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crystalflygeo · 5 months

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How to Warm Up your Dragon ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: ngl this is MOSTLY VERY FLUFFY but it has a veeeery spicy part ehehehehe, praise kink, biting, bit of rough sex, creampie, dirty talk. Reader is technically Fontainian but you can ignore that tbh

notes: Y'ALL THIS HAS BEEN ON MY WIPS SINCE BEFORE FONTAINE IT'S BEEN SOSOSOSOSO LONG I started writing at the start of winter here, now it's summer lmao but hey at least it's winter in the northern hemisphere so... enjoy the snow and dragon man!! Also also... no one guessed what the gift was but Rin was the closest!

Your mother always used to say the way to a man's heart was with food.

you wonder if that applied to archons... er, dragons? adepti?

In any case...

Zhongli has always been a... particular eater. A very refined palate. It's not that he was hard to please, to tell the truth. But he always seemed to have an extra comment, something to add or change to a dish to make it ‘a little more special’.

But you'd quickly find out he had a soft spot for broths and soups, bamboo shoot soup being his particular favorite. Even when it took a lot of hard work and time to prepare, the way he did so was worth it, simply spectacular.

That's why you could almost cry with joy when he happily praised one of your favorite dishes. A fantastic soup d'oignon passed down on your family. Nothing to add, no extras or corrections, he'd enjoy it to its fullest talking about the creamy texture and unique flavor of the cheese so different from those found in Liyue.

So, today you decided to prepare it. Nothing better to warm up on this chilly season, and besides you'd just received a shipment of ingredients from your family.

The rhythm of a knife on a cutting board fills the air, along with a delicious smell. You finish slicing the onions into thin strips and add them to the pot at the stove, humming lightly while stirring. You really hope nothing would keep your dear Zhongli too busy today, so he could be just in time to enjoy this while still fresh and warm.

You turn off the other burner as the beef stock had already warmed up, and start washing some dishes while keeping an eye on the food. It is… rather amusing just how domestic this all feels. Not too long ago you were adventuring over Teyvat, facing off all sorts of crazy dangers, exploring, and never stopping in one place and now… now this feels like home.

And that is without taking into account who your fiancé even is. The former Geo Archon. You shake your head with a light chuckle. It’s still so weird to think of such an imposing figure from legends to be so… him.

You dry your hands and start to pour the broth on the now-golden onions, stirring.

Zhongli is sweet, caring, attentive, wise, with just the right words at the right time. Admittedly a bit airheaded at times, funny when he wants to be. A refined gentleman through and through unlike anyone you’d ever met.

And he loves you.

And you’re engaged.

Warmth rises up to your cheeks along with a small smile as you lower the heat and start grating the cheese.

You heard sounds at the front door and then steps. Oh, early today. Zhongli walks up to you with a smile, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek, his hands resting at your waist as he leans in from over your shoulder. “Welcome home, Li.”

“Thank you” He replies in that deep suave voice. “That smells good my love, would you like some help finishing?”

You shake your head a little. “Please, there’s no need, you just got home. Go take a bath and unwind a little, I’ll finish here and we’ll eat.”

Zhongli looks as if he’s about to say something but simply nods. “Hmm, alright then.” He pulls you a little closer in his embrace, as if he’d missed your contact, your scent. Zhongli inhales deeply, tension seeping off of his body and he gives a soft kiss at your shoulder before almost regretfully pulling away. You chuckle a little and stir the pan.

How domestic and loving indeed.

…

Later when the food is ready and served, he returns to the small kitchen dressed in much more casual and comfier robes. Your eyes linger a little on the small expanse of exposed skin at his neck and chest and then stop at the way his long hair is tied up in a bun.

“Not washing your hair today?” You ask casually, taking your seat.

“I… Perhaps I have gotten rather used you doing it. I simply didn’t feel like it.”

You can’t help the short laugh that escapes you, even as you try to cover it a little. “Is this your way of saying you wanted me to bathe with you?”

His golden eyes twinkle. “I would certainly enjoy indulging in that more often.”

Your cheeks flush and you avert your eyes.

He takes a spoonful of soup and hums, closing his eyes to appreciate the flavors. “The finest ingredients cooked with true expertise. Simply divine, my love, thank you.”

“Flatterer.” You say, a little embarrassed but he can see right thought it, your little grin, the little shift in your posture.

“I am simply stating the truth.” He replies and continues eating. You can see his shoulders relax and the small satisfied smile at the warm food, it makes you a little giddy as you start eating as well.

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

bundling up during winter was obvious, right?

Putting on layers and layers of clothes. And true, perhaps Liyue didn't get as cold as other nations such as Fontaine, Mondstadt or of course Snezhnaya, but maybe it was exactly for that reason the temperature drop seemed to affect everyone all the more. Besides, the people would take any excuse to show off their fancy coats, scarves and other cold-climate outfits.

Zhongli naturally wore many layers, and he did mention once or twice he wasn't as affected by the cold. Yet, his business partner had gifted him a thick snezhnayan cloak.

The thing was entirely ridiculous, too bulky with a fluffy overtop, the colors dark and cool not matching Zhongli at all.

And yet he'd used it! (Only twice... but still)

You were not jealous, not at all.

You just wanted to... give him something he'd also enjoy and wear around, yes. Something personal, something he’d like and look at and remember you.

But what?

Ugh, it’s not like you were really well versed in sewing. Back at home you’d even had some machinery for that, but here in Liyue… you wracked your brain thinking what could you give him. He had quite a few elegant outfits, fitting him perfectly and enhancing all his attributes, all personally tailored by one of his late Yaksha so they held immense sentimental value as well… how could you compete with that?!

Right, right, it was not a competition. You sigh. Zhongli will probably be happy with anything you give him, but still…

An idea pops into your head and you can’t help but chuckle. Oh, it’s so silly… but maybe…

Simple enough, personal, something he’d use during the cold season only around you. Could work, you decided as you pick up your things to go visit the textile shop.

If nothing else, it could at least get a good chuckle out of Zhongli, right?

And so, for a few days you work on your little project. Turns out sewing was indeed a little harder than expected but you were trying your best. The kind lady who’d sold you some excellent wool had also given you some tips and they proved to be most useful indeed!

Regrettably you didn’t exactly have the right measurements so you more or less eyeballed them. Eh. It’ll be fine…

Zhongli almost came close to finding out too, though you were inconspicuous enough. You’re sure he suspects something.

“It will all be worth it, it will all be worth it…” You mumble to yourself with a frown as you finish trimming one of the stitches. Your fingers hurt.

…

“Li! I have something for you!” You exclaim happily, hands behind your back holding the wrapped-up item you had worked so hard on. An excited glow on your smile and bright eyes.

“Oh? Am I going to finally see what you’ve been guarding to secrecy this past week?” He replies coolly with a knowing smile, amusement dancing on his tone as he places his teacup down.

Nothing escapes him.

“Yes” You present him the gift, your hands then fidget nervously, having nothing else to do now. “I hope you like it! It’s… my first time doing something like this… i-it may not be that good, it’s kind of silly but-”

“Darling please do not fret, I would love anything you give me.”

Your shoulders relax.

Zhongli unwraps the paper and finds a rich dark brown fabric staring back at him, he picks the item and opens it, trying to gauge its shape, thick wool, a little rough around the edges but you did mention it was your first try and he is honored enough you’d make such effort for him.

However…

What is it exactly?

He turns the item around trying not to show too much confusion on his face as to insult you or make you feel bad, it looks like… a severely oversized legwarmer?

“It’s…” You start, feeling a little shy and silly once more. “…for your tail.”

Recognition shines in his eyes and he blinks at the item.

“You- I know you like to let loose a little around the house and let your illuminated beast features show, I love you tail too but I know… the scales get cold easily a-and usually we just bundle up with a blanket but I thought-”

“I love it.”

You stop running your mouth as soon as he utters those words, Zhongli looks at you with a gentle calm and your heart could melt at the sincerity in his expression. “No one had ever made something like this for me.”

He stands and unfurls the item, then, in a flash of gold his dragon tail manifests, majestic as ever and swaying lazily, the tuft of fur at the end flickering with each move. He maneuvers a little to slip the ‘tailwarmer’ on and though it sags a little, much to your relief it at least fits nicely. There is a yellow diamond pattern near the base that you’d started working on but deemed too difficult for a first try. It was a cute little detail though, maybe next time.

“Warm and cozy.” He chuckles and you beam at him, before letting out a squeak as said dragon tail curls around you, pressing your forward against his chest.

“Thank you, my love.” He cups your face and kisses your forehead.

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

The air is hot and heavy as soft moans and grunts fill the room.

Well, this was certainly a way to warm up… and get some good cardio.

You pant and squirm on the plush surface of a heavenly mattress as the familiar weight of the ex-archon descends upon you. His arms going from a golden orange hue to a deep charcoal, lines of gold thrumming across his skin, glowing softly in periodic pulses up strong muscular arms. Golden horns rise from soft brown hair curled at the tips, two on each side like a crown, while a powerful scaly tail wraps around your calf holding your leg up, spread.

This is Rex Lapis. Morax. Any other number of names he had. This is the Geo Archon.

“Zhongliii!” You whine, his hands caressing your body, claws teasing along your skin, pinching a nipple, fangs grazing your collarbone and a long serpentine tongue licking a hot stripe across your neck.

The head of his cock teases at your entrance, already rock hard and burning like a brand, your hips canting for more. For him to finally fill you, to feel his thick overwhelming girth stretch you, breed you… you want to be filled so full it overflows, so that it dribbles down your thighs and ass in thick, slick rivulets of his love.

“Patience my love.”

You whimper and jerk at that, about to cry out for him again when he rolls his hips and sinks in your warm hole. Your breath catches in your throat as your head throws back on the soft feather pillows.

He pushes into you inch by inch, carving a space for himself with a soft rumbling groan. His lips seek yours as his hands slide to your hips and press hard enough to bruise. His kiss devouring, all-consuming with need as he bottoms inside you, hips pressed flush.

Gods you feel so full, stretched and filled every inch and then some, and he doesn’t allow you a moment to pause and adjust either. A beast of a man in the best of ways, he withdraws halfway, only to slam forward in a fluid firm thrust.

“Mng-! Ah!”

“Mine. All mine. S-so warm and thigh- nghh…”

His pace starts slow, his voice alone enough to drive you crazy with how deep, carnal, animalistic it is against your neck. Sharp canines teasing the elegant column of your throat as he moves.

“Oh! so good… Li… f-faster… faster ple-ahhn!” Your voice pitches high as you babble, pleasure coiling on your gut.

“As- you desire…” Strained words still sounding like the very embodiment of sex, his voice so sinfully deep, so erotic it washes over you like liquid silk, like molten gold, only heightening the sensations of his quickening pace. In and out, in and out, skin slapping on skin. “You’re… you’re so perfect for me-”

You take him so well, your legs spread wide, your back arched, your insides molded to his length, enveloping him in the most mind-blowing of heats. The bed creaking as Zhongli delivers another powerful thrust, hitting a sweet spot deep within you and making you elicit a sharp keening sob of a moan. Your hands scrambling from the sheets to seek purchase at his back, curled up under his arms to scratch viciously trying to hold onto something, anything as he drives into you thrust after thrust after thrust-

“I’m- I’m gon-ahnn! Z-Zhongli… ooohh!”

Fuck you are close. So, so close…

He nips at the soft spot between your neck and shoulder. “Almost there… little one.” He huffs between strained grunts and you whimper at the pet name. Golden claws sink on the bedsheets, gripping thigh for leverage as he moves faster, frantic, hips like pistons he fucks into you like a wild animal, the bed rocking, shaking with each thrust. “C-close…”

You mewl and moan, unable to form coherent thoughts anymore but just feel the hot burning pleasure, his warm puffs of breath on your skin, your sweating bodies dampening the sheets and you desperately want to feel his warm seed inside you, filled to the brim with his creamy cum.

“Pleasepleaseplease i-in! In-s-ahh!” You come with a sharp cry, vision blurring, muscles clenching, your insides squeezing around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

It was enough, the tipping point for the dragon, his thrusts shallowing out until he ruts as deep as he can and shoots his load inside you with a guttural groan. Thick spurts pumping inside you before it pools out around his own cock, leaking from your body until there’s nothing left to give.

Everything is hot… so hot… the air heavy and musky with the scent of sex…

…

Zhongli slumps softly atop your body after what feels like ana eternity, his cock still comfortably nestled within your slick walls, cushioned by fluttering muscles. You lay beneath him, sweaty and shivering, breathless, chest raising and falling rapidly in small gasps as you struggle to catch your breath but oh, how you took his away…

Beautiful, truly… your half-lidded eyes glazed over, barely able to open admits your exhaustion, but still able to whimper soft little moans as he trails fluttering reverent kisses along your neck and collarbone. Soft, chaste, loving and tender touches.

“Ahhn… mmm…” He chuckles softly at the endearing sounds you make as he eases out of you, the subtle friction enough to sent fire to your nerves, followed by a strange emptiness that mellows down to buzzing contentment.

He lies to the side and pulls you close towards his chest, his tail finally letting your now sore leg rest, uncoiling from it to curl around you both, you settle there with a sigh, eyes sliding shut. “So good for me.” Zhongli gently brushes some hair away from your face and places a kiss at the crown of your head, resting his chin there. “Rest now, dear.”

“Mn.”

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

You smile as Zhongli places the two steaming teacups on the table before scooting over and welcoming him with the blanket surrounding you. He settles on the couch with you cuddling close and passing the book on your hands to him. Your fingers brush and he sets the book on his lap before taking your hands on his, cradling them close to his face before blowing a warm breath on them. You blush and let out a little airy laugh.

“What is this? Dragon breath to keep me warm?”

He hums against your skin, piercing golden eyes staring up at you. “No, just my love for you.” He kisses your knuckles and fingers.

“You…” You mumble, averting your gaze.

He chuckles and kisses your wrist then before leaning in close and kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, anywhere he can reach.

“Ngah, wait you affectionate big lizard!” You squirm and he laughs fully now.

“Just seeking my adorable fiancée’s warmth” He nuzzles onto your neck, kissing there too and making you yelp. “Gorgeous.”

“A-Am not!”

“So precious when you get all shy and flustered.” He gets your jaw this time when you move, so close to your lips.

“Stop! You menace…” You pout and this time you cup his face, staring for a moment at his handsome features, your thumb brushing close to one of the red markings under his eyes.

This man. This dragon. This god.

Oh, how you love him. He warms up your heart.

“Here, I’ll warm you up proper…” You whisper softly, pulling him close and tilting your head to slot your lips together.

Just as you warm up his.

#crys writes #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #fem!reader #I am so happy this is done eeeeeeeee <3 #alt title: warm him up with food with clothes with your body and with your love #dcfgscvgabcjah I love him sm

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novalizinpeace · 2 months

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Okay guys, just like the last time, here's a Smiling Critters Holiday YCH!

This time 'm showing a WIP of the YCH's 'cause i discover someone was drawing over the christmas ones, and 'm not happy with that, so now the official final result is only going to be get only by the buyer (and 'm going to post a final version with watermark). So take in mind some details are going to be incluyed onces the YCH is buyed, thank you for read this.

This time there's only going to be 2 SLOT for YCH, all of them having a cost of 15$, so choose right.

1-Dogday - 1 slot available ''fhound onhe! -spit- sorry, but they're ball shaped! I couldn't resist''

2- Catnap - CLOSED You know there's a big chance he's going to try to run away with everything once you both finish.

3-Bubba Bubbaphant - 2 slot available ''Oh what i love of this holiday isn't the candies, is to search for them! C'mon, let see which one are the best hiding spot!''

4-Kickin Chicken - CLOSED ''Aw man, Hoppy trick us! This weren't the kind of chick i was looking to get today''

5-Craftycorn - 1 slot available ''Oh! This one is so pretty!''

6-Bobby Bearhug - 1 slot available ''Of course the costume is important, do you want the other to see we're looking into the flowers? We need to be smart on this''

7-Picky Piggy - 2 slot available ''That one match with me! Would you care if i keep it?''

8-Hoppy Hopscotch - 2 slot available ''No time to look at the flowers my friend, theres a lot of eggs with my name here, and you're going to help me get them all!''

Rules

-You can ask for a YCH both in my DM or in my Ko-fi, were the YCHs are also going to be posted.

-The YCHs are going to be open till April 15th or till every slot is out, what happens first.

-You can change any details in the YCH onces you get the slot.

-If you're not sure if the character(s) that you want on the YCH can work in the style, ask me on DM!

Happy Easter for everybody!

