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wife-of-all-dilfs · 6 months

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flower therapy | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after being rescued from the capitol’s torturous clutches, your boyfriend, finnick odair, assists you with recovering from haunting memories and ptsd.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: finnick being major boyfriend material, soft reader, mentions of torture, ptsd, panic attack, hurt/comfort, fluff

notes: the way i lowkey triggered myself into a panic attack while writing this?? i’m okay now though 😀

word count: 1.3k

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. That is what the psychiatric doctors of District Thirteen suggested after you were rescued from being captured and tortured in the Capitol. Their methods sounded daunting and all too familiar—sterile white rooms, memory flash cards, persistent strangers who would force you to relive your trauma so you could 'work through it'.

Finnick did not like the sound of that one bit. So, he offered an alternative.

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. The label was a mouthful. Finnick preferred to call it "flower therapy". Twice a week, you and Finnick were authorised to spend two hours above ground where you would sit in a nearby meadow, make daisy chains, and occasionally open up about what happened in the Capitol.

You liked to call it "the power of flowers". Stupid, but saying it always formed a little smile on your face and there was no harm in simple joy considering the cruelties you had endured. Most of the time, you were silent and would lie in Finnick's arms while making flower crowns. He was always patient; he understood you needed time. Day after day, he proved his unconditional love, and you thanked the universe for blessing you with such an incredible man.

"Oh no," you whispered.

"What is it?"

You dangled your broken daisy chain in front of you and Finnick.

"Oh no," he echoed.

Your back rested against his chest and his arms enveloped your body as he held his own effortlessly crafted yellow chain in your lap. Apparently, years of weaving fishing nets creates a master of making daisy chains.

"Here," he said, positioning his own flower crown on your head. "Beautiful."

Smiling, you turned your head to face him. "I'm going to tell everyone I made it."

The flowers sat like a golden halo atop your head, beaming just as bright as the smile Finnick had bloomed at the sight of you. Beauty was everything that you were; not just outwardly, but within the confines of your mind too. Flowers and sunlight were interwoven with your soul, making up the essence of who you were—loving and warm-hearted. One of the many reasons Finnick had fallen in love with you.

He would forever want to remain in your garden, tending to and protecting every petal that blossomed.

His thumb swiped affectionately across your cheek. "Of course you are, you thief," he murmured, grinning. "You owe me."

Your stomach flooded with butterflies and you leaned in, tenderly kissing him with soft pink lips. Finnick cupped your cheek, stroking the baby hairs of your hairline with his fingers as he smiled against your mouth. Even your lips tasted like sweet nectar to him.

After you pulled away, you settled back into his embrace, sinking into those arms that shielded you from any and all harm.

"Okay, I suppose you're forgiven," Finnick said, the smile present in his voice.

You toyed with his fingers while wearing a glowing smile of your own, his arms lovingly wrapped around your body. Oh, you loved him so endlessly.

As the sun began to lower, a mixture of orange and pink clouds blanketed the sky. The trees surrounding the meadow cast large shadows throughout the area, making it appear much darker than it really was. A subtle shift in the once tranquil atmosphere rippled through the meadow, happiness now becoming a distant and unreachable feeling.

The broken daisy chain crumpled in your hands no longer shined in the sun like a beautiful mess. It instead looked tangled. Chaotic. Darkened by the dimming light and transformed into something sinister that resurfaced haunting memories of the Capitol—twisted IV tubes filled with unknown substances, chains that removed layers of skin, decaying white roses that covered the floor of your cell.

Heaviness clutched at your heart, suffocating you from within.

Finnick sensed the sudden shift, loosening his hold around you as he whispered, "What's wrong?"

"I—I don't know," you stammered, the air thinning around you.

The wilting daisies started to taint your hands with darkness, creeping slowly up your arms and causing them to tremble. Finnick, who noticed your fixation on the daisy chain, gently took the flowers from your grasp and set them aside.

It was too late; the panic had already set in.

He turned your body to the side in his lap, forcing you to face him. Your eyes flickered with worry. No amount of pain could compare to the heartbreak he felt seeing you like this.

"Hey. Hey, look at me," he urged, his tone soothing. "Breathe with me, alright? In..." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "And out."

But it was no use. Air was caged within your lungs, burning like fiery hot whirlwinds inside your chest. It was all you could do to force rapid shallow breaths out of your mouth.

"No, no!" A tear fell from your eye as you fervently shook your head. "Finn, I ca—I can't."

"Yes, you can, baby," he said, pushing aside the hair that obscured your vision. His eyes searched the area, looking for anything that could help distract your frantic mind. That is when he spotted a small flock of birds perched on one of the tree branches, instantly recognising their black feathers and sharp beaks. "Look. See those birds? They're mockingjays."

Finnick pointed up at the tree, gaining your attention which then shifted to the birds that were gawking down at you with curious tilting heads. Mockingjays. Katniss. Rebellion. Hope. You focused all your attention on the little black birds and listened to Finnick's reassuring voice.

"They'll repeat any tune you make," he continued, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Can you do that for me? Try and whistle something for them?"

Attempting to control your ragged breathing, you jerkily nodded. Songs from the world before the war overtook your mind. At first, it was overwhelming as your mind scrambled for a suitable melody, fuelling your panicked state. But then you heard something familiar and focused on the familiar tune, one that was from your childhood.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

Go to sleep, my little baby,

When you wake you shall have,

All the pretty little horses.

It was a lullaby your mother sang whenever you were upset. Seemed fitting considering the situation. You managed to whistle the first few notes, albeit a little wobbly of course, hardly noticing the air that was starting to flow more freely into your lungs.

"That's it, sweet girl."

Once the mockingjays began echoing the song throughout the forest—far more beautifully than your broken whistles—you continued the melody until the end. When you finished, the birds continued to repeat the tune, singing your mother's lullaby over and over in the trees of District Thirteen.

Whilst sat cradled in Finnick's embrace, you quietly hummed along as he stroked soft patterns on your arm. Darkness and pain were long forgotten now. Your body no longer trembled with fear nor did your breathing. Memories of the Capitol's brutality were locked away and hidden in the back of your mind, diligently guarded by the man whose arms you lay in.

Golden beams filtered through the tree trunks; the sun was now lowered enough to let the warm light in, illuminating both you and Finnick. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, wrapping you up even tighter in his arms now that he was certain the worst had passed.

You clutched onto his arm and blew out a final stabilising breath, finding comfort in the strength and protection he held. The side of your head rested against his chest, the beats of his heart harmonising like a drum with the mockingjays' song.

You wanted to apologise but knew his response would be dismissive. You wanted to tell him how deeply you loved and appreciated him but knew your words would fail you.

So, you remained silent.

"You're safe," Finnick whispered into your hair. "Right here, right now. I promise."

Right here, right now, you repeated in your mind. In Finnick's arms, you were safe. You were loved.

tags: @tayrae515

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x you #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #sam claflin #odesta #finnick x reader

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mediumgayitalian · 26 days

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“Oh, fuck.”

The clatter of her practice sword on the ground is almost louder than the crunch that rings out from his wrist. He inhales sharply, biting back a shout — no matter how many times it’s happened, he will never get used to breaking a bone. That shit hurts.

“Fuck, fuck fuck. Fuck, Seaweed Brain, is it broken?”

“Think so,” Percy grits out. He tries for a smile, and Annabeth matches it, small and worried. He leans into the hand she cups over his cheek. “Not too bad, though. If I just dump my water bottle on it —”

“Absolutely not. Water healing leaves you achey when it rains, you know that.” Shifting to wrap her arm around his waist, she helps him stand, shouldering some of his weight like it’s his ankle that’s broken. He lets her, reaching down to squeeze the hand resting on his hip — I’m fine. We’re good. She turns her hand to wrap clasp their hands together — Okay. If you’re sure.

They walk together to the infirmary, taking their time. Aside from the pain pulsing from his arm, it’s not too bad — camp is as balmy as usual, and the spring break energy is practically visible, it’s so potent. The Demeter cabin has plants growing everywhere, flowers and fruit trees blooming as bright as a box of new crayons, and the air is filled with shouts of laughter and teasing. Annabeth’s steps fall in time with his, and she’s a comfortable warmth at his side, pressed from shoulder to hip.

“You still okay?”

“Yep.” He catches her eye, smiling crookedly at her. “Doesn’t even make my top fifty.”

She rolls her eyes, hipchecking him. “Don’t I know it, ya klutz.”

“Not sure I would call being flung from the St. Louis Arch being a klutz. Or exploded in a volcano. Or crushed under the sky. Or slashed by giants. Or chased by —”

“You’re talking, but all I’m hearing is Annabeth, please, please pinch me, as hard as you can —”

“Hey! Get those claws off me, gods you’re worse than an empousai —”

“— and when you’re done pinching me please put me in the tightest headlock you can manage —”

“I am injured! You are beating up an injured person right now!”

“— and then please just bite a chunk out of my shoulder —”

“Cut it out or I’m telling Mom!”

“Wimp,” she taunts, finally releasing him. “I don’t go running to Sally every time I lose a fight.”

“Wha — you do so!”

She ducks through the infirmary door, smirking like she can’t hear him.

“You literally — you snitched on me last week! I got grounded for two days!”

“And you deserved it,” she says primly.

He gapes. “I did not!”

“Anytime you two are done,” Kayla drawls, shoving a clipboard at them. They accept it with matching sheepish grins, cowed at her perfectly arched eyebrow and slowly tapping foot. “I got patients to deal with and older brothers to harass. Let’s get this moving.”

She is shockingly good at humbling people for a thirteen year old. The two of them turn to their clipboard, chagrined, letting her stomp away with an exasperated He’ll be with you soon! Don’t set off the sprinklers again!

“That was one time,” Percy mumbles, ears reddening.

Annabeth pats him on the back. “There, there,” she says mockingly. “The fact that it was one time definitely negates the fact that you flooded the entire Big House because you got jumpscared by a child.”

“Harley can be sneaky, okay. Let me live.”

“Literally no.”

Annabeth does most of the paperwork for him, ‘cause she’s a nerd because his wrist is far too swollen for him to write properly, so it takes maybe half the time it normally would. The infirmary is crowded as Hell, though (he knows, he’s been), so they settle in for the wait, amusing themselves by tearing little pieces off of a blank form, balling them up, and tossing them in increasingly harder places. Percy is winning 7-4, although Annabeth might just pull through if she manages to toss her paper ball into Travis’ wide-open snoring mouth.

“Hey, guys. Sorry for the wait.”

Aw. She missed. Percy was looking forward to that.

“Hey, Will.”

He drags his attention away from the son of Hermes to greet his friend, but frowns before he can open his mouth.

“Woah, dude, you good? You look exhausted.”

Will snorts. “Welcome to spring break, man.” He holds his hand out for the clipboard, scanning it briefly. “Sparring injury? Oh, thank the gods. I could use a break. Here, face me.”

He climbs up onto the minimal left over space on the cot, tucking his legs under his thighs. Percy turns to mirror him, hesitantly sticking out his arm — A break? he mouths to Annabeth, meeting her eyes over Will’s head.

She shrugs.

“Just spent four hours putting Jake’s nose back on his face,” Will mumbles, placing a careful hand on his fingertips and his forearm. Percy flinches — his skin is blisteringly hot. Like someone just dropped a hot stone onto him. “I never want to sing a skin cell hymn again in my life.” He prods at Percy’s wrist for a moment, gentle enough not to hurt. “Okay, hold still, I’m gonna fix ya right up.”

Healing hymns are familiar, by now, but Percy will never get tired of them.

The cool thing about ambrosia and nectar is that as pleasure food for the gods, it’s pleasant. It’s whatever taste you want, whatever you need to have most, you get it. But healing hymns are intentional the way nectar and ambrosia aren’t. Ambrosia and nectar happen to be healing for demigods — healing hymns were constructed to knit you back together, like you mother smoothing a bandaid over a skinned knee. They’re warm and sweet and deeply, endlessly comforting in a way most things simply cannot claim to be. They don’t feel like a medical procedure or a hasty patch job, they feel like someone gripping you tightly and promising you’ll be okay. They feel like getting carried to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. They feel like sitting down after hours of standing, like a drink of water when your throat is drier than sand. Healing hymns draw the pain and sick and ache from your body, and they feel like relief.

But this time, Percy can’t focus on it.

With every word, Will seems to get a little duller. Nothing like the horrible ash-grey he went in the war, dragging the poison from Annabeth’s body, but like his usual sunny disposition was dialed down a few notches. Enough that Annabeth frowns in concern, drumming her hands on her thighs, watching him closely.

“There,” Will says, pulling away. Percy turns his now-healed wrist, noticing the slight pant to Will’s breath, the strain to his smile. The shake of his blistered fingertips.

“You look overworked,” Annabeth says quietly.

Will holds his hands up in a what can you do gesture. “Spring break.”

“You said.”

“It’s just busy, is all.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Guys,” he interrupts, smiling tiredly, “there are two hundred ADHD demigods at this camp right now who have been trapped in a classroom for six months. There are three of us. I’m going to be a little drained; we’re all a little drained. But I’m fine, okay?” He gives them a second to scrutinize his expression, eyebrows raised in amusement. “I have been running my infirmary for years. I know how to pace myself, and I certainly know how to make sure my siblings are pacing themselves. If something goes really wrong, Chiron is a whistle away. I can go longer than you guys without sleep, anyway. Apollo kid health.”

“If you say so,” Percy says reluctantly. “I just — I can wear a wrist brace, man. Not every injury needs to be handled when it happens. You can tell people no.”

“I appreciate that, Percy, and I’ll keep it in mind. Anyways, I’ve got more patients. Stay off that wrist for the rest of the day, okay? It might be tender for a bit.”

Percy turns to Annabeth as Will leaves, frowning. He’s has never noticed the so-called spring break stress before (his camp spring breaks are usually a blast, but now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t think of a single spring break where he spent any time at all with Will, which is odd), but it can’t be good for him. There’s gotta be something they can do to ease some of the bruising under their friend’s eyes.

“I could set off the fire alarms again,” Percy suggests. “That’ll certainly get this place cleared out.”

Annabeth snorts. “I think that’ll cause more harm than good, Seaweed Brain. It’ll just fall in him to clean it all up, after.”

“Shoot.”

Percy counts nine of the forty cots currently unused. Will, Kayla, and Austin are rushing from cot to cot, handing out nectar, wrapping bandages, rattling off hymns at light speed. All three of them look exhausted, squeezing shoulders when they pass each other, knocking hips, exchanging tired smiles. This is so clearly something they’re used to.

Annabeth’s head rests on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t always like this,” she whispers. “When it was fully staffed…”

Percy exhales heavily. Yeah. He remembers. There was a lot less complication, once upon a time. The most chaotic the infirmary would get was when Lee would challenge his siblings to Hymn Karaoke — trying to heal with pop songs. There was a lot more laughter, at one point. A lot more people.

Percy sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. It never does well to dwell, but he — gods, he wish they all had more time. To sit with it, to acknowledge…everything. Siblings. Friends. A camp that’s smaller than it’s supposed to be.

Annabeth squeezes his hand again, and he squeezes back, resting his head on top of hers.

“Hey,” she murmurs after a moment, pursing her lips at the front door. “Look.”

Slinking through the entrance like a criminal is Nico, in all his dork ass black camp shirt glory. He looks around shiftily, like he’s trying to make sure no one sees him, and when his gaze lands on Percy and Annabeth his eyes widen. Annabeth smiles at him, but it does nothing to ease the spooked look to his face, back arched like a startled cat. He turns to leave, but before he can slip back out the door —

“Nico!”

The son of Hades whips back around so quickly he brains himself on the doorframe. Percy ducks his head and bites his lip, hard, because he can feel Nico’s glare at the side of his head like the press of hot coal, and if he laughs as badly as he wants to then the infirmary is about to look like a Spirit Halloween.

Will turns back to his patient, squeezing his eyes shut and rattling a hymn off so quickly it makes a burst of light pop from his whole body, and rushes over to where Nico’s standing. He only trips over two things, which is remarkable for him. Percy would be proud if he wasn’t a little embarrassed on his behalf.

“Nico! Hi!”

“He-ey, Will,” Nico says, voice cracking badly on every vowel. Annabeth shoves her face into Percy’s shoulder, body shaking.

“I didn’t know you were coming! I thought you were in the arena all day.”

Nico shrugs, shoes scuffing the floor. “I am. I just — uh, I got hurt? So. Came to see you.”

