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literaryavenger · 2 months

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Can I be him?

Summary: When Bucky finds something of yours, he hopes against hope that you feel the same way about him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language cause it's me. Fluff. A lot of angst. Idiots in love. Self-deprecating thoughts, both reader and Bucky. No use of Y/N. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 4.8K

A/N: It’s 3am where I live, so… Happy 107th Birthday to my favorite Supersoldier! Today I’m posting 2 Bucky fics because my baby deserves it, this one and another one sometime around the afternoon. Hope someone likes it! Thank you to my angels @ordelixx and @mrsbuckybarnes1917 that gave me so many ideas that helped me finish this. I love you🖤

Masterlist

Being an Avenger is not easy.

The long missions, the intense training, the weight of the world on your shoulders…

Everybody on the team has a different way to unwind after a mission: Steve draws, Clint and Natasha compete doing target practice, Thor sleeps, Sam plays video games, Bucky takes motorcycle rides, Tony and Bruce work on side projects in their lab, Loki reads, Peter does his homework and Wanda cooks with Vision.

For you, it’s going to the rose garden behind the Compound.

It’s a bit of a sanctuary for you, Tony allowed you to put tall hedges of roses with a gazebo-like structure in the middle of them facing the lake, only it’s entirely made of vines.

You made it yourself, that’s your power: you can manipulate anything plant-related.

Everytime you finish a mission the team splits up as soon as the debriefing is over and you walk straight here.

You sit on the bench, also made of vines, take out your diary and start writing.

You write about everything, from details of missions to your feelings about the team. From things you did that you don’t want to forget to things that you want to do after you’re not so tired anymore.

The hedges hide you from view and the only thing you can see when you’re here is the lake.

Sometimes, after a particular difficult mission, you don’t even write. You just sit there and look out into the water, the sunshine or moonlight shining down on you, and you feel at peace.

It helps that nobody else ever comes here. The team understands it’s your safe space, and the agents are mostly scared of your powers ever since you grew a giant carnivorous plant and it bit an agent that squeezed your ass during training.

The agent got both taken to the medbay and suspended on the same day, and you got the thanks of about a dozen girls that had the same problem with the same asshole.

You walk out of the conference room, the debriefing of the team’s latest mission just wrapped up, and like usual everyone scatters to their own after-mission ritual.

Today, though, you can’t concentrate on anything.

Your feet take you to the rose garden by reflex, but your brain doesn’t even register you’re there until you sit on the bench.

Today’s mission took a lot out of you, not just because of the amount of magic you had to use to get everyone out safely, but also because it was your fault the team was in so much danger in the first place.

You fucked up your task, Natasha had to step in and save your ass, moving away from her post and making her late for her own task and that derailed the entire mission.

At the end, you had to use your powers to take out the hundreds of Hydra agents at the same time, which is no small feat and made you almost pass out.

Everybody told you on the way home not to worry, the mission was successfully accomplished and everyone made it out safely, but you know that if it wasn’t for your screw up the team would’ve gotten in and out of base without so much as a scratch.

Nobody had fatal injuries, thank God, but Sam got shot in the leg, Clint got stabbed and everyone else had various degrees of injuries because Hydra got the jump on the team.

Because of me.

That was all you kept thinking about. Your brain had a field day making up all kinds of scenarios where your mistake cost someone’s life, a few of them even had the entire team dying because of your stupidity.

You were so caught up in your head that you didn’t even notice someone following you to the rose garden.

Not that you ever do.

If there’s one thing Bucky Barnes knows how to do, is move around undetected. He’s a master assassin, he was trained for this for over 50 years, he knows how to be a shadow.

Except now he uses his skills for good during missions and, occasionally, to follow you.

Not in a creepy way, of course, just to check on you. At least that’s the excuse he always uses so he won’t have to admit to himself that what he does is, indeed, a little creepy.

But he can’t help himself, Bucky knew from the moment he saw you that he was fucked.

The moment you walked into the room to meet the team his heart was yours. You stole it with one simple smile, with one look of your beautiful eyes.

You introduced yourself and shook hands with everyone, but when you looked at Bucky he felt like a light came on and it was just you two.

You shook his hand and he felt like he had to take it off and give it to you, it was yours now. His hand, his arm, his leg, his head, his heart, his soul. Everything he is was now yours, he just knew it.

Then you said his name and he could’ve died right there and then. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and it was barely two syllables. Every word you said, every laugh and sound that came out of your pretty mouth, Bucky felt like it was all for him. Nobody else mattered.

Bucky knew then he was in love.

But he didn’t know how to approach you. You were like a fairy, like a princess. Growing flowers, always smiling, baking, growing everyone’s favorite flowers and always willing to help, like growing Aloe when Wanda burned herself cooking, or Chamomile to help with Tony’s anxiety, or Valerian roots whenever someone was feeling down.

You were like sunshine and he was terrified he’d kill your light. But he’d be damned if he’d let the world kill it either, he’d protect you with his life.

So he took to following you, making sure you were safe from a distance.

But it’s not like he never talked to you, the more time you spent with the team the more comfortable Bucky got around you and eventually you became friends.

Bucky knew you could take care of yourself, you were one of the strongest members of the team, but he didn’t like it when you were in your rose garden by yourself. The tall hedges made it impossible to see incoming danger, so he kept an eye on you just to be sure.

For his own piece of mind. And you never saw him.

That was Bucky’s actual way to unwind after a mission.

He’d tell everybody he was going for a ride on his bike, but he’d drive it through the woods around the compound and to the other side of the lake where he’d have a perfect view of you without you knowing.

Deep down he knew it was a little creepy, he could just ask you if he could join you, but he felt like you needed your time alone without anyone else around, and he knew if he asked you, you’d say yes no matter what you were feeling, because that’s just the kind of person you are.

So Bucky watched you from afar, always careful not to be seen. He watched you write for hours, it relaxed him to see your beautiful face so concentrated.

Sometimes you’d laugh quietly at what you were writing and those were the only times Bucky was grateful for the supersoldier serum that allowed him to hear such a beautiful sound even with so much distance between you.

But it was torture for him when he knew you had a bad day. Sometimes you’d hug your knees and cry, Bucky could tell how much you’d need a hug, and it killed him that he couldn’t just walk up to you and hug you.

Everytime he sees you cry his heart breaks a little and he always tries to make you feel better when you walk back inside. He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, he just tries to make you laugh. But all he wanted to do was dry your tears.

You did notice Bucky always seemed to act a little goofy when you're feeling down, like he somehow knew, but you never thought much of it.

You knew he was a very observant person, so you assumed he just saw your mood through your behavior better than most.

Bucky loves hanging out with you, even if it’s just as friends. You make fun of him like with everyone else, you don’t treat him like could explode at any moment, never walking on eggshells around him like most people do.

You’ve never been afraid of him, and he’s glad that you don’t treat him like glass. You treat him like everyone else, and it makes him feel normal.

Everytime time he hangs out with you, you take him back to a time where he was unbroken. You make him feel alive again.

And he falls more in love with you by the second because of it. You’re all he wants, he wants to have you and kiss your lips and never let anyone hurt you. That’s all he can think about, but he knows that’s not gonna happen.

He heard you talk to Natasha and Wanda, heard that there’s someone you’d gone on a few dates with. But Bucky knows that guy doesn’t deserve you, nobody does.

Even Bucky himself doesn’t deserve you, you’re too pure for anyone in this world, but if there’s someone that has any chance of making you happy, Bucky prays to God that that someone is him.

Bucky knows today’s mission shook you deeply. He knows you blame yourself, and no amount of reassurance will make you believe that everything is okay.

So today, for the first time, Bucky actually follows you. He can see your unfocused eyes even as you walk and he wants to be near you, just in case.

He almost walks to you when you curl up on the bench and start sobbing quietly, but he holds back not wanting to startle or upset you further.

He just listens to your soft cries until you stop and compose yourself. You sigh and get up, walking back to the Compound to take a much needed relaxing shower.

But you’re still so much in your own head that you don’t even notice you left your diary on the bench in the gazebo.

Bucky did notice, though.

He’s tempted to call after you and tell you, but something deep down tells him not to. He waits until you’re gone and then walks to the bench, picking up your diary and opening it.

He doesn’t know why, he knows it’s wrong, these are your private thoughts, but he’s just drawn to it for some reason.

When he starts reading he notices you don’t mention any specific names, which makes sense because only you read it, you know who you’re writing about. He reads a page here and there, reading about your missions or lazy days.

He reads about some memories with the team you wrote about, some he remembers and others he probably wasn’t there for, but seeing all these memories from your point of view does something to him.

It makes him feel connected to you, makes him feel like he’s reading your heart and soul, because he kind of is. Then he reads something that captures his attention completely.

You write about eyes blue like the ocean and just as troubled, about a smile that could light up the world. You write about someone with a complicated past that never lost his spark, never lost his love for life.

A man that went through hell, and never once took it out on the world. A man that didn’t ever blame the world, even when he had every right to, choosing instead to protect it.

You filled pages and pages with everything you admire about this man, everything you love about him that you know he hates.

And Bucky feels like every word you wrote, you wrote for him. But could this be him? Could he be the one you talk about in all your stories?

He wants to. He wants this to be him. He prays you’re talking about him. He wishes this could be him… Who is he kidding?

Of course it’s not me.

It’s probably the guy you’ve been dating. Yeah, that’s it. You’re in love with that guy, that much is clear.

Bucky gets to the page where you write about your dates with the guy, but he can’t read them.

He closes the diary, not knowing that you compared your date to Bucky every step of the way. Not knowing that you granted the guy a second date just to be sure he couldn’t compare to Bucky, and went on a third date at a coffee shop just to let him down gently.

Bucky didn’t read how you know he’s the one for you, he didn’t read his own name written in your handwriting, the only name in your whole diary because he’s the only person you never want to forget, even though you know you never will.

But Bucky didn’t read that.

He puts your diary back where it was on the bench and, with his heart broken and his hope that one day you could be his lost, he goes back inside and to his room.

It’s only when you go back to the rose garden after your shower that you notice you left your diary there, but don’t think much of it. Nobody ever comes here anyway, as far as you know.

After finding out you’re in love with someone else, Bucky can’t stop himself from acting differently towards you, which you don’t fail to notice.

It’s not like he’s mean, but your interactions get shorter, like he tries his best to end the conversation quickly.

He no longer sits close to you, no longer tries to make you laugh when you’re feeling down, doesn’t hang out with you as much during your down time and if he does, it’s never just the two of you anymore.

It’s silly to say, but you miss him.

Bucky knows he’s been distancing himself, he knows you’ve noticed and he can see it’s affecting you, but he’s doing this to protect himself.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before you present your boyfriend to the team, the man you’re in love with and he doesn’t want it to hurt more than necessary.

You decide not to push Bucky, knowing he has his reasons to pull away from you. Maybe he’s just trying to deal with all the stress the team’s been under and you don’t want to add any more to that, so you let him be.

A few weeks later the team’s on their sixth mission in just as many days and everyone is exhausted. You’ve been taking down Hydra base after Hydra base, because waiting too long meant losing your chance to shut down their operations for good before they got the opportunity to leave.

You’ve been dividing in smaller teams to take down the bases while still giving the team a chance to recuperate, but this last one was the biggest and required the whole team together, which sucked for you because you were in the last team with Steve and Bucky that took down a base just yesterday, so the three of you got barely a few hours of sleep while you flew to the last base.

You’ve cleared the base, all that’s left is the agents in the courtyard who are really going down fighting. The whole team is outside now, the Hydra agents giving you a hell of a fight. You’re using your magic against your better judgment, giant vines coming out of your arms like whips, covered in poisonous thorns. One touch of that and anyone would go down immediately, everyone except you.

Or at least that’s what you think.

As you’re fighting you can see an agent trying to sneak up on Bucky who’s fighting near you, so you quickly take care of it for him.

Bucky turns around and sees the agent down and then looks at you with that charming smile you fell in love with and winks at you. “Thank you, doll.”

That’s the friendliest Bucky’s been towards you in weeks and you can’t help but smile back with a small blush.

You can see the last agent standing coming at you from your peripheral vision and you quickly whip him with a vine, taking him down as soon as you can so you can turn back to look at Bucky, still smiling at you.

Bucky’s smile drops quickly, though, as he sees your face draining of any color. You barely have the time to register the sting of your own thorn on your arm that you’re already falling to the ground.

Bucky tries to catch you, but he gets thrown back by your magic that goes into defense mode, creating a wall of thorns to protect your now unconscious body.

The team doesn't know what to do, none of them know enough about plants to be sure that these thorns wouldn’t just kill them all.

The only one that would know that is you, the person that’s passed out, or worse, trapped in the midst of a cocoon of thorns.

“Okay, we need to find a safe way to-” Steve starts but cuts himself off almost immediately. “What are you doing?!”

Bucky doesn’t even turn around to answer, too intent on breaking the thorns around you with his metal arm, not caring that the thorns are ripping his clothes and scratching his face, all he can think about is getting to you.

He finally manages to get through to you, but nobody can follow because your magic regrows the thorns Bucky broke, trapping him with you inside the cocoon.

But Bucky doesn’t care, his eyes never leaving your face as he kneels behind you, running a finger softly along your cheek and shivering when he feels your skin is cold as ice.

His mind goes to the worst possibility, that there’s nothing he can do, but his brain gives him some hope reasoning that your magic wouldn’t be working if you were dead.

Right?

He snaps out of his thoughts when he feels the thorns around you vibrate, he takes you in his arms and shields you with his body from whatever is about to happen.

But the only thing that happens is the shade cast by the thorns gets replaced by sunlight. Bucky looks up and realizes Wanda used her magic to lift the thorn cocoon.

“You couldn’t have done that before?!” Bucky barks at Wanda with a glare while carefully picking you up to take you to the Quinjet.

“She’s not the dumbass that threw himself headfirst in a mess of thorns without even considering another course of action!” Natasha came in Wanda’s defense, though she seemed more amused at Bucky’s antics than annoyed.

As the team heads back home in the jet, Bruce examines you and lets the team know you’re still alive but in a sort of coma.

Their relief is cut short when Bruce makes it known that he has no idea when, or if, you’ll wake up.

As soon as the Quinjet lands you’re taken to the medbay and hooked up to machines, an IV in your arm to keep you hydrated.

Bucky holds your hand through it all, staying all night next to you just in case you wake up. He didn’t want you to be freaked out and alone, he wanted to be the first person to see your beautiful eyes open.

When morning comes, though, you’re still unconscious, but Bucky doesn’t lose hope. You probably need a good sleep.

That’s what he tells himself for two, three, four days.

That’s what he keeps telling himself for a week, two weeks. Never once leaving your side, not eating unless Steve brings him food and makes sure he eats before leaving, and using the bathroom of your room in the medbay.

He barely sleeps and, when he does, he dreams of you.

Everyone was getting worried about him, he refused to leave your side until one day Steve came into your room to tell Bucky there was something wrong with your rose garden.

Bucky was torn between staying with you and seeing what Steve was talking about, but decided that it would kill you if something happened to your roses so he had to make sure everything was okay when you woke up.

Because you’re going to wake up.

Bucky follows Steve to your rose garden, and his eyes widen in horror as soon as he sees it. The roses, the hedges, the vines.

Everything is dying.

Bucky’s heart breaks, only one thought in his mind. If your plants are dying, does that mean you’re slowly dying too?

No. That’s unacceptable. You’re not gonna die, not if Bucky has anything to do with it.

He takes it upon himself to take care of your garden, watering it and doing everything he can to keep the roses and vines alive, fooling himself into believing that this will keep you alive.

He stays on the gazebo day and night, sleeping on the bench, spending every waking moment trying to keep a hold of even the smallest part of you.

But it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

Bucky loses track of how many days he’s been in your garden, sleeping maybe an hour at a time here and there, watering the roses every few hours and crying the rest of the time.

After all it’s his fault, if he hadn’t distracted you none of this would’ve happened. You’d be in your beautiful garden, probably with your boyfriend, and the only broken thing would be Bucky’s heart.

That he could’ve lived with.

But how can he live with the knowledge that he caused your end? That he killed your light? That he killed his sunshine, his hope, the love of his life? He can’t live with that.

Not that he has to.

While Bucky’s spiraling while surrounded by dying roses, inside your room in the medbay you’re finally waking up after almost a month.

You open your eyes slowly, looking around you at the hospital-like room. There’s nobody around and, as you look at the window, you can see it’s really late at night.

You sit up and try to make sense of what happened while rubbing your eyes. The last thing you remember is Bucky’s bright smile, and then nothing.

You look down at your arm and see an IV, which you take out while frowning. How long have you been sleeping?

You carefully get off the bed and make your way outside to your rose garden, just to be sure everything’s okay. It’s not like anyone’s gonna stop you anyway.

When you get close, the moonlight shines on the hedges and you gasp at what you see. Your beautiful roses withering away, the gazebo made of vines dying too.

But the most confusing thing is the sobs coming from the bench, although no one’s sitting on it.

You get closer and see Bucky sitting in front of the bench while hugging his knees and crying softly. You frown and get a little closer before stopping, not wanting to startle him.

“Bucky…” You say quietly and his head snaps up, his eyes instantly meeting yours.

For a moment it feels like he’s trying to decide if you’re real, he reaches out and you extend your hand to take his. That seems to convince him and he gasps.

“Doll…” His voice is barely above a whisper, almost as if he thinks if he makes too much noise you’ll disappear.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him while getting a little closer to him, concern clear in your every feature.

It’s only when you get closer that you see his face full of cuts and you frown. Those are not just any scratches, it’s clear to you that they were made by thorns. “D-did… Did I do this to you?”

You’re kneeling in front of him now, one hand still in his one the other comes up to trace the cuts in his face softly, but he takes your hand in his and kisses your palm.

“I’m okay…” He reassures you.

Just then he realizes, you’re fussing over him when you’re the one that’s been in a coma for a month. “Are you okay? How long have you been awake?”

“I… I just woke up.” You tell him honestly, then look around at the dying roses and vines before looking back at him. “What happened to me?”

“You got stung by one of your poisonous thorns.” He says quietly, his thumbs rubbing circles on your skin while he refuses to let go of you. “You’ve been unconscious for almost a month.”

“A month?!” You’re shocked at the news, not knowing what to say or do, so you just stay there while letting the information sink in. The silence is broken by Bucky after a minute.

“I’m sorry about your roses… I tried to keep them alive, but…” He looks around with a hopeless expression. “I failed you.”

Your heart breaks a little. Does he really think he failed you?

You take a deep breath, then close your eyes and when you open them again a second later everything’s back to normal. The roses are as beautiful as ever, the gazebo just as majestic. It’s like nothing ever happened.

Bucky looks around in awe when he feels you take his chin and you make him look at you.

“You could never fail me.” You say firmly, wanting him to understand you mean it. You look at the cuts around his face and you can’t help the guilt and pain that you feel deep within you. “I’m sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” It’s like Bucky can read your thoughts, he knows all you can see are your faults, and he wants you to know he doesn’t blame you for anything. “You weren’t even conscious. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I never wanted to be one of the people that hurt you…” Your voice is a whisper as a tear escapes you. “The world hurt you so much already… I never wanted to be part of that. You don’t deserve it.”

Bucky frowns. He feels like he’s heard those words, but where? No, he didn’t hear them. He read them. He read them in your diary, where you wrote about the man you’re in love with. Could it be possible?

Could I be him?

“It’s me…” He says lower than a whisper, his eyes locked on yours, and it’s your time to be confused now.

“What?” You ask him with a frown while wiping your cheeks.

“It’s me you’re in love with.” His voice is a little louder, but firm. He’s not asking you, he’s making a statement.

Your eyes widen in surprise, you almost take your hands away from his but his hold prevents you from doing that.

“I-I… What?” Is all you can bring yourself to say, confused as to why he’s so sure of it. Are you really that transparent?

“I read your diary…” Bucky says, guilt written all over his face, but at least he’s owning up to it. “You wrote about the man you love… and you wrote the same thing you just told me. It’s me, isn’t it? You love me back?” His voice is more hopeful now, his confident demeanor weavering.

“You… You read my diary?” You say, your mind still playing catch up.

It’s only a moment later that you register the ‘love me back’ and you don’t give him a chance to apologize or justify himself before you’re speaking again. “You love me?!”

Bucky hesitates a moment but nods firmly. “I love you, doll. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.”

You feel like someone punched you and all the air has left your body. You have no idea what to say, so you don’t say anything.

Instead you lean in and kiss him.

Bucky wastes no time kissing you back, but a thought pops into his mind and he reluctantly pulls back. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” You frown again, having no idea what he’s talking about. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t?” Bucky feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders and he pulls you to straddle him. “What about the guy you went on a few dates with?”

You narrow your eyes at him but decide to table the conversation about how he knows that for another time, so you smile at him and decide to just be honest with him.

“Do you honestly think that anyone could ever measure up to you? Because if you do, you’re an idiot.” Bucky grins and kisses you again.

Maybe he is an idiot. But when he’s the idiot you’re in love with, how much of an idiot can he really be?

It looks like he can be him after all.

988 notes · View notes

gucciwins · 3 months

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The Lucky One

Word count: 11510

A/N: My sweet friends! I hope you're still excited for this story, even after all the time I had you wait. Life was hectic and finding time to write has been difficult. It's fitting that I posted this a year ago, and now posting the update a year later. Happy reading!!!

