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jiminrings · 8 months

Text

fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane.

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it. “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place.

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor.

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to. You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder.

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation.

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears.

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.”

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her.

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know, try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts.

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas.

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with.

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it.

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

#HOW R WE FEELING TARGET AUDIENCE!!! :O #yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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briefalpacashark · 7 months

Text

~A little brawl~

You decide to show case a bit of your skill to stamp out the ego of a new solider. And you get in trouble.

================================================

You and your team were posted to some random desert somewhere to complete a mission. Having already done so you were gifted with a few days of rest before your transport back home arrived. Price was loving the time off reclined in a dingy old fold out chair that looked on the verge of breaking. A cigar pinched between his teeth and a cold beer in the other hand. His hat sat over his face.

“Working hard or hardly working?” You asked with a grin walking up to him a pile of reports tucked under your arm.

“Can't you tell?” he asked gesturing to himself.

“Medical reports you were after,” with a grunt he sat up taking the reports from you.

“So how are the boys?” he asked.

“Honestly don't know how long you guys survived without a medic,” you shock your head in bewilderment.

“Where are they anyway, haven't seen em all morning,” you said.

“Oh, the little shites are playing with their new friends,” he jabbed his chin across the ways where a small group of soldiers had formed. Once you had finished business with Price you walked over, interested in whatever was happening. Spotting Ghost a head taller than the rest you made your way to his side. The acknowledgment that you had arrived was simply a sideways glance.

“What's going on here?” You asked as your eyes settled on a makeshift ring, its outline defined by a stray circle of rope set on the ground. A ring where Gaz currently was getting his ass handed to him. Your grimaced as his opponent landed a powerful hit. On the other side of the ring stood the team you had been working alongside. A group of grad A assholes. An American team.

“Wanna place a bet?” Soap asked taking a sip of his beer stepping up to your other side.

“I hate to be honest, but Gaz doesn't look like he'll win this fight,” You chuckled under your breath.

“Oh we khen that. We bettin on how long he’ll last,” Soap stated with a grin. All your attention was brought back to the ring when the fight ended with basically a knockout. Money was passed around as you and the boys slipped into the ring helping Gaz to his feet and gently hauling him out. Sitting him down you tried to hide your smirk as you woke him up with a few gentle slaps on the cheek.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You just got ya ass handed to ya by an American,” Soap was far to entertained by the fact.

“Follow my finger,” You ordered Gaz checking for a concussion.

"Alright aright come on my turn," a young cocky bloke from the other term stepped into the make shift ring. He had been a constant annoying fly that seemed to hand around you. You had politely declined his advances. More than once. You though he got the point, after all he had left you alone for a bit.

"Come on Jimmy!" his squad encouraged him. Jimmy was his name.

"Whos it gonna be?” the soldiers all asked.

"How about the bitch of 141?" he asked nodding to you. Your teams smiling faces dropped as the atmosphere did a one sixty. You pressed your lips together.

“I'm good thanks,” you waved dismissively.

“Huh, that's fine. What can you expect from you lot anyway,” he chuckled. You lot? The insult was weak, but it was there.

"Watch your mouth private," Soap's tone showed how quickly his patience for the other squad was becoming.

“Fuck off Pom, or come settle it in the ring,” Jimmy was a cocky young bloke. And little was known about the 141. so, he didn't really understand what he was offering. Well, the severity of it.

“Pom!?” Soap exclaimed in shock. Calling a Scots man British was just about the worst thing you could do. At that very moment Soap looked like he was about to rip the head of the poor lad.

“You know what, why not?’ you asked cheerfully patting Soaps shoulder as you passed him, gently pushing his back to Ghost.

“Look out, her she comes. Anybody got a set of gloves on them. Wouldn't want to catch whatever she's spreading. After all her teammates seem very fond of her,” You wondered where he got to gal of it all. Possibly little dog syndrome.

“Hey man, for your own benefit I would shut the fuck up,” Gaz words of wisdom were swept to the side. Unacknowledged by the confident young solider.

"What you got what she got?" he smriked.

Soap took a step forward only to be stopped when you held out your arm to stop him.

“Come on Soap. Rember what Price said. We need to play nice with the little new soldiers,” the team was barely out of training. It was maybe there third real mission. And Price had told you all to behave.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Soap asked with a little hit of worry as he glared down Jimmy.

"I can look after myself Jonny. Plus, someone's gotta curve this kids' ego," you joked unbuttoning your outer shirt.

"You have faith in me right Ghost?" you asked half jokingly.

"Haven't see it personally but I believe you could take me down. So this fucker aint got a chance," he shrugged simply his tone serious. You propped an eyebrow at him. You didn't know he felt that way. You were sort of chuffed. After all Ghost was good in a hand to hand combat situation.

"Wow Ghost, didn't know you felt that way about me," You joked with a wink. You didn't stay to see his reaction as you stepped into the ring those watching letting out cheers.

"Looks like your used to that," Jimmy muttered as you undressed your outer layer, his eyes resting shamelessly on your chest.

"What are the rules?" you asked shaking your jacket off. Everyone was surprised at the amount of muscle you had. Your frame was small but toned. Plus your team had never really seen your body. Soap let out an impressed whistle at your bear arms.

"Everything goes. No one kills and you tap out when you're done," Jimmy said rising his fists as he smirked.

"What about breaking bones?" you asked throwing your jacket to the side and rolling your shoulders. Your opponent was slightly put off with how calm you were.

"I don't know about breaking, but I've sure got one bone for you,” he winked his statement earning chuckles from his team. You looked your opponent up and down, he was pretty, but not your type.

“I'm flattered but I don't have my magnifying glass on me right now,” This time your own team chuckled. You smirked slightly reaching behind you to take your phone out of your pocket. You had looked down to find a place to throw it. An explosion of pain snapped to your right cheek sending you stumbling.

“Slut,” You straightened up feeling the coppery taste fill your mouth. He had punched you; he hadn't waited till the little bell had rung. A deep chuckle left you lips as you gathered the blood in your mouth and spit it to the side. Slut, you hated that word.

“The fuck was that!” Soap yelled in anger only being held back by Ghost. Why, because he had full confidence in what you were about to do.

“We hadn't started yet,” you chuckled rage bubbling inside you.

“Everything goes,” he shugged.

“Yeah, everything goes,” you nodded. Now you were a calm person, you were reasonable and rational. But the guy in front of you was cocky. And you so wanted to repay his for every unwanted advance he put forth.

You stalked forward your eyes narrowing in at him, then as you stepped right up to him you let lose. It was so quick he was barely able to throw up a block. Your fist cracked into his nose with such precision and speed that he fell back onto his ass. In a daze he stumbled back to his feet as you shock out your hand. He had a hard head.

“Get em Love!” Soap cheered for you.

He threw a wild hay maker to which you simply ducked under. Delivering another punch you aimed for his kidney. The hit crippled him, he fell to one knee. Taking his head in hand you brought it down onto your knee. You weren't a violent person, but you knew how to end a fight quickly. After all it was those skill that kept you alive. And while you never took any pleasure in it you felt a slight tingle of satisfaction.

Pushing him back you gave him a minute to breathe through the daze.

“Tapping out?” You asked. He looked like he wanted to. His anger flared at the sympathetic look you gave him. At how quickly you had managed to beat him. And how pathetic he looked because of it.

“To a slut like you?” he asked stabling to his feet. He was in no position to fight. You almost felt bad for what you had done.

“Come on mate, you can barely stand. Let's call it a day yeah?” you were happy to keep going, but you were actually worried for the boy now.

“Fuck you,” he seethed. Your forced a smile.

“Well then I'm tapping out,” you said tapping your thigh. You didn't want to continue, and you thought that would be the end of it. So, you turned your back to them. So, you didn't see the coward punch Jimmy threw. You didn't see it heading for your head. What you did see was a mass of black crowd your vision. Ghost had appeared Infront of you. You frowned as his arm shoot past your head, seeming to catch something. At the quick movement you jerked around following his arm to see he had caught the punch inches from your head. In one swift movement Ghost had swept you behind him as he twisted the man hand in painful position.

“Now that was just plane stupid,” Ghost stated as Jimmy cried out dropping to his knees at the pressure. In an instant both squads were at each others throats, yelling and throwing insults.

“You alright love?” Ghost voice broke through the commotion as he back over his shoulder at you while he still held the man in the hand lock.

“Y-Yeah,” you nodded.

“Keep your bitch on a leash!” Someone from the other team yelled.

“I'll put ye in a leash!” Soap snapped. Thats all that was needed. After that all hell broke loose.

So, there you sat. back in your own base tent that you shared with the boys. You were all lined up in a row. You and Soap sat in the middle the widest grins on your busted up faces. The insults throw quickly resulted in a brawl. One you had originally tried to break up before getting caught up in it. Ghost sat on the other side of you, his mask covering some of the hits he took. Gaz sat on the other side of Soap shaking his head at the two of you.

Price stood in front of you all an angry expression on his face.

Do you remember in school when you would look at your best friend and just randomly start laughing. Well, that's what happened to you when you peeked at Soap out the corner of your eye. You both broke out into laugher that sounded strangled as you tried to keep it in.