Will’s beam is so bright it hurts to look at, a little. Percy squints and realises that’s not just the excitement, actually — he really is glowing, faintly. His hands flap slightly at his sides.

“Well, you’re in the right place, then.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them say anything for a minute, rocking back on their heels. Will watches Nico closely, biting his lip. Nico looks resolutely at the floor.

“We weren’t this bad,” Annabeth whispers, “were we?”

Percy shakes his head. “Nah, there’s no way.”

“Gods. It’s so — I don’t know whether to smile or take a dip in the Lethe. It’s embarrassing and endearing at the same time.”

“Painful to watch, but I can’t stop looking,” Percy agrees.

“What’d you hurt?” Will asks, finally. “Did you pull your shoulder again?”

A look of panic flits briefly across Nico’s face until he smooths it to something neutral, aloof.

“Yep. Totally. During — sword fighting, I swung — I did this really big thrust, actually. Just — hugely powerful, training dummy exploded on impact.” He clears his throat. “Some might say too powerful. If you can imagine.”

Percy cradles his head in his hands. “Oh my gods — ”

“Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh,” Annabeth chants, “oh my gods, don’t laugh —”

A light flush dusts Will’s cheeks. He brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, fiddling with his earrings. “Woah, really? I’ve never heard of that before.”

Nico smirks, standing up a little straighter. “Well, it’s not the first time. I tend to go pretty hard.” Remembering his supposedly hurt shoulder, he exaggerates a wince. “Too hard sometimes, I guess. Could you do the — the energy thing?”

“Oh — gods, yeah, sorry. Hold on.” He stares at Nico’s shoulder, hesitating. “It, um, works better with skin-to-skin contact.”

“I have seen crystal vases less transparent,” Annabeth says, aghast. “In two years he’s going to remember this and try to drown himself.”

“I will be counting down the days,” Percy says gleefully.

On rare, rare occasions, the gods answer his prayers. Clearly, both Nemesis and Aphrodite are looking at him kindly today. Percy makes a note to scrape some of the good stuff off his plate for them both today. Hell, maybe he’ll skip the portioning and toss them an entire roast chicken each. Or something. They deserve it.

Will places both hands — interesting, Percy notes, his wrist was snapped cleanly in two and he only needed one hand, wonder why that was — on Nico’s shoulder and closes his eyes, screwing up his face in concentration.

“Huh. I’m not feeling much damage. You said it was your right shoulder?”

“I heal quick,” Nico says loudly. “I mean, some of the damage might have — um.” He clears his throat. His face glows a faint crimson. He clears his throat again. “Y’know?”

Will’s face is a similar shade.

“Right, right. Yeah. Um, brace yourself.”

Instead of starting to sing, Will closes his eyes, holding completely still. After a moment, the tips of his fingers begin to glow; soft, ambery yellow, flickering like lit candles. He opens his eyes again and focuses intently on Nico’s bare skin, tracing patterns around every defined muscle, leaving a trail of light behind. He lingers, for a moment, when he connects the last string of light, waiting until it has faded entirely from Nico’s skin to remove his hands and shove them in the pockets of his coat.

“That better?” he asks softly.

Nico swallows. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad, Nico. It means a lot that you — came to me. When you needed it.”

“I trust you, I guess.” Nico looks away. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,” Percy says thoughtfully.

Annabeth laughs, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be mean.” She pauses. “Me too.”

With a sigh that can only be described as besotted, Will steps reluctantly away.

“I have patients,” he says, in the same tone of voice Percy usually says I have midterms. “So I gotta…”

“Yeah, no, go. Do your —” Nico gestures vaguely. “Doctor thing.”

“Right. Yeah. I’m gonna — go.” He turns, walking back towards a group of Hephaestus kids who appear to be tightly entangled in some kind of net. After a few steps, though, he pauses, biting his lip, then darts back over to Nico, pressing a lightning-fast kiss to his cheek — “Um, bye. Thank you for visiting. Bye,” — and then runs back over to his siblings, shy smile on his face.

Nico’s jaw is brushing the floor of his father’s palace. He stands, still as a statue, for four entire minutes.

“I think he just died,” Annabeth observes, eyebrows climbing higher and higher up her forehead with every passing second “Damn. Survived so much only to literally die because a cute boy kissed his cheek. A true hero’s end.”

Percy, because he is a kind, concerned friend, clears his throat loudly.

“Yo, di Angelo, you alive?”

Nico startles so violently he falls right over. Percy shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from cackling.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nico hisses venomously, scrambling upright. “Both of you, shut the — not a word —”

Percy and Annabeth make the mistake of looking at each other and simply erupt. Percy can’t feel his stomach. His lungs have abandoned ship. He’s glad as hell he’s in the infirmary because he is heaving for breath, tears streaming down his face, entire body convulsing. Nico stands in front of them literally shaking with rage, entire body redder than one of Apollo’s sacred cows, trying and failing to string together a threat that will ease any and all of his suffering. Annabeth screeches, almost falling off the bed as she cackles. Percy cannot even find the strength to catch her, his muscles are so weak.

“I fucking — I hate you! Both of you! You’re dead to me!”

“Your face!” Percy shrieks.

“Percy Jackson, I am going to turn you to fucking dark matter! I despise your very essence! I —” He stomps his foot. “I’m leaving, and I’m going to leave a rotting corpse in your cabin! Screw you!”

“Oh my gods,” Annabeth wheezes, digging her nails into his arm. “Oh my gods, that was —”

Percy wipes a tear from his eye. “I love being alive. I love being alive so much.”

“It really is great.” Composing herself, and biting back the leftover giggles that keep bubbling out, Annabeth looks back towards Will. He stands much straighter, now, smile back to full brightness. His siblings, too, look rejuvenated, snickering to each other and making kissy faces behind Will’s back. “So many beautiful things to witness. I’ve never seen his face go that red.”

Percy sighs. “This is genuinely going to carry me through the semester. I think his soul died a little. And Will just — gods, that kid is bold.”

“Oh says you, Mr. Do I Get A Good Luck Kiss.”

“Hey, I earned that.”

Annabeth grins, punching him in the shoulder. He grabs her wrist and tugs her towards him, chasing the curve of her smile. She laughs into his mouth and it taste like strawberries and freedom, and he presses a kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, and the side of her neck, resting there, breathing against her skin. After a moment her hands come up and slide in his hair, gently untangling the knotted mess.

“He is one thousand percent going to put a zombie in your bed, you know,” she says after a moment.

Percy snorts. “Yeah, I know.” He smiles. “Worth it.”

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littleocean-rose · 8 months

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Our Little Star

Summary: While walking on the way to a pet store to look for a kitten you want to adopt, you trace your hand over your soulmate tattoo on your wrist, the black ink reading one little word on your skin. Byeol. You stare at it, like you’ve done countless times in your life, wondering if you’ll ever meet your soulmate one day.

AU: non-idol, soulmate Pairings: Choi San x reader Warnings: none Word count: 2.1k

A/N: words cannot describe how many people I would kill for Byeol. I love her, I adore, I want to hold and kiss her, she is the most precious baby out there. San I love you but I WILL steal your cat. (jk I’m stealing you both-)

The world was full of different ways for people to meet their soulmate.

Some had it easy. Seeing each other in their dreams, able to communicate their names and location to the other. Dreamers had it the easiest by far, followed by Inkers. Inkers had the ability to communicate to their soulmate by writing on their skin, the words and marks appearing on the others’ skin, allowing them to write down names and numbers and locations. Visionaries were the third lucky ones, getting to see a glimpse of what their soulmate was seeing every now and then, taking in the scenery of where they were, what they were doing.

Others weren’t so lucky. Stringers had that little red thread attached to their pinkies, leading them to their soulmate, but never knowing how close they were to them. For all they knew, that little red string could run across an entire continent or over an ocean. All they knew was what direction their soulmate was in. Phrasers and Tattooists also had it hard. They could go their entire lives without ever meeting their soulmate, hoping to find someone with a matching tattoo, or listening desperately for the words that matched the ink on their skin. Colorists were among that class, too—their world monotone and grey until they finally laid eyes upon their soulmate, their world suddenly bursting into color the moment they found their other half.

Then there were the unlucky ones. Counters, those with timers on their wrists, were ones you always felt bad for. While some times Counters had their timers counting down until the moment they met their soulmate, others had timers that counted down until the moment their soulmate died. There were those who felt their soulmate’s pain, or shared the same wounds as them. Those who bloomed flowers from their skin, flowers that matched the emotions of what their soulmate was feeling. Signs you did in fact have a soulmate but were never given any indication of how they would know they even met them.

You were in the class of Phrasers, your soulmate mark being the first thing you would hear your soulmate say. Some had whole sentences, but you? You had a single word. Byeol. You remembered when you were a child how you obsessed over the word, looking up the definition and seeing it was of Korean origin. So growing up, you learned to speak Korean, studying it every moment you could, until you were fluent in it by the age of thirteen. Your parents encouraged you, just as eager as you to meet your soulmate, and when you hit the age of eighteen, they tearfully drove you to the airport so you could catch your flight to South Korea.

While they supported your decision, they still were sad to see you leaving to live in another country.

It wasn’t like you didn’t visit—you did every chance you could, which was usually every other year, but you were still their only child, and they missed always seeing you in person.

But here you were, nearly seven years later, and you still hadn’t met your soulmate. While it did dampen your spirits, you decided to stop trying so hard to find them. Not because you were quitting and giving up on the idea, no. What was the point of stressing over it? You’d leave it to Fate—if you found them, hey, great! If not, then, well, that didn’t mean you couldn’t start a romance with someone else.

You glanced down at the word again, fingers tracing over the ink as you walked into the pet store. You had recently moved into a new apartment so you could be closer to your job, and you were beyond ecstatic to discover it was a pet friendly home. Wasting no time, you had run out of the house first thing after breakfast on your day off to get yourself a new little companion. While you were originally planning to get one from a shelter, it was on the other side of the city, and you didn’t feel up for the long journey.

Instantly you went to the pets section, face lighting up at the cute animals in their enclosures. You went by the birds, taking a moment to admire their pretty plumage and beautiful songs, and then past the fluffy bunnies. You passed by mice next, stopping to watch them run through their little tubes, and then stopped to watch one of the hamsters run on his wheel. Of course you had to stop and look at the puppies, cooing at how adorable they were, watching them tumble over each other as they played. You had thought about getting a puppy, but in the end you just couldn’t pass up the idea of getting a kitten.

Which was why you were now in front of the cat enclosures. You took the time to look over each cat, aww-ing over their adorable little faces and fuzzy paws that reached out past the bars of their cages. There were some adult cats, a pretty calico catching your eye as you walked by, and then a cute tabby who seemed hyped on caffeine as he bounced off the walls, smacking around one of his toys and making you laugh. Then you reached the kitten area, and your heart melted.

They were at different stages of growth, some bordering on young teen, while others still seemed to wobble a little as they stood. One kitten in particular caught your eye. It was a siamese, large blue eyes staring up at you as it rolled over on its back with a long stretch and yawn, having just woke up from its nap.

One of the employees approached you, a wide smile pulling at his lips. You glanced at his name tag. Wooyoung. “Hello! Did you see someone you wanted to go say hi to?”

You nodded, pointing at the little siamese kitten. “Yeah, if that’s okay?”

The employee nodded. “Yeah, of course! Let me take you in.” Another employee passed the two of you, tall and blonde as he approached another customer that had also been looking at the cat display. You followed Wooyoung to the door where he unlocked it, letting you to get a closer look at the cats. As you entered, a barrage of mewls filled the room, and you couldn’t help but coo at how adorable they all sounded. “Hey guys, we have a visitor! Be on your best behaviors, okay?” Another series of meows filled the air, making the employee grin. “Anyway, go right on ahead and take a look! I’ll be right here to answer any questions you have!”

You thanked Wooyoung, starting with the cages at the back first. You heard the door open again, glancing over to see that same tall employee from earlier enter. “Hey, Yunho! Oh, another person interested in getting a– oh, it’s you again!” You tuned out their conversation, putting all your focus on the cats before you. An orange tabby, curled up into a ball, softly chittered in its sleep, and you nearly had to bite your fist from cooing as to not wake it up from its dream.

You looked over each cat, making your way slowly back to the siamese from earlier, until finally you were standing before its cage. It meowed softly at you, kneading the soft pillow it was sitting on. “She’s only been here a week, that one. She was left at our door in the middle of the night with her siblings in a box. The others have all found homes, she’s the only one left now.”

“Aww, that’s sad. At least they weren’t left on the side of the road or something,” you murmured. Wooyoung nodded.

“Yeah, I’m glad we could find them all good homes.” You heard quiet murmuring from behind you, the employee Yunho talking to his customer. Wooyoung gave a hum. “If you had to name her, what name would you give?”

You thought for a second, looking back into her big blue eyes. You swore you could see stars in her eyes, a hint of a pink galaxy, and one word came to mind. You smiled softly.

“Byeol.”

Your eyes widened, turning around to the other person who had uttered the word. Your focus landed on the other customer, his expression full of shock just like yours. At the same time you both looked down at your wrists, and with a quiet gasp you noticed that your soulmate tattoo was now red. This was him. This was your soulmate. After years of searching, you had finally found him.

You locked eyes with him, taking in his features as he did the same with you. His eyes reminded you of a cat’s, and at the corners of his excited smile were two adorable little dimples that you couldn’t look away from. His hair was pink, and you wondered if that had been the pink you had seen reflected in the kitten’s eyes earlier. You never thought you’d find someone who could rock pink hair so well, and it seemed you were proven wrong in the best way.

“Hi,” he breathed, smile growing, turning his eyes into cute little crescents. It was an absolutely adorable sight, your heart doing a little flip at it. You were sure your cheeks were a light pink, matching his, and you barely registered the fact that Wooyoung and Yunho were quietly squealing to themselves while watching the two of you.

“Hi,” you replied, cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling. “So, Byeol, huh?”

The male grinned, chuckling lightly as he looked over at the kitten. “Yeah, I swear I saw stars in her eyes.”

“Me too…” You faded off, and the male sheepishly scratched at his neck.

“Sorry. San, my name is Choi San.” He held his hand out to you, and you spotted the red tattoo on his inner wrist. Byeol. You smiled again, taking his hand, noting how small and soft it was, and how perfectly yours fit in it.

You gave him your name, his eyes lighting up. “What a pretty name,” he murmured, cheeks flushing at realizing he said that out loud. You laughed, finding his behavior sweet, warmth blooming in your chest at knowing you’d probably get along with San just fine. He cleared his throat, motioning to the kitten. “Since you’re adopting her, I am demanding visiting rights.”

Amused, you fought down another smile, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? Demanding visiting rights?”

“That’s correct. I’ve had my eye on that little baby since yesterday, but it seems you unfortunately beat me to adopting her. So, therefore, I am demanding visiting rights.”

You gave a thoughtful hum, pretending to think over the decision. You could see San trying to fight down a smile as well, loving how you were playing along. You tapped your chin in thought. “Hm, I think I can allow that. How does Thursday sound?”

“Perfect,” he answered. He pulled out his phone, holding it out to you. “I’m going to need your contact information to know where the visiting rights will be held, and how to get ahold of you for said visits.”

You held out your phone for him to take as you took his. “Of course.” The both of you exchanged contact information, handing each other back your phones, and you couldn’t fight off the smile any more. “San, it’s been an absolute pleasure meeting you.”

“It really has been. I’m so glad I decided to wait until today to come back for Byeol.” He offered you a shy smile. “I’ll… text you later, then…?”

“Please, any time you want.” Your fingers traced over your tattoo. “I’ll see you Thursday the, Mister Choi. With Byeol in tow, of course.”

He laughed, the sound like music to your ears, and you decided you wanted to spend the rest of your life listening to it. He rubbed at his neck again, your eyes flickering over and spotting the smattering of freckles along his skin. Everything about him was so cute. “Alright then. I’ll see you Thursday.” San gave you a little wave as he left the room, and you waved back, watching him leave until he was out of sight. As you gave a happy sigh, the two employees beside you gave quiet squeals.

“Oh my god we must be matchmakers, I have never seen two soulmates meet before in my life!”

“That was so cute, I wanted to scream! You two are so cute!” You blushed at their words, ducking your head as you gave a shy laugh, thanking them. Wooyoung cooed over the moment a little longer before finally moving on to the adoption process for Byeol.

As you walked out the store with your new little friend, you found yourself smiling as you looked at the notification on your phone.

