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yuyu1024 · 3 months

Text

Escape

Pairings: Yoongi × y/n

Genre/tags: Arranged marriage

Warning: 🔞🔞 smut/angst, mention of food/eating, cursing, sensual touching, making out, needy/clingy, Pet name, lies, kink, unprotected sex, Smoking, jealousy, insecurity, mention of weight&food/eating, oral (m/f receiving), mention of blood/violence

~~~~[lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 5.8k

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

Note: continuation of Prisoner.

I hope this is a good part 2. 🙏🏻 took me a while coz idk if i should or not. 😅 sorry guys.

(This may continue a bit more...? But please be patient 🙏🏻 as I do have work & usually I try to write before i sleep but lately i've beeen so tired and drained that I cant even function 😅)

***

Another day, another event to go to. You are wearing your best 'pretend' smile. The smile you have practiced for months, to be your default expression whenever you meet anyone in any formal event. It's not that your trying to be fake. You just want to represent your husband the best that you can. And being a shy person, this is what you can do to help yourself.

Although, you wish, that even just one time, Yoongi would show up to these events with you.

At the first month of your marriage, he did. He did that to introduce you to everybody. You could still remember how you two were holding hands and always together. Those were the days when you have spent so much time with him.

But... Now, it's just always you. Alone. Amongst everyone in the whole place, you are the only one who always arrives with no partner.

"Excuse me?"

You twirl around and find the prettiest girl you think you have ever seen in your life. She looks like a goddess.

"Ahm, yes?" Your voice sounded so weak. You haven't said a word in the last hour.

"You are the only one wearing a corsage with a hint of lilac flowers in it... I'm guessing... you are Yoongi's wife?" She asks

"Ah, yes. I am." You look down at the flower pinned on your chest

She's smiling at you. She looks sort of happy to see you. "Finally... I've met you."

You haven't said a word. You are not sure how to approach this. You have no idea who she is and why is she approaching you. Plus, You are sort of intimidated by her. She is a beautiful, a sophisticated woman. She have this energy from her that says she is different than anyone else. You could feel your difference with her. Though you are covered with all highend brands of clothing and accessories. You can still see it.

"Oh, sorry... if I'm invading your personal time..." she says, "I am a friend of Yoongi... well... an old friend... from University" she explains. "Sarang."

"Oh." You smile and bow. "Hello, nice to meet you. I'm Y/N... I'm sorry... I've not met any of his friends yet so...I didn't know..."

"It's fine. I understand."

She looks like she came from a regal family, the same level as Yoongi. Also, her beauty.... takes your breathe away. She remind you of how you reacted the first time you saw Yoongi. In awe.

"Thank you for coming here also..." she says as she walks you around the gallery. "I hope you find something to your liking here that... would be a part of your home or either a gift to anyone you love."

As you two talk more, you learned that she's the one that threw this charity event. She gathered all these arts from known artists, to auction. She says that 100% of the earnings from it will go to the children's hospital that she have been donating ever since.

You have just met her and you are already at amazed by her. Not by just her prominent looks but also the way she talks and speaks her mind is very inspiring and uplifting. Because of her words you find it easy buying two items in the collection. You know all of the money will go and be used for something good.

You chose the items, the two that caught your attention the moment you entered the gallery. Both are paintings of a beautiful flowerfield which reminds you of your past. The field where you would always go with your friends and have picnic during summer break.

Such beautiful memory that you wish you could've not taken for granted. You wish you could re-live those moments again. And the paintings, those paintings you chose might go well in your own study room.

"It's nice meeting you..." she says, cutting you from reminiscencing your past

"Thank you too for inviting us.. though... my husband couldn't come..."

She smiles, lips pressed together. "He hasn't changed at all. Not very social and just focused on just working..."

Hmm.. The way she talks, the way she describes your husband is very detailed. She seem to know him pretty well. 'They are friends' you say to yourself but then at the back of your mind, a thought, just a tiny thought about him and her, is peaking through.

'Is she an ex of his?'

'If not an ex... probably... someone who liked him?'

I know, this is no place nor time to think about these but you can't help it.

Look at her and then you look at yourself. You two are totally opposites. From status to looks. And probably from personaly to intelligence. She is more than you. She is perfect. You think that he and Yoongi might or will get along more than you and him.

"Ahm... I ahm..." you start to feel uncomfortable with all of your self pity thoughts. You need to get a hold of yourself. "Sorry... I'll... I'll just go to the bar and have some drink..." you say as you clutch on to your dress.

"Oh. Okay." Sarang says. "You want me to accompany you...?"

You shake your head, "No... thank you... don't mind me... please go ahead and tour the rest of the guest." You say pointing at the newly arrived guests.

You turn around immediately before she could response again.

This is weird. You're not sure why you suddenly have the urge to drink. Even though you don't drink. Also because, you can't. Literally, can't.

You only drink red wine when you are offered to drink, by Yoongi of course. It's only when he asks you to join him during nights when he needs company or if you two are to discuss things about the family.

You don't drink also because you are a lightweight. You get tipsy and red easily. One time when you had more than three glasses of red with your husband, you instantly changed personality. You have no idea how and what changed besides the stories that your maid said the day after which were embarassing.

You have no recollection of anything besides the fact that you were on the sofa, inside Yoongi's home office, butt naked and only have Yoongi's blazer on you.

"Mrs. Min, what can I get you?" The cute guy behind the bar asks as you reach your destination.

"How... do you know who I am?"

He smiles, "We had the lists of the guests coming tonight... with photos." He pours water into a glass

"With details...? who can and cannot drink... I suppose?"

He nods. "Your husband noted... to not serve any alcohol to you Miss."

"Even... I want to? Or... pay?"

"I'm sorry Miss..." he says, "If you like we can offer you our non-alcohol champagne?"

You sigh heavily. You badly want to drink. Even just one glass to calm yourself. But...you can't. Yoongi have rules and you cannot avoid and disobey them.

He does give you the freedom to do whatever you want but when it comes to what not to do or what he likes, he have a handful.

1. Don't cut your hair short

2. Don't drink when he's not present nor ordered by him

3. Don't leave the house without atleast one body guard

4. Don't wear perfume (he gets dizzy)

5. Use the safeword during sex

And etc.

The rules are quite simple. Nothing to weird nor to hard to follow. It's just you compromising. And also, you do have a hard time saying no to Him.

"Thanks." You mumble, sighing as you take the glass of water and walk away from the bar.

After figuring out you can't drink to calm yourself, you decide to just go somewhere outside, away from the crowd and peaceful to get fresh air. Lucky you, you found an exit that leads you to the garden.

As time have gone by, you're not sure how long have you been there, staring at the fountain, the flowers and even starring down at your feet every now and then. You thought being out here will leave your head empty. Not worrying about anything. But then you'd catch yourself pouting and comparing yourself to all the ladies you have seen in the event, especially the last person you have talked to.

Your self pity and low self-esteem is thriving today than usual. Is it the lack of sleep? Or because of the one guy from earlier giving you a judging look that made you regret wearing the dress you picked? What happened?

These thoughts are not very helpful. Especially lately, well probably more on daily basis, you do wonder why Yoongi chose you. To marry.

They've said, more particularly his parents said, that he didn't like the ones they suggested for him; so he decided to pick you. To marry you instead of those women who is on the same level as him or close to his family's wealth.

Odd isn't it? Why would someone like him, an elite bachelor, pick a girl from a lower class family to marry? What did he see in you? What made him randomly pick you? You are not special, inexperience about life and not alluring as the other girls in his world. What did he saw? How did he even saw you? You were sure you two never met before. So did he hire someone to find a daughter from a poor family or what?

Instead of clearing your mind, you suddenly had these outburst of questions.

"What are you doing here?"

Your eyes widens after hearing a familiar voice. You didn't dare to speak. You just slowly turn your upper body around to see him, walking slowly towards you.

He's wearing a tuxedo. His hair is slightly slicked back and his scar. His beautiful scar. It's him.

You can't believe what you are seeing. He's really here. Why? He's been away for a week because of work and when did he came back?

"Y-yoongi..." you mumble, standing up

"I asked you..." he says as he stands right in front of you. Then you see his eyes darts down at your glass of water, sitting beside you. "Your bodyguard said... you asked for a drink." He looks back at you, his expression is so serious.

"I ahm... sorry..." you lower your gaze.

"You know... you can't drink."

"I'm sorry..." you whisper softly

"Let her have fun." A woman's voice says. "She just wants to have a glass of wine. It won't hurt."

Slowly raising your eyes, you see her, Sarang, standing from afar from you and Yoongi.

Her stance at this moment is unidentical to her persona earlier. It feels like she is a completely different person, though her appearance is the same. Something shifted.

"She did an amazing job.. representing you earlier." She adds

Your eyes then goes to Yoongi. You want to see his reaction to the angelic woman speaking. You are curious. No one talks to him directly like that, blunt and straight forward, even you.

Sarang is brave to talk casually to him.

"Ready the car..." Yoongi finally speaks after a monent of silence. Ordering one of his men to move.

That was it?

"I'll return the items. Keep the money. I don't care." He says while he's looking at you, straight into your eyes. Though you know, even his eyes are on you, he's not actually speaking to you.

"Yoongi le---" she tries to speak again but he didn't allowed it.

Yoongi just slightly turned his head to give her a side eye. He is not pleased. "My wife and I are leaving..." and then takes your hand to hold onto. "Let's go home..." he says that only you can hear.

"Ahm...ahh... okay." You say, lost by the sudden fierceness from him

***

"Get in." He orders you

Carefully climbing in the car, you move to the other side making sure there is a space betweem you two.

"Home please." Yoongi says to his driver as he shuts the door.

"Sir." The man answers, nodding and then pushes a button that closes the opening between the driver to the passenger seat of the car.

We are now isolated.

He looks so tired. Looks like he just came back and went straight to event to pick you up.

"I have my driver with me... you could've rested at home." You say

He sighs and closes his eyes. "I'm fine."

Did he purposely pick you up because he wants to see you? Did he missed you while he was away for a week?

Your mind is filled with questions and curiosity but you cannot dream of these questions to be real. You have to remember, he just married you because he have no other choice. There is no love in between you two. You are married by paper only that is worth a lot of money. Everything you are doing for him is to repay all of his kindness to you and your family.

This is all just a fantasy. A beautiful fantasy.

"Come closer..." he softly says. His eyes are still shut but his arm is arching, gesturing for me to take place in then. "Y/n..." he opens his eyes, calling my name. You scoot over his side. He immediately puts his arm around you, making sure you are close. "You're shaking..." he utters as he goes back to closing his eyes, resting his head back. "You're almost naked with that dress of yours..."

"Sorry..." you say looking down at your knotted fingers. "I thought it will look good....that's why I wore it."

He sighs. "You do look good..." then he shifts in his position and makes sure you're looking back at him. Then he starts leans in, to kiss you.

"Wait..."

He pauses, confused by your reaction. You have never denied his kiss before.

"I'm sorry..."

"What for?" He asks

"Well..." you look to the front, where the driver is. "Do we just kiss or..." you whisper

Yoongi didn't expect your question which made him smile. "It depends." He is looking straight into your eyes, your face are just inches away.

"He might hear us..." you whisper

"I don't fucking care." He moves forward and finally catches your lips.

***

After travelling for almost half an hour, you finally reach home.

"Welcome home, Miss..." The maid greets the second you slide out of the car. she then sees Yoongi, coming out from the other side of the car. "Master!" She bows again. "Welcome..."

They are suprised to see him. They didn't expect him to arrive with you. Looks like none of them knew he went to pick you up.

"Do we have anything to eat?" You softly ask the maid, then you realized that it's already late and that they have to rest too. "Oh... Sorry... never mind... you may go and rest." You give her a faint smile.

Then slowly walking towards the elevator, you could see your husband's reflection through the glass doors. He is busy already with his phone.

"Y/n..."

You glance up, peaking through the reflection. He is walking towards you. So you wirl around and waited for him to stand in front of you.

"Ask your assistant to remove all charities or event under the Lee's tomorrow. Even parties." He says as he undo his bow tie. "And... to not accept any invitation from them...again"

"Why?"

He didn't answer. No answer means he's serious.

"Okay..." You just answer before turning your back at him again.

Thinking about what you are in his world is heart breaking in a way. You are nothing but someone he owns. You just go with the flow of his world.

Yes you do had an idea what you've signed up for but its still shocking nonetheless how everything is unfolding and is doing.

"Aren't you getting in?"

You look up and see that he is in the elevator already, waiting.

"S-sorry..." you say before entering. You try your best to not make eye contact with him.

After both of you settled in, the maid follows and taps on level 3. That is where both your rooms are.

Oddly, Yoongi taps on the Upper ground after her. "Can you please cook something light before you leave? My wife needs to eat." He orders

"Yes, Master." She answers just in time when the elevator stops on UG.

"We'll both be down after we shower and get rested a bit."

"Understood, Master." She exists the elevator, bows and immediately walks off.

'My wife'. It is the second time he said that today. He never says that.

"Don't skip meals." He mumbles as the door closes

You didn't answer. You didn't mean to skip a meal or two today. And maybe a few days before too. You were nervous. One main reason is the dress you're wearing right now is very revealing. A satin black backless maxi dress. You wanted be perfect in the dress thats why, even though you know it's not achievable.

*pings*

The elevator door opens on level 3. You step out and about to turn to your wing when you hear him call your name again.

"Where are you going?" He asks

"T-to my room..." you sound so weak, "To shower..."

"Shower here." He says, suggesting the shower in his wing. Meaning in his room. Meaning his bathroom.

"Hmm?" You are lost in translation. Why is he asking you to shower there all of a sudden.

"To my room." And then he undo the first two buttons of his shirt.

"W-what? Why?"

He didn't say another word. He just continued to walk off towards his room leaving you.

"W-wait..." You take two steps forward but then stops.

"Y/N...." you hear the heels of his shoes stop hitting the marbled floor. His back is facing you. "I said, shower here. I didn't ask you to decide." he then turns around and you see his white top basically open now. "Will you go and shower with me or do you want me to peel that dress off you and carry you to my room?"

Flusttered by his remark, you just released an unsolicited shaky breathing. "Ahm... yes... I'm... I'm coming..."

***

[Flashback to Yoongi's side]

(Earlier... as soon as Yoongi arrived at the charity event)

Some of the people in the event went silent for a few seconds the moment they saw you enter the building. They all didn't expect you to show up since your wife was already present. But of course, they still greeted you with a smile and tried to make small talks. They want to be on your good side. They know what you are capable off. What power you hold in this world.

However, you don't care about these fuckers. You dropped by because you received a call from your wife's bodyguard that Y/N is not looking okay.

"Where is she?" You ask the man standing behind you.

"She just left the bar, Sir. And went out to the garden." He reply.

"I see."

One step, you just took one step and somebody already stands in your way to your wife.

"Look who's here."

"Sarang." You say her name, bitterly. You are not expecting her to be here.

"You have been ignoring my invites for quite some time now... I thought, helping others is one of your goals in life that's why you work 24/7?"

"I thought this event was by the Lee's?" You hiss at your male assistant.

"It is, Sir. By--"

"Lee Do-Hyun..." she cuts off the assistant. "My husband..." she proudly says. "Aww.. That kind a... hurts my feelings...that... you have no idea I got married..."

"I don't keep tab on people who's not important to me."

She scoffs but she sounded a bit insulted and her ego got hurt. But she's good at pretending that it didn't bothered her. "You say that now...but a few years ago... I was your muse..." she tries to move closer to you but your body guards stands in between quickly.

"Was." You look away from her and try to search for your wife through the window not far away from where you stand. "My mistake for socializing to a liar, back stabbing... leech like you." You say, then giving her a side eye. "I wish your husband good fortune... or that he loves spoiling you... or esle... he'll found out his wife's true color..."

You're about to walk away, again, but this bitch still wants to talk to you.

"You think... she'll not get tired of you? Of you controlling her? Especially getting married with you... with no love at all?" She snorts a laugh again. "Or maybe... she will not..." she mumbles under her breathe, "Now... It figures... why you picked someone from a low class family... someone with no choice but to stay with you because her family needs your money. I see..." she laughs again, "poor girl... if I were her, I would milk you all of your money so it will be worth it... after all she married a controlling, dominant, and a freaky person like you."

You know Y/N is not like her. She is a nice person. She's not into money like this bitch is. However, you do think about how Y/N thinks about you and her marriage to you.

You admit that you are very controlling when it comes to her. It is one of your negative trait that you cannot put away. It comes natural with you because of the life you have been brought up and your business. You want things to happen in your way and you are also possessive. You do try to controll it when it comes to her but you are not sure if you are doing it right.

Well how could you know, you never talk about it. Even with your wife. You never asked about her feelings and opinions.

"Watch your mouth." You mumble. "You might think you know me from the years we've been together. But you haven't seen half of what I can and would do... if anyone picks a fight with me.." you glare at her. "Consider this a warning."

[End of flashback from Yoongi's side]

*************

"Miss..."

Slowly opening your eyes, your eyes carefully adjusted to the light. You could see the ray of sunshine peaking through your dark thick curtains.

"Miss..."

You turn your head to the side and see your maid bowing.

"It's noon Miss..."

"Oh."

It has been a quite a few days now, since you start waking up this late. You are usually up early. You are a morning person. You also do jogs or walks around the property and sometimes go to the home gym to move, always. But something shifted in your routines.

You are tired, less motivated and no will to get up your bed.

"I think we need to call the family doctor now, Miss." The maid suggested. "You've lost a bit of weight and you look pale."

"I'm fine." You say as you push your duvet off your body and slide down off your bed. "I'll take a quick bath..." you mumble

"Understood." She is ready to come along with you.

"No... I'm fine... I'll just go alone... just prepare food for me please."

"But... Miss..." she usually prepares your bath and always stays with you there. After the little accident you had a year ago when you first experience a hot bath on the tub. You fainted because you fell asleep. Too much enjoyment and you forgot it is not good to stay long in there.

"I'll be fine." You smile and requested for her to leave

"Okay Miss... but... I will be back after half an hour to check."

"Sure."

You slept last night, wearing your silk robe and your fancy cream nightgown, his favorite. You were expecting Yoongi to come home last night as per usual schedule. But he didn't. He didn't even informed the staff that he'll not be home for a longer period.

What happened? You don't know.

The last time you talked to him was the night he asked you to come to his room and shower with him.

Everything that night was magical. For you atleast. But then you ruined it.

When you both entered his dark room, he immediately clung onto you. He held you like everything depends on it. It was more intemate and hungry than the usual and you liked it for some reason. After all the self doubt and insecurity you felt in the party, the intemacy made you feel more than what you feel.

And when he peeled off your dress from your body, you didn't expected him to go down on his knees and lick your soul out of your body. His tongue did more than you know he could do. It brought you to another level of high. And you didn't know you could screech like an animal because of it. He really made sure you are on cloud nine or even beyond that.

"Fuck me... please..." you begged him after you knees weakened and fall down the floor where he is.

"No." He said. He was sturn. "No request for tonight." He said and then he positioned you underneath him where he could properly see you crumble because of him.

"Y-yoongi... please.... I need... I want to come..." you begged

He brought you to cloud nine but then hold onto your pearls when you were about to orgasm.

"I'm punishing you right now..." he said as he lowers down and starts to run his tongue from your chest up. "Next time... don't wear any sort of revealing clothes...when I'm not around.. do you understand that Y/N?"

"Y-yes..."

"Another rule to add... are you okay with that?" He hummed the last words on your ears before he let both his hands squeeze your breast. "Answer me..."

"I don't... mind..." you were squearming underneath him. He was playing your nipples then. "I... I don't mind... Yoongi..." you repeated, pleading.

His punishment continued for another few minutes. It was too much. You were struggling catching your bliss but he's playing you. However, you are patient. You know his kinks and you know what he wants and so you do whatever and accept whatever. Coz you know it is from him.

"Scream my name." He grunted as he pounds you with no mercy.

You were holding on to his massive bookshelf on the wall, your legs were lifted and hanging over his forearm whilst he was thrusting deep in you. You were getting hurt from your back hitting the shelves but it didn't matter. You don't know why but for some reason you can endure everything just for Yoongi. Even pain.

"Nnggghhaaa..." you threw your arms around his neck as he went faster. "Please!" You cry on his neck. "Aaaahhh!!" You screamed the orgasm you have been keeping for a while. You felt relieved and content.

And as you two were catching your breath. You uttered words that surprised the both of you. You said 'I love you' to Yoongi.

It should not be a surprise. You two are married right. However since yours are different from others, those words were never said or mentioned ever after the wedding. It is like a forebidden phrase though there are no rule about it. It's like an unspoken deal that no one says those words since THIS.. YOU TWO... is just a fantasy. You two got together with no love. It is not real. You are just one of his property.

And so, after that night. That magical night for you ended up into this cold, quiet and empty prison. Again. You are back to nothing.

You thought you are on a journey escaping that confinement. You thought that something is going to change. You thought... that you were wrong about him. But who are you kidding? You were just having sex like you used to. It is nothing special. It is the same crap. So you saying you love him is... worthless.

"Did I even mean it?" You ask yourself as you lay down in your hot bath. "I said it... after sex.." you are trying to understand how those words slipped out of your lips. If it all just happened because of such high from the sex.

You can clearly remember how you said it. You paused, looked into his eyes and carefully said it. You know you said it with the intent for him to hear it but when you saw his reaction. It made you realize what a big mistake it was.

"Am I having feelings for him?" You mumble as you lower yourself more into the water. "I should not right?"

You know the answer to your own quesion. Look at him even ignoring you for almost two weeks now. Who are you even kidding thinking it will have an effect on him?

After the 'I love you' incident, He eat dinners without you or he let you eat first before he comes out of his home office. And then when he leaves, he does not inform you now. You just get the news of him flying off somewhere from your maid. Even his men are being cautious with you. He must've ordered them to be distant but at the same time protect you.

How funny that these are his responses to you. You know you deserve it but you're a little bit hurt, your not going to lie.

"Who am I for him to love?" You sigh. "Maybe... I should just prepare myself for the ending of this fantasy..."

*********

"Master." The maids bows as they suddenly sees Yoongi enter the main entrance while they are all cleaning.

Yoongi have not been home for a while. He has been... busy.

"Give them all my clothes." He says to his right hand man. "Sorry if it's quite a lot today." He then says to the maids as he removes his black coat revealing his white button up shirt, stained with blood. A lot of it. No one reacted to the visual that is shown. All the staff are used to it. They know how his world is.

"Where is she?" He asks as he loosen up his tie

All the maids in the corredor suddenly turn heads to the youngest one at the end of the line. She is Y/N personal maid.

"Master." She steps forwards and bows again. "Miss is in her bath."

Yoongi frowns. "Alone?"

"Ahm..." she suddenly stutters. "Sorry, Master! She... Miss wanted to... alone... but I told her after half an hour I will go back."

"How long has she been there?" He then throws his tie on the ground.

"Twenty."

"Okay." He takes a deep breathe and tries to collect himself. "Just go and be on standby in her room. She can't stay any longer."

"Okay, Master." She bows again and briskfully walk back to Y/N wing.

"Are you not going to... visit her Sir?" His male right hand asks. "She have been messaging you since..." he pauses for a bit. "And calling too."

He didn't answer. "Ready my bath please." He orders and just continue walking his way to his room.

"Understood." The man replies

"She can't see me like this." Yoongi mumbles as he walks

"I see..." his right hand man smiles at his master's response.

"Why are you smiling?" Yoongi asks, one eyebrow up.

"Nothing, Sir."

"Just spit it out."

The right man, Mr. Kim have been Yoongi's right hand man ever since he was in his teens. Mr. Kim saw him grew up and be the man that he is now. And for sure, if something changed he would be the first one to notice

And now, the tiny changes in Yoongi's mood and decisions, He might not know or see it but it is obvious for Mr. Kim. He knows it is something about his wife.

"2nd week of your marriage, Sir. She saw you coming home with a bloody lip and injured knuckles. You said you don't give a damn if she sees you looking like a murderer."

"So? What's your point?"

"It's just lately...."

Yoongi pauses and turns around to see Mr. Kim, wearing a smile.

"What are you implying? Just... say it."

Mr. Kim bows and says, "Nothing Sir."

"Hmmm..." rolling his eyes, he continued to walk.

*****

"Miss..." your personal maid rushes in your room, "Master have return." She says.

To her suprise, she sees you standing in the middle of the room, wearing your bathrobe and a towel in your hair already.

You take a deep breathe, not letting your eyes look away from the view you are seeing from your window, a clear blue sky.

"Miss.. shall I prepare your clothes?"

You close your eyes and then removed the towel wrapped around your long hair. "Please..." you softly answer

"What do you prefer to wear today, Miss?" She asks she she begins to walk towards your walk in closet.

"A black dress..." you say as you follow along. "Maybe the one with the longer sleeves."

She nods and then continues to search for the dresses you have that matches your description while you on the other hand looks at yourself in the full length mirror while you undress from your robe.

You stare at your body and see how you thin you are. Not super thin but thinner than what you used to.

It's your own fault. You have been skipping meals when you are stressed and it's not good.

"Miss?" She then lays three dresses on the sofa in the middle, for your choices.

"The middle one." You says.

You then open the drawer for your undies to grab a black lace matching underwear.

"Ahm, Miss...?"

"Yes?"

"Are you going to eat with Master, in the dinning today?"

"Hmm... what did he say?"

"Nothing. He just asked me to stay with you when I told him you are in your bath."

"Did he say if he wants to see me?"

The maid didn't answer.

