#° ◌ ﹕ ACT iii › then all that matters is which words will end up being his last

[stheresya]

"I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight […]" (Sansa III, AGOT) “Wed?” Sansa was stunned. “You and my aunt?” “The Lord of Harrenhal and the Lady of the Eyrie.” You said it was my mother you loved. But of course Lady Catelyn was dead, so even if she had loved Petyr secretly and given him her maidenhood, it made no matter now. (Sansa VI, ASOS)

I find that these little passages reveal something interesting about sansa's personality. specially when you juxtapose how she's characterized in the text and her worldviews here, and how at first glance they may seem contradictory. but first, let's take two things into account:

the patriarchal society of westeros is very strict on women's sexuality. which means that not only is female virginity held in great value, but also female adultery is very firmly condemned by everyone, unlike men who are allowed to maintain public mistresses and flaunt their bastards everywhere.

sansa is characterized as the conformist, the one who internalizes her society's rules. she's very religious, she's a proper lady in every sense of the word and she often says and does exactly what she's told.

and yet, in these passages we can see that sansa does not care much about societal rules when it comes to intimate feelings. she often hails aemon and naerys' (supposed) forbidden love without a single care that queen naerys was bound by duty to a husband and aemon was meant to be loyal to his king. but most astonishing of all is her nonchalant response to petyr's (false) information that her mother was not a virgin when she married. on one hand it may speak on sansa's views towards women's sexuality, since her current friends (mya and randa) are girls who engage in sex out of wedlock, and she never judges them, just like she doesn't judge her mother for apparently doing the same, and catelyn continues to be the person she admires the most. sansa also doesn't view her parents' relationship any differently because of this, the marriage between ned and cat is still as happy as she remembers, because all that matters to her is that there was love in the home she grew up in. the thing about sansa's character is that she plays by the rules up until a certain point, but on the inside she always prioritizes emotion over societal norms, and that's why she looks more upset at petyr for marrying someone while claiming to love another, because in her mind he's being unfaithful to his heart by marrying out of practicality. we have examples that showcase sansa's prioritizing feelings in AGOT when she, the good daughter, disobeys her father for the first time because she thought she was in love with joffrey, and in ASOS where she never thinks she owes tyrion anything just because he's her husband. so it comes as no surprise that she's so infatuated with the love story of an adulterous and incestuous relationship like aemon and naerys'. one of the main themes in this series is that feelings don't care about honor. and if love is the death of duty then sansa seems more than happy to see duty killed for the sake of love.

of course this doesn't mean she'll stay that way, specially when she's already lost her so much of her innocence and is now tangled in petyr's schemes where she must set her own feelings aside in order to act on his plans. and despite her silent judgement of petyr marrying someone he didn't love, her current betrothal with harry is an entirely practical union on her part since she feels nothing for him and only sees him as a means to an end. there have been many instances since book 1 where she was able to turn off her feelings in order to withstand certain situations. so... what even is sansa's mind? an interesting universe on its own for sure.

I just think sansa's romanticism is one of her most interesting traits (for better and for worse), something that truly contributes to the distinctiveness of her character, and I really hope petyr or anyone else are unable to completely kill that in her.

[hana-no-seiiki]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐒 + 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐱 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 (𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈)

tw/cw: this act alludes more to reader being amab (because breeder reader era wont be ending anytime soon) so beware. off-screen seggs. worldbuilding and lore stuff. yandere themes, mentions of forced prostitution. misandry.

status: unedited

[ ACT I ] • [ ACT III ]

MOTHERS HELD A HIGH SOCIAL RANK IN YOUR SOCIETY. They were the bearers of children; held with a status akin to gods. As such, those who were able to give birth were favorable.

Not a womb-less being like you.

You spent a couple decades or so in denial. Hoping that one day you’ll be accepted. That maybe society itself would change and you’d have a place in the world.

Only for reality to ruthlessly slap you in the face.

“[Y/N].”

Your mother’s voice, no matter the content of her speech, always made your heart rate soar. Cold sweat appeared on your palms and forehead, but before it could even be discerned on your form your hands make a swift movement to dry yourself. Your could feel your shakiness intensify as she drew closer.

“Yes, mother?” You greeted back. You cursed inwardly as your words came out hoarse; without its usual confidence. You could already hear her admonish you.

How could you be anything less than perfect? After all you were already born a failure. Might as well make up for it by being the best.

Throughout the decades of your parent’s unfavorable treatment, you had gain a semblance of self-esteem. At least enough to give them cheek at times. Although your subconscious always reminded you of what they were capable of if you weren’t engaged.

Your teenage self could never imagine talking back to them. With that, in spite of the unwarranted attention you were somewhat happy with the circumstances you were given.

“You went to the countryside, again.” Her arms crossed over her chest, and tar colored blouse. She always wore black clothes and a solemn look wherever she went, intimidating many that dared to gaze at her direction. Her graying hair was tied into a tight bun. Pointed, cat like eyes behind thick glasses. But she was beautiful. Annoyingly so. The very reason why so many fell at your feet.

“I am here now.”

“Her Highness was looking all over for you.”

“That’s the point. I was hiding from that witch.” You crossed your arms. You did not like that woman at all. You remembered repeatedly enforcing your boundaries and personal space to which she repeatedly broke down and disrespected.

“[Y/N]! Stop being such a brat. Act your age for once. This is a golden opportunity. For you and our whole family!”

“Selling my body wasn’t enough? Your greed really knows no bounds.”

You shut your mouth immediately. You’ve gotten too far, if her heels clacking on the ground wasn’t already an obvious indication her thin, banshee like screech should be.

You expected a slap, maybe even her pulling your hair out once again, perhaps her nails would tear into your skin once more leaving a scar that would make at least some of your clients change their mind. However before she could even get close enough to touch you, her husband pulled her away.

“Estella . . . if you hurt them, her highness might . . .” He held her back.

You used to think you loved him way back then. When he’d halt your mother’s actions and take care of you after you’d been used. But then you realized that he only saw you as an object he could benefit from as well. Once the princess asked for your hand in marriage he was ecstatic. Waxing on and on about how happy it’d make him if you went with her, even allowing her to defile you in your own bedroom at times. The only reason he didn’t actively hurt you was because your mother’s ego was so fragile that she’d take him getting physical as a sign of defiance and ill will.

Swarms of hatred encircled your heart. To think you were so blind and hungry for an ounce of their affection only a year ago.

Hours passed before your tears showed signs of stopping its flow. You hoped the streetslights that barely gave vision at least hid you from prying eyes.

“Witch, huh?”

A voice tore you away from your moment of sadness. In fear of anyone else seeing you in this state you hurry to fix yourself as you heard heeled clicks grow louder.

“I should have known.” You turned your head to face the sounds’ source. Only to see the reason why so many tears of yours were wasted this day. “So, does this mean our engagement is off? Or shall I be executed for sullying your name?”

Third Princess Kalliope Mikiavella Levantine. If her name was a nightmare then her presence in your life was evermore.

She was your highest paying client. Ever insatiable. Ever spoiled by her mother the Empress. The only saving grace of this whole situation was that she was not the Crown Princess, yet. Otherwise you might have already been made an imperial concubine or consort.

“Unfortunately not.” She smiled, a little solemn in a way to empathize with your situation, but nonetheless ruthless knowing her power. The princess was beautiful, her blazing red hair that curled immaculately lightly bounced in her steps towards you. Bright amber eyes that almost appeared like the dim streetlights.

“I am unclean. Impure. Why would you want someone like me?” You keep your eyes to your legs lest you fall for her beauty. You always looked somewhere else whenever you two slept together. Always in fear that you’ll grow to love your assaulter — captor.

“I . . . do not know. But everytime I hear you sing my heart feels at ease. I want you in my life, [Y/N]. For as long as I live.”

“Think of it this way, as my spouse you will be ruling over the entirety of this country. Every thing, every one, will be yours. Even those parents who sold you to me. And you’ll give that kid a bright future—“

“[Y/N] . . ?”

You do not think before your lips crashed upon hers.

“Athanaxious? Athanaxious! “

Vasileious searched high and low, in every corner of the ocean Athanaxious usually dwelled in. He even swam the shores, close to those wicked human hunters called fishermen to find him. But with no luck.

“Let him be, Vasilei. He’ll come back in due time.” Aurelius, the pair’s eldest brother, comforted him. Aurelius had a beautiful tail of pure gold, unlike the flecked one Vasileious and Athanaxious owned. His hair was a beautiful, long and curly brown with a lock of blond that made it all the more stunning. His tan skin glimmered akin to the surface waters at day, and almost glowed at night.

“Say that when you get scolded by Mother. I dare you.” Vasileious spat, nerves fried from stress. He would have never interacted or approached a human if it weren’t for his stupid younger brother. But now he’d seen several. Do you know how horrid that experience would be for him? It was downright terrible.

Aurelius, ever the only serene one in the family, massaged the small of his brother’s pale back, “You seem on edge. More so than usual.”

“Athanaxious was meeting with a human, Aurelius. A human!”

“Huh, so you finally found out.”

“You knew of it?!”

“All of us did.” Aurelius shrugged, slightly curling his tail as a gesture of ease. “Oh come on, we all know how much of a snitch you are. Besides, Athanei can’t be dissuaded. Telling him not to do something will only make him want to do it more.”

“He used his siren song on them.”

“No way! How did he sound?”

“. . . It sounded — “ Vasileious ashamedly could only remember your own voice that day, unable to give a proper remark he gave a simple, vague response. “alright.”

“How utterly anticlimactic. Although you saying something aside from terrible means it must be good.”

“Make of it what you will.”

“Irenaeus!”

Another merman appeared. Younger than Aurelius but his beauty unlike any of the other brothers. His tail a beautiful ivory color that slowly transitioned to grey and blacks at the tip. Long dark hair and golden eyes. Irenaeus was known to have the biggest body count of all siblings — bringing thousands of humans to their doom. If it weren’t for his carefree attitude and the god he was named after, one would think he loathed humans more than Vasileious himself. “The human Athan was meeting . . .”

“What about them?”

“Apparently they are to be married off to a human princess. Sailors across the ocean have been speaking of it so. And. . . well . . . “

“Spit it out.”

Irenaeus looked left and right, his tail flicking in an anxious manner, “I believe Athanaxious might be meeting with the Sea Witch shortly.”

“What? You didn’t stop him?!” Vasileious screeched. The ocean floor that surrounded them tremors in his cries, large waves rippling, barreling towards land. His two brothers flinched in pain.

“Less time scolding more time on looking for our brother.” Aurelius broke him out of his moment of panic. “Irenei, inform the rest of our family. Vasilei, let us depart.”

Deep within the Abyss of the ocean, Athanaxious found himself swarmed with feverish determination and anger. The pressure of the waters always felt suffocating but now? It was nothing to the looming dread that drowned his heart.

He reaches his destination before his mind could properly think. He thought long ago that the last time he’d come would be that, the last. But here he was again, far more desperate than he was afraid.

“Be welcome, Than.” The low, gravelly voice of the sea devil danced across the murky waters.

“You must know of the happenings on land.”

He comes out of his hiding, long winding tentacles slither across the walls covered with barnacles and seaweed, as He moved towards Athanaxious, “Mm, I’m afraid not. Please enlighten me.”

“Tch. My human. They’re going to marry some rich lady up north. This cannot happen.”

“You want me to help you ruin a wedding?”

“You know the drill. A price for a boon. This will be quite expensi—“

“I offer you my voice.”

The Sea Witch found themself speechless for moments on end. For a siren to sell their voice would be akin to dooming themself to a lonely, wretched existence. Unable to lure their prey or be of any ‘worth’ in their society. They were aware of Athanaxious’ infatuation over you. Just not self-sacrificing extent of it. “…And in exchange for your precious voice I offer you a new identity as a human.”

“Beware, as every step you take will feel like daggers going through your feet. You will however, be the most graceful dancer upon the land. A perfect fit for our little singer.” An apparition appears between the Devil’s fingertips as it flicked across the waters. It was you, on a platform of sorts surrounded by other humans. You were bringing joy to their faces, as you did with him. “Shall I add a wager to spice up the fun?”

It took a lot of willpower for Athanaxious to rip his eyes away from your ‘magical form’ and all he could muster was a nod.

“Should you succeed your voice shall return, and you wouldn’t have to keep giving me your scales to brew love potions. Their heart will be yours forever more, guaranteed by both their feelings in your triumph and my very own magic.” The apparition shifted; Athanaxious appears within the image — human. The two of you looked joyful as you embraced underneath what seemed to be the moon.

But then it all lasts for a second before it shifted once more. The vision of your happy ending swiftly turned bitter as this apparition’s Athanaxious slowly dissolved and disappeared, before you turn to someone else and embrace them instead.

“If you fail to win their affection before the wedding, I will keep your voice and you shall turn into sea foam.”

Athanaxious felt his stomach grow weak at the illusion’s show. Moreso the possibility of your romance with someone else than his death. He only had one choice.

“I understand. I accept both the deal and the wager.”

“Oh, how magnificent! I hope you don’t go on to regret this.” The Sea Devil lips tugged upwards.

“Now, sing for me.”

“Where will you be going?” Kalliope tugged at your sleeves.

“Out. I’ll be back before sundown.” You gently pulled your arm away from your admirer, as you buttoned your clothes and put on a pair of trousers.

“But—“

“My seed must take root for our marriage to be guaranteed, no? Keep your hips raised.”

“Can we go for another bout before you leave?”

You loop your finger around a lock of her hair, lending her a final kiss to the forehead. “No.”

Your town was not one to write about in history books. It was like any other the Empress was able to conquer under her rule. A quaint village just west of the capital city known for their great alcohol and folks to bed.

In such a small population, everyone knew you and you knew everyone. People even knew of your clients, every single one in fact. They weren’t surprised to see you in much more extravagant or expensive clothing as you passed by the street in an equally gaudy carriage.

It was moreso the armored guards that surrounded you that alerted them of something different.

“[Y/N]!”

Clearly that wasn’t enough to deter your childhood friend from running towards you.

“First you impregnate my sister and leave her all alone to take care of your mistake, now you go and get married without a word to us! Do you even care at all?!” The young man wore overalls. Soot covered his skin from what you assume was the mines he started recently working in.

Yiorgos used to be a lot kinder. Softer. Almost puppy like with his admiration towards you. But after a series of misunderstandings he grew resentful of your existence. You never bothered to correct him.

Or perhaps you were just too busy and hurt by his assumptions.

“Out of their highness’s way.” A guard put their arm between you and your former friend.

“Their . . . highness ?” Yiorgos looked at you, baffled. His hung wide open. He then leaned forward to no doubt shout at you once more before you finally put a word in.

“No, I know him.” You shook your head at the guard. Your focus left the man as soon as a familiar mop of [hair color] entered your vision.

A small girl dressed in clothing akin to your own, left Yiorgos’s side and ran up to you with no regard to the armored knight that loomed over. Excitement clear in her eyes. “Don’t listen to your uncle, you aren’t a mistake alright? Go on in, I’ll be with you.” You gently pushed her towards the siblings’ house. The girl shook her head, unwilling to let go of you. But her grip slowly loosened and she eventually shied away, leaving you and the rest.

“Your sister paid me to sleep with her and insisted not to use protection, we both know I pay for that night every single day since it happened both reputation wise and monetarily. And lastly, as you can see I had no choice.” You tilt you head to the small army of knights made to watch over you and your carriage.

Yiorgos shook his head. Brown hair swaying side to side. “You always have a choice.”

“And my choices are life and death. Don’t bother arguing about my situation!”

“Here’s my last payment and goodbye. I’ll be taking the kid with me to the castle soon.” You throw him a bag filled with gold coins and then proceeded to make your leave.

If there was anything you were proud of in your town however, it would be the opera house you worked at. Thousands of people all throughout the world often came here to watch your shows amongst the other singers and performers.

Due to its popularity it was even funded by the Empress directly. That is how you met the princess.

“[Y/N]! I’ve heard the news. Congratulations.” Your employer, Lady Anastasia — a noble woman —, runs her hand in your hair. She used to be a regular person your mother sold you off to until she eventually hired you as a singer at her Opera House. Of course, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t pay you a little extra for your services after hours.

“What’s with the fuss?” You gestured to the boy servants fussing over a young man. Who seemed a little too familiar, nostalgic maybe. You couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

“Oh, we found a young man out on the beach you frequented. We thought it was you at first but upon closer inspection . . .”

“He’s a mute that one. Ain’t no further thing from our theater’s star.” Her Father, a rather old and gruff man, huffed. He was always so prideful of you. Despite his rough demeanor, you knew that he cared deeply. After Anastasia would bed you, he always came by to give you a cup of tea. You didn’t know how to repay the man except use your body, so he’s had a taste of you as well.

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve bedded half of your town and then some.

“Will you keep your scathing remarks to yourself?” Anastasia lightly slapped him, “He is incredibly talented on the art of dance, light on his feet.”

“And weak on constitution. He barely finished a piece before falling to his knees and panting!”

“I’ll take care of him.” You put a hand to your chin. The man gave you a weird feeling in your stomach. Something tells you that the fates have your threads intertwined.

“Are you sure? With all these wedding preparations. . .” The old man grabbed your shoulders, making you flinch.

You unknowingly glared at him.

“Ah, sorry to be so presumptuous.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

You coughed, unsure how to or if you should even apologize. You decide on focusing at the task at hand. A final show before you’re eternally doomed to the Imperial Palace.

“Well then, why is nobody ready?”

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[vulpisnocturna]

Binding Vow - Part II

Part I here

Part III here

Read on AO3

This is part II of III :)

Warnings: kidnapping, manipulation, coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, captivity, Chrollo being a manipulative asshole, obsession, slight NSFW

Word count: 6k

The lilies in the vase by the windowsill were starting to wilt. Their petals were drooping, the stems getting darker, the vibrant white of the flowers starting to become ashen. In that way, you were like them. Wilting away in a prison you were forced to call home. 

But Chrollo never let you see them die. No, he brought you new flowers every week, along with all the other gifts he gave you. You did not know which ones were bought and which were stolen. Not that it mattered much. 

His pathetic romanticism fell on deaf ears. He could court you all he liked, but he failed to see in that brilliant brain of his that it would not work after kidnapping someone and holding them prisoners. A golden cage was still a prison, and he could not make the canary sing by locking it away, even if he used his silver tongue on it. 

Sometimes, you did not know whether he was completely oblivious or simply did not care. Every glare of yours, every time you ignored him, shouted at him or even refused to eat- he met all of your attempts at rebelling with a soft sigh and a stoic outlook, telling you he “would wait for your tantrum to quiet down to talk like adults”. Always patronising. He was always so damn condescending. 

Another month had passed since the day Chrollo had tricked you into having sex with him under the guise of letting you go free and then had drugged you and left that house with you. When you had woken up, you were in a new flat, which he told you would serve as a home for the both of you for a couple of months. 

He had reassured you that he would never harm you and that he would protect you, failing to understand you needed protection from him. He had also reminded you that the doors were all locked, and that he knew your life inside out in case you planned to do something foolish. 

The first night in this house, you had screamed your lungs out at him, fighting him, or rather, trying to hit him with all your might whilst he restrained you. In the end, he’d tied you to the bed and told you he would free you once you learnt to be civil. 

Next, you had refused to eat. That lasted until he tried to force feed you, and the humiliation of the act had made you start to eat by yourself again.

After that, you had refused to speak or even look at him. Luckily, he hadn’t tried to force himself on you, but he certainly seemed to want it. He had started to sleep in the same bed as you as soon as you had cut out the screaming and hitting, and no amount of begging had made him change his mind.

“I understand you dislike my approach, but I’m doing this to keep you safe, my love. If you can get past it, you’ll see it’s only natural that we sleep in the same bed. I love having you close to me. You are so peaceful when you sleep” he had said, stroking your upper arms as though the gesture could ever be perceived as soothing. 

You always made a point to fall asleep curled as far away from him as possible, yet, somehow, you always woke up with his arm wrapped around your waist. He was stifling.

Your best moments were the ones where he’d go away to do God knew what for a few hours, or when he would be so immersed in the book he was reading that he would not talk to you for a while. Of course, he would insist on having you sit on his lap as he read, but he had settled for letting you sit with him in the living room where you wanted, which was as far away as possible from him.

You hated to admit it, but when he left, you sometimes could not help but feel lonely. He was the only person you ever saw, the only one you talked to, the only one you could go to in order to find comfort. That fact alone was enough to make your stomach churn. 

But that was all stopping that day. You had decided that one way or another, you would escape. You were on the eighth floor of an apartment complex, but even Chrollo hadn’t been able to find a place that did not have windows. They were locked, of course, but you could break them if you used enough strength. It wasn’t your strong suit, but you had trained a little on your Hatsu to be able to do more damage than your muscles were capable of. And of course, you would get hurt, but it was all for a good cause. If you could make it out, then… then maybe he wouldn’t find you. If you were careful. 

