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wlntrsldler · 2 months

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shades of cool | luke castellan

part two to how to disappear

a/n: happy endings don't exist on this page.

i. and when he calls, he calls for me and not for you; he lives for love, he loves his drugs, he loves his baby too.

“hermes is angry.”

you knew it was your mother before you even saw her. the two, white doves cooing in the middle of downtown berkeley gave her away. although you hadn’t spoken to her in months, too afraid and too upset to put your faith in the hands of the gods since the night at the pier, your mother tried to get your attention every day. the flowers bloomed like clockwork. on your way to class, red and orange bunches sprouted from the corner of your eye. the once welcome reminder of luke turned bitter and painful. it was as if your mother was mocking you for losing him, for losing love. you felt as if you disappointed her, the daughter of the goddess of love, unable to experience it for herself. it was pathetic, really.

you tucked your hair behind your ears, suddenly feeling self-conscious with aphrodite’s eyes on you. she was your mother, sure, and she’d been a better parent to you than most, but she was still a goddess– the goddess of beauty at that. your arms were crossed over your chest, eyebrows furrowed, “why?”

she didn’t answer your question just yet, but she studied your face, eyes scrutinizing the marks of imperfections. she reached over to run her thumb across the bags under your eyes. “you’ve aged, my child.”

you fought the urge to roll your eyes. this was normal with your mother. she made these snide comments about your appearance, but her comments to you were not nearly as bad as what she said to your siblings, and especially not as bad as what other godly parents put their kids through. you could handle a few jabs here and there. you shrugged, “not all of us have the power of eternal youth.”

she nodded, pulling her thumb away, “we have not talked in a while.”

“been busy,” you lied, chewing on your bottom lip. you tugged on the scarf around your neck, wanting to keep your hand occupied as you avoided her gaze. you wondered if your mother missed you, if she actually cared about you. in the weird way that gods do, you suppose that she did care, but you wondered if she cared about you the way a mother would; worry about your safety when you went out at night, worry if you were wearing enough layers in the winter, mundane things like that. “college and stuff, you know.”

“hmm,” she hummed, unconvinced. she motioned for the two doves perched on the tree branch to fly away. they obeyed her, circling around each other in a dance, before flying away in separate directions, away from the both of you. “how many more years do you have left?”

“another two after this and then i’m done.” it was odd talking to her like this, in her human form, like she was a normal mother who was just curious about college and her daughter’s future. maybe she even sounded a little bit proud of you; a child of aphrodite, making a name for herself outside of the life she was dealt. “hopefully, i’ll make it to graduate school.”

a heavy tension hung in the air as your words echoed. aphrodite’s eyes narrowed, thinking. she looked up at the sky, before repeating herself. “hermes is angry.”

you stared at her, waiting for her to continue. there was an unreadable expression on her face, somewhere between anger, pain, and desperation, but it wasn’t her own emotions that she carried. she was mirroring someone, as if their pain was so unbearable, aphrodite herself had to shoulder some of it to save them. the gods were selfish. most of the time, they thought of nobody but themselves, but there were some moments when they showed compassion, when they showed mercy to mortals and demigods alike.

“his son resents him,” she continued, eyes closing like she was picturing it in her mind. “he is angry at me because his son prays to me instead of him.”

“mom, i don’t want to hear this,” you sighed, anger rising in your system. you knew she knew how you felt about the situation. you’d ignored her attempts to talk frequently. “he made his decision. he’s betrayed us all.”

“i cannot ignore him, don’t you understand?” she looked at you, eyes glossed over in a pleading manner. she looked too human. it was unsettling. “his love is loud. he is desperate. i am the goddess of love and i cannot ignore him while he suffers, even if he makes me his enemy.”

“the other gods listen to his prayers to me because i can no longer carry the burden on my own. it is too much, my child,” she shuddered, “all he talks of is you.”

you stared at her, internalizing her words. a shiver went down your spine as you looked at her, “i don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

“i have tried to tell you, but you’ve been stubborn,” aphrodite frowned, “you do not pray, you do not make your offerings. you have not spoken to your siblings since that night. you have disappeared from this life as if you were not part of it at all.”

“because i didn’t ask for this!” you screamed. “i don’t want anything to do with this, mom. losing luke… it killed me. you know this. i can’t go back there and i can’t make offerings to you or the gods when you all are the reason why he did what he did!”

since that night, you began to question your blind faith in the gods. you’d been taught to worship them and you did because you had to. you were luckier than most, being the favorite of your mother, so you never went against the gods. you thought you had no reason to, until luke began talking to you. he planted seeds of distrust for the gods in you, learning about thalia, meeting annabeth and learning her story from luke, what luke had to go through during his quest. how did the gods sit back and leave their children for dead? but you always believed there was a purpose for all of this, and it provided you with some misguided comfort. then, luke left everyone who’d ever loved him because the anger in his soul won against all odds, and you knew there was no reason to trust them anymore.

if the gods were all-mighty and all-powerful, how could they let him grow so angry and accept this fate? how dare they ignore him and ruin him? he was kind. he was patient. he was luke. he deserved more than what they gave him. all of you do. aphrodite blinked, trying to understand you. a look of panic flashed across her features, her human form slowly peeling away, but you could see her pulling back.

“i’m not saying i’m joining him,” you sighed, rubbing your face with your hands, “i’m just saying what he said to percy made sense. luke had a point. the gods were horrible to him and to all demigods. hermes has no right to be angry with you, or with luke. he should be angry at himself. all of you should be.”

“i can’t forgive luke for what he did,” you whispered, voice calming after a rumble of thunder shook the ground. the gods were listening. “beth still wakes up screaming in the middle of the night. she writes to me every month. i haven’t written back because it hurts, mom. i keep thinking of luke. she reminds me so much of him and it kills me that i can’t do anything to help her. where do i even start? i can’t fulfill the hole he left in her life. nobody can.”

your mother nodded, clearing her throat. “do consider returning to camp this summer. your siblings miss you and your sister is not doing well.”

“piper?”

“silena,” she replied. the doves returned to her. “it was lovely to see you, my child.”

in a blink, she was gone. you wondered if she’d show her face again, but the rain fell from the sky soon after she left, and you realized you probably wouldn’t.

ii. but you are unfixable, i can't break through your world.

“i’ll catch up with you guys in a second,” you motioned for your roommates to keep walking home without you. the two girls nodded, sending you a small wave of goodbye, before they turned the street corner. you began walking towards the entrance of the science building, towards the silhouette of a boy you could recognize in every life.

luke’s jaw was clenched as you approached him. he was caught. luke knew that he shouldn't be here. he knew it was too dangerous, but he couldn't help himself; he had to see you.

berkeley suited you. in college, you were a normal girl, stressed about finals and getting a summer internship. though luke had never seen you outside of camp before, he always imagined that you’d look even more beautiful when you didn’t have the stress of this life on your shoulders. it was weird seeing you out in the world like this. if he hadn’t known you, if he wasn’t already under your spell, he would undoubtedly fall to worship aphrodite’s favorite daughter.

your friends didn’t know who your mother was, but if they saw through the mist, if they knew the truth, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to them. you had an aura about you that was undeniable and for a minute, luke was jealous that these people around you could freely succumb to your pull, to allow themselves into your orbit, while all he could do was watch from afar. they didn’t realize how lucky they were to be around you, they would never fully understand.

you looked happy in the bay area, free, like you weren’t a demigod, like you weren’t preparing for a war. a war that he knew he caused.

he looked down at his feet before rising from the steps. he hadn't planned to speak to you. he’d been following you for weeks, from a distance, of course, he wasn’t going to test his luck any more than he already was, but then you approached him and luke knew there was no hiding anymore.

truth be told, there was never any hiding from you in the first place. you knew him better than he knew himself. sometimes, it scared him, just how vulnerable he was with you. when he first realized how he felt about you, he wanted to squash the feeling between his fingers and make it disappear into thin air. he knew there was nothing good that could come out of it, but he couldn't help but hope.

how could he not? how could he not hope that maybe, in some twisted way, he would be able to be with you? that one day, he could stop running, stop fighting, and just love you the way he wanted to. hope was a cruel thing, luke realized after the night on the pier. it makes him believe that there is good out there, somewhere in the future, daring him to hold on just a bit longer, only to leave him high and dry, an empty shell of who he once was.

“what are you doing here?”

luke let the question linger between the both of you for a second. partly because he didn't know what he was doing here. i needed to see you didn't feel like enough. it barely scratched the surface of what he was feeling. luke was never a wizard with words, but he used to be able to at least say something. now, though, as you stood in front of him, his mind went blank.

“what are you doing here?” you repeated. you had your arms wrapped around yourself to soothe your skin from the wind chills. luke didn't know it got this cold in california. “i’ve seen you a few times, and i thought you’d give it up, but it’s been weeks, luke. so tell me, what are you doing here?”

luke’s mouth was dry. he thought he was being careful, but he should’ve known better. you could always sense when he was around, just like how he knew whenever you were around. there’s something that shifts in the air, as if it gets lighter and it’s easier to breathe. luke wondered if it was still the same for you.

“he's using me,” luke whispered, “like a stepping stone to gain power.”

for a second, your face softened into a look that he knew too well. it was the same way you used to look at him when he talked about his nightmares or when he talked about his mom. a flicker of hope passed through luke’s mind, but he knew better now. he extinguished it before it got too comfortable.

there was a hint of disbelief in your voice when you spoke again, “what did you think was going to happen?”

“i thought i was doing the right thing,” he felt small. “i thought he wanted to make things better for us. the gods, they’re terrible parents. you know this. what they did to thalia, to all of us, i-i just thought that he would make things better.”

you shook your head, “luke, you betrayed all of us. percy, annabeth– did you know that she cries at night over losing you? over losing her brother? she’s lost everyone luke! and you were supposed to stay. you were supposed to be there for her! i saw her last summer when i came back to camp. beth is so much like you.”

“i know,” luke was crying. he was exhausted, both physically and mentally. kronos was taking over every part of him. he was there in every crevice of him, just waiting for the moment to drain him of everything he used to be. “gods, i know, angel. i just thought i was doing the right thing.”

“and me luke,” you rubbed your temples with the pads of your fingers. you hadn’t told anyone this before. you were too busy trying to make sure that everyone else around you was okay. as the oldest one now that luke was gone, you had to step up. your mother was right. your siblings were not doing well, nobody in the camp was. “i feel so stupid for ever trusting you. i keep thinking of every small interaction, every word you said, and i just keep wondering if any of it was real.”

“you don’t mean that,” he shook his head, stepping down to get closer to you. under the light of the streetlamp, you saw him better. if you didn’t know him as well as you did, you probably wouldn’t have recognized him. “everything, all of it, i meant it. you know that right?”

his eyes were sunken in, dark bags outshining the once vibrant sparkle of his eyes. now, the rims of his eyes were red. his hair was matted against his scalp like he let his curls tangle into knots and didn’t bother to fix them. there were newer, smaller cuts that joined the scar on his face. they weren’t as deep, but they were fresh, a sign that whatever he faced was recent.

“i love you, please tell me you at least believe that,” luke rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palm, “your mom doesn’t answer me anymore. i don’t know what else to do.”

when you didn’t say anything, luke felt the ground crumbling from under him. luke could live with a lot of things; being a failure in the eyes of his father, being a traitor, but you thinking that he didn’t love you was something he didn’t think he could live with. it was real to him, all of it. he didn’t know if this was the right time to tell you that those moments with you were the only things keeping him grounded.

the image of you throwing your head back in laughter as he tickled your sides, the freckles on your cheeks that showed up during the summer that he would spend hours counting while you slept on his chest, the sound of your voice, talking in hushed whispers, in the dark of the hermes cabin; it was you who he held onto as he fell deeper and deeper under kronos’ control.

luke walked closer to you, holding out a hand to touch you, when you flinched and backed away from him. your fingers unconsciously reached for the dagger you had on your belt loop. he shuddered, taking in a breath. he looked down at his hands, lips trembling as he wiped them on the fabric of his jeans. there was nothing on them, but he wanted to scrub them clean because it felt as if all the blood he spilled was stuck under his flesh, staining them red.

you thought he would hurt you.

“i…” luke trailed off, stuffing his hands in his pockets. he cleared his throat, “i didn’t come here to fight. i could never hurt you.”

“i don’t know anymore, luke,” you bit your lip, heart breaking as you spoke to him. “i never thought that we’d end up like this.”