Sannie Hey~

Sannie Be careful with the little star now! She’s our fragile little baby after all!

You shook your head with a laugh.

You couldn’t wait until Thursday came around.

A/N: heeey! Don't worry, I'm still working on Guardians! It's just longer than I expected it to be, and motivation to write has been a little low lately. But! Here's my first tumblr post! Hope it was alright, please leave some feedback if you liked it!

Thank you, have a good night/day everyone! ♡

#choi san x reader #choi san #san x reader #ateez x reader #choi san scenarios #ateez san #ateez scenarios #koikoi works #choi san fluff

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical cursing, heavy suggestive themes, non-descriptive intimacy, domestic/soft/playful Simon, flirting, kissing, canon-typical mentions of violence, military-based discussions, brief trauma reflection

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Part Twelve of Ink & Needle

You and Simon spend the morning in bed together. Amelia and Evie corner Simon in the kitchen. Price, Soap, and Gaz finally talk to Simon about the mission.

Chapter Eleven // Chapter Thirteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Tea.

Eggs—large, at least two dozen.

Bread.

Bulk butter.

Milk—full fat.

Flour.

Batteries.

Postal stamps.

Chi—

The electric kettle shuts off and Simon sets into routine, brewing his morning tea without a second thought. The hour is early, and the sun hardly breaks the horizon. Simon’s flat is almost completely dark except for the faintest bits of light that creeps in as the sun’s rays skim over the tops of nearby buildings.

Simon disposes of the tea bag and holds the steaming mug in both hands. Yes, it’s hot, but the warmth is comforting. It grounds him. Keeps his resolve from snapping and returning to a different warmth.

He starts over, listing all the things he’s growing low on.

Tea. Eggs. Bread.

You’re in his flat. In his bedroom. In his bed.

Naked. Flour. Asleep. Batteries.

Soft. Postage stamps. Bare beneath the sheets. Still slick between the thighs.

Fuck.

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. He needs to get a fucking grip. Every instinct within him commands Simon to go crawl into bed, to wake you up, and to slide between your legs. To greet the day with you beneath him.

That can’t happen.

Not because Simon doesn’t want to but because he wants to do this right. You deserve more than a dirty couch in a club’s green room. You deserve more than a quick moment of passion. You deserve patience and attention, to have someone focus on you and only you.

You may already be his, but not entirely. Not completely.

Not yet.

But, when Simon makes it happen, when the two of you finally bind this into something solid and real, you’ll never want to him leave. Simon will make sure of it.

Lingering in the kitchen, Simon drinks his tea, allowing the vestiges of sleep to seep out of his muscles and bones. His fucking jaw hurts, but that hardly matters to him. Not after what he did last night, or how you bloomed like a flower.

Spread wide. Perfect. Open.

Just for him.

Only for him.

Bravo nudges Simon’s thigh with the tip of his wet nose. Absently, Simon reaches down and scratches between the dog’s ears. The German Shepard leans into it, his eyes closing slightly with contentment.

Sighing, Simon pats the top of Bravo’s head. Sauntering toward the bedroom door, Simon leans against the frame, arms crossed, one hand clutching his tea mug. He watches you snooze for a few minutes. Most of you is covered by the bedding, but Simon glimpses just a hint of bare arm and shoulder. You’re completely submerged under there, and if Simon listens hard enough, he can hear a gentle snore.

To him, it’s cute. You might not find it so.

Simon rubs the back of his neck as Bravo pads into the room, gently jumping up into the bed. He doesn’t disturb you. Instead, the black-furred dog circles three times before settling.

You’ll wake eventually and Simon isn’t wearing his mask.

Simon hasn’t put it on since he took it off last night. There, in the dark, he removed it, only wanting to taste you. Simon isn’t ashamed of his face or his scars. He doesn’t consider himself ugly. It’s just…habit to put the mask on. He was Ghost in the field. Now, he’s Ghost in his shop.

Mysterious. Different. Detached.

He was Ghost when he met you at Riot Room, and now he’s Simon. Just…Simon.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Simon turns around and heads back into the kitchen. While Simon is a tea drinker, he keeps coffee on hand. Simon isn’t one for smashing energy drinks or soda even though his sweet tooth can be a fucking fiend, but sometimes he needs an extra kick.

Taking his time, Simon measures out and drops the ground coffee into the filter. From there, he closes the machine lid, filling the carafe, turning the ancient machine on. It hums and it’s almost too loud. A little green light comes on, and Simon steps away, checking the fridge. There are still a few eggs and bacon. Flour is low but he might be able to scrape up enough to whip up pancakes.

His stomach growls softly and Simon shuts the fridge.

Back in the bedroom, you still snooze softly, and Simon takes this time to clean up. He can still taste you on him, but it is faint, nearly a foreign sensation. Grabbing a towel, Simon hops into the shower. He scrubs down, brushes his teeth, even dries his hair.

Simon tugs on the balaclava, wearing nothing else except black boxer briefs. Stepping back into the bedroom, Simon pauses, noticing tussled hair and sleepy eyes.

“Morning,” says Simon.

You stretch, the grey sheet covering your breasts slipping a bit, nearly revealing nipple. You catch it just in time, stifling a yawn.

“Good morning,” you reply, the raspiness of sleep still clinging to your vocal cords.

Bravo rolls over onto his side, oblivious to the two of you.

“Shower’s available.” Simon gestures with a shrug of his shoulder in the direction of the bathroom.

Your gaze follows and then promptly returns to Simon. At first, your face is blank, and then, slowly, it drifts into a sultry mischievousness that sends blood straight to his groin. Any more of this and Simon will come undone.

“I don’t want to shower,” you murmur, some of the bedding slipping from your fingers. It’s dangerously close to revealing all of you. Last night you were bare for him, but the two of you were in the dark, and Simon only saw pieces of you. It wasn’t nearly enough, and now it’s almost too much.

The thought of your naked body within reach, wanting him, saying so with words alone is enough to start to crack at his resolve.

Fuck. Fucking hell.

“What do you want?” Simon almost doesn’t recognize himself. What comes out of him is a needy groan.

The slow blink before your response sends signals to his feet to start moving. “I want you to come to bed,” you reply.

Simon stops right at the edge of the bed, every muscle in his body coiled with tension. All he has to do is tug and the bedding will fall away.

“And do what?” prompts Simon, the restraint within him oozing off him to slip between the cracks in the wood floor.

Bravo’s ears perk up and then his head. He glances between the two of you and immediately slinks out of the bed, hurrying away. Simon listens for the dog door and then places one knee on the edge of the bed. Some of his joints resist the movement, those old wounds making themselves known. But Simon ignores them all, his full attention fixed on the woman asking him to join her.

“Whatever you want, Simon.”

Whatever he wants? There are so many things he wants. Simon wants to make you his, to keep you here, to never let you go. None of those are options right now. No. Not yet. But he can still play.

Simon’s fingers curl around the topmost sheet. He tugs, ripping them out of your grasp and away from your body. You immediately cover yourself, legs crossing in front of you and your arms resting across your chest.

The moment the bedding is out of his way, Simon wraps his fingers around your left ankle to drag you closer.

“Simon!” you gasp, but it is all teasing.

“Come here,” he growls, using the natural weight of his body to propel him fully onto the bed and push you down on your back. Your arms and legs fall away then, opening for him, and Simon slots himself between, his mouth already seeking yours.

Simon kisses and touches until your soft giggles become moans. His mouth seeks lower ground. Lower still, and then those moans become shaky and limp legs with gasping breath. You reach for him, and Simon leans into your touch, allowing you to stroke and caress until his haughty, smug smile becomes something else entirely.

With his balaclava-covered face pressed against your neck, Simon inhales, wrapping his large arms around you. He helps your limp-limbed form slide out of bed, and somehow guides you into the shower. While you’re scrubbing away at your skin and scalp, Simon is in the kitchen, managing to prepare breakfast with the little he has.

It’s Sunday, and Simon has absolutely fucking nothing to do. It’s always been Dancing Faun, drinks, and then finding someone on his roster to have it off with. But Simon doesn’t need to do that. He doesn’t need anyone or anything but you. If you want it, he’ll spend his entire Sunday in your presence, partaking in whatever it is you’re interested in doing.

When you emerge wearing nothing but one of his shirts, Simon has to squash the urge to bend you over the table.

“Breakfast,” rasps Simon, grabbing a plate to distract himself.

“Please,” you sigh, approaching him and placing a hand on his lower back.

“Little of everything?”

You nod, giving Simon’s shoulder a quick kiss before walking over to the dining table. Simon’s body vibrates with happiness. He overloads your plate and his, bringing the coffee and a newly made kettle to the table.

“Plans for the day?”

You shake your head, yawning. “No. But I do need to check on Evie.”

Simon checks the time on his phone. It’s nearly the afternoon. “After breakfast I’ll walk you.”

When you go to change back into your clothes, Simon is handsy, grabbing at bare thigh and waist just because he can. You giggle through the whole thing, the two of you ending up on the floor with your limbs intertwined and your mouths meeting.

It takes forever for the two of you to make it out the door. The walk is short but slow. Simon drags it out, keeping you close to his body as the cool autumn air kicks up. His hand delves, teasing, keeping you playful the whole walk to Amelia’s.

You’re still fumbling with the key to the front door when Evie yanks it open. Simon promptly hides the view of his hand under your sweater. Simon isn’t fast enough because Evie’s grin is downright feral.

“Good afternoon.” She pointedly emphasizes “afternoon” by glancing in Simon’s direction. Her dark hair is piled up on the top of her head in a messy bun, and the robe she’s wearing is untied, revealing pink pajamas and a massive belly.

“Sorry, Evie,” you laugh, awkwardly shifting away from Simon to dislodge his hand.

Still glancing at Simon, Evie snags your upper arm, hauling you inside. Simon steps in after you. Bravo shoves his way in, navigating the cramped entry space and aiming for the kitchen. The German Shepard rounds a corner, and Simon hears Amelia greet the dog.

“Go change,” urges Evie, shoving you toward the stairs. “Take a shower too.”

“I did,” you snap with a laugh.

“Take another one. I can smell you.”

You flip Evie the bird and she gives one right back. Glancing over your shoulder at Simon, he gives you the slightest of shrugs. He doesn’t want to be left alone with Evie and Amelia, but he’ll deal with it.

The moment you disappear to the top level, Evie is turning that feral grin on Simon, her hands on her hips. Amelia appears like a phantom in the doorway where the entryway and living room meet.

“Made tea,” says Amelia. She’s wearing her gardening clothes. There are dirty patches on the knees.

“No thank you,” replies Simon.

“You’re having tea.” One of Amelia’s eyebrows arches like she’s begging him to question her.

Simon nods instead of refusing again.

Right. He’s having tea.

In the kitchen, Bravo is munching away on a small pile of dog treats. Simon sighs, watching the German Shepard happily chew them up one by one. He takes a seat at the table, the two women joining him.

At the center of the table are chicken salad sandwiches on plain white bread, an open bag of crips, and a bowl of mixed fruit. Evie starts piling her plate while Amelia distributes the tea.

“Hungry?” Amelia asks Simon, offering him a plate.

He’s fucking full from breakfast, but he’s not refusing this like he did with the tea. “Yes, thank you.”

Amelia plops a sandwich on Simon’s plate, scoops out a heaping portion of fruit, and shakes a mountain of crips out.

“Weather is expected to cool off in the next few weeks.” Amelia shrugs. “That’s what the forecaster says anyway.”

Evie places her hand on her belly. “Hopefully she’ll be out by then.”

Simon glances at the spot where Evie’s hand rests. “You’re due soon?”

“Yes. Very soon. Due date is technically a week out but could happen any day.”

Simon nods, his tattooed fingers playing with the handle of the tea mug. He stares at the pile of food in front of him and frowns. Simon is so absorbed with his own thoughts, that it takes him a few moments to recognize the absolute silence.

He glances up only to find Amelia and Evie leaning back in their chairs, bemused expressions on their faces as they observe him.

“What?” he blurts, suddenly nervous.

Amelia and Evie exchange a look.

“You remember our conversation?” asks Amelia softly.

Simon crosses his arm, shifting in his seat. His phone digs into his thigh and he adjusts again. “I do,” he replies slowly.

Amelia nods. She glances down at Simon’s plate. “Haven’t touched your food. Something wrong?”

Fuck.

Simon pushes up the balaclava enough to shove a few crisps into his mouth. They’re cheese and onion flavored. It’s the wrong choice. The only sound in the room are the crunching crisps in Simon’s mouth. Amelia and Evie still stare at him.

He swallows, the half-chewed food nearly sticking in his throat. Simon hastily drinks his tea.

“How’s business?” asks Amelia once Simon sets the tea back onto the table.

“Busy.”

“I would hope so. Saw you on the cover of a magazine while shopping. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” says Simon, bit of heat warming the tops of his cheeks.

Evie’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s wonderful. What magazine?”

“UK Ink,” he answers. “Best tattoo artist.”

“Very deserved,” says Amelia, lifting her tea.

“You’ve never been in my shop,” chuckles Simon.

Amelia shrugs. “But I see you almost every Sunday, and Ben is always bragging about you.”

Simon shifts again in his chair from embarrassment. His phone digs into his ass this time. Frowning, Simon removes it from his pocket and places it on the table facedown.

“You’re being polite,” says Simon, attempting to push the praise off him.

Evie chews quietly, her gaze darting between Amelia and Simon. Over her shoulder, Simon glimpses a series of photographs. One of them is a wedding photo, a recent one. The woman he recognizes as Evie, and the man she leans against must be her dead husband.

Simon’s phone buzzes, but he ignores it. He really needs you to finish showering and changing your clothes. The phone ceases and Simon goes for some fruit this time.

Amelia opens her mouth to reply but Simon’s phone kicks up again. She promptly shuts her mouth and glances at the device.

“They’ll leave a message,” says Simon dismissively. Sometimes business calls are rerouted to his personal phone. During the week, it’s not an issue, but on a day like today, it’s annoying.

Amelia inclines her head, but Simon’s fucking phone won’t stop. It starts buzzing again.

“You should answer that.” Amelia nods toward it.

Simon stares down at the phone, all the food in his stomach suddenly solidifying. There are only a few people who would relentlessly call Simon like this. The cellphone stops, begins again, and Simon’s frown deepens.

He picks it up, turning the screen over to face him.

Price.

Fuck.

Simon lets it go to voicemail.

When the buzzing begins again, Amelia tuts. “Answer it or I’m chucking it into the garden.”

“Excuse me,” murmurs Simon, pushing his chair back and standing, heading for the living room. When Simon nears the entryway, he answers the phone, bringing it up to his ear.

“Price,” he says flatly.

“Simon.” Price’s greeting is polite but reserved. “Were you sleeping?”

“No.”

Price grunts on the other end. “Have you handled your business?”

He means you. Last night floods into Simon’s mind, bringing up Adam and the whole fucking mess of an evening.

“Yes,” answers Simon, though he hears the slight shake in the way he says it.

“Is tonight good?”

Simon silently swears. He wants to spend the day with you, not talk to the boys about their upcoming mission. But Simon made a promise to them, and he intends to see it through.

Simon licks his lips and sighs. “Meet me outside the shop.”

Price rattles off a time and Simon agrees, knowing that he won’t have much time with you between now and then.

Simon ends the call right as you come down the stairs. You’re already moving toward him and Simon instantly reaches out, seeking you. When your hand slides into his, Simon pulls you close. Placing your other hand on his chest, Simon leans down and seeks your lips for a kiss.

“You taste like onion,” you murmur.

Simon chuckles before drawing back a bit. “Amelia fed me.”

“She tends to do that.”

He adjusts his grip, drawing you into his side so Simon can wrap his arm around your waist. Over your shoulder, he notices Amelia and Evie dangerously leaning around the corner in the chairs, trying to watch from a distance. Even Bravo is poking his head around the corner.

“I have to go,” murmurs Simon, brushing a few damp strands from your face to tuck behind your ear.

Your smile faulters slightly and Simon immediately regrets saying anything at all.

“Right now?” you ask.

Simon shakes his head. “Not right now. In an hour.”

“Did something happen?”

No. Yes. Maybe? Simon has no clue what the boys want to talk to him about. They’ve never been shy about asking him for advice or looking something over for them. But rarely have they ever asked to come in person to discuss something confidential.

“You remember the men who escorted Adam out the pub last night?”

The middle of your brow scrunches. “Yes?”

“Our evening was…interrupted. Just need to finishing up with them.”

