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kittenintheden · 3 months

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You Can Read Me Anything - Part 1

welp, they did it, fam. @fangswbenefits and @bludazey egged me on to flesh out a one-shot based on this prompt and I have done so. this is part 1. THERE WILL BE A PART 2 I SWEAR.

Edit: PART 2 IS UP!

***

Druidic Tav grew up in a nomadic clan that recorded their history through spoken word and song rather than written text. As such, she's illiterate, and one charming-ish vampire offers to help her with reading lessons and a whole lot more. Out of the goodness of his heart, of course.

Then one night, she unwittingly brings him smut for their lesson.

Rating: E Word Count: 3500 words Content: illiterate Tav, Astarion being a shit, but also being cute, innocent Tav, suggestive dialogue, secondhand smut via fake bodice ripper

AO3 Link

"Astarion?" Tav says quietly, poking her head around the open flap of his tent. She finds him sitting cross-legged inside, his eyes scanning over the book laying open in his lap. He looks up at the inquiry and lifts his chin with a cavalier smile.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite companion," he says, voice lilting. "What can I do for you?"

Tav clears her throat and ducks inside, settling on her knees just beyond. She has a book of her own in her hands, fingers impatiently tapping against the cover. "I wondered if you might be up for giving me another reading lesson."

He hums, tipping his own tome shut and setting it aside. "Something from that broken up old temple we found today? Give it here, let's see."

Hesitantly, she holds it out for him and he accepts it, gaze scanning the binding. He lifts a brow, then flips it open and peruses a page. Then another. He snaps it shut again.

"I don't know if this is the best book for a… ah," he says, contemplating his next words. His mouth tics up on one side as he glances her up and down. "Reading lesson."

Tav frowns. "Why not? I thought you'd be interested, given the picture on the cover."

Astarion peers down at the cover and huffs. "Well. I can certainly see why you'd think so. The resemblance is... resemblant."

It's a finely-wrought etching of two people, one swooning against the other. The figure behind supports the other about the waist with one hand, the opposite pulling their hair aside to reveal their neck. The dominant figure leans toward their throat as if for a kiss, pointed teeth showing past their lips.

Tav shrugs. "Is it too advanced? Is that why?"

Astarion gives a sharp laugh and puts his fingers in front of his mouth as if he's trying to put it back. "Erm, no, dear. I think you could puzzle through it just fine."

"Okay..." Tav says, perplexed. "Then what?'

"Bleeding Hells," he mutters, rubbing a forefinger in the space between his eyes. "Why don't you try reading the title out for me? Let's start there."

Tav takes the book back and looks at the lettering on the front. It's the Common alphabet, so not too terrible to parse, though she’s still working on some of the more complex blended sounds.

"In..." she starts, running her finger beneath the words and feeling the soft leather beneath. "the... Embra... Embrace?"

Astarion is leaning on one hand and he gives a patient nod.

"In the Embrace... of... the... Nig... Nig-het..."

"Night, sweet thing," Astarion says softly. "G beside H is silent."

"Right," Tav says, looking again. "So, In the Embrace of the Night... stalker."

"Try again."

Tav studies the letters. They spot their mistake. "Nightsucker."

Astarion nods.

She looks very pleased with herself, beaming at him. "Got it! What's the problem, again?"

The vampire closes his eyes and holds his hands in prayer position in front of his lips as if he's steeling himself. He opens his scarlet eyes and moves his hands away. "Shall I read you a page or two to start? Maybe then you'll understand."

Thrilled, Tav nods and returns the tome, sitting herself more comfortably as Astarion leafs through the pages.

"Ooooh," he says, his voice lifting. "This passage looks promising." He lowers the book in front of him so Tav can scoot around and follow along as he reads, committing symbol to sound.

Astarion's carefully kept fingernails run along the text inside, showing where he's reading. In his practiced, soothing Upper City voice, he begins to read. "A creature of the night is good for only two things: destruction or seduction. Perhaps both at once, if a person is lucky. And tonight, Yolanda is very, very lucky."

Tav subconsciously nods along, feeling a little thrill of pride every time she mentally catches the word before Astarion says it aloud. Her companion continues to read about Yolanda and her new vampiric friend, until the story takes... a bit of a turn.

"Yolanda gasps rapturously as Armondo suckles at the crease of her thigh, skin flushing as his sinful tongue laps closer and closer to the place she needs it most, to her swollen secret spot, and when at last he catches it in a languid swirl, she keens out his-"

Tav puts her hands on either side of the book over Astarion's and forces him to snap it shut, her cheeks flaming. Slowly, she turns her head to find Astarion's face very, very close, a look of deep amusement in his eye and a smirk stretching his lips.

"I have to go," Tav says. "Keep the book." Her legs aren't immediately cooperative, but when she manages to get them to respond, she scrambles inelegantly for the exit. "Good night."

"Sweet dreams," Astarion calls after her, still smirking. Once she’s gone, he opens the book back up to that same passage.

"What will Armondo do next, I wonder," he whispers.

After about a minute, when he's sure Tav is safely tucked away in her own tent and likely screaming into her makeshift pillow, he clears his throat and squirms, reaching down to adjust the front of his trousers. They've gone quite tight.

That’s probably normal.

---

Tav’s washing some of her delicates out in the river the next day when the vampire she’s actively been avoiding finally finds her. She glances his way briefly then looks immediately out at the Chionthar like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen.

“Hello,” she says too brightly, wadding up her soaked underthings in her hands and wringing them out.

Astarion, to his credit, is acting perfectly natural. He sets himself on a flat rock near her and tilts his face toward the afternoon sun, eyes closed as he soaks up its rays. “Hello, darling,” he lilts. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Her laugh is tinny and high. “What? No, I…”

He tips his head forward and sets his gaze on her, amusement clear on his face.

With an exasperated hiss, she gathers her delicates up and puts them into the sack she’s brought with her. She’ll hang them up to dry inside her tent. “Fine, maybe a little. I’m embarrassed.”

“Of what?” he says, head tilting just so.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Of accidentally asking you to read me porn? Of being too dense to take the hint from the cover or the title? Of needing help to read in the first place? Take your pick.”

Astarion laughs, though not in a mocking way. “You’re quite entertaining, do you know that?” He turns his body more fully toward her, tenting one leg so he can rest his forearm on his knee. “I’ve met many, many literate people who are far duller and denser than you. And they didn’t even have the excuse of growing up severed from civilized society.”

Tav sticks her tongue out at him, but she smiles nonetheless. Her nomadic druidic clan didn’t put much stock in the written word – they shared their knowledge through spoken story and song. It’s a system that served her perfectly well up until she was plucked off the face of the world by a planeshifting aberrant ship.

Why she’d chosen Astarion of all her newfound companions to be her reading tutor, she didn’t rightly know. Gale seemed the most obvious choice, or Wyll. Both would have been kind and patient teachers. But there was something about her guarded, bristly friend that she wanted to understand, like why he spent most of his free time buried in more books than even her wizard companion bothered with. Astarion had been surprisingly amicable to the idea when she’d brought it up.

And so the lessons had begun, as had the increase in his flirting.

She knows his nature, of course. The lot of them had barely been together for seventy-two hours before he’d tried to make a snack of her and she’d agreed to allow it, much to his surprise. What was a bit of blood, really, if it meant giving another being strength? She could spare it.

Without meaning to, she reaches up to brush her fingers across her neck at the site of his latest bite. The wound is gone, healed over with her own natural magic, but she remembers the icy sting.

Astarion doesn’t fail to notice, his tented leg swaying ever so slightly to and fro. “You like it, don’t you?” he says.

“Like what?” she says, grimacing at how bad she is at nonchalance.

“Don’t play coy,” he teases, leaning toward her. “I can feel it when I feed on you, you know. Your little shakes of excitement.”

“Little shakes from blood loss, you mean,” Tav snaps, clutching up her bag a bit too tightly in her hands.

Astarion raises his hands to placate her. “All right, if we insist on living in denial,” he says. “I’ll continue to play teacher.”

“Well, good,” she says, dropping her eyes to the space between them. “Because that’s what this is. Teaching.”

“Of course,” he says, mouth lifted on one side.

Tav huffs and gets to her feet. She goes six steps before she turns on her heel and walks back to him, “You know what? Fine. Another lesson tonight. Same book.”

His brows tick up. “This ought to be good,” he says. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yes, you will,” she says, making a little jerk with her fist near her thigh. She seems to feel this is a fitting end to the interaction because she turns on her heel and stomps off, bag of wet undergarments in hand.

“Premonition of things to come?” Astarion says to himself, wriggling his shoulders and quietly laughing at his own joke. There’s a moment where he realizes he’s smiling his real smile. He pulls his lips back over his teeth and clears his throat, straightening his shirt before he gets up to occupy his time until better plans come along.

---

Astarion dramatically reads another passage of smut aloud and Tav is doing her level best to keep her thighs pressed tightly together. She can practically smell herself, so she’s fairly certain that her reading partner, who happens to be a literal predator, certainly can. Her cheeks must be scarlet.

“‘Armondo, darkness in my heart!’ Yolanda shrieks to the rafters.”

Her companion throws up his hand toward the roof of his tent, beaming down at the page he reads. They’ve both long since abandoned the finger on the text method in favor of his theatrics.

“The nightsucker crawls over his conquest like a panther.” Astarion reads from his whole chest, clearly having the time of his life. “He has claimed her once already and she remains unsatiated, mewling beneath him like a simpering kitten.”

Tav doesn’t think either of them are pretending this is an actual reading lesson anymore. At least, she isn’t. She’s too stubborn and too mortified to admit that this was a mistake. So here she sits while the prettiest man she’s ever met continues to regale her with complete filth.

Worse, she doesn’t hate it.

She squeezes her thighs together tighter.

“‘I will feed on you once more,’ Armondo purrs in his deep baritone.” Astarion drops his voice to match and Tav can’t help the giggle that bubbles up her throat, though she tries to catch it in her hand.

Astarion continues. “‘But first, I will drink of your nectar.’ His fingers roam down the hills and valleys of her skin, his mouth following, until he reaches her lush garden and the coveted rose within, his tongue seeking hidden depths-”

Tav interrupts him with a groan as she covers her eyes. “Oh gods, not again.”

The vampire takes pity on her at last and tips the book shut with one hand, placing his palm over the top of it where it rests in his lap. “You surprise me,” he says with a light laugh. “I’d have thought you’d want to hear tell of a lad with a gilded tongue who knows his way around a lady’s flower.”

She covers her entire face and screams into her hands a little. When she’s calmed, she lowers her hands to her folded knees and looks to the side. Before she can stop herself, she blurts, “Do a lot of people do that?”

Astarion, who had been reaching for a different book so he could at least give her the semblance of an actual lesson, stops mid-motion. He turns his head toward her and says, “What?”

Tav gives a rapidfire laugh and pulls her knees to her chest, rocking a bit. She glances at his face and away again so quickly it’s nearly imperceptible. “I mean, it’s common enough to be in a book, so I imagine it’s fairly common… place?” she stammers. “Seems like people enjoy it. Right?”

Astarion stares. “Tav.”

She scratches a spot behind her ear and doesn’t meet his eyes. “Hm?”

“Tav,” Astarion says again, the word harder.

She huffs and looks him in the eye, face completely flushed.

He’s still staring. "No one’s ever gone down on you?"

Tav puts her hands to her blushing cheeks and glares at him. "No. I didn't think it was something people... usually did."

He gives an incredulous laugh. Completely bewildered. "Darling, are you... are you a virgin?"

"No!" she says again with as much offense as she can muster. "I've been with people. Two. Two people."

"Well, they can't have been very good," he scoffs. "My gods. You poor, poor dear.”

“Okay, okay, stop making fun of me.” She flaps her hands at him. “I just thought it sounded… I don’t know. Nice?”

“Nice?” Astarion breathes through his disbelieving smile before he swallows his incredulity and pulls it back together. “I’m not making fun, my sweet. Only mourning on your behalf that you’ve experienced such flops. I wish you better future lovers.”

“Ugh,” she groans again, going to her hands and knees. “I’m leaving now. And I’m taking this book back.”

She goes to reach for it and he shrinks away, his palm pressing tighter to the cover. “No!”

When she startles at his outburst and looks at him, she catches the scarcest fraction of what looks like panic on his face before his features reform themselves into his usual smoldering smirk. It’s so fast she’s sure she imagined it.

“This is mine,” he purrs. “You gave it to me. No take-backsies.”

“Oh, fine,” she snaps at him before she makes her exit. He half-expects her to burst into a flurry of fur and feather in her huff, but she remains person-shaped.

When she’s gone, he blinks after her several times before he dares move the book from his lap, straightening his leg and wincing. He reaches a hand to adjust the rigid length standing out along his thigh under his trousers.

It’s been pinching for a minute.

---

He won’t leave her in peace.

Oh, he’s nice enough. Courteous enough not to be a complete scamp when the others are near, which she makes sure they are, frequently.

Unfortunately, he catches her alone on one of her daily nature walks by dropping out of a tree to block her path. She glowers at him as he bends forward, hands behind his back, and gives her his very best charmer’s smile.

“You haven’t been by my tent for the last few nights,” he says. “Whyever not?”

She rolls her eyes and steps around him, continuing down the path. He immediately follows.

“You must keep up with your studies, darling,” he says as he falls into step beside her. “Else you’ll lose all your freshly acquired skills.”

Tav sighs. “Gale’s been helping me.”

Astarion stops short and she gets several steps ahead before she bothers to look around for him.

“Gale?” he sneers. Under her gaze, he rapidly regains his composure and draws his shoulders back, giving his light laugh. “That must be terribly boring.”

She shrugs. “I figured I’d put you out enough.”

He tucks his chin. “Is that what you think? That I didn’t enjoy our time together? Because I assure you it’s very much the opposite.” He tosses his head and gives a cheeky grin. “I’ve many more lessons I could offer, if you’d like.”

Tav arches an eyebrow at him. “Like what?” she says as she turns to walk the path again.

Astarion retakes his place at her side. “Did you know I speak several languages?”

“Is that so?” she says. “I speak three. Common, druidic, and bad druidic.”

“Well, there you go,” he says. “Interested in learning more?”

To illustrate his point, he slips seamlessly into a flowing, silky language she presumes to be Elvish. From that, his words go harder and sharper. Finally, they edge into something guttural.

Despite herself, she smiles and looks sidelong at him. “Did you make that last one up?”

“Absolutely not, how dare you,” he says. “I also read shady secret code, but that’s neither here nor there, really.”

Tav contemplates. “The first one was pretty, I guess.”

“An Elvish language lesson it is, then.” He smiles wickedly. "Go on, repeat after me."

He says something in Elvish, a phrase with flowing vowels and rounded words that sound delicious on the tongue.

Tav forces herself to stop staring at his mouth as he speaks. "Say again?" she says, tucking her hair behind her ear and focusing on the ground, trying to pay closer attention to the sound of the words.

He repeats the phrase.

With a slight frown, she repeats it back almost perfectly. Years and years around a campfire learning the tales of her people prepared her for it.

"Oh," Astarion says. "Your intonation is... quite good."

She risks a look at him and finds him peering at her with eyes half-lidded, that same wicked smile on his lips.

Her frown deepens. "What did you just have me say?"

"Only that I'm beautiful and I deserve nice things," he says with a flourish of his hand. "Which is true."

Tav looks him up and down, but he seems sincere enough, so she continues on her walk and he stays in step, the air between them full of the language of his ancestry. She absorbs it as she absorbs the sun.

---

The next day, Shadowheart leads a dapple-gray mare laden with supplies through the camp. Wyll comes along to help her unload and the pair make small talk until the last sack is removed from the horse’s back and she shifts back into humanoid form.

“Appreciate the help, Tav,” Shadowheart says. “That would’ve taken several trips without you.”

Tav beams at her. “You could’ve taken Lae’zel, you know. Pretty sure she could lift me. While I’m in horse form.”

The cleric gives her a sardonic look. “Where’s your bloodsucking shadow?” she quips back.

Tav laughs. “Okay, I deserved that. I think he’s hunting.”

Shadowheart hums. “He could at least bring the body back for the rest of us once in a while.” She sets down her last crate and dusts her hands off. “That’s enough components for me to replenish our potion stock. What do you need?”

“I could use two or three more vials of Oil of Accuracy,” Tav admits. “You wouldn’t think a lioness’ claws needed to be more accurate, but you’d be wrong.”

“Done,” Shadowheart says. “I’ll have them to you by tomorrow morning.”

Tav nods her appreciation and gives Shadowheart a clap on the shoulder as she walks past. On a whim, she throws out one of the Elvish phrases Astarion taught her in thanks.

“... what did you just say to me?” Shadowheart says.

Tav turns. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought you’d speak Elvish, too. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Shadowheart shakes her head. “No, no. I do speak Elvish. I want you to repeat what you just said.”

Blinking in confusion, Tav does so.

The cleric’s expression can only be called disbelieving. “Yes, that’s what I thought you said. Who taught you that?”

“Astarion,” Tav says, twisting her staff in her hands. “Gods, did I say it wrong?”

Shadowheart laughs into her hand, then sobers and clears her throat. “No, your ear is surprisingly good. Thank you for that. Mind if I teach you one to say next time you see him?”

“Really?” Tav says, thrilled. “I’d love that.”

They spend a few moments committing a new phrase to Tav’s memory and then Shadowheart sends her on her merry way, unable to drop the smile from her face.

Wyll comes up beside her, having finally emptied the last of the nearby crates. He holds a silver mug out to Shadowheart and lifts his own toward his mouth.

“What did that phrase Astarion taught her really mean?” he asks as he puts his drink to his lips.

Shadowheart holds her mug in both hands and leans in closer. “It’s not a direct translation, but… think along the lines of, ‘I will take you between my thighs until you forget your breath.’”

Wyll chokes and spits out his drink chivalrously in the direction opposite Shadowheart. He coughs and brings up an arm to wipe his mouth.

“And what did you teach her back?” he wheezes.

Shadowheart smirks. “‘If you wish to drink of my fountain, speak it with your lips to mine.’”

Wyll leans forward to put his hands on his knees and wheezes again. “Oh, that… that’s going to be a thing.”

“I hope so,” Shadowheart says, taking a draught from her own cup.

PART 2

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion smut #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #look y'all asked for this #so it's yours now #kitten writes

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bakubunny · 4 months

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daddy katsuki x bunny reader drabble. it’s longer than i expected it to be, but it’s been on my mind for a little while now. i’m still very new to piss play and i’ve never written pet play so? here’s smth new ig. idk. >.< have some daddy kats food. i’ll see you with the next one. ♡

this lovely little fic by @neon-gothicc came to mind when i went back for some editing, so i wanted to share it!

tw: f!reader, aged up characters, daddy kink, heavy pet play, piss play, d/s dynamics, olfactophilia, sex toys, humiliation, pet names: sweetie, bunny, baby bunny, little bun, etc., katsuki swears a lot (ig), being a top pro hero means a top tier private office, sry this one’s out there

thinkin abt daddy katsuki and his pretty pet he’s trained so well…. don’t be mistaken, you’re still a dumb bunny, you can’t do that much, being one so easily bored or distracted. but you’re obedient; he knows how how much his baby bun just wants to be good and please him.

instead of being on patrol, it’s a slow day in the office for him, and you’re lucky enough to be kneeling by his side. he’s been exceptionally generous today, giving you a soft princess pillow for your knees and kneeling stool to keep you comfortable as long as possible. your head is resting on his thigh as he types away, his hand drifting down to pet your head occasionally.

there was, however, one issue that had a cold sweat forming on your back. katsuki had you drinking water all morning with not a single chance to relieve yourself. you nudged his thigh with your nose. he looked down to see your pleading eyes.

“i told ya, after this report, daddy can take you to go potty. not til then,” he said.

the slightest whine left your throat.

“keep it up, and you’ll wait longer, bun.”

katsuki pushed his chair back. he gave a sweeping motion of two fingers toward the open space. you left the comfort of your stool and crawled under his desk. he pulled himself back in, legs spread.

“rest.”

despite the discomfort filling your body, you obeyed, fingers curling tightly around the hem of the short skirt flowing down from your waist, the bottoms of your feet pressing into the fat of your bare ass. you nuzzled your face into katsuki’s soft, warm bulge, resting in the space he created. even through his pants, his scent was overwhelming, intoxicating as you breathed him in. he watched your eyes roll and flutter shut as he reached down to pet your head.

“‘s a good girl. gimme just a little more time,” he said. “n’ don’t you dare make a mess on this damn floor. you’ll regret it.”

you nearly jolted as the vibrator he’d left in your cunt that morning turned on again. another whimper escaped your lips. but katsuki was gracious.

“what did i just say, hmm? you can wait.”

your body felt so full as your head swirled with pleasure, spinning from the pressure of the vibrator inside and the fight you had with your body to keep from relieving yourself. after what felt like ages but was really only ten minutes, katsuki closed his laptop and pulled back once more, met with the same sad, glossy eyes.

“don’t look so pathetic. you’re fine. ass up,” he said.

not one to hesitate with release in sight, you crawled out and put your ass in the air, face pressed into the pillow before you as your skirt fell forward, exposing yourself fully to him. katsuki administered a few painful smacks to your ass as your toes curled, and you swallowed hard. you mewled as he pulled out the slick covered vibrator and dropped it by your face, a string of arousal clinging to it before it hit the pillow. your cheeks grew hot.

“tch. can’t tell if you need to piss or cum.” katsuki slid two fingers into your heat.

you bit back a cry as he fingered your cunt hard, feeling you clench around him erratically.

“‘s this what ya really wanted? want me to make you cum?” he asked.

the rough pad of katsuki’s fingers rubbed circles into your aching clit. a small trickle of piss escaped as your orgasm drew closer.

katsuki gave your ass a harsh smack. “what did i fuckin’ say about makin’ a mess on the floor, huh? answer me.”

“daddy i'm sorry, i needa go so bad,” you cried. “please, i wanna be good.”

“cum without pissin’ everywhere n’ maybe you can be,” he sneered.

tears streamed across your face. a quiet moan slipped from you as katsuki’s fingers curled a little more. a shudder ran down your spine.

“you can do it, show me you can be a good girl,” he continued. you could hear the smirk in his tone. “i’ll even walk ya to the litter box n’ hold your hand.”

heat flooded your face. you whimpered. your legs shook when his thick, callous fingers pumped deep into your cunt as his pace increased.

“c’mon baby bunny, cum for me. cum on daddy’s hand. lemme see you fall apart,” katsuki said softly.

your mouth fell open in a pant as you clenched hard around his fingers, orgasm washing over your body in wave after wave with his encouragement.

"that's it, such good girl..." he cooed as he carried you through your climax. "fuck, you're so pretty when you cum, little bun."

katsuki pulled his hand from you, sucking his fingers clean with a small groan. "tch. you’re fuckin' lucky i got shit to get done today, or i'd be throwin' ya on that couch."

as the pressure in your bladder grew once more, you shifted uncomfortably.

"fine, fine." he gave you a playful swat on the ass. "go on."

you crawled across the floor of his office as katsuki trailed behind you, staring at your body on display, to an oversized, lined litter box next to his office bathroom. you looked back at him hesitantly.

"hop in. ya can't piss on the floor," katsuki said with a smirk.

you got in and faced him in a squat, body exposed. as promised, he knelt down and held your hands with a grin as your cheeks burned hot all over again.

"'s okay, sweetie. you can let go." he gave you a kiss on the hand, then on the knee. "you're doin' so well. let daddy see."

you willed your body to relax. relief hit as your warm stream hit the plastic beneath you. katsuki groaned as he watched and gave you a kiss on the forehead.

"that's my girl... my good little bunny."

gremlins: @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @darkstarlight82 @bookcluberror @zazter-den @breadandbutter33 @i-literally-cant-with-this @rinalouu @stvrfir3 @r4td0lll @emmab3mma @aria-chikage @mhadabiandhawks4eva @yazminetrahan @doumadono @dreamcastgirl99 @maddietries @jazzafayesworld @karebear5118 @unofficialmuilover @cherriluvs35 @erensslut @ruu-https @hana-yuri @keiva1000 @katsul0vr @trickster-kat @ayeohoh-blog @dinomeow @flamgosstuff @mistressreaper @angelltheninth @anonymously-ominous @amberexe2 @hisconsistency @nanamisbigassschlong @223princess @honeeslust @naughtygobbo @acenanxious @blumoonwisteria @chaos-gem @levizonlywife @kxtsxkii @katsuslover @nuttyunknowndetective @yooxverse @jjamiee21 @pastelbakugou

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ugh-yoongi · 2 months

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the very last thing i decide | pjm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there’s you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is it, he thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m no one’s dog.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just how it goes.

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

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

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

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

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

Someone else’s, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

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

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

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

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

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

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

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

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

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taunting him.

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

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

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

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

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

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

“Done. Anything else?”

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

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

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

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

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

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

Until now.

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

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

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

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

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

Doesn’t matter.

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

No one spares you a second glance.

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

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

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

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

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

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

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

Sorry.

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

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

What kind of life is this?

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

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

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second time is nothing like the first.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re being followed.”

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

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

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

“Where’s Jimin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know it’s a liability.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

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

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

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

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

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

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

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

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

“Destruction.”

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

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

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

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

You watch him go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

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

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

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

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

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

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

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

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

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is a waste of your fucking time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

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

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

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

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

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

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

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magicalgoblinz · 8 months

Text

One Thing

Summary: You did it. Cazador's dead and now... Astarion is finding himself working through some big emotions. Pairing: Astarion x gn!reader Word Count: 3.5 k Warnings: General angst, eluding to physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. Possibly ooc Astarion. Quickly edited. Song Recommendation: Never Let Me Go + Florence and the Machine Author's Note: First thing I've ever written for Astarion but I get the feeling it won't be the last. I really genuinely just wanted to get this idea out of my brain even if it's a bit strange and not all that amazing haha.

It had been a long day. Perhaps one of the longest you and your party had endured yet, or... at least it felt that way. It wasn't hard on your body like the goblin fight had been, nor had it been arcanely exhaustive like chasing that damned hag was. No, standing in the halls of Cazador's palace brought a different type of exhaustion. Passing through the spaces that your lover had once stalked attempting to go unseen by his master, seeing the sights of the spaces he was kept, smelling the decay, the putridness that no doubt lingered in the meals he was forced to partake in.

Every sight, smell, and sound you had come across weighed heavily on you. Even now as you sat in the plush comfort that was Elfsong Inn, freshly washed, the scents lingered in your nose and left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You pushed around the hastily prepared hash in your bowl, frown bared for everyone to see. Your thoughts were only for him. Every second of silence you could hear his sobs in that moment. The cries pulled from his very core, the kind of cries you could imagine he had dreamed of releasing for so long through every moment of torture he was subjected to. There was no way to imagine all of the atrocities he had suffered, yet somehow being left with nothing made every idea that flitted past your mind's eye so much worse.

You for so long had wished to weep for him. Weep for the time he had lost. Weep for the pain he must have felt in having to stand on the outside wondering if his family and friends ever thought of him again after he passed on. Weep for the crushed hopes for the future he had at one time had.

But what good would your tears do him now?

Cazador was dead.

And more importantly... Astarion was free.

