#and the implications of there being no note in the box

[murderbot-moodboard]

I have watched the Episode 7 three times, and naturally I have some thoughts:

- Okay, Gurathin officially has the coolest backstory I can imagine for his character. Being a former corporate spy has so many implications for who he is and what he's capable of. It explains why he's been suspicious this whole time (apparently from the moment they acquired a SecUnit) that Murderbot could be working with the Company to hurt the Preservation team. It also explains why he was suspicious of LeeBeeBee from the beginning and saw through all her attempts to get him and the others to reveal information.

- Interestingly, the rest of PresAux knows this about him, but Murderbot doesn't, which would seem to fit with the books, as I'm fairly certain Murderbot would've mentioned it somewhere if it knew Gurathin was a former corporate spy. (We could also discuss in-world reasons why Murderbot might not mention it, but I'll leave that for fanfic writers to explore.)

- Gurathin's relationship to Mensah also makes a lot more sense from his backstory. He was desperate, broken, and essentially enslaved, with no one to turn to, and she forgave him and helped him get asylum in Preservation Alliance, which had to be an involved and risky process. She was his only friend for a while, and knowing Mensah, she would've stuck with him and done whatever she could to support him through all the ups and downs (including withdrawal from his corporation's proprietary drugs).

It makes sense that Gurathin would see Mensah as a rare stabilizing force in his life. She's someone he's terrified of losing, to the point that he'd go on a survey with her in the Corporation Rim rather than let her out of sight into the dangers he narrowly escaped. Even if it means putting himself in a situation likely to trigger reminders of his past trauma and addiction and tempt him to relapse. He's fallen in love with Mensah, but his feelings are largely because of who she was to him at the lowest point in his life, and because he's become emotionally dependent on her during his addiction and trauma recovery and his integration into a foreign culture in adulthood. His going into Mensah's room to cry over her pillow, an action Murderbot misinterpreted and classified as creepy and depressing, seems to indicate rather that Gurathin doesn't think he can continue to function if he loses her.

- Okay, now that we've discussed the big reveal, I want to note that this episode made me fall even more in love with all of PreservationAux and Murderbot. After several episodes of the team being separated into groups, we get to see them all working together during an emergency. And PresAux works together really well as a team—as long as they're not being shot at by hostile SecUnits. PresAux and Murderbot... still not quite working as a team yet, but they're making an attempt.

Adding a readmore because this is quickly becoming a long post:

- I love how Bharadwaj and Gurathin basically hang out together and take care of each other for most of the episode. In past episodes, they've both seemed unwilling to admit to the rest of the team that they're struggling and need support. But with Gurathin being shot in the leg and Bharadwaj shaken by the betrayal and violent death of someone she'd cared about, I think they've both lost some of their ability to pretend they're fine. They also seem to find comfort and usefulness in looking out for each other, and possibly a distraction from their own problems that's helping them cope. Either way, the casual physical closeness is very sweet, and shows at least one way Gurathin has become more integrated with Preservation culture.

- Before I forget, I went back and replayed several times that moment in the habitat where PresAux steps back from Murderbot, and I noted two things: (1) Mensah only barely steps back, and she looks slightly cautious and evaluative rather than afraid while doing so, and (2) Gurathin, who is sitting on a box, does not step back, but just moves sideways into a more upright position no longer resting his weight on his arm, and could possibly be trying to get in front of Bharadwaj?

- In the crisis situation of this episode, Mensah really embodies her role as team leader, acting as a source of calm and decisiveness when her team needs her to be. I felt like she showed a new level of steady confidence, and I think it's partly because she's rising to the occasion for her team as a good leader does, but also because she now understands the kind of ally they have in Murderbot. Murderbot is an ally who would literally cut out pieces of its body to get them out of danger. She also gets to share the burden of command with a consultant who understands combat and the dangers facing them better than any of the team, and who has saved them several times so far. Her understanding of Murderbot as a person gives her new confidence in communicating with it and new insight in how to persuade it to work with the team, even if the insight isn't perfect.

- Let me just say, the scene with Murderbot being grown over with branches was haunting. It's true to the things Murderbot fantasizes about doing in the books, and it's also a great example of what depression can look like. There was discussion on Discord about how this is essentially suicidal ideation but Murderbot is unlikely to recognize that. It's also reflective of an aspect of depression that doesn't always get attention: the feeling of wanting to just never have to move again.

- I love that Pin-Lee got lots of time this episode to voice their opinions and suggest courses of action for the team. In my opinion, most of the characters felt like they had come closer to their book portrayal in this episode, and this was especially true of Pin-Lee. Their strategic thinking and assertiveness was evident throughout the episode. I also internally cheered when they said they wanted to sue the shit out of the whole Corporation Rim—that's our lawyer Pin-Lee!

- Arada nerding out over the worms was so funny and endearing, and definitely reminded me of other people I've known who are very passionate about their field of expertise. And it seems very in character for Arada to think LeeBeeBee was bluffing about killing them all.

- Ratthi was hilarious this episode, and came across as someone who tries to use charisma to charm his way through new or uncomfortable situations, in order to hide the fact that he doesn't know what he's doing and is making it up as he goes. It's worked enough times that it's become his main coping strategy, even when it's not a very effective one.

- Poor Bharadwaj was really not having a good time this episode. She's clearly still having a hard time with what happened to LeeBeeBee, and still angry with Murderbot for it. And then the worms show up! Her extremely repulsed facial expressions made it pretty clear she'd rather be anywhere but near those things.

- Something interesting I noticed this episode was the way Gurathin sometimes blinks while his eyes roll back in his head. I'd noticed it at least once before, in that scene where Murderbot doesn't strangle him (which I watched on loop a few times thanks to gifs by some lovely people), but I'd thought it was just a fear response or something. In this episode, though, especially a couple times during the flashback scene, Gurathin's eyes definitely did the same thing. So now I'm thinking it might have something to do with his augments. There was also discussion on Discord of whether the reason Gurathin's condition seemed to deteriorate quickly had anything to do with his augments. I have no idea, but it occurred to me to wonder if immunosuppression is necessary for augmentation (like it is sometimes currently for organ transplants), and if that would interfere with his body's ability to heal or fight infection.

Okay, I think I've covered all the things I wanted to cover that other people haven't already covered. This episode was chock full of good character moments, y'all!

[yoursincalendricalheresy]

Few things make me or annoyed than the argument that Héra is not-like-other-girls or has no personality.

My girl’s first scene in the whole movie is her going on a camping trip with the end goal of throwing a leg of mutton at an eagle. Which, according to her, her older brother told her would get her ripped limb from limb. Her first response to a rabid oliphant is ‘huh. I know what could eat that!’ and then stays to watch it happen. Freca is right, this girl is feral and I love her for it.

As for the not like other girls… where? That tired moment of ‘why do i have to wear a dress, i wish i could just wear pants’ never happens. Fréaláf comments not on her clothes as being unusual but the fact that she’s managed to keep them free of mud. She’s been trained to fight, sure, but that doesn’t seem unusual for women of the royal family. Besides, you will never convince me that she wasn’t the kind of little sibling that insisted on doing everything Háma did for the first ten years of her life. She doesn’t want to get married. That’s it. Full stop.

[logaenhowlett]

SOMETHING HAPPENS AND I'M HEAD OVER HEELS - L.H.

Summary: What starts off as a simple favour to watch Laura’s cat sends Logan into a spiral as you continue to make your way into his life.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff - Logan is 100% whipped, Wade

A/N: 4.4k - my longest fic yet! Worst!Logan has my entire soul, I'd give anything just for that pretty smile. Title creds to Tears For Fears. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

The familiar burn of whiskey stings the back of his throat. Logan rests his head against the couch, second-guessing his decision to babysit Laura's cat while she's enjoying her night out. Her tireless attempts of pestering him at last working in her favour so he can finally meet his 'copy-kitten' - her words.

A quick glance at the time reveals he should probably head out now. Logan rises, groaning as his muscles protest after weeks of just slumping around the apartment. Even Al had pointed out how lazy he'd become lately. And that unsolicited observation gave him half the mind to consider finding new roommates. But who was he kidding? As much as he also barely tolerated that one incredibly maddening little prick's incessant jibber-jabber, he wasn't going to find anything for what he's currently paying.

Soon enough, he weaves his way through the crowds, swerving past the shoulders of, frankly, one too many people absorbed by their devices to step aside for his large frame. Luckily, Laura's place isn't too far and he really appreciates that detail as the sound of thunder rumbles overhead. A faint ding emerges from his pocket and he retrieves his phone, reading the screen with a slight squint.

His boots soak the welcome mat as he fumbles with the door trim, locating the key according to Laura's text - making a mental note to remind her of personal safety later. Shivering, he shrugs the wet jacket off, tossing it over the armchair. His eyes dart around the room, looking for the damn cat, and for a moment, Logan wonders whether he's being pranked.

The pitter-patter of paws against the hardwood floor has him snapping his head to the little creature in question. The cat, or Leopold Alexis Elijah Walker Thomas Gareth Mountbatten - Leo, for short - he learns begrudgingly after Wade shoved pictures upon pictures to his face one particular day, stares at him with indifference.

Understanding the need to be left alone, Logan trudges towards the kitchen, swinging the fridge open. A small post-it stuck over a box of leftovers, reads "Knew you'd be hungry", has him scoffing, mildly amused that Laura had predicted his actions.

Minutes later, he sinks onto the couch, making brief eye contact with Leo, who's nonchalantly licking his paws. He's halfway through the bowl of pasta when the cat suddenly leaps onto the cushion next to him. Logan watches curiously, he's not terribly experienced around pets, hardly spending any time with Mary Puppins herself despite living under the same roof.

"Alright, here's the deal." He murmurs, "You stay outta my way and I stay outta yours."

Leo replies with a meow to which Logan nods, satisfied by the response. He hopes to god this cat has the same temperament as Dogpool and allows him to simply coexist till Laura returns. Intrigued by the smell, Leo slowly inches forward, gently nudging his head against the bowl.

"Don't think you can eat this, bub."

Leo seems to understand the implication and meows in defiance. With a sigh, Logan gingerly flexes his hand, stroking the cat's head. The act immediately has Leo purring in content, the desire to investigate the food long forgotten. And no one's there to witness the ghost of a smile that teases his lips.

The calm attitude only lasts an hour before Logan's biting back a string of profanities, frustrated by Leo's refusal to take his medication. He's thankful for his healing factor, for otherwise, he'd be covered in a litter of scars. How the hell Laura deals with this devil-of-a-cat is beyond comprehension.

There's no use in trying again. Leo clearly wants nothing to do with him or what he's hiding in his hand. The thought of seeking help crosses his mind, perhaps one of the neighbours is especially skilled in feeding pills to literal hellspawns. Logan tunes his hearing to the apartments on the floor. Old lady already asleep to her TV - no. A family of six attempting to eat dinner in peace - no. Two people about to - fuck no. Now he really wants a word with Laura about her living situation.

Just when he's about to give up, a recognisable melody reaches his ears - one he's unwilling heard Wade jam out to in the shower. This person swaying along to music seems far more approachable than anyone else in this building, and so he steps out, knocking on the apartment across from Laura's.

The door cracks open slightly, you peek your head out giving him a questioning look, “Um… hi? Can I help you?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you. But, uh… I’m watching Laura’s - your neighbour’s cat.” Embarrassment creeps into his cheeks as he points behind him, “He’s not takin’ his meds and uh do you… can you help me? Please?”

The look of absolute defeat paired with the remnants of red scratch marks on his arms has your heart clenching for this poor man, “Of course.”

When the door fully opens, Logan’s eyes widen reflexively at the state of your undress. There’s nothing evocative about it, yet he feels as though he’s intruding on an intimate side of you. One he’s definitely not privy to.

Your sheepish smile sends a wave of something indescribable through his body. He clears his throat, turning on his heel to lead you inside. Leo flicks his head up at the sound of footsteps, purring as if he hasn’t been driving Logan insane for the past hour.

You knew Laura had rescued the little guy a while ago, having run into her in the hallway the night she brought him home. Every interaction you’ve had presents him as the sweetest kitten in the world, so watching the distinct mark of dread on this stranger’s face has you stifling a laugh.

“What?” Logan asks, feeling a little self-conscious about the whole situation.

“Nothing. It’s just - Leo’s very friendly. Or at least, I thought so… what the hell did you do to piss him off?” You chuckle, kneeling a foot away.

“Piss him off? I was just tryin’ to give him the damn pills. Had no problem with me before that.” Logan’s fingers twitch as you approach the cat, wanting to protect you from the sharp claws the demon would surely attack you with.

Yet, to his astonishment, Leo innocently crawls into your outstretched arms. And Logan swears he saw a flicker of mockery come across the cat’s eyes as he peers at him, relishing your comforting embrace.

“See? He’s a sweetheart.”

The fondness in your tone almost has him believing your words. In no time, Leo’s fully cooperating with your gentle requests, happily taking the medication as if it’s the tastiest thing in the world.

Logan learns three things that night. One, your name. Two, that you have some innate ability to charm everyone around you - human or otherwise. Three, he absolutely couldn’t wait to see you again.

Logan tries to drain out the shouting match between his two roommates, ducking calmly as Al’s miscalculated spatula throw flies in his direction. Laura giggles next to him, entertained by the whole ordeal - Wade had accidentally left his cock ring plugged in the bathroom again, nearly short-circuiting the apartment.

“Hey! Kink shaming is very frowned upon, Althea.”

“You motherfucker! I almost got electrocuted by the toaster this morning!”

Logan grumbles to himself, knowing there’ll never be a quiet, normal day in this household. He turns to Laura, “Kid, you wanna grab some food later?”

“Can’t. I’m going out.”

He nods, not giving it a second thought. But as the memory of you flashes across his mind, he stops bouncing his leg, heart beating a little faster. It had been a whopping seven days since that interaction, yet every little detail has stuck with him since. In fact, he spent many hours pacing in his room planning some way to magically run into you.

“… What about the cat?” He asks, and when she raises her eyebrow, “Who’s watchin’ him?”

She replies with a shrug, “I’ll figure it out.”

The solution to his problem falls perfectly onto his lap. Oh, how his pulse quickens at the thought. And as if to not seem suspiciously enthusiastic, he pauses before speaking, “I can do it.” 

“Why?”

“Better than this shit.”

Laura considers him for a moment then agrees casually - she knows exactly why he offered. You had bumped into her a couple of days ago, offhandedly mentioning meeting Logan that night as you recounted the details of your week. It took mere seconds to put two and two together and realise he was incredibly smitten.

Logan spends a good fifteen minutes messing with his hair. Fuck, did it always spike up like that? The one tiny mirror in his room supposedly taunting him with each look over. A low tsk breaks the flood of self-criticism as he slams the door shut behind him, roughly brushing past Wade.

"Ooh, is that cologne I smell or are you just horny to see me?"

His teasing spirit immediately drops when Logan shoots him a glare, precisely throwing Al's spatula straight at his crotch.

"God - not the home office, peanut! Jim and Pam need protection!"

The walk to Laura's seems a lot shorter this time, some sort of nervous, giddy energy surging through his chest with each step. Logan bites the insides of his cheeks, feeling childish by the stupid smile daring to grace his lips just at the sheer thought of you. He can't remember the last time someone had drawn these kind of emotions from him. A part of him wants to cower in fear of rejection and self-doubt, and other? Oh, it's got your name written all over.

As soon as he reaches the hallway, all his senses are directed to your apartment. Confused by the silence he finds instead, Logan strains his hearing harder than ever. Hm, it's barely seven-thirty, maybe you're not home yet? Disappointment twirls around his mind, he sighs before opening Laura's door, convincing himself it's probably for the better.

To his surprise, Leo behaves quite well this time around - eating his food, taking his medication, and sticking with minimal efforts to annoy him. The black and white movie he randomly chose keeps his thoughts from drifting to you for the most part, though he can't help but wonder where you are at - he checks his watch - 10:38 pm on a Thursday?

Whatever hope he held onto paints him a fool as time slips by. He couldn't blame you, you didn't owe him anything. Logan runs a hand down his face, and despite his wavering relationship with Leo, he's at least grateful for the cat's company on this rather lonely night.

"Was a dumb idea, huh?" He mumbles, gently scratching Leo's ear.

Not ten minutes later, the jingle of something hitting the floor has him sitting up, intrigued. Logan pads over to look through the peephole, his heart fluttering at the sight of you. It doesn't take a genius to note your drunken state with the way you're cursing and fumbling with the keys. His hand rests against the doorknob, a flash of hesitation creeping in. Do you even want to see him right now?

Before he can psych himself out, his instincts make the decision for him. Logan's unsure of how to announce his presence, wanting to avoid any chances of scaring you. In hindsight, that task should’ve been deemed impossible when you flinch suddenly anyway.

"Logan! Shit - did I wake you up?"

He chuckles at that and before he can even respond, you fire off another question, "Wait, what're you doing here?"

"Laura's out. I'm on babysitting duty." Leo purrs from somewhere behind him in confirmation. Logan watches as you nod slowly, the keys once again sliding from your grasp, "Here, let me help you."

The two of you reach down, fingertips barely grazing as he reacts faster than you. He realises he's much closer than he anticipated when your perfume crowds his senses. Logan buries the urge to meet your eyes deep, deep down, instead unlocking the door with a clenched jaw.

He's very appreciative of the fact that you're too out of it to observe his actions. He wanders into the kitchen to fetch some water, a laugh nearly spilling out of him as you collapse onto the couch, "Hey, easy."

"I'm not that drunk."

"I believe you." He lifts the glass to your lips, words ever so soft, "But... how about we get you to bed hm? Doesn't that sound better than this couch?" When you blink at him tiredly, Logan knows it's so over for him - every shred of denial he held within now shattered by your very hands.

"Okay... "

He maintains some distance, assuming you'd stubbornly dismiss his attempts to guide you to the bedroom. Leaning by the doorframe, he doesn't try to hide the fondness in his expression as you settle under the covers.

"Night, Logan."

He hears you murmur beneath the blanket. It's almost natural how quickly he replies as if you've had this exchange hundreds of times before, "Good night, sweetheart."

A groan leaves you as the sunlight eventually breaches the comfort of your dark room. Rubbing your eyes, you blindly reach for the bedside table, hoping to find your phone. Instead, your hand retrieves a piece of paper while knocking over a bottle of Advil that definitely wasn't there earlier.

'Not that drunk' my ass. - L

The party hat lays tilted on his head. Logan hooks his finger onto the string, momentarily stopping it from cutting into his chin. On any other occasion, he wouldn't have been caught dead wearing the stupid thing, but it was Laura's birthday and once she pulled out the dangerous puppy eyes, there was no way he could refuse without being an asshole.

He's been leaning against the wall, thumb lightly tracing the rim of the beer bottle in his hand as he blankly stares around the room. Throughout the night, Logan's eyes impulsively shift in your direction, tuning into the conversations you're having with - what feels like - everyone but him.

Mary Puppins zooms by, stepping on his boots in the process. She must've caught a whiff of whatever Al's cooking. He bends down to pick up the stuffed Wolverine chew toy she dropped along the way, mildly concerned by the amount of slobber coating it.

"Nice hat."

Logan hears you chuckle behind him. He quickly turns around, tossing the toy somewhere far, far away before you could notice. And despite wishing all night for the opportunity to talk to you, he finds himself tongue-tied now that you're actually in front of him, awaiting his response with an amused expression. Get it together, dumbass.

"This thing? Well... it made the kid happy." He says, incapable of suppressing the smile that never fails to make an appearance whenever you're around.

The way your features soften releases a storm of arrows to his poor, old heart. Whatever anxiety he felt earlier increases tenfold, Logan takes a swig of his drink only to realise it's empty. With nothing to divert his energy to, he grips the bottle tighter, hoping the integrity of the glass is enough to withstand the force of his nerves.

"Thank you, by the way."

His eyebrows raise in confusion, "For what?"

"Few weeks ago. When I got home totally wasted." As your cheeks turn a little red at the memory, Logan wants to relive that moment over and over again.

"Oh... yeah." He huffs lightly, gaining a smidge of confidence from your flustered state. It gives him just enough courage to throw in a cheeky comment, "At your service."

He's mighty pleased when you giggle, biting his lip to control the proud smile aching to take over. Logan studies you briefly, and if he didn't know any better, you almost seemed nervous too? That possibility sends his mind reeling in excitement. Perhaps you also feel something here?

The shrieking sound of a party blower has him wincing, the plastic hits his cheek as Wade sneaks up right next to him with a wide grin, "Sugar bear! Don't mind me, I overheard you tell Yukio about your date tomorrow. Now, spill. Who is this mystery man and does he have a twin by any chance? Brother or sister - daddy's not picky."

Logan's initial reaction to harshly shove the man aside dies in an instant when you laugh rather bashfully at the question. He prays to god it's another one of Wade's fucking jokes. However, that hope flies out the window as you hesitantly ramble on about this guy. Excusing himself, he leaves the apartment, ripping the party hat off in agony - not witnessing the guilt eclipsing your emotions.

Droplets of sweat linger at the ends of his hair as he places the last of Laura's cardboard boxes on the floor of her new apartment. After weeks of mulling it over, she decided to move a little further away, complaining about how rent was becoming too crazy. Logan offered to support her financially till she was good on her own, yet she strongly refused just as he expected.

Since she was no longer your neighbour, the chances of running into you dwindled over time. He saw you in passing last month when he came over to help Laura with apartment hunting. The logical part of his brain convinced him to not stick around, desperately clinging to the idea that you're not interested. But catching your expression fall as he dismissed your presence nearly made him run back to wrangle you into his arms, to whisper apologies and beg for forgiveness.

After an especially tiring day, Logan returns home, crashing onto the couch with a sort of emptiness as he stares at the ceiling. Both his roommates are muttering in the corner, afraid to call out his incredibly irritable mood of late - instead, walking on eggshells whenever he's around. It seems that Wade loses the hushed argument, settling a good arm's length away from him.

"Peanut." He drags, slowly, "Al and I are... worried about you. As much as this brooding, tough guy act is really doing wonders for my sexual wellbeing, I just can't let you Debbie-Down-Pour all over this parade."

"The fuck you want me to do?"

"You need a one-way ticket to pound town-" He chirps, and when Logan grunts angrily, Wade shrieks, shielding himself from any incoming attacks, "Don't hurt me!"

The aroma of coffee tingles his senses as he takes an exaggerated sip, ignoring the need to continue such an aimless, one-sided conversation. Across the table is one of Vanessa's acquaintances, Karen or Kira - he can't remember - mindlessly explaining why her previous dates didn't work out. Logan forces a nod here and there, humming in pretend acknowledgement while he concocts some plan to seriously bash Wade's head against the nearest wall.

In all honesty, he didn't know how the hell that bastard persuaded him to entertain this woman for the night, making a note to check his alcohol for any suspicious substances later. What he did know was that this was going as terribly as he thought. And while he might be awfully rusty in terms of dating, Logan's certainly not oblivious to basic body language cues. Deciding twenty minutes of this torture is enough, she hastily rushes out the building and that's the last of Karen he ever sees.

The grocery bags feel like cinder blocks in your hands as you walk down the street. Mentally scolding yourself for postponing this chore till the last minute, you huff in exhaustion, adjusting your grip every few seconds. A woman nearly bumps into you on her way out, you stagger backwards, watching her storm off. Startled by her rashness, you turn to glance at where she came from, gasping when you spot a familiar face.

“Logan?”

He snaps up, recognising that particular voice - your name leaves his lips softly. Mixed emotions swirl around his mind, yet, he can't help the way his heart jumps as you fill his senses, “Wha - what’re you doin' here?”

“I was just passing by... saw you through the window.” Your gaze drops to the half-finished cup of coffee opposite him, “Were you on a date?”

“Uh Wade - he...” Logan stutters for a moment, dumbfounded that you're even talking to him after his childish behaviour the last few weeks. He nods lightly as the unmistakable bullet of regret pierces his insides.

“It’s her loss anyway.”

God, he wants to apologise so badly. Your friendly attitude only serves to make him feel worse, but Logan thanks his lucky stars that you don't hate him. He definitely wouldn't have been able to handle any sign of resentment on your part - no matter how much he deserves it.

“What’s with the eggs?”

You laugh, looking down at the several cartons peeking through your bags, “I’m stress-baking.”

He's so lost in your eyes that it takes him a second to register your reply, nose scrunching in amusement, “Stress-baking?”

“Yes, it’s a perfectly valid activity.”

That draws a chuckle out of him. He raises his hands in defense, “I ain’t judgin’, doll.”

A comfortable silence takes over and Logan realises just how happy he is to see you again - how much he's missed you all this time. He opens his mouth to spill something out of pure impulse when you beat him to the punch.

“Why don’t you join me?”

It doesn't take much convincing and he's already fallen into a steady pace as you walk together - his fingers effortlessly hooking onto all the grocery bags. His chest threatens to explode when you lean towards him, moving aside for people brushing by. Logan wills his entire strength to not drape his arm across your shoulders in an effort to keep you safe.

Time becomes irrelevant when you're around. The frequency of his own laughter shocks him at first, but he's not really thrown off by the joy you bring out of him because - well, of course, you do. It's safe to say that Logan can't bake to save his life, though he doesn't mind this particular weakness as you giggle at his dreadful attempts to mix the cookie dough. Shamelessly, he watches you come closer, breaking into a tangent about proper kneading techniques - if you ask him to repeat any of it, he'd be stumbling over his words like a fool.

Eventually, he makes something that somewhat resembles your example. He dips his finger into the dough and lifts a small piece in your direction, "How's this?"

When you gently grasp his hand to lick the sweet mixture straight off, he thinks he's trapped in some wild daydream. Logan stares at you in surprise, cheeks turning into a telltale shade of red. Your hums of approval fall onto deaf ears as he remains frozen, wondering how you're so quick to move on from that bold gesture.

Every little thing you do stains his mind - from the way you dance around to soft music playing in the background, the way you focus all your attention on him whenever he speaks, even the way you warn him about the oven as if he could get burned.

His expression must've turned serious by how you suddenly pause, peering at him in concern. Bearing a rush of emotions, the words pour out of his mouth without hesitation, "I am so sorry."

"I was an idiot and I... avoided you 'cause I couldn't deal with these damn feelings-"

He stops.

He's revealed way too much. And judging by your face, that was definitely a mistake. Logan shuts his mouth, jaw hardening as he fights something heavy crawling up his throat. His eyes land on the door and all he wants is to escape from this shrinking room.

A whisper of his name fractures the glass cage he's built up around his heart. His boots seem to be cemented to the floor, unwilling to break free even as you still in front of him - a mere breath away. Your hands rest against his cheeks, slowly turning his head so he's compelled to meet your tender gaze.

