#which is downright painful to the eye

[thedunesea]

I'm writing an Inquisitor right now, and I know that the canon name for the Imperial Inquisition is “Inquisitorius”, but I teach Latin for a living and “Inquisitorius” instead of "Inquisitorium" is such a grammatical blasphemy I can’t for the life of me bring myself to use it, even in a fanfiction.

A strange hill to die on, I know, but I’ll die on it nonetheless.

#star wars #inquisitorius #it hurts even to use this tag #not to mention fortress inquisitorius #which is downright painful to the eye #why star wars #of all your many sins #this is among the ones i can't forgive

[theostrophywife]

my collar.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: she's my collar by gorillaz (feat. kali uchis)

author's note: sometimes theo just needs to be put in his place and i'm more than happy to deliver that 😏

It was heinous.

It was criminal. 

It was downright torturous.

Your boyfriend leaned over, his lips grazing your earlobe as he lowered his voice to a husky, seductive tone. “Are you okay, principessa? You seem a little distracted.” 

Crimson colored your cheeks as you straightened against the wingback chair, clearing your throat while you looked around the table, which was currently occupied by your closest friends. All of which were none the wiser to the effect Theo had on you tonight. 

“I’m fine,” you squeaked out. 

“Really?” Theo drawled, sliding his hand down your thigh and squeezing firmly. “Because you haven’t stopped shaking your leg since dinner started. A shame. Malfoy flew in a private chef from France. He really wants to impress his girl. I know what that’s like.” 

You inhaled sharply as his hand trailed higher, his rough and calloused fingers slipping underneath the slit of your dress. “Teddy, please…” 

“Begging already, dolcezza? I thought we agreed to save that for the bedroom.” 

The teasing and taunting, the push and pull, the cat and mouse routine between you and Theo had been constant all night. Punishment for turning down his proposal for a quickie before dinner. It was hard enough to say no to Theo on a normal day, but declining your boyfriend’s proposition of hot, frantic sex while he looked absolutely sinful in a custom three piece suit was nearly impossible. Not to mention painful. 

Still, if you’d taken him up on the offer, you most likely would’ve never made it to dinner. You couldn’t do that to Draco. He needed emotional support. Tonight was his first time ingratiating Hermione into your friend group and you promised that you’d do everything in your power to make her feel welcome. 

With a sigh, you pried Theo’s fingers off of your thigh. “Behave, Theodore.” Your boyfriend pouted like a petulant child. “Draco needs us.” 

You nodded towards the blonde who looked equally panicked and appalled while Blaise recounted embarrassing stories to Hermione. The golden girl seemed amused by the antics, but Malfoy was anything but. 

“Save him before he ruptures a blood vessel,” you murmured to your boyfriend. For good measure, you batted your lashes up at him and gave him a look that he couldn’t refuse. “Please, baby.” 

Theo sighed, mumbling in Italian under his breath. “Gentlemen. Care for a cigar?” 

Thankfully, Zabini’s plan to embarrass the hell out of Draco was momentarily forgotten. Crisis averted. Draco shot you a grateful look, knowing that you were most likely behind the save. Salazar knows that Theo would’ve delighted in the effort of sullying his oldest friend’s reputation if he hadn’t been distracted. 

The boys rose from their chairs, excusing themselves from the room. Theo lingered beside you, dipping his head to place a kiss right underneath your jaw. He sucked lightly on the sweet spot and smirked as you melted against him. The bastard was playing dirty. 

“You owe me for that, cara mia.” 

Desire bloomed in your core, flooding heat through your body as you peered at your boyfriend. You couldn’t help but admire him in his suit. The midnight blue fabric draped over his tall and lean figure like your own personal gift and the deep stormy color brought out his eyes. You flushed as he turned, training his intense gaze on you like he was savoring the sight. With a cheeky grin, Theo shot you a wink before slipping out the door. 

Beside you, Pansy tutted in disapproval. “Get a hold of yourself, Y/N.” 

You flushed as Hermione bit back a grin. The curly haired witch patted your hand. “You have my sympathy. When I first saw Draco in a suit, I nearly spilled wine all over myself.” 

“See, Pans. I’m not the only one,” you murmured in self-defense. “I can’t help it.” 

Pansy shook her head, her glossy bob grazing her chin. “You can and you will. Don’t let Nott turn you into a simpering mess. The Y/N I know would bring a man to his knees.” 

Hermione nodded in agreement. “I think Pansy’s right. You should show Theo who’s really in control.” 

You smirked as an idea started forming in your head. “You’re more devious than you look, aren’t you, Granger?” Hermione flashed you an innocent smile, which made you laugh. Draco had his work cut out for him. You liked her all the more for it. “You two have a point. Maybe I’ll give my boyfriend a taste of his own medicine tonight.” 

Once your mind was made up, the three of you moved on to more important topics. You were fascinated to hear about Hermione’s work on curing lycanthropy while she was equally curious about the proposed laws that you were in the process of bringing before the Wizengamot. The bill was a passion project of yours because it would give rights and protections to muggle born wizards and witches that had never been afforded to them before. You were ready to fight tooth and nail to see it come to fruition. 

Needless to say, you were a little too passionate about it. The last time Rita Skeeter interviewed you under the guise of bringing light to the cause, you nearly strangled the sneaky little witch for taking more interest in your romantic relationship than the work you were trying to achieve. You were glad that Pansy worked her high society charm and publicity experience to diffuse the situation. 

In the end, she bribed and threatened the proper people to have the story killed. It was a blessing in disguise since you ended up giving exclusive rights to the Quibbler, which was now spearheaded by your old classmate Luna. She truly did the story justice. As a bonus, her tenacity seemed to have caught the attention of the pickiest witch you knew. No matter how many times Pansy denied it, you knew your friend was smitten. 

“Babe, you should take your own advice and just ask Luna out already.” 

Your friend nearly choked on her wine. Hermione watched the interaction with an amused expression. Her lips curled into a mischievous smile as she turned over to Pansy. “I happen to know that you’re just her type.” 

Never in your life had you seen Pansy Parkinson blush that furiously. She caught herself, holding her head high in that aristocratic way of hers. “Of course I’m her type,” your friend declared in a haughty tone. “I’m everyone’s type.” 

You and Hermione looked at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles. Pansy cracked a smile and laughed along. The three of you were in full hysterics by the time the boys came back. 

Theo slipped back into his seat, squeezing your shoulder gently. “What’s so funny, dolcezza?” 

“Girl talk,” Hermione answered on your behalf. “It’s not for you boys to hear.” 

You nodded in between giggles. “What Granger said.”

Draco groaned. “Bloody hell, they’re unionizing.” 

Your boyfriend raised a brow. He placed his hand back on your thigh, resuming the torturous contact from earlier in the night. “Keeping secrets from me now, Y/N?” 

You plastered a saccharine sweet smile on your face. Theo observed curiously as you peeled his fingers from your leg before firmly holding his hand. “I thought you liked a little mystery, baby.” 

Theo swallowed thickly as you leaned in to whisper in his ear. He held his breath while you pressed your palm against his chest, twirling his tie between red painted fingernails. You lowered your voice into a dark, seductive tone. “Have I told you how good you look tonight? I could just eat you up.” 

Lust blown eyes stared back at you, those familiar piercing blue irises completely swallowed by darkness. Theo shifted in his seat as his gaze dropped down to your mouth. You flashed him an innocent smile before releasing his tie and returning to the conversation happening around you. You could feel that burning gaze on you as you laughed and talked with Pansy and Mattheo. 

For the rest of the dinner, you kept up the nonchalant act. You mustered every ounce of self-control within you and rebuffed all of Theo’s advances. Every time he leaned in for a kiss, you gave him your cheek instead. When the group moved to the sitting room, you walked by his side instead of leading the way because you knew Theo would take advantage and smack your ass when no one was looking. To his surprise, you slapped his backside with a sly little smirk, causing him to glance over at you in shock. 

By the time you were seated on the expensive velvet couch, Theo was practically jittering. His knee bounced beside you as Hermione continued telling you about the Paris trip Draco had planned. Without looking at him, you placed a hand on your boyfriend’s leg and stopped his anxious bouncing. He sighed beside you, no doubt pouting like a petulant child. Yet you didn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement, which only made him more desperate. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Theo whispered into your ear. “You can devour me all you’d like, cara mia.”

You shook your head. “We haven’t even gotten to dessert yet, my love.” 

When Draco brought out a spread of chocolate covered strawberries, the opportunity to tease Theo even more quite literally presented itself on a silver platter. You pinched the ripe fruit between your fingers before wrapping your lips around it. Theo watched with rapt attention as you took a slow, deliberate bite, making a whole show of sucking and licking off the chocolate. He gripped the armchair so hard that his knuckles turned white from the strained effort. 

You bit back a smirk as he crossed his legs and tried not to groan. It was obvious that you had the upper hand now. Theo was barely paying attention to whatever anecdote Enzo and Mattheo were rambling to him about. Those electric eyes were trained on you as you picked up another strawberry. 

“Want a bite, Teddy?” you asked lovingly. “They’re sweet.” 

Theo sucked in a breath before nodding slowly. He didn’t trust his voice at the moment. You offered the fruit to him, cradling his cheek gently as he wrapped his lips around the strawberry in a suggestive manner. Theo kept eye contact as he sucked the white chocolate off. You stared back, smiling sweetly as he devoured the fruit in one bite. He seemed frustrated at your unaffected expression, but you were determined not to break. You were going to come out on top tonight. In more ways than one. 

Usually, the two of you would be the first to leave. You rarely made it through an entire night without Theo dragging you into the floo so you could tear each other apart back at your shared flat. Tonight was different though. You lasted all the way through midnight, forcing yourself to laugh and chat with your friends as you ignored your boyfriend’s fuck me eyes from across the room. 

For that, you made sure you were the last to leave. Theo was convinced he was slowly dying. As soon as the two of you stepped through the floor, your boyfriend scrambled towards your direction, itching to get his hands all over you. 

You stepped out of his reach and shook your head. “I didn’t say you could touch me.” 

Theo looked utterly confused. “I’ve never needed permission before.” 

You chuckled darkly. “You really think I’d reward you for acting like a brat all night? You’re going to learn that it’s a bad idea to tease me like that in front of all of our friends.” Theo gaped at your words. “Now, sit. You can use this time to think about what you’ve done.” 

“Dolcezza, please —“

”Did I fucking stutter, Theo?” You jutted your chin to the bed. “Sit. I won’t tell you again.” 

Judging by the look on his face, Theo was stunned at the sudden change, but you knew your boyfriend well enough to notice that he was entirely turned on by it too. He settled on the edge of the bed, watching in anticipation as you made your way over to the vanity table. As slowly as possible, you took off every piece of jewelry one by one. The diamonds glittered brightly as you removed them from your neck, ears, and fingers. 

A tense silence settled in the room while you pulled the pins out of your updo, sending your hair cascading over your shoulders. Theo squirmed in place, groaning at the sight. You knew that seeing your hair down was his weakness.

“Baby,” he pleaded in the darkness. “Can I touch you?” 

You cut him a disinterested glance over your shoulder. “You can help me take my dress off.” 

Theo sighed in relief as you sauntered over to him. His slender fingers struggled with the zipper, eager to tear the fabric off of your body. You met his gaze through the mirror, giving him a stern look. 

“Slow, Theo. You need to be patient.” 

Your boyfriend swallowed thickly, struggling to reign himself in. He concentrated on undressing you slowly, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled the zipper down. He cursed under his breath when your dress pooled around your feet, leaving you in nothing but a little lacy green set — his favorite. 

The struggle was evident in his expression. His gaze raked over your body, settling on the spiky heels that you purposely kept on. The red soled stilettos clicked against the wooden floors as you closed the gap. You smirked as you settled between his legs and tugged on his tie. 

“Your turn,” you rasped while Theo gazed at you with pure hunger. “Let me undress you now.” 

“Okay,” Theo murmured, dazed and confused as you unbuttoned his shirt. 

He hissed when you raked your nails over his chest and made quick work of his tie. Theo started unbuttoning his shirt, but reeled back when you swatted his hands away. Your boyfriend gazed up at you expectantly, letting his hands fall neatly to his sides while you took over. Without much effort, you expertly unbuckled his belt and kneeled before him to help him slip out of his pants. Once he was stripped down to his boxers, your eyes flickered back to his face.  

“Get on the bed,” you commanded. 

Theo was mesmerized, inching backwards towards the headboard on his elbows, but keeping his attention on you as you crawled on the mattress with your heels still on. Your boyfriend was completely under your spell as you brought your face close to his, your hair tickling his chest while he eagerly drank you in. 

“What do you want?” 

“I want to kiss you,” he answered without hesitation.

”Then learn to ask for it.” 

Theo nodded, biting his lip. “Can I kiss you?” 

You raised a brow, utterly unimpressed. “Try again, Theo.” 

He chewed on his bottom lip, canines sinking down. “Can I kiss you, please?” 

You smirked, pleased with the magic word. “Good boy.” 

Something dark flashed in Theo’s expression. Your words seemed to awaken a new level of lust and desire within him. The praise gave him a rush that he had never felt before. Theo surged forward, his mouth slanting over yours eagerly. He tasted like wine and strawberries, heady and sinful while he kissed you deeply. His tongue slipped past the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You granted his request, licking the roof of his mouth as you battled for control. 

Theo welcomed the challenge, groaning into your mouth as he pulled you into his lap. You straddled him and tugged at his hair as you flicked your tongue over his bottom lip, licking and sucking until he groaned with need. Theo took liberties without your permission, his greed getting the best of him as he grinded his hard length against your ass. 

You weren’t going to reward his impertinent behavior. You promised to teach him a lesson tonight. Theo gasped as you bit down on his bottom lip before raising his arms above him. He blinked in confusion as you bound him to the headboard with his own tie. It all happened so fast that by the time he noticed, it was already too late. 

Theo tugged at the restraints, squirming underneath you. “Please, cara mia. I want to touch you.” 

You sighed in disappointment. “Then you should've asked.” 

His biceps flexed as he struggled, the veins on his forearms stark and prominent against his olive skin. Panic filled his eyes when he realized that there was no getting out of his binds. “I’m sorry. I got greedy. Please untie me, principessa. I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll make it up to you.” 

Theo sounded desperate. You traced his swollen lips with your fingers and tugged at his messy brown waves. His eyes were wild as you straddled him. “Oh, you will,” you drawled, flashing him a devious smirk. “After I’m done with you, you’ll learn not to disobey me, my love.” 

Your boyfriend panted heavily as you kissed down his chest, sucking and nipping at his flesh in a punishing manner. He was barely breathing as you trailed further south, licking a stripe down his torso. Theo whimpered as you pressed sloppy, openmouthed kisses along his abdominal muscles, leaving hickies in the shape of your initials on his skin. You continued taunting him with your mouth, flicking your tongue along his sinfully delicious happy trail like you had all the time in the world. When you grazed your teeth against his v-lines, Theo tugged at his arms so hard that the headboard rattled. 

He was practically in tears as you palmed his cock through the fabric of his underwear. Theo held his breath as you toyed with the band of his boxers, hooking your fingers over the fabric before sliding it off his long legs. His eyes rolled back while you pumped him, applying just the right amount of pressure to have him writhing against your touch. 

A desperate little whine slipped past his lips as you licked at the head of his cock, swirling your tongue over his tip and slurping up his precum. His moans filled the room when you took him down your throat, holding his hips down so he can’t fuck up into your mouth like he wants. Theo cursed in Italian as you pumped him with both hands, all the while sucking down and hollowing your cheeks to suction him in. 

“Fuck, bella. I’m so close,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “I’m going to cum.” 

You withdrew your hands and your mouth at that moment, making him whine and groan from the sudden absence. Theo’s eyes flew wide open, tears filling his vision as you shook your head in disapproval. 

“I thought I told you to ask,” you chided. “If you want to cum, use your words.” 

“Please, please, baby, I’ll do whatever you want —“

”I know,” you said before settling over him and sliding off your panties. “And what I want is for you to get me off. Think you can help me with that, Theo?” 

“Yes, yes. Just untie me and I will. I’ll make you feel good, dolcezza. I promise.” 

“Oh, but you can do that right here, right now. With your hands tied.” Theo groaned as you grinded against him, spreading his precum and your slick over him. He moaned when his cock rubbed against your swollen clit with the perfect amount of friction. Theo was bewildered, his breaths coming out in ragged spurts. 

“Be a good boy and let me use you as my fuck toy. You can do that, can’t you, Teddy?” 

There wasn’t a single coherent thought in his mind. Theo felt the words escape him as you grinded against him. He felt dizzy. His cock was so hard that it hurt and he couldn’t even think straight. You hummed, brushing a finger over his balls before cupping them in your hand. 

“Use your words, pretty boy.” Theo blinked back, unable to speak. You grabbed his jaw roughly, forcing him back into focus. “I asked you a question. I expect you to answer.” 

Theo whimpered before nodding weakly. “Use me, dolcezza. I’m yours.” 

You smirked in satisfaction. Theo groaned as you rubbed your pussy against his cock. When his shaft brushed against your clit, his eyes rolled back so hard that he was convinced he could see the vacantness of his empty mind. You rode him hard and fast, using his body to get you off. The depravity of it turned him on even more. The blood rushed out of his head at the dominance you exhibited. You were utterly selfish, taking what you wanted when you wanted it, and he was so fucking aroused at how cruel his girl could be. 

You raked your nails over his chest as you balanced, teasing him with your wet folds without letting him feel you. Theo bit his lip so hard that the action drew blood. You licked away the crimson droplets and he sighed against your mouth as you gave him relief, sloppily kissing him while you moaned his name. He could tell you were getting close by the way you convulsed above him and he cursed as your pussy squelched against his cock. 

Theo was in awe as you cried out, cumming while you screamed his name. You slowed the roll of your hips as you lost yourself over to the orgasm, denying him of his own again. Your juices trickled down your thighs and pooled against his stomach. At that point, his cock was so sensitive that it throbbed painfully. Theo was in shambles, his wrists raw and red from tugging so hard. 

“Please, please, baby. Let me fuck you. I need it. I need you. I’ll die if I’m not inside you.” 

You chuckled, brushing the salty tears pooling underneath his pretty eyes. “Pathetic. Are you begging for me, pretty boy? So desperate to fill me up, to feel my pussy hug around your cock while you pump your cum inside of me, hm?” 

“It hurts so bad,” Theo whined. “Please, I’ll do anything. Anything you want. I’ll get on my knees and beg. Please, principessa.” 

“Look at you crying for me,” you cooed, caressing his cheek. “Poor Teddy. You’ve been so good. Let me take care of you now.” You soothed him with praises as you untied his arms. 

You kissed his wrists as Theo sighed in relief. “Do you want to touch me, baby?” 

Theo nodded shyly, which made you smile. His large, rough hands carefully gripped your hips. He looked to you for approval, making sure to check with you for every little thing. You only nodded, dragging his hands up to rest on your breasts. He busied himself with your bra strap, breathing raggedly as he freed your tits from the fabric. 

“Can I touch them, please?” Theo asked earnestly. 

“Is that all you want?” 

“No,” he answered honestly. “I want to kiss them. I want to suck them.” His gaze flickered to your amused expression. “Please, baby.” 

“Go ahead. You earned it, pretty boy.” 

Theo wasted no time, kneading your tits while kissing down your cleavage. He gasped in surprise when you sank down onto him, nearly sobbing in relief when he felt your pussy hug around his cock. His shaky little breaths seeped into your skin as you took inch after inch, making yourself comfortable on his lap as he sheathed himself inside of you. Theo whined when you lifted your hips until only his remained inside of you. 

“Don’t whine, Theo. Be thankful that I’m fucking you instead of punishing you.” 

He rested his head on the crook of your neck, attempting to ground himself. “Thank you, baby. I’m grateful. I don’t deserve it, but you’re so good to me.” 

With a proud smile, you slammed down to take all of him again. Theo was rendered speechless and his mouth fell open as you bounced on his cock. Desperately, he scrambled to catch your perky breasts into his mouth. Your boyfriend sucked on your tits, swirling his tongue around your nipples. You moaned as he nipped at you, tensing when you yanked him by his hair. 

Theo stared at you, waiting for direction. Knowing that you had this much control over him made you clench. In your relationship, Theo tended to take on the dominant role, but now that you knew that your boyfriend was more than open to being submissive, you were ready to explore this new dynamic.

“I like this side of you,” you murmured, kissing down his jaw and neck. His breath hitched as you slowly rolled your hips. “So obedient. So willing. So submissive.” A shiver shuddered through him as you wrapped your fingers around his neck. “Tell me who you belong to, Theo.” 

“You, baby,” he rasped. “Only you.” 

“Show me,” you commanded as you squeezed his throat. It was enough to make Theo feel dizzy, momentarily cutting off his oxygen. “Fuck me like you mean it.” 

The desire to please you overwhelmed him. All thoughts of his own pleasure faded. It was secondary to the need to hear you praise him, to validate him, to call him your good boy. He hooked his arm around your waist, shifting his hips to fuck into you at a deeper angle. You moaned above him as your bodies melded together. Sweat, sin, and sex permeated the air while he worshiped at your altar. 

Theo watched his cock disappear between your folds, his gaze flickering from your pussy to your face, eager to know if his actions pleased you. You brushed his hair back, gentle and loving, while you talked him through it. 

“That’s it, Teddy. Fill me up.” Theo thrusted as you bounced, groaning as he hit the sweet spot that made your body sing. “Just like that. Fuck, it’s so good. You’re so good, baby.” 

Your forehead dropped to his, rewarding him with sweet little kisses every time he hit the spongy spot that had you seeing stars. He relished in your compliments, felt himself craving it like a drug. When your pussy clenched around him to signal your release, Theo continued to fuck you through the orgasm. There was a reverent glimmer in his eyes like he was witnessing something holy when you came. 

Theo could feel his own release nearing, but he knew better than to cum without asking. It was abundantly clear to him that you were in control tonight. “Can I cum? Please, principessa?” 

“Of course you can,” you replied with a blissed out smile. “Good boys get to cum.” 

He held his breath, feeling warmth spread throughout his body. “I’ve been a good boy?” 

“Mhm,” you murmured, pulling him in for a soft kiss. “The best boy.” Even though you were sensitive and overstimulated, you made sure to reward his good behavior. Picking up the pace, sliding easily up and down his cock thanks to your wetness, you whispered the words that you knew would push Theo over the edge. “Now be a good boy and cum inside of me, baby.” 

Theo cried out with a shout, shuddering underneath you as he shot hot ribbons deep inside your pussy. You could feel his cum filling you up, warm and wet as it trickled out. He panted against your neck as his cock twitched inside of you, releasing his load with each pump. As he emptied himself out, Theo slowed, his body collapsing from the intensity of the orgasm. 

When he regained consciousness, he was flat on his back. Theo blinked away the white spots in his vision. It felt like his soul had left his body entirely. He had cum so hard he passed out. As he rejoined the physical realm, Theo opened his eyes to find you cleaning him up. You were so sweet and gentle, the complete opposite of the selfish lover you’d been just a few moments ago. It warmed his heart to know that you’d always take care of him no matter what. 

Theo smiled as you kissed his forehead. A small whimper escaped his mouth as you pulled his boxers over his legs, his cock still sensitive from the intense sex. You whispered sweet nothings into his ear, soothing him as you brushed your fingers through his hair. Theo cuddled against your side and sighed happily. 

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. 

You giggled, pressing soft kisses all over his face. “Did you like that?” You asked, teasing your boyfriend. “It seems like you did.” 

He hummed against your skin, brushing his lips against your neck. “Fuck, I think you just unlocked a new kink for me.” You chuckled at his words. “That was so fucking hot, baby.” 

“You know, I was trying to teach you a lesson,” you mused. “I didn’t quite expect you to enjoy getting degraded this much.” 

“Degrade me whenever you want, dolcezza.” 

"Really?" you hummed, musing on his willingness. "How far would you let me go? If I broke out a leash and collar, would you have stopped me?"

You were half-joking, but the eager expression on your boyfriend's face told you that he was more than willing to make your suggestion into a reality.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, cara mia." Theo wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you closer. "I'd crawl to you on my hands and knees if you asked. If you're the one asking, there's nothing I wouldn't do."

The power definitely gave you a head rush. As much as you relished in the hold you had over him, you tucked the knowledge away for later. There was plenty of opportunity to act out all your dirtiest, filthiest fantasies, but for now, you were more than content to snuggle with the love of your life.

You smirked, nipping at his jaw. “That’s my good boy.” 

#i want to put him in a pretty little pink collar #theo nott #theo nott smut #theodore nott smut #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott x you #theodore nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theo nott imagine

[gas-station-trackphone]

ftm trans Eddie Munson gets turned into a chew toy for hell bats and rescued in the 11th hour by his friends who don't know he's trans, who have to run some triage first aid and can hardly make sense of the blood and gore that used to be his body as they cut off his shirt and pants to get access to the worst of the wounds, who definitely aren't in their right minds well enough anyway to think of anything other than stopping the bleeding and getting him to a hospital, which they do, and miraculously Eddie finds himself blinking awake in a bright, fluorescent room feeling exactly like he imagines a chew toy for hell bats would feel in the aftermath which is to say: like shit. Even more miraculously, he finds hometown hero Steve Harrington posted up at his bedside with greasy hair (!!! Eddie never thought he'd see the day) and bags under his eyes.

