#they have no idea what’s going on but it’s clearly dangerous. it makes sense that a government agency might be formed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kithtaehyung · 2 months ago

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minted: two (explicit) | myg

title: minted: two (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: one | masterlist rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag? note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you! note 2: as always, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma/pstd, poor reader :(((, but also YES READER???, tension to the max, inner turmoil, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee… a ha ha, did i mention tension?, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn drop date: september 30th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.8k help me @ god

There’s something to be said about the human gut.

Not for being the source of multiple health aspects, nor the way it’s connected to the brain.

But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.

Who is this person next to you?

Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run?

You don’t know if you release your hand or if Yoongi lets it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.

How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.

Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink.

To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”

No answer.

Alright.

“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”

All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking.

Okay. Well.

You can face forward, too.

“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”

As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree.

Mm. Does he?

From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down.

If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers…

What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?

Geez, it’s freezing. Is a drop in temperature the best barrier to you making sense of things? You can’t even appreciate the way Yoongi’s veins protrude with every adjustment he makes to that mysterious duffle bag.

Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you!

Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too?

But that taxi drive…

Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff.

Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved.

All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is.

How far did you travel? What district is this? You’ve never heard of a grey zone, but they seem fairly peaceful even at night. Neutral enough for you to consider relocating even if it meant sleeping on the street.

That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”

A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.

But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on?

One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…

Floor…

There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling.

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with.

And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are.

“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.

Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?

Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.

You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.

The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?

How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home.

And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors.

Perfect.

“What.”

You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”

He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.”

…Is that really his only response?

“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.

“But it’s what you need.”

“Say what now?”

The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket.

But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends.

This is all too much.

“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.”

You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You serious?”

“Yes, I am. So move.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside—wait he’s gonna let you go that easily?

…Oh.

That was certainly not what you expected, but what else would you even think? This isn’t one of those stories that ends perfectly after trials and tribulations. Yoongi has proven more than once—in mere hours—that he’s no regular civilian.

But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization.

No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him right now than you are by yourself. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun.

He did keep you alive that whole chase.

But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with him, either. You don’t even know who this man is anymore—maybe you never did.

So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.

Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again.

Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done.

And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again.

Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal.

Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back.

No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance?

You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic.

Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening.

And someone’s inside?

Wait.

Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.

Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a staff member, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches.

However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire.

Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not.

You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse.

And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions you can’t name.

Yeah, you fucked up.

Fuck.

Fuck you actually made a big mistake go back don’t let the elevator close shit—

As you lunge for the door, you get your arm through to block it from closing, turning to the employee inside and seeing their expression change.

What was that about?

“Sorry,” you blurt to their pressed and polished grey uniform. “I forgot something inside.”

“I can wait, Miss,” they immediately offer, to which you politely and cautiously decline.

“No need.” When you step out of the elevator, something happens that you think about hours and hours later. “I’ll come down when I’m ready, thank you.”

You can suddenly breathe again. Why was it so stuffy in there?

The worker bows stiff. “As you wish.”

Without pause, you nod, waiting until the doors close to face someone turned away.

Ugh. It’s like Yoongi knew you weren’t gonna leave. Either that, or he really didn’t give a crap about what you did at all.

Either way, fuck this guy and fuck your indecisive ass!

In full aggravation, you march through the entrance before grating out, “You’re lucky I—”

“Shower.”

“What?”

“The blood,” he calmly breathes. “If you’re gonna hit the streets, wash it out.”

“It isn’t mine.”

“I know.”

Your mouth snaps shut.

Fuck. Yoongi’s right.

“Okay. Well,” you scoff, “Good point but how can I trust you to not do anything.”

When he tilts his head with a bored, unamused, borderline ticked off expression, you almost scoff before he drawls,

“Not interested.”

Oh. He’s…

Oh.

But the taxi and the hand-holding and the the the kiss what the hell? Was your liplock not up to this Dragon’s standards? Why are you questioning something so trivial?

The nerve. You plunge your shoulders in exasperation, hating how you chose to put yourself in another situation with this pain in the ass and he isn’t even… “I swear to—You know what? Good. Not interested, either.”

A lie.

Scrambling, your stomach speaks the next sentence for you, “But there better be food when I come out cus you robbed me of lunch today. So do something about that.”

Fucking hell you do not need his lips to quirk up so deliciously. That one look completely offsets what he just said and annoyingly tickles your core.

Stop. Focus. You cannot entertain any of those thoughts so ignore him and find a bedroom.

Opening the first door you can see, you continue your tirade, “And no more stealing my chopsticks.”

“Closet.”

Of course it’s a closet! Shutting it with force, you let out a high curse. “Who needs a closet here? Whatever, just—figure it out, I’m starving.”

“Yes, princess.”

You flick Yoongi off as you blaze down the hall, not even knowing nor caring if he sees or not.

The next door works, and you shut him out before falling back onto its weight, so fraught with emotion that you can’t even register the appearance of the room.

Today has aged you multiple years. So much has transpired ever since this afternoon that you can’t even think in straight nor curved lines. As soon as you remember something, another thought juts between. Why are you simultaneously thinking about dingy, stained floors while agonizing over Yoongi’s lips? Is there a place other than hell or heaven you can settle on?

As soon as you’re physically and mentally patched, you are out of here.

The plan is simple. Shower, eat, give this man a piece of your manic mind, then go home.

Although… It would be nice to at least know what’s in that duffle. If it’s something worth taking you could finesse a piece of the loot.

Swallowing dry, you push yourself off the door and finally notice a flood of ambient light.

At your side, you come across an expansive bathroom, eyeing the wall-to-wall entrance before taking in the center shower with disdain and awe.

The whole setup is lavish.

Does the water just fall straight from the ceiling and into that large square tub? This looks nothing like your cramped, chipped one back home. There’s even lush plants lining the area and towels already folded nearby for use.

Maybe you did get killed on the run and you’re in some type of dreamworld.

Too bad you aren’t alone.

As you drag tired feet onto heated tile, you search for the shower knobs, realizing you have a whole panel to work with instead.

Uhh.

What.

You quickly find that one button blows water like a hose straight from the top, scaring you so bad you jump. When you hastily try another, something whirrs in the floor that has your brows kissing—

“You good?”

Fuck!

You flinch and hit the wall, groaning when you see Yoongi lazily resting against one side of the bathroom entrance. Both of your voices echo in the extravagant interior.

“You ever knock?”

“No.”

“Shocker.”

He walks up the tiny steps, and you’re more than relieved you’re still wearing his jacket. When he gets closer, you turn and face the panel, “I can figure it out.”

“Move.”

You get slightly displaced as he gets close, resting a hand on the wall while bending to operate the buttons. As you inhale his musk, you respond to his second question instead of his first. “What?”

“Is this fine,” he repeats, checking the settings before turning to the shower area.

Oh. Wow. It’s a lot more than fine.

A circle of rain falls into a beautifully lighted tub, steam wafting through the glow and coating your skin.

You’re so entranced that you are quite literally left speechless. Skirting around your present company, you gaze up, down, silently observing the plants sway with the shower air.

Strangely, this whole bathroom makes everything you’ve seen today believable because of the sheer wonder of it all. It’s almost enough to make you forget what you’ve done.

Almost.

When you pause, you see Yoongi watching your face from beyond the rainfall. And he looks so handsome, even now, not doing a thing.

Is it because he’s clearly roughed up but still so poised? Very unlike you in your banged up, dirty state?

Huffing, you fold your arms a little too harshly—out of jealousy or whatever else, who is to say. “I’m good now,” you proclaim, keeping your walls high. “I can do the rest myself.”

Again with that little slant.

Ignore him ignore him. If Yoongi keeps doing that, you’re really gonna have to brave the outside world instead of dying by smirk. A tub has never been so interesting in your life.

“Suit yourself.”

You look up again.

But he’s already left you alone.

Solely to undress and contemplate what the hell he implied by that.

Why did you walk left today instead of right?

Under scorching rain in the middle of luxury, this is the question you repeat in your head. Watching all the burnt streams of your decision swirl, and swirl, and swirl.

The blood will never wash out.

Does the price of saving a life have to be this high? It must be somewhat divine, being that in order to save, you took. If only there was another way to achieve that end goal. Though there’s no way to do it all over again to be sure.

Staring at four chopsticks on the ground, you try to assure yourself. You need to.

Because at least you succeeded.

But will your price be more damning because of the one you saved?

Rushing water mutes your hearing as it pours onto sore limbs. When you reach for the scrub for a third time, you make sure to really dig, scraping at every. Single. Inch. In a last attempt to cleanse yourself completely.

Knowing that even after the water runs clear, you still see nothing but red.

You chose left today.

If you had chosen right…

Doesn’t matter.

Your palm tingles.

Blood never really washes out.

Holy fuck, you don’t have clothes to change into.

Wrapping yourself in plush material, you hastily pad around freezing floors as you think of a plan.

You can’t just ask for them. How would Yoongi even have any for you? The jacket was more than enough borrowing for today and you’re in a hotel room, not his place.

Thank the universe.

But the matter is pretty urgent. Because you’d rather burn your belongings before putting them on again. Which leaves zero clothing and a thousand issues. Fuck.

Dragging feet to the massive sliding doors, you steel your resolve. Hoist your shields back upright.

Because there’s no choice. You’re just gonna have to dread another conversation with this man. An embarrassing, awkward, unprecedented shit why is he in the bedroom!

You flinch backward as you slam the door closed. Peeking out, you gawk, “What the hell are you—?”

Did Yoongi just pocket a phone?

The duffle rests at his feet.

Wait. Did he stay in here while you showered? Thank god you had the foresight to slide all the doors shut because you definitely spent a lot of your time scrubbing like mad or standing completely still.

No. Yoongi’s hair is wet, so he did shower at some point. And he’s donning a robe, which is precisely what made you slam the door shut.

How can he look like royalty wearing that? The material is quite lush and silken, but still plain. It makes no fucking sense and you wanna rip it right off—

Gathering yourself, you rush out, “Why are you in here?”

“You took too long.”

“So? That doesn’t—”

“In my shower.”

Wait. What? “Oh.”

You slide the door open a little more to check his claim. And now that you finally see the room, you can tell it’s clearly been used already, clothes and bottles scattered about. “You said pick one.”

“I did.” Yoongi turns to drop something onto a dark comforter. “Figured you picked it on purpose.”

“No, I… I didn’t notice the room.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says after a brief look your way. “Not sharing the bed, though.”

“No need,” you snip. “I’m leaving soon.”

Motherfucker. Yoongi only regards his sheets with a smile that triggers your fight response. And you almost—almost—drop the towel.

Speaking of. How are you even standing in his vicinity with only a single piece of cloth? Are you seriously that exhausted you didn’t even think twice about it?

Suddenly very, very aware of yourself, you squeak, “Umm.” He waits. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“That’s what you get for kicking me out so quick.”

Your jaw hits the floor. “So what, I’m walking around with a towel? Are you out of your mind? If you think I’m some—”

“Fuck, relax,” he slowly groans to the ceiling. “I was gonna say there’s robes in the closet.”

You snap your mouth closed so hard it jangles. “Then just say that!” And you slam the partition closed before fast walking to find them.

Missing the way Yoongi huffs before staring hard at his bedroom door.

On your second arrival into his room, your steps and demeanor are a lot calmer.

Is it because he’s a lot calmer, too? Maybe. Is it also because you smell food, realizing he did exactly what you wanted? Maybe more so.

Noticing a table situated near balcony doors, you blink before regarding Yoongi’s sitting form on one of the chairs outside.

A man lounging while smoking in a robe should not be this alluring. And yet, that’s the only word you can think of to describe him.

Throat drying and aching, you slowly walk over and take a seat, already ravenous enough to dive into broth head first. But you eye Yoongi while retrieving new chopsticks, scowling when all he does is flash teeth through the glass.

Do not engage do not engage do not engage.

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your—

“You’re really mad about that, huh.”

You snap your head up to see him leaning on the doorway. “I was hungry.”

“There was a cup of them on your table.”

“So why didn’t you grab those instead!”

Yoongi ticks his brows before peering into the night. And he stays like that for awhile, letting a breeze lift his damp locks. “Didn’t expect to see you there,” he admits. “Gotta say you threw me off.”

Nu uh. No more heart skips for today. “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you too choose to be honest. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“You were going to.”

As curious brows furrow, you break your utensils apart. “Figured something happened.” Guess you’re being honest about a lot of things. “Or you found another tangerine girl.”

Yoongi holds his look before taking a drag, smoke spiraling around his words, “Why were you even over there? You’re a bit far from Crane.”

You blink at his deflection.

What was that about? What is that look for?

Holding his gaze because you aren’t done challenging him, you calmly answer, “I was shopping.”

“Shopping.”

“Mmhmm.”

Falling silent, he observes a little longer before flicking ash off his cigarette.

And just like that, the conversation dies.

It’s for the best anyways. If Yoongi kept prying, he was gonna get closer to the truth. And you wanna slip around that as much as possible.

But he keeps standing in the doorway, inked arm bending as he breathes in smoke. Donned in a dark robe and topped in teal, he suits Dragon perfectly. Way too perfectly.

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your noodles instead.

Your noodles.

You’re not hungry anymore.

Something horrid jams up your throat, and you run through your day in flashes. The restaurant. The food. Dragons. The chopsticks. The kill. The chase. Yoongi. The kill the kill the kill.

Dirt and shouts and lifeless lips clog your hearing, and your grip loosens completely as your vision shakes and shakes why couldn’t Yoongi have gotten anything else why does it have to be—

A hand.

A robed arm.

Your new utensils come back into view.

But when you face reality, you don’t see them put them back into your hand. You don’t even see them dug in your noodles and left there.

Instead, you watch as Yoongi plants one palm on the table, slowly lifting strands from the bowl and staring right into your eyes,

“Eat.”

Words. Get them out. Something something communication. Key is communication. What the fuck is happening to your brain?

“I can’t,” you finally croak out. “I’m not.. I’m not hungry.”

“You are.”

“Not anymore.”

Nose scrunching, Yoongi suddenly drops the food and dumps himself on the chair nearest, stretching his leg and revealing a littering of scars. “Didn’t know you were fine with wasting food.”

The icy descent of his tone freezes your bones.

“Thought you of all people would hate that.”

“I—I’m not—It’s not that—”

“Then eat.”

“I literally can’t—”

“Water. Food. If you’re gonna waste all my shit, then leave.”

“What?”

Is he serious? You’re in the midst of post-traumatic shock and he can’t take the hint? You’re so appalled by this man that you can’t even think straight.

“You heard me. Stop acting like you didn’t.”

“Oh, I heard you,” you snap. “Just double-checking what the fuck you said.”

“So you gonna leave or just sit there? If you’re staying I’ll just walk out the roo—”

“Don’t.”

Both of you still at your words.

And you have to force your palms to unfurl on your quivering thighs. One knuckle. Another. Nails leave half-moons in your skin.

Breath haphazard, you finally break. “Just,” you swallow, hard. “I’m not wasting it just give me a sec.”

You don’t want to tell Yoongi why you want him to stay. Despite him being the most infuriating person you’ve ever met, it beats the alternative. And you don’t want the alternative. Truthfully, that’s another reason why you left the elevator earlier.

Yoongi looks pissed as hell.

But he hasn’t moved.

And that’s enough to get you to pick up your chopsticks and try again.

You stare. Stare. Stare. Mustering courage and inhaling all the aromas you indulged in just earlier today.

Fuck, you wanna hurl.

“You’re gonna have to get used to this.”

Your gaze snaps to his, brows and thoughts knitted in disbelief. “What?”

“This feeling.” Yoongi looks out the glass doors, hands resting on the arms of his chair. “The faster you do, the better.”

There’s no way he’s serious. Get used to it? What reason would you ever have for doing that? Caustic, you scoff, “Why, so I don’t waste more of your food?”

You’ve never seen someone laugh in a negative way. But he does before sliding his eyes over. “So when you have to do it again, you don’t lock the fuck up hours later.”

You shoot up from your chair, hellbent on oh fuck you stood up too fast. “You—”

Yoongi just watches as you grab the table for balance, wincing from the pangs in your head. Words grind through your teeth, unable to fully form beyond the light assaulting your brain.

“Like I said.”

Palms press against your forehead before you slump back into your chair.

“It’s better in the long run.”

Technically, he’s right. It’s better in the long run if you get used to this.

But there’s no way you can do it again. Who does he think you are? Yoongi’s got to know that you aren’t planning on making this a daily habit. This isn’t you. You only killed to protect somebody. Killed to save the person telling you to basically get over it.

Fucking hell, this sucks.

Frustration and exhaustion sting the corners of your eyes.

Eat. Build your strength and get the hell out of here. Deal with it deal with it deal with it.

As you regrettably pick up your chopsticks, you don’t care if your tears season your noodles. And quite frankly, you don’t give a shit if Yoongi watches them fall, too.

Because they’re liquid anger. Hot trails blazing down your face, hardening into sticky paths and dried rivers.

“What were you looking for.”

Your eyes slide up to regard him, his arms folded and brows low. Because of course he doesn’t care about your state, either. Of course he’d rather entertain his curiosity. “Nothing you need to know,” you mutter, banning him from knowing another truth.

“Did you find it.”

You swipe at both your eyes.

As spice coats your tongue, Yoongi keeps prying, “Something you needed to go all the way there for?”

“Fuck off,” you dismiss, slurping and swallowing with ease. “I don’t have to answer you.”

“You already are,” he responds, confident. “Now tell me. Is there one in particular you need?”

