#I'm indebted to both of you for this one!

[lady-djarin]

on my radar

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

warnings/tags: edited very little so sorry! dual pov, jackson era dark!joel, SMUT (oral fem receiving, p in v), stalker behavior from mr miller, age gap (50s/20s), joel is kind of a creep but reader is kinda into it, murder off screen, cannon typical violence, men harassing women (a guy is gross with reader/unwanted touching etc) NO R*PE, possessive talk and nicknames (mine, love, my girl, good girl etc), reader can be lifted by mr big man joel but otherwise no really specific details about readers body other than the usual fem. 18+ minors be gone!,

word count: 5.8k

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

YOU

You almost dropped it twice, your gloved fingers slipped around the smooth metal of the gun as you fumbled to pull the trigger. The clicker was quickly stumbling toward you even on its one and a half limbs. You and your patrol partner got separated when a small swarm of the dead caught you both off guard in a densely wooded area . As you were trapped in a corner of a hunting shed by the crawling thing, you felt your heart rate begin to rise and the feeling of dread set in that this might be your last moment.

You saw the blood hit your gloves before you even heard the blade hack into its head. Then the body hit the floor.

You looked up to find your patrol partner standing there with a machete clutched in his hand. He was looming over you with a look very close to anger creasing his brows and his chest heaving in exhaustion. He grabbed the gun out of your hand and grabbed your arm to pull you away from the writhing body. He hacked the large blade into the neck to fully decapitate the head then stabbed into the ear to finally kill it.

“Do you even know how to use this thing?” His voice had an edge to it, like he was mad, or scared as he held up the gun in your face.

You looked at him with tears brimming your lash line, the cold was seeming to freeze them before they tried to fall down your cheek. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Have you ever been on patrol?” His eyes narrowed as they scanned your face, then your body.

“No.” Your mouth was so dry.

“Who sent you on patrol!? What the hell…,” he grumbled as he turned away. “I asked you a question.” He shot another nasty glare your way when you didn’t answer.

His statement kind of shocked you, not a lot of people are blunt like that.

“Uhm, I asked Tommy, I wanted to help.”

“Fucking Tommy, sticking me with a kid.”

“Hey I might be new to this but I'm not a kid,” you chased after him and that didn't help your defense.

“Jesus…,” he was grumbling again and marching away, toward where you hid the horses. The two of you set out on patrol a couple hours before, your first time outside the gates in Jackson. You had heard rumors about Joel, people said he was ‘rough around the edges but good people’. You had seen him around the community and wondered if he was someone you could get along with. He seemed like he was an outsider, kind of like you. When you learned you were partnered with him you figured it was going to be difficult, but this was a little much.

You were on your way through the state trying to get to where your dad lived in Sundance when you ran into some trouble near their camp and they took you in until you recovered. They stitched you up after they found a nasty gash on your ribs when you were discovered fighting off a pack of stalkers. After arriving at the Jackson community, you learned that Sundance was completely overrun. The sparse community there hunkered down in their homes after the outbreak but with the large swarms that came through the area, pretty much everyone fled and went their own ways. You could barely stand the thought that your dad was caught in the middle but he was strong, he could find his way out.

He had to.

So you remained in Jackson, becoming a part of the community, and everyone in the community had to help out somehow. You felt indebted to Tommy and the community for helping you and making you feel at home here after your recovery. That's why you wanted to go on patrol, you felt like you could help. Joel clearly didn't agree.

That last fucking thing he wanted to do was teach some rookie how to handle themselves on patrol. He was pissed and you could see it in the tense bunching of his shoulders as he rode on in front of you. You felt kind of bad for having Joel take care of you back there but he didn't have to be such an ass about it.

“Hey,” you rode up next to him. “Look I know I'm not who you wanted to be on patrol with but just give me a chance ok? I'm just trying to do a job here.”

He barely looked your way, he just kind of grunted before urging his horse over the final path into Jackson.

Alright then.

You didn't see those broad hunching shoulders for a couple days after, though he clearly had been talking about you. Tommy took you off patrol so Joel obviously made his concerns clear to his brother. When you did see him it was from across a room or passing in the street, but even in brief passes it felt like a tension was always present. His brows would bunch in the middle as he scanned you. It always felt like a judgment maybe, or some kind of disgust the way he would observe you. You quite honestly thought he hated you.

JOEL

You looked cute when you were mad, actually to Joel you always looked cute. Your cheeks were pink with the morning cold, your breath steamed in the air as you huffed through your nose. You were mad because he was ignoring you, and he was ignoring you because he was scared shitless when he came into that hunting hide and found you cornered by one of the dead. It scared the living shit out of him to think about how you were almost torn apart.

He doesn't remember the exact day that he started to care a little too much about you, it was a slow thing. It took over his life, watching you as you became integrated into the fabric of the town. The people of Jackson welcomed you and you welcomed them right back. People loved you and you got along with pretty much everyone. He started to notice you when he saw you and Ellie chatting about something girl related in the mess hall. He noticed how you seemed to genuinely invested in your conversation with Ellie, hanging on to her every word. Next thing he knows he's thinking about you every waking hour, and you haunt most of his dreams. It feels like you are a presence in his chest that he can't carve out and he has tried.

Joel had tried to occupy himself by relieving the tension himself, trying to dissolve the desire he had for you. It didn't work, of course, but he couldn't help himself.

He refused to actually make any kind of relationship with you, he felt like it would look inappropriate. He was a grumpy gray haired man and you were young and bright, he felt like he would be too rough for you anyway. He was a broken man, his hands were dirty with death and guilt and blood. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the way you smiled with your whole heart when talking to people, especially someone he cares for.

Maybe those were the moments he truly started to have real feelings for you, seeing the way you cared for Ellie. Everytime he would see you it made his heart skip a beat, it almost confused him at first, like his heart was waking up from a decades long nap. His chest hurt with how intensely he was starting to ache without you near, it only ever stopped when he saw you or felt you close or smelled your shampoo as you walked by. It was the same as everyone else as there was a lady in Jackson who made everyone soap but still when it lingered after you it smelled like heaven to Joel.

All that to say, Joel still felt like it was wrong to pursue you. You were and always will be the one that got away.

He needed to stay away.

YOU

It had been a couple weeks or so, maybe longer since you saw those grumpy brown eyes. You had started to miss him, as painful as it was to admit. Even though he was barely a colleague, definitely not a friend, you were missing the way… he was mean to you? No, that can’t be right. Why would you miss a man that is anything but nice around you?

Tommy had found you another job working at the local watering hole/dining hall, as the patrol thing clearly wasn’t going to work. He was walking you around the hall, introducing you to the people you would be working with when you heard a familiar voice.

“Hey Tommy, you here?”

“Yea Joel, in here.”

Shit.

“Oh hey Joel…” You wanted to keel over and die.

”H-hey.” He seemed… odd.

They chatted about something security related and you were introduced to the hall supervisor. As you talked on one end of the room, Joel and Tommy were on the other and it felt like neither of you could look away from the other. Your eyes kept finding each other, each time it felt longer and longer, like the world was falling away. It felt much different than the last time you spoke, like he might not actually hate you. It was an odd feeling, having his eyes on you, he was almost predatory.

Even as he looked over what felt like every couple seconds, he still had this pinched, angry look on his face.

But it was hard to look away. Joel was mesmerizing but you knew deep down he could never be interested the way you would want him to be. He was a grumpy older man that wanted nothing to do with the new young girl in town.

You didn’t see him for a while after that.

JOEL

Joel Miller was by no means a good man. A good man wouldn’t be watching you like this, following an unsuspecting woman around town. A good man wouldn’t watch you as you walked around the Jackson streets, minding your business, talking to your new found friends.

Ever since seeing you again at the dining hall he couldn’t rid his mind of you, as hard as he tried. He knew he would ruin you if you let him, if he even got one taste he would be addicted. Not like he wasn’t now, leering at you talking to patrons at your job. He felt dirty in a way, like he wasn’t allowed to look, not allowed to have the urge to bash in the head of any man who looks at you wrong. Like the guy you were helping now, Mike, every time you turned away to get him what he asked for, he could see his slimy gaze caressing your curves.

He felt like he was going crazy, not being able to be near you like he truly wants. He wasn’t sleeping well, barely eating enough to keep him upright and almost missed patrol on more than one occasion. His mind was playing tricks on him, he would find you in dreams, wake up to find you cooking breakfast in his kitchen or walking hand in hand down the streets of Jackson. The cruel reality that he would never have that always hit him hard in the morning when the sunlight came streaming over his bedspread.

He often found himself turning over, searching for you.

Sometimes they were nightmares, visions of you being attacked by the dead or one of Jackson’s very own.

That’s why he was here, making sure you were safe from the dangers of this world. It was his job.

He was there until you got off work, gathering your belongings and heading out the door when Mike popped around the corner. Joel was immediately on high alert, watching the man’s every move as he advanced on an unsuspecting you. He stalked after the two of you, staying just out of sight. His blood boiled when he saw Mike call after you.

She’s mine, he thought.

He stayed across the street, just in case things went sideways. In case he put his hands on what didn’t belong to him.

“Hey! Saw ya leaving work, how was your night?” Ok, nice enough but Joel knew he was clearly waiting for you to leave work.

“It was ok, just tired and ready to go home.” You were being polite but clearly trying to convey that you were going home, alone. That’s my girl.

“I’d like to talk to ya though, ya know i’ve seen ya ‘round and think you’re real cute. Come on, please? One chance?” He’s persistent, that's for sure. Walking the line there, Mike.

“That’s sweet but I’m not really looking for anyone right now, I just got here a few months ago…” You kept walking and you kept your eye contact away from him, smart girl.

“If you give me a chance I’ll show ya I’m worth it. I promise baby.” You were not his baby.

“I’m not your baby, Mike. Please, I just want to go home.” You turned towards him now with determination in your tired eyes.

Mike clearly wasn’t hearing you, or just not caring because as you tried to turn away he grabbed your arm and pinned your back against a wall.

He’s dead.

YOU

I’m dead. This stupid asshole is going to kill me. Your mind was racing as you looked for ways out. Mike’s front was almost completely pushed against yours now as he trapped you against the brick wall. You could now smell the alcohol on his breath now that he was on top of you. You tried to break free, maybe he was drunk enough where you could shake him off. You could tell that wasn’t the case when he groaned in delight.

“Mhmm, keep doing that baby. I like feeling ya move that pretty body.” You wanted to puke, his greasy beard and sour breath was assaulting your space. You froze your body in an attempt to get him off you but he leaned in, trying to capture your lips. You whipped your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut trying to block out whatever he might do next. Only, when you expected his lips or something on you, there was nothing. His entire weight was gone and you almost slumped to the floor in relief. When you opened your eyes, there was nothing, no one in sight, not even a sound. Mike was nowhere to be seen, nor was anyone else. If you weren’t so relieved that the creep was gone, you’d be freaked out. It felt like one of those eerie horror movies you watched before the word turned into one itself.

You weren’t really sure what else to do other than go home. You walked the quiet streets towards your small house and barricaded your door that night, just to be safe.

…..

“Have you heard?! I can’t believe it!” Angela’s voice shook you out of your tired daze. No matter how you tried to occupy your mind or sleep last night you couldn’t shake what Mike did to you. “It was Mike! That’s who it was that was found behind the dinner hall.”

Mike? Did you hear her right?

“Wait, Mike, like creepy Mike?”

“Yes!” Angela never learned how to not raise her voice.

Mike was dead. He was dead behind where you worked after he assaulted you. That seemed… convenient. Did that make you a bad person?

“They are calling everyone to the town hall for an announcement.” This was the only time they have done this in the short time you’ve been here.

Everyone walked over and filled the hall wall to wall. Tommy, Maria and a few other members in charge of running Jackson stood on the stage of the building that looked to once be a school auditorium, including Joel. Your eyes caught him up there as soon as you walked in, recognizing his brown curls anywhere. Tommy walked up to the top of the stage and everyone immediately quieted down, they clearly respected him.

“Hey ya’ll… Uh, unfortunately it's not good news that calls us together today.” He was clearly nervous. “One of our own is gone, Mike Walton. Now I know in this world losing someone happens more often than we would expect but this one is different. It happened in our walls and we think, committed by one of our own.”

Murder. He was killed. Fuck.

The crowd was starting to murmur and quietly panic. You felt responsible somehow, like you being the last one to see him, you think, meant… something. You had to tell them what happened last night, if only to make sure they know now instead of finding out some other way. So they know you're not hiding anything.

You stayed after the crowd cleared, listened to Tommy assure everyone that they are safe and he is putting security measures in place. You went up to the stage and caught Maria’s attention, you felt comfortable with her and maybe she would be more understanding. She really helped you assimilate when you recovered and felt kind of like a sister in a way.

“Hey sweetie, how ya doing?”

“I need… I need to tell you something.”

She took you to a more private area and you told her what happened the night before. She listened dutifully as you recounted your story and it really made it strangely better to talk about it. It was by no means easy to forget but knowing someone was listening helped. After you finished and she gave you a reassuring hug, she brought you back to Tommy… and Joel.

“Ok hon, I will need to tell Tommy about this, I’ll only include the necessary things.” You nodded knowing you could trust both of them with the news. “Joel, would you be able to walk her home? I don’t want to take any chances here.” Maria did say to you privately that she was going to treat this as if you were in danger in some way, in case this turned out to be about you.

He only nodded in your direction, extending his arm, signaling you to lead the way. You walked the streets, the silent tall man trailing behind you. You stopped so abruptly that Joel backed up in surprise.

