#and i was the only human who could see the other gods so she decided to make me her heir

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 37: Pieces

Mitchum sends you to where he wants you as Joel questions Cody. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-36 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and several steps beyond that. Fairly graphic torture (not of reader.) Mention of past sexual assault, not described. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 6k

A/N: As with the last chapter, I want to state, real quick, that Bambi is NOT going to be sexually assaulted again. This is a highly triggering subject and, given the situation she's in, I understand if folks are bracing for it. That's not going to happen. The threat of it is there but it's not going to happen.

We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. This character returns THIS CHAPTER. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter

They were talking about you like you weren’t there. 

You’d been used to that once but it had been a long time since you’d been just a thing, separate from that life about as long as you’d suffered it. You had forgotten just how much you hated this part of being a prisoner. You’d internalized so many of the more acute horrors that the smaller things had slipped away, but the change from human being to livestock was sharp. You didn’t have much in you to fight against anything - still barely able to stand - but it seemed what little there was faded quickly just listening to the men talk about you as though you were some unruly animal. 

“Take her back to the main camp,” Mitchum said, taking your arm and turning you around so he could look you over. “She’s good on a horse, don’t let her near the reins. Don’t be stupid enough to think this one won’t take off just because she’s down some fingers, she’s a feral thing. That fucking moron… Get her there and don’t fuck her, understand? She’s mine and I gotta make sure she’s broken in right. Been wild too long, gonna have to start from scratch.” 

He took your chin in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his own. 

“Gonna bring you back where you belong,” he said. “I tamed you once, I can do it again.” 

You didn’t say anything, all your energy going in to keeping yourself standing. You tried to think about something, anything, beyond how close Mitchum was to you again, every alarm bell your body had ringing. Where his fingers were on you burned and your heart raced, the blood loss and fear making your head spin.

The only thing that could be worse than being this close to him again was Savvy and Ellie being this close to him. The thought that you’d saved them from this was a small comfort. You hoped they made it back. You had to believe they made it. You weren’t sure you’d have the strength to keep going otherwise. They made it, they made it back to Jackson, they were safe there. 

But the men were talking about Jackson, too. Like it was something they could take. What’s worse, they sounded confident that they could do it. It was something that had seemed impossible when you were within the walls, everything so strong and permanent. How could the will of men destroy something like that? But now that you were here, back in the grip of what terrified you, it didn’t seem so impossible anymore. Jackson was just people, too. Good people, strong people who had decided to survive and work and love alongside each other but people all the same. It doesn’t take some act of God to destroy a person, just one other, determined person can do the job. 

You couldn’t handle considering that, not when the only things in the world that mattered were dependent on Jackson to be safe. You had to believe that Jackson could withstand whatever came its way, that Ellie and Savvy had made it back, that they would be safe within its walls and would never have to face men like Mitchum and Cody again. They made it, they made it back to Jackson and they were safe. The whole city was.

You thought it over and over again in your head, a mantra of sorts, as they brought you to a horse and forced you on its back. You were too out of it to grab the reins immediately, a man mounting up in front of you before you could think twice about taking control of the animal. 

“Better not try anything back there if you know what’s good for you,” the man snapped before making the horse move. You just tried to stay upright and tried to think of ways to escape once you were strong enough to run. You had to resist the urge to try now, every nerve in your body on fire and driving you to run or fight. But you couldn’t. You’d never survive a fight right now and you’d only be able to walk a mile - maybe two - before you’d collapse and then they’d have you again. You needed to save your strength or you’d never get out. 

You tried to remind yourself that you’d done all this before. You’d survived what they did to you and made it out. You’d lived and built a life and found your daughter and protected what mattered. You’d done it once, you could do it again. You just had to survive. 

You focused on the people that you wanted to survive for - Savvy and Ellie and Joel and Maria and Tommy and William and Julie and and and - and tried to settle into the sway of the horse as it walked.

Time was strange like this, pulling and warping. It seemed like it was dark longer than it should have been when the sun started to rise and then, when the men stopped for a break, the sun seemed higher than it should have been. You drank water when it was offered. You watched for a chance to steal a horse - the only way you thought you’d be able to make it far in that moment - but didn’t get one. 

The light hadn’t yet taken on the soft, hazy quality of evening when you reached where you were headed. It was an unfamiliar place, a small subdivision - maybe two dozen houses total - with mountains at its back. There was a guarded perimeter, men in cowboy hats who gave the men you were with a nod as they rode in. 

They brought you to the center of the neighborhood, to a house that was small but looked to be in good repair, two men stationed outside. 

“Down,” the man you were riding with ordered. You obeyed, sliding off the horse and stumbling, head spinning. He dismounted more smoothly before grabbing you by the collar of your shirt - Joel’s shirt - and hauled you for the door, one of the guards meeting him there. He took a padlock off the front door before opening it and shoving you inside, past a small living room with a sunken sofa and a kitchen with counters covered in a thick layer of dust. He forced you down a hall to a bedroom. You were almost positive it had been a little girl’s room once but it had been stripped of all forms of childish comfort. There were two twin sized mattresses on the floor, tucked into corners on opposite pink walls. There had been carpet once, you were sure, but it had been pulled up, just the plywood below remaining. There was a bucket at the foot of each bed and some drywall had been pulled away near each bed, exposing the frame of the walls, chains wrapped around a stud near either bed. 

“On the bed,” the man ordered, shoving you toward it and making you stumble. You more fell onto the mattress than sat on it but it didn’t seem to make a difference. He approached you and you went to kick him, not about to let him just take what he wanted without a fight, but he caught your boot, giving you a sharp shake when he did. “Just making sure you don’t run. Sit still or this will hurt a lot more than it needs to.” 

He pulled your boot off before you had a chance to respond and tossed it near the door before picking up the chain. It was thick and heavy, no cuff on the end. He wrapped it around your ankle, tight enough that it cut into your flesh a little, and put a padlock through the loops to hold it in place. He gave it a testing pull and it didn’t budge. He nodded. 

“Recommend you rest while you can,” he said, dropping your leg. “Mitchum’s back in a day or two, don’t imagine you’ll have much while he’s here.” 

He turned to leave and you looked to the other mattress. There was a smear of blood near the chain that was still bright red, like it hadn’t dried yet. There was someone else who had been here, someone recently. The door closed and locked and you stretched out on the bed, trying to force your body and mind to still enough that you could rest. 

It didn’t work very well. You faded in and out of consciousness for a while - you weren’t entirely sure how long but you were fairly certain night had fallen. The window in the room was covered with yellowed newspaper but you were pretty sure you’d seen light coming through it earlier in the day. It was dark now. 

It took you a moment to realize what had pulled you back to consciousness. There was a scuffle outside your door, the sound of someone being wrestled inside. You shot up, scrambling to find something you might be able to use as a weapon but came up empty, the room stripped of anything that could be a tool and your mind still working slowly. You were still down a lot of blood. 

The door opened and you braced yourself to claw and bite but the man there paid you no mind. Instead, he shoved a tall, broad young woman in, one with a blonde fishtail braid that hung down her back. Something inside you twinged at the sight of her, a distant alarm bell ringing. She was familiar, you couldn’t see her face but you knew her. You could feel it.

The man forced her onto the opposite mattress and all but threw the chain around her ankle before locking it into place. 

“If you’re fuckin’ smart, you’ll behave yourself,” the man backed away from her, panting for breath with a cut on his cheek. “If you weren’t one of Mitchum’s favorite toys, I’d kill you myself.” 

“Fuck you,” she spat, lifting her head from the mattress, her teeth bared in a snarl. Your breath caught, the fingers from your intact hand groping for the chain attached to your ankle, your best hope for a weapon. 

You did know this woman - almost more of a girl in spite of her size and strength, she couldn’t be much older than Ellie and definitely young enough to be your daughter. You didn’t know her name or where she was from or why she had tried to murder your husband but you knew her, knew how she looked when she was filled with rage and desperate to kill a man. Knew how she looked as she beat Joel until he was bloody and half dead. Your grip on the chain tightened. 

The man left and you weren’t sure if the two of them had said anything else, the high pitched whine that had taken over your ears only just beginning to fade. 

She seemed to notice you then, straining to sit up, her eyes wide at first but narrowing when she reached your face. 

She recognized you, too. 

“You,” she was still panting for breath, leaning against the wall at her back, sneering at you. Watching you. “I should have known they’d find some other fucking way to torture me.” 

You watched her back, ready to defend yourself in case she made a move. 

“I could have said the same thing about you.” 

***

Joel wasn’t aware of much. 

There were gunshots but they were of little consequence. The screams didn’t register, either. Neither did the sweat on his neck or the pain in his back or the pull in his leg that had been there ever since he was shot by the girl who wanted him dead. 

He could feel your blood on his hands, though, and the feel of your fingers in his pocket and hear the thud of his heart and he could see. He could see Cody on his horse but he could see how you’d been afraid of him, too. That day in the stable when Joel held you and you were so scared you could barely stay standing. He could see how it would have happened, how this man would have cut away pieces of you. How scared you would have been, how you would have fought anyway, how you would have screamed. 

All Joel really knew in that moment was that he needed to hurt this man. He needed to take every ounce of pain from his body until there was nothing else left inside of him and he needed him to know, as he died, that he was dying for you. 

Cody tried to dodge Joel as he threw himself at him, the horse stutter stepping away as Cody tried to pull it back while also grabbing his gun. But he wasn’t fast enough, Joel’s hands closing around the edges of the man’s jacket as he yanked him to the ground, Cody’s gun flying into the trees. 

But Cody was not a small man and his thrashing weight threw Joel off balance, the two of them sprawling to the forest floor. Cody was younger and more agile and got to his feet first, pulling his knife free from his belt, lunging for Joel. But Joel was ready for him, kicking him in the gut so hard that it knocked the wind out of him and sent him stumbling back. He got to his feet, too, Cody leaning against a tree, knife out as he caught his breath. 

“You’re not gonna get her back,” he panted, a sneer on his face as he watched Joel. “She’s with him now and he’s not gonna let her go so easy this time. And when he’s done with her, don’t think you’ll even want her back.” 

There was commotion at Joel’s back but it barely registered. 

“I should have fucking killed you when I had the chance,” Joel said, watching him closely. “She was too good to you. She’s always been better than anyone left fuckin’ deserved, least of all you.” 

“And she should’ve known what I gave her when I let her go,” he said, standing up a little straighter now, breath caught. “Instead of being an ungrateful cunt.” 

Joel roared and threw himself at Cody, the other man striking out at him with his knife. He nicked Joel’s shoulder with the blade but he barely noticed it, the blow not really hurting so much as being filed away as information, things he would need to contend with at some point when Cody’s blood was cold on the ground. 

Joel threw a punch, catching Cody on the jaw and he stumbled for a moment before lunging at Joel, striking out with the knife again but falling short and following up with a clumsy fist after. Joel caught his hand and twisted it, the other man giving a sharp yelp. Joel liked the sound, the evidence of his pain soothing the gnawing desperation inside him. 

But his satisfaction was short lived, the knife slamming into Joel’s shoulder making him seize up for a moment. He was aware that it should hurt, that there was metal inside him now that didn’t belong, but all it did was bring everything into sharper focus. This knife was probably the one that had drawn your blood, too. It seemed right that he should suffer it with you after he’d failed at doing what he’d vowed to do. 

The split second of the shock of the stab passed quickly and Joel drove Cody back into the tree, slamming his back into the trunk of it and knocking the air out of him, his head hitting the bark with a sickening thud. Joel didn’t relent. Instead, he punched him across the face, one arm holding the man in place as he hit him again and again. 

This satisfaction held longer. Cody’s fingers scramble and clawed at Joel, trying to find purchase somewhere they could pull him away from his singular mission but that was impossible. Joel’s physical body didn’t matter to him anymore, not without you, and every small hurt was swallowed by the drive to destroy. 

“Joel!” Tommy’s arm looped around Joel’s neck, pulling him back from Cody who slipped down the tree trunk, his hands limp on the blood coated leaves, his chest still rising and falling, eyes blinking as he stared into space. Joel strained to pull away from Tommy’s grip but his brother held him firm as he panted for breath. “Joel, you can’t kill him yet, we need information. We kept one of the others alive but we need information or we’ll never find her. He’s alive, we need him to stay a live a little longer.” 

Joel slumped forward in Tommy’s grip and his hold on him loosened, starting to feel his body again. His knuckles hurt and were slick with blood. Joel wasn’t sure how much was Cody’s and how much was his own. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder and he reached back with his other arm, flinching as he did, before taking hold of the knife and pulling the blade free. He heard Tommy wince as he did and Joel brought the weapon around in front of him, holding it up for a moment. His blood was slick over half the blade, the edge serrated. 

“You cut off my wife’s fingers with this?” Joel panted, squatting down to be on Cody’s level, holding the knife up. His own voice sounded odd to him, so normal when everything was so wrong. 

“Wait, what?” Ellie stalked over to him and Joel glanced up at her. There was a cut on her cheek and her eyes were wide. Joel turned back to Cody and reached into his pocket, gently pulling your fingers free before setting them on Cody’s stomach. “Motherfucker!” 

Joel barely registered the sound of Tommy wrestling Ellie away, too focused on the man in front of him to worry about anything else. 

“Did you cut off my wife’s fingers with this?” Joel said again, voice flat. 

Cody struggled to swallow and Joel took hold of his jaw, yanking his head around so he was looking right at him. 

“Answer the question.” 

Cody blinked a few times before taking a shaky breath. 

“Yes.” 

There was a rattle in his voice and blood on his teeth. 

“Good.” 

Joel took the knife and thrust it into his thigh, just over his knee. Cody screamed and squirmed uselessly under him and Joel waited, keeping constant pressure down on the blade, giving him no relief. 

As he quieted - gasping for breath, eyes wide and bloodshot - Joel pulled the knife from his leg and wiped the blood on his jeans. 

“Gonna hurt you like you hurt her,” he said, picking up Cody’s hand from the ground. He started trying to pull it away, heavy breaths shifting to hyperventilation, but Joel held firm, forcing the hand down to the man’s thigh. “What, you afraid of me usin’ your knife the way you do? That it? Can’t be that bad, can it?” 

“No,” he panted. “No, please, I’ll give you whatever you want, I’ll…” 

Joel lined the blade up with the smallest knuckle on Cody’s pinky and cut through it in one devastating push, the man screaming and writhing and trying to pull his hand into his chest to comfort himself but Joel didn’t let him. 

“You’ll give me what I want?” Joel asked, putting the knife at the next joint down. “But what if what I want is my wife? What if what I want is your pain, hm? You give me that?” 

He cut again, the blade meeting more resistance this time. Joel pushed through it, the knife cutting through the denim of his jeans on the other side of his hand as he screamed again. Cody closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree and Joel resisted the urge to beat his face in. He had to leave him alive for a little while longer. 

And besides, he couldn’t take more pain from him if he was dead. 

“No, you don’t get to fuckin’ pass out on me,” Joel stabbed the knife through his hand, pinning it to his thigh before grabbing his hair by the fistful, bringing his head forward so it was only inches from Joel’s own. He could smell the blood on his skin, clearly see the trails of salt on his cheeks. “You get to be awake for this. Doubt you ever let her pass out, did you? Not about to do you any favors. Now, you focus on me, understand?” 

Cody managed a nod. Joel dragged the blade through is palm, between the webbing of his fingers, cutting a path through the delicate bones of his hand and the thick muscle of his thigh as Cody begged and screamed. The wound at Joel’s shoulder ached. He couldn’t bring himself to care about either thing. 

He held Cody’s hand in place again and gave him a second to quiet and catch his breath before lining the knife up at the base of his pinky. 

“Please,” he panted, eyes so desperate as they met Joel’s. “Please, I can’t…” 

“Can’t what?” Joel asked, brows raised. “Can’t survive what you did to her?” 

Joel cut, separating the bloody remains of the finger from Cody’s hand and casting it aside. Cody’s screams were growing hoarse and Joel ground his teeth. He still needed answers from him and he needed to be able to talk for that. 

He pulled the knife away, holding it firmly and watching as the other man caught his breath. 

“I can make this easier,” Joel said after a moment. “You tell me where she is? I kill you. Quick. Maybe not painless but not as bad as this. You’re not leavin’ here alive. Should have killed you in Jackson months ago. Hell, should have fucking found you years ago and killed you then but I didn’t. Not about to let you go again. But it’s up to you if how I kill you is for you or for me, if it’s fast or if it’s slow.”

“I…” the wet rattle of Cody’s breath was sharper now. “I can’t… I can’t trust you to do it quick…” 

“Yes you can,” Joel said. “You tell me where my wife is? I’m gonna go get her. Not gonna want to waste more time here with you. It’ll be quick if you just tell me.” 

Cody’s eyes searched Joel’s for a moment, like he would find some kind of answer in them. Joel didn’t need to see his reflection to know that the only thing Cody would find in his gaze was the hollow, desperate pain of your loss. There wasn’t anything else left in him to see. 

“I traded her,” he said. “To Mitchum. Met… met him about 10 miles north east of here but he won’t still be there. I don’t think he’d keep her with him - he never did before, always… always had her at his base…” 

“And where’s that,” Joel asked when he trailed off. Cody’s neck went limp and Joel grabbed his chin again, giving him a sharp shake and forcing his eyes to spring open. “Stay with me, focus right here. Where is Mitchum’s base? Where would he take her?” 

“Little spot,” he panted. “Just… a bunch of houses, don’t know if it’s got a name…” 

“Tommy!” Joel called without even glancing back at him. “Need a map.” 

It took a few seconds before Tommy appeared, handing Joel a wrinkled and worn map. 

“Point to where it is on this map,” Joel said, releasing his bloody, four fingered hand. “Your buddy over there know where it is?” Cody nodded, shaky, once. “Good. You point where it is. He’d better point to the same goddamn spot.”

He handed the map back to Tommy and kept Cody in his sights, watching as his skin grew pale and his head listless and limp. There was a scuffle and scream behind him, loud enough that Cody shocked back to full consciousness with it. 

“Sounds like your friend don’t know what’s good for him,” Joel said, taking Cody’s bloodied hand and forcing it to his thigh again. “Or what’s good for you.” 

“No,” he shook his head, his eyes so wide. “No, please!” 

“Tell him to cooperate,” Joel said. 

“Do what he says!” Cody screamed. “Just do it, please!” 

Joel pressed the knife to the base of his ring finger and cut. He was almost surprised at how easy it was to force the blade through the bone and sinew. He could barely feel the strain of it as Cody screamed below him. The knife sank a bit into his leg as it cut through the last of the skin and Joel picked the finger up, holding it in front of Cody’s crying eyes. 

“She scream like you?” Joel asked, turning the piece of his captive slowly before them both, the wet of his blood catching the light like the fractures in the glass of his watch. “You like hearin’ it like I like hearin’ you?” 