So why did it all still feel so... excruciatingly heavy?

"Ts'ka --- eat and do not play. You need your strength for tomorrow." Lae'zel pushed from her lounging position on the floor.

"Have some heart, Lae'zel. It’s been a very difficult day." Wyll was quick to defend upon seeing the way your expression soured at the thought of eating. "Y/n, had to assist our resident vampire through some very hard things today. Including walking through where he had been kept prisoner. Imagine having to do the same with your lover." He said with a gesture towards Lae'zel.

"If I had a lover they would be able to care for themselves; it would be the first thing I looked for in a mate. A prowess to stay alive in battle like my own is the only thing that is truly attractive." Lae'zel said with a lifted chin.

Wyll's lips parted as if to say something more but began to shake his head, there was no fighting with La'zel. She didn't dig her heels in when it came to opinions, no her entire feet were buried. "Speaking of Astarion, where is he?" He eventually asked, changing the focus of the conversation.

"I believe he went for a bath." Shadowheart interjected, "He said something about not being able to stand having his beauty mired... you know how he is." She said, not lifting her eyes from her bowl with a small wave of her spoon that was held in delicate fingers.

Her saying this seemed to pull your eyes towards the door of the wash room. It had been a while since he left now that you thought about it. Your brows lowered a bit in thought; Astarion deserved his space right now, but you still couldn't help but want to hold his hand and not let it go after everything that had happened today. Maybe he wouldn't want that though, not with what you did today.

That look in his eyes...

Now that he had the time to actually think about what you did, what you talked him into doing; would he feel betrayed?

You had promised him you'd help him get that power he so desired, but when that chance came you changed your mind.

The idea of Astarion no longer trusting you hurt more than imagining him ending whatever it was the two of you had. The worries made your expression sullen even more, looking down at your bowl with a deeper pit growing in your stomach. Did you really want to find out?

Out of the blue, there is a light nudge to your arm. The little touch is enough to pull you back up from your descent into grieving something you hadn't even lost yet. With a glance to your right you find Karlach with a bottle outstretched to you. "I think we could all use a little drink tonight... but especially Astarion." She said warmly, "Perhaps you should see if he wants some?" She continued with a little jerk of her head towards the closed doors. Her tone made it all to clear that your inner turmoil was written out on your face for everyone to see.

A sigh escaped your throat as you debated on whether or not that was a good idea but the way Karlach began to lazily swing the bottle back and forth with her hand triggered something in your mind that made you reach out and take it in one smooth movement.

It couldn't hurt to check in on him?

Could it?

Astarion's head was rested back, hanging over the edge of the bath he sat in. The water had lost the majority of its warmth, and his hand had pruned but he made no movements to get out. Eyes transfixed on the dancing flames in the fireplace at the side of the room. Every twist of orange and lift of a spark made his mind lurch through another memory; they all seemed to be coming back to him now, one by one. His mind shuddered from the thought of a blade pressed into his skin, carving, etching, his skin becoming the canvas for a dastardly design that he wouldn't understand for years.

Funnily, the recollection of pain wasn't what bothered him. It was having to recall his own voice struggling not to escape his lips throughout the entire gut-wrenching experience that made his hand ball into a fist.

With a pop and crackle of the wood Astarion's memories would carry on to something else.

His ears ringing, echoing the silence of that tomb. Gods above that tomb. That year spent in silence. Those months spent starving. The way his hands bled from trying ever so desperately to escape. Over what...? A boy that he couldn't bear to steal the life away from.

Astarion took in a sharp breath as he tried to shake away the thought, as he sat up.

But still the memories continued to bleed through. The faces of all those people he had brought to Cazador, he could see them in his mind's eye. The memories of bedding some of them, cycling through his head in a complete sequence even though they were spread across centuries. A flash of a young human woman who excitedly spun in a brand new red dress that she was ever so excited to show off. The pale blue of a nervous elf man's eyes as they darted around the room the second Astarion approached. Seeing the tattoos and the scars spread across the back of a dwarven sailor who stretched after returning to the mainland after a long voyage. The shine of a coy tiefling woman's smile as she attempted to steal his coin purse from his pocket. So many lives, so many people. At what point did he begin to stop caring? Who was it that he pulled by the wrist back to a dreary room that made him start drifting away any time he had to become intimate? Or was it any of them at all?

His features twisted into an expression of disgust the second his mind started going down that path. There was no amount of Cazador being dead that made those memories better. In a snap his balled up hands lifted to rub his eyes in annoyance. If only Astarion could wash out his eyes and his mind and start anew. If only.

And to think... he had wanted this for so long.

He had dreamt about the day he'd be able to have the cathartic feeling of stabbing Cazador, again, and again, and again. And now that it had come and gone... he wished he could have kept going forever. Fuck, he wished he had. After everything Cazador had done to him, the bastard deserved so much worse than to bleed out on that cold floor. He deserved to suffer just as much as Astarion had, if not more.

Astarion couldn't help but wish that he had ignored everyone and continued the ritual as a perfect slap in the face to Cazador. Continued that ritual, so for the first time in all these years... he'd be safe. Entirely safe. And the loss of that made his chest ache, he was so close to crying all over again.

But then...

Tap, tap, tap

"Astarion," Your voice started from just beyond the doors. "I'm sorry to bother you. I just um... wanted to check in. Karlach thought you might need a drink."

There was you.

Astarion's head lifted from his hands as he took in a deep breath. He tried to shove all those emotions back down again, to put the cork back in the bottle before they could really bleed out into him properly. His gaze lingering on the door, lips unmoving.

"Didn't you hear him? If you complete the ritual, you'll be consumed, Astarion." You had said with a look of sincere terror in your eyes. The look wasn't foreign to him... but perhaps different? People had been scared of him before, oh people had been terrified once they realized what he was. But just how many people had been scared for him? That... he didn't know.

He couldn't remember his exact words in reply now, the tension and adrenaline leaving them in a silent part of his mind but what he did recall was the way you looked at him. It stung. It stung so much more than the little voice in the back of his mind screaming that you were breaking your promise.

You promised to help him ascend. You swore you would help him ascend. You said---

Gods that look. Astarion couldn’t shake it.

The way your eyes seemed to plead with him before you had even opened your mouth. Begging him to reconsider. "I know you think this will set you free, but it won't." Your voice was so gentle, but still so desperate. "This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador. Is that really what you want?"

You were right, as much as he hated it. You were always right.

But more than that. As he thought about it now, he recognized something that he hadn't in that moment...

Just outside the door you stood listening, hoping to hear something, anything. Your thumb fumbled with the cork of the bottle nervously. This was a bad idea wasn't it? He needed more time. This was too soon to try and come see him. Gods... what if he really did hate you for what you did. You started to shake your head, "...I'm going to take that as a no. I'll um..." you started lightly, trying not to have your worry show through in your words. "I'm sorry again for interrupting. I'll see you when you're finished, my darling."

Once more. You wanted to call him that one more time before he had a chance to break things off.

"Come in."

Your eyes couldn't help but widen ever so slightly, hand moving to the handle before cautiously pushing the door open and poking your head in. From this angle you could see Astarion's side profile, the good majority of the grime and blood from the day having been washed away, though his clothes that sat off to the side on a bench, were stained a deep red that would take ages to remove, if it ever came out at all. His eyes soon looked your way tiredly. As an instinct you quickly held up the bottle you had brought him, no words coming to follow it, they all seemed to have gone into hiding the second his eyes landed on you.

"Are you planning on bringing the bottle here my sweet, or to just... swing it around like an idiot?" He asked in a long drawn out way, a tone that felt like he was trying to maintain a sense of normalcy for you, but at this point in your adventure together the look in his eyes was more than enough to tell you that he was working through something.

You were entirely taken aback by the gentle name used, a little bit of relief seeping into your chest. "Y-you want me to come in?"

"Was that not what I said?"

Your lips parted, deciding not to speak just yet and instead closing the door behind you. "I'm sorry... I just didn't want to overstep with you, you know… washing and all." You said slowly, acting as if you weren’t both adults – who had on more than occasion – slept together.

Even now, even after seeing him at his lowest today, you were still trying to respect whatever boundaries he had. The thought made Astarion close his eyes and let out a soft laugh, "Darling, you've seen me naked before, it's fine." He assured, "Now...please, for the love of gore and everything soaked in blood, can you bring me that bottle."

There was no reluctance now, carrying yourself to his side with ease. As you approached you couldn't help but notice that his hair was still matted thick with blood in places. All this time he clearly had just been lost in his thoughts as much as you expected really. His hand reached up the second you drew near, taking the bottle from your hands greedily, popping the cork and taking a decidedly long drink. Not minding you at all as you reluctantly found a seat on the bench his clothes were rested upon.

The sight of his nose scrunching a bit from the taste of the wine made an ever so small smile tug at the corner of your mouth. It was hard not to recall him making that same face at the tiefling party not so long ago. Vinegar for wine. Would there be a day when the wine you brought him didn't elicit that involuntary response?

Astarion glanced at you from the corner of his eye, "You'd have made an excellent vampire, you know." He said with an amused little grin, all happy to see the confusion cover your features.

"Why is that?"

"Asking to come in, obviously." He joked loosely,

A small laugh left your lips as your eyes drifted to the floor, "I didn't realize that respecting people's privacy was so vampiresque."

"It's not, we're atrociously nosey by nature and well... it's just another fun hindrance to go against that nature I suppose." Astarion spoke in his normal moseying draw.

"I see..."

There was a breadth of silence between the two of you. A silence that carried the heaviness of the day's events. You knew it needed to be said, but it didn't make it any easier to consider what the exact words were that needed saying. How to broach it? What if he didn’t want to talk about it at all and you misread the situation entirely? You kept glancing his way hoping to have it all come together in your mind like some sort of epiphany, yet he beat you to it.

"I'm not upset with you, darling. You don't have to keep looking at me like that." Astarion spoke suddenly with all the ease in the world.

"You're not?"

"Well, perhaps I was a little at first. You did go back on your word, after all." Astarion pointed out, eyes now fixed on the bottle in his hand. “I think anyone might be a bit… sour after something like that.”

There was the guilt again. "Astarion... I'm sorry, I---"

"I don't want your apologies." He cut in sharply, finally turning his gaze to look your way. Despite what his tone may have indicated, his eyes weren't as stern as they normally appeared when he was upset. No, they were instead ever so full of sadness. "...I-I'm not angry with you. I swear it. But what I don't understand is why I don't feel any fucking better." Astarion said as his voice suddenly sounded so much more fragile. "I... I killed him. I got the revenge I've dreamed about for two-hundred fucking years. The same revenge I begged for the whole year I was locked in that horrid tomb." He hissed, "I took back my life and yet I... I feel like I didn't do enough."

He was cracking. That much you could see.

"I can't help but wonder if I had completed the ceremony if that would have been enough. Enough to rub it in his Gods damned face that I did it." Astarion admitted sternly, lifting his chin as his eyes stayed focused on the bottle still, "Watch this worm take away everything from him like he took everything from me." He mumbled out, the heat leaving his voice for a brief second as all that he was left with was glassy eyes.

"...I-I would have never had to fear anyone or anything ever again..." Astarion uttered through clenched teeth, tears finally breaking free and running down his cheeks one at a time. "...and now it's gone."

Wordlessly you got to your feet, taking a few steps forward to close the gap between you both, leaning down to wrap your arms around his neck in the most comforting hug you could possibly muster. His hand immediately finds your arm, holding it tight as for the second time in your journey, he begins to cry.

Silence seems to be what Astarion needed from you, wailing into the open air as everything he has stuffed away into that bottle comes pouring back out. No apologies. No consoling words. Just for you to hold him, to give him time. His head rests against yours almost as if to ensure that even now, after everything you both had been through, you couldn't see him cry. Perhaps the idea of you seeing it happen twice in a day was too much for him. Or perhaps there was still a festering feeling of weakness that would bubble up if he let you see him cry.

"Oh my sweet, sweet, Astarion." You mumbled holding him tighter than before, listening as his sobs grew softer over the passing moments.

Waiting. Listening.

Once his frame had stopped shaking you finally raised your voice once more . "...if I could Astarion, I would take away all of the hurt in an instant... but I can't. And I wish you knew just how much it pains me to not be able to." You speak, parting your lips to continue on but pause as you feel a familiar shudder resonate through your mind. He was peering in, confirming the statement for himself it seemed. "The most I can do is promise you something..." you continued on, pretending like you weren't aware of poking around, you had nothing to hide for one key reason…

Gently you pulled back, running your hand from his neck to his chin to tilt his head up. Eyes looking over his tear stained cheeks and then to meet his own shimmering red eyes. "I promise you that, as long as I'm here you will never have to fear anything... or anyone again." You assured, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as you wipe away his remaining tears. “Because Astarion… I love you and… I will never let you go.”

The look that fills Astarion's eyes is something that you had only seen once before when you decided to hug him for the first time back in the Shadowlands. It was a look that spoke numbers towards just how frightening the unknown was for him. How terrifying it could be to have someone love you so truly and want nothing in return for the first time in his life.

You feel a rush of surprise followed by so overwhelming, your lips curl into the same smile you gave him then as you had reached out to wrap your arms around him to hold him tight…

You know the feeling even if he can’t say it yet.

Love.

Because that was the thing. Astarion had realized before this that you… well, you were the only good thing that he’s ever had. That he’d do just about anything to keep you safe and ensure that no one dare take you away from him. Yet, strangely he never once considered…

That he might mean just that much to you.

End Notes: Thank you so much for reading! I'd really love to start writing for Astarion more so if you have any ideas send them over <3

#astarion x reader #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion angst #astarion x you #astarion x tav

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insomniumstella · 7 months

Text

spice & honey

bucky x baker!reader

summary: cinnamon buns and wickedly strong coffee must be the only reasons James Buchanan Barnes visits your bakery daily, despite the inconvenience of driving to a small town on the outskirts of Upstate New York. right?

warnings: first dates and crushes (absolutely classified as warnings), mead consumption, a curse word or two, soft!bucky

word count: 4,565

author's note: i've been watching Gilmore Girls a little too much lately (hence the little easter egg). on another note, autumn is my favourite season, so prepared to be sick of James attending harvest festivals and drinking apple cider 🍂🥧🎃

all the stories i've written

September 21st marks the official arrival of Autumn. Though the weather has been rather cheerful lately, today’s air is much crisper and heavier with the promise of looming rain. The streets of Eldermont remain far too green to your dismay, but Spice & Honey—the bakery you’ve owned for the past five years—is rich in shades of marigold and copper. A wide assortment of mugs, mostly in various shapes of pumpkins, and spiced teas, line the shelves, while the fresh jars of apple butter are neatly stacked alongside the register. Besides the usual treats, the glass display teems with seasonal favourite pumpkin tarts and apple cider donuts.

The everlasting chatter of customers and soft sounds of a vintage record you scored at a neighbour’s garage sale just last month saturate the space as you place the second batch of cinnamon rolls on the counter. The clock reads 10:57 AM, and though you’ve been attempting to conceal your excitement, Vivienne could sense it the second you stepped through the door, teasing you about the very special visitor who’s always in need of sugary buns and black coffee at exactly five past eleven.

James Buchanan Barnes is a regular customer, you often argue. The nervous babble, flustered movements, and beaming smiles convey otherwise. And so yes, you might have a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on the freakishly tall, muscular brunette who brings in the latest editions of The Culinary Canvas magazine each Monday and notices the smallest of changes in your recipes. Just maybe, you reluctantly ponder when your thoughts inadvertently wander to that charming grin and baby blue eyes every time you knead the dough for his adored treat — a dessert once reserved for Autumn suddenly available year around.

“Staring at the entrance won’t make time pass quicker,” Vivienne whispers, arranging butterscotch cupcakes by the pumpkin tarts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper back, covering the pans with aluminum foil.

Perhaps hiding the pastries, a favourite amongst Spice & Honey shoppers, is not the best business decision, but Eldermont is merely a small town in Upstate New York. If it wasn’t located a thirty minute drive south of the Avengers compound, most people wouldn’t be aware of its presence in the first place. And besides, everybody in Eldermont is connected to everybody — the town holds no secrets, including the pastries you keep warm and frost fresh.

“The tall, dark, and handsome man,” she points out, “still has a few minutes. Perchance the preparations of Eldermont’s Annual Harvest Festival made it trickier to find parking.” Vivienne turns to you with a mirthful grin, the cupcakes resting perfectly positioned in the glass case. “You should invite him. Heard Brad brewed an incredible batch of apple cider mead this year.”

You sigh, snatching the golden tray out of her grasp. “I’m not asking Bucky out.”

“Ah! Bucky!” The woman’s grin widens. “Forgot his name for a second.” Shades of mischief dance in her tone as she marks Elijah’s, the eccentric owner of Marigold Meadows flower shop across the street, special order of fifty maple bacon BLTs as completed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you mention Bucky at least seven times a day.”

“Seven’s oddly specific,” you note and swiftly, “also I do not,” disagree.

“Bucky smelled great today,” Vivienne mocks your voice, the grin you’ve come to love—and hate—remaining on her features. “Should I add apple to the cinnamon rolls? I wonder if Bucky would enjoy apple cinnamon rolls with brown butter and maple icing unless he’s a creature of habit. Maybe I should suggest a sprinkle of nutmeg in his coffee to test the waters first—“

“Vivienne,” you groan, yet she persists.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Bucky could say no. Bucky could also choose The Sugared Whisk. Bucky wouldn’t. I adore their croissants, but the coffee is terribly weak, and even their tea selection is mediocre. Indigo should include spiced teas. And sure, Luke's doesn't offer spiced teas, but Luke’s sells great coffee and danishes, except the danishes are only available on Wednesdays.” She recites a recent monologue of yours, and if you weren’t mortified, you’d actually be quite surprised at Vivienne’s ability to remember conversations as if they happened minutes ago.

The doorbell chimes before she has the chance to finish, and you’re highly unsure of whether it’s a saved by the bell kind of situation or if you’d rather the floor magically swallow you whole.

“Good morning.” James smiles, and it’s then that you decide you’d rather the floor split open because you’re awfully flustered by his entrance despite secretly anticipating the moment since the sun arose.

“Hiya, Bucky,” she returns the favour, secretly nudging your side. “Have you ever been to the annual Eldermont’s Harvest Festival?”

“Cannot say I have,” he chuckles, breaking eye contact between the two for just a second to glance at her.

Though you’d never admit it aloud, those eyes, baby blue on sunny days and resembling the ocean on the ones of rain, cross your mind more than a pair of eyes should. This infatuation borders on obsessive, you often contemplate. James Buchanan Barnes is an Avenger for heaven’s sake, and you’re almost sure a man of his maturity and composure wouldn’t agree to a date with a baker, a clutz one at that. It’s not that you’d want to, nevertheless. The two of you have a great thing together — you serve coffee, he survives on coffee, and if time allows, the lighthearted conversations you have bring colours to otherwise monotone days.

“The decorations, the food, the people are phenomenal.” You might have to assign the redhead to kneading duty if she’s heading to that territory. “This beauty right here could take you on a real good tour. Eldermont is gorgeous this time of year.” Enjoy kneading bread, Vivi.

“Is it?” James grins, his stare flicking between you and Vivienne.

“Drop dead,” she reiterates, “much like the women.”

“Vivienne,” you suddenly cut in, “the coffee station is out of paper cups. Could you bring some from the back?”

She gives you another grin, less mischievous and more understanding, nodding at Bucky before she disappears into the kitchen. The heavy wooden doors create a boisterous sound once they close, and you couldn’t be happier for a distraction because you cannot look at the brunette just yet. The bakery is sweltering, and your hands are sweaty, and, if it wasn’t evident you’ve been nurturing a crush on James, Vivienne practically plastered a HEAD BAKER IN LOVE WITH SERGEANT BARNES sign out front.

“The station’s out of cups?”

“Yes!” You glimpse behind the shoulder, deciding to keep the lie alive. “Spice & Honey gets busy during the afternoons, and we run out quickly.” The words leave your mouth rushed and a bit muttered, but the effort is there. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”

“It’s a habit,” his smile is as charming as always. James hesitates for a beat, observing you locate the plastic to-go containers. “The festival Vivienne touched on, have you ever been?”

The atmosphere stills for an awkward second as you gawk at him. “Oh, sure,” you answer at last, praying her babbling wasn’t too obvious because you couldn’t fathom Bucky choosing The Sugared Whisk. “Every year since I was four. The festival’s great. Brad brews the best mead, and Johnny, the mayor, is comically strict about the decorations, so it’s all pumpkins, and string lights, and festive garlands,” you mumble, scrambling for the pan and cream cheese frosting. “I’ve even heard whispers of fireworks this year. It’s next Saturday if you want to drop by. Cassie bakes the best apple pies.”

“Better than yours?”

“I don’t serve apple pies,” averting your eyes to study the grinder seems like the best decision to avoid his piercing gaze.

“I’m sure they’d be the best if you did.” Bucky beams, leaning against the counter as he observes you make coffee.

“Thank you,” the expression of gratitude melts into somewhat of a question despite your best attempts at keeping your voice level, “but the pies I bake often turn out horribly wrong. The apples were overcooked, and the dough raw last time I tried.”

“How undercooked?”

“The trash can enjoyed most of it.”

James laughs at that, the sound of it hearty and endearing. “I’m sure it found the pie delicious.” If he’s flirting with you, you can’t tell, and you don’t exactly want to, for expectations are the fool’s hope. “If you’re not terribly busy during the festival,” he speaks after a protracted moment of doubt, “I’d love to take you up on that tour Vivienne mentioned.”

“Tour?” The man in front of you must almost all but hear your heart pounding rapidly inside your chest.

“The tour of mead, pies, and decorations.”

“Oh?” You tinker with a couple napkins, peering at him. “I’m not sure I could give you a real good tour, I’m barely a guide, believe me. I got lost in that new Target on Cedar Lane, and I cannot understand maps, and—“

“I’m asking you out on a date.” Bucky chuckles at your flustered visage, baby blues never once breaking the eye contact.

“Shit,” the curse word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you silently reprimand yourself for the rash impulse of colourful words. “Alright.”

The sergeant titters at your sudden reaction, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable. I just thought we might have something between us, chemistry of sorts, and that it might’ve been fun,” he briefly pauses, eyes wild and roaming around your face. “It’s just that Vivienne mentioned Eldermont being gorgeous in the fall, and it got me thinking that I’ve never truly experienced it, because the only thing I visit in this town is your bakery, not that it’s the only place worth visiting—“

“Bucky—“

“There are many stores I should probably check out, and Samuel’s birthday is in a couple of days, which is convenient. I wouldn’t describe Sam and I as the best of pals, but Steve likes him, so I should probably get him a gift.”

“Who’s Samuel?” You ask puzzled, but the flustered soldier standing before you continues to ramble.

“Something small to indicate I remembered but not necessarily care. Something that screams I’m not a total jerk, but you are for reminding the whole compound that your birthday’s on the twenty third. A wooden statue of a bird. Sam likes birds, particularly Redwing, though Redwing’s not technically a bird. A wooden bird statue would certainly insult him, so it’s settled — the plan is to visit Artists & Wood on Land.”

“The shop’s name is Woodland Artistry,” you correct with a gentle smile.

“Right!” James clicks his tongue, studying your softly amused features. “We should probably forget this conversation happened. It was a stupid idea too—“

“Yes,” you interject. “I mean no.” Surely, this scenario is a strange dream that wicked mind of yours created to punish you for the sins you assumably committed in every single one of your previous lives. It’s the only possible explanation for the sergeant’s flustered behaviour. “I would absolutely love to go on a date,” you say and pinch the flesh of your thigh for reassurance, but the scene remains as it was, “with you.”

Gently placing a twenty on the counter, James gleams at you. “I’ve never actually given you my number, have I?”

"No," you shake your head to indicate disagreement, pinching the flesh of your thighs once more. “Only the pleasure of our little chats,” the response makes you wince. The pleasure of our little chats? Something’s definitely wrong with me.

Chuckling, James grasps one of the pens you keep by the cash register and scribbles down a series of numbers on his receipt. "If I don't reply, Steve must be holding me hostage.”

"Duly noted," you grin, folding the piece of paper to tuck it into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

He stands there for a second as if absorbing the situation. “Good. It’s a date, then.” he smiles in the end, taking the coffee and the plastic box, and peeks at you behind his shoulder. “And keep the change, please. These treats of yours are more than worth it.”

A timid smile spreads across your lips at the compliment before you sink your teeth into the soft of your bottom lip, observing the soldier scramble out of the bakery, the phone in his flannel jacket ringing for attention.

“Next time,” the redhead appears beside you once James disappears out of sight with a final wave goodbye, “you should give the man coffee and buns on the house," Vivienne nudges you, "both of them."

A surge of warmth rushes to your cheeks at her innuendo. “It’s great you suddenly possessed the ability to teleport and all, but the dough back there won’t knead itself.”

“No,” she gasps, and you only laugh at her realisation, turning to help the next customer.

It’s a date.

The evening of Eldermont’s harvest festival is pleasant, neither too blazing nor cold, but despite the temperature and the appropriate sundress you’ve chosen for it, you’re on the verge of fainting. I cannot faint on our first date, you think and decide it’s the man next to you’s fault, really. The smell of his cologne is too addicting, the hints of pine and cinnamon in his aftershave too intoxicating. James is a gentleman, which you expected and appreciate, but it’s overwhelming, the way he holds your hand to lead you through crowds and attentively listens to your overdrawn stories about the origins of pumpkin carving. Heavens help me.

“Have you checked out the corn maze yet?” Brad asks cheerfully. He’s surrounded by large beverage urns and stacks of disposable drinkware. “Mary mentioned Elijah’s still in there,” he chuckles, pouring two paper cups full of steaming apple cider mead. “The fool must’ve gotten lost or something.”

“Must’ve,” you glance at him, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Happens every year.”

“The two of you should go,” Brad speaks once again before smiling at Bucky. “It’s a great first date activity.”

James chuckles, and you wonder if he regrets asking you on a date. The small town you call home is ludicrously close, and if Vivienne didn’t spill the beans to Mary as she promised, Mary must’ve spread the ‘rumours’ around herself. The town’s beloved bookshop owner is an incredible woman, but she loves to gossip, and you should’ve expected the second person after Vivienne to consistently insert themselves into your dating life to jump to conclusions. Though the situation isn’t precisely comfortable for you, it must be worse for James. Whilst he has never outright mentioned, the soldier has important reasons to stay under the radar. Bucky has witnessed a lot, horrors you’ve even heard about on the TV, and currently, every resident of Eldermont is aware that James Buchanan Barnes is on a date. With a local baker, nonetheless. Participating in acorn tossing and harvest bingo and conversing with Brad Monty about all kinds of sneaky activities couples get up to in the corn maze. You're certain that James is bound to vanish without a trace due to the town's antics if your diffident and often rather awkward behavior hasn't already scared him away. The anxious parts of your brain have even compiled a mental list of today's disasters:

Johnny wiped his sweaty hands on Bucky’s jacket, realising the blunder only to mumble “I love this jacket, Sergeant Barnes”, and pretending he wanted to initiate a hug before he disappeared.

Cassie offered you a sample of pecan pie, which you eagerly tasted due to Bucky’s “If I had to choose the second best pie after apple, it would be pecan” comment, and completely choked on.