Wait. You barely gave anything away, so how is Yoongi asking the right questions? There’s no way he actually knows what you were looking for. No way in hell.

This man is more dangerous than you thought.

“Why do you even care,” is all you choose to say, more focused on your food now because above everything else, it’s quite fantastic. It somewhat reminds you of a past home, and you can’t help but escape to those distinct walls. “It’s irrelevant to you.”

“But I have what you want.”

You take another bite before stilling, looking up to see Yoongi propping his head with roughed knuckles. “You’re lying,” you drawl to his smugness, trying to act as if he didn’t just figure you all the way out. Because he didn’t. There’s no way. “And I’m still leaving.”

“If you stay, I’ll show you.”

When you leer over your soup, he simply stares back with no hint of emotion.

And you’re so curious about what he means that you finish your whole bowl.

When you push it forward, you understand exactly what Yoongi did. It worked perfectly, and you have to hand it to him even though he mangled your character minutes beforehand. “Thank you,” you offer some manners. “This was goo—”

The scrape of a chair cuts you off, and your sentence dies in midair as you watch your runaway partner vacate his seat.

Good riddance.

He knows how to stay on your bad side, that’s for damn sure.

But Yoongi simply heads back out to the balcony for another light. So you chalk up his swift exit to vices and not wanting to breathe your air. Or maybe he’s done with his fun and is already writing you off before you head out.

Clearing your bowl from the table, you walk out of the bedroom and bring it to the large kitchen, noting with a scowl that it’s obnoxiously bigger than half your floorplan back home.

Yearning pierces right through your chest.

The elevator is right over there.

You showered, you ate. You can leave as soon as you clean your dish.

Are you way too curious about what Yoongi’s gonna show you? Yes. But is that gonna stop you from getting out of here? No.

Well. This robe is hugging your figure perfectly and feels way too comfortable to just use for an hour or so… Plus, if you ditched it now, Mister Morals will scorn you for wasting that away, too.

How rude of him to assume that about you. Of course you aren’t wasteful. The only times you let things go are when you absolutely have to, like you should have back in that noodle shop instead of braving the back staircase.

Scoffing to no one, you scrub your bowl in the sink, grunting explicatives and stabbing Yoongi with curses until you hear a distinct beep.

Was that the elevator?

You cut the water off with a twist.

Cautiously, you make your way across the kitchen, peeking around the corner to appease your curiosity and spike your anxiety.

A bellhop? Another grey uniform looking to and fro to survey the area. It’s the same person that sent a look of panic your way before you went up to the room.

And your defense mechanism blares.

But before you can hide behind the partition, their eyes lock onto yours. Arm outstretched, the staff is motioning for you to… join them? Why?

You’re the one bunking with a gangster. Why does this person make you even more uncomfortable? This feeling is just like the one you had when you called the elevator the first time. Was your gut warning you then, too?

Maybe it’s because you don’t like the staff thinking they can come in unannounced. Grey zone etiquette or not, you can’t see how this is ever appropriate. In fact, it poses so many safety concerns. How is this okay?

Walking into the foyer, you rest a hand on a robed hip. “Can I help you?”

“I’m the one trying to help you,” they whisper, harsh and with another swipe of their hand. “You have to get out while you can.”

Wait. What do they mean while you can? “And why’s that?”

Sputtering, the bellhop sticks one foot out the elevator while pleading and, for some reason, that pisses you all the way off. “There’s no time to—”

“Get. Your foot. Off my floor.”

Is that fear in their eyes or surprise? “Oh, apologies. I didn’t realize you were… I thought—”

“Thought what?” Your arms fold, weight shifting to your other tired foot. “Speak up.”

Frankly, you don’t know where this newfound energy is coming from. All you know is that there are certain things you still despise and this person is ticking all the boxes.

“I thought you were taken, Miss. I’m here to save you.”

Pausing, you grip your arms, feeling silk gather under your palms.

There’s a lot you tolerate. Many things that a lot of people can’t. But someone assuming you’re the weak one that needs saving? There is no quicker way to lose your interest.

Stepping towards the elevator, you unfurl your arms, robe swaying and billowing around your freshly showered legs.

“Yes, that’s right. Come on, we can take you away.”

Hand on the entrance, you lean forward. “You’re not taking me anywhere,” you command, finger pressing the button at your side. “And you aren’t coming back up here until I say so.”

Slowly, the doors slide shut, your reflection two halves in the metal shine.

Well.

So much for leaving.

You may spend more time here than you thought.

With more thoughts swirling, you spin, heading back into the kitchen to pick up the same bowl you were washing. Hoping you and your gut made the right call.

Yoongi’s a criminal and a madman. But he’s not… the worst. At least, not horrible enough to warrant someone coming up to steal you away.

Besides. Is Yoongi aware that staff can come and go as they please? He seems like the type of guy that would hate that.

Staying vigilant seems to be a little more important now.

It’s soon after, when you’re placing the dish somewhere to dry, that you hear noise in the living room beyond the countertop. Looking up, you see someone much more familiar enter the space.

Hmm. Whatever’s in that duffle must be worth millions for Yoongi to lug it around everywhere.

As he dumps it next to the couch again, you don’t choose to ask about it just yet. Only because you want to ease into it later when you’re both not at each other’s throats. And while you’re not reeling from another strange encounter at the elevator.

So you go with a safer question instead, choosing not mention what just happened. “Is this whole floor… your place?”

Yoongi looks up. “Only when I need it to be.”

Interesting. “Does anyone else know about it—”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You blink. “I mean. I don’t get by selling fruit cus I’m quiet.”

“You’re quiet with me.”

“And even then I get you to talk.”

Yoongi frowns slightly before moving away, more towards the sliding door leading out to another outdoor area.

God, this place is obnoxiously huge. There’s still a whole other half you haven’t seen yet.

When you peer out, you watch as he leans against the railing, seeming to look both up at the building and down at the streets below.

Well. If you aren’t leaving anytime soon, may as well offer some sort of peace offering. Maybe the two of you just need to chill the fuck out.

Rummaging through the kitchen, you manage to find some high quality beer in the fridge. On your walk to the sliding glass, you’re reminded of the time you gave him one before when he helped fix your cart.

That was so long ago.

You’re so lost in thought that you barely register Yoongi whipping a hand to his waist when you walk outside. But you catch the metal just in time.

“It’s me!” you quickly alert before regressing back to annoyance, “Really…”

You’ve had way too much to deal with today. You don’t need a bullet in your chest to be another problem.

Especially since his little maneuver showed a bit more skin than you meant to see.

Yoongi eyes you before his shoulders rest, and you stride forward to offer up the cold can in your palm.

But you decide to hesitate while he goes to grab it, and you instead open it to have some.

Ugh. High quality, your ass. This one is way too bitter.

Your companion snorts as you make up an excuse, “I’ve had better.”

“Do you even drink?”

“Well, yeah,” you pout. Needing to prove it, you decide to keep the can. “Lemme try again.”

Somehow, this leads to you sharing the beer with him, tasting the mix of alcohol and smoke even after he tosses another cigarette off the ledge.

It’s not quite enough to forget, but it’s certainly helping. Observing the clouds so close and the city so far beneath your toes is extremely calming. It’s almost like you’re flying.

“It’s different here,” you mention out of the blue.

“This sector?”

“This high up.” Breathing in altitude, you sigh. “I’ve never been higher than my fourth story. It’s nice.”

“It’s usually silent, too.”

Your eyes slightly stab. “Whatever. You like having me around and just won’t admit it.” At this, Yoongi avoids direct contact. “Mmhmm. Don’t even try to hide it.”

“You’re useful to me.” You freeze. “That’s why you’re here.”

You shake your head. For someone deeming you useful, Yoongi’s pretty nonchalant about you dipping. Taking a tangy sip, you clarify, “But you don’t care if I leave? If someone comes to take me?”

He takes the offered can. “Mm.”

That answers that.

You should probably still tell him about what happened, though. His reaction could give more away than his words.

Instead, you drink in the night with your eyes. Knowing that you should know better about the company present.

The more you converse with Yoongi, the more you pick up. And one of those sad facts is that he doesn’t give a shit about anything you do or don’t do. Because all he really cares about is what he needs.

You can’t do anything to change him. Fix him. Whatever exists in fairytales. So you decide to take the night in stride. Not give a shit about him, either, per se.

Your curiosity gets the better of you now. Not just about what he’s gonna show you, but about that duffle. You quite literally don’t have anything to lose anymore, so may as well go for the question you’ve been wanting to ask all day.

“I was gonna ask for a cut of that,” you divulge with a head-tilt to the bag. “But figured you won’t even show me.”

“Why not?”

“Uhh.” You didn’t expect this. “You don’t like questions? You’re always secretive?”

“Never talk to the streets, princess. They’ll snitch on everything you say.”

“That’s deep,” you admit, taking a once full beer in your palm. “But I’m no snitch.”

“I know.”

Your look carries a slight pang.

“Come here.” Both of you walk inside as he plays with his lighter. When you round the couch, Yoongi dumps the bag right onto the cushions. “If you wanna see what’s in here, do it.”

You stare before slowly walking forward and kneeling to unzip the bag. As your slide reveals the contents, you’re nervous about what you’ll see.

But when it’s open, you freeze.

It’s all…chil-don? Tons of money wrapped in sleek stacks with edges so… Crisp. New.

Wait.

These patterns.

These are il-don?

Holy fucking shit there’s no way these are real. This is currency seven generations old. The first ever of the established system. Worth more than anything in current circulation, especially in their pristine state. Forget being worth millions, these are next to priceless.

You’ve never seen them like this.

“They’re some of the last in mint condition.”

The shock value is so high you forgot you were alone. Slowly turning, your breath catches as you ask, “How did you know where to find these?”

“Like I said,” he drones. “Streets talk.”

You look at the bills before glancing back up. “Can I…?”

Yoongi cocks a brow before angling his mouth. “Touch them? Do what you want, doll.”

You blink at the name this time. Because him saying that with a fresh cig in his lips is making your stomach flutter.

Picking up a fresh stack, you inspect the ancient pattern inlay with eyes wide, admiring how paper so old can have such detailed engravings. “These can’t be real.”

“They are.” He shifts. “And most people never see one in their lifetime.”

You put the money back on the pile inside. Yes, these have got to be worth a fortune. But there’s nothing else in the bag? No drugs, no lethal substances, anything? “Wait, so. This is it?”

Yoongi fully laughs before flicking his lighter again. “You want something else?”

“No, I—” You back away. “There’s really nothing else in there?”

Coolly, he lights up before taking the initial drag. “Nah.”

Smoke spirals around you. “I dunno what I expected but it wasn’t that.”

Yoongi lets a wisp leave his mouth. You know it’s getting in your robe, but caring about the little things has now jumped out the window. “Whatever’s in that bag can feed half the city.”

“What?” As you look, he walks over to what looks like a small section of a bar. “Is that why you stole it?”

“Stole it?” Yoongi grins and shakes his head. “Sure. That’s why we stole it.”

“We? Leave me out of this.”

“Too late.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You step forward in anger, but you only get a sound out before Yoongi straightens, aura blazing,

“I—”

“Say I do leave you out of it. Nothing happened tonight, according to me.” He discards his fresh light in an ashtray, watching it die before sliding his gaze your way. “Doesn’t mean whoever we just fought will suddenly leave you alone.”

Shit. He has a point. You ran for so long and fought plenty of those guys.

Is this what he meant? Getting used to that feeling? Maybe your consequence is joining the cycle of the damned, forced to kill in order to protect. Both others and now yourself.

“But I’m… Just a nobody. A civilian, I…”

Yoongi walks until he’s in front of you, hand cupping your chin and voice whispering mortifying allegations in your ear,

“You took a body for a Dragon, love. You’re not a civilian anymore.”

Your arms shove him backward without pause, face distraught as you watch his smirk bounce with his shoulders. His cackle echoes mad through the room, pinging the floors and piercing through your robe.

Truthfully, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing one. So naked and exposed in the open for this man to see. “You’re despicable.”

“That right?” His mouth sets as his lids lower. “And what about the one that killed and kept running?”

What.

“There was a police car at the restaurant,” Yoongi continues, a reminder so sharp it slices clean. “Yet you didn’t turn yourself in.”

Your feet sink into the rug beneath. “That’s not…”

With measured steps, he stalks forward, a harbinger of horrific realizations that you don’t want to hear, “You didn’t have to keep running. Didn’t have to get in that taxi.”

Stepping back, you find the room so stuffy it’s hard to move. “You—”

“Could’ve taken another train.”

“Stop.”

“Could’ve stayed in that elevator.”

What the fuck is happening right now?

Yoongi’s close. Very much too close, and the energy he radiates sets your instincts ablaze.

This is the man you’ve been pining over this whole time? If you ever get back home, you have got to remind yourself to avoid him at all costs. There’s nothing good for you if you stay. Danger surrounds every inch of him, and there’s no telling when you’ll take collateral damage.

“But you didn’t,” he delivers the final blow. “And you’re still here.”

Lifting your chin, Yoongi grins slow when you yank away.

“I should’ve never saved you.” Gaze finally locked, you growl from within, letting a monster loose,

“I should’ve left you for dead.”

Wait.

Stop.

This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. You’re a helper. A healer. Those words came out so strange that you’re questioning how they left your mouth so freely.

Did you really mean that? Or was this some feeble attempt to hurt him?

Yoongi doesn’t seem phased. But you clearly don’t know him so it’s not like—

Something heavy and dark as fuck is placed in your hand, and you snap your eyes to his in utmost disbelief.

“Go ahead then.”

Oh, this man is psychotic.

“Be my guest.”

No fucking way you’re gonna do it. “Stop—”

“If you regret it, why waste time—”

“Seriously, I’m not gonna—”

Yoongi forces your fingers flush against metal as he holds the gun to his forehead, both eyes piercing right into yours with no hesitation whatsoever.

And it is frightening.

All anger from before flees as fear and intensity rush into its place. Your brain fizzles and cracks as you try to wrestle out of his grip, and you feel burning at the corners of your eyes. “Stop!”

“Why.”

“I’m not gonna shoot you, the fuck!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

Mercifully, he lets go, pistol thrown as you’re tugged forward with a—

“What’s stopping you,” he grounds out, formidable presence all-consuming. “Tell me.”

You’re breathing so hard it hurts. “You”—a shaky heave—“You are out of your fucking mind.”

When you struggle from his grip, Yoongi pulls you even closer. Reacting in a rush, you propel your knee up to wrap around his side and twist.

But he proves just as quick, gripping the bare skin of your leg as you shove him down against the sofa. Grunting, you both curve with the furniture, Yoongi locked onto your knitted, conflicted brows.

“You regret saving my life,” he simply repeats to your frustration. “I gave you the chance to fix that.”

“Shut up—”

“But your will is weak.”

“I swear to—”

“Guess I was wrong.”

Who the hell does he think he is? This guy—Yoongi, Agust, whoever the fuck—has no right to play with you so casually.

But something else is swirling inside your ribs. Because through his cutthroat words and actions, this man is somehow stirring the deepest waters of your soul. Ripples rumble and stretch into waves, tugging your toes in undercurrents of obsidian. Dark. Primal. Hazardous. All you.

Is it from being subjected to such a heavy dose of his power?

Or is it because—even if just for a moment—he’s handing all that power to you?

Quite literally, you’re the one on top.

And Yoongi holds your gaze, unfazed by the way your robe completely spread open during your tumble. Or the fact that you have nothing beneath that silk.

He could easily take over. From the feel of his build beneath your hands and between your legs, you know he can.

But he’s not. There’s no hesitation. He’s legitimately giving you the choice and reveals no ounce of remorse.

This revelation courses through your veins, pumping a new kind of life into your palms. You have a shot at a criminal with a bag of il-don waiting to be snatched. And you know you won’t take it.

And that alone alters the chemistry of your brain.

With more fear of yourself than anything else, you shake out, “If I’m killing you, it’s gonna be entirely my choice.”

He’s laughing? You’re instigating a threat and he’s enjoying it? God, you are teetering on the brink of madness and another emotion that won’t dare be acknowledged.

Tugging Yoongi up a notch, you proclaim to the glint of his eyes,

“And when I do, you’ll die exactly how I want.”

Yoongi’s lips slowly, dreadfully spread, teeth shining in the dim lamp lights that sharpen half his features. When he speaks, you shiver. Because it’s a mix of pride and fear, sprinkled with a hint of alarm,

“That’s my girl.”

The room quiets, your bodies locked in a way that you’ll remember years from now. Breaths. Your bare chest hovering inches above his. If there were bystanders, they would no doubt get the wrong idea. Because if things were different, and if this man underneath you wasn’t who he was, you’d entertain another type of ferality and not stop until morning.

To be fair. That same dark part of you would still do it.

But this is about the righteous part of who you are. The one that abides by the rules. The one that fights to keep days boring, uneventful, the same.

So you quell that monster pacing in your core.

One more exhale leaves your lips before you let him drop, sliding off his silken, tone form to quietly readjust your robe. Turning away, you focus on the night skies, wondering if the people back home are sound asleep as you should be.

“My will may seem weak. But I don’t care what you think of me.”

Sound is crisp again as Yoongi rises to his feet. Around you, the air starts to lighten, cold slipping delicately into your skin.

Slowly tying the wrap at your waist, your words float to the ground, “Because I know who I am. And no one can take that from me, not even you.”

His presence fills the space at your back. But it’s muted. Less intimidating. Or maybe you’re just at your limit because you admit a little more than you intend,

“This world has already tried enough.”

