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ugh-yoongi · 7 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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sehodreams · 7 months

Text

a good girl's paradox

TW and Tags: plus size!coworker!reader x coworker!lee tang (he changed his name to Gyeong-su in the episode), mentions of violent acts (stalking, killing, bullying), smut, p in v (with protection), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), suicidal thoughts, trauma, related to the series but it changes the storyline for the fic purposes, unclear descriptions of the place (Busan) because I have no interest into learning more geography for a fic.

WC: 10K

Summary: Everyone goes to that province to hide, and you’re not the exception, but it’s also said that everyone wants to leave, and perhaps, you’re the exception to that.

Comment: Sorry guys I know I have a lot of requests and other drafts waiting, but I love this man so much I couldn’t help it, I started it yesterday and finished it today because I've been having so many problems finishing other fics and decided this was not going to be one of those half done. It's long so there are definitely mistakes, please be kind, again, English is not my first language.

Feeling the ocean breeze mess up with your hair and leave little particles of salt on it, you sat over the bench and watched the sun appear over the horizon. It was incredibly calm, and beautiful, and you inhaled the aroma of the sea in front of you, an aroma your mother used to love when you were younger, always carrying you in her arms to take you there and watch the sunrise together while eating marmalade and butter sandwiches.

You stopped completely going there once she passed away, and everyone knew why you tried to avoid its existence as if it woke up all the melancholic memories you had with her.

The truth was, you always hated it, and you stopped completely going only because you had no reason to do it anymore. You could make your own decisions once she wasn’t around anymore, and your father never cared enough to keep you company even on important events, so for as long as you could, you just didn’t go.

However, now that you saw it in front of you, you did remember some moments with your mother, her smile, and her excited voice telling you to wake up and watch the sun appear.

‘’Fucking sea’’ you said once the sun completely stayed up there, an orange light showering the whole scenery making it even more breathtaking, but still hating it.

You stood up, grabbed the suitcase handle, and walked alongside the sea, trying to catch a cab in that part of the countryside little city, different from Seoul, which was always awake, you saw how only a couple of people were walking around there, and most of them where fishers getting ready for work, or maybe they were coming back, but you, a city girl your whole life, didn’t know.

You found a taxi not much later and telling him where you were going, the driver rolled his window even more, and giving you a good look, he nodded for you to jump in.

‘’It’s not far from here’’ he said, and you nodded, not feeling like talking much with him. ‘’When you leave, don’t let them charge you too much, never pay more than 15 dollars for any cab, and never go to the sea at night.’’

That last sentence caught your attention, sounding like advice but with a hint of uninterest, assuming that you were going to leave one day.

‘’When I leave?’’ you asked.

‘’You’re going to a rented apartment, I know that building, we know everyone here, and you’re a city girl, I can hear it in your voice, all pretty and clear, something happened to you there so you came here to hide, it’s always the same thing, but your kind never like it here enough to stay’’ he answered sure of his statement.

You looked out the window, the sea was blue, pure, immaculate, and the sun wasn’t orange anymore, a clear sky showing the clouds up there, which you could see reflected into the sea.

But it all looked so grey to you, after all, a beautiful thing like that one still killed people every now and then, fishers who tried to make a living, tourists curious of what was deep inside, or simply people who tried to refresh themselves with the cool temperature of it in the summer, so you nodded.

It was beautiful, a dream, but you would never fall in love with it, if you never did it before even with the memories of your childhood, why would you do it now?

‘’Thank you’’ you said, agreeing with him.

You’d never like it enough to stay.

Still, you kind of appreciated his words after living there for almost a month.

Something you never forgot was how that driver, only with that short conversation, helped you so much, because it was true, you never had to pay more than 15 bucks for any cab, and every time the drivers tried to take advantage of you because of your accent, you only had to spit a short fuck off before they called you a bitch and accepted your bills before driving away.

At first, it was hard, you had never cursed in front of another person and you felt almost sick whenever you did it, but after deciding no one knew you there enough to have the right to judge you, or reminding yourself to just say what went through your mind to not punish yourself later with an I should’ve done something different, you started to feel better with your life there.

Also, he had been right about city people hiding there.

There weren’t many, but they were there, and it was incredibly easy to recognize them.

Apart from the dialect, which was pretty much obvious, there was just something about them that screamed I’m not from here that you always noticed.

Perhaps it was the way most of you were programmed to be colder than most of the countryside people, always being respectful and polite, but always lacking that warmness they had, most of them treating each other like friends or family, while all of you were from the exterior, uninvited guests that one day would leave, and knowing your place, all of you said thank you, hello and goodbye without smiling or eye contact.

It wasn’t that bad for you thought, you had already told yourself to not be involved with people at all if it wasn’t necessary to avoid useless problems, but again, you were only a girl, and Gyeong-ah was just a girl too, and girls, as much as you tried to deny it, feel easily alone.

You met while buying groceries, and you knew immediately she was from Seoul because instead of choosing the detergent almost all the residents there bought, which had a powerful, almost heavy aroma of flowers to mask the sea smell, she chose the softer version without aroma that most girls that lived alone in Seol used to not mess with your perfumes.

You didn’t wear perfume, you never liked it, but you recognized the brand as if it was general knowledge taught at school.

‘’You’re from Seoul’’ you said before you could think it, and it wasn’t a question at all, it was a fact that she, when she heard it, couldn’t even deny because she recognized you too.

‘’You too’’ she said, and suddenly you had a friend.

Just as city girls, you two knew how to talk to each other, never crossing lines and being as cordial as you could, wanting to know but never digging too deep unless you were sure the other deserved to know delicate information about yourselves.

In a month you became best friends, and you started to like to live there, the grey color the area had wasn’t as grey anymore, taking a brighter variation now, almost becoming white, as white as her ceilings, or as the smile she sometimes showed you.

Both of you had really white teeth from performing as perfect city girls before arriving there, religiously visiting the dentist to get expensive treatments at least twice a year and using the famous toothpaste that girl group promoted on TV between music shows, with the phrase ‘’a pretty smile is a pretty heart’’ pushing half the population to buy it, effective, an incredibly overpriced.

Both of you stopped using it, but you respected how it still showed its results.

‘’The supermarket is opening a new position as a cashier, you could come if you want, you receive discounts as an employee’’ she said to the air when you were rambling about almost not having enough savings.

Even if it was the countryside and rent wasn’t even half of what you paid before, with everything you spent after unsuccessfully trying to fit the beauty standards when you lived there, your savings weren’t enough to live unemployed for too much time.

Next week you, instead of waking up to take a little walk before breakfast, now got ready to go to work and be a useful human being to society again.

And with that, both of you took a step further into your friendship, being able to reveal, after drinking a couple of beers, why you escaped from the city.

Gyeong-ah told you everything, from the pretty sequence of how she and her boyfriend met, to then what he did to hurt her, and how she suffered until she had to go through all those surgeries before she moved to Busan.

You told her everything too, how your boss pushed his hand under your skirt, how you reported it and how everyone looked at you as if you were crazy, ‘’She’s the one that reported the sexual assault case? She should be grateful anyone wanted to fuck her’’, and how, being completely alone, you were bullied until you had to quit.

‘’I was the first place in my class’’ she said.

‘’I closed the best deal the company ever had’’ you said.

Both of you cried until you fell slept together on her bed, and only woke up because both of you had to get ready for work.

It didn’t take long for you to get used to your new job, you were already a seller before arriving there, you knew how to talk to people and how to fake a good smile, charming customers into buying products they didn’t need and quickly gaining the manager approbation, because, after all, as everyone said, you were a good girl.

Sadly, Gyeong-ah didn’t have the same luck, and you understood her, she studied to do something different with her life, and you did it too, but she was younger and never had to learn how to make people love her before because she was incredibly gorgeous, but now that beauty wasn’t as useful anymore, and not knowing how to pretend as much as you, she couldn’t gain the appreciation you did, getting more scolds than praises.

It was on one occasion that her inexperience got her into a big argument with a client, and sadly you saw the first crack of your friendship appear.

That client was demanding a refund for a product without the receipt, and you wanted to run to her and repeat how you also couldn’t find the purchase on the system, but that woman was screaming so bad you got flashbacks of your boss’s wife screaming at you to take back the complaint, how her husband would never touch a disgusting pig like you (calling you that when she was as fat, to not say more, than you), and how you should just ruin your own life if you wanted to ruin someone’s.

She had the same voice tone, and even looked exactly like her, with dark red lipstick, a failed perm and all those cheap accessories, she was her spitting image.

You couldn’t move, watching the situation happen from afar, feet stuck to the floor and hands shaking, you repeated inside your mind to go and help her, to take her side, but you couldn’t, and making eye contact with one of the boys from the fish section when he walked in front of you, you closed your eyes to ignore the situation and not feel as pathetic as you did.

Later, when your break came, you went out to breathe as much air as you could, and trying to erase the memory of the past moment from your mind, you tried to think what could you do to apologize to Gyeong-ah.

Out there, between a couple of cars, in the middle of the immense parking lot, you tried to hide so no one saw you spiraling into a thousand thoughts, and there, almost breaking down, you stopped yourself from doing it when you saw the guy from before talking to that woman.

It looked as if she wanted to discuss with him too. He was beside her car, and she started to get closer to him while talking, you couldn’t hear it, but you saw her mouth moving as fast as before.

You were about to get closer to hear them, but you stopped once you saw a disgusting string of saliva being spit on the concrete by him.

It was so long and thick that you didn’t doubt it was a consequence of all those cigarettes he smoked every day.

You didn’t smoke, but Gyeong-ah did, and sometimes the smoke got impregnated in your clothes, so you could easily identify the Marlboro smell of the pack the two of them chose all the time, but he, unlike Gyeong-ah, had a smell a lot stronger.

Your thoughts were left aside once you saw the woman moving around nervous and he trying to take her phone. What the hell, you thought, and you were about to intervene when the woman jumped into her car and drove away.

Making eye contact with him again, he watched you for a couple of seconds before he turned around and completely ignored you, continuing to smoke his cigarette in peace.

‘’I don’t have time for this’’, you whispered to yourself and walked inside to talk with Gyeong-ah and not overthink anymore.

The first crack wasn’t deep, she said she understood it, and you hugged before finishing your shift and going back home to drink and badmouth that terrible woman, especially you, not thinking much of the woman from the supermarket, but of your boss’s wife.

She laughed while hearing all the insults you had about her appearance, going to sleep with a smile on her face and telling you that she would understand if the situation happened again because it wasn’t your fault, or hers, it was theirs for not understanding you two.

Little cracks continued to appear on the frame of your friendship, but it was still solid enough to survive everything.

At least, until Sangnim appeared, and completely smashed it to leave no trace of it.

That fucking bastard, as you used to call him, ruined everything with his existence.

The minute you saw him you knew something was off with him, you couldn’t help but notice small details when the two of them gave you a lift home, sensing the aroma of a perfume you used to smell a lot in Seoul inside his car, it was impossible Gyeong-ah was the only woman riding it, and you tried to slip a question without looking suspicious.

‘’Sangmin-ah, do you have sisters? I can’t believe how much you understand my Gyeong-ah’’ you said with a smile.

He made eye contact with you through the mirror and showed you a wide grin.

‘’I don’t have any sisters, but you’re so sweet, I really try to take care of Gyeong-ah as much as I can, she deserves it’’ he answered immediately.

‘’You’re right, she deserves it’’ you repeated, still smiling.

Shut the fuck off, you contained yourself from saying that out loud, nodding and looking around to find any other clue.

You couldn’t find anything, but he was definitely a cheater, and you, not having any solid proof, didn’t know how to break the news, so you pretended to not know anything to find the correct moment to say it.

Still, you left little comments every now and then, not blaming him, but leaving a trail of doubts around, doubts that sadly were never enough for Gyong-ah, fracturing too much your relationship.

You even thought that maybe you were exaggerating too, maybe deep inside you just tried to find a reason for her to end things with him, he was never going to stay, he said it before when you three had dinner, he’d go back to Seoul next year, and contrary to all predictions, thanks to your friendship, you liked it here enough to stay.

The future wasn’t bright at all, but it was enough for you, maybe in a couple of years you could escalate to a better position, you’d get benefits, you would walk around the beach every Sunday morning, and then you’d go and have breakfast with Gyeong-ah.

You had to apologize, for the sake of your friendship.

However, you didn’t have to, or more than that, you could never do it, because three days later Gyeong-ah passed away.

Waking up in your free day, you sent her a text to ask for an hour of her time to talk, but she didn’t answer in fifteen minutes, and you just knew something was wrong.

Taking a cab to her house, you saw the ashes all around, and how her room was the one who started it.

‘’It seems the oven was on’’ you heard one firefighter say.

Dropping to your knees, you denied it, because she always checked everything at least three times before going to sleep, it didn’t matter how drunk she was, she would check the door, the kitchen, and would unplug her phone charger from the wall.

‘’I saw on the news that chargers can get on fire’’ she said, and you laughed in her face because that only happened once every thousand times, ‘’Well, with my luck, I could be that one time.’’

‘’Shut up’’ you said while knocking three times on her wooden headboard.

It had to be him, it had to be him, it’s the only answer, she would never do it, she wouldn’t let her oven on in a million times, they didn’t know her like you did, and sadly, soon no one would remember her like you did.

Calling her mother was the hardest part, you couldn’t remember how the hug of a mother felt in real life, and when she wrapped you into her arms, you broke down with her, because even if you didn’t know her, Gyeong-ah had been telling her about you, always finishing the calls with the same sentence, ‘’Don’t worry mom, my friend’s is taking care of me here.’’

‘’I’m so sorry, I should’ve taken more care of her, I’m so sorry’’ you repeated in her arms, and her mother denied it, saying how that wasn’t your fault at all, but you felt as it was, because you could've stopped her from seeing him, you should’ve stopped her the minute you figured him out.

You didn’t, and it didn’t matter how many nights passed, you couldn’t sleep with the guilt consuming you.

Looking at the beach at night one day, not being able to sleep again, you remembered how the first day you arrived you were told to never go to the sea at night, and right there, you understood why that driver told you that.

For the first time ever, you thought that maybe, maybe, you should just get lost in it, like the fishers, like the tourists, like the innocents.

You weren’t none of them, none of them deserved it, but you were convinced you did.

And you were about to go meet her, until you realized that, there, on earth, you could continue taking care of her, because even if she wasn’t there with you anymore, you could do what was necessary to make Sangmin pay for what he did.

You wouldn’t survive another I should’ve, so you would do it, you would do what was necessary, and nothing would stop you.

Finding Sangmin’s information wasn’t hard, you just had to do a couple of clicks on the internet, and you had everything you could need.

If only you had done that before, but you refused to go back into social media, all your profiles were flooded with hate comments from people you used to work with, or your boss’s family, or people who didn’t know anything at all but felt the right to talk about your body, and she had also deleted all kind of social media for a similar reason, so none of you knew how he was about to get married, and how you had been right about the smell of her fiance's perfume and all the little comments you had left around.

It was simply impossible how they met was a coincidence, getting sex extorted just like Gyeong-ah? He knew how to get close to her and break down her walls, he planned everything, and finally, you had no doubt about doing something.

You planned to wait for him out of his job, you wanted to do it quick and easy, and no one would suspect you, you looked like a good girl, you were a good girl, you were one until he appeared and stole the little family you had, he stole your whole life, and you would do it too.

With a knife in hand, you waited for him to get out of work, and you thought that he would drive his car, but he didn’t, so you followed him down the dark street to an unknown place.

Gripping onto your weapon, you felt your heart punching your ribcage, nervous as never before.

I can do it, I can do it, you repeated inside your mind, trying to convince you again.

But you couldn’t, and entering an alley, letting him go, you started to cry while hugging your knees, apologizing to Gyeong-ah for not being able to do anything for her.

You felt a cold sensation touch your nape and you jumped away from it surprised, looking up at the sky night and watching the guy from work you never liked.

‘’Drink this’’ he pushed the water bottle to your face, almost obliging you to take it, and your heart started to beat again, knowing he had seen what you tried to do, knife on the floor easily to differentiate even in the dark.

‘’Gyeong… Su?’’ you tried to remember his name.

‘’Go home, sleep, and tomorrow go to work, the manager keeps calling you and leaving messages, your position is still yours’’ he said, almost immediately walking away, but you stopped him gripping his jeans.

‘’You saw me’’ you affirmed,

‘’I did’’ he didn’t try to lie.

‘’Don’t you think I’m bad? I tried to do something really bad.’’

Your voice almost broke, and your hand on his jeans was trembling.

