#he should be repenting always i think. anyway

[jjungxkook]

blackout | jjk

⇥ pairing: roommate!jungkook x reader

⇥ genre: best friends to lovers, roommate and college au, fluff, crack, smut

⇥ rating: 18+

⇥ warnings: swearing, he’s just a bit of a fuckboy, bickering, swooning over/thirsting for jk (🤷‍♀️), a manually induced fake blackout? dunno those 2 are odd k, they play uno, a lot of spending time in the darkness, kook has no chill, teasing, consent, dirty talk, fingering, cmnf for a while, sexual tension, oral (both receiving), shower sex, choking, hair pulling, reader cries a bit, jk likes to praise, dry humping?, pussy and tits slapping rip (and some ass ig), making out🙄, manhandling, jk loves her tits and ass and plays with them (a lot), he’s sweet but cocky too, protected sex, dom + big dick kook

⇥ wc: 14.3k

⇥ author’s notes: this is a repost from my old blog!! i may repent for my sins. also i do not know why this is so long, i thought it would be 10k rip please i apologize. anyways, i really hope you like it!! i’m very stoked to find out what you think😶‍🌫️

⇥ summary: Utility bills shooting up like this should be an international crime. Luckily, Jungkook has the perfect idea(s) to save up money and make your night sinfully unforgettable.

–

pt1 || pt2 || pt3

–

The hardness of the bench is tiring out your ass.

It’s incredible to you what tribulations you’re ready to burn through just to keep your best friend happy and satisfied. The blazing noon sun is steaming your scalp, even though in the middle of fall, it really shouldn’t.

Fingers wrapped around the edge of your seat, you lean forward and squint your eyes. You make out the energized individual running across the field immediately. Nevermind that he promised you football but you got soccer instead.

You wouldn’t dare to complain, though. In the summer heat, lopsided beams and big, dark puppy eyes refresh you like the late night Tequila Sunrises you love so much.

“Are you playing or taking a walk?” You yell from where you watch. Childish howling and woahhhhs echo across the field, fists pressed against round mouths and eyebrows skyrocketing.

They strive off anyone’s praises, really, but your unfaltering coaching pushes them forward a good, humongous step. In fact, you only recognize about a handful of the players, though there aren’t that many anyway.

No one running around down there cares much about authentic formations. The game usually played with eleven screaming, pumped members on each side only consists of four per team today.

It’s entertaining: The constant curses that always evolve into dramatic compliments, the loud and ambitious handshakes when they score, and the testosterone dissolving in the air, but only after the scent has wafted straight into your nostrils.

And the verbal invitations Jungkook hands out to you every week with pouting lips might play a role, too, yeah. He doesn’t like to make you wait like he does right now, but he doesn’t necessarily enjoy distance from you much, either.

A buff man in his mid-twenties, attractive beyond Greek gods’ appearance, highly determined and ready to indulge in new hobbies – relies on you, even after years of independence.

Seeing you watch and cheer him on boosts his already steadfast ego, and he’s never failed to let you know that, “It feels different from when other girls scream my name.”

You wish you could take it as a compliment, but the consistent ambiguity in his (bitter)sweet words fatigues your heart. The beat of it is not so consistent.

The crush has been omnipresent since you learned the first steps of stupid algebra, but lately, something in your lower belly has shifted weirdly, too.

Today, the shift shows in the way you clench the edge of your seat.

You hear the boys announce the end of their groundbreaking, world changing match, though you can’t recall who won, and observe the languid steps Jungkook takes toward the bench.

Energy slowly dwindling, he puffs out a deep breath, unaware that something inside you dies when he throws back the damp hair. His white, sleeveless shirt is sticking to his broad, firm chest – the refined pecs, abs and bare arms might not have triggered your embarrassing drooling if the last weeks hadn’t changed your perception of him.

There are, for instance, the filth-riddled noises when he’s fucking one of his occasional flings to the moon. Or how those exact same groans of his repeat when he heaves something that perhaps does not even require this low ass growl.

The sounds when he’s repairing something at your place or stretching after waking up. How you wish you could add to those sounds by delivering your very own, unique version of the female moans you usually hear from his room.

You could blame it on sex deprivation, or you could blame the outrageous line of his jaw, but you think the walls of your pussy have deformed and become dick-shaped. Welcoming a certain something that's definitely better than your beloved toys, according to the sounds at least.

This yearning feels kind of weird.

Jungkook has stopped not too far from you. He lifts his inked, veiny hand to wave and then reaches for his bottle to hydrate. And hydrating he does – in a way so alluring that you think he’s doing it on purpose.

Flashing the jawline of nightmares, he cuts you from afar. Sharp, more hazardous than in his teenage years. A phenomenal bone structure, accentuated by the shine of the tiny sweat drops. Shimmering golden skin.

When he drinks, you see his Adam’s apple bop even from here. His bicep is hard, bangs falling into his eyes, and his pink lips wrap around the bottle so prettily…

Thirst.

You and he both know how it feels.

Your mouth shuts close before he can notice. Instead you cup your hands around your mouth and call out to him.

“You do know we have an appointment today, right?”

“Your dick appointments can wait,” he yells back. When you roll your eyes to the back of your head, mumbling gross, the dork chuckles. “I’ll be done in a sec.”

He wraps stuff up, running back to his friends, and claps his hands before giving everyone a last handshake-bro-five-mix. The fondness you feel watching his social side bloom is blissful torture.

Jungkook grew up as a timid caterpillar, shying away from crowds and public gatherings. Opening up took a while, so you can’t remember when he went through the process of metamorphosis to come out prettier than a Cramer’s Blue Morpho butterfly.

He's still somewhat introverted, but doesn't back away from parties anymore. Red cups fill with intoxication. Bodies sashay past him, some toward him to fall into his grip.

You don’t want to be envious – so you’re proud instead. You enjoy when he’s liked by someone, love how the others grin at him. A likable and soft person like him taking over hearts left and right either platonically or not is kind of attractive to you.

“I’ll wash up,” his voice declares when he’s standing next to you. “And then we go.”

“Aren’t you gonna take a proper shower?”

“Yeah, later tonight. College showers are gross.”

Your conversations are a constant repetition. The way you act around each other, your gazes and your actions were bound to become a routine – if not during your time growing up together, then certainly when you began searching for a place to share.

So his response doesn’t surprise you. Neither does the further waiting on the bleachers, pulling in your knees, draping your arms around them to press your cheek against them. Daydreaming and watching or listening boy after boy leave the field.

Despite the familiarity of everything, you still feel different these days.

–

“After last time, I feel like you’re asking for too much.”

The man, not exactly happy about missing a live match of tennis but not quite grumpy today either, leans against the frame of his door. White, wet tresses peek through his dark mane, an indicator he just showered to enjoy the calm day you interrupted.

Jungkook’s hair was as wet as his when you left the bleachers too, now fully dry as you stand in your old but cozy building.

How could it not be?

Considering the dozen stops between campus and your home, you could possibly dry an entire laundry in that time. Both of you are at fault, though – one of the million things you’re good at doing together is wasting money on stuff you might not necessarily need.

Convenience store, pharmacy and a flower shop to buy yet another succulent for your room. Jungkook pouted and frowned at you for the entirety of the convenience store visit when you told him the landlord thing wasn’t an appointment per se, but that he knew as well as you that you needed to sort things out.

Things being the impossible utility bills that keep you up at night. Things being both your stupidity to still halt in front of shops to acquire things like parsley and cheese.

Remembering just this idiocy and looking at the power your landlord’s eyes hold, you’d rather look at Jungkook than him.

At the shiny hair tips hanging into your friend’s eyes. The oversized gray shirt that could potentially hide the body he sports underneath, but his fingers are holding the strap of his rucksack, and the pull at his shirt is enough to make the lines of his chest visible.

But this afternoon is not about brooding over the edges of his torso. It’s about confronting a landlord who fortunately didn’t meet you in a hazardous mood despite his firm plans for tonight. He doesn’t complain about the weather today or seem elated because he found yet another new hobby, like he usually does.

He looks almost neutral, you think. You can’t read him, actually.

“Yes,” you confirm, exchanging a look with Jungkook. “It does sound like a lot, but you know you can count on us–”

“Dunno. You don’t seem to remember last time.”

The taunting tone riles you up, but the numbers on your bills haunt you enough to keep your calm. This is no time for an argument.

You take a breath and shoot another glance at Jungkook. His eyes are tremendously big and lips pressed together to an innocent, uplifting smile. He seems to sense your irritation, too.

“We do,” you confirm. “But c'mon, that's not fair. We’d just started living on our own back then. You know, no guardians to take care of us and all, so it was bound to happen.”

Not just that. The reason why you asked for postponing rent payment was because the two of you had been too eager and too stubborn to ask anyone for money. Ending up only providing half of the rent for almost three months wasn’t something you did on purpose.

But while you should’ve been more cautious, to some degree, it wasn’t entirely your fault. You had more college debt than you could afford only half a year after moving to this apartment, and Jungkook’s earnings weren’t close to what you needed.

“I really don’t know.” Yeah. The man’s doubts are kind of valid.

“C’mon… You know us, Mister Choi,” Jungkook tries this time.

“That’s why–”

“You can…” You suddenly interrupt, only noticing how things might backfire once you’ve already said them. “You could end our lease if we don’t pay you what we owe you this time.”

You think you can quite literally hear Jungkook’s heart stop next to you. At least that’s what his wide eyed, confused stare suggests when he moves his head to you. He’s voicing something in silent hesitation, but Choi most likely doesn’t notice.

Because before Jungkook can throw in his own–probably very unsure–two cents, hand coming up, the landlord sighs. He shrugs his shoulders, mumbling your last names, contemplates for a second longer and then… Agrees.

“Okay,” he says with a not-my-problem-nod. “That’s an idea I can work with. This month’s and at least half of next month’s by the end of the upcoming month, alright?”

You hate the constant repetition of the frightening word month, but on the inside you still jump and clap in joy. Both your and Jungkook’s expressions light up, your feet shifting as though you’re about to jump Choi and tackle-hug him to the ground.

Instead, you only gasp, clearing your throat and cheer, “This is! More than we expected! Thank you so much. Thank you for real for real, seriously, wearesosuperth–”

A palm stops the fast flow of your gratitude, and he only shakes his head and bids you goodbye with a thumbs up before he disappears behind his door. You think you see a fond smile, but your happiness might just be inducing pictures.

But who cares anyway?

Phase One of Saving Money turned out successful.

–

Once you enter your humble apartment, tension releases out of your mouth with your sigh. You slip your bag off your shoulder and into the corner next to the entrance, shoulders dropping. Every second with the landlord took a year from your lifespan.

Jungkook, always happy-go-lucky, isn’t as demotivated and grumpy as you. His steps carry him to your kitchen without a second thought, immediately scavenging the small space for an easy meal.

“What do we do now?” You whine, leaning against the dining table.

The sun is still up and it will remain hanging in the azure blue sky for a few more hours. But you dread the darkness that will descend after – not because it scares you, but because it means you’ll have to light up rooms for ideal navigation.

But lighting them up means raising the numbers on your electricity bill.

Jungkook, however, doesn’t pay much mind to your shattering financial situation right now. He’s humming at the pots and seasoning he’s scattered around on the counter, calm as ever, because worrying about something he can’t change right now is not something he likes to do.

“First, we eat. Am starving,” he decides.

