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hardlyinteresting · 4 months

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Aaron Hotchner x reader

A case hits a little too close to home for the reader. Hotch makes sure she knows she not alone even as they struggle to decide if they're colleagues, friends, or something more.

Warnings: female reader, (I've given her the nickname Sweets), No physical description of reader, mildly graphic descriptions of injuries, cannon-compliant themes of violence, themes of past domestic violence, mild hurt/comfort, I am not a profiler so there are likely mistakes in the profile (please let me know if there are any warnings you'd like me to add. Aaron Hotchner Masterlist | Send Requests

Word count: 3.2K

"Hope is a gift. You can't choose to have it. To believe and yet to have no hope is to thirst beside a fountain" Ann-Marie MacDonald

The case comes in early in the morning. Aaron has hardly managed a sip of his coffee when the phone rings with a call from a local P.D. in Aberdeen, Virginia. It's urgent. It always is. He cannot begrudge the haste with which his job forces him to chug down the scalding liquid in his mug as he calls upon Garcia to prep the relevant files for the case. It's not the first time, and it certainly won't be the last. Sufficiently caffeinated (albeit with a burnt tongue), and briefed on the case, Hotch calls the team to meet him in the conference room.

His colleagues seem to be in good spirits today. With a passing glance around the room Hotch silently completes a behavioural checklist for each of them in his mind. No one on the team seems over-exhausted, overtly anxious, or withdrawn. They chat amongst themselves, teasing and joking like siblings as they wait for him to settle into the remaining seat at the table. He nods at Penelope, “Garcia, let's get started”. With a quick “yes, sir,” she presses a button on the remote to begin the briefing.

This morning the police in Aberdeen discovered the body of a woman left propped up against the wall outside a local medical clinic. Abigail Lawson. 27 years old. She had been badly beaten. A single stab wound. No sign of sexual assault.

“Cause of death?” Prentiss asks.

“Blunt force trauma to the head,” Garcia supplies the response.

“And she's the first?” Morgan follows up.

“Two weeks ago Stella Amos, twenty-five, was admitted to hospital with similar injuries. She passed away two hours later. A punctured lung”.

The photographs of the injuries are disturbing. After years on the job, the images never seem to get less brutal. A chill travels down his spine as he looks over the extent of the wounds on both of the women. A hush falls over the room as everyone else takes a moment to swallow down their own shock and compartmentalize their feelings of disgust. They train themselves, scanning the photographs and notes for the facts they can work with in hopes of saving anyone else from meeting the same fate.

“No stab wound. Are we sure these cases are connected?” Reid surveys the provided facts one more time.

“Similar age, hair colour. They were from the same neighbourhood. Steady jobs,” Rossi lists, “there's a pattern in victimology to be sure”.

“They could be unconnected acts of domestic violence,” Morgan posits before continuing, “but leaving these women at medical centres is unique. Could be remorse”.

“A man who beats women within an inch of their lives before dropping them off for medical attention. It's a big risk. Knowing they might survive to identify him”.

Hotch nods at the assessment. He had followed the same thought process himself when he got the call.

“Maybe he's banking on them being too afraid to talk if they do pull through,” another voice in the room speaks up for the first time this morning. Sweets, the team calls her. An affectionate nickname that’s stuck since her first week on the team. “the stabbing is an escalation and these are high-risk victims. This UNSUB isn't worried about getting caught. These attacks are personal to him somehow”. It's an important assertion, and something they'll need to consider as they build and expand their working profile.

He's glad to hear Sweets adding to the conversation. She's never been shy when contributing to the team's brainstorms, and he had begun to worry when it had taken her so long to speak up. He doesn't miss the wobble in her tone, or the way she now avoids eye contact. She’s a valuable team member, and despite being the most recent addition she’s settled herself flawlessly over the last year. Aaron is well aware of the poor retention rate for new team members in the BAU and has continued to be impressed by her ability to hang on to her brand of optimism and take their most difficult cases in stride. She’s worked hard to see the best in people, and unsurprisingly endeared herself to those around her; himself included.

At first, Hotch had been grateful for her unique perspective from her experience working for victim services. Then, he grew to appreciate her attention to detail, and the way his piles of paperwork seemed smaller and smaller at the end of each week. She quickly became a friend and a confidant after long nights in the office, and the field. Now, their relationship lies in limbo somewhere between friends and something more.

Lately, the tugging at his heartstrings has grown nearly painful. All the old cliches leave his heart racing and he feels like a teenager whenever her hand brushes against his own. A night out with the team had ended with her curled up in his bed the next morning, and he’s been a goner ever since. It's been weeks, she hasn’t mentioned it, so neither has he. The guise of professionalism makes it easy to shove down his insecurities, and recurring fears; his age; his scars, physical and metaphorical; the weight of his career; he pushes them to the back of his mind. He does not dare to hope. He does not allow himself to consider the reasons why she might want to keep him at arm's length. It hurts less that way. “Whatever the case we've got a week before he strikes again,” Hotch confirms, his mind focused on the case, “we should head out”.

It’s August, and the sun is nearly blinding; the heat and humidity are intolerable, but nobody complains as they split up between the most recent crime scene, the morgue, and the precinct. Hotch would never admit it, but he’s glad when the woman who occupies half his thoughts volunteers to head to the station with JJ. Not for his peace of mind, but hers. Driving into the town he had seen her hands fidgeting in the back seat of the Suburban. Something about this case is already weighing on her, and he doubts the discomfort of the summer calefaction will be much help. He tries not to think about it any more than that.

The crime scene doesn’t tell them much more than they already knew. There’s no security footage to help them identify the UNSUB. But, the way he leans the victims to sit against the way rather than just dumping them shows some kind of warped sense of concern for their well-being. The women are likely substitutes for someone else. He was likely raised in a violent home. He can only hope that the rest of the team has managed to learn more.

Sweets is glad that the station had the forethought to move a coffee maker into the room they’ve set up for the BAU team to work out of. In her short time on the team, she’s learned how essential caffeine is to the function of herself and her teammates. Not enjoying coffee is not an option. Cream and sugar make it tolerable to those who despise the bitter taste. As she preps her second cup of the day she watches Spencer dump 4 packets of sugar into his mug. Whatever gets you through the case. She reminds herself.

“Defensive wounds on her arms, but her manicure wasn't chipped. There was no blood or skin under her fingernails. No bruising on her knuckles,” Morgan shares what he and Rossi learned at the morgue, “She held her arms up to protect herself, but she didn't fight back. She didn't scratch, claw, or punch her assailant”.

“She probably knew him then,” Prentiss says, “He’s not sneaking up on these women. But, he has the advantage and control required to attack them head-on”.

The profile continues to build and Sweets pulls further in on herself. The personal nature of the attacks leaves her nauseous. Flickers of memories she’s fought hard to forget flash behind her eyes, but she forces herself to stay in the room. Reign it in, she wills herself. Without looking across the room she knows Aaron’s eyes are on her. Her cheeks warm though she can’t be sure if it’s his gaze or her anxiety to blame. She tries not to read into it, not wanting to feel too self-important. It’s his job to watch everyone on the team, she knows that. It doesn’t mean anything, she reminds herself the same way she has since she woke up next to him all those weeks ago. She doesn't want attention because she slept with him, and she'd be silly to think it meant anything to him anyway. It's easier to ignore it. He hasn't mentioned it, so she hasn't either.

Despite her best efforts, she does like him. More than she should. Normally, the attention would leave her with butterflies fluttering in her chest, like a schoolgirl with a crush. But today, she feels too seen, too exposed. she focuses her attention on controlling the unwanted emotions this case continues to dredge up. Aaron has seen her undressed, he’s seen her let down her walls and crack jokes. He knows her better than the rest of the team, but this is not a side of her he needs to see.

Under the table she plants her feet, pressing the soles of her boots hard against the linoleum. She reminds herself who she’s with and why she’s here. When she’s able to breathe without gagging she speaks up, “If it looks like domestic violence maybe that’s exactly what it is”. Hotch’s head tilts up, his eyes moving off of the files he’s been pretending to read for the hundredth time, “What do you mean?”

“This morning Morgan said these murders looked like cases of DV. Maybe that’s exactly what this is. We know he had some kind of relationship with the victims-- maybe they were dating him,” Sweets holds her breath waiting for a response.

“It would help to explain the gaps in our profile-- Prentiss, call Garcia and have her look into any recent purchases by the victims. New clothes, new shoes, restaurants, anything that might suggest they’ve been dating,” Hotch instructs, “Sweets, you and JJ should speak to their friends and family; ask if they’ve mentioned anyone new in their lives”.

Like with any case, she hopes her insight helps, that her perspective and thinking might get them one step closer to finding the UNSUB before anyone else gets hurt; and that they might be able to bring closure to the families of the victims.

She's learned that personal experience can help as much as it can hinder. Seeing things from an angle that no one else can is certainly an advantage, but it doesn't make it easy to live with either. But, her stomach churns. His face. His touch. The bruises he left behind. She tries to remember she has nothing to be ashamed of. She has nothing to hide. It's no secret everyone on the team struggles with different types of cases, JJ has always found it difficult working cases involving children, and Hotch becomes snappier when they're searching for family annihilators.

She can feel Aaron's eyes on her again. She prays the twisting in her gut and the scratching in her mind are worth it.

The next morning begins with news of a third victim. A Jane Doe was found outside the fire station. Aged between 22 and 25. Beaten beyond any kind of recognition. The M.E. will have to try to use dental records to ID her.

The crime scene photographs are a gruesome addition to the already horrific crime board in the conference room. “It would take an incredible amount of rage and power to beat someone to death like this,” Rossi points out.

Hotch’s fingers buzz. His usual ground method of rubbing his thumb and forefinger together isn't working. He clenches and unclenches his fist willing the memory of bone cracking, and blood splattering beneath his knuckles away. He hates that even years after his death George Foyet continues to find new ways to sink his teeth in; the mere memory of him is enough to leave bile rising in the back of Aaron's throat.

Their profile is ready. A white male, mid 20s to early 30s. Traditionally attractive. He's well-groomed and takes pride in his appearance. He more than likely works in an office setting. At work, his desk is neat and well-organized. He does everything by the book. He aspires to a role above his own and will talk about it often. In his eyes, he's overworked and under-appreciated; but, in reality, it's his quick temper and outward frustration that have kept him in his menial role. He may be flirtatious towards the women around him but likely won't pay them any attention when it comes to business matters. As a child he would have grown up in a working-class household, and more than likely faced abuse at the hands of his father. As a teenager, he learned to place blame on his mother for this abuse and began looking down on her the same way his father did. But no amount of hatred could ever win him his father's attention. This made him hate his mother more and allowed his misogynistic views to solidify in adulthood. He will have a history of violence throughout school and early adulthood, and more than likely charges for battery or assault.

A call from Garcia confirms that the first and second victims both had paid for dinners at restaurants within the same two-block stretch despite living and working on opposite sides of town. Their cards had been used at the restaurants only 25 minutes before their attacks.

“And he didn’t pay for their dinners either. Chivalry really is dead,” Prentiss dismisses. Predictably, their collective disdain for the UNSUB continues to grow as they learn more about him. Penelope manages to rustle up security footage from one of the restaurants, she's unable to get a facial ID on the man leaving with the first victim but promises to search for other footage from the area and call back when she has a new lead. One step closer, Hotch reminds himself.

Twenty minutes later word from the M.E. Office arrives. A positive ID on Jane Doe. Grace McKinney, 24. Aaron watches as Sweets pins a photograph of Grace to the victims' board. Her hands shake as she takes a step back, and then she's rushing out of the room before he can ask if she's alright.

His body feels lead-heavy, his limbs so hebetudinous that he’d swear he was melting into the floor if it weren’t for his feet carrying him out of the room without instruction. Sweets is doubled over in the alleyway behind the station, remnants of her breakfast splashed across the ground. She has nothing left to bring up, but still she dry heaves as if trying to expel more than the contents of her stomach. He knows the feeling.

“Sweets?” his voice starles her, and Hotch is quick to hold his hands out in a surrendering motion as he approaches, “Are you alright?” He knows the real answer, and he knows that she’ll look right at him and lie; but he asks anyway. “Are you asking as my boss, or as my friend?” She asks. “Would it make a difference?” it’s his turn to wonder. Finally close enough to touch her, he places a hand on her back. It’s impossible to miss the shiver that runs up her spine. Sweets hides her face, angling herself away from her, shrinking in on herself. She tries to hide from him, as unwilling as ever to show any kind of weakness real or perceived. “I’m asking as someone who cares,” Hotch tries again, snuffing out the burning sensation that seems to grow in his chest; his fear of vulnerability fighting hard to shut him down. He won’t let it. “It’s me,” she tells him as if it’s obvious. “Yes”. He's confused. Of course, it's her, he can see her standing right in front of him. “It's me. I'm the Jane Doe; Grace. Abigail. Stella”. His heart stops. She continues, looking at him for the first time, her eyes tearing up, “Not literally-- I just mean…”

“The victimogy. I understand. Same age, hair colour, similar backgrounds--”

“Yes,” She admits, “but we see cases with women who look like me all the time”.

Aaron nods, taking her openness as an opportunity to guide her out of the alleyway, waiting patiently for her to continue in her own time. “I had a boyfriend a few years ago…I just-- I need some time to collect myself”.

Again, Aaron nods, understanding, “Would you like me to leave?”

She shakes her head, her hand shooting up to hold to his arm. She’s shaking less now than she was before. More than ever he wants to hold her, but he doesn’t want to overstep; and during a case, there are lines he cannot cross as her boss. It’s the crux of the predicament they’ve found themselves in. Their personal lives and feelings bleeding and blending to create this strait. Deep down, he’s sure that a line of open communication between them would ease this impasse, but he’s far too shy to suggest it. For now, he settles for being glad her breathing has slowed, and her tears have stopped. “Thank you,” Sweets breathes out. Her hand slips down to squeeze his before she lets go and steps away from him. “Anytime,” he swears. He means it.

They find their UNSUB three hours later. Garcia’s scanning of security footage gives them a few license plates from cars within a two-block radius of the restaurants the victims went to. Only one owner fits their profile. He’s at work when they find him. Sweets takes great pleasure in cuffing the man. Hotch has no complaints.

When they arrive back in Quantico it’s nearing midnight. The team takes their leaving swearing they’ll finish their paperwork tomorrow morning. Sweets takes advantage of the rare silence in the bullpen to complete her reports. She’s not ready to go home. Not yet. At work, she has a shield, a carefully crafted persona; as cracked as it may be at the moment, it holds back the onslaught of personal fallout she’s sure waits for her at home. Sure her apartment is warmer and cozier than the office ever is. Her bed is far more comfortable than any desk chair. But, at home, she has nothing to distract her. At home, she has no obligation to maintain a facade sewn up by professional self-preservation. At home, she’ll be alone without the steady presence of Aaron Hotchner working away in his office.

The room is bathed in warm lamplight, a comfortable difference from the overhead fluorescents down in the bullpen. Something like a moth, she’s drawn to it by an instinct stronger than her willpower. She knocks on the door frame before leaning into the room. “I finished my report,” she tells him when he looks up. “You didn’t have to finish that tonight,” he tells her with furrowed brows. He sets down his pen and shuts the file he was working on to give her his attention. She steps into the room, setting her report on the edge of his desk. “I didn’t want to go home yet”. She explains though she gets the feeling that he understands. If there’s anyone she knows with a mutual streak of using workplace responsibility to avoid personal turmoil, it’s Hotch. Still, he nods, validating her most simply. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Are you asking as my boss or something more?” she wonders.

“Would it make a difference?” He asks. “Yes,” She responds. Sweets watches as he swallows, his brows knitting together as he considers his answer carefully, “I’m asking as someone who cares about you very much, in whatever capacity you need me to right now”. It’s a diplomatic response. Gentle and inviting without being outright hopeful. Quintessentially Aaron Hotchner.

“Will you come home with me,” Sweets allows herself to be bold enough to ask.

“Yes,” he tells her simply.

In the morning he slips away only to return with two cups of coffee and a box of breakfast pastries. They don’t need to be in the office until 10:00 and he plans on taking advantage of the time they have together until then. Sweets accepts the cup he holds out to her with an eager smile, and a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x reader #criminal minds fic

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kiss-me-cill-me · 2 months

Note

Hi!!! I know it’s only a small idea but I wanted to request something for Emmett based on when he first puts his hand around Evelyns mouth to keep her quiet but instead he does it to the reader to keep her quiet, in whatever scenario you can think of. The way he looked was so hot with that eye contact it had me sweating 🥵

My dear anon, literally no idea is too small for Emmett. This man is so underappreciated it's a crime. I also decided to shoehorn in some inspiration from another one of my favorite snippets of Emmett thirst, which is the gif below of him looking through his rifle sights because hnnnnnnggg. Hope you don't mind ;) Thank you for requesting! <3

Distractions

Pairing: Emmett x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: The more time you spend around Emmett, the more distracted you get. And when you finally can't keep quiet about it any longer, Emmett has to take matters into his own hands (heh heh) and make you stay quiet.

Warnings: Smut, sexual tension, a whole lot of build-up, close call with a creature, kinda angry sex, quiet sex, biting

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Distracted could not even begin to describe the way you were feeling.

The dim light forced you to squint as you watched Emmett - the scope of his rifle held out just in front of his face as he peered through the sights to scan for potential threats. He took his time, sweeping across the expanse of road stretched out in front of you. Making triple sure that nothing would jump out at you as you climbed down from where you were perched.

The gun rested firmly against his squared shoulders, and you found your gaze trailing idly from there, down over the line of his arm. Somewhere from off in the distance, a pale yellow light illuminated him just enough for you to make out the soft hair on his forearms. You wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, but shook your head, chasing the thought away quickly. It wouldn’t do either of you any good if you startled him.

You refocused on his lips, which were parted slightly. In concentration, his tongue darted out to lick at the sliver of space between them. You wished you had something to hold onto and brace yourself with, against the wave of desire that moved through your whole body.