Warning: smut, female pleasure, phone sex, (brief use of Daddy)

Gala After Gala

please come tell me your favorite part

Harry was banned from the bathroom because he was a distraction. Y/N had been stuck doing her mascara for over ten minutes because he made a silly face at her every time she looked in the mirror. Y/N banished him to wait in her bedroom. He decided to look in her closet, wanting to pick her outfit for the night, and noticed how empty it was beside her winter coats hanging in the back, taking up most of the space.

“Beauty?” He called for her.

Y/N answered with a soft “Yes, love?”

Harry asked her what was going on in his head. “Where’s your emerald dress?”

“It was Sapra’s. She let me borrow it.”

“And the black one with the long slit,” Harry asks while continuing to look between every piece of clothing she has.

Y/N comes out of the restroom, hair perfectly curled and lips glossed. He can’t wait to kiss it away. Harry already knows she’s wearing her new favorite gloss, with hints of strawberry. Harry knows because he tested it out for her, ensuring it was a long-lasting taste and not only a smell sold by companies to trick her.

“Dawn’s sister.”

Harry frowns. Y/N attends endless galas, and each dress she wears looks like they were made for her and her alone. Yet, he’s only discovering that most of them were never hers. “The yellow one?”

“Dry cleaners!”

He breathes out a sigh of relief. While Harry knows Y/N might not have much space here, they act as if they don’t spend most of their time at Harry’s, where many of her items have started accumulating. Harry has begun to buy her favorite milk (Oat) and her favorite shampoo (Coconut scent) to have stocked. It has become her place as much as it is his. He knew he could make a closet hers. He hates that he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“Beauty, I thought they were all yours,” Harry stares at Y/N while she puts in her earrings for the night. “Are you telling me I’ll never see that baby pink dress?”

Y/N rolls her eyes at his dramatics, kissing his cheek as she exits the bedroom. “That’s only for special occasions.” Y/N wore it for her graduation. A midi pink dress with flowers embroidered up the sides and sleeves. Harry could not keep his hands to himself that night, not that she minded. It’d been tucked away for a few weeks until Harry whisked her away to Italy and Greece as a Graduation present, where they spent weeks exploring new cities and kissing on every cobblestone street.

He trails behind her like a lost puppy. “Personally, think every moment with you is special.”

Y/N steps into her heels by the door, but before she can reach down, Harry is kneeling on one knee, placing her foot on his thigh to tighten the strap for her. Harry makes her fall more in love with him each day. Those three words seem to hover around them, but neither of them ever says them because it is told with each action, each kiss. “Thank you, honey.”

He kisses her calf before placing it back on the floor. “All ready, Beauty?”

“Let’s go eat!”

It’s not every day that they get dressed up for dinner, but Harry is leaving on a three-week trip and wants to take her out on a date before they move to Facetime calls and late-night texts. Harry had tried to convince her to come, but work would not let her. Not when she was planning for two different galas to take place in three months.

Dinner was delicious. Y/N was so hungry she cleaned off her plate. She always saved a bit to have leftovers the day after for her lunch, but Harry was gracious and ordered a meal for tomorrow. It didn’t surprise her how well Harry was able to read her.

She was strolling behind Harry, eating the ice cream they stopped to get after she told him she was craving something sweet. Harry kissed her and promised they’d stop by the shop two streets from her apartment. He was leading the way into her flat, telling her to get ready for bed, and he’d turn on an episode of Derry Girls for them. It was one of her most-watched series, and Harry enjoyed the humor.

“Nooo, I want to watch an episode of Ghost Files,” she yells from her bathroom.

Harry sighs because he knows this means she’s not tired. She wouldn’t dare to sleep through it because she loves Shane’s dumb commentary. While Y/N promises she doesn’t believe in ghosts, she is also the type to never put herself in any scary or off-setting situation.

Y/N comes in, rubbing moisturizer down her neck, and smiles when she sees a familiar episode playing. “Perfect.” She steps close to Harry, kisses him, and makes him promise to be quick in the restroom because she is ready for cuddles. Harry tried his best to be fast but enjoyed his night routine. He also had to double-check that he had everything packed for his flight tomorrow, not wanting to make a stop at home tomorrow that would have him leave Y/N sooner than he needed to.

By the time he entered the bedroom, Derry Girls was playing, and Y/N was fighting off sleep.

“You took forever,” she mumbled against her silk pillow.

He gave her a dimpled grin and cuddled close to her side. “You love to remind me how important my nightly routine is. That I can’t skip around. Something about my wrinkles,” Harry teases.

Y/N rolls her eyes, laying her head on his chest. “No wrinkles. Maybe some white hairs are coming in, but I think you’d be a sexy silver fox.”

Harry breathes out a laugh, “think I’m that old?”

“You’re perfect,” she pecks his lips.

“Think you’re perfect, too. So perfect for me,” Harry tells her.

Y/N had never felt peace like this, to feel so at home with a partner. Harry showed her how much he cared for her every single day. The ease she felt around him allowed her to be herself the entire time, with no facade, no excuses on why she wasn’t getting ready. Harry had seen her at her best and worst and still chooses her every day.

There are three words on the tip of her tongue dying to come out, but instead, she slips off to sleep in her lover’s arms.

Morning came far too soon for Y/N’s liking; usually, she wakes up feeling rested, but this morning, she felt like she tossed and turned all night. Harry, at one point, had to hold her tight against his chest because she was squirming around too much. She apologized, and thankfully, his heartbeat lulled her back to sleep. Now she’s up at six am watching Harry get ready to drive himself to the airport. She had requested to drive him, but Harry didn’t want her to deal with all the traffic madness that went on there. He also knew walking away from her at the airport would be harder. He’d be too tempted to stay in the car and ask her to drive home. Harry loved spending time with Y/N, and since officially being together, they have only gone a few hours apart. Saying goodbye was hard, and he wasn’t looking forward to doing that today.

She got up with him, with sleep still in her eyes, and while Harry went to do a quick rundown of his skincare, Y/N made him a cup of coffee; he bought her some of his specially imported beans from Columbia once he learned she enjoyed it. Harry told her she made the best cups of coffee; while she didn’t know if that was true, she was happy to do something for him.

Y/N sat on her counter, watching him collect his belongings and line them up nicely at the door. He had an order for everything. She knew he kept a packing list because he always feared forgetting something. He knew he had overpacked for this trip because he would be stopping to visit Mum and sister. Y/N thought it was sweet. Y/N had spoken with them over Facetime, but there’s nothing like meeting in person, and if all things went well, she knew she’d be meeting them over the holidays.

She wasn’t used to the quiet of her apartment because Harry always had music playing. He saw she had a record player and bought a bunch of his favorites for her to listen to. She told him she hardly used it because it was a housewarming gift from her brother, Matias, who got it for cheap at an estate sale. When Harry was staying over, there was always a record from Joni Mitchell to Prince.

“You got to call me when you land,” she says, breaking the silence.

“It’ll only be two here, just in time for your break.”

Y/N doesn’t hide her grin, knowing he had already checked their time difference. “Five days in London, and then off to Scotland.”

Harry nods because they both know she has his schedule memorized. He left her a list of contacts she could reach in case of an emergency, and he wasn’t available (he always would be). “Correct, Beauty. Do you want me to bring you back something? Cookies, a bag, or pearls.”

“Only want you.”

“I’ll surprise you,” Harry promises, knowing he’ll stop at his favorite shops to get her something nice to make up for his time away.

Harry steps towards her, sitting on the counter. He places one hand on her waist and the other on her cheek and pulls her in for a kiss. His lips are soft and taste sweet, like his coffee. She sighs against him, not ready to separate, but he gives her one last kiss, telling her he has to put his bags away in the car.

She watches him take two trips while double-checking his carry-on, not wanting to forget his passport, something he’s expressed he’s done more than once. On his final trip, Harry is in the car packing it in. Y/N has moved to lean against the doorframe, watching him fit his luggage in a car too small for two suitcases. There’s a heaviness in her chest, knowing she won’t see him for 21 days. There will be no kisses, no hugs, and no lunch together. Not even a sweet morning wake-up call.

It’s going to be a lonely few days.

Y/N can admit she’s become a bit dependent on spending time with Harry, but she doesn’t think it’s terrible. She still goes to work, hangs out with her friends, and gets her nails done, where she catches up on her favorite podcast, The Happiness Lab, but ends her days in Harry’s arms. He truly has become one of her best friends. While no one could ever replace Sapra, Harry and Y/N shared another level of intimacy. She was thankful to have him in her life.

“What is it, beauty?” Harry asks, stepping toward her, looking beautiful. It’s unfair he wakes up looking this pretty with his messy hair and growing stubble. She knows it’s only three weeks, but she will miss him and wants him to know. Harry caresses her cheek, and she can’t help but lean into his warm touch.

“I’m going to miss you,” Y/N breathes out.

“Miss me or my king-sized bed,” he teases. He told her to stay at his house if she wanted but that she’d miss him less at her apartment. She knew that was a lie; she saw him in everything in her home. Harry had left a touch on everything she had ever owned. From having his favorite blanket thrown on the back of her couch to his extra pair of shoes waiting by

She shakes her head. “Seriously, H. Does Mitch really need you? Sarah’s going.”

“They’ve got a bub to look after,” Harry reminds her.

“But I’m your baby,” she pouts.

Harry laughs because he remembers her telling him “Baby” was too cheesy. Then, one night in bed, when she was close to reaching her peak, he called her “baby,” and it was over for her. She loved it, craved to hear it when he was pleasuring her.

“Well, my baby has to work, or she’d be coming with me.”

Y/N sighs because he’s right.

It’s true, he told her a few months back, but there was too much to be done that she couldn’t take a vacation, not when Harry had told her he had planned a summer vacation for them. It was the only thing keeping her going.

“Well, at least I can go to the farmer’s market.” It was popular, but the earlier she went, the less crowded. “Will need to go get some cash,” she talks aloud, already making a mental list of what to do once Harry takes off to distract herself.

Harry grabs his wallet and a few bills, slipping it into her coat’s pocket.

She reaches in after him, pulling out around what she assumed to be bills that added up to $200. “What’s this for?”

“For your fresh goods.”

“Honey,” she breathed out. “It’s too much.”

“I need to care for you, even while I’m gone.” Y/N goes to respond, but he cuts her off with a quick kiss. “Let me do this. I’m already sad I won’t be there to give you flowers.”

Y/N backs down. He bought her flowers every week. They went from daisies to daffodils. “Thank you,” is her only response.

“I’ll call you every night,” he promises, and Y/N takes him in, knowing she’s got minutes left with him. “Now, be a good girl and give me a kiss.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

Harry connects his lips to her in a sweet kiss. He has the power to make her forget everything. Y/N is wrapped up in his sweet taste. She’s aware that his hands trail her body before settling on his favorite spot (her ass). He slips his tongue in, giving him entrance to explore. Y/N knows she could kiss him all day, but they’ve run out of time.

Y/N pulls back breathlessly; she knows her lips are swollen. Y/N ran a finger over her lips as if she could still feel his mouth against hers.

“I’ll text you when I board,” he turns around, walking away from her, ready to drive away.

A strong feeling overwhelmed her, and she could no longer keep in those three words. “Harry!”

He turns around, sunglasses on and a pretty smile on his lips.

“I love you,” she breathes out.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Beauty, beauty!”

He hurries over with shaking hands. “What did you say?”

“I love you, Harry,” she repeats louder.

“Oh darling,” his eyes are glistening. “I want to take you back inside and show you how much I love you.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“You’ve got a long drive ahead,” she reminds him, knowing the airport is always chaotic. She couldn’t believe she had let these words drop now that he was leaving.

“Don’t make me go,” he pleads. “Why now, baby?”

Y/N shrugs, running a hand through his curls. “It was too much to hold in with you leaving me.”

“I’m coming back, Beauty,” he promises. “Always coming back to you. Wish you’d come with me,” he pleads one more time.

Her smile gives away the same answer she’s been giving him for weeks. He knows she can’t. “Drive safe. I love you.”

Harry feels a flutter flow through him. He can’t wait to spend the rest of their lives sharing these three beautiful words. “I love you, Beauty.”

He pulls away, shaking his head. Harry hugs her tight to his chest, and she can hear the pounding in her chest. He kisses her a few more times for good measure.

“I love you,” Harry tells her one last time as he drives away. She waves him goodbye from the porch and keeps smiling until he turns the corner, and that’s when she lets her tears slip.

Y/N’s really going to miss him.

When she’s back inside, Y/N hears her phone ring. She sees it’s Harry and answers quickly, worried something has happened. “You okay, honey?”

He’s silent for a few seconds.

“Honey?”

“Say it again.”

She giggles, “I love you. Call me when you’re there.”

“One last time,” he asks.

“I love you, Harry Styles.”

“Hello, you’ve reached Harry Styles. I’m unable to get on the phone right now. Leave your name and number, and I’ll return your call when I’m available. Thank you.” His voicemail filled the quiet of her room. Y/N huffed; it was the third time she had tried calling him, and there was no answer. He promised her a date and even sent her a photo of how he added it to his schedule.

Harry had been gone now for two weeks on business. He had begged her to come, and she almost caved, but there was too much going on at work for her to take a trip. Harry understood; of course, he did. He knew how much Y/N loved her job and would never try to take her from there unless he really needed her.

Y/N throws her phone to the end of her bed, deciding to give up for now. She had prepared a small meal to share with him. She knew it was cold now and couldn’t be bothered to eat it when her appetite was gone. Since her plans are gone, she phones Sapra, who quickly answers on the first ring.

“Babes!” Sapra greets her cheerfully. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Yeah, I got bad news at work. I had a cater cancel on me, and it’s like starting all over again with the hunt for the perfect person. “So,” Y/N dragged out. “I was thinking we can go drink my sorrows.”

Sapra laughs, “Oh my sweet, Y/N.” She takes a moment to respond, but Y/N knows she’s in. “Of course, I’m in. Let me call in the boys and Dawn.”

They settle on going to a bar they know that sells delicious nachos. Dawn’s place is the middle ground, so they agree to meet there.

Time with her favorite people is precisely what she needs. Her friends get along well with Harry, and she likes including him on their outings. It’s nice to go out, have a good laugh, and go home to cuddle with her boyfriend. Her boyfriend is still out of town, so she will return to an empty apartment and a cold bed.

Y/N sent Harry a text to check-in. She hoped nothing terrible had happened but knew in her gut that if something was wrong, she would have a call from Sarah. The only update from Sarah was of her bub swaddled in a blanket Y/N made for him.

While Y/N loves dressing up tonight, she settled on jeans, a white top, and her favorite yellow cardigan, Dawn knitted. It keeps her warm and cozy while elevating her outfit. Y/N finishes slipping on her rings as she walks out the door. Y/N takes the ringer off her phone, slipping it into her bag, promising herself to have a fun night.

Bars are not Y/N’s favorite place because it’s too loud, there is always a weird smell, and mostly because it’s hard to avoid creeps. She stands by the never-going-to-the-bathroom-alone code, and as she waits for Sapra to finish washing her hands, she has to politely move away from men stumbling down the hall. Once they’re settled back in their seats, Y/N relaxes. She has a drink in her hand, vodka cranberry (her favorite), and enjoys the evening. Her brother brought a new friend today, Brandon. He’s tall, a bit pale, and has a buzzcut. Y/N recognizes he’s attractive, but his brown eyes do nothing to her. Her MO when she was in Uni was chocolate brown eyes she could drown herself in, but now she knows the truth. It’s that emerald will always be captivating to her.

Matias shares a funny story about Y/N when she was a child, making the group awe while Brandon shoots her a smirk. Y/N knows he’s flirting, but before she can tell him, she’s not interested. Isaac reminds Brandon that Y/N is a taken woman.

“Y/N’s here alone,” Brandon tries.

“Man is on a business trip.” Matias slaps a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “Promise you, he will hear about this and be on the first flight back.”

Brandon backs up with his hands up.

Crisis Averted.

Y/N can easily defend herself, but she’s glad her brother had her back in this case. Brandon sets his eyes on Dawn, who is all too happy to give in to her flirting ways. She remembers when Dawn would barely speak a word unless spoken to, but after two vodka sodas, it’s like Dawn becomes a new person who suddenly loves to talk. It makes Y/N laugh, but always makes a point to look after her.

After two drinks, Y/N decides that’s all she wants. Everyone seems to agree. The bar gets more crowded, pushing them all together when Sapra gets a bright idea.

“You know I’ve been wanting a new tattoo,” Sapra throws out her bait.

Matias rolls his eyes, “like you weren’t posting about your last one two weeks ago.”

Sapra gasps, “So you do watch my story.”

“More like skip,” Isaac chirps in.

Y/N knows she has to intervene, or Sapra will bite their heads off. “Right, a tattoo sounds nice.”

Sapra clinks her drink with Y/N’s. “Anyways, Roxanne has become a good friend. I can call her to see if she can squeeze us all in for a tattoo.”

“I’m out,” Dawn calls out, who is four drinks in.

Brandon shrugs, “I’m game.”

Y/N looks at her brother and his husband. Isaac and Matias share a look. Y/N knows it’s going to be a no. They are never impulsive.

“We’ll supervise, you idiots,” Isaac shares.

Sapra cheers while Y/N thinks about the placement of her tattoo.

The shop was only a five-minute walk from the bar they were at. After Sapra phoned her friend who, yes, was available to tattoo three people at ten pm.

The shop is one Y/N has driven by many times. It’s small and intimate and entirely female-owned. The space is clean, and the receptionist counter has mints for customers to grab. The wall has beautiful paintings from a local artist, and Y/N knows she’d be happy to have one in her apartment (or Harry’s house).

Brandon goes first. He’s quick to explain his tattoo idea. He wants a teddy bear for his nephew, born two months ago. Theodore was his name, and he wanted to do something special as the godfather. Y/N found it sweet. She wouldn’t mind keeping Brandon in the friend group. Mainly because it seemed Dawn was smitten. Brandon had her go back with him, feigning he was feeling nervous and needed Dawn to hold his hand to make him brave; it worked like a charm.

As Brandon gets wrapped up, Sapra expresses her idea. Roxanne tells her it’s great but would prefer Sapra’s recent tattoo to heal a bit longer before going in for a new one. Sapra wants to fight it but knows when to back down.

“You got it, Roxie. But you will do it?”

Roxanne nods her head, making her lilac hair move around her. “Of course.” Roxanne looks back at the group. “That leaves one more.”

All eyes turn to Y/N. She feels like shrinking into herself but instead stands up straight and follows Roxanne to her office. Y/N hands her phone off to Dawn, who promises to keep it safe. Y/N knows there will be a lot of drunk selfies to filter through tomorrow.

Y/N has been thinking of getting a tattoo for some time now. She discussed it with Harry one time, but he always told her it was her body and would ultimately always be her choice. It wasn’t much help. That had been about two months ago, and now she knew she would be happy with it.

“I thought about this for a long time,” Y/N explains to Roxanne as she places the stencil on her ribcage.

Roxanne laughs, “midnight screams impulsive.” Y/N laughs. She’s not wrong. She’s glad to have the company with her alone; she might have walked out of the shop by now. “Ribcage is pretty brave.”

“So I’ve heard,” Y/N responds.

“Hurts a lot.”

“I can take it.” Y/N knows it will be worth it.

Sapra pops in, promising to hold Y/N’s hand if needed. Y/N wiggles her fingers, and Sapra hurries to her side. “This will be very sexy in the summer with a bikini.”

“Harry is going to die,” Dawn giggles. Y/N notices Dawn holding her phone up and knows she’s recording. Well, at least they’ll all be able to look back on this.

Y/N can admit the tattoo process wasn’t painless. It felt like constantly being strung by a bee in the same spot. The only good thing was that no bees died while she got inked. Sapra teared up as she released what Y/N got tattooed. It was a bouquet of Sapra and Y/N’s birth flower (Sapra shared the same month with Harry, but Y/N wasn’t reading into that right now). Roxanne brought Y/N’s vision to life, and it would forever be inked on her skin.

The entire thing took 45 minutes to an hour. Y/N was being told about the aftercare when Dawn felt Y/N’s phone ring. It showed a picture of Y/N and Harry sharing a kiss at sunset. She thought it was no problem picking it up and was soon greeted with Harry’s face, suddenly realizing it was a Facetime call.

“Mr. Styles!” Dawn greeted cheerfully.

“Just Harry,” he corrected with a slight laugh.

“Okay, Mr. Harry,” Dawn fell into a fit of giggles.

He didn’t bother correcting her; instead, he looked for Y/N. “Where’s Y/N?”

Dawn held up a finger, needing to pass the phone as she was still laughing. “Hold on a sec.”

The phone was then passed to Sapra. “Hi,” he waves.

Sapra gives him the cold shoulder. He has a small idea of why but knows she doesn’t need an answer. Y/N does.

“I can explain. But you don’t need to hear it,” Harry tells her.

“For once, I agree. I’ll find out either way,” she reminds him.

Harry spots Y/N in the back of the frame, slipping on her shirt. He catches a glimpse of something around her waist. He frowned but called out for her. “Beauty?”

“Hi, Harry,” Y/N answers confused. “Everything alright?”

“Mhm…do you have a moment to talk?”

Y/N is the only one in the frame, but by all the chatter Harry hears, it’s clear she’s not home. “I will be home in 30. The night was ending. Y/N scratches her neck; she sees the bags under his eyes and knows he hasn’t slept well. “Do you want to talk tomorrow? It can’t be a good time for you.”

Harry feels his heart soften because she’s always looking out for him. He knows he should sleep, but he had a shitty day(s), and he knows even a few minutes with Y/N will make him feel better. Selfishly, he wishes Y/N was home accepting his call, but he can wait for her. He’d wait a lifetime if he had to.

