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mrsbuckybarnes1917 · 5 months

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Anonymous request: You're also an Avenger and you love the Christmas time but everyone else doesn't. So you kinda get sad every year as you're the only one enjoying the time. One day you decide to put on some Christmas tunes and start making cookies when Bucky starts watching you from the other room, smiling to himself as he sees you all being happy and cute. He decides to change his mind and joins you, helping you make cookies, even though he's clumsy but you enjoy his presence (as you both have feelings for each other). In the end you're covered in dough and stuff and he grabs you and kisses you, admitting both your feelings, while the rest of the team watches you both happy from afar.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,195 words

Warnings: tooth rotting sweetness, beware of diabetes!

A/N: Shoutout to @samodivaa for aiding and abetting this endeavor!

To you, they were family. And Christmas was supposed to be a time for family. At least that is what you'd been raised to believe, even though you weren't a Christian or religious. To you Christmas was a time for togetherness, for helping others, showing kindness and love and having hope. Shortly before joining the team, you had lost your family and the Avengers had become a surrogate family of sorts. You loved them dearly and wanted them to experience the same joy you did at this time of year.

Tony had graciously let you order a magnificent tree, which you'd basically decorated on your own, with the assistance of your inhuman powers. The others had watched you or walked by showing various degrees of enthusiasm for your activities, ranging from praise to outright disregard for your endeavors. Despite your gratitude, your friends’ lack of interest did dampen your spirit a little.

The closer it got to Christmas Day, your resolve to spread some Christmas cheer grew stronger. It helped that you’d hung a blown up photograph of your own family’s last Christmas picture opposite your bed.

“Don’t worry guys, I’ll get them to come around. I won’t let the love die. I promise,” you whispered in front of the image before starting your day.

You had come up with a plan to try and win your friends over to the festivities. No one could ever say no to your sister’s secret cookie recipe. She had had people practically drooling in anticipation of stuffing their faces with her Christmas concoctions. So after a morning of grueling training with Steve, you took a shower and headed to the store to purchase the correct ingredients. Upon your return, you found Sam, Steve, Bucky and Nat congregated in the living room adjoining the kitchen. They were pouring over some plans over their next mission.

“Hey Nexus! What you got there?” Sam called as you entered the room.

You rolled your eyes at his use of your superhero name. You hated it, but the media had used it far too often and you were stuck with it.

“None of your business, Falcon!” you snarked back at him.

You made a pit stop at the table they were sitting at, Nat and Bucky trying to hide their sniggering faces behind their hands. Steve’s face remained relatively passive, giving you a kind smile for which you were grateful.

“Come on, Sugar. You bring me something sweet?” Sam certainly knew how to turn on the charm, especially in front of Bucky. He knew that the Winter Soldier was harboring a little crush on you and he played up in front of him to see if he could provoke Bucky into acting on his feelings. So far he hadn’t succeeded, but he could definitely hope for a Christmas miracle.

“Here.” You pulled out a bag of his favorite treats which you’d bought back for him from the store.

“So anyone interested in helping me bake some festive cookies?” you asked, shaking a bag of chocolate chips in front of their faces.

“Sorry, Sugar. I have to go talk to my sister. She wants me to buy some new fangled toys for the boys.” He pressed a chaste kiss against your cheek and took his leave.

Nat stood up with Steve. “We can’t stay. We have to show our faces in front of some high powered windbags,” she wrinkled her nose before giving you a hug. “Save some for me though!”

“Me too,” Steve dropped a quick kiss on your forehead before following Nat out of the door. He was in on Sam’s plan to light a fire under Bucky’s ass.

“Buck?” you asked dubiously.

“Not sure that’s my thing, Doll.”

“Your loss,” you replied in a slightly sing-song tone of voice and shuffled over to the kitchen with your bag of goodies, letting Bucky go back to brooding over the book he had pulled out of his jacket pocket.

Sauntering around the kitchen, you laid out the ingredients. You grinned as a happy thought entered your brain and you pulled out your phone letting FRIDAY connect to your bluetooth. Bucky looked up as a tune started to play, it didn’t surprise him in the least that you had your very own Christmas playlist. He couldn’t help but be distracted from his novel as you swayed around the kitchen measuring out flour and butter. But it wasn’t your dance moves that eventually got Bucky’s attention, it was the sound of your voice.

The singing voice you’d been born with was silky smooth, no one would have guessed that you were in possession of such a sweet instrument. Ever since you’d come into your powers, you had the ability to project your voice much further, sing louder with a lot more ease. But you never quite got the confidence to use it publicly. Bucky, however, knew better. He followed your schedule closely enough to know when you’d be in the shower, and he would excuse himself to put his ear to the vent to listen to you belt out your favorite tunes. And it was pure luck that today he would be getting a private concert. He sat, chin resting on his vibranium palm, lost in a fantasy of dancing with you.

This reverie was broken by your sudden gasp and a clatter of a bowl falling to the floor. Bucky was out of his seat in a flash, by your side, helping you clear up your mess.

“Thanks, Bucky!”

“No problem,” he grinned shyly. He always felt a little nervous when he was in such close proximity to you. He wondered if you could hear his heart pounding. “Looks like you need a little help.”

Had you just heard correctly? Was Sergeant Bucky Barnes offering to help you bake Christmas goodies?

“Really?” you asked, hopefully.

There was no way Bucky could say no to those shining eyes, the sincerity behind them when you looked at him. He wanted to be close to you, but at the same time he wanted to run away in shame. Why would someone as pure as you be interested in someone like him? At least, that’s what he always told himself when you smiled in his direction. The two of you were friends, there was no doubt about that, but you were friends with everyone. Bucky wanted more. He wanted all of you.

“Well, I can’t have you accidentally hurting yourself making baked goods.” A faint blush stained his cheeks as he spoke.

Not that you noticed, attributing his color to the rising temperature from the oven.

“Can’t have that at all!” you giggled. “Here, want to measure out the flour?”

You move over, giving him space to do his own thing and pick up the eggs for your next recipe. Your concentration in avoiding dropping shell pieces into the mix was broken by the sound of Bucky’s voice singing quietly to Bing Crosby’s White Christmas. It took a lot of effort to bite back the smile the vision brought to your face. No one would believe the sight; the big bad Winter Soldier singing Holiday singles while baking festive treats. You never understood why people were frightened of him, why people would cross the street to avoid him. It made you angry when people shot fearful looks at him, you gritted your teeth when his reputation was slated in the media. Why couldn’t they see the soft hearted man you had come to love? You had given up trying to hide your grin as you imagined him in an apron with the words “kiss the chef” printed in bold red letters across it.

“Doll?” Bucky’s voice interrupted your fantasy, he was sporting a slightly concerned look. “You okay? You’ve gone really red.”

“Yeah, fine,” you squeaked. “I should probably stop drinking the wine.”

“Doll, you haven’t even opened the wine.” Bucky frowned at the empty glasses and corked bottle on the counter.

You tittered nervously, “yeah, right, umm, it’s just a bit hot.” You fanned your face, trying to disperse the deepening crimson color that was starting to look the same as the wine bottle before you.

Bucky shuffled closer to you. “Are you sure?”

“I’m fine, really, Bucky. Why don’t we start mixing this together?”

You handed Bucky the softened butter and were about to instruct him to beat it together with the sugar, but before you had the chance, Bucky had dropped the entire block into the bowl of flour he had just finished measuring out. A tiny yelp left your lips, which turned into a smothered giggle as Bucky’s flour coated face emerged through the mist created by the crater in the bowl. Without hesitation, you grabbed a clean towel and started dusting his maroon Henley.

Bucky was laughing along with you as you dusted away the flour. Eventually you'd cleared up most of the flour, but he had missed a spot. You mustered up your courage to reach up and brush your fingers over his nose.

“Did you get it all?” he asked.

He was standing impossibly close to you. And you wondered if you had imagined the way his eyes flicked down to your lips for a fraction of a second.

“I think so,” you smiled bashfully. “But maybe you should let me finish up on this.”

“Do you want me to do anything else?” Bucky felt a sudden pang of discomfort. What if you didn't want him around at all.

“Yes! I suck at opening those bottles.” You pointed at the wine. “Do you mind pouring a couple of glasses for us?”

“No problem!” Bucky completed his task efficiently and with enthusiasm.

He waited patiently for you, watching you mix the batter with expertise. You rolled out the dough and held out a couple of cookie cutting molds.

“Which one? Snowflake or Christmas tree?”

Bucky grabbed the snowflake from your open hand and went to work on the dough. You couldn't help but notice how cute he looked as he tried to fit as many cookies on one roll without having to re-roll. It was adorable how his tongue stuck out a little as he concentrated on the task before him. You let him arrange his concoctions on the baking tray.

“What now?”

As if on cue, the oven binged, indicating that the cupcakes you'd put in earlier were done.

“Now, we swap this tray for that one!” you pointed at the oven.

“No problem!” Bucky opened the oven and shoved his left hand inside to grab the baking tray.

“Bucky!” you shrieked. “You don't have any oven gloves!”

Bucky chuckled.

“Doesn't it burn?” you demanded, a little distressed by his nonchalance.

“Doll, calm down.” He put the tray of cupcakes on the counter and showed you his metal palm. “It's fine, metal, remember?”

When your heart finally stopped pounding from panic, you covered your face in embarrassment. Bucky took your fingers and gently pried them off your face, smiling down at you, his eyes filled with more mirth than you were used to.

“So want to frost the cakes?” You grabbed the closest cone of frosting, trying to hide behind it.

“Sure.”

Bucky leaned into your side, making you squeeze the frosting filled cone with unease and painting your face with a green glaze. Bucky was having the time of his life, the thought that he was making you uncomfortable was giving him a much needed confidence boost to do what he wanted to.

“Errr, Doll, you have a little.” He motioned at his mouth.

“Oh,” you wiped a small spot off your cheek, not quite getting all of it. “Did I get it?”

Bucky sucked his lips in for a moment, contemplating his next move. “May I?”

You nodded. He placed his hand on your jaw, his thumb next to the edge of your mouth. “There's just a little…”

Bucky leaned in slowly, his eyes focused on yours for a moment looking for signs of discomfort from your part.

To you, everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. Gently, Bucky covered your sugar coated lips with his and licked it off. His tenderness took your breath away.

As he finally drew back, he stopped, his nose brushing yours. His eyes searched yours for a reaction.

“Is it gone?”

“Want me to do it again, to make sure?”

“I'd like that.”

This time you kissed him back, letting his tongue tango with yours. Bucky's warm hands brushed your arms, coming to rest on your waist while yours found purchase on his sturdy chest. When the kiss ended, you felt flustered but the corners of your mouth wouldn't stop turning up.

Bucky picked up another colored cone. “So this can't be too hard, right?”

You laughed, showing him how you liked to decorate your cakes. Even though you'd not spoken the words out loud, you and Bucky had a mutual understanding about how you felt for each other.

And unbeknownst to you and Bucky, your friends watched the blossoming romance unfold with knowing smiles and a mild frown from Steve who forked up $50 to Sam for his accurate predictions.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes fan fiction #finding the christmas spirit

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odyssean-flower · 7 months

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Everything Shall Return to the Sea Chapter 2 (Yandere Neuvillette x GN Reader)

Summary: You and the mermaid become close to each other, but perhaps you shouldn't have underestimated who--or what--you are dealing with. Warnings: Kidnapping, possessive behavior, forced kissing, forced transformation Note: This was written before the 4.0 update

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

Ever since you met that mermaid, your life had a new routine now.

You woke up, went to work, came home, and chatted with your friends. And every weekend, you visited that beach.

Your obsession with mermaids had been intense and fervent, but ultimately brief, like a sudden summer thunderstorm. However, though you no longer pored over your mermaid books or get excited at any mention of mermaids like you used to, your fascination for those otherworldly creatures remained.

In particular, the beautiful mermaid you rescued.

On your first trip back to the beach, you felt a strange mixture of feelings. Hopefulness, embarrassment, the fear of disappointment… What were you expecting to get from this? What were you even doing here in the first place? You were no chosen one. You simply happened to be at the right place at the right time. The mermaid never came to see you again, he never even thanked you (although you weren’t sure how that would even work, considering he didn’t seem to be able to speak above water). You were just a fool who got carried away because someone needed you for the first time in your life…

You felt the urge to leave right away, but resisted it. The old you might have given in, but now, you gained the will to push back against those doubts, at least a little.

You went there in the early morning hours, roughly around the same time you first met the mermaid. You got out of your car and slowly walked down the beach towards the sea, feeling the grainy sand between your toes and the gentle breeze in your hair. Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest.

But once your feet came in contact with the water, you realized something crucial: how were you going to call the mermaid to you?

You had been so preoccupied with overcoming your self-doubt and indecision over coming here that you had never considered that part. Throughout your research, you had come across all sorts of ways to summon mermaids, but right now, your mind was completely blank.

The longer you stood there, the stronger the urge to run away grew. No, you told yourself and steeled your legs. I want to see him again. I need to see him again, so that I can…

So that I can what?

The question echoed in your mind until the answer struck you.

So that I can thank him!

Yes, you needed to thank him for changing your life, even if indirectly. Others might find it ridiculous, but the gratitude you felt was real.

You looked around to make sure that there was no one else around, then threw away all remaining self-consciousness and shouted, “Hey, Mr. Mermaid! It’s me, the person who rescued you! I just want to say, thank you!”

Your voice disappeared into the air. Your throat felt a little raw, considering how you rarely ever raised your voice like that. You stared at the water for a few minutes, but it remained still.

Surprisingly, you felt neither disappointment nor shame. You came here and accomplished what you needed to do. The mermaid didn’t show up, yes, but that didn’t change anything. It would have only been a bonus, really. Some things in life were only meant to happen once, you decided.

And then, just as you turned on your heel and prepared to leave, you heard a splash behind you.

You didn’t dare to hope even as you slowly turned around and gasped.

The mermaid was there.

He looked the same as he did all those months ago. His white hair was billowing around his shoulders, and his sharp eyes were fixed upon you. Only his upper body had emerged above the water, but you still had to crane your neck up in order to look at his face.

Your mouth went dry. All of your previous bravado was now nowhere to be found. The imposing presence of the mermaid made you feel small and insignificant, like your old self. The words you yelled out earlier echoed mockingly in your ears, and the private fascination you nursed for him felt almost obscene. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, and you felt utterly exposed.

You wanted to curl up in a ball and never get up.

Before you knew it, your legs were backing away, little by little.

The mermaid’s brow furrowed upon seeing that. He shifted forward, reaching out for you.

His reaction made you stop in your tracks. He…wanted you here?

The smouldering embers of your courage slowly came back to life. You couldn’t let things be resolved like this. You were different from how you used to be.

You stepped forward, and surprising even yourself, took his hand and clasped his hand between your own. You feel him tense beneath your touch, but you made yourself forge ahead and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Mr. Mermaid,” you began, but stopped. “Um…it just feels too awkward to call you that. I know you can’t speak, but I would still really love to know your name, so…”

You trailed off. How exactly were you going to get him to tell his name? Have him write it in the sand? Would you even be able to read it?

“It’s Neuvillette.”

A low voice sounded in your head. You nearly jumped back in shock.

“That’s my name, human.”

The mermaid–Neuvillette–simply stares at you, his face showing no hint of emotion. Yet there was no one else who could have spoke directly inside your head.

“Neuvillette…” you sounded out his name slowly. You were suddenly struck by how surreal it was to be able to say the personal name of a mythical creature. “You can speak inside my mind? Can all mermaids do that?” You had never read about anything like that.

There was a pause. “Yes, that’s an ability all members of our kind possess.”

“C-Can you…read my mind?” You really hoped not. If he could read your thoughts and memories, you might just die on the spot.

“I cannot.”

You resisted the urge to sigh in relief. “Okay.” You got back to the main topic. “Neuvillette…I’m here because I want to…thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “I know it doesn’t really make sense, but I do want to thank you, because meeting you has changed the course of my life.”

Neuvillette stared at you uncomprehendingly. It didn’t make sense even as you said it aloud, but you were doing your best to convey how you felt.