“I can't even leave you unsupervised for one fucking second,” Price pinched the bridge of his nose.

“They started it,” Soap interjected.

“Shut up,” Price snapped. Soap ducked his head his smirk widening.

“He tried to get her when her back was turned,” Ghost stated nodding down to you.

“Well, still did you have to beat the shit out of them?” Price words brought proud smirks to all your faces. Compared to the four of you the other team looked to be just out of commission. In the end you all delt worse than you were given.

“They were talking shit. Had to set them straight,” Gaz explained with a shrug.

“I understand that, but all I'm asking for is a little self-control. I mean who put that lads head through that brick wall?” Price put and emphasis on the word brick. You all turned to Ghost who had personally express delivered Jimmy's head to the other side of the wall. Under the attention Ghost simply shrugged and looked away.

“You're all on tent arrest,” Price declared. You all groaned and began to protest slightly.

“Enough!” he snapped.

“This is what happens. When you misbehave you get privileges taken away,” You and Soap once again tried to hold back your laughter. It was like he was scolding a group of toddlers.

“And your two smart asses are on clean up duty,” he declared pointing to the two of you.

“Ha,” Gaz chuckled.

“Fucking kids,” Price grumbled as he walked away. There were a few moments of silence as you all came to terms with the consequences you faced.

“That was defiantly worth it,” you stated.

"Defiantly," - Gaz

"Fuck yeah," - Soap

"Should have done worse," - Ghost.

Another moment of silence passed around you before you all chuckled softly. You could even see Ghost shoulder shake slightly. You looked up to him with a thankful smile.

"Thank you," you whispered. To your utter shock and bewilderment he glanced down at you.

AND WINKED!

"Anytime love," he stated before getting up and walking away. Leaving you to wonder if what you had seen was an illusion or not.

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--COD Master List Here--

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#141 x you #141 x reader #task force 141 #cod 141 #tf 141 #mw2 141 #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader

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accio-sriracha · 25 days

Text

Lethal

A Jegulus One-Shot

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

James stood, ignoring the way the rain made his boots sink into the mud beneath him. He was waiting for Regulus.

The Slytherin team walked past him, each shooting him odd looks as they did. But he wasn't here for them.

Regulus paused a short ways in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. Their eyes met and held there, he could see Regulus' fingers twitch towards his wand,

"Get out of my way, Potter."

James couldn't help but stare, warm brown captured by misty silver. The rain made his hair wet and messy in a way that was entirely too attractive to be legal. Regulus' eyebrows furrowed,

"Potter." His voice was sharp, "The hell's the matter with you?"

James focused then, finally snapping out of it. He kept his voice quiet as he spoke,

"Can I talk to you for a second?"

It was obvious this wasn't what he'd been expecting,

"You're talking to me now." He pointed out. James shook his head,

"No, I mean-" He cleared his throat and shot a look towards the players that had stopped and began watching them in interest, "I mean somewhere private."

"Why?" Another twitch towards his wand.

"It'll just be a second. I need to ask you something."

"Is here not good enough for you?" His eyes narrowed further, James could tell he didn't trust him. James didn't exactly blame him either. Gryffindor just won the quidditch cup, surely it would be odd for James to spend his usual celebration time having a casual discussion with the other team's seeker.

He let his eyes fall, big mistake, they caught on the way his quidditch uniform clung to him in the rain.

"I haven't got all day, you know?" Regulus pressed when all James could do was stare.

"Right. Sorry." He shook his head, trying to clear it.

Merlin, it was so hard to focus when he looked like this.

If looks could kill, Regulus in his uniform was bloody lethal.

"Well... I was just wondering if you'd want to go out some time?" He asked, taking a step closer, "Like to hogsmeade or something."

Now it was Regulus' turn to stare, "You're asking me to hang out with you?"

James lifted a shoulder, "If that's what you want to call it, sure."

It was clear Regulus wasn't getting the message, so James took another step, handing his broom to one of the other Gryffindor chasers, who accepted it with a mystified expression.

"I'm asking you on a date."

It took a solid three minutes for Regulus' quiet reply to come,

"Why?"

"Because I fancy you." James was smiling now that he could see Regulus' face clearly, the water clung to his eyelashes, and gods was he a sight to see.

"Why?" Regulus asked again. James would have used the term 'dumbly' but nothing about Regulus could ever be described this way.

"Because you're you."

Regulus blinked a couple times, "You... like me?" He whispered. James nodded,

"I really do." He leaned in just a little more, just enough to feel Regulus' warm breath contrast the freezing air, "Though, I'd like you better if you said yes."

"Yes." Regulus blurted out without hesitation, his cheeks turned a pale shade of pink and he looked away, "Yes, I would love to go on a date with you."

And it was the single greatest moment of James' life. He could feel his smile pulling at his lips.

"Tomorrow then. I'll pick you up at twelve."

Feeling bold, he pressed a careful kiss to Regulus' cheek before taking his broom back and walking to the changing rooms.

James sighed and leaned his head back against the lockers,

"I did it." He whispered, unable to hide the awe in his voice, "I asked him out." He looked over at Sirius, smiling like an idiot, "He said yes."

"Congrats mate, but if you don't hurry up I will actually leave you here." Sirius rose an eyebrow threateningly. James nodded and stood from the bench,

"Fine. Fine. I'm hurrying."

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#marauders #marauders era #harry potter #marauders headcanon #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus #jegulus headcanon #jegulus textpost #jegulus hc #james x regulus

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boinitwdidthat · 2 years

Text

// Imagine - Them meeting a hybrid Na'vi (and falling for them) Pt. 1 //

>( Neteyam, Lo'ak, Aonung)<

>The boys meeting their first Omaticaya/Metkayina Na'vi (Gn terms, they/them)<

>Neteyam<

First running into you on the sands threw him off kilter

Literally, he ran into you and tripped on accident

"Ah, sorry- I should've been looking," He stood quickly, holding his arm out to assist you. Allowing him to really witness you for the first time.

Looking at your skin, almost seemed mythical. The splotches of teal and deep blue standing out beautifully to the sands. However, it was your eyes that captured his interests most.

Instead of either strong yellow or blue, they portrayed a pale green. Almost matching some of the younger plants he had seen coming to your home lands, and truly some of the most unique he had explored.

"Thank you," You grabbed his arm to stand, lightly dusting yourself off afterward. At last, you look up at him, smiling gratefully for his help. It was then you remembered the boy, familiarity showing in your excited voice.

"Oh! You're one of the new people! From the farther lands!" He bounced his head jokingly, appearing to mimic your excitement.

"Yes, you're one of the first people to sound happy for meeting me," He chuckled to himself before holding his arm out again, this time for a proper greeting.

"Neteyam," You reached out, his grip was definitely solid, and more textured than you expected. Curiosity grew in you for the reasoning behind it, but almost feeling embarrassed to ask.

"(Y/n)," As you shook, Neteyam's gaze couldn't seem to stray away from the various differences on your body. Even finding similarities to his own, but not recalling seeing any other villagers like you upon arriving.

Unless there was some secret section to their people for others like you.

His stares did not go unnoticed though, as you let go of his arm and began to shift away.

"Well, I've got to go fufill my duties for today so.." You slid past him, grazing his shoulder, "I'll see you around Neteyam."

As you began to leave the awkwardly growing silence, Neteyam's voice called out behind you.

"(Y/n)! Wait!" His body jogged back next to yours, mouth flapping silently for a moment. "I've been trying to learn about these lands, but I haven't been able to find any help. Could you- possibly, help me? It would give me a chance to talk to someone other than my family for a while." His smile boyish as he scratched the sand off of his arms.

"Uhm, yeah you can help, just can you.." You gesture gently, trying not to seem aggravated, "stop the staring thing you've been doing?"

He closed his mouth, definitely appearing apologetic.

"I'm sorry about that it's just, I've never seen one such as yourself before. It's so-"

"Weird? I know I've heard it all already," You turned away, hurt by his impending reaction. But, it wouldn't have been a new one, so it's best not to cry over the small things.

"Beautiful," Hi voice seemed to echo as it reached your ears, freezing your form in place.

Hesitantly you began to turn, after all, this could still be a cruel joke.

"You look like a gift from the Great Mother herself," his face was now a deep blue, reminding you of the depths of your oceans.

"I- thank you," You were reveling in this shock, too stunned to notice his body moving closer once more.

"So, if you'll still have me," His arm gently nudged against your own, "I really do wish to learn about your lands, but I wish to know more about you too." Eyes bearing into you, as if every inch of your soul was visible.

"Well, if you truly want to join," Leading the way through nearby shrubs, you motioned for Neteyam to follow.

"Now, just how can beauty such as yours," He gestured to your being, "Come to grace my feeble eyes." His joking manner pulling a small laugh from you at his antics, attempting to lighten the mood once more.

"Well, my father is of these lands, one with the waters. But, my mother was a woman of the trees.."

>Aonung<

Seeing you arrive with the other mutant bloods, he didn't expect you to be any different.

But when he truly saw you, he knew that wouldn't be the case.

You looked like his people, but not at the same time. Your hands were like his, not the tree boys, yet you had their skin too.