“I’ll call you when I’m home,” she promises.

“I love you,” Harry tells her. He never hangs up without saying it.

“I love you, Harry.”

“Is everything alright?” Sapra asks concerned.

Y/N kisses her cheek. “It will be. I got to get home.”

Matias shows her he’s ordered her an Uber. They’ll share because he would feel awful sending her home alone. Y/N knows she’s lucky to have so many people who love her.

Y/N is thankful her brother knows her well because he put Harry’s address as her drop-off location. She hadn’t stayed there a lot because it made her feel lonely. He asked her to house-sit, but he had no plants or pets to look after. Y/N’s hoping she can convince him he needs one in his life.

She waves goodnight to her brother and makes her way inside. Slipping off her shoes, she wants to call Harry once she’s ready for bed, but it’s been thirty-five minutes, and she hates making him wait. Y/N calls him, and on the second ring, he’s answering.

“Hi, beauty.”

Y/N can hear the relief in his voice. As if he was holding it together until he got her alone.

“Hi honey, I’ve got to get my makeup off, but I didn’t want to make you wait anymore.”

“Put me on video call.” He requests.

Y/N does as he asks. She sets him on the bathroom counter. He stares at her with his pretty eyes, and Y/N knows she’s grateful to have him. She knows she’s in love. The moony look in his eyes tells her everything.

Harry grins, being able to see her blushed cheeks and shimmering eyes. He knows Y/N always uses her Cosmos palette because she’s learned that the glitter makes her eyes shine in any kind of light.

“Fun night?”

Y/N rubs her cleansing balm over her face as she tells Harry about the night’s event. She told him she could hurry if he was tired, but he shook his head no. “Keep talking, Beauty. I’m with you.”

She continues to tell him about how well done her drink was, the perfect mix of alcohol and cranberry. Y/N promised to take him back another time. She spoke about Matias's friend and saw when Harry perked up at the mention of trying to chat her up.

“Will that new friend be a problem?”

She giggles, rubbing her moisturizer into her skin gently. “No. Matias gave him a talk. He got along wonderfully with Dawn, but she mentioned he’s fresh out of a breakup, so she won’t pursue anything.”

“For now.”

“We’ll see, honey.”

Y/N throws the phone on the bed as she begins to get changed. “Beauty, baby? Where’d you go?”

She crawls under the covers, picking up her phone after getting comfortable. “Had to get changed. All tucked in now.”

“No show?” Harry teases.

“Not unless you’re here to take it off me.”

Harry groans. He is aware of how little Y/N wears to bed. “I will get on a flight right now.”

“It’s only a few more days.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Y/N knows Harry has much to share, but she wonders what he will start with.

“Was that a tattoo?” Y/N feigned innocence. “When I first called you. Thought I saw something.”

Y/N explains the tattoo Sapra has been in her life for as long as she can remember. Tattooing something is permanent and something he reminded her of endlessly, but in that moment, she couldn’t think of a reason not to get it.

“Do you regret it now?” Harry is still looking at the photo she sent him, and he’s thinking about the pain she went through. He wished he was the one holding her hand.

“No, the pain was manageable. I love it.”

Harry grins, “I love it too.”

She knew he would.

“I love you, Harry.”

“Beauty, oh, Beauty. I’m so fucking lucky to love you. I’m sorry for today.”

“Do you want to share with me?

Harry runs a hand through his hair. Y/N notices she’s propped up against something, maybe a lamp on the nightstand, as she can see both his hands picking at the ends of a t-shirt in his hand. It’s a faded blue, and Y/N recognizes it as a shirt of hers from Uni. She had no idea he snuck that in.

He needed a piece of her with him as well.

“It was a shitty day,” he breathes out. “I was ready to pull out of this deal because they weren’t respecting our requests. They wanted to go for the cheaper cost, but how we run our business is important, and while I was ready to jump ship, Mitch talked me down. We were there all day until we came to a compromise. I felt drained when I got back to the hotel. I laid on the bed to sleep a bit, having set an alarm, but I slept through it. Called you as soon as I woke up.”

Y/N’s heart deflates, “you could have called me later. I would have understood.”

“I already disappointed you. It couldn’t wait,” Harry tells her.

“Thank you for apologizing.” Y/N watches Harry; he looks tired, but knowing him, he won’t hang up first. Y/N isn’t quite ready to let him go. He looks so good, his hair a mess, his swallow peeking under his shirt. Y/N misses the feel of his hands on her body. Misses the way he smells. Misses his hand in her hair. Y/N was lovesick. “It happens. Sure, I was disappointed, but I figured something happened. Long distance, I don’t know how people do it.”

“For love.”

“Then you’re lucky I love you.”

“The luckiest,” he agrees.

Harry tells her a story about Sarah, how she’s checked in on him, reminding him to finish all his work quickly because he’s got someone waiting at home now. He tells her a story about his sister and how she recently got a new dog. It was so small, and little Pixie fell asleep in his arms. It seemed convincing him he needed a pet would be easier than she had imagined.

As Harry tells her story after story, she feels overwhelmed with emotion. She misses him so much, but she also misses his touch. They’ve taken their relationship slowly. Y/N is not one to jump in right away because of past experiences, and Harry has taken that in stride. Y/N is waiting for him to come home so that he can love on her how they both deserve, but right now, Y/N knows just the thing to take the edge off for both of them.

“I’ve missed you. Missed how you’ve taken care of me,” Y/N breathes out.

Harry picks up on her change of tone. “Yeah, Beauty. Need me in between your legs to relax. Work keeps you busy. All you want is to be taken care of. Daddy can help with that.”

Y/N whimpers. Daddy is not something they ever discussed, but at this moment, it’s everything she needs. “I want Daddy to take care of me. Need it. Crave it.”

Harry sighs, his cock swelling when hearing his beautiful girlfriend call him Daddy. He makes a mental note to talk about it tomorrow after they both have a good night’s rest.

“Only a few more days, Baby.” Harry reminded her. “I promise to take care of you until you push me away until you can’t take it anymore.”

“What would you do to me?”

He had no idea this was where their phone call would lead, but fuck he’s ready.

Y/N bites her bottom lip as she waits to hear what he says.

“I’d lay you back on the bed, prop a pillow under your hips just how my Baby likes it. Spread your legs open, and I’ll see how wet you are waiting for me to touch you except, you know me, Beauty. I love to take my time,” he smirked when he saw her close her eyes, a deep sigh leaving her pouty lips. “I know you’re lying in my bed. Surrounded by my smell, I know you are soaked. I imagine you wearing pretty panties, maybe the yellow ones with bows on your hips.”

“What if I told you I don’t have any on?”

Harry bites back a groan. “I’d ask you to show me your pretty pussy.”

Y/N shakes her head, not one to easily give in.

“I’d kiss your pretty thighs. I love it when you smother me between them as I lick you clean. Fuck,” he looks away for a second, and Y/N can only imagine what he’s doing. “I’m fucking hard thinking about you. Thinking about tasting you. How sweet you taste, I swear I’ve never had anything sweeter, Baby.”

“D-d-daddy!” She pleads.

“I’d kiss right over your clit before licking you clean. You’re a messy girl. You can’t help it, baby, but that is why Daddy is here to help.”

“Need more.”

Harry smirked; he knew Y/N was touching herself. He swears he can see how she moves her fingers in and out of herself. She’s so slick, and he knows he’d slip right in if he was home. “Baby, I would lick you until I felt satisfied, then I’d slowly trace two fingers around you. Start by pumping one in and out until you’d beg me for another. I know you can take it. You’re always such a good girl.”

“It’s not enough,” she cries. Harry sees her hand moving, and fuck, he wants her to move the screen down, but he can’t seem to take his eyes away from her face. The desire coursing through her, and sees her trembling, uneasy breaths and knows she’s close to coming for him.

“Daddy would give you everything you asked for, anything and everything.” Harry pumps his hand over his cock. “I’d keep going, curl my fingers in deep, letting your legs trap me in between your thighs. I’d suck your clit over and over again until you scream my name.”

“Fuck!” Y/N shouts. “Harry,” she repeats as she takes herself over the edge.

“My sweet angel, you look so perfect coming for me. The sweetest sight. Wish I was there to lick your fingers clean. No need to waste something so yummy.” Y/N deflates a shy smile now on her face as what happened begins to set in.

Y/N laughs. “Did that just happen?”

“The come on my stomach is answer enough.” He teases.

Y/N groans, “fuck me, Harry.”

“Just say when.” He’s tempted to jump on a flight home, but a few more days is all he needs to wait.

The sweet look on Y/N’s face keeps him calm until he is back in her arms. Y/N is close to falling asleep; he can see how relaxed she is, and he hates having to hang up.

“I love you, honey,” she reminds him. “Hurry back, please.”

“Hold on tight, Beauty. I’ll be home soon.” He blows her a kiss. “I love you.”

Those three words lull her to sleep.

Harry was finally home. He had been gone for three weeks, but it had felt like months. He ensured all his bags were packed and drove to Y/N’s apartment.

He finds a parking space right in front. Harry excitedly makes his way upstairs. He knocks, knowing she has to be home, but after a few minutes of no answer, he realizes she’s not home. Heading outside, he checks if her car is parked but finds nothing. Instead, he calls her. She answers on the second ring.

“Hiya, honey,” she greets him cheerfully.

“Beauty, I love hearing your voice.”

“You sap.” He knows she’s flustered.

“Are you home?”

Y/N sighs on the line. “Hannah called out sick, and everyone needed me. Got a few more hours left. Are you all set to arrive tomorrow?”

Harry frowns; he had told her when he was coming in. She must have been too busy to even look at the date. Instead of correcting her, he promises to see her tomorrow. Harry tells her he loves her, waits for her to say it back, hangs up, and decides to prepare a special evening for her.

He drives to the store and picks up the essentials. Orange wine (Y/N’s favorite) decides on ingredients for a pesto pasta that Y/N and he made a few days before he left, and both loved it. Harry rushes home and is pleased to find Y/N’s slippers by the door, meaning she will return here later. It’s a sign she had told him early on that if they’re by the door, it’s the first thing she wants to slip on. If they’re in the entrance closet, then it means she’s tidied up her items for him.

Home.

He was home, and soon, Y/N would be too. While away, it was nice to reunite with his family. His mum and sister told him to visit more, which he would do in the summer with Y/N. Work was work, and while he loved it, this trip kept him away from his Beauty for too long. Harry spent the next few hours doing his laundry, quickly showering, and preparing everything for a bath. Y/N loved lying there soaking up the heat and the smell of her bath bombs.

As Harry stirred the pasta, the smell of pesto filled the room. He hums in delight as he hears the ring of the dryer where he had put Y/N’s blanket to warm to keep her nice and toasty after dinner.

The front door opens. Harry quickly turns off the stove and lets the pasta sit while he waits for Y/N to greet him. He leans the kitchen entrance, staring at Y/N as she slips off her Mary Jane’s and throws her coat on the couch.

Y/N walks by Harry, standing by the kitchen door. “Hi, honey,” she greets and walks by him. It seems she’s running on autopilot, not seeming to process he is back home. Y/N freezes in her tracks, turns around, and stares at Harry. He flashes her his dimpled smile, she had confessed it made her weak in the knees. “You’re home,” she whispers.

He nods. “I’m home.”

“You’re home,” she repeats.

Y/N runs into his waiting arms. He holds her tight, spinning her around as she presses kisses to the column of his neck. He sets her down, his heart close to beating out of his chest.

Harry squeezes her hips. Y/N is smiling up at him, and he feels like the luckiest man alive. Harry leans in, connecting their lips together. Her sweet lips welcomed him, and it was a feeling he never wanted to go without. The kiss has filled him up with so much love and longing. Harry promises to never go this long without Y/N by his side. He wasn’t made to miss her. He was made to stay by her side and love her. Y/N presses against him, making Harry stumble into the wall, but neither seems to mind being too lost in the kiss. Y/N knows she needs to breathe but finds it incredibly difficult to tear herself away. Harry does it for her but doesn’t go far. His lips brush against hers as they take in a deep breath. “I love you.”

He kisses her again.

“I love you too. So much. I love you. I’ll say it forever.”

Y/N wraps her hands around his neck, and Harry knows she wants another kiss. He happily obliges. “Missed you. Missed you so much,” he mutters against her lips.

“Don’t leave again.”

“Never again,” he promises. “Taking you wherever I go.”

They spent a few more minutes holding each other, whispering “I love you” every few seconds. Y/N’s heart is back home, and she couldn’t be happier. Harry gives her butt a few taps promising they could continue later, but he was going to set her up for a bath. Y/N pouts, “I’m supposed to take care of you. You just got home.”

He frowns in response, pinching her butt and making her jump into him. “You’re my baby. My sweet angel. I will always look after you.” Harry sees Y/N begin to melt, and he knows she’s giving in. “We’re starting with a bath, then having some pasta for dinner. Then we’ll go watch some telly in bed.”

“I love you” is her only response.

With a final kiss, Harry sends her off to get clothes in the bedroom while he prepares the bath. Y/N is happy to have Harry at home.

Y/N and Harry spent the night enjoying each other’s company. After dinner, they crawl into bed and hold each other tight. Y/N was independent, and she had been from a young age. She’d go to the movies alone, watching a new film. She’d go into the market alone for a quick snack while her brother always requested company. Y/N was comfortable with her own company. She liked who she was when she was with others but also when she was alone.

Her partnership with Harry is something that surprised her. Her family always joked that she was high maintenance and that no one could lock her down because she was a free bird. Yet, she knew he was different from the moment she met Harry. Y/N was ready to walk away from him, but there was something special in Harry that she knew giving him a second chance would not be something she regretted.

Y/N liked who she was when she was with Harry because he made her shine more than she did on her own. Harry always liked to tell her that all eyes turned to look at her when she walked into any room. Y/N didn’t believe it was accurate, but she was glad she captured his attention.

In the morning, Y/N wakes up against Harry. Not a single space between them. Y/N laughed to herself because they drifted away most of the time. Harry always ran hot and slowly pushed away the covers while Y/N hugged them closer. Although they would always be touching each other. A hand on his stomach, one wrapped in her hair, or their legs intertwined. Yet, they managed to hold each other through the entire night; clearly, they both needed it.

Y/N looked at the time and sighed. She had to prepare for work. She was tempted to call out but knew Hannah would still be out. She was careful to move away from Harry, wanting him to sleep in as much as he could when he gripped the end of her (his) shirt. “Stay,” he mumbled.

Y/N sighed and ran her hand through his messy hair. “I’ve got to go in. If I skip lunch today, I can be out by one. Hmmm, I’ll do a half day,” Y/N compromised. “How does that sound?”

“Like I’ll miss you.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll see you at one.”

“Love you, come give me a kiss goodbye.”

Y/N leans down, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I will.”

After a long kiss in bed, Y/N was on her way to work. Y/N thought of the man waiting for her at home, and she knew tonight would be special.

Y/N’s promise to be out early was a bust as they had a new contract, and Y/N knew it was the priority. With a quick call apologizing to Harry, she quickly returned to running around the office. She had to talk to planners and directions. Thankfully, her assistant Kacey, who was becoming a quick learner the more time she spent by Y/N’s side. It made Y/N’s job go a lot smoother.

“You can go home now, Kacey.” Y/N knew they should have left an hour ago, but she was swarmed with papers. She hoped Hannah was feeling better. Y/N could run this all on her own but did not want to.

“Ms. Y/N, we’ve got paperwork to send in,” the young girl responded.

Y/N waved her in. She looked over, and it was a few signatures and two emails to send off about what they could provide for the upcoming Gala at the start of Summer. “It’s a Friday night. Please go out and enjoy it.”

Kacey stares at Y/N with a pensive look, and Y/N knows the girl will not be leaving without her.

“Fine. You email Mr. Cameron, letting him know he’ll be contacted on Monday with all they have planned for him. Then, from there, they’ll decide on a meeting time. I’ll manage Mrs. Cash’s change of theme. Twenty minutes?”

“More than enough.”

In record time, Y/N signs away one contract and makes a note to have their lawyer team revise the second. The email quickly gets done, and Y/N shuts down her computer. She won’t be back in until Tuesday, having requested a long weekend, weeks back when Harry told her the date he would be returning home.

Kacey is slipping her coat on when Y/N turns to face her. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Y/N and Kacey walk out of the office together, making small talk as they walk to their cars.

Kacey is telling Y/N about her weekend plans. “My girlfriend is taking me to see Hamilton.”

“How lovely,” Y/N loves the soundtrack. “I fear I know all the words yet have never seen the actual play,” Y/N confesses.

“I’ll let you know if it’s any good.”

They both know it will be.

Stopping in front of Y/N’s car, Kacey asks Y/N what she will do.

“Harry came back last night, simply spending time together. Opening up whatever gift he got me,” Y/N jokes but knows he has to have accumulated more than a few while away from her.

“Lovely, I’m surprised you came in,” Kacey shares honestly.

“Hannah being out was bad. We couldn’t make it two.”

“That’s true. I’ve heard stories about Mr. Styles and you,” Kacey shares timidly. “All good things,” she’s quick to add. “Everyone thinks you’re a lovely pair.”

Y/N feels her cheeks heat up. “Thank you. I’m fortunate.”

Kacey bids her goodbye. “Ms. Y/N,” Kacey calls out, making Y/N turn back to look at her assistant. “Think he’s the lucky one.”

For that alone, Y/N will make sure Kacey takes Monday off, too. No need for an assistant if the boss is out.

The drive to Harry’s house is calm for a late Friday night. The sun has set, and Y/N is ready to be in his arms again. She parks outside the garage and hurries inside. It’s a surprisingly lovely night for the end of Winter. She hangs her bag and slips on her brown teddy bear slippers, walking through the house trying to spot Harry. He knew she was coming home, the oven light on with what she assumed was their dinner. She can worry about food later. She wants a hug from her boyfriend.

Y/N spots the porch light on and approaches the French doors. She spots Harry lying on a large blanket, a few pillows thrown around him. He has a book on his chest and a mug by his head. She pictured doing this with him in the summer, but it's perfect on a nice night like tonight.

“Honey, I’m home.”

He sits up in a rush, the book falls to the grass, forgotten, and he reaches his hands out for her. “Beauty, hi.”

Y/N giggles as he pulls her to sit in his lap. His lips quick to meet hers, he kisses her as if she had been the one to be gone for three weeks and not a few hours. She moans against him as he slips his tongue in. Y/N, eager for more, pushes him back to lie on his back. Y/N breaks away to press kisses against his neck. Harry hisses as Y/N bites into his neck, but Y/N is quick to soothe it with a quick lick.

“Welcome home,” he pants.

Y/N shakes her head, giving him a final kiss before getting comfortable next to him. They look up at the sky together, and Y/N wonders if other lovers are looking up at the same sky at this very moment.

“Do you think aliens exist?” Y/N asks while she traces the constellations she sees on his chest.

“Probably. This world is too large to be just us.”

Y/N nods, “Do you think Gods exist?”

“Like Poseidon?”

“He’s one of them.”

Harry ponders this for a second, he kisses the top of her head. “I-I hmmm… I’m not sure how to answer. I don’t think I’ve ever thought much of it.”

“Eros is the son of Aphrodite, and his job is to help make love happen. Do you think he was a part of our story? Or was it simply fate?” Y/N isn’t sure what made her bring up this topic now, but she wants to know what Harry thinks. “We have all these ancient stories. We look up at constellations, and we know their stories. Many people will think of them simply as stories, but what if they were real people with real feelings, just like us.”

Y/N moves around until she’s sitting on his thighs, and he moves into a sitting position with his hands resting on her ass. “I think we all have the choice to believe. Believe that there is something beyond us looking out for us, but some believe they make their own future. I like to think all my roads led to you.”

“Cheesy,” Y/N rolls her eyes, but he can see she’s flustered.

“Whether Cupid struck me with an arrow or fate had set me on a course to you from the moment I was born, it led us here, loving each other wholeheartedly.”

“I love you, Harry Styles.” Y/N fists his shirt. “I hope to love you in every single lifetime.”

“Our love is beyond us. It’s bigger than us.”

Y/N is feeling overwhelmed. All her love was pouring out of her chest, and she could no longer express it. She did the next best thing and kissed him. Y/N feels time stop; her heart rate speeds up, but she only feels Harry. It’s as if they’re the only two people to exist. His hands tug her closer, Y/N sighs into his mouth, loving the closeness. She missed someone holding her while he was away, and now that he’s here, she no longer wants anything between them.

Y/N rocks on top of him. She moves in a steady rhythm, enjoying the feeling of having him so close.

“Beauty,” Harry moans.

“Mhm…”

“What are–”

She interrupts him. “Make love to me.” Y/N places a soft kiss on his lips.

Harry and Y/N had taken their relationship slow. They had to after the bad start because of Harry. He promised to be patient and understanding and had gone above and beyond. While they’ve given each other their fair share of orgasms, Harry is giving her much more. They never went beyond that. She could no longer wait, not when she loved and needed all of him. She felt like a part of her had gone missing with him gone for so long, but now she feels whole again.

“Make love to me,” she repeats, staring into his eyes.

“Anything you want, Beauty. I’ll give you.” Harry brushes her hair out of her face, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“Only want you.”

“You have me,” he promises.

Harry and Y/N walk into the house, kissing against every wall. Y/N laughs as he bumps her against the railing of the stairs. Harry gives her ass a nice smack. “Head on up, sweet girl.”

Y/N hurries to his bedroom while Harry gets water for both of them. When he gets to the bedroom, he finds Y/N sitting in the middle of the bed in her panties and bra. There is no mistaking what is happening tonight.