Both of you come to another standstill, two black robes staining a room full of white. Even time itself gives you space, slowing and circling until you’re ready for it to flow straight again.

As a cloud shadows the light of the moon, you feel knuckles caress your neck. And Yoongi’s never sounded so calm as he starts, “They’ll come after you.”

You slightly turn.

“You still want to go back?”

A pause. A nod.

His knuckles continue to glide along your neck, slipping down your back before traveling the swoop of your shoulder. Everything in your body thrums, silently quaking because you have no idea where this is coming from and you can’t say you hate it.

Quite the opposite. And that scares you more.

“If you do, you’re dead to me.”

Of course. You’ve seen and know too much. There’s no reason for him to show up to your street now, especially if tangerines are all he’s looking for. He can always find them anywhere else.

But, for some reason, this still stings. In a way that irks even your reasonable side. Is it because of his touch? No. That’s only making you nervous from the fact that you probably aren’t… as experienced as he is. The uneasiness is wholly from your own limitations.

“I’ll survive without you,” you whisper resolute, chest squeezing when he replies,

“I know.”

The same fingers get bolder, tracing down your arm before sliding along the wrap at your hip.

And you freeze.

Because the tension is palpable. The power is intoxicating. It’s a new type of anticipation and you are fighting yourself to not give in. Don’t let everything get to your head. Don’t let anyone in again. Don’t stray onto a path you can’t quite navigate.

But fuck, you kinda want to.

Rocks slide against exposed skin when he decides to speak again. And it makes you wish the two of you were extraordinarily normal. Or that you at least knew what the fuck to do here because the attraction you feel is not as one-sided as you presumed.

“What made you stay.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding huffs out, and you swallow with difficulty. “I just…”

Get it together. Keep up your guard. It’s proving so hard, especially when his touches spark fires along your limbs. But you have to.

And therein comes another lie. “I wanted to know what you stole.” Gulping down the truth, you harden your resolve. “That’s it.”

With more restraint that you want, Yoongi bunches silk at your pelvis, hitching your robe and your breath all at once. When his other hand slowly holds your neck in place, you can’t help but flinch, and his low hum pours lava straight down your chest,

“What a shame.”

Oh. Is this how it ends? Did your gut get it all wrong?

He could end your life with a flick of his wrist. You know far too much. You’re not useful anymore.

“Someone will take you back tomorrow,” Yoongi murmurs, proving every single theory wrong. “After that, you’re on your own.”

And just like that, he releases you to stand alone.

Oh. You’re going home.

Good.

This is good, right?

Your heart beats overtime, almost drowning out your entire thought process. The thumps and pulses seem to cut every string of consciousness short.

What was that? What was any of that?

Never mind. Nothing happened and you can keep it that way, for the better. Yoongi is risk draped in beauty, and once you’re back home you can cut ties with anyone like him for good. You saved him; he spared you. It’s over.

…But do you want it to be?

Yes.

Of course you do.

Clouds let moonlight shine again.

When you arrive at an answer, you turn to find that Yoongi’s already gone, duffle and all shut inside his room with a muted click.

A flip switches as you let exhaustion take over completely, falling onto cushions that still hold his scent. Inhaling, you drift into darkness, wondering how your final decision will affect the rest of your days.

Whether awake or asleep, nightmares are real.

Only this time, you aren’t quite sure if the blood and guts you’re seeing are yours or someone else’s. Can’t discern the limb on the ground from the limb on your torso. Screams echo and ping from all directions, a cacophony of death that has you scratching at mania to stay sane.

Murderer. Murderer. A murderer that regrets who she saved. No, wait, that’s not true. You’d still do it again.

And you watch the same swing over and over. The same arc of finality. Those lifeless eyes. Closer. Closer. Sharper. Judging.

You were wrong. Were you wrong? Running does nothing and doesn’t provide an answer. The ground under your toes gives out.

How far are you straying? How low are you sinking? If you told your neighbors who you killed for, would they be upset or betrayed?

They’d hate you. Their fingers aim straight. Their tongues fire bullets.

They’ll hate you. Hate you. Hate you hate you hate you—

A room bursts into view as you jolt awake. Sounds snap silent, the hum of the air all you can hear as you rub your eyes.

So much for sleeping. There’s no way you’ll be able to now.

Focus on something else. Anything else. The past cannot be undone, so live with the choices you made and deal with the faces that haunt your dreams.

Staring into the dark, shapes and sharp edges slowly form, your vision sharpening with every passing second. Tiny pops and creaks tickle your eardrums, and Yoongi’s scent still lingers with your own.

You don’t want to focus on him, but it’s better than what forced you awake.

A lot happened tonight. But also, nothing at all. Something is keeping you both together, tightening and squeezing the strings in your chest. But you don’t know if that’s from the adrenaline of today’s events, or from the pure shock of your unexpected reunion.

There’s something else you haven’t considered until now. Despite his unorthodox and hellish methods, Yoongi did keep your head on straight. You showered. You ate. You drank. You inhaled fresh air.

Your compass righted itself when you didn’t blow his brains out.

The nothingness was all to your advantage. Was that all calculated, too?

One part of you—the bright side of you—knows that it doesn’t matter. No matter how helpful he was tonight, distance is crucial. Stay away from people like him. They’re all too cunning to be kept close.

But if leaping that crevasse allows you to keep your mind off everything else? If you need to stop the bleeding, why not reach for a cure?

Your exhale shakes as your shoulders fall forward, self-deprecation destroying your brain because what the fuck are you thinking? This is nonsense. Madness.

Maybe you’ve just been insane from the very start.

Your breath quickens at the possibilities. The potential outcomes of what you’re about to do.

This is the most solid decision you’ve made all night.

As your toes travel across plush, trek over marble, and arrive at their destination, the rest of your body quietly, nervously follows.

Raising your hand, you listen for movement. When you find none, you softly knock and wait for what seems like an eternity.

For nothing.

All that worry for naught. Yoongi’s most likely fast asleep and not dreaming at all.

Good. This is your sign to let it go completely. In the morning, you’re going back home. The nightmares will consume you and you’ll wake up everyday to brave the streets. Assassins will be on the hunt for revenge. You won’t be saved by the boy in teal.

What a shame, indeed.

As you step to leave, you hear the door slowly swing.

And Yoongi emerges from behind, minted hair mussed over lowered lids and robe slipping down a tatted shoulder.

Fuck everything.

“I don’t regret what I did and I’d do it all again,” you admit with finality. To him, to yourself, to the ones you’ll disappoint back home. “And I refuse to get used to this feeling because it reminds me I’m still a good person.”

Yoongi’s eyes don’t change as he stares.

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: once again, i cannot thank y'all enough for being patient and understanding as i go through life while working on this and all the other writing projects we have going on! it means the world, and even though there were some not-so-fun asks to get, the supporting and wonderful ones are what i will continue to focus on! so if you've ever left something sweet, thought provoking, encouraging, etc - thank you from the bottom of my heart! you're what keeps this writer going. a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ minted masterlist

#PART TWO IS HEREEE #bts fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi fic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #*latest #ryenwrites #minted #*ryenfictalk #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: murder

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rafecameronssl4t · 2 months ago

Text

Reminder || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: It was just harmless banter between you and another socialite, but rafe reminds again you what the diamond ring meant on your finger.

Warnings: angst, jealous/possesive rafe hehehehe

Word count: 2,160

A/n: guys guys guys it's getting hot in here.

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The gala is in full swing, the grand ballroom echoing with the hum of conversation and the soft clinking of champagne glasses. You stand next to Rafe, dressed to perfection in an elegant gown that draws more than a few eyes in your direction. Rafe's hand rests lightly on your waist, his touch possessive but distant—as it usually is during events like this—as you mingle with other high-society figures.

The night feels long, your polished smile tiring as you listen to half-hearted pleasantries from the guests surrounding you. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Alexander Hawthorne making his way over, his smile wide and confident, his eyes locked on you. He’s known for his silver tongue and effortless charm, especially with married women. Tonight, his gaze feels particularly intent.

"Well, well, if it isn't the most beautiful woman in the room," Alexander says smoothly, his eyes lingering on you just a little too long. "You always manage to outshine everyone, don’t you?" You offer a playful smile, aware of Rafe's tightening grip on your waist. "Oh, you flatter me, Alexander," you reply lightly, not fully dismissing the compliment. "But I’m sure there are plenty of others here more deserving of your attention." Alexander chuckles, clearly pleased that you're playing along.

"I highly doubt that. No one else in this room could possibly compare." His eyes flicker briefly to Rafe, but he seems unfazed by his presence. "I was actually hoping to steal you away for a dance, if I may be so bold." You glance at Rafe from the corner of your eye. His jaw is clenched, his posture rigid, but he says nothing. The tension between you and him has been building over the past few weeks, and part of you enjoys testing his limits.

"A dance?" you echo, your tone teasing. "That sounds tempting." Rafe’s hand tightens even more on your waist, his irritation palpable. "I don’t think that’s a good idea," Rafe’s voice cuts through the playful banter, his tone sharp and controlled, though you can feel the storm brewing beneath the surface. His grip on your waist has gone from possessive to borderline painful, but you don’t flinch.

Instead, you tilt your head and glance up at him, your expression sweet yet defiant. "Oh? Why not, darling?" you ask, your voice dripping with mock innocence. "It’s just a harmless dance." Alexander, sensing the tension but relishing the drama, grins wider. "Come on, Rafe, it’s just a dance. Surely you trust your wife enough to let her have a bit of fun tonight?"

You notice Rafe’s jaw clench even tighter. He glares at Alexander, but the challenge is unspoken, simmering beneath the surface. You can feel Rafe’s jealousy in the way his body stiffens beside you, and for some reason, the idea of provoking him further feels oddly satisfying. "I don’t mind," you continue, turning your gaze back to Alexander.

"After all, it’s not every day a charming man asks me to dance." Rafe’s fingers dig into your side, and you suppress a wince, though your heart flutters at the possessiveness. "You’re not going anywhere," Rafe says, his voice dangerously low. His eyes lock on Alexander, who merely raises his brow in amusement.

"Rafe," you start, keeping your tone light though there’s an edge to it, "you’re being dramatic. It’s just one dance." But you know you’ve pushed him too far. The moment the words leave your lips, you feel Rafe's grip on your waist disappear, replaced by an icy tension that makes your breath catch. In one swift motion, Rafe steps forward, his broad shoulders blocking Alexander from your view entirely.

His stance is commanding, exuding an unmistakable fury, though his face remains composed—a deadly calm that’s somehow more terrifying than if he had exploded. "Back off, Hawthorne," Rafe snaps, his voice a cold, simmering threat. Each word is sharp, delivered with a quiet intensity that sends a chill through the air. "You don’t want to test me right now." If it wasn't Rafe height that loomed over him that intimidated him, it was the icy look in Rafe's eyes that did.

Alexander’s usual bravado falters, and though he holds up his hands in a gesture of nonchalance, the gleam in his eyes fades. If it wasn’t Rafe’s towering height that made him take a step back, it was the icy, penetrating look in Rafe’s eyes. Alexander hesitates, his playful smirk faltering, eyes flickering between you and Rafe.

"Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to step on any toes." He glances at you with a wink before adding, "But you can’t blame a man for trying, right?" Rafe’s gaze doesn’t waver. His silence hangs heavy in the space between them, tension crackling like electricity. It’s clear that Alexander, for all his charm and wit, knows better than to push Rafe any further.

As soon as Alexander retreats, Rafe's shoulders remain stiff, his body radiating with tension. The darkness in his eyes lingers, the anger now fully redirected toward you. Without a word, his hand closes around your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make it clear that this conversation isn’t over. He pulls you with him, weaving through the crowd and out of the grand ballroom, into the quieter, more secluded hallways of the estate.

The moment you’re alone, Rafe spins around to face you, his body towering over yours as he leans down, his breath warm and rapid against your ear. The fury in his gaze makes your stomach twist with both dread and excitement. "What the hell was that?" Rafe growls, his voice barely above a whisper but thick with anger. His grip on your wrist tightens just slightly as he looks down at you, eyes wild with accusation.

"Flirting with him right in front of me?" You lift your chin, meeting his gaze with a calmness you don’t quite feel. "It was just harmless fun, Rafe," you reply, though your voice lacks its usual conviction, "you’re the one who overreacted." "Harmless?" Rafe repeats, his voice growing even lower, his face so close now you can feel the heat of his hander.

"He was crossing the line, and frankly, so were you" Rafe steps closer, his body looming over you, his hand gripping your waist. "You think I didn’t see the way he was looking at you? Or how you were playing along?" You swallow, your heart beating faster at the intensity in his eyes. "Maybe I was," you admit, your voice steady but challenging. "Maybe I wanted to see how far I could push you. Like I said, it was harmless."

Rafe's grip on your waist tightens even further, his fingers pressing firmly into your side, the pressure bordering on painful. You let out a small groan, a sound that escapes involuntarily from the mix of discomfort and the charged intensity of the moment. The pain is sharp, a physical reminder of his anger and possessiveness, and you can’t help but shiver at the heat of his touch.

"I don't care if it was harmless," Rafe growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You're not playing those fucking games with me." Each word is punctuated with a barely restrained fury, his breath hot against your skin. You want to speak, to push back, but the fire in Rafe's eyes freezes you in place. The fierce protectiveness radiating from him mixes with his jealousy, overwhelming and intoxicating.

His hand moves from your waist to your hand, fingers brushing over the large diamond on your wedding ring. "Did you forget what this ring meant?" Rafe's voice is low, almost a growl, as he taps the diamond, each tap a reminder of the vow that binds you both. The possessiveness in his touch sends a shudder through you, your breath catching as his lips graze your ear once more.

You can feel the tension thick in the air between you, the hallway around you fading into insignificance as his words cut deep. "You’re mine," he whispers, his tone raw, dangerous, and resolute. "And I don’t share." Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of thrill and fear coursing through you at the intensity of his words. You glance down at the ring he’s tapping, a tangible symbol of everything that’s between you—love, control, obligation, desire. It’s suffocating, yet addictive.

You shiver as Rafe’s words linger in the air, thick with possessiveness. His grip on your wrist tightens, but it’s the way he looks at you that keeps you frozen in place—intense, unrelenting, a silent challenge burning in his eyes. You try to keep your composure, to push back against the overwhelming force of his jealousy. "Rafe," you say softly, your voice barely steady. "It was just a dance. It wouldn’t have meant anything."

"That’s not the fucking point," he snaps, his tone sharper now. He steps closer, his body pressing against yours, almost forcing you to look up at him. "You knew exactly what you were doing. I saw the way you looked at him—like you wanted me to react." You swallow hard, but you refuse to break eye contact. "Maybe I did," you admit, your voice low but challenging. "Maybe I wanted to see if you even care."

The words hang between you, and for a moment, Rafe’s expression shifts—his anger momentarily flickering into something else, something raw and vulnerable. But just as quickly, his walls slam back up, his face hardening again. He releases your wrist, but not before pulling you closer, his lips inches from yours, the tension crackling between you.

"Care?" he growls. "You think I don’t care when I’m right here, watching you entertain someone else? You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone forget it." You feel the possessiveness in his words like a pulse between you, and despite the storm raging inside him, there’s something about it that draws you in. His jealousy, his frustration—it’s all because of you, because deep down, beneath the cold exterior, he does care. You can feel it, even if he won’t admit it out loud.

Your voice softens, just enough to break through the tension. "I wasn’t trying to make you angry, Rafe." "You know that’s a lie," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours. His voice drops lower, and you can feel the intensity in his words. "But you succeeded. And I don’t like being tested." You glance down for a moment, trying to gather yourself, but when you look back up at him, your heart beats faster.

"Maybe I wanted to see if you still care. Lately… it feels like you’ve been distant." His jaw clenches at your confession, his eyes narrowing slightly. For a brief second, something softer flickers across his features—a trace of regret. But Rafe doesn’t back down, his hand still resting on your lower back, firm and possessive. "I’ve been busy," he mutters, but you know it’s not the full truth. You’re about to push him on it when he pulls you closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

"But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. You should know that by now." You let the silence stretch between you, your body pressed against his as you absorb his words. His anger, his frustration, all boil down to the same thing—he doesn’t want to lose you, not to someone like Alexander or anyone else. "You don’t have to act so cold all the time, you know," you whisper, your voice soft but daring.

Rafe’s lips curl slightly into a smirk, though his eyes remain serious. "You think I’m cold?" "Most of the time." You challenge him, your tone laced with honesty. His hand moves from your back to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Then I’ll remind you," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "how I feel about you."

Before you can respond, Rafe leans in and captures your lips with his, the kiss fierce and possessive, like he’s trying to prove something—to himself, to you. His hand tightens around you, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you, every inch of his body pressing against yours. The kiss is raw, full of unspoken frustration, but also something deeper—something neither of you are ready to name.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing heavy, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours. "Don’t ever doubt that you’re mine," he whispers, his voice ragged but full of conviction. Your breath comes in shallow, your heart racing from the intensity of it all. "And you’re mine," you murmur back, your fingers curling into his jacket, holding him close.

Rafe pulls you back into him, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Let’s get out of here. I’m done with this place." Without waiting for your response, he takes your hand and leads you out of the manor, his grip possessive, his pace quick. You follow silently, your heart racing, knowing that tonight’s encounter has stirred something deeper between you both—something raw and dangerous that neither of you can ignore any longer.

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deadsetobsessions · 8 months ago

Text

Gotham rained a lot more than Amity ever did.

Danny could not help but appreciate the differences. From the way the city itself curled around her inhabitants to the weather, Gotham was far darker than Amity ever managed to be.