The overwhelming relief on Steve's face when he sees Eddie is awake is touching, the misty eyes and cracking voice when he says god, i thought you were toast, man are downright flattering and, let's face it, giving Eddie all the wrong ideas that he figures he has an I-almost-died pass for at the moment so he rocks with it, let's himself indulge in the fantasy for a moment. Then, gradually, Steve's relief becomes more and more obviously some brand of deeply felt pity (or sympathy, but Eddie's never been good at distinguishing the two), which bursts his bubble enough to call him out.

"I know I look like what comes out the business end of a meat grinder, but I swear I'm good, dude. They definitely have me on the good shit, I hardly feel it. I'll be good as new in no time." Big fat fucking lie, by the way, but he'll say whatever if it gets that wounded puppy look out of Harrington's eyes.

"I...yeah, Eddie, I'm glad." And whatever it is he doesn't want to say, whatever is putting that you poor motherfucker look on his face, he's absolutely the opposite of subtle about it.

Eddie can hear the manifestation of his panic on the heart monitor.

"What? What is it? Is everyone- is Dustin-?" He can't say it, can't even think it, would rather be slowly torn to shreds all over again than know he failed at his one fucking task to keep the kid safe.

"No! I mean, yes, he's fine, they're all fine. Henderson's got a broken ankle and both of Max's arms are broken but the docs say they'll be fine in a few months with physical therapy."

The release of tension in Eddie's body hurts almost as much as the relief soothes him. "Okay then, what the fuck are you not telling me? It's fine, I'm a big boy, Harrington, I can take it."

He sighs, looking sick with it. "Eds...I don't know how to tell you this."

Oh god, what the fuck. Eddie's right back to freaking out because Steve looks inexplicably guilty, pained in the face like he's about to deliver the worst news he could imagine but if everyone's fine then-

"It's your dick, man. It's- it's gone. The bats-"

And Eddie laughs so hard he tears about a dozen stitches, immediately stops laughing, and throws up over the side of the bed and thankfully not all over his freshly reopened wounds as Steve shouts for help.

Eventually, when he's all stitched up again and barely hanging on to his hard earned lesson to not literally bust his gut laughing about the look on Steve's face (he has to force himself not to tell Wayne the specifics of how he ended up back in the OR, because he's absolutely gonna crack up and Eddie will definitely be unable to help himself from laughing with him), he realizes he's going to come out to all his friends in the very near future because holy shit, he has to tell everyone about Steve's utterly devastated expression at the news of Eddie's Ken doll-ification by way of demobat.

#I've been laughing about this in my head for WEEKS #the idea that steve feels so bad eddie got his dick eaten by demobats that he literally can't hide it and tells him immediately kills me #as always please read into the gay subtext here bc yes eddie also tells this story at their wedding many years down the line #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie

[lovexdeepspace]

“life without you.”

summary; months after breaking up with them, they come for reconciliation.

warnings; heartbreak, break-ups

note; wowowow the first part to this blew up and i am so beyond thankful for all the love! after this comes more requests :D

!! divider by @cafekitsune !!

first part | angst ending

“we should probably see other people.”

༊*·˚. xavier

it had been a couple of months since you broke things off with xavier and the way his face had contorted into one of subtle shock made you feel, well, better about things. although it had pained you to say the words, knowing that he was instantly hit with something — be it guilt, regret, sadness, whatever — made you feel better knowing it meant he still cared enough about you.

though the months of silence that followed had you second guessing that notion, no matter how many times you tried to tell yourself it was normal for this to happen and that you should take advantage of this time. you would never admit to anyone the many nights you would spend on your couch, waiting around late at night hoping that knock would come on your door and your sleepy hunter would be on the other side.

perhaps you ended up manifesting it one too many times, however, because now you stand pj-clad in your doorway with one hand on your hip and a raised brow as xavier held out a round, marshmallow-looking stuffed bunny to you.

“what’s this?” you deadpanned, knowing exactly what he was doing — you just wanted to hear him say it.

xavier’s lips pressed into a tight line as he avoided your eyes and muttered, “i really screwed up. i didn’t realize how good things were with you until i lost you.”

you stayed silent, motioning for him to continue when he glanced your way.

“i don’t deserve to ask you for forgiveness, let alone should i expect you to take me back,” he said, holding your gaze, “but i’d be even more of a fool not to try. i’m so, so sorry i put you in such a shitty situation.”

xavier pushed the bunny a little closer to you, brightening a bit as you took it into your arms. it was soft and downright adorable, a stuffed reflection of the man in front of you(though, again, something else on the list of things that wouldn’t be admitted by you).

“i don’t expect you to answer me any time soon,” he added quickly, filling the silence, “so i’ll just —“

“xavier.”

the blonde immediately shut his mouth, giving you his rapt attention. with a sigh you look from the bunny to him before extending a hand to him, albeit hesitantly.

“i was in the middle of watching a movie,” you said, earning a confused look. “do you want to finish it with me?”

if your heart wasn’t racing by that point, the way xavier’s face broke out in a grin before he grabbed your hand excitedly and pulled you into your own apartment had it pounding against your rib cage like a drum.

༊*·˚. rafayel

you recieved a torrent of snarky, snappy texts following your brief break-up with rafayel. he switched between gaslighting you that nothing was happening and that you were overreacting to him acting nonchalant about the whole thing; it was so bad that you had to block his number before you even got back to your apartment, which was a few blocks away.

it was weird to not have your phone blowing up all day long but, at the same time, the silence was a sort of reprieve while you dealt with the emotional repercussions of the whole situation. it allowed you some peace of mind and gave you the space needed to cope and, with the months that followed, grow more comfortable with not being in a relationship anymore.

you had finally found yourself at peace once again, keeping yourself busy with things to do like trying out the new restaurant downtown. as you were getting ready to head out, a knock came from your front door.

“just a minute!” you called, adjusting the collar of your blouse in the mirror before heading to the door and opening it. “oh.”

standing in front of you was rafayel and thomas, the latter giving you a sweet smile and a wave.

“nice to see you!” he chirped before giving rafayel a shove on the shoulder and gesturing to you. “i’ll be in the car.”

“good seeing you, too, thomas,” you called as he walked off, then turned to rafayel. “so. it took your manager forcing you for you to come see me?”

rafayel pouted at you and crossed his arms over his chest. “last i checked, you’re the one who blocked my number.”

you barked out a laugh, unsure as to why you’d be surprised about the audacity of this man. “well, maybe it’s because you tried to downplay my feelings!”

“well i’m sorry, okay?” rafayel retorted, matching your raised volume. “there, happy?”

“happy?” you echoed, running a hand down your face. “rafayel, if you really think —”

“you’re right.”

you froze, biting back the rest of your statement and raising a brow. “i’m right?”

rafayel nodded, dropping his arms to his sides. “i fucked up. like truly, undoubtedly fucked up. and here i am, thinking i can just say sorry and fix it all but that’s not how it works. i’ve got this whole front to keep up to protect my stupid ego but. . .” he sniffles and you realize there are tears in his eyes but he continues before you can speak up.

“fuck my ego,” he spat, clearly more angry at himself with every word he spoke. “my life has been complete and utter shit without you in it. i thought i knew what i was doing but i was wrong and i can’t even begin to express how sorry i am. i don’t deserve forgiveness or anything from you but gods you deserved an apology and i hope this is at least somewhat sufficient.”

rafayel sniffled again, the tip of his nose reddening as he wiped at his eyes. you were shocked to say the least, rooted to the spot as you watched the man you always thought to be so invulnerable breaking down in front of you.

slowly you reached out and your hands pulled his away from his face. he looked at you with wide, teary eyes as your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing the few remaining tears away. he whispered your name and you sighed, feeling all the hardened feelings towards the artist and your breakup softening to mush.

“i’ve missed you,” he whispered, leaning into your touch, and everything gets thrown out the window as you press a quick kiss to his forehead, then his cheeks, then the corner of his lips.

“i missed you too,” you said quietly. “come inside — i’ll tell thomas that i’ll drive you home later.”

༊*·˚. zayne

his coldness towards you was to be expected but still stung more than you could’ve expected. what made the break-up even worse was that you had to do it at the hospital and she was present for it all. you had tripped over your words and felt like a fool but knew, deep down, it needed to be done to prevent you from spending another sleepless night.

you had accounted for the way you’d feel when you’d find his clothes in your laundry; you’d accounted for the way your heart would surge whenever the rare occurrence came that you’d see him out and about in linkon city; everything was thought out and prepared for to avoid feeling too harshly.

what you had failed to account for, however, was how you’d feel when you came home one day to find zayne sitting on your couch with at least ten different bouquets of flowers surrounding him.

first it was shock — you quite literally dropped all your belongings. zayne raised an eyebrow at your reaction as if it wasn’t incredibly surprising to see him sitting in your apartment after having months of no contact.

second it was realization — you hadn’t taken your spare key back. as soon as it hit you your shock wore off and you groaned, running a hand down your face. after a long day at work this was the last thing you were expecting and needed.

last came the indifference. you gestured to him, then to the door. zayne stood slowly and walked around the bouquets, heading for the door. you were surprised up until he shut the door and headed back to his original spot on the couch.

“zayne,” you deadpanned. “that was a sign for you to leave.”

“do you really want me to leave?” the doctor asked, his steely gaze sending shivers down your spine.

no. “why are you even here?” you asked, defeated, purposely avoiding the question. “months of not talking and you suddenly appear in my apartment? what gives?”

“i need to apologize,” zayne replied bluntly, gesturing to the plethora of flowers surrounding him. “did the flowers not make that obvious? are they not enough? should i have gotten more?”

he looked somewhat distraught as he looked around him and you shook your head with a sigh to cover up the way the corners of your mouth twitched. you’d hardly seen zayne so stressed let alone stressed over flowers and if they were enough for you.

“zayne, the flowers are lovely,” you assured him. “more than i know what to do with, though.”

zayne nodded slowly, a bit more at ease. he stood once more and walked over to you, stopping right in front of you. he took a deep breath and looked you square in the eye, though you noted the way his eyes flitted down to your lips for a split second.

“what i did, how i treated you, all of it was unacceptable,” he said softly and you couldn’t help but already feel him worming his way through your walls. “i don’t know what i was thinking — or if i was even thinking at all. you are the most caring, respectful, and loving partner anyone could ever ask for. i was so lucky to have you by my side and i foolishly messed everything up.”

you wanted to reach out and wrap your arms around him, truly, but he still looked as if he had more to say so you held yourself back for a moment longer.

“you are everything to me,” he said, “and i will do whatever i need to do to regain your trust, your love, everything. however long it takes — days, months, years, nothing else matters to me more than you.”

you were in awe of the man standing before you, so moved by his words and actions that you couldn’t help but wind your arms around him and pull him close to you. you could feel him relax in your embrace, something that nobody else could do no matter what. with your cheek pressed to his chest, you smiled to yourself as you felt him press a kiss to the crown of your head and his arms wrap tightly around you.

“since i went a little overboard with the flowers,” he mumbled, “do you think we should take them down to the hospital and give them out to the patients?”

there he was. your zayne. sweet, compassionate, loving zayne.

taglist; @chim-i @reialbert @circusclownsam @yegrnn @kreishin @xmikanx @frobin4ever @keitthen <3 & all the anons that requested this!

#love and deepspace #rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #lads xavier #lads zayne #xavier #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #zayne #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace

[just-jordie-things]

cinnamon girl - kamo choso

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 10k follower event special! ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 17.3k warnings: i think none? summary: the brothers who are your neighbors across the hall settle inside of your heart as if there had been a space inside of it left just for them. more info: neighbors to friends to lovers. super cute big brother/little brother choso and yuji dynamic <3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ there’s things i wanna say to you, but i’ll just let you live // like if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did // there’s things i wanna talk about, but better not to give // but if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When she’d first met her neighbors across the hall, (y/n) hadn’t known they were her neighbors.  At the time she’d still been new to the building, having only lived there for under a month, and she hadn’t quite found the time (or courage) to introduce herself to the other residents on her floor.  Going door to door seemed corny, and she figured over time they’d see each other in passing, but it appeared her floor was rather quiet.  Maybe they all worked at odd hours, or from home and never left their apartment, but either way, she’d barely met anyone in the building.  

Save for the uppity property manager and a few of the maintenance crew.  Neither of which she took much pleasure in interacting with.  Neither of which provided much room for forming friendships.  

Although one of the maintenance guys who fixed her broken dishwasher would have been more than happy to accept her number, as he’d tried multiple times to leave his personal number in the case of any other ‘emergencies’ as he called them.  Now she tried to DIY her way out of any issue the small apartment gave her, just so she could avoid having him sent to her again.

But a month into her lease, she’s still a stranger to what feels like the entire complex, and she’d gone to the mail room to check her mailbox.  As usual it was empty, and despite having hoped to make friends when she’d moved to the area, it was a bit of a relief to not have to talk to anyone right now.

That is, until a small person came running into the room.  Or, half running half waddling on his chubby legs.  When the child wasn’t immediately followed by an adult, (y/n) found herself panicking.

“Uh, hello,” She greeted, with painful awkwardness.

So she wasn’t that great with kids, sue her.  She’d never had to interact with small children before, with no kids in her extended family, she didn’t exactly have the experience.  Nonetheless, the little boy in the footie pajama tiger costume looked up at her with wide eyes and a wider smile.

There still didn’t seem to be an adult in the area, and her panic kicked up a few notches.

“Is your mommy or daddy around?” She asked, wondering if she needed to put the mail away and notify the proper authorities of this missing child.

Surely someone was missing him- he was downright adorable.  With the brightest brown eyes she’s ever seen, a toothy smile that displayed his missing front tooth, and the striped tail of his tiger onesie being wrung around in his little hands- (y/n) had never felt baby fever before, but she imagined it had to be akin to the tightening heartstrings in her chest.

“No,” The boy shakes his head, most of his body following the movement in a small sway.  “I don’t have them” 

Okay, now she was going to have to do a breathing exercise before she called the police, so that she could remain calm until this missing child was returned home safely.

With a slow exhale, she tucks her mail into her purse before kneeling down before him.  It takes her a few moments to try and find the right thing to say, this kid looked no older than five and she just wasn’t equipped to strike up a conversation with a child so young about where their home was.  She tries to speak calmly and slowly.

“Are you lost, little tiger?” 

Mentally, she cringes at how awkward her voice sounds when she’s trying to be approachable.  Does it come across as creepy? Fuck, she hopes not.

But the kid giggles, and shakes his head.

“No, I’m not lost!” He squeals it out with that adorable little kid delight, as if he’s trying to fight a fit of giggles.  “I live here! With Choso-nii!” 

So he lived with his brother.  That explained the no parents thing… sort of.  At least enough to calm her racing heart down a bit.

“And where is Choso-nii?” She asks next, praying that at any moment this mystery brother would appear and scoop up this kid before she had to strain through much more interaction.  Then again, she hoped no other adults would have to witness the embarrassing way she spoke to kids.

“I don’t know,” The boy shrugs his shoulders.  “We were playing hide and seek.  He hasn’t found me yet!” 

(y/n’s) eyes widen with alarm before she realizes that she should probably keep her expression as neutral as possible, so as not to worry the child.  It settles back into a nervous smile before she nods in slow understanding.

“You play hide and seek… out here…?” She asks slowly.

The boy holds both of his hands up to his mouth as he giggles.  If she wasn’t so anxious about him being all alone, she would’ve melted at the adorable and squeaky sound.

“Nooo,” He whines out playfully.  “I was trying to find a really good hiding spot!” He declares.

Again, (y/n) nods, and gives him a small laugh.

“Well buddy, the mail room isn’t a great spot.  It’s all open, see?” SHe gestures around her to the space they’re standing in.  “He’s sure to find you right away.  Did you leave your apartment?” 

The boy nods back at her, but his attention starts to stray as he begins to look around, probably for a better hiding spot.

“Does your brother know you left?” 

This time he shakes his head.

(y/n) huffs, and places her hands on her knees.

“What’s your name, kiddo?” 

“Itadori Yuji!” The boy declares, his attention back on her as a proud grin covers his face.  “I’m five!” He adds, holding out his hand with all five fingers stretched out on display.  This time when (y/n) giggles, it’s genuine.

“Itadori Yuji, I’m (y/n),” She introduces softly before tilting her head at him.  “I live in the building too.  Do you think I could take you back to your brother?” 

Yuji frowns.

“But then my turn will be over” 

She’s quick on her feet to come up with an excuse to take him back home where he belongs.

“Well… I’m sure I could convince your brother to give you a re-do.  Since I messed up your game and all,” She suggests.  “Do you think then it would be okay?” 

Yuji thinks about it for a minute, humming and looking around the mailroom some more.  Once he realizes there’s not a good hiding spot anyways, he gives in, and nods his head.

“Okay!” He agrees, and (y/n) smiles back at him as she stands up again.

“Do you know which apartment is yours, Itadori Yuji?” 

“I know which button to push in the elevator!” He tells her, and she figures that’s a good start for now.  If knocking on every door is what it took to get him back to his brother, she’d have to accept that.

“Alright then, let’s get to it” 

As the pair make their way to the elevator, Yuji pulls the hood of his pajamas over his head.  It’s got fluffy little ears to complete the whole costume, and (y/n) can’t help the smile that takes over at the adorable sight.

Yuji’s excited about pushing the buttons in the elevator.  He expertly pushes the one with the number for his floor- or at least she hopes it’s the right one- before he pushes the one to close the doors.

“Choso-nii always lets me push the buttons” He tells her matter of factly.

“I can see why.  You’ve practically mastered it,” She teases in response, and he seems to take it as the highest form of compliment.  It’s then that she takes notice of the floor he’d chosen.  “I think you and I live on the same floor, Itadori Yuji” 

“Really?” The boy’s eyes light up as if he’d just learned his best friend lived so close- despite them still being strangers in her book.  It makes her chuckle as she nods her head at him.

“Really” She affirms.

The first neighbor she meets, and it’s a rowdy five year old boy.  Oh well, it could’ve been worse, right?

“That’s so cool! I can’t wait to tell Choso-nii!” Yuji bounces with his giddiness, and it has (y/n) chuckling again.

Even if his brother had lost track of the kid, it was clear that Yuji adored him with how much he brought up his name.  (y/n) only hoped that when she returned him, Choso-nii lived up to the first impression his little brother was creating.

“He doesn’t really have any friends,” 

Yuji immediately begins to overshare, and now (y/n’s) trying to stifle her laughter as he babbles on about his older brother.  He’s chatty for a five year old sharing an elevator ride with a stranger, but (y/n) didn’t mind.  The less she had to make awkward small talk, the better.

“But that’s just ce-bause he works a lot.  He works really late too.  Sometimes past my bedtime.  But he doesn’t get in trouble ce-bause he’s a grown up and I’m just a kid.  But when I’m a grown up I’m gonna stay up past my bedtime, too!” 

A little chuckle slips past her lips just as the elevator dings, and the doors slide open again.  Yuji steps out and happily leads the way down the hall.  (y/n) hopes his confidence is based in his memory on where he lives.

“He’s really nice though.  He should have more friends.  But he has me!” 

“Is that so?” (y/n) giggles softly as Yuji begins to skip down the hall.  

They’ve almost approached her apartment, and her panic begins to crawl back in.  Does he really live up here? Does he really live in this building? When he finally plants himself in front of a door, she prays to whoever’s up there that his brother is on the other side.

Glancing behind her to see her own door there, she swallows the lump in her throat.  This kid lived right across the hall from her? Her brows are pulled into a pinch, and she’s debating on scooping Yuji up and calling the police to find his proper address, because what are the odds of that? 

Maybe she was just paranoid, but she’s on the brink of reaching out to the boy when the door in front of them swings open.

Oh wow, is the first thought on her mind, and she’s lucky her throat went too dry for her to accidentally let them slip off her tongue, too.

The man that stood in the doorway couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than her- which she wasn’t expecting- but more surprisingly, he’s the most handsome man she’s ever laid her eyes on.  

With a tall stature and broad shoulders, he nearly took up the entire doorway with his body.  He was wearing a hoodie and sweats, but she could tell that he was well built under his clothes.  From his size alone, she could conclude that, but there was also a certain aura about him that told her he was strong.  Not to mention, with fair skin and dark hair swept into two messy buns, he was just so pretty she couldn’t tear her eyes off of him.  There was a thin black line tattooed over the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones that stood out on his pale skin, and she stared at it too long to be deemed appropriate, but she just couldn’t help herself.  He was the most mesmerizing person she’s ever seen.

She’s stunned so thoroughly that she just stands there with her lips sealed and her eyes blinking wide.

Yuji, on the other hand, is overwhelmingly delighted.

“Choso-nii!” He cheers, leaping towards his brother and clinging onto the hem of his sweatshirt.

“I was just going to come look for you, booger,” Choso finally speaks and (y/n’s) struck with a mixture of relief from the confirmation that this was Yuji’s proper home, and a sudden heat in her chest from hearing his deep voice.

The man places a hand on top of Yuji’s head, smushing down the ears on his hood as he tilts his head back so he could stare down at him sternly.

“You don’t leave the house like that,” He scolds in a gentle voice, clearly more concerned than anything.  “You know that” 

“I was still in the building,” Yuji pouts.  “And (y/n)-san found me,” 

Before Choso can ask who he means, it strikes him that the woman who’d been at the door with his little brother was still standing there.  She throws her hand up in an awkward wave, still too starstruk to speak.  Also perhaps a bit intimidated from having to explain herself to the handsome stranger- who happened to be her neighbor.

Before she could properly introduce herself, or find her voice, Yuji’s pulling away from his brother and reaching for (y/n’s) hand.  He tugs on it as he stares up at her with pleading eyes.

“C’mon (y/n)-san, tell him, tell him!” 

Choso eyes his brother with a peculiar narrow to his eyes, before shifting his gaze upwards, towards the girl who’s quietly laughing and pulling Yuji’s hand off of her own gently.

“Right…” She murmurs down at him, before turning towards his older brother.  “Well, I must request that you give Yuji a re-do on his round of hide and seek,” 

Choso blinks, his eyes widening in just the slightest.  Enough for (y/n) to realize there was a slight violet hue in the darkness of them.  Her heart skips  a beat- has she ever seen violet in a person’s eyes before? Certainly not.  She has to clear her throat before continuing.

“You see, I made him end his round early,” She continues, trying to bite back the grin that threatens to take over her features as she takes responsibility for the game being ended so abruptly.  “Completely my fault” 

A breath of a laugh escapes him, before his lips part and he smiles between her and his brother and fully laughs.

“I see,” He hums.  “You can have a redo on one condition” 

“Anything!” Yuji wailed out dramatically 

“The game stays inside the apartment.  Got it?” 

“Okay!” Yuji agrees to the rule right away, throwing himself at his brother again to wrap his arms around him in a display of his gratitude.  He giggles as he looks up at his beloved big brother.  “I’m gonna go scout hiding spots while you talk to (y/n)-san!” 

Before anything more could be said, Yuji’s darting back inside the apartment.  Even with the footie pajamas, his stomps as he roams around looking for small places he could fit could be heard by the pair at the door.

“Scouting is cheating!” Choso hollers behind him, but when he’s met only with Yuji’s giggling, he figures it’s probably a lost cause already, and turns back to where his little brother’s not-as-little friend is still hovering in the hall.  His adam’s apple bobs as he swallowed thickly, trying to cure the dry spell on his throat before he speaks again.  “Thank you for helping him get back.  I’m, uh, sorry if he was trouble” 

“Oh, he was no trouble at all,” She says easily, because it’s the truth.  She tries not to focus on the purple in his eyes as she jerks her thumb over her shoulder.  “I actually live across the hall, so if anything he walked me home like a tiny gentleman” 

She laughs off her nerves as she pulls on the strap of her bag, clutching it close to her chest.  It’s a relief when he quietly chuckles too.

“I’m Kamo Choso, by the way” He says, stepping out of the doorway just enough to extend his hand to her.  She hesitates before taking it, and he wonders if he’s imagining things or if she really was blushing from the simple handshake.

“(y/l/n) (y/n),” She replies softly.  “Nice to meet you” 

She hadn’t thought Choso would take Yuji seriously when he was instructed to talk to her, but to her surprise he leans back against his door frame and takes it upon himself to strike up a conversation.  It’s nothing too exciting, but it was more than she was expecting, and it still has butterflies tickling in her stomach.

“How long have you been in the building?” 

“About a month,” She answers.  “Pretty sure you’re the first person I’ve met that actually counts, though” 

“That actually counts?” His brow raises.

“Would you count the landlord and the maintenance crew?” She asks, a slight smirk tugging on the corner of her lips.  It draws another chuckle out of him, and he has to nod his head in agreement.  “Well, I should let you get back to your game,” She shuffles backward, her hands relaxing on the strap of her bag as she reaches her side of the hall.  “I’m glad I met you both, though” She adds in a moment of bravery before she’s fishing for her key.

“Me too-” 

“Choso-nii! Time to cooount!” A little voice hollers from inside his apartment, sending him whirling around to scold Yuji for being too loud when the door is open and all of their neighbors could surely hear his screeching.

(y/n’s) already slipped inside her door and shut it again when he turns back again.  He’s disappointed, even if he didn’t know what else to say, he would’ve liked to talk to her a little bit longer.  With a huff, he hopes they’ll cross paths in the hall sometime soon, before he heads after his brother.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

After a few more rounds of hide and seek where Choso had to pretend he hadn’t seen Yuji’s tail poking out from under the couch, or his padded clawed feet from beneath the swaying curtains, he decides it’s time to make them both lunch.

