#once again. predictable is my middle name

[plusultraetc]

it's not WIP Wednesday, but I think this snippet is a little too cynical for the rest of the fic so it can live on in the writing tag instead 😭

[seat-safety-switch]

It's hard to deal with certain truths in life. For example – and I'm sure there's other ones, but I can't think of any right now – there is not enough time to drive every piece of construction equipment ever made. Even if you started as a baby, which the well-meaning nannies of society don't allow to operate heavy machinery, you'd still be finding obscure kinds of specialty cranes even as the doctor pulls your life-support plug in front of your horrified children, who are all named after unpopular varietals of telehandlers.

As adults, we feel the need to make compromises. Maybe we only try the most famous, name-brand kinds of construction equipment. Stick to Bobcats, even. A whole world of attachments means you'll never yearn for cranes again! This kind of specialization is important to making sure that society can actually function, sure, but once in awhile we all drive past a combine harvester on the highway and go "that could have been me." It still can.

What I've found is that the stress of collecting makes the experience worse. You can spend your time seeking out a whole punch-card of construction-vehicle experiences, and stress yourself out. Or: you can simply allow yourself to hot-wire whatever equipment you find at a given abandoned construction site in the middle of the night. Let the universe decide what fun you're going to have. Steamroller? You bet. That weird truck thing that paints lines on the highway? Don't look too closely at the first couple miles on Number Seventeen, but I figured out the controls eventually. Looks pretty good, if I do say so myself.

Spontaneous discovery also means you're opening yourself up to new experiences that you never would have expected. For instance, I didn't know that the local dog-racing track had a little tractor for flattening out the dirt. If I had sneered at it, I would have missed the fact that it was one of those cool old 70s Cub Cadets that I always love to drive. Geared pretty well to escape the cops, too, although they got me when I came back to the track later that night to try the parking lot sweeper. Taught me my lesson again: don't try to force it to happen. Being predictable is how they catch you every time.

[evellynssocbrainrot]

So I have been minorly skimming some stuff on YouTube and TikTok about SOC, and I cannot believe some of the things that people say about Kaz and the Crows.

One point I tend to hear from Six of Crows critiques a lot is "The Crows act older than their supposed age, especially Kaz"

And... Seriously? Did we read the same book? The Crows are constantly making jokes and bickering. Do you think people who are in their 30's or even their late 20's would say shit like "jogs the liver" or "I need a cup of the darkest bitterest coffee or a real punch to the jaw" or "my ghost won't associate with your ghost" or "a hive of bees in your dresser drawer"? THEY WOULDN'T. (Actually, they can, but maybe not every single sentence and not as impulsively) These are things only dramatic teenagers would say. Not to mention the way the Crows handle their traumas is extremely immature and they're awful at communicating. The Crows actually act more like teenagers than 90% of teenagers in YA novels. The only reason why they seem older is because they have skills.

Another point I tend to hear a lot from critiques is "Kaz never faces consequences and he always wins and he's perfect"

What!!???? Just what!!?? In what universe? Once again, did these people read the same book as us?? Kaz is always facing terrible consequences. He is on the edge of losing his own crew every other chapter. His own crew is not afraid to call him out on his shit when he does it. The trauma he has doesn't glorify him, it makes him look pathetic and weak next to the other Crows. Kaz himself is deeply ashamed of it and he's lonely and isolated because of it. He is restricted from hugging his crewmates, he is restricted from kissing Inej and that kills him. He is broken and miserable because of it. But simultaneously, the trauma is his problem to fix. Nobody fixes it for him.

And yes, Kaz is highly intelligent and incredibly skilled and strong, but trust me, he does not always win, and he isn't perfect. If I remember correctly, his first plan for the Ice Court was a failure and they had to improvise from there. But the final plan came at a cost, and that was Nina using parem. Towards the end of the book, Kaz was wrong about predicting that Van Eck actually loved Wylan enough to not kill him, and it cost him everything. The first plan he made to take down Van Eck in the middle of CK was a complete disaster. The crew ended up stuck in the Geldrenner hotel. Kaz was clearly dangling so far off the point of utter insanity that he actually resorted to giving himself up for the crew and only resigned because the other Crows stopped him. And for the final plan of the book, Kaz ended up using every single resource he had left, which once again, subtly implies how desperate he was. He gave up all his assets, he used his old home, he used his original surname, he injured himself a lot in order to recruit more people for the plan. It took him a great deal of time, effort, and thinking to finally put together a plan. AND EVEN THEN, it came at a terrible cost which was the life of one of his Crows.

Even the revenge he took against Pekka wasn't that worth it as Pekka still couldn't remember Jordie's name, Jordie was still dead, and Kaz's trauma and pain didn't get any better than it was before.

Kaz is not at all a perfect guy who always wins. He is deeply flawed, twisted and is always losing something even when he wins a bit. I don't understand how some of these SoC critiques didn't understand this.

[irisintheafterglow]

angst/fluff. minor injuries and swearing

there you are. c'mon, baby. claw your way out.

war is tearing across katsuki's mind, his head telling him that you were an adversary while the rest of him says he needs to get you out of danger. all according to plan, just as his friends predicted.

"i thought he was supposed to be undercover, radio silent until he reported back to the office." your eyelid is sore from twitching in pure irritation; one, that this was happening in the first place, and two, that you were brought to katsuki's work at some unholy hour of the morning. "how the hell did you guys lose someone that loud?"

"that's your boyfriend we're talking about," kaminari points out and you give him an impatient frown.

"i know," you say slowly. "he's also received more noise complaints than property damage reports. you're telling me you lost track of the noisiest pro since present mic retired?"

"we didn't lose track of him," kirishima corrects carefully. "some villain's quirk messed with his head, and now we're not getting any responses for check-ins. he should have been back a week ago, but attempts to send in exfil have been encountering...obstacles." you can tell he's trying to be delicate with you, but if there was one thing you and katsuki had in common, it was a low tolerance for beating around the bush.

"i just don't understand what i'm doing here, eiji," you admit tiredly. of all the people in this room, mostly katsuki's classmates from back in high school, it was hard to direct your anger at your boyfriend's redheaded best friend. kirishima was practically your brother in law considering how many times he'd crashed at your house after a night out with katsuki. "what am i supposed to do except be the worried-sick partner?"

"about that," begins sero, another one of kats' friends from UA. he's the last pro that was sent in to attempt to grab katsuki, and remnants of that battle are still littered across his taped-up limbs. "we want you to test a hunch."

"a hunch," you echo in disbelief. "i'm here at three in the morning on a hunch?"

"from what we've gathered about the villain who captured bakugo, their quirk rewrites brain signals to name everyone but the 'boss' as an enemy, and whoever's in charge has to specify which people they don't want to be annihilated." kirishima's confidence wavers for the first time since you'd met him. "we think that...maybe you can get through to him."

"a villain kidnapped my boyfriend and you want me to bait him out of its spell?"

"basically, yeah," kaminari shrugs a little too nonchalantly and mina elbows him in the sternum.

"i'm sorry, where the hell are you getting this information from?"

"the man himself," kaminari replies with his palms up and you settle back into your seat, not realizing that you'd stood from your swivel chair in your outburst. "there are brief moments when the exfil agents seemed to get through to him, and all he'd talk about is you and how the only thing he remembers is you."

"look, we know this is scary." mina is still in her nightgown, having been summoned at the same time as you, yet she kneels down next to your chair anyways. "we wouldn't be asking you to go in if we had any other choices."

"it's not only us who need you," sero states. "he needs you to get him out, too."

right, and that's how you ended up in a rundown castle in the middle of the mountains with a henchman's knife pressing against your throat.

following the plan, you allowed yourself to be caught by the perimeter guards under the pretense of demanding a meeting with 'the puppet king,' the villain who could subject anyone to become his bodyguard if he touched their body. once captured, you would first be taken to the new second-in-command, your mind-controlled boyfriend.

when you first arrived to the wing of the castle where katsuki was stationed, you knew you needed to grab his attention. before he could address you, you forced the sharp end of the guard's blade to rest precariously against your jugular. his reaction was instinctive, like his body was moving faster than his brain. katsuki threw his arm up fired off a single blast that, at the last moment, curved to the right of the guard's head, leaving your captor paralyzed in fear with his weapon still against your skin. he was in there, but he was still under some kind of mind-control.

because the attack wouldn't have missed otherwise.

"that's it, kats. fight back," you murmur and the henchman's grip on you tightens.

"quiet, you. what are you doing to him?" you make a noise somewhere between a groan and a wince, and katsuki notices. "move again, and i swear i'll--"

"i wouldn't do that if i were you," you warn quietly at the same moment katsuki fixes the guard with a withering glare. his mind may be distant, but his body remembers exactly what it needs to do. "this isn't between us and him right now. it's between him and himself, and i'm going to make sure he wins."

"make him stop or i'll kill you right now," the guard hisses in your ear.

"i'd love to see you try," you counter without taking your eyes off of him. his hands clutch the stone bricks of the castle walls while his neck twists from side to side, desperately trying to choose what unheard voice of reason to listen to. "i know you're in there. come and get me."

"oi, dynamight. you know what to do. take care of them," your captor orders. "shut them up for good."

"you gonna let him talk to me like that, katsuki?" any further encouragement is cut short by the hitch in your throat, feeling the sharp edge ever so slightly start to sink into your flesh. you gasp as a single warm drop trickles down your neck and onto your collarbone.

"open your mouth one more time and i'll make sure you never do it again--fuck!" before he can finish his threat, the guard is abruptly knocked backward by one precise shot to his shoulder. freed, you kick his torso into the bricks behind you and he slumps to the ground, unconscious.

"eiji, i've got him," you announce with your pointer finger to the transmitter in your ear. "go ahead and move to phase two."

in less than a blink, katsuki's expression of concern is all you can see after he tears off his gloves to cautiously take your face in his hands. his gaze blinks rapidly all over your face, scanning and absorbing and assessing whatever it was he missed while he wasn't himself.

"baby," he breathes, practically in shambles when he sees the cut on your neck. "baby, what are you--why are--what are you doing here?"

"i'm getting you out," you whisper back. he swallows thickly, his face more broken than you'd ever seen him. "now we've gotta go before you somehow get put back under. eiji and your friends are taking care of the villain. for now, we've just gotta get out of here."

"did i--did i do this?" his face is pale and he can't stop staring at your neck. "did i hurt you?"

"no, no, no. never," you insist. "i know you wouldn't. you made sure that this wasn't any worse." you tilt his chin so he can meet your eyes. "i wouldn't be here if i didn't trust you entirely, katsuki."

"you're here." you can't tell if he's grounding you or himself. maybe it's both.

"mhmm. i'm right here." explosions shake the foundation of the castle in what you can only assume to be the beginnings of the infiltration. katsuki snarls and tightens his grip around your waist.

"i'm going to kill them for sending you in here in the first place," he declares, a familiar scowl finally making its way back onto his handsome face. "what the fuck were they thinking, sending my damn partner in to save me? those shitwipes and their stupid ideas." there he is.

"ask them that yourself," you reply with a small smile, feeling a little lighter than you had been in a week. "for now, please get me out of here. i never wanna be on one of your missions ever again."

"that makes two of us."

according to the press, there was hell to pay back at the agency when dynamight finally got a hold of cellophane, red riot, and chargebolt, the pros who led the team to extract him. rumors of your involvement never became widespread, but katsuki made sure to keep a picture of you in his toolbelt in the event that he was taken from you again.

[peachiejeongin]

Jealousy | Lee Know

Synopsis: You and Lee Know have been best friends for as long as time can tell; however, a third party has ignited an unfamiliar negativity in him, and he is finally ready to handle it himself.

Pairing: jealous! dom!LK x fem!reader (Reader has breasts and a vagina, and uses she/her pronouns !)

Genre: Smut, a bit of Angst, Fluff towards the ending

Warnings: Sexually Explicit Content (18+), marking, breast-play (sort of), oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (please use protection my loves!), pet names (sweetheart, good girl, baby, etc.), Minho is extremely jealous and possessive, Minho quite literally answers the phone during sex [As always, please inform me if I missed anything!]

Word Count: 9k

Notice: Hello, my darlings! I have missed you all dearly! I recently acquired a bit of inspiration to get back into writing, so enjoy a Lee Know smut drabble I wrote a while back :)

Smut under the cut!

"Hey, I feel like we're getting off topic again," Minho bluntly states, cutting you off in the middle of your chatter. You glanced at him, your mouth slightly agape from the abrupt interruption. "You do remember that hanging out today was your idea, right?"

Of course, you remembered it was your idea; after all, you had made the plans last minute, just that morning. You invited Minho over for a movie and a catch-up night, since you hadn't seen him in a few days. You expected a normal evening with him; however, hanging out felt strange. In fact, it had felt unusual ever since a certain third party had entered the picture.

You had recently started talking to another guy and had unintentionally began spending more time with him than with Lee Know. As of late, though, this new guy seemed to be distancing himself from you; he would often go days, or even up to a week, without speaking to you. Then, he would reappear in your life as if nothing had happened, claiming to have been, "busy."

Your best friend saw right through the guy's facade; he knew the guy was only seeking attention from you, and he was not tolerating it. Despite Minho's clear disapproval, it seemed as if the guy consumed much of your conversations lately; in fact, Minho interjected as you were once again delving into another tangent about the guy's behavior. It had become a predictable cycle: the guy would reappear after ghosting, make plans, and vanish again. Frankly, Lee Know was growing tired of it.

"Yeah, I know hanging out was my idea. Why wouldn't I remember that?" you questioned, a confused expression present amongst your features.

Minho scoffed. "Because it's not feeling like it," he said. You raised one eyebrow, urging him to explain further. "I understand you want advice and my personal input on what's going on with this potential guy, and I can help you out with whatever as your friend..." He paused briefly, letting out a deep sigh as he continued, "I'm trying really hard not to be a jerk about this, but I really thought today wasn't going to revolve around this again."

"Min, I get where you're coming from, but I feel like you're making it seem like I've been talking about this guy non-stop, which I haven't." Upon your response, Minho could not stop himself from narrowing his eyes and chuckling coldly.

"Literally, since I brought you that water, you have not stopped talking about him."

"Yes, I have! I've talked about so many other things, and-"

"When?" he promptly cuts you off again, his voice raising slightly. "I mean, seriously? When I first came over, you were all like, 'Hey, I need your opinion. Can you look at this for a sec?'" Lee Know mirrored your prior actions by shoving his phone in your face.

What had you shoved in Lee Know's face exactly? A message from the guy stating, "Sorry, I've been busy." The date on the message read 8:41P.M., not even thirty minutes ago. The last message you had sent, on the contrary, read Monday, November 18th.

Over a week ago.

You wanted Minho's honest opinion; after all, he was your only friend that would give you the truth instead of what you wanted to hear. Thus, the truth he gave: "How many times do I have to tell you this guy is not worth it?"

And so, you find yourself connecting the dots on previous events.

"I may have asked for your opinion, but I didn't shove my phone in your face," you argue, pushing his phone away by instinct. You were becoming increasingly annoyed at his behavior.

"Yeah, you did," he retaliated, retracting his phone. "You shoved your phone in my face just like that." You opened your mouth to counter; however, no sound came out. All thoughts on how to go against him had completely dissipated from your mind. You closed your agape jaw in defeat and stared grimly at the floor. Lee Know rolled his eyes harshly.

"I told you last time, and I'll tell you again, it means he's not worth your time. This guy is clearly only trying to hit you up when it's convenient for him, and you know that, too."

Minho's grievances mirrored but also contrasted your own. Of course, he was agitated with your behavior, but the hinderance came from a divergent perspective; he knew you were smarter than this, you had to be. There was absolutely no way you could not see the clear convenience you were to this guy. Minho could not tell if you were intently playing dumb in order to lessen the blame or if you were simply blind sighted by this guy.

Either way, he was fed up.

You could not wrap your head around the guy's actions, however. Just the other night, the two of you had went on a date that went pleasantly well. How was he able to change up so quickly?

You made mention of your thoughts aloud: "But...the last date we went on..."

"What about it?" Minho sat up and threw his hands sharply to his sides in a vexed manner. He leaned back on his palms, his eyebrows furrowed as he awaited your response.

"It just...It went really well is all..." You shrugged and folded your arms over your torso. You tapped your foot against the hardwood floor as you apprehensively glanced up at Minho. He had taken off his glasses and was rubbing his temples.

He put his glasses back on, took a deep inhale, and cupped his hands in your direction.

"So what if the date went really well, Y/N? That doesn't excuse what he's been doing. He's basically ghosted you for an entire week, and it's been, what? Three times now?" Minho's acute words stung. You knew he was right, but it was still taking you time you wrap your head around one aspect:

Why?

"I get that things aren't official yet," he continued, snapping you out of your thoughts, "but you have to see that this guy is-"

"I just don't understand why, Min," you interrupted him this time. "What even is going to happen after this?" He narrowed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

"Look, i really don't want to be your counselor again," Lee Know shook his head while chuckling out of aggravation. "But, obviously, he's gonna try to make up every excuse and try to act sweet when he finally responds."

"What if he really has been busy, though?" you desperately reply, attempting to convince yourself more than anything. Minho did not shoot a glance at you this time, the annoyance clear on his sunk in expression.

"Look," he stated directly in attempts to get you to listen. "It might be more acceptable if you two were going into this potential relationship expecting it to be a casual kind of thing, y'know, with no strings attached. But, that's not what you've been telling me, and he knows exactly what this is supposed to be. He's the one that's not respecting your time, or my time for that matter because I constantly have to listen to what a piece this guy sounds like."

"He...He hasn't been acting like there's no strings attached! Just the other day, he-" You huffed in efforts to tell Minho about how the guy denied another girl's number at the arcade on the last date, even going so far as to call you "his girl." Once again, however, Minho interjected.

"You are really starting to annoy me." his words cut; they were honest, yet brutal. "There is no way you are this stupid, y/n. Come on: not responding for weeks at a time? Love bombing when he does respond? That's acting like no strings attached." You considered Lee Know's words for a brief moment. Upon this, you finally had a realization:

"Maybe...Maybe he's not worth it anymore."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Minho responded with a chuckle mixed of disbelief and humor. "Get rid of him; you would be doing us both a favor that way."

You nodded in sorrow, staring down at your phone. Despite the comment you had made, part of you was still hoping you would look at your lock screen and there would be a text message from him.

"So, you're not going to talk to him anymore. Deal?" Minho ponders, snapping you out of your train of thought.

"No. No, I'm not going to talk to him anymore." You set your phone down on your lap, your foot still tapping nervously.

"So, we're done with this?" he follows up with a second question.

"I don't know, Min," you admit, causing Minho to intake a rough breath. "I mean, I still can't comprehend it. He's so sweet and caring, and he's really good in-"

"No, I don't wanna hear about it, y/n!" Minho finally snaps, managing to keep his voice stern but calm.

"What? Why? I thought you were supposed to be here for me?" you ask, once again hurt by his words.

"I am here for you, but I don't like hearing about these guys you're seeing," Minho growled, his voice tinged with frustration. "I just really do not need to know about all of that, okay? Just put it down, and let's not talk about this anymore."

"Okay, okay. Fine. What do you wanna talk about?" You finally look up at Minho, your eyes sunk in and arms crossed with defeat.

"Well, I was thinking," he began, his voice a lot more gentle, "that we could talk about, and this is just a wild idea, but something related to us instead?" He accentuated his words with a few lighthearted chuckles.

"Hm, yeah. Did you have something specific in mind?" you inquired, your demeanor beginning to soften but your eyes still narrowed in slight frustration.

"I did have something. I actually already had this in mind before you got me offtopic earlier," he teased briefly, "but I was thinking since we both have some time off next week, we should go out and eat somewhere!" Minho's eyes seemed to beaming as bright as his smile; he took pride in the fact that he was able to deter your attention back to him, back to where it was supposed to be, he thought. He missed you dreadfully, and the suggestion of going out to dinner had been plaguing his mind since he walked through your front door.

"Oh yeah?" you asked rhetorically. "What place did you have in mind?" You returned his grin with a soft, half smile of your own. You could not deny you had missed spending time with him has well; however, the thoughts of your admirer still clouded your better judgement. Unintentionally, you began to stare off into space as Lee Know began his reply.

"There's been this one new place that I've been wanting to try. I think it would be nice," Lee Know explained as he began to describe the new traditional restaurant that had just opened up not even a couple of blocks away from your apartment. Lee Know ended his description with a cheeky, "Plus, I feel like you kind of owe me one anyways." This statement snapped you out of your endless distraction. You turned your head in his direction quickly, your eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown present on your face, replacing the half-smile that was just present.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you interrogated, your tone coming off more accusatory than attended. Minho raised a teasing eyebrow to accompany his ever-present smile, which now had morphed into more of a smirk; he was slightly taken aback by your sudden yet slight outburst.

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he responded unequivocally, nodding his head with each accentuation of the sentence. "I'm just saying that you've been so busy with your new guy that we haven't had a chance to hang out lately. Remember last week? When you flaked on me...twice?" Minho's smile had slightly faded, his demeanor becoming solumn in contrast to the previous cheeky behavior.

You did remember essentially leaving Minho in the dust last week, although you did not want to. You and Minho had planned a night together, similar to the one you were having at this moment; however, on the night of the planned venture, the new guy had messaged you out of the blue and asked if you wanted to grab dinner with him that night. All reason had fled from your mind at that moment as you texted back, 'Yes!' without thinking twice about your plans for the night. It was not until Minho had began to blow up your cellphone with messages such as, 'Where are you?' 'y/n, i'm at your apartment,' and 'hello? what the hell?!' when you remembered. You quickly replied, explaining what had happened and that you would be home soon in a desperate attempt to please both parties, yet your response was met with, 'Don't bother. I'm going home.'

With this failed endeavor, you and Minho had attempted to reschedule your arrangements for the next night; thankfully, Minho had the whole week off from schedules, and it was your fall break from classes. You had made a slight adjustment to visit the cinema rather than a move night at your apartment. Yet, this attempt succeeded just as much as the first did, and it went about the same way; it was as if the guy had some sort of radar detecting the days you and Minho had planned to hang out so he could steal you away.

As you dreadfully remembered the events of the prior week, you scoffed and refused to give up your stern standpoint on the matter.

"You sound jealous, y'know that?" was the response your anger-stricken brain formulated. You had stated it without thinking, honestly, and you instantly regretted it once Minho leaned back on the couch, his arms crossing and his mouth slightly agape in pure vexation.

"I sound what?" he inquired stiffly, his dark brown eyes staring daggers into your gaze. "Jealous?" he repeated the word as if he could not believe the statement, which to some degree he could not. He followed up the repitition with a couple of brutal snickers as he shook his head in disbelief. His stare had now found its way boring holes into the wall beside him. "Very funny. I'm not jealous," he claimed as if he was trying to convince himself of the matter rather than you. He shifted his gaze towards the floor as he continued, "I just think you should follow through when we make plans."

"You know we can always reschedule," you responded somberly as you glanced out of the window to your right in order to avoid eye contact with Minho.

"Yeah, you can reschedule, but you ended up cancelling that too," Minho fixed his eyes upon you, specifically how you were still refusing to look at him. You knew the truth to his words, which only made the guilt to felt ten times worse; still, you refused to let your guard down, responding to his truth with a skeptical head shake. You rolled your eyes as you did so, and you shifted your gaze to side eye the male.

"Do you not hear yourself? You are jealous, otherwise you wouldn't be speaking like this, or bringing up last week!" There was no denying your rage at this moment; you were tired of Minho bringing up your faults, especially when it was in relation to this guy. Minho's tongue prodded at his cheek and his vacant expression darkened. There was a brief silence as Minho contemplated what to say in order to get his point across and not sound like a total jerk.

"Okay," he started, "now, you're just imagining things. I'm not jealous." You chuckled slightly, turning your gaze back to focus on the rain pittering against the windows outside.

"Sure," you replied quite coldly with a strained, sarcastic smirk plastered upon your face. Minho frustratedly breathed in and took a slight glance towards the ceiling.

"Fine," he threw his hands up slightly, "y'know what? Forget it. Let's just drop this." He attempted to change the topic of conversation, both because he was tired of talking about his feelings, but also because there was a minuscule aspect of him that knew you were correct. "But, if you happen have time to allocate next week, is that a yes or a no on the restaurant thing?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in perplexity. Minho was JUST on your case, and now he is bringing the subject of the restaurant.

He is so jealous, you thought.

That was not what came out of your mouth, however. Instead, you sighed as a way to release the lingering tidbits of bottled-up anger you felt and responded with a simple question: "What did you say the name of the place was again?" Minho paused for a moment in an attempt to remember the answer to your question.

"Uh, I don't remember the exact name, but it opened up right next to the theatre," Minho did his best to recollect the traditional restaurant, but could only remember its location.

"Is it that one new silverish building with all of the fairy lights hanged near the entrance?" you inquired genuinely, your body beginning to relax from the intensity of aforementioned events. Minho nodded slightly, finally feeling a sense of relief that you were endulging in a conversation unrelated to the guy.

"Yeah, yeah, that building. The name was, uh," Minho attempted to recall the name of the restaurant once again, and partially succeeded, "Great...something." You laughed at his inable memory, causing him to eye you up and down in a playful manner. "Listen, I had the name in my head for the entire day!"

"Likely story! Where'd it go then?" you asked him cheekily, leaning in a bit closer to him on the couch as if to accentuate your question. Lee Know moved away from you in sarcastic disgust as he returned your giggles.

"I don't know! For some reason, it's just on the tip of my tongue right now," Minho returned to his normal sitting position as he racked his brain for the name of the restaurant.

"Is it...is it 'Great Bake?'" you asked as you recalled seeing a grey building that matched the description of the restaurant. Minho looked at you, confusion etched all over his face.

"No, that's a cookie shop!" Minho chortled at your futile attempt at recollecting. "Plus, that place has been there for years now. But I mean, we can go there if you want." You tilted your head at the suggestion before slowly shaking it.

"No thanks. I'd rather go for a meal than for cookies. They make my stomach ache," you rubbed your stomach as you stated the last part in order to adorn your words with comicality.

"Are you sure?" Minho asked you genuinely. "Because I don't mind going for desert after. Or we could go for Boba afterwards if you prefer."

"Nah," you politely declined his offers. "I think the meal will be enough for me."

"You sure?" Minho inquired once more. "It can be my treat!"

"You don't have a reason to treat me," you retaliated in a half-serious half-silly demeanor. Lee Know shook his head in response.

"There doesn't have to be a reason."

"You're just never this considerate is all." Another reply you would slightly regret the moment is escaped your lips. Minho threw his head back, his ego slightly hurt at your statement.

"I am always considerate, hello?" he countered sounding a tad vexated. "What kind of image do you have of me?"

"Well, if you're always considerate, is dinner going to be on you too?" you inquired, crossing your arms brazenly as you awaited an answer.

"You..." Minho's voice quieted as he let out a string of adorning giggles. "No, relax. I am only covering the dessert portion." You scoffed, this one coming out in an exuberant manner in contrast to the previous ones out of annoyance.

"So, I'll pay for dinner in order to make it up to you, I guess, and you'll pay for dessert?" You had decided to concede to Minho's proposition about the cookies and boba. He beamed brightly at your own proposal.

"Okay, let's do that then!" his words were laced with a joyous hint, which made your heart smile. You had a newfound exhileration for the endeavor; as such, you asked Minho if he was excited in order to ensure that the feeling was reciprocated.

"I am, yeah! I am excited for the food!" Minho poked fun towards you, causing you to lightly smack the back of his head. "I'm just kidding, y/n. Of course I am excited for the food, but also because you and I, y'know...I said it earlier, but it really has been a while since we've been able to catch up. Like, not just surface level stuff in our lives, and I've really missed-"

Minho's endearing ramble was interrupted by a buzz of your cellphone; the guy's name appeared on your phone screen in the form of an iMessage. A second buzz quickly followed, and you almost lept at the coffee table in attempts to retrieve your phone. You came to a stop just as your hand grasped the device, and you slowly looked up from the table, making dejected eye contact with Minho. The grin on his face swifty disappeared, and he sighed as he looked down at the ground one more.

"I'm sorry, Min. Do you...mind if I answer this real quick?" You figured it was at least alright to ask, but you took note of how upset he appeared as the inquiry left your mouth.

"Uh, yeah, go ahead. Can't really ignore that, right?" Minho never looked up from the ground as he spoke, and the last fragment of his sentence came out in a snarky bearing.

"I mean I can if, if you want me to," you stuttered, and Minho just shook his head in disapproval.

"I know if you try not to check your phone, you're just going to get distracted from the conversation," Minho paused, taking into consideration how you were hyper-focused on your phone, your fingers were already moving at the speed of light to type out a reply to the guy. "And it looks like you're already doing that anyways." You glanced up from your phone, your face contorted into a confused expression with your eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed together.