Still, there were similarities. The screams, for one. In Amity, it was ghosts, their victims, and whichever ghostbuster of the day rocking up to rock each other’s shit. Another similarity? Danny’s inability to not get himself into troublesome shit, because he could never ignore a cry for help.

That scream was a cry for help if he’s ever heard one.

Danny cursed himself as he slipped through the alleyways, strides becoming smoother and agile than he normally walked like. He stuck to the shadows, the prickling of ghostly senses and honed vigilante instincts guiding him towards the scream. It was a man, getting stabbed by a guy in a red helmet.

Danny maintained that he was new here.

Which is why his foot connected solidly with Red Helmet's... red helmet.

"Motherfuc-" Red Helmet shouted as he was punted several feet away.

"Holy shit dude, are you good?"

Danny helped the guy up.

"Thank fuck! Back up! What took you so long?! Boss is gunna be so pissed if we're late!"

Hold up. Boss?

"Boss?"

“Black Mask, asshole! We gotta go before he decides to cut off our limbs!”

Danny yanked the guy to the side just as a bullet ricocheted off the rusted fire escape.

“Ope!”

“You’re not going anywhere.” A mechanical voice growled behind them.

“Oh fuck, Red Helmet guy.” Danny muttered.

“Shit, ya gotta run, tell boss I got caught.” The injured goon- because it was now apparent to Danny that the guy was working for someone dangerous- said. Danny appreciated the thought, but he only intervened because the guy was getting stabbed.

“Uh,” Danny hesitated. Clearly the guy had the wrong idea.

“Don’t make a move, unless you want your fucking heads blown off,” Red Helmet guy- wait, why does he feel liminal?- raised his guns. “Why don-”

Red Helmet guy was cut off by the thud of the now unconscious goon.

His helmet tilted down and then back up at Danny.

“Guess it’s just you and me,” Helmet guy sneered out. “Better tell me everything you know about Black Mask, or else you’ll get a taste of what he had.”

Danny held up his hands even though he knew he could just let the bullets phase through him. The smart thing would be to absolve himself and not get in the middle of two criminal’s beef as a civilian.

Danny’s full name, however, could have been Danny ‘Dumb Decisions’ Fenton. So, Danny practically interjected himself like an overexcited puppy at a doggy daycare.

“Okay, no need to get bloody. But uh, I have a question.”

Red Helmet cocked his head and mockingly gestured with his gun. “Sure, why not.”

Danny let as much of his midwestern accent into his voice as possible. “Who’s, uh, Black Mask?”

Red Helmet paused. Then he sighed. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“No…? I’m, uh, new in town.”

Red Helmet lowered his guns, and for some reason, Danny could tell that he was exasperated.

“Why would you even get in between a fight, dumbass? I have a gun! I coulda killed ya! He’s a criminal’”

Danny protested. Rude! “In my defense, you were stabbing him! You’re a criminal too, you know!”

“That makes it worse! You-!” Red Helmet paused. “Wait, do you even know who I am?”

Danny let his gaze wander down to the red bat-shaped logo on the guy’s chest. “Uh… Red Helmet… bat-guy?” He hazarded a guess.

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot.”

Danny gaped. “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me,” Red Helmet put his gun back and planted his fists on his hips. “You’re an idiot. Who gets in between a vigilante and the goon of a crime lord.”

Danny crossed his arms, leveling an unimpressed look at Red Helmet. “I’ve never heard of a vigilante killing someone, Red Helmet Bat-Guy.”

“It’s Red Hood.” Red Helmet sighed, walking closer. “And I wasn’t going to kill him.” Danny scoffed.

Danny relaxed, sensing the truth coming from Red Helmet guy’s liminal aspects.

“He’ll die looking at your ugly mug,” Danny sassed. “You’re gonna get him to a hospital, right? I’ll go with you.”

“Are you midwesterners all this trusting? What if I was the goon and this guy was the vigilante?”

Red Hood hiked the goon over his shoulder in a fireman carry. Danny followed after him.

“He’s the one that told me to go running back to his boss, Red Helmet.”

“It’s Red Hood.”

“That doesn’t look like a hood.”

Danny grinned as Red Helmet grumbled. How interesting! Maybe he won’t miss Amity as much as he thought he would!

“Ugh, fine, I guess someone’s gotta watch your dumb ass so you don’t get mugged.”

“I can take care of myself!”

Hood grunted. “I guess that kick wasn’t half bad.”

Danny beamed at him. “Thanks!”

——

Danny chucked a chimichanga at Red Hood.

“Wait a minute, you’re a crime lord! Being a goon was way less illegal than being a vigilante crime lord!”

Red Hood cackled at him.

#danny phantom #red hood #batman #jason todd #dc x dp #dpxdc #bamf danny phantom #Danny the extrovert who adopted Jason the introvert

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aquaticmercy · 2 months ago

Text

Beautiful Mess

Summary : Bucky tries to cook you a food you’ve been craving. It goes wrong, but it also goes right.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her)

Warnings : food, mild cursing? and lots and lots of fluff!

Requested by : anon

Word count : 1.5k

Note : It’s my first fic in 4 years and boy I forgot how good it felt writing for fun. Thank you to the anon who requested this! (I said it would be >1k word blurb but I got over the limit and I hope you don’t mind!) Enjoy!

Requests are open!

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled, aggressively poking at the smoke alarm with the end of his rifle case. He stretched on his toes, metal arm whirring as he tried to reach the obnoxiously tall ceiling.

‘Oh this is wonderful,’ you had been giddy with joy when the two of you viewed this apartment, ‘I love the high ceilings, don't you, Buck?’

He had chuckled and agreed that day. For all he cared, the ceiling could be as high as the atmosphere allowed if it meant it made you happy. But now he was thinking maybe your next place should have, at the very least, a reachable ceiling on his tip toes.

The shrill beeping had been going on for what felt like an eternity. Bucky Barnes has never been known for his patience, and now it was wearing dangerously thin.

Clearly, he hadn't thought any of his actions through. The rifle case was too flimsy, and it bent under the pressure of each jab. If the alarm didn’t stop soon, it wouldn’t just be his sanity at stake— the neighbours would probably come knocking on the door asking if they needed to evacuate.

"Great idea, Barnes. Brilliant," he muttered to himself, throwing a desperate scan around the room. His eyes landed on the bo staff you kept in the corner— a weapon from your training collection.

“Perfect,” he said to himself, practically lunging for it. Surely, you wouldn’t mind him using it just this once. It was just a stick, right?

Grabbing the staff, he reached up again, tapping the alarm with its tip. His strength— which usually worked in his favour— became his single greatest enemy. With a loud snap, the white disk detached completely, wires dangling from the ceiling as the alarm finally went silent. A part of him took in the quiet bliss for a moment before realising the repercussions. He’d have to contact the building super, then pay the fees, and since he’s off for a mission in a couple of days, he had unintentionally given you a bit more life admin work around the house.

He cursed under his breath, staring at the detached alarm hanging limply in his hand.

He tossed it into the kitchen trash bin, as if hiding it there might make the problem disappear. For a moment Bucky just stood there, staring at the mess around him, trying to make sense of how things had spiraled out of control.

He ran a hand through his brown thick locks, ones you had asked him to grow out again. He sighed. How did it go so wrong?

All he wanted was to do something nice for you. Just one thing. You’d been so good to him— so patient, especially after he'd returned from weeks of missions worn down and, admittedly, a bit grumpy. You greeted him with nothing but warmth, even though you were probably as tired as he was.

And then there was the food. Bucky still wasn’t sure why he'd been craving bland, 1940s-era meals, the kind no modern person could possibly enjoy, but you indulged him anyway. When he’d mentioned how much he missed a particular meatloaf recipe, you made it for him. He could tell from the look on your face that you were struggling not to spit every bite out, but you powered through for his sake. And when he’d told you about his mom’s molasses cookies, you had taken the time to bake a jar that tasted just like the ones from his childhood.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

So why couldn’t he get this right?

You'd been talking about focaccia earlier this week, your eyes lit up in childlike wonder as you told him about how you used to experiment with different toppings. He’d taken a mental note of that moment, thinking he could surprise you by making some himself.

He glanced around the kitchen. Flour dusted on nearly every surface, olive oil splattered on the counter, and a sad, burnt dough resting on the baking tray.

Bucky sighed, leaning back against the counter, staring at the mess with a mixture of frustration and helplessness.

You’d probably laugh at this, he thought as a self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He could already hear your teasing voice, reminding him that not everything had to be perfect.

But still, he wanted to get it right.

He glanced at the clock. You’d be home soon. He had maybe thirty minutes to try and salvage this— or at least clean up the evidence before you walked through the door.

Priorities, he thought.

He cracked his knuckles, pouring the excess dough to a new baking tray. He thanked whatever gods still existed that he had accidentally made way too much dough. Not even waiting for it to rise, he shoved it in the oven and reshaped it into something that didn’t look like a science experiment gone wrong.

“Okay,” he pressed a palm to his forehead as if that would magically clear his mind. “Focus.”

He realised the oven was too hot, and that was probably why it burnt.

Very smart, Barnes, he thought to himself, about time you used basic logic.

As he fumbled with the oven dials, he heard the familiar sound of your keys jingling at the front door. His heart sank. Shit. She’s home early.

Frantically, Bucky darted toward the flour-covered countertops, grabbing a towel to wipe down the mess. But there was no saving kitchen wreck—not in under thirty seconds, anyway.

You stepped through the door, humming softly to yourself as you dropped your heavy bag with a thud. You stretched your shoulders, straining a little from the weight. Tossing the keys to the side, you noticed how uncharacteristically quiet it is in your home.

As you moved deeper into the apartment, you saw why.

It was your boyfriend, standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, holding a flour and oil-coated dish towel like a deer caught in headlights.

The corners of your mouth lifted. “What on earth?”

“I can explain,” a red plum blush coloured his cheeks, raising his hands in defense. You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to the crime scene.

“Wait…” your eyes widened, “are you trying to make focaccia?”

“Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. “I thought I could surprise you with it, since you’d been talking about how much you love it. But, uh…” He motioned to the oven. “It’s not exactly turning out the way I planned.”

You let out a soft laugh, one that melted Bucky's heart, that made his chest thrum with joy. You took the towel from his hand, squirming then dropping it when you touched the part of the fabric that was very sticky with congealed liquid, clearly a mix of olive oil and flour. “I can see that,” you teased, quickly wiping your hand as you bent down to be eye-level with the dough. “What is this? An attempt at modern art?”

Bucky groaned, covering his face with his hands. You looked around the room, seeing your bo staff on the floor, and his (hopefully unloaded) rifle by the dishwasher. “Did you shoot it?” you joked.

“No.”

“Did you hit it with my stick?”

“It’s a disaster,” he complained, exasperated.

You took a deep breath and then giggled, your shoulders shaking as you leaned against his shoulder for support.

“I tried, okay?�� he grumbled, part mortified, part relieved, and fully, thoroughly, embarrassed. Still, he could feel his heart flutter as he watched you laugh.

You cupped his cheeks affectionately. “I can’t believe you went through all this trouble just to make me bread.”

He shrugged, his expression softening as he looked down at you. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. You’ve been so good to me. I thought I could, I don’t know… return the favor.”

Your heart melted at his words. You didn't care about the focaccia, or the mess in the kitchen. It was about the fact that Bucky had gone out of his way to try and do something sweet for you— even if it clearly went south.

“Bucky,” you said softly, standing on your toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I love that you tried.”

He sighed in relief, wrapping his strong arms around you, pulling you into his warm chest. “I just didn’t want to screw it up.”

“You didn’t,” you reassured, resting your head against his shoulder. “I didn’t even know you knew what focaccia was,” you teased.

He chuckled, burying his face in your hair. “I’m still not sure I do.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him “Tell you what, I’ll make you an offer. I’ll show you how to make focaccia, and we’ll order takeout in the meantime.”

Bucky’s smile widened, as he peppered kisses on your face, overwhelming you with as much love as he could possibly give, “That sounds perfect.”

You threw him a clean kitchen towel once you were able to escape his affectionate attack, not that you wanted to. “Now help me clean up, Buck.”

He grabbed the towel and started in the corner as you started chucking empty olive oil bottles into the trash bin.

Wait, trash bin-

“What the hell is the fire alarm doing in the trash, Barnes?”

Bucky froze, turning to you with wide eyes. “I can explain.”

You tried to suppress a laughter, piecing together the clues, “Did you break it?”

He raised his hands in defense. “It was beeping, and I didn’t mean to rip it out of the ceiling…”

“You tried to kill it with my staff, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

You smiled. Oh, what a beautiful mess you had found yourself in.

-end

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foolinafable · 3 months ago

Text

thanks to tuffnut

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader Synopsis: four of the many times hiccup was oblivious to the fact he was in love with you and the time he finally realised. Word Count: 1.5K Tags: 4+1 fic, Fluff, Hiccups pov Note: started this ages ago and only just got inspired enough to finish it.

1. Searching for you in a crowd

Hiccup would never admit it, even now that he is respected as the heir to the hairy hooligan tribe and his father is proud of him. That he still feels like an outsider.

Maybe it’s because they see him as this dragon master and while he might be if he’s to listen to anything Fishlegs says- he feels like they don’t see anything else- he is still just the chief’s son, the future of the tribe or their saviour if any of his work on the edge was talked about. He was never just Hiccup to them, even to his friends they see him as this omnipotent being rather than just a teen like them- capable of making mistakes.

He suggests that this is why he prefers to have time alone- just him, toothless the ocean beneath them and the wind carrying them elsewhere, where he can be anything.

Annoyingly, this is not something he can do now: walking into the great hall at dinner time. He can already feel the beginnings of a headache wracking his brain as he imagines the awkward conversations he is going to have with villagers about his work on the edge as of late or the nagging of his father and Gobber to come back to Berk so he can learn the ways of chiefdom- something he is unsure that he even wants.

Entering the great hall after a large exhale, Hiccup looks around, searching for something lips pursing when he can’t find it immediately. It is only when he walks closer to where his father is sat, calling out pleasantries to those who greet him on the way that his eyes lock onto your figure, listening intently to what Ruffnut and Tuffnut are saying. Following the movements of their arms with your eyes as they spoke animatedly about who knows what. Hiccup finds a small smile appear on his face at the sight of you, only looking away when his father claps a hand behind his back making him aware of his surroundings, turning towards his father struggling to listen to whatever issue his father needs resolving around Berk this time, his thoughts still surrounding his best friend, knowing that as long as you are here he can be himself, just Hiccup. As that was always more than enough for you and that idea alone makes him feel less like an outsider.

2. Missing you when apart

He was starting to regret saying you couldn’t come with him. Not that he doesn’t enjoy Astrid and (sometimes) Snotlout’s company, but it clearly isn’t the same. While he usually enjoys scouting missions as they are a peaceful opposition to the dangerous missions they have had as of late, you typically come with him.

But he knows that you cannot leave the edge defenceless and Astrid was complaining about not getting out with Stormfly enough- so it all made sense logically for Astrid to come instead and for you to stay on land, protecting the dragon eye lenses the group had hidden.

He couldn’t trust anyone more which is why he was confused as to why he felt so anxious. Even Toothless could notice the angst radiating off his rider, making a noise of questioning at Hiccup when he was quieter than normal, not even going over the route the group were scouting- something he usually did a hundred times until the group got annoyed at him. Not even playfully joking with Snotlout about who was the better cousin until Astrid would make a comment that would set Snotlout off arguing with her.

Instead, the three riders sat in somewhat awkward silence with Astrid and Snotlout starting at each other trying to gauge if the other knew what was wrong with the boy and who was going to ask him as seemingly neither wanted to as usually you would look after Hiccup when he got like this but you were back on the edge and honestly Astrid was wishing she didn’t kick up such a fuss about her and Stormfly’s lack of action as even being bored back on the edge was better than being sat in this haunting silence.

It was only upon returning to the edge that the two saw his mood pick up, he nearly crashed Toothless into the ground at the speed he dismounted causing the other two to look around in panic until they saw him running towards you and then it all made sense. The two snickering slightly as they realised that he was only in a foul mood because you weren't around.

3. You looking after him when he gets sick

“It was only a matter of time” you muttered to him as you bundled him up in his blankets and he knew that you were right, you had been telling him for weeks to wear some warmer clothes during his flights with Toothless and his lack of listening has left him bedridden with a horrible cold, head pounding, nose blocked and red cheeks. He could only imagine the state of him somehow shaking and sweating all at the same time. He would’ve replied with something teasing if his throat didn’t feel so scratchy so he simply settled for a huff which made you laugh quietly in return.

“Okay, I will stop being mean, but only if you get some sleep” you reasoned with the boy as he whined at the idea thinking of everything he had to today

“I will get Astrid and Fishlegs to take your jobs for the day- can't have you getting any sicker what would your Father say?” you continued and at these words, the boy stopped fussing, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.

“Have a good sleep Hiccup, I will be here when you wake up,” you muttered as he dozed off.

For some reason, Hiccup couldn’t understand those words made him feel so much better.

4. When his dad mentions you

Small talk with his father even after all this time was still somewhat awkward, like the feeling of your skin being too big for your bones. But, it was much better than it used to be or at least Hiccup usually believed it was. Still, today he would give anything to be anywhere but sit with his dad in their family home as he couldn’t stop going on about you and possibly betrothals something Hiccup knew would annoy you.

“I heard a lot of the boys around here want to ask for her hand, so maybe you should get a move on” Stoick spoke trying to hint at the boy's clear feelings for you

“I- what?” Hiccup asked confused, when had he ever shown interest in that?