It wasn't until he was in charge of you for the swimming lessons that his questions became overruled by fascination.

"Okay, you need to breathe from here," placing his hand on your stomach first, watching your first breath come semi-easily.

"Wow- that was actually pretty close, are you sure this is your first time?" His smug smirk flustered you, increasing your heart rate out of balance.

"Yes, I'm sure," His hand removed as his body adjusted, displaying his intent listening for you. "I've lived among the trees all my life, it was my father who lived one with the waters."

Shock flooded his mind, spilling over to his face. He'd never heard of such a relationship among his people. One among the trees and one from their waters, having a child? Let alone a person breathtaking as yourself

Breathtaking? It was true, you're obtuse skin tones seemed to meld perfectly in his eyes. Tail neither wimpy, nor fully his own in similarity.

Your body markings held his eyes the longest though, each one dipping through the shades similar to a river line on his peoples maps.

"I've never thought there were children born that way," He maneuvered towards the rock you had been resting on, vaulting up as to sit next to you.

"Yeah, from what I remember they loved both cultures," You motion to the various decorative beads adorning your body, "Each is a separate piece from their home. I was going to learn about this place when I reached age, but then the sky people came.." He sat and watched as your eyes slowly dulled at the mention, and attempted to cheer your up.

"Well," His body slowly slid back into the water, "I can teach you our ways, but you've got to give me something else in return. Deal?" His hand reached out, offering a curious deal, you took a few moments to consider.

"Deal" Your grip was strong, but didn't match the slight wrinkled callouses on his own hands.

"You have to sneak out with me tonight, so I can give you a 'guide' to our night-life nature," His grin was almost devious towards your reaction, a look of appalled theme clouding your face.

"What- fish boy! I can't just sneak out for the wishes of a virtual stranger!" Letting go, question flashed his face until realization followed-suit.

He hadn't gave you his name this entire time, how badly he wished to sink into the waters and vanish was astounding.

"Yes- I'm Aonung," His arm stuck out a second time, before retreating back.

Too much hand holding for a first meet, already shook once, a second time isn't needed. Until your airy laugh brought him back to reality.

You were laughing at his expression, one of confusion towards his own actions.

"Hello Aonung, I'm (Y/n)," His name rolling off of your tongue had flutters running about his stomach, and odd feeling definitely as he took in your features once more.

Tsireya's voice broke through your small dome of solitude, bubbly excitement infecting your own.

"C'mon! I wanna show you the canals, the eggs should be hatching soon!" Hand grabbed, she jogged you away from the lessons, having deemed enough learning has been done today.

"Okay! Tsireya you're going to rip my arm off!" Your rambunctious laughter slowly fading to the distance, as Aonung watched your forms retreat further and further away.

You were. . . new. But not weird to him. If anything, he was excited to teach you the other ways of your blood.

"So, fish boy," Lo'ak's arm wrapped his shoulder, "how's it feel falling for a tree hugger." The smug bastard was reveling at his reaction, face swiftly flushing to deep cyan anger, before shoving him away stomping off. Away from responsibilities for the day.

All he could do now was hope his sister wouldn't torment him too much about this later.

>Lo'ak<

Lo'ak loved his father, really he did. But sometimes, when things escalated and words are exchanged, he can't help but feel as if he'd never been wanted.

His mother claiming these arguments only happen because Jake sees so much of himself in Lo'ak. But that reasoning can only last so long in the boys mind before it starts to sound like an excuse.

Today had been one of those days, having gotten into trouble again the lectures began to muddle together.

Eventually, he simply left the undergrowth, wanting at least some time to himself before inevitably they come looking for him.

Venturing out, he glanced around searching for any seldom reserves these people could be hiding.

That's how he came upon your form, kneeling among the grasses, almost statuesque.

You were holding some plant, examining it as if your life purpose hid within its leaves.

Tearing his eyes away from the majestic plant, to your lingering figure, still hyper focused in on the nature.

His eyes scanned your features, curiosity wailing in his mind, all he wanted to do was ask you questions.

Were you from his people, or the water clans? Remaining the largest in his head, he definitely saw you as an enigma.

Your head turned his direction, having felt a chill go down your spine, as if someone was watching you . Proving your suspicions to be correct, the lean boy stood frigid, mind racing through all of your eccentricities.

What attracted him to most to you, was your decor. Wearing both beautifully woven pieces from his home, but also intertwined with some of these lands.

Witnessing how the delicate ropes and beads fell onto speckled skin, his questions won him brain over in the end, as he slowly made his way over to your nook in the juncture.

He remained in a low crouch, as if moving to fast would startle you.

"What are you doing?" The tone accusing yet confused as he gazed up at your question.

"Huh?" Standing dumbfounded now, a few feet away from you but all the more able to save every feature of yours in his memory.

"Why are you crouching like a baby?" The smile on your face grew as his eyes widened, seeing his antics as the most ridiculous you've come across in a while.

"Oh! Uhm," His posture straightened, "I was just- examining the bugs." His smile felt tense, so after reveling in the comedy for another minute you loosened up, motioning for him to sit down.

"The life in these lands are, gorgeous," His eyes focused on your arm bands, one woven with the leaves of a tree from his clans lands.

Your eyes followed his, sighing in realization at what drew his attentions, the sigh slightly startled Lo'ak, as he quickly averted back to your face.

"It's one of my mothers pieces," You held out the band, gently placing in in his palm, grazing you fingers back as if hesitant to let go of it entirely. "She was not one with the ocean, instead she lived among the forest."

His face contorted at the statement.

"Really?" His astonishment genuine, his final straw for if this was some stray prank, trying to prove the tree boy stupid.

You fully turned to face him, taking his larger palm in yours before displaying your the various blues on your hand.

"I didn't take after one or the other," pressing his palm to yours showed the matching blue splotches, "Instead Eywa gifted me with traits from both of them."

His eyes did not move away from your connection, feeling the subtle softness on your finger pads. Clearly you hadn't climbed trees in the same way he had.

Sensing your growing sadness, he came up with an idea.

"Have you ever," the opposing hand gestured wildly, "tried to climb as your mother did?"

Pale jaded eyes meeting his prominent yellow, before silently shaking your head no.

"Well, as repayment for intruding on you like this, I can teach you the ways of trees. Just as I was raised."

His smile was radiant to you, almost disarming the dismissal you had planned on giving him originally.

"I don't know.."

"I promise, if you let me teach you I won't let you fall," The smile shifting into one of a smirk as he addressed your nervousness.

"Well," He hung on almost every detail from your words, "If you promise this won't impose on my duties as well, I'll attempt to learn your ways."

"Our ways," His hands doubled, gently sliding your mothers band back into place.

'Yes', you thought back to your dual nature.

Our ways

#avatar x reader #avatar imagine #neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #loak x reader #loak imagine #aonung x reader #aonung imagine #avatar way of water #gn reader #avatar way of water x reader

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fire-lizard-ro · 5 months

Note

Aventurine with a s/o who is related to robin and sunday or related to dr.ratio

Thank you for the request~ Now this one will be a bit short, so I apologize. I've been having a hard time getting back into the swing of things.

It would defintely be interesting, especially when thinking about these relationships in the context of the events of Penacony. So Penacony arc spoilers for those who haven't played through 2.0-2.1.

CW: somewhat mentioning Aventurine's past, signs of trauma, open ending (wowie not a straight up happy ending from Roro for once whoops ofiejw-), mentions of manipulation?, fluff, anyways it's not too bad I swear-

No mentioned gender for reader.

I decided to go with a S/O related to Robin and Sunday:

I imagine this S/O being a bit more like Robin (or at least what we think Robin might be like). Kind and soft spoken- pretty, too. I could see you having a strict sense of justice which maes you feel conflicted when finding out just how Sunday does his work.

Aventurine loves to take naps with you when he's around, falling asleep against your shoulder while you hum a quiet melody under your breath. It took him some time, but he grew comfortable with that. It was cute, really. He wasn't too keen on touch because of his past and had trouble accepting affection. But somehow, you brushing your soft wings against him when leaning close or when he would play with your hair helped a lot. It wasn't the same as feeling someone's skin on his. The hands of others had hurt him, but he had never felt the touch of feathery wings like yours against him. There was no precedent and this helped a lot.

I can also see him gently helping you with cleaning and preening them when he has the time because he really likes them. He's enamored with the way you purr and coo when he does, leaning down to press a kiss to your head (and sometimes the wings themselves) while sitting with you to clean them up.

Aventurine loves your kind heart and soft spoken attitude, especially since you can be firm when you need to- A little something you learned from your brother, Sunday.

You could understand where Sunday was coming from with this plan. After all, Robin was your sister, too. But this was too much. What you had thought would have just been a simple questioning turned into your lover walking up to the executioners block. You couldn't take this anymore- You had to stop him. "Brother! Please stop this," you begged, holding onto his sleeve with pleading eyes and voice full of desperation. "Now, now- You mustn't interrupt the consecration," Sunday said with a simple pat to your head. "I'm doing this for the good of our family."

You had never mentioned to him how you had once met this charming gambler from the IPC who had struck your fancy and continued seeing him around before eventually dating him.