Vivienne located you in the farmer’s market to say “hello”, and persuaded James to purchase a pair of beaded bracelets, the two of you had ridiculed moments earlier, for “every first date needs a souvenir to remember it by”.

James guided you to Mary’s bookstore because you conferred a series of rare hardbacks Mary hides in the back for special customers, and the older woman steered you towards a selection of intimacy guides.

Indigo, The Sugared Whisk owner, pleaded with James for Captain America’s number in the middle of a busy intersection and discussed his “timeless looks” for the next couple of minutes until a car almost struck the three of you.

Elijah phoned you in distress, panicking about “having to live out his best years in a smelly corn maze”, which disturbed the sergeant and resulted in an “Elijah will find the exit eventually” monologue on your side.

You accepted to take a photo of a tourist couple, accidentally dropping the wife’s phone and shattering the screen because James stood so close, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Thanks, Brad,” you fumble with your wallet, hastily placing a ten on the stand. “See you around.”

“Doll,” Bucky doesn’t move once you attempt to remove him from the nightmare that is the situation the two of you found yourselves in. It gives you a second to evaluate his expression, and much to your surprise, his features are as soft as ever. James is blushing, too. “I wanted to pay for that.”

“You paid for the apple pie,” the words slip past your lips mumbled because the only thing you can truly concentrate on is the fact James is blushing. Blushing as a result of Brad’s stories about couples so in love they simply cannot be bothered to locate the labyrinth’s exit before proving their emotions to the world. Couples that could be the two of you. Possibly. A sane person shouldn’t rush to assumptions unless they earned the sweetest nickname from a dream of a man. You’ve never paid much thought to whether you would enjoy being called a ‘doll’—you do, but you would probably adore every label he’d choose. The notion steers your head toward unexpected and dirty waters, and you couldn’t be happier for Brad’s decision to chime in.

“Cassie outdid herself this year,” he nods. “I’m most definitely going to dream about that blackberry pie tonight.”

“Yes,” James agrees never once breaking the eye contact with you. “The pies were delicious, and it was my pleasure to pay. It was me who demanded a tour.”

“You may pay for the maze then,” you smile at him, “but leave the ten — I’m not that great of a tour guide, and I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Dates should be fun,” James suddenly speaks. “We could’ve skipped the labyrinth.”

The corn maze is high and intimidating, but Bucky’s presence and the soft glow of an orange sunset manage to silence your fears a bit. The passages are almost entirely empty except for the two of you, and each corner you take makes your heart jump at the possibility of encountering spooky surprises.

“This is fun,” you reassure, taking a sip of mead. James shoots you a look you cannot truly decipher, but you decide the meaning is somewhere between worried and teasing. “It is,” you hesitate for a beat. “I just keep remembering the haunted corn maze in Greenwood. They have scare actors there, who jump out of the bushes when you least expect it and completely startle you. Vivienne took me there last year, and I cannot shake the memories.”

The expression on his face melts into sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, I would protect you against all the zombies and monsters this maze might throw at us,” he speaks before, “not that it has any,” adding.

“If theme’s anything to go by, I think we’re OK,” you chuckle at his offer, referring to the cutesy signs and charmingly painted pumpkins scattered throughout the labyrinth, “unless Johnny decided to include a couple gory scenes at the end, though it’d end worse for him than it would for me.”

“Johnny The Mayor?”

“Johnny The Mayor,” you take yet another sip, nodding. The beverage is barely warm twenty minutes into the attraction, providing only the comfort of a soft alcohol tipsiness.

“He’s a charming little fella,” Bucky notes, and you don’t have it in yourself to deny the statement. “I’ve never experienced someone initiating a hug by wiping their hands on my jacket.”

“Sorry,” you offer sheepishly because what could you say after an occurrence so bizarre. Everyone in this town is strange? James must’ve caught on to the fact by this time.

“It’s alright, and besides, I now have a humorous story to recount at parties, which is a first,” he gleams at you. “It may come as a surprise, but I’m not usually the life of it.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You shift to gaze at him before emptying the cup of mead to steady your nerves.

“I don’t promise to answer,” James grins, fiddling with the beaded bracelet, “but yes.”

“Who’s Samuel?”

“That’s your question?” He laughs as his flesh arm slithers to rest upon your waist. At least you think it’s his flesh arm. The man wears gloves whether the sun shines or the rain pours. You’ve seen pictures, though, and read stories of The Winter Soldier in possession of a metal arm. Neither raise concern, not for the reason you’re smitten with Bucky. Rather, because James was manipulated and stripped of free will, and if heaven would descend, perhaps because that metal arm is sinfully attractive. It’s a thought forbidden to be mentioned aloud, for the gloves are a large indicator he’d enjoy staying silent about the matter. “Who’s Samuel?”

“Yes,” you sputter. The butterflies his simple action caused you don’t mention. “I want to hear about this Samuel. I’ve been informed he likes birds, especially Redwing, who’s not technically a bird?”

“The Samuel I was babbling about is Sam Wilson. The Falcon, if you’re a fan of CNN,” James teases, steering you into the left pathway of the maze. Despite your instinct to choose right, you stay silent. “Redwing’s a drone of sorts Sam uses on missions, and, this is a direct quote, for surveillance. I despise the thing.”

“If we get lost, forget the second date,” you playfully threaten. Though the coziness of his body pressed to yours is intoxicating, it does nothing to ease the goosebumps painted on your skin, and as the sky bleeds in shades of crimson and purple, the sun melts into the horizon, teasing you for forgetting a sweater. “I would’ve categorised holding a grudge against an object as below you.”

“If the shoe fits,” he chortles, leading you down a long passage before abruptly stopping. Hesitating for a beat, he drapes the flannel jacket you’ve come to love on the man around your body. The garment is red and weighty, and it smells of James. The gesture makes your heart swell with admiration, but you ignore it. Dates should be approached with a blank slate because expectations are easily shattered. “I shouldn’t deliver Steve that woman’s phone number, should I?” Bucky’s arm finds your waist again.

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “on the bright side, Indigo is quite a pleasant woman,” you verbalise the thought. James observes your expression, baby blues studying the same features he cannot resist thinking about at nightfall. Blood rushes to his cheeks at the notice of your fingers on his lower back, the heat of your skin piercing through his charcoal henley. “She’d certainly treat Captain America right. On the downside,” you pause, “Indigo is the exact opposite of Steve as the media portrays him. Come to think about it, both of us are.”

“How so?”

“The media portrays supersoldiers as courageous, but Indigo and I once had to call Luke to get rid of a teeny spider. Steve’s active in politics, whilst we often skip the town’s meetings—“

“Eldermont holds town meetings?” James chuckles, subconsciously drawing you in closer.

“Once a month, always on the first Tuesday,” you gleam at him before drawing in a deep breath to calm your violently beating heart. “Last time, we discussed the very pressing issue of Halloween decorations. Johnny insists every business on the main street must participate in the festivities. Indigo and I escaped out the back before the mayor could finish his speech. At the least, Steve would’ve stayed in that meeting, and at the most, he would’ve managed it.”

“People do say opposites attract.”

“Heard that before,” you agree. The loose strand of Bucky’s auburn hair tempts you to tuck it behind his ear, but you halt the impulse of committing such a ludicrous decision. “It must be true because you drink coffee black, and I prefer lattes. You have cinnamon buns for breakfast, and I, if time would be gracious enough for breakfast, would choose danishes.”

“The jury’s decided, then.” The corners of his mouth quirk up into a lazy and wickedly attractive smile, and, you almost wonder if Bucky’s aware of the effect he has on your body because if he isn't, your buckling knees must’ve given it away. “Opposites do attract.” His wildly confident attitude is a new discovery, but you decide you like it. “It would be a shame to ignore matters of the universe.” Confidence is a good shade on him.

“Is this your way of asking me on a second date?” You tease the man, memorising the pink hues veiling his cheekbones.

James guides you around the corner, observing the corn maze’s exit, and halts his movements. “Only if the lady agrees,” he shifts to stand before you, catching your forearms in his gloved hands, “which I’m sincerely hoping she does.”

Resting your arms on his shoulders, you gift yourself a quick moment to explore his features — the stubble gently lining his sharp jaw, the little scar above his eyebrow, and the red lips you, despite hiding it, wanted to kiss since he first visited Spice & Honey. “The lady would love to go on a second date.”

“Good,” an emotion you cannot comprehend waltzes in his eyes, but, for the sake of your composure, you abstain from thinking it could possibly be lust. “The gentleman is looking forward to it.” There's an argument happening inside him, you can sense it by the way he keeps drawing you closer until the space between your bodies is virtually erased, but retains his posture straight and almost rigid. The weight of should he or should he not lingers in the air around you before James catches your stare and smiles timidly, shattering the flicker of hope you have for him to kiss you. You don’t exactly yearn for him to kiss you. In theory, kiss-less first dates are a great idea, paving the way for deeper conversations and a closer bond. They build anticipation. Anticipation is good, you ponder for a second, but all you can truly focus on is whether James would taste like apple cider mead or the sugary desserts you two savoured earlier. “The night is still young," he speaks, the tone of his voice light and reticent. "It would be a shame to end the date this early."

“Luke’s open if you want to grab a quick dinner,” you say with a grin, stepping away from him. “Though we should probably exit the maze first.”

“Yes,” Bucky laughs and extends his arm towards the light at the end of the passage. “Lead the way, pretty lady.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x baker reader #bucky x baker!reader #insomniumstella #bucky x reader spice & honey

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gsirvitor · 1 month

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Fascism, it's an oft misunderstood ideological framework, and is often misrepresented by those wishing to mock, or disavow it.

Fascism is a totalitarian political ideology that can be better described as state corporatism, Giovanni Gentile, the father of Fascism, considered Fascism the fulfilment of the Risorgimento ideals, which serve as the basis of Fascism.

Fascism, by definition, and in its foundations was about unifying Italy under one flag, a struggle for unification and liberation from foreign domination, be it financial, physical or political domination.

Quite a lot of people like to think of Hitler's Germany as a Fascist state, it wasn't, it was similar, but the two differed, the similarities can be attributed to the fact the leaders of both nations were both former Socialists, who believed that Socialism was too slow and adhered too much to bourgeois values.

A key concept of the essay The Doctrine of Fascism was that fascism was a rejection of previous models;

"Granted that the nineteenth century was the century of socialism, liberalism, democracy, this does not mean that the twentieth century must also be the century of socialism, liberalism, democracy. Political doctrines pass; nations remain. We are free to believe that this is the century of authority, a century tending to the "right", a Fascist century.

If the nineteenth century was the century of the individual (liberalism implies individualism) we are free to believe that this is the "collective" century, and therefore the century of the State."

Benito Mussolini and Giovanni Gentile co-wrote this essay, and later had it published in the Italian Encyclopedia.

In 1940, Mussolini ordered all remaining copies of the document, which had different editions and translations, to be destroyed, because he changed his mind about certain points, that being his vision of Italy not expanding beyond its borders, and decrying war, he changed his view because he saw the Allies on the decline, and decided he'd rather join the winning side rather than be subsumed into Germany for remaining neutral.

Fascism was, in Italy, an ideology that decried war, expounded the state above the individual, and pushed corporatism, there were no individual rights, only collective rights.

Now, why do I say Hitler's Germany wasn't Fascist? Because beyond the superficial aesthetics, it wasn't, it was still very much Socialist, a Nationalist form of Socialism mind you, rather than the other forms which promoted a Globalist form of Socialism, or, if Hitler's Germany followed National Socialism, the other Socialist states adhered to International Socialism.

Today, academics try with all their might to muddy the waters in an attempt to separate Hitler's Germany from Socialism, and to align it with Fascism, when, if you read what the founders of each political ideology believed and wrote, you'd understand they are only superficially similar, with Hitler's Germany being closer to Imperial Japan and Stalin's Russia in its ideological framework than Italy.

It's why Mein Kampf reads like the Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists, a Socialist propaganda book, though I will add both Mussolini and Hitler loathed Capitalism, which Giovanni Gentile did not, but did see Fascism as the logical evolution of Socialism, so while both Fascism and National Socialism are forms of Socialism, they aren't identical.

Now, don't take this as me defending either, this is just my attempt to air a grievance I've had with people labeling everything they don't like as Fascist.

Such as Starship Troopers and Heinlein, a Libertarian book about a Libertarian utopia fighting space bugs that act as an allegory for Communism, written by a staunch Libertarian.

I think the thing that set me off, was someone on that long thread posted videos by some fat guy on YouTube, in which he invited all of his family on to discuss the novel, and they all take the wrong message from it, but the thing that really did it was his criticism of Heinlein being a military man, and then saying he can talk on it because, despite none of his family being in the Military, him and his brother were in the fucking scouts.

And then he made a long rambling video defending Verhoeven who uses the aesthetic argument of what makes something Fascist, and then uses another person who does the same thing, and I just lost it.

He even brought up the fact Neil Patrick Harris' character comes on to the screen at the end in a "Fascist" uniform, and goes "this is where Verhoeven said he lost the audience, because this scene beats them over the skull with the fact the Federation is Fascist!"

And I'm just fucking frothing at the mouth, these people really don't understand Fascism beyond the basic aesthetics of it, clean, in shape soldiers, chiseled jaws, full hair, clean cuts, he even lists these as if they're evidence, as if these aren't the features every society since the beginning of time has looked for in its soldier or warrior caste, no I guess being physically fit and ready to serve makes you a fucking Fascist to that butter ball of a man.

And God forbid your army has a Fashion sense, some troglodyte will come after it saying it's Fascist, and God forbid you use black or grey in your clothing, ooh, it's gonna activate some almonds.

Fucking morons, can't read past the surface level of anything they encounter.

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rubyuji · 8 days

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The Reason for My Smile (Kim Mingyu) 🪡

“Guys come on, Mingyu is approved by my brother! How can I not care? I know I’m still scared because of the whole Chan fiasco but can you blame me?” ✮⋆˙

Genre: Angst, Fluff

AU: University!au, Nonidol!au

Pairing: Ex!Chan x Fem!Reader, Brother’s Best Friend!Mingyu x Fem!Reader (Literally Seungcheol’s younger sister)

Warnings: A bit of cursing, a break up over text but that’s about it.

Synopsis: Diving into a long-term relationship is scary for anyone for that matter, except the breakup from yours had left you traumatized because it happened over text. From then on you vowed to never wear your heart on your sleeve ever again, but your brother’s own best friend promised to change your perspective.

Note: My first ever Seventeen fic on this account, so it’s still a work in progress, but it’s definitely something! (Esp since I haven’t written in awhile). It used to be an Enhypen fic originally, but it took a lot of editing and proofreading, along with a lot of changes. Happy reading! Don’t forget to like + reblog! It would mean the world.

Word Count: 7.7k words (I’ve never written so much)

Your relationship with Chan wasn’t precisely the dreamy or ideal relationship you had hoped for but as someone who had almost no experience, put that and being a people pleaser together, and you have whatever is left of your so-called relationship.

It’s not like Chan was a bad person or anything, the boy was quite the softie, so he’s probably just as overwhelmed as you were when it came to dating.

The latter part of the relationship consisted of you trying to understand him as best as you could, that was until inconsistencies started popping up a lot more.

Chan felt distant, he was more busy, despite the two of you being in the same major. That was the whole basis of your relationship after all. At the beginning of your relationship, it was sweet and full of the first times. Chan used to hold your hand, his other one holding your bag, as you would walk to the diner across campus and stay there for hours just talking about your day.

The soft gazes he’d give you whenever your eyes met, the flowers he’d give you on a random day, and the late-night calls wherein one of you ended up asleep. It was like a broken record that rewind itself during the late hours when you would start to question his love for you.

Those moments seem like old memories to you now as you see another apologetic text from your boyfriend. Another text where he promised to make it up to you and that he’d do better next time, it was starting to become a routine where you got stood up by him.

You wondered what on earth would keep your boyfriend so busy, especially when you both had ended up together because you took the same classes. You weren’t a slacker and always got your work done on time, so things weren’t adding up, especially when you both always tried to help one another.

The week after your midterms, you decided to visit your family and stay at home for a little bit.

Your family lived thirty minutes away from campus and you honestly couldn’t bother to make a drive that long every day, so you opted to stay in the dorms to save time, but on occasion, you would suck it up for a few days whenever your living space felt too tight.

Today was one of those days, but it felt a lot worse than you’d like to admit.

“Hey, I’m gonna go stay at my family’s for the weekend, and on Monday, just try not to make a mess here or anything.” You say to your roommate, Bora, who nods without looking at you.

Your roommate had an annoying habit of not looking at people whenever she was focused on her work, but you grew quite used to it and just shrugged it off after a few months.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I only ever have Chaeyoung or Hyewon over so no mess and no broken belongings. Have fun and say hi to Seungcheol for me if you see him, will you? Drive safe Y/n,” Bora finally turns to you from her bed and you laugh.

Seungcheol was a good brother and had a heart of gold, but you couldn’t handle your friends gushing over him in front of your face, it just felt weird when you grew up right beside him, the image of a younger Cheol picking his nose suddenly registering itself into your brain as you cringed.

You couldn’t care less about who he’d date though, it was none of your business, even as his little sister. As long as he didn’t end up hurt or hurting anyone, your brother was free to be with who he liked.

“Sure, I’ll leave a word when I see him. Tell me if anything comes up, and now I’ll get going! Bye, Bora!” You picked up your backpack and made the short walk to your car, ready to go home and lay on your childhood bed, which was admittedly more comfortable than the one you had in the dorm.

You text Chan about going to your family’s place, and the boy follows up with a thumbs-up emoji and an ‘I love you, stay safe’ text.

Your boyfriend didn’t have much to say anyway, and you were starting to grow bored with the way things were going. He probably felt the same way and you couldn’t blame him when you couldn’t keep your mouth shut either, since you seemed to be the only one exerting effort at this point.

He might even find you annoying now but didn’t have the heart to tell you because he was just that nice.

“Breaking up is honestly super tempting right now and I honestly can’t stand it anymore! It’s driving me mad, Cheol!” You whine as you stop at the intersection that leads into your neighborhood.

You didn’t mean to rub it in or anything, but you did live in a wealthier part of town, which explained the long drive home, and you were so glad to see the familiar area after a stressful trip.

It just so happened that halfway through the drive, your poor brother had to endure fifteen minutes of your rambling like some counselor even though he simply just wanted to check up on you.

“Y/n, just break up with him then, simple. It’s been months since you started telling me about how bad it’s getting, and honestly, I’m horrified to hear about what else is to come once you get here. I love you so much, really I do, but this boy is full of empty promises and lies,” Seungcheol sighs deeply.

The light turns green and you finally drive into your street, completely forgetting you were on the phone.

“Fuck don’t ignore me like that, I know how much you both liked your sweet puppy love phase, but get a grip Y/n. Chan is draining you, and he’s probably just as tired as you are. It’s time to stop hanging onto that year you both had,” You pull into your driveway and click your tongue.

Your brother was right, but it also killed you knowing you’d hate the thought of not having Chan around anymore. It was all easier said than done, especially when you felt incomplete without him.

“I see your ass in the driveway, Mom and Dad went out to get food so you have a fuck ton of explaining to do.” You see Seungcheol in the window and laugh before honking at him, scaring the living daylights out of him in the process.

“I’ll be in, like five. Let me get my bag ok? And tell Kkuma I’m here, I missed her.” You turn the engine off and grab your bag from the back, a wave of comfort and warmth washing over your form as you look at the house.

“Anyways, I’ve been contemplating on wanting to break up with him because I think he’s tired of me and maybe I did become quite annoying. Unless I’m invalidating my feelings and gaslighting myself into thinking I’m the problem,” You go on.

At this point, it was past dinner time and you and Seungcheol were in your room, dressed for bed and still talking about your problems. Poor Kkuma looked ready to curl up beside you and sleep but was forced to stay awake because of how miserable you were over some boy.

Seungcheol grimaced and set down a makeshift bed for the poor dog to lie on before turning to look at you with a concerned expression. “I think the latter, but you can be the judge of that. Now-” Cheol was cut off by your phone chiming and you turned to look at who on earth was texting you at one in the morning.

Your face turns pale as you look at the screen, and this automatically worries your brother, but his expression immediately hardens as he knows who it could be from.

“It’s from him isn’t it?” You nod slowly, the tears starting to fall from your eyes, dripping down your cheeks and onto the comforter you were on. Every word hit you like a ton of bricks, you felt helpless.

From: Chanie ^^

I think we need to break up. This relationship is holding me back and it’s starting to feel like a chore, I’m sorry I couldn’t do enough for you Y/n. I started to grow bored and you irritated me to no end, I don’t even think we would work even if we tried. This is my last goodbye to you, I’m sorry again that it had to end this way but I’m still young and feel like I’m not ready for something as serious as this.

You showed Seungcheol the message, only then realizing that your number was also blocked, preventing you from saying anything more. You were appalled, to say the least, your mouth hanging wide open as choked sobs started to come out slowly.

A year, a year went to waste with the person you thought would understand you best, the person you thought would hold your heart close to his, only for him to break it. The person who did the most and still managed to disappoint you.

Seungcheol held you close and you cried into his chest, Kkuma was suddenly on the bed licking your face and the world fell still at that exact moment. The moment you vowed to never trust anyone with your heart ever again.

You were a mess the rest of the semester following the text, crying on the couch the entire weekend as Seungcheol tried to console you, along with your oldest brother, but nothing worked.

You did go to class as normal, but you completely shut everyone out and limited socializing to only your family and friends until after finals.

Your break was coming up, and you were honestly relieved, to say the least. Bora was on the other side of the room getting ready to go home to see her family as well, packing up everything on her side in the process, but then you heard her huff as a pillow hit your head, interrupting the silence that was shared.

“What the fuck Kim?” You whined, taking the pillow and hugging it. Bora plants herself on the spot next to you, you look at her with a frown as she laughs.

“I’m gonna miss you roomie, but I’ll visit you often either way since you’re technically my best friend now. Now stop frowning, Chan was an idiot for breaking up with you. How you managed to get through the rest of the semester, I will never know, but you should go put yourself out there again! There’s bound to be another guy ready to treat you better, so stop moping ok? I know it’ll be hard, but I promise it’s not that bad. Have a bit of fun with it,” You pout at Bora’s words.

She was right, but the breakup over a text fiasco left you traumatized. Chan wasn’t the best boyfriend, and you both had your moments, but you weren’t ready to trust someone again just yet.

What if it ends the same way, or even worse? What if you were too boring? Questions swirl through your mind but Bora snaps you out of it.

“Hey, take it easy. Let’s hang out over break, just us girls showing Chan what he’s missing out on! Can you believe he left you? You’re a gem Y/n, a lot more people want you than you think. Now hurry up and pack the rest of your things!” You take in Bora’s words and nod.

It would be hard, but taking baby steps and meeting new people wouldn’t hurt. No rushing into serious connections just yet.

When you got home that day, you were happy enough to lay on your bed once again, all worries and concerns gone for the next few months. Suddenly, you hear a knock at the door and see Seungcheol walking in. You raise your eyebrow at him and your brother chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I was wondering if maybe we can hang out? Like all of your friends and mine,” Seungcheol looks down and plays with his fingers nervously. You were confused by his proposal but urged him to continue.

“Look, I like Bora and Minghao has this huge crush on Hyewon. Can you at least help us? Please? Look, I’ll take you shopping and even buy you food if I have to,” Your brother sounded like he was pleading almost so you really couldn’t help but feel bad.

“Cheol it’s ok, I’ll take you up on the shopping, now give me a date so I can tell the girls.” You smiled softly. Seungcheol punches the air and you laugh at his antics, you knew Bora also had the biggest crush on him so setting them up would be a breeze. Hyewon was a mystery you had yet to uncover though.

“I barely know your friends though, like I’ve met Jeonghan but who the hell is Minghao and how does he know about Hyewon?” Seungcheol lies down beside you on the bed and opens his phone, showing you a picture of him and three other guys.

Seungcheol then starts pointing out the two new faces to you. The lean and prince-looking one was Minghao and the tall, puppy-looking guy was named Mingyu. You couldn’t help but pay more attention to Mingyu, he was really attractive and you wanted to get to know him.

“Anyways, they’re the two new people in my frat. They’re super cool and like-” “Are you gonna bring Mingyu?” You cut him off mid-sentence, still in awe at Mingyu. Seungcheol’s brows knit and he rolls his eyes at you whilst you stick your tongue out at him.

“What happened to not dating? Come on Y/n, be serious,” You slap your brother’s face jokingly, the male screaming dramatically from beside you.

You didn’t want to get your heart broken again, but putting yourself out there wouldn’t hurt, as long as it didn’t get too serious, you were going to be ok.

“Shut up, it’s not like it’s gonna be a super serious thing just yet. Mingyu looks like a total hottie, I just wanna get to know him, have a little fun and get a bit of attention again,” You were ass at lying, so Seungcheol could only laugh at you.

“I trust you with him, Mingyu’s a very easygoing guy if that’s important to you. He’s also super single because he’s waiting for the right person,” he smirks at you.

Easygoing? And he’s waiting for the right person? On top of all that he’s cute and your brother trusts him with you? It sounded too good to be true.

You were happy for a moment, but doubts started to cloud your judgment once again. He sounded like a good guy, but how long until he turns into Chan and gets bored of you? It was starting to scare you again.

“Cheol, I don’t know-” Your brother gives you a serious look and sits up.

“I hope you understand that he’s not Chan, Y/n. Not all relationships are going to be like your last unless you try to take that leap. I promise you, he’s not a bad guy. Like, if he hurts you, I’ll hurt him because you mean a lot to me” You nod at Seungcheol, finally thinking positively and securely.

Not everyone is going to be like Chan, you knew that, but your memories and feelings for the boy held you back.

“Now, how does nineteenth sound?” Your brother asks you. You text your friends, immediately getting the green light from the three of them, Bora sounding the most excited.

“Perfect, and your girlfriend is just as excited as you are,” Cheol’s face turns a deep red before he runs out of your room in embarrassment, yelling about something along the lines of planning the perfect outfit. You guessed it was probably to impress Bora anyway, so you didn’t question him.

The silence of your room welcomes you once again and you are back into your thoughts. Mingyu sounded like a guy who would take someone seriously, maybe it’s just what you needed because guys your age didn’t have that much to go off of.

He was Seungcheol approved, and you told yourself that a million times, only because he hadn’t approved of anyone else but Mingyu. Chan could get past your parents and oldest brother, but not Cheol, so it was an odd situation to be in.

“I’ll figure it out later, right now, I need to sleep.” You put your phone off to the side and close your eyes.

Hopefully, you’ll be able to figure everything out once the nineteenth rolls around, both Seungcheol and Bora did say similar things, so maybe those two had a point. ‘No wonder they like each other, they’re the same person,’ you thought as the sleep took over.

Two days had passed and the dreaded day had rolled around much quicker than you had anticipated. As you put on light makeup, your friends are in the background screaming at each other throughout the entirety of your Facetime call because you all decided that it was a good idea to get ready together.

“Bora, it’s Seungcheol! He’s like Y/n’s male version so you don’t need to freak out that much! Now Y/n, show us the fit. You’re the only one who didn’t show us yet!” Hyewon whined over the phone.