#poppy playtime #smiling critters #smiling critters fanart #dogday #catnap #bubba bubbaphant #kickin chicken #craftycorn #bobby bearhug #picky piggy #hoppy hopscotch #commission #ych #ych open #ych commission #easter commission #ych easter #nova say

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ugh-yoongi · 4 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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thoushallnotfall · 24 days

Text

Walkin' After Midnight

Masterlist

Pairing: Marko x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Note: *finger guns* Ehhhhh...so it’s been a minute. How ya’ll been? So completely ignoring that’s it’s been...a long time, here’s another of my ‘imagine the boys in a decade prior to the 80s’ fics--and we’re moving right along to the 50s!

I started this...a very long time ago, and then I didn’t like it so I just left it in my WIPs with like 15 other ideas/half-written fics/updates. I still don’t love it, but upon further reflection I don’t totally hate it--and it was already started so I didn’t have to work as hard to finish it, so there’s that.

That being said, I'm kind of interested in writing a part 2, so we'll see...taking babysteps here.

(I’m really having to dig deep for these gifs)

Every kid from Santa Carla grew up knowing two things: Don’t go out after dark if you ever want to make it home, and stay away from the greasers who hung around the boardwalk.

It never really occurred to you that those two things could be related.

Unlike a lot of the teenagers in Santa Carla, who’d run there with nowhere else to go, you’d lived there all your life. You’d never left the city, and the older you got the more you doubted you ever would. Your dad had been killed in Vietnam, and your mom was around so little you half expected one day she’d just stop coming back home at all. You may not be one of the runaways, but you were still alone in Santa Carla.

Still, you were young; and while you knew you’d have to find a way to live on your own sooner or later, you decided to try and enjoy what little youth you had left. One day you’d have to grow up and start providing for yourself somehow, but for now you just wanted to live your life to the fullest before that all got taken away.

With that in mind, you’d taken to going to plenty of the dances and social events in town. You didn’t have a curfew, and no one was around to care about where you were, but even so you tried not to be out too late after dark. That’s always when the people went missing--and they never came back.

That’s why it was the first rule of Santa Carla: Don’t go out after dark.

The official numbers were never right, given how many of the people who disappeared were runaways, but the amount of missing people in Santa Carla had always been unusually high. The only thing they knew for sure was that they always seemed to vanish at night.

The prevalent theory among many of the local teens was aliens. They came out with their flying saucers and abducted unsuspecting people in the night. Others were more practical--they just thought there was a really good serial killer in town.

It could be anyone! They’d say.

But people have always gone missing in Santa Carla--is he an old man, still killing people in his 70s? Someone else would question.

Okay, so a family of serial killers! They’d say back.

Personally, you had no idea who or what was making people disappear. You only cared about surviving it, and the best way to do that was stay in at night.

Then, there was the second rule of Santa Carla: Stay away from the greasers.

There was a particularly nasty group of punks who usually hung around the Boardwalk at night. No one knew who they were--probably just another group of runaways--but people had grown to know they were trouble. A gang of greasers who didn’t care about the law and would sooner gut a man than say hello. That’s what people said about them, anyway.

So imagine your surprise when you broke both rules in a single night.

The night in question started out well enough. You and a friend had gone to the beach in the afternoon, and spent most of the day there. At one point, the two of you had attracted the attention of some boys--who ended up spending the day with you.

So when the sun got low and it was time to leave, your friend decided to accept the invitation from the boys to go get some dinner at the local diner. You however, weren’t as excited about the prospect. Not only did you not want to be out too late, you frankly just weren’t that interested in any of them. Your friend tried to get you to change your mind, but you held firm.

And so it was that your friend headed off with the guys. At least she brought you into town so you wouldn’t have so far to walk to get home. And while you weren’t jazzed about walking home alone you figured you could make it back quick enough that it’d be okay. Unfortunately, it was nearly dark before you even made it back to town--and well into the night by the time you walked past the Boardwalk.

You tried to hurry your way through the crowded streets of tourists and late-night couples walking hand in hand without any trouble. But of course that's exactly what you find.

"Hey there pretty lady, going my way?" A big guy in a varsity sweater asks. He looked like a jock--maybe home from college? You didn't know him, and you certainly didn't want to.

"Sorry, I'm in a hurry." You say, hoping to sidestep him and continue on your way. He moves to stand in front of you.

"Aw, don't be like that doll." He says, looming over you. "I just want to get to know you."

"Well I'm not interested." You say, trying to push past him. He grabs your wrist, squeezing so tight it makes you wince in pain.

"Not so fast girlie--we ain't done talking yet." He says, pulling you back.

Oh God, this is it. He's a part of that serial killer family and you're about to get murdered.

Your frantic thoughts are interrupted as the creep let's you go. He screams as he looks to his other side. You follow his gaze and see a greaser with blonde, curly hair standing next to him--the jock's wrist in his hand. He squeezes it tighter and the jock falls to one knee, yelling in pain.

"Don't like it so much on the receiving end, do yah punk?" The boy says, squeezing even tighter. Despite being smaller than the other boy, the greaser was still clearly stronger.

"What the hell man? Let me go!" The jock begs.

"You want me to let you go?" The greaser smirks. "Alright." He lets the guy go, before quickly using his now free hand to punch him square in the face. The boy falls back, holding his bloody, broken face in his hands. The greaser grabs the bleeding boy by the collar and pulls him up, smiling at him. "Now beat it before I decide to get serious." He says, dropping his collar. The boy scrambles up and runs off, disappearing down an allyway.

You watch him run off, stunned by what had just happened.

"You okay?" The blonde asks, having turned his attention to you. You practically jump out of your shoes.

"What? Oh." You look down at your wrist. "Yeah, it's fine--I mean, um, I'm fine." You stumble through before looking back up at him. "Thank you."

"No problem. Punks like that deserve a good beating." He says, before he smirks. "And I couldn't let him hurt a pretty thing like you, now could I?"

Uh oh, you may have just gone out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"So what's your deal anyway? You know it's not safe walking around alone at night, right?" He asks, ignoring your apprehensive look.

"We'll um," You hesitated, unsure of how much you should say about yourself. "I was out with a friend, but she had other plans. She drove, so..."

"So now you're stuck walking back. I get you." He says. "Pretty uncool of your friend, ditching you like that. But hey, I'll make sure you get home safe."

"What?" You nearly shout. "Um, no really that's not necessary. I'm fine now, so--"

"No way. I already told you--you're way too cute to be out here on your own." He says, cutting off your attempt to protest. "My bike's nearby, let's go."

"I would really hate to put you out," you try once more to worm our way out of the situation, but he wasn't having it.

He smirks, "I offered didn't I? Don't worry about it." He grabs your hand and all but drags you down the block.

Soon enough, you arrive at a parking lot, and he leads you towards a row of four motorcycles lined up in the corner. He lets you go, moving to the bike at the end and throwing his leg over to sit. He looks at you, holding out his hand. You were pretty sure you couldn't get away from him even if you tried, so you took a deep breath and accepted his outstretched hand. He helps you onto the back of the bike, smirking as gravity slide you down towards him.

"So princess, were are we going?" he asks, tilting his head back to look at you sitting behind him. You hesitated giving him your address, but at this point if he wanted to do something nefarious he didn't need to take you home first.

You were in too deep now.

You tell him, and he nods, "Yeah, I know the place." He starts the bike, giving you one last smirk as he revves the engine, "Better hold on tight."

Your arms instinctively wrap around his waist as the bike shoots forward. You gripped him tightly, you head resting on his back. You squeezed your eyes shut, fear coursing through you as your heartbeat raced. As much as you knew you should watch where you were heading, you were too scared to open your eyes. He was going fast--very fast--and with each bump and turn, you were sure you would crash and that would be the end of it.

But the two of you didn't crash, and before you knew it the bike slowed to a stop. You dared to open an eye, and saw you sat in front of your house. A little run down and a bit worse for wear, but still yours. You sat up, shocked you had not only survived the ride, but that he had actually brought you home.

"This it?" he asked like he already knew the answer. You turned to him,

"Oh, um--yes, it is."

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," he commented absently, and you felt your shoulders tense.

"Oh, my parents are here--they just go to bed early," you lied. Something told you he knew you weren't telling him the truth, but he didn't say anything.

You hoped off the bike, smoothing the wrinkles from your skirt out of habit. You took a step towards your door, then stopped. You turned, looking back at the smirking, curly-haired boy sitting lazily on his bike.

"Thank you again. For bringing me home, and for helping me with that guy earlier, " you were still scared of him, but he had helped you. It would be bad manners not to at least thank him for his help.

He laughs, the moonlight catching his blue eyes as he stared back at you.

"Anytime, princess," he replies. He started his bike, glancing back up at you, "I'm Marko, by the way."

"Oh, I'm y/n." You had certainly not planned to tell him your name, but at this point could it really hurt?

"Well, I'll see you around, y/n," he says, his smile wide and mischievous. Before you could say anything more, he rode off down the quiet street, disappearing into the darkness.

#marko the lost boys #the lost boys #marko x reader #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagine

163 notes · View notes

haruchuiyo · 9 months

Text

i love you the most

content: short fic, fluff, more fluff and even more fluff + kisses + clingy cute satoru <3

gn!reader

i miss him so much and I had this in my wip’s and it was about time i finished it for my silly man <3

—

Gojo watches you from behind his blanket, your oblivious and relaxed stance making him want to let out a mischievous giggle. He reaches his hands out from below the blanket, places his hand on your hips. You turn to look at him while placing your own hand on top of his.

“Get up, sleepyhead. You’re always sleeping.” You chuckle while softly tapping the tip of his nose. Gojo pouts as he shakes his head. “No, I wanna sleep in some more before the responsibilities kick in.” He says before pulling your entire body into his, making you squeal then covers you both with the blanket.

Gojo has you below him, hips inbetween your thighs. He burrows his face into your chest. “Now I’ve got you trapped to sleep in with me.” He says in content and sighs in delight when he feels you gently massage his head, running your fingers through his hair.

“And I’m gonna be blamed for being late to work?” You raise a brow in amusement. “Well I will take the blame.” He says nonchalantly making you giggle. “It doesn’t work like that, toru.” You say as you kiss the top of his head. Gojo rubs his face on your chest gently before looking up at you.

“Well I have loads of money, so I can use that.” He says, shrugging his shoulders, which has you slightly gasp in a playful way. “I thought your money is my money.” You pout which has Gojo grinning widely. “All of it is your money, so let’s threat them with our money.” He simply says like it’s the greatest solution. Your heart swells up in affection for this man on top of you. How sweet and kind he is, thoughtful despite his silly solutions.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You hear him say, he looks so happy and safe in your arms. And content. So are you, having satoru gojo in your arms is the best thing you could ever know and think of. And you wish to stay put this way.

“Because you look so happy, silly.” You softly say as his eyes slightly widens in surprise before he beams in happiness.

“Of course I’m happy, baby.” He presses a gentle but excited kiss on your forehead. “Yeah, I wonder why?” You grin at him and he pretends to think about the reason before kissing your chest over your t-shirt.

“Because of this.” He says and you giggle when he leans his face into the crook of your neck, rubbing his face there making you feel ticklish. You laugh as he continues to tickle you before you feel his lips on your pulse point. You grasp onto his hair gently, softly running through it, feeling his smooth white locks in your palms.

Gojo leans his head up to look at you, he reaches up a hand to softly hold your face. You lean into his touch as he smiles fondly at the sight.

“I love you, satoru.” You tell him as you pull his face closer to yours to press down few kisses on his soft lips. “So much.” You add on as Gojo grins.

“I already knew that.” He boasted as you let out a slight lighthearted groan while playfully rolling your eyes. “And I love you, baby. A lot more than you love me.” He declares as you raise a brow at him.

“Yeah really?” You ask as you softly rub his cheek with your thumb. He nods his head while he slips out a ‘mhm’ from his mouth. His eyes is so full of mischievousness, you can’t do anything but love him even more and lean in for more kisses.

“Well we should do a competition about that.” You announce as Gojo’s eyes just lightens up. He loves to compete over stuff like this. You take joy in the fact he takes joys in it.

“And I’m gonna win.” He simply says and you shake your head. “Nope, I will.” You say matter of fact, before Gojo attacks you with more kisses, making you laugh and he eats up the sound with a kiss.

“I love you more.” He expresses excitedly and honestly, you giggle when he lightly kisses the tip of your nose.

And you love him the most.

—

wish he was in my arms rn smh :(

532 notes · View notes

tangledupinyellow · 2 months

Text

Tonight | Joel Miller X Wedding Planner F!Reader

authors note: finally got this one out! with a new job and new house, life has been pretty chaotic recently but I finally got back into my usual writing schedule!! lots of wips at the moment so prepare for those!

part three of love is in the air part one here: love is in the air part two here: tensions rise

summary: Joel thought that he would be having the time of his life the night before his wedding. But he’s conflicted, for all he can think about is you.

warnings/tags: 18+, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU, infidelity, age gap (24 and 46), nicknames (baby girl, doll, baby) fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, angst

word count: 4.6k

“We really can’t be doing this anymore, it isn’t right…”

The words repeated in Joel’s head over and over and over again. He gripped his drink of whiskey, swirling it around before taking a swig. Looking around, he saw all his buddies laughing and dancing, having the time of their lives and partying. Partying just like how he should be doing. But instead, he stood in the corner with a drink in hand, lost in his thoughts.

It was the night before his wedding, the last night he would be considered a single man. Much of his freedom will be washed away from him when he finally ties the knot. He was supposed to be getting wasted with his friends and having a blast, having one last ‘hoo-rah.’

But he felt like shit, to put it lightly.

He watched as all of his friends were having a good time without him at a party that was supposed to be for him letting loose.

He would say that he would much rather be home than here, but that would also be a lie. Jenna would most likely be home. He wanted to be with you.

Taking a deep breath, Joel finished his glass of whiskey in one go before setting it down. With a groan, he rubbed his temples and another sigh left his lips.

“Pre-wedding nerves?” Tommy joined him in his corner with a laugh. He could smell the alcohol on his breath.

Joel chuckled and nodded, “S’pose you could say that.”

Yes, he was nervous and anxious, but they didn’t feel like the pre-wedding jitters he’d heard so much about from his married friends.

His nerves felt more like a sense of guilt, of regret. Possibly regret of sleeping with someone that wasn’t his fiancee, but he knew damn well that wasn’t it either.

His thoughts were messy and unorganized, all because of you.

All he could think about was you.

“Don’t be all mopey for the rest of the night. Come dance with us.” Tommy’s words were slurred, but Joel was barely paying attention anyway. With another laugh, his brother walked back to the rest of the group, leaving Joel on his own once again.

Instead of going with him and having a good time, he ordered another whiskey, drinking in silence.

┉┉┉

It’s late, nearing one in the morning. Sitting at your kitchen table, you dunked your tea bag into the warm water several times. Your eyes were tired and droopy as you watched the lemon tea bag go up and down, feeling as though you could fall asleep right then and there.

However, sleep seemed to be a big struggle for you. You were laying in bed for hours, restless. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Joel and Jenna standing at the altar, sharing a loving kiss as they became one. Mr. and Mrs. Miller. Your heart would initially sink, and your stomach would be sick. And immediately after, you would feel guilty and stupid for feeling that way in the first place.

They were your clients—Joel was only a client. You were the one who helped them plan their wedding. You should be ecstatic to see them finally marry. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t.

What’s worse, you’ll have to attend their wedding tomorrow to make that a reality. You wished you could bail somehow and devise an excuse, but this was a part of your job. You needed to make sure that everything ran smoothly at their ceremony.

The thought made you uneasy. However, you tried your absolute best to push your feelings aside. You couldn’t let yourself be selfish. Not when you need to remain professional.

Sipping your tea, you hoped it would help you relax and ease your mind and racing thoughts. Maybe then you could sleep without having to envision Joel and Jenna kissing at the altar over and over again.

You almost felt like you were losing your mind. You had never felt so reluctant about attending a wedding that you assisted in planning before. But it was different with the Millers. So, so different.

You thought your time with Joel was just going to be a one-time thing, one mistake. But that one mistake turned into two. And now, you couldn’t take your mind off of him.

You had to keep reminding yourself that you needed to keep things professional between the two of you. Even though you had failed this before, you needed to put it in stone now before it was too late. He was getting married tomorrow, and you needed to accept that fact. He is in a happy and loving relationship; that’s something you need to swallow.

Taking a sip of your tea, you closed your eyes and felt the relaxation hit you instantly with the warm lemon flavor. It never fails to calm your nerves. While they weren’t gone completely, they did decrease significantly.

With a few more sips, you were sure that you’d be able to fall asleep in no time. After all, you needed to be wide awake and perky tomorrow morning for the wedding. But no matter how many times you tasted the calming lemon tea, Joel never left your mind.

You kept thinking about the way he felt, the way he touched you, the way he held you as he would thrust into you over and over again. Just thinking about it made your cheeks hot and your pussy throb. But the way he made you feel was what stuck in your head the most.