Not a single sound slips out of him before your lips are on his. His heart pounds in his chest, burning at sensation. Logan leans into the kiss, hands settling on your waist, holding you as close as he can. Relief washes over him, he tilts his head slightly to deepen his movements - his breath nearly giving out when you whimper softly.

The loud ding from the oven has you pulling back with a faint chuckle. Logan smiles too, letting out a sigh as he lays his forehead against your shoulder. He presses his lips to your collarbone, whispering against your skin, "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"The cookies... or us?"

He gently pokes your side at that comment, mirroring your dazed look. Between the quiet exchanges of laughter, he knows exactly what this means - what you mean to each other.

His muscles feel looser with each stride, embracing the breeze tangling with the warmth pooling inside from your touch moments ago. Logan makes his way home with a kind of ease he hasn't felt in forever, chewing on a cookie you insisted he taste.

As he walks through the door, Wade rests his chin on his hands, “So… how did it go? I see you’re enjoying the post-bang baked goods.”

Logan rolls his eyes, not wanting his mood to be spoiled. He grumbles under his breath, your name accidentally slipping out.

"You ran into angel-reincarnate?" Wade gasps, "Oh. Finally putting that horse cock to good use." Clapping excitedly, he follows after Logan, "Wait a second, this fic is tagged fluff. There'll be no fucking on my watch, partner!"

Logan slams the door to his bedroom behind him, blocking out Wade's muffled chattering.

"She had you cosplay as Paul Hollywood all night? Goodness! The power she possesses. I must gain all her secrets."

"Fuck off."

Wade grins to himself, quickly pulling his phone out to shoot off a text.

Wade: Project-Wolvie-Gets-Pussy is a go!

Laura: We are NOT calling it that.

[solbaby7]

High For This

pairing: eris x reader

warnings: jealous!eris, swearing, another overindulgent ball hosted simply for conspiratorial purposes, sexual themes, wrote this with the implication of Beron being dead, abrupt ending bc if i didn’t stop there i prolly wouldn’t stop at all, not edited

summary: Eris is a jealous man and you’re determined to see exactly how hot his fire burns for you.

—

“Excuse me?”

Your eyes roll on their own accord, hands fluffing through fresh curls as dark mascara dries on thick lashes. A tinted gloss stains full lips and Eris hates the way his lungs greedily gulp in the sensual oud permeating the air.

Everything in here smells like you and he doesn’t resist the indulgence of looking around to take in the fluffy duvet sheets neatly strewn over the mattress and the cream throw pillows tucked near your headboard. The canopy drapes are tucked to each post, the middle dripping dreamily like clouds hovering in the sky.

You’re meticulous, he notes; every item you own continent in their convenient little homes. “I said,” The tone you hold makes his jaw clench, his body visibly perturbed by your nonchalance while he felt himself slipping deeper into your pull. You barely spare him a proper glance—too occupied in looking over yourself in the floor length mirror. “I have a date so you don’t have to wait for me. We’ll meet you there.”

“A date?” Eris repeats sharply, staring at you through the mirror.

“Is there a problem with that?” You know the answer before the question is even fully spoken, a smug little smirk ghosting in the corner of your lips as you sift through your jewelry box. Rings are slid onto your fingers, gold bands and pretty emerald cut jewels glittering in the faelight. “I specifically remember you saying that you didn’t need a plus one.”

“Because,” Each syllable is drawn out, his restraint slipping as you pushed his buttons with such expertise. “—I already had one.” You read between the lines, a brow raising as you settle in the knowledge that the High Lord had expected you to hang off his arm.

“I don’t recall you asking.”

“It was implied.”

Dark kohl lines your eyes and accentuates full lashes, a pretty blush placed on the high points of your cheeks and such beauty seems lethal when you stare through the mirror. “You’ve never had an issue articulating your wants before—if you desired it bad enough, of course.”

You leave room for a response, trying desperately to mask the flicker of hope beginning to drudge to life within the embers. Centuries of waiting for Beron to no longer be an issue, no longer looming over both of your shoulders and destroying every meaningful moment.

Things were supposed to be different when he was finally dead.

Easier.

Only, Eris had grown more guarded. Terrified that showing a hint of affection would backfire as it had so many times before. He takes his time, smoothening out his tone and compulsively straightening out the neatly folded handkerchief sticking elegantly from the breast pocket of his perfectly tailored suit. “This is not up for debate, bunny. Turn your little friend away and let’s go before we’re late.”

“No.” You shove past him, clutch tucked under your arm and high heels clicking furiously against the hardwood.

It stuns him for a beat of time but he recovers far quicker and Eris all but barks out your name as he exits your door, following a few paces behind with a snarl working its way up his throat. “Get back here!”

“I am not some object that you can just command when you please.” Elegant curls bounce angrily with your every step, jewelry chiming with each little bounce down the stairs. One hand grips at the banister for balance, the tight fit of your dress forcing you to move slower than you’d like. “You do not own me.”

"You're right, bunny. I don't own you but I am your High Lord and you will stop walking this instant."

The immediate fae-like stillness of your form has Eris’ heart thumping with excitement against his ribcage. A perfect mask is painted across your features when you slowly turn on the balls of your feet to face him but nothing could ever quench the fire that burns behind your retinas. “My Lord?”

A noise is hummed low in his throat—pleased or patronizing?—you weren’t sure but judging by that leisurely stride and the special time he takes in looking you over, it has to be a mix of both. “I like that tone much better.” Eris’ hands are warm when he brushes a lock of hair away from your face, fingertips grazing against your neck with such care that you have to suppress the shiver threatening to rake up your spine.

You refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing how his touch affected you.

Not when he was acting like such an entitled toddler.

“Wonderful,” Venom burns under every word, even if it is wrapped in a sickeningly sweet tone. “I aim to please.”

A smile bleeds its way onto his face, the faelight casting shadows over the handsome contours of his features and frustration forces your fingers to fidget when the intoxicating oud of his cologne engulfs your senses. “I’m thrilled to hear that, bunny.” Eyes narrow up at Eris as you clock that tone of voice—that devilish look burning behind amber irises. “Let’s hope all that enthusiasm helps you survive the night.”

“Funny you should say that,” The way your hand elegantly rests in the crease of his extended arm feels utterly natural, no matter how much contempt is quivering behind the movement. “It’s not me who needs to worry about surviving the night.”

—

Playing the part of the demure, doting date is a million times more difficult than you make it look. Sweet smiles and the inviting shape of your figure brings in more attention than normal—or maybe it was because of who’d been permanently fused to your side since the second you’d arrived.

Eris had never been so on guard, amber irises raking over anyone who came within a five foot radius and most of your time is spent wading the rigid line of his shoulders. “Quit it,” You snap through your teeth, concealing the bite if your words with a bright grin. “You forced me to be here with you and now you’re scaring everyone off.”

“Forced you?” He doesn’t even sound offended—just smug as he motions to your hand curled comfortably around his bicep. “Is that the narrative you’re running with tonight, bunny? How unoriginal.” The body language portrays anything but ‘forced’ and once he’s pointed it out, you’re quick to pull away, snatching your hand back and grumbling profanities under your breath.

“What else would you call it?”

Eris feigns aloofness when responding, refusing to grant you the decency of his gaze and your spine goes ramrod straight when his words sink in. “I’d say it’s no different than when any of the other High Lords attend with their plus ones—though it seems theirs are more well behaved.”

“I’m not some hound who submits to your every command, Eris Vanserra.” Hurt lingers in the words you spit out just loud enough for him to hear. “What the other High Lords have are wives, partners—mates. They’re not cowards; wanting someone and stringing them along.” Tears well in your waterline, grip shaky around the flute of champagne until you abandon it altogether. “You’re wasting my time and I have little patience left to offer.”

You’re forced to walk away before the dam breaks, refusing to wear your heart on your sleeve for it never worked well before. Makes you too vulnerable; too tethered to a male too afraid to return the sentiment.

Balcony doors creak under your touch, opening just enough for you to slip through and close it behind you. For once, you’re grateful for the solitude. Basking in the cool breeze and the comforting smell of fresh flora, you let your eyes slip closed, a single tear falling free and your back bows as you sag against iron railings.

Just a single moment of weakness.

And it’s completely shattered by another presence.

“Want me to kill ‘em?”

You snap up like a spring, neck nearly snapping with the force it takes to turn so quickly. Palms wipe at your cheeks, straightening out the fabrics of your dress. “Sorry,” You quickly flush the moment realization sinks in, eyes taking in the towering Illyrian standing just a few feet away. His hair held in a neat bun at the nape of his neck, burly form slouched in a lounge chair, wings stretched high behind him. “I thought I was alone out here.”

“Looking how you do, I doubt you’re ever really alone.”

You scoff, this hateful, bark of a noise that refuses to be tampered down or subdued. “Not everyone shares your sentiment.”

“Date ditch you?”

“A girl could only dream. No, my ‘date’ is spending his time being a grade A douchebag—needed fresh air before I did something stupid.”

He hums in acknowledgment, a chilled glass of amber liquor dripping condensation down the thick stretch of his forearm. His head cocks to the side when he looks you up and down, making note of that forlorn expression casting shadows across pretty features. “Want to make him jealous?”

You should be ashamed for how abruptly the notion piques your interest. For how quickly satisfaction settles within your bloodstream at the thought of Eris watching you waltz around with this brick wall of a male and his effortless presence. “What’s in it for you?”

“Pretty thing on my arm is prize enough, even if it is just for show.”

There’s a pause where the Illyrian can literally see the gears turning in your head. Outweighing the risks. Mulling over potential consequences.

He can tangibly grasp the exact moment you shove all that aside—too scorned to give a shit about retribution. Too much time had gone into getting ready to waste it all on a male too prideful to cherish the gift wrapped before him. You head nods with finality, one hand outstretched before him. “It’s a deal.”

His hand is warm against your own, significantly larger and riddled with callouses. Tattoos the shade of obsidian is etched into tawny skin, arms rippling with muscles that bulge against the tight fit of formal leather attire. “I’m Cassian.”

“I know who you are.” Hesitation lingers in the set of your shoulders, spine not fully lax though Cassian doubts that’s fully possible with the skyscraper for heels adorning your feet. “Do you know who I am?”

His grin only grows when he stands at full attention, so tall your neck cranes just to meet his eye. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Ice clinks against his glass as he offers it to you, lifting the rim to your lips and muttering a soft praise when you drink obediently. “There’s a girl. Drink up, you’ll need the liquid courage.”

Liquid courage. Makes sense when it burns on the way down, easing frazzled nerves and a short temper until your arm slips in the crease of Cass’ elbow like it was a regular occurrence.

He’s confident. Borderline cocky with the way he urges you closer, hips bumping into one another with each step. The closeness does the trick though, a smoldering set of sandy eyes fall on you the moment you’re thrusted back into the fray. “Chin up,” Cassian murmurs softly, lips barely even moving over the words.

You’re led to the dance floor, situated smack dab in the middle. It’s a spectacle but something tells you that’s the whole point when Cassian circles a hand around your waist. The other reaches for your free hand, easing your fingers against his own until you’re palm to palm. “Do you even know how to dance? I don’t recall that being apart of Illyrian curriculum.”

It’s a harmless tease—the jab earning you a laugh so organic that it shows both rows of shiny teeth and a pantydropping set of dimples in his cheeks. “Pretty and funny. You really should consider not being so charming, I have an awful habit of hoarding treasures like you.”

Your head dips, a blush growing along the apples of your cheeks that only grows when Cassian is emboldened, ushering you in closer until you run the risk of stepping all over his toes. If he cares, you can’t tell, too washed up in the feeling of being shown off—proudly at that. “I appreciate you doing this for me. Even if it doesn’t work.”

“Trust me,” Cassian drawls, his gaze far off as he focuses on something behind you. “It’s working.”

He doesn’t elaborate, though he doesn’t really have to when you pick up on a familiar step pattern. Nose catching the earthy scent of spicy cinnamon and nutmeg. Of pine trees and bonfire smoke. “Bunny,” Eris fixates on the Illyrian’s hold on you, the corded muscle in his jaw jumping with the effort it takes to restrain himself from burning Cassian’s hands to a crisp. “Mind if I cut in?”

“This dance is nearly done.”

“And you’ll be finishing it with me.” It’s sick how desire pools in your belly at the possessive tone. How pleased you feel with yourself when Eris all but pries you away from Cass and into his own arms. You barely have enough time to say thank you to the Night Courts General before the eldest Vanserra has whisked you far, far away from those giant wings and the enigmatic wearer of them. “Where’d you run off too? I was worried.”

“Worried about what? That someone else was cherishing what you neglect?” You hum to yourself at the raw guilt that screws up the handsome pout of his mouth. “What’s that saying? One males trash…”

“You aren’t trash. You know I don’t think of you as trash.”

“No, you just treat me like it.” The chattering of guests drowns out your words from prying ears. “Hiding me at the bottom of the bin like you’re ashamed of me or something.”

You’re working yourself up again. Overthinking. Self-depreciating. Resenting. Digging a hole with no means of pulling yourself out but Eris halts that train of thinking with a hand to your jaw. The grip is gentle but firm, guiding you to look him in the eye; insisting you see the seriousness that swirls in the copper tones of his iris. “You are everything to me,” His confession stops you in your tracks. Steals your breath away at you hang onto every constant and vowel like a lifeline. “I wake up everyday just so I can see your face and I lay my head down every night praying that it’s filled with dreams of you—of us. Everything I do, anything I’ve ever done is to ensure your happiness. Your safety.”

“Eris..”

“No, listen to me.” Both hands cup your cheeks, all space eaten up until each breath he exhales in the air you inhale. Two halves of a whole slowly sliding into place. The final pieces of a puzzle connecting as one to fulfill the bigger picture. “You are mine.” Thumbs brush over the curve of your cheekbones, tracing at the slope of your nose and memorizing the shine of your lips. “My woman,” Tenderness leaks from every syllable, sincerity bleeding from every pore until you’re unable to fight back the rushing currents of your tears. “My love, my mate and while I can never promise to be a perfect male, I can vow that I am thoroughly vested in all things categorized as your best interest.”

“If I’d have known dancing with another male was all it took for such a confession, I’d have done so long ago.”A breathless laugh emits, one that softens the stern line of his brow and eases the fear his father engraved in his soul.

Noses brush, lashes kissing until your lips meet his own and all of your doubt is washed away. “I love you.”

“All I’ll ever love is you.”

[sheepispink]

THE TRUTH. (super soldier au part 2)

cw: mentions of telling someone to commit suicide, threats, bullying

guys idk how i feel about this one but here u go 🙏

PART ONE Series Masterlist

———-

Happy Birthday

freak.

A present stopped you from walking out at your usual time. It was a week until your birthday, and usually no one remembered other than those who had your file. Although that mostly consisted of blacked out paragraphs now.

It’s wrapped a little messily, not the worst, and you slowly pick it up, noticing a weight inside. You had never got a present before, much less more than a small timeframe to have some sort of celebration— not that you ever took that opportunity anyway. Most years you were too busy hung up with wires and drowning in your mind from drugs. Your thumb brushes over the paper curiously, looking for a name tag but finding nothing to mark the sender. Neatly, you rip a line through the paper which reveals a cardboard box. It’s blank, no branding or anything to attach itself to. When you open it though, you’re quickly greeted by a strange sight; a gun.

A handgun to be more specific, a Browning L941 if you wanted details. It sits neatly in the box, looking clean but you can tell by the small nicks in metal it’s not new. There’s a note beside it, typed— never handwritten.

“If your aim is as good as they say, surely you can prove it by putting it to your head.”

You’re not too surprised, at least more than the initial eye widening. After all, you did deal with the piece of paper on your designated breakfast table every morning. Your eyes flicker down, to the sentence beneath.

“If you’re too scared, we’ll just have to deliver the gift in person.”

That makes you blink, the implications of the clear threat not lost on you. It wasn't the first time you’ve heard them; enemies swore that they’d tear you apart limb by limb, Ghost promised he’d douse you in cold water the next time you caused a bloodbath and even the scientists taunted you with those syringes. The difference was, those were.. well threats you couldn't exactly avoid. Ghost would always get mad at you for making a mess, and you used to be far more rebellious against the scientists— or was that fear? Enemies threatening you was just a farce anyway, you’d have their bodies by your feet soon enough that it wasn't even worth thinking over twice. But this? Comrades, or well they’re supposed to be, who want to kill you? Teammates who would live happier knowing they put you to the grave. It’s no longer the opposing team, no longer the one Ghost points his finger at, no longer the ones that destroy humanity.

No, they only want to destroy you.

For the first few days, you tried to shake it, but you were feeling the weight of the words even more than usual. The stab of pain in your back when they threw the bread roll at you; that could be a bullet next time. Your shoes in the toilet could be your body next time. The fox who whines and whimpers would be you when you were deemed useless.

The truth was, you didnt care about the damn movie, or the cake you were promised, nor even the words “happy birthday” being said to you. It was an excuse, a white lie even, to get the Captain, or Ghost, hoping one of them would actually come into your room. Never have they stepped foot in since your first arrival, never feeling the need to either. The Captain only had time to care when you emailed him, but even that seemed too risky, what if he laughed it off and the surrounding soldiers heard? Ghost barely ever gave you time to talk anyway, and when you did get a moment, there were too many around.

So you invited them over, tried your best act as if you really wanted a birthday to celebrate with them. They’d come, you’d show them the note, the gun. If they laughed, it’d be fine, hidden in your room— you could find a solution before they told the others and it spread around the base. If they didn't laugh, you’d be safe, guaranteed that no one would really try what would happen on that piece of paper.

But you hadn't anticipated that neither of them would come at all. Your eyes brim with tears, unsure how that is even possible as you step into your room, a tenseness sinking into your bones and spreading across your body. With them completely out of the picture, you’re left by yourself until your end surely comes. Maybe you should’ve known, especially when you remember what soldiers call you— a monster.

But it wasn’t in your coding, in your genes or even near your thought process to harm those that threaten you— at least not first anyways, and especially when they’re not explicitly enemies. This was a moral dilemma your tampered mind wasn't capable of handling. Despite the sick growing in your stomach, you had a plan. There were outdoor training rooms, more specifically small cabins that were sometimes used to punish soldiers if they acted up too much.

The gift remains untouched on the dresser, a silent promise watching you at all times. It’s almost four o clock now, and the day isn't getting any brighter in the middle of winter. Opening your closet, your hands pass over the many uniforms there. That’s all they give you, uniforms, it’s why yours are always clean— your only purpose is to fight. So you grab the jacket in the furthest corner, the one usually saved for extreme weather conditions and slip that on. It disguises your figure enough and the hiking boots are exactly what you need to be a new person.

Your hand grazes the knives in your old belt, and you take a few, sliding them into the new holster behind the jacket. Just in case. There’s nothing else to take now, apart from your small radio that you sometimes keep on your person— you dont really use a phone either since it was seen to be a distraction. You’ll likely have to starve for the rest of the day, though with your knowledge you could probably find some sort of food out there. Just in case, you grab an MRE, a spare that stays around in the off chance you get dizzy from eating nothing all day.

Slowly you step out in the hallway, looking around for anyone before closing your door shut again. You didnt dare make it suspicious with a backpack, so your bottle is stuffed into your jacket pocket instead. Same for the untampered gift on the table, they’d assume you’d be back later to open it.

This was your best bet.

You head down the corridors, keeping a confident pace so people wouldn’t even try suspect you— that’s the key to everything, after all. Ironically, that wasn’t the situation at all, in fact they were.. friendly? A few soldiers gave you a nod as you walked past, which wasn’t the craziest thing but, considering no one’s ever done that before, it was exhilarating. You nod in turn, a mask hiked up to your nose but it just looks like you’re keeping your face warm for when you go outside— not that anyone here is phased by a mere mask anyway. Infact, a few soldiers who look particularly boisterous even go as far to fist bump you, likely thinking you’re someone they know. You don't care in the slightest; you’re just happy that for once you get to experience what your life should’ve been like.

The giddiness is temporary though, as you turn the corner to see Ghost stepping out of a room with two crates of drinks in his hands. You falter, stopping in your tracks as he closes the door behind him.

Is this really the right idea? Running away like this?

It’s only for the day, at least that was the idea, but what after that? What if they didn't stop at your birthday— what if it continued? You could tell him right now, pull the mask down that covers your face and confess every little detail running through your head. What would you do if he got in trouble for your foolish decisions? He had shown his stance when he chose not to show up at your birthday party; he clearly didn't care at all.. right?

“Do you need something?” He says lowly, clearly having realised that you’ve frozen in your tracks before him, and giving you a narrowed stare for that reason. Surprisingly, it’s less demeaning and more questioning, considering how harsh his eyes usually go when looking at you. It gives you a bit of hope.

”D-do you need any help with that, sir?” You’re not sure why your voice stuttered, not particularly wanting to think much about the matter either. Instead, you stare right back at him, your eyes widened as you stare in his pupils moving around like it’s searching you.

Did he recognise you?

“No, that’s alright.” It’s gruff, and harsh and yet far more nicer than he’s ever spoken to you before. You manage to force yourself to nod in response, giving a small salute before hurrying off down the corridor.

Trekking through the forest is a little bit of an effort but you eventually meet the small cabin that’s there. It’s almost never used in winter, but in the summer they might do their training in these areas and keep the lunch here. Slowly you step inside, recognising from the get go that there’s not particularly much. There’s a few bedrolls for wilderness training, albeit a bit torn and some dry firewood left discarded on the little fireplace. That’s good, at least you won't freeze anymore than you already have. It’s not like you can use it though— it’s too risky. If anyone sees smoke out here you’re bound to get caught in seconds, and possibly even by your predators.

You lock the cabin door, placing a chair beneath the handle as you let out a sigh and slump against the wall. This would be a long, painstaking night and you cant help but wonder if it’d been better to just defend yourself when they came. But what if you lost control? What if you seriously hurt someone? Even if they were trying to harm you?

The thought makes you shudder, even more than the thoughts you’ve been desperately pushing back. But when there is nothing else to do in this cold place, it’s hard to keep your mind focused. The only way you survived these past three months with Ghost is by not thinking about your situation— at all. It’s probably why he hates you. From how he reacts anyway, you’re more like a robot than you’ve ever been a human. You’ve been monitored all your life, since before you were born you were made for the cause. No clue of who your mother was, you were genetically modified as an embryo for all the traits they wished for you to have. Other children in the program had the same, of course, and for the first years of your life you were blissfully unaware. You didn’t understand that the kids you ran around and giggled with would end up being your own enemies, despising that you turned out to be the successful experiment and not them. It wasn't as glamorous as it sounded, but they complained, saying you didnt have to be sent away like they did, to be fostered and deal with the pain of the experiments for the rest of their lives.

That’s exactly what you had though. You were split from them altogether, coddled by scientists and doctors, personal trainers who felt more like drill sergeants than anyone that wanted to help you. Of course, you were tampered with too, drugged up on strange substances as they tampered with your nerves, always changing you to be better because you were never enough for them. They were supposed to enforce rationality within you by erasing anything that could get you worked up, and so your emotions became suppressed, pushed down and piled with the weight of responsibilities to keep them down. But it clearly wasn't successful, at least when you’re not on the battlefield. When you entered that place, it was like a switch had turned on in your brain, all morality slipping out as you only followed the orders of whoever the handler was. Your mind always enters a haze after you snap out of it and come back from hours of combat, leaving you feeling sick to the core.

But now, things are changing— too fast. You had cried, because they didn't come to your birthday party. For once, your stomach felt sickly with misery and your breath had caught in your throat when you’ve never stopped breathing before, ever. Your hand reaches into your pocket, pulling out a small fox toy. It was a gift from a younger scientist who had just been a mere intern. He had been put forward for the menial task of looking after your post-experimentation state, making sure your vitals were fine. You didnt get to talk to him that much, considering you mostly were deep in sleep, recovering from the new strain on your body. But he stayed beside you, making sure you were okay. When you left to get tested on the field with Ghost, he gave you a small plush, just the size of your hand.

“A little gift.” He chuckled, smiling gently as he rubbed your bandaged arm. “Don't give me that look. I know you’re not actually that unbothered, they just made you that way. You can say you like it, you know, that it makes you happy.”

You could only nod in return, it was the truth, you were very happy.

The sky was already growing dark and without the determination that kept your body distracted from your needs, you were actually feeling your hunger full force for once. The little fox is clenched deep in your hands, a natural predator and yet it’s more common to see them die out in the wild than thriving. Just like you. Your stomach growls, and so you reach for your MRE, eyeing the food within. You were probably supposed to warm it up first, but you’d just have to eat it like this for now. You rip the first packet open, and just try to scarf it down without thinking about the taste too much. It wasn’t the best to say the least. But you’re used to it now; you barely got proper meals apart from missions, and often had to eat one of these after an unsuccessful trip to the mess hall.

You’re about to inspect the other packet when a low scratching noise is heard against the door. Instantly, you pause, mind shifting into something akin to a battle mode already. Slowly, you approach the door, pressing your ear as your hand reaches in your belt for the knife. The windows were frosted up, so it’s unlikely they could see in when it was already pretty dark in here. A low whine echoes out and you realise who's actually stalking you, quickly removing the chair and opening the door. The little fox stands there, looking up at you as it slowly steps inside the cabin.

For once, you let your guard down and just sigh, closing the door and securing it again. “C’mere.” You rarely fear anything, and so you scoop the little fox up without a second thought, even as it squirms initially and its claws are sharp on you. You settle in the warmest area of the room again, next to your mre pack and grab the fork, scooping out some of the food. You didn't need the rest, but he could use it. The fox reluctantly eats the food, and you giggle when you realise it probably doesn't taste much better to him either despite being starving. You took it off by letting him drink half the bottle of your water, which he greedily takes along with a few fruits you packed.

“Your fur is matted, and you’re all banged up but you’re still adorable.” The thought makes you sniffle, a bittersweet smile rising on your lips. The fox rests its head on your lap as you run your hand over its fur, gently scratching every now and then. Why couldn’t people see the truth in you as you did right now? You’ve trained for so long, fought to keep all of them safe on their missions and all you got in return was a scared look, disgust and sometimes even anger. It hurt, more than you allowed yourself to feel.

But this is the first time you’ve been alone without the battlefield before you, or a supervisor staring you down. You could have a gun to your head tonight, and no one will find out until the morning, so for now you just begged that the soldiers were joking, for the sake of everyone involved.