“come with me,” he begged. “run away with me.”

“is this what you came here for?” you asked, “to try to recruit me like you did with percy?”

“no,” he shook his head vigorously. he was on the verge of getting on his knees to beg you to believe him. “i want out. i messed up, angel.”

“you did,” you whispered. he looked genuine like he meant it, like he did want to run away from it. a piece of you wanted to say yes, yes, i’ll run away with you. tell me where to go and i’ll follow you, but it was the part of you that still clung to him. the foolish part of you who still wanted to believe that the boy you met when you were younger, stubborn, selfless, sweet, luke castellan was still there.

you listened to that part of you on the final night in the hermes cabin, when you told him you loved him and he said nothing back. you tried so hard to lock that part of you away since that night, but it was hard to deny it when he was there in front of you.

“tell me what i can do to fix it,” luke felt like he was going crazy. “anything, angel. i’ll do it. just say the word.”

you closed your eyes, “there’s nothing you can do anymore, luke.”

“that can’t be true,” he hiccuped.

“you need to go.”

over the last few years, luke experienced brutal types of torture. he often spent days without sleeping, too afraid that kronos would visit him while he dreamt. he fought monsters he didn’t realize existed. he walked away from fights barely hanging onto a thread of life, but this– you telling him that there was nothing else left for him, like he no longer had a place in your life, this was a different type of torture that might just send him plummeting to his end.

“please don’t come back here,” you added, motioning to the buildings behind you. “this was the one place in my life you haven’t tainted.”

his apology was left stuck in his throat as you walked away, not once looking back at him.

iii. but i can't help him, can't make him better and i can't do nothing about his strange weather.

“y/n,” percy said, approaching you from behind.

it was the summer. you were sitting on the pier, a joint loosely hanging off your lips. you put out the lit end on the wooden pier, stuffing the joint in your pocket. you knew percy knew you smoked, but you still tried to hide it from him as much as possible. he was too young.

“hey, perce,” you smiled, kindly, scooting over to give him space to sit next to you. “sorry. you caught me. i’m not really being a good role model right now.”

“it’s okay,” he assured you, sitting beside you. he looked out into the lake, extending his fingers to cause a ripple effect in the water. “i don’t judge.”

you nudged his shoulder. percy looked his age in the light of the sunset. you wondered if you ever looked that young. “don’t tell mr. d.”

“he has plenty of other things to worry about,” percy scoffed, “how are you?”

you knew why he was asking. beth had told you today that they saw luke in the labyrinth. he was now kronos’ host. when she first told you, you were stone cold, no emotion on your face. you knew something like this was possible. it was only a matter of time until you lost luke all over again, completely this time, but it still hurt even though you knew it was coming. you simply nodded and walked off, finding solace at the pier as you always did.

“i’m okay,” you replied, though your voice said differently. you played with the sleeves of your sweater, luke’s sweater actually. he left it in the hermes cabin along with the rest of his things. nobody dared to touch it so his bed remained the same as it was years ago, collecting dust. “he came to see me in berkeley… before, y’know.”

“did he?”

“yeah,” you sighed, leaning back on your elbows. “he said he wanted out. asked me to run away with him.”

percy looked at you, “what did you say?”

“i told him it was too late,” you met his gaze. “i don’t know if it actually was.”

he didn’t know what to say to that. he’d only witnessed your relationship with luke for a few hours when he returned to camp for the first time. it was only a few years ago, but percy felt like it had been lifetimes. he’d heard about you and luke from annabeth and grover. when there were lulls in their conversations, one of them would bring you up and joke about how you and luke should just confess your feelings for one another. percy didn’t understand it until he saw the way luke was with you.

luke, who’d taken him under his wing, was love struck. percy didn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, but there were traces of you weaved into luke’s life. a picture of the two of you in his wallet, a small cal berkeley flag taped messily on his wall, a box of his things under his bed that were reserved for you, doodles of hearts in black and pink ink on luke’s counselor clipboard when he did cabin checks, you were in every piece of him.

luke was glued to your side the entire time you were there and nobody batted an eye. it was normal. luke and y/n, two names that seemed to go together, like they were meant to be uttered right after each other. it felt right.

“i met your mom,” he said, “she was weird.”

“sorry,” you couldn’t help but chuckle. “what did she say?”

“she was obsessed with me and annabeth,” there was a blush creeping up on percy’s cheeks. he looked down at his lap to shy away, but you caught it. it was such a teenage boy response of percy to call your mom, the goddess of love, weird because she caught onto the two kids’ feelings for each other.

“yeah, she does that,” you decided to spare him the details of why. you were sure the boy would explode in embarrassment if you told him that you also knew about his feelings for beth. you sensed it when you returned to camp last summer. there were inklings of it when you first met them, but now their bond was stronger and it was harder to ignore. “she used to obsess over me and luke.”

percy blinked, “she said your love was her favorite to watch.”

now it was your turn to go red, “did she?”

“yeah,” he nodded, “annabeth thinks that you’re aphrodite’s favorite because you and luke had a great love and she was drawn to it, which is a little mean if you ask me.”

“agreed,” you replied, “i… i miss him, percy.”

“i know.”

“i love him,” you cried, smudging the mascara on your eyes.

“i know.”

“he wasn’t always like this,” percy watched your eyes unfocus, like you were playing back the memories you had with luke in your head. “when we were younger, before luke was the golden boy, he used to help me sneak out of camp when i’d get home sick. he’d take me to this abandoned cabin a few miles away. an old couple used to live there and they set up a little free library. luke knew i loved to read so he would take me there so i could pick out new books for the summer.”

“i didn’t know it then, but before i got to camp, he would steal books from stores during trips into the city and put them in there so i would have new selections to choose from when i got back,” you had a fond smile on your face as you continued, “the cabin was sold to new owners and they took the library down a while back. i think they thought nobody really used it anymore.”

“he was always good at sneaking around,” you hummed, “he’d walk out of a place with something that wasn’t his inside his pocket; a lollipop for a new camper who was missing home a little extra one summer, a can of soda for beth from mr. d’s stash when it got too hot under the sun, a flower from the demeter kids’ secret garden for me. he never got caught, but everyone knew it was him. i don’t think anyone cared, though, because it was luke. he always had good intentions at the end of the day.”

“do you think he’s still there?” percy asked, voice hushed into a whisper. “do you think he could ever come back to being that way?”

“probably not,” you turned to face him. you were mourning him, percy realized then. luke wasn’t dead, not physically anyway, but the way you spoke about him felt like he was already gone. “luke, he internalizes everything he does. he beats himself up over the things he does wrong. if he were to survive this, i don’t think he’d ever forgive himself for it.”

“this life, this prophecy, it feels like too much sometimes,” he mumbled. the sun was gone now, the two of you sat in the dark, listening to the calm sounds of the water. “i still feel like i don’t know what i’m doing most days.”

“yeah,” you played with the pink lighter in your hand. the heart you drew on the plastic was long gone and there was no more fluid in it, but you kept it anyway. “my prophecy said that i would lose a love to worse than death and i ignored then because it didn’t make any sense to me, but now it does.”

“i’m sorry.” percy didn’t know if it was the right thing to say.

you smiled at him differently, like you were tired, a look of resignation across your face. you stood up, motioning for him to follow you back to camp to join the others. as you walked together in silence, you noticed a single dove fly across the horizon.

iv. high, neglectful lover. you’re crumbling, sadly. you’re sadly, crumbling.

you’d fought through your wounds, even as your bones ached and your blood stained the clothes over your body. luke appeared then. you didn’t know if the gods took on mercy on you at that moment, or if was the lack of energy to distinguish real life from your dreams, or a mist that covered the truth from you then, but the world seemed to stop and everyone seemed to fade away.

all you saw was luke, in his camp half-blood shirt, five beads around his neck, the same boyish smile on his face. his eyes were sparkling as he approached you. his lips felt soft to the touch and his voice was kind.

“my angel,” he said, wrapping his arms around you the same way he always did when you returned to him each summer.

if you were to choose the way death came for you, you would choose it just like this, you decided– in the arms of the one love you’d ever known.

#frances writes #frances song fics #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfic #pjo fanfic #pjo series

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rose-tea-and-strawberries · 5 months

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duos silices ad ignem

Just a Rollo fic I wrote based off of this post

I write Reader/Yuu as female

Also my writing may be a bit biased but I refuse to write Deuce as nothing but a sweetheart even in an angst fic

“You’re ‘used to it’?” Rollo repeats incredulously, looking at you as though you’ve gone barmy, “Oh you poor thing. I can’t blame you for becoming numb to the absurdity after spending every day swimming in it.”

You open your mouth, ready to dismiss his words and defend yourself, but you find the words clogging up at your throat, refusing to leave. The stoic Student Council President continued to look at you, concern overcasting his features, so you swallow thickly as you feel your heartbeat in your ears and mutter that you think you hear Professor Trein calling you before making a much too hasty exit.

You’ll admit that initially, yes, the concept of magic terrified you. Why wouldn’t it? After spending a lifetime without it and then being thrown into the both metaphorical and literal lions’ den with no support whatsoever was the stuff of nightmares. Especially when you consider your first overblot, where everyday was the physical representation of out of the frying pan and into the fire.

But you learned to see the beauty of magic, learned to see how it can help and heal, how it can mend broken bones in seconds instead of months, how it can protect you and make you soar.

Though why do you feel resentful? Why do you feel that tang of bitterness when you’d see someone wave their pens and have an entire room spotless in a blink of an eye? Why does it cause such discomfort to witness a meal magically prepped to perfection? Why does watching your classmates using spells to play around in class and make their life easier fill you up with so much dread?

You love magic so why do you still flinch?

‘Maybe,” your mind supplies, “it’s because they’re so used to it. They’re so lackadaisical about throwing around spells because it comes to them without a thought. To them it’s mundane. To you - well, it’s proof that you don’t belong here, that you’re not yet home.”

Later on you find yourself sitting in isolation on a bench, far removed from the festivities of your peers, as you watch them produce fireworks with seamless flicks of their wrists, laughing gaily with every spark and flicker.

Why was it that a complete stranger could see you, hear your unspoken thoughts, much better than an entire castle full of people that you’ve spent months with? Why was it that this wiry, unfeeling, looming presence was able to piece together what was laid out in front of him much better than the people you brushed with death with to save?

Was it pity? The thought should have filled you with offense, that this person you just met is treating you with such infantilising condescension. How dare he patronise you without even knowing what you’ve done, what you’ve lived through, how you’re barely holding on to the tattered shreds of your sanity before it slips through your fingers-

How dare he be so right.

Maybe it is pity, maybe his patronising words were warranted. Maybe, just maybe, you’re so desperate that you’ll take it, that you’ll take anything if it meant someone would look close enough to see that you’re not okay, that you want out.

You’re left alone with your thoughts now, as you watch your schoolmates with a blank look, your eyes fixated on their high spirits but not quite seeing them. Your thoughts that liked to remind you of how small you are, how insignificant against the might that was magic, how easy it was for you to sign away your life to Azul with a simple signature, how eye contact or a few words was all it took for Jamil and Ruggie to own your mind and body, how Vil cursed your food without a word to you nor a care in the world.

How completely breakable you are in this twisted world of vices and villains.

Even the other first years, who are considered the least powerful in regards to magical capability, could end you as fast as lightning flashes.

You think back on the scars that coiled and burned along your skin, how the foreign slivers of jagged discolouration were littered along your body, a sadistically twisted storybook that mapped out your past, present and future torment. The deep reddish-purple lesions and inky black cracks that spiderwebbed your once young, innocent and untouched complexion were nothing more than a perpetual reminder of all that you’ve lost, all that’s been taken from you in this world. That you weren’t who you once were and you can never go back to being her.

(“Deuce,” you whispered to your friend late into the night. Ace and Grim were contentedly dozing away on the mattress you’d placed on the floor of Ramshackle’s living room, leaving you and Deuce the only ones awake on your couch, the dim light of the television bathing you in opalescence and and the tinny sounds it played turning into white noise. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice just barely a mutter but you heard it loud and clear. “Have,” you took a breath and looked down at your twiddling fingers, “have you ever looked at a mirror and saw a stranger?”

“Yeah, I have,” Deuce replied. Your head cants upwards and you see his blue eyes piercing through the darkness, “it was right after I heard my mum crying on the phone to my grandma. I didn’t know who I was. I just knew I didn’t want to be who I saw.”)