Aventurine's eyes were wide at your appearance, having hoped you wouldn't get involved with all this. He wanted you safe and out of the blast zone, so to speak. But he couldn't speak up lest he incur more of Sunday's wrath upon himself and perhaps even you. He didn't think your dear brother would do anything to you, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be consequences.

Sunday just thought this was your characteristic soft-heartedness. But something about the urgency in your tone seemed off. "I know you don't like these kinds of methods, but I must do what I must."

He turned to continue the interrogation questioning. "He's my lover!"

The entire room was silent.

"...what?"

"He's..." You swallowed nervously in the face of Sunday's cold, even tone while looking into Aventurine's eyes that were telling you to stop. "He's my lover. We've been together for a while, now."

Sunday's face finally shifted. His once solid poker face that held an easy smile on it broke into a slow sneer. The put together, pretty cherub was now more of an angry seraph.

"You."

"Tried to infiltrate the faimly by targeting my younger sibling, hm? Even using this after watching our sister die..." "No! Sunday it's not like that-" you tried to argue. "Enough," the winged man commanded, holding a hand up. "We will discuss this later."

The man then looked at Aventurine again, snarl still in place. "You have 17 system hours, Mr. Aventurine. I do hope you'll use them well. After all, it's all the time you have left."

#Roro writes #asks answered #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #hsr x gn reader #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x gn reader #gn reader

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octuscle · 6 months

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Howdy, Support! I'm a 22yo twink working at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. Only good part about my job is uh..."servicing" the passing truckers. One of 'em is a real beast of a man; late thirties, tall, burly and hairy, with a big, solid beer/roid gut that's always straining against his filthy tanktop. Everytime he stops by, we have a beer shotgun contest right in front of everyone. Loser blows the winner in the stalls. I normally enjoy losing (not that I have a choice), but this time, I want him to meet his match...literally! I want to drink him under the table, and with each beer I down, I want to feel my gut grow heavier and larger as my work clothes turn into a stained tanktop and I gradually transform into a hulking, hairy trucker that stinks of sweat, just like him. I've programmed all the relevant settings for height, muscle, hair, BO, attitude and clothing, but I just realized I don't know how to sync the transformation to an event trigger like shotgunning the beers, much less on how to make it gradual! Please help me, he's due today!

I love challenges… First of all, I'll add one more skill to your traits. "Stable up to 3.5 per mille". I don't know how much your crush can take. But now you've got a damn good chance of drinking the guy under the table. However, you should manage at least 2.0 per mille. Because your transformation will take place in parallel with your blood alcohol level. Linear, until you have reached 2.0 per mille. At 2.0 per mille, the transformation is complete.

It's around 8 p.m. when your buddy finally comes in the door. Like you said: a beast of a man. The fist bump he gives you almost breaks your forearm bones. Beast of a man? You're miles or 2.0 per mille away from that. You are cute. But a twink. Not a man.

The regulars know what to expect. They chant "Booze! Booze! Booze!" One of them shouts that you're in desperate need of a protein shot. The others roar. Your buddy orders 20 cans of beer. He shouts to his colleagues that there will definitely be some left for them. He looks at you, winks and licks his lips. He has no idea.

The first can of beer. It really hits you. 0.3 per mille. One seventh of your way gone in one go. You feel a bit dizzy. You've been king of the highway for two years now. Well, maybe prince of the highway. You haven't put much weight on your ribs yet. But the good food at the truck stops and the hard work loading your truck are already having a bit of an effect. Your arms are no longer as thin as twigs.

The second beer. It didn't go quite so quickly. You have to burp loudly. Your buddy follows your example. 0.56 per mille. You've been driving your 7.5-ton baby through the countryside for over three and a half years. Does you good. Not as skinny as you used to be. You look healthy. Maybe a little red in the face. Drunk.

After the third beer you have over 0.8 per mille. Another burp. You need a piss. You stand with your legs apart in front of the urinal to avoid peeing on your boots. You take out your cheesy beauty from your dirty jockstraps. And empty your bulging bladder. Wash your hands? That's for twinks. You simply wipe your hands on your dirty Wranglers.

Janet brings you some onion rings with your beer. Good idea. After the toilet break, you finish your fourth beer almost in one go. Your buddy has noticeable problems. Your blood alcohol level is over 1.0 per mille. This competition between you and your colleague has been going on for about seven years. In the trucker scene, your competitions are small highlights. As soon as it is clear when and where you will next get drunk under the table and then disappear to the stalls, new routes are planned. Service stations know that you'll bring in good sales and are keen to host the competition. There used to be a lot of betting on winning and losing. Your buddy has been unbeaten for seven years. There's not much betting anymore. The odds on you winning are huge. But nobody expects that anyway.

The next beer. At 1.26 per mille, you start to falter. Your buddy weighs a few more kilograms than your 100. Maybe you're already a little over 100 - you broke that magic barrier a few weeks ago on your 30th birthday. Eat, work hard and lift iron in the evening. That shapes your body. And beer. Lots of beer. To the delight of the audience, you interrupt your drinking contest for a short burping contest. The landlord actually has a device to measure the volume. You lose. That's clear. You lack the resonance body…

The next beer is a big miss for both you and your buddy. Your dirty tank tops are now wet from the beer. But that was a quick round of drinking, so it happens. You feel a bit dizzy. Your buddy is already looking extremely glassy-eyed. A murmur goes round the room. Should you really stand a chance?

After the seventh beer, you both have to go for a piss. Shit, why are you doing this to yourselves? So that one of you can blow the other? You do that as often as you can see each other anyway. And luckily your paths cross from time to time. "Dude, has your beast grown?" slurs your buddy as you stand swaying in front of the urinals and can no longer aim and hit the target very well. "You bet your life, get ready for a lot, bro," you slur back. "And now give me a kiss, I can't wait any longer."

You're too drunk to remember to turn your caps backwards. You push his cap off his head and it falls into a puddle of urine. Damn, it's seen worse. You stagger back to your beer cans. After the eighth beer, your first goal is achieved. 2.0 per mille blood alcohol. Spread over a proud 120 kilograms of your 35-year-old body. A passionate trucker for 13 years. Your 36-ton beast is basically your home and your family. Hehehe, there are a few other people in the family too. Mike here next to you, for example. You rip open the ninth can and empty it almost at record speed. Shit, you're going to be sick. Mike opens the can, takes a sip. And stumbles towards the toilet. He can't reach the toilet bowl. But at least he throws up in the sink.

When he comes back, he looks at you with glazed eyes. He falls to his knees in front of you to the loud roar of the audience and tries to open your trousers with his drunken head. You have to laugh. "Not here, not now, Buddie" You pull him up. Let him sober up a bit first. You should both enjoy the moment when he sucks you off for the first time!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #tank top #age progression #redneck tf #twink to jock #ai image

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parkerluvsu · 1 month

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Could u write some Patrick angst where you guys are in a solid relationship but Patrick tries to breakup w reader bc he’s never been in a genuine relationship so his own insecurities take over? Happy ending tho if possible🥹

yes i can <333 sorry this is long and it kind of takes a while to get to the point i hope you like it anyway 😭

- as long as you've known patrick he's been known as a "playboy", previous room mates attesting to the fact that a new girl was leaving his room every night. patrick didn't know what he was looking for, there were no common links between his flings and he didn't care, he would buy them a drink and nod at their stories before he invited them back to his room, sending them on their way once he got what he wanted.

- you met patrick through a mutual friend in college, you didn't see too much of him because he was always late to class or never even showed up. of course, his grades started to slip and his parents noticed, immediately looking for a tutor for him and settling on you, since you were "friends". as it turns out it's pretty hard to contact someone who doesn't even have contact names for people, just " brunette from bar" and "chick from biology". you finally got a hold of him and told him the arrangement, he didn't like it (to be expected) but his parents threatened to not support his dreams of becoming a tennis star if he didn't get good grades, so he settled.

- outside of his frequent escapades, patrick was a nice person, he actually did listen and ask questions the whole time you were explaining problems to him. once he actually get to know you a little bit (simple things like how you always complain about being thirsty but never bring a drink, or only use pens and never pencils, not caring if it's more trouble when you make a mistake), he respects you and your time more and doesn't skip lessons as much and actually does his homework.

- once you become friends on a bit of a deeper level, not just tutor and student, he talks to you about tennis, eventually inviting you to come watch him play. usually he's playing doubles with art, but you personally prefer the days when he's playing solo, you really get to focus on his talent and passion for the game that way. and patrick comes to look forward to seeing you in the stands at his games, art makes fun of him and pushes his shoulder whenever patrick gets distracted. he notices a weird feeling in his stomach when he does find a moment to look at you, smiling at how you're biting your nails and leaning forward on your seat.

- that night, patrick invites you to come to his victory party, he reasons that you helped him archive this victory by bringing peace to his academic life so of course you should come. you spend the night sipping on a drink in the corner of the room, given you only knew patrick and art, who were surrounded by admiring friends and family. just when you were picking up your coat and keys to leave, patrick was able to escape his fans and come over to you, his brows furrowing as he sees you're about to leave. "what do you think you're doing?" he asks, "you haven't even said hi tonight", if you were looking closer it would almost seem like he's pouting. you explains that you're tired, you don't really know anyone and honestly you'd rather just be in bed. "well lemme walk you to your car then yeah?", he helps you to put your coat on, ushering you out the door into the quiet street, ignoring your argument that it's really not necessary, fighting back with "a pretty girl like you shouldn't be walking alone late at night" and that shuts you up as you walk next to patrick, neither of you saying anything. it's a comfortable silence though, and you think back on your time with patrick and realize you've never really felt uncomfortable with him.