You just wish Ghost and Price would’ve listened, so you could be safe and warm back there, at least getting an early sleep on your birthday. The scientist promised, he said it’d get better, he said there would be others who would care like he did. He said only the higherups were this bad; he lied to you. The tears drip again, unable to stop this time and you bury your face in your hands, mourning everything you’ve lost, and everything you’ve yet to lose. Dead or alive, you may lose it all.

————————-

NEXT CHAPTER Series Masterlist

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[kiwisandpearls]

Bird in a Cage

Platonic Yandere! Batfamily x Gn! Adult! Reader

summary: You move back into Gotham after years of living in your own.

warnings: not entirely proofread, batfamily acting generally suspicious, reader uses they/them pronouns, implications of obsessive/stalking behavior, implications of yandere activities, let me know if I need to add more

Part 1

You sighed, staring out of the window of the vacant bus you were riding in. You were returning home, back to Gotham City; after being gone for what felt like so long yet so short of time.

You didn't have any good reason to be moving back into Gotham. There weren't any good job opportunities for you and you were living pretty ok back at your old place, but for some reason, you just wanted to return to your home city. Maybe you were feeling nostalgic, maybe you wanted to feel close to your family, maybe you wanted a change of pace; regardless of the reason, you couldn't really just turn back now. And it's not like you really wanted to.

Speaking of your family, your mind started to wander to the last time you had seen them in person. It felt like it happened so long ago yet yesterday at the same time.

After loading the last of the boxes, you were checking over everything, making sure everything was accounted for when you felt a large calloused hand on your shoulder.

"I suppose you're ready now?" A familiar gravely voice questioned behind you. You turned around to meet the blue-eyed gaze of Bruce Wayne: your adoptive father. He was never really one to show emotion but after living with him for a few years you were more easily able to pick up on what he was feeling.

“Yup, just checking to make sure I have everything,” You said, turning around to fully face your father. You gave him a soft smile before leaning forward and hugging him, wrapping your arms around him and burying your head into his chest.

“I’m gonna miss you, dad,” you whispered. You felt Bruce stiffen before awkwardly hugging you back.

“I’ll miss you too,” you heard Bruce murmur. Someone cleared their throat behind you, causing you to look up, only to meet your oldest brother’s, Dick Grayson’s, gaze. Behind him were your other siblings, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Damian.

“What? About to leave without even saying bye to your own siblings?” Dick teased. You huffed and rolled your eyes before turning around to hug him.

“Of course not,” You said. You turned your head to your other siblings, motioning for them to join in on the hug. Cass and Duke immediately joined in on the hug while Tim and Jason hesitantly followed. You looked at Damian who was awkwardly standing off to the side next to Bruce, his arms crossed.

“That means you too, Dami,” You teased. Damian stiffened before whispering a small ‘tt’ under his breath and joining in on the hug.

You were snapped out of thoughts when you felt the bus stop. This was your stop. With nothing more than a small grunt you wordlessly got out of your seat, quietly thanked the bus driver, exited the bus, and then started to make your way to what would be your new home in an apartment complex.

As you made your way to the apartment complex, the thought of getting in touch with your family and telling them that you had moved back into Gotham did not once cross your mind.

You groaned and rubbed your eyes as you sat up from your uncomfortable sleeping position on the couch one of your friends had offered to you as you were preparing to move. You looked around and noted you still had a lot of boxes you needed to empty. 

By the time you arrived at your apartment building, the only thing you could do was take all of your boxes from the moving truck and promptly go to sleep on the couch. 

As you sat on the couch, assessing where to start unpacking, your stomach rumbled. You could’ve ignored it, but you also knew it wouldn’t do you much good to unpack on an empty stomach. So with a sigh and a grunt, you got off the couch, stretched, grabbed your coat off the side of the couch, grabbed your keys, and then left your room, locking the door behind you.

You remembered spotting a small cafe on the bus ride to your apartment complex, so with no other options, you decided to go there. It didn’t seem too far, after all.

When you first entered the cafe, the smell of coffee and sweets hit you like a freight train. When it was your turn to order you didn’t order much, just a coffee and a bagel. As you sat down with your order and started to sip on your coffee, it hit you that back when you were growing up, you had never been in this section of Gotham. In fact, you never really even left the Manor. It’s not like you ever felt you needed to, you didn’t have many friends and most of what you needed was provided to you.

When you left the Manor and started living on your own, it was a struggle at first, but you actually started talking to people. Making friends and subsequently going out with those friends. It was hard times and you missed your family, but those years of living on your own outside of Gotham was something you’d never trade for anything.

“…(Y/n)? Is that you?” A very familiar voice snapped you out of your contemplation. You rose your head up to see the voice calling to you belonged to one of your very own brothers; Tim Drake. Despite the fact that it had been a few years since you were actually able to look at him in person, he didn’t actually look that different from the last time you saw him. His hair was a little longer, sure, but he was still your older brother. Still Tim Drake.

“Tim,” was all you were able to get out as you nearly bolted out of your seat. After an awkward second of silence you added, a bit more composed this time, “it’s been such a long time since I last saw you.”

Tim chuckled and gave you a quick hug before sitting down, with you following after him and sitting back down in your seat.

“Yeah, you bet,” He said. Suddenly his smile slightly faltered.

“I didn’t know you were coming back to Gotham. Did you tell any of the others about this?” Tim asked.

As you absentmindedly took a bite of your bagel you were about to say yes when it hit you that you had, in fact, not told any of your family that you’d be moving back into Gotham. Quickly swallowing your bite of the bagel, you groaned an “oh no” before pinching the bridge of your nose, your eyes shut tight. You heard Tim sigh.

“God, I’m so sorry, it completely slipped my mind to tell you guys,” You apologized before lifting up your head and placing your hand over Tim’s, “the minute I get back home I’ll text the group chat, I promise.”

Tim flashed you a weird look, but didn’t say anything, just nodded his head. You found that you were now lacking your appetite, so you wrapped what was left of your bagel in a few napkins and got up, with Tim watching but not saying a thing, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I gotta get back home, need to unpack my things and deal with some other stuff. But, we can hang out later, right?” You hopefully asked. Tim’s unreadable expression melted away and he gave you a lopsided smile.

“Got it, take care of yourself,” Tim said. You nodded your head and promptly left the cafe.

Your first few days of living in Gotham were…a bit rough. Simultaneously unpacking all your things and looking for job opportunities while living off of tap water and ramen noodle packets wasn’t exactly fun, but it wasn’t much worse than when you first moved out.

As things started to calm down and you were able to land yourself a job interview at a place nearby, you decided to head to the grocery store for things other than microwaved ramen noodles.

Pushing your cart through the aisles and aisles of foods and other items, you took a second to look down at the small shopping list you had quickly written out for yourself, making sure that you got everything, when you felt someone tap your shoulder. You turned around only to come face to face with your oldest brother, Dick Grayson. You fully turned around, noting that he also didn’t change that much from the last time you saw him.

“Oh, hey Dick, didn’t expect to see you around here. I thought you still lived in Blüdhaven,” you said. Dick simply chuckled before ruffling your hair, just like he used to do when you were still a kid.

“Nah, I do still live in Blüdhaven. I was just coming in to visit Bruce and the others. I actually didn’t expect to run into you, today,” Dick explained.

How would you run into me in this grocery store if you were just coming into Gotham to visit Bruce and the others…? was a question you wanted to ask, but you didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask, so you held your tongue.

“Oh, well. That’s nice,” You said, “sorry, Dick, but I really gotta hurry and pay for these. Maybe I can visit the Manor and we can—”

“How are you supposed to pay for those without your wallet?” Dick asked, innocently tilting his head. You furrowed your eyebrows at him before burying your hands into your coat pockets.

“What? No, I definitely have…” You trailed off as you realized your wallet was not in one of your pockets. You slumped your shoulders and groaned. Great. You went through all the effort to get the groceries and now you couldn’t even actually pay for them.

You heard Dick suppress a snicker before walking to stand next to you and put his hand on your shoulder.

“How about I pay for them?” Dick offered. You immediately straightened up and feverishly shook your head.

“Oh no, you don’t have to,” you tried to refuse. Dick’s smile fell and you could’ve sworn you felt his grip on your shoulder tightened a smidge.

“But I want to. You clearly can’t pay for them yourself on account of…y’know; no wallet,” Dick pressured. You pursed your lips and looked everywhere but Dick’s face before caving in and sighing.

“Ok, sure,” You mumbled. Dick’s cheery smile returned and he ruffled your hair once more before walking you to the cash register.

As you took your bagged groceries and went your separate ways, something dawned on you.

How did Dick even know you forgot your wallet if he just happened to run into you in the grocery store?

Yeah as you can see from the top of this, this is a multi chapter long fic lol. I did originally intent this to be a one-shot but with the way I was writing it it just felt kind of awkward for it to be one entire fic, so I’m splitting into chapters.

don’t expect like several more chapters after this lol, I’m probably only going to write one or two chapters after this, preferably only one

I may also upload this fic to ao3 but don’t immediately expect it to be on there

also yeah, sorry if there isn’t much actual yandere behavior, but I wanted this first chapter to be like, the build up, and I still did want to add faint little implications of the batfam’s yandere behavior but that might not have actually gone through in text so lol

[changbunnies]

Angel of Music (18+)

♡ Pairing: Phantom!Minho x Opera Singer Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: phantom of the opera inspired au, horror themes, dark romance, age gap, smut, dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :'), the ending is also a lil dark, sorry!

♡ Word Count: 5.8k

♡ Summary: A phantom exists in the opera house– he controls every production from the shadows, lurks around every dark corner, always watching. In your dreams exists an angel– a guardian that sings to you, guides you, and comforts you. When The Phantom appears before you in your dressing room mirror, you begin to realize that he and your angel may be one in the same.

♡ General Warnings: slightly less extreme age gap than the source material that inspires this fic but it's still fairly large (reader is ~mid 20s and minho is ~40), briefly described attempted murder of minor characters, implications of stalking, hypnotism, hallucinations + doubts of reality, so much usage of the words "phantom" and "angel" it's not even funny, this fic is not an accurate representation of how hypnotism works irl but it's fiction so i'm taking liberties!

♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon (due to reader being hypnotized), additionally to not being in their proper state of mind, there are also moments in which reader does not feel to be in full control of their body, light dom/sub dynamics, soft pleasure dom!minho because i want more of him !!, mask kink (does it still count if the mask doesn't cover his whole face?? idk i hope so!), some biting, oral (f rec), overstim, multiple orgasms

♡ Notes: i've known for ages that i wanted to write a phantom!minho fic, and my kinktober series gave me the perfect reason to finally write it! also the fact that both my uploaded minho fics are age gap romances?? that was not intentional i swear lmao

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

All inhabitants of the opera house have been on edge these days– consequence of the new owners of the Opera Populaire, who decided to disregard all of The Phantom's demands.

The Phantom, as the name suggests, is a ghost story of sorts. According to your castmates, he has been here since long before you joined the Opera Populaire's trainees last year, but his activity has begun to increase since your arrival.

He controls all in the opera house, and his demands of the previous owner were always quite simple; perform what shows he instructs you to, follow his casting down to the letter, and keep the seats in Box Five free at all times. Evidentially, Box Five is his favorite place to watch the shows from– and sometimes, his dark silhouette can be spotted in the shadows of the booth, indiscernible but unmistakably there.

No one has ever truly seen The Phantom beyond a shadow, nor have they heard him speak. He communicates with notes, always left within feet of the recipient without anyone having seen him come or go. His notes will even appear in broad daylight, with not a single person having caught a glimpse of him despite all the eyes in the room.

Well, more accurately, no one has seen him apart from the Madame– an older woman who used to be a performer for the Opera Populaire herself, but has taken the role of choreographer since her retirement from the stage. In the 15 years it's been since The Phantom made his presence known to the opera house, she's the only one who's ever seen him, or heard his voice.

A brief encounter, she explained when asked about it– had barely seen him for more than a few passing moments. He spoke little, but the beauty of his voice was striking, completely unlike any other she’d ever heard. And all he asked of her, in that fleeting moment, was to remember that the Opera Populaire is his home– and as long as the inhabitants respect him, he'll respect them in turn.

The previous director, the Madame, and The Phantom all had a mutual understanding of what was to be done. As long as they listened to him, shows would go off without a hitch; but refuse, and there'd be dire consequences. As such, the Madame has been doing her best to express the importance of listening to The Phantom to the new owners.

The Monsieurs view it as no more than silly superstition– every opera house has their own beliefs and customs, things they consider good and bad luck before a show, things they view as omens of a show's future success. The Phantom is simply one of those things– and with a guiding hand, they can dispel such superstitions, show the cast and crew that there is no shadowy phantom to fear.

The first note left for the Monsieurs went disregarded– a barking laugh leaving the elder of the two before he tossed it in the bin. The instructions on the note were clear enough– you were to take the role of Eurydice in the opera house's production of Orpheus and Eurydice, and not Carlotta, as they originally casted.

You were just as baffled as everyone else to learn that The Phantom wanted you to take such an important role– you'd only been here a year, were still so new to your opera training. It's true enough that you have a good voice, and your dancing has improved with all your diligent practice, but you're still young, and the tragic role of Eurydice is not so easily performed.

Natural talent for bringing emotion to performance aside, you lack stage experience– experience that you can easily gain from background roles. To make you such a crucial stand-out role after only a year of training was simply unheard of– no opera house would do it!

This is to be your first production, your first time on stage in front of an audience; and so regardless of what The Phantom wants, Monsieur Reyer opted to keep you strictly in the supporting chorus roles, where you would go from shepherdess, to nymph, to spirit as the acts progressed. Not a glamorous, shining position in the cast by any means, but more than enough to help familiarize you with the reality of performing with hundreds of eyes watching.

It wouldn't take long for The Phantom to make his displeasure with the decision known. And what started off as just small accidents and stage mishaps quickly turned violent and dangerous as each week passed with you still not given the role that The Phantom felt you deserved to have.

The first violent turn came during rehearsals for Act 3, right in the middle of Eurydice's climactic aria, when the chandelier above the stage came crashing down. Carlotta was standing directly beneath it just before it fell, and it narrowly missed her– purely because she happened to take a few steps forward whilst singing.

“An unfortunate accident,” the Monsieurs said, “it had nothing to do with The Phantom!” But the veterans of the opera house knew better– and the conductor swore he saw a dark shadow on the scaffolds just before the chandelier fell; a shadow that could belong to none other than The Phantom.

Carlotta screamed as it crashed just mere inches away from her, right where she's just been standing, and cried as everyone rushed to her side to ensure that she was unharmed. Again, the Madame tried to persuade them to heed The Phantom before another such “accident” occurred.

"Good God in Heaven, you're all obsessed! These things just happen sometimes– there is no phantom!" Reyer cried in exasperation over everyone's insistence, still unwilling to give in to the idea that the opera house's ghost was real.

And tonight, just after rehearsals came to a close, another terrible stage accident occurred– this time happening to Monsieur Reyer himself. He was up on the scaffolding when it happened, making sure all the stagehands properly rigged the lights in preparation for tomorrow night's premiere of Orpheus and Eurydice.

He was bent down, inspecting the bulbs and wires, when a dark figure appeared behind him. The shadow wrapped a noose around his neck faster than anyone could even react, pushed him off the scaffolding before swiftly retreating back to the shadows.

Reyer almost didn't survive– he was lucky that the nearby stagehands were quick on their feet and in their wits, managing to grab his arms and pull him up while another cut the rope that served to hang the poor man. And as if the message from the accidents alone weren't clear enough, another note was left behind right in the middle of the stage.

It was astounding, really, that not a single person saw The Phantom leave the note behind– and while some could argue that it was because all eyes were on Reyer, or because the stage became chaos as they worked to save him, the Monsieurs realized that maybe they should start to believe that there really is a ghost inhabiting the Opera Populaire.

The moment the note was noticed, the Madame picked it up, and read it aloud for all to hear. "Again, I remind you that Y/N will play the role of Eurydice. As I instruct, Box Five shall remain open for my use. These seats will not be used by another. This is my final warning– disregard at your own risk."

Realizing they had no choice, lest they wish to continue putting themselves and other cast and crew in danger, the Monsieurs begrudgingly declared you the new Eurydice, right then and there.

Given that you're at every rehearsal, you know Eurydice's lines by heart, and are confident that you can sing them well– but still, you're nervous. It's your first production, the premiere is sold out, is set for tomorrow night, and suddenly you're in one of the most pivotal roles in the entire opera.

You don't even understand why The Phantom is so adamant about giving the role to you; what is it about you that he likes, what is it that he sees in you? You wish you could ask the Madame, but she met him so fleetingly, and so many years ago– she has no way of knowing The Phantom's heart beyond an educated guess.

Sitting before your dressing room mirror, you sigh, utterly exhausted– now that you're Eurydice, it was vital that you do a last minute costume fitting and makeup test. As such, you've been in the opera house hours past the time you'd normally be here. The moon hangs high in the sky now, you're sure; you wonder if you should just spend the night here, sleep in the dressing room instead of making a late trek home.

Regardless, you hope your angel comes to you tonight. You know no one would believe you if you told them, but you really do have a guardian angel; and in your dreams, he comes to you– always when you are most lost and in need of guidance. He's a gentle, calming presence; always comforts you, talks to you sweetly when you're filled with self doubt, sings to you in the most beautiful of voices.

You've never actually seen your angel clearly– only heard his voice calling your name and whispering, singing, in a way that could only be described as angelic in its serenity. In your dreams, he's nothing but a vague, blurry image– even at his most clear, you can't define any of his features.

Still, you think of him fondly– and you suspect that as an angel, you aren't meant to be able to fully perceive him. And your angel always, always, knows when you need him– you suspect that even now, he's waiting; waiting for the moment you fall asleep, so that he can come to your side.

You look at yourself, still dressed as Eurydice. A beautiful, off shoulder bateau gown in the prettiest, purest ivory. There's lace appliques throughout the gown, has a beautiful cinched bodice before the tulle skirt fluffs out. It's elegant, makes you feel like a bride waiting to walk down the aisle.

Your makeup shimmers– extra glitter applied on your eyelids to make sure the stage lights catch it. Your jewelry too, is extravagant– made to sparkle and shine every time a light shines on you, to twinkle with each subtle move you make. It's a shame you have to take it all off just to put it all back on tomorrow– but the effort to make sure everything fits you was necessary.

You reach your hands up to one of your ears, prepare to remove one of your dangling earrings when you hear a voice you know all too well call your name– your angel's voice.

You look around the room, bewildered, but see nothing and no one. And surely you were mistaken– you're still awake! Your angel only comes to you in dreams, and you haven't fallen asleep... right? You are still awake, aren't you?

Again, you hear his voice, another whisper of your name. You rise from your chair, look around the room once more– no one. You turn back to the dressing room mirror, and jump in surprise, realizing that the view reflected in it has changed. You no longer see yourself, or the reflection of the dressing room around you– instead, you see a man.

He looks just as the Madame described her memory of The Phantom– dark hair, and even darker eyes, with a white mask that covers the right half of his face. Not completely– just from his hairline, down to his pretty, plump lips. Every inch of his skin is covered, head to toe, all of his clothes pure black apart from the ornate red vest.

Sleek boots and dark trousers, a tall collar that obscures most of his neck, long sleeves that cover his arms, even gloves covering his hands. He wears a cape, long and as dark as the rest of his clothes, and it blows behind him as if there’s a breeze rolling through.

You’re confused, a little frightened, but you can’t tear your eyes away or will yourself to flee– and as the figure speaks your name, you gasp; he truly has the voice of your angel. But he’s The Phantom, isn’t he? 

The blurry, vague scenery behind him begins to sharpen, coming more distinctly visible to your uncertain eyes. A dark corridor full of candelabra, glowing in dull yellows and shades of orange, held by incorporeal hands with no discernable origin.

What little of your dressing room you see in your peripheral shifts and warps as you stare at him, blur together into dark shadows as the table holding your hairbrush and makeup begin to fade and disappear, leaving the view through the mirror as the only thing you can see.

The figure– your angel, The Phantom?– holds his hand out to you through the mirror, as if the glass that should separate you no longer exists; perhaps it doesn't. Smoke– or maybe fog, mist? you can't be certain– pours into the room as you approach the mirror.

As if under a spell, you reach out to take his hand, thinking not of logic as you follow the beckoning call of your name. Your angel; you trust your angel. He smiles as you place your hand in his, and carefully, you step through the mirror, into the corridor.

Entranced, you stare at him; even with half a mask covering his face, he's utterly beautiful. He appears to be older than you, hints of fine lines beholden around his mouth and eyes, and even that adds to his mysterious charm. He holds your gaze as he takes a step back, a candelabra in his hand now, beckoning you to follow him down the corridor.

You squeeze his hand as you follow, and finally he turns around, walks with purpose as he guides you, glancing behind every so often to look at you in what you think to be adoration. You too, glance behind– and where the mirror once stood is now a desolate, barren wall.

You do not see any hint of your dressing room, or of the mirror you stepped through. And as you continue further down the corridor, the candelabra that were once behind you slowly begin to blink out and vanish from sight, leaving only pitch black darkness behind. A spiral staircase made of stone manifests, and you descend it, hand in hand with your angel.

You're so enchanted and bewildered, you can't seem to find your voice– all you can do is follow, let him guide you along to where it is he wants you to be. Even the staircase dissipates when you've finished descending, and for just a moment, you wonder– is any of this truly real?

Finally, you stand in the middle of a beautiful room, lit candles both resting in more candelabra and strewn about the floor, with dark, intricately woven tapestries hanging from the stone walls. There’s a grand piano, sleek black with gold accents, with even more candles resting atop it, as well as a sheet of music sitting pristine on the music desk, black ink seemingly freshly dried, just waiting to be played. 

There are several mirrors, though only one remains uncovered– the rest are obscured by cloth, for reasons you do not know. There is a bed, in what you suppose would be called a “corner” in this otherwise circular space, inviting and plush in its appearance, with blankets colored a rich red. Naturally, candles surround the bed as well, covering it in a beautifully soft, yellow-orange glow. 

“Where are we?” you finally find your voice to ask, and the man smiles as he beckons you to follow him towards his bed. “We are home,” he replies, and though it’s a strange answer, you feel you understand– yes, you are home. This is home. 

You gaze at him curiously after you sit on the bed, just as comfortable as you expected it to be, and he mimics the way you’ve tilted your head at him. “You’re.. My angel, aren’t you? Or are you The Phantom?” you ask, and the man laughs ever so softly, melodious and beautiful. 

“I am Minho,” he responds, as if that alone is a sufficient enough answer– in a way, you suppose it is. What else is there to know? He is Minho. That is enough.

“I have longed to touch you, to bring you here,” Minho whispers as he reaches one of his gloved hands to your face, strokes your cheek slowly, gently. The sensation, though simple, feels so tender– it sparks something inside you, fills you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. You close your eyes, bask in the comfort his touch provides you. 

You feel his hand move, travel down until his fingers are under your chin. He tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to see him gazing down at you warmly. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, speaking to you as gently as he always does. He’s said it before, in your dreams– that you are beautiful, talented, deserving of all you wish to have.

He never lets you linger on self-doubt, never allows you to think you are lesser than someone else, or undeserving of the opportunities you’ve been granted. Your angel knows you– you think he’s appearing to you now, like this, because he knows you are uncertain of playing Eurydice; he must think that he needs to remind you of just how special you are. 

All of your doubts about tomorrow’s premiere– he will dispel them from your mind, as he always does. He kneels before you, gazing at you carefully as he inches closer to you, his hands softly rubbing over your shoulders and down your arms. His attentive stare as he caresses you makes you breathing quicken, your heart starting to pick up speed.

“Do you trust me?” Minho asks suddenly, and with not an ounce of hesitation, you nod. You’ve no reason not to trust him– in the year it's been since your angel first appeared to you, you’ve always trusted him. There is no one else that makes you feel so secure, so at peace, so.. Loved, cared for. Yes, your angel, Minho, loves you, cares for you like no other. You trust him. 

“I wish to clear your mind of worry and doubt– to make you think only of me, and the music we can make together. I wish to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you," he says, and oh, he knows he shouldn’t be pouring his heart out like this, for it’s too soon, much too soon. But he’s been enamored with you since the first moment you stepped into the Opera Populaire, has been infatuated with you since first hearing the passion in your voice.

He can’t help it, it seems– now that he has you here, in his lair, his defenses falter, all of his desires pouring out of him. To have you here, and to touch you like this, even so simply– it’s everything he’s wanted. And instantly, unconsciously, you reach out to him. Your angel sees you, knows you– you wish to know him too, to understand him the way he does you.

Your mind is somehow as clear as it is hazy– clear, because you know what it is that you want. Regardless of who he is, what he is, you want Minho to have you. Anything he wants, you feel compelled to give, as if it’s all you know; and in this moment, perhaps it is. In the very back reaches of your addled mind, a reminder blares– The Phantom always gets what he wants. 

And what he wants now, most of all, is you; and despite what logic may tell you to feel, you trust him to have you. He sees all that you feel in your expression alone, knows all that you think as if he’s seen into the depths of your mind. Even now, perhaps more than ever before, he sees you. 

Sees all that you are, and all that you want– and a charming smile plays on his lips as you gaze at him with wanton desire to let him take you. To let him have, to give yourself over– you wish to offer yourself wholly to your angel’s desires.

Your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you, a soft press that you could almost call chaste, his hands slowly moving over your body, each soft touch lingering. You don’t feel his gloves anymore, you realize– did he take them off without you noticing? You suppose it doesn’t matter– his hands are warm, a bit rough and calloused against the soft skin of your arms, and you like it.

Even as his kisses become less chaste, deepen as his hands travel to your hips, they remain slow and purposeful. His hands eventually find the bottom of your dress, begin to lift it ever so slowly up your thighs– not to expose you, but so that he can slot himself between your legs. Somehow, innately, you understand this– and easily, you spread your legs for him, allowing him to find his place between them.

His arms wrap around you after, pulling you closer, pressing your body to his. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time he pulls away, breathless as you look to him with eager, impassioned eyes– a gaze that heats his otherwise cold heart. You reach up, bring your hands to his face; he nearly flinches when you touch his mask, though he knows you mean no harm. 

Minho feels himself ugly under his mask– too scarred and disfigured to be appealing to you in any regard; at least like this, with only the good parts of his face on display, you may find him handsome. Your touch is as soft as your gaze, and though perhaps you should, you make no move to remove his mask; you simply rub your thumb over the cold porcelain.

It’s a vulnerable thing, really– how softly you touch his ugliest spots. It doesn’t matter that you can’t see them from beneath his mask– the tender regard you seem to feel for him, even without having seen the scars that mar him, is more than enough. It’s ironic, in a way, that you seem to think he’s an angel; in reality, the only angel in this room is you. 