"Why are you making that face at me?" Minho catechized your expression as if it was the most unnecessary item in the world. "It's him again, I know it is. I told you not to bother with him anymore, so why are you even thinking about responding?" You were silent, a culpable feeling engulfing your body.

"He. He apologized, and he said-"

"It doesn't matter what he's saying!" Minho snapped outrageously, instantly standing and unintentionally towering over you. "Are you serious right now? We just talked about this!" His fists were clenched by his side, and his eyes were narrowed in exasperation. Before he could let his emotions take over, he took a couple of steps away from you and removed his glasses one more, rubbing at the inner corners of his eyes to seemingly rid them of the stress he was feeling. "Y'know, this is really starting to piss me off."

"Why? Why does it matter so much to you?" you queried, careful not to let the lump building up in your throat waiver your voice. Minho looked at you as if you had lost your sanity.

"Because I thought we were done with this, y/n."

"It's none of your business, Minho!" You had stood up now as well in order to mirror the actions of your friend. He took a step closer to you, his expression vexing further if that was fathomable.

"No, it wasn't my business initially, but you kind of went and made it my business with how often you rubbed this in my face. What, you expect me not to care about what happens to you?" You jeered at Minho's question, slapping a hand against your thigh in frustration.

"Can you just admit you don't like the fact I'm hanging out with a guy who isn't you? That's what the whole problem is here! Like I said: you're jealous, Minho." You crossed your arms as you stared up at the taller boy, who rolled his eyes in the middle of your reply.

"Here you go again with the jealousy thing," Minho huffed. "Look, I'm really annoyed already, so can you stop messing around, please?"

"I'm not messing around," you defended your stance. "You're only worried about me because another guy is in the picture."

"I am worried about you as a friend, y/n, and I'm saying from a platonic standpoint that he is not worth it," Minho retaliated, the annoyance becoming more prominent in his voice with every word he spoke.

"Meaning what exactly?" you prodded further. At this point, Minho was not sure if you were simply asking questions because of sheer confusion or to get on his nerves. It was a mix of both in reality; you could not deny the immense joy you felt from pushing Minho to his limits, yet you also could not fathom why he was so passionate about his stance on this guy.

"Meaning that I don't want you to see him anymore." Minho thought the response sounded better in his head. You widened your eyes once you heard it.

"Okay, so you're jealous and possessive." You moved your finger as you spoke as if you were making some sort of air-bullet list. Minho's mouth gaped slightly open and he sneered.

"Now I sound possessive? I'm really not, but sure, if you'd like to add that into your mix of ideas about me, too." Minho attempted to walk away from the conversation, but you grabbed his shirt sleeve to make him stay put.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" you asked for the nth time that night. Minho looked down at your hand's grasp on his shirt sleeve, then back up at you before scoffing once again, a smug smirk playing at his lips.

"You have not seen me being possessive at all, sweetheart," he remarked with a boldness present in his voice. "I don't want to get into this right now."

"And why is that?" The pure curiosity within you had vanished; now, the questions were purely to push Minho's buttons. You had already gotten him so far towards the edge, so what harm would an additional shove do?

"Because if I were being possessive, I would say, 'You're not going out with him again. I'm not letting him have you.' That is what I would want to say," Minho's sultry gaze bore into your own, and you felt your knees tremble slightly and your heart quicken its pace. You did not understand why you had began to feel this way, but it was exciting.

And you wanted more.

"Are you still insisting on this as a friend, Min?" As you uttered those words, you made an essentially bold move; you moved your hand from his shirt sleeve to his palm, nearly intertwining his hand with yours. The mere movement made Minho's breath hitch.

"Well, I, uh," Minho took a deep breath before continuing. "How much are you going to push me? If you asked me like that then you already have an idea, don't you?" He instinctly moved his thumb over your knuckles as he began his honest vouch. "You're right. I have been feeling jealous for a while now. I don't know when it started, but I am. Having to think about you and this guy going out has obviously only made it worse." Your gaze softened as you squeezed his hand.

"Why didn't you tell me, Min?"

"Because I didn't think I would care this much, so how was I supposed to tell you?" Minho genuinely asked this question, but you did not respond.

"So, is that all?" Minho scoffed at your returned question.

"Excuse me? Of course it's not," he stated like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "Do you really want to know what else I've been keeping to myself?" Before you realized what you were doing, your body took control over your mind, allowing your head to nod in agreement rapidly, earning a, "Are you sure about that?" from Minho.

"Are they," you began, feeling a slight tremble in your voice so you paused for a moment. "Are they about me?"

"Mhm. They're related to you. The things that I've wanted to do, thought about doing. It's more than I'm willing to say on its own," he responded casually, the chillness yet unintentionally seductive manner causing you to instinctively cross your legs and slightly rub them together.

"Don't say it then," you replied near instantly, an anxious hitch present in your voice. "Show me." Minho quirked an eyebrow, repeating your words to make sure he understood you correctly. He sighed deeply, almost longingly.

"If you insist, then fine. C'mere," he planted a firm hand on your upper back and pulled you impossibly close towards him. Before you could question his actions, his lips were on yours, kissing you like he had no time left in the world. You were shocked at first, but you quickly melted into the kiss, a few whimpers escaping from your mouth as the two of you embraced. After about thirty seconds, Minho pulled away, smiling at how swollen your lips appeared after such a short period of time.

"I like you," he stumbled over his words as he spoke. "More than I was ever planning to or ever supposed to." He accompanied his confession with a gentle caress of your cheek, a lazy grin accompanying his features. "Seeing you talk about that guy just made me realize how much it bothered me, and," he took a short stop, the light in his eyes morphing into an expression of lust, "if I could have my way with you...if I could do anything that I wanted, then I would keep you all to myself." The hand he had placed on your cheek shifted downward until it found purchase on your waist. Minho's words and subsequent actions had you feeling hot. Everywhere.

"Minho, I never expected you to be this way," you chuckled both out of astonishment and nervousness towards Lee Know's possessiveness.

"Yeah, I don't think you've ever seen how greedy of a person I can be," he responded with an anxious chortle of his own. "I tried to maintain being friends, and obviously I couldn't act like that, could I?" You shook your head, agreeing with his statement.

"Well, maybe I like the way you're acting right now," your hands placing themselves against his chest. You stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Maybe I want to see that side of you." The reaction Minho felt from your words went straight down.

"Why?" he whispered in return, his own voice sounding like a whine rather than an octave.

"Because...there is a slight chance I feel the same way you do, and I am curious as to how far this side of you extends." Your hands had began to slide up and down Minho's chest, allowing him to release a soft groan.

"Alright then," he replied as both hands now softly grasped your waist. "If you were mine, then I would definitely be a lot closer than this." Once Minho stated this, he gently maneuvered the both of you back over the couch, softly laying you down and hovering over top of you. The heat within your body was growing, and your heart was pumping with adrenaline at the sight of your best friend on top of you.

You could not believe that this was reality.

"Probably this close would be more accurate," he added on with a cheeky smirk, although his heavy breaths contrasted the slyness of his attitude. He had one hand on your lower back and the other softly brushing over your left cheek. "I wouldn't be able to help myself from here though," he leaned down to the crook of your neck, just to where his lips were ghosting the lobe of your ear. "I would make sure everyone knows you're mine," he alluringly whispered as he moved your hair away from the skin of your neck. "Especially here to start," he murmured before diving down to kiss the exposed area. "The things you do to me," he muttered as he kissed, licked, and sucked love marks into your neck. You did your best to keep quiet; however, no matter your best efforts, a string of hearty whines fell from your lips with every sensual movement Lee Know performed.

It felt like Heaven on Earth.

Minho was setting a rhythm to his actions when he was crudely interrupted by yet another buzz from your cellphone. You instinctually moved to grab it, only to be met with Lee Know sighing in annoyance. He swiftly grasped your arm and pinned it down to your side.

"Stop," he commanded in a frustrated yet enduring tone. "Don't answer it. Look at me." He took his free hand and tilted your chin upwards, forcing you to make eye contact with him. He delved down once more, this time finding your lips rather than your neck. This time, he slipped his tongue past your lips and yours impulsively fought back for dominance, allowing you both to explore one another's mouths. One of your hands found residence in his soft brown locks of hair, tugging on them lightly and eliciting a few moans from his ends.

Yet, all good things must come to an end, it seems.

Another buzz came from your phone, causing both you and Minho to let out groans of irritation.

"Give me that," Minho demanded, outstretching his arm for you to hand your phone to him. You automatically did as he asked and placed your phone in his grasp, to which he put it on the head of the couch behind him, making it to where you could not reach it.

"You're done with him."

With that, Minho went back to kissing you as if his life depended on it, taking note of the equal fervor your kisses contained. Hands were roaming everywhere, lips were encapsulated with one another's, blood flow was pumping to the maximum. It felt perfect. Minho pulled away to catch a breath of air, slightly chuckling against your lips at your flushed state. You had not even been making out for five minutes, and you already appeared disheveled with your bangs sticking to your forehead and your eyes blown with a glint of need.

"You really wanted this, too, didn't you?" Minho quieried, concentrating on keeping his gaze focused on yours. You let out a quiet 'mhm' in response, causing Minho's brazen smirk to reappear. "Were you trying to get a reaction out of me? Just so I would take it this far?" Minho moved your sweaty strands of hair out of your face as he anticipated a response.

"I wasn't trying to at first, I promise," you riposted sounding entirely breathless, partially because you were. "But it just got so fun seeing you all worked up over me." This caused the both of you to giggle; although, the humor was swiftly overtaken by hunger as Minho scanned your body up and down.

"How about I get back to making sure everyone knows you aren't available, hm?" He did not alott time for a response before beginning to kiss your neck once again. "Fuck, you have such a pretty neck," he groaned as he began to resume his prior actions of sucking, biting, and kissing every exposed spot he could access. He continued his endeavors for a long time, only pausing when your moans became as high pitched as a shriek. He pulled away briefly, analyzing the spots in which he had just finished orally assaulting.

"What? Are you sensitive here?" he inquired, gently rubbing his thumb over the spot for emphasis.

"Y-yes, Min, oh my God," you moaned out, desperate to have him reattach his lips to your skin. As if he could read your mind, he did just what you desired, focusing intently on your sensitive spots and relishing in the strangled moans you released as he did so.

You had almost completely lost yourself in the moment until yet another buzz came from your cellphone. Minho released an agitated noise before pulling away from the love-mark he had just embellished upon your neck.

"What the fuck does this guy want?" He read over the text message you were sent, scoffing in response. "A little too late to be texting this now," he remarked and set your phone back on the upper couch cushion.

"What did he say, Min?" Minho leaned back down seemingly even closer than he was before and pressed a short kiss to your temple.

"Don't worry about it, Sweetheart," Minho answered. "You're not seeing him again, and even if he does run into you, I think he'll get the message when he sees these marks all over your neck." Minho accompanied his words by glancing down at your neck; where there was once a smooth skin tone now housed marks of red, purple, and pink, almost resembling some form of a darkened sunset.

"They're so pretty," he whispered as he ran his fingers gently over the blemished marks. "I like seeing proof of my work on you. I want to mark you all over your body," he confessed, instead opting to mark your lips with a kiss in that moment.

"Lift up your arms for me," Minho babbled against your lips. "These clothes are getting in the way." You did just as you were commanded and raised your arms above your head. Minho made quick work of the baby blue crop top you had chosen to wear that day, pulling it over your head and leaving you topless with the exception of your bra.

"C'mon, get it all off for me," he directed you in regards to your bra. You reached your hands behind your back, attempting to undo the impossible clasp of the material. Minho offered to aid your struggle; his larger hands quickly replaced yours, and he was able to undo your bra in one swift motion. He instantaneously groaned at the sight of you, topless, and made specifically for him. He had imagined this scenario over the span of countless, lonely nights; his imagination had underestimated the mere sight of you because here you lay, even more perfect than he could have ever pictured.

"Can I touch you, baby?" he asked you, his words sounding desperate and sensual.

"Please do," you squeaked out, grabbing one of his hands and guiding them to your left breast. Minho took control from there, fondling the one breast as his mouth went to appease the other. The pleasure that erupted in your body was indescribable by words, only becoming conveyed by the loud moans that bounced off of the living room walls; every flick of Minho's tongue over your right nipple, every brush of his thumb over the left, and every sensation you felt on your chest made you rub your thighs together, begging for some sort of sweet relief. Minho picked up on your needy movements; therefore, he released your breasts from his suction and gently placed your hands on them instead.

"Keep playing with your tits for me," he instructed, "while I help you out down here, yeah?" You nodded desperately, feeling slightly embarassed from what he was asking you to do, but you obliged nevertheless, attempting to mirror his movements from before.

Minho, on the other hand, was slowly making his way down to your waistline, kissing every surface of your body he could while doing so. He made it to the band of your light grey sweatpants, and he hooked his thumb under the hem of both them and your underwear, managing to pull both articles down simultaneously and discarding them somewhere on the living room floor.

"Fuck," was all he could manage to spew out as he took you in. Your physical beauty, your scent, the slick already coating you, every aspect of your core was absolutely intriguing to him; it only made his ferality grow.

"I want to taste you," he confessed, not daring to make any movements upon you until he had your full consent. "Can I?"

"Please!" you nearly screamed, praying desparately for him to have his way with you. With your approval, Minho wasted no time in pleasing you. He started with slow kitty licks to your clitoris, eventually switching to alternations between licking and sucking on the sensitive bud, allowing his tongue to drag itself a bit lower down your folds each time. You let out an agonizing sigh of relief, which made its way past your lips in the form of a moan.

"Oh my God, Minho," you whimpered. "Just like that, please!" You continued to beg and plead and whimper and whine the whole way through Minho's work upon you.

"Fuck, y/n, you taste so good," he vibrated against your core, causing shock waves to coarse throughout your lower half. As your moans began to pick up in pace and pitch, as did Minho's movements in speed. He sucked, licked, and hummed against you at a moderate rhythm, giving rise to your back arching and your hips bucking. You felt a knot began to tighten in your stomach just as Minho pulled away, removing his cool, metal rings from his right hand. He tenderly took hold of your dominant hand and placed it where his mouth just was.

"I want you to play with your clit while I finger you," he told you bluntly, causing your cheeks to flush slightly. He took notice of your unease and so added on, "Can you do that for me?" as a way to both ask for your consent and make sure you were in a stable mindset to do so.

"Yes," you hoarsely stammered, "I can." To prove it, you leisurely began to rub your clit in small circles, moaning at the return of pleasureful contact. Minho smirked at your actions.

"Good girl," he praised as he slowly inserted his middle finger inside of you, pumping the singular digit slowly in and out of your vagina, curling it in order to brush against that sweet spot inside of you. Your maneuvers on yourself began to falter slightly as he inserted his ring finger as well, quickening his pace as he did so. You made an attempt to stifle your wanton, continuous moans; after all, you hated being too loud, always fearing someone would walk in and catch you in the act. Yet, Minho was not standing for this.

"No no," he stated while making eye contact with you, "let me hear you, baby. Be loud for me. Moan for me" Just like that, any hesitation within your body vanished, and you let every noise held within your vocal chords escape. Moans, groans, whimpers, whines, and everything in between filled the thin walls of your apartment.

"Attagirl." Minho took your noises as encouragement and began pumping his fingers in and out of you faster, still managing to curl them at the opportune moments. You began to rub your clit in tempo-esque sync with Minho's fingers, both motions feeling inhumanely swift at this point.

"Min, I'm getting c-close," you mumbled out, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten further and your brain only focusing on your release.

"Yeah, baby?" he cooed as his fingers rapidly brushed against your G-Spot. "Cum for me then, baby. I want you to cum all over my fingers. Can you do that for me?" He never broke eye contact with you as he asked this, not once.

"I, I can try," you replied, attempting to laugh the nervousness off, but it instead came out gargled.

"Hm, good girls do what they're told. You wanna be a good girl for me, right?" Minho inquired, moving his fingers back down to a moderate pace.

"Yes, yes, yes, I do!" you stumbled over your repetition. "'M your good girl." Minho chuckled at your adorable, mind-numb antics.

"Then cum all over for me," he repeated, working his fingers back up to the swift pace they had stalled from. "You can do it, I know you can, baby." The combined pleasure of Minho's fingers gracing your G-Spot and your fingers massaging your clit all became too overwhelming at once. You felt yourself coming undone, and as such, your hips began to stutter and your thighs began to shake as you came down from your high. Your hands flew to grasp at the slick leather of the couch as Minho's fingers helped you ride out your high.

"Good girl," Minho eulogized as he removed both digits from your entrance and inserted them into his mouth, licking them clean of your arousal. He climbed back over top of you and planted a kiss of adoration on your forehead.

"You did so well for me, pretty girl," he ran a hand through your hair as he smiled earnestly at you. Your brain was too numb to respond with verbage, so you instead sat up and kissed Minho with more passion than you previously had. "That's my girl," he mumbled against your lips. You mustered up enough strength to push Minho on his back, his hands instantly crawling up to squeeze the plush of your ass.

"Your turn," you tiredly stated, causing a chuckle to escape Lee Know's mouth. He encapsulated you in yet another kiss as your hands traveled down to his black, ripped jeans. You quickly found the zipper, unzipping his pants while simultaneously, yet unintentionally, palming his erection and eliciting a needy groan from him. With a bit of help from him, you shimmied his jeans and his boxers down, allowing his cock to spring free from its prior restraint. You took his shirt off of him just as fast, leaving both of you bare in front of one another.

"C'mere," he commanded, moving you forward on his lap to the point in which you were straddling him as he was sitting up. "Spread those legs for me." You shifted your position to where you were doing just that, giving him enough room to push up into you comfortably. "There you go," he praised before softly gripping your chin and pulling you into a brief yet fiery kiss.

"Look at me," Minho adjured you. "I don't want to miss a second of this pretty face." The compliment caused you to go red once more, making Minho in turn giggle. "Are you ready?" he asked before going forward.

"Yes, I have been, please, Min," you were not even sure what you were begging for, but Minho found it adorable nevertheless.

"Please what, baby?"

"Please fuck me."

Minho could not help but smirk at your bold comment as if to say, 'As you wish.' He adjusted his dick to align with your entrance and slowly but surely, inch by inch pushed himself inside of you. The stretch you felt from the endeavor was painful, yet delicious, and both you and Minho groaned from the feeling of one another's arousal. Minho was still for a minute, allowing for you to adjust to his length. Without warning, you began to slowly bounce on his length, taking Lee Know completely by surprise. Moans quickly refilled the apartment air, this time coming from both parties.

"Thereee you go," Minho groaned out as you continued your movements, his hands bracing themselves on your hips both to steady you and to keep himself in tact. "Move those hips for me baby."

A plethora of praises began to feel the air as you sped up your movements on Minho's cock, consisting of, 'That's it, baby,' 'Keep doing that,' and the ever so common, 'Yes, yes, yes!' along with multiple swears that adorned the vicinity. All reasonable judgment had left the area, with both you and Minho becoming concerned with each other's pleasure ass moans and movements began to become more frequent.

This statement only proved its factuality as Minho heard a buzzing sound coming from behind him. Your movements began to slow down as you heard it too; of course, it was your phone that was responsible. Minho grabbed your phone and scoffed, a sly, 'fuck,' falling from his lips as he read the caller ID.

"Look who it is again," he laughed sarcastically, showing you the phone screen as you continued your dulled thrusts. "And he's calling this time." Minho pondered for a moment before an idea came into his head. Amidst the noises of skin slapping, he asked you, "Should I answer it?" Your face instantly contorted into an expression of worry and anxiety.

"No, no, Min. D-don't answer it," you stammered out in a mix of breathlessness and fret.

"Are you sure? I think he's g-getting kind of worried," Minho retorted, the cockiness evident in his tone. Despite your wishes, he picked up the call.

"Hello?" Almost instantaneously, you clenched around Minho, both out of worry and exhileration. It was an anxiety-stricken situation, that was for certain; however, something about the confidence Minho exerted in that moment turned you on, so much so to the point where you accidentally let out a high pitched moan.

"Shh," Minho held a hand over your mouth, holding the phone away from you both. "You don't want him to hear you moaning like this, do you?" You shook your head no as Minho smirked and brought your phone back to his ear. "Sorry, what was that? Yeah, she's busy with me right now, but if you want me to leave a message for you, I can. You sure? Alright, no problem. Take care, man." Minho finally hung up the phone. "I think he got the message."

Although you could not hear the other end of the conversation, you were almost positive the guy could ear the lewd noises coming from your side of the receiver. It should have embarrassed you to no end, but it only made your eroticism grow. As such, you bounced harder and faster on Minho's cock, causing him to throw his head back in pleasure and release a string of swears.

"Fuck, baby. You were squeezing me so tightly while I was on the phone," he remarked about the gesture you had hoped he had not tooken notice of. "Were you that nervous or was it that," he stopped his interrogation to caputre you in yet again another passionate kiss, "you liked it? Hm?"

You could not bring yourself to answer him verbally, instead allowing moan upon moan to be uttered. Minho did not mind, however, instead allowing the both of you to become lost within your pleasure. With the pace you had set for the occasion, it was not long until you found yourself nearing a second orgasm, and from the way Minho's hips had began to stutter against your own and his whines becoming more high pitched, you figured it was the same case for him. He proved you correct moments later.

"Close, 'M close," he repeated several times over. "Keep going. Just like that for me, yeah?" His hands grasped your hips, aiding you in swiftening your movements on his cock, bouncing faster than you had ever been able to manage before. "Where baby? Where do you want me to cum?"

"Inside," you replied without hesitation. Your answer surprised Minho initially, but it quickly morphed into excitement. Minho felt his orgasm creeping up on him, so he buried his head into the crook of your neck, thrusting his hips into your own as he quickly tried to bring himself to release.

You, on the other hand, felt yourself already coming undone once more, and Minho's additional thrusts were the straws that broke the camel's back. You saw stars as your second orgasm hit, feeling more intense than the first by a longshot. The sight itself alone was enough to arouse Minho to completion, and he let himself go, realising thick white ropes of cum inside of you and groaning immensely while doing so.

As both of you came down from your respective highs, you laid your head on Minho's chest, your breathing heavy and your blood pumping. Minho held you close to him, not wanting to let you go in that moment.

"Damn," he finally broke the silence with a chuckle. He lifted your head up towards him, muttering a, 'c'mere' as he brought you in for a kiss, this one much less intense than the ones prior.

"You did so well, baby," he rubbed your arms as he spoke. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," was all you could mumble against him. You somehow felt weak yet on Cloud 9 at the same time. It was a weird feeling, but exhilerating none the less. You attempted to lift yourself off of Minho, but the boy's strong arms kept you held down.

"Let's just stay like this for a little while, yeah?" You nodded, bringing yourself to lie down on top of Minho. "Are you alright, Princess?"

"Mhm," you sleepily mumbled. "You?"

"Well, I didn't expect to be doing this tonight, but yes. I am great." Minho looked up at the sight of you: your hair stuck to your forehead once more, beads of sweat cascaded like waterfalls down your body, and you were ninety-nine percent sure your makeup was running. Yet, Minho thought you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he vocalized it.

"I look like the personified spawn of Satan right now, Minho." Minho could not help but burst into a fit of laughter at your words.

"You're always beautiful to me," he retorted. You smiled down at him, feeling yourself doze off in his arms, but not before he muttered one more thing:

"So, no more of him then, right?"

[halemerry]

So there's a lot to unpack here but I want to start by talking about the ending and specifically about the Metatron and the calculating moves made at the end of episode 6.

Every single piece of what happened there was a manipulation technique being employed against Aziraphale to an almost brilliant degree and I'm honestly a little obsessed with what this says about the Metatron in particular.

Let's go in order.

First of all. We see him order coffee. In a human body. Something sweet and sugary. He talks to Nina and asks her about her shop name. Does anyone ever ask for death? And when she tells him no they don't his response is to say "so predictable". Our introduction to him here even when everything about him reads like a sweet old man is presented to show us someone who reads the world in terms of being predictable to him.

He then shows up in the middle of Aziraphale's existence being threatened. He immediately cuts down the threat's authority (using outdated language like Az himself would favor) and reemphasizes his own connection to Heaven. When Michael doesn't recognize him and he puts her down and then directly engages Crowley. Crowley who, to Aziraphale, has for centuries at a minimum been someone he thinks is smarter, better, more Good than these other archangels. The Metatron validates these beliefs. Crowley is more Heavenly than these archangels who couldn't even recognize the voice of God when he was standing right in front of them.

The Metatron draws attention to the fact he's in a human body. The kind of body Aziraphale has been in and loved for nearly 6000 years. He then banishes the archangels, implying their morality is in a gray space, and validates Muriel someone we have seen Aziraphale react positively to and someone outside the current power structure. Look at me, he's saying. I see and validate the little guy.

He then tries to talk to Aziraphale. Aziraphale says "I've made my position quite clear." And then the Metatron offers Aziraphale the coffee. This bartering chip, consuming sustenance, is a thing that Aziraphale and Crowley have used as their connective tissue for centuries. It's an olive branch for them. It's giving Aziraphale bodily pleasure and the Metatron implies that he himself has partaken also - a thing we know that Aziraphale has struggled historically with moralizing. He is seen by the closest thing he has left to his parent and he is having old fears validated as safe and old habits being played upon to make him feel secure

He then REMOVES Aziraphale from his home turf. Not only does he remove Crowley from the equation but he takes Aziraphale from the place that has stood as a place of sanctuary throughout the entirety of the season. The shop is Safe and Aziraphale is leaving it and he is leaving the one person who might be able to smell the bullshit coming from the Metatron. The music notably turns absolutely dire here.

The next time we see them the Metatron tells Aziraphale that he doesn't need to answer instantly. He can take his time, if he likes. All the time he needs. And then tells him to go tell Crowley. Once again bringing Crowley in as a valid part of this while manufacturing a scenario where he can't possibly be.

Az ends up in a place where he's overwhelmed and confused and he wants so badly to believe what he's being told. It's an appealing thing from his perspective! He feels off kilter like he's made a mistake in judging the Metatron. He can't even fully articulate what happened to Crowley at first and he's had absolutely no real time to actually think it through. He's running on sheer reactive energy.

The Metatron starts their conversation by asking Aziraphale's opinion. Who should rule Heaven? This is once again playing into making Az feel validated and like he's a part of this decision making process. The Metatron corrects him, complimenting Aziraphale and making him feel capable and in control. He reassures Aziraphale's bafflement. And draws attention to some traits that, while true of Aziraphale around Crowley, are not his defining traits in the eyes of Heaven. You don't just tell people what they want to hear I find particularly notable in this regard given Aziraphale spent most of his time on earth actively lying to Heaven and doing just that. But it fits into the narrative Aziraphale has built around himself, especially post Apocalypse. The Metatron then says I need you (a phrase Az will use much more painfully here in a minute).

And even after all this Aziraphale says no. He says flat out he doesn't want to go back to Heaven. He says this!!! And then the Metatron sweetens the pot. He swaps tactics. Not once has this come up until Aziraphale pushes back against the idea. If the Metatron could've gotten him without using it I have no doubt he wouldn't have bothered with it. Come to Heaven and we can save Crowley. Aziraphale loves Crowley. Aziraphale thinks Crowley is better than any of the angels he's interacted with. Crowley is Good and Nice and Kind and always saving him and now he's being presented with a way to return that. He can Forgive Crowley - a thing Crowley has always presented to Aziraphale as something he struggles with. All of these things Aziraphale has watched Crowley react to in a way that belittles himself or distances them from one another. Of course he wouldn't consider that maybe what he was actually saying is "I'm unforgivable and I don't want that forgiveness."

The Metatron offers Aziraphale a Dream Offer for the pre Armageddon Aziraphale. You can keep your Crowley. You can heal him like you have always thought he deserved. You can have power and control the people who for your whole existence has beaten you down. It can go back to how it was but BETTER.

When Aziraphale leaves he still hasn't answered. He goes and has the conversation they have. It's intense and emotional and the Metatron comes in after the Moment all casual and asks how it goes, knowing fully well the shitstorm he had just set up to get created. And then he turns around and says "always did want to go his own way" which is not only true of Crowley but framed as a bad thing despite the fact that he has just spent twenty minutes or so telling Aziraphale that he's done his own thing and that is Good. He is playing both sides of this perspective as it suits him. And then he cuts down Crowley asking questions, pressuring Aziraphale to avoid doing the same. He then proceeds to ask Aziraphale not if he's made up his mind but if he's ready to get started. He is one by one closing off exit routes to this thing as Aziraphale starts to look more and more panicked and indecisive. He makes sure the bookshop is in good hands and asks Aziraphale if there's anything he needs to take with him. Letting Aziraphale have the illusion of choice while cutting down "I don't want to" as an option altogether.

And Az, as soon as the Metatron is out of shot, tries to express this. And then he falls back right on old coping methods. The Metatron pats him on the head. Reassures that he's the right one for this. That he is Good. That his particular skillset is needed here.