A slight shake of your head suggests frustration, but the grumble of your stomach agrees with him as though to remind you of feeding it. He side eyes you and smirks. “I’m not doing or talking about shit until you’ve eaten something.”

Of course. Caretaker first, friend second. If you’re not on the receiving end, you’re the one giving.

You push your butt off the dining table and choose to introduce Phase Two of your mission, telling him, “I think we’ve candles somewhere.”

The conversation changes at once when you release your suggestion into the air. Although you might argue you’re still stuck on the same issue, given the intention that lies behind your idea.

“Are we– Ouija board stu– again?” You hear Jungkook call from the kitchen, every other word chopped off and eaten by the sounds of pots and dishes.

“I’m not ever doing that with you again,” you exclaim back.

“Huh? Why not?”

“You were moving the planchette!”

Granted, there was kindness in his cheating. The evening drained you out of energy and left you a nervous mess, eager to speak to your favorite late grandaunty and her deceased dog. Neither Jungkook nor you believed in the magic behind the practice, but he made sure to soothe your nerves anyway.

You were pissed when you noticed what was going on – but once the anger subsided and gave way to the realization that he really cared, you fell asleep with a smile after all.

“I swear on my favorite hoodie that I didn’t,” he defends.

“Lying son of a bitch,” you whisper, laughing to yourself as you kneel in front of a cupboard storing a few dozen candles and other shenanigans.

You choose one scented, thick one for each room, and then a few smaller, regular ones that you think must do. With a handful of them, you return to the still bright living room, placing each one where you want it later tonight.

You’re serious about your candles – the tongue poking out, eyes squinting in concentration kind of serious. Arranged in a rational way, you beam at your artwork, impressed by your own idea as if it’s not something human beings used to do all the time.

“Seriously, you’re so easy to excite,” Jungkook always reiterates.

Once you join him in the kitchen, preparing not only a meal but spontaneously baking a treat too, time passes significantly faster. In hindsight, you didn’t do that much today, but somehow it still feels like you sailed the world.

You barely realize when several topics have shifted and the sun has disappeared. The moon hangs bright in the dark sky, the brisk gust blowing in through the open windows. It was a pleasant day of the week, even though you kept freezing at his touch even while cooking, and you’re ready to finish it just as lovely.

Only, it doesn’t end at dinner and the day’s exhaustion.

“Dessert tastes better in bed,” Jungkook tells you once you’ve done the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. Since tidying up, you’ve suddenly become quieter than before and his eyes squint like they’re testing you.

“Okay? Then go and take it with you.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

He shrugs his shoulders, blowing a raspberry. “You’ll go and sleep already?”

“No, but…” You hum and think. It’s not that late just yet – and you don’t feel like tackling homework or any other taxing task tonight. “I do wanna eat dessert, too. Just thought we might chill in the living room.”

“I mean. Take it as an informal invitation to spend some time with me, but in my room. You don’t wanna?”

“Pervert,” you lightly hit his shoulder with a cloth when he winks. “Is that how you court other ladies?”

“Why, yes. What did you think?” He laughs when you shake your head dramatically, pulling your shirt back and further over your clavicles. “Nah, I was thinking of… Just chilling, really.”

It’s not the first time you’re joking in a way like this. It’d also not be the first time of you hanging out with him in his room, on his bed, giggling about stupid jokes or ridiculous cartoons. Or whatever.

But it’s one of the first times the thought renders you nervous. Like you’re perceiving him as more than your best friend just now, after all those years of harmless platonic cuddles.

When you don’t answer, he delivers another decisive argument. “My room is smaller. Less candles. More to spare for the next time!”

You’re not surprised that he sees through your little idea – rather baffled how easy it is for him to sway you. So you follow him to his minimalistically organized room, not one but two diffusers on his desk. The corner of your lips twitches.

The more you near his bed, the more your heart strikes. His mattress is soft and cozy, and Jungkook’s scent oozes from every inch of it. You feel engulfed in his presence so bad that the emotions of this noon and the last few weeks hit you like a brick.

“Wanna watch something, Pumpkin?” Jungkook asks once you’re draped in the comfort of his duvet.

He might never stop calling you that. Probably hasn’t let a day pass since elementary school when your mom and you decided to dress you as a damn pumpkin for Halloween.

“And waste precious battery life?” You scold with a cocked eyebrow. Your voice is quieter now that you’re cuddled in with him, but you try to maintain your cool.

Turning on the living room TV or light is out of the question anyway. No regular Thursday movie night this time. Blasting Disney’s version of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice for the hundredth time can wait.

With the no-technology-rule you established today, even unplugged devices shall remain for emergencies as long as possible.

“So we’ll act like it’s a full blown blackout, yeah?” He asks before he leans over you, pulling open the second drawer of his bedside cabinet to rummage through its content.

The small action forces your body backward, pushing you against the headboard so tight that your lungs fail. He looks unsuspecting, drenched in the warm light of the candles. You breathe him in unintentionally, and he smells of soap and cologne.

Wrapped in darkness next to him is already strange as it is, but it cannot compare to the oddness of how new his proximity feels.

You barely notice what he’s fished out until he waves it right in front of your frozen expression. An old deck of Uno greets your vision, the packaging as worn out as the cards that he pulls out.

He places them on his large palm before he begins shuffling them – staring at the smoothness he operates with makes you almost miss what he asks.

“Is that good enough, then?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool,” he holds the cards to your face once more. “Are we playing with seven or ten cards?”

“Take it up a notch,” your feeble voice allows. “Make it fifteen just for funsies.”

“Why did I know you’d say that?”

You shrug your shoulders, imperceptibly shifting away from the touch of his arms and hips. “Remember one thing, Jeon.”

“Yeh, yeh,” he taunts, his voice strained. He sounds as though his body is beseeching him to lay down and drift off – but something about the moment seems to be keeping him soberly awake. “I won’t let you win this time.”

Fifteen cards down on your lap, you lift your hands from under the blanket, pulling your set close to your face in utter distrust. You cock an eyebrow at the universe’s choice: Jungkook has either already broken his promise, or the gaming Gods have decided this round’s end already.

With the victory residing in your hands, his vow pretty much slips your mind immediately; it blends out how he still remembers your middle school matches. He really still recalls when you’d fume and burn – disappointed and livid when he’d reveal his picture-perfect deck, unused to accept defeat.

The game doesn’t even properly progress when the first argument of the night pops up. More than half your cards are still in your hands, both your words overlapping.

“Once you lay down a 4+ or color card, you’re not allowed to play again. It’s my turn,” you insist, his wrist in your firm grip as if he couldn’t break out of it whenever.

“I am allowed to play, though.” When he swings his hand, yours moves with him. Both your stances are upright, eyes blown wide and comically riled up. “Especially after a 4+. You're blocked.”

“This doesn’t sound right.”

“Look.” He slaps his cards with the logo upwards into his lap, sifting through the rest of the deck to draw out a yellow stop card. “Would you be able to play on if I hit you with that?”

“No, ‘course not.”

“And 4+ cards work the same way.”

You keep staring at the bright color, lost in thoughts and traveling back to a time when the world around you hadn’t altered every rule of every game you knew. But when no productive result flashes through your mind, you suggest something else.

“Google it, then.”

“You can’t just read the rules? Hold up,” he pulls out the instructions from the package, already fiddling with the paper. “I bet the answer is hidden somewhere in there.”

“Have fun. I can’t read in this darkness for shit.”

Relying on technology for a minute shouldn’t cause a cataclysmic event, so you type in the million dollar question plaguing both your mind, soon striking it rich when a video materializes on the page.

Too lazy to skim yet another amateur post, you decide to trust WikiHow’s explanation clip, hoping for a fruitful result. Jungkook soon gives up the task he bestowed upon himself, cuddling closer to your misery to watch with you.

“Are we serious?” He breathes, laughing off the peculiarity of the moment.

“Watching a video on Uno rules?” You ask, giggling in unison with him. “I fucking know. We’re seriously weird.”

“How long’s it been since we played games together like that?”

You can’t say for sure.

“When we got this place,” you assume. “Didn’t we spend half the night going through board and card games? Because–”

“Because there was nothing else to do. We were sitting on the ground on some shit ass mattress.”

You laugh. It’s been a while – time truly does pass when you’re stuck with someone. You don’t think you’d ever trade the memories you gathered here for anything good in the world. Piggyback rides and cooking mishaps are a delight to store in the depths of memory.

Or moments when you very clearly, very softly realize that you’re falling for your roommate bit by bit; so much deeper than when you were still kids. For him and his touch. His sensuality, even when it’s unintentional.

Like now.

Jungkook grabs his water bottle from his side of the bed as the voice of the narrator chimes. The background is a bright green and the animation weirdly cute, but you blend it out when he reminds you of the plushness of his lips again. Wrapped around the bottle head…

When you reach the wild card moment, both of your ears perk up before you erupt in simultaneous chaos. Jungkook half chokes as he attempts his one-syllable-argument.

“See!” He exclaims.

“See what? He said, if the player can’t play any of their cards, blah blah... Which, in our case, is me.”

“No, but what player? The one who had the wild card? Or the other?”

“Fuck it,” you curse, clicking away without finishing the last minute. “Another video. WikiHow sucks.”

“Why do I feel like we’re both right and wrong?”

You shake your head in defense and with a furrow between your eyebrows, but the dorky grin on his face pulls out your true, playful emotions in the form of a laugh.

The next clip you settle on goes on for longer, seemingly endless – allowing you enough time to peek at the smooth curves of his silhouette.

His lips are jutted and the moving pictures reflect in his eyes. His button nose begs to be booped. A small dimple appears when the tip of his tongue pushes through the seam of his lips to hydrate them.

You don’t think you’re as subtle as you’d like to be, though. Because soon, he’s looking up, causing a sudden flinch. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

He blinks at you slowly, one eyebrow briefly twitching. “Oh. Are you bored?”

“No! Why?”

“Are you okay, then?” Your tongue flits along the inside of your cheek, muscles stiffer than before. He eyes you up and down. “You’re so tense.”

“It’s just… Just weird,” you stutter. Hesitancy breaks the flow of your usually confident speech, and you flick your inner self’s forehead for the obvious awkwardness. “Sitting in the dark.”

What?

What the fuck.

You need to get yourself together and come up with a wittier response. If he just let you – because he prods, “Are you scared?”

“Wha– Do I look scared?”

“You don’t look normal, at least.”

“That’s rude,” you scold, letting the device fall onto the blanket. Numerous wrinkles decorate your forehead, hiding your true thoughts behind frisky surface-annoyance.

His next words do not freaking help.

“Girls usually like me in the dark.”

“That’s…” Heat of an exploding star warms your already blistering cheeks. “That’s pretty lewd of you to say. And unnecessary, too.”

You’re pouting like it’s the first day of sex ed. Innocence expands your pupils harder than the lack of light in this room. Jungkook can’t help it – fondness engulfs his heart. You’ve always been endearing to an immeasurable degree.

“You’re so cute,” he drops casually. He’s amused by the side eye you give him, laughing when you exhale and rub the sweat off your hands on the blanket. “But seriously, what’s up with you today?”

He nudges your shoulder as a joke, and you hate that years of friendship couldn’t prepare you for a dark, emotion-altering night like this. Hormones and an adult’s desires are the devil’s advocate as much as Jungkook is himself.