“I don’t need you walking behind me like a bodyguard.”

“Where should I walk?” His voice dripped with something dark.

“W-well…I don’t know, next to me like a normal person?”

All he does is silently walk up to you and nod forward urging you on. You kept walking, feeling Joel’s arm brush up against yours and the tension was building before either of you said anything. You arrived at your building in silence and he walked you up the steps, more than you were expecting from the distant man. You paused as you opened the door and realized something, if Maria is right and someone is after you, they could be in your house.

“Y’ok?” His voice was low and rough.

“Uh… actually, no. Joel, would you be able to come in… and uh, check it out? Just to make sure, I don’t know…someone’s not— not in there?”

You swore his eyes softened at your nervous request, maybe he felt bad. He followed you inside and had you wait by the door as he surveyed the rest of the house. He came back within only a few minutes and you were relieved it was quiet in the house.

“You’re all good here darlin’,” he stood by the kitchen counter almost like he was avoiding leaving.

But you didn’t want him to leave.

JOEL

He knew no one would be in your house, there was no one after you. Except him. He saw Mike put his hands and other parts on you and something flipped in his brain. He went feral and had been looking for an opportunity to take this guy out. He was a menace to the community but Tommy said there was no legitimate reason. Usually he wanted a blatant offense to take action or even exile someone. Mike was sneaky, that was the problem, he was good at hiding his deplorable behavior towards women behind being friendly with most of the male Jackson population.

Joel was so sick of it, and he likes to pretend that’s why he was there that night, not that he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. For weeks now he had been everywhere you were, coincidence of course. He needed to make sure that you were safe, that someone would be there for you. Even if he couldn’t have you, he needed to watch over you. You had completely consumed his life, every waking and sleeping hour he had his mind on you.

The worst of it he thinks was a few weeks into his obsession, he found himself across the street from your house, crouched in the bushes like a maniac. He watched your silhouette as you turned about the room, picking things up, gathering our belongings and just generally going about your home life. It was so magical to him to see you living your life unencumbered by the burden of how cruel people can be. He had to make sure no one took that from you.

He was pulled from his thoughts by your sweet voice. “Joel? You ok?”

“Y-ya sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted a drink.”

“Oh, uh- sure sweetheart.”

He watched you go over to a cabinet and pull out a dwindling bottle of something dark that made his mouth water. You had good taste.

That's my girl.

You slid over the glass with a small amount of whiskey and you each sipped it slowly.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem darlin’, but I'm sure you’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt ya.”

“Sure doesn’t feel that way.”

YOU

“I promise you, no one will ever…ever hurt you again.” The way Joel said it, it was like he had murder in his eyes. He was so intense that you believed him, like he would protect you. You felt a thrill pass down your spine from his gruff voice. He was always a rugged man with his height, his broad shoulders and intimidating dark eyes but now, he looked downright deadly.

For a minute you worried that Joel could be responsible— no he would never. Even if he did, could you really be upset at him making this community safer? Did that make you a bad person?

He was looking at you like prey he wanted to devour. It made your pulse race, it made your core throb. The tension had been growing since the walk back and it was evident to both of you. Joel circled the kitchen counter to come right in front of you. Both your glasses forgotten, he caged you in with his hands on the counter bracketing your hips. Without a word he brought a hand up to cup your cheek, his calloused skin caressed your skin much lighter than you were expecting. The only sound in the house was your heavy breathing as he stared down at you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about Joel. Not necessarily bad but just something sharp and scary, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as he slowly leaned down to hover his lips over yours, asking for more.

Even if Joel was a bad man, fuck it.

You leaned up slightly to meet his lips and all self control went out the window. His hands were all over you in a second, hips pressed into yours as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Your head spun as he licked into you and nipped at your bottom lip causing a whimper to escape your lungs. It all became very frantic as he lifted you up onto the counter and bit and kissed his way down your neck. You knew there would be evidence of it the next morning and it kind of excited you to know you’d have Joel’s marks on you. His greedy hands were groping and squeezing every inch of you and you couldn’t get enough. With your own shaky hands you tried to unbutton his shirt but Joel stopped you.

“R’ya sure baby girl?” You swore you felt slick dripping down your inner thighs. “Jus’ gotta tell me and I’ll stop, ’k?”

All you could do was nod.

“I need words.”

“Y-yes,” you practically moaned.

“Good girl.” Fuck, his voice. Your hips rolled forward on the counter, trying to gain any friction. Your clit was pulsing with need and both of you were getting impatient. “Thank god, otherwise I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” He mumbled it almost to himself.

You gasped as he pulled off the counter and led you up the stairs in silence. Any other person would think he was angry but you knew, he was anything but. He led you to your bedroom and it briefly dawned on you that he was leading you there, he knew where your bedroom was. There was always something intense about Joel, you knew that from the start, it's one of the reasons you were drawn to him. But due to recent events you were starting to question just how depraved he might be. You hated to assume anything but you somehow knew deep down that he was the one who… saved you from Mike. That’s what it was, he saved you from being killed, or worse.

Once in your bedroom Joel turned and pushed you against the wall, attaching his lips to your neck.

He hummed deep in his throat, almost a moan. “Mhmm, darlin’ you are so sweet. Y’smell so good.” He was mumbling into your throat, half kissing, half biting. You were each pulling clothes off the other, desperate to feel skin. When Joel had you completely bare for him, you tried to cover yourself, mostly out of habit.

“You… you are perfect baby.” His eyes dark with desire as he pulled your hands up his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “Don’t cover up, I wanna see ya.” He pulled your hands away as he backed you up to the bed and gently pushed you back onto the soft quilt. You stared up at him, taking in his form, he was still in his jeans but bare from the waist up. You admired his graying hair that led below his belt, mouth watering at the bulge underneath. Before you could reach for his belt, he looped his strong arms under your knees and pulled your butt toward the end of the bed. With cracking knees he knelt in front of the bed and his face became level with your dripping core. His eyes were locked on you, his lips almost matching the way you drooled between your legs.

“Joel—,” you were unable to form words, the breath perpetually caught in your throat.

“Shhh, I know hon, I gotcha,” his voice was lower than you ever heard it, something dangerous simmering below the surface.

“Joel, wait—,” he moved up your body at your request. “I just… I’m confused,” you were shaking and out of breath but you needed to ask him. “I thought you didn’t like me… it’s just every time we would see each other you seemed to avoid me at all costs and now…”

“The only reason I was acting like that was because I liked you… too much.” His eyes hovered directly over yours, deep pools of obsidian overtaken with the desire. “I thought I was protecting you, from myself. But I… I,” he almost seemed nervous in a way, but there was still the underlying grumble of anger in his chest.

“What?”

“I see now that I have to protect you from everyone else.” He said it with such a darkness settled over his face, and it took you a minute to register what he was admitting.

He killed Mike. Holy shit.

Your whole body froze and you felt your eyes widen and breath pick up. But you also had this deep feeling in your gut, was that arousal? Were you attracted to this? That dropping feeling in your stomach told you that you were. Jesus, did that make you a bad person? Fuck it.

You grasped your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to you as you attached your lips to his.

JOEL

You were a vision, puffy lips wet from kissing, eyes blown wide as your chest heaved. “You protected me?”

Oh, fuck me.

“Of course baby girl,” he needed you to know this was all for you. He was yours and you were his. “No one will take you from me.”

He worked his way down your body, kissing and nipping his way to your center again. He spread your legs and stared into your dripping folds as he got onto his knees again. You whimpered and moaned his name and he relished the sounds, he loved hearing and seeing you react to his touch. He wanted nothing more than to hear you scream his name.

“I wanna feel ya’ cum on my tongue darlin’,” he loved the way your pussy drooled for him. Joel felt like a man starved, like he was finally seeing water after a year in the desert. He licked a broad stripe up your folds then sealing his lips around your clit and sucking. You screamed and he felt your thighs wrap around his head only spurring him on further. He pulled your legs in front of him and pushed to the mattress, opening you up further for his enjoyment. When he worked two fingers into you, he knew you were close based on your shaking and whimpering.

“I-I’m so close baby,” you sounded so cute, so desperate. “I need— please Joel.”

He wanted you to fall apart, speeding up his movements he knew it wouldn’t be long now. He curled his fingers while lapping at your clit, he felt your walls flutter and tighten around his fingers.

“Cum for me angel.”

You broke. Joel’s fingers were covered in your juices and you screamed his name as you came. He kept up his movements to prolong your pleasure, he reveled in the way your legs shook with overstimulation.

“Oh… my god,” you sighed as Joel crawled his way back up to your face, slotting himself between your legs.

YOU

He entered you slowly. You could feel every vein and edge of him and you were thankful he readied you with his fingers because Joel was not a small man. He started slow, presumably for your benefit, but soon his pace picked up and the crown of his dick was hitting a spot inside of you that made you see stars.

“Fuck— You feel so good,” he puncuate each word with with his hips, each time driving you up the bed. You grabbed onto his shoulders, trying to gain leverage but you were unable to do anything except take his brutal pace. He was past holding himself back now, you swore you felt him in places you never thought possible. You recognized somewhere in the back of your mind that letting the man who… murdered someone for you fuck you into your mattress might be a bad move. Too bad he was too good at it for you to care. You felt the coil of your orgasm tightening in your lower stomach as Joel leaned back, looming over you like a dark angel.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he pulled one of your hands towards your clit. “Cum for me baby.”

You pressed and circled your fingertips into the bundle of nerves, your pleasure just seconds from cresting. Joel must have felt it because he gripped your hips and pulled you into his lap, picking up his pace and punching into your g-spot.

“Oh fuck!— I’m gonna cum baby…plea—,” you couldn’t even get the rest of the word out as your orgasm crashed into you. You think you might have blacked out as your vision went blank for a moment and you think you heard yourself screaming. Joel kept up his pace and rode you through it all.

“Mmm that’s it, that’s my good girl…,” his voice was low and gravely in your ear when he leaned over, pushing almost all his weight on top of you while he chased his high.

“P-please Joel, cum inside m-me,” his harsh movements made it hard to talk, hard to breathe. You didn’t care though, you were desperate to feel him finish inside you.

“Inside you baby? Ngh, tha—that’s my good gi—,” he didn’t finish his sentence either as he almost collapsed on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his hips and held him there as he filled you up. He grunted and groaned in your ear as he came down, he pulled out slowly making sure you were comfortable and kissed his way down your neck and chest. “Stay here baby.” You laid there unable to move and watched his naked form as he found your bathroom with ease and came back with a warm washcloth. As he cleaned you, you recalled his words, ‘my good girl’. His.

“Joel?” He didn’t respond with words, only hummed at you to continue while he cleaned your inner thighs. “Did you mean it? I’m…,” you were hesitant to speak it, what if you were wrong? What if it was something he said in the heat of the moment. You felt the bed dip and he settled beside you, towel discarded.

“Use your words honey, what’s on your mind?” He moved a bit of hair out of your face and waited patiently for you to continue.

“I’m yours? Not just tonight.” You met his gaze with timid eyes.

“Yes, of course. Y’have been since I first saw you.” He kissed you deep, lips prying yours apart. “I protected you, remember? I wasn’t gonna let anyone hurt you, especially not him.”

He looked at you with nothing but truth in his eyes. He really did kill Mike, holy shit. He did it for you. In this world maybe you could rest easier knowing you had someone to protect you like that. Joel may be a scary man, but you had nothing to fear for yourself with him around. You slept that night more soundly than you had in ten years. wrapped in the strong arms of a man who chased your nightmares away.

[moonstruckme]

omg i'm SO obsessed with roommate james like you don't understanddddd 😭💗 i've been loving the shy reader fics so far i'm so excited to see more of them!! i don't know if this would make sense w/ shy reader so honestly just write it however you want but i would loooove to see something w/ roommate james where he has friends over but is always like talking about her and checking on her and everything and his friends are just teasing him about it hahaha i think it would be so fun!! anyway tysm and i hope you have a good day!!!

Hi sweetheart! I had this scene already written but I did implement a couple of the things you requested, hope you like it <3

cw: alcohol

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Somehow, you’ve wound up basically in James’ armpit. 

“Falsehoods!” James is laughing, nearly shouting, but you get the sense one needs to yell a bit to communicate in this friend group. Everyone except Lily and Remus, that is, for whom the others seem to quiet reflexively every time they start to speak. “Lies and falsehoods! If I recall, I wasn’t the one who left a pot in the sink for so long it grew mold.” 

“It wasn’t my pot!” Sirius defends himself, propping himself up on Remus' shoulder to make his point. He’s somehow managed to recline on the arm of your couch, his boyfriend’s arm wrapped cautiously around his waist to keep him from slipping off. “You cooked pasta in it and then forgot!” 

“Y/n,” says Lily, sitting across her girlfriend’s lap, “blink twice if you need help.” 

Mary laughs, hooking her hands under Lily’s knees to pull her closer and then intertwining their fingers. This is another thing you’ve noticed about James’ friends: they have a tendency to pile. Not even necessarily with their respective significant others and seemingly regardless of the seating available; last time you came home Sirius was half across James’ lap and Lily and Remus were sitting together on the rug as if the rest of the couch wasn’t empty. 

You laugh too, self-consciousness making you slip further down James’ side when the others look your way. So, it’s possible you have some idea of how you came to be basically in his armpit. 

James grins down at you. “Don’t listen to them,” he stage-whispers. “We both know what a good roommate I can be, under the right management.” 