“I see.” You glance down and then back to Simon’s face. “My fault?”

“No,” he says, drawing you closer against him. “Don’t think that.” Simon kisses you for good measure. “Can we make plans for later this week?”

Your fingers tangle with the fabric of his shirt. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Simon checks over your head to find Amelia and Evie still watching from their chairs. “They’re nosy, aren’t they?”

You laugh. “Wouldn’t you be?”

Simon inclines his head, knowing that’s true. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Need some help finishing the plate Amelia made me.”

In front of Simon is an empty whiskey glass.

It’s the first one, and Simon expects to have plenty more as the evening progresses. Ben, the owner of Dancing Faun strides over, removing the glass and placing down a fresh one.

“Might need this,” he says, the deep timbre of his voice like thunder. Ben places a half-full whiskey bottle down next to Simon’s glass.

Simon nods in thanks as Ben turns his back and disappears behind the bar.

This isn’t the evening for beer. Simon needs something strong if the three grim faces staring back at him are any indication. Johnny has a Scotch, Price has whiskey like Simon, and Gaz has tequila.

All hard edges here. Nothing soft.

Ben closed up Dancing Faun early to give them some space and privacy. The sun isn’t down yet but the light hardly makes it into the front window. The four of them sit around a square table, one to each side. Inside the pub, the lights above the bar and the one directly above their table are on.

Simon’s gaze darts to each of the men he knows as brothers. Price, who is always tired and complaining of heartburn, appears exhausted like he’s been awake for days. Gaz is subdued, his mouth turned downward into a slight frown. Johnny, who is always upbeat, is quiet and calm.

It’s fucking weird seeing them like this. It doesn’t sit right with Simon. Whatever is on their minds is eating away at them. Either something is completely fucked, or he’s about to hear something unpleasant.

Ben stays behind the bar cleaning glassware, taking inventory, and occasionally disappearing into the back. The man is discreet when he needs to be, and if he overhears anything, Ben won’t snitch or turn around to spread it to others.

Simon isn’t worried about that, but he is worried about Price, Gaz, and Soap.

“Why the long faces?” asks Simon, attempting to joke but failing completely.

Price sighs heavily. “He’s back, Simon.”

It’s such a vague way of putting it. He could mean anyone. Task Force 141 made plenty of enemies while Simon was part of it. Hell—Simon made plenty of enemies just from working in SAS. He’s executed so many missions they’re almost a blur to him.

“Who?” prompts Simon. “Makarov?”

That would be a fucking joke if that wanker got out. Simon would certainly need to be on alert but not overly concerned. It’s not like Simon is in the way anymore.

Price shakes his head while Johnny and Kyle exchange a look. “Makarov is still in prison. Securely. Last time I checked.”

“And when was that?”

“A week ago,” replies Price.

“A week is a long time.”

“It’s not Makarov,” interjects Kyle, his fingers tapping the side of his glass.

Simon glances in Kyle’s direction. The frown is still there but his eyes tell him enough. It’s a sad sort of pleading. An apology but not because Gaz has done anything wrong. Simon has seen this look before.

Pity. It’s pity that Simon sees in Kyle’s gaze.

Price clears his throat, shoots his whiskey back, and then pours himself another from the bottle Ben set down on the table. “Kyle is right. It’s not Makarov, Simon.” Price lifts his glass and stares into the amber liquid. “When I say he’s back, I mean him.”

Simon’s stomach is toxic slime. It bubbles there, brewing, waiting to eat away at flesh and bone and blood.

Him. Him.

From the nightmares. From the scars. From the wounds that never healed properly.

No. No no no. Fucking no.

“You’re lying,” growls Simon, his hands forming fists under the table.

“Simon—”

Simon slams his fist against the tabletop. Everything rattles. “He’s fucking dead, Price.” Simon points at himself. “I put a knife in his chest. Watched him fall.” He gestures to everyone at the table with a sweep of his hand. “We all saw his burnt corpse.”

Johnny is the one to speak, not Price. “A corpse so burnt it couldn’t be identified.”

There is pity in Johnny’s gaze too, and Simon fucking hates it. He hates how they’re all looking at him right now. If he’s back, that means all the therapy, retirement, and all the pain is absolutely bloody pointless.

Nothing. Just air. Dead confetti wasting away on concrete.

“I didn’t earn these injuries or have retirement shoved on me just for you to come back here and tell me he still lives.” Simon’s tone is cold. Broken.

Price sighs again, crossing his arms and resting them on the edge of the table. “You think I wanted to come and tell you this, Simon?” Simon removes his fist from the table, dropping it into his lap. “I didn’t want to say anything at all. But I’m out of options. And things are going to shit fast.”

Simon understands. He doesn’t need to ask because he knows why Price, Soap, and Gaz have all come. This man they’re hunting, the one that Simon believed he killed, the one who gave Simon the burn scars along his upper arms, back, and shoulders, is walking around somewhere, returning to what he does best.

“You were the one who got close to him. You know him better than any of us,” continues Price. “And we need your help.”

Simon does know him better than they do. He got close enough to get into his head.

Kit Walsh.

Simple, isn’t it. Unsuspecting.

Evil people aren’t born with evil names.

Kit Walsh who grew up in Manchester just like Simon. Attended school there and even lived in a nearby neighborhood from the one Simon grew up in.

Kit Walsh who radicalized himself by talking to likeminded individuals in private chatrooms on the internet.

Kit Walsh who, as he got older, decided he wanted the rest of the world to look and think just like him.

Evil people always start somewhere, and sometimes they’re not rooted out until it’s far too late for everyone else.

Simon flexes his fingers, stretching the joints before forming a fist again. “Help how?”

“You don’t have to do this, Simon.”

Slamming back his whiskey, Simon reaches across the table to snag the whiskey bottle.

The worst kind of evil is always domestic. It always starts at home.

Of course, Simon has to help. The whole reason they got as close as they did was from the work Simon put in during his time with SAS.

“Where is he, Price?”

Price sucks his teeth and then rubs his temple. “It’s complicated. Messy.”

“Then explain.”

Reaching into his coat pocket, Price removes a stack of photos. Sorting through them, Price removes two, tossing them across the table toward Simon. Picking them up, Simon examines them. Both photos are of Walsh in a mega church. He’s posing with men in nicely tailored suits, but it’s not like Simon knows who these men are. Walsh, Simon recognizes, but he’s changed his hair and put on a few pounds.

“Those were taken a week ago in Texas.”

Simon glances up from the photos. “He’s in the States?” Price opens his mouth but Simon laughs. It’s short and clipped, but high. “You’ve fucking lost him.”

Price frowns but Simon continues. “Last time he bounced between here and the Continent. If he’s gone to America, you won’t fucking find him.”

“Laswell already knows.”

“I’m sure she does.”

Kyle leans forward. “Are you hearing what they’re saying over there? The idiotic shit coming out of people’s mouths?”

“They say shit like that here, Gaz,” snaps Simon, anger lacing his tone. “They say it in Germany. In France. In Russia. Everywhere. It’s just wearing different faces for the same thing.”

Kyle’s frown deepens and his stare could slice glass. Simon immediately swallows down some of that irritation. His anger isn’t with any of them. It’s the fact that everything Simon went through meant nothing. All these scars now covered up by ink are just reminders of his failure.

“You know how he works, Simon. Everything we have on him we have because of you. I know it’ll be difficult now that he’s jumped the ocean, but I’m desperate, Simon. Give me anything.”

Simon stares down at the tabletop. The dark wood stares back. His priorities have changed during retirement. He’s no longer active military. He doesn’t have to help them at all. Simon has his shop, his new career, and Bravo.

Now, there is an addition to the mix. You. You are a priority now.

“He’s killed someone. Or had someone do it for him.”

Simon glances up from the table to stare into Price’s stern expression. “Walsh has killed a lot of people. Directly and indirectly.”

“Someone important,” interrupts Johnny, swirling his Scotch around in his glass.

“Someone important to certain people,” amends Price.

Simon adjusts in his seat, the chair suddenly becoming uncomfortable. “Who?”

Price fans out the pictures in front of him. A few seconds pass and then Price selects several, slowly pushing them across the table.

“Archibald Williams,” begins Price. “Also lovingly referred to as ‘Archie’ by friends and family.” The face staring back at him is a face he knows. He saw it just this morning in a wedding photo behind Evie’s left shoulder.

Simon’s tattooed fingers slip under the photograph, bringing it closer to him. There is zero doubt in Simon’s mind that this is the same man.

Price taps one finger against the table before selecting another photo and setting it closer to Simon. “On his great grandfather’s side, our boy here has a bit of Windsor in him.”

Simon’s head snaps up. “You’re bloody joking.”

Price shrugs. “Distant relation. At least a hundred would have to die before he’d even be considered for the throne.”

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon, organizing the photos so he can see them all at once.

One is a photo of him with his football mates, all of them sweaty and smiling and dirty. Another is a massive family portrait. It’s the kind that the Royal Family or any aristocratic family enjoy taking with the immediate and extended family. Simon locates Archie amongst what seems like a hundred faces. Next to Archie is Adam, and Simon immediately frowns.

Moving those to the side, Simon picks up the next photograph. In this one, Archie poses next to three well-dressed young men. They’re all lined up in a row with Archie on one end and a stranger on the other. The two in the middle are no strangers. They’re much younger in this photo but the heir to the Throne and his brother are faces any Brit should know.

“You can see why it’s messy,” says Price after Simon sets the last photo down.

“Shambles,” mumbles Gaz before tossing back his tequila.

Johnny grunts but says nothing. Simon glances at him briefly but returns his attention to Price.

“Why him?”

Price leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Rumor is that Archie here planned on relinquishing his titles. Running for public office. Wanted to make a difference.”

“That’s enough to kill him?” probes Simon, knowing there has to be more.

“Having political opinions is frowned upon for people like him. He’s supposed to stay neutral. Not take sides. He was being vocal. Donated tons of his wealth to different charities. Made lots of people uncomfortable.”

“Like Walsh?” Simon shakes his head. “That’s not like him. He prefers the long game. He’s not like Makarov. Makarov will look you in the face. Walsh will hide behind a wall of politicians.”

“I know,” says Price sadly. He rubs his temple again, sighing. “Williams left a wife behind.”

I know, Price. Sat at the table with her just this afternoon.

Simon says nothing. There is no reason to involve Evie or you in this. Price is only asking for advice. He needs some input into a vastly complicated situation.

“You looking for her?”

Price shakes his head. “No. Hadn’t been married long. Sad, is all.”

“It is,” agrees Simon.

“So, you’ll help us?” asks Johnny, drawing Simon’s attention away from Price. “Take a look at the files?”

At Johnny’s question, Price presents Simon with a small stack of file folders.

They’re just asking him to look. They’re just asking him for some advice.

That’s it.

That’s all.

Price holds them out and Simon reaches forward.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @lialacleaf @theshrikeandcanary @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @creamwhxre @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @c0pernicus @josephquinnschesthair @corvusmorte @saoirse06 @therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @knight4xmas @jupiternighties @darling006 @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @carma-fanficaddict @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @mudisgranapat @heeheehoohoohahahihi @i-feel-violated

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deadmenandthedivine · 9 months

Text

dead men § the divine

table of contents

Lady Rhea Royce gave birth to a single daughter prior to her untimely death.

Princess Maetilda Targaryen was the sole heir to Runestone.

Her father, the Rogue Prince, kept her by his side, ensuring he always had a Keep to his name. Even after his marriage to the heir of the Seven Kingdoms, he refused to accept an engagement for her. Runestone was his castle. Princess Maetilda was his daughter. The Seven Kingdoms was his playground. There only seemed to be one small problem: the Greens.

The Greens occupied the Red Keep for over half a decade while the Rogue Prince and his future Queen raised their children on Dragonstone as tradition. It would seem having the King's castle and the Conqueror's crown plays an advantage when the dragons dance. It became apparent as the virescent cause does not suffer by delivering the first blows.

Despite only holding claims to one of the foundational keeps in the Vale, Princess Maetilda finds herself wrapped up in the center of the conflict. At the mercy of the men around her. Prince Aemond seeks to take what belongs to him, most especially the Rogue Prince's bronze babe.

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

✧.*.·:¨ ✘♚✘ ¨:·.*.✧

✫ prologue — rumors from runestone

✫ chapter one — cold landings and green castles

✫ chapter two — a father’s praise

✫ chapter three — mysteries that muddy the keep

✫ chapter four — what the trees see

✫ chapter five — the maids that bloom in spring

✫ chapter six — bound in old magic

✫ chapter seven — the fate of wagging tongues

✫ chapter eight — dead flowers and garden bugs

✫ chapter nine — new leather boots

✫ chapter ten — an old man’s guilt

✫ chapter eleven — the tower tapestry

✫ chapter twelve — drowned in insignificant details

✫ chapter thirteen — the ghost of years coming and years past

✫ chapter fourteen — what the lady beetle does

✫ chapter fifteen — dragons have horns

✫ chapter sixteen — relearning from the same mistakes

✫ chapter seventeen — last suppers and sealed deals

✧.*.·:¨ ✘♚✘ ¨:·.*.✧

A/N: i do bend the plot of hotd/tweak the lore of the vale just a lil bit for my own convenience. also i'm not well versed in historical outfits and stuff so my descriptions may not be accurate to the time. but it's gotta be like that sometimes, you know?

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 8 months

Note

Hey!! I don’t know if you do requests but I have been exploring your page and figured I might as well ask :)- SO if you’re open to it, I would love to see a Dick Grayson x Reader where they’re friends at first (lots of tension) and she knows he’s nightwing but doesn’t get involved bc she’s a civilian and he wants her to keep a safe distance from it, BUT one day they’re hanging out together and a villain shoots her with some sort of blaster and the effects mess with her and end up giving her some type of meta human ability (your choice!) she ends up freaking out and he helps her gather her composure and comforts her with a lil angsty fic where he’s rlly worried but then she ends up being okay- IF YOU DONT DO REQUESTS DONT FEEL PRESSURED TO DO THIS ‼️ thank you so much for your time babe :)

i feel like this one was definitely a little hard to get a good ball rolling, but I finally got there. i actually physically wrote bits of this at work cause of how bored I was and how slow it was. i hope this is to your liking! barely proofread so forgive possible bad grammar and stuff

pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader (use of y/n) wc: 1.8K

masterlist

for once it seemed to be a pleasant day in gotham. early spring with flowers blooming brightly and trees growing to share their shade with commuters. the sky was like a shimmering ocean with how blue and cloudless it was; it seemed like everyone was outside if they didn’t have an obligation somewhere.

you and dick were two people taking advantage of the once-in-a-blue-moon seasonal weather. dick was growing his hair out while he was away at college so when the sweet-scented breeze swept by it toyed with his jet-black strands, some sticking in the air and others poking his eyes. he was wearing a long sleeve white cotton shirt, his sleeves pushed to his elbows with two top buttons left open to show more of his collarbones off. his long legs and thick thighs were covered in a light blue pair of levi’s 501s and damn did they do him excellent justice, your eyes couldn’t help but glance over every chance you could for just a peek.

“sweetheart!” was called which was followed by a light shove to your left shoulder. you blinked a few times and quickly shook your head then turned to see dick staring at you with a smirk on his pink lips. “you okay?”

a slow blink, “yeah.” you coughed then looked forward, “yeah. all good, just…zoned out.” trying to play it off.

“oh, so my talk about the latest night activities is boring to you?” a playful hurt tone as dick set his open palm on his chest. he added a pout for more dramatics.

now you rolled your eyes and shoved his right shoulder which didn’t do anything to his tall and muscular figure, he just chuckled at your attempt.

“no. talks of your night activities are interesting. i just got concerned after a while. still makes me nervous, hearing you talk about riddler or penguin or even joker like it’s something normal.” your eyes held a softness as they locked with dick’s. his baby blues melting at your words.

he looked forward then licked his lips before saying, “well it is my normal. i’ve been dealing with some of these people since i was thirteen. kinda got used to them and their gimmicks.” shrugging his words off.

the both of you went quiet. the background noise of children giggling and screaming from joy in the park, dogs barking and rushing about to chase thrown sticks. parents with strollers chatting beside each other getting in some steps, and a few older men sitting at a stone chess table and playing their game in their comfortable silence.

shyly you glanced down to see your hands swinging beside each other. you bit into your bottom lip and swooped in, sandwiching your hands together before looking straight down your path. dick didn’t say anything, you only felt the way his hand squeezed yours and the goosebump-inducing way his eyes were watching you.