“Nothing!”

“Have I done something weird?”

“You’re always weird.”

His shocked gasp dramatizes the moment, lifting the tension in the air enough to overshadow your inept breathing. Any attempt to keep your chill could turn out futile any moment now.

“Fair,” he laughs. “But also rude.”

His soft palm sets upon your knee and the plea you utter to your mind to calm your nerves falls on deaf ears. At his touch, you flinch just a fraction… And immediately, he pauses.

His gaze skyrockets to your seemingly sinless one. Lips part in confusion before his expression changes – like a bulb has lit up in his mind.

And then, the biggest change in topic occurs.

“Could you give me my phone charger?” Lifting his device, he lights up the screen to show the red, drained battery bar. He points to the bedside cabinet again. “First drawer.”

Right.

Jungkook doesn’t keep his charger plugged in at all times like you do. Scared it might burn off. You didn’t expect less when you decided to move in with your best friend, though: Not from the boy who declared his fear of microwaves and their potential to melt dishes ages ago.

You open and hunt through the drawer, surprised at the half emptiness of it until your fingers graze something you might not have anticipated. And then you realize…

Ah. Oh.

What if…

Perhaps that was the plan all along. Because when you look back at him, he doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. The calmness in his eyes is telling enough to guess his intentions – but you don’t want to assume for sure yet.

Your touch remains on the little–open–box for a second, one sealed package peeking out. An absolutely fresh condom… One of Jungkook’s no less.

What’s happening today?

“What’s up?” He asks, and you almost huff at the stupid, fabricated innocence in his stupid, soothing voice.

“I think,” you lean back, attempting a laugh. “I just found your most prized possession.”

“Ah?” He waits, and you nod. “Is that weird to you?” A nonchalant shrug of your shoulders spurs him on, the tilt of his head perilous. “It’s not the first time you’re seeing those, right?”

Ugh, yeah. You remember all casual visits to drugstores. The vivid image of Durex’ extra large Excite Me, and true to Jungkook’s dedication dotted for extra stimulation.

He usually cares as much about embarrassment between the both of you as you do when you place pads and tampons between his stuff. Why is it weird, then?

“Yeah. It’s just…” You’re stumbling for words. Fuck. It’s over for you. “Reminds me of some of your escapades lately.”

Jungkook hums. “Mhm. There weren’t that many these days, though.”

“I know. Just made me think of those that did happen, y’know?”

“Okay.” He’s still looking at you like he’s solved every piece of the riddle you are tonight. Not any less shameless, though. “Then… What exactly is it that you’re thinking about those escapades?” Huh… There are too many details you’d need to omit in your answer. But the way his stare is stabbing questions into you as if he already knows what you might say?

Yep. You’re fucked.

“Now?” You ask.

“Right now.”

“Nothing.”

God, even he must be bored of the constant repetition. What does nothing still mean in reality? Everything. That’s how your inner translator interprets it, at least.

This time, Jungkook doesn’t let your response slip. His hand, however, does. Up from your knee… Right to your thigh.

The blanket still lays in between, its fabric pivotal for the moment. If it wasn’t there, you might faint. And something in you says that the experience isn’t far.

“Is that what it is?” Jungkook whispers. His voice is deeper now, and so is your sigh. “That must be what it is.”

“Hm?”

“You’ve been tense ‘cause of that? Since soccer training you’ve been looking at me like I’m suffocating you.” Shit. Of course he’d notice. “And now you suddenly feel weird about being close and about condoms? Do you just…” He digs his index finger into your thigh, his cut nail raking your leg with too many layers in between. “Just miss being touched?”

“By… By you?”

“No, Pumpkin. In general.” You don’t have an answer to his quizzing. Or, you do, but you don’t know where it might lead… Nervousness clogs your throat. “Don’t you…”

“What?” You think you can foresee what he’s going to ask, but you put on a curious act anyway. Then, he drops the bomb.

“Don’t you touch yourself?”

Oh God. Someone tell him to shut up. The little workers in your brain are setting your internal office on fire, handling his lax conversation worse than you.

“I’m…” You pause to breathe in shakily, and then laugh to hide your bewilderment. “Of course I do. Everyone does.” You clear your throat. “That’s a really freaking weird and sudden question, though.”

“Not that weird considering how you’ve been acting today. Thought it’s PMS, but you just called in sick ‘cause of your period last week.” Damn, Sherlock. Of course he’d remember – your whining wasn’t subtle after all. And he was the one serving you every meal all day. “So I’m guessing… It’s been a while and things are just worse tonight?”

“Dunno.”

You’re blinking at him. He’s built a Chinese-Wall-strong barrier at the front of his mind, and you can’t peek through it to understand what he’s thinking. Or what he wants. What he wants you to say or want.

It’s incredibly suspicious to you… And kind of tempting.

“Not gonna lie,” Jungkook’s voice drops to a low whisper, his confession worse than you expected. “I think I heard you a few nights before.”

You rip your eyes open in surprise. Your heart runs up to your throat to start hammering against your vocal cords, and for a few syllables, you can’t do much other than stutter and gasp.

“You fucking creep!” You then blurt out, calling yourself a hypocrite internally in the same breath. It’s not like you listened away during his adventures, legs pressed together to create friction.

“I’m sorry,” he lifts his hands in defense. “But you weren’t exactly being quiet. Plus, our walls aren’t that thin.”

You know… Hell, you know.

But how is he initiating the conversation just like that? God, the absolute courage…

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you curse. You bring your fingers to your eyes, rubbing them rather than hiding your entire face. “That’s fucking embarrassing.”

But Jungkook softly brings your hand down again – then speaks to reassure you. Only, anything he says tonight makes matters worse.

“Would it help if I told you it wasn’t embarrassing for me?”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It just sounded…”

He procrastinates, his expressions calm but his eyes dangerous. Hooded.

“Bad?” You dig.

“No. It sounded hot.”

No. No, your heart and body can’t handle this. You might die if you don’t push his admissions into the most disbelieving corner of your brain.

Jungkook finds you hot? The sounds you couldn’t hide, he likes them? He means it?

“Shut the fuck up, I’m–” You begin, but he replaces your rebukes with a deep inhale and stiff muscles when he moves closer.

Your back presses against the bedside cabinet. Now that the flickering candle is melting down, its light is getting dimmer and the room darker. Bright enough to still make out his silhouette and most alluring features.

The phone has long fallen from between your fingers, hiding in the blanket and the video long over. Somehow, you’re glad you disabled autoplay – it doesn’t disturb the moment that’s clearly progressing to something dangerous.

But at the same time, you’re surprised as hell. Asking yourself silently over and over again, whatsgoingonwhatsgoingon.

“What are you doing?” You whisper.

“I’m just wondering.” His body is tilted, one hand still on your thigh. “When you do stuff to yourself… Is there something specific you think of?”

You shift a little, not answering. When he sees the surprise in your eyes and confuses it with fear, however, he backs away again and clicks his tongue. “My bad. Sorry for being like that.”

But you’re not letting him retreat now… Things have come too far. You place a hand on his arm and tug him closer subtly. His already big eyes look humongous now, positively delighted, even when you keep struggling with words.

“No, I just…” You try but fail as soon as you start.

“Why are you stuttering like that? That’s not you.”

You wish he was wrong. You’re more confident than this in any other moment. Crazy what one Jeon Jungkook’s touch can do.

You swallow hard, delivering a mental slap before pieces of your courage resurface again.

“This is new to me,” you tell him.

“What is?”

“The way we’re talking to each other. It’s not nothing…” You look down to seek the emoji on his middle finger, barely recognizable in the darkness. “And you’re… You’re good looking, Jungkook.”

“Yeah,” he agrees cockily, but you know his humility enough to understand he doesn’t mean it. Those are shameless teases, nothing more. “And?”

“You’ve always been good looking. And on top of that, I can always hear how you sound when you…”

Should you really go there? What if it damages something? Then again, it’s too late now anyway.

“When I…?” He tries.

“I kinda don’t wanna say it, and I know you know what I mean.”

“Ah, right,” Jungkook casually confirms, like he’s just realized what you might be pointing at. “When I fuck someone’s brain out.”

You suck in a breath.

“Don’t say it like that!”

“How do you want me to say it?” Jungkook taps his chin with his finger. He looks like a sly anime college crush. “I kindly empty their thoughts.”

“Shut up.”

“And rearrange their guts–”

“Oh my God, I’ll–”

Do what? Your own guts are pleading for a good, nasty and disrespectful mess. Wobbly pudding on his bed, your body is already melting at the mere thought… So you can’t imagine what actual ferity could do if he unleashed it.

Unknowing what to say, you look away, moving back like a proper idiot. But suddenly, pressure wraps around your wrist, fingers pulling you into him. You look at him speechlessly, parting your lips when he looks down at them.

“Is there something you want me to do?” He asks.

There’s a myriad of things you want him to do. But there’s slight doubt knocking against the walls of your brain and – ugh…

“Is it okay for us to do such a thing?” You question back.

“I don’t know,” he confesses quietly, his breath pleasant against your lips. “Say no just once and I promise I’ll back away.”

“And… And if I don’t?”

“Answer first.” He tilts his head, big eyes too pure and sweet for the conversation going on. “Or… Well, don’t.”

You remain silent. Hot blood turns your face as warm as a grill, and you look at him and his smile. Your heart rebels in your throat, but your thoughts are sober. So once he sees the clearness in your stare, he understands.

“Alright.”

It’s the last word he whispers before his hand wanders up your pajama pants. He fiddles with the neat knot holding your pajama around your waist, playing with it for a moment until patience runs out.

Soft fingertips tug at the end of the strings until the hem of the pants loosens around you. His eyes shoot up to yours, hiding menacingly behind his bangs. You don’t know what for–perhaps for permission–but you nod.

“Can you lift a bit for me?” His voice is soothing, calm and lovely when he utters his demand as a question. If you listen closely, you hear the desire, though.

You raise your ass, letting him slip the pajama down your thighs. When your body presses back into the mattress, your hands move to his face, making him look at you. The front of his tongue darts out, trapped between his teeth and his eyes are dark and starry. Lost in you.

His teeth let his tongue go, sliding it across his lower lip… Goddammit, you want to taste it.

When he skims over your panties and now bare thighs, your eyes blink close. He watches and adores your reaction; skims your dampness below. Jungkook acts as fuel, even though you’re already incredibly flammable.

The hums that accompany your slight wiggle are gentle, contrasting the losing of your mind going on in your head.

“More?” He wants to know.

“Mhmmm.”

“Okay. Good, Pumpkin.”

You’d smile at the ridiculous childhood endearment if the moment wasn’t so sinful. If he wasn’t grazing your pelvis, causing goosebump as he goes, pulling at the thin fabric until you lift once again.

He chuckles, a sound that reaches deep within your chest. “Good girl. Learning fast.”

Is he serious?

He can’t just drop a good girl like that as if he’s announcing a brief walk through a nearby park. What the fuck.

“Stop it,” you mutter, unaware why exactly.

“Want me to stop? We’re just starting,” he chants, his pout playfully childish and cute.

But the fingers. Oh the fingers rounding the skin right over the sensitive nub. Playing with you like you’re his own personal doll, wrapping you around his skillful, strong and incredibly beautiful fingers.

His touch drops deeper when you whisper an inaudible wish; whatever it is, he thinks he knows what you want. Featherlightly, he presses down on your clit, and you cry out quietly.