Harry stands at the edge of the bed and beckons Y/N to come closer. She does so quickly, sitting back on the heel of her feet.

“You sure about this, Y/N?” Harry checks in, needing to know where her head is at.

“Yes, Harry. I think I’ve made you wait long enough.”

Harry shakes his head. “Y/N, Beauty. Do not worry about me. I will wait forever for you. You have to know that,” he expresses. “You’re worth the wait. I would never dare push you, Beauty. Not for my own pleasure.”

Y/N wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in tight for a hug. “I love you so much. Thank you.”

Harry kisses her cheek. “I love you, baby.”

She leaned back to look at him, needing him to understand that she did want this. She wants everything with him. “Make love to me, Harry. Show me how good you can take care of me.”

Harry runs his hands up and down her arms. He sees goosebumps all over her body as he places light kisses up her neck. His hand caressed her shoulders while the kisses spread to her jaw, the anticipation eating her alive.

He kissed all the way up to her lips. As their lips met, she felt electricity shoot through her; his soft tongue parted her mouth and met hers. His hands now found home on her lower back, and he pulled her tight against his chest. The kiss deepened, and Harry began to lay her back. Y/N quickly accommodated, landing on the pillows and pulling Harry to land on top of her.

Harry’s hand reached her hip, caressing down her thigh. Y/N trembled, feeling his touch. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It’s beating fast, a nice reminder that she’s not the only one nervous. Their lips separated, and he looked into her eyes. Staring back at him, she nodded for him to continue.

Y/N had helped by removing most of her clothes, but she left her bra and panties for Harry. He traced a finger lightly over the top of her breast. Y/N pushed her chest out, begging for more, but he continued to take his time. Y/N pushed him to sit up, and she followed shortly after. She grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt, and he lifted it over his arms and head. She peeled it from his body and threw it onto the bedroom floor. Harry reached behind her and unclasped her bra. Y/N let the straps fall from her shoulders, the bra falling onto the bed, long forgotten. Y/N felt her face flush as she bared herself to him. She grinned as he took her in.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

“Stop it.”

Harry laughs, beckoning her over with a finger. “Come here.”

They’re both kneeling on the bed, his hands on her hips. She puts her arms around his neck, and their chests pressed against one another. Her hands found their way to his shorts, but she made no move to take them off; instead, she stared down at his bulge. She wanted a taste, as always, but he laid her down before she could move down. Her nipples were hard, calling for his attention. He took one in his mouth and sucked gently, then took a slight nibble. Y/N gasped, her hand falling on his shoulder, her nails putting pressure as he moved to do the same to the other one. Y/N’s moans filled the room as Harry focused on her breast; his hand moved down to rub her through her panties.

“Harry, please,” she begged.

He smirked, grabbing the elastic running around her waist. Y/N lifted her hips as he slid the panties off. He threw them on the floor and took in Y/N’s beautiful body. He wanted to kiss her everywhere, but one place was calling his name.

Harry gives Y/N a deep kiss on her lips and moves down her body. A kiss between her breasts, a trail of kisses down her stomach, a gentle kiss on her tattoo, down to her hips. He took a nip off her thighs before slowly beginning to lick Y/N’s pussy. He started slowly, letting Y/N get used to his tongue as he cleaned her up. Y/N’s moan got louder the more he kissed and sucked her juices.

“Fuck, Harry. Please,” she pleaded. “I need more.”

He knew exactly what she needed. Harry slipped a finger inside, moving it in and out as she got accustomed quickly, asking for a second. He was quick to comply, feeling her tense around him. To help her reach her orgasm, he sucked on her clit and curled his fingers, moving them in and out.

Y/N moaned, her thighs tensing around Harry as she came around his fingers. He places gentle kisses on her hips as Y/N comes down from her high. Y/N laughs, running a hand through his curls. “You’re amazing.”

He grins, slowly pulling his fingers out of her. He licks them clean while Y/N watches. Once he’s done, Y/N pulls him in for a kiss, not caring about the taste, simply needing him.

She reaches out for him, “your turn.”

Harry sighs, “Not tonight, baby.”

Y/N pouts. “Please?”

“Promise I’m more than ready. I need to feel you. I want to be close to you.”

Y/N couldn’t say no to that.

Harry discards his shorts and pumps himself spreading his precum over his cock. Y/N moans at the sight in front of her. Harry has always been beautiful, but he looked eternal right now. She can see how thick he is and can’t wait to make love to him. Y/N knows she’s ready for him. He rolled toward the nightstand and reached into the drawer. He pulled out a condom, but Y/N went to stop him before he could open it.

“I’m clean,” she breathed out.

“Y/N,” he starts, but she interrupts him.

“I want it. I’m on birth control. If you want the condom, we can, but this is what I want.” Y/N expressed. “What you want matters too.”

Harry was clean, he had his check-ups, and he was good. There was something so comforting about having the choice together, but his answer was clear: he wanted to feel all of her with nothing in between.

He tossed the condom away. “I’m clean, Beauty. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Y/N laid back down, and Harry positioned himself between her legs. After a silent conversation to check she was okay, he slowly slid inside. He pushed through, and Y/N let out a deep moan. He lowered his body onto hers and held her. He slowly pushed in until the rest of his cock was inside. He stilled, letting Y/N get used to the fullness. Y/N was wet, making it easy for him to pull out and slide back in, but he went in small steps to not overwhelm Y/N.

“I’m ready. Give me more.”

With the okay, he began to thrust in and out, her moans getting louder and longer. It felt so good being this close. Y/N was overwhelmed, but this was everything she wanted. She began to lift her hips into his thrusts, ramming her clit into the hilt of his cock. They rocked together, on and, for what felt like hours.

“Fuck, baby. You were made for me,” he groaned. “My perfect angel.”

Rocking against his every thrust, she ran her nails down his back as he moved faster. She was close to coming. Y/N told him she needed more, just a bit more; he knew exactly what to do as he rubbed his thumb over her clit. She could not contain the shouts and moans as her orgasm rushed through her.

Y/N screamed his name over and over as the feeling of pleasure rushed through her. As Y/N was coming down from the high, she could feel how hard Harry was still and knew they weren’t done. Not that she wanted to be.

She sat up with his help, grabbed his shoulders, and guided him down onto his back. Y/N climbed onto him and straddled his cock. She reached down and guided his cock into her pussy. He slipped in slowly as Y/N took him all in again. She rocked her hips back and forth once she settled on top of him. His hands reached up to rest on her hips. Y/N’s moans urged him to keep going.

“So pretty, rocking on my fucking cock.”

“Harry,” she cried.

Her moans were perfect. Everything he wished for and more.

“Fucking perfect. This cock is all yours. Yours to fuck.”

Harry was filthy in bed, everything she fucking wanted. Yes, it started sweet and romantic, his touches were still gentle and filled with love, but he was fucking her and loving her. Y/N let Harry rock her up and down, allowing him to use her body for his release. Y/N knew no matter what he did, she was going to come with him. Harry helped Y/N lift herself up and down on his cock. Y/N’s eyes were closed, and she moaned softly each time she rocked all the way back.

“So close, baby. So fucking close to coming in you.”

“Fill me up,” she breathed.

Harry felt himself tightening. He couldn’t hold on much longer. He was going to come in Y/N; he was going to fill her up. Y/N kissed him. It was hot, their tongues fighting for dominance, he easily let her win as his hands tangled in her hair, and he fucked into her pushing her to her final orgasm of the night. Harry groaned against her mouth as he let himself go against her walls. Y/N sighed against him as her orgasm ran through her like a wave. She felt light and in love. Y/N had made him wait to be ready, but she knew it was worth it.

He valued her as a person. Her opinions meant something to him. Y/N knew he loved her for who she was as a person, not only her looks.

Y/N parted their lips but didn’t move away. “I love you, Harry. You’re fucking beautiful.”

Harry laughed against her, his cheeks flushed at her gentle words. He squeezed her tight to his chest, kissing her wherever he could: her cheek, neck, shoulder, and lips. “I love love you.”

They held each other, letting warmth wash over them, whispering “I love you” and sweet promises of the future together. It’s everything they wanted and more.

After Harry helped her clean up and took a steaming hot shower together, they settled under the covers, ready to call it a night. Harry had put the TV on, knowing Y/N liked having background noise to fall asleep to, but she wasn’t sleeping. She was content to watch time go by. Harry traced shapes on her bare stomach while she tried to bite back a giggle, though one escaped every few minutes. Her nipples were hard, and if Harry kept going, he would be getting her ready for another round.

“Are you ready for the Gala season?” Y/N asked. “We’ve got the last weeks of winter before you have to share my time.”

“Not going to happen,” he kissed her bare shoulder. “Speaking off, you’ve got dresses arriving from Paris in a few weeks. Called in a few favors, your favorite designers only. A special piece from Daniel Roseberry. I know Schiaparelli is your favorite.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Y/N teased, knowing it was no use fighting against him. It was one of the ways he showed he loved her. There was no stopping him. Plus, this would be something she treasured. She’d look after these dresses, hoping one day to pass them down to the generations in her family.

“Love me?” Harry smiled.

Loving him is the easiest thing she will ever do in life.

+ + +

thank you for reading, sweet angel 🫶

#harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic rec #harry imagine #angst #styles #harry styles fluff #harry fluff #harry smut #fic rec #ENJOY!

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chronicallycouchbound · 9 months

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Let People On Food Stamps Eat Hot Meals

Particularly on cold, rainy days (like today), while unhoused, sometimes all I want is a hot meal but it’s so difficult (if not impossible) to cook outside in the rain.

On top of this, I’m physically disabled and chronically ill. Medically, I’m supposed to have assistance with making meals as part of in home care. But I can’t get in home care without a home.

I just finished making dinner for my partner and I, it took 2 hours (3 if you include clean up). My knees are burning, my back is aching in it’s core, I feel like I’m about to faint, and all my joints are screaming. But it’s the only way we could have a hot meal today and get some protein, which is vital for our health conditions.

People judge us for using what little funds we have on McDonald’s some days. Because sometimes, it’s the only hot meal we’ve had in days. And sometimes I’m physically unable to stand, move, and do all the actions needed to cook. Or I faint while cooking. Or the rain doesn’t let up. Or we don’t have access to a kitchen for the day. Or the fire danger outside is too high. The list goes on.

Without my own kitchen to use, I don’t get to sit down while I cook (right now, everything is wet from the rain), I can’t meal prep, I can’t stock up on freezer meals, I can’t use an oven or a microwave to reheat leftovers, I can’t just reach across the kitchen for a fridge item (we have a small amount of fridge space friends let us use), everything about cooking is exponentially harder.

And even if I had 24/7 access to an accessible, full kitchen, it’s not even physically safe to cook my own meals. Even then, having a pre-made, hot, ready-to-eat meal could keep me safe and give me independance.

And all the safety needs for hot meals aside, emotionally, hot meals are also life saving and comfort. Meals are a part of community, culture, love and art.

So many gatherings we have as communities center around food. Most people in the United States would think of ones that often hold great value to Western culture. Mother’s Day breakfast. Spaghetti fundraisers. Wedding cakes. Birthday dinners. Bake sales. Carnival treats. BBQs on weekends. Holiday roasts. Lunches with friends. Casseroles brought to grieving neighbors.

Our world revolves around food.

I firmly believe that no poor person could ever “take advantage” of a system designed to feed us by using food stamps on hot food. This restrictive rule serves no purpose but to punish the most vulnerable of poor people— unhoused, disabled, and those of us living in unsafe conditions.

It also serves to restrict our access to joy and comfort. The joy can sometimes come from the food itself, but also the joy from having shared experiences solidified by the sounds of laughter and forks clinking on plates. The comfort can sometimes also be from the food itself, but also the experience of being loved and cared for while your close friend brings you pizza from your favorite restaurant because you lost your drive to eat three weeks ago and they worry about you. They know you. Those slices of pizza bring color back into your world.

Poor people deserve to be able to have the comfort, joy, and care that goes into a hot meal. We deserve the autonomy to choose foods that are best for us ourselves. We deserve to be able to eat in ways that are accessible to us.

Above all, we deserve access to hot meals.

Originally posted to my blog on 6.3.22

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genshinluvr · 10 months

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Prisoner of the Mind

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: You couldn't join March, Mr. Yang, Dan Heng, and Caelus on their trip to Jarilo-VI after Gepard and Sampo informed them of an issue in Belobog. The Astral Express is under attack, putting you and Pom-Pom in a dangerous situation, leading to you sacrificing yourself to save the train's conductor. Needless to say, the Aeon of Destruction was not too pleased about it.

Note: I have officially written the first hurt/comfort fic for the HSR one-shot series! I hope you all like this fic because I enjoyed typing it out, and it got me tearing up a little, not gonna lie! I have officially made a taglist for my Honkai Star Rail fics and series! It will be linked down below for those who want to be tagged in future fics (and along with past fics if you choose that option) ^^ Man, now I have to start planning this upcoming week's fic. I wonder what it will be 🤔 I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Reader gets attacked, mentions of blood

Word Count: 7.4k

Mr. Yang, March, Caelus, and Dan Heng is off the Astral Express, leaving you with Himeko and Pom-Pom. You usually tag along with them when they go trailblazing or when they’re exploring other ships and planets. But unfortunately, you can’t tag along with them this time because they’re going on a dangerous mission, and having you tag along with them can put your safety at risk. You didn’t want to get in their way by getting hurt or putting a target on your back just by being there. Actually, that was a lie because you offered to tag along with them, and they didn’t want you to go with them.

“There’s nothing to worry about, [Y/N],” Himeko says, ruffling your hair.

You sigh and lean back on the chair, looking out the window of the Astral Express. The stars are shining, and Jarlio-VI looks the same as it has always been. Iced over and devoid of life. There’s something nagging at you, but you can’t put your finger on it. It doesn’t feel pleasant, and you’re constantly looking out the window to see what’s going on, even though you can’t see what’s going on down there on Jarlio-VI.

A few days ago, while traversing through space in the Astral Express, Caelus received a text from Gepard and Sampo. Something was going on in Belobog, and they needed help as soon as possible. You offered to tag along, but of course, your offer was shot down almost immediately by the three men.

“You’re not going with us,” Mr. Yang states, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your eyes widen with disbelief. “What?! Why not? This isn’t the first time I’m tagging along with you guys!” You exclaimed, frowning at the older man.

Mr. Yang looks at Caelus, Dan Heng, and March as if he’s asking them to help him. The three stare in return before looking at you. You had this big frown on your face, and your eyebrows were furrowed with confusion and maybe anger. You were more confused than angry because why would you get upset over them not wanting you to tag along?

Dan Heng sighs. “Caelus received a text from Sampo and Gepard about the situation in Belobog. It won’t be safe if you come with us,” Dan Heng says.

You opened your mouth to retort but only to let out an apprehensive sigh. Caelus walks to you, grabs you by the shoulders, and gazes into your eyes while squatting down to your eye level. You turned your head to avoid his eyes, but Caelus grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

Caelus sighs and gives you a weak smile. “I know you want to come along with us, but we can’t have you come with us for your safety. The situation in Belobog is a safety risk for you, and we don’t want you to get hurt or caught in the middle of it all,” Caelus says.

How was it a safety risk for you when it’s also a safety risk for them? The only thing that’s different between you and them is that they have weapons, and you don’t. And you’re not from their world, but you’ve been adjusting to their universe just fine! With the help of your dear friends from the Astral Express, Xianzhou Luofu, and Jarilo-VI, you’re doing great at getting used to your new environments.

Caelus continues to stare at you with his honey-gold eyes. You sigh and close your eyes, turning your head away from Caelus. Caelus frowns and releases your chin from his grasp, turning to look at March, Mr. Yang, and Dan Heng helplessly. March clears her throat, approaching you and Caelus with a faint smile.

“Oh, cheer up, [Y/N]! I know you want to tag along with us, but maybe you can stay back on the Astral Express just this once! Plus, it’s going to be somewhere freezing in Jarilo-VI, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be somewhere freezing while the four of us are out and about!” March says, propping her hands on her hips.

Damn, March isn’t wrong about that. You’re not a huge fan of the weather on Jarilo-VI, and standing in the blizzard while March, Dan Heng, Mr. Yang, and Caelus help Gepard and Sampo with the problems in Belobog is something you don’t want to do. An idea suddenly pops up in your head, and your eyes brighten. Since it’s Sampo and Gepard that contacted Caelus about the problem, you might as well hang out with Luka at Boulder Town Super League while they’re dealing with the situation.

You clear your throat. “Since the four of you, along with Sampo and Gepard, are going to be busy, can I hang out with Luka at the Boulder Town Super League?” You ask, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Mr. Yang gives you a sympathetic smile and chuckles. “Sweetheart, Luka is going to be coming along with us as well. While we don’t have his phone number like you, Sampo mentioned bringing a friend with him for this situation,” said Mr. Yang.

March, Dan Heng, and Caelus’ heads snap toward Mr. Yang’s direction after hearing Mr. Yang’s slip up. Mr. Yang didn’t seem to notice it, and neither have you. Instead of throwing a fit or insisting that you tag along with them, you sighed in defeat and nodded. It looks like your chances of visiting Jarilo-VI are nonexistent at this point.

Caelus looks at Dan Heng, mouthing, ‘Sweetheart?’ only to earn a shrug from the black-haired man. Caelus clears his throat and nods. “Right, uh, Sampo mentioned a friend he’s bringing with him. As much as we would love to bring you along, we don’t want to give you a babysitter. Remember what happened last time?” Caelus asked, raising his eyebrows at you.

You pursed your lips and rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet. Of course, you remembered what happened the last time you were assigned a babysitter. You got a golf ball-sized bump on your face with a bruise accompanying the bump. It wasn’t pretty, but you certainly met someone pretty that day. That person happened to be the friend of Sampo Koski himself, who is tagging along with your Astral Express and Belobog friends to the site of the issue.

“That’s beside the point. As harsh as it sounds, you’re not leaving the Astral Express. You can join us when we’re heading to the Xianzhou Luofu, alright?” Dan Heng said.

You nodded glumly. You can’t help but feel like you’re being grounded for something you didn’t do. But you will do as they say and stay on the train. March ruffled your hair before draping her arms over your shoulders, pulling you in for a hug.

You hugged March tightly. “When are you guys leaving?” You ask, peeking from March’s shoulders.

Mr. Yang replied almost immediately after you asked, “The Astral Express is heading there right now.”

“And how long will you five be gone for?” You ask.

“We don’t know how long we’ll be on Jarilo-VI. It can be a few days, a few hours, or longer than that, depending on the situation,” replied Dan Heng.

You frowned and pulled away from the hug, and sighed. There’s not much for you to do now. All you could do was hope for the best and that everyone involved came out unscathed and safe.

The conversation you had with your traveling companions was a few days ago, and they have yet to return to the Astral Express. You’re on edge and constantly check your phone to make sure they’re okay and alive. Luckily, they respond to your messages fast in the Astral Express group chat. The only time they won’t respond to your message is when they’re in the middle of something they can’t disclose. Of course, they let you know that ahead of time. And now you’re here, sitting on the Astral Express, looking out the window with zero interest.

Himeko sighs. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my cabin, alright? Feel free to stop by,” says Himeko, smiling at you before walking off after you nod.

Once you’re finally alone, you tilt your head back and close your eyes. No matter how many times you zoned out, time seems to be going slower than it is. You crack your eyes open and check your phone for the umpteenth time, only to see no notifications. Not even from Blade, Luocha, or Jing Yuan. Everyone is busy but you. Maybe a nap will take your mind off what’s going on, and maybe Nanook can keep you company.

After arriving at your bedroom, you plug your phone into the charger before collapsing on your bed and closing your eyes. You blindly reach for the lamp on your nightstand and switch the light off. Exhaustion soon overcomes you, your eyelids feel heavy, and you slowly drift to sleep. You didn’t know how long you were asleep, but when you woke up, everything was pitch black.

You’re miffed that you didn’t see Nanook. You weren’t sure if Nanook was busy, but whenever you go to sleep, you always see Nanook. You didn’t think you did anything to make him upset, plus none of you have gotten off on the wrong foot. Something was wrong, and you don’t know what it is. You reach for the nightstand to turn the lights on, but it doesn’t turn on. You flip the switch repeatedly, but the room remains pitch-dark.

“Dammit. Is the lamp dead?” You sit up and blindly search for your phone in the darkness of your room. You turn your phone on to see that you got a message from Himeko.

1 Message from Himeko („• ֊ •„)

Himeko: “Hey, sleepy head! I got an urgent message from the gang, and they needed my assistance. Sorry to leave the Express without informing you about it. Remember to stay on the ship and do not leave! See you soon!”

You stare at the message that was sent forty-five minutes ago. You’re not sure if you should respond to Himeko’s message. But you didn’t want to leave her on read, so you typed out a message to the redhead.

Y/N: “Urgent message? Are they okay? I didn’t get a notification about it in the group chat…. Did they send the message to you separately?”

Message failed to send.

You furrow your eyebrows. That’s strange.

Y/N: “Himeko?”

Message failed to send.

You kick your blankets off your legs and run to the door. You swing the door open and freeze when you’re met with nothing but darkness. The only source of light was the starry skies shining from the window of the Astral Express. You clutch on your phone tightly, stepping into the pitch-black hallways, swallowing your fears. You turn your phone flashlight, shining it into the darkness that is the Astral Express. Is there a power outage? What happened to Pom-Pom? The thought of Pom-Pom hiding somewhere in the train makes you sprint out of the Passenger Cabins to the Parlor Car, mentally praying to yourself that Pom-Pom is at least safe.