Your answering smile comes far too easily. You like seeing James like this. You don’t think he’s ever not himself, but as soon as Sirius got here it’s like he dialed up to eleven. And he obviously loves his friends, entertaining them, making them laugh. You can see why, too. They’re an easy bunch to talk to. 

It probably helps that James has been practically tipping ciders down your throat (he hasn’t; he’s offered them to you, and you’ve gulped them down like the nervous freak you are), but you’re actually having a good time. You felt a bit indebted after he’d bought you a pizza last week and you’d still chickened out of coming downstairs, but now you’re glad you’re here. 

Your body feels loose and liquidy, and your shoulder is just starting to hurt from the position you’re in (which makes you wonder how long James’ ribs have been hurting from your shoulder digging into them) when he looks down at you again. He seems amused. 

“You comfy down there?” he asks. 

“Meh.” It’s an honest answer. 

“Here.” He brings his arm to your shoulder, propping you up and then scooching closer to you on the couch. Now you’re not in his armpit so much as under his arm, which drops from where it’s draped across the back of the couch to squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. “Better?” 

“Yeah.” Even the social lubricant of alcohol can’t keep the nervous edge from your voice. “Thanks.” 

“Course, love.” He gives your shoulder another little squeeze, beaming as he focuses back on the conversation. 

Your chest hurts, a gratifying ache. 

You manage to down another cider before his friends start saying their goodbyes, Sirius and Remus each whipping out a cigarette as soon as they’re outside while Lily and Mary fake cough and James heckles them lovingly from the doorway. 

When he shuts the door he’s still smiling, so obviously content you can’t help but feel a crush of affection for him. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” you say, grabbing a rag to clean up where Mary had accidentally spilled a bit of her drink. 

“Of course, I told you you’re always—what are you doing?” 

He sounds so affronted you actually think you’ve done something wrong. You look up from where you’re mopping up the spill, confused. 

“I’m cleaning everything from tonight,” he says, still looking outraged. 

You smile in relief when you realize it’s feigned. “Don’t be stupid. I was participating tonight, too.”

“You make it sound like you were an accomplice to some crime.” James sits down beside you and steals the rag from your hand, cleaning up the rest of the spill himself. “You’re off the hook, you were practically coerced.” 

“I was,” you agree, standing and gathering the dishes from the coffee table instead, “but it was fun in the end. I’m a little bit glad you coerced me.” 

You can hear James’ smile in his voice. “I’ll be sure to do it more often. First, I’m gonna coerce you into hanging out with us again on Friday, and then—“ He turns around, eyes narrowing as he spots the couple of glasses you’re carrying “—stop picking up my mess! Fuck, I can’t keep up with you, you’re like a machine.” 

A giggle fizzes out of you. James stands and holds his hands out for them, but you take a couple of steps back. “Why can’t I help? Anyway, you’re just as clean as I am.” 

“Because, it was my idea,” he laughs, pursuing you. “And I’m only clean because you’re clean.” He backs you up against the stairs, wrestling the glasses away from you with frustrating ease. “If I thought you didn’t care, this whole place would look like the inside of my room.” 

You give an odd bark of laughter, leaning on the banister to look at him. He looks ridiculously smug, both glasses held in one big hand. “Oh my god, you’re so nice. It’s pathological.” 

“Wow.” Some of the smugness falls away as James grins at you. “That’s a real one.” 

“What?” 

“Your smile,” he says. You still don’t get how he can do this eye contact thing, looking at you so openly while he seems so sincere. Your own gaze flees downward, warmth rushing to your cheeks. “I don’t get to see it a lot, out in the open like that. It’s really lovely.” 

He reaches for you, doing this weird chin-pinching thing that shouldn’t be half as endearing as it is. You roll your eyes, but your mouth seems stuck. You don’t know how to respond. 

James doesn’t seem to notice, taking the glasses with him into the kitchen. You grab a few more off the table and follow him. He’s turned the light above the sink on, but the rest of the kitchen is dim. His long sleeves are pushed up to his elbows as he makes soapy water in the sink. 

As you come in, he turns around to take the glasses from you, the light from above casting a glowy halo of his thick brown hair. He’s so beautiful it makes your stomach hurt. You’re suddenly worried you might be just inebriated enough to do something stupid. 

James narrows his eyes at you teasingly as he snatches the glasses away. “Enough of that,” he scolds. 

“Are you sure you don’t want any more help?” you ask. 

He rolls his eyes. You’re pretty sure he didn’t do that so much before he started hanging out with you. On him, it somehow manages to look fond. “Positive,” he says. “Go stop being useful.” 

You catch yourself biting the inside of your lip. “Okay. Then I think I’m gonna head up for the night.” 

“Yeah?” James looks over, and you wonder for a second if something in your voice has given you away. He looks confused, a bit worried, but then that melds into a soft sweetness. He gives you a smile. “Okay. Sweet dreams.” 

“You too,” you say, doing your best to smile in response before you round the corner to the stairs. 

Your brain feels fuzzy. You’re not sure if that’s from alcohol or fatigue or something else entirely, but it feels good to put on your pajamas, clean your face in front of the mirror. The covers on your bed are soft and heavy. You can hear the kitchen sink running downstairs as you slip beneath them, James finally starting to rinse the dishes before he turns in for the night, too. 

You think of his boisterous laugh, the weight of his arm around your shoulders, his thumb pressing into your chin. 

When you close your eyelids, you half expect to find a faint outline of his smile impressed upon the insides.

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #14

"You foolish, stupid child," Vlad hisses, pinning Danny to the wall. Danny's eyes turn green as he wraps both his fists around the one Vlad has clenched in his collar, his feet dangling in the air. Vlad leans in, his own eyes burning red.

"When, exactly, did you plan on telling me your biological father was Bruce Wayne?" he says furiously.

Danny's hands drop in surprise. "W-What?" he gasps.

Vlad drops him unceremoniously and he lands on the floor in a heap. Vlad claws at the air in frustration.

"Don't lie to me, boy." Vlad says, omitting his often used possessive "my" in front of "boy".

"How do you know that?" Danny asks warily, propping himself up. He watches Vlad push a shaking hand through his hair. The man looks down at him before dropping in an ungainly squat beside him.

"Of all the sperm donors, Bruce Wayne, Daniel? Really?" The man asks, despairingly.

"I didn't exactly choose him, Vlad."

"No, I suppose you didn't."

"Seriously," Danny says, watching the man rock back on his heels as a growing pit forms in his stomach. "How did you know about him?"

Vlad's mouth twists bitterly. "Because he now knows about you."

"What do you—"

"Vladdy! Danno! What are the two of you doing on the floor?" Jack flops down beside them, a tray of freshly prepared fudge in his hands. "We having a heart-to-heart boys? Let me in on this!"

"Jack," Vlad says. "If you truly want to have a heart-to-heart with your son, I suggest you tell him the real reason I've come over today."

Jack's face falls.

"Vlad," Maddie says from behind him. "Thank you for coming. We're grateful for all you've done, but I think we can handle it from here."

"Madeline," Vlad says, rushing to his feet. "I must insist—"

"And I must insist you see yourself out," Maddie smiles tightly. "You know where the door is, don't you?"

"Mads," Jack says gently, looking between the two.

"I can show him out," Danny says, getting up as well.

"That's alright, Danny," Maddie says. "Why don't you go get your sister? We need to have a talk...as a family."

Danny glances at Vlad.

"Now, Danny," Maddie says. Danny heads for the stairs, pit growing ever larger.

--

The next time they meet it is Danny who has Vlad pinned, the gaudy chandelier above him shaking with the force of his rage.

"You should've told me," Danny growls.

"I thought your parents had you informed," Vlad says, utterly unbothered by the teen cracking what is thankfully not a load-bearing wall of his mansion. "Honestly Daniel, we could throw around allegations of deception on both sides, particularly mine as I assume you've known for quite some time now, if not the entire time, about your father hmm?"

Danny's eyes flick away in an obvious tell.

"Yes, I thought as much. But rather than whinging about being blindsided, I suggest we focus our energy on the solution."

Danny drops Vlad, barely biting back a snarl when the man lands gracefully on both feet.

"Which is?" Danny asks.

"First of all, your well-meaning but frankly moronic parents seem to believe that they can make a case for your custody without the assistance of my legal team. It is in both of our best interests to dissuade them of this."

"They don't like feeling indebted, Mom in particular."

"Well, to be crude for a moment Daniel, tough shit. Yes," Vlad says in response to Danny's widening eyes, "I said it. Bruce Wayne has the best of the best on his payroll and your parent's rinky-dink attorney from the local practice won't stand a chance against Friedman & Sons. Especially once he establishes paternity."

"He can do that?" Danny asks. "I mean I'm almost eighteen, can't I just refuse?"

"The keyword here, Daniel, is almost. As in, you are not. The judge can take your wishes into consideration, but I suspect Wayne will make a case for an unsafe living environment alongside his paternity to win his petition for full custody."

"Un-unsafe living environment?" Danny sputters. Vlad eyes the boy dryly before gesturing to all of him, currently clad in silver and black hazmat. Danny drops the transformation with a wince.

"In fact, I suspect that's the main reason the man filed in the first place," Vlad continues. "Lord knows he doesn't need anymore heirs to fight over his fortune once he passes—"

"Jesus, Vlad,"

"—so I believe he did some digging and found your home to be, well, wanting. On paper, Daniel, your parents sound eccentric at best, dangerous at worst. Pull the right strings, and hospital records just fall into laps. He probably thinks he's rescuing you." Vlad sneers. "If only he knew how quick you are to spit in the face of one offering you a comfortable and wealthy home."

"Fuck off," Danny says. "Is that what this is about? If you can't have me, no one can?"

Vlad rolls his eyes. "Come now, Daniel. Are you really intending to keep up this pretense?"

"What are you talking about?"

"We agreed a long time ago that no matter the nature of our quarrel, we would leave the Justice League out of it," Vlad says, taking a menacing step forward. "You think I, running in the circles I do, would have no knowledge of Bruce Wayne's alter-ego?" He takes another step, voice rising. "I have avoided drawing The Batman's attention for years, no matter how often our paths crossed. I stayed under his radar for decades, and now, BECAUSE OF YOU, I AM ABOUT TO BE RUINED."

With a creak and a groan, the chandelier drops, landing between them with a crash. Danny coughs from the dust as Vlad takes a heaving, calming breath.

"Then why get involved at all?" Danny asks, staring at the ground.

Vlad sighs, clapping his hands twice. Several ghosts dressed in service uniforms fly out the woodwork, gathering up bits of chandelier as others begin to mop.

"Because, little badger," Vlad says, walking away from the mess. "If we lose this, he'll have you in the palm of his hands. Which is infinitely worse."

Entering the kitchen, he pulls an open bottle of white out of the kitchen fridge and pours himself a glass, throwing a Fiji water to Danny who takes it for the peace offering it is.

"He won't."

"Won't what, Daniel? Please speak in full sentences."

"Won't have me," Danny says, letting a thin coat of frost spread over the bottle. He tips the freezing cold water into his mouth and wipes his face with his sleeve, mostly to see Vlad grimace.

"Why, because you'll run away if he wins? Until you turn eighteen? I won't have you fail to complete your education because of a cockamamie scheme, Daniel—"

"Because I have a solution, Vlad, one that doesn't involve the courts or running away."

"And what is that, exactly, Daniel?"

--

"You're going to leave my family alone."

"Danny," Mr. Wayne says, blinking in surprise at the boy on his doorstep and miles away from Illinois.

"I mean it," Danny says firmly. "You're going to drop your petition and whatever smear campaign you were planning on and leave the Fentons alone."

"Danny...why don't you come inside?"

Danny takes a step back from the manor's large doors. "You want a relationship with me? Brute force isn't the answer."

Bruce takes in the teenager, lanky but almost to his eye level. His eyes are clear and sharp, his demeanor forcibly calm.

"I debated whether going through the court was the right thing to do," Bruce says slowly, matching calm with calm. "But I wanted to be above board."

"Because my adoption wasn't?" Danny says, arms crossed. "Yeah, I'm aware. Kinda hard to adopt a kid that doesn't legally exist. And I know what you're going to say, the Fentons should've reported me to the system, but they didn't do it because I begged them not to. Because I didn't want my biological parents to find me."

"Danny..."

"You can swing your dick around and get your way, exactly the way I thought you would do things," Danny says, "Or you can have a relationship with me on my terms. A relationship where I don't despise you because you took me away from the people who've loved me no matter their faults."

"You're asking me to choose your happiness over your safety." Bruce says carefully.

"That's bullshit," Danny says. "I had a lab accident when I was fourteen and went directly against my parents' instructions. They trusted me, and I made a mistake."

"It's not a matter of trust. You were a child, Danny, and you almost died." Bruce says, not bothering to feign ignorance. Footsteps echo behind him.

"Bruce?" A voice calls. "Is that..?"

"Your son did die," Danny says. "He took a flight with your credit card to Ethiopia and got blown up. I bet you trusted him too."

Bruce reels back as a hand lands on his shoulder, the other on the door.

"Whoa, whoa, uh, Danny, right? I'm Tim, I'm—"

"I know who you are," Danny says, clenching his fists. Powering through the hurt he is causing. "I didn't come here to point out what a total hypocrite you are. I just want you to back off. And if you give me your number, we can text and I'll come to Gotham for Thanksgiving or the ski chalet in Vermont or your villa in where-the-fuck-ever and you can be Uncle Bruce that I maybe even tolerate being around once in a while. Just leave my family alone."