He looked down at you, maintaining eye contact and scanning you, and you felt as if he was inside your mind, finding exactly what he wanted to know.

‘’You’re not bad’’, he said after a long silence.

‘’You don’t know me’’, you replied as soon as he finished talking.

He shrugged and pulling apart from your grip, he talked one last time before leaving, ‘’That’s true.’’

Completely alone there, you cried again until you felt satisfied, and looking up to the dark clear sky, you apologized one last time to Gyeong-ah, and to your mom, and to you, and after drinking the whole bottle of water, you walked to the beach, burring the knife into a hole in the sand you dug with your own hands, to then go home, take a shower, and sleep.

The next day you had to go to work, and you needed to sleep at least a couple of hours.

When you arrived at work the next day you told yourself to completely ignore Gyeong-su, not wanting to talk with someone who had seen you in such deplorable moments like the ones you had.

However, again, you were just a girl, and not having anyone around you anymore, he was the closest thing to intimacy you had.

The relationship you had wasn’t deep enough to be called a friendship, he rarely talked about himself, only keeping you company when he smoked a cigarette in his break and when his turn finished.

You can’t remember how you started to get closer to him, you just remember seeing him smoke near the plastic table behind the supermarket, near the entrance in which all trucks left the daily order of products, and sitting next to him in silence, missing the smell of the Marlboro Gyeong-ah used to smoke.

Somehow, it brought you a calm feeling, and your mind stopped thinking, becoming a blank sheet that didn’t need to be filled with anything, not memories of her, or your past life in Seoul, or Sangmin, only breathing and watching the ugly metallic green bars that surrounded the place as if it was a prison, separating it from the outside world.

He didn’t mind you staying there, and days after days, you started to notice his presence around more often inside the supermarket, and the little behaviors he had.

‘’A man of few words’’, you called him when he didn’t answer your question if he was from Seoul too, thing he never acknowledged, but it was too obvious.

He didn’t have the province dialect, he had a soft way of slurring words whenever the manager or his superior in the fish section made him questions, like most boys in the city did, especially those who worked as part-timers in convenience stores, a polite but tired tone, and you were sure he had received some kind of superior education because when you carried a copy of Justice written by Michael Sandel, he followed it with his eyes until you pushed it inside your bag.

‘’Those who insist that only bleeding wounds should count believe that post-traumatic stress reflects a weakness of character unworthy of honor. Those who believe that psychological wounds should qualify argue that veterans suffering long-term trauma and severe depression have sacrificed for their country as surely, and as honorably, as those who’ve lost a limb’’ you quoted the next day while he lighted his second cigarette and seemed more relaxed next to you.

‘’I’m too dumb for that’’ was the only thing he said before exhaling a long line of smoke.

You don’t know why, but after hearing him so sure while saying that, and after such a long time, you were able to laugh again.

Things were slightly getting better after two months, you could sleep at least four hours now, and you were doing things again, not only staring at your TV when you arrived home. You opened old books she had left at your house, cleaned your place more, and ate proper meals, and you still cried, but at least you were able to smile when you saw pictures of her in your phone.

Still, there were moments in which you crumbled, and one of them was when you heard what happened to Sangmin a long time ago, only a couple days after you tried to do… that.

You heard it from one of the clients, how weird things were happening, first the death of a former worker there in the supermarket, and then the death of her boyfriend, and how now there were other two girls dead.

‘’This never happened before those people started to move here’’ her companion, another elderly woman said, and of course they referred to the people like you, people that weren’t born or grew up there, but you couldn’t help but only think in what you had heard about Sangmin.

Sangmin was dead, and what should’ve brought you joy for fair karma, instead made you hide in the warehouse, crying and spiraling into your thoughts about Gyeong-ah, and how you didn’t even make an effort to make sure she got her real justice, cleaning her name from everyone’s mouths.

‘’What’s going on?’’ you heard Gyeong-su’s voice come from behind the shelf you were leaning to.

‘’He-He’s dead’’ you answered, you didn’t need much to think of how to phrase it, he knew who you were referring to.

‘’Isn’t that what you wanted?’’ he asked you.

You stayed silent, muffled cries hiding in your knees.

‘’I don’t know, but I’m hurting so much, and all I keep thinking about is how Gyeong-ah must have suffered more than me when she left this place, and how I’ll never be able to know if he received what he deserved, even more, how because of that I’ll never be able to clean her name, and now no one will remember her as clearly as I do’’ you then confessed.

Feeling like a sinner telling a priest all of her secrets, you felt as if something had left your chest free, your mind finally was out there, formed into words and tears, and you didn’t see his face, but that let you speak your mind even more free.

‘’I see’’ he murmured, ‘’and you’ve thought that all this time, I guess.’’

‘’Yes,’’ everything was out, your tears sliding down your cheeks and your body lighter, almost numb.

‘’Well, you shouldn’t compare your pain, or hers, or his, each of you went through things none of you three know, she doesn’t know how you’re mourning her death, you don’t know how she suffered the process of it, and none of you know how he suffered his, those are things none of you will ever know, so it’s okay if you hurt, but you don’t have to think much into what he deserved, because you’ll never have an answer, and you shouldn’t condition what you feel into an answer you’ll never receive.’’

You sniffed your tears, looking at the packages of toilet paper in front of you, wishing you could take one to clean your face.

‘’And I do remember her, not as clearly as you do, of course, no one will, she was your friend, but I remember she liked to buy fresh tuna every Friday to eat with you, she always had a blank face when the manager scolded her or when she talked to rude clients, and she would rarely smile, but with you, she would do it in front of others sometimes.’’

You exhaled.

That was exactly her, she liked tuna when you hated it, and you picked on her for having an old man's taste buds, you preferred chicken over it, but you let her win every time one of you had to choose, and yeah, she did stare blankly at others, including you, but if it was a good day, she would smiled at you with those white pearls she had inside her mouth.

Feeling as if some heavy weight was lifted from your shoulders, you exhaled and let your head fall to the shelf you were leaning into.

‘’You two were the city pair’’ he finished, making you laugh.

‘’You’re also a city boy’’ you said, and he coughed, ‘’and you’re a liar, you said you were dumb.’’

‘’I am, I never understood that book’’ he said before grabbing the box between you two, lifting it, and going out, leaving you there alone.

You felt as if finally, you had taken a step in the right direction, moving from your position, you cleaned your tears with the ugly blue vest, too hard for your cheeks, and waking you up with the pain.

A week later another girl died, and your boss had to organize a meeting.

‘’It seems the current situation is getting dangerous, especially for young girls, so the superiors have ordered all the women to leave while the sun is still up’’ he said, and you don’t know if it was because of an empathy people from where you grew up didn’t have, but you got surprised when none of the men argued with it, everyone nodding in unison.

You had permission to leave early, so you did it, not being able to share Gyeong-su’s company when your turn finished, only seeing each other in the first break.

‘’You’ll miss me’’ you said the first day, and he never made any sound to acknowledge your silly jokes, but this time he let a soft snicker, almost imperceptible, that made you smile too.

You tried to always do what you were told to, so you left before the sun went down, but that day you were in charge of counting merchandise in the warehouse, so you didn’t see how late it was until you checked your phone.

It was even later than the time for everyone to leave, so you quickly grabbed your things, said good night to your male coworkers, and left.

You tried to not get paranoid with the news, they specified that the killer only directed its attention to pretty girls, loving long legs and soft features.

Gyeong-ah and Sangmin cases were mentioned every now and then to repeat how dangerous things were getting, but they were never related to the girl’s deaths, being two different situations.

That’s why, you tried to convince yourself you would be okay, you didn’t share any of the characteristics the killer loved in their victims, and he supermarket wasn’t far from your house, but you didn’t dare to walk alone anymore between all the buildings, so you waited for a cab to appear and take you home.

You made sure to always be careful when you were alone, yes you took cabs, but you always had a pen on your hand and your phone ready to call 119 in the other, checking the routes and if the driver looked at you too much.

Everything was okay, you were already relaxed when you saw your building in front of you, so you shoved your things in your bag, pulled out the bill, and paid, walking home with an easy mind.

You never thought you would get snatched right next to your door.

With a hand on your mouth and the other on your tummy, you felt how you were dragged into the alley next to your building, darkness surrounding you while you felt a disgusting presence behind you.

The one who pulled you in was a man, taller than you, with big hands and an erection already ready to make your worst nightmare real.

You started to cry, muffled by his gloved hand, you couldn’t say anything when you heard his voice calling you sweet treat, ordering you to be silent if you didn’t want things to get ugly.

Begging Gyeong-ah, your mother, and God to send you help, you nodded when he said he would let you go if you were good.

‘’Promise?’’ he murmured.

‘’Promise’’ you agreed, closing your eyes and letting his hand cup your pussy with force, not making a single sound, only trembling with tears running down your cheeks.

He pushed your face to the wall and made you show him your bubbly ass, touching it as much as he wanted without an ounce of shame.

You thought this is it, my karma, repeating inside your head how this was your punishment for all the things you should and shouldn’t have done.

The man couldn’t even open the button of your jeans before you heard a loud bang and his body fell to the floor.

Staying in your position, you pressed your face to your hands and didn’t dare to turn around to see what was making all that noise, it was metallic, and it didn’t stop even when the man didn’t make a single noise anymore.

When things got silent, you, still trembling, turned your head to see what, or who stopped the man.

You never expected to see Gyeong-su covered in black clothes from head to toe, paint all over the floor, covering the man's body and face, and the can totally smashed and tossed to the side.

‘’Uh?’’ was the only thing that came out of your mouth.

‘’I knew he was going to come for you, this sick bastard’’ he said.

You didn’t understand why he thought that, and watching your white sneakers get ruined with the blood and the red paint, you started to cry even more, still in silence.

‘’It’s okay, you’re okay’’ he said, giving you your messed bag and, once again, leaving you alone.

You called the police, the number still there on your screen ready to only press the green button, and when you did it, you said your direction as clearly as you could.

‘’Did you see who did it?’’ one of the officers asked you, and you stayed silent for a good minute before answering.

‘’I didn’t’’ then you said.

The two cops keeping you company looked at each other and then the one writing things down nodded.

‘’I see’’ was the only thing he said before leaving you alone.

You didn’t have much to do, the man was dead, and now nothing could be done.

Was that justice? You thought.

They immediately recognized him as the killer, he had a patron, pretty girls who lived alone, and all the bodies showed the same signs of abuse before dying.

Perhaps he had lied to all of them, and he had lied to you, convincing you that if you did no sound you would live, but you’d have died just like them at the end.

But did he deserve to die? Just like Sangmin, wasn’t there another way to get justice for your pain? For yours, Gyeong-ah’s, and all those girls’.

Still, what you knew was that, even if it was contrary to all your values, knowing how valuable life was, Gyeong-su didn’t deserve any punishment, he had saved you, and justice for you, was that he continued free out there.

The next day before you went to work, you saw rests of the red paint still over the cement, thin layers already dry after so many hours, cracked with the breeze of the sea, and you thought how, if Gyeong-su hadn’t saved you yesterday, what anyone else would have seen in daylight was your cold body lying out there.

All your coworkers hugged you when you arrived, and your manager told you to take the day off if you needed, but you couldn’t go back home or you’d start to overthink things again, if what you did was the correct thing to do, if he deserved to die like that, if you were a killer too, taking into account how you saved Gyeong-su’s secret.

When the first break came you walked out to the plastic table, but Gyeong-su wasn’t there, and hugging your coat, you sat to wait for him, but he didn’t come.

He avoided you for days, and you thought the pseudo-friendship you had was over, until a detective arrived and started to make questions about what had happened to you that day.

‘’You really didn’t see who did it?’’ he asked, and you denied again, already used to say that lie as if it was an unchanging truth, ‘’Do you mind if I walk around here a little bit?’’

You didn’t have a reason to say no, but your eyes caught how Gyeong-su opened the curtain separating the counter from the freezer where all the fish waited to be cut and packed to be sold, and how he immediately took a step back, not letting himself be seen.

You don’t know why, but you knew Gyeong-su didn’t want that detective to see him.

‘’I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to see any more cops lurking around, he’s dead, and looking at you only brings me back the bad memories of that night’’ you didn’t know why you said something like that, it didn’t make any sense, all the older ladies loved to see the cops near, feeling a lot safer, but you didn’t know what else to say to make them leave.

His younger companion frowned and was about to say something before the detective stopped him and nodded, leaving you his card and telling you to call him in case you ever needed help or remembered something.

You didn’t answer, shoving it into one of the numerous pockets your vest had, and turned your back to continue writing down the stock you were counting.

‘’Ugly girls should learn how to talk prettily at least’’ you heard the younger say.

‘’Shut up, she’s a victim, she doesn’t have to entertain you with pretty words’’ the older quickly replied, ‘’and you don’t know what you’re saying, her face is very pretty.’’

Jand Nam-gam, you read in the card he left you.

He seemed like the kind of person who was only respected by the people who were near him, used to receive no as answers, and a bit blunt and unsophisticated, from the city, just like you, but without the calm and respectable vibe a detective from there usually had, and too honest and correct to survive there for long.

When you went out for your break a couple of hours later you saw Gyeong-su sitting on the table, smoking and waiting for you.

You sat next to him and for the first time, you showed him your palm, asking for a cigarette too.

Without looking at you, he gave you the one he was smoking, still new and ready for you to take it.

Your fingers brushed his when he gave it to you, and you tried to not think much about it, but you always thought too much, so to shut your mind up, you inhaled the cancer stick and held it as long as you could, slowly letting the grey cloud appear in front of your face.

The city had the same grey color it used to have before Gyeong-ah, and you weren’t sure how long you could stay there.

Your imagination wasn’t filled with a future there, you didn’t want to walk around the beach anymore, you had no one eating breakfast with you in your head, and you were afraid every time your turn finished and you had to go back home, running the few steps to open your building door, and only feeling safe once you checked that your oven was off and you put a chair behind your secured door.

‘’I didn’t ask for your help’’ he then said.

‘’Me neither’’ you answered.

He nodded, still looking at the metallic bars surrounding you.

‘’How did you know I didn’t want him to see me’’ he asked, breathing the air and pushing his hands inside his apron pockets.

‘’How did you know he was going to come for me’’ you asked back.

He shrugged like every time you asked him anything he couldn’t ignore.

‘’I just knew he would come for you, after all, they said he followed pretty girls.’’

It felt completely different from when the detective said it, and you bit the inside of your cheek, feeling a warm sensation reach your cold hands.

‘’I just knew it too’’ you said, tossing the rest of the stick to the floor.

It tasted like shit, and you couldn’t understand how he and Gyeong-ah smoked it every day.

‘’I won’t come to work tomorrow.’’

You felt incredibly alone again, you knew he meant that he wouldn’t come back, he would, again, leave you there on your own.

‘’Can you walk me home today? I’m afraid of going on my own.’’

He knew why you asked him that, a goodbye, a farewell, so he nodded and told you to wait for him at the front door.

Your turn finished and then you were waiting for him right where he had told you, a good girl following his words exactly like he wanted.

You stayed there, hands playing with the leather strap of your bag, the bag you used when you lived in Seoul, too noisy in the province, reason why you preferred to go around with your canvas tote bag, a lot more discreet and common, but that one had been ruined with the red paint that day, and just like your white sneakers, you had to toss it away.

When he appeared he nodded at you, indicating you with a tilt of his head to lead the way.

You two walked on silent, you couldn’t make any question or comment or silly joke, and it was obvious, by the grip on your bag, that you were nervous.

He noticed it, and pulling out his hand from the pocket of his bomber jacket, he grabbed your left hand and held it all the way to your house.

You felt incredibly calm, thinking how you shouldn’t because you knew, deep down, that he was dangerous. It was impossible, by the fear of facing the detective, that he hadn’t killed more people, and it was clear he was being followed.

That makes sense, you thought, if you weren’t sent to that province because of work, like Sangmin, you were hiding, and he was just like Gyeong-ah and you, escaping from things that had happened in the past, or perhaps, things that were still happening now.

But you hadn’t felt so safe in so long, because you knew that, with him, nothing would snatch you next to your house, and that no one would be able to enter your house, or that your oven was never going to magically explode.

With him by your side everything was okay, you were okay, and that was enough to make all those preoccupations disappear.

When you got to your entrance you let his hand go to open the principal door with your key, and he was behind you, observing you, you could feel his eyes on the back of your head, but when you turned to him, he let his eyes fall to the floor.

‘’Do you want to drink some coffee?’’ you asked, and he nodded, following you inside and walking up the stairs until you got to your little apartment.