“Oh it's nothing” Stoick tried to cover his tracks feeling Hiccups in annoyance at his words ‘you two just remind me of myself and a special someone when I was younger”

“What are you and Gobber? I’m sure she will be very flattered by those words Dad” Hiccup laughed before quickly taking his leave before his father could sprout out any more nonsense.

“Me and your mother” Stoick muttered but Hiccup was already gone, probably halfway back to the edge due to how fast he bolted out the door.

5. The realisation

Watching you interact with Toothless was one of Hiccup's favourite things to do. Seeing his dragon take a shine to you just as much as he does makes a warmth spread all over his body in a comforting way.

“Hiccup, my brother! What’s happening?” Tuffnut called out as he made his way towards the boy Hiccup quickly looked away from you for some reason embarrassed to be nearly caught by the boy, his cheeks red and hot

“Not- not a lot” Hiccup tried to smile but it came off uneasy much like his words. To his luck, Tuffnut didn't seem to notice instead looking at where Hiccup had his eyes trained just moments before before looking back at the boy

“Don’t worry I see” Tuffnut nodded in understanding causing Hiccup to become confused

“See what?” he questioned the peculiar boy

“You were finally building up the courage to ask her out!” Tuffnut declared “I mean it’s about time everyone knows you have the biggest crush on her! Don’t let me stop you, in fact, I wasn't even here!” the boy quickly ran off as Hiccup's thoughts whirled around his brain about what on earth was Tuffnut on about he didn’t have a crush on you. No way. I mean sure you are the first person he looks for in a crowd of people, he gets irritable when you aren't with him on missions, you are the only one he would want looking after him and his father loves you but that doesn't mean he likes you right- your his best friend he couldn't possibly- could he?

Then it hit Hiccup, he did have the biggest crush on his best friend, more than a crush really. He was irrevocably in love with you and to make matters worse Tuffnut knew before he did.

#hiccup x reader #httyd x reader #hiccup horrendous haddock x reader #hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup haddock #httyd hiccup #hiccup how to train your dragon #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #hiccup horrendous haddock lll #hiccup horrendous haddock the 3rd #httyd #x

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microclown · 11 months ago

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I was rewatching s1e3 and something finally clicked for me..

Please forgive me if this seems obvious to you. It helps me to type out my thoughts, but I'm sure I'm just an idiot and no one else needs this explained to them, lol. That said - I was always slightly confused by the emotional weight of the holy water arc during the flashback sequence. Particularly I was confused by how angry Crowley got when Aziraphale referred to their relationship as fraternizing in the 1862 fight. I mean, "to associate or form a friendship with someone, especially when one is not supposed to" is exactly what they are doing, right? So why the 80 year breakup?

Crowley says he wants the holy water for if "it" all goes pear shaped. The phrasing is necessarily vague, and could mean lots of things. Since I know what he eventually uses it for, I was thinking about it in the context of Armageddon, or maybe more generally and vaguely about Crowley not always choosing to go along with Hell, and associating with Aziraphale. But there was not much reason for Crowley to already be thinking about Armageddon back then.

As we know from the full diary entry Neil posted, the timeline of the Edinburgh entry, and the cut bookshop opening scene, it seems like Crowley and Aziraphale were spending A LOT of time together by the 1800's. When Crowley is pulled back down to Hell in 1827, he learns that Hell is paying more attention to him than he'd previously thought. Crowley realizes at this point that spending so much time with Aziraphale is actively putting him in real danger. He recognizes that, and instead of breaking things off, or seeing Aziraphale less, he doubles down. If this relationship is dangerous, then he wants the tools to fight for it.

That's what I think I didn't get about the holy water request. It's not just general insurance, it's specifically insurance for if Hell finds out about him and Aziraphale. It's also a super vulnerable request because in making it, Crowley is openly acknowledging how important their relationship is to him. Aziraphale casually brings up the arrangement at the beginning of the conversation, and that's part of it, right? Because the whole basis of their relationship is the arrangement. It continues to be the pretense under which they meet, despite the relationship clearly having developed beyond that. And the arrangement, as Crowley proposed it in 537, is born out of convenience, and the assumption that Heaven and Hell would never notice anyway.

Crowley's request for insurance breaks that facade. He's acknowledging that it's not convenient, or safe, but he wants to do it anyway, despite the risk.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is not ready for the screen to be taken away so abruptly. To make it worse, he assumes Crowley wants the holy water as an escape, rather than a weapon. Suddenly he is confronted with both the danger their association poses, and the idea that Crowley might choose to take his own life. He can't imagine the guilt of being directly responsible for the latter.

I also think the strength of his own emotional response to the thought of losing Crowley catches Aziraphale off guard. He hasn't admitted to himself how much he actually cares, and it scares him. Worrying about Heaven is more comfortable and familiar, so he falls back on that and switches to "If they knew I'd been... fraternizing!"

But bringing up the threat of Heaven reads to Crowley as Aziraphale saying "You may be willing to put yourself at risk for the sake of our relationship, but I am not." The word choice of "fraternizing" comes off as a dismissive and demeaning way to describe a relationship that Crowley just admitted he would risk his life for.

It's an unintentionally deep cut when Crowley is already at his most vulnerable, and so he lashes out. As far as we've seen, this is possibly the first time Crowley has truly lashed out at Aziraphale. So yeah, 80 year breakup makes sense!

And what makes this so much worse is what happens next. Crowley reaches out again in 1941 with a dramatic gesture (rescuing Aziraphale from the Nazis, saving his books). It's clear they've missed each other. They don't discuss the fight, but it's there subtextually. Aziraphale, tentatively and thrillingly, refers to them as friends, for the first time ever. He tells Crowley that he trusts him.

And then, that very same night their worst fears are confirmed. Just when they've finally reconciled a fight over the dangers of their relationship, and just when Aziraphale has finally admitted that it is not a relationship of convenience, but genuine friendship, they are exposed. Crowley is going to face punishment from Hell, explicitly for being Aziraphale's "trusted confident", and he doesn't have insurance. If Aziraphale's trick hadn't succeeded, Crowley would have had no way to protect himself.

idk it just makes me feel things ok

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow

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drowning-in-paragraphs · 2 months ago

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HAT-TRICK

• jude bellingham x gf!reader

• warnings: a little bit suggestive at the end, and English not being my first language.

• summary: Jude Bellingham has been a bit distracted on the field. Maybe what he needs is a little motivation to get back on track, or so his girlfriend thinks...

a/n: make a request!

Jude Bellingham has always been astute, focused, and relentless on the pitch. Since joining Real Madrid, his star had only risen further, making him one of the most talked-about young talents in football. But lately, something had been off. His last few matches were... well, soft by his standars. He hadn´t been himself—no hunger in his tackles, no fire in his eyes, and it didn´t go unnoticed. He sat in the living room, staring at the highlights of his recent match on his phone. His touches hadn´t been sharp, and his focus had wavered at crucial moments.

It wasn´t something massive, no one will call it a slump, not yet at least. However, he could do it better, he knew it, his team and coaches knew it, and of course, she knew it too.

His girlfriend was sharp. She knew him better than anyone, and while some fans and the media were baffled by his recent performances, she had a good guess. He was distracted. He wasn´t driven the way he used to be, and she had an idea why.

That evening, they were together sat in their apartment, the Madrid skyline glowing in the background. She was quiet, scrolling through social media mindlessly, occasionally glancing at him. She could see the frustration in his eyes—his confidence shaken, his usual swagger dimmed. He didn´t need a pep talk; that wasn´t his style. No, he needed something more direct, something to light a fire under him again. An idea had been dangerously lingering her mind, maybe it was a little bit cruel—for both of them, really, nevertheless, she had a good feeling and decided to test it.

She leaned into him on the couch, her hand touching his bare chest. Jude, sensing the shift in her energy, smirked and reached out to pull her closer. His hand slipped down to her ass, clearly intending for things to heat up.

But she had other plans.

She caught his hand and pushed it away gently but firmly.

Jude blinked, surprised, then chuckled softly. "What´s that about?" His fingers brushed her thigh, teasing.

She slid away, folding her arms over her chest. "If you want to touch me, you´ll have to score a hat-trick."

Said out loud, the idea sounded even more ridiculous, and for a moment, she feared it would sit poorly with him. However, she knew what her boyfriend was like when challenged: stubborn, enthusiastic, firm, and determined. There had been countless times when the two of them had competed or made bets over simple things in exchange for something silly. Neither of them backed down from a challenge, but maybe this was going too far. Anyway, her words had already reached Jude's ears, and it was clear she had caught his attention; his posture changed, and he appeared taken by surprise.

At first he laughed, but then seeing that she wasn´t, his smirk faltered. "A hat-trick? Are you joking? I´ve got more than enough goals to deserve touching you."

She smiled, and decided to continue with her idea. "No. I´m actually dead serious." she said changing turning on their TV as if nothing.

Jude leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "You know I could make you change your mind right now, don´t you?"

Her resolve didn´t waver. She pulled away just enough to lock eyes with him, a teasing smile on her round lips. "Try me. But I´m not budging."

He narrowed his eyes, frustration growing in him, still half-expecting her to crack a smile and let that ridiculous thing go. "So are you joking or not?"

She raised an eyebrow and started walking towards their bedroom. "You´ll see."

Jude sat there for a moment, stunned. He was used to her playing games like this, however, they weren´t about something that serious, but the idea... it stuck in his head. As the night wore on, he made a few more attempts to touch her, playfully teasing, expecting her to give in. But each time, she stood her ground, deflecting him with the same challenge: not until you score a hat-trick.

By the next morning, his frustration was palpable. He tried one last time before training, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pressing himself to her back, and his lips to her neck. "You sure about this, babe?"

She turned in his arms, still kind of sleepy, a knowing smile on her face. "Go score some goals, Jude."

Jude let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. He loved her playful side, but this was a new level of torment. She was using his natural competitiveness against him. What´s more, the game was seven days from today.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “You want a hat-trick? I’ll give you a bloody hat-trick.”

She just smiled against the pillow.

Sadly, she wasn´t able to attend the match that day. Work had gotten in the way, so she was stuck at home watching it on their TV. She had written to him, of course, as she always did when she couldn’t go to the Bernabéu to see the match, wishing him good luck with a couple of white heart emojis and a four-leaf clover. Then, taking advantage of the moment, she had half-joked about not being able to see his "attempt" at the hat-trick in person, but part of her wondered if her challenge would actually work. Not going to lie, she was kind of nervous. He could see him vibrating through the screen with tension every time the camera focused on him.

However, she probably was the most anxious since Jude was animatedly talking to his teammates, as he always did before a game. He wasn’t nervous at all, on the contrary, the memory of her challenge, the way she had teased him all week, stirred something deep inside him. It was no longer just a game; it became something more personal the moment he saw his girlfriend's messages. He hadn’t been bothered at all; on the contrary, he had put his phone away after glancing at the screen and smiling mockingly—surely the same smile she had worn when sending the message.

When the game started, it was clear something had changed. Jude was moving with an intensity that hadn´t been there in the past few matches. His touches were sharp, his passes precise, and he was pressing harder than ever. The commentators noticed it immediately and the crowd was roaring.

Jude left his girlfriend glued to the screen, watching in awe as he ran through the field. It didn´t take long before he found the back of the net, a clean strike from just outside the box that made her jump up from the couch.

But he wasn´t done.

By halftime, he had already scored two goals.

Jude´s third goal was pure instinct—a deft finish after weaving past two defenders and slotting the ball into the bottom corner. Hat-trick. The Bernabéu erupted, but Jude´s attention went to the nearest camera, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He couldn´t hold back his smirk, his chest heaving from the effort of the match, as he pointed directly at the lens and mouthed: "It´s your time to pay, gorgeous!"

She burst out laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. He had done it. Her heart filled with pride and joy and she could not stop smiling.

Jude got home later that night, his energy still buzzing from the game, dropped his bag by the entrance and called out, "Babe?"

From the living room, he heard her voice, casual but with a teasing edge. "Hey Jude. Just finishing some work." That was an absolute lie, she had been ogling some clothes in a shopping web minutes before she heard the keys.

Jude smirked, knowing better. His footsteps echoed as he approached her, spotting her on the couch with her laptop open, her legs folded. She glanced up with a small smile, playing it cool.

"So... how was the match?" she asked innocently, her eyes flickering mischievously before she returned her gaze to her screen. “I got caught up with this and I couldn’t watch it.”

He chuckled, looking down at her. Of course she had been watching the game. She always did it. Always. “You know damn well how it went. Haven't you been teasing me enough this week?” His voice was low, his words dripping with confidence.

She shrugged, her fingers tapping the keys, but he could see the slight twitch of her lips, the subtle way her body tensed as he loomed over her. “What? Did you manage to finally score?” she asked playfully.

Jude moved around the couch, towering over her now, his hand gently closing her laptop. She looked up at him, her pulse quickening. There was a glint in his eyes that made her stomach flutter.

“I—,” she tried to say.

But tired of her never ending teases, Jude closed the distance, capturing her lips with his. The kiss was electric, igniting a fire that had been building all week. He slid his hands to her waist, letting himself finally feel her and pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as their mouths moved in perfect harmony.

She responded eagerly, god how much she had missed his hands around her body. She let her fingers tangle in his hair, drawing him nearer. As their passion escalated, he lifted her off the chair, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pressed her against the nearest wall, their bodies melting together.

“I think we should celebrate properly” Jude murmured, his lips trailing along her neck, igniting every nerve ending in her body.

She moaned nodding and with a triumphant grin, Jude captured her lips once more. “You know,” he said catching his breath. “I bet I can make you cum three times.”

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham comfort #jude bellingham angst #jb5 #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham fanfic #hey jude #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x reader #judeswifey

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norrizzandpia · 4 months ago

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I’d like to be the start of your writing for Spence. I’m an absoluteWHORE for your angst and just angst in general 🫣. Can I request a Spencer x fem!reader who also works for the BAU where they have a massive argument like borderline break up and then she gets shot while jn the field and the bullet misses the FBI vest and he’s worried over her and everything and just lots and lots of angst. You can choose the ending😘)

Happy ending!

Children (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Y/n and Spencer have always been in love, talks of the future always prevalent. But, a fight about what happens when they have a baby sparks ruin for their entire relationship. A bullet sparks ruin for Y/n herself.

Warnings: takes of child abduction, shootings, hospitals, language, ANGSTT

Note: a new installment to my one-off Spencer Reid imagines lol

Y/N POV

Can’t he just shut up and listen to me? This fight is unnecessary, completely based on something so hypothetical. A fight about children, not that if we’ll have any, but what will happen if we do.

“I’m not gonna quit my job, Spencer! How could you even think I would do that? Do you know me at all?” I huffed, staring at him as if everything he was saying didn’t make sense. It didn’t.

His tall form loomed over me like he was trying to intimidate me into conceding. Apparently he truly had no idea who I was. “If you get pregnant, of course I’m gonna ask you to quit this job. You can get another one anywhere else, but the dangers of this job are nothing for a child.”

I rolled my eyes, “Nobody’s saying it isn’t! But, it’s my job and my life and I decide when I leave this position. I decide what I do when I’m pregnant.”

His arms crossed together in front of him and his eyes were smoldering, even though he refused to look at me - I could tell. “Really? So, I have no say in the trajectory of our child’s life?”

I scoffed and withdrew from him, sitting in the corner to gain some sort of space. Thirty minutes ago, we had been going through files and trying to find any connection to this child and its abductor. An unserious comment by Spencer about the mother being absent in her child’s life, leading to his disappearance, had my eyebrow raising. A quick clarification and confirmation that Spencer did, in fact, expect me to leave the BAU the second I found out I was pregnant had me all, but happy. Thirty minutes ago, the future of us seemed there and tangible, now it was messy.

In the middle of a random conference room, I yelled at Spencer and he yelled at me. Truthfully, I was beginning to lose sight of what was even being said, the points I was trying to make, but I refused to back down. Not when my career was at stake.

“I never said that! All I’m saying is that I can handle a baby and a job all at the same time, Spencer. I don’t need you dictating my capabilities.” My cheeks flushed and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Morgan leaning against the wall, listening to our argument. Maybe he could talk some sense into the man that stood before me.

Spencer shook his head then held it in his hands, “God, you’re so stupid. That’s not what I’m say-”

My eyes bulged, “What did you just say? I’m so stupid? Oh, I’m so sorry, Spence, that your girlfriend can’t keep up with your IQ.” I scoffed and let my eyes glaze over to stop the tears, “If you think I can’t fucking keep up with you then why do you even fight with me? Clearly, according to you, your points are beyond me.”

His gaze trained on me, scarily cold, “They are. If they weren’t, you’d be agreeing with me.”

The small insecurity in me, the one that was so heavily aware of all that Spencer was, swallowed me whole. “Well, if I’m such a fucking basket case, why am I the mother of your children in your head?”

I needed him to reassure me. I needed him to drop the distant eyes and come back to me. I needed all of this to be over with and I needed the Spencer I knew to tell me he still saw me as the future of his everything.

But, he shook his head, so confidently, and reaffirmed it all, “Good point. Finally, a decent point made by you in the past thirty-seven minutes.”

The tears welled in my eyes and I couldn’t help the sound of them in my voice, “Perfect! Whatever woman you meet that you love more than me, enough to have your children, I hope she’s willing to put her whole life on hold for you.”

He shrugged, “Thanks.”

His long legs stalked out of the room and I heard Morgan’s voice badgering him the second he entered the hallway.

