that. But the strength with which you carried yourself in front of your daughter made him stop from rushing to you to see if you are well enough to go home. He knew you wanted to look better for Jae Eun.

If he were in your shoes, he would want to look okay, too.

“Jae Eun-ah, come here.” You opened your arms wide. But Jae Eun did not move and did not let go of Yoon Jeonghan’s hand.

You looked at Jeonghan, your eyes communicating with him tensely.

Jeonghan released Jae Eun’s hand and bent down to kiss the top of Jae Eun’s head. “Appa is just going outside for a moment. You be good here with Eomma, okay? I’ll be back at five to take you home.”

“You promise?” Jae Eun’s expectant eyes brightened up at your words. She had never had car rides with both of her parents with her. Jeonghan knew she would be happy if they all went home in one car.

“I promise.” Then he looked over at you once again before walking away and closing the door softly.

Jeonghan leaned against the door, sighing loudly. He had not slept well enough to function, and the emotional weight of everything that had happened—the show, the after-party, the accident—all of it took their toll on him. But he knew that he could not rest now. Not yet.

The thought of his most strenuous task for the day made him steel his resolve. He would go home first, shower and change clothes. Then he would proceed to where he must go for the day. He dutifully acknowledged the reporters who were waiting all around the hospital building with nods and small smiles and ignored the questions they shouted at him. It was a good thing that the hospital provided extra security for the floor where you were interred when he asked them for it.

He whipped up his phone and dialed a number.

“Hello. Yes, it’s me, Jeonghan. 1402. I’m heading out and I need you to be here to help with security. Yes. My wife and my daughter…Thank you very much.” My wife. He hung up immediately to answer another call. He was now at the parking lot.

“I’m waiting by your car,” came Seungcheol’s reassuring voice. “I’ll take you home.”

Jeonghan sighed in relief and waved at his friend just across the lot. “You are a lifesaver.”

“Hey, with all of us being such good boys, this is the only time I could get to fully exercise my role as a leader, taking care of my members.” Seungcheol hung up as he gave Jeonghan a brief hug before taking the keys from him. “Sleep. You’re gonna need it.”

“Yes, team leader,” Jeonghan said dryly, the sore muscles on his back relaxing as he seated himself on the plush car seat. He closed his eyes as Seungcheol started the car.

Minutes later, after stopping at a red light, Seungcheol spoke. “It’s only half past one. Plenty of time. Are you sure about what you’re going to do?”

“Yes.” Jeonghan was drifting off to sleep.

“Then I’ll come along, too. Maybe I can help persuade—”

“—I appreciate the gesture, but, no thanks. I need to do this by myself.” Jeonghan opened his eyes and glanced at his friend. “I’m the one who lost her. I’m the one who has to bring her back.”

Seungcheol nodded in understanding. “But I’ll come anyway. I’ll wait by your car and distract the reporters that might be crowding around.”

Jeonghan regarded his friend for a moment, before nodding. Seungcheol wasn’t asking. He was telling Jeonghan what he was going to do. “Okay.” Jeonghan turned away from Seungcheol then to sleep, but his mind was transported back to another time when Seungcheol simply did not sit by the sidelines and watch Jeonghan’s life come into a head.

The doorbell rang and rang.

“Cheol.”

The door opened a crack, and finally, Jeonghan could see Seungcheol’s visage through the darkness.

“Hannie?” The door opened wider, revealing Seungcheol in his pajamas. He felt like cursing from being roused from his sleep, but now that he saw Jeonghan, he was wide-awake.

Jeonghan’s sleep-deprived face looked gaunt, and his eyes looked red and empty. There was no light in it anymore, as if a fire inside him had just gone out. He looked like he was drunk, swaying and staggering, but he wasn’t.

He wished he were.

“Come with me.” Jeonghan looked very tired. “Don’t ask any questions. Just come with me.”

Seungcheol could not refuse his friend despite the odd hours. He disappeared inside the house again. Lights came on and off across the apartment’s floors. Jeonghan prayed he did not disturb the newlyweds.

But he needed Seungcheol now.

“Where are we going? And where’s your car? Did you walk from your place all the way here?”

Jeonghan got inside the car and said nothing, other than, “Let’s go to Seoul Hospital.” Jeonghan leaned back and closed his eyes. “She’s in the hospital?”

“Who?” Seungcheol asked, but he caught himself when he suddenly realized the answer. He regretted asking.

“She’s going into labor. I don’t know where I left my car. But I need to get there now.”

“Does she know you’ll be there?”

“No. But I’ll be there just the same. And Seungcheol...”

Seungcheol did not turn to look at his friend as he concentrated on driving as fast and as carefully as he could, but he replied, “Yes?”

“I’m sorry for being so reckless with everything. I know I’ve been giving everyone headaches.”

Seungcheol grinned. “Sometimes we act crazy because our hearts could not contain the rational ways we try to tame it. But I understand.” He paused briefly. “I would do the same for my wife, too, if I were in your position. But as your team leader, I still think you should have told us about your delicate situation. We could have helped the public accept the news more...”

Jeonghan sighed. “...I thought there could be a way to do things normally. To date and love and raise a family without having to inform everyone about everything that’s happening. I thought...”

“...well, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re forgetting something.” Seungcheol’s tone sounded musing but firm. “We don’t lead normal lives. But we have to take things in stride because our blessings are often greater than our hardships.”

“Tell me that when you have to raise a child as a divorced man, Cheol,” Jeonghan said, drifting off to sleep. “Tell me that when you experience my pain now. But please...just don’t. Not right now.”

Seungcheol nodded. “Okay. But for now...” He slowed the car as they neared a secured gate at the back of Seoul Hospital. “...let’s not think about the hardships. Let’s enjoy the moment you hold your baby in your arms. I would be excited if I were in your place when I get to have my own kids someday.” Seungcheol looked at Jeonghan. “I'll call the boys and tell them the news. Preparation for the fanmeet can wait. Let’s find joy knowing that you’re now going to raise the most amazing person in your entire life.”

“Eomma.”

By the soft glow of the lamplight, you stroked the silken strands of your daughter’s hair. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Tiny hands grasped yours. Their fingers, much like her father’s, squeezed on yours. “Please don’t marry anyone else.”

Yoon Jeonghan’s eyes stared back at you from your daughter’s face. The same, tormented expression, but too young for this face. Your heart broke seeing it in Jae Eun.

“I won’t.” You kissed her forehead.

“You promise?”

“Yes.” You smiled for her. “I promise.”

"I love you."

"I love you more."

The cloud in Jae Eun’s face seemed to dissipate. She smiled at you, murmured her more of her 'I love you’s, and fell into sleep. You tucked her in, kissed her again and walked out of the small bedroom into the parlor, where Jeonghan was dozing off on a couch.

Your footsteps woke him. His eyes opened and looked at you.

“Is she asleep?” he asked softly.

You sat at the other end of the couch and nodded. “Yes.” You looked at the time. It was almost midnight. Jeonghan had gotten back a little later than eight p.m. from somewhere and had played with Jae Eun while you talked with the huge, towering men he had brought with him to provide protection.

Now, you sensed how tired he was when Jeonghan stood up from the couch and groggily took his coat.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your heart suddenly pounding in fear.

He looked at you over his shoulder. “Why do you ask?”

You felt yourself flush. “I—I didn’t mean it that way.”

Jeonghan stood motionless for a time before striding off towards the front door. There, he stopped, hand on the doorknob. His voice was low, tired but clear.

“Call me immediately if you feel something is off. The bodyguards I hired for you are here when you need them. But call me.” He opened the door and was about to step outside when—

“—Wait.”