The door to the Parlor Car slams open, and you run into the darkness, shining your phone flashlight while searching for the conductor. Despite there being windows in the train, it doesn’t make the train any brighter. You can’t hear anything else other than blood pounding in your ears. The silence is deafening.

You whimper out, “Pom-Pom? Are you there?”

You’re met with silence. Not even a peep from the conductor of the Astral Express. You hear something shuffling behind you, causing you to snap your head in the direction of the sound. There, hiding behind the chair, is Pom-Pom. Pom-Pom peeks from the chair, shivering with fear.

You sigh in relief. “There you are, Pom-Pom! I was so worried about you!” You said, jogging toward Pom-Pom.

Pom-Pom’s eyes widen, pointing behind you. “Watch out!” Pom-Pom shrieks.

Without thinking, you dive to the ground. You roll over to your knees and turn to look at the thing Pom-Pom pointed at. Right behind you was the Voidranger Reaver, preparing to strike again. You gulp and slowly take a step back, grabbing onto Pom-Pom and pulling the conductor into your arms. There’s no way you and Pom-Pom will be able to escape without getting a couple of cuts.

There are so many questions you want to ask Pom-Pom, but your mind is racing and is all over the place. Your main objective is to try to escape with Pom-Pom and seek help. The Astral Express is no longer safe for you and Pom-Pom. Who knows what else is going to show up on the train.

“Help is on the way! I managed to send out an SOS signal to Himeko and Welt. They should be back soon,” Pom-Pom says, tugging on your shirt.

“How soon?” You whisper, eyes scanning the darkness, searching for an exit.

You’re fucked. You and Pom-Pom are doomed. There’s no escape. There’s no way for you to escape, and you’re fucking terrified. You want to cry. You’re shaking, but you’re trying your best to put on a brave face, but you’re not sure how long it’ll last. Whatever Pom-Pom was saying, it went in one ear and out the other. You grit your teeth, hugging Pom-Pom tightly to your chest before sprinting past the Voidranger Reaver.

The only safe place is your bedroom. You’re not sure if your bedroom door will be able to hold the Voidranger Reaver back. You’re not skilled in any weapon, it’s dark, and you don’t think Himeko and Mr. Yang will make it on time before something happens. You’re fucked. You’re fucked. You run to the Passenger Cabin, hearing the Voidranger Reaver sprinting after you.

You’re so close to your room. So close. You’re so close. Your feet hit the ground, Pom-Pom whimpering in fear, and the vicious growls from the Voidranger Reaver ring in your ears.

You’re so close to your bedroom. Before you can reach your bedroom, you come to a complete stop, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. Two more Voidranger Reavers step out from the shadows, ready to attack you and Pom-Pom.

“[Y/N]....” Pom-Pom whimpers, tugging on your shirt.

You pat Pom-Pom’s back with shaky hands. “We’ll be okay, Pom-Pom. I promise,” you whisper. An idea pops up in your head. “Please forgive me, Conductor.”

“H-Hey! Why are you apologizing?!” Pom-Pom exclaims, looking at you with wide eyes.

You didn’t respond. You lift Pom-Pom and throw him over the two Voidranger Reavers and toward your bedroom. When Pom-Pom lands on the floor of your room, the three Voidranger Reavers start attacking you. Slicing your body to shreds. The sounds of your scream echo throughout the pitch-black train.

Your vision blurs, blood pours from every cut on your body, your ears ring, and your legs give out from underneath you. The last thing you see before darkness consumes your vision is the lights turning on in the Astral Express.

Nothing can prepare Welt, Himeko, Caelus, March, and Dan Heng when they arrive at the Astral Express. Sampo, Luka, and Gepard offered to come and help after the five Astral Express crew members were able to help the trio with the issue on Belobog. The Astral Express was under attack by a couple of Voidranger Reavers, but luckily it was only a small number. However, they weren’t prepared to see the damages the Voidranger Reavers caused when they stepped onto the Astral Express.

Furniture was thrown around, and objects were thrown around and askew. There were no signs of Pom-Pom on board, and there were no signs of you in the Parlor Car. Everyone was hoping you and Pom-Pom were safe somewhere on the Astral Express, but the moment they stepped into the Passenger Cabin, time seemed to have stood still from there.

You were lying lifeless on the ground while three Voidranger Reavers continuously slashed your body. Blood pooled from beneath you, painting the floors crimson red as the smell of copper filled the air. The door to your bedroom is wide open, letting the others get a glimpse of the shaking and sobbing train conductor. Dan Heng was the first to attack the Voidranger Reavers, and others soon followed after.

Once the three Voidranger Reavers were defeated and they all evaporated into thin air, Welt was immediately by your side, pressing his hand against your neck. There’s a pulse, but it’s faint. So faint that he can barely feel it with his gloves on— making him take his glove off and place his index and middle fingers on your neck to the side of your windpipe.

“Someone, contact the Xianzhou Luofu. We need all of the help we can get,” Caelus barks, covering your shredded and bleeding body with his jacket, attempting to stop the bleeding.

Caelus, Welt, and Dan Heng carefully lift you from the ground. March rushes over to a sobbing Pom-Pom, comforting the train conductor while rushing Pom-Pom out of the Passenger Cabin. Gepard, Sampo, and Luka look at one another, not saying a word.

Sampo runs his trembling hands through his hair. “They’re not going to die, are they? Please tell me they’ll be okay,” Sampo whispers, biting on his bottom lip.

“They’ll be okay. They have to be! There’s no way any of us will let them slip from our fingers,” Gepard replies, his hands shaking.

“How can you be so sure? [Y/N] lost so much blood! The floors are literally painted with their blood,” Luka mutters, his eyes never leaving the pool of blood on the once pristine floors of the Astral Express.

The only thing they can do is wait to arrive. While Dan Heng, Welt, and Caelus are trying to put pressure on your wounds to stop the bleeding, Himeko struts through the hallways of the Astral Express with Jing Yuan, Luocha, and Blade following close behind. While Himeko mainly contacted Luocha about the situation, Luocha was quick to inform Jing Yuan and Blade of the state you’re in.

“Hand them to me,” Luocha states, holding his arms out.

Welt, Dan Heng, and Caelus carefully lower your body in Luocha’s arms before watching the blond man disappear to your bedroom to tend your wounds. Jing Yuan and Blade stare at the bloodied floor. There were bloody handprints on the walls and floors of the Astral Express. You tried to put up a fight, but you were outnumbered and were brutally injured by the Voidrangers Reavers.

Jing Yuan sighs, rubbing his temples. “How did this happen?”

Blade chuckles humorlessly. “And I thought the Astral Express was safe for [Y/N] to stay at, but I was wrong,” Blade mutters.

“I understand we’re all tensed and worried about [Y/N], but now is not the time to start an argument. I don’t care who you are or what you mean to [Y/N]. They’re in their room, fighting for their life right now, and you think it’s a good time to start something?” Gepard demands, glaring at the long, dark-haired man before him.

Blade’s red eyes flicker to Gepard’s face, staring at the Captain of the Silvermane Guards wordlessly. Blade clenches his jaws, walking over to the closed door of your room. He leans against the wall, closing his eyes, trying to listen to any sound that comes from your room. He hears nothing.

“Cheer up, everyone! On the bright side, Mr. Yang was able to feel a pulse. The downside is waiting for them to recover,” Sampo says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Luka sighs, closing his eyes. “While we wait for Luocha to treat [Y/N]’s injuries, we should organize and clean up the Astral Express while we wait,” Luka comments.

Everyone was reluctant to leave the Passenger Cabin to organize the furniture of the Parlor Car. The Parlor Car took less damage and wasn’t nearly as horrendous as the Passenger Cabin. Pom-Pom had a hard time trying to resume his duties as the conductor of the Astral Express. All Pom-Pom wanted to do was to check and see if you were okay. Still, the others prevented him from entering the Passenger Cabin because the Passenger Cabin was going under a deep clean.

“[Y/N] will be okay, Pom-Pom. You have nothing to worry about. Luocha is tending [Y/N]’s wounds right now, and he should be finished soon,” Jing Yuan reassures Pom-Pom.

Pom-Pom sniffles, blinking at the General while his bottom lips tremble. The others don’t know what else to say to console the conductor. Pom-Pom witnessed you get attacked mercilessly. You willingly sacrifice yourself to make sure Pom-Pom is safe and out of harm’s way. While scared shitless and fearing for your life, you put someone else before you because you would rather take the hit than have someone take the hit for you.

“I’m going to make sure there aren’t any breaches on the train,” Blade mutters, walking away from the group.

After what feels like days, Luocha steps into the Parlor Car, looking visibly relieved. Everyone immediately stands up, walking to the blond man. Luocha rubs his temples, letting out a deep breath.

“After five hours of treating [Y/N]’s injuries, [Y/N] is now in a stable condition. If any of you are going to stop by and make sure they’re okay, please keep your voices down while they rest,” Luocha instructs.

Luocha turns around and walks to your bedroom, with everyone following. The Passenger Cabin is clean, and there aren’t any traces of your blood left behind. The smell of cleaning solution and air freshener wafts through the air, drowning the smell of your blood that barely lingers in the air. Luocha grabs the handle to your room and slides the door open. One by one, each person steps into your dimly lit bedroom. You lay on your bed, sound asleep. Bandages wrap around your body from the neck down, while small bandaids patch up the smallest cuts on your face.

“How long will it take for them to recover?” Sampo whispers, turning to look at Luocha.

Luocha shrugs, sighing. “That’s the issue. I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to recover. [Y/N] is in stable conditions, but now it’s up to them on when they will regain their consciousness,” Luocha replies.

Gepard takes a step toward your bed, grabbing your frail hands and brushing his thumb over the bandages wrapped around your hands. To any other person, you look like you’re asleep, dreaming about anything. But to the others, it seems like you’re lying on your deathbed with one foot in the grave. It’s terrifying. To see you in such a state scares everyone.

Gepard clears his throat. “And you said they’re in stable condition, correct?” Gepard asks, keeping his eyes on you.

Luka clears his throat. “I believe Luocha mentioned that a few times already, Gepard,” Luka comments, approaching the blond man and standing by his side.

Poor sweet Gepard. The once cool, calm, and collected Captain of the Silvermane Guard has a hard time trying to digest the image before him. Gepard is trying everything in his power not to break down in tears in front of everyone around him. You almost died. You were standing in front of death’s doorsteps, ready to walk through the doors, leaving him and the others for good.

But you didn’t walk through those doors. Luocha managed to heal you and patch your wounds, preventing you from taking your last breath.

Jing Yuan sits at the edge of your bed, tucking you in your bed and brushing your hair away from your face. Jing Yuan sighs, caressing your cheek. “What horrors did you face before your unfortunate fate?” Jing Yuan whispers, scanning your unconscious face.

Everyone remains silent in your room, staring at your unconscious body. Welt, Dan Heng, and Caelus can’t help but drown in guilt. You wanted to join them, and they wouldn’t let you tag along with them due to safety concerns. But look where that landed you in. You’re injured, you were so close to death, but Luocha was able to save you and prevent that from happening.

Everyone starts to slowly and reluctantly leave your bedroom. Before they leave, they would squeeze your unconscious hand and whisper apologies for not arriving on time and for failing to protect you. Everyone is ridden with guilt. Soon enough, you’re left alone in the comfort of your bedroom.

You jerk up with a gasp, only to find yourself in someone’s muscular arms. You look up to see Nanook. The Aeon stares down at you while cradling you in his arms. You blink at him and rub your eyes sleepily, looking around the void. You freeze when you realize you’re not your regular height. You’re almost the same height as Nanook. You and Nanook are covering the sun and the sky.

Nanook tucks your hair behind your ears, kissing the shell of your ears, sighing. “How are you feeling, little one?” Nanook whispers.

“I’m tired, but I’m also confused,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

You and Nanook sit in silence. Nanook runs his fingers through your hair, rubbing your back and holding you close to his chest. There’s no space between you two, but you didn’t mind it. It feels nice to be in someone’s arms. It feels nice to be held. You’ve been yearning for someone to touch and hold you. You can’t help but notice your entire body feels tingly. You shift around in Nanook’s arms, opening your eyes to look down at your body. When you did that, you let out a choked gasp and jolted in Nanook’s grasp, startling the Aeon of Destruction.

You hold out your arm, looking up at Nanook. “Nanook... What’s going on!?” You whisper.

There are stars decorating your skin from head to toe. The stars glitter on your skin like diamonds and precious gems. It’s all over your body, and you don’t know what to do, nor do you know how it got there. You try to wipe it off your skin, only for it not to budge. It’s like you have an entire galaxy scattering across your body.

Nanook grabs your chin and tilts your head up. “The stars are healing you, little one. You were gravely injured back on the train. I couldn’t bear to see you suffer,” Nanook whispers.

You swallow the lump in your throat. The Astral Express. The attack. Pom-Pom. You sacrifice yourself to save Pom-Pom. All of it happened so fast that you could barely process the thought of it. Wait a minute, you’re not dead, are you? Sure, Nanook said the stars are healing you, but what about your physical body outside of your mind? Outside of the void?

“I’m not dead, am I?” You whisper.

Nanook snorts, shaking his head. “No, sweetheart. You’re not dead, little one. Your physical body is currently recovering. That blond man was able to heal your injured body,” Nanook says, kissing your forehead.

You close your eyes, sighing in relief. You’re so glad you’re not dead.

“Besides, I wouldn’t let you die. Not on my watch,” Nanook mutters.

You smile, wrapping your arms around Nanook’s torso and sighing with contentment. It’s just you and Nanook in the void. No dangers lurking in the corner, no one to bother you. It’s just you and Nanook surrounded by the glittering stars of the abyss, enjoying each other’s presence in silence.

While you’re with Nanook, your physical body has healed back to its original form before the attack. No scars are left on your body, and there are no bruises and small cuts. You look good as new. Luocha did a fantastic job at healing your body, and he would like to pat himself on the back for that. Despite your body being fully healed and in perfect condition, you did not wake up.

You’re still unconscious, but it’s like you’re sleeping instead of being in a coma. You move around in your sleep and react to the sounds around you, but you have yet to open your eyes since the attack.

“I thought they would regain their consciousness by now,” Blade mutters, sitting at the end of your bed while staring at your unconscious body.

Luocha sighs, getting up from your bed and crossing his arms over his chest. “While [Y/N] is physically healed of their injuries, it’s up to them to decide when to wake up from their unconsciousness,” says Luocha.

“But it's been days since the attack! How much longer are they going to be unconscious? Are you sure [Y/N]’s okay?” Sampo asks, looking at Luocha pleadingly.

Yes, it’s been days since the incident, and there are no signs of you waking up any time soon. Yes, you react to the noises around you, and yes, you’re physically okay and have healed from your injuries, but you’re still not awake. March wanted to make sure you didn’t wake up and then go back to sleep to play tricks on everyone, so she would check up on you every other hour (if she wasn’t asleep).

Everyone has decided to stop by your room to visit you every day, making sure you’re still breathing. Luocha even took that chance to make sure there weren’t any internal injuries or bleeding, and thankfully, there were none. You’re physically okay, but mentally…. They’re not sure about that.

“They must’ve been so scared in their final moments,” March whispers.

Caelus gives March a look. “March, why are you putting it that way? It’s like you’re implying [Y/N]’s dead!” Caelus scolds the pink-haired girl.

March huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, it’s been days since we last saw [Y/N] open their eyes! Not being able to text them, talk to them, hang out with them feels like an eternity!” March exclaims.

While unconscious, you still managed to pick up every noise around you. You flinch and whimper in your unconscious state, eyebrows furrowing. Mr. Yang looks at March and Caelus, shaking his head with disapproval.

“March, I understand you miss them, but you need to remember that we can’t control when they can regain consciousness,” says Mr. Yang.

Dan Heng pinches the bridge of his nose before approaching your bed. He sits at the edge of your bed and stares at your unconscious face. The longer Dan Heng stares at your face, the more he realizes something is off.

“What’s that?” Dan Heng asks.

Gepard walks over to where Dan Heng is standing, watching the black-haired man gently grab your face and tilt your head to the side. The others crowd behind Dan Heng and Gepard, staring at your face while trying to see what Dan Heng is looking at. If anyone were to blink, they would’ve missed it because it was quick to appear and disappear.

Gold runs through your veins across your face. The pattern reminds them of thunder. It starts at the base of your neck, slithering up and across your face before disappearing. Gepard gently nudges Dan Heng to caress your head. Gepard pulls your eyelids up, and alas, the color of your eyes changes from your original eye color to gold.

“Could it be….?” Gepard trails off, furrowing his eyebrows with concentration.

Gepard blinks, and your eyes return to their original color. Blade turns to look at the other men, his chest puffing with anger while gritting his teeth. He clenches his hands into tight fists until they turn white underneath his gloves.

“Is it possible for Nanook, the Aeon of Destruction, to hold [Y/N] as a prisoner in their mind?” Blade asks.

Jing Yuan chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We can’t be certain that Nanook is holding [Y/N] a prisoner in their mind. It’s possible that the Aeon is doing that, but [Y/N] sustained many injuries, and it’s possible their body is keeping them in a comatose state for them to fully heal mentally and physically,” Jing Yuan explains.

Luka hums, shrugging his shoulders. While Luka may have known you for a short time compared to the other men, he doubts Nanook is going to harm you. Before meeting you, Sampo and Gepard would describe you as “Nanook’s chosen one” to Luka. It’s a ridiculous title, but it’s the best they can do to describe how important you are to Nanook. They would praise your beauty and mention the strong connection they feel to you when they’re with you and when they meet you for the first time.

“What if Nanook is keeping [Y/N] asleep because he’s worried about their safety? Like Blade said, it’s possible for Nanook to keep them as a prisoner. I don’t think prisoner isn’t the best way to describe the situation, but Nanook has never hurt [Y/N], has he?” Luka asks, turning to look at the eight men.

Mr. Yang sighs, shaking his head. “[Y/N] never mentioned anything about Nanook hurting them in any way. The only thing we know is that Nanook is very fond of [Y/N], hence why they’re in our world in the first place. Nanook would communicate with [Y/N] through their dreams every time they fall asleep,” Mr. Yang explains, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

While the men are discussing the situation and what they all have witnessed, in your unconscious mind, you’re lying against Nanook. You don’t know how long you’ve been with Nanook, but you like the peace and quiet. While you love being in the void with Nanook, basking in his presence, light touches, and affections, you can’t help but find the void a little bit dull and boring.

How does Nanook deal with this alone? Maybe Nanook is used to it because he’s been around for thousands of years compared to you, a newcomer. You move away from Nanook, grabbing the Aeon’s attention. You sigh, looking around at the sparkling stars in the night sky. Nanook peeks at you, gazing at you worriedly when you let out an apprehensive sigh. Nanook wraps his arms around your waist, pressing his bare chest against your back.

Nanook presses his lips against the shell of your ear. “What’s wrong? Why are you sighing like that?” Nanook murmurs, massaging your hip bones while resting his chin on your shoulders.

How do you tell Nanook that you know he’s keeping you in your “dreams” for a long time? You tried to wake up, but you can’t. You have tried many methods of trying to wake yourself up from this never-ending dream, only to fail in the end. You love being with Nanook, and you don’t mind being in the void with the Aeon, but you can’t possibly stay here forever, can you?

“I know you’re keeping me here, and you’re not letting me leave,” you said hesitantly.

Crap that sounds bad. You didn’t mean for it to come out that way. Think, [Y/N], think! You turn to look at the Aeon of Destruction, who gazes at you blankly. Even though Nanook is gazing at you emotionlessly, you can’t help but feel intimidated by the look he’s giving you. You gulp and grab Nanook’s hands, squeezing them.

You smile at him. “I’m not upset with you for wanting to keep me here. I want to know why you’re keeping me here and refusing to let me wake up,” you murmur.

Nanook sighs, releasing your hand before backing away from you. You let your hands fall to your side as you watch him grow in size. It took you a few seconds to realize you’re back to your original size, and Nanook is now towering over you, still covering the sun and the sky. Fuck, Nanook is not upset with you, is he?

“That is none of your concern, little one,” Nanook states, crossing his arms over his chest.

You frown. “It is very much my business, Nanook. You’re keeping me here with you when my physical body is lying on my bed, unconscious, while my friends are probably wondering why I’m still not awake!” You exclaim.

You wince when your voice echoes in the abyss. Nanook stares at you with a deep frown. You sigh, turning away from Nanook and walking away. You didn’t get far. A hand grabs your wrist, turning you around to face the hand that belongs to a certain Aeon. Nanook, now standing before you, is frowning at you. While he’s the size of a regular person, he continues to tower over you like the men you call your very friends. You assume Nanook is the same height as Jing Yuan but maybe slightly taller than the white-haired General of the Xianzhou Luofu.

“Your friends failed to keep you safe. They left you alone on that train, and what happened? The Astral Express was under attack, and it nearly cost your life!” Nanook growls. “You’re safer here with me than you are with them! Why should I trust them to be around you when they failed at something they were supposed to do in the first place?!”

Tears blur your vision, and you look away from Nanook. Nanook sighs and caresses your face, wiping the tears that slowly make their way down your cheeks. He pulls you into his arms, wrapping both arms around your shoulders while caressing the back of your head and kissing your forehead. You wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face into his chest.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you, my precious gem. Witnessing you getting attacked and not being able to do something about it hurts me deeply. I thought I could trust your traveling companions to protect you, but I was wrong,” Nanook murmurs.