“I want to please you, if you'll let me,” he breathes as his fingertips ghost over your thighs. It makes your breath hitch, blinking at him slowly as you process his intent. There is much your angel wants– but chasing the pleasure of his own flesh isn’t one of those things. He doesn’t need it to feel satisfied; your pleasure will more than suffice him.

His dark eyes bore into yours as he awaits your answer, can tell from his wanting gaze how serious he is about pleasing you, and it makes your cheeks slowly bloom with heat. And it’s not just what he wants– it’s what he needs, really; when you surrender yourself to him, he wants it to be for your pleasure, not his own. 

“Oh, please– touch me,” you answer, plead– because something from deep inside you screams for it, wanting it beyond all comprehension. Your darkest, most innate desires manifest for him; desires that you didn’t even fully realize you had. They possess you, drive you to kiss him again, urgent and passionate. 

Minho returns your kiss with equal fervor, lets his tongue slip past his lips to meet yours. They share a dance, swirl around each other until you’re breathless again; and then he’s guiding you back, urging you to lay down as he hovers over you. He pulls the skirt of your dress further up your body, until your thighs are entirely exposed and he can see your dampening panties. 

He lowers himself to you, but doesn’t go immediately where you expect him too– he takes his time trailing wet, lingering kisses over your thighs instead. Your inner thighs are sensitive, ticklish, and you can’t help but squirm from each kiss he grants you.

You also can’t help but jolt each time the cool porcelain of his mask presses against the hot skin of your thigh, and again when he carefully sinks his teeth into your pliant flesh. He doesn't do it hard enough to hurt, or even fully leave indents of his teeth behind– just enough to leave you panting and squirmy; and he lets out a soft, airy laugh every time he succeeds in the endeavor. 

Your bunched up skirt is so full that you can hardly even watch him work you up; but there are times, while kissing and biting over your trembling thighs, that he lifts his head just enough to let you catch his gaze. It makes your heart skip a beat, butterflies dancing in your stomach every time he locks eyes with you while kissing around where you need him most.

You reach a point where you’re no longer squirming because his attention tickles, but because you’re becoming desperate, impatient; and the way he stares at you as he does it all doesn't help in the slightest. “Minho, please,” you whine, shameless; and you can feel him smile against your skin before he lifts himself up from his place between your legs. 

“Needy are we, angel?” he asks, grinning as you pout and nod. “Need you,” you mumble, but he hears you loud and clear; he’s attuned to you, your angel is. He lowers himself between your thighs once more, kisses your pussy over your panties– and it’s not quite what you need, but it’s enough to have you gasping and quivering. 

Again, he takes his time, as if not a single ounce of urgency resides within him. And make no mistake, it does– but Minho knows how to restrain himself. He’s a stubborn man, that is certainly true, but he’s also perfectly in control of himself; for now, anyways. 

And he likes the way you whine for him when you feel his tongue lick you up over the fabric of your panties. It’s not a full enough feeling for you, or a full enough taste of your pussy for him, but the desperate, whiny sounds it draws out of you are delicious enough to satisfy him.  

Still, while he’s enjoying the way his soft kisses and kitten licks over your panties is making you writhe and cry for him, he also can’t deny how badly he wants to finally taste you directly on his tongue. He’s been patient enough, he thinks, and so have you– why not indulge just a little sooner than planned?

In contrast to how sweetly he’s treated you up to this point, he’s quick to tear your panties away from your body. The sound of the fabric ripping makes you gasp, and maybe later he’ll apologize– but for now, lapping his tongue between your folds is of more importance. You moan when his tongue finally meets your bare pussy, as does Minho– and despite the hunger that he feels, he continues to lick you over slowly. 

The languid pace makes you crazy– you want more, so much more, but your angel has been waiting for this; he needs to take his time with you, needs to embed the taste of your dripping sex on his tongue, needs to make sure it’s something he’ll never be able to forget. And he isn’t trying to tease you by keeping the slow pace– well, maybe he is a little; he does enjoy it, after all– but he’s sincerely craved this for too long to let the moment quickly pass him by. 

He brings his hands to your thighs, squeezing them in his hands and preventing you from closing them around his head. You’re sure it’s partly so he can keep you spread out for him, to keep enjoying the easy access to your pussy, but it’s also so that your trembling thighs don’t cause his mask to shift, and fall from his face. 

You gasp when the cool, smooth and rigid porcelain covering the right side of his nose bumps your clit as he shoves his tongue into your hole. And while he isn’t purposely trying to get you to cum just yet, his slow but diligent ministrations are getting you there regardless– with his tongue dipping in and out of your heat, always pushing in as deep as he can make it go, and his mask-covered nose nudging your clit. 

You let your head fall back against the bed, your every high pitched whimper and moan echoing off the stone walls surrounding you. You try to tell him you’re going to cum, but you fail miserably– all that leaves you is a quick succession of whines before your eyes are rolling, back bowing off the bed as release on his tongue. Minho moans with you, hums happily as he licks the mess from your pussy like the cat that got the cream. 

He laves over your clit when he’s done licking up your cum– and it's sensitive, swollen from your orgasm; but that doesn’t stop him from swirling his tongue around it, and positively knocking the air from your lungs. The sensation is overwhelming, he knows it is even without you telling him, but it’s still so good that you don’t want to squirm away, or ask him to stop– or perhaps you can’t. 

You get the distinct feeling that even if you tried, your limbs would resist, would fight to keep you in place– despite your best efforts, you would remain just as you are now. Spread open and trembling, exactly how Minho wants you. “You make the prettiest music, angel,” he separates from you long enough to speak, “want you to keep singing for me.”

And sing for him you do when he dives back in, flicks your clit with his tongue a few times before wrapping his lips around it, sucking it like a piece of hard candy. Your moans, the smacking sounds of his lips, the way he hums when he returns to your hole to collect the cream– it’s an orchestra, just for the two of you.

You cum again in record time, of course you do. Minho finds it cute, the way you incoherently babble away as you let go for him again. And he isn’t done just because you came again– no, he’s far from finished with your pussy. He doesn’t tire in the slightest, ceaseless in the way he lavishes with you his tongue and suckles with his pretty, perfect lips. 

When you cum for the third time, you don’t even know if you truly ever stop cumming at all– the pleasure just keeps coming in waves, never fully receding before it builds again, washing over you like a tsunami before it all repeats. You writhe and twist, back repeatedly bowing off his bed before falling back, but your thighs stay spread for him, even when his hands stop holding them down. 

His hands have found their way beneath you, cupping and squeezing your ass as he eats away. Your hips wriggle, and he helps grind you up against his face, moaning and humming all the while. It’s too much and not enough all at once; your body screams that it can’t take it, and yet your mind screams that it needs more, and God, you can’t think straight– but is there any point in this night that you were?

You’re hot and heaving, sweat dripping from your brow as you tremble and bend. Minho is hot too, of course– his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his face red from his cheeks to his ears, and even down his neck. And were you not so far gone, you’d have noticed that his mask has shifted and fallen from his face. 

It was because of you, too– when another high took you and tugged on his hair hard, crying as your hips jolted and bucked against his face. He should’ve swiftly put it back on, lest you see his scars, but he didn’t– he just shoved it aside, against his better judgment, so he could keep licking you up without interruption. 

You feel positively delirious by the time he’s finished, eyes heavy and bleary, body utterly limp and boneless. He crawls his way up to you, and your gaze is unfocused, blurry; you can hardly distinguish his features anymore– similar to the way he always appeared in your dreams before now.

Regardless, you smile at him before you close your eyes; a weak, but content one that Minho finds oh so endearing. You’re beyond fatigued, but also feel an unmatched sense of elation as your angel strokes your head and whispers sweet nothings for you to fall asleep to. “You belong to me now,” you hear him say, just before you drift off– and you know it’s true. 

You think, perhaps, you’ve always belonged to him. From the very first moment Minho saw you, he knew he was never going to let you go. And just as Orpheus had done for Eurydice, he’d gladly walk into the depths of Hades itself if that’s what it took to keep you by his side. 

He gently caresses your cheek as you fall into a deeper sleep, presses a soft kiss to your lips and whispers a final soft utterance of love before he covers you with a blanket, and your mind goes completely dark for the night. 

You wake the next day with a struggle– at least, you think it’s the next day; it’s too dark in the room you’re in to tell for certain. You reach out for Minho, but don’t feel him anywhere– and as you sit up, and your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize that you are alone. Your brows furrow as you look around; you’re still in his room, but it doesn’t look quite the same. 

There are no candles, not on the floor or in the candelabra that now lie empty. The tapestries adorning the walls are torn and dulled in color, the piano dusty and the gold decorating it chipped. The sheet of music that sits on the piano’s music desk, that last night looked so fresh and pristine, now appears weathered and yellowed.

As you grab the blanket to pull it off you, you realize it isn't a blanket at all that is covering you, but a cape– Minho’s cape. And on the bed, just an arm’s reach away from you lies a note– the same kind that The Phantom always leaves behind inside the Opera Populaire.

Your hand trembles as you pick it up, eyes straining to read it in the darkness. The message he leaves behind, when your eyes focus on the words well enough to read them, is quite simple. “To my beloved and beautiful Eurydice; welcome home.”

[bunnwich]

Gifts (Leona Kingscholar)🧡

Leona muses on the gift you leave him for Valentine's Day. (Based on the official merch twst 2024 Valentine gift messages)

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Yuu/MC!Reader (Can be framed as platonic or romantic)

Words: 936 words, Leona's POV

Notes: Wanted to challenge myself to do something short and sweet in a few hours and was inspired to improve upon yet another dry official Leona gift message response.

--

Gifts.

They came easy over the years, like plucking an oversweet tart from a dessert tray. He was disliked, feared even, but lucky for him easy on the eyes — and still a prince to occasionally bow and scrape to. So many folks over the years were eager to oblige him and follow the traditions of the Sunset Savanna. Idolize the royals; the divine oligarchy. He was simply “lucky” enough to be born under that umbrella. That’s all.

Those gifts and attention fed him for a while, but if he was being honest, some part of him always remained hungry. 

After all, shiny trinkets were nothing like a dusty old book or the heady cedar smell of a well-used chess set. What was the value of pretty baubles to sit on shelves of his empty room or clothes that cost more than some folks' houses?

Pillars of sand.

Was it so damn pathetic and vapid to want something not given by his family's twisted obligations or plucked from the hands of a quivering servant?  No games. No more ulterior motives. 

Wishful thinking, maybe or a childish habit that he had dumped in the trash, like all those boxes of sweets that long went bitter on his tongue.

He reminded himself that others had suffered much worse than not being doted on in their preferred way. However, this reality failed to take away his distaste for each and every gift. Tch. How many times would he have to snuff out that damn sentimentality that he had been so “lucky” to inherit?

Leona’s eyes fell upon the small bottle vial in his palm and the wooden lion tag attached, tied carefully around the bottle. It had been nestled on the corner of his bed when he returned from Spelldrive practice this morning, all nice and wrapped in shiny paper.

His mouth crinkled and a small sound rumbled from his chest without his permission. Relief of some kind maybe. It had been one of the first gifts he received that was not for his birthday or from his family.

A friendly gesture or…somethin’ more insidious?

To think, someone who came to this world with nothin’ goin’ outta their way to get him somethin’...special.

But, “friends” weren’t something he kept. Instead, he had a collection of starry-eyed froshes, classmates, rivals, those few worthy of his respect. And then there was Ruggie of course but, would he be around if not for the understanding they had come to? Best not to dwell on it now.

Leona chuckled watching the amber liquid swish around the curved glass like liquid gold. How bold of them to choose a scent for him of all things. Beastfolk were sensitive to ‘em and he especially. But, they had been the brash and precocious type ever since they came to this school. Always skipping steps to pull off an advanced move.

Regardless of how big of a crowd he’d ever have cheerin’ at one of his games or how many brilliant trinkets he’d be gifted, nothing beat his chosen audience of one. Who, even after seeing firsthand all the grimy parts of him...still havin’ the audacity to stick around so long.

His eyes fell over to the chessboard at the corner of his desk. Brave little creature indeed, and brimming with Savanaclaw tenacity. A little pawn that made it to the other side of the board, ready to be crowned.

No way they knew the implication of such a small gesture, how important scents were to beastfolk, not that he was one for tradition, of course. Still, He brought the bottle to his nose for the umpteenth time as he leaned forward on his elbows. In an odd way, it reminded him of the gardens back at home when it rained, all those lonely hours pouring over books and chess games. 

Alone but…if he concreted enough, he was able to catch a whiff of the oil where their fingers touched the glass. Yes, in their note they had mentioned that this scent reminded them of him, but to his nose it was missing something. A key complementing note. A missing piece. 

The scent of a little herbivore turned into a formidable beast that he couldn’t get out of his head.

His brow furrowed as he glanced over at the small pile of notes, discarded by his boots. Then he tried again this time with more wit.

"Hey– Allow me to thank you for your generous gift. Heh. I can’t believe you actually picked out a halfway-decent fragrance. I might actually keep this. I thought about sending you something in return if the mood struck me, but this thank you note should do the job just fine, right?"

Leona kept it short and sweet. He knew they two were past formalities, but it was amusing to still play the game a little. He had been waiting for them to approach him in such a bold way, and finally, he had been rewarded for his saintly patience. Still, he wasn’t ready to show his hand yet, well-

He allowed sentimentality to win this time and flipped over the note, scrawling a little something extra for their eyes only. 

“P.S. If you were gonna treat your lion so nice…the least ya could do is make good on such bold intentions and show him some proper attention.”

He chuckled again as he let the paper slip from his fingers, finally satisfied with what he had come up with. Honestly, it didn't matter much what he wrote. Maybe he was becoming sentimental in his “old” age but he knew...that they would always find each other in the middle.

It was their move again.

Besides, it was only fair that he repay them properly. Etiquette and all that.

[rannie-moon]

I can do a lot in 15 2 minutes!

synopsis: during enhypen’s desire : unleash showcase, heran is picked for a chaotic handcuffed relay—complete with cherry stem tying, card stacking, and one final surprise task with the crowd chanting jungwon’s name, things quickly spiral into playful tension and public flustering (for both of them). cherry-related implications are made. a cherry is fed. jungwon may or may not hide in her shoulder by the end. chaos ensues.

masterlist | wattpad

the showcase had been going well so far—a little too well. the members were in high spirits, the audience was on fire, screaming at practically everything that happened on stage, and heran had nearly passed out laughing a total of three times already.

the vibe of the event was meant to be sensual. she, however, was currently feeling anything but.

at that exact moment, she was curled over between jungwon and sunghoon, one hand clapped over her mouth, shoulders shaking silently. sunoo had just tried to take a selfie while bouncing on a mini trampoline for his mission. the image of his mid-air hair and blurred face would be burned into her mind forever.

her laughter subsided just enough for her to sit up again, cheeks pink, still trying to breathe through the occasional wheeze of a giggle.

and of course—right when she thought she could recover, her peace was ruined.

she looked like a disaster—but at least a very well-dressed one.

fitted black cardigan buttoned perfectly over a crisp, tight white button-up. the slim black tie at her throat was neatly knotted. sleeves rolled casually to her elbows, tailored black slacks hugging her frame just right, and black knee-high boots that clicked sharply whenever she moved. her deep red hair cascaded down her back, soft waves framing her flushed face.

“heran, you look like you’re having fun,” the MC teased lightly, smiling wide.

heran’s expression dropped instantly—comically so.

the audience cracked up. jungwon smirked next to her, leaning slightly away as if to dodge the incoming storm. sunghoon choked on a laugh, clapping his thigh once.

the contrast of her calm tone and the flush on her cheeks had the crowd screaming again.

without missing a beat, she lifted her mic with a practiced ease, coolly raising it to her lips.

“I’m just trying to ignore my fatigue,” she said airily, even as her voice was faintly breathless from laughter.

the lights dimmed, a playful suspense jingle filling the venue. the spin-wheel animation flickered onto the screen, cycling through the remaining members’ names.

the MC chuckled knowingly. “ah, professional. I see.”

she nodded, turning toward the massive LED screen behind them. “well, let’s see if we can keep you awake with the next mission, hmm? Fingers crossed it’s something fun.”

the pointer stopped on her name.

and right on cue—

💥 HERAN 💥

the crowd immediately squealed, a chorus of high-pitched cheers echoing through the hall. the members, who had been lounging comfortably, suddenly straightened up, eyes wide with gleeful curiosity.

jungwon subtly glanced her way, noting how she absently wiped under her eyes to get rid of the laugh tears. a tiny smile played at his lips—she really was hopeless sometimes. she picked her song, and the screen flickered again.

then—

💥 MISSION: HANDCUFFED DESIRE RELAY 💥

“OH NO—” sunoo practically shrieked.

heran blinked.

her members erupted.

"and I thought mine was bad," jay teased. "good luck with the restraints."

“of course it’s me,” she said into the mic, earning another wave of cheers.

staff members rolled a prepared table onto center stage. the audience collectively leaned forward.

the MC grinned. “you’ll have two minutes to complete as many of these tasks as possible—handcuffed, of course. and your final task—” she glanced at the box of paper. “—will be decided through the box.”

everyone’s eyes shifted to the items being set down:

— handcuffs

— a bowl of glossy cherries

— a neat stack of playing cards

— a pair of chopsticks with a bowl of ping pong balls

— a small box with folded slips of paper

heran nodded once, eyes flicking over the table in front of her. every item, every task. her mind was already mapping the sequence. This wasn’t about looking good anymore—it was a game.

and everyone on that stage knew: heran had a competitive streak.

her only thought in that moment was simple, focused:

how am I going to win?

the MC grinned, gesturing toward the lineup of objects.

“here’s your relay, heran. listen carefully.”

“first, you’ll need to tie the stem of a cherry using only your tongue—” the MC began. the fans immediately screamed. the members hollered.

the crowd hushed.

heran tilted her head slightly, still watching the table like it was a puzzle to crack.

heran gave the audience a quick, sarcastic thumbs up, causing another round of laughter.

“next—stack a small pyramid with these playing cards.”

“after that, use the chopsticks to transfer these ping pong balls into this bowl.”

she squinted slightly, already strategizing.

“finally—” the MC’s smile grew wider. “you’ll select a task from this mystery box of paper slips for your last challenge. we’ll see what fate has in store for you.”

the audience roared.

heran’s lips twitched into a smirk.

a staff member approached, handing her the pair of sleek silver handcuffs. she fiddled with them in her hands, walking over to jungwon who already set his mic down to help her.

the fans lost it.

while the boys debated about how quickly they'd be able to complete the relay, jungwon stood slowly, eyes briefly flicking to heran’s wrists as she positioned herself in front of him, hands ready for him. his usual calm face was in place—but his ears were already turning pink.

his hands gently took the cuffs, clicking one side around her left wrist. his touch was careful, fingers brushing her skin—whether on purpose or not, heran didn’t dare guess.

he glanced up to meet her gaze briefly before fastening the other cuff. the room was noisy but his voice was quiet, just for her:

“too tight?”

his lips quirked upward—barely noticeable. then heran turned back to the audience, her attention fixed on her wrists and how the chain stopped her from moving much. but Sunghoon caught the tiny smile on his face and grinned knowingly.

his thumb hovered, ready to adjust it.

heran blinked, momentarily forgetting what she was supposed to be doing.

she shook her head, voice low.

“nope, I'm good.”

the MC clapped her hands. “alright! heran, ready?”

the buzzer sounded.

heran flexed her fingers against the metal once, twice—her confidence sliding back into place like a well-worn glove.

“I don't really have a choice, so yeah."

heran approached the table, handcuffs clinking softly as she reached for the first task—the bowl of glossy cherries.

the timer flashed to life.

2:00. the countdown began.

“she’s not gonna tie it, no way,” sunghoon announced confidently from behind her.

“fifty bucks she can’t,” jay added with a smirk.

sunoo chimed in brightly, “this looks like torture. I’d fail at the first step.”

heeseung laughed. “they look good though. can we eat them after she’s done?”

the audience was screaming already—half in encouragement, half in sheer chaos.

heran tuned them all out. eyes narrowing slightly, she plucked a cherry by the stem, popped it into her mouth, and tilted her head, her focus razor-sharp.

six seconds.

the members were still talking when she pulled the cherry out—leaving behind a perfectly tied stem resting between her teeth with a smug little grin.

the audience absolutely lost it.

“WHAT—” jake choked on a laugh.

“HUH?!” heeseung leaned forward, eyes wide.

“did she just—” sunoo gaped.

even jungwon blinked once, twice—his expression unreadable, except for the slight crease between his brows as he watched her set the stem delicately onto the plate and move on without a single word.

1:44 left.

she paused, eyes narrowing again.

next: the cards.

heran wasted no time, her cuffed hands moving with impressive precision. the first two levels of the pyramid went up fast—until one sudden wobble drew an audible gasp from the crowd.

heran wasted no time.

her cuffed hands moved with impressive precision, her fingers nimble and light despite the clinking metal between her wrists.

1:25 left.

the first level of the pyramid went up fast.

the second—steady, controlled.

an audible gasp rippled through the crowd.

then—a sudden wobble.

a single card trembled precariously on the edge.

heran froze, eyes narrowing again, tongue poking out between her lips in pure concentration.

she was not about to lose to a deck of cards.

from behind her, however—chaos.

“FALL, FALL, FALL!” ni-ki shrieked, fanning his hands dramatically from his seat.

jay joined in immediately. “come on, gravity, do your thing!”

sunghoon snickered, doing the same—mimicking a storm blowing through the air.

the audience roared.

she let out a loud, frustrated laugh, twisting to glare at them over her shoulder.

“can you all chill out?!” she yelped through her laughter, shoulders shaking. “you’re worse than the mission!”

jungwon, though, was still watching quietly from his seat—a small amused smile tugging at his lips as he observed her determination.

1:05 left.

with a deep breath and an exaggerated shake of her head, heran turned back to the cards, blocking out the noise.

“focus, focus, focus,” she whispered to herself.

she carefully adjusted the trembling piece—steady now. her fingers flew again.

pyramid complete.

final card.

she hovered for half a second—dramatic effect, of course—then lowered it slowly into place.

heran shot her arms up in a mini victory pose, cuffs jingling loudly.

the arena erupted.

“NO WAY—” heeseung groaned, collapsing into jay’s shoulder.

“I'm not even surprised anymore,” sunghoon muttered, clapping with the crowd.

heran beamed and gave an exaggerated little bow—a flourish of her cuffed hands—before pivoting right into the next task.

she eyed the first ball like a sworn enemy.

ping pong balls.

chopsticks in hand.

she gasped, catching it on the first try—but the ball wobbled dangerously as she lifted it.

“TENSE,” jake said dramatically.

“son’t drop it!” heeseung called out, not helping at all.

heran sucked in a breath, carefully guiding the ball toward the bowl—boop. success.

“one down, let’s go!” she cheered herself on.

the crowd joined in, counting with her:

0:45 left.

“TWO!”

boop.

“THREE!”

boop.

the MC called out excitedly. “final one! heran, hurry!”

she dashed over to the small box on the table, her cuffs clinking with every move. snatching a slip of paper, she unfolded it fast—eyes flickering over the words.

her brows lifted—a little smile forming before she bit it back.

the crowd exploded—screaming even before she looked up.

she turned the paper toward her members, voice carrying.

“tie a necktie… on a member of your choice.”

heran was already laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained as she clapped once.

“WONNIE!”

“JUNGWON JUNGWON JUNGWON—”

"PICK JUNGWON!"

turning toward him with a teasing grin, she pointed with her cuffed hands. “hurry up—you heard the people! come on!”

jungwon’s head snapped up, wide-eyed—like a deer in headlights.

for a half-second, he didn’t move—his shoulders rising with a sharp breath as the entire venue’s focus slammed onto him.

with a small, helpless smile and pink already blooming at the tips of his ears, jungwon stood.

“GO JUNGWON GO!” jay hollered.

sunoo cackled, smacking ni-ki on the arm. “HE’S GONNA MALFUNCTION!”

and that’s when everyone remembered—he was already wearing a tie. a sleek black tie tucked neatly into his crisp suit.

“OH—HE’S GOTTA TAKE IT OFF FIRST—” jake pointed out, practically vibrating in his seat.

jungwon brought one hand up—almost awkwardly self-conscious—fingers hooking around the knot of his tie.

the screams hit another decibel.

phones shot into the air.

he still wasn’t moving fast enough.

heran, still laughing, called out playfully.

“you’re wasting my time here. move!”

she was half bouncing on her heels now—the cuffs rattling excitedly with her movement.

without thinking, heran stepped forward and grabbed the tie itself, giving it a sharp playful tug that yanked him toward her.

the crowd absolutely exploded.

jungwon stumbled forward with a strangled breath, eyes wide, blushing hard. his fingers barely caught the knot again as he looked at her helplessly.

“you’re gonna make me lose this thing! handsome but too slow, come on—” she teased, voice low but bright with adrenaline.

the tie finally slipped free of his collar—he handed it over awkwardly, avoiding her gaze, his hands a little shaky.

the cuffs made her movements sloppy—she struggled, brows furrowed, arms crossing awkwardly against his chest.

she grabbed it fast, already reaching up toward his neck.

he froze again as she stepped in—close. too close.

“stay still, stay still—” she muttered under her breath.

jungwon was trying.

but his hands hovered at his sides, twitching, fingers half-curled—aching to settle on her waist out of habit, out of comfort. but they couldn’t. not here.

his breathing was uneven now—he couldn’t look at her face, not like this. not when she was this close, this unbothered, and the entire arena was watching.

heran struggled a bit more, lip caught between her teeth in focus.

The cuffed chain pulled taut across his chest as she leaned in again.

he nearly choked.

then—without thinking, without realizing—heran whispered just loud enough for him to hear:

“you’re really bad at pretending you’re not in love with me right now.”

the tips of his ears burned crimson—his hands fully fidgeting now, his gaze flying straight to the floor, lips parting like he wanted to say something—but nothing came out.

jay howled. “that boy’s about to short-circuit.”

sunghoon laughed, eyes shining. “If he turns any redder he’ll match her hair.”

meanwhile, heran kept working quickly, trying to form a decent knot despite the cuffs clinking and her heart racing too fast now.

her own cheeks were warm—but she grinned in triumph when she tugged the knot tight and patted his chest.

the crowd screamed.

she raised her cuffed wrists with a bright grin.

“mission complete.”

members were cackling.

the MC clapped, visibly impressed. “I can’t believe you actually did it—especially the cherry! wow—alright, as promised—”

she reached over to the small stand beside her and picked up the tiny silver key. “here’s your freedom.”

as soon as the MC handed the key to heran, pure chaos erupted behind her.