“Before I met you, my life was…well, it wasn’t very good. It was pretty lonely, actually. But after I met you, I found a purpose, and that has led me to finding some incredible people and experience things I never thought I’d be able to experience,” you smile up at him. “So…I just want to say, thank you. If I never met you, I would still be drifting through life.”

Neuvillette didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. You had said what you wanted to say, and he heard it all. That was enough for you.

You were about to let go of his hand, but he gripped your fingers tightly, preventing you from leaving.

“Come back again.”

“Huh…?” you gape at him. Did you mishear him?

“I want to know more about your life, so come back again.”

Neuvillette’s slitted eyes bore into yours. You saw your bewildered face reflected in them. There was nothing you could do except nod. “O-Okay, I will.”

That seemed to satisfy him, and he let go of your hands quickly as though dropping burning hot coals. “Good. I will be waiting for you.”

And that was how your weekly beach visits began.

After his rescue by you, he had come to the spot where you two met every morning, looking up at the wavering light above.

He didn’t understand why, or rather, he didn’t want to admit why he was doing this.

Weeks and months passed by. His people were beginning to get restless. Mermaids were a nomadic group, and staying anywhere for a long period of time would doubtless attract unwanted attention sooner or later. But still he came here every day, watching and waiting.

The logical part of his mind told him that he was being ridiculous. He knew full well that humans were fickle, flighty beings. You had probably forgotten all about him already, something he should have also done about you. There was no reason for you to return.

But then…

“Hey, Mr. Mermaid!”

He heard the voice, distorted by the weight of water above him but deeply familiar nevertheless.

Your words confused him. Shouldn’t he be the one thanking you? How did he change your life?

For a few minutes, he was unsure as to what to do. Seeing you again would be an irrational choice , the logical part of his brain warned. Who knows who they have with them?

However, the thought of not seeing you ever again, of not grasping his chance, made his heart ache in a way he had never felt before.

Telling himself that he was only doing this in order to put an end to these thoughts, he swam upward, breaking through the surface just in time to see you turn your back.

You didn’t look very different from how he remembered you, but he immediately noticed one difference.

Your eyes no longer contained that deep melancholy.

Questions raced through his mind. What happened during the time you two were apart? What–or who –caused this transformation within you? And why did he care so much?

He watched as you approached him and felt his heart beat faster when you took his hand. He never felt a human’s hand in his own before, and your touch sent a strange jolt through his body. You looked up into his eyes, meeting them directly. The sounds of the sea seemed to fade away.

You wanted to know his name. Neuvillette, not exactly for the first time, cursed the fact that mermaids couldn’t speak on land. Neuvillette, he thought in his mind. That’s my name.

You jolt up in surprise, and he nearly did as well. Judging from your expression, you could hear his voice in your head. And that meant…

“Neuvillette…” his name departed from your lips. Your voice lingered in his ear. He had an absurd thought to bottle up your voice so he could hear you say his name over and over again.

You tell him how he changed your life for the better. You smiled at him, and he felt like he was feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin after swimming through the dark seas for days.

He needed more.

He wanted to hear more about your life. No, he needed more of you. For the first time in his life, he craved something.

The memory of your eyes, the phantom sensation of your hands around his own, the deep emotion in your voice as you thanked him…all of those things became engraved in Neuvillette’s memories, but they weren’t enough.

And now that he knew you could hear his voice, that was one more reason he couldn’t let you go off.

He asked you to come here again. You agreed. Everything was sealed.

The weekend visits to Neuvillette became a second bright spot in your life, but in a different way than your chats with your online friends.

Since it wasn’t feasible to keep meeting each other out in the open, Neuvillette offers to take you to a nearby secluded cove. You hesitated at first, as you weren’t a very strong swimmer and you still had some amount of self-preservation after all (even though you never believed that Neuvillette would do anything to hurt you), but you agreed when he offered to take you there on his back and assured you that the cove was within shouting distance of the beach.

Being carried on a mermaid’s broad back was definitely an experience you never thought you’d ever have.

At first, you felt awkward talking about yourself to Neuvillette. Typing the words to people on the other side of a screen was very different from looking someone in the eyes and hearing your own voice come from your mouth. But despite his stoic looks, Neuvillette was good at asking questions and an even better listener, and soon you found yourself talking about your new friends, your job, and anything that happened recently, even the small things. You’ve also had a fun time teaching Neuvillette about the human world. You noticed that he didn’t seem too fond of humans in general, but he did seem to like listening to you trying to explain concepts he didn’t understand.

Talking about your past a bit harder, but Neuvillette was perceptive and knew when to stop pushing. He never minded your tears, simply waiting patiently until you composed yourself. Is this what therapy feels like? You wondered.

Neuvillette talked about himself a little as well. You learned that he was the leader of a pod of mermaids, and that the blue streaks in his hair were actually horns. It was interesting to learn what mermaids really were like compared to what was written about them by humans. However, Neuvillette preferred to hear you talk about yourself instead and would often change the subject when you attempt to learn more about him. You chalked this up to him being protective of his kind and didn’t think much of it.

In your first few visits, you thought about asking to take a picture of him to send to your friends, but decided against it. It felt like you were treating him like a rare animal to be ogled at, and there was a small part of you that wanted to keep him to yourself. Besides, when you brought up the topic of him possibly meeting with your friends, he had looked so incensed that you quickly retracted the suggestion.

You realized that you had never seen any other mermaids appear during your meetings with Neuvillette, nor did he ever offer to introduce you to them.

But that was alright. You were no longer as obsessed with mermaids as you used to, and you enjoyed this quiet and peaceful time. Neuvillette’s voice was comforting in your mind, like a warm blanket. You did feel a bit bad when you read your online friends’ conversations about mermaids, but it was a small sacrifice to pay.

Spring and summer seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. Autumn was approaching, and the temperature was beginning to lower daily. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to keep up your visits to Neuvillette in the winter, but for some reason, you kept putting off talking to him about it.

On one autumn day, the conversation came to a comfortable lull. It had been a tiring week at work, and you found yourself dozing off.

“Neuvillette…” you say as your eyelids drooped. “I think I’m going to take a little nap. Sorry, I just feel so tired…”

“No need to apologize. Please, feel free to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

“Thanks…” you whispered, before laying down your head on your jacket. Just before your consciousness sank into slumber, you could have sworn you felt something soft brush against your forehead.

Neuvillette watched your peaceful sleeping face. In slumber, you looked even more vulnerable and defenseless than you did normally.

It would be so easy for someone like him to snatch you up and take you away, and yet here you were, napping. You had complete trust in him.

“Just as I thought…” Neuvillette whispered as he stroked your hair. “I’m the only one who can take care of you.”

Neuvillette had learned many things about you and your world during your weekly visits, and he had come to one conclusion: he needed to take you away from the human world.

It was a far more insidious and bleaker place than he thought. You were surrounded by self-serving and uncaring people who only exploited your pure heart and desire for companionship. As you lived now, you would only spend the rest of your life chasing after the scraps of affection from others instead of being properly cherished and loved as you deserved.

Neuvillette had already planned on taking you away at some point in the future. The fact that you could hear his voice in your head meant that the two of you were connected for life as mates. He had held off on doing that due to some lingering hesitation over taking you away from everything you knew. But he could no longer hold back the desire, not after learning everything about you.

He had already begun the preparations to turn you into a mermaid. But before that, he still intended to ask your opinion. He was a fair man, after all. And in any case, he had no doubt that you would agree.

Neuvillette ran his finger down your leg, keeping his touch just light enough so as to not wake you. Your skin was soft and warm beneath his touch, stirring the unspeakable feelings in his heart. But he knew that scales would suit you much more.

Your eyes suddenly snapped open for some reason. You vaguely recall having a bad dream in which you were desperately struggling to get away from something. I must be more tired from work than I thought.

However, the lingering remnants of your dream were banished from your mind by the sight of Neuvillette’s face right above yours.

You immediately sit up, and he leans back, emotionless. Your heart was pounding wildly, and your cheeks felt hot.

You had spent so much time alone with Neuvillette that you had completely forgotten that he was still an otherworldly, potentially dangerous creature, but it shouldn’t matter, right? After all, he would never hurt you, right?

Recently, you had begun to think about your feelings for him. You did consider him to be a good friend, and you liked to believe he thought the same way about you. You felt happy when you were with him and eagerly looked forward to the weekends. That wasn’t so different from your feelings towards your other friends. But on the other hand…

You couldn’t help but compare to him to the other men you had met in your admittedly limited experience. Unlike them, he was considerate and gentle. And, you were embarrassed to admit it, you sometimes thought about what it would be like to have those muscular arms around you, or to feel those well-sculpted lips pressed against your own…those definitely weren’t feelings one would feel for one’s friends.

But it was nothing more than an indulgent dream. A relationship between a human and a mermaid only worked in fiction. You didn’t want to complicate this fragile thing you had with him, especially for feelings that most likely stemmed from having a handsome man pay attention to you for the first time in your life.

In any case, you needed to sort out your feelings. Perhaps a break was just what you needed. You had been neglecting your forum friends a little bit lately, and you needed to focus on real life more.

“Neuvillette…” you began after a pause. “I’ve been thinking that since winter will be coming soon, we should stop seeing each other, at least for the season.”

“Stop seeing each other?”

The coldness in his voice surprised you. His sharp gaze pinned you in place.

“Because it’ll get too cold!” You hurriedly added. “You can’t take me here when the water is freezing, and I know mermaids need to migrate to warmer waters in the winter.”

Neuvillette regarded you for a moment. You saw his jaw clench. This was unexpected. You had assumed he would agree with you immediately.

You placed your hand on his shoulder. His gaze flicked to it before returning to your face. “Don’t worry,” you say. It felt weird being the one to comfort him. “I’ll come back here on the first day of spring.”

There was a brief silence. Then, Neuvillette placed his hand over yours and laced your fingers together.

“First day of spring? I’ll hold you to that promise.”

You couldn’t explain the feeling of unease you got after hearing that.

Sometime later, it was decided that there would be a real life meetup with your online friends. You enthusiastically decided to go, and you didn’t regret it at all. There was no awkwardness at all, and it was as though you were seeing old friends you had known for all your life.

You ended up hitting it off with someone from there. They were a relatively new member of the forum, so you didn’t know them too well. You were both delighted to learn that you lived close to each other and decided to go have a cup of coffee together.

One coffee date turned into two, and then three. Coffee dates turned into movie dates, then you were spending the night at each other’s place. The winter that year was bitterly cold, but the warmth of your new relationship made you forget that.

However, it didn’t completely distance your memories of Neuvillette, who you thought of with stabs of guilt every now and then. Which was ridiculous, because the two of you had never been like that, but the idea of resuming your weekly visits while you were in a relationship felt deeply dishonest.

As spring slowly arrived, you made your decision. You were going to tell Neuvillette that you could no longer continue seeing him every week. You had no intention of severing your relationship permanently, but some boundaries need to be drawn.

That was what you kept telling yourself as you went to the beach on the first day of spring. You felt miserable, but this was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?

Upon arrival, you were surprised to see Neuvillette already there, looking around as if searching for you. When he spotted you, his two horns flared up and glowed. You never saw them do that before.

“Neuvillette!” you called out, running towards him. “What are you-”

You never finished your sentence, because he suddenly grabbed you by your waist as you came within arm’s reach of him and carried you off in his arms. You screamed and tried to push him away, but he was too strong, and soon you were too busy shivering from the cold water seeping through your clothes.

You soon arrived at your cove, where there was already a roaring fire set up. As soon he placed you onto the sand, you used what little strength you had to back away from him and huddle near the fire.

“Neuvillette!” You gasp out through chattering teeth. “Why did you grab me like that?”

The white-haired mermaid said nothing as he stared at you. There was something off about his aura today. Suddenly, you weren’t so sure about coming here without telling your partner.

“You smell different.”

Those words caught you off guard. “What?”

“You’ve mated with someone else, haven’t you?”

You felt heat flood your cheeks. “Wh-How…that’s none of your business!”

“None of my business?” His voice took on a menacing tone. You suddenly felt like you were walking on a tightrope. “I see. So my mate has been so sullied by the human world that they can barely tell right from wrong.”

You couldn’t believe what you just heard. “Mate? What are you–”

“I knew that we were destined to be together when you could hear my voice in your head. No, even before that–when we first met.” The intensity in his tone became more and more apparent. “You were the only one I’ve ever thought about for all this time. I’ve waited for you, thought about what to say to you when I see you again. But it looks like I’m the fool for trusting a human.”

You were frozen in place as he came out of the water, looming over you. His eyes were burning into yours, a mixture of betrayal, anger, and sadness.

“P-Please don’t kill me…” you whisper.

“Kill you?” he barked out a laugh. “After all you’ve made me feel, everything you’ve done to me? No, my love. I will do no such thing. Instead, I’ll do something I should have done a long time ago.”

A bottle appeared in his hand. He uncorked it, drank the contents, then grabbed your chin and kissed you.

The potion flowed from his mouth into yours. It tasted bitter. You tried to push him away, but he only deepened the kiss, capturing your wrists in his hand. You could hardly breathe.

Finally, he pulled away. Both of you were panting. Feeling heat in your legs, you looked down and screamed.

Your legs were transforming into a mermaid’s tail.

“W-Why…” you gasp out. You felt lightheaded and out of breath, but you no longer knew whether or not that was from the shock or the fact that your body was transforming into something inhuman.

Neuvillette simply smiled. It was the most beautiful and terrible smile you’ve ever seen. He took you in his arms and smoothed your neck with his lips.

“Now, you can finally be where you belong.”

As Neuvillette brought you down to the depths of the water, you looked up at the wavering sun that was shrinking little by little.

#genshin impact x reader #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette #yandere genshin impact #my works

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asmolfolk · 9 months

Text

Luffy confessing his love.

Sorry for the long wait, guys! I had some problems with my personal life, but now, I'm back! I started to watch One Piece and I was just in love with the whole plot! I’m so anxious and ready for the live action! To show some appreciation, I decided to make shorts imagine/hc for my favorite character [Luffy] at the moment! The imagine are just fluffy stuff with him <3 I will try to make what you all send to me in my box right away!

♡ ——— ♡ ——— ♡ ——— ♡

・❥ Luffy°•༢ ⁀➷How he finds out that he is in love?

My little goofy guy. He would probably not even notice that you loved him!... Or that HE loves you. He would just think it’s another way to feel about a close friend, after all, he would never think that it’s love.

But what does he do when he starts to feel some sort of discomfort every time that someone flirts with you? He doesn’t know exactly why that happens and that would be the beginning of Luffy’s realization.

He would probably randomly ask Nami about that.

“I don’t know, everytime that I talk to them… I feel so relieved and happy! It’s like eating meat, you know? But when I see someone praising or being too close, I feel my chest hurt a bit… And I’m mad!” It would probably be his explanation to Nami, while he was eating something.

“Well… Luffy, do you know what love is…?” Asked Nami trying to see a good way to explain it to him.

“Yes, I know! It’s a really nice way to tell someone that they are your companions, right?? Like I love you, Nami!” Nami almost face palmed herself, at least he was cute.

“Well, talking about romantical love… It’s a feeling that you get when someone is… Very important to you, you don’t feel like they are just your friend… You want to be closer to them, do things that normal friends wouldn’t.”

“...Like dividing my meat?” Nami could only slap his head.

“NOT LIKE THAT, DUMBASS! I’m talking about KISSING! And Sleeping together!”

That continued for a whole hour until Nami could actually make him understand what love could be… Spoiler: She just could explain it when Robin appeared and showed food as examples.

⁀➷How he confess?

Right after discovering what he truly feels. Luffy would think it’s probably the best and wouldn’t be nervous to tell you what he feels. It wouldn’t be romantic or serious, it would be something so random and direct that would make you think that you heard him wrong.