It wasn’t amazing, but it was yours. You didn’t have an elevator, and you always had to go up to the fifth floor to let your clothes dry with a big basket, but it was okay, you liked your building, your neighbors were quiet, and you felt safe and sound there. Until that happened.

Inside your room you let him close the door for you, and you didn’t feel the need to immediately put the secure on, leaving your coat on the hanger instead, and taking off your shoes, you walked to your little kitchen, putting water in an electric kettle to boil it.

You could cook in your kitchen, but you never used the oven, and you preferred the electric kettle over the traditional one because once the water was done, it would automatically turn off.

Then you sat on the floor, leaving two cups, sugar and coffee over the little wooden table you had, and turning on the TV, you looked at him in the eyes until he sat beside you on the floor.

He was wearing an ugly grey sweater that kind of smelled like fish, mascaraed with what you identified as the cheap deodorant you sold in the store, but you were used to the fish smell he had, so you didn’t mind.

‘’Do you mind if I take a shower?’’ He said not much after.

You nodded, the news had just started, and you mindlessly changed the channel to try to find anything interesting.

‘’Sure, there are towels in the cabinet, I’ll get you some clothes, they’re mine, but I’m sure they’ll fit you’’ you said, and he didn’t waste a second to walk to your bathroom.

You gulped while changing the channels, you knew what you were going to do, but you hadn’t done it in so long, you needed a second to recognize what that sensation forming on your abdomen was.

You hadn’t done anything at all, and you felt yourself already getting wet inside your panties.

The click the jug did after the water was done caught your attention and you stood up to get the water, pulling out the cord from the plug, but knowing you had to get him his clothes, you walked to your little closet to find a t-shirt and some pants that could fit him.

He wasn’t buff at all, but he was lean, a normal guy there, not fat, not big, not small, and taller than normal, so you decided to find the biggest clothes you had.

You were choosing when you heard the door open and you felt him walking behind you, hands surrounding your waist and wetting your back with the drops that were still sliding down his chest.

‘’I chose this’’ you said, lifting the clothes so he could see them, feeling his breath touch the side of your neck and his nose brushing your skin.

‘’I’ll wear them later then’’ he answered, pushing you to your closed closet and making you turn to him.

You weren’t that short, but just then you noticed how much taller than you he was. He made you lift your eyes to him with a touch to your hands, taking the clothes from your hands and letting them fall to the floor.

‘’I- I don’t remember much how this was… it’s been years for me’’ you admitted, and he nodded.

‘’It’s been years for me too’’ he said, not as ashamed as you.

With the same hand that tossed the clothes, he made you look at him and accept his mouth over yours, taking the lead in the kiss and erasing all your thoughts.

It felt good, his lips were chapped, and he had the taste of smoke in his mouth, but you didn’t mind, it finally tasted good, and moving your hands to his neck, you let him press his body against yours, the lower half of his body only covered by one of your towels.

He wasn’t hard, but you could feel something poking at the front of your jeans, and you wanted him to lay on your bed, so after a couple of long minutes, and just after he had enough of your mouth, you murmured something.

‘’Let’s go to my bed’’ you begged with hazy eyes and weak legs, leaning onto him, who was holding you with his body against your closet doors.

He nodded, and taking your hand, he guided you there, making you sit and look up to him.

Your lights were on, and you felt nervous, you had never had sex with the lights on, you only had a couple of partners, and they always turned them off before fucking you.

‘’You can turn off the lights if you want’’ you said, looking at him in the eyes.

He didn’t answer, his hand went to your cheek, and he pressed the tips of his fingers over your skin, caressing it and then brushing your wet lips after all his kisses, slightly red and plump thanks to the way his lips covered them.

He didn’t acknowledge what you said, bending down to retake the contact between both mouths.

Full of life, unlike his usual demeanor, eager, he pushed you to your back, making you receive him between your legs.

Slightly harder, you felt the border of his boner only covered by the fabric damp your jeans, but he didn’t stop kissing you, one hand lying on your neck and the other helping him stay still over you to not let all his weight crush you.

You opened your legs as much as you could with the jeans stopping you from going too far.

‘’You know what I’ll do to you’’ he said after a minute.

You nodded.

‘’I won’t stop’’ he warned.

‘’I don’t want you to’’ you answered.

You knew no one was going to save you from that place, it wasn’t his job, so you’d accept this as enough, and you’d let him go without resentment and an I should’ve done it.

‘’Will you be okay?’’ he asked, afraid of hurting you more.

‘’I want this to happen’’ you said, making him look at you, caress your cheek once again, and give you another kiss before his hands went to your button and helped you take your jeans off.

Sliding the clothing off your legs, he pushed your thighs wide open, and feeling the texture of the towel, his now hard cock against your clothed clit made you whimper.

‘’It feels good’’ you said, to what he agreed with you.

‘’It feels good’’ he affirmed.

He did soft movements to stimulate you with his cock, only letting you feel what would soon be inside you.

Looking at your eyes flutter, he pushed up your shirt, showing him your black bra hugging your chest.

Touching the skin uncovered by your cups, he pressed his thumb to see how far it could sink into your skin.

Your chest was bigger than normal, just like your tummy, but he liked it, it looked comforting and soft, perfect for him to rest a little bit, after his exhausting life, it looked like a taste of paradise.

You pushed his hands while taking your shirt off without asking, to then unhook your bra and toss it to the floor.

‘’Touch me properly’’ you said, making him snicker.

You had forgotten how that little grin looked like, and you smiled when it appeared again.

‘’Okay,’’ he replied, unabashedly grabbing both tits and groping them, looking at how the skin flooded his grip between fingers, and feeling good with both sensations, his cock against your cunt, and his hands in your chest, you closed your eyes and moaned, moving your head to your side and cover your mouth with the back of your hand.

He didn’t let you hide yourself for long, making you open your mouth for him and pushing his tongue inside your mouth, obliging you to let the moans out.

Your panties were incredibly wet, and he left one of your tits free to sneak a hand inside them.

Juices gladly receiving him, he groaned when he felt you dripping all over his fingers.

Without asking, just like when you took your shirt, he introduced a finger.

You cried with his mouth over yours.

His finger was long, and it sent a delicious shock to your core, making you frown at how good it felt.

‘’More’’ you begged, and he gladly obliged, pushing one more finger to make scissoring motions and prepare you for him.

‘’Shit, it’s begging for it’’ he groaned when he heard how much your insides were squelching, asking for him to fill you up.

‘’Yes, yes’’ you cried, listening to his nasty approbations telling you how good you’d take him, and how much he couldn’t wait to fill that sweet pussy of yours.

Fucking you with his fingers, you moaned as much as you wanted, not caring to hide anymore, it was your only night with him, so you decided to not hold anything.

His mouth went to your nipple, tits falling to the sides of how heavy they were and shaking with his attention to your cunt.

He licked them, first with just the tip of his tongue, but then let it flat so it covered your buds and made you shake even more.

‘’Su- so good’’ you cried.

His fingers were making you dizzy, and you had to get up on your elbows to see his hand inside your panties moving to make you cum.

It was hard to see yourself like that, so naked, so exposed.

You couldn’t hide the way your tummy rolls were in front of his eyes, the marks on your skin, or the way your big tits didn’t look perfect on your body, but he seemed to not care, even liking it, guiding his mouth to your nipples again and looking into your eyes when he left soft pecks over them.

‘’You’re going to cum for me, right?’’ he murmured when you started to clench over him.

‘’I-I don’t know’’ you cried, never having an orgasm with your partners before, you didn’t know if that was an orgasm, or what the hell was it.

‘’You’re going to’’ he didn’t ask, ‘’and it’s because of my fingers, so good’’ he pushed his fingers faster and harder, stretching your panties with how brutal he was.

You couldn’t maintain your position and dropped over your back, crying with your walls pulsating around him.

‘’That’s it, so fucking good, my good girl’’ he said still moving his fingers.

You tried to push his hand away, eyes rolling to the back of your head and tears falling down your cheeks of overstimulation, and he stopped when you left a singular loud cry out, but only to take off your messed underwear and toss the towel wrapping his hips.

He let you take a second to breathe properly again, and pushing up your legs, he made you show him your glossy cunt, lips open and ready for him.

He couldn’t help it, it was all shiny and pretty, he had to taste it a little bit, and sinking to his knees over the floor, he pulled your body to the border of the bed, mouth going directly to your pussy.

Drinking your orgasm, the slurping sound was so nasty you had to put your hands over your face, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

‘’That’s too much’’ you tried to stop him, but he, mouth still stuck to your entrance, and nose poking at your clit, denied with his head, smearing your arousal over his face.

‘’You have no idea all the things I want to do to you’’ he replied, pushing his thumb to your opening, and pressing his tongue over your clit this time.

You cried, hands going to his wet hair and trying to pull him away, but he was stronger than you, and you never had a chance to stop him.

You couldn’t fight him, so you wanted to finish quickly instead, hips jolting to feel him more and grasp that sweet second orgasm you felt coming.

About to call his name, he separated and said something before going back to his work.

‘’Lee Tang’’ he said, and that was enough for you to know what he meant.

That was his name, not Gyeong-su, but Lee Tang, and you thought, that fits him a lot more.

‘’Lee… Tang’’ you said as you could, and then the only thing that came out of your mouth was a ton of Tang, Tang, repeating proudly his real name.

You were so close that you could feel your toes curling, walls ready to let your orgasm free and relax again, and your back was curving, your body needing to cum once again because of him.

But he was so cruel.

He stopped, and getting up his knees, he thumbed your clit, flicking the little button a couple of times before he slid his dick between your lips, making you feel his length resting over you.

‘’Please, I’m so close, please’’ you saw the light of your room above him, watching his dark eyes examine you, searching for another answer in your eyes.

You left a disappointed cry when he, instead of touching, walked away to grab his jacket hung next to yours, and sitting, you saw him pull a little box from his pocket.

So that’s why he made me wait for him outside, you thought, he didn’t want you to see what he was buying.

Opening the film package, you saw him sliding the condom over his member with experience, walking back at you and showing you how it looked, slightly jumping over the air, standing hard and thick, and pushing you to your back again, he pressed his tip on your entrance, making you clench over it, and nodded to your past pleading. ‘’You deserve it’’ he said before pushing his member inside.

He didn’t let you adjust, but you didn’t need it, you just wanted him to keep moving, and soon that soft pace wasn’t enough for you.

‘’Fuck’’ you couldn’t hold the curses in your throat.

It felt so good, the weight of his member inside, pushing the limits of your walls, taking what he wanted from you, it was so good your hands searched for something of him to grip, finding his hands over your hips to maintain you in your place for him.

‘’Tang, so good, please make me cum’’ you cried.

One of his hands interlocked with yours, helping you find comfort between all the intense sensations your insides were feeling.

You looked so good under him, your chubby torse facing him, showing him everything he wanted to see, and your thighs jiggling with each of his thrusts.

You were close, and so was he, but he needed something more, a little thing that had been wandering inside his mind since he started to see you differently.

‘’Can you turn for me?’’ he asked, needing to see your pretty ass taking him.

Not answering, you immediately crawled further in your bed, and searching for your pillow, you hugged it, pressing your face to your bedsheets and showing him your ass without any ounce of shame left.

‘’Fuck me’’ you begged again, opening your lips with your fingers and showing him your entrance gaping around nothing, ‘’Tang, please fuck me.’’

His breath stopped, he had never seen something that bold and hot before, and he admired your needy side calling for him to calm you.

Going to you, he pushed his entire length inside, bottoming out and pushing it inside in a single thrust to see your gorgeous back and thick thighs trembling with his cock.

You were crying and hugging your pillow, shoulders becoming smaller and one of your hands on your back searching for his to hold it again.

Lee Tang, not daring to ignore you, his good girl, like that, held your hand.

‘’You’re the one who wanted me to fuck you, and now you can’t take it?’’ he teased, not liking how much he was spoiling you.

‘’No, I can take it, please don’t stop’’ you implored, feeling his hard and fast thrusts pushing your sanity away.

He didn’t care how weak he was to you, feeling your walls wrapping around him like that was like nothing he had felt before, watching the curves of your waist interrupted with your little fat rolls, your ass bouncing against his pelvis with his strength, taking his cock like a gift, and your hand not letting him go even with how hard he was being with you, was everything he ever needed.

Hearing your sweet moans and cries all out when you came, with your sweet walls fluttering around him, pushed the last string inside him, and he pressed his cock inside you to let everything out in the condom.

‘’Tang-‘’ you gripped his hand harder.

‘’Yes baby, I’m cumming’’ he exhaled, letting all inside you.

‘’Okay’’ you said happy.

He wished he could stay connected to you forever, but he couldn’t, and he had to pull out of you to make sure the condom, and you, were alright.

Going to the bathroom to toss it in the trash, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, not recognizing himself with how relaxed he looked.

Tense all the time, he saw his eyes drowsy, ready to rest the whole night.

You, lying on your side to catch your breath, hoped that he could at least spend this night with you, his last night there, but maybe that was too much to ask.

When he came you didn’t look at him, and he simply accommodated behind you, spooning you with a hand over your tummy, letting his hand land there, and sighed.

‘’Let’s get inside the covers, the night is cold’’ he murmured, and you followed his request.

Under your bedsheets, a lot warmer thanks to the fabric and his skin, your mind started to drift away, so you looked at him one last time before falling asleep, closing your eyes when he left a last kiss over your lips.

When you woke up you were alone, feeling incredibly sore, and sad.

You stood up to drink a glass of water, not thinking much about how lonely you felt, concentrating on what would you do later that day to fill your head.

Would you be able to stay? You doubted it, you had too many memories here, and maybe the driver was right, all of you would leave one day.

You were about to go back to bed when you saw a little note next to your electric kettle.

I’ll come back in three weeks was written, and you closed your eyes, happy to not be abandoned again.

You had to stay so he could find you, that was your home now.

#lee tang #lee tang x reader #a killer paradox #choi wooshik #choi woo shik smut #lee tang smut #kpop smut #kdrama smut #i have no idea what tags to put #why can't i find more fics of this man #plus size reader #chubby reader #choi wooshik smut

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junikicker · 1 year

Text

Lightning. Thunder. - Rebecca Welton x fem!reader

warnings: love confession, alcohol

note: this was so fucking fun to write I can't- btw am I the only one who thinks if I wrote it a bit different, it would have turned into a poetry slam? yeah whatever. here you go folks.

It hurt a lot when you and Rebecca broke things off. The breakup had been mutual but that didn’t mean it hurt less than one where you are broken up with. If you were being honest, you still weren’t over her after half a year. You had distanced yourself from her as good as possible. You asked Keeley if you could work at the office more rather than at Nelson Road and she agreed. You had rarely seen Rebecca since you broke things off. But you missed her. It was like a piece of you was missing.

You sat at the window, a glass of wine in one and a book in the other. The yellowish light of the lamp on the other side of the room set a comfortable and cozy atmosphere as you set the book down and watched the rain hammering against the window and fall down onto the dark street that was only illuminated by one lonely lamp post about twenty meters from your front door. You sighed. The rain. You loved it. It made you calm. The sound relaxed you. There was thunder rumbling in the distance...

A lightning bolt.

Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-Thunder. Barely a kilometer away now.

You downed the rest of the red liquid in your glass before reaching for the bottle again. You didn’t dare touch the bottle to your lips. No. You thought. The glass. More elegant. You reminded yourself.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol in your system or just your mindset today that had you reminiscing about your time with Rebecca. It felt like yesterday that you were sitting in front of this exact window. Her lounging between your legs and you braiding her hair. There was no make-up, no high heels – not that she wouldn’t have been taller than you either way – no pencil skirts, no pantsuits, no ties, no dresses. Just you, Rebecca, a bottle of red and… white silk robes.

You remembered the feeling of her soft skin under your fingertips, the way that, when your lips connected, the whole world faded out of existence.

You remembered how you laughed together. Watching rom-coms the whole night and her always mouthing the lines like she had never watched anything else. You had loved to observe her. Not in a creepy way, but in a loving way. Many times you had held her, tears streaming down her face when she had encountered Rupert once again.

You sighed. How could it all have gone so terribly wrong. What even went wrong. Was it just the wrong person at the right time. Or maybe right person, wrong time.

Right person, wrong time. You decided. Sounds a lot better. It made you think that, in another life, we may have had a chance.

Lightning. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Thunder.

A tear rolled down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly. You had finished the third glass now. I should stop. You thought, getting up, placing the empty glass onto the coffee table in your living room.