That very day was your best bet. Chrollo had told you he would not be home for supper and had left you some food in the fridge. You packed it and filled several bottles of water, raiding the cupboards of chocolate, biscuits and fruit. You also found some gauze in the bathroom drawer, which you took with you in case you wouldn’t be able to use your Nen power straightaway. 

You had cursed your power for two whole months now, hating that you weren’t an Enhancer, that you weren’t strong or fast at all. Of course, Chrollo would still be stronger, but your chances at escaping would increase. But now, you were glad you had it: if you fell from a few stories, you would be able to heal yourself, so long as you did not die on impact.

Which was why you had gathered every single towel and sheet you could find and created a makeshift rope with tight knots. It was around ten metres, which left fifteen to twenty metres left to jump. You’d found that there was a tree underneath the window of the office, so that was where you decided to escape. 

The glass was thick, and you decided to wrap your hand in a section of your rope and punch it with all your strength. 

It took half an hour and the breaking of your knuckles, which had also split and gotten wounded, but you had managed to stay focused through the pain and heal them before you lost too much blood. 

Now, as to your escape. The window was now broken, and you did your best in creating a wide enough passage where glass would not be likely to cut you or the rope. Next, you looked down to see that no one was around. The apartment complex was situated on the side of a forest surrounding a small town, and the office happened to face the woods. You could not see anyone around.

You had around three hours to escape and get as far away from that place as possible before Chrollo came back. You had to move quickly, find out where you were and then find a way out of there. 

You breathed in, calming your thundering heart and swinging the rope out of the window after tying it to the sofa. It reached ten metres or so from the canopy of the tree beneath the window, which was not ideal, but not too bad either. You stepped on the windowsill, planted your feet and started descending. 

Ten minutes later, you had reached the end of your rope. You swallowed, the wind making your eyes sting and tear up as you looked down. Legs first. You had to either grab a branch with your hands or land on your legs. 

You jumped.

Your hand scraped against the bark, burning and shredding against it. The branch underneath you winded you as you landed on your side, but you managed to break the fall before you hit the ground.

You convulsed on the grass, nausea and cold shivers tearing through your body as you quivered, taking small breaths that had you dizzy from the pain.

Definitely broken ribs. Definitely a broken leg. 

Your trembling hand reached to your side, and you focused on your aura, feeling the pain, mending the bone, healing the damage until it felt like a dull throbbing rather than stabbing, burning agony.

Next was your leg. It took you longer than you wanted to consider to heal all of your injuries, but when you finally got up, you were okay. You could run, even though the numerous cuts on your body had made you lose quite a bit of blood and you felt lightheaded.

You started running. The feeling of hope that bloomed in your heart was quick to burst into euphoria, even though you tried not to lull yourself into false security. Running along the path in the forest felt good, freedom felt like cool breeze, autumn leaves and the faint scent of rain lingering on the ground.  

You must have run more than ten miles by the time you stopped as you got to the edge of the forest. The sun was setting on the horizon, and you wagered Chrollo would be back soon. You probably had another hour before he realised you were gone. Where could you go from here? The hills to your right looked too exposed, but so did the town to your left. He would expect you to be there. But with the amount of blood you’d lost, the fact that you’d been running for hours and the lack of shelter in the hills, you had to go to the town. Maybe you’d find a sheltered place where you could stay for a few hours, before you left again. 

But you never did get to the town. 

Because as soon as you got back on your feet and went to grab your bag, your wrists were caught behind your back in an iron grip. You knew that scent all too well. 

Your heart threatened to burst in your ribcage, and your chest heaved, your eyes widening as you writhed wildly to no avail.

‘If I were you, I would stop thrashing, darling. I am not in a gracious mood’ he murmured against your ear, voice cold, seeping into your bones like ice. You stopped moving altogether, swallowing the heavy lump in your throat.

‘Have you any idea of what that fall could have done to you? You’re covered in blood. Did you break anything in your brilliant escape?’ he continued, and you wet your lips, your temples throbbing. 

Would he kill you now? Would he simply take you back? Would he break some more bones to punish you? Tie you to the bed, or relocate you to a basement? 

‘Answer me. You do not want to make this any worse than it already is’ he said coldly, releasing you and staring at you. You knew trying to make a run for it would be useless. He would catch you in seconds. And who knew what he’d do to you. 

You were done. He’d found you immediately. There was no escaping him. 

‘My knuckles. My ribs- my leg’ you whispered, scanning his face for any clue on what might happen to you. His jaw tightened.

‘So you counted on your power to heal you, disregarding that had you broken your neck, you would not be able to heal. Not quite well-thought out’ he said, a tinge of cold fury in his voice. You ground your teeth, deciding you would go out swinging instead of listening to more of his patronising remarks. 

‘I did not have many options. I ran, because you kidnapped me. I was willing to take the risk’ you spat, and he lifted his chin, looking down at you, seemingly rigid in his posture. 

‘I must say that was a rather inventive plan. I think I might have read about a character doing the same thing in an adventure book once’ he mused, recomposing himself and disregarding your words completely.

‘You clearly cannot care for yourself, darling. Look what you've done to yourself. You are so very fragile. We have much to discuss. Of course, there will be consequences, but you should know I would never hurt you. I simply need you to listen. You can come with me now without a fuss or you can make the situation worse for yourself and risk more dire consequences for your behaviour. Your choice’ he said, looking at you, his eyes softening ever so slightly as you let out a strangled sob. 

Choice. Another choice that was already written in stone.

‘Just let me go. Let me free. Please’ you breathed, resorting to pleading in the face of defeat, hating the fact that you could feel the tears spill from your eyes. He let out a soft sigh, cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You did not know whether you wanted to spit in his face or let him comfort you for something he was guilty of. Because you were so alone, your heart was so wretchedly heavy.

‘Shh, shh. It’s alright, my love. You must be so exhausted. You need to rest. I’ve got you. I’ve got you’ he kissed your forehead, soothing your sobs, and perhaps it was desperation and exhaustion that made you cling to his shirt with trembling fingers. You let all of your tears of frustration, pain, hurt and anger out, sobbing in the arms of the one who had brought them to life. And he was so gentle as he held you. So painfully tender in the way he soothed you, stroking your hair, kissing the top of your head, holding you close to him.

Chrollo bent to pick you up in his arms, and you buried your head against him, not wanting to look at him and accept what you had just done and where he was taking you. What the consequences of your escape would be.

As the temperature started dropping, you found yourself seeking out the warmth of his body, feeling the exhaustion catch up to you quickly. You had finally stopped crying, but your head was pounding and your eyes were raw from the tears.

You saw a car at the edge of the forest, parked behind the building, in front of the tree and your makeshift rope. He opened the door and deposited you on the passenger seat, closing it behind you and getting in on the other side. He reached over and put on your seatbelt, locking the doors and staring at you.

‘Where are we going? What is going to happen to me?’ you asked, voice hoarse from all the crying. Chrollo slicked back the wayward strands of black hair that had escaped his hairstyle, regarding you with a cold expression, if not slightly laced with disappointment.

‘You saw fit to break the window of our flat. I called some people to take care of the mess there and get our stuff whilst I retrieved you. We are going to another place, this one is compromised now. As to you, my love... I do not know what punishment would fit this crime. Your sorrow and your tears have touched me, truly. But I must ensure you learn your lesson. You don’t want this to happen again, do you?’ he asked, turning the keys and starting to drive.

Did you want this to happen again? Of course not. His tone let you know that if you ever did this again, there would be Hell to pay. Who knew what he would do now, you shuddered to imagine what he might think to do if you tried to escape once again.

‘No’ you said quietly.

There was no escaping Chrollo Lucilfer. You had been stupid to think that you could have done so. Drunk on the idea of freedom. He might have said he would never harm you physically, but he hadn’t said anything of the sort about your loved ones. You had learnt that with him, the devil was in the details. He always twisted meanings and played with words like a musician would play an instrument. And there was no escaping his judgement.

Chrollo was not having a nice day. He had had to pull back a heist when Shal had informed him the museum had been tipped off, and had thought he would just get to go home and spend some needed time with his darling girl. He had seriously thought you had made vast progress in your interactions with him. In a mere month, he had managed to mellow you a lot, and even though it had irked him to put up with your foolish tantrums, he had done so patiently, knowing being less strict would eventually aid him in making you come around. You had started to talk to him again, even seemed content to sit with him in the living room to read.

He wasn’t too pleased you never took him up on the offer to sit on his lap, and sometimes, he wanted to pull you against him and hold you there, but he was a patient man, and he understood the perks of patience and strategy.

That was why he had been willing to compromise on not taking everything he wanted yet. He had put boundaries on what was non-negotiable, like sleeping in the same bed. After all, you were his. He had claimed you, given you food, shelter and protection, brought you all kinds of beautiful gifts that reminded him of you, made you feel good. He knew you liked the sex, too. You could not deny it, he remembered all too well how very precious you had looked writhing underneath him, begging and whining for him.

Nevertheless, he was waiting to do it again, simply because you were under the impression you had been tricked by him with the vow you had made, and that had upset you. Understandably so, but the fact that you hadn’t paid enough attention to his words was hardly his fault. However, if he was respectful of your body and did not force himself on you, he knew you would eventually seek him out. He could already see the slivers of your resolve shattering, and it pleased him to no end. The way you now let him kiss the top of your head, flinching less often when he drew you in for a hug or stroked your cheek. It was a chess game, and Chrollo knew he would win.

But now, you’d broken his trust. You’d disappointed him.

When he had come back home, looking for you, thinking you might be asleep or ignoring him as he called your name, and had eventually seen the window shattered and a makeshift rope made of sheets and towels, he had seen red. There was blood spatter on the glass, and the thought of you going so far as to harm yourself in order to escape him had made his stomach hot with rage and his chest tight with worry.

He had inspected the grounds underneath the tree he surmised you had used to break your fall, and he could see some blood, not enough to make you die of blood loss. Some drips had seeped into the blades of grass that led to the woods. Torn between cold fury, worry and admiration for your commendable resolve, for a moment, he had also thought you were truly so delightful. It was so sweet of you to believe you could escape.

He also knew you must have used your power to heal yourself, because he expected you to have broken at least a few bones. Therefore, you must have been lightheaded and weak. A fragile thing like you, alone in the woods, where anyone could easily harm you. He had been worried sick, ready to burn the forest to ashes.

It had taken him twenty minutes to scour the whole forest. When he had found you, you had been panting, holding onto a tree as your gaze shifted between the hills and the small town as though you were considering your course of action. So fragile, so impossibly delicate and fatigued, so oblivious to your surroundings. He hated how you put yourself in danger. Hated that you thought it would be better than being by his side.

Of course, Chrollo knew it was human nature to seek freedom, so he could not fault you for trying. But he was not pleased. You had put yourself in danger and broken his trust.

He had been ready to make you learn your lesson by confining you to a windowless bedroom, never taking his eyes off you, even pay a visit to one of your friends. However, the moment you had started to sob and clung to him, accepting his embrace, seeking him in your sorrow, he had been truly moved. You were truly so sweet in his eyes, so vulnerable, he just wished to hold you and never let you go.

Now, he was not sure what the best course of action would be. Should he be understanding, threaten what would happen if there was another attempt, and bask in your need to be comforted by him? If he happened to be too strict with you, it might halt the progress you’d just made. But if he offered himself as the only one who could soothe your worries and comfort you, then, perhaps, you would become more dependent on him. He wanted nothing more.

But things would have to move more swiftly, because his patience was starting to run out. If he was honest, as he had you back in his car, looking so meek with your tear-stained eyes and torn clothes, he had only wanted to move you to the back of the car and show you just how much he needed you. Just how much you truly liked him. Then, maybe, you would regret your actions. But he had to hold back.

He had nothing but time with you. And your attitude and outlook on your living situation was the most important thing right now. He had to change your perspective, or his work the past month would be ruined just because he had lost his temper after you made a mistake. You could still make things better.

‘Chrollo’ you murmured, wringing your hands in your lap. You rarely called him by his name. You rarely talked to him without him starting the conversation. He loved the way his name sounded on your lips.

‘Mh?’

‘What’s going to happen to me?’ you repeated, small voice haunted. He placed his hand on your thigh, stroking your skin gently as he drove through the empty street.

‘You did something quite upsetting, dearest. You know I would have never forgiven myself if something happened to you. I cannot let anyone, including you, harm you. I cannot trust you now; you understand that, don’t you?’ he asked, voice smooth. A part of him wanted to ask you what you thought a fitting punishment would be. But he did not do well with not knowing what you would say.

‘I won’t try to run again- just... please don’t hurt the people I care about. Please. I’ll do anything’ you said desperately, and Chrollo forced himself to restrain the urge to smile. Now, that was a pleasant development. He could utilise this. Could reap the benefits of your dedication.

‘My love, it pains me that you think me a monster. There would be no reason to visit your past acquaintances if this is a one-time mistake. But how can I trust your word? How can I be certain you will not try to run from me again? That you’ll be my good girl?’ he asked gently, keeping his voice as soft and calm as he could.

Human imagination was truly intriguing. How you had come to that conclusion in your mind, already deeming it a reality, and sought to find a way out of it by offering everything you had. It was truly endearing, and Chrollo had barely had to do anything. And now, if he spared your acquaintances, he would be seen as merciful. You would be grateful. Even though he hadn’t planned to kill them as of yet, deeming it counterproductive for your opinion of him. But if he utilised your fears against you, he could appear as a compassionate source of comfort to you.

‘Because... I know it’s useless. And I don’t want to be the reason they might... get hurt’ you said earnestly, your bottom lip quivering. It made you look so sweet in his eyes. So innocent and pure. Completely different from him, someone so fascinating he could never take his eyes off you.

‘I- will behave. I’ll do- whatever you want’ you whispered, almost resignedly, your shoulders sloping. Chrollo let out a soft sigh. You had no idea of the effect you had on him when you said things like that. It was all he ever wanted. And soon, he knew you would say the same words with care and tenderness in your voice.

  He parked the car in front of the skyscraper, opening the door and stepping out, and a middle-aged woman approached him, holding a pair of keys. Chrollo took them from her, spotting Shal’s antenna sticking out of her neck when she turned to head towards the glass doors. Chrollo went back to the car, opening the door and giving you his hand. You looked at him, closing your eyes briefly before you accepted his help and stood up on unsteady legs. He took his coat off, wrapping it around you. It would not do to have you walk in the lobby with your shirt and legs covered in blood.

It was long and baggy on you, and covered your whole body. He thought you looked quite sweet in it. He made sure to lead you to the door with a hand on your lower back, not trusting your balance after the injuries you had sustained and the clear exhaustion he could observe in your sluggish movements.

This time, Chrollo had asked Pakunoda and Shal to find him a place as high up as possible, so you could still watch the sky and not get any stupid ideas. The woman led you and him to a lift and pressed the button for the fiftieth floor, the penthouse. He liked to show off with a better flat, a more luxurious one, but had it been up to him, he would not have cared much, so long as it was comfortable and had everything he might need.

The woman stayed in the lift as he led you outside, to the door of your new home. He opened it, stepping inside and conjuring Bandit’s Secret to lock the door with Nen that only he could unlock. He put the keys on the bowl on the accent table by the door, because they were as useful as a pen to you if you planned to use them to open the door.

The penthouse was spacious but decorated in a way he did not mind. Cosy and warm, with a big fireplace, a loveseat and two armchairs in front of it, bookshelves filled with books on the opposite wall. His friends had truly found him a good place to crash. The dining room and the kitchen were connected to the living room by a wall with open arches, and one side of the dining room was a full window that offered a nice view of the city. He decided to look for anything that might be amiss before you moved from the hallway, and walked through the corridor, opening the door to the bedroom and the bathroom. It must definitely be more expensive than his previous lodging, but he hardly cared or worried about that in his life.

His clothes and yours had been carried here in two suitcases, and Chrollo decided he would give you space to have a bath or a shower whilst he tidied things up. With that in mind, he stepped back into the living room, observing you as you put his coat on the armchair.

‘Why don’t you take a warm shower, darling? It will relax your muscles. I’ll be here if you need anything’ he said, and you looked down at your torn clothes, your eyes wandering around the room.

He quickly went back to the bedroom, opened the suitcases and grabbed one of his shirts and clean underwear. You could go without trousers. If he were honest, he wanted you to go without any of those cumbersome clothes covering your stunning body, but he doubted you would react nicely to it if he suggested that. He was willing to compromise.

Besides, the thought of you wearing one of his shirts was somehow even better than going without it. Something about having something that was his on you. Proof of the fact that you were his.

He stepped outside, handing you the clothes and planting a kiss on your forehead.

‘Uhm- I need... trousers’ you murmured, your face growing hot against his fingers. He smirked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Do you, darling? The shirt will cover enough of you up. I’ll be in the living room. Come over when you are finished’ he said, leaving you blushing in front of the bathroom and going to the bedroom, starting to sort through the clothes and objects in the suitcase.

When you came back, he had finished tidying up and was sitting down on the sofa with a book in his hand, the fireplace now crackling with orange flames and a glass of red wine on the coffee table.  

He had been right, you did look ravishing. With the smears of blood and dirt gone, his shirt on you, covering you to your upper thighs, leaving your legs exposed, he could hardly restrain himself. But tonight was not the right time to have you. No, he just wanted to hold you and see you. And perhaps taunt you a little as punishment for running away. Yes, he would definitely have you fulfil your promise to do anything he liked starting that very night.

He patted his thigh, and watched with sly amusement as you swallowed, clearly trying to find a loophole that would allow you to sit anywhere else. He enjoyed watching you rack your brains, knowing you might incur more dire consequences after you refused him the day you had attempted to escape.

It took you a minute, but eventually, you took small, hesitant steps towards him until you were firmly sat on his lap, his arm around you holding you to him. He loved your scent, loved the feel of your body against his, loved the sight of your pretty thighs. If he had been any other man, he would not have been able to exert control on his desires. But he would, because if he waited, the reward would be much sweeter. Besides, you seemed to think he would do something, and watching you squirm was delightful in it of itself.

He resumed reading the psychological thriller he’d picked up, stroking your ribs, knowing you’d mended them mere hours before. Your power was truly incredible. A power that sought to heal, remedy, one so in tune with your pure, kind soul. He found it so very fitting, so sweet. And so useful.

He could feel you shifting on his lap from time to time, and could not decide whether he wanted you to continue or to stop because it was so enticing. He decided he might do something, even if he would not take you to bed yet. After all, he had you there, glued to his body. It would be a sin to discard such a sweet chance.

He lowered his book, holding you more tightly, tilting your chin with his fingers.

‘Kiss me’ he murmured, watching you to see if you would hold to your word. He saw your pretty eyes widen, your lips parted as you scanned his face and shifted on him. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, pulling lightly on it, and he could not wait to do that himself and feel just how soft your lips were.

He had held back on kissing your lips as well, and he still remembered how worked up he had managed to get you just with that. He had a nice plan in the making, but he wanted you to kiss him first. Set it into motion.

You hesitantly craned your neck to press your soft lips on his cheek, and he let out a soft laugh, cupping your jaw.

‘Do not play coy with me, darling. You know perfectly well what I mean. Now, shall we try that again?’ he crooned, and he could see the acquiescence on your face set, compliance in the face of what you had said in the car as you leaned back towards him, closing your eyes and pressing your lips to his. This time, you did not have to be told to do it again. You knew what he wanted from you, and you acquiesced, tilting your head and touching his hair gingerly, your lips brushing against his, soft and timid. Chrollo restrained the urge to take the lead and show you exactly what he craved, because he wanted you to get there yourself.

At first, you kissed him slowly, tentatively, but then, the tip of your tongue traced the outline of his bottom lip, and you sucked it gently. Chrollo’s fingers curled around your scalp, tangling in your hair as he sank his teeth in your bottom lip, taking advantage of it to slide his tongue in your mouth. He had waited way too long to do this, but God, it was worth it.

You were addicting. He sucked and licked your lower lip, pressing his tongue against yours, tasting you, savouring the feeling of your restraint fading whenever he kissed you more passionately. A few times, he could have sworn you sought out his lips, hungry for more, battling your own desires but unable to deny them to the fullest. And it felt like a damn drug to him. He could force himself on you, but nothing could ever replace the feeling of watching you melt in his arms, so willing and pliant by the time you warmed up to his touch.

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and his hand wandered down to cup your ass, fingers gripping the plump flesh of it, his cock already hard in his trousers. Judging by the way you were squirming and pressing your thighs together, he knew you would be wet if he touched you. And the thought alone was tantalising. He wanted to devour you, wanted you underneath him again, pretty and completely at his mercy. But he steered clear, deciding to just stroke your thighs, massage them, feel the goosebumps there as he continued to kiss you.