Clearing your throat, you sighed before sipping your tea, already close to finishing it off. You were just hoping that this would work and you would be able to drift to sleep without another thought of Joel.

After a few minutes, you started feeling more relaxed and drowsy. You felt as if you were going to lie down in bed and attempt to fall asleep, and you may have been successful.

That was until you heard a knock on the door.

Your eyes quickly widened as your heart rate picked up. A knock on your door was the very last thing you were expecting. It scared the shit out of you, to say the least.

Your heart was still pounding as you slowly turned to face the door. You were cautious, for it was the middle of the night, and you had no clue who was at your door or why. You felt your heart in your throat as you slowly stood up, still overly wary.

Surely, if it was a murderer, they would have already attempted to break into your house, right?

A second knock followed shortly after the first as you approached the door.

With a deep breath, you slowly creaked the door open, cracking it open an inch to see who could be at your house at this hour before opening it up completely.

It was Joel.

You furrowed your eyebrows and opened the door, knowing that it was safe and that it was somebody you actually knew. But that didn’t calm all of your thoughts. You were still beyond confused. Why would Joel be at your doorstep? On the night before his wedding, of all nights? Shouldn’t he be cuddled up in bed with his bride-to-be all fast asleep?

While you were lost in your thoughts, Joel was staring at you, lost in his own. His eyes bore into your own, a swirl of thoughts in his mind.

“Joel?” Was all you could say before he took a step forward, not even saying a word before putting his hands on either side of your face and pulling you into him.

His soft lips crashed into yours, squeezing his eyes shut as he did so. He kept you close, as if he were to let go, he would lose you completely, and that wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

You didn’t hesitate for a second before kissing him back passionately. You felt as though you wished upon a star, and now your dream came true. You had been thinking all night about Joel, and now here he was, standing on your front porch kissing you as if you two were the last people on Earth.

Your arms draped around his neck, bringing him in even closer to you if possible. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting all of you that he possibly could. It pained him to know that this could potentially be your last kiss. Although, there shouldn’t have even been one in the first place. He was supposed to be a married man soon, for fuck’s sake. But you were like a drug to him. He kept on coming back for more. Neither of you could get enough of each other. Each promise that you made to yourselves never lasted. There was always a part of you that knew you two would find each other again one way or another.

“Joel.” You tried to mumble against his lips, but your words were muffled as he kept kissing you, never wanting to stop.

He shook his head to shush you and brought your lips back to his into a passionate kiss.

He moved his hands down to your ass, giving them a cheeky squeeze before grabbing your waist, picking you up, and placing you on his hips. You wrapped your legs around his waist, the kiss never breaking in the process.

His strong arms kept a grip on you while he moved you over to the counter to place you down, his hands squeezing and caressing your hips. Pulling his lips away slightly, he moved them down to your jaw, placing kisses down to your neck.

“Joel..” You took the opportunity to speak but interrupted yourself with a moan when Joel found the weak spot on your neck. He already knew you and your body much too well, “Your wedding’s tomorrow. We really shouldn’t-”

You trailed off from your sentence when Joel pulled away to look you straight in the eyes, “You want me to stop?” He whispered, his hand still firm on your hip.

You didn’t want him to stop. And he knew that you didn’t from the way you looked at him, the way all your emotions swirled in your eyes.

“We shouldn’t.” You repeated, but Joel quickly stopped you before you could say anything else.

“I asked if you wanted me to stop.” He shook his head slowly, never looking away from your eyes. He could feel you tense slightly under his touch, debating with your mind on how to answer.

“I…” You whispered, licking your lips as you looked him up and down. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the bulge in his pants, and your mouth went dry. You wanted this man in front of you so damn bad. You knew it was beyond messed up and wrong, but you knew that this was your last chance with him, that after this, he would be married for good, “No. I don’t want you to..” You whispered breathily and pulled him in for another kiss, your fingers getting tangled up in his hair.

He smirked against your lips as he kissed you back instantly, proud of your words. They were exactly what he wanted to hear. He wasn’t ready to let go of you yet and wanted to show you that.

He moved his hands from your waist up to your chest, cupping your breasts in both of his hands. Your moan vibrated against his lips as he slipped his hands underneath your tank top, his strong hands now caressing your skin. The coldness of his hands sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps up your arms.

His thumbs moved over your nipples as he massaged your breasts with both of his hands, knowing just how to touch you to please you.

It was a familiar feeling, the feeling of guilt and pleasure all in one. Your mind has already told you, screamed at you, countless times before that you shouldn’t be doing this, that you shouldn’t allow yourself to be in this position. But no matter how much you reminded yourself that this wasn’t right, you couldn’t stop. Especially now, when this may be your last chance to be with him again.

The thought that you may lose him after tonight made you pull him in closer to you, wanting to be as physically close as you possibly could. You wanted to touch and feel all of him, memorizing every nook and cranny in his body to keep stored in your memory when he would inevitably disappear from your life.

You didn’t want to lose him, but you couldn’t express those feelings, especially not now. You didn’t want to ruin this moment between you. You just wanted to enjoy it while you still could.

“God, I need you so bad, baby girl.” Joel mumbled quietly in your ear, gently nibbling your earlobe. This caused you to lean your head back slightly and sent a warm vibration over your lower body.

You need him just as much. But you didn’t need to say any words to get that message across. He could tell the second he moved his hand under your panties, slipping a finger rather easily into your wet folds.

Joel groaned as he looked at you, his eyes darkened with lust and want. Knowing and feeling how much you wanted him turned him on even more. His bulge was prominent in his pants; it was almost unbearable. He could feel it throb with eagerness, being trapped by his boxers.

“Tonight, you’re all mine.” He growled, attacking your lips with his.

That one word stuck with the both of you. Tonight. He was yours, and you were his, but only for tonight. After that, he would belong to Jenna. And tonight, you would make sure that you would make it one hell of a night, for it may as well be your final night.

Agreeing with his words, you kissed him back passionately, your teeth nearly clashing with his. You put your hands on his cheek, his scruff prickling against your skin. You nearly held onto him as you kissed him, letting out all the emotions you’ve kept down since now.

“Bedroom.” Joel demanded, out of breath, panting against your lips for a quick moment before pulling away. He held onto your hips and helped you down off the counter. You could only smile in excitement as you made your way to the bedroom, Joel right on your heels.

Joel’s shirt was already half off when he stepped into the bedroom. He really wasn’t wasting any time.

You lay on your bed, resting your head on the pillows, your eyes watching Joel’s every move. Within the blink of an eye, Joel was on top of you as he threw his shirt over his head and tossed it into a corner of the room.

Your hands instantly moved up to his chest, running your hands up and down as he started to take off your pants effortlessly. You were sure that by the end of the night, you would have touched every single inch of his body.

“Look at ya, look how damn gorgeous you are.” Joel shook his head, his tongue going over his lower lip. He gazed upon your body, putting his entire focus on you as if it was the first time he had ever seen your body underneath him.

You blushed and failed to hold in your smile as you stared up at him, “Oh, just fuck me already, Mr. Miller.”

Joel chuckled lowly and shook his head as he moved his hands down to his hips, his fingers grazing your skin gently, “Little impatient are we?” He whispered, lowering down to press kisses on your jaw down to your chest.

“Very.” You admitted with an involuntary whine, needing him more than ever. You didn’t know how much longer you would be able to wait without him inside of you.

Joel smirked at your confession and shook his head teasingly. Oh, how he loved to tease you and see you squirm under his touch, just desperate to feel all of him.

“I love seeing you needin’ me so bad..” Joel cooed and caressed your hips firmly with his thumbs, “I won’t make ya wait any longer.” He didn’t admit it, but he was just as desperate as you. He didn’t want to spend another second without him inside of you. He wanted to fuck you until you were unable to walk, wanted to make this a night that you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about for the rest of the week.

Without any more warning, he slipped inside you with ease.

“Fuck, I love this pussy.” Joel groaned and held onto your hips tighter as he pushed himself inside of you. It wasn’t his first time fucking you, but each time felt like the first. He could never get sick of you. Whereas with Jenna, he couldn’t even remember the last time they spent a night together.

You fit him like a glove as if your pussy was made just for him, and he had found the missing puzzle piece. Joel took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself down just a little. He didn’t want to get himself too excited, for he wanted this moment to last. And seeing you like this and just being inside of you was more than enough to get him going. He didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want this to be the last.

You and him both knew that you didn’t want him to go through with this marriage. Jenna never did anything wrong necessarily, but there was just something about you that she was lacking. He wanted to be with you and to stay with you. And even though you couldn’t admit it to him, you wanted the same exact thing. You had an ounce of hope that after tonight, he would tell you that the wedding was off and he was going to stay with you. But that was just wishful thinking.

“Nice and wet just for me.” Joel breathed, his hot breath hitting against the sensitive skin of your neck. Your skin tingled, yearning for the feeling of his lips on your neck.

His thrusts were slow and steady at first, getting you nice and eased in. But it wasn’t long until he pulled out before going back in one thrust, getting as deep as he possibly could, “God, I just wanna be deep inside of ya, doll.” he mumbled before doing it once more, the feeling of being empty to completely full causing you to moan.

You tried not to think about the possibility of it being your last time with him, and it was easy to do so at the moment, considering that your mind felt foggy from him thrusting into you over and over again.

You leaned your head back and grabbed onto his hair for something to hold onto as he thrusted mercilessly into you. The tugging of his hair only made him more motivated as he quickened up the pace. He could feel himself getting close, but he tried his best to distract himself from finishing for he didn’t want this to end any time soon.

He held himself up with one hand over your head, the other grasping onto your breast, squeezing and teasing the nipple while he kept the pace of his thrusts. With each thrust, you let out a moan or a breath of pleasure.

This was something that you had enjoyed about sleeping with Joel so much. The fact that he knew exactly what you liked and that he knew what he was doing was incredible for you. He was the first to make you finish, and he’s always ensured you did.

You loved it. And for your own selfish reasons, you weren’t ready to let it go. To let him go.

Joel moved his hand from your breast to caress and squeeze your hip, the gentle squeezing making you even wetter. You loved the effect he had on you.

“Fuck, Joel! You’re incredible, fuck” You moaned out, feeling like your words were choked up in your throat. Moans followed your words, making you feel almost pathetic for how he easily made you feel like this.

Your head leaned back against the pillow, and you bit your bottom lip. So hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if you were able to taste blood sometime soon.

Joel groaned and smirked at your praise. It was just that little bit of motivation that kept him going.

There was a deep sinking feeling in his heart. Not because he knew he would be married to someone else soon, but because he was sleeping with somebody else. But knowing that this might be the last time he would be so intimate with you. It pained him to think about it.

However, he wouldn’t allow himself to get distracted and doleful, for his current goal was to make both of you feel good. And damn, he was going to do a good job of it.

“God, so fucking sexy,” Joel groaned and leaned down slightly to kiss your neck, a place that you were badly aching for him to touch, “Can’t get enough of you.” He bit your neck gently, pulling the skin slightly before placing a kiss over and over again on that same spot.

“I’m close, fuck I’m close.” You moaned and squeezed your eyes shut, putting all of your focus on getting to your climax.

Joel took these words and continued to do precisely what he was doing, gripping and squeezing your waist while keeping the same pace with his thrusts, knowing just what you wanted, just what you needed. He knew you like the back of his hand.

Your hands moved down from his hair onto his shoulders as you felt the finish line getting closer and closer.

“Come for me, baby.”

With your nails dug into his back, you kept your eyes shut and moaned and screamed out his name, your climax taking you by storm. You felt elated as he continued his thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm.

Your breaths became quicker as you came down from your climax, your heart racing at a million miles an hour. You felt as though you were on cloud nine. The idea that this was possibly the last time wasn’t even in your mind anymore. All you could think about was how incredible this man was able to make you feel, each time without fail.

With you finishing, Joel didn’t feel the need to hold himself back anymore, knowing that he had gotten you where he wanted you to be. He squeezed your waist gently and leaned his head back, the veins in his neck nearly popping as he came inside of you. Wet and hot rope after rope shooting inside of you, he felt as though it was one of the longest and most intense orgasms he’d ever experienced.

While he was with Jenna, you were the one who made him feel good about himself. You made him feel like the man he was. His legs nearly shook as he slowly pulled himself out of you, both of you instantly missing the feeling of being connected so intimately.

Joel kissed the top of your head before slowly laying down next to you, wrapping his arm around you. You had already come down from your climax while Joel’s heart was still racing, and his breathing was unsteady.

“God, you never fail to amaze me.” You break the silence and laugh.

Joel chuckled along with you and rubbed your arm as he pulled you in closer to his naked body, “Same goes for you, doll.”

While the two of you were feeling incredible, you knew that there was an elephant in the room that neither of you wanted to begin to discuss. But you know you had to.

“So, you’re getting married tomorrow.” The words felt forced from your lips as you glanced over at him.

You could feel him tense up once you brought it up.

“Mhm.” He hummed out and looked down, refusing to look at you.

You almost felt bad for asking, but you knew that it had to be done, “Must be pretty exciting, huh?”

You were hoping that he would say what you were hoping, that the wedding wouldn’t be happening in the first place. But again, that was nothing but hopeful thinking.

Joel opened his mouth to say something but sighed, his body still tense, “You would think so,” he spoke quietly, holding onto your shoulder a bit tighter to reassure himself. He couldn’t hide the truth from you. He didn’t want to, “But I’m not feeling the least bit excited. It’s dread, is what I’ve been feelin’. And I can’t lie, baby, you’re all I can think about.”

This is what you wanted to hear. But it didn’t feel right. Your heart was still sunken in your chest.

“But the wedding?” You whispered while staring up at him, wanting him to continue.

“The weddin’s tomorrow. I can’t just not marry her, she loves me.” The corner of Joel’s lips turned into a frown, “I can’t do that to her.”

The words hurt you more than you ever thought they would, especially now that you were cuddled up against him, close in his arms. You weren’t ready to let him go.

With your head resting on his chest, he felt at home. You felt safe in Joel’s arms. You couldn’t deny that feelings for him were beginning to develop, which made this all that much harder. And saying goodbye wasn’t necessarily ever easy.

You swallowed the big lump in your throat and nodded slowly. Now was quite possibly the only time you could ever tell him the truth. If you stayed silent, you knew that you would regret it in the near or far future.

“I understand,” Your voice was soft, your throat was tight, “I really do like you, Joel… I’ve loved spending these nights with you. I ended up looking forward, wondering if I may see you again,”

His eyes bore into you as you spoke. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed along with a frown on his lips. He had a gut feeling that he knew where this was heading, and he dreaded the words coming from your lips.

“And I want you to be happy. I know that if you cancel this wedding, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. I don’t want to get in the way of that, not more than I already have. You and Jenna deserve to be happy.” You fought back the tears, refusing to choke up in front of him.

Joel stayed silent and frowned as he looked at you, squeezing his hand gently. He didn’t say a single word as he stood up from your bed. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling down.

It was a silent goodbye. He was hesitant, but he didn’t want to make this goodbye harder than it already was.

He left the room without turning back.

Once you opened your eyes, the tears fell down.

You tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep that night. They are getting married tomorrow. And there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #18+#female reader #writing #fiction #joel miller smut #tlou smut #the last of us smut #joel miller angst #tlou angst #the last of us angst

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ladykailitha · 4 months

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Icarus Part 3

Hello! If you haven't seen it yet, I've got a set schedule for what story posts on what days now (as seen here) and this one as well as Well Met By Moonlight, Batshit Soulmates, and Never Hold Back Your Step... will still be posting just on rotation until I can finish some of my WIPs. (I may be stretching myself a bit thin having six going at the same time.)

In this one we have the concert. Eddie stumbles on something big and doesn't know how to deal with it all. And Uncle Wayne is bestest as always.

@emly03 @redfreckledwolf @itsall-taken @rozzieroos @mira-jadeamethyst

Part 1 Part 2

****

The day of the concert dawned abhorrently cheerful and bright. Not a cloud in the sky or any accidents that would prevent Eddie from having to take Dustin to this event. He wouldn’t deign to call it a concert. He had heard the album and seen their posters, but he refused to wander over to YouTube and watch videos of their concerts, interviews, their music videos.

He didn’t want to be even more disappointed that they were all flash and no substance then he was sure he was going to be for the next two hours.

Dustin rolled his eyes when Eddie parked in the huge concert parking lot.

“You’re just salty because I like them as much as I like Corroded Coffin,” he huffed getting out the car. “You have to concede that Abaddon’s vocals are killer.”

Eddie scoffed. “Do not. I haven’t heard them live. Way too many artists use autotune too much these days.”

“You sound like that meme,” he sneered, “‘Old Man Yells at Cloud’.”