And in the midst of perfecting his craft at grilled cheeses, he thinks he might as well press his kid brother for some more information about their supposed new neighbor.

“Your new friend seemed pretty nice” He tested the waters, keeping his focus on the stove while Yuji did a coloring page at the counter across from him.

“(y/n)-san?” He asks, grinning right away.  Out of the corner of his eye, Choso can see that he began to kick his feet back and forth.  “She’s really nice! I like her a lot” 

“Mhm” Choso hums back, poking the sandwich around with a spatula to test if it was ready to flip yet.  Yuji watches his big brother curiously.

“Did you like her too, Choso-nii?” 

“I said she seemed nice” Choso chuckles, glancing over at Yuji for just a moment before focusing on the stove again.

“Well, good.  Ce-bause I told her you didn’t have friends, so maybe she could be your friend” 

Choso nearly chokes on air as he turns to Yuji again, a wince of a smile on his face.  Yuji’s grinning, of course, because he’s five and had all the best intentions in making sure his big brother had companionship, but Choso can’t help but worry that he’d killed his chances of getting to know her better.  She probably thought he was a creepy loner now.

“You… told her I didn’t have friends?” He repeats, hoping maybe the context will make things better.  Maybe Yuji hadn’t said exactly that.

“Yep!” The boy responds, popping his lips with certainty before tucking away the green crayon he was using.

Choso tries to hide the curl in his lip as he turns off the stove and plates the grilled cheese.  Relying on a five year old to be a decent wingman was too tall of an ask, he realizes.  Yuji’s cuteness could only carry him so far… if only he wasn’t such a blabbermouth.

“Well, hopefully she’ll still like me then” He mutters as he sets the plate in front of his brother.  Yuji beams as he thanks him, taking a large bite before going back to his coloring sheet.

Unbeknownst to Choso, Yuji held onto that little comment in his memory.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

To his luck, he happens to run into (y/n) just a week later.

He and Yuji were waiting at the elevator, with Yuji being a little more whiny than usual.  Choso had actually been praying for the doors to open faster so that he could get the two of them out of this building before his younger brother had a meltdown.

It wasn’t often that Yuji misbehaved.  He was a really good kid, who responded well to rules and structure, and was always polite where he needed to be.  He could get rowdy, and maybe he was more chatty with strangers (especially cute ones that live across the hall) than Choso would have liked, but he was a respectful little five year old with a good heart, and he wouldn’t ask anything more.

Except for today.

“But I don’t like her house.  It stinks.  And there’s too much cat hair!” Yuji whines.  He’s not being loud, but he’d had the whiny voice for the better part of an hour now, and Choso was starting to go a little crazy.

“I thought you loved Adelaine-san’s cats” He reminds him gently.

Truthfully, Choso wasn’t a fan of Yuji’s current babysitter either.  She was nice enough, but she overcharged, and she never seemed to feed Yuji food he actually liked- resulting in Choso having to pick up fast food on the way home every time he picked him up from babysitting.  However, she was the closest sitter to them, and she didn’t mind keeping Yuji late when Choso worked nights- which was often.

“I do, but there’s so many Choso-nii,” Yuji pouts up at his big brother.  “Gets stuck on my clothes” 

Despite being irritated with the whiny attitude, Choso can’t help but give his kid brother a small smile.  What five year old cared about fur sticking to clothes? Yuji was something special.

“Well, you can’t come with me to work-” 

Finally, the doors opened, but before the brothers could step in, (y/n) was stepping out.  With arms full of bags of groceries- almost a comical amount of bags.

“(y/n)-san!” Yuji cheered after seeing his long lost friend.  (It had been a week)

Despite her obvious struggling with her things, Yuji threw himself at her, eager for a hug.  Choso was quick to grab him by the hood of his truck-themed sweatshirt, reeling him back before he could make the poor girl drop her things.

“Let me help you” He offered, already reaching for the handles of the bags lower on her wrists.

“Oh, you don’t have to, I made it this far-” She starts to deny the offer, but Yuji’s piping up before she could finish.

“I’ll help too!” Yuuji declared, following his big brother’s example and taking two bags, one in each hand.

“Be careful with those, Yuji,” Choso says quietly.  “That’s food, you need to be gentle, like how we carry bread, remember?” 

Yuji nods affirmatively, already marching back down the hallway towards their doors.  Choso hopes he doesn’t think he can sneak back home with this little act of service.

“Thank you,” (y/n) chuckles as Choso loads his arms up with her bags.  “I don’t believe in making multiple trips” 

“Yeah, I gathered that,” He replies, smirking to himself as he did a quick count of all the bags between them.  What the hell did she need all these groceries for? Does she let her pantry run out before she makes a trip? “Caught you at the right time though, huh?” 

“You did,” She muses, digging a free hand into her pocket for her key.  Yuji was patiently waiting at her door, and she made sure to greet him with a big smile.  “And how have you been, Itadori Yuji?” She asks, unlocking the door and pushing it open with her hip.  To her amusement, Yuji strolled right into her apartment.

“Terrible, (y/n)-san!” He cries out.  

“Yuji, you can’t just walk into people’s-” 

“It’s alright,” (y/n) giggles before Choso could scold his brother for inviting himself into her home.  “Please, come in.  He’s just trying to help, can I get you boys something to drink?” 

“No, that’s alright, thank you, I actually-” 

Choso’s interrupted again, but this time by his nosy brother, who’s set the grocery bags down on the kitchen floor before marching back over to them and putting his hands on his hips.

“He’s making me go to the babysitter,” He whines to (y/n), who raises her brows as she nods back at him, taking him quite seriously- much to Choso’s dismay.  “I hate the babysitter!” 

Choso rolls his eyes as he’s setting his armful of bags on the counter.

“We don’t hate,” He says softly, but Yuji’s pout only worsens, before he gives (y/n) his best puppy dog eyes.  Choso sighs as he turns to (y/n).  “On Thursdays and Fridays I work at a bar, so he can’t come,” He explains quietly.  She nods at him too, giving him the same level of her understanding and attention.  If he wasn’t starting to run late, he would have reveled in it a little longer, just because it was cute.  “He thinks it’s the end of the world, but it’s not.  It’s only for a few hours-” 

“It’s torture, (y/n)-san!” Yuji reaches out to her, and on instinct she finds herself crouching down, returning his dramatic pout.

“Oh it sounds like torture!” She cries back.  For a moment, Yuji seems taken aback by the behavior, but he just as quickly lights up, and reaches towards her again.

“Can I stay here with you instead!?” He asks, already grinning ear to ear from the idea, before she’d even given him her approval.

“Yuji,” Choso sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.  What was it with his little brother and overstepping when it came to her? “I’ve already called Adelaine-san, she’s expecting us” He says pointedly. 

Yuji frowns, and this time it’s not like the baby faced pout he made before.  It’s a genuine disappointment in being told he had to go.

“I don’t mind,” (y/n) says softly, tilting her head to look up at Choso, waiting for him to decide whether or not he was alright with that.  “I can look after him for a while.  Then you don’t have to make an extra stop on your way home, we’ll be right here” She suggests.

Yuji’s grinning again in no time, bouncing on his feet before rushing over to his brother and clinging onto his pant leg.

“Please Choso-nii! Pleeaaase?” He whines, and somehow it’s more irritating than before.

(y/n) chuckles as she stands, stepping a little closer to speak under her breath, while Yuji was still whining and bouncing and not paying attention.

“Only if you’re okay with it, of course,” She says.  “I understand if you’re more comfortable with-” 

“You’d really be alright to take him for tonight?” He asks her, eyes flickering between hers.

She presses her lips together as she nods, trying to will herself not to get lost in his pretty dark eyes.

“Just for a few hours,” He repeats his earlier mention, and she nods again.  “You’re sure?” 

“She’s sure! She’s sure!” Yuji screeches, still pulling on Choso’s leg and waiting for the confirmation that he didn’t have to go to the smelly cat house.

“Alright… fine,” Choso agrees, and Yuji’s full on jumping now.  Choso only hoped he wasted off this excess energy so he was calm and good for (y/n) the rest of the night.  “But you have to be good.  If (y/l/n) has any problems she’ll tell me, and then it’s cat hair for the rest of your life, got it booger?” 

Yuji nods his head up and down repeatedly, so much so they’re surprised it doesn’t give him a head rush. 

“I’ll be good! I’ll be so good!” He promises.  Choso smiles, reaching a hand down to mess up his hair affectionately.

“I’ll give you my number, in case you change your mind, or if he… breaks something, or something” Choso mutters, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

(y/n) does the same, they swap, each plug in their contact, then swap back with shy smiles.

“I’m sure he’ll be lovely,” She tells him.  “Don’t worry about us, I have a lot of movies.  Maybe I’ll make him a big dinner and put him to sleep” 

The corner of his mouth tilts into a smirk.

“Works like a charm every time,” He murmurs.  “But I gotta get going, I don’t want to be too late” 

“Of course” She nods, headed towards the pile of grocery bags on her kitchen counter.

“I’m usually out around one, but if it’s any later I’ll text you, alright? Or- should I call?” He’s walking back towards the door, but he hesitates as he waits on her answer.

“Either works,” (y/n) shrugs with a small smile.  “Have a good night!” 

It’s stupid, but his face feels warm as he lingers at the door just a few seconds longer, before he nods back at her.

“You too, (y/l/n).  And thank you” 

Once he leaves and the door is shut behind him, (y/n) has to shake her head to rid the silly fluttery feeling in her chest.  

“Well,” She flattens her hands over the front of her pants, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles, before she turns to Yuji with a smile.  “How about while I put these groceries away, you let me know if you see anything you like and I’ll get started on that for dinner, hm?” 

“Did you get the dinosaur shaped macaroni?” Yuji asked hopefully.

(y/n) winces as she glances over her bags of produce, bread, and regular-shaped pastas.

“I… did not” She admits, and she actually feels a bit bad about being underprepared.  Even though she’d only taken on this babysitting gig five minutes ago.

“That’s okay,” Yuji shrugs.  “I like all sorts of things!” 

And he’s not wrong.  As she puts away the boundless groceries, Yuji points out all sorts of things he likes.  Fruits, veggies, he didn’t seem like a picky kid at all.  (y/n) actually found herself impressed by his wide palette.

“Choso-nii makes all sorts of stuff” Is what Yuji says when she compliments him on his taste.

“He’s a good cook, huh?” 

“Very good!” Yuji tells her.  “Maybe next time he’s not working you can eat with us, instead!” 

The insinuation has her cheeks flaring up with color and heat, but she politely agrees and tells him she would like that.

The rest of the night goes without a hitch.  Yuji teaches her how to play crazy 8s- even though the rules were simple and she’d memorized them when she was his age- and they play that while chatting over everything and nothing for a long while.  Yuji tells her all about his best friend Megumi.  Then when he runs out of things to say about him he talks about his favorite subjects, his favorite color, and that starts a long conversation about his favorite everything.

It’s obvious he tires himself out with all his chatting, so it’s not long after that when (y/n) shows him her movie collection and lets him pick one out.  It takes him some time, as he treats this task with the utmost importance.  He couldn’t make a bad choice, of course.  (y/n) doesn’t mind.  She’s come to shed the awkward layers and has learned exactly how to talk to Yuji.

She’s learned that taking everything he says to be completely serious and dive into a conversation about it as if he were anyone else seemed to do the trick.  Yuji liked to talk, and he had plenty to say.  Like how squeaky the swing sets were at school, and how he disliked when people used them because of it.  He was kind, and he was entertaining.  He was certainly the best company she’d taken up in a while.

When he picks the movie he settles in on her couch, cozying up in the fluffy blanket she’d grabbed for him, and he tells her that he picked one of his favorites.

The entire first half, Yuji is on the edge of his seat.  Both from watching his favorite animated movie, and also from watching (y/n’s) every reaction to it.  It started to grow on her, so eventually she really started to do up her reactions to every little scene.

At the halfway point she made him a big bowl of popcorn and only stole a handful of it when he wasn’t looking just to get a giggly reaction out of him.

Before she knew it, with a full belly, a cozy blanket, and his favorite movie, Yuji was dozing off on the couch.  

As quietly as she could, (y/n) got to work cleaning up the kitchen.  Although with how much energy Yuji had spent earlier in the night, he was sleeping as hard as a rock.

With nothing but time to spare, she decided now was as good a time as any to catch up on some reading.  So once everything was clean again, she settled in on the couch, tucked the blanket around Yuji, and got to reading.

She lost hours until her phone buzzed with a notification.

[ kamo choso ] : just got out, will be by in twenty minutes or so 

She liked the message so he knew she was still up and saw it.  She kept the chat open for a few more minutes, contemplating sending a message back.  sounds good! or he was great, out like a light! But the longer she hesitated the more she felt like too much time had passed, and it would be embarrassing to send a text.  So she didn’t.

She wasn’t able to focus much on reading after that.

Choso knocked on the door not too much later, twenty minutes to be exact, just like he said.  She tiptoes her way to the door, and smiles upon finding a very tired looking Choso on the other side.  The circles under his eyes look a little bit darker, his hair is starting to fall from his already messy buns, and he looks like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open.  Regardless, he lifts his head and gives her a small smile when she opens the door.

“Hey,” He hums.  “How was it?” 

“It was fun, actually,” She whispers back, checking over her shoulder to make sure Yuji was still sound asleep.  “He’s a really great kid.  You must be doing all sorts of things right” 

Her eyes crinkle when she smiles up at him, and for a moment- and maybe for the first time- Choso nearly forgot about Yuji.  He’s not sure anyone’s ever looked at him with the soft, sweet look that she’s looking at him with now.  He gets lost for a moment, practically drifting off right before her.

“Oh- you’re exhausted, come in,” (y/n) mistakes his look for tiredness, and steps out of the way to let him in.  “Yuji’s still sleeping on the couch.  He’s a hard sleeper, huh?”

“Very, yeah.  Building had a fire drill a few months back while he was having a nap.  Slept through the whole thing” 

(y/n) giggles to herself as Choso approaches the sofa, smiling at how content his kid brother seemed to be while curled up in the blanket, sound asleep.  He was careful as he stooped over to scoop him up.  It took some help from (y/n’s) part seeing as one of his hands had an iron grip on the blanket, but eventually he was free of the fluffy restraint, and Choso had him settled against his shoulder with ease.  As expected, Yuji remained asleep.

“Oh, I can’t believe I almost forgot,” Choso shifts Yuji to be held up by one arm so he had a free hand to reach into his pocket.  “I definitely owe you for this, what do you think is fair?” 

“Oh, no,” (y/n) shakes her head back at him.  “You don’t have to pay me, it was no trouble at all”

“You don’t have to say that, really, how much-?” 

“I don’t have to say it, I mean it,” (y/n) assures him.  “Really, he was a perfect kid.  I’d… I’d happily do it again, if you ever need” She offers, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

“Okay,” He returns the smile, but he still hesitates with his wallet in his hand.  “You’re sure I can’t give you something though? At least pay you back for the food?” 

“I’m sure” She has to bite down on her cheek to keep her laughter from ringing out too loudly.

Slowly, she follows him back to the door.  It’s later than she’s usually up, and she’s so tired that she’s sure she’ll pass out as soon as her head hits her pillow, but still she lingers at the door with him, waiting for him to say anything else.

“Well, then I can’t thank you enough.  I really appreciate it, (y/l/n).  Yuji did as well, I’m sure” 

“I think he did.  I hope, at least,” She murmurs, smiling fondly at how cozy Yuji seemed to be sleeping on his brother.  “And you can call me (y/n), by the way” She adds, almost as an afterthought.

Choso swallows the lump in his throat, nodding back at her as he waits for his voice to return to him.

“Alright,” He murmurs, finally crossing the threshold of her doorway.  “Good night then, (y/n)” 

Her heart is racing at a million miles an hour.  She fears it might shoot straight out of her chest like a bullet.

“Good night” She manages to murmur back as he crosses the hall, and she shuts the door behind him.

A sigh escapes her, and she realizes that she’d been holding her breath until she’s alone in her apartment again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Things take off after that first time she babysat Yuji.

Occasional drop offs turned into frequent visits.  Yuji often wanted to stop by (y/n’s) apartment after Choso picked him up from school, eager to tell her about his day.  Whether Megumi brought snacks for lunch again because his caretaker had a sweet tooth, or if he wanted to show her that he learned how to do a cartwheel, there was always something.  Yuji was bountiful in excuses to go across the hall.

And to his delight, (y/n) ate it up.  She watched him more and more while Choso was at work, or running an errand that Yuji didn’t feel like tagging along to because suddenly he wanted to do his homework at (y/n’s) instead.  Choso had a habit of always double checking with her beforehand, sending her a quick text to see if she was even free.  And it seemed that every time, her door was open.  There was never a time where she turned them down.

She became Yuji’s regular babysitter, and after a while it barely even felt like babysitting.  His drawings and coloring pages decorated her fridge, he’d often leave a few toys behind, figuring he’d play with them the next time he was over, and he always used the same fluffy blanket when he’d be over late while Choso worked.

It was safe to say Yuji had grown attached to her, and fast.  Even when he wasn’t at her place, he wouldn’t shut up about it at home.  Not that Choso minded, he liked hearing about (y/n’s) day through Yuji’s eyes.  He got to learn all sorts of cute little things about her that way.

While Yuji had been spending more and more time with their neighbor, Choso couldn’t exactly say the same.  He chatted with her in passing, usually at dropoff and pickup, and he tried to text her more- funny Yuji-isms he heard throughout the day, memes, offers to leave money for dinner for the two of them- and even though she was always receptive over text, reacting to every image and responding to every message, it just didn’t feel like enough.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Choso-nii, do you have a crush on (y/n)-san?” Yuji asked him one day, seemingly out of the blue.

They’re in the grocery store, where Yuji’s filling up the cart with junk, even from his booster seat in the cart.  Choso does a double take at his younger brother, as if the question registered a second late.

“What?” Is all he can muster.

Yuji blinks back at him.

“Do you have a crush on her?” He repeated himself, tilting his head and widening his eyes as he studied his big brother.

“Wh-why do you ask that?” He stammers over his words, although he wishes he would have reacted a little more coolly.  Did she say something? Did he give something away? Where in the world would Yuji pick up on that?

“I dunno,” Yuji shrugs.  “Ce-bause you should” 

Choso forgets the cereal boxes he was looking at, turning all of his attention to his little brother, since now he deemed this conversation required all of it.

“I should, huh?” He repeats curiously.  “What’s that mean, booger?” 

“She’s nice,” Yuji says bluntly, and Choso laughs softly at the reasoning.  “And funny.  And a good cook,” 

He continues to list all of his own favorite qualities of (y/n), sure that most of these reasons are perfect enough for his big brother to have romantic feelings for her.  At five years old, the most Yuji knew about romance was that the prince kissed the princess and everyone was happy, but it was a decent start.  He only wanted that same happiness for his big brother- and (y/n)-san- after all.

“She has a lot of movies.  And she’s really pretty” 

Choso smiles at his brother, finally settling on a brand of cereal and tossing it into the cart behind him.

“That so?” He asks teasingly.  “You sure you don’t have a little crush, booger?” 

“No!” Yuji squeals and begins to giggle.  His cheeks are red just from the accusation, and Choso can’t help but laugh at the display.  “She’s too old, Choso-nii!”

“Right answer,” Choso remarked, pushing the cart out of the aisle and weaving into the next one.  “But why the sudden interest, hm?” 

“Well…” Yuji drawled, glancing around the aisles to avoid his brother’s eyes.  “If you had a crush on her, and she had a crush on you, then you could live together, and we could get an even bigger house, with more toys, and we could eat all our breakfasts and dinners together, and watch movies together, and get a dog-” 

“Woah, woah, woah, you’re laying way too much on me, bud,” Choso chuckles, but he can’t deny that his face was starting to feel warm from all the conclusions Yuji was jumping to.  They were too wholesome for him to take.  “A dog?” 

“A puppy!” Yuji declares.  

To Choso’s luck, conversation steers in the direction of pets, and he spends the rest of their errand explaining why they weren’t getting a dog- or any animal for that matter.  Even if Yuji makes a convincing argument about how cute it’d be.

It’s better, though, because Choso needed some time to recover, and figure out exactly how he’d move out of this crushing stage.  If Yuji had taken notice of it- in his own odd way- then surely (y/n) had to feel it to some degree too, right? 

He just needed to find a good window to ask her out, and take her out properly.  Not just a quick coffee in the morning when Yuji wanted to come over for a bit.  A real date, outside of the building.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Choso finds that chance one afternoon after swinging by her apartment so Yuji could tell (y/n) all about his day at school.  She’s prepared him a snack today, celery sticks with peanut butter smeared down the middle.  She offered him the raisins to make the ants, but Yuji politely declined, seeing as he doesn’t eat bugs.  She doesn’t argue, simply pops the raisins into her own mouth as she listens to him ramble on and on.

As Yuji drags on his storytelling as long as he can, Choso’s sat at the counter, stealing a celery stick or two that Yuji wasn’t eating while he rambled away.  He’d grown used to his brother’s chatty nature, but he was always surprised how (y/n) was able to sit through it with her full attention.  She never zoned out, and never missed a detail.  In fact, she would ask him more questions to prompt him into talking more.  It was so endearing that Choso can’t help but smile as he watches her interact with Yuji so wholeheartedly.

It takes a grand total of twenty five minutes before Yuji’s done with all his stories for the day.  Choso sends him off to their apartment with his backpack, telling him to get started on his homework, and he’d be over in a few minutes.  Yuji doesn’t find the instruction odd at all, happy to get started on his worksheet for the night.

(y/n), however, gives Choso a puzzled look as he stays behind in her apartment.

“Is everything alright?” She asks on impulse.

While they had talked many times before, and she wouldn’t call him a stranger, this was the first time they were left completely alone, and she was all too aware of that fact.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” He chuckles at her knee jerk reaction to worry.  “I just… wanted to thank you.  Again” 

She still has a puzzled look on her face as she leans against the counter, waiting for a better explanation.

“Thank me?” She repeats softly.  “For what?” 

“For all your help, with Yuji,” Choso explains.  “For the babysitting, and dinners, and… and ants on a log,” He chuckles as his gaze drifts off to the leftover snacks on the counter.  “Our mom passed before Yuji could even get to know her, and I’ve… been doing this for so long it just sort of feels like it’s always just been the two of us, you know?” 

(y/n) hums quietly, keeping her response to a small nod.  Choso’s never opened up about their family history before, and Yuji was only five and never seemed to question his brother’s custody over him, so it wasn’t like (y/n) had ever heard anything like this before.

She wants him to know that she’s listening, that she’d always be here to help the both of them, because she’d grown to care for them both so much.

“But it’s been nice… your help, I mean,” Choso goes on.  “Yuji likes you a lot, a really lot, he never shuts up about you” 

She chuckles at that, the mood lightening again.

“Really?” She asks quietly, as if the boy could hear from across the hall.

“Yeah,” Choso’s eyes widen with the flair.  “But I’m glad, you know, that he has you.  Someone that’s not me for him to hang out with and talk to” 

“I am too,” She replies sweetly, a smile stretching across her face.  “He’s a really special kid, you’re quite lucky” 

His heart warms up so much he doesn’t think he could take it.

“I know not everyone sees it that way,” He thinks aloud.  “Most people tend to look at us and… want to leave,” 

The smile on her face begins to falter, but (y/n) tries to keep her expression neutral.  She’d never thought much about what other people thought about Choso and Yuji.  Why should she care? She knew them both well enough to know that they were happy, and that Choso was more than capable as his brother’s guardian.

Then his wording dawns a new thought on her.  Did people walk out of his life because of Yuji? The idea makes her sick.  It makes her stomach twist and her heartstrings pull tight.  Friends? Partners? Was Yuji such a dealbreaker that he couldn’t even have companionship?

She feels awful now, crushing on him so immaturely, not taking into account all the possible pasts he’d had with other people that had gone poorly because he had a kid to put to bed at a certain time.

Tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she’s determined not to let a single one fall.

“Anyways,” Choso clears his throat, laughing nervously as he looks back up at her again.  “I just think it’s important that you know how glad I am- that- that we both are- to have you around” He finishes with a small smile, his nerves eating away at his insides.

“Of course,” She mumbles back, her throat tightening up too much for her to speak any louder.  “Like I said, Yuji’s a special kid.  I want to be good to him,” She says, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth as she tries to feign joy, even with a heavy heart.  Then, she says, “And I want to be a good friend to you, too” 

His nerves come crashing down on him in an instant.  It piles up and morphs into something else entirely- something worse.  Dread.

He hopes that his expression remains neutral as he holds eye contact with her.  His mind battles itself as he tries to come up with what to say next.  They both sit there for a few painfully silent seconds as Choso weighs his options.

If he were a smoother man, one who was better with his words,  he would’ve taken his chance.  He would’ve articulated all of his thoughts in just the right way and let her know that he was starting to harbor a crush on her that was reaching embarrassing levels.  He’d crack a joke to lighten the mood after the confession, and then invite her out for a drink, or dinner- hell, maybe even both.

Those few seconds seemed to last too long but went by quick all at once.  The fact of the matter was that she was good for them.  She was good for Yuji, attentive and loving and so, so patient.  It was clear that she cared for him, and Yuji never hesitated to voice how much he enjoyed (y/n’s) companionship.