“I’m wearing a gray long-sleeved, asymmetrical knit top, black skirt, and combat boots. For hair, I’m leaving it down and wavy, I don’t care much,” You say softly.

The girls suddenly burst out laughing as you put on your outfit, they didn’t seem to believe you one bit when you said you didn’t care because they knew you genuinely did care and tried not to.

“Guys come on, Mingyu is approved by my brother! How can I not care? I know I’m still scared because of the whole Chan fiasco but can you blame me?” Your friends hum in agreement until you hear the door behind you open.

“Y/n— Are you calling your friends right now? We’re leaving in a minute because Mingyu’s driving so hurry your ass up will you. Also hi Bora! Hi Hyewon and Chaeyoung,” Seungcheol grins stupidly.

You roll your eyes at your brother for obviously singling Bora out and tell your friends that you are going to see them in a bit.

“Bye, Y/n! Have fun looking at your new boy toy driving, already a huge upgrade from Chan!” Wonyoung laughs.

You end the Facetime call with a roll of your eyes before turning to look at Seungcheol with an eyebrow raised. Seungcheol puts his hands up defensively before you both hear a car honking outside.

“Mingyu’s here, grab your bag, and let’s go!” You huff as your brother rushes you, he was practically itching to see his crush, and embarrassingly enough, you too were excited to meet Mingyu and Minghao.

With your bag in hand, along with your phone, you finally follow Cheol outside and see a Range Rover of the latest model in black. Damn, Mingyu was in a different league that was for sure.

Seungcheol opens the door for you as you head in. You see Jeonghan riding shotgun and Wonwoo in the back smiling at you. “Y/n! So happy to see you again, I think this is your first time meeting Mingyu and Minghao,” Jeonghan says from the front.

You squeeze in the center comfortably and nod. Wonwoo was cute, he greeted you politely and was very friendly, but when your eyes met Mingyu’s, you suddenly became quite flustered. He held a sharp gaze, the watch on his wrist not helping you in the slightest.

“The shopping center downtown right?” Seungcheol nods at Mingyu’s words, his deep voice causing you to flush. You prayed to whoever was up there that you would at least survive the day because the tension in the car with him was enough to drive you nuts.

“So Y/n, how’s that thing with Chan?” You freeze up when Jeonghan suddenly brings up your ex, but you forget not everyone knew about the devastating breakup over text.

“We broke up over text...” You reply awkwardly. Jeonghan gasps as your brother runs his palm down his face, he knew better than anyone not to bring up Chan during the time you were still trying to move on.

“Hyung, give her a break. Sounds like it must’ve been rough, I’m sorry about that. He seems like a shitty guy, breaking up with you over text? Are you sure this isn’t a sitcom Y/n?” Mingyu speaks up as he looks at you from the rearview mirror. You feel your cheeks heat up slightly, nodding in embarrassment, but for some reason, you were shocked upon hearing Mingyu’s words.

Wow, he really picked Chan apart in a way you wouldn’t ever dare to. His bluntness snapped you right back to reality and you could hear Minghao chuckle from beside you. “What’s so funny?” You raise a brow at the boy.

“Mingyu hasn’t been this disheartened over anything in a while, it’s crazy that he’s already scrutinizing your ex based on how you broke up,” Minghao explains. Mingyu glares at him and huffs, looking so done and just ready to explain himself.

“Listen, in my personal opinion, I think breaking up with a long-term partner over text is stupid and a cowardly move. There were so many other ways he could have gone about it but over text? At least call or something instead, it’s super disrespectful towards your partner to leave them hanging without proper closure.” Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets upon hearing the reason behind his agitation.

So far, Mingyu was seriously proving you wrong the more he opened his mouth to say something, but you still weren’t ready because what if he’s even worse? The feeling still lingers and it’s almost like the ghost of your ex is not letting you go just yet.

“Mingyu’s right, I thought you both had something to be fair. Seeing how puppy love was just a phase makes me think I was quite wrong, you deserve better. Like Mingyu here for example! He’s very single and is looking for the right person, which could be you.” Jeonghan jokingly says.

You notice Mingyu’s ears turn red as he pulls into the shopping center. The car was suddenly filled with an awkward silence, everyone stunned at the oldest’s proposition. You and Mingyu had just met, what was he on about with you being his possible partner? It was crazy.

After Mingyu had parked his car, you all made your way toward your designated meeting spot. You could see Cheol and Minghao freeze up upon seeing Bora and Hyewon, causing a laugh to make its way out of your throat.

“Y/n! Over here!” The girls beckoned you over as you purposely ran in their direction to tease the guys.

It was a day to bring them together was it not? Yet you still took the opportunity to tease the boys as you wished. It was pretty funny to look at their reactions knowing they liked your friends.

“Hi guys, I brought Cheol and Jeonghan. The newbies are Minghao and, Mingyu” You say with a pause. Your friends squeal wildly at the mention of Mingyu’s name, shoving you with their elbows as you all laugh.

“Minghao is so cute actually, is he single by any chance?” Hyewon smirks, eyeing the male up and down.

You giggle and nod, your friend had no idea that the said boy was here for her, which made your job of setting them up much easier. Your work was basically cut out for you the moment they laid their eyes on each other.

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll know in a bit. For now, let’s all focus on having fun today shall we?” You sling your hand over Bora’s shoulder, not noticing Mingyu’s intense stare at your form. Seungcheol and Jeonghan notice the action, causing the two of them to nudge the boy playfully.

“Bro, go shoot your shot. There’s so much tension between the two of you, I hope you know that” Cheol laughs.

Mingyu shakes his head at his words profusely, there was no way he was going to overstep a boundary, even if it was Seungcheol himself encouraging it.

You notice the boys talking amongst themselves but decide to shrug it off, they were probably planning their moves on your friends, but how do you tell them that they didn’t even need to try that much? They all seemed to like each other after all.

Between Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s continuous pestering, Mingyu had felt your gaze on them, causing his cheeks to grow hot. You were really pretty, and that goes without saying, but you had just gotten out of something long-term.

The time needed to heal you first, or at least that’s what he thought, since his mom had always taught him to be patient with the ones he loved or cared about.

“Give her time guys, I don’t think I can just rush in like that. Y/n came out of a slightly traumatizing event, so if you jump right in, it will only push the person away further. I should be friends with her at most while we’re still getting to know each other,” Mingyu makes eye contact with you and notices how you quickly avoid his eyes.

The day had gone by quite smoothly since then, each of you dispersing into little pairs after a while because your friends couldn’t seem to help themselves, which is what led you to where you were now. In a store, with Mingyu, picking out clothes for him to try on.

You had nothing better to do anyway, so why not style your brother’s hot friend, even though Mingyu himself already had impeccable fashion taste?

You bite your lip as you focus on the outfit, visualizing what it would look like on Mingyu, and how you could coordinate everything.

Mingyu thought it was adorable with how much thought and focus you had decided to put in when you were only doing this for fun, he ultimately decided to buy the outfit once he was done trying it on.

“Here, sorry I took so long. I haven’t styled anyone since my ex and my older brother, so this is the best you’re gonna get for now,” You handed him the items in your arms and pushed him toward the fitting rooms, eager to see how well you did.

“It’s no problem because you did put the time and effort into styling me, I might go ahead and buy it if it does end up being my style,” Mingyu smiles at you softly.

He was sweet, you had to admit. It wasn’t like Chan had noticed you putting effort into styling him so a little affirmation made your heart swell.

“You don’t have to, I kind of play around with it. I bet you will look good since you seem like you’d look good in anything” You admit shyly.

Mingyu was fun to be around, even if it was your first time meeting, you already felt as if you had known the man for a while. All around Mingyu was just considerate and one of the best people you could’ve ever met.

“Yeah, sure you do, I know you put a lot more effort either way. Let me try this on now, otherwise, I’d be too distracted looking into your eyes. Give me a minute and I’ll show you how it looks,” You nod as Mingyu closes the curtain, only then taking in what he had said to you. He was not being serious but was so smooth with how he flirted with you just now.

A minute had gone by and you heard Mingyu call your name, so you made your way over, only to find your heart nearly falling out of your ass the moment you saw him. He looked so good, great even, and you couldn’t help but stare.

Mingyu adorned a white shirt underneath a black zip-up jacket, adding detail by zipping up the bottom of it, and light-wash jeans. It was a really simple outfit, but you had to admit, he did tie the whole look together.

“How does it look? I think you did well honestly, I’ll buy the entire outfit right now. Let me go change so we can go meet up with the others,” Mingyu smiles.

You were amazing at what you did, it impressed him how you were able to pull such an outfit together in just a few minutes.

“I think it looks great, I’m flattered you like it so much that you’d buy it right now. Maybe I can style you again if there is a next time?” You reply shyly. You couldn’t meet Mingyu’s eyes because he looked so good.

From that moment on, Mingyu made it his mission to heal your heart and prove to you that you deserved a second chance at being treated better.

He had come to your house quite often and taken you out a few times, so much to the point that everyone around you started noticing that you were almost always with each other.

“You know what, this is the happiest I’ve seen you. Your relationship with Chan started to strain and you had become more dull and miserable, but being around Mingyu gave you a new kind of glow for some reason,” Chaeyoung quips.

You tilt your head in confusion, you liked his company but you hadn’t noticed any other changes.

“He’s great, but I’m still hesitant. You know how I am, as I get he’s not Chan, but who knows how everything would play out in the long run?” You say sadly.

Mingyu was more than amazing, he respected your wishes not to have a relationship, but still treated you in ways people could only dream of, but in his words, he was ‘courting’ you, something people don’t do much these days.

He was attentive, took care of you well, and would always be there for you no matter what. He truly was the real definition of being ‘one call away’. This was all so new to you, even being courted was something totally out of the ordinary.

“Y/n, he’s courting you. Not enough people willingly do that these days, so you have the guy wrapped around your finger. He’s patiently waiting for an answer from you, like do you remember everything you’ve told us?” Hyewon huffs out from above you as she is doing your hair.

It was girl’s night and you had decided to bring up your worries and updates to your friends, but you had forgotten the fact that you had also told them the details about your escapades with Mingyu.

From where you would go to what you did, down to the time he took you home, and if Seungcheol truly did approve of him.

“Did Chan ever actually think about how you felt in a certain situation? You know besides you telling him it’s ok and all? Usually being together with someone for over a year would allow you to read them better, but Chan barely knew your little habits. Bora took them in after a month of knowing you, which is concerning. Now on to Mingyu, what did he say that one time?” Chaeyoung snaps her fingers and you instantly know what she is talking about.

You came home one day and had gone the whole day without eating. You were out with your parents and they hadn’t considered if you were hungry or not since they were busy and had already eaten, so when you got home, you quietly slipped next to Mingyu in the living room after seeing the guys watching a movie.

“Hey, you’re home. How was spending the day with your parents?” Mingyu whispers from beside you. You shrug and he gives you a look that encourages you to tell him more.

“I hadn’t eaten anything, but honestly it’s ok now since I’m not hungry at all…” You trail off.

Mingyu shakes his head and takes his phone out, but you go over to stop him. He shouldn’t spend anything on you, and you already told him you weren't hungry so you felt as if you were only bothering him.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” You see your favorite restaurant on the delivery app on his phone and blush. Did he remember your favorite restaurant and order? That was sweet of him.

“No it’s ok I can manage,” You pretended not to see him already inputting the order and paying for it, but you still couldn’t help it when your stomach growled loudly. Mingyu raises a brow at you as you chuckle awkwardly.

“I’m getting you food, I know you’re hungry” Mingyu laughs. You hit his shoulder but thanked him gratefully for even thinking of you, it was a small gesture but it still meant a lot.

“How about that time he got you flowers for no reason?” Bora says while laughing.

You roll your eyes, she was the first person you had freaked out to over the phone because Mingyu had gotten you a bouquet of roses on a random Thursday with Seungcheol.

“What’s this?” You ask as Mingyu sets down a bunch of fresh roses wrapped in brown paper on the counter in front of you. Cheol and Mingyu had just gotten back from grocery shopping for your mom and then Mingyu came back with flowers, of course, you would be confused.

“I got you flowers because we saw them on the way out, and I thought you'd like them” Mingyu started taking out the groceries from the bags as your brother walked in with the last batch from the car. You flick Cheol’s forehead, but the older male can only smirk and laugh at you.

“Why? There’s no occasion,” You try to excuse, but you couldn’t hide how flustered you were.

Mingyu had thought of you while they were out? He did mean it when he said he wanted to treat you better.

“Can I not get you flowers even if there’s no occasion? Y/n, you don’t need to ask or have a reason to receive flowers, I hope you know that. I’m surprised this hadn’t been done for you more often than not” Mingyu’s back was still turned toward you, which you were thankful for because you probably looked like a tomato at that moment.

That night poor Bora had to endure an earful from you, just because Mingyu was a great guy who treated you the way you deserved.

Thinking back at those moments, you could only see the good in Mingyu, so you wanted your friends’ approval. He was already brother and parent-approved so that only left your best friends.

“Well, do you guys think I should finally give him an answer? It’s been a few months, and even if I am scared, I can’t let this chance go.” Hyewon finishes up your hair and pats your head, signaling her answer. You look at the others, who only grin back at you and you laugh.

“Y/n, he’s been a green flag since the beginning. It’s a good opportunity knowing he’s the type that’s ready to settle down,” Bora also brings up.

Seungcheol had always emphasized that Mingyu was a date-to-marry and long-term relationship kind of guy, which makes sense as to why you were one of the first people he had ever been super serious with when it came to dating.

“You guys are always the best, I’m glad everyone around me approves. I mean, I won’t know until I try right?” Chaeyoung hugs you and you sigh in content.

You were finally moving on, you were finally healing. It felt fulfilling in a sense, and knowing you were finally starting a new chapter with a great person, you felt as though your life was finally turning out for the better.

After a chaotic girls’ night, you had called up Mingyu to meet you at your favorite cafe that the two of you frequented. You were quite nervous, to say the least, but you were ready to take this huge step of moving on with the person who treated you right.

You hear the bell of the cafe chime, and you finally see the person you were expecting. Mingyu walked in, his hair down in its usual state, and in a casual but comfortable outfit.

He looked like he had just come from the gym. Your heart raced at how good he looked, he always did look his best whenever he came to see you, and you always appreciated the effort.

Mingyu spots you and walks over with a wide smile. He was always so damn charming, you couldn’t believe he was all yours. He pulls out the seat in front of you and plops on it, his attention fully on you. ‘Attentive as always, I don’t deserve you,’ you thought.

“You wanted to talk?” Mingyu finally breathes out upon seeing you. You nod and take his hands in yours, you were going to tell him how you finally felt because he deserved an answer. He had already done so much for you, the least you could do was show him that all his efforts were finally paying off.

“I think I’m ready to give you my answer. The past few months you had decided to court me and I’m thankful you were patient enough to wait for my answer. You’ve proved to me that relationships aren’t limited to how I and my ex went about ours and that if a guy wanted to do something, he would. So my answer is already set, I’ll be your girlfriend, Gyu.” You look up at him, only to see Mingyu grinning like an idiot.

He was elated, he finally got the answer he was waiting for and you saying yes only made it a hundred times better. Mingyu fully understood how much your last relationship had affected you, so he only made it a point to court you, knowing you weren’t ready for a commitment just yet.

He wanted you to be ready for him to love you and treat you the way you deserved, so he didn’t push it and waited for you to come around on your own, which you did.

“You have no idea how happy and relieved I am to hear you say that. Y/n, I’m so glad you gave me the chance to love you and care for you. I’m glad you gave me the chance to prove myself to you. I promise I will not hurt you in any way at all, and I promise to be as communicative as possible with my feelings so that you don’t end up in the dark. I want you to know everything because you deserve it,” Mingyu admits, not breaking his gaze on you.

“Mingyu, you’re everything I could’ve ever asked for. I don’t know what else to say. The past few months I’d been so scared to love again, to give a relationship another chance, but you’ve proved me wrong and even waited for me to be ready. You don’t understand how much that means to me,” You continue to fidget with his hands, but then he suddenly takes yours and places a kiss on your knuckle.

You blush at the action, you weren’t used to feeling or receiving this kind of affection since it had been quite some time, but with Mingyu, you weren’t afraid of anything, because you trusted him as much as he trusted you.

Needless to say, even months after you had given Mingyu an answer, he remained the same and still acted like he was courting you.

The only difference? He was finally your boyfriend and you were finally his girlfriend. You felt how serious he was about you when he had even introduced you to his parents, and they were just as lovely as their son was.

“Mom wants to go shopping with us on her birthday this weekend, I told her I would take her on a birthday date but she insisted you come along. She loves you that much already,” Mingyu chuckles as he walks into your room, fresh out of the shower. You laugh, his mom was the sweetest person, and you finally understand where your boyfriend gets it from.

“I’m down if she’d like, but you’re not getting me anything ok? You already spoil me enough and I don’t want you to spend too much–” You squeal as you feel Mingyu’s arms around you, the two of you falling flat on the bed.

Before you two could move from your position, you heard a knock at your door. It was Seungcheol, and you immediately pulled away from Mingyu once you saw him, still flustered and embarrassed from the previous action.

“Hey, if you two are going to be in the house, at least have some decency while I’m here!” Your brother whines.

You laugh and see him let Kkuma in the room. She had been with Cheol the whole day, so you and your siblings usually took turns spending time with the dog. You were the sibling in Kkuma’s night shift, meaning you had to take the dog in for the night since she liked sleeping in your room.

You thank Cheol for letting Kkuma in and bid your brother goodnight. Once the door closed, you looked over to see your boyfriend on the floor with Kkuma laying on her back.

“Hey, that’s my dog! Kkuma, you can’t just steal my boyfriend like that, and Gyu you can’t just do that to my child!” You joke. They looked perfect, and suddenly you start to imagine what your little family with Mingyu would look like.

Mingyu was the perfect partner to settle with, after all, he was caring and dependable, but also super honest and was not afraid to show or express how he felt. He just knew whenever you weren’t up to do something, or if something was bothering you.

“Is something wrong?” Mingyu noticed that you were more quiet than usual today because you almost always told him about your day. He noticed how your smile hadn’t reached your eyes and how you were fidgeting with your fingers more.

“It’s nothing” You tried to brush it off, but truthfully, you weren’t doing well. You just didn’t have the strength to let him know or the strength to explain how you felt, all you wanted to do was rest and go to sleep.

“Y/n, you can tell me anything ok? Be as open as you want to be, I’m always here for you and will not judge you no matter what. If you don’t have the energy to tell me, it’s ok. Just rest here” You feel his arms being wrapped around you as he strokes your hair. The action was small but it helped you ease up a lot.

“It’s hard Gyu, I don’t know how to deal with everything. I don’t have the energy to stress over anything right now,” You whisper. Mingyu rocks you back and forth, still playing with your hair as he places kisses on your forehead.

“Whatever it is you’re going through, I hope you know that I’m proud enough that you decide to wake up every day and do everything with a smile, even if the world has wronged you. you’re so brave and amazing Y/n, please do not ever doubt yourself” Mingyu replies softly.

“Gyu, you don’t understand how much your words have helped me” You kiss him softly. You felt so lucky to have him, he was beyond the best partner you had ever been blessed with.

“Mingyu, could I ask you something?” You say suddenly. The two of you were at his parent’s place since Mingyu had decided to take you to his childhood home in Anyang as a gift for your four-month anniversary.

“Mhm?” He hummed, putting down a plate of food on the coffee table in the living room, and sitting next to you on the couch.

“Why haven’t we said I love you to each other at any point in our relationship just yet? The others have asked me about it, but I just can’t come up with an answer to get them to leave me alone,” you whine. Mingyu laughs and kisses your cheek gently.

“Tell them that saying I love you isn’t easy when it comes to us, you haven’t said it either so we’re simply making sure that I can say it when the time is right. It’s not that I don’t or anything, but those words aren’t exactly an easy thing to just pop out there. The time will come when we can both say it meaningfully. Right now, we are still early into our relationship and have a lot to learn. I hope you understand where I’m coming from” he tells you.

It wasn’t that hard to understand what he meant. Mingyu had always been more careful, even if he didn’t say I love you, he still affirmed you and expressed his love for you in his actions.

Loving someone still comes in many forms, so the words I love you could wait because they should come from a place where you both fully understand and can comprehend how meaningful the three words are.

“I honestly think the same way, in a sense, I’m glad you’re honest about how you feel because I’ve been in a place wherein I was pressured into doing the action just because it was normal for everyone else, but not all of us are the same. Thank you, Gyu, you’re always the best with words.” Mingyu holds you close and you both sigh in content.

He wanted to treat you better, and he did. He wanted to show you better, and he expressed it in the best way possible.

121 notes · View notes

juyeonszn · 10 months

Text

SACRIFICE (EAT ME UP)

PAIRING lee hyunjae x f!reader

WORD COUNT 9.17k

GENRES horror ﹒ smut ﹒ angst ﹒ fluff ig?

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, mentions of murder, descriptions of crime scenes, mentions of blood, mentions of knifes, graphic description of stab wounds, mentions of potential mental illness, THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS THAT CONSTITUTE WARNINGS BUT ?!1?1 I DONT WANT TO SPOIL !1!2!2, Lots of Kissing, mutual masturbation (f! receiving fingering & m! receiving hand job), pillow talk ig, big dick hyunjae 😈, um unprotected sex lol be safe u silly geese, car sex, cowgirl position yeehaw, creampie, this entire fic is just a whole fucking roller coaster i stg it’s gonna haunt me forever

SUMMARY with a serial killer running rampant on campus, everyone around you seems to be dropping like flies. but, hey, at least you have hyunjae to protect you.

MORE omg.. my first written work for tbz 🙀 extra super fun fact; this was originally an idea i had for hyunjin from skz on my other blog that i actually started writing the week before halloween last year (the reason it’s a horror fic), but i never finished and sort of felt like there was no point in continuing it after a while— that is until i stumbled upon the draft a few weeks ago and decided to revamp, edit, and complete it 😋 i kept going back and rereading and then blanking when i wanted to add to it until last night when i said fuck it and drank two cups of coffee to power through the end 🙌 anyways.. here u all go, my baby that i never thought would see the light of day and my first time writing a genuine horror piece <3 also special shoutout to rina my soulmate @tsukidou for beta reading 🫶

PLAYLIST sacrifice (eat me up) — enhypen, awake — the boyz, roar — the boyz, fever — enhypen, fate — enhypen, taste — stray kids, wake up — ateez, white noise — pvris, heaven — pvris

“Alright, that’s all for today’s lecture. If this was your last of the day, make sure to find someone to go home with and remember the curfew rules!” Your English professor says, concluding the class.

The students around you rush to pack up their things and get off of campus as soon as possible. You don’t seem to be in a hurry, though, taking your time to put away your notebook and laptop. Your roommates were still in their music production class, so you didn’t want to go home alone, deciding to wait until they were done.

“Y/N, don’t you wanna get home?” Professor Park asks, her voice echoing in the now empty lecture hall. She throws the strap of her bag over her shoulder and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I do, but I have to wait for my roommates. They’re in a class right now and I’d rather not go by myself.” You let out an awkward laugh. She nods at your reasoning, giving you a small smile for comfort.

“Okay, you be careful! I’ll see you on Thursday.”

You raise your hand in a silent salutation, watching as she exits the room, leaving you completely alone. Though a public space, in a public building, the fact that there’s no one else nearby leaves you utterly unsettled. Your stomach churns with a twinge of fear and you start to feel a bit claustrophobic despite being in such a spacious area, so you choose this point to hurriedly collect your belongings and get the hell out of there.

The past couple of months have been in this weird state of limbo. You don’t recall exactly when the killings started, but once the police noticed a pattern, everyone knew sooner or later that the presence of a serial murderer would be announced on the local news. Your town enforced a citywide curfew to protect its citizens, but mostly the students at your university.

Every single one of the killer’s victims were university students. You were friends with a bunch of guys and while it was nice having big strong men surrounding you, you knew that could hardly do anything to quell the lingering anxiety you’ve felt ever since the spree began.

The police seemed to be having trouble coming up with any possible suspects, or even gaining any leads, thanks to the killer’s unusual victimology and the cool down time between murders always varying. If the people in charge of protecting you couldn’t do that, how were you supposed to feel safe?

In an attempt to get to the building where Jacob, Kevin, and Eric were as fast as you could, you speed walk out of the lecture hall, accidentally bumping into someone. You bow at a nearly ninety-degree angle and hurl out apology after apology following the collision, not trying to make any enemies in this day and time.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot.” The stranger spits, waiting for you to glance up at him to give you a nasty glare. He looks like the kind of guy who thought he was all that, despite peaking in high school. You feel your bottom lip quiver and you avoid eye contact.

“I—”

“Woah, dude, chill the fuck out. It was an accident, I’m sure she didn’t— wait, N/N, is that you? Hey it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

There’s a familiar voice in your ears and a hand under your chin, forcing you to stand upright. Whoever you bumped into walks away with a scoff. You meet eyes with Lee Hyunjae, one of your dearest friends. He recognizes that hint of panic in your features and he frowns.

“I’m so sorry, Jae, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going—” Your breath is caught in your throat and you fumble over your words.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” he keeps a hold on your biceps. “It’s alright, I promise. He’s gone. What’s wrong?”

You shut your eyes tightly, feeling pathetic for causing such a scene for no apparent reason. Hyunjae guides you through your breathing, his focus trained on you the whole time. He always made you feel so comfortable.

“With everything that’s been going on, I’m just so paranoid and afraid of being alone. I wanted to go to the music department building and wait for the boys.” You finally explain once you’ve calmed down and the rise of your chest is even.

“How about this? I’ll take you home so you don’t have to stay on campus any longer.” He suggests, bringing up a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear. You nod slowly, gathering your bearings.

Hyunjae leads you to his car that’s parked in the lot closest to the building you were just in and the two of you make your way to your apartment. You’d been friends with your roommates for years now, meeting in eighth grade. You had just moved schools and happened to be put into a class with Eric Sohn, the most rambunctious boy you’d ever met. He thought you seemed really sweet upon first impression and decided to befriend you, introducing you to all of his friends in turn.

Aside from Eric, there was Sangyeon, Jacob, Younghoon, Hyunjae, Juyeon, Kevin, Changmin, Chanhee, Haknyeon, and Sunwoo. While it was a little overwhelming, it was nice going from zero friends to eleven in the span of just a couple days. You were pretty close to all of them, but you and Hyunjae initially hit it off the best. You understood each other on a different level than everyone else and to this day, you still don't know the exact reason why.

Towards the end of high school, your friendship with Hyunjae transformed into something that wasn’t purely platonic. You weren’t entirely sure when it started to change, but your feelings for him grew exponentially. You tried to keep them to yourself, hidden from the world to preserve your fragile teenage heart. Though you’d already been friends with them a few years at that point, you still had that inkling of dread in the pit of your stomach that one day they’d choose to stop talking to you. You especially didn’t want a silly crush to be the cause of that.

After a while, however, the lines began to blur together anyway and everyone could tell you felt for him romantically. Once, Eric had made a comment about it being so painfully obvious that Hyunjae was just as into you and it nearly shook your whole world.