"Bruce, what is he talking about?" Tim asks. "Back off of what?"

"Your Dad is suing my parents for full custody," Danny says when it becomes clear Bruce isn't answering.

"What?" Tim hisses, turning to Bruce. "That isn't what we talked about!"

"Danny. I..."

"Here," Danny says, thrusting an index card forward that he's scrawled his phone number and email onto. On the other side is the past participle conjugation for 'venir'. "I won't answer until you drop the custody petition. Which I expect you to do by tomorrow morning."

"Done," Tim says, stepping past Bruce and taking the card. "Give me about noon to get it all squared away with the lawyers. Do you have a hotel? A way home? I'd be happy to reimburse your flight and accommodation."

"Overstepping already."

"Fair enough," Tim says coolly, raising his hands. "Our lawyers will reach out when it's settled."

"Great. Bye." Danny says, turning to leave. He waits until he hears the manor door close behind him before pulling out his cell phone.

Ring!

Ring!

"Hello?"

"It's done."

"What's done? Again, little badger, full sentences, I beg of you."

[munson-blurbs]

Hi! I absolutely love your work and I hope this week treats you well!💗 I was thinking of this Eddie imagine I don’t know if you’ve done something like this but I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. Ok here it goes: Eddie’s fucking you stupid, it’s raw, it’s passionate, it’s filthy and in the midst of it all he says, "marry me". You think nothing of it, so you say yes obviously cock drunk and Eddie starts to fuck you even harder. Cut to the next morning you wake up stark naked next to the love of your life with a pretty engagement ring on your finger

I'm such a sucker for fluffy smut, and this is no exception 🙃

WC: 717 Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unprotected p in v, pet names (baby/baby doll)

The night is still, save for the sound of bed springs creaking and panting breaths that you and Eddie exchange into each other’s mouths. Strong hands pin your own wrists to the pillow as he thrusts into you, moaning as he sucks a bruise into the crook of your neck. A bead of sweat trickles down his sparse chest hair and lands between your cleavage, another way your bodies are joined tonight.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he groans just under your earlobe. “How d’you always feel s-so fuckin’ perfect? Jesus Christ!” You can feel him tremble as you clench around him, already indebted to you simply for letting him see you like this. Small, crescent-shaped indents mark his bicep from where your fingernails dug into him earlier, a piece of you left behind. They’d eventually fade, but Eddie would always remember them being there.

He’s deep inside you, his wiry patch of curls brushing against your clit with each piston of his hips. You bite your lip to suppress a moan. 

“Nuh uh.” Eddie briefly lets go of you, bracing his body weight on one forearm as his other thumb peels your lip from between your teeth. “Wanna hear those pretty noises loud and clear, baby doll.”

You nod and whimper, “yes, sir,” which only makes him increase his pace. He lowers his body so that your chests are pressed together, and slips an arm around your waist when you arch your back. 

“This body…this perfect—fuckin’—body,” he grunts, thrusts accompanying each word. “Want this body forever.”

“‘S yours,” you manage, breath hitching in your throat as he grows even harder inside you. “All yours, Eddie. No one else’s.”

He leaves nipping kisses along your shoulders and collarbone. “Marry me,” he murmurs, surprising himself. It’s something he’s wanted for an absurdly long time, but he hadn’t planned on asking you mid-fuck. “Let me worship you for the rest of our lives. Please, baby.”

“Y-Yes, fuck—fuck, Eddie,” you cry out, and your affirmation has him bucking his hips without much precision. Still, he hits your sweet spot over and over again, throaty yeses emanating from your diaphragm. 

Yes, that feels good. 

Yes, I’ll love you forever. 

Yes, I’ll marry you. 

You chant it until you’re both cumming, your release creaming his cock and his release filling you entirely. Harsh breaths make way for giggles as he flops down next to you, falling asleep with his tattooed arm draped over your torso. 

His sleeping form leaves no way to discuss his marriage proposal—if that’s even what it was, and not just something he’d spouted out in the heat of the moment. Exhaustion overtakes you soon after, and you don’t wake until you hear Eddie pattering around the kitchen the next morning. 

It’s not until you wipe the sleep from your eyes that you catch a glimpse of something new: a shiny diamond ring on that finger. It’s beautiful but modest; nothing flashy, but you’ve never been the type for over-the-top jewelry. It’s perfect. 

Eddie comes into the bedroom, a bowl of cereal in each hand. He’s in just his plaid boxers, exposing the soft happy trail below his belly button. Heat blossoms in your core at the sight of him. 

“Hi, fiancée,” he grins, placing your breakfast on the nightstand. A bit of milk sloshes over the side of the plastic bowl, but you don’t care. You’re too busy frantically kissing him, morning breath be damned. “I guess that ‘yes’ of yours still stands?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, fingers dipping below his waistband. He’s always at least half-hard in the morning—he claims it’s because of you, but you know it’s probably just basic biology. Your hand easily finds what it’s looking for, and Eddie chuckles. 

“Don’t you want to eat first?” he teases, but he’s already putting down his bowl and climbing on top of you. He takes your left hand and kisses just above the ring now adorning it. 

“I love it,” you tell him, noticing that you’re wearing matching smiles. “I love you.”

Eddie presses a kiss to your nose. “I love you, too.” He slides a hand up your still-naked body, cupping your breast and gently sucking on a pert nipple. “Y’know what’s better than morning sex with your boyfriend?”

“Hmm?”

He grins wickedly. “Morning sex with your fiancé.”

--

[luveline]

lovely jade if you were ever in the mood to write something for remus/reader where maybe they’re out with their friends and reader can tell that remus’ pain is flaring up but he doesn’t want to draw attention to it so she nudges him to lean on her i would be forever indebted to you

Remus has a strange laugh. It doesn't quite match his voice, which is unusual too. Sometimes he chuckles but mostly he giggles, this stringing, sweet sound as he grasps your hand or your arm or your elbow. And you love hearing it, laughing yourself at Sirius’ dirty joke, but you almost wince at the amount of weight he leans into you. It's over as soon as it began, he's moving away, his smile fading with his laugh. 

You shouldn't be standing up, but the pub hadn't had a table and no one wanted to go home yet. You're waiting for an opening, a pitcher of Blue Lagoon between you all and a couple of bags of pork scratchings to ignore. Remus isn't made to stand this long, but it's not like him to mention it. 

His jeans are starched under your fingers as you put a hand on his hip. He raises his eyebrows at you, semi-suggestive. 

“She asked me who I was,” Sirius says, to Lily's disgust, and James’ poorly hidden amusement, “and I didn't have the heart to tell her. Remus ended up telling her we'd met before at a party–” 

“Is this true?” you ask, standing closer to him than you need to. 

He stares at you for a little while. Not long enough to be awkward, but longer than most people would pause. “I did feel a bit sorry for her, but she was lucky, really. Who'd want to remember a night with Pads?” 

“Don't say it like that! I didn't touch the poor girl beyond helping her put a new shirt on. Such an unfortunate tattoo, that… It'd look nice on you, though,” Sirius says, grinning at James encouragingly. 

“Think so?” James asks. 

Lily protests this idea very loudly. James would not suit that kind of tattoo, and Remus should probably put a stop to it; Sirius’ power of persuasion multiplied by the danger of friendship (i.e. egging each other on relentlessly) could genuinely result in James getting a tramp stamp of the Welsh dragon before the night ends. 

He's distracted, is all. Shifting from foot to foot, pulling his arms behind his back to prompt a click he won't get. You nudge him gently, and when he meets your eyes, you lean toward him deliberately with your shoulder clear for the grabbing. At the same time, you press your arm behind his back. 

Miraculously, he accepts the offer of support. Remus wraps an arm around your shoulder and lets the majority of his weight rest on your centre of gravity, exhaling through his nose. 

“Am I too much?” he asks, turning his head from his friends, his breath warming the shell of your ear. 

“No. Lean on me as much as you want to.” Want, you say, rather than need. 

Remus will appreciate the difference. He sighs as the pain in his back starts to ease off. If anyone were to look at you both, they wouldn't see you supporting him, just a lovers hug. You kiss his cheek a couple of times all squished together —one kiss or multiple?— before you lean away to brush soft strands of his hair behind his ear. “You okay?” you ask. 

“I'm okay,” he says with a nod, a real grin on his lips as he does as you'd done, kissing your cheek. “I'm too tired for this. Do you think James can afford laser tattoo removal?” 

[fatuismooches]

More Dottore and Fragile Reader voice lines, except it's your turn this time. A part two to this. Previous voice lines are here.

About Prime Dottore:

"Zandik. My one and only… words cannot express my tenderness and love toward him. I refuse to forget any moment I've spent with him. Not once has he given up on me, despite the times I’ve given up on myself. And he has always taken care of me, not once faltering in over four hundred years. I- I don’t know what to do sometimes when faced with that information. I wish I could be… less of a burden on him…”

About Omega:

"Omega, huh... he is the only segment where I always spend time with completely alone. See, he's not prone to sharing, just like Prime. I don't mind much, honestly, it's nice to get away from all of the noise and be with him. He always coaxes me to be more selfish too... is it a good or bad thing he's influencing me?"

About Alpha:

"Yes, the grumpy cutie I met all those years ago, the start of it all. He says that my presence is a hindrance and it only disrupts his work, but we both know that's false. Often, I like to sit by him as he writes his notes, pointing out all the errors caused by the atrocity of his handwriting... Sometimes, I feel bad using him as a reminder of the past."

About Beta:

"It always baffles me that Beta was once how Dottore acted. I mean, have you seen the difference between 'Mega and Beta? Anyway... he's always such a fun segment to hang around! Even when his assistants cower behind me in fear! Oh, and whenever he goes 'he-he-ho-ho', it always makes me giggle. Please don't tell him I did that impression of him though."

About Delta:

"Oh, Delta's... pretty mean. A really big meanie, if I do say so myself. He never laughs, never smiles, never entertains my shenanigans, always sees right through me... so rude. Huh? Don't worry about me, I'm allowed to talk about him like this. I still love him, after all."

About Zeta:

"Zeta's always so elusive! It was such a pain to track him down at first, he was always avoiding me. I thought he hated me... but once I got a hold of him, he is always so attentive to me! However, it greatly saddens me that he thinks he "failed" me... and yet he doesn't know how much it hurts me more that I've caused him to be like this."

About Zandy:

"Have you met my son? He's the sweetest little thing, isn't he? I remember how shy he was in the beginning, but he quickly grew to be such a dear. Always so excited and eager for attention. I can't help but wonder if Dottore's life could have been different if more people were kinder to him as a child."

About Pierro:

"I will always be indebted to him and Her Highness for taking me in. He is pretty scary to be around, but I feel sort of bad for him. I can't imagine how much responsibility he has... I once promised him I'd work for the Fatui once I'm better, but he didn't react much. Hmph, I'll show him how much I can boost Dottore's efficiency!"

About Capitano:

"The only thing I really know about him is that he's incredibly strong and well respected, at least from other people. The single time I met him, I also learned he was quite well liked by animals too, but it's hard to get any more information when he's so quiet..."

About Columbina:

"Bina is the best friend I've always wanted. I'm glad she's always there for me whenever things go bad. Although I can never predict what she's going to do or say, which is pretty strange, considering who I'm with, that makes her company all the more fun. Still, the amount of embarrassing situations she's tricked me into with Dottore... makes my head hurt."

About Arlecchino:

"I wish we could be closer, but I don't think it'll ever happen. I can't really blame her though, the relationship between her and Dottore is... not the greatest, for reasons I understand. I wonder what she thinks of me, the person who still stands by his side despite his sins?"

About Pulcinella:

"Oh... the little grandpa? I've always wondered how he's the fifth rank, but there's probably more to it than I know. Regardless, I didn't expect him to be so kind to me. I only see him once in a while, but every time he seems to know how I'm doing. And then, he proceeds to give me the best advice, exactly what I needed to hear at that moment, even when it has to do with Dottore. It's kind of scary..."

About Scaramouche:

"Ah yes... the Balladeer. He always wants to start up something with me whenever we cross paths, which is why my patience runs very thin around him. I hope the next time he goes into the Abyss, he gets stuck there."

About Wanderer:

"Who?"

About Sandrone:

"Her research sounds so cool! I've seen some of the things she can create, and it's completely fascinating. I too once had a love for machines back when I was a student. It's just a shame she never comes out of her lab... there are never any chances for me to talk with her. Well, I can always talk with Alpha and Beta about their research at least."

About La Signora:

"I've barely ever seen or spoken to her, but she has my respect. I heard what happened to her husband. If I ever lost Dottore, I'm not sure if I'd be able to go on... or at least be as half as strong as she is."

About Pantalone:

"Oh, Lone's one of my good friends! He always has such unique ideas for me to get back at Dottore, and listening to him talk about his theories quite reminds me of listening to Dottore. He's helped me a lot, dealing with this man. Still... as he does with everyone, I'm kept at arm's length. It doesn't bother me, but I wish I could help him in some way. But I know that'll never be possible."

About Childe:

"Despite being a Harbinger, he's a lot nicer than you'd think. Well, especially compared to the others in the Fatui. He's great at conversation, his family is the sweetest... and he always promises to spar with me once I'm no longer sick. Truly great company. Too bad Dottore's attitude toward him is... less than favorable."

About Furina:

"At first I hated her just like all the other Gods, but after learning the truth, I can't help but greatly respect her. To take on such a burden without having a single shoulder to lean on and succeed in the end... I think I've been through a lot of pain, but at least I've had Dottore and the others to ease it even just a bit. But she had no one, and I admire her will."