- once you get to your car safely you lean against your car to continue talking to him, thanking him thoroughly for walking you to your car, even though he had to leave his own party. maybe it was the glasses of champagne you had at the party or the way his skin glowed in the moonlight but you leaned in and kissed his cheek as an act of thanks. as you opened your car door to leave patrick did something he's never done to a girl, he made the first move, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you. he didn't know what it meant for your relationship but he didn't care in the moment, all he knew was how soft your lips felt against his. when he pulled away it was clear you were both quite awkward, so he gets you into your car and told you he'd text you the next day. and another first, he actually did text you the next day.

- from then on your relationship blossomed, for how experienced patrick was, he wasn't experienced in the more romantic aspects of a relationship, but just like you taught him chemical symbols and equations, you taught him how to have an actual healthy relationship. but still, patrick feels like he should know all these things already, you shouldn't have to ask for flowers or ask to go on a romantic date, you should be with someone who knows how to treat you right. about 4 months into your relationship he couldn't stop himself from thinking this way, knocking on your door right after practice and praying you'd answer. when you do, he makes you sit down on your bed and explains the whole ordeal, ending it with "you deserve someone better than me, that can treat you better.. we have to break up". you're immediately confused, the reason that he wants to break up is so stupid you feel like you need to slap him. you don't, of course but you certainly give him a firm talking to, reminding him of all the things you love about him and he feels like crying, his head falling into your lap as he holds your hand. he'd never imagined being in a relationship like this, and he promises to make you feel as lucky as you make him feel everyday <33

#parkerluvsu #challengers x reader #challengers 2024 #challengers #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig fluff

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scuddisher · 6 months

Text

LET'S GET IN THE BACK OF YOUR COP CAR, OFFICER.

Steve had found you working so many times, was so diligent about turning a blind eye and letting you walk away—but this time he had to make a report, unless you could convince him otherwise.

RATING — MATURE & EXPLICIT (18+) PAIRING — steve murphy x sex-worker! gender-neutral reader GENRE(S) — one-shot, smut. WORD COUNT — 2.7k WARNINGS — mature content, pet-names used: honey & baby, a bit of dark! steve murphy, quick plot & ending. SMUT WARNINGS — sexual content, multiple references to sex work, oral (reader receiving), quickie, unprotected intercourse, creampie, exhibitionism (semi-public spot) RELEASE DATE — MARCH 22ND 2024

AUTHOR’S NOTE — this man is rotting my brain so you guys have to rot with me. need him carnally. also yes I've had the song the title is from stuck in my head with scenes of him on repeat. save me fictional steve murphy.

His cologne engulfed you first, telling you exactly who was behind you. His hand on your shoulder turned your skin from smooth to bumpy with chills just before he spoke. “Haven't I told you to get a better career?”

You were used to Steve Murphy’s smartass comments tossed aimlessly, especially in trying times like the situation he found you in. Leaving the bed of a man who paid—someone Murphy was out hunting down and just-so-happened to find you with—all while unsatisfied and disappointed in such a rich man who played up his sex-life like he ran the bunnies at the playboy mansion.

“He doubled his pay just to get me here.” You sighed, a tell that Steve knew well.

He knew what happened by the scent of the room he had walked into, thankfully putting a stop to the madness you got yourself in. It was always an older man who picks younger lovers to tame, but as Steve saw your underwear as you lifted them back up your legs—he saw they were dry.

“Such a shame, pretty thing like you comin’ all this way for nothin’.” Steve's eyes wavered, you knew what was bound to happen next. “Especially since I gotta take you in this time.”

Your tongue was between your teeth, attempting to not curse at the man for doing his job. It wouldn't be long before others showed up for this bust.

Peña leaned against the wall with his arms folded and eyes darting between you and the rich man he had just put cuffs on—the numbers in his head already adding up to what Murphy was planning to do. It was a man-in-power advantage, one that had Javier smirking to himself.

Steve's hand had left your shoulder moments ago, the skin still feeling the warmth of his touch. But the solid grip on your upper arm, one that tightened lightly as he pushed you forward to walk with him, that was what truly made your heart skip a beat.

“Let's go downstairs and get you out of the house before any cameras show up trying to catch a glimpse of this guy.” His voice was low as his head moved closer to yours, eyes on Peña while passing him with a nod in response to the ‘alone time’ plea. He knew the drill.

You moved at the same beat as him, legs attempting to take strides similar to his so he couldn't tell how nervous you were. For once, with Steve wearing his badge, you tasted what felt like unfairness of the system.

“Honey—” Voice soft and still as low as before, he spoke. “I really didn't want you doing this shit anymore.”

You heard it, the sound of a man disappointed. Steve had saved your ass nearly three times now, almost four if he hadn't let you slip out the window before anyone else saw you. You knew your time working the streets was coming to a close each time the DEA team was let loose on the customers in the area.

“I thought you said you were looking for more work last time?” His baby blue eyes caused your heart to skip when he turned his head to look into your gaze, his hand on your arm helping you dodge doorways and decor as you made it out the front door and towards his undercover car.

“I was. And I found it.” Your voice was even smaller than his, his grip stopping you right beside the large vehicle just before turning you to face him.

His scent was so loud: cologne, a drink or two from after lunch, the smell of ink from files and paperwork that he had been flipping through until they got a lead stained on his fingertips. It made your head swim. It always did.

The clink of his hand on the car window startled you from staring at him, wishing only to close your eyes and take in having him so close. And he was close—so close with his eyes on you and only you, that his voice made your body vibrate with every word. “You know I don't have any more ‘get out of jail free cards’ right? Your DNA is gonna be on that guy when we run him through the system. There's no getting out of this one.”

His body leaned into yours, almost pressing you into the black SUV like you were part of the paint. Steve's eyes were filled with a glaze that could only be a lack of sleep and a buzz from his earlier drinks, matching the scent of liquor on his breath as he breathed on you softly.

“M-Murphy…” You squeaked, wanting to fade into him and feel every muscle and scar along his skin. “Can't you do something? Anything?”

You saw the flash in his eyes. The way his tongue poked from his mouth to lick his lips. His eyes darting behind your head and to his own reflection in the tinted back window of the car.

It was only for a moment, the click of the door handle and the breeze of the back door opening—Steve’s eyes never leaving yours. “Get in the back.”

Your skin felt the leather as you shuffled into the car, the backseat big and welcoming compared to most vehicles you've been in the back of along with the rough slam of your door being shut. His cologne hit your nose once more, finding you through a waft of air once he made his way into the backseat with you and closed his door.

His jaw was locked, eyes steady adding things in his own mind, that of which you wish you could see or hear. Steve was hardly ever this quiet, always planning something aloud and letting you in—he didn't want to make you feel unsafe around him.

But this—this was different. You were a link in his finding, a witness in his case that could cause you to have to be taken to the station and questioned—and not just for being involved with a rich criminal like your client. Being known as a solicitor would ruin your reputation. It would open you up to a world of all the ruined cops constantly trying to take advantage of those they take in. And even worse, put your name in the eyes of the big men who actually run this city—men way over Steve Murphy’s head.

The sound of his breathing speeding up made your fingers shake, gripping at the clothes you wore to try and hold onto something. “Officer Murphy?”

His name rolling off your tongue made his head snap in your direction, blue irises darker in the dim streetlights far outside from the car you sat in.

The few times you had called him that, you were truly scared. Eyes jittering in your head, hands running cold from anxiety, chest heaving with every breath you took. It was hard for him to look away—almost impossible, and all he could do was scoot closer to you until you were between him and the door.

Little to no room to move around, his scent so deep in your nose that you could almost taste him—and his lips captured yours. Kiss soft, promising, and fulfilling of everything you didn't get in that room upstairs in one swift motion, you moaned into his harsh taste until you felt his tongue trying to lick at your own.

His hand moved from his thigh to your neck, fingers pressing into your warm skin and recreating the same chills he felt rise on your body earlier. You could feel the twinge of his smirk in the kiss, but you fell so deep into his touch that you could hardly focus on anything else.

The groan he released was loud when your hand moved onto his leg, feeling at his rough jeans that ran too right in his crotch at times like these. Something that had never seemed to cross your mind, ending up in such a position as this—Steve desperate to touch you, you desperate to get out of this mess—it almost had you crawling on top of him.

And right as the idea popped into your mind, your hand grazed his hard-on just in time to know how badly he wanted you. He hardly got a noise out, “Fuck.” being the only thing he said.

But it wasn't what was in his head. It wasn't the idea that had made his tongue lick his lips or his eyes catch a glimpse of the black car that would hide your heated bodies doing sinful acts.

His touch turned warmer as his hand on your neck slid down your front, feeling at all the parts of you he knew he'd get sounds out of. The most beloved sound, one he had dreamed of hearing, was that of the wetness he felt as his hand slipped into your underwear.

