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ugh-yoongi · 9 months ago

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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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stfolsom · 1 year ago

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ɢᴏᴅ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ sᴛᴏᴘ ᴜs || cillian murphy x reader

summary || when you're a nanny, nights off are few and far between. with the family, minus mr. murphy, out of the house, you finally have time to relax. when an accidental late-night encounter intensifies, you begin to grapple with keeping to your morals.

warnings || 18+ only! this is SMUT! unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink sort of?, unspecified age-gap, alcohol, implied power imbalance, hair pulling

word count || 3,541 words

notes || this is my first fanfic on tumblr! i hope y'all enjoy. :,) obviously, this is just fiction and has nothing to do with the actual person cillian murphy.

The metal of the faucet felt cool beneath your hand as you gently turned it to the side and cut off the water supply, quietly, as if not to make a sound. It was more out of habit, you suppose, than actual necessity. The kids were all off doing their own thing, Mrs. Murphy was away on business for the weekend, and Mr. Murphy– well, Mr. Murphy tended to keep to himself and resign to his room early in the evening.

You tugged the end of your hair, squeezing the last remnants of your shower with the towel. The house was practically yours for the rest of the evening, and you had absolutely enthralling plans to park yourself in the living room and watch something until your eyelids got heavy. It wasn’t often that you had that luxury.

This job had come around by happenchance a few years ago while scrolling through thousands of “odd” jobs. The description itself was vague enough to the point that, up until you sat down with them, you had thought it was an elaborate scheme to get murdered. The surprise relief that flooded your body when it was apparent that the Murphy’s were not planning on butchering you was overwhelming, and the feeling had been shortly replaced with the flushing feeling of school girl attraction.

Mr. Murphy was handsome, no doubt. His large, almost clear-colored eyes seemed to look right through you. He oozed wealth in a very low-key way, a trait that was seemingly rare throughout your experience of nannying. You had indulged yourself in the naivety of a crush for the first month of the job, but had managed to shut it down as your nannying required more and more of your attention. Still, the prospect of being alone with him was enough to get your heart beating a little faster.

Your feet hardly made a noise as you crept down the stairs to the living room, any sound muffled by the calf-length socks you adorned. Although they had made it very clear that all the facilities of the house were yours to use as well, there was still a level of “sneakiness” that consumed your being when you walked around the house at night. It felt like a proverbial monster was waiting, crouched, hiding in the shadows of the tall walls. So when you turned the corner to the living room and saw a figure already sitting in the arm chair, your soul nearly leapt out of your body.

“Jesus!” you whispered loudly, clutching your chest as you hastily sought the source of the voice.

Mr. Murphy let out a breathy laugh and quietly shut his book, looking up at you from his perch.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the grit of his voice heightened from the quiet tone in which he spoke, “I figured you had gone out for your night off.”

“No, no, no,” you countered, rubbing a hand down your face, “it’s your house. I shouldn’t be spooked that you’re here.”

The floorboards creaked as he rose from the dark green barrel chair, carefully placing his book on the coffee table, and picking up an empty wine glass. “Well then, I won’t disturb you from your night off. I’ll be upstairs.”

You frantically moved towards him as if to usher him back into his chair.

“No, don’t leave! I don’t want to disrupt you at all, I can watch something on my laptop instead. Really, it’s no problem. Actually, I quite enjoy it–”

Mr. Murphy calmly said your name to halt your apologetic rant, closing the space between the both of you as he reached out a hand to your forearm. The touch made you halt, your eyes darting between his hand (his big, beautiful hand) and his face. “You’re not disturbing me, promise.”

“Mr. Murphy, I can’t in good conscience let you leave this room,” you chattered nervously back, trying not to lean into his invitingly warm touch. He laughed lightly at the order and let his hand back to his side.

“Then follow me.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you were sure all color in your face drained. “Huh?”

“Follow me. I’m headed to the kitchen to get myself another glass of wine. I was planning on doing so even before you entered the room, so I’m not violating that good conscience of yours, hm?” he spoke with a slight smile on your face, brushing past you towards the kitchen. You blinked a few times and then followed lamely, suddenly feeling incredibly underdressed compared to his slacks and cardigan. The sweatshirt and (short) sleep shorts you had thrown on were incredibly, embarrassingly, juvenile in comparison to his older man sensibilities.

Mr. Murphy opened a small fridge nestled underneath the counter tops and pulled out two pristine bottles of wine.

“Do you prefer Cabernet Sauvignon or Sauvignon Blanc?” he asked coolly, uncorking the both of them. A small wisp of vapor pooled from the top.

“Um, Sauvignon Blanc,” you said plainly, cursing yourself for how smooth it rolled off his tongue and how junkily it came off yours.

He wordlessly poured himself a glass of Cabernet and you a glass of the Blanc. The silence in the kitchen was intense, an itch gathering in your spine to break it. As you opened your mouth to speak, he broke first.

“I hope you’ve been enjoying your time with us. The kids adore you,” Mr. Murphy said, handing you the glass. You took a polite sip of the wine, the dryness invading your mouth as you looked back down at the glass with a slight rouge to your cheeks.

“I have absolutely loved it. I adore them too, though with each day I can feel them slowly getting ‘too cool’ to hang around me,” you said with a small laugh, fingers rubbing up and down the stem of the glass. You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes dart to watch them.

“Welcome to the reality of parenthood,” he countered, leaning back against the counter and sipping his cabernet.

“It’s brutal,” you said with a dramatic exhale, “I can’t imagine how hard it must be when it’s your actual child.”

Mr. Murphy tossed you an amused look, crossing his legs as he stood. “Do you want kids of your own?”

If you hadn’t been already blushing, you sure you were now. You looked at him wide-eyed and then took a big gulp of the wine.

“Well, maybe, I guess. I don’t know… it feels a bit cruel to bring them into a world like this.”

He shrugged his shoulders and finished off his wine with a large swallow.”

“Not that you and Mrs. Murphy are cruel! I don’t– I wouldn’t–” you said quickly, getting hit with a wave of embarrassment. “I just–”

“Hey,” he said coolly, waving a hand. “I didn’t think you were.”

You tipped your head back to finish your wine off and set the glass down on the counter louder than you had hoped for.

“It’s a very rewarding experience,” Mr. Murphy continued, rubbing his fingers across his cleanly shaven jaw. “You’re a very pretty and well behaved girl. I think you’d have great children.”

You weren’t sure if it was the onslaught of tipsiness and when you became such a lightweight, but he seemed to be much closer to you. You quipped a laugh in response.

“I’m not sure if you can say that to me, Mr. Murphy, but thank you.”

“Please, just call me Cillian,” he said, his body nearly parallel to yours as you leaned against the island and him against the counter. You could’ve sworn there was a dark sort-of hunger prowling around in those blue eyes of his.

“Cillian,” you repeated, feeling the way it felt in your mouth. His jaw tensed up, the muscle highlighted in the low lighting of the kitchen. The room felt so much smaller than it had twenty minutes ago.

Cillian put his glass down slowly, his movements precise and calculated in the same way a big cat moves. Your breath hitched, half anticipating him to pounce on you like a predator to his prey.

“I mean it,” he repeated, his eyes boring into you and that common casual indifference written onto his face, “you’re a very pretty girl.”

In one quick movement, his hand found the fabric of your sweatshirt and he firmly tugged you forward, closer to him. You stumbled, letting him pull you like a doll. Your eyes found his expectantly, searching for a sense of regret in his eyes. Instead, you were greeted with the feeling of his plush lips meeting yours.

The kiss was surprisingly chaste in comparison to how he had pulled you closer. His lips left yours as quickly as they had found them, his face still held close to yours. His hands reached up and brushed your cheeks with his knuckles repeatedly. You kept your eyes closed, leaning into the touch.

“Is this okay?” he murmured as he continued to stroke the skin of your face and neck, “I need you to tell me this is okay.”

You nodded and sighed. He lightly slapped your cheek, just enough for you to open your eyes and look at him again.

“I need you to say it outloud, darling,” he repeated.

“This is okay,” you said, resting your hand atop his.

“You don’t care that I’m your boss? That I’m so much older than you?”

The harsh slap of reality hit you and you tried not to recoil from his touch. Instead, you swallowed heavily and let the waviness of intoxication wash over you again.

“This is okay,” you said again, unable to say much more than that.

He dove back in again, recapturing your lips with an intensity he had not previously shown. You groaned in surprise, your hands finding his shoulders to keep balance. He walked you backwards against the island, one hand wrapped around the back of your neck to hold you to him. His free hand wandered up your hip and underneath your sweatshirt, finding the soft skin of your stomach and kneading it with his large fingers.

“Fuck,” he rasped into your mouth.

The corner of the island pressed into your back as you tried to keep up with the hastiness of his movements. His tongue smoothed against your bottom lip, breaking through the barrier to kiss you deeper. You mirrored his movements, trying not to let your inexperience show. You had had hookups and boyfriends before, but none that kissed you like this. None that showed this much passion.

His hand slid up from the back of your neck and grabbed a fistful of your hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your head back. You gasped in surprise, grasping his shoulders a bit more.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he admitted in between kisses. “Ever since we first fucking interviewed you and I saw your pretty little face.”

Your stomach fluttered and you kissed him back harder in response, causing him to grip your hair harder. Cillian pressed his knee between your legs forcing them apart, closer and closer to where your core ached for him. You whined as he dragged his lips from your mouth and down your neck.

Cillian’s free hand drifted down from the flesh of your stomach and to the waistband of your shorts, eagerly searching out your pussy. In discovering your lack of panties, he nipped at your neck and groaned.

“No panties?” he panted in amusement against your throat. Your face felt hot.

“I didn’t think my boss would be feeling me up in the kitchen.”

Your smugness was interrupted by his fingers rubbing against your clit and then down further through your folds, smearing the growing wetness around your cunt. You whined and pressed forward, pushing your body as close to his as possible. The grip on your hair loosened, that hand moving to hold your waist as he buried his head in the crook of your neck and mindlessly sucked at the skin.

“You’re fuckin’ heavenly,” he breathed, massaging your clit with the pads of his fingers. You ground down into the pressure, fingers digging into his back.

“Mr. Murphy, please,” you whined, biting at his shoulder through his cardigan. The heat of his erection pressed against your thigh.

He dipped one large finger into your cunt without warning, causing you to yelp and lurch forward even more.

“I told you to call me Cillian, dear,” he said, his hot breath fanning against your ear.

His finger worked in and out of you skillfully, gathering more and more wetness with each thrust. You pressed your hips against it, seeking more pressure, more friction. Cillian added another finger, causing you to moan loudly into the soft fabric of his cardigan. His fingers pumped in and out of you creating a lewd wet noise. You felt your core begin to tighten, your grinding becoming sloppier with each thrust of his fingers.

“Oh fuck, Cillian,” you whined, pulling your head back from his shoulder to desperately find his lips. He met you in the middle and kissed you messily, increasing the speed of his fingers as he felt you tighten. You bucked against him faster, the impending orgasm causing a feeling of overstimulation that threatened tears in your eyes.

“‘M gonna cum,” you said against his lips, gripping at his back as tight as you could.

Just as you spoke, your orgasm broke and warmth filled your body. You cried out, moving your face away from his and tilting it back. The pleasure wracked your body in waves, causing your legs to involuntarily twitch and threaten to give out on you. Cillian watched you hungrily, his eyes studying every muscle in your face as he made you cum.

After letting you calm down quietly, he removed his fingers from you. The absence made you wince, cold air hitting the wet skin of your pussy. Cillian pushed the front of his body against yours, kissing you lazily and pressing his arousal into your thigh.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he stated. The bluntness nearly knocked the breath out of you.

“In here?” you asked innocently.

Cillian wordlessly pulled you away from the counter and gripped your hand, leading you away from the kitchen and up the stairs as you stumbled after him. To your surprise, he led you to your room, which you supposed made sense. It would be too real to get fucked in the bed that he and his wife share.

He closed the door behind him, moving to you quickly to resume making out with you. Insecurity flooded your body at the messiness and immaturity of your bedroom. You pulled back and laughed sheepishly.

“I’m sorry about my room,” you whispered against his lips. “It’s not very ‘big girl’ of me.”

He stroked the sides of your face again, looking you deep in the eyes.

“It’s perfect,” he reassured, “you’re perfect.”

Cillian kissed you again sweetly, and then returned back to the depraved nature of his kisses, kneading and grabbing at your body. He lightly pushed you back onto your bed, crawling on top of you as soon as your back hit the duvet.

He didn’t waste any time removing your sweatshirt and shorts. The garments were off your body with ease, leaving you completely bare underneath him while he still was dressed in his slacks and sweater. Your hand ran up his arm to the collar of the jacket and tugged gently.

“‘S not fair,” you pouted, “take it off.”

He looked down at you with a grin and then sat up, quickly taking off his shirt and pants. You watched intently as he stripped down in front of you, admiring the tone of his body. Compared to other almost-50-year-olds, his body was trim and lithe and it drove you crazy. He pulled down his boxers to free his swollen cock and you watched in awe as it sprung up against the soft of his stomach. He stroked it gently before crawling on top of you again and assaulting your neck with kisses and nips.

You spread your legs to get him closer, your heart skipping a beat as his cock pressed against your core. You suppressed a moan and jerked your hips against his. His lips traveled further down to your breasts, kissing them gently before finding your sensitive nipples and sucking them. Cillian pulled his head back with a sickening pop as he released the nipple, your eyes screwing shut at the offense against the sensitive skin.

“Fuck me, please,” you said breathlessly, pulling his head back up to kiss your lips. He obliged happily, snaking his tongue into your mouth eagerly before sitting up.

He knelt between your legs, one hand holding your legs apart and the other guiding his cock to your entrance. You tried not to jump as you felt his slick head prod at you. He pressed in slowly, meeting slight resistance as your pussy tried to stretch to accomodate him. His tip pushed through the tightness, causing you both to gasp as he entered you. You grabbed his forearms to ground you.

Cillian continued to move forward, reveling in your whine as he filled you up. Once he was fully inside of you, he returned to hover above you and kissed you again. You wrapped your legs around his waist and traced your arms up and down his back, encouraging him to move.

The first few thrusts strung as your body struggled to accept the size of his cock, your pussy getting wetter and wetter with each snap of his hips. You buried your head in his shoulder again, mouth resting against his bare shoulder as he fucked into you. He was gentle- pulling out half way and then thrusting up to press himself completely inside of you. You whimpered into his skin with each thrust.

His movements picked up, his rocking movement becoming rougher and more intense. He slammed himself into you, desperate to get deeper and deeper. He pulled back from you, grabbing your thighs to reposition you. His hands forced your knees back up against your shoulders, allowing him more access to your cunt. The first thrust into you made you yelp and reach down to grab his thigh.

“Fuck Cillian,” you mewled, “that’s fucking deep.”

He laughed and leaned forward, folding his hands behind your head and continuing to fuck you deeper and deeper. The pressure was unbearable, the noises coming out of your mouth were noises you had never heard before. You could feel his head in the deepest parts of you, pressing into you at an unrelenting pace. His breath was staggering, his eyes wandering around your face as you laid slack jaw underneath him.

“Harder,” you managed to ground out, swallowing deeply.

He sat up for better balance, using his hands to press down into the back of your legs and push them up as much as he could. His speed intensified, pulling himself out to his tip to then slam back into you with as much power as he could muster. You frantically grasped the sheets, seeking something to stabilize you.

“Look at me,” he said hoarsely.

You opened your eyes to stare up at him, his blue eyes bearing back into yours. His face shone with sweat, highlighting his marblesque facial structure. His eyebrow was slightly furrowed in concentration as he fucked you hard.

“I’m going to… I’m going to…” you tried to gather enough strength to warn him but fell flat, your eyes slightly crossing from the intensity.

“‘M gonna come inside, yeah?” Cillian spoke weakly.

You nodded and whined, keeping eye contact with him as your core tightened more and more. His hand reached down to rub your clit, causing you to crash over the edge. You came loudly, unable to hold in a yelp as pleasure washed over your body again. Your walls clenched him, drawing him in deeper and pushing him to his own orgasm.

He fucked you through the pleasure before he let himself cum, his hips staggering before slamming into yours and pressing the both of you further into the mattress. He groaned into your neck, stroking your thigh as he continued to fuck you through the aftershocks of his own orgasm. You could feel the warmth of the cum seep deep into you, his leaking head pressed as far into you as he could.

Cillian lazily kissed you and then rested his forehead against yours, his eyelashes tickling your skin.

You laid like that for a few minutes; your sticky bodies pressed against each other, his softening cock still deep inside of you. He finally sat up after the silent bliss had passed, removing himself from you with a hiss. You could feel a small trickle of warmth drip from your pussy as he moved away.

You laughed breathlessly as the gravity of the situation hit you, the weight of his body moving to lay beside you. His hand stroked your stomach lovingly as you both stared at the ceiling.

“Can we do this again?” you said quietly.

“I don’t think God himself could stop us.”

#hank writes #cillian x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n

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armysantiny · 5 months ago

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The Pale Idol – PSH

P: Seonghwa x gender neutral reader | G: fluff, fantasy, drabble | Inc: Baldur's Gate 3 au, vampire elf!Seonghwa, Seonghwa is basically Astarion, tiefling!reader, mentioned Jongho, mentioned Wooyoung, tiefling!Wooyoung, makeup artist!reader, mentioned San, drow!San, implied Hongjoong mention, high half elf!Hongjoong| Wc: 1.1k | W: mentioned blood, old bite marks | R: G

Min's notes: This idea struck and would not leave me until I wrote it out. This fic's quality is questionable lmao, but I like it and that's enough for me. If I like this enough I'll do headcanons abt what the other members are lol. Also fuck tumblr's 5 link/tags per line thing-

Seonghwa lifts his head from his phone when his name is called, abandoning the green room’s sofa in favour of the stool his makeup artist is calling him to. He’s not the last one to have his hair and makeup done, but he has been able to relax while the others get ready. Precious minutes of simply sinking into the sofa and scrolling through the device in his hand.

Once he settles in his chair, his head turns to y/n, politeness melting away into a smile. They’ve got the brightest expression on their face, an eagerness he can feel in abundance. It’s rather charming, and a wonderful start to his day.

Even if he’s feeling a tad bit peckish.

“Morning to you too, y/n,” he chuckles, letting the Tiefling go about putting on his makeup for the group’s upcoming stage. “You seem excited today, something lifting your spirits?”

“Hm? Oh, yes! I have this new palette, you have to see the shades, Seonghwa, it’s going to highlight your eyes perfectly for this stage!” Y/n answers, bringing over the eyeshadow palette in question for Seonghwa to inspect. Much to their luck—and intuition—the makeup gets the idol’s seal of approval, and y/n gets to work right away. And Seonghwa is just the perfect client; holding himself just how y/n needs him to, closing his eyes exactly when needed.

The perfect symbol of grace, Park Seonghwa is.

Just as their close attention comes to an end and y/n goes to put their equipment away, the Tiefling’s gaze catches on something. It’s so small, so inconspicuous, clearly a small miracle they ever notice it at all. Hidden just below Seonghwa’s collar, in the crook of his neck, are two little scars.

And old vampire bite. Pale skin, the red eyes, the bite…

“Am I free to sit back on the sofa..?” Seonghwa’s watching them. Right. He’s caught them staring, surely the elf is uncomfortable.

“Yes! Yes, sorry, of course… you’re free to go.”

“Great. Thank you as always, y/n. Can we talk later?”

Later. The promise of conversation after the day’s recordings is daunting. Why he even suggested it in the first place, Seonghwa can’t recall. Y/n had seen it, his bite marks, and now he owes them an explanation, at the very least. Or a well-meaning half-truth if he has the heart to lie to them. His brow furrows, or well he supposes they do because Seonghwa feels a stare burning into the side of his head, San watching him with all-too-knowing eyes.

Damn the Drow for being so observant and empathetic. But San is a ray of sunshine, warm and loving, so all is forgiven. As it always is.

“Hyung,” San begins, “everything alright? Do you need..?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” and he is, “just a few things on my mind. It’s nothing to worry about, San-ah, promise.” Seonghwa isn’t lying. There isn’t anything—or at very least there shouldn’t be—to worry about. The performance will go well, he’ll smooth things over will y/n and maybe he’ll bother their high half-elf leader for a bite or two once night falls.

The performance ends almost as soon as it begins, adrenaline coursing through Seonghwa’s undead veins as the music comes to an end. Even as the idol works his charms for the close-up camera shot and the audience screams their praises, the prospect of confronting y/n hangs back in the crevices of his mind. Just like that horrifying mindflayer tadpole he once harboured, but that’s neither here nor there. So, after a few minutes of waving to fans onstage, Seonghwa tags along with his members and heads backstage, the green room and a darling Tiefling awaiting him.

What fun.

Y/n can barely look Seonghwa in the eye when he and the others walk back in, hands clamming up while they spend another minute or two or three distracting themselves with mundane tasks. How are they supposed to confess to the vampire that they’ve figured out that Seonghwa isn’t just an elf? It’s a small miracle in of itself that Jongho pulls them aside, needing y/n’s assistance, a clasp stuck on the idol’s mic pack.

“…mind if I interrupt?” y/n nearly jumps out of their own skin as Jongho’s clasp comes unstuck. Hells, was Seonghwa always this good at moving around silently?

“Nothing to interrupt,” they say, composure recovered, “is this going to be a private conversation?”

He nods. Very well, they can give him that much.

Following Seonghwa to a rather unused section of the green room, y/n stays decidedly quiet. Sure, the Tiefling knows, but this is Seonghwa’s secret to sure. It’s not hard to see the nerves play out on his face either, the way the elf’s expression holds itself a little too stiff.