“Please,” Cody managed, voice ragged and hoarse.

“Why’d you do it?” He asked, lowering the severed finger but keeping it firmly in his grip. “You already took her, already were handing her over to that… animal. Why’d you need to hurt her, too.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Joel thrust the knife into his upper thigh, inches shy of the man’s crotch and he gasped, mouth open in a silent scream. He was wearing out, inching closer and closer to death. 

“Don’t give a shit about your sorry,” Joel said. “Why. Tell me.” 

He gave Cody a second to start to recover from the pain before twisting the knife, making him seize again. 

“Tell me.” 

“She tried to run!” He sobbed, collapsing back down again. “She… she tried to run, killed two of my men. And she never… never appreciated what I did for her then…” 

Joel just nodded slowly. You’d been able to try to run, at least before Cody took your fingers. You weren’t so scared that you couldn’t move, weren’t so beaten that you couldn’t run. That was a good sign. You were a survivor. He had to remember that. You’d survived before. You would now, too. You would still be alive for him to find, for him to save, and he would save you. If it was the last thing he did, he would save you.

“Joel,” Tommy was at his side and it was quiet at his back. “Same spot.” 

“Good,” Joel said. He carefully picked your fingers up from where they’d fallen in the leaves at Cody’s side and tucked them away in his pocket again before getting to his feet. Ellie was at his side, her rifle in her hands. 

“I want to hurt him,” she said, her voice flat. 

Joel looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since they’d found Cody. There was a darkness in her eyes that terrified him in its familiarity. It was the look she’d had for a split second when he’d found her after David had taken her from him. It was sharp and vicious and demanding and Joel wasn’t sure she knew how to come back from it. 

“Will hurtin’ him help you?” Joel asked as gently as he could. She looked up at him, that sharp look still in her eyes. 

“He hurt my mother,” she said, a hint of barely contained rage on her face. “I need to make him pay.” 

He considered her for a second, trying to think clearly as he looked at the young woman who had once been the girl he’d shepherded across the country. In so many ways, she was still that little girl, one who he’d protected and failed at protecting, one who he had saved and had led to her near demise.

Would this be any worse than anything she had already suffered? Would it hurt her any worse than the things that Joel had allowed on his watch before, when he hadn’t been good enough to take care of her the way she deserved? Would it be, somehow, any more terrible because he allowed it? 

Ellie was so like him in so many ways, ways that terrified him when he thought about it. There was a passion in her that so easily bloomed into rage and he knew what it was to keep that stifled and smothered. He knew, too, what it was to take it out on another human being, even one who deserved it. 

He adjusted his grip on the knife and held the handle out to her. She went to take it but he pulled it back for a moment. 

“Can’t kill him,” Joel said. “Understand?” 

“Joel…” Tommy said at his back, but Joel just held out his empty hand, silencing him. 

“Understand?” He repeated, watching Ellie closely. 

She hesitated a moment, watching him back with those sharp, dark eyes. 

“I understand,” she said, taking the knife from him and turning to Cody. She cocked her head, examining him cooly. 

“Please,” the man whispered, looking up at her. 

“Which fingers did he take?” Ellie asked, not looking back at Joel. 

“Outside two,” Joel said, a twinge in his chest as he said it. “Her wedding ring with ‘em.” 

Ellie nodded, her grip tightening on the knife before lowering her knee to pin Cody’s wrist of his intact hand to the ground. 

“I told you I was gonna fucking kill you,” she said, her voice dangerous as the man tried weakly to pull his arm away from her. “My dad told me not to do that. But I am going to make you fucking pay.” 

She slammed the knife into his hand with a sharp, angry cry, more hacking at him than cutting, striking him again and again until she was splattered with blood and Cody had screamed himself to silence. Joel’s stomach twisted at the sight of it, the satisfaction at knowing Cody’s agony twinged with an ache of his own at the sound of Ellie’s pained scream. 

“If you’re just gonna let her fuckin’…” Tommy snapped, nudging Joel roughly to the side and stepping around him to wrap his arms around Ellie from behind, forcing her to still. She quieted then, no longer screaming and just sobbing instead. “It’s OK baby girl. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up…” 

“No!” She tried to shake him loose but he held firm. “I want him to hurt! I want to make him hurt, I want him fucking dead, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve to live, he doesn’t…” 

“I know,” Tommy said gently. “I know. But you hear him? He’s passed out, you’re not gonna make him regret this any more than he already does and Joel’s gonna finish him. He’s not gonna live, OK? He’s paid for it, he’s hurt for it, it’s OK baby girl.” 

The knife slipped from her hold then, lying beside the mangled flesh and bone that had once been Cody’s hand. His pinky and ring fingers were completely gone. 

“C’mon,” Tommy said again. “Gonna get you cleaned up, let Joel finish the job, then we’ll get movin’. You’re OK.” 

He pulled her gently to her feet and gave Joel a deadly look as he passed, Ellie gathered against his side as he led her away. 

Joel knelt and picked up the knife, every inch of it splattered in blood now. He didn’t care. He took Cody’s chin in his hand and gave his head a sharp shake and the man gave a sharp gasp before trying to cough but choked on his own blood instead, his eyes opening slowly. He couldn’t even lift his head now, his eyes the only thing it seemed he could really move. 

“Wanted you to be awake for this,” Joel said, his voice a deadly calm. “Wanted to make sure you felt it. Wanted to be sure you knew why you were dying.”

Joel thrust the knife into Cody’s side, burying it fully between two ribs and twisting it there. His eyes went wide and his body thrashed as much as it could but it was a useless endeavor. He started gasping for breath, the gurgling sound of him starting to drown in his own blood overwhelming the sound of the woods around them as Joel pulled the knife from his side. 

“You could have lived, you know,” Joel continued. “Could have spent the rest of your years anywhere but Jackson, never would have looked for you. She asked me not to look for you, to just leave you alive. Felt like she owed you somethin’. Maybe she thought you’d been a good man once, long time ago. But you and me, we know the truth. You were never a good man, never had it in you to be good. You didn’t deserve her mercy so you ain’t gettin’ mine.”

“You…” he gasped and choked. “Promised…” 

“Promised what?” He asked. “To make it quick for you?” 

He didn’t give Cody a chance to respond. Joel just shrugged. 

“I lied.” 

He thrust the knife in between the same ribs on the other side, twisting it and pulling it free before wiping the worst of the blood on Cody’s pants and getting back to his feet. He put his hand in his pocket, the one that held the pieces of you. He traced your wedding band with his thumb, feeling your cold skin below his touch. How many times had this flesh laced with his? How many times had it tangled in his hair or squeezed his arm or touched his cheek? 

He held it himself now, trying to keep the pieces of you warm as Cody drowned in his own blood. His dying breaths were harsh and rasping and desperate, the last gasp of his mortality clinging to this life as though there was anything but pain to be found for him here. As if there was anything he deserved beyond pain. Just before the light left his eyes, Joel picked Cody’s fingers up off the ground and opened his mouth, forcing them inside. He stood back again, watching as he tried to take two quick, shallow breaths around them before going completely still. 

“Joel,” Tommy said from behind him. 

Joel looked down at Cody’s body for a moment longer. This man had hurt you, raped you, taken you. He was dead now, at Joel’s hand. There was justice in that. He spit on his body all the same. 

He turned to find his brother and daughter standing side by side, Ellie’s eyes still sharp but rimmed in red, her cheeks puffy. Both of them were wet, Ellie no longer splattered in blood. 

“We should move,” Joel said, stalking toward Cody’s horse. Tommy just watched him as Joel mounted up, the horse pawing at the ground for a moment as he got settled. He looked back at his brother. “If you ain’t got the stomach, Tommy, I’ll do this myself…” 

“I’m comin’,” Tommy said, going to another horse and mounting up, too. “Just hope you don’t get lost in the process.” 

Joel didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That the man he had the potential to be had left when you did? That, without you, there was nothing left to lose? 

He didn’t need to say it. Somehow, he was sure, Tommy knew. 

Instead, he nudged his horse forward, starting on the path given to him by the man he’d left in pieces on the ground. 

A/N: So Joel is pretttttttty damn feral at this point. I'm not sure I've ever written a Joel quite this unhinged and that's not even accounting for the fact that the juxtaposition between Jackson Joel and Feral Joel is pretty harsh. He's just gone, at least for now.

There are just three chapters left of this fic now (I think, the way some of this chapter flowed means it may grow to 41 chapters but I don't think so)! Next chapter is going to be a big one, one that's been building for the whole of this fic and I'm so excited for it. I hope you are, too!

Thanks for being here through this INSANELY lengthy journey both in word/chapter count and in time. It feels like we've been with Joel and Bambi forever and that's because we kind of have been - almost a year now! I hope you've enjoyed the ride. I know I have.

Love you!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc

[critterofthenight]

i had such a fun dream, i didn't wanna wake up :c

#my art teacher was a former goddess and she was looking after treasure in the secret room of a church #and i was the only human who could see the other gods so she decided to make me her heir #and she taught me magic and other things and the secret room became my safe space #then one day few of my classmates accidentally got into the room when noone was there and they were gonna start investigating wtf is this #when they tried to leave without raising suspicion they ran into me the art teacher and the priest in the church garden #but we didnt realize that smth was going on so we all started playing some kinda ttrpg set in the middle ages #my classmates talked about how much more fun that era was bc this whole dreams setting was a combination of modern day and the 1800s #we played in the church garden and there was a wishing well next to us #if you looked into it your reflection became the person you wanted to be #the art teacher was sad bc she wanted to look different but i showed her that my reflection was her so she laughed and hugged me #the game was very fun and when we were leaving my former crush was waiting outside of the gates #her new best friend was with her but she smiled at me and caressed my head and i literally purred #we were walking home and she told me that dating apps suck and she doesnt know what to do #i took her hand and told her to forget those assholes bc there are so many people who love her #and the two of us started running through the forest next to the road hand in hand #we looked like two nymphs of the forest and we were laughing and i was sure she loved me #and then i woke up :c #✩‧₊˚

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits. 

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country. 

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend. 

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly. 

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank). 

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored. 

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that. 

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was. 

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment. 

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage. 

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction. 

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!” 

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?” 

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks. 

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding. 

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone. 

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still. 

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him. 

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident. 

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way. 

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture. 

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you. 

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture. 

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat. 

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk. 

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence. 

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away. 

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door. 

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice. 

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off. 

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note. 

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you. 

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole. 

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero. 

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you. 

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”? 

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot. 

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly. 

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute. 

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night. 

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?” 

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically. 

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying. 

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason. 

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching. 

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding. 

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly. 

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face. 

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you. 

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text. 

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time. 

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy. 

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense. 

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him. 

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement. 

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him. 

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same. 

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray. 

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes. 

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him. 

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream. 

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name? 

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers. 

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform. 

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?” 

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful. 

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything. 

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight. 

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom. 

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through. 

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do? 

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought. 

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift. 

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance. 

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage. 

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology. 

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years. 

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug. 

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache. 

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor. 

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well. 

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song. 

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers. 

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten. 

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him. 

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him. 

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick. 

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses. 

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you. 

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears. 

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant. 

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder. 

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back. 

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky. 

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought. 

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster. 

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one. 

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook. 

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind. 

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you. 

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs. 

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again. 

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out. 

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you. 

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent. 

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix. 

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it. 

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow. 

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles. 

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter. 

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope. 

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that. 

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it. 

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears. 

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer. 

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too. 

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers. 

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare. 

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind. 

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class. 

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel. 

But you do know, the universe responds. 

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond? 

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing. 

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation. 

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat. 

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance? 

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.  

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you. 

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door. 

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

[entitled-fangirl]

Are you scared of me, Princess?

Jasper Hale x human!reader

Summary: The reader sees the scars on Jasper's arms, prompting him to tell her the truth.

Words: 1,646

Warnings: talk of murder, vampire stuff idk, scars, cursing

Author's note: God this is angsty. Someone get 8th-grade me in here right now because this is what she thought she was reading at her age.

Masterlist <3

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Jasper sat in the bed placed in his room, his mate resting her back against his chest. His arms were wrapped around her waist and his face found its way into her hair. Her hands were placed on top of his on her waist, relishing in the feeling of comfort he gave her.

They were a strange pair, the two. The bloodthirsty vampire fighting his instincts to feed and the helpless human girl who wouldn’t be able to fight him if she tried. 

But she trusted him with her whole heart. It had been hard at first. She had to marinate in the knowledge of the existence of vampires, and he suffered the constant smell of her sweet scent, calling out to him every second.

It was so hard for him, even on a good day. Her smell of her blood always drew him in. 

The only thing holding him back from draining her was the feeling he knew he wouldn’t fight the minute her body became lifeless: dread.

But now, they laid in each other’s arms in complete trust. 

Her hand wandered up his forearm, stopping at the unevenness of his skin. She looked down, pulling his sleeve up briefly.

Bite marks and scratches laid all up and down his forearm. She didn’t want to know how far up his arm it went, thankful for the sleeve.

She felt him shift. He felt uncomfortable. Scared of her reaction. But above all else, he cared for her. She could practically feel his gift poking at her emotions, intertwining them with his. A sense of calmness fell over the two of them before words could form.

Her hand still laid against his arm gently, her thumb brushing one of the bites to comfort him in her own way.

She felt his head move away from hers, leaning back against the bed frame. She used this opportunity to turn in his grip, now facing him. Once there, she pulled his arm into her lap, her eyes inspecting the scars in front of her. 

He simply watched. He couldn’t hide them, and he would never lie. Not to her. So, he simply sat there to let her ask him or draw her own conclusions.

She finally looked up, her eyes locking on his. She’s thankful of his gift, because otherwise, she may have been teary-eyed. “T….Tell me, Jasper?”

His eyes softened. God, she was so good to him. So perfect. So innocent and pure. Everything he knew he wasn’t.

Her blood would be so easy to take. The feeling of adrenaline would be worth the-

“It’s… a long story, Princess. I don’t think you wanna hear it.”

She was visibly hurt by his answer, her hand retreating from his. “Oh. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry… I just… just thought…”

He chuckles to himself, teasing her, “Thought what, Princess? You really wanna know?”

She nods, her eyes glossy, holding an unreadable expression.

He sighs. He wanted to hold off from telling her this. That was his plan. But now, she had ruined the perfect plan in his head. Not that he could be mad at her. His heart couldn’t do that.

He pulls his sleeve up his other arm, showing her the scarring. “D’you know much about the Civil War, Darlin’?”

She nods, her eyes never leaving his forearm. 

He smiles, “Good girl. Knew you would.” He took a deep breath, not that he needed to, but it allowed him to collect himself and decide what to say. “I was turned during the Civil War. A woman named Maria convinced me to help her train a vampire army. I was foolish and naive. I thought she was doing the right thing.”

He looked up at her to gauge her reaction. She simply stared at the scars, her head low in thought. He took this as a sign to continue.

“You know.. I was, uh, a major, in the war?”

Her head perked up at that, her eyes meeting his. “A..a major?”

He smirked, “Yeah. Major Jasper Whitlock.” As he said so, she felt a wave of pride come from his body. She didn’t need Jasper’s gifts to sense it, for it had come so plain. 

He continued, “I trained them myself. Her army, I mean. I know you don’t know much about us, but newborn vampires are more dangerous. More deadly. They’re stronger than most.” As he said this, she could feel his tone becoming sharper. 

“Stronger than Emmett?”

He nods, “Yes, Princess. Much stronger. You stay away from a newborn.” It had meant to be advice, but it came out a demand. “They’re more deadly than you can imagine. I’ve watched them do…” his eyes look off in thought, “…unspeakable things…”

A small silence overtakes them before she breaks it. “And you trained them?”

His eyes quickly move back to hers, the amber color glowing, “Yes, ma’am.”

“How?”

“Not easily. They don’t take too well, as you can see,” he said, his head motioning forward at his arms. “I punished them, too. Killed them when they got out of hand or weren’t what we needed.”

He feared to look up at her, but he couldn’t resist. Her gaze was on the window. He didn’t often wish for a gift different than his, but at this moment, he wished he could read her mind. See what was going on in that lovely little human brain of hers. But he couldn’t. He sensed she wasn’t distressed. He had to see her eyes to be sure. Not for his gift’s sake, but for his own. His hand outstretched to grab her jaw gently, pulling it towards his own. “Are you scared of me?”

Her eyes catch his, their faces a foot apart. “…Sh…should I be, Jasper?”

He considers her question quickly with a nod, his voice low. “Really fucking scared.”

She blinks at his wording, her brain struggling to comprehend everything in front of her. 

He wanted to joke, take the dark mood away, but he knew this was serious. “I killed before this,” he gestured to himself, “I killed during this…. I’ll probably have to kill sometime after this. I’ve murdered many with no remorse, their bodies laying at my feet. Innocent lives and murders, too. I overpowered the strongest vampires with ease, ending them mercilessly. My heart holds no mercy. So, I’ll ask again. Are you scared of me?”

She wasn’t sure what to think. She couldn’t put it into words. Was she scared? She supposed so. Any sane person would be. But she trusted him. She trusted him. She trusted him. “You… You won’t hurt me, Jasper.”

He wanted to laugh at her sweet response. How naive of his little lamb. She said it so sure of herself. Of him. She didn’t know of the constant, deep thirst of blood he fought back every time their eyes met. She didn’t know of the pain he felt when she parted from him. She didn’t know of the horrors he had endured. And most importantly, she would never understand the terrors he had caused.

“You don’t know that, Princess.”

She took a quick breath in at his response. Every reasonable thought she ever had was gone. She should run. She should hide. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t. Her body remained here, on the vampire’s bed, his hand gripping her jaw while staring at her like she was prey. Every reasonable thought was gone.

She reached her hand up to place on top of his on her jaw, flinching at the cold feeling of his skin on hers. “You won’t, Jasper.” She began to even sound confident.

He smiled at her, his sharp teeth peeking out. This girl believes in him that much. What a stupid girl. Too trusting. Too hopeful. Too pretty. Too good. Too perfect. He could absolutely ruin her. But he wouldn’t. “C’mon, Princess. Admit you’re a little afraid.” He needed to hear her say it.

Her hand gripped his, pushing it down her jaw lightly until it rested over her throat. His hand now wrapped around her neck, her hand lightly resting on his. 

He was speechless at her touches. Her movements. Her willingness. Her loyalty to him. His eyes stare at his own hand, admiring the view in front of him. Her hopeful eyes staring into his while his hand rested above her only source of oxygen. It was intimate. It was scary. It was perfect. She was perfect. 

His thumb brushed her throat lightly, feeling her heartbeat quicken at his touch. He could practically feel the blood running through her veins. And she trusted him still. 

They sat there in silence for a while, simply admiring the other. 