But, aside from you and Emmett, the only other thing around was an old metal guardrail. And you really couldn’t risk releasing the noise that might hide in its depths. These days, anything that looked even remotely like it might creak was off limits.

A gentle breeze rustled his hair, and he lowered the rifle. He turned briefly to nod at you, once. It was safe.

No words dared to fill the dark, empty space as both of you stepped carefully over the guardrail. Pausing at the top of the overpass to take one last look at the scene below, you stopped to reflect on the past two days. That was how long you’d been traveling for, and you’d been together with Emmett for only a bit longer.

Although, “together” was the operative word. You had been sticking close to each other, under some quiet but shared understanding that two people were often better than one, at least when it came to things like keeping watch while you camped out in the open, or scavenging for supplies. But he and you weren’t together together, as much as your mind liked to wander and go wild with possibilities. In fact-

Something suddenly caught your attention, and you snapped back into focus again, to see Emmett waving an arm at you. He was standing a short distance in front of you, partway down the hill that connected the overpass to the wide road below. Staring up at where you stood, with an inquisitive look and just a hint of concern in his eyes, half hooded with shadow.

You gave him a thumbs up, and cautiously started to make your own way down the steep hill.

It was early. So early that it was still almost full dark out, and you followed the beam of the flashlight that Emmett held like a beacon. Usually, you weren’t out until after the sun had risen. But last night, neither of you had seemed able to sleep, and so it felt silly to waste time just sitting around when it would be light in a few hours.

You thought you could glimpse the first few streaks of dawn, just barely starting to leak out on the horizon. Goosebumps spread over your skin, in the chilly half-darkness. Emmett had loaned you a checkered bandana, and you reached up to tuck it a little more snugly into the neck of your jacket. The rough fabric brushed up against your chin, and you smiled.

In front of you, Emmett stopped short. You were only a few paces away from him now, and you paused just behind him, before you could bump into the hand he’d extended to stop you.

The hill didn’t sit fully flush with the ground below. Instead, it dropped sharply off at a stone wall, just a few feet above the road.

Emmett kept one hand pressed to his rifle, holding it still as he eased himself down; careful to not make even the smallest noise. You shuffled up to the edge of the wall, ready to follow right after him. As you stooped down, Emmett reached up, offering help.

You accepted it, awkwardly, and let him take one of your hands in his while the other came firmly to rest on the small of your back. As he guided you down, you felt your arms heat up, rapidly chasing away the goosebumps.

You looked at him once your feet were back on solid ground, slightly surprised by the physical contact. Not that it meant anything. Not that it was even anything worth getting excited about. He would probably do the same thing for anyone. He was just being helpful.

Abruptly, you realized he’d already started to walk away, continuing on the journey that you were both supposed to be focused on. You hurried to catch up, but made sure your footsteps were soft as you followed.

With no opportunities to talk, the time spent traveling felt long. You were both in your own worlds; Emmett focused on scanning for danger, and you, well, distracted by watching him. As usual.

It was probably best for both of you that Emmett hadn’t yet noticed the way your gaze lingered on him. But, that was just how he’d been, in all of the short time you’d known him. He was observant, and overly anxious to keep an eye out at all times. He seemed almost not to notice anything that wasn’t actively threatening his safety, and that included you.

Streaks of pink started to stretch across the sky, and then blended into the blue of a new day. Finally, it was light enough to see clearly, and you looked around at what was once a small town. You were just passing through, but the devastation that was clearly written across streets, stores, and houses felt unsettling.

To your left, a sharp, unexpected sound made your blood run ice cold. Emmett froze right along with you, and you both whipped around to watch as an animal scampered away from a trash can, now tipped over and spilling out garbage onto the street.

Litter was the very least of your worries, though, as an all-too-familiar screech echoed across the empty street.

What shit luck. That was the only thought running through your mind as Emmett frantically dragged you by the arm, not wasting even a second more as the creature advanced. It was close by, and you had nowhere to hide.

Apparently Emmett did, though, as he forcefully shoved you into the backseat of a car. Both of the doors, you noticed, were missing - completely torn off by some previous run-in with these monsters, by the looks of it.

As your back landed against the cloth seat cushions, you felt the wind knock out of your lungs. The soft sound of breath leaving your body was silenced, as Emmett slammed down on top of you, hastily bringing a hand to your mouth.

Your eyes blew wide as his body pressed fully into yours, stealing your breath in a quite different way. A sound caught in your throat, and you swallowed it down, hard. You were not about to get both you and him killed by moaning at a time like this.

His palm pressed down over your nose and lips, and you could feel the heat of your own breath as he stayed there, not focused on you but still scanning, even now, for the monster that sounded like it had finally arrived. The metallic sound of the trash can echoed out on the street.

You moved your head a little, trying to shake out of his almost-oppressive grasp to breathe easier. That finally seemed to get Emmett’s attention, and he looked down with a mix of horror and embarrassment as his hand pulled away. Still pressed tight together, you both shifted your attention to more urgent matters.

You could still hear that thing wreaking havoc as it searched fruitlessly for the source of the sound. Sometimes you were almost impressed that the creatures could hunt at all, when they were the ones who were making the most noise out of anything. Anything left, anyway. This was a bad case of wrong place, wrong time, but for the most part, anyone who hadn’t learned early on to stay quiet was no longer around to learn.

Emmett’s arms, planted on either side of your head, tensed as his fingers dug into the seat cushions. In any other situation, this would have been pleasant. As things were now, though, you could feel both your heartbeat and his as they pounded together, hard enough to cross the thick barrier of bone and flesh.

The car lurched, and you felt your eyes bug out of your head. The creature was on top of you now, quite literally; you could hear a sharp groan as the car protested under its weight. A series of clicks told you that it was on the offensive, still searching for even the tiniest sound.

Another sharp jerk made you gasp, barely audibly, but loud enough for Emmett to press his rough hand over your mouth again. This time, he was a bit more careful, leaving you room to breathe out of your nose as he pushed his palm down on your lips. But the panic that swarmed in his eyes as you looked up told you exactly how he felt. You both stayed stock still, waiting to see if that little sound had been enough to give you away.

The car screamed even louder as the creature stepped off, lurking its way down onto the street, now on the other side of the vehicle. You stretched your neck to look back, and watched as it swiveled its head side to side. Thankfully not listening in your direction for too long.

Cautiously, you dared to move just a few inches, wiggling and brushing your hips up against Emmett’s as you tried to make yourself more comfortable. As you did, though, the unmistakable feeling of something hard pressed into your thigh.

You looked up at him, your eyes straining with horror as both of you realized what had just happened.

Emmett looked even more mortified than you felt; his lips pressed together in a tight line as his eyes seemed to beg for a way out of this. You threw him a panicked, questioning look. In reply, all he could do was reflect the same painful and wide-eyed face, as if to say, “What do you want me to do about it?”

There wasn’t much either one of you could do, however, as in that moment the creature’s head whirled back around with a sharp screech in your direction. You’d been quiet, you thought, although maybe the sound of your breath mixed with Emmett’s as he strained against you was enough to grab its attention again.

You both froze, and you quickly buried your face in his chest, tucking yourself away from the horrible fate that awaited you, as best you could.

But, after a few harrowing seconds, you heard the creature move on. The sound of its clicks grew more distant as it ran off, still searching for prey.

You let out a huge breath, silently this time, and lifted your head from your hiding place. As you pulled away slightly from where you had curled up against him, you saw Emmett still looking down at you, horrified. You wondered why, for a second, before realizing your fingers were tangled firmly in his belt loops, desperately pressing his hips against yours as you’d braced for your end.

Now, though, that the danger had passed, all you were doing was grinding yourself firmly against his erection. Which had definitely not gone away, despite all the imminent, life-threatening danger.

Emmett’s hand brushed against yours, and your heart skipped, only for him to pry your fingers apart, releasing himself from your death grip. He refused to make eye contact with you; instead awkwardly shuffling out of the car, and facing away as you crawled out after him.

Your heart was still thundering in your chest, maybe even a bit louder than it had been as you were being stalked by the monster. You wished desperately to be able to talk to Emmett; you hadn’t said more than two words to him since you’d set out earlier this morning. That wasn’t unusual, but if there was ever a time when you wished for the ability to communicate, it was right now.

You scanned quickly for any safe space. Now that you had time to actually assess your surroundings, you noticed several buildings with wide open doors. You tugged Emmett’s sleeve, silently telling him to follow you.

He did follow, somewhat reluctantly, and soon you were deep in the relative safety of the stockroom of a small store, your weapons and backpacks cast quickly aside. Someone who had been here before you had taken the time to shove mattresses up against every wall - added protection to muffle any sounds from within. Finally, you could speak.

“Emmett…”

But where could you even begin? Did you admit that you had feelings for him? Would that only scare him away? Maybe scaring him was good; if that was what a little adrenaline had done to him, part of you felt tempted to put him in even more dangerous situations. But, then again, if that’s all it had been, then maybe he didn’t like you at all. At least, not in the way you liked him. As you quietly wrestled with indecision, Emmett took over the conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, still not meeting your gaze. “I didn’t mean- I’m… Fuck.”

“Sorry?” you echoed. “What are you sorry for?”

“For…”

Emmett trailed off; his face twisted into a new expression of pained awkwardness. The tension was thick enough to wrap solidly around your ankles, rooting you to the spot where you stood.

Emmett shuffled, apparently still restless despite the heavy pressure that had settled over the small room. Your whole body felt weighed down, and yet you were still buzzing with the unchecked excitement that always came after surviving a close call. Your veins felt ready to burst.

“Shit, is it hot in here?” you wondered.

While outside you’d been freezing in the cold morning air, suddenly in here you felt flushed. Maybe Emmett wasn’t the only one who’d been affected by the adrenaline rush.

You peeled off your jacket, and looked up to see Emmett’s eyes glued to you.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m-”

You cut Emmett off before he could finish his sentence.

“Don’t say you’re sorry again,” you whispered, a bit more harshly than necessary. “You don’t need to apologize if it’s nothing.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Emmett sighed.

“So it’s not nothing?”

“What’s not nothing?” Emmett shot back, exasperated. “The way that I’ve been trying my best to ignore you looking at me like you want to rip my clothes off for the last week?”

You stared back at him with renewed horror. It hadn’t really been that obvious, had it? You had felt certain he hadn’t noticed you staring.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” you gasped.

“Because I didn’t want what just happened to happen!”

“Nothing just happened,” you hissed.

Now you were the one spitting out denials. The oppressive atmosphere grew hotter, and you felt the need to strip off more layers. Not that doing that would be particularly helpful right now.

“Look, Emmett - do you like me?”

You figured that asking him point blank would get you the most direct answer. Instead, he looked at you as if you’d just grown an extra two heads.

And you might as well have, for all the good your current one was doing you. You racked your brain for another strategy, growing increasingly frustrated by the second.

“Do I like you?” Emmett said finally, interrupting your frenzy of thoughts. “What kind of question is that?” “It’s the kind that I’d sure like an answer to,” you replied. “If we’re going to be able to move forward from this, one way or another.”

Emmett glared at you, incredulous, his mouth hanging open as the rest of his face twisted into a look that was hard to read. Just when you thought he was going to turn on his heel and walk out, he took a step closer to you.

In the next breath, he’d grabbed your shoulders and pulled you in, quickly stifling your gasp with his lips.

Kissing Emmett felt like fighting for air, and like having it pumped directly into your lungs. All at the same time, and all scorchingly hot as his lips seared against yours. The torturous days spent fantasizing about this exact moment flashed before your eyes, as you tried to search for some hint that you’d missed to suggest that he felt the same way. Had you really been so wrapped up in your own pining that you hadn’t noticed him struggling, too?

As you both pulled back, you stared at him in shock. Emmett’s eyes were on your lips, too downcast for you to catch his gaze. But finally, they flickered up and lit the spark that had been smoldering deep inside of you. Your fingers tightened over his clothes

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” you asked again, feverish. It was a challenge to keep your voice quiet.

“Say anything about what?” Emmett bit back.

You noticed the way his eyes drifted over you, taking in the frazzled and overwhelmed state you were in. That kiss had taken a lot out of you, and you were frantically scrambling to re-collect your thoughts.

“Why torture both of us by pretending that you don’t want the same thing I do?” you clarified.

Emmett’s hands traveled up to your face, cupping your jaw in his palms as he tugged gently, pulling you to meet him again.

“Because I didn’t want any distractions.”

That was probably the most ironic answer he could have given. What had you spent the past few days doing if not being constantly, thoroughly distracted? By him; by the question of whether or not he would notice you, in the way that you found it all but impossible not to notice him?

“That’s so stupid,” you grunted, closing the rest of the distance between you.

You barely resisted as Emmett maneuvered you, swinging you both with your lips pressed together so that he could pin you against a small table. He lifted you up, making you sit on the surface, as his rough hands wandered over your legs.

“Some of us have self control,” he informed you.

“Really? Who?”

His fingers tightened their grip, and you felt thankful that you were already seated. Without the support of the table, you almost certainly would have crumpled against him. Emmett’s waist was between your legs, and you squeezed desperately, not wanting to let him go in case he suddenly got the idea that this wasn’t the time or place.

And it wasn’t, but you weren’t about to let that stop you.

Emmett’s hand snaked under your shirt, then your bra, rubbing his thumb against the hard peak that had already formed. You bit his lip, cautiously at first, and then with more vigor as your bodies reacted to the other’s touch. It had been so long since you’d done anything like this, and you felt your legs growing more shaky already.

“Take my pants off,” you gasped, pulling away for a frenzied breath of air.

Emmett deftly popped the button on your jeans; practically growling at the sight of you once he had finally peeled them off. You settled back onto the table, and hooked your legs around him once more. Already wet, you could feel yourself stick to the cloth of his t-shirt.

“Fuck,” you sighed, bracing your hands on the table to push closer.

Emmett pulled back, and just as you were about to complain, you felt his hand drift down and brush through your folds. Shivering all over again, you threw your head back.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” Emmett muttered, just like you’d thought he would.

“I don’t care. Need to feel you,” you moaned, grabbing his wrist and guiding his fingers right where you wanted them.

You let go, urging him to take over. Despite his reluctance, Emmett seemed all too willing to be pulled along. His fingers sank into you, eliciting a long whine.

“Be quiet,” he reminded you.

But, luckily, the threat of making enough noise to be noticed by whatever monsters were lurking outside wasn’t enough to stop him. He pressed deeper, curling his fingers and brushing the pad of his thumb dangerously close to the bundle of nerves that would almost certainly seal your fate. It was a dangerous game, and every whimper that threatened to escape your lips could be your last, if it was loud enough.

“Fuck.”

Your legs were sore from walking for days, and it hurt as he spread them. It felt good, though; the deep stretch serving to set your imagination on fire with all the possibilities that were unlocking with every twinge of your sore muscles.

“Emmett.” You put a hand on his shoulder. “I… I want more than your fingers.”

“Don’t push it,” he warned. “You’re already causing enough trouble as is.”

You pouted, but felt something stir inside of you at his words. If you had anything to say about it, you would show him just how much trouble you could be.

“I didn’t realize this was such an- inconvenience for you,” you snapped, voice hitching in the middle as he hit that spot that made you see stars.

“I didn’t want you to realize,” he shot back.

“And yet, look where we’ve ended up. Despite your best efforts.”

The devilish smirk that played out over your lips seemed to make Emmett falter, and you felt him brush against your clit again. You had to bite your lip to stop from screaming.

Teetering dangerously on the edge of destruction only made you more eager to press on. The adrenaline from earlier had started to resurge, and you clung to it, heart beating fast in your ears as you rapidly approached your climax.

“Emmett. Gonna come,” you warned, already out of breath before you began.

Wordlessly, Emmett kissed you again, and you felt yourself explode against him. His thumb traced circles over your clit, somehow feather-light but solid, all at once. You cursed against his lips, maybe a little louder than you should have, but it was too late to take back now. As your high faded, you listened carefully for the shrill screech that would let you know you’d been caught.

It never came, and slowly you allowed yourself to start breathing again. Leaning over you, Emmett pressed his forehead against yours.

“That was way too close,” he complained.

“But worth it,” you hummed. “C’mon. Now it’s your turn.”

Eyes still half-clouded with sex, you struggled for a few seconds to find his zipper. As soon as you’d started to pull it down, Emmett stopped you.

“We’ve barely survived the last hour,” he scoffed. “And now you want me to fuck you?”

“I was just gonna jerk you off,” you lied. “But hey. If you want…”

Emmett’s face turned bright red as he realized the corner he’d been backed into.

“Come on - you weren’t complaining two seconds ago,” you teased. “Well, I mean, you were. But you seemed into it.”

Emmett sighed, but his shoulders stiffened as you reached past his zipper and took hold of him. He was definitely still into it.

You slid off the table but stayed pressed against it, leaning back slightly as you pulled him out and pressed his head flush to your core. He slipped in easily, already slick with your arousal and unable to resist the pull of your body.

You sighed, and that was enough to make Emmett grab hold of you again, burying himself all the way in with one thrust.

The shock of it was sudden, but you quickly recovered and pulled him in closer, greedily pressing him as far as he could go.

“This is exactly what I’ve wanted,” you hummed, smiling contentedly.

Emmett’s only response was a grunt, as he pushed deeply into you again, dragging his hips back before snapping forward. His hands were holding onto your arms, keeping you steady against the sharp edge of the table. Both of you hung onto each other for dear life.

“Goddamn distracting…” Emmett muttered. It sounded like only part of a sentence, but you didn’t catch the rest. Too wrapped up in the way he was filling you.

Without warning, he pulled all the way out. He flipped you around, bracing your palms against the table, and then sank back in. You felt your walls tighten around him as you moaned, a little louder.

Fingers splayed over the grain of the wood, you clawed at the table as Emmett pummeled into you, picking up speed to match the erratic beat of your heart. Your eyes screwed shut, chasing the pleasure that steadily built in your stomach.