It is a masterstroke of manipulation. A very dark twist on what we see Crowley do time and time again with Aziraphale throughout the millennia. Familiar in a way that makes Aziraphale feel safe. Except this time this is being used to put him back in line. It's brilliant and painful and it fucking hurt and I need a season 3 to see the Metatron get what's coming to him stat.

[solxamber]

Hello again im the person who asked for the seraphim reader shshs I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOUR WRITING ONG😭😭😭

Im asking again if ya dont mind if you do mine again👉👈 will you do reader as that cat from caroline that always disappeared and have the same attitude as that cat (i forgot the name💔) with Jade, Azul, Jamil. Right what scenarios you can imagine dont mind T v T..

Jade, Azul, Jamil with a 'The Cat'! Reader

hi! thanks for the request <3 (also the cat doesn't have a name iirc, isn't he just "the cat"?)

Jade Leech

Jade, with his poised and enigmatic demeanor, actually enjoys your elusive nature—but that doesn’t mean he’s not intrigued by it. Whenever you slip away from conversations, he’s one of the few who doesn’t immediately react, just giving you a knowing look. He catches on quickly that your disappearances are deliberate, and he plays along, responding with subtle jabs that mirror your own humor.

"I do wonder, where have you been lurking this time? The ceiling? The rafters?" Jade’s tone is teasing, his eyes twinkling like he’s in on a private joke only the two of you share.

You appear behind him without a sound, leaning close enough to whisper, “Maybe I never left.”

Jade doesn’t flinch—he’s used to your antics by now—but there’s a slight quirk of his eyebrow that tells you you’ve gotten under his skin just enough. “Careful, or I might follow next time.”

“If you can,” you reply, your voice full of that Cheshire-like amusement, before disappearing again—though you know he’ll catch up soon enough.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul finds your habit of appearing and disappearing at will infuriatingly fascinating. You’re always there when he least expects it, often chiming in with sarcastic remarks that leave him rattled. As the sharp, business-minded octopus he is, he tries his best to maintain control in any situation. But with you, his usual composure is constantly tested.

One day, you’re lounging lazily across his desk, legs swinging off the edge, watching him fumble through contracts. “Careful, Azul. Miss a clause, and it’s your soul next.”

Azul nearly jumps out of his chair, gripping his quill a little too tightly. “How did you get in here? This office is private!”

You simply grin, your voice smooth. “Doors are for people who can’t make their own entrances.”

He huffs, straightening his glasses. “If you’re here to disrupt my business, you’ll need to schedule an appointment like everyone else.”

“Or,” you say, your figure already fading into thin air as you lazily wave a hand, “I’ll just pop in when it’s most inconvenient.”

Azul groans, but you know deep down he’s already thinking of ways to turn your strange talent into a profitable venture.

Jamil Viper

Jamil is hard to surprise, but you’ve perfected the art of doing just that. No matter how calculated his moves are, you always manage to show up when he’s most stressed, casually inserting yourself into the situation with a smug, knowing look that drives him mad.

One evening, while Jamil is in the middle of strategizing, you suddenly appear on the counter, legs crossed, watching him as if you’ve been there the entire time. “Why so tense, Viper? Afraid someone might be... watching?”

Jamil freezes for half a second, then glares at you. “I knew you were there. You’re just trying to unsettle me.”

You grin wider, stretching like a lazy feline. “If you knew, you wouldn’t look so rattled. You humans are always so easy to predict.”

He sighs, clearly not in the mood for your games, but there’s a flicker of exasperated fondness in his eyes. “If you’re not here to help, at least don’t get in my way.”

You disappear once more, your voice echoing behind. “Maybe I’m helping more than you realize.”

Jamil shakes his head but smirks slightly, knowing you’ll pop up again at the worst possible time. He’s already preparing for it, even if he knows you’ll always keep him on his toes.

Masterlist

[ankababy]

A Home (part 16)

Part 1 Part 15 Part 17

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

TW: Niragi killing someone again then getting total cuteness aggression, wanted more for this part but I reached the limit :P

You had crouched down in the middle of the street, resting your arms over your knees, eyes locked onto something small that moved in the cracks of the pavement. A little bug. Tiny legs, tiny body, minding its own tiny business. You tilted your head, watching it, utterly absorbed.

“What’s your name?” you asked it softly, voice sweet, as if it could answer.

Chishiya, who had stopped just a few feet ahead, exhaled, something tired.

Niragi, though? Niragi grinned.

You looked up at them, all bright-eyed, motioning for them to come closer. “Look.” you said, pointing at the bug. “It’s so small. Kinda cute, right?”

And just as Chishiya barely shifted, just as his head tilted like he was actually going to look—

CRUNCH.

You flinched.

Your lips parted, breath catching in your throat as you stared down at the pavement.

Niragi had stepped forward, shoes coming down with so much weight, with so much force—direct, purposeful, brutal.

He stomped on it.

Right in front of you.

You didn’t even get the chance to move.

The tiny legs, the tiny body—gone.

Bloodless, unrecognizable. A smear of nothing.

You blinked. Looked up at him, stunned, like you couldn’t quite believe he’d actually done it.

But Niragi?

He just laughed. Loud, full-bodied, entertained. He didn’t even look at the bug—or, well, what was left of it. Didn’t care.

“Oops,” he said, grinning so wide it was all teeth. “my bad.”

Chishiya sighed through his nose, stepping around the mess like it was entirely unremarkable. “Right. Because that was necessary.”

“What?” Niragi scoffed, tilting his head. “It was boring.” Then, nudging your shoulder roughly with his knee. “And what the fuck were you even doing, huh? Talking to it? Think it was gonna answer?”

You frowned, still looking at the pavement.

“C’mon, angel,” he drawled, voice dripping with mockery. “don’t tell me you’re sad about a fucking bug.”

Chishiya turned his head slightly, watching.

Your shoulders relaxed. You let out a slow breath, then finally—finally—looked up at Niragi again.

“You didn’t have to do that.” you said softly, voice steady. Not scolding. Not upset. Just… honest.

“Yeah, well,” he snorted, stepping over the smear. “I wanted to.”

He walked off.

Chishiya followed, hands in his pockets.

You sat there for just a moment longer, staring at the ground. At what was left. Then, with a slow blink, you sighed through your nose, shook your head, and stood up, brushing your hands off on your thighs.

And then you followed them.

You walked a little faster, just enough to fall into step beside Chishiya. Without thinking, without even looking at him first, your fingers found the fabric of his sleeve, curling around it loosely. Just a soft grip. Barely there.

Chishiya glanced down at it.

Then at you.

And—predictably—he said nothing.

You sighed, your voice small but clear, “You treat me so much better.”

His gaze flicked forward again, unreadable.

Niragi was a few steps ahead, laughing to himself, tossing his gun in his hands like a toy, still so thrilled with his own cruelty. He hadn’t looked back once.

And you weren’t really surprised.

That was the thing about Niragi—he was awful. On purpose. He wanted to push you away, wanted to prove that he could be alone, that he didn’t need you or your softness or your warmth.

But you knew better. Because he had a habit of letting you in, didn’t he? Even if he turned around and shoved you away the second it got too close, too real.

You knew what he was doing.

Chishiya was different.

Because he didn’t push you away. Didn’t pull you closer, either. He just… let you be. Let you grab onto him like this. Let you touch him when you wanted to. Let you talk, let you exist.

And that was what mattered.

Niragi was fire. He burned. Destroyed. And he had been burned, too—over and over again, until all that was left was a skeleton of spite. Of rage. He wanted to hurt before he could be hurt, wanted control over his own pain, wanted to be the reason for it. Because the idea of being someone’s victim again made him sick.

So he crushed bugs under his boots.

And made fun of you when you looked at him like he’d just done something awful.

Because if he could make you look small, if he could be the one in power, then he wasn’t that scrawny little kid anymore, that weak little thing with his face in the dirt, listening to laughter that wasn’t his own.

He was a monster.

He had to be.

Chishiya didn’t care about power. He cared about control. And control wasn’t about dominance, it wasn’t about fear or intimidation or breaking someone until they belonged to him. It was about understanding. Understanding people. Their actions. Their thoughts.

He had never wanted to understand someone’s heart.

Not until you.

Because you weren’t just kind, you weren’t just soft. You were smart. Thoughtful. Deep. He could see it in the way you moved, the way you thought before you spoke. The way you looked at Niragi like you actually understood him—like he wasn’t just cruel.

And the way you touched Chishiya—without hesitation, without expectation, like you just wanted to.

Like you liked him.

He had never been anyone’s favorite person before.

And yet here you were. Fingers curled in his sleeve, holding on so gently, so effortlessly.

“I know.” Chishiya finally murmured.

Your head turned up, eyes meeting his, curious.

He gave you one slow glance before looking ahead again.

“I treat you better.”

A small smile flickered at the corners of your lips, something tired but pleased.

“Yeah.” you sighed, leaning into his arm a little as you walked. “You do.”

You let go of Chishiya’s sleeve, only to step ahead a little, spinning on your heel so you could face both of them as you walked backward. You looked up at the sky, lips parting slightly.

“The sun’s going down.” you pointed out softly, tilting your head at the darkening hues creeping in along the horizon. The pinks and oranges bled into deep purples, a soft gradient that only made the city’s emptiness feel more eerie.

Chishiya’s gaze flicked up briefly before returning to you. Niragi, on the other hand, didn’t even bother to look. He just huffed.

“Yeah, and?”

You blinked, rocking on your heels as you walked, hands tucked behind your back. “Are we stopping soon?”

Niragi finally looked at you then. And—judging by the sass flashing across his features—you had just said something ridiculous.

Chishiya’s expression didn’t change.

“No.” he answered simply.

Your brows lifted slightly. “No?”

Niragi snorted, tossing his gun in the air once before catching it. “What, you need your beauty sleep, princess?”

You pursed your lips slightly, trying not to smile. “I mean, yes, but—”

“Then keep walking.” Niragi cut you off, grinning as he shouldered past you, continuing down the road without even glancing back.

You huffed a little, sighing dramatically as you turned around again to keep pace with them. “So we’re just walking all night?”

“Something like that.” Chishiya muttered.

You clasped your hands in front of you, nodding as you looked up at the sky again. “So I guess that means I’ll have to play tomorrow if not today, huh?”

Niragi clicked his tongue. “Now you’re getting it.”

Chishiya didn’t say anything.

You let out a breath, pushing your shoulders back slightly, forcing a small smile.

“It’s okay.” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

It wasn’t.

Not really.

But Niragi looked pleased anyway, satisfied with your compliance. And Chishiya?

Chishiya just watched you, quiet.

You weren’t fighting them. You weren’t mad. You were just accepting. Because you loved them more than you loved your little decorated home, your little routine, your little safe place.

And wasn’t that the scariest thing of all?

You walked between them, hands clasped together in front of you, your fingers occasionally fidgeting. “So what was the plan, anyway?” you asked, glancing between them. “If I hadn’t come along?”

Niragi scoffed. “You say that like you had a choice.”

Your lips pressed together for a moment before you continued. “I mean, if I said no. Would you guys have just stayed until I changed my mind?”

“We wouldn’t have needed to stay.” Chishiya murmured, hands in his pockets.

You blinked, tilting your head. “What do you mean?”

“He means we would’ve made you.” Niragi grinned, slinging an arm over your shoulders before you could dodge him. “And you would’ve still come with us.”

You huffed a little, but you didn’t fight him. Not really. You let him stay there, even as his grip was heavy, even as he gave you a squeeze that was just a little too tight.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, looking ahead at the seemingly endless road in front of you. “You’re both awful.” you finally sighed, leaning your weight against him.

Chishiya watched the two of you. You weren’t even mad. Not really. Niragi was right. Even if you had said no, even if you had refused to leave your pretty little home, the outcome would’ve been the same.

Because at the end of the day, you loved them more.

You sighed, moving Niragi’s arm off you so you could stretch. “We’ve been walking forever.” you mumbled, shifting your bag on your shoulder. “Feels like we should be somewhere by now.”

Niragi exhaled through his nose. “Maybe if you walked faster.”

“Maybe if you carried me.” you countered, raising your brows at him.

He sneered, clicking his pierced tongue. “Not a chance.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips.

Then—

A shuffle.

A shadow.

And suddenly, a man was there.

You hadn’t even noticed him before—hadn’t seen him step out from behind a car a few feet ahead, hadn’t heard him approach. He was dirty, clothes torn, face gaunt, but his hands were raised as he looked between the three of you, clearly outnumbered.

You took a small step back, startled, your fingers clutching the strap of your bag.

And before you could even process what was happening—

BANG.

A gunshot.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The man fell instantly, a ragged, wet gasp forcing its way past his lips as he clutched his stomach, fingers slick with blood.

You didn’t even have time to react before—

BANG.

Another shot.

This time in his chest.

You flinched, eyes wide, your body freezing in place as Niragi took another step forward, gun still raised.

BANG.

His leg.

BANG.

His arm.

BANG.

His stomach again.

You stared.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out, your hands trembling slightly at your sides as you watched—

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Even after the man stopped making noise, even after he had long stopped moving, Niragi kept going.

Your whole body felt like it had turned to stone, heart pounding in your ears as Niragi fired again.

And again.

And again.

A twisted grin stretched across his face, wild and giddy, like this was fun. Like he was enjoying this.

Your breath hitched.

And then you turned around.

You turned away from the mess on the pavement, from the blood, from the body, from Niragi, your hands flying up to cover your ears as more gunshots rang out behind you.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Tight.

You didn’t want to see it.

You didn’t want to hear it.

Next to you, Chishiya stood still. Unbothered. Unmoved. Like this was just another day. Like this was nothing.

More shots.

More laughter.

More noise.

Silence.

It was only when you felt Niragi’s presence behind you that you slowly lowered your hands, body stiff. His shadow stretched over you, swallowing you whole.

You felt the cool metal of his gun nudge against your shoulder, urging you to turn around.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Your breath was shaky. Your fingers curled in the fabric of your clothes. Your lips trembled.

And Niragi noticed. He tilted his head, gun still pressing into you, brows raising slightly as he stepped closer.

Tears.

You were crying.

Tears slipped down your pretty cheeks in silent streaks, your expression frozen in something fragile, something small.

His lips parted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features.

Then, a grin.

Slow.

Sick.

Cruel.

Oh, he liked this.

This was his favorite.

You weren’t angry. You weren’t screaming. You weren’t trying to fight him.

You were just scared.

That was beautiful.

He let out a sharp laugh, tilting his head back slightly. Then he reached out and poked you with the gun again, right in the ribs.

You flinched. Visibly.

His stomach flipped.

That was nice.

“Aw, poor thing.” he crooned, pushing the barrel of the gun under your chin, tilting your face up slightly. “You didn’t like that?”

Your lashes were damp, your gaze wet and wide, lips parted slightly.

It made something tighten in his chest.

You looked like some frightened little doll.

It was so fucking cute.

But before he could enjoy it any longer, Chishiya moved. Just enough to put himself between you and Niragi’s gun, blocking the way.

You blinked, your watery gaze shifting up to him as he stood there, perfectly unbothered.

Niragi clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes.

“Tch. Always ruining my fun.”

Chishiya didn’t respond.

You barely registered the exchange, barely noticed the way Niragi grinned at him like this was just another game.

You just kept your eyes on the pavement.

On the blood.

On the body.

Your stomach twisted.

Your head felt light.

And Niragi laughed.

God, he loved this.

He couldn’t help it.

The way you stood there, all fragile and small, your big, watery eyes cast downward, your lips still slightly parted, like you had forgotten how to breathe properly—fuck.

He felt something hot and twisting in his stomach, something itching under his skin, something almost unbearable.

It was like an ache, like his nerves were on fire, like he needed to do something.

His fingers curled around the grip of his gun. His shoulders twitched.

And before he even realized it, his hand shot out—and he grabbed you.

A harsh, sudden yank that jerked you forward.

Your breath hitched, your hands flying up to catch yourself as you stumbled, but before you could even react properly, he had you.

His arms tight around you, practically crushing you against him.

His breath was hot in your ear, his grip firm, his fingers digging into you—

He squeezed.

Hard.

Too hard.

His teeth gritted. His jaw clenched. His whole body was tense, twitching, aching with the overwhelming urge to just—

Crush.

God, he needed to crush you.

He had never felt anything like it before.

This tight, unbearable feeling in his chest, in his arms, in his teeth.

You were too much.

Your little frame, soft and warm and trembling against him. Your tiny sounds, the way you gasped at the sudden contact, the way you barely even tried to fight him—

It made him want to squeeze you until you broke.

Not because he wanted to hurt you.

Not because he wanted to see you cry again.

But because you were just so fucking cute.

It was maddening.

“You’re so fucking cute I wanna kill you.” he groaned through his teeth, voice tight, half growl, half whine.

Your body tensed at his words, your hands gripping his arms, but he didn’t let go. If anything, he just held you tighter.

He let out a sharp, shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before shoving his face into the side of your head. His lips brushed against your temple, his teeth grazed your hairline, and he could feel his own pulse pounding.

You were too much.

He wanted to shake you.

He wanted to bite you.

He wanted to destroy you.

But also, he wanted to keep you forever.

His fingers twitched against your back. His grip shook slightly as he tried to control himself.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

How did you do this to him?

How did you make him feel so fucking insane?

His chest hurt.

His head hurt.

His teeth hurt.

And you—you just stood there. Letting him hold you. Not pushing him away. Not yelling at him. Not even flinching anymore. Just letting him.

That only made it worse.

He let out a rough, frustrated groan and grabbed your face.

One big hand, fingers splayed out over your cheek, thumb pressing into the soft skin under your eye.

He shook you.

Not too hard.

Not enough to hurt.

Just enough to feel your head move in his grip, just enough to feel you.

“Why are you so fucking cute?” he snapped, his voice strained.

You made a small sound, blinking up at him, wide-eyed, lips still trembling.

That did not help.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that!”

Another shake. His fingers dug in, his jaw clenched, his whole body tense.

His stomach twisted.

His chest ached.

He felt fucking insane.

Then—

A hand.

Chishiya’s. Gripping his wrist. Firm. Steady. Calm. It was enough to make Niragi freeze, his breathing ragged, his fingers still pressing into your face.

His eyes flicked to Chishiya, glaring, wild, breath still coming out in sharp, heavy exhales.

Chishiya just stared. Unbothered. Silent. Then, slowly, he pried Niragi’s hand off your face.

One finger at a time.

As if he were dealing with a rabid animal. And maybe he was.

Niragi’s eye twitched.

His whole body burned.

His hands still itched.

His teeth still ached.

But he let go.

He took a deep, sharp breath through his nose, shaking out his hands like he could physically shake off the feeling.

Chishiya exhaled through his nose and looked down at you. “You good?”

You blinked a few times, still a little dazed, before nodding. Your cheek was a little red from Niragi’s grip, your lashes damp, but you were okay.

Chishiya gave the smallest nod, his fingers finally slipping from Niragi’s wrist.

Niragi just huffed, rolling his shoulders, shaking himself out again like some kind of wild dog.

Then, after a second—

He grinned.

“That was nice.”

Chishiya gave him a look.

You just blinked at him, still a little lost.

Niragi only grinned wider. Then, before either of you could react, he reached out and smacked your cheek.

Not hard.

Not to hurt.

Just that same, sharp little pat he always did, like some kind of affectionate slap.

Like a cat batting at something cute.

“Still so cute.” he snickered, tilting his head. “I swear I’m gonna eat you alive.”

You just stared.

Chishiya sighed.

And then Niragi kept walking. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just been five seconds away from literally crushing you to death out of sheer cuteness aggression.

Like this was normal.

Maybe for Niragi, it was.

Chishiya exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose before following after him.

You stood there for a second longer, still processing. Then, finally, you sighed. And you followed them. Like you always did.

You walked next to Chishiya again. Not because you were running from Niragi—no, that would only make it worse. He was like a predator with that kind of thing. The moment he sensed you slipping away, he’d chase. He’d drag you right back, just to tease, just to see what you’d do, just because he liked watching you squirm.

But you also didn’t want to be next to him. Not now. Not with that dead body still warm on the pavement. Not with the gun still smoking in his grip. Not with his grin still wide, still sharp, still so pleased with himself.

So you walked next to Chishiya.

And to your surprise—he actually checked on you. It wasn’t much. Just a glance, a slow flick of his eyes in your direction. But it was enough.

And maybe that’s why your breath caught in your throat. Because you weren’t used to that. You weren’t used to someone watching you, not like that. Not in a way that wasn’t for entertainment. Not in a way that wasn’t just waiting to see how you’d react.

Chishiya wasn’t waiting to poke fun at you. He wasn’t waiting for you to snap. He wasn’t waiting to see the show.

He was just checking.

His gaze flicked downward, to your hands. The way they gripped the strap of your pink little bag, your knuckles pale, your fingers trembling. Then, back up. To your face. To the way your lips pressed together, quivering despite your best efforts, your lashes still damp, your brows slightly drawn.

“Are you going to cry?” His voice was calm. Not mocking. Not concerned, either. Just observing.

You turned your head away.

Because yes.

You wanted to.

Badly.

Because the image of that man lying there, his chest blown open, the way Niragi had kept going even after he’d stopped moving—

It was burned into your brain.

You swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat.

“No.”

Chishiya hummed, a quiet, knowing sound. “You sure?”

You took a breath. Your hands gripped your bag tighter. You kept your gaze forward.

“I don’t want to.”

That was the truth.

You didn’t want to.

You didn’t want to cry, because you knew Niragi would get all over you again.

You knew he’d grab your face again, get too close, shake you by the shoulders and smirk at you and say, Ohhh, baby, you scared? That’s so fucking cute.

You knew he’d poke at you, prod at you, push you just to see what you’d do.

He liked that. He liked making you react. He liked making you squirm.

And you didn’t want to give him that.

So, no. You didn’t want to cry.

Even if your eyes still burned. Even if your vision was still blurry. Even if your chest ached.

You sniffed once and blinked quickly, trying to clear the wetness from your lashes.

Chishiya watched. He exhaled through his nose and tilted his head forward slightly, stepping a little closer. Not much. Just enough that his arm was brushing against yours. Just enough that when he spoke, his voice was low, quieter, meant only for you.

“Don’t look back, then.”

That was enough to make you stiffen. Your lips parted slightly. Your fingers twitched around the strap of your bag.

Because you had been looking. Not turning around, no—but still. You had been stealing glances. Quick, fleeting, peering over your shoulder every few seconds just to make sure it was real. As if turning away would somehow erase it. As if it hadn’t actually happened if you weren’t looking at it.

But it had.

And every time you looked back, the proof was still there.

Still in the street.

Still bleeding.

Still staring.

Chishiya must’ve noticed, because he spoke again, still low, still quiet. “There’s no point in looking.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. And then—you nodded. You turned your head fully forward this time, tearing your gaze away from the street, from the body, from the blood pooling on the pavement.

You kept your eyes ahead.

And when the silence stretched too long, when the air grew too heavy, too thick, too unbearable, you spoke—just to fill it. Just to remind yourself that you were still here. That you weren’t stuck in your head. That you weren’t stuck in that moment. “I thought you didn’t care about things like that.”

Chishiya made a small noise, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh, but wasn’t quite nothing. “I don’t.”

And you believed him. Chishiya had never cared about death. It was too easy for him. Too inevitable. He had seen it happen a thousand different ways, to a thousand different people. And he had never flinched. Never winced. Never even blinked.

So, no. He didn’t care. But he was still standing here. Walking next to you. Talking to you. Checking on you.

And that mattered. It wasn’t comfort. Not really. But it was something. And that was enough.

You turned your big, sad eyes to Chishiya, blinking up at him through damp lashes, voice small, soft, barely even a whisper.

“…Can I hold your hand?”

Chishiya didn’t react at first. He just glanced down at you, expression unreadable.

But he didn’t say no.

And he didn’t pull away.

So—hesitantly, carefully, almost like you were expecting him to snatch it away at the last second—you reached out.

And when your fingers wrapped around his, he let you.

His palm was warm. His fingers were delicate—but strong.

And his hand didn’t close around yours—not at first. He just let you hold him. Let you clutch onto him. Let your fingers tighten around his knuckles like he was something solid, something steady, something real. Like you needed him. (You did.)

And maybe—maybe—he let you because he knew that. Maybe he felt how badly you needed it.

Because after a moment, after a long, quiet second, when your grip didn’t loosen, when your fingers didn’t stop trembling—

He exhaled softly through his nose.

And then, finally, his hand closed around yours.

His grip was gentle. Light. Almost absentminded.

But still. It was there. And that was enough.

“Ohhh, what the fuck?!”

You flinched.

And Niragi—laughing, wide-eyed, grinning like he had just caught you doing something dirty—swung an arm around you, yanking you back against his side.

“Did I just see that right?” he gasped, dramatic, like he was so scandalized, so offended, like you had just betrayed him in the most unforgivable way. “You’re holding his hand?”

His arm was heavy. His grip was tight.

His gun was still in his hand.

And you felt your heart pick up. “Niragi—”

“Why?” He whipped you around, forcing you to look at him. His grin was wild, teeth flashing. His eyes burning. “Why the fuck would you hold his hand when you’ve got me?”

Your lips parted—but you didn’t get the chance to answer. Because he was grabbing your face again, squeezing your cheeks, forcing your mouth into a pout.

“You scared, baby?” he purred, voice mocking, mean. His gun tapped against your cheek, just enough to make your breath hitch. “You needed someone to hold your little hand?”

You swallowed hard.

You weren’t stupid.

If you pulled away, if you tried to run, if you tried to push him off—he’d only get meaner.

So instead—you just blinked up at him.

Big, sad, innocent.

And whispered, “…I just needed something. Like a hug.”

That fucking did something to him.

His grin twitched. His breath hitched. His fingers tightened.

Because, fuck.

You.

You were so fucking cute.

You were like a little wounded animal, looking at him with those big, wet eyes, all helpless and small and sweet—

And he wanted to ruin you.

He wanted to squeeze you, grab you, shake you until you made that little noise again. He wanted to bite you, scratch you, rip into you like some feral fucking animal.

Because fuck.

Fuck.

You were too much.

You made him feel crazy.

He let out a sharp breath, laughing through his teeth, squeezing your face one last time before shoving you away.

“Fucking Christ, you make me sick.” he groaned, shaking his head, pacing a little, like he had to walk it off.

“Yeah?” you murmured, rubbing your jaw.

He shot you a look. “What, you want a hug that bad?”

“…No.”

You lied.

And he knew it.

He grinned.

And you looked away. Back to Chishiya. Back to his hand, still in yours. His fingers curled slightly now, his thumb resting against your knuckles.

Still holding you.

And you didn’t let go.

“WHOOOOO! FUCK YEAH!”

Niragi’s voice ripped through the empty streets, wild, echoing against the skeletons of abandoned buildings.

BANG.

You flinched.

But he laughed. Gun swinging wildly, he spun in circles like he was a little kid playing pretend. But he wasn’t a little kid. And he wasn’t playing.

Another shot. And another. Each one ringing out sharp and sudden and violent.

You just watched. Watched his madness, his rage, his feral joy, eyes tracking every movement, watching him be exactly what he was.

Cruel. Untamed. Unstoppable.

You held onto Chishiya.

Held on tighter.

Because it would be over.

It had to be over.

Chishiya is here.

He’s here.

And maybe—maybe that was pathetic. Maybe that was desperate. Maybe that was just hope, and hope was foolish.

But you couldn’t help it. You needed something to hold onto.

And Chishiya—he let you. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t acknowledge your grip. Didn’t react when your fingers squeezed tighter around his. But he didn’t pull away, either.

“Did you fucking see that?” Niragi whirled back around, grinning like he had just pulled off the greatest stunt of his life, eyes locked on you.

He wanted to see your reaction.

He wanted to see you shocked, or scared, or maybe even impressed.

You just stared at him. Because what else could you do? Your heart was still hammering. Your ears were still ringing. Your legs still felt like they weren’t entirely stable.

But Niragi—he thrived on this. On the violence. The chaos. The way the gun kicked back in his hand. The way the noise filled the air like a symphony only he could appreciate.

He was still buzzing.

He wanted to know how it made you feel.

He wanted you to tell him.

And if you didn’t—if you wouldn’t—he’d just figure it out himself.

You turned your head. Rested your forehead against Chishiya’s shoulder, still holding his hand, still not letting go.

“Ohh, come on.” Niragi took a step closer.

And you felt it, even though you couldn’t see him anymore. You felt the shift. The change in the air. Felt him getting too close.

Too near.

“Baby,” he crooned, mocking, teasing, tapping the muzzle of his gun against your arm. “don’t be like that.”

Chishiya moved. Just slightly. Just a subtle, almost imperceptible shift—but you felt it.