Eddie swatted at him playfully. “Am not.” Dustin raised his eyebrow skeptically and he threw his arms in the air. “I’m not. I am a very serious musician, Dusty. The last thing metal needs is some band that can’t write or even play their own instruments. This isn’t pop.”

“You are such an asshole,” he said and turned toward the entrance, leaving Eddie to jog to catch up with him.

Eddie sighed and put his arm around Dustin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I am being an asshole. I turned into the person I swore I would never be. Those shit for brains critics that hated Corroded Coffin when we first got on the scene. And that was wrong of me.”

Dustin sighed, too. “I just want you to like them too. They are so good if you’d just give them a chance.”

Eddie breathed out through his nose. “Yeah. I can at least give them that.”

They got to their seats and Eddie was a little impressed at Claudia Henderson’s Ticket Master foo. They weren’t front row, but they were only a couple of rows back so you could actually see the stage without having to strain their necks and smack dab in the center of the row.

Dustin would have the best time. And now it was up to Eddie not ruin it for the kid. Because yes, he was still a kid as far as Eddie was concerned. Twenty-one was so fucking young. That was how old most of the band was when they got their record deal, after all. They weren’t prepared for what came next, that’s for sure.

They got settled into their seats and Eddie watched as the rest of the crowd shuffled in. They were all about Dustin’s age with very few exceptions in either direction.

There seemed to be a color theme going on with the girls in the audience though. They were grouped in clumps of red, black, blue, or white. Which made sense if each band member stuck to a certain color palette.

Well he was about to find out, he supposed.

The lights dimmed. The crowd quieted down. The spotlight lit up the drumkit first. And Eddie knew that Gareth would be drooling over it. It was all black with black metal fittings. The kit seemed to collect light almost like a blackhole.

Then from the ceiling, a man dressed all in black being lowered onto the stage with large black raven wings on his back. He wore a black hooded coat over what, Eddie couldn’t tell. It was all black. The shirt, the pants, the boots. Even his mask was all black with even the eyes appearing closed. His feet touched the ground and the crowd went wild.

“Azrael!” the announcer called out.

Azrael settled on the throne and picked up black drum sticks.He counted time above his head and played a wicked solo to the adoring crowd’s absolute delight.

Dustin jumped up and down, screaming.

The spotlight moved to the right side of stage and the next band member descended from the ceiling. Large bat wings adorned his back and he was dressed in red leather fetish gear. Complete with tight leather pants that looked painted on and a matching harness highlighting his bare chest, peeking out from the red leather hooded coat.

His guitar was fucking gorgeous, though. A Warlock, much like Eddie’s own. It was custom painted red with black flames licking up the neck.

Eddie rolled his eyes, but it seemed he was the only one who thought the whole thing was over the top judging from the screams from the girls in the audience.

He didn’t just land gently on the stage like the drummer did, oh no. He fucking stomped onto the stage with a howl.

His wings, like the drummer’s ascended back into the rafters as the announcer shouted, “Asmodeus!”

And then Eddie really did roll his eyes. The demon of lust. Of course he was.

But seconds later Eddie’s jaw dropped to the floor as the man wailed on his guitar driving the crowd further into the frenzy.

Once he finished his solo the crowd quieted again and he could see why. Because just then, descending on gossamer wings that shimmered like starlight, was their bassist.

Everything about him was midnight blue and shimmering like the night. His mask was the face of the moon. He had his own hooded coat, but it was like the night sky, with some kind of crystal or gem sewn in to make the coat glimmer like stars.

His bass was something that Brian would have sold his own mother for and they were as thick as thieves. Eddie didn’t know much about basses considering his sweetheart was an electric guitar, but he could tell it wasn’t expensive but was perfect for his style. A style he showed off with gusto to the audience’s obvious delight.

“Astraeus!” the announcer cried.

Eddie decided that this one was his favorite. It played up the whole mysterious thing without the over the top flash of the guitarist or the sheer void of the drummer.

The audience hushed as the three members of the band began to play what was clearly the lead singer’s entrance music.

And holy fuck was Eddie screwed. This man was descending like a fucking angel sent from God, Jesus pose and all.

He was all in white with an opaque lace mask that had his mouth and chin cut out for him to sing. That surprised Eddie somewhat. He figured that the guy would have his whole face covered like everyone else in the band and that he could lip sync.

But nope. Apparently no one in this band did anything by halves.

The lead singer was wearing a sheer mesh crop top under the hooded floor length coats the whole band was wearing. Only his was white with a silk powder blue lining.

Eddie winced in sympathy. They must get boiling under the lights with those things on.

A few feet from the stage floor there was an explosive pop! And the feathers from his wings flew out into the crowd who was now screaming as if their life depended on the sheer volume coming out them. He looked over at Dustin who was no different.

When Eddie could see the stage again, this angel’s wings were now skeletal and gothic.

He landed in front of microphone whose stand had been decorated with a scarf in each of of the band members’ signature colors.

“Abbadon!” the announcer yelled for the final time.

And Eddie was in love. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Dustin must have seen his expression because he was suddenly tugging on Eddie’s arm and screaming, “I told you!!”

“Indy!” Abbadon growled, grabbing the mic. “Thank you so much for having us! Let’s get this started.”

Then he began to sing and yeah, Eddie knew that the guy had charm, but this was a whole new level of epic. He was enthralled.

He didn’t utter a fucking word for several songs. But then it happened. Eddie couldn’t believe it. He hurried to snap a picture to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

But there it was it in living color. He turned to Dustin to see if he saw it too, but the kid was too busy screaming and jumping up and down.

Eddie’s jaw fell.

That couldn’t be right, couldn’t it? That Dustin didn’t know? Eddie looked back up on stage and a lot of the puzzle pieces started slotting in place. His heart sank a little.

He shook his head to clear it of dark thoughts. He didn’t know the reason for any of this and leaping to conclusions would only get a shit ton of people hurt. Especially the boy next to him.

Eddie let the music wash over him. Let the magic of metal soothe his soul. Soon he was jumping up and down and headbanging with the rest of the crowd. Right hand flashing the devil’s horns, left hand out to steady himself he let himself enjoy the band’s stage presence.

****

To say that Eddie’s mind was fucking blown would be an understatement. He pestered Dustin all the way home with rapid fire questions. Where did the band tour last time? What was their schedule this time? Was it a six month tour or an eighteen month tour last time?

Dustin answered each question with growing excitement, thinking that Eddie had finally grown to love this band as much as he had.

Eddie on the other hand felt a growing sense of dread. Well... maybe dread was the wrong word. It was certainly a sinking feeling. One he really had to exam closely.

At least he could honestly say that he fell in love with the music before he found out his little secret.

And fuck what a secret it was.

He dropped Dustin off at home and drove out to the ranch that he had gifted to Wayne when Corroded Coffin first made it big. It was a beautiful, sprawled out home surrounded by acres of land and Eddie loved it even more than Wayne did.

Eddie stumbled through the door and was surprised to see Wayne drinking hot chocolate and reading a sports magazine in his expensive recliner. And yet, at the same time, not really that surprised.

“You do realize I’m no longer that fucked up kid with anger issues,” Eddie huffed on his way to the kitchen to grab a beer, “that were almost as bad as the troubles with the law, right?”

Wayne chuckled. “Maybe so. But you’re still my boy and I’ll keep worrying about you until the day I die.”

Eddie popped open the can of beer and sat down on the sofa. He leaned his head back on the back cushion with a heavy sigh.

Wayne raised an eyebrow. “What’s stewing around in that head of yours?”

Eddie slowly raised his head. “What would you do if you accidentally found out something about a friend that they were keeping from everyone they knew?”

Wayne set down his magazine. “That would depend on the secret. Is it hurting anyone?”

“Is what hurting anyone?” Eddie asked. “The secret?” Wayne nodded and Eddie frowned, really thinking about it.

“Maybe some feelings,” he said after a moment. “But it’s not dangerous like they committed a crime or anything. It’s not even about their sexuality.”

Wayne hummed thoughtfully. “And is it a big secret or a little one?”

Again Eddie was forced to think hard about what that meant. “I guess it depends on the person, but in my eyes it’s pretty big.”

The elder Munson nodded. “Do you feel hurt by this secret?”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.” He bowed his head and let out a shuddering breath.

“Is there a reason you think he wouldn’t have told you?” Wayne pressed.

“Of course no–” Eddie stopped as his brain caught up to his mouth. “Shit.”

Wayne raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Eddie admitted shyly. “There’s a pretty good reason why he wouldn’t have told me. And now I feel like the shit friend.”

Wayne stood up and pulled Eddie into a big hug. “Maybe so, but you have the time to course correct and show this friend that you are worthy of his secret.”

Eddie nodded. “Thanks, Uncle Wayne,” he mumbled into Wayne’s neck.

“I’m just glad I could help.”

****

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @y4r3luv @cryptid-system @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #the fallen

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geralts-yenn · 1 year

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Bonfire

Captain Syverson (Sandcastle) x reader (female reader, no race, body type or physical features mentioned other then blushing)

summary: After months you finally see Sy again. But how will he react to you after he cancelled his date before he left?

warnings: fingering, oral (f and m receiving), protected p-i-v sex

word count: 6,7k

A/N: I had this in my WIPs for sooo long, probably wrote this three times, deleted, changed, wrote it again. Sy just didn't do what I wanted to. But when I stumbled over that gif I knew I had to finish this story and I think I am finally happy with everything. Hope you like it too.

More inspo boards

I'd love to get some feedback so please don't hesitate to reblog, comment, ask. Like all my fellow writers I long for every bit of interaction with my readers.

taglist: @raccoon-eyed-rebel @deandoesthingstome @mayloma @fvckinghenrycavill @ylva-syverson @ellethespaceunicorn

(please let me know if you want to be added or removed)

You feel lost. Why the hell did you even come here in the first place? This was Sy’s coming home party. And you two aren’t really friends. Maybe you could have become. Maybe even more. But time wasn’t on your side. You look over to the man that held your mind and heart captivated in the last year, without even being near you most of the time.

You were surprised when you first saw him today. The buzz cut and the beard were new and unfamiliar. But it made him even more attractive. You wonder how it would feel to be kissed by him. Would his whiskers be soft or would they rub your soft skin and leave red marks?

You take in how he pulls his upper lip into his mouth, licking the beer from it. The next girl is coming over to him. You have watched them the whole evening: Making doe eyes at him, playing with their hair. All trying their best to get his attention. Of course, he had this effect not only on you. They all wanted him.

Well, you wouldn’t stand in their way. If Sy had had any interest in you, you would have heard from him. But he never called, he never texted, he never wrote.

All your friends are enjoying the evening, drinking, talking and laughing by the fire. No one seems to notice that you don't join them. You walk away from the bonfire into the woods.

You sit down on a rock and think about what led you to feel so sad.

May, one year ago:

You were excited to go to your friend’s wedding. It was the first event in your new life. You’d finally be able to get to know some of the people here. You had moved from Chicago to a small town in Texas. Your college roommate Megan had got you that amazing job offer that you couldn't decline. And, because she moved in with her fiancé, she even offered you her old apartment, which you gladly accepted. But the first few weeks in the new job had taken all your time. And Megan didn't have time to show you your new home in Texas either, she was occupied with her wedding. So you didn't know a lot of people yet.

When you saw him for the first time at the wedding, you immediately knew that you would fall for him. He was not only attractive, he had an aura of self-esteem and authority that you couldn’t call anything but ‘big dick energy’.

You watched him striding over to the bar. He took his drink from the bartender and turned, letting his gaze wander through the crowd. You realized too late that his head turned in your direction and when your looks met, you dropped your eyes to the floor hastily. Surely he could see you blush even from the opposite of the room. You walked over to your friend, trying to look like you were very much busy with something else as that gorgeous big guy. But to your shock, only a few moments later, he came over to you.

He bent his head down to you and whispered: “No need to turn away darlin', I like being eye-fucked by beautiful women.” And he winked at you and walked away with a cocky smile spread over his face.

Now you were sure that everyone in the room could see your cheeks glow brightly. Megan grinned at you, she was near enough to overhear his words.

“That was Sy. He's quite the charmer, right?” You covered your eyes with your hand.

“Doing my best to embarrass myself at the first opportunity,” you said, grimacing. But Megan insisted that he didn't want to embarrass you but he was flirting.

Over the evening, every now and then your look met Sy's. And every time, he gave you a smile. But you were glad that he didn't come over to talk to you anymore because you felt like you would only be stuttering. Especially after the wine you were drinking made your tongue heavy.

When Megan and her now-husband Fletcher had left, you decided to go home, too. You got to know some people and had fun during the evening but you still felt a bit like an outsider and you were too tired for conversations anyway. So you grabbed your cardigan and your purse and headed for the door.

As soon as you looked up, you saw Sy’s eyes, following you the whole way through the room. He had gotten rid of his jacket and his bow tie. The first buttons of his shirt were open now and the sleeves were rolled up over his elbows. That man was a fucking tease on legs and he knew exactly what he was doing. He was standing close to the exit, so you had no other choice as to walk past him. And when you were close enough, he saluted you with two fingers.

“Sweet dreams, sugar! Hope I see you again soon.” You gave him a shy smile, not daring to speak. Sitting in the Uber that got you home, you wondered if he was talking like that to all the women today, or if he was curious about the ‘new girl’, or maybe he truly was interested in you.

It was unbearably hot the last few days and you were so happy to finally have a free weekend to spend with your new-found friends. Megan, you and a couple of other people had planned a trip to the beach. When you walked down the boardwalk you got really excited. You were a summer girl through and through and you loved the sea.

You were lying on a blanket, sipping on your drink and reading, when you heard some of the guys cheering. You looked up, thinking they were playing a game or something like that, when you saw them waving at someone. You turned around and almost choked on your lemonade when you saw who was walking up to your group. He was wearing camo shorts, a red shirt that was probably a size too small for him and some dark aviators. Like the first time you had seen him, Sy strode along with an attitude of big dick energy that took your breath away.

After the wedding you couldn’t get him out of your mind anymore and so you were really disappointed that you hadn’t met him ever since. You had tried to subtly ask Megan about him, but of course she knew right away. She told you that he is in the army and he was always quite busy when he was on leave, working on his house, meeting friends and family. But yet you always hoped he would show up when you were out. Three months later you had given up and almost forgot about him, and that's the moment he appeared in your life again.

You turned back to reading your book, trying to look unaffected. But Megan dropped beside you the next moment.

"Look who has time for his friends today…" she said to you playfully. You closed your book and sat up, but instead of an answer, you just rolled your eyes at her. Sy had reached your group and greeted everyone with a nod and a smile. One of the guys handed him a beer can and they started talking.

Megan, of course, couldn't stop teasing you. "So, how do you like him better, in a suit or with that tight shirt?" She grinned at you. "Damn, I should have waited until he went swimming for that question, I guess. It would be an easier decision then."

You smacked her on her shoulder but both of you were giggling. "I don't think it would be an easy decision at all. He looks damn fine in a suit, but this shirt is… uh… nice, too. I doubt it can get any better." Megan knew you were going to learn soon how wrong you were so she just let out a loud belly laugh.

Sy looked over to you two, probably searching for the source of laughter. And you could tell the moment when he noticed you were there, too. His eyes got slightly wider and his mouth fell open for a second. He turned his head back to the guy he was talking to, but he seemed to be distracted, fiddling with his fingers, licking his lips and every so often squinting over in your direction. You were surprised to see him like that. This wasn't the confident guy you had seen until now.

Megan saw it, too. "D'ahw, he likes you, girl!" she remarked.

You tried your best to act normal and apparently Sy found back to his cocky self after a while, too. But when he grabbed the back of his shirt to pull it over his head, you couldn’t keep your composure any longer.

“Fuck me!” you mumbled under your breath. Megan shoved her elbow into your side, grinning.

“Told you so!” she sing-songed into your ear. You both watched how Sy stepped into the water, diving into a wave.

Megan’s husband Fletcher dropped down next to you. “Ladies, you are staring!” he said amusedly.

You decided that you should go back to reading when Megan and Fletcher got up to get some sandwiches. But the book you read lead into a quite smutty scene exactly now that you tried to stop thinking about that half-naked hunk in the water. That didn’t help at all! You rolled over to lie on your stomach. At least you weren’t able to look at him now.

Two pages later, a shadow fell upon you and your book. Followed by tiny cold drops of water dripping down your warm skin. You let out a shriek and turned to see who it was that startled you like that. You had to squint your eyes due to the sun, but it was very clear whose wide frame was standing in front of you. Sy threw a towel into the sand next to you and sat down.

“Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to make you scream like that.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a cocky smirk. "Watchu reading?” He nodded at your book.