“Shit. I’m gonna come again,” you gasped, already feeling the waves wash over you.

From behind, Emmett’s hand reached around to slap over your mouth, one more time, pulling your head back a little as he continued to rut into you. You made a muffled sound of protest, but he kept going.

You didn’t have long to concern yourself with comfort, as you were quickly overtaken by pleasure. You let yourself give in; surrendering to the feeling that coursed through you, and the way that his hips never stopped snapping up to meet yours, and the rough palm he held over your mouth. Which was fortunate, actually, because without Emmett’s hand stifling your sounds, they almost certainly would have gotten you both killed.

“Mmmf!”

You tried and failed to bite back the cry that threatened to erupt, only halted by Emmett as he succeeded in keeping his hand steady.

But it was clear he was close behind you. His hips bucked up with far less precision than they had a few minutes ago, and you could feel him tear out at the very last second, leaving you empty.

“Mmm!”

You cried again as you felt Emmett bite down, his mouth clamped onto your shoulder as he came, stifling his own desperate growl. His cum went not into you but all over you, coating the inside of your legs before he could stop himself. Emmett had clearly waited slightly too long to pull out.

The soft grunt that vibrated through his teeth sent a shiver down your whole body, followed by another as he rubbed himself into the mess that was now dripping between your legs. Chasing the feel of your combined lust and the friction of your thighs.

“Self control, huh?” you goaded, once he had finally pulled his hand off of your mouth.

“More than you.”

Emmett’s rough voice was right in your ear, and you felt his chest press into your back, breathing heavy to make up for lost air.

“Well,” you said, a bit breathless yourself. “I guess we’ll just have to see about that.”

Taglist: @cillmequick, @hanawrites404, @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch, @littlewinter1917, @mothhball, @nnattu, @red-riding-wood, @slut4thebroken

#emmett x reader #emmett smut #emmett a quiet place #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #cillian murphy smut #LemmyFics

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yanderestarangel · 7 months

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dilf!bi-han. PLEASE

TW: fingering, use of powers, dilf!bi han, age gap, possessive sex, unhealthy jealousy, dark!bi han, smut, degradation, blowjob.

DILF!BI HAN - Where you provoked his anger, for some inopportune reason. He would fuck you like never before, arriving in your shared room, pulling you by the arm, his strong hands would leave purple marks, reddish and painful paths on your sensitive flesh, making you shiver with the grand master's cold touch. Bi Han would throw you on the bed, tearing your clothes like a demonic beast, full of hunger and thirst for you.

"-Walking around in that damn short dress, tempting every man who sets eyes on you. You wanted their attention, didn't you? Well, now you're going to pay for it." His words cut through you, his harshness piercing the air as he continued to hold you to the bed, pinning you down. His grip on your hips tightened, leaving marks in his wake, he wanted to make sure you were going to be sore and scarred for the rest of the week. Bi Han would take both fingers to your pussy, using his cyromancer powers to slightly chill your flesh, while rubbing in circles, changing from the cold to the ambient heat of the room, making you squirm and whisper apologies or justifications - words ignored by the unhealthy jealousy of the Lin Kuei grandmaster -

"-You think you're very smart, don't you? Do you think that just because I'm old I can't fuck you until you lose your voice? Do you think you can get a better man than me (Y/N) ?" He spoke in your ear, practically an animalistic growl, some hair mixed with white and black fell on you, while you moaned, without thinking about anything other than the pleasure and possession that the older man was providing you.

"-No one else is allowed to touch you. Only I can feel that tight, wet pussy around my dick, SAY IT LITTLE SLUT." He finally screamed, while he stuck two fingers inside your wetness, while he squeezed your neck with his other free hand - hands that were rough and thick, with an icy touch gradually forming, more and more, a clear sign of the cyromancer's fury. Without hesitation, he forced you to your knees, holding your hair firmly as he guided his cock towards your waiting mouth. You could feel the undisciplined power in his actions, his dominant and possessive nature taking full control

He rammed his cock hard into your mouth, forcing you to take him deep, gagging you with each powerful thrust. There was no room for tenderness or gentleness, just the raw display of his control and your submission. "-No one else can make you feel like this, no one else can bring you to your knees. Remember that... I am your fucking owner and I will always have the strength to fuck you."

His balls hit your chin, wet with your saliva, while his member curved into your throat, making you choke. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the intensity of his gaze reflecting a mix of emotions - Anger, jealousy, and fear danced behind his eyes, showing his desperate need to keep you close, to assert his dominance over you. "-You're so desperate for it, aren't you? You want me to fuck you until you can't even remember your own name. Say it, you whore. Say you love being degraded and used like a cum dumpster... I may be a fucking old man, but I'm your old man, and I'm going to prove to you what I can still do."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

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spacerockfloater · 2 months

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Why the fuck does Laena Velaryon, who is canonically younger than Rhaenyra Targaryen in the show, look like a fucking 20-year-old in episode 5 while Rhaenyra, her elder, still looks fucking 13? Why the actual fuck did they change the YOUNGER girl’s actress and made her look older, but it’s okay for Rhaenyra to continue looking like a preteen? I’ll tell you why.

They’re trying to distract us from the fact that creepy ass Daemon is courting a 14-year-old. A FOURTEEN YEAR OLD. Rhaenyra is 15 in episode 1 and Laena is 12, meaning they have a 3 year age gap. Then, Viserys tells Rhaenyra that she must marry since she’s 17 now, making Laena 14, maybe 15 at best. So they obviously can’t afford having Daemon thirst over a child again, therefore this is a shitty attempt to cover up the fact that Laena still is a very fucking young child.

HBO what is this? Why do your casting choices indicate that you’re trying to use some kind of ageist technique to manipulate your viewers? Why are the supposedly good guys, Rhaenyra and her children, portrayed by very young actors? Is this to show how innocent and pure they are? Why are the characters who are supposedly evil, Aegon and Aemond, or the character for whom we shouldn’t worry too much about since she’s just a tool for Daemon’s story line to develop, Laena, portrayed by obviously older actors even though they’re all supposed to be kids? Because the youth = good people and old = bad people analogy is fucking gross and lowkey paedophilic. Not to mention how weird it is to make all the black girls in the show look like fucking grown ups. What kind of racist bullshit is this?

I can’t understand HBO’s decisionmaking for the love of me. Like, on the one hand, it’s so obvious that they’re forcing Daemon and Rhaenyra down our throats, to the point that I actually laughed out loud when the show runner said “he doesn’t get why people like Daemon”. Like, my guy, you MADE the show. You made him look like an appealing, dangerous, sexy, strong, victorious and mysterious man, so what do you mean you don’t get the appeal? On the other hand though, most of the actions that they allow Daemon to perform are so horrifying that it makes it impossible for a sane person to stand beside him and defend him. Like, they try to sugarcoat that he’s an abusive piece of shit yeah, but they somehow don’t shy away from the fact that he’s terrible? Are they doing both of these things on purpose? Are they trying to challenge the viewer, to show us how abusers, despite being openly deranged, still have their way of dazzling their victims, the average person, and hypnotising them with their charm? Is Daemon doing to us (and by us I mean you Daemon stans, not me, stay safe though) what he’s doing to Rhaenyra and Laena? Are the show producers testing the average viewer’s intelligence and ability to recognise an abuser? Will there be a lesson to be learned?

I would like to hope so but I highly doubt it, because while one could support this theory by arguing that changing Laena’s actress is an attempt to mask Daemon’s degenerative nature a bit so that it isn’t completely obvious that he’s a bad man, someone else could counter this argument by saying that we’ve already seen Daemon groom a minor so this wouldn’t be something new. We’ve seen him do much more violent crimes actually, so why shy away from the fact he’s a groomer when we are already aware of this? Idk man, I really want to think that HBO is trying to make us see that Daemon is an evil person, but then indirectly glorifying him constantly makes me believe they just want people to root for him.

P.S. I may anger a lot of people by saying this, so I’ll make myself clear by stating that I love and greatly respect actors who specialise in portraying evil characters, because doing so and not losing yourself is a challenge (*cough* Leto *cough*) but if done correctly, it’s a true showcase of one’s talent and hard work. Lee, De Niro, Hopkins, Bardem and Rickman are just a few to name. However, Matt Smith has never rubbed me the right way. No hate to the guy, I don’t even know him, but I’ve seen him play the villain in three separate occasions (HOTD, Last Night in Soho, Morbius) and I just get these weird vibes, but I usually told myself it’s just my imagination running wild. However, I recently found out that Smith claimed that Daemon is a loyal man who loves deeply and that his “heir for a day” brothel feast was his way of honouring Aema, which really disturbed me for obvious reasons. I don’t know if he said this because he’s trying to defend his character and by extension himself, or if he just wants to promote the show, or if he doesn’t understand Daemon or if he funnily enough has fallen victim to his own character’s charm and I don’t care because it is a dangerous thing to say. Painting this character, the arrogant, obnoxious, self serving, people slaughtering, wife murdering, backstabbing, abusing, grooming, lying, manipulating, war criminal of a man, in such a positive light while being a man yourself, knowing that most of this character’s supporters are young impressionable women who just find him hot, makes me lowkey wanna cover my drink in his presence, I don’t know.

#hbo #hbo max #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd critical #house targaryen #house velaryon #anti rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #laena velaryon #anti daemon targaryen #anti daemyra #ageism #matt smith #anti targ stans #anti targ restoration #pro team green #team green #anti team black

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blouisparadise · 3 months

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Upon request, here is another part of our possessive Harry rec list. If you missed them, you can find part one here and part two here. There are a ton of amazing fics on this list that we hope you'll check out. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Back Where I Belong | Explicit | 7,217 words

Harry’s trying to have a conversation with Nick, who he hasn’t seen in nearly three months, but the way Nick’s eyes keep darting over his shoulder every few seconds is quite distracting. It’s ironic, because at least a quarter of the reason that he’s even talking to Nick in the first place is because he needs a distraction. He’s all too aware of exactly what’s going on behind his back. Nick is the one who finally brings it up. “Do you think he’s doing it to spite you?” “He’s definitely doing it to spite me,” Harry answers tightly, resisting the urge to crane his neck around so he can see. He clutches his drink a little tighter, trying to keep his tenuous control over his own movements.

2) Come A Little Closer | Explicit | 9,867 words

Louis puts on lingerie. It's not, like, a thing.

3) Fuck U Betta | Explicit | 11,438 words

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

4) Please, I'm Begging | Explicit | 13,746 words

Louis is an omega who just wants to be with Harry

5) Rendezvous | Explicit | 15,357 words

"Harry's got a date tonight." Zayn greets him. Louis misses the good old times, when people used to say hello. "Why's he got a date, Louis?" Louis has no time for Zayn's nonsense, he's late to crash Harry's date. He only came here for one thing. "I need the fur coat." he announces. "No questions asked."

6) I’m Kind Of Into It | Explicit | 19,483 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

A pair of eyes follow him, narrowed and if Louis has judged right; assessing. Trying to see if Louis has a favourite. Waiting to see if he gives it up to one of the baying crowd. He doesn't. He straightens up and moves smoothly back towards the intriguing man in the front-row seat. He hasn't moved, bar to clutch his fingers slightly around the edges of the circle-shaped seat; his thighs pushing open a little further as he tucks his ass in; showcasing his dick somewhat. The dress pants do barely anything to cover the jut of that length and Louis makes it his personal mission to make him hard. It's insulting really that he's not already there. He's been dancing for three minutes and if that isn't long enough to incite some interest then what is?

7) Play By The Rules | Explicit | 21,835 words

Fed up with the excess energy that’s wreaking havoc on his personal and professional life, Louis asks his boyfriend to dom him in the hopes that it’ll help him relax. Unfortunately, Harry is a bit of a disaster when it comes to being a dom. So, Louis decides to get creative to try and encourage the dominant side out of him.

8) Worth The Wait | Explicit | 29,262 words

In all the words Louis would use to describe a baby shower, the last one he’d ever thought to use was depressing.

9) Can’t Fool Me | Explicit | 30,162 words

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

10) Blue Songs Are Like Tattoos | Explicit | 30,739 words

“Good morning, University of California, you’re listening to KALX 90.7 FM Berkeley, this is DJ Harry Styles. If the owner of the tapes I’ve been finding around the studio doesn’t come forward and introduce himself, I’m going to continue tossing them straight in the trash!”

11) Like It’s A Game | Explicit | 32,223 words

There is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

12) All This Devotion | Explicit | 38,047 words

Louis is Harry’s work wife. The already blurry lines of their friendship are smudged further when they get caught up in a web of lies.

13) Kiss Me On The Mouth And Set Me Free (But Please Don’t Bite) | Mature | 42,036 words

Harry is the CEO of Flora Corp, Louis is his new secretary.

14) Strangers In Love | Explicit | 42,207 words

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

15) Let Your Damage, Damage Me | Explicit | 57,077 words

A low and dangerous growl was ripped from the future King’s chest. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” the alpha snarled, eyes dark and nostrils flared. Even as anger rushed through him at the alpha’s brutish display, Louis felt breathless at the intense gaze of the man that was going to be his future mate. ‘Tomorrow I’m going to be under all that. He will be inside me, all muscles and rage.’ Louis felt his cheeks heat again, but refused to be cowed. So he put his best smirk on display, the one alphas despised to see, the one that assured them all he had the upper hand. “Thought you were expecting me, dear husband. I’m your future mate.”

16) Not Afraid Of Living On A Fault Line | Explicit | 55,218 words

His eyes widened when he realized he had just somehow managed to ask Harry to hang out. Judging by Harry’s own expression, he wasn't the only one who was shocked. Louis expected him to laugh off the ridiculous request but the beta looked up at him, almost hopefully. “Are you being serious?” “Um,” was all Louis could say, feeling every bit as speechless as Harry had been earlier. “Are you?” Harry shrugged. “I’ve been told I need to get out more.”

17) These Still Waters Run Deep | Explicit | 64,602 words

Having accepted his engagement to Viscount Andrew, Louis is aware that it isn’t a love match and has no wish to be swept off his feet… until he meets the viscount’s brother, Harry, who makes him second-guess everything.

18) King Of My Heart | Explicit | 83,712 words

Harry shrugged, his shoulders brushing against Louis’. “I think since I was young, I craved that feeling, though. I didn’t always hate being a prince, but over time, certain aspects of it just bothered me so much. I remember being four years old and realizing that every person in the world knew my name, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted that. I told my mum as much and she tried telling me that being a prince is not a punishment. That it was a privilege that I should be happy about it, but no one asked me if I was. But looking up at the sky, I remember that all of this will one day mean nothing, and neither will I. All the pressure will then disappear and I could just be.” Louis stayed quiet, allowing Harry the space to open up because he knew Harry wasn’t looking for advice, but just someone to confide in. What he wished he could tell him was that in the short amount of time that he’d known the prince, in Louis’ eyes, he couldn’t be insignificant if he tried. He was brighter than every star up there in the sky. He was all Louis could look at and think about.

19) Echoes & Omens | Mature | 100,707 words

Echoes of the dead come in many forms. Their imprints forever tied to the ones who'd killed them. Louis Tomlinson is able to track the dead using their echoes, they call to him. He's used that gift to aid Scotland Yard in their investigations, with the hopes of studying Criminology at Cambridge University. He's lived a life of privilege and good fortune as a Marquess, son of the late Duke Tomlinson, with his life mapped out since day one. Until two terrible truths are revealed. One, he's adopted. Two, his biological parents are London's most notorious serial killers. Against his family's wishes, Louis travels to Chicago to uncover the truth of their incarceration. Much to his dismay, his biological mother's Lawyer, Harry Styles, wants to take his case. Together, they work to uncover what really happened all those years ago, but perhaps more is revealed than they could've ever anticipated. Trapped in a whirlwind of portents and omens, Louis and Harry find themselves pitted against an enemy they'd not foreseen.

20) You’ve Got A Higher Power, You’re Once In Any Lifetime | Explicit | 113,444 words

Giving up and letting them think they're right were never valid options in Louis Tomlinson's mind. In a society full of prejudices, finding a family and being accepted, also seemed like an unrealistic utopia. Louis sets out to do what no other of his kind ever has before and in doing so, he finds love, friendship and more about himself than he thought he would.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp fic recs #blp #possessive harry

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years

Text

The Traces He Left Behind

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You had never expected the dog tags to be so heavy, but, now, as they sit in your hands they’re just about the heaviest object you’ve ever held. M.I.A doesn’t mean John’s dead...but it might as well.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Grief, mentions of death, blood, a small amount of gore, angst, fluff (eventually), allusions to intimacy, mention of nakedness

A/N: The number of people who thirst over this man gives me strength. Tell me if you find any errors cuz I barely edited this.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

People don’t disappear – they leave traces, clues, marks on the walls, or black scuffs on the floors. Hell, people leave something behind even if you can’t see it.

But the dog tags in your hands give you nothing besides memories, and memories only leave heartbreak; burning in your lungs like you took a bullet there that digs between the soft tissues, spewing blood over the carpet. Heartbreak can’t help you bring him back.

John Price left you with nothing but his dog tags and try as you might, you can’t help but hate him for it.

No evidence.

No trace.

And no body to be buried.

They couldn’t fucking find him.

“This was all I could find,” Gaz whispered, breathless, when he stood on your doorstep a week and a half ago, watching the smile on your face freeze – as if, at that moment, you were caught in a time-loop of opening that front door over and over again to his pained face. You stared at him like you didn’t know him, and, so, he continued, the dog tags in the small black velvet box shaking in his grip as he opened the top with a muffled clack, “I-I’m so sorry, Love.”

I’m so sorry.

That was all they could say, but it didn’t mean shit. That couldn’t have been all that was left. Pieces of metal on a ball chain? Flecks of blood and dirt over the imprinted words and numbers? No. No. No.