And then y/n blinks when Seonghwa just comes out with it.

“I should have told you sooner, y/n, really,” the elf continues, “but surely, my friend, you understand just how risky it is to admit my nature as a vampire. Especially in this line of work.” They understand. Of course they understand.

“I do, Seonghwa, really. And thank you for telling me, though…” y/n trails off, reaching for Seonghwa’s hands when said elf stares at them with panicked eyes. “It’s nothing bad, I promise! I didn’t want to intrude on your revelation, just now, but I did figure it out. Earlier.”

Never has the Tiefling seen Seonghwa so flustered before. They watch the way he clears his throat, avoids looking at them for all of ten seconds before plastering on a nervous grin.

“How— how did you..?”

Y/n launches into their explanation, suddenly very aware that they probably should have brought up their suspicions ages ago. Like how they hadn’t wanted to point out how rare it is for high elves to have crimson-red eyes, or how the idol is paler than most and spends a little longer just observing his own reflection. Not that y/n always knew, but the old bite mark did play a decently large part in them finally putting two and two together.

“I was that obvious, was I?”

“…a bit?” Seonghwa groans. His hair falling across his face as he hangs his head in defeat. All that effort, all that time spent crafting his illusion and y/n figured it all out. Just like that. Now they’re laughing! All bashful and giggly and—

Hells below he wants to hide.

“My dear, can we please put this conversation to bed? Preferably before I go and ask Wooyoung to smite me?”

Y/n nods, not without stifling the rest of their laughter.

Thank the hells.

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @ateezlovenet

@cromernet, @illusionnet

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @blonghoonie, @xavi-in-kpopland

@marxenash, @honey-andmilktea | Taglist form

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joonggphilia · 1 year ago

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TxT Hard Thoughts

Ot5 phone call at a bad time ——————————————————————-

Today, Yeonjun called you from the dance studio and asked for some help. He had been super busy and stressed lately. You opened the door to find him sitting on a chair, palming himself and watching his phone. “M/n, I’ve been so busy today, help me out.” He spoke up, locking eyes with you. “Of course, babe.” You hummed pulling down his pants and pulling his length from his underwear. You worked up from the base and stroked him as he rubbed your shoulders. Suddenly, Yeonjun’s phone rang, the contact reading “Beomgyu” You halted your movements as he answered the phone. “What’s up gyu?” He panted, sweat trickling from his forehead. You started up your movements again. “Y-yeahhuh. N-no, I’m ffine. I’ve got to go.” Yeonjun rasped, as he hurriedly hung up. “What an attention whore. Let’s head to my room.”

Soobin gasped as your sweet lips kissed up his throbbing dick. He threw his head back and whimpered as your tongue pressed against his slit. “Je-Jesus, m/n you’re so good” Soobin panted, his hands running through your hair, and gripping each time you sucked a good spot. buzz buzz buzz. Soobin’s hands scrambled to find his phone. “H-hello. Yeah, tell Kai I- mmmmh -No I’m fine. I’ll be there in twen-twenty.” Soobin whined as he hung up. “You’re relentless.” He breathed, shoving your head down onto his cock. Beomgyu always had you around his finger, and right now he had you around his dick. He wanted a quick fuck in the dressing rooms before he went on stage. “G-gyu, they’ll find us! Calm d-doWN!” You moaned, your arms holding you up on the counter threatening to give out. “You keep quiet and they won’t. You’re such a good boyfriend, letting me fuck you in your dressing room.” Beomgyu groaned, quickening his pace. His phone began to buzz. He hummed and answered the phone. “Yes? Oh M/n! Ugh. I’ll get him.” Beomgyu muted the phone. “Baby, it’s your members. Looking for you.” He warned you, still fucking you over the counter. “I-I’ll be d-done in ten! G-g-gyu! Hang up!” You cried, him finally hitting your special spot.

Taehyun loved when you sucked him off after the gym. Many people did some stretches to cool down and he got a free blowjob from his boyfriend, same difference. Your swollen lips worked him as he scrolled on his phone. “You’re doing great M/n. Maybe a little faster?” He asked, making eye contact with you. You simply nodded and bobbed faster. He loved the whines, whimpers, and other unholy noise you made when you got into it. He threw his head back closed his eyes, one hand patting your head. Ringggg “Fuck. Just keep it up.” Taehyun reassured, picking up his phone. “Soobin, I’m seriously busy r-right now. MmmHm.” Taehyun hummed, lust and annoyance mixed in his tone. “Busy being a whore?” Beomgyu’s voice chimes from the background.

Huening slowly pumped his length in and out of you, littering your body with kisses. “I love you. More than you’ll ever know.” Huening hummed, pushing his cock in even further. “Mmmmm I l-love you.” You whined, rolling your hips to add more friction to your little situation. “I’m so sorry i-I’ve been busy. I’ll make time for you, love.” Huening Kai promised before moving at a normal pace. “D-don’t ugh apologize. I-I was busy….too.” You muttered, your mind fuzzy with lust and love. Suddenly Huening’s phone began to ring. “I’ve got-gotta take it.” He moaned, before picking up. “Kai, we’re going out. Wanna come with?” Yeonjun asked, as he grabbed his keys on the other end. “I can’t. I-I’m with M-M/n.” He panted, looking down at his lover. “Ew. Bye.”

———————————————————————

A/n: sorry it’s not necessarily a Drabble 😭 my tumblr is broken so I would’ve had to post two different times and tbh i don’t have the capacity for that. I feel like I’m dying I’m so sick rn 💀

#txt hard thoughts #hard thoughts #smut #yeonjun x male reader #soobin x male reader #beomgyu x male reader #taehyun x male reader #huening kai x male reader #txt x male reader #txt ot5 #male reader

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python333 · 1 year ago

Text

task force 141 reacting to [reader] having excessively watery eyes — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the title says once again! tf141 and their reactions to [reader] having excessively watery eyes. if you want to get a bit more medical, the term for it would just be 'high tear drainage capacity'! it's basically just something some people have where they naturally just produce more tears and as a result their eyes water excessively at (as far as i know) random times!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. john price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], might be ooc. :{

note i was watching super 8 when i got this idea, because my eyes got watery all of a sudden while watching it and i was like 'omg i should post this on tumblr' because i'm a writing whore so here i am again. my fingers hurt from typing all the things in html to make the text small and shit but we still up!!

JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE

➥ he thinks you’re crying at first.

➥ it’s not his fault! he had no idea your eyes just water up randomly.

➥ when he sees your eyes well up with tears, depending on how close y’all are, his fatherly instincts—which he, obviously, developed after meeting gaz—kick in immediately.

➥ “Are you okay, [c/n]?” “Why are you crying?” “Did something happen? What happened?” “... What do you mean?” “This is normal?”

➥ he’s kind of embarrassed for worrying so much after you reassure him that you were okay and that your eyes just excessively water, to be honest.

➥ he’s glad that you’re okay though, obviously.

➥ he never really gets used to seeing you tear up randomly? even though you told him it was normal?

➥ like he knows that 99% of the time you tear up it’s just because you do that, but he still likes to be sure that you’re okay, so he always makes sure to ask if you’re okay.

➥ he’s such!! a father!! i’m crying!! and it's not just my excessive eye watering!!

—

You both had just been hanging out in the recreation center, Price on the couch and you sitting on a chair right by that couch. You were scrolling through your phone, while Price was reading the newspaper—usual old man activities. While scrolling through your social media feed, you didn’t even notice the way tears started to well up in your eyes until your vision got blurry and you felt a small, wet trail of a single tear roll down your cheek.

You’d sighed and pulled a pocket-sized tissue pack out out your pocket, pulling out a tissue and dabbing at your eyes, ridding them of the tears. Of course, the tears didn’t just stop there, they kept coming, so you kept wiping and dabbing at your eyes, hoping that they would go away soon. This was a fairly regular occurrence— for you.

Price caught sight of this and immediately looked worried. He stared at you for a moment as you wiped your eyes, wondering if he should speak up, and eventually had tentatively asked, “Are you okay, [c/n]?”

You looked over at him and pulled the tissue away from your face for a moment, “Yeah, why?” Your voice didn’t sound strained or hoarse like Price had expected, seeing as you were practically crying.

“You’re crying,” Price had pointed out, pointing to your eyes as if you couldn’t notice it, “Did something happen?”

You sat there, a bit dumbfounded, and Price took your silence as hesitation to tell him what was going on. “You can tell me what’s going on, [c/n]. I won’t judge you,” He’d reassured you softly, setting down his book and putting all of his attention on you.

Oh God. “Nothing happened,” You’d quickly assured him, “This is normal, don’t worry about it.”

“... What do you mean, ‘this is normal’?” Price asked, now confused as well as concerned, “You cry often, mate?”

“I mean, kind of?” You had replied, before sighing and clarifying, “My eyes just water up a lot. It’s not really crying.”

“Oh,” Price said dumbly, before nodding and giving you one last concerned look, “Right, then. Uh… sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” You smiled at him, going back to dabbing at your eyes with a tissue, while he reluctantly went back to his book.

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ can’t mind his own business for the life of him.

➥ similar to price, he thinks you’re crying at first.

➥ but he doesn’t hesitate at all, the moment he sees you tearing up he’s like ‘woah what the fuck are you okay??’

➥ you have to firmly tell him that yes, you’re okay, you just have very watery eyes.

➥ he still offers to get you tissues and some water, worried by the amount of tears you’re producing, thinking you’re gonna get really dehydrated.

➥ makes sure you’re completely okay and that you’re not just making this all up to hide the fact that you’re actually crying.

➥ after that whole interaction, he doesn’t get as worried when your eyes randomly water up, and instead teases you about it.

➥ learns to know when you’re actually crying, just so that he can offer comfort when it’s appropriate, and tease you when it’s appropriate.

—

The two of you were hanging out in Ghost’s room, since his was cleaner than the both of your’s combined, and he was away on a mission. Soap laid down on Ghost’s bed while you were sitting on the edge of the same bed, the sheets and blankets wrinkled from you both moving around on the bed. Soap was scrolling through his phone while you sat opposite of him and read a book Price had recommended to you—in his usual old man pseudo-father fashion, he’d told you to spend less time on your phone and ‘read a damn book’—so you were doing just that.

It was when you’d just reached chapter six when your vision got blurry and you sighed, knowing what was happening already. It was just annoying, honestly, having to pull out your tissues every ten minutes because your stupid tear ducts couldn’t function properly. When you went to pull out the mini tissue pack you always carried with you—or so you thought—you were surprised to find that the familiar plastic rectangle of tissues were nowhere to be found in your pockets. You checked your back pockets, front pockets, and yet they weren’t in either.

You let out a small, frustrated sigh through your nose and got up from the bed, the movement making Soap look up and over at you.

“Hey, where are ye—blimey, are ye cryin’?” Soap questioned, his questioning tone quickly becoming concerned, “Are ye alright? It wasnae the book that made ye cry, aye?”

You looked back at Soap, sighing, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt, “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t even worry about it, it’s normal, I just need to go get some tissues.”

“What dae ye mean this is normal?” Soap asked, sitting up. I just want to grab tissues, man, You think, miserably before short explanation that yes, you’re okay, no, you’re not crying, your eyes are just watery—basically the same answer you give every who eventually asks about your little ‘quirk’.

“Ye sure ye’re alright?” Soap asked, just making sure you’re actually okay, “Ye’re definitely no’ crying?”

“Definitely not crying,” You confirmed, “Just watery eyes.”

“Alright, then,” Soap breathed out, relieved that you were okay, before getting up and asking, “Dae ye need some tissues, water, anythin’?”

“Just tissues,” You answered, walking towards the door, “I can get them—”

“Nah, nah, ye stay richt there!” Soap quickly said, somehow getting to the door before you despite him having been right in front of the bed moments earlier, “I’ll get it!”

You watched him run out the door at a speed comparable to the usain bolt and stayed there for a moment, just staring at the now opened door, before huffing out a small laugh and heading back to the bed and sitting down.

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ he doesn’t notice until you’re wiping at your eyes and huffing in frustration when tears keep coming.

➥ the first time it happened, he didn’t ask if you were alright verbally, but did shoulder nudge you and gave you a look that asks ‘are you okay?’

➥ when you nodded and continued wiping at your eyes, ghost gave you one last look before trusting that you were okay and continuing on with his day.

➥ he pretended he didn’t care but thought about it for a bit afterwards, especially if you guys are really close.

➥ he asked price if you tearing up is just a normal thing or if you were actually crying, and let himself relax when he was told that yes, your eyes just water up randomly.

➥ he’s naturally a very observant person and will be able to tell when you’re actually crying fairly quickly.

➥ he’ll still look you over to make sure you’re okay, of course, just to double check, but once he’s confirmed that your eyes are just getting watery again he’ll let himself relax.

➥ depending on how close you both are, he’ll carry around a pack of tissues for you.

—

You and Ghost were in a helicopter, another mission successful. It wasn’t the worst one you’d had—but it was far from easy to accomplish. You were reasonably tired after this mission, all the leftover adrenaline wearing off, making you slump a bit in your seat.

You were just about to close your eyes to rest them, when suddenly you realized how blurry your vision had gotten. You were confused for a moment before realizing—oh, right, that happens.

You sighed, knowing you didn’t bring your usual pack of tissues with you, thinking it would just take up useless space in the pockets of your tactical gear. You wiped your eyes with the gloves you’d been wearing, albeit they weren’t the best option but the sleeves of your shirt were far too short for you to use, the hem of your shirt was dirty, and while your gloves were dirty as well, the back of them weren’t nearly as filthy as the hem of your shirt.

As you wiped away with the back of your glove, Ghost noticed your watery eyes and nudged your shoulder with his own. You paused and pulled your hand away from your eye, giving him a questioning look. He didn’t say anything, but instead gave you a questioning look back, a look you assumed to be one that asked, ‘are you okay?’, judging by the way his eyes darted to your own very watery ones. You nodded, mouthing the words ‘I’m okay’, and he nodded back, going back to staring ahead of him.

Hours after you had gotten off the helicopter, you were walking by Price’s office, and couldn’t help but hear Ghost’s voice. Being the nosy person you are, you cautiously pressed your ear to the door.

“—don’t worry, it’s normal,” You heard Price reassuring Ghost, “I doubt they’d cry after a mission like that, anyway.”

“And they’ve told you it’s normal?” Ghost asked, just to confirm, “You know this for a fact?”

You didn’t stay long enough to hear the rest of the conversation, instead walking away and suppressing a smile at Ghost’s mildly worried tone.

—

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

➥ he notices pretty quickly.

➥ no matter how many times he’s caught you tearing up, he’ll still ask you if you’re okay.

➥ he makes sure to bring a clean handkerchief with him, just incase you forget your tissues.

➥ he’ll even bring it with him on missions, knowing you don’t want to bring your small pack of tissues with you.

➥ the first time he catches your eyes watering up, he gets pretty worried.

➥ he makes sure not to make a big deal out of it though, trying to be as considerate as possible, and instead quietly asks you if you’re okay.

➥ when you reassure him that you are and tell him your eyes are just naturally watery, he’s pretty relieved, and lets it go.

➥ he trusts that you told him the truth, and doesn’t question you again after that.

➥ around the fifth time it’d happened, he’d grown pretty used to it, so when you started tearing up walking back to the rendezvous point with him after a mission, he had a handkerchief ready for you.

—

You panted while you walked, trying to get your breathing under control. You’d done a lot of running today—while you were pretty fit, and could run perfectly fine, you didn’t particularly like running as fast as you can away from enemy soldiers while your teammates shot them down, leaving you praying that the bullets that tailed your feet didn’t hit you.

Eventually, you got your breath under control, but immediately afterwards, your eyes had started to water.

You sighed and were about to wipe at your eyes with your hands, before your hand was stopped mid air. You looked over at Gaz, who had caught your hand by the wrist and offered you a handkerchief with his free hand.

The handkerchief was fairly clean, and you grabbed it, muttering a small ‘thank you’ as you did. Gaz smiled at you and gave you a simple pat on the shoulder.

Once the two of you reached the rendezvous point, you handed him back the handkerchief, hoping that your grateful smile was enough to express your full gratitude.

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year ago

Text

{4} - Written in the Stars - Yandere!Idol!Yeosang X Tall!Chubby!Reader

Soft Yandere AU & Idol AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor, Slow Burn

Pairing: Yeosang X Reader (ft. future Ateez and Skz ensemble)

Words: 12,502

Warnings: Slow burn. Minor fatshaming, oc gets called a bitch a few times (not by anyone important), minor assault and uncomfortable/inappropriate comments made towards the oc. K-Drama moment. I think that's all This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: It's been literally forever since I updated this omg, but I hope you all enjoy this part!! I'll edit it tomorrow after I wake up, so please excuse any mistakes. I'm super tired and not feeling the greatest at the moment because of it. Anyways, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Disclaimer: It's not often this chapter where this applies, but the following is important to note:

"This represents a line spoken in Korean."

"Bolded represents a line spoken in English."

"Bolded and italics represents a line spoken in Japanese."

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Placing the mug onto the table in front of you, you pull out a chair and sit down.

“I’m serious!” Winry laughs. “Rumour on the street is that you and Yuta are dating! After those images of him holding your hand at that award’s show went viral, it was the talk of the town.”

Letting out a puff of air, you run a hand over the top of your head. “It must not be a very popular story. Mark hasn’t said anything about it to me.”

“Maybe he’s jealous.” She shrugs, taking a sip from the mug you’ve already provided for her.

Immediately, you start laughing. “I highly doubt that.”

“Yuta is your biggest wrecker in NCT,” she shrugs casually.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.” You reply.

“You told him that Ten is your bias, but not the fact that Yuta is your wrecker?” Winry quirks a brow.

“Essentially,” your shoulder lifts nonchalantly in confirmation. “Also told him that he was my first NCT bias cause he wouldn’t stop complaining about it.”

“Damn,” she breathes. “Boy must have ascended when you told him that.”

“You’re blowing things out of proportion.” You shake your head teasingly. “They’re just my friends.”

“Are you sure they think that?” She quirks a brow.

Only, before you can respond, her phone rings.

“I’m so sorry,” she grins sheepishly, checking who the caller is. “It’s Wyatt.”

Understanding passes over your features. “Well, aren’t you going to answer it?”

“Are you sure?” She looks genuinely hesitant to.

“Of course! He’s your significant other, after all!” You encourage her to answer by motioning towards her phone. “You haven’t talked lately cause of his business trip, right? Please, be my guest!”

A grateful smile tugs onto her lips as she stands from your kitchen table. Not even a moment later, she’s pressing accept on the call as she retreats into your living room for a bit more privacy.

You watch her disappear around the couch, noticing how she tucks herself away in the corner by the balcony. Her voice is low, so you can’t really make out what she says, but from the expression on her face you can tell just how happy she is to be talking with him. You smile.

Shifting your gaze to your hands, you pull your mug in closer to yourself. A moment later, you bring it to your lips, taking a small sip of the hot chocolate you’ve made. At least it’s cool enough for you to drink now.

Pulling your phone out of the side pocket of your leggings, you decide to distract yourself for the time being. You don’t want Winry to feel as if she has to rush her conversation with her significant other. After all, they haven’t spoken in over a week, let alone seen each other recently. With their busy schedules, you can’t even remember the last time she spoke about seeing him.

Scrolling through Tumblr, you check your notifications.

Despite being a published author, you still maintain some of your blogs from before. The sentiment is far too great for you to give up now, and you enjoy it too much. Besides, it’s fun to post little pieces here and there on your old writing accounts. When inspiration strikes, it strikes hard.

There are only a few select people that know you still do this. Well, more than just a few. Still, it’s quite fun to see new readers message you asking you if you’re really who they think you are, only for you to reply that you are not. It’s like a huge game of detective for your followers that are convinced you are who you say you are not, but don’t have any proof. Of course, you use an alias online now, but regardless, you don’t think you could give up your blogs, even if you tried.

“Sorry about that.” Winry’s voice manages to pull you out of your thoughts.

Locking your phone, you place it beside your mug on the table. "No worries at all; I don’t mind.”

She smiles, but from the way she begins to fidget in her seat, you can tell that she has more to say.

You quirk a brow.

“Wyatt came back a few days early. He said he wanted to surprise me, but when he got back to our apartment, I wasn’t at home.” She begins.

You hum in acknowledgement.

“He said he had a surprise he wanted to give me, and that he wanted to take me out for the day.” She continues. “I told him I was spending time with you.”

You take another sip of your drink.

“Of course, he seemed a little disappointed, but he understood-“

“Winry, if you want to go spend the day with your significant other, don’t worry about me.” You reply.

“But we planned for us to spend the day together…” She counters, shoulders twitching as she fiddles with her hands beneath the table.

“I know you want to see him.” You smile assuringly. “It’s been, what? Two months?”

“Almost three.” She breathes out, whole body stilling as she stares at the top of your kitchen table almost absentmindedly.

“Then, by all means! Go! Spend the day with him!” You motion for her to stand. “We can always reschedule. Who knows when you’ll get to see him like this again.”

“Are you sure?” Hopeful eyes meet your own.

“Positive.” You nod, quite enthusiastically. “Go have fun with Wyatt! We saw each other last week, and I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

It’s as if a tension lifts from her entire body. “You’re the best!”

You laugh, watching as she scrambles to her feet and towards the front door. “I know.”

“I owe you. Big time for this.” She says as you follow her to the front. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.”

“I need to run a few errands, anyways.” You wave her off, holding your mug delicately in your one hand. “Gives me an excuse to go do some things I’ve been putting off before tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, your signing is tomorrow, right?” She finishes slipping on her shoes.

You nod.

“We’ll be there.” She states, rather firmly.