You felt him angle himself just a little more between you and Niragi.

Not stopping him.

Not intervening.

Just… there.

Just present.

Just something for you to lean into.

And Niragi noticed.

Of course he fucking noticed.

“Oooh.” He tapped the gun against your arm again. A little harder this time. And then, suddenly—he grabbed your wrist.

Tore your hand right out of Chishiya’s.

You gasped, head snapping up as he yanked you closer, right against his chest, his arm slung around you tight, his gun pressing up under your chin.

And—fuck.

You knew this wasn’t serious.

You knew he wasn’t actually threatening you.

But your heart still stopped. Your breath still hitched.

And he—he saw that. Felt it. And loved it.

“Aww.” he cooed, voice low, leaning in until his breath was warm against your ear. “You gonna cry again?”

You swallowed. Didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him. Just focused on breathing.

Niragi just laughed. Let you go as suddenly as he grabbed you, pushing you away with another mocking little scoff.

“Fucking baby.” he muttered, rolling his eyes, spinning his gun once, twice.

You stumbled—but before you could lose your footing, before you could even process what just happened—

Chishiya’s hand was on your back.

Steadying you.

Holding you.

There.

~

The streets were quieter now.

The sky was dark, the last traces of daylight swallowed up by the skyline. The only sounds were the soft shuffle of your feet, the occasional creak of a rusted out car shifting in the wind.

Niragi had finally settled.

The chaos in his blood had burned out, the feverish high of violence dimmed to something quiet. He still hummed under his breath, still swung his gun loosely at his side like a toy he’d grown bored of, but he wasn’t screaming anymore. Wasn’t shooting. Wasn’t forcing you to flinch every few seconds.

And thank god.

You were tired.

So, so tired.

The kind of tired that pressed behind your eyes, that made your arms feel heavy, that turned every step into something you had to force yourself through.

Your body ached.

Your stomach was empty.

Your mouth was dry.

Your thoughts were slow, cloudy, weighed down by exhaustion and hunger and something aching, deep in your chest.

You missed your apartment. You missed the softness of it. You missed your bed, your blankets, your pretty space that had felt yours. You missed the way it smelled, the way the light filtered in during the afternoons, the way you could curl up under your blankets and pretend, just for a second, that the world outside didn’t exist.

Now you were walking through the cold, through the dark, through the empty, your shoes scuffing against the cracked pavement, your fingers curled tight around Chishiya’s.

You still weren’t letting go.

You couldn’t.

You needed the anchor. Needed something solid to hold onto. And Chishiya—he let you. Let your fingers squeeze around his, let you cling to him without comment, without resistance, without the smug little remarks you half-expected.

He understood.

Not fully, maybe. But enough.

That was enough.

“Hey.” Niragi’s voice cut through the quiet.

You didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at him. Just kept walking.

But he wasn’t going to let that slide. He slowed his pace. Fell in step beside you. Too close.

“Hey.”

You blinked up at him. Tired. Blank. “What?”

His eyes flickered down to your joined hands. The corner of his mouth twitched. “You gonna hold onto him all night?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t let go.

“Shit.” Niragi drawled, voice low, reaching up to tap his gun against his own temple. “Maybe I should’ve shot someone earlier. You’re finally getting quiet.”

You swallowed. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t react. Didn’t let him know just how much those words hit you, just how much it hurt, because you knew—you knew—that was exactly what he wanted.

But Chishiya. Chishiya noticed. And instead of saying anything—instead of reacting—he just squeezed your hand.

Just the smallest, faintest, barely-there squeeze.

You felt it.

Felt it in your chest, in your throat, in the place where the ache was building up and up and up.

And you breathed. Breathed past it.

And kept walking.

Then Niragi stopped walking.

Right in the middle of the empty street, he came to a sharp halt.

You almost didn’t notice at first. You were too tired, too focused on the rhythmic pattern of your footsteps, on keeping up with Chishiya, on pushing through the hunger and exhaustion and ache.

But when Niragi stopped, Chishiya did too.

And so did you.

The silence stretched.

“Keep walking, asshole.” Niragi’s voice was low, sharp-edged, his gun resting too casually over his shoulder as he glanced at Chishiya. “Me ‘n’ her need a little chat.”

Your breath hitched.

Chishiya didn’t even blink. Just—stared.

For a second, you thought—hoped—he’d argue. That he’d stay. That he wouldn’t leave you standing here, in the dark, alone with Niragi and whatever the hell he had planned.

But Chishiya tilted his head. Then he just walked. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t even glance back. Just shoved his hands into his pockets and walked.

Leaving you standing there.

With Niragi.

Alone.

Fuck.

You turned slowly, your fingers twitching at your sides as you forced yourself to look at him, to meet his gaze, to breathe through the panic creeping up your throat.

The street was so quiet.

So dark.

Just the two of you.

And Niragi—he was watching you.

“Niragi—”

“I was mean.” he said, abruptly.

You blinked. “I—”

His lips twitched. “Too mean, huh?”

You swallowed, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. “I don’t—”

“Fuck, look at you.” He took a step closer, his voice softer now, almost teasing, but not in the way that made you flinch. “You gonna cry?”

Your throat closed. And your eyes—you felt it before you could stop it. The sudden sting, the warmth pooling at the corners, the way your vision blurred as the first tear slipped down your cheek.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Not in front of him.

Not—

“Ahh, see?” Niragi’s voice was too soft now, too sweet, like he was mocking you, like he was enjoying this, but—

But his fingers reached out.

And wiped your tears away.

Thumb brushing gently over your cheek, smearing the wetness across your skin.

You blinked up at him, lips parting, stunned at the sudden shift.

“Didn’t wanna make you cry, angel.” he murmured, voice low, almost soothing. “I’m sorry.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do with this version of him—the sweet, gentle, apologetic Niragi, the one who looked at you like you were something delicate, something he could actually break.

Something he regretted breaking.

Your breath shook as you exhaled, blinking up at him with wide, watery eyes.

“I—” You swallowed, voice small. “You were… really mean.”

Niragi’s lips pressed together. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then—softer:

“Sorry.”

Your heart twisted.

Because he meant it.

He really, really meant it.

And fuck—fuck, you hated him for it. Hated him for knowing exactly what to do, exactly what to say to make you melt, to make you forgive him, to make you look at him like he wasn’t some heartless monster.

And you wanted a hug.

You wanted—you wanted something warm, something solid, something to make this awful night feel less awful.

But you couldn’t ask.

Wouldn’t ask.

Wouldn’t—

His arms opened before you could think about it. Just a little. Not wide, not obvious, but enough.

An invitation.

A silent go on, then.

You stepped forward. Buried yourself against his chest, against the warmth of him. He let you. Let your arms wrap around him, let you press into him, let you cling.

And he was so fucking warm.

So solid.

His heartbeat was steady.

His arms came around you. Slowly. One hand settling on your back, the other resting against the nape of your neck, fingers slipping into your hair, gentle, so, so gentle.

You breathed. A slow, shaky inhale, your body relaxing for the first time in hours.

And Niragi—he just held you.

Didn’t push you away.

Didn’t ruin the moment with some cruel joke.

Held you.

He felt your small, shaky breaths against his chest, the way your shoulders trembled as you tried not to sob.

And fuck—he liked it.

But not in the usual way. Not in the way that made him want to ruin you, bully you, make you fall apart just because he could.

No, this was different.

It was the way you trusted him enough to break in front of him. The way you chose him—chose to bury yourself against him, chose him to be your comfort even though you had Chishiya, who was softer, quieter, safer.

You chose him.

Even after everything.

His arms tightened around you, his fingers sliding into your hair, pressing against your scalp. You were so small like this. So fucking soft.

And he just—loved it.

“Hey.” he murmured, voice quieter than usual, lower. “You’re okay, angel.”

You sniffled. Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t even flinch when he leaned down, his lips brushing against your hair, his voice dropping even softer—sweeter.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Another sniffle. You pressed closer, your fingers curling into his shirt.

“Didn’t mean to make you cry, either.”

He did.

He always did.

But he didn’t want to see you like this—shaking, whimpering, hiding your face against his chest because you were too overwhelmed to even look at him.

Not when you were always so bright, so fucking perfect.

He liked it better when you were talking his ear off, touching his face, calling him pretty, smiling at him like he was something good.

“Shh.” he murmured, swaying you just a little, as if that would soothe you, as if he had any fucking clue what to do with someone like you. “You’re okay, baby. I got you.”

Your hands fisted tighter into his shirt, and he felt the way your breathing hitched—felt the way your body reacted to his words, to the way his voice softened, the way he spoke to you like you were something precious.

And maybe you were.

His pretty little angel.

His soft thing in a world full of cruelty.

He almost wanted to laugh at himself for thinking that, for feeling that, but fuck, there was no way around it—you were different.

You weren’t afraid of him.

Even now, even after watching him pump bullet after bullet into a guy who didn’t stand a chance, even after seeing the way he smiled through it all, loved it, lived for it—

You still clung to him.

Still let yourself be held by him.

Still trusted him.

And Niragi thrived on that.

Because you shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But you did.

“C’mon, don’t cry anymore, yeah?” His fingers combed through your hair, the smooth motion easing some of the tension in your shoulders. “You’re too pretty for that, baby.”

A shuddering inhale. More sniffling.

Your voice—so small, so soft—muffled against his chest.

“You were really mean…”

Niragi huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I know.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

And he was.

Not in the way normal people were.

Not in the way that meant he’d change, that he’d stop being cruel, stop being an animal, stop being who he was.

But he was sorry that it had hurt you.

And that was as close as he’d ever get.

You.

You, who cared so easily, so freely. You, who never hesitated to touch him, to kiss his face, to treat him like he was just another person. You, who trusted him.

It was stupid.

It was reckless.

It was everything Niragi could ever want.

And it was everything that would get you hurt.

And yet, here you were. Curled up against him like he was something safe. Like you weren’t in the most dangerous place in the world, with the most dangerous people. Like he wasn’t the worst one of them all.

And the best part? You didn’t even realize.

But maybe…maybe that was for the best.

Niragi could feel the way your little body shook against his, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, your hands still curled into his shirt like you thought he might disappear if you let go.

Fuck.

You were so soft.

So small.

And you were crying for him.

Because of him.

And he wasn’t sure if he loved it or hated it.

Because yeah, he liked to make people break.

But not you.

Not his angel.

(AN: Y’all I’m writing what he feels at THAT moment, he’s unpredictable it takes a little mood swing for him to suddenly LOVE hurting our glorious queen Y/N)

His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up—big, wet eyes, tears rolling down your pretty cheeks, your lower lip trembling like you were trying so hard not to cry harder.

His baby.

His sweet thing.

He brushed a thumb over your cheek, wiping at a tear that only got replaced by another.

Shit.

How were you so fucking cute?

“Still crying?” His voice was softer than usual, not mocking, not cruel—just curious.

You hiccuped, nodding against him. “I c-can’t stop.”

God.

His fingers flexed against your back, holding you tighter.

So small.

So helpless.

So fucking his.

“That’s okay, baby.” He ran a hand down your spine, feeling the way you pressed into it, like you needed it, needed him. “You’re just tired, yeah?”

You gave another little nod, your hands loosening in his shirt, body starting to slacken, soften.

Yeah. You were exhausted. Too sensitive, too gentle for this world, for him, for what he put you through today.

And fuck, he was gonna take care of you now. Didn’t mean he was gonna be soft, but still—

Didn’t mean he was gonna let you keep standing there, shaking, crying, looking so fragile in front of him.

That wasn’t happening.

“C’mon.” he murmured, hands sliding down, gripping the curve of your ass. “Jump.”

You barely hesitated before obeying, arms sliding up around his neck, body clinging to him as he lifted you effortlessly, hands keeping you steady under your thighs.

And fuck.

You felt so good in his arms.

So warm, so soft, so perfect.

You melted against him, completely trusting him to carry you, like you weren’t the least bit worried about him dropping you, hurting you, ruining you.

Like you actually thought he was safe.

And wasn’t that just the sweetest fucking thing?

Your little head tucked itself against his shoulder, your cheek resting there like a sleepy kid being carried inside after a long drive.

Fuck.

He swallowed, tightly.

You were so fucking good.

Your body sank into his, completely relaxed, like this was the safest place in the world.

Like he was home.

If he didn’t already have you, he’d want you even worse.

Niragi adjusted his grip on you, feeling the weight of your body settle just right in his arms, your warmth sinking into his chest like you belonged there.

And fuck, you did.

Little thing, so trusting, so soft, so tired.

His fingers flexed against the backs of your thighs, making sure you weren’t slipping, not that you were—you were clinging to him, asleep or close to it, completely letting him hold you up.

His sweet girl.

His angel.

“Go ahead and rest, baby.” he murmured, voice so much softer than usual, so unlike him, but it was just for you.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t even hum. Your body had already gone limp, your pretty lashes resting against your cheeks, your breathing deep and steady.

Yeah.

You were out.

And that just made his smirk wider. Made the feeling in his chest get tighter. Felt a little like winning. Like taking something for himself that no one else could have. Like owning you.

Not that you’d ever see it that way. No, you probably thought you were just being sweet, just trusting him, just seeking comfort.

And yeah, sure, whatever.

But he knew the truth.

He knew that when you wrapped your arms around him, when you clung to him, when you let him carry you like you were something delicate—

It meant you were his.

And you weren’t even fighting it.

He walked, easily, as if your weight was nothing, his grip on you secure, steady, gun still hanging from his shoulder.

And when he caught up to Chishiya, when that little blonde bastard turned his head just slightly to glance at him—

Yeah.

Niragi grinned.

Didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. Just shifted you in his arms, just held you a little closer, just let Chishiya get a good fucking look at how you were practically buried in his chest, how you trusted him enough to fucking sleep on him.

And Chishiya? He just blinked, slow, blank. Didn’t react. Didn’t give Niragi anything. But Niragi saw it anyway. That tiny little clench of his jaw. The way his hands stayed in his pockets, like he was keeping himself from doing something else.

And fuck.

That was almost better than the way you felt in his arms.

~

The first thing you felt when you stirred awake was warmth.

Not just from the sun, which was barely creeping over the horizon, casting its golden glow through the gaps in the buildings. Not just from the way the air had changed, the night’s chill fading into something softer.

No.

You felt warm because you were still in Niragi’s arms.

Your cheek was pressed against his chest, rising and falling slow, and his scent was all around you—smoke, something uniquely him. His body was solid, comforting, and when you shifted even a little, you felt the slight rock of his thigh beneath you—because he was sitting down now.

You blinked, trying to adjust to the light, trying to take in the scene around you.

The streets were quiet, that silence still hanging in the air, broken only by the distant caws of birds and the occasional creak of a rusted sign swinging in the breeze. But there was no sign of Chishiya.

Just Niragi, sitting there with his back against some crumbling storefront, legs stretched out, your body half in his lap, half curled against his chest.

And he was smoking.

The faint glow of the cigarette pulsed in the dim light, and when you stirred, when you let out a tiny breath and lifted your head, he took one last slow drag before pulling it from his lips.

“Mm.” his voice was low, a little rough from the night. “Woke up, huh?”

“…Chishiya?” Your voice was a little hoarse, soft, barely louder than the rustling leaves in the wind.

Niragi exhaled a slow cloud of smoke, watching it drift into the cool morning air.

“Went ahead.” he said simply, tilting his head slightly to look down at you. “Didn’t say shit. Just left.”

You frowned, your still-sleepy mind processing that.

Chishiya left.

You sighed, blinking the last of the sleep from your eyes, your hands still resting lightly against Niragi’s chest, the fabric of his shirt rough against your fingertips.

And he let you stay there.

Didn’t push you away.

Didn’t shift you off of him.

Just sat there, smoking, watching you, letting you exist in his space.

Your voice was soft, still caught in that in-between state of sleep and wakefulness, and maybe that’s why it came out so genuine, so unfiltered when you murmured, “…Don’t smoke.”

Niragi paused.

The cigarette was still between his fingers, still burning faintly, the slow curl of gray smoke rising into the early morning air.

And you were still curled up against him. Still half-draped over his lap, the warmth of your body pressing into his side, your cheek against his chest, legs bent, folded into yourself like you were trying to make yourself small, keep yourself tucked away.

Like you were safe here.

Like he made you feel safe.

Fuck.

He exhaled, letting the last of the smoke drift from his mouth before he glanced down at you.

“Oh?” His voice was still low, lazy, like the morning itself. “Didn’t know you cared about my lungs.”

You hummed a soft sound, barely awake, barely moving. “I care about you.”

“Tch.” He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it. “Happy now?”

You nodded sleepily, shifting just a little, nuzzling further into him before letting out a quiet sigh.

And that—that—

He had an arm around you before he even thought about it.

It wasn’t a conscious decision.

It wasn’t something he planned, wasn’t something he did to get something out of you, to play with you, to keep his hold on you.

No.

It just happened.

One arm, curling around your back, pulling you in a little closer, holding you there.

Not tight. Not possessive.

Just… casual.

Natural.

Because that’s what you had done to him.

Physical touch had turned into something casual between you two.

Because you gave him so much of it. Because you were always touching him, always gentle, always letting him have warmth without asking for anything in return.

And he liked this. Too much.

“Don’t fall asleep again.” Niragi muttered, voice stubborn, rough.

You barely stirred, still half-curled against him, your warmth sinking into him like it belonged there. Your lashes fluttered, your breath slow and steady, and he could feel it against his chest when you exhaled—soft, trusting, so goddamn delicate.

He didn’t like that. (He did.)

“I won’t.” you mumbled sleepily, even as your fingers weakly curled into his shirt.

Niragi clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes like you were the most annoying thing in the world. “Liar. You’ll be drooling on me in five minutes.”

You let out a small huff, finally shifting, lifting your head a little. Blinking sleep from your big, glossy eyes. You looked up at him, still half-lost in the haze of waking up, your voice quieter now, almost shy. “You don’t like it?”

He scoffed. “What, you using me as a fucking pillow?”

You nodded.

Niragi tilted his head, watching you, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

You were so warm.

So soft against him.

And if he was honest—if he let himself really think about it—he did like it. Too much.

Niragi didn’t do soft things. He didn’t do kindness or comfort or warmth.

He was cruel, sadistic, a ruined fucking thing, and he had spent so much time taking what he wanted, destroying what he didn’t, pushing the world down before it could do the same to him.

It was so easy to lean into you. To let you baby him, touch him, kiss his stupid face and call him sweet things like he wasn’t the worst fucking thing you could be holding onto.

He liked how much you liked him.

“Tch.” Niragi finally looked away, exhaling through his nose like he was annoyed. “Just don’t expect me to carry you again if you pass the fuck out.”

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. That was his way of saying he didn’t mind.

You shifted, sitting up more, rubbing at your eyes with your sleeve. You were so cute it was disgusting.

“…Thank you.” you said softly.

His brows furrowed. “For what?”

You blinked up at him, expression so real, so honest, it almost made him feel sick. “For being nice to me.”

Niragi snorted, scoffing like you just said the dumbest shit he had ever heard. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“You didn’t have to.” you continued, your voice still gentle, unshaken. “But you did. And I really, really needed that.”

And that. That was what made something in him tighten. What made him want to shove you off of him just to get some fucking space, some fucking distance from whatever the fuck you were doing to him.

Because you were looking at him like that again. Like he was something worth thanking. Like he was something worth trusting.

And fuck, that wasn’t what he was.

But you made him feel like he could be.

You stretched, arms lifting above your head as you let out a small, tired sigh. Your movements were slow, soft, lazy—and maybe it was the way the early light caught you, how your skin looked so warm and delicate in the sunrise, or how your dress slipped off your shoulder just a little when you moved—

But Niragi felt his jaw clench.

You were so girly.

Not just in the way you looked, all pretty and sweet and easy to touch, but in how you moved, how you sighed, how you rubbed at your eyes like you were some soft little thing waking up from a long nap.

And you were—fuck.

You were dying around. Dragging it out, stretching, sighing, waking up in the slowest, cutest way possible, like you weren’t in a world where people shot each other in the fucking street.

It was annoying. (He liked it.)

You finally let your arms drop, blinking the sleep from your eyes, lips pursed in thought before you looked at him again.

“I’m hungry.” you mumbled, still a little sleepy.

“No shit.”

You frowned a little, pushing at his shoulder like that would do anything. “Be nice.”

He scoffed, but there was no real heat behind it.

You sighed, rolling your shoulders before shifting to actually sit up—slow, sluggish, exhausted.

You were so tired.

So delicate, in the way only a girl like you could be.

Even as you pushed yourself up, you did it gently, carefully, like you weren’t even built for rough things. Like you weren’t made to exist in a world where people like Niragi had guns and cruel hands and a love for making people scream.

But still—you were here.

And he had carried you.

And you had slept on him.

And he had let you.

Maybe that was why he didn’t shove you off just now, why he let you move at your own sleepy, girly pace, even though he normally had no patience for shit like that.

You stood now, rubbing your arms like you were cold.

Niragi tilted his head, eyes running over you, all rumpled and warm and barely even awake. He licked his teeth, leaning back on his hands.

You turned, looking out at the empty street.

The world was still so quiet. Too quiet.

You missed your apartment.

You missed how you had things there. How you had your pretty kitchen, your pretty fridge, all your pretty things that made you feel like yourself.

Niragi watched you, how your shoulders sank just slightly, how your hands fidgeted.

He rolled his eyes. “You always this slow in the morning?”

You glanced back at him, a little sheepish. “…Maybe.”

He huffed a laugh, tilting his head.

Yeah.

You were so girly.

You turned back to him, your voice soft and sweet in the morning air. “Let’s go after Chishiya.”

Niragi just stared at you. Then he laughed. Right in your face, throwing his head back, sharp and sudden like you just told the funniest joke in the world.

“That’s cute.” he snickered, shaking his head as he dragged his tongue over his teeth, grinning.

You frowned. “I’m serious.”

Niragi gave a mock gasp, clutching his chest. “Oh no! My bad! She’s serious, everybody!” He whipped his head around, looking at literally no one, because there was no one else here. “Did everyone hear that?”

You pursed your lips. You exhaled sharply through your nose, not quite laughing but close. “You’re an ass.”

But still.

“I want to go after him.” You were gentler this time, quieter, more honest. “I don’t want to be alone out here. I wanna be with you two.”

Niragi hummed, tilting his head at you, watching.

Your big, earnest eyes, your little fidgeting fingers, the soft pink flush still warming your cheeks from sleep.

So fucking cute.

So annoying.

He could mess with you about this forever. He could drag this out, tease you, make you work for it—but then you reached out, fingertips barely brushing his sleeve.

“Niragi.” Your voice was soft, so soft. “Please.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Yeah, he was never going to admit it, but that did something to him.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine—fuck. Whatever. But only ‘cause you’re begging me.”

You weren’t begging. (Okay. Maybe a little.)

But it worked.

And soon enough, Niragi was shoving himself up off the ground, grumbling the whole time, stretching his arms over his head as he yawned.

“I knew you’d say yes.” you said, linking your hands behind your back as you bounced on your heels.

He scoffed, rubbing his hand over his mouth to hide the way his own lips twitched.

Then he pointed his gun at you. Casually. Like he was pointing out a street sign. Like he wasn’t pointing a loaded weapon directly at your face.

“Really?” you asked.

He grinned, wiggling the gun at you. “What? You said let’s go.”

You huffed, pushing the barrel away with one finger. “I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

And with that, he slung an arm around your shoulders, practically dragging you forward as he started walking. And you let him. For now. You let yourself settle into the warmth of it. He was still laughing under his breath, satisfied with himself, always entertained by his own bullshit.

“Chishiya really just left without us?” you asked.

Niragi scoffed, smirking. “Yeah. And?”

You frowned. “I dunno. Just… I don’t like when we’re split up.”

Niragi gave you a sideways glance. “You mean you don’t like being away from him.”

You blinked. Then—a tiny, tiny pout formed on your lips. “…Maybe.”

His grin widened. Oh, this was good.

This was so good.

“You got it bad, babe.” His voice was teasing, but there was something else beneath it too. Something sharper.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “I just like being around him.”

That was all.

You liked both of them. But Chishiya was… different.

With Niragi, it was easy. Loud. He gave you all of his energy, all of his fire, whether you could handle it or not. But Chishiya…Chishiya was quiet. Distant, but not cruel. And when he looked at you—really looked at you—you felt like he actually saw you.

You sighed, hugging yourself as you walked. “I don’t think he really likes people that much.”

Niragi barked out a laugh. “No shit.”

“I mean it.” you said. “But he’s never been mean to me.”

“Hate to break it to you, princess, but that’s not a compliment. That’s just Chishiya.”

You tilted your head in thought. Maybe. But still.

“He’s just… I dunno. He’s careful. He doesn’t waste time on people who don’t matter to him.” Your voice turned quieter. “But he talks to me.”

Niragi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause you don’t shut up.”

You smacked his arm, laughing.

“No.” you insisted. “I mean—he actually talks to me. He listens. And when I ask him things, he doesn’t just brush me off. Not really.” You smiled to yourself. “I think he’s sweet, in his own way.”

Niragi wrinkled his nose, making a fake gagging noise. “Gross.”

You giggled. “Asshole.”

He didn’t respond right away. He just watched you. Your bright eyes, your small, happy little smile, the way you literally glowed just thinking about Chishiya.

It was irritating.

It made Niragi want to shake you.

It made him want to pull you into him and sink his teeth into you, like if he bit hard enough, maybe you’d pay that same sweet, stupid attention to him instead.

But all he did was scoff, rolling his shoulders as he flicked his gun up over his shoulder.

“He’s not that special.”

You hummed, thoughtful. “I think he is.”

And fuck—that pissed him off.

But not in the way he expected.

~

“Chishiya!”

Your voice echoed through the empty streets, sharp, desperate, but still so sweet.

You saw him up ahead, his hands still tucked into his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

But you—you were running. Feet tapping against the pavement, breath hitching in your throat, you didn’t care how desperate you looked.

You just wanted to reach him.

“Chishiya, wait up!”

For a moment, he didn’t even look back. And maybe he was ignoring you—maybe he was pretending he didn’t hear you—but you knew him.

And you knew he was listening.

Then, finally, finally—he slowed. Just a little. Just enough.

And when you caught up to him, nearly stumbling in your rush to his side, he finally tilted his head, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re loud.” he muttered.

But you were grinning.

Because he waited. He actually waited for you.

“I thought you left us.” you huffed, still catching your breath.

Chishiya raised an eyebrow. “I did.”

“That’s not funny.” you said, gently shoving his arm. “You could’ve at least told me.”

His lips curled slightly. “And what would you have done?”

“I dunno. Maybe say goodbye, at least?”

Chishiya hummed, looking forward again. “Goodbyes are pointless.”

You frowned. “They’re not pointless to me.”

He glanced at you again. You looked serious.

There was a quiet moment between you, your heavy breaths slowly evening out, the sound of Niragi’s distant grumbling somewhere behind you.

“Wasn’t really planning to say goodbye anyway.” Chishiya muttered.

You blinked. Your lips parted slightly, watching him carefully. “…Really?”

“You’re too useful to leave behind.” he said.

That was such a Chishiya thing to say.

You knew what he meant.

You knew that was his way of saying, I wasn’t leaving you.

That meant everything.

You smiled, eyes soft, heart warm in your chest.

He was so bad at this. But you didn’t care.

You understood him.

And that was enough.

“…Good.” you whispered.

He didn’t step away, even as you practically bounced beside him, your pink bag swinging off your shoulder.

You were so much. So bright. So fucking sweet. And for some reason—he didn’t mind.

“Ugh, you two are fucking gross.” Niragi finally caught up, his shoes scuffing against the pavement as he slung an arm around your shoulders way too aggressively. “You just gonna ditch me, babe?” he muttered against your hair. “That’s fucked up.”

You giggled. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Bullshit.”

Chishiya just sighed.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

But it didn’t really matter.

Because Chishiya didn’t leave.

And Niragi was still here.

And you—you were right where you belonged.

Chishiya watched. He always watched. How you leaned into Niragi’s touch. Tucked yourself under his chin, let your body rest easily against his, your hands coming up to softly hold his wrist where it pressed against your chest.

Like this was normal.

Like this was fine.

Like he hadn’t just terrified you the night before, hadn’t pushed and pushed until you cried in his arms, hadn’t scared you so deeply that you flinched away from his touch.

So fucking forgiving.

So stupidly sweet.

Chishiya’s eyes flickered as he studied the two of you, the way Niragi’s fingers twitched where they rested against your shoulder, the way he subtly breathed you in, his lips pressing against the top of your head like he could absorb you.

Pathetic.

That’s what Niragi was.

Desperate.

Pathetic.

A rabid, wounded animal, clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him from drowning. Because maybe, in his fucked-up little head, you were.

But Chishiya wasn’t blind. He saw it.

The way Niragi used you.