Your eyes had withered as they traveled down Gaz’s ceremonial uniform, the brown color with the various medals glinting in the afternoon light of autumn. But the chill of the air never reached you, and all you could think about as your eyes landed, finally, on those damaged dog tags was that John would have hated all the hassle that Gaz had gone through.

He would have snorted in that way only he could, cheeks jerking up as his eyes slid to the side for a moment; always thinking. John's feet would shuffle, and after a moment, he would cross his arms and say something like, ‘putting on the chest candy for me, Garrick?’

You almost heard him say it, his breath whispering the tendrils of your hair near your ears and his comforting presence – like a large Saint Bernard Dog just behind you. You even think you turned around and checked, because one moment you were at the door, and the next Gaz was walking you back into the living room of John’s London home, his arms holding you up. You hadn't noticed, but your legs had given out and you would have hit the floor hard if Gaz hadn’t snatched you up when he did.

The Captain had always let you stay at his place when he was off on deployment – he said you made it more of a home than he ever could, seeing as he was gone all the time. You had only moved in permanently two months ago.

At the end of it, Gaz had placed the velvet box in your hands as you wailed on the couch, agony hitting off the walls and ceiling like a bouncy castle; gripping your face so tight the skin broke. The sound of the Tv in the background just makes it worse. It was playing re-runs of some old black-and-white film, a western that John loved to watch. You always played them so it felt like your boyfriend was still in the house, waiting just behind a thin wall for you to come and annoy him about how you hated these movies.

But you had never hated them more than in that instance.

Gaz utters your name, “...Speak to me, please. Tell me to fuck off or-or something!” All you did was bring the box to your chest and drag Gaz into a tight hug across the cushions, not caring about the uniform or how he shook as he wrapped his hands back around you, rubbing your back.

But you felt the tears on top of your head just as easily as you heard your own stain the fabric of the couch.

The dog tags clinked as they connected, and from under Gaz’s firm grip, you stared down at them before their image got too blurry and you had to blink away the tears again. Damaged metal – that’s all that was left.

You both stayed like that for hours, long after the sun had set, but your eyes never strayed from the tags and in your mind, you told yourself that M.I.A didn’t mean dead. But the sinking feeling in your chest told you it might as well.

Have faith in him, You sniffle, fingering the tags, caressing the imprints of ‘Price, Jonathan’ as your body shakes.

A week and a half had gone by like a nightmare, slow and horrible, and with every second of every minute of every hour, the weight on your chest had gotten worse. It wasn’t like when John lay a top of you, body pressing down in a deep slumber. Most days you didn’t leave the bed – it smelled too much of John you told yourself, but knew it was more than that. You had lost the drive.

Digging your face deeper into the old pillow – John’s pillow that you had begged him to replace as it was as flat as a pancake – your hands clench onto the dog tags from where they lay on the mattress, the cold metal digging into your palm. It was a painful reminder but one you knew you could never get rid of.

In that state of half-consciousness, you liked to imagine that the plain green comforter around your waist wasn’t fabric at all – that the caressing weight was strong arms instead, dragging you backward until you met a firm chest; you could fall back to sleep with the knowledge that the breath on the back of your neck didn’t belong to the fan across the room but was actually John and his nearly silent snores. He always kept you right by him when he was sleeping; hated when he woke up and you were gone, either finding you in the kitchen making a drink to help you sleep or doing other activities like that. You remember vividly when John had woken from a nightmare and you were making a midnight snack in the kitchen.

His panicked breathing had told you first that something was wrong, and when you turned around – there he was, standing at the entrance to the kitchen with a hand grasping the door frame so tight his knuckles were white and shaking. He looked at you like he had feared for your life, and the toast you were about to bring to your mouth had frozen in your grip, peanut butter dripping off the side.

“John?” You had whispered, placing the carb down with a thunk onto the plate, “are you alright, Love? What happened?”

That was the first time you had seen John cry.

Before you knew it, you were rushing over to him and wrapping him in your hold. He hugged you so tightly that night you were only slightly concerned your ribs might snap. Ever since then, with the reminder of his tears dripping into your hair living in your brain, you made a point to stave off the nighttime adventures, instead listening to John’s heartbeat to put you back to sleep.

You couldn’t sleep without him now; that was a fact. A torturous, downright evil, fact.

John had ruined you for anyone else besides him.

Tears slipped from your half-lidded eyes as the memory slipped away from you; turning your head farther into the pillow, you choked on the sob in your throat as the morning light attacked your eyes. You wonder if anyone has ever died from a broken heart before and if you’ll be the first.

But I can’t die until John’s body’s found, You think with a muffled gasp, body curling into itself, I can’t go without knowing.

The boys had come to visit when they were free, all of them had keys and weren’t afraid to use them. They were worried about you, is all, so you entertained the unannounced visits with the same blank look that now lived on your face constantly. Gaz came the most as you were the closest to him – he meant good, you knew that, and he had cared about his Captain immensely when he was…when he was…

He felt an obligation to you and carried a large amount of guilt with him.

Gaz liked to prod, trying to convince you to get out of bed, promising the weather was nice for a walk, on and on. But the world didn’t smell like John, and the faces you would have looked at wouldn’t have his beard or wear that stupid bucket hat or beanie and snort at your bad jokes. You had no drive to leave the house. What was the point?

Soap was next, the jokester trying to lighten the mood at any instance. He tried to make you talk about John, saying little quips, but you never spoke a peep beyond your sniffles. You didn’t want to talk about your boyfriend, the voices in the back of your head talked about him too much already; to the point where it became a chore to think about anything else. At the very least Soap wanted you to smile once every time he visited – he had told you as much. But he left in defeat every time, and although his loyalty was arguably one of his largest qualities, his visits dwindled just like the light in his eyes. He was taking it hard.

Yesterday, though, was different.

Simon had come to the house for the first time. He sat in the plush chair in the corner and read aloud to you from a random book on your bookshelf, not making any comment unless the character's actions were surprisingly dumb or pointless. He never pried like Soap, and never prodded like Gaz. He was just there, and, perhaps, that was what you liked the most about him. When you had asked him to read just one more chapter to you from one of John’s favorite books, Simon had looked up and paused when he caught your eyes, his own minutely widening above the cloth covering the lower half of his face.

It wasn’t so often that eyes like his own were staring back at him.

He had re-opened the book and read until your eyelids had slipped shut, and when you woke up, he was making breakfast in the kitchen.

The smell of burning waffles prompts you to raise your head and look at the ajar door. Burning waffle mix wasn’t a pleasant smell, and your nose twitched in disgust.

You got to your feet and shuffled down the hallways, dragging the comforter with you and listening to it ruffle over the floor as the clanking of pots and pans made your ears perk. Pointedly not looking at the pictures on the walls, you tug the dog tags over your head, caressing the metal before letting the weight hit your chest with a quiet thunk as they connect with your pajama top.

Your bare feet pad to the kitchen entrance and briefly you remember a tight hug before the memory is shoved down as you shake the glassiness of your eyes away. You blink at the scene in your kitchen and a bit of awareness lights in your orbs.

“Are you trying to burn my house down, Simon,” You croak, no doubt looking like the dead walking, “Or are you just really bad at cooking?”

The man was covered in flour, his black clothes layered in it so much so that your eyebrow raised, amusement nearly making you scoff. You shuffled to the island and pulled out a stool with curiosity and concern for the well-being of the kitchen. Hopping up, you watched the trained killer as he turned to you, the waffle maker behind him covered in pale dough.

“Never made waffles before,” He has the decency to look embarrassed, at least, “Didn’t think it would be this hard.”

“You’ve never made waffles?” You cross your arms on the island counter, moving to rest your chin on them before closing your eyes for a moment. For a second you had forgotten that John was dead and just like before the weight was back.

“This was the only good one,” Simon’s voice snaps you back, and your open your eyes slowly. A plate slid across the counter, a slightly burnt waffle sitting drowned under syrup with a fork set on the side. You stare at it for a moment.

“Would it hurt your feeling if I didn’t eat it?” You mumble, peering up from your makeshift headrest.

Simon’s arms were behind him resting on the back counter as milk dripped to the floor, and a sigh built in his chest making his sweatshirt rise before his eyes blinked at yours.

“Yes.” He turned his back and began collecting ingredients, trying to clean up – apparently he had accepted defeat. Your eyes shifted to the plate ahead of you.

“Fine,” You sigh, sitting up and dragging the plate closer, and pick up the fork with weak fingers before using the utensil as a knife and dissecting the food.

Your mouth waters as you shove a piece into your mouth, chewing for a little bit before stopping. You look slowly at Simon, cheeks full, and you blank when you find him watching you closely.

“Did you forget the sugar?” You watch the man’s body tense, eyes darting to his phone on the counter where he was most likely using an online recipe before snapping back to you.

Pressure builds in your chest as you swallow the inedible waffle and feel it travel down your throat. A quick moment later you’re slapping a hand over your mouth and stifling the small laugh that echoes through the silent kitchen. You swore you see Simon’s shoulders jerk proudly for a moment before he turns his head away to continue cleaning.

Around your neck, the dog tags clink together and with your free hand, you grasp them lightly.

You felt just a little bit better, even if it was at the famous ‘Ghost’s’ expense. But who wouldn’t laugh at someone forgetting to put sugar in waffles?

—

No one knows who shot down the helicopter – they say it was the Russians, but who could really be sure? Task Force 141 had so many enemies it could practically be anyone on their list and they could be none the wiser until the forensic team got their job done.

All that John knew was that he woke up in the dirt, the press of metal over his chest to the point where he knew some of his ribs were cracked and that the flames were getting closer to the fuel tank. The annoyance at the blurriness of his eyes was thrown to the side as blood pumped through his veins, some even leaking out from various wounds he has yet to notice.

Throwing his arms out, his muscles straining behind his flame-licked shirt and combat vest, John’s hands find holds on the beam before throwing all his weight into it, desperation and adrenaline giving him all the strength he needs. Violent coughs fall from his lips as the smoke travels up his nose, making it hard to breathe. The shriek of the shifting metal encompasses John’s ears, so it was only common sense he couldn’t hear the screams on the opposite side of the downed helicopter.

“Captain?!” Gaz’s voice was lost behind the wall of fire and grinding earth, “Price, answer me! John!”

John grits his teeth, a growl flying from his lips as he hucks the beam farther down his body, just enough to shimmy his way out with a groan at the ache of his lower body.

“Fuck,” He grunts.

It was a miracle his spine wasn't broken. John’s blue eyes blink furiously as they try to dispel the ash from the corners, instinctual tears tracking down his face as his hands get skinned on the rocks. The smell of gasoline spurs him on, as well as the visible bodies of the other men in the Helicopter littering the remains of the cockpit.

One would think at the only thing on his mind was survival – getting out of this metal oven before it blew to find his men and regroup, asses the damage before calling Laswell for an Evac – but John was haunted by only one thought as his fingertips bled over the ground. He dragged himself on.

I have to get home to her.

His body twists, and in his haste, the glinting dog tags on the ground are missed because of a wave of smoke as they sit, waiting, with their clasp noticeably broken.

John’s shoulder forces away a large sheet of metal, ribs screaming inside of him, but the pain had never stopped him before and it wouldn’t now. The light of the sun greets him, and he only manages to drag himself a few feet away before the entire helicopter explodes in a flash of fire and death, throwing his body forward until it careens over the edge of a large hill, dirt and dust spraying where his body rolls down. At the bottom, John feels himself connect with something solid, and everything goes black in a savage wave of agony.

His last thoughts are of you. They always would be.

—

“I need you to come with me,” Gaz’s voice greets you when you open the front door, your hoodie and jeans not helping keep out the chill of the air as a breeze flows through the door.

“Huh?” You frown, itching at your neck and unintentionally jingling John’s dog tags, “You show up for the first time in a month and that’s the first thing out of your mouth? How about a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’”

Gaz’s face tightens, and his face turns to the side for a moment. You sigh deeply.

“I’m not angry, just sad you didn’t tell me you and the others were going on another deployment. I would have given you all send-offs if you’d just told me.”

“We weren't on another deployment,” Gaz admits, shaking his head. You blink before looking him over.

“Then why are you in your work uniform?” The combat vest and other gear were cause for confusion, and you briefly wonder what Gaz and the boys are up to if not a quick stop by the house.

“When I found out I came here as quickly as possible. But you have to come with me, right now.”

“I-” You sputter, not used to seeing the man ahead of you so serious, “Alright…Let me just get my shoes.”

“Make it quick. For your own sake.”

Tugging on your boots, on the way out you grab your purse and one of John’s black beanies, tugging it over your head before you lock the front door and jog your way to Gaz’s car in the street. You see the man tapping the steering wheel through the window, shadow vibrating with untamed energy.

What the hell is up with him?

The last month has been horrible, especially with the radio silence from the boys. You had assumed they were off somewhere on a mission, but to hear they had been in London the entire time? That just rubbed you the wrong way. Fortunately, things had gradually turned around after Simon’s visit and waffle fiasco a while ago, so their constant check-ups weren’t needed as much as they were wanted.

You don’t even exactly know what happened, but even on your worst days, you had promised yourself not to fall back into the deep pit you were in before. Though, most of the time you never left the house and woke up crying in the middle of the night; gasping for breath, there were good times too. Even if most of them involved remembering activities you used to do with John.

You open the passenger door and slip inside Gaz’s car, clicking the seatbelt over yourself and sending a glance to the man beside you. Gaz doesn’t comment if he feels you staring, just puts his foot on the gas and begins driving down the quiet street. Sensing you wouldn’t get any answers, your body twists so you can look out the window, gazing out and watching houses and people fly past. Your eyes linger on the happy couples in their hats and scarves for longer than normal, and you only rip your eyes away when they become dots in the side mirror.

Feeling Gaz looking at you makes it worse.

Your heart hardens, and you suck in a deep breath, leaning back to rest on the chair. With your eyes drifting shut, you let the bumpiness of the road lull you into a thin slumber. Naps are really all you’ve been able to take lately, and you fall into one quickly as the bags under your eyes burn.

A hand shaking your shoulder wakes you, and a quiet, “Sorry, but you’re gonna wanna see this, Love,” makes its way into your ear. You groan, unclipping the buckle before rubbing your eyes.

“Gaz, I hope you know what you’re doing,” You grumble, looking out and blinking to focus your gaze, “Where are we?” You set out of the car, stumbling before Gaz steadies you with a firm hand on your arm.

“Base,” The man says simply. That wakes you up.

“What?” You gasp, looking around a parking garage where multiple other cars are parked, concrete pillars, and an ascending slope up to large metal doors showing you that you were underground. You had never been inside the base before – sure you had been in specific areas where you could greet John when he returned to London, but you were never allowed in the main building before, “Why are we here?”

You turn to Gaz, but find the man already pulling your arm forward towards the glass entrance doors, fiddling with his front vest pocket. A squeak escapes your lips.

When he takes out his name card and places it on the door reader, he turns and faces you, and a beep sounds behind him.

“I need you to just follow me as closely as you can,” Gaz mutters, gripping both of your shoulders and giving you a hesitant but soft smile, “Alright? I promise all of this is important. Definitely going to be worth it.”

“Well,” You snort, raising an eyebrow, “I’d hope it would be important, you just dragged me halfway through the city. You owe me supper for all of this, Garrick.”

Gaz laughs, turning and opening the door, and keeps it ajar for you to slip through.

“You’ll have to put a raincheck on that – you’re not going to want supper with me tonight.”

You make a questioning noise in the back of your throat, but Gaz just slips past you, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head.

“You’ll see. I can’t tell you all of my secrets.” The smirk on his face makes you roll your eyes, following after him like a lost puppy as you take corner after corner. This place was like a labyrinth.

People watch you as you walk past, and the widening of their eyes gives you an idea of how much they know about you and your deceased boyfriend.

John Price left behind quite the impression, you think to yourself as a group of people coming your way turn in and begin to whisper amongst themselves, side-eyeing you, but I wish he hadn’t had to leave anything behind. Least of all me.

The door catches your attention first, and Gaz hesitates outside of it as the sounds of arguing echo out from under the crack. He holds a finger to his lips and keeps a hand on the doorknob. His brown eyes stay on your face.

“You can’t leave Base, alright!” That was Soap’s voice, sounding much more serious than you were used to, “You need to stay here until you get cleared by--”

“You tell me one more time that I can’t leave until I’m cleared by the Doctor,” Wait a second, “I’ll ring your Muppet neck. I’m going to see her, let the whole bloody base try and fucking stop me.”

The deep voice had a growl staining the words, agitation so familiar it drips off the tone like water.

“John,” You mutter, heart beginning to beat faster in your chest. Without a second thought, you shove Gaz’s arm aside and barge your way into the room, ignoring Gaz’s playful, ‘hey, careful now.’

The door slams against the wall and your feet skid into a white-floored room, the bright fluorescent lights ahead buzzing. Soap and Ghost are both there, the latter trying to force the man you thought was dead back into the hospital bed while the other leans back against the far wall.

Everyone freezes and Soap looks like a deer in headlights with his hand wrapped around John's upper arm, straining to hold the once rampaging man back. But it’s not like you notice, you’re only looking at the man who ruined your life.

John Price looks worse for wear. Even with the hospital gown over his body, you can see the bulge of tightly wrapped bandages around his torso and legs – his arms are connected to medical machines, a needle in his right palm giving him fluids from a drip IV. Oh, but it’s him. That’s your John.

Ruin my life, You think to yourself, Ruin it over and over again if it means you’ll always be able to come back into my arms.

He looks at you with a surprised softness, his blue eyes never wavering from your body as he takes you in with a deep breath. The brown beard on his face is longer than you remember, as well as his hair, and the red marks over the left side of his face say that many of his wounds are old, but have not healed fully. Where had he been? Gone for more than a month and labeled missing in action and he just shows up, black and blue and wrapped like a mummy?

Your thoughts were running even faster than your heart and all you do is stand there and stare at John like he was a specter as the others watched with bated breath. You could hear Gaz in the doorway shuffle on his feet. But you weren't the only person shell-shocked – John still stared at you as well, his eyes running wildly until they land on the dog tags around your neck.