“Oooh! YO, [name]!! Did you save me some meat?!” He asked while looking into your eyes with so much gratitude and before you could answer him, he just EATED the whole meat in one bite and hugged you, wrapping his arms around you five times. “I looove you so much!” Thinking he meant as a Friend, you just say: “I love you too, Luffy…-” In the same moment, Luffy kissed your cheek and lifted you up, starting to run through the whole ship while screaming: “NAMIIII! [NAME] SAID THAT THEY LOVES ME TOO, WHAT DO I SAY NOW?” You could hear Sanji screaming something from the kitchen but you could quite catch it, looking down to see Luffy, he was smiling and with such softness in his eyes, he seemed to be serious about… Wait, that was a confession?- "Luffy- Do you.. Love me like… Romantically?" At the same moment that you asked this, he answered. "Yes! And you love me too, right??" He asked with such hope in his glare, starting to look at you. "… Well, yes… I do." Luffy would throw the biggest party and would keep you right at his side, always hugging you and just smiling way more than before.

#x reader #headcanon #gn reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #monkey d luffy #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #one piece luffy #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece imagine #luffy #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #one piece fluff

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hippolotamus · 10 months

Note

Hippo my lovely 💕

21 - this is a very long hug now sort of hug

If it sparks joy 💕

It did! Eventually (sheepishly kicks at the dirt) Enjoy, lovely 🦛💞🐥

For the full experience may I recommend

if i’m being honest (it scares me to death) | T | 2926 words

Just got in. See you tomorrow.

Buck pockets his phone and enters the apartment — it’s not home, never really has been — his movements slow and easy, like he’s floating. Buoyed by the sort of love and contentment that can only come from spending an evening at the Diaz house. A few precious hours of dinner, then playing Boggle and Scattergories until Chris begged off to play an online game with his friends. His limbs are loose and humming, like his veins have been injected with liquid starlight. Even the air around him feels syrupy sweet and pleasant. The kind of thick, protective cover that nothing negative could hope to ruin.

He drops his keys in the bowl and immediately walks to the fridge to put away the Tupperware container of leftover mushroom and chickpea meatballs with zoodles for tomorrow’s lunch.

Eddie picked the recipe, saying he wanted to try it. No particular reason, he just did. He’s been doing that more lately, choosing dishes he would make anyway and subbing in vegan ingredients.

Buck took notice immediately and makes sure to show his gratitude in heaping platefuls and commenting on how delicious it all is. He knows from experience that it’s all too easy to end up with dried out, inedible food that shouldn’t be fed to anyone. It’s the least he can do for his best friend making the effort to cook something special just for him. Even if said best friend will never admit that’s why he’s doing it.

At times, if Buck lets himself look too closely, it feels a lot like something else. These acts of service feel a lot like love. And it is. The sort of love two best friends who would do anything for each other have. Buck’s not naïve enough to think that Eddie wouldn’t do the same thing for any of their friends or family. But at the same time it’s also more? Deeper. A sacred bond or formula shared just between them. Like learning Bobby’s chili doesn’t work without the cocoa powder. Someone could try a million different ways and it would never turn out right.

He wants to be brave enough to name this thing they’ve been building since promising to have each other’s backs. This relationship forged in fire, mud, and tsunamis. Built on collapsing foundations, busted down doors, lightning strikes, and ‘Because, Evan’.

If he could be part of Eddie and Christopher’s lives for everything, he would do it in a heartbeat. But that always seems like too much and not enough to ask for. Because Buck is too much and not enough. Acceptable in measured increments for precise amounts of time. For now — probably forever — he tucks that dream away in favor of focusing on what he does have.

With the leftovers safely put away, he grabs a beer, twisting off the cap and listening to it slide across the countertop, finally slowing to a stop next to the utensil caddy. It’s… loud. Too loud for such a small object. Or maybe the apartment is just too… cavernous? Empty?

Buck leans back against the counter, taking a lengthy sip and visually assessing his space. He has things. The right amount of things, even. After all, he’s one single person. How much could he need? He drowns the thought with more beer when his mind tries to remind him of six cheese lasagna and couches and having the answers.

He decides it’s not worth ruining his still relatively excellent mood by worrying over something as trivial as a chunk of metal, and moves out to the patio. It might do him some good.

The atmosphere is filled with the sights and sounds of the city at night. A complex symphony of traffic, music and people wrapped in an LED haze that starts at the street and drifts slowly upward. It’s a familiar melody that, just like the apartment, isn’t home but does its best to provide comfort.

He manages to pick out a few stars peeking through. Not full constellations. Those are impossible, staying hidden like the ancient giants they are. It’s nice to still be able to see the twinkling specks, even if they’re nothing like some places he’s been.

On the ranch in Montana he would lay on the hood of his Jeep and stare for what felt like hours. Feeling small, but also like something was waiting for him. Like he was part of something bigger that he just hadn’t discovered yet. Looking at the sky now doesn’t feel that way. More like being at sea, adrift and searching. Waiting to be found, though he’s not quite sure by who or what.

It reminds him of a documentary he watched once about otters. The mothers fluff up their pup’s fur and leave them to float while they hunt for food. The babies are powerless to do anything except spin in a circle until she returns. Sometimes Buck feels like that. Like somebody has given him enough support to turn in place but not actually go anywhere.

He casts a look at the table and chairs and finds himself thinking of fixing, being at your worst, trying again anyway, and— no. Clearly being outside isn’t helping, so Buck returns indoors, hoping the television will prove to be enough of a distraction.

As he searches for something to watch, it seems reasonable he just needed a better place to focus his attention that isn’t his own inner chatter. He’s already slightly irritated that the vibrant glow from earlier has faded so significantly. Maybe there’s still a chance it can be recovered.

He quickly settles on a cooking program and that gets him smiling again. He doesn’t even particularly care what’s being presented, just that it evokes the same warmth as being welcomed home and brown eyes with flecks of gold. At least until the next episode comes on.

This one features a couple, a husband and wife posed in their studio kitchen. They’re surrounded by pristine white cabinets, gleaming mixing bowls, and perfectly measured ingredients that will make a stunning something-or-other. When it’s complete they’ll pull it from the stainless steel double oven to be served on the prop table that’s been set like a photo shoot for Better Homes & Gardens.

Buck can’t help but notice how they move in harmony, fluidly traversing around each other, like a ballet. Like partners. Maybe it’s all for an audience, but it looks genuine. Not the type of movement that’s choreographed or faked. He stares, scrutinizing every instance of adoring looks and playful gestures until something within him finally cracks.

The hollow ache that usually lives in his chest suddenly feels deeper. Wider. Like it may actually break through and tear him apart, causing him to wonder how such emptiness can feel so massive. As if his ribs are slowly cracking open, snapping one by one, stretching the skin while crushing his lungs and heart. He wants to scream or something. Anything to untangle the mess sitting under his sternum.

Through rapid, gasping breaths Buck tries to refocus, to take himself back. Even just fifteen minutes. Is that so much to ask? Returning to blissfully, ignorantly, mindlessly observing?

Despite what he wants, the screen remains unchanged. Mr and Mrs Fucking Perfect carry on with their routine, blurred and watery in front of him. And Buck – he’s spinning in circles again, too helpless to do anything except wait. Except he doesn’t want to. He’s so tired of drifting and circling and clinging and pausing.

It’s just- when he’s the guy who’s always trying to fix things that are out of his control… what is he supposed to do?

🍠🍠🍠🍠🍠

Eddie puts the last of the dry dishes away in the bottom cabinet, and not a moment too soon. He’s got an early shift in the morning and has to get to bed. He could have left them in the rack for tomorrow, but it gave him extra time to mentally replay the earlier parts of the night. Like watching Buck smile, all pleased and fond, every time Eddie thanked him for a helpful cooking tip. Or watching Chris break out in a full belly laugh at one of Buck’s corny dad jokes.

It really is a form of self-torture sometimes, having Buck over for dinner and homework and board games. Pretending they’re a family and this is a normal everyday thing he gets to have.

He tells himself it’s for Chris, too, but he also knows that’s a blatant lie. If Chris wasn’t a factor Eddie’s pretty sure he’d invent any and all reasons to spend more time with Buck.

Eddie sighs and lays the dish towel over the sink edge. The ridiculous one that says Silence of the Yams over a print of a sliced up root vegetable. It came as part of a set Buck and Chris gave him last Thanksgiving. It’s probably not a coincidence he uses this particular one the most. The shade is a nearly identical match to the burnt orange sweater Eddie always likes on Buck.

There are times it feels like he’s not the only one with all these feelings welling up inside, trying to prevent them from bleeding out through his pores and spilling onto Buck. Like there’s something in the casual touches and glances that pass between them. Something electric and charged that’s more than bros or friends and decidedly not platonic.

One day, maybe, he’ll work up the nerve to tell Buck what’s in his heart. To ask him on a date and hope he’s not fucking up the best relationship that’s ever happened to him and his son. For now he’ll take whatever Buck is willing to give. Even if it only ever comes in the form of shoulder nudges, zoo trips, and Keeping the Peas housewares.

He starts his nightly routine, walking a path through the rooms, turning off lights and making sure doors are locked. When the final throw pillow is returned and the last pile is straightened, he hears the tentative knocking.

The noise immediately puts him on edge, setting off his protective instincts. Nothing good can come from someone being at his house this late. Christopher is in bed and Buck has his own key. Eddie tiptoes across the floor to peer through the peephole, shocked to discover who’s waiting on the other side.

“Buck?” Eddie turns the deadbolt, opening the door wide for his friend.

This isn’t anything like the night he came seeking respite from Maddie’s well-intentioned visitor train. Instead of standing tall, barreling past Eddie, Buck stares straight ahead, unblinking and motionless with slumped shoulders that make him appear small. Eddie can see how his eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. He looks utterly broken.

Before Eddie can say his name again, Buck surges forward over the threshold. He falls into Eddie, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and burying his face into the crook of his neck.

Eddie pushes the door shut, not bothering to listen if it latched correctly or not. He returns the embrace, one hand on Buck’s back, the other gently petting his hair as Buck’s body shudders against his own.

He gratefully absorbs each whimper and sob. The way thick, searching fingers clutch at his shirt.

“Shhhh, hey. I’ve got you.”

Buck was fine a few hours ago. What the hell could have happened since then?

“I- I’m sorry, Eds.” Buck begins to pull back, rubbing away the wetness on the sleeve of his maroon hoodie. “It’s late. I shouldn’t have- I’m gonna–” He jerks his chin toward the doorway.

“Uh-uh. None of that.” Eddie lightly grips Buck’s elbow, a silent question. Buck hesitates, looking between Eddie and the entryway, before he acquiesces to letting Eddie tug him closer again.

He wants to do any number or ill-advised things like hold Buck’s face between his palms, kiss away every tear, and murmur every wonderful thought he’s ever had about the man in his arms until Buck believes them. For now he settles for cradling and rubbing soothing patterns and silently loving. He’ll stand here all night if that’s what Buck needs. He can do that.

“I don’t know what happened. All I did was turn on Food Network,” Buck warbles. Then he shakes his head against Eddie’s shoulder, exhaling a world weary breath. A puff of air expelled by someone carrying the universe and trying to make it appear no bigger than a classroom globe. Eddie’s, unfortunately, more than a little familiar.

“That’s not true,” Buck confesses.

The silence returns and Eddie waits for Buck to elaborate on what he means. It isn’t long before the explanation comes, so muted that Eddie almost doesn’t catch it.

“I’m tired, Eds. Of pretending to be happy alone and waiting to be chosen. Tired of holding back just so the wrong person likes some version of me that isn’t even authentic. It’s just all so exhausting.”

I’d choose you. Three words Eddie can’t bear to make himself say out loud, because his best friend is hurting and now is most definitely not the time for that kind of confession. So he holds onto them a little longer, ignoring the sting where they settle back into his heart. A burning pain that only becomes more intense when Buck burrows impossibly closer, continuing to cling to Eddie like a lifeline.

Buck speaks again, sounding unfathomably small and heartbroken. “Am I that hard to love?”

“No.” Eddie’s answer is immediate and unwavering. As true as the night he first decided in front of their captain and an exploding ambulance.

Buck responds with a skeptical huff. “You have to say that because you’re my best friend.”

Eddie slides the hand on the back of Buck’s neck forward, grazing over his cheek and under his chin until he can tip his head up. Even in the darkness, Buck’s eyes are exceptionally blue. Endless depths that manage to steal Eddie’s breath and reflect back every future he yearns for.

It’s been ages since Eddie’s given any serious thought to last first kisses or until death do we part, but he would swear under oath that’s what he sees now.

“No,” Eddie reiterates. This should probably be more difficult and be ratcheting up his anxiety. But it doesn’t. Instead he’s wrapped in a distinct calm. An undeniable certainty, because what he’s about to say is true and however Buck reacts won’t change it. “I have to say that because I love you.”

Buck blinks and his mouth falls open in an imperfect o. “Y-you what?” He whispers.

Now that he’s said it once, a second time is that much easier. “I said I love you. And I will always choose you. All of you. Over and over. Every version. If you’ll let me.”

Buck’s eyelashes flutter, fresh tears starting to pool there, and he looks at Eddie with such awe and disbelief, like he can’t accept that someone would genuinely want him. Not that he doesn’t understand the feeling, but it shatters Eddie to think Buck has spent even a second believing he’s unlovable.

“Of course I’ll let you. How is that even a question?” Buck asks, as if they haven’t been dancing around exactly that for years. He stands to his full height, never letting his hands drop, beaming down with the smile Eddie’s claimed as just for him. “But, Eds?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“This has been a really long hug. Not that I’m complaining. I was just kinda hoping I could kiss you. Finally. I’ve been kinda wanting to for a while.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And who is Eddie to deny him that?

“Please,” he sighs into the diminishing space between them. His tone borders on a plea, but this is Buck. The person who has seen Eddie at his most vulnerable, who sees Eddie more than he’s ever allowed anyone else.

They drift closer until their lips brush, just enough that Eddie gets a taste of Buck’s horchata lip balm. Eddie can’t understand needing more than the 3-pack he can get at the grocery store, but right now he’s not complaining about the sweet, cinnamon flavor.

Eddie deepens the kiss, pausing when he can make himself break away, just enough to murmur ‘I love you’, wanting to make sure Buck knows he’s all in. That this isn’t a fluke or temporary, pitying lapse in judgment.

Because he does, and he is, with every fiber of his being. He loves him, loves him, loves him.

Suddenly Buck pulls back, breathless and wide-eyed, his already plush lips kiss swollen, tempting Eddie to bring them back together. “I just realized I never said I love you, too. Because I do a-and I really need you to know that.”

Eddie hums appreciatively, claiming Buck’s mouth again, unable to stay apart any longer now that he knows what it is to kiss Evan Buckley. He submits to the love and adoration and the way they fit like two puzzle pieces, further solidifying how they’re meant to complete each other. He doesn’t know how he ever thought he knew what love was.

There are infinite meanings for different people. For Eddie, it’s painted in hues of burnt orange and blue. Folded in cheesy puns and always having a fresh container of oat milk in the fridge. Stated in facts about retrofitted ceiling tiles and light fixtures; conveyed in I know you did, what are you afraid of, and I misunderstood the assignment.

It’s following his heart on the winding path that led him to a reality better than any fantasy.

#soft prompts #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #fic: if i’m being honest (it scares me to death)#hippo writes

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reg-arcturus-black · 1 year

Text

Enough is Full of Romance Part 1 - Andrew's Surprise!

Where 2 brilliant talented people fall in love and navigate a life filled with paprazzi, rumors and a private romance after being introduced by their common friend. They say wrong person, right timing is a real thing but Ben and Y/N know they have a deep connection and they will wait for however long it takes!

Warnings: None.

PS: the songs mentioned in this post are ALL by Taylor Swift, the queen and so is the inspiration for Y/N!

Fluff, fluff and fluff!

1.4k words

Series Masterlist

(gif not mine)

"I remember when we broke up

The first time

Saying 'this is it, I've had enough...'"

This had now become a routine with the Red Tour in full swing. Singing those songs each night diminished Y/N's pain more and more. However, that night turned out to be even more delightful when her eyes fell on Andrew dressed up as one of her dancers during the song.

He had been her best friend ever since she had written a song for one of his movies. Of course, you two, too, had to dodge rumors about them dating but towards the end, the chaos had died and everyone had eventually accepted that you were nothing more than best friends.