The way he manipulated you, twisted you around his finger, took and took and took, then came crawling back, all sweet words and soft hands, knowing damn well you would forgive him.

And the worst part? You did. So easily. You weren’t stupid, you knew what Niragi was, you saw what he did, the way he acted, the cruelty laced through his every word, the blood staining his hands, the way he reveled in it.

And still—you stayed.

You leaned into him, curled against him, let him press his fingers into your skin, let him soak in the warmth you so freely gave.

And Chishiya…he didn’t understand you. Didn’t understand why you didn’t pull away, why you didn’t tell Niragi to fuck off, why you didn’t run.

And maybe—maybe he didn’t want to understand.

Because if he did, if he let himself truly think about why you were the way you were—he’d have to acknowledge it.

That deep, sinking feeling.

That tightness in his chest.

That quiet, nagging thought that maybe, just maybe—

He wasn’t any better than Niragi.

Because, despite it all, he didn’t want you to stop. Didn’t want you to stop being so soft, so forgiving, so willing to give yourself away without hesitation.

Because Niragi wasn’t the only one taking from you.

Was he?

Chishiya started walking. He had no interest in standing around, watching Niragi breathe you in like a fucking drug, watching the way his grip tightened possessively around you like you might slip away from him if he let go for even a second.

Watching the way you—a fucking angel—didn’t even seem to notice.

He didn’t have the patience for it.

So he walked.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t bother to glance back.

He knew you’d follow.

And sure enough—

“Chishiya!”

Your voice rang out, sweet and urgent.

He heard the shuffle of your steps as you rushed after him, the distinct drag of Niragi’s shoes against the pavement as you—of course—dragged him along with you.

“Wait up!” you called, your tone whiny, almost playful despite the exhaustion in your body. You were still holding onto Niragi, but your hand reached for Chishiya too, your fingers grasping for the sleeve of his hoodie as soon as you got close enough.

He let you grab him. Didn’t shake you off. Didn’t pull away. Just let it happen.

“Don’t just walk away like that.” you huffed, pouting at him in a way that made him look away.

God, you were too cute.

It was annoying.

“Tch. Needy much?” Niragi teased, grinning down at you, his arm slung around your shoulders. His gun dangled carelessly in his other hand, swaying with every step.

You barely spared him a glance before reaching for it, trying to nudge the weapon downward as gently as you could.

“Niragi, don’t wave that thing around.” you chided, soft but firm. “Seriously. Just—keep it down.”

“What, this?” he asked, raising the gun slightly just to taunt you, giving you a look.

“Yes.” you said simply, blinking up at him with big, expectant eyes. “Put it down.”

And Niragi—surprisingly—did. Not because he wanted to. But because you asked. Because it was you.

And Chishiya just… watched.

You could get away with things no one else could.

He barely had time to dwell on it before your attention was suddenly elsewhere.

You always had your eyes on a million things at once, taking in the world like everything was worth staring at.

“Oh—butterfly!” you gasped, eyes lighting up as you pointed ahead.

Chishiya barely flicked his gaze up.

Niragi followed your finger, unimpressed.

“Seriously?” he scoffed. “That’s what you’re excited about?”

But you didn’t even hear him, already gravitating toward the thing, slowing your steps as you got closer.

It was small, wings flitting rapidly as it rested on a crumbling bit of sidewalk.

You crouched down, watching it so intently. So gently.

Chishiya sighed.

Niragi rolled his eyes.

“You’re gonna waste time over a fucking bug?” Niragi groaned, exasperated.

Your brows furrowed as you turned to glare at him. “It’s not a bug.” you shot back. “It’s a butterfly.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing.” you insisted, returning your attention to the delicate creature in front of you. “Look how pretty it is. It’s so little. I bet it just woke up, too. Probably slept through the night somewhere nice and warm.”

Niragi clicked his tongue. “What, you wanna adopt it or something?”

“Oh, can we?”

Chishiya finally looked at you.

You were so serious.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Niragi drawled. “Let’s take the little fucker home. Maybe we’ll even get it a leash.”

“You’re so mean.” you muttered.

Chishiya just… kept watching. Because that’s what he did. That’s what he always did.

And fuck, you were such a strange thing. Crouched on the pavement, fully enthralled by a butterfly, like the world wasn’t burning around you.

Like this wasn’t a death game. Like people weren’t dying every day. Like Niragi wasn’t walking beside you, drenched in blood. Like Chishiya himself wasn’t a man with blood on his hands, too.

But maybe that was what made you so…

So you.

Because you knew. You knew what the world was now. You knew the violence, the death, the cruelty.

And yet you still crouched down to talk to butterflies.

Chishiya’s lips twitched.

Maybe that was why he didn’t tell you to get up. Didn’t tell you that you were wasting time, that you should keep moving, that the butterfly wasn’t going to answer you. Maybe that was why he just let you have this.

Because he liked watching you like this.

Soft. Unbothered. Untouched by the horrors of this world, if only for a moment.

You suddenly sighed, getting up and brushing off your knees.

“Guess I can’t keep it.” you said, looking at the butterfly one last time before stepping back to Niragi’s side, grabbing onto Chishiya’s sleeve again. As if you had always meant to be there. As if you didn’t even have to think about it.

Chishiya let you.

Again.

Niragi scoffed, ruffling your hair just to mess it up.

“Come on, dumbass.” he said. “Let’s keep moving.”

You were so damn easy to please.

And Chishiya… Chishiya still didn’t understand you.

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter @enhasrii @potato-vagina @cherryyserenade

[multific]

Veils of Rivalry

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: You hated him, but you also didn't. It was complicated, but it also wasn't.

Once upon a time, in a Hogwarts, there were two individuals who were known far and wide as the fiercest enemies. 

Their names were Y/N Y/L/N and Mattheo Riddle, and their rivalry was the stuff of legends. 

They clashed at every turn, their sharp tongues and quick wits always ready to spar.

And it all started during your first year. 

Mattheo was as confident as ever getting into Slytherin. And you? Just a very lost Ravenclaw who was looking for their next class.

He ran into you, and didn't even apologise or help you collect your books.

"Rude." you said as he continued his walk.

It was only the first time but then words were exchanged and soon, the entire school knew, you and Riddle mustn't be left in the same room.

Despite your mutual hatred, there was an undeniable tension between you that neither of you could ignore. 

You denied your feelings, determined to maintain the facade of hatred that had defined your relationship for so long. 

But as fate would have it, circumstances plotted to bring you together in a way neither could have predicted.

One fateful night, a masquerade ball was held in the school, and both of you found themselves in the big hall. It was during your sixth year.

You didn't even notice that you were dancing around him.

In a moment of pure bliss and fun, you found yourself drawn to Mattheo, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. 

He looked at you, surprise and something else flickering in his eyes before he pulled you into his arms and led you onto the middle of the dance floor. 

You moved together in perfect unity, your bodies pressed close as the music played loud in your ears. You smelled tobacco on him, he smelled your sweet perfume.

As the night went on, it was as if all those arguments never even happened, as if you both forgot who the other was. 

And then, in a moment of pure impulse, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

A spark igniting that neither could deny. You weren't sure why you kissed him.

When you pulled back, your eyes went wide with shock and something else, something that felt dangerously like lust.

For a moment, you stood there, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. 

But then, this time, he leaned in and kissed you again, your passion igniting like wildfire as you finally allowed yourself to acknowledge the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

"Riddle," you said with a desperate tone, you hated to sound like that.

"Come with me." he said with such a soft tone of voice. 

You followed him to a silent corridor as you leaned against the wall, he trapped you in with his arms next to your head.

"I don't know what you are playing at, but I'm serious."

"I'm not playing." your reply was immediate, his eyes never left your eyes, you reached out and pulled him closer by his shirt. "Kiss me please."

And he didn't need to be told twice. 

His lips melted with yours, his arms moving to hold you closer. 

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fallout-girl219 

@dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[girlkisser13]

being married to satoru gojo would include

• gojo loves to tease you, constantly pushing your buttons just to see you flustered. expect cheeky comments, surprise kisses, and dramatic declarations of love in the middle of crowded places.

• if you’re shy about pda, too bad. gojo lives for dramatic public displays of affection.

• if he sees you from across the street, he sprints toward you, yelling: "MY LOVE, I HAVE FOUND YOU AT LAST!"

• he randomly dips you in the middle of the sidewalk to kiss you like you’re in a rom-com.

• gojo LIVES to be near you. he’ll drape himself over you like a human-sized blanket, rest his head on your lap whenever you’re sitting, or outright pick you up and carry you if he’s feeling extra dramatic (which is always).

• he showers you with compliments, and while some are genuine, most are ridiculous:

"wow, how does it feel to be married to the most handsome, most powerful, most incredible man alive?”

"your beauty is so radiant, i might need my blindfold back just to avoid going blind."

• he has zero concept of personal space and will kiss you at the most unexpected moments— mid-conversation, while you’re eating, or even while you’re scolding him.

• gojo is the CLINGIEST person alive.

• he follows you around the house like a puppy. cooking? he’s hovering behind you, stealing bites of food. working? he’s lying on the couch dramatically sighing about how neglected he feels.

"you know, marriage means you have to give me attention 24/7, right?"

• he refuses to call you by your actual name unless he’s being serious. instead, he cycles through completely ridiculous pet names.

• gojo is not a morning person unless it involves annoying you. if you wake up before him, he groans and pulls you back into bed. if he wakes up first, he does everything in his power to wake you up.

• blasting music at full volume.

• hovering over you whispering "wake up, my love—" in the creepiest voice imaginable.

• picking you up with infinity still on so you can’t escape his hugs.

• if you have sweets, they are his now. you once tried to hide snacks from him, but he teleported them out of your hands and smirked while eating them.

• this man is constantly stealing bites of your food, no matter how many times you scold him.

"what’s yours is mine, babe! it’s in fine print of our marriage license."

• sometimes he vanishes for an entire day and then comes back with the most ridiculous gifts.

• one time, he brought home a glow-in-the-dark matching couple’s outfit.

• another time, he returned with a 20 feet stuffed animal version of himself. you refuse to keep it in the house.

• movie nights are a nightmare– gojo never lets you watch in peace.

• he talks through the entire thing.

• he predicts the ending within five minutes.

• he insists on reenacting fight scenes mid-movie.

• and worst of all? he won’t stop quoting the movie afterward.

• his number one priority is your safety– he plays it cool, but he worries about you constantly. even if you’re not a sorcerer, he subtly keeps infinity up around you when he’s not there. if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they disappear.

• there are times when he comes home late from missions, and instead of waking you, he just holds you close, quietly breathing in your presence.

• he has no shame in embarrassing you publicly.

• if he’s picking you up from work, expect him to arrive in the flashiest way possible. he once teleported into your office just to kiss you in front of your coworkers.

• he likes to randomly challenge you to stupid competitions.

"let’s see who can eat more candy without getting sick."

"first one to fall asleep loses!" (he never loses.)

"let’s race— but i get to teleport."

• he pranks you CONSTANTLY.

• he once hid in a closet for twenty minutes just to jump out and scare you.

• another time, he changed your phone alarm to his voice saying "GOOD MORNING, BEAUTIFUL—" over and over again.

• some of the best moments with gojo are when it’s late at night, and he’s just talking to you softly— about his childhood, his fears, and his dreams.

• if you ever have trouble sleeping, he hums softly while rubbing your back. it’s one of the rare moments where he’s completely calm.

• house chores? he pretends he doesn’t know how to do them. "oh no, my infinity won’t let me touch the dishes, guess you’ll have to do it—.” you roll your eyes and make him do them anyway.

• loves using his teleportation just to annoy you. forgot something at home? he’ll bring it— but only after making you beg (or bribing him with sweets).

• you once woke up to find him floating above the bed, just staring at you. "i was admiring my beautiful spouse—" he got a pillow to the face.

• if you ever get hurt, he loses it. he jokes a lot, but the moment you’re in danger, the world will burn.

• he constantly steals your sunglasses, claiming they look better on him.

• will not hesitate to use his powers to do the most ridiculous things— like floating the remote into his hand instead of getting up.

• if you’re cold, he’ll wrap himself around you dramatically. "don’t worry, i’ll sacrifice my body heat for you, my love."

• with you, he can drop the “satoru gojo, strongest sorcerer” mask and just be satoru. on nights when the weight of his responsibilities gets to him, he just rests his forehead against yours, whispering: "you’re the only thing keeping me sane." <33

[sailorstar9]

Lyney Brought Lumine and Told F/N to Learn from Her, Not to Be Like a Block of Wood

Warning: Anti-Lyney, Anti-Lumine, Angst, Modern AU

Trigger warning: Cheating

In the third year of her marriage to Lyney, he brought Lumine home.

“F/N, you should learn from these young girls.” the famous actor told F/N. “Stop being so dull like a piece of wood.”

F/N calmly shattered their wedding photo and handed him the divorce papers she had long prepared. “Lyney, let's divorce. I'll step aside and make room for her.”

All his friends predicted F/N would starve on the streets without Lyney and Lyney thought the same: once she's out there and has enough of the hardships, she'll realize how lucky she was to be Mrs. Snezhevich.

But a week passed, then a month and F/N never looked back.

Lyney grew uneasy, restless and unable to find peace day or night.

One night, in the depths of his despair, he drunkenly showed up at F/N's new place, banging on the door. “F/N, you just want money. I'll give you whatever you want..”

The door opened to reveal a stranger, in a dishevelled suit.

Kinich raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed. “Mr. Snezhevich, what the hell are you doing at my wife's door in the middle of the night?”

At the private club in Fontaine, Lyney had long reserved the most luxurious and secluded penthouse suite.

F/N took off her coat, draped it over her arm, steadied herself and walked forward.

The double wooden doors with intricate carvings opened and the first person F/N saw was Lyney. His silver-gray shirt was half unbuttoned and his tie was nowhere to be seen. The girl sitting on his lap was feeding him peeled grapes. He pushed her hand away, though his expression suggested he was enjoying it.

“Sister-in-law, come on in.” one of the girls noticed F/N and quickly stood up to greet her.

Plessia, who was in Lyney's arms was startled and hurried to get off his lap. But Lyney held her in place. “You stay right here.”

Plessia looked at F/N nervously, unable to move as Lyney's arm tightened around her waist. Her face slowly turned pale with fear.

Lyney lazily smiled again, “What are you all saying? Who's your sister-in-law? The only sister-in-law here is Plessia, the one sitting on my lap.”

Everyone froze, not knowing what to say.

“Lyney.” F/N called his name, but he simply closed his eyes, refusing to look at her.

The atmosphere grew unbearably awkward and someone tried to break the tension. “Why don't you come in and sit down? Lyney is drunk. He's not himself right now.”

“No need.” F/N replied. “I jut have a few words to say, then I'll leave.” she took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The room fell silent.

“My brother isn't doing well.” F/N's voice came out hoarse and cracked, her gaze lowered to her toes. “He was just sent to the ICU and need three hundred thousand Mora.”

Lyney clicked his tongue, casting a 'Just as I expected' glance at everyone. His slender fingers toyed with Plessia's hair. “F/N, since we got married, how many times have I given you three hundred thousand Mora? Have you ever made me happy? I'll give you the Mora but it has to be on my terms.”

F/N gritted her teeth and looked up at him, “What do you want me to do?”

Lyney raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I can see you are capable. You came to ask me for Mora but made sure to dress up nicely. That shows you're not as clueless as you pretend to be.” his violet eyes reflected a cold cruelty. “What's the difference between you and them? At least these girls don't pretend to be as proper and righteous as you.”

F/N just let out a cold mirthless laugh and dragged Plessia off Lyney's lap by her hair. Tossing the blond onto the floor, she smirked at Lyney. “Have you forgotten what I told you the last time? A life for a life; if my brother dies, so does hers.”

“Vimeur!” Plessia gasped “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing much.” F/N shrugged nonchalantly. “Either I get the three hundred thousand Mora to save my brother or your brother ends up being fish food. So, what would it be, Lyney? Or...” she calmly drew out a stiletto knife she had hidden in her inner thigh and drew it against Plessia's cheek. “Is more incentive needed? It would be such a shame to mar a pretty face like hers.”

“Lyney, just give her the three hundred thousand Mora.”

“If you want, I can give her the three hundred thousand Mora instead.”

“Three hundred thousand Mora in thirty minutes.” F/N sneered. “If you're late for even one second...” she gave Plessia a cold smile. “Her brother will be thrown into the ocean to feed the sharks.”

After three years of marriage, F/N knew Lyney played around outside. He had grudgingly agreed to the marriage arrangement between the House of the Hearth and the fallen Morris Family.

Before the wedding, the girl he loved, Alcina, had died in a diving accident and Lyney had thought it was the Morris' family doing, thus fuelling his hatred towards F/N. After the wedding, he disappeared without a trace and reappeared three months later with a strange girl by his side.

Over the next two years, F/N lost count the number of girlfriends Lyney had and F/N had noticed all of the girls had bore a resemblance to Alcina.

But this was the first time he brought that girl, Lumine, into their home.

When F/N returned from the hospital, she noticed the servants giving her strange looks. It wasn't until she went upstairs to their bedroom that she understood why; Lyney was lying on their marital bed with Lumine sitting beside him and dutifully feeding him water.

When she saw F/N enter, Lumine nearly jumped up in fright, “Mrs. Snezhevich! Mr. Snezhevich was just drunk.

F/N simply stood at the door and waved her hand. “Take good care of him.”

“But that's not right.” Lumine protested. “You're his wife. You should be the one taking care of him.”

“it's fine.” F/N assured. “He likes you. So if you take care of him, he'll be happy.” smiling, she turned around and walked out of the room.

“F/N.” Lyney suddenly called out to F/N. Holding Lumine close, he narrowed his eyes at F/N. “Where are you going? You should learn from these young girls how to take care of your man. Stop being so cold. You can't even kiss properly...”

He didn't finish his sentence because the sound of a picture frame shattering suddenly echoed through the room. It was their wedding photo, now lying in pieces on the floor.

F/N's face was expressionless as she looked at him. “Anything else you want to say?”

Lyney pushed Lumine away and slowly sat up, “F/N, think carefully about what you're doing.”

F/N curled her lips in a slight smile, took out the divorce papers she had long prepared and handed it to him. “Sign them, Lyney. Let's get divorced. I'll make room for her.”

“F/N, once you start this, there's no going back.” Lyney warned.

“Sign them and let me know when it's done.” F/N was steadfast. With that, she didn't look at him again, turned and left the room, heading downstairs.

As she walked out of the door, Lyney stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at her. “F/N, it's easy to leave, but it won't be so simple to come back.”

F/N didn't look back nor did she respond. Dragging her suitcase, she walked into the deep, dark night.

The rainy season in Fontaine was cold.

F/N tightened her coat around her and bought a bowl of onion soup and Fish and Chips from Louis. Most of her Mora was already deposited into the hospital account. After searching through all her belongings, she found she only had three hundred Mora left. To avoid freezing on the streets, she knew she had to find a cheap motel to stay in.

“Mind if I join you?” a man's voice suddenly sounded behind F/N.

“Go ahead.” F/N replied, still focused on searching for a place to stay on her phone. Noticing the fabric of an expensive coat from the corner of her eye, she looked up in surprise, only to see Kinich staring intensely at her.

“Miss Morris, it's midnight.” Kinich pointed out. “You're dressed so nicely. Aren't you afraid of someone might take advantage of you?”

“Fontaine is pretty safe.” F/N put her phone away and prepared to leave. “No need for you to worry.”

“Where are you going at this hour?” Kinich stood up. “I noticed the motels you were looking at are too cheap and unsafe. Why don't I book a hotel for you instead?”

F/N didn't respond and just walked faster with her suitcase in tow.

“Watch out!” Kinich shouted a warning. “You're not even looking at the cars.” he chided as a car sped past and he grabbed F/N's wrist, pulling her close to him.

“What do you want?” F/N quickly shook off Kinch's hand.

“Just trying to help a friend.” Kinich replied.

“Help me or just sleep with me?” F/N couldn't help but laugh bitterly. “Kinich, I get it. I turned you down before and now you want revenge.”

“Revenge?” Kinich snorted. “is that really what you think?”

“Why does everyone keep bullying me?”F/N let her frustrated tears flow. “Why does this keep happening to me? You're all horrible people... all of you...”

“F/N, I'm not bullying you.” Kinich's voice softened. “I never intended to hurt you. I just returned to the country and heard a little about what's been going on. I couldn't stop thinking about it and was worried. When you left Lyney's house tonight, I followed you.”

“I have no friends.” F/N retorted. “After the downfall of the Morris Family, I lost all my friends.”

Kinich was silent for a moment before speaking again. “So, should I contact your husband to pick you up?”

“We're divorced.” F/N corrected. “I've already signed the divorce papers, leaving with nothing. He wasn't wrong; over the last three years, I did spend a lot of his Mora. Let's just leave it at that, we owe each other nothing.”

“Do you still love him?” Kinich asked.

F/N paused, then shook her head immediately. “No, I don't. I stop loving him a long time ago. Kinich, I'm not that pathetic.”

“F/N, then can you try to like me?” Kinich suggested.

“Don't you hate me?” F/N was surprised.

Kinich shook his head. “I thought about hating you, but in the end, I couldn't bring myself to. F/N,” he took a step closer. “Why don't you give a try with me? Even if it's just to get back at him, you can still play with me. Let's go back to the hotel. You don't look well. You should rest. Don't fall.” he held out his hand to F/N and took her suitcase.

“Kinich.” F/N voiced, exiting the hotel room's bathroom wearing a warm robe.

When Kinich turned to look at her, she stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

The moment F/N opened her mouth, Kinich took control. His burning hand tightly gripped her waist and he flipped her over, pinning her against the door. As his domineering and forceful kiss fell, he mumbled in F/N's ear, “F/N, don't cry. When you cry, I lost all my boundaries. Even if you're just playing with me, F/N, I'll accept it.”

It was still the top-floor suite of the Fontaine first-class clubhouse. The atmosphere was lively when Lyney suddenly threw down his cards. “You guys continue. I'm going out for some fresh air.”

Lumine was startled for a moment and quickly got up to follow him. But Lyney stopped her, “Don't follow me.” he grabbed a cigarette and walked out to the balcony to light it. Then, he unlocked his phone; there were no messages from F/N. Not even any activity on the household card he had given her. It was then that Lyney remembered that in the three years of marriage, F/N had only asked him for Mora three times: the first time was a year after the Morris Family's downfall when her older brother, Quentin, had a severe accident. She had exhausted all her savings but still couldn't gather enough Mora. The second time was when Quentin couldn't accept his paralysis and attempted suicide, nearly dying in the process. The third time was during her last visit to the clubhouse suite where she showed her ruthless self. The reason he was so harsh with his words that time was because it was the anniversary of Alcina's death. His mood had been utterly terrible and he had lashed out without thinking. But he had never imagined that F/N would actually ask for a divorce. She had even prepared the divorce papers, signed them and was willing to leave with nothing.

After Kinich arranged for Quentin to be moved to a specialized hospital, he also introduced F/N to his friends; who unlike Lyney's friends, were more sincere and respectful.

“Tired?” Kinich walked up. “The caregivers and rehabilitation therapists we hired are very professional and responsible. You don't have to do everything yourself.”

“He's the only family I have.” F/N admitted. “This is the only thing I can do for him now.”

“F/N, have you ever thought of doing something you love?” Kinich suddenly asked.

“Yes.” F/N was surprised. With the downfall of her family, all her hobbies and dreams had all faded into oblivion. “But what can I do? These past three years, I feel like I've fallen out of touch with society.”

“The things your learned from childhood can be picked up again.” Kinich reminded. “You can start playing the violin again, you could design jewellery and hold exhibitions. You could even open your own design studio, specializing in custom-made jewellery for different occasions and celebrations.”

When Lyney woke up from his dream again, it was 4am. This was the villa in Une Courtyard, the home he and F/N had shared as their marital residence. The day F/N left, the rainy season had just begun. Now, the second rainy season had already baptised the city. In his dream just now, Lyney saw Alcina. Alcina, with red-rimmed eyes, asked, “Lyney, are you forgetting me? Have you already started to fall for F/N?” he slowly sat up in bed, waiting for his emotions to settle. In truth, he had long known that Alcina's death was an accident and F/N was innocent. Perhaps subconsciously, he had already anticipated that he would develop feelings for F/N, just as Lynette had predicted. That's why he acted so irrationally, trying to nip those feelings in the bud. But things eventually spiralled out of control.

Lyney found himself increasingly out of control and increasingly uneasy. He started to lose focus at his friends' gatherings. He began to feel uncomfortable with everything in his home, even the food. Everything was still as orderly as it had been when F/N was there, but nothing felt right. His shirt and tie combination were always off and since he couldn't remember what clothes F/N prepared for him during the rainy season, he caught two bouts of flu in a row. After his slow recovery, he had Freminet investigate Quentin's transfer.

The studio F/N rented was located just below the office of Kinich's company. The previous tenant also ran a design studio there. So, with a few adjustments to the décor, it was quickly ready for use. The studio wasn't large and somewhat modest.

After the studio opened, F/N received her first order from Agnes, the first female friend F/N made after coming to South City with Kinich. She was about to get engaged; all her dresses had already been prepared and now she only needed a custom-made set of betrothal jewellery which she planned to wear at her engagement party.

Lyney's car sped through the dusty streets: Quentin was placed in the best private rehabilitation hospital in South City and he had heard that F/N had just opened her own design studio.

He still remembered how well F/N played the violin and how her jewellery designing skills were widely praised. He thought that now, free from financial worries, she would choose to return to being a carefree young lady with time for the finer things in life. He never expected that she would rent a space of less than fifty square meters, diligently running her small business. Nor did he expect that the apartment she was renting now was so modest.

Lyney felt the turmoil in his heart, like oil boiling over a flame, had slightly calmed. But what he didn't know was that this brief peace would shatter into laughable pieces in twenty minutes.

The moment F/N and Kinich stepped through the door of F/N's apartment, F/N had just taken off her coat when Kinich pressed her against the door.

Just then, the doorbell rang persistently.

Kinich gave F/N another deep kiss before letting her head to the bathroom to shower.

Peering through the peephole, his expression darkened as he instantly recognized Lyney.

Opening the door, he realized Lyney had clearly been drinking heavily.

“F/N,” Lyney started when the door opened. “Isn't it Mora you want? I'll give you everything...” he cut himself off when he saw the person who opened the door wasn't F/N, but an unfamiliar man.

“Who the hell are you?” Lyney demanded. “What are you doing here? Where's F/N?” Lyney's eyes were bloodshot, burning with an intense, almost frightening red. His gaze flicked from the man's body, searching behind him.

But as his eyes moved, they caught sight of the haphazardly discarded heels on the floor. His entire body trembled, his teeth chattering faintly. Even his pupils seemed to lose focus for a moment. In his three years of marriage, he had never touched F/N, clinging to the absurd refusal to betraying Alcina.

Kinich looked at the drunken man in front of him. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes filling with lingering displeasure, “Mr. Snezhevich, why are you showing up at my wife's place in the middle of the night?”

Lyney had never called F/N by anything but her name; he didn't even have the energy to muster anger. His shoulders slumped and he stood there in a state of despondency as the past years flashed through his mind.

The little girl who had once followed behind him, sweetly calling him 'brother' had grown into a beautiful, gentle young woman. Her heart and eyes were always full of him and her gaze always held an unmistakeable tenderness and affection. She had known from a young age that she would be his wife and he had known from a young age that he would marry her.

When Lyney truly thought about it, he realized his relationship with Alcina was merely an outlet for his rebellion against 'Father'.

“Mr. Snezhevich, if there is nothing else, please leave.” Kinich wasn't interested in wasting time on a man like Lyney. “It's getting late.”

“Can I see her?” Lyney reached out, blocking the doorframe.

“She's exhausted.” Kinich answered. “Probably too tired to see you.”

“I didn't sign the divorce papers.” Lyney croaked out in a hoarse voice. “She's still Mrs. Snezhevich and still my wife. Pleas step aside.”

“Kinich, why are you taking so long to come back?” F/N's soft and languid voice sounded from the bedroom. “Is something wrong?”

At that moment, Lyney knew F/N would never return to his side again.

“F/N, don't worry.” Kinich assured. “it's nothing.”

The moment Kinich turned back to look at F/N, she saw Lyney standing outside the door..

“Did you come to deliver the divorce paper?” the freshly bathed F/N addressed her former partner. “Actually, you can just have your lawyer contact me directly. We have no financial entanglements, so the process should be pretty straightforward.”

“F/N.” Lyney gave a bitter smile. “I didn't sign the divorce papers. I don't want a divorce.”

“Kinich.” F/N looked away from Lyney and gently tugged his arm. “I might need a lawyer.”

“The Malipo's legal department is unmatched in South City.” Kinich let out a prideful smile. “If they can't handle it, I'll personally bring in someone. But I'm sure it won't come to that; it's just a simple divorce case.”