Your eyes rolling back at just a hint of friction had him pulling back from your mouth just to watch. The whites of your eyes were all he could see for a split second, and he had barely started.

Steve seeing you crawling your way out of that king size bed, picking up your dry underwear that showed zero signs of you being the least bit interested in the man you were just in between the sheets with—it made his bottom lip go in between his teeth at the thought.

Before you could blink, his large body was shuffling until his hands took you at your waist and pulled you sideways on the seats. Your lower half was right at his face, his breathing scattered as his eyes gleamed up at you in the soft orange haze of the streetlights all around the driveway of the house. His fingers left your wetness to latch at your underwear, pulling that and your pants down past your knees.

Your glistening body has his eyes glassy, drool nearly pooling from his lips as they quivered and tried to form a sentence. It wasn't forever ago when you noticed his ring had gone missing. It wasn't even a month ago that he had found you again, his grip on you tight as he walked you out—he held himself back like a gentleman all this time—but now he was a starved man.

“C-Can I?” His face was darkened, yours lit up in the light. All you could see was him chewing in his bottom lip in anticipation before you nodded.

And that was all he needed. The plunge into you was more satisfying than you had felt the pleasure of someone else's touch in forever, his tongue wet and lapping and licking like a dehydrated dog to its water bowl.

Your hand covered your mouth as a scream nearly ripped through you, unsure of how sound-proof the vehicle was. His eyes moving up at you to see your eyes rolling back again was enough to have him stirring an orgasm from you at any cost.

All the times he had peeled you away from a man who only wanted his own pleasure, ignoring the fact you looked like a wreck that hadn't actually orgasmed from anything they had done to you—just to end up in the back of his car with him in between your thighs.

His tongue moved against you in waves, his hand and fingers coming into play only minutes later to help push you to your breaking point. “Steve, for the love of God!” You whined into the quiet car, barely being able to call to him over his whimpers and moans as he collected your wetness and swallowed with vigor.

It wasn't until your body began to shake, and an orgasm threatened to roar that the blue and red lights flashed into the car. Steve's cheeks had run pink from his focus and the heat now causing you both to sweat in the confined space.

The man rose up, his hands on his belt trying to loosen the restraint quickly. He could hardly pull his cock out before he saw others moving into the house, his tip pressing at your entrance just in time for you to cling to him and beg. “Stop stalling, Murphy!”

You had nearly bit your tongue at your own words leaving your mouth—they were fuel to his fire. Every inch of him that sunk into you had your nails digging into his shirt on his back, almost causing them to cut through the cotton as you clung to him for dear life. “Oh shit. Oh, shit!”

Steve believed he thought of everything. Knew you were unsatisfied, knew if he got you alone that he could show you a good time. But what he didn't account for was how long it had been since you had been fucked right, your hold on him tight enough to already have his precum spilling into you until he could hear every sound you made when he filled you.

You were whining, no—whimpering, at how much he filled you. How easily he found your spot deep inside your walls, the curve of his cock making you see stars the moment he bottomed out in you.

By now, the car's windows were steamed up. If anyone was actually paying attention—looking hard enough into the SUV’s windows that were clearly a DEA regulated vehicle—they’d see Murphy's hand sliding down the back passenger seat’s window before finding a better hold on the leather seat inside.

You felt him raise his hips, felt the shake of the car each time he jerked them into a deep thrust, and most importantly of all—felt your gummy walls rush with more wetness and vibrate with your orgasm. Shivering, you took hold of his shirt until he was sure that Peña would get a good laugh out of the wrinkles it now holds.

But Steve was a stallion, racing for his own release like the car shaking and almost rattling at his rough thrusts was the last thing on his mind. Your eyes had shut in wonder for when the knock on the window would come, moaned at the feeling of his head falling into your neck to take a deep breath of your scent, and completely went limp feeling his seed gush into you.

“F-Fuck, honey.” His voice was so unstable, hair wet and stuck to his forehead as he tried to catch his breath. “Warn a man that you're as tight as leather pants on a sweaty rockstar before he puts his dick in you.” His words were comical, the smile he wore growing larger on his face as he sat back in the seats and tried to tighty himself up.

You cackled, sitting up and stretching your neck from the harsh position you had been in. Finally, your mind was clearing—but now the entire driveway was filled with cops, and you were still on the scene.

Once your eyes caught Steve's, his face showed more seriousness while he glanced around at the amount of people leering into his case. Someone had talked, gossiped, or corruption spun its web and leaked into Murphy’s current world.

And here you sat, having fucked the lead DEA detective of the case—guilty eyes finding his again.

“You'll still be found out when he gets put into the system…” He claimed, signing as he put an unlit cigarette between his lips. “But as long as I have a hold on it—” He had a way out of this all along. “—I can make it like you were never in the house. You met him somewhere else, maybe for a blowjob or a quickie—hmm?” He spoke with confidence, pulling a lighter from his pocket and lighting the cigarette.

He was going to make it go away, he just wanted to know what all the hype about you truly was. Needless to say, curiosity got the best of him.

“This is your last shift at this job, isn't it?” It wasn't a question, it was a demand—and his voice had turned cold. His breath fanned over your face, blue eyes watching your mouth fall open at his sudden change in demeanor. “Want me to make it all go away, baby?”

© scuddisher — all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission. do not post my content on other sites, especially claiming them as your own! reblogs and feedback are seriously appreciated <3

#boyd holbrook smut #steve murphy smut #steve murphy x reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos smut #boyd-a-thon

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dangerdazee · 2 months

Text

descendants: rise of red james hook x morgie le fay one-shot, in which hook stays back to keep watch with morgie

i ship them so so so bad. also while ur here go check out the edit i did for them bc i couldn't help myself

"Morgie, honey, you keep look-out, okay? If you see Merlin coming, give a signal." Uliana says.

"Should I do a wolf howl? Or like a dog howl?? I can do different dogs!" Morgie shows great enthusiasm, but it comes off annoying and childlike and far too perky to Uliana.

James Hook, knowing this, leans over to whisper to Uliana.

"Do you think it's the best idea to leave him out here by himself?"

"Good point. You stay with him. Maleficent, Hades, with me. Let's move." Uli, Maleficent, and Hades trudge through the wet, slightly muddy grass towards the school.

Morgie turns around and starts climbing the tree that Hook was in a minute ago, and even though he just got down, Hook climbs up after him. The two boys sit side-by-side on a thick branch that seems sturdy enough to hold them both.

The drizzling rain adds to the ambiance of the night. There's something peaceful about it.

Even though their friends are currently sneaking into Merlin's office to steal a forbidden cookbook... out here in the tree, on a rainy night, with the soft lights of the school exterior barely illuminating their surroundings, it's nice. And they both definitely enjoy the company here as well.

"Did you really think I shouldn't be left out here on my own?"

"Yes, but not for the reason I let Uli think. It's dark and we aren't supposed to be here. I didn't want you to be left alone in case anything happened. Not to mention, it's rare that we can find time alone."

Morgie smiles.

Morgie knows he's viewed as the weakest link of the group. Evil still, yes, but he's not as dark and brooding and serious as the rest of them. The others, especially Uliana, tend to look down on him for it. They end up treating him like a kid sometimes.

Hook never does, though. Hook's always treated Morgie as an equal, no matter how non-villainous he acts sometimes. That was one of the first things that really drew Morgie to Hook. (After his hair.)

Hook is also a bit protective over Morgie, hence the hesitation to leaving him outside the school alone during this whole mission.

Even under the tree, the drizzling rain still gets them. Their hair grows damp and dark spots of water scatter their clothes.

The two move their hands towards the other's, like a magnet is pulling them. Morgie's hand ends up more on top of Hook's, but their fingers naturally weave together in an uncoordinated but perfectly comfortable manner.

Morgie is heavily focused on his job. Uliana told him to keep watch, and that he is. Hook looks over at the boy, his strong focus and the rainwater dripping slowly from his hair. A small smile grows on Hook's face as he watches the other, and Morgie looks over at him upon feeling the stare.

"What?"

"Nothing. Do you see Merlin anywhere?"

"No, I-"

"Wonderful."

Hook shifts his weight to the hand between them and leans on it, being careful not to fall as he brings his face to Morgie's. Ever since Hook and Morgie started... whatever this relationship they have is, they've realized how little private time alone they can find. Much less, opportunity to kiss. So when the opportunity is there, at least one of them is usually quick to jump at it, and this evening it was Hook.

Their relationship is complicated. They haven't labeled it; they've hardly talked about it. It simply is. To the average on-looker, they mostly just seem like good friends. Really good friends.

Maleficent and Hades have figured out that something is going on (then Hook fully spilled all about it to Maleficent, as friends might do.) Uliana hasn't. She kind of couldn't care less either way, though.

Morgie wants a label. He wants something more solid and serious, but he knows that just isn't the kind of person Hook is.

Morgie's willing to take what he can get. He'll compromise for Hook. Secret kisses, affectionate moments, a closeness slightly more than qualifies as friendship. It's hard sometimes, but Morgie says he'll do it for Hook. He just assumes that's what Hook wants, even if that's not what Morgie wants.