You fall back against the headboard again, your hands in his hair and tugging at the strands at the nape of his neck. One blink of his eyes passes and he’s snaking an arm under you, pulling you down and flat onto your back.

“You alright, yeah?” Jungkook makes sure, elated when you nod enthusiastically. “Good. Very good.”

His face is close to yours but doesn’t remain there: As he caresses your clit, shaking up your lower belly, his mouth dives in and finds home between your tits. He breathes you in before he presses a kiss against the shirt hiding your skin.

“Jungkook…”

“Mmmh.” He looks up at your chin, your head thrown back. “Say, Pumpkin…” He blows at your left nipple, well aware that you never wear a bra at home, and watches it perk under the shirt. Then, his teeth catch the material before he lets go and speaks on. “May I see those pretty tits of yours?”

“Nnnh,” is all you can give back. “Yes.”

Happily, the unoccupied hand lifts the white tee until he touches the underside of your boobs; his touch covers something you reckon he might enjoy. With his face hovering over yours, you wonder how long it will take him to notice.

Nothing yet at least.

His hand pauses there and then lifts the shirt over your mounds. He palms one of them, relishing your mewls. The sigh lets his voice fall some more, enticing when his mind numbing talk continues, “Hello there, girls.”

Jesus fucking Christ…

Why is this so hot to you?

His hair tickles your clavicles before his tongue does the same to your hard nubs. Wrapping his lips around your nipple, he pulls at it, then releases it to repeat it all. All while his fingers float down to your hole.

And then…

Palms pushing your thighs apart under the crumbled up blanket, he doesn’t wait another second before he drops to his side next to you and dips his middle finger inside. Slowly at first, easing you into the process, but it does nothing to avoid the sudden term that falls out of you.

“Fuck, baby, this is–”

You realize your mistake–mistake?–when his finger halts mid action. But once he proceeds, lifting his head to kiss your jaw, you don’t see a single trace of embarrassment or shame. No, he rather jumps onto the train with you.

“Easy, kitten.”

The new nickname forces your head to fall sideways to face him – your lips come to touch, but he doesn’t take it a step further. His eyelids fall half close, mouth not moving against yours; but you can’t really kiss anyway with the way he urges moan after moan out of you.

His finger starts pumping in and out of you, your walls contracting around him. There’s thought in his actions. He doesn’t just push in and pull out like a wildling – no, the curve of his digit, the tempo he chooses and the patch he massages inside you must be calculated.

Adding a second finger does nothing but amplify this feeling.

In his hold, you’re a little less squirmy than you might be without his touch. He keeps you grounded, controlling the wiggle of your body, allowing you to bite into your fist until he grabs your wrist and pushes it against the mattress.

“Nuh-uh,” he warns. Your eyes crack open a slit. “Stop muffling your sounds. Why would you?”

“I’m just…” You shake your head. “Self-conscious… Okay?” God, words are hard. “Y’don’t see me naked… Every day.”

“Absolutely outrageous if you ask me,” he breathes, knuckles deep inside you. There, he remains, merely moving his fingers inside without pulling out anymore. You hide half your face in the pillow. “Fuck, look at me.”

The danger and irritation in his voice sober up a piece of your mind, but the sudden emptiness when his fingers vanish shake you awake with a snap. An utterly wet touch trails along your thigh and then up your sides. He doesn’t give a fuck about the state of his blanket.

Letting go of your wrist, he pushes aside the fallen phone that his ass touches, and stops with everything altogether. Reaches behind him and then shoves the device to a far top corner of the bed.

“That’s good,” Jungkook whispers once he’s cozy with you again. Watching your breathing, dizzy form. “We don’t have to charge the phone and waste electricity that way, right?”

“Shut up…” is all your brain and tongue allow.

He clicks his tongue. “Alright, you killjoy.” A sudden slap to your overflowing pussy renders you speechless. But not him. “I’ll use my mouth elsewhere then, k?”

You’re still a mess in disbelief. Can’t comprehend that he’s actually saying those words in this exact constellation. You might think you’re dreaming if the squeezes of his hands and the dampness of his tongue didn’t prove you otherwise.

Crawling down your body, he makes sure to ruin every patch of your skin. He licks along your collarbones and gently bites at your tits. His palms love the feeling of your chest, nails digging in… And he only stops when he reaches a very particular something.

You feel his movements freeze clearly. He smacks his lips, and when you look at him, he looks surprised. Delightfully so.

“What’s that?”

There it is.

He watches your lips curl to a satisfied smile and your eyelids shut as he brushes his finger over the spot under your tits. Squinting, he removes more of the blanket, hoping the dim light of the candle might allow him a deeper look.

The black color isn’t as faded as the ink on his hand or arm, so it must be a recent sin you went for. You hum in innocence, opening your eyes again to barely catch the shake of his head as he repeats his question.

“What is that, huh?” He exhales the last word, breathing against you. Then kisses the skin underneath the tattoo. “You weren’t even gonna tell me about it?”

“Figured you might find out one day…”

He laughs quietly, hiding his fascination. But you know he’s still mesmerized, staring at the little thing, distracted even when he responds. “Is that so? You tease.”

Dipping down, an open mouthed kiss lands on top of your tattoo. His hands push your tits together, his mouth working on worshiping the tiny piece of skin that has captured him. His kiss is greedy to the touch, his breaths cold against the saliva he left once he lifts his face again.

“A crown, yeah? That what it is, isn’t it?”

The pleasant satisfaction in his voice is apparent, but you think you even hear bits of irritation – like he’s annoyed that you didn’t tell him about this. Like he’d dove into you earlier if you had.

“Hey, a lil feeling of royalty is never…” You stop when he pecks your tummy. His lips run along your stomach until they reach your pelvis. “Ohhhfff… You’re close.”

“I’ll keep going, alright?”

You let out more incoherent sounds, something between a moan and a hum. The anticipation is unbearable, but the fact that Jungkook is still fully dressed and his cock yet aching to be discovered by you might be worse.

With the blanket fully off of you, his lips explore your body, so close to where you want him. His right hand still lingers where the tattoo is eternalized in your skin, and according to his next words, his mind isn’t less hung up on it, either.

“Your tattoo matches mine, y’know?” He informs you as if you haven’t seen the crown on his index finger a few million times. The digit that’s digging into your hungry cunt again, along with another finger showcasing an emoji that must be looking like you right now. “We can both be royalty, don’t you think, princess?”

“My God, shut up,” you order. Your insides cringe, even though you’re sure you wouldn’t be opposed to him calling you that godforsaken nickname once again.

His giggle is Jungkook-ish sweet, but the hands that pry your legs open are not. Less even when he pushes them down onto the mattress as much as your joints allow, distracting you from the pull of your muscles when his nose nuzzles your pelvis.

The tip of his tongue touches your sacred part first. It’s just a slight dip, testing the waters. But your ocean is wild and its waves crash against the pit of your stomach.

“Didn’t think you’d be responsive right away,” he admits, only pausing to place a gentle kiss on your clit. “Then again, I haven’t seen a dude at our place in ages.”

“Asshole,” you curse, eliciting another deep snicker that vibrates right against your cunt.

Then, the jokes end and his stance changes. He takes a deep breath and then lowers his head once and for all. Leaving a trace of kisses riles you up enough, though things only get worse once his tongue darts out, starting a gentle dance in a captivating pattern.

He collects spit on the muscle in his mouth, pulling out the fingers out of you to spread your folds. Watching your pussy shimmer and leak, he laps up the arousal meant for just him. His cock stretches his favorite joggers, and he moves his hips against the bed for relief.

Buried deep, he moves to your clit to close his lips around it for a moment before he french kisses your pussy. Then, he repeats it all – only this time, the tip of his tongue moves in a perfect circle around your sensitive nub for a bit longer.

Slowly, softly, and then he stops.

“Wait…” you interrupt, blindly grabbing a patch of his hair. “Do that again. Please.”

The hushed desperation in your voice makes his sweatpants strain impossibly. His balls already ache.

“Like that?”

“Yeah… Yep.”

You arch your back and let your mouth fall open when his fingers return inside you, tongue imitating the motions from before. For a while, your moans and uncontrolled, quiet, peaceful sounds motivate and inflame him.

But once he begins yearning for your taste again, he swaps. His curved digits pull out of you, thumb taking his mouth’s place and vice versa. Which feels… Just as dangerous.

His tongue presses into you, a hand shoving up your right, closing leg. Your thigh stiffens when it feels his fingers deep in your flesh, and when it relaxes again, it falls over his shoulder and onto his back softly.

Zealously, you plant your heel against his shirt, trying not to think about the muscles of his back too hard. Yet, drowning in fervor, you can’t help but push his shirt up, irritated that he’s still wearing so damn much when you’ve already exposed the last of your being to him.

He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t acknowledge your hints yet. Because his focus is still somewhere else – understandably so.

“I knew you’d taste like that,” he confesses when he surfaces to take a breath.

He knew?

You’re panting more than him. Speaking comes to you harder than to him. “Like what?”

“Like absolute heaven,” he exhales at your waterfall-sex, hot and shiver inducing. “Pussy gifted by the angels.”

Oh, you bet he says that to everyone…

“Please don’t treat me like one, though,” you beg.

“Like an angel? Don’t worry. I fear you’re far filthier than I might expect.”

When his words collide with his repeated actions, your eyes water. You whine at the onslaught on your pussy, squirming, and shake your head when your insides somersault.

“I… I don’t think I can anymore,” you foolishly say.

Your ears seem to block out any sound, your body revolting. The pressure in your stomach is intense, to say the least. Your fingers and toys surely don’t feel that way.

“It feels like that because you can. I promise,” Jungkook, however, assures.

“This is the… I’ve never…”

It’s true. You’ve never had a build up or an orgasm like this before. Of course not: How could you if he’s drinking in every drop of the arousal dribbling out of you while rendering you wetter at the same time?

He sounds so goddamn lewd when he makes out with your cunt like that. Too filthy… You wonder how his lips will feel against yours if he’s able to do such magic down below already.

“It’s gonna be good… Okay?”

He’s wrong. Good is an absolute understatement.

The force with which your orgasm hits is worse than being run over by a truck. You internally slap everyone in your past who missed to make you feel that way.

You implode and explode, a swarm of cacophonic sounds oozing out of your mouth. You grab his sheets and his blanket so hard that the thoughts in the back of your head fear you might rip something.

Jungkook groans and moans along with you, his mouth and fingers attached to you no matter how much you move. A single tear flees between your shut eyelids, arousal not stopping to trickle out of you.

You’re still calling his name once the high comes down… Still holding the sheet, your vision still blurry. He licks and rides you through the end of the blast for a few more seconds. And when he’s done and you look at him, he’s covered in a shimmer.

Such a pretty boy.

“Hey,” he whispers joyfully once he comes up. “Hello.”

“Hey. You, jail,” you breathe.

You don’t waste a moment before you take off his shirt, eager and hungry. He laughs, cocking an eyebrow. “Why jail? Did I give you a bombastic orgasm or what?” He moves to lay half on top of you and licks his lips. “Shouldn’t I get free lap dances or something?”

“Jail for not doing this earlier.”

“Ah. Apologies. I’ll be at your service whenever from now on.”

The vow makes your tummy flutter. From now on? So he wants to do that again?

Nah. You must be dreaming. A fall night's fever dream.