“Kinich, can you say those words you used when you first pursued me?” F/N asked, the budding couple were now cuddling on F/N's bed after Kinich drove Lyney away.

“F/N, I really like you.” Kinich flushed and looked away. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“I'll say yes this time.” F/N replied, giving Kinich a light kiss.

When Lyney's signed divorced papers arrived, the gold earrings of Agnes' four-piece betrothal jewellery were also finished and F/N called Agnes to arrange for a time to pick up the jewellery case.

A/N: Kinich fic No. 3. Why do you keep dodging me? Just why!?

P.S: Why do I keep doing this to my favorite characters? *Headdesk*

[thornsofthenightcourt]

What has this fandom come to?

So i usually never post on tumblr. i've always been a silent supporter for all my fandoms from the same blog i've had since middle school, mostly supernatural and it2017, etc.

But in the past few years, ACOTAR has utterly consumed me. It got me out of a 5 year reading slump and honestly brought back my fan girl self, someone who i havent seen in a LONG time.

I didnt want any spoilers for ANYTHING, so i stayed away from all online discourse surrounding these books. I was SO SO excited when I finally finished ACOSF to come on here and once again silently watch the fandom of a series I have grown to love so much.

Boy oh boy was I utterly confused. Not that i was expecting much, but as someone who stayed far away from any outsider theories or ships or anything, i truly expected everyone or the majority of people to be on the side of elriel??? Based on the CANON (yes, CANON) scenes between the two throughout all 5 books, and SJM making it very obvious that elain and luciens mating bond is the ONLY mating bond to ever be questioned, and Feyre herself creating the most romantic and iconic couple name for them, and nesta knowing why Az was the way he was on solstice night, i just kind of assumed that everyone picked up on the fact that elriel was next?????? The same way i could tell Nesta and Cassian were next since ACOWAR. I genuinely did not think there was any other conclusion to be made. Even my friends and family who aren't online agree that elriel will be next.

So imagine my pure shock and horror i had when the first fanart of az was with gwyn of all people? never, and i mean NEVER, during ACOSF did i picture them being together. As someone who purely only read the books and based my theories on what i was READING (cough cough ACTUAL CANON), it was always az and elain, just like it was always cassian and nesta even before ACOSF, just like it was always rhys and feyre even before ACOMAF (knew he was going to be the mmc when she described him as the most beautiful person she's ever seen). From the very moment the bat boys met the archeron sisters i picked up on the theme of three, the rulers, the warriors, and the spies. "Oh but its so boring and predictable" YOURE READING A FAERIE ROMANCE SERIES WHAT DO YOU EXPECT? It's almost like symmetry and patterns are IMPORTANT to story telling. It would be so unsatisfying if it was 2 sisters and 2 brothers, and then one sister and her unwanted mate who didnt stop her from being kidnapped and dragged into the cauldron, and then one brother and this random chick who was in the last book as a side character, only there to aid the plot line of a main character. It's almost like 3 sisters and 3 brothers is the perfect way to wrap up the stories of all 3 archeron sisters.

It's been months now of me just silently watching the ship wars go down (why is this even happening, why are we shipping someone with the very person who is making her visibly uncomfortable and cave into herself, like im literally going to crash out) and i quite literally have had enough. I cant be silent anymore. This fandom is the most toxic, anti against the literal series they are reading, compared to ANY other fandom i have been it. Dont even get me started on the whole rhys is evil and the IC sucks debate. I just genuinely have never seen a fandom deny canon text so much? How. HOW??

Anyways, my point is im sick of it. Elain clearly needs as much love as possible in this toxic ass household and I will no longer be a fly on the wall to witness her abuse. I LOVE YOU, ELAIN ARCHERON. You are fierce, beautiful, powerful, and have more kindness than all antis combined. To break you down into just a mate for someone just because people think he deserves it (spoiler: he doesnt) is utterly insane, and purely misogynistic and i will NOT stand for it. I am dedicating my entire blog to her from now on (and yes that includes az too, because CANONLY they have crushes on each other and want to kiss <3) because i am so sick of the misogynistic losers bringing my poor sweet girl down every chance they get. Elain you will always be famous.

(if you are against anything i said in this and comment, you will be blocked i dont even have the energy to argue)

[etherealily]

ᴍᴇɴᴀᴄᴇ // ᴛᴀɴɢᴇʀɪɴᴇ

My other Tangerine fics. If you have the time.

Tangerine + fem!reader. Cussing, but SFW.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Note : Can you tell this was supposed to be a series but I wasn't sure the plot was likeable so I just cut a lot? If it isn't intuitive, tell me. Queued + not proofread.

Desc. : He hates the word 'fate', but it's superglued to the two of you, it seems.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A year ago, nearly, you'd received a text.

A simple "hello", not much. Before you could respond, though :

Are you still one of them online shrinks?

Being a Psych major, you'd registered to talk to people online. Whoever was down, emotionally. Figured it'd add as volunteer work for your resume. And it'd worked, so when your "tenure" (if you could even call it that) was up, you were fine, you'd earned your certificate, your experience.

But you were done with that. You were constantly terrified you'd fuck someone up worse, so once was enough for you.

So who the hell was this guy?

I'm not, no, I'm not a licensed therapist.

Do you still study therapy?

Yeah?

Great, can I call?

How did you get this number?

My brother really needs your help, alright? Pick up?

Alright.

The phone rang immediately.

And you hadn't stopped picking up since then.

What if this bloke was suicidal and you didn't pick up one day and he just bloody shot himself in the mouth? Couldn't have that on your conscience, and not a great way to start your career as a therapist.

He maintains that his name is and always has been Tangerine, and his brother's is Lemon, which pisses you off, big-time. Bullshit. What sort of mother is that cruel?

It's really not a normal day until you receive a call from him, though. lt's a part of your routine, now. The police would be called if he didn't call within the 24 hours you call a day.

You'd made a game of predicting when. Because it really came at odd times. One day, he calls you in the middle of class, the other, in the middle of sleep. It's a gamble.

One you're becoming less and less sure you're willing to take.

Because he doesn't ever give you a straight answer as to what he actually does for a living, or where he even is. For all you know, you could be talking to a terrorist or a hitman or summat.

Or worse, a genuinely fucked-up guy that you're probably fuckin' up worse because you're not licensed, and he won't listen when you tell him that.

"Can you hear me?" Honey, thick, dazzling. His voice.

"Yeah.", you reply.

"What were you doin'? Right before I called?" He always asks this and you've tried saying diabolically odd things to throw him off, but his only reply is "havin' lots of fun, then?"

And today, you're too tired to lie.

"Just... walkin' about. 'Member the croissants I was tellin' you about? The shop's moved, so I have a longer route to walk."

He knows. They're both watching you.

"Lovely. How's that thesis comin'?"

"Brilliant. What were you doin'?"

Tangerine squints down at the blood he'd just wiped from his forehead with a grimace. "Work."

"Yeah?" Again, could be a surgeon, could be an insurgent.

"Yeah. Figured I'd call. Y'know. Get your therapy or whatever."

"Get my therapy? You realise it's not so much a product as it is a service?

"Product, service, who cares. Point is, I just thought I'd call."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Been, uh, y'know. Thinking. Of what you said last time."

"What did I say last time?"

"The whole... you-steal-things-because-you-never-had-anything-of-your-own-shite.", he grumbles.

"Ah.", you sigh, watching the pedestrian light flicker and cars whizzing by. "And?"

"And you're a real good shrink.", he huffs, pinching his nose and running his fingers across the length of it.

"I need it on the record that you know I'm not a licensed therapist."

"You might as well be."

"No, no, no. That's a very important distinction."

"Alright. So you're an almost-shrink. Whatever. How was your day?"

"Pretty chill. Just working. Can we please circle back to the stealing-things bit?"

He grins, shaking his coat and flapping it around to get rid of any excess blood as he balances the phone between his ear and shoulder. "I dunno, alright? I see summat, I need to take it. I told you all this."

"But now you think my suggestion of 'why' you're doing it might apply?"

Huffing, he puts the phone on speaker before wordlessly shushing his brother.

"I thought you'd be happy. You're probably right, yeah?"

"Why would I be happy that I was right when it harms you?"

"Aw. That's adorable, that."

He's not sure why he's so obsessed with you. Yes, he's grateful. You are very good at being a shrink. But why he's so taken? Question for the ages.

Perhaps it's the fact that you picked up the first time. Maybe it's your patience. Maybe it's the fact that you're probably so suspicious of him, but your benefit of doubt has let you make very troubling decisions. Like, for instance, ignore things he says that the government would usually encourage civilians to report.

"Got a moral question for ya, if you're up for it."

"What's that, then?'

"Do you think — and I saw this in an American movie— that bombing a hotel room is terrorism? Even if the hotel room contained one of the world's worst cartel lords?"

You sigh. He does this far too often for either of your good. "Mate."

"Mm?" Are you onto him?

"You have got to stop watching these movies."

He snorts. "Are those Doctor's orders, then?"

"I'm not a doctor, but yeah, my humble advice is to stop watching those sorts of movies if you keep ruminating over the ethics of them so much it keeps you up at night."

"It doesn't keep me up at night. It's fun."

"That's not normal."

Lemon punches his shoulder, tapping on his watch, and he rolls his eyes. "Alright, I've got to go. Got a dinner with my brother."

"Alright."

"Bye, gorgeous."

You fight an eye roll. "Bye."

You've always refused to say his "name", because it's absolutely fucking ridiculous.

He shoves his phone into his pocket before turning to his brother, rubbing at his arm. "Was that bloody necessary?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Cockblock."

"Wh— I didn't introduce you so you could end up shaggin' her!", Lemon scoffs, shouldering past him to unzip the bomb-containing duffle bag.

A duffle bag. With a bomb. Very unique, secretive, never done before.

No, he introduced him to you because his nicking almost caused him to fuck up a job. And now, you're the closest point of contact to the new target. Which is, actually, quite lovely for him, because he has an excuse to watch you. Fuck, he sounds psychotic.

"There's no black-and-white rule that you can't shag your shrinks, alright? Have you seen her?"

"I'm not answerin' that.", mutters Lemon, gently placing the bomb on the table. "Alright, so we place this in the room tomorrow, then this weekend, when he's in the room, you go to—"

"Hang on, hang on."

He pointedly ignores Lemon's eye roll as he dials you again. "If she picks up again, she's down for a shag, too.", he grins.

"She'll obviously pick up, she's your shrin—"

"Hello?"

Tangerine smirks, patting his brother on the back. "You cheeky little minx. You're not only fuckin' sexy, you're also a bit of an unprofessional menace, aren't you?"

"What?"

"Drop the act, alright? Also drop the coat you're wearin'."

You nearly drop the phone. "What?"

"Yes, before you ask, I am watchin' you, but so's about... maybe three other people? So, yeah, drop it.", he drawls, rolling his ring across his fingers. You'd hopefully be impressed at that, but that's only if you ever get to actually fuckin' see him, and you can't, not this soon.

Not if he can help it, anyway.

"My coat?"

"Unless you're not wearin' anything underneath. In which case, definitely drop it."

"Alright, fuck off if you're just wasting my t—."

"Listen, if you have a death wish, I'll hang up, but it'd be easier just to run into traffic. Gettin' hunted ain't that fun, trust me.", he replies, screwing the ring back onto his finger before reaching over to his cigarette again.

A little bit of silence. He sees you slowing down, before shaking your head as your pace picks back up again and your phone's balanced between your ear and shoulder as you unbutton your coat. "If this is just you bein' a perv, I swear—"

"What? You'll what?", he chuckles, blowing out smoke as he rests one knee over the other. "You'll report "a kleptomanic bloke in a suit named Tangerine" to the peelers? You'll get laughed out of the station and shoved into a straitjacket."

You decide to ignore that.

Your coat eventually lands on the pavement with a ruffle. "Mate, it's cold and you're scarin' me. Who's following me?"

"Turn the left corner."

You do.

"Now the next one.", he whispers, conspiratorially. "The next one. Yeah, the one after that."

Lemon fights a chortle, shaking his head as he smacks his chest. "You're the fuckin' menace."

"But then I'll end up right back where I— where's my coat? It was just there!"

"Exactly. You believe me now? That people are followin' you? Now take the right corner and go through the alley right there. No, not the second alley to your right, the third. Yeah, keep going. You're there, you're doin' a good job."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the actual f—"

"No, just look more frantic, yeah? Will do wonders for making you look inconspicuous.", he scoffs.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm... where am I going, where am I supposed to g—"

He sits up, a funny little furrow to his brows, one mirrored by his brother, manning the cameras. "Alright, first, you're gonna go to your happy place, 'cause you look real fuckin' close to a whole panic attack and we do not need that, do we?"

"No, sorry."

"Right, deep breaths, alright? Now, you're gonna— fuck, alright, uh, keep walking straight, draw as little attention to yourself as possible."

"You said 'fuck', why'd you say 'fuck', what happened? What happ— Tangerine, what the fuck happened?"

He clears his throat, standing as he adjusts his tie, his sleeves, his coat, and all you can hear is the rustling of clothes. "Nothing, just keep walking straight, uh, when you see me, give me the biggest snog of your life. The wetter the better."

You freeze. "I beg your fucking pardon?"

"Don't pause, you idiot! You've watched that Marvel movie, haven't you? Where the, uh... what's her name? Black Widow, yeah, where she says snogging makes people uncomfortable enough to look away? She wasn't lyin', you know?"

You scoff. He was joking. This whole time, he's been messing with you, and you're falling for it so easily, it should be illegal.

He's probably not even watching you, some rando probably picked up your coat. Ugh!

How could you even think of the possibility that he was an 'assassin'? Your imagination should be studied.

"You're fucking insane!", you hiss, throwing your head up, glaring at the sky because you couldn't glare at him. There's a sort of reluctant smile on your face that he wants to snog off you.

"Just a distraction from your thesis, and the croissants, or whatnot. You're welcome."

Fuck.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Tangerine isn't convinced this isn't terrorism. How could he be, when this guy's room was in the middle of the fucking floor?! Wouldn't exactly help in the whole discreet aspect of their fucking job, would it?

And so, he stands in the fucking elevator of this ridiculously ginormous hotel, tapping his foot and imagining all the people in the lobby slowly becoming the size of ants. Imagining, not watching. It's good it's not a transparent elevator. Bad for business, that would be.

Twenty two fucking floors left?

He'd off himself if he didn't want the money.

The fifth floor, however, is where you walked in, and this whole mundane affair suddenly became heaps more interesting.

His first instinct is obviously to yell and ask how the hell you've tracked him, and shouldn't you be in bloody college right now, but then he realises you don't know what he looks like.

Curiosity wins, and he has to know if you recognise what he sounds like.

The first thing he notices about you is how fucking bored you looked. Out of place in this buzzing, unnecessarily-opulent swanky hotel. The music blaring through your ears (so loud that he could pick it up), seems to be nothing more than the sound of a pin-drop to your zoned-out self.

Enter Tangerine.

"Bonjour."

You raise a brow, lifting one headphone off your ear. "Uh, bonjour.", you reply back, politely, although it's clear you're weirded out. Fair.

His outfit, however (unlike on his other missions) is probably not what freaked you out about him.

The sharp suit and tie was a staple in this hellhole of a posh hotel. In Paris. That's what pisses him off. It makes no sense for you to be all the way here when you're supposed to be at Uni, slaving over a thesis. You had been, a couple days ago. You told him as such. So what the hell were you doing here?

"Quelle heure est-il?", he inquires. Asking for the time, he'd gathered, was the only form of small talk that was acceptable with these rich snobs.

Your eyes move from the slowly ascending floor numbers on the wall back to him, and then the watch on his wrist that he completely forgot to hide.

Continuing to glare at him, you reach into your pocket for your phone, turning it around and shoving it in his face so he could read the time.

"Merci."

You nod tersely, and he has to conceal his grin. This is the most fun he'd had in ages, and last week, he and Lemon had had to interrogate a stripper, so that was saying something.

"Mm... parlez-vous anglais?"

"Yeah?" Oh, thank fuck you didn't act like you couldn't speak English. His French is less than acceptable.

"Oh, good. I just wanted to say, y'know, my watch, it's not working."

He sees the subtle head tilt, the glint of recognition flashing through your eyes, and he knows his accent and his voice is ringing a bell somewhere in that stunning little head of yours.

"I saw you lookin' at it.", he continues. "'M not a creep who's about to ask you the time so he can distract you or summat. 'M just genuinely askin'."

"Why'd you wear a broken watch, then?"

"It just... stopped on the way here. Figured, since there's a watch shop somewhere here, I'll see if they can't fix it, too, for extra price."

"Smart."

"Yeah. But that was smart, too, though. The whole not-even-looking-down-at-your-phone-for-a-second thing. Very smart.", he praises, pointing at you with a ringed finger. At least he knows you're being safe when you're outside the Uni.

Except for visiting your estranged, drug-trafficking uncle for the first time in your entire life, unfortunately during the exact time that he was assigned to kill said uncle.

So, what are you here for, then? Like... vacation or...?"

Your brows furrow, and he's suddenly slapped in the face with the realisation that you really don't know who he is. Fuck. He keeps forgetting that little fact.

You shrug, nevertheless. Oh, he needs to give you a lesson on stranger danger. You don't talk to strangers. "Uh, yeah."

"Me, as well."

Both of you know the other's lying, but honestly. What's the point in trying to decipher the truth of each others' presences when you wouldn't even have three more minutes with each other?

He nods, meticulously watching you gnaw at your upper lip. "And I suppose you just happen to be going onto the same floor as I am?", he observes, pointing at the numbers on the elevator wall before shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Or maybe you're going onto the same floor as I am."

He snorts, nodding as he reaches into his coat's inner pocket.

You tense, and his eyes shoot up. He's not making a good first face-to-face impression, but something tells him your fates are intertwined, and he hates it. Makes him sound like Lemon, believing in all that drivel.

"Relax, love, no firearms, no weapons, no nothin'. Just a celly.", he assures, wiggling the phone around in front of your face.

Nevertheless, your jaw clenches, and once again, he has to hide his grin of mirth. Wow, how did he get this lucky? Work and a show? He was gettin' paid for vacation, essentially.

"Now.", he mutters, holding his cell phone the safe distance away from his eyes, before typing in something.

Nuclear codes? You'd never know.

A comment on a Twitter thread? Possible, he seemed like a little shit-stirrer.

"I'm going to show you summat. A little document, but not the entire thing, of course. You tell me if your last name's on there. If it isn't, we have no problem. Yeah?", he offers, shrugging. "if it is... we'll finish this in the elevator. Deal?"

You scoff, crossing your arms as you tap your foot, turning off your phone so that the light buzz of the music still playing through your headphones dissipated from the elevator.

"Come on, sweetheart, we're both adults here." He raises a brow after an emphatic pause. "Deal?"

You look at him for a moment, and he's just about ready to shoot the cameras and bring you to your knees. What a shame. He was always having to kill the people he wanted to shag. Really wasn't fair.

"Deal.", you say, curtly.

That's good, it snapped him back into the zone. "Mm. Alright.", he mumbles, his thumb scrolling, text running past the screen. He turns the phone to you, the same way you had a couple minutes ago, watching your eyes as they scurried across the screen.

Your eyes stop moving, and he smirks. "Yeah?"

"Right there."

He furrows his brows in mock curiosity, tapping his chin before turning the screen back to himself. "Which one?"

"Third from the bottom."

"Oh, right, the only one that's not checked off, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, well, that's a lovely twist of fate, innit?", he muses, shoving his phone back in his coat pocket and sniffing before clearing his throat. "Beautiful." Ugh, that word again. Fate.

He makes a show of looking down at his watch, before rolling his eyes all exaggerated, because 'Oh, right. Silly me.'

And then he strikes.

A pistol presses right on your sternum, a hand presses on the elevator wall beside your head, and a little pout forms on the lips in front of you. "Alright, love?"

"Alright.", you grit out. Fuck. Come to visit your stupid estranged, black-sheep-uncle no one seems to want to talk about and you get mugged in a bloody elevator.

"Weapon?"

"None."

He sighed. "Again, I'll ask. Weapon?"

Narrowing your eyes at him, you gently lift up your foot so you could reach in for the knife lodged between your skin and your boot — per your rich, evidently notorious uncle's instructions — without taking your gaze off of him.

He brandishes it around in front of the elevator mirror for a moment. "Piratey. I love it. Anything else?'

"No."

"Love, I don't have the patience nor the time—", he chuckles, gesturing at his broken wristwatch, "For all that."

"I really don't have anything else."

He weighs his options - believing or not believing you - for a moment, before shaking his head, obviously choosing the latter. "You're really not letting me disprove the creep allegations, eh?", he scoffs, his hand gripping your waist for a moment (more for himself than anything else), before shoving his hands up your top, ripping off the gun plastered to the back of your bra. "Hot.", he remarks, lifting your top up further. "A fuckin' revolver, too? What are you, a Midwest cowgirl or summat?", he asks, peeling the thing from being strapped to the front of your bra. "Any other surprises I should know about?"

"No."

This time, he believes you. "Alright.", he huffs, rubbing at his forehead with the edge of one of your guns, shoving the rest of your weapons into his pockets. "How'd you know we were gonna be here, then?"

Familiarity aside, he's a complete stranger. Tangerine has to keep reminding himself of that fact.

Must be hard, being you in this moment, he reckons.

Your uncle that no one in your family talks to mails you and tells you he's some generational crimelord and you need to come so you get your fair share of his money, and so here you bloody were.

With weapons, as the mail had apparently clearly instructed. Funny, seeing as you obviously had no idea how to use them and no idea why you would need them until this bloke suddenly started threatening you.

"Information.", you reply.

"That's not telling me too much, now, is it, love?"

You shrug, wincing when he presses the mouth of his gun even harder against your sternum.

"Do you get off on this shite?", you manage to spit out.

Oh, was he waiting for that question.

"On what? Guns? Or feeling pretty girls up?"

"Murder."

Good response.

"Depends."

"Mm."

"You're not asking me what it depends on.", he observes.

"No, I'm not."

In a sudden flash, he has his arm around the front of your neck, his chin on your shoulder, his gun pressed between his abdomen and your back. "Move and the bullet's in your blood.", he whispers, before kissing your cheek.

Of course he's going to milk this. Who wouldn't? Pretty bird like you trapped in an elevator with him. It's basically an elevator to heaven at this point.

Swaying you slightly, he (and his stupid fucking moustache) smiles against your neck as the doors part, an elderly, clearly filthy rich couple walking in, polite smiles etched on their faces.

He makes a big show of pretending that he's flustered at holding you so intimately when they'd walked in.

And then, the old lady speaks. "Oh, don't be shy on our account. We were on our honeymoon, once, too."

Oh, buggering Christ.

"Yeah? Always wanted to come to Paris, this one.", he replies, shaking you slightly with the hand that's wrapped around the entire expanse of your ribs, his thumb brushing your collarbone almost exactly like a newlywed madly in love would.

"Ah, she must be so happy."

"Aren't you, my heart?", he muses, kissing at your temple.

You nod, your jaw clenched so you didn't reach back and elbow him in the crotch. You couldn't have bent that way, but still. A girl could dream, yeah?

"She's a bit shellshocked. Embarrassed, even, I would say.", he explains.

Tittery laughter that makes you want to claw your eyes out, and then the elevator dings. "That's us. 16th. We'll see you at the buffet dinner this evening, perhaps?"

"Yes, of course.", he reassures, waving them off until the doors closed once more.

"That's us one day, isn't it, my dear?", he taunts, swiftly spinning you back around to face the mirror he'd been leaning on the whole time. "Look. A couple more wrinkles, a pearl necklace, and you're her. The same clothes, a bit of a shave and grey hair and I'm him."

"Where does the pistol come in?", you spit, glaring at the thing he was gently trailing from your spine around to your chin.

"Bedroom.", he retorts, almost immediately.

You scoff in disgust, and he guffaws. "Right. Now. Back to business. How'd you know we'd be here?"

"I told you. Information."

"Not enough."

"Not my problem. You're going to kill me either way."

"Yes, but wouldn't you like to get to Heaven? Do a good deed, help a bloke out, make sure he doesn't lose his job to loose ends? Would earn you points before you go."

"You want me to tell you where I got the information about you because it's a 'good deed'?"

He nods. "Will you do that?", he asks.

"No."

"Yeah, thought not. So you're coming with me, then? To watch the rest of your family be shot, and then be bombed with all of them?"

No response, as he expected. "Oh, cheer up, love, the honeymoon period doesn't last that long, anyway."

You tilt your head. Did he just say bomb? "You're bombing my uncle's hotel room?"

"That's what I said. Things you do for a paycheque, yeah? But I sort of understand it. Cathartic, no? Plus, cleaner. No huge investigations on the victims, just the damages caused to the hotel. And a possible motive, maybe."

Bombing a hotel room. Now, where the fuck had you heard that before? Especially in this very strong accent? Couldn't put your finger on it.

Ding. You look up. "One more floor.", you mutter, absentmindedly.

You say that far too casually for his liking.

"Fuck.", he murmurs. "Meant what I said, you're really fucking smart." Quick as lightning, he presses the button for the 24th floor, plowing you out with him. "How many are waiting up there for the ambush?", he growls, glancing up at the ceiling of the (thankfully empty) 24th lobby.

Wow. You'd been given an out! "Too many for you.", you lie.

"What happened to my brother?"

"Was he in the building?"

"No."

"Then nothing."

"Fuck. Fuck, it's always the sexy ones that are, like..."

"Dangerous?"

"No, annoying! One job, that's all I'm asking, one job that goes smooth so I can relax, go to the beach, then have a cuppa."

"Don't get a lot of those in your line of work, do you?"

"Listen, smart-mouth, this is what we're going to do. I'm going to text my brother. We're going to abort our plan. I don't know what sort of communication system you lot have, but you will te—"

Blast.

Lemon had activated the fucking bomb, and you're both suddenly on your hands and knees, a couple pieces of debris hitting his back as he, out of some odd instinct, shields you from it all.

His ears ringing, he's pretty sure he's yelling something at you, but he can't figure out what it was, and what you're yelling back.

All he can make out is the terror on your face.

He loves his job, he really does, it helps his creative side fluorish, pays well, and hey, he was trained for this. If he didn't do it, who else would? But sometimes, when he leaves a survivor, he has to come face-to-face with the chaos he's caused. Like now. He's lucky his arms are holding your wrists down firmly to the ground, because fuck, would you have uppercut the (nonexistent) soul out of him.

"Shall I kill you, as well?" It's a genuine question, not rhetorical. If you're going to be a liability, get the Twins arrested or tracked, he needs to know.

You vehemently shake your head and he huffs, nodding as he blew hair from his eyes, looking around at the debris-fort around you. "Let's get out of here. Can you walk?"

"I'm not goin' anywhere with you!"

"You really don't want to be here when the police get in here."

You sigh. Yeah, that was true.

"Are they all dead, then?"

He pauses. Looks up. "Yeah."

"Every last one?"

"Listen, it's all part of the job, love, alright? No matter how hot I find you, or the fun little banter we had in the elevator, I mean— none of it was personal."

You aren't deluded. This isn't an apology, or even an attempt at easing his own conscience. This is just a statement.

Once you make it to the lobby— difficult feat considering he had to walk you down twenty-three floors with your bad leg — he grunts as he slumps onto a couch, watching you do the same next to him after waving off a couple paramedics asking if you were alright.

You both watch them all run into the bomb site with the rest of the authorities in silence.

A tiny ruffle, the soft shifting of tissues and his hand emerges back out from his coat pocket. "Pastry?"

"Where'd you get that?", you ask, glaring at the tiny yellow thing that looks like it actually could solve your entire problem and get your mind off the fact that you'd known your estranged uncle (with a huge fortune) all of two seconds.

He tilts his head, raising a brow as he breaks off a piece.

You furrow your brows for a moment, before you sigh in realisation. You don't even have the energy to be shocked. "Fuck. You nicked it."

He shrugs, handing the piece to you. "Can't help it."

"So you're Tangerine."

"Yeah."

"Tangerine is a codename, then. Knew no one would name their kid that, not even the richest, hippie-est, most out-of-touch-celebrity.", you mumble, through bites.

He licks his lips, stretching for a moment, with a polite nod at the lobby receptionist, before turning back to you. "You really should get that license. You're an amazing shrink."

"I'll need one, probably. After all this."

"Listen, so long as you go back to college, I'll make sure you're not bloody killed."

"Oh, that's so sweet, thanks a ton.", you scoff. "I'll be going now."

He yanks your hand to get you back down. "I'm serious, alright? You're not going to go report us and then get yourself killed because you're miffed that we killed your uncle. Yeah?"

You nod, and he kisses your temple (in defeat, probably? Or remorse. Either way, he kisses you like you'll disintegrate if he does it too hard), before patting your head.