When college time rolled around, you all knew you’d be attending the same university, so picking roommates was a bit of a tricky situation. You chose yours solely based on the fact that you were majoring in similar things, so it’d be easy to fit schedules together. (You also couldn’t handle being roommates with Hyunjae; it’d be too much for your heart.) Hyunjae lived with Juyeon, Changmin, and Sunwoo, while Sangyeon, Younghoon, Chanhee, and Haknyeon lived together.

Hyunjae parks in a spot near the stairs that lead to your unit. The car is still running when you unbuckle your seatbelt and you stare at the steps blankly. Though the close proximity with him has your pulse racing, you want nothing more than some company until your roommates get home. You turn to him shyly, balling up a fistful of your sweater.

“Jae, do you— do you think you could stay with me for a bit before the boys come back? I don’t— I really don’t wanna be alone right now.”

The look he gives you is full of adoration, like you personally put the stars in the sky. He smiles softly and nods, reaching across the center console to place a comforting hand on top of yours. The two of you keep them intertwined as you go inside your apartment, locking all the locks carefully before sitting on your couch.

You don’t make a comment about him not letting go despite already being in the safety of your home. You don’t say anything about him pulling you into his side either, mostly because you want him to.

With all that’s been happening recently, you’ve felt so hollow. There was this indescribable emptiness expanding in you and even though you so desperately wanted to chalk it up to something else, you knew it was due to the fact that there was growing anxiety that you could be next, that any of your friends could be next. You were starting to move like you were in a simulation, doing everything in your daily routine without a single emotion. Sure, you’d laugh when Eric made a stupid joke but that’s about the most anyone could get from you aside from the occasional panic attack.

Hyunjae being here and holding you is exactly what you needed to feel some semblance of warmth again.

There’s a soft knock on your bedroom door around eight that same night, waking you from your slumber. You don’t remember falling asleep or being moved to your bed, so you’re not too sure when Hyunjae left. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you get up to open your door.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you, but we got some takeout if you’re hungry.” Jacob says with an apologetic smile, leaning on the door frame.

You give him a bleary look as you nod, following him into the dining room where your other two roommates were sitting at the table. Eric greets you through a full mouth. A small laugh escapes you when you sit across from him, Kevin adjacent to your seat. The sound of the TV in the living room plays as background noise as the four of you eat.

“So when’d you get home? I thought you were gonna wait for us.” Kevin asks.

“I was, but then I ran into Hyunjae when I was on my way to your building and he offered to bring me home,” you shrug, taking some tteokbokki with your chopsticks. “It was a whole thing, please don’t ask.”

Eric hums to himself, a mischievous grin on his face as he takes a sip of his cola. “Interesting. And you say he’s not into you…”

Heat blooms over your cheeks and you accidentally drop your chopsticks on your plate, their clacking against the ceramic garnering your roommates’ attention. Eric Sohn was now number one on your hit list. Kevin elbows him in the side and tells him to be quiet, despite the tiny upwards curve of his lips.

“If he cares about you as much as he seems like he does, he wouldn’t have left you here alone after you fell asleep,” Jacob mutters, looking at you from his peripherals. “What was the point of escorting you home if—”

“Jacob shut the fuck up,” Eric suddenly blurts, the three of you stare at him as he clambers over to the living room, turning up the volume on the TV. “Look!”

You turn in your chair, your stomach churning at the news report unfolding before you.

“We’re live just outside SNU, where another victim has been found. The body hasn’t been identified yet, but from what we do know, he was a student that attended the school,” the female reporter says into the microphone she’s holding, a glazed over expression in her eyes. “Crime Scene Investigators believe he was murdered at around six this evening, and was assumed to have been making his way home from campus. Updates are expected to come later tonight once we have more information.”

You know that far away, checked out gaze she had all too well. She’s reported on the killings for a while now, no doubt numb to the way things were at this point.

Your appetite spoils immediately and you excuse yourself from the table, making your way back to your room. You sit on your bed and bring your knees to your chest, taking a deep breath in, then covering your mouth when you breathe out to muffle the sob that follows. It was becoming too overwhelming for you and there was nothing you could do about it besides sit back and watch.

It was understandable for anyone in your situation to feel hopeless, how could they not? With someone terrorizing the city in an unpredictable manner, there was no sense of normalcy in anyone’s life. You shudder when you finally bring yourself to stop crying, digging your nails into the fat of your calves.

Through the walls, you can hear the boys talking, voices solemn.

“Why’d you have to put the TV louder, dumbass?”

“Sorry, I just like being up to date on the case, you know? I want to be prepared. What if I need to learn clone jutsu to take out the guy?”

“Eric, you’re such a clown, oh my god.”

“I get that you’re interested and all, but you have to be mindful of Y/N. You know how much this has affected her both emotionally and physically, she doesn’t need the constant reminder that it’s happening. And I’d appreciate if you apologized for telling me to ‘shut the fuck up’.”

There’s a snort in between.

“My bad, I didn’t mean to be rude about it. But while we’re on the topic, I think we both need to admit our mistakes. What you said about Hyunjae to her wasn’t cool either. I know we’re all friends, but it just came across too—”

“It was really snappy, Jacob. And a bit petty.”

“Yeah! What Kevin said.”

“I— you’re right. I just don’t want her getting hurt, in more ways than one.”

You don’t hear much else from the trio and sigh heavily, dragging your hands down your face and wiping your eyes with the heels of your palms. You grab your phone from your nightstand and hesitantly search for Hyunjae’s contact, the line ringing a couple times before he answers.

“Y/N? Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“N-no, I’m fine. I was just— I wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay,” you mess with your bottom lip. “I heard there was another victim and I didn’t know when you left the apartment, so I just— uh— I just needed to know that you were safe. I called to see if you’d answer.”

You squeeze your eyes shut out of embarrassment, even if he can’t exactly see you. The stuttering was enough to make you go into hiding for the rest of your life if this serial killer didn’t.

“Oh,” you can hear the slight chuckle in his response from the way his breath hits the speaker. “It means a lot that you’d do that, N/N. Really, I appreciate you so much.”

Your lip finds itself between your teeth and your heart is pounding unbearably fast, you think you might be having a heart attack. You bring a hand up to clutch at your chest as a fuzzy feeling courses through your whole being.

Now you were scared for an entirely different reason.

(The main one occupies your mind again later that night when you scroll through your Twitter feed, only to find out the most recent victim was the guy you accidentally bumped into. You feel like some sick version of a guardian angel was looking after you. It makes it hard to fall asleep after that.)

A couple days passed and you found yourself thinking about Lee Hyunjae more than usual.

Not to say that you didn’t already think about him at least once a day, but now it was worse. When you woke up, you wondered if he was still asleep. While you drank your morning coffee, you wondered if it’d taste sweeter had he made it for you. When you had lunch, you wondered if he’d like the spam musubi you made yourself. When you attended your other classes, you wondered which courses he was struggling with this semester.

As you were walking out of your English class, you recalled running into him. Had he not been there, you might’ve driven yourself insane trying to rush over to the music building while diffusing the issue with that stranger.

When you first began to harbor feelings for him, you assumed it would become nothing more than a silly schoolgirl crush. He was attractive and kind to you, but that was just the bare minimum— you thought you’d grow out of it. However, as time went on, what you thought was just puppy love had blossomed into something stronger. It was a force to be reckoned with.

Of course, all of that had been tossed on the back burner with everything that’s going on. Recently you’ve been too afraid for your own safety and well-being to over analyze your interactions with Hyunjae, but now you’re back to square one.

All because he’d done something nice for you.

God, the bar was so low. Was it really too much to ask for someone who was decent? Someone who wasn’t a serial killer?

You were on your way to the music building to wait for Jacob, Kevin, and Eric once again, when you see Hyunjae coming down the hall. He’s on his phone, not paying any mind to his surroundings. You’re about to call out to him when someone stops you, tugging on the sleeve of your sweater gently.

“Hey, Y/N right?” The tall boy asks, a charming smile on his face.

“Uh— yeah,” you nod, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Y-you are?”

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I must seem like a total weirdo,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m Mingyu! We have English together.”

“Oh, you’re Mingyu? Professor Park told me about you before class today,” you give him a small comforting smile. “I don’t mind helping you!”

“Ah, that’s great to hear. I was a bit worried you’d be more annoyed about having to tutor someone so late in the semester.” Though he’s much taller than you and approached you first, Mingyu comes across as a little shy in nature. It puts you at ease in a way.

“No, not at all! English isn’t always the easiest, I get that. I wanna help as much as I can before finals. Look,” you pause, pulling your backpack off one shoulder to rip out a sheet of paper. “I’ll give you my number so we can arrange meet up dates! I’d prefer if we met at the library if that’s okay with you?”

Mingyu grins and sports a thumbs up in agreement. “That sounds perfect. Thank you so much, Y/N!”

You scribble your phone number onto the paper and hand it to him before parting ways. With the off guard conversation, you nearly forgot about Hyunjae, who was nowhere to be seen now. You feel your lips droop into a frown, since you were hoping you could talk with him for a second.

As you’re walking across the quad to the music building, a wind chill blows past you, making you wrap your arms around yourself. It was mid November and for some stupid reason, you were only wearing a small cardigan.

When you squint up at the sky, you also realize it’s more overcast than anything. There’s an angry grey cloud right above you and you curse yourself for not having an umbrella or a raincoat. You should've been more prepared, especially because of the inconsistent weather this time of year.

Suddenly, the sky is blocked from your view and you furrow your brows, spinning around. Hyunjae stares back at you with a smile ten times warmer than the frigid air surrounding you and a thicker jacket in one hand. The other holds up an umbrella just as tiny droplets begin to fall from above.

His timing couldn’t have been better.

“Heading to the music building?” He asks, skillfully placing the coat on your shoulders.

“Mhm… was gonna wait for the boys.” You respond, a little awestruck by how gorgeous he was. Especially up close. Your eyes fixate on the freckle on his nose rather than his own. He hums, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he leads you in a different direction.

“I can take you home again,” he glances down at you. “I don’t mind one bit.”

“O-okay!”

During the car ride to your apartment, you send a quick text to your roommates about not waiting up. You were happy that your relationship with Hyunjae was evolving. The past couple semesters had been rough, and you hadn’t seen him or any of the other guys nearly as much as Jacob, Kevin, and Eric. (And that was only because you lived with them.)

You toss your keys on to the mini table beside the front door, taking off your shoes with a small groan. The boots were cute, but not very comfortable. Hyunjae follows suit, his sock clad feet shuffling against the floor to sit on the couch.

After switching on the TV, you find a random Hallmark Christmas movie to play in the background, knowing full well that his presence beside you was too distracting. The brunette turns to face you, placing a hand on your thigh gently to get your attention.

“So, who was the dude you were talking to earlier?”

You blink at his question. So he saw you after all. Was he perhaps jealous? The idea shouldn’t make you giddy, but it does. “My professor asked me to tutor him ‘cause he’s struggling with English. Why?”

“Just curious. He seemed a little touchy.” Hyunjae plays with the hem of your sweater.

“O-oh. It’s fine, he wasn’t a random perv, if that’s what you were wondering.”

He scoots a little closer to you, tucking some hair behind your ear. You feel your face flush impossibly hotter. Your heart is racing and your breath is caught in your throat. His body heat radiates off of him with the new proximity.

“Good. It drives me crazy seeing other guys put their hands on you.” He admits bluntly, his hand resting at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder.

You know you look insane, your chest heaving up and down and your eyes widened a little. Like a baby deer caught by a predator. Who knew sweet sweet Hyunjae had a rather risqué side to him? You swallow thickly, not daring to move an inch. His thumb caresses your skin gently, goosebumps littering in its wake.

“Hyunjae…” You breathe, lips parting as you finally make eye contact with him.

“You’re so pretty, Y/N.”

You want to scream into the cushion behind you, your hands clamming up. Hyunjae looks like he could swallow you whole if he wanted to, his bottom lip between his teeth as he leans in a bit more. This moment was something straight out of one of your darkest fantasies. You never thought this would ever happen, that either of you would ever actually make a move on the other.

The sound of the front door unlocking catches both of your attention. Hyunjae pulls away from you faster than your brain can comprehend what exactly just occurred. Jacob is the first to walk in, laughing at something Eric said. The three males pause when they see you’re not alone.

The greetings are quick, Hyunjae dapping up the boys as if nothing. He’s also quick to say goodbye, ensuring them that he’ll make sure you’re safe when they’re not around. He gives you that smile of his, the one where his eyes form crescents, and then he’s gone.

You don’t know how much more of this you could take.

“So, Y/N…” Eric starts in the middle of dinner, side eyeing you as he shovels rice into his mouth. “You and Hyunjae have been together an awful lot lately.”

Kevin snorts, kicking the blonde under the table. You suppose it was going to come up eventually. This ‘Will They, Won’t They’ back and forth shit was starting to tire you out. You weren’t getting any younger. Time was passing you up the longer you waited to just say something. And with all that’s been going on, it was silly to be afraid of admitting your feelings.

“He’s being a good friend, Eric,” Jacob sighs, reaching across to flick him on the forehead. “It’s actually really nice that he watches over Y/N when we’re gone.”

Eric grimaces, rubbing the spot that Jacob assaulted. You frown a bit when you realize that he had a point. Hyunjae was treating you like a child that had to be tended to, babysitting you like you weren’t capable of holding your own. Granted, both times he’s come over, you asked him to. So you couldn’t really blame him for assuming you wanted him around to protect you.

“Do y’all think Hyunjae actually likes me? In a non-platonic way?”

Kevin’s spoon clatters onto the floor and they all pause their banter to look at you. Every time your feelings for Hyunjae were brought up, you chose to ignore them and switch the subject. You can’t keep running away.

“Uh— yeah. Duh. Of course he does. I don’t know anyone else who would go out of their way to stay with someone they saw as just a friend multiple times a week so she felt safe.” Kevin finally answers after a moment.

“Okay.” You settle on, taking a sip of your water.

“What do you mean ‘okay’?” He raises an eyebrow at you, but you just shrug.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

As you’re washing the dishes after dinner, you hear the news broadcast over the faucet. Another victim had just been found behind the campus library. The camera shows the scene behind the reporter, something that would’ve made you queasy a couple days ago, but now you feel nothing— just a dull ache in your chest. It’s messy, almost like the killer was in a hurry to get it over with.

The body is covered with a black tarp, paramedics wheeling it away in the corner of the screen. The reporter still wears that dissociated expression on her face as she goes over the details of this victim. She explains that because the murder was done so haphazardly, they were able to identify the body easily.

Twenty three year old Kim Mingyu, Sports Med Major.

The rest of the news report sounds like static in your ears as you scrub away at the dishes mindlessly. Your fingers have pruned and the water was burning the backs of your hands, but you don’t feel it, too checked out to care. It seemed like the killings were getting closer and closer to you. Part of you thought you’d be next every single time.

You had to tell Hyunjae how you felt. It was now or never.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s waiting outside of your apartment complex, leaning against his car. You take careful steps down the stairs, nearly fainting at the sight of him in a hoodie and grey sweatpants. He runs around the car to open the passenger door for you, only shutting it when you’re all buckled up. It’s not long after that he revs the engine and drives off to nowhere in particular, just like you requested. (Curfew ignored.)

It’s silent at first, save for the low hum of his music, R&B that resonates somewhere within your soul. You can’t help but steal a glance from your peripheral, fisting your sweatshirt when you see how concentrated he looks while driving. He has his right hand resting on the gear shift, the other gripping the wheel. You could’ve had this view all to yourself so long ago had you just spoken up.

“Hyunjae,” your voice is wobbly, but you steel yourself to continue. “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” He asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Do you think— uh— do you think you could pull over?” If you were going to confess, you wanted him to look at you. Besides, the drive was starting to make you jittery.

He nods and goes a bit further, before pulling into an empty lot. He shifts into park, unbuckling his seatbelt so he could turn his body towards you, giving you his undivided attention. You mirror him, tightening your hold on your sweater when he wets his lips, smiling at you. “Is this what you called me for?”

“Yeah, actually,” you force yourself to keep eye contact, pushing the lump back down your throat. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for years now, if I’m being honest with both of us.”

He chuckles, much like he did the other night over the phone. It drives you just a little crazy. “I’m listening.”

“I— I don’t know how to word this properly…” You wipe your palms on your legs. Come on, Y/N, spit it out already. “Fuck, okay, I like you Hyunjae. Like, really like you. In the way that I sometimes wish you would kiss me until I can’t breathe. I’ve been so afraid of admitting that to myself, but I’ve realized that life is way too short to dwell over the fear of rejection. But please, tell me you feel the same.”

He stares at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. You feel like throwing up now, you stomach twisting and churning at the thought that you just ruined everything between you. There was no going back after this. He knew.

It’s as if months have passed by in utter silence with Hyunjae just sitting there, no words coming out of his mouth, until finally, he just leans across the center console, cupping your cheek with one of his hands. His vision is trained on your lips, his face close enough that his lashes flutter against your skin. God, he was even more gorgeous from this distance.

Instead of saying anything, he presses his lips to yours, a sweet but desperate kiss that melts away all the worries tucked into your head. They feel so soft on your own, molding together in near perfect timing. It’s like you’d been living for a year without rain and this kiss was the shower that saved you from a drought. It’s all you’ve ever wanted and needed and more.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he breathes when he pulls away slightly. “The real thing is so much better than I imagined it would be.”

For once, time slows down in this moment, almost like the world stopped spinning on its axis. Everything slips from your mind and it’s just you and Hyunjae, here in his car in the middle of an empty parking lot. Nothing else matters. You smile at his confession, a genuine smile that was spurred on by contentment rather than force. You felt light and airy, no longer weighed down by such a trivial problem.

“I think I have an idea,” you giggle, reaching up to brush a stray hair from his face. “I’m not too sure, though, I could be wrong. Could you do that again to help jog my memory?”

Hyunjae laughs, (it’s the most melodic sound you’ve ever heard) but doesn’t hesitate to kiss you. You reciprocate his passion, tangling your fingers in his dark hair. He sighs into the kiss, pulling you on top of him. Your legs straddle his lap as best as they can and he reaches down to recline his seat, scooting it as far as it can go from the wheel. The thin material of your fleece shorts hardly hide the feeling of him under you, a low moan pushing into his mouth.

He nips at your bottom lip, tugging at it with his teeth gently before peppering kisses along your jaw and neck, sucking along the exposed skin from your sweatshirt. You whine, throwing your head back as his tongue soothes over the bruising area. His hands slide under your top, rubbing up and down your sides before moving them down to your thighs, repeating the action.

“You’re so gorgeous on top of me like this, Y/N.” Hyunjae says, just above a whisper like someone else might hear this intimate conversation. He grips your hips and bucks upwards to grind into your clothed core. Your eyes widen and you involuntarily moan at the sensation. This wasn’t what you were expecting when you planned to confess, but you didn’t hate the outcome. He grins at your response, reconnecting your mouths sloppily.

If you were given the choice, you were wholeheartedly satisfied with just this. You would’ve been plenty okay with just making out. Had you been asked years ago that you’d even get this far, you would’ve snorted in your own face, so why should you be greedy and want more than what you had? (That’s not to say that you didn’t.)

“H-Hyunjae,” you stutter, your brain foggy from all of the kissing you just did. “Do you…?”

You trail off, not sure how to word your question. You didn’t want to come off like a sex crazed maniac, but you didn’t want to come off like an amateur virgin either. Truth of the matter is, you were neither, but it had been a while since you indulged yourself in something of this sort. And this time it would be with Hyunjae, the one person you never thought you’d do this with. You were nervous.

All you wanted was to be entwined with him in more ways than one. You wanted all of him— the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, the sick, the healthy. He could do no wrong on your eyes and you wanted to show him that.

“Do I…?” Hyunjae trails off, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you want to make love… with me?” This had to be the single most mortifying moment of your life. You cover your face in humiliation, shying away from him when he sits up on his elbows.

“What kind of question is that?” He asks with a chuckle, prying your hands from your face so he could look you in the eyes. “If I could make love to you every hour of the day, for seven days a week, I would. I want you all the time, Y/N. Earlier today, before we got interrupted, I wanted to do unimaginable things to you.”

You hide yourself in the crook of his neck, your skin flushing hotter. Weren't you wearing too many layers? The car was starting to feel stuffy. Hyunjae’s chest rumbles with laughter beneath you, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. This is probably the gentlest he’d be with you all night, because from what you could infer, he was a manhandler.

“Take care of me,” you breathe, mouth brushing against his pulse point. “Please.”

Hyunjae stops holding himself back. He’d do whatever you asked of him, only hoping you’d be tied to him in every lifetime, just like this one. He kisses you again with an unrivaled fervor, slipping his hands inside your sweatshirt and touching you everywhere physically possible. They’re warm on your skin, palming your breasts over the flimsy fabric of your bralette.

He helps you get rid of your top and shorts, leaving you in just undergarments. The sight of you barely clothed sends him into a frenzy, especially knowing it’s for his eyes only. You aid Hyunjae in pulling off his hoodie and yanking his sweatpants down his long legs. The minute most of your restrictions are gone, Hyunjae brings you closer to him. He hisses at the contact, the warmth of your cunt through your panties putting him under a spell.

You whimper when his touch travels down your front, sneaking into the waistband of your underwear. The pads of his middle and ring fingers apply the lightest amount of pressure onto your clit the second he finds it, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your nails on one hand dig into his shoulder while the other trails down his abdomen, rubbing up and down his length through his boxer briefs.

Hyunjae groans into your kiss and you gasp for air as you tear from him, resting your forehead on his to watch as you get each other off through your clothes. If earlier was something taken from one of your wet dreams, what did this constitute as? You clench around nothing when he pushes up into you, your wrists clashing. Knowing he was just as down bad for you as you were for him just made this all that much more real.

“I need to feel you around me,” he mumbles in your ear, dipping his fingers in and out of you languidly as if to explain what he meant. “Let me stretch you out.”

You nod in response, fumbling with his briefs. Hyunjae lifts his hips enough for you to help him out of them. You groan when he reveals his impressive size, wondering how exactly he expected you to take him. He pushes your panties to the side, mimicking the sound you just made when he sees your bare pussy drooling for him. You eventually get frustrated and line him up with your hole, sinking down in one fluid motion. A voluminous moan escapes from the back of your throat, his dick throbbing achingly inside of you. At first you stay still like that, your pelvises touching as you adjust to his length and girth.

“H-holy shit— you’re s-so deep, Jae,” you cry, resting your forehead against his yet again. He pecks your lips, holding onto your hips to help you bounce on his cock, practically impaling you every single time.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well. Such a good fucking girl,” Hyunjae grunts, the warmth of your walls drawing him in even further. “So tight, too.”

Your thighs begin to burn and your movements become slower, which he takes note of instantaneously. He bends his knees and forces your upper half impossibly closer to him, thrusting up into you. This new angle allows him to find that one spongy spot that has you seeing stars, fogging up your brain and even your vision.

You cast a downward glance at the minimal space between where the two of you are connected. Your moans and whines grow louder with the view of every thrust of his hips into yours. Hyunjae sneaks his hand in the middle of you, his fingers expertly toying with your clit. Any more stimulation and the band in your stomach is snapping.

You’ve had sex before. You’ve slept with a handful of other guys in the past, but nothing could ever compare to this moment. Your cunt had already memorized his size and every vein, effectively ruining the chances of any other man doing this with you. Lee Hyunjae had you in a chokehold whether he realized it or not. He had you wrapped around his finger without really trying, but you could never complain.

Your walls squeeze his cock and he knows he won’t last much longer, shutting his eyes tightly. “C’mon baby, you gonna cum for me?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, your skin flush on his own. “Wanna cum so bad for you, Hyunjae.”

“Yeah? Me too, sweetheart,” he pants, the thumb on your hip pressing against the bone. “Where do you want me?”

“Inside,” you babble. “Please, please. I want you to cum inside me, Hyunjae.”

He kisses you softly just then, swallowing your pretty moans with something completely opposite of what he’s already given you, and that’s what sends you spiraling, fluttering around him. He groans, spilling into you and letting you milk him dry of everything he has to offer, painting your insides just like you asked him to.

You lay like that for a while, Hyunjae’s dick still buried in you to the hilt. Both of you attempt to catch your breaths and bring yourselves down from the well-anticipated euphoric state you just visited. You giggle at the condensation coating the windows of his car, extending your arm to draw a heart and a smiley face with your finger. He slowly pulls himself out, hissing at the sensitivity, but doesn’t make a move to get you off of his chest.

Where do you go from here? A line had just been crossed and you weren’t entirely sure you knew what he wanted from you. It’s one thing to imagine kissing and fucking someone extensively. But it was another to actually want a tangible, romantic relationship from them, to actually capacitate feelings for them.

“I love you,”

You jolt up and stare at him with widened eyes. Did those words really just come out of his mouth? As if he can read your mind, he nods. There’s a dragged out sigh, followed by him sitting up slightly with you perched on his lap.

“I really do, Y/N. I’ve felt this way for years and I’m willing to do anything for you.” He admits, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. You kiss him gently, the pad of your thumb swiping across his cheekbone.

“I love you, too.”

The Saturday after your night in Hyunjae’s car brought everything into perspective for you.

You hadn’t spoken to him since he dropped you off at your apartment and it was beginning to worry you. Even though you made sure he reciprocated your emotions, there still could’ve been a misunderstanding. Had you been too forward? Did you scare him away? Did something happen to him? Whatever the explanation was, you didn’t like the eerie feeling it started brewing in your stomach— it was foreboding.

In spite of not talking to them at all in what seemed to be a month or so, you tried calling each of your mutual friends to see if you could get some answers. Not even his roommates picked up their phones and this made you much more uneasy. You pace back and forth in your living room, nicking at your bottom lip with your nails. Why did he choose now of all times to ghost you? What went wrong?

Kevin comes out of his bedroom a couple minutes later, expecting to grab his morning coffee as usual. When he finds you nearly on the brink of insanity instead, he decides to intervene. He supposed his caffeine could wait until his best friend was calmed down. You jump in surprise, holding a fist to your chest. He raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, my bad. What’s up? Why do you look like you’re going through a quarter life crisis?” Kevin asks you, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Is everything okay?”

“I—“ you pause and take a deep breath. “I don’t know…”

His eyebrows furrow and he guides you to the sofa so you could sit down. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?”

“Hyunjae hasn’t talked to me since Thursday night, after he brought me back here,” your voice is hoarser than you’d like it to be. “I-I texted and called him a bunch but he hasn’t replied. I even— I even tried Juyo, Sunwoo, and Changmin. No luck with them either. I’m concerned, Kev.”

Kevin combs through his hair, pursing his lips in thought. “Yeah, okay, I would be too. It's a little weird that none of them are responding. Have you thought of just showing up at his place to check in on him?”

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t want him to think I’m clingy and annoying in case he was there. What if he just wants to get me off of his back and he’s telling them to ignore me?”

“I don’t think that’s the case at all, Y/N,” your friend sighs, putting his glasses on top of his head and running a hand down his face. “Hyunjae has never been that kind of person in all the years we’ve known him. I highly doubt he’d switch up now. Plus, he’s literally crazy about you. I’m pretty sure the guy would move heaven and earth for you if he could. I think there’s a very real and genuine possibility that something is seriously wrong. It’s like— it’s just a gut feeling, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” If Kevin felt this way, too, that would only mean one thing, right? You had to get to the bottom of this. There was a chance that lives depended on it. A quick roll of your neck and you’re standing. “I’m gonna go over there. I can’t leave things unanswered. I can’t wait for a fucking news report.”