You had bounded across the room within seconds. You snatched at his coat, and you gasped at the effort it took. The cold night air blew across the room through the open door.

Jeonghan went very still.

Your trembling hand gripped at his coat tighter. “Yoon Jeonghan—”

This was what you wanted to say to him when he walked out of your hospital room earlier. This was what you wanted to say when you intentionally reached out with your hands as he repeated, over and over, “Please come back to me.”

This was what you wanted to say when Angelo was kneeling and your eyes had watched in horror as Jeonghan strode out of the room carrying your daughter.

“—Stay.”

Candles lit the reflections on the ceiling-to-floor windows with golden colors. White, lace curtains that billowed softly. The huge bedroom was filled with an aroma of honeysuckle and roses. Clothes were scattered on the floor. In the center of the massive room, a huge canopy bed rested, its drapings also of the same, white lace on the windows.

Moans and sighs pierced the quietness.

“Y-Yoon Jeonghan—”

The bed rocked as each powerful thrust pummeled and pummeled into your wet, wet core, the slick, animalistic sounds of your lovemaking filling the room, its white, marble emptiness making every small sound echo. Your moans, amplified by the stillness, and Jeonghan’s groans as he thrusted faster and faster, your highly-aroused breasts, their nipples puckering with hardness, and love bites on their soft flesh swaying with the speed, your hands clutching tightly at the sheets as the sensation of him being inside you made you go heady with pleasure.

“A-ahh. Please,” you begged. “N-now, please—”

Your body convulsed as you felt yourself coming for the third time tonight. Your hands gripped at the headboard, steeling yourself for the violent release as pain and pleasure mixed like finely mingled wine.

Jeonghan gave out a loud, guttural cry as he thrusted for the last time—deep, deep inside you, abusing that spot deep inside you which triggered the sweetest, most intoxicating pleasure that became your undoing. You felt tears stream down your face as you came, your body pulsating and throbbing as you felt his seed spill into you.

Jeonghan slumped into you, fully spent—for now, just between your breasts, where he loved to lie. He hadn’t pulled out of you. And he stayed inside you for a long time, resting, until you pushed him to lie flat on the bed, the sudden emptiness inside you becoming your arousal again.

The white, marble emptiness of the room made every small sound echo. And, through the darkness, the rustle of the swaying drapings on the canopy could be heard, along with your cries of pleasure as you and Jeonghan made love.

And as morning broke, strands of sun let in by the huge windows glinted on the golden band that you wore on your left ring finger. You lay with Jeonghan, no sheets covering your bodies, spooned into each other.

Unbeknownst to you, a life was starting to form inside you.

You awoke.

It was morning.

You suddenly became aware of a familiar body lying on top of you, his head just between your breasts, where he loved to rest. You smelled the scent of his hair and his perfume and his arms on your sides and the sweet, familiar pain and soreness down below. You knew then that you would have trouble walking today.

You gently stroked Yoon Jeonghan’s hair. He stirred, but he did not awake from your touch.

A knock on the door did.

”Eomma? Wake up! Appa is gone!”

You and Yoon Jeonghan immediately sat up from the bed after hearing Yoon Jae Eun’s voice. You frantically gathered up the sheets to cover your naked body and you planted your feet to the floor. Immediately, you grimaced at the soreness. You looked up and saw Yoon Jeonghan’s lips curled into a smile that made you blush.

“Eomma?” Jae Eun was crying now. “Where is Appa? I promised to make him breakfast today.” The sobs from the other side of the door softened your heart.

Yoon Jeonghan put on his pants and a shirt he’s gotten from somewhere on the floor and walked to the door, which he opened a crack. “I’m here. Appa is here,” he said in a soothing voice. “You can make me breakfast.”

“Appa!!!” Jae Eun’s happy squeal of delight made your stomach flutter. You smiled, and you drew the covers up your chin as you watched father and daughter talk about breakfast. Finally, with promises to come out in five minutes, Jeonghan closed the door again and faced you.

He just stood there for a long time, hand on the door, his eyes full of tenderness.

Looking at him standing right there made a thought cross your mind. It looks insanely right, seeing him stand at my bedroom door in the morning. It looks so right.

Yoon Jeonghan walked towards you slowly, sat down on the bed and then wrapped his arms around you.

You and Jeonghan were silent for a long time.

Whatever words had to be said could be spoken at a later time. What mattered now to you was that he was here. With you. Something inside you knew that whatever had torn you apart could not do so again.

Passion mixed with maturity...maybe we could last despite the challenges this time.

Finally, Jae Eun’s breakfast call came. Jeonghan released you from his arms, kissed you over and over again and whispered that he would be back. You watched him pad across the room to meet your four-year-old. The smell of jelly and hot chocolate wafted into the room before the bedroom door closed.

The moment the knob clicked in place, your phone vibrated on your bedside table.

The caller ID sent shivers up and down your spine. You did not answer the call, but you did listen to the voice messages. Twenty of them.

You dropped the phone on the bed and thought about what to do next.

Angelo.

- Admin Leanne

#seventeen #svtcreations #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #seventeen jeonghan #yoon jeonghan

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xlady-saya · 4 years

Text

I want this touch to be familiar [Ch 5. final]

Relationships: andrew/neil, side aaron/katelyn

Summary: Deep down, Andrew knew he would always reach this crossroads, a time where the thought became too strong to ignore.

Going all the way with Neil. It’s not something he can continue to avoid thinking about. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil’s hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he’s forced to acknowledge how much he’s allowed.

Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.

But that’s not all there is to it, and the desire to make a decision finally makes itself known.

Tags: first time fic, p*rn with feelings, relationship study, fluff and communication, multichapter

Read on ao3!

Neil misses another pass. It's the fifth time, a new and pathetic record for the stubborn striker. It's so unlike him, but Andrew's blood runs hot from something that's not anger...not worry.

Neil would normally be beside himself, huffing and fuming from the endless mistakes he's making, even at a practice. He's not though.

Andrew watches as the ball rebounds off the plexiglass and rolls along the court, no one making a move to stop it. Not even Kevin, though Andrew will blame that on the steam coming out of his ears. He hasn't snapped yet.

This time when Neil misses, there's a noticeable tension. Dan and Matt shoot each other concerned looks while the others glance at Neil in ways they think are subtle.

They're not, but Neil is oblivious. Andrew's gaze lingers on the flushed skin of his cheeks, the little jump in every step he takes. Troublesome.

The team continues to stare, searching for proof of panic or fear from Neil, maybe rifling through the dates of the week for any bad anniversaries or triggering memories. But they will find none, Andrew knows. And even so...

Neil is smiling like an absolute idiot.

Andrew's stomach swoops involuntarily, and he tightens his grip around his own racquet. If Neil doesn't stop prancing around then Andrew will have to make a repeat of their first meeting.

Either Neil's unaware of his piss poor playing or he doesn't care. Neither does Andrew, not when Neil keeps turning to look at him like that. There's a skip in Neil's step, a recognizable giddiness as he runs to and fro without direction. He simply has the energy, the mindlessness to do it. The redhead turns around and moves to another random spot on the court, looking up at Andrew every few seconds and beaming. Andrew knows his expression betrays nothing, but he wonders if Neil can tell there's something...light, airy, about him.

He feels untethered to the ground, and it's unsettling for someone who hates falling so much. Yet, Andrew can't find it in himself to actually be uncomfortable.

He tracks his eyes up and down Neil's frame, watching him rock on the balls of his feet, fidgety...