Me, I let myself sit in the chair behind me for a few moments before wiping the tears away and looking back at the files splayed about the table. There was a child missing. My woes didn’t matter right now.

Spencer couldn’t matter right now.

—

I could feel the tension in the car, Spencer’s thigh right up against mine as Emily eyed us in the rearview mirror. I wasn’t surprised our fight was known to the entire group an hour after we had had it, but it still was numbing to experience the pure pain of his words whilst trying to shove them all down. I couldn’t stomach it, the meaning of what he said. Neither of us had said it, the horrific topic that hadn’t come up in the five years we had been together, but Spencer essentially did with his definitive statement about me not being in his future. I know I led him there. I know people sometimes say things they don’t mean in fights, but he’s Spencer. Usually, he’s composed and thinks before he lets important words go. I don’t know how those sentences could ever leave his mouth without him truly meaning them.

Penelope briefs us on our way to the unsub’s house. His background, disturbing, and his connection to the child, fired teacher at the school the boy goes to, all checked out.

Emily’s finger waves as she scolds all of us, “Do not shoot unless we have the child and there’s probable cause. We want this guy alive.”

There are nods all around the SUV and out of the front window, I can see cop cars lined in the street. Not a single officer makes a noise as they wait for Emily’s call. Her eyes turn to me.

”Y/n, I need you to go in first. Our team will follow behind. You’re the best at negotiating.” I nod and she smiles at me, but Spencer stands in front of me before I can make a move.

”Woah, this guy’s completely unpredictable. It’s way too dangerous for her to go in front.” He questions Emily and my rage bubbles over.

My hand nudges him out of the way, our stares at each other, “I’m not pregnant, so it's fine, right?”

His eyes roll and Morgan laughs under his breath before my steps are bringing me to the door of the old, white house.

The door creaks as I open it and I hear small cries coming from a few rooms down. I look back, the team behind me with their guns drawn. They’re all looking for possible targets about the room, but Spencer stares at me. His eyes bore into mine and I know he’s anxious. I’m still so angry, but the look he gives me, the one I’ve been subjected to over the past years, makes all the second guessing I was doing fade away. Nobody looks at another person that way if they don’t see rings and babies with them. He still waits for a future with me, just like I do him.

Now’s not the time, though. The cries become louder and my head snaps to the direction of them.

Spencer can wait.

Spencer has to wait.

Justin holds a gun to our team, the boy behind him. His hand shakes and I immediately begin gathering what I’m going to say. His sweating face and jittering body tell me he never planned this out correctly. He was never smart enough to pull off a crime such as this and he knows it. He knows jail is destined for him. He’s scared. After the childhood he’s had, he needs to know a life of terror does not await him. If anything, the court will order him to a mental institution. The man’s not dangerous, he’s haunted. We all are a little bit.

”Justin, can you put down the gun for me?” I say, my voice soft and quiet. My hands are up and I take a step toward him.

The gun waves, “Do not come any further.”

Somebody’s gun clicks behind me. I know it’s Spencer.

I nod, “Okay. Can you tell me why you took Oliver?”

Oliver, the poor boy, stands behind Justin with a teary face. From what I can see, he’s not physically harmed and he looks to be the same weight he was before. From an external perspective, Oliver is fine.

Justin cries, “His family wasn’t feeding him. They weren’t taking care of him. He wasn’t loved. He wasn’t nurtured in the way he needs to be.”

I give a reassuring smile, “And you thought you could give that to him?”

Justin nods and I take another step. His gun waves a bit more, but I’m not scared. Men like him never shoot.

“I said to not come closer!” He yells, but I take another step.

My hands go up higher, “I know, but I just need Oliver, Justin. Can you give me Oliver? I promise he’ll be alright. We just need to talk as adults.”

Justin hesitates before pushing Oliver toward Morgan. Morgan’s gun gets put in his holster before he’s ushering the sobbing boy out of the room, consoling him as much as he can. With the boy gone, I know I can be a bit more aggressive.

I take another step.

”Stop!” Justin yells.

”Put down the gun, Justin.” I take another step.

His eyes fly about the room and just as I make the decision to back off, his gun clicks and fires.

It’s almost like I watch the bullet make its way to me. For a split second, the memory and feeling of my vest soothes me, but the blinding pain in my neck pushes me to the floor. I still think I haven’t been hit, but blood on my hands when I retract it from the spot that numbs my entire body makes the adrenaline leave my body.

I’ve been shot in the neck.

Another gun goes off and I watch Justin fall to the floor. There’s a scream and then Spencer’s looming over me, his eyes on mine as his fingers press on the wound. I wince and he apologizes, but I can barely hear it. His mouth is moving, but nothing meets my ears. The tears falling from his face land on my cheek and it all becomes surreal.

I can’t form words, can’t communicate in any way. I’m going to die and Spencer will never know I knew he didn’t mean any of it.

—

THIRD PERSON POV

Spencer’s knee bounces up and down in the dim waiting room of the hospital. Morgan’s hand stays on his shoulder in a silent reminder that he’s there. Blood dries on Spencer’s sleeves, smudging on his face as he continues to rub his red fingers against his skin.

“Do you think I was wrong for asking her to leave her job?” He voices the question that he hasn’t stopped thinking about since they got into their fight.

Morgan sighs, “I think she’s right that it’s her life. Yes, it would be your baby, but she’s capable of making decisions herself. She has been in the multitude of years she spent without you. I get your concern, I really do, but imagine if she was asking you to quit your job.”

He knows he’s right, but it’s hard to stomach. Knowing she’s lying on a table, completely open, knowing there’s a potential she doesn’t come back, knowing he might have no chance to tell her how much he wants forever with her makes him vomit in the trash can next to him.

Morgan grimaces and looks away before Spencer awkwardly puts the bin back down, sorry for the person that has to find it sometime soon.

“I do want a future with her. Not with anyone else.” He whispers, his voice choppy from the tears.

Morgan pats his shoulder, “I know you do, kid. I would never doubt that for a second.”

Again, ever so quietly, “I love her so much.”

Again, a pat on his shoulder, “I know you do. She knows that too.”

Spencer turns in his seat, his face grave, “But, you didn’t see the way she looked at me when I said she was stupid. How stupid am I! She’s one of the smartest people I know! She has never and will never be stupid in my mind. God, I’m so fucking stupid.”

Morgan doesn’t say anything, a silent agreement. “You love her. You’ll get to tell her. That’s what matters.”

”How could I walk away from her like that? Leave it like that? All I’ve ever done is love her. Never was I angry at her more than I love her, never was I disappointed in her more than I love her. My entire life is lived because I love her. I’m not ready to lose her yet.” He can barely get the words out, but he does and it’s all the more heartbreaking.

Morgan saw all the blood, Morgan saw the life leaving her skin. But, Morgan also saw the life she was as a person, the brightness she brought to everyone around her. He saw the way she made Spencer feel. Stripping the life from someone like that, someone like Y/n, would take a lot because it was just that big.

—

Y/N POV

The light behind my eyelids is way too bright for my liking. People need to dim the bulbs in a hospital. Jesus Christ, nobody ever likes anything that bright.

The weight around my hand and arm is what forces my eyes open. Brown hair falls around my lap as one hand clutches my own and the other arm slithers up against mine and cradles it.

I let my fingers slip from his grip and fall into the knots of his hair, scratching lightly. It wakes him and in the moment where Spencer resides in the space between consciousness and unconsciousness, he lets his hand find mine in his hair.

“That feels nice.” He murmurs and I smile.

”Spence,” I whisper, “wake up.”

He stays quiet for a moment, I almost think he’s gone back to sleep, but his hands begin to reach for different parts of my body. Clutching my hips, my waist, my arms, my hands in order to gauge the reality of the situation. I giggle and he sighs.

”This isn’t a dream. Please, don’t be a dream.”

I laugh again and squeeze his arm, “It’s not a dream.”

The man rises to his full height, suddenly leaning over me to kiss me quickly. When he pulls back, he begins his nervous rambling.

”I didn’t mean what I said. You’re not stupid. You’re so far from it. I want a future with you. I need a future with you. Of course, I do. I hate doing anything without you. I can’t have you not in my life.” He stares at me, his fingers tangling with mine.

“Spence?”

”Yes?”

”I know.”

He breathes and it sounds like it's the first real breath he’s taken since the last time I saw him.

“I’m so sorry. If you want to stay at the BAU, just take a maternity leave, I support you in that decision. This is your life, you make your own decisions. It would be our baby, I make decisions with you on our baby. I don’t make decisions about your life. I’m sorry.”

I rub his hand.

”I know.”

He lets himself fall back into his chair, clearly relieved. He holds his chin in his hands and stares at me. His brown eyes make me chuckle, “What?”

”Nothing, just happy to enjoy the view once more.” He smiles and I swat my hand at him in the air, rolling my eyes. My grin is ear to ear, though.

A silence passes between us before I’m gesturing to the bandage across my neck, “Do you think this will leave a cool enough scar for me to tell our children?”

Spencer nods, “For sure. Hell, not even our children will find it cool. I will too. The team even.”

My head cocks, “Where is the team anyway?”

He smiles, “They left yesterday. They’ll be here later today. They said they wanted me to be the first person you saw so we could get all the ‘bad blood’ out of the air.”

The laughing that ensues from me pains the hole in my neck so I resort to controlled snickering, “So, the team knows how serious we are about children now?”

Spencer waves his hand at me, “Oh, they knew all about how serious our future was together the second you started at the BAU and I was fawning over you with every step you took.”

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

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moonselune · 5 months ago

Note

Idea! Romanced Companions reacting to a shapeshifter attempting to seduce tav. Only when they transform to what tav is most attracted to, It's literally just an exact copy of whoever tav romanced

Something possessive jumped out of me when I was writing this so might be slightly different to what was expected hehe

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach was engrossed in a lively conversation with Wyll, her laughter ringing through the campfire-lit clearing. Their discussion about battle tactics and recent victories was abruptly interrupted when Karlach noticed a stranger approaching you. Instinctively, her hand moved to the hilt of her axe, her keen eyes narrowing with suspicion as the figure drew closer.

To her astonishment, the stranger transformed right before her eyes, taking on Karlach's own form. Anger flared within her as she watched the audacious shapeshifter assume her likeness in an attempt to seduce you. With a growl of displeasure, Karlach stepped between you and the imposter, towering over them with her imposing presence.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" she barked, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. She pointed a finger at the shapeshifter, her stance unyielding.

The shapeshifter stammered, clearly caught off guard by Karlach's fierce reaction. "I-I was just…"

"You were just making a big mistake," Karlach interjected, her tone low and dangerous. "There's only one Karlach, and you're looking at her, in all her glory. Get lost before I make you regret it."

With that, the shapeshifter wisely chose to retreat, disappearing into the shadows of the camp. Karlach turned to you, her expression softening as she approached, her arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders.

"You alright, babe?" she asked, concern evident in her voice. "Don't let these idiot cultists get to you."

You nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude for Karlach's fierce loyalty. "I'm fine," you assured her, leaning into her comforting embrace.

She brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, her touch gentle yet reassuring. "Good," she murmured, her fiery eyes meeting yours. "You're mine, and no one's going to mess with that."

Despite the intensity of the moment, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Let's get back to Wyll," she suggested, her voice returning to its usual strength. "He's probably lost without my expert advice."

As you walked back together, her arm still securely around you, you couldn't help but marvel at Karlach's protective nature and the depth of her affection. It was moments like these that reminded you just how fortunate you were to have her by your side, fiercely guarding your heart against any who dared to challenge her claim.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart knelt by the campfire, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tended to her wounds from the day's battle. The air around her was tense with the aftermath of combat, yet she remained focused on her task. Her keen senses alerted her to movement, and she looked up sharply to see a figure approaching – a figure that soon transformed into an exact replica of herself.

Her eyes widened momentarily in surprise, then narrowed with suspicion and barely restrained fury. Shadowheart stood up swiftly, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her dagger, her grip tightening with resolve.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Shadowheart's form, approached you with a disarming smile. "I know what you truly desire," they whispered, their voice honeyed with deceit as they closed the distance between you.

Shadowheart's voice cut through the air like a blade of ice. "You think you can deceive me?" Her tone brooked no argument as she stepped decisively between you and the impostor, her posture defensive and protective.

The shapeshifter faltered, caught off guard by Shadowheart's unwavering composure. "I-I can be what they want," they stammered, attempting to maintain their facade.

"You are nothing but a cheap imitation," Shadowheart hissed, her dagger gleaming in the firelight as she held it steady, a silent threat. "Begone, before I decide to end you."

Realizing the danger, the shapeshifter hastily retreated, their illusion shattered by Shadowheart's unwavering determination. Once the threat had dissipated into the darkness of the camp, Shadowheart turned to you, her stance relaxing slightly though her guard remained.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice softer now, filled with genuine concern. She reached out tentatively, as if uncertain of your reaction, yet her touch conveyed reassurance. "I won't let anyone come between us."

You nodded, grateful for Shadowheart's swift protection and unwavering loyalty. "I'm fine," you replied, feeling a rush of relief at her comforting presence.

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Good," she murmured, her gaze meeting yours with a depth of emotion that spoke volumes. "You're safe now."

As you stood together in the quiet of the camp, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows around you, you couldn't help but admire Shadowheart's strength and resolve. Her fierce protectiveness, combined with her vulnerability in moments like these, made you realize just how deeply she cared. In her own quiet way, she had shown you once again that you were not alone in this journey – that she would always stand by your side, ready to defend you against any threat, real or illusionary.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Astarion reclined near the crackling campfire, idly sharpening a dagger with precise strokes when his keen senses alerted him to an approaching figure. His sharp eyes narrowed with suspicion as he watched the stranger draw nearer, then gasped in disbelief as the figure transformed seamlessly into an exact replica of himself, down to the smug curve of his smirk.

The shapeshifter approached you with a confident stride, mirroring Astarion's sultry charm with unsettling accuracy. "Isn’t this what you desire?" they purred, their voice a distorted echo of Astarion's own, as they trailed a finger provocatively down your arm.

Astarion's amusement quickly turned to indignation. He sprang to his feet, dagger flashing in his hand as he closed the distance in an instant. "Flattery will get you nowhere, darling," he drawled, his tone laced with a dangerous sweetness that belied his lethal intent.

The shapeshifter blinked, clearly caught off guard by Astarion's swift reaction. "But I thought—"

"You thought wrong," Astarion interjected smoothly, pressing the dagger's tip against the shapeshifter's throat with a precise and threatening grace. "Leave now, before I make you regret ever coming here."

Realizing the gravity of the situation, the shapeshifter hastily retreated, their illusion shattered by Astarion's unwavering determination. Once the threat had evaporated into the shadows of the camp, Astarion turned to you, his expression softening as he approached with a hint of concern in his eyes.

"Are you alright, my dear?" he asked softly, his usual teasing edge softened by genuine worry. "I can't have anyone thinking they can replace me."

You chuckled softly, reassured by his protective instincts and touched by his genuine concern. "I'm fine," you assured him, reaching out to squeeze his hand in gratitude for his swift defense.

Astarion smirked, the tension easing from his shoulders as he returned the squeeze. "Good," he murmured, a playful glint in his eyes returning. "After all, no one can match up to the original, can they?"

He leaned in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "Though I must admit, seeing someone try to mimic my irresistible charm is quite flattering."

You rolled your eyes fondly, unable to resist teasing him back. "Oh please, you love it when someone tries to be as devilishly handsome as you."

Astarion chuckled, the tension of the moment dissipating into playful banter between the two of you. With his arm now draped casually around your shoulders, you felt a rush of warmth and reassurance. Despite the danger that had briefly intruded upon your camp, you knew you were safe in Astarion's capable – and occasionally teasing – hands.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Gale sat cross-legged on a weathered log, deep in thought as he pored over the ancient tome spread out before him. The soft glow of arcane symbols illuminated his face, casting shadows that danced across the campsite. His scholarly reverie was abruptly shattered by the approach of an unfamiliar figure. His sharp intellect registered the anomaly before his eyes widened in disbelief as the figure transformed into an exact replica of himself, down to the intricate patterns of magical tattoos that adorned his skin.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Gale's form, exuded confidence as they strode towards you with a disarming smile. "I can be everything you need," they declared, their voice carrying the cadence of Gale's own scholarly certainty, reaching out as if to draw you closer.

Gale rose to his feet in one fluid motion, arcane energy crackling around his fingertips. His expression hardened with resolve as he stepped decisively between you and the impostor, his stance authoritative and protective. "This ends now," he stated firmly, his voice carrying the weight of command.

The shapeshifter blinked, momentarily taken aback by Gale's sudden assertiveness. "But I thought—"

"You thought wrong," Gale interrupted, his tone unwavering. "There is only one Gale, and you are not him."

With a flick of his wrist, Gale conjured a swirling vortex of arcane power that surged towards the shapeshifter, compelling them to retreat hastily, their illusion shattered. Once the threat had dissipated into the night, Gale turned to you, his features softening with genuine concern.

"Are you alright, my love?" he asked tenderly, his scholarly demeanor momentarily replaced by a gentler expression. "I can't have anyone thinking they can replace me."

You nodded, touched by Gale's protective instincts and grateful for his swift defense. "I'm fine," you assured him, stepping closer and reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his arm.

Gale's gaze softened further, his lips curling into a small, relieved smile as he covered your hand with his own. "Good," he murmured, his voice a quiet reassurance. "After all, there's no duplicating true scholarly prowess."

He chuckled softly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he glanced back towards where the shapeshifter had fled. "Though I must admit, seeing someone attempt to replicate my intricate tattoos is rather amusing."