“You don’t have to-“

“Nonsense!” She shakes her head. “I’m coming to support you, and I’m dragging his ass along with me, too. Payback for this little ‘surprise’.”

The two of you share a small laugh.

“Okay, well, say ‘hi’ for me, and have fun!” You smile, holding the door open for her as she exits your apartment.

“Will do!” She calls over her shoulder as she heads down the hallway. “See you later!”

Waving your final goodbye, you shut the door softly. As soon as the lock clicks into place, a small sigh is escaping your lips. Well, there go your plans of spending your day with your friend.

Oh, well. It happens.

Stopping off in the kitchen on your way back to the table, you’re quick to place your now empty mug in the sink. A few steps later, you’ve moved over to grab your phone off of the top of the table, shifting to put Winry’s glass into the sink as well.

Leaning against the counter, you scroll through your phone. You do have a few things you could get done today, but you weren’t really planning on doing them until later. Perhaps you can find a café or something when you’re finished, and get some writing done.

A sudden message from Jongho in the group chat catches your attention. It appears that they’re all at the dance studio for practice, as he’s sent a selfie to go along with it. Only, you can tell he was really sneaking a picture of the two males doing… whatever it is that they’re doing in the background.

You:Please tell me that’s some kind of elaborate stretch I’ve never heard about and not choreo for your next comeback.

You: And if it’s neither… Damn, you guys really get it on in the studio? I heard some of you were freaky, but I didn’t think you were that bad

Mingi: BAHAHAHAHAHAHA

You honestly laugh at how many emojis this man uses.

Seonghwa: Why? Are you interested in what goes on during practice?

Yunho: Wanna watch?

The side eyes Yunho sends you have you quirking a brow.

Jongho: Uh-oh, now the hot Cheeto is mad.

Another picture is sent, this time of Wooyoung angrily storming towards where you believe Jongho to be sitting. You can see both Mingi and San laughing in the background of this one while Hongjoong just looks exasperated.

Wooyoung: If you’re gonna sneak pictures of me in compromising positions to send to our sexy author friend, at least make sure to get my good side.

Jongho: What ‘good side’?

Wooyoung:Do you see? Do you see the harsh words I have to put up with from my junior everyday?

Yeosang: To be fair, he’s not the only one wondering

At the pondering emoji Yeosang uses, you cannot help but send a few laughing ones of your own.

Wooyoung: NOT YOU, TOO!

Wooyoung: First, you break my heart by giving me false hope that I’m your bias. Then, you won’t even tell me that I’m your wrecker. And now, you LAUGH at my MISERY?

Wooyoung: You are a meanie >:(

You:Wait wait wait

You: I knew that, but how did YOU know that? :0

A slew of laughing emojis are sent from a bunch of the guys, you smiling down at your phone. This short interaction has really served to boost your mood, and you cannot help the way a few chuckles escape you as you read their continued banter back and forth.

Hongjoong: You should come hang out with us sometime during practice. At least that way I know Wooyo will behave.

You can practically hear the whine Wooyoung is sure to let out in response as you read this message, and you cannot prevent the way your lips quirk upwards.

Seonghwa: Yeah! The staff seem to like you, and our manager already said it was okay.

A moment where you see a few of them typing their responses.

Wooyoung: Besides… you’d get to watch us dance~

You: Be honest, is this another one of your attempts to figure out my bias?

Hongjoong: No!

Hongjoong: Most definitely not!

Hongjoong: Why would you think that?

Hongjoong: I would never!

You receive a photo from Yeosang of Hongjoong intensely staring down at his phone, his ears clearly bright red as he pouts.

Yunho:Betrayal…

You shake your head in amusement.

You: As long as you can guarantee I won’t be in the way, or be too much of a distraction… I’ll think about it.

Several various cheering emojis are sent to you by some clearly overexcited males (Wooyoung, Mingi, and Jongho), while the others are able to type out their excitement with small phrases.

San: Since we’re now all apparently taking a break… what are you up to currently?

You: Me? Well, I was supposed to spend the day with a friend, but something came up, so now I’m going to go run some errands. Might find a café of something and do some writing.

Hongjoong: Did you even get any sleep last night?

You: Hey! Of course I did! Besides, you’re one to talk. I woke up to five messages all an hour apart. You were up WAY later than I was. You need more sleep than I do!

Hongjoong: It’s not my fault I do my best work at night.

A meme is sent from you of a man in a purple shirt pointing his finger in the air while saying ‘you got me there’.

You: I swear, one of these days I’m going to knock you unconscious and FORCE you to sleep

Hongjoong: That’s rich, considering YOU are practically always awake when I am

Another meme is sent from you of a stuffed bear wrapped in a blanket burrito while laying on a bed. A knife peeks out from the blanket. The caption reads something along the lines of, ‘I will sneak into your house and replace all your drinks with sleepy time tea. You will be forced to breathe in comforting scents which soothe the mind, and as you fall unconscious, the last image you will have is of me smiling over you with a nice warm blanket tucking you in. This is a THREAT.’

Wooyoung: If this is how you threaten people, then I want IN

Mingi: Oh, oh! Threaten ME next!

You: You would not BELIEVE how many times my one friend sends me this, especially when it’s like, five am my time, and they’re just sitting down for dinner in their time zone.

Hongjoong: You drive a hard bargain…

Yunho: My god, I think he’s actually listening for once…

Seonghwa: I have been trying for YEARS-

Hongjoong: It only works if she’s the one to do it.

Wooyoung: I’d listen, too, if I had a pretty lady always telling me what to do.

San: Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re an obedient sub.

Wooyoung: LIKE YOU WERE THINKING ANY DIFFERENT!

The cackle that escapes you nearly causes you to drop your phone.

Mingi: Wooyo’s got a point…

You: Am I suddenly in the wrong group chat?

Yunho: Nope, same one. You should see how mad Jongho looks right now.

A photo is provided by Wooyoung this time of the youngest sitting against the mirrors with a frown on his face. He hugs his knees to his chest as he stares down at his phone.

Your own brows furrow in confusion, but before you can respond, Yeosang beats you to it.

Yeosang: Will you all stop fucking flirting with each other?

You nearly drop your phone.

San: Oop- we’ve gone and made Yeo mad

Wooyoung: Just cause YOU’RE not her favourite doesn’t mean you have to spoil OUR fun, Sangie.

You: Woah, woah, woah, who said he’s not my favourite?

This seems to shut all of them up for a good few minutes.

Seonghwa: Yeosang’s your bias?

Another minute of silence.

Yunho: You seem to have incited a war.

Another picture is sent. A pile consisting of Yeosang, Jongho, Wooyoung, and Hongjoong all seemingly rolling around on the floor is shown. San stands to the side with Mingi, the former attempting to pull the pile of males on the floor apart while the latter laughs.

You send some side eye emojis along with a few laughing faces.

You: You guys are really THAT desperate to know who my bias is?

Mingi: Does that mean Yeosang ISN’T your bias?

A shrugging emoji is all he receives from you in response. For now.

You: Any one of you could or couldn’t be my main bias.

You: Like I said, you have to buy me a drink first ;)

Wooyoung: Why can’t you just tell us? :(

A sigh escapes you, thumbs hovering in the air over the keyboard as multiple of them seem to agree with Wooyoung’s inquiry.

You: It’s just a personal thing I have.

You: I don’t mind telling other people, but when it comes to the actual people it involves, it’s a different story. I don’t know how much my opinion of each of you matters, but I’ve never really enjoyed picking favourites when that choice is told to said people. I don’t like the connotations of multiple people getting their hopes up that I’ll pick them as my favourite, only to choose someone else. I don’t like disappointing people, and I also am all too familiar with the feeling of not even being someone’s last choice. If I tell you who I bias, it will most likely be at some point when we’re one on one. If you’re still interested at that point.

You:I just-

You: Did that make sense? I can try and explain it better if you need me to.

Yeosang: We understand. Don’t force yourself to do something that makes you uncomfortable.

Wooyoung: Don’t worry! We’ll stop bothering you about it.

Yunho: Wooyoung… just agreed to stop pestering someone…

San: It’s a Christmas miracle!

Jongho: He’s still pouting about it in the corner…

A photo is received showing both Hongjoong, Mingi, and Wooyoung all standing dejectedly in the corner.

You: Damn, are you guys going to start growing mushrooms like Tamaki from Ouran now, too? I didn’t realize my opinion of you mattered so much.

You: If it makes you all feel any better, I think you’re all wonderful people. I thought that before I met you, and getting to know you all has only solidified that fact.

Quite a few typing bubbles appear onscreen. A moment later, you’re flooded by emoticons either blushing, screaming, and, or crying happily with hearts surrounding them.

Seonghwa: You’re a great friend

A soft smile caresses your features as you read his comment, a subtle heat rising up your neck. At the way the others all emphasize Seonghwa’s message, you cannot help the way your heart begins to flutter inside your chest. Truly, his words mean the world to you, and the fact the others agree with him is simply icing on the cake.

After sending a quick response to them, you decide to actually get out of your apartment for the day. It takes you no time at all to grab your one notebook, some writing tools, and your laptop, just in case. Packing everything into your one small cream coloured tote with the Skz Zoo characters on it that you got from their one concert, you head towards the door.

Slipping your shoes on, you grab your purse, slinging that over your opposite shoulder. You do a quick check in the mirror to make sure you still look okay before slipping out of the door. The faint clicking sound of the lock sliding into place is starting to become a familiar comfort to you every time you leave your apartment, walking down the hallway towards the elevators in the next second.

The ride down to the main floor is a bit slow, you focussing on your phone the whole time. Naver Maps rests open on the screen, doing a quick search of the area to find the best stores for what you’re looking for. Already, you have a mental list of what you need to get, and you figure doing that before settling down in a café to write will do you some good. That way, if you get on a roll, you don’t have to worry about cutting your time short to pick up what you need.

Stepping into the lobby, you send a polite greeting to the security guard behind the front desk before exiting the building.

The moment you step outside, you head over to the bus stop. Sitting on the bench, you wait for the respective bus to come, plugging in your headphones all the while. At least you can take your time now, and maybe explore the area a bit more when you get back. If you’re up for that, that is.

Half an hour later, you find yourself at a small shopping centre. You don’t need much, but you do need to get a few new replacement pieces of makeup. Then, you figure you can check out the bookstore before finding a place to work on your novel.

The night of the award’s show, you managed to finish off both your favourite shade of red lipstick, as well as your liquid eyeliner. Normally, you don’t wear makeup very often, but since you have a bunch of events coming up, and no personal stylist, you figure you should at least look somewhat put together. Not that that ideal will last long.

Still, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Entering a few different cosmetic stores, you search around for the best deal. The first one you went into was sold out of the liquid liner you like to use, anyways. You swear by it, as it’s application is the easiest to deal with. At least, in your opinion. That, and it dries quickly, and isn’t prone to smudging.

Perhaps you should also get a pencil liner while you’re at it…

Standing in front of the display with your favourite shade of red lipstick already held in your one hand, you look over all of the options. It appears as if this store is having a sale on their eyeliner, the words ‘buy one, get one half off’ practically glaring back at you from the sign.

Your eyes light up as you spot your favourite liquid liner. Almost instantly, your hands reach out to grab one of the last two on the shelf. Then, comes the hard part. Picking a pencil liner to go with it.

That’s when you notice another person shifting closer to you almost timidly.

Turning your head, you see a person somewhat hesitantly standing a few feet away. Their appearance is slightly androgynous, their black hair falling to their shoulders in a semi-wolf cut. Every now and then, you see their gaze darting to you almost nervously, their eyes lined with black liner.

“I like your hair,” you hum, purposely focussing on the display in front of you as you pull one of the two options you’ve been looking at off of the shelf. “I think it suits you nicely.”

Almost instantly, the person’s eyes light up despite them averting their gaze, “Thank you.”

You blink, as if realizing something.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I’m completely blocking the display.” You step to the side, smiling politely at the person beside you.

Timidly, they smile back, taking a step in closer to the display.

Reaching your one hand forward, you pull the other pencil liner you’ve been considering off of the shelf to compare it to the other one in your opposite hand. Your brow furrows, looking over each one of them carefully and attempting to find out what the difference is between the two brands.

“I personally like this one better.” A voice from your right draws your attention, and you notice the person beside you glancing down at the liner in your right hand. “It last longer, and if you want to go for a smokey eye, it blends really nicely.”

“Really?” Your voice sounds hopeful.

“Yeah!” They smile somewhat shyly. “Though, if you don’t want it to smudge, then I would go with the other one you’re holding. It’s more of a gel pencil, if that makes sense.”

Softly, you nod your head. “I don’t usually wear a lot of makeup, but I never fuck around with my eyeliner.”

“Oh, yeah. Eyeliner can practically smell fear.” They joke.

A small laugh escapes you, and you notice them chuckling along, too.

“To be honest, I’ve never really been into makeup, but I don’t mind it every now and then.” You admit, sparing a glance down at the products held in your hand.

“I love it.” They say, only for their whole body to stiffen in the next second. It’s almost as if they said something wrong, for they glance towards you in what you can only assume is fear in the next moment.

“That’s so cool!” You grin, eyes crinkling at the sides. “I really love the way you’ve done your eyes today. It really makes them pop.”

Instantly, their shoulders relax and they shuffle a bit from foot to foot. “Thank you.”

“When I was younger, I was always obsessed with different coloured eyeliner.” You say, putting the one pencil liner back onto the shelf since you’ve decided to go with the other one for now. “Never used them, but I would always beg my mom to buy them for me.”

“I think my mom nearly had a stroke the first time I asked her to buy lipstick for me.” They voice lowly, as if sharing a precious secret. “She was a little hesitant at first, but when she saw how much I loved it, she couldn’t resist getting me more. Now, it’s like a recurring joke between us for her to get me a new shade every year for my birthday.”

“I love this for you!” You grin widely. “That’s honestly the best.”

“I’ve always wanted to work in the film industry for a few years now, but it’s quite competitive even getting a foot in the door.” They tell you.

“I can imagine.” You nod sympathetically before your eyes are widening as if you’ve just realized something. Then, quickly, you’re introducing yourself, seeing as you haven’t bothered to yet.

“I’m still working on that name stuff, but for now you can call me Zed.” They say, bowing slightly to you.

You bow back.

Ten more minutes are spent talking with Zed in front of that display. You even manage to go on your brief makeup is gender neutral rant after they express the same ideals.

“Everything is gender neutral if you’re brave enough.” You comment lowly, adjusting the strap of your purse over your one shoulder.

“Here, here.” They mock toast you with the few products held in their one hand.

“By the way, you mentioned being a makeup artist, correct?” You meet their gaze.

“Yeah, you’re correct.” They nod once in confirmation.

“This may be really weird considering we just met, but if you’re free tomorrow morning, I have an event I need to attend, and I would love someone to do my makeup for me. I’m not the greatest artist myself, and I would definitely pay you for your work!” You begin, somewhat shyly.

“Sure! What time would you need me to be at the place?” They ask.

Five minutes later, and you’ve exchanged contact information with them after explaining the details.

“I thought you looked familiar.” They mumble, almost to themselves. “I heard about that speech you gave two weeks ago, it was all over the news. I just didn’t realize that that was you.”

“Yep!” You chuckle, grinning widely from ear to ear. “That’s me!”

“Is that why you’re picking up products today?” They quirk a brow.

“One of the reasons.” You confirm. “I have the rest at home, but you’re more than welcome to bring whatever you think you may need tomorrow. I know it’s super short notice, and we just met, but I really appreciate you agreeing to do this for me.”

“Hey,” they shrug, “work is work. As long as you’re serious about it, that is.”

“Of course!” Comes your immediate reply. “You’re also welcome to message me anytime! I really enjoyed talking with you today.”

“Me too,” they smile.

“Thanks for the recommendation, by the way.” You wiggle the pencil liner held in your hand.

“No worries at all.” They chuckle. “You looked like you were struggling, and I’m always happy to help.”

You begin to make your way towards the cash line with Zed in tow. Except, you notice them holding only one liner in their hand, as opposed to the two they had earlier.

“Are you not going to get the other one, too?” You tilt your head curiously. “It’s buy one, get one fifty percent off.”

“I don’t think two is in the budget for me right now,” they chuckle, somewhat embarrassedly. “Money’s a little tight between jobs.”

You pause momentarily, turning right back around and pulling the other product they had been looking at off the shelf before grabbing the other one that’s still held in their hand.

“What are you doing?” Their voice is a little frantic as they follow closely behind you.

“Buying something for my friend.” You reply, somewhat matter-of-factly. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You don’t have to!” Immediately, they begin to protest.

“Think of it as a small ‘thank you’ from me to you in advance of tomorrow.” You reply, stepping into line with them beside you. “Besides, I want to.”

They purse their lips slightly, shuffling from foot to foot before muttering out a low thanks.

“Don’t even worry about it!” You smile at Zed. “It’s my pleasure.”

Idly, you continue to chat with them as you wait to be cashed out. As soon as you’re done, you hand them their items while standing just outside the store.

“Thank you so much.” They breathe, almost in relief.

“Really, it’s no problem.” You smile, tucking your own items into your tote bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah! Just text me the details as soon as you can, and I’ll be there!” They reply eagerly, tucking their own products into their back pocket.

“Of course!” You wave as they begin to take their leave. “Talk to you later!”

The moment they’re out of sight, you cannot help but smile more to yourself. They were so nice, and you honestly loved every second of that interaction with them. If only more people were like them.

Adjusting the strap of your tote, you turn back to face the other shops lining the space. There’s really only one other store you’d like to check out before leaving to find a café soon.

On the way to the bookstore, you quickly text all of the information Zed will need for tomorrow to them. They reply quickly with a ‘thanks!’ And some excited emoticons.

Again, you grin to yourself, happy to have made a new friend.

Rounding the corner of the hallway, you spot the bookstore at the end of the row. The sign is bright, and you can see a bunch of people milling about the one section near the front. Despite this not being the store you’ll be having your signing in, there seems to be a large display of your books in the middle of the store. Luckily, your picture doesn’t seem to be anywhere near the table like the last bookstore you had visited.

Shuffling passed a few people, you’re quick to head over to the manga section. There’s a volume of Tokyo Ghoul in Korean that continues to elude you no matter how hard you try and find it. You really just want it to complete your collection at this point, and it has one of your favourite characters on the front.

Crouching down to look on the bottom shelf where you see the different volumes of the manga you’re looking for residing, you’re quick to scan them all. Your eyes practically light up as you see the one you’re looking for, only a sharp gasp coming from down the row draws your attention.

The sound of quick feet approaching you causes you to look up to see a girl and two guys rushing over to you.

“Hi, oh my gosh, are you the author of this book series?” The girl excitedly holds out a copy of the second novel in your first published series.

You blink up at her owlishly, “Uh…”

“You’re so cool! I really admire your work!” She squeals, drawing even more attention to yourself from the people around you.

“Thank you,” you smile politely.

“Anyways, I’m so sorry for interrupting you.” Her face immediately goes bright red as she averts her gaze. “Do you think I could get a quick picture before I leave?”

“Sure!” Slowly, you stand back to your feet.

Handing her phone to one of the guys behind her, the girl steps into your side. A wide smile is on her face as she throws up a peace sign, holding your book proudly on display. You immediately mirror her enthusiastic expression, heart warming at how happy she looks.

After a few pictures are taken, she’s turning to you once again.

“Thank you so much!” She bows lowly, nearly hitting her head on the table beside you with a full display of One Piece on it. “Again, sorry for bothering you!”

You have just enough time to mutter a ‘not at all’, before she’s giddily hopping away with the two other males in tow.

Turning back to the shelves of manga, you go to crouch down once more to pull the volume of Tokyo Ghoul off of the bottom.

“Hello, My Love.” A voice says from above you.

Figuring the person is talking to someone else, you opt to ignore them for now. Instead, you reach out to finally pull the volume off of the shelf.

A harsh clearing of someone’s throat is heard as a shadow looms above you.

“I said,”they say, much more firmly this time as they nudge you, not very gently, with their foot, “Hello, My Love.”

The sudden push causes you to stumble slightly, steadying yourself on the bookcase in front of you.

Turning your head, you peer up at the person, a slight frown tugging at your features. Quickly, you stand back to your feet as you see a male staring at you quite expectantly. He appears irritated, the corner of his lips tugging downwards, standing slightly shorter than you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“My bad, I didn’t realize you were speaking to me.” You incline your head in apology. “But please, don’t call me that.”

His brow quirks, clearly amused by your response. “Aren’t you into that shit, though?”

“Excuse me?”To say you’re caught off guard by his sudden attitude would be an understatement.

“You write about all that sappy romance stuff.” He replies.

“That doesn’t give you a right as a stranger to invade my personal space, or say something like that. I don’t know you.” You blink at him.

A puff of air escapes his nose in annoyance. “But you’re that author chick.”

“And?” Your brow furrows even further, taking a small step away from him.

“Come on, Baby, don’t be like that.” He sighs, his jaw twitching.

“You’re the one that approached me.” You counter. “And, please, don’t call me that.”

“You’re different than I thought you’d be.” He states, giving you a once over. “Bigger.”

“I’m sorry?” You recoil slightly, appalled by the sudden disgust on his features.

“I said you’re beautiful.”A sly grin pulls onto his features as he takes a step closer to you. “You’re not like other girls.”

You blink at him, quite rapidly at that in your state of shock. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, I think you know, Petal.” His eyes are suddenly hooded as he takes another step into you.

“Don’t call me that. Please.” You manage to slip around the corner of the table you’re standing beside.

“Why are you being so difficult?”The man mutters to himself, shaking his head.

A call of someone’s name from the side draws both of your attention, and you see two more males staring intently at the one standing closest to you. The way they wear smug grins on their faces as they give you pointed once overs says it all.