She was perfect. Too innocent for her own good, but so loyal and willing for him. Her pretty face was the perfect view for him. He could stare at it until the end of his days. And she trusted him with her life. 

She trusted him with the one thing his body thirst to destroy. And he loved her all the more for it.

He was strong. Resilient. An open book for her to read at her leisure. Protective was a word she was familiar with. She felt like his arms were the only thing she needed to live in the world. She trusted him with her life.

His other arm moved up her body, his hand getting lost in the hair on the back of her head. He pushes her forward, capturing her lips in his. 

The hand on her neck stayed. But it never twitched. 

They pulled away from each other to let her catch her breath. Their faces were close as they tried to think of the right words to say.

“You’re not afraid of me.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. She wasn’t afraid of him. 

................................................................

#twilight imagines #twilight fanfiction #twilight #twilight x reader #twilight x y/n #jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale x you #jasper hale x y/n #major jasper whitlock #vampire #vampire imagine #vampire fanfiction #jasper hale fanfiction #the cullens #vampirism #light angst #fanfiction #fanfic

[starstruck-if]

You weren't supposed to be here. Why were you here? You know full and damn well that you setting foot on this planet could spell catastrophe for any unfortunate form of life that lived there if you were ever to be found.

But it's not as though you had a choice. Where else would you go? So, you did what any other terrified being did. You fled. That fate-sealing choice was what brought you here.

What brought you to her.

You had fallen from the sky and into some poor, unsuspecting woman's territory. She had been holding a glowing box-shaped object in her hand, staring at you with those mesmerizing scarlet red eyes of hers. She didn't seem bothered at all, albeit a little shocked.

Crouching down to your trembling form, she tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear, quirking a brow at you. A strange, playful grin stretched across her pretty face.

"Who the hell are you?"

ST☆RSTRUCK is a (probably) upcoming 18+ dark fiction interactive novel where you play as a runaway alien from a different galaxy, find refuge on a planet called Earth, and befriend a worldwide famous girl while also trying to fit into society and avoid getting caught by the cosmic gods.

DEMO: TBA

Play as an otherwordly being! Choose between male, female, and anything in between. You'll be able to change pronouns whenever you see fit.

Romance from a choice of characters. I see characters as having their own identity as a human would, so some RO's are gender-specific.

Try to blend into human society! You'll be able to shape the Star's (MC) personality through choices.

Customize your Star's alien appearance and human form!

Choose a special ability: telekinesis, empath, mind reading, super strength, teleportation, mind control, necromancy, light manipulation, and more!

Make allies if you choose to tell others about being an eldtrich monster! Watch your back, though. It would be wise to not be too trusting.

Uncover dark secrets about characters, the universe, and yourself as you go. Some things aren't as they seem.

Decide whether or not you belong on Earth, or if your place is within the universe.

Save humanity! Or destroy it. You do you.

...Fight a space kitten?

ROMANCE OPTIONS

Embry Harrison (F) || The Popst☆r

The young human that found you — probably because you literally crashed into her backyard. She's the only person who knows what you are. Embry is fun, not to mention she's drop-dead gorgeous. Playful, free spirited, mischevious, she's also your best friend who happens to be a worldwide famous popstar, actress, and model. She's just the person you need when it comes to knowing how to hide yourself under a facade...or perhaps she's the worst if you'd like to keep a low profile, due to her constantly being stalked and bombarded with crazed fans.

Could she be hiding something beneath that smile?

"Ah, I keep forgetting you're from a different planet or whatever. Okay, check it out! This is what we mortals call a phone..."

Special: Poly Option with Shade or Love Triangle

Trope: Best Friends to Lovers or Unrequited Love/Idolization

Shade "Prince" James (M) || The Prince

A childhood close friend of Embry's. He's the eldest son of a billionare CEO and the heir to the company. He also seems to hate your guts, for some reason. You've never been able to work out why. Standing at 6 foot 3 with an attractive face and more money than he knows to do with, Shade could get anything he wanted and any woman he asked for. However, that sour attitude and introverted nature drew everyone away, much to his appreciation. The only people he seems to truly care about are his siblings and the very few true friends that he has.

"What do you want?"

Gender-Locked: Female/Male MC's

Special: Poly Option with Embry or Love Triangle

Trope: Enemies/Frenemies to Lovers

Axel James (M) || The Eclipse

Axel was used to being ignored, it was expected. His older brother was made to take over in their father's place eventually; he was just a backup. Always coming second, desperately wanting his parent's attention. He never held it against Shade, though. He loved his brother. He was used to finding out his friends weren't actually his friends, or his crushes were merely there to get closer to Shade. He felt pathetic, being in the spotlight but having no one you could truly rely on. Did anyone truly care? If he just disappeared, would anyone bother to look for him? Those thoughts plagued his mind for years and years, and every passing moment, he started to believe they were true.

...Well. Until he met you.

"...Hey. Uh, I'm — shit, okay — sorry. Thanks for...well, being here, I guess."

Trope: Friends to Lovers or Unrequited Love

Epiphany "Pip" James (F) || The Sun

Could she even be counted as a true 'James'? She was the result of an affair an unfaithful Mr. James had. Once Mrs. James had found out of this, she forbid her from speaking to her half-brothers.

Did she let that stop her? Hell no.

In secret, the trio of siblings texted and called and met up. They were close, all three of them. It was amazing, really; how someone who had been shunned by society and harassed daily managed to stay so positive, bringing energy wherever she went. She was the personification of sunshine and rainbows.

Or so you think.

"Oh, hey! Listen, listen! I found this SUPER cute café yesterday and - huh? Oh, it's okay. I don't care what everyone else thinks as long as you like me."

Gender-Locked: Female/NB MC's

Trope: Friends to Lovers

Astro (Selectable Gender) || The Supern☆va

You remember this person vaguely. They have the same name, the same voice, the same mannerisms as someone you knew long ago.

But that couldn't be possible.

They were dead.

"I missed you."

Trope: ??? to Lovers

"Khaos" (M) || ???

No...no. He couldn't have found you. You hid so well. You're just imagining things. Yeah, that's it. There's no way you just saw [REDACTED]'s haunting gaze boring into your mind — you were overthinking this; playing tricks on yourself because you were stressed.

...That had to be it. He's not here.

He'snotherehe'snotherehe'snotherehe'snotherehe'snot—

"Found you."

Trope: ??? to Lovers

#starstruck if #interactive fiction #twine if #twine interactive fiction #twine wip #dashingdon #choicescript #choice of games #interactive novel #to be updated

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - A LITTLE GAME

A/N: New Wolverine one-shot. I tried and... I don't know. I like the beginning and then it's like.. okay? Let me know your thoughts.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: I have decided not to give proper warnings. I don't want to spoil the story. BUT please, only 18+. Minors DNI.

Words: 4000+

Important note: HughJackman!Wolverine (so he's tall!)

FULL MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - A LITTLE GAME

Everyone was looking for her - Magneto’s brotherhood, the X-men, the Avengers and god knows who else. They all wanted her - for good, for bad, to use or to kill. She became the biggest threat in a matter of seconds. That’s why Logan had to be the one to find her first.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get her for months. She was sneaky, using her power to hide from the whole world, even from him. Leaving the continent would be too risky. She had to stay in the States, right? Maybe Canada? 

It all happened so fast. There was a moment where he questioned everything. In the end, he wanted to fight for her… with her. Was there still a chance he’d find her? She could be anywhere. Surprisingly, Logan never lost hope. 

One day, Logan got a tip from some random skanky woman who approached him in a New York dive bar. He was drinking his daily dose of whisky, head lost in thoughts. He had her picture, looking at it. Such an innocent yet powerful being. His heart ached.

“I know her,” the woman approached him out of nowhere. She leaned against the bar, smiling. Her eyes were locked on the photo. “Pretty girl.” 

Logan’s eyes found hers, frowning. “Where is she?” he asked angrily. 

She chuckled. “Now hang on, sugar,” she sat next to him, exposing her long smooth legs. The miniskirt didn’t leave anything to the imagination. Logan’s eyes travelled from her legs, all the way up to her face, but he was not interested. “How about a drink first?”

He reached for his drink. It went down his throat in a second. He smashed the glass against the bar, shattering it. His eyes darkened. The adamantium claws got out, pressing them against the woman’s throat. Logan was not in a mood to play around.

People gasped. They were afraid. A mutant in a bar threatening other humans was unacceptable. Guns were loaded and pointed at him. Logan didn’t care. 

The woman yelped. Fear crept into her eyes. “Tell me where she is or you won’t be able to see the sun rise again,” his voice was low, intimidating. 

“S-strip club, down the street,” she managed to get out of her throat. Her body was visibly shaking. “I saw her there. She was there an hour ago. P-please, don’t hurt me.” 

He didn’t say anything. The claws retracted back under his skin. Logan was out of the bar in seconds, heading down the street to the club where the woman said she spotted the one he was looking for. His heart beat fast. Was he finally about to get her? It’s been months. 

Everyone wanted the most powerful mutant on the planet. Some wanted to use her, others wanted to destroy her. Logan wanted to get to her sooner than the rest of the world. All he desired was to protect her.

She’s more powerful than Jean ever was, said Charles to him not long ago. They didn’t have a name for her. No one knew where her power reached, or what her limits were. Jean’s dark side was destroyed with the help of the Scarlett Witch. With Y/N, they didn’t know what to expect. Was she worse than the Dark Phoenix? 

Expect the unexpected, said Charles to Logan once he decided to bring her back.

Logan’s eyes locked on the big pink neon sign of the strip club. He sighed. Of course, she would hide somewhere in plain sight. Who would try to find a woman like her in a place like this? She was the kindest teacher. Innocence was her second name. Everyone would expect her to flee the country, or hide in the mountains. No, she hid under their noses in the city that never sleeps.

Expect the unexpected. Well, shit, he didn’t expect this at all. 

He entered the club. The heavy smell of cigarettes and sweet perfumes hit his nose. The lights were flashing as the girls kept dancing around the poles. They slowly undressed for the crowd of hungry eyes. Men were holding bills in their hands, roaring and whistling, ready to throw them at the women.

Drinks were poured into glasses and onto women’s exposed breasts. Some wished to lick them, to feel their flesh and alcohol on their tongues. 

Some ladies brushed their hands against Logan’s shoulders and arms to get his attention. The fake smiles and lustful gazes did nothing for him. They talked to him and tried to seduce him. He remained focused on his goal. His eyes travelled around the place, trying to glimpse Y/N. 

Flashes of images hit his mind. He remembered it all - the laughs, the drinks, the simple days back in the X-mansion. The day when their lips first touched, he knew he was a goner. 

Logan huffed, anger rising inside of him. Would she sell her body to all those creeps in here? Would she dance for them to make money? The thought of other men touching her body made his blood boil. Logan was sure that if he saw a man touching a piece of Y/N’s skin, he would slice his arm with his claws. 

There was no sign of her. Was the woman from the bar lying to him? Was this a trap? Logan’s fists clenched. He had to be careful. Even a place like this could be dangerous. God knows who’d own this place. 

Somewhere in the haze, he noticed the familiar eyes watching him. Their colours sparkled in the flashing lights. She was like a goddess, walking around the mist and colours with her long satin robe flying around her. Logan could smell her from afar. The scent was overpowering his senses. 

One blink, she was gone. Was he hallucinating? He sighed. His mind had to be playing tricks on him. Or was it her?

Logan.

Her voice rang in his ears. He could smell her more as if she was closer than before. Logan’s body twisted and turned, trying to find her in the crowd. He was sure she was here, watching him like a hawk. 

There was a lingering touch on his shoulder. It moved from one side of the shoulder to the other, fingers lightly pressed against his flannel shirt. He could feel the electric touch that belonged to her. 

 “Y/N,” he breathed her name. No one would be able to hear him over the loud music. “Stop the games.” 

He heard a group of women laugh. His eyes moved to them. They gave lap dances to some businessmen. Their hands were all over their bodies.  

Again, his nose caught Y/N’s scent. It was so close, closer than before. When his eyes looked forward, he could see her in her full glory. He cursed. Was he supposed to be aroused or upset?

First, he noticed the exposed legs and high heels on her feet. Then there was the dazzling dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Her breasts were about to pop out of that damn outfit. And then there was the damn satin robe. Fuck! Her dress was provocative. Compared to the other strippers, Y/N was wearing more than the rest of the ladies in the club. 

What happened to the woman who radiated pure innocence? This was someone else, someone new. Did she have a dark side that decided to wake up from its slumber?

Still, his jeans felt tighter than before. 

His legs moved towards her. Logan got through the dancing women who tried to reach for him some more. They wanted a piece of him. When was the last time a man like him walked into a place like this? His eyes and mind were only on one woman. 

“Don’t run,” he said to himself. He knew Y/N would hear his words. 

Logan knew the game wasn’t over when he heard laughter inside his head. He was close until he wasn’t. She was gone once again. “Dammit, Y/N. Stop this.” 

Again, he felt a pair of hands on his shoulder. This time they pushed him down. His ass ended on something soft, comfortable. It was a chair. Where did that come from? 

“Want a dance?” He felt a hot breath close to his ear. The touch remained. Logan knew this wasn’t a trick. She was behind him. “I can help you relax.”

Logan had enough of her shit. He swiftly grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him. He was impatient. Her face appeared in front of his. He lost his breath for a second. The red lips, the glitter in her hair… he wanted to devour her. There was a smirk plastered on her face. 

“Strip club?” Logan growled. “What the fuck?” 

Y/N lazily climbed on his lap, pressing her core onto his forming erection. She bit her lower lip and rested her hands on his broad shoulders. “What’s the matter, Lo’? Don’t you want to have some fun?” she titled her head, raising a brow. 

He gritted his teeth. “I’ve been looking for you for months,” he said, angry. “And I find you here? Of all places?” 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” she blinked a few times. “Who would have thought that little ol’ me would hide here?” 

His hands gripped her hips tightly. He inhaled her sweet perfume. He needed to get straight to the point before he’d lost his mind. “Why did ya run?”

Y/N glared at him. “What kind of a stupid question is that?” she pushed her body from his a little. She had to get a better look at him. “All of you turned against me. One mishap and I became the villain.” 

Y/N’s mutation evolved into something no one has ever seen before. It brought the attention of other groups that wanted her neck, or power. The Professor admitted she represented something beyond explanation. Inhuman was the word he used? It was new, dangerous. Fingers were pointed, threats had been made. Everyone pushed until she ran from the X-mansion and left everything behind. Now everyone was after her - the X-men, the Avengers and Magneto. Fuck, she even heard that the government wanted her. God knows how many organisations and bounty hunters were trying to get her. Rewards were made. The numbers had seven figures or more. 

Logan’s eyes widen. One of his hands sneaked behind her neck, pulling her closer to him. “I didn’t.”

“Fuck, right,” she rolled her eyes. “When you found out what I could do, you stepped away. I can remember the betrayal in your eyes. Or was it fear? Were you afraid, Logan?” her nose brushed against his. “Were you scared of me or this?” she pointed between them. And then, she pushed away from him. 

His right hand gripped Y/N’s hair and pulled on it, exposing her neck. Logan pressed his nose to it, inhaling her sweet scent. “Don’t ever say shit like that,” he threatened. “I was never scared of what was going between us.” 

Y/N moved her head and pressed her lips to his ear. “Or did you realise you still wanted Jean?” She hit a sensitive spot. There was a history between Jean and Logan. Y/N knew damn well nothing ever happened between them. The redhead’s eyes were only on Scott. And yet, she had to dig into it. 

Logan’s hand moved to her neck, squeezing it. He made her look at him. Even in the dim lights, his eyes darkened. He hated those words that had escaped those pretty red lips. “Stop it,” he growled. “You mean more to me than she ever did.”

Y/N rolled her hips slowly, grinding on his noticeable bulge. Logan moaned with every movement she did. The grip on her throat never loosened. With the flashing lights and changing colours, the tension between them thickened. 

“You are lying,” she challenged him. 

He squinted at her. “You know damn well I don’t lie, princess.” 

Y/N grabbed him by his stupid flannel shirt from all the irritation. “You never reached for me after everything that went to shit!” 

“You destroyed a skyscraper in New York,” he told her with a calmer tone. “A fucking skyscraper. Your mutation evolved with a snap of the fingers. No wonder the shock, the fear or everyone’s need to get their hands on you.” Logan pulled her face closer to his. Their lips almost touching. “Before I could collect my thoughts, process what the fuck had happened and get to you, you ran away.” 

She squinted at him. “You pulled away from me,” she blamed him. 

“I didn’t,” he tightened the grip on her throat. She moaned. “I’ve been looking for you for months - months! You think I’d do that if I pulled away? Do you think I’d pick Jean over you? Don’t think so little of me, princess.” 

A rain of flashing lights started. Logan had the perfect chance to see her face. The red lips, the sparkle in her eyes. He saw the whole universe in them. 

“Why here?” he had to ask. “Of all places, why did you hide here?” 

She showed him her bright smile. “You’d never expect a good girl hiding in a place like this. It kinda worked.” 

And then she snapped her fingers. The people around them stopped moving. They became living statues. The music kept going, the lights still flickered and changed. Logan’s eyes widened. His head moved from side to side. Powerful, that’s what Y/N was. And beautiful. Sexy. Dangerous. Good. Her heart was still good. He had to believe.

Waves of anger flashed through his body. It was still a play. If she wanted to play, he would obey - under his rules. “Tell me, baby girl,” the hand from her throat slid down to her breasts. The other hand joined. They squeezed them through the fabric. It made her hips roll some more. “Did you let any of the guys here touch you?” he tilted his head. 

Her head tilted back as she enjoyed his big hands on her chest. His nose found her pulse on her neck, pressing his lips to it. He sucked a mark on her neck. “Baby girl, you are mine and only mine,” he growled into her ear. 

“What makes you think I’m yours?” she tried to fight back.

“If I was anyone else, you’d use all your powers to get rid of me. Maybe even kill me. You didn’t,” he stated.

“I’d never kill anyone for fun, Logan,” she said. “You know that damn well.” She leaned closer to his face. “I’d never hurt you.” 

Their lips met in a kiss that brought colours to their minds. Each colour represented a different plea. I miss you. I need you. I want you. I love you. It was messy, it was sweet. Their tongues danced and explored. It was needy, it was deep. It’s been months since they last shared a passionate kiss. 

It brought tears to Y/N’s eyes. As much as she wanted to be strong, in front of him, she couldn’t. He was like a home she never had. Her heart ached that she had to leave him. But what was there to do when they all turned against her? She believed Logan did too. 

Logan felt he was falling. Everything around him felt light. And then his back fell onto something soft. The chair under his ass was gone. He grunted, breaking the kiss. There was a bed under his body. “What the shit?” he was confused. “Where are we?” 

“Champagne room,” said Y/N who sat on top of him, still fully clothed. The only thing missing was the satin robe. “For some privacy.” 