There's a noticeable limp, one Neil isn't trying at all to hide. Still, Neil is lively. When Andrew locks gazes with him, there's nothing but excitement and something too soft for Andrew to name, a layer of vulnerability that sends the helium inside him spiking. Andrew almost crouches, to avoid floating away.

Andrew knows why the limp is there. After all, it's his doing, but not his fault. It doesn't feel like something guilt ridden, when Neil can't stop staring at him like he just wants to be cocooned up with Andrew in the nearest bed.

Of course, the horrible thought had tried to manifest. He saw Neil limping the morning after they went all the way, muscles worked raw from too many overzealous rounds. Andrew had encouraged his own pleasure for once, and he wondered if that meant he'd taken things too far. He'd begun to worry about if he'd still managed to cause Neil pain, agony. The one thing he'd been so desperate to avoid.

But then he remembered Neil's equal encouragement, the push of his hips with every one of Andrew's thrusts. Wanted, welcomed. The horrible thought that Andrew had somehow hurt Neil by chasing his own desire over and over had no chance to survive in the face of Neil's earnestness, the eagerness. When Neil stretched out his sore muscles the next day, the wince hadn't been one of pain, but satisfaction.

A good ache. Andrew has to squint at the choice of words, but there's no other way to describe it.

Andrew never thought that would be possible, that he could give someone that. Yet here Neil is, jogging around despite the soreness, relishing in it. Neil looks...happy.

Andrew shivers, thinking of the nail marks on his back that itch deliciously, the burn of his calves. The handprints and sensory memories don't make him cringe or grimace, they are not burdens. He doesn't feel used, or degraded, and Neil doesn't look like he does either.

It is the exact opposite of how Andrew thought he could feel after something like that, after giving, taking.

As if yearning for Andrew's gaze again, Neil snaps his head over to him while Dan attempts to give another run down of the next play. Neil's clearly not listening. Andrew watches him put weight on his better leg, and then Neil waves.

He fucking waves, and it's so stupid, so pitiful. Neil's smile is so giddy, it twists Andrew up inside. He can't begin to place what all those emotions are, only that he never thought they'd be there.

Neil confounds Andrew, day by day, minute by minute.

Andrew waves back, a lazy, almost mocking thing, but it has a powerful result anyways. He gets to watch Neil's eyes brighten considerably while he goes to wipe his bangs out of his face. Andrew's glad he'd ditched the helmet for a moment.

Andrew's muscles twitch. It's just a wave, yet Neil acts like it's the highlight of his day. Andrew's attention. As if he doesn't always have it in some way or another.

As if Andrew hasn't been staring at Neil just as much all day long. That's the big admission, evidence Andrew doesn't want to acknowledge. Despite his attempts to deny the urge, to squash it, Andrew had been powerless in this. Neil's presence is so apparent to him today, like the only spot of color on a black and white canvas. Andrew nearly rocks forward on the balls of his own feet, but he stops himself.

He draws the line at that, at allowing his body to give away how badly it wants to be next to Neil. How badly it yearns to leave practice with Neil in tow.

Andrew's not even sure why he changed out, but the thought of not being in close proximity to Neil had been something he couldn't fight.

Pathetic. But he followed his instincts.

Realistically, Andrew knows what this extra strong magnetic pull between them is. He and Neil are typically aware of each other, in sync, but not to this degree of distraction.

Andrew would hate to admit being like anyone else, but he knows clinginess isn't exactly abnormal after having sex for the first time. People go nuts with it, glued at the hip, ready for more, wanting to touch all the time no matter how small the gesture.

And for once, Andrew is no different. The only separation from other mindless people is that he knows the reality of this. This feeling, so strong now because of the novelty of it, will fade. He and Neil will go back to normal after they've gotten used to this new layer of their intimacy. Their levels of desire will even out; they won't go away, but they won't be this overwhelming, this much of a need.

And regardless of that knowledge, Andrew can't find an ounce of disappointment. How is that? He should grimace, vindicated in his belief that all things end. He should walk away, appeased with this proof that all feelings are fleeting.

But, he doesn't, because he doesn't feel that way at all. To acknowledge that he feels good in any way is another thing to pick apart, but doesn't surprise him on a day like this. And besides he knows the answer to his main question.

The feelings itself might be fleeting, but what will be left after it is gone...isn't anything bad. He's not bored with what's underneath all this.

He's not bored with Neil, not done with him, in any form.

Should he be concerned about this weakness, this softness? He's not sure. He doesn't care in the moment. Because even when this new excitement fades, when the 'honeymoon phase' of their first time dissolves, there will still be Neil.

Neil, who is all bad attitude, infuriating grins, and stubbornness. He will still look at Andrew in that way Andrew can't handle, he'll still be by his side with an understanding Andrew never thought he'd find from anyone. Neil, who never had to try to keep Andrew's interest anyways.

Andrew once told Neil he would get bored of him eventually, but he wonders at what point he'll have to start classifying that statement as an untruth. Not a lie, because Andrew does not lie, but something in need of revision. The silver bracelet in his pocket weighs heavy, and Andrew hopes Neil will understand the singular, boring charm on it.

A shackle, tying the plain silver chain together.

Andrew's need to feel hatred for the gesture, for Neil in general, used to be easy to summon. And now...

Neil's eyes fly to him again, and yup, there it is. Neil bites his lip, and Andrew leans forward, eyes on fire.

Now, he's gone too far to turn back. He's found Neil, and has been found in the process, whether he likes it or not.

He will have to tell Bee later next week, because he's sure she'll take some ridiculous joy in the admission: he's starting not to mind it.

Ah, to be known, indeed.

A shot flies past him, lighting up the goal. It's swift, merciless. Andrew hadn't even moved to stop it, hadn't been aware of it at all. The buzzer rings, obnoxious and deafening across the court. Even Neil freezes.

Oh. This'll be annoying.

Andrew barely has time to take it all in before Kevin is stalking over to him, and Dan sighs behind him, calling their little group into a huddle by the goal. They leave some confused freshman (and a very smug Renee) in their wake, but they just seem happy to have a break from Kevin's ruthlessness.

Allison is the only one who looks delighted instead of confused, and Andrew refuses to give her more ammo for the countless bets she has.

Kevin's helmet hits the court from how frustrated he is when he rips it off, eyes burning into Andrew's blank expression. Andrew realizes he has to pry his eyes from seeking out Neil again.

Oh Kevin, always interfering with his agenda.

And, because Andrew is an asshole and has already been caught, he takes a page from Neil's book. "Would you look at that Kevin. I missed."

Nicky and Matt both inhale sharply while Neil smirks, and Kevin finally snaps.

His accusatory hand flies out to point at Neil, and then at Andrew. "What the fuck is wrong with you two?"

Kevin isn't all hopeless, because he knows Andrew won't answer. He stares at Neil expectantly, but Neil's still looking right at Andrew, probably just relieved they're a lot closer now.

Andrew would just have to take a few steps to touch him...

"Nothin," Neil says with a shrug, and it's uncharacteristically followed by a small laugh. It's a near giggle, one usually reserved for Andrew in rare moments, and Andrew almost lets a glare slip at the thought of the others hearing it. He scolds himself for being that stupid, as brainless as Neil.

Aaron is the only one who's caught on to their weird mood, and Andrew refuses to look at his twin when he speaks. "I don't want to know."

Allison's smile is shark-like. "I definitely want to know."

Neil is squirming again, though not because of the conversation. Andrew, because he's not as smart as he thinks, accidentally let his gaze fall to Neil's neck.