But it’s okay now because they are your friends.

That’s the mantra you chanted as you surveyed everyone in front of you.

Riddle who called you pathetic who didn’t hesitate to make a mockery of you who attacked you with both his words and his thorny rage, diligently listening to an NBC student explain the history of Fleur City.

They are your friends

Deuce who was your best friend who you trusted with your life who you can’t tell any of this to and Epel who’s a victim like you who wants out like you who’s still destined to hurt you like everyone else, talking animatedly about their magical wheels as they eat their candy apples.

They are your friends

Ruggie who can control you with one word who still has the fangs and claws of a predator who you still don’t know if you can trust, munching on as many baked goods as he could.

They are your friends

Azul who’s sadistic and manipulative and uses and takes for his own benefit who happily made you homeless and still has everything despite all that he’s done who’s predatory eyes burn you whenever he’s near, looking for your next weakness to exploit and Jamil who used and kidnapped and manipulated you who hypnotised you and ripped away what little control you had whilst playing pretend as your friend who took pleasure in your suffering were surveying the stalls, asking the vendors questions about their wares. For some reason, the thought of joining them felt like acid crawling up your throat.

They are your friends

Rook who’s an enabler just like everyone else who watched on as his housewarden cursed your food and tried to poison and kill someone who can easily hunt you down and find you no matter where you are or how well you hide, laughing along with everyone’s merriment and spouting out verbose french poetry that you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.

They are your friends

Idia who took Grim from you who unlike everyone else was an actual genuine friend before he overblotted who played his part just like everyone else did, looking like he found Nirvana as he was surrounded by stray cats and kittens.

They are your friends

Silver who you don’t even know yet who could still be part of this twisted ploy to cause your downfall who could hide a person as sadistically corrupted like everyone else, napping on a bench near Sebek who hates your existence who hates that a human would dare to breathe the same air as his liege who doesn’t even hide his contempt for you who was watching Malleus who’s never there who never helps who just does what he wants and you can’t say anything because who are you compared to him with his usual starry-eyed worship.

They are your friends. They’ve changed. It’s alright now, You easily washed away the red of their sins so everything’s all good. You’ve moved on - forgive and forget, right? Sure they hurt you but it’s all water under the bridge. They won’t hurt you again. So why, why-

Then why does your stomach feel like lead now. Why do your eyes sting so badly, pinpricks dotting the edges of them as you feel the telltale drip of water run down your cheek.

All you want is to survive

But how do you survive in a world that wants you dead?

Apart from Ace, Deuce, Grim and the ghosts that haunt your dorm, not one person looked at you and saw you as someone other than the magicless prefect who stops overblots and cleans up messes that they had nothing to do with. Not one person who’s hurt you had stopped to think that you were someone who could feel hurt, that your feelings matter, that you don’t fight death every other second because you want to but because it’s the only way you could survive in a place where you have been abandoned.

Shakespeare was right. There are daggers in men’s smiles. In every predatory grin, in every saccharine leer, in every simper that coiled and tightened around you like a serpent, with its poison-laced fangs prodding at your carotid, just waiting to strike.

You feel him before you see him, his lanky figure joining you in your shadowed refuge. Without a word, he sits down beside you.

“Do you believe in fate?” you ask idly, your stare never once wavering from where you watched Professor Trein who’s in on it who, just like every other adult, has failed you who never once punished anyone except you and your fellow students, “that things happen and there’s nothing we can do about it because that’s just how things are meant to be? That the people who do bad things just get to do those things and everyone’s supposed to live with it because that’s how the story is written?”

He regards you for a second and then turns and looks straight ahead with a gaze like steel, “I believe in justice. That without it, humanity is doomed to live in a delusion of peace. I believe that the only way to be truly free from the sins that swarm and bite us, that follow us around like a plague, is to take the reins ourselves and use our power to free us from them. The past is just a tragic history but the future has several names: for the weak, it is impossible; for the fainthearted, it is unknown; but for the valiant, it is ideal. And once the gavel of justice has done its duty in punishing the wicked and freeing the innocent, even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”

You feel a cold, thin hand placed over yours and you let it rest there. It was grounding, comforting.

Maybe, it’s about time you stop being a victim of the narrative and take control of your own story. You’ll rid yourself of your tragic ending and fashion a new happily ever after.

In NRC, you found horrors beyond your comprehension.

In Rollo, you think you’ve found your guardian angel.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #rollo flamm #rollo flamme #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamm x reader #fem reader

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ugh-yoongi · 2 months

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the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn��t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts x reader #bts smut #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x y/n

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ladydostoevsky · 3 months

Note

Idk of request are still opens, but if no you can just ignore this haha.

Sooo can you do an escenario of hua cheng x male!reader x xie lian where the reader was the best friend of xie lian before xian le fell and like with the power of character backstory they knew hua cheng aswell.

That was like the context, but my request is like:

After the 800 years of previous events, xie lian, hua cheng and the reader meet again at the banyue arc(with xie lian meeting hua cheng fisrt ofc) and when they saw the reader (who ill suppose died by saving xie lian from something and u know, ✨️drama✨️) they can't belive it cus his soul should have been banished and welp. After the end of the thing (timeskip) when the reader tries to leave after helping em' with the mission, both xie lian and hua chen stop him from doing so. But why did M/N tried to leave as fast as possible? Hoho, well let's say he accidentaly inhaled a flowers scent wich had an strong afrodasic and didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of his dearest friends and tried to leave (failling miserably) and we all know both of our bois are so fricking touch starved at this point and here is where the smut makes it's presentation. (idk much about that so u can just wite it however you'd like, but reader should be the bottom oh yes hahah)

ik its a large request so if its too much just ignore me haha 😭.

A tender touch🌺

Xie Lian & Hua Cheng x m!reader

Warnings: nsfw, 18+, novel and donghua spoilers, little bit violence, breeding, m!sex

A/N: I’m not the best when it comes to smut, especially when it’s threesome so warning, this is really cringe🥲 but I hope you like it

The floor of the temple was icy, freezing, just like the atmosphere which surrounded them. Fear seeped through y/n, who was kneeling on the cold ground, before the altar of a temple on which Xie Lian was chained on. He didn’t know if he was more afraid of the creature, the monster with white half crying-smiling mask or this thing hurting Xie Lian - his prince, his best friend, his beloved. The latter. In his hand, was the little ghostfire who tried to keep them out of the temple and warn them. y/n felt pity for it.

He bowed down, his forehead touching the ground. ‘’Please. I beg you. Take me. Have mercy on His Highness. Whatever you plan to do, please take me instead of him.’’ y/n straightened himself a little and looked with teary eyes towards the white clothed creature, pleading, ‘’I beg you… punish me for whatever he has done,’’ he whispered desperately. ‘’Y/N! STOP IT! I FORBID YOU TO SAY ANOTHER WORD. YOU WILL NOT SACRIFICE YOURSELF FOR ME!’’ Xie Lian screamed. The creature laughed out loud, slowly moving towards yn, like a predator. ‘’DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM, YOU FUCKER. LEAVE HIM OUT OF THIS.’’ The Crown Prince screamed but to no avail, the creature ignored him. y/n gulped as he got closer. ‘’My my, are you a brave one,’’ he stopped right in front of him and crouched down to be on the same eye level, the little ghost still in his hand, ‘’and so stupid. Willing to give your life for someone else's sins and choices.’’

y/n eyes widened slightly after the realization. He whispered to the mask in front of him, ‘’kill me instead then.’’ The little fire started to glow even more, little sounds coming from it. ‘’Oh I will. Let’s see what face His Highness will make after it.’’ The next second Fang Xin pierced through y/n.

y/n looked at the ground, in shame and sadness. He didn’t dare to look His Highness in the eyes, or even San Lang, who he knew was actually Hua Cheng. ‘’I don’t understand…how?’’ The Crown Prince was in shock, in disbelief. Xie Lian saw his best friend being killed in front of his eyes by White No-Face. Same as Xie Lian, Hua Cheng felt some kind of betrayal and hurt, he - being a little pitiful and weak ghostfire - also was in that temple and saw everything. If he really somehow survived, why didn’t he come looking for His Highness? It has been 800 years…

‘’Tell me, how are you here? What happened to you?’’ Xie Lian asked, his earlier shock turning into a sadness. y/n looked at San Lang then Xie Lian. ‘’Did you really think he would have let me die? That easily? My life was worse than hell, a constant torture after that night.’’ He looked away from them, towards the darkness of the cave. All hidden and locked up memories coming back to him. ‘’He did that only to torment and manipulate you. And me.’’ Xie Lian let out a sight he realized he was holding. Hua Cheng’s eyes were full of sorrow. They looked at each other then back to y/n.

He looked at Xie Lian, ‘’I’m sorry, Your Highness. After that, I didn’t dare to show my face anymore. Not like the monster would have let me. I was afraid. I hated myself for I couldn’t save you in the end. I blame myself till this day. You had to go through so much because I was too weak to protect you.’’ Hua Cheng’s dead heart warmed in that moment. After all, he felt the exact same way. He blamed himself for not protecting the two when they needed it the most. But he is here now, and he will protect them for eternity, from now on.

‘’Can you forgive me, Your Highness? I understand if you don’t want to or-’’ Xie Lian gave a sad smile and moved closer to y/n. ‘’There is nothing to forgive. You did nothing wrong. It was never your fault, it was White No-Face who did this. I just wish you hadn't been there. I’m sorry you had to go through this, because of me.’’ The prince leaned closer and hugged his former friend. It took the man by surprise but gladly accepted it. The warmth of his best friend being so foreign to him. He locked eyes with San Lang who looked at him with sadness. y/n gave him a sweet smile of reassurance, for which the Ghost King smiled back.

After that the three stuck together the whole mission. y/n and San Lang got to know each other more, surprisingly they clicked immediately. Hua Cheng and Xie Lian still didn’t know how y/n survived that night. He wasn’t a god, neither a ghost so what was he? But they understood that it was not their business if y/n didn’t want to tell them.

Currently, everyone was looking for the Banyue Fern to use as an antidote for the scorpion-tailed snake’s venom. Unfortunately, y/n had strayed too far from the others. He realized it when he found flowers that shouldn’t be growing in a desert. They were bright, colorful and smelled so nicely. They were tempting. They were so very familiar…

NO! The land of the tender! They were the tender flowers that contained strong aphrodisiacs. The moment he realized he backed off. Thank the heavens that these flowers didn’t speak or he would have surely done something he couldn’t even imagine. He ran back to the others, hoping that the aphrodisiac didn’t make it to his system.

After all the hell was over and the mission completed, Earth Master Ming Yi and Wind Master Shi Qingxuan came to take Pei Xiu back to heaven realm. The gods exchanged a few words. Beside Hua Cheng, y/n felt ill. His body temperature had risen after the tender flowers. He was sweating and his knees felt weak. He holds one hand in front of his lower face to hide his reddened face and to seal his mouth. Hua Cheng turned to him, concerned, ‘’y/n? Is everything alright? You seem… sick.’’ Only thing he could do was nod his head and turn away from him.

With every passing second he could feel more sweat forming on his skin, he wanted to let out sounds he thought he could never form. He felt a painful pulsing between his legs. Seeing Xie Lian and Hua Cheng next to him didn’t help, it made it all worse. Slowly, he started to back off but Hua Cheng grabbed his forearm before he could escape. Xie Lian walked over to them. ‘’y/n, what’s wrong?’’ He walked to him and put his palm on his forehead to feel his temperature. ‘’You are burning! You must have a fewer.’’ Feeling his prince’s touch he put his hand over his mouth even harder. He let out weird noises that neither of the two understood. y/n shook his head. ‘’Gege, we have to get him somewhere else. I don’t think it’s sickness.’’

The two brought y/n to an old empty house of Banyue. They put him on the floor, making him sit against a wall. Only sound that was heard was y/n’s constant breathing. With shaky hands he tried to open his robe. ‘’Y-you two… you h-have to leave.’’ Xie Lian was first to react. He crouched down in front of him, ‘’we will not. Tell us what happened?’’

He helped y/n and tore the robe’s front open so he could get some cold air. His fingers brushed against y/n’s hot skin which made him let out a little whine. Xie Lian’s breath stuck, but he didn’t back off. ‘’T-the flowers, t-tender…’’ the arousal he felt made it hard to talk. San Lang came next to Xie Lian and put his hand on y/n’s chest, feeling his fast heartbeat. y/n wrapped his fingers around San Lang’s wrist, not wanting him to pull away.