Choso was sure if he were to cross the wrong line now, he’d not only create an awkward tension with his neighbor, but also ruin the good thing that Yuji had going as well.  She was some idealized morph of a babysitter and a friend for him, someone he could go to when he needed help with homework, or to show her the toy he picked out with his allowance.  And at the end of the day, Choso wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did something to take that away.

So he swallowed whatever he was going to say, gave (y/n) a small smile, and nodded his head back at her.

“You are a good friend” He finally answers her with quiet agreement.

She assumes he’s a bit embarrassed to say something so corny, so she lets out a little laugh and begins to clean up the snack dishes off the counter.  Choso lingers around her place a little longer until he can’t take it anymore, bidding her goodbye with the request that she makes more snacks for their visits.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Despite Choso’s adamant attempts at convincing his little brother that he didn’t see (y/n) as anything other than a friend, Yuji was never fully convinced.  Choso wasn’t sure what it was that made Yuji so sure that there was something between them- one sided or otherwise- but he was relentless about it.  Any time they saw her in passing, as soon as he was alone with his big brother, Yuji would make some comment or another about it.

In the boy’s defense, the two were spending a lot more time around each other these days.  (y/n) had taken Choso’s words to heart and began preparing an after school snack every day, so when Yuji popped by for his usual visit, Choso was always in tow.  No matter what she’d prepared he was all over it.   A package of fruit snacks or homemade banana muffins, Choso was accepting the snack as if it were a bountiful harvest.

The brothers seemed to stay longer and longer in the passing weeks, and soon these visits became routine.  It didn’t take long, just under a month before Yuji was committed to making it an everyday occurrence.  But what began as a quick visit for a snack and then to jabber on to (y/n) about his day at school soon turned into something else, too.

Yuji would move on, often sitting on the floor at (y/n’s) little coffee table to do his homework, and Choso would hang out in her kitchen for a bit longer so they could catch up on the events Yuji was less than interested in.  Her work, his work, and anything that came to mind at all to keep the conversation from ceasing.  There were some days Choso overstayed his welcome so much that Yuji would want to go back to their apartment, and Choso would still stay longer at (y/n’s), drinking two more cups of tea than he would’ve liked, but any excuse to sit with her at the counter a little bit longer.

And then one day, he’d struck gold.

“I’m sorry it’s so hot in here, I’ve got the windows cracked but without a breeze it doesn’t really do much,” (y/n) had apologized in passing as she pulled out a few small plates for the snacks she’d made that afternoon.

Truthfully, Choso hadn’t noticed the heat until she brought his attention to it.  He was far too enamored with the cute pink apron she’d tied around herself.  She always wore it when she’d baked something- so he knew that when she opened the door to let him and Yuji in today that they were in for a very good afternoon snack.

“The AC’s been broken so long I forget I’m used to it, so it’s alright if you boys want to take your cookies to go” 

“Cookies!?” Yuji had squealed and raced into the kitchen, savoring the lingering scent of fresh baked cookies before it could evaporate.

Again, Choso almost missed his queue.  (y/n) had taken to referring to them as you boys a couple of weeks ago, something he’d picked up on the very first time she’d said it.  It was nothing special, really, it was a casual form of referring to them both, but god the sweet way her voice formed those words he could almost be deluded into believing it was because they were her boys, and the domesticity of it all had him reeling.

Luckily, he came back down to earth soon enough.

“Your AC’s broken?” He furrowed his brow and tilted his head curiously.  “Have you told maintenance about it?” 

(y/n) makes a face that’s somewhere between amusement and a wince, before plating up two cookies for Yuji.  He thanked her four or five times before he took the plate to the table and began to gobble them away.

“I… try not to call them if I don’t have to,” She explains to him, side eyeing Yuji at the table to be sure he was too focused on his cookies to eavesdrop.  “It’s just the AC anyways, I have a fan in my room and during the day the open windows are no problem” 

Choso’s expression doesn’t let up, his confusion getting ahead of him.

“And why don’t you call maintenance..?” He pushes, knowing that the nervous smile on her face wasn’t for nothing.

“Eh, well, um, when I first moved in and had some issues I called for them, but one of the guys really wanted my number… and then when that didn’t work he tried leaving me his, and it was just this… whole weird thing” 

She shakes her head and keeps her focus on packaging up the leftover cookies in a little tupperware container.  Unfortunately, she misses the amused little smirk on his face as he leans into the counter.

“So you’d rather sweat through the summer than tell a guy you’re not interested?” He asks, and that finally earns her attention.  Her eyes narrow at him slightly before she crosses her arms defensively.

“Oh, I made it clear that I wasn’t interested,” She mutters.  “How does turning down a phone number five times not scream uninterested?” 

Choso chuckles at that.

“Want me to take a look at it?” 

She looks surprised at first, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the offer itself or if she was genuinely shocked he had a clue what he was doing, but the look wears off into a soft smile.

“Really?” It comes out in an astonished murmur, before her eyes go wide and then she’s coming around the counter to stand closer to him, apparently still in disbelief that he’d do such a thing.  “You’d do that?” 

He laughs again, this time with a creeping smile trying to turn into a full blown grin.

“Yeah, of course,” He says, and she only brightens further at the promise.  “Least I can do to repay you for watching Yuji, for free” He reminds her, and she gives him a look that tells him what she always swears by- she’d do it for free as many times as they need- before brightening again.

To her surprise, again, Choso’s incredibly handy.  He told her he didn’t mind if she had something else to do, or hang out with Yuji while he was keeping busy in his coloring book, but she couldn’t help but watch while he tinkered around with the air conditioning unit.  It didn’t take him long to solve the issue at all, and when he had it all set up and it kicked into life she was cheering so excitedly Yuji even came over to enjoy the fresh gust of sweet cool air.

He ended up staying the rest of the night, fixing the squeaky vent, and the delayed garbage disposal, until he and Yuji couldn’t turn down her offer of dinner.  Well, Yuji vehemently agreed, Choso took a little bit of convincing.  He was eventually swayed by the gentle “Least I can do to repay you for fixing up my place, for free” that (y/n) uttered.

And just like the afternoon had gotten away from them, the evening soon did too.  Once dinner was finished the remainder sat on the table for a good hour as conversation poured out.  Yuji was enthusiastic in complimenting her food, only kissing up just a little in order to get an extra cookie with his dessert.

Choso was adamant in helping her clean up, despite her many assurances that she could handle it herself.

“C’mon, help me show Yuji how to be a proper guest,” He’d muttered, plucking the freshly washed dish out of her hand to dry off.  (y/n) made a face, knowing he’d offered just the right excuse to get her to give in.  Choso grinned back at her.  “That’s more like it” 

It was embarrassing how his smile had her heart racing, but she couldn’t deny it, and she certainly couldn’t help it.  All she could do was keep her head down and her focus on washing the dishes.

“Thanks again for dinner,” Choso murmured after a few minutes of diligent dish washing and drying.  He peeked a glance over at her, but it was clear that she was avoiding his gaze.  “It’s nice to have a home cooked meal.  Not that I can’t cook! I’m a great cook actually- I should really repay the favor- I just mean it’s nice to… be treated to one” 

No matter how hard she bites down on her lip, (y/n) can’t keep herself from giggling at his rambling.  While he’s been talking to her a lot more this past month or so, it’s often when prompted, and when he’s the first to speak, she could tell that he kept himself reserved.

It was refreshingly heartwarming to watch him stammer over his words now.

“Well… I wouldn’t turn that down,” She admits quietly, and it takes all the courage she can muster to glance at him out of the corner of her eye.  “But Yuji told me his favorite meal was chicken nuggets, so I’m not sure how convinced I am of your cooking ability” 

Choso turns towards her, catching her off guard by their close proximity, but she doesn’t shy away under his gaze.

“He’s five,” He argues with a playful roll of his eyes.  (y/n) snickers, hesitating as she turns back to washing up the last plate in the sink.  “But fine.  I’ll make him his own dinner, so you and I can enjoy something more refined, if that’s what you so please” 

The idea of just the two of them, eating a dinner he’s cooked, alone, has her cheeks burning up so quickly she can’t stand to look at him again.  So instead she murmurs out a weak agreement, and quickly excuses herself to check in on Yuji.

Yuji had sort of been playing with his action figures, but he’d mostly watched his brother and (y/n) whisper and laugh between themselves as they did the dishes at an excruciatingly slow pace.  He knew he wasn’t just seeing things, he knew what the giggling meant.  At least, in his own warped and childlike way.  He didn’t care to think about it too deeply, not because he was five, but because he wanted to accept what he was being shown at it’s face value-  his big brother finally making a true friend.

So when it was time for the brothers to go home, Yuji made sure to hug (y/n) extra long.  Even when she’d tried to pull away and stand up, he squeezed his arms tight around her.  If he held on long enough, maybe it would be enough for her to understand just how important she was to the both of them.  So (y/n) chuckled, returning the favor with an affectionate squeeze and a pat on his back before he finally let her go with the brightest smile on his gap-toothed face.

And then he’s tugging on his brother’s pant leg gently, before pushing his hand against the back of his knee and sending him stumbling towards (y/n).  Yuji’s not a toddler, he very well could have used his words to tell his big brother what he wanted him to do.

Choso catches his footing with ease but it’s his expression he can’t cover up.  A nervous smile and widened eyes as he silently scolds his little brother for the childish action.  He’s only met with that giant grin before he turns to (y/n).

She has the warmest smile on her face, as if she holds nothing but endearment for the embarrassing display.  He’s lucky at this moment, because she’s the first to step forward and raise her arms.  If it weren’t for her, Choso’s sure he would’ve fumbled this chance.

Her touch is delicate, as if the frame of his shoulders doesn’t double hers, as if she’s not reaching on the tips of her toes to fully wrap her arms around his neck before squeezing on.  Even her embrace is so thoughtfully gentle.  He can’t help but think it’s all for Yuji’s sake- he’s the one that prompted this little goodbye display, not that Choso is complaining- but he supposes she’s trying to appease the five year old while not crossing an unspoken boundary with him as well.

Choso overthinks this quick hug down every avenue he can, before realizing that he has to make sure she knows there’s no boundary in sight, so he circles his arms around her waist, returning the same soft squeeze as best he could.  He hoped there was still enough distance between them that she couldn’t feel just how seriously his heart took the casual affection, because it was pounding in his ears like it was trying to alert him.

It’s over in a matter of seconds, but he relishes in the way her hands slide across his shoulder blades before she steps away and drops them to her sides.  If he wasn’t dead sober and anchored in this moment, he might’ve purred.

It dawns on Choso that he might be the slightest bit touch starved.

There’s a pink to her cheeks now paired with her doughy smile, and he could almost stand here and admire how pretty she looks when she’s being bashful, no matter how embarrassing it would be to let time lapse as he did so.

“Well,” The word comes out of her in a wispy breath, and she smooths her hands over the nonexistent wrinkles in her shirt before continuing, brightening her smile as she glances between her visitors.  “I’ll see you boys after school tomorrow, yeah?”

Their responses overlap, but couldn’t have been more further apart

“Okay!” Yuji says with nothing short of glee.

“Of course” 

Choso’s voice is quieter than his brother’s, but it’s filled with such earnestness that it has (y/n) blinking back at him as if he’s just sworn a blood oath to her.  Her lips part as her eyes grow round and she’s at a loss of what’s normal in saying goodbye to your neighbor who you’re sort of friends with and you sort of have a crush on.  

All she can manage is a twitchy smile as she leads them to the door.  Yuji skips across the hall with delight.  Choso lingers for an extra moment and when his eyes meet hers, she finds herself gripping onto the edge of her door with a little more force.  Her eyes wander over the length of the black ink adorning his face before meeting his gaze.

“Thanks again for dinner,” He’s still speaking with that same low and steady tone.  (y/n) tried to gulp down the lump in her throat as she held his eye contact.  “I’ll text you about when I owe you one?” 

Unable to clear the block in her voice, she gives him a smile and a nod.  She hopes he doesn’t react awkwardly to her lack of verbal response, and he doesn’t.  In fact his timid smile turns into a beam.  It somehow makes his lips look even more plush and kissable- 

Her eyes shoot back up to his as she returns the grin and mumbles a pathetic sort of goodbye.  When she finally is able to shut the door behind him she heaves out a breath she hadn’t known was the source of the lump in her throat.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Choso started to reach out more, by whatever means necessary.  Anything to spend a little more time talking to her.

He texted first more, found excuses to stop by her apartment, and always lingered for too long when dropping off and picking up Yuji.  He even started playing the daily Wordle just to have something more to talk to her about. 

There were moments that he swore she felt what he did.  Little things, perhaps in the way she looked at him, or the sweet way she spoke quietly when it was just the two of them.  Choso was sure he wasn’t imagining things, because why else would she look at him like that? Why else would she always call his name when saying hello or goodbye?

[y/n]: u up? 12:47 a.m.

Even with the progress Choso felt he’d made in getting closer to her, this was completely new territory.

As late as it was, he’d been aimlessly scrolling through his phone, so when that little notification popped up he’d clicked on it right away.  He didn’t dare start typing- it would be humiliating if he created a bubble in the chat in the same second her message had sent- but he was upright and staring at the screen in disbelief.  

Soon enough a typing bubble appeared, and he gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he awaited further context.

Would it be ‘sorry, wrong person!’ or was she genuinely reaching out to him at this hour? It had been some time since he’d received one of these tell-tale messages, but his heart still raced with the anticipation.

Finally, her text appeared on his screen.

[y/n]: took a guy home after a date and he’s not taking the hint to leave.  mind popping over with an excuse so he’ll go? 12:49 a.m.

Choso’s out of his bed and sliding his feet into his slippers before he even starts typing up his response.  

But with how quickly he’s out the door he figures there’s no point in texting back a confirmation, seeing as he’s crossed the hall between their apartments and knocking on her door before the clock ticks to 12:50.

There’s the faintest sound of shuffling from inside, and he thinks he can make out that (y/n) is saying something, but he’s not sure what.  She opens the door and greets him with a brief second of pure relief and joy upon seeing him.

Only a brief second, however, as her expression morphs as soon as her eyes wander away from his face and nearly bulge out of her head.  In his rush to get out the door he’d forgotten to pull on a shirt- or maybe he’d decided it just wasn’t a necessity, he wasn’t sure himself.

Her mouth moves, but when no words come out, Choso takes it upon himself to deliver his golden, life saving excuse.

“Hey, (y/n/n), got any tea?” 

Honestly, it’s the first thing he comes up with.  It’s not the greatest lie of all time, but as soon as he asks for it he realizes his throat is a little parched and a warm cup of tea would be perfect for getting him to relax back in bed after this.  (y/n) let out the smallest of scoffs, the corner of her mouth tilting upward as she stares back at him as if to ask ‘a nickname and tea? is that the best you can do?’ 

He fully grins back at her, and as soon as she’s stepping out of the doorway he’s inviting himself in and making his way to the kitchen.  He doesn’t even spare a glance towards the man sitting on the couch, even though he’s blatantly watching Choso like a hawk as he casually rummages through (y/n’s) cabinets.  He’d been over often enough now that he knew where she kept everything he’d need, and he figured the more he made himself at home, the more this loser would feel threatened and leave.

“Uh- who’s this?” The man asked, still gawking at Choso and his naked torso, but the question is clearly directed at (y/n).

“Oh, this is Choso,” (y/n) replies sweetly.  She’s still standing at the door, a bit unsure of what to do with herself.  As much as she was hoping he would get her text and come to her rescue, she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do now.  “He’s my… neighbor”

Choso smirks to himself as he sets the kettle on the stove, and then finally turns to give her late night visitor a once over.

He’s not typically a jealous man, it just wasn’t in his nature.  However, the feeling he’s flooded with now as he stares down the wincing man who appeared to be half-hiding himself on the couch while Choso stared him down was something akin to jealousy.  It was pride.  All it took was one look for Choso to know that when this guy left her place, he would never return.  He would never see her again.  Even if he didn’t choose this for the sake of his own good, Choso would make sure of it.

What was she doing with this coward to begin with? He wonders as he watches the man stand from his seat.  Piercing violet eyes track his every movement, from the way he stuffs his hands into his pockets, to the bob in his throat when he swallows.

Choso’s smirk widens, and his gaze softens when it’s casted towards (y/n).

She looks unsure of what to do with herself, but as soon as she meets his eyes she shuffles towards the kitchen, putting more distance between herself and her unnamed visitor.

“You always have your neighbors over for tea in the middle of the night?” The man asks, perplexed by the entire situation.  He already has his doubts that this isn’t staged, but his obvious nerves make him lose all credibility.

Choso only chuckles to himself, casually leaning into her kitchen counter, closing some of the distance between himself and (y/n).  She casts him a look, and he can’t be too sure, but he assumes it means she doesn’t know what to say, so he takes over.

“I’m certainly the only one she opens the door for,” Choso responds with a smoothness that surprises even him.  He watches the realization sink in on the stranger’s face, before he moves closer to (y/n), poking her in the hip to gain her attention once more.  “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

Her eyes are wide, and set on his in a deadlock.  Choso doesn’t think she even manages a blink.  She’s already rendered speechless by the unexpected comment.

But she closes her mouth and nods her head.  Not at her date for the evening- no, she doesn’t turn to look at him or even peek at him from the corner of her eye.  Her gaze is still locked on Choso’s as she nods back at him in a weak motion.  In that moment it’s not even an act for him when he chuckles back at her, his smile growing softer.

“Fucking fantastic” The man mutters, but he’s already grabbing his jacket off it’s hook and was making for the door without further explanation.  

Choso’s quite happy with himself, knowing that he made a complete stranger walk out of (y/n’s) apartment without having to be told to.  He didn’t have to do anything at all, really, all he did was show up and let himself in for a cup of tea.  It was only convenience that he’d opted out of a shirt for the whole ordeal.

The door opens and shuts and it takes that entire time for (y/n) to find her voice.

She smacks him on the arm first, though.

“What?” Choso chuckles as he rubs the spot in mock pain.

“You know what,” She hisses back at him, but the undeniable smile on her face makes her sound more playful than threatening.  “What the hell was that?” She even giggles through the question.  If she’s even trying to come across as scolding, Choso wouldn’t be able to take her seriously for even a second.  

“It worked, didn’t it?” He asks.

(y/n) makes a face at him.  A face that says enough.  She knows he’s full of shit.

The kettle begins to whistle just in time, and without giving her an answer, Choso turns around to put together his cup of tea.  (y/n) has to bring her hand to her mouth, afraid that just one heavier breath and he’d realize that her eyes had been straining to hold eye contact with him.

Of course this was ridiculous, because she knew Choso was a well built man.  But having him shirtless and in her kitchen as if he belonged there was making her face heat up faster than she could control it.  She pressed the pads of her fingers into her cheek in an attempt to cool down the skin.

“What was up with him anyways?” Choso asked, his back still turned to her as he focused on his drink.

(y/n) dodges the question.

“Are you really staying over for tea right now?” 

When he turns back to her, mug in hand and the slightest of furrows in his brow, she worries that she just might not be strong enough to handle this one.  Dropping her hand from her face, she straightens up her posture.

His hair is down, the thought is like poison, shooting through her train of thought and completely dissolving it.  It looks soft.  

“It was a nice enough evening…” She explains slowly, despite telling herself that she didn’t owe him any sort of explanation, there was a compulsion to tell him all about it.  Choso merely raises a brow before he sips his chamomile.  “I thought a few drinks back here would be nice, too.  Turns out he’s only got one good story and the rest is… boring” 

He laughs at that, lips curling into a grin and shoulders shaking just a little  bit.  (y/n) links her fingers together as she leans into her counter with a sigh.

“Think I could’ve told you that.  I’d have to give the guy credit for one good story.  Just running of first impressions, that is” 

(y/n) huffs again, this time a pout gracing her lips.

“Yeah, well, next time I’ll run it by you then” She mutters, and she doesn’t really mean it, but Choso takes an interest in the comment anyways.

“You’ll run it by me?” He smirks to himself.  “And what makes you think I’m gonna green light any more of these ‘nice enough evenings’, hm?”

“You’ve got a point.  What do you know about dating?” 

“What do you?” He throws the question back at her, and that pout is returning in an instant.

And then she’s dropping her head in her hands and groaning aloud.

“It’s stupid that you’re right,” She admits, dragging her hands down her face before setting her jaw in her palms.  “I don’t know what I’m doing at all.  What the hell is wrong with me? The last three dates I tried to go on have been like this.  Not terrible.  Not great.  Certainly not special or memorable- besides the sting of failure” 

Choso’s quiet for a moment, letting it all sink in before he spoke his piece.  His lips purse before he sets his mug down and takes a few steps closer.  (y/n) watches, but she doesn’t lift her head from her defeated position.

“It’s not you,” He says, and she’s surprised by the serious tone in his voice.  “Besides, you managed three dates, yeah? That’s something” 

“That’s just this week” (y/n) mutters.

Choso can’t hide the change in expression, and she must notice his shock, because her lips tilt into an amused little smile.

“Did you think I just sat around and waited to play babysitter?” She teased quietly.  “Not that I don’t love it, but I do have a life, y’know” 

He should say something, backtrack and explain himself before she assumes that he’s never given her free time a second thought.  He thought about it too much, really.  And had he known she’d been spending it on useless dates, he would’ve involved himself sooner.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.  Dating just… sucks” 

It’s lame advice, Choso knows that as soon as it comes out, but (y/n) nods her head in agreement before leaning off the counter and wrapping her arms around herself.

“It does suck,” She murmurs back.  “But… I’m scared that if I don’t put myself out there now then I won’t have…” She trails off, and a look of realization flashes over her features before she shakes her head.  “It’s late,” She says then.  “You should probably g-” 

“What were you going to say?” 

She blinks back at him, pausing as if to take a second to make sure he really meant it.  She chews on the inside of her cheek for an anxious beat before she opens her mouth again.

“What if I waste my time and never meet anyone that wants the things that I want and then I’ll be alone and it will all have been for… nothing…?” 

He smiles, but there’s a bittersweetness to it.  (y/n) seals her lips shut as she waits for his response.  She fears she’s embarrassed herself enough for one night, now it was his turn.

“You’re not wasting your time,” Choso starts slowly.  “You’re just… figuring out what you don’t want.  That’s just as important, don’t you think?”

A smile begins to crack in her features, and he feels relief to know that he’s at least sort of helping.

“Well, then so far we’ve crossed boring, creep, and loser off the list” She grumbles, and Choso chuckles to himself.

“Where does a girl like you find these losers?” 

He’d gotten too comfortable too fast and he realizes it as soon as her eyes widen up at him, not too much, but enough that he notices, and he knows that she’s caught the choice words of his loose lips.  A slight smile pulls on her parted lips as she thinks through just how she wants to call him out on it, but for right now, she relishes in the way his cheeks flush and his own eyes widen in panic.

“A girl like me, huh?” She teases, her soft smile turning into a full blown grin.  “And what do you mean by that, Choso?”

Again, he thinks she must know what she’s doing when his name drips from her voice like sweet honey.  Nothing else has ever weakened his insides quite like it.

“You know what I mean,” He tries to play it off casually, but her eyes narrow on him in disbelief.  “You’re super nice, and… easy to talk to” 

“Oh, right, I forget that super nice gets you everywhere” She exaggerates.

“You don’t need me to stand here and tell you you’re a catch, (y/n),” Choso sighs, and the playful crinkle in her nose dissipates, the rest of her features softening along with it.  “You have to know that” 

It’s quiet for a moment, and she’s staring at him with what he worries is disbelief.  Was she not taking him seriously? Did she think he was only joking? Well that simply wouldn’t do, he couldn’t possibly leave her apartment now until he was sure she knew just how wrong she was.

So he ignores the nerves prickling his skin warning him not to cross too many lines at once and he speaks up again.

“C’mon, I mean, obvious stuff aside, anyone would be lucky to score a date with you.  You’re excellent company, I mean, you don’t know how often I lose time when I’m talking with you.  It’s never a dull moment, even when it’s quiet, and I think that’s just about the most important quality in a person, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but even if she wanted to answer, Choso gives her no time to do so.  “You’re funny, in the witty way that I can’t keep up with and in the silly way that Yuji’s so taken with.  You’re patient, and generous, and kind,”

Her lips part, but there’s nothing she could possibly say to him right now.  Her mind has been wiped blank.  All that she can hear now are the words he’s saying, and she’s not even sure that this isn’t all a dream at this moment and she’s not about to wake up in her bed with a funny feeling.  Her heart was beating so hard she feared it would leap right out of her chest and she’s helpless to stop it.  Nonetheless, she wants nothing more than for him to keep going.

“You’re smart, and capable of anything, and you’re not afraid of chasing the things you want,” Choso goes on, and he doesn’t stutter once.  Every word is spoken with precision, as though rehearsed.  Or maybe it just came to him that naturally.  “Yuji loves you and that’s all the more I could ever want.  You’re the first person he’s really attached himself to, you know.  He never… he never really cared for anyone the way he cares about you,” 

Tears have started to well up in her eyes, but it’s still not enough to stop the seamless train of thought he’s spewing out.  If he notices this, he doesn’t comment on it.  He just keeps going.