I need to clear my head. You thought, placing the green wine bottle back into the fridge. You closed the fridge. There it was again. The picture of you and Rebecca that you couldn’t get yourself to put away. She looked so happy. She had this ability, you thought, that her smile could light up an entire room. No matter how big it was, no matter how many people were in it. She always managed to light up the room with a simple smile.

You walked over the dark oak tiles on the floor of your apartment. It squeaked under your feet as you sat down on the chair next to the door and reached for your shoes. You laced up the black boots. They looked worn out. You had been wearing them for as long as you could remember. You remembered how hard it had been to break them in. Took me almost a damn year. You chuckled to yourself. That was, of course, only a lie you told yourself, not wanting to admit that they were your favorite and important to you.

You reached for your keys in the key bowl. The metal was cold. You reached for your leather jacket on the golden coat rag. That one had been a present from your best friend. Felix. You smiled at the reminder. What would I do without you, pal?

The jacket was almost as worn out as the boots. The color had faded from the deep black it once had into a washed-out, very dark grey. In an attempt to have it live longer, you had patched it up. Where it had been torn on your shoulder, there now shone a large Richmond logo and on the back there was Superman’s symbol.

Superman. You shook your head. Why can’t I just have my Lois Lane? Or do I need fucking superpowers for that?

You closed the door to your apartment. The color of it mismatched the dark oak on the floor. It bothered you, but you never attempted to change it. The door fell into lock and you looked up. Silver. 7. Ironically enough, it had become your favorite number. Something about the number seven seemed satisfying to you. Even numbers didn’t do it for you. Five seemed such a boring number and-

Thunder.

One and nine were just boring. You also liked the number three. Three and seven. You thought. Imperfections that, if added to one another still manage to be perfect. You locked the door.

The rain was pouring as you stepped out of the building. You looked at the lamp post. The darkness had almost swallowed the black-painted lamp now, only the light visible. The rain hit your head and for a second you thought to go back up for an umbrella and then decided against it. You weren’t made of sugar, were you?

You looked at the poorly lit street. A smile made its way to your face. That was where you had first kissed.

She had brought you home after a night out with her and Keeley. It was as dark as it was this night. The lamppost was present as it had always been since you had moved in. Her dress was blue, her heels black and her eyes were the perfect emerald green, and her perfume… intoxicating.

You felt the uneven bricks of the road under your feet as you walked, the thin rubber on the bottom of your shoes made you feel every little stick and stone.

Your hair was wet by the time you had crossed Duke Street and the water was starting to get past the thin leather of your jacket and you could feel your toes starting to get wet. You walked faster, not caring where you went, so lost in your racing thoughts. Racing thoughts about Rebecca. Racing thoughts about her eyes, her laugh, her voice-

Lightning. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-. Thunder. -three.

Racing thoughts about her…

Paved Court, King Street. Old Palace Place. Lightning. Friars Lane. Thunder. Friars Lane. Friars Lane… Friars Lane.

One. Two. Lightning. Thunder. Three.

Your clothes were drenched by the time you had reached the front door and knocked against the dark wood.

Your hair was sticking to your face, your clothes hung off your body like a bag. Your feet were now entirely wet, and your back was soon to be as well. You stared at the golden number. Gold. Silver. Three. Seven. Lightning. Thunder.

Your heart was beating so hard you thought it would jump out of your chest when the sound of the thunder rumbled away over you and pulled you out of the trance you had been in since you left your flat.

Your bones ached, and your unsteady and heavy breathing told you that you had hurried on your way to her door, probably even started running at some point. The lights turned on in the hallway. Another Lightning bolt. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Thunder. The words ‘What the hell’ muttered under a breath but to be heard through the door.

Keys rustling, silence, a key turning, unlocking the door. Cold metal. Like the keys in your hand were when you left. Lightning. Twenty-one. The door opens. Twenty-two. Thunder.

Her hard eyes softened the moment her eyes found yours. The softness you had longed to see again for what felt like eternity times two.

Your back was now wet as well, you weren’t sure whether the water on your face was tears or rain but it could just as well have been both. Her hair was dry, not up the way you used to remember seeing her when you had to see her for work but down. Down the way she used to wear it when you were at home. Down the way she had it when you were in bed. Her face was nude of make-up. The lack of heels and pencil skirt had something comforting, something that made it all easier.

“Y/n...” Rebecca broke the silence. Her eyes were still on yours but showing everything and nothing at once. You had a hard time reading her expression. “Becca.” You replied, feeling water run down your spine.

“Did you- did you walk all the way here?!” She asked and rushed forward to pull you under the roof so that you wouldn’t get any wetter. You nodded.

“I miss you, Rebecca. And I know this is shitty and I know we ended this. Above all that we did fucking six months, twenty-one days, and seven hours ago. But I just fucking miss you! And I know this all is insane. I know you have a thing going on with Sam and I wish you the best but. I just need you to know that I miss you.” You rushed over the words, barely comprehending what left your mouth yourself as you continue to ramble on.

“I miss you, Becca. And believe it or not… I still love you.”

Lightning. Twenty-one. Twenty-. Her lips on yours, igniting a fire in your soul that you have never felt this strong. Thunder.

Rebecca’s lips moved against yours in the familiar way that you had learned to cherish. There it was again. Her signature scent, suddenly as intoxicating as it had been the first time you kissed. Her hand on the back of your head, tangled in your hair, you on your tiptoes to match her height.

Lightning. “I still love you too.” Thunder.

#gxg #wlw #fem!reader #rebecca welton #rebecca welton x reader #ted lasso #hannah waddingham #junikicker

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softxsuki · 1 month

Note

Alo!!

1.5k is such a huge number omg! Congrats!!!!!!

Id love to participate in your trope drabble event.

Trope 15 with the haikyuu fandom and a fem!reader.

Thank you and congrats again!!! Many hugs 🤗

1.5k Follower Event Trope #15 Haikyuu

Trope 15: You fall first, but he falls harder

This event is now closed. You can view the masterlist here.

Warnings: Kissing

Note: ...hi. The way I keep promising to finish these on time and it just never happens bc writers block slaps me in the face. Shout out to my friend for giving me some inspo with this since Oikawa is her man. IDK why he was the first face to pop up in my head when I thought of this trope, but it worked out. I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS. I've come to realize how hard it is to write a whole trope progression in just 500 words. These need to be full chapter stories honestly. BUT HERE WE GO a snippet of what this would look like with Oikawa! ANON, I hope you're still around to see this NFKEAKJ. I'm the worst.

“Eyes on me gorgeous,” Oikawa hums against your lips before his game, possessing your lips in front of the crowd with a smirk, as a few of his fangirls whine in the background.

You wore one of his spare jerseys he had given you a few months after getting together and you’d worn it to every match with pride ever since.

“Of course, who else would I be looking at?” You laugh, pressing another quick peck to his lips, taking his hands in yours.

“Hmm Iwa-chan?” He pouts, remembering how loud you cheered for his teammate and best friend at last week’s match when he scored the winning point. He wasn’t pleased at all and was a pouty mess the whole time when walking you back home. Cute.

“Oh stop you big baby, you know I’m your biggest supporter here, so knock them off their feet, Toru,” you smirk, giving his hand a squeeze.

“You better be,” he smiles, patting your head. “See you after the match?” He asks slowly, his eyes bright.

“Of course. I’ll be watching the whole time. Now go before your coach pops a blood vessel,” you laugh, shaking your head as the coach screams for Oikawa again, clearly stressed about the match. With one last nod, he waves at you with a little wink before running off to the court.

The crowd roars with excitement as each group huddles together for their pregame pep talk, hyping each other up for the match that would soon start. You slowly make your way back up the bleachers, taking your seat where you’d cheer for your cocky setter boyfriend, feeling a little reminiscent of how you got here.

It felt like only yesterday when you were on these same bleachers cheering for Oikawa before he even knew you existed. It took one leap of faith to approach him after the sea of his fangirls had dispersed, leaving him alone after his successful match. You had quietly approached him, handing him the small gift bag you had prepared with a few snacks and other things you hoped he would like.

It was at that moment when he felt his heart melt. The girl he had never seen before had then taken over his every waking minute. Your attention and praise was more wholesome than the compliments he was thrown by his fans. He couldn’t help the thought that crossed his mind as you quickly ran off as soon as your friends called you. I’m gonna marry that woman. Cliche, yes, but his heart was completely yours after that day.

Knowing you were his fan, he’d look for you in the crowd before his match, wanting to catch a glimpse of you before the game, hoping you were there watching him and cheering him on. One match in particular made his heart stop when he spotted you standing there, a beautiful smile on your face as you wore a fan-made jersey with his number on it. He felt glued in place, until Iwaizumi smacked him on the shoulder to bring him back to their game-plan to make sure they were all on the same page. That was the day Oikawa decided he’d make you his one day.

You shake your head, remembering the day he had asked you out; how nervous the cocky captain was, though it had all paid off in the end. At that moment, Oikawa smacks the ball, shaking you from your thoughts. He had just won the game for his team as they all run to smash him into a group hug.

As usual, as the boys surround him, his eyes dart to the crowd until they find yours, a large smile appearing on his face as he sees you already screaming in celebration from their win. What a lucky man he was.

Posted: 8/26/2024

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timeoutsoup · 2 years

Text

Dig You A Grave

Part 5

This is the next day.

___________________________________________

Klarion wakes from his well deserved sleep, to see his beloved feline resting on her cushion, next to him. Sitting up, a malicious grin spreads across his face. He is ready to plan his revenge on the Light.

Teekl stretches, then follows her witch boy as he begins to move around their dwelling.

“First things first Teekl, we plan.” A malicious grin split Klarion’s face as he got to work. Books, papers, and magical items began to fly around, summoned and judged on how useful it may be. Everything slowed to a stop as Klarion plucked a small electronic device out of the air. “oh, this will be fun.”

__________________

Back in amity Danny, Sam and Tucker were at Sam’s house finishing up their homework, when Tucker’s PDA begins to ding. Grabbing it to check the notification, he is surprised. “ Nothing!”

“What’s nothing?” Danny asks as he and Sam raise their heads, trying to figure out what their friend is going on about.

“So guys, I decided to do a background check on Danny’s new boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Tucker.” Danny pipes up, flustered.

“Wait, I want to hear this. What did you find?” Sam asks as she waves her hand at Danny.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I decided to run a background check when I got home yesterday, and nothing came up for him.”

“What do you mean nothing came up for him? There has to be something.” Sam states confused, tapping her pencil against her notebook.

“Or maybe Tucker’s skills aren’t as good as he says.” Danny says getting a jab in at his friend.

“Ha ha very funny, but no it’s more like he doesn’t exist or more likely someone is trying to hide him from being found.” The tech genius fires back, glaring at his best friend.

“Or maybe he just doesn’t use social media.” Sam ponders.

“Come on Sam. What teen doesn’t use social media?”

“Maybe Klarion is Amish?” Danny thinks out loud.

All three friends stop and think. What if Klarion was Amish. It would explain his lack of internet presence, his clothes and why he has never tried tamales before.

“They do send out teenagers to experience the modern world. He could be doing that.” Sam points out

“But aren’t they super religious and stuff?” Danny asks.

Sam looks at him before replying. “I mean they can be. Why?”

“Well I asked him out on a date, he has styled his hair into horns and he broke into the Fruitloop’s mansion to steal a book.And he put his contact as ‘Klarion the Witch Boy. Are there Amish Witches?”

Both of the halfa’s friends stared at him in disbelief.

“Ugh, now it makes so much more since.” Sam groaned. “If he does witchcraft and he is currently doing Rumspringa, that’s what it’s called by the way; I looked it up. Klarion is probably trying to find a way to not go back.”

“Why wouldn’t he want to go back?” Tucker inquired.

“Do you remember reading The Crucible last year?” Sam responded.

“Oh Ancients, that is as bad as me having ghost hunters for parents, maybe even worse. We need to help him.” The ghost boy says frantically jumping up.

“Well we yeah, but rushing in won’t do us any good. Now sit down.” Sam grabs Danny’s wrist, pulling him back down to the floor.

_________________

“Achoo!” Klarion sneezed in the middle of The Light Meeting, receiving glares from the other members.

“Now as I was saying, for the next phase …” Vandal Savage continues to drone on about their plans (read his plans). Klarion hates it but just a little bit longer and he would have what he needs. He had already switched out the book for an identical fake, duplicated many files, placed transportation sigils on many important pieces of equipment, and most importantly using the Young Justice comm he stole a while ago to not only record but transmit everything he was hearing. Oh his revenge will be a grand affair.

A little over an hour later, the meeting finally ended. Klarion had been assigned to kidnap metas and other beings for their new ally, the Reach. How dare The Light think, he a Lord of Chaos would willingly work for a species who just conquer and want to rule. Meaning everyone follows their laws and rules. How droll and orderly.

Klarion had other plans, and yes he might have to work with the justice losers but the chaos and calamity that will arise from it will be worth it. Now all he has to do is make his leave and watch the show.

With a snap of his fingers Klarion and Teekl disappeared from his former allies hideout, and appeared in Tim Drake’s penthouse, in dreary Gotham.

“Now Teekl, for the fun to begin.” Klarion smirks as files appear from nothing, covering the Kitchen island. He jotted down a quick note, then deliberately set off one of the bat alarms. The Witch Boy needed his friend to find these files sooner rather than later.

“Now to deal with the Reach.” And with another snap Klarion and Teekl were gone.

___________________

Sam and Tucker were able to calm down Danny before he went ghost and searched the world for Klarion. How they did it was simple. They called Jazz. With her help, they now had a plan. Make sure he is safe, then show him all of the great things the modern world has to offer.

That evening when Danny went home he texted Klarion. Seeing what he was up to and how Teekl was doing.

It took a while for a reply but he did respond. Danny’s obsession with protecting was soothed with the reply of being well and the picture of Teekl sleeping on a mound of pillows. They chatted for a while about various topics until Danny fell asleep mid text.

_________

______________

Klarion had had a great day. Destroying that blowhard Savage’s plan had made so much chaos and now he gets to relax and watch everything unfold. Now Danny was texting him, seeing how he was and asking about his amazing familiar.

Teekl had just settled onto a mound of pillows, being extra cute, practically begging for him to send Danny a picture of her. He did of course. Sharing the wonder that is Teekl, is second to spreading chaos. Their conversation carries on for a while, well into the night. By the time Danny stops replying Klarion is half asleep. Figuring Danny is also asleep he turns in for the night.

Tag List

@naluforever3 @seraphichana @starmee-lodurrson @rhode13 @fisticuffsatapplebees @kyrianclawraith @lehana37 @akikoyuii @undead-essence @crystaldrops20 @quirky-gardener @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @Kaindraws @luffyrose @beelze-the-bubkiss @aro-in-danyl @agaponislovely @enderglace @plant5318008 @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair @moonlightheart11 @dontfightmecauseillcry @asrielstars @jaytriesstuff @arend000-blog @mnemovoid @thegatorgoose @do3y @wisp-ghost @youracearocroatneighbour @akikoyuii @omgnectarina @phoenixdemonqueen @iamheretoconsumeandsharethatisit @cottomscrambles @satoshy12 @alice-hazelwood @benrey-the-late-ace @felicityroth @confusionchaos @mysticalcomputerdetective @yjfk

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny fenton #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #klarion #jason todd #john constantine #klarion dc #chaoticspirit #danny and klarion friendship #danny phantom au #dc comics #dp x dc crossover #klarion the witch boy #Dig You A Grave AU

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moochalove · 9 months

Text

Last Nights Mistakes and New Beginnings (Part 4-5)(Final)

(yandere!kazuha x pregnant!reader x scaramouche)

Did you know they call me the yappinator? Anyways i’ve been meaning to finish it but i’ve been busy w school but now i have the time so i will be yapping away more (posting a little more)🗣️ Get cozy bcs this is long asf!

Reader is bi-icon! (+ trauma) If imma be fr, the beginning is a little off bcs i wrote it weeks ago (im lazy and i will not fix it🥶) ANYWAYS ILL STOP YAPPING! TY FOR READING 🤭 (if u do😡)

word count: Pretty fucking long ❤️

proofread: HELL NO! 😋 fill in the gaps/mistakes for me pls🫶

TW: Stockholm syndrome

Arriving at the mall you think about making a break for it but these heels prevent you from doing so. With enough for the heel would surely snap though… Noted. Reaching for the door handle you’re stopped and pulled into a kiss. It’s a little uncomfortable but you play it off with a smile, “Don’t worry Kazu, I’m not gonna run off~” “I know darling, but this is the start of our new life so allow me to take the lead. Don’t worry your pretty mind about anything.” With that, he places one last peck onto your face. Once again, he is opening the door for you and you guiding you to the some shops. Immediately you notice his firm grip on your waist, and it’s uncomfortable. He said you would be buying clothes but you now realize he meant he was picking clothes FOR you. You’re in the dressing room and he has you trying on all these cute coquette clothing. It feels a little uncomfortable but you try to get used to the feeling of the outfits. Some are loose, and some are tighter. In your mind, you already knew which ones you liked based on the texture, design, etc..