“why don’t you restart your account? i’ll listen this time.” taking a glance at the handsome boy before forcing your eyes away.

he hummed but didn’t say anything right away. you didn’t bother forcing him to retell the story, rather enjoying the blissful bubble that formed around the two of you. but after a few minutes rolled past, dick slowly started to dive into retelling his encounter with riddler when he was patrolling with bruce. his unoccupied hand moving about in the air, not able to keep any part of his body still. you watched his face with intense focus, pupils following the movement of his jaw and the way his lips formed his words.

just staring at him made your heart thump thump thump faster.

“and so i threw one of my sticks and caused the machine to blow up.” that was all you were able to catch before screaming erupted causing chaos. people were running any way they could, some tripping and falling as the ground shook.

your knees buckled from the unexpected quake, but dick wrapped his arms tight around your middle and held you flush to his chest. you could practically feel his heart beating against your back and on his pulse point where your fingers circled his wrist.

green smoke starts to flood the slowly deserted park. large monstrous roots break apart concrete and patches of grass, and sharp thorns barely miss bystanders. “ivy.” dick’s voice dropped an octave, his hold on your tightening even further you thought he was gonna break a rib.

“dick, what’s-” “we need to leave. now!” dick pushed the both of you forward, his more giant hand crushing yours as you pushed your shorter legs to run faster.

just as you rounded a bend, one of the thick roots tangled itself tight around your ankle, causing you to trip and sprain your wrist. a strained cry for dick as the plant tugged you along the ground, spiked thorns digging harshly into your skin. Then suddenly you came to a stop and there was a loud snapping sound behind you. when glancing over your shoulder the root was broken in two, dick removed the piece stuck to your bleeding skin. you couldn’t help the pathetic whimpers or the tears staining your cheeks.

“it’s okay. it’s okay, sweetheart. i got you, you're safe with me.” dick was comforting you as he shuffled your body around so he could hold you in a fireman's hold. your arms started to feel like dead weight as you worked to fling them over dick’s shoulders to keep yourself close to his heart.

“dick… i don’t- i don’t feel…” and everything went black behind your eyes and static rang in your ears.

there was a tingle in your body, zipping up and down, head to toe hitting every nerve ending. muscles felt coiled tight, and sore like you did too many workout sessions at once. a groan deep in your throat as you tried moving your arms, pushing yourself upward.

“woah, woah strong girl. stay down.” firm hands held your upper arms to lay you gently when you moved your hands away.

squeezing your eyes tight before trying to peel them apart, feeling eye boogers crusting the edges near your lashes. your throat felt like sandpaper as you tried asking, “what- what hap-“ “wait, wait. drink some water.”

dick’s voice was low and gentle. a hand warm and firm holding the back of your neck as your lips fumbled for the plastic straw so you could sip down ice cold water to soothe the ache in your throat. a relieved sigh just as you opened your eyes completely.

dick was leaning over you, overhead lighting casting him in a halo glow. his growing black hair falling forward, his stunning blue eyes moving quickly and you noticed his dark circles looked deeper. his plush chapped lips turned to a saddened smile with the corners turned up.

“there she is. there’s my girl.” it was almost a purr and a delighted sigh escaped from you as you let your body relax.

your heart monitor started to beat quicker and you felt warm knowing it was due to dick and his words, but he looked panicked and then called for bruce.

“dick, it’s nothing serious.” not understanding why he was stressing when he’d usually just tease you. reaching with your right hand to touch him, you stopped short when you saw the skin of your hand was… green.

looking at your other hand and it was also green. you pushed the white sleeves up your arms and more green just followed. now you had a reason for your heart to beat faster, you were panicking, not understanding what happened to you.

“y/n, i need you to slow your heart rate. your body will react differently with this chemical in your blood.” bruce’s deep commanding voice went in one ear out the other. you tried taking slower breaths, curling your fingers into your palms to ground yourself. none of it was working.

“dick, what’s happening? what happened after the park?” voice getting wobbly and thick with emotion.

he licked his lips and reached towards you before pulling back, it hurt you to see that. “you- you passed out in the park and so i brought you back to the manor. and alfred was taking care of you until your skin started to stain into his green shade. so we took some blood samples and brought you down here for safety, turns out…”

he trailed off as he licked his lips again. “what, dick? what’s infected me?” trying to sound firm but it cracked on the word infected. scared this might be permanent.

dick sighed, “we’re still not one hundred percent sure. but can confirm that it’s from poison ivy, which explains the green complexion. which- which doesn’t change your beauty, glowing even more.” he rambled as you got quiet.

without realizing it, you slowed your heart rate back to normal. bruce and dick seemed more calm and dick walked closer to rest his hand over yours.

“i don’t want to be stuck like this.” shiny teardrops fell from your eyes and down your cheeks. you didn’t want to be different, chemically altered. you liked who you were, completely fine in your mundane life.

dick moved his palms to cradle your plush cheeks, his thumb or knuckle working to swipe away your distress and fear. “it’s okay. we’re- bruce is working on an antidote. should take a week, tops.”

“a week!” almost yelling at this information. “i- i can’t be out of work for a week. my boss will kill me.” groaning to yourself.

“hey,” dick whispered the word and tilted your head to make eye contact with him. “it’s okay. already told your boss a version of medical retellings. and bruce already put more than a month's worth of pay into your checking account.”

“i- i can’t accept that. that’s too generous of him.” overwhelmed by the care and looking after. not used to all this. dick thumbed at your cheek, “we just need you to stay here and get better. i’ll be by your side the whole time.”

you sank your teeth into your bottom lip, “you will? don’t you have things to do? i- i don’t want to be a burden.”

“no, no.” he leaned forward to plant a kiss on your forehead, “you're not a burden in any way. i’m happy to spend any amount of time with you. you're my favorite person in this whole world.”

you felt warm and bet he could feel the heat growing on your face, “really? what about wally?” trying to play off how strong his words affect you.

his smile was easy, lovely. his eyes are warm and homely. his touch gentle and grounding. “wally already knows you’re my favorite person. he’s accepted that he’s second.” and he leaned forward again to plant a longer, lingering kiss on your forehead. eyes closing as you hold onto his wrist.

“it’ll be okay.” words kissed into your skin.

#dick grayson angst #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fic #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x fem!reader #dick grayson imagine #nightwing imagine #dc comics nightwing #nightwing angst #nightwing x reader #nightwing #nightwing x fem!reader #dc comics imagine #dc comics dick grayson #dc comics fic #dc comcics x reader

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kociamieta · 7 months

Text

rescue mission

i loved the addition to the comic so much that i wanted to draw more :D

#rain world oc #blurred reflection of self #habitually stargazing #serene dreams abound #thirteen flowers bloom #my art #rain world

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year

Text

Here, Kitty Kitty (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnlingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I done had this idea for YEARS & finally decided to write it. Idk how long this will be BUT I hope y’all live for some coworkers to friends to lovers type shit. Enjoy! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

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

ONE.

Briiii-iiing!

After what feels like an eternity, the bell signaling your third period and your lunch break has finally rung its joyous sound throughout the halls. You don’t even mind the way it sounds shrill to your overly-sensitive ears. But that’s the way of a cat: everything is sensitive to you. Even as a cat hybrid.

You turn to the student who has become a regular in your office, smiling kindly at him. “That’s for you, too,” you say with a wink. “I don’t think you’d wanna eat lunch with the school counselor, Katsuki.”

Katsuki Bakugou, with his intense stare and a permanent scowl that reminds you of a bulldog, grumbles as he stands and slugs his backpack over his shoulder. He turns to head out of your office without another word.

“Hey,” you say, stopping him. He looks over his shoulder expectantly. “Remember what I said: if someone says something to piss you off, just breathe. Think about what you’d be giving up if you resort to violence. You’re a very intelligent and good kid, Katsuki.”

Bakugou doesn’t reply, but you see something shift on his face. He looks taken aback at your words. But just as quickly as it came, it’s gone and he’s back to his usual cool stare. With a suck of his teeth, he’s leaving your office, slamming the door as he does.

You sit back in your seat and turn towards the window, exhaling slowly. Your view from your office showcases the gorgeous cherry blossoms that are about to bloom–they’re just pink buds right now. You sigh dreamily, so glad spring is here. Finally, you’ll be able to crack open your window to breathe in the sweet scents of blooming flowers and sun.

You remind yourself once again to thank Nezu for such a wonderful spot for your office. Not only do you have the best seat in the house for the view, but you also have your own couch for naps in between breaks and a mini fridge under your desk where you store your lunch and snacks for the kids who come in here to chat about their problems or incidents with other kids (mostly Bakugou).

“As the UA school counselor, it’s important that you’re just as comfortable as our students here!” Nezu brightly proclaimed after giving you the tour of UA on your first day at work. That was at the beginning of September. Now that it’s March, you’ve been here for six months now. You couldn’t have asked for a better job! You get paid what you weigh with your degrees, you live in an apartment on campus you don’t have to constantly dish out money for public transportation, and everyone you work alongside is so, so nice…

Well, almost everyone.

Not wanting to waste any more time before another kid comes crying into your office about their issues, you take your lunch out of your mini fridge and hurry to head off to the UA teacher breakroom, locking the office door as you do.

When you enter the cozy-looking breakroom with its mini sofas, expensive coffee machine, and sterling steel microwave, you find Nemuri and Mic already sitting at a table. Nemuri glances at the door and grins at you. “Ah, there she is!” she coos. “My favorite cat girl!” Her eyes trail over your form, humming suggestively. “And looking quite fine.”

“Absolutely,” Mic agrees as he pops some rice into his mouth. “Pink is definitely your color, Y/N.”

You flush at the sweet compliments, glad you went for a pink blouse and a nice skirt today. “Why, thank you,” you giggle as you sit next to Nemuri–your usual spot. Your trail curls around your legs, relaxed and content. “So, what’s on for the conversation today?”

“Tonight,” Nemuri replies, wiggling her brows mischievously at you. “We’re still on for tonight, right?” She grips your arm dramatically. “Please tell me we are! I’ve been needing to get my ass in my clubbing dress for months!”

“Yes, drama queen,” you laugh as you unzip your lunch bag. A bento box, a yogurt cup, and a bottle of Kombucha tea sit inside. “We’re still on. I’ve been needing to shake my ass for the one time, too.”

“And get yourself someone to take back home tonight you watch you shake your ass,” Nemuri adds. You roll your eyes while Mic laughs. “Aw, come ooon, Y/N!” she whines. “You’ll never know the thrill of bringing someone back for a hot night at your place until you try it.”

Nemuri has been trying to get you to try casual sex for the longest time after her plans for being a matchmaker fell through. When you told her you didn’t have a boyfriend during a night out after becoming fast friends, she just about fell out of her chair. “No,” she gasped into her cocktail. “A woman as gorgeous as you? There’s no way! This is a tragedy!”

And because of this “tragedy”, she took it upon herself to try and match you up with other pros she knew. So far, it’s been All Might, who was very nice but you found you liked as a friend, and Snipe, who was fine as hell behind his mask and amazing in bed, you felt like you were leading him on because of your feelings for another person. Snipe told you he understood but if things never worked out with “the other guy”, he was always there.

What Nemuri didn’t realize is that dating never seemed to work for you. It always ended in casual sex due to you being a cat girl. Most men you’d dated or slept with always seemed to want you for the cat girl they thought you to be…which was usually out of a hentai. So you steered clear from dating, feeling more than happy being single if it meant not putting up with the BS. Cat girls had a bad rep because of the shit Hollywood thought of for pornos, which meant you had to work ten times harder to get what you wanted. Including being taken seriously in a relationship.

“First of all, that’s against the rules, ‘Muri,” you sigh despite your friend’s pouting. “Nezu is against bringing any outsiders onto campus, especially in our dorms.” Nemuri and Mic glance at each other, knowing damn well they’ve broken that rule many, many times. “And two, you know I’m too busy with work to date.”

“It’s not dating though,” she protests. “It’s sex! Tell her, Mic.” The blonde pro looks between the two of you, bunching on a rice ball.

“I’m not in this,” he mumbles, making you laugh. “And the last time I bought someone to my apartment, I shattered some windows in the entire complex because I was so loud.” Your eyes widen at his confession and he flushes. “He was good, okay?”

Hysterical giggles rise to the surface in your chest, Nemuri laughing with you. “That’s hilarious,” you sigh, wiping at a tear, “and exactly why your idea is a bad one.” You poke Nemuri’s side with a fork. “Besides, you know I don’t want just anyone in my bed.”

As soon as the words are out, you realize your mistake. Your friends stare at you expectantly, leaning in as if desperate to know your deep, dark secrets. “Then who do you want, Y/N?” Nemuri purrs, raising a brow at you. Mic nods. “Yes, do tell!”

You flush, popping a piece of chicken kara-age from your bento box into your mouth to keep your mouth occupied. They both knew who you were referring to; they just wanted you to say it aloud. The truth was, you could never date just anyone because you already had feelings for another. It was stupid, really. A pathetic, schoolgirl crush because you knew he could never return them.

As if on cue, the man of the hour and your dreams walks into the room, as quiet as a church mouse. He’s so quiet that you jump, your tail fuzzing up, when you see him round the corner wearing his signature jumpsuit and scarves, hands in his pockets. He truly is an attractive man despite his tired eyes–about six foot something, a nice build, black locks of shoulder-length hair that frame his handsome face, and a five o’clock shadow.

When he glances at you as he walks in, it’s so hard to breathe suddenly. No matter how many times he looks at you, it always has the same effect on you. His stares are intense and bothersome; haunting almost. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that your skirt rises just above your knees, giving a tiny slip of thigh behind your nylon stockings.

“Aizawa!” Mic exclaims, grinning at his friend as he slinks into the room. “To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing your gorgeous face?”

Aizawa doesn’t spare his friend as much as a glance as he looms over the coffee machine. He grabs one of the Plus Ultra mugs above the sink and takes a pod of the dark roast. “Lunch break,” he blandly replies. “Needed coffee.”

You can’t help but watch his hands as he works to whip himself up a cup. His hands are just so big! And his fingers are so long. You wonder if he plays piano by any chance.

And if one day, he could play you by any chance. Would his hands be calloused and rough from years of hero work? Would they be gentle and careful with you? Would he know how to touch you? Would he be willing to know how, practically begging you to show him how to make you feel good?

You can picture him now, his eyes drilling a hole into you as he kneels between your thighs, his fingers plunged deep into your sobbing wet–

“Oh, Shouta!” Nemuri calls, scaring you half to death out of your nasty thoughts. She’s smirking at you while Mic silently laughs beside her. “Will you be attending our nighttime activity after school ends? We’re going to Hot Spot. You know, that one club all the pros go to?”

You flush, knowing what she’s doing. She knows damn well Aizawa isn’t going. He never goes anywhere except he’s forced to. “Of course, you are,” he mutters, tapping one finger on the counter as he waits for his coffee to finish brewing. “And no, I’m not. Don’t know why this is even a question.”

“Oh, sorry,” Nemuri sarcastically replies. “I forgot you’re anti-social and you hate anything related to socializing or people.”

Aizawa gives her an irritated glance. “Not the reason,” he growls. “It’s because I have better things to do than be in a room with a bunch of drunk people I don’t know. Like grading papers.” Once his coffee is done, he takes the mug along with one packet of sugar. No cream or anything else.

He walks to the door but glances back at his friends before he makes his grand exit. “And I’m not anti-social.”

“Sure, you’re not!” Mic yells to him once he’s gone. He then turns to you and Nemuri with a smirk. “He totally is.” You smile along with Nemuri’s laugh, but you can’t help the way your body feels from Aizawa’s presence: hot and very, very bothered.

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

You could burn a hole into someone as you watch Nemuri giggle and charm the man trying to sweet-talk her next to you at your booth.

The man is so obviously eyeing your friend’s cleavage that she flaunts in her dress with the sweetheart neckline. This is the fourth man that’s talked to her tonight since she, you, and Mic arrived at Hot Spot an hour before.

‘Horny bastards,’ you think to yourself, though you can’t help but be jealous.

Why can’t you be more like Nemuri and just be free with your inhibitions like her? She flaunts, flirts, and fucks without care. But then again, everyone wants to fuck Ms. Midnight. Nobody even knows who you are. And you’d like to keep it that way. Plus, being a cat girl gains you unwanted attention anyway. It’s bad enough you get the occasional weirdo asking you about your tail and if you poop in a litterbox.