Hook doesn't love it, though, but he doesn't really know how else to navigate it. He's talked with Maleficent about it before, but even with the advice of his in-a-committed-relationship friend, Hook still feels clueless. Morgie hasn't said anything, so he just assumes it's up to him to make it real.

He only hopes his cluelessness won't drive Morgie away before he can figure things out.

Maybe more communication would do them some good, but villains aren't exactly known for their emotional maturity and communication skills. They're both starting to get a little tired of it, though. Morgie especially.

Rustling leaves interrupt the kiss, causing both boys to jump a bit and look around. Neither of them see anything.

"Must have been the rain or something." Morgie says.

The two look at each other and slowly smile, laughing lightly with that bit of embarrassment that comes from such an occurrence.

"I hope Merlin didn't get by just now. Uliana might kill us." Morgie says.

"No, no, something worse. Like a chocolate pie."

They laugh at the jab at Uliana's plan with this forbidden recipe. Morgie nods, agreeing.

As the laughter dies down, Morgie debates in his mind if he should ask what he wants to ask. It could go wonderfully, or it could go horribly, and he's really scared of that second possibility. But, they're alone and he has an opportunity. He figures, much like a kiss, this chance shouldn't be passed up.

"Let me take you out."

Hook's heart just about stops and he quickly turns to face Morgie.

He's been so nervous about not knowing how to do this. He never fully considered that maybe it didn't have to be him who progressed things. He could be the askee, not the asker. Funny enough, that only makes it slightly easier.

"What?"

"Let me take you out. Like, on a date."

"You want to go out together?"

Morgie nods with hopeful eyes. Every second of silence from Hook makes Morgie's anxiety over the situation grow stronger. He feels his hope diminishing.

"I mean, maybe not. Or, no- I want to! But if you don't want to, then just forget it. I mean, I do want to, but it's not a big deal. Unless you also want to, then it's a big deal. But if you don't, don't worry-"

"Okay."

"Okay? Okay to what?"

"Okay to the, uh... the date. Yeah. We can go out. I think that'd be nice."

"You do? Really?"

"Morgie, you're acting as if you don't already know that I like you. I just kissed you. I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed!"

"Yeah! Yeah, I know. I'm just... happy."

"Yeah. So am I."

#they're in love your honor #funny how they had like two solid shots together interacting #and yet they're my favorite ship in the franchise #chemistry is chemistry what can i say #descendants fanfic #hook x morgie #james hook x morgie le fay #james hook descendants #hook descendants #morgie descendants #morgie le fay #lgbt #gay #mlm #fluff #descendants rise of red #descendants rise of red fanfic

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likedovesinthewindd · 1 year

Note

Hobie with an awkward girl…

I just thought it’d be fun cause he’s like chilled out and all that and then the awkward girlie is introducing herself with a handshake

no because he'd be so chilled while she's shitting herself

hobie brown x fem!reader

warning: alcohol consumption

wc: ±680

a/n: none

gif not mine, all credit to original creator.

You weren't one to go to parties too often, but your friend had convinced you to join her tonight. You can't say no to free booze she had said and you reluctantly decided to give in and tag along.

But you didn't know where your friend was now. She had ditched you a little while ago to get herself a drink, but you had a hunch that she got a bit sidetracked. It also didn't help that you didn't know anyone at the party anyway, so had resorted to standing in the corner, silently watching as everyone enjoyed themselves.

You had gotten bored and decided to make your way to the kitchen, also in need of a drink. Who knows, you might find your friend passed out in the punch bowl. You had a habit of looking at your feet instead of looking infront of you when walking, and this had led you to bump into a solid chest. Thank goodness your cup was already empty; you probably would have died of embarrassment if you spilled anything on them too.

You were about to apologize profusely for your clumsiness, when you noticed the figure in front of you. The first thing you noticed, was how freakishly tall he was. You weren't necessarily short, but this guy towered over you, and you had to crane your neck just to meet his eyes.

You also noticed the abundance of piercings and crazy jewelry that adorned him, along with his amazing hair.

"You alright?" he asked, and you realized that you had just been staring at him, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. "Yeah I'm fine I'm just— I'm sorry for bumping into you," you said and he gave you a small smile. "No problem," he said and you breathed a sigh of relief at his calm reaction. You really weren't looking forward to getting shit.

"Haven't seen you around here," he said as his eyes quietly scanned your figure. "Oh uhm—" you wiped your hand on your pants and outstretched it, offering him a handshake as you introduced yourself. His brows furrowed at your formality, but he humored you, taking his hand from his jacket's pocket and placing it in yours. He couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous gesture.

"Can't tell you the last time I shook someone's hand," he smiled as he retracted his hand, once again placing it into his pocket. That was a stupid thing to do. He probably thinks I'm so weird now, you thought to yourself, mentally giving yourself a face palm.

"I'm sorry," was all you could think of saying. "It's all good. I'll see you around yeah?" he said before maneuvering his way around you. You turned around to see where he was off to, and it was when you noticed he had also turned around, facing you again. You felt like a creep who got caught, and had to stop yourself from turning around again and walking away.

"I like your shirt, by the way," he added and you looked down at said item as if you hadn't been wearing it all night. "Thanks, printed it myself," you said, still looking down at the design on the front of your shirt. "Yeah? That's wicked," he said and you saw how his eyes lit up at your admission.

"That's a compliment I'll gladly accept coming from you," you said, and you saw him furrowing his brows. "Because you're so cool," you elaborated, "with the cool hair and jewelry and everything. Like you just ooze so much confidence, it's crazy actually." You hadn't even realized you were rambling. "Well, I'm glad you think I'm cool," he said with a smirk, "you're not to bad yourself." and before you had time to reply he had dissappeared between the sea of people.

You felt someone touching your shoulder and turned around to find your friend. She was already pleasantly buzzed. "Meet anyone interesting?" she asked handing you a drink, and you then realized you didn't even know the guy's name. You nodded, taking a sip of your drink. "Yeah, actually."

★ part 2

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown headcanons #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown fic #hobie brown atsv #hobie brown #likedovesinthewindd

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saradika · 1 year

Text

— BLEED FOR ME | part iii

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 2.4k

haunted hoedown prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 1 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death, shared memories, light angst, references to seduction, sexual innuendo and thoughts, references to violence

The days until the winter solstice tick down. Early Autumn days start to cool at night.

You sleep under the last warmth of the sun, with windows drawn open after he leaves. The canopy is wrapped around your bed, letting in the afternoon breeze but mimicking the darkness.

And still, you feel adrift. That funny feeling is still settling in your stomach. Rolling with the sway of your step as you follow at the Mand'alor's - Din's - heels.

No longer seating across the room in the throne room. Now next to him, in a golden seat that matches his silver one.

Listening as he conducts his business. Trades and agreements, settled firmly and carefully. A disagreement, broken up without violence.

It’s fascinating.

But it feels... wrong. Your own task seeps into the honor of being at his side, polluting it. You're expected to enjoy it, to look happy, and it's become all too easy to forget what happened - why you were here.

Too wrapped up in the quiet questions he asks, in those moments of dusk and dawn. Half truths becoming whole as you guard slowly lowers. As you begin to learn about him, as well.

Things he tells you. Things you pick up, absorbing greedily without thought.

It feels like a betrayal, later.

How could you forget what happened? How could you forget your promise?

His kindness only extends because you are physically keeping him alive. You should have ended things by now.

But, you haven't.

The guilt gnaws at you. Seeping into your dreams, into those moments of connection, when your eyes can't help but close.

The images so much more vivid, now. Almost a tangibility to them - the quick, blurred edges coming into focus. Repeating, growing longer.

So much seems to focus on that night. You think it's because it still haunts you. Replaying how the shouts had awoken you. That startled feeling as you crawled out of bed.

The shadows on the walls, the weak and watery grey sky. Soon turning red, and then black - with flame and smoke.

A glint of gold. Your grandmother's necklace, lying on the bedside table. A photo of their wedding day inside, painted with such care.

Something you wish you could have saved - one of the few relics from your family, a gift from when you had left them to find your purpose.

You had always wished for a love like theirs. A fated connection.

There’s a throb as you remember the collision - something solid that knocked you to the ground. Fingers coming back sticky, your mouth tasting of copper. The visions always swim, then.

Parts you've never been able to remember, before. Always growing dim, until you'd been woken up under the tree, and it was over.

But lately, there's more. As if you're outside your own body. The limp sway of your arm, dangling as you were carried. The murmur of a low voice, though you can’t make out the words. Dark eyes looking down at you, almost brown in the morning light.

There's a sharp edge of a knife that you always walk.

Torn between pressing, nudging - trying to get get a glimpse of the vampires, the destruction. A way to remind yourself what has happened, why you are here.

And then, not wanting to see.

What if it's something you can't take back? What if it disgusts you so much that you can't help but act in that exact moment - ruining your chance?

So, you don't.

You let the images pass - carefully collecting them. Pressing them lkke flowers between a book, something to come back to layer. Not even realizing that deep, deep down...

You’re really just hoping that you don't see him.

You really shouldn’t have gone down to the kitchens.