When his fingers inched closer to your inner thigh and you spread them for him a little, he knew he’d won. He smirked against your lips, sucking your swollen bottom lip one last time before he pulled back, looking at your flushed skin, bright eyes and tormented lips. You looked so tantalising, so compliant.

‘Have you any idea what you do to me?’ he whispered, his hand resting on your hip now. He let you simmer in that feeling, knowing that he would not have to wait much longer, he would have you soon.

He went back to his book, smirking slightly whenever you would squirm in his grasp. Oh, you must be so wound up. He wished he could help you. But this was all in favour of something better. To make you truly desperate, just as he was to get his hands on you. To have you all the time.

It did not take you long to start growing more sluggish, and before he knew it, he had finished the book and you were asleep, your head against his jaw, peaceful in your slumber. You were such a heavy sleeper, but he was also aware that you had exhausted yourself with that foolish stunt you’d pulled. He kissed your hair, setting the book down and lifting himself up, carrying you to bed. When he looked at you as you twisted in the sheets and his shirt lifted up to reveal the panties he’d picked out, he let out an audible groan.

Just a little longer, he thought. For now, he headed to the bathroom, seeking to relieve your effect on him.

You were disgusted with yourself. Disgusted with your weakness, disgusted with the effect he had on you. Yes, you’d said you’d do anything if he spared your loved ones, and you had been dreading him trying to fuck you. Having to go through it again. You had not expected him not to.

A week had passed, a week of torture. You had given up altogether on running away, especially because the door was impossible to open and jumping out the window wasn’t a viable option anymore. He had been more lenient than you’d ever imagined he could be, and hadn’t even tried to fuck you. He had merely demanded you sit on his lap and kiss him. And he had done so every day for the past week.

And every night for the past week, you’d been plagued with dreams about him having his way with you. You were horrified whenever you woke up drenched, pressure in your lower stomach, the unbearable desire to feel his touch rearing its ugly head again. Reminding yourself of who he was had become increasingly difficult, when all you could think about was how good he felt, how much his touch sparked heat in your body. And he knew it too, the clever bastard. You could see it in his sly grey eyes, in the sardonic smirk he would give you once he pulled away.

You were lonely, and you were tired. Tired of the struggle, tired of the anxiety, tired of weighing your every word, of pushing him away, of walking on eggshells all day long. It would be so easy to give in. The only thing that held you back was giving him the satisfaction. But then again, you’d already done that the time you’d slept with him. What was the point? Wouldn’t you live a much easier life if you gave in? If you stopped fighting and just let him encroach himself in your life? It had already happened, and your stubbornness and pride were only making your life harder.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You were weak and twisted for considering liking someone like him. Someone who had kidnapped you, a murderer with no morals, a man who had no problems threatening your loved ones and keeping you captive.

But what choice did you have? What was there in the future for you? More struggle, more bile in your throat, more tightness in your chest, more pain and suffering? Or just acceptance?

He could be considerate, when you did what he wanted. And he could be your worst nightmare if he wanted to.

You couldn’t defeat him, couldn’t escape, couldn’t convince him to let you go. Your choices were to either live a miserable life of suffering, or to give in and experience something bordering safety. Something that might resemble a life one day. All in exchange for giving in to the one who had ruined your life. Somehow, the choice made itself in your mind.

Part III here

[beanmachine69]

Brothers' Beloved Best-friend | Daniel Ricciardo (part i)

What happens when you sleep with your brothers' bestfriend?

(picture from pinterest)

part ii

part iii

Coming back home was a nightmare, it was summer, which meant that your once peaceful home would be packed with family and friends, and though you wouldn't mind that on most days, today was not one of those days.

It was hot, your cousins who had dropped by for breakfast had just left when your brother announced that he was having one of his old friends stay in the spare room for a few days. Your brother was just one of those people; the one with an endless amount of friends and just so incredibly social that it baffled you on most days. He practically knew everyone, it was impossible to keep track of all of his friends.

"Which one?", You asked, looking up from the TV.

"Danny." He replied casually, unknown to the weight of his words.

You paused. No God, please not him. Your brother had had him over several times since you were a kid. The last time you saw him, you were in your first year of University, you two had hooked up after you'd confessed to having a crush on him when you were younger during a game of truth or dare. You refused to get back in contact with him after that out of sheer embarrassment, and the fact that he was your brothers' much older best friend.

"How long is he staying here?" You asked, trying your best to sound as casual about it as possible. You knew if your family found out it wouldn't end well for either of you- and despite the ghosting, you really didn't want that for him.

Daniel and your brother were always close, somehow managing to keep in touch despite their busy schedules. He was a great guy, really funny and charming and everyone in your family seemed to like him- especially you.

"Oh I don't know, he's in town for a week or two, why?" Your brother asked, sitting on the couch next to you.

"Just asking." You replied, turning your attention back to the TV to avoid any eye contact with your brother. With how social he was, he had obviously picked on several skills, one of which included reading people, he was really really good at that.

Later on, when you found yourself not being able to sleep at night, you resorted back to your phone. You'd obviously followed Daniel on his socials, just to stay "updated", you'd say. But in reality it was to check if he was single or not, because despite the circumstances, you hadn't really gotten over him- it didn't matter that he was much older than you and your brothers' bestfriend. He was your first crush and you don't really get over those, especially when they're Daniel Ricciardo.

You hadn't realised when you'd fallen asleep, but you were awoken by loud talking in the lounge. Even though your room was far from the lounge, no amount of pillows could keep the noise out, and so you were forced out of bed. After identifying more voices than usual, you opted to shower and change before stepping out of your room, still a little tired from staying up late the night before.

The second you opened the door, you heard it. His voice. You froze almost instantly, panicking.

Oh my God what do I do?

What do I say?

What if he says something?!

Do I look okay?!

Oh my God this is not going to end well-

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard his laugh boom through the lounge. A smile creeped it's way onto your lips, feeling a familiar tingly feeling in your stomach.

Oh God, here we go again.

Despite mustering up all your courage, you still bee-lined your way to the kitchen, right past the lounge after mumbling a goodmorning, pretending like you didn't see the guest who was making you act the way you were.

"You're up!" Your dad announced, "Come, look who's here!"

You had successfully reached the kitchen and were trying your best to make the perfect amount of noise to indicate that you were busy.

"Coming!" you yelled, looking frantically for anything you could take outside to justify your stay in the kitchen.

You were just done making your cereal when you heard someone clear their throat at the kitchen entrance. It didn't take long to recognise who it was- infact you recognised the noise the second you heard it, suddenly finding the cabinet where you were returning the cereal box too interesting to close. You knew if you closed it, you'd see him and you were far too nervous to do that. So, you decided to stare blankly at the cabinet, how interesting and absolutely something someone does all the time.

It was only when you heard a stiffled laugh did you close the cabinet door, slightly offended.

What was he laughing at?

"Interesting cabinet you got there." He retorted, smile adorning his perfect face.

"Hm yeah, I was uh looking for something." You replied. What happened to polite greetings, or a simple hello? How rude.

He nodded as he made his way to you, making you all the more nervous. Being in the same house was terrifying enough, but now he was a mere foot away from you. He extended his arm and you stiffened up entirely, making him raise his brows at your sudden movement. His extended arm opened the cabinet you were guarding, moving his head to get a better look at the contents.

"Were you looking for plain oats? or maybe uh, what's this?" He asked, pulling a box out for further examination, "Ah yes, plain wheat sugar-free crackers? What an interesting choice for breakfast." He chuckled.

You didn't have a response. He knew you were hiding from him behind the cabinet and he knew that he was making you nervous too. The proximity at which he stood didn't help your thoughts much either, you could smell his cologne, and it was as intoxicating as it was that first night.

Seeing that you chose silence as a response to his humour, he nodded, slowly backing away from you. He picked up your bowl of cereal, winked at you and went back to the lounge.

"She made me a bowl of cereal! College has made her so kind!" He joked, integrating himself back into whatever discussion your parents and brother were having.

"Son of a bitch." You mumbled, knowing the game he had begun.

Daniel had always teased you, whether it was a joke or a prank, he was always at it with you. Earlier you'd reciprocate that energy, it was good fun and he was always a delight to be around. Having developed a crush on him at some point didn't help, but it didn't put a hamper on how you hung out with him.

You could recall great memories with him too, like how he picked you up from a failed date that you didn't want your family to know, or how the last time you met, you two had snuck out of a family party for drinks. He treated you like a friend too, and you always assumed it was because of the type of person he was. So, when two years ago, his stares held on for longer, or his hugs lingered for a few extra moments, you didn't question it- you convinced yourself that he was being his usual friendly self. It was only when he dragged you out of the party and made out with you in some dark alleyway behind a club did you piece two and two together. That, and the breathless confessions you two had in the middle of kisses.

Your family called out to you again, snapping you back to reality- the reality where Daniel had stolen your breakfast, making you resort to a granola bar from the shelf. You moved to the lounge, smiling at your family as you propped yourself next to your mother on the couch.

"Thanks for the breakfast." Daniel laughed, pausing the conversation to acknowledge you.

"I spat in it." You replied, rolling your eyes. The response came naturally, you two had fit yourselves back into the roles you always had.

This earned a sound of disgust from your mother, as the conversation continued. To be fair, you weren't paying attention and even when you did, it didn't matter because you had no clue as to what the hell anyone was saying. Your mind kept wandering over to Daniel, and how he looked that night, how he pulled you out of the alley and drove you two home, fucking you on the same bed and pillow where you'd touch yourself thinking about him.

You looked up, pulling yourself from your inappropriate thoughts, only to find Daniel glancing at you. You were right, he did pass looks at you when no one was looking, but this time around you were certain you had pushed him away for good, fucking up the one thing that could have been good.

"Do you have any plans today?" Your brother asked. You were zoning out a lot since Daniel got here, every statement from anyone was snapping you out of your mental palace and shoving you back into reality.

"Yeah, yeah I have some errands to run, stuff to buy." You replied, you needed an excuse to get out of the house, your diminishing self-care products proving to be a good example.

"Cool, take Danny with you, idiot barely got any stuff." Your brother said off handedly, propping himself off the couch.

"Why can't you take him?" You asked. The speed of your reply shocked your brother, and his friend, both of whom turned to you.

"Because, not everyone is back for their summer break," He said, pitching his voice higher in an attempt to mock you, "I have work, you know, adult stuff."

You snorted, "What work? sit around in dad's office and play fruit ninja on your phone?"

"Jeez, someone's a bit cranky." Daniel pitched in in an attempt to alleviate the situation, ofcourse he packed less, he knew that would be a great excuse to drag you away from your family and confront you.

You were going to resist more, when you saw the smirk on Daniels' face. Even he knew that if you resisted it would alert your over-protective brother, and that was the last thing you needed amidst this mess. So, you nodded, and got up to go to your room. It was 10 a.m, and you really didn't want to go alone with Daniel, so your best bet was to try to wait a bit in your room till you could drag your mother with you two.

You had spent a while on your phone, trying to pass the time when you heard your bedroom door open, with your back faced towards the door, you chose to ignore it, assuming it was your mother. The momentary silence alerted you into turning around- your mother would never just enter a room and stand there quietly.

It was Daniel, ofcourse. He was examining an old picture frame you had repositioned.

"This wasn't here the last time I was here." He replied, not looking up at you, rather continuing to examine the picture. It was a picture from your eighteenth birthday party, you were cutting the cake, surrounded by friends, and in the corner of the picture, you could see your brother and his beloved friend plotting on how to get that icing on your face. It was an adorable picture, and held great memories. Your eighteenth was one of your most memorable birthdays for several reasons, but the main being the fact that Daniel had bought you a little blue pendant as a gift. It was beautiful and you wore it the second you opened the box and saw it, and you never took it off since then- despite whatever had happened between you and Daniel in between, you kept the necklace close to you, and on you at all possible times. It meant a lot to you, and was a great reminder of better times.

"What are you doing in my room?" You asked, sitting up.

"Did you rearrange stuff this time around?" He asked, leaning on the wall and looking around.

"Yeah, just shifted things here and there." You replied, a bit confused at the topic he chose for conversation.

"Hm, looked different." He replied.

A silence followed as he continued to scan the room, his eyes finally landing on the bed, and then onto you on the bed. He held the gaze for a moment, almost as if he was about to say something, but before he could, you interrupted him out of fear that he'd ask the dreaded question you didn't want to answer.

"Why are you in my room?" You repeated.

"I just came to ask when we were going to the store." He smiled.

God, that stupid, stupid smile. The one he'd flash almost constantly, and yet every time you saw it, your stomach did backflips. The way his cheeks pushed his eyes and the way his teeth showed, the ways his lips moved and how hsi stubble looked around them. It was adorable, it really was, and you hated yourself for still managing to die over it. It had been years and you needed to get over this silly little crush, especially considering you chose to push away all that could happen.

"Uh, I was just waiting for mom." You replied, looking away from him. You couldn't stand looking at that face, it made you feel awful. He'd probably already gotten over the fling, it probably meant nothing more than a silly one night stand for him.

"Your mom's gone to a friends' brunch I think, and your dad and brother have gone to the office." He shrugged.

"What?!" You asked, more shocked than you had expected. You were home alone with the one man you didn't want to be alone with.

The volume of your response shocked him, his brows raising as he held his hands in the air.

"Hey, hey, dont scream at me I didn't send them. The office needed the fruits ninjad." He laughed, the joke was bad, but it helped alleviate the tension in the room.

You laughed, putting your head down to look at your crossed legs, you didn't want him to see the blush that rose at your cheeks. He always remembered silly things you said, recalling them here and there as silly little jokes or taunts. That was part of his charm, remembering things about you, it always felt nice to be included like that.

You two were standing alone in your bedroom again, the realisation of your privacy and the possibilities of such privacy, hit you like a truck, prompting you to jump out of bed and move to your dresser. You needed to get out of the house, or atleast get in motion in an attempt to prevent any unwanted conversations.

You and him were out for nearly two hours, in which you were alone in the car, which he insisted on driving, were at the store, and at one point even at the bakery. Throughout the time you had spent together, not once did Daniel bring up the past, nor did he hint at it, instead you had standard conversations about things like college, the weather, his career and anything you felt like. It felt like old times.

It was only when he parked the car infront of the house did the air get thick with tension. You could sense that he would prompt the discussion, and so when you turned to face him, you were just shocked to see him looking at you, smiling. Nowhere on his face could you read any anger or confusion, nor did he look like he was going to ask or say something. He just smiled at you, unlocking the car doors and moving to get the shopping bags in the house, leaving you dumbfounded in the car.

Was he really not going to bring up the conversation? Was he not going to ask why you refused to talk to him the morning he left? Or why you shut down any forms of online communication you two could have had? Did he somehow magically understand? Or did that night mean nothing to him?

He had ofcourse tried to talk to you the morning after, and you had expressed some concern, but it was only the next morning when he was leaving, did you decide that a side hug was enough of a goodbye. He then tried texting you the next day, only for you to see the message and not respond. He had tried, you had just shut him down, knowing very well that continuing what you two had would be wrong. He was so close to your brother, and you didn't want your brother to feel betrayed like that.

Now, he was behaving exactly how you'd want him to. He was pretending like nothing had happened, so why were you upset? Did you want him to bring up that uncomfortable question? Did you want him to ask why you got so cold all of a sudden? Maybe you did, maybe the part of you that still liked him, really wanted him to try and do something one last time to fix what you had ruined.

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A/N: HII!!!! IM BACK WITH A SERIES HEHE!! sorry for the cliffhanger, I'll be uploading the next part soon! The second part will probably have smut in it, so a headsup for that. This is my first series and my first fic here, please please lmk how you like it and if I could improve in any way.

As usual, my asks are open for criticism and requests!

[portaltothevoid]

you're losing me part iii -- copia x reader

A/N: alright, this has officially turned into a mini-series (yes there'll be at least a part four!). dedicating this to @ivycasket @fishwithtitz @da-rulah and @water-ghoulette for your kind words and excitement over this little story of mine. it encouraged me to just keep writing, so please enjoy part iii!

songs: you're losing me and would've, could've, should've

word count: 2.8k

warnings: another breakdown, gossip, bullying if you squint?, a fleeting moment of spice

The days after you left Papa Emeritus III made you feel as if you walked through a forest of thorns then waded into the ocean. You couldn’t hide away and wait to be forgotten. There was no forgetting you. You were the one who had gotten the illustrious Terzo to commit to one person, something that shocked the whole Ministry given his reputation. It was only a matter of time before the nature of your separation became murmurs of “told you so” and “should’ve seen that coming.”

Your relationship had advanced your sisterly duties, which you were still expected to fulfill. Burying your eyes into texts of Latin and Italian served to be a good enough distraction for the most part. Your job allowed you to be secluded. The few who you did interact with were respectful enough, but no one could take their eyes off the elephant in the room. When they did, their looks of pity sparked scorned chagrin. 

The first week after was the hardest. Truthfully, you could have been a contender for an Oscar with how you presented yourself. By the middle of the week, it was common knowledge that you weren’t at Papa’s side like you once had been. No one knew exactly what had happened, but they all knew something had changed. You held your high as you saw Brothers, Sisters, and Ghouls alike turn to each other and whisper or stop mid sentence to stare at you. Those that had the decency to treat you normally, you acted as if nothing was wrong, as if your former life with their Papa had never existed. 

Copia kept an eye on you from a distance. He was always watching out for you, ready to put everything on the line if someone took something one step too far. Both of you knew you had to keep your alliance, your relationship, a secret still. It would only create more of a scandal and you were already pushing your limit with just how much you could handle. On the rare occasion where another Cardinal would catch on, when questioned, he simply dismissed it as being entertained by this week’s gossip. If they suspected it was something more, they never let on. 

Luckily you had managed to avoid seeing Terzo throughout the week, the perks of his schedule still being lodged in your memory.  If only your luck had run out earlier. It would have saved you the near panic attack that the first Black Mass had brought you. That was the number one rule: Black Mass was mandatory. Very few exceptions were accepted for missing it. Wanting to avoid your ex? Absolutely not on the list of valid excuses. 

Your compromise was being fashionably late, arriving only moments before it started. This allowed for you to slip in and find an open seat on the end of the last pew. The Sister next to you shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with herself in your presence. You pretended you didn’t notice, but you did. You always did. 

Foolishly, you hoped your late entrance and being hidden in the back would shield you from his gaze. Focused on the prayer book in front of you, you didn’t even need to look up to know when his eyes landed on you. Against your own judgement, you looked up. You caught his eye just long enough to see his painted eyebrows pull together. A flash of pain, maybe even regret. But as he began the next verse, he looked away from you and carried on with Mass. If you ever looked away from the book in front of you, you found Copia. His eyes always found yours, but his expression stayed unreadable.

To everyone around you, you looked stoic and devoid of any real expression on your face. As the time for communion neared, your insides felt like they were in a blender. You balled your fists at your sides so tightly, your knuckles were white. Seeing the mischief dance in his eyes, you knew he was going to pull something. 

The closer you got to him, the more your skin crawled. Whatever he was planning, you were hellbent on getting the last word, the last laugh. Your life was a living-hell because of him. Right there, right then you vowed to make his just as miserable.

You could feel every eye on you the moment you kneeled in front of him. Everyone waited with baited breath as they waited on the edge of their seats for whatever was about to unfold. Will they? Won’t they? Civil? Uncivil?

He pressed the wafer roughly into your tongue, slowly dragging his finger away so it hit your bottom lip. Your apathetic expression vanished. Your eyes grew wide before a catastrophic storm blew over your face. He knew you well enough to know what you hated to be the center of attention, for every single person in the room to be solely focused on you. But you left him. You left him for someone else. He hadn’t heard a word from you or even caught a glimpse of you since you left and he tried. He desperately tried. 

The tension was radiating off the two of you in palpable waves. For you, this was a whole new level of fury. Depending on whatever he would do next, you prayed to Satan for forgiveness for however you would react, especially when you saw the smirk on his face deepen as he grabbed the chalice of wine from an alter Ghoul. Your breathing became hard and shallow as your rage continued to erupt.  

“Hmm,” he hummed seductively as he poured the wine into your mouth. “How I’ve missed seeing you like this, sorella…” He spoke loud enough that the handful of people who overheard let out an audible gasp. You were never a Sorella to him. His sarcastic tone poured into your open wounds like salt. This wasn’t a game anymore. This was war. 

You pursed your lips as you stood, not having swallowed the wine. In a fluid motion, you grabbed him by his papal robes, spitting the wine in his face. As the whole room gasped, they held their breaths. It was so quiet, you could’ve heard a hairpin drop. “Vaffanculo, bastardo,” you growled as you let him go with a shove. (Go fuck yourself, bastard.)