Mic, in his Hawaiian shirt, wraps an arm around you. “What are you doing later?” he asks you playfully. You giggle, poking at his chest. “Not you,” you reply wittingly.

“Oh, that’s right!” he recalls, giving you a smirk. His eyes look slightly hooded from the several shots he, you, and Nemuri did. “Because you’d like to be doing my friend right now. And don’t deny it either!”

You say nothing. Instead, you stare down at your hands clamped firmly in the lap of your skinny jeans. You went for a nice sequin top and heels tonight to pair with the jeans that made your ass and thighs look fantastic. You swear, Mic and Nemuri told you that at least five times tonight.

Nemuri finally turns around to face you, placing a folded napkin in her bra. “Got a number,” she sings. “Might just give it to you.” She goes to take the napkin out and give it to you, but you push her hand away. “No,” you protest. “I already told you, Nemuri; not interested in fuckin’ someone I barely know.”

Nemuri puckers her lips at you, giving you a scowl. “Leave her be, ‘Muri,” Mic chuckles, wrapping his arms around the both of you. “You know her heart is set on another.” He and Nemuri begin to pucker their lips at you, moving to kiss your cheeks.

“Cut it out!” you laugh, slapping them away. “I don’t want your drunk ass kisses either!”

“I don’t know why you don’t just talk to the guy, babe,” Mic chuckles, already on his fifth shot of the night. “He’s really not that bad! He’s just extremely shy and doesn’t have that much experience with talkin’ to women. If he happens to meet one, it’s usually just a hookup.”

You wither at his words, silently drinking your cocktail. You don’t want to be just a hookup to Aizawa if you ever managed to get that far with him. But those changes are slim to none since he barely speaks to you. The most you ever get out of him is a “good morning” or a “see you tomorrow”.

You’ve been working at UA for six months now and you barely know anything about him except for the fact that he’s pro-hero Eraserhead, he’s fine as fuck, and all his students love him like a dad, even calling him “Dadzawa” which you think is utterly adorable. You’d love to know what’s underneath that stoic expression and intense eyes, but Aizawa purposely keeps to himself and barely speaks to anyone.

Despite this knowledge, your body still quivers at the memory of those damn eyes setting dead on you. Then you just feel stupid. You know that you and Aizawa could never date. It’s just not in the cards for you right now, with your job as a counselor and your “nightly activity”.

So when is this stupid crush going to end?

“Oh, wow,” Mic suddenly says. He’s on his phone, scrolling through Apple News. “Look at this!” he excitedly says, practically shoving his phone in your face. “Can you believe this shit? Street crime has been down more than 50% in the past few months. More than it's been in the last five years!"

Nemuri glances at you, a knowing smirk on her face. You flush with pride and do your best to bite back a smile as you match Mic’s astonishment. “Wow, them underground pros must be workin’ hard, plus the night patrols.”

As if not wanting you to be blue over this weird ass man the entire night, one of your favorite songs comes on too. You take Nemuri and Mic’s hands in yours. “C’mon’ let’s go dance.” Nemuri squeals and practically drags you to the dance floor, Mic following close behind you. The music is good tonight, the DJ playing mostly hip hop, transitioning between 90s tunes and modern stuff.

The alcohol you consumed gives you the confidence to dance the night away, your hips swaying and ass bouncing in time with the different beats. You’re well aware you’re catching eyes from many different people out on the floor, pros or not, and it fills you with the sense of confidence and sexiness Nemuri must feel every time she walks out of the house. As you dance under the strobe lights, sweating out your makeup and braids, you feel like you could take someone home if you wanted to. Who needed Aizawa? He had no idea what he was missing.

That intoxicating feeling doesn’t let up for a moment, even as the night comes to an end hours later. It is about 11 PM when you, Nemuri, and Mic finally depart outside the club. “Thanks for inviting me,” you say, hugging Nemuri. “You sure he’s gonna be okay?”

You nod at a very drunk and sleepy Mic who has his arm slung over Nemuri’s shoulders, his head lulling. “He’ll be fine,” she giggles, wrapping an arm around his waist. “He thinks he’s a steel bull when it comes to shots, this one.” She laughs at Mic’s light mumbling as he sings the lyrics of a Beyoncé song. “Where are you about to go now?” She asks, shifting her weight in her heels to accommodate Mic’s.

“Where do you think?” You playfully ask, giving her a wink before you begin to strut away from her at the club down the street. “Just be careful!” You hear Nemuri call after you.

You turn to her, seeing her concerned gaze, and you give her a reassuring smile. “Don’t I always?” You laugh, blowing her a kiss before turning around and strutting away back to UA just as Nemuri and Mic get into the Lyft she called beforehand. But you know you can be faster.

You don’t stop moving until you’re finally behind a nearby building to a jewelry shop. You turn to look in the glass window at the woman staring back at you standing in her leather jacket, skinny jeans, and sequin top. With a slow exhale leaving your nostrils, the reflection of the woman vanishes, now replaced with a teeny, tiny, black cat.

To anyone who was to walk through this alley, all they would see is a stray walking the streets. But only you know the truth.

Though the streets are empty and quiet at this time of night, you can’t be too careful, so you decide to take the rooftops, jumping from one building without a care in the world to the next with your heightened agility and senses. All sounds of Musutafu at night–the chirping of birds; the drilling machinery of constructing workers in the streets; the honking of traffic; the occasional bark of dogs–drift to your ears, making them twitch. Everything in your sight is ten times as close, even the farthest tree where you can clearly see a couple going at it in the park.

It only takes you ten minutes you get back to UA, faster than Nemuri and Mic. You hurry across campus to the faculty dorms and jump onto the trunk of a nearby cherry blossom tree. Your claws immediately shoot out and stick into the bark, allowing you to climb up the tree with no problem.

You then creep along the long branch that stretches right to the window of your dorm that you keep cracked specifically for you–just enough for you to slide through. When you’re finally inside the clean, dark apartment, you quickly shift back into your human form (clothes still intact) and proceed to hurry to your closet.

You open it, your eyes falling on the black box pushed to the back behind your shoes. Trembling with excitement, you pull the box out and look inside where your hero’s outfit, complete with fingerless gloves, knee-high boots, and a mask, sits inside. “Hey, baby,” you coo, taking out the mask. It’s simple and black with two cat ears popping out of the top to protect your ears. You slip the mask over your head before putting on the rest of your gear.

The black leather bodysuit stretches across your skin and accentuates the curve of your ass, the fullness of your breasts, and the best parts of your body. Decorated along your front, back, and thighs are silver, glitter-coated slashes to appear like claw tears. You thought that was a cute touch. The back isn’t tight enough on your backside to hurt your tail, but you don’t like it out when you’re fighting. It’s too risky since you know your opponents could pull on it.

The mask covers the top half of your face, making you feel like a stranger as you stand in your mirror, admiring yourself. The knee-high boots are high enough to make you feel sexy, but low enough for you to kick ass or run if need be. But half the time, you’ve got the running thing covered with your cat form.

With a smile on your glossy lips, you admire the sexy woman standing in the mirror in front of you. The Night Claw. Musutafu’s newest and cutest nighttime vigilante. And your alter ego–one that you’ve secretly had for months now after starting UA.

“Time for some trouble,” you purr. With another inhale, you transform back into your cat form. You stretch, arching your back and yawning, before jumping up on the window and then leaping from the ledge.

You praise yourself when you hit the ground on all fours. Then, with a happy meow and a blink of your yellow eyes, you race out into the night, yowling happily as you do, for another night of excitement.

#aizawa x black!reader #bnha smut #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #here kitty kitty #my fic shit #black writers #shouta aizawa #shoutaaa #shouta aizawa x black!reader

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nanaminis · 2 months

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boyfriend! yuuta hcs for valentine's day!

happy (early) valentine's day y'all! if ur single, buy urself some chocolate<3 anyway, i hope y'all like this. the ending is rushed... whoops. pls enjoy & here is a song i think fits yuuta :3

boyfriend! yuuta who asks you to be his valentine on the first of feb with a handmade card. he even gives you a little bag of heart-shaped candy.

boyfriend! yuuta whose face flushes when you smile so sweetly at him and agree to be his valentine. he's pretty sure his heart stopped for a good three beats.

boyfriend! yuuta who spends the next thirteen days trying to come up with the perfect gift. of course, he knows you like the back of his hand, so finding a gift shouldn't be difficult. and, well, it isn't. but yuuta wants you to have the perfect gift.

boyfriend! yuuta who buys all of the typical gifts: chocolates, a cuddly teddy bear with a heart, a heart-shaped balloon, and roses.

boyfriend! yuuta who, ever the dutiful lover, asks maki and nobara for advice. both say a hard no to the roses.

"they're so stereotypical. makes it seem like you don't really care, y'know?"

they're tempted to say no to all of his other options, finding them a bit... corny, but the crestfallen look on yuuta's face when they boo the flowers kills any thoughts of disapproving his other options. plus, knowing you, you're bound to like it.

boyfriend! yuuta who takes maki's and nobara's advice to heart. he never wants to neglect you or make you feel unwanted.

boyfriend! yuuta who does his research on the different types of flowers and their meanings. he jots down some on a sticky note, but the second he comes across the forget-me-nots, his decision is made.

boyfriend! yuuta who scrolls through forums and social media posts to find an idea of what the perfect gift for you should be.

boyfriend! yuuta who buys you this necklace. he thinks it's beautiful, and it's not as forward as a promise ring.

boyfriend! yuuta who perfectly wraps and bags your gifts. he wraps the heart-shaped box of chocolates, places the teddy bear into a gift bag with red and pink tissue paper, and ties the box holding your necklace with a red ribbon.

boyfriend! yuuta who makes sure the bouquet of forget-me-nots are fresh and cut.

boyfriend! yuuta who can't stop bouncing his leg while waiting for you to show up. the waitress has asked him if he needed anything about three times.

boyfriend! yuuta who smiles nervously when you enter the cafe and take a seat at the somewhat secluded table.

boyfriend! yuuta who tries his best to ignore the knots in his stomach as he places his gifts on the table. there's already an apology ready on his tongue if you don't like any of the gifts or if you're allergic to chocolate, despite yuuta asking you numerous times beforehand and seeing you eat chocolate before.

boyfriend! yuuta whose anxiety instantly disappears once he sees that beautiful smile bloom on your face and the grateful twinkle in your eyes.

boyfriend! yuuta who decides right then and there that he'd do anything to continue seeing that big, bright smile.

note: sorry i haven't posted... writing has been difficult lately + skewl has been ass SOO yeah! sorry y'all :( umm i have sumn for bff! sukuna but idk if anyone would actually like it? like i don't wanna ruin the og post by posting some sequel (prequel?) that nobody gaf abt. also try for 400+ notes on that post omg!!! also also i swear i haven't forgotten abt daycare attendant! nanami i just have no ideas n the ones i do have are rotting in drafts... anyway i've rambled long enough ENJOY UR DAYYYY GUYS <333

#jjk #jjk yuta #jjk yuuta #yuuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x you #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu x you #valentines day

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thevoidscreams · 1 month

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Hello!

I would like to see something with Mortarion. Pre heresy when he's feeling unloved as he's not quite living up to the emperor's vision for him. He's supposed to be the second strongest Psycher of the Primarchs yet he Refuses to use his power.

Even pre monster form I've always loved the idea that Mortarion is gardener/herbalist in his spare time. Collecting plants from conquered worlds and giving them a home in a personal green house of sorts.

A servant who is commonly sent to give him messages/retrieve him when needed strikes up a bond with him over his eclectic garden.

They marvel at his plant expertise and abilities. They give him an outlet to talk about his special interest in detail. They support his passions and even offer understanding about why he's uncomfortable using his magic.

Overtime spent in that humid greenhouse, both start to feel it, the attraction. The brief glances or gentle brushes of hands as they talk and work in unison.

Mortarion has never really felt anything like this. And so strongly! It frightens him. Frightens him because he fears chasing this small glimmer of happiness away if he oversteps.

But oh...Oh he dreams of the alternative. Of bodies pressed into intimate warmth, of kisses stolen quickly or bitten ravenously while he towers over his sweet one. It feels like he can barely control himself, and it's only getting worse.

Little does he know his little honey bee is already swooned to him, but they too fear overstepping. They're a baseline human, and Mortarion is a demigod like figure. He'd never view them in such a way.

They shall be content being his mortal confidant, his sidekick so to speak. They've even acquired a special gift for him to show their care (and sooth the heartache for a love that they believe will never be.) A beautiful floral specimen from their own home world. In their world's language of flowers these blooms represent eternal devotion and love.

Its a subtle way to confess their feelings, and also find closure. After all they're certain Mortarion doesn't know their planet's flower language.

... Now what happens when he turns out he Does.

(For making press March if its not clear. You do great stuff btw okay byyyyyy)

Day thirteen!!!

Pairing Mortarion x reader

Warnings: Sex, first-time sex for Mort, and two idiots in love.

Mortarion stared down at the pots in front of him. His hearts hammering in his massive chest.

The plant's colorful petals shine especially bright among the other plants. They were gifts after all that made they special. Even among all the strange and alien plants he’d gathered over the years.

He’d collected you much the same way, once nothing more than a go for, a messenger who he enjoyed seeing. Until he could no longer bear to see you go, wondering when he would see you next. If he ever saw you again at all. So he took you, just as he did his plants. Pulling rank to have you reassigned to his conservatory. Where you’d expressed a good deal of knowledge about plants. He was certain it had been the right move as you had seemed to grow into the role naturally.

He’d even made changes for you. Something he’d done for no others. Such as adding several water features with live animals. It made the place hum with new life. Mortarion would watch you buzz from one task to another, bust like a bee. It was how he took to calling you his honeybee. His sweet little bee.

As he pondered, the last words you spoke to the primarch bounced around his head.

‘They reminded me of you when I saw them.’ You said, offering him the gifts. His hands brushing yours not so accidentally as he took them. Lingering a moment longer than was strictly necessary.

‘Is that so?’

‘Yep.’

‘And why is that?’

Your cheeks had tinged pink with a blush and it made him smile under his mask.

‘They just have a nice meaning.’ You told him quickly and ducked away to go prune some fruit trees.

His mind raced, a blue orchid, and a red rose. His mind pulled up the meaning of these plants but he was sure he must have misremembered. He’d gone to his study to find his old book about gifting plants and the symbolism of the colors and species.

He hadn’t misremembered. In fact he’d been spot on.

Orchids, the book had said, were a flower that could be symbolized by love, desire and sexuality. But could also be symbols of good luck, harmony, good health and good fortune. They were blue however. The rarest color form of orchid was blue and they were unique.

On its own the orchid wasn’t a dead give away and he could have pondered the meaning of it for a long time, with still no confidence to act.

But the roses. His hearts fluttered again. Roses had many meanings, all of which had multiple meanings. But red was impossible to mistake when given as a gift. They weren’t the pink of gratitude, or the yellow of friendship or even orange which could mean fascination.

You’d mentioned the meaning specifically when giving them to him.

And red, or at least in rose language, was meant to represent devotion, passion, romance, desire, and true love. It was a lover’s flower. Given to him by the one he loved so ardently it hurt.

He came back to himself as raindrops began to pelt the roof and shake him from his recollection. He stood lifting the potted plants and taking them to a place of prominence in his conservatory. Where all would see them and admire them.

He waited for you to return today. His thumb caressing the petal of the rose. Imagining it was your lip, soft and supple as you lay under his body.

He’d gone without his armor, only a mask to aid in his breathing.

HIs hands reached for a spade as he shook the images of you from his mind.

Instead he focused on his plants and their needs. Caring for them. Just as he would care for you. If you were his.

His mind continued to stir as he continued to plant, turning soil so that his lovely roses would be able to grow into a magnificent bush.

Would your love grow that way? Blooming as it took root and grew into something more.

The door to the flower garden opened and he heard you approach. He wondered if he should find you and confront you about the flowers you’d chosen.

He decided to let you work for a bit. Hoping beyond all hope that he wouldn’t scare you away. You were perhaps his only real chance at love.

He looked up at the glass windows high above and watched as the rain that fell in sheets across the glass.

The rose was planted and watered.

He would go find you now.

You had been trimming dead leaves from a butterfly bush. Helping so that hopefully the new growth would have a chance.

Mortarion had even said that he would let you have some butterflies to liven up the space once he was able to source them.

On the outside he was often grumpy. But inside you knew he was hurting. Despite that he took your help in the conservatory graciously and was kind to you.

Your hand stroked over one of the bicolored flower stocks. The purple and orange enchanting you.