The great Captain’s shoulders deflate, and his eyebrows draw in as blue flickers back to your face. “Oh, Sweetheart…”

That was all it took for you to launch yourself into his arms, jerking forward into his chest with sobs leaving your lips like you had lost him again and not just gained him back by some miracle. John grunts under you, and Soap releases his shoulder with a huff.

“I damn well told you ya’ couldn’t leave. You listen to me as well as Ghost does, Sir.”

Ghost huffs, shoving himself off the wall and taking a few steps forward, “Shut your trap, Johnny.”

Price never responded, because the second he was able his arms wrapped around your body, and as your own hands latch onto the back of his gown, his grip the back of your head; cradling it like a precious object. His other wraps around your waist.

“John,” You whimpered into his chest, hearing his breath hitch as another sob rips from your throat, “What the fuck?” Wet tears stain his garment.

John utters your name as he begins running his fingers through your hair, turning his head down and pressing his nose to the top of your head as he lightly moves from side to side. Your legs almost collapse when you inhale his scent – gunpowder, leather, and spruce trees. That was him. That was John.

“Muppets!” John suddenly calls out, though his voice is noticeably shaky. You manage to pull him impossibly closer, “Get the fuck out, now.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.” Soap mutters, sending soft glances your way that you missed in your state, “good to have you back.” You don’t know if he was talking to John or to the both of you.

Ghost whispers past, grasping Soap's shoulder and lightly shoving him faster toward the door as Gaz happily sighs.

“We’ll be in the Barracks, Sir. Take your time.” The door closes. Immediately John starts talking.

“Love, I’m so sorry. The Helo went down and I–”

“It doesn’t matter,” You gasp, pulling back to grab at his cheeks, feeling his beard tickle your fingers just like it always did, “It doesn't matter,” you repeat, “You’re here – you came back.” A strangled laugh tumbles from your lips as John's fingers begin to clear the tears off of your face so gently, “You came back to me, John.”

He gazes into your eyes so softly you feel like dying – such love leaking from his hold that you finally understand why you were so broken by his disappearance.

You were always searching for traces of him, whether that was in his scent or the faces of strangers – in his books or his favorite films. John was your other half, and having him die was like having half of yourself die with him.

“What have I done to you?” John whispers, fingers grazing the deep purple under your eyes, taking in the lost weight as he grips your waist tighter. He swallows, eyes flicking away, “I should have tried to get back to you sooner.”

Your eyebrows pull up, eyes widening at the genuine pain on John’s face. Knowing that words won't sway his hard-headedness, you blink away the tears and sniffle, moving your hands to your neck. With a swift motion of your arm, you tug the dog tags from your chest and press them between your bodies, your eyes impossibly warm as John tilts his head to gaze at them silently.

Keeping a handle on your tears, you bring your other hand up, grasping and taking off his beanie on your head. Carefully, and with all the love you could muster, you place it on top of John’s hair, whispering for only him to hear, “You were always with me.”

His kiss had never felt quite as good as at that moment.

That night the entire Task Force went out to celebrate – some bar with a classic atmosphere that John was sure to love after his official discharge from the medical ward. And he did, because as long as you were right beside him, and vice-versa, the lights always seemed a bit brighter, the music just a tad livelier.

He kept you in the crook of his arm the entire night, and, in the morning he would tell you he was taking two months off as the light streamed through the curtains; your naked bodies pressed tightly as he leaves trailing kisses down your neck and between your breasts. Soft sighs and gentle caresses you had wanted for over a month that you would never lack again.

But for now, in the soft yellow light, he watched you as you laughed at one of Soap’s horrible jokes, moving to shoulder Ghost to get a reaction out of him before John drags you back into his hold. You go willingly, wrapping your own arm around his tapered waist; snuggling into his chest with a genuine smile. Sneaking a glance up at your boyfriend, you find his gaze already on you, head still covered by that beanie that he wasn’t going to take off the entire night. A small smile rises on John’s lips before he leans down and kisses your head, your face heating as Soap makes a fake gagging sound before you laugh once more.

Gaz watched the both of you, relief bleeding from his eyes as he brings his drink to his lips. Pointedly, he turns his gaze to the dog tags around your neck, seeing the glinting metal with a flash of surprise.

He smiles. He’d have to remember to tell his Captain to order a new pair tomorrow.

#john price x reader #John price x you #john price #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #MW2 #cod #cod x reader #cod mw22 #cod x you #mw2 2022

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holdmytesseract · 6 months

Text

Gym Sessions & Babies

☆ The Baby Fever AU ☆

Loki & Narfi feat. Y/N

Summary: Loki takes baby Narfi with him for a long overdue gym session - and gives Peter dating advice.

Warnings: thirst - quite a lot... Loki at the gym (Yes, I consider that as a warning.), fluuuff, Loki being the best, sexiest dad and dating advisor

Word Count: 3,7k

a/n: I just had the idea for this and was like: Yes, I have to write it. 👀🔥 @muddyorbsblr knows, tehehe... I hope y'all love the combination of this as much as I do! 😁 Oh, and I absolutely love Loki's and Peter's friendship. 🥹

Baby Fever Crew: @lady-rose-moon @muddyorbsblr @chennqingg @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @jennyggggrrr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @eleniblue @loz-3 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovingchoices14 @glitchquake @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @mandywholock1980 @november-rayne @xthatpottahfanx @simping-for-marvel @lou12346789 @aagn360 @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @hisredheadedgoddess28 @vbecker10 @jaidenhawke @km-ffluv @lokiforever @crimson25 @kimanne723 @cakesandtom @buttercupcookies-blog @salvinaa @javagirl328 @noideakitten @zombiesnips-blog @dustychinchilla74 @frzntrx @lokisgoodgirl @princess-ofthe-pages @coldnique @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokisrealpurpous

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

Quietly sneaking down the hallway, Loki slipped the baby monitor into the left, deep pocket of his gym shorts, before he tiptoed straight into direction main door.

The god hadn't seen the gym in weeks. Months. Well, admittedly, he had more important things to do than keeping his godly body in perfect shape. Becoming a father again for example and with that taking care of you; helping wherever he could. Besides, having a newborn was just downright exhausting. In the best way possible, but still. Not to forget that he was spending a lot of time with his princess, too - who enjoyed that her father was home way more often at the moment. There was simply no time for things like the gym.

Until today.

Loki woke up that morning with the absolute motivation to do a few workouts today, and since you were on the road, driving Ella to her friend Tara for a slumber 'party' in the evening, he saw his chance. Sure, he still had to go after his parental duty and watch his little Frost Giant, but said little Frost Giant was sleeping like a rock - at least that was what the god thought...

He tied his wild raven curls into a manbun, checked the baby monitor again, grabbed his stuff and the keys, was ready to leave the apartment - but didn't get that far. Just when he wanted to plant his food behind the doorstep, sprung the baby monitor to life; telling Loki that his son had other plans and was audibly awake now.

A sigh left the god's lips. "Oh, really now?"

He put his things down on the little shelf again and hurried to yours and his shared bedroom. Opening the door, he got immediately greeted by a wide awake Narfi, who laid on his stomach, gurgling happily - even more, when he saw his dad.

"Little prince..." Loki said; putting his hands on his gym shorts clad hips. "Why are you suddenly awake now, huh? You should be sleeping. Didn't sleep very much last night..." Narfi just continued to gurgle and coo; kicking his small legs.

Loki sighed again and stepped over to the little crib; lifted the four-month-old up into his arms. "Did you sense that daddy wanted to leave, huh?" He asked; gently bouncing the little boy up and down and peppering his black fuzz covered head with tiny kisses. "What are we going to do now with you, young man?" Big, innocent ruby eyes looked up into his, causing Loki's heart to flutter. Oh how much he loved his babies.

Narfi clearly enjoyed to be held by his father. Loki could tell. His prince is the same like his princess was, back when she was a baby - and that gave him suddenly an idea.

"Ohhh, I know what we are going to do. Why didn't I think of this earlier?!" Loki smiled and laid Narfi back down in his bed - what he didn't like at all; a complaining whine leaving his small, now pouty lips. "Hang on for a minute, little prince. Daddy will be back within the blink of an eye, I promise!"

Loki quickly made his way to the little storeroom; searching in the depths of random stuff which found its place there over the years. "Where is it?" He asked himself; looking around. "I know I put it somewhere- Ahh! There you are!" With a bright smile, Loki reached for the object of his desire, adjusted it to his upper body and returned to his baby boy.

"Daddy just takes you with him. What do you say, little prince? Would you like that?" Narfi's eyes seemed to shine at his father's words; a heart melting squeal leaving his lips. Loki chuckled, lifting him once again out of the confines of the crib, "I take that as a yes." and strapped him to his chest with the help of the baby carrier he proudly possessed. It was the same baby carrier he used with Ella all those years ago. A smile stretched across the god's face at the memories.

"Do you like it?" Narfi flounced at first quite a bit; being not used to this, but when the baby felt how comfortable it was and how warm, he snuggled further against Loki's chest; enjoying his warmth and closeness. His tiny fingers dug in the fabric of the god's black compression t-shirt; holding on to his father. A big coo left the baby's lips. Loki chuckled; "Thought so." dipping his head to press a lingering kiss on Narfi's head; inhaling his scent. The soft fuzz on his head tickled Loki's chin. "Let's go. Perhaps you're going to get some more sleep, now that you're strapped to my chest. Isn't that a perfect deal, little prince? You get some sleep and almost skin-on-skin contact and I get to have you close and go to the gym. Definitely a win-win situation."

After grabbing a towel and a bottle of water, Loki made his way to the gym - which was luckily just a few floors away.

Said gym was very empty this evening. Nobody was there, except a few agents - and the youngest Avenger, Mr. Parker.

He was running on the treadmill, was highly concentrated - until he spotted Loki and the baby. His eyes stuck on the god; a smile spreading on the young man's face. "Ohh, hey Mr. Lo- woaaaah!" Losing his focus caused Peter to almost stumble and get thrown off the treadmill while waving theatrically, but he made it to catch himself in the last second. "Whoopsies, that was close," Peter whispered to himself, panting, before the smile returned to his face.

"Hey, Mr. Loki! And hello, cute little ice cube!" Loki raised an eyebrow in amusement and smiled. He didn't know why, but somehow he had developed a little soft spot for the Spider kid in the last few years. Peter was just so uncomplicated, funny, friendly and a little bit... clumsy and naive. Since he became a father, he understood the teenager way better than before.

"Hello, Peter." Loki greeted the young man, who was still running fast on the treadmill and stepped over to him. "What are you doing here, in the gym? I never saw you here before..." Peter blushed immediately; his cheeks tinting dark red. "Well, uh, I just thought I could try it; see if the gym is something for me. Mr. Stark said I have to stay fit as an Avenger."

Loki didn't believe a single word. The god chuckled and shook his head. "Peter, you are a very bad liar - and trust me, I'd know. You can't trick the Trickster. I thought you knew that." The teenager's eyes widened in shock and realisation - and this time he really lost all his focus and concentration; got thrown off the treadmill. "Woaaaah!" Almost. Loki's seidr caught the man before he could hit the hard gym ground and hurt himself.

Catching his breath and wiping the sweat from his forehead, he looked thankfully at the older man opposite him. "Oh man... Thanks, Mr. Loki, I lost control a bit..." Loki chuckled, "I saw that." and clapped Peter on the shoulder. "Why don't you go a bit slower first, huh? And tell me why are you truly here in this unknown territory."

The teenager nodded; blushing once more and got back on the treadmill; only jogging this time.

Loki placed his towel and bottle of water on the ground and looked expectantly at the young man. "So? I'm all ears," he assured; gently bouncing up and down, in order to calm the slightly fractious Narfi in his baby carrier. Loki knew that his son wanted more attention from him, so he wrapped an arm around the small boy and cupped his head with the other.

"Well, um, I... I just want to look a bit more after my body and, uh, yeah... Train my muscles..." Loki frowned; his brain trying to connect the dots - until it suddenly hit him. A mischievous smile spreading on his face.

"You are doing this to impress a girl, don't you, Mr. Parker?" Peter looked at the god like a deer caught in the headlights - and Loki knew he was right.

"Thought so," he said; smirking victoriously. "I-I, uh..." Peter stuttered; stumbling over his own words and was still redder than a tomato. "You don't have to be embarrassed, Peter. That is great. I remember, when I fell in love for the first time... It was... wonderful." Peter smiled sheepishly. "Yeah?" "Yes." "Do you remember falling in love with Agent Y/N?"

Loki chuckled; his heart beating faster at the mention of your name. "Oh, Peter... I'm still falling for her... Everyday a little more." Peter smiled. "That sounds beautiful, Mr. Loki..." The god nodded; still bouncing with Narfi softly up and down. "It is. Finding true love is special. Nothing compares to it. I mean, we had a bit of a bumpy start, but... We found each other in the end. And now look at us. Married, since a few months blessed with two children..." Loki looked down at the drowsy baby in his arms. The bouncing had clearly helped and had almost lulled the little Frost Giant to sleep by now.

"Do you intend to court the lady of your interests?" The teenager blinked; a gigantic question mark forming over his head. "Do you wish to take her out on a date?" "O-Oh, um, I don't know, I... I don't even know if she likes me or not, but her, uh, ex-boyfriend was a footballer, so-" "So you thought going to the gym, gaining muscles to look bulky like her ex makes her fall in love with you?" Peter chuckled nervously, "Perhaps?" causing Loki to shake his head immediately. "That is definitely not the right way to do this, young man. Appearance shouldn't be that important to you - or her. Sure, it's not unimportant either, but... Character traits are so much more relevant. If that girl truly likes you and cares about you, she won't care if you have a six-pack or not. Do not change your appearance just to be liked by other people - or girls." Peter sighed; and stopped the treadmill.

"You really think so, Mr. Loki?" "I know so, Peter."

The young Avenger smiled. "Thank you." "You're welcome. If you want more advice in wooing a lady, you can always ask." Loki patted Peter's shoulder. "Also, if you need help with the training, you are welcome to ask me, too. I think I'll be around for quite a while. Depends on how my little man here likes this." The god gestured around the big room. "You'd really help me?" "Sure." The teenager smiled once more. "Thank you, really - but I think, I, uh start slow and stay on the treadmill for now." Loki gave him a nod, "Like you wish." grabbed his things and went to the back of the gym, in order to warm-up a bit. He did a few different stretches - those which were possible with a baby strapped to his chest. Loki was careful the whole time, not to hurt little Narfi - who was dozing off more and more; luckily.

To finish his warm-up, he did a lunge. One knee placed firmly on the ground, the other leg angled in a perfect 90 degree angle. Loki checked on Narfi; looking out for his bent leg to not harm him. In order to prevent that, he made sure that the little boy was basically sitting on his leg. Then he stretched his arms up; stretching all the muscles in his upper body, too. He held that position for quite a few moments - until Narfi's small knee connected full force with his side; hitting him straight in the ribs.

"Ouch..."

Loki got on both knees; breaking the exercise. "What was that for, little prince?" He asked his son, who was looking innocently up at him; nibbling on his tiny fingers. "Was this specific warm-up excercise not to your liking, your majesty?" A heart melting coo left Narfi's opened mouth. "I take that as a yes. Well then..." The god stood up from the mat beneath him. "I think daddy's warmed up enough now anyway. Let us move on." Taking a sip of his water, he walked over to the leg press first. Loki mostly started his training with this gym machine.

He placed the towel on the backrest of the seat and sat down. "Alright..." He changed the weight, lifted up his legs and placed them on the board; again making sure to not squeeze or hurt the baby. "Are you ready, little prince?"

Then Loki started to push; making the muscles in his legs work.

While his dad worked hard, Narfi quite enjoyed the new position he was in. Sure, the baby carrier left not that much space to move (which Narfi didn't want anyway), but due to gravity, he was practically laying on his father's chest now. And that meant more body contact and warmth. Plus, it was a great position to sleep in - as Loki recognised after he was done with the reps.

Sweating and breathing deeply in and out, he looked down to find Narfi peacefully sleeping. The god smiled, "Finally..." and moved on to the next gym machine - the chest press.

Like before, he adjusted the weights, made sure his baby boy was comfortable and started to do his workout.

The chest press was a machine which was especially made to train his pectoral muscles, therefore he felt how hard they had to work, in order to stem the weight. Loki sincerely hoped that the twitch of his pecs didn't wake up Narfi again, since the infant had rested his head against them - or even worse... That he would wake up Narfi with the soft groans and grunts which left his lips. Luckily, though, Narfi kept on napping; curled up in the baby carrier and against his dad's upper body.

It turned out that Loki's plan of combining the gym and looking after his son was working quite well. So far, it had only benefits - and since Narfi was some extra weight he carried, the workout was even better. And so, Loki went from one gym machine to the next; deciding to make a long gym session today.

At some point, he was left alone in the big room. Even Peter bid his goodbye some time.

You tried to gently kick the main door shut with your foot; balancing the keys and the few groceries you got in your hands and arms. Somehow switching on the light and manoeuvring the key into the little bowl on the shelf beside the door, you slipped out of your shoes and made your way into the kitchen.

"Babe?" You whisper-yelled; not knowing if the newest addition to the family was asleep or not.

You received no answer.

"Babe?!"

And again; no response. Frowning you put the groceries down on the kitchen counter.

Just as you wanted to start searching for your husband and baby, you found the little note Loki had left you.

'Dear darling,

if you are looking for your men, you are going to find them in the gym. ;)'

You raised an eyebrow, "The gym?" but smiled. Of course, you decided to visit them, but first the groceries had to be taken care of. But after that was done, you made your way to the gym, which was just a few floors away - totally unprepared in what you walked into...

Barely after stepping through the doors, you could already hear your husband. Deep breaths and some grunts and groans were urging to your ears and sending a tingle down your spine. And as if the sounds weren't already sinful enough, no you also had to walk in on Loki doing sinful things - at least for your eyes...