About Nahida:

"I try not to waste my time on things that upset me. It's not good for my health."

Sprint Start:

"No, no, I am not running at all. Look, if I get hurt and Dottore finds out it was your fault, you'll be the ones strapped to the table, not me. Hey... I wouldn't mind being in that position, actually."

Chat - Worry:

"I hope that one day he can make peace with himself."

Chat - Old Times:

"Sometimes I wish I was just a simple student again, having no worries other than my grades and pulling all-nighters with Dottore. Actually, that doesn't really sound relaxing, does it?"

Chat - Idling:

"If you're just going to stand here doing nothing, then I'm going to take a seat over there."

When it Snows:

"Would you be willing to distract Dottie so I can chuck a snowball at him? No? How boring."

When the Sun is Out:

"It's a perfect day to have a picnic and listen to him rant again."

In the Desert:

"... Omega, Beta, Delta, I don't care which one of you does it, get over here and make your hands completely ice cold before I faint."

Something to Share - Talent:

"If you ever need help writing something, you can ask me. I wrote some pretty good essays back in the day, you know. Dottore once said I should even write a book! I thought he was bullying me, but he was actually serious, for some reason. Maybe I should get Zandy to draw some pictures?"

Something to Share - Secret:

"Dottore actually has quite a sweet tooth. Well, this probably isn't much of a secret anymore because I accidentally spilled it to the agents, but it would do you good to keep this in mind."

Interesting Things - Foxttore:

"This little guy here? He'll do you no harm unless I say so, so don't worry. He was one of Dottie's failed experiments roaming the lab until he gifted the creature to me! These pufflings too, surprisingly they help me a lot more than you'd think. They're pretty strong, carrying all my things."

Favorite Pastimes - Meals:

"It's time to eat already? No need to worry about me, I'll just wait for a segment. See, it's best for both of us if I have company while I eat. My hands... aren't the most reliable."

Troubles:

"I am very happy that they have a good place to conduct all the research they want, but I wish they paid some more attention to me sometimes. Voicing this complaint over and over again, however, is too exhausting."

Amusement:

"Dottore's fan club never ceases to amuse me. I know every Harbinger has one but... it's completely hilarious. To go so far as creating a handbook about the two of us... well, I appreciate the dedication and the laughs, especially when I update Dottore on their activities. He may not care, but I support them!"

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

yall..im workin hard on the last part of fbrc rn....BUUUUUTTT--

i thought of childhood friend (im sorry i cant help it) bodyguard katsuki being hopelessly devoted to big boss' daughter reader.

let's say the environment he grew up in wasn't good at all. he lived in a horrible neighborhood that had a survival of the fittest mentality. he had to rob n steal and fight to survive. and them maybe he got recruited by some crime syndicate who saw his potential from a young age.

he feels indebted to them cus they got him out the streets, so he decides to devote his entire life to this syndicate and his boss, who just so happens to have a child : you.

you're the same age as him, maybe a year younger. his first thought is that you're a pushover. you hide behind your father the whole time he's introducing you to him and you barely even look at him, but he's been told he has a bit of a stink eye because he's just sorta used to glaring at people.

as your father keeps introducing you both your eyes widen at him saying katsuki will become your new best friend. yours out of joy cus you've always been sheltered and you've never really had friends your age before, and katsuki's out of shock. he thought he was here to kick people's asses, not babysit some random girl !

when your father pulls katsuki aside later that day he explains that since he's a very dangerous man other dangerous people will try to endanger not only him but his family and since he's strong he'd like him to watch over you. katsuki doesn't like it, but your dad did save him from his life on the street, so he can play nice for now.

he's never had friends either, so he doesn't know how to play like other kids do, and definetly not like you do.

you have him follow you around calling him your knight, you stick stupid clips in his hair and get all pouty when he won't let you put that pastey makeup shit on his face. you have him kiss your ouchies away when you trip over your own shadow and you whine and whine until he let's you jump on his back to give you a piggy back ride.

though, the more he spends time with you, the more there are fun moments. he hates to admit it but it's fun to be a kid with you. you play games that he likes to play and you share your cookies with him and he carries you around and plays dolls with you in exchange. he kisses your ouchies away and you put a cool bandage over his cheek when he's done training for the day and press a big get better kiss on it. you tell him it's to energize him and he huffs and puffs about it but he always looks forward to his kiss after training.

you've complained to him about how you can't spend much time with your dad since he's always out working, you don't have friends because everyone is a threat and you're always being surveyed and watched from a distance and you cry and say you hate it. you tell him that he's your fifth body guard and that he's your favorite one by far. you smile at him and the apples of his cheeks burn, he tries but can't supress the proud smile that grows on his face "of course i am, i'm the best !"

he's been your favorite and last body guard since that day because katsuki has made it his life's mission to devote himself to his clan, his boss and most of all, you.

[ryanguzmansource]

Full Audio Transcript (5.21.24)

Hey guys, welcome to I've Never Said This Before with me, Tommy Didario.

If you are not watching 9-1-1 on ABC, you are seriously missing out. The show is so phenomenal that it has been renewed for an eighth season and, my guest today—well, he is phenomenal as well. In fact, he is on my show because of you. I saw all of the tweets, the DMs, the emails—all of it so, like a genie in a bottle, your wish has been granted.

The talented actor Ryan Guzman stars in the smash hit firefighter drama series 9-1-1 and audiences fell in love with his character, Eddie, the moment he debuted in Episode 1 of Season 2. Man, he has become a staple on the show and fans have been rooting for Eddie throughout the years, and Ryan plays each moment of Eddie's journey with such care and vulnerability and truth.

We have a lot to cover today and I have a feeling you're going to really enjoy this fun but also personal and deep conversation. We do dive into some very serious mental health conversations, so after the interview, I will be providing resources for anyone struggling with their own mental health. This is one of the most powerful interviews I have ever done, and I really thank Ryan for opening up in the ways that he did today because I know that he is going to help so many people out there feel less alone.

So, let's see if we can get Ryan to say something he has never said before.

[INTRO MUSIC]

Ryan, my friend, how are you doing today?

I'm good, brother. How are you?

I'm good. I know you have been working your butt off. You were just saying you were filming all night. Are you exhausted or are you on adrenaline right now?

A little mixture of both. I got a little coffee pumped through my system. But yeah, I think I worked six out of seven days this last week. We've been doing around 14, 15 hour days. And I just got off last night around 1.30 in the morning. So got home around 2.30. But we're here. We're here.

Well, you were putting in the work. Congratulations to you on all of the success with this show. It's of course now on ABC. People are loving it. The numbers are going insane. And you've always been a fan favorite from day one. When you had that first scene of you putting that shirt on in slow motion and your body was glistening and Whatta Man was playing, people just fell in love with your character. But that's not just why they love your character. I mean, over the seasons, people have found you so relatable and and really, really are truly invested in the role that you play. Why do you think that is?

I like to say that, I mean, I try to play as grounded as I can, but I think the story itself is just the way Tim Minear writes the character. And I think he's always had a special connection with this kind of character. So, just indebted to how he writes and the connectivity between Eddie and his son. I mean, it's just like it pulls at the heartstrings, you know, and that's always been a fan favorite as well. So, you know, I'm living in gratitude for everything that's been written for that character and I try to do as much justice as I can.

Well, you're nearing the end of Season 7 and past seasons for you have been a bit heavier, a bit more intense. You've really gone through quite a lot of things that we'll touch on a bit later, which I know is also part of the reason why so many people relate to you. Are you enjoying this journey this season?

Yeah, you know what? I haven't really been able to kind of flex my humorous side and just kind of lightheartedness, kind of a vibe about Eddie, and I love that aspect of him. So while everybody else is kind of going through chaos, while Cap is going through chaos, Eddie is kind of, you know, trying to keep everybody together while, you know, Chimney and Hen be going at it during the tsunami and The Poseidon Adventure, Eddie is just, you know, being there for everybody as much as he can. So not to say that he's always going to be happy because Tim always has this thing about saying, you know, if I just let you guys be happy, then there'd be no story. You got to have some kind of drama. Nobody wants to show up just for people smiling all the time. But yeah, we've got some things in store for the rest of the season. And from what we've already shot, I've been super pleased about, you know, this new way of life for Eddie.

Like I said, the things you've gone through are intense throughout the years. Do you have any fear stepping into this role or any anxiety before you had to film some of those more intense scenes? Because it's a lot.

Yeah, you know what? Prior to 9-1-1, I might have had some fears about the depth of a lot of the things that we shot. I honestly didn't really call myself an actor until like maybe three and a half years ago.

No.

Yeah. I thought I was just fooling everybody, trying to get jobs and land the movies that I was getting. And then I think somewhere around the third season, a co-star of mine kind of, like, metaphorically slapped me in the face and said, you know, let's really get into this, man. You got some really good opportunity here. So that's when I started calling myself an actor. But to be honest, the depth of Eddie in the past three, four seasons has been amazing as just a class. It's been class for me. It's been an opportunity to flex these emotions that I don't get to flex in my day-to-day life and to access certain things and see how far can I push Eddie, how, you know, in the scene where Eddie is just losing his stuff and he's breaking everything in his house. Obviously, I've never done it in my house, but how do I get there? How can I allow the audience to feel what I'm feeling? And that task itself becomes a challenge. And I really [like] that type of challenge. So again, living in gratitude for all the little things that Eddie presents that, you know, I haven't really been presenting my own life.

So with that being said, is there a storyline that's particularly special to you for any given reason?

I kind of lean automatically towards the military/PTSD just because I have a cousin who served six tours and, you know, he shared with me—and I actually, oddly enough, during the episode of Eddie Begins, I brought him on as a military tech and he helped out everybody in the production. His name is Randy Hudson. I, you know, I love that guy to death—but, yeah, he's shared with me a lot of his issues that he's gone through and a lot of the obstacles he's gone through in his day to day life and what it's like to be a military vet coming back and kind of assimilating back into civilian lifestyle. So that storyline always kind of held a special place in my heart just because it was very close connected with me and my own family. And I always hope that, you know, I did it justice enough for everybody that has that story ingrained in them.

I think you definitely did. I saw a lot of comments when I announced you as my guest saying that that was a very meaningful part of your journey on this show. I'm so curious, you know, quite often in television it moves so fast, there's always rewrites or so much going on. Was there ever a story that you wanted to come to fruition that never did?

I hated the fact that we killed off Shannon so quick. I know she wasn't a very likable character for so many different reasons, but I always loved working with Devin. So I would love to explore a little bit more with that. But yeah, there's always beauty and chaos a little bit. So I would have loved the relationship, mother, father, parenting style aspect of Eddie's life to be a more explored, but unfortunately that can't happen anymore.

There's always so many things going on. I'm sure it's hard to fit them into each episode, and I'm sure things do have to get cut because major things keep happening episode after episode, one of them being recently, of course, Buck realized he's Bi and that's a storyline everyone's going crazy over. Did you see that coming? Were you like, I think one day this is going to happen for him?

Well, I mean, it's always kind of been in the ether. Everybody, you know, all the fans, you know, have their speculations about Eddie and Buck and, you know, for the longest time, I think Oliver and I again had lightheartedness to it. We always kind of like saw it as like, oh, at least they're so interested in our characters. Thank God they're interested in our characters. They're not ignoring us, and I don't know if either of us had a pinpoint, you know, idea on which character or if any character would actually lead in that way.

But again, all credit to Tim Minear. He's the one that knows the way. So he chose Buck's character to explore that route. And now seeing it happen in front of our eyes, it makes so much sense. And it just the way him, Buck and Tommy are getting together and the way they're exploring their own individuality and personality. It's beautiful to watch. I was very excited to see, you know, that episode specifically, just for the fact that it was such a moment between, you know, a friend and another friend who had held this huge secret. And how do you come out to your friend?

I had a friend, you know—because I know I've had this actually in my own personal life. I've said this in prior interviews—I had a friend who was deadly scared of coming out to me. And I realized that that moment itself wasn't so much the journey for me, you know, it was this hard journey for himself. And all I had to do was catch. I just had to be there for him, and I was like, that moment itself is so beautiful. I can't wait to do that scene. I can't wait to, you know, show the world like this is how you be there for your brother.

Wow, how cool that you could pull from your real life experience and make that scene even more special, which is why I think it came off so incredibly powerful. It really was so cool to see. And the reception has been absolutely incredible in terms of people feeling like, you know, they're seen through that character and it's on prime-time TV. And you don't see a ton of that, which is still kind of crazy. But, you know, and of course, there were some negative comments, which blows my mind. I mean, I'm sure that blew your mind, too, to see that because who cares, right?

Honestly, I've got this now filter for negative comments. They just kind of seep right through and I don't even hold on to anything. So all I've seen is really, really good comments.

And one of the best parts is actually I've gone to work and Oliver himself has been like telling me these stories of people saying, man, I did not have the strength to come out until way later on in my life. So I'm like, oh man, could you imagine 20, 30 years of holding on to this repressed thing and then it just eating away at you and not being able to say anything, even to the closest people and then seeing something on television to inspire you. That kind of thing is just like, whoa, okay, we're doing something much greater, much bigger than us.

He's not the only one inspiring its characters like you because you're showing, you know, what an ally means, and I think that's really cool to see this like macho, cool guy that's just like, cool, like who cares? And that's also equally as powerful and as important. Before we put a pin on this, you know, part of the conversation, you mentioned you never know what the writers are going to do, and I think there were talks at one point of possibly Eddie being the one to come out in some sort of way. Do you laugh and have fun with all of the fandom's obsession with you as Eddie and Buck getting together? Like, is that something you guys always are seeing and hearing? And I know everyone brings it up to you and it's something that's always looming. Like, how do you react to that? Does it ever get tiring for you?