You couldn't help but smile back, grateful for Gale's steadfast presence and the depth of his affection. As you stood together amidst the lingering traces of magical energy, you knew that no matter the challenges that lay ahead, Gale would always be there – both scholar and protector, steadfast in his love for you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll sat cross-legged near the edge of the camp, his skilled hands methodically polishing the blade of his rapier. The glint of the campfire danced off the silvered steel, casting a flickering light over his focused expression. His senses on high alert, he noticed a figure approaching—a stranger whose form shifted before his eyes into an exact replica of himself, scar over the eye and all.

His grip tightened instinctively on the hilt of his rapier as he stood up, muscles tensing beneath his leather armor. His brows furrowed with suspicion as he took in the audacity of the shapeshifter's deception. "What kind of trickery is this?" Wyll demanded, his voice cutting through the quiet of the night like a blade of ice.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Wyll's form, smiled with an unsettling familiarity, attempting to mimic Wyll's charismatic charm. "I thought you might appreciate a familiar face," they said smoothly, extending a hand towards you in a gesture of false intimacy.

Wyll stepped forward, his posture protective and resolute as he positioned himself firmly between you and the doppelganger. "There is only one Blade of Frontiers," he declared sternly, his gaze unwavering. "And it’s certainly not you."

With a swift, practiced motion, Wyll unsheathed his rapier, the blade catching the firelight as he leveled it at the impostor with unwavering precision. "Leave now," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument, "or face the consequences."

Realizing their ruse was exposed, the shapeshifter hastily retreated into the darkness, their illusion shattered by Wyll's steadfast resolve. Once the threat had dissipated, Wyll turned to you, his demeanor softening as he sheathed his rapier and approached with gentle concern.

"Are you alright, love?" he asked tenderly, his usual confidence softened by genuine worry. He reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch warm and reassuring.

You nodded gratefully, comforted by Wyll's protective presence and touched by his unwavering loyalty. "I'm fine," you reassured him, offering a small smile to ease his concern.

Wyll returned the smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a mixture of relief and affection. "Good," he murmured softly, his hand lingering on yours as he squeezed it gently. "You know I'll always have your back."

As you stood together in the quiet of the camp, the crackling of the fire providing a backdrop to your shared moment, you couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for Wyll's courage and dedication. His swift defense against the shapeshifter had not only protected you physically but reaffirmed the depth of his love and commitment. In his arms, you knew you were safe and cherished—a feeling that strengthened the bond between you, forged amidst the trials of your journey together.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae'zel's keen eyes scanned the perimeter of the camp with hawk-like intensity, her warrior's instincts finely attuned to any potential threat. When she spotted the approaching figure, her gaze narrowed with suspicion, and her grip tightened instinctively on the hilt of her sword. Her initial curiosity turned swiftly to ire as the figure transformed before her eyes into an exact replica of herself, mirroring her fierce demeanor and steely resolve.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Lae'zel's form, approached you with bold confidence, their voice echoing Lae'zel's commanding tone. "You know you can't resist me," they purred, their eyes fixed on you with unsettling intensity.

Lae'zel surged forward in an instant, her blade drawn and poised for battle. "You dare to mock me with this charade?" she spat, her voice laced with barely contained fury.

The impostor recoiled, caught off guard by Lae'zel's swift and ferocious response. They attempted to retreat, but Lae'zel pursued relentlessly, slashing at them with calculated precision. "There is only one Lae'zel," she declared fiercely, her strikes relentless and unforgiving. "And you are not worthy to even speak my name."

With a final swipe, the shapeshifter narrowly escaped, fleeing into the darkness with their illusion shattered by Lae'zel's unyielding determination. Once the threat had dissipated, Lae'zel turned to you, her expression softening marginally as she sheathed her sword and approached with a rare display of vulnerability.

"You are mine," she stated firmly, her voice holding a mixture of possessiveness and protectiveness. "Do not forget that."

You nodded, touched by the depth of Lae'zel's loyalty and the fierceness of her defense. Her unwavering commitment to your safety and her intense dedication resonated deeply, forging a bond between you that transcended words. As you stood together amidst the quiet of the camp, the tension of the encounter giving way to a sense of solidarity, you knew that with Lae'zel by your side, no challenge could threaten your connection or your shared journey ahead.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

Minthara's keen eyes swept the campsite with a vigilance honed by years of command, her gaze piercing through the shadows to spot the approaching figure long before they neared you. As the shapeshifter transformed into an exact replica of Minthara herself, duplicating her sharp features and the cold disdain in her eyes, Minthara's lip curled in unmistakable contempt.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Minthara's form, approached you with a calculated mimicry of her icy charm. "You know you desire me," they whispered seductively, their voice carrying the chilling allure that Minthara wielded like a weapon.

Minthara stepped forward with swift, purposeful strides, her presence imposing and her expression stone-cold. "You are a poor imitation," she hissed, her hand drifting to the hilt of her weapon. "And I do not tolerate pretenders."

The shapeshifter's facade wavered under the intensity of Minthara's glare, their confidence giving way to uncertainty. "I-I can be whatever they want," they stammered, attempting to salvage the illusion.

"You will never be me," Minthara snarled, her blade drawn now and pressed against the shapeshifter's throat with lethal intent. "Leave," she commanded, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "and pray I do not hunt you down."

With a final, chilling warning, the shapeshifter fled, their deception exposed and their retreat hastened by the threat of Minthara's wrath. As the tension of the encounter ebbed away, Minthara turned to you, her demeanor softening imperceptibly but significantly.

"You belong to me," she stated quietly, her voice a rare blend of possessiveness and vulnerability. "And no one else."

You nodded, feeling the weight of Minthara's protectiveness and the depth of her commitment. Her fierce defense of your bond left an indelible mark, solidifying the strength of your connection amidst the trials of your journey together. As you stood together in the aftermath, the firelight casting flickering shadows over the camp, you knew that Minthara's unwavering devotion would always be your steadfast anchor in the tumult of your shared adventures.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Halsin knelt by a wounded animal, his hands tender and skilled as he tended to its injuries with the gentle touch of one intimately familiar with the ways of nature. His brow furrowed slightly as he sensed a disturbance, his keen senses detecting the subtle shift in the camp's atmosphere. Rising slowly, his movements deliberate yet fluid, he observed with a mixture of concern and determination as the figure in the distance transformed seamlessly into a perfect replica of himself.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Halsin's form, approached you with a disarming smile that attempted to mimic Halsin's warmth and wisdom. "I know what you like," they murmured softly, stepping closer with unsettling familiarity.

Halsin's voice resonated with quiet authority, his tone carrying the weight of years spent attuned to the natural rhythms of the world. "This deception will not stand," he declared firmly, his eyes unwavering as he moved closer to intercept the impostor.

Caught off guard by the real Halsin's presence, the shapeshifter faltered, their illusion cracking under the intensity of Halsin's gaze. As the druid's form shifted seamlessly into that of a bear, a low, menacing growl rumbled through the clearing, sending the impostor recoiling in fear.

The shapeshifter abandoned their facade in a panicked retreat, fleeing from the camp with the echo of Halsin's protective wrath still ringing in their ears. Returning to his elf form, Halsin approached you with a calm reassurance, his hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder.

"You are safe with me," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering unease of the encounter. "Do not let such trickery disturb you."

You nodded, grateful for Halsin's stalwart presence and the steadfast comfort he offered in the face of uncertainty. His unwavering commitment to your well-being and his innate understanding of the natural world were pillars of strength that grounded you amidst the shifting tides of adventure and intrigue that defined your journey together. As you stood together in the tranquil aftermath, the bond between you strengthened by each shared trial, you knew that with Halsin at your side, there was nothing you could not face with courage and resilience.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope y'all like it - Seluney xx

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moonxknightx · 3 months ago

Text

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : BOUND BY DESIRE : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Dark!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Smut

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Explicit, 18+, smut, cheating, piv, unprotected sex, choking, perv!Logan, fingering, rough, reader is married

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: Logan, your possessive neighbor, has been obsessed with you for a long time, believing your husband doesn’t deserve you. One afternoon, he confronts you, confessing his feelings and insisting you belong to him. Despite your initial resistance, you're drawn to his intensity. Logan kisses you, his dark desire overwhelming, claiming you as his. You’re caught between the weight of your marriage and the dangerous pull of his obsession.

Based on this request

YOU ARE STANDING IN FRONT OF YOUR YARD, completely unaware of the piercing gaze watching you from across the road. Logan’s house isn’t far, tucked just out of sight, but he never stays hidden for long. He can’t. Not when you’re so close.

He stands at his window, gaze fixed on you, fingers twitching at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the street. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows. But it’s impossible to ignore the pull you have over him. His senses are too sharp, too attuned to everything about you—the way your perfume mixes with the air, the soft sound of your laughter when you speak to your husband, the faint trace of your skin beneath it all. It drives him insane.

You’re married. His wife. That thought alone should stop him, should have ended his obsession the moment it began. And yet, here he is. Day after day, watching you, needing you more than he’s ever needed anything before.

A soft laugh escapes your lips as you turn to talk to your husband, and Logan's jaw tightens. He hates the sight of him next to you, touching you, talking to you as if he deserves you. Logan knows deep down that the man doesn’t. Not the way Logan does. He can smell the tension in your house, the arguments that come and go like the changing wind. He knows your marriage isn’t perfect. You aren’t perfect.

But you’re his.

Logan’s thoughts grow darker, swirling around the ways he could make it all disappear. How easy it would be to tear your husband from your life. He’s imagined it before. Too many times. The fantasies slip into his mind late at night when he’s alone—how he could end it in an instant, erase the man from your world, make you his, truly his.

Logan shakes the thoughts away, but the damage is done. The idea is there, burning at the back of his mind like a fire that refuses to die. His fingers flex again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. He grabs his jacket, strides to the door, and steps outside before he can think twice.

You don’t see him coming. You’re too distracted, lost in a conversation with your husband, who’s leaning against the porch railing, sipping a drink, oblivious to the danger that’s lurking just beyond the corner of his eye. But Logan is there in seconds, crossing the yard with an unhurried ease that belies the tension coiled in his body.

“Logan?” you ask, startled as he approaches. You smile, and his chest tightens. You have no idea.

“Hey.” His voice is rougher than usual, his eyes flicking between you and the man standing too close for his liking. “Thought I’d drop by. You got a minute?”

Your husband glances at Logan, clearly unimpressed by the intrusion, but you don’t seem to mind. You shrug, smile a little more, completely unaware of the way Logan’s eyes linger on you a beat too long.

“I guess so. What’s up?”

Logan’s eyes lock on yours, the weight of his stare making your breath hitch for just a moment. There’s something different about him today—something darker, something hungry. The tension between him and your husband is thick, but you ignore it, as usual. You’ve always gotten along with Logan. He’s your friendly, quiet neighbor, a little rough around the edges but kind enough. If you ever sensed something more beneath the surface, you pushed it away.

Now, though… now it’s hard to ignore.

Your husband straightens, eyes narrowing as Logan steps a little closer. “Can it wait, Logan? We’re kinda in the middle of something.”

Logan’s jaw ticks, but he keeps his voice calm, almost too calm. “Wasn’t talkin’ to you.”

The words hang in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. Your husband stiffens, but before he can respond, you step in, sensing the brewing storm. “It’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. “What do you need, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes never leave yours as he takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint scent of leather and wood smoke clinging to his jacket. Your heart skips a beat.

“I need to talk to you. Alone.”

You glance back at your husband, who’s glaring at Logan now, suspicion written all over his face. But something in Logan’s tone, in the intensity of his gaze, makes it impossible for you to refuse. There’s a pull there, a magnetism you can’t quite explain.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, trying to keep your voice light, casual, but the tension crackles in the air as you follow Logan down the front steps, away from the porch, out of earshot and sight from your husband.

Once you’re far enough, you stop, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn to face him. “What’s this about, Logan? You’re acting—”

“Different?” he interrupts, his voice low, gravelly, but there’s an edge to it, something simmering just beneath the surface.

Your breath catches as he steps closer, invading your space, his gaze locking onto yours with a heat that sends a shiver down your spine. “Logan—”

“I see the way he treats you,” Logan growls, his voice dark, dangerous. “The way he doesn’t appreciate you. You think I haven’t noticed? You deserve better than him.”

You take a step back, your heart racing. “Logan, this isn’t—”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Logan cuts you off, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm. The touch is electric, sending a jolt through your body. You should pull away. You should push him back, tell him to stop, but you don’t. You can’t.

“You’re mine,” Logan whispers, his voice rough, possessive. “You’ve always been mine.”

You know you should leave. You should turn around and go back to your husband, pretend this never happened. But there’s a part of you—dark, twisted, hidden deep beneath the surface—that doesn’t want to.

Because some part of you has always been his too.

The tension between you and Logan hums in the air, thick enough to suffocate. His eyes are burning into yours, his chest rising and falling as if he’s trying to contain himself. You should walk away right now.

You know that. Your husband is just a few steps away, but somehow, he feels like a distant memory compared to the weight of Logan’s presence pressing down on you.

His hand lingers on your arm, the rough texture of his calloused skin sending a ripple of heat through you.

You take in a shaky breath, willing yourself to say something, anything that might pull you out of this. But Logan is too close, too intense, and the words dissolve on your tongue before they can form.

“Logan, we can’t—” you start, but it’s a weak attempt at resistance, and you both know it.

“Why not?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl as his fingers slide up to your shoulder, then your neck, his thumb brushing along your jaw. It’s a gentle touch, but there’s something possessive about it, something that sends a thrill down your spine.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as you try to focus, to remember who you are and what’s at stake. “I’m married,” you say, the words coming out more like a plea than a statement.

His eyes darken at the mention of your husband, his lips curling into a sneer. “Not for long,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear. Then, without warning, he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “You know you don’t belong with him.”

You close your eyes, trying to block out the way his words sink into you, the truth of them

twisting in your gut. You’ve known for a while that things between you and your husband have been strained. But that doesn’t mean this is right. Doesn’t mean you should want this.

And yet… you do.

“I see you,” Logan says, his voice rough, like he’s holding back something dangerous. His hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your bodies are almost flush. “I’ve seen the way he treats you, the way he takes you for granted. You think I don’t know?”

Your breath quickens as his lips brush against your ear, the nearness of him intoxicating.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the barely-contained tension in his muscles, and it’s like standing on the edge of a cliff. One wrong move and you’ll fall.

But falling doesn’t feel like such a bad idea anymore.

“Logan…” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a warning or an invitation.

He doesn’t give you time to figure it out. His mouth crashes down on yours with a force that steals your breath, his hand gripping the back of your neck as he pulls you into the kiss. It’s not soft or slow—there’s no pretense of gentleness here. It’s all fire, all need, raw and unrestrained.

Your mind screams at you to stop, but your body betrays you, melting into him, your hands reaching up to clutch his jacket as if he’s the only solid thing keeping you grounded. His other hand slides down your waist, his fingers digging into your hip with a possessiveness that makes your head spin.

When you gasp for air, he uses it to deepen the kiss, his tongue claiming yours with a hunger that feels like it’s been building for years. And maybe it has. Maybe you’ve felt this pull between you and Logan for longer than you’ve ever let yourself admit.

The thought should scare you. It should make you stop. But all you feel is heat, overwhelming and impossible to ignore.

Logan growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he pushes you back, guiding you toward the wall of your house. Your back hits the rough brick, and a gasp escapes your mouth, but it’s lost as Logan’s lips find yours again, his hands everywhere—your waist, your neck, your hair—as if he can’t get enough of you. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I’ve wanted this,” he rasps against your lips, his breath ragged. “Wanted you. And you want it too.” It’s not a question. He knows, just like you do. You can feel the truth of it in the way your body responds to him, in the way your pulse races beneath his touch.

But there’s a dark edge to his voice now, something possessive, dangerous, and it sends a chill down your spine even as you shiver from his heat.

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts. His eyes are wild, a storm of emotions swirling just beneath the surface—desire, anger, and something darker, something territorial. It scares you, but it thrills you too, the weight of his obsession pressing down on you like a vice.

“You belong to me,” he growls, his voice thick with conviction. “Not him. Me.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he silences you with another kiss, this one softer but no less intense.

His lips move against yours with a bruising tenderness, like he’s staking his claim, branding you with every touch.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead presses against yours, and you can feel his breath, hot and uneven, mingling with yours in the small space between you.

“You know it, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “You’re mine. Always have been.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, every part of you torn between the rational voice screaming in the back of your mind and the overwhelming need that’s taken hold of your body.

You’re standing on a knife’s edge, one step away from shattering everything.

But with Logan this close, his hands still on your body, his lips hovering just inches from yours, you can’t seem to find the strength to care.

“Come with me.” Logan whispers while taking your hand in his, pulling you towards his house without your husband seeing it.

“Logan…” You breathe, but Logan ignores you as he led you through his house, pulling you into his bedroom.

“I’m going to show you how you should be treated.” Logan smirks before pushing you down onto his bed, immediately climbing on top of you.

He wraps one of his hands around your throat while covering your face with kisses.

“Logan…” You whimper, arching your back. Logan just chuckles while reaching for your skirt with his free hand. He bunches up the fabric and starts stroking your clothed pussy.

“I can already feel you dripping.” Logan smirks before pushing your panties to the side, slowly sliding two of his fingers through your folds.

“Oh f-fuck…” You moan as your mouth falls open. “Yeah you like that?” Logan smiles, slowly inserting one of his fingers into your hole, filling you up.