“But it’s clear that he loves you and it’s clear as day why.  Anyone with eyes and an ounce of a brain would feel the same.  And they should.  And it’s really a pity that so far no one’s managed to behave the way you deserve, and treat you the way you deserve” 

She thinks he’s finished, only because he’s paused long enough and he’s staring at her now as if everything he’d just said was now being displayed on a teleprompter before him.  At first, all she can manage is a small gasp to clear the lump in her throat.

“You-” She starts, but her voice fails her and she has to shake her head to convince herself to ignore her nerves.  “You really mean all of that?” 

It’s a whisper so soft that even a creak in the floorboards would have overpowered her voice.  But the apartment is dead silent.  All she can do is stand frozen in place as she watches him and waits for his answer, for the confirmation that he really had just said the kindest, most beautiful things anyone has ever said to her, seemingly out of nowhere.

During his pause, she steps closer, glossy eyes remaining focused on him, as if a single blink could cause her to miss his next words.  There had been few moments in her life that she’d felt worried over missing- but right now if you’d asked her to name them she would probably come up short.

“I… don’t say things I don’t mean,” He tells her in a moment of unfiltered honesty- which he was on a streak with tonight.  

(y/n) gives him a faint nod in return as she tries to blink away the wetness in her eyes.  There wasn’t a chance she’d let herself cry in front of him right now- not at one in the morning after he already had to rescue her from a dead end date.

For all of his forwardness, Choso’s throat has gone so dry he knows that his next words will come out in a strained out scratch.  He feels like there’s a spotlight on him, even though the lighting in her apartment is so dim there’s shadows casted over the expanse of her left cheek.  It paints her into a silhouette that he believes could be hung in every museum.  When he tries to take a gulp to ease the dryness of his throat, it’s faintly audible.

A quiet sound of amusement breezes past her lips before they quirk up into a smile so gentle Choso swears only a soft stroke of a paintbrush could capture it in it’s full essence.  He might just have to pick up the hobby of painting if he wishes to fully preserve this image.  Honesty strikes him again in his moment of inspiration.

“(y/n) you should know that I’m starting to have feelings for you,” 

It’s a murmured confession, spoken so genuinely from the bottom of his heart that (y/n) can feel them filling her own heart with a gooey warmth.

“Well, not starting, I- I’ve known about it for a while, actually,” 

He seems to stammer and partially mumble over his words as soon as he’d started to speak with certainty, but it doesn’t make them any less true.  (y/n) knows this, and he can tell in the way her eyes seem to hold stars as she stares at him with pure marvel.  It makes him concerned that she’s never heard these things before.

“But, y’know, I didn’t want to say anything because of how much Yuuji adored you and I didn’t want to do anything to disrupt that,” 

Before he knows it, Choso’s rambling, but (y/n’s) patient and takes in everything he has to say.  She’s never seen him unload so many thoughts like this, and even with her heart on the brink of beating out of her chest, she takes in everything he has to say.

“In the past he’s sort of just shut down around anyone I’ve gone out with, or tried to, at least.  It’s just not like him, to be quiet, or shy.  I hated seeing him like that.  I don’t know what it was, why he never got comfortable around anyone, and I didn’t know if it would always be like that…” 

Choso trails off for a moment, starting to realize just how much oversharing he was doing tonight.  Maybe it was the late hour, or maybe it was that look she’d held in her eyes all night, like she was holding something back as well, but whatever finally pushed him over the edge to spill his every hidden thought was a driving force so strong nothing could have prevented it now.

“But then he found you and he was just… taken,” A quiet laugh falls from his lips as he thinks fondly about the adoration his little brother holds for her.  Sheepishly, he finishes his train of thought.  “And I guess that rubbed off on me, too” 

Her lips are wobbly at first as they form a wider smile, and then she’s making a short shuffle forward, putting them both toe to toe.

“You didn’t want to tell me you had feelings for me because you thought Yuuji would be upset?” She asks him, like maybe she’s not sure she understood him right.  Choso seals his lips together as he gives a faint nod in return.  Her head tilts to the side, her round eyes narrowing as an aura of curiosity settling over her as she gazes up at him.  “And you think I’m a catch?” She repeats his earlier statement, and lets out a breathless and short laugh when she watches color flush his face.  “So… what’s so different now that you decided to tell me?” 

Her fingers latch around the hem of the shirt she’s wearing, twisting at the material in short nervous movements.  However the clear sign of nervousness is easy to overlook when she’s staring at him so intensely.  His sincerity tonight had been a blessing that she was going to milk for all it’s worth.  Once she got a taste for how deeply Choso felt his feelings, she just had to know more, even if it meant pushing him to share more.  Although she hoped her eagerness wouldn’t drive him out of her home, she hoped he’d stay until she got her fill of all of his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” He sighs, and his shoulders fall slightly as he visibly relaxes.  It makes her wonder if he’d been tense this whole time, if she’d put him on edge by standing there while he made confession after confession.  The thought makes her swoon just a little bit harder- if possible.  “I guess… I just couldn’t hold it in anymore,” 

Her brows cinch together as her expression morphs, into something he worries is pity, so he frowns.

“I did try, just for the record” He tells her suddenly.  The change in tone makes her chuckle in her confusion.

“Tried what?” 

“Tried telling you,” Choso clarifies, “Months ago” 

“What?” She shakes her head in disbelief, a slight frown tugging on her lips as she tries to recall when he was referring to.  Surely she’d remember an attempt of him asking her out, or telling her about his feelings.  Yet nothing comes to mind.  “You did no such thing” 

“I did,” He insists, laughing humorlessly, but the sound lightens the mood between them and (y/n) finds herself laughing along with him.  Although hers holds more amusement than his had.  “And then you put me in the friend-zone.  Or neighbor-zone.  Or Yuji’s brother-zone” 

“I absolutely did not!” Her voice cracks as it raises to it’s usual volume, the soft whispers of earlier long gone as another laugh rips out of her chest at his insinuation.  “Don’t tell me you actually thought that” 

The seriousness in her voice has his heart strings tightening to their fullest extent, straining and quivering on the brink of snapping completely.  At this point, Choso thinks that she’s well aware of the emotional warfare she’s using against him, but then he catches that glossy look she still held in her eyes and he thinks she’s just as weakened by her own ardency as he was by his.

“Trust me, had I known different, things would be different” He says, raising a hand to drag a finger in the space between them to make the context clear.

Soft surprise adorns her face as he’s the first to surrender in their game of dancing around it, and it’s quiet for a few beats as she waits for her heart to calm down enough where she can speak without a tremble in her words.

“I’m telling you different right now, aren’t I?” 

The silence of her apartment is deafening.  Seconds pass like years as he stares back at her, his eyes shifting between hers as quickly as they possibly could, a sudden desperation in being able to read her expression clear on him.  Patience was just a part of Choso’s nature- it had to be when he alone was raising a five year old like Yuji- but any thought of moving slowly was thrown out the window as soon as he was finally sure of that look in her eyes.

“I want to kiss you,” 

He moves forward then, his hands moving as fast as his words as they land on her jaw, and despite their swiftness his touch is gentle.  They cup under her face with thoughtful softness, and as soon as he’s touching her, his patience is restored.  Suddenly he has all the time in the world, and he lets his gaze slowly trace over every little feature of her face until he’s sure he’s memorized every last inch.  (y/n’s) expectant before him, her lashes fluttering as her eyes shift repeatedly between his lips and his own gaze.  He wasn’t taking the hint, and unfortunately, her voice was caught in her throat.  She’d seemed to have lost it as soon as the rough pad of his thumb began to trace the length of her jaw to her chin.

After taking his sweet time, he pushes closer, tilting her chin upwards so that his nose could just barely graze past hers.

“Can I kiss you?” 

The murmured request is so close to her own lips she can practically feel them moving against her own.  Her nod of approval isn’t complete before the minimal space left between them is finally closed, and warm lips press against her own with the same gentleness of his hands.

She returns the softness at first, moving her lips against his with an experimental curiosity, but it’s not long before she can stop herself from reaching out to him.  His bare chest is warm under her palms, and at first contact all she does is press her hands against it, fingers splayed out to feel every warm inch of skin that she can.  Choso’s fingers flex and tense against her jaw upon the sensation that he hadn’t felt in so long it was almost unfamiliar.

But her touch was unlike anything he’d ever felt before.  The pads of her fingers were soft as they moved across his skin, slow but sure as they mapped over his chest and around his shoulders, yet the light graze of her nails was just enough sharpness to leave goosebumps in the wake of her path.  Even when a sigh is shuddered out of him, she doesn’t part from their kiss.

Choso can’t help but slide a large hand around the back of her neck, keeping her close to him even as they both begin to gasp for air between kisses.  The soft newness of it all is quickly replaced by a hot need to not stop.  It’s evident in the way their touches begin to lose shyness, and soon their grabbing and pulling at one another as their kisses grow messy and uncoordinated.

She presses as close to him as she can get, even with her own body heat reaching uncomfortable peaks, she still desired to feel his warmth.  More than that, though, she wanted to card her hands through his hair- and she did just that.  She’s rewarded with a soft whimper against her lips when her fingers dive into the roots and tug just a little bit before combing through the rest of it.

When she moves to do it again, a pair of hands seize her hips, and their lips are properly parted for the first time since he’d first kissed her as he lifts her up with ease, turning to drop her onto her kitchen counter before pressing close to catch her lips with his again.  She’s rendered breathless from the movement- after already trying to catch up in her breathing during their sudden makeout session- but there’s not an ounce of protest in her when Choso pulls her knees apart in order to slot himself between her legs and continue where they left off.

Her arms wind around his neck as she pulls him down the short distance to kiss him properly.  The height difference between them now isn’t nearly as drastic as when she was standing, but it’s still noticeable even as she’s perched on the counter.

Her heaving chest only becomes noticeable to Choso once his hands are making their way from her thighs towards her ribs, where he feels them expanding and contracting at an alarming rate.  He lets out a chuckle and breaks apart from her, his amusement only furthered when her lips chase after his, despite her panting for air.

“(y/n), sweetheart,” He murmurs affectionately as he catches her chin between his thumb and forefinger to halt her from kissing him again.  When her eyes open to meet his, her eyelids hang heavy over her dilated pupils, and Choso’s so struck with awe at her beauty in this moment he’d nearly forgotten why he’d stopped kissing her in the first place.  “Want you to catch your breath” He mumbles, the pad of his thumb reaching up to drag over the swollen plushness of her bottom lip.

Somehow, they look even more kissable than before.  Especially paired with her flushed cheeks and the dreamy look in her eyes as she peers up at him through her heavy and fluttering eyelashes.

She leans forward, but she doesn’t try to kiss him again.  She’s just filled with such a strong desire to stay close to him that she couldn’t bear to be the few inches apart that he’d distanced them with.  He smiles softly at her as her hand begins to sweetly comb through his hair.  It’s not the same motion as before, it holds a different feeling in the way she moves slowly, and with no grip at all, and yet his chest is filled with the same overwhelming adoration as when she’d had her hands fisted in it.  He decides to let his hair hang loose more often from here on out.

“I can’t stay,” He murmurs after a long but comfortable silence between them.  “Yuji…” He trails off, but she gets the idea, and nods back at him.

“I understand,” She whispers back, followed by a bittersweet smile.  “It’s alright…” 

“He’s staying at Megumi’s this weekend, though,” He mentions, his eyes following the movement of his thumb as it grazes over her lip, enamored with the way the plushness of it gave in even under his gentle touch.  “We’ll go on a proper date then, hm?” He offers with a hopeful look.

“Sure,” (y/n) smiles, and then playfully purses her lips to peck a light kiss against his thumb.  “Or you could just come over for tea again,” She suggests instead, followed by a short giggle.

His cheeks and neck flush with a rosy hue, but he nods back at her in agreement.  

It was a date.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“So, does this mean you’ll get married?” 

Yuji’s blunt question has Choso choking on his drink.  Burying her face in his shoulder, (y/n) tries to suppress her laughter, but it’s obvious in the way she snorts and her shoulders shake.  Meanwhile, Yuji’s still sat on the floor in front of them, half watching the movie that’s playing and half checking on the two of them as he awaits an answer.

After a few weeks of going out and ensuring one another that their change in relationship was working, more than working, Choso and (y/n) thought it was the proper time to break the news to the little boy.  It wasn’t much of a surprise when he was excited to hear it, but the first question that came to his mind wasn’t as expected.

“Well, maybe, buddy, let’s just cross that bridge when we get there, yeah?” (y/n) answers him with a kind smile, even though the idea of marriage so early in their relationship as her face burning and her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“Okay” Yuji accepts the answer and goes back to watching the movie for a bit.

Choso finally clears his throat and settles back into his comfortable position on the couch, (y/n) still tucked under his arm and pressed into his side in just the way he liked, and after a few minutes of mentally calming himself down he really did relax again.

“We’ll still live together and get a dog though, right, Choso-nii?” 

(y/n) could feel every muscle in his body tense, but she still can’t help but look over at him with a questioning raise in her brow and a purse in her lips as she smiled.

“You told him we were getting a dog?” She hums curiously, waiting for his explanation of his little brother’s question.

A nervous, breathless laugh falls from his lips.

“You’re only focused on the dog part?” He asks, wondering what her thoughts were on the living together part.  (y/n) hums, and shrugs a shoulder before she leans into him again, her focus on the movie as she settles against his shoulder comfortably.

“Well, I’m more of a cat person,” She replies, knowing fully well that wasn’t what he was implying.  “Then again, a house vote would be fair” 

Yuji seems enthusiastic about this compromise, and doesn’t seem to have any more questions for his big brother and his new girlfriend as he completely immersed himself in the movie once more.

With the arm he had wrapped around her, Choso tugs (y/n) a little bit closer, until he’s able to drop a kiss on the top of her head, before he leans into her as well and a comfortable silence settles over the room as they all grow sleepy watching a film together.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ hold me, love me, touch me, honey // be the first who ever did ] 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

xoxo ~ jordie

#kamo choso #kamo choso x reader #choso x reader #kamo choso imagine #choso kamo imagine #choso kamo x reader #jjk choso #jjk choso x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jujustu kaisen imagine #jjk self insert

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

𝙊𝙭𝙮𝙜𝙚𝙣

Pairing: Dom Kim Hongjoong x sub!fem reader

Content Includes: smut, breathplay, love-making, it's soft but intense, kissing, clit play, unprotected sex, needy and clingy Hongjoong, praise, possessiveness, angsty, reader is referred to as 'my angel', fluff, aftercare

Word Count: 820

This should be enough for Hongjoong. 

He knows it should be. 

It’s been months, a year even. 

He knows he should be fucking over this stage. 

But spending time with you, gazing into your beautiful eyes, hearing your angelic voice and giggles, feeling the heat of you on his skin. 

Feeling how warm, tight and wet you were, seeing how fucked out you were underneath him. 

Seeing the love you had for him in your eyes and your heart stripped bare for him to have…

For him to LOVE…

For him to KEEP and CARE FOR…

It wasn’t enough. 

‘Kiss me angel, open your mouth for me, just like that…good girl’

Hongjoong’s hand was gentle and firm on your chin as he nudged your mouth open, his thrusts had stalled to a stand-still and his pupils were blown-out and his stare was HUNGRY for you. 

The veins in his neck and arms were glimmering from the sweat across his torso and chest, making the tattoos on his skin pulse and look alive from the exertion. 

His dark hair was ruffled and framing his face, cheeks red and skin glowing with lust, his lips swollen and kiss-bruised, voice gravelly and cock swollen and hard inside of you. 

Hongjoong looked wrecked, dishevelled and downright predatory in the best fucking way possible, hungry and unhinged, consumed by your presence and body. 

His mouth was on yours as he rutted against you, the tip of his cock slightly pressing against your g-spot and causing you to whimper and moan against him. 

His warm tongue feeding its way into your mouth, licking over your palate, scraping against your teeth, dominating your mouth, owning every crevice. 

‘My angel’ He breathed into your mouth, his lips grazing against yours as his hand sensually ran up your chest and rested with his fingers clasped loosely around your neck, it wasn’t rough but you can feel the pads of his fingers against your throat. 

‘Breathe out’

Hongjoong’s fingers grasped tighter around your neck and his hips snapped tighter against yours, the pressure of his fingers was causing his face to blur slightly, the coil in your stomach to rapidly tighten and your eyes to flutter shut in a downright feeling of euphoria. 

A staggered exhale left your lips which Hongjoong swallowed with a kiss, his free hand clenched tightly in your hair and a moan rumbled through his chest. 

‘Beautiful, so beautiful…now you need to breathe me in too’

He removed his hand from your hair and reached up to remove one that was draped around his shoulders, kissing the pads of your knuckles as he stared at you with intention before wrapping your hand around his neck. 

‘Now squeeze’ 

Hongjoong’s hand covered yours and he controlled the pressure as his eyes became dilated and his bottom lip pouted even further, his thrusts faltering. 

He removed his hand and you immediately lifted your head up to kiss him, moving your hand to the base of his neck as your breath caught his. 

‘My angel, my treasure’ Hongjoong moaned out as he grabbed the headboard with his free hand, the act of consuming your soul almost brought out a frenzy in him, his head hovering over yours as he pounds into you, the force shaking you from the inside out. 

‘You’re under my skin, you’re in my heart, I’m drowning in you and I don’t want it to ever fucking STOP’ 

Hongjoong’s voice sounded almost pained through his confession, as if those words were scraping to venture from the very confines of his soul. 

You were rapidly reaching your release and frantically trailing a hand down to draw circles on your clit, though an orgasm was the least of your priorities. 

The feeling of love and care was never as potent with Hongjoong as it is when he’s making love to you. 

When the mask is thrown away and his barriers are down, when you feel his devotion flowing through his tongue and fingers, the way he worships your body and soul like it was his sole purpose in life. 

You really were his treasure and he was yours too. 

‘You’re my treasure too Hongjoong…I love yo-’ 

Your words were cut off by your impending orgasm crashing around you, your head lolled back as your body quivered under Hongjoong’s touch and your vision went white. 

A few thrusts and Hongjoong came inside of you with a whimper, his brow furrowed and lip bitten, his head collapsing into the crook of your neck as you wrapped around each other loosely in a state of post-coital bliss. 

A few moments passed of comfortable silence, your fingers gently ruffling Hongjoong’s sweaty hair as his head was on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, feeling you breathe against him- your breath now filled with a part of his soul. 

‘We’re bound together angel, now, forever and in the next life’. 

I just realised it's been months since I've written Hongjoong and this fic can be included in my 'sugar!daddy' Hongjoong universe.

Enjoy!

Taglist: @hipster-shiz @creativechaoticloner @cherry-0420 @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @umbralhelwolf @stardragongalaxy @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @berryberrytan @laylasbunbunny @bangchanbabygirlx @i-love-ateez @anyamaris @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @northerngalxy @justaaveragereader @shroomoth @marykpoppin @ja3hwa @leomggg

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #kpop smut #kim hongjoong smut #hongjoong smut #atz smut #kpop fanfiction #ateez angst #kim hongjoong imagines #hongjoong x reader #atz x reader #kpop thoughts #ateez drabbles #hongjoong ateez #kim hongjoong x reader #atz fanfic #ateez fanfic #kpop fanfic #kim hongjoong x y/n #hongjoong x y/n #kpop fic #atz fluff

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [COME UNBOUND HERE] ❞ — NSFW ; MDNI!

pairing: hotch x fem!bau!reader. summary: “completely self-reliant, you really don’t need me at all, do you?” in which hotch gets completely pussy whipped after seeing you taking down an unsub. content warnings: making out, foul language, sex, unprotected p in v with no mentions of birth control (no breeding kink just lazy writing), sub!hotch if you squint, switch!reader, nipple play, scratching, lip biting, THEY FUCK ALRIGHT. MDNI, this is a 18+ fic. word count: 1.7k a/n: requested by @mischiefmoons and her godsent filthy mind. i donnnt prooof read shiiiit.

aaron wasn’t one to admit to having a type, sure, he knows it’s human nature to look for similar traits when choosing partners throughout life, but he was a romantic at heart  (and a sweet talker at that!), he secretly enjoyed keeping the magic of just love alive, and more than that, he simply adored the way you would roll your eyes and laugh cruelly at him, your palm hitting his arm in a light slap each time he told you his type is you. 

truthfully though, most of that was all talk from his sweet soft spot for you, everyone knew exactly his type. 

he couldn’t help but fall for confidence, every time someone confident and beautiful laughed at his terrible dry jokes he would feel his lungs tighten up, that was definitely one of the first things that made him so drawn to you, the fact you were so funny and incredibly gorgeous resulting in his everlasting love and downright depraved lust for you. 

today though, aaron found out another trait of his ideal type: could easily overpower an unsub before himself could even get to his ankle holster for his gun, before he could even try to protect you. 

your competence was never a question, an ssa like the rest of the team, twice a year having no problem at all in your evaluations. but you were a liaison, you stayed put unless extremely necessary to have the whole team out, your experience level wasn’t the same. 

he did all he could to have your back, even before you started sharing hotel room beds, but hearing the man in front of him whine in pain after you twisted his arm, the sound of at least one of fingers cracking at your strength as you pushed him to the floor… you definitely didn’t need him to have your back, you did it yourself pretty well. 

he’s surely proud, but what floods his mind really, what is now burnt to his brain, what has probably changed his whole body chemistry at his point is the way your body moved to do it, your pants clinging more to your thighs, your breasts moving with your fast heart rate, your open cleavage blouse doing nothing to help his train of thought, nor did the hint of a grin in your lips as the unsub succumbed to your grip, complaining about the pain you were so easily causing. 

focus on the job, focus on the case, he tried hard to while he passed his handcuffs to you, but fuck, how could he when you looked so unbelievebly sexy doing something he has seen so many people do before?

how many times has he licked his lips in the past 20 minutes? he has lost count, but is the only way he has to ignore the way his mouth is drying at how aroused he was about to be if he didn’t control himself. if he didn’t focus on anything else. 

a few meditating breaths and unpleasant thoughts did the work for him, getting his priority back on track: the case was still going as far as he was concerned. it wasn’t done until the bau got back to the hotel. 

his avoidance to you at the precinct, not even catching him glancing as you worked didn’t strike you as odd, you were used to him needing his space and completely unaware of his conscious effort not to think of you. 

it’s a happy surprise when you hear his well known knock on your door not even half an hour after arriving at the hotel, his lips gluing to yours immediately, his hands strong in their hold of your face as he kicks the door closed.

you grin into the kiss, not at all opposed to how famished he seems for you, even though you don’t understand where it came from you more than willingly follow his lead, reaching for his waist under his clothing. the cold of your fingers causes him to whine and you can’t help but take advantage of that to sink your teeth to his lower lip just the way you knew he liked it. 

aaron guides you to the bed, but unlike many times before where he would lay you down, his weight deliciously on top of you, he sits on the edge, the back of his knees touching the mattress, shoes kicked off just before. he pulls you to straddle him, his lips only leaving yours to touch the skin you had exposed: your neck, your cleavage. his hands making sure to sink you harsher on this lap anytime you stopped moving against him even if for a second, his fingers sinking on the flash of your hips. 

you have to ask, you have to know what’s gotten into him (so you might do it more in the future) and he stops his actions to stare at you, eyes dazed with lust, lips swollen from the way your mouth worked his, cheeks flushed pink like it always got when he was hot.

“do you not have any idea of how… alluring you looked today doing all that?” he’s breathless as he speaks, his tongue is back to your neck before you can reply or tease his choice of words. your head falls lightly behind as you try to contain at least some of your whimpers. hotch does no such effort, lucky his mouth is busy as you wet both of your pants with arousal, the feeling of his cock swelling up under you as addictive as ever. 

you pull him closer by his tie, your mouth brushing against his ear before you spoke just so you could feel the way your warm breath made him shiver. 

“all that what?” he doesn’t respond, busy taking your blouse along with your bra off, his sheer force able to break off the clasp without much effort. you force your body onto him, half for the so needed friction your nipples begged for, but mostly to get him to lay down on the bed. “all that what?” you repeat yourself, needing to hear him say it. your hands strongly keeping his on your waist and not an inch up. the sight of your bare tits alone enough to make him try to get more friction from you, unconsciously rutting up. 

“confidently taking a man down with your bare hands, maybe?” aaron’s reply pleases you and you let go of his hands, helping him take his dress shirt, his tie and the annoying white tank top keeping you away from scratching his stomach, “completely self-reliant, you really don’t need me at all, do you?” he says teasingly just as you gasp to the touch of his calloused fingers to your nipples, working both at the same time. 

you could honestly come just from that (and you have before, noticing how sensitive your nipples are has been a gift to him that kept on giving), but you wanted more. you palm him through his slacks, wet from his precum and your own fluids. “wouldn’t say that, i do need you to help me with these,” you point to the bothersome remnants of clothes in the way and he has the audacity to chuckle, as if he wasn’t as desperate as you. “because as soon as we are free of them, i can ride you the way you’re just begging me to.” aaron can’t keep his groans contained, your crude words going straight to his dick in a way only you were able to. it was a mess of fingers unbuttoning, unzipping and hands quickly working to get rid of the slacks and underwear restricting you both. 

he helps lining his cock to your entrance, but not before teasing pressing his tip to your clit, causing you both to moan, you’re as wet as you always are for him, sinking him into you all at once and the whimper leaving aaron’s mouth is just sinful, completely at your mercy. 

you set the pace and he lets you, one hand on your thigh, the other gripping one of your tits in a way he would leave not just marks, but a whole handprint. you loved it, your nails giving his chest crescent moon shaped marks and scratches all around his torso. 