"Ah relax Kevin, practice is almost over anyways," Nicky says, throwing up his hands. "It's Friday! Let them be lazy."

Kevin spins on him, and Nicky mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'goddammit.' "What does that have to do with anything?" Kevin seethes, whipping his head to Neil. It takes a second to get Neil to look at him. "Neil, might I remind you we have a--"

"A game next week, mhm," Neil answers flippantly, twisting in place before looking back at Andrew. If Andrew cared to, he'd be smirking. "Are we going to Columbia this weekend?"

It's a question entirely for Andrew, the underlying implication being that they'll have their own room if they do, but the chorus follows.

"I'm staying with Katelyn," Aaron answers, with a small tint to his cheeks. Predictable, though can Andrew talk right then?

Nicky slumps over on the ground, as if he's actually been putting in real work during practice. "Hells yeah, I need a drink."

Kevin doesn't take well to being ignored, what a shock.

"We need to practice, Neil," he tries again, and that finally gets Neil to face him fully, expression unamused.

"I can handle it Kevin, I don't have any other choice but to play well," Neil jokes morbidly. Andrew's pretty sure he's the only one who appreciates it, but it's inaccurate. Nothing is taking Neil away from him again. The team winces at the callousness, but Neil plows on unperturbed and with an air of arrogance. "Which I always do."

Kevin looks like he doesn't know whether to strangle Neil or appreciate the confidence. It's so Kevin-like it makes Andrew want to roll his eyes.

But no, it's still all Neil. It's all instigation and the need to rile people up. Andrew really wants practice to be over.

"You heard him," Andrew says, and even Neil blinks in surprise. Andrew doesn't normally compliment Neil openly, it's too much affection for him to share or admit to. Yet, the implication is clear. It's the closest Neil will get to praise right then, and he looks ecstatic about it.

Andrew cannot stand it.

Matt and Dan snort off to the side; they didn't used to be so supportive of Neil's relationship with Andrew, but lately they seem to delight in what they call their 'bizarre flirting.'

Kevin stares at Andrew long and hard, as if that'll make him produce words in Kevin's favor. Andrew meets the gaze with some difficulty, but only because Neil is radiating 'I'm over here' energy so unabashedly.

Kevin inhales sharply, grabbing his helmet off the ground like someone would slam the door after a fight.

"Just block the damn goal," Kevin orders, and Andrew's not sure he will. He'll try not to be so unaware the next time though, if only to save him from this headache. Kevin points his racquet at his fellow striker in warning. "Neil--"

"Right, gotcha," Neil says, waving him off. Kevin storms away, and Matt actually does laugh then as he follows, the team spreading out. Allison huffs from the lack of answers, but leaves them be. She's smarter than she looks too.

However, Neil doesn't move. He rocks in front of Andrew's goal, and Andrew thinks he's actually standing closer than he was a few seconds ago.

Neil smiles that stupid smile, soft at the edges and expectant. He has to know Andrew won't kiss him here, but...Andrew wants to.

To want, to want, to want.

The same mantra from before isn't as heavy as it once was. The swarm in his head is gone, but the implications are not.

"Junkie," Andrew warns, because if Neil doesn't get back into place Kevin will really bitch them out and they'll never get to Columbia.

"That's me," Neil answers with a dangerous glint. They both know they're not talking about exy.

"Go," Andrew warns, pushing his racquet into Neil's chest. He tries not to watch Neil's limp when he stumbles, the satisfaction making the heat in his abdomen swirl.

Neil lets that laugh loose again, and Andrew drinks it up, now that's it's only for his ears.

"Okay," Neil whispers, eyes losing the teasing glint for just a moment. A different feeling takes them over, soft and sure. Andrew meets the gaze this time, unable to look away. He feels seen, and there's no 'but' or need to deny it. It's just…how he feels. Andrew is starting to believe that just sitting in that feeling, without analyzing it, might be alright every now and again. Neil waves again as he walks backwards, only turning when he absolutely has to. "Bye!"

It's unnecessary, and Andrew shakes his head. His face feels hot, but Andrew finds his response comes automatically. "Bye..."

Andrew entertains the idea that he already floated away long ago, and cannot hope to reach the ground again. But it's fine, since the air up here is fairly stable.

Neil jogs around the court some more, missing passes and looking back over at Andrew any chance he gets. Andrew stares right back, with no intention of stopping, and even indulges Neil every now and again with the tilt of his head or concealed expression.

Andrew misses a shot again about ten minutes later, letting the ball fly by his face without even looking at it. Luckily, it's the end of practice, so he can drown out Kevin's protests.

He had a good excuse; he has better things to keep track of than shots at the goal.

Kevin grumbles his displeasure all the way off the court, but Andrew stays where he is, waiting for Neil to jog over like he's been wanting to do since they stepped foot in the stadium.

It'd been the longest practice of Andrew's life, he realizes, and then shakes his head at himself for being so dramatic. Neil smirks at him, like he knows it.

And oh, he probably does.

The sight of Neil coming towards him breaks even Andrew's self-control, and he dares to take a step forward. It feels oddly right, not weak.

He meets Neil halfway, and ignores the sound of Nicky's voice, immediately followed by Aaron's loud retch when his cousin asks:

"Hey Neil, why are you walking so funny?"

#andreil #all for the game #aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten

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kpopfanfictrash · 6 years

Text

Beholden (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jimin

Rating: 18+

Warnings: oral (female), thigh-riding, dirty talk, voyeurism (not Y/N)

Word Count: 4,478

Summary: As the rightful Queen to your nation, you have always known you one day must marry. Each time the question has arisen in the past, you have found legitimate reasons to turn the men down. Until now, that is. Until the proposal of a distant King, one whose union would only bring benefit to your people. Except for the fact, that your heart has already been taken by his proposer.

All breath expelled from his lungs, Jimin slowly lowers himself onto the seat of your chaise. He sits there frozen, eyes wide, due to the command you issued only moments prior.

Sit.

He does this, dark silk of his robes billowing, draping over the furniture. His gaze does not waver, even while dragging a hand through the silver-sand of his hair. The dignitary to a neighboring kingdom, ambassador to a King and mouthpiece of a nation, Park Jimin is here to argue on behalf of his Crown. He is here, to ask for your hand in marriage – not for himself, but for the aforementioned King.

Eyes sparking, you take a slow step forward and enter the room. Your hair is still damp from the bath, sticking to your skin and making you feel oddly exposed. Droplets of water cling to your brow, a substitute for the thin circlet of gold you usually wear.

Gaze raking your body, Jimin seems to devour you whole. His chest rises, falling against the elaborately embroidered brocade he wears. His expression turns tortured at the glimpses of skin you expose when you walk.

“Y/N,” he states – only to wince. “My apologies. What I meant was, your Majesty.”

“Call me Y/N,” you counter, closing the distance between you. Head spinning, you inhale the intoxicating scent Jimin exudes. “I insist.”

His returning smile is soft. “As you wish. Y/N.”

Hearing your name said in such a way – humbled, desperate, wanting – almost makes a moan slip free from your lips. The entire time Jimin has resided at court, you have fought your attraction to him – poorly, apparently and with ill-execution, since it has led to this moment. Earlier in the evening, he requested a private audience in which to plead the case of his ruler.

You responded by inviting him here, now.

He stares as you walk, swallowing around the prominent lump in his throat. Beyond him, your window remains open to the darkness of night, painted silver only by the light of the moon. A breeze stirs the hair at the nape of his neck, carrying with it ripe smells of jasmine and fir. The two primary riches of your land, and why Jimin’s King seeks your hand in the first place.