The ravenette pats the top of your head. “Be careful, N/N. Please.”

You give him a nod before you’re slipping into your shoes and grabbing his car keys. You’re not exactly dressed for a confrontation if there is one— clad in a pair of sweatpants, an oversized sweatshirt with your university’s crest on it, and socks with sandals— but you were too preoccupied to care.

The drive itself was mentally taxing, your brain dissociating most of the ride. You’re not sure how many of the lights you passed were actually green. The closer you got to Hyunjae’s apartment, the more that trepidation settling in your lower abdomen grew. Throughout your life, you’d never been the type of person who acted on instinct or had a nagging voice in the rear of your head warning you about situations you got into. You usually went with the flow and if you made a mistake, you allowed yourself to learn from it.

However, that was prior to being thrown into a period of uncertainty like this one. Now, all you could do was act on instinct. All you could do was listen to the stupid nagging voice in the rear of your head yelling at you. All you could do was follow the blaring alarms and caution signs in your field of vision. And this time they were almost deafening.

Kevin’s car rolls to a stop outside of Hyunjae’s building, occupying an empty spot three away from the front of the stairs. Your pulse races when you step out of the vehicle and immediately recognize the cars in the spaces beside yours. Hyunjae’s, Juyeon’s, and Changmin’s. You notice a thin layer of dirt caking Juyeon and Changmin’s, as if they’d remained unmoved for a long time. Perturbed wasn’t a big enough word to describe what was going through your mind.

Half of you was terrified to take a step towards the stairs, let alone ascend them to Hyunjae’s floor. What would go down when you reached his apartment? What would happen the moment that door opened?

You ball your hands into fists, the edges of your nails jabbing the skin of your palms. The pain steels you enough to move forward, walking up the stairs slowly. There’s a chill tiptoeing along your spine the whole trip up, like your body knew what you were getting yourself into before you did. Maybe you were stupid. Only an idiot would lead themselves blindly into a scenario without knowing the outcome.

It’s been minutes of you staring at the slightly rusted numbers on Hyunjae’s door before you register that you’re standing in front of it. If you're being honest, you have no idea what you’re doing. You were acting on autopilot— progressing without a thought of what’s coming next. A shuddered breath leaves your lips and you raise your knuckles to the door.

The first knock is too soft to hear if the inhabitants were in their bedrooms, so you apply more force the second time. The sound reverberates through the hall, a wince appearing on your features. If someone was inside, surely they had to have heard that one. You wait a little longer for the door to swing open and reveal one of your friends looking perfectly fine. For Juyeon to showcase that grin of his that reaches his eyes and ask what you were doing here. For Changmin to give you that sweet smile that puffed up his cheeks and ask what you needed. For Sunwoo to blow a raspberry before he laughed at how silly you were for stressing over them. For Hyunjae to reassure you that it was all going to be okay, that he loved you. You were praying for that.

But no one showed up on the other end of that doorway and you were stuck glaring at that same painted board of wood.

That’s what sends your instincts into overdrive. Your hand grabs the knob, twisting it just in case. It makes a full rotation, pushing open the door the tiniest bit. You peek inside carefully and find all the lights in the living room and kitchen off. Your teeth bite down on your lip as you enter the apartment. One of the things you hated about it, was the annoying buzz of the fluorescent lights in their bathroom. And for some reason, that was all that infiltrated your ears.

The door for said bathroom was cracked just a tad at the end of the hallway, but what caught your attention was the room closest to you— also cracked the most miniscule amount. You see light filtering through, an almost orange glow like that of a desk lamp. Your stupidity would be your downfall, you conclude, your feet gravitating to the room. It’s Hyunjae’s you recall when you’re outside of it. They always say curiosity killed the cat, and you couldn’t help but revert to a feline and nudge it open with your foot.

You really wished that saying was just that— a saying.

Eric sits ahead of you, tied to a chair in the middle of the room. There’s a piece of fabric gagging his mouth and his clothes are tattered, blood staining nearly every inch. A long gash runs along his left bicep and a myriad of smaller cuts litter his face and arms. What your focus lands on first are the several deep stab wounds on his thighs.

A hand comes up to cup your mouth to keep yourself from screaming at the sight of your best friend in this position. He struggles against his restraints, muffled cries for your assistance shattering your heart into a thousand pieces like broken shards of glass. Tear streaks mixed with dried blood cover the apples of his cheeks.

“Oh my god, Eric,” your voice wobbles as you scramble to free him. “Oh my god…”

You pull down the fabric in his mouth first and he gasps for air. His eyes widen at something behind you and he warns, “Y/N—!” before he’s interrupted by your yelp. The person pressed into your back has their arm around your neck with a hold tight enough that you can’t escape, but loose enough that you can breathe, the blunt edge of a knife grazing the column of your throat.

“Tsk tsk, Youngjae. You should know that making so much noise when your killer’s not in the room just alerts them of suspicious activity. That’s survival 101, my friend. Isn’t that right, sweet sweet Y/N?”

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

This wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Please, let her go, Hyunjae.” Eric begs. Hyunjae hums, nuzzling his nose in your hair. He rolls his eyes and scoffs after inhaling your scent, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“God, you’re a mouthy one. Not even Juyeon and Sunwoo were this chatty when I slit their throats— then again, it's not like they could talk much anyway.” He snorts.

You felt sick. You were lightheaded now, just at the thought of your friends gone. “W-why are you doing this?”

Hyunjae grumbles, pouting his lips. “Time for me to unravel my evil villain monologue, huh?” He slips a hand under your sweatshirt and pinches the side of your waist. “Well here it is; what you’re dying to know. The first incident was by complete accident, we were simply having a discussion about why he shouldn’t have been staring at your ass while his girlfriend was next to him at Jeong Jaehyun’s end of summer bonfire. The dude got pissed off that I called him out and tried to start a fight, but I shoved him so hard, he fell and hit his head on a rock. I just couldn’t find it in myself to feel bad about it so I left him there like nothing. From then on, anyone who came between us or remotely hurt you in any way wound up on the receiving end of this knife. Funny isn’t it? How you’re the one beneath it this time?”

It all began to fall into place once he laid the cards out on the table for you to read. The guy you ran into Tuesday after class. Poor Kim Mingyu, who just wanted to pass his English final. Your friends not picking up their phones. And supposedly it was all in the name of love.

“Y-you did that for me?”

“Of course, baby,” Hyunjae mutters into the shell of your ear. “I said I’d protect you didn’t I? I just want you all to myself.”

“What the fuck does that possessive bullshit have to do with me? What did it have to do with Juyo or Changmin or Sunwoo?” Eric cries. “Oh god, what about—?”

“Sangyeon, Hoon, Chanhee, Hak? Yeah, those four were taken care of way before my own roommates. You, obviously, were the chosen one this go around. Then it would be Kevin and lastly, Jacob. I planned on stopping after you three unless absolutely necessary.”

“How is any of this fucking necessary? You’re psychotic,” the blonde exclaims, still wriggling in his restraints. “Why would Y/N want you after all of this? Did you really believe she’d never find out about what you’ve done?”

Hyunjae glides the smooth edge of the blade against your skin and releases you from his grip, but takes a hold of your wrist, placing the handle in your grasp. He urges you forward, closer to Eric. “If she was scared of me, don’t you think she would’ve tried harder to escape me? Didn’t even blink when I held the knife to her neck.”

The brunette kisses your temple and you watch the fear in Eric’s eyes morph into defeat. “After everything we’ve been through? I’ve known you since eighth grade, Y/N. Eighth fucking grade. And this is how it ends?”

“H-he loves me,” you stutter, glancing at Hyunjae. “Don’t you?”

“You don’t kill your best friends out of love, Y/N! He’s insane! Please, don’t let him get into your head. You’re not that kind of person.” Eric attempts to reason.

Maybe you weren’t. Maybe you were. Who knows? That didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that Hyunjae loved you. He loved you so much that he’d kill for you. Over and over and over again.

It was kind of comical that you loved him all the same. You, too, would kill for him. Over and over and over again.

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #the boyz hyunjae #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #tbz hyunjae #lee hyunjae #lee hyunjae x reader #lee hyunjae smut #hyunjae #hyunjae x reader #hyunjae smut #juyeonszn

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alexawynters · 3 months

Text

Scarlet Whispers pt. 8

Gif not mine, as always

Trigger Warnings: Smuttttttt. Horribly written smut.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Masterlist with parts 1-7 here

Chapter Eight

Translations: котёнок - Kitten; malyshka - baby; lyubov - love; dorogoya - darling; I probably missed some… I should have probably been doing this the entire time, no? Eh… My b.

A/N: Its uhhh.. My first time writing smut for the public so uh… be gentle pls? Lol. Lemme know how it went. Writing dialog and smut makes me cringe haha. This was also written while I was in the hospital. Is it bad that the 5 day stay was almost a vacation compared to life? Haha, living the dreeeaammm. Someone pls hit me with their car or something so I can go back and have 0 responsibilities for another week. Promise I won’t sue 😛

Once again, edited while floaty. Apparently that’s the only time I can get the motivation to open my laptop. In my defense, I’m currently in the middle of a move and starting a new job so pls forgive my laziness. I’m a tad overwhelmed. It’s finnnne.

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During your time at the aquarium with Wanda, you hadn't noticed how late it had gotten. Logically, you knew it was around dinner time because you both had just eaten, but you didn't realize until you both entered the dimly lit cottage that it was so dark outside. Despite the long day you’d had, you weren't ready to go to bed just yet. Body thrumming with an unfamiliar energy, and you could tell it stemmed from Wanda's hand still holding onto your waist. Now that you were home, it would be socially acceptable for her to let you go, but instead, she chose to linger.

Never one to enjoy having others in your personal space, regardless of if you were touch starved, you were thrilled to discover that you didn't mind the witch being so close to you. In fact, the mere thought of being separated from her made your stomach roil with anxiety. Looking at the redhead next to you as you traversed the hallway towards your room for the evening, a new kind of craving overcame you. This one was different from the hunger you had experienced just before dinner, and you realized that you couldn't get enough of the witch’s touch and presence.

Reaching your shared room Wanda finally moves to separate from you, and as she heads opposite from you, her hand falling away, you make a split-second decision. Well. Decision was being generous. More accurately you allowed your impulses to take over, unable to think logically - you couldn’t let Wanda get too far. Not that there was anywhere for her to go in a bedroom you both shared, but your brain wasn’t exactly running on all cylinders at this time.

“Wait!”

You don’t know what, or even if you were thinking, knowing only that in the scant few feet the witch was away from you, your whole world felt like it was collapsing. A lightly calloused hand shot out as you turned to grab her hand again, and in your exuberance, you accidentally ended up yanking the woman towards you. In an unexpected feat of grace surprising both of you, you managed to catch Wanda. Despite her velocity, you were able to use her momentum, spinning both of you. A small jolt of pain wracked through your bones as your back landed harshly against the smooth wall, with Wanda safely in your arms. Chests heaved for air, both of you having fully expected to collide, ending up in a heap on the floor.

After the initial surprise wore off, both women giggled, though neither made a move to separate. “What is it, Y/N?” the older woman asked. Amusement colored her gaze, mixed with something else you couldn’t quite decipher. You were still learning new facial expressions to this day.

“I-” You started then stopped, trying to assemble your thoughts and determine just how vulnerable you were willing to be. “Thank you, Wanda. For today. For… everything. This was..” you trailed off, unable to find the words. “Everything.”

You hoped Wanda would understand what you meant by that even if you yourself weren’t quite sure just yet. What you were sure of is that you wanted to return to Wanda at least a fraction of the care and devotion she had shown you in all this time. You knew you didn’t want her to walk away, heart aching at the concept. What you didn’t know was what you wanted to do next, you hadn’t exactly gotten that far, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of being apart from her.

The redhead’s gaze softened at your words. “You don’t need to thank me, lyubov. You deserve so much, and I just want you to be happy.”

The words “with me” went unspoken, though she was dying to let them out. Instead, well-manicured hands lifted the tips of her fingers to gently push some fallen strands of your hair from your face, as she studied you curiously. A feeling you both were on the precipice of something settled firmly within the witch’s chest. Wanda was fairly confident she knew exactly what that something was, but she wouldn’t plunge you into anything you weren’t yet ready to fall into.

Though certain in her assumptions, Wanda was unable to clearly read your surface thoughts. A jumbled mass of emotions, each thought no more than fleeting before another took its place, your mind was a whirlwind. The next steps had to be taken by you, and if you weren’t up for that yet, the redhead was content with where you both were at this moment.

A palpable tension filled the air, conveying an unspoken awareness that something transformative was about to occur. Anticipation lingered in the atmosphere, creating a delicate blend of nervousness and excitement. There was an understated, magnetic attraction that drew you closer to Wanda. Completely unaware as you were, enthralled by the alluring softness of her lips which stoked a longing within you to know if they felt as velvety as they appeared, you were unconsciously learning forward.

It was a moment of breathless expectation, where time seemed to stretch. The world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the beauty of the impending inevitability. Eyes finally connecting with Wanda’s, a silent, mutual understanding was shared, and in that moment, you made a decision.

”May I…?” your voice a husky tremor, thick with emotion.

Never had Wanda found you more endearing than in that moment. Your innocent consideration that you would need to ask her permission after everything. As if she hadn't been waiting for this very moment for so long. As if this wasn’t what she had been waiting for since first discovering the Darkhold, and all the possibilities of a multiverse.

“Please, Y/N.” The witch’s reply was all but a breathy whisper.

As your lips and hers finally connected in a gentle, exploratory kiss, an electric current seemed to pass through their bodies, igniting a fire within your souls. It was a moment of pure magic, a culmination of all the emotions and desires that had been building between you both. Breaths mingled, blending together in a perfect harmony of passion and longing.

The softness of the kiss spoke volumes, revealing a depth of connection that you were certain words could never fully capture. A tender exchange, filled with a delicate balance of vulnerability and trust. Each touch, each movement of Wanda’s lips against yours, was deliberate, as if she was savoring every precious moment of this newfound intimacy with you.

With every passing second, the world around faded away, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a bubble of pure bliss. Time seemed to stand still as you explored this uncharted territory together. A feeling as if something inside, you hadn’t known had been missing, was now perfectly slotted into place. Home.

When it came to kissing you, Wanda marveled at the stark contrasts between your Avenger variant, and you. While your other variant was self-assured, often taking command of a kiss with practiced skill, you, on the other hand, were gentle and tentative. It was evident that you were willing to let Wanda take the lead, which she found incredibly empowering, almost addictive. She knew she should probably take this first kiss slowly for you, however, your submissiveness was simply too delicious for her to pass up such an opportunity.

Long, slender fingers came to rest just under your jaw, firmly holding you close, Wanda using her body to press you harder against the wall, as if trying to merge your two bodies into one. A gasp escaped you at the length of the witch’s body pressed so intimately against you. Wanda, ever opportunistic, took advantage of your open mouth to deepen the kiss, her lithe tongue swiping softly at the seam of your lips in askance.

You couldn’t even fathom a moment where you would ever deny Wanda this request, opening your mouth to grant her the access she desired. Her skillful tongue sensually slid against yours, eliciting a barely suppressed whimper from you. With a little coaxing Wanda was able to entice your tongues to engage in a seductive dance, leaving you breathless and heady.

Eventually, the kiss broke, leaving both of you craving more. It had opened the door to a world of possibilities, and in that moment, everything changed. The bond between the pair of you had deepened more than you could know, and more than Wanda had hoped for. Despite initial reservations, your heart knew then you would follow Wanda anywhere, irrevocably tied to the witch forever. There was no one you wanted or trusted more.

While trying to catch your breath, no words were spoken. Taking this moment, your intrusive thoughts began creeping in because of course they were. Desperately you hoped the woman wouldn’t view the kiss as a mistake, praying that you measured up to your superhero counterpart. That you were truly what she had been looking for all this time, even if you weren’t anything special.

You would do anything to have her lips on yours again, and briefly a thought occurred to you that this woman could murder you, and you would probably thank her for the privilege. Therapy, maybe you should ask Wanda if she could get you in to see a therapist, because that wasn’t concerning at all.

It wasn't in you to feel ashamed just then though, not when the very thought resonated in your soul. Gods, was this what you had been missing your entire life? And it had been right under your nose, for ages you had been unknowingly depriving yourself, hellbent on self-sabotage.

As you finally caught your breath, the witch gazed at you hungrily, causing a shiver to race down your spine.

"What do you want, detka?" Wanda asked, voice sultry. She tilted her head as if curious, but in reality, she was relishing in your disheveled appearance, eyes raking over your blown pupils, and kiss-swollen lips. So responsive for her, and this was only a kiss. Your first kiss with her, to be specific. Wanting to completely ruin you, it took every ounce of self-restraint for Wanda to wait for your answer instead.

Chest heaving, your brain struggled to pull together enough brain cells in order to provide her with an answer. When you finally spoke, your voice had a throaty quality you had never heard before.

”You. I want you.”

Green eyes, the color of jade, sparkled in such delight they could have practically illuminated the room with their vibrant glow. As you stared into her mesmerizing gaze, you got lost in her presence. Your mind was a myriad of thoughts, unable to focus on anything else. Every word she spoke, every movement she made, had a profound impact on you. As if the witch had cast a spell over you, weaving her magic effortlessly, and you willingly succumbed to her enchantment, eager to be under her captivating influence.

A mischievous smile played upon her lips, adding an air of mystery to her already enchanting demeanor. The grin hinted at the hidden depths within her, the playful intentions that lied just beneath the surface. So, as Wanda’s mischievous smile lingered, you couldn't help but be drawn further into her web of enchantment, willingly surrendering yourself to the metaphorical spell she had cast.

"Oh, lyubov, will you let me ruin you?" she asked teasingly, her voice filled with impishness and a hint of excitement.

Swallowing nervously, you felt desire building deep within you. Your experiences in this matter were limited, but you trusted the former avenger all the same. Still, you had a sneaking suspicion that whatever Wanda had in store for you would likely test your limits, even if you had no idea what those were yet. Eagerly, you nodded, ready to throw yourself headlong into this unknown, trusting the witch implicitly.

The moment her silky lips met yours once again, a hunger ignited within her, surprising both of you with its intensity and passion. Wanda pulled you close, her fingers curled in your hair, keeping you in place as she plundered your mouth. You could do little but let her lead the way, trying not to embarrass yourself with how much she was turning you on. Her sharp teeth tugged on your lower lip before biting down hard enough to draw blood. A pitiful whine was barely restrained by you as Wanda lapped at the new wound she had caused.

Deciding to test your boundaries during the kiss, the redhead gently wrapped her other hand around your throat. Not tight enough to cut off your oxygen supply, but the pressure did restrict some of the blood flow to your brain, leaving you in a deliciously foggy haze. A breathy moan escaped you, which Wanda eagerly swallowed as you gladly ceded control of the kiss to her. Pride out the window, you were no longer capable of trying to withhold any sounds she could draw from you. Wanda found it delightful that so far you were proving to be the perfect little котёнок for her. The redhead eagerly anticipated discovering what other surprises you had in store for her.

The other hand not on your neck moved from your hair down to the first button of your shirt and hesitated. “Is this okay, Y/N?” She asked, voice surprisingly soft for someone who currently had one of their hands wrapped around your neck.

Sluggish thoughts hazy with lust, you nodded with what would have probably counted as an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. Having someone as gorgeous as Wanda in front of you, asking for your consent, you found you couldn’t be bothered by your eagerness. You were a simp, and you were fine with that. Anything to get more of Wanda touching you.

The former Avenger grinned, finding you utterly adorable. She was charmed by how needy you were for her. Unable to help but revel in the power dynamics between you, relishing the opportunity to challenge your blissed-out mind and watch as you struggled to comply with her demands. It was a delightful game for Wanda, and she was going to have fun training you.

Before she could continue though, the witch wanted you to be absolutely sure. Regardless of how long she had waited for you, if you weren’t truly ready, Wanda didn’t want to push you. She wanted all of you, everything you had to give, but if you still weren’t ready, weren’t sure, she could wait. Wanda would wait forever if she had to.

“Lyubov moya, if you want me to stop at any point, just say the word, and I’ll stop immediately, okay? Full stop, I promise, and I won’t be upset with you.” she insisted, voice thick with longing as her nose grazed gently across yours in a reassuring manner.

Even now, Wanda was always putting your safety and happiness as her top priority, endearing her evermore to you. How could you have ever doubted that this woman had anything but your best interests at heart? The purest of intentions?

Knowing it was a bit over dramatic, while you appreciated her reassurances, if the witch didn’t do something in the next few seconds, you felt like you might combust. Releasing a needy whine, you hoped to convey your desperation to Wanda who only chuckled at your behavior.

“Relax, malyshka, I’ll take good care of you, I promise. But first, I need you to use your words, darling.” The hand on your throat easing its grip a little, allowing more blood to your brain, giving you back some of your intellectual capacity.

With Wanda’s body covering yours, you petulantly ground against her in the hopes of achieving any sort of friction, causing her lips to quirk upwards in an amused smirk. You weren’t going to get out of this until she had confirmation of your understanding, and if she happened to tease you into a petulant, writing mess in the process, well, that was just the cherry on top.

Giving in, you let out a keening whimper. “I understand Wands, please. Just touch me. Please!”

A wolfish grin overtook Wanda’s face at your begging. Green eyes locked with yours, and she could see the desire and longing in your eyes, mirroring her own. The way you looked at her, with a mixture of vulnerability and trust, made her heart flutter with a sense of joy and fulfillment. You were willing to surrender yourself to her guidance, to allow her to take the lead and shape you into the person she knew you could become. That kind of implicit trust and faith you had in her shot her arousal through the roof.

With each passing moment, Wanda's excitement grew, knowing that she had the opportunity to train and mold you into her perfect little котёнок. She relished the thought of all the fun games that lay ahead, confident in her ability to guide you towards your full potential. Your willingness to submit to her desires fueled her passion, making her all the more determined to own you completely. This power was the ultimate high, and she didn’t think she could ever get enough of it.

Her hand moved from your throat to wrap around your waist with a firm yet gentle grasp, pulling you closer to her in an undeniable display of ownership. The touch of her hand on your hip sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, igniting a fire within you that you had never experienced before. It was a possessiveness that transcended the boundaries of mere desire, a possessiveness that spoke volumes about the depth of her emotions for you.

Far from being suffocating, her dominance was a testament to the strength of your bond. A tangible manifestation of the passion that burned between the two of you, it was a flame that only grew stronger with each passing moment. Her assertive touch was a declaration, a proclamation of her utter devotion and fierce protectiveness towards you.

In that instant, you couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings. A sensation that both thrilled and comforted you, it was a magnetic pull that drew you closer to her with each passing second. Feeling as if you were the center of her universe, the focus of her unfaltering attention, and you visibly preened under her attentiveness. Your hands which were clenching the bottom of her shirt held fast, unwilling to let her move more than a few inches away.

Now that she had your consent and had subtly established your place with her, Wanda's svelte hands returned to the task of unbuttoning your shirt. Unable to resist the allure of your lips for long, she passionately kissed you once again. As your lips moved against each other with a sensual rhythm, Wanda swiftly unbuttoned your shirt. Before you knew it, your shirt was completely undone, revealing your torso to her exploring hands. A shiver ran through your body as her slightly cool palm pressed against your abdomen for the very first time, the gravity of her body pressing you further into the wall. While you had felt her touch on your skin before, it had never been this intimate, this exhilarating.

As her hand glided over your bare skin, heat coursed through your body, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. The flames within you steadily stoked by every caress. Your breath hitched as her touch lingered, tracing delicate patterns along your abdomen.

Growing desperate you deepened the kiss. Your hands instinctively reach for her, moving from the hem of her shirt to tangle in her hair as you pull her closer. The magnitude of the moment was almost too much, feeling the desire consuming you from within.

Wanda's lips slid against yours with a fervent hunger. Her roving hands continued their journey, tracing every curve and contour of your torso with an almost reverent touch, sending pleasure coursing through your body. As your lips moved in perfect synchrony, heightening your senses, it left you yearning for more. The room was filled with a heady mix of desire and anticipation, as you both gave in to the draw of the moment..

Lost in the haze of passion, you couldn't help but give yourself completely to Wanda's touch. The way she explored every inch of your body with a delicate yet possessive hand left you breathless, craving more of her commanding aura. It was a dance of pleasure and surrender, a symphony of sensations that left you craving her touch like a drug. You had never needed anyone or anything as much as you needed Wanda to continue doing whatever she wanted to you.

As the kiss broke, both of you gasped for air. Wanda, still breathing heavily, leaned back to take in the sight of your newly revealed skin, her eyes darkening with want. Though never having been confident in your own body, often choosing to cover up, to hide in your self-consciousness, the way Wanda was looking at you now though left no doubt she liked what she saw. Yet still your insecurities plagued you, especially now that you were no longer covered up and there was nothing for you to hide behind.

The witch didn’t need to read your mind to know where your thoughts were going. The expression on your face, the way you tried to curl in on yourself made it plain. Voice thick with desire, Wanda needed to reassure you. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N. Don’t ever let yourself believe otherwise.”

Though you didn’t truly believe her words, her tone and the way she held you like she couldn’t get enough was almost capable of convincing you in and of itself. You decided then that throwing yourself into this was the fastest way to get out of your head. Throwing caution to the wind, you slammed your lips against Wanda’s again, desperate for more of her.

Impatient, you couldn't resist the urge to guide Wanda's hands lower, craving for her to touch you more. Deft fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, sending a surge of pleasure shooting through you, and tearing a quiet gasp from your mouth. Your body responded eagerly to her every caress, arching into her hands, silently begging for more. Emboldened by your response, Wanda's touch grew daring, her kisses to your neck pressing harder leaving red welts that would purple over by tomorrow. Her marks on you would tell all who you belonged to. Her fingers began exploring your body with a newfound confidence. The touch was both gentle and possessive, leaving you with the utter clarity that she wanted to mark every inch of you as her own, even the parts of you no one else would ever see.

The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, heavy with desire. Feeling the urgency building within you, your body pressed closer to Wanda's, seeking to ease some of the pressure within. Her touch was all at once overwhelming yet not enough.

Determined to elicit every delicious sound she could from you, one of Wanda's hands finally moved to your breast. Gently she cupped it while her thumb teased you by gliding around your areola, avoiding your hardened bud. She took great enjoyment in your whimpers and gasps as she teased you. If she had it her way, she would keep you like this, never giving you quite what you wanted. Wanda would ease you into that eventually though. For now, this was enough.

Eventually she had mercy on you, letting her thumb lightly graze across your nipple. A deep, throaty groan emanated from within you, your hips bucking against hers, unbidden. Taking the opportunity you had presented her with, Wanda slotted her knee between your thighs, applying firm pressure just where you needed it most. You whispered an exhaled curse as your head slumped forward onto the older woman’s shoulder. Your grip on her tightened, the urge to just rut against Wanda’s leg nearly overpowering what little was left of your rational mind.