"I guess not." You scoff as you getting into the dress. "Just bring my food in my study room. I'll eat there while I do some reading."

"Understood." She bows and exists the room.

"I'm not gonna wait for him anymore." You say to yourself while looking onto the mirror. "If he's going to avoid me or ignore me... then... that's what I'll do as well..."

Starring once again at yourself on the mirror, you look at your face and then your eyes goes down to your belly.

"I have to learn to go on with my life... with or without him..." you mumble. "I should start to escape this fantasy... a dream that maybe the 'us' will be something."

Part 3 - Twilight

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donquixotehomura · 3 months

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Valentine's Day with One Piece Boys

Master List

W.C:3295 so uhhhhh my hand slipped oops... I took some assumptions here and I changed some things that are common about these characters in Fanfic writing, my brain couldn’t come up with a lot for Law I’m sorry about that, Crocodile and Doffy can be read as pre or post becoming Warlords, some might be OOC but IDK I wrote this in about a day lol (my eyes fingers and back hurt I need to correct my posture lol) sorry if I didn't write for your favorites, have fun and lemme know what you think I love feed back It took two and a half fucking hours to put the gifs in, cause the line thingy where you add stuff only showed at the very bottom so I had to keep editing and dragging shit around, I'm sure I'm doing something wrong, also I had to look up all the gifs here even tho I have tons cause for some reason "something goofed" .... end my suffering also I wrote this on word and then brought it here so if formatting gets weird that's why, even tho I spent hours on making sure everything is good shout out to my inspo who also encouraged me to write it @cinnbar-bun

Dracule Mihawk, Roronoa Zoro, Portgas D. Ace, Donquixote Doflamingo, Eustass "Captain" Kid, Charlotte Katakuri, Massacre Soldier Killer, Sir Crocodile, Trafalgar Law.

Dracule Mihawk:

Mihawk and Y/N prefer intimate celebrations for Valentine's Day. They often opt for a quiet evening together at their secluded castle, away from the hustle and bustle of the outside world.

Despite their stoic exteriors, Mihawk and Y/N are surprisingly sentimental when it comes to expressing their feelings. They exchange handwritten letters on Valentine's Day, pouring their hearts out on paper in a way that words spoken aloud cannot convey.

Instead of extravagant gestures, Mihawk and Y/N prefer to exchange gifts that hold sentimental value. Mihawk might gift Y/N a rare book on something she likes, while Y/N might give Mihawk a custom-made piece of simple jewelry like a small bracelet she personally crafted for him.

On Valentine's Day, Mihawk surprises Y/N by offering to cook dinner together. Despite her lack of culinary skills, Y/N appreciates the bonding activity and enjoys spending quality time with him in the kitchen, even if it results in a few culinary mishaps.

After dinner, Mihawk and Y/N venture out into the castle's courtyard to stargaze. They lie side by side on a blanket, Y/N pointing out constellations and sharing stories about their significance, reveling in the peaceful solitude of the night, Mihawk just listens to her with a small fond smile.

Throughout the day, Mihawk and Y/N take time to reflect on their journey together, reminiscing about cherished memories and shared experiences that have strengthened their bond over the years.

As a romantic gesture, Mihawk and Y/N share a midnight dance in the castle's grand ballroom. Lit only by candlelight, they move together in a graceful waltz, lost in the magic of the moment and the timeless beauty of their love. Going To Sleep Cuddling: Mihawk and Y/N will go to sleep in the end of the day holding each other, Y/N would curl up into his arms, burying her face into his chest while he wraps his arms around her his hand going into her hair to play with the soft strands.

As Valentine's Day draws to a close, Mihawk and Y/N exchange a few hushed words as they cuddle, reaffirming their commitment to each other and the promise of a future filled with love, laughter, and endless adventures together.

Roronoa Zoro:

Despite his tough exterior, Zoro secretly spends weeks planning the perfect Valentine's Day surprise for Y/N. He meticulously selects a secluded spot on the island they're docked on, where they can enjoy each other's company away from the hustle and bustle of the crew.

Y/N, appreciative of Zoro's efforts, prepares a special gift for him on Valentine's Day. Knowing his love for swords, she surprises him with a beautifully crafted sheath for one of his blades, personalized with intricate designs that reflect their shared journey together.

Zoro and Y/N spend Valentine's Day evening taking a leisurely stroll along the shores of the island. With the sound of waves lapping against the shore and the moonlight casting a soft glow, they share quiet moments of intimacy, lost in each other's company.

During their stroll, Zoro and Y/N encounter a group of wild creatures roaming the island. With their swords drawn, they effortlessly dispatch the beasts, their synchronized movements a testament to their unwavering bond as swordsmen and lovers.

As the night progresses, Zoro and Y/N build a campfire on the beach, the crackling flames casting flickering shadows around them. They share stories of their past adventures and dreams for the future, their laughter mingling with the sound of the ocean.

Under the starlit sky, Zoro finally opens up to Y/N, expressing his gratitude for her presence in his life. He admits that he's not good at expressing his feelings, but Y/N's unwavering support and love have changed him for the better.

Moved by Zoro's vulnerability, Y/N wraps her arms around him, offering him comfort and reassurance. She assures him that their love is enough, and she wouldn't have their Valentine's Day any other way.

As the night comes to an end, Zoro and Y/N make a promise to each other to continue facing life's challenges together, hand in hand. They vow to cherish every moment and celebrate their love not just on Valentine's Day, but every day.

As they watch the sun rise on the horizon, Zoro leans in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N's lips, sealing their promise with a silent vow of devotion. In that moment, amidst the beauty of the dawn, they find solace in the certainty of their love for each other.

As they return to the ship, hand in hand, Zoro and Y/N share a knowing smile, their hearts full of love and gratitude for each other. Though their Valentine's Day was unconventional and filled with unexpected adventures, it was a testament to the strength of their bond and the depth of their love.

Portgas D. Ace:

Y/N wakes up early on Valentine's Day to prepare a special breakfast for Ace. She arranges heart-shaped pancakes and fruit on a tray, leaving a note with a playful message for him to wake up to. Ace spends weeks leading up to Valentine's Day working on a handmade gift for Y/N. He creates a personalized necklace with a small pendant in the shape of a flame, symbolizing their fiery love and passion.

Y/N organizes a scavenger hunt around the Moby Dick for Ace. Each clue leads him to a different part of the ship, where he discovers small gifts and love notes hidden by Y/N.

Ace surprises Y/N with a romantic beach picnic at a secluded cove. They enjoy a delicious meal together as they watch the sunset, the sound of the waves providing a serene backdrop to their intimate celebration.

As the night falls, Ace and Y/N gather with their friends for a bonfire on the beach. They roast marshmallows, share stories, and cuddle close under a blanket, basking in the warmth of their love and the crackling fire.

Y/N sets up a telescope on the deck of the Moby Dick, and she and Ace spend the evening stargazing together. They point out constellations, make wishes on shooting stars, and share dreams for their future, Y/N certainly tries to find constellations that match Ace’s freckles. Ace surprises Y/N with a makeshift dance floor on the deck of the ship. He puts on her favorite song, and they dance together under the moonlight, lost in each other's arms.

Y/N leaves little love notes for Ace to find throughout the day. Each note expresses her affection and gratitude for having him in her life, reminding him of the depth of her love.

Ace and Y/N spend the afternoon cooking a special Valentine's Day dinner together in the kitchen. They laugh, tease each other, and steal kisses amidst the preparation, enjoying the simple pleasure of being together. (Marco is on standby with a fire extinguisher)

As the day comes to a close, Ace and Y/N exchange heartfelt declarations of love. They express their gratitude for each other, promising to cherish and support one another for all the days to come, both of them yelling it at the top of their lungs of the railing of the ship and the crew is so done with them lol

Donquixote Doflamingo:

Doflamingo, despite his intimidating persona, secretly enjoys the sentimentality of Valentine's Day. He's known for surprising Y/N with extravagant gifts, ranging from rare treasures he's acquired during their travels to personalized items he's commissioned just for her. Y/N, in turn, cherishes each gift as a symbol of Doflamingo's affection, even if she's not one for material possessions. On Valentine's Day, Doflamingo arranges a private, candlelit dinner on the deck of their ship or a secluded spot on the island they're currently exploring. He spares no expense in ensuring the evening is perfect, with gourmet cuisine prepared by their crew's skilled chefs. Y/N appreciates the effort he puts into creating these intimate moments and enjoys the opportunity to spend quality time together away from the chaos of pirate life.

Instead of focusing solely on lavish gifts and grand gestures, Doflamingo and Y/N often reminisce about their shared adventures and memorable moments throughout the years. They spend Valentine's Day reflecting on the challenges they've overcome together, the laughter they've shared, the tears they’ve shed and the unbreakable bond that has formed between them.

Despite their often intense and tumultuous journey as pirates, Doflamingo and Y/N also value quiet moments of affection. They may spend Valentine's Day simply enjoying each other's company, whether it's lounging on the deck, stargazing, or taking a leisurely stroll on the beach hand in hand. It's in these peaceful moments that they feel most connected.

Doflamingo and Y/N have a deep understanding of each other, and Valentine's Day serves as a reminder of the unspoken bond they share. They may not always verbalize their feelings, but their actions speak volumes. Whether it's a knowing glance, a comforting touch, or a gentle smile exchanged between them, they both know that their love is unwavering.

Eustass "Captain" Kid:

Despite her tough exterior, Y/N secretly enjoys the romantic gestures she receives on Valentine's Day. Kid, though he may not admit it openly, takes great pleasure in surprising Y/N with small gifts and tokens of affection, leaving them anonymously for her to find. Kid's idea of a Valentine's Day gift may not be traditional, but it's always heartfelt. He might present Y/N with a custom-made weapon, intricately designed and tailored to her unique fighting style, or a rare treasure he stumbled upon during their travels, symbolizing the adventures they've shared together.

Y/N, with her artistic flair, expresses her love for Kid through her creations. She might spend weeks crafting a personalized piece of jewelry for him, incorporating elements of his Jolly Roger or symbols that hold significance to their relationship, showcasing her devotion in a tangible form.

Amidst the chaos of their pirate life, Y/N and Kid cherish the quiet moments they steal away together on Valentine's Day. They might escape to a secluded spot-on deck, watching the stars and sharing stories, finding solace in each other's company amidst the vastness of the sea.

For Y/N and Kid, Valentine's Day is not just about romantic gestures, but also about embarking on new adventures together. They might set sail to explore uncharted islands, face formidable foes, or discover hidden treasures, strengthening their bond through shared experiences and thrilling escapades.

Despite their differences, Y/N and Kid's relationship is built on mutual respect and understanding. They may not always see eye to eye, but they know how to support and uplift each other, especially on Valentine's Day, when they take the time to appreciate the unique qualities that make their bond so special.

Y/N and Kid's Valentine's Day celebrations may not be conventional, but they're uniquely theirs. They might indulge in a feast of their favorite foods, engage in friendly competitions and challenges, or simply enjoy each other's presence, knowing that their love transcends traditional expectations.

As they spend Valentine's Day together, Y/N and Kid exchange promises for the future. They may vow to stand by each other through thick and thin, to continue exploring the world and facing its challenges together, and to cherish the love they share, knowing that their bond is unbreakable.

Charlotte Katakuri:

Despite their tough exteriors, Y/N and Katakuri secretly enjoy showering each other with romantic gestures on Valentine's Day. Y/N surprises Katakuri with handcrafted doughnuts with many flavours, each one meticulously made with love and care. In return, Katakuri presents Y/N with a beautifully crafted box of her favorite sweets, a testament to his thoughtfulness and affection. On Valentine's evening, Y/N and Katakuri escape the chaos of Totto Land for a private dinner date on a secluded beach. They indulge in a feast of their favorite dishes, sharing laughter and intimate conversation under the twinkling stars. As the night deepens, they dance together in the moonlight, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

In the days leading up to Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri exchange heartfelt love letters, expressing their deepest emotions and gratitude for each other. Y/N's letters are filled with poetic prose and declarations of undying love, while Katakuri's letters are eloquent and sincere, revealing the depths of his affection for Y/N.

As a special Valentine's Day surprise, Katakuri whisks Y/N away on a romantic getaway to a secluded island paradise. They spend their days exploring pristine beaches, indulging in couples' massages, and savoring gourmet meals prepared by a private chef. It's a blissful escape from their duties and responsibilities, allowing them to focus solely on each other.

On Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri reminisce about their favorite moments together, flipping through photo albums filled with snapshots of their adventures. They laugh at candid shots of themselves and smile fondly at pictures of special milestones they've shared. It's a heartwarming reminder of the bond they've built and the memories they've created together, a few of them are pictures taken by Y/N of Katakuri throughout the day, in some of them his scarf is hiding a smile or a blush a reason as to why she took the picture (yes she walks around with a Visual Den Den Mushi.. At least that’s what I think the picture taking ones are called) Y/N has been joining Katakuri during his Meriendas for years now and same as rumors spread about him meditating and talking to gods of battle during them rumors spread about her as well (I read a fic about this before where Y/N was considered his oracle and it’s an amazing one I’m trying to find it again) what they don’t know is that these two are being very sappy idiots, cuddling sharing kisses and laughs and stealing each other's sweets, especially on this day, the others just think that they’re doing some sort of ritual about devotion to Gods of Battle only lol.

As the night falls on Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri retreat to a secluded hilltop, where they lay beneath a blanket of stars, hand in hand. They share stories of their hopes and dreams, tracing constellations with their fingers and basking in the quiet beauty of the night sky. It's a moment of perfect serenity, a reminder of the infinite possibilities that lie ahead for their love.

Massacre Soldier Killer:

Despite their tough exteriors, Killer and Y/N secretly enjoy surprising each other with small romantic gestures on Valentine's Day. Y/N might leave a heartfelt note tucked into Killer's pocket, while Killer might craft a makeshift bouquet of flowers from materials he finds on their travels. Valentine's Day is a rare opportunity for Killer and Y/N to spend some quality time together away from the chaos of pirate life. They might steal away to a secluded spot on the ship or find a quiet beach where they can enjoy each other's company without interruptions.

Killer and Y/N reminisce about their favorite moments together, cherishing the memories they've created during their time as partners in crime. They might exchange stories about their most memorable adventures or laugh about the mishaps they've encountered along the way.

Despite their limited resources as pirates, Killer and Y/N find creative ways to exchange gifts on Valentine's Day. Y/N might fashion a piece of jewelry from shells she finds on the beach, while Killer might carve a wooden trinket with his expert craftsmanship.

Killer surprises Y/N with a romantic candlelit dinner, showcasing his culinary skills with a delicious meal cooked from scratch. Y/N, in turn, appreciates the effort and thoughtfulness behind the gesture, and they enjoy a quiet evening together under the stars. While they may not always express their emotions openly, Killer and Y/N show their love and affection for each other in subtle ways. A gentle touch, a lingering glance, or a reassuring smile speaks volumes in the language of their relationship.

Valentine's Day serves as a reminder of the unbreakable bond between Killer and Y/N. They reaffirm their commitment to each other, promising to stand by each other's side through thick and thin, no matter what challenges may come their way.

As they bask in the warmth of each other's love on Valentine's Day, Killer and Y/N discuss their hopes and dreams for the future. They envision a life together filled with adventure, laughter, and unwavering support, knowing that as long as they have each other, anything is possible.

Overall, Valentine's Day is a special occasion for Killer and Y/N to celebrate their love and appreciation for each other, strengthening the bond that binds them together as partners in both love and piracy.

Sir Crocodile:

Crocodile and Y/N aren't ones for grand gestures, so their Valentine's Day celebration tends to be understated. They prefer spending quality time together rather than getting caught up in the commercial aspects of the holiday. Crocodile surprises Y/N by preparing a simple but delicious meal for them to share. Despite his gruff exterior, Crocodile has a surprisingly deft hand in the kitchen, and Y/N is touched by the effort he puts into making the evening special.

Instead of extravagant gifts, Crocodile and Y/N exchange meaningful tokens of their affection. Y/N gives Crocodile a handmade leather-bound journal, knowing how much he values knowledge and planning. In return, Crocodile presents Y/N with a rare seashell he found during one of their adventures, a symbol of their shared experiences.

After dinner, Crocodile and Y/N enjoy a quiet evening together, lounging on the deck of their ship and gazing up at the stars. They talk about their hopes and dreams for the future, reveling in the simplicity of each other's company.

Despite their tough exteriors, Crocodile and Y/N share a passion for Planning and Conquest. They spend the evening poring over maps and planning their next expedition, excited about the possibilities that lie ahead. While they may not be overly demonstrative, Crocodile and Y/N show their love for each other in small, subtle ways. A gentle touch, a knowing glance, or a shared smile speaks volumes about the depth of their bond. As the night draws to a close, Crocodile and Y/N express their gratitude for each other, acknowledging the strength and support they provide in each other's lives. They may not say "I love you" in so many words, but their actions speak louder than any declaration of affection ever could.

Trafalgar Law:

Y/N is bubbling with excitement as Valentine's Day approaches, eager to celebrate the occasion with Law despite his usual reservations about the holiday. She takes the lead in planning the day, organizing a romantic dinner aboard the Polar Tang complete with candles, rose petals, and Law's favorite dishes. Law, although initially hesitant about the festivities, appreciates Y/N's enthusiasm and decides to go along with her plans, wanting to make her happy. He surprises Y/N with small but meaningful gifts throughout the day, such as a locket containing a picture of the two of them together or a handwritten note expressing his love and gratitude. Y/N showers Law with affection, peppering him with kisses and hugs as they spend quality time together, enjoying each other's company in the privacy of their quarters. They share stories and reminisce about their favorite memories together, laughing and smiling as they bask in the warmth of their love. Law surprises Y/N with a heartfelt gesture, such as letting her cuddle with him instead of working or giving her a massage to help her relax and unwind. They exchange promises of love and commitment, reaffirming their bond and promising to stand by each other through thick and thin. As the day comes to a close, Law and Y/N cuddle up together under a blanket, content in each other's arms and grateful for the love they share.

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clxja16 · 8 months

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Enough

Part IV

Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: Toto Wolff's Daughter Au!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating

Word Count: 3.5K+

Author's Note: AHHHHH I think I'm done. well idk, if you guys want more, I could probably write one more. However I don't think anything will top the scene after Charles DNF in the Netherlands. I could literally talk about that scene for hours on end. I need to know what you guys think of that scene, because it's probably some of my best work ever. I hope you guys enjoy though. A lot of time and dedication went into this fic. Also this is in no way a reflection of these people in real life. This is not based on real life events. Nothing in this story is fact. This is a work of fiction, purely for entertainment purposes.

Part I, Part II, Part III

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

“I cannot believe you,” Susie says after she hears the front door slam shut from you walking out. She slightly shakes her head, as she looks to the gods, praying for strength. The strength to not kill Toto at this moment.

“Me? You can’t believe me? I cannot believe our daughter, does she even think about how the rushed marriage will look to the public?”

“Toto,” Susie sighs, “you’ve gone too far.” She doesn’t know how she can get him to understand that you’re not a little girl anymore. “She’s chosen Charles, and you have to accept that already.”

“But she could do so much better…”

“She doesn’t want better,” Susie raises her voice in disbelief. “Toto, she doesn’t want anyone else, she wants Charles. That’s it, that’s the end of the discussion.” Susie doesn’t know what more to say on the matter.

“He’s going to hurt her…”

“Toto, that is enough, just because you had an affair that ended your marriage, does not mean Charles is going to do the same! Why can’t you see that?” Susie doesn’t like that she brought up Toto’s affair but it must be said. “Pack your stuff, you’re leaving for the Netherlands first thing in the morning.”

“I don’t have to be there for a few more days…”

“Well, then fucking go to the factory Toto!” Susie can’t handle it anymore, as she stands from the table, “I don’t want to see you, until you apologize to our daughter. Hopefully before her wedding, so help me God.”

Charles had left, around the same time that you had earlier that night to attend a work dinner. He returned home after you and when he did, he found you on the bedroom floor surrounded by all the legal paperwork for the wedding. He could see your eyes were red from crying, and he knew that it wasn’t from happy tears. You were holding a white out pen and the paperwork to change your name stood out among the bunch.

“Ma cherie…”

“Hi,” you greet Charles with a weak tone, you couldn’t even look at him properly.

“What happened?” Charles moves the papers out of the way to take a seat next to, pulling your face to look at him. He can see more tears roll down your cheeks.

“Daddy asked if I was pregnant…”

Charles' brows are furrowed together at your statement, “Why would he think that?”

“Because…” you smile a sarcastic smile, “the only people who get married this fast are people who are knocked up.” You cry, and laugh at the same time as you recall the evening to Charles. You take a moment before you pull away from Charles, wiping away your tears. “I don’t want anything more to do with my father.” You grab the paper for the name change off the floor, and prepare the white out pen.

Charles places his hand on yours stopping you from continuing, “maybe you should wait.” Charles’ watches you carefully, he doesn’t want to say the wrong word, “just sleep on it for now.”

You look up at Charles, and you can see his worry for you. He doesn’t want you to make any decisions that you will regret later on. You stare back at the name you have written across the paper, Wolff-Leclerc.

The next morning you and Charles set out to drive to the Netherlands. The drive surprisingly doesn’t take as long as you anticipate, time travels fast with Charles. However when you do arrive at the hotel, you realize how much the drive took out of you. The two of you pass out, practically right away, and you don’t wake up until the next morning. By that time, you guys have to be at the paddock.

You make it a point to showcase that you and Charles are together. You arrive at the paddock with Charles, dressed in Ferrari red. Part of you does this to spite your father, the other part of you does this because you want Charles to know you pick him over everything else. While Charles is in the driver’s briefing with the FIA, you make a stop at the Mercedes motorhome.

The motorhome is mostly empty, the majority of the team being in the garage at this moment. However you knew your father would be in his office right now. He scheduled all his online meetings with the factory at this time, because the motorhome was quiet. When you make it to his door, you don’t hesitate to knock.

“Come in,” he says, right away. You walk in and hand him the letter in your hand. You don’t say a word to him, you’re trying to make this as clean cut as possible. He takes the letter from you, “what is this?” He asks as he begins to open it up.

“My resignation letter, effective immediately.”

“You’re resigning, what are you planning on doing with your life?”

“I’m going to let Charles take care of me,” you lied to your father. You tell him this, purely out of spite. He always raised you to be able to take care of yourself. His biggest thing was he never wanted you to rely on someone else. So you tell him this, just so he can suffer. You don’t stay to see his reaction, or hear anything more he has to say. You eventually go on to spend the rest of the weekend avoiding him.

You spend Sunday watching the race in the Ferrari garage. The beginning of the race was chaotic to say the least. You knew Charles was making his own calls, when the pit crew is yelling at each other, and no one seems to know what is going on. You see Fred look at you, like you have an idea of what’s going on. You’re too amazed that Fred can see this far back into the Ferrari garage, to even give a reaction to his stare.

As you continue to watch the race, you know Mercedes messed up the strategy. Especially when George had a good qualifying. Then you noticed that Charles couldn’t keep up with the Haas, and you concluded that there must be a problem with his car. When Ferrari does decide to retire him, you see him come out of his car. You can tell by the look on his face that he’s not happy in the slightest. He ignores you as he makes his weigh-in and goes straight to the media pen. You look at Andrea, and you see him shake his head.

You head to Charles' driver's room, knowing he would go straight there after the media pen. It doesn’t take much longer, as you hear Charles’ heavy footsteps. When he enters the room, he doesn’t say anything. He shuts the door, and takes a deep breath. Then he launches the water bottle he was holding across the room, the cap comes loose as it hits the wall, water splattering everywhere.

He takes another deep breath, before saying, “sorry.” Charles runs his hands over his face, he paces the room as he talks, “I know I fucked up the pit-stop, I didn’t give them enough time to grab the tires, before I came in.” He doesn’t look at you as he talks, “that was my fault, I know that, but for fuck’s sake, they left me out there to get overtaken by Hulkenburg in a fucking Haas.” Charles sighs, his shoulders drop, he doesn’t look like himself. He takes a heavy breath, now looking at you and he says, “I’m tired y/n.” Charles sits on the floor, instead of on the bench next to you. He sits by your feet, leaning against your legs, resting his head in your lap. He reaches up to hold your hand, and he repeats, “I’m tired.” His head feels heavy in your lap, you place your hand on his head, playing with the ends of his hair, while your other hand continues to hold his. He looks straight on at the wall.

“Just rest Charles,” you say, you’re not sure how you can comfort him at this moment. “You can rest now.”

“Can I really?” He asks, as he looks up at you. You can see how the season has weighed him down. You slowly nod your head at him, and he closes his eyes. You know that he doesn’t actually fall asleep, but the two of you stay like that for the rest of the race. You stay right there, in that same position, for Charles, for until he’s ready to move.

When the race ends, Charles finally moves, he changes out of his race suit. He heard Pierre got promoted to P3, and insisted on staying to see the podium. You see him put on a smile for his best friend. You watch them make plans to celebrate Pierre’s podium after Monza, during the weekend they have off. You watch Charles pretend he isn’t tired for his friend’s sake. And you feel your love for him grow. You love that he can be vulnerable with you, and you love that he will always be proud of those he loves accomplishments.

As soon as the Dutch grand prix was over, you and Charles hopped on a flight to Milan. The Italian grand prix was a home grand prix for Ferrari, so there were events all week long. Charles’ schedule was packed through and through. You don’t bother him with the wedding stuff, you allow him to focus on Ferrari this week.

Susie comes out to Monza, and she helps you plan for the wedding. Although it’s a small event, she insists on getting you a dress, maybe not your dream dress, but a nice dress nonetheless. Charles is at the Ferrari Ray-ban event, while you and Susie are going through Milan, looking at several dress shops.

You are in one particular shop, trying to pull a few dresses to try on, when you look at Susie and say, “thank you coming Mamma.”