“I need to try the cherry.” jake launched himself out of his seat toward the table.

heeseung followed close behind. “there’s no way—she did that in six seconds, cheater.”

heran couldn’t help it. she bent forward, shoulders shaking with laughter, the key clutched in her cuffed hands as her members devolved into a full-on fruit battle onstage.

sunghoon and sunoo were already shoulder to shoulder, arguing as they grabbed cherries.

“you take that one—mine has a longer stem, I’m taking this one!”

“yah, we’re trying for science, not competition!”

but then her eyes flicked sideways—to him.

jungwon hadn’t moved.

he sat perfectly still in his chair, posture neat, legs crossed, hands resting on his thighs—like if he so much as twitched, the world would notice. his head was tilted down, a shy smile curving his lips, ears still pink. every few seconds his gaze would flick toward her—and just as quickly snap away.

he looked like he was seriously rethinking every decision he’d ever made.

heran bit her lip, something warm stirring in her chest.

even with her heart still racing from the relay, she felt this tiny pocket of calm between them—a thread that had tightened with every second he’d been standing in front of her, helping with her cuffs.

she placed the key gently in his palm, her cuffed wrists lifting between them.

she padded back over toward him, hair swaying lightly against her back. she stopped just in front of him and leaned down slightly, voice playful but soft:

"earth to jungwon.”

a little pause, watching the way his gaze flicked upward toward her, wide and blinking. “mind helping me out?”

for a beat, he just looked at the key, the smallest laugh escaping him through his nose—half amused, half resigned. then, finally—finally—he looked up at her properly.

and smiled.

then—he shifted.

not the practiced camera smile, not the polite fanservice one.

a quiet, soft smile that reached all the way to his eyes.

he parted his legs just slightly where he sat on the stool, leaving enough space in front of him, then gave her a gentle tug by the chain of the cuffs—subtle but sure—pulling her a step closer into the space between his knees.

her breath caught for a second. she shot him a look, playful but sharp.

but his fingers were already moving—deft and careful now—sliding the key into the first lock.

his grin widened, ears still pink.

“you’re so annoying sometimes,” he said, voice warm and teasing, low enough that only she would catch it beneath the din of the crowd.

jungwon’s fingers hesitated for the faintest second—but then he exhaled a small laugh again, shaking his head as if trying to steady himself.

heran tilted her head, her own smile tugging at her lips.

“I was under a lot of pressure okay, I didn't mean to ruin your street cred."

he caught her wrist gently to steady it before reaching for the second.

click.

first cuff popped open.

up this close, heran could hear the way his breathing wasn’t quite even—see the way his lashes fluttered when he glanced up at her from under them. his voice was quieter now, the earlier teasing laced with something softer. “please warn me next time. I'd like to prepare for my heart attack in advance.”

the corners of jungwon’s mouth twitched upward—barely, but there. His fingers finally turned the key in the second lock.

she rolled her eyes at his line, though her smile was quick and fond.

“yes, sir.”

again, his hands lingered—one settling briefly at the inside of her wrist, thumb brushing over her skin in a way that might’ve looked casual to anyone else, but wasn’t.

click.

second cuff popped open.

but neither of them moved just yet, as if locked in this suspended space between their little world and the chaos around them—until:

heran could feel her pulse thrum beneath his touch.

so could he, probably.

“apparently being able to tie a cherry with your tongue means you’re a good kisser.”

sunghoon’s voice floated in from across the stage, completely unbothered, still hunched over the table with a cherry stem between his teeth.

“hyung, you can’t just say that!” ni-ki added, both scandalized and clearly intrigued.

“HYUNG!” sunoo practically screamed, face already in his hands as the crowd burst into shrieks.

jay, grinning, lifted to speak into his mic. “well then. I guess heran’s got another talent to add to the list.”

the entire audience went feral, members either hollering or hiding their faces.

but she wasn’t done.

heran—still standing in front of jungwon—snorted, shaking her head as she finally straightened.

“you guys are insane.”

with a playful glint in her eye, she sauntered casually over to the table, plucked three cherries from the bowl—moving with deliberate calm while the others kept bickering over the new “fact” sunghoon had shared.

then—without a word—she padded back to jungwon, who was still on the stool, trying valiantly to look composed even as his ears stayed a steady shade of pink.

she stopped right in front of him again, one cherry swinging between her fingers by the stem. “you wanna try?”

jungwon stared at the cherry stem dangling between her fingers like it was some kind of trap—one he was absolutely about to walk into.

his lips parted in disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

heran’s smile deepened. “dead serious.”

she leaned in ever so slightly, swinging the cherry once like a pendulum. “come on, for science, remember?”

with a dramatic sigh that didn’t match the way his smile twitched at the corners, jungwon took the cherry from her fingers.

the crowd roared with anticipation.

from the table, jay shouted, “please try, I think these cherries are rigged.”

heeseung nearly choked on his own stem from laughter.

“fine,” he muttered—still pink, still fighting a laugh—as he popped it in his mouth.

heran stepped back, arms crossed, watching with an exaggerated air of judgment. “no pressure. just everyone you know is watching.”

“gee, thanks.” his words came out muffled, the stem already between his teeth.

he worked at it silently, brows furrowed in concentration, while the crowd counted down dramatically like it was the olympics.

“ten… nine…”

“give him some room to breathe!” sunoo said into his mic, still half hiding.

and sure enough—perfect knot.

but then—barely ten seconds in—jungwon pulled the stem out of his mouth with a quiet, innocent:

“…did I do it?”

a beat of stunned silence.

the crowd screamed.

ni-ki yelled something incoherent in disbelief.

heran’s jaw dropped.

she blinked once. twice. then burst out laughing.

their laughter blended together in that shared, breathless joy—the kind only found in rare, unscripted moments like this.

“are you kidding me?!” she laughed, reaching for a high-five.

jungwon—grinning now, eyes bright and a little wild—smacked his palm against hers with a satisfying slap.

“guess that’s your new party trick,” she said, still giggling.

jungwon leaned in just slightly, voice low, lips brushing close to her ear: “should I be worried how good I am at that?”

heran’s brows shot up at his words—heat flickering under her skin.

before he could even think of a comeback, she snatched another cherry from her palm and—without hesitation—popped it straight into his mouth to shut him up.

but she recovered fast, eyes narrowing with mock warning.

“okay,” she said, fighting a grin, voice dry—too dry to be convincing.

“stop talking.”

the crowd screeched, despite not being able to hear what they were talking about.

jungwon froze for half a second, blinking in surprise—cherry stem poking out from between his lips—then absolutely burst out laughing against it, eyes crinkling, the kind of full, unguarded laugh that shook his shoulders.

unable to resist, and completely caught in the moment, he leaned forward, still chuckling, and let his head drop right against her shoulder.

heran stilled for a beat—heart stuttering.

then her smile softened, almost instinctively tilting her head toward his as her cuff-free hands hovered awkwardly, not sure whether to hold him or just laugh along.

from across the stage, jay practically yelled into his mic. "okay, break it up!"

later that night, back at the dorm, chaos had not subsided. If anything—it had only gotten worse.

It had started with Sunoo.

he was sprawled across the couch in a pose of exaggerated leisure, phone pressed to his ear, legs kicking idly in the air. his voice, smooth and grave, cut through the hum of the room: “babe, listen—do you think I’m a good kisser?”

the shriek on the other end was instantaneous and piercing. “WHAT?!”

the dorm dissolved into howls.

sunghoon, half-lying on the floor with a crumpled bag of chips beside him, scrambled for his own phone. “wait, that’s actually genius—dude, move over—”

“no point,” heeseung muttered darkly, tossing a mangled cherry stem onto the table. “none of us could tie it. I’m doomed.”

jay was already pacing, jaw tight, phone glued to his ear. “no, sweetheart, it’s not weird, it was for the showcase. yes, with cherries. No—honey, seriously, everyone was doing it—”

ni-ki had simply given up. He lay on the floor, pillow over his face, groaning into the fabric. “this is the dumbest conversation we’ve ever had.”

and amid the chaos—laughing too hard to bother intervening—sat heran and jungwon, curled up together on the couch by the window.

they had drifted there naturally as the others unraveled, drawn to the quieter corner where the windows stood cracked open to the summer night.

heran sat with her knees drawn beneath her chin, one arm draped lazily across the back of the couch. beside her, jungwon sat cross-legged, phone in hand, he was doom-scrolling through fan posts. clips of tonight’s showcase were already circulating with alarming speed.

a soft groan escaped him, half-buried in the sleeve of his hoodie. “oh no. nope. nope. why did I say that. why did I say that.”

heran tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. “which part?”

he turned his phone toward her with a faint grimace. the screen was frozen on one particular clip—him sitting on the stool, her standing between his legs, cherry swinging tauntingly from her fingers.

the screams from the crowd were near deafening even through the tiny speakers.

jungwon let his head fall back with a dramatic sigh. “I’m never living this down.”

heran laughed softly, bumping her shoulder against his. “you’ll survive.”

“barely.” he peeked at her from beneath his sleeve, the faintest trace of a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “and you didn’t help. at all.”

she gave him a sly look. “what, with the ‘you wanna try’ line?”

he groaned again, dragging his sleeve further over his face. “exactly.”

heran shrugged her shoulders, voice light as air. "It was just a question.”

a helpless sound escaped jungwon before he collapsed sideways, head landing in her lap with a soft thud.

she blinked—then laughed, fingers finding their way instinctively into his hair. she combed through the fine strands slowly, absently, her touch gentle and rhythmic.

“wow,” she teased, voice low with a smile. “one cherry and you’re ruined.”

“stopppp,” came his muffled voice against her thigh.

around them, the dorm buzzed on.

jake had migrated to the corner, phone now on speaker as he dramatically pleaded with someone on the other end. “chae, please, it was just a cherry. I swear this isn’t about kissing technique—”

sunoo was now fully sprawled across the floor, pillow clutched to his chest. “no, I failed. Miserably. Do you still love me?”

heeseung and sunghoon continued their pacing war, arguing furiously over whether certain cherry stems were “defective.” n-ki remained unmoving, phone on his chest, eyes closed in quiet despair.

but heran barely heard any of it.

her focus was wholly on the boy curled into her lap—one arm looped around her thigh, face pressed into the soft fabric of her pants. his breath was warm where it ghosted against her skin, his body so still now except for the faint shifts when she teased him.

“why are you so shy today?” her voice was gentle now, threaded with affection. she brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, smiling down at him. “seriously—it’s cute but—” she leaned in slightly, voice dipping, eyes glimmering. “you can’t even look me in the eye.”

another groan, deeper this time, as jungwon burrowed even further, arm tightening instinctively around her.

heran laughed softly, warmth blooming in her chest.

“wonnie,” she whispered, voice velvet-smooth, her fingers moving in slow circles across his shoulder. “how am I supposed to kiss you if you can’t even look at me?”

that—that—undid him.

a soft, helpless whine escaped him, muffled fully into her lap.

heran bit her lip to keep from outright giggling, her fingertips continuing their lazy, teasing rhythm. the contrast between her playful words and her gentle touch seemed to unravel him entirely.

after a long moment, a raspy, half-muffled voice emerged against her skin: “you’re evil.”

she smiled. “hm, I know.”

finally—finally—hetilted his head just enough to peek up at her.

his eyes were wide and glassy, cheeks blooming with warmth beneath dark lashes. His lips parted slightly—then closed again with a tiny, soundless breath.

heran looked down at him fondly, brushing her thumb along the curve of his jaw. “...still can’t look at me, huh?”

he exhaled softly—half laugh, half surrender—then closed his eyes, arms tightening in a silent plea for mercy.

across the room, jay’s voice rang out, utterly unbothered: “guys, I asked haewon. she says tying a cherry stem doesn’t mean anything. but like should I practice?.”

“PRACTICE WHAT?!” ni-ki shrieked, voice cracking with indignation.

sunoo flailed dramatically on the floor. “she thinks I’m a BAD KISSER!” (ari didn't say anything remotely close to that, he was just being dramatic)

at that, jungwon groaned again—this time with more amusement than embarrassment—as he buried his face deeper into heran’s lap, soft laughter shaking through his shoulders.

heran shook her head, a quiet laugh rising in her throat, her hand smoothing over his back.

the dorm was still alive with noise and chaos—laughter, arguments, voices layered one over the other.

but here—tucked into their small corner of the couch—everything felt quieter.

just limbs tangled together, breath soft between them, hearts thrumming in tandem beneath the noise. and one cherry-stained moment neither of them would be forgetting anytime soon.

taglist: @angie-x3@deluluscenarios @chaeryyeongz @akitoshi39i@sparklydoll444 @yunjiiin @kaitieskidmore97 @yb763@reibelhearts @enhaverse713586

[solecize]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you welcome your boyfriend back to the country with a surprise party, just as the clock is ticking to say goodbye again. the big day is almost here and enlistment brings couples either one of two things: a ring or a breakup.  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), infidelity, foul language, substance use, underage drinking, mentions of the covid-19 pandemic, sexually suggestive content  𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. the series is told in non-chronological order. note that the main character is a member of a fictional idol group. more warnings may be added as the story is written. join the taglist here! ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤm.list | next

you say, "i don't understand, " and i say, "i know you don't" we thought a cure would come through in time, now i fear it won't

TODAY’S TOP HEADLINE: bts’ rm, jimin, taehyung and jungkook set to enlist in the coming weeks! ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤautumn 2023

the confrontation   when it rained, it poured and you felt like you haven't seen even a glimpse of the sun in ages. there was a nagging feeling in your gut that it was too far gone, but like everything else for the past ten years, you swallowed it down and swept it under the rug. bad feelings didn’t exist in your relationship. that was the unspoken rule. yet, it was growing more and more difficult to mask the disappointment in your eyes or the frown fighting your lips. today marked the worst of your attempts.

  seoul was unusually calm tonight and it scared you. when you moved to the city ages ago to begin your journey as an idol trainee, it was nothing but intimidating for your meek, pre-teen self. eventually, over time, your love for the city bloomed and it was truthfully because of jungkook. once young teenagers that arrived to seoul alone, you found solace in each other and embraced the change as one. he made you fall in love with seoul the same way he made you fall in love with him. dates, nightclubs, late night adventures, and years worth of moments within the city limits. 

  however, the streets were as hushed as you were, as you gripped your steering wheel like a robot. 

  the decision had been long made and you knew it was going to come around at some point, so there was no use in fighting it. after going without seeing your boyfriend for months, it should have been nothing but pure excitement.

  “you’re awfully quiet,” murmured jungkook, glancing over at you from the passenger seat.

  you were already annoyed to begin with, when he mentioned that he was going to have a driver pick him up from the airport, instead of asking for you. it felt like he didn’t even expect to have you waiting for him, considering the two of you had been apart due to his time working in the united states. you thought he’d be insisting for you to be the first person he saw once he came back. these frustrations were on top of several other things, which you’d been dreading to confront for even longer of a time.

  and then, there was also the velvet box you spotted in the background of one of your facetime calls. you didn’t bring it up, but it was living in your mind everyday since. with jungkook’s big day fast approaching, there were a lot of conflicting ideas in your head.

  you shrugged. “i’ve been filming long hours. not getting that much sleep.”

  the look jungkook gave you read that he knew that you weren’t being a hundred percent honest, but he didn’t say anything. his eyes returned to being fixated on his phone.

  after over ten years of knowing each other, you and jungkook could see through each other like glass. the only problem was that nobody ever wanted to speak up. you feared the glaring possibility of other buried conflict dating further back into the relationship because of this dynamic.

  you didn’t think you deserved the blame for the tension in the air. there were several things in your mind, but jungkook wasn’t exactly a person who could easily mask their emotions. something was off with him, too, and you needed to figure out what it was. you could only hope for the best case scenario because otherwise, it was going to be your worst nightmare. there was no situation you could fathom where his behaviour was a result of an in between. 

  keeping your voice casual, you asked, “who are you texting?”

  “my mom.”

  you held back a sigh - jungkook was never particularly keen on involving you with his family. though you’d been together since he was sixteen, you always felt like he kept you an arm’s reach away from that part of your life and you never understood why.

  “oh. tell her i say hi,” you said and he hummed in response. 

  whilst you weren’t in a talkative mood, it wasn’t like jungkook was doing anything to keep the conversation flowing either. you guys obviously texted and called during his time away, but the present atmosphere was awkward, like there was nothing to talk about after his grand return. you hugged and kissed at the airport, asked how his flight was, and that was that. driving him felt like a business endeavour, rather than welcoming your long-term partner back to the country.

  after a few minutes, jungkook finally looked up from his phone. upon peering out the window, he grew confused and turned to you.

  he questioned, “where are we going? the apartment is in the other direction.”

  “just wait,” you assured, forcing a small smile. “take off your hoodie and put on what i have for you in the backseat.”

  there was a shopping bag sitting behind jungkook’s seat and he reluctantly reached over, revealing a silk ysl shirt that you picked up that very afternoon. sighing, he did as you asked and made the change. you didn’t care to look over at your boyfriend’s shirtless body, too irritated at the curtness of the conversation.

  you just wanted to get to the destination, the heavy silence becoming too much for you. there wasn’t even music on. you found yourself focusing too much on it, as you finally pulled up to the infamous hotel azure. somehow tucked away in the busy songpa district, it is unassuming to the civilian eye, but a well-known name amongst the circles of south korea’s entertainment industry. you didn’t “make it” in entertainment until you attended a party at hotel azure.

  jungkook shifted in his seat. “what is this?” his tone was demanding, which immediately put you off. “the plan was to go home.”

  to be fair, the last time that the two of you were at the azure hotel, jungkook wound up with a bloody nose after getting into it with an not-to-be-named yg idol at one of jackson wang’s wild parties. you weren’t even sure what happened yourself, bleary eyed for the majority of the night with several substances in your body. hotel azure was for idols at the top of the world with everything to lose, a favourite place of yours around 2018. it was now a place that you actively tried to avoid, but made an exception for the special occasion.

  “calm down,” you shot back, not letting him get away with the voice he used. “just wait, i said.”

  “i’m tired, y/n,” jungkook pleaded, as you stopped the car for the valet to take. 

  you ignored him - it wasn’t like it was up to you - and unbuckled your seatbelt, not waiting a second for jungkook. 

  not only did you pick up your boyfriend from the airport, you also spent hours meticulously preparing your appearance for the night. it didn’t seem like jungkook noticed, other than at the airport, when he questioned why you were wearing high heels. 

  you never wore heels unless you were working, but that changed when you met jungkook. he loved it when you wore heels and by the time your respective trainee debts were paid, made it a point. you bought platforms with the anticipation of how your boyfriend would go crazy over them. jungkook gifted you designer jimmy choos and pradas whenever you guys got into a fight. it made you feel your prettiest and he showered you with compliments every time.

  now, he looked at you oddly for it, like you were doing too much.

  jungkook eventually gave up and followed you in without a word, watching you take off your trench coat to reveal a stunning baby pink two-piece dress. the colour glittered under the low lighting of the hotel lobby and the corset accentuated your curves in all the right aways. except, he still did not say a word. this made you frown.

  you handed off your coat to an employee and jungkook did the same. the lobby was empty, but you and jungkook knew exactly where to go, making a beeline for the elevator and pressing the button to move up to the penthouse suite. 

  “why didn’t you warn me about this?” he grumbled under his breath, adjusting his shirt in the mirror.

  because that’s how surprise parties work, you wanted to reply. unfortunately, this was not a surprise party that you wanted to celebrate, so you didn’t even try to keep jungkook excited. you were both quiet, irritable, and only wanted to go home. 

  you said, “this is the part where i cover your eyes and lead you out.”

  jungkook complied and you placed your perfectly manicured hands over his line of vision. other than sharing a hug and kiss earlier, this was the closest you’d physically gotten to your boyfriend in months. your hands were cold and you were close enough that he could hear your breathing - all too uncomfortable. 

  the elevator dinged and you nudged jungkook to step forward. the penthouse’s lights were off, but you could make out the shuffling of feet from behind the kitchen counter. it looked like everything was set up and pristine. then, in just a beat, the entire room lit up and you removed your hands from jungkook’s eyes.

  “SURPRISE!”

  the floor rumbled, voices roaring and bodies popping out from different places - behind pillars, couches and the bar. jungkook’s eyes brightened in a way that you had yet to see since reuniting with him earlier and it made your heart sink. you hadn’t realized how dull his demeanour was around you until something else actually made him smile.

  his closest friends and family gathered in the penthouse and there was a large, golden banner that hung from the walls that said “welcome back jungkook!” the other wall was decorated with another banner, but this one said “good luck rm, v, jimin and jungkook!” 

  jungkook’s older brother was the first one that enveloped him into a bear hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him, then his mom. this was followed by the remainder of his band mates that managed to make the party. you awkwardly stood off to the side, a wide smile plastered on your face to mask your despondence. it seemed like jungkook’s exhaustion only existed when he was sitting in a car with you, as his laughter echoed throughout the room.

  you caught jungkook’s eye and he already knew how you were feeling. while he exchanged words with other friends, it was namjoon who pulled you to the side.

  “hey. you guys did a really great job with the party,” you started, looking around.

  the penthouse of the azure hotel was a thing of beauty, with ceiling high windows that looked over the lights of seoul. everything shone and glimmered - the city skyline, the perfect marble floors, the expensive liquor bottles, and hell, even the perfect teeth of the myriad of a-list south korean celebrities gracing this exclusive party. there wasn’t a wrong way to ever throw a party there, but the group made an extra effort to make jungkook’s homecoming a special one. 

  jungkook was swarmed by several people, all asking about his time in america and how exciting it was. those were the words you used to describe it for him, too, when you sent him off months ago. you watched him take shots with mingyu and eunwoo. 

  namjoon shook his head, “no, no. this wouldn’t be possible without you,” he said and then glanced at jungkook, “and i’m sure he knows it, too.”

  the boys, despite it also serving as a goodbye party before their enlistments, had been helping you plan the surprise for weeks leading up to jungkook’s arrival. it was one of the longest times jungkook had been apart from them and from the country in general, so they wanted to make it extra special. though you were the main mastermind behind the gathering, you initially didn’t want to do it at all. 

  “yeah, i hope so,” you replied, as you poured yourself a glass of white wine. “you guys all deserve it.”

  over the years, jungkook’s band mates slowly became some of your friends, as well. it was somber goodbye for you in all kinds of ways. everyone was preparing to send them off with good luck and high spirits. 

  the boys were also preparing in their own way. you noticed that taehyung and jimin’s girlfriends were missing from the party, which only confirmed your speculations. 

  “it was just bound to happen,” said a voice.

  it was taehyung who joined you and namjoon in a quiet circle at the corner of the living room. all of the boys looked a little bit sad, despite the celebratory atmosphere, but you read a different kind of story in taehyung’s eyes. 

  he smiled with a hint of gloom. “you’re looking around for her, right?”

  as a fellow idol and also a girlfriend to a member of one of the biggest groups in the world, taehyung’s girlfriend grew to become one of your close confidants in the past few years. you guys were polite before, but this connection created a specific bond that couldn’t be understood by anyone else. however, you hadn’t heard from her in a few days and with her absence at taehyung’s goodbye party, you put two and two together. 

  to his side, namjoon clapped a hand on his friend’s back. “sorry, man.”

  “i hope it was cordial,” you mustered up, ignoring the growing heaviness at the pit of your stomach. you could only hope you weren’t next.

  taehyung replied. “she understood, but she wasn’t happy. regardless,” he sighed, “we’re still so young. her career is just blowing up even more, i feel like i’d only be holding her back.” 

  that was the way it went. when enlistment rolled around for most couples, it was either breaking up or a ring. you looked at your feet, not knowing what to say. 

  “jimin also told me that he broke things off with - “

  a loud yelp squeaked from taehyung, who was abruptly jabbed in the side with namjoon’s elbow. the latter cleared his throat and you recognized that look. namjoon only made that face when he pulled the leader card and needed to put someone in their place. you figured that your worries were transparent to those around you.

  namjoon cleared his throat. “not in a chatty mood?”

  while you greeted people during the set-up of the party, you realized that you had yet to actually try socializing. things were awkward with jungkook’s parents, who you long suspected didn’t approve of you for various reasons. in general, most people were interested in chatting with the boys, which you didn’t mind. it was a gathering to send them off, after all.

  “not really. you guys should go mingle with your friends,” you said, taking another sip of your wine. “it’s your party.”

  “i hope i’m not overstepping, but did you and jungkook get in a fight?” taehyung asked.

  you blinked slowly. “no. does it seem like it?”

  “just seems like he’s nervous about something,” he commented and you noticed namjoon glare at him once more, as if to shut up.

  for the first time that night, you felt a glimmer of mixed feelings that left you wondering. why would he be nervous? the big visual forming in your mind was a diamond ring. you and jungkook had contemplated marriage in the past year, but it was also the source of many arguments. you weren’t even sure you wanted to get married now, but your mother had been getting into your ear about you getting older. then, there were your respective companies who lost their shit at the idea. but, what really mattered, was jungkook’s opinion. he seemed to wave it off or change the topic at every opportunity, so your hopes for a ring lived in the back of your mind. 

  despite this, taehyung was right. jungkook looked nervous. he’d been irritated at being dragged to his surprise party - you wondered if it was delusional enough to believe that he had plans for the two of you, instead. 

  for the rest of the night, you continued to keep to yourself. you weren’t lying when you told jungkook you were tired, but you were determined to stay as long as you could and pretend that you and jungkook weren’t stealing mysterious glances at each other for the entire evening. it was obvious and only made you anxious. 

  a few hours later and the party only grew in numbers and in noise. you thought you lost him in the crowd, until you left to refill your nth drink and found him talking to his cousin.

  the two were smiling and laughing, as his cousin appeared to be showing jungkook pictures on his phone. you assumed it was her newborn daughter - she gave birth just two months before her fiance was to be discharged and now that he was back, the wedding was just around the corner. you remembered jungkook telling you that she was proposed to on the day of his enlistment. 

  jungkook caught your eye and he immediately looked away - what the hell was that? he even turned slightly and you couldn’t read his lips. something was going on. you watched him shove his hands in his pockets and you swore you saw the shape of a small square inside.

  eventually, you grew tired of the tension in the air and the music began to make your head pound. the longer you thought about your partner, the greater your anxieties grew. there was a chance you even just although it was late in the year and a fresh sheet of snow adorned the streets of seoul, you decided it was best to step out into the balcony to take some time to breathe. 

  nobody else was there, thankfully, and you let out a shiver when you stepped out. the peppermint air dispelled the haze in your head and in your heart, as taking a deep breath was the greatest relief you felt all night. though your muscles remained tense and you knew you wouldn’t last out in the cold, the balcony was a welcome change.

  you weren’t sure how long you were outside when the door creaked open and just by the footsteps alone, you knew who it was.