Whenever you came out to show off an outfit you felt like a real couple. Showing off your outfit and making comments, no matter what you wore he seemed to agree it looked good on you, even if you didn’t think so. Something feels wrong about this but you can’t help but smile when he looks at you so adoringly.

You guys go to about three more shops, all of them having a different theme. By the time you were done, it was mid-afternoon. Both of your feet were killing you… not to mention you were hungry… You both agree to stop and get something to eat.

You arrive at a very familiar restaurant… Weren’t you just here? When was that though? If it was important surely you’d remember!

•

Scaramouche was frantic, to say the least. You weren’t answering his messages… Has something happened? He needs to get to you asap, but how? What if you’ve been removed from your home? If it came to it he could ask his mother to track you down, since she had that kind of power.

Knocking on the door he’s anxious, and hoping he would be met with a bright smile and worried hushing telling him that you were okay. After about a minute he knocks on your room window… No reply. Should he wait around? No, that’ll take too long. After some contemplation, he decides to reach out to his mom.

They have a long talk before she eventually caves. It feels like it’s been forever since she’s seen her child and when he comes back he’s on an adventure trying to get his girlfriend back. She didn’t think situations like that existed but he’s shown her the possibilities are endless. The way he talked about you so dearly gave her the impression you were a thing. Since she’s such a good and caring mother, it’s the least she can do for her future daughter!

Maybe he should’ve emphasized that you were just friends even though he wished for more

From what some super normal and not shady people told him, you were last seen at that restaurant you both had visited yesterday. Why were you there? That didn’t matter right now! Furrowing his eyebrows he sat there and thought long and hard. How was he going to get to you? Kazuha would most likely be glued to your side so directly approaching was out of the question. Could he signal you to him from afar? No, that probably won’t work… Pounding his forehead slightly he couldn’t form a good plan.

“You seem troubled, Doll.” A sly finger guided itself through his short purple locks.

“What do you want, Miko? I’m busy and-“

“You know it’s nice to run away then come running back when you need help. Your mother was on edge for weeks. Spending whatever free time she had looking for her poor child. Always looking for you despite her own needs.”

“Did you come to ask me what’s wrong only to turn around and try to guilt trip me? You don’t change, do you?”

Without saying anything she placed a bag next to him and then made her way to the door. Peeking through the bad he looked back to her fleeting figure before shouting out, “Wait! What is this for? You really expect me to forgive you with this bag full of clothes?! Plus, this has girl stuff in it anyways-“ “Silly Kuni! This is to help you get your girl back!” “Excuse me?!” Miko sighed while shrugging, “And you say your moms are no help! C'mon, you have to think outside the box, silly!” Taking the bag back she pulled out the cutest dress you’ve ever seen along with tights and heels. “It’d be stupid to approach her directly. You have no idea what kind of mental state she’s in, she may not trust any other man or claim she’s fine with her captor.” Digging deeper into the bag she pulled out a long wig that happened to be the same shade as his own hair, “So you have to coax her out as someone willing to understand and help her out of the situation!” Before he knew it he was all dolled up, shifting uncomfortably in the dress and trying to adjust his posture and his footing, constantly brushing his much longer locks back while puckering and rolling his lips that had a gloss applied to them. Would this really work?

“Miko, I don’t think this is gonna work… I don’t make a very convincing girl….” he awkwardly fussed with his bangs before glancing over at her. Miko held her phone up and with a click and a flash the very image of… whatever this was… saved onto her phone and probably being backed up to her cloud. “Oh, you look just like your sister!” Placing her phone back in her bag she shooed him out of the car before, then rolled down the window offering a few words, courtesy of her never-ending-kindness! “Just be kind to her, her heart will surely realize who you are... Or don’t! Maybe she’ll see through all of this!” Scaramouche could only grit his teeth as she motioned her hand at him. “I’ll be waiting here so once she comes to her senses I won’t be far. Plus! Wouldn’t want you to try and be all hero-like only to trip and fall in those cuttteee heels of yours!”

•

Spoonful after spoonful you swallowed whatever food had been shoved into your face. Were you even hungry? Not that it matters. At this point, you’ve come to treat this as if it were a real date! Yet your heart doesn’t skip a beat when he cups your face. A couple of people do glance over at you both awkwardly but that smile of yours tells them you’re just a young couple in love. It goes on like this for a few more minutes before beautiful swaying locks catch your eye, it’s true you’ve been ignoring the faces of those who’ve been passing by, but this face is stunning. Your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet each other. Now something about all this feels familiar but you can’t quite pin it down just yet. Kazuha notices how your attention is drawn away from him and he immediately pulls your chin towards him, “Is something the matter my love? You seem distracted.” He bluntly states as his eyebrows furrow slightly in frustration. “A-ah, no, I just…” Perhaps you were scared or maybe still stunned by that girls beauty but you can’t seem to form a coherent thought. He shifts around in his seat a little, ever so slightly moving his chair to block your view of the girl. With a short ‘ahem’ you brush it off as just seeing someone you thought you recognized.

If you look past his intense gaze you can still kinda see her fussing with her long hair. A waiter shows her to her table that so happens to be next to yours. You bite your tongue to hide a giggle when you see her awkwardly try to walk in heels, maybe she’s not used to them? Once she sits down it’s obvious she’s not used to wearing such feminine clothes, the way she keeps lifting her feet off the ground and sliding them farther out, or how she pulls the hem of her dress down even though it’s past her knees. The way she covered her mouth and spoke in a quiet meek voice told you maybe she was shy. Kazuha glanced at you both, almost trying to understand the connection you guys had but signed in defeat, “I’m gonna use the restroom then pay for our food. Don’t go anywhere.” And with that, he was gone but surely it wouldn’t take him long to be back.

Scaramouche had to be quick about this. The least he could do is get you outside.

Trying to keep his ladylike demeanor he tried starting the conversation with something normal. Of course, this meant he would have to speak a little louder in order for you to hear in the louder environment. He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t “practiced” his female voice.

“Isn’t the food here the best?”

Taken aback by how cute she sounded you cover your mouth slightly. “She even has a cute voice!”, you thought to yourself. Once again stunned you take a moment to respond.

“Y-yeah!” your response is a little fast-paced but she just smiles in response. “Haha, you seem a little nervous, what, too stunned by my looks?” Even though he was supposed to be portraying a meek, innocent girl, he couldn’t help but still be cocky. It’s as if you were on autopilot with the way your response was the same yeah…

Part of you felt like that’s something he would say. Who was he again?

“It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you agree? How about we get some fresh air?” The girl suggested so innocently that you’d completely “forgotten” what Kazuha told you NOT to do. As if you’d been under a spell you followed a girl you didn’t even know the name of out of the restaurant. Her name! You need her name! This can’t be the last time you see each other you need her contact info! You reach to where you would normally keep your phone only for your attention to be stolen away by her.

She handed you her phone that had a picture of a very certain cat. Your heart fastens as you start to recall some things, you couldn’t submit to someone who only half-loved you. No, you had to get home to your first baby. Tears threaten to spill as everything comes back faster than you can comprehend.

He didn’t love you, no, he never did. If he did he would’ve stayed the first night. He was just looking for something to sedate his own woes. You come to the realization that your delusions you made up to protect yourself were false. You haven’t been in love for years like your mind had told you, you don’t know what he really feels, you just filled in the blanks with lies your mind fed you. In reality, you’ve probably only really known each other for a couple of days, during those 4 months you spent pregnant and alone your brain spun a story as if you were real lovers. Hating yourself could come later but for now, you need to get a grip and get out of here. Suddenly you’re caught up to speed and all it feels like you’re gonna vomit, your clothes feel tighter and you can feel your own skin, every pore feels open and you hate every second of it. What feels like hours is only a matter of seconds.

A hand is gently wipes your tears away,

“It’s time to go, Y/n.”

“I cant.. I’m sacred. I-“

“Don’t be. I'm here now, and I’m not letting you go.” He looked so serious, although a little funny since he was still in his getup.

Reaching for your wrist he gently and slowly led you farther away from the establishment and closer to your getaway car.

Both of your steps got faster and faster. You didn’t want to look back, no, you shouldn’t.

A voice you’ve come to hate shouts out to you. Ears pound loudly and your heart skips several beats when you hear fastened footsteps approaching. A wave of pain crashes onto you when your lower back aches in pain. You stop even though you don’t want to and clutch your stomach in retaliation.

You have to move right now otherwise he’ll catch up. Scaramouche turns back around for you and effortlessly picks you up and carries you to the car. When he turned to place you in the car he’s sure Kazuha has seen his face. Crap… Not like it mattered right now. He rushes to the other side of the car but is pulled back by a hand that is placed on his back, it’s cold and uncomfortable. Almost as if it triggered something in him he shouts and pushes him back into the ground.

Once Scaramouche is in the car Miko doesn’t hesitate to slam on the gas pedal and get you both somewhere safe.

Final Part:

When you wake up you’re in a very comfy bed. Moving your legs a little you wince uncontrollably. Memories come flooding back and your eyes dart to where Scaramouche is sitting. A smile makes itself known on your face and you reach out to him. He melts into your touch but avoids looking at you. You know you messed up big time by not running away from Kazuha like you should have… But you were in a deranged state! Surely he won’t blame you completely. Breaking the silence you ask him what’s wrong.

“I know we kinda just met but I hope you know I love you…” he trailed off, still avoiding eye contact. “I always have… It’s a shame you don’t remember me. If you did then I guess you could technically say we didn't just meet.”

Huh? You two knew each other? Maybe he’s got the wrong person. Innocently you ask, “Have we met somewhere before? I’m sorry but I don’t seem to ever recall-“ “Just take a good look at me and try to recall. We used to be playmates when we were little. Your parents were busy like mine so they would drop us off at that one daycare.” Your eyes squint as you take a good look at him, “And we went to school together for a little while- I tried stealing your pen-“ Eyes widening you can’t help but burst out laughing.

Now you remember him!

“It’s you! I- How could I forget? Oh my gosh, it seems work has made me forget my younger days!” Covering your mouth to hide a smile you can’t help but laugh a little louder. His face seems upset but eventually melts into a smiling one along with you. For a couple of moments you both laugh and exchange playful banter. Everything in the world is right at that moment.

But once again, your mistakes will catch up with you.

After the laughing dies down he squeezes your hand and places a handle on your stomach. This causes you to shift uncomfortably but you try to play it off as a cramp.

“When the Doctor came to relay your status he told me one bit of information that… you probably didn’t want me to know.”

Oh shit. Oh shit- Your heart fastens and you try to muster out a response but it hitches in your throat. “I-I canexplain p-please let me-“You fumble your words and tears pool up in your eyes.

With an affirmative squeeze to your hand he smiles softly, “It’s okay.”

“But it’s not- I messed up and now-“ You covered face with your hand, attempting to hide yourself away from him.

“And now- we can work this out, together. I promise I will do my best to be a good parent. If you’d just give me a chance- A chance to take care of you and your child. I would do anything to be with you once and for all. Please, Y/n, don’t leave me again.” His hand came up to yours pressed against your face, and slowly removed it from you.

A part of you feels raw, and exposed, yet, this time it’s different. Part of your brain tells you to run from his affection but the other part feels so defeated that you just want to cry into his chest and beg him to stay with you. Lucky for you he was willing to stay with you. Even if you were going to have your kidnapper's baby. Leaning into him you cried out all your sorrows that had been bottled up for the past couple of months. All he could do was rub your back and listen to you cry your heart out.

It felt good to finally tell someone how you truly felt. How much has been troubling you? Although you’re sure if you were to tell this to a professional you’d been locked up….

After you’re done crying you wipe your tears and take a deep breath. Your chest and shoulders feel lighter. The whiplash of everything could hit you later, you couldn’t care less right now. All you wanted to do was eat, stretch, and take a nap.

Scaramouche looked at you dead in the eye and you feared the worst. Was he joking? Did he actually hate you and never want to see you again? Did-

“Goddamit- I dropped my wig…”

You stare at each other for a second before you burst out laughing. “That’s a shame! You didn’t look half bad in it~” you joked. “Oh please- You were head over heels for me and you know it!” “Ah, you got me there! Who knew you’d make such a fine girl! If only you could say the same about you know-Ow!” he punched your shoulder gently, but considering your current state it hurt more than he intended. “I’m sorry, Y/n- I-“ He checked the area to see if it was bruised or anything but was immediately met with a flick to the forehead. “Ow-!” “Haha, got you!” “You little-“

Both of your bickering would soon die down as soon as his parents would enter the room. It was obvious how you both turned stiff as boards. Acting as if you weren’t pulling each other’s hair like you once had.

Ei placed some flowers on the bed stand and Miko would sit down on the bed with some sweets in hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Y/n.” Ei bowed politely, “I’m not sure if my son had mentioned us to you. If not it’s alright- But we are his parents.” Miko started feeding some cake with a fork as she nodded along. “I’m very happy to see you make my son happy. It used to worry me that my son would die alone-“she feigned a tear falling from her eye. “MOM.” Blush spread across Scaramouche’s face as he crossed his arms. “Ah, excuse me, that’s beside the point! What I mean to say is that you shouldn’t worry about the wedding founding- Your new moms will buy you everything you will need-“ “THATS NOT ANY BETTER!” He exclaimed even redder. She smiled so innocently all while still looking a little confused. Miko finally chimed in, “What she means to say is that she supports you both no matter what. Even if you don’t think she agrees with you,” she turned her head towards him, “she believes you both will make the right choice. We hope you both can treat this as a new beginning. As I like to say, carpe diem!” “You never say that.” Ei tilted her head with a soft smile. “Well, I do now!”

All four of you burst out laughing. You guys talk a little more before they leave for their business dinner. Once again you and Scara are alone.

“Are you really sure you’re okay with marrying a pregnant woman?” “Of course I’m fine with it, since it being you and all.” Rubbing the back of his head he laid his head down on the bed, “Are YOU sure you wanna get married right away? Just because my mom mistook us for dating already doesn’t mean we should skip that part… Plus, what if you don’t like who I am…” You pet his soft purple hair with a smile, “Well, as long as you promise not to be a complete asshole, then I suppose we’ll be just fine!” “You think I’m an asshole?” “Haha, anyways…. What kind of wedding cake should we have? I was thinking of a [favorite flavor] cake! Ooohh and we can look at the different types of venues! Ah, I guess after that we need to plan a baby shower!”

He’d completely tuned you out and just stared at you, lovingly. Your skin glowed perfectly from the artificial light, and that smile of yours was perfect. You no longer looked tired and stressed; instead, you looked happy and not so tired. He couldn’t blame his ex-friend for falling for you. Although he feels a little jealous that he’s seen parts of you that now belong to his eyes only now.

Fingers tap up and down on the bed as if he’s contemplating something. You take notice and tap his shoulder, you ask if he’s listening. Suddenly he gets up- His soft lips are placed against your slightly chapped ones. It’s warm. Your eyes widen in surprise as you slowly melt into the kiss.

Once he pulls away you’re both gasping for air. Out of embarrassment, he hides his face in your neck. He’s embarrassed- you are too. “A-a little warning would’ve been nice. I was talking yknow?” “Shut up before I kiss you again..” You knew he was too embarrassed to do it again so you teased, “Yeah, I think you’d like that-“ Instead of another passionate kiss he instead peppered kisses all over your face. “I hate you.” “I love you, Scara.”

•

The wedding went amazing since his parents had done most of the planning (of course you both directed them) And your baby shower went just as well! Initially, you were both worried a certain someone would catch wind of it- and you’re sure he did. Thankfully the place was heavily guarded (, courtesy of Miko) and was also in a secluded area, along with there being a very strict guest list. You both already knew the gender so the part just consisted of fun baby shower games and many gifts from your friends and families.

You had been getting intensive therapy for the rest of your pregnancy. Those couple of months left you with deeper wounds than you had thought. Of course, you still have trouble with going out on your own and you’ve completely dropped going out (since you’re a mother now ofc) When you do have to go out alone you wear your hair differently each time along with a mask and sunglasses. Whenever someone gets a little too close they happen to get stopped by someone. Your bad dreams usually consist of you trying to run away but your legs move slowly or trying to scream but nothing comes out, and other things you’d rather not discuss...