Your mind drifted to the feeling of his hands on yours and the even rarer case of his hand on your back as he sometimes did to direct you.

They were so big, they’d easily be able to hold you. Easily cover your body as he… it felt like your face caught fire it got so warm.

You wished you could have just told him you loved him outright. But if he didn’t feel the same you ran the risk of his sending you away. Of him replacing you as his assistant and maybe.. Falling in love with the next one.

It hurt so bad to think about that you almost dropped your clippers. No, you would give him flowers, and keep the secret of your love in your heart. Where it would grow with every passing day till it consumed your whole self. LIke mint left unchecked, spreading to every corner of the garden that was your body.

“You’re here early.” The sound of his voice shocked you and you did drop your clippers. He reached out and snatched them, lightning quick despite his size. His font was pressed to your back and the heat of Mortarion’s body chased away the chill you’d gotten from the rain coming in.

“Yes. Thank you.” You turned to look up at him, slotting your clippers into your tool belt.. Eyes wide and warm.

“I was hoping to see where you put the plants I gave you.”

Mortarion nodded. “I just finished planting the rose.

HIs hand found its way to your back. GUiding you along and warming you. It felt nice and it made another wave of very unprofessional things come to mind.

He led you to the main display, which had been empty while the primarch decided what he wanted to put there. You gasped when you saw the rose. It was planted in the main display.

“I am still trying to find the best place to put the orchid. But I assure you it will be a main attraction as well. It is too beautiful to be off in some corner. Things that are beautiful should be seen and appreciated.”

His eyes were on you as he said the last part. Of course you didn’t see as you were breathless about how much he had enjoyed the gifts.

Mortarion swallowed and knelt next to you, even then he was an inch taller than you.

“I need to ask you something. And I want you to be honest with me.”

You turned to face him, his yellow green eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah of course Mortarion, what up?” You felt unusually nervous.

“Why did you pick these blooms?” He asked seriously.

You told him you wouldn’t lie.

“If I’m honest with you, and you don’t like my answer..will you make me leave?”

Your eyes got a bit blurry as you pictured going back to your old life. Running messages and being yelled at for things that were in them despite them not being your fault. Or even worse, going back to a life without him. You didn’t want to lose any of what this place had to offer, but losing him might as well have been the same as dying.

“You will not. I promise you. You are far too important here to be rid of without serious cause.”

You nodded, slightly comforted.

“I got them for the meanings they hold.”

“ANd you know what they mean. Do you not?”

“I do.”

Mortarion figured as much, but his hearts were racing, he needed to hear you say it.

“Did you mean it? When you gifted me these plants knowing what they symbolized?”

“I did.” You brushed your hand over your arm. Certain you’d at the very least be laughed at. Who were you to make moves on a primarch of all people? You looked away. Mortarion was trembling.

You meant it. You really meant it.

His finger touched the bottom of your chin and turned you back to face him. His other hand came up to remove his mask. “I love you too.” He said softly.

Your jaw dropped and you were at a loss for words for a moment.

“You do?” You practically shouted.

Mortarion smiled. “I do.”

He took your hands and held them close to his chest. “Will you be mine, Honeybee?”

Your eyes widened and tears of joy dripped from your eyes. “Of course.”

You leaned in and kissed him.

Mortarion wrapped his arms around you. Your lips were every bit as loft and warm as he’d imagined on all those cold and lonely nights.

You stayed in each other’s embrace for a long minute, kissing one another with as the longing you’d both possessed.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.” You told him with a very dopey smile on your lips. Mortarion found himself falling in love all over again as he saw it and met it with one of his own.

“As have I.” the primarch told you.

“Well that and a few other things.” You admitted pressing your forehead to his.

“Such as?” He pressed, wondering if you were as desirous of him as he was of you.

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, you supposed.

“Things like feeling your hands on me. Or being laid down on the soft moss carpets in the other room and taken by a big handsome primarch…one like you.”

It was Mortarion’s turn to look at you, jaw dropped.

“Unless you don’t want to or don’t feel that way.” You amended quickly.

Mortarion just chuckled and kissed you again. He’d had that same fantasy, of taking you on the mossy ground next to the main water feature as the high waterfall crashed into the water below swallowing your cries so only he’d be able to hear you.

He pulled away slowly.

“There are many places in this conservatory I’ve daydreamed about teaching you a new way to ‘pollinate’ a flower.”

Your stomach did a little flip and you leaned into him.

“Well I always want to learn more. I’d be happy to learn whatever you will teach me.”

Mortarion stood and scooped you up into his arms. He had just the place.

He’d waited so long to have you. To love you. And now that you were his he was feeling rather uncharacteristically impatient to show you just how much he longed for you.

In the room with a pond of fish he’d had made for you, really he wondered how you hadn’t known he’d loved you sooner, there was an old willow, it was currently in bloom.

He took you under its branches. They draped around the tree like a skirt and completely blocked the view of the trunk from the rest of the room.

Mortarion set you down and kissed you again. “I would like to have you, fully. If that is amiable to you.”

“It is. I’ve had many daydreams under this tree.” You giggled.

“As have I.” He agreed. “I will start this, so that you know what I have to give you, and if it is not to your liking, I will understand.” There was an undeniable air of sadness about the statement but you couldn’t imagine not liking him in any capacity.

He raised his shirt and pulled it off. He was leanly muscled but very defined and your hands immediately went to his chest. He continued with his pants. Pulling them down to reveal his pale body in all its glory.

You were struck by how stark yet beautiful he was, not a single bit of hair on him aside from the long white locks on his head.

He stood waiting for your judgment.

You gave it readily. “You’re beautiful Mortarion. I’ve never seen anything like you. And I don’t think I ever will anywhere else. Your body is perfect to me. In all of its aspects.”

Your hands ran down his form, touching him in a way he’d thought he’d only experience in dreams.

“Then you are not repulsed by me?” The pale giant asked.

“No, I really like it.” You assured him immediately.

You took a step back as he knelt again waiting. Your hands tugging your shirt up, he reached out to unclip your belt of tools, setting them aside. He eyed your chest as you tossed the shirt over with his clothes and began on your pants. Pushing them down.

You were left standing almost naked before him in only a bra and panties.

His hands went to your hips and his mouth found your throat kissing the tender skin and making you shiver with delight.

You hooked your finger into your panties pushing them down and letting them fall.

Mortarion grabbed you, pulling you down into his lap as he sat.

He ran his hands up and down your body learning every curve and dip.

When his hands came back up you back he gently unclipped the bra. You pulled it away. Mortarion drew in a breath. You were the stunning thing in this conservatory, he was certain of that. And you were his, all his to have and hold and love.

He patted his lap. “Turn for me?” You did, sitting with your back to his chest as he reached down to stroke your damp lips. “You're absolutely breathtaking.” He sighed, rubbing the rough pads of his fingers over your impossibly soft pussy. Loving every inch of it as he did.

One finger probed your entrance and, finding it plenty wet, slid the finger in.

The action drew a moan from you and your head fell back on his shoulder. Letting him work. The finger brushed over a few sensitive spots, the primarch was watching, learning from each gasp and adjusting till he had you writhing in his lap from pleasure wrought by his own hands.

Every squeak or sound of satisfaction made him work his hand a bit harder. “I can take another.” You panted, yearning for more of him inside you. He gave it. His ring finger joined the middle and stretched you out more as he continued to observe, halting at any sign of pain, and waiting till you were comfortable before starting again. It was a process of stop and start that had you half mad with need. Once he mistook a sharp inhale of pleasure for pain and you almost screamed not to stop.

Whether he realized it or not his care for you was causing the worst case of edging you’d ever experienced. Drool dripped down from the corner of your mouth. Your head lulled to the side and a soft whine bubbled up from somewhere inside you.

“Please, just like that. Don’t stop.” Mortarion pressed a kiss to your forehead, happy to keep it up.

“How are you feeling my Honeybee?”

“Close.” You told him honestly.

“I want to feel you come.” He peppered a trail of kisses from your face, down your neck and nibbled your shoulder.

That sent you over the edge. You came hard on his fingers, and he worked you through it, steady and comforting.

His finger left you and he brought them up to his lips, he licked the juices off. The flavor made his cock all the harder. You slid from his lap, turning around to face him.

You reached for his cock and he stiffened. No one had touched him this way before.

He knew how this should work. Buth knowing and doing were two separate things.

He watched you stroke his cock curiously. Your eyes fixed on his as you bite your lip. It made him want to jump you. And as nice as it felt to have you touching him, he wanted me.

“I would like to have you, to fill you.” He rasped, his voice getting a bit hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Please.”

He raised you back up into his lap as it felt right.

Lining up his leaking cock with your leaking pussy he was hopeful that it would suffice for making things easier.

It did, as big as he was compared to you, he pushed in and met no resistance. You’d been ready since you’d last cum. As good as it was, it wasn't enough, you wanted more.

Letting your weight aid you, you speared yourself on his cock till you couldn’t fit a single bit more. He was longer than he was thick, but that wasn’t much of an issue given the fact that even being on the thinner side it was still more than enough to stretch you. Putting mind numbing pressure on all those delicious places inside you.

“Will it be sufficient for the task at hand my Honeybee?” He breathed, his own head a bit fuzzy from the perfect warmth wrapped around his cock.

“Absolutely. Fuck even your cock is perfect.”

He hugged you close and pressed his face into your shoulder.

You both sat like that, intimately embraced and ready to finally make good on a fantasy you’d both had countless times.

You moved first, using your footing on the grassy earth to raise yourself up and then drop.

Mortarion's hands swiftly went to your ass and hips, helping you to move.

It was everything he’d reamed and so much more.

Soon enough your efforts were taken over by your lover, he raised you with ease and pushed you back down onto his cock with fervor.

That was just fine with you though. You kissed him deeply and allowed him to explore your mouth as he fucked you.

“Damn it all. Why didn’t I tell you sooner?” He asked with a bitter little laugh.

“Great question.” You told him moaning as his cock kissed your cervix gently. “I should have told you as soon as I realized.”

“And when was that?” The primarch asked.

“That first week I worked with you.”

Mortarion cursed in a language you couldn’t understand.

“We might have been married by now if that was the case.” He felt like such a fool, for the last few years you’d both been a source of love and light in each other's lives.

“I suppose we’ll have to make up for all that lost time then.”

Mortarion moaned and hugged you tight again, thrusting his hips up into you.

You came again, the already wet slap of skin becoming even wetter.

Mortarion fucked you a minute longer. His body grew hotter and the coil in his belly winding tighter as he got ready to cum inside someone for the first time. It was completely different from his hand. The thrusts grew sloppy and he groaned as he came. Pushing into you to make sure not a drop was wasted.

Mortarion laid back in the grass under the willow, you rested on his chest as his cock slipped out. You were both spent. But very satisfied.

“I love you Mortarion.” You yawned quietly.

He smiled, it was genuine and warm and he’d never smiled like it before, it felt good to smile that way.

“I love you too, Honeybee.”

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #primarch x reader #40k #my writing #primarchs #warhammer 40k x reader #fanfiction #primarch #mortarion #mortarion x reader #mating press march

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astral-realities · 24 days

Note

hi hello! would you like to tell us about yourselves?

SDA: Of course. I'm Serene Dreams Abound, the second oldest member of the Astral Realities group. I was... created to assist our senior... Later, the focus shifted to taking care of my citizens.

HS: Habitually Stargazing, astronomical research facility. I had the honor of working with some great scientists back in the day; some even called my city their home. Despite the state of things, I'm still working on my duties.

BROS: Wow, so *formal*, you two...

BROS: Might as well use your model numbers while you're at it~

ECEG835110HS: Sure thing.

BROS: ...

TFB: Hah! Well, I'm Thirteen Flowers Bloom, though you can call me Flowers if you want! I spend most of the time monitoring the state of the wildlife in my surrounding area - I'm very interested in its well-being and development, particularly in seeing how these organisms adjust to the world without us Iterators modifying them to. If you have any creatures to show me, please do!

BROS: And I'm BROS, a medical facility by design, though I definitely have less work to do nowadays, etc, etc. I love meeting new people, so make sure to say hi!

#malicious compliance is beautiful name for a baby girl #a: sda #a: hs #a: bros #a: tfb #rain world oc

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teddy-bear-baby · 3 months

Text

Their Deadly Flower - Thirteen

(A/n: Guess who's back... Me! Apologies for the hiatus. The holidays were hectic and some unfortunate events followed that kept me from updating. Hopefully, the wait was worth it and you Lovelies enjoy this chapter. I may post fourteen today as well, but it needs heavy editing before I can.)

Pairings: Ghost X GN!Reader, König X GN!Reader

Warnings: Heavy violence and torture

Prolog - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven - Twelve - Here - Fourteen

“Answer me!” You demand loudly, the edge of the blade biting into the skin of Ezekiel’s left ring finger. Blood pools on the arm of the chair as you keep his hand still, the viscous red liquid seeping from the open wound where his pinky used to be. “Where were they taken?” You grit your teeth and watch him shake wildly from pain and fear. That sadistic glee flooding your system becomes stronger with every terror filled glance he casts your way.

“Fuck!” Ezekiel’s eyes are wide as he stares down at his marred hand. “Alright, alright!” He takes a deep inhale as you pull the knife back ever so slightly. “A warehouse.” His voice quivers as he looks up into your eyes, his mismatched orbs filled with an unspoken plea for mercy. “Too vague.” You growl and place the switchblade back against his ring finger, pressing down just enough to cause blood to seep from under the blade. “Specifics, Ezekiel.” You bark at him, your brows furrowing while you send a scathing glare at him.

You’ve been playing this game for far too long and you were quickly losing your grip on what little mental stability you had left. Ezekiel had been running you in circles for the last hour and half with short cryptic answers that never gave way to the information you truly needed. He was smart not to give up the information so easily, you’d give him that much. That bit of respect didn’t get him anywhere when it came to your anger however.

“Who took them?” Your gaze is set harsh as you stare at Ezekiel’s bound form, arms crossed over your chest as you wait for his answer.

“Took who?” He questions incredulously. His nonchalant attitude about the whole situation only adds fuel to the angry fire burning in your chest.

A growl bubbles in your throat and your hand strikes out before you can catch it. Your hand stings slightly as it comes to rest at your side balled in a fist. “Don't play games with me, Ezekiel. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Ezekiel grits his teeth as red blooms on his cheek, the shape of your hand rapidly becoming visible. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.” You bite out the response as you step forward and grip his face. You dig the tip of König’s knife into his neck teetering on the edge of ending his miserable life right now, answers be damned.

“Fuck you.” He barks defiantly and spits in your face.

You deliver a quick slash to his uninjured cheek before wiping the saliva from your face and grabbing him by the roots of his hair. “Who?” Though it’s a question it sounds more like an order, one of menacing intent should he choose to continue to be difficult.

He grimaces in pain and pushes his body against the back of the chair in a feeble attempt to get away from you. “Alice’s men.”

Slight satisfaction blooms in your chest, momentarily taking over the fear and anger. Fear quickly resets itself, your chest growing heavy once more as you realize you’d been right. If Alice’s men had taken them, then there was some ulterior motive. She’d likely be asking for her release in return for König and Ghost. “Good,” You speak slowly, your tone still holding that menacing threat. “Why?”

He stays silent, glaring daggers at you.

Scorching anger flares within you as his defiance comes to the surface once more. You give his hair a rough yank, forcing his head to snap backward. “Fingers or toes?” There’s a sharpness to your words that seems to motivate him to speak.

“Something about a person called Iris.” His response is followed by a pause and a look of understanding as he puts the pieces together.

You’d gone through the same song and dance with every question until you proved you were more than willing to see out your threats. Ezekiel had given you who, how, when and why before you had to take his pinky finger off for refusing to tell you where. You’d done it slowly, drawing out his pain so he could feel even a fraction of the suffering you’d been, and still are, going through. Slowly teetering and sawing the knife through the flesh and bone of his finger all while he screamed his throat raw. Pleas meant for whatever god he believed in ringing off the basement wall as you took far too much pleasure in making him suffer.

If his answer were to be believed, Ghost and König had been taken by a small group of Alice’s men. They’d been waiting in the shadows for a moment of vulnerability so they could take the two men with little struggle and no witnesses. Ezekiel had also shared that the man you’d thought was a trusted contact, was actually one of their people tasked with sending you all to this house. This, of course, means the house is no longer a safe place for you and your team, but that wasn’t something you needed to worry about at that moment.