Everyone still lingering in the aisle parted as you stormed out, pushing open one set of the double doors so hard that it slammed behind you. It wasn’t until then that you let the tears cascade down your face.

Back inside, Primo had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter, Secondo let his head fall into his palm as he shook it in tired disapproval, Sister Imperator’s eye twitched, and Nihil held his oxygen mask to his face for several breaths. The whole congregation began to stir as Terzo walked off to the Cardinal’s table to get something to wipe the wine off his face. Copia stood so fast his chair almost fell over. When he turned to leave, “Ah, ah, ah, Cardinale,” Terzo tutted. “You were selected to lead the closing prayer tonight. Ricordi, sì?” (You remember, yes?) 

Slowly Copia turned to him. The fury in his eyes rivaled yours. He grabbed his prayer book and stiffly walked to the center podium. Terzo had gotten under his skin and he knew it too. He refused to wipe the conniving look from his face. Copia caught Sister Imperator’s eyes as he passed by. She looked away, but gave him a curt nod. She knew he was right. She knew what had to be done.

~~~

As soon as you slammed the door to Copia’s you sank down to your knees and let out a blood-curdling scream. You banged your fists into the floor, not caring about the pain. “Please, Satanas. Belial. Lucifer, please, please, forgive me. Please, forgive me. Ambo te ignosce me. Please. Please,” you sobbed over and over again in English and Latin. You were in a relationship with the current Papa, but you weren’t his spouse. In the technical eyes of the church, you really were just a Sister, even if you were high up in the ranks. What you did to him… during Black Mass of all times… You defiled Papa in front of the whole congregation. It was grounds for expulsion from the Abbey. It was grounds for excommunication. “Please forgive me…” you cried softly into the ground as your arms curled around your head.  

When you finally ran out of energy and were just laying on the floor catching your breath, you forced yourself to get up. Your limbs felt like they were weighed down with cement. Your voice you knew was hoarse. You could feell how puffy your eyes were and your sinuses felt like balloons.

You made your way over to the couch, grabbing the tissues that were still on the coffee table. On autopilot, you blew your nose a few times before you leaned back and stared at nothing. You sat there in the dark constantly replaying every single moment that made you want to cry and scream all over again. But you couldn’t. You simply couldn’t move. The only thing you could do was wait for Copia. You didn’t know if he would be more mad at you or Terzo for the spectacle. You didn’t know if he could do any damage control for you. So there you stayed, staring off into the void. Too numb to continue worrying. Too numb to care.

Copia burst through the door like a bat out of hell when he was finally able to return home. “Where are you?!” he demanded. 

You only winced at the sound. “In here…” was all you managed to croak. 

He went right for you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” You avoided eye contact. He reached over and turned the lamp beside the couch on. You shut your eyes tightly as they adjusted to the light. He shook you again. “Look at me.”

You dragged your eyes to his face. Tears started to well up again when you saw the pained look on his face and the sheer panic in his eyes. For him to look that fearful… no, this couldn’t be good. You looked away from him again when tears started to fall. “What did he say to you?” he murmured, wiping your tears away.

“He said he missed seeing me like that,” you said through gritted teeth. Copia’s face darkened. It was worse than he thought. “And then he called me sorella. In front of everyone,” you added.

“But bambina,” he sighed, “you are just a sorella now. You aren’t together. He is still… our Papa.” He could barely say the last sentence.

“He is not my Papa! He will never be my Papa! Do you have any idea what this week has been like for me? Do you?” you yelled.

“No, I don’t because you’ve done nothing but shut me out!” he yelled back. Your face dropped when he raised his voice at you. You knew he was right. Old habits die hard. He took a deep breath to calm himself. When he looked back at you, his face had softened considerably. He brushed the hair out of your eyes. “You have to let me in, amore mio,” he whispered. “I can’t help you if I don’t know…”

“I-I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s all been too much,” you squeaked. “I-I don’t know how much more I can take.”

He reached to take your hands in his, but that wasn’t enough. You needed more than solace, more than comfort. You needed him. So you grabbed his pellegrina and pulled him to you. Your sudden show of force took him off balance. His arm shot out to grab the back of the couch to brace himself so he didn’t fall on top of you. He scrambled so that he was straddling you. His other hand grabbed the side of your neck. He used his thumb to caress your face. The weight of him on you was like being thrown a life vest as you were drowning.

“I’m working on… I’m trying to…” he sighed, unable to express what he wanted to tell you. “There are some things going on that not many know about, okay? The less you know… The less you know the better. It’s safer for you that way, hm?” 

You nodded. You trusted Copia. You trusted him more than you ever trusted anyone in your whole life. But so many worries and fears burdened your cluttered mind. “How can I even show my face again?” you whispered, barely audible.

“With your head held high, amore. You made it through this week, eh? You can make it through the next.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, but you rolled your eyes.

“Unless they kick me out for what I did.”

“They wouldn’t dare. You have powerful allies, cara. You might get a, eh, slap on the wrist,” he chuckled lightly before he turned serious again. “We can go to war with him, but it is to be a silent war, hm? No more public displays of battle at mass.”

“He started it,” you pouted. 

“For what it’s worth, topolina, he deserved it,” he said with a smirk bordering on seeming prideful.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Are you… proud of me?” you asked slyly.

“No, no. I don’t condone those acts of… defiance, but… I’m not upset about it either…” he said, playfully which made you let out a small giggle. His heart swelled seeing you smile. He brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “I will always fight for you. Remember that, okay? Sempre. Ora sei mio.” (Always. You’re mine now.)

Your eyes darted from his eyes to his lips before you nodded. “Sì. Sono tua. Sono tua,” you said breathlessly as you stared deeply into his mismatched eyes. He leaned down to kiss you, softly at first, but the hunger you had for each other caused flames to erupt. His tongue caressed your bottom lip and you opened your mouth eagerly for him. Naturally, that was when there was a soft knock at the door.

“Cazzo,” he breathed. He went to get up, but you pulled him back, still having his pellegrina in your iron grip. You shook your head no with a pout. He didn’t need much convincing to return his lips to yours, but then there was another, louder knock. This time it was much more urgent. You sighed as you let go of him. 

You peaked around, able to see the small entryway from your spot on the couch. It was a ghoul, handing something over to Copia. “Grazie. Th-thank you,” he said to the ghoul before they turned and marched away. The door shut and he walked back over to you in a daze. “I-it’s for you…” he said as he handed you a black envelope. You turned it over to see the wax seal of Papa Emeritus III. 

Worriedly, your eyes flashed up at Copia. You opened it with trembling fingers. Before you could pull out the contents of the envelope, you shoved it into Copia’s chest. “I can’t,” you told him. He dutifully continued to open it, eyes scanning over the letter. When his brow furrowed, you couldn’t take the suspense anymore. “What? What is it?”

“It’s a summons. For tomorrow morning.”

part ii | part iv

[ama-factkin]

i understand why people are against factkin when it comes to recently alive people or currently alive people. not that I think it can be controlled but some people need to seriously stop glorifying and putting certain sources out there so publicly at the least. But all arguments against factkin fall apart when you think about it in the context of ancient historical figures, people who died over a thousand years ago have no real effect on the people alive today and it's hard to claim it's disrespectful because what we know about said figures beyond that point is likely a caricature and we'll never know how they truly were and what truly happened in their life. So I DONT understand the absolutely-no-factkin attitude in the wider kin community. No matter what you believe there's sections of this community that are entirely harmless and respectful, so why do people act like it's evil?

There is no point in drawing lines as to which factkin are acceptable and which ones are not. Kintypes do not equal behaviour. They can influence it, sure, but at the end of the day peoeple are responsible for their own actions.

Speaking as someone who has a medieval kintype, a Victorian kintype, a Renaissance kintype, a recently deceased kintype and a kintype that is currently alive: I don't understand why people are uncomfortable with some of my kintypes and not others. I mean, I understand that there is a reason given. It's the reason that makes no sense to me.

If I can be Peter III of Aragon, who lived in the 1200's, I can be Eminem. The situation is not actually that different. Yes, it is different in that one is alive and one is not, but these are both famous people who have lived in this universe whom I identify as on a spiritual level and will never personally meet. If I did hypothetically meet either of them would I tell them that I'm factkin? No! Marshall Mathers would definitely think it was weird and Peter would probably have me executed for claiming to be him (the king) because he wouldn't understand what the words "factkin" and "multiverse" mean! The stipulation that "only dead factkin are okay" makes no sense to me because these two identities feel the exact same to me and I am not doing anything to hurt anyone regardless!

The other reason this stipulation makes no sense to me is the fact that who is alive and who is dead changes literally every minute. At the risk of sounding insensitive: I am David Bowie and as of 2016 he is dead. Was it "wrong" for me to be David Bowie prior to his death? Is it okay now? At what time does it become okay? Some people say "it's not okay because his relatives could be upset by it" but then I'd like to bring up Edgar Allan Poe! His descendants are still alive. Am I hurting them? I can't see how I would be: I don't know who they are and they don't know who I am.

I understand that people feel differently about different parts of the factkin community but it seems like so many people draw lines arbitrarily. People are individuals and a having a kintype does not make you a bad person. Likewise, a kintype is not an excuse for bad behaviour. Remember: most factkin aren't stalkers and most stalkers aren't factkin. Is there a small population of that venn diagram that overlaps? Probably. You know what other venn diagram overlaps? People who eat lobster and stalkers. People who make furniture and stalkers. Correlation is not causation. Just because there is a population that does both things does not mean one causes the other.

In my mind there is no viable reason to support some parts of the factkin community and not others. No kintype is "evil" because being otherkin is not an action with moral weight.

Thank you for the ask!

[midorishinji]

Disappearing act - chapter I

Geto observed her more carefully, trying to decide whether she was being serious or not. — Killing non-sorcerers? — It's an option, but I don't take it seriously. Do you? — Yuki pressed him with a loaded question. Suguru Geto thought of them all — Shoko, Nanami, Haibara, Riko, Kuroi, his parents, Satoru — and his chest filled with an unbearable pain, but also an incredibly monumental love, so much that it felt like it would stretch and burst at the seams of his heart that could not contain it. He thought of his father again, reading him "Night on the Galactic Railroad" when he was young, and he thought of Satoru reading his own copy now during his leisure nights. He thought of Giovanni and Campanella, and of the Scorpio of the night sky, and of the nobility of sacrifice, of setting yourself on fire to warm the world.

Satosugu ｜Finalized｜Long fic｜Also being published in Portuguese and on AO3

Chapters: I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI - XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII

a.n: an AU where no one dies and these idiots go through the slowest of slow burns

Chapter I: the truth is rarely pure and never simple

Satoru Gojo is the strongest man and the most feared sorcerer. His mere existence is a tear in the fabric of reality, warping the delicate balance between curses and sorcerers, an outlier in power statistics. Despite this, there was something he feared — or rather, someone he feared: Toji Fushiguro. Satoru would wake up in the middle of the night, in cold sweat, thinking about the man who was at the other end of his power scale, someone who had absolutely zero cursed energy, and who made up for this restriction through sheer physical strength that bordered on the divine. He thought about the feeling of the blade entering his neck, tearing flesh and muscles until it reached and scraped the vertebrae of his spine. Blood, blood, blood. Everything turned red in a split second, the mere second taken to deactivate his technique.

Anyone else should have died. Any other sorcerer, no matter what grade, would not have survived the Inverted Spear of Heaven, which can stop any and all techniques of its target. But Satoru Gojo wasn't just anyone, as he always liked to make clear: he was a god among humans. Toji shouldn't have underestimated him. He shouldn't have turned his back to go after Geto and Riko, not without being absolutely sure that Satoru was dead. In the final seconds, all of Shoko's damn confusing explanations about the Reverse Cursed Technique finally made sense as he awakened the powers of Limitless. Toji didn't even realize he was hit by the Hollow until it was too late. There was still blood, a lot of blood, this time from someone else, on his hands.

His attempt at rudimentary healing with the Reverse Cursed Technique wasn't the best, but it was enough to leave him stable to go after Geto and Amanai. While crawling through the secret underground tunnels, Gojo heard the most painful words that Riko Amanai uttered, between sobs: “I want to live”.

In his nightmares, he never recovers in time to stop Toji from killing Riko. The future unfolded more painfully each second after: Suguru would abandon him, he would abandon his own values, he would become a criminal, a murderer; how many lives would be sacrificed for his own mistake, his own failure, his own delay in putting an end to it before everything broke into pieces? Satoru carried the weight of a guilt compatible with his powers on his back.

But they were just nightmares. Every time he woke up with his hands covered in blood, drenched in sweat, screaming in terror throughout the night, none of it was real; little by little, it would disappear, much like the ghosts that seemed to haunt his room in the darkness. All of this would disappear, over time, that was what he tried to convince himself to try and go back to sleep, to return to normality.

That night at the end of August 2006 was hot. Despite the nightmares, what woke him up was the insistent alarm at 3 AM: for a few seconds, Satoru reached out his arms in the dark, looking for a button to turn off the alarm clock, imagining that he was going crazy for setting an alarm in the middle of the night, but the confusion only lasted until he remembered that there was indeed a method to his madness. He had an appointment at the cemetery of Jujutsu High.

Putting on the first t-shirt he found in a pile of disorganized clothes over his chair, he slipped on his shoes and left, walking slowly and silently across the campus. All the lights were off and the ancient building was immersed in infinite gloom, which he navigated with ease. The flowers that bloomed at the end of summer filled the night air with a soft, nostalgic scent.

Suguru was already waiting for him, standing in front of two tombs, his hands inside his pants’ pockets in a relaxed posture. He used to have more appreciation for his hair, was Satoru's first coherent thought since he woke up, after seeing Geto's messy hair. He dismissed that idea as he approached him, the two of them standing side by side, in silence.

Two tombstones. Misato Kuroi and Riko Amanai. Killed on the day of the operation that would lead Riko to merge with Master Tengen. At least, that was the official story: killed by Toji Fushiguro, their bodies were stolen by members of the Time Vessel Association in the midst of the chaos. Empty tombs.

— I had an idea, Suguru.

The reply didn't come out so cheerfully. Suguru Geto was as tired as he looked, dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights. — What?

— Jouhatsu. — Gojo muttered — It's a paid service created to make people disappear. A new identity, a new life, far away from here.

Suguru remained staring at the tombs, reading and re-reading the names, dates of birth and death inscribed on both. — And how much does it cost?

But Satoru didn't listen to his question. — Don't worry about it, money isn't a problem, you know. — he said, waving his hand carelessly, as if shaking off a foolish idea — What do you think?

— Seems good. — the other replied, without much enthusiasm.

Silence. For long minutes, neither of them said anything, just listening to the sound of cicadas singing in the night, announcing heat and rain. The city of Tokyo slept in that lazy morning when they were both awake.

— That would be nice. — Gojo said, after a long pause, but he was no longer talking about Misato and Riko — To disappear. Leaving nothing behind.

Suguru understood him perfectly. The two always understood each other, after all, as two sides of the same coin. — It would be nice to leave everything behind. All responsibilities. All this anguish. Have you been getting any sleep, Satoru?

Gojo shrugged. — A little. Sometimes I wake up dreaming about it all again. Sometimes I wake up from nightmares where I couldn't save anyone and everything went to shit. Sometimes I wake up and it feels like I haven't woken up at all, that I'm still back there.

— What does Shoko think about this?

— She has examined me three times already. She said that, physically, there is nothing wrong with me, that is, no more than there was before, her words, not mine. — Satoru explained, with a crooked smile. Suguru smiled along, even though he didn't know the other half of the explanation: post-traumatic stress disorder. Those were the words she used to explain what was happening — You look like shit too.

Geto laughed, a low, hoarse laugh. — We both do. Shoko is only better because she didn't have to do it. The guilt she carries is not the same as ours.

They both knew what was implied in this. Shoko Ieiri helped them heal Misato Kuroi, injured by a shot fired by Toji Fushiguro, and helped them hide Misato and Riko, forging documents attesting their deaths; a little (or a lot) of spilled blood that, once examined, would be proven to belong to both women would be enough to convince the superiors that they were dead. Enough blood that ordinary people would die if they didn't receive immediate medical attention. But Shoko never participated in the carnage that came before, and the weight of taking a life was not on her shoulders.

— I'll make the arrangements. Pay the service guys to provide new IDs and passports. Maybe a hairdresser too, to change their looks a little. New clothes. A safe house, somewhere far from here. — Satoru said, observing the graves. He adjusted his sunglasses on his face, an almost automatic gesture.

— Far from here... — Geto echoed, absently.

— Maybe in Okinawa. She would like it.

Suguru nodded. Okinawa was a good place. — Do you think it will work?

— For them? Yeah. Master Tengen is stable, from what I heard, but they missed the time frame for the fusion, so the Time Vessel Association and Q have no interest in them at all. The next vessel might only appear in 5000 years, probably.

— But what about us? 

The question caught him off guard. Satoru bit his lower lip hesitantly. — No one will find out. If they find out, I'll take the blame, I'll say I threatened you and Shoko to take part in the plan. The elders don't like me anyway, so they’ll believe it.

— If they find out, it's a death sentence.

— I know.

Silence again. Suguru didn't like this possibility: he knew it was typical of Gojo to make these grand, pompous gestures of self-sacrifice, but this was completely different; against curses, he could help him, and Shoko would always be there to gather the pieces into a bucket and rebuild him from scratch until he was as good as new. Against the elders, there was nothing they could do, or a way to fight back. And he would never accept Satoru sacrificing himself like that, but saying that out loud would only create another argument, and he was so tired, so deeply and tremendously tired, that he wanted to avoid that at 3 AM on a Thursday.

— It would be nice. — Geto simply muttered.

— What?

— Being able to get away from everything. Starting a new life in Okinawa. A place where no one knows us, where there is no responsibility.

Satoru nodded, unspoken words still stuck in his throat. — Yeah. That’d be nice.

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 803

Warnings: A/B/O, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, leering, mention of collaring/leashed

*Additional warnings will be added

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Square filled: @spnaubingo -Dystopian AU

A/N: Prologue has had some editing changes since the original release.

A/N II: I'm going to try reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many this will end up being.

A/N III: Guide to how the A/B/O hierarchy works in this story.

Alphas

*Dominants: pack leaders/decision makers/can mate any other A/B/O 

*Subservient: submissive/lower rank/mates(if allowed) chosen by Dominants

*Breeders: extremely rare/highly coveted/can overtake Dominates as Pack Alpha/can mate with/to multiples in all sub genders 

Betas

*Do not possess any physical/emotional traits of Alphas or Omegas Omegas

*Domestic: top hierarchy/mainstream breed/no longer sold by government but matched with mates through testing 

*House O’s:  second generation & on feral who’ve been domesticated but remain lower rank/sold by government agency/ used as household servants/sexual partners

*Feral's: closer genetics to ancestral wolves/main source used for recovery breeding program/more commonly found at fringe facilities

*Pack: extremely rare/highly coveted/can be claimed/mated to multiple Alphas at the same time

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

Prologue

North Dakota

1999

John Winchester cut the ignition and climbed out of the 1967 Impala trudging through falling snow steadily accumulating in front of an old warehouse. Outside of Hell, this was the absolute last place he wants to be right now. 

Facilities such as this one had come into existence eighty years earlier a virulent disease was accidentally released from a biochemical research facility. The pestilence that followed wiped out nearly 80% of the Omega population around the world while Alphas and Betas were predominantly immune and rarely died from it. 

The remaining Omegas were fought over like in ancient times resulting in countries declaring martial law and taking the remaining ones into custody. 

It took scientists almost a decade to create an antidote, but the damage was done and if nothing was done, Betas would reproduce to the point the other sub-genders would be on the verge of extinction within a handful of decades.

At a hastily convened conference, the world's governing bodies agreed to a controversial solution: Omegas from the Wild Packs, which had existed on the perimeters since civilized societies were established. 

Scientists hypothesized that their genetics, closer in nature to their common wolf ancestors, allowed them to quickly develop a natural immunity that spared the worst of the dying off, and hoped by introducing their genetics into the mainstream population would deter any future resurgence of the plague. 

A special hormone implant was created to send them into heat within weeks after birthing pups, so they could be continuously bred since they produced multiple litters, unlike their Domesticated sisters. 

In the Americas, the Hibbins Procurement Act, named after the town the negotiations were held, set the legal framework for procuring and selling Omegas. Unscrupulous lawmakers installed a little-known backdoor clause in Hibben's permitting Pack Alphas to legally accept monetary payments from those on the fringes to acquire Omegas directly from them considered unsuitable by the government dealers.  And if some slated for government sales accidentally slipped through and sold for exorbitant prices on the secondary market, who was gonna tell?