‘’That’s what I thought,’’ Hua Cheng whispered, mostly to himself. ‘’Please…’’ y/n’s other hand made it to his hard erection. His hand was quickly replaced with Xie Lian’s, ‘’you helped us today so well, it’s only fair if we help you now.’’ The prince and the Ghost King gave a knowing smile to each other. Hua Cheng tore the whole robe to shreds, freeing the whole body beneath it free to the cold air of Banyue. Xie Lian leaned in and kissed his old friend, his- no- their beloved.

His tongue taking the lead and exploring every corner he could find. His fingers ran delicately over y/n soft pink nipples. The man didn’t see the point to hold back anymore and let out all the sounds that were stuck in his throat. Hua Cheng also leaned closer and wrapped his fingers around y/n’s precum leaking cock. He slightly pressed on to the pink tip which made y/n whine against Xie Lian’s mouth.

‘’Don’t worry, love. We will take good care of you,’’ whispered Hua Cheng. Xie Lian leaned back, a string of saliva connecting the two. ‘’Have I ever told you how beautiful you are, y/n?’’ Xie Lian said while taking off his white robe. Hua Cheng followed and his red clothing was thrown somewhere he could care less. This time Xie Lian took y/n's pulsing cock and started slowly moving his hand up and down. San Lang latched his mouth onto y/n’s sensitive nipple, kissing and teasing it. y/n moaned their names, feeling himself nearing. ‘’X-Xie Lian…nghh San L-Lang, I’m g-gonna cum.’’ Xie Lian’s other hand played with y/n’s smooth hair, ’’cum for us, dear.’’ He came without a second thought.

The Crown Prince gave him a sweet, loving smile, pecked his darling’s soft lips and started moving towards his abdomen, leaving butterfly kisses behind. He took all of y/n in his mouth, swallowing his cum in the process. With his experience in sword swallowing in the past it wasn’t very hard. He had no gag reflex.

While Xie Lian was busy with y/n’s cock, San Lang used his own precum and saliva as a lube and smeared it on his own hard cock. y/n felt his second orgasm coming. In ecstasy he grabbed Xie Lian’s hair, not wanting him to pull away. ‘’Y-your Highness…mm,’’ The prince started to run his fingers gently across y/n’s body. Being so hot, bothered and sensitive, this act threw him over the edge again and he came deep into Xie Lian’s mouth. ‘’Xie Lian…’’ he breathed out a whisper, barely hearable. ‘’Such a good boy, aren’t you? So good for us,’’ Hua Cheng teased with his low voice. The man beneath let out a desperate whine, knowing what’s coming next. The black haired king leaned closer, giving him a gentle kiss on his forehead and lips. ‘’I’ll try to be gentle.’’ Xie Lian went to y/n’s neck and started to suck marks into his skin.

San Lang positioned himself in front of y/n’s unprepared entrance and slowly entered. Feeling soft and thigh walls around him he let out a grunt, entering inch by inch. y/n let out loud cries from the pain. Tears started to drip down from the corners of his eyes. Xie Lian shushed him, assuring that everything was alright. He kissed the tears away and started to abuse his mouth with his tongue again. When Hua Cheng was finally all in, and confirmed that y/n wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, he started moving his hips. At the beginning it was slow and gentle, as time went by he started to speed up. Rocking in and out like an animal in heat.

He pulled y/n’s legs more towards him to hit that one spot that surely made his darling lose it. y/n grabbed onto Xie Lian to steady himself. ‘’Gods y/n…’’ San Lang moaned, feeling his peak coming. He pressed y/n into a mating position, to look him into his beautiful tear stained eyes while he cums deep into his gore. y/n screamed, feeling overstimulated. ‘’S-San L-Lang… p-please,’’ with a few more pumps he came inside.

After a few moments he pulled out, panting. Feeling himself coming down from his high. He watched how some of his seed tried to come out of y/n. He pushed it back inside with his fingers, smiling, feeling some kind of pride. ‘’You are so beautiful like this. Now my beloved…’’ Xie Lian moved away from his side and placed himself on top of y/n. He already knew that it was going to be a long night.

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neteyamslovrr · 1 year

Text

KXANI - pt.1

summary: you have never fit in with the scientists, but on the night jake was lost in the forest so were you. staying with the people was your one true dream, yet when you are anything but welcome and jake get's to experience the people. you find yourself seeking comfort in tsu'tey

contents: 2.3k words, fem!avatar reader, set avatar 2009, kind of a prolouge, angst (only a lil)

authors note: i hope you guys enjoy this!! i'm really hyped to write a series especially my man tsu'tey. if this goes well definitely will be making a taglist so ask to be on it !!

all parts - next part

┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

It was all you had dreamed of since you landed on Pandora. To be with the people, to walk beside them. Well, behind them. You weren’t exactly welcome.

You still remembered the day you were chased through the forest with Jake, jumping into the waterfall on nothing but a will to live. You remembered Neytiri jumping in front of you, saving you both, you had never been more thankful and terrified of someone in your life.

You remembered how a group of men on direhorse threw ropes around your feet then continued to lead to the Hometree. It was surreal, to be with them. To live among them. But it wasn’t how you had hoped.

You hoped to meet with them, learn there culture and be able to retell your findings when you returned to your natural form. Yet, it was nothing like that.

It was because of Jake. He was the warrior of the ‘Jarhead’ clan. God, he was so intolerable but yet he was the one person who could understand your struggles of being with the people because he was right there beside you.

But with all you efforts over the years to learn about the Na’vi, it was nothing in comparison to him being tutored by Neytiri.

On the night when the Olo’eyktan decided to keep you both, it was rather a keep the man and his dog. They thought nothing of you, just another sky scientist. So, you weren’t entitled to Neytiri’s teachings, you were entitled to stare from far away and hope that maybe you could gain a bit of knowledge from observing the pair.

That’s what you were doing right now, crouching down hiding behind a lush shrub looking at the two talk to Tsu’tey as Jake sat in a puddle of mud. Maybe you weren’t missing out on too much?

Resting on the balls of your feet and long fingers keeping the bush apart you peered onto the ongoing scene. But Tsu’tey had disappeared. He must’ve gone off in a hurry, it wasn’t like he enjoyed the company of you two aliens anyway.

“You. What is wrong with you?”

“FUCK!” You jumped in fright falling to the ground looking up at an unimpressed Tsu’tey from above you. Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest as you tried to regain your composure, shying away from the looming figure.

“Go home. You will not embarrass yourself like that there.” You desperately wanted to go back to your human form, but it wasn’t worth it. This, what you were experiencing was ground-breaking to your studies. Plus, Grace would skin you.

Pushing yourself off the ground, brushing the dirt off your grazed knee your stared up at him. How do you even respond to him? He was terrifying. Such a powerful figure it seemed stupid to stand up to him.

You were no Jake. You wouldn’t ridicule the future leader, and you were no ‘warrior’. You were truly just a useless being to them. Nothing to learn, nothing to gain.

“Tsa’hik has medicine for that. Go” You wished your feet would move. God, this is so embarrassing! Are you really paralysed in fear? Because of Tsu’tey. It’s laughable. You tried to move, but all you could do was stare into his unimpressed eyes and wish your link failed so you could escape this hellhole. “Are you ill?”

“No.”

“Then why are you not moving?” Sometimes you were grateful you learnt Na’vi so you could have more in depth and intellectual conversations with the people. This is not what you imagined your conversations would be.

“No. I am.” Tsu’tey scoffed at you. Fuck. What if you just died. Didn’t come back. Met Eywa and apologized for the inconvenience.

“You alien, should go. Fix whatever is wrong with you.” Yet he wasn’t leaving. You pleaded that he would leave in a huff, upset at stupidity. But he still stood there!

“I am afraid of you.” It was a meek whisper. Something you should never of said as your heart beated aggressively against your ribs as if it was trying to escape its chamber.

Tsu’tey let out the heartiest chuckle as he stared down at you. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. Oh how you wished your feet weren’t bolted into the ground. He was genuinely amused. This was easily the funniest thing that had happened to him recently. And it was definitely going to be a story he was going to retell later on.

“So are children alien. You are like a child.”

“Thankyou.” You sneered up at him, still too embarrassed to meet his harsh gaze.

“Do you know where Tsa’hik is?” He tilted his head, his long braid falling over his shoulder as he peered down at you.

“I do not.” You tried to shovel down the shakiness in your voice, you could definitely cry right now.

“Of course, you don’t. Because you don’t belong here. I will take you to Tsa’hik. I would do it for a child.” He motioned for you to follow him as he rode off towards the base of the Hometree. “Hurry up alien child!” He laughed at his jokes as he pointed to you as he looked at other Na’vi also giggling at you as well.

What the fuck is your video log going to be today. ‘Got made fun of! Great find!’ This sucked! While Jake is learning the way of the people, you’re the people’s newest comedy act.

Dragging your feet to the Tsa’hiks room you were ushered to sit on a woven colourful mat in the middle of this section of the tree. Adorned in decorative items and many medicines and herbs you found yourself being stared down by Mo’at.

“She grazed her knee falling from a squatting height Tsa’hik.” Tsu’tey still managed to find a way to make fun of you even when he was talking to a superior.

Mo’at scoffed at you, mumbling something under her breath you did catch a few words. But they’re not necessarily for repeating. “How did you fall?” Mo’at’s intimidating voice caught you off-guard. You didn’t think she would speak to you directly.

“I- um. Tsu-. Tsu’tey startled me.” It was an insane struggled to get out, to admit you had a slightly serious graze because the man chuckling behind you scared you shitless.

“Ah.” She couldn’t find it in her to hide her disappointment apparently. Shaking her head, she applied a pungent medicine to your knee. Surprisingly, it didn’t sting the only sensation was that it was particularly cold for a paste that had been sitting in the open. “Maybe it is useful to do some stuff around the village. We do not welcome demons, especially not parasites.”

Parasite? That is what she thought of you. Oh, that’s just lovely. It felt like your stomach decided to go skydiving and take a miles high leap out of your body.

“Send her back. She is parasite, not needed.” Tsu’tey said this sentence in English. He needed you to understand it, it was his every intention to. It hurt for some reason. Well not some reason he had said something incredibly hurtful. But it was so deserved, so justifiable. Didn’t mean it wasn’t incredibly upsetting to hear.

“We cannot. Jake is an odd dreamwalker. A new demon. She must stay as he does, it is Eywa’s will.” He was silenced at the mention of Eywa. No one would question her intentions not even yourself. “She must learn. You will teach.”

“What?!” Tsu’tey voice boomed out echoing throughout the hollow tree. Is this how Jake felt that night? Because the taste of bile was growing in your throat as you stared at the huffing man. Nononono. He cannot teach, he’ll slit your throat the minute he has the chance.

“She will not be a hunter, no warrior. But she can learn the ways of the people. Teach her Tsu’tey do not question my decisions young one.”

“….yes Tsa’hik…”

Times like these you wished you could go back to your human form. So that your emotions wouldn’t be so easily understood with the swish of your tail and movement of your ears. Still sitting on the floor of the Tsa’hik’s area your ears were pressed against your head and tail swishing quite frequently.

“Go to the river to wash off the paste soon. It will stain your skin.” Mo’at told your before you were being harshly stared at by Tsu’tey. You were yet to understand the way Na’vi must telepathically communicate. It wasn’t even a millisecond after Mo’at finished that she had gave Tsu’tey the look to take you to the river.

You just wished you could understand those looks as well. “Come now. We walk.” He was so assertive it was frightening, the way he commanded you with a single order, you were so respectful of his place in the clan. It did make him like you slightly more than Jake.

“Do not kill her.” Mo’at said harshly to the tall man as you felt that bile rise to your throat again. Kill. What a word!

“I did not plan on it.” Tsu’tey smirked as he wandered off expecting you to follow but you didn’t. You just stared at Mo’at for reassurance. A simple nod to say ‘Yes! Big scary man won’t murder you!’ and she must’ve sensed your desperation.

Mo’at gave a curt nod and ushered for you to go with him with a flick of her hand. With the reassurance of the Tsa’hik you walked with Tsu’tey. Well, behind Tsu’tey to the river.