Susie can see as tears line your eyes, she knows that you and your father being at a cross like this hurts you. “Of course sweetheart, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“I wish Daddy felt the same,” you say somberly, “has he said anything to you after that night.”

Susie turns to look back at the dresses, “I-” She pauses for a second, “I haven’t seen your father since that night.”

“What do you mean, you haven’t seen daddy since that night?”

Susie sighs, “I told him that I didn’t want to see him until he apologized to you, so I haven’t see him.”

You can’t help but let out a cackle of a laugh. You slap your hand over your mouth, catching yourself, as Susie looks at you wide-eyed. “I’m sorry,” you say, as you begin to giggle some more, “I’m sorry, but that-” You can’t contain your laughter at this point. You know part of you is laughing to stop yourself from crying, but it feels so good to laugh. And oh do you laugh, “that is too funny, you kicked daddy out of the house?”

“Well,” Susie can’t help but to laugh at your reaction, “I had to sweetheart.” She looks at you fondly, pushing your hair behind your ear, and you stop laughing. “You didn’t deserve that from him,” she says seriously.

You feel a few tears fall, “thank you Mamma.”

Susie shakes her head, “now enough talk of your father, let’s focus on you sweetheart.” She smiles at you, and you nod your head. You try to push all thoughts of your father from your mind, focusing on the task at hand. You and Susie spend the rest of the day shopping.

Being in Italy does good for Charles, you can see it clearly on Saturday. He qualifies in P3, but it makes him happy. The fans make him happy. And even though he didn’t really rest, he isn’t tired. You watch him fondly from the Ferrari garage as he does the post qualifying interviews. After he wraps up on Saturday, the two of you are walking back to his car to head back to the hotel. You can feel the bounce in his step, how light he feels.

“I love you,” you say, as you look at Charles, as the two of you walk. He stops, and looks at you. His eyes full of love, as he displays a fond smile. You take all of him in at this moment. You can’t help yourself from falling deeper in love with him. You’ll never love someone like you love him.

“I love you too,” he says. To anyone else it’s the same ‘I love you’s you said to each other over and over again, but to you, it’s so much more.

It was another Sunday, another Grand Prix, and your second time watching from the Ferrari garage. Although there is nothing technically different from the Mercedes garage, it all felt different. Being at Mercedes it felt like a business, it felt like work. Mercedes was cold, it was calm, it was like a normal nine to five workplace. While being at Ferrari it feels like passion. You feel the desperation to be great like they once were. You understand why Charles remains so loyal. Being there, in the garage it makes you cheer for Ferrari. You see them trying, you feel their need to win, and you want them to be great. It only took two races, but you’re definitely a Ferrari fan.

As you watched the race, you felt yourself constantly holding your breath. Carlos was brilliant defending against Max, Checo and even Charles. He drove to the absolute limit and you were amazed that he held onto the lead for as long as he did. Charles drove the wheels off his car. Going for ridiculous moves, and pushing it to the absolute limit every chance he got. Although you must say, you felt like you were going to have a heart attack watching the last five laps. Yet, when you saw the smile on Charles’ face after the race, you think your almost heart attack was worth it.

Watching them race makes you miss it even more. Watching them push the car to the limit, to the extreme and hold it all together to bring it home, makes you itch to have that feeling under you. When Charles makes his way back into the garage, after all of his requirements, he doesn’t waste any time in finding you. He pulls and holds you close. You let him, sweaty and all. You can’t help but to just smile stupidly at him. Seeing him this happy, makes you happy.

“I know,” he smiles and drops his head bashfully, “I shouldn’t be this happy about P4, but I had fun.”

“I think you should be proud,” you say, making him look at you, “proud that you gave it your all, and you could give it your all.”

Charles doesn’t need to say another word, as he pulls you in for a kiss.

Toto was trying to meet Fred to discuss some things, when he sees yours and Charles' interaction within the Ferrari garage. He witnesses the private moment, away from the crowds, from the cameras, from everyone else. He sees you being deeply in love with Charles. Toto has been watching you all weekend long, and last weekend too. He knows now how much you love Charles. He sees it now. Toto can finally see what everyone else saw.

“Charles,” Fred calls from across the garage, as he beckons for Charles. You let him go, as he catches up with Fred. At this time you notice your father standing there watching you.

“Darling,” Toto calls out to you, as he steps closer.

“Hi,” you say.

Toto doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know how to make this better, how to fix this. He knows he messed this all up. He knows it’s his fault. He just doesn’t know where to start, when really there’s only one place to start. “I’m sorry.”

You’re taken aback by your father’s apology. You never expected him to actually apologize. You thought that eventually you’d feel guilty enough to make up with your father.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” Toto repeats again, “I should have never suggested you were pregnant and that’s why you guys were getting married. I know now that you really love this boy, and that he really loves you.”

You smile, as you feel a few tears line your eyes. This time you are certain they’re happy tears. “Thank you daddy,” you say, as you hug your father. And just like all the times when you were a little girl, your father has made all your problems go away.

“Now,” Toto starts off, and he pulls back from you, “may I please come to your wedding, if it is still this Tuesday?”

“I hope you do come,” you say genuinely.

Just outside of the Ferrari garage, Charles and Fred watch you and Toto. Fred shakes his head at your father for being so stubborn. While Charles just smiles fondly, because now he sees you genuinely happy.

After all the festivities, you remembered the news that you had to tell Charles. Charles had just walked out of the bathroom, freshly out of the shower. Towel in his hand drying his hair. He sits on the edge of the bed, while you come up behind him, wrapping your arms around him. Pressing your cheek against his shoulder blade.

“I have something to tell you,” you say softly to Charles.

“What is ma cherie?” Although you don’t see it, you can hear him smiling.

“I got a call from Zac Brown,” you say. Charles doesn’t need to hear more as he turns around to look at you excitedly. “Apparently, someone has been constantly raving about me to his drivers,” you say knowing exactly who has been raving about you to Lando and Oscar. “And his drivers keep telling him about it.” You laugh as you see how excited Charles is to hear your news. “Zac asked if I wouldn’t mind doing some simulator for Mclaren.”

“Oh this is great news,” Charles says as he pulls you into a kiss.

“I know it’s not really back to racing…”

“But it’s a start.”

“Yeah,” you smile, “It’s a start.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Charles says, as he kisses you again. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him down. Charles falls against you, planting more kisses over your face.

“Thank you Charles.”

Charles pulls away to look at you, “no need to thank me, I love to brag about my fiancée.”

Today was finally the day. Although it wasn’t a big or traditional wedding, there were certain things that your parents and Charles’ mom insisted you guys do. Like how it was bad luck to see each other before the actual wedding. So you were getting ready in your hotel room, while Charles and his brothers all got ready in another room.

You tried to tell your parents that this wasn’t going to be a big event, that you would make it up to them and plan an actual wedding, however that all fell on deaf ears. They fussed and doted on you all morning before going to the courthouse. You look into the vanity mirror and behind you, you can see Susie and Toto. In between fussing over you, they make up. Your father apologizes and he makes amends. Your mamma forgives and she loves continually. The pieces of your family begin to slide back into place.

As you make your way to the courthouse, Toto insists on walking you in. You smile, allowing your father. You wrap your arm around his, in front of you is Susie and Jack walks in first. Just behind the door, there stands Charles. His brothers by his side, all dressed in matching casual suits. His mother stands just off to the side of them. You don’t know why but the sight has tears falling from your eyes, happy tears.

“Ma cherie,” Charles exclaims as he sees you crying. He comes up to you wiping away your tears with a smile, “no more crying already.”

You giggle, you know a lot of tears have been shed these past few weeks. “It’s happy tears, I promise.”

Charles smiles at you. At this moment, Toto unwraps your arm from his, and gives your hand to Charles. He takes your hand, and both you and him look at Toto. You know what this moment signifies, nothing more needs to be said.

One thing about courthouse weddings, they are very efficient. The officiant says what he needs to, you and Charles both say your ‘I do’s, kiss, and they announce you married. “I now present the two of you married, as Mr. and Mrs. Leclerc.” The officiant looks back down at his paper, “or I should say Mr. Leclerc and Mrs. Wolff-Leclerc.” Your family and Charles’ family cheers at the announcement.

While you and Charles took pictures down by the lake, your families watched on. During the picture of you with your parents, did Toto whisper to you, “thank you.”

“For what daddy?” you question, looking up at your father innocently.

“For being proud to be a Wolff.”

“I am your daughter,” you say, as you look back at the camera and smile.

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

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#formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 au #formula 1 angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #ferrari #f1 #f1 charles leclerc #formula one #f1 fic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #Charles Leclerc #scuderia ferrari

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effortandmore · 11 months

Text

the sleeping hours | knj x f!reader

summary: namjoon thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut, angst

au: okay. so this is canon-compliant but also maybe a little bit of a time-travel/multiverse au

warnings/tags: here we go... time travel (kind of), discussions of war, descriptions of famine, talks of anarchy/revolution, descriptions of ww2 germany and nazis, minor character death (not a tannie), implied gun violence, the japanese occupation of korea, sex worker!namjoon, soldier!namjoon, architect!namjoon, idol!namjoon, spy!reader, namjoon has a big dick (ofc), mentions of blood... smut, including: biting, unprotected sex, sex work (this is not the unprotected sex), oral sex (f!receiving), a little bit of cumplay... idk i think that's all but honestly it's not as weird as it sounds i promise

word count: ~12k

a/n: i have wanted to write a songfic for "here i dreamt i was an architect" by the decemberists for... years now. and with my three month vacation from work, i've finally done it! listening to the song will help this make more sense, but essentially there are three verses, and they start like this: "here i dreamt i was a soldier," "here i dreamt i was an architect," & "and in spain i was a spaniard." so, i thought it would be fun to turn that into a story about namjoon and reader across all these different universes. my research for this fic was completely unhinged, and i'm sure i still got some things wrong. if you need translations for any of the dutch, german, or spanish in this, lmk but i think it's pretty readable given context. i hope you like it, but even if you don't, i'm glad i wrote it. thank you so so so much to @ugh-yoongi who assured me this was not too unhinged for the locals—ily and i appreciate you

read on ao3

Namjoon always tells people he doesn’t have dreams, but it’s a lie… Sort of.

If these are dreams, he doesn’t know how billions of people aren’t talking about them like they’re magical experiences, can’t fathom why so many people still don’t believe in multiverse theory.

Lying about it seems infinitely easier than trying to explain it to people. His “dreams,” if that’s what they are, seem so real. He can smell the scents, he can feel the rain and the blood and the orgasm that courses through him when he inevitably, in every single one, finds a version of you. When he wakes up, he can feel the phantom pain, feels like his skin’s just barely dried out from a shower, feels loose and lazy with the pleasure he’d felt while he was asleep.

So, he says he doesn’t dream, because he’s halfway convinced they’re actually happening, and he has absolutely no clue how to explain that to anyone. He thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, infinite versions of him. At first, he thought maybe it was a past-lives sort of thing, but he’s lived parallel paths on different parts of the planet during the same time frames. Or, he’s dreamt that he has, anyway… maybe they’re dreams. Maybe not. What he’s sure of, though, is that you must be out there in the universe he lives in—you must exist outside of this near fugue state where he always finds you. If you’re on the streets of Germany during the war, if you’re in Andalucia dancing the flamenco and catching his eye on every twirl… If you’re fleeing with him to Jeju as more and more Japanese soldiers encircle your small farm town… If you’re all of those places, he knows you must be here, too.

There must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

Every dream is different, but the love he feels for you? It’s always the same, and it goes like this:

Birkenau, Germany — April, 1942

He comes to, and he’s lying in a cot. It’s dark. It would be pitch black, except there’s a crack of light on the floor that’s muted and warm-looking even though the air around him still carries a bit of leftover winter chill. Somehow, he knows there’s a coal shortage this spring because of the war. There’s an everything shortage, really. No coal, no clothes, no food… He can’t think of a time he’d eaten anything but potatoes in days… Namjoon can’t think of anything, really. It’s strange, his memories feel dull, rounded around the edges and blurred out, everything just slightly out of reach. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, maybe it’s hypothermia (he’s a little dramatic), maybe it’s hunger; he doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know, because there’s not much to be done about whatever it is. Knowing the future doesn’t always mean you can change it, he thinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The clothes he is wearing are stiff—they make it hard for him to bend his elbow to reach his own face. There’s a worn crease in his right sleeve from saluting, dirt that will never scrub out on his lapels… his badges and patches do a poor job of covering the wear and tear. Although his brain isn’t fully awake, the thoughts still cloudy, two are clear: he is ready for this war to be over and he is terrified that he is a little in love with the woman lying next to him.

If someone asked him how he got here, to Birkenau, Germany in the middle of the spring in 1942, he couldn’t tell them (a consequence of for some reason not remembering anything concrete prior to this week at the moment—just feelings and sensations and language and you). He feels as if he doesn’t belong at all and at the same time, as if he’s always existed right here.

He teases you awake slowly. Whispers sweet nothings to you in a language he finds himself surprisingly fluent in—it’s not his native one. He doesn’t know if it’s yours, either, but he knows you like hearing his voice. Remembers how you ask him to tell you stories of his home, how you hum softly along with the folk songs he sings to you when he thinks you’re almost asleep in his arms. He knows he likes the noises you make as you start to come to, knows you need a soft re-entry into wakefulness or else you’re a little off for the rest of the day.

You’d both fallen asleep after what some people would call lunch, although the persistent pit in Namjoon’s stomach would argue that. It’s hard to have energy when you can’t really eat, so the two of you do your best to conserve it.

Tonight, though, tonight he wants to be special. The carnival is in Birkenau this week, maybe longer, but he won’t know. He’ll leave soon, onto the next base, the next battle. It’s a miracle he’s able to go tonight, being a foreign soldier here is dangerous and the demands on him are high. He wears his uniform while he sleeps to stay warm, but doesn’t dare wear it in this town outside of this private and safe space that you’ve carved out for him. It’s been going on for a while, this sneaking away to be with you. There’s another soldier, Seokjin, on his base, who always covers for him. Namjoon doesn’t know how, it’s one of the fuzzy things he can’t figure out. Regardless, he’s here with you now and he knows he’s always grateful to his fellow soldier. And here, he’s someone different. He’s not Namjoon the soldier, he’s Namjoon who loves you, who will give up almost anything to be with you.

Except the one thing you ask him to.

He may be grateful to escape for a while, but he is duty-bound—loyal to his country, to the cause. He is, above everything, a soldier, and that cannot change. The Remington on the cheap bedside table is his best friend, and a reminder that this between you is dangerous, that it has a time limit.

And you? You have to leave, too. He knows it, you know it. It’s not safe for you here, probably just as dangerous as it is for him.

You don’t wear a uniform, you don’t carry a gun (often), but you move under the cover of the night and you deal in secrets you’re not supposed to know. The work you do is just as important as his—sometimes he thinks it’s probably even moreso. He admires you, adores you, thinks you’re brave and beautiful and brilliant. Maybe he thinks some of those things because of how dangerous you are, because of the risks you’re willing to take. Being with him, hiding him here with you is a big one.

Beside him, you stir. Your voice is a melody, always lilting, tumbling from one word to the next. “Love you, Namjoon. What time is it, baby?” Later, he won’t know why he never thinks it’s strange that you weave words across several languages. Maybe that’s just how all spies are; and that’s what you are, at the core of it, isn’t it?

“Is it time?” you ask into the darkness.

“Yes. I need to change and then we can go.”

“Do you think we’ll find something to eat there?”

Namjoon smiles even though you can’t see him in the dark. “We will. Sausages and sauerkraut, I’m sure.” He waits for you to make the gagging sound he knows you’re about to.

You do. “I hate German food,” you complain. “Can’t wait to get out of here once and for all.”

“They’ll have schnitzel,” he says, trying to make you laugh.

“Germans and their pork,” you say dismissively, “swine for swine.”

“They’re not all bad.” He means it, but it sounds a little weak when he says it. It’s hard to see the forest for the trees, sometimes. Doesn’t help that the both of you see the worst of people… that the both of you sometimes are the worst of people.

“Hmm…” you hum, he knows you agree with him. “I know, I'm sorry. I’m just tired. And don’t want to leave you.”

“I know.”

“You could come with me. Run away with me, Namjoonie.”

When you say it, he almost believes it could work. Knows it wouldn’t, knows you’d both end up dead or worse, knows he could never go home, never see his mother again. Knows it would break his heart to bear witness to the secrets you have to keep, to the lives you take.

He never responds, just lumbers off of the cot and strips his uniform off, trades it for the street clothes you keep here for him. They’re ill-fitting, cheap and scratchy. He loves them because they smell like you, smell like the soap you carry with you from France—lavender from Provence—the one luxury you allow yourself.

The two of you walk hand in hand through back alleys and quaint cobblestoned neighborhoods, making your way to the carnival. He hears the barkers getting louder the closer you get, promising fun and winnings and love and only happy fortunes told. In reality, there are no happy fortunes here, and you both know that. But Namjoon’s happy to give into the fantasy of it all, just for tonight. Just to see you smile. He’d do anything to see you smile. Except…

“Win me a prize,” you coo sweetly. It’s futile, since you never take anything with you, and later tonight (or very early in the morning), you will leave Birkenau for good—a mission needs completing, and dead or alive, you won’t be back here again.

“Whatever you want, jagiya.”

You bounce on your heels in excitement and drag him to a booth, one offering cheap stuffed birds. There are swans, peacocks, parrots, ducks… He doesn’t know what you’re drawn by, but he’ll knock over as many milk jugs as he has to get you what you want.

“My strong soldier,” you whisper in his ear after he knocks the top three over. It makes him grin, makes him show you his dimples. He loves you so much, loves how you tease and bait him with your words—then with your body in the privacy of your hideaway. Loves your confidence and your unwavering belief. Loves your conviction. “You can do it, Namjoon.”

He does.

The final three jugs topple off the ledge. With you by his side, he thinks he can do anything. He knows he can.

“Wähle eins,” the barker shouts at him, Dutch accent thick in his German.

“De pauw,” you answer immediately in his native tongue, pointing to the top shelf.

The man pulls one of the blue birds down and hands it to you with a smile. You can charm anyone, Namjoon thinks. A skill you’ve honed doing the work you do, he supposes. “Voor de dame,” the huckster says with a bow and a flourish of his hand.

You giggle as you take it. Namjoon’s enamored with you.

As the two of you wander (you clutching the peacock tightly under your arm), he watches as you make friends with a fortune teller and charm free pieces of chicken schnitzel from a mustached French man. Your greatest feat is sneaking the two of you onto the ferris wheel. Namjoon’s in awe of how you move—though sleight of hand is usually what he catches you at, you’re not as skilled a pickpocket as you are a liar—how you can weave in and out of a crowd unnoticed, how you can blend in with any surrounding, any language, any group… It’s a skill he wishes he possessed, too. He’s too large, a little lumbering, a little awkward in his long limbs made to feel longer as he loses muscle to months of being malnourished. But somehow, you make him nimble, you make him invisible to everyone but you. He wants to chase that feeling forever, wants to bottle it up and uncork it again when you’re gone, when he’s so desperate with the want of you that he’s got no other solace.

Bellies unusually full, legs tired, and peacock secured, he leads you back to your basement apartment. He pulls you along to follow a different path to return than the one you took there—a trick he’s learned from you. Don’t give people the opportunity to see your face twice.

It’s still dark, and you have no electricity, no oil for your lamps, so Namjoon makes love to you by memory.

He feels so foggy, but this he knows how to do, like he’s done it a million times and will do it a million more until you and he become different versions of the same thing. Maybe you already are.

Slowly, using time you don’t have, he undresses you. He’s careful with the buttons of your blouse after he slides your cardigan off of your shoulders. Takes time to press his nose into the skin of your neck once it’s exposed, to try and remember the way that you smell, that lavender soap and the iron of the hard bathwater and the danger that rolls off of you in waves.

When he lets his arms drop from your body, you walk backward toward the cot, unlacing your skirt as you go. Namjoon can’t see you well, but he hears the sounds of the cotton strings being pulled through the gussets, the soft swoosh of it hitting the floor when you shimmy out of it.

“Come here, Namjoonie,” you whisper. He would, even if you didn’t ask. Wouldn’t be able to help himself. Always pulled to you like a magnet.

“Yes, jagiya,” he breathes, now trembling fingers removing his own clothes as he moves. When he finally can feel your skin under his hand, he’s fully undressed, thinks you are, too. Lets his fingertips explore your limbs just to confirm.

You straddle him on the cot, press your thumbs into the meat of his thighs and tell him he’s brave, powerful, that you’re so lucky he’s chosen you. But he knows it wasn’t a choice. Can’t explain it, but he’s always existed for you, would always find you. Couldn’t choose anyone else if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

The way you kiss him feels like forever, but he knows better. Chases something deeper and messier as his heart rate rises. Knows you don’t have time to draw it out, knows he won’t be able to be as gentle with you as you deserve. No one’s ever gentle with you, is what you always tell him. People who know you know how dangerous you are and they treat you accordingly. Except Namjoon. Namjoon who reveres you and knows you and he are cut from the same cloth—the one where you need to fight for what’s right at any cost. It doesn’t make you dangerous to people who don’t deserve the battle scars you dole out, he thinks. It makes you a hero. To him, you are a lionheart.

Your palms press into his chest above his own heart and you sink onto his length. Every time you’ve been together seems to bleed together for him, but he knows you know exactly how to move to bring him bliss, knows you feel like the god who seems to have abandoned you made the two of you for one another.

It’s a risk, but he reaches up to pull the thick curtain back just a few millimeters. Wants the sliver of light to illuminate the tendons in your neck with your head thrown back as you ride him. Wants to see the peaks of your nipples, the smooth skin over your ribcage, the mole you have right on the plateau of your collarbone. Wants to let his eyes roll back in his skull, that’s how good you feel, but can’t let himself pull his attention from your body.

“Come here,” he says quietly, wraps his spindly arms around you and pulls you down so your chest is flush with his. “Be with me,” he almost begs, “look at me, love.”

Your hands cup his face, and his guide your hips on top of his.

“I want to feel like this forever,” he thinks he hears you say, and Namjoon can see a tear dripping down your cheek before you lean in to press your lips to his. He licks at your mouth, gets you to open for him, plays melodies along your tongue with his.

He thinks they’re love songs.

He hopes you know.

You’re all tight heat around him, and your nipples brush his chest in time with his tongue brushing yours. Your lavender scent is a balm, your tears drip onto his cheeks from above, and your breaths come shallow and labored as he fucks into you.

“I think I’ll love you forever,” he says.

“Mijn schat...” You whisper, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone and smiling the sad kind of smile. Quietly, you tell him that you want to feel him, beg him to move.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t stop. Thrusts into you, lets the sound of his skin against yours get louder and filthier. He knows he should stop. Can’t make himself. “Are you sure?” he asks, but it’s probably too late.

You’re nodding anyway, letting out a sweet little moan when his fingers find your clit and he comes, deep inside of you. Feels like a claim he shouldn’t be making. Gets one back from you just moments later when you squeeze around his softening cock, shuddering with your release above him.

Against his chest, you breathe, and he waits for the moment when your inhales align with his. It’s going to be the last time you share the same air, he thinks.

Your work tonight will be messy. He doesn’t ask what that means, thinks he already knows. Eyes the Remington in his periphery and you give him a tight-lipped confirmation. Yes, you have things you have to do. Yes, they’re worth sacrificing your life if you have to.

Namjoon spends a lot of time wondering about the balance between sacrifice and selfishness.

Never seems to decide where he sits on the spectrum.

Lithe like you are, he should barely feel it when you climb off of him, but it’s a crushing weight. Feels like his heart might be melting, like his lungs can’t expand anymore.

Once you’re dressed—in clothes he’s never seen before, those usually given to people of a different gender, maybe a different time—he watches you toss your skirt into the hearth first, then the clothes you’ve been lending him for your trysts. He watches you find the smallest vial of kerosene and some tinder you’d been collecting and add those, too. It’s as if he can see you in your full vibrancy now: focused on the mission, focused on destroying the you that has existed in this space, the him that has loved you.

The fire burns more brightly than he could have imagined after all the time you’ve spent together in the dark. It allows him to see the hope in your eyes when you lean down to kiss him one last time. Allows him to see the tears you no longer let fall when you hand him the peacock, press it close to him so he can hold it like a child.

“Why the peacock?” he asks when you turn to leave. It’s the only question he can think of that he suspects you’ll give him an answer to.

“Immortality, Joonie. You know, the Greeks thought the flesh of the peacock would never decay? Perfect and enduring even in death.”

“Are you the peacock or am I?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” you say as you heave open the door.

He shudders with the cold gust and wishes he knew what to say. Wishes he could choose you over his gun. Wishes you would choose him over yours.

“Until next time, Joonbug,” you say against the wind.

You pull the door hard behind you, and when it punches shut, Namjoon is startled out of his dream.

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“You gotta stop falling asleep in here, hyung.” Jeongguk’s voice is almost drowned out by Seokjin’s laugh.

“I covered for you at the last meeting, told them you were chasing down an idea… don’t interrupt a genius… creative flow… you know.”

Namjoon rubs his eyes and sits up. Of course he’s not in Germany during World War two. Of course he’s in his studio in Gangnam, and apparently he’s slept through a meeting.

He hates these dreams because he feels so thrown off when he wakes up. The pain of losing you always sticks with him for a while afterwards, makes his whole world tilt about one degree. Not enough to change anyone but him, but more than enough to notice.

He loves the dreams because he gets to be with you—tries not to let that thought be concerning.

“What’s that smell?” he asks, still half asleep.

“What smell?”

“Mmm… you know, the lavender smell.”

“Hyung, are you having a stroke?”

“I think people who have strokes smell toast,” Jin says.

“Nevermind,” Namjoon sighs as he gets off the couch. “Thanks for covering for me, hyung.”

“You owe me now.”