"Holy shit, Ands!" Y/N shrieked, throwing her arms around Andrew the moment he entered her green room. "That was amazing!"

"I freaking know, right!" He laughed, lifting her up spinning her around before he put her down.

"Oh I have no idea how you managed that!"

"Me neither. Do you know how difficult it is to get past your security. Thank God one of your band members recognized me."

"That's kind of the whole point." You let out a laugh, feeling grateful for your friend's surprise visit. After the tiring nights and beautiful meet-and-greets, a sit down with an old friend and some pizza was what you just needed.

"How are you doing, Y/N/N? Like, truly doing?"

You looked up at him and met his concern-filled eyes.

"I - I don't know, Ands. It's been difficult."

You didn't have to explain any further. Not to him, at least. Andrew had been with you after your last break up. It was not easy. Your ex was not the right person for you and nor was he healthy. But it was just as hard to let go because your love for him ran deep.

Andrew reached out for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze with a reassuring smile.

"But the shows are helping," you added with a small smile. "Meeting all these lovely people during and after the show is... therapeutic. Like it somehow lessens the pain."

Meet and greet after each show was one of the best parts. You loved meeting your fans for you knew they really cared about you and you did, too. There was not a moment when you did not thank them or try to express your gratitude towards them.

"I do have one more surprise for you though..."

Andrew's words suddenly brought you back to reality from your reminiscing state.

"What is it?" You asked excitedly, moving towards him with a grin. "Wait, no, I want to guess! Give me a hint."

"Well, okay... it is someone you really like."

"I can name a 100 people I like. That's not precise enough."

"Oh, never mind that. I want you to meet a friend of mine. He must be around here somewhere."

"Around here somewhere? What does that even mean?" You chuckled, lightly shaking your head. That is when your ears finally caught giggles and shrieks of delight from outside.

"I believe he had to have a sudden meet and greet of his own."

"What is going on?" You asked, looking at your friend. "Whom have you brought, Ands?"

"It's someone you have wanted to meet for a very long time and he was available and in the same city so here we are..."

"Who?"

You were growing desperate now.

"Talk, handsome, long and dark hair. A prince of sorts... ring a bell?"

You eyes grew as wide as saucers as realisation hit you.

"No... Tell me you didn't."

"I did."

"Noooooooo"

"What's the big deal anyway?" He shrugged.

"What's the big deal?! You brought BEN BARNES-"

You had to physically stop yourself from screaming any louder and turned your voice back to normal. You had been a fan of him ever since Prince Caspian had come out. You were not only a fan, but a fangirl. You were crushing on him. Hard.

Two years before, you had even received an opportunity to act in the same project as him but with the album release and the tour planning, you had to decline to the project you would have instantly said yes to otherwise.

In fact, you almost even had said yes the moment the producer had told you that you would work opposite Ben. But your then boyfriend had reminded you about your music plans quite rudely. Andrew then made you realize that you received such a response only because he was jealous to see you this excited about working with someone else.

Whatever the reasons were, he had been right. You could not leave music in between. Acting was something you were interested in but music was your true passion.

"You brought BEN FUCKING BARNES to my show out of NOWHERE and did not even bother telling me beforehand?"

"That wouldn't have been a surprise then, would it?"

Before you could respond, there was a knock on the door.

"That's him," you said, your eyes frozen on the door knob. "What do we do? I - I don't know how to talk to him. What do I even say to him? Do I hug him or shake his hand? Does he even know me?"

You had not realized but were now standing up and were glued to the floor. Someone knocked again.

"You go and open the door. Besides, it's simple enough. I am sure he knows you but in case you don't, you're Y/N Y/L/N and he is Ben Barnes. Use that in the conversation."

Andrew pushed you towards the door and sat down on the sofa next to your seat.

You took a deep breath and turned the knob. Your heart dropped to your stomach when you opened the door to the most handsome man you had ever seen. With his beard neatly trimmed a gorgeous smile on his face, it took everything in you to not faint into his strong, muscular arms.

"Hey," he smiled. "I absolutely loved your show."

I love you you thought, feeling absolutely smitten with the man. It was as if his smooth voice echoed throughout your entire body.

"Thank you," you replied, your pitch higher than normal, your cheeks turning red. You cleared your throat. You didn't know what to say to him. You were speechless and could not help but stare at him.

You heard Andrew clear his throat, too, and shook yourself out of your dreamy state.

You extended your arm shakily, clearly unable to produce thoughts in your brain and form words in your mouth. "H - Hi, you're Ben Barnes. No, I mean, I - I am Ben Barnes. N - No. I -"

Andrew face palmed behind you.

"I am Ben Barnes and you are Y/N Y/L/N." Ben laughed.

"Have a seat Barnes," Andrew interjected before you could make a further fool of yourself.

He nodded and settled down on the chair opposite to your friend. It took a few seconds for you to gather your thoughts and finally sit down with them. You extended the box of pizza towards Ben wordlessly, too scared to make a fool of yourself again.

"We missed you on the set, you know?" Ben said, picking up a slice. "I know you had to say no because of your music but it would have been a blast working with you."

You gave a polite small, words still stuck in your throat. You hated yourself for feeling this way. Chatting with Ben Barnes and having pizza with him was once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and you were wasting it away.

"But a part of me is also glad that you chose to prioritize music. Look what you came up with!"

"That is very sweet of you," you managed to say. "Tell me about the shoot. How did it go?"

You listened to Ben's stories about what happened on the set, nodding, laughing, and commenting whenever appropriate. Although, there were times when Andrew had to close your jaw before he could realize you were staring at him.

This one incident, however, made Ben burst into laughter and all you did was stare at him. The way he laughed with his whole body, each sound reverberating throughout and sending a warm, tingly feeling in yours.

When he moved on to the next story, his dark eyes meeting yours, you did not listen to a single word, too far lost in his beauty and eyes. You knew you had started falling into a pit with no bottom and it was just the beginning.

#ben barnes #ben barnes fic #ben barnes fanfict #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes imagine #the darkling #fanfiction #x reader

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stevemcqueencheese · 1 year

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thoughts on "the hostage situation" (05x09) episode?

OOOHHHH I LOVE THAT EPISODE

The concept itself is very intriguing and ngl they fucking knocked it out of the park with the implementation.

Already starts off incredible with the teaser, the feel of it is just completely different to what we're used to, with for one everything already starting at PPTH but then also the instrumental with the camera going over the characters we're later gonna work with in the episode it's so good. What I also find interesting is how we're getting a look at characters we do know (House) but from the view of a patient, in the scene where he goes into Cuddy's office and finds House tinkering with her desk- usually we see those sort kf antics much later in the episode and always with context and explanation and here we get a good look at how INSANE it just seems to everyone not immediately involved.

Another thing I absolutely adore about it is how much of the episode really only takes place in one single room: Cuddy's office; which incidentally also happens to be a place we don't usually get to see for so long, least of all get to know this intimately. And despite it always being the same room they really get everything out of it, utilizing the furniture in there and moving it around to display the change of atmosphere over time, working with the blinds, having House use the wall as his new Whiteboard and all those things.

We also get to see a little more of a recurring side character, the nurse, who does actually get the chance to show quite a lot of personality here, with even a climax to her little arc when she breaks down trying to convince the guy to wait a little longer for Thirteen.

Thirteen is also incredibly interesting here. What strikes me most is her initial willingness to just take any of the drugs no matter the consequences, signifying her tendency for self destruction and not caring for herself as "she's gonna die anyway" but then also later at the very end we get to see more of her actual inner conflict, her strong underlying will to live, DESPITE all that, and watching her crying as she says she just can't do this because she doesn't want to die is just beautiful and incredible acting on Olivia Wilde's part.

In general I don't think this is a House centric episode. The only significant things we see about him are things we already know, his incessant need to 'solve the puzzle' and his willingness to put himself and others at risk for it.

I gotta say I like the gun guy (yeah nah I don't remember his name so this is what I'm going with). His goal and motivations are understandable (his actions aren't of course but idc abt that tbh) and he's not completely unreasonable when it comes to bargaining with the police/Cuddy. His desperate need for an answer is apparent. And what I think is also apparent, is that this is exactly what connects him to House, they both NEED that answer and would go to hell and back to get it and I think that also plays into why House is so lenient with him in general. Don't get me wrong, he's ofc not nice or anything, but I'd say he definitely relates to the man and treats him with much more respect than he does most of his usual patients.

The kind of scenes we get a couple of in this episode are instrumental ones and I love it. It's usually during transitional scenes, like when they're exchanging the hostages, and I think that fits that really well. The last one where the swat team bursts through the wall is incredible.

The scene in the very end when the guy breathes normally and smiles might be my absolute favorite from the whole episode. There's so much relief in that expression, so much gratitude, and really he doesn't care at all that he's going to prison because this is done, he knows what's wrong, it's even cured.

I could probably go on and on about this episode for HOURS because of how much I love it, there's so many tiny aspects to it that make it all so great. It's a whole little movie. It's this guy's odyssey finally finding an end. It's House struggling with addiction, the other one, and Thirteen's struggle with life and how she actually wants to cling onto it, and in the very last scene we find out what House was doing to Cuddy’s desk.

#house md #gregory house #remy hadley #s5ep9 #ask stevie #episode analysis #i could prolly write an essay abt this tbh #thank you for asking

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thetaoofbetty · 2 years

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it's below the cut, anon💜:

I wonder if BAs (no, I actually don’t) and the so called J*bitha shippers realize that they are framing Jughead’s commitment to Tabitha as an obligation and not as something he genuinely should feel. He doesn’t own Tabitha to be in love with her because she helped him with his trauma and gave him a place to live.

—okay but from the way they speak (at least the way they speak to me about it even tho i've literally never asked) they really seem to think having a crush on someone entitles them to you.

uh. no?

what's the bets they wouldn't be into the ship if it was the exact same only without bughead history if they loved tabitha so much and jughead acted the same way he does with her now? gonna relive history at saying this (again), i can feel it, but jughead isn't exactly the most amazing bf to her. and jessica and he weren't good for each other but he also wasn't amazing to her either? look at the way veggie was written or the way b/a is currently being written. jughead isn't the exception to the "sort of not great to their current gf when it's the wrong girl" club on this show. it's a shallow drama, tbh, so i didn't expect any different.

the women aren't an exception to this either.

That’s not how it works. You aren’t nice to a person expecting something in return. You are asking him to force feelings for her as gratitude and this is the same people that claim to love her? The only thing he owns her is honestly about his feelings for her. That’s it. He doesn’t own her a relationship or love if he doesn’t actually reciprocates those feelings.

—if jughead has feelings for her, great. if he's feeling confused, that's his business until the feelings are known enough to make it her business. he owes her respect, kindness, and honesty. he does not owe her a relationship or to work through anything if he doesn't want to.

and i have no doubt they think it's because of bughead that we're side eyeing the way they said that but no. no one said he was obligated to stay with betty if he didn't want to be with her. he didn't owe it to her to stay and work out his complicated feelings towards betty kissing archie if he didn't want to did he? of course not.

tho it is sort of entertaining how they've decided that those memories are going to make jughead fall back in love with betty. guess that's the only possible conclusion if riverdale is totally normal and legit and nothing weird at all is going on, just random superpowers and witches, guys.

Also, another part about J*bitha shippers is how apparently Jughead is in love with her? Please, someone tell him because he doesn’t seem to know he even likes her at all. Same goes for Tabitha. "J*bitha is strong enough to help him deal with his past" truly, the same J*bitha that doesn’t speak on traumatic or important moments in their life unless they are forced to do so by the consequences?

—i think, and i'm just throwing it out there, they're going by what happened in the vale. even tho the vale is a totally different thing? then again, they also say that b/a is in love but we haven't heard any love declarations yet. which, again, they didn't actually talk about anything and i think that was the point? they sort of just covered it all up and ignored it.

and i know, i know, symbolism. but uh, jughead kneeling over the typewriter, devastated at her having broken something betty had given him isn't actually the symbolism they wanted. shout out to that screener who started that tho. pretty sure it's also the one who started the whole thing about them not being in the same room while filming back in s5. kudos for perseverance on that.

i'll say it again but i really think them giving tabitha this cryptic oracle role with the time travel so the plot doesn't get given away too quickly is a major hinderance to her storyline both alone and with jughead. maybe that's on purpose, i don't know. without even the audience knowing what's happening, her information is only helpful if she shares it and her not sharing it or showing/telling the audience why that's a bad idea is just going to make her frustrating as a character.

The same Jughead that didn’t tell his own girlfriend he could read minds until like 2 episodes ago? The same Tabitha that forgot to mention she’s been time traveling and might have possibly seen situations that she hasn’t told him about? Everything that J*bitha apparently is has never been shown, except for season 5 with their interactions being platonic at best (except the rushed episode in which they got together) the so called intensity of their relationship has never been shown.

—if this were any other show, i would 100% believe the narrative of tabitha being upset at him reading her mind vs betty asking him to go into her deepest, most repressed thoughts was on purpose. she wasn't even bothered that he was skimming surface stuff, she was fine with it.

but it's riverdale. still, the contrast to 6x12 and showing the memory of jughead telling her she's not like her dad also felt stark so who knows?

I don’t care what people that ship J*bitha think that relationship is – but claiming Jughead 'owes' Tabitha certain things are being relationship in a fucked up way. You don’t owe anyone anything expect respect and honestly, which is why I’m sure they’ll break up.

—maybe they'll bring in the problems from the vale (seems more likely now, tbh). tabitha bottled up all the issues she had with him in that episode and he didn't exactly make it better. we're seeing bigger, more real life issues of those in the vale it seems. so it has the potential to get messy but riverdale side steps that when possible so who knows?

#besos!#anonymous #anti j*bitha #i be thinking this anon no like this situation so much #that's fine #it's a dumb situation tbh

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thedragonchilde · 2 months

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G Gundam meta/notes part two, episodes 17-20:

"Challenge! Mysterious Masked Fighter" / "Steal the Secret! Scheme of the Beautiful Warriors" / "Fierce Battle! Dragon Gundam vs. Bolt Gundam" / "George, Beat the Nightmare!" (the notes sort of jump around/run together here)

-there's nothing like Domon's relationship to Master to really highlight that he's naive and wants to believe the best of people at heart. Or at least that he's lost everyone else in his life and cannot handle the thought of this being another thing that's wrong. Either way he needs a damn hug.

-also Domon calls Guyana his "homeland". That has some REALLY interesting implications.

-so there seems to be a real setup here of Chibodee and George crushing on Rain - they were both chivalrous enough to her before, but the thank-yous are something else! Chibs drops his voice like he's trying to sound sexy, and George, oh man! "Show your gratitude" like he needs coached? The single red rose? And leaving it there for her forlornly? Either he's stunningly bad with women and Raymond pushed him to thank her so he did it in the overblown way he's learned from example, or he's got it bad. (Or a combination.) Either way, these feel like a spin on the classic 'you were nice to me'/hero crush.

-Nastasha is so fucking interesting!! She's so professional and logical, but her relationship with authority (both her own and that above her) chafes in such a neat way that you just know there's some good conflict ahead

-I fell some kind of way about the undertones, esp in Chib and George's eps, that, like,,, trauma is weakness/cowardice? And it's especially interesting with who it's coming from, and who it isn't. Schwartz seems to be the main mouthpiece for this, and I guess he's using denigration as a motivating tactic, but idk. Meanwhile Domon seems more compassionate (the soft "this is George's fight now" feels more I've-been-there than anything, and contrasts with the narrative "having traumatic flashbacks is the same thing as choosing to be a cowardly piece of shit actually" in a way I can't quite articulate).

-drunk Chibodee is funnier when you realize that timeline-wise he may have just turned 21, and sad when you realize he was probably trying to drink the flashbacks away

-"his destined rival" will never get old

-Schwarz hooking them up specifically is hilarious, and his affectionate referrals to their youth ("the cubs sharpen their claws" and all that)

-Domon enjoying the fight so much that he doesn't notice the SOS - is that the gay or the autism?

-Sai is a little shithead and I love it. I know it's played for laughs and is actually pretty disturbing when you think about it, but this could also tell us some neat stuff about how he was raised (presumably away from women) and what happens is exactly what the fuck you expect to happen when you loose a hormonal teenage boy on women for the first time.