Every step was awkward. The past on your knee was starting to dry and made cracking noises every time you bent your knee. The crunch of the leaves under both of your heavy feet were the only conversation between the two of you. Eventually, after the short walk. Though it felt long due to the silence. Was finished at the sound of the flourishing waterfall meeting your ears.

It was so powerful, yet so beautiful. It reminded you of something. But nothing was coming to mind so you decided to just focus on the rushing sound as you ended your journey.

“Well done demon. You made it.” His deep voice rumbled in his chest, he thought he was hilarious.

“Thankyou.” You knew it wasn’t a compliment from him, but what else were you to say. Jake would of found a better comeback but you couldn’t.

“You are funny demon.” He said it so nonchalantly but to you it felt as if your heart bursts into a million butterflies. A compliment from a Na’vi felt so special, you felt slightly appreciated. And for it to be from Tsu’tey made it 100 times more meaningful considering how much distaste he has for you and Jake.

“Thankyou Tsu’tey.” Your genuine smile was one he had not seen yet. It was a new expression. Obviously, it looked familiar as it was on the body of a Na’vi but there was something so bright about your smile he couldn’t shake off. It was just something weird he assumed. Demons do weird things especially when they’re in bodies they’re not meant to be in.

“The paste must come off. Or else your knee will be yellow for weeks.” You nodded and hopped into the water. It was about knee height, so you had to bend to move the water over your knee completely.

“Is there a specific way to get it off. It is a foreign medicine to me.”

“It’s foreign because you don’t belong here.” Tsu’tey was just so harsh with his words, they were said with so much power, yet he felt sincere. It was odd. So odd. “Give me your leg.”

“What do you mean? HEY!” Tsu’tey had grabbed your injured leg yanking it into his arms making you twist and fumble trying not to go headfirst into the water.

His long fingers wrapped around your shin as he used his other hand to cup water into his hand and covering the yellow paste. Every time you fumbled trying to balance he let a ‘tsk’ leave his mouth. His fingertips felt as if they were being burnt into your skin as he gripped your leg tightly.

“Stop moving. I am getting the paste off.” He looked harshly into your eyes, his golden iris’ staring straight into your own.

“I’m trying!” it was an exacerbated statement. Tsu’tey saw the way your ears flicked down and you tensed all the muscles in your abdomen to try and stay still.

He felt a pound of his heart call out to him to not be so harsh. But why? You were nothing but a demon. A complacent one, but still a demon. You were better than Jake in his books. You listened stayed out of trouble, didn’t hang out with his future mate. But you were so odd. Nothing like any of the other demons. You were too complacent, too shy, too fearful. It was odd. Maybe that’s why his heart pounded.

With a final scrub the paste was gone and he let you leg down gently, an abrupt change to the quick and harsh picking up of your leg before. “Thankyou Tsu’tey.” He simply hummed in reply giving you a curt nod. This wave of confidence had overcome you. It was like you felt dizzy with courage. “Tsu’tey.”

The way you said his voice was weird to him. It was pronounced so clearly as if it was the only word you had learnt to say in his language. “Yes?”

“I know that..uh never mind.” The confidence vanished as soon as he stared into your eyes once again. His whole body facing towards you, his mind and soul focused on the words coming out of your mouth. It was too intimidating especially now as he waited for you to say more.

“Speak. What do you know?” His deep voice was memorizing, the way his chest rose proudly every word he spoke. He was so intriguing.

“I know that you don’t like me… and that I do not belong here. But I would like to help, I don’t want to be a p-parasite.” The word parasite stung on your tongue, and it was obvious how Tsu’tey winced at the word as well.

Truthfully, he regretted saying it so clearly to you. He only regretted when he saw the way your tail swished and the shine in your eyes. Maybe that’s why he felt crazy. Maybe that’s why he felt kind towards you. Maybe that’s why he agreed so fast.

“Only because you are smart, not stupid like Jakesully. I will teach you demon.” He reached out to grip onto your shoulder. It was a moment you don’t think you’d ever forget. The way his fingers held tightly onto you, his eyes looked so sincere and the usual scowl on his face had disappeared and turned in a stern look on promise.

This was the look of friendship, of teaching, you were about to learn the way of the people.

└────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┘

reblogs + replies so appreciated, i love you forever if you do yes i mean it i love you

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brighteuphony · 2 months

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I LOVE your Sakura AU, thank you so much for making it 🥹

Even though her ending is supposed to be “good”, I always thought that canon didn’t do her justice and threw any character development she had out of the window so she can be with Sasuke

I SO wanted her to finally move on and just let go

And I don’t have anything against Sasusaku

But I think it’d be much more beautiful if Sakura long let go of her feelings by the time Sasuke came to his senses and they developed their relationship TOGETHER from the START

And, once again, your work is AMAZING and I can’t wait for next pieces ❤️

Btw, can I ask a question?) Will we see Naruto’s and Sasuke’s reaction to her condition (maybe flashback to before she left the village?), if not, can you please tell me a bit about it? I can’t imagine them to ignore her after the incident, especially considering that they are at fault as usual

Thank you so much for the kind words! I've also never been a fan of how Sakura ended up. I have no beef with SasuSaku, but my biggest issue was that we never saw Sasuke try to make up/connect with Sakura in the same way we saw him do with Naruto, so their romance in Boruto just felt so...abrupt?

As for what happens to Sakura and her friends....

Sasuke was essentially put on probation/jailed, but broke out and defected to Otogakure as canon. This devastates Sakura, as she's both in deep denial about his contribution to her injuries and also the fact that she basically threw herself in there for nothing. Kakashi shuts down completely. It's a nightmare replay of his own past, including the female team-mate being horrifically injured by the chidori. The guilt of everything is eating him alive so he basically withdraws into himself and uses her demotion to civilian status as a way to trick himself into thinking that if he just 'rips off the bandaid' and cut ties, she'll be able to move on more easily.

Naruto is the only person who is really able/willing to face justice. After the incident, he was basically also put on probation/awaiting trial but busted himself out to join Jiraya.

So for context, Sakura got clapped hard by the Rasengan/Chidori combo (hearing gone, nerve damage, eyes shot etc) and basically had to be put in a coma to try and stop the damage from getting worse, but unfortunately none of the medics in Konoha had the ability to reverse anything but the most superficial damage. So Naruto joined Jiraya in an attempt to find and bring the only person in the world who could give Sakura a sliver of hope.

I felt like this worked well with canon and the desperation to get Tsunade to be hokage and Naruto basically begged her on his hands and knees to help Sakura. Tsunade made it there in the nick of time managed to save everything but her eyes.

But Sakura's life has fallen apart, her career is over, her parents dead from Konoha Crush and her eyes gone...and Naruto is the most convenient and available person to take out all her rage on, so...while he deserves a lot of that rage..she is essentially punching down on who she perceives to be the cause of all her problems.

Lee is in the same boat as her, but while he tries very hard to be there for her, Sakura can't stand to be with him right now, as it just makes the reality of life hit that much worse- especially when she finds out there's a surgery that might give him a better chance than she'll ever have.

And Ino visits often at first, but then it's awkward...and painful as the weeks go by. They have lunch and gossip but at some point, there's not much a shinobi and civilian have in common, especially after the shortage of manpower post Konoha-crush has Ino entrenched in the shinobi life more than ever before.

I hope this answered some stuff! Thank you so much for the questions and the interest! I love Sakura and I just wanna give her the development and power she deserves!!

#naruto #naruto au #sakura #haruno sakura #ino #kakashi #tsunade #rock lee #sasuke #sakura pov: ur life is falling apart #no hating on sakura here #yes she's cruel #but she's also TWELVE and has NO real support #and honestly naruto is part of the problem rn

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crazyinluvfix · 7 days

Text

DON’T NEED SAVING - a klaus mikaelson oneshot

summary: when klaus brings his girlfriend to meet his family for the first time they don’t exactly welcome her with open arms. namely, rebekah. but as soon as she takes a dagger to her pride she gets ANGRY, and it makes klaus love her even more.

WARNINGS: swearing, depictions of anger / fighting, physical violence ( not domestic )

request: @ranisingsnew

3.7k words

┌──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┐

Klaus swore he would never let his power be dampened by something as frivolous as love - that he’d never be with a woman for more than a fling. He was too good for it. Too strong. Especially to fall for a human.

That was until he met Y/n.

One of his worldly escapades had led him to a place with architecture so beautiful, life so pure, and a certain spark so bold it could capture even him in its wonder.

All of this held his attention so tightly that he didn't even notice what was right in front of him until he hit it. Literally.

His typically sly, dark blue eyes seemed to flash a shade lighter for just a second when he looked up, growing wide at the sight before him. Something even more exquisite and awestriking than the scenery - something he never thought possible. Her.

She looked at him expectantly with an arched eyebrow as his brain practically short-circuited at the smell of the sweet blood beneath her veins.

“I-” he paused. “Sorry, love. Forgive me, I was in my own world,” his stare piercing, gaining back his usual strength after that brief moment of weakness, his signature smirk at home on his lips.

But his face practically dropped in surprise as her’s stayed just as it was; unmoving, unyielding, unimpressed, with arms crossed over her chest as she eyed him up and down.

Klaus felt unusually insufficient under her cold gaze, one that could rival his. He took a step forward, shaking out his shoulders to regain the intimidating presence he was so known for, folding his arms back at her.

“You’re not in a rush, are you?”

The look she gave was incredulous. “That depends, why are you asking?”

This one was feisty, he liked that, he liked a challenge.

His tongue swiped over his teeth with a slight chuckle before speaking again, the lilt in his voice that he used to woo any woman when he wanted to watch them crumble. “I’m new in town, I was hoping you could show me around,” he moved closer, “I’d love to get to know… the place.” A ring-clad hand reached forward to brush a strand of hair from her face.

But she got there before he could.

Her silence was deafening as she mulled the offer over. It wasn’t often that a woman could resist his charms for so long.

“If you’re so desperate to be in my company then fine. You can tag along but I’m not gonna be your little tour guide.”

The stark contrast between her sweet appearance and her fierce attitude was beyond alluring.

Klaus was willing to take anything he could get, feeling more like a lost puppy than he had in over 1000 years, and he was on her leash.

For days he managed to seek her out, every chance he got.

It was a means to an end, the usual end. At least, that’s what he told himself

But the less she fell victim to his charms, the more he was weirdly captured by hers.

Compulsion didn’t seem to work either - did she really make him so weak that he couldn’t perform such a basic function?

Instead, when she got defensive to his advances, it was like she put a spell on him of her own. She wasn’t a witch, but her mind games felt more powerful than any that he had met.

“What do you say we go and get a little drink, huh?” he leaned forward and looked into her eyes, waiting for her pupils to dilate so he could have her right where he wanted her.

“What are you doing?”

Klaus was abruptly taken aback, blinking rapidly as he let out a confused, breathy chuckle. “What do you mean? I’m not doing anything, love,” his eyes never left hers.

“No, that thing with your eyes,” she nodded, dead set on what she saw.

His only instinct was to try again, “You didn’t see anything.”

“There!” she caught it once more, causing him to take a step back; it was safe to say he was completely and utterly perplexed.

“You just did it again! What was that?”

Her eyes seemed to control him instead and he almost stuttered - he never stuttered.

This woman had him - the most powerful man on the planet - wrapped around her tiny little mortal finger.

She and Klaus had been dating for a few months now. After weeks of his constant flowers, letters, paintings, and smooth talk she finally gave in. He couldn’t help but think she only accepted his efforts because she had wanted a break from trying to resist them, and this is what she thought at first too; that she’d let him win for a little while, maybe a couple of weeks, and then break it off.

But as the months passed, she too fell head over heels for him. Over this short time he had already revealed everything to her about his supernatural world, he trusted her with his life and knew that she wouldn’t say a word. Klaus hadn’t thought his attraction to her could get any stronger, but he was now the most whipped he had ever been. She was more than his usual affair or snack. She was his soulmate, he was sure of it.

But Klaus was a family man through and through, and he felt as if it was finally time for them to meet the love of his immortal life.

“I will never let anything happen to you, you know that, right?” Klaus turned to look at his beautiful girlfriend who sat calmly in the passenger seat of his car - he seemed more nervous than she did.

I simply rolled my eyes and laughed, he was so protective it almost hurt. “I know, Nik. You’ve told me about a thousand times already.”

He just smiled. “I have. But I just wanted to warn you that they’re not always the most friendly bunch - obviously that skipped me.” He tried to end on a quip to ease my mind, something he wouldn’t have thought to do for anyone else.