Your delivery went well and luckily you gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Ei and Miko informed you that you had a week to name him. On the fifth day, you and Scara decided on [name], since you both liked the name and agreed on it. When both of the families came to see him you got the chance to meet Scara’s aunt and sister (who both happened to be named Makoto, although Scara called his sister Raiden since she was “scary”) The boy was blessed with your hair color (he has a red streak through it) but had his fathers eyes. At first, it scared you but with some affirming words from both sides of the family and your lover, you’ve grown to love them.

Some of your friends and family didn’t approve that Scara wasn’t the father, some even berating you and calling you names. The name-calling mostly came from Scara’s side of the family. Area

On your son's first birthday, he spoke his first words. “Mama!” You nearly cried tears of joy when he said that. Scaramouche frowned and pinched the boy's cheeks gently with a huff. Much to his surprise the boy spoke again, “Daddy!” Now both of you were crying tears of joy. You swaddled your boy in the softest blankets before you both cuddled him off to sleep. Both not believing you had been blessed with such a joy.

Once your son has gotten a little older he learned how to say the cat’s name, always gesturing his hands and babbling, “Meowmeow!” The now healthier cat would come to the boy and rub its head against your son accompanied by a purr.

Once he turned two years old you noticed how he started taking after his father, often mimicking him by making an angry face and huffing. All you could do was smile and kiss him while his father pouted behind you both. One time you had joked around with your young son by asking him, “What face does daddy make when he’s angry” and your son crossed his arms with a scowl on his face. You burst out laughing while your husband messed with his hair pretending to be upset.

You went back to work while Scara was a stay-at-home husband. On stressful days you would come home, sore and tired, but the moment your eyes laid on Scara’a resting figure along with your sons. Well, your heart simply melted into mush as you took about 30 pictures of them from all angles. You were convinced that all of the time you spent alone and suffering was worth it for this moment.

It felt like that person was a bad dream- but now, you’re wide awake and ready to face the future with your loving husband, and adorable son.

Gawdamn I don’t stop yapping🙏 If you read all of this ty pookie!! there will be a $10 mil block of gold under your pillow when you wake up 😍😋 I will be writing some hcs (maybe) and a scenario where u encounter kazuha w your kid soon!!! (i promise) Anyways i’m knocking tf out… BAI><!!

♡ taglist: @swivy123

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin x y/n #genshin fluff #fem!reader #genshin angst #kazuha x reader #pregnant!reader #scaramouche x fem!reader #angst to fluff #stockhom syndrome

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eumppattv · 9 months

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HEESEUNG IDEA

so i have had this in my drafts for a couple months now. i might turn this into a short written series, so pls let me know if you’re interested 👀

I quietly made my way through the door, careful to not wake anyone up. I was exhausted, the airport sucking out all my energy. Still, it was worth, as I get to pull off the best surprise in history. I had barely finished my second year at university, before my parents had started planning my return home for the summer. They had rejoiced at the thought of both their kids returning home, as last year Jake had spent his second year summer on a “boys trip”.

This year I had copied my brother, with my friends and I planning our “girls trip”. I spent months searching up the best hotels, restaurants, and activities in the area. I was more than excited, though it seems I was alone in my feelings. Instead of planning alongside me, my friends decided to plan their weddings instead, with all but me ending our second year in relationships. Suddenly, our girls trip was no more- so here I was, back home without anyone’s knowledge.

I had kept my plans private, opting to not tell my family the real reason I was back home. I would take it to the grave, and instead tell them I “missed them and cancelled my plans”. Half true. I closed the door, dragging my small suitcase through the hall. I stopped dead in my tracks, seeing a light shine around the corner. I mentally cursed, not expecting anyone to be awake at this time.

I left my suitcase in our hallway closet, before tiptoeing my way to the kitchen. I turned the corner, a little excited to surprise whoever was awake at 2am. I turned the corner, only to come face to face with some random guy, standing in my kitchen, eating Nutella. I screamed, heart dropping at the sight. He did the same, dropping his spoon in the process.

“Who the fuck are you?!” His eyes grew wide, like a dear in headlights- frozen in place. Before he could speak, Jake came running down the stairs, stopping in between me and the stranger. He ignored my existence, instead turning to the guy. “Is that my Nutella?” he asked, walking towards him. “No it’s mine! I bought it yesterday, when I went shopping with your mom” the boy replied.

He went shopping with my mom? I coughed, gaining their attention as Jake finally turned to face me. “Y/n!” he exclaimed, excited to see me. He went in for a hug, lifting me up in the air and then placing me back down. I laughed, excited to see my brother, before I remembered… the stranger. I glanced behind Jake, seeing the guy standing awkwardly to the side. Jake noticed my focus had shifted, and he followed my eyes before realizing he forgot to introduce us.

“Oh Y/n, this is Heeseung, my friend from college. He’s staying here for the summer.” you nodded, glad that he wasn’t an intruder. “Sorry for scaring you. I didn’t know Jake had a sister” he said, offering up a sweet smile. “It’s okay” I said, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. Jake laughed along with us, before excusing himself to continue his “beauty sleep”.

Feeling the effects of the airport, I decided to follow, grabbing my suitcase from the closet and dragging it up the stairs. “Let me help you” said Heeseung, running up and grabbing the suitcase from my hands. I let him take it, too tired to argue against his politeness. “So you went shopping with my mom?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me. He chuckled, setting my suitcase in front of my door. “Yeah, Jake and your dad were out so I didn’t want her to go alone”. I didn’t expect him to be so sweet.

“We’ll thank you, I’m sure she enjoyed your company” I said, opening my door to head in and crash on my bed. “Goodnight” he said, that sweet smile still plastered on his face.

My morning routine was soon shared with Heeseung. The guest bedroom was across from mine, with our separate bathrooms placed next to each room. Yet here I was every morning with the boy by my side. It started two weeks ago, when he had stopped by to ask if I had any extra toothpaste. We had started small talk, which soon turned to a full on conversation in between brushing our teeth. The next day I had gone up to him, to ask whatever stupid question was on my mind. Soon we just found each other as soon as we woke up, enjoying each others company.

I would be lying if I said something hadn’t shifted between us in these weeks. We went from strangers, to close friends, to something else. We were now comfortable with one another, teasing each other and sharing our deep thoughts. But I felt that shift this morning.

“Heeseung stop, I need to get ready!” I exclaimed while the boy pushed his way in to get in the view of the mirror. “I need to get ready too” he said, fixing his hair. I sighed, rummaging through my makeup bag. Heeseung looked down, eyebrows knitted and in deep thought. “Why are you getting all dressed up?” he asked. “I’m meeting up with my friend Sunoo” I responded, pushing him slightly so I could do my eyeliner in the mirror.

He hummed in response, moving out of the way and sitting on the stool I kept in the bathroom. He positioned it right next to me, staring me down. I felt it, the intensity of his gaze on me, and suddenly I was feeling self conscious. “Why do you have to get all dressed up for a guy?” he asked a little too aggressively. I ignored his tone, eyes never leaving the mirror. “Because I want to feel good” I responded, now turning to look at him. “Are you jealous or something?” I joked, not expecting answer.

“You’re too pretty. What if he falls in love with you?”

Nothing was the same from then on.

#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ eumppattv #enhypen lee heeseung #enha headcanons #heeseung x you #enhypen heeseung #enha heeseung #lee heeseung #lee heesung x reader #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen imagines

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aerkame · 10 months

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It Was Just The Wind

Warhammer40k reader insert concept one shot (may be others...)

I have many fast thoughts and sometimes it's difficult for me to organize my ideas, but sometimes, certain ones stick, like this one. For my usual Welcome Home fans on here, I hope you don't mind, but there really isn't anyone doing reader inserts and I feel it's my responsibility now to make some. Concept: When you sleep, their universe goes quiet, a ghost town, save for powerful beings that stay behind, and you take the place of the beings that once existed there, free to roam around unbothered. For now at least. Read the bottom for details on this concept.

It was just like the other nights, all the same but also different. Once you felt yourself drift into slumber you had these vivid and all too real dreams. This was something you assumed to be just lucid dreaming, something that happened when a person became self-aware of their own dream.

That was until you got hurt.

You remember it clearly as if it happened just yesterday. In the "dream" there was the skull of...something. It was metallic and covered in neon green fluids. An object stuck out from the side of it's face, a chain-saw? Or was it a sword? A sword-saw you concluded. It was large but clearly man-made.

In an attempt to get a closer look, you slipped on the green liquid and landed on top of the strange skull. The sharp edges of the head sliced the flesh of your arm, leaving a long gash with no blood. You didn't react, not feeling anything, you assumed it was because you were dreaming. No blood came dripping out. It was as if it didn't happen... Suddenly feeling strange, you felt yourself begin to stir and wake.

Eyes shooting open, you looked down with blurry vision as a burning sensation spread throughout your arm. The bed was covered in fresh blood. There was blood dripping from a fresh wound...there was blood dripping from a fresh wound-

Panicking, you stumbled out of bed and ran to the bathroom, opening the cabinet to take out the first aid kit you never thought you would need.

You quickly debated washing the wound but decided against it, it's too deep to do that. You got the pads out and started applying pressure as the gauze was slowly wrapped around, finishing it off with the bandages. It was rushed, but that would have to do for now. You were going to the hospital even though it was late. This was far too much blood for you to ignore.

Getting in the car a bit woozy, you started driving.

It was quiet when you walked in, and surprisingly empty for the most part, only one or two other people were there. When a nurse finally checked on you, you gave the poor excuse that you fell on a sharp metal scrap when walking out in the dark. The nurse gave you a questioning look but got someone to start treating you regardless. You were still trying to process what happened...how it happened, still in shock.

The next few nights were absolute nightmares. You didn't want to go back to sleep after that. It was scary to think about. Maybe you were attacked in your sleep? If so, then you should have called the police to check the house. But then again, no one was there when you woke up. It was just you. All alone.

You grew sleep-deprived as the days went by, thankful you have a week off from work due to your injury, but oh, sleep culled you. Your body screamed for rest. So you gave in.

It was different each time like before. You have seen so many places now just by sleeping. Of course you explored with caution now, fully aware that getting hurt wherever there was, would result in injury to yourself here in your own body.

Eventually you had begun making literal maps of these places. Your memory was so fresh that each time you awoke you sketched landmarks and whatever else would help with mapping. It was strange and scary at first, but over time you grew to love these little adventures in dreamland.

There was what you assumed to be different planets with aliens and their own cultures. At least that's what you could guess from what was left behind. You felt like an archeologist almost. You did wonder though, why did everything look so fresh? There were no living beings around each time you visited, at least none you had come across yet.

Regardless of the strange circumstances, adventure called to you, so you slept.

This dream was different from the rest.

Tonight, you found your conscious in what looked like a cathedral or some kind of golden palace. Statues, stained glass windows, and art surrounded the halls. You followed along a grand hall slowly, taking everything in. You did not want to forget a single detail from tonight. It was beautiful. So ethereal.

Hallways looped around in one big circle from what you could tell, leading to a center hallway, that must be main path.

Quickly walking down the hallway, you stopped and looked up.

"Oh you gotta be kidding me..."

Stairs upon stairs stacked each other, leading up to what must be a throne room. Each step was human-sized, if human-sized humans were 7ft giants. You felt like a child trying to get up the stairs. But that wasn't going to stop the ever-growing curiosity in you. Lifting yourself up, you started walking up the stairway as best you could. One big step at a time.

Finally reaching the last set of stairs you sighed. You were going to be exhausted when you woke up for sure.

Rolling onto your side, you sat up almost immediately, not needing endurance in your dreams as you scanned your surroundings. It was more beautiful up here than anywhere else. Pillars were decorated in what looked like long strips of paper with unknown language written on them, something you saw often on battlefields attached to pieces of armor and sometimes guns. You wished you could stay here forever, it was so grand and dreamy to look at.

A small noise caught your attention. Something creaked shortly a few times before stopping again. You looked behind you for the sound, finally noticing the gigantic throne built into the wall.

There, sat what looked like the skeleton of a human, a large human. That must have been why everything here is so big. It's for these guys.

You slowly started walking towards the throne for a closer look, throwing your previous caution to the wind. The skeleton had wires and strange machines threading through the body, connecting to the armrests and behind the backseat. A single lens stuck out from one eye socket with another optic sealed behind.

Unable to reach the throne steps without climbing it, you decided to just look from a distance. You didn't want to be disrespectful even if this stranger was dead. Deciding to just look, not touch, you put your hands together to give a small prayer for the stranger. Whatever happened to them must have been awful. The prayer wasn't towards any particular god or religion, it was just something open-ended that you often did for others. Another creak sounded, grabbing your attention. This time the sound was right in front of you. You squinted...

The tips of the fingers were moving, gripping the very ends of the armrests.

Strong skeletal fingers left indents in the armrests, moving so slowly you wouldn't even know there was movement save for the throne creaking under the pressure. This person was still alive. There was someone alive here with you.

Your voice was caught in your throat as you looked up to stare into the skeleton's optics. There was no signs of life in them, no movement to take note of. So how is this happening...

"Ah!-"

You flinched grabbing the front of your head.

There was a sharp pain and then a swirling fuzzy feeling. It slowly spread downwards to the rest of your body. You slumped forwards before falling over, struggling to move your limbs that grew numb, everything felt so weird. It was like something-someone was trying to use your limbs for you, you felt like a puppet.

Struggling, you managed to fight back the numbing sensations and look once more at the throne. A single red eye stared back you.

The blankets went flying as you yelled, arms flailing and legs kicking now able to move. You sat stunned for a few moments, before finally processing what happened. "I think I need a therapist."

Looking at the clock, it read 7:45AM.

With a sigh you got up to make breakfast, maybe next time you'll find some answers.

It was strange. Well, everything has been strange recently. Rumors of The Emperor returning have been spreading all over the planet. But there has yet to be proof, only some bits here and there saying that the throne's armrests have been destroyed. Some say that it was the shear will of The Emperor's might that let him wake if only for a moment, and some say that the throne just needs to be maintained. There has been much speculation and no answers.

Whatever the answer is, it doesn't change the excitement that comes from said rumors, it has boosted the morale and spirit of mankind. But it also does not explain the memory relapses.

Everyone has experienced it almost daily now, even the xeno enemies that threaten humanity.

Short periods of times, usually seconds or milliseconds, lost. Not one person can remember those moments. It's like no one was around. As short of a time as it was, it still concerned many.

It's almost like nothing, but there was something. Who knows, maybe it was just the wind.

Some things I wanted to clarify about this concept:

The reader is not affected and can not interact with The Warp or deamons because the reader does not exist to them technically, they aren't from that universe. If a deamon tried possession it'd be like trying to posses a thought, not a physical being. Think of the reader as a projection or astral projection. You are there but not really. there's no real body...buuut, the reader can interact with physical structures or dead bodies. Things that aren't alive.

Because of #1, it is assumed that the reader can not be seen, heard, smelled, or felt by anyone either (unless they're powerful enough). Though I don't think you would want to test that out in the 40k universe, let's just stay hidden yeah?

Once the reader wakes back up, everything that did not exist previously in the 40k universe comes back as if nothing happened, as if no time at all passed. Save for the few beings that did stay along with anything that is dead. Some beings remember these strange events. They know...and oh, looks like you might have left a evidence of your presence behind. Maybe you aren't as invisible as you thought.

Why did this happen? Let's just say something or someone made a connection to the conscious of the reader, making them a conductor to The Warp or whatever was used to do this. It could have been anything really, maybe a Librarian? Perhaps someone greater did this...maybe The Emperor. He might not be physically able-bodied, but he defiantly seems to be mentally and phykilogically(phykerly?) there.

Forgive me if I got some things wrong biologically, I only have first aid training so I was writing based on that. You'd be shocked at how little blood it takes for you to pass out or die. Our skin also slices pretty easily so I wouldn't be surprised if someone sliced their whole arm open from falling on something as small as aa sheet of metal.

I know Warhammer 40k reader insert fanfictions are not as popular, but I really do want to explore that and come up with concepts that would fit and make sense such as this one with a 21st century reader.