“Good,” you mutter before you close the distance mutually.

He cages you in, beginning the kiss softly but urgently. His tongue doesn’t hesitate to seek out yours, and he tilts his head to deepen the gesture. Both your hands wander to the other’s face and hair, lips eating up each and every thrum.

His chest is warm against yours, hard pecs pressing against your nipples. It feels good, feeling him so close and intimate with you. No layers separating your upper bodies, melting into one… And that kiss…

As he pours all passion into it, you think you taste a bit of you on him, but said taste mingles with a lot of other things. The spices of dinner. The lingering sweetness of dessert. His thirst. The ardency that refuses to leave his motions.

“Hey,” he mumbles when he breaks the kiss. “I…”

“Hmm?”

“I really want you. So, so bad.”

The carnal desire is hidden in the moment for sure. But right now, listening to the softness in his voice, all you can and want to hear is unbridled longing.

Insatiable, you nod. “I want you, too. Please?”

“You… You don’t need to beg for it, Pumpkin.” His hips move against yours and you wrap your legs around him tighter. “Seriously, no need–”

His joggers are rough against your swollen pussy, but their harshness doesn’t compare to the thick bulge pushing into you. Moving down your wandering fingers, you push at the remaining clothing, shoving until you feel the bare, firm, muscular ass under your palms.

Hell, there’s so much you want to do. Like, slap it.

Lifting a little, he lets you free his cock, his sweatpants and underwear somewhere a little over his knees now. You’re ready to let him fuck you unconscious and into another universe before you realize you might not be all that ready just yet.

Because the throbbing, hot length falls heavy against your stomach. It’s thick and big and entirely unexpected. Not that he’s never boasted about it before or ran around without underwear beneath his pajamas. But fuck, you thought it’s the usual shit men say.

You didn’t think he was actually hiding something this… Generous.

“Wow, I–” You begin, but to no avail. Your screaming pussy distracts you.

“Huh? Yeah, what is it?” Jungkook purrs against your neck.

“Just. Can I…”

Your hand prowls from his ass to his cock, and you begin to guide it to your pussy slowly, opening up your legs more. Okay. You’re ready. You are. You are.

Only, Jungkook is not.

He shakes his head immediately, then nods towards the drawer inhabiting the condoms. You understand and roll your eyes, scoffing. “I wasn’t gonna do it anyways. But I’m… I am on the pill.”

“Yes. But you also forget to take it a lot.”

“Fair.” God, you just want him to drill you. Why’s starting so hard? “But I’m fine.”

“I am, too.” He groans when he moves over you, reaching to the drawer. “Still.”

You watch as he takes the package out, the foil carefully held between his fingertips. And in those brief seconds, you think.

His last hook up wasn’t so long ago. You wonder if he ever goes in raw with other girls… Wonder why he doesn’t with you but insists on protection. Less like he doesn’t trust you but more like he doesn’t trust himself.

You don’t ponder on your bumbling thoughts for too long before he smiles and sidetracks. “Hey, have you showered?”

“No. Why?” You answer, certain that the furrow of your eyebrows lays your confusion bare.

“You said you needed to.”

“And?”

“It’s gotten warm inside.” Aha… You think you know where this is going. But just for fun’s sake, you play dumb. “I still need my proper shower, too, by the way.”

“Okay… But we’re saving up on water, right?” You stare up at him in innocence. Godgodgodgod. He’s really doing that.

Jungkook slaps your ass, and you yelp. “Don’t play stupid. You know what I’m saying.”

“Kook–”

“What? We clean up together… Save water. I don’t have to shower again in the morning and can sleep in. It sounds like an amazing idea, if you ask me.”

You contemplate his idea. In all honesty, you know that he’s aware of your teasing and fake hesitation – but you think he likes the act. If it was up to him, he’d probably want you tapping your chin and all, cartoonesque.

“You do shower long…” You then conclude.

“Yeah. And so do you.”

“So…”

“So what do you say, Pumpkin Pie?”

“Mmmh. Okay.”

His eyes blow wide. “Really?”

You grimace at him. He’s adorable. After all he’s said and done, he’s still astonished at your response? An actual dork. But you still nod.

“Oomph,” he says. “Imagining you under the shower.” He’s talking more to himself than anything. “Might be just a bit more insane than imagining you naked in general.”

More than a decade of being friends and a couple of years of living together should’ve suggested at least once that thoughts can’t stay pure 24/7. Especially when hormones raged and you grew a pair of tits, you should’ve known his mind derailed a little on at least one occasion.

Still, you’re surprised.

“Did you imagine me naked before?” You wonder.

“Are you kidding me?”

The answer shoots out of him like a bullet, almost as fast as he lifts his body to come to a stand. You don’t bother about an answer when he grabs the condom and something else, then offers you a hand, pulling you up butt naked before guiding you to the bathroom.

“Calm down,” you joke. One hand covers your nipples, even though you’re not sure why. What’s done is done already, and you can’t and don’t want to burn the image of you exposed from his mind.

“Too late.” Once in front of the bathroom, he stops, lifting a finger. It’s funny how casual your conversation is and how naked you are. “Wait here.”

Twenty seconds pass, and he returns with two candles in his hands, planting and lighting them up on the washing machine. This idea better not backfire.

The small room is cooler than his own, and the porcelain sink he pushes you against when you enter, placing the condom and the small bottle he brought at the edge of it, is even worse.

You shiver and hiss before his fingers grip your chin. He pulls your face to his own, bringing your hand to his crotch as his kiss catches your breath.

His warm, towering cock twitches in your palm, making you moan into his mouth. You attempt to unify your bodies, shifting closer, but he keeps pushing you backwards. Your back arches over the sink, and the kiss stops, his lips opening yours, suffocating against you.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know?” He maffles, stepping back but not without pulling you along.

You can’t wait to step back into his room later to investigate where your discarded clothes lay.

For now, you smile, delighted when his lopsided smirk matches yours. He kisses the tip of your nose before he draws a deep breath. Brings the both of you into the shower and then lets hot water rain down on you.

The liquid burns hot on your shoulder first, and Jungkook exclaims something incomprehensible as he regulates the temperature pouring out of the faucet. The procedure remains calm and quiet, unusual for a bickering pair like you.

But once he gets soaked under the water, shaking his hair out of his eyes just to push it back with his hands… You can’t keep your mouth shut anymore.

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

He puts a hand on your waist and the other on your cheek, stepping closer carefully. For a second, you think he looks at you like nothing else in the universe matters.

Your stomach bubbles… Your heart pounds.

“Hmm… Yeah?”

“I imagined you,” you tell him. “Us… Like that before, too.”

“Really? How?” He whispers back. Your vision is blurry – you don’t know if it’s the water’s or the moment’s craze’s fault.

All you know is that you want to remember his touch on your face, the shower warming your chest, trickling into your soul.

He keeps brushing back your drenched tresses lovingly and softly. You almost forget how to act purely horny, enabling tenderness and feelings until your nipples press against his torso and his cock moves against you again.

“I feel like you’d enjoy,” you near his ear, breathing, “sucking on my tits as much as I would.”

He grins.

“I’m more of an ass guy, though.”

On cue, he grabs a handful of your rear, pulling out a weird sound out of you that you regret immediately. He doesn’t bother as much as you. He’s busy staring at your lips and getting familiar with your ass.

“Right,” you say, distracted by the (intentional?) movements of his cock. You want to… You really want to… “Can I– can I suck you, ass guy?”

The embrace around you loosens up. According to his expression, he probably didn’t predict your question; but you think a man with a dick like his should expect that everyone wants to suck him dry.

But anyways–

Perhaps his surprise is a good thing, because the way his mouth drops open when you bring your hand to his shaft is priceless.

“Wow,” he expresses under his breath. “I’d be fucking stupid to say no, right?”

“Yes. I’m pretty good at this.”

You wrap your fingers and palm around his hardness, twisting your hand and alternating the pace. Your thumb runs over his slit, tempted to taste what already leaks out. One smile is all he gets before you choose to drop to your knees instead. Sacrificing their flawless state.

He shifts to the wall until his back hits its coolness, speechless when you look up at him, trying your hardest not to ogle at the delicious cock angry in front of you, and then stretch out your tongue.

You press it to the underside of his cock, making sure he feels you breathing, and then you shove his member into your mouth before it can slap back against his stomach.

Holy fuck, he really is hard.

“I believe you…” He says, his breaths rigid. “Barely doing anything, but it’s…”

So good.

First, you focus on the head. Swirling your tongue around it, you hum, hearing him hiss above you. You do your best, but you don’t know just how much you actually affect him.

Because from above, Jungkook’s point of view is something he doesn’t think he could even dream of. The sounds of you quietly gagging and slurping, constantly moaning and vibrating around him rile him up. The fact that you’re struggling to control your breathing, because you’re too immersed, apprehensive to stop.

And your lips, God, your lips, they wrap around him perfectly. He wonders what it’d look like if you were wearing lipstick, or how your non-waterproof mascara would run down your cheeks if he fucked your mouth.

You pull him out to catch a breath, using the pause to stroke him lightly. Leaning closer, you take a moment to rub the tip against your nipple – he seems to like it, because the bite of his lip is firm.

Then, you move your gentle touch to his balls and speak. “Is that alright?”

“I… alright?” He croaks, furrowing his eyebrows. “How about you suck me dry every fucking day, huh?”

“If I’m allowed to.”

You laugh a little, inhaling through your nose before you dive in again. This time, you let him in as much as you can take. Small fireworks explode on your tongue when his precum touches it, his cock twitching more between your lips as you suck harder.

“You are… Fuck, of course you are…” He permits, throwing back his head. Tattooed digits sneak into your hair, and when he pulls your head back, you disconnect from his cock with a plop sound. “But pause for now, k? Wanna fu–”

He can’t speak, so you guess you succeeded. But you get it… You’d rather he fucked you too instead of coming in your mouth.

A hand wrapped around your neck gently pulls you up to your feet. His jaw is clenched and sharp, and his eyes are piercing. He looks so fucking hot wet like that, drawing out his tongue to run it between his lips.

His mouth lures you in automatically, your gaze frozen on it and already imagining his taste. But he’s a step ahead–though in another twisted way–when he turns you around without a warning.

He pins your tits against the wall and tugs at your hips until you’re angled just right for him. Then, he leans in to voice one single order. “Stay like that.”

His wish is your command, anytime.

Panting, you let the water pour onto you, waiting. The small bottle he brought, undoubtedly lube, is placed in the shower caddy next to you, and before you can blink twice, you hear a package ripping open.

“Hurry,” you beg, recognizing the amused chuckle you definitely expected.

“Chill,” he says. “Gimme just a moment, princess.”

“Stop.”

Another sneer, more apparent complications, but in the meantime he distracts you with words that leave you unstable. “Fuck, I wish I could go in just like that.”

You want to say he can. But you don’t want to risk another rejection like before… Your heart and ego can only take this much.

For now, you push the thoughts aside, only focusing on the fact that you’ll be railed by Jeon fucking Jungkook. That he’s turned you around to finally weaken your knees, to batter your pussy, that you’ll actually be having sex with him in no time.

Or whenever he figures out a solution to his problem.

He turns away the showerhead and curses at the condom or whatever, and you laugh, still bent in an uncomfortable position.

“Harder than you thought, huh?” You joke.