“Sure, yeah. Of course.” Agreeing is always easier than arguing with Jin.

Namjoon’s awake enough now to notice the looks that Jeongguk and Seokjin are passing between each other. He knows they know something’s going on with him, sees how they adjust the ways they move around him after these dreams, when he’s out of sorts and halfway out of commission for a half a day or so. It’s not just them, either. Jimin has tried to talk to him about it, but didn’t get very far. Hoseok knows Namjoon’s had a few bad dreams, but that’s the extent of it.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell them, it’s more that he doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding like he’s completely batshit. Doesn’t know how to tell them that he knows you’re real, that he believes in you the same way he believes in the existence of his sister or his best friend, Heeyoung. It’s part of the problem, really. Because every time he has one of these dreams, he finds himself actually looking for you. In real life. In Seoul. In every city they have a show in. Thought he saw you once in Switzerland, but was too afraid to get close enough to know for sure… Still isn’t sure if he regrets that or not.

It really messes with him when he’s in a city that he’s dreamed you in. Once, in Sevilla, he was too fucked up about it to even leave the hotel room. Tried to explain to one of the managers that something bad had happened last time he was there, but it got complicated when Namjoon couldn’t explain when exactly that was.

“What’s on your mind, Namjoonie?” Seokjin’s tone is gentler now, cautious.

“Spain.”

Another look of concern between Jeongguk and their hyung.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jeongguk asks softly. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things—you taught me that.”

He can’t help but smile at that. Caught in his own words. And he’s so tired of this, so tired of feeling like no one will understand… he’s tempted. To be honest, he could probably talk about it with Taehyung. Maybe that’s what he should do, he thinks. Tae would listen, wouldn’t judge him. But maybe Jeongguk and Seokjin wouldn’t either. Namjoon has assuredly done more questionable things than possibly believe in a ghost. Or whatever you are.

He sits back down on the couch. “I’ve been having these weird dreams,” he says.

“About Spain?” Jeongguk and Seokjin find seats to settle into, too.

“About a girl, mostly.”

“Want to tell us about her? Is she Spanish? Is she someone you know?”

“I’m not sure,” Namjoon admits. “She’s whoever I want her to be, I think.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows almost lift off his face. “Okay, Namjoonie. Why don’t you tell us about these dreams?”

Namjoon nods. “Well, the one I just woke up from, we were in Germany.”

“All of us?” Jeongguk asks.

“No, I don’t think so. Just her and me. I think hyung maybe, too, but I never saw him in the dream.” He gestures to Seokjin.

“But you have these dreams often?”

“Yeah.”

“And one of them was in Spain?”

Namjoon’s not sure what they’ll think of him once he tells them, but maybe he doesn’t have to give everything away, he decides. Maybe he can just tell him about one of the dreams and see what they think.

“Yeah, I can tell you about it if you want.”

Jeongguk nods eagerly and Jin does, too. He supposes he can’t back out now.

“Alright… well, here’s what I remember…”

Andalucia, Spain — Summer, 1913

The heat is relentless.

Namjoon sweats so much under normal conditions—this is borderline torture. If it were up to him, he’d be back in Sevilla with you, content in the small pension you both scrape together rent for every week. It’s shaded by the orange trees surrounding it, feels safe and private and cool, and most importantly, it’s yours.

Ronda is less forgiving. Maybe because he doesn’t know it as well, isn’t sure who might be someone to know and who might just be pretending. He’s done this for long enough that he thinks he has a pretty good sense for it, but he’s still sucked into having his time wasted on occasion. Wouldn’t mind it so much except it’s time spent away from you.

Blas Infante has been yelling on the steps for a while. His throat should be raw, but the adrenaline of agitating the people of Andalucia keeps him fresh, voice ringing clearly through the square. Namjoon has been watching the wealthiest in the crowd drift away, paying attention to where they’re going, making sure he’s got a line on which bars and cafes will be the best to move on to. The time is about right, he thinks. They’ll be a few drinks in and soon the wider crowd will disperse. Wants to make sure he can find a seat at the bar next to someone rich, attractive if possible. If they’re a little desperate that’s even better.

They probably all will be given the way the political winds are shifting in Andalucia.

As he turns from the crowd, he hears Padre de la Patria Andaluza shout, “the moment has come for the privileged to die!” The remaining crowd roars like the lions on their flags, angry and proud. He agrees with them—as long as he gets his money first.

When he slides onto the barstool, he makes sure to order his own drink first. Chilled palo cortado says he’s from around here but maybe a little down on his luck, otherwise, he’d be drinking Fundador.

It’s strange, he knows he grew up poor, but he can’t remember any of the details. It’s as if his whole life before knowing you is completely out of focus. He feels the resentment, though, the frustration of knowing there’s more for the taking if you have the right family, the right education, the right skin color.

But he’s older now and while it’s there, it’s in the background. Because he knows how to get his share, knows now that it’s also for the taking if you have a nice smile, a silver tongue, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed—including changing your definition of success. Including sacrificing the things you believe in the most.

Good thing the only thing Namjoon believes in anymore is you, and you’re willing to stick by his side no matter what.

She’s not anywhere near as attractive to him as you are. She’s round in all the places he likes—soft hips, soft stomach, thick ass, but there’s something with her face. Too drawn, a little gaunt in a way that doesn’t suit her. It’s age maybe, she’s got to be thirty years older than him.

Age is another one of those tricky things that feels a little elusive to him.

He thinks he’s around nineteen and she’s probably fifty. Doesn’t care, really, as long as she’s got pesetas.

She does. A lot of them.

He fucks her slow in a room above the bar and calls her “Princesa” because she asks him to. Because she’ll pay him more if he does, because he knows how women like her work. It’s been quiet between them since he took her upstairs. They don’t talk about her husband, her children… They don’t talk about you.

She shifts a little below him and it almost hurts. He’s not used to sex so dry like this—makes it hard to imagine it’s you beneath him. Digs his thumbs into the flesh at her hips and tries to picture you instead, but her noises aren’t as sweet as yours, her skin isn’t as supple.

At least, he thinks as he thrusts over and over to her guttural cries, he’s doing this for you. For the future the two of you have dreamed of since you were basically kids and he would throw stones at your window after dark to sneak a piece of your attention. He’s fairly certain you almost have enough saved up to escape, to get away from your father and brother who have never once approved of Namjoon. In their eyes, it’s bad enough he’s a foreigner, but then he has the audacity to be poor in addition.

He wants to give you a good life. There’s still a part of him that thinks someday he can give you an honest one, as well. There’s a part of him that hopes he’s not only his mistakes like your father thinks, that he’s capable of so much more than the world has allowed him to give so far. He thinks you see it, too. He’s pretty sure that’s why you stay.

As the work drags on, he realizes he’s made a critical mistake—he didn’t ask her how much she’d had to drink, didn’t think to slip the bartender a note to water it down a bit. Feels like she’s never going to come, and he can’t leave a job undone. God, he just wants to get home to you. Wants to take a lavender-laced bath with you and cleanse himself of this sin and the thousand others he’s committed before it. Wants to start on new ones with you.

The thought of you: in your orange grove, smelling of sun-dried linen and laughing while he chases you… it gives him the will to keep going.

Ironic that his love for you is the reason his cock is buried in someone else.

Eventually, she comes, and he lies and says he does, too. Makes quick work of ridding himself of the condom with his back to her. This isn’t the first time he’s lied. Would he sound like too much of a romantic if he said he’s only ever had an orgasm with you?

For tonight, his patron seems satisfied, romanticism or not. She asks to see him again the following week and he tells her all about how he’d love to, but he just doesn’t have the money, see? So, if she wants to see him, it wouldn’t be possible unless…

She’s more generous than he’s expected. What she gives him to come back to Ronda will pay for a month of your pension. He shoves it in his pockets and tells her he’s going to get them another bottle of sherry from the bar.

When he slinks out into the finally cool night air, all he feels is relief. He’s going to make it in time to hop the late train back to Sevilla, back to you.

He looks up and down the cobblestone street, taking a second to remember which direction he came from. Notices a man watching him, seems like it should matter, but all that matters is getting back to you.

Namjoon counts his earnings under the moonlight as the train rumbles through the countryside. It’s enough. He’ll need to count what’s at your home to be absolutely sure, but he thinks it’s enough to get you out of there. You dream of Valencia—of a different kind of orange grove, of thick and salty sea air, of vacations in Madrid or Barcelona, strolling the markets and church grounds.

He looks out the window at the moon and thinks of how bright your face will be when he tells you the good news. He looks at the stars and hopes they will guide you both faithfully to a better life.

The train pulls into the station at Sevilla several hours later. Namjoon feels like the time just slipped away, doesn’t quite know how he passed it. Maybe the wine was stronger than he’d first thought…

It’s quiet in Sevilla at this time of night, but he doesn’t pay too much attention to the bustle in front of him, the same man from outside the bar in Ronda rushing up the road ahead of him. Must be in a hurry to get somewhere—Namjoon can relate, he’s in a hurry to get home to you. His bag is weighed down from the coin he’s bringing home, but oddly enough, he feels lighter than ever knowing he may never have to give himself to someone that isn’t you again.

It’s freedom.

After years of conning and scraping and scratching to climb out of the poverty he’s known, he finally has hope for something better. Because of you, because you gave him something to believe in and to fight for.

Tomorrow, he’ll take you to the gardens at the Alcazar, and amongst the flowers and the peacocks you love, he’ll give you the news—tell you it’s finally time. Maybe you can even take the train to the sea that night.

He loves you so much, owes you everything because he gets all that he needs from your company and your faith in him.

As he draws nearer to you, dirt road narrowing as he approaches the pension, he hears raised voices. Yours and someone else’s. Maybe more. It’s all he needs to take off running, can’t fathom why you’d need to be fighting with anyone in the orchard after midnight.

“Namjoon!” you exclaim when you see him sprinting up the road.

He can hear the fear in your voice, and it only makes him come to you faster. “What is it? What’s going on?” he calls. And then he sees them: your father and your brother, gesturing wildly and yelling.

“Mija, you know what he’s doing in Ronda? How disgusting he is? How he’s making a fool out of you, making fools out of our family?”

You’re calmer than they deserve, standing your ground with your arms crossed over your chest, full skirts whipping around you in the breeze. You look brave, intimidating, and more beautiful than ever.

Namjoon starts to understand, realizes he should have known something wasn’t right, that the man in two places would be a problem. Hadn’t let himself believe your father would have had him followed, but why wouldn’t he?

“You know nothing,” you snap at your father. “Mind your own business, old man. I’m not your family anymore. He’s my family now.”

Namjoon joins you in front of the pension, stands by your side, wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple. “I think you should leave,” he says to the men facing you.

Your father spits in his direction, your brother makes rude gestures with both hands. They call him a whore, call him disgusting, claim he’s giving you diseases and ruining you for the god they say you need to meet one day.

(They still believe, Namjoon never has, and you think you already know god—that he lives in the way the birds call a bright greeting to the morning sun and the flowers bend to offer the bees what they both need to live.)

“Leave,” you say firmly. “We’re leaving for Valencia soon—you’ll never have to see us again. I’ll change my name, no one will know the disgrace you think we’ve brought to the family. Just let us be.”

And if Namjoon thought the crowd in Ronda was loud, he hadn’t yet had the screams of your father to compare it to. His face is a violent red, his whole body shakes with his anger, and Namjoon feels scared for the first time in a long time. The arm he has around your waist tightens as your brother pulls a revolver from the back of his trousers.

You are ever courageous—Namjoon can hear your racing heart, but you betray nothing, staring down your brother with iron conviction and pressing in tightly to the man at your side.

“No one will take you from us!” your father yells.

The barrel is pointed straight at the two of you. Namjoon can see your brother’s finger shaking and it’s as if he knows what’s about to happen. He can’t let it, would sacrifice anything for you, already has given up his body and his soul to you in some ways. He’s prepared to do it again. Would never make a choice that wasn’t to protect you. Loves you like you’re oxygen, like he needs you to survive.

He’s nothing without you, but you can be something without him. So, he moves.

And as Namjoon twists to pull you behind him, a single shot rings out through the Andalucian night, louder than a firecracker.

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“And then what?” Jeongguk asks, leaning so far in he looks like he’ll topple at any second.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon shrugs, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “That’s when I woke up. I had the window open and I think there was a car accident or one backfiring or something. Startled me awake.”

“That’s so romantic,” Jeongguk sighs. “Don’t you think, hyung?”

Seokjin nods along. “How often do you dream about her?”

“Every few weeks… for a couple of years now.”

“Shit.”

Namjoon explains how he can’t stop thinking about you for days after the dreams, how you always look different in them but he knows it’s you every time. There’s something in the way you speak to him, in the way you know his mind, in the way you move across each time and space so self-assured and brave and admirable. And then the words just keep coming. He tells them about how he always dreams of you existing at night—never in the morning. Never had a dream where the two of you have made it through the night and woken up together in love with no tragedy befalling you. He almost cries when he tells them how badly he wants to find you, how he knows you must be real, a person he’s just yet to meet… Says he’s not sure he believes in something like soulmates, but that sometimes his chest actually aches with the need to know you, to be with you. Tells them that you’re never perfect in any of his dreams, but you’re perfect for him: a partner in crime, a lover, an intellectual rival, a battleground ally, just always by his side making him sharper and better and happier. Tells them that all he wants is the chance to wake up next to you just once, sunlight and joy and no crisis clapping him awake. Tells them how lonely he is in the mornings.

When he finally trails off, out of ways to explain that each time he dreams of you, the desire to find you seems that much more urgent, Seokjin and Jeongguk are speechless. Jin looks like the fish he loves, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Jeongguk is a little teary-eyed and his hand is rubbing careful circles between Namjoon’s shoulder blades.

“You have to find her, hyung,” Jeongguk says softly.

“I know.”

“We’ll help you find her, I promise.”

Namjoon thinks the commitment from Jeongguk is sweet, but doesn’t know how they could possibly help. You look different in every dream, a different voice, name, language… It’s an impossible task made even more challenging by the fact that you probably don’t actually exist. Just a figment of his imagination his brain has made to give him some stress relief, some friendship. He says as much, and he can tell Seokjin agrees with him, but Jeongguk is insistent. At the very least, it’s a little comforting that he’s told them what he feels like is probably his weirdest, deepest secret, and they didn’t laugh at him, didn’t march him upstairs to the company therapist.

After that day, Namjoon feels a little bit better about everything. Better enough that he doesn’t dream about you for a few weeks, starts to forget to look for you in the face of every person he passes. The best part is that he’s really able to focus on their upcoming tour, and by the time he boards the plane to another continent with the rest of the members, he wonders if he’ll ever dream about you again.

It’s been long enough that he misses you a little bit, as ridiculous as it sounds. He doesn’t mention that part to Jeongguk or Seokjin.

They touch down in a new city, and Namjoon rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the flight—no dreams. It’s early, but they don’t get the day to themselves. They’ll eat a snack in the cars on the way to the venue, run a short rehearsal for blocking and then Namjoon will do some foreign-language interviews from the hotel. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls his mask up, trying to mentally prepare himself a little bit for the remainder of the day. And then he smells it, as he steps into the airport, a gentle lavender scent that’s so familiar he thinks he might be imagining it.

Namjoon stops in his tracks right outside the gate and starts looking. It’s practically instinctual at this point, head on a swivel trying to spot you. It’s so ridiculous and he knows it. But there’s just something… it’s like he knows you’re here.

Unfortunately, it’s a terrible place to be having a crisis, and he’s literally knocked out of his search when another passenger on their phone runs right into the back of him.

“Fuck, sorry,” you say, only glancing up from your phone for a second.

Namjoon doesn’t look at you, just flushes with embarrassment as if anyone could possibly know what he’s thinking. Keeps his head down, says, “no problem,” and tells himself that the weird pit in his stomach is nothing and the smell he’s so drawn to is in his head. The you of his dreams isn’t possibly in this airport in a city on the other side of the world.

He tries to shake it off all afternoon, all evening, but doesn’t think he’s too successful. Thinks he probably fucked up a couple of the interviews, hopes one of his managers would have stopped him if he was too off the mark, though. It’s probably fine.

That night, for the first time in weeks, he dreams of you.

Gyeongsangnam-do, South Korea — Summer, 1931

In these most uncertain of times, Namjoon is sure of two things: you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, and he is so much in love with you that he feels shaky with it.

It’s quiet in your father’s farmhouse save for your soft moans. With a rare stroke of luck, your mother and father have left to negotiate with the angry man who owns their land now, and Namjoon has taken advantage of sneaking away from Pukyong’s campus to be with you. He’d come to review plans for a new barn with your father, but finding him gone was a blessing.

You and Namjoon haven’t been able to find much time alone since he left for Busan. He comes back when he can, which isn’t often, and you sneak out to the edge of the fields to meet him under the moonlight. He’s gotten used to fucking you quietly and in a hurry, helping you brush grass and twigs out of inappropriate places when you’re done. This though, this is a luxury, to be with you in your own bed, in the daylight. To be as loud as you both want—Namjoon could write a dissertation on how nice you sound when he fucks you.

You’re slick and tight, and you’re the only home Namjoon’s ever really known. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and watches as you arch your back underneath him, whine a little, tell him not to leave marks where your parents might see.

Because you’re young and reckless and you’ve both only ever loved each other, he knows he’s got to pull out soon, but it’s hard to remember in the heat of the moment.

You call him “Namjoonah,” you tell him how good he feels inside you, breathy and sweet, running your fingers through his hair to brush it off of his forehead. It’s gentle, the way you touch him, like he’s something worth taking care of. You say all the nicest things to him when he fucks you—you tell him he’s strong and handsome and so big, you always emphasize, widening your eyes and palming his cock through his trousers. It’s probably giving him a little bit of an ego, he thinks, but he likes it anyway. Being the focus of your attention is so flattering. He always wants your eyes on him, your hands on him, your thoughts about him. You make him greedy and selfless at the same time—he wants everything you’re willing to give him and he wants to give you even more in return. Wishes this fucking war were over so he wouldn’t have to be on edge all the time. Knows he’s lucky not to have been conscripted to the Imperial Army yet, but that it’s probably a matter of time.

It’s a blessing, being smart, which people have told Namjoon that he is since he can remember. At least they’ve spared him so far because he’s of more use to them at Pukyong, learning how to be the best architect he can be, than he would be as a soldier. Someday, his own father says, he will build castles for a Korean leader, walls to keep the Japanese soldiers out. Those conversations are had in secret, in whispers and gestures. It’s dangerous to be someone like his father, to think there’s a chance for Korean independence, to fight for it in secret… But it’s dangerous to be fucking you into your mattress when your parents could come home any moment, too, and that doesn’t stop Namjoon.

Like father, like son, as they say.

He’s sure it’s not a secret that he’s your boyfriend. Your parents know him, invite him for meals, they like him. They think he’s a sweet, smart, college boy who’s going to give their daughter a better life than they can someday, and they’re not wrong.

Though, he’s also sure they’d like him a lot less if they knew he was a sweet, smart, college boy who loves your body, loves the way your soft thighs feel around his head when he licks at your core, loves the way he can throw your calves over his shoulders and hold you in place as he thrusts home. Loves the small violet bruises he bites into your skin, hidden away under your long skirts and long linen sleeves. Loves how you let him pull out and cover those bruises with his cum, and then especially loves when you run a finger through it and lick it off—when you tell him he tastes good and you thank him for sharing with you.

They’d think he’s ruined you, and he’d cop to it even though it is absolutely the other way around.

You come with a sweet, loud moan. Your throat sounds a little raw when you say his name again, which only turns him on more. With a few strokes, he follows you, leaving his release across your stomach and breasts and thinking that if all art looked like you do in this moment, he’d change his major.

Lazily, he lies next to you and pulls you close. You should clean up, you should get dressed, Namjoon should be sitting at the kitchen table studying his drawings with his shoulders back and glasses smart across his nose when your father gets home. You don’t want him to leave though, asking him to stay just a little longer, turning your head to kiss him softly.

When he wakes up, it’s dark, and he panics. You’re pliant in his arms, still sleeping, and your parents should be home—what if they’ve seen you? What if they know that Namjoon is taking something sweet from you at every opportunity, paying you back with pieces of his heart?

Maybe it’s time he faces this like an adult, he decides. He’s going to marry you someday anyway, it’s a foregone conclusion. They may not like that you’ve been breaking so many of their rules in secret, but someday you will be his wife, and he will care for all of your family as his own, and hopefully that buys him a little leniency with your father. He kisses your temple and gets out of bed as quietly as he can, pulls his clothes back on, and pads out of your room to meet his fate.

He spots them immediately, and as soon as he has the thought that he’s going to be sick, he heaves all over your kitchen floor. It’s going to wake you up, but he needs to spare you from the scene. Somehow, he gets their bodies covered before you get up. It’s the best he can do but it’s not enough—the scream you let out is haunting, half shock and half anguish. When you crumple to your knees, he holds you, lets you sob and scream into his chest and rocks you steadily. He doesn’t know what else to do.

After that day, he files for a leave from school and essentially moves in with you. You use your anger to fuel you, fighting for independence in secret alongside the bravest Koreans Namjoon knows. Your landlord comes around and neither you nor Namjoon even try to hide your rage and disgust. You spit at his feet and he warns you to be polite unless you want to end up like your parents. Namjoon tries to convince you that the old man isn’t even worth your anger, that you’re better off serving your parents’ memory alive than alongside them in a grave.

As the war picks up, so does conscription. Namjoon thinks he’ll be called any day, but the idea of fighting in the Imperial Army makes him ill. So instead, he makes a plan.

It’s only a matter of months before you’re on the ferry to join him on Jeju. He’s been there, building and fortifying. Perhaps it’s cowardly to cut and run, but he doesn’t care. It’s the only way he can be with you, the only way he can keep you safe. With the farm equipment sold off and a bit of his family’s money, he’s made you a home there, and it’s finally ready for you.

There’s a tearful reunion on the dock, and it’s followed by a trip to the courthouse to get married. It all happens in a daze, the memories hazy and dim, but the way he felt as he kissed you and made you his wife burns in him bright, bright, bright.

He makes love to you on the floor of the new cottage that night, slow and sweet. Tries to make you understand how much he’s missed you, how much he loves you. Thinks he succeeds when you tell him you love him as you come, thinks he’s never seen or heard something more beautiful in his whole life.

Finally, he leads you up the narrow staircase to the room he’s built for you. It’s got a big bed, but not too big, because you always want to be close to him when you sleep. Its wooden floors are made warmer with a rug his mother made for you, a wedding gift. The balcony is small, but he designed it himself, based on a wish you’d told him about, that you’ve always dreamed of a place to read in the mornings. It’s shaded from the eastern sun with a balustrade you can kick your feet up onto. There are crude drawings of your favorite animals carved into the balusters, alternating lions and peacocks. Protection and immortality, built into the home he’s made for the two of you. When you see it, you look like maybe you finally understand the way he cares for you, the way he will do anything he can for as long as he lives to keep you happy and safe.

You let yourself out there, and light up the night with your happiness. Namjoon watches you from the bed. He’s been on the balcony, and it’s small. He’s not technically the architect he always thought he would be since he’s left school for good, but he tried his best with this design, and then tried even more when he built it for you.

Maybe he should have seen it coming, maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident. The funny thing about light and sound is that he sees it happen just barely before he hears it. Sees you stumble a little to your right, sees the balcony wobble and thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. Then he hears the deafening crack and it’s perfectly timed with his stomach sinking and you disappearing from his view, the balustrade going with you.

New York City — Present Day

Namjoon wakes up in a cold sweat, the alarm blaring next to him. He hates this feeling—the one immediately after the dreams. At least he has most of the day off. The company always gives them time for the jetlag, supposed to be for sleeping, but he’ll use it to shake himself out of this fog that settles in after the dreams. Maybe the Met this time; he saw the Whitney last time he was here and he sort of wants to get out of Chelsea, anyway—thinks the walk might help him clear his head.

He sees you when he’s standing in front of a moon jar, wondering to himself what right these people have to even store this piece and then charge people to see it. Wonders if he could get it back to Korea somehow where it belongs, mutters something under his breath about colonialism and notices you smile at that out of the corner of his eye.

It’s exactly like he’d always thought it would be to see you: immediately he knows. There’s no question. You look different again, not quite like you have in any of his dreams, but you smell the same and you’re wearing a blue and green dress, tight around your figure and flouncy at the hem that reminds him so specifically of a peacock he wants to cry. You smell like fancy French lavender soap and you have a smile that could bring world peace.

The sight of you makes him freeze. What would he even say? There’s nothing he could tell you that wouldn’t make him sound insane, nothing that he’s willing to admit to a stranger, even if that stranger is you. His heart races and he feels himself start to sweat nervously. He’s been looking for you for years, and when he finally finds you, it sends him into a panic. How perfect for him.

He can’t stand in front of the same moon jar forever, though, so he swallows his nerves and stands up a little straighter and begins to turn to you, even if just to introduce himself like a normal person.

Namjoon’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re already gone.

He’s talking to Jeongguk while he sits on the steps of the Met, phone pressed to his ear.

“I know it’s her,” he says, sending Jeongguk into a frenzy of questions.

Namjoon is contemplating the possibility that he’s fucked up his only chance to meet you, when you appear, out of the blue, to take a seat a few feet away from him, he rushes out a “Gotta go, Kookie, bye,” and hangs up as Jeongguk is still talking.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi.”

“This is probably so weird, but…” You straighten out your skirt and don’t make eye contact. You look equal parts beautiful and nervous. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Namjoon gets this question a lot. Usually, it’s fans trying to ‘play it cool’ when they run into him in Seoul, trying to give the impression that they don’t immediately know who he is. And yeah, he thinks he’s more humble than some people less famous than him, hates to assume, but it’s always pretty transparent. But, for as much as he gets this question, as often as he brushes it off with an, “I don’t think so,” and a rushed exit from wherever he’s been recognized, he has no idea how to answer it when it comes to you. So, he just gapes at you. It’s mortifying.