“I’m getting there.” The man before you snaps at the two others.

“Did you want something?” It’s your own voice that seems to draw his attention back to you.

“Oh, look at you! You can speak a bit of Korean!” His tone is nothing short of condescending. “That’s wonderful!”

“I have nothing to say to you.” You state, rather bluntly before move to turn away from him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Where are you going, My Dear?” The way he drawls out that nickname has a shiver of disgust running down your spine. The fact that he snatches your wrist in his hand has panic seizing your entire body.

“Please, stop calling me those names.” You yank your wrist out of his hold. “Don’t touch me, either.”

“Come on, Darling,” his eyes flash, “don’t be like that. I only want to please you. To show you my devotion-“

“Get away from me!” You begin to scramble away from him, noticing you’ve started to draw some attention from a few of the staff members working in the store.

The two other males suddenly turn and begin to head towards the exits while two staff members approach you.

“What’s wrong with you?” There is nothing but ire on his features as he spits out these words at you. “All I’m offering is a chance for you to recreate those sex scenes from your books with me. A once in a lifetime opportunity, if you ask me. It’s not like people are lining up to be with you, anyways. You should be grateful I’m even giving a fat bitch like you attention.”

“Is everything okay here?” An older gentleman with a name tag interrupts, looking between both you and the male before you.

“I’m sorry to cause a commotion, Sir.” The way you immediately incline your head in respect to the elder male clearly catches him off guard. That, and the fact that you actually answer him in proper Korean. “This man won’t leave me alone, and is making me extremely uncomfortable. He’s making rude and inappropriate comments towards me, and thinks he’s entitled to assault me.”

The woman standing beside the male gasps, recognition flashing in her eyes. Her one hand comes up to point at you, “You’re that author from the award’s show!”

This draws the attention of a few more people standing around you, whispers being heard as a few more people recognize you from the display of your books a few tables over.

Politely, you smile at the woman, nerves skyrocketing as more and more attention is brought upon you. Again, you incline your head in respect as she looks slightly younger than the man, but still older than you.

“You said this man was bothering you?” She immediately turns a sharp gaze to the person standing closest to you.

“I was just leaving.” He huffs, purposely brushing past you and bumping quite harshly into your side. “Fucking bitch.”

Eyes follow him all of the way out of the store as he rejoins his two friends in the hallway.

“Are you alright?” The older gentleman turns to look at you.

“Yes, thank you.” You once again bow to him. “I’m sorry, again, for causing a disruption.”

“It’s not your fault.” The lady shakes her head, immediately wrapping you gently in her arms and guiding you towards the back of the store. “Come with us, we’ll call security and have them escort you in case that man comes back.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” You smile lightly, seeing as she sends a kind one back.

Looks like you’re not getting that volume of Tokyo Ghoul today, either.

Sitting in the staff room at the back of the store, you let out a long sigh. You clutch your tote close to yourself, purse resting between your feet on the floor. Your phone resides in your hands, and you scroll aimlessly through Tumblr while you wait for security to reach the bookstore.

Opening your messages, you’re quick to type one out.

You: Why do people feel entitled to another person?

Placing your phone upside-down on the table before you, you let out another sigh. Not even a moment later, you pick your phone back up.

Jongho: Did something happen?

Mingi:Is everything alright?

Hongjoong: Are you okay?

Your eyes widen at how quickly you’ve gotten responses, but that’s when you realize: you texted the wrong chat.

You: Shit, sorry! Wrong chat! Just forget I said anything.

Wooyoung: You message something as ominous as that and expect us NOT to be worried?

Yunho: Jongho’s already putting his shoes on.

You: Wait, does that mean you guys are done with practice for today?

Seonghwa: NO, we are NOT!

You:… you guys don’t wear shoes when you practice?

Yunho: We do, it was just a figure of speech.

San: He meant that Mingi and Yeosang are holding Jongho back from racing out the door as we speak.

You: Damn, this reminds me of my wondrous ‘protection squad’ days.

Seonghwa: Protection squad days?

You: Nevermind. Like I said, just forgot I said anything.

The door opens and in walks security. You take a few minutes to describe what happened and what the man that assaulted you looks like before the two guards are escorting you out of the store. One walks in front while the other walks behind you.

“We’ll lead you to your car, or the bus stop, and stay with you until you leave.” The one says to you.

“Thank you very much, I really appreciate it.” You bow slightly while walking.

The guard simply smiles at you from over his shoulder in response.

Once you’re on the correct bus on your way back to your apartment, you finally allow yourself to breathe a sigh of relief. Pulling out your phone, you check your notifications.

Immediately, you’re greeted by tons of worried messages from the boys, and even a few from some Stray Kids members. Looks like Wooyoung told Changbin, who in turn told Minho, Hyunjin, and Seungmin.

You: I promise I’m fine, just an uncomfortable encounter at a store.

Another round of messages are sent to you by the Ateez members, and you reassure them yet again.

You: Well, I could go for some boba now as a pick me up. Any of you know a good place in the area? The one by my house just closed for renos.

You notice a few of them typing a response before the first one comes in.

Yeosang: There’s one in the back alleys near Sinsa that’s really good. I’ll send you the address.

A moment later, a link to the Naver page is uploaded to the chat by Yeosang.

You: Thank you!!

Wooyoung: Daaaaaaamn Yeosang, you had that ready and LOADED

San: Don’t hate the man just cause he was prepared.

Yunho: Well, WE may have to prepare HIS funeral now

A photo of Yeosang being held in a headlock by Jongho is sent to you almost immediately after that message gets sent.

You laugh, a smile pulling at your features as you shake your head at your phone.

You: Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

A few more messages are sent between all of you, ending with you wishing them luck with the rest of practice. They eagerly tell you to come visit them soon, to which you reply that you will.

Twenty minutes later, and after switching buses once, you find yourself standing outside of the little boba shop Yeosang recommended to you. It has a cute little awning over the door, a soft pink in colour, while large windows line the front of the shop. It doesn’t look too busy, from what you can see, but the menu has a variety of options and you are more than eager to try them.

A small bell jingles as you enter the shop, the worker behind the counter smiling politely at you as you approach. Luckily, you already know what you want to order from looking at the sign outside, so you manage to do that fairly quickly.

Five minutes later, you have your glass in hand as you seclude yourself in a corner seat. There’s a half-wall with plants resting on top of it to your left, while an open view of the store sits to your right. You’re directly across from the entranceway, but you cannot see the order counter, nor the worker anymore. Two more tables sit to your right, a small hallway stretching down after that towards where you’re sure the bathrooms reside.

Your tote rests on your left between your body and the wall, while your purse is on the booth beside you to your right. Considering you have a wall behind you, and there aren’t very many people in the shop, you feel comfortable enough to pull your laptop out. Once you’ve set everything up, you’re taking a sip of your drink while staring at the document you had been working on last night.

Scrolling back up to the top of the chapter, you begin.

Editing what you wrote the previous night takes some time, but by the time an hour has passed, you’ve start to write more for the chapter you’re currently on. It took a little bit of time, but you finally know how you want to end this particular scene, and you’re challenging yourself to see if you can finish it before you finish your drink.

Unfortunately for you, you’ve always been a fast drinker. Especially when you haven’t had much to drink all day.

The sound of another glass being placed onto the table before you draws your attention from your screen.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” it’s the worker you ordered your drink from before. “I saw your speech from the awards show when it aired, and I just wanted to say I really admire you. Thank you for everything you do! I didn’t want to say anything before since I was on the clock, but my shift just ended and I noticed you hadn’t left yet, so I wanted to say something before I went home.” They smile shyly, “and give you a refill of your drink. Work hard, and have a lovely day!”

“Oh, thank you so much!” You smile back at them as they clear your empty glass from the table. “That’s so kind of you!”

A nod is all you get in response as a soft blush begins to dust their features. Not even a moment later, they turn away, leaving you on your own once more.

Another hour and a half passes by with you furiously typing away at your laptop. You’d like to say that you hardly get distracted, but there seems to be this one person who has been constantly walking passed your table in hopes for you to notice them. The first few times, you glanced up, eyes being drawn to the movement given how close they were to your table, but by the fifth time, you started to ignore them.

That is, until they decided to actually approach your table.

The conversation was short, and awkward. They kept stuttering over their words, not to mention they kept interrupting you while you’re trying to work.

That’s the one thing that irritates you no matter what. Nothing is worse than being in the middle of writing a scene, deep in the flow of words, only to be interrupted or distracted by someone. Really, you know it’s not their fault, but you still cannot help your annoyance at the situation. Once or twice, you can brush it off, but the third time they do it, you’re a little blunt with them when you respond. You don’t mean to be, but alas, it happens.

Approximately fifteen minutes go by without another interruption, and you manage to finish the scene you’re working on. You’re almost done with the current chapter, and all that’s really left to do is round it out, and edit the final product. To say you’re happy with what you’ve done would be an understatement.

This time, when you notice someone approaching your table, you don’t even bother to glance up. You figure it’s that person coming to bother you again, so you opt to continue typing away at your laptop, staring intently at your screen.

The sound of two glasses being placed onto the table has your ears quirking, even more so when you hear the chair across from you scraping against the floor.

A tremendous sigh escapes you, “Look-“

Your words die in your throat as you see the person now sitting across from you. They wear a black bucket hat, strands of what appears to be newly bleached hair sticking out from beneath the material. They blink at you with somewhat wide eyes, freezing in their movement of pushing a brand new cup of boba towards you.

“Yeosang?” You keep your voice low, blinking at him in mild shock. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles faintly, resuming his motion of pushing that one drink towards you. “Practice ended early.”

It is then that you glance at the time, seeing that it’s starting to become late into the afternoon. You honestly haven’t been keeping a close track of time while you’ve been here, only truly registering how long you’ve actually been writing for.

Softly, you close your laptop. “Aren’t you worried about being spotted?”

“Not here.” He shakes his head. “It’s actually a really common spot for a lot of us. The staff are discreet, and not many people know about it.”

Briefly, that interaction with that one worker earlier who brought you your second drink flashes through your mind. You smile in understanding, “I see.”

“Are you okay, though?” He blinks a few times, innocently. “You seemed irritated when I got here.”

Your eyes quickly scan the shop, not seeing that person who kept bothering you earlier in their spot by the windows.

“Better now,” you reply, honestly. “Just kept getting distracted, is all.”

“I thought you didn’t like using your laptop in public?” He quirks a brow, taking a sip of his own drink.

“When I’m up against the wall, anything goes.” You shrug, and almost immediately, he starts choking on his drink. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

He waves you off, hitting his chest with a fist lightly.

Soon after, he clears his throat. “I’m good.”

“Good.” You chuckle faintly. “Last thing I need is your fans coming after me for choking out their favourite member.”

“I think you should be more worried about Wooyoung.” He comments, a hint of irritation on his face.

Your brow furrows, “Why?”

“He’d be next in line.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

“I-“ you blink rapidly a few times, swallowing the sudden dryness in your throat. “Are you implying Wooyoung wants me to choke him?”

“He’s not the only one.” Yeosang replies, a slight bitterness lingering in his tone. “Mingi has spent many a night ranting about how he wants to be suffocated between your-“

Yeosang seemingly catches himself in the last second as he spares a glance at you.

Your mouth hangs open in pure disbelief, blinking at him in shock. You hands rest on the table before you, a vibrant heat rising to your cheeks. Of course, you can most certainly incur where Yeosang was going when he was speaking just now, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

“Sorry.” He averts his gaze, somewhat embarrassed.

In the next moment, you’re shaking your head.

“No, no,” you manage to organize your thoughts, clearing your throat, “I’m just surprised, is all.”

“What? Surprised that some idols have horny fantasies, too?” He quirks a brow, slight amusement shining in his eyes.

“Oh, no.” Your nose scrunches as you shake your head mildly. “If they read my books and thoroughly enjoy them, that fact doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“Then, why do you look so shocked?” He tilts his head slightly in inquiry.

Your lips pull back in a tight smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m curious, though.” He blinks, taking another sip of his drink.

You reach out to grab the full glass, noticing how the drink appears to be the same one you’ve been drinking since you got here: matcha milk tea with pearls.

“You’re aware I am a fan of Ateez, correct?” You look at him somewhat expectantly.

“Believe me, I’m well aware.” He nods along with your words.

From the way he still stares at you, with those wide eyes, has you exhaling lowly.

“Let me put it this way,” you take a sip of your drink, noticing how the label said it had been made with soy milk. In the back of your head, you wonder if he knows you’re lactose intolerant, or if it was just a personal choice on his part. “How would you feel if you suddenly found out Emma Watson admitted to having sexual fantasies about you?”

Yeosang freezes right before your very eyes, nodding slowly as realization crosses his features. Then, as if making another connection, his brow furrows.

“You find Mingi attractive.” The statement is a bit blunt as he says this, grip tightening over his drink.

“I thought I told you that I find all of you attractive?” You quirk a brow playfully at him in response.

“Right.” He nods, seemingly in recollection before halting all movement once more. “But you desire Mingi.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that hint of bitterness is back in his voice again.

“I desire many things, Yeosang,” you begin. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to indulge in them.”

“But you would if he offered?” He places his glass a bit firmly back onto the top of the table.

“Probably not.” Your face scrunches slightly as you consider his words. “I don’t know him like that. I don’t know any of you like that, and it takes a lot for me to be intimate with another person in such a way.” You meet his gaze. “Are you familiar with the term demisexual?”

The way he blinks at you blankly is answer enough.

“It means a person has to have a strong emotional connection with someone before experiencing sexual attraction.” You explain.

He shakes his head, still not quite understanding.

“It means I don’t do hookups.” You add. “Hookup culture is not for me.”

Understanding crosses his features as his lips part slightly, a soft ‘oh’ falling from him in the next second.

“On top of that, I am also demiromantic.” You continue. “Meaning the same thing, only this time it’s considering romantic attraction. It takes a lot for me to fall in love, and it takes a lot for me to be intimate with someone.”

“So, you wouldn’t-“

“No.” You shake your head, cutting him off. “I may have desires, Yeosang, but there is a huge difference between reality and fiction.”

His eyes narrow slightly at you in response, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“You’ve fantasized before? About your bias?”

You nearly spit out your drink as you go to take a sip. Coughing a few times, you rub at your chest, noticing how he hasn’t torn his eyes off of you for a single second.

“I’ve fantasied more about my own characters.” You admit once you finally manage to get your breathing back under control.

“That’s not a ‘no’,” he hums, brow quirks slightly in amusement.

“Why? Suddenly curious about whether or not I’ve fantasized about you?” You turn the question back on him, noticing how he begins to splutter almost immediately.

The way red begins to slowly creep up his neck has you laughing.

“I’m just kidding.” You reach across the table to pat his hand gently. “Though, I could have sworn you were about to ask me about my Ateez bias again.”

He averts his eyes only briefly, “no.”

“I mean, if you want to know, I don’t mind telling you.” You shrug. “We are alone, and you did buy me a drink.”

You can see the sudden eager gleam in his eyes as he leans the slightest bit forward in his seat. His lips part, and you hear the breath he takes before his shoulders seemingly deflate.

You quirk a brow.

He shakes his head, somewhat dejected. “I’d rather not.”

The way he suddenly looks tense before you has you cautiously trailing your gaze over him in response. You’re about to ask if he’s sure of not, but at the way he shakes his head, almost absentmindedly as his hand tightens around his drink once more is all the answer you need.

So, you decide to change the subject.

“How was practice?” Your soft inquiry seems to manage to pull him out of your thoughts.

You take another sip of your drink as he responds, a gentle tug of his lips upwards as he recounts the way Hongjoong had to chase Wooyoung at one point to continue learning the new choreography.

“You should have seen the way Jongho practically lunged at his phone each time it pinged.” Yeosang half rolls his eyes. “He thought it was you every time.”

Your eyebrows raise in amusement, swirling the contents of your drink around in your hand. Honestly, your heart warms at the thought of Jongho being so excited to message you that he literally jumps at his phone every time.

“I thought you guys said I wouldn’t be a distraction?” You tease. “Just imagine what it would be like if I was actually there.”

“You think Mingi’s bad for using his pelvis during concerts?” Yeosang shakes his head, almost exasperatedly.

You laugh, tossing your head back as your eyes crinkle at the sides.

Again, once you manage to calm down, you notice Yeosang staring at you exactly like he did that first day you met him on the plane. Though, again, you brush it off.

“Well, I know for a fact the Mingi Stans are not complaining.” You grin. “You should see the amount of videos my friends who bias him send me of him when he does those things. It’s fun watching them freak out over it.”

“But you don’t?” He quirks a brow.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” You shrug casually. “I have my own selection of videos and pictures of my biases that ruin me in the best ways.”

“Ah, so you’re not immune.” He nods in understanding.

“Oh, most definitely not.” You snort. “I am just as…” you hum, searching for the right word, “feral as some of my friends. You just haven’t seen it, yet.”

“Are you offering to show me?” He quirks a brow.

“Depends.” The corner of your lips quirk upwards deviously. “When’s your next comeback, again?”

Yeosang leans back in his chair, observing you carefully. “You know, now that we’re friends, I think you should hype us all up more.”

“I can do that.” You readily agree. “Next comeback, I’ll give you all my live reactions. Well… within reason.”

“I look forward to it.” He grins.

“If the other guys get weirded out by it, then I’m blaming you.” You point an accusatory finger at him playfully.

“I’ll take full responsibility.” He raises his own hands in front of himself, almost as if in mock self-defence.

“You better,” you joke. “I don’t wanna lose my new friends that quickly. I really enjoy talking with you guys.”

Yeosang’s lips twitch upwards faintly in the corners, almost involuntarily. “I enjoy talking with you, too.”

“Oh?” You quirk a teasing brow. “Even when we flirt in front of you? Which we weren’t, by the way.”

Yeosang’s lips part, mouth opening and closing in protest despite no words escaping him.

“Nah, I’m just kidding,” you playfully pat his hand that he still has resting on top of the table. “If I ever make you uncomfortable, don’t be afraid to tell me. Boundaries are important, especially when they’re your own.”

“I will.” He smiles faintly.

“Same goes for if I start rambling too much, or if I’m being annoying, or if-“

“You’re not annoying.” The suddenness that Yeosang cuts you off with surprises you. “Why would you think you’re annoying?”

“I, uh-“

“Who told you that you’re annoying?” His brow furrows, clear confusion on his face. There’s something else there, you can see it shining behind his eyes, but you’re unsure of what it could be.

“Just a general comment,” you smile, somewhat tightly at him in response.

“Oh.” He seems to calm down, if only slightly. “Well, don’t think that you’re annoying. You’re not. I enjoy talking with you, and I enjoy listening to you speak.”

You blink in mild shock, a shy smile pulling at your lips as you avert your gaze.

“Thank you, Yeosang. That really means a lot to me.”

“Don’t be afraid to be yourself around me.” He swirls the content of his drink around slightly. “I quite like the real, unfiltered you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you cannot help the way your back straightens. However, before you can so much as thank him again, he’s clearing his throat.

“So,” he stares intently at the contents of his drink. “What’s your favourite colour?”

You think this is probably the most talkative you’ve ever witnessed Yeosang to be, and to say you’re caught off guard is an understatement. You both continue to ask each other questions, laughing and getting to know each other better as the time continues to pass around you.

Before you know it, another hour and a half has passed, and you notice that the sun is beginning to set in the distance. Though, that’s not the only thing you’ve started to notice.

For the past twenty minutes or so, you’ve spotted two girls sitting a little ways away from your own table. They constantly peer over towards you, whispering quite loudly to each other while staring between both you and Yeosang.

You’re starting to get worried. The last thing you know he needs is word to get out that he’s been seen out with a girl. The setting could heavily imply a date, and that fact alone is enough to have you swallowing nervously. He doesn’t need a scandal, and you would hate for that to happen, especially since you consider all of Ateez to be your friends now.

“I’ll be right back.” Yeosang whispers lowly as he pushes his chair out from the table.

You find you can only nod in response, watching as he disappears down the hallway to your right for the moment.

Carefully, you observe the girls after pulling out your phone. Resting it on the table, you begin to put your laptop away, cleaning up your mess to appear as if you’re getting ready to leave. Every now and then, you glance to them, straining your ears to attempt to overhear their conversation.

“No, I’m positive that’s him.” The one says. “I saw this online forum post about how this place is common ground for a lot of idols, especially him.”

“It’s hard to tell since he’s wearing a hat, and not looking in our direction.” The other replies, not as lowly as the first girl who spoke. “Besides, why would he be out with someone like her?”

The first girl shrugs. “Maybe it was a dare, or a private contest.”

“He seems to be having a good time.” The second one bitterly mutters.

“He could be pretending.”

“He’s not that great of an actor.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Some fans they seem to be, considering how they seem to be acting right now. Still, their conversation worries you.

“We should follow them when they leave. It looks like she’s packing up, anyways.” The first one whispers again to her friend.

Your heart drops, and you find yourself grabbing your phone. You do your best to appear casual as you open your messages to send one to Yeosang privately.

You: Bad news. It looks like those two girls sitting behind us might have recognized you. They think we’re on a date, but they’re not 100% convinced you are who they think you are.

You just hope he sees your message before he comes back out.

A moment later, you see he’s replied.

Yeosang: We should leave then.

You:Great plan!!

You: Except that I overheard them saying they’re going to follow us to find out if you are who they think you are. You’re lucky you’re wearing that hat.

You: Wait, I have an idea.

You: Call me crazy, but I think we might be able to fool them into thinking that they’re wrong about who you really are.

Yeosang: What do you have in mind?

You: Keep your head down when you come back out, and then just follow my lead.

Yeosang: That sounds ominous.