“aaron–ple–put your fingers to work.” you skip the begging, the please, knowing that’s not what he wants today, you’re busy moaning his name as your pace goes to a faster rhythm to say much else, but he obeys, deliciously using one of his thumbs to draw circles over your clit, following your lead, moaning as you clenched around his dick, your wetness loud against his finger and his pelvis. 

you were about to come, the imminence of your orgasm making your toes curl, “fuck me, aaron, hard… and fast.” you manage to say, not wanting to slow down and knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep up. 

it’s like he’s been waiting for it, for your orders, and he turns you around, his weight over you as he follows your words. hard and fast. his own pleasure building up as you helped him prop on your legs up on his shoulder, you felt like you were melting under him, going between grabbing the sheets and his flesh as you squirmed for him. 

the noises are relentless at this point, and if the walls of the hotel are cheap everyone will be able to hear his name leaving your lips like a prayer, his whimpers getting stuck in his throat and the skin to skin slapping as aaron brought you both to orgasm, his cum going inside of you without a question, his forehead touching yours as he drops your leg and fucks deep and slow into you a few more times so you both enjoy the climax as long as possible. 

“fuck, i definitely need you for these as well.” your tone is full of tease, referring to the orgasms he gave you seemingly effortlessly. 

aaron hums, his eyes already closed the minute his body reaches the bed, pulling you to his chest. “then, i shall pretend you like me for more than my body and sleep here tonight.” he’s joking and would sleep cuddling you either way, so you don’t bother replying. 

but god, you love him. you love him. 

#lari writes sometimes #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch imagine #hotch scenario #aaron hotchner smut #hotch smut

[frogchiro]

im super curious on which of the men do you think would be more than overjoyed to be tied naked to their bed, legs and arms spread, as reader grinds on his cock through lace panties or as she teases and teases him by letting her wetness drip down his cock to his balls as she rubs her clit over him? or by only putting the tip of his tip inside of her before reader bucks up, leaving his cock high and dry? the man growling, pulling on his restraints and bucking his hips higher and stronger to just get at least the full tip wet to at least feel reader's soaking pussy all around him. so so close to cumming all over her pussy he just needs her touch. desperate and hard whilst reader giggles so sweetly, continuing to moan as she reaches her fifth orgasm on and over him

very VERY unsure if you're comfortable with writing for an ask like this (more dominant female reader, teasing, restraints) so ofc if you're not comfortable, there's absolutely no stress!! much love <333

Oh my jesus nonnie I love you for this ;; I love dominant reader!! Her domming the usually cocky and overly confident big 'n scary military men and bringing them down a peg is my bread and butter. Also putting this under the cut since it turned out to be much longer than I intended ;;

For this one particular scenario I have a few candidates:

König who is this huge, unhinged killer machine, used literally as a human battering ram due to his size and strength and whom people generally tend to avoid due to his 'strange' jittery behavior. His blue eyes crinkle through his mask with boyish joy when he kills, sometimes even letting out an eerily high pitched giggle which off-puts people even more, not to mention he can be a hug dick when it comes to interactions with others; he's either awkward as hell or downright condescending and degrading with his arrogance.

However when it comes to you? The cute new hackergirl KorTac found and dragged in? He's a mess :(( He decided then and there thst he wanted you and would woo you and judging by the awkward fidgeting and shy glances at the older men around you, you'd be easy prey for him...Well until it was him, König, who ended up tied to his bed, moaning and yowling in pain and frustration as you continued to tease him, torture him really as he saw it, with that cute perfect giggle of yours as you continued to slowly jerk his fat cock, cum spurting from his swollen tip and his balls squeezing painfully because they needed to be emptied in the pretty female in front of him :(( It's been so so long, he wanted to claim you but it turned out that it was you who claimed him.

He'd try growling, snarling and even begging for you to please just put the tip inside, please fucking sit down and let him make you feel good but you just giggle at him before moving up and slipping his aching tip from your wet pussy for what felt like the 100th time making poor König whine and buck pathetically up, searching your heat </3

Next one is Simon Riley, but particularly Sleazy Neighbour!Simon. When he finally whined and 'wooed' you enough for you to finally have sex with him for the first time he was over the moon, a nasty smirk on his lips, elated that he finally will get to fuck and claim you all for himself, the first step at making you his wife after all!

What he didn't expect was for you to tie him down with his bulky arms straining against the biding at the headboard, his lengthy cock hard as a rock and leaking on his tummy as you slide your wet cunt all over but not putting it inside :(( It's driving the large male wild!! He was supposed to fuck you into oblivion, make you all whiny and teary, begging him to slow down as he bred you and called you his bitch but as it turned out, it's him who's the bitch now :(

You're having the time of your life, moaning and giggling at the blonde's misery as you slide your pussy against his swollen dick, the copious amount of your slick making the slide much easier and you get first class seat to watch your awful sleazy neighbour get what he deserves for bullying you and not letting him slip inside you <3

The last one is Andrei Nolan and this is something I also discussed with @justadeadreaper on him edging himself and begging you for your permission to cum which I think about expanding on in a different post <3

He both loves and hates this; this feeling of helplessness ad slight humiliation of being such a big and strong man but getting tied down to your shared bed and letting his girl edge him :(( Sounds so pretty toom his normally smooth and deep voice gaining a certain edge to it, deep rumbling moans showing his pleasure and the occasional hitch in his voice and a higher moan indicating that he's close to cumming if the sudden larger amount of sperm leaking from his red dick like a faucet didn't betray him first.

Growls and bares his teeth, gnashing them at your sweet giggle that hides all the evil intentions in your voice, asking him dumb innocent questions like 'Are you close Dyushka? Do you want to cum~?' Of course he fucking wants to cum! He wants to sit you on his fucking cock, slam it deep inside you until he feels your poor cervix and wants to fill you up until you're whining at him and leaking his seed for days but no, instead he's stuck like this, at your mercy as you continue to jerk him off, occasionally in a gesture of cruel mercy you lift yourself up and tease his achy tip at your cunt, rubbing it from your clit down to your hole where you circle it a few times, threatening to slip it in for a few agonizing seconds before letting out a breathy giggle and pulling him out again only to return to edging him with that sweet smile of yours. You're a cruel, cruel woman </3

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #whew #this was something #but I love this so much I'm so proud ;; #I hope you like it nonnie and I'm sorry for the wait! #hackergirl!reader #sleazy neighbour!ghost #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #könig x reader #andrei nolan x reader #andrei nolan #andrei nolan cod #andrei nolan call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley cod #simon riley #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

How’s Your Head? | Bucky Barnes x Reader

This has been in my WIP forever and I finally finished it. Once again, I am looking for a soft, kind, Bucky Barnes to take care of me and flirt with me. Is that so much to ask?🥲

This is slightly longer than my usual stuff, just FYI. The WC is 7280. And yes the title is a Drag Race reference. 😂

Warnings: reader injury (not severe), creepy men (jail), blood, vomit, flirting, fluff🫶

Bucky didn’t like the staring. The eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. The old woman just a few seats down from him leered at him almost aggressively, like she hoped looks could kill. And though this was a common occurrence, it still rubbed him the wrong way.

“Another adoring fan…” Bucky thought. 

He shifted side to side along with the rocking of the subway car and did his best to ignore her gaze- but couldn’t stand it any longer. He gave her a nod and a small, forced smile before heading for the adjoining subway car. Hopefully, he’d find an empty seat free from gawkers and onlookers.

But when he opened the door to the next car, he didn’t find the peace and quiet he’d hoped for.

“I’m not interested…” you said to the creepy guy sitting next to you.

“Oh, come on,” the man insisted. “Don’t be so uptight, sugar.” He rested a hand on your thigh and gave your leg a squeeze, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Fuck off, dude. Seriously?” You banished his hand and stood from your seat, “eat glass, asshole.”

But as you tried to make your getaway, the man grabbed you by the wrist. He pulled you close as you struggled in his grip, his face only inches from yours. “Maybe you should learn some fuckin’ manners,” he threw you to the ground, your head striking the floor.

Bucky flew into a blind rage. He made quick work of your assailant, nearly removing the man’s head from his body. And with the entitled dickhead desperately escaping to another subway car, Bucky made his way to your side. 

“Hey, are you alright?” 

You sat on the floor, slightly dazed. A thick fog settled into every corner of your mind and your ears stung with a sharp ringing. “Yeah, I’m good. Didn’t hurt that bad,” you lied. Yet another interaction with an unknown man. Yes, he’d shooed away your creeper, but you wanted to be left alone. No more strange men, no more men pretending to be “one of the good guys” before showing their true self. 

If you could convince this random guy that you were okay, maybe he wouldn’t bother you. Maybe you’d be able to make it home without being touched by another strange hand. “Thanks for asking, but I’m-”

“Oh- you’re bleeding”. Only then did you notice the rush of warmth running down the back of your neck. Bucky yanked the jacket from his body and reached for your bloodied skull before quickly recoiling. “Erm, can I?” 

You nodded- the motion made you wince.

With cautious hands, he used his jacket to hold pressure to your wound. He stared down at you with genuine concern, his brow furrowed with worry. 

After a few moments, most of the fog cleared and brought you screeching back to reality. The reality in which a man you’d never met held his jacket to your bleeding scalp as you sat on the floor of a subway car. Pain pulsed beneath his touch and shot through your head. Warm blood dripped down your neck. But you didn’t care- all you wanted was to move.

Bucky watched as you struggled to get up and instantly tried to stop you. “Hey, careful. I don’t think-”

“I don’t wanna be on this floor any longer than I have to,” you did your best to stand, but the dizziness sabotaged your efforts. “People do weird shit on the train. I’d probably sitting in someone’s pee.” 

Bucky gave it a thought and instantly reconsidered his cautioning. “Ew. Yeah. You’re right,” the disgusted look on his face nearly made you laugh out loud. He thought back on all the questionable and downright nasty things he’d seen on the subway- he didn’t want you on that floor. “May I?” He offered you his free hand and got you safely into a seat. 

“Which stop is yours?” He asked, settling into the chair next to you. And though he seemed like a perfect gentleman, you gave him a suspicious glance. 

“Oh- I didn’t mean that in a ‘where do you live, I’m gonna follow you home’ type of way. More like, ‘how many stops do you have left before you can go get some rest?’ type of way”

You let out a laugh that sent pain pulsing behind your eyes. Maybe this stranger wasn’t so bad. “Um, I still have like five to go. I think. I’m coming all the way from Coney Island.” 

“Coney Island, huh?” A rush of memories hit Bucky like a train. Riding the cyclone with Steve and watching him puke. Spending all his money to win a stuffed animal for some redhead he had a crush on. 

“Yeah, I got to hang out with a girl I know from college. Haven’t seen her in a while and she’s never been out there. It was actually a pretty great day until that asshole cracked my head open…”

Bucky grimaced. He pulled his jacket from your scalp to give the wound another look, only to be greeted by a continuous flow of blood. “I think you should probably go to the ER. You might need stitches. And there’s a good chance you have a concussion.” 

You shot him only a nonchalant shrug, “I’m not worried about it. Plus, I don’t feel like going into debt so they can give me two Tylenol and an ice pack”.

Bucky liked your sense of humor, your wit. How you could be cheeky and sarcastic after being accosted surprised him. But he clocked the tension in your shoulders, the worry in your eyes. You were uneasy. Your glance darted from one end of the subway car to the other every few seconds; he knew you had to be searching for your assailant. Or the next man who wanted to touch you without permission.

“Hey, would you rather take a cab home?” Bucky said, pulling you from your anxious spiral. “I don’t blame you if you don’t want to ride the train after what happened.”

“Oh, um…”

“I’m not inviting myself home with you-” Bucky shook his head. He was cute when he got flustered. “I just mean, I’ll pay for you to take a cab if you’re uncomfortable.”

How you seemed to meet both the bottom of the barrel and the crème de le crème of men back-to-back nearly gave you whiplash. But this handsome stranger had done enough; you couldn’t let him pay for your ride home. “That’s- wow, that’s really sweet. But you don’t have to. It’s okay.”

“What if I want to? You seem uneasy… like you’re waiting for him to come back.”

You nodded.

“Then let’s get you a cab, alright? Next stop, we’re outta here.” He shot you a wink before once again reassuring you that he was not going to follow you home. “Is there someone who can keep an eye on you, though? Like I said, you probably have a concussion. And if your roommate or, um, significant other can sit with you for the rest of the night, that would be a good idea. Head injuries are no joke.”

“Well, I don’t have a significant other,” you almost laughed. “And my roommate’s out of town. She was supposed to get back around sevenish, but her flight got crazy delayed because of weather- now she’s not getting home for a few hours.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He checked his watch and saw that it was only 8:04pm. He needed someone to sit with you for the rest of the night. Just in case something happened, you’d need a friend or loved one by your side. And if you didn’t have someone there with you, Bucky knew he’d spend the remainder of his evening worrying about the cute stranger he met on the train. 

Just then, the subway stopped. Bucky offered you his arm and guided you onto the platform and up the stairs- all while keeping his jacket in place against your wound. Getting away from the train eliminated your unease. No longer were you trapped in the tiny space, your blood staining the floor. You had an escort in the form of a good samaritan, and a ride that would get you home without any further abuse.

 But when Bucky hailed you a cab, your anxiety resurfaced.

“Hey, um…” you eyed the car as it approached, “Would you- do you mind riding with me?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side. 

“I don’t know- I’m just a little nervous and I don’t really wanna be in a cab alone with another random man,” you said. “I know it’s probably inconvenient for you- I’ll pay for your ride home from my place.” The taxi neared the curb and stopped in front of you, sending your unease into overdrive. “Do you mind?”

Bucky clocked your wide eyes and shaking hands. Sure, you made jokes and sarcastic quips about what happened. But deep down, you were shaken. And he wanted to help in any way he could. “Not at all- I get it,” he gave you a reassuring look, “and you don’t have to pay for my ride. Let’s just get you home, alright?”

He held the door open for you and helped you into the cab before sliding in behind you- his hand still attached to your bloody skull. The ride was quiet, save for the honking of horns and cursing drivers. But having Bucky with you for the duration eased your discomfort. 

“So, is there anyone you can call to come look after you?” Bucky asked after a while, “A friend, a neighbor, a family member?”

“I don’t really have any friends,” you said. “But not in a ‘I’m a loser and can’t make friends’ kind of way, I promise.” Bucky laughed. You liked his laugh. “I’m just still kinda new here. And all my family lives in across the country. Plus, I only know two of my neighbors. One of them is an old man who always tell me my skin looks ‘so soft’-”

Bucky’s nose wrinkled, “Ew…"

“Yeah. And the other is this girl who told me to shut the fuck up because she thinks my footsteps are too loud? So yeah, I don’t have many connections here yet.”

He sensed a little embarrassment staining your words and aimed to make you feel better, “Well I’ve lived here for quite some time, and I don’t have any friends, either.” 

That didn’t seem possible to you. He was so likable. Quiet, yet endearing. And certainly, a gentleman. He made you feel safe. You wondered how his girlfriend would react when she found out he took another woman home. 

Bucky found himself wondering how you didn’t have swaths of friends. Even after your harrowing experience on the train, you were so charming. Funny. Sweet. It was even harder for him to believe you didn’t have a love interest to go home to. But after what he’d witnessed tonight, he didn’t blame you for keeping to yourself. 

“What part of town do you live in?” You did your best to conceal the optimism in your voice, the hoped that he lived close by. It was embarrassing how smitten you were with this man.

“Brooklyn,” Bucky said. “I’ve lived there for a while- save for some years I spent, um, away.”

Brooklyn. Nothing a quick train ride couldn’t solve. Though you weren’t too keen on the subway after the night’s events. “Well, tell your girlfriend that I apologize for keeping you so long.”

“I don’t have one,” Bucky said. Things inside the cab fell quiet.

“Oh. Well, do you-” you second guessed yourself, but decided to push through. “Do you want to stay with me until my roommate gets home? You know, since you’re so worried about me and my possible concussion and my lack of friends.”

Bucky stopped breathing. “Oh, um. Sure. Yeah. If that’s- if that’s alright. You sure you’re okay inviting a stranger into your house?”

“Well, you’re not really a stranger, Sergeant Barnes”. You shot him a wink.

An immediate ringing filled Bucky’s ears. He didn’t know what to say, how to react.

The rest of the ride was quiet. Bucky’s mind echoed with the sound of your voice referring to him by name. He liked the way it sounded coming from you. But he hated that you knew who- and what- he was. And when the cab turned onto your street and stopped in front of your apartment, he nearly panicked. He reconsidered his agreement to stay with you. But you didn’t seem to mind having the ex-Winter Soldier so close. And he didn’t want you to be alone with a head injury.

Against his better judgement, he followed you to the front door of your building. 

“My great aunt actually lived here back in the fifties,” you told Bucky as you fumbled for your keys. Bucky wondered how you could tell casual stories while dealing with a head injury and an ex-assassin. But as you continued to speak, he realized that he didn’t quite hear what you’d said. He was still reeling from your mention of his name. 

And then he noticed you struggling. You were dizzy after cracking your head open, and a slight shaking rendered your hands almost useless. No matter how many times you tried, you couldn’t seem to finagle the key into the lock. 

“Um, do you want some help?” He gestured to your keys and allowed you to drop them into his free hand. He pushed the old door open with a loud creak and escorted you inside the lobby- his hand still resting on the back of your head. It was quiet while the two of you waited for the ancient elevator to roar to life. And when the doors finally opened, he guided you inside and watched you press the ‘5’ button.

“So… how’d you know it was me?” He asked as the elevator slowly climbed to your floor.

“Well, when I first saw you, I thought you looked kinda familiar. But I couldn’t place you”. You laughed a quiet, bashful laugh, “Then you knelt down next to me, and I thought I was gonna pass out- but not from the head trauma. You just you have like, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.” The head injury had you a bit loopy, a little too honest. Too confident. “I knew I’d seen those eyes before… and then it clicked. You were so chivalrous, you know? So old fashioned. I mean, who uses their own jacket to stop a stranger’s head wound from bleeding?” 

Bucky shrugged. His cheeks flushed pink.

“I read a book a few years ago about Captain America and his efforts during World War II. And there was a huge portion about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes… And that’s where I’d seen those eyes.” You flashed him a dramatic wink, “Truth be told, it was my favorite part of the book.”

A shy laugh made its way out of Bucky’s mouth, “Is that so?”

The elevator lurched to a stop and nearly sent you tumbling to the floor. You’d gotten used to the clunky machine since moving into the building, but your sabotaged equilibrium didn’t stand a chance against it. Bucky caught you in a careful, protective grasp before you could tip over. He gently righted you and searched your face for any indicators of discomfort. 

“You alright?”

“All good, Sergeant Barnes.” You gave him a salute.

He rolled his eyes and escorted you into the hall, “you can just call me Bucky, if you like.”

“Okay, Bucky-” you said with a smile, “follow me.” You lead him in the direction of your apartment- with his jacket still plastered to your scalp. The man was determined to help you. You’d give him that.

You once again needed his assistance when it came to unlocking your front door. But when Bucky got the door open, he just stood there. He didn’t go inside. He held the door for you and insisted you go ahead, finally peeling the jacket from your wound. He knew he didn’t belong here.

You noticed how tentative he was about entering your home and beckoned him inside. “You can come in…” you said. “Are super soldiers like vampires? Do y’all need an invitation?”

Bucky laughed, “No. I just… I don’t do this kind of thing very often.”

“Oh, you don’t accompany injured women home from the subway on a weekly basis? I’m shocked.”

You flipped on the light and let the warm glow reveal your apartment. Bucky admired the art covering your walls, the books lining your shelves, the smell of some kind of baked goods lingering in the air. This place was cozy, welcoming. Nothing like his apartment.

While he was distracted drinking in the details of your home, you gave his jacket a once over. Blood coated the leather and smeared the lining. It was enough to make you nauseous.  “Sorry about this mess… here, let me clean it up for-”

“It’s leather- I’m not worried about it,” Bucky shrugged. “I’ll just wipe it off later.”

“Ew, I think that’s considered a biohazard, Sarge.”

Bucky’s laugh echoed through your home- you liked the sound of his voice bouncing around your space. “Well, lucky for me, I’m not susceptible to biohazards. So, really, it’s not a big deal.” He shot you a wink and hung his bloody jacket on the back of a chair. “Let me take a look at your head.”

He gently moved your hair out of the way enough to expose your wound. He was as careful as he possible not to hurt you or make things worse. And using the dish towel you offered him, he wiped away enough blood to get a good look. 

“It’s big, but not deep enough to warrant stitches. And it looks like the bleeding has finally come to a stop.” 

“Perfect. I’m gonna go take a shower” you said. “Make yourself at home. You’re welcome to anything in the fridge, except the kombucha. My roommate will murder you if you drink her kombucha.”

Bucky didn’t even know what kombucha was. “Are- are you sure you wanna go shower?”

“Um, yeah. Gotta get the subway-floor germs off me,” you gave a dramatic shudder. “Some of us are, indeed, susceptible to biohazards.”

“That’s fair,” he laughed, “I’m just a little worried about your balance… I think it’s probably seen better days.”

He wasn’t wrong. The floor did indeed seem to dip and shift under you unsuspecting feet. The room spun on occasion. The walls wiggled. But you needed to get cleaned up. “I’ll be extra careful. Promise.” You offered him your pinky and made him link his with yours. “But I have more blood in my hair than anyone should- I need a shower.” You left Bucky alone in your living room with a promise to be back soon.

It was strange for him, being in a stranger’s home like this. He didn’t get invited places or have friends to hang out with. He had Sam- and that was it. And while Sam was great, he never felt quite like this at Sam’s apartment. Something about your place warmed him, made him feel a little lighter. Or maybe it was you. Who was he kidding? Of course, it was you.

But Bucky knew this feeling couldn’t last. In a few hours, your roommate would return and send him home. And that would be the end of it. Of course, he’d be thrilled to see you again under better circumstances. But assuming he’d get that chance would only lead to disappointment. And so, as he waited for you to finish your shower, he did his best to remember this feeling just in case it was the last time.

“I said make yourself at home and you didn’t even sit down!” you said when you emerged from the bathroom. You found Bucky in the living room with his hands in his pockets, admiring your things as though he were in a museum. Looking, never touching. “Relax a little, sarge. The couch is really comfy, I promise.”

Bucky liked the way you looked with your skin still slightly damp form the shower, your hair wet and a little messy. “Oh, yeah- I just got distracted looking at all your…” he gestured to your bookcase, “your books and your tchotchkes. You have good taste- I like that you have two copies of Fellowship of the Ring.”

“Well, my sister dropped one of them in the lake at summer camp when we were kids…” you pointed to the faded cover and worn spine of the book in question. “She took a hairdryer to it and it’s mostly fine, but my mom made her get me a replacement. I just can’t seem to part with this one, though.” You plucked your water-damaged copy of Fellowship of the Ring from the shelf and flipped through the pages, “too much sentimental value. You know?

Bucky felt a small smile creeping upward- you didn’t mind damaged goods. Maybe you’d want to see him again after all. 

“Can I get you a drink or something? I have water, tea, La Croix, wine…” you looked at him expectantly. 

“Oh, no I’m okay-”

“Well, I’m going to the fridge for some water anyway, so you’re not saving me a trip…” you shot him a wink and began your trek to the kitchen. He followed in your footsteps, too much of a gentleman to let you fetch him a drink. And though he didn’t know what La Croix was, he took the one you offered him with a smile.

He followed you yet again, but to the couch this time. He sat a respectful distance away- as respectful as your small couch would allow- and taste tested the blackberry drink in his hand. It didn’t taste like blackberries. But he thanked you, anyway.

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to check in on you after your shower- he was too entranced by the sight of you in your pajamas. “Hey, how’s your head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints.”

Maybe it was too forward of a joke. Maybe someone from his time wouldn’t appreciate crass humor. Bucky’s cheeks flushed red- and he burst into laughter. You joined him, ignoring the throbbing pain in your skull. 

“It feels fine. I mean, it hurts, but it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before” you said. “Are you just gonna make sure I stay up all night?” 

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “uh, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Oh…” you grew a little embarrassed. “I thought you couldn’t go to sleep if you have a concussion.”

“You can go to sleep- it’s just good to have someone check in on you now and then,” he said. “And, hey, you don’t have to stay in here with me- don’t feel like you have to entertain me, or anything. If you wanna go to bed, I’ll be fine out here.”

“Well, I don’t know about entertaining, cause I think the concussion kinda fucked up my ability to tap dance,” you laughed. “But I wanna hang out here with you- if you don’t mind the company.”

He gave you a shy smile, “I don’t mind at all.”

Bucky wasn’t anything like the tabloids said. He wasn’t cold or scary or threatening. He sat on your couch, sipping a La Croix and admiring your throw blanket. He was the farthest thing from intimidating. He had a quiet calm about him that brought you peace. Never did you think you’d invite a man you met on the subway to accompany you home. But Bucky made you feel safe. He was sweet, he clearly cared for your well-being. He was, by all definitions, perfect.

“So, what do superheroes do in their downtime?” you asked. “Like when you’re not saving the world, what do you do for fun?”

Bucky shrugged. He didn’t do anything for fun. “Um, I have court mandated therapy appointments,” he gave an awkward laugh. “I read. I hang out with Sam when he’s not in Louisiana visiting his sister. And I have lunch with a neighbor of mine every Wednesday- this old man named Yori.”