"Good girl. Off you pop."

"Never leave a survivor", and he's left a very liable one.

Oh, he's gonna get an earful from Lemon for this.

[tkomptgoedluv]

watermelon.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.3

pt.1 here | pt.2 here | pt.3 | pt.4 here

joost klein x f! reader

tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader still really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, angst angst and even more angst, did i mention angst?, tooth-rotting fluff, so fluffy it’s honestly a little cringe <3, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 3,495.

warnings: very brief + vague reference to SA, rpf.

notes: hello!! welcome to pt.3 <3 this is probably the part that i’m most proud of, probably because it weirdly hurt the most to write. a couple fun facts about this part: reader’s coat is heavily based on one i have in real life and absolutely adore. also, i genuinely couldn’t bring myself to touch this wip for two whole days because my personal life started to match up with this storyline and i did not like it! became a little too self-indulgent. anyways — enjoy!! lemme know what you think.

love you all lots 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

in a lot of ways, the whole situation was more or less your own idea of hell — ironic, considering it all started with literally the worst night of your life.

not once did you ever think that you’d be here, that this was how things were gonna go. the fun part? you don’t even know how you got here in the first place. for someone so in the middle of it all, you know surprisingly little about what actually happened, or what you must’ve done wrong.

all you know is that it’s different now. joost is different now.

you still text everyday, a few phone calls here and there, and you’ll see him in person a few times a month or more, but you can still feel it. the subtle lack of emotion in his messages, the only-ever increasing wait times in between responses, the missing details in his stories that you’d still end up hearing from your friends. something, at some point, shifted and joost just didn’t seem to be your joost anymore.

at first, you tried to think nothing of it. you weren’t exactly a stranger to anxiety; it’s always been just a little too easy for you to get lost inside your own head. this also wasn’t the first time that you had fallen down this rabbit hole, suddenly convinced that someone you love doesn’t even like you because they said something in a slightly different tone once.

but then those weird few days where things didn’t feel quite right turned into weeks, and it just didn’t feel like nothing anymore.

you thought it could’ve been the videos because, as predicted, entire montages of the fight found their way onto each and every little corner of the internet. joost could be seen clear as day swinging for him, landing punch after punch until one of his friends would eventually step in. though somehow, the backlash against joost never came. for every clip there was a ‘story-time’ to go right along with it, and every single one explained how joost was just defending ‘this girl that had been attacked by that guy.’

so instead you exhausted yourself by asking if everything was alright, just in case there was something else going on that he also hadn’t told you. but there was only so many times that you could ask the same question over and over again, only to get the same answer back.

joost was fine; great even.

so it had to be you. nothing was wrong, nothing bad had happened, it was simply just you that had repelled him all of a sudden. and that was all you could think about whilst you sat in a room surrounded by your closest friends — joost included.

it was someone’s birthday, a friend of a friend who’s name was still unknown to you and yet somehow you still ended up with an invite. aspon was on your left, deep in a conversation with stuntje about some new anime you’d never heard of, and alanis was on your right, asking to see pictures of daan’s latest art piece.

you, of course, were there in between them all, just staring into space. all of the ice in your drink had melted as it sat forgotten about in your hands, and you were fairly confident that you had memorised each and every scratch in the wooden flooring. you were yet to find a better place to look other than the floor, because of course it was joost that had to be sat opposite you.

he had pulled the short straw really, because by the time he came back in from his cigarette outside, the only seat left was one of those awful, plastic fold-up chairs. like the others he too was wrapped up in a conversation of his own, only his included a girl that you’d never seen before, and he was making her laugh a lot.

you didn’t have a single right to absolutely despise what it was that you were seeing, but still your skin felt hot and itchy, and tears burned behind your eyes. despite arriving together in your group and being seated a measly three feet away from each other, joost was yet to even glance in your direction, let alone talk to you. the blatant avoidance was unbearable; the new ‘you’ that he was talking to was even worse.

but with the anger came the shame, because really, you had no excuse to be feeling like this. two strangers with mutual friends, talking with one another at a house party of all places, wasn’t exactly incriminating. they also weren’t touching or even flirting for that matter — from what you could hear, their conversation seemed limited to small anecdotes about the people in common they both knew.

you weren’t being fair, you weren’t being reasonable; there was no excuse for the tightness in your chest.

without a word, you got up and made a dash for the balcony; desperate for a cigarette. so desperate in fact, that you didn’t stop to grab your jacket despite the rain bashing against the windows. you just needed the fresh air, needed space away from whatever the fuck was going on in there.

the small roof that the balcony upstairs provided did little to shield you from the rain. your hair quickly fell damp around the sides of your face as the wind brought goosebumps to your arms. you really should’ve stopped to grab your coat, you were soaking now.

but the pure, unbridled relief that you felt when you breathed in the smoke of your cig made it all worth it, though. it was something else to focus on, something to help soothe all of your aches and pains. best of all, it gave you a reason to be by yourself for a while — a moment alone to think, to breathe, a chance to get a fucking grip.

you took another drag of your cigarette.

“think you forgot this, schatje.”

over the sound of the heavy-falling rain and the music from inside, you hadn’t heard the balcony door slide open and shut again.

from the corner of your eye you saw joost standing there, clad in a black gilet and the same adidas track-jacket that you had bought for him two birthdays ago. your coat was in his outstretched hands; a big, red furry thing that almost swallowed you whole every time you put it on.

“yeah…thanks.”

you wanted to cry.

the silence that followed was heavy and awkward; neither of you could even look at each other as you took your jacket from him and slipped it on. whilst you focused on looking outwards towards the skyline, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill, joost busied himself with lighting up a cigarette of his own. it felt like you were standing next to a stranger, and not someone who quite literally knew every single little thing about you.

someone who always picked up the phone when you called; someone whose bed you’ve woken up naked in just a few too many times to count.

“you, uh, you doing okay?”

you almost choked on your cigarette.

he’d barely even glanced your way all night, too distracted by other female attention to really care that you were there at all, and now he wanted to know how you were doing? oh he had to be joking.

you stubbed out your cig underneath your shoe and went to storm back inside, shoving past him with your shoulder as you did so. you had almost made it too, before he caught you by the arm and gently pulled you back. it really pissed you off how hurt he looked, like this wasn’t all his fault in the first place.

“hey, can we not just talk for a minute? i wanna know what’s been up with you recently. we don’t really talk anymore.”

as hard as you could you pushed him off of you, and then you pushed him once more for good measure. you couldn’t bite it back anymore, couldn’t keep it all from spilling out when your blood was already boiling. if you were to regret it in the morning, you would just blame it on the few drinks you’ve already had.

“and why the fuck do you think that is, joost? tell me.”

a small part of you that you really couldn’t quite understand, genuinely hoped that he would push you back. that he’d get all up in your face, yelling at the top of his lungs, just as angry with you as you were with him. you wanted him to shout, to scream at you about how wrong you were; you wanted to feel crazy for even thinking that something could ever go wrong between the two of you.

you didn’t want him to just…stand there with his tail tucked between his legs, looking like he had already given up on you a long time ago. you found yourself shoving him again, only hard enough to knock him back a step or two this time.

“tell me!”

now more than ever you wished that you could stay angry, that you knew how to hold onto the outrage instead of always just breaking down into pieces. it made you feel so small the way that your voice was cracking; your shouts quickly shrinking into cries. you felt like a child again, begging to understand why everyone always left in the end.

“i just needed to work some stuff out, okay? none of this was meant to happen. i never wanted to make you cry.”

you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, the state of your mascara becoming an afterthought, before raking your fingers through your hair. thin strands stuck to the corners of your face and the back of your neck.

“please, tell me what i can do to make it better.”

joost was panicking now, looking a lot like an old dog that somehow knew it was about to be left behind at the shelter. you could see it in the way his hands were shaking and how he couldn’t quite seem to stand still, shifting from one leg to another.

“you can tell me what happened; what changed or what i did wrong. i don’t care.”

from the look on his face, you never would have guessed that all you’d asked him for was the truth; ‘panicked’ was no longer the right word.

“i can’t. i promise, i’ll tell you later but i can’t tell you here. not like this.”

you laughed — you couldn’t help it. three months ago, when you asked him why he was so insistent on doing anything and everything for you, he gave you the exact same line. either he forgot that he’s already used it once before, or he thought you were stupid enough to fall for it all over again; either way, you knew now that ‘later’ was never coming.

before you really knew what you were doing, you were back inside and weaving your way through the small huddles of your friends. a few stared as you began to tread water through the house, a long line of watery footprints following behind you on your way out. you muttered a quiet ‘i’ll see you guys later’ to whoever was listening and in one smooth motion, grabbed your bag from one of the tables and disappeared through the front door, slamming it behind you.

no one tried to stop you. probably for good reason, too, because you could feel the makeup running down your face.

the only good thing to come from looking so sad and drenched from the rain was that nobody on the street stopped to bother you either. not many people were out in this weather anyway, so at most you felt their eyes on you as they passed, a look of pity on their faces. pity for a girl all dressed up for a nice night out, just to be walking home early in tears.

you didn’t want their pity, you just wanted to go home. you wanted your bed and your pyjamas. you wanted a nice warm shower and to try and forget that today ever fucking happened.

you didn’t want joost to be chasing after you.

you didn’t want to hear your name being yelled from down the street by the one person you didn’t want to see right now.

“cmon you always do this! stop running away from everything.”

that was the thing to get you; the one thing that made you stop and turn on the spot.

“oh i’m the one running away? you’re the one that left!”

you met him halfway with steam coming out of your ears, your hands trembling and nose all scrunched up. you were fuming and it seemed as though he was now, too.

“i never went anywhere! you’re making it sound like i disappeared off the face of the earth or something.”

“well that’s what it felt like! what about that don’t you understand?”

you were each taking turns yelling now, oblivious to how loud you were actually being. people were sticking their heads out of their living room windows, morbidly curious about the scene that was unfolding right outside their homes. those that walked by did double-takes and even contemplated getting their phones out to record.

“but i’m here now! and i was ‘here’ back there and you just ran away like you always do!”

“did you really expect me to just stand there and listen to you lie again? all this ‘oh i’ll tell you later’ crap, it’s just bullshit. ever since that night you’ve been different and if what that guy did to me changed how you see me then maybe you’re right, maybe we should stop being whatever the fuck we are.”

joost physically recoiled at your words, his entire demeanour changing to one of hurt.

“what are you..? schatje no, no, it’s nothing like that. fuck, please tell me you don’t really think that.”

how could you not? it was the only thing left for you to think. it wasn’t like you wanted to come to that conclusion or that it was the first one you jumped to, but joost never gave you any other choice. as much as it hurt, it was better than simply not knowing.

something died in him when you nodded — you saw it in his eyes. tears of his own spilled down his cheeks as he rubbed his hands up and down his face, wiping his nose with the inside of his elbow.

“i…i would never; that guy…that wasn’t your fault.”

“then tell me the truth, joost.”

all that adrenaline, all that energy from before was long gone. you weren’t two people arguing in the rain, full of love and anger like something straight out of a romcom anymore. you were just two people standing out in the cold, soaked to the bone, just trying to hold on for a little while longer.

you were still waiting for joost to say something, trying to prepare yourself for the worst. if he was to say that same shit again, that he couldn’t tell you now but would later on, that would be it for you. you’d walk away and not turn back again, not for anything; just like that it would be game over.

but joost wasn’t saying anything, and you couldn’t decide if that was any better or not. he was silent as he took a couple steps towards you, the palms of his hands suddenly cupping either side of your jaw. the pads of his thumbs wiped away all the tears and rain from your eyes and tucked the odd strands of hair behind your ears. not once did he glance away from your gaze, not once did he say something.

it was driving you crazy.

“joost?” you were pleading with him now, desperate for him to say something — do something. the way he was looking at you, it was like you were the only thing he could see. “say something.”

“i love you.”

you blinked, and all of sudden you weren’t quite sure what to do with your hands anymore. it wasn’t the first time joost had said that to you because he says it to everyone, every single one of his friends. but he had never said it to you like that before, with a look in his eyes so heavy you feared that they might fall right out of his head.

“what?” your voice cracked as you spoke. “i don’t understand…what?”

“i love you. that’s what changed.”

a headache was coming, you could feel it. right behind your eyes, you felt a twinge, and then a subtle thumping that made your eyebrows twitch. you just couldn’t wrap your head around it, and the more you tried to make sense of it the more your head hurt.

“i swear to god if this is a fucking joke, if you’re just making this up -”

he shut you up with a kiss.

it wasn’t exactly for the first time or even close to being so, but it felt as though it could’ve been; all soft, gentle, careful. the hands that held either side of your face did so as though you could’ve cracked and shattered at any second. he moved slowly, almost hesitantly, until he felt you turn into mush beneath him. only then did he pull away, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

but you couldn’t let him have it though, could you? couldn’t just let him have the upper hand, just like that. you had to chase it, had to pull him down to your height by the collar of his jacket until your lips could meet his. by the time you were finished, both shaking and breathless, there were faint smudges of red all across his mouth.

“that was so hot; do it again.”

you laughed at his words for not the first time tonight, but now it was only out of pure joy instead of anything else. you laughed because of how out of it joost looked now, his eyes glossed over and lips parted ever so slightly as he panted. you laughed because of how much you did want to do it again and how you felt giddy knowing that joost wanted you to do it again too.

so you did. only this time joost was ready and pounced on you hard enough to knock you back a couple of steps, almost making you slip on the wet pavement. his fingers lost themselves in your hair, gently tugging at the roots as yours gripped onto the nylon of his jacket for dear life, too afraid to let go and risk letting him slip away.

you would have stayed like that with him all night if it wasn’t for the wolf whistle you heard from one of the windows above, followed by the rumble of thunder. the rain was starting to fall harder now, the storm only growing and you didn’t like knowing that people were watching you now.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here — people are looking.”

with his forehead resting against yours, joost simply groaned as he struggled to catch his breath. his hands still cradled the back of your head and his eyes were still squeezed shut.

“don’t care. need you.”

he may as well have been one of the puddles at your feet, the way he couldn’t even form proper sentences anymore. the things you were doing to him right now were criminal, almost cruel, and you were loving every minute of it. proud of it, actually. you might have been mush in his hands, but he was like putty in yours.

“well…maybe you should take me home then, yeah? then you can need me as much as you like.”

joost groaned again, muttering something about how you were ‘going to be the death of him’, and leaned back in. from your nose to your cheeks, to your chin, every inch was peppered with very sweet, very wet kisses.

“have i told you how much i love you yet?”

he had, at least a handful of times by now, but not nearly enough as you would’ve liked. so you shrugged, a shit-eating grin plastered across your face as you did so, and stepped back, lacing your fingers with his.

“it’s okay, you can tell me one more time.”

apparently that was way too far for you to go, because after one singular step you were tugged back again and kissed as though joost’s very life depended on it. ironic, considering you were certain that you were both about to be struck by lightning at any moment.

“i love you.”

you figured if that were to happen by some chance, it’d be worth it if it meant staying here with him for just a little while longer.

“i love you too.”

[icomeandg0]

For ‘More than One’ maybe you could detail the relationships between each Link and their y/n or how they met!

Hi Anon!

I'd love to explain and details each Link and Y/n for ya!

I'm addressing each of them as ' Link ' instead of their LU names and that goes for the same as the Y/n's. Also oopies on Times one but it was more of Y/n lore than a detail of their relationship.

Content under cut

Time/OOT Link.

I think this was predictable but you and Link (For majority of the Links and Y/n's) started off as childhood best friends. They met each other while Y/n and Malon were near the fountain at castle town while waiting for Talon.

I think the trope suited for them would be childhood sweethearts/you fell first and he fell harder.

You two met at castle town when you were both young, When Link was going to meet with Zelda for the first time.

I like to think a lot about each of the Links and Y/n's relationships because I want them all to have very different stories to each other.

ALSO! YES YOU TWO ARE MARRIED AND HAVE...Want part two? Hit that follow button (JK, But I won't go into too much detail, yet.)

Oh before I forget, I think it's a relevant fact to mention that Y/n was adopted by Talon so Malon and Y/n are half sisters?

I like dramatic backgrounds and relationships so, You know how on ice age, the first movie where they look after that baby? Yeah so.

Y/n's mother was running away with her in her arms, she was supposidly meant to go to the Deku tree to be looked after but Y/n's mother was too tired as she drifted down the Zora's river.

Talon was delivering as per usual when he saw a woman floating down the stream so he quickly dropped everything and hurried over to the edge and grab onto her arm. Y/n's mother couldn't open her eyes. Too tired to do so, she only pushed the baby into Talons arms which he was alarmed but once he saw your h/c tufts of hair and such a peaceful resting face he couldn't help but have the need to protect you...However he knew better than to take you but when he looked back. Your mother wasn't there.

"I think daddy fell asleep again." Malon comments as the two of you sat on the edge of the fountain in the middle of town. "Definitely" You agreed, "He always does this, I would march up to the castle and find him myself if it weren't for those annoying knights." "Yeah, if only there was someone that could sneak past them all and get Talon"

Just saying that, you watch as a kid in green, around your age ran past...and tripped over a tile. The fairy flew around him 'Hurry Link! We need to get to the castle quickly!' The fairy called out, the boy looked around to make sure no one had seen that but when he looked back he was met with yours and Malons eyes glued on him. It was clear he grew flustered so he quickly stood up and ran off in the direction to the castle.

"Maybe he can!" Malon points at the boy running, "Yeah, Let's catch up to him!"

Warrior/HW Link.

Link and Y/n in this era are a fun duo in my mind, I did think about a soft reader with this Link because I thought it would be funny that a womanizer would fall in love with someone soft hearted and made him want to forget every woman he's ever been with. A quote that would've fit this would be 'I can fix him'

The mischaracterisation for Link hurts me, I don't know what I was thinking honestly.

ANYWAYS! I liked the idea of someone bossing Link around, Do I feel bad? No.

Also I think Link doesn't like sorceresses that much (Because of Cia) so I made Y/n into a witch. Yes sorceresses and Witches are practically the same.

Y/n in this era is self centered, confident, bold—Someone that acts all high and mighty really.

"Move out of my way, Rookie."

"You expect respect? Hah! You have to earn it, especially from me."

"You have to improve your sword skill before I can treat you as an equal. Trust me, You're far from achieving so."

She made him want to pull all his hair out.

Their relationship is a slowburn / Enemies to lovers.

Don't worry, they get better and maybe I'll do a full explanation on their story if anyones interested to also explain on why Warriors was so in shock when he had found her again (Hinting to my last chapter of more of us series)

Fun fact! This Y/n wore high heeled boots during the war…refused to wear any other type of shoes. Still wears them to this day.

"Link, I would like to introduce you to your new ally and commander" Impa says calmly as she led him through the hallways of the castle, "She's a witch but trust me, she's a brave and responsible type" Impa informed.

"That's good to know" Link sighs in relief, he's over dealing with witches and sorceresses but if this witch is just as Impa describes, He can handle it. Impa opens the door to the courtyard to be met with a woman around his age standing in the middle of the field, The woman was sharp and looked back to see the pair.

"Y/n, meet Link. He's the chosen hero of Hyrule." With this, Link bowed his head towards the woman who had only scoffed, "So he's a rookie with a title? I don't get what makes him so special from the rest." Link growled and took a step forward but Impa held him back, "No fighting. You'll look after him during the times on the battlefield whether it be for aiding him or healing." "Tch, I don't remember agreeing to those rules-" "Y/n." "Fine."

Impa looked over Link, "Good luck, she's a hard one to impress. She'll keep you on your toes" Link only sighed. "Lucky me."

Twilight/TP Link

I'm still deciding on a good plot for the two because as you all probably guessed, the two are the ones that can transform.

Puppy love is how I would describe them.

Started off as childhood best friends or sweethearts. To the village it was as if you two were already destined to be. You two were attached to the waist even!

I was thinking that a week from Link officially starting his journey, Y/n had gone missing so he went out and originally was going to try and find her but he got caught up in other stuff.

However, there was a dragon following him during his journey so in his eyes he had two companions being the dragon and Midna.

I Think you all know who the dragon is at this point.

Not much to describe them about, a sappy couple? Like those overly cringey lover types? lol.

I also like to think that Y/n Is more of a city gal despite being brought up in the country sideeee.

Link obviously hitting you up with his southern accent trying to make you fall to his feet but as soon as you start talking like a proper city gal he's on his knees- Scratch that, turned into Wolfie.

Post game Y/n, I like to think she started a daycare or a school for the kids because they don't learn much intelligently but are more hands on. I like to head canon that this Y/n is one of the smartest in the village BUT! She isn't the smartest Y/n.

Meeting this Link was love at first sight...At the age of 6.

One fine day in Ordon Village you were helping about with a few little task such as carrying light things from one place to another when you heard a familiar voice call out.

“Y/n! Meet the new boy in the village! Link” Ilia introduced you to the boy around your age, he smiled sheepishly and you just analysed his every detail.

“Hi Link, It’s nice to meet you” you say softly as you smile back at him, he tilts his head “Hi…Uh, You’re very pretty.” Ilia’s eyes widened as she heard the bold words of the boy behind her, you were just as equally shocked but you only giggled.

“Thank you, Link” you twirl a strand of hair with your index finger. You almost dropped what you were carrying and you were quick to wrap your hand back around the item.

“Well, I've got to drop this off. I’ll see you soon?” You say with a soft smile before turning away and walking off. Link had a stupid grin plastered on his face which earned a sigh from Ilia.

Wild/BOTW Link

The chaotic duo.

Friends to lovers (Strangers to friends to lovers in TOTK-)

Now, these two give the group the biggest headache it's unbelievable.

It's not even Link sometimes!

Y/n in this universe is just overly chaotic and Link is there for it because in some sense he honestly can't talk, on some days he's just as bad.

First encounter? Woke up half naked to one another and Y/n continued with some awkward conversation after that so Link accepted his fate that this was his idiot.

Both Link and Y/n are the life of the party, but Y/n is more extrovert while Link is more of both but it honestly depends if we're talking about LINK or WILD.

Wild is both

Link is an introvert

"So, what’s your name?” Y/n had asked as she grabbed a baked apple from the campfire nearby. Waking up next to one another naked was not how you two wanted to meet but you brushed past it and tried to become acquainted with him instead.

After a few seconds of silence she spoke up again, “Well, not much of a talker huh? I’ll go first, My names Y/n” you say, snapping the apple in half you hold one side out to him.

“If you don’t have a name, I’ll give you one. Nice to meet you, Bob” you grin, you watch his every move and soon he reaches out and grabs the other half of the apple, “Link, it’s Link.” “Well, Bobs a nice name too” that earned a faint chuckle from the boy.

Four/FS Link

Now.

Y/n in this era is a pain in the ass.

as noted in my 'More than one'

She's stubborn, feisty, sharp tongued, short tempered, strong headed but she is reasonably logical and is the smartest one out of the Y/n's.

One more thing to add about her is that she can't fight effectively, she can throw punches at people but to monsters? She rather not. She helps with strategising with Time and Warriors until she ends up in a small argument with either one when discussing plans.

Anyways! Four is our darling, calm and collected but won't hesitate to put you in your place, a perfect someone for our dear Y/n!

Four can tolerate her behaviour more than anyone else because they are childhood best friends, Of course there will be times where Four has to be stern with Y/n but that's only to make sure she doesn't get overwhelmed with anger.

Despite all her negative comments she may say about him she doesn't mean it half the time because deep down she's touched at how he still sticks by her side.

Y/n also likes to make things, like an inventor or fix things. Four makes and Y/n fixes.

Yes she knows the colours and finds them 'annoying' too.

Blue? Loves riling him up and arguing with him

Red? Likes to tease him until he's almost crying.

Green? Likes to point out every mistake he makes which always puts him off

Vio? Can relate to him and genuinely has a sorta connection with him but can end up arguing but Vio would win because his calm and collected self pisses her off because it's like her words aren't effecting him.

Relationship trope? I would say Sunshine x grump.

At the age of 5, you were in your little dress and your mother had just finished doing your hair, You were hiding behind your mother as she greets the new neighbour who was a old grandpa smith.

"Y/n? Go say hi to the nice man's grandson" Your mother encouraged. You looked up at her with a pleading look but she gave you a look that said 'You better go now or else you'll experience the pain when we get home.' You gulp and shuffle towards the little boy.

The boy grins, you could see a gap in his teeth which made you grimace, "I'm Link! Nice to meet you!" Link held his hand, You gently took his hand. "I'm Y/n"

"Awe! They're already getting along!" "R-really? They just introduced themselves-" "Would you like coffee?" "O-Oh yes that would be lovely"

Once the adults were out of sight you scowl, yanking your hand away from him "I don't want to be your friend, If anything keep 10 feet away from me" You point at him which made him blink in surprise but he grins again. "Cool! Let's play!" He completely ignored your words and grabs your hand again and drags you over to a grass patch.

"W-Wait! Gosh dang it!"

(She hasn’t acquired the ability to swear just yet.)

Sky/SS Link

Ah.

I Love this Link a lot.

Which is why I want to give him the most complicated relationship with his Y/n.

Relationship trope? She loved him too early, He loved her too late + SLOWBURNNNN

It's painful, I know.

Y/n in this era is known for her shy exterior, she was easily brushed off since it was as if she was never there. Of course she was in a trio with Link and Zelda but it felt as if she was third wheeling and she was sure Link had a crush on Zelda so Y/n never brought up the fact she had a crush on him. Had a crush on the boy for a few years now.

CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS AGAIN!

He began to develop feelings when they were on the adventure to get Zelda back, It was the first time he's seen Y/n so...out there and he can finally acknowledge her as she truly was.

But as his feelings grew, her feelings lessened

He did have a love rival, Ghirahim.

After their adventure with each other he was going to confess his feelings but when Y/n could see the fond look on his face she didn't want to know what would've happened next so she didn't allow him to finish but instead told him she was going to leave and adventure the surface again.

Link was heartbroken, he was a sappy lover type...He wanted to be yours.

He offered to come along but you refused saying you didn't need him and that he should be with Zelda again.

That's when he realises.

"Are you new here?" Link asked you curiously, the young boy, probably just turned 5? You were 4 at the time and the boy smiled "I've never seen you around before!" You only sniffled "I've been here since I was little" "W-wait, really? I'm sorry I haven't noticed you earlier."

"Why's that?" You asked softly, still haven't made eye contact with him yet. "Because we could've been friends a lot faster!" Your head snaps towards him after hearing his words. "So, Should we be friends?" He smiles. It takes a bit of encouragement, you were hesitant at first but you gave a small nod.

"Yeah, Okay..."

Wind/WW Link

Obvious disclaimer this will just reach as far as a crush as the two are underage and I find young relationships (Below 15) Silly/Stupid.

Ironic enough, You didn't meet Link but rather introduced to him after he was allowed on Tetra's ship.

You weren't friends with Link...No. You were best buddies with Tetra!

Y/n is a mermaid, I think it's fitting because there aren't any Zora in this era and it's pirates. Pirates need mermaids to cause chaos duh.

Well ironically enough, You're the princess of the sea so when you heard of Tetra and her crew you were intrigued so when you were having free time from your princess duties you somewhat came across their ship.

They caught you at first and were going to sell you but you convinced them not to and somehow you're a part of the team as a not official- official team member.

Back to you and Link, You had ventured with him at times because unlike Tetra, You could swim beside Link and aid him along the way.

"SHE SPLASHED ME!" Link cried out as he wiped the water off his face to the best of his abilities, "Oh Boho~ Get used to it" You taunted as you stick your tongue out at him.

"You're going to let her talk to me like that?!" Link looked towards Tetra who had only shrugged. "Oh grow a pair. She's harmless" Link looks back at you as you grin up at him, showing off your sharp teeth. "Harmless my ass.."

Legend/LTTP Link

Now.

Link hasn't met his Y/n in this era yet so I can't really comment on anything.

However, Y/n already knew Link before meeting him in the 'More than one' series.

Not because of the tales told about him or his adventures but she's talked to him a few times but just not in her own skin.

Sound confusing?

It is.

Anyways, This Y/n has the most tragic backstory out of them all which made her emotionally reserved but in a way she's not depressed or anything like that, she's content. (Despite everything she’s been through)

That's a story for another time.

Link doesn't particularly like his Y/n at first because of how at ease she is when the situation is serious so he thinks she's just messing around so something stupid might happen.

Relationship trope? A bit of sunshine x grump? Not really but slowburn.

Hyrule/LOZ Link

Another Link who hasn't met their Y/n

Now I think these two resemble puppy love.

His Y/n has bimbo vibes

She doesn't dress like one I swear, plus the others forbid.

She's pretty and dumb.

He's pretty (In your eyes) and dumb.

Y/n doesn't think too much about her actions nor about the consequences which led her to getting hurt many times but with Link by her side there's another healer to take care of her.