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #wh40000 #warhammer40k fanfiction #reader insert #wh40k reader insert #warhammer 40k reader insert #the emperor #concept #it's 3am #lmao #warhammer 40k emperor #warhammer40k x reader #space marines

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kikuowo · 2 years

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THE LONELY TREE

PAIRING: sanzu haruchiyo x reader

SUMMARY: comforting him <3

WARNINGS: slight manga spoliers about sanzu’s past. self deprecating thoughts . i did NOT proofread so goodluck lmfao

A/N: omg…hi hey guys im.. alive what. ive had this in my drafts for EVEEEERRRR and finally found motivation to finish it. its not long and its not great but its something. i miss tr and i miss sanzu my pookiebear…

every so often, haruchiyo would return to this state. his old self. once again he was timid and quiet, the kind boy you remembered when first meeting him.

he went from his loud teasing nature, to locking himself in the bathroom. he would stare into his reflection with dim eyes that seemed to be far off into his mind.

haru thought he was hideous. bright obnoxious pink hair, something so childish for a top ranking gang member, that paled his already ghastly skin even more. freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks, he had always hated them as a kid and now even in his late 20s he still wont acknowledge that no amount of scrubbing will wash them away.

two large jagged diamonds were etched into his skin. just thinking about them he could still feel the sharp stabbing pain from the edge of the plastic toy like it happened yesterday. he thinks this might be the ugliest aspect of him. he could tolerate the pale skin, freckles, eyebags, and wild hair. all easy fixes, he thinks, but has no motivation whatsoever to do so. however, the scarred skin on each corner of his mouth would never, could never, be fixed.

his appearance was just one thing that made him hideous. his action and, really his whole existence was hideous.

never was he good enough.

not good enough for their mother to stay. not good enough for their father to raise them. he was a terrible brother, teaching senju wrong and always disappointing takeomi.

he was a bad friend.

he killed mochi. one of the few people who he thought truly cared for his well being, even thought of him as a younger brother.

he was a bad boyfriend.

haru knew he wasn’t good to you. he knew you deserved someone normal. someone who isn’t an addict. someone who can go out freely and take you out on dates. he knew you deserved someone who didn’t lose their temper easy like him, who hurt you not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. he’s not sure why you’ve been following him around so long, but he also isn’t sure what he would do if you stopped.

rindou had warned you through text about haruchiyo’s sudden drop in mood. you immediately dropped everything and rush home to him, wanting to stop his self loathing quickly before it turned for the worse.

when you arrived to the apartment all lights were off, drapes closed and everything was quiet. if you didn’t know any better you would think no one was home. but you knew he was home, if not for the shoes thrown haphazardly by the door, the soft sounds of crying could be heard.

you ponder on calling out your arrival, deciding on just being loud enough to let him know you are home, but not enough to startle him. you make your way to the bathroom and quietly knock three times before pausing then entering.

haru stands slouched in front of the sink. his rose colored hair messy, eyes red and puffy, and a frown set on his lips.

taking a slow breath you walk up to him, your reflections side by side. you know he knows you are there, it shows in the way he slightly tenses and his hands begin to shake. you want nothing more than to comfort him, however knowing he dislikes overbearing people holds you back for a moment. unsure and unmoving, you take this moment to really look at the broken man in front of you.

you see his pain, you see his hardships, you see his worry, you see is sadness. but you also see his pretty blue eyes that always look at you with love and hopefulness. you see pretty porcelain skin that blushes a pretty pink when he gets flustered from your words of love. you see rosy lips that you love to feel against your own and that you know he loves to use to praise you, to make you feel loved.

you also see two scars, one on each side of those lips. deep down they have always made you feel a sense of sadness. a once happy little boy scarred for something he didn’t do, insecure to the point of covering his face for years, a moment forever changing his life.

but they also made you happy. they were apart of haruchiyo, the man you loved with every atom inside of you. anytime a diamond appeared throughout the day you instantly thought of him. how happy he made you, how much you missed him, when will be the next time you can hold him? kiss him?

snapping out of your trance, you once again walk up to him. slowly, allowing him time to retract from you, you wrap your arms around his middle and lay your head against his back.

he tenses even more at first before slowly but surely relaxing into your hold. you place one, two, three kisses between his shoulder blades, payment for letting you comfort him. he places a cold hand over one of your own, a silent thanks and a green flag to comfort him.

and so you do, holding him in the cramped bathroom slowly swaying the two of you and placing kisses every so often onto him and listening to the steady thrumming of his heart, one he knows solely beats because of you.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x you #sanzu x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #tr x reader #tr x you #kikuowo #kiku writes 𓂃♡ ࣪₊

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unstablegoldfish · 1 year

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[Your Gentle Comfort] 18+

Story Summary: Your interest in boys didn’t really exist in your life. It wasn’t because you were against romance, but mainly for the fact that all the boys in your school were— well, boys. It wasn’t until you met your new teacher and had a relationship growing with him that you realized, you wanted a man.

Sense of Belonging - Chap 2

Joel Miller x F!reader - Teacher x F!Student

Warning: AGE GAP: After all it is a highschool student x teacher. Light swearing. Slow burn story. Being neglected by your parents. Emotional confrontation. Mentions of kidnapping [More will be added as the story progresses.]

Word Count: 3.6k (let me know if u want shorter or longer!!)

Chapter 1 —-> Click here!

Chapter Summary: Rainy day hits your home town, it gets you feeling glum whilst reflecting on your relationships. Your gloomy attitude also has someone turning their head to show you it’s ok.

————————————————————————————

The next morning arises. You felt your tired eyes and your brain starting up for the day. You’re then completely woken up with memories of yesterday flooding through your head. Mr.Miller was the main character in each memory or thought, they featured his voice and the unexpected softness that came from his lips while he spoke to you. The way he dressed was picture perfect.

He made you feel something, but you weren’t quite sure what and whatever you were feeling. Though you were sure of one thing. You liked it and it was the first feeling you were sure of. As wrong as it seemed, you were pretty sure you had caught feelings for him.

At first you were thinking you had daddy issues, which isn’t completely off course. Your relationship with your father wasn’t as perfect as most father daughter relationships. You never thought much of it though, I mean it was what you were used to. A closed off father who was too busy with work to talk to his own daughter. So when Mr.Miller approached you saying you had your shit together, you felt like you were noticed.

You pulled yourself out of bed, and left the warm comfort of your blankets. You made your way to the kitchen where you prepared a quick breakfast. Your father had already left for work and that’s how it usually was. Your mother? She was usually gone too.

The house was gloomy and quite. You look out the window of your kitchen and it was grey and rainy. Shit. You were going to have to walk in the rain. Before you were looking forward to walking to school. Now you wish you could stay home and curl back in bed, be nice and dry and let yourself drift off. However, any absences seen by your parents would leave them angry at you and you didn’t want that. It was the reason your friend group didn’t like you. They said you didn’t have a sense of thrill in you. But they didn’t know about your everyday lifestyle, so you didn’t push a reasoning to them when confronted about your “boringness.”

You’d rub your eyes and walk back to your room to put on some clothes for the day. You decided right then and there that it would be a 0 percent effort day. Sweats and sweater is what you wore, comfy and practical. You put your phone in your sweater pocket, wired ear buds placed in your ears and you were ready. You finished your hot look off with a jacket and your back pack and found yourself in the doorway ready to leave. Looking for your umbrella, you were unfortunate and it had already been taken. Great.

You did a swift jog to school, this was another reason why you were grateful living only 5 minutes away. Thankfully it wasn’t a hard down pour and just frequent drips of water. It must have been raining all night due to the sides of streets being completely flooded. If only you had checked the weather before bed last night.

You made it to the school. Looking at the path that lead to the entrance, you remember seeing Mr.Miller for the first time. The thought of him struck your gut with a punch, he was going to use you as a class example for something. You sure weren’t dressed as an example today, knowing it was raining maybe it would slide. Either way, you felt bad and nervous for your future embarrassment.

You entered the class, looking at his desk. There he was. He sat reading a leather covered book, glasses placed on the bridge of his nose. You continue to walk to your desk. He looks up at you to see you drenched in water and removing your jacket before sitting down. His lips parted, did he feel bad?

“What happened to you?” Your friend asked you with worry painted on his face. This was unusual. He never started a conversation with him being worried about you, let alone start one.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just got splashed by a car on my way here I guess. Not too big of a deal.” A lie, it purely was just the rain, but oh was it such a big deal. If your parents cared about you for at least 5 minutes you may have been fortunate enough to get a ride, and had the opportunity to wear something a little nicer. They could have done the bare minimum too and leave you an umbrella which you would’ve been fine with. But nope.

It wasn’t until you sat down that you realized just how soaked you were. Your pants stuck to your legs and the temperature of it brought shock to your eyes. Cold. You were in for a long unpleasant day. You had crossed your arms and placed your head snug inside, just to lift your head again at the sound of your name.

“Come with me.” Mr.Miller had said, his eyes looked down at you. No sense of any emotion. You couldn’t read him. You lift your body up and followed him outside the classroom, hall empty.

“Let’s get you dry.” Though the hall was deserted, it was filled with him. Just those words alone made you feel something, it felt so wrong. He was just doing his job. But knowing someone was looking after you felt nice. Were you this desperate for attention from an older figure?

You didn’t reply to him. You only looked up at him a couple of times on the walk to who knows where. You only went on to admire him. He wore a different shirt this time, it was a blue dress shirt. The colour fit him well. You thought it was crazy just how easily his figure took your mind off of things. You thought he was hot and it drove you nuts. What would it be like to touch him?

“This school is very generous.” he said with a smirk. “I get my own office outside of the classroom.” Seeing the goofy smile on his face just from the knowledge that he had an extra space made you wanna laugh. But you held it back, because maybe that would be weird. Plus you didn’t want to ruin the moment for him.

He guides you into the room that you swore you’ve never seen before and shuts the door behind him. You glanced around, It was a small room, not much bigger than a walk in closet. The far wall housed a desk that faced towards the window leading outside. There was a heavy downpour outside, thank god you left early or you would have been stuck in that. There was a ton of shelves that filled the blank spaces of the walls too, mostly empty except for a few. They housed a bunch of different papers, folders and books. One even had another sheep figurine.

“You like sheep?” you said to break the scilence besides his rustling in a box. You hear a chuckle from the man inside the box.

“Yeah I do.” he replies

“Why? Aren’t they really noisy?”

“I’suppose, don’t laugh. But I’ve wanted to own a farm and raise sheep.”

That would explain the reoccurring figurines. It was a cute dream from a man like him.

“Here they are.” He hands you a pair of joggers and a long sleeved shirt that had a symbol of a horse on it.

“Oh, thanks.” Your face smeared with confusion. How does he just have clothes that would fit me

“Ah— I have a niece. My brother left‘em. Somehow ended up in here n I remembered about ‘em. She doesn’t wear ‘em anymore anyways.” He responds as if he read your mind.

“Convenient.” Convenient that he just knew what you were thinking.

He reaches for the door, but hesitates to open it after glancing back at you. “Mind I ask something?” he says calmly.

You knew what was coming. I mean who wouldn’t ask, it was kind of weird for someone to just show up completely drenched in water. This was the part you hated most about any sort of interaction with somebody. Questioning.

You stand still, gazing up at him. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to ask or not. Because once he did, you didn’t know what was going to happen to you next. Any sort of emotion could lash out. It was best that he didn’t have to go through that, especially on his second day.

You were basically shaking. Maybe signs of tears starting to develop in your eyes as well.

“its’okay. Maybe next time.”

It was clear he didn’t wanna push you into a more uncomfortable situation. You were unbelieved by the fact he just let it go. It would come back around to hit you in the face I imagined, but you’d be ready at least.

Once more you’re walking down the hallway. You both split ways as you were going to the women’s washroom to change. Nothing like having wet clothing in your bag.

You get back to class. Seemed everything was back in order as Mr.Miller was reading his book again, and glasses resting on his nose. A literal librarian.

Your friend notices your arrival but doesn’t pay you any attention. Thank god. You didn’t think you could handle anymore questions.

And just like that, students began to fill their desks and the bell had rung. Class was to start again.

Mr.Miller stood up from his corner and walked his way into the middle of everyone’s view.

“Alright, as we discussed yesterday you will have a prompt to write about, grab your materials.” Students begin to shuffle in their bags trying to grab what they needed, you joined in too. The tapping of the chalk began. He was writing the prompt.

“What angers you?” is what was written.

“I’ll give you all 10 minutes to write whatever comes to mind.” You make eye contact with Mr.Miller. “—and yes, after you’ve written, I’ll be reviewing if you’ve filled the page.”

Goddamn. You knew you were gonna be asked about it, but this way was never an option for you. You were always expected to use your voice when expressing your emotions, but never written. You liked this. This was do-able. But it only made you wonder, was this the actual prompt he wanted to use? Or was it for your sake to express your unsaid emotions comfortably?

Often in the 10 minutes you’d look up from your writing to see Mr.Millers eyes on you. You were pouring out all the details of how this morning sucked, and somehow even more from the day to day routines you faced. It bothered you a smidge that Mr.Miller was going to read it eventually, but you felt he deserved to know after taking the time to help you out. You felt appreciated… and again. Noticed. Noticed that you weren’t alone in the pain you felt, and that someone was there. Mr.Miller was there.

You continued to press on through the jungle of thoughts to clear the path on paper. You eyes flooded a few times and you felt your pulse grow stronger. But you had a sense of relief after the time was up. It felt nice to free those emotions. However the real test would be how you’d feel after someone’s read what you’ve wrote.

“That being time, if you could place your paper on my desk that would be great.” he taps a spot on his desk. Students then got up to place their papers on the spot. You nervously made your way over to, placing it on the pile. You catch his gaze again, he then lets out a soft smile that only you could see. Then journey your way back to your desk.

Upon sitting down you laid your head down in your arms again. Thoughts piled in your head about the fact he smiled at you, how he kept a watchful gaze on you and how his calm voice sounded earlier in his office. You trailed off into the ‘what if’s’ … what if he hugged me? what if I hugged him? I want to tell him I’m thankful.

While you dug around your thoughts on Mr.Miller. He continued the class onto an assignment he’d be moving you guys into in the next few days. With that, a handout was being distributed that discussed ways you can enhance your writing. He walked from desk to desk making sure everyone got one and once arriving at yours he tapped your head to get your attention on the paper. Reading it was fun, you’ve always liked writing and being descriptive when talking about your own fantasy world. This class was going to be a breeze.

When reading over the handout, you notice Mr.Miller flipping through the papers on his desk. Eventually he pulled one out. He glanced at you but you tried to look away as fast as you could to pretend you didn’t notice him taking it out. You had a feeling that paper may had been yours. You slowly look back in his direction. His eyes were wider than they were before. Either a very interesting piece of work, or it had to be yours. I mean, he seemed to be the type to show very little emotion with his eyes, even when he smiled his eyes didn’t move with it. You look back down at the paper in front of you to avoid being caught looking at his expression. But it was hard not to look away. You wanted to know what he was thinking and you were best doing that by watching someone’s face change.

But just like that the bell had rung. It was already time to be moving on to your next class.

Mr.Miller clears his throat, looks at you then towards the main area of the class. “See you all tomorrow—“ He paused. He then called your name and asked you to stay.

What now?

The class had left and just like that the door had shut. It was now only you and Mr.Miller in this classroom. He walks over to you and places a chair next to your desk and has a seat.

“Normally I don’t read over the work. I only check it to see if people gave effort.” He says. His eyes were a deep brown, it was the first time you noticed.

“You’re going through sometin’ for the fact you filled both sides and what your lil story was about.” For the first time you heard some concern in his voice. You knew you put a lot on that page. Somethings you don’t even remember so it could be anything of what you’ve been experiencing at home.

He placed his hand on your lap. Your eyes widened. A large pause commenced as you just stared into his eyes. He then finally opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m here for you.”

Without another word, or thought hitting your brain. Your eyes filled with tears and you were left to crumble on the spot. Eventually you felt his embrace. His arms were solid and they felt like hard brick walls to protect what ever entered. It was the first time you felt safe. You only continued to sob into his shoulder. No one’s ever told me that…

“I— I don’t” you stutter with your words. “I don’t under stand why they treat me like they do.” You choke on your tears. You felt his hug grow a little tighter before releasing you. He looked into your eyes, the eyes which burned from the tears. He rubbed your cheek to clear the rivers that flowed down.

For the first time, you let everything release and finally not by yourself. You reassessed your darkness to someone you’ve only known for a day, but someone who seemed to get you in all of 5 minutes. It all felt like an eternity. It felt so easy to just release everything around him. It was odd. But you weren’t going to complain about it. You felt free for the first time in awhile. It was nice feeling the comfort from another human.

“T-thank you. I’m sorry.”

The crying had come to a stop.

“You shouldn’t thank me, nor apologize.” He said it with comfort. It felt real.

He still kept his gaze on you in worry. You both sat in silence for a little longer, until he spoke.

“Do you need a ride home?”