“I’m sure he could say the same about you- that he has lunch with some old man named Bucky.”

Bucky’s head fell back in a laugh, “yeah, you’re right. He’s- he’s about twenty years younger than me.” Bucky didn’t bring up the fact that Yori didn’t know his real age or anything about his past. About how the Winter Soldier killed his son. “Um, what about you?” He quickly changed the subject, “what do you do for fun?”

You thought it over for a moment. You hadn’t expected him to ask; most guys never asked what you liked to do for fun. They didn’t ask you anything at all, really. “Well, I also go to therapy,” you said. “My therapist’s name is Angela and I love her. And when I’m not ‘hanging out’ with Angela, I like to read. I like to go on walks. Oh, and I do a lot of baking- there’s a Tupperware of chocolate chip cookies on the island if you want some.”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. He was off the couch quicker than you could comprehend and returned with the entire Tupperware in hand. But before he could dive in, he offered one to you. He was a gentleman, after all. 

“Oh, shit, these are so good”. Bucky wiped a stray crumb from his lip, “seriously, maybe the best I’ve ever had.”

His praise made your cheeks hot. Bucky Barnes called you ‘the best he ever had’- it was enough to make you sweat. “Oh, I’m flattered. The recipe’s been in my family for generations, though, so I can’t take full credit, but I-”

“I’m giving you full credit”, he said as he finished his second cookie. “These things are incredible.” 

You smiled so hard it hurt. “Well, I make at least one batch a week, so…” This was it, your excuse to see Bucky again. You could simply say that you wanted to bake him some cookies as a way of saying thank you, and then you’d ask him out. It was a perfect plan, really. A flawless, surefire way to guarantee that you’d see him at least once more. But as you tried to suggest baking him a ‘thank you’ batch, your mouth flooded with saliva.

Bucky clocked the way you grew suddenly quiet. He dropped his third cookie and inched closer, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you okay? Do you need something?”

You did your best to push past the wave of nausea. Breathing in your nose and out through your mouth, you willed your body to cooperate. You made a valiant effort, but it was no match for the clear and present threat of vomit. This was happening- now. You scrambled to your feet and made a beeline for the bathroom, swearing to yourself you wouldn’t puke in front of the James Buchanan Barnes. 

Bucky rushed after you and found you kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach. “Oh, shit- here, let me,” he carefully moved your hair out of your face, holding it behind you in an imitation ponytail. His touch was gentle, cautious. He didn’t want to pull too hard and hurt you- you didn’t need any extra pain. 

He watched your body lurch as you wretched over and over, voiding your system completely. It was harsh, almost violent. And when you finally sat back on your heels, black and white spots danced through your field of vision. You were empty. Spent. Exhausted. 

“Hey, do me a favor and sit against this wall, okay?” Bucky guided you backward until you rested comfortably like he asked. “I’m gonna go get you some water, and I don’t want you tipping over while I’m gone.” Even in your despondent, miserable state, he still made you smile. And when he was certain that you wouldn’t injure yourself in his absence, he rushed to the kitchen for a glass of water.

He returned moments later with ice cold water in hand. “Thanks,” you croaked, your throat raw. Small sips of the cool water eased the burning. And a few more swigs rid your mouth of the unpleasant aftertaste. “I’m sure you weren’t planning on watching a stranger puke tonight,” you laughed. It made your head pound. “But I appreciate the water. And you holding my hair.”

Bucky plopped down next to you with a “sure thing” and a “don’t worry about it.” But you’d heard those phrases before. You’d heard them from people who were never a sure thing, people who made you worry about everything they did for you. They’d throw their rare acts of kindness in your face and use them as ammo in an attempt to disprove the pain they caused. It was condescending. Manipulative. Hurtful.  But Bucky meant what he said. All he wanted to do was help. You could tell.

He watched you catch your breath. Watched you drink your water in small sips. But he kept an eye out for another wave of nausea. He wanted to be ready in case he needed to hold your hair again. And he found himself thanking the universe that you’d invited him in; imagining you going through this by yourself broke his heart. 

“How do you feel?” he asked after a while.

“Not the best... but I’ll probably survive.”

Bucky’s laugh filled the room, “well, that’s very good news.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence. Bucky’s hand rested near yours. Your thigh bumped against his a few times. You swore electric currents passed between the two of you each time you touched. 

“Hey, if you don’t mind, could you grab me some Tylenol?” 

Bucky was up in an instant, ready to fetch you what you needed. But he found himself lost with no idea where he was going. He was so intent on helping, on making you feel better, that he was ready to run off without a map.

“In the cabinet to the left of the fridge,” you laughed. 

He shot you a wink and sped off. And while he rummaged through your cabinet, you made an embarrassing effort to stand. You rose on wobbly legs, determined to brush your teeth. There was no way you were going to have vomit breath around Bucky- absolutely not. He was the handsome stranger of your dreams. And you couldn’t screw this up; not that you thought he’d kiss a random concussed woman he met on the subway. But you wanted to leave the very best impression possible.

Bucky came screeching own the hall, bottle of Tylenol in hand. “I didn’t know how many you wanted, so I brought the whole thing”, he shrugged. You shot him a smile in the mirror and gave him a muffled “thanks”.

He stood patiently in the doorway, waiting for you finish brushing your teeth. And when you banished the rank taste of bile, you accepted the Tylenol. You tossed back four pills, and before you could reach for your water, Bucky retrieved it for you. He was one step ahead of what you needed. 

With the pills washed down your throat, you gave Bucky an expectant look. “Back to the couch?”

“Yeah, I mean, only if you’re feeling up to it,” he checked his watch. Noticed the yawn you tried to keep concealed. “If you wanna get some rest, please, don’t mind me. You can go to bed- I’ll be fine on my own.”

“No, I’m good. I’m fine,” you took him by the hand and led him back to the living room. “I’m having a good time.” Bucky didn’t say a word; he just let you guide him. He hadn’t held hands with someone in- he didn’t know how long. And holding hands with you- a stranger he’d grown rather smitten with- was enough to stop his heart.

The two of you sunk back into the couch- closer this time- and kept the conversation going. Your thigh rested against Bucky’s; his arm curved around the back of the couch. You could’ve sworn he was playing with a piece of your hair as he talked. But you didn’t want to ask and ruin the moment.

As the night continued, Bucky was shocked. He couldn’t believe you’d only heard of a few of his favorite movies. And he’d never heard of any of yours. “Make me a list,” you said, handing him a pen and a scrap of paper. “And I’ll make one for you. A person’s favorite movies say a lot about them.” 

“Yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow at you. “And what do mine say about me? The ones you know of, that is.”

A sly smile pulled at your lips, “they say that you’re a hopeless romantic.” It almost sounded like an accusation, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Is that so?”

“That is so!” you told him. “But I’m gonna tell you a secret…”  You lowered your voice, beckoned him closer, scanned the room as though in search of any eavesdroppers. “I’m the same way.” 

Just as you finished your list of movies for Bucky, you considered writing down your number. It would be so smooth, so perfectly timed- but what if he thought it was too forward? What if he didn’t want your phone number at all? You scratched out your area code and handed him the list with a smile.

The two of you continued teasing and joking and learning about each other. You found out that Bucky loved peach cobbler. He learned about your passion for animals. And eventually you asked the question you’d been curious about all night.

“So, where were you headed?” 

“What?”

“Well, you were on the subway. I’m assuming you were going somewhere.” You thought he was probably going to some fellow hero’s house for Super Movie Night. Or maybe a meeting with Captain America and Company. He had something much cooler to do than anything you planned for the night, that was for sure.

“Oh, right…” he cringed. “Um, I wasn’t actually heading anywhere. I was just riding the train to, well, ride the train.” It was embarrassing. More embarrassing than anything he’d ever done or said in his hundred years of life.

You cocked your head to the side, “Hmm. Interesting. So, is that like a hobby of yours?” 

He wished he could take his answer back. He wished he would’ve said he was going to dinner. Or Target. Or literally anywhere. But no, he just had to be honest. “No, it isn’t a hobby. It’s more like… exposure therapy.”

“Shit. Sorry,” you threw him an apologetic look. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s okay, no big deal. I just- I don’t really like confined spaces. Or spaces with a lot of people. It’s a- it’s a long story.”

You nodded. 

“So, my therapist told me two combine the two and force myself to take the train- which isn’t great for my fear of trains,” he let out an awkward laugh. “Anyway, I was just trying it out. Seeing how it made me feel.”

Your heart broke for him. He had so many problems, so much trauma to deal with. And while you weren’t a psychiatrist, you didn’t think combining three of his fears into one nightmare was very sound medical advice. “And how did it make you feel?” 

“It wasn’t great- this lady was staring daggers at me for ten solid minutes. But I did get to teach that creepy guy a lesson, so at least there’s a silver lining.”

You laughed. He loved the sound- wanted to hear it all the time. 

“Thank you again, by the way, Sarge. You really rocked that guy’s shit.”

“I don’t like hurting people-” he shrugged, “It’s just something I’m good at. I try not to engage in violence unless absolutely necessary, you know? But that guy deserved it. Probably deserved a little more, but…” He gestured to you, “priorities.”

A warm rush flooded your cheeks. James Buchanan Barnes referred to you as a priority. 

The evening continued as the two of you swapped stories. You couldn’t believe how funny he was, how many ridiculous things he did back when he was young. In the comfortable safety of your living room, he came alive. You asked for more tales of young James Barnes and his antics with Steve Rogers. 

But as time passed, Bucky clocked the way you sank deeper into the couch. You nodded along with his stories and made comments here and there, but there was no mistaking your exhaustion. You leaned against his body more and more until your head rested on his shoulder. 

And then, you were asleep. Completely out. 

But Bucky didn’t mind. He sat still and quiet. He silenced his phone and yours. After the night you had, you needed the rest. And he was more than happy to help you get some sleep. He held in his laughter as you muttered nonsense under your breath- something about crepes and trench coats. It was perfect. Not the night Bucky expected, but the night he needed. And he’d stay in that exact position for hours if he had to. 

But after only forty minutes, a loud crash scared you awake.

Two large pieces of luggage fell to the floor inside your front door. “Fuck Delta airlines and FUCK LAX!” your roommate, Emma, yelled. “I swear to god, there’s a curse on that fucking airport and Delta is the devil’s airline.”

She eyed the room for a moment, taking in the unexpected scene. “Ew, why is there a bloody jacket in the kitchen? And who the fuck are you?”

You stood, begrudgingly leaving your spot next to Bucky. “This is Bucky, that’s his jacket. Some asshole attacked me on the train. I split my head open. He brought me home and kept an eye on me till you got back.”

Maybe she was just in a shit mood because of the travel nightmare. Or maybe she recognized Bucky. But either way, Emma wasn’t having it. “Okay, well, thanks for bringing her home. But I’m back, so you can go. Now. And don’t forget your nasty jacket.”

Bucky gave an awkward laugh. He mumbled a “nice to meet you” and stood from the couch. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and you wished telepathy came with the serum. If he could only read your mind, he’d know how sorry you were. How horrified you were by Emma’s behavior. You couldn’t believe how rude she was being, how utterly unkind. 

But your mind and body weren’t quite working together. You were still groggy, lost in the haze of sleep. And your head injury only made things more difficult. You did your best to formulate a response to Emma and an apology to Bucky. But before you could say anything, Emma was at it again. 

“Seriously, dude. It’s time for you to go, get out of my house.”

Bucky was so flustered, so uncomfortable that he left without saying goodbye. Without getting your number. He shut down. He simply snagged his jacket from the kitchen and bailed. He heard you arguing with Emma as he walked down the hall. Heard you near-tears. 

He wanted to turn around and say goodnight. To protect you from Emma’s wrath. Comfort you. More than anything, he wanted to get your number. Maybe ask you out. But he was too thrown off by the whole thing. He didn’t expect such a response- he didn’t even get to tell Emma that you needed looking after. He just ran. And it made him feel like a coward. 

He pressed the button for the ancient elevator once. Twice. Five times. And when it finally arrived, he got in and slammed the button for the first floor. Ruining his chances of ever seeing you again. Sure, he knew where you lived. But he couldn’t just show up. You’d already dealt with enough creepy shit from weird men- he wasn’t going to stalk you. 

Bucky spent the entire elevator ride heartbroken. He knew he’d have to go home to his empty apartment; knew he’d think about you for way too long. You’d probably forget about him after a day- maybe two at the most. And he’d spend months trying to get over the stranger from the subway.

But when he stepped out of the elevator, he found you waiting for him.

“Hi, um… what?” He was more than a little confused. “How did you- how’d you get down here so fast?”

“Stairs,” you breathed. “Faster.”

Bucky couldn’t believe you. It was romantic; it was something out of one of his favorite movies. But it was stupid. “That was… that was a terrible idea- you could’ve gotten hurt. You almost fell over earlier when you were just standing still. Why’d you run down the stairs?”

“Cause I didn’t get to say goodbye…” your voice was soft, heartbroken. “And I didn’t get to give you my number.”

Wordlessly, Bucky handed you his phone. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to chance ruining such a perfect opportunity. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, of all people. That you actually wanted to see him again.

When you finished, you extended Bucky’s phone in his direction- but recoiled as he tried to reach for it. “Promise me you’ll call?”

“On my life,” he said. The answer brought a warm smile to your face- a smile he wanted to see again. As soon as possible. And when you gave his phone back, he took a moment to stare down at your number. This had to be a dream. 

“Do me a favor and go get some rest, okay?” He extended his pinky and linked it with yours, “Drink a lot of water. And even though she seems like she’s in a bad mood, ask your roommate to check in on you every now and then.”

“Yeah, like she’s gonna go for that-”

“Tell her that if she doesn’t, I’m coming back to look after you myself. And I’ll drink her, her um…” 

“Kombucha,” you whispered. 

“Right, I’ll drink her Kombucha!” He laughed and shot you a wink, “That’ll do the trick.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiggled your pinky with his, and stepped into the still-open elevator doors. “Thank you for everything. I’m really happy I met you.” 

Bucky blushed. “So am I. Not under the best circumstances, but-”

“Worth it,” you shot him a wink. Just as the doors began to close, the two of you exchanged waves. And just before Bucky vanished from view, you threw a quick “call me” his way. And then he was gone.

You made it back to your apartment, nearly tripping over Emma’s luggage. She apologized as you grabbed a glass of water and nearly cried when you told her the story of your evening. And though you wanted to hear about her airport nightmare, you needed to sleep. 

You got settled in bed and realized- you missed Bucky already. 

And just as you decided to go to sleep for the night, your phone buzzed:

“Wanted to call but figured it might be too soon- seeing as it’s only been about four minutes. I’ll call you in the morning. And just so you know: even without the tap dancing, I found you very entertaining. I’m really glad I met you.

If you need anything at all, let me know. Feel better.

-JBB”

—————————————

Taglist: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality  @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl l  @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot  @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie  @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine  @evangeliamerryll l @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi i @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo

#james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky barnes x female reader #Bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky x female reader #Bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x you #fatws bucky #fatws!bucky

[knavves]

HIT MY BRAIN, DGAF ft various bllk men — which of the bllk boys r absolutely mf hung ?

wc: 0.8k ノ cw + tw : nsfw (18+). fem reader. blow jobs. size kink(?). dacryphilia. masturbation. use of pet names. mirror sex. belly/throat bulges. dirty talk. praise. riding. mentions of blood.

shidou is definitely huge and he knows it too. "too big for you, pretty? i know you can take more than that." he's already bulging in your throat even though he's not even fully sheathed inside your mouth, so heavy on your tongue. the stretch of your jaw fucking burns but his groans are so hot that the slight pain doesn't bother you so much. one of your hands wrap around the base of his cock, stroking whatever you couldn't reach with your mouth. the other one is knuckles deep inside your own pussy, wishing he was buried deep somewhere else. "there you go. fuck so good, such a good girl for me." the slurping and gagging noises that ricochet off the walls are downright filthy but he loves it, just as much as he loves your runny and smudged mascara. he places his large hand on the back of your head, shoving you down further on his length as he shoots his load down your throat. hearing you choke and seeing you struggle to swallow the mouthful of his cum has him hard all over again.

you're gonna have to hear me out on karasu, he is absolutely hung i know it. he loves to have you pressed up against the dresser, the wooden furniture rocking and thudding into the floor with each strong thrust of his hips. he places you in front of the mirror too, a firm grip on your jaw to make you ogle at yourself in the reflection. your eyes lock on the way your tits bounce in suite of the loud slapping noises. the drool that escapes from the corners of your opened mouth that spills uncontrollable moans is downright embarrassing but you can't reach up to wipe it, not when you need to stabilize yourself as he brutally pounds into you. but your eyes are especially drawn to where he's bulging in your abdomen. "cryin already?" he coos into your ear, his warm breath fanning your ear. he was right, you noted as you peered back at yourself in the mirror to see fat tears spilling over. you drop your head to look away from your fucked out self making him click his tongue in annoyance, "nuh uh, baby. keep yer eyes on yourself. look so beautiful."

aiku thinks you look so cute right now, cunt fluttering and squeezing him so nicely as he sinks his cock into you. you're trembling where he has you caged beneath him, shaking your head and murmuring variations of "s too big!" and "not gonna fit, oli..". but he only shushes you, kissing your forehead and whispering sweet nothings to soothe you. "you can take it, baby. that's it.. see i knew you could." he stretches you out so so good, its no wonder several women flocked to him before he met you. but now you had him in the palm of your hand, you were the one who he came home to everyday, bending you over and drilling his fat cock into you whenever you ask. like now where he has you bent in half, legs dangling over his broad shoulders as he fucks you dumb. he has you seeing stars, pulling his cock out until just the tip is in before slamming all of his girth back into your weeping pussy.

it takes all of barou's self control to not flip you over and pound into you until you can't utter anything but his name. but regardless of his desires, he uncharacteristically takes it slow with you and lets you take your time lowering yourself onto him. it feels like he's splitting you in half, your bottom lip is tucked in between your teeth, threatening to draw blood. "you can do it. i got you, sweetheart." his voice is still gruff but his words are so unusually sweet. when you finally bottom out, he almost lets out a guttural moan at the imprint of his dick in your stomach. "feel that, baby?" he smirks when you gasp as he cruelly presses down on the bulge in your stomach. he's so deep. it takes you a few moments to adjust to the sheer size of him, no matter how many times you've fucked you always struggle to take him. "atta girl." he grunts as you start bouncing in his lap, hands sliding up to your waist to dig his rough hands into your flesh. the time it took to prep you was all worth it to feel you squeeze his cock so nicely with each raise of your hips and to hear the cute whimpers that left your lips. your voices tangled with one another as he muttered between moans how tight you were. you'd squeal and curl your toes every time he'd thrust up into you, his cock slamming against your sweet spot. "cum all over my cock, baby. make a mess for me."

© knavves : reposting, plagiarizing, modifying, and translating is NOT allowed.

#🔖: knavves #bllk smut #blue lock smut #bllk x reader smut #blue lock x reader smut #ryusei shidou smut #ryusei shido smut #ryusei shidou x reader smut #shidou smut #karasu tabito smut #karasu tabito x reader smut #karasu smut #oliver aiku smut #oliver aiku x reader smut #aiku smut #barou shoei smut #barou shoei x reader smut #barou smut #barou shouei smut #baro shoei smut

[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there’s you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is it, he thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m no one’s dog.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just how it goes.

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

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

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

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

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

Someone else’s, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

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

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

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

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

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

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

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

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

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taunting him.

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

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

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

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

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

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

“Done. Anything else?”

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

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

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

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

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

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

Until now.

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

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

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

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

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

Doesn’t matter.

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

No one spares you a second glance.

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

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

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

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

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

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

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

Sorry.

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

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

What kind of life is this?

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

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

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second time is nothing like the first.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re being followed.”

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

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

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

“Where’s Jimin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know it’s a liability.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

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

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

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

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

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

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

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

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

“Destruction.”

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

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

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

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

You watch him go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

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

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

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

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

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

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

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

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

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is a waste of your fucking time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

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

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

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

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

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. &lt;3

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

[cinnamo6]

Friendship’s not in the field manual.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!reader

warning(s): angst, no comfort (yet..)

a/n: trying my hand at a new format. Not proofread/probably grammar mistakes

You’re convinced Ghost hates you. Downright despises you.

Sad? Yes. Exasperating? Most Definitely.

Hard to be at the top of your game when you’re convinced your own Lieutenant thrives off your suffering. You were the new bright eyed rookie hacker for 141. Picking up where they fell short in the technical field. And yet somehow Ghost had managed to make you feel incompetent on good days, and just plain miserable on the worst.

You’d long accepted that he’d never like you, but that didn’t mean it didn’t bother you. Every single attempt to be friends was shot down. At least he wasn’t lying when he said he had a cold heart. It was unbelievably frustrating and you were reaching your limit.

And did.

That day you felt like the world was truly against you. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. Waking up feeling just plain awful was a great start for sure. Finally finding the strength to drag yourself to the kitchen only to somehow manage to spill coffee all over yourself and your belongings, tech included. The coffee was hot enough to leave a painful burn, and there was no doubt your laptop was completely destroyed. You tried not to cry on your way to the medbay, you felt pathetic limping to and from. The walk of shame indeed.

After cleaning up the rest of the mess and at least trying to salvage the rest of your belongings that fell victim, you decided a change of clothes would do some good. Your only priority now was to Avoid. Ghost.

The last thing you needed today was his shit.

Normally you could take what he dished out, but today whatever he had in store would most definitely destroy you. Which is exactly why you froze you heard heavy foot steps approach you. You didn’t need to look to know exactly who it was.

“Sergeant.” His tone made you wince.

You’d missed the mandatory meeting. He was really gonna let you have it.

You held your breath in preparation, and stared down at the floor.

Just hold it together and break down later.

“What? Can’t even look at me? Fucking pathetic.”

Hold it together. Hold it together. Hold it togeth-

“Look at me.”

As long as you don’t look him in the eyes you’ll be fine. You can do this. You’ll get out of this in one piece.

“In the eyes, rookie.”

Christ if he wasn’t so damn scary.

You somehow worked up the nerve to finally look at him and met instant regret. His eyes held so much anger, and knowing it was directed at you was terrifying. This man must really, truly, hate you.

You couldn’t stop the tears as soon as they began. You missed the way his eyes widened, even if only by a little bit.

“Why do you hate me?” You sobbed. “I just don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.”

He saw your hands shake as you frantically wiped your eyes, in a hurry to get away from the room, from him.

“Love, I-“ he started, but you had already disappeared.

Oh he fucked up. Big time.

#♚ #simon riley x reader #gn!reader #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #cod modern warfare #ghost mw2

[delfiore]

—MONTAUK.

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

synopsis: you remember how it used to be whilst dealing with how it is now.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: alexia baby come home the kids miss you 🥲 this was the clairo - bags fic i promised months ago but now the premise feels completely different and i've changed the title also lol. a lot happens to one's state of mind in 3 months.

After.

Under normal circumstances—as much as normal was nowadays—the silence in the apartment would feel like a blanket of comfort. It meant you were having a rest from your hectic days training and playing matches, it meant you could finally relax with the love of your life; it meant peace.

Now, the silence was deadly. It was sucking up the life in every room in this apartment, and it was draining the life out of you too.

The door clicked, and you shifted in your spot on the couch, quickly shutting off your phone on which you had bullet points typed out in the Notes app—bullet points of things you wanted—needed—to say, to lessen this inevitable pain. You cracked a smile when you heard tiny feet pattering on the floor, just as the little Pomeranian came to greet you with loving licks.

Nala was oblivious to the cracks that had been forming in her home, that have been left unamended for too long with the thinking that they would go away with time. You dreaded thinking of the day when the little pup came home from a walk and you weren’t there anymore. Would she miss you? How long until she starts to forget you?

“I got us dinner.”

“Cool,” you said, breathing in deeply. “You wanna eat now, or . . . ?”

“Sure.”

You helped her unpack the food without another word, the only sound heard was the clanking of plates as you pulled them out of the cupboard and set them on the kitchen island.

Alexia didn’t say anything either, just gingerly put the food on the plates. You felt her stiffen slightly as you walked towards her and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder.

She offered you a small smile—a forced smile—and brought the food to the table.

You cursed yourself and wished you hadn’t done it.

Before.

“And that concludes the tour of our facilities. Any questions?”

“No, I’m good.” You were way too excited to think about anything else other than the Barcelona crest on your chest.

“Great. Then, how about we go meet your future teammates? Some of them should be in the weight room.”

Patri greeted you initially, first in Spanish, then in English once she realized you weren’t catching on. Jana and Salma followed suit with friendly handshakes and quick hugs. It left the captain to be the last. And there she was; la Reina herself.

You were surprised to find that she was rubbing her hands together, waiting for her turn, almost like she was nervous. As you came to know her, you understood that she was in fact nervous when meeting new people, a polar opposite to the confident leader she was on the pitch.

But you saw the way her hazel eyes fixed on you, and as you approached her, a lingering smile played on her lips. Your heart suddenly leaped in your chest, and your cheeks felt embarrassingly warm, which you hoped she didn’t see.

You had admired her from afar, looking up to her as a role model in the game, but now that you were seeing her up close, something stirred inside you. There was something so endearing about Alexia’s shyness where you had expected assertiveness. It made her feel more down-to-earth, more like your teammate rather than a mythical figure up on a pedestal. One look at her and you understood why people had talked so highly of her—how could they not?