As a response, he exhales, then grabs your waist as he delivers a verbal answer. “My dick or putting this shit on? Because yeah.”

Apparently, dealing with the condom wasn’t too impossible after all. Because once it’s done, his hands are on you again, one pulling you in further by your hip while the other spreads your pussy folds.

Then, his fingers disappear, grabbing the bottle of lube to fiddle with the liquid and placing it back in no time. You can hear the sounds that smearing it onto his dick causes.

And then you hear it even worse when he brings those exact digits back to your cunt. He contributes the rest of the lube by rolling his fingertips around your entrance and then pumping into you a couple of times. You moan out, and impatience grows faster.

“Okay,” he says, his voice still steady. “You tell me to stop if it ever hurts, alright?”

You nod, and he whispers, “Perfect.”

And then, it happens.

And it takes ages.

Not really due to hesitation or anything like that, but more because the cock intruding your walls just doesn’t stop. The shaft, rich in thickness and length, penetrates you deep, already overwhelming, and you’re sure he isn’t even halfway through.

“That enough?” He asks.

You shake your head. No. You don’t think anything will ever be enough, no matter how intense and mind numbing things become. More, you want all of him.

“More,” you repeat, speaking out loud.

“Seriously…?”

Yeah. You’re as much in disbelief as him. But your body – it knows what it’s pleading for, what signals it’s sending to your brain and then to your tongue.

“Please,” you beg. “I’ll tell you if I feel uncomfortable. I promise.”

A groan. A deeper push. He fills you to the brink, engulfed by you perfectly. The ideal lock to his key… Everything inside you tingles and aches.

When he’s bottomed out, he shifts and you feel the movement inside you. Mewling, you whisper his name, his ears perking up as his already drained voice calls back to you.

“Move?” He wants to know, his entire sentence abandoned.

“Move.”

So he does.

Long, slow, languid and careful strokes. He pants behind you. The shower water is still a bit too hot, but it doesn’t compare to whatever the fuck he’s kindling inside you.

Whenever he returns back deep, you lose your mind a bit more. And whenever he notices, his pace fastens by a tiny, tiny fraction. Until restraint becomes a foreign concept.

“Fuck, I wish I could…” His sentence breaks as much as you do when his hips meet yours. “Wish I could keep the imprints of your hands on the wall forever.” He thrusts into you hard once, hands pushing up your ass. “Wish I could see you pressed against it.”

He leans forward, his wet chest touching your soaked back. Kissing your cheek and neck, you slip into the craze only he can call forth. Fucked by him in the flickering candlelight, romantic for a fly on the wall, but sickeningly filthy in reality.

You’re a fool, because the thought of romance rests in the back of your mind right now – so you add to the already established sins when his hand brushes your neck.

“Jungkook…” You purr.

His movements slow down at the call of his name. You reach out an arm and turn the stream of water off – after all, you’re here to save the environment and yourself. That you’ve barely been focusing on showering is neither your fault.

Jungkook doesn’t question whatever you do. You don’t think he cares much about his surroundings anyway, everything around him is blurred but you. His lips still roam your shoulder when he shoves himself inside you balls deep and then pauses there.

You whisper his name again, drawing out another deep hum right next to his ear, and then spit it out.

“Choke me.”

You wonder. If you hadn’t turned off the water, would it have frozen to ice, too?

Because the wall and the room suddenly cool down and you swear he’s stopped breathing. You press your underarms and your forehead to the wall, eyes closing and asking yourself whether you made a mistake.

But… But maybe not.

In the next moment, Jungkook suddenly laughs a little, quiet but enticing enough to make your scalp tingle. He pushes the hair out of your face and your neck, slowly tracing your skin downward until he touches the spot over your vocal cords.

His fingers lift your head, breaking the contact to the wall. Gently rubbing your jaw with his thumb, he starts wrapping a huge hand around your neck… Silently at first before he finally answers.

“Shit, you’re so much dirtier than the good girl I know.”

No matter how simple the sentence, something in it awakens ambiguity in you. The realization that you’ve successfully surprised him. And at the same time, the urge to remain his good girl.

You want to be all of it for him; want to be the only object of affection for him.

“Can tell you the s-same.” You gasp when he squeezes the sides of your neck, just below your jawline. “This isn’t–” Biting your lip, you pause, distracted by his palm. “Not what puppy eyed boys should be doing.”

He lifts your body wordlessly, only laughing at your words in delight. Still sunken inside you, he straightens your posture just a bit, careful to not apply any kind of pressure to your windpipe. He knows what he’s doing – sex couldn’t be safer with anyone else.

At least that’s what you know, judging the choking experiences you’ve gathered with other men or women so far.

He leans into you, kissing your temple as he hammers into you again. The squeezes around your neck differ: His motions follow a varying pattern; your veins pulsate.

You imagine his clenched jaw or his furrowed eyebrows. The furious look on his face that doesn’t really suggest anger but blissful pleasure. You imagine his teeth trapping his lower lip, dimples on his cheeks, wet dark hair restricting his vision.

All that combined with all the godless things he says.

“I can’t believe we haven’t done this before… But…”

A sharp thrust pushes you forward, and one of your hands reaches behind you to grip his hip. Good God, he’s so fucking large. Human anatomy and logic aside, he must be battering your guts along with your pussy.

“But I knew I’d fuck you one day.”

Oh.

He has no remorse. He’s either too trapped in you to notice what he’s doing to you or he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Either way, your faltering soul can barely still handle him.

“You fucking devil,” you only respond.

And the devil has the audacity to leave your neck to slap your tits. How dare.

You yelp and your sound continues when he pinches your nipples, soft at first before his nips become harder. Defenseless in his grip, your knees almost buckle, especially when he talks to you again.

“My God, you’re letting me do fucking anything I want.”

“It’s… It’s the dick,” you tell him, already embarrassed. “Too good.”

“Ah? Thanks.” Letting his hands drop from your sensitive tits, he finds your clit again – you think you might cry. “Little reward for being so good for me?”

You want him to elaborate, but you soon learn what that reward consists of anyway.

He caresses your clit slowly and gently, accompanied by occasional light slaps. No rest for the wicked seems to be his motto today, not that you can complain.

Because a minute later, his fingers combined with the reckless, now fast paced plunges throw your world into chaos once more. You scream out his name, barely able to breathe. “Kook, I’m… I–”

“I know. Let go for me, Pumpkin. You’re all good, okay?”

His promises and soft reassurances make you fall harder into the fondness you already feel for him. If there was ever a point of return, he’s annihilated it once and for all now.

Who are you to doubt him? So you let another mind blowing orgasm wash over you. It rolls in hard, showing in your broken moans and curling fingers. He holds you up on your melting legs, an arm around your tummy.

“Hold on for me,” he snarls against your cheek, and you try. You really try your best, but your body’s giving up, trembling at the peak’s intensity that’s shaking up your insides. “Gonna cum, too…”

One more. You can afford one more indecent idea.

“Cum on my ass, Kook.”

“Fucking hell, baby.”

That’s all. That’s all he needs.

No hesitation in sight, he steps back and out of you, angling your body again by pulling your ass back as much as possible. The condom falls somewhere next to you – you see it from the corner of your eyes before you hear the way Jeon Jungkook climaxes.

Which is: With extra guttural groans, a quivering breath, fingers digging deep into the flesh of your butt and–what you realize when you look back at him–with super uncontrolled pumps of his cock.

“Fuuuuck,” he moans when his seed shoots hot onto your bottom.

It takes a few seconds for him to empty himself completely, and he keeps swearing, keeps saying something you barely understand.

But what you do understand, even though you’re absentmindedly focusing on his fingers spreading the cum on your back, is, “Gonna punish you for being so fucking hot one day.”

“That a promise?” You ask, still breathless.

He laughs. “Brat.”

The whole affair ends almost the way it started: Carefully and slowly, bickering thrown in here and there. But aside from the obvious fact you’re showering together, still so, so naked, there are more differences you notice when he lets the water run again to clean you up properly.

Like, his look. A smile you haven’t seen before, you think.

Very soft touches along your cheeks, fingers combing through your hair like you’re something fragile.

Questions such as, “Are you okay? Was that okay? Do you feel good, Pumpkin?”

Also… The hecking forehead kiss when you smile and nod.

The mood has shifted, albeit to something pleasant, once everything’s said and done. He puffs out a breath, discarding the neglected condom. Before he wraps you in a towel, his thumb brushes over your tattoo once more – his eyes look fascinated and affectionate, but he doesn’t comment on it again.

He doesn’t guide you back to your room but to his, drying you up thoroughly and affectionately.

He lets you leave for just a moment, telling you that you need to come back once you’ve found stuff to sleep in. His behavior is odd, but instead of questioning it, you indulge in his tender care.

But in the end, he only lets you wear your fresh pair of underwear and your shorts, snatching your shirt to throw it onto his desk. He rummages through his closet silently and only speaks once he’s handed you one of his cotton shirts.

“Take this?”

His tone is different from how he sounded the rest of the night. Not demanding, but kind of questioning. His teeth nibble at his lip and then he says, “I think you’d look good in it… Just if you’re up to it.”

He doesn’t stutter or hesitate. Like he dreamed of this for ages.

“Okay,” you mutter.

Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, he waits until you’re done, incredibly ecstatic when you smoothen the fabric over your body. He praises you, “Knew it. Beautiful.”

Then, his mouth falls shut. The joy melts into something softer. His eyes drink you in from head to toe, and he lifts both arms to tangle his fingers with yours.

You oblige, letting him pull you closer softly. Tilting your head, you speak up. “What’s up?”

But he doesn’t elaborate. “Nothing,” he only tells you with a smile.

“Okay.”

“But–”

You knew it. There’s something he’s thinking of profusely and he doesn’t want to keep it hidden. Thank God.

“Yeah?” You spur him on.

“Um… Stay here tonight.”

…Oh. Oh–

After all the things that went down tonight, his offer still strikes you like lightning. There’s a dull thump behind your chest and a growing ache in your stomach. You don’t know what it is and don’t understand why your body reacts that way.

You should be swarmed with butterflies. But instead, a ball of something strange forms inside you.

Maybe because he asks like your room isn't right next to his. Or as though you’d be gone and out of reach for miles if you stepped over the threshold of his bedroom now.

But… You’d be insane to resist.

So you let him drape the blanket over the both of you, crawling next to him.

“Lemme–” He says. You don’t get the opportunity to lay against his heartbeat, because he does it first. An arm holds your body close, his cheek pressed against your chest. “Like that. Feels good.”

He tangles his legs with yours, sighing in extreme satisfaction. You’re sure he’s dozing off when you interrupt by joking, “We didn’t save that much water after all.”

His voice is just a mumble when he speaks. “You did turn it off, though…” You chuckle quietly, and he pulls you closer to him. “I’ll use the college shower for a few days, okay?”

The things he’s ready to do for you…

In hindsight, you don’t think it’s the physical attraction you’ve been feeling for weeks that led to tonight’s fiasco. It’s not hormones or his jawline. Thinking, your emotions might date back to a time you can barely remember.

Because those subtle sacrifices he makes, the caring statements, the love he carries for you that shows in tiny, tiny things. Platonic or not, a bond like yours was bound to make you fall as hard as you did.

You think you remember what occurred that set you on fire so much hotter recently. Just right now… It might not be the time to speak about it yet, so you stuff the secret memory back into your mind.