He was at the pull-up bar, doing pull-ups. Nothing abnormal or unusual - but it was his look that almost brought you to your knees.

Loki was sweaty; telling you that he must've been here already quite a while - and him training was already hot itself. You could see the sweat glistening on his bare upper arms. A few droplets were running down the back of his neck, causing a few loose raven strands - which had escaped his manbun, to stick to the skin there.

The pull-ups he did made the strong muscles in his upper back and especially shoulder blades twitch and flex - and due to the fact that your god wore a sleeveless compression t-shirt, you saw everything. Every bulge, curve and dip.

That, combined with the unholy sounds he made and Narfi being strapped to his chest almost send you into the stratosphere. It was simply too hot too handle. Loki was too hot too handle. Your brain and the still slightly crazy hormones coursing through your system conjured a dangerous cocktail of emotions within your body. You wanted to scream and howl; right before jumping Loki like a feral woman. And on the other hand you felt your ovaries exploding with all the cuteness and love. Men and babies.

You were positively a mess.

Not being able to function properly, you just salivated and stared at your husband, without even recognising it.

Only a dark chuckle, followed by a smooth velvet voice was able to rip you out of your trance.

"You should take a picture, darling. I heard it lasts longer."

You blinked; tried to focus again, and noticed that Loki was standing now suddenly in front of you - a sight which wasn't any less sexy. "O-Oh, um, h-hi babe," you said happily; somehow trying to save the awkward situation.

Loki only chuckled further and placed a big, strong, veiny hand on Narfi's small back (almost swallowing it whole); caressing it gently to keep him asleep. That didn't help your situation at all. Especially since it was the hand on which ring finger his wedding band was, reminding you that Loki was your man. Surreal sometimes.

You swallowed hard; eyes fixated on his hand. Why was it so hot in here all of a sudden?

"Hello, my love," he said with a small chuckle. "Is everything alright? You look a bit flustered." Cheeky, little shit. He knew exactly what was going on. "S-Sure, it's just-" Loki shifted; adjusted the baby carrier and his gym shorts; letting the waistband snap deliciously against his sweaty skin. "Babe, would you please stop that!" You whisper-yelled out of sheer desperation. You couldn't take much more. You were sure of it.

Loki just smiled mischievously. "Stop what, my queen?"

Ugh... "You know exactly what I mean, Mister! Stop being so... so illegally hot and sexy! You can't just do pull-ups in front of me, being all sweaty and having our baby strapped to your chest!" Loki’s smile even widened, before he stepped dangerously slow closer to you - until he was able to place his free hand on your hip. The other hand has wandered up and was now supporting Narfi's small head. A mix of sweat and the remains of Loki's cologne hit your nostrils - and you had to fight hard to not shamelessly moan.

"And why is that?" He practically growled; giving you a smouldering look and softly squeezing your hip.

You whined. "Because I squeezed this-" You gestured at Narfi. "Huge tiny Frost Giant out of my body only a few months ago and therefore not should be thinking about sex yet!" It was frustrating.

The god's eyes widened softly at the sudden realisation and the meaning behind your words. It caused his demeanour to shift within milliseconds. The mischievous smile melted into a compassionate, almost sorrowful look and his hand slipped up from your hip to curl around your waist, his other hand following instantly; thumbs starting to caress your clothed skin softly. "Apologies, my love. I-I didn't think of that. I should've known and stop. I am so sorry." You shook your head; a loving smile spreading on your lips.

Isn't he just perfect?

"Don't be, baby. It's okay. My hormones are still a bit delulu, you know... It's not your fault that my body reacts like a horn dog." Loki nodded; "Yes, but I shouldn't have made it worse..." and leaned forward to press a lingering kiss against your forehead.

"Forgive me?"

You smiled; wrapping your arms around his neck.

"You're already forgiven."

Barely after those words had left your lips, you pulled your husband into one sweet, loving kiss after the next - until a small whine, coming unmistakably from the small boy between you and Loki interrupted the little make out session.

You pulled your lips from Loki's with a soft pop and took a step back; eyes immediately landing on your son. He was awake now; still a bit sleepy ruby eyes trying to look at you and tiny white romper clad legs kicking the air - and their daddy.

"Hiii, baby!" You cooed; leaning down to be on eye-level with Narfi, so that you could smooch the soft, chubby cerulean skin of his cheeks. It caused him to screech and squeal happily. "Did you have a great time with daddy at the gym? Yes? Were you a good little prince and slept for another while?"

Loki smiled, watching his wife and son. "Positive, love. I enjoyed today's gym session and the little man enjoyed being carried around the whole time. It was a win-win situation, honestly. And after a while, he slept in."

You looked up at the god; smiling. "A perfect solution then." Loki nodded; placing a kiss on the infant's fuzz covered head.

"He should be hungry soon, right? When did you lastly feed him a bottle?" You asked; tracing your thumb over the ridges and marks on your son's tiny hand. "About three hours ago, so... Yes." "Alright. Time to eat then, I'd say. Shall I take Narfi with me, so that you can spent some more time training?" Your husband shook his head, "No, my love, but thank you. I've trained enough for today. I'll join you." grabbed his towel and empty water bottle and reached for your hand; his fingers slipping through yours. "Let's go." You smiled at Loki; squeezing your intertwined hands. "Alright."

#the baby fever au #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki #loki x you #loki fanfiction #tom hiddleston x reader #loki fluff #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson x reader

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vibratingskull · 8 months

Note

Hello! 👋 I have a request if you don't mind. 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 Thrawn x f!reader reunion sex. F!reader was with Morgan, Bylan, Shin, and Sabine in finding Thrawn cause that's her man and she misses him and when they reunite, they have passionate alone time together 😏

Mmmmmmmmh 😋 smexy times with Thrawn, you have such good tastes anon. Plus Lars interpretation is DOING THINGS to me 😩🥵

Thrawnxf!reader

tag : reunion sex, cunnilingus, p in v sex, she/her reader and a bit of fluff

“What was first just a dream has become a frightening reality for those who may oppose us.” He casually says, closing the gap between him and the group with his signature smirk.

You straighten your back, gulping, your heart beating at 100 miles per hour.

Finally.

After ten years.

You can see him in all his glory.

Thrawn…

Your heart screams to throw yourself at him, everyone be damned, but it is a bad idea. None of them are aware of your relationship with Thrawn, you took great care in hiding that from them. This info is too sensitive to be known by anyone. Morgan would have tried to get rid of you if she knew, her thirst for power and glory pushing her to follow and obey Thrawn in all matters, but she’s not without deviances and you don’t trust her enough, Thrawn didn’t trust her enough either to reveal your relationship to her back in the Empire.

But you, you know her.

She always struck you as an odd choice for Thrawn to take as a protégé… She always lacked the genius he saw in Vanto and Faro, maybe it’s her undying loyalty that resembles obsession that pleased him? You doubt it. He surely only took her under his wings to know more about the Force and fight the jedis more efficiently.

“Great mothers, I salute you. Soon we should all escape this exile thanks to the help of Morgan Elsbeth.”

Oh that voice… so soft and melodic like in your memories. How much you yearned to hear it again. It makes you want to run into his arms and hug him tightly, to jump in his embrace and kiss him deeply.

But that would be stupidly dangerous. Elsbeth is too savage and you don’t feel those… Great Mothers. Something tells you they are the kind to exploit any weakness.

The discussion continues while your eyes remain on your man, your treasure, your cha’cah… He’s old. He seems tired and weary, his uniform is patched up. The weight of years really makes itself felt despite his haughty demeanor.

But to you he’s never been so handsome.

Nothing could compare to him and the moment of your reunion.

This instant is magic, timeless. A fairy tale. You feel light bubbles in your stomach. But you have one lingering fear…

“And you are?” he asks Baylan, clasping his hand behind his back as you remember him doing.

“Mercenaries” Morgan explains “Baylan Skoll, and his apprentice Shin Hati.” She presents them, they bow lightly to him, remaining humble. “And (Y/n)(F/n), but I think you already know her.”

You take a step forward and bow respectfully to him, a sour taste in your mouth. What if his sentiment faded during this ten years exile? What if he found comfort in the arms of one of his stormtroopers? What if you’re just too old for him now?

You look into his eyes as you raise back your head, he glares back at you with a light grin.

“I do remember. We used to work closely to defeat the enemy of the Empire together.”

“Indeed, Grand Admiral.” You nod humbly.

Oh to be close, you were close. As close as you can be. He takes his time to gauge you up and down with his little grin before turning back to Baylan.

“Then you must be General Baylan Skoll, of the Jedi order.”

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

You're fidgeting your fingers, laying on the bed.

You can’t sleep.

You’re well awake under the covers, eyes fixated on the stone ceiling of the cold room, mulling over your situation.

You find him! A hunt of ten years just ended, and you hoped for… more? Just after finishing the presentations Thrawn and Morgan locked themself in a room to strategize your next moves. Baylan, Shin and you were left arms dangling without anything to do. You tried to access the Chimaera to visit your old room but the captain, Enoch, stopped you and escorted you back to the stone citadel without a word.

You’re not welcome in the Chimaera anymore it seems.

Are your fears correct?

Did he find someone else?

You sigh deeply, turning in the cover again.You try not to think too much about it, you wished you could ask him for an explanation but each time you tried to enter the room a soldier stopped you. And you don’t think he would have appreciated to be disturbed in his brainstorming session for heart matters.

You bite your lips, feeling tears building behind your eyes. Even after ten years that still hurts like hell. You hoped for an explosive reunion, but you got a nod and a grin before getting ignored and relegated to a goon status. If only you could just cross path with him in the corridors, just one discussion to clear the air and know your situation for certain, if only-

You hear knocks at your door.

You raise your head. It’s almost 3am, who would come at this hour?

“Coming!” You shout, praying for it not to be Enoch with bad news.

You open your door to Thrawn, hands behind his back, and a serious gaze.

“Oh…” That’s all you can say, you thought he was already sleeping.

Apparently the session with Morgan only ended moments ago.

“May I enter?” he politely asks.

You step to the side, signaling him your permission. He enters slowly, like he’s discovering the room. You close the door and cross your arms, as much to protect you from the cold than to protect yourself from what he could throw at you.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, a little anxious.

He spins on himself, turning to you.

“Nothing is wrong, dear. Nothing has ever been this brighter in ten years.”

You smile a bit, nodding.

“Yeah, I guess finally seeing your rescue group must lift a heavy weight off your shoulders.”

“It is true. But I was not referring to that.” he counters. “Approach.”

You tilt your head, walking toward him. He extends his hand to you and you take it, wondering what he wants. He inspects your left hand and a smile graces his lips.

“You are still wearing your wedding ring.” you think you hear some relief in his tone but you can’t be sure.

“Yes. I kept it for all those years.” you admit.

“Does it still have value in your eyes?” he asks suddenly.

“What do you mean?” you frown.

“Your ring. Does it still hold any meaning to your heart?” he demands with gleaming eyes.

After a hesitation you nod.

“Yes. Yes it does.”

He looks into your eyes, as to see if you were lying and sighs of relief.

“You ease my heart.” he takes his left hand from behind his back into your hand, revealing his own ring “I kept mine too. It reminded me of you everyday.” He kisses your hand reverently.

You observe his ring on his finger, feeling your heart dilating with relief.

He didn’t forget you…

“Thank Maker.” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Cha’cah.” you reopen your eyes, feeling his warm palms on your cheek “I am blissful to see you. I missed you terribly.”

“I missed you too.” you throw yourself in his arms, circling him tightly.

He squeezes you against his heart, kissing the top of your head.

“I am here, cha’cah. And I am not going anywhere this time.”

You raise your gaze to meet his, full of hope.

“You promise?” you hear your voice crack “I already lost you once, I won’t survive losing you a second time.”

“I promise cha’cah. From now on we will remain together, fight together, rule together…” he tries to appease you.

“I don’t care about ruling anybody, it’s you that I want!” You bury yourself against him, digging your nails in the fabric of his white uniform like he would evaporate. You don’t care about any powers, all you came here for is to bring him home, you will think about power after.

“You are right as always. I am sorry. This is the most important.” He murmurs as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling your scent.

He looms over you with his height, shielding you with his large shoulders. You start hearing a faint purr as he breathes in your musk.

“You smell lovely.” he finally says after a minute of silence.

“Yeah right!” you giggle “I’m sweaty and there aren't any showers here.”

“Well it is lovely nonetheless.” He inhales again with a growl of satisfaction “It is doing things to me…” he sighs deeply satisfied.

He starts kissing your exposed neck as you chuckle.

“Doing things to you? What happened to my unshakable Grand Admiral?”

“Maybe the unshakable Grand Admiral would like to revel in your delights.” he says lowly, pushing you gently against a wall.

You’re pressed between the cold stone and the large wall that is his chest, he kisses your neck, your jaw, stops to devour you with his red gaze and finally kisses your lips. You close your eyes to savor it, opening your mouth to let him enter. His tongue passes past your lips to hug and dance with yours. You moan against his soft lips, indulging yourself in the languorous kiss. His purr grows louder, a hand in your hair to press your lips against his, his other hand snakes its way in your back to pull your body against his. You circle his shoulders with your arm, a hand passing in his hair, dishevelling him. The kiss became heavy and feverish, his hands sliding under your shirt, caressing your bare skin with his warm palm. You part with him to start unbuttoning his jacket with haste, barely containing your desire to simply tear it apart to gain access to his body. Thrawn chuckles darkly.

“I do not remember you so hasty.”

“We didn’t have 10 years to compensate.” you counter, you wince because a stupid button refuses to open.

He kisses your forehead tenderly and opens it for you, taking his sweet time deliberately.

“I don’t wanna play tonight.” you say between a plea and an order.

“You are right, this is cruel of me.”

He finishes to open his jacket at a more acceptable pace and take it off, leaving himself in his signature black tank top.

“Maker, your taste in fashion hasn't evolved in ten years.” you giggle.

He sighs and tackles your feet. You yelp in surprise, losing your balance but he catches you with expert hands and carries you bridal style to your basic bed. He lays you down, looming over you like a predator and kisses you again, pulling your shirt over your breast and sliding your bra under it to expose your sensitive tits. He lapps them avidly, licks across the mount and sucks them like he would gulp down a treat, groping them with his large warm hands. You whimper and arch your back under his ministrations, how right does it feel to feel him on you again…

He kisses your tit and passes to the other, giving it the same treatment while massaging the first one. Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you feel your pussy starting to leak with your slick and soaking your undergarment. You want his lips and hands everywhere on you at the same time, you want to feel the weight of his body on yours, pining you into place, you want him deep inside you.

“Hurry… Please hurry…” you whimper as his tongue works on your nipple.

“No.'' He berates you gently “I have been deprived of you for so long, let me enjoy it as I please.” He slowly trails his way down your stomach with his tongue, leaving a trail of fresh saliva from your breast to your tummy. He reaches the hem of your pants and takes a good lick at your venus mons with the flat of his tongue. He kisses it swiftly and opens your pants with deft hands.

“First, let me indulge myself in my favorite treat.” he says with a short breath, a rare visible sign of his excitement.

You try to raise your bust on your elbow to have a better view when he slides your panties to the side to gain access to your wet cunny. He blows on it lightly, letting the cold hair hit your sensitive bud. You whine, your pussy demanding attention urgently. He chuckles and kisses your pussy lips before taking a fat sloppy lick with the flat of his tongue. You throw your head backward with a moan as he licks and laps you thoroughly, he focuses on your clit, sucking it and flicking his tongue, giving it extra intention, eating you out as good as you remember him doing. Maker, in ten years he didn’t lose his touch, you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. He looks straight into your eyes as he does it, unashamed, growling like a carnivore feasting on its prey. You inadvertently squeeze his head in the spasm of your thighs, his large hands come part them wide open to give him better access. You flush deeply, taking shallow breath you feel yourself trembling terribly as pleasure waves spread through your veins. He continues to tease you like a hungry man, unbothered by your trembling limbs locking his head in its place. The waves grow furious and you come on his face. You let yourself fall on the mattress, tired and ashamed.

“I’m sorry…” you whine between two gasps.

“Never apologize for that. It is exactly what I wanted and you delivered splendidly.” he purrs, working his tongue on your fold. Drinking your slick, he parts your folds and enters you and tonguefuck you thoroughly, darting and caressing your gummy spot so deliciously.

You didn’t know any other man during those ten years, you stayed faithful to him and rarely took the matter in your own hands because you were so busy working to get him back. Those ten years of abstinence got you so sensitive that one orgasm already took a toll on your delicate pussy. You grip his hair and face, trying to pull him off you but he doesn’t budge, remaining firmly in place.

“Thrawn… please…” you try.

“That is it. Call my name cha’cah, do not hesitate to scream it as you cum.” he coos, his swollen lips working on yours all puffy and soft.

You try to wiggle out of his grip but he holds down your hips firmly with a growl of disapprobation, warning you to never deprive him of your cunny. He purposely makes the most obscenes sounds to get you hot and bothered, to let you know that it is because of you he behaves like a rabid animal in heat, that he tossed both of your dignities to indulge in the sinful pleasures of the flesh. You moan under his skillful tongue, you are hypersensitive and already sore, how could you take another orgasm without shattering in a million pieces? Your pussy clench painfully over his tongue, you feel your muscles gorging themself with hot blood and puffing up.

“I missed that pussy.” He groans “You have no idea how much. Ten years without it was torture.”

“It… It wasn’t funny without you either.” you breathe.

“We will make up for it tonight, cha’cah. Do not worry about that.”

Oh you don’t worry about that, you worry about your spasming cunt. You feel your heart beating at max speed, ready to spring out of your ribcage. You feel your own blood beat furiously down in your core.

You come again, a powerful orgasm that tenses up all your muscles. You squirt in his mouth as you land on the mattress with a “oof”.