Again, if the fans are interested, we're doing our job. So I love the love. And I mean, unfortunately, I'm not the one that writes it. So it's all up to Tim. But me and Oliver have a really good time with the fact that, you know, people are so invested into these storylines. And in fact, they're so invested, they're creating their own storylines. They're sending us clips and edits and videos. And, you know, every now and then, Oliver will show me something, I'll show Oliver something. Like, did we actually do this in a scene? Because they cut it so well together.

Yeah.

So, yeah, I think at the end of the day, you know, we just love the love. We're here to entertain and tell the truth. If it's true to the character, then yeah.”

[COMMERCIAL BREAK]

You can't predict the future. Nobody can on this show. But if the opportunity one day happened to come your way where they were like, this storyline might be explored between Buck and Eddie, would you be open to that storyline in the future? I see you smiling. I see Oliver had the same reaction, a big ass grin on his face when I asked this.

Yeah, you know, like I said, it's got to live in the truth and I think right now we live in a moment—or me, I live moment to moment—so I love the fact that the biggest plot point between these two characters is one happens to be Bi, one happens to be Hetero, and they have this vulnerability towards each other. And that is the truth to me is it's the fact that you have such a safe space and it doesn't matter your sexuality, that you have a safe space to talk to this individual and he can fully accept you. If we can stay with that, then whatever happens, happens.

But I don't necessarily want to push the fact that because you're vulnerable, you have to be one way or the other in your sexuality. Then I would hate to have a lot of other men who are struggling mentally and not sure about, oh, do I even open up? Because will that make me something that I'm not? I would hate to push that narrative. So if we live in the truth, whatever happens, happens. And again, I'm here for it all.

Whatever happens, happens. That's a nice way to put it. And I agree with you. I think there's power in both. I think there's power in showing a strong friendship that you don't always get to see. And then there's power if something eventually does happen. So whatever happens, happens. I like that, man. What can we expect for the rest of the season with your characters? Anything you can tease? The finale is coming up. We have a couple more weeks. What can we expect?

What can we expect? Well, we can expect that Eddie's smiles might turn to frowns.

Oh no.

Or at least confusion, maybe. We'll start to see, you know, has he gotten past certain traumas? Or is he just kind of pushed them to the side and acting like they're not there?

You know, I have to say a lot of people are still holding on to hope that we're going to get that karaoke scene.

I mean, yeah, we had such a good time playing that karaoke scene, and it was kind of a let down a little bit to know that it wasn't going to be in there. But now, again, looking at the episode itself, as fun as it would be, the main story was Chimney. And the way Kenneth Choi played Chimney, and that episode specifically—I mean, I think he got, you know, performance of the week for that—it would have been a disservice to add, you know, a three-minute scene of us laughing and having a great time and being drunks and karaoke and take away from that performance. So I'm glad that Tim made that decision, and I don't know if he has any plans on showing that later on or whatnot or having some extended clip version, but I can tell you this much, everybody from the cast to the crew to the background had a wild and crazy time doing that scene.

And I think what I just heard you say is you might accidentally drop it on your Instagram very soon.

I might get fired if I do that.

All right. Well, we'll see. I'll talk to ABC PR. No problem. What do you want to see for season eight? Like, are you thinking about the future? Is there like, OK, if I can have my way, I absolutely want to explore blank.

To be honest, there's so much going at us so rapid, so fast paced at this moment. The scripts are getting handed in like quick as can be. So we have a moment's notice to kind of know what we're doing and where we're going with our character. From what I know, from what I've shot thus far, I think next season will literally be a refresh button to Eddie. And starting over in so many different ways, so many new ways in which Eddie has never explored and we've never seen Eddie explore. He'll be on his own in a lot of areas.

Speaking of that, I have to bring up season five, the mental health breakdown, man. That was intense. And a lot of people felt very connected to that. How was it stepping into that scene for you and that storyline? Because it's pretty powerful.

Thank you. Man, that was cathartic, to be honest. It was I've gone through my own mental health issues as far as like, you know, my own depression and anxiety, and, you know, I was raised in an age where men aren't vulnerable and aren't allowed to show feelings. So that kind of repression is like a ticking time bomb, you know, especially for a person in Eddie's life, or his lifestyle. So to kind of relinquish this boundary of who Ryan is and step into Eddie and just kind of just full-on dive deep into these this well of emotion, it was, it was almost like therapy. It was crazy because, you know, from the second they started to say rolling, it's like my—I started to, you know, start bawling and crying, and when Buck comes in and, you know, he's trying to check in on me and the whole room is just all scattered around and I'm losing it—it's just like there was no semblance of Ryan anymore. It was just all Eddie and he was just lost, and that's what it is.

It's like if I were to look at my son, you know, five year old son, that's kind of what we revert back to is just this child that is just so scared and not having any sense of direction and—or hope that anybody will ever love him or ever see him. And it's just these like, you know, existential fears that come out within those tears, and that was my goal to portray that whole scene and then the scene following it. So to get there was just let go, just let go.

Well, the work you did was clearly honest and raw and vulnerable. You can't fake the work that you did in that. And it was really a powerful man for many people to kind of go through that with you and for people who have had their own experiences. And you're right, like, I'm from an old school Italian family. And, you know, you grow up thinking men don't go through that and men don't show those emotions. So to have that on prime-time TV is huge.

Yeah, I hope that helped out a lot of people. I hope that people were actually able to see that and at least, you know, go to their best guy friend, and, you know, I think that's what really needs to happen. As far as men, we need to lean on each other. You know, women have their own issues and they have their certain way of connecting with each other, but there's a special connection that you can have with your brother. And I give so much credit to quite a few of my personal brothers—including my actual brother—for allowing me to run to them in my moments of need, in my moments of feeling lost. And them, you know, being men themselves, not having to say one thing to me.

Or they can just, you know, if they see me in a moment of, you know, deep into a problem, they have the ability to say, well, here's a solution. And since I'm, you know, of like mind, I can be like, okay, you know what? Thank you for giving me some kind of direction. So yeah, I implore all men out there to kind of at least have one or two in your corner, you know, because we can't get anywhere without community.

Absolutely. What have you most learned about yourself through playing this character for so many years? You know, you joined in season two. It's been a lot of years now under your belt. Have you thought about that? Have you learned anything through playing, Eddie?

I've learned a lot through Eddie. I've learned patience. He's a—you know, he has a sense of patience that I didn't have in the beginning even prior to being a father, you know, and then kids itself, they teach you how to be patient. So, yeah, I've learned how to be there as a father. Kind of oddly enough, it was just living as one onscreen prior to actually being one in real life, it gave me, say, practice. I get to practice on television what I get to implore with my own children. And, you know, even if it's the worst thing for Eddie, you know, and I see him doing something horrible, at least I come back home, like, well, that can't happen. I can't do that with my kids. So, yeah, and in so many ways, it's helped me grow as a man, let alone a father.

That's pretty awesome when you can take things away from your job like that and become a better person. I love that so much. Can you believe you've been on the show for so long now? Do you ever think like, damn, that's not normal. That's the rarity in the business. So is that a cool feeling for you?

Yeah, I literally just had that moment yesterday. We were filming a scene, all of us, the whole cast, and I'm sitting outside—I can't tell you the location, that's going to blow something—I'm sitting outside one of the sets and I just had that moment to myself. I'm like, oh my God, I'm actually here. How did I get so lucky to be on not only just a television show, the number one television show out there, where we're in our seventh season and we're creating numbers that people don't even get in their first season? So again, if there's a moment to tap into, let's get into that gratitude again and just be super thankful that I was lucky enough to land this.

[COMMERCIAL BREAK]

That is so cool, and that's why I have no doubt you'll continue having so much success in your career and in your personal life because you keep bringing up gratitude, and it's very evident that's something you lead your life with. And in fact, I saw a recent Instagram post where you give a beautiful tribute to Twitch, and you credit him with being able to form connection with people in your life now and to different things and places, and I thought that was such a beautiful way to show people that you're working on yourself and you're a work in progress and that he helps you kind of open your eyes. So that was a really cool moment for you to also reveal.

Thank you, yeah. Yeah, I believe so much of the world right now is showcasing a polished version of themselves. And to be honest, I did it myself for so long that I've become tired of it, and I would much rather get to the raw—the raw, the unfiltered, the, you know, the mess ups, the, you know—I've stuck my foot in my mouth too many times. I've done, you know, stupid things in my life, and I never want to present myself as a person that does everything great because there's so many things I suck at.

So I think there's an opportunity within that rawness to invite others to become raw themselves, and for us to see that, you know, we're not competing with each other, we're competing with ourself and our own image of ourself and friends like, you know, a brother like, like Twitch, you know, and—not understanding what he was going through and that lack of connectivity that I always, you know, felt but never acted on, which again, I felt imposter syndrome for so long of calling him my brother. It really struck a chord in me and now I can't go backwards. Now I'm propelled forward to be like, is this conversation authentic between us or are we just kind of saying what we have to say just so we can pass on to the next person and create whatever that is? And I'm not here for that. I would much rather have that depth and I'd much rather have that rawness.

Beautifully said and a perfect segue into what I want to finish this conversation with, which is based off the title of the show: I've Never Said This Before. So I'm wondering, is there anything that comes to mind that you want to share today that you've never shared before?

Uh. Huh. Yeah, you know what? I've been thinking about this for so long and there's so many things, you know, that come to mind. One specifically, and I've been hesitant to actually say any of this for so long because, you know, it's been years upon years.

About six and a half, seven years ago—and I've really never said this out loud, especially onto a public platform—I had my own mental health crisis and I tried at one point in time to take my own life. And luckily, it didn't work. Luckily, I got a second chance by the grace of God. And from that moment forward, I've taken each step as an opportunity to erase what got me there and build on what allowed me to live forward. So I would say that that moment itself, in addition to what happened to my brother Twitch, are probably the two biggest fundamental moments of my entire life and have allowed me to have a deeper sense of mercy and empathy towards every individual.

So I would implore that all men renounce this fact of, you know, you're a tough man, you have to hold all this in, but lean on your brother, really lean on your brother. And if your brothers aren't being there in the way they need to be, find some new ones. Because that's another thing, if you don't have the people that are conducive to a healthy lifestyle and you're keeping on to them because of loyalty, let them go. There's plenty of other people. There's people that have been through your situation before that are willing and more than willing, you know, to help. So yeah, that was a big one.

Man, first of all, thank you for sharing something so personal and close to your heart with me today. I feel honored that you did open up and share that. And I'm truly—God, this could be another half hour conversation, so I'll keep it short—but I'm truly grateful that you are spreading that message today for anybody listening because, you know, mental health is a crisis and I think people sometimes look at you, they look at me, they think everything's perfect. We are, you know, in this public space and what can be wrong?

And when you humanize real shit like that, it makes people feel less alone. And you got through it, you realize that wasn't the right way to go about it and your life forever changed for the better, and I'm truly grateful that you put that message out today because you have no idea how many people you're going to be helping with that. And I truly know that that's something that's not easy to get off your chest. And for that, I thank you and I know so many people will be thanking you, and I hope you feel kind of like a little bit of a weight lifted that you share that hopefully.

Yeah, it's kind of hard to understand what I'm feeling at the moment. But I hope in what you said is true. And I hope that, again, I would love to do more for mental health, especially for men, I mean, just in general, to be honest. But yes, I hope that there is a new wave out there that's kind of taking over that we can actually have some cohesiveness and connection, a true understanding of what connection is. Let's revisit that. So this issue isn't a common issue anymore. If we can take that down, then let's do it. I'm here for it.

Beautifully said, and thank you again for sharing that. I could talk to you for hours, especially leaving with that. I think you're such a cool person. And you watch people, I get to talk to people all the time. But this to me was a real conversation, and that's what I value. That's why I have a show called I've Never Said This Before, and I want to talk about the projects that the fans love, but also leave room to talk about things that matter. I don't think there's enough of that. So I truly thank you for hanging out, for coming on, for talking about the fun of 911, which we all love, and it's killing it in every way, but also sharing a little piece of you. I hope you enjoyed the conversation as much as I have.

Thanks for having me, my man. Yeah, I had a great time.

Thank you, and remind everyone where, how, when, all the things about your show.

Yes, please watch Thursdays at 8 on ABC.

All right, and stay tuned for the karaoke scene that you just promised you will be dropping.

Yeah, maybe when I'm fired again.

All right, man, until we meet again, take care.

All right, brother.

[shonen-brainrot]

Inmate!Dabi, who maneuvers through the intricate hierarchy of Tartarus, holds a position of both fear and respect.

Inmate!Dabi, who swiftly garners a notorious reputation among newcomers in prison, as word circulates with cautionary whispers, "Steer clear of that guy, you don't want to cross paths."

Inmate!Dabi, who becomes an exceptionally perilous figure, given his readiness to resort to violence. To find oneself a prisoner while becoming the object of his obsession would undeniably plunge one into an abyss of absolute hell.

Inmate!Dabi, who stands behind a plethora of poker games and shady activities, deftly manipulating both the incarcerated and the enforcers simultaneously. Thanks to this shrewd strategy, he collects favors, ensuring practically everyone is indebted to him in some fashion.

Inmate!Dabi, who consistently emerges unscathed from prison riots.