Stopping in front of the heavy steel door, the third one he’s stood in front of today, John knocked in a predetermined code and opened admitting the party into the building's main area, its air thick with various scents.

John had the foresight to make sure they’d all taken a dose of rut suppressant, casting an eye towards his younger companions watched as they automatically fell back on their training, checking out the surroundings for potential dangers instead of concentrating on their cocks.

To their left were buyers circling like vultures around eight steel cages raised platforms displaying Omegas clad only in elaborate silver collars, indicating they were slated for sale in a private auction, chattering on phones with their elite clients.

The rest of the warehouse was an open showroom filled with a variety of Omegas in different colored collars advertising their monetary values leashed to eye hooks protruding from the concrete floor, for direct sales.

“John Winchester, this is an unexpected surprise! To whom do I owe the honor of your presence?” 

The nasal voice of Everett Helm, a black-haired Beta, oozed the faked, cheerful demeanor of a used car salesman in his depressive domain approached the trio. 

John could feel bile rising up at having to deal with the bottom feeder, hunters found themselves coming to the dealer at some point because he reputedly could acquire anything they needed..for a price. He had hoped to avoid Helms but after 8 days of unsuccessful procurement at other local facilities, this was his last option.

Before the Winchester Alpha could respond, a badly timed footfall caught the dealer's attention.

 “These must be your pups, my my my, they are quite delicious,” Helms remarked as his eyes roved over the youngest Winchester in a calculating manner biting his lip when a loud, menacing growl filled the air.

There was no mistaking the abhorrence in Dean Winchester's faintly glowing eyes, daring the ogling dealer to make a move on his ever-growing little brother who’d huddled closer to his back subtly released calming pheromones as he peeks over his shoulder at their father and judging from his posturing, their sire was gonna tear into Sam later for attracting attention after being specifically instructed to stay invisible.

Sam looked down through his shaggy bangs to glare at his oversized, sneaker-clad feet, wishing once again he wasn’t so fucking clumsy, like a newborn colt, with his latest growth spurt.

The dealer turned back to John acting as if nothing had occurred and slipped back into his smooth salesman's mode. “You need an Omega for your eldest, got himself in a peck of trouble I understand.” 

John kept his expression neutral while thinking...if I ever get that bastard judge alone.

Part I

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva @b3autyfuldisast3r  @lassie-bird @nancymcl  @spnbaby-67  @leigh70

Sam/Jared:  @idreamofplaid Dean/Jensen:  @thoughts-and-funnies  @stoneyggirl2  @akshi8278  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl  @siospins2

[little-lee-froggie]

Ok, so I’m tired of people calling people satanists when they have no clue what satanism is. So many people think it’s devil worship, and I’m here to tell you no, it’s not devil worship, it’s not even anti-christen. So listen up, I’m here to give a somewhat brief explanation of satanism.

So, the first question you might have if you know very little about satanism is “if it’s not devil worship, then why is it called satanism? Isn’t Satan the devil?”. Well, the word Satan is actually used in this case to mean the opposite of the way Christianity functions. Christianity functions under the idea that there is a higher being that we as humans should worship, however, Satanism functions under the idea that we as humans should worship and respect ourselves as gods. If you look at the satanic tenets, which I will talk about a bit later, are all about respecting yourself and others. The very first one is “One should strive to act with compassion and empathy toward all creatures in accordance with reason”. To all you people who believe Satanists eat babies, no, we don’t. Literally according to the satanic tenets, we are advised against it.

Now, speaking of the satanic tenets, you may be wondering what all of them are, so here is a list copied directly from the satanic temple’s website (I will provide a TLDR at the end of the list if you would rather read the tenets summarized) :

I

One should strive to act with compassion and empathy toward all creatures in accordance with reason.

II

The struggle for justice is an ongoing and necessary pursuit that should prevail over laws and institutions.

III

One’s body is inviolable, subject to one’s own will alone.

IV

The freedoms of others should be respected, including the freedom to offend. To willfully and unjustly encroach upon the freedoms of another is to forgo one's own.

V

Beliefs should conform to one's best scientific understanding of the world. One should take care never to distort scientific facts to fit one's beliefs.

VI

People are fallible. If one makes a mistake, one should do one's best to rectify it and resolve any harm that might have been caused.

VII

Every tenet is a guiding principle designed to inspire nobility in action and thought. The spirit of compassion, wisdom, and justice should always prevail over the written or spoken word.

TLDR: the tenets are all about consent, compassion, being kind, having your own thoughts about things, listening to science, and no where does it say anything about the devil. They are specifically called the tenets instead of commandments because of the fact that people should have free will, and do not necessarily have to follow these as law, however they are at the heart of what satanism is about, and they’re similar to things you should probably strive to do instead of rules you need to follow.

So, now that you have a basic understanding of what satanism is actually about, I hope you understand that we are not devil worshipers, or people who commit terrible crimes, we simply believe in the idea that there isn’t 100% a god, and that we should treat ourselves well because we do 100% exist. Me, as a satanist can tell you right here that I do not believe that Christianity is bad at it’s core, I simply do not have the same idea of how the world works, and since I don’t believe in in the christen god, or any gods for that matter, I might as well treat myself with the respect of a god, because self-love is important. Thanks for reading this all if you did, I’m very glad that people are open-minded and would listen to me talk about something I care so much about. Even if you don’t agree with my personal opinions, I hope you at least understand why I think the way I do, and can respect it. If you’re religious, I’m glad you have something to believe in that makes you feel some kind of purpose, if you aren’t religious, I’m glad you’re able to live a life with purpose even if you don’t have a god or deity you believe in. I hope everyone has a day that is as good as they deserve, bye bye <3

[storymaker14]

All damn weekend, I was stumped. Where's the hook? Where's that critical detail that will unjam my thoughts and let me write?

Am I keeping this scene as involving a study group? What will they talk about instead of school, since so much of what was covered at this point in the first draft ended up in the prelude? I wanted to toss in something about the male protagonist's reaction to babies, since the Idiot Author (aka me) forgot to bring it up, despite the Act III prelude being the size of a damned blue whale.

Okay, so, maybe one of her study buddies has a kiddo, which also plays into people her age having kids. But something feels off having the baby in the room for the study group...

Wait. Classmate has kiddo, brings kiddo, but male protagonist leaps at the chance to look after him while female protagonist and classmates study. Bingo! And then the words poured forth for quite some time.

Once I was done, though, I realized at some point in the near future, FP is going to ask MP why he never got around to having kids. Did he have a sibling with a bucket of kids, and he ended up uninterested in having his own? Nooo... for one, I want him to want kids. For two, it's way late in the story to introduce a sibling we haven't mentioned yet.

But then the obvious answer appeared in my brain, because as always, The Story Knows Itself. We've already met the person he spent an ungodly long time being in a kinda sorta relationship with; she's the one with the sibling, she's the uninterested one, and he was attached to her for the entire span of time he could be having kids. And they totally would have gotten married if they made a person together... which kind of is another reason they didn't, because, married, yuck.

Now I just have to decide exactly how cruel I want to be to these two. The Bad Thing is going to happen; it's just a matter of how much of a mood whiplash this is gonna be. I'm leaning toward cranking it up to eleven, honestly.

Anyway, tl;dr is, III.I is about half-written, and I've got a good idea how the rest goes. Now to pull the trigger on whether the grand finale is Act III Scene IV, or whether it's an epilogue and what used to be III.II will be III.II and III.III, with the big dramatic (*cough*spicy*cough*) moment being III.IV instead. I know which way I'm leaning, but we shall see. Wish me luck.

[feminurge]

BEFORE INTERACTION. please take into account that i do not write in acts, meaning a thread or a plot cant take place at any time during ishtar's life. which is to say i can write her to be eight like i can write her to be fifty. it all depends on what i want to explore and the easiest way our characters can connect.

CONTROL + F : (available universes)

MODERN : modern universe / crime : the strangers / villain arc / yellowjackets and the wilds / celebrity / dead by daylight / supernatural / the last of us / the boys / the raven cycle / percy jackson

FANTASY : baldur's gate / the witcher / a court of thorns and roses / the cruel prince / droyi coire / grishaverse / god of war / house of the dragon & a song of ice and fire

BALDUR'S GATE III. [i am my own devastating god]

istar of eryri as dark urge. read more here.

THE WITCHER 3 : WILD HUNT. [last sun. i explode]

ishtar is a sorceress with a difficult past, involving magic-hating nuns, prophetic dreams, elves, and a dragon egg. however the general public of the continent doesn't really start hearing from her at that time : she is barely more than a kid with big dreams, big eyes, and the weight of a curse on her back. it is later, after the dragon egg has hatched in the manmade wildfire that wiped out her forest and her elven tribe that ishtar makes herself known. they call her dhufeainnewedd. the child of the black sun : the one that niya promised. daughter of lilit & maker of nightmares, the harbinger of death. the deadly rampage she goes on inscribes her name in the big tapestry of the world. even after she settles down, wishing to be nothing more than a sorceress with strange dreams & even stranger habits, people come to find her. yes, they fear her, but they also know her to be intelligent. and so a business is created : they take magical and cursed objects to her, and she "fixes" them. her price? a story, a memory, a future favor. find her cottage near the forest & near the sea, in a swamp where nothing is what it seems.

A COURT OF THORNS & ROSES, THE CRUEL PRINCE. [ an echo of inflicted evil ]

same past as her [last sun i explode] universe, only in this one she ended the world the day they destroyed her forest. with nowhere else to go she flew to another ; found a place in a haunted forest that would house her. she is a ghost who bears the testimony of a world long gone. she is a monster with the blood of millions on her hands. she is a legend, nothing more than a story. and yet she remembers... she remembers being a child, a girl, a woman.

MAIN MODERN UNIVERSE. [ yeet your haw ]

she is the weird kid who arrived into town not speaking a word, clothed like a mormon. they say she used to live in a church but they kicked her out because she was the devil. they say she was born in a corn-field but after her birth it all started to rot. they say she's stupid, but she has a good right hook, so after a while they stop talking, too afraid that she'll start defending herself. you see walk around with a cowboy hat, cowboy boots and a gecko on her shoulder. she calls him khairos and you don't think you've ever seen her love anyone as much as she loves him. whatever. you keep watching her, though. you like the way she talks, it brings you back to your dad's cowboy movies. you like the way she looks, too.

puberty does a good job with her : she comes out to the other side looking all dolled up and pretty. her weird is now a good weird, a sexy weird. she's your perfect manic pixie dream girl and you want her to stay. she does, for a while. never long enough, though. she's the retreating figure in your life, a foot outside the door. she loves you but then doesn't. it's weird. you pay it no mind. you see her kiss your friends and steal their jewelry. it's okay : that's ishtar. ishtar lying her way to the top. ishtar lying her way into your heart. ishtar telling the truth just to hurt you, ishtar only using lies when it doesn't matter. you're both eighteen now : you barely see her anymore. she's always in that goddamn house of hers. you haven't see her dad in a while. you haven't seen her with macy or rosie either. it's like her world imploded. ishtar is a bunch of pieces that you can't quite hold. she's erasing herself from the narrative. the day she's gone, you hear that her dad died. no one was at the funeral. you hear that rosie woke up from her coma and accused her of being a lying manipulating bitch. you hear jj's in rehab. you hear she's gone.

she still exists, though. you meet her two years later, at a concert of all places. she's dancing with people that look a little like her, with the same smile and those goddamn dimples she likes to flash the moment she wants something. family, you think. they act weird though. like actors that don't know their lines and their partner's lines. she kisses you on the mouth and tells you how much she missed you, but she doesn't remember your name and when you look back at where she was, standing with them, the group is gone. you hear later that she found her way to the artists' party. you're not surprised : ishtar gets what ishtar wants.

you see her again years later. you've heard of her, especially since she arrived mid-semester in your uni. she's in astrophysics but she often shows up in classes that she has no business being in. you've seen her drinking tomato soup at 8am in a sociology class. replied to a bunch of questions you didn't know the answer to, and then left. you never saw her in that class again. you've heard she's been an elf at the market for christmas. people say she's an uber driver, a mailwoman. some dudes say she's even a sex worker, say she's a dominatrix, but honestly no goddamn student has the means to pay her, so you don't know for sure. you wouldn't be surprised, though. the girl has no apartment, sleeps in people's dorms, in her car, on your couch. she is a cryptid, even now. khairos still on her shoulder. familiar cowboy boots at her feet.

at some point, you lose sight of her. it's not because you're not keeping track, it's because she has stopped running. she lives with that dude now, the big tall dude who looks at you like you're a mediocre excuse for a person. he's brooding and somber and you don't really know why ishtar is flashing him the sunniest smile you've ever seen. it's the last of her you hear about for a while, because the story gets boring. until years later when you hear of the wedding, and the kid, and the dogs. it's surprising, because ishtar has always been the running type. maybe she's finally found what she was looking for. maybe she's never been looking for anything but home.

THE RAVEN CYCLE. [ ... ]

follows the events of [ i'll be your slaughterhouse ] universe, only ishtar left home to find whatever she had been dreaming about for months. the road led to a forest, where an old man showed her the ropes of dreaming. dreaming life into existence, dreaming events that have yet to happen. she is a prophet & a maker of curses. she will dream your life & end your death. she will make you a hero of an adventure that only she knows the tale of. she is a girl inside of a magical forest ... and she holds the truth of the future.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON & A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE. [ fire cannot kill a dragon ]

follows the same events as her [ last sun i explode ] universe, with the sole different that elves do not exist and were instead a tribe of native people living peacefully. the manmade wildfire triggers the sorceress to the point of annihilation : the loss of her family is enough to send her to the deep end. she is the reason for the doom of valyria. it is her magic that created the cataclysm, and it is her magic that doomed the valyrian freehold. ishtar escaped with khairos.

her new life in the world that comes after is difficult to explain, for she is less of a person and more of a vision. she appears sometimes throughout history, just to be part of the tale that unfolds. she likes to play with fate, if only to make sure that she is still breathing. her dragon is no longer "hers" in the sense that she has had to disconnect herself from him for his own protection. people call him cannibal, for his tendency to feast on his own. a common point they have... ishtar visits him often. when rhaenyra calls for dragon riders, ishtar shows up to reclaim the one who is already hers.

when the targaryen go extinct, ishtar leaves with khairos. she knows what comes next : another war that will see no end. it is toward the north that she travels, if only because she is interested in the magic happenings. it is not her kind of magic, but she is open minded. when the north reveals itself to be the home of an evil almost as old as her... she knows that whoever decides to fight this threat will need her. so she makes herself available. she knows better than to fight her own participation in the unfolding of the story : she is much older now, and has learned her lesson.

GOD OF WAR. [ there's nowhere left to go but down ]

same story as the [ last sun i explode ] only it is not men that destroy her people, it is gods. ishtar is accused of a vile crime against divinity and foresti is charged to see that the trial is fair. of course, the sorceress hasnt committed anything -- but she likes the attention and prefers to say that she is guilty. after a while, she decides to help forseti uncover the truth of her accusation... it connects them, in some way. so when some time later forseti wants for his light elf wife to reconnect the elven people, ishtar trusts him enough to introduce them to artemisia. she trusts him enough to show him her world, and the ones she calls family.

when the grand meeting begins and the dark king (a shape taken by odin) kills unn, forseti loses his mind & decides that his curse will not be solely his to bear. all in that room are killed, all but ishtar who is pushed in a portal of her own making by artemisia. the last of her lover is spent protecting her, and the last of her lover is taken by forseti's hand, even though ishtar had finally started calling him a friend. after that, ishtar is on a path to make sure the end of odin's world will begin, if only because it would mean revenge... and justice. maybe she learned something from forseti after all.

DROYI COIRE. available on request.

GRISHAVERSE. [ straight from the knife's sharp edge ]

the girl is special from birth ; more legend than human, more creature than person. the community that has birthed her does not accept her abilities. dreams of flight, dreams of a dragon bigger than the world. she calls him khairos. she is chased from her village, and finds herself to be protected by a ravkan high officer at the fjerdan border. he has no powers but he recognize the lightning at her fingertips, and the scails grazing her skin. he hides her in plain sight. gives her gloves to hide her magic & makes her work in the palace so that she will be his eyes and ears. soon enough, she becomes a whisperer for the right price, because no one thinks the girl who pours the water will tell on you.

when her adoptive father dies, the girl leaves ravka. she then gains many names, and responds to very few. she creates a story in which she is feared. dhufeainnewedd. they say that she can steal the wind from your lungs, just as she can catch your breath with her lips. she is a mercenary for a while, until sturmhond decides he will have a better use for her powers than mere assassinations. ishtar concedes, accepts his offer, sees no point in refusing him when he promises gold.

CRIME / THE STRANGERS. [ i'll be your slaughterhouse ]

alternative to her [ yeet your haw verse ]. they say the corn field she was born in rotted after her arrival. they say she is the devil. they say she is the reason for the community's sin. they make it clear to her that she is an animal that would need to blood atone for her crimes. she accepts it silently. she smokes behind the church & pretends she will marry whoever they want to sell her to. at age eighteen, she steals her mother's truck & never looks back. a while later, she meets mari. thinks she is love. thinks she is sick. mari thinks herself to be god reincarnated and ishtar has no choice but to play her role of the devil : it takes a game of will you won't you and a dead boyfriend for ishtar to disappear into the wind. when she comes back from the dead, she has a new girlfriend, naomi. another nutcase. she's in love, though. she's so in love that when she strangles naomi, she does it while sobbing. she's so in love that when naomi presses her dollface mask into ishtar's hands, as she is gurgling on her own blood, ishtar presses her forehead against hers & waits for silence. if, months later, she takes up naomi's place & becomes the new dollface, it is only because she is finally ready to be whatever her mamma thought her to be. a man-made horror with a knife in her hand and a grin on her lips. whatever it took to get there was just the beginning.

DEAD BY DAYLIGHT. [ the void stares back ]

follows the same events as her [ i'll be your slaughterhouse ] universe, only ishtar never left town. she got fascinated by the disappearances and started investigating. when she fell into whatever void the entity exists in, they both realized she was not meant to be there, nor could she leave. protected by whatever curse she was indeed the owner of, ishtar found that she was not part of the killers or the survivors. she simply was. with the ability to always open the hatch no matter the situation, ishtar wanders between dimensions, hoping to find a way out. sometimes put on the hook, she never dies, and usually heals after a few reiteration of the trials. the survivors come to know her as a mischievous third-party, either friend or foe depending on her general mood.

THE BOYS. [ there be fury on the waves ]

a girl with powers that cannot be explained. a girl turned terrorist. a girl who would rather exterminate human kind that let them steal her life. later, when she meets the love of her life and loses him to protect their child, she thinks nothing will ever hurt as much. she was wrong. when they steal her child, she sees red, she doesn't think anymore. girl turned terrorist turned mercernary. she will do anything to get the information she needs. killer, spy, torturer. she will get her child back, no matter the price.

VILLAIN ARC. [ deserve's got nothing to do with it ]

same story as her [ there be fury on the waves ] only her child wasn't born yet when her boyfriend was killed. ishtar lost a part of her humanity when he died, and she saw no point in being a "better" person. creating her empire of blood & bones, she found a new purpose. to destroy everything that led to his destruction. she will leave no prisoners.

CELEBRITY ARC. [ spoiled and beautiful and easily bored ]

follows the events of her [ yeet your haw ] universe, only at some point during her teenage years, ishtar starts posting on social media (twitter, tiktok). she easily builds an audience, if only because her weird quirky behaviors are difficult to explain or to forget. time passes by and she becomes one of the big names people instinctively know. she gets invited to all the big events. she even sings a few of songs with your favorite popular artists. but she never truly settles in an industry, and doesn't hesitate to stop whatever she is doing to try something else. her weird attitude pays her bills, and that's really all she needs to live her weird, fulfilling life.

THE LAST OF US. [ an eye for an eye, a knife for the ribs ]