-Seriously, Nastasha arguing with the higher-ups!! Good, good stuff ahead

-I want Raymond Bishop to be my grandpa

-"more coffee"

-We appear to be ambiguous on whether George has living family. Presumably if they were around we'd know, but they're not explicitly dead either. The bond with Raymond seems to suggest he raised George more than his parents did; very interesting canon fodder

#g gundam #mobile fighter g gundam #meta #thinky thoughts

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tnystrk-exe · 3 years

Text

Estocolmo

Hannibal x Reader

Masterpost

Warnings: Smut 18+ thigh riding, fingering, oral, daddy kink, plot to make up for my first attempt at writing smut.

Word count: 6.8k

Chapter One

“Fucking hell.” You sighed as you looked at the still tall stack of essays that needed grading. “I’m never getting through this.”

Your stomach grumbled, signaling it was time for a break. Stretching, the quiet was interrupted by the sound of your bone’s protest from sitting in one position for hours. It was nights like these you had regretted your choices. Sure you had known Professor Jacob loved to torture his students with too much work, but when you took the job as his assistant you assumed that he’d shoulder some of the weight. A ridiculous thought now that you’ve experienced working with him. Why should he even think of grading an assignment when he had a perfect little lackey doing it for him? That was a non question. He had been strict about the work not leaving his office, which meant you had accidentally fallen asleep in his office more than often than you would have liked. The pile of work never seemed to diminish.

Walking out the office, you thought briefly of the joy you would feel when you’d never have to see it again. These long corridors would be a thing of the past in just a few, short months. Then you’d probably go to the city and struggle for a while but at least you would be free from here. As much as you prided yourself for getting through the first round of college, the walls of the building gave you more of an annoyed feeling than anything.

Pushing open the door to the teachers lounge, you made a beeline for the fridge. The leftover pizza already seemed like a feast until you noticed it was nowhere to be seen. “Hannibal,” you whined to the empty room as you closed the fridge.

“Yes, darling?”

You startled, immediately turning around to face him, a mischievous smile was plastered on his lips. Usually your missing dinner meant to head over to his office. It wasn’t typical, but the two of you had managed a comfortable friendship between the shared late nights. Though, you suspected he’d stay longer than necessary to accompany you in the empty building. “Would you mind telling me where my dinner went, handsome?” You asked, raising a brow at him.

“Old pizza can hardly be considered dinner. Come,” he motioned to sit next to him at the table, “I’ve got a better meal prepared for you nonetheless.”

“Or maybe you just need to learn to appreciate the simple things,” you quipped as you took your seat.

“And you, the finer.”

You gave him an obvious look over, “I’d say I appreciate you plenty enough.”

Being so forward wasn’t usually in your cards. However Hannibal had always been a gentleman and it had been fun to tease at him a bit. He never complained, often just acknowledging what you said with a raised brow or chuckle. Still there was always some truth in jokes and you’d be lying to say that he was anything less than tempting. Especially in the dark grey suit and dried blood red shirt of his. ‘No’ wouldn’t come to mind if he ever offered.

“Naughty, Miss LN,” he chided you, “What shall we do with you?”

“What do you want to do with me?”

“Eat your dinner,” he said, humor in his voice as he shook his head.

You choked back a comment about him just wanting to see your mouth stuffed, deciding it was too much of a push. Instead you just opened the lunchbox he placed in front of you. Hannibal watched you expectantly as you took a bite of the meat.

Closing your eyes, you savored the bite. It had been a while since you had something home cooked. “Han... I’m going to miss you most. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you. Delicious, as always.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” He went back to work on his own stack of papers as you ate. “Though, I’m not sure I’m ready to allow you to live off street food once we part.”

“Guess we’re gonna have to find me another man that insists on throwing away my perfectly good food to serve me home cooked meals.”

Hannibal left some remarks on a paper before pushing it to the side. “You could always come learn a few things. Maybe I’ll rest better knowing you know how to make yourself a couple of decent meals. Any guesses for the meat?”

It was a strange guessing game, but you indulged him, he was just eccentric. “Oh, definitely human,” you teased, making sure to pick up some spinach and artichoke in the next bite, “Probably had a boring name like David.”

“Close. It was Richard,” he corrected.

“Beef, it was the Rolex of all farm animals hand picked by you and I’m very grateful you shared some with me,” you smiled at him, “So how are things going with Baltimore?”

“I’ve found a beautiful home. The office, however, seems to be harder to find.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect one.” Your phone started ringing. Grabbing it from your pocket, you looked at the screen. Mom. “They’re making this unnecessarily difficult,” you sighed to yourself.

Hannibal looked at you with peaked interest as you shut off your phone and pushed it away. “Is something troubling you?”

“My parents aren’t taking too kindly to the no contact rule. It’s the tenth call today.”

“You’ve cut them off?”

“I thought about what you had said,” you shrugged, “I’m tired of always having to get them out of troubles and be their ATM when I don’t have enough for myself. It’s just too much on me right now. Between school assignments, Jacob’s work pile, and my other part time, it’s all just suffocating. They keep trying to use my grandfather’s death as a leverage to make me feel bad about not talking to them now, but they just want some money. I don’t want to feel guilty about this but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t,” he placed his hand over yours, “You deserve to feel taken care of and appreciated. They aren’t providing you with that now. Especially now when they use the death of the person who raised you as leverage,” he shook his head, making a disgusted sound, “It’s for your own well-being that you take some time to breathe and be young. They provide too much stress…” Hannibal fell silent. “I’ve suggested this before but i-“

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “I’m not taking your money. We’re friends. Money complicates things. Muddies the waters.”

“Friends help each other,” he reminded you, “I’ve already told you I wouldn’t want any payment.”

“But I’d still feel like I owe you.” You shook your head, “It wouldn’t feel right to me. I’m fine. I promise. Though, if you’re so willing to help me with something, I wouldn’t say no to those cooking lessons. They could be fun.”

He spared you a smile, “It would be my pleasure to teach you what I know.”

“And I’d never deny your pleasure,” your mouth spoke before you could think about it, “Sorry.”

“I don’t deny myself pleasure either,” he said, amused. “You’re fine. Now, how about we meet on Sunday? I’ll have time to figure out a full meal and gather all of the ingredients.”

“Great!” You ignored the heat that still lingered on your face, “I- um, do you need me to bring anything?”

“Nothing at all, I’ll make sure to take care of everything. All you need to do, sweet girl, is bring yourself and an appetite.”

You stifled a pleased smile at the term of affection. “I’ll make sure to do that,” sparing a glance to the clock, you frowned, “I should probably get back to work on those essays.”

“Why don’t we work on them together?” He suggested. “My colleague is notorious for drowning you in his work. I can help you sort through it all and you can have a restful Saturday without Micheal’s added stress.”

“I really can’t ask that of you. You already have enough work as it is.”

“We’ll work together. First your work, then mine. What happened to never denying my pleasure?”

Your eyes widened, but you laughed all the same. Maybe a while more in his company wouldn’t be so bad. “Fine. Hold me to my words, but it’s only going to cause you a headache. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. These new kids are… something else.”

“They’re nothing,” he stood, grabbing his papers in one hand, “Meet me in my office. We can be more comfortable there and I may have stowed away a bottle of wine.”

“What would I do without you Doctor Lecter?”

“You have arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice informed you as you parked.

You took in the mansion of a home. It was too big for someone that lived alone. The thought made you shiver. Homes should be filled with life, not empty space. Then again, he was a fan of dinner parties, extravagant ones at that, so you supposed there was life in those walls on occasion. The home itself reminded you of the houses in old movies. Ones where the lightning would strike at just the right moment as a warning to stay away. But this was real life and there was no lightning, just a sun setting on a near perfect day.

Without a warning telling you to keep away, you grabbed the gift bag and stepped out of your car. He had said to bring nothing, but you couldn’t resist a simple gift. The ties in the bag had taken out a decent chunk from your pocket, but he deserved them. Between agreeing to give you cooking lessons and helping you out with grading every so often, the simple pieces of fabric meant nothing. Besides, it was a two way gift, he’d get more of the patterned ties he was fond of and you’d get to see him in the darker colors you liked on him, knowing he’d feel compelled to wear them to show you his gratitude.

Knocking on the door, you waited a couple of minutes before he emerged. “YN, just in time. Please, come in,” he stepped to the side, “I’ve looked forward to this all day.”

You smiled and stepped past him. “I have too. Entertained myself a bit today by finding you a gift.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

Nervousness bit at you slightly, a bit self conscious they’d be too cheap for his taste. Too late to back out of it, you handed over the bag. “You’ve always been so kind and I really appreciate everything. Let me do something for you.”

He set the bag on the nearby table, laying out the ties to get a better look at them. “They’re all lovely,” he ran a finger across the fabric of a maroon one, “Fond of me in darker colors, YN?”

“What can I say?” You shrugged, “We catch ourselves spending a lot of time together. Why not make you a decent piece of eye candy?”

“Inappropriate,” he chided you, before signaling you to follow after him.

“You just wear them so well, Doctor Lecter.”

Shrugging off his navy suit coat, he draped it over a chair, making quick work of rolling up his sleeves. “Ready to get your hands dirty, my little sous-chef?”

“What are we making?” You asked, looking at his kitchen wide eyed. It was definitely bigger than your measly studio apartment.

“Frisee aux lardons, duck with a pomegranate-citrus glaze. I took the liberty of preparing a blood orange sorbet for dessert.”

“I have a proposal.”

“Yes?”

“We don’t do any of that and just have dessert for dinner.”

“No,” he gave you an amused glance, “There’s more pleasure in waiting for things. Why don’t you start washing up the vegetables and I’ll start preparing the duck?”

You stuck your tongue out at his back but set to your work. “This is what I get for befriending a charming old guy.”

“Keep going the way you are and our next meal together will be langue d’Agneau en papillote.”

“That can’t be a threat if I don’t know what that means,” you quipped, setting aside an endive.

“It means, darling,” he pointed his knife at you, “The fondness I feel for you is an inconvenience. Nonetheless, it’s welcomed.”

You smiled at him brightly, as you brought the washed vegetables over to him. “I’m fond of you too, but you gotta stop flirting and teach me how we’re gonna cook Daffy here.”

He motioned for you to grab a cutting board and a knife of your own. The two of you worked in quiet harmony, occasionally he’d tell you exactly why he was doing something a certain way or just give you simple instructions and let you have a hands on feel of exactly how to prepare something. It was nice to see him in his element. Hannibal seemed much more content in his kitchen than any where you had seen him at the college. Eventually he set his work to the side and washed his hands.

“You’re cutting them too thick. Thinner is better for this dish.” He stepped behind you, “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.” You attempted to move to the side, but Hannibal had already caged you in between himself and the counter. His cologne was different from the one you were accustomed to him wearing, but the subtle spice of it gave a more homey feeling to him.

Hannibal grabbed your hand that had yet to let go of the knife. He made sure to show you how to cut them the right thickness. “See? A little thing can unbalance everything.”

“Hm,” you hummed, catching yourself relaxed against the man, his frame strong against yours, “I don’t see much of a difference. Pretty sure this is just your variation of a putter.”

“You assume I have hidden motives,” He acknowledged, looking down at you, “And if there were any?”

Taking the bait, you pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. “I wouldn’t be too upset.”

His head dipped into your shoulder, taking in a breath. “What happened to not wanting to bring on complications in our friendship?”

“We only have weeks left with each other,” you shrugged, “There wouldn’t be any complications. Not really.”

“We really should get back to making our dinner, darling,” he sighed, almost seeming reluctant to pull away, “What else did you did you do today?””

It took you a second to respond, still shaking off the embarrassment. You weren’t sure what had compelled you to do that. When you looked up at him you grimaced. Grabbing a napkin, you carefully wiped away the lingering lipstick. “The ties were the more interesting part of the day, I didn’t plan anything eventful. Honestly most of my day was taken with trying to recall the shop you mentioned that carried the ones you liked.”

He hummed in appreciation, “You also managed to pick out two I have had my eye on. I’ve got new suits coming in soon that will pair perfectly.”

You beamed at that, happy he did actually like what you had chosen. “Lucky guess. It was difficult remembering the ones I had seen you wear.”

Hannibal made to grab some ingredients and set them on the counter near the stove. “Have your parents tried calling you this weekend?”

You sighed, sure you didn’t have to tell him the truth but you wanted to, he had a compelling thing to him that made it easy to just speak. “I sent them money for rent. Which was honestly the dumbest thing I’ve done in a while.”

“It wasn’t idiotic,” he stated, setting to work on making the pomegranate sauce as you watched, “They’re you’re parents. It’s only natural you worry about them. Though, I do worry they’ll think of you as a person that doesn’t stick to her word.”

“I know, I really meant to, but the thought of them out on the street. It’s not my responsibility, but I’m just so used to being their adult.”

“It’s difficult to detransition. You worry for them as they should worry for you.” He checked over a pan he had been heating, “That’s perfect. If you could please..” Grabbing the plate with the duck you set them on the pan. “With duck it’s important to render off the fat. A low heat is necessary.”

You nodded, “Low and slow, got it... You know, I’m not sure they worry about me at all. I mean- I know they don’t. It should hurt, but it’s just a fact of life.”

“They didn’t give you an opportunity to be a child. When you were supposed to be in the most carefree moments of your life, they burdened you with the responsibilities of an adult.” He held out a spoon with some of the pomegranate sauce for you to taste. “Any pain the notion inflicted on you has been killed with time.”

“There are still moments though. Suppose that’s common enough, isn’t it Doc?” You leaned in, allowing him to feed you, “That tastes amazing. I really should have paid attention.”

“It’s simple, I’ll write it out for you later.” Casting the sauce aside, he set a pot of water to boil. “Very common. We aren’t too dissimilar when it comes to how quickly we had to grow up. Very different reasons, but the fall out isn’t much different. Our paths left us in places where we’re very much alone.”

“What happened?” You asked, realizing that he had known a great deal of your family and you had known nothing more past how his day had gone or his preference of coffee. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t.” Hannibal went to fill two glasses with wine. “I was very young when my parents died. My father had implemented in me that, if anything were to happen, I was to take care of my mother and sister. Which meant I had grown fiercely protective of Mischa when the time came. Soon I was acting more as her father than a brother.”

“Where’s Mischa now?” You asked, knowing at the very least she had to be in her late twenties.

His lips set into a frown, he took a quick drink. “Lost her sometime after. There was a lapse of judgement on my part and she suffered because of it. My days have often been shrouded by the thought that I could have done better by her. The ways I failed burdens me significantly.”

You rubbed his arm sympathetically. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine that pain.”

“It’s something I never wish to experience again. Losing someone you love so dearly, it changes a person.”

“I’m sure you tried your best. You’re a good man. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that when you were so young.”

“You think too highly of me,” he patted your hand on his arm, “Far better than I deserve. Still if my childhood had taught me anything, it’s to value those I hold dear. Such as yourself.”

“I’m glad we found each other. Even if it is for a short while.” You watched as he stepped back into the rhythm of cooking. Maybe you weren’t any help to him but watching him work was comforting.

He raised a brow, “Just because the amount of time we physically see each other will diminish, doesn’t mean we need to completely break apart. I’d like to have you at my dinner table later in life.”

“I’d like it if we kept in touch,” you replied, looking at a small box on the counter. The small black beads glimmered in the light, calling at you to take a peek. A neat row of recipe cards in his impeccable penmanship, numbered as high as 120 but there could have been more. “That’s sweet,” you mused, looking at the back of a card, noticing a couple had business cards on them, “You keep track of your friends’ favorites like this?”

“Friends, acquaintances, business partners. It’s difficult remembering everyone’s preferences. When I have dinner parties I like to make sure there’s a bit of something for everyone.”

“Hm, well I’m sorry I don’t have a card for you to have.”

When everything was said and done, you helped Hannibal set up the plates to have dinner. The conversation became light as you laughed along to the better memories of Mischa. From his smile it was easy to see he adored the usually shy girl. You never pressed on to find out how she died, simply choosing to bask in his soft smiles and laughter instead of entertaining curiosity. It was easy to see he rarely talked about her and you were grateful that he found that much comfort in you.