Inmate!Dabi, who has a penpal connection with you.

Inmate!Dabi, who becomes increasingly fixated on your correspondence, displays a subtle but undeniable obsession.

Inmate!Dabi, who, driven by a growing obsession, insists that you visit him in Tartarus.

Inmate!Dabi, who, having earned your trust through an extensive exchange of letters spanning half a year, achieves his goal when you finally inform him in one of your letters of securing permission to visit him.

Inmate!Dabi, who finds himself one day with handcuffs securing his hands, being escorted directly into the visiting area.

Inmate!Dabi, who, utilizing a substantial sum of money amassed from poker and other ventures, successfully bribes both guards escorting him. Upon entering the visiting area, they oblige by removing his handcuffs, leaving only the quirk blocker restraint secured around his ankle.

Inmate!Dabi, who waits patiently as other visitors leave the room, accompanied by fellow inmates who cast cold glances his way.

Inmate!Dabi, who is unable to tear his turquoise eyes away from your beautiful face and the contours of your body accentuated by the snug jeans and white shirt you wear.

Inmate!Dabi, who, with his voice carrying a low, persuasive tone, encourages you to come closer. "Don't be shy. There's nothing to be afraid of, doll," he smirks, his turquoise eyes locking onto yours.

Inmate!Dabi, who engages in casual chitchat with you, bluntly checking you out as you sit across the table. He smoothly asks questions, and you respond politely.

Inmate!Dabi, who, in a sudden move, leans forward and extends his hand, his long, calloused fingers gently brushing your cheek, eliciting a gasp as you notice the absence of handcuffs. "Don't worry, doll," he smirks, "I ain't gonna hurt ya, yeah?"

Inmate!Dabi, who informs you that he was on his best behavior, earning the privilege to go without cuffs, slyly admitting it was just to have the freedom to touch you. Another gasp escapes you, your cheeks flushing with a rosy hue, and you don't know why are you reacting that way.

Inmate!Dabi, who, as the visit comes to an end, rises from his seat and confidently seizes your wrist, pulling you closer to whisper in your ear, "I can tell you're into me, you wouldn't be here otherwise. No need to be shy about it, good girls like you always enjoy a little play with bad boys."

Inmate!Dabi, who forcefully presses his rugged lips against your soft ones, stifling a small moan that escapes your lips as his free hand firmly grasps your ass. squeezing it with intensity. "I'm already counting down the moments until your next visit, doll."

[hkthatgffan]

I've said this before, but this really was one of the greatest days of my life and one I'll remember it for years to come.

1 year ago today was the day me and @fordtato interviewed Alex Hirsch. A year on and having the chance to share this project at last with you all was an incredible moment. I'm forever gonna be grateful to Alex for his kindness and passion for the questions we asked. I also will be grateful for all the people who helped us along the way from @stephreynaart, who made the amazing art for our thumbnails, @brightdrawings for the 3D renders in the trailer and Rev, Lee and Reuben for helping in making the transcript.

But most of all, thank you to Hana. When I approached them with the idea, I never imagined it would become a collaboration to the extent it did and see us both meeting the creator of the show that changed our lives forever. Hana was not just my co-host on this interview, but a mentor, voice of reason and the literal MVP that made this all possible. Without them, I never even probably would have had 30 minutes to talk to Alex...let alone 3+ hours. Hana, you're incredible and I am forever indebted to you for all your help and support through this. This was our project and no matter what, I am forever grateful to have had you on this with me.

I still look back on this interview happy with how it came out. We got to do something few fans probably will ever be able to say they did. It's a moment I'll look back on till the end. Thank you to all the amazing people who helped us make this happen, all of your for watching and supporting it, Hana for being my co-host on this and Alex Hirsch for even agreeing to do this

Gravity Falls is real and it will NEVER die!!

[ugh-yoongi]

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. &lt;3

[opinioncore]

* ੈ✩‧₊˚— VICTIMs HOLD GRUDGES

— getting to know your friends! And enemies! And faculties! And students!

⸝⸝୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ — possessive and obsessive tendencies (yandere things), bullying, incest (not to you), OOC, manipulation, power imbalance (they're all rich and you're poor, or teacher and stuff) assault, you/your and they/them but AFAB reader, animal death (on Kabukimono's part only), OC mentions, mentions of death, choking (on Scaramouche's part only).

ᝰ.ᐟ — part 1 - reader x genshin cast

-–———————————————–-

Tartaglia/Ajax — The older brother of Patrina and Xiao. Zhongli always brought him to business meetings and these meetings are with foreigners, specifically Russian foreigners, since he was a child. He is a child of a different mother, a mother with ginger hair and blue eyes. He's a sporty kid in school, one of the most known representatives in sports whenever the school participates in competitions.

"Did you come to see me?" He asks, you shake your head, "I came here for Patrina, where is she?" You asked and looked around, he laughed, but it didn't sound happy at all, he placed an arm on your shoulder and pulled you close, not caring that he's sweaty, "I'm hurt, you came here looking for someone like her and not me? We gotta fix that, we're 'friends' remember?"

he doesn't really like how the word friend rolls on his tongue.

Xiao — The youngest brother of both Patrina and Tartaglia. He's the one closest to his father — Zhongli — the most. Xiao feels like he's indebted to Zhongli the most because unlike his siblings, he never knew he had a mother, and Zhongli raised him by himself, no nanny or whatsoever, Patrina helped a little to that. He's in that little infamous group — 5WIRL —known for making the teachers live a living hell, he doesn't really do much and just follows what Venti does.

"You're a clumsy person, you know that?" He says, trying really hard to bandage your sprained ankle, that he caused. "This was your fault you know?" You snort, he doesn't really answer, but you're getting irritated at how he can't bandage your ankle properly at all. "I'll just go get Dr. Baizhu to do it in the infirmary—" and you let out a pained gasp, he just tightened the bandage on your sprained ankle, "No. I'll do it."

he doesn't really like how Baizhu looks at you.

Zhongli — The father of Tartaglia, Patrina, and Xiao. Owns the biggest, wealthiest, powerful and most successful company out there. Would do anything he could to spend time with his children despite his very tight schedule, like taking Tartaglia to meetings, studying with Patrina, and raising Xiao. He used to be a student in Teyvat Academy and is now the biggest investor that funds the company.

"It feels like you aren't glad to see me at all. Why's that, I wonder?" He asks as he drinks his tea that's probably more expensive than your entire house and furniture and food all together. He isn't dumb, he knows why you're so unfriendly, but he's the one paying your therapy to help your mental state after seeing your friend die, you really should be more grateful. He doesn't hear you speak, not even glancing at him. "You're quite the troublemaker, no?" He stated.

he doesn't really like how hostile your eyes look.

─── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ───

Kabukimono — The oldest out of the triplets by 5 minutes, but he really acts more of the youngest out of all of them. Was at first supposed to be the heir of the company his mother owns but she soon deems him unworthy (his words), and now he seeks attention from Amaya instead. He doesn't really do the same bad things his other brothers do, his just more clingy and obsessive than an average sibling. He's one of the most innocent and least sane people in the Academy (at least that's what they think).

"Please, have this.." he hands you something, it has a little flower with it.. and the main thing was a dead sparrow. He looks away with a flushed face while you look at it in horror. He fiddles his fingers, "I really love you. It brings me comfort that you don't make me feel less or worthless." It would've been very romantic if it weren't for the dead sparrow in your hands.

he really loves how he never feels left out when he's with you.

Scaramouche — He's next to Kabukimono, he was named Kunikuzushi but he doesn't want to be called that and prefers to be called Scaramouche. He also was supposed to be the heir, but his mother deemed him unworthy too (his words), so he grows to hate, feel insecure and finds comfort when he sees others as unworthy, just like him back then, he refuses to believe that. And thinks he's above everybody when somewhere in his heart, he feels unworthy. He uses Amaya as a way to release his frustrations, whether physically or emotionally or sexually, it doesn't matter. He's also in that little infamous group — 5WIRL —known for making the teachers live a living hell, and he is the worst out of the group, he doesn't wanna follow Venti at all but finds his ideas amusing enough to follow, students fear him, like a lot.

"Tell me. Where did you get this necklace from?" He asks you, holding out the necklace your friend - Nanako - gave you, "And why should I tell you that?" You spoke, defiant, not wanting to tell him anything, what if he was the one who actually killed your friend? It won't be long until he goes after you next if he finds out then. He scoffs, "Stupid... You're just really stupid aren't you?" He pushes you on the ground and gets on top of you. "Let's make something similar then, hmm? Something matching, and on our necks." And you feel something wrap around your neck, and as if on instinct, you wrap your hand around his.

he really loves the look in your eyes whenever you face him.

Wanderer — the youngest out of the triplets, yet more mature than the both of them, he was never meant to be an heir and never cared about it, was just heavily influenced by Scaramouche as a kid but soon grew to be more mature than him. He isn't as bad as Scaramouche when it comes to Amaya but isn't as good as Kabukimono though. He's also in that little infamous group — 5WIRL — known for making the teachers live a living hell, and he is like Xiao, just doing what Venti does, he isn't really with them all the time, just by himself.

"You're putting yourself in danger by talking to me, y'know that, don't you?" He scoffs, you don't even want to talk to him at all, you just want to ask where Amaya is, "I.. where is Amaya?" You asked, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, should've expected that, "Amaya this, Amaya that," he pulls your face closer to him by your face, "Why not ask me things about me, or yourself instead? I'm tired of getting asked about Amaya."

he really loves how you would call out to him by his name.

-–———————————————–-

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ part 1!! Yippie!! I wanna add more but like, nahh let's keep it to them instead, maybe I should do doodles too?

[1800-lemonadeg1rl]

Devotion

Final part of the craving you series

Dark! Wanda Maximoff x reader

Minors dni!! Masterlist°•☆

Summary-your living in Wandas house, she pays your wage and the bills, she takes care of you.. would it be so bad to step back and only be hers

Warnings- manipulation, dark! Wanda, obsessive Wanda, unhealthy obsession, potential Stockholm syndrome?, not proofread!!, snappy Wanda, coercion,

Wordcount - 1.3k

A/n- obviously this is the last chapter for the craving you story :( I rlly enjoyed writing smthng different for once and again I'm srry it took so long to get out :(( !! The main story is over but I will write drabbles or headcannons if anyone's interested <3

Wanda was finally at peace. A blissful weight off her shoulders she hadn't felt in months since meeting you. For the first time in what felt like her years she could sleep the whole night through without worrying about you, your whereabouts or who you could be with. This new found bliss was all because her plan to isolate and make you hers was finally falling into place like pieces of a puzzle, a satisfying finish. She had you in watching distance 24/7 and when she didn't, she wasn't more than twenty feet away. You slept with her, the guest rooms which had been under 'renovations' since you arrived in her home had to be completely redone again after she told you they found plenty of black mold inside them, just one of the many ways she'd managed to keep you close without making you suspicious. She'd even gone as far as to cut wires in your car so you'd both have to go in her car to work, she just wanted you safe after all.

After about a week at Wanda's your cats had somehow re appeared aswell, unscathed and well fed. You'd been heading out to her car for work when you'd seen the two lay together next to a hedge, Nixie protectively infront of Milo in a motherly sort of way. Obviously you were ecstatic and swept the two up quickly to show Wanda who did her best to look surprised at the re appearing cats.

"Wow.. how could they ever end up here?.." She knew you were stupid naive enough to fall for what she said even when she barely hid the truth from you. In actual fact the cats had been in the room next to you all this time you'd just never thought to question what could lie behind the other doors in Wanda's house.

To be honest you never really questioned her, not anymore atleast. It felt wrong to not do as she asked when she was letting you and your two cats stay rent free with her. I mean she was such a good person almost angelic in your view these days. You could barely remember the time where she'd had you on your knees begging for your job, all you could think off was the warmth, safety and comfort she provided to you without repayment.

Wanda had planned for this to happen. That by being around her so much you would begin to feel like you owed her, as if she saved your life. Which she did but she was also the reason it had needed saving to begin with. Oh, if it wasn't for her you'd still be living your lonely mundane life all alone. She took great pleasure in watching the change in your behaviour to her. From fear to adoration. The way you began to need her almost crave her presence in a way she had craved you. She saw the glint in your eye when it was time for bed and you knew you'd get to lie next to her the whole night. She saw the way you waited on her every need like a puppy trying to please its owner.

Though this was a good progress to making you hers. Her personal doll. It wasn't quite enough for Wanda. She wanted more. She wanted to make you see there was no point to work when you had no bills to pay. Get you to stop searching for a new place to stay and stop your income therefore making you further dependent and indebted to her. She wanted you to be a good little stay at home who waited by at the door for her and hated being separate from her. She needed you to become this. She also knew no job meant you wouldn't have any excuses to be out without her eyes on you at all time. It meant you couldn't find someone else to replace her. She should be the only person in your life.

She brought it up during dinner one night just to see how you'd react to such an idea.

"So darling, I've been thinking and wouldn't it be much less stressful for you if you didn't work? I mean its not like you have bills to pay." She played around with the steak on her plate aimlessly pushing it around as she asked you.

"Well.." You gulped unsure what to say. To not work is a dream really but you need money to find a new place and eventually pay back Wanda's kindness. "That sounds really nice but without a job I'd be under your feet forever." You miss the look of excitement which crosses her face at that prospect. If you next to her. Forever. "And I'd never be able to pay you back for your generosity."