Oh no! You definitely didn’t want to tell him about that cheesy vampire smut. “Uhm, just a fantasy novel,” you muttered under your breath, hoping that this would be enough information for him. But you weren't lucky.

“Fantasy? Really? I read a lot of fantasy stuff myself. What is it? Maybe I have read it, too.” Sy grabbed your book from between your arms faster than you could react. He turned it to look onto the cover.

Sy amusedly raised an eyebrow when he saw the artwork and the title. “Hu, now that is probably still on my to-read-list,” he said with a deep chuckle.

You wished the sand under you would just swallow you, so you didn’t have to look into these beautiful ocean blue eyes next to you ever again. You were mortified! As Sy noticed you not only blushing but also turning your head away from him, he shook his head.

“Shush, hey, I’m just joking. I didn’t want to make you feel bad.” He laid your book down again onto your blanket and instead put his hand onto your shoulder.

That was unexpected. But it felt good and somehow it made you feel more comfortable again. You turned to look into his face again and you noticed that the cheeky grin had disappeared and was replaced with a warm smile.

“I’m Sy, by the way. But I guess someone already told you.” He looked over to Megan.

You nodded and gave him your name. “But I guess someone already told you,” you parroted him, which he answered with a smirk. “But Sy isn’t your real name, right?” you asked. Sy raised his right eyebrow and pulled up one corner of his mouth. He probably had to answer this question way too often.

“Benjamin Jacob Syverson it is. But since there were four Ben’s in our football team we had to get creative with the nicknames.” He drew quotation marks into the air with his fingers at the word ‘creative’. “And somehow ‘Sy’ stuck with me. Even my sister calls me Sy now, which is quite stupid if you think about it.” There was that deep chuckle again that gave you goosebumps despite you lying in the warm Texas summer sun.

Sy and you got to talk and you soon realized that he not only had a hypnotizing appeal, but he also was smart and your conversation with him just felt so easy and relaxed. Damn, you were falling hard for him. It was the second time you saw him, the first time you talked to him and there you were, totally smitten.

When Megan came back to you and practically pulled you with her into the water you were almost furious that she had interrupted your talk with Sy. But then you saw him following you into the waves and you couldn’t be mad at Megan anymore.

The rest of the day felt like a summer daydream. You were swimming, drinking, laughing. And all the time Sy was somewhere around you. In the evening Megan and Fletcher asked you to join them for a beach volleyball match.

“We need a fourth person,” you said, looking around.

Megan's cousin Terry came over to you. “I could join!” he suggested. But then Sy stood up and stepped between you and Terry.

“No offense, but it would be kind of unfair teaming her up with you, Terry. You would look like hobbits playing against giants. I think she needs a partner that is a little bit taller than you.” And yes, Sy looked ridiculous tall next to Terry. And broad. And sexy.

So it was you and Sy against Fletcher and Megan. It was no surprise to you that Sy was very competitive. He went all in, throwing himself into the sand, sweat running down his bare back. You enjoyed every minute of it. In the end you won and before you could think, you found yourself jumping onto Sy, hugging him like a koala.

He grabbed you by your thighs and chuckled. “That was worth the fight!”

In the next couple of weeks you met Sy sometimes at the bar or at gatherings with friends but to your disappointment you never got that close to him anymore like you did at that day on the beach. You were tempted to ask Fletcher for his phone number, but somehow you wanted him to make the next step. Maybe you were kind of old-fashioned but you wanted him to woo you. And so you were waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

And then there was this day in October, the sun was shining and you were driving home from your office, singing loud and wrong to your favorite songs. Ahead of you you noticed a truck standing in the dirt beside the road. The hood was open and you saw a pair of jeans leaning against the front.

Okay, you were taught to be kind and offer help. But you were also a woman alone on an empty road. You struggled if you should stop. Reducing your speed, you carefully approached the car. And then you let out a snort when you saw who was standing at his broken truck.

“Hey Sy, need a savior?” you asked him with a wide grin when you stopped next to him. He looked up from under the hood and answered with a surprised huff.

"I'm not sure what kind of help I need at all right now, darlin'. I thought I could fix that goddamn piece of scrap like I usually do. But it seems this time it's not that easy." Sy scrowled while scratching the back of his head with his greasy fingers.

You parked your car in front of his truck and got out to him. You leaned against the fender and looked onto the engine as if you had any idea how cars work. Well, to be honest, you looked at Sy's arms and hands that rested on some parts of which you had, of course, no idea what they were. Somehow this grime look, greasy and oily, affected you more than you would have guessed. As if you needed to be more drawn to that guy as you already were.

Sy ruttled on some cables, according to his facial expression not with any success. "Sugar, can you get into the car and try to start it?"

You climbed into the driver's cabin and adjusted the seat a good amount forward so you'd be able to get to the pedals. You turned the keys but the car just spat out some sad noises.

Sy shook his head and worked on some other cables. "Once more, please?"

You tried again but there was no change. The engine didn't start.

Sy dropped the hood shut and kicked against the tyre. "That damn marten probably munched on my cables again. I'm gonna kill that little bastard!"

He got to the driver's cabin and held out his hand. "Can you give me a ride into town, darlin'?"

"Sure!" you answered, although your voice didn't sound sure at all. You put your hand in his and jumped to the ground. But you didn't expect that fluttering feeling that suddenly hit your stomach and so you stumbled forwards.

Sy's arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush into his embrace. You didn't even feel embarrassed as you inhaled his scent while you stayed in his arms way too long for that accidental situation.

"You okay?" he asked you when you had finally managed to take a step back.

You nodded and gave him a smile. "Yeah, I'm just awful clumsy," you told him.

Both of you got into your car, Sy looking ridiculously big in the passenger's seat of your Toyota Yaris. You turned down the volume of the radio and talked with him for a few miles.

"You really care for your truck, don't you?" you asked him. You had noticed that although it was an old model it was very well maintained.

Sy gave you a strange look, somehow sad. "Yes. I really hope it's just that stupid rodent again and nothing more serious. The truck was my dad's! He gave it to me on my 16th birthday. It was old even back then but it was mine." He took a deep breath before he continued. "I lost my dad half a year later. He didn't come back from Iraq."

"Oh!" Your hand reached out to his and pressed it slightly. This time you were prepared for the sensation of feeling his warmth. "I'm sorry," you said in loss of other words.

A silence fell upon you that wasn't actually uncomfortable but after some time you felt like you needed to say something.

"So, where can I drop you off? Some repair shop?" Sy shook his head.

"No, I'm just texting my cousin to go fetch the car and I'll fix it on my own. Could you please drive me home?"

You nodded and continued to drive in silence until you made it to town. Sy cleared his throat like he wanted to say something, but didn't continue. At the next crossroad you turned left. Sy turned his head to you and finally started to speak.

"You know where I live?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, although he looked more amused than surprised. Heat crept up your cheeks and ears. You felt like a stalker. Probably because you were a stalker. Megan had pointed out his house when you were driving by a few weeks ago. And maybe you had made a little detour sometimes since then, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

"It's a small town." You shrugged awkwardly and luckily he didn't seem to mind.

"That's true. How'chu like it here? A little bit different than Chicago, hu?" A grin spread over his face.

"Hell, yes, but in a good way. I know people are always talking about southern hospitality, but you know, it's really true. At least here in this town. I feel so welcome, I made more friends in these few months than in Chicago in half of my life."

Sy's chest puffed out proud when he listened to you, which was really kind of cute.

"And do you enjoy the southern hospitality of someone in particular?" he asked next. You weren't quite sure if you understood that question correctly so you just blinked at him.

"Are you seeing someone?" Sy rephrased with a wink.

"Oh!" You felt stupid. "No, not like that." You hadn't even finished your sentence when Sy's smile widened across his face.

"That's good!"he said, just to correct himself in the next second. "I mean, it's not good that you don't have someone. It's good because I actually wanted to ask you out."

You felt your heart race in your chest. He really wanted to go on a date with you? Yes, that's what he had said.

"I'd love that!" you told him.

Sy didn't say anything in response but grabbed your hand and rubbed his thumb over your palm. Though you felt like you couldn't focus on driving any longer somehow you made it to his house shortly after.

Sy let go of your hand and you both got out of your car. With wide steps, Sy circled around the car to get to you.

"Thanks for the ride, sugar!" He leaned down to you and gave you a kiss on your cheek. It was so gentle you almost weren't able to feel it. What a shame!

Sy pulled his mobile out of his back pocket, unlocked it and gave it to you.

"If you give me your number I'm gonna text you later. If you really want to go out with me, it is, of course." The wink he gave you made sure that he was very well aware that you wanted to. So you added your number and gave it back to him. He held the phone up, silently asking for permission to take a photo of you. You gave him a small nod. But instead of taking a picture immediately, Sy leaned forward to kiss you once more on your cheek. This time his soft lips rested longer on your skin. And while he was kissing you, he took a selfie of you two.

"Sy!" You were too flabbergasted to really enjoy it but the feeling in your stomach told you, you really liked him being so near to you.

Sy looked at his screen grinning and held it up for you. You looked absolutely ridiculous, eyes wide in surprise.

"Oh no, please delete this. I'm looking so stupid!" you begged him, but he just chuckled and shook his head.

"No, you're pretty as a speckled pup!"

Over the next week Sy and you had texted with each other every day and when you really had a bad day at work, he had even called you and you talked for almost two hours, feeling so much better after.

When you met with Megan on Friday for lunch you were starting to get nervous because of the upcoming date.

"I have no idea what he's up to. He told me it's a surprise but what the hell am I supposed to wear?" You shoved your salad from one side of the plate to the other, not really eating much at all.

"Girl, calm down. Just wear some tight jeans and a top. And nice matching underwear, of course." Megan giggled as you gave her an annoyed look.

You were under the shower when you heard your mobile ring. Hastily you grabbed a towel and went to answer the phone. It was Sy.

"Hey, handsome!" You sat down on your bed, ignoring the fact that you were still dripping wet.

"Hey!" The hesitant, almost silent answer made your heart drop. This was the sound of someone knowing they'll disappoint you soon. He changed his mind.

"Sugar, I'm so sorry. I won't be able to go out with you." There it was. You gulped, not able to say something, so Sy continued.

"I got notice that I have to leave next week. I.. There's a lot I have to get done before that. I wasn't expecting to be deployed that soon."

You still just sat there. He was leaving in a few days. You won't be able to see him for months. And he chose to cancel your date. The last chance to be with you.

"Darlin', I'm sorry. I really am."

"It's okay, Sy. I understand." You really did. But it hurt nevertheless.

You had hoped for some texts coming from him. Some sign that he was thinking of you.

Then you thought that maybe he wasn't able to send messages at all. But when Fletcher told you that he had gotten text messages from him you knew that this wasn't true. He just didn't want to stay in contact with you.

Well, it's not like you two were a thing after all. You barely knew each other.

You tried to move on, tried to forget him. Megan even managed to persuade you to go on a few blind dates with guys she thought would distract you enough.

But nothing you did was enough to stop thinking about him. Every night you lay in your bed, thinking of the few moments you had shared or wondering what he was going through right now.

After a while you hid your heartache from your friends, even Megan was sure you were over Sy. And so no one thought it would be hard for you to come to the homecoming party your friends organized for him. But it was.

You look up to the stars, blinking the tears away that gather in the corners of your eyes. The night sky in Texas is so beautiful. But it makes you feel even smaller and insignificant. Maybe you should just go home.

You get up but instead of just leaving, of course, you have to glance over to him again. He leans over to Fletcher, talking and gesturing. Both men share another look and then Sy walks away. He moves into your direction. Fuck!

The whole evening you pondered what you would say to him when he would come over to you. If he would come over to you.

Now your brain just feels empty. You turn around again, looking up to the sky once more. You hear his heavy footsteps approaching. And then you feel his warm hands rub over your arms.

"Damn, you're freezing, darlin'. Why dont'chu get a little closer to the fire?" His hands don't stop moving up and down your arms and he even moves closer to you and you feel the heat of his chest on your back.

"I want to look at the stars. At the fire it's too bright."

You feel Sy nodding. You two stand there for what feels like an eternity without talking.

"You didn't say hi," he remarks after a while.

“You didn’t say goodbye!” is your answer and you can’t hide the bitterness in your words.

Sy inhales deeply. “I didn’t,” is all he says. Then he pulls his Hoodie over his head and gives it to you. “Here, you are shivering.”

You don’t want to accept it, but he is right. You really are freezing. And you need to talk with Sy, give it a closure, whatever it was that you two had last year.

So you put it on. And you realize immediately that this was a fault. You take in the scent it radiates. The scent that takes you back to the moments where you were lucky enough to be near him. When he leaned down to you at Megan’s wedding, that day on the beach when you jumped into his arms, the day you stumbled into his embrace and he kissed your cheek.

“I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to sit there waiting for me when we didn’t even know if this is something worth waiting for. And to be honest, I wanted to protect myself, too. I was afraid I couldn’t make it through these months if I felt more for you than I already did.”

Sy sits down on the rock, his thighs spread wide. He pulls you down to sit in between them and wraps his arms around you.

“Didn’t help anyway. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you the whole fuckin’ time. Every hour of every day of every week of every month. Was starin’ at the stars so often. Always thought that at least they are the same, shining down on me and you. That made me feel a little bit nearer to you. And I was lookin’ at your photo all the time.” You hear his deep chuckle, although it sounds a little bit different than you know it. It has some sad undertones this time.

Of all the things he told you, you pick the most stupid thing to answer him. “Noooo, not that stupid photo, I’m looking awful in it.”

This time Sy’s chuckle is brighter, the way you know and love it. “Nope, darlin’, already told you. Pretty as a speckled pup!”

You turn your head to look at him. And at the sight of him, looking at you so soft, the fire throwing light and shadow over his face, you know it’s going to happen. You lean into him, you can feel his breath and then finally he closes the last distance and his lips brush over yours. His whiskers tickle at the corner of your mouth but you decide immediately that you love it.

Sy grabs you at your waist and pulls you sideways onto his lap. With the new angle, he is able to pull you closer and deepen his kiss. His tongue carefully licks over your upper lip and you respond to it by opening your mouth to let him explore it. You feel like the world around you fades away and it is just Sy and you. Both of you put all the love, all the desperation you felt in the last eight months into this kiss and so your hearts are racing when you finally part your lips again, gasping for air.

Sy stands up, carrying you bridal style without any effort. When he moves you near the fire, you notice that everyone else is gone. Sy sees the confused expression on your face and grins.

“I asked Fletcher if he could make sure to give us a little more privacy.” Sy kneels down on a blanket next to the fire and puts you down. His wide frame leans over you the next moment and his mouth is on yours again. Soon his lips travel from your mouth to your jaw and neck, finally resting on a spot under your ear where his kisses and sucks made your whole body shiver.

He pulls his head back, looking down onto you with his eyes dark. “Are you still cold?” he asks you.

“No, I’m feeling as good as never before,” you whisper. Your hand travels to his jaw and you run your fingers through his coarse beard. Sy leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

“I can shave it!” he tells you but you shake your head. “No, I think I like it. Missing your curls though.” you answer him while running your other hand through the soft hair on the back of his head.

“Yeah, gonna need to grow them out again. You will need something to hold onto.” He winks at you and you can’t hold back a laugh. That’s the Sy you missed so much.

You get back to kiss each other, and soon your hands are traveling over each other's bodies. The heat of the fire and of Sy’s body gets to you and you lean up to get rid of Sy’s hoodie. Sy mirrors you and pulls his shirt over his head. You gasp at the sight of his bare chest. His shoulders are even wider than you remember and you can’t help it, you want to bite into his pecs that heave with every one of his deep breaths.

You straddle him and kiss him passionately. Sy’s hands grab your ass and he pulls you impossibly close to him. You feel him pressing against your core, hard and big, and you moan at the sensation. Sy tugs on your shirt and you help him to get it off of you. You hadn’t bothered to wear a bra and Sy grunts in appreciation as his hands cup both of your breasts. Soon he repalces one hand with his mouth and he circles your hard nipple with his tongue. “Damn, baby you are gorgeous!” he tells you and sinks back into the soft flesh of your breasts.

Then he moves, laying you down onto your back and slowly he trails a path of wet kisses down to your belly until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. His eyes move up to your face as his hands go for the button. Instead of an answer you help him open it and pull at your zipper. Sy rolls down your jeans, tugging the tight fabric until you are finally laying in front of him, only in your soaked panties. His beard tickles you as he kisses you all the way up from your ankle to your knee and then further up your thigh and you squirm under him. Soon you feel his warm breath through the lacy fabric of your underwear.

“Please, Sy!” you beg and he answers you teasingly with a chaste kiss onto your clothed mound. “Sy! Please!” you plead once more and he finally listens. He pulls down your panties and parts your legs with his shoulders. And then his mouth is where you wanted it to be.