“Prodigious, cha’cah! You have done it!” He praises you, you can hear the warmth and the satisfaction in his voice and deep purr as he licks his lips hungrily. Thrawn adorns a smug smirk of making you cum two times. He kisses your clit and looms over you again, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He places himself between your legs, raising up on his knees to take off his shirt and open his pants. You wearily push yourself in a sitting position to get rid of all your clothes sticky and full of sweat. You help him with his pants, seeing the bulge in the tight fabric. It must be painful for him, you think. He frees his erection and you take it in your hand, stroking it lazily and kissing its head. You lick his blue girth from the base to the tip, peppering kisses here and there. He inhales deeply, his head back, caressing your cheek. you take him in your mouth and circle his crown with your tongue. It is warm and heavy in your mouth, it makes you drool. You taste the saltiness of his pre-cum. You start bobbing your head when he gently pulls you off. You look at him without understanding, pouting like a child who just got denied a tasty candy.

“What you are doing with your mouth is delightful, cha’cah. But I want my cock inside your pussy as soon as possible.” He rasps.

You open your eyes wide.

In your pussy? No way.

You’re already so sore, he can’t be serious.

“Thrawn…” you whine “I can’t take another one…”

He gently pushes you back on the mattress, following you with a smirk.

“Of course you can, cha’cah. You are a big girl, you can take it and more. I trust you.” he licks and kisses your neck, weighing heavy on your more petite figure. You feel so safe under his warm, hot body.

He circles your waist with his arms and rolls on the side, pulling you on top of him.

“Ride me, my love. Take control.” He instructs.

You feel his dick poking at the plumpness of your ass, hard as a rock. You cry, your legs are already trembling, you don’t know if you can even ride him properly. You sigh and tiredly raise from your laying position to grasp him and align him with your sex. You ease yourself slowly on him, opening your mouth round at the full sensation.

Maker, he’s big! You forgot how much.

You’re stuffed to the brim, you can’t take more. His hands come caressing your waist to ease your muscles.

“You are doing great, cha’cah. Ride me as you please, what you want I will give.” He praises you.

You rise up and go down slowly, letting your slick act as a lubricant and it’s hardly a luxury given his girth. You breathe deeply through your nose and continue to ride him slowly, making circling motion with your hips. He can reach every spot with ease, you feel his tip brushing your cervix, deep inside you. You moan his name pathetically, your legs are barely working and you have difficulty raising your own weight on his shaft.

“Maker, were you always so tight?” he gasps with gleaming eyes.

You ride him sloppily as best you can, with Thrawn seizing your waist to help your motion, caressing you with his thumbs. He starts rutting into you delicately, but you can feel his eagerness bubbling under his skin. Despite that he respects the pace you choose.

When you reach the end of your rope you fall on him, gasping for air. He hugs you tight, kissing the top of your head while rutting deep inside you, one hand between your two bodies to caress your clit. You can’t move anymore, you really should work on your stamina, you think with a tired smile, letting him work. Your sore pussy is stretched to the max, your pussylips are all swollen and your abused clit is all puffy and nervous. You feel your inner muscle working to welcome his cock deep inside you, so much you feel waves in your stomach. His veiny shaft stretches you deliciously.

“Can I take the lead?” He softly asks.

You nod with a mumble, exhausted.

He makes you roll swiftly, getting on top of you again and installs a breakneck pace all of the sudden. He knocks the air out of your lungs, hitting your cervix with ease.

“Ha! Thrawn!” You manage to speak between two powerful thrusts.

“Hold on to me, cha’cah.” He indicates, panting, pressing himself against you and merely suffocating you.

Your head hits the headboard repeatedly, as you hold on to Thrawn for dear life. The scent of sex and his musk makes your head spin and the obscene noises of flesh hitting flesh resonate in the bedroom in an obsessing fashion. You gasp and mewls and whimper and sob, digging your nails in his large shoulders, his imposing figure shielding you completely. You let your gaze travel south and see how his cock disappears inside your body, a creamy O at the base of his shaft.

He rolls his hips like a jackhammer, pushing you into the mattress like it was nothing. You fear the bed will break, it’s clearly not made to bear such activities.

“It is so good, cha’cah. It is better than in my memories. Is it good for you too?” he asks, biting your lower lips.

“Yes, yes, yes…” you can only chant.

He plunges into you with force, at this point you’re more of a fleshlight he uses than an active participant. But you’re so exhausted, and the pleasure you feel is so great it stiffen your limbs, preventing you from moving. You feel your poor pussy getting abused, hit repeatedly by his mighty hips.

Despite his age, he really still got it.

It transports you back in time, with your younger self making love all night long, with him nuzzling against you, begging for another round while you just layed barely moving from exhaustion. In some way it is still the same, your older self just lasted less time.

You feel your pussy clenching on his cock again, and you just know you completely soaked up the sheets. You feel your slick and his pre-cum leaking of your cunny, running along your tight ass.

He holds your cheek tenderly and kisses you feverishly, muffling your mewls with his soft lips. His tongue comes to hug yours, languidly.

You cry his name as you cum again, seeing stars behind your closed eyes, tensing around his dick like it is trying to hold it deep inside, he kisses your cheek, purring loudly, clearly satisfied by his work.

His hips start jerking and moving erratically until he freezes, completely contracted, spurting long hot ribbons of seed in you. Your pussy milks him dry for all his worth.

He peppers your face with kisses, as you try to get back your breath.

“Can I remain inside? I want to enjoy you as long as I can.” he whispers in your ear.

You slowly nod, repressing a yawn.

He slides on the side, hugging you tight. You snuggle against him, your head against his beating heart.

“It was grandiose, was it not, cha’cah?” he kisses your forehead “I could go for another round if you wish?”

You hide your face in his chest with a pathetic whine.

“Alright.” He chuckles, “as you wish, my love."

You remain silent for long minutes, only listening to each other breathing. You draw circle on his wide chest with the tip of your finger before taking the floor.

"You're gonna find it stupid, but I was afraid you'd find someone else." You let out.

"Nobody could have taken your place, you are unique in my heart." Thrawn whispers back.

"Yet when Enoch refused me access to the Chimaera I thought our time was over." You turn your head to meet his gaze.

His hand comes grazing your cheek.

"I had to do… reforms to keep my troops alive. It was not against you. I will warn Enoch to give you free access to the ship first thing in the morning." He comforts you.

You pull the cover a bit over the both of you, thinking.

"I don't like Morgan." you let out "I don't trust her."

"Me neither. But she is a necessary evil to my plans."

"Necessary to the point of isolating yourself with her for hours?"

He gives you a sidelong glance with a smirk.

"Did you become jealous during those ten years?" he asks, amused.

"Yes, terribly. I want to know what you do with her." you demand.

"We simply planned our next campaign. I would like your opinion on some moves tomorrow, I trust your strategic abilities more than hers." He boops your nose and you wince exaggeratedly.

You remember the long hours you used to spend together, strategizing carefully each move, he asked your advices regularly, taking your opinions and suggestions very seriously despite his genius. You ended up sleeping at your desk several time but he would carry you to your shared bed and hug you tight... Those were simpler, nicer times.

You smile, looking in his magnificent red eyes.

"I love you, Thrawn." you murmur, eyes heavy with sleep.

"I love you, Ch'acah." He kisses your forehead "Sleep well."

@thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @bluechiss

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x you #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth’raw’nuruodo #fanfic #vibratingskull #thrawn smut

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riaarivic · 6 months

Text

HIS - KNJ x F!reader: 2 Clean

💗Pairings idol!NamjoonxReader

💗 Genres idol!AU, Smut, Angst, Romance, Enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers

💗 Rating 18+ minors DNI

💗 Summary Three years have passed since the last time you saw Kim Namjoon. But now he was right in front of you, with the same stupid warm smile that made your good judgment (and underwear) disappear without a trace. You haven't seen him for four years. But now here you were working for BTS again. Having to see his insufferably attractive face every day of your life again.

But there's something Namjoon doesn't know. The little girl with almond eyes and dimples in her smile clinging to his ex-girlfriend's hip, not only looked too much like him. But she was… His.

💗 Warnings for the chapter: reader has very conflictive emotions about the news of her pregnancy at the begining. This chapter will have some back and forth time skips, miscommunications, pinning, SO MUCH PINNING, Hurt/comfort.

💗 A/N: ⚠️ dialogue in BOLD is intended to be in English if not, they are speaking in Korean. ⚠️

Love, Ria

💗 Chapter wordcount 4,8k

💗 Series index: 1 2

“The drought was the very worst, ah-ah. When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst It was months and months of back and forth, ah-ah, ah-ah. You're still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore” -Taylor Swift

💗💗💗MARCH 2022💗💗💗

Your daughter, Hana.

Amid the rapid-fire questions echoing in Namjoon's head, his pulse raced as you introduced the unexpected star of the show—

Who had just barged into the already tense conference room.

Like a small– But charming tornado.

"Everyone, this is my daughter, Hana. Baby, say hi; they will work with mommy." You said sitting her on your lap.

"Hello, I’m Hana. I’m Three years old.” Hana greeted, her innocence oozing charm.

She spoke korean.

That made Namjoon smile.

Cute.

"Baby Hana, do you know who we are?" Jimin asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She nodded. Did she?

"You are Jimin, Jk, V, Jin, J-Hope, Suga, and… Rap Monster?” Hana’s innocent attempt earned laughter from everyone.

Everyone but Namjoon.

He halted what he was doing, a sudden realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.

She was three years old.

And she looked like him.

Too much like him.

“She’s so polite!” Jimin exclaimed.

“That’s so cute!” chimed in V.

“Are you an army, baby Hana?” Jin inquired, curious.

“No,” Hana replied. “I like Seventeen more.” Jin's shocked expression made everyone burst with laughter.

“Oh! But we’re cooler than them!” Jin tried to protest.

“I’m sorry; she has her interests, and right now, she’s obsessed with Wonwoo from Seventeen.” you tried to explain. But Seokjin was already about to get into a fight with a three year old to prove that, In fact, BTS were much cooler.

Not that Namjoon had a problem with Seventeen.

But he considered himself objectively cooler than them.

He stopped mid thought. Why the hell is he caring so much of what a toddler thought?

"Hana! Here you are!" A tall man with glasses emerged, breaking the charm of the moment. "We apologize for the interruption. Our Hana tends to run too fast. I am Eric Lee, Stardom’s chief financial operator and Y/N’s husband," he added, the unnecessary detail sending a ripple through the room.

The oblivious members resumed their excitement, but Namjoon felt like a computer crashing and about to explode. The mathematical calculations in his head were on the brink of causing a stroke.

If Namjoon's eyes could kill, Eric would be a bloody stain on the floor. Jealousy surged within him, a feeling he knew he didn't deserve.

But your daughter, she was three.

That meant you met this person around the same time you broke up.

You surely moved fast.

The Eric guy apologized again and took Hana from your arms to take her outside. She smiled at everyone and waved goodbye.

Her dimpled smile made Namjoon’s heart do a somersault.

The meeting continued as if background noise, but Namjoon's focus shifted to you, studying your face. That girl, she looked too much like him and nothing like this whoever-I-don’t-care guy.

It couldn't be possible.

He admitted he hurt you. But you would never do that to him.

Right?

If that girl was his.

You would have told him.

But he looked too much like him.

And he needed to talk to you.

💗💗💗FEBRUARY 2017💗💗💗

The conference room hummed with tension.

As the team gathered for a crucial meeting on the North American leg of their Wings Tour. Namjoon, the usually composed leader, wore a furrowed brow and an air of defiance. The discussion centered around their press schedules.

Namjoon's frustration boiled over as he voiced his stance, "I won't be a clown for them. We're artists. I won't subject the group to this circus. Where the only thing they ask us if we had ever eaten a hamburger"

You, seated across the table, shot him an incredulous look.

"Namjoon, we can't afford to cut the press schedules. If we want BTS to break into the mainstream music market, we need exposure. Press appearances are non-negotiable."

He scoffed, "Exposure won't matter if they don't take us seriously. I won't compromise our art for popularity."

The heated exchange drew the attention of the other members and the managers.

This was the third time this week.

And the main managers were starting to think if you were worht all this tenssion.

But you did get them an appearance on the three main late night shows in the US for their tour promotion.

So you two had to learn to get along.

The room crackled as you shot back, "This is not about compromising your art, Namjoon. It's about strategic promotion. We need the media to understand and appreciate you, all of you."

Namjoon's eyes flashed with anger, and just as the confrontation seemed to reach its peak, J-Hope intervened.

"I think it's enough. This is about the success of the group. We'll do what it takes to keep BTS in the public eye, and that includes press appearances."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the decision sinking in.

Yoongi, who had remained quiet, finally spoke up. "I get where Namjoon is coming from, but we have to adapt to the market. If this is what it takes, then we'll do it. And Namjoon, you have Y/N's support. She won't let us down."

You nodded, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. The resolution hung in the air as the team grudgingly agreed to move forward with the press schedules.

The future of BTS in the North American market now rests on the delicate balance between you and him.

And none of you would give the other the satisfaction of a win.

After the intense meeting, you needed a moment to decompress. So you headed to the lounge to join the stylist crew for lunch.

The atmosphere was more relaxed here, a welcome change from the tension in the conference room. The aroma of delicious foods filled the air as you settled at the table with your colleagues.

As you unwrapped your lunch, the stylist crew delved into a gossip session.

“Y/N-ssi, Do You know Ha-young? She’s from the makeup team” You nodded. “She just confessed to PD-nim that she caught one-sided feelings with one of the members” the younger stylist said leaning closer to you “Bad girl. She should have known better”

“My money is on Jimin” one of them said and the others giggled. You couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for the girl who had just lost her job.

Their director was unforgiving.

Just like they have told you on your first day here. Having any type of personal relationship with any of the members was the cardinal sin.

Poor Ha-young, was going to be blacklisted from the industry, a harsh punishment for what was deemed reckless and unprofessional behavior.

Listening to the gossip, you couldn't help but shake your head.

The idea of jeopardizing your career for a simple crush seemed both reckless and foolish.

As the chatter continued, you found yourself silently reaffirming your commitment to keeping personal and professional boundaries intact.

That will never be you.

💗💗💗NOVEMBER 2019💗💗💗

“I am really sorry, doll,”

Yoongi murmured, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

“I don’t understand anything that’s happening,” you admitted, the weight of the situation heavy on your shoulders. You patted Hana’s back as she slept peacefully unaware of the deep wound on her mother’s heart.

One that you would have to mend.

To have the strength to raise a child…

By yourself.

“You know it takes time for him to wrap his head around things. He’ll know better, give him time,” Yoongi offered, his voice reflecting a hint of confusion and frustration with Namjoon's actions.

“I wish I had that luxury, Yoongi. But she’s here. She’s alive, she needs things. I can’t just go and say that I need time. She needs a parent… Both of us.” Yoongi sighed, understanding the gravity of the situation.

“I considered it, you know? Not Having her” your heart sank confessing this for the first time outloud “But, I guess I was selfish, and I resent myself for it. The selfish side of me wanted to at least have this. But she’s so much more than just us. She’s so special.”

“I can see that,” he replied, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You hate babies, Min,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“This one’s alright. She’s a part of you too. And that makes her special.”

“I’m scared,” you confessed, vulnerability seeping into your words.

“I know, doll,” Yoongi reassured, his tone softening.

“I don’t know if I can be a good mom to her. I can’t do this alone.”

“First of all, you are not alone. Second of all, you are the most capable, hardworking, and kind person I’ve met. It’s going to be fucking hard? Yes, I’ll not sugarcoat it. But you got this.”

“I want to punch him in the face so much.” You felt the first tears start to fall from your eyes.

“I know, doll. Me too,” Yoongi admitted, the unspoken understanding between you two creating a bond of shared frustration and support.

Yoongi placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his gaze filled with both empathy and frustration. "Look, Y/N, I know Namjoon, and this is so unlike him. We've been through everything together for more than ten years, and he's not the type to turn away from responsibilities. There has to be something else going on."

Your eyes filled up with tears again, a mixture of sadness and anger. "I just don't understand why he sent his mother, with an envelope full of money instead of facing us himself. It feels like he's treating us like a burden."

Yoongi's expression hardened, a rare sight for someone known for his calm demeanor. "He messed up big time, and he needs to face the consequences. You and Hana deserve better."

"I thought he loved me. I thought we meant something to each other," you confessed, your voice cracking.

"He does, Y/N. I can't explain his actions, but I've never seen him act this way. Whatever it is, he needs to sort it out. Meanwhile, you focus on being the amazing mother I know you can be."

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and Yoongi pulled you into a tight embrace. "I'm here for you, Y/N. We all are. BTS isn't just about the stage; we're a family and both of you are a part of it. Families stick together, no matter what."

As you let out a shaky breath, a mixture of gratitude and sadness, you whispered, "Thank you, Yoongi."

"Anytime, doll. You’ve got this," he reassured, his words carrying a promise of solidarity and support. The hotel room, once filled with the weight of uncertainty, now held a glimmer of hope amid the storm of emotions.

You’ve got this.

You had to.

💗💗💗MARCH 2017💗💗💗

They just got nominated to an international award.

Everyone else was celebrating their milestone.

But Namjoon just couldn't enjoy it as much as he wanted to.

He was happy.

For the first time in his life he felt like they were finally receiving the praise they deserved for their art and their hard work.

But the weight of their public persona and the fine lines they could never cross as idols in Korea, was growing heavier by day. And the endless possibilities of major exposure scared the fuck out of him.

They were on their six date of the tour when he felt like he was going to die.

The air backstage in Newark was thick with the aftermath of Namjoon's exhaustion-fueled breakdown.

You found him leaning against a wall, a cigarette between his fingers. He couldn’t hide the trembling of his hands.

"That's an awful habit you have right there," you commented, eyeing the smoke.

"I can say the same to you," he retorted, nodding at the Coca-Cola can in your hand. "What can I say, everyone picks their own poison." you smiled at him honestly. For the first time.