“Fuck you’re so tight. Does your husband not fuck you enough?” Logan asks with a grin. You try to roll your eyes at him but the feeling of his finger fucking you feels to good.

“More…” You whimper. Logan listens and adds a second finger in your pussy.

“Fuck Logan!” Logan just smirks while putting some more pressure on your throat. He leans in and captures your lips in a passionate heated kiss.

You could feel Logan’s cock throbbing against the inside of your thigh. You try to move your hips but Logan keeps you down. “Hold on sweet girl.” Logan says before reaching for his belt, unbuckling it with one hand before pulling them down with his boxers.

You could feel his cock slapping against your pussy while he pulled down your tanktop, revealing your tits.

“I need more…” You say softly, trying to focus while Logan kept fucking you with his fingers.

“I know. You must be needing more after that pathetic husband of you keeps you dissatisfied.” Logan scoffs, stroking his cock as he leans down to press kisses in between your tits.

“Don’t talk about my husband like that.” You manage to say between moans, making Logan laugh. “Or what?” He replies.

When you don’t give him an answer, Logan aligns his cock at your entrance while looking down at you, his gaze unreadable.

“You’re mine, okay? Mine.” Logan tells you before pushing his cock in, filling your pussy.

“Oh God!” You moan as you throw your head back against the pillows.

Logan closes his eyes for a moment, trying to control himself as he feels your walls clench around him.

“You feel amazing.” Logan says. “So fucking tight.” He groans as he places both of his hands next to your face, slowly rocking his hips forward.

You dig your nails into Logan’s back, causing him to groan as he speeds up his thrusts.

“So pretty like this. Taking another man’s cock. What would your husband think of you when he finds out?” Logan mocks as he holds up one of your legs, making you take him deeper.

You know you should geel guilty, but somehow you just don’t. You are too lost in all the pleasure to care. And Logan knows.

Suddenly Logan grabs your hips and switches positions, making you ride him while he’s playing with your tits.

You bounce up and down his cock while Logan bites his lip, looking at how his cock keeps disappearing in your cunt.

“So fucking sexy.” He murmurs while rubbing your clit with one of his hands.

“L-Logan…Fuck,” You moan as you throw your head back in pleasure. “Go on, keep fucking yourself on my cock, darlin’.” Logan groans, forcing your hips down onto his cock, making him hit the perfect spot.

“I’m close…” You announce, placing one of your hands on Logan’s chest for leverage.

“Go on then, sweetheart. Come on my cock.” Logan smirks as he starts thrusting up into you. You let out a deep moan while digging your nails into his chest.

Soon, you are a shuddering mess as you come undone on his cock. “Logan!,” You moan, collapsing onto Logan while you’re milking his dick.

Logan immediately wraps his arms around your waist while pounding into you. You start whimpering, telling him it was too much, but Logan doesn’t care. He keeps sliding his cock in and out of your pussy until he almost comes.

“Oh baby, i’m going to fill you up with my cum. I bet your husband would love that.” He chuckles darkly, pounding into you a few more times until he comes inside of you. You moan softly at the feeling of him filling you up.

“Oh fucking hell.” Logan breathes as he slowly calms down. He doesn’t pull out, he just pulls you even closer to him while stroking your back.

“You belong with me.” He says quietly. You hum at his words, too tired to say anything else.

You and Logan stay like that for a while. Just cuddling in bed, until you realize how late it is.

“Shit i have to get back. He’ll start wondering where i am.” You say, panicking as you quickly get off of Logan.

Logan watches as you fix your clothes. Pulling your skirt back down and your top up. You walk over to Logan’s mirror and quickly fix your hair.

Suddenly, Logan is behind you. His hands are on your waist as he lays his chin on your shoulder.

“Come back here tonight.” He sighs. “I can’t Logan. We shouldn’t have done this. It isn’t fair.” You tell him.

Logan laughs while shaking his head. “Do you know what isn’t fair? You being with someone who doesn’t appreciate you enough.” You roll your eyes at his words, but deep down you know he’s right.

“I have to go Logan.” You tell him again. Logan nods and guides you to the front door of his small house.

“At least try to come back tonight. It will be worth it.” Logan says, smirking slightly. You give him a small smile while nodding. “I’ll try.”

Logan quickly leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead before watching you walk back to your own house.

When you walk into the living room, you see your husband sitting on the couch, watching TV. His eyes immediately fall upon you.

“What did he want from you? You’ve been almost gone for an hour.” He asks. You just shrug your shoulders while heading to the kitchen.

“He needed some help with his backyard. Didn’t know how to plant the flowers, so i helped him.” You lie.

“Mhm such a strange guy.” Your husband murmurs, returning his focus back to the TV.

“Yeah… tell me about it.” You mumble under your breath while looking at the back of your husband, still feeling Logan’s cum leak out of you.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @wolviesgirl @slowlikehoneyyy

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awearywritersworld · 10 months ago

Text

the day of my execution

sukuna x reader summary: gojo, yuuji, and sukuna discuss what happened at the store. sukuna begins to consider your mortality like never before and takes care of you when you're sick. w/c: 2.7k tags/warnings: fluff. mentions of attempted kidnapping. banter. reader has the flu. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: sorry for disappearing for so long, but here is the long awaited next chapter. i've put a second a/n at the end, so i hope you'll read it. please excuse me talking out of my ass trying to rationalize my application of jujutsu, but if gege does it, so can i. i hope it kind of makes sense though. series masterlist // masterlist

truthfully, yuuji expects his wednesday morning to be as uneventful as any other, but when he stands in front of the bathroom sink to brush his teeth, his eyes are not the only ones staring back at him.

"what d'ya want?" he groans. "it's too early for this."

"we need to talk."

sukuna doesn't give his vessel a chance to respond before he begins recounting the events of the previous night, a story which has yuuji's face cycling between surprise, worry, and dismay. "the man claimed someone sent him?"

"that's what i said," sukuna responds impatiently.

"why would anyone be after her? i don't understand."

"would it kill you to use your brain for once?" sukuna questions, having had the entirety of the night to ponder the situation. "think, idiot. who would be interested in using her in some ploy? against you. against... us."

yuuji's eyes widen. "the higher ups?

"no one else would be so brazen."

it strikes sukuna as ironic that just days after he relayed the cruelness he endured at the hands of jujutsu society's higher ups a millenia ago, you too almost became one of their victims. it's a reality that he despises.

"i should call gojo—"

"that is out of the question."

"do you want to keep her safe or not?"

sukuna scoffs. "this is how we keep her safe. if the higher ups are after her, we can't trust other sorcerers."

yuuji almost seems offended on gojo's behalf. after all, he's known him for the better part of a decade. "i'd trust gojo with my life."

"well this isn't your life we're talking about. this is much more important."

yuuji chuckles. "i know. that's exactly why we need help."

before sukuna can protest, yuuji's dialing his old sensei and asking to meet somewhere they can speak privately.

that's how they end up at a small bakery on the outskirts of tokyo, sukuna relaying the story for the second time that morning.

once he finishes, gojo leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. "well, i don't think you're wrong about the higher ups being involved."

"so what are we supposed to do?" yuuji asks. "they might use her to get to me, but you don't think the higher ups would actually put her life in danger, do you?"

though yuuji's question is directed toward gojo, it isn't him that answers.

"you're as naive as ever," sukuna scoffs. "they'll stop at nothing to achieve their own ends."

gojo grimaces, a silent agreement with the assertion. "i can do some poking around, see who ordered it to be done."

"and what exactly is that going to do? there's no reasoning with them."

"a fact i am well aware of," the white haired man narrows his eyes at the king of curses. "but there is leverage in power, something i happen to have more of than anybody—"

"almost anybody—"

"so as the strongest, i'll take care of this as soon as i can."

"hey, um, so as productive as all the dick measuring is," yuuji interrupts. "it doesn't keep her safe in the meantime."

"i have an idea in that regard," sukuna says. "it's an ancient practice, and while it doesn't offer any protective measures, it will allow me to find her if they make another attempt like last night."

gojo leans forward, clearly interested to hear more.

"i can imbue a talisman with a part of myself and if she wears it, it will act as a beacon for her location."

"with part of yourself? as in, your cursed energy?" yuuji speculates. "wouldn't that do more harm than good? attract cursed spirits and whatever?"

"no, i'm not a fool. it's not cursed energy."

sukuna is hesitant to clarify further. he'd done something similar when creating his fingers, but it was different then. it was a selfish endeavor to preserve his life long after it was his time to die. it was a dark sort of jujutsu, one meant only to bring destruction.

but intention is important in sorcery. it can change the very essence of the practice.

for the first time in his life, sukuna is acting selflessly, concerned only with your protection. it's a pure sort of jujutsu this time around, one that allows him to impart a piece of himself that isn't tainted by cursed energy.

and because of that, that part of him would be unprotected. it'd leave him uniquely vulnerable. it's a steep and dangerous measure. that's why the practice had been forgotten long before the modern age.

"then what could it possibly be?" it's quiet for a moment as yuuji's question hangs in the air.

"it's your soul, isn't it?" the disbelief lacing gojo's voice is quite plain, but he's heard whispers of such techniques. "you'd give her a piece of your soul."

sukuna's never been one for unfinished business, so it's no surprise when he finds himself on the couch, intent on finishing the stranger. besides, it had become clear he'd been focusing on the wrong aspects of the book when he first began reading it.

he's three chapters from the end when he hears a loud shatter from the kitchen, followed by a sharp gasp. the broken glass hasn't even finished sliding across the floor before he's at your side.

"what happened?" the alarm in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"nothing, nothing," you assure him. "i just dropped my cup."

crouching down, you reach for one of the bigger pieces before your hand is swiftly smacked away. "don't."

"it's fine. it's only a little glass."

when you reach for it again, he grabs your wrist. "you troublesome little thing. do you ever listen?"

"i don't make a habit of it."

"i know. the question was rhetorical."

sukuna's already noticed the shards of glass surrounding your bare feet, so he wastes no time in picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

"don't move." he says it in such a way that, for once, you don't even think about disobeying him.

he all but stomps out of the room, returning moments later with a broom and dust pan. there's a small smile playing on your lips as you watch him gather the larger pieces before sweeping up the rest.

and you know, it's really not fair. sukuna could even call it a cosmic injustice, the way he has to worry about broken glass and fragile fingertips.

but he likes you and he likes the pads of your fingers, particularly the way they feel against his skin and run through his hair, so he swallows his pride.

it's been consuming him lately— the fact that you are just as easily broken as the glass that littered the kitchen tile. he never considered just how many ways there are for a human to die until you were nearly taken from him.

so once he's done, he rests the broom and dustpan against the wall and stands in front of you, his hips situated between your knees.

reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a necklace and your mouth falls open in shock. a delicate chain is threaded around his fingers, while its ruby pendant dangles in the air. "i want you to have this."

"what.. what is it?"

he snorts. "you don't know what a necklace is?"

you let out a breath of a laugh. "of course i do. i'm just surprised."

you hold up your palm and he places the necklace there gently. inspecting the gem, you notice it bears a striking resemblance to the color of his eyes.

strangely, it's almost as if it's heavier than it should be— like it's weighed down by some importance beyond your comprehension.

"it's beautiful," you tell him honestly. "are you sure?"

"sure of what?"

"that i should have it."

he pauses before responding, taking in the way you're so gingerly holding it. he's scared you've realized what he's actually giving you. that you're repulsed by it.

he's hesitant when he asks, "why would you think otherwise?"

"i didn't do anything to deserve something like this."

sukuna breathes a sigh of relief. "you are ever the fool."

his hands find your hips, pulling you off the counter and onto your feet. he plucks the necklace from your hand, then shifts to stand behind you.

moving your hair to the side, his fingers brush lightly against your skin. "the necklace is undeserving of adorning your neck. not the other way around."

and he knows it's the truth. a piece of him, attached to a creature so lovely she should be out of his reach... well, that's just unseemly, isn't it?

"but promise me something anyway."

"anything," you say without delay.

he situates the chain around your neck, the pendant lying in the space where your collarbones meet, and fastens the clasp. when you turn to face him, you're met with an alarmingly grave expression.

"promise you won't ever take it off."

you fiddle with the ruby somewhat nervously, feeling as if you're missing some important piece of the puzzle.

you nod in response to his request, but it isn't enough for him.

"say it."

"i promise."

he can see that you're biting back questions, so he explains, "if you're wearing that, i'll always know where to find you."

it finally dawns on you, for the first time, how much the incident at the store truly affected him. it's not the way he ended those men that clued you in, nor is it the way he pleaded with you to forgive him.

it happens in this moment. it's the gentleness of his voice, despite his underlying desperation. it's the way he's watching you carefully, as if you're likely to disappear. it's the fact he wouldn't let you clean up a mess of your own making, because he can't stand the thought of seeing you bleed.

"i... i don't know what to say."

"well, that's a first."

"shut up," you punch his shoulder. "you're ruining the moment."

"right, my bad," he chuckles and glances down at the gemstone. "do you like it?"

you let out a breath. "of course. i love it."

he smiles at your words— soft and genuine— truly a rare sight. "good."

you notice that he's looking at you. really looking at you. his eyes shift away from yours and over to each of your temples. then down to your nose. your mouth. even your chin.

he takes in every detail and he feels like he's in your debt simply for gazing at your countenance.

you almost regret it when your hands curl around the collar of his shirt and pull his lips to yours. you should have savored his smile, spent time committing it to memory.

although, that's soon forgotten as you feel the curve of his mouth deepen while his lips move against yours.

it isn't until day three of your ceaseless coughing and sneezing that sukuna adds them to his list— broken glass, fragile fingertips, coughs, and sniffles.

his concern is clear from the way he dotes on you. he brings you cold cloths, makes you tea, massages your neck, runs you baths.

now he's on his way to a twenty four hour pharmacy to pick up more medicine to reduce your fever, and while it's only a block away, he's still doing it alone.

but not even for a moment does he consider running off to burn the world's largest city to the ground. the streets are crawling with people, but he finds himself avoiding them more than anything.

he has to get back to you after all.

the only thought on his mind other than you is the ending of the stranger. the main character, while awaiting his beheading from his prison cell, conveys his final words to readers:

for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, i opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. finding it so much like myself— so like a brother, really— i felt that i had been happy and that i was happy again. for everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, i had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators on the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.

in sukuna's first life, perhaps this line would have resonated with him. it was a life where he had resolved himself to the idea that nothing really mattered, because the alternative was too painful. it didn't matter that jujutsu society betrayed him. it didn't matter that he stole people's lives out from under them. it didn't matter that he was alone.

and while he would have never surrendered himself to execution, if that had been his fate, he would have preferred to go out surrounded by living reminders of all he had accomplished. surrounded by all the people he had ruined.

however, when he imagines such an occurrence happening in his present life, there is only one face throughout the entire crowd and it belongs to you.

the very thought makes him sick with grief.

looking up, he realizes that there are no stars in tokyo anymore, that there is no feeling of indifference when it comes to you, and that there is no happiness to be had when you are not by his side.

he knows he'll never shed another drop of innocent blood if it means you'll always have that look of adoration in your eyes when your gaze falls on him.

so his trip to the pharmacy is short and hurried.

opening your apartment door, he's careful to be quiet in case you're sleeping, but he finds you peering at him from the couch.

your hair is disheveled. there's a sheen of sweat across your forehead. your eyes are beyond tired. your shirt is wrinkled.

you're still the most pleasing thing he's ever laid eyes on.

"you're back," you rasp.

"i'm back," he affirms, slipping off his shoes.

you sit up and quickly regret it, your hand coming to rest against your stomach. "god, i feel like i'm gonna puke."

"charming."

you use all your strength to throw a pillow at him, which he easily catches before tossing something small in your direction— a ginger chew to help with the nausea.

you unwrap it and pop it in your mouth. "thanks."

he hums in response, settling down in the spot beside you. once he pulls the medicine from the bag, it's followed by two bottles. "got you these, too."

recognizing them as your favorite drink, your exhausted and delirious brain makes your eyes well up with grateful tears. "you're so sweet."

"yeah, whatever. don't get used to it."

"but you are. you're sweet and kind, except i'm the only one who knows it," you pause before continuing, your head falling onto his shoulder. "why is that?"

he contemplates denying that he possesses any such quality, but decides against it. "you're the only one who's ever cared to know."

he can feel the heat of your temple through his shirt, so he opens the box of fever reducers and pops out two tablets before handing them to you. "take these. you're burning up."

you do as he says without protest. standing up and stretching your arms above your head, sukuna's eyes wander to where your shirt rides up and reveals your stomach.

"c'mon, let's go to bed," you yawn.

he follows after you wordlessly, carelessly pulling off his shirt and climbing into bed beside you. curling up against his side, your head comes to rest on his chest and it's quiet for a few passing moments.

"you can't see the stars from tokyo anymore."

"what?" you ask sleepily.

"the stars. there's too much light to see them from here."

"oh, yeah. we can take a trip to the mountains soon. you can see them pretty well from there."

"i'll hold you to that."

and so with the promise of a beautiful night sky, with the company of someone who means the world to him, and with the feeling of your body pressed against his— sukuna feels that he had been happy and that he was happy again.

a/n 2: hey! so i'm sorry again for stopping updates without really saying anything. i think i just needed to step away from tumblr and writing for a while because i was getting a bit overwhelmed. i was also a little unsure about the direction of this chapter. i was struggling to incorporate the necklace part without it seeming cheesy or weird. that being said, thanks as always to everyone for your support of this series. it's really heartwarming and much appreciated. if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear! i'm not sure when the next update will be, but i'll do my best to keep you guys posted. all my love - m<3

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