she is a teenager when the apocalypse starts. hidden in a house with her native father, she lives peacefully for a few years before fedra gets them. losing her family to the governement's violence, ishtar isn't too inclined to live in a qz, but she finds purpose in making sure the black market lives on. she soon becomes a name that most know. you send your stuff to dhufeainnewedd, she'll get it fixed. she'll even make it better. at some point, she falls in love with a fedra officer and she has a child -- little star. the kid is adorable, and his dad loves them to bits. but the war is the war and when he is called on a suicide mission to kill fireflies, he doesn't exactly have a choice. ishtar wants him to stay, he wants to go, and so the story goes. when news of his death reaches her, she is already packing her stuff.

the rest of her story is about leaving, and surviving. she finds an old mall not too far from where she used to live with her dad. the thing is buried underground due to the bombs, but she manages to clean it pretty easily over the years. she kills the few infected. she pays some fireflies a visit to get the material needed to make a home. people still come to her for repair -- she's the queen of radios and traps. her kid learns to walk in the ruins of an old mall, and ishtar has never been prouder. life goes on - deals are made, people are met, objects are echanged.

SUPERNATURAL. [ silence among the noisy heavens ]

follows the events of the [ yeet your haw ] universe, only during her twenties ishtar starts hearing angels & god. she doesn't know what to do with that information, and tries to gaslight her way out of being a prophet.

PERCY JACKSON. [ the bad daughter, the shaper of death masks ]

ishtar is the child of zeus, adopted by hera out of necessity. hidden in the deep end of a mythological forest, she is more a monster than a child. she is whatever the legends warned you about.

YELLOWJACKETS / THE WILDS. [ ... ]

follows the events of the [ yeet your haw ] verse. once on the island/in the forest, ishtar reveals herself to be a rather difficult influence : everywhere she goes, chaos follows. girls fight. she is a mean girl among mean girls ; and worst part is ? she doesn't even try to hide it. she spews lies & truths for the fun of it, trying to distract herself from the fact that her cursed nature might be the reason the plane went down.

[mlundertow]

Pulling a Haruka

tl;dr: Muv-Luv Undertow hasn’t been abandoned. I just have a lot going on right now.

So… long time, no write, right?

Yeah, it's probably been, what, a year and a half since I posted a chapter to Muv-Luv Undertow? You’d be fully justified in thinking it’s an abandoned fic.

Thing is, it’s not abandoned. It’s not dead.

It’s just… resting…

So… this is going to take some explaining. Content warning for severe medical conditions.

So, maybe the first thing to know about the author of Muv-Luv Undertow — that'd be me — is that I'm old, at least relative to most anime fans. Really frickin’ old. Long past the point where individual birthdays are interesting and you have to do math in your head to remember your exact age because it kind of doesn't matter anymore.

Like, seriously, the first election I could vote in was Reagan vs. Mondale, and I voted for whoever the Libertarian was, because I was still in the thrall of both-sides-are-bad poseur contrarian bullshit that took me far to long to outgrow. (That college friend that Noah mentions during the trial in book 3, the one with weirdo political opinions? That’s me trashing my younger self.)

Anyways, when you burn through your 30s, 40s, and 50s, one popular thing to do is to have kids. Both our societal traditions and contemporary media tell us this is an important, heartwarming, and even fun thing to do.

And sometimes it is!

But also, sometimes your kid is born with a congenital heart defect.

And sometimes that acts up with severe side-effects when they grow up.

And sometimes when they're in the hospital for that, a scan discovers cancer.

And sometimes when they're undergoing chemotherapy, they have a stroke.

And sometimes all of these things happen at once.

So… yeah. That's a big part of where I've been (there's more, which accounts for 2022 and why we had to move out of our house, but this is the current problem). I actually had to take four months off work — I'm lucky I work at a company where I even can do that — and I'm still not back to work full time. The kid requires a lot of care, and it has drained all my free time, between caring for him, doing my job, and giving my wife a break.

And free time is the one thing I need to work on this fanfic.

I do think I'm eventually going to get back to it, as the kid improves and life here stabilizes, but I can't put a date on that. I’d hate to set expectations and let readers down even more than I already have.

But it pains my heart to want to finish this story and not be able to. I think about it almost every day.

Still, it’s worth assessing where Undertow is, and what it’ll take to finish it once I can.

Muv-Luv Undertow was always planned as a series of five books. I wrote in that format because I wanted to mimic the light novel format that Schwarzesmarken and Total Eclipse used. I also thought it would be good discipline to have to pay off novel-length plots while spinning the tale of the larger series. I think it's intimidating to see some fic on AO3 that’s like 500,000 words or more. Even though Undertow will probably end up close to that (it’s already at 300K words), being able to see it broken up by book may be more appealing than diving into some big, potentially-unstructured sprawl.

Three books are completely done, at least as first drafts:

Broken Ship — AO3, epub

Jour de Gloire — AO3, epub

If You Tolerate This — AO3, epub

Then we have the in-progress book four:

Join the Parade — A03, epub

And speaking of “progress”, how is this actually going? Well, book four is at 72,964 words across twelve numbered chapters (not counting the front matter that AO3 counts as separate chapters, like the cover image or the epigraph). As I thought I was getting the book rolling again last December, I finally outlined the end of Act II and all of Act III, filling in a lot of gaps I had been putting off making decisions on. Book four has been the least plotted-in-advance story in the series, and that made it harder to write even back when things were moving along. It’s pretty clear that I'm a plotter, not a pantser.

One thing I did in outlining these chapters was to do virtual index cards for key beats — the things that have to happen and the things I want to happen (ideally, the Venn diagram of these should be a circle) — so I could move them around the last few chapters to see how different arrangements worked out, in terms of plot, theme, and feel.

In fact, here’s a PNG of how I ended up breaking Act III… with spoiler protection provided by the Gaussian blur filter in Acorn 7. I let a few cards go through unblurred so you can speculate about what's happening between here and there. It might read a little dull in this format, but I promise you that several things explode before we're done.

So, seven more chapters and a one-scene epilogue get us done with book four.

After that, the story ends in book five. Payoffs for stuff I've been building since the first book, some twists that you won't see coming (oh, but they're coming), and connections back into the main Muv-Luv timeline that’ll show why this story was worth telling in the first place. One thing that’ll help book five is that since so much of it is natural consequences of what’s come before, the plotting should go faster, because everything that happens is now inevitable.

You know, like when you hit Act V in any good tragedy.

One of the themes of book four has been about our protagonist Noah being pulled back to his normal life. Whatever route he chooses, the end of the current book will bring him to the point of no return, and then beyond.

Book five is titled Autumn Closin’ In. I'll save you the trouble of looking up the epigraph; it’s from the song “Night Moves”, because you can’t set a story in the woods of northern Michigan without eventually dropping in a Bob Seger song. Literally. I think Gov. Whitmer signed that into law a few years back.

Ain’t it funny how the night moves, when you just don’t seem to have as much to lose? Strange how the night moves… with autumn closin’ in.

I’ll post here in this Tumblr as things come back together. I also plan to start a Mastodon account (possibly on the anime-themed urusai.social instance, if they’ll have me) to replace the @ml_undertow Twitter account, because Elon has ruined Twitter, and everyone should be migrating off it by now, if you haven’t done so already. As things get closer to starting book five, I’ll also need to commission Hirei to do one more character design and a matching book cover. (Now that we’ve done Noah, Adrienne, Kimmy, and Don, who do you suppose will be on the final cover, and why?)

I don’t know when, but we’ll get there. And it’ll all have been worth it.

Even if it does mean suffering through a three-year Haruka-like coma.

[steveezekiel]

WHAT SOURCE DOES THAT SUPERNATURAL GIFT IN YOU HAS? 5

16. Now it happened, as we went to prayer, THAT A CERTAIN SLAVE GIRL POSSESSED WITH A SPIRIT OF DIVINATION MET US, who brought her masters much profit by fortune-telling.

17. This girl followed Paul and us, and cried out, saying, “THESE MEN ARE THE SERVANTS OF THE MOST HIGH GOD, who proclaim to us the way of salvation.”

Acts 16:16,17 (NKJV)

18. And many who had believed came CONFESSING AND TELLING THEIR DEEDS.

19. ALSO, MANY OF THOSE who had PRACTICED MAGIC BROUGHT THEIR BOOKS TOGETHER AND BURNED THEM IN THE SIGHT OF ALL. And they counted up the value of them, and it totaled fifty thousand pieces of silver."

Acts 19:18,19 (NKJV)

• If your past is similar to some of the stories I have shared in this teaching, from article 1 to 4; or you are experiencing in your dreams and daily Life some of the things I mentioned as signs of demonic oppression in the article 4.

• Endeavour to pay attention to the following and take a step for the solution and total deliverance:

I. Genuine salvation. Repent and forsake whatever Sin in your Life (Romans 10:9-13).

- The foundation of deliverance from any problem or demonic bondage is repentance from Sin.

YOU forsake whatever Sin in your Life that it might no longer take Root in your Life (Ephesians 4:21-24; Colossians 3:5,8,9).

* Sin is the root cause of every problem and oppression of the devil.

* Sin strengthens evil covenants.

* Sin gives power and every right to the devil to operate in the life of whoever is held captive.

- When Sin is forsaken and you come to Christ Jesus, you have taken a major step in defeating the devil—the accuser of Believers (Revelation 12:9,10).

II. Read and study the Word of God. Listen to Scriptural messages that stimulate faith and enhance spiritual Growth (Joshua 1:8; Romans 10:17; James 1:21).

- You may be counselled that you routinely needed to undergo series of deliverance before the problem is solved.

- The main deliverance of whoever is being oppressed by the devil is, the practice of the Word of God that he or she knows: "AND YOU SHALL KNOW THE TRUTH, AND THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE" (John 8:32).

- It is the knowledge of the truth which you practice that would set you free (James 1:22,25). The Word of God is anointed, and your deliverance is in the practice of it.

- No matter the number of times you do fall under the anointing and believe a demon is driven out, If you do NOT practice, that is, live in line with the Word of God, the deliverance cannot be perfected (Luke 11:24-26).

- As long as you are still living in Sin, whatever demon purported to be driven away, would surely come back and easily find a way into your Life (Ecclesiastes 10:8).

- Even if you are actually delivered, but EMPTIED on the INSIDE, NOT filled with the WORD OF GOD; Whatever demon purported to be driven away would still have a way of coming into your life:

43 “WHEN AN UNCLEAN SPIRIT GOES OUT OF A MAN, he goes through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none. 44 Then he says, ‘I WILL RETURN TO MY HOUSE FROM WHICH I CAME.’ And when he comes, HE FINDS IT EMPTY, SWEPT, AND PUT IN ORDER. 45 Then he goes and takes with him SEVEN OTHER SPIRITS more wicked than himself, and they enter and dwell there; and the last state of that man is worse than the first. So shall it also be with this wicked generation" (Matthew 12:43-45 NKJV).

THE devil and demons thrive or operate freely where Sin reigns!

III. Pray consistently and let fasting be added to your Prayer:

"Praying always with all PRAYER AND SUPPLICATION IN THE SPIRIT, BEING WATCHFUL to this end with all PERSEVERANCE and SUPPLICATION for all the saints" (Ephesians 6:18).

(Also See 1 Thessalonians 5:17).

IV. Admit that the problem you are having is real, and you want to be delivered.

SOME still believe that the devil is NOT real!

* The acceptance of the reality of the problem and a desire to be free or come out of it, is a major step to your deliverance:

22 For I delight in the law of God according to the inward man.

24 O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?

25 I thank God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!

So then, with the mind I myself serve the law of God, but with the flesh the law of sin" (Romans 7:22–25 NKJV).

V. Whatever covenant or agreement you may have HAD with the devil has to be renounced.

* The gift and whatever property of the devil in your Life should be renounced and destroyed (Acts 19:19).

- That gift of divination should be renounced, It should not be used as a prophetic gift in the church of Jesus Christ.

IF it were a gift given by the devil, It is a spirit of divination, and it is not of God. It has to be renounced and be rejected completely, for your deliverance to be Totally.

VI. Submit to the leadership of the Holy Spirit and always be sensitive to His leading: "FOR AS MANY AS ARE LED BY THE SPIRIT OF GOD, THESE ARE SONS OF GOD" (Romans 8:14 NKJV).

READ: John 14:26; 16:13,14; Proverbs 3:5,6

VII. Open up to your spouse about your past, the awful and strange things you know about your Life should be shared with them (Genesis 2:25; Colossians 3:9).

* Your deliverance may not be perfected, If your spouse does not stand in agreement with you in Prayer:

“Again I say to you that IF TWO OF YOU AGREE ON EARTH CONCERNING ANYTHING THAT THEY ASK, it will be done for them by My Father in heaven" (Matthew 18:19 NKJV).

VIII. Be identify with a local church, a Body of Believers, and be part of the building of the work of God there, the Church and the Ministry.

* Do not be idle in house of God, service is a means of deliverance.

* God will meet your needs in the place of service. Your deliverance would be made perfect as you serve—as you minister to the needs of others!

* Also, be obedient to the Scriptural principles, and live your life in line with them. Pay attention to the principle of GIVING is a major means of deliverance.

IX. Submit to the leadership of the Church that you identify with.

* Your spiritual Parent, your Pastor, has a responsibility to take oversight of your life spiritually, by lifting you up, upholding you in Prayer. Standing before God to present your case and that of those who are under his or her leadership (Hebrews 13:17).

* It is important to submit to someone who pastors you, who takes spiritual oversight of your life (Hebrews 13:7,17).

X. Ask for God's mercy and intervention on your matters:

24 Shall the prey be taken from the mighty, Or the captives of the righteous be delivered?

25 BUT THUS SAYS THE LORD: “EVEN THE CAPTIVES OF THE MIGHTY SHALL BE TAKEN AWAY, AND THE PREY OF THE TERRIBLE BE DELIVERED; For I will CONTEND with him who contends with you, And I will SAVE your children" Isaiah 49:24,25 (NKJV)

• You will not fail in Jesus' name.

Peace!

[malluck]

new  tags  !

[dreamerstreamer]

Something SMP au where your like a year younger than Tommy and are basically adopted into the sleepy bois family? Like hcs of family shenanigans when you are the official baby of the group.

notes: gn!reader, contains some spoilers

being a part of the sbi family is both parts wholesome and a mess

on one hand, you truly love the family you’ve been welcomed into and you’ve never felt safer

but on the other, your life will never be nearly as calm again

philza might not have been the best father before, but with you, he tries his best

after all, you’re the youngest, his new precious baby

if you ever need something—anything at all—you best believe he’s going to do his best to get it for you

even if it means spending ages mining through a cave or weeks travelling

he would hand you the world on a silver platter if he could

and he’s always there for when you need a shoulder to lean on and just complain

it may be hard, but he’s going to do his best to be a better dad to all his kids

starting with you

“is it cool if i call you dad?” you ask, one day

phil blinks at you, tilting his head. “why wouldn’t it be?”

you jump, and glance down at your feet. “i, um, i don’t want to intrude or anything, since i’m adopted and all, so—”

you’re cut off by the sound of soft laughter, and you raise your head to see phil chuckling. “you’re a part of this family as much as anyone else, [y/n].”

your chest feels light and warm all at once as you barrel into him for a tight hug

meanwhile, technoblade isn’t really the type to be affectionate on the outside

but deep down, you know he’s a total softie

he knows your favourite flower without having to think about it, and he doesn’t have to ask to know how you like your eggs 

it’s just second nature to him, at this point

after all, you are the youngest phil would probably kill him if he was mean to you, anyways

you’ll mention that you were looking to find a few netherite ingots so you could make a new pickaxe

and the next day, you’ll wake up to find a brand new netherite pickaxe sitting on your doorstep

wrapped with a bow and already enchanted with efficiency v and unbreaking iii

he’d never admit it was him, but you see the way his lips twitch fondly when you gush about your new gift

“it’s a good pickaxe, isn’t it?” he quips as he watches your eyes glimmer with joy

“it is!” with a nod, you shoot him a sly grin. “it’s almost like whoever got it for me knows me like the back of their hand.”

he freezes, and you pretend not to notice the slight flush of his cheeks. “sure seems like it.”

he’s quiet in his care for you like that, and you don’t mind it one bit

don’t think you he won’t tease you, though!

no one is safe from his teasing, and you’re no exception, youngest or not :)

even though he may call you a nerd more than just a few times and push you around a little, you know he means well

just like wilbur does. or did

now, well... now he’s just ghostbur, you suppose

when wilbur was alive, he was kind to you, always taking the time to pat your head and spending hours with you blabbering about nonsense even when he had a country to lead

“if you’re the president of l’manburg, then what am i?”

wilbur stares at you before nudging your shoulder with his, a smile tugging at his lips. “i dunno—what do you want to be?”

you hum, pausing for a moment. “i’m not sure,” you finally say, “but whatever i become, i hope it means i get to stay with you.”

you don’t see the way his eyes widen at your words, soft, brotherly affection flitting across his face as he shoves you playfully

it doesn’t matter to you that he got exiled, later

to you, he’s still your big brother, and you’d wait for him for forever if you had to

you would sneak out to pay him and tommy visits, effectively acting as a spy and grasping at the shreds of your family while everything turned to ash around you

it wasn’t until after he started to slip that the two of you grew distant as you slowly started to realize that this wasn’t the wilbur you knew and loved

the wilbur you knew was snarky, sarcastic, and funny

this wilbur was manic, unhinged, and far too destructive for his own good

despite all his flaws, you still loved your brother, even after manburg’s destruction and his passing, which struck you to your core

you never thought you’d see your dad be the one to take your brother’s life

you couldn’t forgive phil for a while after that, or wilbur, for a matter of fact

but when he came back as ghostbur, part of you was relieved

this was the wilbur you remembered, even if he wasn’t quite the same as when he left you

you still love to spend time with him, exploring the fields as the two of you reminisce on the good memories of days long gone

then there’s tommy

if there’s any way to describe your relationship with tommy, it would have to be chaotic

he loves to poke fun at you for being the youngest

“just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re better than me,” you point out with a pout.

tommy grins at you, wide and true. “no, it does.”

“tommy, no—”

the sheer number of pranks the two of you play on each other is astronomical, really

sometimes you’ll fill all of his chests with carrots and he’ll hide all of your armour, just to see how the other person reacts

spoiler alert: your prank wars almost always end up with one of you calling one of your other family members for help, screaming your heads off at each other

phil and wilbur have learned to tolerate it

techno has not

“you guys are both such losers—just have a fistfight and whoever wins is right.”

“techno, that’s a horrible idea,” phil says exasperatedly

techno shrugs with a small smile as you glower at tommy. “maybe, but it works.”

meanwhile, ghostbur is tugging tommy away with an apologetic grin, and it’s only then that you guys resolve the problem

your family is... wild at best and dysfunctional at worst

but above all else, they’re your family

and you love them to bits

[1kook]

BORN SINNER III

→ MASTERLIST

summary; Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you. warnings; virgin jungkook, timid jungkook, church boy jk, a LOT of religious themes/discussion, catholic guilt, fear of sinning, mentions of masturbation, heavy doubts, a little paranoia/fear of being outcasted, jk has a crush, confessions, making out, boob lover jk has his boobs touched, groping/petting, light praise, very brief/light choking, jk is horny like 75% of the time, positive character development <3 rating; m (18+) wc; 9.5k

banner; as always, by @jamaisjoons​ !! ty ty ty!! <3333

notes; i have to apologize for delaying this update for so long. truth is, it was difficult to write the next part bc i felt like i had trapped myself in pt2-- jk wasn't showing ANY progress & i started to really hate his character. LUCKILY, with the help of my amazing editor n wife @kigurumu​ *audience cheers* i was able to put him back on the right track towards redemption! (& even more painful angst in the future!) sadly, that means that this part doesn't include any explicit smut, you'll see why. still, I'm very proud of how much i was able to build his character in this part and i hope you enjoy it!!! lemme know what u think <3

in the future, i will try my best to make sure the chapters aren’t so spaced out. again, i am so so sorry about taking so long to update this series

He gets your text the following Tuesday morning. 

Now, Jungkook has never been one to be overly invested in his cell phone; he uses it as much as he needs to, just checks his emails, takes some photos, and sends texts when necessary. But you had set up a particularly unique ringtone for yourself the other day, had sweetly asked for his phone as he laid against your chest. His skin had felt warm and the slightest bit sweaty, his body pressed so closely against you that he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. “Did you have fun?” you asked, fingers combing back his hair. He had hummed, eyes fluttering shut to the faint tapping of your fingers across the keyboard. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember the soft beating of your heart beneath his ear, the leg you had hooked around his waist to pull him closer. The memory makes him shiver. 

It’s a high-pitched bell sound that alerts him of your messages now, completely unlike the classic default tone he had set for everyone else. 

From the other side of his room, Jungkook immediately pauses to look at it, the lit up screen glaring back at him from its idle place on his bedside table. He always leaves it there in the mornings, beside his rosary and the picture of his family, as he gets ready for work. 

He knows exactly who it’s from— after all, that’s what you wanted when you stylized your ringtone —which is why his hand trembles in excitement as he unlocks his phone. 

[❤️]: picnic tomorrow? 🥰

[❤️]: after my last class of course

Jungkook’s first thought is that this was a date, his first one with you since he had met you. His heartbeat hammers at the thought, at the mere suggestion that the two of you would be able to spend more time together this week outside of your usual weekend… acts. Additionally, if you’re asking him on a date, then surely it means you view Jungkook as a potential suitor, just as he does you? Do you want to maybe date Jungkook? Jungkook certainly wants to date you— in fact, if he starts gathering his courage now, he might be able to properly ask you out tomorrow. 

Jungkook’s second thought is of that guilty, gross feeling that’s been gnawing at his insides for three days now, and how it was inevitably going to get worse when he saw you again. 