Slowly, way too slowly, he licks with his tongue through your folds up to your clit. A gasp escapes your mouth when he reaches your pearl. Sy keeps playing with it, drawing circles around it, sucking it into his mouth. With his tongue flattened, he laps along your entrance and then he gets back to your clit again. When you already notice the tension in your middle build up, you feel a finger push into you.

Sy curls it to find your most sensitive spot. And when he reaches it, he adds a second finger and pumps them into you. All the while he rolls your clit between his lips. You can hardly breathe over the sensation Sy's tongue and fingers give you. You press your hips up to his mouth when your climax washes over you and you feel your whole body melt under his ministrations. And even after you come down from your high, Sy doesn’t stop moving over your now oversensitive pearl.

You wriggle under his touch. „Sy, come here!“ you tell him and pull him up to you. Droplets of your juices fall from his wet beard onto your chest when he leans over you with a wide grin.

He sinks his head down to you and kisses you frantically, building up the ache in your core again. You start to fumble on his belt. You’re impatient and want to feel him in every way possible. You had waited so long for this to happen, now you can’t wait a minute longer. But Sy takes all his time to drag this out.

Finally, you manage to undo his belt and your fingers work on the buttons of his jeans next.

“Sy!” you moan into his ear. “I want this so much. I want you.” He just growls in response. His mouth is on your neck and his hand travels down between your legs again. You are still not able to free him from his damn pants and you let out a frustrated huff.

“Will you just already get out of these jeans and fuck me?” you almost cry out. Sy chuckles lightly.

“Oh, baby, I will. Trust me. Just give me one minute. There’s a condom in my jacket.” He gets up and your gaze follows him as he walks to his truck. You take in how the thin layer of sweat that covers his back glistens in the light of the bonfire. It’s the hottest thing you have ever seen.

He gets the condom and then, when he turns back to you, you have to correct yourself. THIS is the hottest thing you have ever seen: Sy walks back to the fire, and when he is towering over you, his chest glistening of sweat all the same, he opens his jeans and lets them drop into the dirt. He’s been going commando under them, so he stands there in all his glory. And because it’s Sy, he’s looking at you with his signature cocky smirk and his eyes dark with desire.

You grab his hand and pull him down to you. Sy drops next to you and the moment he’s on the ground, you take your chance and get on top of him. You kiss him, starting on his neck, then going down over his chest and stomach and then you follow the trail of dark hair to his hard and veiny cock. You pause your movement to lick your lips and then you finally sink your mouth over the swollen head of his cock. Your tongue circles around it and Sy answers with a loud growl.

You can’t take him fully into your mouth but you do your best to make him feel good with your lips, tongue and hand. And you feel him twitch and grow on your tongue.

“Baby, please, you need to stop or I’m not going to last. It’s been too long.” He pulls back and puts the condom into your hand. You sit up and carefully you open the package and roll the condom over his dick.

Then you straddle him, one fist around his cock. Slowly, you guide him through your wet folds to your entrance. You stop for a second, your eyes meet, and your heart is going to burst by the sight of him, looking at you hungrily but also so soft. You sink down onto him, inch for inch and you can barely breathe at the sensation of him stretching you out. When you are seated completely, Sy leans up to you and kisses you. You hook your legs around his hips, put your arms around his neck and pull him tight. Your lips meet again as you start to roll your hips in a slow rhythm.

Your breasts brush over his chest with every movement. You kiss over his jaw and his throat, grind your core on him as you ride him. Sy's head sinks down to your breasts, needily he sucks on your nipples while he rakes his nails over the soft skin of your back.

After some time where you move on top of him in a slow pace, Sy loses his patience, grabs your sides and starts to thrust up to you. Now your hips are crashing together roughly as you both chase your high. Sy lets out deep moans in the same rhythm as his thrusts. One last time he pushes his hips up to you and then he comes with a rumbling groan. He holds you tight against his chest. You follow him only seconds after, just by feeling and hearing his release you reach your high, too and you ride him slowly until the shockwaves that rush through your body cease.

Sy softens the grip of his arms around you and looks at you with hooded eyes. You climb off of him and you fall onto the blanket next to Sy. Panting, both of you look at each other and just smile like idiots.

“So, can I finally take you on a date, then?” Sy asks and you both laugh.

Sequel: Something like that

#captain sy x reader #syverson fanfiction #syverson #captain syverson x reader #my writing #bonfire #syverson x reader #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill characters

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dangerpronebuddie · 14 days

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WIP Wednesday!!

Tagged through the week by lots of people (thank y'all I always enjoy reading your stuff 💜) and today by @wikiangela and @inell who both shared AMAZING stuff y'all should show some love 🩷💚

Still working on Severed Artery, but it's been slow going. It's been... a week™, and the words just aren't wording. I am hoping to have this finished soon because I really like it (most of it anyway lol). While I sit and stare at the doc until it stares back, have some of The Boys vs Helena Diaz:

“Mom,” Eddie says before she can get started. “I know you're worried, but we've got it handled.” “Eddie, you can't even walk more than a few feet without falling over,” she points out with a huff. “What makes you think you can single handedly take care of Christopher? Or yourself?” “Not single handedly,” Buck declares. Helena turns her icy gaze on Buck. “Excuse me?” “Eddie can take care of himself and Chris, he has been for years, but that doesn't mean he's been alone,” Buck says. “I'm not saying he's incapable,” Helena says slowly. She always did that when she was trying not to explode. “All I'm saying is he's going to need help.” “And he has it,” Buck says easily. "I think you might be overstepping, young man," she says in the same tone she always used to scold Eddie with his whole life. “You've done what you were asked.” “Don’t you dar-” Buck stops Eddie's protest with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his gaze never leaving Helena's. "I step in wherever Eddie wants me.” “Like taking my grandson from me?” Helena scoffs. “Mom-” “Why didn't you tell us?” she asks, looking at Eddie with watery eyes. There are a million reasons why Eddie didn't tell them. A million more why he never intended to tell Buck. But Buck needed to know, deserved to know, and it was the only way Eddie could give Buck his heart and still protect it from being shattered. “I knew how you’d react,” Eddie says, taking the easiest explanation. “You didn’t even consider the possibility of him going with you,” Helena huffs. “It’s not about that,” Eddie counters. “Christopher’s life is here. He loves Buck-” “And he loves us-” “I’m not saying he doesn’t, but-” “Then why choose-” “Because he loves Buck like a father,” Eddie blurts out.

(tags under the cut. As always, please let me know if you want to be added/ removed):

@13shadesofanni @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @tizniz @loveyouanyway

@ronordmann @steadfastsaturnsrings @daffi-990 @kitteneddiediaz

@exhuastedpigeon @spagheddiediaz @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @thekristen999

@actuallyitsellie @daniwib @fortheloveofbuddie @wildlife4life @theotherbuckley

@rainbow-nerdss @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

@lunarspark-cos @idealuk @shipperqueen6 @slowlyfoggydestiny

@misshiss727 @likeamollusconarock @lin27 @jshadow01 @orangeboxfox92

@smallandalmosthonest @thegeekcompanion @emilybahu @lemotmo @awolfnamed-nyx

@kaseysgirl86-blog @darkrose6578 @totallynotagoraphobic @dandelioncasey @bibuckbuckgoose @whatsgoodinthehood22

@lady-elaine @buckley-diaz-rules @buddiedaydreamer911 @monroemary @pirate-hunter @nonspeakingkiku

And @just-passing-through04

And anyone else who wants to share!! 🥰🩷

#911 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #helena diaz #911 abc #9-1-1 #fanfic #Maggie writes #buddie wip #911 wip #the severed artery fic #she has a title now!#fic: blood on my shirt (heart in my hand)#wip wednesday

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jimblejamblewritings · 1 year

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the fake date plot | part 1.

Summary: Gryffindors, seventh years, classmates, unrequited love. Just a few things Y/N and James Potter had in common. When a brilliantly dumb plan is hatched the two end up getting something a little different than what they wanted.

Author's Note: Hello! Yes, I'm here with a wip before finishing my other stuff. The James girlies have led me down a rabbit hole and some of the cutest stories are in the James tag. So before you read this, please read: If I Kiss You, I'm Sorry by @astonishment which is what inspired this fic.

Warnings for the Series: literally none that I can think of this is supposed to be just good fluffy fun

Pairing: James Potter x reader

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N II: I literally use whatever gif comes up when I type in 'James Potter' but imagine your own fancasts and I might switch up every now and then

Series Masterlist

“Prongs, there’s some owl at the window,” Remus said as he exited the kitchen.

James lifted his head, trying not to disturb Peter who was using his chest as a headboard while he tried to solve the Rubik’s Cube Remus had bought him for his birthday. It was summer and naturally, as someone going into his last year of school when break ended, James threw a party at his house.

His parents were going to be on business trips most of the summer. The party was a major success. Only the marauders, Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary were still there. They had all planned on staying, already having their trunks there. School was in two days.

James hopped up from where he was on the floor, cleaning the smudge of his glasses. “Oh, that must be Elton.”

“Elton?” Peter asked.

“Y/N’s bird. She really likes Elton John’s music. He’s some muggle singer. Moony knows, the Crocodile Rock dude.”

James left the rest of his friends in the living room to ask how he even knew you while he got your letter. He dug around the fridge to give Elton two blackberries as a thank you. James opened your letter in the kitchen before going back to his friends, in case your letter had confidential information in it.

He hid the smirk on his face behind the letter when he saw his friends’ expressions. They totally bought it and they would buy it even more when he saw you on the Hogwarts Express in two days. You and James came up with the best fake date plot known to man last school year:

It was the Yule Ball. Hogwarts kept the name even though you didn’t have Triwizard Tournaments every year. The students like that. It was always fun to go to a ball. It was also nerve wracking. Everyone was trying to get a date or they’d risk being talked about for a century. James was failing at asking Lily out and you were failing at avoiding a few boys that wanted to ask you out. None of them were the guy you wanted to ask you out.

Even when you got to the ball, boys were still trying to ask you to dance. You grabbed a cup of punch and excused yourself. You walked further away from the Great Hall and to a small corridor. A dark figure made you stop for a moment before continuing on your path. A sniffle made you stop completely.

“Are you okay?”

James jumped. Wiping at his eyes, he looked over at you. James stuttered through lies before giving up and turning the other way to lean his back against the windowsill. He took a sip of the drink he had in his hand and looked over at you.

“She can't even spare a dance with me. I thought everything was going well this year.”

You gave a dry laugh. “I totally know the feeling.”

James raised an eyebrow. He patted the space next to him and went to join him at the windowsill. The two of you clinked glasses and downed the rest of your drinks. James disappeared the cups.

“So which bloke did you want to dance with?”

“Oh, I don’t really think that’s important.”

“Nope, Y/N. It is totally important. I’ve poured my heart out to you, it’s just not right to be the only one.”

“Fine. Xenophilius… Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing. Him? Really?”

“I know he’s snogged a lot of people but h—”

“Love, he’s shagged nearly all of Ravenclaw. The only long term relationship he’s ever been in was Pandora.”

“But they lasted all of fifth year plus the Ministry added eighth year so there’s still time to see him a lot.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me about eighth year.”

The Ministry was very concerned with the amount of Hogwarts graduates getting married and having children right after leaving school. Especially when a good chunk of them died either fighting for Voldemort or against Voldemort. Adding an extra school year was a way to try and quell that phenomenon. As someone so close to graduating, you hated it at first. It became only a minor annoyance when you realized the Ministry probably wouldn’t be changing their minds until Voldemort was defeated.

James shrugged his shoulders. “So what’s your plan exactly? Pine after Xeno all of next year and then when eighth year comes around hope he stops hooking up in Gryffindor locker rooms long enough to realize you’re perfect for him?”

“He hooks up in Gryffindor locker rooms?” you asked with slightly widened eyes.

“Unfortunately. Our rooms are closest to the pitch, easier to sneak in and out during games.”

“Do you really think I’m perfect for him?”

“Y/N,” James said with a roll of his eyes. “I haven’t sat next to you in Potions every class since first year to not know that if Xeno took just a week off from trying to fuck everything with a pulse he’d know you are one of the nicest and cutest girls he’s ever going to get. You’re wicked smart too which is up his alley… I still don’t understand how he still gets the grades he does.”

“Thanks, James. For what it’s worth, I think Lily is missing out on a very observant and handsome and sweet guy even if your pranks go a little too far sometimes.”

“Well, we only save those for people that like to pick on those smaller than them.”

“I know.”

“Do you feel like going back to the ball? Because I don’t.”

“Not really.”

James held out his arm. “Shall we make our way to Gryffindor, my lady.”

“We shall, good sir.”

You and James skipped through the halls until you made it back to Gryffindor tower. You ended up following him up to his dorm which you had never seen before. Despite being assigned class partners since you two were eleven, you weren’t exactly friends with James Potter. Just acquaintances was what you were.

The marauders’ dorm was nice. The first thing you noticed was the fact that they reconfigured their beds. Almost every bed was laying horizontal and flush against the wall, like a bed turned couch. And the wardrobes were also flush against the wall either at the head or foot of the beds, whichever allowed all the beds to see each other. You’d have to proposition your roommates about doing that. It made the space so much wider and seemed to give everyone a personal area.

James led you to his bed area with a blue rug in front of it. You took off your shoes and set them neatly next to his, noting how he was very organized about his shoes being lined up underneath the bed. James moved to the wardrobe at the foot of his bed. His hand dug through the shelves for his pajamas.

“Do you want something to change into?”

You took some of his clothes with a thanks and went into the bathroom to wash and get changed. You and James were going to open the firewhiskey in Sirius’ trunk and vent to each other while getting progressively drunker. James started to make himself a little cot on the floor while you took a shower. Something told him that you two would probably stay up late and potentially fall asleep. He already decided that you were getting the bed.

You laid down on the bed and ate some fizzing whizbees while waiting for James to finish showering. You shot up when James practically broke his own door. His hair was still wet and his clothes looked very disheveled on him.

“I have a plan so dumb it might work on luck alone,” he said as he shook your shoulders.

“I’m listening.”

“Go out with me.”

You laughed. “James, are you already drunk?”

“Just a bit tipsy. But listen to me. You want Xenophilius, I want Lily but neither of them seem to really notice us. So let’s make them notice.”

“You want to make them jealous?”

“Well, I don’t know if they’ll be jealous but I want to make them feel something. Don’t you think they would at least be curious about why we suddenly stopped pinning over them? They’d at least talk to us more, I just know it.”

“Okay, one problem. You scream through the corridors about how much you love Lily. I think only my friends know that I like him and one of those friends is Lily.”

“You two are friends?”

“Well, we’re roommates, one of the few Gryffindor dorms with five girls. I’m really just friends with Dorcas and Alice when she’s not holed up in Hufflepuff.”

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re gonna have to do something embarrassing.”

And that was how you found yourself waiting outside Ravenclaw’s locker room before the big quidditch match on the last day of first semester. If anyone talks, it’s going to be quidditch players. They chuckled a bit while you waited for Xenophilius to come outside, some even going back in to tell him that you were there.

He finally left the dressing room after what seemed like forever and stood right in front of you. Reluctantly, you gave him a small gift and wished him luck before scurrying to find your roommates in the stands. You didn’t think it would take very long for the gossip to spread. What you didn’t expect was for you to get the label of a lovesick puppy. That was worse than what they called James. You told him such over winter break.

The two of you were at his house for the entirety of the break, teaching each other all about yourselves and finishing the plot. You two wouldn’t start fake-dating until the start of seventh year, on the Hogwarts Express to be exact… with James doing a big gesture that was entirely his idea. He was super invested in making it believable. If it wasn’t believable then there was no point.

James handed over your letter to Peter who was still next to him. “Y/N says hi and she’s sorry she couldn’t make it to the party.”

“Since when were you talking to our roommate?” Marlene asked.

“Since I’ve sat next to her everyday in Potions and Transfiguration since we were first years.”

“You’ve been assigned that long?”

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Minnie and Slughorn never switched us. I should probably write something back to her.”

The only thing in James’ letter was that he thinks the plan might work. Everyone perked up at the notion of you two being secret friends so maybe fake-dating would work after all. You threw the letter into your trunk and headed to Platform 9 and ¾. You went to find Alice who would hopefully be alone or with her other Hufflepuff friends.

That was what James wanted anyway. He came in about halfway through the train ride when you were in the middle of talking with your friends. James sheepishly held up a sweater and tapped on the window. Alice nodded for him to come in. The girl was shocked when he immediately turned to you.

“Bug?”

“Yes, Prongs?”

“Do you remember last year when you said you sew? Do you think you can mend this?”

“It’s not even autumn yet. Why do you need the jumper now?”

“I just thought I’d forget unless I said it right at this moment.”