It was weird. But you really didn’t want to walk in the rain. The wet cold feeling of your clothing wasn’t so pleasant. Plus, what was the worst that could happen? He kidnaps you? He doesn’t seem like the type… Even if so, would it be so bad?

“I- I’d appreciate that, thanks.” you gave him a smile whilst rubbing your sleeve onto your cheeks. You took a few deep breaths before getting up to leave.

“Remember, if you have anything you need to say. I’ll be here.” It was reassuring to hear his voice say that. You glanced at him one last time, he remained in the seat beside your desk and gave you that signature nod once more.

You journeyed off down the hall and down some stairs making a right turn into the library. You decided it was probably the more calmer place to cool off from the recent events. Maybe even peaceful enough to think about how he touched you and took you into his arms without hesitation…your heart was fluttering.

You pulled out a book from the shelf and found a place to sit. This was a better idea than completely covering your thoughts with Mr.Miller and have you drooling in public again. Problem is, this book was about romance. It only created more scenarios you could imagine with Mr.Miller. You didn’t think they’d roam this far… God am I disgusting?

You glance up from your book eyeing the printer by the librarians desk. Mr.Miller was there collecting papers. He was everywhere. Even though you told yourself to stop and how he was only being a teacher trying to help out you couldn’t help it. Why’d he have to be so damn attractive?!?

The bell had rung and you scurried off to your next class. Keeping the book you had taken out for…later use.

Again same routine as before, dozing off in your thoughts but still managing to grip on to reality so you could catch your name being called at any moment. You couldn’t get over the fact that soon you’d be in his car. Completely immersed into a part of his life. The smell of his car, wether it was dirty or clean. It would tell a story of who he was and it only made him that much more intriguing.

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The school day ended. Leaving your last class with your heart thumping loudly. You swore anyone who walked by would hear it. You made your way to the front doors, just to see that it was still pouring rain. Mr.Miller stood there waiting with a book bag in hand and an umbrella. It seemed he was waiting for you. He looked up to see you, standing more straight then he was before and gave a nod. You both left out the door while he opened the umbrella.

A short journey to the car later and you were in his car. You slightly looked around, the car was decent, but it wasn’t clean to perfection. It felt right. The smell is what hit you the hardest. It smelt exactly like his cologne which stuffed butterflies in your stomach. You liked the smell of him mixed with it. It was a drug.

Now came the awkward part, the part where he’d ask you for your address to which you didn’t think about beforehand. He’d now know where you lived when he’d drive you. But you slid it off your shoulder.

You told him where about he had to go, and soon the 2 of you were off. The sound of the wheels in the puddles was satisfying. You were so lucky in this moment to experience comfort during a time like this. If only your own parents cared as much.

For the most part the ride was silent, every now and then he’d ask you a random question like what your favourite colour was or what day of the week you preferred. It was a nice distraction.

The car comes to a stop on your empty driveway. As expected no one was home.

“Thanks again.” You give him a smile and move your hand towards the handle of the door. But before you could leave he grabs your hand.

“You’re crying again.” He says comfortably.

He was right, your eyes were flooded over. So strange. So unexpected.

“It just feels nice to be cared about.” you reply. Maybe not the full reason you were crying but it had to be one.

You then left the car and made your way to your door, giving a wave as he nodded back to you.

He never moved the car until you had stepped a foot into the doorway. Then just like that he vanished down your street as if nothing had happened.

He’s just a teacher, he’s just a teacher. Teachers wouldn’t drive you home though would they?

You enter your bedroom, taking off then laying the clothes he gave you on the bed. For whatever reason you grabbed them and smelt them. Upon that reaction they smelt just like him. He must’ve had them for awhile for how densely they smelt like him. Either way it was nice. It gave you a sense of comfort in your gloomy house and that was never going to bother you.

But just like that, you came to the conclusion on this day. You did in fact have a crush on Mr.Miller. Now to find ways to spend more time with him.

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How’re we feeling? 😭 This was a crazy chapter with the information dump but hopefully it was ok. Overall hope it was good :) Not sure what else to say :) Have a goodnight/day :)

NOTE: If you’re wondering where the next chapters at, check out my master list, It will be constantly updated on its progress! Also, I’m totally open to any suggestions or questions you have about this fic! Let me know in comments, anonymously, dms…. whatever floats your boat! <3

Taglist: @wrathofcats @welovedilfs333 (tag not working rip)

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel x reader #joel miller self insert #joel #self insert #teacher x reader #teacher x student

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emmanuellececchi · 5 days

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I may or may not...

Have once again been hit by realization.

You remember when I was saying that I needed to find the right historical background for my Medieval Romance? or maybe not. I don't remember if I wrote it here. But, that was something I was looking into.

So, once again, lots of research, geography, history... blah blah blah. But I was going nowhere. I was just stuck the more things I thought about.

Yesterday I was hit (again!) by this : I "just" need to establish a "cultural" background for each of my characters. And establish precisely which one of them are coming from the same and which ones are different. I don't need them to be from a real region (that existed in history) and not even for them to be from culture that were in the region... I just need to decided what culture I want to use as inspiration and from there, well, create.

I still need geography but I can just use Good old Earth as inpiration and then modify here and there.

There is also the language, to establish how many, which one will be common, if there is a difference between noble and common, etc. And I don't even need to create the language. I can just write in italic for example, when someone is speaking something else. The thing would be to keep it coherent. And I can always use real languages to put some specific words here and there.

So anyway. I am no closer to finish editing the medieval story but at least, like in my modern romance, things are getting together slowly.

#emma's writing #novel writing #medieval romance #The dark lady by the sea

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analogwriting · 4 months

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The Other Side of Paradise

Chapter 4: Take A Slice

Killer x gn!reader word count: 2.5k first|next a/n: sorry im so slow w this fic - i swear i'll start picking up the pace as soon as i finish training these new managers

Oh fuck.

Everything hurt. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. It hurt to exist. Your entire body felt like lead as you entered the world of the conscious, but you weren't even sure if you were going to have the strength to open your eyes. You might just have to go into a forever sleep.

You weren't even sure when or who you got home. You remember basically ascending as Killer fucked you into the ethereal plane over and over but then at some point your memory gets too foggy because you were too lost in the sauce to even process what was going on.

Slowly, you opened your eyes. The curtains were still drawn, so you weren't sure the time, but the sun peeked through the edges. You were in your shared bed but Killer was nowhere to be found. Probably band practice or something along those lines.

Though, you didn't hear them jamming out, so you assumed it was the second option.

You needed to sit up. Deep breath. You could do it.

“Don't strain yourself.” You jumped at Killer’s sudden voice, wincing at your own movement. You looked over, seeing him walking in with a tray of food. “I had a feeling you'd wake up soon.” He smiled, setting everything on the nightstand. The smell of what he made wafted through the air and into your nostrils, making you salivate and realize just how hungry you were.

You groaned, not wanting to move but you needed to. You knew you needed to eat and hydrate. You'd feel much better after.

You felt the bed dip as Killer sat on the edge of it. “Just pull me up, babe. Rip off the bandaid.” You knew you'd keep putting it off. You heard him snort before taking your arm and suddenly pulling you up.

Oh fuck.

Your entire body buzzed with pain for a moment and a wave of nausea washed over you; a tingle running up your spine specifically, giving you goosebumps. You sat there a moment, letting your body ride through the pain for a moment before opening your eyes and letting out a breath.

Killer was watching you with a frown. “I’m sorry,” he said. You blinked, looking at him. “It’s my own fault.” You snorted, pulling him into a soft kiss. “I could've told you to stop, but I didnt. I wanted this. This is my own consequence.”

He frowned deeper. “But I could've went a little gentler.” You shook your head. “Nah. It was perfect. I wouldn't have had it any other way “ You kissed him again and he smiled. The both of you knew you were an enjoyer of the more rough side of things.

“If you say so.” He shook his head, grabbing the tray and setting it up in your lap. “Now, I need you to eat everything on this plate and drink all that water, got it? I'll be back up in half an hour to check on you.”

Your face warmed up but you smiled before saluting and nodding. “Aye aye.” You knew he was serious when it came to food - especially after a full night of fun.

With that, he left you to your own devices.

You looked at the entire spread he cooked up for you. He made all of your favorites. He wanted you to regain your strength after last night. He also didn't know the lack of food you consumed yesterday. You might keep that to yourself, you don't need him upset and worrying about you right before he leaves.

Plus, it's not like it's a habit. You were just too excited to eat.

The food was delicious as it always was whenever Killer cooked. You swore that if rockstardom didn’t work out, he could definitely make it as a chef of some kind - that was his backup plan anyway. You’d say you were biased, but everyone who has ever had his cooking would agree. He was easily the best cook any of you knew.

After you finished up, you decided you should probably try to make your way out of bed. You didn’t want to spend all day laying around, especially when Killer only had so much time left with you. You wanted to be able to spend time with him properly. He’d stay with you in bed if you asked, but you didn’t want to do that. You wanted to be able to do things. What things? You weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to make him lay around the entire time. You also wanted to make sure you spent time with Kid, Heat, and Wire too.

You slowly made your way to the edge of bed, taking your time standing up. Your entire body ached, but the more you moved and stretched it, the better it felt. Exhaustion and stiffness were all you were experiencing right now.

You rummaged around your dresser for a moment before deciding on a nice and comfortable outfit before heading out the bedroom. Music was playing through the house, but it wasn’t their rehearsing, they were just playing something on a stereo. You wondered what they were up to.

Slowly but surely, you made your way down the stairs, taking them one at a time. The smell of barbeque hits your nose and now you were really curious as to what was going on. You picked up the pace as much as you could, eventually reaching the bottom.

“Babe, you shouldn’t be up.” You felt Killer immediately sweep you into his arms with a concerned look on his face. “Don’t strain yourself.” He frowned.

You gasped, looking at him. A small laugh escaped you and you shook your head. “I’m fine, darling, really.” You kissed his cheek, squirming to have him put you down. “Besides, it smells phenomenal and there’s decorations. What’s going on?”

Killer finally caved, setting you down gently, but keeping an arm around your waist as he walked you into the kitchen. You blinked as you saw he had all kinds of things he was prepping to cook.

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re throwing a party, duh.” Kid’s voice boomed from behind you, making you jump from the sudden noise. You looked back at him, glaring slightly. “You ass.” He just laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed a beer from the fridge.

“A party for what?” You decide to just move on instead of making a fight like you usually did. You didn’t have the energy for it. Kid just looked at you for a moment before moving on as well. He was probably well aware of your current predicament. “Well, I’m assuming Killer told you the news finally yesterday.”

You blinked, momentarily forgetting what he could be referencing before it hit you. Your brain was still foggy and slow. You nodded at him. “The fact that you guys finally got signed?” As you said those words, you couldn’t help but grin widely, Kid mirroring you. “Congrats, by the way.”

Kid chuckled, straightening himself out. “Thank you. It was about time we did anyway.” Confidence radiated from him; he was absolutely going to be riding this high for a long time. He snorted, shaking his head. “Anyway, we told everyone we had big news and we decided to throw a party for it.”

“So, who all is making it?” It was rare that your large friend group was able to all meet up at once. When there were over thirty of you, it was close to impossible. Besides, you hadn’t even so much as looked at your phone. You had no idea where it was, so you hadn’t even checked the chat.

“Everyone, actually.” Your attention turned back to Killer, your eyes widening. “Holy shit, really?” It was hard enough to plan an event where each one of you could actually make it, but to throw something on the fly? And everyone able to show?

That was a miracle. A good omen, surely. Why else would the stars align so perfectly?

“We were just going to break the news in chat once we told everyone at the party, but since everyone will actually be there, we won’t have to do a second reveal or tell people to keep it bottled until we told everyone.” Kid grinned, clearly excited. As he should be - this was huge! This is what he’d been dreaming of since he was seven! This is what he had worked so hard for - what they had all worked so hard for. You couldn’t be more proud of them all.

“This is fantastic! Finally, the universe decides to cut us some slack. For once everyone is able to get together and y’all got signed. It can only go up from here!”

Kid laughed loudly, nodding. “Cheers to that one!” Then he shotgunned his beer before slamming the empty can against his head to smash it and throwing it away. You fuckin’ hated when he did that, but you didn’t say anything. You were going to choose peace.

You patted your body, looking around. “Where is my phone by the way? I haven’t seen it all day.” You weren’t really asking anyone in particular, you were more mumbling to yourself.

“It’s plugged in upstairs, I put it on silent so you could get some sleep. Figured I’d wake you up if anything important happened,” Killer said as he moved to do some more food prep. It was also true - if anyone couldn’t get a hold of you, they’d call him since you two were always together. He kept his phone on his person for this reason. Just in case of emergencies since you were pants at keeping yours on you.

“Ah. Makes sense.” You also weren’t one to really be attached to your phone when you were home anyway. You had everything you needed here and saw your friends quite a bit. You tended to check it more when you were in classes or at work. Being by yourself, you had nothing else to do besides be on your phone anyway.

“Not too much has happened in the chat. Just plans arranging,” Kid said, grabbing another beer. You nodded, folding your arms and leaning back against a counter.

“What still needs to be done?” You looked at the both of them. Kid opened his mouth when Killer interrupted. “You need to rest. We have everything under control. Heat n’ Wire should be back from the store soon.”

You frowned, folding your arms as you pouted. You suddenly felt a wave of defiance as he shot down any chance of you helping before you even offered. “But I don’t wanna. I want to help!” You looked at him as he turned to you. “You can help me by making me worry less and resting up before the party. You always go hard, so I want you to be ready.”

You huffed at him, shaking your head. He wasn’t wrong - you were quite the partier. You loved the entire vibe of parties…at least with your friends. “Not going. I’m helping and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Kid snorted as he watched the interaction between the two of you. “Alright. You two have your little lovers quarrel, I’m going to head back outside to set up the backyard.”

“I’m coming wi-” As you spoke, you had started to follow him when you felt your boyfriend tug the back of your shirt to keep you in place. “You’re not.”

You spun on your heels, glaring at him. “You can’t force me to go and lay down - that’s dumb. Just lemme help!”

“What’s going on here?” Wire walked in from the garage door.

You frowned at him. “Killer won’t let me help.” You folded your arms to pout and your friend chuckled, shaking his head. “He keeps telling me I need to rest when I’m perfectly fine!”

“I heard you had a long night, rest would be wise.” He looked from you to Killer. It was no surprise everyone knew, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Killer wasn’t one to kiss and tell, but it also wasn’t needed. “But, we also know how stubborn they can be once they make up their mind.” Your boyfriend sighed, nodding. He knew all too well. You and your cousin were the same in that regard. Stubborn and hot-headed.

“Surely, we can find a compromise.”

Heat walked in from the backyard. “We have to run to the store again, we forgot some stuff.” He groaned, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Then it dawned on you.

“Oh shit, you guys are pants at organizing. I can’t imagine that everything is going to be ready for the party in time.” If it were solely up to them, they’d run out of things halfway through the party or not get half the shit needed. You glanced at the clock to start planning on what needed to be done by when.

You moved, checking the list both from their previous trip and the one they need to go on. “This isn’t nearly enough. Let me check and see the status of things.”

You made a big sweep. You checked the garage, the kitchen, and the backyard - the three main hangout areas of the house. Things were set up here and there but it was all in pieces and you knew that if you didn’t take over putting things together - it was going to end in disaster. Not that anyone would really care, but if this was going to kind of tie off as their going away party - you wanted it to be good.

“Alright, boys. Let me take over organizing everything. We only have a few hours and a shit ton of things that need to be done, so let’s lock in.” You had already made a list of things to be done, items Heat and Wire needed to grab from the store, and an inventory of everything you already had.

Killer had gone and grabbed your phone for you so that you could gauge who was arriving when so you could have a more solid line of events that were going to happen, creating a kind of itinerary for what was going to go on. He seemed to be satisfied with you managing things as long as you didn’t move around too much.

This is how you were helping out. You were going to instruct everyone on what to do. You didn’t need to move around too much, you mostly sat at the island in the kitchen as you planned everything out. The boys moved around you, occasionally asking you what they needed to do next. Naturally, the grocery list that Kid put together for their second trip was still not everything they needed, so you were able to expand that before sending them back on another run.

With you in charge, things were going a little more smoothly and before you knew it, everything was ready. All you had to do was wait for your friends to start rolling in.

#i've been closing every single day so bear w me a little longer #i also am reshaping the outline so hopefully be able to steamroll things a bit better #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #am fics #tosp #killer #also my time at sandrock got me hella distracted lmao #and who am i romancing? if you guessed the fuckin' cook of the tavern you'd be correct #i have a type in case that wasn't clear sdlfkjsg

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