Wanda could feel the subtle grinding of your hips against her leg, and she encouraged it, pressing harder each time you arched towards her. The witch grasped your hips firmly, helping to set your rhythm as you desperately sought more friction between the apex of your thighs.

For someone who hadn't even taken off their pants yet, you were surprisingly worked up, but you were far too focused on chasing your high to be overly concerned about it. Sensing how close you were, Wanda pulled away from you, calling forth a keening whine from you. The older woman chuckled softly at your desperation. Her raspy voice next to your ear made you shudder.

"Patience, dorogoya, I don't want you to come just yet unless it's in my mouth or on my fingers."

Wholly unprepared for her words as you were, they almost single-handedly threatened to ruin the witch’s plans as you nearly came on the spot. Wanda was aware that you had likely never edged before, and while she should have shown some mercy, she found no enjoyment in that prospect. Her intention was to have you so drunk for her to the point where you would become a helpless, trembling wreck, willing to do anything she desired just to reach that peak. Then, she planned to repeatedly push you off that ledge so many times that you would be a boneless, quivering mess for her by the time she was done with you.

As her words hung in the air, you felt a mixture of anticipation and hesitation. This was a new territory for you, one that you weren't entirely sure of what you were getting into. But as you looked into Wanda's eyes, filled with desire and a touch of mischief, you couldn't deny your feelings. You wanted to experience everything she was willing to show you, to give yourself fully and trust in her to guide you through this journey of pleasure.

With a deep breath, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper, "I trust you, Wanda."

A smug smile played on Wanda's lips as she gently held your cheek. "Good," she purred, her voice laced with satisfaction. "I promise you won't regret it. Now, let’s take this to the bed.” She didn’t want your first time together to be rutting up against a wall.

Wanda grasped your hand, leading you the remainder of the distance to your shared bed. Once there the witch assisted you in removing the remnants of your clothes, gently pushing you backwards onto the bed. Before joining you, she took a moment to admire your naked body, as you looked up at her with a combination of desire and excitement. You were uncertain of her intentions, but the fact that you were willing to trust her filled Wanda's heart with joy.

With a gaze that could only be described as ravenous, she studied you and quietly uttered a curse. "Fucking exquisite" she husked, hoping to drive home her words from earlier.

Squirming under her intense gaze, you blushed deeply at her compliment. No one had ever called you that before, not in your entire life. The longer you laid there, alone under her scrutiny, the greater your need for Wanda grew. Before you could ask her to rejoin you, she was already removing her own clothes with purpose. You waited with bated breath, as Wanda revealed her body which you swore could have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Honestly, you thought it was a little unfair for someone to look so perfect. You felt absolutely privileged to be in this moment with her, that she had chosen you of all people to witness her glory. No one you had ever seen, in person or even on tv could compare. Wanda was a goddess, and you wanted to worship at her altar.

The redhead knew she was an attractive woman, but your loud thoughts were giving her quite the ego boost. She had you right where she wanted you, but Wanda would be damned if she allowed your self-deprecation to continue. There was not a single doubt in her mind that you were equally deserving to be here with her.

“Your thoughts are loud, malyshka.” She almost giggled at how red your face turned when she called you out, reminding you of her powers, and your gaze dropped.

“While I’m flattered, darling, you need to know.” Wanda said with certainty as she began crawling up the bed towards you. Once she had crawled up the length of your body, the witch trailed her fingertips along your thigh, and up your torso to your face. Curling a graceful finger under your chin, she tilted your face upwards until you made eye contact.

“You are stunning, lyubov moya. There is no one else I would want to be here with right now. Not in the entire multiverse, believe me, I’ve looked. No one but you. Can you trust me on that, Y/N?”

Green eyes searched Y/E/C for any sign of lingering insecurity. With the witch looking at you so earnestly, your doubts faded into the background. They would likely never be completely silent, but in this moment, those thoughts were just white noise. Speaking was currently too difficult for you so instead you simply nodded at her words.

No longer able to hear your uncertainty as loudly, Wanda felt you were ready to continue. “Good, but just to make sure, I’m going to show you.”

Before you could ask what she meant, Wanda kissed you again. Her hand, which was previously under your chin, caressed down your chest and cupped your breast. She gave it a gentle squeeze, causing a soft sound to escape your throat.

As Wanda's touch re-ignited the flicker of pleasure within you, her lips and tongue traced a path of heated kisses down your neck, leaving a hot trail of saliva behind. Her skilled hand continued to explore your body, evoking an oeuvre of gasps and moans. Eventually, her lips settled on one of the places you desired the most, enveloping your nipple.

Once Wanda's lips closed around your hardened bud, a jolt of pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch your back in response. Her tongue teased and circled the sensitive bud, sending ecstasy pulsating through your veins. While Wanda continued to lavish attention on your aching nipple, her other hand trailed down your body, caressing and exploring every inch of your skin. The combination of her skilled touch and the intense pleasure coursing through your body made it difficult to think or focus on anything else.

Her hand continued its exploration, gliding over your skin with a feather-light touch. Every brush of her fingertips, each flick of her tongue against you sent your arousal to new heights. Your senses were completely consumed by her, the world around you fading once again into a distant blur.

Completely at Wanda's mercy, you found yourself basking in her every touch and caress. The pleasure she was bestowing upon you was the best high you had ever felt, addictive and irresistible. Your mind was filled with a primal need, a craving for more of the pleasure that only she could provide.

Wanda switched breasts, moving to lavish attention on the other one ensuring it didn't feel neglected. Her hand continued to tease your flesh, raising goosebumps to form on your skin.

Unable to sit still, your own hands came up to tangle themselves in the redhead’s hair. Head held firmly in place by you, Wanda's hand slid lower, exploring the wetness that had pooled between your thighs. Svelte fingers teased your entrance, and you gasped as the anticipation nearly undid you. Back arched, begging for more, you whispered a “please!”

Helpless to deny your plea, Wanda's fingers dipped inside you, your slick allowing them to slide in with ease. You moaned lowly as she began to move her fingers in a slow, deliberate rhythm, curling and stroking against your most sensitive spots. The pleasure built within you, radiating through your body like an electric current.

Your hands tightened in her hair, pulling her closer to you as your hips instinctively rocked against her hand, seeking deeper pleasure. Wanda matched your movements, her pace increasing, driving you closer to the edge. Her lips found yours once again, swallowing your moans as the pleasure consumed you.

The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, the wet, almost obscene sound of her fingers moving inside you, and the symphony of your pleasure. Each stroke of her fingers sent you spiraling further into this rapturous euphoria, your body trembling with desire.

Lost in the carnality of the moment, you could feel the heat building within you, the pressure mounting until you were teetering on the edge. Sensing your imminent release, Wanda's fingers quickened their pace, driving you towards oblivion. Moans growing louder, they mingled with the sound of your ragged breaths.

“Are you gonna come for me baby?” She asked, voice dripping sweetly with lust, not letting up the pace even a little. The woman knew what she was doing to you, and couldn’t resist drawing it out just a bit.

Beneath her, you squirmed and bucked in place, desperation eeking off you in waves. You hadn’t exactly had many partners to begin with, and you had certainly never been especially vocal with any of them. Wanda couldn't have you being all shy on her now though. She wanted to hear each and every sound she could possibly draw out of you as proof of how good she was making you feel, her fingers hitting that special spot deep inside of you that had always been just out of your own reach.

“Now dorogaya, use your words. Are you going to be a good girl and come for me? If you can’t answer me then I guess I should stop.” Wanda slowed her pace and you all but wailed your frustration.

“Yes, yes I’m going to come. I’m so close, Wands, please don’t stop!”

Truthfully that should have been enough for her but sadistically she wanted to push your boundaries further still. She smirked at your pleas.

“I won’t stop, Y/N, but you can’t come until I give you permission.”

You didn’t think you had ever been on such a precipice of euphoria before. It was right there if only Wanda would let you. Part of you wanted to ignore what she said and let yourself go, but the part of you that yearned to be good for her won out in the end.

You begged pitifully. “Please Wanda, please let me come! I’ll be your good girl, please, just let me come!” You would say anything the woman wanted as long as she would let you finally finish.

It was positively sinful how your submission made Wanda feel. She wanted to experience you like this every day for the rest of your lives. The tremor of your voice as you begged, how quickly and completely you accepted her commands, it was positively sublime.

“Well when you beg so prettily for me, how can I resist? Be a good girl, Y/N - come for me.” Her fingers curled deliciously, mercilessly hitting your new favorite spot.

With Wanda’s permission, the world shattered around you as your orgasm crashed over. Your body convulsed with exquisite hedonism, every nerve ending alive with sensation. Wanda's name were the only words from your mouth as you rode the high, your orgasm careening over you in a tidal wave of pleasure.

For Wanda, feeling your wet heat tighten around her fingers, practically refusing to allow her to pull back to even help you through your peak, was so perfect. You didn’t know it, but it was enough to make Wanda topple over the edge alongside you, her head dropping to the crook of your neck while she whispered sweet nothings in your ear, struggling to bring you gently down from your high.

As the aftershocks of your release subsided, Wanda gently withdrew her fingers, her touch lingering for a moment before she pressed a soft kiss to your lips. She held you close, her presence a comforting anchor as you came down from the heights of pleasure. You whimpered at the feeling of emptiness after being so joyously full.

Breathless and sated, you nestled into her embrace, feeling a profound sense of contentment and connection. And as you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt that this was just the beginning of something beautiful between you both. You had made the decision to trust Wanda with your body, heart, and soul, and in this moment, everything felt so right.

Wanting to return the favor, and make Wanda feel as good as you did, but as you tried to shift in her embrace, the former avenger simply held you tighter. Feeling rejected, you wilted in her arms. Perhaps you had already failed to live up to her expectations, so much so that she didn’t even want you to touch her. How heartbreaking to have failed so soon, to never get the chance to prove yourself.

Voice soft, Wanda alleviates your fears. “Not tonight, darling. Tonight was all about you. Rest with me for a little while, detka, I just want to hold you. May I do that, Y/N?”

Murmuring a quiet assent, you settled into the comfort Wanda provided. You both laid there, basking in the intimacy you both had just shared, feeling content and happy. It wasn’t long until your eyes began to droop, signifying you were about to nod off.

Sensing how close you were to sleep, the witch gently roused you. She giggled at your grumblings for the disruption but insisted you both needed to clean up. Shaking your head, you whined as you tried to hold her in place with you, unwilling to let her go for any reason. Wanda had to actively restrain herself from cooing at your adorable stubbornness.

“Come on now, it’ll be just a few minutes and then we can go back to sleep, okay darling?”

Petulantly you shook your head, and Wanda full on belly laughed, holding you tightly to her while she did so. Her laughter was infectious, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as well, knowing you were being a bit ridiculous.

Eventually, both of you calmed down, and Wanda pulled away from your embrace, mentioning that she would be right back. You let her go, but you pouted the entire time she was in the bathroom. After a few moments, you could hear the sink running, and then the witch returned to you with a warm, damp washcloth in her hand. With an unprecedented level of care, Wanda cleaned between your legs, removing any trace of the night's activities, while being mindful not to overstimulate you.

“There we go, detka. All clean. Let me just throw this in the sink, and we can go to sleep.”

Doing exactly as she had said, Wanda quickly returned, swiftly maneuvering her way into the cozy bed beside you. With a few gentle movements, she skillfully arranged the soft sheets to envelop both of you, creating a warm and comfortable cocoon.

Once she was finished setting up the sheets, you wasted no time in crawling back into her arms, burying your face into the divot where her neck and shoulder met. You felt like you had been through the wringer, but in the best way. When she had gotten up to clean you both, with her no longer being in your arms, your emotions had run all over the place. Now all you wanted was to be as physically close to the redhead as possible, to reassure yourself that she wasn’t abandoning you after such a vulnerable act.

Wanda was not at all opposed. Quite thrilled in fact, and as she held you, one hand came to gingerly trace random shapes along the side of your face, whispering nonsensical words of love and solace. Pillowy lips placed a soft kiss to your forehead.

As you drifted off to sleep, feeling safer and happier than in your entire life, you heard Wanda whisper in her native tongue. You were curious, but too far gone to ask her what she meant.

“я так люблю тебя, дорогая. (I love you so much, darling.) I promise I will always keep you safe, and I will never let you go.”

A/N 2: ... Why do I have a higher word count for a chapter with smut than any other chapter? .... Reasons. We're going with "reasons". So uhhh... yay? nay? Yeet myself off a cliff? Also if anyone wants to be added to the taglist just lemme know in the comments.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop

#Wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #dark!wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #dark wanda x reader #yandere!Wanda #yandere wanda maximoff #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader

157 notes · View notes

alotofpockets · 5 months

Text

Secret admirer | Jackie Groenen

Pairing: Jackie Groenen x Nedwnt!Reader

Prompts: "It was you the whole time?" & "Your handwriting is recognizable, you know that right?"

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | Words: 1.1k

Ever since the national team camp had started, you have been finding little notes everywhere. Most often you would find them in your bags, or in your locker but sometimes you would find a note with your name on it in a shared space like next the the coffee machine outside of the conference room.

You loved whenever a new one would show up, always smiling at the lovely message that was written on it. Usually either a compliment or a beautiful quote. You kept every one of the notes that you had received from your secret admirer in a box, happily adding the newest editions each time.

Today when you entered the dining hall all eyes were on you, “What’s going on?” You asked, getting a little shy from all the attention. “We’ve found another note from your secret admirer.” Daan says while wiggling her eyebrows, waiving the note with your name on it through the air. “Hey, give that to me.” You say while snatching it from her hand. “Does it say your name, huh?” Daniëlle just laughs at your possessiveness of the little note.

You grab your food and sit down at one of the tables. Taking the little folded note from your pocket to read it. It was another one with a compliment which made you blush instantly, you looked pretty today! was written on the note you had to work hard on to hide from your curious teammates. “Do you know who they are from, yet?” Jackie asks. You shake your head, “No, the notes are always anonymous.”

In reality you had known who the notes were from almost instantly. You just chose to let this play out, because quite frankly you felt very flattered and loved by how much effort your not so secret admirer was putting into making you smile.

After breakfast you head out to the training field with the rest of the team. They continued their teasing when you’d taken the note with you instead of leaving it in your room. You couldn’t care less about their teasing though, you had fallen hard for the writer of the notes a long time ago, and were eager to get to the stage where she would let you in on her secret.

It wasn’t until a couple weeks into training camp when you and a few of the girls took a trip to the beach on your day off. It was the perfect weather for a walk on the beach and you were so glad that Jackie suggested it. Unbeknownst to you, her intention was to only ask you to go but when people got wind of it, they invited themselves along for a group hang.

When you all walked past a small restaurant, Daan suggested taking a little break. Most of the girls were down, just Jackie seemed to not be into the idea. “Actually, I think I want to continue walking for a bit longer. You guys go ahead though.” You excused yourself from the group and followed Jackie, noticing the slightly somber look on her face. “Hey Jacks, mind if I join? The weather is just so nice today.” Her smile quickly returned. “Yeah, I actually wanted to talk to you about something, so this is perfect.”

You continued walking as Jackie started talking. “So, since camp is nearing its end, I wanted to tell you something.” You smiled at her, encouraging her to continue, knowing full well what she was on about. “The notes you’ve been getting.” She started, nervously looking up at you. Jackie seemed to be too nervous to continue, so you decided to ask her, "It was you the whole time?" Her eyes widened, did you know or were you guessing? “Yes, it was me.”

You smile wide at the confession, even though you already knew it was her, it was just so good to hear her say it. “Aw Jacks, that’s sweet. I had no idea!” She studies your face, noticing a slight sparkle in your eyes. “You already knew it was me, didn’t you?” You laugh, “Yes, yes I did.” Jackie hides her face behind her hands. “Oh god, I’m so embarrassed right now.” You shake your head and move your hands over hers, effectively taking them away from her face. “Don’t be embarrassed. I loved it.” You reassure her. “Why didn’t you stop me as soon as you realized it was me?” You left one of your hands on her cheek, gently stroking it with your thumb, while you held her hand in your other. “Because I never want you to stop leaving me little notes like that.” She searches your face again, looking for the meaning behind your words. A meaning she finds when you start slowly leaning in, waiting for any kind of response from the woman in front of you to make sure that this is what she wanted to. The moment Jackie starts leaning in too, you smile and pull her face closer to yours, connecting your lips in a soft kiss.

After you pull back from the kiss, you wrap your arm around her, hugging her tightly. “I just wanted to say that I look out for your notes every single day, they mame me very happy. Especially knowing they came from you, of course.” You place a quick peck to her cheek and the two of you continue walking down the beach hand in hand. It wasn’t until about five minutes later that Jackie stopped you in your tracks, “Wait, how did you know it was me?”

You reach in your pocket to pull out the note from today, "Your handwriting is recognizable, you know that right?" Jackie starts laughing, “How did I not realize that?” You laugh with her, “I have no idea, but it’s very cute.”

Since the wind was getting colder you decided to turn around and head back to the restaurant the rest of the girls went to. You walk up to their table together and each order a hot chocolate to warm up again. The hot chocolate came with a small napkin, which gave Jackie an idea. She reached in her purse and grabbed a pen. You smile when you realize she is writing you another note, this time right in front of you. You read her note with a big smile on your face.

Life is an adventure, and I cannot wait to live this adventure with you by my side.

xx Jackie

Your first signed note and the start of a beautiful adventure. You pocket the note, the rest of the girls not having noticed anything yet, hoping to keep this between the two of you for a little longer.

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#pockets celebration #jackie groenen #jackie groenen x reader #nedwnt #nedwnt x reader #oranjeleeuwinnen #woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #jackie groenen imagine

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im-not-corrupted · 10 months

Text

A sequel to this Dreamling fic here, though this can be read as a standalone. Written for @merry-moody-missy, who requested I write more and get the two of them together. Also, thanks to @samsalami66, who gave me a prompt (that felt more like a fic outline, but that’s great too XD) for this fic.

Edit: Part one and two are now on Ao3!

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Dream came to him more often, after that.

Once a month became once a fortnight. He wasn’t half as reserved these days as he typically was; if anything, he seemed to be even more comfortable in Hob’s presence, now. It was rather wonderful to witness for Hob, who, for the longest time, knew Dream only as his distant Stranger. A far star, unreachable. A sun for him to orbit, but a sun who would only bless him with light once a century.

Every two weeks, Dream appeared beside him at some point in the day. It didn’t matter where; he’d often appear at the back of Hob’s classes while he was working, entirely unnoticed by his students. Or he would materialise next to him and fall into step as Hob walked home, content to follow in silence, or to listen as Hob recounted his day.

The first time he did that, stepping up next to Hob when the space beside him had been previously empty—well, the first time scared him half to death, naturally. That simply wasn’t the kind of thing one grew to expect, even after living for nearly seven centuries.

(He didn’t care. In fact, Hob looked upon that day with fondness, a grin upon his face, because that was the first time he’d heard Dream laugh.

He didn’t have a particular lovely laugh. It wasn’t melodic, or sweet. It wasn’t the kind of thing you expected to be a sound of joy at all, really—if Hob tried his best, he’d only be able to describe it as an awful, croaking thing, terrifying and perhaps the least lovely thing he’d heard before—but Hob didn’t care at all, because Dream laughed.

Loudly, and without abandon. Rosebud lips had spread wide in a smile that stole Hob’s heart entirely, and the joy in his eyes was unmatched. There, stood in the middle of a London street with laughter in his face and sunlight catching his stray hairs—well, he was beautiful, and Hob found himself falling.)

(No. No, that wasn’t true. He found himself falling for Dream a long time ago. He was already so far gone for him; hearing him laugh had merely made him fall further, and he hadn’t known such a thing was possible.)

Today, Dream appeared in his apartment—only, this time, he did so before Hob was about to sleep.

Which…wasn’t a problem. Not at all. Sleep didn’t matter, not when Dream was there. He would gladly drop anything and everything, if Dream wanted him to. If his friend wanted his time and his energy. All of it was his anyway; he needed only to ask.

(And he did ask, these days. Indirectly, naturally—Matthew somehow gained the job of messenger raven, and would often fly to the Waking world for the sole purpose of seeing Hob and delivering a message.

The message was usually short. A quick, Boss asks if you’re free today?, and Hob would reply, Let him know I am before quickly cancelling his plans.

Dream still didn’t ask for what he needed. But he still asked, in a round-about Dream kind of way, and Hob? Hob was proud of him. He remembered all too easily the pain on his face when he thought he burdened Hob with his affections; he could only imagine what it took for his friend to be able to ask whether he was busy or not, after that.)

“Dream,” he said, blinking at the being who materialised at the foot of his bed. To his credit, his heart didn’t so much as stutter, proof that he was used to Dream simply appearing out of nowhere. Proof that they truly were friends, now, after so many centuries of him wanting exactly that.

(They were friends. He couldn’t quite believe it, sometimes. They were friends, and Dream didn’t shy away from that title when Hob gave it to him. If anything, he seemed proud of it, like the title of ‘friend’ was an honour.)

(It certainly was for Hob, at least, so he understood that.)

Dream stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly, cat-like. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see Hob underneath his duvet, which—seemed fair. He still didn’t have much of a clue what Dream was, for it didn’t matter, but he knew now that it had to do with a place called the Dreaming—his realm, which certainly gave Hob a bit of an existential crisis the first time he heard that—and sleep. Perhaps he had a second sense for when people were about to sleep. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing Hob had seen him do.

”Hob,” he said, then frowned. Some of that old hesitance kept him from saying much else for a moment, but he eventually asked, “I did not think…Is this a bad time?”

Progress, Hob thought, and shot a grin in his friend’s direction. Dream was making progress, small and still so, so important, and he was simply glad to be a part of it. “Not at all,” he promised, because this was Dream. Dream, who owned his heart entirely by this point, who Hob would gladly dedicate every waking moment of his days to if he could. If his friend would appreciate that, if he would even want that.

That hesitance held him in place for a second longer, but that was all. His floor-length, high-collared coat disappeared, shadow replacing the impossibly soft material of it before vanishing entirely, leaving Dream in a long-sleeved top (black, of course) that felt so casual on him.

(He’d seen Dream without his coat many times before, now. Another testament to the fact that Dream felt comfortable—safe, even—with him. It still startled him, though, and it never failed to make warmth bloom behind his ribs. This—this vulnerability, his desire to abandon armour when with Hob—was another display of trust, and Hob wouldn’t get over that any time soon.

Dream trusted him. It was a fragile thing, that trust, not at all suited for Hob’s bloodied and calloused hands. He’d had many years to practise gentleness, though, and he used it with this; with Dream’s trust, a gift offered so painstakingly.)

And then Dream was moving, climbing onto the bed and tucking himself into Hob’s side. One half of his body ended up entirely on top of Hob’s, his face buried into the crook of his neck, and let out a soft, contented sigh.

It tickled the skin of his neck a little, but Hob hardly cared. How could he, when he turned his head to the side and found himself face to face with Dream’s feather-soft hair, when Dream’s arm came to wrap around his waist?

He chuckled softly. His heart felt so full, all of a sudden, his fondness for this strange and lovely creature lay on top of him almost overwhelming. There wasn’t enough room behind his rib cage for it all, for the adoration pouring from his heart in waves. He brushed his fingers through Dream’s feather-soft hair, the smile on his face growing wider as his friend burrowed further into him, and, without thinking, he said gently, “Yeah, dove, I love you too. And I missed you dearly.”

Missed you dearly wasn’t quite enough. It didn’t explain the way he missed Dream like an ache, in those two weeks he was off doing whatever the ruler of an entire realm did. But it was true enough, so he let the words hang in the air. Dream deserved to know he was missed when he wasn’t around; deserved to know Hob thought about him, even in the louder moments where his head was so busy. Missed you dearly didn’t quite fit, but it said enough.

It was only when Dream’s head snapped up in a movement faster than anything Hob had seen from him before, ocean eyes almost comically wide and lips parted slightly, that Hob realised what he said.

I love you too. It wasn’t a lie. He didn’t think he was capable of that, even subconsciously, when it came to Dream. Always, his heart has been laid bare before him, every little thing it contained inside free for his viewing. Hob made little attempt to keep it hidden. His fondness, his adoration, always slipped into his voice unbidden. Experience told him every attempt to mask it would fall short; there was simply too much to keep it trapped behind his ribs. It was always his friend’s choice whether or not he took it at face value or not.

He did love Dream. Loved him like he loved life; endlessly, with more depth than he thought himself capable of putting into words. Though he wasn’t much of a poet, he would try, if Dream asked that of him. He would do much for his dearest friend, his Stranger, if only he asked.

”Love me,” Dream murmured softly. He sounded almost disbelieving, as though he hadn’t thought of himself as something able to be loved. That thought rang too true for Hob’s comfort; he had to stop himself from holding Dream closer, unwilling to make him uncomfortable in an attempt to offer comfort. “You have. Said this before.”

Not in quite so many words, Hob thought, but yes. He had. Never apologise for wanting to be loved, he told Dream, and that was another admittance in and of itself, wasn’t it? It was an I love you, and I’m happy to do so, and a request; Let me love you, I want, it was always yours anyway.

Fear coiled in his stomach, a poison almost potent enough to stop him from answering entirely. But he met Dream’s gaze and saw the impression of new stars within them; he met his eyes and saw a fragile kind of hope. Fear or not, his dearest friend deserved to know he was loved.

“Yes,” he answered gently. Perhaps he’d run, now, leave Hob as he had in 1889. That, Hob thought, would be alright. It’d hurt, but it’d be alright. Dream would come back to him, just as he had once every month before, and now every fortnight. That knowledge was just enough to make the worst of that fear melt away, and to loosen his tongue. “I love you dearly. With everything I am. Doesn’t have to change anything if you don’t want it to—I don’t want anything from you that you aren’t willing to give, I promise you that.”

A furrow appeared between his friend’s brow. That hope didn’t leave his eyes, even despite the confusion that joined it. “Why would you tell me this, then, if you did not want reciprocation from me?”

Hob ached, suddenly, at the confusion in Dream’s voice. Had nobody loved him without expectation before? Had nobody loved him simply for the sake of loving him, because they couldn’t do anything else? “Let me rephrase,” he said gently, and he sat up. Dream frowned further at being disturbed, though said frown disappeared fast enough when Hob cupped his face. “I would kill to have you feel the same for me. It would be so many centuries of pining resolved in a mere moment; I would love for nothing more than you to love me back. But I don’t expect you to. I didn’t tell you I love you expecting you to say the same. I told you I love you simply because you deserve to hear it; nothing more, nothing less.”

Silence hung heavy between them for a moment, in which Dream simply stared at him without moving a muscle at all and Hob grew increasingly conscious about the fact that he was still very much holding Dream’s face in his hands.

He was about ready to let go, no doubt followed by an awkward apology, but Dream said slowly, “You are. A strange creature, Hob Gadling. I continuously find myself baffled by you.”

Quietly, Hob laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment then, love.” His hands fell from Dream’s face, only for his friend to catch them by his wrists.

”And,” Dream continued, slow and stilted, and Hob froze. Dream’s skin against his, not quite a normal body temperature, was different when initiated by Dream himself. It meant more, somehow. “And. You are not alone. In your feelings.”