His family had a very complicated history, and a lot of it revolved around him, so their feelings toward him fluctuated on the daily. It was a fact that he was the strongest; and even though he wasn’t the oldest he was by far the boss of the Mikaelson group. So if any one of them put even one bad word on my name he was more than ready to tear them apart.

I had heard all about the family drama - Klaus was undoubtedly one to gossip - but I knew I could handle anything they threw at me on my own, even if it was from an original vampire.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Klaus turned the key to the ornate wooden doors, swinging them open with his usual dramatics as he took my hand and led me inside.

My jaw immediately dropped. ‘Humble,’ definitely didn’t do it justice.

I had expected it to be nice, but this house was beyond lavish, stunning, massive - not the dark cave many would expect from a bunch of ancient vampires.

Klaus had obviously noticed the look of awe sweep my face because he laughed, that low chuckle he always did that set my heart on fire.

Subtleties in his eyes told me that he was glad I liked it so much. I had heard from many that they found my boyfriend incredibly hard to read, which was actually quite a shock to me because I had pried open the windows to his soul the very moment I met him.

He never freed my hand from his he led us into the main room. “Where are they?” he scanned the area and listened for footsteps upstairs since they did know we were coming.

“Kol! Elijah! Rebekah! Come down!” he shouted throughout the grand house and made me giggle. He really was the leader of the family.

A variety of shouts called back before three figures sped down to the bottom floor.

Two men and one woman. One of the men wore more casual clothes, a jacket over a button-up shirt and some jeans - much like how Klaus typically dressed - while the other wore a full suit at 4 pm on a Tuesday. They both practically scowled at the sight of me, but the blonde girl was the worst. I couldn’t tell if that was how her face fell or if she was purposefully staring daggers through me as if to telepathically wound me with her attitude - she looked like a blast…

Klaus then stepped forward, bringing me with him, a happy grin on his face, “Brothers, Rebekah, this is my wonderful Y/n.” His hand gestured towards me with a softness none of them had seen before, not that they cared.

I noticed how they all seemed to size me up. They were silent, but their mannerisms spoke louder than their words ever could’ve. The vibe that was given off immediately was that I was being judged.

Nevertheless, I chose to be polite, to be the bigger person - you’d think for people who had been alive so long they would’ve had the time to learn manners. “Nice to meet you all,” I offered a warm smile that none of them returned. Tough crowd.

Soon, the awkward introductions were over and we all went to sit in the living room. As we walked over Klaus leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “They’re always a bit cranky around this time,” smirking as he knew that they were vampires and would most definitely hear him. I could not help but let out a small laugh.

Klaus, of course, made sure I sat as close to him as physically possible when we got to the couch, his arm around my shoulder as everyone else sat on the other chairs around the room.

The conversation started light; ‘What do you do for work,’ ‘Where are you from,’ etc.

Meanwhile, the blonde who I now know to be Rebekah had not spoken a word, that was until she shouted out in the middle of my answer to one of Elijah’s questions.

“So, what do you want with him?” she referred to her brother and I could practically feel him roll his eyes behind me.

“Is it his money? Or is it that you want to become like us?” she assumed, the thought making her laugh out loud.

I felt Klaus’ hand tighten around mine and the way his chest rose when he took a deep breath in, “Rebekah.” His tone was strict, warning.

“Shh,” I ran my fingertips over his knuckles, quickly looking back to tell him it was okay before turning back to Rebekah.

“Neither, believe it or not,” my smile was sweet, but also slightly condescending. “I’m with him because we love each other, is that so hard to believe?” I made sure to keep my words friendly, even though I could not help the undertones of my annoyance at her insolence slip through.

“Hm,” she hummed shortly, practically looking down her nose at me from across the room. “It is, actually. Nik has never been one for love, right brothers?” she gestured to the two men for them to back her up, but it seemed like they knew to say nothing.

The scoff that left my lips was very much involuntary, but it seemed to add to her frustration which I admittedly took some pride in. “Hm,” I mimicked her sound, “that’s funny because he seems to love me an awful lot, at first I thought too much,” I giggled and the man in question did too, an effort to keep the tension light while subtly trying to keep her in her place. Which didn’t work.

“Interesting,” she didn’t sound like she cared in the slightest, giving up on making conversation with me and directing her next question to her brother. “It just shocks me, Nik, that you would go for her when you could have any woman in the world. I never thought you’d choose such an… average human.”

Klaus was practically seething, the more she spoke the tenser he got and the closer he approached to his tipping point.

“I mean,” she continued, clearly incredibly amused at both of our reactions, “why don’t you just dump her now and we could all just have a little snack? That’s what your plan is anyway, right? Dinner’s on you tonight.”

My hand stayed firmly on his leg to stop him from getting up, telling him softly that it was okay and that I had got this - I didn’t need saving, not from her.

“Where did you even find this chick?” Rebekah let out a shrill laugh but was quickly taken aback when she saw someone stand up in anger.

And it wasn’t Klaus.

It was an instinct to shoot up, and when Nik brought his hand to mine to get me to sit down I removed it and laughed back at her myself. “You know, you have some serious audacity, Rebekah,” I spat out her name as everyone watched on in suspense, waiting for the incoming catfight.

Her jaw dropped in disbelief, a choked sound coming leaving her throat before she returned, “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh,” I chuckled darkly, “I’m serious alright. You have no right to say anything about my relationship just because you obviously can’t get someone of your own. He’s your brother, you’re not his little lap dog. So hop off my dick little vamp girl and go find someone else’s to ride.”

The longer I sat there and listened to her kick-off, the more strength bubbled up inside of me ready to burst. Now that it was out I felt even better, especially when I saw her expression; eyes wide, mouth open, too stunned to get out more than a few intelligible stutters. Shocked that some ‘average human girl’ could fire back so strongly.

Meanwhile, as I spoke Klaus was watching over, but the smirk on his face was nothing but a proud one. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing at how amazing this was - she usually carried such a sweet disposition, but the fieriness he was seeing now was definitely something he could get used to. He had always been a sucker for confrontation and riling his family up, and the fact that she could add to that made him love her even more.

“You little-” Rebekah spat furiously, slowly going to stand up herself.

I cut her off. “What? What else could you possibly have to say?” I looked at her expectantly, putting my hands on my hips, but she said nothing. “That’s what I thought. Now I see why Nik put you in a box for a hundred years. It’s been what? Fifteen minutes and you’ve already questioned my love, my loyalty, and shouted out death threats. You may be immortal, Rebekah, but you need to learn that that doesn’t make you a God.”

Every word I came back at her with only strengthened the grin on Klaus’ face - he loved his siblings in his own way, but nothing made him happier than seeing his girl stand up for herself and put them in their place. A few times he had to stop himself from getting up and intervening, but he couldn’t. He would’ve stepped in if he could tell this was taking a toll, but deep down he had always known that I was just like him, we were both just having too much fun.

Rebekah looked utterly defeated, clearly not used to having someone push back at her snarky comments so this was seemingly long overdue. So much so that I even earned a smirk and a look of newfound respect from the brother in formal wear, Elijah.

But that’s when blondie had finally had enough.

Within less than a split second, she sped over and grabbed me by the throat, pinning me to the wall at the back of the room and squeezing so my air supply was restricted, my feet dangling just above the floor.

“You dare speak to me like that, you filthy little…” she hissed, bringing her face close to mine and watching maliciously as my eyes grew wider.

But if I thought she moved fast, Klaus travelled at twice her speed in the blink of an eye, rushing to my rescue. His hands made quick work of prying her off of me and shoving her to the wall instead, reaching down to the back of his shoe where his trousers were baggy enough to conceal - and he pulled out a shiny, silver dagger.

I could do nothing but stand there stock still while the scene played out in front of me, the other brothers shooting up too but doing the same as me.

“Don’t you ever speak to her like that again,” his voice was low, yet scarily loud, but that’s not what seemed to panic Rebekah. No, she was focused on the dagger he held against her sternum, the point brushing against her top.

‘You take a dagger to her pride, I take a dagger to your heart.’ Klaus’ mind whirred with anger.

Just as she opened her mouth to plea for her brother's forgiveness or offer some half-assed apology which she would prove false the moment he let her go, he plunged the dagger into her chest. She let out a high-pitched wince as his eyes still burned into hers with pure loathing.

“Now, say you’re sorry,” he snarled darkly - so this was the Klaus I had heard about. Cruel, righteous, formidable. And the worst part; I wasn’t even scared. I may have gasped at the suddenness of his actions, but I could not help the feeling that arose within me when I saw him choose me over his own flesh and blood without so much as a second thought.

She choked on her own words, “I- I’m sorry.” Her eyes never left his.

His hand moved to twist the knife, releasing another squeak from the victim of his wrath. He spoke firmly and finally, as if this was her last warning, “To her.”

That’s when she finally turned her head to face me, “I’m sorry… Y/n.” It looked like it killed her to force out those words, but it was better than being killed again with the dagger that was hairs away from causing her to be put in a coffin for another century.

As soon as Klaus felt she had been sincere enough he ripped the blade out, his face still serious as he wiped the blood off on the fabric of his jacket. “Go,” he said plainly, not even wasting his energy on looking up from his hands. All three of them listened - I assumed that upon his revelation of the dagger (which none of them knew he had so close), they now were thinking only of themselves, fleeing the scene before they met their fates again.

They all vanished in one quick woosh leaving only me and Klaus who had shifted back into my sickeningly sweet Nik once more upon their departure.

I hadn’t even noticed that I had been clutching my chest this whole time, only taking it off when he moved his gaze to me and that wicked look in his eyes softened instantaneously into one that made me feel right at home, hurrying to me to make sure I was okay.

Without having time to even register everything that just happened I was encased in the arms of my saviour, him resting his head on top of mine while a hand moved up to gently stroke my hair. To anyone else, thinking of him acting in such a caring manner after being so ruthless would’ve been unimaginable. But to me? It was all I’d ever known.

“Shh. You’re okay, love,” he cooed before pulling back slightly and cradling my head in both his hands, bringing his soft lips to plant a tender kiss on my forehead.

I looked up at him like he was the only thing in the world; the way he had looked at me every time since the day we met.

“I’m sorry that I exposed you to that part of me, it was something I had hoped you’d never see.” Apologies didn’t come naturally to Klaus… that was, to everyone but me.

Nothing was said, I let my actions speak for themselves as a genuine smile formed on my face and I hopped up onto my tiptoes to kiss him fervently. He seemed rather shocked at the sudden change in tone, but it’s not like he was complaining. Instead, he happily reciprocated my movements, a mischievous, goofy grin left on him in the wake of my lips as I pulled back.

“Don’t apologise,” I shook my head at him in reassurance, “I thought it was sexy,” biting my lip in a teasing manner as I put his racing mind at rest - he truly was such a sweetie behind closed doors. It was honestly a shame the world would never see him the way I did - but then again, that would mean I would have to share him, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

His bright blue eyes lit up as I spoke, in a way as if to ask ‘Really?’

In response to his silent appeal for confirmation, I nodded.

“At least you’ve met them now so you finally know what I mean when I complain about my family,” he used a tone much lighter than before now that he wasn’t shouting or apologising.

A laugh escaped me, causing me to quickly cover my mouth, “I guess you weren’t joking, huh?”

Sighing in reply he shook his head in embarrassment, thinking he should’ve never taken me here in the first place. “Come, let’s go somewhere else, somewhere nicer.” His head cocked to the side as he held out an arm for me to cling to, signalling for us both to leave.

My hand graciously slipped forward to meet his request as we walked toward the door, looking up at him one last time. “You’re my hero, Klaus Mikaelson.”

Upon hearing the giggle I let out after my words his smile only widened. “Always and forever, my love.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

requests in bio x

└──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┘

#klaus mikaelson #the vampire diaries #the originals #fluff #angst #tvd #rebekah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus isn’t as scary as he seems #grumpy x sunshine #(klaus miklaelson is the sunshine)

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restinslices · 3 months

Text

Lin Kuei Bros X Enemy Reader MK1 Intros

The concept is you two used to be married but you ended up being a traitor and killed the other two brothers. You hate to see it.

Idk why but when I was picturing the reader’s powers I was picturing the Dimitrescu sisters but stronger. Once again, I don’t know why. Just enjoy the ride.

Bi-Han: I’ll rip you apart for killing my brothers!

You: Brothers? Too bad Tomas isn’t alive to hear this

You: A traitor married to another traitor? It’s comical.