  “your guests will miss you,” you said, not even looking behind you.

  at this point, you were hugging yourself to stop shivering. a rustle later and you felt a thick blanket drape over your shoulders, the wool of its make completely enveloping you with much needed warmth. you relaxed your shoulders, but couldn’t look jungkook in the eyes.

  “something’s wrong. tell me.”

  jungkook’s wine stained lips were pulled into a frown and although he hid it well when he was chatting away with his friends and family, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. he sniffled a few times and you knew why, but you decided to bite your tongue. it was his party and he was an adult who could celebrate whatever way he wanted. it was also clear that neither of you had the energy to argue. instead, to his surprise, you raised an arm and gestured for him to come closer.

  he sidestepped towards you and although you were shorter, let you wrap some of the blanket around him. his cold arm snaked around your waist and you tensed up again at his touch.

  you continued to look out into the skyline. “i was going to say the same for you.”

  “i’m really thankful for the party, love,” he ignored your question and pressed a kiss against your temple.

  you mumbled under your breath, “it wasn’t easy." this was the first time all night that you were comfortable enough to physically touch jungkook and you suspected alcohol played a role in relieving the tension between you two, but it was always going to be easy to fall right back into routine.

  and just like that, you felt a stinging sensation in your eyes. tears welled up and blurred your vision, which only made you turn your head away further from your boyfriend. he caught this immediately, his instincts nothing but natural when it came to you, and pulled you right into his chest. 

  the sound that came out of your mouth sounded nothing like you. the sob was desperate and helpless. it was akin to a toddler who couldn’t do anything by themselves. your voice cracked with each body-shaking sob and you didn’t have the guts to conceal it. your head was buried into jungkook’s new shirt, ruining it, but he only stroked your hair and wrapped the blanket tighter around the two of you.

  “it’s okay. . .” jungkook cooed and for what seemed like the first time in a while, he sounded like himself. 

  it wasn’t like jungkook had undergone a drastic change from his time in america, but it was a gradual shift that you felt over a longer period of time. you attributed to the fact that you were no longer teenagers and things weren’t going to be the same as it did ten, even five years ago. that was what you told yourself, but you weren’t sure why you still held on to the old jungkook you knew.

  in that moment, he sounded like the fifteen year old boy you met in a convenience store again. he sounded like the jungkook who wrote you disgusting love songs that were horrible, but you adored anyway. he sounded like the man who you talked about children and a big house and an annoying dog with. 

  as you found the bravery to finally pull away from jungkook’s comforting embrace, you looked up and saw that future in his eyes. his features softened, but he looked sad. your heart sank once again.

  “you’re not just crying because i’m enlisting, are you?” he finally spoke, just above a whisper. his tone was certain, barely a question - after ten years together, jungkook knew you better than you knew yourself.

  you froze. there was nothing else you could do but shut your eyes tight, pretending that this wasn’t really happening.

  after a beat, you found your voice. “listen. . .we both know what happens after a man enlists. look at taehyung and jimin. look at your cousin.” 

  over the years, you and jungkook had gone through hell and back. you thought the worst day of your life was when dispatch leaked the news that you were dating five years ago, but you were able to recover. you thought it was the worst day of your life when your breakup was witnessed by the entire world, but you were able to recover. you even thought the worst day of your life was when word got out that you and jungkook got back together, effectively proving that you were weak and were the type of girl to crawl back to her ex. you recovered then, as well.

  at the second part of your sentence, you felt jungkook physically tense up.

  “is that why you’ve been acting weird lately?” he replied.

  you don’t know where it came from, but something triggered a spark of anger in you. still, with a tear stained face and a runny nose, you opened your eyes and met his. this was not something you would be able to recover from.

  you said, “it hasn’t just been lately, jungkook. you know exactly what’s on my mind, we’ve been talking - “

  “ - and you know what my answer has been, baby. you know what kind of position i’m in,” he interrupted, breaking apart from your hold and the blanket he brought for you.

  he wasn’t wrong. you did know what kind of position he was in. one of the biggest stars in the world and he had everything to lose, especially with the anxieties looming in the air for him and the rest of his group. every one of them were on their toes as soon as their enlistment dates were finalized, fearing their fade from the spotlight. you and the rest of the world knew that it was bullshit, that the bts was going to be forgotten just because they were going into the military for a few years. 

  marriage would surely ruin that further, right?

  you said, “and you know what position i’m in.”

  the careless joys of your early twenties had come and gone, which left you at the mercy of your mother’s constant talks about marriage. not just her, but other family members and even some of your friends. after all, you and jungkook had been together for ten years and you were pushing thirty sooner or later. 

  you also had your own fears in regard to your career. jungkook once laughed when you expressed your worries about the public no longer finding you young and pretty, but it was a real fear. most girl groups didn’t last more than a few years. many of your contemporaries had long said goodbye to their idol persona and went their separate ways from their band for a new life. you were considered a lucky one to remain with your group and maintain relevance, but for how long? was it time for you to finally settle down? you weren’t granted the same longevity as jungkook’s renowned group and you weren’t bitter about it, but nervous.

  snowflakes began to fall once again and as one fell on your eyelashes, you noticed jungkook’s jaw clench. 

  “we’ve talked about this,” he said and you knew your wandering thoughts about a potential proposal were too good to be true.

  you began, “look, i know that things are different for people like us. . “ but, things were changing. in recent years, you watched several of your peers get married and have children without losing their spot in the limelight. 

  “y/n. . .what made you think i changed my mind?” jungkook sighed, pacing back and forth to calm himself down.

  “i just thought. . .”

  “i’m sorry, but i wasn’t going to propose before my enlistment.” this time, jungkook’s frustrations melted away and there was genuine sadness in his voice. 

  he stepped closer to you and put his hands on your waist. you didn’t know what to say. you really had been pretending that his strange behaviour was because of a hope that seemed impossible now. 

  you took a deep breath. “you never said no. you made it seem like you were considering it.”

  that was what silenced jungkook. it was true, there was never an outright refusal from jungkook. he would say things that implied he would talk to his company again or “with time” it would come. he gave you just enough reassurance, but never confirmation. 

  continuing, you said, “and you even indulged in keeping the fantasy alive with me. you’re sick for talking about honeymoon destinations with me and suggesting songs we could dance to.”

  “hey. i’ve said time ands time again that there is no future where you aren’t by my side,” jungkook tried getting you to look at him, but every time he moved, you turned away. 

  there was no reason for you to make eye contact. you felt like a fool and if you met his eyes, you knew you would just burst into tears again. then, you thought about your conversation earlier with your friends and your vision became wet again.

  “were you planning to break up with me before you enlisted?”

  “what? no,” he responded, but you weren’t convinced. 

  you responded, “it was going to be inevitable, wasn’t it? like jimin and taehyung. you were going to be done with me.”

  this time, jungkook forced you to look at him by the chin and your shoulders dropped. there was a crease in between his eyebrows that you don’t remember seeing even just a year ago. he looked more tired than he did as a rookie with barely survivable living standards. 

  “time really goes by, huh?” you murmured, fighting to keep your voice stable.

  “we were never going to break up, love,” jungkook maintained.

  still, his words didn’t penetrate further than surface level. you were left numb and the chill of winter in seoul had nothing to do with it. you wished that someone would just call jungkook away, but the party inside continued on without him. 

  “you bought a ring. i saw it when we video called.”

  jungkook’s lips parted. you knew it. you knew you weren’t losing your mind. over the last ten years, you made some crazy accusations for all kinds of reasons. this time was different and you saw it on his face.

  even after what seemed like forever, jungkook couldn’t find words to say. the longer he waited to speak, the faster your heart began to race. 

  he rubbed his temples and finally, he spoke. jungkook spoke and you immediately dropped the blanket he brought for you, dashing right back inside. you walked past every single attendee and ignored the few that cried out your name. you didn’t care what it looked like. you just knew you had to get out of there.

  jungkook said there was a ring. he began to open his mouth and explain further, especially when he read the horrified expression on your face, but you wanted no part in it. there was no room for you to think about what that meant. you only saw red.

  you weren’t sure why you wanted a proposal so badly. you knew you didn’t care that much about what your mother wanted and getting married was no solution to the prospects of a dying career. you were second guessing if your wishes for a wedding were even genuine. 

  on the other hand, maybe you intended for the wedding to be a solution to a dying relationship. 

LATEST NEWS: hybe dismisses reports that bts’ jungkook and S.IREN’s nova are engaged, seeking legal action against gossip website that went viral for spreading the false rumour

@butnotmontana @rinkud @kookiescutie @nlr1606 @claireshelby @xtrataerrestrial @whoa-jo @tinyxrose @lavendersugarplum @bangtans-momma @firelcrds @sstrongstyle

[infinitatis-ink]

Made With Love

Gojo x Reader - Ao3 Link 

Summary: After giving your coworker the obligatory Valentine's Day chocolates, he insists on giving you a return gift. Little do you know that his gift has his own special and personal touch to it.

A/N: Happy belated Valentine's Day! I'm a little late lol, but I hope you guys enjoy!

Other Notes: In Japan, giri chocolates are chocolates given by women to male coworkers or friends on Valentine's Day to express friendship or gratitude.

Content Warnings: Implied obsessive behaviour, implications that Gojo's been stalking you, Gojo feeding you his cum without your knowledge, bodily fluids, Gojo being creepy towards you, female reader.

MDNI. MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

“Oho, a gift for me? This really is a holiday!”

“Just take the chocolates, Gojo.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you hold out a small bag of chocolates to Gojo. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have stalled until the end of the day to give Gojo his share of giri chocolates. At least you could’ve avoided seeing his dramatic declarations of thanks with excuses of work if you’d done it in the morning. Now that it’s just the two of you in the school's offices, you doubt Gojo's going to let you go with just a “thank you.” 

“If you insist!”

Gojo plucks the bag out of your grasp with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. His fingers linger against yours, pressing into them, and you’re parting your lips when he pulls away with a satisfied smile. Pinpricks bloom in the spots his fingers had touched yours as you watch him pull down his blindfold and delicately cradle the bag in his hand. He takes out a chocolate, gazing at it before popping it into his mouth with a loud hum.  

“Delicious.” Gojo licks his lips. “And homemade too?”

His eyes are shining too. You've seen that look before, in the way Gojo only follows you on missions, in all the times he keeps getting you to help him provide “hands-on demonstrations” while he’s training his students, in how he always finds you outside of work, your paths crossing too many times for you to call it a coincidence anymore. It’s tinged with hunger, like you're his target for something you can’t seem to name.

“Yeah. I wanted to try making everyone’s chocolates this time,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. “I’m glad you liked it too.”

Gojo’s smile flickers. 

“Is that so?”

You furrow your brows. Gojo’s never reacted like this when you gave him chocolates before. Ieiri always gave him giri chocolate too, and he’d never made…a show of receiving and trying her chocolates on the spot. 

An awkward silence engulfs the room. Gojo's still gazing at you intently, as though he were expecting you to say something more. Against the setting sun, the shadows on his face grow sharper, deeper.

The room suddenly feels colder. 

“Um, I’m heading out then. Night,” you stammer out, hastily grabbing your stuff from your desk. Relief washes over you as you make your way out of the room. Now that you’d gotten that out of the way, you could go home and— 

”Wait! There’s something I wanna give you too.” 

You stop, a few steps away from the door, willing yourself to turn and face him again.  

“What is it?” 

Gojo grins and reaches into his jacket pocket. He takes out a small white box topped with a blue bow, the same shade as his eyes, and offers it to you with a flourish. “I made some chocolates for you! As a thanks for the ones you gave me all these years.” 

This is new. You raise an eyebrow. 

“White Day isn't for another month.”

“Yeah, but you know me.” He shrugs and flashes you a cheeky grin. “I've never cared for tradition.”

“I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to—”

“C'mon,” Gojo half-whines, pouting. “I stayed up all night to get it right!” 

He offers you the box again, giving it an insistent shake this time. He gazes at you expectantly, his pout hardening into a pursed frown the longer you hesitate. Something heavy crackles in the air, like a gathering storm. 

You dry swallow and stiffly hold out your hand. 

“Thanks, Gojo.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Gojo look so pleased as when you accept the box. To be honest, you’d half-expected a more unusual gift. Something like a souvenir he’d picked up on one of his missions, or dessert from one of the cafes he keeps trying to get you to visit with him. Handmade chocolates feel too friendly for what's supposed to be a return gift from a coworker.

“Wanna try one?” he asks eagerly. The edge in his tone only leaves room for one answer.  

Your fingers are cold and numb as you open the box to see large white chocolates shaped like hearts and drizzled with brown icing lined up in neat rows. They look professionally made, like something you’d find in a luxury goods store. It’s a lot of effort put into what’s supposed to be a return gift for giri chocolates. 

Too much effort.

“They look nice,” you comment politely. “And well made.”

“That’s because I made them with my love!” Gojo chirps, clapping his hands. His smile is painfully wide and uncanny. “I used your favourite flavours too. You’re a fan of fruits, yeah?”

A knot forms in your stomach. You don’t think you’ve mentioned to him what your chocolate preferences are. Maybe he guessed it from your reactions on White Day, but you’ve never been picky about what you got. Despite his antics, he’s always been an observant person too, so there was that, you suppose. 

“…I am, I guess,” you reply. You pick up one of the chocolates, turning it over with your fingers. Gojo’s only asking you to try one piece. You could play along for a little longer, couldn’t you?

Before you could regret your decision, you take a bite of the chocolate. It’s sweet and milky, with a smooth coating that melts away when you bite into it. You wonder how much time Gojo spent on this, because it has to have taken more than a night for him to—  

A sharp, strange taste suddenly assaults your tongue, and you almost choke. It's salty and bitter, like the filling has gone bad, and every instinct in your body screams for you to spit it out, but you force yourself to swallow because Gojo’s still watching you. The bitter taste clings to your mouth and throat, drowning out everything else until it’s all you can breathe in too. 

You look down at the half-eaten chocolate still in your hand. Filling drips out of the shell, thin and cloudy white, trickling down your fingers in droplets.

You wish the ground would swallow you up whole. 

“What did you put in them?” you rasp. Your voice sounds alien to your own ears and you don’t know if you want to hear the answer anymore.

Gojo’s eyes bore into you, his gaze threatening to swallow you whole. His smile turns hungry, almost feral. Too late, you see the walls closing in on you.

“Like I said,” he says simply. “They’re made with my love.”

[7s3ven]

KIWIFRUIT. human! miles quaritch

IN WHICH… quaritch replays his old memories of you but starts to (jokingly) regret his decisions when seeing the way you eat kiwifruit.

Notes: age gap (quaritch - 51, y/n - 33), jake sully’s sister! reader, not following plot, details may vary from canon timeline, scientist! reader, reader is lowkey embarrassing/clumsy, dirty thoughts, pet names (from Quaritch), implication of sex

—

Fruit transported from Earth was a rare privilege in Pandora. You were delighted when you found out that boxes of fresh fruit, including kiwifruit, were being transported. Of course, it was a secret procedure but you had your ways of milking out information from no other than Colonel Miles Quaritch.

He was a tough man with scars decorating his body, which gave him a sense of pride, and large biceps (which were his defining feature in your opinion). He was not bribed easily but all you had to do was bat your eyes at him and gaze through your lashes up at him. He loved your big doe eyes; they seemed to make him do anything.

Quaritch knew you had two brothers. Had. Tom was gone. Jake, his twin, and your rather annoying younger brother, was his replacement. You had arrived at Pandora when you were barely twenty-five, freshly graduated from university. Quaritch knew of your hard-working personality; before he had officially met you, he had heard stories from the scientists at how difficult it was to distract you from your work. You were almost a working machine.

Quaritch could still remember when and how he first met you. It was all a blurred haze in his mind during the day but at night, when you would occasionally sneak into his room, he recalled everything.

“As head of security, it is my job to keep you all alive.” Quaritch announced as he clasped his hands behind his back, walking down the aisle between the new recruits. His heavy boots clicked against the steel floor. “I will not succeed.” For years now, he had been sticking to the same script, not bothered to write another speech on how dangerous Pandora was.

The door suddenly creaked and you hurried in, breathing heavily. All eyes turned to face you, and you frowned at the sudden spotlight. “My apologies, colonel.” You muttered, slowly sitting down in a free seat almost right next to the man. He paused, staring down at you with a harsh glare.

“As I was saying,” He continued on, “Before this young lady interrupted me,” He watched as your cheeks flushed in slight embarrassment. There was a small wave of snickers. “Pandora is not a playground. If you step out of line, you will be killed. Whether it is by the Na’vi or my own gun, you can decide. There will be no foolish behaviour here.” Quaritch was going to stop there but a mischievous smirk pulled at his lips as he glanced at you again. “And anybody late or anybody who tests my patience,” He made sure to lock eyes with you as he spoke, “Is required to give me twenty push-ups.”

Quaritch liked the way you stared at him in disbelief. “Dismissed.” He said to everybody else, “Except you.” He pointed straight at you, not hesitating to name and shame. Someone you didn’t know, a boy about your age with a buzz cut, patted you on the back.

“Good luck.” He whispered to you, most likely as a means to merely scare you. Everybody filed out the door, which banged heavily against the walls as it finally shut after the last person had slipped past.

“Name?” Quaritch questioned, folding his arms over his chest.

“Y/N Sully, sir.” You immediately replied, quickly standing up. Your formality amused Quaritch.

“Well, you know what to do. Get down on your knees.” He arched an eyebrow as you blinked in confusion, your mind wandering to something else. Quaritch almost laughed, immediately knowing where your mind went based on your flushed cheeks. “Push-ups, recruit. Get down on your knees and give me twenty push-ups.”

Flustered, you quickly dropped. “I am a scientist, sir. Do not judge my form.” Quaritch assumed your arms would be shaking after one push-up, but you were doing surprisingly well. You were in a tank top and loose-fitting cargo pants provided by the RDA. Quaritch, peeking out of pure curiosity, saw the tense muscles in your arms. Usually, the scientists that worked here had arms as thin as twigs. You did not.

“At ease, recruit.” Quaritch said after you had completed only twelve push-ups. “Find your station. Don’t be late to any other meetings otherwise I’ll make you do more than push-ups.” He slapped you on the back, his hand dangerously close to your ass. You jumped in slight shock, causing him to boyishly grin.

That was years ago. You were now thirty-three yet still resembled the same starry-eyed woman in her mid-twenties. Quaritch liked that about you, how you were able to remain consistent even under pressure. He liked things staying the same, which was probably why you had caught his attention after your first clumsy interaction.

“Miles?” He heard your soft voice as you entered the room. You had a gun strapped to your hip, courtesy of Quaritch himself. Pandora was a dangerous place, he was not taking any chances. Thus, he made you carry out a weapon of any sorts. He knew you had a knife hiding somewhere under that bulky white coat of yours.

Quaritch heard the faint sound of Lyle Wainfleet chuckling. It was no secret that the head of security was hopelessly attached to you. Quaritch’s team made fun of him every chance they got.

“I need some more samples. Do you think you could get someone to collect them when they accompany Grace’s avatar? I would do it myself but I’m busy with making plans for the new recruits.” You gently trailed a hand up Quaritch’s bicep, squeezing it lightly. At that point, he was putty in your hands.

“Wish I had that much power over the Colonel.” Lyle whispered to a friend, “I could stop him from making me train overtime.” Lyle’s teasing comment did not go unnoticed by Quaritch.

“Wainfleet, drop and give me thirty.” Quaritch uttered without taking his eyes off Y/N, which earned a groan from Lyle. “What plants do you need, sweetheart?” He questioned, handing you a stray piece of paper and a pen for you to scribble on.

You leaned over the desk, too busy writing down various flowers to notice how Quaritch’s gaze was looking you up and down. “I only need at least two.” You said, handing him the paper.

“Yeah? M’kay. I’ll do my best. Nice seeing ya, baby.” He shamelessly slapped your ass, an action he did quite often now. You had gotten used to it but you still rolled an eyes at his antics.

“Nice seeing you too, sir.” You mocked him, kicking the back of his knees. Quaritch’s legs almost buckled and he listened as you speed-walked off, snickering.

You had not been so confident when he first met you. At least, you didn’t show it. He always knew you had a feisty side that the environment of Pandora only encouraged but you had kept it hidden for your first few months on the new planet. Quaritch held a fondness for you but he still knew how much of a brat you could be, and not in a good way.

“Sully.” Quaritch called out your last name as you rushed past him, arms full of documents. You paused, almost stumbling forward. You glanced over your shoulder, watching as Quaritch beckoned you towards him with a single flick of his finger.

“Yes, sir?” You muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Where’s the report I asked for last week?” Quaritch knew that despite your intelligent mind, your memory was that of a goldfish. Not even that. Your memory was sometimes worse than Dory from Finding Nemo.

“I’m sorry, sir. I must have forgotten. I can get it to you by tonight.” You babbled, embarrassed for forgetting such a thing. You were always flustered in front of him, not quite knowing what to say. You were tall for a woman, you always had been, but Quaritch towered over you.

“By tonight, recruit.” He called you like he always did. You were a fully fledged scientist by this point but Quaritch still looked down on you, figuratively speaking.

“Yes, sir!” You saluted, or tried to. You had forgotten about the papers in your hands and half of the them dropped to the floor. Quaritch’s eyes dropped to stare at the fallen documents before meeting your eyes. You remained still, thinking if you didn’t move then Quaritch would ignore it. He did not.

In fact, he laughed. He actually laughed. It was not a sound you were accustomed to. Nobody was. Miles Quaritch was all bite and no bark. He kept to his harsh words without hesitation. But here he was, laughing at you.

Quaritch crouched down, picking up the papers. You gazed at him; all you could see was the three signature scars dragging through his shortly cropped hair. And when he lifted his head slightly to make eye contact- oh gosh. You stopped your mind from wandering to such places.

Quaritch took his time in standing up. His fingertips even brushed against your thigh, which you knew was not a mistake.

“Take care, sweetheart. I want the report on by desk at 10 pm sharp.”

You were late, which was not surprising to Quaritch considering you were always rushing around. He waited impatiently at his desk, drumming his fingers against the flat surface. He was almost falling asleep before his door slammed open and you came crashing in.

“I have the report, sir!” You exclaimed at such a volume that Quaritch had to tell you to pipe down. He checked his watch. You were five minutes late. Quaritch brushed it off; he would let you off this one time.

You placed the documents on his desk, flipping through pages and explaining certain points as you read the words upside down. Though, Quaritch wasn’t really listening. He could hear you ranting but his mind never registered your words. He was intensely focused on, as you leaned over to point at the paper in front of him, your cleavage. That damn tank top of yours was driving him crazy.

“Sir, are you listening?” You snapped him back to reality, “I was just saying how you should focus on this passage in particular.” You pointed a finger at a paragraph of text.

“Got it.” He drawled, leaning back in his chair. He had one arm propped on the arm rest while the other held a cup of cold water. His legs were spread, which was his usual way of sitting, but he did not miss the way your eyes darted down for a split second.

After practically forcing Wainfleet to gather the flowers you listed an hour ago, Quaritch went in search of you. He found you talking with a man in a wheelchair and a flame of jealousy flared up before he noticed the uncanny resemblance between the man and you.

He fit the pieces together. That must be Jake, your little brother. Quaritch saw Jake hand a letter to you and you briefly licked your lips, something you always did to distract yourself from too intense emotions. Jake also handed you a necklace but Quaritch knew you already hand another chained around your neck.

Hiding under the lab coat he hated so much was a dog tag necklace. Engraved in the metal was MQ, standing for Miles Quaritch.

Quaritch left you to catch up with your brother, deciding he would seek you out at a later hour.

Quaritch was always searching the base for you, his teammates compared him to a lovesick puppy. They even drew a picture to go along with their mocking comments. Quaritch let them have their fun, always too tired to shut them up.

The first time Quaritch showed any actual romantic interest in you was during this time. You had just returned from a week long trip, which deprived Quaritch of your sweet voice and clumsy actions. He found you in the lab as you always were, carefully snipping samples from a flower.

You were so concentrated that you didn’t even notice it was Quaritch behind you. “How many samples did you say you wanted, Grace?” You asked. When you got no reply, you looked over your shoulder.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, angel. I’m not Grace.” He stated. You blinked once, then twice. Lately his pet names had started to feel more personal.

“Sir, is there something you need?” You asked. Your shy personality had improved; you were no longer jumpy around him and you didn’t humiliate yourself as much in front of the Colonel. Or maybe this side of you existed all along but you decided to keep to yourself.

Quaritch turned your chair around, placing his hands on the arm rest and trapping you. You looked at him, a little unimpressed for being interrupted.

“Sir?” You spoke again but all Quaritch could focus on was your top. That damn tank top that almost jeered at him. You were always wearing it, day or night. It’s like you knew he was beginning to resent it for how it frustrated him.

“You got a boyfriend, sweetheart?” Quaritch questioned. He really should have asked ages ago before becoming infatuated. Slowly, you shook your head. “You’re a charming little lady, how come you don’t have one?”

“I was never that much interested in boys.” You admitted. Quaritch’s stomach dropped. Oh gosh, were you a lesbian? “I wanted to focus on studying. And even now…” You fidgeted with your hands, “I have my eye on someone who is almost unattainable.” Your eyes said it all for you as you peered through your lashes.

“Unattainable?” Quaritch played along despite your doe eyes practically begging for him to make another move.

“I like… older men, sir.”

Any doubt Quaritch had about your feelings towards him disappeared. That was all the confirmation he needed. You shifted in the chair, growing uneasy with the sudden silence. You were tired of waiting and frustrated with the Colonel’s mixed signals.

“Sir, I apologise for what I am about to do.” You wrapped your arms around Quaritch’s neck and that was all you really needed to do to break him. You kissed him, your flower samples behind you instantly forgotten.

Quaritch forced you to stand up, dragging you by your blouse collar towards his room. The halls were empty and even as you heard Grace calling your name from the lab, not knowing you had disappeared, you did not look back.

Quaritch was lifting a heavy set of weights when Jake Sully approached him. Your brother had a more rugged appearance compared to you but he could still see the similarities in Jake’s eyes.

“Jake Sully, correct?” Quaritch sat up, dusting off his hands.

“Yes, Colonel. You must know my sister, Y/N.”

Quaritch pretended to think for a moment. ‘You mean the Y/N whose back I blow out almost every night?’ was what he wanted to say but he held his tongue. “The scientist.” Quaritch said, “Yes, I know her.”