“Sorry,” you continue. “It’s just that… Well, this is probably gonna sound crazy, but I think I’ve had dreams about you.”

“Holy shit,” Namjoon says, living up to his reputation as a certified genius and a clever songwriter.

This response flusters you even more, it’s clear you’re embarrassed. The way your eyes flit around and look for an exit from the situation tells him everything he needs to know.

“Sorry again,” you groan more than speak. “Nevermind.”

You start to stand, and Namjoon barely gets his shit together in time to grab your wrist and finally speak. “It’s not weird. I have them, too. The dreams.”

“No fucking way,” you whisper, your eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Namjoon nods in agreement. “How’d you know it was me?” He asks.

“Just knew it,” you shrug, wrist still kept tight in his grasp. “I’m not sure. It’s like… you feel the same. You smell like you, too.”

“Come on,” he says, dropping your wrist finally and standing. “Want to get coffee or something?”

To his relief, you do.

It’s awkward at first. Where do you start with someone you feel like you’ve known forever but you’ve never actually met? Namjoon has a million questions he wants to ask you but none of them seem to fully form in his head. It’s bad enough he has to think through how to not be seen with you—his lifestyle adds a whole layer of complication you’d never faced together in his dreams. Eventually, you knock on his hotel room door about ten minutes after he gets in. It had been a little stressful, waiting for you. He made you promise three times you’d actually show up and then on the fourth one, he made you pinky promise. When you took his little finger solemnly, instead of laughing at him, he was finally (mostly) convinced you’d be there.

And now, here you are, sitting at the little table in his room, clearly trying to be polite and not look at the mess of stuff he’s accumulated in just one night. After all this time wishing he could find you, he’s got no idea what to say to you.

“So… why the Met?”

You smile a little sheepish and shake your head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“I doubt that,” he says, trying to be as reassuring as he can for such a weird situation.

“I thought it’s where the lion statues were… you know… on the steps. I thought if I went there, maybe you’d be there. I was sure it was you at the airport but by the time I realized it, you were gone. So, I guess it was the only place I could think to look for you where you might look for me, too. But they’re at the library.”

“The lions?”

His confusion seems to make you a little shy; you duck your head and shake it, like you’re telling yourself off before you even explain. “You always say I’m like a lion in the dreams. No matter where we are or what’s happened to us. You say I’m strong and brave and beautiful—”

“A lionheart,” Namjoon whispers.

“Yeah,” you brighten at that. “Is it like that in your dreams, too?”

Namjoon tells you it is. And then he tells you about all the dreams he can remember. Not in detail, and not the worst of the bad endings, but enough that the two of you can compare notes. Enough that you realize you’ve been having basically the same dreams, although not at the same time. Both of you have had some the other hasn’t had yet. He loves it when you tell him about one that ended happily, the two of you betrothed in the Joseon era and figuring out how to fall in love. You think it’s supposed to mean something that the two of you are always facing something that’s keeping you apart—you wonder out loud what might keep you apart in reality, too.

“I hope nothing will,” he says without thinking.

“You don’t even know me!” You’re laughing, but he’s clearly taken you by surprise.

“Don’t I, though?” And the mood changes. You swallow thickly and he tries his best not to break eye contact with you even though he thinks you’re so gorgeous he might not make it through the day without passing out. “Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, but he’s already moving to your side of the table and you’re already scooting your chair back to make space for him.

You don’t kiss like you do in the dreams. In the dreams, you kiss him like he’s the beginning and end, like you’ll take anything he gives you. There’s something nice about that, makes him feel wanted and strong. In reality, you kiss him like you know it’s the other way around. You’re confident, teasing—you smile against his lips when you do a thing with your tongue that makes him let out a moan.

In the dreams, he can’t remember ever kissing anyone but you. But now he’s got your lips on his and you’re definitely not the first person he’s kissed by a long shot, but you’re absolutely the best. It’s almost like having something to compare it to makes it even better.

Maybe there should be some hesitation, but neither of you seem to have any. Not when he pulls you up from the chair so he can kiss you without bending all the way over, not when he walks you back toward the hotel room bed, leaving a trail of tender kisses up your neck and across your jaw in a surprising show of coordination.

It’s inexplicable, he thinks, how he feels like he’s done this a million times with you before but in the best way. He can kiss you without any of the awkward, nervous, first time worries he normally has. He can trust you without knowing quite why, and that part is probably the weirdest thing about all of this because he can’t trust anyone outside of the members and his family usually.

“Is it weird I feel like we’ve done this before?” you ask as you run your hands from his shoulders down his arms.

Namjoon just shakes his head and winds his fingers with yours, leaning in to kiss you again. “No, it’s the same for me,” he says.

Because of the familiarity, maybe, it’s not urgent when you undress each other. He takes time to appreciate this version of you, the one he’s actually holding in his arms, the one who pinches his side gently and then laughs. “Just making sure you’re real,” you say when he yelps in protest.

There’s a moment when you’re both naked, standing in front of the bed, when the air feels thick between you. You’re holding his jaw in your palm and he’s got his hands around your back and neither of you speak for a long beat. For him, it just feels incredible to be here with you. He doesn’t care that he has no idea what you do for a living, where you live… Doesn’t know anything about you except that he thinks he has loved you for a long time. Thinks maybe he was put on this planet specifically to love you. Wonders how the two of you could have messed this up so badly in every other universe, but is actually really glad you did, because maybe that’s why you’re finally here with him now.

“I… I think I love you,” he says timidly. “Makes me feel crazy.”

You have a tear falling down your cheek, but you’re smiling—Namjoon is pretty sure you’re not supposed to be crying before sex like this, but you seem happy. “S’not crazy, I think I love you, too. I’m so happy I finally found you.”

“I looked for you in every city,” he confesses before he presses his lips back to yours, then kisses the tears off your cheeks.

You go soft under him, body pressed into his, and he guides you onto the bed. The two of you laugh into each other’s mouths, mutter how you can’t believe it’s happening, let your breath grow heavier as you take time to learn each other. Namjoon loves it when your lips move against his pulse point, when you get a little rough with him, leaving small bites and bruises in places the stylists won’t give him shit for. You like when he talks to you, tells you how you make him feel, how much he wants to be with you—he whispers right into your ear, the sweetest confessions sandwiched by pure filth that makes your breath hitch and a shiver travel down your spine.

Namjoon’s dreamed you a hundred ways, in a hundred places, but here, spread naked underneath him in this hotel bed and laughing with him while he fucks you slowly is better than any dream he’s ever had.

“Can’t believe you’re real, baby,” he breathes as you run your fingertips down his sides. He looks down to see where his cock is moving inside of you, and he thinks this must actually be a dream. You’re perfect, he thinks as he moves fingers to your clit and presses there gently. When you pull him down to kiss you, it feels familiar again. You brush his hair off of his forehead like you’ve done in every one of his dreams, and now he feels like he could cry—he’s just so overwhelmed by you, so in awe just like he knew he would be. Just as he always has been.

You whisper his name when he makes you come. You tighten around him and dig your nails into his shoulders and Namjoon thinks this is the closest to heaven he might ever get. When you finally work through your orgasm, you encourage him to change positions, to lay on his back and let you ride him.

The way you know exactly what he likes is magical, that deep grinding of your hips in his lap. You don’t have to ask to know what makes him tick, bringing his hand to your lips as you move, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth and whining around them.

He’s always preferred this to something faster. This way, he gets to watch you, feels like you’re taking your pleasure from him, feels like you’re both getting precisely what you want from each other. He could lift his hips and fuck into you, could hold your waist and get you to bounce on his cock like you’re making a sex tape. But this is better. This is you and him, moving like you’re meant to be connected.

You absolutely are, he’s sure of it.

It’s a movie script ending when you come again just as he does for the first time—he wishes he could feel all of you when he spills into the condom, wishes he’d found you years ago and built a more tangible history with you. Hopes more than anything that you want to try to do that with him now.

The two of you clean up with a little bit of shyness; you hide your face as he cleans you carefully with a warm washcloth, and he tries not to let you see him get rid of the condom. It’s not as easy as the dreams where those things sort themselves out, but Namjoon wouldn’t trade these awkward moments for anything.

There’s not really a need to ask you to stay, he knows somehow that you will, but he asks anyway, preens when you agree and ask to borrow a shirt.

He can’t really risk room service with you here, but he gets a manager to bring you food (hand stuck shyly through a crack in the door as to not interrupt), and while you eat, he peppers you with questions about your life. Feels like he knows the important things that are the same as in his dreams (he loves you, you’re loyal), but wants to learn all the mundane stuff, too.

Much later, before the sun rises but after some people would already call it morning, you fall asleep in his arms and he lets himself drift off thinking of lavender and peacocks and falling in love.

Namjoon’s alarm goes off, and the sun must be high in the sky because the light in the room is a bit muted. It’s the first time in a long time he’s woken up content, hesitates for a second before he remembers why, remembers everything that happened the day before, remembers that you were real and here and in his bed and his arms. He lets himself just exist there for a minute, eyes closed, thinking about what might come next, how he’ll explain you to his family…

Then it sort of dawns on him that you should be right there, that he fell asleep wrapped around you and now he isn’t. He panics for a split second when he realizes you’re not pressed against him, doesn’t think he could handle it if this was a dream, too. Tries to be rational, but for some reason can’t quite bring himself just to tip his head over and open his eyes.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, smells hotel laundry detergent and sex and the faintest hint of lavender. He says a silent prayer and then sticks his hand out to the other side of the bed to feel for yours. Thinks he might scream when he doesn’t feel you there immediately.

Namjoon snakes his hand across the sheet and hopes he never has to dream to see you again.

#bts x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #rm smut #rm fluff #rm angst #bts imagines #namjoon imagine #rm imagine #kvanity #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic

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elliesmainhoe · 1 year

Note

Heyyy so this is like my 4th time trying to make a request but tumblr keeps acting weird but anyways

I noticed your request are open so I wanted to ask if you could write something about Ellie x reader where Ellie is on her period and she’s kinda moody and stuff so she just snaps at reader and is mean but she feels guilty and the reader understands that she was in pain and she reassures Ellie that it’s fine and tries to comfort her give her cuddle take care of her you know all that fluffy stuff.

I always noticed that on most stories I’ve read it’s always the reader who’s on her period and Ellie comforts her so I wanted to change it up a bit you know wanted to read something different and also I got my period yesterday and I was being moody and mean to everyone every little thing would irritate me but it was just because I was in pain so idk you don’t have to write it if you don’t feel like writing it I’ll understand!! :)) and sorry if this is too long 😭haven’t really request it anything in a while.

Ellie Williams Headcanons: Taking care of Ellie on her period

She's such a baby~

This woman kills infected, hunts people like their animals and does all sorts of things like that.

But on her period? She's curled up in bed under the blankets with her head buried into your tummy as you play with her hair <3

She's so cuteeeee- I'm actually giggling and kicking my feet rn.

Her waking up in the morning, sleep in the corner of her eyes and she's all clingy- whining about having to get up to go on patrol

It takes you about 40 minutes to get Ellie out of bed with the promise of a warm shower together.

She ends up going on a short patrol.

In the mean while you decide to bake her favorite sweet treats.

Vanilla cupcakes with chocolate icing and rainbow sprinkles? Check. ✅

Gooey chocolate chip cookies? Check. ✅

Chocolate covered strawberries? Check. ✅

You were pretty impressed with yourself at how much you made in only three hours.

The key turning in the lock of your front door told you that Ellie had returned. "Ells!! C'mere- im in the kitchen!!!" You yelled to the woman- the sound of her converse clad feet coming towards the kitchen diner.

Her eyes widened as she looked at all the homemade goods, tears welling in her eyes due to the hormones and the sentiment.

"tada!!" You sung, giggling as she scooped you into her embrace. "You're the best baby.." she whispered kissing your forehead.

She's so whiny~

Such a baby (affectionately🥰)

Loves back massages and back rubs <33

Warm baths, newly washed clothes, hit water bottle and soft sheets always

She hates her period, but she loves how you treat her

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

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noisyquokka · 6 months

Note

Hi hi! First, I'd like to say how wonderful your writing is and how much I enjoy it. It always makes me smile :)

Second, I have a request. Could you do a GN!reader with Minho where we feel and listen to each other's heartbeats? Maybe throw in a good kiss for extra flavor? I just think it would be really cute, and being a cardiophile who ults Minho, seeing a story like that would make my day.

No rush at all of course, and thank you for your amazing writing. Keep up the great work! ❤

Midnight Symphonies

PAIRING - Minho x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - What more is needed than the sweet song of your Lover's heartbeat in the silence of the night.

WORDCOUNT - 1.1k

WARNINGS - Fluff, Soft Cardiophilia, a tad suggestive? (more like petting and caressing idk), a soft and domestic Minho who just needs a good night's rest

A/N - Love this request so much!! I apologize for it being so short. I was hoping to make this a little longer, but I'm not a fan of writing more in only to have it feel forced. I hope I've done your request justice, Dearie 😅

It's been roughly a half hour since he walked through the door. You heard the apartment door click shut through your haze of sleep, footsteps pad down the hall, even the subtle rustling of clothes slipping off at the foot of the bed. The water running in the shower was the last thing to ring in your ears before you dozed off again.

It's late now; just a little past midnight when Minho slips into bed. Your brows twitch as the mattress dips behind you, the sheets flipped up so he could slide in beside you. A warm hand coming to rest at your waist. You instinctively lean into his touch, hips shifting against the mattress to lose that space between you. To find his warmth.

"Can't sleep?"

The question has you stifling a yawn, rolling over so you're facing him. He smells like evergreen and lavender, the notes coming together to wash over your senses. Utter tranquility.

"No... jus' heard you come in." You mumble.

"Sorry."

"You're fine, Babe."

Minho shifts until he's lying on his back, eyes closed as he pulls you on top of him. Your body settles into his embrace, falling into place as if you're the missing piece to his puzzle. Slender fingers run up and down the length of your spine, callouses coaxing you back into a sleepy haze as the minutes tick on. Your head falls against his chest and with that, the sure and steady thump thump of his heart hits your eardrums. It's the perfect metronome, as if his very existence were a symphony. It's more than enough to lull you back into that liminal space between conscious response and dreams. Though you're not quite ready to go back there yet.

"How was practice?" The palm of your hand travels as you pop the question, tired limbs and muscles twitching beneath soft flesh.

"Good." He hums, lungs swelling under you only to release a great sigh. You can tell he's exhausted, if not by the short responses, by how needy he's being. Strong arms keep you pressed against his chest, lips making contact with your scalp. "Just glad to be home."

You smile at that, picking your head up to trail a few kisses of your own over the expanse of his chest, the skin dewy and warm from the shower. Minho purrs, his fingertips sweeping over the swell of your hip and you glance up to catch the beginnings of a lazy smile pulling his lips. He searches for your hand among the sheets, a short hunt that ends with your elbow propped up on his chest and lips ghosting over your wrist. Your pulse spikes at the contact. Brown eyes find yours in the dim lighting of the bedroom, half-lidded and malleable in your presence.

"Feeling's mutual." You murmur, observing the way his fingers press into the underside of your wrist. The action alone is something so simple yet so... intimate.

You've always found the sound of Minho's heartbeat to be hypnotic, to feel the muscle quicken under your touch. Strong and steady. Minho has never been opposed to the ritual. In fact, he'd been more curious than anything when you first brought it up. Now, you often find yourselves in bed like this— a mess of limbs and tangled sheets, few words spoken because you're both enamored by the life force that keeps both of you going.

Minho has his own way of reciprocating. What started out as the subtle nuzzling of his head against your chest turned deliberate, always accompanied by the warmth of his hands sweeping over your flesh in search of your pulse points. His actions are always attentive and measured, even when he's trying to be subtle about it, having spent more than enough time discovering what makes your heart tick.

Right now is no exception.

He's tracing small, soft patterns into the underside of your wrist, his fingertips dancing along the skin lightly enough to make you shiver. You let him continue his ministrations, your eyelids drooping as his hand slides up your forearm in a soothing manner. A ghost's caress.

"You trying to get me back to sleep?" You ask, your voice nothing more than a whisper.

"Maybe I am." He mutters with a lazy smirk, a light grunt leaving his throat as he hikes your body further up the mattress. So you're draped over him. So that your chests are level with one another. That hand slips back down to your wrist, fingers dancing over the veins. Lingering on each as he explores the delicate network of veins hidden beneath the thin flesh.

Each move is deliberate, but Minho is much too tired to tease. He's simply taking his time. Touching just to touch. But when he finally pinpoints the surge of blood running through your veins, you swear you're melting like butter on warm pancakes.

Minho moves to adjust the position of your body, bringing you impossibly closer. Pressing you against his own frame. There's a pause. Brown eyes taking you in. An uptick in his heartbeat, you can feel it against your own. Then he's leaning in and you can't resist meeting him halfway.

It's a slow kiss— a wave that crashes against your ribs and leaves you aching, a heat settling in your soul like the last burning embers of a fire. Minho breathes you in, feels your heart pounding against your ribs the same as his. His fingers run down the curve of your spine, sending shivers down your back as Minho shifts and pulls back. He presses another kiss to your forehead, eyes fluttering in exhaustion.

"Get some sleep, hm?" He whispers against your temple, his arms winding around you as your bodies entangle in one another.

"Alright," you murmur, snuggling up against him. Your muscles relax in his hold, loosening with every back and forth of his thumb. You let out a tiny sigh, resting your head against Minho's shoulder.

Sleep is catching up to you, but you can't bring yourself to fall back into that liminal space right now. Not yet, anyway. You are content to simply lie here with him, skin-to-skin, feeling his heart pulse against your chest. Listening as his breathing regulates and those loving caresses slow until there's nothing but two souls tangled up in each other.

Sleep can find you sooner or later.

Right now, this is enough.

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

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henrioo · 29 days

Note

If requests are still open would you been interested in writing some domestic Mihawk with his husband and their baby? Maybe reader teaches the kid their languages, and Mihawk gets the baby little sword plushies. Idk man but there's no way that man isn't secretly mushy 😭

°•*⁀➷ OUR LITTLE PEACE: MIHAWK

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : "All Mihawk ever wanted was a peaceful life in his castle. But a perfect peaceful life is not complete without you, his husband, and now his little baby to fill his days with joy."

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : Male! Reader (can be cis or trans), MLM, homo relationship, homo marriage, Spoilers to the two years separation! (Zoro and Perona are in the castle and this is post Marineford), the author doesn't know anything about babies and children, almost nothing of Spanish because I couldn't think of one cute dialogue so sorry, not too many mentions of the reader gender like my others stories but still clear the reader is a men, also no mentions of the birth of the baby, no name or appearance to the baby so you can choose if is biology, adopted, imagine what you want.

꒰ WC ꒱ : 1,8k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : Another story! Another male reader! Hehehehe, I skipped one day of posting but here it's the new one, another ask because I'm really trying to finish them to give more attention to another project and maybe write other stories idk. Thanks for the ask, I love writing family stuff hehehhe, this one was not that good because I'm having some struggles with my writing style but I hope everyone likes it! Byee

You yawned as you tested the milk in your hand, warm but not enough to burn your baby's tongue, perfect. Zoro was in a bad mood in the kitchen eating something, he had been beaten by Mihawk in the last training session and you suspected it was because the pirate was always lost in the castle and opening the doors with great force, which made a huge noise and always it made your baby start crying, irritated when awakened from his sleep. Which also made the older man a little irritated that someone was disturbing his son's sleep.

You made a mental note to try talk to your husband, although to be honest you were uncomfortable too. His son was a needy little boy and when he started crying he would stay like that for hours, until his throat got tired and he went back to sleep, so having to deal with it several times because Zoro kept waking him up was really frustrating.

You walked through the hallways, now with furniture all prepared to be baby proof, no furniture with pointy ends, no sliding rugs, doors in front of the stairs and other changes. At first you thought that Mihawk would be uncomfortable with the changes, to his surprise he took responsibility for changing everything without you even talking about it first. He spent weeks moving furniture, buying or making objects to close doors or round edges, he even made himself available to remove carpets and pictures, even going overboard with the protection.

Your husband has always been a very protective person, even before he was your husband or boyfriend. When he was just flirting, or courting, he was always very concerned about your ntegrity. If you were traveling, would he always give you the best accommodations, extreme climates? He has everything prepared, clothes and even medicine for illnesses, that is if he doesn't change the entire route of the trip to prevent inconvenience.

As you progressed in your relationship, the more protective Mihawk became, he would never be possessive or controlling, he was just genuinely concerned about your comfort and safety and felt it was his obligation as a lover to provide you with the best. Of course he respected you, after all you were also a man and a fighter, you were not weak in any way, it was your strength and intelligence that made Mihawk attract and fall in love with you in the first place. But living a life as a "pirate", an ally of the navy or just someone very strong in the grand line meant that your loved ones and even you were at risk of death at all times. He would never want to lose you and that's why he never let his guard down.

It was no different with his son, he wanted to give him a safe and as normal childhood as possible, thus arriving at this extremely careful point. He was already planning his son's diet and he wasn't even eating so many solid things yet...

"Almost there dear, it's papa, mi hijo, papa" You heard through the half-open door, there was an area of the castle that was closed just for the three of you. Even Zoro and Perona knew to stay away from that part, it being your private wing.

There was the bedroom where you two slept, a common room with the fireplace where you two usually stayed, a bathroom, a library next to the balcony and of course, your son's room. It was almost a complete house, except that it was inside a huge castle with many other rooms.

You stopped watching your husband next to your son, Mihawk was now wearing casual clothes although his shirt was more open, contact with the parents' skin was good for babies, he had told you. The baby laughed in his arms, trying to touch the adult's face with his chubby little hands. He wore thicker baby clothes to protect himself from the cold on the island, as your husband insisted that just the fireplace wasn't enough. The outfit was dark red with bat symbols, Perona had given away saying that the cute baby needed to maintain one parent's vampire reputation.

"Baba!" Your son exclaimed excitedly, laughing again, your husband's affectionate look and smile made your heart melt and your stomach feel strange.

For many, Mihawk was a cruel and merciless man, who could effortlessly cut through ships and defeat thousands of swordsmen at the same time without breaking a sweat. For you? Ah... To you, he was a loving man, a man who always brought gifts from every island he visited, who always had fresh flowers to give you, a man who would kill anyone who dared to offend you for being in a relationship with another man. For you, he was your husband.

"I'll only forgive your terrible pronunciation because you're too cute," Your husband said, shaking his son again.

"I think baba suits you a lot" You smiled entering the room, your husband had been trying to teach Spanish to your little baby for some time. Although this turned out to be a much longer task than he imagined.

"Of course I do" He mocked looking at you smiling, it's not like he could contradict you.

"Papa!" Your baby said excitedly and soon his attention was all on you, his little hands stretched out trying to reach you as quickly as possible.

"Why can he get the pronunciation right with you?" Mihawk looked at you confused and envious as he passed the child to you.

"Because he likes to annoy you" You smiled, rubbing your face with the chubby and soft face of your baby who laughed at the contact.

"Well, he got it out of you then..." Mihawk teased as he adjusted the chair so you were comfortable breastfeeding.

"Of course yes" You sat in the chair and then placed your son next to the bottle, he quickly held the bottle as he began to drink the milk. His eyes soon started to get tired and he relaxed against you, after all it was close to time for him to fall asleep.

"I should order a painting of you two like this, it would be the most beautiful work of art I have ever seen..." He sighed looking at the two of you with love, for him it seemed like a dream, so much peace with the people he loved most.

"He wouldn't be able to stay still for that long" You laughed, your baby used to be quite energetic, which had created some good confusion with you guys losing him in the huge castle.

“It would be worth a try” He chuckled and walked closer to you, caressing your cheek and then placing a kiss on your forehead. "I can put him to bed today, you should take a shower and rest."

"You already did this yesterday, I don't get that tired taking care of him, you practically do everything." You sighed, your husband always wanted to take the weight off your shoulders since he used to travel a lot. However, your son really wasn't that big of a job, now with Perona and Zoro here and the instability of the world government, you doubted that Mihawk would travel anytime soon, so your job was even easier since you shared it with your husband.

"Humpf" He huffed, he always sulked when you didn't allow him to take care of everything.

"Let's put him to bed together... Then after that we'll have some time just for the two of us" You suggested smiling, your baby had now let go of the bottle and was yawning, showing that he was ready to end the day.

"You know how to convince me, don't you?" Mihawk smiled, taking the empty bottle as you stood up with your baby.

"Of course, how do you think I got you to marry me?" You played with him. Soon you were running around the baby's room to rock him, your son clung to you yawning and finishing digesting the warm milk you had provided. Luckily he didn't give much work on that part.

When he had calmed down enough to be practically asleep, Mihawk had already prepared the crib, also carrying some stuffed animals and blankets in case you decided to add something else. You walked over with your baby and gently placed him in the crib, then he stretched out completely and then curled up again in a ball, grabbing a sword plush and messing up the blanket there.

"Sword?" You said looking confused at the plushie of a sword, you didn't remember having one of those. You then asked your husband.

You only met a proud, red-faced Mihawk if you had seen your son doing the most graceful thing possible.

"We have to start familiarizing him as soon as possible," he said, smiling to disguise that he had bought the plush hidden from you.

"Oh yeah? Familiarize our baby with his father's swordsmanship legacy?" You said, crossing your arms and smiling at him, you even wanted to pretend to be angry but you couldn't, not with him being so cute like that.

"Of course, he will be a great swordsman in the future" Mihawk said proudly, you raised your eyebrow.

"Of course, then he's going to beat Roronoa and then come kick his own father's ass, it seems like something my son would do" You said proudly leaving the room, knowing that Mihawk would now be thinking about the fact that one day he would fight seriously with his son, knowing he would never be able to hurt his own child.