He raised a brow. “And here I thought you’d wanted to give those living statues a show.” That’s when he heard laughter from behind the walls. The people were moving again. 

Y/N’s thumb swiped over Logan’s lips. They were stained from the red lipstick she wore. Before she retracted it, he pressed a kiss to it. “Since when did you learn to teleport?” he asked. “Last time I checked, you didn’t know how to do half of what you did today.” 

“Just a mind trick, no teleportation,” she said. 

Logan wrapped his arms around her waist and abruptly jumped on his feet. He held her tightly until he smashed her back against the nearest wall. She lost her breath for a moment. “I’m not fucking you on that disgusting bed. God knows how many people fucked on it before us.” 

“Shame,” she shrugged. “I thought you liked it dirty.” Y/N’s legs clenched around his waist. 

Logan’s lips were back on hers in a hungry kiss. When one of his hands reached down to her covered heath, she moaned into his mouth. “There’s the pretty sound,” he chuckled. His lips moved to her neck where he kissed and nibbled on her skin until he left another mark there. That’s when his fingers found the strap of her thong, ripping it off her in one harsh pull. 

He looked into her eyes, grinning like a devil. “I can feel how wet you are for me, pretty girl.” His middle finger had buried deep inside of her. “Did other men make you this wet?” 

Y/N whined. “I’d never let any other man touch me, Logan,” she confessed. 

He tilted his head. This time, two fingers slipped inside of her, fucking her with them. “Then why hide in a strip club?” He curled his finger, hitting a sweet spot. 

“Ah! I knew no one would ever come looking for me here,” she gasped every time his fingers brushed against the place that made her toes curl. “Fuck, fuck!” 

“Is that so?” he kept questioning her.

She tried to swallow the moans. “I’ve protected the girls from the perves,” she cried. 

“God, you are dripping.” His fingers left her core and went straight to his mouth, tasting her. “Pretty princess, you taste divine,” he smirked. Immediately, his lips pressed against her in a messy kiss. 

His body pressed hers even more onto the wall as one of his free hands went to his jeans to get out his painfully hard dick. He pressed the tip against her entrance, pushing it slowly in. 

“Ah, shit,” she cursed. Her mouth was wide open as she felt every inch of him. 

Once he bottomed out, his lips kissed her gently. “Taking my cock like the good girl you are,” he praised. 

“Logan,” she moaned his name. “Please, fuck me.” 

He pulled out slowly, leaving just the tip in. “Since you asked so nicely,” and he thrust back into her, making her squeal. She clenched around his cock with every move he made. “Doing so good, princess,” he praised her. “Taking me so well.”

It was fast, intense. Before she knew it, Y/N felt her orgasm approaching. One of his hands was already between their bodies, circling her clit. “Fuck, so close,” she mumbled incoherently. “Logan… Logan, please…” 

“Hold it, Y/N,” he ordered. “I’m almost there too.” 

“I… c-can’t,” she whined. Tears appeared in her eyes. The pleasure was surprisingly intense. Many feelings wanted to burst out into the open. Their lips pressed together in a sloppy kiss. He kept pounding into her as they tried to swallow each other’s moans.

What if this was for the last time? What if this would be their goodbye?

Her insides clenched around his cock as she reached her peak. Her breath quickened. She became a moaning mess while he kept fucking her through her orgasm. 

“I’m gonna fill you up, pretty girl,” he announced, staring into her eyes. His breath got lost as the release came, painting the insides of her walls white. The thrusts slowed down until he remained buried inside of her while his cum slowly dripped down his dick. 

Logan’s eyes found hers in a post-orgasmic haze. “So pretty,” he grinned. He watched as she tried to catch her breath. “My beautiful baby girl.”

Slowly, he pulled out of her. Y/N gasped once she felt empty. Carefully, Logan pulled her from the wall and put her legs on the floor. He held her tightly. “Fuck,” she cursed. 

“You good?” he asked. 

Her eyes lifted, meeting his. She smiled at him. “Yes,” she nodded. 

Logan put back his jeans while she fixed her already short, slutty dress. There was silence. With each passing second, it got heavier and more awkward. 

“I love you,” Logan confessed his feelings. One of his hands reached for her cheek, stroking it with a thumb. “I love you, princess. Goddammit, I fucking love you.” 

Her eyes kept scanning his face. These words were never said before. This was new. Y/N’s heart wanted to burst from Logan’s confession. Now that he reciprocated the feelings, she knew she’d do anything for him. 

“Come with me, please. I don’t want you to stay here, of all places,” he frowned. Even though they fucked in a strip club, he wasn’t fond of it.

She sighed. “Everyone wants to get me, Logan,” she said sadly. “Once I leave, the hunt will begin - the Brotherhood, the Avengers, the government. I can’t go back to X-mansion. That’s the first place they’ll check. I can’t endanger the kids.” 

This is what he was looking for. She was still a good woman. “So staying in a strip club is better?” he questioned. “Or are you trying to say you don’t want to be with me? Is that it?” 

Her eyes widen, mouth open. “What? No, no,” she grabbed his big hands, holding them tightly. “I love you, Logan. The only thing I want is to be with you. How can I do that when the world is against me?” 

“You are the most powerful mutant on this planet,” he said. “You can do anything you put your mind to.”

“And that makes me dangerous,” she stated. “Fuck, I put down a whole skyscraper with my powers. It was not my intention to do it, but it happened. People were hurt while I tried to save them. Fuck, Logan, the United Nations are now questioning whether mutants can be trusted again. It’s all my fault.” 

Logan shook his head, not wanting to accept she wouldn’t leave this place. He had to take her home, where she belonged. The school needed her. Everyone in the X-mansion was worried about her. “Baby,” Logan’s arm sneaked around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “We’ll figure something out. I won’t let any of those fuckers take you away from me. I’ll do everything to keep you safe and protected.” 

Her eyes sparkled with tears. “Oh, Logan,” her hand reached for his face, fingers grazing the mutton chops. She chuckled a little. “You are the only man who can pull this off,” she winked at him. “It suits you.” 

“So, what do ya say? Come home with me. That’s where you belong.” 

“Promise me this, Logan - you’ll be on my side, no matter what happens. Please, promise me this,” she pleaded. “Because, genuinely, I am terrified. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I will if someone tries to get to those I love.” 

He could see it was important to her, to have someone standing by her no matter what. “I promise, princess,” he kissed her knuckles gently. “Fuck, if I could, I would promise you the world.” 

How could this grumpy, dangerous man be such a sweetheart to her? It made her knees weak. He was in love and so was she. “Quick question, how will we get back to X-mansion?” 

Logan licked his lips. “I have a bike parked at a bar where a woman gave me a tip you work here,” her winked at her. 

She made a face. “Yeah, Wendy, she texted me about you,” Y/N winked at him. “I’m mad that you wanted to kill her.”

“Fuck her,” he growled. “Did she write you she was hitting on me?” he raised a brow. 

A simple glare was the answer he needed. “So, does that mean you’ll come with me?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. 

His lips crashed with hers in a loving kiss. Logan’s arms wrapped around her waist, hugging her tightly. “That’s good, baby. Also,” he pressed his lips to her ear. “That little game you played with me when I arrived - hot.” 

Y/N smiled. “It wasn’t planned. I needed to find out your true intentions.” 

“Through the art of seduction?” 

“Something like that.” 

#Logan Howlett x reader #Logan Howlett x female reader #Logan Howlett x reader angst #Logan Howlett x reader fluff #Logan Howlett x reader smut #Logan Howlett #Wolverine #Wolverine x reader #Wolverine x female reader #Marvel fanfiction #X-men fanfiction

[mrchiipchrome]

The Mechanic

W.C. - 4.2k

A/n: This was a bit rushed and not very good but anyways I’m going to bed now

——————————

Growing up, your father had been a mechanic and when you had days off from school he would bring you down to the auto shop he owned and worked at. Later, that would turn into you spending your afternoons and weekends down at the shop, learning everything there was to know about cars and how to repair them.

After graduating secondary school you were employed by the shop you had grown up in, rising through the ranks like any usual person would their job. You had close to no help from your father after your employment, he had always been clear that you had to work to get to your position especially if you wanted to one day inherit the shop.

So when your father died, you had more than enough experience with how to run an auto shop. In reality you were nothing less than a parentless kid trying to navigate their way through life without their biggest role model and simultaneous favorite person.

But eventually you found your footing, with the help of a bit of therapy that you'd gone to reluctantly, and had managed to find the balance between repairing cars and handling everything else that came with owning your own mechanic shop.

Still you consider yourself lucky, lucky for having Mitch who had been helping you with all the financials and all the other confusing things.

Mitch, or as you knew him Uncle Mitch, had been one of your father’s childhood friends and had been around since before you had been born. He was there for your father when your mother decided that she didn’t want to be part of your life and when he had no choice but to become a single father. He took you to school on the days your father couldn’t and helped you with school work.

So when a very pretty girl with car problems appeared one day, he was the first one to tease you about your obvious starstruck behavior.

—-

08.00 on a thursday and you’ve already been at work for a few hours, finishing up some paperwork and a couple small repairs on easier cars before all the other mechanics came in at 9. Hearing someone walk in through the open garage door is not an unusual feat, in fact you were used to your other mechanics coming in a bit earlier, so when uncertain footsteps echo in the peopleless shop you don’t roll out from where you’re situated under the car.

“Um, hi. My car just broke down like 2 minutes from here and I have no idea what to do.”

The soft fleeting voice is feminine and unfamiliar, definitely not one of your mechanics with their gruff chain smoking voices. Your head perks up and the hand holding the wrench from your tool set stills. With hands covered in soot and oil like most of your work clothes, you slide out from your place underneath the car.

“What seems to be the problem with it? Did it indicate something might've been wrong before it broke down? Any unusual sounds…?” Your voice trails off as you see the gorgeous blonde standing there looking around in curiosity, seeing all the different cars around the large shop. You just stand there, like an idiot seemingly enamored by the pretty stranger in front of you. She doesn’t seem to acknowledge your clear inability to act like a normal human as she directs her eyes toward you, eyes not even the greatest poets could try to describe.

The woman fiddles with the rings adorning her slender fingers as she rushes to explain the moments prior to her car stopping functioning.

“Oh god, yeah. I was supposed to come in for an oil change but then out of nowhere, my car started to make these kinds of crunching sounds and then there was a slight pop before it just broke down. Since I was supposed to come here, I knew it wasn’t that far so I left it with my friend and ran here for help”

The stress she’s feeling is evident in her actions and a surprising sense of protectiveness overtakes you, a feeling you can only describe as wanting to wrap her up in bubble wrap and protect her from the cruel world.

“Alright, have you called a tow truck yet?” The blush that immediately covers her face indicates that she had not, apparently not thinking that far. A sly smile takes over your face, fingers wrapping around a towel laying haphazardly on the deep red metal bench.

The soot and grime your fingers are covered in transfers over to the white surface of the towel, more soot at your hairline and your nose.

“You’re in luck miss, we have our very own tow truck.” Your hands shake deliberately as you try to lighten the mood, leading the blonde girl over to the regular truck you had. It was an old model, but damn if that car didn’t run perfectly. It had been a gift from Mitch for your 18th birthday, he knew that you adored putting excessive amounts of effort into your projects, and that car was truly a piece of work.

It had taken you a few short weeks to get it done, you were somewhat of a prodigy.

“Hey, take the passenger seat! I need you to show me where your car broke down.” You shouted as the blonde girl made no motion to move in any direction. She slowly shuffles her feet towards the car,enjoying the way your eyes raked over her body.

“Okay, so basically it’s just up the road, you’ll see a tiny dutchie standing beside it panicking.” She laughs softly as the last words escape her mouth, and in that exact moment you decide that it’s the greatest, most beautifully enticing melody ever created.

Your eyes are glued to the road, knowing that if you were to look into her eyes once more you’d get stuck looking at her. She felt like home even though you’d just met her moments before.

“Oh yeah? Why do you have a tiny Dutch person in your car?” The banter with you the girl you’d yet to get the name of was like you’d been friends for decades, you easily bounced retorts back and forth like great friends would.

“My teammate, we were driving to training and then my car decided that it didn’t want to work anymore. Wait, I haven’t phoned Jonas yet, I’m so dead.” You didn’t understand what she was talking about at the last part, the girl seemingly talking to herself.

Just like the woman beside you had said, there was a seemingly frantic short woman besides a white Mercedes. “How’d you know?” You ask the woman sitting in your car, her expression silly beyond comprehension. Her tongue was trapped between her teeth, her bright smile on display and her nose scrunched up adorably.

“A magician never reveals his secrets, right?” She fixes you with another cheeky smile, dark pink lips pulled together in the most admirable way. She was nothing if not perfect.

Her eyes shine brightly as you pull up next to her blinking car, the Dutch girl pulling the door open with a surprising amount of strength.

“Less, we are so late, Jonas is going to kill us!” Her foreign accent is quite noticeable, not that it bothers you. What did bother you was the way she threw the door of your beloved car up so violently.

“Yeah Vic, I know.” Less, as you’d come to know, told the other girl, Vic. Vic’s eyes flit over to you, taking in your non-threatening appearance and awkward smile. You wave at her before exiting your truck.

“So if you don’t mind, I’ll just pop your hood and try to find the problem.” You spoke to the taller of the two girls in front of you, who nodded her head vigorously, allowing you to do whatever it was you needed.

The smoke that escaped from beneath the hood concerned you, as did the heat of the motor beneath your fingers. It didn’t look too good for the blonde’s car, but for both her and your sake, you didn’t tell her.

“Well it’s definitely a problem with the engine, that much I’ll tell you.” A bit of worry seeps into your tone and Alessia doesn’t seem to like it.

“But my car will be fine right?” She was worried beyond recognition.

“Yeah, they say that I’ve got magic fingers for a reason” You sent her a quick wink, the statement true in both ways. The blonde’s face darkened significantly, red sprouting at every soft turn of the face.

“Okay there Casanova, why don’t you just hook the car to yours and take it back to the shop?” The dutchie’s tone left no room for argument, clearly she was protective of the blonde.

Pulling the wires from your trunk, you quickly hooked her car to yours in a safe way, making sure that her keys were out of the ignition and that her car was completely turned off.

Vic jumped into the backseat begrudgingly whilst Less took her place in the passenger seat.

You drove back to the garage in a slow pace, not wanting to damage the car behind more, plus you got to have the beautiful blonde in your car for longer.

“Less, how are we supposed to get to training if your car’s like that?” The girl in the backseat frowns at the blonde through the mirror, but you’re already multiple steps ahead, having put your thinking hat on before.

“I can drive you, and if y’all want we can take my coolest car too.” You spoke up nonchalantly, even though you were riddled with anxiety inside.

Less shakes her head softly, putting a soft and warm hand on your shoulder, stroking down your arm.

“It’s no problem really, we’ll just take an Uber.” She waves you off, despite seeming quite excited at the prospect of showing up to ‘training’ in a cool car.

“It’s no bother, my mechanics don’t come in until 9 so I’ve got time to kill. Plus, I haven’t been able to take the baby out for a while, needed to fix her up a little after the last time.” You laugh out, hand coming up to rub at the back of your head as you pull into the workshop.

“Take your things from your car and follow me.” The two of them do exactly as you say, getting their duffle bags from the white car.

You take them to the very back of the workshop, back to the garage where you kept your most prized possessions. In the smack middle it stood, your baby.

A 1968 Ford Mustang.

It was a gorgeous, shiny black color and you’d picked up a fair few ladies with it, just like your father did before you. He’d got it from his father, they’d started working on it before your grandfather died, and your father vowed to complete the work with his child.

Unluckily, your very own father died before the project was done, and so you were left to finish it.

“Here’s my beauty, my 1968 Ford Mustang, ain’t she a beaut?” You asked the two girls, standing behind you with their mouths wide open.

“Where’d you get it? Aren’t they super expensive?” Vic asked and Less slapped her arm harshly at the latter question.

“Passed down to me and yes, they’re incredibly expensive.” You could see how their eyes looked over your car, it was safe, modernized just enough so that it wouldn’t lose its charm.

“Right, you two can squabble about who sits in the passenger seat and who sits in the back, I’ll take your bags though, no scratching my paint.” You pluck their bags from their hands and put them in the trunk whilst Less and Vic actually squabbled.

Eventually, it was Less who won the battle, her hair blowing in the cool wind that passed you by as you drove. You’d gotten the address from the younger of the two as soon as you all got settled in the car.

When you finally pull up in front of the seeming training center, it’s to the sight of multiple girls standing with mixed expressions. Some were stern, others were shocked and some were confused.

“Alessia Russo, Victoria Pelova, where have you been?” The short woman at the front asks sternly, though shock does seem to flutter over her face for a second as she clocks your ride.

“Well my car broke down so I walked to the workshop not too far away-“ Alessia starts sheepishly, her fingers scratching at her forearm.

“Where she met Casanova, who decided to help by getting Lessi’s car to the shop and then driving us here in her sweet ride.” Vic finishes off Alessia’s sentence, patting your shoulder as she climbs out of the car. Alessia once again blushes at the name Vic gave you, just as you roll your eyes at it.

“You have a really beautiful car, miss.” One of the more sheepishly shy looking girls tells you, she had an accent you just couldn’t place.

“Thank you dear, tell me, where is it you come from? I can’t place your accent.” You ask her softly, not wanting to scare the young girl.

“Uhm, Denmark miss.” She looks down at her feet, shuffling them around as she blushes more than usual.

“Oh, I’ve never been, do you have any recommendations for me when I visit?” That seems to set the young girl off as she starts to babble on about different places to visit and where you could find the best food.

Alessia looks on as you engage with her teammate, with you leaning back on the side of your car and Katherine standing in front of you.

A sudden loud noise comes from your phone, and you recognise it as the jingle you’d put for Mitch.

“Hey uncle Mitch, whatchu calling me for?” You answer the call quickly, waving a little at the girls you’d met before.

“Where are you? The shop’s empty and I don’t know if I need to remind you, but your employees arrive in 10 minutes.” He was pretty clearly stressed about your current predicament.

“Oh shit, listen Mitch I needed to help a client and I took the Mustang so I’ll be back in like, 5 minutes.” You knew that he knew exactly why you’d taken the mustang, it was simply a lady magnet.

“A ‘client’ of course, that's what your dad always said when he wanted some alone time if you know what I mean.” Even if you couldn’t see your uncle’s face you knew that he was smiling and winking slyly. Your face scrunches up uncomfortably at the insinuation, not really wanting to know of your father’s ‘endeavours’ before you.

“Ew gross Mitchy, it’s not like that.” The whisper-shout you let out into the mic has the women around you looking at you weirdly.

“Alright, alright, I’ll open for the guys but you make sure that you don’t get in too late, you still have that car from a couple days ago to finish.” Rolling your eyes at the older man, you climb back into the car and put the keys into the ignition, turning the car on and saying a quick goodbye to the girls you’d given a ride to, telling the gorgeous blonde that her car would be done in the next few days.