Zeroing in on the mention of college, you stretch sideways, telling him to hold on a moment.

“Hm?” He mumbles.

“Setting an alarm.” The phone screen lights up your face and you squint one eye shut. “We’re still college students, Jungkook.”

“Mmmh,” he groans in displeasure. “Do we need to go?”

“I mean, do you wanna graduate?”

“I don’t know. I could strip for money.”

You laugh, holding him closer to you than before. Fondness seeps into him, and you notice when he digs his ear harder into your chest.

“Saw you naked, so speaking out of experience,” you support, “I think people would like that.”

He hums again. You feel his lips graze the shirt he gave you. “Would you be my manager?”

“If I get free shows.”

Nodding, he assures, “Of course. You can count on me, mon capitaine.”

“Oohhh,” you praise, tapping his bare bicep. “You can’t just quote The Beauty and the Beast and expect me to stay solid.”

He breathes out a throaty laugh, sounding right from his chest. “Stay solid?”

“Yeah. Look.” You palm his soft cheek, ignoring the way he leans into your touch. Ignoring what it does to you. And he’s smiling, too. “Do you feel me melting?”

“You’re so damn funny, you know?” He tells you.

Your face warms at his compliment, and you think you could fall asleep in satisfaction after all. That is. If there wasn’t what he says next of course. Out of fucking nowhere.

“Hey…” He begins and hesitates. His voice is quiet and drowsy, ready to drift off. “All that happened won’t change anything, right? Between us? Because I’m… I’m sorry if it makes things weird.”

Your heart skips a beat… He might have heard it.

That’s what he wants? To not change shit?

To remain platonic, friendly, close but not close enough. It won’t change anything? Because you thought it would.

But what are you supposed to say? Here, with him in your arms. You can’t start an argument or disrupt the evening you gifted each other. The preciousness of it can’t fade…

“No,” is what you say for that reason. “Of course not.”

“Good. Good, that’s important.” You don’t think he’s aware of what he’s saying. He sounds so tired, worn out after all the things he did today. The way he bids tonight goodbye is proof of that. “Night, Pumpkin.”

“Good night, Kook.”

Why did things happen the way they did? How did you let your guard fall? When did he decide it’d be okay to take a step further in his bed, in the bathroom, in the shower, only to go back to ground zero?

All those questions could plague your mind as you begin slumbering away. But they don’t.

Not yet.

–

pt1 || pt2 || pt3

–

author’s note: I am! sorry for the ending🥴 if you made it to the end of my very first real fic, thank you sowww much! did you enjoy it? let me know what you think--send an ask or reblog if you’d like, i’m really excited to know what you have to say bc feedback and support means everything💕

[robininthelabyrinth]

Team Up - ao3

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Nie Mingjue/Wen Ruohan Summary:

“Tell me, Mingjue,” Lan Qiren said. “What are the outer limits of a cultivator’s moral duty to act?”

Note: adult content

-----------------------------------------

“What are the outer limits of a cultivator’s moral duty to act?” Nie Mingjue read aloud, then grimaced in disbelief. “Teacher, is this a joke?”

“I assure you that it is not.” Lan Qiren did not quite shrug, but his expression conveyed the feeling regardless. “You were the one who wanted to look at the students’ essays answering a philosophical question of their choosing. I trust your curiosity has been adequately assuaged.”

“What does that even mean?” Nie Mingjue complained. He’d mostly wanted to see Nie Huaisang’s essay, while also very much not wanting to; he hadn’t realized it was possible that other students could be just as ridiculous. “The ‘outer limits’…what outer limits?! Naturally you should put in your utmost effort to act morally.”

“I think the essay in question was more focused on a cultivator’s ethical duty to take affirmative steps to prevent harm,” Lan Qiren said. “For instance, if you see a man who is drowning, rescue him.”

“That seems obvious.”

“Is it? Do not be facetious. What if the man is your worst enemy, the man who killed your father?” Lan Qiren paused. “Forgive me. That is the typical next question in the example. I did not mean…”

“No, it’s a good point,” Nie Mingjue said, forcing himself to move past that old pain. “If I saw Wen Ruohan drowning, do I have a moral duty to act to save him? I think that I probably would.”

“Even if you know he will only commit more atrocities in the future?”

“Well, I’d like to think that saving him from drowning would win me a few points towards convincing him to stop that,” Nie Mingjue said, meaning it as a joke, and Lan Qiren smiled, taking it as such. “That would certainly complicate the morality of the situation, I agree. But it can be my duty to save him as a fellow man and my duty to kill him for his crimes at the same time.”

“Hm. What about the scenario in which you saved him from drowning and successfully used those ‘points’ that you’d won to actually convince him to refrain from enacting any of his more gruesome future plans – would you still be obligated to kill him for his past crimes then?”

“I find that scenario highly unlikely,” Nie Mingjue said dryly.

“Nevertheless,” Lan Qiren said. He was stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Indulge me.”

Nie Mingjue thought about it, then shrugged. “If he genuinely repented, in such a way that I believed he would not commit further crimes, and furthermore had adequately and sincerely apologized and sought to make up for those he had committed in the past, morality would be best served by forgiving him, not killing him.”

“Interesting.”

“Why?” Nie Mingjue glanced at his old teacher, now his peer and maybe even friend. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Nothing, really. Just a passing thought – a foolish one, and irrelevant as well.”

Nie Mingjue raised his eyebrows. It was rare for Lan Qiren to admit to being foolish. “Tell me anyway.”

“Well,” Lan Qiren said hesitantly. “You may not know too much of this, it being largely before your time as sect leader, but Wen Ruohan was not always – as he is now.”

“I remember,” Nie Mingjue said. “He would visit the Unclean Realm sometimes, back before everything. He was quite charming, once, and not nearly so mad.”

In fact, as a child, Nie Mingjue had been rather swept away by their witty and clever visitor.

“That accords with my memory,” Lan Qiren said. “I sometimes wonder if it is possible that, given the immensity of the changes, that the cause of his behavior could be…well…”

“A qi deviation?” Nie Mingjue asked, his interest involuntarily piqued. For obvious reasons, it was an area of profound interest for his sect. “I’d never thought about it – it is rather irrelevant – but now that you mention it, it’s certainly possible. It would be pretty far advanced by now, though. Drastic measures would need to be taken if you wanted to try to reverse it.”

Lan Qiren looked surprised. “There are ways to reverse a qi deviation of such severity? If anyone would know, it would be your sect, of course. But I would have thought…surely, by now…?”

“The severity and ability to reverse it depends on whether the cause is hereditary or an issue with cultivation, or both,” Nie Mingjue explained. “In our family, it’s both – everyone always thinks that it’s our sabers that kill us, but in actual fact, as long as we can keep pace with them, we’re all right. Not cultivating at all is much worse, we just die even faster. From aneurysms and strokes rather than qi deviations, to be sure, but the effect is still the same in the end, and it’s a bad death either way. No one has figured out a way to stop it from happening. But that’s just the Nie; there’s no such hereditary instability in the Wen family, so it’s probably just a cultivation issue.”

“I see. Is there something that could be done for him at this stage? Assuming it was only incorrect cultivation to blame?”

“At this stage? I think you’d be limited to –” Nie Mingjue paused, then coughed.

“Limited to what?” Lan Qiren asked.

“Ah,” Nie Mingjue said, valiantly attempting not to turn red and painfully aware he was likely failing. “Well. That is…”

“What is it?”

“…the most effective way to shock someone out of a qi deviation is dual cultivation,” Nie Mingjue said, staring at the ceiling above his old teacher’s head. “Ideally with two powerful cultivators –”

“Two? Why two?”

“Having two cultivators involved reduces the risk that the qi deviation spreads from the deviating individual to the rescuing one, rather than the correct method winning out over the deviated one. It also reduces the burden on the spiritual energy of the assisting parties, splitting the strain among two people instead of keeping it with just one…unfortunately, for someone like Wen Ruohan, given his strength, you’d have to find some very powerful cultivators to do the job. They’d have to be either exceptionally talented, with limitless potential, or else exceptionally steady, with an incredibly firm foundation. Nothing else would stand a chance against him.”

“Hm,” Lan Qiren said. “Limitless potential like yours, you mean? An exceptionally firm foundation, like mine?”

“Yes, like that,” Nie Mingjue said, nodding. “Exactly so.”

Then he paused.

“Uh,” he said. “Teacher. You’re not suggesting that…that we…are you?”

Lan Qiren smiled at him.

“Tell me, Mingjue,” he said. “What are the outer limits of a cultivator’s moral duty to act?”

-

Wen Ruohan woke up groggy, which was the first sign that something had gone wrong.

He was also not in his own bedroom, which was the second, and, for the third and most definitive indication, he was currently tied up.

This was not as unusual as it might have been – Wen Ruohan had had a bad habit of getting kidnapped when he’d been a young man, in large part due to his stubborn tendency to go wherever he damn well pleased regardless of any well-meant warnings and cautionary signs. Even after he’d become sect leader, it had happened a fair number of times, though that was more to do with the fact that he’d locked away all the sect treasures behind arrays that only he could open, requiring anyone who wanted to assassinate him and take his position to first try to take him captive…which usually turned out to be a mistake. For them.

It certainly hadn’t happened in a very long time, though.

Also, his cultivation wasn’t bound, which seemed…unwise, as far as kidnappings went.

In fact, the only part of him that was magically bound, as opposed to physically bound, was his mouth –

Huh.

The Lan sect silencing spell?

That puzzle was enough to get him to pause and take stock of the situation, rather than simply rip free at once. Wen Ruohan wasn’t sure what was less likely, that he’d been kidnapped by a Lan or that somehow someone had managed to learn the spell despite all the rules the Lan sect had against teaching their secrets to inappropriate people. Either way, there were interesting implications of all sorts involved.

Worth at least investigating, at least.

Wen Ruohan opened his eyes.

“Oh, good. You are finally awake.”

…was that Lan Qiren?

“Mingjue, he’s woken up.”

“Oh.” That was Nie Mingjue. Why was Nie Mingjue here?! Wherever here even was. “That’s – good? Ah, that is, I mean, that’s good.”

Why was Nie Mingjue stuttering?

Wen Ruohan made an inquiring sound, which made both men, now standing above the bed where he was bound, frown down at him. This was probably because his ‘inquiring sound’ had the same sound as his ‘I’m going to murder you both’ sound, even when it was unintentional.

It was often unintentional these days. He couldn’t seem to stop overreacting to everything…not that he’d admit that, of course. Better to simply pretend he’d meant his actions all along than admit to the fact that he was losing control.

Even to himself.

“I think he’s wondering why he’s here,” Nie Mingjue finally said, and Lan Qiren nodded in agreement.

“We wish to get your consent,” he said to Wen Ruohan, who gave him his best ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ look. “You have been otherwise unreachable – you no longer sit with us during the discussion conference, but far up above where we cannot speak with you causally.”

“And then you left as soon as the archery contest was done,” Nie Mingjue added, with a scowl. “Treating yourself like an emperor, too high and mighty to talk with anyone…”

“Quite rude,” Lan Qiren agreed. “And when we tried to make an appointment with you, your son informed us that you were far too busy to meet with the likes of us –”

…Chao-er had done what?

Stupid, useless, irritating boy, with no grasp of politics whatsoever! These were the leaders of Great Sects, not some useless hanger-on that could be trampled at will…and worse, to be so rude to Nie Mingjue, with his notoriously short Nie temper and equally infamous inclinations to meet disrespect with violence – did Wen Chao have a death wish? Was he dead even now?