Some time later he was sitting at his harpsichord, playing a self composed melody as you browsed his shelves. There was an almost familiar calm in the air, like this was a usual happening and it would simply just happen again. A naturally reoccurring moment. You found comfort in his presence too.

You looked up from the shelves when you heard his sigh. “I can’t seem to master this melody,” he stated, “The ending never sounds right.” The annoyed demeanor contradicted his lax look. At least lax for him. His vest and suit jacket had been discarded a while ago leaving him with a popped button, loosened tie, and rolled up sleeves. “I may just leave this one in the air.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” you said, walking over to him, “Though we can be our own worst critics. I know I’m mine.”

“It sounds… forced. Almost as if it’s reluctant to work with me.”

“Forced things just need time.” You placed your hand on his shoulders, digging in your thumbs to relieve the tension you felt. A soft groan as he let his head lull back to rest against your stomach. “Time is all you need sometimes. I thought you would have learned that already, old man.”

He opened his eyes, raising a brow at you. “Always with that mouth.”

You smiled down on him fondly, something- probably the wine in your system -thought about pressing a kiss to his forehead right then. “What can I say? It has a mind of its own.”

“I do prefer when it’s otherwise occupied,” he stated, closing his eyes again.

Your fingers dug a little deeper at that, caught off guard. “And yet.”

Hannibal played a couple soft notes, seemingly testing the waters for his next attempt at getting it to sound right. “And yet.” The first melody seemed almost innocent, but was followed by a second seemingly stalking after it. “Would you mind putting on a record? It seemed I’ve grown bored with music of my own.”

“Sure thing, Han.” Giving his shoulders one final squeeze you pulled away from him. At the record table you browsed through his selection. Hannibal was still composing as you decided to go with a record that looked more worn than the others, figuring something well loved would help him out of his frustrated state. Setting it on the platter, you gave it a brief once over with the anti static brush, knowing he’d probably be attentive to that type of thing, and dropped the needle. The music filled the air as you took in the melody. “Very you.”

He let out a soft chuckle, abandoning the harpsichord, in favor walking over to you. “Very me, indeed.” Hannibal took the record sleeve out of your hand, setting it down on the table. The music’s build up reached. “Would you give me the honor?” His hand was stretched out toward you.

You gave him a sheepish smile, “Afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. I’m not much of a dancer.”

“I’ve been told I’m a wonderful teacher,” he pressed, a charming smile on his lips, “We all start somewhere. Let me be yours.”

A soft laugh bubbled from you as you took in his look of boyish excitement. “You’re not allowed to complain when I step on your toes.” You placed your hand in his.

He gave a gentle squeeze to your hand. “If you’re too terrible, I’ll show you the way I taught Mischa. You can stand on my toes as I try to help you commit the movements into muscle memory.”

“Handsome and a comedian.”

“I try my best.” Hannibal gave you a gentle spin as he pulled you closer. A kiss was pressed to your hand before he placed it on his shoulder. “Now, just follow after me,” he instructed, placing his hand on your hip.

The moment could have made you fall for the man as you danced with him throughout the room. Toothy smiles and teasing winks were sent your way the couple of times you stepped on his toe. Soon enough, you figured out the pace and learned how to follow through with his unspoken plans. Still, ever the novice, you managed to place your foot in a way that sent you both stumbling to the floor.

Hannibal held you close to his chest, ensuring you didn’t get hurt in the fall. “Oh my sweet girl,” he laughed, “we are going to need more practice.”

You hid your face against his neck, ignoring the fact that he could feel how hot your face was getting. “You want more of that?”

“You were doing perfect, YN,” he stroked your hair sympathetically, “One misstep isn’t something to be embarrassed about.”

Taking a deep breath, you shifted off of the older man, opting to sit beside him on the floor. Hannibal followed suit, leaning back on his elbows. “I really am going to miss seeing you regularly,” you admitted, reaching out your hand to push back the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“We spend much of our time together,” he acknowledged as he looked at you curiously. “In the kitchen-“

Your eyes widened slightly, “We don’t need to talk about that i-it’s fine. No hard feelings.”

“Romantically or physically?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you see me as a romantic or physical conquest?”

“I, um,” you opted to look at your fumbling hands, “I’m honestly not sure about romance… especially considering… everything and my experience when it comes to romance. Never really thought past- I’m talking too much.”

Hannibal’s hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Oh? What happened to the confident girl in the kitchen? Don’t go shy on me now.”

“I was high on your cologne, you can hardly blame me,” you rambled, “It pairs with mine nicely I think.”

His thumb stroked absentmindedly at your jaw. “Such a sweet little thing you are… Now, tell me, YN, what couldn’t you think past?”

“You,” you offered lamely, “Mostly nights when I needed to relax. You’d cross my mind. I’d wonder how you felt. How’d you do things. Maybe you’d like to leave bruises only you’d ever know about…”

“There’s something special in knowing what others don’t,” Hannibal acknowledged, “I do enjoy my lovers wearing my marks, hidden from others view and only acknowledged by myself. As it should be, I’m certain you agree.”

You swallowed thickly at the implication of being marked as his solely. The idea of having normal conversations with him at the college with evidence of him knowing you well burned against your skin. Maybe you’d see if you could convince him into one particular fantasy Friday night had conjured.

He rested his thumb against your bottom lip, bringing you back to him. “I’ve had thoughts of my own… I wonder… Have you ever wrapped a hand around your own neck?” Hannibal smirked at the way your lips parted in surprise as he felt the heat rise to your face, caught in a way you hadn’t expected. “Sweet girl, were you desperate for me?”

You went to lick your bottom lip out of habit, instead finding the pad of his thumb. “Yes, sir.”

“Darling,” he sighed out softly, almost disappointed, “we could have sorted you out this entire time, if you’d only ask politely. There would have been no need for you to imagine, creative as you might have been. You always put everyone’s needs before yours, but where does that leave you?” Hannibal his thumb pressed against your lips lightly, humming in satisfaction when you let him in, already so compliant. “All you have to do is ask. What would you have me do tonight?” A soft pop sounded in the room as he pulled his thumb back, smearing your spit onto your lips and chin.

“Just tonight?” The words rolled out of your mouth thoughtlessly.

A soft laugh. “Maybe more, if you behave.”

Hannibal threaded his hand into your hair, pulling your head back slightly. Leaning closer he took a deep breath, taking you in, before leaving a simple kiss against your neck. His warm breath fanned across your face as he kept you in anticipation. Finally he graced you with a feather light kiss, so quick you weren’t sure you even noticed. You didn’t have time to feel ashamed of the whine that had escaped when he started to move away. Following after him, you caught him in an urgent kiss, threading your own hands in his hair to make sure he’d stay close. Hannibal bit at your bottom lip, his tongue sliding in the second you gasped. You ignored the sting and slight coppery taste.

Sure you had had your fair share of ventures. It was only natural to crave the attention for the night or a couple hours. However, Hannibal didn’t feel like any of your past partners. His kiss was unrelenting and passionate. Quickly he learned exactly how to kiss you to ensure you’d moan into his mouth. You weren’t sure how long had been spent like this. Lips on lips. Someone’s wandering hand trailing down the other’s body. The growing need. Every movement slowly became bolder. Hannibal took the time to pull you onto his thigh, closing the distance between you even more. He kissed along your neck until he found a spot that made you buck against him.

“Please,” you sighed out, not really knowing exactly what you wanted, but having faith that he’d give you just what you needed.

Hannibal leaned his forehead against yours, “Are you sure about this, darling?”

It wasn’t time for contemplation though, everything was already set into motion. He had just asked out of politeness. His hands moved to your hips, he dragged you against himself in a way that clouded your mind. “You’re very convincing,” you said with a shuddered breath. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you matched his rhythm. At the moment everything in the world was him and you couldn’t find it in you to mind.

“You came to me,” he pointed out. His hand tugged at your shirt and you allowed him to pull it off. Fingers raised goose bumps along your skin as he followed the fabric of your bra to unclasp the material.

“Could you blame me?” You kissed the side of his jaw for the second time this night. The lipstick mark left behind wasn’t as embarrassing when you were half undressed on his lap. A blush blossomed in your chest as you watched his darken eyes take you in.

Hannibal kissed along your chest. His hand made its way into your pants, drawing slow circles on your clit. Your soft moan and jut of your hips urged him for more. Before you could ask, he thrusted two fingers inside of you, the pace changing every so often as he took in your reactions. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you grinded against his hand. Soft whimpers were muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“Come on sweet girl,” he used his free hand to pull you off of his shoulder by the hair, “you shouldn’t be hiding. Look at me when I’m touching you. Don’t you want to be my good toy?”

You nodded meekly, unable to make a smart comment when you saw a smirk settle on his lips as a too loud moan took its place.

“That’s it, no one can hear you,” he teased as he worked at the spot harder, his thumb rubbed at your clit. “You seem very close, what if I…”

As he went to move his hand, you grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No, no, no. Please, I’ll be good for you.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he brought his pace back up. Instead he chose to revel in your soft sounds and the way you had to focus to keep your eyes on him. Finally, he decided keeping you on the edge was enough and allowed you to cum on his fingers.

“Clean up your mess,” he said as he thrusted his cum coated fingers into your mouth, “There you go, good girl.”

You watched him as you sucked his fingers clean. Bringing a hand down you palmed cock through his pants, fully intending on returning the favor. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“I’m afraid that status isn’t going to change anytime soon.” Hannibal kissed your pouted lip. “Don’t worry, I fully intend on taking care of you. Come, let’s make you more comfortable.”

As he stood, Hannibal offered you his hand to help you up. You followed him through the home to his bedroom, a place you didn’t think you’d end up but were more than pleased to see. Still you weren’t exactly taking in the sights when you were pulled into a rougher kiss as he led you toward his bed. A not too gentle push to your chest landed you on top of it. Leaning back on your elbows, you watched as Hannibal took his time undressing you fully.

“You don’t play fair,” you complained, shifting yourself higher on the bed, away from him, “I like a pretty view too you know.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly, “Very well, but only as a reward for earlier. I know you struggled.”

You smiled at that, shaking your head, “Come here won’t you?”

There wasn’t any time wasted when he settled on top of you, you didn’t have his patience. Your hands worked on his tie and buttons as his lips and teeth trailed across your chest. A subtle grind against your pussy had your thighs squeeze his waist. Pushing his shirt off, you felt down his chest, still surprised by how muscular he seemed to be underneath it all. You wondered if he’d stop you as you reached for his belt.

“That’s enough. I don’t think you’ve earned it just yet.”

An annoyed huff was all you could manage.

“All in its time, darling.” A surprisingly gentle kiss was dropped on your cheek. “Can you manage waiting a while longer for me?”

You resisted the urge to nuzzle against him, unused to such soft displays from past partners. “Yes, sir...”

“Always such a sweet, polite thing.”

Hannibal kissed and bit his way down your body, ensuring there would be evidence of him the next time you saw yourself in the mirror. He allowed you to thread your fingers in his hair, giving him a soft push down when he took too long marking you in one spot. It wasn’t much longer until Hannibal was level with your thighs, he pushed them further apart. A moment passed without anything before you remembered his rule. Willing yourself up you looked down at him, catching a wink before you were rewarded with a broad lick. Hannibal sucked your clit, pressing your hips down when you grinded against him.

A helpless noise was the most you could do.

He bit your thigh, his fingers immediately making their way back inside of you, targeting the spot he had quickly learned turned you to putty.

“You really are beautiful like this,” Hannibal acknowledged, “Completely at my mercy. Desperate for anything I’m willing to give you.”

There wasn’t any time to think up something to say as Hannibal’s mouth replaced his fingers, silencing any words that weren’t his breathy attempts of his name and pleas. Teeth grazed against your clit and a soft moan of his own was enough to pull you closer.

“Please, daddy,” you begged, too far gone to be embarrassed by your slip, “I’m close…”

Hannibal was merciful, helping you finish as quickly as you had asked. Maybe at another time he would have teased and made you hold on longer but there was only so much patience he had. Especially when there was such an eager lover begging him. You watched him, dazed, as he came back up, his hand gripping at your jaw.

“Open.”

Doing as he wanted, you opened your mouth, instantly receiving a mix of the still lingering wine he had drank at dinner and you. He watched as you swallowed.

He let out an almost dreamy sigh. “So pliant.”

Hannibal kissed you, finally allowing you to get your way as you pushed off the last clothes. You pumped him in your hand, working up the courage as you shook off the daze he had left you in. He was definitely the most talented partner you had had.

“We don’t have to go any further,” Hannibal reassured you, kissing the side of your mouth, “I’m perfectly sedated watching you.”

You shook your head immediately, not wanting him to think you were hesitant. “I want to, college guys aren’t so giving, just needed some time to clear my head.” As if to prove your point you gave him a squeeze, that made him thrust into your hand on instinct. “I just feel bad you’re doing all the work.”

“I prefer it,” he groaned quietly, as you thumbed at the slit. Hannibal rolled so that you could be on top of him, “But if you insist…”

A soft laugh. “That was hardly the fight I was expecting,” you muttered teasingly, kissing his jaw.

“My patience is running thin.”

At that you straddled him, your hand lining him up with you. His hands held you steady as you sunk onto him. The both of you moaned softly when he was fully inside. Hannibal slowly grinded you against himself as you adjusted to his size. Hands against his chest, you started riding him in earnest.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised you, his fingernails digging harder into your hips.

“Yours,” you whimpered, too enthralled in the feel of him to pay any attention to the weight of what you were saying. His groans underneath you encouraged you more than anything. “All yours.”

Hannibal sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you firm against him. His soft kiss was a contrast to how roughly he was working himself into you. You couldn’t find it in you to care that he had taken control again. Instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him do as he pleased, just enjoying the way his hands and lips would travel across your body. Teasing, pinching, biting everywhere he could reach. Your chest alone would be covered in marks left behind by Hannibal. That would be a problem for the future you to deal with at the moment you were too preoccupied with begging him for more. He’d slow his thrust whenever he felt you close to the end, chuckling lowly at the whining sounds you had made.

“Give daddy one more sweet girl. I know you can.”

You moaned loudly, giving Hannibal exactly what he wanted. When he wanted. Drained, you fell limp against his shoulder. Every small sound you made broadcast directly to him as he used you for all your worth. His arms tightened around you when you tried to pull away from the over stimulation.

“Daddy’s close,” he promised, his accent thicker than usual, “I’ve taken such good care of my girl. Be good for me.”

Nodding, you dug your nails into his shoulders. You could be good. He had been so good to you after all. Still your vision blurred and it had taken a while longer for him to finally go still inside of you.

Hannibal kissed the side of your head, before pulling you to lay down against him. His thumb wiped away the stray tear that had managed to fall. “You did so well for me. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

You sighed sleepily, curling into his side more comfortably, “I’m alright. Just want you.”

“We’ll take care of you later,” he promised, seeing how tired you were, “You should rest, darling. I’ll be right here.” His hand rested on your hip, thumbing at forming bruise gently. Between the soft touch and his quiet humming, it didn’t take long for you to find sleep.

NextChapter

#hannibal lecter #Hannibal Lecter x reader #reader insert #smut #hannibal #Hannibal nbc #Hannibal x reader

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demonslayedher · 3 years

Text

I lost a bet to myself and paid the price by making another demon sibling AU. Was originally just going to be headcanons and doodles, but I wound up writing the parts I felt like. The names of Tengen's siblings are entirely made up. This will come in two parts due to length.

Clicking each bone in his spine, Yogen stood to his full height, taller than Tengen remembered. It wasn't uncommon to go long periods of time without seeing his siblings when they were on their own missions, but Yogen shouldn't had changed that much. "I'll spare you. It wouldn't do for the Uzui clan not to have a head. Now you're the strongest one."

"...Yogen..."

"I wouldn't had been able to take you on, if not for the fact that you'd never have done it if you knew. You should thank me, Aniki. You know what I've spared you? Father was going to make us all have a fight to the death. You'd have done at least half of this."

"What have you done!?"