You were fully on the road when the blonde realized that you hadn’t given her your number, which meant that she didn’t know when her car would be done.

You on the other hand knew exactly what you were to do when the car was done, it really wasn’t hard to make the plan.

—————

“Uncle Mitch? I’m going away for like an hour to help a client, so let the guys go on break for an hour and a half. They sure do need it.” You call out for your uncle who found himself at the shop more often than not.

“Okay kid, just make sure not to fool around too much okay? I know how you are-“ He starts off with a large smile on his face before you interrupt him with your own sentence.

“Yeah just like my father, I know, it’s kind of who I was raised by, you know.” You smile at the old man whose hair was graying and face wrinkled. He was like another father figure.

“Yeah, yeah, off you go to see Juliet.” He responds, shooing you out of the main room and towards the private garage where your Mustang was located.

“What is it with people naming us after old romance stories?!” You say exasperated, but the blush covering your face tells a different tale.

Revving up your car, you quickly pull out of the garage and pull out onto the road. The wind blows through your hair and the freeing feeling makes you smile, the hot summer breeze never failing you.

As you pull up to the training grounds there’s a large group of people exiting the building, training bags over their shoulders as they talk eagerly with each other. They do notice the car that didn’t fit in, black leather seats and black shiny exterior.

When their resident clumsy friend spots the car she trips over her feet, luckily enough for her, Vic is right beside her and she manages to catch the falling forward. It’s no easy feat by any means, but the smaller midfielder manages to pull her back to her feet.

When you pull up next to them, she comes up to greet you.

“Hi Casanova” She starts off, smile splitting her face open from ear to ear. Your face mirrors hers, the stupid nickname seemingly stuck around.

“Hi Alessia, I was popping by to pick you up as the work on your car is done.” The forward eagerly puts her bag in your backseat before she’s plopping down in your passenger seat. She smiles even wider as she realizes the soft rock flowing out from your radio. All of a sudden her face turns into a mess of confusion and a bit of fear.

“Wait, how did you know when my training ended?” She was staring deep into your soul, eyes glistening in the sun.

“Well I had a little help.” Turning around to face her Dutch friend, you can see the way she winks at the blonde sitting beside you, who merely raises an eyebrow at her. There were more questions to be answered but she decided that it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Are you ready to go back to the garage?” You ask her softly, her face just so enticing that you could do no more than whisper in her presence. She nods her head though and as you’re pulling out of the parking lot you both hear a:

“Don’t forget protection!”

The blush that comes over her face makes her look like an overly ripe tomato, though you don’t have much to say, looking like a tomato yourself.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, Alessia looking out at the streets of London like she'd never seen anything like them before and you admiring her at every red light. It’s not until you pull up at the shop that she looks at you properly, her eyes glimmering.

“So if you just follow me out here, I’ll lead you to your good as new car.” She exits your car to follow you out and towards her own, the Mercedes that you’d put extra time and effort into. Nothing but the best for the gorgeous girl.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here to save the day, I really do owe you one.” Her seemingly never ending smile shines even brighter at the sight of her car, and as she turns to you it seems to get impossibly brighter.

“Well it’s my job you know, I kind of own the place.” It’s a hastily thrown out comment that seemingly piques her interest, Alessia’s hand coming up to rest on your slightly sooty arm.

“How do you own this place? I don’t mean it in a condescending way or anything but it’s just that you’re so young and pretty and you don’t seem like the type to buy a workshop.” She rambles in her nervousity, eyes shifting around the shop like they’d done only days before.

“I inherited it from my dad, the same with my car. He uhm, he died and my mom is like fully out of the picture so I got most of his stuff, my uncle Mitch also got some stuff but I was the main person.” She was so easy to talk to, you’d only met her days before and it felt like you’d known each other for years. Your dads death wasn’t something that you talked about often or with most people, so your heart had really taken a wild leap for the young striker.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, I know that he’s watching you with pride wherever he is.” Her hand rubs up and down your arm comfortingly, smiling sorrowfully at you as you recount your grief at the most important person in your life’s death.

“It’s not your fault, he lived his life to the fullest so I know that he was content when he died…” Alessia notices the want to change the topic of your conversation and so she shifts it to something more trivial.

“Uhm, how much do you want me to pay for this?” She asks, her voice wavering slightly at the whiplashing change of topic.

“You can pay with a hug and a kiss?” You joke lightly but it seems like the forward takes it seriously, as her hands come up to slither back around your neck, fingers tangling in your baby hairs.

Big hands settle on the blonde’s waist as she moves her face closer to yours, leaning up to rest her lips against yours in a soft embrace.

The kiss is nothing short of magical and as her tongue pokes against your lips you open your lips, basically french kissing the girl in the middle of your workshop. The kiss only breaks apart as whistles from your employees ring out throughout the shop, the guys having come back from their break.

When they finally quiet down it’s by the threat of you withholding their next paycheck and they all look away as you peck the girl’s lips a few more times before letting her leave in her fixed up Mercedes.

“Not a word of this to Mitch.” You look at them all sternly, but the knowledge that all of them had basically watched you grow up made you realize that they definitely weren’t scared of your empty threats. They sealed the deal by chuckling at you before turning back to their individual projects.

————-

In the weeks following the blonde leaving your motor shop she’d come in more than once for imaginary problems with her car, which you knew was just an excuse to see you. No one had that many problems with their car.

When she comes in fully unexpected one Thursday it’s with a fleeting problem with her motor from before.

“Hi Y/n, my car has been acting up a little again, mind checking it out for me?” She pops her head into the shop after hours, you’d just been finishing up some paperwork that needed to be done.

“Alessia, you do know that you can just ask me out on a date instead of making up problems with your car?” You prayed that you’d read the situation right, otherwise it’d be quite the awkward conversation.

“Oh thank you, it’s really hard to just come up with problems out of the blue” Her body leans on her hands that are now pressed against your desk, her face close to yours.

“So, are you going to ask me?” You ask her the question you’d been thinking about for a while, her face and the tops of her ears turning red.

“Y/n/n do you want to go on a date with me?” She asks nervously, like you’d ever reject a girl like her, a beautiful and kind soul that did nothing if not light your day up with her made up problems.

“Of course I would Less.” You respond to the girl, only for her to lean forward and capture your lips with her own. People always talk about the first kiss, but the second kiss was always so much better, and all the kisses after that were pretty great too.

Who would’ve thought, a footballer and a mechanic getting together, the very own Casanova and Juliet of the world.

Maybe some weird romance book would be written about it in a few years, but for now you were content with watching the stars with your gorgeous girlfriend in your less gorgeous (but still very beautiful) car, sharing deep kisses into the night.

#woso #alessia russo #unc soccer #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #lionesses #arsenal wfc #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso fanfics

[cursedhaglette]

Colleagues

You're been nothing but helpful to Magistrate Ancunin, working to advance your career by supporting his cases. Your crush on him has lasted almost as long as your time spent working together.

And then he decides he wants to show you just how grateful he is for all your thorough help.

Rating: E Word Count: 2.5k Content: 18+, oral sex, PIV sex, squirting, cum swallowing, pre-canon

[ao3 link]

A/N: I don't know what magistrates do and not sure if I really care, but if fantasy judge/lawyer combo doesn't work for you then sorry!

“Madam, I have Magistrate Ancunin here to see you,” the voice of the office assistant reaches your ears before the door opens and the heavy hinges creak in that way you hate. The older human woman who assists with your paperwork and appointments allows in the familiar, handsome face. You nod your thanks and Vilna closes the door promptly, as she always does. 

“Magistrate,” you say in greeting, and he smirks as he approaches.  

“You always say that like it’s not your title as well,” he argues, the same comment the two of you make every time you have this exchange. 

You’ve been smitten with him for an almost pathetic amount of time, but while you’re still unsure whether his flirtations were just for fun or genuine, you held off on making any real move. Being rejected by one of your fellow magistrates, one of your senior colleagues that you’re so often tasked with assisting, would be far more humiliating than you’re willing to risk. 

“Do you have those case notes ready?” He asks, and the deep caress of his voice scatters your mind as you fumble for the information you’d collected for him. You remember you’d filed it away just last night, wanting to be sure it wasn’t mixed in with the other handful of cases you were either overseeing or assisting on.

“Sorry, yeah - it’s over here. I was working on it until late last night, but I think it should be more than enough to present your case.”

He doesn’t respond, so you move around your desk to where you filed the documents the evening prior.

“You really ought to make me work harder for this,” he smirks, and you watch every movement of his clever mouth as you turn to meet his gaze. “So much done, all for me? None of the other junior magistrates are quite as helpful and thorough as you are, darling.”

“I’m far too generous, I’m wholly aware,” you turn, noticing how much closer he’s gotten. How his body is nearly against yours, your back meeting the edge of your filing cabinet as you adjust, watching as he takes another step closer.

“You ought to be careful,” he whispers, and you think you might be able to smell cigar smoke and brandy on his clothing, his breath a puff of warm air against your skin as he draws ever closer, “associating with the ‘hanging judge’ might earn you a reputation an innocent thing like you might not like.”

“Maybe I’m not so innocent. I can handle myself,” you murmur, and mean it. You weren’t scared of his reputation, not when you wanted to make your own. Assisting him, making a name for yourself as you grew your career, it was all part of a plan. Falling for him was the only piece you hadn’t accounted for. “And maybe I like working with you.”

“I’m glad, because I like it as well,” he grins, “so tell me you’ll let me show you my thanks.”

“Astarion…” you whisper again, and your eyes can only focus on his lips. The way his tongue flicks to wet them, so full and perfect. Gods, you wish he would just break this tension so you could finally feel his hands around your body.

“Let me show you how grateful I am,” he says again and leans against you, dipping his head to whisper a gentle kiss along your neck, then another below your ear. “Let me show you how much I like working with you, Tav.”

“Is this a good idea?” You hate the question, hate that it could end the delicious warmth seeping into your core as his lips move lightly against your skin. But you have to know, have to be sure…

“Probably not,” he grunts but pulls away for long enough to look you in the eyes as he says, “but if you want this, then I don’t give a damn how good or bad an idea it is. Do you want this?”

“Yes,” you moan, and then his mouth is on yours and it’s like your prayers are finally answered. His mouth is warm and perfect, his tongue dancing against the seam of your lips until you open, eagerly, to welcome him in. He pushes you against the cabinet, your back digging into a drawer pull, but you don’t care as his hands move to cup your ass and lift you slightly, enough to angle your core against his. 

You can feel his hardness and it draws a desperate, gasping moan from you that he swallows with his kiss. He holds you firm, his grip likely strong enough to bruise. Have you noticed how strong he was before? You knew he was fit, but Gods, the way he holds you shows off how easy this is for him. He’s experienced, and you are too…but not like this. Not with someone you’ve wanted for ages, dreamt of kissing or laying with as you sign off on each individual document you’ve prepared for him over the last year.

“I’ve wanted you,” he growls as he shifts and gently sucks on your sensitive earlobe, “since I first laid eyes on you. Since you first walked into this office.”

“Really?” you gasp, and Astarion’s hands move to the buttons of your blouse, his mouth kissing along your collarbones. He pulls away for a moment, eyes scanning yours and you watch in delight as his gaze flickers to your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Then, he takes your hand, and moves it to the hardness pressed against you - guiding you to feel the full length of him, still taught and held within his fine, leather trousers but begging for release. 

“Do you feel this?” He asks, smiling as your blush deepens. You bite your lip and nod. “This is how desperately I’ve wanted you. How hard I’ve been trying to hold back from doing this every time I see you. But I can’t hold back any longer, not if you want me too.”

“I do,” you moan, and he’s on you again, his kisses somehow more desperate than before. But then he’s kneeling and -

“May I?” He looks up at you, both hands warming your thighs and you know what he wants, even if you’re shocked this is happening at all. You nod and his hands move to your waistband, tugging off your work trousers and undergarments in a single movement. 

You’re bare for him for a moment  before he nudges your legs apart and finally his fingers find your clit, gently pressing against your pleasure. Astarion looks up at you, eyes dark with lust, as you whimper at the touch - simultaneously feeling overwhelmed by the sudden caress and desperately needing more from him. 

“Put your foot on my shoulder,” he instructs, and you do without thought. The heat at your core, the way your want feels like a thrumming ache that grows with each second that goes by drives away any second guessing or nervousness you might feel. All you can think of is the way his hands caress your hips, your thighs, as he looks at you laid bare. “Gods, look at you. Soaked for me and so fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” you gasp, and he smirks but finally obliges you. His hands move to grip your ass and stars burst behind your eyes when he finally drags the flat of his tongue from your hole to clit. His mouth latches around her, sucking and licking in alteration as soaked, sloppy sounds begin to fill her small office. You’re being feasted on, and each groan with pleasure vibrates through you and adds to the building release he’s bringing you toward.

Astarion moves one hand from your ass and shifts his mouth only slightly, his tongue never leaving your swollen bud as he slides two fingers into your heat, immediately finding the soft spot inside you that has everything going white behind your eyes. 

“A-Astari-uhhhnnn,” your knees buckle as you cry his name, reaching for his hair and holding his mouth to you as the dam of your arousal bursts.

Pleasure floods you, and you soak him in the process, grinding against his face and coming around his fingers as your body thrashes in release. His ministrations continue, licking and fingering through the final clenches of your orgasm before he finally pulls away, his face slick with your arousal and release. 

“You taste fucking delicious,” he growls and stands, pulling you into another deep kiss so you can taste yourself on his lips. You moan into his mouth again and finally feel him tug free his cock, stiff and dripping with his own excitement. 

“Can I taste you?” 

“Not now, darling,” he growls and pulls you off the cabinet, his hands rough. “I’ve got to be inside you now, or I may go mad.”

He guides you to your desk, papers and files scattering in the wake of your desperate movements, banging your way around the office without letting his lips leave yours, his hands lingering at your sides, your hips, your breasts. 

Your ass meets the edge of the desk at the same moment his fingers find a nipple, pinching and twisting viciously, enough to have him groaning at the sound of your gasping cry. He kisses his way down your body again, his lips meeting your breasts and sucking gently before he moves lower, kissing down the planes of your stomach. 

Propping yourself on your elbows, you watch as he finally pulls away and lines his cock up with your slit. He rubs his head against your sensitive clit, wetting himself on your still soaking cunt and each rubbing slide feels better than the last. He’s so hard, the head of his beautiful, thick cock so soft, and it’s all for you. After so long, after so many late nights spent wishing you could have him all to yourself.

Your head hangs back as he begins to slide into you, the feeling overwhelming as your body stretches to accommodate him. He takes his time, his own eyes closing slowly as he adjusts in his own way, the feeling of your heat and slick enough to have him biting his lip in concentration. 

“Astarion,” you whine and your back arches as he moves forward another inch, “I can take it, I want it all, please - I need more, please, pleee-aahh -”

He fills you to the hilt, giving all of himself to you in one movement and you can only muster a deep, primal groan as he begins to set a steady rhythm, rolling his hips against yours. Each movement is practiced and perfect, managing to hit every spot inside you that begs for pressure.

“So ti-ight, mmmm,” he groans, picking up speed. He reaches between your legs, his thumb rubbing circles in time with each thrust. “Can you come for me again? Around me?”

You clench around him, feeling the tug behind your navel and the added moisture between your legs and then you’re coming, coming around him like your body knew to obey his ask with words alone. Your second undoing under his hands is somehow stronger than the first, your body convulsing like a woman possessed as you shatter again and again. 

“Good girl,” he grunts and sputters, “such a good…mmmmph…good girl, coming for me.”

You milk him with every slowing contraction of your body, tugging him deeper into you, and he stammers your name like the chants of monks in a chapel. You listen as he repeats it, over and over, as his breath hitches and his movements grow erratic, desperate and his own pleasure begins to build toward climax. 

He’s close, so close and you don’t have a tonic so you lean up and kiss him, his body slowing as his focus shifts to your mouth. This time his moan fills the space shared between you and the sound would buckle your knees were you standing. 

When you tug away, both of your breaths still ragged with pleasure, you whisper what you want, no - what you need. “Come in my mouth. Let me taste you that way.”

“Are you sure?” He grunts the question, leaning in for another languid kiss as he continues each deep, slow movement within you. You nod through the kiss, then move off the desk, to your knees. 

He’s coated in your slick, and flush with pleasure, each vein in his gorgeous length thrumming with need you can’t wait to slake. You roll him in with your hand, luxuriating in this hiss it earns you. 

You swirl your tongue around his head before sucking it into your mouth, groaning as you realize that you’re about to know how you taste in combination with him. 

“Gods,” he pants, “don’t stop, y-you feel…unbelievable.”

You smile and take him deeper, adjusting to his length for a few moments and then letting him fuck into your throat at the pace he needs to finally reach his peak. He bucks quickly, his eyes close as yours water, his length hitting the back of your throat.

You swallow as he quivers through his end, and then bob up and down once more before pulling away from him, your mouth popping as you release his head from your mouth. You lick him clean, any release you hadn’t caught already you wipe away with a warm tongue, feeling his eyes on you as you do. 

“Fucking hells,” he whispers, a hand reaching to stroke your cheek as you finally sit up, “that was…”

“Okay?”

“You delicious fool, that was the best head I can ever remember receiving,” and he folds himself over to reach where you still kneel before him, kissing you deeply and slipping his tongue into your mouth - tasting himself on your tongue. It’s salty and perfect, the taste a lingering reminder of the ecstasy you shared.

Astarion moves to dress quickly, as though suddenly reminded that it was the middle of the workday and you were both in an office, and you follow his lead. 

He straightens his coat, rubbing his palms down his shirt to even out the wrinkles left over from their earlier collision. He looks almost nervous, watching as you finish lacing up your shoes, then looking at the utter chaos left behind on the desk. 

“This won’t make things…uncomfortable between us? Will it?” You ask the question carefully, aware that it very well could change everything. Could ruin all that hard work. But Gods, it sure as hell felt worth it in the moment. 

“Oh lovely girl,” he smiled, finally meeting your eye again with that perfect smile, “if anything, this just got a lot better. In fact, I could imagine you and I will be very, very good colleagues.”

“Well then,” you stand and walk toward him, taking his coat in both hands and tugging the handsome elf flush against you once more, “I suppose the cases we work on together are going to be a lot more fun from here on out.”

“Oh my dear,” he kisses you quickly, a gorgeous, devious grin lighting his face as he pulls away, “I couldn’t agree more.”

#bg3 fanfic #astarion fic #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion smut #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #hagfics

[mikanotes]

happy sweet home season 2 release everyone!!! i just watched the final ep and started screaming. here’s something quick! greetings from, lee eunhyuk x gn!reader, warning sweet home season 2 spoilers possibly ooc eunhyuk im trying to decide how different he shld be, mentions of scars. cheers

“Took you long enough.”