Bi-Han: We are nothing alike

You: Any regrets now Bi-Han?

Bi-Han: Not killing you when I had the chance

Bi-Han: You’ll be dead before dawn

You: Won’t change the fact you betrayed the only people who loved you

You: Kuai Liang begged me not to hurt you before I slaughtered him

Bi-Han: My brother’s death will not be in vain

Bi-Han: I’ll destroy you and anyone who looks like you

You: You’re better at destroying relationships, my love. Not people.

You: I’ll let you pick Harumi from in between my teeth when I’m done with her

Kuai Liang: You won’t have a chance to go after her

You: You never could unite your brothers, could you?

Kuai Liang: Their deaths won’t go unanswered for

Kuai Liang: There’s no redemption for you in my eyes

You: Then I’ll poke my claws right through them

You: I’ve destroyed everything. No army. No clan. Me.

Kuai Liang: Which is exactly why you’ll fall the hardest

You: Vengence won’t consume you, huh?

Kuai Liang: Vengence and justice are not the same

You: You kill me and you’ll become everything you fear

Kuai Liang: Your scare tactics won’t save you

You: You were so desperate for a place to belong, fooling you was almost too easy

Tomas: And I’ll pay for that mistake for the rest of my life

You: If your brothers couldn’t defeat me, what makes you think you can?

Tomas: You underestimating me will lead to your ruin

You: Another family lost Tomas. Maybe you’re cursed.

Tomas: I’ll get revenge for this one

Tomas: You won’t leave this fight alive after what you’ve done

You: I don’t fear a false Lin Kuei

Tomas: Why did you do it?

You: Why not?

You: You should have heard Bi-Han when I killed Kuai Liang in front of him

Tomas: Forget prison! I’ll kill you here and now!

I wanna do a part 2 ngl👀 If Kuai Liang’s name isn’t in orange, it’s because tumblr thinks I’m spelling it wrong and is glitchy asf

Also I feel like I use the same gifs, especially for Kuai Liang and Tomas but when I tell y’all I’ll be scrolling and I’ll see the same ones. My little gif button must be wildin’. Imma have to start hunting these bitches down. I know they’re tired of seeing me use their shit😭😭

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mikaela-the-slut-expert · 2 months

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can you do a hualian x m reader. Like they had a relationship with Xie Lian a long time ago and then they ‘die ‘ or something. They are actually just staying away because they feel like they failed or didn’t protect Xie Lian. Then they see him and hua cheng together and they just look so happy so of course they are happy for xie lian and stay away. Eventually they meet again and Xie Lian is desperate to involve them in the relationship as well. Just all angsty then fluffy 😂

Dragged In

HuaLian x M!reader

Xie Lian is very happy with his life

He has friends, they've saved the heavens, he has a stable life, which is much better than it was back then.

Most of all he has San Lang.

Xie Lian is so grateful he's found someone to love him through everything

That doesn't mean he doesn't miss you

He hasn't seen you in a long time and every now and then he thinks of you.

That's a lie he's always thinking of you.

But he's already accepted that you would never come back and you- you would want him to be happy so Xie Lian doesn't feel guilty for loving San Lang

He still spends late nights telling San Lang about you, telling him about your life about the two of you.

Sometimes Xie Lian makes off hand comments like, "he would have liked this" or " this was his favorite"

San Lang doesn't mind, he loves Xie Lian and he talks very fondly of you. So San Lang likes you too

Although you guys have never met San Lang feels like he has. Xie Lian is very good at telling someones story

You died a long time ago, which was very unfortunate.

That's why Xie Lian talks about you so much, you were his first love and it's been years, centuries. He's scared to forget you.

You didn't deserve the death you were given and you don't deserve to be forgotten either.

Welp good thing you aren't dead!

Not that Xie Lian knows.

You've just been ghosting around, staying in the shadows.

It took you a while but you were able to become a pretty powerful ghost.

Now you can see Xie Lian all the time, just. . . From far away.

You would love to be close with Xie Lian again but he's already so happy

He has a husband and a lovely, stable life after so long.

You don't want to ruin that

You've been watching for a while, you especially don't want to hurt San Lang.

You don't want to break them up and make him feel lesser.

Silly thoughts, Xie Lian would've opened his arms for you.

Which he did. Because Xie Lian isn't dumb and neither is San Lang.

They definitely aren't blind

One can only go so long seeing small flashes of colored robes in the shadows of ghost city.

One can only go so long seeing strands of long colored hair that reminds Xie Lian of the man who's hair he used to run fingers through.

One can only go so long seeing the ghost of a man that he used to know

It's not hard to find you when you peer around ghost city so curiously.

You were always curious, always observant, always watching

So is San Lang

San Lang would do anything for Xie Lian that includes finding you.

When Xie Lian tells San Lang of his troubles, that he's been seeing you and he wishes you were still here

Well he goes to find you of course, he can do it especially since you're in his city.

It's easy pickings.

You know what Hua Cheng looks like but not San Lang.

So when a young man in maple Robes starts asking you for help, who are you to deny?

He needs help finding paradise manor? Alright you've mesmerized the way like the back of your hand!

Plus you can check up on Xie Lian while you're there!

It doesn't go the way you thought when suddenly San Lang is pushing you through the doors of paradise manor and grabbing you by the sleeve so he can take you to Xie Lian.

Look what the fox dragged in!

At first Xie Lian thinks he's gone crazy.

You died, he saw you die!

But now here you are in the hands of San Lang -who is very proud of himself by the way-.

While you sputter for words, Xie Lian is pouncing on you.

He hasn't seen you in centuries and now here you are in his arms, he's so happy he can't help but kiss you right then and there.

It was a beautiful moment but it was quickly broken when you ever so gently pushed him away and stood up from the floor.

Xie Lian's expression turns to heartbreak and San Lang grabs you to make you stay.

Ain't no way you're going to make his Dianxia dad when he worked so hard to find you

You eventually explain that you feel selfish, you feel like you would be taking Xie Lian from San Lang. That you can't believe Xie Lian so readily kisses you when San Lang was standing right there.

You're so nervous but Xie Lian eventually laughs at you. Soft chuckles, and crow feet

He wraps his arms around you and Xie Lian takes a lot of time in explaining that he loves both of you

And there's no reason you all can't be together.

He can share, there's enough love for everyone

There's no way he's letting you go anywhere because you feel self righteous

He wants you to be selfish and he wants to spoil you with his affections after he was robbed of it

So you were basically dragged into a relationship with San Lang and Xie Lian.

For you it takes some getting used to, but your lovers are patient and they spoil you endlessly

Surprisingly enough you and San Lang get along great and he loves spending his fortunes on you.

You deserve it and Xie Lian likes to see it too

How lucky you are.🦊🪷

#tgcf #tgcf headcanon #hualian #hualian x reader #tgcf x male reader #hua cheng x reader #tgcf hua cheng #tgcf hualian #tgcf xie lian #xie lian x reader

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writing-in-glitter-pen · 5 months

Text

♡𖠣 patchwork♡𖠣 II childe x fem!reader II mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, cheery epilouge

Childe needs to see you before he meets his end; a precipice he is very near to by the time you find him miles from your home, crawling through the snow. To his confusion, you've taken him in and dedicated yourself to nursing him back to health. Little did you both know, your love for one another ran deep enough to heal all wounds.

content warnings: Childe is badly injured so there are descriptions of blood, broken ribs, aches and pains. Descriptions of applying medical stitches to close open wounds. Nothing too descriptive. I am not a doctor so do not try this at home. Mutually possessive themes. A suggestive comment in the epilouge. Let me know if I should add anything else!

Also, happy Thanksgiving everyone :) I am so grateful to each and every person who finds my work and enjoys it; these past six months of my blog being up and running has been so fulfilling and magical. I'm so lucky to have this community ♡ I'm sending all my love to you today ♡

“Blow.”

Childe puckered his split, dry lips and let out a weak breath---no power behind the gust at all. The hot steam that rose from the spoon you held to his lips mocked him; such a small opponent, unshaken and uncooled by his efforts.

You sighed; he wasn’t healing as fast as he should be...meaning, he most likely was ignoring your instructions and not adhering to his strict bed rest.

You were straddling him where he lied on the bed in your guest room, propped up by a mountain of pillows---including the ones from your own bed and the throw pillows from your couch; a desperate attempt to make him as comfortable as possible, which was a feat not easily achieved given his broken state. If you’d sat at his side, he wouldn’t be able to face you, since his cracked ribs made any movement excruciating. Even so, he refused to stay put, risking his health every time he got up in the middle of the night to use the shower or the bathroom. You told him you should be assisting him any time he had to exert himself, but he vehemently refused your help with his hygiene---it was simply humiliating that a grown man like him would need help washing himself, especially your help. “Save me my pride.”, he begged, the grim and embarrassed look on his face making you cave. You agreed to his demands as long as he’d let you walk him to and from the amenities, that way he wouldn't risk falling on his way and injuring himself further. But he’d still disobey and take himself there while you weren’t looking. You took to smelling his hair every time you came to check on him, smoothing it back and lifting your nose to his forehead to check if he showered without you getting him there safely. He always smelled clean, bringing that frustrated frown he loathed to be the cause of to your pretty face.

“You’ll kill yourself.”, you’d warn, “And I’ll have to bury you in the backyard.”.

He didn’t understand why you cared so much—why you, literally, dragged him back to your house after finding him beaten and bloody only a couple miles from your cabin, having crawled from a camp in a Snezhnayan forest he had been instructed to collect a debt from the residents of. They'd expected his visit and prepared an ambush of twenty. Normally, he could win a battle such as this with ease, but his exhuastion from the continuous missions he was assigned by the Fatui without breaks became too much for him. Thank Celestia you found him when you did, having fortunately been scavenging for snow berries in the very same forest.

He had been hauling himself in the direction of your cabin, trying to get as far as he could so that he might deliver you the letter he’d been saving in the breast pocket of his daily coat for years. One he’d carried with him always to ensure that, in the event he met his end, that his final confession would reach you.

A letter he’d been too cowardly to send to you in life—his one and only friend, the girl he grew up with in grade school, who he’d chosen to play make believe in the snow and ice-skate with, rather than hunting and roughhousing with the other boys in his class. It wasn’t that those boyish activities didn’t interest him, it was that his interest in you outweighed those hobbies by tons. You were everything, still were.

That’s why it was so mortifying that you had to nurse him back to health; shouldering the consequences of his deadly line of work.

Not only did he almost lose his life to his opponents, but for you to find him at his weakest made the shame burn all the worse.

You leaned over to where you brought the spoon a centimeter from his lips, nose nearly brushing his own as you gently blew on the sip of homemade chicken soup inside. He felt your warm breath on his lips, the feeling of you made his pale cheeks turn pink and weak heart sputter in his chest.

If his ribs weren't broken, if they were still in the healthy condition of a cage they once were, he might believe his chest housed a hummingbird; the pace of his heart mimicking the incessant beating of it's wings. The way just being close to you stirred and electrified him, you could bring him back to life with just a kiss.

Your eyes flicked back up to his, urging the spoon to his lips, indicating you wanted him to open them.

He did, his gaze not breaking from yours as he opened his mouth and let you feed him. It was such an intimate moment that you forgot to breathe, catching your breath as you watched him swallow the meal you'd prepared for him and him alone. Though you were both quiet, it felt like the room buzzed lowly around the both of you. He didn't know it, but the way he looked at you with such deep warmth made you shiver.

“You were up last night, weren’t you?”, you finally asked, already knowing the answer.

Indignity marred his face as he averted his eyes to the wooden floor of your house, but his break from your irritated gaze didn’t last long. You took his chin between your thumb and forefinger and redirected his attention back to your face.

“Tell me the truth.”

He had no choice now. You had him pinned.

“…Yes, I got up…sorry.”

Your disappointed face made him flinch—stinging more than your anger or scorn ever could.

You sighed, closing your eyes and moving your hand from his chin to cup his cheek, worried eyes boring into his and squeezing his heart.

“You’re delaying your healing process. Every time you get up without help—“

“I don’t need a walker like a decrepit, old man”, he spat, instant regret pailing him. He hated that he snapped at you, hated that he couldn't control himself. His embarrassment would overwhelm him---like it always did when you looked at him like a wounded animal. He turned his face away from you once again, but you pulled his attention right back.