He had lied to you, Jungkook recalls, sinking down against his mattress, shirt half buttoned, as he stares at the screen. He had lied to your face during a critical moment, had felt that seed of doubt in his chest blossom more than ever. And not only had Jungkook lied to you, but he had lied to you about his feelings toward you. How could he ever hope to hold you close, to date you, when he couldn’t even be honest with you?

The memory of your curious gaze presents itself at the forefront of his mind, the soft sound of your laughter ringing in his ears. 

You had been so sweet to him despite his blunder, had cupped his face and kissed him on the lips when he dropped you off outside your apartment. “Not today,” you crooned, unbuckling yourself as Jungkook’s eyes trailed over your throat— ignoring your cross —and down your chest. “I have schoolwork to catch up on. But soon, okay?” Another sweet peck had left him trailing after your touch, your finger bopping the tip of his nose playfully. “Call me when you get home.”

And because he was so terribly, irrevocably smitten with you, Jungkook had done as you said and called you. He’d called you and then had whimpered against his sheets as you generously talked him through another sinful deed. You had softly sighed his name over the line, told him he was handsome and that you missed him. That you wanted him in your mouth—

And of course, he had felt… something afterwards. 

This is where his dilemma begins: Jungkook had felt something afterwards, and he’s not sure if it had been entirely good or bad. The longer Jungkook stays around you, hangs out with you, does things with you— the more he can feel parts inside of himself change. Because after the phone call, Jungkook had felt two distinct emotions within himself, both of which were up for questioning. 

First, there was that one feeling he was becoming all too familiar with, the crushing guilt that would consume him following any sexual interaction with you or himself for that matter. Why was he like this? Why did he indulge himself in such heinous pleasures when he knew, knew better than anyone, what committing such acts meant for the future of his soul? He was practically dooming himself the way he was now, but Jungkook just didn’t understand— why did something so bad feel so good?

But alongside that gnawing guilt was this tiny, weirdly pleasant satisfaction, a gratification that superseded the relief felt by an orgasm. It was this oddly serene feeling that settled over Jungkook in the moments following a climax, the soft brush of your hands through his hair, the low lilt of your voice. They made him feel like he was floating on the softest of clouds, kissed and pampered by its wispy tendrils. It made something inside of Jungkook feel different, new. Good. 

(In the back of his mind, Jungkook realizes he’s always felt that way. At the height of his pleasure, at the faintest brush of your hands against his. It was a staple of your presence, one that made Jungkook feel like he was walking on air.)

From whatever angle he looked at it, it just didn’t make sense. They were contrasting emotions; while one made him feel godawful, the other one practically made him transcend. The fact they could coincide, exist all at once, had Jungkook’s brain folding in on itself as he tried to figure out why. They kept him up the last few nights, eyes blankly staring up at his ceiling following his evening prayers. Mulling over everything he’s ever learned and been told, always circling it back to your beautiful presence in his life. 

He knows sex in itself is not bad— after all, that was how the beautiful process of life came to be —but years upon years of studying his religion, cultivating his faith, had all led him to the same conclusion: premarital sex was wrong. And for the past few weeks, well. That’s all Jungkook had been doing with you. 

It seems like every time you meet, you’re dead set on pleasuring him, turning Jungkook into a shivering, teary-eyed mess while you grinned from above. That confused him too— as far as Jungkook knew, the whole point of sex was to chase after your own pleasure, something you admittedly did not do. It was always Jungkook’s pleasure, Jungkook’s enjoyment that you wanted, covering him in languid kisses and long caresses until he was inevitably shooting his hot cum all over your lap and into your hands. 

You had told him it was okay, that he should never feel bad for enjoying himself. But, to return back to his original dilemma, he doesn’t quite know if he can trust your word. 

You’re a liar, that much Jungkook can look past his rose-tinted glasses to admit. While you may not have lied to him (or at least, Jungkook wants to believe you haven’t), the fact still stands that you are quite willing to deceive others in order to get what you want. He already knows you aren’t the biggest believer of the Church yourself, that you frequently brush off your religious duties in order to fulfill your own desires— the aforementioned sexual cravings probably the biggest one —so, quite frankly, Jungkook is untrusting of the rest of your practices. Were you lying to him, telling him all was well, just for your own benefit? Just because you wanted to drag him along on your lustful adventures? He wasn’t sure, and as much as he wanted to trust you wouldn’t, there’s a shred of doubt that plagues him. 

But still. 

Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you.

He taps his phone against his chin, brain a frenzied mess. 

If Jungkook really wanted to pursue this relationship with you, he needed to be honest with himself and with you. Did it bother him that you were so flippant with the Church, the one he himself feels so devoted to? Yes and no. Jungkook has never been one to impress his beliefs on others, and truthfully, he would not be the slightest bit bothered if you don’t believe in the same things he does. Would there be some awkwardness in your relationship? Certainly, but at least Jungkook would know the real you from the very beginning. 

But to him, posing as an avid follower when you really aren’t rubs part of him the wrong way. He’s slightly put off by that aspect of you, and justifiably felt that anyone would feel such a way if someone were to use something they love as mere leverage for their own personal gain. And to make matters worse, now that he’s been made aware, it weighs down heavily on his conscience. 

Part of Jungkook, as selfish as it may be, wishes you had never revealed your secrets to him. He may have been left in the dark a total fool, but at the very least he would have been a happy fool. Would he still feel guilt about all the sexual deeds he’s partaken in with you? Sure, but at least he would only have himself to blame. The way things are now, he’s unsure who really needs to be condemned. 

Realistically, it is Jungkook’s fault. He knows how you are and even more, he knows you would never proposition him for any such sexual deed if he told you no, if he simply denied you. But he doesn’t tell you no, and that’s the problem: Jungkook really likes you as you are now, questionable behavior be damned. He likes you when you make him cry and when you pinch his cheeks and when you snake your hand down his pants. 

He still thinks you’re amazing, gets this fluttery feeling when you look at him with that sparkling gaze of yours. Your laughter makes him smile, even if you’re not laughing at something he said, because the sound is just so comforting, warm and soothing, makes his entire body relax when you chuckle. You have this gentle touch, these delicate hands that carefully comb his hair back for him in the car sometimes, tracing the side of his face softly. Your smile makes him dizzy, makes him want to cup your face in his hands and kiss you breathless. And, of course, he can’t complain about your… other talents when he’s only been on the beneficial receiving end of said talents. That aforementioned satisfaction, as small as it may be and as difficult as it was to admit to, was something Jungkook has begun to look forward to on the occasions that you meet. 

But his inability to overlook his own beliefs and your confusing nature brings about a great strife within Jungkook. It’s the reason he hesitates outside the church after dropping you off, his car running as he glares at his steering wheel. Everything in him says to go inside and confess to his sins, relieve himself of this overwhelming sense of guilt and shame to the closest person to his Lord. 

But he’s scared. 

Scared that, despite the oath of confidentiality, word will get out. His fellow brothers in faith will hear about what he’s done and call him out for his lecherousness. But even worse, he’s scared of what will happen to you. Would Jungkook’s life be over if he were thrown out of his beloved church? As dramatic as he may be, no. But he recognized that there were different standards to which men were held in this society, that an act of desire by him would not ruin his name the same way it would you. 

And Jungkook didn’t want that. He wanted to keep you safe. Wanted you to be happy and smiling, regardless of how conflicted it made him, because he likes you. He likes you so much, despite the fact he has yet to uncover the true extent of your character. 

But the cloud of mystery is partially what intrigues him, has him pondering over your very existence instead of getting ready for work as he is now. He’s terribly enamored, thinks about you and prays for you every night. So maybe Jungkook is still the fool, because he still daydreams about you when he knows he shouldn’t. 

His phone buzzes in his hand—

[❤️]: i miss you bunny ☹️

—and his decision is made. 

Tuesday passes by in a blur and before he knows it, it’s Wednesday afternoon and you’re texting him the location of one of the parks in the city. You had told him not to worry about the food because you would bring it. Jungkook’s only job was bringing the picnic blanket, a huge checkered thing he had spent all morning rifling through three stores for. He wants to impress you, desperately so, that he’s even wearing a nicer outfit today, darker tones unlike his normal warm palette because he had heard a woman at his job say men look cooler in dark colors. 

Suffice to say, he sticks out like a sore thumb at the park, the stark black of his jeans contrasting with the vibrant green of the neatly cut grass. Jungkook has half the mind to feel self-conscious about it, but then you’re calling his name from a couple meters away and his breath leaves his lungs. 

“Hi,” you greet, the handle of your wicker basket held tightly between two hands; Jungkook rushes to relieve you of the weight. “Did you wait long?” you ask, rewarding his gentlemanly behavior with a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth that kick-starts his heart back into action and has his face burning up. 

In all honesty, you have never dressed very modestly— not that you had to, nor that there was anything remotely wrong with that. Jungkook has spent many a mass service fighting the urge to glance down the front of your dresses and tops, ignoring the cleavage you liked to show off now and then. But apparently, what Jungkook had seen up until now was your version of dressing modestly. The dress you show up with today, an off day where there are no church ladies to impress and no unspoken dress codes to follow, makes his brain short circuit. The thin, thin, straps that hold it up giving him an all access view to the broad expanse of your shoulders and chest and collarbones and boobs—

“No!” Jungkook rushes to reassure you, fighting down the blush that threatens to travel further down his neck when you carefully straighten out the collar of his shirt for him. “I- I, um, just got here.” 

You beam at the news. “I bought cheesecake,” you tell him, looping your arm through his as you tug him along. “I hope it hasn’t melted yet!”

By the time the two of you settle at a suitable spot near the lake, the cheesecake hasn’t melted. It’s still cold and solid, tastes like heaven on Jungkook’s tongue, and you laugh when his eyes light up. You look gorgeous like this, nestled against the checkered picnic blanket with a glass bottle of sparkling water in your hand, sandals just beside the edge of the blanket. There’s the faint chime of a bicycle bell somewhere to his left and the chatter of birds as they flock over the pond. Wonderful sights that would normally take his breath away and make him marvel at their beauty, but when you smile at him so gingerly like that, all Jungkook can think about is you. 

He watches you slip a strawberry past your lips. “Tell me about yourself,” you hum, seemingly out of the blue, wiping the corner of your mouth with one careful finger. “Other than, like, church stuff,” you tease. 

As you lean forward for another one, Jungkook’s brain stutters for a moment, eyes focused on the curves of your boobs as they naturally follow the movements of your upper body until he’s dizzy. “Huh?” he says, and you snort. “Oh— me, right, yes um—“

“Your favorite color?” you suggest, tugging the skirt of your dress tighter around your legs. It’s not cold, but there’s a slight breeze that keeps rolling over the two of you, pushing your floral scent over Jungkook and fluttering through his hair. “Right now, all I know is that you like cheesecake because you ate three slices at the bazaar the other week,” you chuckle.

It’s such a basic question, the bare minimum of knowing a person. But when you look at Jungkook like that, blinking those long lashes at him, it makes him forget his answer. “Um… Red,” he murmurs, watching you tug off the stem of the strawberry in your hands. “And white.”

You nod, and then you’re stretching a hand outward to offer him the aforementioned strawberry. When he doesn’t open his mouth right away, you silently demonstrate first, until Jungkook is slowly parting his lips and accepting your strawberry. The flavor bursts on his tongue, sweet and sticky, coating the very tips of your fingers when you don’t pull away fast enough. Jungkook averts his gaze when you pop them between your own lips and suck them clean. 

“Red and white,” you repeat, unaware of the lustful images that flicker through Jungkook’s mind, the way his eyes unconsciously drop to the front of your dress, at the crevice between your breasts that he remembers oh so well, the tight suction around his cock as you— “They make pink, which is my favorite color.” He desperately clears his mind of the memories that flash before his eyes. 

It’s a pretty color, fit for a pretty girl. Jungkook keeps the thought to himself as he watches you sift through the contents of your basket. It’s the perfect compliment to give you, he knows it’d make you happy, but his valor disappears when you throw him a soft grin and he’s transported back to a more recent memory, the memory in the car instead. 

A bad influence, he had called you, had watched your eyes well up with an emotion he had never seen on you before. Sadness? Disappointment? Disgust? He wasn’t sure, all Jungkook could really remember was the acidity on your tongue when you had repeated the words back to him, the ghost of your touch when you had abruptly pulled away from him, shut him out. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so closed off before, not even when he had first met you and you were parading around with that staged shyness. 

And even when Jungkook had corrected himself afterwards (read: lied to you to cover his tracks), the emotion had lingered. Even when you had playfully brushed him off, he had caught your reflection in the window beside you as he drove to your place. The sullen look on your normally happy face, lips down-turned, eyes lowered. A look he had put there. 

And now he’s watching you carefully rip apart bread to throw at the birds with a tender smile. A cloud moves and suddenly the sun is beating down on your little picnic again, casting a beautiful glow across your skin that renders him breathless for the shortest moment, trapped by the sheer beauty you exude. You’re absolutely ethereal, and yet he had questioned you. Your morals, your character, everything. 

“__?” he says before he can stop himself. 

You hum, “yes, bunny?” before pausing your little feeding task to glance back over at him. When you look at Jungkook like this, meet his gaze straight on, he doesn’t see an ounce of ingenuity in your eyes. It might be Jungkook’s lovesick heart speaking, but he can’t imagine you ever lying to him. He looks away first, frowning at the various fruits sprawled between the two of you. 

You care about him, that much Jungkook wants to believe. And his beliefs are confirmed, when your voice drops an octave lower, becomes softer, as you murmur, “is everything alright?” The fruits are carefully set aside, breaking the wall between the two of you until you can shuffle forward, your knees bumping against his. Hands reach for his, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his skin. 

Before you can repeat your inquiry a second time, Jungkook finds himself asking, “do you like me?” 

Jungkook’s sudden inquiry makes your cheeks heat up just the slightest, your startled inhale barely contained. 

It’s like a scene straight out of a teenage romcom— a confession in a park, your hearts bared for each other. But it’s a little awkward, you have to admit, unintentionally giving Jungkook’s soft hand a nervous squeeze as his question rolls over in your mind. 

Duh, you want to say. But there’s something about the look in Jungkook’s eye— the eyes he very purposefully turns towards your hands, the hair he had let loose today providing him ample protection from your gaze —that has you pausing, carefully considering your next words. 

You had hoped by now that it was obvious, that Jungkook understood how much he meant to you, and didn’t require some dorky confession in the park. Partially because, well. This wasn’t your usual role. Usually, it was the guy confessing to you, raving about all your redeeming qualities in an effort to win you over. But with Jungkook, all you know about relationships is flipped upside down, forcing you to play a position you’ve never played before. 

Jungkook wasn’t like you; he was soft and sentimental, practically wore his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. And it was a massive heart, filled with so much love and adoration for the world around him, that you felt bad when he wore such sullen expressions on his face.

Expressions like the one he has now, lips pressed together tightly as he misreads your silence. He has honest eyes, a dark toffee color that sends tingles down your spine when he looks your way. They glimmer with a sort of innocence for the world, a thin sparkle that makes him look like a prince sometimes. He was devastatingly handsome, and now he was upset. “Um— it’s okay,” he stammers, trying to move the conversation along. But his eyes flicker around nervously, anxiously. Like your silence has left a burn mark on him, painful and delicate to the touch. 

His comment isn’t completely unexpected. How very on-brand for big-hearted Jungkook to try to save you from an uncomfortable interaction, even if it was caused by him. “Um…” he murmurs, “it’s okay. If you don’t, uh. Like me?”

It sounds flimsy, even to you. 

“No, no,” you rush to correct, your ability to speak slowly coming back to you only after the fact. “I do,” you admit, nerves on edge at this rather foreign situation. “I… like you a lot, Jungkook.”

You shouldn’t be surprised by his reaction. Jungkook blinks slowly, like his brain is still processing the information, and then, ever so artfully, goes up in metaphorical flames. “O- Oh,” he stutters, reaching a free hand up to press his knuckles against his face. The rosy hue that had first blossomed over his cheeks has now started crawling down his neck now, up his ears. It’s terribly endearing. “I— um. I didn’t know,” Jungkook rambles, and it’s so cute, so sweet, how a simple confession from you renders him this flustered.

His face emanates a warmth tangible even on your own skin, lips cutely quirking to the side as he fights off a bashful smile and the raging blush your words bring about. It certainly is a sight to see. His hair tickles his eyebrow, swept out of its usually neat style, but it makes him look all the more gorgeous. “Cute,” you chuckle, feeling the slightest bit shy at such a warm response from Jungkook. You sit back, giving him the space he needs, and turn your attention up at the big blue sky instead. “Really? I thought it was obvious,” you hum.

Part of you actually feels really awkward; as you said before, everything is so brand new with him.  With Jungkook, he flips everything around for you, makes you actually admit to your emotions as opposed to simply going along with his. It’s a nice change of pace, as difficult as it may be, and the results are rather… cute as well. (He bites down a smile, but the action makes his normally soft cheeks look more pronounced than usual.) 

“Because, I, um. Me too,” he says, voice wavering. He clears his throat and tries to meet your gaze under his fringe, but doesn’t last more than a second before he’s pointedly glancing at the picnic blanket beneath the two of you. “I’m— I like you too,” he admits, ears tinted a bright red. You figured as much but it was always nice to hear, especially from someone like Jungkook. “A lot.”

“Thanks,” you smile, placing a hand on his thigh. 

His lips pull into a shy smile, aimed at your knees because he can never look you in the eye when you shower him in praise and other gooey, mushy feelings. It’s the same in the car or against your front door— he always manages to give your hand a tight squeeze, maybe even a kiss if he’s feeling brave. But the second you try to tell him you’ve had fun or that you’ll miss him, it’s like all his courage fades away, leaving him a blushing, smiley mess.

He was cute like that. Despite being so kind and caring, it was like Jungkook’s entire being stopped functioning when those types of gestures were aimed at him. So you relished those moments, looked forward to them with a fluttery feeling in your heart that couldn’t be tamed. 

Today, he throws you for a loop. Just as that proud, giddy smile appears, cheeks and ears a pretty pink, it fades away. The excitement from your mutual confessions seems to remind Jungkook of something else, something less warm, that has him quietly mumbling, “I’m sorry.” 

It’s confusing, to say the least. Just a moment prior, he had been pursing his lips in a silly attempt to hold back a smile. Now he’s staring at the ground with a rather pensive look, his apology sitting heavy in his throat. “What for?” you tentatively ask after one long beat. It had been so sudden. In your mind, there isn’t a single reason for Jungkook to be apologizing to you, especially so out of the blue. There is, however, an inkling of fear brought upon by what can only be classified as insecurity; you had just confessed your feelings for each other, why was he sorry about that? 

Jungkook exhales, a quiet sound that is nearly lost among the bustling noises of the park. If you hadn’t been sitting so close, maybe you wouldn’t have heard it at all. “I just,” he huffs, pointedly glaring at some random spot of grass beside you. His features look sharper than ever now, jawline defined, brows narrowed together. It’s a rather misplaced realization, but Jungkook looks absolutely gorgeous with distress painting his face. “I was… being selfish before.”

In the few weeks you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize Jungkook was many things. First and foremost, he’s an absolute gentleman. Raised on manners and compassion, looking after others everywhere he went. He was caring and sweet, loved this world and the people in it so much. Soft-spoken but straightforward. He was dreamy, disgustingly so. 

But selfish? It definitely sounds like something Jeon Jungkook is not. 

Before you can interrogate him even further, it seems like Jungkook is dead set on getting through this alone. “I- I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes downcast. Noticing his wavering confidence, you resign yourself to listening, hand giving him a reassuring squeeze. Finally, after a short moment, Jungkook murmurs, “...in the car.” You tilt your head to the side curiously, waiting for him to go on. “I said, um. Something rude.” 

It takes a moment for the memory to load, and when it finally clicks into place and begins rolling, you find yourself muttering a faint, “ah.” 

If it’s what you think it is, he’s talking about last weekend outside of the church. That terribly awkward encounter that had left a sour taste in your mouth afterwards. A bad influence, you recall him saying, the memory of his voice looped in your mind the entire drive to your place. 

In all honesty, it had stung a little. While you were aware that Jungkook had an ongoing mental battle, you hadn’t realized your role was that big in it. It’s the reason you had sent him home that day, made up a lie about schoolwork just to give him some space. It’s nothing new, everyone’s had someone think badly of them before; gossipy classmates, rivals, maybe even random strangers on the street. But it felt different when it was coming from someone as sweet as Jungkook, so polite and righteous, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Like he was stating a fact, not an opinion. 