You rolled your eyes but looked for a sewing kit in your trunk. Setting it on the bench, you grabbed the sweater and gently pushed him out of the room.

“Why am I friends with you?”

“Because you love me.”

“Goodbye, James Potter.”

“Bye, Bug. Thank you.”

You sat back down and dug through your sewing kit before muttering that you didn’t have navy blue thread and would try to find some. You had already known that you didn’t have the correct color thread. But a certain Ravenclaw probably did. Your hand shook a bit as you closed the door to your compartment:

“What are Xeno’s hobbies?” James asked when you two took a break to hang out at the pool in his backyard when you arrived early in the summer.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s a load of bull. I know Lily’s favorite gemstone is carnelian because it matches her hair. So what’s one of the man's hobbies?”

“He likes to sew.”

“Oh this is brilliant.”

You knocked on the door of the train compartment that Xenophilius, his friends, and the new girl he was with for the start of school. He and his friends smiled at seeing you and let you in. You held up the sweater.

“Do any of you have navy blue thread? I’m trying to mend a jumper.”

Xeno summoned the spool of thread from out of his trunk. He held it up in his hand until you came in to receive it. His hold lingered on yours.

“You like to sew?”

You shrugged. “It’s more of a hobby. I’ve only ever done stuff for myself until now.”

“Is that for your mum? My first gift to someone else was for my parents.”

“No, James Potter. The idiot can’t mend a simple hole in a sweater. Thank you for the thread, I’ll return it before dinner.”

You smiled a little as you walked back to your compartment. Xenophilius’ smile had twitched a bit when you mentioned James’ name. Maybe his plan might work. Your friends had clearly been gossiping about you when you were gone. There was no doubt that the Ravenclaws were gossiping about you when you left. And because James insisted that you give him his sweater once everyone got into the Great Hall, you were sure other people were bound to gossip.

James ignored the other marauders when they got back to their dorms. He’d tell his friends the truth eventually but it was necessary they also believe the lie for at least a month or two. You and him were supposed to be close friends for the first month. If Lily or Xenophilius didn’t make a move from that alone then you would start fake-dating. It was a foolproof idea really.

(part 2)

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@venomsvl @peaches-n-sunscreen @summerellaz @supernaturallover2002 @sambucky8 @9daykrisr @thebitchinleo @23victoria @scarlets-widow @pagetpagetpagetpaget @lovexnatasha @awesomebooklover17 @1234-angelika @imatrisk @blackreaderatrisk @princess-jules47 @alexloveskili @a-marie-a @siriuslysirius1107 @i-have-no-life-charlie

#james potter x reader #james potter x black!reader #hogwarts #james potter x reader fic #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #marauders imagines #marauders fic #marauders era #james potter fluff #marauders fluff

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py-dreamer · 4 months

Text

So... I know I'm late...

But yea! I said I was coming back with some stickers and I kept my word! I would've hoped that I could've completed the sheet in like a day but as you can see...that didn't work out

I know I've been a bit MIA lately but burnout sucks. I do have a lot of WIPS I really want to work on but again, it seems that the ProcrastiNation hath struck my feeble mortal brain again.

But anyways:

I headcanon Aroace Mei, just a personal headcanon (disagree if you like) I also like lesbian Mei but thought I'd give some aroace appreciation

Silktea was only given 1 episode but OH BOY did it fuel our wild shipping habits. And I jumped on the bandwagon. It's a reference to that scene in She-Ra where Scorpia tells Catra she 'didn't want to do this' then wraps kitty up in the blankey and cradles her like a wee baby. And Sandy would do that for any friend, I will die on this hill

Saw a fanart where Mk had a pig nose themed pacifier and I just yoinked that idea. The pig hoodie and the pacifier seems like something Tang would do for Pigsy (also to get away with free noodles cause who can say no to that face?~)

Mac showing Wukong the lantern. What can I say, mans' fascinated by them pretty lights. Though our little performer's eyes seem to be straying from the show (^u ')

I know many people have issues with shipping with Nezha and such and I know the two had a rough history but y'know what fans do; they love to make the people who kill each other soulmates (platonic, romantic or otherwise) Even if it wasn't romantic, I still love the idea of them being buddies and just chilling, the danger noodle prince and the angy prince snuggle and watch a movie (mainly from Nezha 2019 but I also saw New Gods and can I just say, I want those two twinks to bicker then kiss awkwardly and I want Yun Xiang to BEAT. HIS. ASS) but in case anyone asks, I do perceive Nezha to be a consenting adult in general outside shipping drama and if the two are adults, it does make my heart squeal when I see these two hold hands and whatnot

HOW COULD I EVER FORGET MY SPICYBOIS, inspired by that one Ponyo kiss scene. I was actually gonna make a bigger piece but then I saw someone do it already in a much better fashion than I ever could and I just gave up on the idea but Ig here, its just like the two cakes mentality and I gave it a go. Hope I could do the concept justice

Have spider queen or scorpion queen ever interacted before? No. But they are both queens and I believe Spider Queen's confidence could rub off on Scorpion Queen and she'd appreciate the company of Spider Queen's children henchmen. Also she give yummy food so lesbian venomqueens for the win

Redraw of that moment with Peng and Azure. I normally detest that bird but these two do get some gears grinding and whatever anyone says. Neither of those two are straight. I'll tell ya that.

Toxicinsanity is another rarepair that had like 1 sec screen time. I don't think they'd ever work out in canon and had virtually no chemistry. I still love all the fluffy ship content I can find of them though and if it ever were to happen. I think the mayor would scare the sh!t out of Syntax

Let's get at least one hetero couple here, Chang'e and Hou'Yi are a couple of favorites ngl, I took most of their outfits from Over the moon cause both of them looked stunning, Chang'e especially. I've seen people ship mah girl with other people and while I do agree it's healthy to move on, in my heart she will always long for Hou'Yi

Also irl, on valentines, my mum took us out for lunch, she treated us to bubble tea and donuts. We walked home so I waited to drink mah drink in my room while I drew and I accidentally finished it all... I'm so sorry mum

f*ck I forgot ironbull. Uhh....I'll draw something later, rn I need to go to bed before I get yelled at...

click pic for less sh!ty quality!

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diorsbrando · 10 months

Text

QUIET PERCEPTION. ( neuvillette )

neuvillette x plus size!fem!reader

cw ━━ ! minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written as plus sized/thick, and also as a black woman but you do not have to imagine it as such, anyone is welcome to read. fiancé!reader. just fluffy, lovey dovey stuff <3 neuvi still actively trying to understand him being completely in love with you and the fact you love him back. neuvillette is (un)intentionally is romantic and charming. use of endearment terms in french ( i so desperately wanted to be creative with pet names but i'm still tryna get a read on his character so i decided to play it safe LMAO). some locations (i.e. where neuvilette lives) may not be canon; i just pulled info from different sites. somewhat proofread.

word count ━━ ! 2.06k

notes ━━ ! this'll be something short n sweet <3 i could have sworn that i've written about a genshin character before but looking back, it seems as if i was mistaken :D i definitely have several concepts/wips about genshin charas but i never got to finish them so . . . . here's to my first genshin piece 🥂 i imagined my first would be abt zhongli or diluc ( bc i adore them until the end of time ) but fate has changed <3 this handsome gorgeous man came out of nowhere and captured my heart and won't let go. @gabzlovesu , i actually did it :)

THE STEADY STREAM OF pouring water was the only constant sound that resonated throughout the spacious estate of the Chief Justice of Fontaine. The extravagant windows had the blinds drawn, so the luminescence of the moon was free to shine as it pleased, and take a peek inside the many walls of the home of the ludex.

Inside the master bedroom laid the Chief Justice himself, and you, his dearest fiancé, wrapped securely and loving in his arms.

Well, you were wrapped in his arms.

The space where you were previously laid would soon be vacant, as you found yourself having odd, after-midnight cravings of a certain kind of tea. Despite your obvious sleepiness and exhaustion, your brain would not rest, and kept generating memories about the last time you've had the pleasure to make yourself this beverage and imagined how good it would taste at this hour of the night.

When all is quiet, in sound and in mind, one would have more of an opportunity to really savor something. You reasoned that the tea was bound to taste even better if you drank it now, which was all the motivation you needed to gently maneuver yourself from underneath your fiancé's rather anchored hold on you. It took you quite some time to do so because you didn't want to wake him up. For someone that worked the way he did, he deserved as much undisturbed rest as possible.

Adjusting the bonnet on your head, you slid your bare feet into your slippers that sat at the corner of your bed. The hard marble and tile floors were a lot colder at night when they couldn't be warmed up by the rays of the sun.

You took your time making your way to the kitchen and pantry area. The manner in which you ambled about the corridors━ your cream colored night gown wading at your ankles, flowing with each step you took━ made you akin to a ghost in a haunted mansion.

Once you reached your destination, you went straight ahead and grabbed all the ingredients you would need at a leisurely pace, taking more fulfillment in making a simple cup of tea than you normally do. Usually, you would have thought the whole process was annoyingly long-winded, but this time it was different.

Maybe it's because it was quiet. Your mind was quiet. Your heart was quiet; there was no rush. You allowed yourself to relax, to bask in the tranquility of the moment.

The soft clinks of metal and porcelain, as well as the delicate sound of your humming voice, were added onto the noises of the rushing fountains.

All of the noises were symphonious with each other, to the point where they all merged into one. Soon you were entirely engulfed in your current task and the little noises that filled the air.

And perhaps too engrossed, because you were unable to sense the presence of Neuvillette, who had shifted slightly in his sleep only to notice you had disappeared. He wouldn't be able to, or want to admit it, but the bed you shared turned out to be a little colder in your absence.

"So, here you were," he questioned as he entered, holding a candle in his hand. His voice was a huskier than normal, most likely because he had just woken up from his slumber. You have come to believe over time that the sound of Neuvillette's voice, especially when it was thick with sleep, was the most soothing and melodious sound you would ever have the pleasure of hearing.

Even now, you had to bite back a grin, for the sound of his somewhat deeper voice, and the nature of his statement, caused a giddy feeling to erupt in your stomach. The sensation crawled from your gut and spread across your body like an electric current, and generated a bashful warmth in your face.

"Here, I am," your cheeky reply flowed smoothly from your lips, briefly looking back at him for a moment before grabbing the cocoa powder. "And here I thought I had been as quiet as a church mouse when getting out of bed. Seems I was unfortunately mistaken." The faintest gasp arose from your throat when you suddenly felt your fiancé's body behind you, gently pressing against your back in an effort to embrace you once more.

The Chief Justice knew how to explain and rationalize a lot of things on a many broad subjects, in and outside of the Opera Epiclese of the Fontaine court. But he was at a loss when it came to humans━ specifically and especially when it came to you.

Articulating his feelings for you, trying to fully understand why you felt this way about him in return, and just why he always felt more content when you were this close to him were some things he admittedly struggled to find logical solutions to.

Neuvillette's lips were a hair's breadth away from the upper part of your ear so when he hummed, goosebumps almost immediately erected on the surface of your deep, chestnut skin. His voice, now even lower than before, and the large palm he placed on your torso, startled you to a degree where you nearly spilt all the powder on the counter.

"You should recall how light a sleeper I am. Alas, your attempt to be inconspicuous was all for naught. I'm afraid that nearly anyone would have awoken from all the rustling that resulted from your movements."

You couldn't stop the soft laugh that tumbled past your lips at his subtle jab at your inability to be sneaky. Hearing him say anything resembling a joke at another's expense was certainly rare. "I suppose you're right. It seems my eagerness for tea dulled my usually agile movements."

This time Neuvillette chuckled and shook his head a bit, and his small smile stretched into a wider one when he heard you laugh along with him. The heart that resided in his chest pumped faster and with much more force whenever he heard the sound. He could listen to it all day.

"I'm sorry I woke you up though. I've disturbed you from getting the proper rest you need." You felt the need to apologize, even though it was unlikely your white haired fiancé would ever be upset with your for something like that. "Even more so because I am fully aware of the long day you have ahead of you tomorrow."

Without warning, Neuvillette proceeded to wrap both of his arms around your abdomen and pulled you even closer to his chest. You could feel the ridges and dips of his rather defined and etched stature through the thin satin of your night gown. With little force and much care, he turned you around to that you were now facing him, leaving you no choice but to pause in the stirring of your tea. His hands rested lovingly on your hips and your backside was pressed firmly against the counter.

The space between the two of you remained nonexistent.

"I, too, am aware of the day that awaits me in several hours. But please, do not apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for."

You were about to reply but Neuvillette silenced whatever it was your were going to say next when he leaned down slightly, and captured your lips in a delicate but amorous kiss. In reality it didn't last for more than three seconds, but to you, in your own little world with this man you got to claim as yours, it felt like it lasted much, much longer.

The effect of time seeming like it slowed down felt even more real when the two of you broke away from each other, and his silvery lavender eyes peered into yours. "Truthfully, I don't mind losing a bit of sleep....if it means that I don't have to wait until the morning to have you look at me like this, and hear your voice again."

Your eyes widened a fraction, not expecting him to say something so affectionate or romantic unprovoked. A fond smile tugged on the corners of your lips, already knowing your mind would be replaying his words for weeks to come over and over again, like a malfunctioning record player.

"Oh, mon amour...." was all you were able to say at the moment, your tone soft and breathy, slightly above a whisper. For as long as you have been with your white haired fiancé, he was still effortlessly capable of causing the butterflies in your stomach to hatch from their cocoons, and fly around in a frenzy.

Neuvillette lifted one hand to palm your cheek, and stroke it slowly with the pad of his thumb. His hand, his body, the look in his eyes were filled with warmth, and you wanted to cherish it for as long as possible. Your hands rested on his chest, and you leaned into his touch as he pecked your lips once and then twice more, for good measure and solely because he desired to feel you against him one more time.

The Chief Justice decided he liked this expression on your face. It suited you quite well, he thought. Right now you were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on in his long-standing life.

After a moment, a low chuckle rumbled in the man's chest before leaning forward to peck your temple. "I think I'm craving a bit of tea as well. I'm sure it will quell this newfound thirst that arbitrarily appeared."

Smiling again, you separated from your lover so you can finish on your cup, and so he could get started on his. As you stood side by side, and even as you both finished and made your way back to the master bedroom, you continued to talk to each other about whatever topic lingered in the atmosphere. Anything from the upcoming trial and cases he was overseeing tomorrow, mundane things that you saw on the streets of Fontaine that day, what you had for lunch, and everything else in between was discussed between the two of you.

Before either of you even realized it, the hue of the room turned from colorless dark to a deep cerulean blue, and the songs of the birds reverberated throughout the walls of your bedroom.

It was morning.

"Oh my! Has dawn truly come? And so soon at that...I didn't mean to keep you━"

The words of exclamation were lodged in your throat once more, as you watched him take your hand in his, and placed a feathery kiss on your knuckles and fingers.

"Do not trouble yourself over matters that are not your doing. You need not worry about me, ma douce."

Like a puddle of water that has been sitting in the sun all day, you're felt like you could evaporate just from the intensity of your fiancé's lidded gaze. Sometimes you wondered if he was even aware of his influence on every part of your body.

"Besides, I don't recall ever saying that I intended to leave at this very moment. We still have plenty of time together; the morning has only just begun."

Completely intertwining your hand with his, Neuvillette seamlessly maneuvered you both back onto the soft, inviting sheets, with you conveniently laying on top of him.

His long, snowy hair sprawled from his scalp in all directions making him look majestic with no effort at all. At times, you even found yourself jealous of his beauty. But you wouldn't dare utter such words to him; you'd rather simply admire and even found yourself a little prideful that such a dauntingly beautiful man would be yours forever.

If only you knew that to Neuvillette, you resembled an angel from the Celestial heavens. The sun hasn't risen over the mountains just yet, but your being blinded him, and he found himself never wanting to see another thing again.

Overcome with ardor for you, his hand found its way to the back of your neck to pull your face downward and closer to his, because he was craving another taste of you.

You melted in his touch, and savored the taste of vanilla and crème on his tongue and his hands on your body. The only thing wrong with this moment, was the dawn came too soon.

( # ) ━ since i never wrote for genshin before, i don't have a tag list for it lolz ! but i might as well make one soooo if you wanna join let me know <3 here's the link to my taglist form for my other works <3 @osamwah @smiley-babe y'all would prob like this fdkjdkd

#໒꒱ newborn stand ─ sosa’s filez #❛ mdni.#maybe i should stop planning out fics too much bc this was another random unplanned idea #initially i wasn’t even confident in my abilities to write for him bc he just became official #but watching the same edits of him and staring at pictures wasn’t doin it for me no mor #anyway #genshin impact #genshin impact 4.0 #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin x black reader #black fem reader #neuvillette #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x black reader

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koorminii · 2 years

Text

relax with me | hwang hyunjin

It’s your turn to make noises now, it seems, because Hyunjin drags a moan out of you so loud that you’re worried the neighbours have heard. Your cheeks are red for a whole new reason now, and the fact that Hyunjin is yanking at the collar of your dress doesn’t help. You let him, you don’t care, you want to give Hyunjin everything, anything.