Hob was fairly sure his heart stopped in his chest at that. Just for a moment. In his defence, this moment did feel particularly heart stopping. Important enough to fling his own world off its axis.

When he found himself capable of thought again, he asked, barely able to contain the joy pouring from his heart in waves, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Dream?”

”I am saying,” he said heavily, severely, like this moment was as important to him as it was to Hob, “that I adore you, Hob Gadling. That you are a comfort I did not expect to find. That your arms are a place of safety, that I find comfort in your presence, that you are a fresh breath of air after so long spent underwater. I am saying that your continued friendship is an honour, one I am eternally grateful for; I am saying that you baffle me entirely, your joy for life and your willingness to love me, and that love is too small a term to label the depths of my feelings towards you, but it is enough for now.”

Hob stared at him, wide-eyed. His heart spilled over, everything it contained too much, and all of it Dream’s. All of it, shared by Dream, too. “Christ, love,” he said, his voice light with elation. A sob caught in his chest as his hand, still held by the wrist in Dream’s grasp, came up to play with the raven hair at the nape of his friend’s neck, as he pulled Dream into a kiss.

It was gentle. Barely a hint of pressure at all, for fear he’d perhaps misunderstood. But Dream made a noise against his lips, surprised yet pleased, and kisses back eagerly, an answer to a question Hob didn’t realise he’d asked.

Eventually, though everything in him screamed against it, too lost in the sensation of Dream’s mouth against his own and Dream’s hands clutching at the thin top he wore for bed, he pulled back for breath. Dream gazed at him, eyes so dark they were almost black. Hob could see the stars so clearly, now, and found himself breathless for another reason entirely.

Awed, he said, ”You’re beautiful.” His thumb stroked the skin underneath Dream’s eye, reverent and worshipful, and Dream practically preened.

At some point, he lay back down, taking his friend—Dream, his Stranger, who he had loved for centuries and who loved him in return—with him. He tucked himself against Hob’s side, knee wedges between Hob’s legs and an arm thrown over his waist. The duvet was pulled over up to both their shoulders, and Hob let himself kiss the crown of his head.

He needed to sleep. He was tired, his head a little foggy. But elation kept his chest light, and there was enough joy in his veins to last a lifetime. They’d have to talk tomorrow, Hob knew that, but they’d figure that out.

For now, this—this was enough. More than enough.

”I love you,” he said again. His eyes slipped shut.

Sleep would come difficult, with the way his heart felt so full, but that was alright. A small price to pay for the way Dream shifted against him before pressing feather-soft lips against his cheek, whispering, “And I you, beloved,” before settling back in place again.

Hob slept eventually. And when he did, he dreamt of Dream.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream/hob #the sandman netflix #eris writes things #my fic #dreamling fic

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myseungsunglove · 7 months

Text

Broken Promises | Bc

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Warnings: fluff - despite the title, this is actually just a feel good little story.

Word Count: 1.8k

𖠫Summary: Sometimes you can make all the promises in the world to yourself, but life has other plans for you. Working closely with Bang Chan turns out to be a challenge in which you never really stood a chance.

✎a/n✎: this was just a random ass thought I started writing. No idea why. My brain is just finding every way possible to avoid writing part 4 of the master of flirting at this point. And Chan’s lips may have caught my eye and my mind may have wandered into writing this fic. Who knows, really. Edit: in re-reading this, this is one of the shitiest things I’ve ever written. 😭😭 I’m not even sure why I published this. 🤦🏼‍♀️🫣

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

You promise yourself when taking the job, you won’t fall victim to Chan’s charm like every other person on the planet seems to.

The minute Bang Chan’s laugh is directed at you, his eyes crinkling in laughter and turning into tiny crescent moon slits, you’re done for.

It is then you break your first promise, falling hard for Chan’s charming laugh and beautiful smile.

You promise yourself that you’ll never let tiny glances and brief touches affect you. It is your job to do his makeup, of course you’d be close in proximity, touching him more than pretty much anyone else.

It had been 2 months since you replaced Chan’s previous makeup artist. Every time you walk into a room, he notices.

“Y/n! My favorite artist,” he declares, striding up to you and spreading his legs so that he can be face to face with you for easier access.

“Mr Bang,” you tease.

It has become a running joke between the two of you at this point, you calling him Mr. Bang. You crowd into his space, brush in hand as you set to work. After applying the base makeup, the more intricate details require you to be even closer to him. You step in close, your chest bumping against his slightly and his hands reach out, landing on your hips to steady the two of you.

Your heart flutters in your chest and you curse yourself silently. When he doesn’t remove his hands the rest of the time you’re doing his makeup, you can’t help but be a little overjoyed.

It is then you break your second promise, wondering when the next time he is going to dare to touch you will be.

You promise yourself you won’t develop a school girl crush on Chan.

The day he brought you caffeine and breakfast after he knew you had a long night, you start noticing all the little things he does for you that the other boys don’t do for their make-up artists.

He texts to make sure you get home safely. He seeks you out in a crowded room during down time just to chat. Even if he doesn’t need a touch up. He calls you when he is in the studio because he just has to tell you about this idea that he has for a makeup look for the song he is writing. You never actually talk about the look, but he tells you all about the song and eventually the conversation moves away from writing and music to more personal topics. Before a performance, he works quietly in the same room that you are in whether you’re doing his makeup or not. He texts you almost every morning, even when you don’t have a schedule with him. Your fluttering heart realizes you’ve definitely fallen for Christopher Bang.

It is then that you break your third promise, the school girl crush taking hold of your not so schoolgirl heart.

You promise yourself that you will not get involved with an idol. Especially one Christopher Bang.

You’re walking home one day after a particularly long schedule with the boys. Your car had broken down a few days before and it was a nice enough day, so you set off for your apartment that wasn’t all that far from the venue you had just left. It was a lucky coincidence that today’s schedule was close to your home.

You don’t make it far when suddenly the once bright and sunny day clouds up overhead, and you can feel the atmosphere shift, a summer storm approaching quickly and seemingly out of nowhere. You should have known better than to be walking home in the middle of monsoon season. The pretty clear sky days typically give way to much gloomier and rainiers days with little to no warning. You had been sure you could make it home when you left the venue, but as the clouds opened up and rained down on you, literally, you realized just how wrong you were.

You are soaked to the bone in no time, nowhere close by to seek shelter. You are running down the sidewalk, your backpack lifted over your head as you stomp through the puddles of water that are already forming. Suddenly a car pulls up beside you, the door thrown open haphazardly.

“Y/N,” Chan yells from the back seat. “Get in!”

Your brain takes a second to process that Chan is offering you a ride, or that he is there at all on the side of the road on a now rainy evening.

You dash to the door and crawl in, immediately shivering from your wet clothes, tossing your bag on the floor of the car. Chan immediately pulls his hoodie over his head.

“Take this,” he says, handing it to you. He turns away from you and you’re confused at first. “Take off that soaked shirt and throw my hoodie on. It’ll be better for some of you to be dry at least,” he explains as if he can see you staring at his back, confused.

“Oh, yeah. Okay,” you agree and pull your wet shirt over your head and set it on the floor beside you. It’s then that you realize that Chan is the only one in the back of the vehicle which is unusual. “Where is everyone else?” you ask, slipping the hoodie over your head and wrapping your arms around yourself, rubbing your arms rapidly trying to warm yourself up.

Chan turns back around, figuring he has given you enough time and speaks.

“I saw you leave the venue on foot and I asked for my own car. Haven’t you learned yet that you don’t go for a walk in the middle of monsoon season?” He chuckles at you. “I was hoping we would catch up to you before the skies opened up,” he sighs apologetically. “C’mere, yeah?” He says, motioning for you to crawl into his warm embrace. You’re too cold from your wet pants and hair to really think twice about it.

His arms immediately engulf you, wrapping around your waist, pulling you into his warm and firm body. His arms rest on top of yours and rub gently, generating some heated friction to help ease your chills.

“God, I hope you don’t get sick,” he murmurs against your head as he leans back, keeping his arms around you, pulling you with him.

You settle against his chest and sigh. You inhale and immediately your senses are filled with his smell. It’s a comforting, woodsy smell you know you have smelt hundreds of times, but there is something distinctly different about it when you are wrapped in his arms. You practically burrow into him, your eyes fluttering shut. You feel Chan’s hold on you relax, and he sighs contentedly.

“Hey,” Chan says, shaking you gently. At some point you had fallen asleep on the short ride to your apartment. “We’re at your place.”

“Oh,” you startle awake, pulling away from his embrace and scrambling for the door. “Thanks for the ride Chan,” you stumble out, climbing out of the car a little embarrassed that you fell asleep in Chan’s arms.

As quickly as you are scrambling out of the car, Chan is hot on your trail, following you into your building.

“Y/n, wait!” He manages as you step into the elevator, eager to separate your racing heart from Bang Chan. You will not get involved. You promised yourself.

Just as the door goes to slide shut, his large hand stops the door and he steps in, the door quickly shutting behind him. You’re alone with him in the small space.

“I just…” he breathes, his hands coming to rest on your face. “Can I?” He starts to ask you a question, but his breath seems to be caught in his throat. He is staring into your eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as his brown eyes flicker down to your lips. That seems to help him finish his sentence. “Kiss you?” He finishes.

Without your brain giving it permission, you nod your head in approval and Chan’s lips are on yours. Warm, plush, and inviting. He presses himself against you as his strong hands hold your head in place, his nose bumping against yours as your lips move in sync. The door dings and you both pull away, a little lost for words to see someone standing there waiting for the elevator.

Chan grabs your hand and pulls you off the elevator, mumbling a quick apology to the person waiting.

You can’t help but giggle as Chan wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into him.

“Which one is you?” He asks, looking down the hall.

“1003,” you say, willing your legs to move down the hall, your brain still not processing what is going on. You reach your door quickly stopping to wrestle your key out of your wet jean pocket.

“Can we talk?” Chan asks beside you as you open the door. “I’d uh,” he fumbles over his words as you push open the door. “I’d kind of like to take you on a date,” he says, his words tumbling out of his mouth almost faster than he can say them.

It’s your turn to grab his hand and pull him into your apartment, closing the door behind you.

“How about a dinner and a movie date right here,” you suggest, gesturing around your apartment. You aren’t sure what you’re doing, but you’re going for it, whatever it is.

He chuckles.

“Yeah, okay. I like that idea,” he agrees, kicking off his shoes. “Let me just let the guys know I’m gonna be out for a while,” he adds, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“I’m gonna go change. Make yourself comfortable,” you say, pointing to the couch as you turn to pad down the hall.

Chan’s hand reaches out for your wrist, barely catching it before you are too far away. He pulls you back into him, his lips finding yours once more and you melt into him and his comforting embrace.

It’s then you realize you’re going to break your last promise. You are absolutely getting involved with Christopher Bang.

Who knew that broken promises could feel this good?

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan fic #bang Chan x reader #bang Chan one shot #bang chan fanfiction #bang Chan Drabble

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anonymous-rendezvous · 7 months

Text

He Comforts You - Shu 💜

Shu Yamino x GN!Reader

✦ — Written by Mod I ✨. Beta Read and Edited by Mod S 👿. ⏌

✧ — Comfort & Care Masterlist | 💜 You comfort him

✦ — Contains: Established Relationship, fluff, & comfort

✧ — Word count: 515 | Ao3

Snippets of time showing how you and your partner care for each other.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

From the second you’d woken up, it had become pretty obvious that it was going to be a low-energy day. Thankfully, no plans had been made for today and you could try to rest as much as possible. How this had all led you to stand in your kitchen looking down at the counter, you had no clue. However, trying to remember why the hell you’d come in here… your mind had totally blanked, thoughts clouded with static. Giving up on trying to remember, you decided to make your way back to the bedroom.

However, as you get closer to the bedroom, you can hear your boyfriend talking. Now standing outside of it, you try to recall if he had a stream to do today, but come up blank. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you push the door open and peek inside.

Almost immediately, Shu catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. “Oh hey, babe.” Turning his head towards you, he smiles and gestures for you to enter the room. “Not streaming, if you’re worried about that. We’re just playing for fun.” Amethyst eyes flicker back to the screen and a bashful giggle falls from his lips. “They all say hi.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips and you give a small wave before realizing they can’t see you. This causes Shu to laugh harder as you immediately hide your face in your hands. As the sorcerer explains what happened, you shuffle closer to him. Once you reach his side, you give his hoodie a light tug. His eyes meet yours and it’s then that he seems to realize what’s happening. With quick movements, he excuses himself for a second before muting his mic and giving you his full attention. “Blue day?” He asks, tone gentle. When you nod, he continues, “What can I do to help?”

“Can I–” you hesitate, worried that this might be too inconvenient for him, your gaze falling to the floor. A hand wrapping around yours breaks your line of thought as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Um, can I sit in your lap while you play? I think your body heat would really help me right now.”

With zero hesitation, Shu moves his mic out of the way before completely turning his chair around so you have enough space to climb into his lap. And you waste no time doing so. Once you are settled, face buried against his shoulder, he shifts back around to face his computer. He pulls his mic just close enough to pick up his voice and unmutes.

As he continued to play more rounds with his friends, whenever he died or they waited for a new round to start, one of his hands always found its way back to drawing soothing circles along your back or stroking over the back of your head.

Eventually, you feel yourself drift off, and in your last conscious moment, you feel his lips press against the crown of your head. Their softness blessing you with sweet dreams.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

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#shu yamino x reader #luxiem x reader #nijisanji x reader #shu yamino #nijisanji luxiem #nijisanji shu #nijisanji en #nijisanji #x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #Mritten by Mod I ✨

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r0-boat · 7 months

Note

Hello. I’d like to request morax x reader where reader is a former adeptus and also morax/zhongli’s wife (both in the past and present). xiao and ganyu being their children. a family fluff fic pls🙏 maybe they adopt hutao and qiqi as well:))

This is super cute! So I thought of this drabble where Adeptus!reader visits Liyue Harbor for the lantern right for the first time in a long time after waking up from a long slumber. So it's a very cute little family reunion.

Disclaimer: Reader is described with horns and a tail and is implied to be a dragon but it is only in a flashback and they lose all Adepti attributes.

I hope you like it!

Edit: I started writing and then I lost it and I may or may not have written a little too much~.

Lantern Rite Reunion.

Cw: ooc Xiao( just very awkward)

Fluff

found family reunion

Zhongli x reader pairing ( with Hu Tao, Xiao, Ganyu)

Sfw cut for length

503 years. This year would be 504 since you laid down every ounce of your strength to protect your home. Since you said goodbye to your husband, he carried you're almost limp body Into Your Den to Slumber to gain your strength slowly? You wonder if he still remembers your final words to him. " I will return in time to celebrate among the Golden Glow of the Xiao lanterns... that year will be the year of us... will you be there?" You asked. And your husband is carrying you in his arms. As his tail moves around him to wrap around yours, giving you comfort, those golden eyes growing soft as his heart, seeing his wife in such a state, though he had wished you had not made your decision to take part in the war, he will not let your sacrifice be in vain. Morax is leaning in close, his horns tapping against yours as his nose gently brushes against your face. Whispers his promise, " I will, I will wait centuries for you. However long it takes, I will be there, and every year, as I look at the lanterns shining brighter than the Stars and you are not in my arms, you will be the only one on my mind."

A memory that felt like a dream. A dream that you'd never forgotten.

The cool air blowing into your den and the warm sunlight made your eyes flutter. The barrier that kept the outside world did well, keeping you safe and secure as you slumbered for 500 years as you awoke. Your Adeptal space being untouched the sheets pillows and cushions of your nest with the mattress underneath still nice cool and clean. Guaranteeing you a sound slumber. Even as the walls and pillars of your small Temple of worship, your nest would remain untouched.

However you will no longer be needing it. Slowly you rise in the silk comfort of the sheets, stretching groggy from having just walked out but energized by the sealed opening, letting in the light as you look out of the comfort of your abode. From all these years of sleeping recovering from the war your wounds had healed, yet you are still weak. Your previous horns and tail were nowhere to be found when you stepped out of your nest. As you stepped forward you used your remaining Adeptel energy to seal your den. When you stepped out onto the grass of the outside world.

You took in the view in front of you. There were no bodies, no smoke, no vicious monsters, nor the Clashing of weapons, just the sound of the wind wrestling the grass and the leaves, and the fresh scent of the earth. You knew you'd be asleep for a long time and you were curious to see how much things changed, and, more importantly, you wanted to see him.

Zhongli seemed a little different today Hu tao being as clever and sharp as she was picked up on it almost immediately his dazed off look and it seem that something was on his mind. Well... something was always on his mind, but this time, he was unusually distracted. Gazing out at the people preparing the decorations and stalls for this year's Lantern Rite or becoming uncharacteristically quiet. She wanted to know, but she couldn't just ask. Zhongli would just be irritated and tell her off for being nosy. And besides whatever it was seems serious. Especially since she hadn't heard a word from him since yesterday besides an occasional sigh.

Around this time of year the funeral parlor it's not usually dealing with clients and mostly helping and participating in Lantern Rite. And she was boooored and combined with Zhongli s normal mysteriousness she had to know what was bothering him. Could It Be Love trouble? Judging by his look of longing in his eyes yet head in the clouds. She never thought Grandpa could get it... could it be a girlfriend? A boyfriend?!... maybe she reads too many drama novels.

She couldn't help it knowing some juicy action is around the corner was killing her she had to know! Creeping up behind him and almost startling him with her voice " Soooo Mr. Zhongli, whatcha doing for this year's Lantern Rite?"

Zhongli with that glazed overlooking his eyes just hummed continuing to drink his tea. He remained quiet until, "I'm going to watch it with someone important to me."

Hutao kept the straight face as she screamed with joy on the inside. "ooh~ is it a girlfriend~," she couldn't help it the look of irritation on his face was priceless. But the fact he did not answer the correct made her internally lose her mind. She has to meet this person. She has to meet the love interest of mysterious, smooth, talking, know-it-all Zhongli.

You were fascinated to see how the world had changed. Everything looked so peaceful, so quiet yet teaming with life. The golden leaves of the trees the next Sun casting It Shine over the Waters of Dihua Marsh. Occasionally finding broken down relics of old or traveling humans possibly traveling to and from the nation of the Wind. Instead of the rock where you and your husband had many fond memories in place of it was a building unfamiliar to you. Built over and using the rock as structure. Your heart hurts knowing that an essential piece of your memories when through such change to the fact you almost barely recognized it, but you knew it could not be helped. The memories have gazing out into the stars and holding each other close upon that rock still fresh in your mind as you make your way over to the building in the distance.

It had been a long time but he had not forgotten your face the person he fought alongside and just a few people who helped him ease the pain of his karmatic debt. You are gentle and kind loving yet Stern. You saw the yaksha's as your children as they always come to you with guidance opening up to you at their most vulnerable when a fellow member was lost or to help quell pain of their own debts.

Rex lapis it's not only optimistic about your circumstances but hopeful that you'll one day come back to him he however, the last yaksha who has witnessed his own friends slowly become insane and or die was less bright the moment he watched his Lord how far bring you to your den he knew that was your tomb. So upon hearing your voice and seeing you, it was almost as if you saw a ghost talking to the owner of the end. He appeared right in front of the two startling poor Mrs. Goldet. He thought his eyes are playing tricks on him he had to see get a closer look at the person standing right there in front of him and you who hadn't seen anyone familiar since the day you laid to rest your eyes sparkled as they whined; looking at not only one of the yakshas you loved so dearly but the youngest, and to you, your baby.

"Xiao!" You yelled as the Yaksha braced for impact as you wrapped your arms around him clenching his teeth Xiao felt the embarrassment already rising to his face. You really did have no shame with public displays of affection in front of people. But it was still his Lord's wife even though the Lord he knew no longer existed he'd rather die on the spot then be rude no matter how embarrassing you could be.

"M-my Leige! Please!" Xiao practically begged.

"Another one of your friends?" Mrs. Goldet Asked. She couldn't help with her smile all this time she knew the adeptus he had always been alone but now he surrounded by so many loved ones.

Xiao already in a tough situation stumbling over his words. Just recently he didn't even know you were alive but now here you are holding him again.

You were just happy to see a friendly face for so long. Finally letting go of the Poor Man you turn to the owner's wife "Are you friends with Xiao? He has trouble making friends thank you so much for being there with him!"

Xiao wished the embarrassment would end putting a hand to his face. As the two of you talked like gossiping mothers.

Untill

"now I just need to find Rex Lapis."

His eyes widen. As Mrs. Goldet looks at you with confusion.

"Oh? Did you not know...? Rex lapis is no longer here."

Your smile died the moment she said those words. No longer here, what was she talking about? Your eyebrows furrowed with worry, your heart practically stopped. You wanted to press her with more questions but Xiao had other ideas.

" Lantern Rite." He spoke up, hoping he could steer your attention. " it has been a long time since many people gather in Lyiue Harbor for lanterns. Perhaps you could see old friends again. Are you coming?"

You stayed silent for a moment glancing back at the woman you couldn't help but get the sinking feeling of what she said to you. Even as you had Xiao escort you to the city.

The wangsheng funeral parlor closed early that evening since the night of Lantern Rite drew closer.

Zhongli strolled the streets of Liyue, thinking that a walk might clear his head. However with a certain someone trailing behind him it was going to be very hard to gather his thoughts.

"Mr. Zhongli!" Hu Tao called out. " who's the lucky someone~."

The former archon sighed. He could already feel the migraine coming. "Ms. Hu tao, what are you talking about?"

" Don't play dumb with me, Mr. Ladies Man~ or perhaps Gentelmens man? How could you leave me in the dark like this?!"

Zhongli already had lots of things to worry about he already had things on his mind the director is not someone he wants to be dealing with right now but alas he knows Hu Tao... and he already let it slip something so juicy that she couldn't possibly resist. "Director, I failed to understand why the topic of me spending a holiday with somebody catches your interest."

Hu Tao finally catching up too her coworker rushes ahead of him only to turn around and continue walking with her back facing forward "But it is! Ah, My Zhongli it seems that it was only yesterday when I first hired you and now look at you, a person of your own they grow up so fast..." she said wiping an invisible tear from her eye.

" do they live around here?"

Questions questions... and he knew she wasn't going to stop until she had the information she wanted and he knew that he would only make himself more suspicious if he kept more from her... at the same time....

"er... No not exactly."

"Oh? Are they perhaps visiting? I have to say a person to catch your eye must be someone really special."

Zhongli kept his cool even with Hu Tao on her usual antics.

"yes. I suppose they are special to me anyway. I have not seen them in a long time. So I'm a little on edge."

Aww her poor heart. Peepaw hadn't seen his lover in a long time so he's nervous. She couldn't watch this poor man struggle with his inner thoughts and not lend a helping hand.

" Don't worry, Mr. Zhongli! I will help you get ready for your date tonight!!" She said with a cocky grin.

This did not help to ease his worries.

The city was all but a small town the last time you were here. But now as your shoes clacked against the paved roads and as you look around and all at the tall buildings as you let the Vigilant Yaksha practically pull you through the city. The lights lighting up the night and the bustling atmosphere the happy smiles and everyone's faces. But in the crowd of people you couldn't find your lover. Your heart shakes with anxiety as you feel they might release the lanterns and you might spend another year without him as you slumbering alone for 500 years.

While the two of you were in the city streets unbeknownst to you your lover was closer than you think. In a nearby shop with Hu Tao instead of his usual suit he was wearing something luxurious, yet traditional to Liyue fashion

" director if I may, this seems quite excessive." Zhongi said, making sure he stood still in the clothing. Usually he would be more adamant but his boss did agree to pay for this... even so how serious Hu Tao seem to be was making him worry... Zhongli was about to see his wife after 500 years... so much to say to them. So much time he could have spent. And the thought that plagued him most.

Would she even recognize him?

The Qixing had worked tirelessly tirelessly and made sure everything was in order. Emphasis on the tirelessly . Poor Ganyu who had been slaving away all day and most of the night...

this was unfair! this was Coco goat abuse but sadly, she was far too busy:

She had meetings with the vendors.

She had to check the schedules and be sure that everything will go off on time.

Make sure there are no problems with the lanterns.

Make sure no fishing boats or shipments come in tonight and reschedule them for tomorrow.

Schedule a meeting with Bubu Pharmacy and make sure they were prepared for tonight just in case accidents do happen- her schedule was all but free.

Ganyu wasn't even sure that she'll even see the lanterns herself this year, judging by how big this one will be.

And when she thought she was finally getting a break.

" hey Ganyu!" The scarily Familiar voice calls her name.

Hu tao with Mrs. Zhongli In toe who was a lot more well-dressed than he normally was.

"Ah, Hu Tao..." Ganyu sighed. " I apologize but I'm not sure if I'll have time to hang out tonight-"

" no Ganyu we need your help!" Hu Tao Cut Her Off pulling the sleeve of a very embarrassed looking employee. " they're about to release the lanterns but Zhongli is looking for his wife to reunite with her tonight!" Hu Tao practically shouted spilling everything to the Adepti. Ganyu's eyes widen her heart racing so many questions were in her mind. But asking Hu Tao will have to come later.

"O-oh ok. Mrs. Zhongli! Do you know what they look like?"

Zhongli unable to look her in the eyes answered. " yes I remember her as vividly as I did when I had to say goodbye."

Ganyu and Hu tao's Hearts squeezed at that listening to Zhongli give a description of you. About your charming smile and you're glowing features your gentle soft skin.

Xiao usually spend each Lantern Rite away from the crowd but you had insisted and wanting to find your husband. He stayed close to your side as he tried to find a Faraway yet clear spot to watch as they release the first Lantern they have spent all afternoon in the city looking.

"Are you well?" Xiao asked noticing you're deflated look. You have a lot of conflicting feelings. You knew you could just look for him tomorrow... however you are selfish wanting to spend this year's Lantern right with him even though there could be next year and the year before that-

"I am Xiao... Thank you." You forced yourself to say.

Xiao only recently had somebody in his life that he cared deeply so now he could sympathize with your longing to be with him. " We will find him." He reassured you.

Before you could open your mouth to speak Xiao's eyes darted behind you, those golden eyes widened as you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder.

When you turned it was like the world had stopped. Three people stood behind you but you cared little for the two girls beside the man you were looking at. In his gold and brown traditional clothing and his long hair it was almost as if you fell in love all over again. He was different he was human but you knew.

Zhongli I felt similarly seeing you in the crowd before the girls tugged him you his heartfelt lighter a nervousness he hadn't felt since he first laid his eyes upon you. Almost hesitants filters being but the two girls wouldn't let up practically dragging him toward you.

Silent he approached you. The glow of the lanterns highlighting his features as his eyes shined like Cor lapis. In that moment nothing mattered cheers of the crowd were drowned out the glow of the lanterns were blury as his hand caressed your cheek he whispered

"you're just as beautiful as the day I lost you."

In that moment you remembered what that woman said to you. You are not stupid not once did you believe that the god of contracts and one who withstood many countless battles could be killed so easily. And even so, you realize he is alive here, and real tears flow down your face.

That night, you and him were the only ones who didn't get to watch the lanterns, but you did spend it in each other's arms.

Qi qi slept at night because it was past her bedtime

#genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #zhongli imagines #genshin fluff

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