It was a slip-up on Jungkook’s end, that much you could tell. Because he had been frantic to correct himself afterwards, had looked at you with these fearful eyes, like one wrong move and you’d slip from between his hands. Luckily, you weren’t that sensitive— definitely not as sensitive as him, at least —and such a comment had been practically meaningless moments later. 

Still, in those few moments where it was meaningful (read: the short period it took for Jungkook to get home and call you, the words looping around your brain until the harsh ring of your cell phone finally interrupted), it had left you wondering. Have you been pushing him too far, asking for too much? The way you saw it, you always gave Jungkook room to object to any of your advances. You know he’s trapped in his thoughts more often than not, but you pay attention to him, you really do. You make sure to take his reactions into account, try to offer solutions where possible. But, for the briefest moment, all of those efforts had felt fruitless that day in the car. 

What you say next is not a complete lie; sure, Jungkook’s comment had hurt for a bit, but here he was now apologizing for it. That was a good sign… right? “It’s okay,” you brush off, patting his cheek softly, hoping with every fiber in your being that it really was okay.

Your voice is gentle, soothing his doubts. Just moments prior, Jungkook had felt like he was asking for too much, especially when your feelings toward him were up in the air. But your earnest confession soothed the ache in his heart. It’s all he’s wanted these past few months, to belong in your heart like you do his. 

But the guilt from before, the tumultuous feelings he’s been harboring towards you since the weekend, dampens his excitement. From your confession alone, it doesn’t seem like you questioned Jungkook. You weren’t put off by who he was, what he loved. So why couldn’t Jungkook be like you, think like you?

“I’m still sorry,” he says again, feeling like a broken record when he catches this sympathetic smile on your face. The scraps of eloquence he had gathered while originally apologizing seem to fade away, leave him a stuttering mess when he tries again. “That was— I shouldn’t have said—“

“Hey,” you cut off, placing a hand against his cheek. It stops his fidgeting, forces him to meet your gaze head on. There’s a smile on your face but something inside of Jungkook says it doesn’t feel real. “I like you, Jungkook.” 

And it’s true and genuine, your words so honest it pains him to think he had ever thought otherwise. And you’re still smiling, even after being hit with the implication that Jungkook questioned your character and maybe that’s what hurts the most. That you still try to put on an easygoing expression for him after he’s said something hurtful. It’s the car all over again, that blank look in your eyes when he had spoken carelessly. 

Before he can apologize for the umpteenth time, you’re shaking your head softly, smiling anew. But this time, he can’t tell if it’s real or not. “I brought orange juice,” you say, expertly moving the conversation along. And just as Jungkook has been thinking for weeks now, it’s like you know him so well. You know when things make him anxious or uncomfortable, know just how to help him out. 

There’s a feeling of guilt that blossoms in his chest, but this time it’s different. 

It’s not the usual sticky gross feeling of before, the one that has him staying up at night repenting for all his wrongdoings. It’s a personal kind of guilt that comes along with the frank realization that, while you have been learning and adapting to being around Jungkook, he has not been doing the same for you. 

Though you may be a little playful at times, you don’t tease him for who he is, don’t stomp all over his beliefs as much as he deluded himself into thinking you do. (That whole, faux-believer thing was a different circumstance.) Like with the cross in his house the other day. As much as Jungkook wanted to believe what you had done was evil, he had, quite honestly, enjoyed himself afterwards. There wasn’t that heavy discomfort sitting on his chest anymore, that sense of shame lingering as you’d kissed his body and let him caress yours too, in the safety of your eyes only. It was enjoyable and fun, had felt exhilarating to be so intimate with you. 

And instead of being thankful for your mindful efforts, he had questioned your sincerity. 

The picnic goes by in a flash. Jungkook is sad he can’t enjoy it to the fullest, his brain filled with clamorous thoughts that circled around to torture him every few minutes. Still, the entire date feels like a dream, vibrant and beautiful, leaving him in a daze. He doesn’t want to wake up. 

By the time you suggest wrapping up, the sun is setting over the horizon, the windows and lights of the buildings around you slowly flickering to life like a sea of tiny stars. He feels weak in the knees as he helps you pack everything back in your basket. “All set,” you smile, walking beside him, knuckles brushing against his until you fulfill Jungkook’s wordless wish and slip your hand into his. 

Jungkook agrees, hoping his hand isn’t sweaty and that you mean what you say. “I- I liked the food,” he remembers to mention, the fact that you had so carefully and lovingly prepared all this not entirely lost on him. His compliment, as simple as it may be, has you beaming at him as you exit through the park’s front gates. His car is parked along the street, the sleek vehicle coming into view as you round the street corner, hands still fastened. “Um,” he mumbles, pausing beside it. You turn to face him, eyes clear and content. 

All good things come to an end, he supposes, reluctantly letting go of your hand when you tug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” you say, stepping up close, chest pressed against his. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes going wide when you nuzzle against his neck. Your hands slip around his waist. They wrap around him perfectly, make Jungkook feel like he was made for you. 

By the time he’s springing into action, jerkily raising his free hand up to your back, you’re stepping away. “Call me when you get home,” you wink, sending shivers down his spine when he remembers what happened the last time you said that. 

But Jungkook doesn’t think he can wait that long. 

You’re slipping further and further away, fingertips just barely brushing against his forearm, when Jungkook jolts into action. “How are you, um—“ he stammers, feels too big for his shoes when you tilt your head curiously. And then, “d- do you need a ride?” he mumbles, cheeks warm. 

It’s a feeble attempt at asking what he really wants. Offering you a ride home, while not a bad idea considering it was late and you had taken the bus here, is nowhere near what Jungkook really wants. What he wants is standing before him, thin spaghetti strap slipping down their shoulder, eyes sensually half-lidded and you know this too— because, again, you know Jungkook so well, know what he wants even if he can’t say it —as you step into his bubble again, peer up at him with your arms held behind your back. 

“A ride home?” you ask, blinking your long lashes in a way that robs him of his breath. And he can see that switch flick on inside of you, watches that pure and innocent gleam in your eyes slowly become replaced with something mischievous. Jungkook nods dumbly. “I’d love that.”

Jungkook blinks. “Great,” he chokes out, neatly dropping the wicker basket in his hands. In a way, it brings him back down to reality, lets him snap away from your hypnotizing gaze as he reaches for the keys in his pocket. “Let me— I just have to— yeah,” he stammers, clicking the button on his car keys one too many times, has it perkily beeping. Your lips press together into an amused smile, the last thing Jungkook sees before ripping himself away from you and yanking the back door open. 

He nearly throws the basket in like a madman, glassware be damned. It’s his last shred of rationality that tells him not to, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge as he steps up to the edge of the sidewalk and carefully places it on the floor behind the passenger’s seat. 

When Jungkook rises back up, there is a hand that brushes against his forearm, a gentle touch that has him throwing a curious glance your way. He’s not expecting to be so entranced by the dreamy look in your eyes, feet glued to the ground as you trail your hand down, catching his wrist between your fingers. You’re standing so close, making Jungkook feel like he’s trapped between you and his own car. His entire body is on edge when you lean in, placing a soft kiss against the very corner of his mouth. It leaves a tingling sensation, and accompanied with the growing warmth beneath his skin, feels like he’s been burned. “I had fun,” you murmur, voice low. It sends a shock of electricity down his spine, a wave of exhilaration that has him fully turning to face you as you eventually step away, that same playful grin on your features again. 

A surge of confidence and greed overcomes him, has him stepping forward into your space despite the nervousness that builds within him. There’s a hint of surprise in your eyes that you quickly mask, placating his bumbling nerves with a delicate hand placed over his heart. He can’t breathe when you lean in, softly humming, “kiss me?” 

Jungkook’s lower lip wobbles. “O- Okay,” he concedes, voice but an airy whisper that is soon swallowed up. You taste like fruit and orange juice, remnants of your picnic clinging to your lips as you slowly consume Jungkook’s entire attention with this soft brush alone. It’s a rather short affair, one that ends all too soon when you pull away with a soft sigh against his lips. 

Your smile is so pretty when you angle it at him, has him taking one jerky step backwards. His back hits the car, feels trapped. But he isn’t scared, doesn’t find himself anxiously awaiting your next move. “Good boy,” you purr, reaching one graceful hand forward, playfully tugging at his tie, wrapping it around your knuckles as you use it as leverage to pull him close again. 

You’re just so pretty, Jungkook has always thought so. From the moment he first met you until now, there is something about you—a glint in your eyes, a quirk to your lips—that has had him under your spell for weeks now. 

Had Jungkook seriously despised you and your ethics, perhaps this feeling would have gone away. But the fact of the matter is that you make Jungkook’s heart hammer dangerously in his chest, a shot of adrenaline through his veins when you look at him with those low-lidded eyes, touch him with those experienced hands. He wants you so bad, even after all he’s learned, all he’s seen. He wants you over him and under him, pressed against him from head to toe. He wants and he wants, and he knows it’s bad to want so much, to be so greedy. But with you around, Jungkook finds himself giving into that greed, clutching at it like a lifeline. “We can, um—,” he stammers, placing one uncertain hand against the top of the door frame beside him. You raise your brows, egging him on yet patiently waiting all at once. 

Your gaze is so strong, and it’s in moments like these that Jungkook feels that feeling crawl up his throat. A serpentine gaze, a sticky sweet tongue. Everything he’s ever known says it’s wrong, but his heart and your confession says otherwise. He looks away, throws a bashful glance at the plush leather seats behind him. “In… inside?”  

And the offer has you positively beaming before him, that same flirtatious shimmer in your irises doubling at the words that roll off his tongue. “Oh my,” you swoon playfully, stepping back to, Jungkook assumes, allow him to get in. 

He plops down, feels like he would break out in a sweat if the evening temperature wasn’t so cool. The car’s interior blends into the shadows, his clothing practically indiscernible against the dark shade of the seats. A stark contrast to the pretty floral dress that suddenly spills itself over his lap when you climb in, the door tugged shut beside the two of you. All is silent, your thighs over his, hands on his shoulders. “Hi, bunny,” you murmur, lips pulled into a smirk, provocative yet playful, like you know something that Jungkook doesn’t. 

Jungkook’s throat feels dry but he still manages to gulp. He’s drowning in your perfume and your body lotion, in the faint smell of the outdoors clinging to your clothes and your hair, the absolutely heavenly scent of just you in your entirety. “Hi,” he whispers back, voice lost beneath the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. And his quiet greeting is rewarded with two soft hands that crawl up his neck, cupping his face in their palms. 

“You were so sweet today,” you purr, nose nudging against his when you finally lean in, pressing your breasts against Jungkook. A tiny gasp catches in his throat, his hands instinctively going to your waist. “Can I kiss you again?” 

Jungkook has never wanted anything more. “Please,” he exhales, feeling like he’ll explode if you don’t kiss him soon. You take his request in stride, jut your face forward just the slightest bit until your mouth is pressed firmly against his, the movement of your lips a practiced rhythm that he just can’t seem to master. He still tries his best, puckers his lips when he feels it’s right, tilts his head when you urge him with a soft nudge. He tries his best and hopes it’s enough. 

By now, Jungkook has come to understand that there is a pattern to your kisses. You always start off slow and relaxed, mouth languidly moving against his as you lure him across a tightrope of anticipation. They gradually become more intense, pulling out whimpers and sighs from Jungkook that he had never known were possible. It’s a carefully crafted art form, the tongue that slides out from between your pillowy lips, dips into his own mouth with a giggly pant. “Good boy,” you hum in between, hands burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Always so good.”

Jungkook shudders when you eventually part, can’t catch his breath fast enough before you’re reaching for the buttons on the front of his shirt, easily undoing the casual tie too. “Relax,” you tell him, bypassing his lips for the warm expanse of skin just below. You kiss over his chin, down his neck, as your hands crawl beneath his shirt and around his naked waist. 

He’s ticklish, and when you brush against his ribs, he unwillingly releases a sharp huff of laughter. It’s followed by a wide-eyed look of embarrassment, cheeks a warm hue when you lean back in surprise at this new bit of information. “I— sorry,” he blurts out, because he doesn’t know proper make-out etiquette, doesn’t know anything really, except what you’ve shown him. 

But the sound makes you snort, looking at him with this gaze that drips with honey. “So cute,” you tell him, placing a chaste kiss against his lips, before disappearing back down to lavish his throat with filthier kisses. And with you laving your tongue across his skin, biting at every inch available, Jungkook is left to fuzzily stare over the crystal clear windshield. He’s struck with the faint realization that if someone were to look hard enough, they would see him through the tinted glass as he fell apart into the hands of a pretty girl. 

The soft smack of your lips against his skin is sensual, makes every hair on his body stand stiff. Your lips trail down the column of his neck, placing a bruising kiss at the juncture where it meets the rest of his body. “Oh,” he sighs, eyelids fluttering when a hand squeezes at his chest, thumb against his nipple. 

Another muffled giggle pressed against the base of his neck, and when Jungkook focuses his eyes again, he catches his own gaze in the rearview mirror. 

The sight of him is… weird to say the least. 

Even in the dark, his lips look thoroughly debauched, puffier and redder than usual, slick with saliva that isn’t entirely his. He doesn’t tell himself to, but his mirrored counterpart peeks his tongue out, runs it along his top lip sinfully. Startled by his own appearance, Jungkook jolts in place, feeling you shift in his lap with a soft little whine. “Bunny,” you frown, and Jungkook watches your side profile in the tiny mirror as you sit back up, press your lips against his ear. “Sit still for me,” you tell him, hand slithering up his chest, around his throat. Over his Adam’s apple, squeezing just the slightest. It’s not tight, but it knocks the air out of his lungs when he sees the action mirrored back at him on the reflective surface. 

That familiar guilt sticks in his throat, evident when your hand slips away and he swallows harshly, the protrusion just beneath his skin bobbing up and down. 

In the back of Jungkook’s mind, he can recall the religious story that surrounded this bodily feature; a sin and the consequence. A garden and a fruit, a beautiful woman by his side. 

Your hand creeps down between your bodies, palming over his quickly fattening cock, and Jungkook swears he sees stars, a strained whimper escaping from his lips that you giggle at. “Oh my,” he huffs, clutching at the skirt of your dress. You nuzzle close again, pressing a tender kiss against the side of his neck. 

Your hands are so soft and sweet, brushing over his cock like you’re simply caressing him out of adoration and not because you want him to cum, staining his seats and your dress. Either way, Jungkook can’t even begin to imagine what you must be thinking; before the date and his confession, he had been afraid that you would discard him. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t what you wanted, maybe he wasn’t what you needed. You were so confident in yourself and your actions, a stark contrast to Jungkook and his constant uncertainty, his fear of doing the wrong thing plaguing him at all hours of the day. 

Even now, with your hands expertly tugging his zipper down, he finds himself going back to that story. That apple in the garden, the consequences it had hailed. Never mind the fact you’re on top of him, claiming to like him, with your hands touching every inch of his skin. He keeps looping back to that Biblical verse instead, thinks about it when your fingers meanly let the elastic band of his briefs snap against his skin. “Ouch,” he flinches, voice a soft whine. He turns too quickly and too suddenly, nose bumping against yours because you’re still so close. 

You smile, puckering your lips for the lightest of kisses. It’s the little things like that that make Jungkook’s entire thought process stall, distantly aware of the fact that it’s, like always, you leading the majority of your encounters once again. Even during your picnic, it had been you who had practically held his hand as you navigated through basic information, asked for his favorite color and his favorite drink. Had it not been for your own proactive tendencies, Jungkook fears he would have never known your favorite color was pink or your favorite day of the week was Thursday. 

It’s a fact that makes him pause, jaw tightening as he once again realizes how little effort he was putting into knowing you. For someone who claimed to like you a lot, he rarely did the work to prove it. Even now, he’s too unsure of who he is and who you are to indulge you properly, instead watching you lead the scene as usual. Before he can stop himself, a sigh is escaping his lips. 

It must convey his emotions perfectly, because it’s enough to make your wandering hands pause by his waist. “Everything okay?” you ask, always knowing what he’s feeling. And it sucks that he couldn’t say the same for himself. 

“N— Yes,” he rushes to say, looking up at you with round eyes, the moonlight painting half of your face a paler color than usual, the other side shrouded in darkness. It makes your eyes look darker, makes Jungkook gulp loudly when you turn those inquisitive eyes on him. 

His answer doesn’t seem to convince you, and it’s with little to no hesitation that you sit back. It puts a distance between the two of you that Jungkook can’t say he’s a fan of. “Jungkook,” you say, voice stern yet warm, one hand reaching up to brush your knuckles against his cheek. “Tell me what’s bothering you?” 

It makes Jungkook nervous. He knows he thinks too much. Part of him fears that oversharing with you will drive you away, put you even farther than you are now. Maybe next time it’ll be a room’s length away, a football field’s length away. And he doesn’t want that; he wants to hold you close, he really does. But there are traditions he carries and beliefs he holds dearly that make it hard for him to do so, as much as it pains him. 

The only reason he knows he’s frowning is because you press your pointer finger against the corner of his mouth. You lean in close, nose bumping against his. It sends your scent billowing over him, makes him dizzy when he becomes aware of the hand he’s got on your bare thigh, the rumpled skirt of your dress pushed away. “Talk to me, bunny,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to kiss him, a fact that Jungkook feels both grateful and disheartened by. “Please?”

And he can’t deny you, not when you ask so nicely. You have this metaphorical grip on Jungkook, a tight hold around his throat that has made him act impulsively these past few weeks, desperate to be with you, to please you. Even now, despite how much he wants to withhold his thoughts, he finds himself quietly admitting them instead. “I want to know you,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eye. You don’t push him to. “I really, um. I like you, __. A lot.” It’s a repetition of his earlier confession. And still, it makes him nervous. A thumb brushes against his cheekbone, encouraging him to meet your solemn gaze even if it means being a blushing mess afterwards. “Before we, uh, do… things.” 

His words may be choppy and incoherent, but you understand him all the same. “You want to go out some more,” you clarify, removing your hand from his cheek. The phantom trail of your fingertips on his skin remains, feels colder when you lean away to allow him some more space. 

Jungkook nods quickly, hoping this rush of adrenaline might help him through this. He bites down on his lower lip, carefully analyzing your expression for any signs of disbelief or disgust. But all he sees is understanding, a cool expression that makes Jungkook’s heart thunder. “I…,” he says, glancing down at where he’s still got his hand on your naked skin. Something inside of him tells him to rub his thumb across it, an action he doesn’t think through until he hears a sharp inhale, watches goosebumps rise over the skin. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out, snatching his hand away before he can do something else of a similar sort. “I- I just—“ said hand now waves around wildly beside him “—I really like you, as a, um— uh. A person. And I—“ and this is where he becomes aware of his unbuttoned shirt and the way you’ve got your pretty pussy pressed against his thigh now “—I, um. I want to know me— I mean, you —better? More? Like—“

His embarrassing babbling is cut off with a gentle kiss to his lips. No tongue, no saliva. Just soft lips against his, a delicate hand against his shoulders. When you pull away, Jungkook unconsciously trails after the touch, eyes half-lidded and in a daze when you place a palm on his chest. “I got it,” you say, lips quirking into a tiny smile. “I want to know more about you too, bunny,” you admit, reaching for the front of his shirt. He watches on with flushed cheeks as you slowly button it up for him, finishing it off with a playful tap against the underside of his chin. 

You glance out of the window thoughtfully. Jungkook is suddenly reminded of how pretty you are, your skin practically glimmering under the pale moonlight. It catches on your necklace, a thin chain with a cross on the end. If he focuses his eyes behind you, his own reflection stares back once more. Jungkook’s entire body threatens to lock up tightly, but a single kiss on the cheek from you interrupts the process. “Do you wanna date?” you ask, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

Jungkook can’t agree fast enough. “I— yes,” he gasps, leaning forward too suddenly. It makes you flinch back in surprise, back pressing up against the driver’s seat behind you in surprise. You wouldn’t have fallen or anything, but Jungkook reacts like it was a serious possibility anyway, grasping at your waist and pulling you snug against him, soft thighs sandwiching his tiny waist. “Oh, God,” he frets, immediately moving to release you. 

But you catch him with two arms thrown around his neck, pulling Jungkook close to you for another kiss. Deeper and… meaningful, your satiny lips carefully slotted against his. While it surprises him at first, Jungkook finds himself melting into it soon enough. This was okay, he tells himself, and for the first time in a few weeks, he finds himself believing it. 

It was just kissing— intimate yet appropriate kissing —between two people who were seeing each other. Him, properly seeing you. His heart threatens to burst out of its cage for a second. It’s the first time since he’s met you that he can fully say he hadn’t felt nervous about his actions, hadn’t felt like he was committing some grave sin for chasing after your touch. It was just a kiss, simple and sweet, making both of you smile bashfully when you eventually pull away. There was no lying and no guilt, no tears and no stress. 

It felt good.

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