You tighten your grip around Nanook, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s not Nanook’s fault for not being able to protect you, nor is it your friends’ fault either. They wanted you to stay on the Astral Express to protect you, and it was going smoothly until the Astral Express was under attack. It wasn’t like they could predict what was going to happen to the train while they were away.

You swallow the lump in your throat, rubbing Nanook’s back. “It’s no one’s fault, Nanook. My friends were trying to protect me from the dangers on Jarilo-VI, but they didn’t think the Astral Express was going to be under attack. Please don’t blame them or yourself. It’s no one’s fault,” you whisper, pulling away from the hug.

Nanook stares at you. A deep frown remains on Nanook’s face while his eyebrows are furrowing with frustration. You gingerly reach up to Nanook’s face, rubbing his eyebrows, causing the Aeon to stare at you with confusion. Nanook grabs your wrist, raising an eyebrow at you. You and Nanook stare at each other in silence.

“What are you doing?” Nanook mutters, tilting his head to the side.

You clear your throat, lowering your hands awkwardly. “You were furrowing your eyebrows. I thought I should smooth the scrunch away,” you reply.

Nanook smiles with amusement, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and burying his face into your neck. “Stars, I don’t want to share you with anyone else.” Nanook thinks, squeezing you so tight you swear your back might pop. “Why can’t I have you for myself?”

Nanook snaps out of his thoughts when you call his name softly.

“Are you alright?” You whisper, carding your fingers through his soft, luscious hair.

Nanook exhales deeply through his nostrils, nodding in response. Nanook doesn’t want you to regain your consciousness outside of the void. He can keep you here for eternity for all he’d like, but that would be selfish of him to do so. But why does it matter? Nanook is the one that brought you into this universe in the first place! Why do other people have to interfere and develop feelings for you too? It’s simply not fair. Nanook wants you for himself, and he doesn’t want to share you with anyone.

POP!

You groan and pat Nanook’s biceps to grab his attention. “You just popped my back, Nanook. Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask, lightly pushing him away to get a clear look at his face.

Nanook quickly apologizes and peppers your face with small kisses. You sigh and lean into his arms while he sways side to side with you. Your eyelids begin to get heavy as you slowly fall asleep, your vision turning black, and the last thing you feel is Nanook kissing your forehead.

The voices around you are muffled, almost like you’re underwater, and they’re above the surface. As you regain consciousness, you realize the voices around you are bickering. You groan and smack the nearest thing, earning a loud yelp.

“Ouch! Gumdrop, why did you hit me?!” Sampo whines.

You crack your eyes open to see nine faces peering down at you. Dear Aeons, you did not expect to see nine faces staring at you while you were unconscious. You rub your eyes and try to sit up. Sampo tackles you into a hug, squeezing you tightly. You groan when you feel your back pop. Gepard and Luocha grab Sampo by the shoulders and pull the indigo-haired man back.

“Be careful! [Y/N] is still recovering from their injury,” Gepard says, shaking his head with disapproval.

Luocha kneels beside you and brushes your hair from your face. “How are you feeling, Stardust? Any aches and pains?” Luocha asks, eyeing you closely.

You move your arms, move and stretch your legs. So far, you feel fine as ever! “I feel okay. Nothing is hurting, but I do feel like I need to go to a chiropractor,” you say, rubbing the knot in your back.

“[Y/N]. We’re so sorry this happened to you. You wanted to join us, and we didn’t let you accompany us to Jarilo-VI because we wanted to keep you safe from danger. Instead, the Astral Express was under attack, and you were gravely injured,” Caelus says, grabbing your hands and squeezing them.

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault. None of us knew this was going to happen, Caelus. No one is at fault,” you whisper.

“We feel guilty for what happened. We’re not leaving you on the Astral Express alone next time. You’re safer with us than you are alone. Whether you’re on the Astral Express or not,” says Dan Heng.

You open your mouth to respond, but the lights in your room flicker on and off. The men standing around your bed tense up and form a barrier around you, drawing their weapons. The silence in your room was loud, so loud that everyone in the room could hear heavy footsteps approaching your room. The door swings open and enters a towering figure.

You peek between Jing Yuan and Blade’s shoulders, eyes widening when you see…

“Nanook. What are you doing here?” You whisper, getting up from your bed.

You’re about to walk toward Nanook, but Blade and Jing Yuan block your way, glaring at the Aeon of Destruction. Nanook raises his eyebrows at Blade and Jing Yuan, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Nanook clears his throat, watching the nine men stand around you while gazing at the Aeon warily.

Nanook sighs. “Since your…. Friends…. Can barely protect the one I find most precious and hold dear to my heart, I might as well join you on your journey across the universe,” says Nanook.

Blade clenches his jaws. “Oh? The Aeon of Destruction is joining us in our journey?” Blade sneers, tightening his grip around the sword.

“Should we trust him?” Luka whispers, not taking his eyes off the Aeon of Destruction.

Nanook merely rolls his eyes and walks toward the group, reaching over Blade and Jing Yuan to grab you. Nanook wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling you forward. Nanook wraps his arms around your waist and kisses the side of your head, refusing to take his eyes off the group behind you.

Jing Yuan pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Keep your guard up at all times,” Jing Yuan instructs, keeping his eyes on the Aeon.

Perhaps you should’ve stayed a prisoner in your mind. The tension between your traveling companions and Nanook is so thick and awkward. You don’t know what to do other than be caught in the middle of the ten men. Nine of the men are glaring at the Aeon while the Aeon is running his fingers through your hair, gazing at the fuming nine men with mirth. Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Note: I hope you all like this fic! Nanook is officially physically in the fic! >:D I wonder what's going to happen now that Nanook is physically in the fic with everyone now! Also, I hope you Luocha wanters have Luocha now! I have Luocha after spending money because Welt ended up coming home instead of Luocha 🥹 Got me spending all of my stellar jades too 😔 anyway! For those who want to be tagged in upcoming HSR fics, I have finally made a taglist form right [HERE]! Oh, and for those who want to, my discord is officially opened! This link is temporary and will expire after seven days. If you want to join, here is the link to [Zhongli's Abode]! If you like the server, you can stay! If it's not your cup of tea, then you can leave whenever you want! Please make sure to read the server rules when you join the server ^^ To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for the HSR fics: Will be tagging people when the taglist form is filled out :)

Read more of my works on my Masterlist | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

#Honkai Star Rail x reader #Honkai Star Rail imagine #Honkai Star rail fanfiction #Honkai Star Rail fanfic #HSR x reader #HSR imagine #HSR fanfiction #HSR fanfic #Dan Heng x reader #Gepard Landau x reader #Sampo Koski x reader #Welt Yang x reader #Blade x reader #Jing Yuan x reader #Luocha x reader #Caelus x reader #Nanook x reader #Luka x reader #genshinluvr

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ugh-yoongi · 2 months

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the very last thing i decide | pjm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there’s you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is it, he thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m no one’s dog.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just how it goes.

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

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

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

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

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

Someone else’s, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

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

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

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

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

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

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

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

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

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taunting him.

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

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

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

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

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

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

“Done. Anything else?”

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

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

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

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

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

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

Until now.

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

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

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

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

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

Doesn’t matter.

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

No one spares you a second glance.

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

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

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

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

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

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

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

Sorry.

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

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

What kind of life is this?

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

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

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second time is nothing like the first.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re being followed.”

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

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

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

“Where’s Jimin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know it’s a liability.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

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

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

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

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

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

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

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

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

“Destruction.”

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

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

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

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

You watch him go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

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

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

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

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

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

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

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

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

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is a waste of your fucking time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

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

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

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

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

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

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

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its-your-mind · 5 months

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Some Thoughts on the importance of physical touch and connection for the Hells: A reflection on the new animated intro.

In general, I think the Hells are a really strange and special group, especially for a dnd party. They pretty much laid all their baggage on the table within the first week of meeting each other (What the Fuck is Up With That?) almost as a litmus test: "hey, here's all the shit that comes with being me, last chance to run away if that's too much."

and none of them did. and they all kept choosing to stay, even as shit got even weirder and more and more disturbing answers came to light. I think that continued choice from all of them - to stay - is what makes the bonds between the Hells so deep and so special.

okay trauma analysis and party dynamics is a DIFFERENT POST but it was all RELEVANT INTRODUCTION bc the CHOOSING TO STAY and the KNOWING EACH OTHERS' SHIT are like. key components to understanding why I am so feral about this. okay hopefully you will understand. the body of my essay is below. it has pictures. it got... too long. so. it went under a read more. yw. anyway click below if you want a very detailed analysis of an animated intro that is literally only one minute and thirty seconds long

For the first bit, character intros for Fearne, Orym, Imogen, Ashton, there’s no physical contact.

BUT. First intro of hells as a team. Ashton Trauma Flashback interrupted by laudna approaching slowly from beside him with her hand gently in front of him to signal her presence without startling him, and THEN just talking at them. Bringing him out of those flashbacks. Reminding him where he is and who he’s with.

And tbh? For Ashton? Touch is always iffy, so this is almost a more understanding and kind way to bring them out of the flashback. Just physical presence is good! UNLESS. (unless) first actual touch. Fearne stealing their coin purse, so gently that they don’t even notice it (FLIRTING THROUGH THEFT callowmoore my beloved)

(also grabbed the cap that shows her with his coinpurse these fucking ANIMATORS)

okay pt 2 FLYING OFF THE AIRSHIP

Ashton's first instinct and priority is grab laudna’s hand bc he KNOWS she is made of paper mache and he is ALWAYS watching out for her out of the corner of his eye bc she is breakable and he’s not gonna let her break bc he KNOWS what it’s like to be breakable and need someone to catch you when you’re falling but ANYWAY. he grabs her he uses his hammer as a fulcrum to throw her at Imogen

because OF COURSE he knows that the safest and most comfortable space for laudna is in imogen’s arms. and the two of them wrap their arms around each other and hold tight Superman style bc ofc they do and once laudna is in imogen’s arms she’s absolutely delighted by this whole situation bc OFC SHE IS

(tf do you mean I can’t add more than ten images on mobile UGH fine I’ll finish writing then draft and move to PC the images are IMPORTANT TO MY POINT anyway insert lesbians here) (note from future mind: I have decided that these pic descriptions i left for myself to grab the right images are fucking hilarious so they’re staying in yw)

Then fearne (who had been on her way in that direction already) swoops under Ashton to catch him as he flips over from the momentum so he can land on her giant bird back and she can fly him away.

(Pics: It’s fine to touch Ash if you’re saving their life)

(also not pictured: chet staying on the ship but losing his hat, orym grabbing it out of the air, imogen casting fly on fcg right before she catches laudna, fcg flying over to grab orym) All of this happens in six seconds by the way. One round of combat. These animators are fucking incredible.

BACK TO CHARACTER INTROS laudna who is ofc alone and in the dark at the bottom of the Sun tree, reliving her past…

(Pic: sad lonely laudna)

right up until Imogen puts her head on her shoulder, and the darkness burns away into light. She doesn’t say anything, or talk with laudna - all it takes is that physical reminder that she’s not alone anymore, that there is warmth, that she is surrounded by a family who loves her so much they chose to turn down comfortable beds in a lord’s manor so that they could join her in sleeping at the bottom of the Sun Tree. (Fav lil detail - fearne wrapped around Orym like he’s a teddy bear, and holding tight to laudna’s blanket to make sure she can’t go anywhere.)

(Pics: THE POWER OF LESBIANS AND FOUND FAMILY)

fcg. Fuck. Starts with their flashback, with their red eyes and their buzzsaw, but almost immediately we see Ashton reach out to grab their shoulder and Orym whip out a vine to tie up their saw.

(pics: reaching out even if it might hurt youuuuu)

Imogen goes on her knees and wraps her arms around FCG’s other side, and the rest of them all gather around him, holding him to keep him and each other safe, but mostly just grounding him in the present by surrounding him physically until the flashback fades and he’s once more aware of his surroundings.

(Pics: what the fuck they just need to be held)

(once shit has calmed down fearne uses this opportunity to pick Ashton’s pocket again. Flirting through theft).

(Pic: fearne is a menace to society)

final fight scene. fuck yes.

(Pic: IT’S THURSDAY NIIIIIIIIIIIGHT)

This is mostly just giving all of them room to be badasses (as they deserve) - but there are some things!! First!!

(pics: THESE WITCHES BE BITCHES minus fearne sry fearne we miss u but you are on fire and laudna is made of wood currently)

Imogen and laudna casting spells back to back, trusting each other to take care of what’s on their side. Inseparable, even in a battle where their party has scattered to fight other enemies.

BUT. The BIG thing though in this sequence. Maybe my favorite part? Idk I don’t have a favorite. But!! Orym. taking out four of Otohan’s shadow knights. then facing off against her personally!! And it’s one-on-one, because this was Orym’s task alone - to find the person who attacked his leader and killed his family. He’s angry, but mostly he’s honed-in and focused and determined. This is his mission.

(Pics: WHO’S JUST A LIL GUY NOW HUH)

But then, when Otohan pushes him back…

(Pic: fuck. shit. fuck. im. fine. anYway. them.)

FCG and Ashton are there right behind him, and they put their arms out and catch him so he doesn’t fly back any farther. And there’s this look of surprise on his face, because once he lost Will, he never expected there to be anyone else standing behind him, ready to catch him. And yet, here they are.

(Pics: fuck yes fuck yes fuck yes GOOOO ORYM!!!)

They give Orym a push forward and follow behind him, and he walks back towards Otohan with confidence. Lil grin on his face, brisk walking pace - he even does a little fancy sword swoosh! Because maybe he’s not strong enough to take out Otohan on his own. But the thing is, he’s not alone anymore.

(Pic: THEY.)

None of them are alone. And whenever any of them forget, or slip into old habits and memories, the rest are right there to reach out a hand to remind them.

Building a family out of broken pieces is difficult even without an apocalypse. But the Hells have shown each other, over and over and over, often with their actions even more than their words, that they really are dedicated to this family that they've built together. This intro fucking slaps so hard and the animators deserve so much praise for how incredible this intro is

#Tbh I could (and probably will) write multiple essays on the new intro but this is the one I love the most #no I’m not touch-starved what are you talking about #critical role #bells hells #c3e76 #cr3 #c3 #cr3 spoilers #c3 spoilers #bells hells intro #ashton greymoore #laudna #fearne calloway #imogen temult #fcg #orym of the air ashari #chetney pock o'pea #bells hells animated

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charmedreincarnation · 3 months

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So, I was watching ATLA and LOK for the millionth time, and there are so many elements in these shows that I have applied to my life, it's not even funny. This isn’t even really meant to be particularly educating but honestly I could have used atla and lok alone at the beginning of my journey and still come to the same conclusions as I had today. They’re both some of my fav shows since I was a child, and looking back and seeing its influence on me is very nostalgic. Also the live action is getting produced soon so I can’t think of a better time to make this post.

Chakras

Anyways In Avatar: The Last Airbender," Aang learns about chakras from Guru Pathik. Chakras are like energy points in our body. Each one is linked to a different part of life, such as love, truth, or survival. When Aang clears blockages in these chakras, he can use his Avatar powers better. I had made a post about I will link here but honestly watching the scene in a kids show is more appealing 😭😭

youtube

Meditation

Meditation is used a lot in the Avatar series. It helps characters like Aang to focus, feel calm, and understand themselves better. In real life, meditation does the same thing! It can obviously help reduce stress, improve focus and make us feel happier. In both shows I saw characters use meditation to induce a plethora of things.

Talk to Past Lives: Aang uses meditation to talk to his past lives for advice.

Ask for Help: Aang meditates to ask spirits for help.

Clear Minds: Characters meditate to think clearly and make good decisions.

Astral Projection: Aang and Jinora can travel as spirits, separate from their bodies, and etc

Yin and Yang

Avater uses the Moon (Yin) and Ocean (Yang) spirits to symbolize balance. Yin (Moon spirit) is like the subconscious mind, it's quiet, internal, and creative. Yang (Ocean spirit) can be seen as the conscious mind, it's active, external, and logical.

Just like in Neville Goddard's teachings, both aspects need to work together for balance. In the show, when the Moon spirit is killed, chaos ensues because the balance is disrupted. It's only when the Moon spirit is revived that harmony is restored. This is similar to how our subconscious (inner self) and conscious (outer self) minds need to work together to achieve our desires as we want to experience both of the worlds as they work in unison.

Astral realm and the sprit world

Atla and lok also talks about a spirit world. This is like another dimension filled with spirits and mystical beings. It's similar to what we call the 'astral realm' - so a space beyond the physical world where our consciousness can go. Also Jinora, a character in "The Legend of Korra," has a unique spiritual ability that allows her to astral project. So she can separate her spirit from her physical body and traverse both the physical and spiritual worlds in her spiritual form.

Jinora displays astral projection abilities multiple times. For instance, in Season 2, she uses this skill to guide Korra, who is lost in the spirit world, she also uses it to find and save Kai in seasons 3. Her astral form appears as a glowing butterfly-like spirit, and she used it multiple times to lead her friends to safety.

The Void state

In lok a character named Zaheer learns to fly. He was put in jail for trying to kidnap the Avatar. But he obviously didn't waste time while in jail. Instead, he used it to meditate and try to reach enlightenment. He does this by entering a 'void' state when he meditates. He lets go of all his earthly attachments and desires, and this makes him weightless. His ability to fly is deeply intertwined with his spiritual beliefs and his interpretation of the teachings of Guru Laghima, an ancient Air Nomad.

In the show Guru Laghima, who lived 4,000 years before Zaheer's time, was the first airbender known to have unlocked the ability to fly. According to his teachings, one could achieve flight by "entering the void" - which meant letting go of all earthly attachments and desires to attain true freedom. When his gf dies This emotional event helps him truly let go of his last earthly tether, thus allowing him to "enter the void" and unlock the ability to fly.

Reincarnation and the avatar cycle

I knew the shows were probably based of real life because I’ve seen aot nomad clothing, and I know monks are very closely reflected onto the show but really every aspect rings true and is similar to beliefs in Buddhism. This is especially true when looking at the Dalai Lama, who is a spiritual leader in Tibetan Buddhism.

People believe that the Dalai Lama is a new version of Avalokiteśvara or Chenrezig, who is known as the Bodhisattva of Compassion. When a Dalai Lama dies, it's believed he comes back to life in a new person. Then, high-ranking lamas look for signs to find this person.

This is like the cycle of the Avatar. When an Avatar dies, they come back to life in a new person from the next nation in a set order (Air, Water, Earth, Fire). The new Avatar is found using different tests, which is much like how the new Dalai Lama is found.

But there are some differences. For example, the Avatar can remember their past lives, but the Dalai Lama usually doesn't say they remember theirs. Also, the Avatar is special because they can control all four elements, which is a fantasy idea and doesn't have a real-life counterpart in Buddhism.

I was researching my a specific Lama and his story was a reflection of Korra’s character. It's interesting to note that both the Dalai Lama and Korra knew from a young age that they were special. In the show, Korra knew she was the Avatar when she was very young. Similarly, the Dalai Lama also recognized his identity at a young age.

Honestly, it's just a really good show to watch. I probably even missed some elements from the show bc I’m more concerned about watching it than learning something. But I love both ATLA and LOK and I've even shifted to LOK and will shift to ATLA as well! I really suggest watching its so good y’all. Byeee

#law of assumption #void

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mydearesthrry · 9 months

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the end - h.s.

a/n: and just like that, harry styles love on tour is over. thank you for the memories. hoping and praying h stays happy and safe and healthy always. enjoy nearly 600 words of me being emo also none of this makes sense and it’s so so shit but I had to post something im so sorry

🎀 warnings/cw: angst. fluff. harry crying

🐇 pairing: fem!reader x harry styles

💐 wc: 583

summary: following the final show of love on tour, you reassure harry that it’s time for him to rest now.

“C’mere Bunny,” she whispers in the muffled quiet of the dressing room. Harry was sat on the opposite side of her on the couch, and she knew to give him space at this moment in time. Harry was fully soaking everything in. Every ounce of love, support, every atom of appreciation he felt, he was allowing it to happen in the safe of his dressing room, no prying eyes there to watch one of the most vulnerable states he’s been in besides his love.

He looked up from where his head was in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Her heart broke when she saw his face. Watery eyes, splotchy redness covering his cheeks, and pink pillowy lips damp from him flattening them into his mouth. He crawled over to her without a second thought, resting his body from his waist up on hers, twisting to bury his head into her neck, the tears falling at an even more rapid pace.

“Bunny, ‘s the matter?” YN asked, her lips pressed to his sweaty mop of curls, pecking soft kisses to his head.

“‘M jus- I dunno, I jus- I feel so loved, and I feel selfish that ‘M leaving them when they’ve given me everythin’ I have… I jus- It doesn’t feel… right?” He let his insecurities float around in the stale air of the room, wincing at the quietness that seemed to amplify now that he let his thoughts roam free, thoughts that he knew would now spill into his girlfriends.

“You— Harry, you saying that is more selfish than you leaving. Baby, do you know how long we’ve been on tour? Truthfully, do you?” She asked, a look of confusion blatant on her face as she pulled his head from the crook of her neck.

“I- no, time doesn’t really… ‘M not good at that stuff, Lovie.” He hung his head in shame and sadness.

“H, we got Peach in May of last year when she was a kitten, a few months before we left, and guess what, H? She’s stayed with Mum and has had babies, and my sister had her baby in June, a week before the tour started, and he’s turning two this year. So many things have happened, Baby, you’ve just been so caught up in this tour that you aren’t allowing yourself to see them happen,” She whispered, knowing he needed a little ounce of tough love in this moment. “You have to let yourself rest.”