❥ pairing: hyunjin x f!reader ❥ genre: pwp (minimal), smut & fluff ❥ rating: 18+ ❥ word count: 3.4k ❥ warnings: grinding, kissing (??), clothed sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, first kiss, love confessions, idk they’re basically just grinding on each other outside, this looks so fluffy but it’s honestly quite filthy, this was from a wip that I’m most likely gonna scrap so there’s like no background info and there’s barely plot, i think that’s it… ❥ a/n: my first post on this acc!! please give it a read and I hope you enjoy ^^ it’s filthy in the way that they’re doing anything to get off but also sweet bc u can assume reader is a virgin! it’s very sweet posting this is making me wanna finish it but I doubt it very much

He smiles, takes your hand in his, squeezing gently. “I wanted to see you again,” he says shamelessly, tugging you a little closer when you duck your head, embarrassed.

“So shy,” he mumbles, lifting one of your hands to kiss the back of it.

You are dying, you’re sure of it. This is what death feels like. It feels good. And maybe it shouldn’t, because that’s a bit darker than your general way of thinking, and tastes a lot like self-sabotage, but you don’t stop the pestering thoughts from invading you.

“Can I take you to lunch?” Hyunjin suddenly asks, squeezing both of your hands, eyes hopeful as they bore into your own. You’re a mere human, and can't deny the man before you anything when he’s smiling at you like that— not even the fire on your cheeks, on your chest, in your blood, at this point— so you nod.

“I-I’d love that,” you whisper, and Hyunjin pulls you into a half hug where your head is buried into the crook of his neck in such a way that feels scarily intimate.

You pull the bike helmet out of your bag— you didn’t expect to need to use it until later this afternoon, and even then, you contemplated just running away and taking the bus instead— and pulled it over your head. Just like this morning, Hyunjin’s chest was firm beneath your hands, and you wondered what it would be like to rest your head against the heart that beat in time to the bursting of stars above your head in the night time.

And— and things escalate. You’re not dating, not really, but you go on lots of things that resemble dates. Hyunjin picks you up and drops you home from university almost everyday, and on those same days, will join you for lunch. Sometimes you two go out, other times you go back to the garage and eat in the back room. A handful of times you tried eating in the canteen, but Hyunjin never felt comfortable, and he put an end to that after a mere three sessions.

After nearly three weeks of said dates, some of which even taking place after hours at the garage, with you seated on the armchair or perched on top of the bench while Hyunjin worked on a car, or bike, you felt confident enough around him that staying the night to watch movies and eat pasta didn’t scare you.

Hyunjin had promised to make dinner, but had first said that he prepared a picnic lunch for them to have in the backyard. A picnic lunch— you really were living in a romance film.

Turns out Hyunjin lived behind the garage shop front. The block was larger than you had thought, extending backwards by such a length that there was a front lawn behind the garage that led to a house that, although old, was well looked after with rose bushes and large cherry blossom tree— which was unfortunately out of season, but you were sure it was beautiful in spring— and the front porch even had a rocking chair like some kind of fairy-tale.

The inside was unsurprisingly eclectic, with photos and art from Hyunjin and Jisung’s many travels hanging on the walls, and styled with repurposed or vintage furniture in a mismatched fashion that all seemed to work. In the living room, there was even one of the most exquisite paintings that you had ever seen, and when you had told Hyunjin as such, he was positively beaming, telling you that both he and Jisung had actually made it.

The two of them had been living together since they purchased the plot and old garage, and had been friends for almost as long as you and Felix had been. Their closeness seemed different, though. Whereas Felix and you were so clingy one would think you were touch-starved, Jisung almost seemed like a brother to Hyunjin.

Upon hearing this, Hyunjin sniggered, but there was a light of fondness in his eyes when he explained how much he cared for the younger boy. The kitchen was the oldest room in the house, as it was the only room to not have gone through some form of renovation, but it was quaint and cared for, with a bouquet of irises on the dining table. You looked at the array of photographs pinned to the side of the fridge as Hyunjin fluttered about the kitchen, packing up the picnic basket with food he’d prepared the night before.

Outside, the sun was warm, but not burning hot— it was the cusp of summer, after all. It was just the right temperature to be able to take their coats off without getting cold.

You propped yourself up on your arms. Legs stretched out on the blanket in front of you, and let your head fall back to the sun. Your eyes shut as you sighed, inhaling and smiling at the faint smell of oil in the distance. Beside you, you hear Hyunjin shift where he’s seated, followed by a sigh, and then an unexpected, though not unpleasant weight in your lap. Your eyes fluttered open to see Hyunjin curled up on your lap with his eyes closed and a faint grin.

Like this, he looks gentle— despite the bit of muscles that stretch the fabric of his shirt. You find you can't resist, and with the most delicate touch you can manage, combs your finger through the soft strands of Hyunjin’s hair. You feel the latter relax in your lap as you do, and a faint smile grows on your lips.

With one hand, you sneakily take a few photos with your phone, silently wishing you had your camera. You continue playing with his hair until Hyunjin is almost purring, writhing in your lap, and you have to bite your lip, turn away, and let the redness of your cheeks go down. When you turn back to look at him, Hyunjin’s eyes are already open and watching you. They look a little distant and hazy, as if he were waking from a deep sleep, but no less beautiful than usual.

He stretches, arms above his head, making his shirt rise up around his hips. You divert your eyes, but can't miss the muscle of his hips or the trail of hair leading down below the waistband of his jeans. In another universe, a confident version of you is placing your lips there, pressing open mouthed kisses on the pale skin of Hyunjin’s stomach, tasting it, even, but in this universe, you want the ground to swallow you whole even just thinking of it.

Hyunjin calls your name,, not in greeting or question, but as if just saying it because he could. Because he liked the way it sounded on his tongue. You liked it too, much more than you cared to admit, but you're sure Hyunjin knew that already.

“Baby,” he says, this time pinching your side a little, but not enough to hurt. You smile so he knows you're listening, and it only gets stronger when Hyunjin laughs.

“Mhm, baby, I need to tell you something.”

Your heart, first and foremost, sometimes cannot handle being called baby, Felix and Jisoo, who have done it on the rare occasion you’re either particularly sleepy, homesick, or unwell; never had you been called baby by anyone other than your mother in such an open, non-vulnerable position before. You liked it— loved it, even, if the roaring heat on your cheeks and chest meant anything.

“W-what is it?”

There’s a moment where neither of you are speaking, possibly not even breathing, but just staring at one another. That’s not necessarily uncommon, but the tone between you two now differs from before, because Hyunjin’s face is gradually getting closer and closer to your own, by pushing himself up on one hand. Soon, Hyunjin’s face is directly across and in front of your own; he's no longer laying his head in your lap, and the cool air hits your now exposed thighs with a shiver.

Hyunjin’s eyes flicker downwards, to your mouth, and You feel relatively prepared this time—Hyunjin is always giving you little cheek kisses, and you won’t let it startle you this time around.

Hyunjin is propped up on one hand, and the other comes up to cup the side of your neck. You feel overly sensitive—can feel the calluses of his labour but the softness that surrounds it; can feel the puff of breath he releases against the tip of nose, his lips. Hyunjin tilts his head up the tiniest bit, but there are no lips on your cheek or at the corner of your mouth or on your forehead like those times before.

Instead, there’s a pair pressing against your lips, soft and wet with a taste of vanilla, and maybe it lasts six hours or two seconds or it was all in your head, but when Hyunjin pulls away, he doesn’t go very far, and presses his kisses into the skin of your throat instead.

“Baby,” he says again, rougher this time, like he’s choking on his own tongue.

He doesn’t bite at his neck, but you feel your skin prickle against every kiss placed gently against you. You mustn’t be breathing, because you feel lightheaded, more so than usual than when you’re with Hyunjin, and the elder must notice. He draws back, eyes staring into your own.

“Baby, breathe,” and you do, because you live to please, and it's rugged and rough like you’d just been on a run, but your head clears the tiniest bit—enough for you to realise that the kiss did happen, and it wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

“Was- was that okay?”

For the first time You hear Hyunjin stutter. Confident and brave Hyunjin, stuttering because he thinks he’s upset you, did something you didn’t want. If only he could read your thoughts, understand what you were feeling right now, instead of only being able to see the shock written on your face.

And this must be some kind of role reversal bullshit you’re too stupid to understand, because from somewhere deep within you, or maybe from Hyunjin himself, You grab Hyunjin’s face within both of your hands—softer than Hyunjin’s ever would be, but no gentler—and kisses him with as much energy and emotion and love that you can.

Hyunjin is stiff at first, no doubt shocked at your unbidden confidence, but soon relaxes into; he melts. Hyunjin groans, falling into you, his hands trailing down your arms, around your waist, where they lock together in a secure embrace.

You have no experience kissing beyond the two pecks you’ve ever received in your life—one of which was a mere minute ago—so you do what you think is right, what feels right.

Hyunjin is doing that purring thing especially, and it only gets louder when you turn your head for a better fit. Your own hands disappear from Hyunjin’s face, up around his neck, and drag Hyunjin’s body closer to yours. You’re both seated facing each other, but the closer you drag him, the more entangled you become.

Soon, Hyunjin’s tearing away from you, chest heaving and panting and eyes glassy, but props himself up on his knees so he can hover over you, before caging you between his thighs. You gasp, but it’s swallowed up by Hyunjin’s mouth all over again, and you let your hands slide up the back of the mechanics loose t-shirt. Your skin is warm, and Hyunjin hums into your mouth when he presses you closer, your chests pressing together with each movement. Hyunjin’s tongue is begging at your mouth, and your confidence is starting to run out, but you let him anyway.

You let him, you don’t care, you want to give Hyunjin everything, anything.

You think maybe it’s moving too fast, but you don’t want to stop. You think Hyunjin ends up ripping the buttons of the dress open, too desperate to waste time unbuttoning it, and you’ll probably be annoyed later—but now, you groan again, finding his urgency unfairly attractive. Suddenly, Hyunjin’s lips are pulled away from yours again, and you whine loudly, chasing after him. You succeed, biting at Hyunjin’s bottom lip to get him to open up again, but it doesn’t last long.

You’re pushed back gently, and Hyunjin pecks at your lips repeatedly until you feel your back hit the ground. Then, like every girl’s wet dream, the beautiful man is crawling up your body, till he’s seated, straddling your hips and grabbing your hands to hold by your head.

Hyunjin then proceeds to kiss the shit out of you, till you’re breathless and whimpering, and desperately trying to avoid bucking your hips upwards into him. Eventually, Hyunjin drags his mouth away, replacing it at your neck. You’re gasping against him, and you curl into his touch, whimpering when sharp teeth finally nip at you. There’s a tongue soothing the wound, sucking at the same spot, laying over it. You can feel yourself starting to shake, whimpering more often than not, before you’re yanking your hands free from Hyunjin’s hold, and dragging his face back up. You can feel Hyunjin smiling into it, chuckling just the tiniest bit, but resume kissing him.

One of Hyunjin’s now-free hands cradles your neck, fingers massaging into your shoulders as he licks into you; the other roams down your body, before it grasps at the underside of thigh and yanks it upward, wraps it around his own waist.

You throw your head back when Hyunjin grinds against you, hard and hot where you’re pressed together. You had known yourself to be wetter than ever before in your panties—it was constricting, almost uncomfortable—but you hadn’t expected Hyunjin to be as turned on as you clearly were.

Hyunjin, who had had partners before, and plenty of experience, turned on by just kissing you.

It spurred confidence and pride within yourself, and you continued rolling your hips and forcing them upwards with as much power and rhythm as you could. Hyunjin whimpered with you, forcing the leg further up his side, closer to him, until you were matching each other’s thrusts.

Your kisses died out, gasping into each other’s mouths instead.

One of your hands tangles itself into Hyunjin’s hair, yanking slightly just to see the way Hyunjin bites his bottom lip. Running on your confidence high, you let your other hand trace down Hyunjin’s chest, making the elder shiver, until you slide it over the bulge in Hyunjin’s jeans like you’d seen in those cheesy romance movies before.

The reaction is immediate: Hyunjin groans loudly, grinds against you harder, rougher, and though the denim-on-cloth action really limits how much friction you can create, you don’t want to stop—even to remove the barriers.

You feel like a teenager, but you’re close.

You’re close.

You feel like you’ve been whimpering this entire time, non-stop just crying into Hyunjin’s lips, but Hyunjin isn’t much better. He’s given up trying to kiss you, so instead bites and sucks at your throat and collarbones, leaving as many marks as he can. On one particularly hard roll of his hips, your head falls to the side, and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“I—we shouldn’t,” Hyunjin is panting right by your ear, but despite his words, his hips don’t stop.

In fact, Hyunjin shifts a little so he’s back on his knees, and the change in angle means Hyunjin has more power, and then they enter an all different ball game. He grabs your hips roughly, pushing the hem of your dress above your waist.

You can’t speak anymore—feel yourself choking on your own words, on his tongue, letting out nothing coherent, only breathless little squeaks and the occasional moan. You’re sweaty, you can feel a bead of it down your temple, and you can’t really focus on Hyunjin, but you’re sure the elder isn’t much better.

“Fuck,” You hear him say, and that only gets you wetter, if that were even possible and—shit. You were going to come. You were going to come from a bit of teenage grinding.

“Fuck,” you hear again, Hyunjin’s voice cracking and high in pitch, similar to your own, and his hips are starting to lose their rhythm.

“I-I,” you start, stop, your own moan cutting you off. Hyunjin’s face is closer to yours again, hand tightening around your thigh, heat tingling even in your toes.

“Uhh, baby,” he pants, mouth pressing a wet kiss to your forehead, then another to your mouth.

He lingers there for a little, until neither of you can breathe, and you’re gasping at each other again. You suddenly move so you can hook your other leg around Hyunjin’s waist, which the elder immediately catches and drags around himself tighter, and your arms loop around his neck.

You grip tightly into his shirt, the material scrunching up under your hold, but Hyunjin doesn’t relent. His thrusts, though sloppier now than before, were no less powerful—if anything, they got more so, and if you had a clear head, you’d make a mental note to ask him if he had ever dislocated them.

“Hyunjin-Hyunjin,” you beg, almost a squeal, and Hyunjin swears against you again. “I’m—I’m gonna’ come,” you say, and this time, the moan that rips from Hyunjin is animalistic, and he’s pulling back to stare at you in the eyes.

“Shit, fuck—c’mon baby, come for me.”

And you do.

It's immediate, permission granted and you obey. You lock around Hyunjin’s body, hips still working against each other, and your head is thrown back from the force of your orgasm, tightening and then loosening and tightening all over again when Hyunjin’s hips don’t give up.

You’re whining, louder than before, at the sensitivity and the discomfort in your panties, and you feel Hyunjin slowing down.

“No! No, no,” you beg, eyes wide, alarmed, and Hyunjin’s eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, hungry, like a starved man hunting down his prey. “Don’t stop, please, please, don’t stop—”

And then Hyunjin is swallowing your words with his mouth and with a groan, hips resuming their hurried dance, until you’re practically screaming beneath him, your pussy that had long since checked out now logging right back on, soaking where it’s still trapped in your ruined underwear. Hyunjin can’t stop swearing against your neck, can’t stop biting it, and you’re sure you’re going to look absolutely mauled later, but you can’t bring yourself to regret it—at least, not right now.

When Hyunjin comes, it’s with a guttural moan, and one last thrust; it’s with a grip on your thighs and his mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed shut as he works through it. It might’ve been the situation in its entirety, or the oversensitivity, or maybe just Hyunjin’s expression alone—but whatever it was, it sent you over the edge a second time, this orgasm far shorter than the first, but no less powerful.

When you slump back against the grass, Hyunjin half falls atop of you, supporting himself on his forearms so he doesn’t drop his entire weight on you. You want to feel every line of him against your body, but you can barely breathe as it is, so later, you’ll demand cuddles.

For now, you let Hyunjin press soft kisses into your mouth, calm and peaceful compared to the ones they shared moments ago, and for the first time in probably forever, you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed.

“Baby,” Hyunjin starts, chest still heaving, words made mostly of air. “I really, really like you.”

Ah—there it is.

“I swear it’s not just—it’s not just because of—”

You shut him up with a chaste kiss, “I know, I know.”

Hyunjin kisses you again, softer this time, lingering. He pulls away, only to press one last kiss to your bottom lip.

“C’mon, let’s clean up and go eat.”

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! <33 tysm for reading!!

#stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz smut #skz x reader

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