A heat still burns in your cheeks at the thought, when you finally made your way back to your room. Your treasure procured - a freshly baked pastry with homemade jam clutched in your fingers.

The food here is the best you’ve ever had. You can admit that, at least. All the Companions are well-fed, with treats and delicacies always left out downstairs.

It’s here, that you had found a few others.

Beautiful men and women, all gathered around a smoldering fire as the sun had begun to rise. Their other halves flitting off to hole up until nightfall.

But just like you - there was a desire to see the sun, at least.

You had joined them, half out of loneliness and half intrigue. They had accepted you quickly, stifled laugher and glances over their shoulder as they had whispered questions.

“So how is the Mand’alor? I’ve always wondered.”

“You don’t have any marks. Does he drink from your-”

An elbow then to her side, her words had cut off with a giggle. A head turned- an aside to her friend.

“Lady Kryze is always so thorough. I haven’t slept in days.”

Someone else had sighed.

“What I wouldn’t give to be Lord Fett’s Companion.”

You had realized there’s desire in their words. That none of them were afraid, that there was a sense of private camaraderie and knowing amongst them.

That unsettling, confused feeling comes back. They were human, like you. Did they not know what the vampires did? Were they so shallow that coin and finery had bought their loyalty?

Their eyes were on you, expectant. You had no choice but to shrug with embarrassment.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

They were quick to set you straight.

“It’s like, a feeling, you know?”

“You have to lean into it. That connection.”

“The first time I tried it, I had marks up and down my thighs by morning.”

There was an eagerness that laced with jealousy, leaving you even more bemused than before. Faking a prior engagement as you had left them, promising to give it a try.

Privately, you told yourself you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

Looking back, you can’t even remember the taste of the jam, what fruit it was. All you could think about is this new facet of their relationships.

Wondering if that will be expected of you. Wondering why you weren’t warned.

Wondering if you cared.

Wouldn’t that be a good way to get closer?

The thought makes you uneasy.

You’d put an end to this. But you weren’t so cold-hearted to stoop to seduction. That wouldn’t be fair, to Din.

But as the sun rises, when he comes back.

When his mouth is pressing against your wrist, when you’re looking at the bow of his lips and the wide breadth of his armor, that wondering comes again.

The thoughts creep in.

For he is handsome… the parts of him you have seen. A rich voice and the breadth of his shoulders in his armor. The little upward tick of his lips in a rare smile.

And you are human, after all.

You find yourself imagining marks on yours thighs, on the soft curve of your neck.

How your blood would throb, rushing down to pool beneath heated skin - wet and swollen. The thud of your heartbeat kicks up a notch, as your thighs press together. As you squirm in your seat.

You don’t know his face but you do know his mouth. It’s his teeth you picture sinking into your skin, your mind nudging curiously at the thought.

It sends a jolt down your spine. Pricking at your skin, heat licking at your chest and down to your belly. Then slipping lower. Your breath catches in your throat-

His grip on you tightens, then. It’s almost painful - startling you. A hushed cry rattles from your lungs as he pulls back with a rough gasp.

“Ulyc, cyar’ika.” Din’s voice is ragged, as his hips shift upward - letting go, as you pull your wrist back to your chest, “I’m sorry. But you can’t-”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought. A knock at the open doorway, Boba’s face grave as it turns your way.

“Mand’alor.” His voice is low, his brows drawn together. “The city, it calls for you.”

Din’s chest still heaves, his hand dragging across his mouth as he composes himself. The helmet sliding back into place as he stands, but still keeping himself close to you.

“Wolves?” He asks.

Boba shakes his head, “Raiders, from the looks of it. Like before. I can send someone, or go myself.”

You forget about the pain, about everything, for just a second. The thought of the town below in ruins sends you back to a year ago, sorrow twisting through your chest.

It has you half-standing, but Din’s hand is pressing against your shoulder, carefully easing you back down.

“I’ll go.” His voice is firm, “This has gone on long enough.”

A second, as he turns to you, “I need to take care of this. Boba will look out for you while I’m gone.”

Something like worry creeps in. Aware of the weak light that slips through the cracks of your curtains, how soon it will be morning.

“The sun…” You begin hesitantly, and he’s stepping closer.

“I’ll be fine.” His fingertips touch your jaw and that has you looking up - wishing once again that you could see his eyes.

Giving him just a small nod, instead.

From your window you watch him leave. The glint of his silver armor in the morning sun, now - his movements practiced as he swings a leg over the slate-grey horse.

Drawing his sword - the metal dark and gleaming and looking almost alive, even as far away as you are.

Watching as he gallops down the path, racing off to ward away the threat.

Leaving you inside the castle, to wait.

You worry turns into something else, as the hours pass.

Anger, at the thought of him rushing off to save this town, when he had launched an attack on yours. Did human life mean so little?

Did he even think about the bodies that had lied littering the streets, the memories that has been torn down?

Was it only because these humans were complicit, that they were spared?

You had awoken to screams. You don’t know if your town had even been asked.

The mark on your wrist stays red, unhealed. A reminder while he is gone. That you’ve slipped too far, that you need to get over the tender feelings you’ve pretended not to notice.

They fester inside your chest. You dream about him while he’s gone, as the day bleeds into another.

His face bare, features blurry above the lips and nose you know so well. Leaving you to wonder if his eyes are red, like the glimpses you’ve gotten of Lady Kryze? Are they burgundy, like Boba’s?

Replaying the sound he had made, the morning that he left. The edge his voice takes just after he feeds, lasting through the few moments he stays afterwards. That pulsing, thudding beat that leaves you squirming, when you’re alone again.

Leaving you with the urge to sink your own teeth into something.

Those thoughts are ruled by your heart, not your mind, not your logic. Another betrayal, your eyes unable to help flicking towards the window, again and again.

Looking to the others throughout the day, checking for any news or weakness.

A sign that he’s fallen.

None come.

You try not to think about the relief that follows. Or why you feel listless, your eyes dragging over the same words in the books you pick up, in an attempt to pass the time.

Your enthusiasm for the food waning - more in tune than ever with the hours that pass.

Still wondering about the town, below.

You had spoken to some, in your journey here. They had been good people, honest folk.

Maybe along the way, there had been a mistake. An itch in your brain that you haven’t been able to scratch, irritating you since you arrived.

You’ve decided to ask Fennec about it.

Not about anything that would raise suspicion.

Just why the Mand’alor himself would feel the need to go alone. What sort of promise he had made, to go rushing off with such intensity?

Maybe then, you could understand.

You find her by accident - in a large ballroom that you often cut through.

The ceiling painted in a wash of colors, accented in gold. Seraphs lying on clouds and sprawling gardens and somehow always feeling bright, even in the dim room.

Liking the way your feet echo, in the empty room. A swing in your step as if you were dancing too, even if just pretend.

But you’re not alone today - she sits in one of the plush alcoves. Arms bared where her shirt pushes up, a dark jerkin slung over one of the marble statues that line the walls.

"I'm sorry-" You manage, attempting to back out of the room. The moment looked private - your question could wait.

Her eyebrow lifts, looking unbothered, "You can come in, I'm just preparing."

The way she lounges is casual, as if she does this regularly. Propped up against a nest of pillows, a book opened against her bent knees. An arm draped to the side, an ooze of red that drips down to a half-full goblet below.

A jar of that same salve Din had given to you sits in the open windowsill, for after. A means to wipe the mark from her skin, to knit it neatly together again.

The sight makes your stomach turn, even after all this time.

"Are you leaving, too?" Your head nods towards the cup, as you linger in the doorway - thinking about what Boba had said about her ferocity.

Her brows pinch in question, as you gesture to her arm.

"No," Fennec's head shakes, as she understands. "This is our arrangement."

"I didn't know you could do it another way." You say this without thought - wondering if this had been what Din was offering, that first night. An alternative to biting - another small attempt at adjusting to your comfort.

"I tried the usual way." She shrugs, eyes dropping down at the text, "This is better, for us. It's tedious, for certain. But I've never enjoyed the connection. Boba's memories are..."

Fennec searches for the word, as you go still, "...Unpleasant. And I am sure mine are worse."

His memories.

Is that what you've been seeing? Those flashes of thought that blend with your own, when his teeth sink into your skin?

But how can they be, when you are in them?

"But, I am sure that's different for you." Her expression is sly, lips curving in a small smirk. A sharp glimmer replacing the far-away look in her eyes, coming back from her own evocation.

"What do you mean?" You ask, your voice sounding far away.

Dazed, as if the words are taking their time on their trip from your thoughts to your tongue.

That look comes back. As if you're on two different brainwaves, as if she isn't understanding what you're asking.

"Well, I thought that would be obvious. We’re not like you…" Fennec frowns, her head tilting. A breath, as she clarifies.

"Boba isn't my mate."

Ahh and the last Secret Prompt from the list is soulmates / fated mates! 💕 thank you so much for reading! If you’d like a tag for the last 2 parts, please let me know!

Ulyc, cyar’ika - “careful, beloved”

(Tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella, @spaceydragons, @-ohsolovely-, @survivingandenduring, @queenquazar, @alitaar, @dindjarinsslut, @avarkriss)

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin imagine #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown

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