"I ate them," he laughed, something Tengen had never heard Yogen do in his adult voice. He had the most infectious laugh when they were children, and this rang with the same pleasure, however dissonant. "I was stunned too, at first. When I came to, I had eaten two of them, they were still warm in my mouth, their cells already nourishing mine. But you know what? I decided to eat the others. I was going to kill them anyway, what difference does it make that I should eat them?"

Tengen's face pearled back into a snarl, his eyes flaring.

"One, two, three... Eizen got away before I could bite him, though. That whelp would had done nothing for me. The one I really wanted to eat was the strongest," he said, his glowing white eyes shifting down to their father's fresh corpse. "And now, even he's nothing to me."

Tengen could stand no more of this. "Yogen!!" he screamed and gripped one of the swords at his back, and charged at Yogen all in one motion. A hard sickle burst out of the flesh of Yogen's arm and caught it, but when Tengen pulled his other sword down through Yogen's shoulder and chest, the sound of ripping sinews what different than it should had been. A look over to the injury revealed that the shoulder was repairing itself before Tengen's eyes. When had he learned any technique like that?

The momentary lapse in focus caught him, Yogen swiped up against Tengen's forearm. It felt too varied to had been spiked knuckles--those were his fingertips, he had grown claws. Tengen drew a sword up to lop off Yogen's forearm, and then his brother let out a shrill scream as his features lit up and revealed how contorted they had become. Yogen didn't look human anymore with how his veins bulged and burned. Burned? From what? Tengen took a look over his shoulder to the sun rising and casting light through the wide open door, and when he looked back, Yogen was gone.

---

Tengen watched the flames consume the house and the bodies of his slain family. He had combed it for any trace of Yogen, but his brother left none. Hope though he did that the flames may consume Yogen too, he knew in his gut that he was still out there.

Behind him, Suma sneezed in a gust of smoke that wafted into her face. Hinatsuru handed her a handkerchief, as she and Makio were already covering their faces in case of poison. Tengen didn't bother, he was resistent to most ninja poisons, and the scratches down his forearm were already less swollen. "You three should go back to your homes."

"No!" insisted Suma.

"We're already members of the Uzui clan," said Hinatsuru.

"Your revenge is ours," added Makio.

Hinatsuru made the most important point, they were already seen as his property. He could hear whispers and feel them all being watched; the other ninja clans knew what had befallen the most powerful family, and the Uzui name was now shunned. Even if Tengen wanted to stay, he had no place in the village, and neither did anything that belonged to him. The only thing left for him now was to track his brother down and drag him to hell.

Someone else was approaching, and Tengen reached for one sword. Uneven footsteps. One didn't have the splat of a foot, it was the thunk of wood--a cane, or two canes? A leisurely, but determined pace. Self-assuredness, even for entering ninja territory. A robust heartbeat. Who was coming?

"Well, is that what you all look like? I feel like I've wandered into one of those storybooks," said an old man. He had one missing leg, a full head of hair and moustache to rival it, a grin, and a telltale scar lining the underside of his left eye. "I had always left your kind alone, but I couldn't when I felt the presence of a demon over here."

"Who are you?" Tengen asked, stetching one arm before his wives while the other hand stayed at his weapon.

"You didn't chop its head off, did you, ninja boy? It's long gone by now, you know. It'll hide from daylight. Be even more trouble to find if it's one of your folk."

"How do you know about us?" Makio shot back.

"How do you children not know about demons? Aye," the old man huffed to himself as he set down a stool he carried. He planted his rump on it, then folded his arms. "The name's Kuwajima Jigoro, former Roaring Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corp. I figured this would be out of your expertise, so I've come to help."

Tengen felt in his gut he could trust that. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head, his wives all doing likewise behind him. Jigoro seemed to enjoy that, but insisted they do not. Instead of bowing, he'd appreciate the ladies rubbing his shoulders to display their gratitude, he said.

While Hinatsuru and Makio set about at each arm, Suma kneeled at his remaining foot with a gasp. "Aren't old people not supposed to be this beefy?"

"Can it, Suma!" chided Makio.

Hinatsuru said nothing, but could feel something was different in this man, not only in his physique. Whatever he had to say was going to change their lives more than the previous night already had. They all listened carefully as Jigoro orated about the existence of demons, how they eat humans, how they are near impossible to kill, but also the methods of those who hunt them, with specialized blades and an organization to support them. As he began describing Breath, however, Tengen stopped him. "I already know all that, that's ninjutsu basics. That's not giving me anything I don’t already have."

"Oh? I figured as much. Always made me curious about you pups. So you you've got the basics of Breath technique, huh?"

"It's beyond basic," he shot him an annoyed frown.

"I'll be the judge of that. See that tree over there? That's probably about the strength of the usual demon neck. Go hog wild on it." As much as showing off was against the ninja code, Tengen wasn't in the mood to argue and made short work of that tree, the only sound being the pop of it seperating into two halves. Jigoro gave him a clap, then stood with his cane. "Good accuracy. Spot on. Now you pick one out for me. Take some mercy, though, I'm only working at half-strength." He balanced on his foot and his peg, plopping the end of his cane in his palm to show off that he meant to use it in place of a sword. Tengen hated when other people tried to be show-offs, so he pointed to a tree a few rings thicker than the one he had cut.

The old man eyed it, then slid his good foot through the dirt, and as he leaned forward, clouds of steam rose from his lips. "Breath of Thunder, Fifth Form. Heat Lightning."

The sound hit Tengen so hard that he covered his ears, and the old man was gone--on the other side of the tree, which was not only cleanly chopped, but split itself in half vertically as it fell. A rarity, Tengen's jaw dropped. Jigoro looked back with a fierce grin, knowing he'd have left them all impressed.

Rather than one knee, Tengen planted his palms and face to the ground. "Please teach me this technique, Master."

"When did I ever say I wanted a student like you? You already said you know Breath technique, don't you?"

"You won't teach him?" Suma sat straight up, little tears in the corners of her eyes.

"I only want students with talents I can mold. You're already set your ways and would just try to make Thunder Breathing into what you want. You can't fill a full tea cup, as they say."

Tengen wanted to insist he's do anything to take his revenge, but the old man was right. As he was, he wouldn't be able to unlearn everything he always knew, it was as much a part of him as every experience and memory, like every scar, such as the ones running down his left arm.

"The true nature of Thunder Breathing would escape you, you'd get too caught up in how powerful it looks. You're too flashy!"

His cheeks flushed. "Say that again."

"You're too... flashy? I don't think a ninja should find that a compliment."

"You can't tell him all that and then not train him!" insisted Makio. "Please! There's got to be something you can do! Tengen-sama works really hard!"

"Tengen-sama works harder than anyone!"

"Please, Master. Tengen-sama can think flexibly, please give him a chance."

"I won't! I can already tell he's not the sort of student I'm looking for!" he barked back, and Suma burst out into sobs, while Hinatsuru hid delicate tears and Makio's face turned dark red. Jigoro flinched at the sight of the upset girls, then looked back to Tengen. "I--I didn't come out here to leave you high and dry, you know. I already told you about the Corp, didn't I? That's where you really need to go. I can't teach you Thunder Breathing, but if you really think you can pick up something new, there's an old scroll I've got of an off-shoot Breath. Someone like you might be able to pull it off. What do you say, ninja boy? How about I give that to you and you teach yourself Sound Breathing?"

---

From there, Tengen took much the same course as in canon. When he became a Pillar and had his meeting with Oyakata-sama, he was upfront about his reasons for entering the Corp. Oyakata-sama appreciated his frankness and assured him that the entire Corp would support him if they found any information on Yogen, but Oyakata-sama was also keen on the undercurrent of Tengen's heart; that he was relieved to leave the murderous ways of ninja, and that he wanted to live an upright life. This finally gave words to something Tengen always felt, but thought he had no right to wish for. He and his wives were moved and they swore loyalty to Oyakata-sama.

However, as time went on, there were no clues whatsoever about Yogen. Around the time they all got antsy, Makio finally couldn't stand it anymore and suggested they may never find him. "Think about it," she said. "This Corp is full of strong swordsmen. Someone might had already chopped off his head long before we got here."

While that should had come as a relief, Tengen couldn't help but find the idea frustrating. That revenge was his to take. He could think of only one person stronger than him who might had done it, so he described Yogen to Himejima one day and asked if he remembered seeing a demon like that. Himejima plainly replied that he was blind.

As they began to accept that they may never have closure, Hinatsuru proposed that they be satisfied bagging an Upper Moon. That should be enough for them to earn their peace, she said, and as much as it grinded away at Tengen's heart, he agreed.

In the course of performing Tengen's Pillar duties, they closed in on what was likely an Upper Moon in Yoshiwara. Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma slipped in, but when he lost contact, Tengen went looking for some female Corp members to sneak in and see what was up. That's when he reencountered the boy whose head he meant to spill at the last Pillar meeting, as well as his two annoying buddies. Inosuke would had been satisfyingly flamboyant, if not for the fact that he was gross. The other whelp was named Zenitsu.

"You write that 'Zen' with the kanji for virtue?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

"Nothing," Tengen replied, never saying anything of it ever again. It didn't take long for him to notice that Zenitsu had ears on par with his own.

The boys managed to get in, and soon the plan went awry. Tengen's first encounter with an Upper Moon broke out, and that went awry in the most horrifically flamboyant of ways. Tengen found himself unconscious, needing to stop his heart to keep the demon poison from spreading, as it was many times more potent than any ninja or demon poison he encountered before. There was fire in the wreckage nearby, he'd be consumed if he doesn't move soon. In the odd space where consciousness was returning to him, his hearing reached into a deeper plain, where he could hear the most carnal thoughts pounding though the bodies of those around him.

Tanjiro was panicking.

No scent! No scent! Upper Moon Five--where did--but--no scent! No scent!!

Tengen could hear Upper Moon Six, in both bodies, but he couldn't hear any other demon. It gave off no sound. He struggled to look in Tanjiro's direction, and was stunned by the sight of a demon partway sticking out of the shadow Tanjiro has cast, guarding Upper Moon Six with a kunai stuck in his arm.

"Sakage!" growled Upper Moon Six. That is not the demon's name. "I don't need you here! Were you intruding on my thoughts?"

"I didn't need to. I heard the cacophony from ages away. You wouldn't had seen wisteria coming anyway."

Upper Moon Six looked to the kunai, while Tanjiro panicked that the poison had no effect on the newly arrived demon.

"Quit with all the fuss. I'd appreciate it if you hurry up and silence that Pillar over there," he turned his glance to Tengen. His eyes had writing in them, but that was Yogen. "I can't be bothered."

Yogen disappeared into the shadow as suddenly as he appeared, and Tanjiro fell forward with a stumble. He'd be a sitting duck like that, Tengen had to go save him, he pushed himself off the ground to--but--but his arm was missing--the scars were torn off-----

---

Yogen had been quick to learn some of the ins and outs of being a demon, but not all the finer details. He gathered from the surrounding demons' fear of the drum demon that the "Twelve Moons" were the most fearsome demons, closest to their progenitor, but didn't those other demons notice that the drum demon couldn't stomach humans as he ate them? That demon was weak, and Yogen wouldn't stand for it. He cut off his head.

It did not kill the demon, who screamed at him with the characters "Lower Six" in one of his eyes, but he shut up quick when Kibutsuji Muzan arrived. Despite warning Yogen that this was not how fights between demons were done and he should kill Yogen for acting without permission, Muzan smilingly decided to allow it, and instructed him to absorb the former Lower Moon Six and assume his role. Muzan did not care for how Yogen's name referenced sunlight, though. He renamed him Sakage on a whim.

Sakage went on to learn very quickly how to please Muzan, and how to climb the ranks. While not immune, he could resist wisteria poison, which Muzan was more than pleased to borrow from him and see how he could try to adopt it into his own cells. Sakage could move between connected shadows, and in spying on the Corp, he picked up on the hand signs the swordsmen used and quickly deciphered them, and openly reported so to the demons that outranked him. With hearing far more advanced that his brother's ever was, he listened to the information shared between crows, piecing apart their language to the best of his understanding.

Lower Moons Three and Two later, he used his spying abilities to identify his next target: Upper Moon Five.

Gyokko was startled by the challenge, and under Muzan's gaze, he could not refuse. Sakage made short work of him, and the other Moons all felt a chill. Akaza's chill was excitement.

Akaza wasted no time in chatting up the new Upper Moon, for Sakage likewise had a stated hatred for weaklings. While Sakage did find it a bit of a bother, especially since he knew he was a long way from ever being able to pose a real challenge to Akaza, he learned that the quickest way to stop Akaza from pestering him was to spar. Akaza loved to chit-chat even while sparring, though, and this became a useful way for Sakage to catch up on a hundred years of gossip about the other Upper Moons.

While it did feel they had somewhat of a friendship, one day they got on the topic of poison. "I hate people who use poison," said Akaza, between punches. "It's as cowardly and low as you can get."

Sakage, who could create a myriad of weapons from his cells as needed and always laced them in poison, was not offended, but disagreed. "I see no problem in being effective."

This gave Akaza pause, and an uncomfortable drop in his stomach. He excused himself, and bothered Sakage not so often after that.

Muzan was typically pleased with Sakage, which made Hantengu tremble that the ambitious demon had it out for him next. When Muzan was in a foul mood after Upper Moon Six's defeat, Sakage was likewise in a bad mood for the annoyance he encountered out there, someone who should had stayed hidden away instead of bearing free his inherently show-offy personality by joining the Demon Slayer Corp, especially since he was sure to have his ears set to the ground now for any new sign of him. He was certain Tengen witnessed him. But, for as much of an insult as it was to the Upper Moons that Gyutaro let him live, Tengen wouldn't be much of a threat anymore.

Still, Sakage knew to keep his cool. He had news to report, and he was certain of his deciphering. When he declared where the swordsmith village was located, Muzan had no doubts, and sent Hantengu alone. "Now why couldn't you find that, after all this time?" Muzan smirked to Nakime. She, not being of any rank, could merely apologize. Sakage took no pleasure or pride in looking better than a peer whom he knew he was stronger than. Muzan's mood could never be sustained for long, though, and he very soon frowned back to him. "You've brought no word of the blue spider lily."

"My apologies."

"Aren't ninja supposed to have knowledge of these things? Weren't you of a high ranking clan? Go back and order them to search."

And, at that moment, a dangerous thought escaped Sakage's inner filter, it leaked though to his mind at the same moment it leaked to Muzan's: But I can't show my face back there.

The way Muzan's face bent with disgust drove more terror into Sakage than when he was still a human and first encountered the demon lord. He felt certain of a swift death, but Muzan let him be. Sakage was still too useful. But, Sakage knew he'd have to crawl back to Muzan's graces by providing something of more use to him. He had to unveil a secret of more value.

Tengen, who remained active despite missing an eye and a hand, was present at an emergency Pillar meeting. Tokito and Kanroji were bandaged up, and they recounted how the swordsmith village was attacked by Upper Moon Four. With two Pillars and a few other reliable Corp members all working together they defeated him well before daybreak, but not before discovering an ancient ability known only as "the mark."

As he was now, Tengen knew he'd never attain this. What bothered him more was how the demons found the village, so hidden that he'd have to put his mind to it to have figured out where it was. He could had resorted to old tricks to figure it out, whether that be silently tracking the smiths after their deliveries or flirting with the Kakushi, but what recourse would a demon have had?

'I heard the cacophony----'

A demon may have had ears that rivaled his own, or were better!

Feeling sure of which demon it may had been, he set to thinking of what he would do next. If the demon moved in shadow, listening for the Corps' secrets, what would be a bigger target than the swordsmith village?

Oyakata-sama!

"Uzui-san, are you alright?" asked Himejima. "You seem quiet today."

"You look pale," added Kanroji.

"I'm jealous I won't get one of those flashy marks," he lief without flaw. "We all know I can't take any demons on like I used to. Maybe I don’t belong here."

"Uzui, what sort of talk is that?" Iguro looked to him with his flamboyant dichromatic eyes wide, and brows knit tight over them. "This isn't like you."