According to Ezekiel, Alice had her own reasons for wanting Ghost and König. You’d found it odd that she hadn’t just sent her men for you if you’re what she’s really after. Of course, he could only spare a few details, as her plans were all pretty secret. She’d only let slip what needed to be known for the job to get done properly. You assume that Ezekiel being caught and tortured definitely wasn’t part of her plan.

A heavy sigh falls from your lips as you scowl, Ezekiel’s silence threatening to push you past your breaking point. “Spit it out. Where the hell is this warehouse?” You apply more pressure to the knife, reveling in the way his tear-stained face contorts in pain as the blade digs further into his flesh. It was oddly satisfying to watch someone else experience pain the way you had been for the past 56 hours.

“West,” He gasps out as he wriggles against his restraints, a desperate but pitiful attempt at getting away from the pain you were causing him. “Directly west of the town Alice was taken from.” He takes another harsh breath as his eyes flick between his bloodied hand and your face, a look of anguish in his eyes. “About two miles inland from the coast.”

Relief floods your entire body as you’ve finally gotten a location to start your search. “Thank you, Ezekiel.” You pull the knife from the open wound on his ring finger with a small but genuine smile. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”

A flicker of hope flashes in his eyes as he looks up at you. “Are… Are you going to let me go now?”

You shake your head and let out a quiet laugh, amused that he thought it’d be that simple. “Absolutely not.” Knowing it’d be detrimental to leave him awake, you deliver a swift blow to his temple. Watching for a moment as he slumps in the chair and ensuring he’s out cold before darting up the stairs to inform the rest of the team what you’d learned.

~~~~~

“On me,” Price demands as he crouches low, signaling for the men to halt in their movements.

“So, what then?” You question in a harsh tone as you do your best to avoid glaring directly at your colonel. “We just leave them there? Let them be tortured to death at the hands of the enemy we’re currently after?” An angry growl bubbles in your throat but you force it down knowing it would only make him want to listen to you less than he already does.

“For now, Iris,” Your callsign falls harshly from the colonel’s mouth as he pins you with a hard stare, eyes boring through your very being as he continues. “We leave them where they are. I see no use in risking anymore of your team while trying to retrieve Ghost.” His words seem final, another nail in the coffin of the two men you hold so close to you.

You don’t miss the fact that he says nothing of König and with a quick glance to your left you can tell the other members of KorTac also take notice. A sense of unrest comes off the group as they all begin looking at each other. Another angry growl worms its way into your throat, stinging the back of your tongue with the venomous words that threaten to spew from you. Your eyes quickly find the rest of 141, taking note of the worried looks they give you. Laswell in particular gives you a look that confirms she knows what’s about to happen, but she doesn’t show any disdain for your impending reaction.

“And what of König?” You ask, your voice low teetering on the edge of dangerous as you slowly slide your gaze back to your colonel. Your chest constricts with white hot rage as you gauge his response before he can even speak.

The colonel’s face twists in confusion for a moment before he gestures to the group of KorTac soldiers. “He is their responsibility, not ours. Once the mission at hand has been completed, we’ll discuss a plan of rescue for Lieutenant Ghost.”

Red clouds your vision as he once again blows off the safety of König. You fight hard to regain some semblance of control over the anger that’s been building in you for the past five days. Every day it gets harder and harder not to jump into one of the armored vans and go get your men back all on your own. Your fear of failure and death have long since fled your being. The only two things on your mind are the men you’ve lost and how much longer they have until the potential rescue mission turns into a tag retrieval, if that’s not already the reality.

“With all due respect,” Soap’s voice cuts in before you have a chance to explode at the man in front of you. “You won’t even give us a direct explanation of our current mission, Colonel.” He steps up on your right, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to show his support. “I think we’re owed that much if we’re expected to disregard the safety of two of our most respected companions.”

Your eyes flit back and forth surveying your surroundings as you stay low to the ground. No danger immediately presents itself so you proceed forward into the desolate hall. Old fluorescent lights flicker overhead as you make your way silently from room to room. It’s far too quiet for you to feel any sense of ease as you peer around the corner into the next room. You spare a glance behind you at the four men following your lead, all seeming content under your guidance.

“This is bullshit,” You hiss in anger as you slam open the main door of the base and storm out onto the tarmac. “There’s no fucking way he really expects us to pull that off!” Your fist ball up at your sides as you begin pacing back and forth. Your anger had reached a peak you hadn’t thought existed until your colonel gave the rundown of your current mission.

He explained that 141 and the four remaining KorTac members would be tasked with raiding the headquarters of the terrorist organization that both Donald and Alice were leading. Many questions later it was made clear that the objective was to either bring the place down completely or bring in the third leader for interrogation.

“I agree,” Gaz says in a somber tone. “It’s a suicide mission.”

You sigh heavily and stop moving. “I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this.” The scene kept replaying in your head, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The way the colonel blew off your worry about there being a mole in the base. Someone feeding and relaying information for Alice. How else would all of these things happen so seamlessly? Sure, she could’ve planned it all beforehand, but how could she have accounted for you falling for both König and Ghost? How could she have planned for KorTac to be involved with 141 at all? If she had intended to use Ghost as leverage for her release, wouldn’t she have taken him sooner?

“All clear, Cap,” Soap states plainly as he exits the large building. “Seems we were too late. There’s barely even evidence to prove that they were here.” His eyes rove over the outside of what used to be the headquarters of the organization, though it looks to have been abandoned months, if not years, ago.

Gaz grunts as he too examines the exterior of the building. “Alice must’ve had this place cleared when we first got our hands on her.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it with all the other shit she’s pulled while being held.” Price pats them both on the shoulder as he nods in the direction of exfil. “Let’s go.”

The realization dawns on you far too late. You’d racked your brain for hours trying to piece together who the mole could be and how they’d gone under the radar for so long. Someone that was either trusted or too mundane to be suspicious, but close enough to 141 that they could readily gain information. It was so obvious, right there in front of your face the whole time and none of you had noticed with everything else that had been going on.

You bolt through the halls, legs carrying you in a sprint toward Laswell’s office where you’re positive you’ll find Price. “Price,” You say breathlessly as you slam the office door open. You stare at Price, eyes wide with urgency. “The mole,” You pause and inhale deeply, trying to get your frantic breathing under control. “It’s Rain.”

(Don’t forget to ask about joining the tag-list: @josieguts @strangepuppynightmare @theredviolets @poohkie90 @giulia2372 @fillechatoyante @buckysjuicyplums @running-writing @darkravenqueen98 @bigman101 @birdiiiiiiiiiii)

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jwirecs · 10 months

Text

RECOMMENDED SEVENTEEN FICS OF MAY-JUNE 2023💖

hello, hello! here are my recs for seventeen for may-june! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers 💝 (i discovered that combining atz/svt/skz&txt into one post may be too much and too long + might take too much space in the tags for each respective groups so i’ve decided to make them all separate!)

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

[04:15AM] || @fairyhaos💕✅💯💯

↳ Requested by one of their readers. (THE AMOUNT OF SOFTNESS AND FLUFF AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH)

Blood Moon || @smileysuh🔞💕💔✅💯💯💯

↳ ".....let’s just say, you’re all that matters to me now. And I’m going to worship you as if you were the moon” (idk this author personally, but i just wanna say that i love your fics and everyone needs to give atleast their fic a read! you will be seeing their fics in my nct fic recs too just saying.)

Drunk Giant || @yikesmary💕✅

↳ in which you have to figure out how to transfer your drunk boyfriend to the bedroom without causing major bodily harm. and he’s not making it easy for you.

The Athlete (Bonus) || @sun-kore 🔞💕✅💯

↳ You are assigned to do an interview with Kwon Soonyoung, the trailblazing athlete everyone calls Hoshi. But as you spend more time with him, you start to see there are more layers to him than football. (i honestly had to re-read The Athlete because i forgot how the story went. + it was a given to read the first one before the second one. i suggest yall do the same.)

How To Unsubscribe To Dating || @dropsofletters💕💔✅

↳ on april 18th, hansol likes his favorite youtuber’s instagram picture. not because of her content—though, he finds himself laughing at all of her weekly videos—but because he thinks she’s gorgeous. that is how it ends. just a like on a picture that no one will see.

This Is How We Fall || @bitterie-sweetie💕💔✅💯

↳ You should know better than to make a deal with a stranger, but the need for a date to Minghao’s party has you desperate. It can’t be too bad though; all you have to do is show Mingyu what you saw in your reading, and he would be your date for one night. Simple enough, right?

A Sheep In Wolf’s Clothing || @rubyreduji🔞✅

↳ kim mingyu is the biggest player on campus, so why is he coming to you for sex help

Doting On You || @lovelyhan🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ a svt hhu x pets series!

Fallin’ Flowers || @leejungchans💕💔🔄💯💯💯

↳ "while flowers bloom and falls, scars cure and buds shoot // we are living our first and last moments // so i won’t take you for granted // because you loved me as i am” - fallin’ flower by seventeen

I Found Love In Your Smile || @wonlouvre🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ falling in love with wonwoo never felt so easy. however, when unforgivable truths test your relationship, you can’t help but think that maybe you were betrothed for all the wrong reasons.

Inflection Point || @lovelyhan🔞💕💔✅

↳ you love yoon jeonghan. no, scratch that. you fucking adore yoon jeonghan; so much that the moment he asks you to be in an exclusive set-up with his current partner, you accept the offer in a heartbeat. what you fail to consider, however, is who your boss’ boyfriend actually is.

Money Talks || @sunlightwoo💕💔✅💯💯

↳ everybody needs to get by somehow, and what better way of it is through a ‘club’ full of men that are loaded with money to help pay for whatever you need help with? to put it shortly, thirteen sugar daddies are here to help you pay for what you need or give you money in exchange for something to make them feel better about life.

Puppy Parents || @yikesmary💕✅

↳ where your golden retriever has the tendency to bring you things she has an interest in— sticks, frisbees that obviously don’t belong to you, and even the occasional bird. but this time, your dog brings… a man? and not just any man, only the most beautiful man you’ve ever met. maybe your dog is onto something…

Partner Privilege || @blue-jisungs💕💔✅

↳ (title says it all, i can honestly see this happening to their future s/o.)

Feverish Lips || @sunlightwoo💔✅

↳ you’d think that because it’s the first semester of the year, it’d be like the beginning of a roller coaster when its slowly becoming climatic and stressful. however, once you’re at the top of the point you have two choices: scream your lungs or quickly hang onto your life support. sadly in your case, you can either suck it up and get through it, or get involved in its loops in tangles with trouble that is bound to be met within every corner that you turn to.

Introduce Me A Good Person || @taeyegu 💕💔✅

↳ if there is a nice person, please introduce him to me. sometimes like water, sometimes like fire. someone who can love me sincerely. i hope he is someone who is mature and faithful…

What I Would Do || @sungbeam 💕💔✅

↳ minghao is kinda sorta maybe in love with you, but he thinks you're so out of his league.

Meet Cute of The Century || @lovelyhan 🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ the last thing you expected when you volunteered at your city’s local animal shelter is to meet the hottest cat person in the world. now if only he’d just adopt one of them so you’d stop ogling him every time he drops by.

Do check out all of the other seventeen fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #seventeen social media au #seventeen reactions #seventeen established relationship au #seventeen fake dating au #seventeen fic recs #seventeen recs #seventeen strangers to lovers au

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02chois · 1 year

Text

13. MISUNDERSTANDINGS

pairing: kang taehyun x reader

word count: 1.1k words

summary: friends— that's all what you guys are, yet why does he brush your hair so fondly? why does he holds your hand as you walk home? And you don't even like each other that much. wait, fuck, maybe you do? does he though? you have to find out someway or another.

warning: one suggestive joke

note: I uhhh hope you enjoy this chapter 🫶🏻

PREVIOUS / MASTERLIST / NEXT

Slowly, you step out of your room, finding the man you've been dreading to see sitting on your couch. The cap he was wearing was now long discarded, his silver strands of hair sticking up in every direction— he looks oddly adorable, and comforting too.

You take a step forward, the wooden floorboards creak underneath your feet. You have your gaze on your feet but as you lift your head, you notice that he was already looking at you. Something in your chest leaped.

"Taehyun," you mutter as you stand still, your fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

He went to stand up and walk over to you, leaving a small space between you. The urge to wrap his arms around you is strong— to embrace you, and tell you words that he's been wanting to say. The words that were left unspoken throughout the years of your friendship. It hasn't been that long, yet he missed you.

"You can speak now, you know," you glance up at him, smiling softly to ease the tension that was slowly rising. You felt the need to reassure him that it's okay and that you'll listen, but those words were the ones that left you.

He couldn't get himself to look at you. He wasn't sure why he couldn't look you in your eyes— it's ridiculous because you've always been the one to shy away from him, afraid that you'll get caught by his gaze. And yet, it's him that's avoiding creating any sort of eye contact with you now.

Taehyun clears his throat. His hand travels down to the fabric of his pants, nervously bunching them up in his fist. His heart feels like it could burst through his chest at any moment. "Am I too late to say that I like you?"

For a moment, there was silence. But you quickly answer him. "Almost. But you managed to catch up before the deadline."

His lips form into a small smile. Your lighthearted words lessened the violent thumping of his heart, his shoulders relaxing not realizing how tense he was.

"When did you start liking me?" You want to continue asking him and flood him with more questions, but you hold yourself back.

"Remember when I asked you if I could borrow your colored pencils? I only borrowed it to keep it to myself for a while." Taehyun replies; his voice is suddenly quiet, soft, and it threw you off a bit. "I didn't return it for half a year because I thought it would make you remember me. I thought that maybe you'll associate the colored pencils with me every time you think about it. I started liking you even before that, but that was my only way of turning your attention towards me."

"...and it worked." your reply came with a light laugh, your gaze not leaving his face. His reddening cheeks began to bloom, the sort of red that brings champagne roses to the imagination.

Taehyun had to pause. His eyes wide from your words, he couldn't believe what he just heard. The plan he put together as a thirteen year old worked? That's not what he was expecting. His lips curl into a much wider smile. And oh, his smile is one of happiness growing, much as a spring flower opens. You could see how it came from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him.

"Personally hearing it from you hits way more different than seeing the signs. I refused to believe that you like me like that, I kept thinking to myself that it's platonic."

You tilt your head to the side, brows furrowed in confusion. "But what I'm confused about is your past relationships. If you liked me for that long then what about them?"

"I didn't date them. Who told you that I did?"

You look at him with your lips slightly ajar, as if he just said something so unbelievable. "Huh? But Beomgyu told me that you had several exes. Who's Sooyoung then?"

Taehyun had to stifle a laugh. "She's my cousin. During the graduation ball she pulled me away from you guys, right? Her friend was too shy to ask me to dance and I had to dance with her friend or else I wouldn't be here right now." He leans his shoulder against the nearest wall, now watching your face contort from different kinds of emotions. It felt like he was watching a movie from your face alone.

"Really? But I didn't really see that much because the lights were too dim."

Taehyun hums, "are you jealous?"

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Of course I am. What person would want to see their crush with someone else. The karaoke one you posted? I'll be honest I almost cried when I saw that."

"Well, to explain that she asked me to celebrate with her because her boyfriend proposed to her. I didn't get to inform you about it and our karaoke Sunday was canceled because of it, which I deeply apologize for not letting you know."

You let his words sink in silence, lowering your gaze from his face to stare at the floor. Some of the things were unclear to you and others you assumed, filling in the blank space to create a possible scenario— which only hurt yourself in the process. The misunderstandings mostly came from you and Beomgyu now that you have thought about it.

You open your arms wide enough to envelope him with your warmth and in a heartbeat, his arms carefully wrapping around you. He was afraid that he'd squeeze you, leave you breathless from how tight his arms are around you. But you beg to differ. There is the embrace of gentle arms that still gives the space to breathe; then there is the hug of strong arms that tells everything that you are— body, brain, and soul— that they are with you. And he happens to be both.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, catching a whiff of the gentle scent of vanilla from your shampoo. It was oddly comforting.

"I'll court you. I want to make it up to you and shower you with the love you deserve." His voice was below a whisper, however from how close you were it was clear enough for you to hear. "All the wasted days, months, even years. I regret not telling you the truth years ago. But now I'm not letting you go, I refuse to let anyone steal you away from me."

"You better. I won't just let you in that easily," you pout. "I can still wait."

Taehyun smiles, you could feel his lips curl against your skin. "Wait until I'll put a ring on your finger, future Mrs. Kang."

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