It is unfortunate, then, that you are not interested in having a King by your side. Coming to a stop before Jimin, you tilt your head sideways and look at him. He stares back, thighs spread openly on the black velvet of your couch. He has not changed since the state dinner of earlier and remains clothed in the wealth of his land – silks and gold, riches and jewels. The material of his trousers clings to muscle in a way which seems almost obscene. His fitness is not a surprise, though. Many mornings you have passed the royal grounds only to find Jimin there alone, exercising his skills.

His skills are many, and not to be underestimated. Hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship of various aspects, not to mention archery and daggers. Jimin is proficient, often excellent, at all of them. His body betrays this raw talent, muscles held taut while you openly survey him. This is the first time you have truly let yourself look. Before, you only allowed momentary glances, taken behind fans when you thought no one was watching.

Never before, have you had the luxury of looking at him openly. Tracing the broad panes of his chest, your gaze encircles his torso and comes to a halt at his lips.

Jimin exhales. “I should be explaining,” he states to you, quiet. “I should be arguing here on behalf of my King – I should be asking you accept his offer of marriage. He is a good King, your Majesty. His lands are rich, and his temperament fair. He is a most gracious ruler.”

“I have heard you say this before,” you muse, reaching out for the clasp of your robe. The fabric you wear is nothing like his – plain, woven material from the looms of your village. It is designed for comfort, rather than style but still, Jimin stares at this as though he might come undone.

“Then,” he swallows, looking up. “Am I here to hear your acceptance?”

Pausing mid-motion, you stare at his frame. The offer of marriage is a complicated notion. On the one hand, you have weighed the odds and found it in your best interest to accept. Your lands need his trade routes and vice versa, his King needs your raw goods. Everything you know validates Jimin’s recent claim – their King is a good one, just and fair in his decision-making.

Still, you cannot help but feel resentful. The idea that someone other than yourself might be best for your Kingdom is a difficult notion to bear. Not only that – for you, it would be a loveless marriage. There is someone else, you desire in your bed.

Returning your gaze to Jimin, your fingers close over the clasp. “I have not yet decided,” you answer him honestly. “That is not why I brought you here.”

“Oh?” Jimin speaks softly, lowering both hands to the chaise. “Then tell me, Queen – why am I here?”

Arching a brow, you undo the latch. “Do not insult your own intelligence,” you state, shrugging free from your robe. It pools at your feet, a small heap of fabric. “You know why I asked you here, tonight.”

Jimin does not control his reaction in time. A tiny groan escapes, seeing your naked body before him. Nothing covering you but the balmy breeze of the window and the weight of his gaze. He traces eagerly, lingering on the peaks of your breasts, the shadowed dip between thighs. Fingers curled around the edge of your chaise, when he looks back up, there is desire in his gaze.

“Y/N…” Jimin’s voice drops to a whisper. “My King would behead me, if he knew.”

“Do you not want me?” you ask, ignoring this protest. Perhaps you misread the situation, earlier – for each glance you gave him, you were certain one was returned. Jimin’s expressions over the past weeks have been longing, meaningful and yearning for more.

Closing his eyes, Jimin holds his jaw taut. “More than anything,” he admits, hoarse. “From the moment I saw you, I feared you would be my undoing.”

“Then,” you exhale, lowering yourself onto his lap, “have me.”

Legs folding around him, your hands slide into his hair. Jimin opens his eyes, clutching at your body, despite all he just said. Between your thighs, you already feel yourself wet, slick with the carnal knowledge of just what Jimin is capable of. It is hard not to recall the night from which this awareness stems.

It was several weeks prior, after a celebratory ball held in honor of the fall harvest. The night was spent in revelry, drunk on both the company of others and the oldest wines from your cellar. Around midnight you excused yourself form the madness – waving aside concerns of your advisors, stating you could make it upstairs to your chambers alone.

Midway through the empty corridor of the second floor, you saw him – Jimin, although he was not by himself. The entire evening, the two of you had been flirting. Furtive looks here, a press of fingers there, a brushing of hands while you walked towards the dance floor. It had affected you greatly (partly, this is why you were retiring to bed early), and it appeared you were not alone in your emotions.

As stated earlier, Jimin was not alone. A handmaiden accompanied him, not one of yours, hoisted onto the low wall between you. Her attire would not have been out of place at the party – but her bodice was ripped, hair undone, skirts hiked up past her waist while Jimin fucked himself into her. He had her on the bearing wall, legs wrapped tightly around him and his breeches shoved past his ass.

You froze, staring at his lips on her breast, switching to the other while his hips pounded forward. The sight made you ache with the force of your wanting. Warmth unfurled in your veins, blazing like lightning and wildfire. When Jimin looked up, catching you staring – he did not stop. If anything, he fucked the girl harder. Lips parting, you found yourself unsure whether to stay or to flee, because the interaction no longer was theirs. No, now it belonged to you. To you and to Jimin, watching you while he pushed himself into this girl.

She came apart underneath him, gasping his name and upon hearing his name – Jimin – torn from her lips, you jolted back to your senses and ran. The visual, along with your hand, was enough to come quickly that night. Ever since, you have not been able to remove the image from mind.

“Jimin,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his ear. “Feel how badly I want you,” you murmur, taking his hand and lowering it in between your legs. “Do you see?”

Jimin’s inhale is shaky. “God, you’re so wet,” he moans, tracing over your folds. Your body is slick with arousal, pushing against him when he brushes over your mound. “Is it all for me?”

“Mm,” you agree, grinding yourself into his palm. Jimin responds eagerly, cupping your heat to slide a finger backwards. “These days, I am always ready for you.”

Jimin’s eyes widen and before you can utter a word, he crushes your lips to his. His kiss is soft, yet intense – much like Jimin himself. One of hands remains at your core, teasing while the other grasps your neck, deepening the kiss. His tongue flicks out to meet yours and you exhale, opening your lips to let him in fully.

The motion of your hips must be ruining the silk of his pants, but Jimin does not seem to mind. Indeed, he pulls you closer, forcing your nipples over the broadness of his chest. They seem achingly hard, in desperate want of attention – and, as though sensing your desire, Jimin chuckles and pulls himself back.

“Would you like to be fucked in the same way?” he inquires, referring to the night you saw him. “Spread out on this chaise, or your bed?”

Bending, Jimin closes his lips around a nipple as you moan, tugging his hair with your fingers. His mouth is attentive – overly so – and your blood pressure spikes, with each tender ministration.

“No – I want to ride you,” you whine, gasping the words. “I want your cock between my legs, your hands on my body while I take you in deeper.”

Jimin nods in agreement, already moving to disrobe. This necessitates the removal of his hands from your body, a fact which you do not approve of. Jimin smirks at your expression, dutifully undoing the trappings of his clothing. “Patience,” he cautions, pushing silk from his shoulders.

Falling to the chaise, the removal reveals the beauty of Jimin’s toned upper body. Unable to speak, you stare, since this is the first time you have seen Jimin shirtless. Even when practicing in the courtyard, he typically does so while dressed in a thin, sweat-drenched tunic. This reasoning becomes clear, when black ink is revealed along the length of his torso. Thin, delicate lines of writing in a language you do not understand.

“What do they say,” you whisper, awed. Gently, you trace over the words with your palms and Jimin inhales, staring at your hands on his skin.

“They are promises,” he explains, pressing his lips to your jaw. “Each new year, I tattoo another – it is the custom, where I am from. This one,” he murmurs, taking your hand and moving it north. Small letters interconnect between his breastbone. “It is a promise of obedience. I swear to be loyal, hard-working and honest to the Crown.”