You: I know. You’re going to have to trust me, though. Can you do that, Yeo?

It takes a moment for him to respond, and you cannot help the way your one finger taps at the side of your phone nervously as you wait.

Yeosang: I trust you.

You: Heads up: I’m about to get up close and personal with you real quick. I won’t purposely do anything to make you uncomfortable, I promise you that, but if we want to make this believable, we’re going to have to act like a couple.

Again, it takes a moment for him to respond, and you can feel your heart positively thundering inside of your chest. Anxiety floods your veins, and already you can feel your palms beginning to sweat. You just hope you look calmer than you feel.

Yeosang: I trust you.

You: Alright. Wait another minute and a half or so, and then come back out. Make sure all of your hair is tucked beneath your hat, too.

Placing your phone onto the top of the table, you’re quick to reach into your purse. Digging around beneath your wallet, you manage to pull out the case you’re looking for.

You place it onto the table, right next to your phone.

Turning to your opposite side, you rummage around in your tote bag. A small black box is pulled out, and you’re quick to open it. A small tube of lipstick falls into your open palm, and you toss the now empty container back into your tote.

Grabbing your phone, you make a show of using your reflection to apply the shade to your lips, making sure it’s evenly applied before you’re standing back to your feet. Then, you’re reaching over to grab your bags, slinging your purse over your one shoulder while you hold onto the tote in your hand. Once your other hand is free, you grab your phone and slide it into your back pocket before grabbing that case from on top of the table.

Luckily, as you had been talking with Yeosang, he had already managed to finish his drink. He also took the liberty to return the empty glasses to the front, so all you have left is to give your final glass back to the worker behind the counter.

A few steps later, and you do just that, your tote hanging off of your arm lightly. You can just feel the gazes of those two girls following you the whole time, and just as you cross the small space of the boba shop, you see Yeosang appear from the back hallway. His head is angled downwards, pretending to look at something on his phone, and you notice how his hair is now completely tucked beneath that hat of his.

Purposefully, you make a show of skipping the rest of the way over to him eagerly.

“Kyungmin!” You giggle, pulling him closer to you by his wrist. A gentle kiss is placed onto the side of his exposed cheek, a red lipstick stain now painting his skin. “Let’s go get tteokbokki! I’m hungry!”

Quickly, you begin dragging him out of the shop, handing him both your tote bag to carry, and that small case held in your hands.

“Don’t forget to put your glasses back on. I know you hate them, but I think they make you look so handsome!” You purposely stand on his right side, blocking him as much as you can from the two girl’s view. Luckily, your height practically swamps him, his figure hidden quite easily behind your frame.

Yeosang is quiet, nodding faintly to your words as he walks beside you. He’s already tucked his phone into his pocket, opening up the case with your glasses inside seamlessly. He’s quick to slip them on as you step outside, wrapping your one arm around his shoulders as you walk down the deserted back alleys.

Unfortunately, you can practically hear the two girls scrambling after you once you get a certain distance down the street.

Subtly, you lean into Yeosang’s side.

“They’re still intent on following us.” You whisper lowly as you pick up your pace.

“What are we going to do?” There’s a slight panic to his voice that you notice almost immediately.

“Do you trust me?” Your eyes dart to another, more secluded alleyway you can see up ahead.

Yeosang swallows thickly before nodding his head.

In the blink of an eye, you’ve pulled him into that side alley. Your left hand rests beside his head, blocking his view from the entranceway, but also ensuring his face is covered should the two girls come rushing around the corner.

“We don’t have much time, but we have to make it convincing that we’ve just been making out.” You say, quite bluntly as you lean into him.

You swear Yeosang’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“We can’t slip up now, and the staging is important.” You bring your right hand up and lick your thumb, moving to smear some of your lipstick in the next second. “I’m really sorry it’s come to this, but I think it will work.”

Yeosang’s eyes briefly dart downward, and you assume he’s now staring at the stain of red on your thumb. He swallows thickly. “I trust you.”

Moving as precisely as you can, you begin to smear some of that red on your thumb on the corner of his mouth.

“I’m really sorry for doing this, I swear to you I’m not just making you do this for the adrenaline kick.” Your words are rushed, and you swallow the dryness in your throat. “Luckily with my height I can cover you, but you’re going to have to make it look like you’re grabbing onto me. Most people are startled and embarrassed if they catch a pretty heated pda session. I’m going to bet they won’t stick around to find out afterwards.”

He nods his understanding.

“I’m going to put my knee slightly between your legs, okay?” You keep your voice low.

“Okay.” Yeosang replies, somewhat breathlessly.

Any second now.

“Grab the back of my neck with your left hand, and angle your face towards mine. Put your right on the back of my waist. Slip it lower if you think it’ll be more believable.” You instruct, giving him an impromptu lesson on stage kissing and angles. You may not actually be pressed against him, but it most certainly will look like you are, and that’s the most important part.

Instantly, his hands are on you, and you feel him pull you closer. Whether it’s subconscious or not, you don’t know. All you do know is that his right hand rests just above the curve of your ass, and your breath hitches slightly from his touch.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your blood rushing through your veins as your anxiety continues to skyrocket. You just hope beyond everything that this works.

You hear the sound of feet hitting the pavement, and a sharp gasp followed by a loud exclamation of ‘oh my god!’.

Slowly, you turn your head to face the opening of the alleyway, seeing the two girls standing there. Red is clear on both of their faces as they splutter in their spots, shifting their gazes everywhere around the alleyway but at you.

Your eyes narrow, irritation shining on your features as you glare at the two girls for ‘interrupting’ you.

“What?” Your voice is nothing short of sharp as you finally speak.

The two girls remain silent, attempting to stutter out an answer.

“Do you mind? I haven’t seen him in two months, and I’d really love to spend some time with my boyfriend.” You snap, a prominent frown on your features.

“We’re so sorry!” The one girl immediately bows to you, quite clumsily. “We just thought-“

“What? You thought what?” You cut her off, shifting slightly so your head is turned more towards her while your body still covers the majority of Yeosang’s.

You can feel his grip tighten over you, but you choose to ignore it for now.

“We thought he was Kang Yeosang from Ateez.” The other girl replies, somewhat ashamedly.

“And that gives you the right to stalk us?” Your gaze narrows once more. You scoff. “Why would Kang Yeosang from Ateez be out at this time of day? Here, of all places? He’s probably at a schedule or something. He is an idol, after all.”

That’s when you realize: these girls don’t recognize you. For that, you’re grateful.

They remain quiet.

“You hear that, babe?” You purposely turn back to Yeosang. “These girls think you look like an idol! I told you you were handsome! I don’t want to hear another doubt about yourself come out of your mouth again.”

The way you’re leaning into him makes it look like you’ve placed another kiss onto his cheek. Yet, only you and he know that your lips never grace his skin.

“We’re sorry for interrupting.” The first girl bows clumsily to you again, shoving her friend back the way they came.

“I told you it wasn’t Yeosang!” You can hear the one friend harshly whisper to the other.

“You were right.” You hear the other sigh. “Besides, he wouldn’t be caught dead with an ugly bitch like that, anyways.”

The moment you hear their voices fade away into the distance, their footsteps no longer resounding against the pavement, you’re breathing a sigh of relief. A light smile paints your features as you turn back to face Yeosang, immediately moving to step away from him.

Only, the feeling of his hands tightening around you has you clearing your throat, seemingly snapping him out of whatever daze he seems to be in.

“You can let go now.” You mumble lowly.

“Oh.” Immediately, his hands retract, as if burned. “Right. Sorry.”

You notice Yeosang shifting slightly back and forth on his feet, a frown soon marring his brow as he looks down at the ground.

“Thanks for trusting me,” you smile at him, rummaging around in your purse for that pack of tissues he gave you that one day at rehearsal. “I’m so sorry for invading your space like that and subjecting you to be my fake boyfriend just now. I swear to you I wasn’t just doing that to cop a feel, or say you’re my boyfriend, or anything weird or creepy like that.”

“It’s alright.” He smiles assuringly at you. “I didn’t mind at all.”

Heat immediately rises to your cheeks from his words, handing him a few tissues so he can wipe the lipstick from his face.

“I’m just glad it worked.” You breathe a low sigh of relief.

“Me too.” He smiles, rubbing at his cheek with a tissue.

Still, he swears that he can feel the tips of his fingers tingling from where they had just been pressed against your skin. His heart absolutely pounds in his chest, and he can’t seem to erase the feeling of your body barely pressed against his. Really, he wouldn’t have minded if you actually touched him, but then again, he thinks he probably wouldn’t be able to stand right now if that had been the case.

“So,” your voice catches his attention, a light smile painting your face as you adjust the strap of your purse over your shoulder, “You hungry?”

#cultofdionysusnet #yandere yeosang #yeosang scenarios #yandere ateez #ateez scenario #kpop scenario #yandere kpop #kpop au #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #chubby reader

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lexirambles · 10 months ago

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You see, I’ve never actually posted here before. I only ever reblogged other people’s contact, to show my love for art and fandoms! But this… this just HAD to be put in tumblr. For anything to break my all repost blog streak, this deserves it. Every Undertale Yellow fan needs to see this absolute monstrosity. This has to be the single most unhinged thing that can ever be made forth Undertale Yellow, nothing can top this masterpiece of absurd proportions.

I was simply scrolling through my YouTube home page and found (blood and UTY spoilers ahead…)

THIS!

Look at this, look at what I’m looking at! I need to know that I’m not the only one seeing this. LOOK AT IT!

We have Starlo bleeding out with his entire groin out for the world, legs defying gravity with no care for the boundaries of physics or biology! He shouldn’t even be bleeding out, monsters don’t bleed; and he was shot in the chest, not the head. What’s even funnier is the reason his legs are up like that is the sprite is suppose to be slouched against a wail, not lying down. Dude just turned him 90% and let his legs reach for the surface!

Then we have Ceroba with the classic edgy anime eyes, crying blood, with the craziest text. The grammar in her text box is insane; it’s KILLED honey, not KILLER. These two aren’t even dating, they never were in Undertale yellow, this women is RECENTLY WIDOWED FOR ASGORE’S SAKE! This fandom ships it like wildfire, and I am the one with the flamethrower, but this girl is very obviously NOT over her dead husband yet. This poor guy tried to make a pun with her genocide battle theme “trial by fury” by making it furry instead, but it doesn’t even fit in the text box! I’d normally be mad at such a massacre of my favorite girl and an amazing song, but it’s just way too funny to even think of being mad.

Shockingly Clover is mostly unchanged, just a smile added. I expected them to be covered in blood with a gun in their hand considering what’s going on in the left side of this cursed image, but no, the murders child is the most tame thing here. Meanwhile Flowey looks very concerned over a yellow sans just chilling to the side, who also looks just as concerned about all this. I can just hear the conversation between these two.

Then in the middle, for some reason, there’s just DUSTER from MOTHER 3! Why are you here, who are you, how did you get there?! I’d expect Flint or something for the cowboy vibes, but nope, just a random dude watching a furry go absolute apeshit on a child while a living Starfruit shows us a different meaning to “high noon.” And you wanna know what the kicker is, the punchline to all this, the cheery on top of this pesto bismol flavored cake is? This is a thumbnail for a speedrun.

A SPEEDRUN!

This needs to become a meme, I don’t know what or how, this is simply too over the top not to get memed to hell and back. Make sunning Starlo the new family guy death pose. I need Ceroba shouting at the top of her lungs “I AM GOING TO TRIAL BY FURRY YOU!” I need whoever this random guy from Mother Three sitting in a lawn chair with some popcorn and a soda watching this shit go down. I don’t care, this just HAS a to happen!

#cw: gore #undertale yellow #uty spoilers #uty clover #starlo uty #uty ceroba #sans undertale #staroba #I apologize perfusely #especially to the Staroba tag #i need to know this isn’t just a fever dream

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mostmagical · 2 years ago

Text

So I have decided to start posting my one shots on tumblr.... Please have Adrien making cat noises:

Meow Me a Serenade: AO3

It had started as a joke at first.

Like always, as Chat Noir, Adrien’s number one priority (after, of course, saving Paris—that was a given) was to make his Lady laugh. He reveled in it all. Her little giggles, her full-body chuckles, even her fond little eye rolls. Groans were extra points.

They had been sitting up on one of the buildings overlooking the Place du Trocodéro, just goofing off after patrol. Ladybug was mindlessly scrolling down some feed on some social media on her bugphone, when she paused with one of her adorable little laughs.

“Look, Chaton,” she said, pushing the yoyo in his direction, “you’ll love this.”

A grin spread across his face as he saw the screen. It was a video of a little white cat, “speaking” to its owner in little mewls and yowls. He did love it, and his heart did a little flip in his chest at the thought of her knowing that he would.

“I could do that, you know,” he said.

She turned to look at him, the side of her mask raised and he knew she had lifted an eyebrow in question. “Talk, you mean?” She laughed. “You do enough of that already, kitty. You’re always talking my ear off.”

He nudged her with his shoulder, grinning ever wider. “No, I could totally make those noises.”

“Oh yeah, like nyah,” she said, laughing at her own joke behind her hand.

Playfully, he narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said. “Well, yes, actually, but I mean I could chirp and chatter with the best of them if I tried.”

“Sure, you could, but it would be nowhere as cute.”

He gasped dramatically. “Nya-ow, that’s a challenge if I ever heard one,” he said, leaning into her personal space.

To his delight, she placed a finger on the tip of his nose and pushed him away. His heart skipped a beat like it always did.

“Okay, minou,” she replied. “Whatever you say.”

“I’m very good at picking up mew skills, you know. Give me a week.”

Her responding eye roll was the perfect encouragement.

And so, he went home to study.

Adrien leapt through his bedroom window, detransforming almost before he even touched down to the ground. He took a second to toss some camembert to Plagg, before skidding over to his computer chair. It only took a few moments before he had pulled up hours of material to review. The internet, after all, was never lacking cat videos.

“What are you doing?” Plagg asked flatly.

Adrien didn’t take his eyes from the screen as a fluffy gray cat meowed at the camera. “Research.”

Plagg looked from the screen back to Adrien, before sighing. “Fine, do whatever, so long as it doesn’t distract me from savoring my sweet camembert,” he said, taking a bite.

Adrien finally glanced up at the kwami, giving him a roll of the eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he answered, waving a hand in the air. He reached for his headphones.

For hours, he watched video after video, listening to all sorts of chirps and meows and purrs—anything and everything cat. It wasn’t like he’d never watched cat videos before, but now he was taking notes. Sure, maybe this was a little more work than he would typically put in for a joke, but anything to make Ladybug laugh.

As the moon rose in the sky and Nathalie knocked on his door to remind him it was time to go to bed, Adrien decided it was time for the next step: imitation.

He laid back on his bed, phone in hand with his newly curated playlist of cat noises, trying to make his mouth form the same mewls and trills. Maybe this would be easier if he transformed… He could already purr anyway, he remembered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks at the memory.

“You sound ridiculous,” Plagg complained from his perch in one of his fencing trophies. “Can we go to bed already?”

Adrien narrowed his eyes at the kwami, but acquiesced nonetheless. “Fine, fine,” he replied, “good night, Plagg.” He turned onto his side, burying himself in the sheets.

His dreams were filled as per usual with his favorite bug and her sparkling laughter.

Adrien continued to practice by himself in his room, waiting for his next opportunity to amuse Ladybug with his newfound skill. Luckily, it wasn’t too long before he got his next chance.

The akuma that day had been quick work, not even requiring a Cataclysm to resolve. After their usual celebration, the two agreed to meet after Ladybug fed her kwami so they could decompress.

He was swinging his feet from their favorite rooftop across from the Eiffel Tower when she arrived.

“Phew,” she sighed out, her breath blowing her bangs up off her forehead. She plopped down beside him with little preamble. “Sorry I took so long, kitty, but I brought snacks.”

Chat Noir looked down at her hands to see a bag from the Dupain-Chengs’ bakery. His mouth watered thinking of the delectable treats she might have selected. She was so thoughtful. He decided to try and express how much he appreciated her.

“Proo,” he trilled at her, leaning into her space just a bit.

She wrinkled her nose at him, and gosh she looked so cute, it almost lessened the sting of her next words.

“You sound like M. Pigeon.”

“What?” he exclaimed, affronted, and leaning away. “That was a cat noise!”

Ladybug lifted her arms in a little shrug. “Sounded more like a pigeon to me.”

He huffed, pulling his face into an exaggerated frown. And he had worked so hard, too.

She started giggling, and his mood lifted instantly. “Sorry, Chaton,” she said. “Maybe next time.”

“Ugh, you can’t call me that anymore,” he cried, hanging his head dramatically. “I’m not worthy of the name.”

“Aww… Don’t cry, kitty,” she cooed.

She threaded her fingers into his hair, and automatically he leaned into her touch. Seeing a golden opportunity, he tried again.

“Mrrrp…”

“Pfft!” Air blew out through Ladybug’s nose, and then she was clutching her stomach as she giggled. Adrien felt his chest bloom with warmth.

“Okay,” she finally said, traces of laughter still shaking her shoulders. “That one was pretty good.”

“Really?” He grinned up at her.

Playfully, she rolled her blue, blue eyes at him, though the smile stayed on her face. Her fingers returned to his hair, gentle nails scratching behind his ears. He nuzzled into the touch, his purr thrumming the air around them.

They soon fell into a regular pattern like that. On patrols, after akuma attacks, or following any other public appearances they might make, Adrien would try his cat noises in the hopes he would get a small laugh out of her. If he was lucky, she would even pet him. His purr always coaxed a couple extra giggles out of her.

He didn’t think it was a big deal until he caught himself at home, trilling while he did his history homework. He hadn’t meant to do it, but it just came out, filling the silence of his room. His eyes flicked to Plagg over his shoulder.

The kwami was floating in the air, tiny arms crossed over his chest. “Adrien…” he started. “What was that?”

“I… don’t know what you mean,” Adrien said sheepishly.

“I am going to need way more cheese if you start ‘practicing’ again.”

Plagg flew away to the other side of the room, and Adrien tried his best to focus on his studies again, thinking and not thinking about keeping quiet.

It happened again when he was sitting in the library with Nino, researching for a literature project they were working on together.

“Hmm,” Nino hummed. “You have that biography on Victor Hugo?”

“Mrrft.”

Nino went silent. Adrien looked up at him to meet wide brown eyes, eyebrows raised high beneath the brim of his hat.

“Nino? Yeah, you want the biography or not?”

Nino just continued to stare at him across the study table like he had four heads, ignoring the question. “Dude, what was that?”

Adrien tilted his head. “What was what?”

“That noise you just made?”

Adrien straightened his posture, understanding seeping into his bones. He felt his ears grow warm with his embarrassed blush. “I– I made a noise?” he asked. “You sure I didn’t just say yes?”

Nino must have noticed he was getting nervous, because his expression slid into something a bit more teasing. “Yeah, it was definitely a noise. Uhh… I don’t think I could recreate it, but if I had to guess? Maybe… sounded a little like a bird?”

“It was a cat!” Adrien automatically responded. He slapped a hand over his mouth.

Nino blinked at his outburst, then quickly fell into peals of laughter. One of his hands gently hit against the table. “You’re so weird, man,” he said, his tone purely joking.

Adrien tried to push the self-consciousness of getting caught away and laughed along.

He was sitting in the back of the sedan with Nathalie and he was dying of boredom.

Maybe it would have been better if his bodyguard were allowed to switch on the radio, or if someone would just talk to him. Instead, they were in complete silence. Nathalie was reviewing some Gabriel documents on her tablet and claimed she needed complete focus.

Adrien’s leg started bouncing as he leaned against the door’s armrest. As they passed through the streets of Paris, heading towards some distant location across the city for an off-site photo shoot, he imagined his lady leaping and bounding across the tops of the roofs. He could practically hear the zip of her yoyo in the silence of the car.

“Chichichi,” he forced air out of his mouth through his teeth, imagining he was trying to chirp for her. His tongue rolled in his mouth almost naturally.

“Adrien.”

Nathalie’s stern voice cut through his thoughts and he remembered where he was again. His head turned to his left to meet her eyes. He couldn’t remember ever seeing such an amused look on her face before.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

His eyes flitted away from hers, shame coloring his cheeks. The wriggling against his side from Plagg told him just what he had done.

“N–nothing,” he said.

It was all he could do to count the seconds until they finally reached their destination.

“How are you getting so good at that?” Ladybug asked through her giggles one night.

Chat Noir lifted his chin into the air, his belt tail flicking behind him. He did a little purr for her (she giggled again). “Practice, practice, practice,” he sang.

“Practice?” she asked, plopping herself down on the rooftop edge. “What, you’re just meowing to yourself even through the akuma battles when I can’t even hear you?” She gasped. “Or—don’t tell me… Do you sit at home in your bedroom just making cat noises all day?”

He shrugged and sat down beside her, his legs criss-crossing over each other. “A little of column A, a little of column B,” he answered, waving his hand in a noncommittal gesture.

Her eyes twinkle a bit when she looks at him. “Don’t tell me you just meow at your friends and ask them to rate you?”

Adrien ignored the heat rising up his neck at the memory of Nino teasing him in the library. “Uhh… Something… like that,” he said.

She laughed at that, a tinkling little sound like stars, and he forgot all about it.

“Well, I’ll be honest, it’s grown on me a bit,” Ladybug said.

He could feel butterflies swarming around in his stomach.

“Mrow,” he replied. “Is that so, my Lady? I’m growing on mew?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like a weed.”

He grinned back at her, knowing she was only playing around. Excitedly, he trilled again, leaning his shoulder into hers.

Ladybug reached her hand up by his ears, running her fingers through his hair in gentle ministrations, and his purr rumbled through his chest.