“Stop it.”, your stern command sat like a rock in his stomach. Though, the heavy feeling dissipated when your gaze turned soft and fretting. “I’m sorry I’m playing 'demanding nurse', but I need you to work with me if you’re ever going to get better. I don’t want these wounds to be permanent; getting up without help will make your bones heal wrong, or open your stitches back up.".

He knew better than to take his eyes off of you at this point, but the guilt in his expression told you all you needed to know. His late night walk last night had come with consequences.

“You didn’t—"

Without warning, you threw the blankets off of him, only to find a bloody, crudely secured bandage over the deep laceration on his abdomen. He'd popped his stitches.

“Childe!”, your shriek made him wince. “Why didn’t you tell me!”.

“I’m sorry…”, he started, but you didn’t hear him. You were already running off to grab the first aid kit from the kitchen.

He was getting really sick and tired of disappointing you. He'd been in this room for weeks, been your constant source of anxiety and labor for weeks, and he wasn't getting any better.

...but you were never frustrated. Sure, he'd annoy you with his pride, but no amount of effort put into caring for him would ever be a waste, not to you, at least. He'd pop his stitches or worsen a crack in his ribs with a fall or sharp movement, you'd scold him, but no matter how many times it happened, you'd always redo them, always hold ice packs or heating pads over his aches; carefully, gently.

He watched your beautiful, soft hands work while they drew the needle and thread through him---and he wouldn't flinch. It didn't even hurt. It couldn't, when it was a mesmerizing sight; the way you left what would be permanent scars along his body---covering the old ones left by his enemy. Scars that were not made to wound, but to heal. Any mark you left upon him was gratefully accepted, knowing that he'd now carry evidence of you and your care with him at all times, all the way up until his last day in this world.

Like clockwork, the process was quick and painless. The first time you'd sewn him up, you had no clue what you were doing; fumbling and sobbing as you desperately tried to save his life. Tears clouded your view and your shaking hands couldn't safely find purchase on his abdomen. But Childe steadied you, held you close and whispered reassurances and apologies to you while talking you through every step. Now, he was like your personal patchwork doll. You'd sewn him up every time he went and hurt himself again, each stitch made with love and care.

When you were done, you wiped the area with a warm, firewater-soaked cloth, then applied an antibacterial ointment. He'd tried to take it from you, insisting he could apply it himself, but you smacked his hands away.

"You're my patient. Just sit back and let me take care of you.", you said it like it was nothing; a plain fact, your job. But it wasn't your job. He couldn't see why you were so compelled to shoulder this work yourself when you could've had him carted off to a Fatui infirmary the day you found him.

"They won't take care of you like I will.", was all you would say.

You knew the Fatui infirmary would prioritize getting their war machine in working order as soon as possible, rather than giving him quality treatment and time to heal. You also knew that, since visitors were not allowed into the Fatui headquarters, he would be all alone. And you wouldn't have that. You'd gotten letters to your residence that the Fatui knew you had their harbinger and were coming to collect him, but you used every one of them as kindling for the hearth in Childe's room. Soldiers had shown up at your front door, demanding entry or that you send their harbinger out to them, but to their surprise, you fought them like a wildcat. It was incredible how fierce you'd gotten over the subject of Childe's care, not allowing anyone but yourself to touch him. Your shouting startled the agents and they backed off as you swung the wooden spoon you'd been holding at them, warning them to get lost.

"He'll be back when he's healed and not a moment sooner!", you'd hollered as they begrudgingly trudged away.

Childe's gaze on you was proud and soft at the memory; you were the only person that had ever fought for him---and fought Fatui agents two times your size with a wooden spoon, too.

At your request, he greedily accepted your touch, closing his eyes as he let himself be blissfully consumed by the feeling of your kind hand smoothing the ointment over his skin.

When you finished, you sat back and examined him for a while. You did this often---like you were saving the image of him somewhere deep within you, like you were scared to forget him, scared to lose him. Your gaze washed him in warmth, his chest aching from the well of love he harbored for you. It made his eyes glitter and his heart ask questions it was desperate to know the answers to.

"...why do you put yourself through this?", the question slipped from his mouth in a whisper before he had the chance to think it through. It had been eating away at him since the day you took him in.

You tilted your head, the curious pout on your lips making him gulp; you were so very cute.

"Through what?", you asked.

"This.", he clarified, lifting his arms as much as he could to gesture to the situation you'd both found yourselves in. "...you know you don't have to.".

"I want to.", you argued. "The Fatui wouldn'---"

He interrupted your statement, "wouldn't take care of me like you would, I know. But that doesn't answer my question.", he looked into your eyes with furrowed eyebrows and painful confusion in his expression. "I know I'm burdening you. So why would you put yourself through this?".

In all honesty, he was terrified of your answer. He feared that asking would make you come to your senses and finally send him away; though he knew you deserved to get his hopeless corpse out of your house.

What he didn't expect was the lips he was so enamored with curving into a smile.

"You said you were mine; so you're mine to take care of. No one else's."

Now this perplexed him. He'd been yours since the day he met you, when your pretty face and gentle demeanor tethered him hopelessly to you from your first shared smile. And that tether coiled itself tighter and tighter around him with every day you spent at each other's side, every time he observed your unending compassion---building huts for creatures of the forest before snow storms would hit, patiently helping him with the school subjects he struggled in, babysitting his siblings with him while his parents were away...but what was so confusing was, he'd never told you. He belonged to you in silence and silence alone, neglecting to inform you of the hold you had on the heart he'd willingly given to you long ago.

He was at a loss for words, your exclamation hitting the nail right on the head. He was yours, but how did you know?

His wide eyes and crimson cheeks only made you chuckle, pulling his letter out of the apron you wore---the letter he'd saved on his person at all times for you in the event of his death.

"Unless this isn't yours?", you asked, cheekily.

His face paled. You must've found it after you'd taken him back to your house to care for him. You'd washed his clothes, including his coat, and emptied the pockets before throwing them in the wash bin---finding his letter for you safely tucked in the pocket that rested above his heart.

You opened the letter and read aloud your favorite passage to him:

"When you find my body, I ask that you carve out my heart and take it with you; it belongs to you, just as my body, my mind and my soul, though I fear the whole of me is too heavy for you to carry. Carry this, so you may have me and not be crushed by my weight. So you may have proof that I, and everything I am, belongs to you."

The rosy, dreamy smile that bloomed on your lips as you cantored his confession to him like gospel brought his deepest wishes and desires to life; you accepted him and his love with your full heart. His voice escaped him as you made his dreams come true with just a smile. Your perfect, perfect smile.

"Childe...", you said with a sweetness in your voice that rivaled any dessert he'd ever tasted.

His name falling from your lips made his heart jump.

"...yes?"

"...I love you.", the phrase left your throat like a quiet, ardent cry. I love you. It came from a deep, ancient part of your heart; a space carved out long ago for the boy you spent your childhood with, a space whose walls strain against the fullness of it. You'd stuffed it full of so much care for him, it felt like it was just a pinprick from bursting.

Your words made his own heart whine and scrape at the confines of his chest like a puppy wanting out of its cage so that it may find its beloved owner.

"That's why I take care of you. I love you.". It wasn't an explaination, it was a promise. It was a confession that you were just as tethered to him as he was to you.

Without another word, you scooted closer and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, careful not to lean too much of your body weight on him, but enough to envelop him in your warmth. He felt your heart beating against his, a passionate duet between lovers that had gone too long unsung.

He couldn't hold you in return, his arms aching too much to lift, but he buried his nose in the crook between your shoulder and neck, breathing in your scent as deeply as he could, pressing kisses to the soft space. You loved him. You loved him. He'd believe he was dreaming if the soreness from his wounds wasn't all too real---proof that he was living and breathing in the reality that you wanted him. That you wanted him and he was yours without any hesitation. Now, he was itching to heal, prepared to follow any rules you put in place for him as long as it meant that at the end of the process he could hold you like he wanted to---tight and possessive and finally.

He hungrily kissed his way up the column of your neck, just like he'd done in every daydream he had a moment to indulge in and in the periods of wakefulness he spun in before he fell asleep every night. Every waking thought he could spare was spent in dedication to you you you. He made his way up your jaw, to the sensitive spot behind your ear that made you gasp and shiver; spending a long, devoted moment tending to it eagerly. Then he kissed back down your cheek until he hovered right in front of your lips---pausing there. He looked up into your eyes amorously, pleadingly, silently asking for your permission to press his lips to your own. As if he was unsure if he was worthy or not.

Your loving gaze was enough to give him his answer.

So he shut his eyes and leaned into you as you braced yourself on his shoulders, squeezing them as his cracked lips finally met your own. He ardently devoured you, his desperation overcoming his physical limitations---abandoning his need for physical comfort in lieu of his need to taste you, to lick up every sweet kiss you would give him. He leaned forward as you attempted to pull away, his lips unable to satiate their craving. You relented, laughing lightly as you gently pressed him back down onto the pillows to relieve the sharp pain in his abdomen he sacrificed for a moment more of your lips on his. You indulged him, smoothing your hands up his neck to cup his jaw and hold him as you gave him as much as he wanted---which would never be enough.

No matter how much affection you'd give him, it could never fill the well of longing he'd been digging for you since the day he met you.

He'd yearn for you every moment of every day of his life. In this moment, he made a law for himself to follow: After he heals, he'll take care of himself, treat his exhaustion and avoid lethal injuries, so that he may keep coming back to you with his love in tow---offerings of affection he'd lay at your feet and pray you'd accept. He'd keep his heart beating so it would stay warm for you; so that the day you'd pry it from his chest would remain eras away.

· · ♡ · ·

"Childe, I can hold the spoon.", you demanded, attempting to snatch the spoonful of soup from his hand as he chuckled and evaded your swipes.

Your grumpy, flushed face was too adorable for his heart to take, and the sound of your stuffy voice was too funny.

Oh, how the tables have turned since the day you'd taken him into your home. Once he'd started adhering to your treatment plan wholeheartedly, he healed in record time. Your harbinger had grown stronger and livlier than ever, a feat which he acreditted solely to your kisses and love.

"All I'm saying is, I didn't start healing until you started kissing me.", he had claimed, grinning broadly as he brought you into his arms after being able to stand on his own without pain for the first time since his injury.

He'd moved in not too long after he came back from his first mission since his hiatus, favoring your cozy cabin over any mansion his money could buy. He was grateful to be home with you...but you'd caught a bug while he was away. When you opened your front door with bleary, puffy eyes and the sniffles, he couldn't help but pinch your cheeks and laugh, drawing you in for a kiss. You'd argued and tried to push his face away, shouting that he'd get himself sick, but he only captured your wrists and held them against his chest as he pressed his lips to yours.

"No weak little bug can take down a warrior as strong as me.", he'd arrogantly claimed...

...you hated that he was right.

So he got to steal kisses from you scott free while he nursed you back to health, just as you'd done for him.

And he delivered such sweet payback, playing 'demanding nurse' just like you had.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Open up. Medicine's gotta go down the hatch."

"You're not sleeping alone tonight, love. Gotta keep you warm so your cold doesn't get worse!"

"Maybe you shouldn't shower alone...you might faint. Just let me come with you."

You started to pick up on the fact that maybe not all of his rules and regulations were made solely in your interest.

Now, you were fighting him over whether or not you could feed yourself.

"My arms aren't broken!", you bickered, sniffling and pouting like a stubborn child.

"Ah ah ah! But any physical exertion could delay your progress. You wanna get better, don't you?", he argued, grinning like a fox.

"...yes."

"Then lay back and let me handle you. I gotta take care of what's mine, right?".

You only quit your grumbling because he looked so proud of himself. So cheerful that he got to make you feel better and call you his, just like you'd done for him.

He planted a kiss to your hot forehead, tutting as he pulled away.

"Your fever hasn't gone down yet. Let me get you a cool compress."

With that, he trotted off to the kitchen. You couldn't help but smile at his antics, running about without a break and spending every moment of the day doting on you---all for a little case of the sniffles.

And how could he not? You were his one and only love, and like he said, like he'll repeat any time you need to hear it...

You are his. He is going to take care of you.

#genshin x reader #childe x reader #childe x you #genshin childe #genshin ajax #genshin fluff #genshin x you #genshin impact #tartaglia x reader #genshin tartaglia x reader #childe fluff #friends to lovers #childe genshin impact #ajax genshin impact #ajax tartaglia #tartaglia x you #genshin tartaglia

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