It didn't take long for Mihawk to come up behind you with a thoughtful face as he too got ready for bed.

"Well... He's still young, we can't say if he'll actually be a swordsman" He said coughing embarrassedly as he sat next to you on the bed.

"Of course, maybe he's something else" You said smiling knowing you had hit the nail on the head. Mihawk would never be able to seriously fight his own son.

"Of course... Another thing" Mihawk said with flushed cheeks, he also knew that you knew. It was shameful for him to know that his husband knew him so well.

"Yeah, another thing where he doesn't have to kick his dad's ass" You laughed giving him a kiss on the cheek, knowing he would sulk at the idea for a while.

“You really like teasing me…” He sighed as the two of you cuddled together on the bed, ready to spend some time together before bed. And well, you couldn't deny it, your biggest fun was seeing the merciless and cruel Dracule Mihawk, the strongest swordsman in the world, reduced to a soft-hearted, caring husband and father who would do anything for his husband and son. Sometimes love also came with provocation.

138 notes · View notes

iikatsukii · 1 year

Text

3:15 (breathe)

synopsis: story inspired by the song 3:15 by russ

pairings: lo’ak x metkayina!reader

warnings: angst to comfort & minor violence

word count: 6.6k

a/n: ive been writing this for too long but im back with a present 🫶🏾 (also i know this one isnt shortened by a read more thing im sorry guys i tried idk why its not working but hopefully when i get my laptop charger back ill be able to fix it but pls just bare with me just this once)

you had been staring at the roof of your marui for about 20 minutes now. you were dreading getting up. you've felt like this for the past few months but couldn't pinpoint exactly when it started. being the youngest daughter of tonowari and ronal is like asking every boy in the clan to court you. when you chose rotxo, all the boys in the clan were heartbroken. you and tsireya found it kinda funny, to be honest.

you and rotxo have been dating for about half a year now. everything leading up to the relationship had been amazing. the fleeting glances, soft touches, the surprise dates. he had courted you perfectly, so he was over the moon when you finally said yes. his loving actions continued three months into the relationship. then suddenly, you started to notice a shift in his behaviors.

he wouldn't surprise you with dates anymore, he only hung out with ao'nung and his friends, he wouldn't make time for you, and when you did ask to spend time with him, he would brush you off, saying he was busy.

of course, your siblings didn't know about this. rotxo told you not to tell them. "i mean, what would ao'nung think of me? he would never want to be friends with me again," he told you. you sighed, "you're right, rotxo. i'm sorry. i won't say anything." rotxo pulled you into a hug, holding your head to his chest so you couldn't see the smirk he held on his face. on the other hand, you held an expression of self-doubt. like you knew the choice to not speak up was dumb, and you wished you could take your words back, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

so you remained in rotxo's arms day after day, putting on a show that everyone believed. never saying anything to anyone. never saying anything about all the harsh words rotxo would say to you, about the loneliness you felt, or about the scars he left on your heart.

tsireya, your twin sister, suspected something was off about your relationship because of how differently you had been acting recently. ever since rotxo started treating you poorly, tsireya would hear you cry yourself to sleep every night. still, when she confronted you about it, you would brush her off, saying she was probably hearing things from how tired she had been. and the thing is, nobody else seems to hear it, so it's not like tsireya can have someone to back her up.

you finally gathered the energy to get up, 2 hours later than you were supposed to, and you groaned, knowing your father was going to kill you. you quickly get dressed, rushing to find someone, anyone who can tell you where your father is. finally, you see a huge crowd, what looks like the entire clan, gathered at the shores of the beaches.

"uturu has been asked.." you heard faintly. as you made your way to the front of the crowd, where you heard your father's voice, you caught the tail end of the conversation. "toruk makto and his family will live among us. my children will teach your children the ways of the water so that your family does not suffer the burden of being useless." you hid behind your father. as he spoke, you looked over to who he was talking to.

a group of 6 darker-toned na'vi were standing huddled together. 2 parents and 4 children. you analyzed each child, still hiding behind your father. the smallest, youngest na'vi was holding her mother's hand, hiding behind her leg, similar to how you're hiding behind your father. the older female, who looked about your age, had an annoyed look on her face. you giggled at her expression, being able to tell that she wanted to be anywhere but here.

then you looked at the taller, assumingly older brother. he looked tight-laced, like he was the perfect child. a golden boy, if you would. not really your type but eh, who are you to say anything. you have a boyfriend, for crying out loud. you shouldn't even be thinking things like this in the first place. you rolled your eyes, ignoring the annoying thoughts in your head, as you looked at the other boy standing next to the eldest son.

that's when you noticed the eyes that were staring back at you. they were the prettiest amber color you've ever seen, accented by… is that hair above his eyes? his eyes glowed in the sun, and his markings? don't even start; his markings running along his body were mesmerizing. but the one thing that interested you was the look he held in his eyes. nobody had ever looked at you like that, and of course, that makes it harder to pinpoint precisely what makes you feel this way. while you were entranced in the visitor's eyes, you failed to notice your own boyfriend noticing you. once the clan's people started to disperse, your sister grabbed your hand and dragged you over to the new family.

rotxo was going to approach you, but he was stopped by ao'nung, who nodded his head back to the water, where they would later meet you, tsireya, and those 'freaks' for lessons. ao'nung missed the furious expression his best friend held. rotxo was quick to fix his face, though, playing nice. he saw the looks between you and that forest boy, and he was not happy about it. he decided to observe from afar before confronting you about anything, not wanting youîu to know that he noticed anything.

as you and tsireya approached the family, you got to take a closer look at the boy before you. your thoughts, though, were interrupted by your twin, "let us show you to your new home," as she and you guided the new family to their home, you could tell their father was trying to stay positive, but the way their mother dropped her belongings when she saw where they would be living was comedic to you. you couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction, not maliciously, of course. you're not like your brother ao'nung and boyfriend rotxo.

"sister, i was late to the gathering. i have no idea who these people are or what's happening." you whispered to your twin. "oh right! where were you, by the way? i had to go through ilu training with the boys alone! it was horrible." she groaned. you sighed. yeah, you're definitely gonna get your ass beat when you get home. "father didn't happen to notice, did he?" you said, already knowing the answer. tsireya just laughed "skxawng." she said, hitting your shoulder. "hey!" you said defensively, ready to hit her back until a hand caught yours. you turned around to see one of the new na'vi boys. it was the younger one.

"as amusing it is to see two sisters-" he started

"twins," you and tsireya corrected at the same time. it freaked both boys out, but they thought it was cute in a way.

"as amusing as it is to see twins bickering with one another, i believe a lesson is in our near future? per request of your father, that is." the tone he used was teasing. how could he speak to you with such confidence when he didn't even know your name? rotxo had never spoken to you like that. his words were always soft, almost shy as if he didn't want to scare you with how loud you knew he could be. for some reason, though, it made you like rotxo more.

but with how things have been going well recently, rotxo isn't that soft-spoken boy anymore. hell, he barely acts like your boyfriend now. so maybe it won't be wrong to get to know someone new? only as a friend, though. you would never dream of cheating, let alone act on it.

you looked down to see that the younger brother, whose name you still had yet to find out, was still holding onto your wrist, waiting for an answer.

oh shit, he's waiting on an answer.

you had zoned out, daydreaming about the boy who was gazing at you equally as curious. thankfully you guys had an energetic little girl to catch your attention. "LAST ONE TO THE WATER IS THANATOR BAIT," she said as she jumped into the water.

you and your sister giggled at the young girl's actions, deciding to jump right in after her. the remaining na'vi jumped in as well as you and tsireya swam, guiding them to where you would have this supposed lesson. as you and your twin swam, she explained everything that had happened while you were sleeping using your clan's sign language. it was making more sense now. this family fled their home, seeking a safe place to stay… uturu…

as you had gotten to the rocks by the beach, you noticed that your brother was there, which could only mean one thing. rotxo was here, too, great. you didn't really feel like pretending to be happy with him around people right now, but you slapped on your usual fake smile, praying to eywa that these newcomers were as easy to fool as everyone else on this island.

you had begun your lessons as usual, you and tsireya being paired up with the youngest son as he was having the most difficulty.

"breathe in. breathe from down here," tsireya said as she placed her hand on lo'ak's stomach. you placed your hand on his heart to check its speed as you continued, "breathe out." you sighed again. "lo'ak, your heartbeat is fast," you said, looking up at him, happy that you had learned his name because now you could address him by his name.

"sorry," he said,

"try to focus," tsireya added, his eyes meeting hers as she spoke. you noticed that when his eyes shifted, his expression remained the same bright, curious look he gave you; he also held with your sister.

maybe that's just how he looks at people, you thought as you continued to help him.

you felt eyes on your back, knowing it was rotxo staring at you. you looked over your shoulder and made eye contact with your boyfriend, smiling and waving at him, getting nothing but a stone-cold look in return. nobody seemed to notice, so the embarrassment was yours alone. or so you thought until you turned back to lo'ak, seeing as he had seen the whole interaction between the two of you. nobody had ever noticed something like this happen. you tried to read the forest boy's expression but couldn't. all you knew was that he didn't have that same bright look in his eyes as he looked at rotxo.

so maybe he doesn't look at everyone like that…

the exchange sent a shiver up your back. you had a feeling nothing good would come of these two interacting, but over the months, rotxo had diminished your self-confidence, finding yourself seriously doubting your judgment. so you ignored the feeling, not thinking it would be worth risking the normalcy in your daily life.

with lessons finally ending, you excused yourself from the rest as you walked back to your marui, knowing that your parents were about to beat your ass. you walked into your home with your ears flat against your head, tail between your legs, and head hung in shame.

"y/n te ronal'ite," your mother sneered.

oh yeah. you're fucked.

"father, mother, i am sorry i do not know why i overslept this morning–"

"this is the fifth time this has happened, child. you do not know why you have overslept five times this month?" your mothers' words were harsh; you knew she was very upset with you because of how you had been acting recently. you also knew she didn't like your relationship with rotxo, no matter how nice she thought the boy was. to her, something was just off, she could hear eywa whispering to her about it at night, but when she awoke in the morning, it became nothing but a second thought as all her tsahik duties became a priority as she started her day.

"mother, i am sorry. i do not know why this is happening, but i promise it won't happen again," you said, falling to your knees and begging your parents for forgiveness. you hated when they were upset with you, from when you were a kid until now—especially your father.

you were a daddy's girl; you couldn't help it. your father was your safe haven, and you hated when he was disappointed in you even more than you hated when your mother was mad at you. so when you looked into his eyes and saw concern and not disappointment, you knew something was wrong.

"ma y/n, what is the matter? ite, if something is wrong, you know you can tell me." your father tried.

this was the one thing you couldn't confide in your father for. usually, you have little to no trouble telling your father what's wrong, but this was different. you couldn't bring yourself to tell him. so you just looked up at your father, tears in your eyes, and said

"nothing is wrong, father. i have no excuse for waking up late, so please issue my punishment. i have to finish my chores for the day," hearing your voice so cold sent a shiver up your parents' backs. that was what made them realize there really is something wrong. no matter how much you deny it, they can finally see past the facade that you've been keeping up.

how have they never noticed? how long has this been going on?

ronal looked at her husband, silently asking him for help. for once, the tsahik didn't know what to do. as attuned to eywa as she was, the great mother can't outright tell her what is wrong or how to solve it, thus leaving ronal feeling hopeless.

useless.

a tsahik who can't even help her own child. what good is she?

tonowari cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself.

"two weeks, ilu keeper. you are to bring and return the villager's ilus as well as headcount the north, south, east, and west pens before the eclipse to ensure all ilus are accounted for. you are dismissed," your father's tone was equally as cold as yours. you knew the game he was playing, and you wouldn't fall for it this time. you knew your father was just trying to reciprocate the attitude you were giving him so you would crack. so you quickly left your home, knowing that if you stayed any longer, you would burst into tears and beg your father to hold you in his arms.

your depression had continued for months after the day of the sullys arrival. things with rotxo had only gotten worse, and to you, it seemed like nobody was noticing your depleting health. but in reality, everyone knew you were sad, but nobody knew why.

except for one person

you were so grateful for lo'ak. he was the only person who noticed. he saw everything and sat you down, saying you couldn't endure this abusive relationship anymore. he saw all the scowls and rolled eyes your boyfriend sent your way when you were looking and when you weren't looking. he also saw stuff that you hadn't seen. like rotxo entertaining different girls throughout the village. all of those girls being the ones who you said were your very good friends, but more specifically, it was your best friend.

you and your sully boy were walking along the shore, deciding to go for a walk after he had returned from his daily chores. the walk was silent, but you noticed the furrowed eyebrows above lo'ak's eyes, indicating that he was thinking.

"if you think too hard, you may end up hurting yourself, forest boy," you teased, giggling at his reaction. the boy had rolled his eyes, relieving his eyebrow of their stress as he nudged your side with his elbow. "hey, watch it," he said, laughing along with you.

then he got serious again, you noticed the stress return to his eyebrows, and you couldn't help but stop walking, concerned for your friend.

"lo'ak, what is the matter?" you asked, voice quiet, almost a whisper. lo'ak had barely heard it over the sounds of the tide washing up against the shore. he was silent for a while, debating on if this was his place to say anything, but the boy was worried for you so he spoke up.

"as your friend, y/n, i cannot allow you to continue to be in this relationship." his words were firm. you knew this was coming, and you were hoping you could avoid it, but in the end, it seemed inevitable. you sighed, exhausted, dropping your facade.

"lo'ak, please. don't say anything to anyone. i am fine, okay? rotxo is just busy, is all–"

"yeah, busy suckin' face with your so-called friends, y/n," lo'ak huffed, tired of seeing you endure this treatment. you perked up at his words, though. what was he talking about?

"what do you mean?" you said as you stepped closer, wanting to look deeper into his eyes to ensure he wasn't lying.

"your boy has been cheating on you with all the girls you call your 'friends', especially your best friend. whenever he says he's busy with ao'nung and the guys, neteyam tells me he sneaks off halfway through. and i've personally caught him with so many girls y/n. he's been cheating on you." the words echo in your head.

cheating?

with your friends?

your boyfriend…

your boyfriend.

a new feeling had blossomed in your chest. it felt like a raging fire in your chest, out of control and blazing with heat. oh, you were pissed. so lo'ak hatched a plan for you.

"take this," he said as he reached up to his neck, taking off his communicator and giving it to you. "wear it tomorrow. and right before eclipse, i want you to go to the west ilu pen. but be quiet when you get there. that's usually where rotxo meets your best friend." the words squeezed at your heart, but the fury in your chest overpowered it all.

"fine," you said as your eyes met his once again. you moved your hair behind over your left shoulder as you turned around, signaling for him to put the communicator on for you.

once it was secure, you turned to face him again, knowing that this would be the last moment of peace you would have until the storm you had been so severely trying to avoid.

"thank you," was the last thing you said to the forest boy before you made your way home. knowing the next day would be one of the worst days of your life.

it was a few minutes til eclipse, and you were waiting in a hidden spot near the west ilu pen just like lo'ak had told you. you had been waiting here for 15 minutes, and neither rotxo nor your best friend had shown up. did lo'ak lie? what reason would he have to lie? it's not like he likes you. lo'ak always uses phrases like "as your friend…" and "friends don't treat friends like that," insinuating that he, too, thought of you as a friend and nothing more, so what reason would he have to lie. you were about to radio him, pressing the button on your neck, because you were getting annoyed waiting here for so long. but then you heard a familiar laugh.

that's your best friend's laugh.

you turned around, peeking through leaves to see rotxo and your best friend holding hands, laughing with one another. keeping your hand against your communicator, you tried to get as close as possible without revealing your hiding spot so that lo'ak could hear everything happening.

"are you sure this is okay, rotxo? what about y/n? you know she's my best friend." your best friends laughter had died down as the two came to a halt.

"ma yawne, you need not worry." your boyfriend reassured.

"but what about her? you guys are in a relationship, and she is olo'eyktans daughter. if we get caught, we're done for. plus, she's been looking so sad recently. i can't help but feel like she knows." tears sprung to her eyes and you couldn't help but roll your own.

"mawey, my love. she does not know. besides, she has been ignoring me recently. i've been left alone, wondering if she's okay. i ask her every day to talk to me and tell me something; i reassure her that i'm here for her and that she can talk to me about anything. she brushes me off, not even giving me the time of day. it is like she has completely shut me out. i feel so left in the dark," your best friend just coos at the boy, pulling into a hug in an attempt to 'hug' him when she really is just trying to push her boobs against his chest. his hand placement wasn't any better. he had his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to himself if even possible.

OH, BOO FUCKING HOO, IS HE FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW??

it was taking every molecule of self-restraint in your body not to blow your cover and strangle the man you call your "boyfriend." upon hearing his words, you could only scoff. this is what he's been doing? while he's been ignoring you, leaving you lonely and hurting, he's been out in the village, cheating on you and playing victim, making everyone think you were ignoring him.

you could only roll your eyes as you walked away before you were discovered. you were furious. you knew exactly how you wanted to approach this, thinking based only on your heated emotions, throwing all rational away. as you walked away, your hand fell from the collar around your neck, knowing lo'ak had heard enough. he was probably on the way to your parents' marui right now to tell them everything.

you walked to rotxo's family marui; glad to see the rest of his family is still out doing whatever they do. you could care less. he and anyone related to him could perish, poof into thin air, never to be seen again, and you wouldn't bat an eye. in fact, just the idea of it brings a smile to your face. a smile that instantly dropped when the flap of the marui was pushed aside, revealing your boyfriend and your brother.

"ao'nung, leave. i need to talk to rotxo," you said as soon as you made eye contact with your older brother. you knew he was clueless about what had happened because he was hanging out with his friends all day. supposedly, so was rotxo.

"sorry little sister, but you're going to have to leave. rotxo and i are–"

"AO' GET THE FUCK OUT!" you screamed at your brother, eyes falling to the floor, knowing he wasn't the target of rage, so you probably shouldn't be treating him like this.

your brother was surprised you raised your voice at him but listened anyway, knowing that this wasn't his problem and he honestly didn't care about your relationship as long as rotxo treated you right. and to his knowledge, his best friend is treating you right. rotxo, you told your brother that it was you shutting him out, so ao'nung just assumed this would be another one of those 'irrational arguments' that rotxo always tells him about.

watching your brothers back retreating toward your home, you turned your attention to the man of the fucking hour.

"my best friend? are you serious right now, rotxo?" you asked him to get straight to the point.

rotxo rolled his eyes, groaning because he realized you knew he was cheating on you.

"y/n, don't be like this. my family will be home any minute–" you cut him off.

"i do not care. you are walking around telling people i shut you out? cheating on me? you are out here forcing me to put on a smile, fake happy, so your reputation doesn't get ruined, and you have the nerve to try and bring mine down with you? saying i'm leaving you in the dark. making yourself seem like the goddamn victim?! you're cheating on me, rotxo. FOR FUCKS SAKE." the english word that the sully children had taught you felt like the only word that could adequately convey your feelings.

"using the words that sully boy taught you, huh? you know you've been spending a lot of time with him. you're lucky the only rumor i spread was that you left me in the dark. be grateful that i'm not telling everyone how you've been spreading your legs for that freak." you gaped at his words. how did he know about how much you've been spending with lo'ak? of course, he's completely wrong about what you guys do but he's always busy with his friends, blowing you off, cheating, and not caring who you're with or what you're doing. regardless of how he knew or not, you and lo'ak were friends, and that's it.

"we are just friends. i would not even have to hang out with him if my own shitty boyfriend actually acted as if he fucking likes me. we hang out as all young na'vi do, free diving, ilu racing, sea shell collecting. things i've done with you, my siblings, and countless other friends, like the bitch you are cheating on me with, so why is it a problem when i do it with lo'ak? hmm, rotxo? what's your fucking problem? are you projecting? is that it?" you were blinded by your rage, not even realizing that you had approached your boyfriend, but it felt like your words weren't getting through to him. he still held this shitty condescending smirk on his face, and you were sick of it. so you pushed him with all the strength you had in your body. rotxo fell to the floor pretty hard, groaning in pain as he landed funny on his wrist.

"ah! ha–" rotxo graoned in pain as he gripped his wrist. his gaze met yours as he spoke again "look, she's finally snapped. what? are you going to go, run to your little demon blood? are you going to let him cheer you up like the little slut you are? might as well prepare yourself for tomorrow because when ao'nung asks me what we argued about, i'm telling him i found out you were cheating on me with that sully boy," rotxo stood from his place on the floor, holding a look you had never seen on him before. he walked towards you menacingly as you matched his pace, walking backward until your back made contact with the wall of his home. his hand came up to your neck, squeezing, not noticing that he had once again pressed the button on your collar so lo'ak could hear everything.

“y/n? what's wrong? what's going on?" you heard his voice in your earpiece but kept quiet, not wanting rotxo to know he was about to get caught.

"you're so easy, huh? playing hard to get for everyone in the village when really you just wanted to be a whore for a half-breed freak who has only brought problems and war to our home–" you pushed him off of you, running out his marui with your head down, not wanting him to see your tears as if he hadn't already.

as cruel as rotxo had been to you, he had never called you such degrading names like this.

as angry as you were, hearing someone you once loved say things like that to you felt like a bullet to the heart.

you ran to a hidden oasis within the forest line of awa'atlu. only you and rotxo knew of it, but recently you've found yourself coming here alone much more than you would come here with him.

falling to your knees in front of the river before you, you allowed the dam to break, letting all your pent-up emotions out. you couldn't help but cry to yourself. you hated life like this. you hated living a lie, not wanting to bare this pain anymore. you cried, sobbed, screamed, wailed, anything to get this hurt out of your heart.

rotxo had broken you. he had taken your pure, innocent heart and smashed it to pieces. no matter how much you tried to love and care for him, you realize he would never really love you. it was all just a ploy to get in with the olo'eyktan's daughter. he was just like every other stupid boy on this island. but you fell for him, and you hated the feeling.

and for him to cheat with your best friend, of all people? how could he? did he even love you?

to say lo'ak was worried was the understatement of the fucking year. he was basically having a panic attack rampaging the island after he didn't find you in rotxo's marui when they arrived. lo'ak had come with his family and yours, everyone having heard the cruel words that rotxo had spat at you thanks to lo'aks communication device.

jake and neteyam personally held lo'ak back from killing the metkayina in front of him.

"YOU FUCKER! YOU CALL HER A WHORE WHEN YOU'RE THE ONE STICKING YOUR DICK IN ANYTHING THAT HAS A FUCKING HOLE, YOU PUSSY–"

"lo'ak, that's enough," jake said, trying to restrain his youngest son.

"NO, HE'S RIGHT! DAD, LET ME GO! LET ME BEAT HIS ASS!" lo'ak looked over to see tonowari and another warrior holding ao'nung back, but the look on tonowari's face showed that he was seconds from ripping rotxo limb from limb for what he had said to his daughter.

that's when lo'ak noticed you weren't in the marui. pulling himself from his father and brother's restraints, he ran out, immediately going to all your favorite places on the island, trying to find you.

he searched the shallow reefs on the east side of the island. he visited the ilu pen on the south part of the island because that's where you kept your ilu. he checked the floral shoreline on the northwest part of the island, knowing that you loved getting all your flowers from there, whether it was for your hair, a top, or a gift for the new boy on the island.

lo'ak noticed a forest line near the floral shores, so he also decided to check within that area in case you were wandering around there.

walking through the forest area kind of reminded lo'ak of home. he had been reminiscing on the flora of his home when he heard what sounded like crying—very loud crying.

immediately arming himself, prepared to protect himself or someone else. lo'ak stepped into the clearing, seeing you kneeling over the stream, fists clenched into the ground beneath you as you let out the most heart-twisting cries he had ever heard.

you were crying so loud you hadn't even heard the forest boy approaching you. feeling arms engulfing you, you began to panic. whoever it was immediately tried to soothe your struggles, and much to your surprise, you listened. you felt warmth, security, and comfort. things you never felt around rotxo, at least, not anymore.

"mawey, y/n. mawey. try to match my breathing," it was a familiar voice, but with all the physical and emotional pain clouding your senses, you couldn't pinpoint who it was. regardless, you tried your best to match his breathing, your heavy breaths slowing to quiet sobs and whimpers. it felt like your heart was really breaking. this realization was painful. rotxo didn't love you. he was using you.

you just wanted to be loved, and rotxo made you feel that way for a while. but that was the problem; it only lasted a while. then everything went to shit, and you were left cold and alone while rotxo was out cheating on you and forcing you to fake a smile for everyone around you so that you wouldn't ruin his reputation.

your cries had died down, and you were resting within the hold of the person behind you. his hushed words of comfort hadn't stopped, praising you for controlling your breath as he soothingly rubbed your shoulders. when you calmed down enough, you turned to look at the source of your comfort. it was honestly one of the last people you expected it to be.

you would've thought your brother or sister would find this secret spot before the forest boy did.

"lo'ak, what are you doing here?" you asked him, trying to escape his grasp and wipe your tears at the same time. lo'ak was quick to grab hold of your hands, preventing you from moving away from him.

"mawey, y/n. just relax. i'm here for you, and you can cry all you want to, sevin. i am not going anywhere." his voice was so comforting as he pulled you back into his embrace. you just sighed as you felt another wave of tears coming to your eyes. so you cried it out, relieving every sob, scream, and cry you had ever kept in, and lo'ak stayed with you through it all. never once letting you go and never stopping his whispers of reassurance.

when your sobs died down again, you noticed he intertwined his fingers with yours. you hadn't noticed his hands before. you weren't aware, but your ears perked up a bit, and your tail started to rev to life a bit when you saw he had five fingers instead of four. you wordlessly detangled your hand from his, causing the boy's ears to fall flat to his head.