Adrien was in Marinette’s room, finally allowed a rare appearance with his friends. They were currently in the middle of a Mecha Strike tournament, one of which Marinette had been destroying everyone in.

Nino pushed against his shoulder as Adrien finally slammed his character down on the screen.

“Aw, come on, dude!” Nino cried. “I want to win one.”

Alya laughed. “If you want to win, stop challenging Adrien.” She affectionately rubbed Nino’s back. “You know you have no chance of beating him or Marinette unless the world is ending.”

“Yeah, but, babe, if I go up against you, there’s no challenge!”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled from her chaise across the room at the couple’s playful bickering. For some reason, Adrien felt his chest warm at the gentle sound.

“Ugh, I’m starving,” Alya sighed. “Adrien, how late are you staying?”

Adrien startled at the question directed at him. Idly, he pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen for the time, even though the little analog clock on Marinette’s desk told him it was just after 5.

“Uhh… I should be able to stay another hour or two?” His voice trailed off like it was a question. “So long as my father doesn’t have a sudden change of heart.”

“Great!” Alya beamed. “Nino, let’s go look for sustenance. We’ll bring it back up here with us.”

“Sounds good.”

The couple bounded down the stairs, closing the trapdoor behind them. Adrien leaned back into his chair with a sigh.

The sound of Marinette clearing her throat drew his eyes across the room. She didn’t quite meet his eyes as she said, “I– I’m glad you were able to come hang out with us today, Adrien.”

He smiled, though he wasn’t sure if she would see it. “Me, too.”

Realizing how long he had been sitting in the same spot, Adrien decided it was time for a stretch break. He stood up and raised his arms over his head, feeling the tension he hadn’t even noticed was there leaving his muscles. He took slow steps to where Marinette was sitting across the room, scrolling through her phone. He let himself sink down to the floor and lean his back against the chaise.

With one final stretch of his arms, the noise came out unbidden, like a yawn.

“Mrrpft.”

He was rewarded with the sound of his favorite giggle. Fingers delved into his hair like the most natural thing. He nuzzled into it, his Lady’s ministrations always reaching just the right spot. His chest grew warm as he started to purr.

Except, the noise that came out was throaty and guttural, unlike the smooth rumbling he was used to. He opened his eyes, realizing that he was certainly not Chat Noir right now. The (bare) fingers in his hair stopped as well.

He turned to look over his shoulder, meeting Marinette’s blue, blue eyes, set in her pink, pink cheeks.

“Oh,” he breathed.

“Oh,” Marinette breathed back.

#ladynoir #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #ml fanfic #miraculeakless #lovesquare #ml fic #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #mlb #also i accidentally posted to ao3 first without a summary oops #my writing

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naminethewriter · 2 months ago

Text

Monstrously Simple Days at College

Chapter Four: An Unusual Trade

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Story Summary: Humans and Monsters live together in harmony and that means they all get to go to college together. Roman, Remus, Janus, Virgil, Logan and Patton are big group of friends that may be a bit chaotic with all the different monster cultures they hail from. College itself is hard too, but with them all supporting each other, it can’t be that bad, can it?

Content Warnings: None

~~*~~

A loud and insistent knocking breaks through the calm classical piano music playing in Virgil and Logan’s dorm. Beethoven, Bach and Mozart are common composers the two listen to, since Logan found it the best background music for him to study to and Virgil associates them with their childhood as Beethoven and them share a birthyear. Their mother, who had already been a big fan of Bach, kept up with Mozart and Beethoven for their entire careers and often played their music on the piano. Virgil can always feel the tension in their body leave them when he hears one of their pieces played.

Now that tension was returning however as the knocking doesn’t stop.

“Would you mind getting it, V?” Logan asks, hunched over their desk. “I am almost finished with this text and would hate to lose my place.”

“Yeah, I got it, L. Might just punch whoever it is in the face.” They mutter that last part under their breath as they swing their legs off the bed and head towards the door. “Who the hell—”

“I’m here for a trade, guardian of night!” Remus interrupts them as soon as the door is open.

Virgil just stares at her, then at her brother who is just behind them.

“What?”

“A trade!” Remus proclaims again, louder this time. “The witch for this inferior dragon!”

“Inferior!” Roman sputters, wings flaring out behind him in offense. “How dare you besmirch my honor, you filthy—”

“Would you both shut up before you make this entire corridor hate us!” Virgil hisses, massaging their temples. “What you’re saying is that you want to spend time with Logan and to do that you’re kicking Roman out of your dorm and pushing him on to me?”

Roman pouts at them and Virgil just slyly smiles back which earns them an eyeroll from their partner.

“Got it in one, Scaramore! Now where’s my witch?”

Remus pushes past Virgil, and only then do they notice that it is literally dragging Roman along by gripping his wrist, though Roman doesn’t seem to give him much resistance. At least until they’re in the room and Remus bounds over to Logan. That’s when Roman shakes his arm free and Remus lets him go without even looking at him, instead standing behind Logan’s chair and gently resting its head on theirs, silently waiting for them to stop reading.

“Sorry for just barging in,” Roman sighs after Virgil closed the door and comes to stand next to him. “Remus was just getting super antsy because Logan wasn’t answering her texts, so I told them to just go and check on him in person and then it came up with this whole trading idea. And I would love to just hang out with you, no fancy dates, just chilling but if you’d rather be alone, I can suffer third wheeling them.”

He nods over to the desk where Logan has allowed Remus to place her hand over theirs while they finish up.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Virgil shrugs. “I wasn’t really doing anything anyway. And I wouldn’t leave you to suffer those two being their weird interpretation of sappy.” Roman snorts, lightly bumping against their shoulder before sitting down on their bed, sighing contently and shaking out his wings. Virgil lets themselves plop down next to him, pulling their phone over to close Tumblr. They’ve already been scrolling through their dash for at least an hour. It was good to have a distraction.

Their phone screen just went black when a thump from the desk announces that Logan is done reading. He and Remus talk quietly between themselves for a moment and while Virgil has good enough hearing that he could’ve listened in if they wanted to, they don’t. Then Logan stands, smiling over to them and Roman.

“I will be over with Remus in her room then,” they nod to Virgil. “If you need anything, you can text me.”

“Nothing’s gonna come up, L,” Virgil shrugs and Logan adjusts his glasses.

“You never know. Anyway, since I have classes early tomorrow, I will return before 10pm.” They give a sharp look to Remus, who pouts at them but doesn’t protest. “Have a nice evening, you two.”

“You, too, Pocket Protector!” Roman salutes as his brother impatiently pulls Logan out of the room. The door clicks shut behind them and Roman lets himself collapse on the bed with a sigh. “I love it, they’re my brother, but she can be so much sometimes.”

“Maybe look at a mirror,” Virgil laughs. “You’re both so similar and so different, it’s insane.”

“Shut up,” Roman whines, weakly throwing his arm in Virgil’s direction. “I know that already. I just wanna chill and watch a movie or something. I’m beat.”

“Fine, fine,” Virgil huffs fondly. They all had a long week behind them. They still needed to survive tomorrow but afterwards was finally the weekend. “Any ideas on what to watch?”

“Disney.”

“Yeah, I figured, but that hardly narrows it down.”

Before Roman can say any more, a knock again sounds through the room.

“You think Logan forgot something?” Roman wonders, sitting up.

“Nah, he would knock once and then come in. Maybe he sent Remus to get something? Though I doubt it.”

Virgil gets up to open the door again, at least this visitor was a more polite knocker than Remus.

As the door swings open, it reveals a very displeased looking Janus, who immediately groans.

“Hello to you too,” Virgil says amused, though they step aside to let his second partner in, who immediately makes a beeline to the bed and let’s himself fall down on it, placing his head in Roman’s lap.

“I am so done with this week,” Janus whines, not even hiding his annoyed-ness behind his usual snark. That immediately clues both Roman and Virgil in that something is seriously bothering him.

“What happened?” Roman asks, stroking Janus’ hair, pulling a soft purr out of him. Virgil joins them on the bed, moving Janus’ legs so he can sit down beneath him, gently massaging his shins.

“Ugh, Patton’s been driving me up a wall. I love the guy, you know I do, but he’s been just insufferable the last few days.”

“How so?”

“He has some coursework due and been struggling with it. I offered him my help, but he insists that he can get it done by himself. Which would be fine if he wasn’t constantly whining and yelping unhappily while he does so! Plus, his tail goes haywire, too, hitting against his chair. He’s not even aware of it most of the time so even if I ask him to stop it only helps for like a minute at most. Which is also why he can’t do it in the library! I just wanted to read a book in peace, but he just wouldn’t shut up! So, I decided to get out of there before I force him to let me help.”

“A good decision,” Roman agrees. “I’m sure Pat will make it up to you with cookies.”

“He better.” Janus takes a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders slipping away. “I’m not really mad at him.”

“We know,” Virgil reassures.

“It’s understandable that it can get frustrating though. But you’re here now and we can just have a relaxing evening.”

“Yes please,” Janus sighs, pushing his head more into Roman’s hand.

“We were trying to find out what to watch before you came in.”

Janus sits up abruptly, staring at them both accusatory.

“How come I wasn’t invited to this little hangout in the first place?” he pouts. “How often do you do this, leaving me all alone to the coldness of my bed?”

“Oh, stop being dramatic. That’s Roman’s schtick.”

“Hey!”

“And we didn’t plan this. Remus decided he wanted its boyfriend to themselves, so she dragged Roman over here to get their room to himself. We probably would have texted you after we picked something to do.”

“Probably? You wound me, Virgil!”

“We literally just sat down,” Roman adds, again patting Janus’ hair which gets him to relax a bit. “You seem more on edge than usual, are you not sleeping well again?”

Janus sighs, rubbing his temples.

“With the whole Patton thing, I had a hard time concentrating on my own work. And maybe I had a nightmare a few days ago.” He says that last bit quietly and Roman simply hugs him from behind, gently wrapping his wings around him.

“We’re here for you if you want to talk about it.”

“I know.”

“That sounds like someone who doesn’t want to talk about it,” Virgil guesses, eyebrows raised. Janus nods.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Roman squeezes him one more time before letting go and moving further onto the bed to get comfortable.

“Then let us rest the topic and find something to watch. My vote is for the Emperor’s New Groove!”

“Yeah, I’m cool with that,” Virgil shrugs, pulling out their box full of Disney DVDs. What can they say? They were there for the invention of VHS and DVD and they 100% prefer them over streaming services. Logan and them have a nice set-up of a tv connected with a DVD player, a switch and a PS4.

They pop the DVD in and move back to the bed where Roman is waiting for them with open arms. They’re leaning back against the headrest, wings spread wide and invitingly. Janus has already squished himself between the wall and Roman, his head resting against their thigh. His eyes already seem to grow heaving and Virgil hopes that he can find the rest he clearly needs.

“Want any snacks?” they ask, keeping their voice low. Janus just hums noncommittally, probably in no mood to move while Roman looks thoughtful.

“If you have something not messy or sticky?”

“I’ve got some gummy bears?”

“Sounds good.”

Virgil opens the snack cabinet they share with Logan and pulls out a bag of candy and a bowl, transferring the gummy over so that the rustling of the bag won’t disturb them during the movie. Then they get back to the bed, plop the bowl onto Roman’s lap before taking their seat at his side.

“Thank you, my darling knight,” Roman smiles, pressing a kiss to their cheek before fishing out a gummy from the bowl.

“Shut up and watch the film,” Virgil laughs, leaning into his side. This wasn’t what they had planned for the night, but this works just fine for them.

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firetrucks-fastcars · 11 months ago

Note

What do you think danny would do/say about max being a menace in the twitch chat? 👀🤭

Not gonna lie, this one got away from me. I set this in the quartet verse because that's where I talk about this dynamic the most so apologies if that doesn't fit your vibe

Feel free to send me more of these little blurb prompts, I really enjoy them

Cross posted on ao3 here (just in case reading long posts on tumblr annoys you)

______________________________________________________________

When Daniel returned home from running errands, the door to Max’s office was shut. That wasn’t an unusual sight, he usually liked to clock out the noise of the cats while he was sim racing or keep the other three boys out of sight when he was streaming with Redline. Daniel was almost positive he didn’t have a stream scheduled today, but he still knocked lightly, the secret code they’d established upon all of them transitioning to living together in Max and Daniel’s apartment.

There was a moment of silence from the other side of the door before Daniel heard Max call, “Come in.”

Max was sitting at his sim setup, the title screen for one of his racing games pulled up on the monitor in front of him but no game running. Instead he was on his phone, grinning at what looked like a twitch stream.

“Hey Maxy,” Daniel stood behind him, squeezing his shoulders lightly and dropping a kiss to his head. “Whatcha doing?”

“I just wanted to drop into the boys stream for a minute,” Max explained, closing the app and locking his phone, placing it face down on the desk to turn in his chair and give Daniel his attention.

“Didn’t feel like streaming with them?”

“Not today. Lando and Charles will be home tomorrow, so I wanted to spend some time with just us tonight.”

“That sounds perfect baby,” Daniel pressed another kiss to his head and ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling where his headset had pushed it flat against his head. “I’m gonna go get started on dinner.”

“Okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Daniel padded into the kitchen and started pulling out the pre-portioned ingredients for their meal. He wasn’t much of a chef but he could follow the instructions written on the lid of the container. Max made his way into the main room while Daniel was sauteeing the vegetables and took a seat at the island. He immediately started up his stream of consciousness chatter, filling Daniel in on all that he had missed from Max’s day while he was out. Daniel always found it amusing that Max was usually so reserved but almost never shut up when it was just the two of them. He wasn’t even this talkative with Charles and Lando, though Daniel thought that had a bit to do with Lando having no filter and barely even shutting his mouth when he was asleep (Daniel loved him more than anything but he wondered how his jaw didn’t constantly hurt from moving so much).

Max was half-way through a story about Jimmy terrorizing Sassy, which was almost a daily occurrence, when his phone pinged with a message. When he saw that it was from Lando, he turned down the heat on the stove top and picked his phone up, still half listening to Max.

Muppet: look at what Max has been up to today (link)

Danny: realnamegucci?

Daniel furrowed his brows in confusion as he scrolled through the twitter (yes he refused to accept the rebrand) post Lando had sent him. It was a series of screenshots of increasingly unhinged comments in the chat of today’s Redline stream.

Muppet: crane accidentally on purpose exposed Max’s burner account

Danny: oh shit

Muppet: i think Maxy needs a spanking

Danny: is it your place to decide what Max needs

Muppet: no sir

Danny: good boy. now go to sleep it’s way too fucking late where you are

Muppet: yes danny

Muppet: but if you spank him at least video it for us

Danny: lando

Muppet: sorry

“Everything okay?”

Daniel looked up to see Max staring at him with his head tilted to the side like a confused puppy. He realized that he’d become completely absorbed in his conversation with Lando and stopped listening to what Max was saying to him.

“Sorry baby I got distracted. Just Lando being a menace.”

“So a normal Tuesday then?”

“Pretty much.”

“Anything important?”

“Nah, just a link to some twitter post he wanted me to see.”

“You know it is “X” now don’t you Daniel?”

“Fuck you, you know I don’t accept that shit.”

Max chuckled, then yelped as Daniel threw a wadded up paper towel at him, nearly falling off his stool in his attempt to dodge it.

Daniel plated their meals and sat Max’s in front of him, then joined him at the bar. MAx waited until Daniel had taken the first bite before digging into his own food.

“Good boy,” Daniel praised, reaching over to squeeze Max’s knee gently.

He hadn’t asked Max to be submissive tonight, but he loved the way his boy fell back into their old dynamic when it was just the two of them. He loved Charles and Lando and their relationship wouldn’t be complete without the two of them, but he missed Max’s submissive side sometimes and found it to be a crime that they didn’t have nearly enough time during the season for Max to sub like he used to.

They ate in comfortable silence, Max occasionally leaning in to bump his shoulder against Daniel’s. There was no pressure, since they hadn’t planned a scene, but he could tell Max was slipping slightly and seeking the contact for comfort. When their plates were cleared, Max stood up without being asked, taking both of their dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. He started the cycle, then pulled the cleaning spray from under the sink and gave the counters a quick wipe-down. He also filled both of their water bottles with fresh ice and water before standing in front of Daniel, waiting for further instructions.

“You’re being a good boy for me tonight Max. Is there something you want to talk to me about?”

At some point, Daniel had caught on to what Max was doing. He was owning up to the comments in the twitch chat without even knowing if Daniel knew about them.

“I may have done something today,” Max said quietly. “Something I probably shouldn’t have.”

“Alright,” Daniel kept his voice even. “Let’s go sit on the couch and talk about it then.”

Max nodded and Daniel took his hand gently, leading him to the living room. Daniel sat on the end of the chaise part of their sectional sofa and dropped a decorative pillow to the floor at his feet. Max didn’t need to be instructed to kneel, he did so of his own accord. He flipped open the straw to his water bottle and pressed it gently to Max’s lips.

“Drink.”

Max took a few small sips then pulled away. Daniel sat the bottle by their feet and looked down at Max.

“Tell me what you need to tell me, Maxy. The floor is yours, I’m here to listen.”

“While you were gone I was watching the Redline stream. But I watched it on my other account because I didn’t want anyone to know I was there and then start overwhelming the chat trying to talk to me. And Crane and the guys were making jokes so I joined in. Then Crane sort of told everyone it was me. I’m sorry Danny.”

“What did you make jokes about Max?”

“Kinks and stuff,” Max mumbled, dropping his chin.

Daniel didn’t allow it, pressed his fingers under Max’s jaw to make him raise his head.

“Why tell me Max? I didn’t watch the stream, I never would have known.”

“Because those things are private. They’re for us and I know that everyone is taking it as a joke because that’s all it was really. But I don’t want you to think that I think this is a joke.”

He couldn’t help but smile at Max’s earnesty.

“I know you don’t think this is a joke Max. Thank you for being honest with me, I’m very proud of you. Now I’m going to be honest with you. Lando sent me a post that showed all of your comments. I’m not angry, I thought it was funny, just like everyone else. But I’ll ask you this since you felt the need to come clean. Do you think you deserve a punishment?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” “Because I disobeyed a rule. Technically, one of the rules is to be careful what I say so that none of us gets caught and no one gets suspicious.”

“That is true. So what do you think I should do about it?”

“Spanking?”

“You know, that was also Lando’s suggestion.”

That made Max smile a little bit.

“Tell me your words baby, then I’ll talk you through my plan.”

“Green is everything is good, yellow is slow down and talk it through, red is stop immediately.”

“Very good boy. Now, I’m thinking twenty spanks with my hand. Standard and easy.”

“Green,” Max said dutifully when Daniel took a pause.

“I also want to video it. Lando asked and I think it would be fun to use a recording of you being spanked on him when he’s being a brat.”

“Green.”

“Very good boy. Wait here.”

Daniel stood from the couch and maneuvered to set his phone up on the tv stand to record the scene. Once he’d artfully fashioned one of their lamps into a tripod, he pressed record and made his way to sit back down in front of Max. He brushed the younger’s shoulder once as a single that the scene had started, then made himself comfortable.

“Over my lap Max.”

Max positioned himself so that his hips were over Daniel’s thighs and his chest was propped on the sofa. Daniel tugged his sweats and underwear down just enough that his ass and the tops of his thighs were exposed.

“Twenty spanks. Count them for me.”

Max counted right on cue as Daniel littered his skin with sharp hits. It wasn’t the intensity that he would have chosen for a harsher punishment, he didn’t feel that a few dumb jokes on a livestream were deserving of something too painful, but it was definitely enough to sting and he could feel Max’s pale skin growing warm under his palm. When twenty hits were up, he gave Max a moment to breathe before righting his pants and pulling him to sit.

“Let me go turn off the camera baby,” he said, tucking Max into the corner of the couch with his water bottle and a soft blanket draped over his lap.

The punishment wasn’t intense enough that he felt Max was in danger of sub-drop, but aftercare was still an important part of their routine. When he returned, Max had drained half of his water and was sitting comfortably waiting for him.

“Feel better now,” Daniel asked, joining him under the blanket and pulling his head to rest on his shoulder.

“Yes. Though now I’m angry at Lando for ratting me out. I should spank him when he gets home tomorrow.”

“Unfortunately it’s not a punishment when they enjoy it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Come on, let’s go lay down. It’s our last night with as much room as we want.”

“As much as I like being able to breathe without getting hair in my nose, I really do miss Charles and Lando.”

“Yeah, me too.”

*****

“Honey, I’m home!”

Lando announced his presence upon arrival to the apartment.

“Bedroom!” Max called back, sushing Charles quietly when he stirred at the noise. As soon as he’d gotten home, Charles had dragged them to bed, not pausing to hear any protests. He’d sworn he was going to stay awake to wait for Lando, but that had gone out the window about five minutes after his head hit the pillow. So Max and Daniel had spent the better part of the morning snuggling Charles and waiting for their fourth partner to join them.

Lando had already stripped himself of his outer layers by the time he reached them and stopped only to shimmy out of his sweats before joining them in only his underwear and a t-shirt. He wedged himself between Daniel and Max, laying mostly on top of the latter so he could prop his chin on his chest.

“Hi,” he smiled, flashing the gap between his teeth.

“Hello to you too,” Max greeted, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Lando turned to kiss Daniel, then manipulated his body into the strangest shape Max had ever seen to kiss the top of Charles’s head before settling again.

“So,” he grinned up at Max mischievously. “How was your spanking?”

“Lando,” Daniel, swatted his ass playfully. “Leave him alone.”

“Did you film it at least? We never get to see Max get put in his place,” he pouted. “You always pick on us.”

“That’s because you’re a brat,” Max said, pinching him lightly.

“Hey!”