(HW Y/n was impressed and upgraded him to her apprentice...Warriors wasn't happy that Hyrule immediately on HW Y/n's good side)

Their relationship is love at first sight? Morley Y/n since she is quite open with her opinions, Know not to tell him until time is right.

Gossips with BOTWY/n the most about it which always results in Y/n to get teased.

His Y/n is overly excited, golden retriever vibes, extreme extrovert.

Link is the complete opposite.

(In my eyes at least)

Opposites attract.

Also!

If anyone's wondering the Y/n's do hold a triforce in position...or should I say Tetra-force?

I like to think that some of the Links have love rivals just to spice things up.

I didn't add a little story for Hyrule or Legend because of course, they only met their Y/n in the more than one series. Also guilty because I did not edit this.

[cedric-k-rossignol]

The French Crown Jewels Theory - Parts 1 & 2

The gem in Undertaker's ring is 'diadochos', the Phantomhive Family Ring is indeed a diamond, and Sirius (r!Ciel), Canopus, Vega, & Polaris all possess their own gems as well. All of this jewelry was sourced by Undertaker from the French Crown Jewels that were stolen/went missing in the midst of the French revolution of 1792.

Alright y'all, once again I am back on my medieval French literature shit. This time in Latin! Fun stuff. No poetry analysis in this one, thank God. Instead, I got to go back in time to my years wasted spent studying biochemistry! Fuck me!

I have tried to find evidence of this being discussed online previously and have come up empty (obviously the hope diamond has been discussed, but not in the context of the Golden Fleece), but please let me know if this has already been theorized and I just missed something!

The gem in Undertaker's ring is not a diamond but a mineral that was once known as Diadochos. From ancient Greece through to the middle ages this mineral was considered sacred and powerful, thought to be capable of summoning and holding the 'shades of the dead' and making demons clearly visible to its user.

The gem being Diadochos would also explain the color difference of the ring between season 1 of the anime (green) and what would later appear in further seasons and in the manga (unclear....no pun intended). It also provides a link to the French Crown Jewels...

Which brought me to what I believe is a confirmation that the Phantomhive family ring being sourced from "The French Blue" diamond (a portion of which is now known as The Hope Diamond) as was seen in season 1 of the anime will become canon in the manga. I also am going to predict we will meet a certain grim reaper named Hendrik Fals that's based on a real person.

Not only that, but the idea of another ring with a sister diamond (as seen in the anime with another portion of The French Blue) was an interpretation of what will happen in the Manga. R!Ciel is likely in possession of The Bazu Diamond, which was a part of Louis XV's insignia of The Order of The Golden Fleece. Canopus, Vega and Polaris likely hold the three yellow sapphires that surround the Bazu Diamond, and I believe the other diamonds in this piece have something to do with Undertaker's other mourning lockets.

This also supports my theory of Undertaker being a Breton (from Brittany, France) as I believe he's represented by the dragon called "le Côte-de-Bretagne" in the insignia. And of course, that he was the one to originally gift the Phantomhive family ring to Ciel's grandmother Claudia as a symbol of his devotion and commitment to her, and in doing so "cursed" her and her family (it's a metaphor y'all)

The French Monarchy had no shortage of drip, you think only one measly giant ass diamond went missing when people's heads were getting chopped off? Buckle up, I fear this is going to be a long one. Trigger warning for discussion of suicide and mental illness.

Let's get into it.

Part One: Undertaker's Ring

In researching French medieval age jewelry for my Floire et Blancheflor series, which involves two rings (one of which is magical), I came across a gemstone that was noted to be "the most powerful" (or something along those lines) but I'd never heard of it before - Diadochos/Diadocos And then I googled it, and nothing came up. I had to dig into scholarly articles and Latin text to get info on this, and even then it's sparse.

There were three main sources I could find; two books on minerals hailing from ancient Greece, the other a popular book from the middle ages - 'De Lapidis' by Marbode de Rennes. Translated into several different languages shortly after publication, the original Latin text was written in the late 11th century by a French bishop from - say it with me everybody - Brittany.

Coincidence? Maybe. But I doubt it. I really need to finish my Undertaker is from Brittany write-up...

All these sources make similar and frustratingly brief claims, as neatly summarized in one article on the the ancient Greek text Tetrabiblos;

1. The stone diadochos is similar to the beryl. 2. It is as useful for divinations through water, and for the summoning of shades (adductionibus umbrarum) as no other stone. 3. Furthermore, it makes the appearances (effigies) of all daemons thoroughly visible. 4. Do not apply it to someone dead (=a corpse), because it is opposed to the deceased. 5. For this stone is divine and sanctus and santified by a perpetual consecration.

Side note - I will absolutely be making another post about Tetrabiblos and it's companion volume Almagest. Written in the 2nd century by Claudius Ptolemy, they're the respective astrology and astronomy bibles of the middle ages. Tetrabiblos literally means "four books", and it's Latin translation is titled Quadripartitum means "four parts". There are some very interesting notes about demon summoning in this. All of Claudius Ptolemy 's books are addressed to an unknown person named Syrus. He also has what appears to be a relevant volume on music (this guy REALLY likes fours...) looked to see if anyone had mentioned this in a theory before and when I couldn't find anything I was shocked. Let me know if I've missed a post cause there is absolutely stuff to be discussed from Claudius and these books - I just can't get into it or this post will be 5000 years long.

So, Diadochos is actually now known as Beryl.

Whereas diadochos means "heir, successor", the word "beryl" is Old French for a "precious blue-green color-of-sea-water stone".

It's worth noting the element "Beryllium" is #4 on the periodic table of elements.

Gemstones high in beryllium include beryl (aquamarine, emerald, red beryl) and chrysoberyl. It is a relatively rare element in the universe, usually occurring as a product of the spallation of larger atomic nuclei that have collided with cosmic rays. Within the cores of stars, beryllium is depleted as it is fused into heavier elements.

Diamond is element #6... Interesting.

This stone was, as I mentioned, considered sacred and magical - used often in divination, and to create crystal balls. But it also had much more practical uses -

When the first eyeglasses were constructed in 13th-century Italy, the lenses were made of beryl as glass could not be made clear enough

Well that sure is interesting...

Season 1 vs Canon - Fight!

As I said, this mineral is now known as 'beryl' - but you would be more likely to recognize the names we use to refer to the different colours beryl comes in - morganite, heliador, gosenthite, aquamarine, and emerald. You're likely familiar with the signature colors of some of these gems, all of which are different shades of the same mineral.

As previously mentioned, 'beryl' is the Old French word for the blue-green color of the sea.

I think it's pretty widely accepted that the creators of season 1 were given information from Yana that hadn't yet been released to readers of the manga. The most obvious example of this (so far) is the 'Undertaker is a reaper' reveal. Now I have no idea what the creative process behind developing an anime is like, how much contact or creative input Yana Toboso would have had, but I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest it's possible that admist a wealth of information that was handed over, there was a note that said Undertaker's ring was one of 'Beryl', and the creative team went with the 'traditional' Beryl color of blue-green - which is why people think the ring in season 1 is set with an emerald.

Peep the fleur de lis 👀 y'all they knew not to leave THAT out at the very least.

And yes, emerald is a shade of Beryl - but this was never intended to be an emerald.

The difference in color is something that's always really bugged me, so I'm relieved to finally have an explanation that makes sense (to me at least). Now as for the colour Yana chose...

So What Fucking Colour is it Anyways?

If you know of better official art that demonstrates the color of this damn beast of a rock on his hand, feel free to point me in its direction because I was struggling. There seems to be a pattern of colour-washing the art or appears in, or Undertaker posing in a way that hides the ring from view.

This is a much-discussed character design that shows a lock of hair embedded/underneath the gem of Undertaker's ring (we will return to this detail in a future theory), as well as confirmation of the fleur-de-lis on the side of the ring, and then of course the gem itself. Perhaps a light yellow, or perhaps just showing the gold backing through the translucent stone?

We do get some shots from the anime in BOC and BOA respectively;

Well, I get why people think it's a diamond.

Even in official artwork sometimes it's white, sometimes it's yellow, sometimes it's tanslucent , sometimes it's a little...blue, dare I say?

Back! on! my! Chemistry! Shit!

Alright, and now we get into the chemistry of it all. I know, first history and now this bullshit. I'll keep it brief; excuse me my nerdy nostalgia for a spectroscopy graph.

Basically, the different colors of Beryl are due to impurities within it (unclean one!). The purest form of Beryl is goshenite, which is clear/white.

The other colours are formed based on what ions (charged atoms) exist within them as impurities - for emerald it's Chromium, for Morganite it's Manganese... And both the yellow and aquamarine colors are due to the presence of iron (element #26) ions.

Now when you think of the gem aquamarine, you probably think of a pale blue; and for most gems sold nowadays that true. As a March baby it's my birthstone, and I've been gifted many a pale blue aquamarine birthstone reminiscent of the water it's named for....

Oh wait a second, who else is a March baby? Motherfucking Cedric K. Ros(signol), that's who!

Okay, I'll admit; I'm sort of invested in his ring being an aquamarine gem because it would relate back to both his birthday and his 'rebirth' as a reaper when he drowned, and the more I string these crazy red threads through French history the more I'm convinced these details are critical to his character. So yeah, I'm biased - but before you write me off as delusional, just hear me out, because the chemistry is in my favor!

The best-known green beryl is emerald, which obtains its colour from Cr and/or V ions. However, a different green colour can be obtained from mixtures of the yellow and blue beryl chromophores described above. When yellow and aquamarine chromophores are simultaneously present, the colour becomes light green. Depending on the relative concentrations of the two chromophores, the colour can vary from light yellow-green to light blue-green. Shang et al. (2022) classified the colours of beryls containing these chromophores into five groups, from yellow to light blue.

Fridrichová et al. (2015) heated crystals of deeply coloured aquamarine and yellow beryl to different temperatures. After heating one of the yellow crystals to 300°C it was still yellow. Heating of additional yellow beryl samples to 500°C and 700°C in each case resulted in light blue aquamarine colouration. Another yellow crystal heated to 900°C lost almost all its colour.

All this to say; apply enough heat to a green beryl and it will turn to yellow, to aquamarine, to clear.

Here's a little basic color theory refresher for you as well; blue and yellow pigment together make green, whereas blue and yellow light create white light.

Here are some examples of various coloured aquamarine gems, some set in gold bands like Undertaker's, based on the verbiage with which they were advertised;

1. A clear goshenite gem; 2. A pale aquamarine; 3. A yellow aquamarine

4. A clear blue aquamarine; 5. A yellow aquamarine; 6. A yellow aquamarine

5. A yellow Aquamarine; 6. A yellow Aquamarine; 7. A pale blue aquamarine

All of these could conceivably be made from the same source mineral - what changes its nature is the amount of heat that's been applied to it.

Neat, huh? And I would argue symbolic for this story. Both in that there's a whole lot of manors being burned down, but also as a metaphor for life experiences and trauma.

The scientific debate on nature vs nurture continues, but it seems to be proven again and again that the way we develop is significantly weighted towards nurture. Nature plays its part, for sure - if there weren't iron ions in these gems, the fire wouldn't have an effect on the gem's color. It might get a little toasty, but then it would cool off and have no lasting effect on the gem's appearance, structure, chemical composition... But since there are iron ions that are a part of the gem, that were within it when it first formed (which it can do nothing to change), it is significantly impacted by its environment. If the fire gets hot enough, it can lose all of its color.

For someone like Undertaker, who I believe to have been (and continue to be) mentally ill, depressed, and ultimately suicidal to wear this ring is symbolic of the mental illness he was born with, and the trauma he experienced living in Brittany from 1331-1366 (Black Plague, The Breton War of Succession, and The Hundred Years War between France and England).

I've seen it mentioned in discussion that Sebastian is a physical representation of Ciel's trauma - a physical demon to represent his metaphorical demons. I also see the story of Black Butler as an allegory for generational trauma and inherited mental illness; that which we bestow upon our children like heirloom jewelry.

However, this metaphor is also sort of hopeful in that the change isn't necessarily permanent. The color of the gem can revert back towards its original hue over time depending on the circumstances.

Undertaker & Water

There's a panel in the manga that implies Undertaker's method of suicide was drowning. I currently have two different theories on where he drowned that are duking it out for the top spot. Currently the top contender is that he jumped from La Pointe de Plouha, the tallest cliffside on the Breton coastline, and drowned in the waters separating England from France - The English Channel. Plouha has a very interesting myth about the Ankou, the Breton version of the grim reaper, and I find it poetic for him to be reborn in the waters seperating him from a country he'd been at war with for most of his life - especially given that he would proceed to fall in love with a British Aristocrat.

This French crown jewels theory seems to support the idea that he drowned in the English Channel as I believe he's represented in the insignia by the dragon, le Côte-de-Bretagne (Translates literally to the coast of Brittany) - but I'm not ready to fully call it yet. Withholding my final judgement for the moment.

Regardless, if Undertaker did drown, his character being associated with Diadochos/Beryl/Aquamarine, stones intrinsically associated with water, makes a lot of sense. Consider after all, the arc where we first really met him - book of the Atlantic takes place in the middle of the ocean.

The Romans believed Aquamarine to be sacred to Neptune, the god of the sea. Supposedly the gems came from mermaid's treasure chests (they're actually formed in hydrothermal vents) so saiilors would wear it for protection against shipwreck. They also thought it had healing properties because the gem would appear to disappear when submerged in water.

Well, Undertaker did disappear when submerged in water, didn't he? He was reborn as a reaper, only called himself by his serial number 136649 (an oddity even amongst reapers, who have all also committed suicide), and (externally at least) completely disassociated himself from his former life.

Cloudia and Undertaker share the zodiac sign Aries, a fire sign, so there's symbolism in water killing him. Extinguishing his flame, so to speak.

As mentioned in Tetrabiblios, Diadochos is useful for divinations in water, and the same is said of beryl;

Beryl was a popular skying stone in the Middle Ages. Most sources indicate that this was done either through dowsing, attaching the beryl to a thread over a bowl of water, with the crystal just touching the water...An alternative method involved throwing the stone into a bowl of water and reading the disturbance it created.

Undertaker threw himself into a body of water, then revolted against Reaper HQ, had an affair with and sired two illigitimate half-human children on the Queen of England's guard dog, and went against the laws of Gods and men to raise the dead. If thats not a disturbance, what is?

There's also a religious aspect to look into. Book of the Atlantic takes place over the holy week that precedes Easter - and I have a theory outlining why I believe both he and Cloudia's birthdates fall on 'Holy Monday'. He was also born on the day of the Annunciation - that's the day that an angel came to Mary to tell her she'd been chosen to carry the Incarnation of God. He's also associated with the white lily, a flower associated with Easter, and he carries a lot of religious symbols. His cassock, prayer beads, and the crown of thorns on his scythe and on Cloudia's locket are not there for shits and giggles. This religious symbolism ties into my theory on the circumstances of his birth, and the thread that I believe ties the lockets together...

...all of which I've been in the process of researching and writing for a hot minute, I just don't know how to keep it brief 😩 I'm a dog chasing squirrels.

Anywho, religion - there is the concept of Baptism. Undertaker being reborn into a new life when he submerged himself in water.

Baptism is a Christian sacrament of initiation almost invariably with the use of water.It may be performed by sprinkling or pouring water on the head, or by immersing in water either partially or completely, traditionally three times, once for each person of the Trinity. The synoptic gospels recount that John the Baptist baptised Jesus.

Speaking of Jesus, since he and Undertaker seem to be so tightly knit, Jesus performed seven canonical miracles, and two of the most notable (imo) are with water; walking on it, and turning it to wine. The last of course was Lazarus, raising the dead...

Magical Properties

I'm not suggesting that this stone actually grants Undertaker any abilities, but it's interesting that the supposed magical properties align with his character attributes.

It's been theorized that Frances is always making comments on how slovenly Sebastian's appearance is because she has the ability (on some level) to see his demon nature due to her half-reaper blood that she gets from her father, Undertaker/Cedric. This is somewhat supported by Ladger and Sascha speculating Ciel's ability to see them is from his bloodline - which is of course, where we got Cedric K. Ros- from!

Then there is of course summoning the shades of the dead and holding them here on earth. And I find it super interesting that this specifically mentions not to "apply it to a corpse" because "it is opposed". Like, what the heck does that even mean? A vague warning that if you fuck around, you'll find out? I have not been able to find any further details on what this might be referring to, but it sure sounds ominous.

And finally a note that the stone itself is "perpetually consecrated" - unable to be desecrated or corrupted. The stone is "divine". I will have to come back to this in another theory, because it's a can of worms, and this post is long enough.

Finally, I must note that according to the French wiki, Aquamarine is a symbol for a happy & faithful marriage. Specifically 23 years of marriage.

La couleur marine de ce minéral fait qu'il a été utilisé comme talisman pour les marins. Symbole de fidélité entre jeunes mariés, c'est un cadeau censé leur garantir un mariage heureux, ce béryl symbolise 23 ans de mariage.

Frankly it doesn't seem to have the most reliable source, but it's worth noting that is you take Claudia's age when she died, 36, and subtract 23 years, you get an age of 13.

Giving you maaaaaaaad side eye Undertaker 🤨.

Now to be clear I don't think they ever actually got legally married; perhaps not even "spiritually" married. However it is very possible that they met in 1843 - Undertaker likely deserted the reapers around the time of Queen Victoria's ascension to the throne in 1837. We don't know what he was doing during this time, what goal he might have been working towards - but befriending Claudia's father, the current guard dog of the new queen, might have been part of it.

I have my own personal head-canon that he worked as a jeweler during this time, but I don't have any real support for that - just that it makes sense given all this damn drip the guy has, it would be a way to familiarize himself with the British Aristocracy and perhaps even The Royal Family themselves, and the black market trade of stolen jewels might have been of particular interest to him. More on that in a minute.

Anyways it makes sense within the narrative for them to have met when Claudia was 13, as much we might find him even knowing her at that age icky, because of how significant the number 13 is to this story.

Part 2: The Hope Diamond & The Hirsch Aquamarine

Alright so as discussed - Undertaker's birthstone is aquamarine. Let's say for the sake of this argument, you agree with my interpretation of Undertaker's ring being a pale aquamarine gem. While he and Claudia share a zodiac sign, and a birthday on the same 'day' of Easter, they were born in different months. Cedric in March, Claudia in April. Which makes Claudia's birthstone a diamond.

The Origins of the Hope Diamond

Going back to season 1 of the anime, where the animators had more knowledge then we did about future events (even if they were interpreted oddly), they made the Phantomhive family ring not a sapphire but a blue diamond. Specifically, a gem cut from "le Grand diamant violet de Sa Majesté" a French Crown Jewel that was stolen in 1792 in the midst of a revolution. This is commonly referred to as "Le Bleu de France" in English circles, but the French actually called it purple, not blue.

Back to chemistry briefly for this point - in a similar concept to what has previously been discussed with Aquamarine and Beryl, impurities in the French Blue is what provides it with its distinctive colour - specifically, Boron (element #5).

Visually, the gray modifier (mask) is so dark (indigo) that it produces an "inky" effect, appearing almost blackish-blue in incandescent light. Current photographs of the Hope Diamond use high-intensity light sources that tend to maximize the brilliance of gemstones. In popular literature, many superlatives have been used to describe the Hope Diamond as a "superfine deep blue," often comparing it to the color of a fine sapphire—for example, "blue of the most beautiful blue sapphire" (Deulafait)—and describing its color as "a sapphire blue." Tavernier described it as a "beautiful violet".

The diamond also exhibits a phosphorescent quality (it glows);

Phosphorescence: The stone exhibits an unusually intense, brilliant red phosphorescence after exposure to short-wave ultraviolet light. This 'glow-in-the-dark' effect persists for some time after the light source has been switched off, and this strange quality may have helped fuel its reputation of being "cursed." The red glow is a phenomenon of blue diamonds that helps scientists "fingerprint" them, allowing them to distinguish real ones from artificial ones. The red glow occurs because of a mix of boron and nitrogen in the stone.

It's worth noting that while an Aquamarine is changeable, it doesn't fluoresce when exposed to ultraviolet radiation like a diamond does.

A cursed blue diamond glowing red? Hmm....

You likely know this gem as The Hope Diamond, which is a recut section of the French Crown Jewel, which itself was cut from a diamond called "The Tavernier Blue", originally purchased by a French merchant in 1666 (yikes) in India, who then sold it to King Louis XIV, who is also known as Louis le Grand (the great) or le Roi Soleil (the Sun king).

Louis XIV's great grandson, Louis XV, had the diamond (as well as other gems) reset into a pendant for "l'ordre de la Toison d'or"- "The Order of the Golden Fleece". We will discuss this pendant more in Part 3, but it fell into disuse after Louis XV's death. It became property of Louis XV's grandson, Louis XVI, who married the infamous Marie Antoinette (also referenced in season 1 of the anime in relation to both the Hope Diamond and to Undertaker). Antoinette used many of the French Crown Jewels for personal adornment by having them reset - however, this pendant of The Golden Fleece stayed intact through their reign.

On September 11, 1792, while Louis XVI and his family were imprisoned in the Square du Temple during the early stages of the French Revolution's Reign of Terror, a group of thieves broke into the Royal Storehouse—the Hôtel du Garde-Meuble de la Couronne (now Hôtel de la Marine)—stealing most of the Crown Jewels in a five-day looting spree. While many jewels were later recovered, including other pieces of the Order of the Golden Fleece*, the French Blue was not among them and it disappeared from history.

A likely scenario is that the French Blue, sometimes also known as the Blue Diamond, was "swiftly smuggled to London" after being seized in 1792 in Paris. But, the exact rock known as the French Blue was never seen again, since it almost certainly was recut during this decades-long period of anonymity, with the largest remaining piece becoming the Hope Diamond.

*this is misleading - so far as I can tell, the only other piece of the Order of the Golden Fleece that was recovered is le Côte-de-Bretagne, the red dragon. This piece is now in the Louvre.

Is it terrible for me to say I see a resemblance between the dragon and Undertaker lmao?

So the French Blue (and le Côte-de-Bretagne, and perhaps the rest of the Order of the Golden Fleece) was smuggled to London... But I'm going to pause here, and talk about another gem that disappeared - the Hirsch Aquamarine.

The Hirsch Aquamarine

Not nearly as well known as the French Blue, this is a gem that was in the possession of Louis XV, the same King who had the French Blue reset into the Order of the Golden Fleece. (Fun fact, King Louis XV was also the one to cede 'New France' to the British... And so New France would became Quebec).

I have been unable to find a lot of details on the Hirsch Aquamarine - supposedly King Louis found having it on his person to be soothing. There is no record of it being sold, or even stolen - it simply disappeared.

Well, I'm going to say it was stolen. And this was the thief - j'accuse...!

I propose that reaper 136649 knicked it while on the job.

It is not noted as being among the gems that were stored at the hotel from which the Order of the Golden Fleece, or indeed being in the posession of a King after Louis XV. Perhaps he reaped Louis XV's soul when he died in 1774. Perhaps Louis XV, who found the gem soothing, had it on his person at his time of death (his cause of death was smallpox), and Undertaker decided to grab a little momento of their time together.

Why?

Well... He's obviously sentimental. We will leave it there for now.

So let's say Undertaker stole the Hirsch Aquamarine while on the job - how did he end up with the remainder of the missing Order of the Golden Fleece? Let's return to the French Blue, the Côte-de-Bretagne, and conceivably the rest of the Order of the Golden Fleece being smuggled to London

The Recutting of The French Blue in London

Historians suggested that one burglar, Cadet Guillot, took several jewels, including the French Blue and the Côte-de-Bretagne spinel, to Le Havre and then to London, where the French Blue was cut in two pieces. Morel adds that in 1796, Guillot attempted to resell the Côte-de-Bretagne in France but was forced to relinquish it to fellow thief Lancry de la Loyelle, who put Guillot into debtors' prison.

So in 1792 the Order of the Golden Fleece is stolen from a French hotel, and smuggled to London. The Côte-de-Bretagne then turns back up in France in 1796, and eventually it is sold to the Louvre in 1887. So we know in the manga, Undertaker is not in possession of this part of the insignia. Him being the dragon has more to do with symbolism of the dragon who guards the Golden Fleece in the Greek myth, and the symbolism of being from Brittany - but I'm getting ahead of myself.

However... It's looking more and more to me like we will end up going to Paris in the manga, and I'm betting our little Lord will take a tour of the Louvre and see the dragon...

The next time this diamond appears in history, it is 20 years later, and in that time it has been cut into what will become known as The Hope Diamond.

A blue diamond with the same shape, size, and color as the Hope Diamond was recorded by John Francillon as in the possession of the London diamond merchant Daniel Eliason in September 1812, the earliest point when the history of the Hope Diamond can be definitively fixed. The 1812 date was just days after 20 years since the theft of the French Blue, just as the statute of limitations for the crime had taken effect.

Well that's bloody convenient.

So sometime in between 1792 and 1812 the French Blue is recut, with the Hope Diamond appearing in the jeweler Eliason's posession in 1812, and the Cote-de-Bretagne showing back up in France still in Guillot's posession, but none of the other gems. Those - there is no record of what happened to them, nor what happened to the other recut portion of the French Blue.

Now, an oft-cited source peaked my interest, so I went ahead and tracked down a copy of the book Blue Mystery: The Story of the Hope Diamond, written by Susanne Steinem, published in 1976. Within it is a list of the supposed deaths that trail the owners of the diamond. I went searching for something specific on a hunch - and boy, did I strike gold.

7. Wilhelm Fals, a Dutch diamond cutter, is said to have recut the French blue, producing a brilliant of 44 1/2 carats. He then supposedly died of grief after his son, Hendrik, stole the diamond. As for Hendrik, he is said to have committed suicide in London in 1830. 8. Francois Beaulieu is said to have obtained the diamond from "a nameless suicide" presumably Hendrik Fals. Beaulieu was supposedly forced to sell it to Daniel Eliason for a fraction of its value - and then died the next day of starvation.

Hendrik Fals, whose father cut the French Blue, and who himself was in possession of the Hope Diamond in 1830, killed himself.

Now you might be scratching your head going wait, what? You just said the ring showed up in London at Eliason's place in 1812, but in this version of events he wouldn't have gotten it until after 1830. I also don't mean to be insensitive - Hendrik Fals was (supposedly) a real person, and if it's true that he committed suicide, that's incredibly tragic.

To be completely frank, the author of this book says that there is no evidence for this sequence of events - it's the mythology of the ring. There are a ton of events detailed in the book as legend that have no basis in fact. That the diamond is cursed is itself a myth (I mean, duh, but also in that there are not a weird number of deaths that follow it).

However - I 100% believe Yana Toboso has read this book. The fucking title is Blue Mystery. Hendrik Fals, in the Black Butler universe, is now a Grim Reaper.

And he became a Grim Reaper in 1830 - and Undertaker likely didn't desert until 1837, around the time of Queen Victoria's ascension to the throne.

Now, Undertaker still being with the reapers between 1819 and 1837 is weird, given that the massacre at reaper HQ of 1819 wiped out half of management. I doubt our boy 136649 is just chilling in the employee lounge after pulling a stunt like that. But I am certain at some point Hendrik and 136649 met, and well, if I wanted to know where the gems from the Order of the Golden Fleece were, Hendrik Fals would be an excellent place to start.

Other Posts

Like I said, I tried to google to see if this has been discussed before and came up mostly empty (again, obviously, there has been a lot of discussion on the hope diamond but nothing I could find in the context of the other French Crown Jewels). Let me know if I missed something!

I did find an old post discussing a poem that was referenced in the Public School Arc between @abybweisse , @thaliaarche and @white-queen-lacus that referenced Beryl which is interesting. Seems like the poem also mentions shades of the dead, and the river Lethe from Greek mythology which I referenced in my Rossignol theory post and part 2 of my Floire et Blancheflor series.

That's All For Now!

If you made it this far, you deserve a medal...or a knightly order.

I really tried to fit this all into one but I'm going to have to split it. Next Part will focus on analyzing the other gems in the insignia of Louis XV, a look into the elements that make up these gems, how the Bazu is likely to be the 'sister diamond' of the Phantomhive family ring instead of another piece of The French Blue, the properties of yellow sapphires and how they might relate to blood (more spectroscopy for me whoopee), how the Dragon, Bazu Diamond, and Golden Fleece symbolize Undertaker and the twins, the Order of the Golden Fleece and its History, and of course the myth of the Golden Fleece itself.

A sheepskin is a brutal fucking metaphor - I'm sure you can guess what comes next, it's not a new theory.

If you liked this theory, you can take a look at my other theories via this masterpost that I will update as I crank these out. The theories I've developed mostly have to do with French history, French Christianity, Breton culture, and medieval French literature... I hope and pray chemistry does not become a trend.

I hope you enjoyed my insane rambling, my ask box is open and I'm always happy to talk about this stuff and thanks so much for reading!