Wanda's eye twitched ever so slightly at your response. Of course someone as sweet as you would unintentionally set her off course by wanting to be helpful. It was so cute that she was hardly bad but it had made it hard for her to make any further argument.

"You don't have to pay me back sweetheart. And property is much too expensive for someone like you right now. I mean I just want what's best for you after all." Her hand finds place over yours and gently rubs over your soft and delicate skin.

What she'd said had made your head hurt and all your thoughts go mushy in your brain. She just wanted what was best for you and obviously someone like Wanda knew a lot about what would be right. So maybe she was.. maybe her idea would be helpful for you.

"Uh.. I.. I mean I just don't want to be so... useless." As you uttered those words Wanda felt as though her heart could shatter. You were not useless. Especially not to her. You were her reason to breath. Her sigh of relief. Hers. Her saviour.

"Don't talk about yourself like that." Her voice snappy in a way which made you feel small under her hardening gaze which threatened your every move.

"I'm.. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.."

"I know you didn't. Don't apologise, just eat and stop troubling your little mind."

Dinner was fairly silent after that and so was the rest of the evening. You curled up in a chair near the fireplace and Wanda tapping away on her computer almost purposely avoiding looking at you. For you the opposite, you felt you couldn't look away from her beauty wanting to admire her. The pair of reading glasses perched on her nose that kept sliding off and her hair, oh her hair, the way she kept waving her hands through it everytime something annoyed her was so satisfying and hot?...

Night soon fell and you climbed into bed next to Wanda. An enjoyable time for the both of you and yet another moment where Wanda held all the control. Every night just as you fell asleep she made sure to turn down the thermostat so you'd have no choice but to curl into her body and snuggle into the heat that radiated off her. She was particularly fond of when you fell into a deep sleep, when she got to plant soft kisses against you and perhaps more? When she got to see you up close as peaceful as ever. When she'd whisper concerning sweet things into your ears without you even moving an inch.

"Your mine, aren't you sweet girl? Yeah that's it dont even question what I'm saying."

Tonight felt different to you, as you chambered into the left side of Wanda's four poster King sized bed you thought to yourself about what she'd said at dinner. Would it really be so bad to quit your job? Would it be so bad just to stay here with her and the cats? I mean her mansion did have everything you'd ever need so you could hardly even imagine becoming bored. And.. I mean Wanda suggested it so she mustn't mind the idea.. Hmmm she's probably right. She has been so far.

Taglist: @stayevildarling @reginassweetheart @alexawynters @your-my-mission @witchmaximoff @imjustvibingsworld

[harunayuuka2060]

Bimet: I have been entrusted with the gracious task by His Majesty Mammon to deliver these offerings unto your presence. *then floods MC's room with jewels, gold, and money*

MC: ...

MC: So where am I going to sleep now?

Bimet: On top of these gifts, obviously.

MC: That would be uncomfortable.

Bimet: *frowns*

Bimet: I will never understand the mind of a hobo.

MC: And I will never understand the mind of a devil. Yeah, the feeling is mutual.

Bimet: ...

MC: ...

Mammon: I heard from Bimet that you didn't open any of the presents I gave you.

MC: I felt like if I opened any of them, I would be indebted to you.

Mammon: How so? Am I not your friend? Friends don't have be shy to one another.

MC: The concept of friendship is new to me so I would have a hard time understanding that.

Satan: *appears and puts an arm around their shoulder*

Satan: Friendship means having fun together. Dealing problems together-

MC: Why?

Satan and Mammon: ...

Satan and Mammon: *laughs*

MC: What?

Zagan: I'm Zagan.

Leraye: And my name's Leraye! It's nice to finally meet you, descendant of Solomon!

MC: ...

MC: Puppies.

Leraye: Hm?

Zagan: ...

MC: Nothing. It's nice meeting the both of you. Enjoy the rest of your day. *then is about to walk away when-*

Leraye and Zagan: *moves to follow them*

MC: ...

MC: What?

Zagan: ...

Leraye: We are assigned to be your bodyguards, MC!

MC: Am I in danger?

Leraye: No-

MC: Then I don't need one. Don't waste your time on me.

Zagan and Leraye: ...

Leraye: I'm going to cry if you reject us.

Zagan: *nods*

MC: No, you won't.

Leraye: Huhu! Descendant of Solomon doesn't like us!

Zagan: ...

MC: *being held by both and refusing to let them go*

MC: You muscleheads! I don't need bodyguards!

Satan: Look at them, Sitri. They're getting along well.

Sitri: Why didn't you choose me as Solomon's bodyguard, Your Majesty? *pouting*

Satan: You'll just annoy them.

[149panda149]

TGCF: My theory on the inspiration behind the 4 calamities

In some of the oldest Chinese myths and legends, there are 4 guardian gods of the four cardinal directions - the green dragon, white tiger, crimson bird, and black tortoise, and each have a colour, season and element associated with them. I'm not sure if anyone has made this connection before, but I'm writing it down if anyone is interested. There are spoilers about the calamities' identity.

First, the 青龙 （qing long, green dragon) --> Qi Rong, Night-touring Green lantern.

The qinglong's territory is the East, and its colour is qing, which means green, or turqoise. Its element is wood, and its season is spring. Closely associated with royalty and the imperial family.

Now, for the similarities with our favourite green goblin. "qing" is literally the colour in Qi Rong's title, and his colour scheme. Qi Rong has a habit of hanging corpses from trees, which may be his relation to the element "wood". He does not have any obvious coleration with the season "spring"- perhaps he was born in spring. He is royalty, part of the imperial family as cousin to the crown prince.

Second, the 白虎 （bai hu, white tiger)--> Bai Wuxiang, White Clothed Disaster upon the Earth.

The baihu's territory is the West, its colour is white, element is gold/metal, and its season is summer. It is the king of all beasts, associated with disease and war, often used as a guardian symbol by soldiers.

On the other hand, Jun Wu's title, alias and colour scheme are all white, and has plenty of weapons that may be his link to the element of "gold/metal". I don't think he has anything to do with summer, but feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. He is king of the gods, a god of war, and the one to spread the human face disease.

As east and west are considered a pair, the guardian spirits are meant to reflect each other. In Chinese poems and such, symmetry is important, and both Qi Rong and Jun Wu were princes, one becoming revered by the highest of gods, covered with masks and false identities, one becoming the object of disgust by the lowest of ghosts, using his real name and face. There is a certain poetic symmetry to it, don't you think?

To the second pair. The 朱雀 (zhu que, crimson bird)----> Hua Cheng, Crimson Rain Sought Flower

The zhuque rules over the south, its colour is red, element is fire, and its season is summer. It is the king of all birds, more powerful than even the phoenix, immortal and undying. As such, in many places it is also considered a symbol of life.

Now, to the most popular ghost king: Hua Cheng. The english translation of his title is "crimson", and his colour scheme is indubitably red and autumn-y shades. He also re-re-met Xie Lian in autumn ( I think - I mean, the leaves were all red in the donghua??), and has died again and again to return like the zhuque. He is the king of all ghosts, with a great determination to live(sorta? are ghosts alive??) for his love.

Lastly, my personal favourite, the 玄武 (xuan wu, black tortoise)---->He Xuan, Black Water Sinking Ships

The xuanwu, also called a tortoise, is actually the only spirit to be a combination of 2 animals, a snake and a tortoise. It rules over the north. Its colour is black( sometimes depicted as dark blue), element is water, and its season is winter. In earlier legends, he is considered a guide and guardian to the netherworld, of death and of long life.

Thus, to our poor indebted water ghost. He Xuan's name is "xuan", the same! goddamn! character! as the spirit! His title and colour scheme are all to do with the colour black, and he is a water ghost because he died because of the Water Master. He has been marked by death, yet survived and vowed revenge. This, and the fact that his house is called the Nether Water Manor, is probably his relation to the netherworld of the xuanwu.

To the pair of south and north. Both Hua Cheng and He Xuan have suffered and suffered again, yet Hua Cheng chooses to linger on due to hope and love, and He Xuan due to revenge and hatred. But hatred and love are two sides of the same coin. If Hua Cheng hadn't experienced the hatred from his childhood, he wouldn't have thrown himself from the city wall and met Xie Lian. If He Xuan hadn't loved his family, so much, he wouldn't have broken that hard after their deaths to lose himself to hatred and empty vengence.

Aaaaaand that concludes this essay. Keep in mind that this is a theory, and probably even isn't true, but if anybody wants a more detailed description of the guardian spirits, or to know more about the similarities between the mythical creatures of ancient china and tgcf, I will be more than happy to make a part 2.

Thanks for reading!!

[universaln0b0dy]

Hello I was wondering if there can be a part two to Monster where the boys confront the reader about their overblot? You can ignore this if you to.

here we go!

(Aftermath of this: Monster

Summary: They saw what you're capable of and now you fear that they might hate you....

Note: angst n fluff (Leona, Floyd and Rook), very ooc- also I apologise if this isn't what you imagined or if it's too cringe. I finished writing this at three a.m.-

Leona:

You had tried your best to ignore the lion after the Overblot, the way he had fixated you while you were in your overblot form scared you. You decided to yeet your feelings for him in the trash and ignore him, so he wouldn't ask questions.

After a week of successfully avoiding the lion your lucky strike comes to an end and you found yourself in a kinda funny position. Trapped between his arms.

"Herbivore, why are you ignoring me?" Leonas tail flkvjed from one side to the other, hid green eyes staring into yours. Your poor heart was shattering into a thousand pieces as you realised he would question you about your monster form.

"Because I don't want to be questioned about my Overblot form. I can't explain it either." You mumble coldly, trying to free yourself out of his grasp, but Leona seems disappointed, like he wanted to hear something else. But the fleeting gaze was soon replaced by his usual grumpy frown.

"I don't care about that Overblot form of yours, I would just don't like being indebted to people." He snarles, moving both of his hands away from you. You could just make a fun for it, but you don't, so you decide to play abit obvious.

"What debt, there is no debt." You mutter, avoiding Leonas eyes. The male sighs. "You saved my life there, of course I am indebted to you." Something about the way he said that made you confused. Leona wasn't the type to admit he owed someone something, or come to that person to talk about said debt.

"How about I let you stay in my dorm over the winter. As far as I know Ramshackle can get very cold." You were about to slap yourself in order to check if you were dreaming or not.

"Are you sure? I don't think you would like a monster like me staying in your dorm." You mumble looking to the side, only to hear him chuckle.

"I have seen your Overblot form and let me tell you, your not a monster.... if I am honest you looked kinda hot."

"WHAT?"

Floyd:

"SHRIIIMPY~"

You had barely finished fighting Jamil and you most definitely weren't in the mood for explaining about your Overblot form. It made you uncomfortable how Azul and Jade looked at you, keeping their distance. You were exhausted and their judging gaze didn't help your case.

Floyd on the other hand had other plans. You should have expected this, he would be mad you kept such a big thing from him after all. You lean against a wall, breathing heavily. The eel stops right in front of you, looking at you with curiosity, but also a sour mood in his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me you could willingly Overblot shrimpy?" Just as expected he sounded disappointed. You shrugged slightly, trying to keep your eyes open.

"I thought it would be better if I didn't tell anyone I was a monster." You mutter, leaning to the side. Floyd isn't content with that answer, as if he could sniff out the fact you were lying.

"That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me shrimpy, I thought we had something special!" Hearing that takes you of guard and you look at him with tears. You were trying to fight them, but that didn't stop them from flowing.

"I'm sorry Floyd, you're right, I should have told you.... it was wrong of me to keep it just because.... I.... you.... stay.." you couldn't complete the sentence and your voice breaks in between. You were selfish, yes, Floyd was a moody eel and many people considered him a monster, but why should he be forced to continue to like one, just because you couldn't get your sorry ass to tell him about everything.

"I should have told you I was a monster, than you wouldn't have wasted your time on me." Floyds expression softens for a second and he pulls you into a hug.

"Dawww! Shrimpy! I still like you! You're still my shrimp, even once you are covered in ink!"

The only thing you can do is squeeze him back.

Rook:

Rook was eccentric and that was why he still liked you. There was a subtle shift in his behaviour after you had helped fight Vil, he stopped being overly entranced with Vil, going over to shower you in compliments. You didn't know how long that shift would last, but you enjoyed every second of it.

"Trickster! That was un suprise! You looked manifique!" You lean your head towards the side, cheecks burning with embarrassment. Vil eyed you both, smiling softly.

"I hope this will finally stop Rook from barging into my room just to talk about the fact that the prefect developed a new habit."

You heard Vil, luckily. If you hadn't you might would have expected Rook to just revert back to his old self, but this gave you hope, hope that you would be more than just his current intrest. You looked around, everyone seemed chill with the fact you just overblotted and turned back like it was nothing. It didn't matter that Rook was eccentric, you could always trust his gut feeling.

"Rook, are you sure that a monster like me looked... manifique?" You ask jokingly, Rook grasps his heart in an over dramatic motion. "Oui, oui! Mon dieu, If I ever hear you say something like that again I will make sure to cut you off before that sentence can get to your head!"

You chuckle a bit, before going back to serios. "No Rook, I really want you to know that it's okay if-"

You blink a few seconds trying to comprehend what just happened. Did Rook really just kiss you, or did you just imagine that? Your knees get wobbly, maybe because you were exhausted or because you were embarrassed, you didn't know.

"OMGWHYDIDYOUDOTHAT?" You manage to squeal and Rook chuckles. "I warned you trickster and mark my words I will do it again."

Vil, please get your hunter under control, the prefekts heart might explode if it has to endure this any longer.