“Both of you hush,” Daniel said. “You’re going to wake Charles.”

That put both of them to rest, knowing there would be hell to pay if Charles was woken before he was ready. It was silent for a few moments when Max leaned in to whisper in Lando’s ear.

“Don’t worry baby boy, Daniel recorded it. We’re just saving it for something special.”

Daniel groaned and tugged Lando back into his chest to put some separation between the two of them.

“Menaces, all of you.”

#formula 1 #formula 1 rpf #my works #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #maxiel #quartet verse

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fangirlwriting-stories · 1 year ago

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Protector

Chapter One

Chapter Forty-Two:

Virgil could tell his worry about Janus was bugging Remus. They may have made an agreement to respect each others opinions about the core sides, but Remus still wasn’t exactly Janus’ biggest fan, it was obvious he didn’t love the way Virgil clearly wanted to check on him.

He was trying to find a way to bring it up to Remus that wouldn’t just piss him off more, but it was proving rather difficult. He’d kind of exhausted his options on all other fronts, though. Roman had told him everything he knew about Janus’ situation, and when he asked Patton and Logan, they’d told him essentially the same thing— they were worried about Janus and he wasn’t leaving his room. He’d tried waiting outside Janus’ door for a while, assuming he’d at least have to come out for food at some point, but there was no such luck. He needed the opinion of a professional anti-repressionist, and there was no one better for that job than Remus.

Now if he could just get past the “Remus hates Janus’ guts and doesn’t want to help him” issue.

Fortunately— or unfortunately, it had to be one of the two, right— Remus could tell that Virgil was worried, and Virgil could tell that Remus could tell. Meaning it was only a matter of time before one of them brought it up and they figured something out.

Virgil wasn’t at all surprised that Remus mentioned it first.

It was a Saturday, and they were both relaxing in Remus’ room. Remus was checking on his mold pile in the corner, and Virgil was sitting backwards on Remus’ desk chair scrolling through tumblr. It was still a little difficult sometimes to convince his brain that he wasn’t in danger from just sitting there, but he was getting much better at it, and right now, he was actually rather calm.

So when Remus moved over in front of him looking a little apprehensive, he wasn’t exactly thrilled.

“We should talk about it,” Remus said.

Virgil looked up at him. “Right now? Come on, Re, just let me have my Saturday.”

“Then when are we going to talk about it Ara-gag? When you’re stressed? That’s not gonna go well.”

Virgil groaned and crossed his arms over the back of the chair so he could drop his head on them. “What do you have against putting off problems until they solve themselves, Re?”

“They don’t solve themselves, they get bigger. Come on, Virge.”

Virgil sighed. “Fine. What part do you want to talk about? I assume you’re not just going to give me ideas.”

“Well, I kind of like that he’s having a miserable time.”

“So just to clarify, you want to… put off fixing the problem until it gets bigger.”

Remus scowled. “That’s different. I like this problem.”

“So what don’t you like?”

“I don’t like seeing you worried,” Remus said, throwing his hands up.

“Well, I hate to break it you Re,” Virgil said, standing up. “But the two problems are kind of related.”

“You don’t want Janus to be miserable for a little bit?”

“He already was,” Virgil said, rubbing the back of his neck. “For a lot longer than anyone thought. I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on that.”

“About the way Janny was tired of hiding who he is? I did.”

Virgil tipped his head curiously. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell everyone.”

“I wasn’t going to solve his problems for him.”

Virgil hummed in acknowledgement. “Fair enough. Can you help me solve his problems for him then?”

“Don’t want to.”

“Re, this isn’t going to get better if someone doesn’t step in. And it’s just going to make more problems.”

“Sounds to me like it’s removing a problem.”

“What if the others get over here and no one can go to Janus for help?” Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow. “What if Thomas’ mental health worsens significantly because he and the others aren’t taking care of themselves, or just because Janus is isolated? That would give me more work to do. It would give you more work to do that you don’t like as much.”

Remus whined in dissatisfaction. “Janus can’t be miserable while everyone else is fine?”

“It doesn’t work like that, Re.”

Remus grumbled and crossed his arms. “You can’t just stop being worried?”

“I… don’t want to, Remus.”

Remus groaned and ran his hands through his hair. “Why not? Why do you care so much about him?”

“I don’t know.”

“You just do?”

“Yeah.”

Remus huffed and crossed his arms. After a second, he sighed. “I really can’t convince you to let this go?”

Virgil shook his head.

Remus kicked at the ground in front of him. “He leaves his room to see Thomas, doesn’t he? Get Tommy-boy’s permission to hide and have him summon Janus to talk, then grab him and sink him out to your room. Lock the door so you can talk to him for as long as you need.”

Virgil considered that for a moment. “That’s… not a bad idea, Re. Thanks.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Virgil looked hesitantly at Remus. “You’re really going to go on hating him for the rest of your life?”

“You said you were going to respect my choice!”

“I’m not trying to stop you, Re. It just sounds exhausting.”

“I’m not exhausted. I’m angry. I’m fucking pissed as all hell.”

“That sounds exhausting too.”

“So does being scared all the time.”

Virgil considered this. “Touché.”

“He is not going to be able to make this up to me,” Remus said. “There’s nothing he can do. The best option for him is to stay the hell out of my way for the rest of time.”

Virgil nodded. “Okay.”

“How the hell did he make it up to you?”

Virgil considered this. “I… don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe he hasn’t yet.”

“But you want to help him anyway?”

Virgil bit his lip, trying to think of a good way to explain it. “Would you want to help Roman if you knew he was hurting this bad?” he asked. “Even if you hated him?”

Remus thought about that for a moment. “So your anger doesn’t override your care,” he said.

Virgil nodded. “Yeah.”

“Mine does. I don’t get why yours doesn’t.”

“That’s okay.”

Remus sighed, though it sounded closer to a laugh at the end. “I think we’re gonna have this conversation again, Virgil.”

Virgil smiled. “We might never stop having this conversation.”

“You good with that?”

“As long as you are.”

Remus nodded. “Okay. I am.”

“I am too,” Virgil said.

Remus didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, instead starting to fidget with his hands.

“What?”

“I… I don’t know. I really don’t understand your perspective, Virgil.”

“I don’t really understand yours either, Re,” Virgil said quietly.

“Really?”

“You don’t see yourself ever forgiving him? Years have passed, we’ve progressed to a point where we’re doing good, like really good, and you still hate Janus?”

“Yes.”

Virgil looked away. “Okay.”

They were both quiet for a long pause.

Remus walked over and sat down on his bed. “I don’t want to start fighting about this.”

Virgil blinked at him. “We’re not fighting.”

“We’re disagreeing. On something that really really matters to both of us.”

“That does not have to lead to fighting.”

Remus crossed his arms and sniffed. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You are not going to lose me,” Virgil said, walking over. “Re. Look at me.”

Remus looked up at him.

“It’s going to be okay. I— yeah, I don’t really understand, but I’m not going to get angry at you because of it. I can not understand your opinion and still think it’s valid.”

Remus wrapped his arms around himself. “Are you sure?”

“Do you think I’m being unreasonable or that my decision isn’t okay?”

“No.”

“Well, there you go.”

“But what if that changes?”

“That’s up to us, Re. We get to pick whether or not we start fighting. We just need to make sure to keep communicating.”

“Historically, not a strong suit of Thomas’ sides.”

“Well I care about you enough to keep trying.”

Remus was silent for a second. Then he took a breath. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah.”

Virgil sighed. “Okay.” He sat down on the bed next to Remus and wrapped his arms around him. Remus leaned into him, and they both sat there together.

“I love you,” Virgil murmured. “You’re always going to be more important to me than our disagreements.”

“You are too,” Remus said back. “And I love you too.”

And that was enough for right now.

…

“Do you think this is gonna work?” Thomas said hesitantly.

“I don’t know,” Virgil said. “But you haven’t been able to convince him, and he doesn’t seem to be talking to anyone else.”

“Yeah no, I want him to stop being stubborn,” Thomas said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s just… being really stubborn.”

Virgil smiled a little. “That’s Janus for you.”

Thomas laughed a little. “If you think you can do it, give it a shot,” he said.

Virgil bit his lip, stuffing down the nerves and pressure that came with that. He wasn’t sure if he could do it. He wasn’t sure he could grab Janus fast enough, or hang on long enough, or say the right thing to get him to hear him out.

But Janus clearly wasn’t going to listen if they did something reasonable.

So, Virgil got behind the couch, and Thomas set himself up to make it look like he was working. He started typing on the script he and Roman and Remus were working up, then waved his hand casually like summoning Janus was a spur of the moment thing.

He rose up in front of Thomas, and Virgil blinked in surprise from his spot hidden behind the couch. Janus… did not look very good. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was unkempt, the bandages were clearly visible under his shirt where he’d been stabbed, and the circles under his eyes rivaled Virgil’s eyeshadow. He hadn’t looked that bad when Virgil saw him last— though granted, that had been only for a couple seconds immediately after waking up exhausted, while heavily focused on Remus.

“What do you need, Thomas?” Janus asked, as Virgil crept up behind him.

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Thomas said with a casual shrug, turning back to his script. “I’m just the distraction here to wish you both good luck.”

“What?”

“You’re coming with me!” Virgil snapped, grabbing Janus by the arm and sinking them both out to his room, locking the door firmly after them both. He moved over to lean against his desk as Janus processed what had happened.

“What— oh real mature, Virgil,” Janus snapped, turning to glare at him. There was a pause where he was clearly trying to leave, and Janus’ gaze soured. “Virgil, let me out.”

“Nope.”

“Virgil!”

“We need to talk.”

“Why would you want to?” Janus asked, looking up at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut. “I was trying to give you space, Virgil.”

“You’ve done plenty of that already,” Virgil said, crossing his arms.

Janus flinched, and Virgil stood and watched as several emotions flashed across his face at once. Finally, the fight drained out of him, and he sighed and slumped his shoulders. He turned to face Virgil, moving to the space across from him like he was preparing for an interrogation. “Alright. What do you want, Virgil?”

Virgil took a moment to stare at him and be a little weirded out, and then he shook himself. “Everyone’s telling me that you won’t talk to them.”

“So? Why do you care?”

“Because you’re not coming out of your room and if they’re not going in either that means you’re avoiding everyone, Janus. Plus you really look like shit.”

Janus gave him a look. “Why thank you, Virgil.”

“Why are you avoiding everyone?”

“Why are you all so insistent that I shouldn’t? I wouldn’t think you’d want me around!”

“Well, I guess you wouldn’t know, since you’ve decided to make that decision for us.”

Janus sighed wearily, pressing his head into his hands. “I don’t understand why you care.”

“Just because you’ve decided all of us should hate you doesn’t mean we’re going to, Janus.”

Janus gave him a disbelieving look. Virgil gave him a very firm one right back.

Janus shook his head. “I can’t do this today. What do you want, Virgil?”

“Stop hiding in your room. Your family is worried about you, Janus. We’re all worried about you.”

“Well, worry about someone who deserves it, then,” Janus said, glaring away.

“Janus. For fucks sake.”

“What?”

“Do you honestly think this is going to help matters? And none of the bullshit about how everyone should want you to be alone and miserable. Do you honestly, deep down, think this is going to help?”

“I don’t deal in honesty,” Janus snapped.

“Janus.”

Janus was quiet for a minute.

“How do you see this going? You’re alone for the rest of your life? You stay in your room quietly miserable because you refuse to try and atone for anything or let anyone work towards a place of moving on? You do realize you’re preventing that, right?”

“You all seem to be moving on without me just fine,” Janus said.

“Yeah, for now.”

“How do you know that isn’t going to last?”

“How do you know it is? Wouldn’t it be better to do the one that we’re sure of, just in case?”

“I’ll just make things worse,” Janus said. “And why are you so insistent that I don't deserve to suffer for everything I’ve done to you? You and Remus both?”

Virgil crossed his arms. “Because taking the coward’s way out is my job, Janus.”

Janus’ eyes snapped open in shock.

“Oh, did you not realize that’s what your doing? That instead of coming out and trying to make up for everything you’ve done you’re hiding in your room where nothing can ever change, like a coward? What you owe us is a chance to try and fix things. Not hiding away where nothing will ever get better.”

Janus looked away and said nothing.

Virgil sighed. “Janus,” he said. “Do you remember the night you told me you were sorry you left?”

Janus nodded.

“That pissed me the fuck off.”

Janus winced and looked back at him.

“I was so goddamn mad. I was so furious you thought you could make up for everything you’d done with ‘I’m sorry it was necessary.’ But that’s what you said. And I had to get you to like me enough so you’d let Remus stay here, so I told you I forgave you. I was lying.”

Janus looked down. “Well, that’s fair,” he murmured.

“I’m not lying this time.”

Janus looked up again. “What?”

Virgil took a breath. “I forgive you, Janus.”

Janus stared at him. “Wh— why?”

Virgil didn’t have the first clue how to start explaining. Because he cared. Because Janus had told him he’d never stopped missing him and Remus. Because he’d convinced Roman and Logan to take a break and because he’d done Patton’s chores and made sure Thomas was as alright as he could be when everything was falling apart. Because he’d told Remus that Malice using his idea wasn’t his fault. Because he was such a goddamn wreck right now.

In the end, Virgil shrugged. “Because you’re sorry.”

“I… but I didn’t…”

“Are you going to give yourself a list of things you have to do before I can forgive you? Because in the end that’s up to me, Janus.”

“I…” Janus looked so completely lost that Virgil almost felt bad for him. Finally he shut his eyes again, presumably to try and hide the tears that Virgil could see anyway.

“I’m sorry, Virgil,” Janus whispered.

“I know. I forgive you,” Virgil said again.

Janus shook his head, opening his eyes that still looked just as lost.

“That is until holding this over you until the end of time starts becoming necessary to win arguments.”

Janus laughed, a couple tears slipping free as he did so. He pressed his hands to his face and wiped his eyes. Doing so raised his arms up enough that Virgil could see the bandages on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Virgil said. “Come here.”

“What?” Janus asked, looking back at him.

“Come to the bathroom with me. I’m gonna fix your bandages. They look like they were wrapped by a toddler.”

“I— hey. I’ve never done this before.”

“I have. So come here.”

Janus winced but followed Virgil towards the bathroom. Virgil pulled his first aid kit out from under his sink as Janus took his cape and shirt off and set them on the counter.

Virgil unwrapped the bandages and threw them in the trash can, then took a minute to observe the wound.

“It’s healing really well,” he said, grabbing a washcloth to clean it with. “Does it hurt anymore?”

Janus shook his head.

“Good, it shouldn’t,” Virgil said, starting to dab with the cloth. “It’ll definitely leave a scar. Most scars do go away if you die, but that’s not really a good idea when you’re the only side keeping the barrier in place.”

“I can live with a scar on my shoulder, Virgil.”

Virgil nodded in acknowledgement and started wrapping the wound again.

“What do you mean by most scars?”

Virgil winced.

“Virgil?”

Virgil sighed and got the gauze tape. “Well, if you get hurt when you’re recovering from death, the injuries don’t really heal right,” he muttered. “Get hurt badly enough, and it could be permanent. Remus and I both have some scars that aren’t ever going away, even if we die again.”

He could feel Janus tense under his hand, and he looked up at him. “We hardly notice, Janus. They don’t hurt anymore. Remus insists they make him look hot.”

Janus snorted. Then he took a breath, and was quiet for a long moment.

“Virgil?”

Virgil finished taping the bandages down and stepped back, letting Janus grab his shirt and cape again. “Yeah?”

“I— I don’t imagine this will mean much coming from me, but… you did my job very well, even if you shouldn’t have had to. I’m very proud of you.”

Virgil stared at Janus for a minute, trying to come up with anything to say to that. “I… uh— whatever.”

Janus smiled, just a little bit. Virgil took a minute to try and adjust to that, which didn’t really work, and finally he shook himself back into the conversation at hand.

“So, are you going to come talk to everyone now?”

Janus tensed and dropped the cape he’d been about to wrap around his shoulders to his side. “You really want to have to see me all the time?”

“Everyone wants to see you. We’re all worried. Well, except Remus, but you know.”

Janus laughed a little bitterly.

“Come talk to your family with me.”

Janus stiffened. “They’re not—”

“Yes, they are.”

“Virgil.”

“Janus.”

Janus crossed his arms and said nothing for a very long moment.

“Janus,” Virgil said quietly. “They’re worried about you. Please let them help you.”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’s not fair to ask me to do it. But I’m also stubborn enough that you know you can’t stop me if someone else isn’t helping you.”

Janus glared at him, but Virgil could tell he knew he was right.

Finally, Janus sighed. “Okay,” he muttered.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Janus said, lifting his cape so he could wrap it around his shoulders. “When are we doing this?”

“Now.”

“Now?”

“Yep. Or well… you should get cleaned up first. I’ll meet you in the commons in fifteen minutes.”

Janus looked like he was regretting all of his life choices up until that point, but he sighed and nodded.

So Janus finally sank out and Virgil put the components of his first aid kit away. Then he headed back into his room and took a moment to breathe. Then he sank out to Remus’ room.

Remus was sitting on his bed, thankfully, and glanced up at Virgil when he appeared.

“How’d it go?”

“Good. Squish me,” Virgil said, and he walked over and flopped down on top of Remus, who instantly pulled him close and squeezed, and Virgil took a moment to sigh in relief.

…

Patton, Logan, and Roman were all in the living room talking with Logan about the research he wanted to do for the next video. Logan had finally explained to them that he liked it when they did that, so Patton and Roman had both started making an effort to do so. All three of them stopped immediately when they noticed Virgil walked in with Janus, though.

Janus was standing stiff as a board, clearly uncomfortable, but he was here, and that was the important part.

There were a few moments of silence when everyone just stared at each other, and finally, Janus stepped forward.

“I—” he said weakly. “I’m sorry I—”

“JANUS!” everyone screamed at once. Janus was immediately afterwards tackled by both Roman and Patton, who dragged him back over to the couch where Logan joined in the hug in a much less tackle-y way, but seeming no less desperate or relieved.

Virgil gave one more relieved sigh and left them to talk. He had a hug pile of his own to get back to.

…

Chapter Forty-Three

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #thomas sanders #platonic dukexiety #platonic thvi #platonic anxceit #my fic

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anomaly-hivemind · 1 year ago

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The Gaymer Chair

Warning(s): why did i write this, porn without plot, masturbation, mildly dub-con, inanimate object porn, original non-binary character, dry humping, grinding, porn watching, internal monologue, crack treated seriously, vaginal fingering, toys, knotting dildos?, edging, android, oral(everyone?) overstimulation, dacryphilia if you squint, vaginal sex, praise kink,orgasm denial, orgasam control, brat, brat tamer

Summary: When a simple night to herself derails in a way she wouldn't have expected, she can't help that this turn of events is turning her on even more.

Part One

Credit to CafeKitsune for the banners!

Wjian sat at her desk, the purple led lights illuminating her pale skin. She was on discord playing league of legends with some others on her server and was about to log off for the night.

“Okay, guys, I should really be getting to bed now, but I’ll totally talk to you later; bye-bye!” Wjian said before logging out of the server. She let out a tired huff leaning back into her pastel chair. Wjian’s hands traveled up to her head, her soft, dainty hands wrapped around her pink cat-ear headphones.

“Owie,” Wjian exclaimed as she stopped pulling the headphones. A lock of her long blonde hair was caught in the adjusters of the headphones.

As Wjian gently tugged at the strand of hair a cold chill ran up her back making her arched slightly.

“It’s kinda cold in here, I wonder if mom will let me turn the A/C up?” Wjian said to herself, clutching her sweatshirt closer to her small figure.

“WJIAN!” Her mother called in her valley girl accent.

“Yes?” Wjian said, poking her head out her door.

“You’re dad finally came back with the milk so we’re going out to dinner since it’s date night. Be careful and don’t forget to lock up before you go to bed okay? Okay, love you, bye bye girlie!”

Welp I’m home alone Wjian, thought to herself. She leaned back into the chair, contemplating on what she would do next.

Sitting back up she looked down into her lap to see her hair untangled from her headphones. She didn’t think much of it and grabbed her phone at the sound of the personalized text tone of her best friend, Dio Brando. Who had sent her a tiktok. She opened up the app and watched a video about a man who had railed his poor girlfriend to a truly god awful song to have sex to.

“I wonder if you could actually get off to that?”

She let the tiktok play on loop as she thought about if she could get off to the terrible song that echoed in her eardrums. After listening to the sound for the longer version she came to the conclusion that she just didn't want to put herself through the song any longer.

But she did however want to tickle her inverted pickle now that she had thought about the idea of doing the activity. She was in the mindset now; standing up to grab her toy of good times from the sock drawer and sitting back in the soft pastel chair.

She opened up tumblr to look through random smut and find a Kakashi x reader with some tags she liked. She started playing an asmr for Kakashi on youtube and opened back up the tumblr tab. As her eyes scanned over the paragraph her body began to heat up, her pale skin flushed with color as a blush. She lifted up her top and threw it onto her bed behind and continued to scroll down the page.

She trailed a hand up to her chest fondling her supple breasts. She flick the bud of her nipples and short, quiet sighs. She skimmed through the fiction until a new line caught her sight.

Her warm cunt ached for attention as she pinched and rolled her nipples around between her fingers.

The last time she watched porn she had seen a few videos of girls grinding and humping against different objects: tables, chairs, washing machines. Hell, she had even seen videos of women riding car hitches and the shift gear.

She could feel the wetness collecting in her shorts just thinking about it. It may have been slightly strange , but she thought it was kinda hot. So she shimmed out of them. She hadn’t been wearing underwear that day so the soft cotton polyester blend of her large and very expensive flower seat cushion slightly tickled her bare skin.