"I've got a different sort of mission to go on, I'll see myself out. You all stay here and keep each other company discussing this."

"Then I'll excuse myself here as well--"

"Not you, you've got no excuse," Uzui forced Tomioka back to a seated position by pressing on his head.

In conducting his own investigation, Tengen set his crow to work investigating from the sky. What the crow learned, tracing a few leaks and scolding the birds involved, was that their mid-air communications may had been what spoiled the secret location. This confirmed Tengen's suspicion about Yogen's hearing. He had a feeling about some other spoiled secrets too, and in following up with Corp members involved in previous mishaps, he concluded that the secret hand signals had been divulged.

(Read the conclusion reblog here.)

#please reblog from the conclusion post thx #tw blood #tw violence #tw cannibalism

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yeojaa · 3 years

Text

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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kimetsunoyaibawritings · 3 years

Text

Burn like the Sun

Rating: General

Relationship: Reader/Kyojuro

Summary: “Simply knowing you are safe is a plentiful reward in itself.”

As a survivor of the Infinity Train accident, the reader seeks out the man who had saved them to try and offer some sort of proper thanks. And while he is severely injured -- enough to have to lay down his duties as a Hashira -- Kyojuro is nonetheless happy to know that his actions had protected someone.

"Is this the home of Kyojuro Rengoku?"

The question pulls the attention of the young boy standing outside the front of the gate of the vast home behind him, who had been sweeping diligently before your approach.

His bright, firey-colored hair is striking, but it is dwarfed immediately by the sharp red of his eyes as they move up to look at you. The resemblance to your savior is striking -- so much that you are sure that this is the right home before he even opens his mouth to speak.

"I-It is, yes," he says, voice oddly timid. "May I ask uh, why you are looking for him?"

He can't be older than twelve or thirteen. You try to offer him a comforting smile and gesture with your chin down to the small, cloth-wrapped bundle in your arms.

"I was one of the people he saved from the train accident a few weeks ago. I heard he was badly injured because of it and I..." you let the words trail for a moment as the boy (his brother? his son?) stares at you with a look that is not at all accusatory, but sharp all the same.

You clear your throat and speak, tone renewed, "I wanted to show him my appreciation and wish him well for his recovery."

At first the boy doesn't say anything in response. In the growing silence, you almost feel foolish. It had been hard enough to learn the man's name in the first place after the accident, but something about his presence had left a moment of terror and hopelessness instead with such warmth and comfort that the simple prospect of gratitude seemed the least you could offer.

Lost among your own thoughts and worries, the sound of the boy's voice rings out and drags you back into the moment.

"Let me go ask him first, if that's alright."

You're barely able to offer but a syllable of a reply before he's already slipped past the front gate and out of sight into the grand house beyond. It is as large as you were told, though you can't recall any prominent businessman nor politician with the family name of Rengoku. Some of your contacts had called him a swordsman -- had his family once served as samurai?

The possibilities proffered more questions than offered answers, leaving you to simmer in your own curiosity for several minutes until the young fire-haired boy emerged from the house and hurried towards you.

"He says you can see him -- he's also happy to know you're okay."

The boy -- Senjuro, you later learn as his name -- quickly explains how to get to Kyojuro's room, though you're too lost in the warmth in your chest from the too-simple notion 'he's happy you're okay' to pay all that much attention past the first two turns. But you thank him all the same and shuffle towards the house, leaving Senjuro to continue sweeping up with only the slightest, softest curiosity in his eyes.

Once inside the house, you’re taken aback by how… empty it feels. You’d expect a home as large as this to be busy with people — whether family or workers tending to it. You find neither, greeted instead by silence and an unnerving amount of peace.

It doesn’t take long to start trying to recall the directions that the young Rengoku boy had given you. A turn down the left hallway, past the third door and then… ah?

You couldn’t quite recall after that. Left or right? Was there another hall, or was Kyojuro’s room along the outside? One question bumbled into another until your unsureness twisted itself up into a ball of knots. Despite the confusion, you didn’t want to seem even more foolish by moving back to Senjuro and asking for directions again when he had gone out of his way to describe them once already. So you stand there, frozen by your own indecision at the edge of a corner-

Until someone suddenly turns it, running straight into you with enough force to leave you stumbling backwards. You would have fallen on your ass if it wasn’t for the fact that the same offender reached out suddenly and grabbed your arms, which were otherwise holding with a vice grip on the wrapped bundle still against your chest.

“I’m so sorry!” a bright voice offers, soft but merrily. “I didn’t see you standing there. Are you alright?”

It takes a moment for your thoughts to straighten and your gaze to fix upon the person who had both run into you and kept you from toppling backwards.

Blonde hair with firey tips, eyes brighter than rubies and sharper than a fine point. Though his face is covered in bandages and there’s a patch over his left eye, the recognition feels like icewater dumped over your head.

“K-Kyojuro Rengoku?” you ask, embarrassed in the stutter of your own voice.

“Yes?” the man tilts his head. You’re not able to say anything further before he suddenly winces, pulling his arms back against his body and drawing your gaze down over the rest of his body — as well as his multitude of injuries. Broken bones and layers of bandages seemed to but scratch the surface for all that he is dealing with, which made you feel the heavy weight of gratitude twice, no, three times over in his saving your life.

“Shouldn’t you be laying down?”

Kyojuro merely laughs. Though the sound must pain him, it doesn’t muffle the blossoming warmth of the noise as it fills the air around your ears. It’s strange, in a way; does the sound of his voice often have this effect on people?

“I’m well enough to walk,” he finally says, pain and aches hidden so dutifully behind his eyes that you have to second-guess yourself whenever his lips press together in a brief, but tense line. A smile, however, quickly moves across his face. “I thought it would be easier if I met you halfway so you didn’t get lost! You are the one who came to visit me, correct?”

You nod.

“Y-yeah. I’m uh. One of the people you… saved. On the train, a few weeks ago. I wanted to thank you and… maybe get to know you a little bit.”

The man watches you silently as you explain yourself, but not for a moment does a sense of judgement press on your shoulders from his attention. He simply listens, politely waiting for you to finish before responding.

“It must have been hard to find me,” he comments almost idly, some mixture of amused and impressed. “How did you manage it?”

The question is filled with an odd sort of praise, so you lower your head down until your eyes are on the ground and your mind is a shambling mess trying to piece words together.

“I uh. I have some friends in high places, you could say.”

“Well!” he chuckles. “That almost sounds like a threat!”

“Oh no, no no no no-” flustered, you immediately raise your eyes up and begin waving one hand about frantically as if to dissuade the notion entirely. “I promise I didn’t mean that as a— I mean, my family—… I…”

Your broken explanation is cut short when Kyojuro reaches up a hand towards your face, index finger curling ever so gently beneath your chin that you barely feel the heat of his skin against yours.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and for a moment you feel your heartbeat go still. “I promise I meant it only as a jest. You went to great lengths simply to see me, and you certainly didn’t need to.” His hand slowly lowers, but your gaze is held to his as if bound by unseen threads. “Simply knowing you are safe is a plentiful reward in itself.”

“I- I uh. It’s not-” the words fall broken and useless from your lips like shards of glass with no hope of coming together to make a cohesive sentence. Perhaps it’s for the best, since you’re not even sure what you can try to say in response to such an earnest notion of safety from someone who didn’t even know your first name.

And that is what finally pulls your thoughts into clarity.

You step back, providing just enough space between yourself and your savior so that your mind can clear and your heart can stop beating so damn quickly. Once you regain a sense of sensibility you all but glare at the man.

“My name is-” you say, brows knitted and stance firm as you all but aggressively introduce yourself to the man who had sacrificed so much of himself for your safety. For the safety of hundreds.

And Kyojuro watches, and listens, and then he smiles.

“That’s a nice name,” he says, then chuckles again, then bows his head for a moment. “Though you seem to know already, I am Kyojuro Rengoku. It’s quite the pleasure to meet you then! Properly meet you, at least. One less train involved.”

As the words settle humorously in the air, you watch Kyojuro turn and make a gesture to follow behind him. For a moment you’re confused, but he turns his face back to you and nods in the direction of the hall a few steps ahead.

“You wanted me to rest, yes? We can do so overlooking the back garden. I figure you’d like to sit and talk for a while-” and then he pauses, as if a moment of realization is just now moving across his thoughts. “…unless there is somewhere else you need to be?”

Bashful instinct presses at the root of your tongue to agree, perhaps even to make up some silly excuse for why you couldn’t stay for long. But then your eyes catch and hold onto a gaze that seems like brilliant rubies, and his voice echoes so warmly in your ears. And then you remember noting how empty the house felt when you stepped inside of it, devoid of anyone but what might be the last few members of the Rengoku family.

How lonely.

A shake of your head and motion of your legs happen before you can even think.

“O-oh no, I… have the day free. Though of course I didn’t assume you yourself had the time to entertain anyone, with you… healing up, and all.”

Kyojuro smiles for a moment before leading the way down the hall, his motions a bit stilted by injuries, but proud all the same. You held a deep respect for the man and his willpower despite knowing so little about him — and you certainly wanted to know more.

“I actually enjoy the company,” he says, just as you move in-step beside him. “And you are the first person from that accident to try and find me — perhaps the only one! So, if you’ll humor me for a bit of your time… I would like to learn more about you as well.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him smiling. Despite the countless injuries that undoubtedly leave him in pain, some perhaps permanent, the man continues to smile as wide and as bright as the sun itself.

And you are glad to have met him.

#kny #kny x you #kny kyojuro #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kny x reader #fic #readerinsert #sfw #sfw writing #writing #sfw fic #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyoujurou #kyojuro #demon slayer #demon slayer spoilers #mugen train spoilers

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hypnomicimagines · 3 years

Text

First Time [Iruma Jyuto]

Jyuto knew how to set a romantic mood.

The lighting in his apartment was set low but not too dark, the candles lining the dinner table giving just the right amount of illumination while you sat across from each other. You even teased that he brought out the fancy cutlery for your stay-at-home date, amused at the color tinging his face to say you hit the nail on the head. He normally wouldn’t put so much pomp and circumstance into his own meals but tonight had been a special occasion, and he hadn’t minded getting his hands dirty if it meant making you happy.

He didn’t often cook just for the sake of it with how busy he always was but on special occasions, he found the energy to do so. He had to follow the recipe down to the finest detail as he couldn’t afford to lose face and have to admit to you that he had to order take-out because of his reading comprehension skills. It was a stressful endeavor to keep the food warm until you got there (he started a bit early just in case more time was needed to prepare the meal, but it ended with everything being a bit before you were due to arrive). He was quite proud of his presentation as well and from the sparkle in your eye you were impressed as well, commenting about the perfection he seemed to stress in all areas of his life.

“This is good!” You put another forkful of food in your mouth, smiling as you did so; you knew he must have slaved over a hot stove to make this all for you, so you wanted to show your gratitude. You would’ve been perfectly fine with take-out since the only thing you were seeking from tonight was Jyuto’s company, but to know he went the extra mile for you made warmth spread across your chest.

“That’s good to hear. I’ve never tried this before so it was a toss-up on whether it’d be…edible.”

That wasn’t entirely the truth, he had tried this before but not in the natural course of his life. He had practiced making the meal about four times that week, having it for dinner every day and finding something new he had done wrong. His trial runs had left his stomach a bit upset, the same meal every day was tiresome, but he was dedicated to the cause of showing you a good time. He wouldn’t be cooking a large meal again so soon, or at least he hoped you’d want to do it together as a sort of romantic bonding exercise.

“You did great,” You reassured him, placing your utensils down on your now empty plate. “You always get so stressed out about impressing me. Consider me thoroughly impressed.”

Jyuto hated the way you could see through him yet at the same time he knew he needed a person like that, someone who could call him on his bullshit when he was putting on airs. He would never let you know, of course, sending a coy smile and motioning towards the living room. You listened to the clanking of dishes as Jyuto quickly cleaned up, approaching you with a glass of wine in hand before sitting beside you. The TV stayed on the low as light-hearted chatter took place, allowing you to bond without any distraction. Jyuto had always been the type of person to hate distractions, especially when you were on a date, it was why he liked when the opportunity for at home dates arose. He liked to take you out on the town just as much but it was just all the more personal when you could be close like this.

“You finished your wine. Being an upstanding officer of the law, I can’t allow you to drive yourself home like that.” Jyuto placed your glass beside his empty one, staring at you with a quirked eyebrow. “Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable?”

“Hm, more comfortable than your couch? Why, I’d love to.”

You already knew where his bedroom was, you’d been in his house countless times before, staring at it at times when you headed off to the bedroom. You had once been amused at the sight of handcuffs just lying there and he had insisted with tomato red cheeks that they were for on-duty use only. You assumed he just had another set for when it was time to have fun in the bedroom but you didn’t press it, saving it in your arsenal for future flustering purposes.

You playfully fell back on his bed, a hand pressed to your head as you waited for him to join you. He’s fumbling with his tie but trying to act like he’s doing other things, a nervous reaction that has your blood pumping. You removed yourself from his bed (knowing you’d meet it again shortly) and reached up to help him, steadying his hands while doing your best to act like you weren’t paying attention to his face. His lips were parted, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip while you slowly slid his tie off. You grabbed his hands next, holding them up and slowly sliding the leather gloves he always wore off so the beautiful skin underneath could be seen.

Jyuto shuddered as you kissed his fingers, just the reaction you wanted as you continued to kiss each digit until you were satisfied. But something so simple wouldn’t curb his hunger for you for long and he slowly pushed you back towards the bed, waiting for you to fall back with your dramatic flair once more before ‘falling’ on top of you. He hovered over your lips, eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitance but there was none to be found.

“Are you going to leave me waiting here all night, officer? I’m looking nice and pretty just for you, so I sure hope something happens before that pager of yours goes off.”

“You are beautiful.” Jyuto seemed breathless, “There’s not a single moment of this that I’m going to rush.”

You were about to say another flirtatious comment but it was your turn to have your breath taken away, Jyuto’s impossibly soft lips brushing briefly against yours to silence you before drifting to your neck. He turned your head to give himself more access, kissing along your jaw as well, lips lingering at the point where he could feel your pulse. You might act as cool and calm as him but it was clear his feelings were returned, that you were as excited for this moment as he was. All those canceled dates, tension filled car rides, apologies and fights, it had all culminated into a relationship he felt was worth dying for.

If you asked him, he thought he really would take a bullet for you.

No need to have such morbid thoughts when the love of his life was laying before him, arching into his touch and moaning for more. His lips locked with yours and it became too hard to pull away even as he slowly stripped you of your clothing, even as you began to unbutton his shirt and tug at his pants. He let out a needy groan as you finally pulled away to get proper air consumption, giggling as he chased after your lips before pouting and fully stripping himself of his shirt. It felt obscene to see his hard dick peeking out from his boxers but you supposed you’d only ever seen Jyuto when he was ‘on’, in professional mode, even when you were on romantic outings together.

But this Jyuto was more vulnerable, quite literally having nothing to hide behind anymore.

It didn’t seem like he minded much.

Your eyes lit up as Jyuto’s hand slipped between your thighs, teasingly rubbing the area around your clit but denying the satisfaction of actual friction. He kissed between your breasts, then the soft skin around your nipples, his finger keeping its slow, steady pace. You had to imagine what this was like for so long yet you were happy to know that your brain had been right about quite a few things, like how talented Jyuto was with his fingers and how lovingly he treated foreplay. He was quite thorough in his exploring of your body, touching every part of your body he could reach, kissing every part of your body that you’d allow him to.

“I’m happy,” You whispered as Jyuto’s forehead rested against yours, a momentary pause. “Thank you for such a wonderful night.”

“I’d give you anything you ask for.”

“That doesn’t count if I’m naked.”

“Put your clothes back on then, and I’ll make sure to keep the same promise.”

“Do you want me to put my clothes back on?”

“…No.”

You laughed into the kiss Jyuto gave you next, spreading your legs to give him more room to settle himself between your thighs. You can feel his dick pressing against you, eager as it’s owner, but you don’t push him to move. You’re enjoying the feeling of him rubbing against your clit, his lips moving to your neck again as he wanted to reassure you were ready for him.

You were ready.