Eunhyuk scoffs silently, hands buttoning up a white shirt over his figure. Unharmed. Clean. Possibly unstoppable, now. His gaze is on his own reflection but his focus is on you, sitting nearby with your back towards him.

“Mm.” he hums, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Did you miss me?” he asks, something like a teasing tone to his voice.

You turn to look at him through the mirror and he raises his eyebrows. You roll your eyes and turn back. “No.”

Eunhyuk smirks a little at that. He tugs at his collar to make sure his shirt looks fine, out of habit, then heaves a deep sigh and turns around. He walks over to the couch you’re sitting on and sits at your side, eyes on the book in your hands.

“Is that why you kept things for me?”

Clothes. A pair of glasses. Books he used to read during your time at Green Home.

“Who said they were for you?”

Eunhyuk is dead. Anyone from Green Home would have agreed with this statement. This fact. But you refused to believe it. Parting ways with the rest of the survivors you knew (as well as the only other person who shared your feelings on this matter), avoiding the military and living in isolation, you had decided to try and make living bearable. Settling in an old apartment in a small building near the river. With enough practice from before, you had traps settled around the place and at least one or two weapons.

You used to stay at the shelter at the stadium, but hated all about it. It was much too many people and too much change all at once. No matter how organized it was, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay. So you left, and made your own home.

Maybe it was luck that you came back to check on Green Home a day after Eunhyuk came back.

(Maybe it was meant to be.)

“How long have you been living here?” he asks quietly. He watches your eyes scan the page on your book, watches the twitch of your lips when you hum in thought, watches every detail that he missed during this time. Time passes weirdly in the state he was in, and a lot changes. A lot doesn’t. Like feelings. “I missed you.”

You turn to look at him and he tilts his head. His expression is serious and his voice is as steady as it always is.

“Thank god, you survived.”

You stare at him for a while, silent, before looking away. “You didn’t even give me time to answer.” you sigh. “It’s been ten months here. I spent two at a shelter before I got sick of it.”

“Was it bad?”

“Terrible.” you say, “I’m sorry I left Eunyu there. She can handle herself well enough, though.”

Eunhyuk sighs at that. That’s a whole other problem. At least she’s alright. “I’ll find her eventually.” he nods to himself, gaze on the floor. “I have a lot of people to find, anyways.”

“You’re so strange.” you comment, suddenly closing your book and shifting your whole attention to him. Eunhyuk does the same in turn, gaze focused on yours.

“As in?”

“You’ve changed.”

Eunhyuk blinks slowly, before narrowing his eyes. You’re not wrong. But not right either.

“You too.”

You reach your hand to his face and hold the side of it gently. He tilts his head slightly into your palm, not breaking eye contact. It was worth waiting, even if just to see you again. Your eyes are colder and your skin gained a few more scars. He’s mildly annoyed he couldn’t keep away anything that hurt you, though he knows it simply wasn’t possible. He could direct his anger towards the other people that were with you.

But humans are just so… weak. How could anyone ever count on them?

“In any case, you don’t have to worry anymore.” he says, sounding almost cold. “Not even a little bit.”

He’s here, now, and he intends to make sure you won’t have to change more than you already have because of this hellish world.

#eunhyeok x reader #lee eunhyeok x reader #eunhyuk x reader #lee eunhyuk x reader #lee eun hyuk x reader #lee eun hyeok x reader #sweet home x reader #x reader

[wordsbyrian]

Polyglot: The Early Days - Barca Femeni x Reader

Summary: Another Polyglot fic. Spanish is in italics.

A/N: This was supposed to be done like almost 2 weeks ago but I got sick and started it over a ton of times. Enjoy.

There’s a chance that this could go down as the beginning to the end of your career as a professional footballer. And the sad thing is that you haven’t even played a single game yet.

You’ll end up as just another rising star who faded into obscurity like Freddy Adu or Kleberson.

And if you quit, or god forbid completely fail, you have nothing to return to, having been told in no uncertain terms by your parents to not bother coming back.

You’re basically on your own.

Even more so today because while the rest of the B team is traveling to play their next match against Athletic, you’ve been chosen to stay behind and train with the full team.

That’s obviously a great thing but you had just gotten used to being around your teammates basically 24 hours a day and to be the only one called to train with the first team this time is a little nerve-wrecking.

But you do your best to push it all the way down as you walk into the building and towards the locker room. On your way there you run into Patri who is just as full of energy as every other time you’ve seen her.

“Buenas tardes, Y/N,” she practically shouts in your ear as she slings an arm over your shoulder. “I have a good feeling about training today, so let's get to it, si?”

You barely get a chance to greet her back or nod your agreement before the midfielder is practically dragging you through the halls and into the locker room.

Since you’re walking in with one of the human embodiments of a hurricane there’s no way for you to enter silently and unnoticed. In fact, your entrance is the exact opposite of that with the way the door all but slams open and Patri announces both of your presences as additions to the chaos.

Shaking your head, you move away from the slightly older player and to the corner where you normally get changed, mumbling polite greetings to everyone as you pass them.

Like always you make quick work of getting changed and head out to the field, not wanting to get caught up in the shenanigans you can see forming on the other side of the room.

That ends up being your best decision of the day because seconds before Lluis starts going over the training plan for the day Mapi, Leila and Jenni come rushing out of the locker room with lots of faux innocence plastered on their faces.

For the most part, training goes well. You do struggle at times with the pace you're being expected to move at but as time passes you adapt to it.

There’s also the slight issue of whatever is going on with the older defenders arguing over you in a mix of Spanish and Catalin when they think you aren’t paying attention (impossible when you hear your name like 6 times) but Melanie solves that quickly by whisper shouting something about English-speaking abilities and Lluis already having told Ana-Maria to do something yesterday.

A mystery to be solved later, or not at all if you get your way.

Your big misstep comes at the end of practice during the full-sided scrimmage.

You had let yourself get pulled out of position by Caro one too many times while your team was attacking and it comes back to bite you in the ass when a loose ball comes rolling towards the both of you. You manage to get there before the Norwegian but you make it at the same time as Patri who basically trucks you straight into the earth.

“Holy shit,” you groan as you get back to your feet and sprint to get back into position.

Your quick recovery works out in your favor, you get back fast enough to provide help defense to Pere who has Kheira caught in the corner. 

Kheira does her best to try and get around the two of you but a lucky toe poke from Pere frees the ball just enough for you to clear it downfield. You get it far enough that Lluis seems to decide that there’s no point in continuing play and chooses to end training for the day.

After a quick huddle, you head back into the locker room with the rest of the team. And despite the exhaustion that everyone seems to be facing, the noise level is almost identical to the way it was before practice.

You still don’t allow yourself to get sucked into the chaos rushing through your shower and getting changed but just as you go to leave, you’re stopped by Ana-Maria.

“Hey,” she says in English, “team bonding tonight at Paños’ house.”

“I can’t, I have homework.”

The Swiss woman just shakes her at you, “Bring it with you, Mapi and I will pick you up in a few hours.”

“You can try but I’m not gonna come with you.”

Spoiler alert: you do end up at the goalkeeper's house, sitting in a corner with your laptop and textbooks while the others are spread out across the living room.

You’re currently bent over your laptop and like 8 books on Stanley Kubrick trying to explain how Full Metal Jacket is the perfect example of his greatness as a director.

For most of the night, you’ve been very successfully using your headphones to ignore whatever is going on around you. Something that’s very hard to do when you’re being pelted in the back of the head by paper balls.

“Fucking hell,” you shout, ripping them off your head and turning around, “Can you cut that out?”

You’re greeted by the sight of Leila and Patri pointing guilty at each other.

Sighing deeply you turn back to your laptop only to find it being held hostage by Lieke, who’s standing across from you.

“Come eat.”

“I’m not finished,” you say, reaching across the table in an attempt to grab it back.

“You can take a break for 30 minutes to eat something,” she says, “It won’t kill you. There’s pizza in the living room.”

“It will kill me, give me back my laptop.”

“Go eat.”

“No.”

A hard stare, “Go eat.”

“No,” you say again,” And if you’re not gonna give my laptop back, that’s fine. I’ll just do my math homework instead.”

“Oh no you don’t. Ana, come get  your kid!” 

“Woah, firstly, I’m not her kid," you tell her, "I’m no one’s kid. And secondly, I didn’t want to come anyway so just let me do my work in argh!”

You find yourself thrown over someone’s shoulder and based on how high up you are, it can only be Ana-Maria.

“This isn’t fair.”

You don’t get a response as Ana carries you through Paños’ apartment and drops you on a couch next to Alexia.

“Stay,” she says before dropping a plate into your lap. “Eat.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Most dogs don’t need to be told to eat, you do.” You stare blankly at her. “Eat.”

You open your mouth to continue protesting but as you do a slice of pizza is shoved into your mouth.

The glare doesn’t leave your face as you slowly chew, much to the amusement of the older women.

“Pobrecita, being forced to sit and eat free food that isn’t cooked en masse like it is at la Masia,” Alexia says to the team in Spanish as she throws an arm over your shoulder.

“She’s probably just hangry, it happens to my little sister sometimes,” Patri suggests, “but she’s 11 not 16 like grumpy over there.”

“La nene is only 16,” Vicky asks.

“Si.”

“No wonder she’s so grouchy,” Leila says, “It’s probably past her bedtime.”

You let the team continue talking about you as you eat your pizza (because you might’ve actually been hangry, not that you would admit it). It’s also a conversation mostly about nothing so you don’t feel the need to say anything.

Until you hear someone ask Ana to ask you something.

“Y/N, Jenni wants to know if,” you cut her off.

“Chicas, sabéis que hablo español, si? Like pretty fluently.”

The room goes silent.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you say before turning to Lieke, “Can I have my laptop back now?”

Maybe you’re not as on your own as you thought.

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader

[thegnomelord]

here for the prompt game! (Seriously such a neat idea)

I’m thinking 26 with Ghost and Soap and an inexperienced male reader (could be trans if you want) who’s got an eager golden retriever vibe about him even if he doesn’t know as much as the other two. Also maybe some fluff on the side about reader maybe biting off more than they can chew and getting overwhelmed and Ghost and Soap could comfort him? Thanks!

Sure thing anon! sorry it took so long, couldn't figure out what to write; I decided to do an eldritch reader since I haven't written it in a while and I think it works with this prompt :D. Play the game HERE

Prompt: Pulling them closer by the back of the neck

CW: NSFW, Sub Top Male Eldritch Reader, Dom Bottom Ghost, Sub Bottom Soap, oral, anal, nonhuman genitalia, tentacles, first times.

You don't know how this happened; Ghost and Soap(primarily Soap) had taken upon themselves to introduce you to alcohol, and despite the knowledge you couldn't get drunk or even consume it like they could, you still drank down what was given to you just to see amusement dancing in their eyes as they tried to match you.

Then Johnny had leaned in and by the time your eternal mind had finished buffering you were stuck between two warm bodies, Soap's hands greedily pushing beneath your shirt, his mouth like a blistering star against your own, tongue prying your lips open to push cold liquor into your mouth and running over your teeth as a way to remind you to swallow.

And for the first time in over a millennia you are. . .uncertain.

You'd watched these little creatures for so long you had been certain you could match them, arrogant creature that you are, for what is an ant to a god?

But the moment you felt their touch, before even time had been able to register it, you froze. You felt naked; you feel naked, stripped bare of cloth and human flesh, their warmth stabbing through inky abyss to your core, to all that you are and will be.

Johnny pulls back with a wicked grin and you're left breathing like a newborn, your skin bulging in unnatural ways as you shift beneath, unsure of what to do, what to think, your mind desperate to feel more yet weary of it.

You forget how observant they are despite how short their lives are, "You olright?" Simon asks, his broad chest flush with your back, both of them warm like collapsing stars compared to your corpse like temperature.

"Yeah lad," Johnny leans a bit back, "Yer lookin' a wee bit tense." His palms lay flush along your ribs and he can almost feel you writhing beneath— it takes every bit of your consciousness not to reach out, not to tear through the flimsy layer of stolen skin to feel him, not to wrap them in your body and never let go.

"I. . ." You push out a breath, the air near your mouth crackling with static. "I don't know." Your eyes focus on Johnny only to widen when you notice how his mohawk has puffed up like a blow-dried cat. "Ah-I'm sorry."

Johnny looks at you incredulously, not aware by his appearance, "Sorry for whot?" His brows furrowed, "Hey, wee dinnea have to do this if yer havin' second thoughts."

You feel Simon shift to your side, still close but not suffocatingly so, his rough fingers on the nape of your neck, blunt nails scratching your skin. "Talk to us."

"I. . .I didn't think it would be this hard." You admit, gnawing on your bottom lip; some things are native to both gods and mortals, anxiety included.

"That's what she said." Johnny suddenly pipes up. "I- ow!" You assume it's some type of poorly timed joke by the way Ghost swats him over the head, turning a deaf ear to Johnny's whining about it hurting.

"What's the matter lovie?" Ghost pulls your attention like a lighthouse in a vast ocean of darkness, "Did'yea think fockin' would be easy from being a peeping Tom?" You'd gotten a talking to plenty of times about having watched them fuck when they'd thought you were a cat.

You lower your head, unable to meet his eyes; funny how a fly can make you feel so small. "Yeah."

Johnny quirks a grin, "Need some guidance then?" You're confused until Johnny's hands move, blissfully warm fingers tickling along your ribs before lightly tugging on your nipple, and though logically you shouldn't feel much in your skin suit, it still has you rippling beneath your skin, a sharp breath leaving your lungs. "Need us tae show yae how ta snog?"

"Snog?" You ask, barely able to make your tone sound confused, or even human for that matter.

"Roll in the hay," Ghost joins him, much slower, paw like hand tracing down the curve of your spine, "mate," His hand dips down to your thigh, sliding up to your hip and not even you are oblivious enough to not see the implication. "have sex," Simon leans in to your ear, breath fanning your flesh. "Fuck."

A nonhuman sound escapes your throat, leaving their bones shaking, but you hardly notice as the promise of having them, of touching them like none of your kin have before, makes your head nod automatically.

"Use your words godling," Simon orders, and the second a 'yes' comes from your mouth Johnny's descending on you like a wolf, your teeth clacking together, tongue pushing past your lips to explore your mouth all over again, blunt nails scratching down your sides.

You kiss him back despite how uncoordinated you are, trying to retake the breath he's stealing from you, and the moment Johnny pulls back, panting, Simon is there. A firm hand on the back of your neck pulls you to meet Ghost's lips, rough and demanding, already so familiar that deaf and blind you'd be able to tell them apart.

You melt between them, between their lips and their touches, not even noticing how drops of liquid abyss pushes past your pores; fingers turning into claws to help disrobe them, eyes spreading across your body to see both of their reactions as you touch and feel, teeth elongating and filling all the corners of your mouth better mark them, tongue elongating and darkening to push as deep into Soap's tight heat as you can, each twist and turn of your monstrous tongue making Soap whine and pant and moan like a receptive mate, viscous saliva staining his shaking thighs and marking him as yours.

Your mind only returns when you feel Ghost's rough hand on your cock, what should be a normal human mating organ turned ridged and bumpy, squirming like an eel in his hand, your viscous precum leaving his skin tingling. "Fuck, I-" You jump, tongue still lodged deep in Johnny's ass, your voice ringing all around and gently shaking the ground.

"Easy there," Ghost shushes you like a frightened stallion, not even a bit unnerved by your current condition. The booze you'd all drank helps to make their minds more receptive to your existence, the horrific sight of bits of you pushing out of your human skin only tickling their skulls.

"Think he's stretched enough," Ghost strokes you a few more times, before a firm hand on your nape makes you pull your head back, slowly dragging your foot long tongue out despite how desperately Johnny's walls clench down on you— it has you salivating to have your mouth on him again.

"Ghost." You manage out, every bit of you shuddering from the look he gives you, by the way he tugs you closer by your cock until your tip's tickling Johnny's well lubed entrance.

"Fuck, look how desperate you've made him." Ghost's words make your eyes, all your eyes, focus on Johnny; pleasure makes your chest burn hot with how fucked out he looks, panting like he's in heat, drool running down his chin, eyes bleary and unfocused, whole body boneless and splayed out for you.

"Shite," Soap pants, barely able to catch your gaze, spreading his legs even wider for you, his hand roughly pawing at his own cock. "C'mon- fock- just please, let me- need you-"

"Go on godling," Ghost growls, trusting you to follow his orders so he takes his place by Johnny's head, his dick hard and red right in front of Johnny's lips. "Take 'im."

You don't dare refuse, pushing your hips forward, your writhing cock seeking out his hole, easily slipping inside. Immediately pleasure bangs on your skull, on your mind, like a hammer, distant stars cracking from how you groan, sinking inch after inch into him. Your shaft squirms inside, squirming, stretching, feeling every inch of his walls and when you slam inside that tight heat fully Johnny screams.

You stop all at once, the temperature in the room dropping, your nonexistent heart shredding itself at the thought of having hurt them— only to feel Johnny bucking his hips into yours, his arousal sticking to your tongue like honey.

"Aye, he's a slag," Simon laughs, guiding his tip to Soap's mouth and having him immediately latch on, plump lips wrapping tightly around Simon's large shaft and bobbing his head. "Yea can go rougher, he likes the pain."

Wearily, you snap your hips, your strength far surpassing theirs, almost doubling over at how he clenches around you like a vice and moans in such a sacrosanct way. Even with Ghost's cock half-way down his throat, Johnny tries to beg you to move, pretty tears in his eyes awakening something deep and hungry inside you.

Your flesh suit moves on it's own and you're unable to do anything else but follow and feel, burning every sound you tear from Johnny's occupied mouth into your eternal memory, each praise that falls from Ghost's lips as you hammer into the hot willing body beneath you making you edge closer and closer towards release, your claws leaving red bleeding lines where you grip his shaking legs to keep him stable.

You don't even notice when you lean down, the 'crack' of bone Johnny's only warming before the newly formed maw at your torso envelops his leaking cock. The taste of his precum, like sweetened communal wine, floods your senses, your tongue hanging out of your mind as you brainlessly hump into him, barely able to catalogue each little twitch of his legs when you pound him in just the right spot.

You cum incredibly fast, centuries later you'll be embarrassed at how poorly you lasted, but right now all your attention, all your focus, all you are, boils down to them— their scents, their low groans, their moans, the blissful heat of Johnny's walls clenching down on you as you slam your hips into his and cum, flooding his receptive body with your seed.

Johnny cums as quickly as you, shooting his cum into your awaiting mouth and into the darkness between stars where your true body resides, small little gurgles coming from him as he swallows down Simon's own release.

You collapse on top of him, your mind empty for the first time since your birth, carnal pleasure having reduced you to nothing but an animal. There are so many eyes all over your body yet not one of them can look at Ghost without his silhouette doubling in your vision, your body so sensitive that even a brush of his hand across your sweaty skin has you moaning softly.