Extending a hand towards her, you had made your greeting, but she pulled you in for a firm and generous hug.

And that’s how they started—the butterflies, the attraction, the yearning—and they never went away.

After.

You decided that you were going to do it after dinner. Doing it during dinner is just tacky and downright disrespectful. You’d hate to be crying into your takeout after telling your girlfriend you wanted to break up.

When you snapped out of your train of thought, you realized that it was way too quiet. Alexia was eating on the other side of the table, scrolling through her phone as she did.

“Did you see Claudia’s banger of a free kick today?” You asked, smiling slightly.

Alexia looked up briefly from her phone. “Si. Really good.”

A curt answer. You nodded, and silence ensued again.

You didn’t talk to Alexia much these days. You used to be able to talk to her about anything, even in the beginning when the both of you were still testing the waters to see where you stood. When did it become like this?

Before.

Practice was going swimmingly. You found yourself catching on quickly with the rest of your teammates. Alexia has made it her mission as captain to make you feel welcome. “Anything you need, ask me,” she would say in English. You wanted to, but every time you thought about talking to her, your hands would sweat and you needed to practice what you were going to say to her. You weren’t scared that she wasn’t going to understand you, but because you knew you’d make a fool out of yourself tripping over your words.

“Hey, Alexia,” you said after practice, “I don’t know the city that well, and—well—since you do, would you be willing to show me around?”

“Si, claro.” She answered and looked around the field. “Maybe I can ask some of the girls to come with? They might know things to do that I don’t.”

Later she would explain to you that she panicked and that she knew she would be weird about it, thinking it was a date when it really was just a little outing between teammates. You wished she had treated it like a date, though, and was slightly disappointed when she mentioned bringing your teammates. Still, you had a great time watching Mapi banter with Lucy and Mariona while Alexia played the role of the disappointing mom trying to restrain her children.

You were grinning thinking back on the day when you came home. Her bashful smile after she offered to drive you home was so unlike anything you had pictured in your head before coming to Barcelona. You loved her calm nature, something that made her such a reliable captain, but also an endearing human being.

After.

You stayed seated by the dinner table and you watched her load the dishes in the washer. The scene was void of music that she would sway her hips to or a hearty conversation about a random fact she learned from one of your teammates. Now it was just robotic, lifeless movements, and your heart squeezed at the thought of what it used to be.

The end is near.

Somewhere, somehow, you gathered the courage to speak up. “Wanna watch a movie?”

And to your surprise, she turned around and said, “Sure.”

For a second, you let yourself hope that there was still something salvageable from this ruin. Then you realized that you had been here many times before, and everything accumulated and led you here to this moment.

Before.

“Really?! You’ve never seen Mean Girls?”

Alexia shook her head and chuckled. “I didn’t watch a lot of movies, Y/N. Growing up, all I had time for was football.”

“Yeah, but . . . I mean, it’s Mean Girls. That’s just a crime,” you clicked your tongue. “We’ll have to catch you up on all the classics.”

The discussion had been prompted by the imminent movie night at one of your teammates’ places. The movie of choice was Mamma Mia!, and you had been most excited to rewatch it. You and Alexia arrived together after an outing in town, and since you did so late, you both were in charge of stocking up the snacks.

“And by that, I hope you mean . . . you and me,” Alexia stuttered, leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for you to fill your bowl with popcorn.

Your lips curved up. “Yes, I mean me and you. Just me and you.”

Your captain grinned too, like a devious little kid. “Good. Just making sure.”

“¿Qué diablos está tardando tanto? (What the hell is taking so long?)” Patri called from the living room. “¡Más te vale no estar besándote en mi cocina! (You better not be making out in my kitchen!)”

You let out a surprised laugh, as Alexia cursed under her breath, wishing silently that the girls in the living room would just shut up and stop snickering. Once the bowls in your hands were filled to the brim, you turned to her with a knowing look.

“I wouldn’t have minded, you know.”

“Mind what?”

“If we were making out,” you said before leaving Alexia in the kitchen to soak in your words.

She found a seat next to you after taking a minute to calm her racing heart so that you wouldn’t notice how crazy you drove her. She felt like a teenage girl having a silly crush, but there was nothing silly about the way you looked at her. And when you put your head on her shoulder midway through the movie, she knew she was gone. Patri saw it too across the couch apparently, and her knowing grin made Alexia want to bury herself inside a hole. While she wasn’t particularly into romcoms, she was already looking forward to watching Mean Girls with you, her fleeting heart hammering in its cage at the thought of getting you alone again.

After.

The silence was deafening. You didn’t dare to look over to Alexia to gauge her reaction. The screen continued to play the movie, blissfully unaware of an earthquake that had suddenly roared to life in the space on the couch between you and Alexia.

You swallowed. She hasn’t spoken for hours.

Then, she turned to you and said, “Okay.”

Okay.

You drew a sharp breath and nodded with finality. “Okay.”

The movie was still playing, though. It was one of your favorites, but it made you cry every time you watched it because you were so touched by the story and its main characters. It was about a man—grief-stricken with the loss of his relationship—who decides to get his memories of his girlfriend wiped, but during the process, he relives everything he shared with her and slowly rues his decision. You used to enjoy it because their story was fictional, but now it all felt like one big joke, like you were one of the characters in the movie, inching towards a certain endgame that you couldn’t escape.

You wondered if there were a different script written out for you and Alexia.

“Let’s finish the movie though, yeah?” She said, finally looking over to you.

You hadn’t expected that look on her face when you looked back at her—it was something almost like desperation.

Like it meant something to her.

You nodded. It was the least you could do after dumping her. What kindness, after the neglect she had shown you, what kindness.

Before.

Alexia was shaking when she brought the two glasses of wine out to her living room, where you sat. Nala, the ever-excited little puppy that she was, followed her like a personal little cloud.

“I heard it was going to be a sad movie, so wine it is.” She said, handing you your glasses.

“It’s a cult classic, trust me. It’s one of my favorite movies ever.”

“Well, I liked Mean Girls, so I trust you.” The truth was, she would have watched any movie with you, as long as it was with you.

You were right, it was quite sad. When she looked over midway through the movie, she could see a glossy streak running down your face. You laughed it off and wiped your tears away, embarrassed that you had cried in front of her, but Alexia thought you were the prettiest.

With feather-light touches, she reached over and brushed the tip of her fingers over your cheekbone. She knew there was no going back if she went ahead with this. She wondered if there was a script written out for you and her already, and she was just following it on its path.

Her lips brushed against yours softly, and only once she felt that you started to kiss her back was she brave enough to put her hand around your waist and pull you closer.

You were grinning so wide when she pulled away, that she thought it might have been a prank and you were somehow in on it. But you put your arms around her neck and pecked her lips again.

Whatever script it was, Alexia was sure it would be one of fairy tale endings and happily ever after, because that is what you believe when you’re in love.

a/n: the movie is eternal sunshine of the spotless mind btw. made me ugly cry.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas angst #woso imagines #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso angst

[strawberryspence]

OH MY GOOOOOOOOD !!! I LOVE TURMOIL !!!

Eddie calling Steve sweetheart is canon now by the way every fanfic writer uses it. They’re not even dating yet and it’s always, “Steve, sweetheart, please hand me the towel.” or “Sweetheart, did you eat?” or “You’re wrong, sweetheart, it’s this way.”

He only ever calls Steve, Stevie or sweetheart and at first, Steve thinks it’s a joke. Like big boy, you know? Steve’e never had anyone call him pet names, it’s always him calling girls baby or babe. But then it’s three months later, and his hands get clammy and his stomach gets butterflies when Eddie calls him Sweetheart, his voice dipping lower, giving his signature cheeky smile, his dimples dipping with the slope of his smile, brown eyes shining with a glint. Steve realizes he’s in love with Eddie fucking Munson and wants to be his sweetheart.

The longer it goes on, Steve feels more special. The implications of the pet name making his heart grow twice its size. He’s never been anyone’s sweetheart. Yeah, they’re not dating and maybe Eddie doesn’t like him the same way he likes him but Steve is sweetheart to Eddie, no one else and that’s good enough for Steve. Eddie does it so often that by now no one questions it (not even the kids, who was visibly confused the first time Eddie asks them, “Where’s sweetheart?” and even more confused to find out that he was looking for Steve.) and it’s just normal that Eddie calls Steve sweetheart.

Until the whole adult (Jonathan, Nancy, Robin, Argyle) squad goes to The Hide Out to watch Corroded Coffin perform. It’s packed with people, somehow Eddie’s murder allegations brings more people. It’s after the performance and they’re all drinking with Jeff, Gareth and Paul. They’re taking shots, playing drinking games, doing normal teenage stuff in bars.

Eddie’s openly gay with them now, he’s the first to do so in the group to ease Robin in (which makes Steve fall in love with him more). So yeah, it’s normal that after a performance a few boys (even girls) approach Eddie. Steve gets jealous, yes. But he doesn’t begrudge them for it, 1. They’re not dating and 2. Have you fucking seen Eddie? With all that liner, mesh crop top showing lines of scars and tight ass jeans that leaves nothing to the imagination. Don’t even get Steve started with the way his hair is tied up.

But then, one guy is openly flirting with Eddie and Eddie’s smiling and teasing back, and Steve’s heart is suddenly lodged at his throat. Eddie invites the guy to play with them, introducing him as James, and Steve ignores the side glances his friends give him as he excuses himself to get more shots.

They’re all playing having fun, everything was going fine until James takes a shot and it goes through the wrong pipe, he’s coughing loudly and harshly. Steve, because he’s Steve, gets a bottle of water for James, passing it to Eddie, who opens it for James. Everyone’s watching them.

When it finally settles down, “Oh god, that was painful.” James was laughing and Eddie’s laughing with him as he says, “Looks like it, sweetheart.”

It’s not even Steve who reacts first. Not Robin, Not Nancy. It’s Jonathan, he’s halfway through a drink and the glass just slips out his hands, hitting the ground and breaking into pieces as he gasps. Jonathan’s not even looking at the broken glass, just at Eddie. Eddie’s visibly confused, asking him if he’s okay.

When it fully loads to the whole group, Robin’s almost immediately up on her feet, fists first, she’s drunk, but not drunk enough to not think straight, but drunk enough to have the strength of an elephant. It takes Nancy and Argyle to hold her back. She’s screaming incoherent strings of curses. Eddie’s still confused, James looks downright scared.

Steve’s just sitting there. Open mouth, looking at the commotion as it sinks in. Maybe it was him, maybe it was all in his head, maybe he made it all up and maybe he wasn’t that special. Maybe sweetheart was just a name Eddie calls anyone, any guy and Steve was just another guy. Because why would anyone reserve the name sweetheart for Steve fucking Harrington? He's not that special.

He stands up, making Robin pause her rant as Steve holds out his hand to her, “You’re drunk. Let’s go home.” Robin stares at him, their own version of silent conversation before Steve adds, his voice wavering, “Please.” Robin nods, takes his hand, pulling him out of the place without questions.

Eddie’s left there, gobsmacked confused as to what just happened. James excuses himself, maybe because Jonathan’s glaring at the two of them like they’re Vecna.

“What happened?”

Jonathan’s glare intensifies. Nancy’s quietly judging him. Gareth's looking at him like he's the biggest idiot in town. Jeff and Paul are avoiding eye contact.

Argyle's the one who speaks first, "Brochacho, you just called James, sweetheart.”

“So?” Eddie asks. He’s actually confused to what the hell just happened.

“My dude, you only call our beautiful Steve, sweetheart. Sweetheart is Steve. Steve is Sweetheart. Only him. We’re just surprised you called another dude sweetheart. That’s why Buckley’s ready to fight you for Steve’s honor.”

Only then does Eddie realize what he’s done.

Fuck, he’s so screwed.

PART 2

#MWAHHSHAHAHSHSAHHSHA #lemme finish my paper nad ill write a part 2 #steddie #steddie rants #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #daeheadcanons #steddie headcanon #steddie fanfic #steddie fic rec #i love steddie #skittle six #spicy six

[sp0o0kylights]

Still working on the BB fic but have another snippet of that Stobin Timeloop AU. This can be read as stand-alone.

Steve Harrington snaps on a completely random Friday.

Well--not completely random. It's both the day of the Big Sportsball Game as well as Hellfire’s grand finale--but neither of those things should matter to Harrington.

Not that he needs a reason to lose his shit--Eddie’s long used to being threatened, insulted or outright attacked out of the blue. 

It’s the whole reason he built up the persona he had--because the scarier he was, the more people left him alone. 

Unfortunately it would appear that Hawkins fallen king hadn’t gotten the memo, given he seemed hellbent on kicking Eddie’s ass. 

"Come on Harrington, we can talk about this." Eddie says, as he’s shoved back, scrambling for a way out, as the former jock gets up in his face. 

The guy had called out his name the second he pulled into the parking lot (sans Buckley or any of the freshman they shared, which has Eddie's back up instantly) but Eddie had simply ignored him.

It was too early to deal with whatever had Harrington sounding like his ass was on fire.

Pity Steve had charged over instead, a look in his eyes that said whatever happened next was going to hurt.

Eddie carries a switchblade, but hes never had to use it before. 

Had instead made an entire production about having it, including cleaning his nails with the blade or stabbing it into the cheap wood desks when a teacher stepped out of the room. 

Had shouted that he’d pull it even when Harrington had charged him, but the guy didn't even blink.

Thus forcing Eddie to confront the fact that he really doesn’t want to stab someone.

Particularly not someone whose family has the police in their pockets (or did with Chief Hopper, though Eddie doesn’t doubt that the Harrington Hoard won’t immediately grab onto the next pig to get promoted.) 

His panic leaves him flailing but somehow, (and unfairly Eddie may add) Steve seems to expect this. 

Knows how to navigate it.

Eddie's back hits the metal of the van and he winces, expecting the hit, the pain. 

If he can duck, if he can make it so the first punch only grazes him, he can grab his fucking knife and wave it around, see if that gets the asshole off him, except--

Instead of hitting him, Steve reaches past, to yank one of the van’s passenger doors open. 

Herds Eddie inside, slamming the door behind him before snatching a fistful of Eddie's shirt and hauling him forward. 

"What--" Eddie asked, confused, right before Steve smashes their lips together. 

It's a hard kiss, practically a claim. 

Steve kisses him like a drowning man gasps for air and Eddie can only fall into it, stunned. 

(The stunned portion only lasts long enough for Eddie to blink before he's kissing back, hot and heavy.

He's been horny for Harrington since the asshole did a trick shot that showed off his ass and involved flipping Hagan off at the same time, sue him.) 

Thinks as he does, that this is probably a trap.

That even if it isn't, then whatever it is Steve will make him regret it--even if he started it. 

(Not like Eddie can claim he wasn’t enjoying it, either. He’s giving as good as he gets, dick quickly overwhelming any rational thought in his brain. 

He clings to Steve like a lifeline, gasping when the jocks takes his bottom lip between his teeth and lightly drags it out, begging to be let into Eddie's mouth. 

This isn't reality.

 Cannot be reality, must be the start of a wet dream or some…vivid hallucinations because when Eddie grinds himself upwards into Steve, cock chasing friction, Steve presses back.) 

"Fuck." Eddie moans when Steve finally releases him, panting up at the ceiling. 

"Do I have your attention now?" Steve asks, voice raspy and Eddie finds himself able to die happy, because that tone is downright possessive. 

"Yeah big boy, you have me--it." Eddie corrects himself fast, the words practically blending together. 

Steve gives a strangled sort of laugh at that, and instead of getting up, presses his face down onto Munsons shoulder. 

Eddie expects him to spring up at any moment. Declare insanity maybe, or far more likely threaten him about telling anybody.

If past bar hookups were an indicator, he'd  throw a few slurs in for good measure. 

(And those men had been at a gay bar, not Hawkins high school parking lot.) 

It's nothing Eddie can't handle, but Steve…isn't doing any of them.

Instead his breathings gone weird, body trembling--and Eddie can see how Steve is holding himself up.

Like he's worried about Eddie taking his weight.

Slowly, carefully, he raises a hand to the back of Steve's hair.

He presses in slow, waiting to be yelled at, waiting to be rejected but never is. 

"You can lay on me, Harrington, I won't break." Eddie tells him and knows his voice is too sweet when he says it.

Too lovey dovey, too awed. 

Too late, for him to recover into a normal voice but fuck it. Not like Eddie was known for making smart decisions. 

Nothing could have prepared him from the wounded noise Steve makes in return. 

"Hey--hey." Eddie says, in rising panic. "I've got you." 

"I know." Steve raises, and head coming up at last, cheeks red and tear stained but his eyes are clear.

Clear and fucking haunted.

 "I know you do, Eds, but we don't have time. Which is why I need you to listen to me, because I'm not the Steve Harrington you know."  

Utterly reeling from being called "Eds" it takes Eddie a moment to digest what was just said. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Steve sighs, a blast of frustration, and Eddie finds himself automatically scritching at Steve's head. 

For some reason that seems to help. 

"Your D&D finale’s tonight, right?" 

"Yes." Eddie says slowly, his mind spinning uselessly, every coherent thought derailed by something new. The moles on Steve's neck. The way he shifts, how his leg is tangling with Eddie's, awkwardly because it's cramped as shit back here. 

"I'm way past this. I've lived this. More than once." 

Aha. 

So it's a mental breakdown Steve's having. 

"I'm still waiting for you to make sense, Harrington." Eddie says to buy himself time to think. 

"Steve." The younger man corrects and he's holding Eddie's gaze. "And I'm not making sense because saying it sounds stupid." 

Eddie can't help the little derisive laugh that breaks out of him. "I hear a lot of stupid things, one more won't kill me." 

"I know, you're famous for your rants about them." Steve snarks back, but it's teasing. 

Friendly and familiar, like he's used to bantering. 

Not just that, but bantering with Eddie, specifically.

He doesn't know what to do with that, so he tugs a little on Harrington's too perfect hair. 

Demands an explanation with that little jolt--and somehow, Steve doesn't haul off and punch him for it. Instead a shudder rollers through him, eyes closing just a touch and--Oh.

Oh, Harri-Steve, likes it.

"I'm from the future." Steve says, which does indeed sound stupid. 

Eddie blinks. "What?" 

"Robin and I are stuck in a time loop-- we keep living this week over and over." He continues, only now he's leaning his head against Eddie's arm. 

"Every single time, you take the longest to get on board and buy in, and every single time I fail to get everyone out alive so fuck it. Fuck all of it--I'm speedrunning this part." 

Oh this is beyond breakdown. 

This is 'took something he shouldn't have and then some' and Eddie knows how to trip sit. 

He just…doesn't want to get punched for being the first person Steve released his repressed homosexual urges out on, drugged or not. 

(The fact Steve's still letting Eddie pet him like a cat absolutely does not have anything to do with it, no sir.)

because his mouth bypasses his rational mind most days and today is no exception. 

"Okay." Eddie says. "Let's say you are from the future and not shot up with what I'm assuming you were told was steroids and was very much not."

 Steve rolls his eyes. 

He never bothered to dry his cheeks and Eddie does it now for him, with the hand that's not in Steve's hair.

Steve leans into it, which somehow feels like the craziest part of it all.

"Prove to me that you're from the future." Eddie challenges.

"Oh the kissing wasn't enough? Fine." Steve bitches, before rattling off facts like he's blowing through answers on Jeopardy. 

"You call your guitar sweetheart and apologize for cheating on it anytime you use your other guitar, who is named Arwin. Your favorite mug in Wayne's collection is the Garfield one and you can play Master of Puppets by heart even though the album came out last month."

"And this is coming from the future and not one of the freshmen we somehow share custody over…?"  Eddie says, even while alarm shoots down his spine.

Had he told the kids about his Garfield mug? 

That his acoustic was named Arwin…?

He suddenly couldn't recall but that made the most sense. Had to make sense.

Steve huffs, annoyed.

Its very cute, and Eddie bites his own lip hard to keep himself focused. 

A finger dips under Eddie's collar, wrapping gently around the chain that sits there before he can react.

 "This," Steve emphasizes with a gentle tug, "was your mom's. She gave it to you the morning of the accident." 

Eddie's world stops.

Not the same way it stopped when Steve kissed him, it stopped in a way they felt like ice had been dumped over his head. A flash freeze that squeezed his chest, claws digging into his exposed heart.

The only person who knew about the pick was Wayne. 

No one else, not even his band, his closest friends, knew the origin of it. 

To tell someone that, to say it was not only his mothers but that shed given it to him the morning before some drunk asshole t boned her shitty, shitty car and killed her-- was akin to handing over step by step instructions on how to hurt him. 

Eddie would go to the ends of the earth for that pick, and he had never let anyone know just how important it was to him.

Except Steve Harrington, apparently. 

"Okay." Eddie says, "Okay, you're from the future. You said--" He pauses, swallows. 

Fights down his disbelief even as the dots connect, because why else would he tell anyone about his pick? 

The only reason he can possibly conjure is if he needed someone to give it back to Wayne, because he, for whatever reason, couldn't.

 "You said you're reliving this because you can't get everyone out alive?" Eddie managed to get out, grappling with the knowledge that "everyone" included him. 

"Yeah." 

 "Are you also my boyfriend or something?" 

"If we can make it there, then yes." Steve says, slightly hysterical. "And really? You're finally gonna believe me?" 

"Are you arguing here for me to believe you or not, Steve, you're giving conflicting signals--" 

"No it's--you've fought me on this man. I've tried every method of getting you with us and every time you argue until the bats show up but one kiss and you're all for it?" 

"Give yourself some credit, it was a grand slam of a kiss.” Eddie replies, because it was by far and large the best kiss of his life. 

He’d follow Steve to hell and back if more kisses like that were on the table, mental breakdown or no. 

Steve snorts at him, a half-hysterical sound. “Noted.” He says. 

Then; “You believe me though?”

“Not at all!” Eddie chirps with a wobbly grin that betrays him.  “But on the off chance you’re right the uh…the thing about my pick…” He trails off self consciously. 

“I should have guessed that was what it. You only ever tell me that when you’re dying.” Steve fills in for him, and it’s weird, to know that for two seconds Steve Harrington apparently read his face and correctly guessed what he was thinking about. 

Abruptly decides he doesn’t want to think of his impending doom any longer. 

“So how about we skip the dying part and focus on the boyfriend part?” He says, poking at Steve’s cheek. 

Steve makes a face at him, before grabbing a his hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“We gotta fix this mess first, Munson.” He tells him gently, looking up at him through his lashes and oh, that is a look Eddie will keep for the rest of his life. 

“Lead on, lassie.” Eddie tells him to hide how dazed he feels. “Let’s go save the world and shit.” 

With one final kiss to the palm of Eddie’s hand, Steve does. 

#steddie #actual steddie for once lol #miscommunication #stobin timeloop #this starts off kinda dub con but quickly turns #steves just desperate lool #eddie munson #eddie is like those owls who puff themselves up to look mean #robin is gonna be equally annoyed the kissing is what finally gets eddie on board fast #steve harrington #0o0 fanfics #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

[yandere-romanticaa]

I honestly can't get the image of soft! Cyno out of my head.

People are terrified to the bone whenever someone even so dares to utter his name but you, you sing it like a song and he's always listening, always admiring the sound of your voice. He sits in his office and stares blankly at the documents in front of him, his mind occupied by the thoughts of you - what were you doing, with who are you with? Do you miss him, why aren't you visiting him in his office? Ah, he gets so grumpy when he doesn't see you for a period of time, no matter how short it may be. He prowls the halls of the renowned Akademiya, his entire aura and being darker than the night itself, his eyes feel like daggers to whom ever dares to even take a single glance at him. The General Mahamantra is in a foul mood and Cyno thinks he's being subtle.

He has no idea that the students have legitimate escape routes prepared and other safety precautions in store for these dark times. No one wants to see Cyno on a good day, let alone a bad one. (But not you though, no, you never avoid him... You come to him willingly, like a cute little puppy, the thought alone just makes him want to smile.... He'll be more than happy to even give you some treats if it means you'll stay more.)

Cyno also has no clue that everyone managed to catch on that he is absolutely smitten. Those longing looks of his leave nothing to the imagination and despite his harsh words and tone, Cyno always perks up whenever someone says your name. (People are careful with this though. No one wants to get flayed alive by the General Mahamantra is they make the mistake of speaking ill of you... )

And even if you do something reckless, foolish, downright dangerous, Cyno still doesn't have the heart to be completely mad at you. One of his worst nightmares is seeing you all alone in the desert, lost and bloody, surrounded by the enemy, all of which want to end your life for good. To add salt to the wound, he can do nothing and ponder over the fact that he wasn't there to save you, to be there for you.

That's why he can get so irritated and impatient with you sometimes.

"Stay inside the city." he orders you, but you always just brush him off with a smile and a wave. Don't be so casual with him about this, please, he isn't joking around. His bleeding heart can only handle so much, he doesn't need this excess stress.

"If you aren't in the city, I won't be able to watch over you..." is what he wants to say but the words die out on his lips as he watches you go, his spear in hand and his chest aching with pain.

He can do nothing but watch and sulk from the shadows, sucking in the gentle smiles you so carelessly give to strangers as he sharpens his weapon, ready to end anything and anyone if they dare taint you.

#yandere cyno x reader #yandere cyno #genshin cyno x reader #cyno x reader #genshin cyno #cyno #genshin impact #genshin #yandere genshin impact