you noticed his hands. did you see him differently now? his thoughts started as a drizzle quickly forming into a hurricane, but when he felt both of your hands grab one of his pulling it closer to your swollen eyes so you could examine it better, he chuckled. he thought it was cute, seeing you fiddle with his fingers as your soft sniffles continued. if this was distraction enough to keep you from crying, then lo'ak would let you play with his hands 24/7.

you didn't know that lo'ak's hands were his biggest insecurity, so the way you played with them and looked at them with wonder and not worry made his heart swell. lo'ak had not thought his life would be turned upside down like this, being forced to move away from his home and learn new ways of life. he hated it. but willingly getting to know someone and maybe even starting to fall for her had to be the best thing on that list. lo'ak knew he liked you for a while but never made any advances as you were taken. even though he could've been treating you so much better.

he loved how your hands felt in his and how your smile brightened up an entire room. he loved how attuned to nature you were. you hadn't even realized the school of fish swimming around your ankles rested in the river before you. it was as if the animals were trying to comfort you, too, somehow being able to sense your distress.

“y/n. do not listen to him. he is nothing but a lowlife who derives pleasure from others' pain," lo'ak started ranting, not caring if you were listening. he just wanted to speak his mind. "you are beautiful, y/n. the most beautiful, strong, loving, kind, graceful na'vi i've ever had the chance to meet. if moving away from my home means i get to find a new home here, with you, i would fly, walk, jump, or crawl my way here a hundred times over. i would do anything to be with you properly. i want to heal you from that asshole's mistakes. i want to show you what it feels like to be loved. not because you are olo'eyktan's daughter. but because you are you."

his eyes remained focused on yours as he recited every word. but you could tell he wasn't speaking something memorized or forced; he was speaking from his heart. you could hear it, as if eywa herself was whispering it to you. but you were hurt. could you trust someone so soon?

almost as if he could read your thoughts, he spoke up again.

"i know your trust is weary right now, but let me prove it to you. i will court you properly, meet your parents officially, ask for their blessing, i–" lo'ak sighed, almost as if he didn't want to continue, but he did. "i'll even stop fighting with ao'nung." that got a laugh out of you.

"lo'ak, are you sure about that?" you asked, looking up at him through your tears, flashing the first genuine smile he had ever seen on you. he was amazed. if he thought your fake smile lit up a room, then your genuine smile could bring light to an entire clan.

"i would do whatever you want me to do, syulang. i just want to be with you. i want to love you if you'll have me. we can take things at your pace. i'm in no rush because, for you, i would wait forever," he yearned for you, waiting patiently to see if you'll accept him.

you couldn't find any reason not to. this boy had to have been sent to you by eywa. he was meant to be the remedy to heal your heart after this tragic breakup. you were crying, but they were tears of joy and relief. you were finally free. free to feel love. free to feel happy. free to be you.

in the heat of the moment, you felt something wiggling under the ground beneath your leg. looking down, you see a glow worm inching up your leg. most do not know, but since the metkayina spirit tree is underwater, these little glow worms come up from the sand or appear on or around you whenever eywa tries to give you a sign. they're the metkayina equivalent of a woodsprite.

you could only gasp at the sight of the tiny creature. so he really is eywa sent? you thought as you saw a glow worm crawling up lo'ak's shoulder. this caused you to laugh, seeing as he also noticed the glow worm on his shoulder and started to panic, trying to flick the bug off his shoulder without hurting it.

"kehe, don't do that," you said as you grabbed his hand to prevent him from hurting the poor thing. you carefully placed your hand in front of the glowworm, allowing it to crawl into your palm. you took lo'ak's hand in yours, facing his palm up to allow the glow worm to walk from your hand to his.

"what is this?" he asked as he brought his hand closer to his face turning it as the glow worm walked around.

"i've heard about omatikaya woodsprites from kiri. they are like that but for the reefs. they are sent from eywa, meant to be wordless messengers," you explained to the forest boy.

your forest boy.

lo'ak couldn't help but smile at you, processing the words you had said. as he spoke again, he held nothing but love in his eyes, "y/n, i see you. oel ngati kameie," he gently held your face in his hands to ensure you made eye contact with him as he said it to you. you cried even harder because rotxo had never said that to you. and you're glad he didn't because you wouldn't have been able to say this back,

"oel ngati kameie, forest boy."

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mouschiwrites · 6 months

Note

Heyyy:))) I love your wir ihn soo muchhhhh and I wanted to ask if u could write a story Kyle x fem reader so basically she’s like sitting in a park at night and Kyle comes from sport or idk and meets her and they know each other from school and they like think they other one is cool and so they talk and her parents are not home and she can’t come home cause she has no key and that’s why they go to his home and she sleeps at the couche (his parents aren’t home ) but there’s a thunderstorm so she comes to Kyle and they sleep together in his bed ( NOT sexually) just cuddling 😍

Here you are my dove!

Word count: 1k

South Park - Staying at Kyle’s House During a Storm

You crossed your arms, huffing. You watched your breath—coming out as steam in the cold—float and fade into oblivion. Man, what am I going to do…

You were snapped out of your rumination at the sound of your name. You turned around to see Kyle Broflovski, a boy from your school, approaching the picnic table you were sitting at.

“Y/n, right?” He confirmed, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s my name. And you’re Kyle, right?”

He nodded with a little grin. “We have a few classes together, I think.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re the one who always knows the answer to every question. Honestly, I'm a little jealous,” you chuckled.

“Really? Most people just think I'm a nerd for that.”

“I think it’s cool.”

“Thanks, I guess. You’re pretty cool too.”

Then, glancing at the setting sun, he asked: “What are you doing out so late? It’ll be dark soon.”

You sighed. “I’m locked out of my place. My parents are on vacation and I completely forgot to get my key before they locked the house.”

Kyle hummed, going quiet. You fell back into your thoughts. Maybe I have enough money for a crummy motel or someth—

“You could come to my place,” Kyle suggested.

“Huh? Oh, I could never—I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude or anything.”

Kyle waved his hand dismissively. You weren’t sure if it was just the cold, but you swore his cheeks went a bit pink. “It’s not a big deal. You could crash on the couch.”

You were about to decline again, but you noticed dark clouds churning on the horizon, and suddenly you were inclined to accept.

Luckily Kyle’s house wasn’t too far from the park. On the way there he entertained you with a rather humorous story from after-school tutoring. Apparently, the guy he was tutoring chewed his pen so hard that it exploded, dyeing his whole mouth black.

You giggled, imagining with pity the poor kid brushing his teeth relentlessly when he got home.

When you reached Kyle’s house, you decided to return the favor with a story of your own while you both sat on the couch. It just so happened that Kyle’s mother was in the kitchen as you told the story, and it tickled her so well that she came in to introduce herself. Learning about your predicament, she was more than glad to have you over for the night, and even invited you to eat dinner with the family.

Needless to say, the evening went quite well. When it was finally time to turn in for the night, Mrs. Broflovski piled you with so many quilts that you didn’t think you’d be able to move until morning. You could see Kyle trying not to laugh from where he stood in the stairwell. You shot him a discreet playful glare, which earned a little smirk from him as he turned to go to his own room.

You couldn’t have been asleep for longer than two hours when a soft hiss woke you up. It seemed that the rain clouds you saw earlier were fulfilling their promise of a storm; the hiss was coming from the shower outside.

You wriggled under the quilts, repositioning yourself before trying to get back to sleep.

A loud boom rattled you suddenly, and your eyes flew open. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as you desperately heaved yourself out from your cozy entrapment and dashed up the stairs. You didn’t even think; you just ran, and in a moment you found yourself in Kyle’s room.

He was already awake, propped up on his elbows while he looked at his window. His head turned when you entered.

“What’s up?” He rasped sleepily.

“Th-the storm,” you stammered, quivering with adrenaline.

“Yeah, it’s getting crazy out there.” Then, realizing what you probably meant, he asked if you were afraid of it.

You nodded vigorously.

Kyle looked at the window, contemplating. “You wanna stay in here?” He was grateful that you couldn’t see the color on his face in the darkness.

You nodded again, a little slower. You looked around for a blanket, planning to sleep on the floor beside Kyle’s bed, but you were surprised to see him sit up fully and scoot towards the wall. He patted the mattress beside him.

You hesitated, but a flash of lightning made you lunge under the covers. You clapped your hands over your ears, already dreading the horrible noise.

Kyle was readjusting the blankets when the crash of thunder reverberated through the house. Small yips escaped both of you, and at the same time you grabbed each other.

With Kyle’s arms around you, and your hands clasping the fabric on his chest, you were both frozen, anticipating the next boom. You didn’t even have time to be embarrassed at this sudden intimate display; less than ten seconds later, another rumbling boom sounded.

You stayed like that for a long time, squeezing anxiously together, moving ever so slightly closer at each noise. You weren’t sure when exactly, but eventually you fell asleep.

When you woke up in the gray morning light, the first thing you noticed was the silence; more specifically, the absence of the hissing rain. You breathed a sleepy sigh of relief. The storm was over.

The next thing you noticed was the pajama shirt that your face was mushed into. You stared at it blankly as you tried to recall whose it might be.

“You awake?” The cracking morning voice of Kyle Broflovski filled your ears. Your face instantly went ten shades darker.

“Um, yeah.”

Kyle hummed, letting out a slow breath that seemed to show that he was still half-asleep himself. You pushed away a little, but his arms tightened around you.

“No, not yet. You’re warm.”

So are you. You thought assentingly, deciding that it couldn’t hurt to lay like this a little longer. At least until Mrs. Broflovski called you down for breakfast.

“Hey, Kyle?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Staying with me.”

“Oh. No biggie.”

“Still.”

He didn’t respond; he had fallen back asleep. With an amused smile and pinkness lingering on your cheeks, you decided to follow his example.

Thank you for this request! And thanks for reading, have a good one loves <33

(divider by saradika)

#south park #south park x reader #kyle broflovski #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle x reader

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cowgurrrl · 26 days

Text

How I Get Myself Killed

Pairing: Javier Peña x CIA!reader

Author’s note: god I hate writing endings

Summary: When it rains, it pours [2.7k]

Warnings: canon typical stuff, idk man it’s midnight and I’m tired if you’ve read this far, you get it

Besides the Palace of Justice massacre and the burning of thousands of documents that would've helped to extradite Pablo Escobar to the United States throwing a wrench in things at the Agency, it's also given you a massive headache. You've been stuck in back-to-back meetings about communist activity all day and trying to talk Lou down from grabbing a machine gun and going off into the jungle himself. Noonan is still hesitant about letting you back into the field even though she's cleared you because of that kid Javi and Steve picked up, who is currently being interrogated by Colonel Carillo. On top of that, Southern Command has decided to pull the resources offered to the DEA and redirect them to fight against M-19 radicals. Javi is pissed, Steve is worried about Connie, and you're stuck at your desk, listening to wiretap information and making notes. It's a fucking nightmare.

You know Escobar made the connection with M-19, and you know if you had the clearance, you could have that information and witnesses ready to go by the end of the week. But the CIA wants to focus solely on the fact that the Palace of Justice was taken over by a communist group. To them, it means fuck all if Escobar had anything to do with it. A stint in a political office, hundreds if not thousands of sicarios at his disposal, millions of dollars, a kidnapped CIA agent, and an attempt at a government takeover, and still, the CIA won't consider Escobar a higher security threat than communists. You throw your headphones off, unable to listen to the staticky recordings anymore and bury your face in your hands.

It's been days now. You've spent practically every waking second in the office, and when you manage to make it home, you don't sleep. When you do, you're woken up by nightmares every few hours. The lack of sleep has made you jumpy and annoyed by every little request asked of you, especially if the person asking even utters the words M-19. You want this investigation to be over so you can move on. So you can get closer to Escobar. So you can sleep through the night for once.

"You alright there?" A sweet voice asks, and you pick up your head to see Colleen, Ambassador Noonan's secretary, standing there. She's always been nice to you, often sharing stories back and forth when she drops something at your desk or you catch each other near the coffee pot. With the right amount of pressure, she will spill her guts to you about the inner workings of the Embassy, which has worked out in your favor more than once. She's young, a little naive, and a horrible gossip, but you like her.

"Yeah. Sorry," you say, smoothing your shirt and smiling at her. "Things have been a little chaotic recently. I'm sure you know all about it."

"Oh, yeah. The Ambassador's been getting call after call every day since the siege. I think everyone's running around like a chicken with its head cut off," she leans in to whisper to you. "Well, everyone except DEA." You chuckle at that and hold your hand out for the file in her hand. She passes it over, but you're more interested in what she knows than Lou's scribbly handwriting.

"I mean, I'm sure you're right, but what makes you say that?”

"Besides the fact that they've been arguing with Colonel Wysession at every turn," she glances around. "Peña and Murphy have been off base at the same times on the same days this week. You know I don't like to gossip, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're out... getting intel." She raises her eyebrows at you to ensure you get her meaning, and you shake your head.

"I'm sure they're off on some wild goose chase just like the rest of us," you barely believe the words as they leave your mouth, but she seems convinced. "Thanks for the file, Colleen." She leaves an adorably mid-western "you betcha" thrown over her shoulder, and you're left alone with your clunky headphones.

Now that you're thinking about it, you can't remember the last time Javi or Steve passed you in the halls. Sure, the days have blended together, but normally, they make themselves known by appearing at your desk with some request or even just a cup of coffee. If it's not one of them, it's both. Noonan might've made them take a walk or even ordered them off base for arguing with Lou, but they would've told you before they left. Then again, they're agents just like you. You don't like people knowing every move you make, so you can have plausible deniability. Something pricks at the back of your skull, but your phone rings before you can let it develop. You answer the call with your last name and hear someone shuffling on the other line.

“¿Puedes venir aquí?” Javi asks in a hushed tone. Speak of the Devil. He sounds stressed, and you can feel the anxiety rolling off him through the phone. You look around to make sure nobody's paying attention to you and sigh, holding the phone closer to your ear.

"¿Ahora?" You ask, and he hums.

"Sí, ahora."

"Soy trabajando."

"Please," he says. “Sabes que no preguntaría si no fuera importante.” You take a deep breath and check the time on your watch. There are still a few more hours left in your work day, but you've clocked enough overtime this week that, realistically, nobody could argue with you for leaving a little early. You'd also love an explanation as to what he's been doing. If Colleen has noticed, the likelihood that somebody else has is high enough to make your palms sweat. And even if this is the kind of call you would expect from Javi, you know you can get it out of him one way or another.

“Será mejor que hagas que esto valga la pena.” You don't even wait for him to respond before hanging up and standing from your desk. You gather your things quickly before anyone can see you leaving. What's a few hours spent playing hooky from work when dealing with cartels and coups, right?

When you knock on Javi's door, you're half-expecting him to pull you into his apartment before you can even say a word and fuck you until you're both too spent to even think about the horrors of the day, let alone dwell on them. So, to say you're shocked when Steve opens the door and greets you is an understatement. "C'mon in," he drawls, opening the door wider for you to enter. You furrow your eyebrows but step over the threshold, searching for Javi, only a little frantic.

The walls, as usual, are decked in the stock art that comes with the apartment. When you asked him about it, he just shrugged and reminded you that you guys aren't supposed to be in Colombia for long. You get it. Why make something homey if it's not actually home? Still, you've put up pictures and decorations in your apartment to make the miles between you and your hometown seem smaller. As you make your way down the hallway, the main thing that tells you this is his apartment is the smell. It's a mix of tobacco, the leather of his couch, and the cologne he's prone to wearing when he knows he has to be in meetings and impress the higher-ups. One whiff of it, and you already feel your shoulders relaxing. At least until you find him.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." It escapes your lips before you can stop it. Seeing a DEA agent talking to an M-19 revolutionary will do that to you. You recognize her from the photos pinned to the corkboard in the office. She doesn't look as big and scary now as she does next to other guerillas with long criminal records. Here, on Javi's couch, she looks terrified. "This is the informant you've been talking about?"

"She needs help," he says, almost pleading, and you huff. "And you know more about M-19 than we do."

"Yeah, I also know how much they want for her fucking head, Javi. I can't believe you've known where she was this whole time and didn't say anything. They could try you for treason for this."

"I told you she'd be pissed," Steve says, and you glare at him over your shoulder.

"I don't know why you're acting so smug. Your hands are just as dirty as his," you feel like their mother with your scolding, but you don't know what else to do. You take a deep breath and cross your arms over your chest as you try to tamp your temper down. "How long has she been here?"

"Couple days," Javi says, bowing his head a little like a kid in trouble, and you feel your patience thin.

"Days?" You say. "Have you not been in the meetings where they're discussing tearing the communa apart to find her? And you've just been keeping her here, not even ten minutes down the road?"

"This is probably the last place they'd look." Javi defends, and you scoff.

"Probably," you repeat, more annoyed at Javi's shitty idea of sheltering her than anything else. You pace for a minute or two, your mind swirling, before he stands and walks over to you, his hands coming to your shoulders in a familiar gesture. The muscles in your jaw unclench just enough, and you pause your panic when he looks at you in the way he knows makes you fold. You sigh and glance at Elisa. She looks scared. You're sure the gun on your hip does nothing to make her feel better.

"Just… trust me," Javi says softly. You look between him and Elisa one more time before, against your better judgment, sitting down at one of the bar stools in Javi's kitchen.

"Start at the beginning."

Steve settles against the wall next to you, too anxious to sit, while Javi paces and talks. He explains it all. Elisa meeting Connie at the clinic, her involvement with M-19 and Escobar, and how she ended up in Javi's apartment. Steve chimes in every so often with his own side and ideas for what to do now that you're all involved, but none of them are positive.

"I've got somebody in Cumaral who's sympathetic. She'd be willing to hide her until she can testify. We just need to get her there soon." Javi says finally. You're about to open your mouth to offer to drive before remembering the hit still out on you and the fact that you'll probably be stuck in meetings about this exact topic for the foreseeable future. It seems to connect for Steve at the same time because he sighs heavily and rubs his temple.

"I can drive her early in the mornin' and be back by tomorrow night. Noonan wants me to stay with Gaviria while you go to Cartagena anyway." Steve says, looking at Javi, and your brows knit together in confusion.

"You're going to Cartagena?"

"We have intel that Gacha's there. I'm going in... an observational capacity," he says, and you squint at him. You're about to call him on what he's actually going to do in Cartagena until you remember Elisa's presence. The likelihood that she'll repeat any of this to anybody is slim, but you're not willing to take any chances. You give Javi a we'll-talk-about-this-later look and turn back to Steve.

"Hide her in the backseat and take Connie with you. Make it look like a day trip out of the city. They'll be less likely to pull you over if you make it seem like a date or something."

"Woah, woah. Connie isn't a part of this."

"She became a part of this the second she handed over a ticking time bomb," you say. Steve looks like he wants to argue, but you beat him to it. "Or we can just sit on our asses and hope Lou doesn't bust down that door and hang us all out to dry." Steve grinds his teeth and shakes his head as he thinks, and you know you've got him right where you want him. Even if you didn't, you know there was no way in Hell Connie was gonna let him do this alone. Not when she's been so involved up to this point. He curses under his breath and scrubs a hand down his face.

"She better give the best fuckin' testimony anyone's ever heard," he says, and you nod. Once you iron out a few more logistics together, Steve goes upstairs to explain the plan to Connie, only a little pissy that he's the one having to execute it. The second he's out the door, Javi turns to Elisa and clears his throat.

"You mind givin' us a minute?" He asks and she stands from her place on the couch. You feel bad discussing plans about her without asking her opinion or what she wants to do, but you figure it's only fair. If she wants immunity, this is the price she has to pay.

"Thank you for this." She says, her voice small. You chew on the inside of your cheek and nod.

"Like he said, you better make this worth it," you say. With that, she walks down the hallway, into Javi's office, and closes the door to give you some privacy. It's quiet for a few seconds, the two of you reveling in the unexpected peace in the eye of the hurricane, and his knee bumps yours. It's his MO: intentional gestures small enough to get played off as accidental. It's his way of trying to get back on your good side. You rub your eyes and resist the urge to drop your head against his chest. "When were you gonna tell me you're going to get Gacha?"

"I'm just going to see if he's actually there."

"Is Carillo going with you?" You ask, and he gets quiet again. It's all the answer you need. "If Noonan is sending men with you, he's there, which means you're walking into a war zone."

"He has his kid with him. He might go peacefully," he says, obviously trying to placate you. You give him a look. "I'm on orders to bring him in alive if possible." You open your mouth to say something, but you're cut off by the sound of your sat phone ringing. You sigh in exasperation, grab the phone with one hand, and snake the other around Javi's neck, keeping him close. He doesn't look displeased with the sudden affection and almost keens into you when you run your nails through his hair and answer the call.

"Are you off base?" Carillo says in lieu of a greeting, and you roll your eyes. There's no way you've been gone for over an hour and a half, and they already need you back?

"Getting lunch. What's up?"

"Castillo's ready to sing. Figured you should be here when he does." He says. You hesitate. Not even a full week in custody, and the kid is talking? What the fuck did Carillo do to him? Do you even want to know?

"I'll be back in thirty. Go easy on him until then." The words are barely out of your mouth before you hang up. Javi tucks your hair behind your ears, pulling your attention enough to get you to look at him.

"Go. Steve and I'll keep you updated. If anything goes south, you'll be the first to know." He says. It's meant to be comforting, but the icy fear ribboning around your spine doesn't let up. You nod anyway.

"You come back in one piece, do you hear me?" You ask, poking him in the chest to make your point, and he grabs your hand.

"Loud and clear," he says, squeezing you. You stay like that for another few seconds, knowing this is the closest you'll get to be until this whole thing blows over, and savor the feeling of his warm hand in yours. Hopefully, it’s not the last time. Don't be a fucking hero, you think. You count to three and stand, letting him go and gathering your things in one swoop. He walks you out like a gentleman and kisses you like someone looking for salvation in all the wrong places.

On the drive back to the Embassy, you try to remember what you thought your life would look like when you joined the CIA. They warned you it’d be lonely and you’d have to make hard decisions in the best interest of democracy or whatever other bullshit they fed you in the Academy. You don’t think you were prepared for just how lonely and helpless it can make you feel. You should be helping Javi and Steve but instead you’re being called back to witness whatever horrors were done in the pursuit of information.

“Everyone has to sacrifice things in this line of work,” one of your instructors told you at your graduation ceremony. You thought you were prepared. When Colonel Carillo leads you down the dark hallways and to the bloody nineteen-year-old mumbling prayers under his breath, asking for forgiveness, you know there’s nothing in the world that could’ve prepared you for this. And nothing in the world could’ve prepared you for what more you were about to give up.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @space-zaddy-din-djarin @rainy-darling @its-me-mila @mnn11ankamaaka (let me know if you don't wanna be tagged for this series!)

#wanted #javier peña #javi p #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x you #javier peña x reader #javier pena fic #javier pena series #narcos fic #javi p x reader #javi peña #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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poorlittlegreenie13 · 1 month

Text

Scenes From an Italian Restaurant:

WC: 2,000

Syd/Carmy falling in love to the soundtrack of Billy Joel, idk

It's past midnight, but Carmy & Syd still haven't finished closing. It might have something to do with the fact that neither of them can sleep without nightmares at home, and that there's something uniquely comforting about having another person with an equally fucked up sleep schedule to silently work with well into the early hours of the morning. They rarely talk while they're working like this; a blurry, unfocused period somewhere between opening and closing, things that do not strictly need to be done, but that they both take pride in doing anyway. It's their fucking restaurant, they both seem to enjoy treating it like a child they're co-helicopter-parenting.

This particular night, Carmy is in the kitchen doing food prep & Syd is sweeping up the dining area. It's quiet enough to hear herself breathe in, and the silence is getting annoying, so she finds herself sweeping toward the kitchen, peeking through to look at Carmy. As she gets closer to him, she hears him... muttering to himself, maybe? No, that's not it. She walks closer, slipping into the kitchen as quietly as she can, and realizes he's... singing. Carmy Berzatto. Singing. In the kitchen.

Her first impulse is to laugh but she stops herself.

He's kind of... good.

She listens for a little while, mesmerized, trying to make out the lyrics.

A bottle of red, a bottle of white. It all depends on your appetite. I’ll meet you anytime you want, in our Italian restaurant.

She moves slightly and Carmy freezes like a scared deer in the fucking forest, of course. His eyes are so wide and scared, Syd almost feels bad, so she tries to break the tension.

“Didn’t realize you moonlighted as a singer,” she says with an awkward smirk, leaning on her broom. “Did you write that?”

Carmy’s eyes narrow. “Did I— did you just ask me if I wrote that?”

Syd shrugs slightly, sensing she’s made an error.

“It’s Billy Joel,” Carmy says, looking genuinely concerned that she’s lacking this crucial piece of information.

“Okay, sorry, I’m not, like, Italian… and into 70’s music,” Syd says, with a dry, sarcastic smile.

“No, no, but this is a classic song,” Carmy says, “I mean, this is just a good song.”

Sydney just stares at him blankly. “I wouldn’t know,” she says.

“Alright, something’s gotta be done about this,” Carmy says with a disapproving shake of his head, tone as serious as it might be if he was noticing a typo on a menu or a smudge on a plate. He unplugs his headphones from his phone, walking to the restaurant’s sound system and connecting his phone.

A jazzy piano song overtakes the speakers, Carmy pausing to crank up the volume to far above their normal level before turning back to Syd with a smile on his face.

“Cold beer, hot lights, my sweet romantic teenage nights,” the voice of Billy Joel (apparently) sings out over the speakers of their restaurant. Carmy looks at her expectantly. Syd raises an eyebrow.

“It’s… loud,” she says.

“No, no, no,” Carmy says, rolling his eyes, infuriatingly smooth Italian-American vowels softening out as he speaks, an unquantifiable accent that Sydney is pretty sure is going to actually kill her one day. “It tells a story,” Carmy insists, turning back to his prep, chopping vegetables to the beat of the song, talk-singing along with the song, back turned to Sydney. “Brenda and Eddie were still going steady in the summer of ‘75, when they decided the marriage would be at the end of July.”