“She told me of your… relationship. And I just wanted to say to treat her well. She is all I have left. If you hurt her, I’ll ask God to return my ability to walk and I will throw my wheelchair at you.”

Quaritch let out an amused chuckle. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Jake turned around to wheel himself away but he suddenly paused. “There’s one more thing… I know the way she eats kiwifruit is strange but don’t judge her.”

Quaritch raised an eyebrow at the statement. He had never seen you eat kiwifruit but with an order of fruit being transported into Pandora, Quaritch could see what Jake meant.

He knew kiwifruit was your favourite, especially the sweet golden ones. So as soon as the order arrived, Quaritch called first dibs.

“Hey, angel, look what I got.” Quaritch said as he walked into his room where you were lounging on his bed, taking advantage of your rights as the Colonel’s favourite.

“Kiwifruit? Yum.” You stood up, grasping one of the brown fruits. Quaritch was expecting you to walk over to the small kitchen inside his room and cut the fruit using a knife. But no, you bit right into it with no hesitation. Quaritch could see what Jake meant now.

“Want some?” You waved the half-bitten fruit in Quaritch’s face. You pouted. “I know why you’re looking at me. Eating kiwifruit like this isn’t a crime, you know.”

Quaritch snickered. “I don’t know, baby, seems like a serious offence to me.” He cut a kiwifruit in half and grabbed a spoon, sitting beside you on his soft mattress.

“You should try it like this at least once.” You attempted but Quaritch firmly shook his head.

“I’m good, baby.” He muttered, “Careful, don’t make a mess. I just got these sheets cleaned yesterday.” He warned, watching as the fruit juices dribbled down your chin.

“Be honest, are you judging me?” Y/N piped up.

“Nah. It’s a little weird but I ain’t judging. You do you.” Quaritch shrugged. He had seen much worse; his girl eating kiwifruit with the skin was the least of his concerns.

[yesimwriting]

Would Armand subtly pull a book devils minion move and gift bestie a vail of his blood to ward off any vamps and Louis is like wtf this is my human to look after not yours

oh i love this. i've been thinking about this ask for a MINUTE, armand giving daniel his blood to scare off other vampires is genuine poetry.

also louis taking offense feels so him. like, yes, he asked armand to get along with bestie better, but that is still very much his human and he's perfectly capable of taking care of her himself.

----

The guest room--if one can even refer to it as that anymore--has been bleached of its color.

It's an illusion, a warping of reality caused by personal perspective, but self awareness isn't enough to dislodge whatever's wedged itself between his ribs out of place.

Your suitcase is out, lying in the space between your bed and the closet you're currently looking through. He straightens slightly, eyes focusing on your open luggage. It's nowhere near capacity. Armand wonders if it's going to stay that way.

He squeezes the small box between his fingers, the lid of it pressing into his palm. Before Armand can dwell on his potential sentiments, he breaks the silence. "So you're leaving?"

The sound of his voice surprises you, pulling you away from your passive thoughts. You turn towards the door, eyes a little wider than usual, but you're nowhere near as startled by his sudden appearances as you used to be.

"Don't get too excited." You step away from the closet's open door to better face him, "It's only for three days."

"Three days without Louis." He pulls himself away from the doorframe. "I didn't think you two were still capable of that."

You cross your arms, letting out a small breath that feels like a poor attempt at masking a scoff. "It's not like I live here."

A technicality that only you seem to care to hold onto these days. "And yet each day that seems to matter less."

You roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the closet. "You are less than 24-hours away from a 72-hour break." Your brief pause is filled by the sound of clothing hangers being pushed out of place. "I'm not even taking Louis with me."

In some ways, Armand thinks this might've been a little easier if Louis was traveling with you. "Which is something he's heartsick about."

Even though the reasons behind your solo trip and Louis's feelings about them have been discussed at length, the comment is still enough to make you pause. "Louis's fine, and you know it. We all talked about it--I'm going to the wedding, I'm in the bridal party--"

"Louis loves your family."

You pull an item off of its hanger before angling yourself in his direction again. "I also told you guys that it's a beach wedding in the Hamptons." You squeeze the fabric between your fingers. "He'd be trapped in some hotel room, with the curtains drawn shut, for hours at a time, alone, for no reason."

Armand sighs. There's so much your mind is capable of grasping, and yet what it means for a being of perpetual solitude to care for you always seems just beyond your reach. "Perhaps that'd be preferable."

You let out another breath, your lips briefly pressing together into an expression that he's learned to interpret as your attempt at masking a pout. "It is a three day weekend." You pronounce each syllable carefully, taking your time expanding the words the way you usually do when you're irritated. "In the Hamptons, during the summer, the most dangerous thing there is going to be the traffic from an influx of people leaving New York."

When his expression gives no implication of easing, you continue, "I'm not even staying in a hotel, my grandfather has a house there."

A family home in the Hamptons. Armand makes a mental note to look into that during a less complicated time. "My concerns have nothing to do with humanity."

Something about the response forces you to still. "What?"

He takes a few steps forward, fully abandoning the neutrality of the door way. "Sometimes, a mortal's awareness can draw a certain kind of attention."

You're silent for a moment, allowing the implications of his response to fully settle. "You mean vampires?" You squeeze the material of the shirt you're holding again, nails pressing into fabric in a way that almost implies nervousness. "It's nice of you to warn me, but I've been visiting that house my entire life, it's--"

"Things aren't that simple," he counters, taking another step in your direction, "You know details about things you were never meant to be aware of."

This version of his caution seems to reach you a little better. You still, eyebrows pinching together at that. "Okay." The word is cautious, almost guarded.

Armand allows his attention to move away from you and onto the wall behind you. Before he can overthink his actions any further, he extends his arm, holding out the box. "Here."

Your gaze shifts between him and his offering. When your surprise doesn't progress into action, he finally lets himself look at you again. "Staring at it won't provide more clarity than taking the box."

You blink, blood dragging itself up your neck. "It has been like...a second." The defense is weak and poorly thought out. Instead of pointing it out, he lets you walk forward at your own pace. You take the box from his hand, your fingertips briefly brushing against his.

He watches you pull the lid off of the box. Your eyebrows draw together as you take in what you'll perceive as a small pendant and the gold chain its attached to. You're careful as you pull the necklace out of its box. "It's pretty." You take your time studying the pendant's shape, turning the cylinder. He can tell when you finally find the letters carved into its side. "What is it?"

"It--" You're staring at him with wide, expectant eyes. There's always so much warmth in your expression, so much unjustifiable trust. "It's a precaution."

The answer isn't enough for you. "A precaution in what way?"

Armand frowns. Maybe it was a mistake to be as upfront about this as he has been. It would have been simpler to sneak the vial into your suitcase, or into one of your favorite purses. "It will mean something to those that need a warning."

Your expression softens, morphing away from curiosity and towards something much more sentimental. You recover quickly, the corner of your mouth tugging itself into what's almost a smile. "So it's a warning?"

"I don't want to hear about the tragedy of your untimely demise for 200 years."

The comment isn't enough to ward off your smugness. You tilt your head slightly, "Do you really think Louis would talk about me for 200 years?"

It's difficult to imagine you as less than a problem that lasts for eternity. He frowns. "Longer."

A part of you seems eased by the response. You hold his gaze for a moment, permitting a heavy silence to briefly settle over the two of you. After another second of silence, you break it, "How unfortunate for you."

"My every thought since Louis first brought you home."

You give him a pointed look, but before you have a chance to answer, he begins to walk towards you. When you don't correctly interpret his actions quickly enough, Armand sighs. He takes the necklace's chain from between your fingers. "Turn around."

It takes you a second to listen, and once you finally do, Armand's uncertainty is only amplified. Even though you've never once flinched at his touch, he's careful as he allows his fingertips to brush against the skin just beneath your neck.

He moves your hair out of place before bringing the chain around your neck. Armand fastens the clasp. Instead of releasing you as immediately as he should, he sets his palm against your shoulder.

"Don't take it off." A demand, or maybe something else.

You shift slightly, the movement too casual to imply discomfort. "I wasn't going to."

He squeezes your shoulder once in a silent acknowledgement of your response before stepping away from you. Armand approaches your bed. He sits near the mattress's edge, keeping his expression as neutrally disinterested as he can manage.

Your thoughts are briefly clouded by a surprise you won't act on. It doesn't take long for you to dismiss your confusion and return to looking through your closet.

You take a moment to push around a few hangers. When you turn to face him again, you're holding two dresses out in front of you. "Red or black?"

It's difficult enough to accept your departure and the solemness that always clings to Louis for the first few days after you leave. Armand is no mood to help you with the process. "That seems like a question Louis would love to answer."

You frown. "The sun won't fully set for like another hour."

He lets out a flat sigh, his gaze flitting between the options. "Black..." Armand keeps his expression as neutral as possible as his attention shifts back onto you. "With your gold Manolos."

You nod slowly, as if taking in some deeply profound statement. "That works so well."

You pull the black dress's straps off of the hanger before turning towards the closet. Armand's quiet for a moment. Remaining aware of the distracting nature of your focus is a much simpler thing when you're not looking at him.

He shifts, straightening slightly before shattering the easy silence, "This is a family wedding?"

"Yeah." Even though this is information that's already been discussed, you don't seem to mind re-confirming it. "My cousin, Evie." You push aside a few hangers. "She's on my dad's side, so Louis hasn't met her yet, but I think he'd like her." You turn around again, the black dress and a thin sweater hanging over your arm. "She's...fun."

"You make that trait sound like something that isn't compatible with marriage."

The comment seems to take you by surprise. You still, head tilting slightly as your lips part in mock offense. "You have become such a gossip." Despite your chastising tone, you make no attempt at changing the topic of conversation, "I'll admit, it's a little hard to visualize the girl that snuck me into a club for the first time as a wife, but it's the natural progression of things."

Armand tilts his chin downwards, his focus shifting onto the comforter beneath him. The prospect of you finding some nice enough boy to settle down with is much more consuming than it should be. At least the sentiment was delivered flatly enough to imply heavy reservation.

"You make it sound like an inevitability." He lifts his head enough to meet your gaze. "One you're not particularly fond of."

After a beat, you lift a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. "It seems to be inevitable for some people."

You're rarely so intentionally vague. Perhaps he's stumbled onto something. "And for you?"

The question seems to startles you. Armand watches your attention shift between the fabric you're holding and him. "I don't know." The admission is small, almost fragile.

Your mind almost alludes to a clearer response, a few surface level thoughts of familial expectations and reiterated stories. But for the most part, your verbal response is honest enough.

He accepts the answer with a subtle nod nod. You're happy enough to let the topic go, your focus returning to your clothing. You finish folding your dress and sweater before placing them in your suitcase.

Armand turns his head, his gaze shifting onto the few outfits you have laid out on your bed. Your favorite oversized T-shirt is closest to him. He relaxes his arm slightly, allowing his hand to fall away from his lap and onto your shirt. The well-loved fabric is soft against his palm.

You straighten, stepping away from your suitcase in favor of approaching the room's dresser.

"I've never met your father."

You're not overly shocked by the suddenness of the question. He guesses he shouldn't seem surprised, you and Louis change topics at a pace that's difficult to keep up with.

You pull the drawer open before responding, "Uh...no, Louis hasn't either." You continue to search through the dresser. "He's only met my mom, who I think you'd like because most people do." You turn away from the drawer, dropping a matching pajama set onto your bed. "I know likability is generally a trait that repulses you, but she's not obnoxious or anything."

He bends his fingers together slightly, his fingertips pinching the material. "Unlike her daughter, then."

You roll your eyes, leaning forward as you reach for your T-shirt's collar. "Very funny."

Armand moves his hand back onto his lap as you pull the fabric away. He turns his head in time to watch you put the shirt back into its drawer.

Strange. You love that shirt. "You're not taking the pajama shirt?"

"My cousins are more into pajama sets than oversized shirts." Instead of giving him a chance to dwell on the response, you're quick to move past your comment. "I need a packing break, do you want to watch trashy TV until Louis wakes up?"

He lets out a sigh before moving to stand. "I remember a time before I regularly had to answer that question."

You halfheartedly glare at him. "Yes, I know, you used to be so much more interesting before me."

There's no real malice in your sarcasm. There's rarely any real malice in anything that comes from you.

----

Armand hasn't often considered himself a particularly noble, but your television preferences have made him realize that he's capable of greater sacrifice than he was aware of.

His tolerance, however, has brought him something akin to benefit. You sit closer to him than you used to. The proximity is nowhere near as casual as you are with Louis, but it is more comfortable than you'd be with an acquaintance.

You're relaxed, spine pressed into the couch's cushioning and your forearm so close to his he'd only need to shift his position slightly to reach you. Before he can dwell on the thought, a low groan pulls him out of it. A second, more certain sound follows.

You straighten, pulling away from him as you turn towards the source of the sound. "Louis."

Louis, who's just appeared at the living room's entrance, offers you both a tired smile. "What are you guys up to?"

You sit up further, your hands coming together on your lap. "Watching trashy TV, further damaging Armand's views on humanity."

"So the usual." Louis takes a few steps forward. "Has he been good company?" The question is delivered with a teasing smile.

"Don't worry about the poor fawn, I've been well behaved."

You pull your hands apart, tapping your nails against your knee. "It's true, his only passive aggressive comments have been directed towards reality TV villains."

Louis's expression softens at that, an easy smile tugging at his lips. He's always so eased by the thought of Armand accepting you. "Maybe your trip has him feeling sentimental."

You return Louis's smile, but there's something sharp beneath your version of the look. "I've always had a feeling that he's secretly attached to me."

Armand glares. "Yes, as attached as a snake is to a rabbit."

"What an original metaphor."

He straightens, turning his head to better look at you, "We can't all be as creative as the artist in front of us."

"You always--"

"Can the bickering wait until I've had a chance to fully wake up?"

Your gaze flits between the two of them in a silent struggle that Armand's accustomed to witnessing. You hate the feeling of retreat, but you love Louis enough to bear the weight of it.

Instead of continuing the argument, you let it go with a sigh. "Fine." You straighten slightly, turning to better look at Louis, "I picked up my bachelorette party dress today. I left it out so you could see it."

Louis smiles, "Let's see it."

You push yourself to stand, leaving Armand behind on the couch. "The beading is so much prettier in person." Before turning away, you turn your head enough to look at Armand. "You can come, if--"

"What--" The interruption, though brief, is enough to force your focus to return to Louis. "What's around your neck?"

The question leaves Armand incapable of movement.

You're confused by Louis's skepticism, but not particularly startled by it. You don't even think to consider the reaction as anything other than curiosity when Louis reaches for the necklace's cylinder pendent.

"Armand gave it to me." The response is delivered innocently enough, but Louis doesn't seem particularly eased. "It's supposed to be some kind of vampire repellent thing." Your expression pinches, eyebrows pulling together uncomfortably. "Does it--bother you?"

Louis continues to study the vial, his thumb dragging against the metal's engravings. He releases the necklace with a sigh. "Really?"

Armand keeps his expression blank as he meets Louis's stare. "You become heartsick every time she leaves you side, by protecting her I'm protecting you."

"If she needs someone to look out for her, I'll do it." Armand resists the urge to scoff. Louis's commitment to shielding you from others like him may stem from some genuine desire to save your soul, but there's also an underlying over-attachment there. "If she needs to wear vampire blood around her neck--"

"What?" At the sound of your voice, Armand turns his head in time to avoid watching your wide-eyed stare. "Your blood is in this?"

"It's nothing to be sentimental about," he says, voice flat, "It's a precaution."

Louis lets out a low scoff. "A precaution that I should have been a part of."

Armand forces himself to ease enough to will himself to meet Louis's gaze. "Please, it's nowhere near the statement that ring on her finger is." A relatively unfair defense, but it's the only thing he can currently graft on. "Should I be more offended by my companion buying some girl a multi-carat diamond that she wears on her ring finger?"

"So when I get her something she's 'some girl' I have to be betraying you with, but when you give her your blood to wear around your neck like some kind of marking, it's completely innocent?"

"Guys." Your voice is firm despite the uncertainty of your tone. It takes Louis a second to look at you again. "He was trying to be nice." You then turn to look at Armand, "And you obviously know the ring doesn't mean anything, or you would have killed me by now."

A tense wave of silence follows your outburst. Armand decides to end it, "At least you're self aware."

"I try." While your attempt at ending a budding argument felt confident, your posture implies your uncertainty. You slowly lift a hand, your fingertips brushing against the vial before reaching for a loose strand of hair to tuck behind your ear. "Do you guys want to see my dress?"

Armand's not exactly in the mood to think any further about your impending trip or the implications of what he's given you. "I'll see it in the photos." You frown. "I feel like feeding earlier than usual." You're studying him with wide, overly knowing eyes. "You and Louis should go look what you're bringing on your trip, I'll bring you your tea a little later."

"Okay." It takes you another moment to look away from him, and when you finally do, it's only because Louis reaches for your hand.

[evvyyypeters-fics]

Forbidden Fruit

William ‘Spike’ Pratt x f!reader

Word count: 5k+

Warnings: smut, pnv, period sex, Spike is a munch, porn w/ plot (sort of), absolutely feral shit, filthy, toe-curling bloody sex with the slutty bad-boy vampire himself, cringe, very specific characterization of Y/N, possible OOC Spike? (idk it's kind of hard to write a British accent lowkey), lots of banter, only like two uses of Y/N, mentions of Xander Harris, idk what else to add--that's it ig. It's some down-bad aah shi ok?

Author's note: My first fic in a whilleeee, hyperfixations always get me motivated. I’m back for now, but only to rant about my latest obsession. I'm actually surprised there was no period sex in BTVS. I mean for a pretty progressive y2k show about sweaty vampire romance and killing and there's not even an implication of periods let alone period sex? Not even a little quip or comment? Either that was too taboo even for BTVS or the writers weren't creative enough to think outside the box. (Either way, I come to serve the people).

It’s already been three days since Spike had that muzzle installed in his head. He refuses to stop complaining about it, and I don’t entirely blame the guy. Technically speaking, for a vampire, being physically modified to prevent the most natural of their instincts is like being forcefully castrated like some wild animal. Sure, it might be for the better and greater good, but it’s still sure to cause some discomfort and distress to said subject. Especially if they are a malicious, murdering monster and not a horny puppy. Though, when it comes to Spike, two things can be true at once.

Having to hand-feed the bound Spike with a mug of blood decorated with a straw was not on my list of things to do this month, that was for sure. But spending time with Spike turned out not to be all that terrible after all. If I just ignore his whining about being hungry because Giles and Buffy only allow him to eat a cup full of animal blood every day, he becomes quite the personality to be around. Specifically when he’s threatening what he’ll do when he eventually gets the chip out of his head and comes back to murder us all in cold blood in that casual, suave British tone that he makes sound so serious. But I know that he’s just bark and no bite now. The Scoobies agreed to keep pathetic Spike around for now since he has some information on the strange men who have been popping up around demon-hunting-related rendezvous, which of course cursed me with the duty of watching and taking care of him while they were off and living in their separate worlds. Separate from mine at least, as I practically lived at Giles’s house now to make sure the new pet dog didn’t get loose from his leash.

Today would have been just like any other day had I not conveniently gotten my period around the time I began babysitting the blood-sucking fiend. A few more days and I may have been relinquished of my duties from the bloodsucker, but alas, I would just have to hope that vampire senses were also a misconception, just like sleeping in a coffin during the day.

“Leavin’ you all alone again with the big bad, eh pet?” He croons, an all too familiar sly smile on his face as I enter the bathroom and pull up a chair a few feet away from him. He jokingly lunges forward and reaches his hands out, trying to scare me. But I barely jump before the chains holding them tight to the clawfoot tub hold him back.

“Funny,” I reply sarcastically, bemused by his behavior. “Are you going to do this all night? Or shall I ask Giles if I can chloroform you for a few hours just so I can get you out of my hair for once?” Crossing my arms as I sit back in the highly uncomfortable chair.

“Well, if you’re looking to shut me up, I have a few ideas on how to…remedy the issue.” Devious as always.

“And that would be?” I question, subtly quirking my brow.

He scoffs and flops back dramatically into the tub, rolling his eyes. “Well, what do you think, love?” He turns his gaze back to me, seemingly a little annoyed I couldn’t pick up on his non-obvious signals.

I continue sitting silently in the chair, my face scrunching into a more scrutinizing look as he stares me down, waiting for me to figure it out and answer. “What?” I ask offendedly as he scrutinizes me with his eyes.

“Blood you nitwit! I’m bloody starvin’ here!” He sighs exasperatedly, a slight growl in the back of his tone. “No pun intended—” His face drops softer as he quickly chimes, adding as he raises one finger in a dramatized gesture.

“You look fine to me.” I mock him, flickering a smile. “I mean, besides looking a little pale, but that’s just your regular Tuesday, now isn’t it?” He grits his teeth and turns his head, acting as if he wanted to strangle me with the way his hands flexed.

“Besides, we ran out. Xander was asked to pick some more up from the butcher’s earlier, and he probably won’t be back until way later like the others.” I added, though not kindly. “Seems you’re always hungry and sucked your own supply dry. You’re lucky any of us even bother to feed you.”

“Well, I am your hostage, love. Not a torture victim.” His annoyance is almost as amusing as his failed attempts to intimidate me now that he can’t actually hurt me.

“I mean, you always could be. That is if you don’t start talking.” I shrugged.

“I told you guys, I’m not talkin’ until I’m ensured that the chip will be removed.” He leans his head back against the edge of the tub defeatedly.

“Well you know that’s not happening any time soon, so you might as speak up now before we change our minds and kill you for it. I’m sure Buffy would love to do the honors.” I smirk at him, and I can see the flash of fear in his eyes as he foolishly tries to hide it behind his indifferent and sarcastic demeanor. “Though, at the end of the day, we might not need you after all. So, might as well make yourself useful.”

He groans with a slight growl in defiance, rolling his head against the edge of the tub before sighing exasperatedly. Finally convinced, he turns his head back to me and nods in my direction.

“Al’right, I’ll talk. But I want somethin’ to eat first.” A hidden grin appears on his face as if he’s caught me in some sort of loophole.

“I just told you we don’t have anything right now. You’ll have to wait until Xander gets back.”

“Well that’s not entirely true, now is it, love?” He says, a strange puppy-dog-eyed gleam in his look.

“What are you even talking about? I just told you we don’t have any blood left. It’s not like you can bite me or anything, you little chip-thing-a-ma-bobery will give you a nuclear headache.”

“That’s not what I meant, love.” He smirks at my innocence.

Oh.

I go still and silent when the realization hits, my confused and slightly offended expression drops and I stare at him blankly. He looks back at me with another sly smile on his face, enjoying my flustered reaction and waiting for me to respond to the inappropriate request.

“I was hoping the whole wolf-smell thing was another written exaggeration.” I finally spoke out, breaking the moment of silence that was a little suffocating to me.

“You hope or you wish?” He asks, raising a curious brow back at me, still beaming with that stupid smirk.

“Does it matter?” I ask rhetorically, aggravated and annoyed with him now.

“Not to me.” He shakes his head and purses his lips. Liar, of course, he said it to piss me off. Trying to convince me that I wanted him to know as if it wasn’t the farthest from the truth. But a part of me was somewhat grossly keen on the idea. But only faintly.

“Well, seems you’re just going to keep starving until Xander gets back. I can wait as long as we need for you to either talk now or be patient. And by that point, Buffy and the gang should be back in time to hear what you have to say too.” I put my foot down, smiling a silent proud grin as he gives me a look that mimics if I had just stuck my shoe in his mouth.

He rolls over in the tub defeatedly again, and I take the time of his moping to grab a magazine and flip through it. Making sure that I turn over each page with an annoying crinkle so that he knows my presence is still there, even as he attempts to nap, which most likely is just his attempt at pretending to sleep so that I’ll consider not breaking the silence with the annoying slice of loud paper wringing through the not-so-cozy acoustic bathroom. Which of course didn’t work on me.

For some reason, it began to feel like the Scoobies had been gone forever, and it was still dark outside. I kept checking the clock every few minutes even though it had felt like an hour each time. Normally when I babysat Spike the time seemed to go by quite quickly. It must be the subtly charged silence as I keep praying the minutes start passing quicker. Not even the books and magazines were helping it drive by. At the same time, I realized that my cramps were starting to worsen and I wanted to cry. Partially from the pain, but mainly because today felt like the worst day. The timing is so perfect it’s painful. Having to watch Spike the neutered dog while everyone is away, getting my period a few hours earlier, the worsening cramps, the hours seemingly taking forever to pass. Maybe it’s another demon who's playing tricks on me to drive me crazy with my worst nightmares. I’m sure something like that exists.

Spike hears the soft hitch of my pained breath as I clutch my abdomen, cupping my angry uterus lashing out at me. I try to keep the book in my hand steady and pretend I’m not in an infuriating amount of pain, focusing my eyes away from Spike as he turns in my direction.

“You alright there, pet?” He asks in a tender, concerned tone. But as I raise my eyes to him, I catch the shit-eating grin on his face that’s just dying to tell me ‘I told you so’.

“Yes, I’m fine actually. No thanks to you. I don’t need any of your help.” I grit my teeth to keep my voice from wobbling and revealing the absolute pain clawing at my insides.

“You sure? You seem to be strugglin’ a bit. You know, I heard that—”

“Just shut up, Spike! I know what you’re trying to do.” I hiss at him, stopping him before he could finish the sentence. I could feel the burn of my cheeks a little as they flushed.

“And what is it exactly that I’m tryin’ to do, love?” He asks, a faux offensive tone as he sits up a little higher and leans against the tub.

“Don’t play coy with me, Spike.”

“Your pouty face is so cute, Y/N. Do you know that?”

“Stop trying to be charming. It’s not working.” I slide away the magazine and cross my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the burning pain still coursing through my lower body.

“Oh, it isn’t? Well, my bad then. Excuse me for sayin’ anything.” He says sarcastically and annoyed, defeated again, giving up as he turns over once more and sinks deeper into the tub.

“Good.”

“Fine, then.” He pouts.

“Fine.”

I nod, pepping myself to refrain from talking with him anymore about this. Moving my focus to the boiling pain that is becoming harder to ignore. I think of every remedy I can to relieve the pain without having to get up because I have a feeling if I tried, I would keel right over. And then Spike would take his most glorious opportunity to run away, and I couldn’t risk that. So I sat in a longer and drawn-out silence than before trying to persevere through the pain.