“‘M so tired, YN.” His voice cracked, and she felt the tears begin to whir behind her eyelids.

“I know, I know baby, I’m so tired too, but you can rest now, my sweet love. It’s time for us now. You can— we can rest, and we can go anywhere y’want. We can go home, if you want, or we can stay at the villa, even. It’s just— it’s time for you to rest.” She allowed herself to get emotional, wanting Harry to know that he wasn’t in this alone.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered. “I don’t… I don’t deserve you, at all.”

“Bunny, you deserve more than me. You deserve everything that’s good in this world, sweet boy, and I kick myself every day that I can’t give that to you. I love you more than I can even explain, Harry. You’ve changed my life and have saved me, time and time again.”

Harry shook his head. “There’s no one above you. You’re it for me, I swear on it.”

“I know, H,” She smiled down at him. “I feel the same way. I always have and always will.”

“Can we go home?” Harry asked sweetly.

“Of course we can, Baby. Wherever you want. I love you.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry edward styles

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jeannineee · 10 months

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thinking about how each of the batboys would react to you bringing home a stray animal and begging them to let you keep it 🥺 it has consumed my thoughts for like the past two hours

Oooh I love this!! Let’s see…

Rhysand

Would 100% say no, at first.

You found the cat in an alleyway by Rita’s :( she’s a senior cat, and so sweet.

“They shed, scratch everything, and did I mention they SHED?”

“But Rhysie—“ “No.”

But then you’d give him those pretty eyes and he’d mumble out a “Fine.”

He’d act completely uninterested at first, but one night, the two of you were cuddled on the couch, reading together. The cat jumped on his lap, purring contentedly.

Rhys pulled her against his chest, grumbling about getting fur on his shirt.

But in truth, he would do anything for your cat, fur, hairballs, and all.

Cassian

Would not need much convincing. He loves animals.

You got the puppy from one of the shelters in Velaris. Elain volunteers there, and you went to help her one day. You couldn’t help it—the waggling tail, the bright blue eyes, the little yaps.

When you brought the puppy home, Cassian’s only complaint was that you had no toys or treats yet.

So you went shopping for the puppy.

And went OVERBOARD.

Sometimes you swear Cassian loves the dog more than you.

He teaches the puppy tricks—literally spends HOURS in the backyard.

The next time you go to the shelter, Cassian tags along.

And you come home with another dog.

Azriel

He was so disappointed when you showed up with not one, BUT TWO cats.

“They’re bonded. We can’t separate them,” you told him, pouting until he caved.

“Baby, we can’t keep them.”

You ignored him, setting up a space in your home just for them. With a cat tree, scratching posts, and more toys than they could ever need.

Azriel can’t deny you to save his life, so he helped with the setup, smiling to himself as the cats brushed along his legs, purring happily.

“See, they like you,” you said, to which Azriel rolled his eyes.

You regularly find him cuddling with them, though.

And he sits them in his lap when he’s reading, or locked away in his study.

And when you go shopping for cat stuff, he’ll put certain things away, and grab what he thinks is best. “This brand is better.” “This toy is safer.” LMFAOOO

He loves them with his whole heart.

#acotar #acotar headcanon #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand #rhysand headcanons #azriel headcanons #cassian headcanons #Cassian x reader #acotar fluff

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extasiswings · 5 days

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Post-4x13 Fics

I was going to go on a reblog spree, but instead figured I would just put all of my S4 finale spec/post-4x13/S5 spec fics in one handy list.

some things you just can't speak about

A collection of S4 finale spec fics.

a flower in a gun (a bird in flight)

Even if Buck felt the same—and Eddie isn’t convinced of that, doesn’t have the arrogance to assume—what right does he have to say please, to say wait, to ask Buck to put his life on hold indefinitely while Eddie sorts through the tangled mess in his head in the hope that one day he’ll finally be ready? He can’t be that selfish. Especially not with Buck. [Or: in the aftermath of the shooting, love endures.]

mark me like a bloodstain (or a tattoo kiss)

Eddie finds words difficult. So he comes up with other ways to show how he feels. [For the prompt: "You've always felt like home."]

stars choose their lovers (save my soul)

Most of the time, Buck feels like there’s no one in the world who understands Eddie as well as he does. Most of the time. Because there are still some other times when he’s completely in the dark.

safety and home

The thing Eddie remembers most about the shooting isn’t the shot itself, or the pain, or even the fear—it’s the cold. [Or: Eddie dreams of drowning]

burning like a slow flame

For the prompt: "I felt it shelter to speak to you." “With all due respect, Mr. Diaz,” the doctor says, “you’re in the emergency room because of an acute stress response in which your brain tricked your body into believing you were in danger to such an extent that you thought you were dying. I’m not sure you’re as fine as you think.”

slipping away (call on me)

For the prompt: "I exist in two places, here and where you are." Buck feels like he lost part of himself when he watched Eddie being rolled through the emergency doors and he hasn’t gotten it back. There’s a hollow space in his chest crowding out his lungs so he can’t draw a full breath, squeezing his heart so his blood isn’t circulating properly. He’s a shade. Half-alive. And the other half left on a city street, in an ambulance bay, in a hospital room.

paint me a heaven with your bloodied mouth

Buck. Four letters. One syllable. Eddie knows it’s a nickname. He doesn’t know why Buck picked it or why Buck seems to use it exclusively, but he figures it isn’t really his business. And also that it probably isn’t that deep—all of them use nicknames at work or otherwise in their daily lives. Eddie himself might find it weird if anyone outside of his immediate family suddenly started using his full name regularly after so many years of only rarely hearing it from anyone else. So. Eddie calls Buck "Buck." And he doesn’t think anything of it. At least…not at first.

#chapel writes #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic

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petrapalerno · 3 months

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✨Free Monster & Alien Smut✨

Hi, I'm Petra Palerno and write filthy otherworldly smut. I mostly dabble in novels but have recently decided to give erotic shorts a try here and on my patreon.

Pretty much all content on this blog is NSFW. Minors do not engage. For TW/CW check individual stories.

✨MASTER LIST

✨Submitting to the Alien Barbarian

You sign up for an Alien breeding program, and the fact that they're brutal barbarians is icing on the cake.

TW/CW: rough consensual sex, primal play, knotting, breeding, aliens, dominance/submission, blood play, spanking, pregnancy, overstimulation, anal play, gagging and violence.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Like my writing? Support me but reading my other works!

✨Love on the Korlyan Moon

My current patreon serial---new chapters posted on Fridays!

A bubble babe is unknowingly dropped into a mysterious ocean by the Deenz transport ship. Lena, a tattoo artist from the twin cities, is sure she's going to die as the bubble she's in sinks deeper and deeper. She's rescued by Kitaico, a color shifting tentacled alien, and unknowingly takes his mating venom. She must cycle through heats all while trying to resist her attraction to Kitaico.

✨All I Wanted Was Sushi but I got Abducted By Aliens Instead*

Book #1 in the Bubble Babes Series

Opal is trying her best in the Midwest after the sudden death of her parents. Everything comes to a crashing halt as she's abducted by aliens and forced to work as a human dancer for extraterrestrial enjoyment. A chance encounter with an alien prince while stuck in a traffic jam might just change the trajectory of Opal's new life in space.

✨All I Wanted Was To Become A Scientist But Now I've Got An Alien Boyfriend*

Book #2 in the Bubble Babes Series

“Sometimes I think it would have been easier if I hadn’t accepted the free shower at the hot alien’s apartment.”

☆JESSY

For the past few years, my life has kind of blown. On Earth, I dedicated my entire existence to science, even if my peers dismissed me as a pretty face. When I got abducted by aliens, I was forced to dance in a bubble for extra-terrestrial enjoyment.

I can’t get anyone to take me seriously even in space.

When I escaped by crashing my alien captor’s bus, Gra’eth saved me from drowning and even offered me a place to stay. He keeps telling people I’m his mate, even though I keep telling him the human word for what we are is roommates, but he refuses to say it that way. Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or serious—and for my very literal neurodivergent brain, that’s a big problem.

☆GRA’ETH

I never expected to have to save Jessy, and I certainly never expected for this strange human to be my mate. Her idea of fun would be to take apart my data pad only to see if she could put it back together again, which sounds like torture to me.

I’ve convinced her to stay in my apartment as what she calls a roommate. The mating bond won’t let me let her leave, but humans can’t even feel it. I don’t know how to keep things friendly when just the smell of her hair is enough to send me into a mating frenzy.

I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but I can’t keep fighting the pull of this bond. This little speckled human will be the death of me.

✨All I Wanted Was a Glass of Vino but an Alien Duke Kidnapped Me Instead *

Book #3 in the Bubble Babes Series

The Bubble Babe series continues in this standalone novel.

Will an aquatic alien duke be able to reconcile the fact that his fated mate is a small, mouthy, human woman who can't swim? Will that human be able to love him despite his scars and the fact that he's keeping her captive?

☆MARTA

The reality of being a mob boss' daughter is anything but glamorous, despite what one might think. In the absence of true freedom, my only companion was my loyal dog, Bruno. When he passed, I felt like my life had hit rock bottom. But when aliens abducted me from my pity party in a local wine bar, I realized how wrong I was. As if things couldn't get any worse, I woke up in an alien duke's closet, forced to rely on a giant alien pleasure toy as my only means of defense. All I know is that the gaudy duke can’t stand me…and the feeling is mutual.

☆RAF’ERE

Throughout my dukedom, I have dedicated myself to restoring the fi'len species to their natural aquatic habitats. How in the goddess's name am I supposed to do that when this human is my mate? Despite her mouthiness, the tiny human cannot swim. Did that stop me from stealing her cryopod from a crashed ship and locking it in my closet? Absolutely not. I also didn’t expect her to wake up and demand answers, either. But I can’t expect my people to look at me to lead if a human stands beside me, despite how much my body burns for hers. The dilemma arises: should I prioritize the goddess's wishes or grant her the freedom she deserves, joining the other human refugees?

This erotic alien romance is part 3 of the Bubble Babes series. It can be read as either a standalone or as a continuation of earlier books. This book features a 5’2” plus sized Italian-American female male character and a 7’6” aquatic alien duke as the male main character. Tropes include Kidnapping, size difference, enemies to loves, reformed playboy, alien romance, fated mates, and forced proximity. This full-length novel (67K words) ends with a HEA.

#monster fucker #monster fuqqer #monster smut #monsterfuqqer #monster romance #monster lover #smut #terato #aliens #i love aliens #alien romance #alien x reader #alien x human #alien

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ravenalla · 1 year

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Okay I swear this will be my last rant post before the next episode airs but I have to get it off my chest cause I keep seeing the argument made that people disappointed Din gave the darksaber away are forgetting the lack of plot in the previous seasons, which I very heavily disagree.

I can’t speak for everyone, but at least for me when I’m saying I’m disappointed Din did not become Manda’lor I am not saying I hated the adventure of the week side quest format they had. That’s what I liked best about the show! It was great in season 1 feeling like Din was just the random guy off on his own adventure with this baby he found, I would have loved for it to have kept that small space western feel. Season 3 becoming this big interconnected universe with a corrupted New Republic plot connecting to the sequels is what I was most worried about just because I personally don’t like that direction. The more they’ve tried to go the Andor route and make this show about the Galatic politics, the worst it’s become imo (we literally have two white dudes writing a plot point about droids liking being underclass and serving the soft democratic people that is ruled with the help of a former Nazi, but ohh it’s okay it’s Jack Black and he’s funny and the Space Nazi and the Space Nazi doctor are really sorry for what they did, look the New Republic is just as bad as the fascist imperials 🥺🥺)

What some people are not getting is that the darksaber is ALL. DIN. HAD. LEFT. There was no driving force or goal for him after episode 2, they reunited him with his child in a spin-off show, they have him redeem himself fairly easily without any emotional impact, and now they took away the opportunity to do one last interesting thing with him. Din does not have his own actions or thoughts throughout most of the season, and when he does it’s just retracing the character development they already gave him in previous seasons (i.e. the whole droid fiasco). He’s a plot device, meant to further Bo-Katan’s character and help her with her goals or have him in danger so she can save him. It was okay if Din did not become Manda’lor, but they can’t just make him having the darksaber out to be a huge deal, show him trying to learn how to train with it, and give it up so stupidly through a loophole just so Bo-Katan can lead again when she has done nothing to actually earn it or apologize for the way she disrespected Din’s entire culture again and again. She was a terrorist who has done a 180 into suddenly being an honorable character just because of a few action scenes, no introspection or interesting conflict between her and the covert about their differences, nothing about her actually thinking about her past mistakes, just the covert being there to look like dumbasses who settled on a dangerous planet where their children get eaten so Bo can lead missions, look a million times more competent in comparison, and suddenly be the one who deserves to lead.

There doesn’t have to be a big plot each episode, but it’s not being executed well like it was in the first two seasons. The goal was getting Grogu to a Jedi, and we were given the interesting side adventures on that journey. Din needs to find somewhere he can lay low, he goes to Sorgan and becomes tempted by a domestic life. Din needs credits, he takes a job with some old acquaintances and sees what kind of slimy person he could have been. Din needs to find other mandos to help him find a Jedi, he runs into a small town desperate for help with a Krayt Dragon and showcases his pride in being a Mandalorian but his respect for other cultures and his willingness to do the right thing. He travels to a planet ruled by an former Imperialist because the Jedi he was searching for was there and helps her to save a town both for their sake and his need to give his son the best life he can have. See the pattern? They were side adventures, but they weren’t a random hodgepodge of ideas, they fit the story and the tone, giving us interesting side characters and helping to develop our main characters. Din showed his leadership, his growing kindness, his frustrations, his annoyances, his fears, Grogu becomes more adventurous, vocal, and attached to who he’s starting to see as a father figure. They both aren’t talkative characters, but they had feelings and personalities we saw. They had moments between them that wasn’t just exposition for the plot or a push towards an action scene, it showed their lives and values, their relationships. Little moments like Din being happy to hear Grogu’s name, Cobb sharing his story and why he valued the armor, Omera talking with Din about his life and wondering if he could stay, Frog Lady wanting to get her eggs safely to her husband and Din comedically trying to make that happen. The story was driven by these characters decisions and their personalities.

Season 3, on the other hand, has taken away all the life of these side adventures in its goal to tie in a larger Star Wars narrative that connects to other shows. They are not character driven anymore, and instead the characters are being twisted and molded to do and say stuff that’ll get us from point A to point B instead of the other way around. The point of Din breaking his creed is not to see what that would mean for his identity or how he wants to live with Grogu by his side, the point is to take him to Mandalore so that he can ultimately get trapped and fall down a hole so Bo-Katan can see the Mythosaur. The point of Bo-Katan’s crew leaving her and her staying in a random castle for no reason doing nothing all day isn’t for her to recognize her past failings or show us what their relationship was like and what it meant to her, it’s to have an easy offscreen explanation so that she can come to the covert without anything challenging in the way. The point of Din’s coverts staying on a monster-infested planet where Paz’s son is kidnapped isn’t because it makes sense they’d be there or that Paz suddenly even has a son we’ve never seen before, it’s so they can put in CGI monsters they thought were cool and have Bo save the day so they can have a flimsy reason she does need to be leader again. The point of spending time with the covert and having random pirates attacking Nevarro wasn’t to develop the other mandalorians as actual characters, it was to have them accept Bo easily so that she can “walk both worlds” and give Carl Weather’s character more screentime. And so much more.

Things are happening, but it doesn’t matter whether they make sense or fit the characters anymore, because all the side quest are focused on is bending over backwards trying to make you believe this Bo deserves the darksaber narrative. Before that it wasn’t like the Covert was planning to take back Mandalore, Din wasn’t planning to take back Mandalore, Bo didn’t tell anybody what she saw so there was no real stakes for anybody. Nobody in the main plot has had any purpose as more than side characters besides her. Din may have been the main character, but the people he met on his journey didn’t just do stuff to contribute to his own character or finding a Jedi. Omera had her own goals, Cobb had his own goals, Fennec had her own goals, Boba had his own goals, and they all still worked well with the narrative without diminishing each other, Din developed on the way by learning from the other characters and them him. What the fuck does Din want this season? Paz? The Armorer? The answer is whatever will make it easiest for the plot to retake Mandalore and have Bo be the Manda’lor for these writers, despite it being shown previously they have no reason to care or like Bo-Katan.

Like, some character moments are there. Bo is changing. I’m not saying that’s not happening at all. But it’s being done in a way that is sabotaging every other aspect of the show to force this plot that they wanted, the sidequest are feeling duller because they aren’t for these characters to have fun adventures we get emotionally invested in that simultaneously furthers the actual main characters goal, it’s let’s just have a CGI dragon, let’s have Lizzo and Jack Black guest star, let’s have Zeb from Rebels be in there for no reason. Unless again you count Bo as the main character, but like honestly she’s not even having natural character development. She went from being an antagonistic ex-terrorist to suddenly being kind and charitable with hardly any buildup or insight into her feelings. It doesn’t feel organic. I know she lost everything, but they still made it seem like she blamed Din for it only to have her rescue him once and completely abandon that hostility. The best we really have gotten is Grogu remembering his past while with the armorer and setting up his future as a Mandalorian, but even that feels cheapened when the armor he was given isn’t even talked about with the person who he shares the symbol with him that signifies their relationship, making me think it’s just another merchandise decision.

We wanted Din to learn to rule because, even if we did have to say goodbye to the adventure of the week type format, it would have been in service of his character evolving into something he doesn’t think he deserves or is good at. It would have been the next step in his journey, accumulating everything he has learned, the growth he went through using both diplomacy and his skills as a fighter time and time again. Instead, they chose to really quickly ditch any of the conflicts he had so they could have him free to do this instead. If they had waited one more season, this could have possibly been done well imo. Din’s arcs could have been brought to a meaningful and satisfying conclusion, and then you could have made him and Bo-Katan become co-leads. It wouldn’t have mattered as much then if they decided to focus a little more on her. But instead they essentially abandoned Din’s story they’ve spent two seasons creating to go ahead and tell her own.

The side quest aren’t what people are complaining about. It’s that they have no meaning for our characters other than having everybody circling around Bo most of the time or creating some big connection to the sequel triology and setting up the Star Wats MCU, which wasn’t the style of writing this show did. I don’t care how many ways people want to argue against it, Din is not the main character in this season, which is not what they have been selling us all year, and he doesn’t even have any engaging story or arc as a side character either. That is the problem, and that is why these side quest and the lack of an actual plot do not work.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian season 3 #mando critical #rant #din djarin #bo katan kryze #grogu #hope this made sense

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lawbreaker13 · 9 days

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I need to ask this. What is your problem? I’ve seen millions of Jewish ppl including myself call this stuff out genuinely so don’t start with the tokenism bs. Seriously why are you acting like Israel isn’t trying to kill as many Palestinians as possible. Not to mention they already did that with Palestinian Jews as well so the issue isn’t antisemitism at all. What is the actual problem pls tell me rn. And don’t mention h&mas either bc if I do remember, there were bombings before 2000 and ppl have been dying before that.

I am SO confused by this ask.

Palestinian Jews don’t exist. Jews are not allowed in Palestinian territories. Israelis are not allowed in Gaza. I have NO idea what you’re talking about.

Israel sends out dud bombs and makes calls before firing at civilian-heavy spaces that are sheltering bombs and missiles. That is UNHEARD OF in wars, ESPECIALLY if the intent is to “kill as many Palestinians as possible.”

There are photos and videos of the IDF clearing way for Palestinians to evacuate Gaza at the beginning of this war. That is not the act of people with the intent to “kill as many Palestinians as possible.”

When Israel was attacked on October 7th, when people were murdered in cold blood, raped, beheaded, and set on fire for merely existing, on a Jewish holiday, in their homes and at music festivals, they did not fire back immediately. If you recall, they gave Gazans a 24-hour warning to leave. People cried out, “That’s not enough time!” And you know what? They waited. Before firing back against a broken ceasefire and an attempted genocide of THEIR PEOPLE, Israel issued a public warning and waited 48 hours before firing back ONCE. THAT is NOT the act of people with the intent to “kill as many Palestinians as possible.”

The truth of the matter is that we know how much foreign aid Israel receives. Israel had the ability to construct The Iron Dome. They have all the resources they need in terms of a military. If they WANTED to “kill as many Palestinians as possible,” they could. They could blow it all up tomorrow.

NOBODY WANTS THAT.

We don’t WANT Palestinians to die. We don’t WANT civilians killed. We don’t WANT hospitals destroyed. WE DO NOT WANT TO FIGHT.

If the conflict in the Middle East was easy to fix, it wouldn’t be a problem. It wouldn’t have been the butt of every joke for decades. There would be no conflict.

Jews and Muslims are peaceful people. We understand each other so well. We do not want to fight. And Gazans know that. And Israelis know that. Speak to people there. Go there. And speak to them. Not through social media. Go and speak to them. I don’t mean “put yourself in a war zone.” This isn’t a threat. I mean, go and speak to them yourself, don’t allow the algorithm and filters to make the decision for you. Eliminate the possibility of being catfished and misled. Talk to them yourself. They don’t want to fight. None of them want to fight. I promise you.

What’s my problem?

My problem is that people keep making my posts about antisemitism and double standards about something they’re not about, therefore enforcing the very point I’m trying to make. My problem is that people keep sending me threats and critiques on anon instead of saying things to my face. My problem is that when my friends and family were murdered in Israel and in Gaza, I was told that they “had it coming.”

My problem is that my grandfather fought so hard to come to America after saving his own mother from the concentration camps. He killed Nazis. He saved children. He saved his family. And then he fled to America for a better life. He joined the navy. He kept fighting until he knew his children would be safe. And now my father can’t even wear his yarmulke in public.