“Oh?” Your word is barely more than a breath. Fingers exploring the dark whorls of ink, your curiosity only grows. “And what about this one?” you ask, hands sliding lower. A tattoo that is only half-visible, above the waist of his trousers. “What is this one’s meaning?”

Jimin is naked from the waist up, though his pants remain on – they cover the view that you crave. “Another promise,” he murmurs, cupping your face with his palms. “To love as deeply as I can, whenever I can.”

“Ah,” you exhale – uneven, when he begins to kiss down your jaw. Jimin presses his chest to yours, molding you to him. “Is that what you were doing, that night after the ball?”

From his place at your throat, Jimin chuckles. “Were you jealous, Majesty?” he asks, a throaty purr. “Did you wish it had been you, instead?”

“I,” you falter, grinding yourself on his thigh. “I merely thought that, were you interested, you would have asked me instead.”

“I should have asked the Queen into bed?” Jimin repeats, amused. He arches a brow. “I do not imagine that would have gone well,” he exhales, hands sliding to cup the curve of your ass. “I have had to be satisfied by whatever scraps you throw my way. Then, I go and fuck the first woman who’ll have me. I imagine they’re you, you, always you. Their moans,” he whispers, a hand slipping between you, “their swears. Their tight, wet pussies wrapped around my cock. All of it, I only want from you.”

“Oh,” you whimper, finding a rhythm against him. Jimin pulls you over his leg, watching you writhe from the pleasure. His lips find your neck, lips, breasts – briefly, you wonder if you might come undone just like this.

Your eyes fly open. “Not like this,” you pant, reaching for his waistband. “I want you naked, on my bed. Now.”

With a smirk, Jimin watches you rise from the chaise. He catches your waist with his hands, pressing a kiss to your belly button. As he pulls back, caught by the visual, Jimin hovers for a moment. Before you can stop him, his lips brush a more sensitive area. Shivering, your hands curl into his hair and your stance involuntarily widens. Jimin’s tongue darts out to lick arousal-soaked folds and you whimper, pushing your hips forward, seeking out more, more, more.

Withdrawing, Jimin’s tongue touches the edge of his lips. “Not yet,” he agrees, pushing himself to stand. Undoing the waist of his clothing, he lowers his pants to the ground.

His cock stands, half-hard from his waist; reddened and pretty, just begging to be touched. The lines of his muscles are prominent, abdominals disappearing into obliques, wrapped around the edge of his hips. Staring, you wonder if there has ever been a view as glorious as his. The ink of his tattoos blend into the panes of his body, making you uncertain just where to begin.

Gently, Jimin takes your hand. “I am sorry,” he blinks, seeing your shock at the gesture. “I apologize, if tenderness is not as customary for you as for me. I only – I wish to have every piece of you, my Queen. That includes your heart.”

Startled by this, you stare. Jimin stares back, lips wet from your body and gaze full of sincerity. Beneath the bones of your chest, your heart beats like a drum. Despite what you said to him earlier, this is not just about sex. The truth of the matter is; over the past several weeks, you have fallen in love with him. His quiet thinking, his sensible resolve, his lowly voiced humor. All of this has ensnared, entrapped you body and soul.

The fact makes tonight even more dangerous.

Lacing your fingers in his, you let Jimin pull you closer. His next kiss is soft, gentle with his body pressed to yours. Naked and deprived of his wrappings, Jimin moves in a way which drags air from your lungs, scorching them dry. You feel every part of him, know every part and, emboldened, pull him back towards your bed.

“Here,” you instruct, settling down on the edge. “I want you here, so that I might think of you tomorrow.”

Gaze dark and aching, Jimin lowers himself to your mattress, one knee at a time. “I hope that you do,” he confesses, palms laid flat to either side of your body. “I hope you remember the sight of my head between your legs, the feel of my tongue pressed to your sex. I want you to think of me with all other men, Y/N.”

Leaning back on your elbows, you meet his gaze. “I wish that as well,” you exhale, letting your hair fan over the pillows. “Do your worst.”

The sheets beneath you are silk, sensual while Jimin lowers his head to your knee. His lips start off gentle, trailing upwards in a slow pattern; higher, then lower, seeking a path to your core. When he reaches your hips, Jimin kisses each jut of bone before moving to your belly button. Inching lower again, Jimin does not push your legs apart.

Instead, he kisses soft over your sex. With your legs pressed together, everything is so sensitive. Jimin’s tongue darts out quickly, parting your folds with his tongue to make you arch on the bed. He barely grazes your clit, making you shudder, realizing this is entirely new. With a growl, Jimin realizes how wet you are and – suddenly impatient – pushes your legs apart on the sheets.

“Oh,” he exhales, seeing your body splayed out before him. Before you can speak, Jimin bends to close his lips over your bud, sucking hard.

“Ah!” you cry out, arching against him.

“Fuck,” Jimin mutters, lifting his head. He holds your legs open, rubbing the length of your folds. “I imagined before, Queen, what you would look like. I imagined what you would smell like, taste like and I – I never imagined someone this sweet.”

“Liar,” you manage, falling flat on your back. Jimin’s tongue swirls, moving in circles – first one way, then the other. Suddenly, you no longer care if he is telling the truth or not. “Oh!”

“I would not lie to you,” he chuckles, withdrawing. Keeping his gaze firmly on yours, Jimin drags his tongue up the length of your sex – you shiver, when he finds unexplored parts. “Look how hard I am,” Jimin declares, lifting himself from stomach to knees.

Exhaling, you stare because, yes, Jimin is much harder than before. His cock stands out from his waist, reddened and eager. You almost forget what he was doing before with his mouth, and demand that he fuck you right now.

With a small laugh, Jimin drops back down. Spreading your sex with both fingers, he licks over your clit. You squirm, overwhelmed by the sudden intensity until he inches further back, slipping a finger inside. Hips bucking upwards, you gasp and realize you will not last for much longer.

This is not the way you wish to come. Reaching down, you slide your hands into his hair, pulling him upwards. “Jimin,” you moan, chest rising and falling. “I want you inside me.”

After a moment, he nods. Pressing a final kiss to your sex, Jimin scrambles upwards and lowers himself to your bed. He sits there, legs outstretched and cock hard between thighs. When he holds out his hand, you accept, arranging yourself in a position above him.

Gaze dropping, you stare at his cock leaking pre-cum beneath you. Jimin’s hands continue to roam while you look, flicking your breasts and stroking your ass. It is enough that you pant, arching your back to roll your hips in mid-air.

Jimin lets out a low whine at the sight. “Y/N,” he groans, his voice thick with desire. “Please. I want to be inside you.”

“Are you clean?” you inquire, though you already know that he is. You would not have asked him here tonight, had he not been on the Royal Physician’s charts. “Your Queen demands honestly from you,” you tease.

“My Queen,” Jimin repeats, tasting the words on his tongue. With a resolute nod, he grips your waist in both hands. “Indeed, I am, my Queen.”

“Good,” you exhale, ignoring the pang the words send and lowering yourself to his length. His tip brushes your folds, easing inside and it takes several moments to work your way down. He is not the biggest you have ever had, but he is thick, hard and hot in your body. Then Jimin rolls his hips, and you realize his lethalness.

His cock thrusts into you, brushing each toe-curling place that you have. This is something you have never experienced: it makes you gasp, lurching forward to clasp the sheets of your bed. From here, Jimin twists to take your breast in his mouth. His tongue flicks over your nipple, hardening this into a peak while he thrusts slow from below.