"That's a good god," Ghost snorts, ruffling your sweaty hair. Then his fingers slide down, carefully avoiding poking the numerous eyes as he grips your chin, making you look at him. "D'yea think you can go again? This one is far from done." He hums, noting how Johnny's hip continues to twitch into yours despite how fucked out he is.

You don't know how much you have in you, but you're about to find out. . .

#cod mw2 #x reader #gnome correspondence #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x male reader #sub john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod x male reader #cod smut #Gnome's Prompt Game #eldritch reader #ghoap x reader #ghoap

[blakeswritingimagines]

Stretch Marks

Aegon: He wouldn't care if someone he was with had stretch marks. He'd be too busy... enjoying you to really pay attention to them. After some time, he does enjoy it far more but still, to be honest, he wouldn't care if you had or didn't have them. I don’t think it'd even register with him.

Aemond: Stretch marks are a natural occurrence on a person's body, caused by skin stretching underneath pressure. He finds you are beautiful and he'd be thrilled to see you bearing the marks that testify to the many sacrifices you have made. He would have no problem with it if the person he loves was afflicted with stretch marks. He is not so shallow, that he would turn away one of the most beautiful creations the gods have brought into this world for something so inconsequential and natural.

Jacaerys: It is only a mark. Nothing more. A body is a beautiful thing, even if some scars are left behind. In truth, a person with marks on your body is as perfect as a person without them. Perhaps, with time. he would learn not to see them for the marks they are, but just another feature that makes you his.

Lucerys: If you developed stretch marks he wouldn’t be bothered by such a thing. They are a part of you, and he thinks your figure is beautiful with or without them.

Rhaenyra: I'll tell you what she'd think if she saw your stretch marks. She'd kiss them. She'd tell you that your body, flaws included, is perfect in her eyes. She'd worship you, because she is a lucky woman to be with you, and stretch marks don't make you any less beautiful.

Daemon: It does not make a difference to him. It would, all the same, be a testament to the person that he has decided to make his queen. It would be but a part of you, as all of you is part of you. He would not let something as insignificant as small scars bother him. In fact, he would even love such scars. It would show that no matter what happens, you are still beautiful in his eyes, and you are still his.

Alicent: She believes that stretch marks are an entirely natural part of the human experience. They are caused by a combination of factors, such as pregnancy, growth spurts, or simply due to natural body change. They should be seen as nothing more than simply that. Nothing about stretch marks is unattractive or unappealing in her eyes. In fact, it is quite the contrary. It shows the human experience and that beauty comes from flaws. She sees nothing wrong with them, and she doesn't believe anyone else should either which she makes clear as she shows pure adoration and kisses to those areas.

Helena: It’s hardly different. She would still feel the same. Stretch marks are natural. The only thing it signals is that you have matured. Grown. Changed. All very natural things. No person wants the same body as you had as a child, and she loves you all the same even developing a habit of running her fingers across your skin to relax her.

Harwin: Having a partner with stretch marks is an honor to him. He sees you as a strong and dedicated person if you have children, who have carried them into the world and given of your time and your body in service to your family. The stretch marks are not a defect, but rather a badge of courage and honor. They are the natural scars of something beautiful. He would not have his partner any other way.

Cregan: He sees no reason why it would make a difference. There is beauty in a person's curves. It shows him that you have no fear of eating and drinking. It is good to keep trim and in shape, but to have some extra curves on a person makes you more...pleasing to his eyes, one could say.

Criston: He would be remiss to ignore their presence. However, they are not cause for concern. They are signs of valor, not of weakness. He would comfort and assure you of his love and affection, which has never wavered. The scars tell of strength and commitment. They tell of a story worth hearing, and a person worth knowing or in his case bragging about.

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #lucerys velaryon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #alicent hightower x reader #helena targaryen x reader #harwin strong x reader #cregan stark x reader #criston cole x reader #hotd

[recreationalfanfics]

yandere Buddha, Poseiden, and Thor fall in love with a sea goddess darling that already has a husband.

Maybe add a "please" next time but I get what you mean!

I also decided to make it that the husband is a mortal, just for that extra bit of spice.

Yandere! Buddha:

Before Buddha joined the Valkyrie's side, you were one of the Gods who openly protested against the destruction of humanity. Buddha already had his eye on you but this only confirmed deep in his mind that you...you were absolutely perfect. You were always so graceful and elegant, taking everything in stride. When the God's side jeered and hissed at you, you still kept your head high and winked playfully at the human's side. When Buddha announced he was fighting for humanity, it was you who greeted him first.

"I knew you were different," You smiled kindly, "I'm glad the power of being a God didn't go to your head."

Your praises brought a smile to his face, and he chuckled at your words.

"I could say the exact same to you." He retorted. You shrugged, "I mean, of course I would. My husband is a human after all!"

....H...Had he heard you correctly?

You had a husband? Buddha's heart fell in his chest but his face remained it's usual relaxed expression. You thank him again for his allegiances and leave him standing by himself in the middle of the hallway. He chomped down on the lollipop in his mouth and a small muffled "crack" could be heard, his eyes hardening and brimming with the ugliest emotion a human and a God could have...

Jealousy.

- Buddha isn't against humanity, he's just got a thing against your husband specifically. This is shown whenever you bring him around and such and Buddha will always smile at you and nod his head respectfully to your husband but...something is off about his aura. Something that makes your husband anxious but nod back with a timid smile.

- Pathetic. Puny. Weak. Unfit. Unworthy. UNFAIR. These were all the words that would pop into Buddha's head whenever he saw you with your lover. The way you smiled at him, the way you laughed at his jokes, the affectionate kisses and embraces that he wishes so badly to be his.

- What attracted you to him? What is it that you saw in him? While Buddha appreciates the uniqueness of all mortals, this man was absolutely the most boring and normal person he's ever met. So how...how could he have captured your divine heart?

- Was it just because he was human? If so, Buddha used to be human too! He wonders if he still was one, he would be the one by your side. He would be the one who gets to wake up next to you and hold you tenderly in his arms.

- But he wouldn't be able to protect you, as well. In fact, neither was your husband. The more Buddha thought about it, the more angrier he got. He's glad that you chose to fight for Humanity but if HE were your husband, he wouldn't have made you fight. He would've volunteered himself instead, regardless of his power or strength or not.

- During your match, he glares at your husband as he cheers you on and watches you fight instead of being in your place and doing it himself. Every injury you receive, Buddha blames it on your husband who yelled your name and was clearly concerned...just not concerned enough to switch places with you.

- Buddha would have done so if it wasn't for Brunhilde, who seemed to notice his behavior was rather odd as of late, so she kept near him to keep an eye on him. So instead, Buddha just glares at your so-called "lover" as he silently calls him a coward in his head.

- Buddha would try to break you two up, he knows he shouldn't be meddling in your relationship but he'll try to plant seeds of doubt in both your mind and your husband's until one of you can finally see reason and break it off with the other.

- "Humans don't live as long as we do, you know?"/ "It must be hard being married to a Goddess, it must be hard to understand her at times." are all things he says.

- He wouldn't outright kill your husband, maybe set him up to be killed, but never kill him himself because he knows that if you ever found out, you'd never forgive him and that risk was too great.

- So he'll be patient, manipulating the both of you with doubt and planting new insecurities in hopes to make your relationship crack and crumble. If not, he could always play the long game and wait for your little human to die...wouldn't it be a shame if you expected his puny little soul to come to you, only to find out it mysteriously went to Niflhiem?

- It would be so devastating for you, poor thing. Don't worry, your beloved ally Buddha was here to comfort you and be your shoulder to cry on. Unlike your husband, he has all of eternity to make you his.

Yandere! Poseidon:

You and Poseidon may have been sea gods, but you two were extremely different in how you ruled your shared element. You represented the beauty of water, the elegance of the calm waves splashing along the coast, and the balance between all life and plants that grew. Poseidon was the harsh tidal waves and tsunamis that destroyed everything in sight, the harsh storm that sunk the ships of many, and his love for you was as deep and dark as the trenches that lay at the very bottom.

"Poseidon, I wish to have a word with you." You spoke through gritted teeth. The prideful God only stopped walking away from you but he turned his head to the side to silently let you know he was listening. You cut to the chase, "My husband nearly had another fatal accident when he was sailing. I had made it so the conditions were safe and peaceful for him, but suddenly it all changed without warning. Were you responsible?"

"Yes." He responds truthfully and instantly, unfazed by your irritated expression, "That is the risk you take when you have a mortal lover, humans die everyday."

"So do sudden changes in the sea happen everyday the exact moment my husband is too far from me to help?" You shot back.

Poseidon smirks and then turns his head forward, continuing to walk away from you.

"If you're so concerned about your husband, maybe tell him to avoid the seas." He responds coldly before thinking to himself, and the Goddess that watches over it.

- Poseidon knew about your husband from the start, he was there to witness your disgusting little love story play out in front of him and trust him when he said he tried to stop it. Tried to stop YOU from making the biggest mistake of your life.

- He knew mortals had a short life span and that, in God years, he wouldn't have to wait horribly long for your little human pet to die but it was unbearable. That rotten worm shouldn't even be able to breathe near you, nevermind, share your bed and feel your love.

- The God of the Sea had harbored feelings for you for so long, he did not pine and yearn for you in silence just so some wretched little ant can have you!

- It really is unfortunate for your poor husband that the one God who was practically obsessed with you had a burning hatred for humanity as well and he'd make it known without any shame.

- Everytime you call him out or speak against him for it, he doesn't address you, but your husband as he glares at the trifling little welp and says: "Must you always have her fight your battles, shrimp? You're her husband, aren't you?"/ "Poseidon, I am talking to you."/ "And I am talking to the useless little worm that you chose over me!"

- Poseidon is indeed petty because while he does love you, you've also badly injured his ego. Why not him? He was strong, powerful, and beautiful. You both even ruled over the seas, together, you'd be such a beautiful and powerful couple! But no, you had to be foolish and pick a mortal as your lover.

- Poseidon will end that human's life span whether you like it or not because in his mind, he is not the interloper in the relationship. It is your husband that is standing between him and you and the God of the Sea doesn't take kindly to obstacles that keep him from your side.

- He wasn't surprised like other Gods when you had chosen to defend humanity. He was disgusted and dissapointed, but not surprised.

- He will not interfere in your battle at first. He's rather smug whenever the God you're fighting with lands a hit on you and he shoots your husband a look. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic that the only thing the measly being can do is yell words of encouragement. When an injury seems a little too brutal, Poseidon will then interfere in the fight, DARING the other gods to oppose him.

- "Remember this moment, (Y/n). Remember how it was me who stepped in and not the husband that claims to love you so much. Think about this every night you lay next to him about how I had to save you and he was ready to stay on the sidelines and willing to watch you die."

- You are his. He is yours. This not a delusion that his mind created (even though it is), it is a cold hard fact. One that you and your disgusting cowardly lover need to see. He will not stop until he has you or until your lover is dead, or both.

Yandere! Thor:

Thor always felt his icy indifference melt when it came to you, someone who wasn't easily intimidated by his aloof demeanor and actually seemed to enjoy being around him. Perhaps your conversations where one sided, perhaps he didn't seem as excited to see you as you saw him, but you knew. You knew he had to love you, right?

Apparently not, because you only viewed him as a close friend and as a result, he was invited to your wedding ceremony as a guest of honor. For all those countless centuries of "friendship" you two had shared, centuries that meant more to him than mere friendship. Yet, he still attended your seaside wedding and to at least get a glimpse of the God who had stolen you away. Only to realize it was no God, but a human.

A small insignificant human.

You had the God of Thunder at your feet but you kicked him aside for some weak little human!?

He's cold and icy, per usual from everyone else's perspective, but you sensed something was off about it and how it wasn't his usual behavior. You always knew Thor better than most people. Yet, you brushed it off in favor of getting married to the small insignifact little lover of yours, and Thor watched with rage boiling in him as you both sealed your vows with a kiss.

His kiss.

The one he should've shared with you.

- Unlike the other two who try to interfere with your relationship, Thor will not. He is a man of honor and will respect your marriage...to the best of his ability.

- And unlike the other husband's from the last two scenarios, the one you had was a fighter. A good and strong one at that, a bit reckless for his own good, but it's what balanced you two out. Thor hated to see it but even he couldn't deny that he somewhat the appeal from your perspective.

- This human was better at expressing his emotions, had long winded and endless conversations with you, and was not afraid to show his affection to you. If...If Thor had been a little more like him, a bit more expressive...then would you have chosen him?

- He'd've changed a long time ago if he had known, he would've done anything to go back in time and stop living in this Hell. He so desperately wanted you but he simply couldn't have you, not when your husband was in the picture.

- Yes, he planned on waiting for your husband to die but it felt like every single kiss and every single action of love you two shared made time painfully slow and that his heart wanted to leap out of his chest, to tell you everything in hopes he wouldn't have to wait as long as he has to.

- Thor was not good with his feelings, only able to express them freely on the battlefield. But the battlefield of love was a bit harder for him. His storms were violent and there was a pain no magic or healers could fix, a pain he was convinced would heal if he only heard the words "I love you, Thor" from your lips.

- Loki is no help, because he tries to push Thor into snapping for his own sick amusement. I mean, his own cousin and Prince of Asgard allowing his crush to be stolen away from some human who can fight good? Please, it was hilarious to think about but also, he was curious as to how what Thor would do if he just...gave him a little nudge off the edge.

- Ragnarok's arrival was the perfect time to do so. You opposed humanity's destruction and joined their side, unsurprisingly, but your husband wouldn't fight alone. He presented the idea of being chosen a champion of humanity to Brunhilde and while you were upset he did so behind your back, it was just another reason you loved your stubborn human.

- When Loki found out about this, he presented the idea to Thor who just frowned. Your husband was a man of great bravery, it was no wonder you adored him, but Loki just snickered as his stupid cousin didn't realize this could work out in his favor.

- "After all, you're too much of a goody-goody to ruin their odd little union but...it would truly be a shame if something happened to her husband if he just bit off a bit more than he could chew going against a God. (Y/n) couldn't even blame you, not if she thought you were forced to fight him."

- And he had a point. For once, Loki made sense to Thor, perfect sense. So he managed to convince his father to have him face off against your husband first.

- He stared at you, your face conflicted for it was your dearest friend against your beloved husband. He then looked at your husband, who had a determined look and a sad smile on his face. Thor already can see his soul being sent to Niflhiem, how you'd need someone to comfort you and how Thor would pretend to feel remorse but was only doing what his father expected of him, how you'd be too vulnerable and upset to be angry and collapse in his arms.

- You will finally be mine, he thinks to himself as he charges towards your poor spouse.

#yandere record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok x reader #ror x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #snv x reader #record of ragnarok #yandere shuumatsu no valkyrie #yandere snv #yandere snv x reader #yandere male x reader #Yandere poseidon #yandere poseidon ror #tw yandere #yandere poseidon x reader #yandere buddha x reader #yandere buddha ror #Yandere buddha #poseidon x reader ror #poseidon x reader snv #ror poseidon x reader #snv buddha x reader #ror buddha x reader #buddha x reader ror #buddha x reader snv #Yandere Thor #Yandere Thor Ror #Yandere Thor snv #ror thor x reader #ror thor #snv thor x reader

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo's little sister seducing Choso at Shibuya Part ll

Part l can be found here

Pairing: Choso x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Synopsis: After getting back on track of saving her big brother, (y/n) catches Mahito's attention. Choso has to decide if he continues searching for Yuji or rushed to her aid before she gets killed.

Warnings: injury, near death, lil spice in the end, I hope you're sat, not proofread

Tags: @96jnie @shebibtedmypepnis @chososwhoresblog @sanicsmut @curlynoodle937565 @ifuckfictionalmen @nyahctrl @khaleesihavilliard @xuanzangg

You lift yourself off the ground and straighten your uniform. Back to reality, focus your mind on what’s in front of you. It’s your mission to free your big brother, to protect the others.

What about Yuji, though? Choso made it very clear that he’ll hunt him down. Choso with that striking violet eyes, Choso with that perfect lips that kissed you without compassion only minutes ago. Lord have mercy, how is it even possible for a man to be that attractive? And the way his strong biceps felt under your longing hands…

Stop. You shake your head, desperately trying to tame down your pounding heart. This is not the right time to think about things like that. Is Yuji strong enough to face him? Wherever he is, Megumi should be right by his side. The two of them could potentially make it.

Potentially.

Satoru isn’t far away, you’re almost there. Is it really wise to turn around and look after them? If you free Satoru first, he’ll figure everything out eventually. Satoru is your priority, the strongest of them all. And maybe Choso will have some mercy. After all, you showed him very clearly that not all humans are a threat.

Your feet carry you into the direction of the train station on their own. God, how much you hope to see that man again, that man who swept you off your feet like none other. You melted like butter in his rough hands, glimmering violet eyes burning themselves into your mind.

“When I’m done here, I’ll go find you, Choso Kamo.”

-Choso’s POV-

“Oi Choso, can you hear me?”

He signs, rolling his eyes in instinct. What the hell does that jerk want from him now? He should have never agreed on these stupid communicators.

“Unfortunately.”

“Huh, why are you so mean? Did I do anything wrong? Are you-“

“What is it?”, he grumbles.

Mahito gets on his nerves since they’ve first met. Choso only agreed on working with them because he needs to revenge his brothers. He’d rather talk to you, though. God, how is he supposed to think about anything else but your vibrant smile and the way your heels are clicking so elegantly? You are the most breathtaking woman he ever laid his eyes on for 150 years, the only one that really caught his attention. And the way you whimpered against his lips, completely soaked in water and face lit up in neon purple. The thought alone makes his mind wander…

“Did you know Gojo has a little sister? Crazy, isn’t it!? Well, found her alone in a hallway not far away from the seal. You’ve got some time to kill her?”

Choso’s heart drops immediately, eyes widen at Mahito’s words. Fuck, he found you. Why him? Why did you decide to move on, right into their open arms? Of course, you came here to safe your brother, it’s only logical that you follow their traces. But still…

He can’t let them harm you.

“Hands off, I’ll go get her”, Choso hisses.

“Hmm, let’s have a race, shall we? Whoever gets to her and kills her first wins, what fun!”

No. no, no, no. Even though you showed your skills more than clearly when fighting against him, Mahito is a powerful opponent, maybe too strong for even you. If he finds you…

There is a high chance that he’ll kill you.

“No, wait!”, Choso shouts into the device.

No reaction.

“Fuck!”

With a loud bang he crashes the communicator into a nearby wall. He doesn’t have time for something like this right now. Fuck, he waited for this moment of revenge for way too long.

But you.

Your striking blue orbs linger through his mind, the way you smiled at him so cocky.

“Let’s be…friends.”

His hands clench into fists, mind fighting against his heart. He knows it’s wrong to run after you, to even care about you the slightest. But he can’t help himself.