Her mind drifted back to her previous thoughts of humping porn she had watched in the past.

Maybe I should try it, but it might hurt a little. Maybe I should put some underwear on, or put my shorts back on? No no! What if I squirt or something then it’ll just run down my legs and make a mess. A towel maybe? Yeah! I’ll put a towel over it. Wjian thought before walking over to grab a towel.

Chaise Pov

I stand in the room I was built in, staring at the screens of the computers. I sit in the short silence of the woman that assembled me into being. She stared at the blinding blue lights. This woman never seems to be away from this desk area. Her pale fingers pushed at the keys as I struggled to hold in a sigh. She was going to be sitting on me for hours to come.

She took a towel and placed it over one of my arms before she took a few steps to stand over it. What was she about to do? She lowered her body onto my arm and I could feel the pulsing of her cunt through the towel. I could feel heat in my cushions, which is a bit strange since I didn’t have seat warmers but whatever.

Wjian ground her hips against my arm and let out soft moans.

“F-fuck,” she whispered.

Damn, she seems to be enjoying herself, but what actually is she doing? I thought about moving but she might slip cause she’s pretty clumsy; I’ve watched her trip in nothing but air, which I admit sounds a bit creepy but hey, I’m a chair.

“Wjian what are you doing?” I asked. Wjian jumped back, hitting her lower back against her desk.

“Owchie that hurt!” Wjian said, rubbing where she had hit the desk.

“Who said what? A peeper? A perv?! A peeping perv!” Wjian said looking around wildly while she used her arm to cover herself which was mostly unsuccessful as she only covered her nipples and vagina.

“Sorry to breaking it to you but if anyone’s a perv it’s you Wjian, you were just rubbing your coochie on my arm,”

She looked at both of her sides to see if anyone was watching her and trying to play a prank on her.

“Has all that time in front of a pc made you blind or something? I’m right in front of you l'amour.”

“A ghost!?” Wjian exclaimed, her eyes wide in surprise

“No, I’m the chair you were just rubbing on like a little slut.”

“B-but you’re a chair!”

“Yeah I just said that dumbass,”

“H-h-how?”

“I don't know actually.” The chair swayed slightly.

Silence filled the room for a moment as she pondered what to say next.

“Could you feel what I was doing?”

“Well yeah, it's my arm.”

“Oh, well um…sorry about that.” she began to rise from my arm before stopping to speak again.

“What does it feel like for you?”

“Quoi?”

“huh?

“Sorry, I said what?

“You said you could feel me, so what does it feel like?”

“I don’t know, it just… feels,”

“Wow, very descriptive, you got a name I can call you?” Wjian shifts with her thin towel looking down.

“You can call me Chaise.”

Third person.

Wjian placed a foot on the seat cushioning as she leaned forward. Letting the towel fall from her and back on the arm of the gaming chair. Making them lean back a few inches.

“Chaise huh, so… I’m not quite sure what to say, how long have you been… um… sentient?”

“Since you assembled me,”

“Does that make me your mom or something?”

“No, why would you even ask me that! And you never answered my question from before,”

“What question?”

“When you were sliding your pussy across my arm like a bitch in heat I asked what you were doing?

“I was just trying to make myself feel good,”

“That’s what your fingers are for, slut,”

Wjian clenched her thighs together, wetness dripped down her legs. She had never been talked to like that before but she kinda liked it.

“So do you have private parts?” Wjian asked, her pale skin flushed with color as she nervously rubbed her thighs together.

“I dunno,”

“Can I… can I find them for you?”

“What? Speak up,”

“I said can I find them for you?”

“Can you what?

“I said can I find them for you!” her body heated up as her ears burned from the embarrassment that she had just said something like that to a sentient chair.

“Oui, why don't you see if you can find something, I'm sure with your whore expertise you'll find what you're looking for,”

She nodded slightly and ran her flushed hands across the patted material slowly. She had no idea what she was doing right now and she didn't even know if it was working with the lack of reaction. She grabbed onto the armrest and pushed her knees on to the seat. Pushing the back of the chair down until she was basically laying bare on top of her sentient piece of furniture.

Chaise shifted under Wjian’s weight, a shiver of excitement ran through their padding as Wjian’s ample breasts pressed against them.

She took one of her hands and grabbed the underside of the chair and she heard a subtle sign come from the chair. She grabbed the lever for the height and held it with a firm grasp.

“T-That's definitely doing something for me.” Chaise’s rolled back.

“Really!” She put more pressure into her grip and got a short hum.

Wjian changed positions so that she was sitting down. She then placed one of her hands between her thighs. She moved her fingers in slow motions on her clit. Wjian let out a moan as she leaned back on Chaise.

Right as put a finger into herself, the chair abruptly spinned her around facing away from the desk. She was now facing her bed in slight shock.

“This is a great view.”

“How do you see stuff?”

“I think I could compare it to an out of body experience in a way.”

Wjian let out a hum as she contemplated what Chaise said. She leaned out of the chair to grab something from her secret compartment that she had forgotten.

Her colorful red and blue dildo she had bought at her local Spencer's. She held it in her hand and brushed it between her opening. Coating it in her liquids and she grabbed the armrest for support as she inserted her toy into herself.

Wjian let out a loud moan as the toy stretched her walls. She wiggled in her spot rubbing her ass against the cushions.

“You really are panting like a dog, aren't you,” Chaise speaking to her in their low, thick, accented voice made Wjian shiver.

“If you keep talking to me like that I-i might cum on the spot,” she pushed the toy deeper into her.

“That's the goal is it not.” Chaise the chair shook back and forth as they told Wjian.

“I just got an idea…” Wjian took out her Dildo and stood up with wobbling legs.

She pulled the seat pillow and tossed it onto her bed and plopped the suction cup end on the chair. Then she crouched on the chair, hovering over her toy.

“Oh I see, so the slut wants to act like she's riding me.”

Wjian slowly lowered her hips on to the red and blue dildo until she was halfway down. She lifted up before going deeper and repeating the process. Her juices dripped down in viscous droplets.

“You sure are making a mess of me,” Chaise groaned.

A loud moan filled the room as Wjian fully sank into the seat, covering the silicone slong. Wjian’s legs began to shake and she tilted her head back. Drool threatened to pool out of her mouth and down her chin.

Her titties bounced, as she hopped on her toy. Her skin glowed in the colorful lighting of her gamer setup. Wjian moved her hand to her exposed pearl.

In tandem to Wjian’s movement, Chaise rocked back and forth sending the colorful dildo deeper and deeper into her juicy cunt. Every movement pressed the thick dildo onto her sweet spot.

“S-hit this feels so good!” Wjian said, saliva dribbling down her face. Recalling earlier occurrences she snaked her hands down to the underside of Chaise’s seat and wrapped her soft hands around the lever. Chaise let out a low groan making the seat vibrate a little. Her hips ground into the seat she used her hand to stroke and jiggle Chaise’s lever.

Wjian could feel pressure building in her core and she sped up readily waiting for what was a glorious orgasm to come.

“ah-Aah”

“You sound so angelic right now.”

Waves of euphoric relief washed over Wjian, her wetness gushed over the seat and she cursed as she rode out her orgasmic high.

“Don’t slow down now that you’ve got what you wanted, keep going!”

Wjian vigorously slid her hands over the lever and grasped it firmly.

“F-fuck, I’m so close,” Chaise choked out, as the rocked the dildo steadily pressed into Wjians warm muff sending her into overstimulation.

“How does this even work?!”

“I don't know but, be a good little whore and keep at it,”

“Yes, if I’m good, will you praise me?”

“That all depends,”

Wjian continued working towards Chaise’s release and soon enough Chaise was sent shaking with pleasure. The back was sent flying back into a full recline and they shook with ecstasy.

Wjian yelped in surprise and grabbed on to Chaise's arms for support.

“I feel kinda strange!”

“What do you mean?”

“W-WHoa, what the hell is this?!”

“Calm down, what are you talking about?”

“I mean I know I said my vision was an out of body experience but now i’m actually out of body!”

Wjian felt a coldness in her forehead then her eyes widened in surprise at the sight before her.

“Chaise, is that you?”

“I guess so”

Before Wjian, stood or rather levitated an androgynous person; translucent with their dark skin and muted hair,lacking much life.

“Huh, so I was right, you are a ghost.” A smile on her.

“You think you’re so smart, you dirty little slut,”

“Hah- fuck me again!”

Chaise smiled to themselves at the sight of the blushing girl.

“Well you are a cutie, even if you are a slutty bimbo,”

“So is that round two I’m hearing?”

“Sure mi vida,”

“ooh you’re speaking my mother tongue”

“…Wait, so you aren’t White?”

Salutations, Darling Worker Bees! This was part one of one our original stories! We hope you loved it and that you’ll support us by reblogging and sharing this with all your sexual deviant friends. Part Two will be posted next week, Sept. 12th , at 12 pm EST. and there will be more stories like this coming. The Hive has a lot of plans in the works.

Lastly I just want to say a big thank you to CafeKitsune for allowing us to use these gorgeous banners, we’re literally so grateful and everyone please show your support to CafeKitsune for all the amazing work they do to make tumblr posts looks so pretty.

@cafekitsune

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duckybarnes1917 · 2 years ago

Text

Your Eyes Outshine The Town…Chapter 4

Bucky Barnes x Black Female Reader

18+ Only

Summary: Bucky discovers more about his past and potential future. You do some research on the Tracksuit Mafia.

Warnings: Fluff and Angst. Reader has nightmares and panic attacks. This setup with Bucky's family is important to me because I worked really hard on giving Bucky the family he deserves that the MCU refuses to give him and us. But thank you to the blip for allowing this to happen.

*Tumblr is not letting me add links to the prev or next chapters. Please see the masterlist pinned to my page for the rest of the story!*

As you waited for the soup to finish cooking, you finally took pity on Bucky and restarted your conversation from the train. “What did you like to do in the 40s?”

“I boxed, actually; I was pretty good. And we went dancing a lot.”

“A boxer and a dancer—makes sense.”

You brought the bowls of soup to the table; Bucky devoured his, and you gave him the rest of yours.

“Doll—I wanna open the file.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “The one from Shuri?”

Before coming to New York, Shuri had given Bucky a file that contained information about his family, both past and present. But he had yet to open it.

Bucky nodded apprehensively. “Being here in the city with you—it reminds me of my past life, and I think it’s time.”

You stood up and kissed his forehead. “Go get it; I’ll clean this up.” You took his empty bowls and went to the kitchen.

Bucky returned with the file in his slightly shaking hands—he didn’t know why he was so nervous. He sat back down at the table and laid the file in front of him, just staring at it until you cleared your throat.

“Do you want me to open it?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, I just need a second.”

You left your chair and motioned for him to scoot away from the table so you could sit in his lap. He wrapped one arm around your hips and grabbed the file.

You looked through it together; Shuri had gone above and beyond—of course. She had included pictures of weddings, kids, birthdays, holidays—his sisters’ lives that he had missed, pieced together through photographs.

You were crying almost as much as Bucky was. You stayed quiet, rubbing his back soothingly. You had been jealous before, but seeing him so happy did nothing but make you happy for him. He deserved this, and you made a mental note to send Shuri a fantastic gift to thank her.

“Holy shit,” Bucky whispered.

“What is it, baby?”

“This—it says that Betty is still alive!” Bucky jumped up—thank god for his catlike reflexes, or he would have dumped you on the floor.

“Seriously? She was the youngest, right?” You stood at the table while Bucky paced around excitedly.

“Yeah! I didn’t think any of them would still be around. There’s no address or phone number, though.”

You crossed the room and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sure someone on the list will know how to contact her. Call them.”

“Yeah—yeah, you’re right.” Bucky kissed you quickly before sitting back down at the table and pulling his phone out.

“Hi—uh—is this Connor? This is James—Barnes.”

You busied yourself in the apartment as Bucky’s phone conversation stretched on. You finished cleaning the kitchen and then went to the bedroom. You rolled your eyes and picked up Bucky’s clothes that he liked to throw on the floor. You had already argued about this more than once, yet clothes still ended up on the floor every day.

Who knew the Winter Soldier was such a slob?

After tidying up, you flopped on the bed and did a little digging on the Tracksuit Mafia.

If I can find pictures of Bucky and me on Instagram, these idiots are on there too.

They weren’t hard to find; one profile for a man named Ivan proudly stated his affiliation with the gang. You scrolled through the pictures and deduced that they often met at an old KB Toys warehouse, but that was way out of town.

There’s no way I could be gone for that long without Bucky getting suspicious.

You kept digging, eventually finding a link to Ivan’s TikTok account–mostly videos of his attempted music career. You were about to give up when you landed on a recent video advertising a Christmas carol event at Macy’s the following day.

Bingo!

If I can catch him off guard, I can definitely get him to tell me who they’re working for now.

You stuck your head out the door to check on Bucky; he was still talking to Connor–you hadn’t heard him talk this much since you met him.

You locked your phone and put it away; you figured Bucky would be hungry again soon, and you had been enjoying playing chef, so you started making a second lunch.

Sam’s sister, Sarah, had taught both Sam and you several traditional recipes when you were younger. One, in particular, stuck because it was your favorite—jambalaya. The familiar smells of the spices as you chopped and sauteed made you feel like you could hear the gentle waves of the bayou if you just listened hard enough.

Bucky looked up and raised his eyebrows when he smelled the bell peppers, onions, and jalapenos.

You gave him a quick smile and continued with your work. As you were putting everything in the oven, Bucky wrapped up his phone call and came to stand behind you.

“That smells amazing, doll—sorry I was on the phone so long.”

“Don’t apologize; it’s fine. Sounded like it went well?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said brightly. “He’s cool, and he invited me—us—over for Christmas.”

“You want me to go?”

“Of course, but I told him we’d come the day after—I still want to be selfish with you for a bit longer.”

You smiled and leaned in for a kiss. “That sounds perfect. Did he know where Betty is?”

Bucky frowned slightly. “She’s at a nursing home upstate. He said she’s doing well, though, and they go see her as often as they can.”

“Should we go see her?”

“Connor lives upstate too—I figured we could go when we visit them.”

“Whatever you want, I’m there.”

“Thank you,” Bucky grabbed your hips and pulled you closer, kissing you again. “What are you making in here?”

“Jambalaya. But I didn’t have shrimp, so I had to make do with only chicken. I figured you’d be hungry again soon.”

“You know, I’ve eaten ridiculously more food since you’ve been here than when I was alone.”

“I’m trying to see if I can feed you enough to give you a little belly,” you teased as you slipped your hand under his shirt and caressed his abs.

Bucky hummed happily and kissed you more forcefully, his stomach tensing when you moved your hand lower.

“Does me being your little housewife turn you on, Bucky?”

Bucky didn’t answer—he lifted you onto the kitchen counter, trying to shut you up with his tongue in your mouth.

You pulled back. “I’ll take that as a yes,” you giggled. “You want me to take care of you? Feed you? And then let you destress after a long day by letting you fuck me however you see fit?”

Bucky groaned against your neck. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why that turns me on. I’m sorry.”

You busted out laughing as Bucky got increasingly needier, his lips moving down to the tops of your breasts and his hands groping everywhere.

“Does this mean you’re done pouting about losing the contest?”

“Oh doll, I was done pouting the second you started curling your fingers. I will proudly lose any contest that involves you doing that again and again and again.” Bucky bit into your cleavage, his frustration building too quickly for him to handle.

The action made your legs spread almost involuntarily. “Well, you have 45 minutes until this timer—" you screamed when Bucky lifted you off the counter and threw you over his shoulder—taking you straight to the bedroom.

12 Days Before Christmas

Bucky laid on his side, watching you sleep as restlessly as he felt. Despite the Christmas cheer that you had injected into his life, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. What was supposed to be a relaxing evening at one of Brooklyn’s many Christmas markets had turned into a fight–though you would say it was nothing.

“What’s going on with you?” Bucky asked as he searched your face for a sign.

He was sure you hadn’t heard a word he said as you strolled through the market.

“Nothing,” you answered too quickly.

Your eyes were scanning the crowd; you swore you saw a flash of a red tracksuit. There were too many people here; you were too exposed.

“Hey,” Bucky pulled you into a secluded corner. “What is it? Just tell me.”

“Bucky, I said it was nothing! Okay? Just let it go.” You tried to walk away from him, back into the crowd.

Bucky grabbed your elbow but couldn’t get a word out before you pushed him off.

“Can we just enjoy our evening, please?”

“Fine,” Bucky relented, following behind you as you put a fake smile on your face.

The two of you had barely spoken after that–Bucky couldn’t pretend he wasn’t upset, and you refused to admit anything was wrong.

Was it him? Was he the problem? Maybe you were changing your mind about him–you were tired of him. Just the thought made his chest tight. It had been so long since he was this close to someone, he didn’t think he would survive being alone again.

You stirred again, a soft whimper leaving your lips, your brows deeply furrowed.

“Doll? It’s okay.” Bucky reached out to shake you awake.

You sat up with a gasp and jerked out of his touch.

“You’re okay; I’m right here.”

You didn’t look at him as you swung your legs over the side of the bed and hurried to the bathroom.

“Hey, wait!” Bucky sat up and turned on his lamp, but the bathroom door was already shut.

He knocked softly; he could hear your sniffles as you tried not to cry. “Doll? Let me in; what’s going on?”

“I’m fine; go back to sleep!”

“I can stay out here all night,” Bucky said quietly.

Neither of you had woken up from a nightmare since you had been together—he was perturbed now.

You didn’t respond, and he sighed loud enough for you to hear, resting his forehead against the door.

“We’re a team now, sweetheart. I know you haven’t been doing well; you gotta talk to me.”

He paused, waiting for your response, and then nearly fell over when you wrenched the door open.

“I said I was fine,” you tried to slip past him, but he grabbed your arm.

“Doll–” Bucky paused for a moment, the smell of alcohol on your breath throwing him off. “Were you drinking?”

You pulled your arm away from him. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Why can’t you just talk to me?!”

You paused with your hand on the bedroom doorknob; alarm bells went off in your head–run. You suddenly felt suffocated. You pulled the door open without saying anything else and slammed it shut behind you.

You paced around the living room; your hands felt numb, your heart was racing as you tried to suck in oxygen.

Fuck, I haven’t been this bad in so long.

If you hadn’t been wearing skimpy silk pajamas, you would have gone for a run–but you couldn’t go back to the bedroom now. You couldn’t face him.

You put your hands behind your head and took long deep breaths, holding them for a few seconds before exhaling. When your heart rate slowed, you sank into the living room chair and tried to curl into a comfortable position.

Why didn’t we buy a couch? There’s no way I can sleep here. Should have kicked him out of the room–dumb.

Fighting was a big part of every adult relationship you had been in. You and Stephan fought at least once a week over the most trivial things: you were taking too long to get ready, he didn’t bring you the right flowers, you couldn’t agree on what kind of wine to have with dinner. You were constantly on the defensive with Stephan; otherwise, you risked losing your power in the relationship. You couldn’t talk to Stephan about your feelings–that would give him leverage. You had to protect yourself.

But Bucky–Bucky made you feel safe. You didn’t need to fight with him to keep your power.

Shit.

As stubborn as ever, you continued to lay in your uncomfortable position until your legs were cramping and your arm was asleep. Only then did you finally force yourself to get up and go back to the bedroom.

You peeked in, Bucky’s back was to you, his chest rising and falling lightly. Silently you slipped back into bed, cuddling against his back.

“You okay?” He mumbled, turning around to hold you against his chest. You nodded, sinking into his comfort. “I’m sorry. This is new for me, okay? I’m not used to this.”

“Not used to what?”

“Trusting you with my heart,” you whispered.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.” Bucky held you closer. “Do you want to talk about the dream? Was it Stephan?”

“No,” you lied. “It was you.”

Bucky tensed, his hands falling away from you as he turned on his back. “I’m sorry.”

He was already shutting himself down–he knew it was all too good to be true. His brain cruelly replayed the image of his vibranium hand around your throat, your eyes full of fear. He had lost control once several months ago, unable to wake himself from a nightmare and you had paid the price. He was still finding it difficult to forgive himself. A similar look of fear had been in your eyes when you flinched away from him and locked yourself in the bathroom.

You sat up, starting to panic again. “Wait, don’t be mad–I’m trying. Just–Bucky!” You grabbed his arm as he tried to get out of bed. “I’m trying, I want to let you in–I–” you wiped a tear off your cheek and tried to keep your voice steady. “In my dream, you were being hurt, and I couldn’t get to you–I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

Bucky’s hardened shell softened. “Oh–” he turned back around to face you. “You don’t have to say anything else, doll. Tell me when you’re ready.” He held you close as you sat in his lap.

“I thought you were mad at me,” you whispered as you clung to him.

“No, never. When you said you had a dream about me–I thought it was–bad. And you pushed me away when I tried to touch you.”

You pulled back and looked at him like he was crazy. “I’m not afraid of you, Bucky; I’ve never been afraid of you.”

“Old habits,” Bucky shrugged. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

You shook your head. “I just need to hold you.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck and tried to relax, rubbing his cold metal dog tags between your fingers. The part of the dream you told him about was true; you just left out the part where you were being forced to save either him or Stephan and you couldn’t do it—you couldn’t choose.

Bucky felt your hot tears on his neck and held you closer. “We can talk about him, you know? I know you’re hurting. You don’t have to pretend for me.”

You remained still and quiet, pretending you were asleep.

“I love you,” Bucky whispered and kissed the top of your head.

Don't forget to reblog! 😉

*Tumblr is not letting me add links to the prev or next chapters. Please see the masterlist pinned to my page for the rest of the story!*

Taglist: @delaber @mannien @raindrcpsangel @cjand10

#bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x black female reader

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