“Oh,” you gasp when he fills you. He continues, relentless, picking up a rhythm designed to scatter your thoughts. Meanwhile, his mouth does not stop – he switches to the other breast, once you are sufficiently sated.

Gripping your waist, Jimin eases you up and down on his cock. The rhythm stokes a fire within you, renders you molten, in need of release. Pushing yourself higher, you remove your chest from his mouth. Jimin’s gaze darkens questioningly, until you lean back on your palms and take over the motion.

Slowly, you roll your hips in an attempt to feel every inch of him. Lifting yourself higher, then lower, you realize Jimin has gone still underneath. He stares, unable to look away from the sight of you fucking his cock. Legs splayed, chest rising and falling from the motion you set, you push his dick deep inside.

Eager to help, Jimin reaches up and presses his thumb to your clit. You gasp, clenching around his length – in response, Jimin hisses, dick twitching inside you. He rubs you harder, faster and your hips buck, uncontrolled, losing hold of the rhythm.

“Jimin,” you choke out, entire body trembling. “I need your help, make me come.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, hands sliding into your hair to tug you back down. Jimin lays you flat on his chest, hands gripping your ass. “Mm,” he exhales, spreading your folds with his hands. “I don’t know what I did, to deserve to touch you like this.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you exhale, turning and connecting your lips to his. Jimin spreads you wider, thrusting his cock deeper inside. “I could stay here for years.”

Jimin smiles, soft and true – it makes your heart stop for a moment. “Good,” he exhales, before thrusting into you.

With a groan, you collapse on his chest and let him fuck you like that. Each thrust of his hips rubs your clit on his stomach, making you moan and clutch at him tighter. Jimin’s hips are relentless, pounding you openly and forcing you forward. His hands grab your ass, your thighs, your hair; molding you to him. Unable to take it, you cry out from the motion – a risk, but your quarters are fairly isolated from others.

Giving in, you let go and tell Jimin exactly what you think of him. His cock, filling you so deeply, his lips molding to yours. Fingers digging into his back, you whisper how hard and beautiful he is, how he hits all the right places, how he makes you want to come so fucking hard.

Jimin groans, gathering you closer and giving himself to you fully. You can barely see through the pleasure, thrusting your hips each time that he fills you; frantic and needy, chasing after your high. Jimin helps – he laces a hand through your hair, bringing your ear down to his lips. Breathlessly, he details how perfect you are to him. How tight your body is, how wet and needy you sound for his cock. No one else can compare – he was right to want you, since there is no after for him.

He wants to come, deep inside and, upon hearing this, you break apart at the seams. Jimin’s words shatter you, send your body spiraling over the edge, fallen apart in his arms. Jimin’s lips brush your temple, guiding you through and before long, you feel him coming as well. His groan is rough, broken as he releases inside you. Burying your face in his shoulder, he rocks into you until the moment has passed.

Warmth singes your veins, wrapping your body in ecstasy. You do not want him to leave and, lifting your head from his chest, you see a similar debate raging in Jimin’s gaze. On the one hand, this is the safest you have felt in a long time. On the other, if Jimin is not in his chambers come morning, it will raise suspicion. It is not unusual, for you to have lovers – it is unusual, for one to belong to a King who asks your hand in marriage.

With the utmost of care, Jimin sits up, taking you with. The breeze from the window is chilly and he wraps himself around you, pulling the sheet up to your lap.

“I do not know what I wish for your answer to be,” Jimin confesses at last, pressing his lips to your throat. He pulls back, resolutely meeting your gaze. “Practically, this marriage is a good thing for both nations. And yet – selfishly, I want you all to myself.”

Fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, you move closer. “I want that, too,” you admit, barely a whisper. “Logically, you speak true. Logically, I should accept your King’s proposal and join our lands together. But,” you swallow, looking down. “The reason I have not, is I feel for another.”

Brushing your chin, Jimin’s fingers force your gaze upwards. “If I do not return to him with an answer,” he admits, desperate. “He will just send another in my place.”

“And if my response to him is no?” you return, tilting your head.

Jimin does not move. “Then, I will be called back to duty.”

Resignedly, you recall the ink on his skin. Jimin promised obedience, fidelity, loyalty. He would not break a promise to the Crown so easily – it is part of what you love about him. Inhaling softly, you look out the window. The night beyond beckons; it encourages wild propositions and wanton shirking of duty. Instead, you know that when this nighttime does end, you will be left in the day. You cannot run away for too long and, at the end of the night, your choices are not fully your own.

“If I say yes,” you whisper, returning to him. Pushing the words past trembling lips, your fingers curl into his hair. “If I say yes to your King – this Min Yoongi – what will you do?”

Jimin’s gaze burns, pulling your lips close to his. “I will accompany you to him,” he whispers, before kissing you.

A/N: This will be turned into a series! I do not know length of timing yet. Please see the follow-up interlude from Yoongi’s perspective here: Weighted.

#bangtanarmynet #jimin smut #bts smut #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin au #jimin royal au #bts au #bts royal au #bts writing #jimin writing

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jessiebulby · 6 years

Text

Protect

(part 1 / next) - Fanfic Master Post

Hi dear readers!

I have a few projects going on or in preparation (some langst, as usual, and probably a Pidge/OC fluffy fanfic)...

But, in the meantime, here’s a angsty mini fic centered around Hunk!

Enjoy!

Fanfic Master Post

Hunk came to with a terrible headache and nausea. His ears were ringing and everything around him was blurry. He couldn’t remember what had happened. He felt completely lost. Trying to find something to bring him back to reality, he turned his head to the left. It was dark to the left. There was something, a big mass, in front of him now... He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of it.

Is vision finally cleared of a bit, and the fog that had taken hold of his senses seemed to be lifted at the same time.

It was Yellow. His Lion was lying on the ground, his mouth opened towards Hunk, and no life coming out of him.

Hunk remembered then, The crash. Voltron had been hit by some weird weapon, he remember the feeling of agony his Lion had felt, and the rest of the team too.

Hunk tried to move, but his body was hurting everywhere. He would probably need to spend a few hours in one of the pods after all that...

A wave of nausea hit him as soon as he was on his hands and knees. He hardly contained it. Honestly, he was pretty proud of his growing capability to control his nausea. That was mostly thanks to Yellow and his usually strong and safe built. Hunk's obligations as a Paladin of Voltron and his desire to free enslaved species throughout the universe had been a pretty good motivation too.

“Guys?” A weak voice asked over the coms.

The coms sounded weird. They had probably been damaged in the crash.

“Pidge? ...you?” Another voice, Shiro, answered. “Ar...ou... alright?”

Yeah, definitely broken.

“...blood ...kay, ” Pidge answered.

Hunk could barely hear them. “I’m here too,” he tried, his voice shaky and raw.

No one answered him. He was starting to panic now, so he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down, knowing that Pidge and Shiro were possibly alright and that he didn’t seem to have any really concerning wound, at least he hoped he didn’t have one...

There was no worrying amount of blood around him, so that was a good sign, right? He tried hard to push the thoughts that he might have internal bleeding aside. It felt like it was difficult to breathe now... He was officially panicking now. What if he was really injured and the others didn’t come in time? What of Lance and Keith? And Allura and Coran?

Hunk’s mind was running wild with all the possible bad endings this situation could have.

Hunk took off his helmet, yearning for air. It helped a bit, but that’s when he heard something near him. Someone... grunting? He lifted his head and saw Keith a few metres ahead. He was standing by another Lion, the Blue Lion, desperately tugging on something.

“Come on!” Hunk heard him cry out in anger.

But then Keith dropped to the ground and started sobbing.