My problem is that my sister was punched in the face for being a Jew.

My problem is that someone was stabbed to death three blocks from my parents’ house in their own home because they were celebrating Chanukah.

My problem is that my cousin is celebrating his bar mitzvah in June, and if I tell people that I’m going to celebrate with him, they’ll never speak to me again. Because he was born in Israel.

My problem is that you don’t have the chutzpah to look me in the eye and tell me that Judaism is only ok the way you practice it, and antisemitism isn’t real because you don’t experience it the way I do.

My problem is that I want to live in peace with my Palestinian friends. And people like you don’t believe me.

And my biggest problem is that you’re not even gonna read this post.

#Antisemitism #Israel #Hamas #Jews #Jewish #Judaism #Gaza #Palestine #Muslims #Arab #Arabs #Middle East #Jumblr #Asks #Anon #Personal #Mine

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cavillsbitch · 1 year

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Love Sense

Aaron Hotchner x NonBAU fem!reader

Summary: Aaron is away on a case for your first Valentine’s day as a couple, and he surprises you with a gift.

Warnings: None really, flufffffffff, there will probably be mistakes sorry

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: Hiiii Hotch girlies, allow me to enter your space. I’ve been wanting to write something for Aaron for a while, but as usual I don’t ever finish anything and that leads me to not even start sometimes. BUT I saw a tiktok where a girl got a similar gift to the one reader gets here, which lead me to this. Let me know what you think, see you on the other side 🫡

—

You hadn’t predicted that you would be spending your first Valentine’s day in a very long time with a partner… alone in your apartment.

You were very aware, since before the two of you were officially in a relationship, that Aaron’s job was demanding of his time, and you respected that. He worked very hard, and put a lot of himself into his job. He saved lives every single day, and you were so proud of him. You only wished that he was home for Valentine’s day. You felt selfish at the thought, but knew you had a gift for him waiting when he got home, whenever that may be.

Speaking of, your phone chimed as soon as your Keurig began dispensing your coffee. As you looked down, you saw that the message was from Aaron.

Your heart skipped and the waiting message, assuming and hoping that it was a loving holiday wish.

Aaron: Check your front porch.

You raised your eyebrows as your heart rate quickened with anticipation. As your coffee finished brewing, you took a few quick steps to the door and opened it, revealing a huge vase full of red roses and a gift bag. You also noticed the card taped to the front of the vase with your name on it.

Picking up the gifts, practically skipping back inside, you closed the door and set the flowers on the counter. Taking a quick selfie next to the roses and holding your gift, you sent it in response.

Y/N: Seems I’ve got a secret admirer.

Aaron: Ask Jess, I know nothing.

Aaron: Kidding. Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart. I wish I could spend it with you. I promise I will make it up to you. And, you look beautiful as always.

You felt yourself beginning to get emotional reading the last message, feeling guilty for not thinking to send his gift with one of his team members when they left for the case.

Y/N: Sorry that you have to wait for your Valentine’s gift. You don’t have to make up anything. It’s incredible that you even thought to have Jess drop this off for me. You are too sweet, Hotchner.

Aaron: Only for you. See you soon, hopefully. I will keep you posted. Enjoy your day.

Sending a quick response and making sure to tell him to be careful as always, you took a deep inhale near the roses, taking in the sweet fresh scent. You couldn’t wait, practically ripping the card open. The front was a beautiful velvet textured photo of a rose, and the inside had no print. However, the message in Aaron’s signature block lettering was much nicer.

“My Dear Y/N,

Happy Valentine’s Day. It’s just my luck that I get called away during our first Valentine’s day, and I’m so sorry. I promise I will make it up to you when I get back, in as many ways as you’ll let me.

Speaking of, I know we haven’t been together for too long just yet, but I want you to know that I care about you and I feel very lucky to have a woman like you in my life. I hope that you know how I feel. You overwhelm my senses in a way that I have never felt before, and I mean that. I hope you enjoy your day even though we can’t spend it together.

See you soon, sweetheart.

Aaron”

The heartfelt intent in his message was clear and genuine, and it made your chest feel warm. You felt just as lucky to have this amazing man in your life. Neither of you had said ‘I love you’ yet, and you knew he wanted to take things slowly in that regard, but the fact that he had written, “our first Valentine’s day” was a clear indicator to you that he was serious about moving forward in your relationship, and you couldn’t wait to see what the future held. As you took out some of the white and pink tissue paper, you noticed a few things wrapped in the same paper inside the bag. You took out the first one you could grab, and noticed a small index-like card taped to it.

“Smell”

Your eyebrows crinkled with curiosity reading the script on the card. Smell? You peaked inside the bag, moving some more tissue to the side and noticed another visible card that read, “Taste”.

He coordinated gifts to each of the five senses.

As realization began setting in, you smiled softly thinking about how he must have spent time trying to find things you liked, or thought you might, to go with each sense. Also, five gifts? You wondered if this was typical of men like Aaron, or if you were just truly that lucky. Your smile didn’t fade as you turned the card in your hand over to read the reverse side.

“I can’t stop dreaming of your perfume, which made it very easy for me to find.”

Before the butterflies made you swoon completely, you gently tore open the tissue paper to reveal a good sized bottle of your not-so-cheap perfume, one of the only things you’d mentioned to Aaron that you allowed yourself to splurge on when he complimented it, you think, on your first date. The memory was fond, and you could barely believe he remembered it.

Your smile was bigger now as you reached into the bag to pull out the next gift, the one you’d already seen, “Taste”. You flipped the card over to read the message.

“I know we can’t exactly have dinner together while I’m away, but I can at least buy dinner for you.”

This package was much smaller and thin, so much so that you wouldn’t have known it was a gift if the label wasn’t taped to it. As you tore the paper, a gift card for Doordash fell into your hands. This one made you chuckle and shake your head. Even as he’s miles away from you, he’s making sure that he gets to treat you. In the 6 or so months that you’d been together, he always made a point to treat you in some way, even if you were stubborn enough to convince him to buy dinner or split a bill. You set the gift card aside, contemplating what you might order yourself for dinner tonight as you reached in and grabbed one of the larger gifts.

“Touch”

Before flipping the card over, you noticed the fact that although it was one of the biggest gifts, it was quite light. Turning the card to the reverse side, you read, “Alright, this one might be just as much for my sense of touch as it is yours. I hope you’ll enjoy it all the same, I know I will.”

Excitement struck in your stomach as you still carefully tore the pink tissue paper to reveal a gorgeous set of silk and lace lingerie. The color was gorgeous, a deep sage green, and you knew it would compliment your skin tone and the few tattoos you had. The top had a bodice shape, though it was soft and lacy. There was a silky soft robe to pair with it, also a garter set and g-string. This is the first moment so far that you are grateful Aaron isn’t in the room with you, because your face is a deep red and your jaw is on the floor.

You and Aaron had been pretty physical from the beginning of your relationship, you loved how giving he was and how he always made sure to satisfy you in the best ways. You hadn’t really had the attention from a man before in the same way as with Aaron. You attributed it to his age and experience, but learned over time that he was just an excellent lover. He listened to you and your body, he learned what you liked and didn’t, and you’ve had some of the best sex of your life in his bed. He knows that you have some deep rooted hard-to-shake insecurities, and he is always complimentary both intimately and casually. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction when you wear this set for him when he comes home.

The next gift was labeled “Hearing”. This was a sizable box, you noticed as you turned the card over. “Hopefully these won’t bother your ears as much as what you have. I have a feeling they won’t. I hope the first thing you use them for is to listen to the Beatles.”

Headphones. It couldn’t be…

You tore the paper excitedly and you were met with a box with very new and very expensive over-the-ear headphones. You actually squealed at the sight, another item in green, and something you seriously needed but could never spend the money on yourself. You had mentioned once on a run with Aaron that you couldn’t wear your earbuds as long as you’d like to because after a while they bothered your ears. You knew he was attentive and always listening and learning about you, it was still technically early in your relationship even now, but you were pretty blown away at the fact that he was putting in this much effort.

Part of you felt a twinge of guilt, maybe you didn’t deserve this. You had never been spoiled before, and you didn’t want to take advantage of having a boyfriend that was well off. However, you are typically stubborn about him spending money on you, so you guessed this was a chance he took to splurge for you. You were already dreaming of the ways you would repay him, probably while wearing your new lingerie. Shaking your head at that thought, you set the headphones down next to the vase.

Knowing there was one last gift, “Sight”, you reached in and pulled out the final card-shaped gift that was sat at the bottom of the bag. On the reverse side of the card, you read, “I can’t wait to share this experience with you.”

You noticed it was only a few sheets of folded paper that the card was taped to, and you unfolded to see a screenshot of what appeared to be an AirBnB booking for this coming weekend as well as a photo of Niagara Falls. The paper folded underneath was a flight confirmation.

You couldn’t hold back your tears as your mouth fell agape. A few weeks ago, Aaron had been called away on a case near the falls in New York. You had told him that when you were young, your mom bought you a few books about different locations in the United States, Niagara Falls being one of them. In the book, it mentioned the Canadian and American sides of the falls, and you’d never gotten the chance to visit either. You knew, you told him, that the Canadian side was the better side and that you hoped to visit it one day, you just hadn’t gotten around to it.

Setting the papers down and looking around at the countertop surface adorned with gifts and crumpled tissue paper, you were so full of joy and disbelief. Growing up, you’d thought this kind of thing only happened to girls in movies and books, but here you were feeling so special that it was hard to believe and feel like you deserved it.

You couldn’t wait to call Aaron, but you cautioned yourself that he was working, so a short text would have to do for now.

Y/N: Aaron… I don’t even know what to say. I don’t deserve you. I can’t believe how thoughtful you are. I am so lucky. I can’t wait to see you.

Fighting the urge at this point to end a text with “I love you” was getting difficult, but you knew especially given Aaron’s past that you had to leave that first step to him, no matter what you felt. You must’ve caught him at a good time, because his response was almost immediate.

Aaron: You deserve all of it and more, honey. I can’t wait for this weekend. Hopefully I will be home by tomorrow night or the next morning. I will call you later, okay?

Y/N: Sounds good. Please be safe, talk to you later. Try to enjoy your Valentine’s day (:

Setting your phone down, you sighed contently, completely forgetting about your now cold cup of coffee, dreaming about your upcoming weekend with the man you love.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfic #valentines fanfic #hotchner valentines #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #bau x reader

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sebluvi · 1 year

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Eyes of Green ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Sebastian Sallow x fem!slytherin!reader. Jealous!Sebastian

Word Count: 2440

Sebastian is in love with you, entirely, even though he’s too scared to admit it to you. A blind act of jealousy threatens your friendship, and possibly even more with him.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Send me anything!

This is my first post, please be gentle, and let me know how you feel in my inbox. Even if you normally just scroll through and read, a like or anon message would encourage me to keep going.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Ten. Ten Months. It had been ten excruciating long lonely months since Sebastian had last seen or heard from her. He sat in the Slytherin common room in front of the fireplace, leg bouncing for what seemed like hours at this point. When would you come back? Where had you been? What had he done to deserve this punishment? Sebastian idly twirled his wand in his fingers as the orange and yellow shadows of the fire bounced across his face, quite frankly not knowing what to do with himself.

“Sebastian?!” He quickly raised his head towards the direction of the voice. There y/n stood, eyebrows raised in concern. “Did you not hear me that entire time? Were you in dreamland again?” Y/n laughed, “Seems as if I can’t go to the bathroom for 5 minutes without you knowing what to do with yourself.” Sebastian groaned and rolled his eyes, sliding back in his seat, legs splayed out like he owned the entire couch. “Can’t a man sit in his own common room without being pestered?” He glared at her, following her figure as she came closer to him.

She was right. She was completely right. But he couldn’t let her know that. Ever since he laid eyes on her he had been entranced. Every minute, no, every second of his day was spent thinking of her. He even dreamed of her. He honestly hated it. What had she done to claim the throne in his mind? She smirked at him, extending her hand, offering to pull him up off the couch. His heart skipped a beat. Maybe, it was the view of her towering over him, hand extended to help him up on the first day in Defense Against the Dark Arts when she had absolutely demolished him in her first ever duel. Maybe, it was her in the caves, brows furrowed in concern, sweat dripping down her forehead, blood and various spider parts splattered on her robes, hand extended to help him up after saving his life from savage and unruly creatures. Maybe, it was how her hair stuck to her face in battle, glued to her skin by the sweat and dried blood from the splatters of her victims, lips parted slightly when she panted for air, yet again extending her hand out to h-

“Sebastian!” He snapped back to reality. “What?!” He furrowed his brows at her. Couldn’t she see he was busy thinking about…particularly important things? He scowled at himself, embarrassed by his internal thoughts. “Are you going to get up or not? I don’t mind leaving you here if you’d rather wallow in self pity than get to our class on time.” He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, allowing her to pull him up. He rolled his eyes at her and smirked, still holding onto her hand. “You know, I’m a big boy. I can get up myself.” She raised an eyebrow, “Yet we end up in this exact position at least 2 times week, and you accept my help every time.” The smirk on her face was rightfully earned. She slipped her hand out of his, earning a longing huff from him, unnoticed by her of course. He sighed in defeat, knowing she was completely oblivious to the hold she had on him, and bent down to collect his things. By the time he had stood back up and slung his back over his shoulder, she was halfway up the stairs. “Coming Sallow?” She giggled, her laugh disappeared as she ran up the stairs, skipping 2 at a time. “Who in their right mind would be in this much of a hurry to get to potions out of all classes.” He rolled his eyes, and followed her up the stair at a steady space.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

She hadn’t waited for him. She continued to class with the same pace as she took up the stairs. She hadn’t been late to a class yet, despite her various adventures around the castle, and she wasn’t going to be late now. Sebastian had been distant recently. The last week or so he had seemed to always be stuck in his own head. She wondered if something had happened to make him upset, but she was with him almost every day and honestly couldn’t think of one thing that had happened that would make him so distracted all of the time. One day he was completely normal, his usual cocky charming self. The next, he seemed withdrawn and almost nervous to even speak to her, cheeks reddening at the smallest of actions she took towards him. She figured he was just frustrated or dealing with something personal from home. She wouldn’t push it, or even ask. She knew how he liked to deal with his family problems in private.

She pushed open the door to potions, immediately being greeted by a rush of blond curls, freckles, and red robes. “Y/n! I’ve been waiting for you!” Without warning he grabbed her arm and rushed her over to his station. He looked around quickly as if he was making sure the coast was clear. Noticing Professor Sharp had not yet made his way to the classroom, he then leaned in and whispered so no lingering early students would hear. “Listen, I know last time I….” He looked down after seeing her glare, choosing to change his words “we…” He smiled warmly, returned by a tilt of the head with furrowed brows by her “got in trouble..” You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms. You knew where this was going. “But?” You asked, “What do you need me to steal for you today, Weasley?” Garreth chuckled, pleased you weren’t still angry with him over last time. He had profusely apologized and promised next time he would ensure no one got caught, whilst you promptly informed him there would be no next time, yet he knew you were always up for a thrill. Slytherins love to break the rules, you know, with their stereotypical disrespect of authority, and he knew that and loved to pull his dear friend into his shenanigans. When he could get her away from Sebastian, that is. He knew exactly how Slytherin’s minds worked and would use that to his favor. “Nothing! Why would you even assume-“ He stopped talking, her skeptical knowing gaze bored into his head. He chose, again to change his words. “Okay, okay. You know me better than I think you do. You got me.” You continued to stare at him, arms crossed, wishing he would just tell her already. “I only need another Fwooper feather! That’s all!” You threw your arms up in defeat. “Garreth, are you serious? Is this just a complete repeat of last time?! Why can’t you get our own damned Fwooper feather, maybe raise one of your own since you need them all the time!” Exasperated, you huffed at him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Once Sebastian noticed you were long gone, he figured he wouldn’t actually catch up to you until you got to class, he knew how you were so he decided to wait for Ominis outside the common room. He didn’t have the energy to sprint to class just to be early like you did. Ominis eventually found his way out the common room, and the two old friends chatted idly all the way to class about nothing particularly important. They eventually came upon their destination. Sebastian strode into the classroom, heading towards his station, when he noticed you weren’t at yours. (It was next to his, of course.) The second he heard your voice, he snapped his head towards you, seeing your back turned towards him, with Weasley out of all people. “Garreth, we can’t get caught again.” Sebastian furrowed his eyebrows. What did she mean by that? Get caught? Again?! He stood with his hands on his station, weight distributed against his desk, slightly lent over, daggers pointed in Garreth’s direction. He watched as Garreth was leaning towards you, hand situated on his station settled next to your waist looking down at you, keeping intense eye contact. He was entirely too close to you for Sebastian’s liking. “We won’t get caught again, besides, you know how fun it was sneaking around, y/n.” Garreth smirked, and Sebastian saw red. What the hell did he mean by that? Within a few split seconds and some heavy stomps, Sebastian towered directly behind y/n. Staring daggers into Garreth’s eyes over her head. Garreth quickly glanced up from her eyes, and into Sebastian’s. His eyes went wide, and he took a couple steps away from her, straightening his posture as if he was never that close to y/n to begin with. Garreth immediately realized how risqué the conversation had sounded out of context, and everyone, and I mean everyone, knew how Sebastian felt about her, even if neither of the two in question fully realized. Garreth thought she was gorgeous, adventurous, and insanely interesting. Who wouldn’t? But, Garreth knew where he stood in regards to their friendship and felt as if he was always entirely respectful of you. He knew in Sebastian’s eyes now, there was no way he’d see him as the respectful cheerful Gryffindor friend of y/n’s, but competition. Besides, Garreth’s specialty was potions, not dueling like Sebastian. He wanted nothing to do with the aftermath of Sebastian’s jealousy induced rage.

Confused from his change of demeanor, y/n quickly turned around to see what had caused Garreth’s reaction. She was met with the face of a very red-in-the-face, infuriated Sebastian. “What’s going on over here? Sneaking around with Weasley are we, y/n?” “What?” She looked up at him in wild bewilderment, not sure what he could possibly be mad about. Its not as if Sebastian hadn’t broken the rules with y/n countless times. “Sebastian, calm down please. Its not as you think it to be.” Garreth held both his hands out defensively. Garreth knew exactly what was going on, while y/n didn’t realize when Sebastian had entered and what he had heard. “Then what the hell is it, Garreth?” Garreth, eyes wide, didn’t know what to say without telling on himself. He didn’t entirely want everyone knowing that he wanted to steal more supplies, especially with the help of y/n, but on the other hand he definitely didn’t want to be at the end of wand held by a furious Sebastian. Suddenly, Sebastian felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back slightly. “Sebastian…calm down.” “Not now, Ominis.” Sebastian shrugged Ominis’ hand off his shoulder and walked straight forward, gently pushing y/n out his way and placing himself between the two. Ominis sighed, knowing exactly what was about to transpire. He could help calm his friend down in certain situations, but he knew this time he’d be of no help, and poor Garreth Weasley would have to deal on his own.

“What’s wrong with you Sebastian? Don’t you realize you don’t own me?! I can make my own decisions with you inserting yourself!” Sebastian snapped his head from Garreth back to you. “What are you going on about? I’m trying to protect you from being taken advantage of, can’t you see that?! You stared blankly at him, not understanding where he’s coming from at all. Garreth was only asking you to take some supplies for him, Sebastian was acting as if Garreth asked her to kill someone for him! “Are you serious? You see nothing wrong with this?” He stared back her. Then he realized, their conversation was completely consensual. ‘Again’ meant that they had done it before. She had wanted to. His view flashed red again, no. It was maroon. Then, he decided to speak without thinking. “You couldn’t possibly be sleeping around with Garreth fucking Weasley out of all people can you?! I didn’t take you as the type to do things of that sort with just about anybody” Y/n’s face twisted at the accusation. Everything clicked in place. Sebastian had no idea they were talking about potions supplies, and Sebastian was never informed of the time her and Garreth had gotten in trouble by Professor Sharp. There was no way he would even assume the actual nature of the conversation, simply because he was unaware. Regardless, the accusation was incredibly insulting to her. Why should he be concerned with who she’s sleeping with at all? He isn’t the boss of her! She couldn’t believe her ears. “First of all, I’m not sleeping with anyone Sebastian. Second of all, it wouldn’t be any of your damned business if I was! Maybe before sticking your nose in other’s business and making wildly false accusations you should know what they’re even talking about to begin with! Typical man, speaking before thinking.” She turned around, pushing through Ominis and made her way out the classroom.

Sebastian slowly turned and glanced towards Garreth, who was sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Garreth smiled cheekily. “Looks like you’re in trouble, bud.” “Don’t call me bud, Weasley.” Sebastian started after you, then stopped and turned around again just to glare at Garreth. Garreth gulped and sat down at his station, deciding to stay out of it. Sebastian turned around again, and ran into a hard surface, which he realized to be Ominis. “Leave her be. You’re emotional and all you’re going to do is upset her more by speaking out of turn. Give her time and go speak to her after class.” Sebastian glared at Ominis, unbeknownst to him of course, but he knew he was right. You needed time. Sebastian sighed, trying to calm himself down. He knew what he said to you was rash and insanely rude. He wanted nothing more than to salvage your friendship with him, and knew he owed you something he normally never gave to anyone.

He owed you an apology.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Let me know if you want part 2 😊 REQUESTS ARE OPEN! send me anything!

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #jealous!sebastiansallow #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #slytherin!reader #slytherin #hogwarts #sebastian #sallow #harry potter

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