My gaze flickers to Spike occasionally without thought, catching glimpses from the back of his radioactive blonde hair before dropping once more to the book in front of me. As waves of pain crashed through me I start to wonder if it would truly be that bad to take up on his offer. I mean, he says he will talk if he has some food, and Xander obviously won’t be here for a while. Alongside the rest of everyone else, so if I indulged him, it’s not like anyone would catch us. And say he didn’t give the information up, well I’d still benefit, and we’d probably kill him anyway. It’s a fully ensured mutually beneficial deal, well, swinging towards one way more than the other—but the schematics of it all doesn’t really matter. Not will the sharp throb of abdominal pain making my thoughts stutter and my brain swirl.

Frustrated, I throw the book to the floor and stand up, raising myself above Spike.

“Alright,” I state sternly. “You say you’ll talk if you have something to eat?” I question him–more like interrogate.

He turns his head to me, slightly startled by my jumping up, and possibly the fact that I seem to be agreeing to his terms. He doesn’t have that shit-eating-want-to-punch-him-in-the-face-bastard-smirk on his face, and that makes for something.

“Just a snack is al’right.” He says eloquently, shrugging. “Then I’ll tell you all you want to know. ‘Swear on my grave, love.” He peers up at me through his brow bone, his eyes latching onto mine with their dark depths. Something in that look makes me fold, it seems so genuine and raw.

“Oh well that’s promising,” I scoff sarcastically.

Nerves swim in my stomach as I become flustered with the realization of what I’ve just agreed to. I stand there for a moment before him, nearing close to the edge of the tub.

“You just going to stand there, pet? Y’know, if you unchained me I could help you a little—” He offers, a small grin hidden on his face as he snaps me out of my trance.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. We’re doing this my way.” I scold him as I start to unbutton my jeans. Spike catches my hands with his gaze as soon as they pop open the metal button and his eyes flash. I try to pretend that his gaze isn’t burning through me as I begin to shimmy them down to my ankles, but it’s no use.

“Are you just going to keep staring?” I ask, gritting my teeth a bit to hide the shyness, despite my obvious flushed cheeks.

“Well, what else am I suppose’ to do, love? Not watch the show? Besides, there are more embarrassing things that—”

“That’s enough from you.” I stop him mid-sentence, pressing my index finger to his lips and he smiles quietly against it. God, he’s just thoroughly enjoying this isn’t he? I’d regret to admit it’s turning me on. Especially with that look in his eyes, watching me like I’m the best thing he’s seen in weeks. Which technically speaking, could be true.

It was difficult to find positioning given the small space of the tub that he was totally overtaking.I was starting to regret not taking off the cuffs for him, but I knew (hoped) it would be better in the long wrong. Who knows, maybe that’s what he wanted me to do all along. Though, would it have mattered at this point? My mind was too far stretched to care even if he did, but I was too preoccupied with the look on his pale face to bother removing them anyway.

Positioning my bare, bleeding core over his mouth, his eyes are locked onto it hungrily. Something in his gaze made it unclear if he was entranced by the blood or my body, and regardless it was making my skin feel slightly hot. His lips drained of color from his forced diet, parted readily as I hovered, his tongue practically lolling as he begged silently for me to lean closer. Cautiously, I tempted him. Lowering myself closer towards his lips, it was a warm and inviting feeling, surprisingly gentler than I expected from him. Soft, experimental kitten licks as he explores the fleshy fat of my labia majora, wiping away any mess as he circled closer to my engorged clit. My whole body felt like it was pulsing, I could only watch him from below me with blown, wide eyes. Skin flushed and rosy from the sensation of his tongue darting out and licking stripes, as if savoring the taste. Seems he likes playing with his food after all. I found myself subconsciously pressing closer into his mouth and I only notice when he lets out a low moan in response, his lips pursing to press a kiss to my clit, making sure to catch my eyes as he sucks on it gently. A gentle popping sound rings as he removes his lips and licks a fat stripe with his tongue across my entrance, blood lingering across it. His lips were already stained from drool and arousal, mixed with the faint hue of blood.

I always thought vampires were disgusting, evil creatures, I couldn’t imagine how blood could be enjoyable. Even for a vampire. Especially when it came to Spike and Angel. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, which is why it’s already so confusing for me as to why I’d agree to him like this. But seeing the look of my blood covering his mouth, and the expression painted on his face of pure bliss. I understand a little more now.

Spike grins against me for a moment when I shudder after he flicks his tongue on my clit aggressively, becoming a little more bold.

“I thought you were going to eat my blood, not mess around.” I accuse him, trying to keep my voice steady and stern as before, but it still cracked anyway.

“I’m just enjoying the moment, love. You agreed because you want to feel good too, isn’t that right, pet?” He asks cheekily, his voice vibrating against me and I almost fall over from the trembling that shocks my knees, finding balance in gripping my hands in his gelled hair. Wait, did he say ‘too’?

“N-No more talking,” I say breathily and Spike beams once more, even more amused than before as he goes back to his ministrations.

He doesn’t seem to mind as I claw into his scalp, messing up his meticulously done hair. If anything he seems to enjoy it as he laps faster into my cunt, sucking out any of the blood that leaks forth, dribbling down his chin. My legs start to feel sticky as the blood starts to dry down them, which prompts Spike to lick stripes up my thighs to wipe it away, savoring every single drop as if he couldn’t possibly waste it.

I can feel the waves of pleasure reach higher inside of me as he focuses on my clit every few moments before plunging his tongue into me, twisting it and moving it in ways I didn’t know were even possible, and making me feel in ways I hadn’t even imagined. I couldn’t help the progressive yelp of moans that slipped past my lips, melting into the pleasure. I hadn’t even noticed that the cramps had almost completely subsided from how quickly I had gotten caught up. My hands went from gripping his hair painfully tight to massaging his scalp, and he purred just like a cat about it. The vibrations of his voice and breath against me brushed just right, pushing me closer to the edge. He looked even more like a puppy, being helpless bound, chained, and all, trying so hard to please me and get his fill.

“S-Shit…” I gasped quietly, my eyes squeezing shut. I could just feel the cocky grin on his face. But when I open my eyes to look, his expression is anything but. He looks almost dazed, mindlessly focused on lapping and kissing me clean of blood, utterly lost in the taste of me. His eyes were practically glittering as he stared up at me, his gaze unbreaking. Sweet blood mixed with arousal that made his skin tingle warmly. It was driving him mad, he looked more starved than he had before. As if he had been holding back how badly he wanted it, or maybe as soon as he had a taste he was overcome with the full extent of his hunger.

The look alone was getting me closer but mixed with the quick flicks and broad stripes of his tongue working closer, harder, faster against me. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I clasped a hand over my mouth as I cried out a little louder, my hips stuttering as they shook against his face, a gush of arousal I hadn’t known I had in me came out and he relished it.

He didn’t stop, continuing to slurp away, a little more intensely now. Overstimulating me with a purpose. I squealed, gripping tighter onto his blonde hair, now a mess. I don’t know how I kept my balance with the way my legs shook as wave of orgasm after orgasm crashed into me before he finally gave up, slowing down with gentle licks and kisses around my clit and upper thighs. I was heaving and on the brink of breathlessness, my throat becoming sore from the cries I rang out.

He leans his head back farther to gauge my expression better, darting his tongue to the corners of his bloodied lips that he licks away. “That better?” He asks, still being cheeky. I just nod silently, basically speechless.

“Good.” He tilts his head. “You should have told me sooner how delicious your blood is,”

“I hadn’t realized ‘til now,” I respond in a breathless tone.

“Still catty after all that, eh love?” The idiot smirks. Though, I couldn’t hate him for it. He was looking exceptionally prettier than usual. I chalked it up to the hormones coursing through me, still blissed from the consecutive orgasms.

“So…did the pain stop…love?” He asks, slightly shy. Which was a little surprising. Spike, a vampire who attempted to suck me dry of period blood, getting nervous over asking me about my cramps? Or maybe he wasn’t shy. There was something tender about his expression.

I shake my head. A lie. But one couldn’t hurt. Technically speaking, the pain had stopped, or at least numbed to a dull ache, but I still ached over something else.

“I see…” He responds his voice a low drawl that sent a shiver down my spine. “What shall we do about that?” He asks rhetorically, thinking. Something about the way he says it makes me think he’s already caught onto my lie but doesn’t want to call me out. However, it could just be my guilty conscious making things up.

“Aren’t you full though?” I ask, my lame attempt at segueing smoothly.

“Could it be you’re needin’ something else, love?” He asks, cracking that same grin again I had been waiting for, dragging his lips over my thighs as he places a tender kiss. His stark gaze continued to stare deeper into mine, not allowing me to break away from it. His tone is clear with innuendo.

I finally break free of his eyes, glancing away nervously, not knowing how to respond to him without sending pathetic.

“Well, if we’re going to do that, you’re unfortunately going to have to unchain me, love.” My eyes quickly snap to him.

“Absolutely not. You know I’m not doing that.” I say sternly.

“You might not have a choice.” He says, pulling at the chains that bound his hands close together and prevented me from getting anywhere close to him comfortably and I sighed to myself. Having to decide between giving up or risking unchaining him for a while. Weighing the pros and cons for a moment, I conclude that if he tried to escape it wouldn’t matter, but from the visible strain in his pants that I noticed, I recognized that he likely wouldn’t try. Regardless, I still didn’t trust him when I began to unshackle him.

He flexes his wrists for a moment, rubbing at the chaff marks. Before I can say anything he pulls at my waist and drags me into the tub, keeping me from hurting during the fall. I gasped before I landed and when I turn my head I catch a new stupid, cheesy smile on his face. He doesn’t speak or make any taunting remark, instead, he presses a tender kiss to my lips and I meet the mingling taste of cigarettes mixed with what I assumed was my own blood and arousal in his mouth. The soft, playful kisses turned into something more hungry and we were quickly meeting each other at a desperate pace. He was practically eating my face as I kissed him, and I returned the same energy. Allowing myself to let go and lean into his touch, turning myself and splaying my hands over his chest, my hips hovering over his as his hands explore up from my waist to my back. The hands running up and down the hot flesh trail their way into the base of my hair, cradling my head closer. I had underestimated the lack of breath vampires had when I had to fight to pull back to gasp for air between kisses.

We mutually grind ourselves together as the kisses become passionate, my hips roll against the thankfully black fabric of his pants (though I’m sure he wouldn’t care to begin with), and his buck up and grind against me in return. The bare friction of my core against the coarse fabric of his pants became a mix of pain and pleasure that left me searching for more. Impatience took over me, and Spike latched his kisses onto my neck and jaw as I reached back and freed him from his briefs. His hands were too busy squeezing my breasts and flesh to help me, holding me close.

Wasting no time, I sink onto him, my cunt swallowing him whole with a mutual sigh between us. My breath hitches in my throat again as I feel the full stretch, reaching to my cervix with a gentle kiss of his tip. Our chests heave against each other rapidly, my breasts pressing against his chest and rubbing against my shirt with their hardened peaks, sensitive to the softest graze. I lift my head from his shoulder to kiss him again, catching a glimpse of his dazed expression. He looked even more drunk on arousal than he had earlier and I questioned if that was even possible. I didn’t spend time staring, holding a hand to his cheek to pull him into another fiery kiss as I began to grind my hips. He groans into my mouth, choked moans leaving his mouth gaping for me to slip my tongue in. He responds and our tongues battle as he wraps his arms around my waist, his hips gradually bucking up into me without abandon.

It only takes a few minutes before we’re both completely worked up and he bullies my cervix, his tip aggressively hitting all the way back with each thrust. His arms held me in place to keep me from running as if I would even want to or could with the way that my head was completely numb. Zero thoughts running through my brain other than the intense pleasure coursing through every nerve in my body that was painfully active. He lets out multiple erotic sounds from deep in his chest, especially so when we break from kissing occasionally so we can nibble on each other. I pull at his earlobe while his tongue slides over my neck, desperately wanting to bite me for sure. Despite the clear loss of his inhibitions, he doesn’t attempt it.

The blood that continues to leak from my cervix only acts as extra lube, and causes a mess on both of our thighs, leaking down from his cock and splattering with each slap of our skin. The smell of blood and sex begins to linger in the air, even more so with the bathroom door closed. The sounds coming from us were filthy and if I weren’t lost in lust, it’d be embarrassing. But for the moment, it was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, music to my ears. I was feral, and it seems that so was he.

I wasn’t even fully aware of what was happening until I clawed into his shoulders, my hands slipping from the back of his hair as a new orgasm crashed over me. I don’t even remember when our shirts fell to the floor, but I had wasted no time clawing up his back apparently as the skin was almost scratched raw. Sweat glittered on our skin, shining from the bright white light in the bathroom. He hadn’t stopped at the clear cry of my orgasm, continuing to buck up into me madly, reaching his own high. I finished once more, this time he followed pursuit, feeling the warmth of seed flowing into me. His thrusts pausing in a staccato pattern. Post-bliss buzzes through us and I lean my head into his shoulder as I find my breath once more. I don’t want to move, feeling too limp to attempt to get off him.

Though, I quickly change my mind when I hear the familiar sound of the front door opening. My body jolts out of its daze and I quickly fling myself off of Spike, throwing him back his clothes.

“Shit!” I hiss, half-hazardly pulling my clothes back on, my pad still attached to my underwear as I slide them up. During the quick minute, we were lucky no one came in, and I take the extra 30 seconds to make sure I don’t look too disheveled before I step out of the bathroom. Hoping that I can distract everyone from checking on Spike before he can put his clothes back on the way they were. As well as fix the mess of his hair I had made.

Everyone seems to be distracted and discussing something when I step out of the bathroom and gently close the door behind me, guarding it a moment before stepping forward when everyone turns their head to my presence.

“Y/N!” Xander chimes with a stupid friendly smile. “How’d it go with fangless? He bore the shit out of you again?” He asks, taunting me a little.

I nod, smiling and trying to act normal. But it feels as if they can already tell something is off. “Yeah, definitely! Man, how I hate that guy!”

There’s a moment of awkward silence between everyone as we pause, unsure of how to deal with the clear tension in the room.

“So, I’m guessing you guys were fighting and that’s why you look like that.” Anya points out bluntly.

I can feel my cheeks burn a little as I realize why everyone is looking at me so confused, trying to keep my face from turning too red.

“Yeah. That’s what happened. Don’t worry, I took care of him. I think he might actually be willing to talk now.”

“I’m sure you did,” Buffy added with slight suspicion in her tone. “Make sure to talk to him then if he’s ready.” She nods, changing the topic as she goes back to talking about whatever it was they were discussing before that I had no interest in at the moment.

As soon as Buffy says something I notice a flash of held laughter on everyone’s faces, even if they do know, nobody seems to care too much. Though, I can feel the judgment, only a little. But at this point, I don’t have the energy to care.

Taglsit (you can be added or removed at any point. If you used to be on my taglist and don’t see your username, let me know so I can update it. Same goes for if you want to be removed):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @americanwh0rerstory @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch @n0tonlin3

[faineantgrl]

roaring knight character analysis

note: i will try to use they due to the fact we do not know the character yet, but i will be using "she" to break up any repetitiveness. at the end i will be talking about why this all points away from carol but i will not implicate anyone else.

video sources: x x x

we're going to skip over chapter 1 and 2 mentions & before tenna's destruction because ngl I don't think they're very important to this specific analysis i'm doing. that would moreso be plot/intentions and i want to analyze the knight themself.

Pre-CHP3 battle

so already just the way that tenna is sliced is interesting.

as others have pointed out, this is nigh impossible of a pose. so either the roaring knight somehow perfectly hit tenna whilst facing the other way, or hit tenna, then turned around to strike a foreboding pose. either way, we have already been given a flare for the dramatic.

they then hit this pose. now i've heard it's crying but when they're turning into this pose they're seen smiling for a few frames.

so, if they are doing some sort of crying thing, it's definitely on purpose to creep out the lightners more.

im not gonna flood this with screenshots but susie interrupts them trying to take toriel. they back off, but as seen in later chapters, and even later on in the boss fight, they didn't really have a reason to. they could have just blasted susie or something.

then they do Whatever This Is. if we didnt already establish the above you'd think this means they're Pissed, but the lightners aren't really a threat. they never do this again so it seems... it's just to freak out the lightners again.

Non-attack options

any action that is done to try and talk to the roaring knight does, essentially, Jack Shit. the roaring knight does not respond. i do not think this means the knight doesn't care to, as shown above they LOVE being a Freak, but rather that they... kinda can't! this should be kept in mind as we continue.

the everything else in battle

during the attack where the knight splits the Battle Box™️ they continue to strike poses

and then theres this attack

which i can only describe as Entirely Unnecessary. theres leftover code for more combination attacks like these which i can only imagine were left out because they were a little too batshit crazy to survive.

they also overkill the characters, up to -999 hp. you simply just don't gotta do that, mx knight.

and then...

they do. That.

"KB, didn't you just say they don't do the weird body contortion thing again-" yeah! they didn't! if you look closely That Is An Entirely Different Form Than Before (mostly in the "ribs")

and that final dramatic flair! they're not just putting on their best performance for the lightners, but you too!

and then they go "ougofhf... im so Weak,,,,,, you should HIT ME. it would be REALLY BAD if you HIT ME"

"oh no im dyingggg oh gosh-"

"-SIKE."

susie here makes a mistake of falling AGAIN for it

and then gets hit SO HARD that there isn't even an animation

then they get ralsei

and then we get darkness before seeing them "knighting" kris

this change in the pattern intentionally tricks the player into thinking "oh well they're not going to kill kris, maybe they're working togeth-"

SIKE AGAIN

i cannot express to you how funny it is in retrospect how many times the roaring knight tricks the player in one cutscene. like, they know exactly how the player is seeing everything and is using that to not only be super dramatic but to trick them several times IN A ROWWW thats CRAZY

once again we have another moment of the knight letting susie interrupt for unknown reasons. not only is my girl not a threat to the knight normally but she is DOOOWN. either the knight is trying to once again trick the viewer or she has a soft spot for susie. i mean who can blame her everyone does

and now here's her perfectly dodging attacks to show how much of a farce that battle was

and then the roaring knight turns into a bird. i dont know what thats about im not going to lie.

CHP3 conclusion

in conclusion of chapter 3: the knight is a dramatic af trickster who loves a good pose. not only are they putting on a show for the lightners, they're also putting on a show for the player. i almost wonder if they were spending all of chapter 3 getting antsy like "i gotta. i gotta get my freak on. whats taking so long i need to get silly with it"

CHP4 first cutscene

they are, quite literally, waiting for the player. theyve just been standing her this whole time, presumably.

their mouth turns into an eye because of course it does

and then they do THIS. which is entirely unnecessary. as i've said many times.

also note the change in color: before their overlay light thing was pink, but now its red. either they decided pink wasn't threatening enough, or thought pink overlay on blue wasn't gonna fly, and either of these show just how much WORK they put into the act.

and they also just attack susie here for fun i guess since she doesn't actually get downed

and once again they're on that PLAYER TRICKING GRIND

one sword at a time, even if fast, is possible to deal with

nevermind.

the knight also tricks the lightners and player AGAIN because they actually made TWO DARK WORLDS in the church and put a LOCK on the DOOR. IDIOT.

this is also an important moment for the knight's character. it seems they were entirely not planning to make the titan until susie says this. this is SO EXTREMELY PETTY. it's SASSY. it's FABULOUS.

they literally smirk and wait for ralsei to BEG like a cat about to push an item off a counter, waiting for their owner to get upset about the incoming doom before actually doing it.

ive also heard that the titan battle is harder if you end up defeating the roaring knight in chapter 3. the pettiness. the trickery. i literally have no choice but to stan etc etc

IN CONCLUSION

this roaring knight is a DIVA. she is WORKING IT. they are SASSY, DRAMATIC, A TRICKSTER, AND PETTY. they are PERFECT.

...that's also why it can't be carol. carol is the literal antithesis to whatever THIS is. she is no fun allowed. and there is only fun in the roaring knight's ball-court. carol is the harshness of a deadly winter storm, the roaring knight is the snow day spent throwing snowballs at your friends.

minnesota girl i'm incomprehensible daisy dukes winter coat on top ice-kissed skin so cold i'll freeze your popsickle oh woaoaooa oh woahahahah

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Vox, the noisy video box

So Vox may not be my favorite character, but he is probably my favorite redesign. I laugh every time I look at him now. He looks like a weird mix of Spongebob, Kraang(TMNT), and Mr. Electric(Sharkboy and Lavagirl). He absolutely hates it.

Notes under the cut

There's too many twinks in this show. So when I was trying to decide which characters I could change, for body diversity, Vox was an obvious one. He needed more bulk so his body could conceivably support the old TV models. Those things could get heavy. The change also had the side effect of making him shorter, which just worked better proportionately.

I liked the idea that Vox could never get rid of his original bulky 50s TV, but also wanted him to be able to upgrade. So I decided his true body is the 50s TV, and he adds an upgraded monitor for a head as technology improves. He's hates that he's stuck as an old fashioned TV, so he hides that under his suit. Since the monitor is just an addition, it can be swapped out easily. It can be damaged and he's technically unharmed. But he can't see through his suit without the monitor, unless he wants to use a security camera and direct himself 3rd person style.

I didn't like that basically everyone has sharp teeth. It reduces the impact for characters like Alastor or Rosie. So I've been having the default be just sharp canines. But with Vox being a TV, there are so many possibilities. I gave Vox "regular" teeth, which helps him look more trustworthy. It fits the corrupt businessman vibe. But the appearance can change with his mood too.

Color TV became available in the 50s, so Vox always had color vision. But I think it'd be funny if, early on, he had a tendency to glitch out by going into black and white vision when he gets worked up. He's mostly grown out of that glitch, but he can't seem to shake the static or TV color bars, and developed new ones as he integrated computer and internet tech into himself as well. Now he gets the Blue Screen of Death, system errors, and city wide power surges.

Messing around with his face is so fun. When he's bored or tired a Voxtech logo will bounce around like the DVD logo, or display a screensaver. His face can get too big for the screen when he's excited, or be small when he's feeling embarrassed. I need to put a troll face on him at some point. It may be an old meme, but man, it feels right.

His left eye turns red when it's hypnotic, to reference those blue and red 3D glasses.

Of the three Vees, he is absolutely the most powerful. Val and Vel are the content creators, but Vox is the platform. The other two, while still powerful in their own right, would never have gotten to the level they're at if it weren't for Vox. He controls the mainstream media.

--TV set--

So we've got some interesting implications with how he functions. He's a TV, but he blue screens like a computer, and he shorts out the power grid. I think it's safe to say he is more than just a TV, he's a multimedia entertainment center. That, and TVs are starting to really blend with computers these days. He's mainstream media.

At some point, I realized that a TV set was a "set" because it wasn't just a single device. A television set was a collection of components, which boils down to a radio hooked up and synchronized to a visual display. I bring this up mostly because I am a sucker for one-sided radiostatic. It's so funny to me. Vox is obsessed.

But I'm going to refrain from too much theorizing about their relationship. Alastor is absolutely not interested in romance. Nor a QPR. He's not even interested in friendship. Alastor is too invested in power dynamics to really consider anyone a friend. Mimzy is probably the closest he has to a friend, and even that has manipulative elements on both sides. But I'm supposed to be talking about Vox!

--Human Vox!--

He is not tall, haha. But his proportions are a bit taller than his demon form. I wanted to go for square glasses, but I didn't see many examples of that in the 50s photos I found. Oh well! My goal was a sleazy business man. He probably had a variety of jobs, but they primarily involved TV. Commercials, PR, interviews, news, game shows, talk shows, screenwriting, etc. Whatever he could do to get more influence. He found himself favoring the business end of things. Making deals and pulling strings. He decided what would go on the air. He's one of those network executive types.

I see lots of people give him heterochromia, but I don't really see a point to that. He hypnotizes people with his left eye, sure, but it's not a different color. It's not disfigured in any way either. Maybe he just had a tendency to wink at people, I dunno.

I think his death involved some sort of severe skull fracture focused around his left eye. Maybe a car accident, maybe he was shot, idk. Maybe seizures were involved. But he was somewhere in his mid 40s to early 50s. I ended up writing 45, but I'm not super committed to that or anything.

For a human name, I see lots of people calling him Vincent and that's sorta grown on me. So I might go with "Vincent Cox".

And because I fell into another research rabbit hole...

--TV evolution--

(below) 50s-60s CRT TV: TV sets were treated as furniture and there could be some very interesting cabinet designs. Color TV was introduced in the 50s, but wasn't quite profitable until the late 60s.

(below) 70s-80s CRT TV: Color TV became more affordable and commonplace.

(below) 90s CRT TV

(below) 2000s CRT to Plasma and LCD TVs: The three display technologies competed, but LCD won out in the end. Plasma and early LCD didn't look substantially different. Plasma was a little bulkier, but was still slimmer than CRT.

2010s and on: LCD improved with LED backlighting. But then OLED removed the need for backlighting entirely, which mixed the benefits of plasma and LCD. (Didn't bother to find a picture example. It's so close to modern at this point)

--Display technology-- (These overviews are very simplified)

CRT(Cathode Ray Tube)--Used through the 1900s to approx 2010. Monochromatic until Color TV developed aroung the 1950s. Worked via vacuum tubes and electron gun that lit up the pixels. They were bulky, heavy, and used a whole lot of power. Widely considered obsolete and no longer made. Video games made while these were in use tend to look better in CRT, since the graphics accounted for the image quality.

Flat screens-

PDP (Plasma Display Panel): Used from early 2000s to approx 2015. Used gas cells that light up pixels when electrically charged. Good image quality and good contrast, but expensive, heavy, and used a lot of power. Considered obsolete and no longer made, despite still having a desirable image quality.

Plasma and LCD competed in the 2000s to early 2010s as CRT popularity waned. LCD eventually won out due to weight and overall cost(including market price and energy efficiency).

LCD (Liquid Crystal Display): Introduced for TV around the same time as Plasma. Works via a liquid crystal layer with a backlight. Slim, decent image quality, energy efficient. Viewing angle matters because image colors are warped at wide angles. Cheaper than plasma. There are two main backlighting types:

--CCFL(Cold Cathode Fluorescent Light): Used fluorescent lighting for the backlight. Image quality was decent, but didn't have good contrast. (the blacks were never truly dark because of the backlight)

--LED(Light Emitting Diode): An LCD that uses LEDs instead of CCFL for the backlighting. Better contrast and efficiency than using CCFL.

OLED(Organic LED): Mixes strengths of plasma and LCD. Self emitting LEDs. No backlight or LCD panel needed, which improves contrast(about as good as plasma was, which is why plasma is basically obsolete now).

--QD-OLED(Quantum Dot- OLED) Adds a layer of Quantum dots to an OLED to improve color gamut. I think. I can't let myself fall too far into this rabbit hole, so I'm not double checking anymore.

((Feb 12, 2025-updated tags)