Through his pessimistic thoughts, Hunk remembered Keith’s words when they were in the Weblum’s belly months ago. “I gotta be able to count on you.”

Keith clearly needed his help now.

But then, Hunk heard movement on the other side of his Lion. This was so disorienting, he felt sick again.

Galra soldiers came into view. They were walking towards Keith, pointing their weapons on him. Keith turned to face them and Hunk saw Lance on the ground, unconscious and visibly stuck underneath his Lion. Keith had been trying to help him.

Hunk stood up, but dizziness brought him back to his hands and knees. He saw Keith summon his shield. Blood was dripping from his other arm. He was probably injured and couldn’t use it.

“This is the end, Red Paladin,” the Galra commander at the head of the group of soldiers demanded.

Shots were fired then, all hitting Keith’s shield. Hunk tried to stand up again. He knew that, if he didn’t, Keith and Lance would probably be done for.

Hunk had always been a scaredycat, there was no denying it. In his core, he was a pacifist, he wanted people to simply get along with each other. That’s why he loved cooking, everybody loved food! It was a way to gather people over a common need and love.

He wasn’t a fighter, but there was no way he would let his friends die before him without doing anything.

So he stood up and started running, ignoring the pain in his whole body, the dizziness in his head, and the fear in his heart.

He summoned his bayard, a yell escaped his lips, and then all hell broke loose. His bayard shot at their enemies with a precision, it was almost unreal. There was clearly something deeper to his bayard... He couldn’t be more thankfull that his shots hit so many targets, letting him reach his friends.

Keith had dropped to the ground in surrender, his shield cracked. It was so out of character of him, but Hunk could understand why Keith had felt hopeless. The blood loss from the wound on his arm probably didn't help either. Keith was looking at Hunk as if he was some kind of angel. Or maybe more like Mothman... Yeah, Keith would totally be more astonished by Mothman than an angel.

Hunk put up his shield and stood in front of Keith and Lance.

“Kill them!” The Galra general screamed in rage.

“I won’t let you!” Hunk shouted back, his voice strong and decisive.

He heard movement behind him as he protected his friends behind, his shield holding on strong. It would crack, like Keith’s, but Hunk was not giving up anytime soon. He had too much to protect... He needed to stay strong as long as he could for Keith, Lance and himself. As long as they were alive, there was still hope!

“Lance! Shit! Breathe!” Keith shouted then.

Hunk’s heart skipped a beat. His best friend... Lance was dying behind him. He would be the first to pass away if a miracle didn’t save them right now. Tears fell from his eyes and he yelled in desperation.

Just then his bayard changed. It took on a weird form, some kind of yellow gauntlet. And then, they were all surrounded by a translucid dome. It was a shield, but it was way stronger than their usual shield. It would be enough to protect them for a longer period of time at least. Hunk really was greatful that his bayard had chosen this moment to change. The three of them needed it right now. Hunk turned to Keith.

Keith was pushing against Lance’s chest. The Cuban boy was unmoving, his face too pale, blood pooling underneath him, where he was stuck underneath Blue.

“Shit! It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have tried to get him out, I...” Keith cried, panicking.

Hunk walked to Keith then, His shield moving with him, but still covering them completely.

“Keith, you have to continue giving him CPR,” Hunk told him then, seeing as Keith was slowing down. “I’m sure the others are coming, and we can’t give up on him.”

“Y-yeah!” Keith agreed, hardly containing his overwhelming emotions.

Keith breathed air in Lance’s lungs, and then continued pushing against his chest. Hunk dared looking around them. There were more and more Galra soldiers, and no sign of their allies.

Just when hopelessness and panic started creeping in his mind again, Hunk heard a big roar in the distance.

Shiro.

Then, the Castle pierced through the clouded sky. Shots were fired around them, completely destroying the Galras surrounding Keith, Hunk and Lance.

The Black Lion arrived from behind the Blue Lion. It dropped on the ground in front of them. Hunk smiled for a small instant, but turned to Keith and Lance right after. Keith was still pushing.

Hunk knew it had been too long. If Lance came back, he would probably have brain damage, but neither Keith or him were ready to let go. They both needed him, the team needed him...

Shiro ran to them and Hunk unsummoned his bayard. Shiro realized soon enough how dire the situation was. Through his mental bound with the Black Lion, Shiro asked for its help. The Black Lion lifted the Blue Lion and Keith dragged Lance away instantly. Keith, Hunk and Shiro saw right away that Lance had lost way too much blood. His right leg... It was in an awful state.

Now Hunk had reached his limit, he couldn’t help but puke his guts out at the sight. Shiro and Keith remained strong however. Shiro took Lance in his arms and ran into the Black Lion. Hunk and Keith followed, hardly following their leader’s speed.

They found Pidge inside. She looked pretty beat up too. The young girls eyes followed them as they put Lance on the ground and Keith started doing CPR again.

They flew to the Castle, all praying for their dying friend’s life.

This was the hardest battle they had ever fought.

None of them came out unscathed.

But, in time, they healed.

And became stronger.

#hunk #hunk garrett #hunk is so precious #lance #angst #lance angst #langst #keith #keith angst #hunk angst #shiro #pidge #fanfiction #fanfic #mini fic

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dans-les-fleures · 6 years

Text

Beholden

All breath expelled from his lungs, Jimin slowly lowers himself onto the seat of your chaise. He sits there frozen, eyes wide, due to the command you issued only moments prior.

Sit.

“Ye Sol,” he states – only to wince. “My apologies. What I meant was, your Majesty.”

“Call me Ye Sol,” you counter, closing the distance between you. Head spinning, you inhale the intoxicating scent Jimin exudes. “I insist.”

His returning smile is soft. “As you wish. Ye Sol.”

You responded by inviting him here, now.

It is unfortunate, then, that you are not interested in having a King by your side. Coming to a stop before Jimin, you tilt your head sideways and look at him. He stares back, thighs spread openly on the black velvet of your couch. He has not changed since the state dinner of earlier and remains clothed in the wealth of his land – silks and gold, riches and jewels. The material of his trousers is clings to muscle in a way which seems almost obscene. His fitness is not a surprise, though. Many mornings you have passed the royal grounds only to find Jimin there alone, exercising his skills.

Never before, have you had the luxury of looking at him openly. Tracing the broad panes of his chest, your gaze encircles his torso and comes to a halt at his lips.

“Then,” he swallows, looking up. “Am I here to hear your acceptance?”

Returning your gaze to Jimin, your fingers close over the clasp. “I have not yet decided,” you answer him honestly. “That is not why I brought you here.”

“Oh?” Jimin speaks softly, lowering both hands to the chaise. “Then tell me, Queen – why am I here?”

“Ye Sol…” Jimin’s voice drops to a whisper. “My King would behead me, if he knew.”

Closing his eyes, Jimin holds his jaw taut. “More than anything,” he admits, hoarse. “From the moment I saw you, I feared you would be my undoing.”

“Then,” you exhale, lowering yourself onto his lap, “have me.”

It was several weeks prior, after a celebratory ball held in honor of the fall harvest. The night was spent in revelry, drunk on both the company of others and the oldest wines from your cellar. Around midnight though, you excused yourself form the madness – waving aside concerns of your advisors; stating you could make it upstairs to your chambers alone.

Midway through the empty corridor of the second floor, you saw him – Jimin, although he was not alone. The entire evening, the two of you had been flirting. Furtive looks here, a press of fingers there, brushing of hands while you walked towards the dance floor. It affected you greatly (partly, this is why you were retiring to bed early), and it you were not alone in your emotions.