Surprisingly, it led to the first civil conversation between you two.

You leaned against the wall beside him, sipping your cola, the fizz providing a rhythmic contrast to the quiet.

He broke the silence, "You know, sometimes I feel like I'm just a puppet, dancing to whatever tune the media plays."

"It’s okay to feel tired sometimes, you know?" you offered.

"I do, but being their leader and their spokesperson. I can’t afford to be nervous or too tired," Namjoon admitted. "I speak for myself in these interviews. It is a huge weight on my shoulders to speak for everyone. Sometimes they might not agree with what I’m saying."

"Yeah, I reckon Panda Express being your favorite restaurant in America is a pretty controversial opinion," you teased, earning a hearty laugh from him.

"Do you think they are going to ever take us seriously?" he asked with a laugh and a touch of desperation.

"They better do. You guys will own this industry one day."

He shot you a grateful smile, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed to ease.

"That is a pretty controversial opinion. I am a 'what’s your favorite American food' away from literally losing it," he confessed.

"You know," you began, changing the topic with a playful grin, "I think your controversial opinions are what make you more human to your fans. They love you for being real."

Namjoon chuckled, the tension dissipating. "Maybe I should start a blog—'Kim Namjoon's Unfiltered Thoughts.'"

"You might break the internet with that," you joked, enjoying the rare camaraderie.

As the conversation lightened, you both shared a laugh, finding solace in this unexpected connection. The backstage chaos seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of understanding.

"You'll do fine. You always do," you reassured him.

"Thank you."

As a friendly gesture, you pulled a small disinfectant from your pocket.

"Manager Sejin was looking for you; you better use this before he finds you. You don't want him scolding you for the smell." you said before turning away to head back inside.

Namjoon chuckled, taking the disinfectant. "Thanks, Y/N. For being here."

"Anytime, Joon," you replied, the use of the nickname a testament to the newfound camaraderie

He smiled, and the scent of the disinfectant mixed with your fragrance, like flowers in the air.

As Namjoon walked away, disappearing into the backstage hustle, he took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Y/N!" A familiar voice called out, it was Sejin, the ever-watchful manager, threading through the maze of crew members and equipment.

You approached him, noting the stern expression on his face. "Mr. Sejin, you were looking for Namjoon?"

He nodded, "Yes, he needs to wrap up the interviews and rest. The schedule is tight, and we can't afford any delays."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness toward Namjoon. "He's doing his best, Sejin. But he's human, not a machine."

Namjoon was about to walk to where you were but that coment made him freeze on his feet.

Sejin sighed, his stern expression softening. "I know, Y/N. I just worry about them all. The pressure is immense."

"It is, but moments like these," you gestured to the chaotic backstage, "it is good remind them that they're not alone."

He offered a small smile, appreciating the sentiment. "You're right. Well, let's make sure Namjoon gets some rest."

As you both navigated the backstage maze, you didn’t know he listened to the conversation. And he couldn't shake off the unexpected warmth that had emerged from the brief encounter with you.

The chaotic world of stardom was vast, but in that moment, a connection had formed—one that hinted at the resilience and humanity behind the larger-than-life personas.

Maybe you weren’t that bad.

💗💗💗AUGUST 2021💗💗💗

You had gone to a therapist when Hana was two.

The therapist's office had become a sanctuary for you, you needed guidance on the hard task of being a single mother to Hana.

She was going to ask the inevitable questions about her father one day. And you needed to know what to say. But no amount of therapy could have prepared yourself for this day.

Hana was smart, too smart for her age.

And when you came back from a playdate at her friends house.

She wanted answers to her questions.

"Why don't I have a daddy?"

You two were back in her room getting ready to sleep and you knew that question was coming.

You took a deep breath as you sat next to her, trying to find the right words. "All families are different, baby. Some have a mommy and a daddy. Some have two mommies or two daddies. Some, like ours, have a mommy and all your uncles and aunts. Isn't that fun?"

"It is fun," she replied, but the dissatisfaction lingered in her eyes. She had more questions, and you knew your initial answer wasn't enough.

And now she discovered kpop.

And she was obsessed with it.

You felt like throwing up everytime you saw him on your screen.

The bitter reminder that she deserved to know the truth. However, you weren't ready to shatter the illusion just yet. Telling anyone that her father was the leader of the biggest music group in history seemed unbelievable.

You knew how crazy you will sound.

Even your therapist had a hard time believing your story the first time you went to her.

But, your daughter was the living image of her father.

And you had shown her your old Big Hit contract for her to finally believe you.

"So I don’t have a dad?" Hana's expectant eyes pleaded for an honest answer.

"You do have one. He is living his dream, making millions of people happy," you stammered, your hands trembling as you combed her hair. Even though Hana was still a child, she sensed the discomfort and wisely chose not to press the topic any further—for today.

Later that night, as if the universe mocked you, he appeared on your TV screen. "I want to be a dad," he confessed to the interviewer, his smile was radiant as always. It felt like a punch to your stomach, the wine glass slipping from your hand and staining the new rug.

Fuck him.

He was a dad. He just chose not to be one.

The fandom even had the joke that he had a hidden wife and kids.

You entertained thoughts of shattering his public image, creating rumors that could strip away the disarming smile he flaunted. But the truth was, you could never inflict that pain on your daughter.

As the wine stain marred your rug, you vowed to shield Hana from the harsh realities as long as you could. But beneath your composed exterior, a storm of emotions raged.

Just for a little longer.

She will soon be old enough to understand.

But you didn't look forward breaking her heart with the news that her father didn't want her in his life.

💗💗💗FEBRUARY 2018💗💗💗

Everyone was tense.

The word disbandment floated heavily on the air.

After this morning’s team meeting things were pretty rough.

They were tired.

They felt like nothing was working in their favor.

Some of the members wanted a break.

Some of them wanted to keep going.

He had to remain unbiased.

You knew how unfair it was.

For him and for all of them.

Message from NJ: meet me upstairs. studio.

You knew what that meant.

He wanted to fuck the frustration away.

And you would be lying if you said you didn’t want to.

This was the riskiest thing you've ever done yet. You knew how dangerous it was for you especially. You were breaking your own rule and you were being careless.

You knew perfectly well what were the consecuences of what you were doing.

But you couldn’t get to care enough to stop you from hurriedly hitting the lock combination of his Studio.

His tired eyes greeted you. And a second later you were pinned to the wall behind you, hands everywhere and not enough at the same time.

And you wanted to ignore how much it hurt you that you were just this to him.

A relief.

“I missed this” he whispered against your lips. His tounge tasting your lower lips. Wanting to savour everything before devouring it all at once.

You missed it too.

But you were too stubborn to say it outloud.

And he was too, trying to pretend that he missed this whatever you had going on.

Instead of just you.

As always it started like a fight for dominance. His kisses carrying a hunger that transcended mere physical release. The urgency in his touch revealed a deeper need, one he was too stubborn to acknowledge.

Namjoon steps between your thighs and you can feel how much he needed this. His body is warm against yours as he lowers his lips to kiss down the column of your neck.

"You smell so good" you feel the soft breeze of his breath against your skin. And before you could reciprocate his words you felt the sharp pain of his teeth biting the same spot of your skin he just kissed a second ago.

"Namjoon-" a small whisper leaves your lips and a wave of conflicted feelings wash over his body.

He wanted to drown the world around you.

Where only the two of you existed.

And that scared him.

How much he really needed you.

He lifted you, his grip momentarily loosing his balance, and both of you erupted into laughter as you tumbled onto the sofa. "I'm so sorry," he said, his eyes holding a vulnerability that surpassed the laughter. "I'm just... I'm so tired."

His heart was breaking.

With a gentle smile, you cupped his cheek, your thumb wiping away his tears. "It’s okay, Joonie. Everything is going to be okay."

Your words rendered him defenseless. He was so tired of pretending he didn’t feel safe in your arms. He wrapped his arms around you and you could feel his body trembling with sobs.

He called you to fuck his frustration out of his system.

Just like you’ve been doing for a few months now.

But now on his studio floor he had a realization he wasn’t ready to confess just yet.

Everything else he had been saying to himself about you was a lie.

How he didn’t care; that you were just a passing crush. That he was too tired and too frustrated and that you both enjoyed each other’s company. That you were only good sex to him.

All of that was a lie.

As he kept crying and hugging you on his studio floor.

Both of you came to the same conclusion silently.

This wasn’t just sex; friends-with-benefits secret thing you had going on.

It was something much more complicated.

Something that could potentially destroy you.

The two of you stayed in silence on the floor, still wrapped on each other's arms.

That was the moment Namjoon realized.

He called you for sex.

But he just needed you.

💗💗💗MARCH 2022💗💗💗

A Battleground.

That's how the room felt like it had become a battleground of emotions, the air thick with tension as memories and unspoken words lingered between you and Namjoon.

He dragged you into a conference room. It had been a week since you had met again and they were preparing to go back to Korea.

There was silence.

The air froze between the two of you. Alone for the first time in three years, you imagined this moment so many times. You could almost play out how it was going to go.

Last time you were alone in a conference room he told you he loved you. Whispered like an oath against your lips.

Just like the one you were in.

Today he stared back at you, all his movements were calculated. As if he was making sure it was real. That the girl who was playing outside in your office was just a dream…

Or a joke.

It felt like a joke.

And you both were the punchline.

Namjoon's gaze intensified, the atmosphere heavy with unsaid words. Finally, the tension snapped as he demanded, "Is she... mine? That girl, is she my daughter?." His voice, sharp and accusing, cut through the room.

For a small heartbeat of time you considered lying.

But what was the point? He knew. He just chose to ignore it.

"Yes, Namjoon, she's your daughter," you replied, your voice strained, trying to keep a semblance of control. “Her name is Hana Lee.”

Two heartbeats passed before he spoke again. And you realized This was a Namjoon you did not know. The young man you once knew, was filled with raw emotions and always had something to say. Usually, he spoke way before he thought.

The man before you was a diplomat. You could see his mind working, calculating all the right words to say next.

He was deflecting, you knew what he was doing.

You trained him to do that.

He was controlling his real emotions and speaking like at a press conference.

“Lee?” His voice started to fill with an anger that seethed beneath the surface. Like molten lava fighting the cracks of a volcano to rise to the surface.

You were too civil, faking control and composure. And you both knew it was a matter of seconds before all hell broke loose.

"You gave another man's last name to my daughter" his eyes darkened in disbelief and you couldn't help but chuckle at his nonsense.

If he was going to be this cruel.

You could play the game just as well.

You both were used to tearing each other into pieces anyway.

"You weren't there to give her yours, so." your voice sounded even more cynical than you intended it to be “She has my husband’s last name.”

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

A sour chuckle escaped your lips “Did you expect a wedding invite?”.

He clenched his jaw furrowing his eyebrows. “I meant… the fact that I have a daughter.”

"I did," you shot back, frustration bubbling over. "Got on a plane for sixteen hours with a baby on my lap. But you didn't want to see me. You sent money and told me to stay away. What was I supposed to do?"

Namjoon's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't know what I’m talking about” You repeated, bitterness lacing your words. “Let me refresh your memory, shall we? Your mother and Sejin handed me an envelope full of money, told me to disappear." You were shouting now, you realized. You didn’t know when you started to shout.

All the things you have wanted to say for three years started to flow out of you like a dam that had just broken.

And the water would destroy everything on its way.

Starting with the both of you.

Namjoon's expression twisted in confusion. "I would never do that to you." his tone was accusatory now “I didn’t know. There has to be another reason.”

“And what other reason would I have to raise a child by myself? With no more than two suitcases and sleeping on Hyung-Joon’s couch for a year.” Anger surged within you. "Oh yeah. Because having an unplanned child out of wedlock would have 'destroyed you and Bangtan,' as your manager put it. Since you just didn't have enough balls to say it to my face."

Namjoon's features shifted from confusion to a hint of regret. "I... I didn't know. I would never have done that."

“I don’t understand what game you’re playing right now Kim Namjoon, but I’ll tell you something. It 's over. I will not let you make fun of us anymore” Your throat tightened and the tears started to itch your eyes. “You left me a letter, remember? and the text message after that. “I hope you understand”.” you said, mocking his voice.

He was about to speak but you didn't let him.

"They said you didn't want anything to do with us. And that if I ever came back, they would take Hana away from me. That I was just a minor mistake, an experience you just needed to have'' Tears were falling down your cheeks, you couldn’t pretend anymore. It hurt too much. "Riding the white horse isn't what you call it, right? And that my daughter was just the consequence of my own carelessness. That I should have known better."

“That didn’t… I didn’t”

“You didn't do what?” You turned your face to see the windows, unable to look at him anymore. "You can't just waltz in here and pretend like you didn’t know," you said, your voice cracking with rage. "You missed everything, Namjoon."

“Y/n” his voice was barely a whisper as you felt his finger touch your wrist. Electricity traveled through your whole body. “I was waiting for you, but you never came.”

“Bullshit”

“Why didn't you come back to me?" Namjoon's voice softened, regret coloring his words.

Your laughter was bitter, filled with the pain of betrayal. "You sent me away, Namjoon. I couldn't just come back after that."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I waited for you at the hotel. I called you so many times that day." he said, desperation lacing his voice. "I waited for hours and you never came. Do you really believe that I wouldn't have taken responsibility for my daughter? That I would send her away? Send you away?"

He was close, too close to you now.

You could bear his presence from a distance.

But not this close.

This close you couldn't pretend that your heart wasn't reaching out to him.

"I don't know, Namjoon. When you have a child, a life to protect. You would do anything to keep them safe. From anyone and everything. Not that you would know any of that" The words slipped from you before you realized how low of a blow was that. But you couldn't find yourself regretting it.

"Because we both know what you would choose if it came between the group or us." You stopped and smiled at him bitterly "And I understand, Namjoon. I truly do. You were finally living the dream you sacrificed everything for. I don't blame you anymore for it."

"I understand"

And you truly did.

You knew how much he sacrificed.

He fought for his success with teeth and nails.

They all did.

And you knew how unfair it would have been to ask for him to drop everything for you and your daughter.

You understood him.

And that was the worst of it.

"I could never do that to you. I love you, and I always have," he said, desperation lacing his voice.

There were those words again.

Whispered in the quiet peace of an empty conference room.

Last time they were the mischief of a shared secret.

Today they felt like a confession to a crime.

You were about to respond when you heard a small knock on the door. Your eyes never left Namjoon's, the intensity of the unspoken words lingering between you like a heavy fog.

Namjoon stepped back, breaking the physical connection between you. He cleared his throat, the diplomat persona returning, but the vulnerability in his eyes betrayed the turmoil within. "We're not done," he said, a mixture of command and plea in his voice.

As the door creaked open, your eyes darted to see a petite figure standing there, a shadow in the doorway. Hana's eyes mirrored yours, wide and uncertain as she looked between the two adults. The air thickened with tension, the past colliding with the present in a collision of conflicting emotions.

"Mommy, who is he?"

Hana's innocent voice cut through the charged atmosphere. Her gaze shifted from you to Namjoon, her curiosity evident. You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself.

Namjoon's eyes softened as he looked at Hana, and for a moment, the hardened exterior cracked. "I'm... a friend of your mommy's," he said, his words carefully chosen.

"A friend?" Hana repeated in Korean, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She might be young, but she wasn't oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.

She was smart. Even for her age, she was quick to understand the things that were in front of her.

Just like him.

You knelt down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Yes, sweetheart, just a friend," you assured her, shooting a pointed glance at Namjoon.

The distance between you felt like an unbridgeable abyss.

Namjoon, sensing the tension, attempted a reassuring smile, but it looked strained. "I heard you like drawing. Do you draw a lot?" he asked, trying to engage Hana in a conversation that felt more awkward than casual.

Hana nodded, her gaze never leaving Namjoon. "I like drawing flowers," she replied, the tension in the room momentarily diffusing as she shared a piece of her world.

Namjoon crouched down to her eye level, a genuine smile softening his features.

"Flowers are beautiful. Maybe you can show me your drawings sometime?" he suggested.

Hana's eyes flickered between you and Namjoon, processing the complex dynamics in the room. "Okay, but only if Mommy says it's okay," she declared, a hint of protectiveness in her voice.

Namjoon glanced at you, seeking approval. You nodded slightly, acknowledging the silent agreement. Hana's presence had inadvertently shifted the focus, giving you a momentary reprieve from the emotional confrontation.

As Namjoon and Hana engaged in a tentative conversation about art and colors, you retreated to the periphery, watching the scene unfold.

The wounds of the past were still raw, the emotions tangled, but for Hana's sake, you found a fragile truce with the man who once held your heart.

The journey from enemies to reluctant allies had just begun, and the path ahead was uncertain, shrouded in the complexities of a shared history that demanded resolution.

"Y/N, we need to talk" Hyung-Joon reappeared at the door, his voice filled with urgency and you nodded.

You knew this shouting match with Namjoon would bring consequences.

And you felt for a second that you just stepped into the past.

💗💗💗💗💗💗

Well hello!

First of all, THANK YOU. I am so happy to see all the love this story is getting and it means the world to me. Every comment, like and repost I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.

And now, some notes for context:

This story is inspired on real events and people. But it is not a real representation or is trying to say that any of this happened IRL. With that beign said I'll take some creative licenses and adapt things that happened to the plot of the story.

2. I fucked up.... math is not my thing guys. Hana is three years old not four. Im sorry.

3. We all want a supportive friend like Yoongi in our lives.

4. The story is written in time skips, but the main storyline is March 2022 'The present' And some dates WILL be changed for the story to make sense.

I'm really exited for you guys to see what's next!!

Love,

Ria. 💗💗💗💗💗💗 TAG LIST: @felicityroth @cuteipat @jjinjo @mochimommy2002 @amarawayne @canarystwin Ps. If you want to be on the tag list drop a comment below!! 👩🏼‍💻✨

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts imagines #bts #bts au #bts namjoon #bts fic #namjoon smut #namjoon #rm #bts rm

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