His feet carry you back into the opposite direction, back to you.

-(y/n)’s POV-

“And who the hell are you, shitface?”, you question, gazing at the man in front of you while tilting your head to the side in a playful way.

He isn’t nearly as handsome as Choso, that’s for sure. But he’s definitely on the same side as him. Is he human? He sure looks like it. But something about him is off.

“Why so rude? This is our first meeting after all”, he remarks and makes a pout.

“Oh I’m so sorry, did it hurt your feelings that I called you shitface? I thought you already knew”, you purr.

“You should look in the mirror. After all you’re almost a replica of Satoru Gojo.”

“Caught me there”, you give in.

“And I’ll beat your ass just like my brother did.”

You yank forward, ready to hit him full force with your bare fist. He doesn’t seem like a strong opponent, definitely not tougher that Choso. But why is he here, then?

Faster than you’re able to react he slams you into a nearby wall, making your vision go dark for a moment. You cough on your own blood, too stunned to speak. That man is a cursed spirit, that’s for sure. And a damn strong one.

Your limbs are already burning like hell when you stand back up, wiping away a trail of blood that escapes your mouth with an elegant smile.

“Not nice to beat a lady this rudely”, you comment dryly.

In the dark, your mind races. Who is this? What is his weakness? What are you supposed to do? If that’s a special grade curse, your chances are pretty ugly. To be exact, none other than Satoru himself would be able to defeat him. Well, at least that explained how they were even able to seal your big brother.

“Well, you’re human. I don’t make any exceptions there”, he remarks.

He lunges himself at you, arms deformed into sharp blades. Over and over, you hide your limbs from his merciless attacks while your mind searches for a way out of your misery. It seems like your cursed energy just bounces off him with ease, despite the power you lunge at him, he parries every slash so effortlessly that you don’t know what to do.

Slowly but surely, your attacks start to get weaker, mind more and more distracted. You can’t keep up with him, it is impossible to escape the bows of his bare hands, slicing your delicate skin open with ease over and over, breaking your bones like sticks.

Suddenly, he grabs your throat and pushes your body against a wall, feet hanging in the air. Fuck, it feels as if he’s crushing your windpipe with the sheer force of his fingers, watery eyeballs feelings as if they’ll plop out any minute. Is this really how you’ll die?

Oh, how much you wish to see them again one last time. You never got the chance to say goodbye to your brother. And even though you were never as gifted and talented as him, he always strongly believed in your abilities. How would he take it, hearing you got killed by a random curse on a random Halloween night in a dark hallway while trying to save his ass?

And what about Choso? You only met him one time, but his words sounded like a secret promise, a promise to see each other again. You just wished you had more time. Fuck, why did he defeat you this easily? Your whole body screams out in agony, sliced open multiple times by his cruel blades.

“Funny, now you suddenly don’t have such a big mouth anymore”, he throws at you, maniac grin plastered on his face.

“But don’t worry, at least you’ll be reunited with your big brother then. A nice little family meeting, right?”

Focus, don’t give up so easily. Your hands fight against his, trying to push him away, to scratch him, to kick him. But your vision starts to get blurry, ears ringing. You need, you can-

You feel yourself fainting away into sweet darkness.

Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe Choso is better off without you, going his own way.

Choso’s eyes widen in pure horror when his dark premonitions come true. Without thinking twice, he slices Mahito’s hands off, your numb body falling to the ground roughly.

“That’s cheating!”, Mahito cries out in frustration.

You gasp for air like a fish on land, lungs slowly but surely filling themselves with life again. Fuck, this was really close. What happened? Why did he let go of you?

“Get your disgusting hands off her.”

Your heart stops. Choso.

He walks towards you, eyes scanning your figure. You are severely injured, but still conscious. He needs to get you out of here as soon as possible. If Mahito hits you one more time…

No, he can’t think this through. Despite the countless lives he took, all the lives that vanished in front of his eyes, the thought of losing you seems unbearable.

Why does he feel this way? What has gotten into him to start a fight over a human woman he knows for maybe an hour? This is reckless, this is dumb-

This is all he’s able to think about at the moment.

With a swift motion he lifts you up in his arms, your weak head resting against his broad chest.

“Choso?”, you breathe out, lids desperately fighting against the urge to close.

“What you up to? Do you like her? I mean, for a human, he has a pretty nice face and really mesmerizing hair and eyes but…she’s the enemy, Choso. I’m sure Geto doesn’t like hearing about this.”

“I don’t give a damn about all of you. I need her to fulfill my own mission, so stay out of it”, Choso hisses through gritted teeth, walking past Mahito confidently.

“I really don’t have a good feeling about this!”, Mahito shouts behind both of you, but Choso is already on his way back into the lonely hallways of the train station.

“What are you doing here?”, you mumble.

Fuck, everything hurts. You are pretty sure that that fucker broke a few of your ribs, let alone the countless wounds he inflicted on you. Damn, you almost died. If Choso didn’t show up…

“I came here to save you”, he explains briefly, eyes focused in front of him.

“I don’t need a prince in shining armor”, you mutter along with a weak attempt to free yourself out of his grip.

“Pathetic”, Choso notes.

He lets you down gently, his hands lifting up your skirt just enough to inspect your wound along with making your lower body screaming in excitement.

“Don’t be shy, you’re totally allowed to touch me handsome.”

“Would you just stop saying such things?”

Again, that cute little blush creeping up his cheeks. Oh, how much you longed to see him again. Even though you didn’t plan on meeting him so soon. God, the pain throbbing through your whole body seems to eat you up alive.

“Y’know, I have nothing against repeating that one part of our last encounter…”

“You mean me throwing you against the wall?”, he grumbles.

“You can throw me into bed anytime.”

“Damnit (y/n).”

He stops in his tracks, hands grabbing your shoulders while his eyes seem to pierce through you.

“I’m really trying to focus but you’re making it hard for me when you’re saying such things. You are injured and need to be taken care of”, he clarifies.

“I’d love you to take care of me.”

You grin like an idiot, making Choso almost lose what’s left of his self-control. How is it possible to look so damn fine and have a cheeky mouth after being severely injured? Don’t you understand that Mahito would have killed you right on the spot if it wasn’t for him?

“Can’t you be serious for once?”

“Thank you for saving me”, you suddenly blurt out.

His eyes soften.

“I just don’t understand why. I know you were on your way to kill Yuji. What made you stop? Why were you even there?”

“Mahito told me about your presence. I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

His very own words sound so dumb in his ears that it hurts. Damn, he knows you for a few hours, you are one of his enemies. Why is he kneeling in front of you, why did he even save you in the first place? It shouldn’t bother him, you shouldn’t mean a single thing to him. But the way you look up through your wet lashes with doe eyes, mouth slightly parted…

He can’t help but give in. Gently, he presses his lips against yours, careful to not hurt you. Fuck the rules, fuck the others, fuck the mission. His intuition tells him to pull you closer, let his hands roam through your hair, kiss you with so much passion that he can’t catch his breath.

Are you dreaming? The way his soft lips feel against yours sure make you feel this way. Instinctively, you wrap your aching arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, feeling him even better. Oh god, how much you needed this. Your heart screams at you like never before, butterflies invading your stomach. This feels just right. Yes, that is all you ever wanted.

“Choso”, you whimper into the kiss.

Hearing his name out of your sweet mouth simply drives him insane. He has to have you. No, he fucking needs you. Something about you tells him that you are special, that there is no way he’ll let you go again. Maybe it is time to switch sides. Maybe he should listen to your side of this story. Maybe, just maybe.

“You’ll be the death of me”, he mumbles against your parted lips, fingertips caressing your cheek.

“Let’s die together, then”, you reply, pulling him in roughly for another passionate kiss.

-Bonus-

“Tell me this is a joke, (y/n)”, Satoru mutters, staring wide-eyed at Choso’s and your intertwined hand.

“Well, a lot happened while you were resting your ass”, you remark, eyes fluttering by a glimpse at the breathtaking gorgeous man next to you.

“Don’t worry sensei, he’s my big brother!”, Yuji reassures, making you nod proudly.

All your big brother is able to do is stare at you with his mouth hanging open.

“How often did I told you to stay single?”, he questions.

“How often did I tell you that I don’t care?”

“He’s a bad guy, he murderer countless people, (y/n)! Use your brain just once!”

“I always told you I’m into bad guys. Come to terms with it.”

Choso wraps his arm around you, pressing your body against his firm abs.

“Let’s go somewhere more…exciting”, you mutter, eyes darken.

“Oh god, I wish I never saw that. Please kill me right on the spot”, Satoru cries out in disgust.

“Nothing easier than that…”, Choso comments dryly.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo saturo #gojo jjk #jujustu kaisen #satoru gojo #choso jjk #choso kamo #choso #jjk choso #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #kamo choso #chousou #choso my beloved #choso fluff #choso smut #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso x female reader #jjk fluff #jjk shibuya arc #jjk season 2

[silken-moonlight]

Older Alpha and Human Waitress Part Two

A/N: Here you will find part one. I hope you like part two! It's difficult for me to write story-oriented, since I am very used to introducing characters and their stories. I hope you guys like this! I am tired now and definitely have to catch up on some sleep. See you in the morning! -Swan/Moon

Your POV

You were already feeling a little tired when you went to work. You always worked in the afternoon, since your workplace does not open before 3 p.m. So you had the whole morning and noon to yourself. Usually you slept a little longer, but today your father had needed someone to accompany him to his doctor's visit. Since you were the only child of your parents, the responsibility to take care of them fell on you. You had a wonderful relationship with your parents; however, being always the one to care for them, since they both are chronically sick, could be draining. Sure, they could do most things on their own, but they had bad days where they needed your assistance. Also, somebody needed to take care of the two dogs from your parents: two corgis, Pumpkin and Spice, who were just lovely and brought your parents so much joy.

So after fulfilling said responsibilities for the day, you made yourself ready for work. Quickly arriving at your workplace by tram, your coworker, Andy, was already there. He had the first shift, and you had the second. Quickly, you walked to the staff's changing rooms and put your things in your locker. There wasn't a work uniform like in some other restaurants; the only requirement your workplace had was black clothing and the apron provided by the restaurant. It allowed you to wear something that at least slightly resembled your personal style. Today, you had decided on some loose pants and a basic black T-shirt with a pretty neckline.

You did the usual: checking if there were enough straws at the bar, having a quick chat with the kitchen about the reservations for today, and checking if there were enough coasters. You kept yourself busy while Andy took on the few tables.

Everything was really slow and nice for the first two hours. You looked at the door once and suddenly saw a familiar face. The tall man from yesterday walked in. You were a little afraid you had messed something up, since why would he return to the restaurant the next day? He gave you the most subtle smile when he saw you, greeting you with a nod while Andy brought him to a table. Seemingly, he had returned to eat here again. The barkeeper, Mandy, leaned over to you: ""The hottie is back," she said and wiggled her eyebrows, a unique talent of hers. You laughed. "Well, shoot your shot then. You could ask him for his number," you suggested while you looked over at the man from yesterday. You had to admit, he was really attractive—totally your type. He was tall, possessed dark, long hair and a beard. Gods above, you loved it when a man had a well-kept beard. His eyes held such a stern and dominant gaze. Also, he was older than you. You always had a thing for older men.

It was something about the stability an older man brought. Often, they had their lives already figured out and set their priorities. At least in your mind, an older man would not play games or create big drama like guys your age did.Also, you could not hear a: "Yeah, I am too young for settling down, ever again." That was the sentence with which your last boyfriend broke up with you. Also, he had told you that he felt neglected because you had to take care of your parents. He also added that you were no fun, never going to parties and never drinking until you passed out. He was bored by the nature walks you had dragged him to...Your ex's list went on with boring things about you. Honestly, it had hurt a lot hearing that from him, but you had found your peace in it.

"I will try my shot later," Mandy told her while she began to prepare the drinks that had been ordered. Quickly, you stood at the attractive man's table again, setting down his drinks like yesterday. "Well, hello again." You greeted him with your usual waitress smile. "Didn't think to see you so fast again," you added. Again, he gave you the most subtle smile. "Sometimes such unforeseen events happen." You kept your smile but internally wondered about his strange answer. You walked back to the bar with a strange feeling in your chest. You wanted to continue to talk to him, however, work was waiting for you.

A couple of hours passed; guests went and came, but the man stayed. It was a little weird; however, you wouldn't complain since yesterday he had given such a large tip. He didn't really fit into the vibe of the restaurant. With his dark suit... why did men in suits always look that good?

While she was serving another table, her attention had slipped, and some of the cutlery had fallen from her tray onto the ground. Nothing happened but a loud bang as it met the floor. The guest, however, was not amused. "Can you not be a bit more attentive? You startled me!" The woman nagged and scolded you. "I am so sorry," you said to her as you went to pick up the cutlery from the floor. The woman went on about how unprofessionally you were behaving. You just nodded along, aware you weren't allowed to sass back. When she was finally finished, the attractive men waved you over. "Are you okay?" He almost asked genzly, his gaze meeting hers. "Yeah, I'm okay. Not the first time somebody scolded me for being 'unprofessional'." You told him, he frowned. "Pwople should really have more respect, I mean I am very sure you do not work here for fun." He said that, and you nodded, still a little dulled from the woman's little tantrum. "Thank you for saying that; some people are just...not nice," you added carefully. He gave you a soft smile this time. "If anyone gives you trouble, you can call me, sweetheart," he said to you and gave you a little card. It was dark gray, and the name Desmond Lyall and his phone number were printed on it in gold letters. "Thank you," you answered, and a flush crept onto your cheeks. You tried not to think much of it as you returned to the bar. He had just been nice to you because he pitied you—you told yourself.

The hours passed until the restaurant closed. Again, he left a big tip. The tips of the day were collected and split evenly between all colleagues who worked that day; that was written in your contract. Today’s tip was quite large due to—now you knew his name—Desmond’s tip.

The next day, you went to work, even more tired than before. You had to drive to the animal clinic in the night; Pumpkin had whined in pain half the night. The doctors told you that he had a stomach flu and gave you the medications for it. You didn’t sleep after that, watching over your dog as he finally had been able to rest properly.

The biggest surprise, however, was when once again Desmond walked in. “Back again?” you asked with a teasing smile. He chuckled:"Well, what can I say? I've been caught by the beauty of a certain worker here." You laughed. "I'll tell Andy that, maybe you can get his number." You said, chuckling. "Well, the person I have in mind is female." You smiled at him and then looked over to Mandy, who had just come down from upstairs. You were sure he meant her, as he had often ordered a specific drink from the bar. Surely she must have caught his eye; she was a beautiful woman.

Once again, he stayed long, engaging in small talk with you. You enjoyed it; he was kind and used a specific kind of wit. It was refreshing and nice. He told you he was there on a business trip; you knew that before, but he told you again. He told you about his family; he seemed to have quite a large one. He asked you about yours, so you told him about your parents' illnesses. Even about your ex-boyfriend.

"I honestly gave up on love," you told him with a subtle wit in your voice. "Oh, don't be so sure; a pretty thing like you will have countless people who want to date you," he said with a chuckle. You rolled your eyes but laughed. "Charmer. But no, I don't go out much, so I don't meet many people. I don't want to, actually. I prefer to be on my own; at least I have some peace and quiet then." He smiled knowingly at you. "We have that in common because, of my work, I am forced to have some business friends. But I prefer to be alone too." You nodded:"Sounds similar to me, I have some friends still from school...They always trying to get me to meet them at some kind of party. But i do not feel comfortable there, I am more of a stay-at-home-and-read-a-book or a-take-a-walk-in-the-forest-instead-person." You went on.

#werwolves #werewolf x reader #werewolves #werewolf smut #werewolf #monster fucker #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster romance #monsterlover #monster bf #monster fuqqer #monster kink #monster smut #monster x human #monster x reader #tw monsterfucking #monster #18+ mdni #18+ content #18+ only #mdni

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi, could u do yandere ciel, sebastian, ran mao, lau, ash, and hannah from black butler with a reader like teruhashi from saiki k, shes basically a really pretty girl who believes she is completely perfect but acts sweet and humble outside, and has a huge fan club involving other nobles and important politicans, and is actually loved by literal gods and is seen as a goddess to other ppl with ppl willing to sacrifice their life for them all bc just for her beauty.

Teruhashi Reader | Yandere Black Butler

Your beauty is other-wordly, causing all to indescribable chase after your heart and happiness. As it's always been. And just as your fan base has always been so has your arrogance and narcissism. You know you’re the perfect of most perfect and it's all going to your plan. You worried that even those who might have an inkling of your true thoughts might think to stop you but just like the others they're just as obsessed with you:

Ciel Phantomhive

“If you’d be willing, the Phantomhive estate would appreciate your visit.”

He’s not offering this is a warning

He wouldn’t trust the uninformed masses to mishandle you

It's best you stay within his trusted care

Forget about being a bargaining chip 

He sees how others revolve around you and he feels the need to insert himself

Perhaps protect you like he wasn’t 

Sebastian Michaelis

“You are truly someone of power, to deceive so many humans. It's admirable.”

Sees through your actions easily 

Your character is an enigma he finds himself falling for all the same

Perhaps it's not the universal charm you seem to have but your general behavior

Either way, he’s more than happy to be commanded to protect your blissful existence

And it's more than entertaining to watch how the world bends to your twisted will

Ran Mao

“...keep?”

She doesn’t need to speak often for all to know she loves you

Nuzzling into your neck, hugging you from behind, squeezing your chest

Her lack of boundaries works perfectly for her

And you’d be none the wiser holding her roaming hands that had the blood of potential suitors on them

But if Lau approves she’ll start making moves to exact their will

Lau 

“Yes, I think that’s a delightful idea Ran Mao!”

He’s intrigued and in love at first sight

Now that first sight most definitely is not when Ciel holds that ball

No doubt he’s been aware of your existence for awhile

Its only a matter of time before he starts making moves to have you in his grasp

Ash Landers  

“Such purity! You truly are the diamond surrounded by human scum!”

Is definitely unbiased lies

He’s not in love he’s aware of your true purity lies again

He’s madly obsessed no doubt putting you on a deity-like level

He will commit all sorts of atrocities in your name

And should you protest he twists your words

or worst of all he decides you've becomes poisoned

To which he’ll happily sorrowfully remove you’re infected self

Hannah

“My master wishes for you to stay…won’t you please (Y/n)?”

As always Alois’ will is but her own

She’s just happy they match up this time

She’d want nothing more than for you to join their family

No doubt she knows her master and he’d refuse to…punish you the way he does her

It’d warm her heart if you came willingly

A family shouldn’t stay apart for too long

#yandere black butler #yandere sebastian michaelis #yandere sebastian michealis #yandere sebastian x reader #yandere sebastian michaelis x reader #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yandere ran mao #yandere lau #yandere hannah black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere ash landers #yandere ciel phantomhive #yandere ciel #yandere x reader