Sydney can’t help the laugh she lets out. Carmy spins around, an indignant smile on his face.

“Stop looking at me like I’m crazy,” he says, “you’re the one who doesn’t know Billy Joel.”

“I do know some Billy Joel,” Syd says. “Just not this Billy Joel.”

“Well I'm showing you this Billy Joel,” Carmy says. “Listen. Come on, you’re not listening to it. This is good music.”

He sets down his knife, walking over to her, holding out a hand.

Something in the pit of Sydney’s stomach fires off like an over-excited fire-cracker.

“Are you seriously trying to dance with me right now,” she asks flatly, glancing between his face and his extended hand, trying her very best to hold her sarcasm out in front of her like a shield against whatever fuckary this is.

Carmy’s smile fades, just for an instant. Sydney can’t stand it. She rolls her eyes, and takes his hand. Immediately, he grins, spinning her around him. She can’t help but smile. Carmy reaches out for her other hand, pulling her in on one side and pushing her away on the other, awkward high-school-dance moves that a grown man should probably not be pulling on her right now, and should certainly not be working as well as they are.

She meets his eyes, wide grin, slight flush, hair even more disheveled than usual. For a second, she just stares at him, forgetting to dance, forgetting to smile. Carmy, oblivious, is still singing.

“They parted the closest of friends, then the king and the queen went back to the green, but you can never go back there again, no no.”

Fuck.

She shakes her head ruefully, spinning him around to break their eye contact. And okay, maybe she spun him away from her slightly too hard because his hand slips out of hers and he stumbles a few steps away from her, laughing, and then, in a flash of movement, moving back to her, one hand coming to her lower back, the other settling around her shoulders pulling her into his chest, still laughing, still red in the face, breathing slightly heavier than usual, vocalizing Billy fucking Joel right into her ear.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck?

Is she slow dancing with Carmen fucking Berzatto in their kitchen right now?

He’s ridiculously warm in a white tee shirt and jeans, solid and impossibly, weirdly soft, leaning heavily against her, breathing against her neck, smelling like kitchen spices and sweat. This is simply not fair. This is… seriously outside anything normal or manageable. Carmy’s hand on her lower back is keeping her in place against him, stomach to stomach, fingertips splayed out across her back.

She’s stopped moving, she realizes. Carmy stops too after a moment, but he’s still pressed against her, still smiling slightly. Syd lets out a short, nervous laugh.

“Is this weird?” Carmy asks, voice low, unsure, still holding her close—maybe so he doesn’t have to look her in the eye, maybe so he can just rest his chin against her shoulder for a little longer.

Very slowly, Sydney brings a hand to the space between Carmy’s shoulder blades, just resting it there. “Kind of, yeah,” she says. “But not bad weird.”

“Fuck, sometimes… it’s like I forget to be nervous in front of you,” Carmy says—quick, breathless words, slowly pulling back from her, an embarrassed little smile on his face. “And I make a fuckin’ fool of myself before I realize I’m doing it.”

Sydney smirks back at him. “Well it’s kind of too late to fool me into thinking you’re cool,” she says. “Might as well stop being nervous about it. I mean, that ship has sailed.”

Carmy laughs, shaking his head, going a bit redder in the face. “I just really want you to like Billy Joel,” he says.

Syd smiles. “No, I do,” she says. “I totally do like him. I really like him.”

“He has other good songs,” Carmy says. “I always liked this one though. I was like fourteen, thinkin’ I was gonna meet a girl and take her to an Italian restaurant and get… fucking married at twenty. Talk about a ship that’s sailed.”

He goes quiet.

Over the speaker, Billy Joel is still singing.

“A bottle of red, oh a bottle of white, whatever kind of mood you’re in tonight. I’ll meet you anytime you want, in our Italian restaurant.”

“It kind of did work out though,” Sydney says, over the last few chords of the song, “I mean, you do in fact own an Italian restaurant.”

“Yeah,” Carmy says, a boyish smile crossing his face. His expression lingers on her for a long moment.

The song ends, and abruptly, loud guitar chords blare through the kitchen.

“Oh my God,” Carmy says, grinning, the tension of the moment entirely shattered. “Fuckin’ love this one.”

He crosses back to his prep station, picking his knife and returning to his work like nothing happened, bobbing his head and singing, “You had to be a big shot, didn’t you?”

Syd watches him for a little while longer before going back to her sweeping, making a mental note to never think of this night ever again. She’s not sure she could withstand the sheer force of her own stupid fucking yearning. Minutes pass. Half an hour. Carmy cycles through ten odd Billy Joel songs, and then—

“Hey, Syd!” Carmy calls from the kitchen.

Sydney turns, white-knuckling her broom handle, collecting herself for a moment before walking toward the sound of his voice.

When she reaches him, he gives her a crooked, slightly unsure smile.

“If it’s not bad weird," he says, "can we keep doing it?”

Her face burns. She stares at him for a long moment, trying to gauge whether he’s joking or not.

“I mean, can you come here again?” Carmy says, quieter, sounding slightly desperate, while she’s still trying to gauge his sincerity.

Wordlessly she steps toward him, heart pounding. He wraps his arms around her waist, exhaling heavily, chin returning to its place on her shoulder, An Innocent Man playing through the empty restaurant.

“Some people live with the fear of the touch, and the anger of having been a fool.”

Sydney’s not entirely sure how the night ends. It sort of blurs together; Carmy holding her against him, clasped hands, kitchen knives, food prep, sweeping, laughing, blushing, Billy Joel and Carmy’s singing voice. Eventually, Sydney in the doorway, bag slung over one shoulder, Carmy flushed and breathless from laughter, Sydney mentally filing away exactly how it sounds when Carmy says her name, out of breath and slightly desperate.

“I feel like I should apologize to you,” he says, but he's still smiling.

"Yeah you should apologize for not finishing your prep," she says, clinging to the remaining shreds of her self-respect as she stares at him. "Get that done. I need some fucking sleep."

"Yes, chef," Carmy promises softly, with a rueful look on his face. She turns to leave, but he speaks again. "Hey. "Thanks, Syd."

She turns back.

"For what?"

He shrugs, looking down at his feet.

"I just had a nice night."

"Yeah, me too, Bear," Sydney says, and then forces herself to walk away from him, out the door and into the Chicago cold.

Maybe the sleeplessness is making them both crazier than she realized.

Or maybe it's not just the sleeplessness.

Because she's pretty sure she's going to be thinking about exactly how Carmy's arms felt wrapped around her for the rest of her fucking life. And if that's not insanity, she doesn't know what is.

#the bear #sydcarmy #carmy x sydney #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #i had a vision and wrote this in two hours on the train #bon appetit #the bear fx #sydney and carmy #featuring: carmy's inexplicable brooklyn accent that's never explained in canon #that boy is NOT from chicago #he is from new york #i can tell

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lazybutsmexy · 1 year

Text

A bedtime story

Ghost / GN!reader

Warnings: none! No romance involved.

Word count: idk I forgot to count, not very long though

Also I'm posting this at 2am so I'll check for mistakes some other time lol

A/N: just a silly idea I shared with @ragingbookdragon and I decided to write it more properly and share it with you, too :)

Inspired by this tiktok

~•~•~•~•~•~

Exfil had been confirmed for a couple hours into the future, and after some convincing from your part, Ghost laid down on a mat next to your sitting figure to get some sleep.

You couldn't help but watch him curiously out of the corner of your eye - it was sort of an open secret that he didn't get much sleep any day, and probably hasn't had REM sleep for a while. It seemed that the littlest things would rouse him from slumber, although most of the time it was the things inside his own brain that woke him up before he even had the chance to snore.

You stilled yourself as he shifted to a more or less comfortable position, with his elbows bent by the sides of his torso and his hands resting on his abdomen. There was an unwritten rule among his subordinates that stated that no one was allowed to make the slightest noise while he slept unless it was a life or death situation.

(It's not like you were all scared of waking him up, it's just that you all felt slightly bad for how little sleep he got in general.)

You checked your breathing until it was barely noticeable even to yourself, and your hold on your weapon was firm. Even the shift of your eyes between the exterior of the dingy little refuge you were waiting in for exfil and the dozing lieutenant next to you was calculated.

You were mentally preparing yourself to spend the next two hours as still and silent as a statue to not disturb Ghost, but a little sound coming from behind you changed your plans.

A soft snore coming from the man nearly gave you whiplash for how fast you turned your head to look at him. You could barely believe your ears, but your eyes weren't deceiving you. His eyes were fully shut, relaxed, and his chest moved up and down in synch with the snores.

Ghost? Snoring?

It should be impossible for him to fall into such deep sleep so quickly, it was inconceivable! It went against everything you knew about him and his sleeping patterns - or lack thereof.

Your mind ran through multiple scenarios searching for any possible reason for his sudden demise against Sandman. Was he concussed? Perhaps got a drug into his system? Or perhaps got exposed to some chemical agent? Should you radio Price and ask him to get a medical team in the exfil?

A soft murmur was caught by your ears, and you looked around for its origin. You studied the exterior of the refuge, but quickly realized the murmur was coming from behind you.

Slowly, you turned around and eyed the LT's headpiece. Was he listening to a podcast of some sort? Some people would listen to podcasts or nature sounds to go to sleep, surely Ghost probably found that to be helpful as well.

Curiosity killed the cat, you reminded yourself as you carefully slid your body closer to his head. Ghost in himself was a life threat, but a startled-awake Ghost was a death sentence, and with that in mind you thought your final good-byes to your family and friends as you leaned down closer to him, holding your breath as the shell of your ear was almost brushing the headpiece.

Your eyes were trained on his face the entire time, dreading the moment his eyes would inevitably snap open if you made the slightest wrong move.

And yet you nearly flinched when, after a brief pause in the talking, the voice began speaking again.

Sergeant Mactavish's voice.

It sounded low, soothing, almost purring as he told some story you couldn't quite make out. And Ghost's face has never looked so soft and relaxed as he slept.

Your shoulder began straining at the uncomfortable angle at which it was bent, and you carefully regained your sitting position. Another snore seemed to mark the end of a sentence, and you sat facing the exterior again, your mind reeling with the implications of your discovery, and you briefly wondered if Ghost would ever let you listen to it.

After some time, you decided to check the time on your wrist watch, just in time for the radio to crackle to life.

"Bird 1-0 to Bravo, how copy?"

A gloved hand beat yours to reaching for the radio, and you watched it move to Ghost's face.

"Here Bravo 1-0, solid. How long until exfil?"

"15 minutes, get ready to go home."

"Copy that."

You watched him speaking to the pilot, and you knew he knew you were watching him, but the moment he set his eyes on you, yours were trained back outside like the textbook image of an obedient, disciplined soldier.

The treeline had never seemed so appealing to look at than in that moment, yet you couldn't shake the weight of his stare off your back. You were determined to not crumble under his burning gaze, but you could barely suppress the shiver that ran down your spine when he grumbled from behind you.

"...if Sgt. Mactavish finds out that his stupid recording actually helps me sleep, I'll know it was you who chirped."

You had to force your diaphragm to suck in a deep breath before you turned to face his piercing stare and answered, hoping your voice didn't sound too shaky. "I'll take it to my grave, sir."

"Good, now get ready for exfil."

"Yes, sir."

"And no, I won't let you listen to it."

How the fuck did he know??

#ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #platonic #john soap mactavish #that one neil ellis tiktok #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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thisisarcanereverie · 3 months

Text

Cutting Ties (DARK! Moon Knight x Reader) Part 3

A/N: I know, I'm back from the dead (shocker) I'm so sorry about the lengthy delay but here it is! This is Part 3 of a 3 Part fic. (Here is Part 2!) This is also a dark fic so please DNI Minors and others.

Now if you can interact or want to, please do! Like, reblog, reply!

DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS: kidnapping, angst (like a ridiculous amount of it), light cursing, slight suggestive content, I've never been to London or England in general so I'm going based off of what I've seen, I am also not responsible for your content consumption please be advised that this is a dark story with triggering elements, viewer discretion advised. English is my first language I just suck at it. No beta, we die like men! I do not own the picture above but i DO own the header below, it's something that I made. I might make a few others idk. Enjoy!

Summary: You're a former Widow on the run, only in London for a year you meet Steven Grant, a goofy gift shoppist. But is there more that meets the eye?

Weeks passed.

You had begun to notice a pattern, similar to the one they had before, one day it would be Marc who woke you up with turkey bacon and eggs and slept by you with your hands in his hair and then Steven would take his place the next day with oatmeal with fruit in it in the morning and smothering you at night. The only difference was that Jake had yet to show himself since the night he brought you here.

A small part of you was grateful for that but the larger (angrier) part of you wanted to see him again, if only to scream at him. However, you had to play this right, you had been working on both Marc and Steven on going to the doctor. You were careful, you knew if they said the wrong thing they wouldn’t go, so you played the part of loyal and dutiful girlfriend each day with a smile on your face and a calm, nurturing voice. Even your words were carefully thought out and rehearsed in advance, every time you mentioned the doctor you didn’t use isolating words like “you” and “me” or “I” instead using words that resembled unity and empathy (something they both had lacked in their childhood) such as “we” and “us”. With every sugared word you swallowed bile and chewed every insult into the insides of your cheeks. The Red Room was a vile place and you resent it with all that you are, but as you find yourself in this situation you couldn’t help but be thankful for their lessons in mental and emotional manipulation. Without them you don’t know what you would’ve done.

However, as you lay there with Steven’s arm around your abdomen and your gaze fixed on the calendar that hung on the wall in front of you, you hope you can hang on another forty-eight hours, the day of the appointment. You purposely made it for a day. It would be Steven in charge of the body. He was easier swayed and manipulated than Marc. He would let you go with him to the appointment, he needs you at the appointment. You’re his angel, his love, you would hold his hand as he tells the doctor how badly he sleeps and as the doctor writes the prescription you’ll excuse yourself. It can’t be before the doctor writes the prescription, Steven will get nervous and start looking for you sooner rather than later, as the doctor writes the prescription however the appointment will essentially be over but not quite. He will have to sit there and get the prescription and go to check out where they will have him make another appointment for a check in with the doctor before finally having time to look for you in the stalls. It gives you thirty minutes give or take to escape the building without being detected and stealing a car to get to the next town over where you’ll call your ID guy. If the ID guy proves to be a bust you know Yelena was always on the lookout for ex-black widows and she might help you like Natasha did the last time you needed to disappear. The plan was complicated, sure, it required perfect timing and a shit ton of hope and luck, but it was all you had. You were no stranger to seducing, manipulating, and betraying. They were second nature to you, like a coat you’ve left in your closet for so long but it still fits like you've never abandoned it at all. Still though, you’ve never betrayed someone you had loved before, and the guilt at the thought of Steven’s confused and distraught face like the one he had at the apartment was almost enough to kill you. Steven was relatively innocent in all of this, this wasn’t his plan it was Jake’s. It wasn’t his fault that they shared a body. Still, freedom comes at a price and Steven, Marc, and Jake would never allow such a luxury.

You find yourself slipping sometimes, finding yourself thinking it wouldn’t be so bad. That this life is exactly what you wanted to begin with, having your cake and eating it too. But you reminded yourself that this life was given to you without choice. That these men might love you in their own way, but all they want in the end is to possess you, to keep you whether it would be willingly or not, with chains or with vows.

It was later than usual, you knew you needed to sleep. You need all the energy you can get, after escaping in a few days you will probably miss the bed seeing as you don’t know where you’ll be but in either case you doubt you’ll be sleeping with a quilt or a fluffy pillow for a while. You try to sleep, counting sheep proved fruitless and the warmth of Steven’s chest on your back caused your body temp to rise to an uncomfortable degree. But you tried to remain still, you’ve been under worse torture than restlessness and uncomfortable heat, you should be fine.

…

You were wrong.

Gently you tried to scoot away from him, hoping to catch some sort of reprieve to no avail. Tried extending your limbs to the cooler parts of your shared blanket in order to cool at least some part of you down but that only helped little, only one foot managed to break free from the too warm confines and that helped significantly but sleeping like that felt too weird (too many horror movies with Jake). You let out a little frustrated huff, your attempts to cool off were met with failure. You were so caught up in trying to cool off you failed to notice the slight stir in the man beside you until you felt his breath next to your ear.

“Trying to escape again mi carissima?”

Suddenly, you no longer felt the need to cool off. Instead chills ran down your spine as the urge to hurl crawled its way to your throat. Your body went stiff as you felt him move from your side to leave the bed. You avoided looking at him, the all too familiar feeling of fear and rage made you hesitant to gaze in his direction. You contemplated reaching towards the nearest object and throwing it in his direction. But you looked at the calendar instead, freedom was two days away, you can’t ruin it now by revealing your true feelings. So with a deep, shaking breath in you sat and mustered up all the love and tenderness you could as you gazed at him.

“I haven’t seen you in a while lover,” you said affectionately as you imagined all sorts of violent, Taylor Swift worthy, things you would rather say to him, “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” you see him looking at you with apprehension, and what you could almost mistake for guilt.

“I was giving you space,” he said as he changed out of his sweaty night shirt for a fresh one, your eyes lingered where his sleep pants hung on his hips. Damn, you had forgotten that while the man in front of you was certifiable, he was also hot as fuck, and that if he turned around you knew your eyes would follow south. You couldn’t help it, with hips and an ass like that how could you not look at it and go a little feral.

“Well,” you cleared your throat a little, forcing your eyes to remain firmly on his face despite the almost magnetic force trying to pull your gaze downwards, “that was probably a wise idea.”

“I thought I had to do this,” he says, Jake was never one to halfheartedly apologize when he doesn’t believe he should “for us.”

“Still,” you said, hugging your knees to your chest, “don’t you think you should’ve brought it up with me? To give me a choice?”

“I’m giving you one now,” he said, eyes turning to you for the first time in weeks, “I wasn’t acting right before. I was angry and scared, you were going to abandon us like we didn’t matter. You weren’t even going to tell me the truth, you were going to leave that very night. I became rash, and crazy, and…” his eyes cast down towards the bunched up shirt in his hand, “I hurt you.” He tossed the soiled shirt into the laundry basket before turning his gaze back to you, “So I’ve been staying away, remaining a fly on the wall as I watched you with Steven and Marc. Punishing myself by seeing you but never touching you.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” you said with anger rumbling in your chest, “I would almost call the tone in your voice remorse.”

“I apologize for hurting you,” he states moving to the side of the bed where he laid moments before, before sitting the mattress sinking with him slightly. “I regret that deeply but I don’t apologize or regret bringing you here.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?”

“I am giving you a choice,” he said, eyes bearing into you, “now that you’ve lived here for a while, seen what our life can be like. Will you stay?”

What?

Your eyes dart between his as your mind struggles to come up with any alternative motives he has behind this. He could be luring you into a false security, be sadistically playing with your feelings as a way to punish you further for trying to leave them behind.

“What would you do if I went?”

“I’d follow you,” he says with no hesitance, “I’d follow you anywhere mi carissima, from desert to tundra I’d follow you faithfully and without complaint.” his hands hesitantly grab yours, “I can handle myself, and so can Marc and surprisingly so can Steven. You don’t need to worry about us in a fight, but I will not force us to stay here. The choice is yours.”

There was a lot to think about, there were many contradictory feelings swirling inside of you. A mix of shock, anger, and the tiniest glimmer of hope were the most prominent. You see his eyes and know he’s being honest. He won't force you to remain in this house they’ve built just for you, but he won’t let you leave him. Though, looking back you guessed you never did want to leave them anyways. You were going to leave to protect them and now that you know they were more than capable of protecting themselves…you weren’t sure. You could always lie and manipulate them further, then leave like you had planned to do since you got here. But you could also stay…you don’t know.

“Do I have to decide now?”

“No,” he assured, “I won’t force you to,” he grabbed the spare pillow and throw blanket at the end of the bed, “I don't want you to get overheated again so I’ll sleep on the couch. So, don’t worry about making any decisions right now and try to get some rest…goodnight.” and with that he left. Leaving the door open behind him and leaving you in a state of shock and disbelief. You knew eventually you would have to see him again, he was a part of them but you’d never imagine it would go like this. You kind of imagined he would have the same look in his eyes like he did when he stabbed a needle in your neck, to act insane and possessive and obsessive and hold you hostage with no choice in sight. Except he just gave you one, something to ponder the next two days about.

Dread fills you as the decision lies in front of you. Waiting for you to make a choice.

Needless to say, you didn’t get any sleep that night.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The past two days passed in a blur before you were finally seated next to Steven as he answered the doctors medical questions regarding his overall health. Marc and Steven seemed to have calmed down slightly in terms of spending every minute with you and never letting you out of their sight. It was odd, and now you were conflicted. After Jake’s sudden (and brief) visit your mind had been running a million miles trying to figure out what angle he could be playing. Was this psychological warfare? Was he testing you?

You excused yourself to the bathroom as planned once the intake was over, mentally your mind began counting down from thirty minutes as you stepped into the bathroom. As expected there were no cameras here in the women’s restroom, which was to your benefit, along with a window. It was smaller than you had expected but it was large enough for you to crawl out of. You were quick to silently click the lock on the door leading to the bathroom before you went to one of the sinks to turn the faucet on. Opening the window and crawling through was bound to make some noise and the rushing water was going to mute some of the noise you would be making. As your hand reaches for the hot and cold knobs you pause. Time was ticking away by the second, every minute you stood there undecided was a minute you could’ve had to get away. Yet here you were. Were you actually considering staying with them?

It’s horrible, what a few acts of kindness can do. Giving you space, giving you a choice…and you’re a mess. Wasn’t that what you wanted to begin with? A choice? There are only two ways that this plays out, you know this. On one hand you go, you turn the knobs and you run, like you’ve always done, alone. There was no guarantee that Yelena would pick up, there was no guarantee that you wouldn’t be thrusted right back into the life of a mercenary, there was no guarantee that doing this would grant you the freedom you’ve fought so hard and yearned for so long for. Was it freedom if all you did was hide and run? What would happen if you stayed? Jake, Marc, and Steven were an unpredictable risk. Jake could be lying, you wouldn’t put it past any of them to lie and act in order to keep you, even Steven…on the other hand, maybe this was a pattern of yours. Maybe all you ever do in any situation is run, run away from every complex thought and feeling and you never turn back. Maybe the reason you never felt free was because you weren’t meant to be. You can’t recall the number of times you’ve spent countless night staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, with gut wrenching guilt as you replay all the terrible things you’ve done as a widow; the people you’ve killed, countries you’ve lead into war that orphaned children, secrets you’ve both hidden and exploited. There were nights you’ve asked for some sort of punishment that would ease the guilt that was slowly killing you. Maybe this was it, maybe this was the punishment.

Staying, knowing full well that this time there is no evil man behind you pulling your strings, that there was no one to blame but yourself for the outcome. Knowing that your last meaningful act of free will was to throw away the autonomy you had treasured as if it was something solid and tangible in exchange for a gilded cage with no means of escape and constantly wondering if you made the right choice.

And never knowing if you did.

Your shoulders slumped as the weight of it weighed heavily. What was it going to be?

Freedom in exchange for redemption, or redemption in exchange for your freedom.

You’re not as sly as you think you are–or–as you used to be. Jake had your plan figured out the moment you suggested Marc see the doctor for ‘sleeping medication’. He had to hand it to you, your manipulation tactics were impressive, the collective ‘we’ and ‘us’ and adoring looks and gentle touches were truly inspired.

You silly, silly little spider…did you really think anything that Jake had told you was true?

////////////////////////////////////////////

Yes, he admits he may have fucked it up a little by going a little bat-shit crazy and sticking a needle into your pretty neck and forcing you into a home that wasn’t finished quite yet. But he made up for it, he let you get this far with your little trick. It was the least he could do, along with offering a fake choice. You weren’t even going to make it to the nearest payphone (which is surprisingly still functional given its obsolete status) before he dragged you back home kicking and screaming if that’s what it took.

Still, though, he doesn’t like you kicking but as for the screaming (well, given the right circumstances he loves to hear you scream, especially when it’s his name)

So instead of outwardly calling your little game out, he decides to play along, acting none the wiser and giving the biggest performance of his life.

He knows you like to think yourself a master manipulator, but the truth was that without the constant threat of death and Dreykov’s mind control, your manipulation skills have gotten rusty. A once sharp and carefully polished tool now dull and worse for wear. Against easily manipulated fools like Steven and (sometimes) Marc, it’s effective. But he was the only one who was truly your equal. Jake was the only one who truly understood you. Steven had false memories to comfort him and while Marc and Jake lived with the unhappy ones, and while he wasn’t perfect, at least their dad never forgot Marc’s birthday. Jake had no one, had nothing–not even his own body! Much like you did as a widow. You were the only person who could possibly understand him and by extension he was the only one to understand you.

There is a strange power in being understood, it’s terrifyingly intoxicating, especially to one who is never understood. Jake had never been particularly interested in salvation or redemption in general, but you became his religion, the altar where he worshiped and the light that baptized him. Worshiping you was as easy as breathing, like it was what he was made to do. So he listened devotedly to every syllable from your mouth and he made a list of all you said.

Jake had wanted to marry you before showing you the home he had built, (well him, Marc, and Steven), he had it all planned out, the only thing he didn’t plan for was that night. Suddenly his light was taken from him, his comfort, his home, his life was stripped away from him before he could utter a word.

That would drive any man insane.

He made a few questionable choices, sure, but he paid for them and now here was his reward. Driving back from the doctors with a prescription he doesn’t intend on picking up with you in the passenger seat. Willingly and holding his hand.

He smiles, ignoring the way your eyes shine with unshed tears and how your fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pulls your hand for a kiss. None of that matters, you’re with him now.

With no chance of escape.

Ever again.

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