“Fortunately for him, I was able to restrain Sect Leader Nie.”

So just scared shitless.

Fine. It was probably good for him.

“However, without an alternative method, we were forced to find other methods by which to approach you.”

No kidding.

He’d have to figure out how they managed to kidnap him. A hole like that in his defenses…

“You’re talking around the point, Teacher,” Nie Mingjue said abruptly, apparently losing patience. “You haven’t even explained why we wanted to talk to him – and you said you’d be the one to explain it.”

“And I will,” Lan Qiren said, even as Wen Ruohan’s interest in the reason abruptly spiked: was Nie Mingjue blushing? “Sect Leader Wen, we have reason to believe you may have suffered a qi deviation.”

Bullshit.

That was impossible. Wen Ruohan was way too talented to make some sort of mistake in his cultivation. Everything he’d done had been him, all him, nothing else; there were no outside influences, no errors, and certainly no deviation. How dare they suggest such a thing?! Were they looking down on him?

“We wish to assist you with purging the deviation –”

Hah, as if he’d ever permit such a thing! Firstly, there was no deviation to purge – he was fine, he had always been fine, and he would continue to be fine, whatever slander the two of them chose to believe –and secondly, even if there was, he’d never accept their help! He’d never let anyone look down on him like that. Not now, not ever. Absolutely no way, no how –

“– which we proposed to do through dual cultivation.”

Wen Ruohan paused his mental ranting.

He must not have heard that correctly.

“Dual cultivation with both of us,” Nie Mingjue added. He was definitely blushing now. “It’s the most efficient method.”

…perhaps he had heard correctly.

“Naturally we will not force you,” Lan Qiren said primly, as if that was the only issue one could find in their frankly ridiculous suggestion. “We require your consent before starting. What say you?”

Wen Ruohan was a bonafide genius, not an idiot.

He wasn’t going to say no.

Even if he wasn’t being offered sex with two extremely attractive and extremely powerful men, he’d say yes just for the potential amount of spiritual energy that they would be able to generate through the act, spiritual energy that would turn into power that he would be able to use to get even stronger.

Besides, since there wasn’t any qi deviation, it wouldn’t matter if they were doing it to try to fix him.

In fact, if he thought about it a certain way, he was practically tricking them into doing it.

Justification obtained and ego appeased, Wen Ruohan nodded.

“Excellent,” Lan Qiren said, sounding satisfied. “Mingjue, why don’t you demonstrate your skills to Sect Leader Wen?”

Skills? Wait, had they done this before? Had Nie Mingjue demonstrated the skills under discussion to Lan Qiren in advance of –

That was about when Nie Mingjue finished getting rid of Wen Ruohan’s clothing and put his mouth on his cock, and also when Wen Ruohan decided that thinking – or overthinking, as the case might be – was overrated.

Also, Nie Mingjue really was…surprisingly skilled.

Wen Ruohan snapped the silencing spell with a thought and said, “Should I offer my compliments to the teacher?”

His voice was a little hoarser than he’d expected it to be.

…because of the spell, of course.

“Mingjue has always been an exceptional student,” Lan Qiren said, denying nothing, which…huh. Now that was a very fascinating set of images that were going to live in Wen Ruohan’s brain forever, ready to be plucked out at night when he had some time to himself. “He has always exceeded expectations.”

Nie Mingjue lifted his mouth away – Wen Ruohan had to quickly bite his lower lip to avoid letting out a thoroughly undignified whimper of denial – and said, more than a little hoarse himself, “It’s all credit to Teacher’s thorough education.”

Fuck. They really had no business saying things as enticing as that. Wen Ruohan wondered when the two of them had been getting up to this ‘thorough education’, and for how long. And in what positions –

“Would you like a demonstration?” Lan Qiren asked. “Sect Leader Wen.”

“You can call me by name,” Wen Ruohan said, casually. Well, mostly casually. “Under the circumstances.”

Lan Qiren smiled and put his hand on his hair, weaving his fingers in gently…and then tightening them until very nearly the point of pain.

“That’s nice,” he said. “You can call me Teacher.”

…huh.

-

“Are you feeling any better?” Lan Qiren asked.

“Obviously he is,” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes. “Look at how he’s scowling.”

“I will admit that there may have been an – improvement,” Wen Ruohan said. It looked like it pained him to admit it, though his expression still had some of that softness that had come upon him about halfway through the previous evening’s activities and which hadn’t left him since.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t sure exactly what that signified, something he’d communicated to Lan Qiren through meaningful looks and raised eyebrows, but Lan Qiren didn’t seem to know what it meant either, other than the obvious lassitude brought on by a very enjoyable series of orgasms.

“I’m glad you are feeling better,” Lan Qiren said.

“I’m glad you admit it,” Nie Mingjue muttered, then yelped when Lan Qiren pinched him. “What?”

“Remember your manners.”

“I don’t know, I rather like it when he’s being a bit rude,” Wen Ruohan remarked, and reached over to pat the affected area, his fingers lightly tracing over the reddened flesh. “Though I also enjoy him when he’s being accommodating. Hard to pick.”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes.

“I will say that it makes for a rather interesting change.”

“Change?” Lan Qiren asked, and Nie Mingjue propped up his head on his hand, looking over at Wen Ruohan in silent question.

“The change in perspective,” Wen Ruohan clarified. “There was no apparent change in my thinking over time, each step appearing completely natural and related to the one before, each new thought seemingly based on the ones that preceded it. Even when I was acting in a way that now, in retrospect, appears irrational –”

“You mean completely insane,” Nie Mingjue proposed, then scooted away before Lan Qiren could pinch him again.

Now it was Wen Ruohan’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yes, well, describe it however you wish. Either way, in contrast to that, I now have an unprecedented sense of clarity.”

“That’s good.”

“Mm. Certainly, looking back at some of my previous actions, it appears that they are – exceptionally unfortunate. Particularly as to you, Mingjue: highly unfortunate.”

“Not unfortunate. Insane,” Nie Mingjue insisted, then glanced at Lan Qiren warily.

“No argument from me,” Lan Qiren said mildly. “Killing his father was indeed an act of insanity, and of tremendous cruelty. Wen Ruohan, the term I believe you are looking for so unsuccessfully is ‘regret’.”

Wen Ruohan scowled again, though he also reached out and pulled Nie Mingjue towards him, settling his head on his chest and starting to stroke his hair. “Yes, well,” he said. “You’re not wrong. I regret it. Tell me, Mingjue: shall I make it up to you somehow?”

“Just don’t commit any more crimes in the future,” Nie Mingjue said gruffly, averting his eyes. “I don’t need more than that.”

“I’ll make it up to you anyway.” Wen Ruohan smiled. His expression was still soft. “I think I will enjoy doing so. Tell me, did either of you know me before the qi deviation?”

(“Oh, he finally admits there was a deviation,” Nie Mingjue muttered, just for the principle of it.)

“I’m not sure,” Lan Qiren said. “Mingjue likely did not. As for me…I’m not sure. I knew you as being better than you have been recently, but I cannot say for sure if that was prior to the initial deviation. It likely started as some small flaw in your cultivation, likely having a relatively minimal impact at first and then escalating over time – that was why you did not notice it, and why each thought appeared logically connected to its predecessor. The deviation increased slowly but steadily over time, only eventually becoming noticeable.”

“I think that’s probably right,” Wen Ruohan said. “I think it must have started – rather a long time ago. Longer ago than you might think.”

“Is that relevant?” Lan Qiren asked, reaching up to stroke his beard. “Do you think the treatment was insufficient? Do you need it repeated?”

“Not now,” Nie Mingjue said, vaguely horrified. His stamina had limits!

“Definitely not now,” Wen Ruohan said quickly in agreement, eyeing Lan Qiren warily, as if he were a serpent ready to bite. “Though I wouldn’t object to a repeat performance eventually. After all, now that I know I can fall into qi deviation like that, it’s only reasonable to start taking prophylactic measures early on.”

“What did you mean, then?” Lan Qiren asked, ignoring the hint. “What’s the relevance of knowing you before the qi deviation?”

Wen Ruohan grinned.

“Oh, nothing much,” he said, curling one hand around Nie Mingjue and reaching out to wrap the other around Lan Qiren’s wrist. “Just wondering how much you knew about my reputation for possessiveness. It used to be quite notorious.”

Lan Qiren frowned. “When you say notorious –”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wen Ruohan said soothingly. “I already promised no more atrocities, didn’t I? It’s easy enough to grant such a thing. After all, they’re no longer necessary to get what I want.”

[illamda-spaminations]

I find it so interesting that during the Twisted Hearts OP, when the song goes "I feel you sins all the time", they showed Mycroft and Albert respectively. While Mycroft does not understand/know everything that's going on with the LOC and Moriarty & co., I do believe he understands how Albert feels, especially about taking the punishment on himself.

For example: This scene in MTP, post-Final problem

He understands because he knows Albert and, more importantly, he has been there, it's just the circumstances and the consequences of the decision is very different. The reason he dedicated his life to working for the government was because of his father's involvement in the French Revolution. He wanted to repent on behalf of him, so he decided to take on that punishment, protecting Sherlock in the process. Albert does something very similar, he takes on the atonement so Louis doesn't have to. He believes Louis deserves so much more than punishment; he deserves a fulfilling life, a happy one, or at least as happy as it can get, and above all, the one who should reap the crops William sown [I should REALLY make a separate post on Louis ye gods-].

Mycroft could've let the Moriarty brothers do what they saw fit, as long as he was spared from the brutality, but instead he threatens them. If they don't put the country's future and prosperity first, Mycroft will personally "annihilate" him [his words not mine].

This scene really goes to show that Mycroft is genuinely dedicated to the Empire, he is very intent to serve for the country's future, but it's not blind loyalty, it's him being bound to it, it's the least he could do to make up for his father's sins [sins of the father am I right?] and it's the same for Albert. He and Mycroft love their younger brothers, to the point of sacrificing themselves in order to protect them, to make sure they live as they please, free of guilt. The difference is that Mycroft changed over time, he started to loosen up. The first time we see him outside of his office for non-work related matters was with meeting everyone in the dinner party. And for Albert? Time stopped turning entirely. The moment he entered the tower was the moment he couldn't go back. It was him, his thoughts and the messages from Mycroft to distract him. The only person who could convince him to come out of his prison and start living was William; because William's actions, sins, guilt and will to die was the very reason why Albert chose his punishment.

In comparison, Mycroft's self enforced punishment was lighter to Albert's. While Mycroft has to deal with constant stress [this is not really canon, but considering that he's referred to as the government, yeaaaaa I think he's gonna be stressed af] and grief, Albert had to deal with a spiral towards insanity, grief, religious guilt for the Moriarty plan and his compulsive thoughts. And he's sure as hell isn't going to stand on his own for a while after that.

Another thing [this time it's actually related to my point :0] is exactly when the two show up. Mycroft shows up around the lyrics "I feel your sins" while albert shows up around "all the time", which further proves my point. Since Sherlock and William showing up around the point of "I can't feel your love but I can give you love" basically describes Sherlock's goal of saving William and their relationship in a nutshell.

"I don't know if you see me as a friend but I'll see you like that anyway, and save you, just like what I would do to another friend."

What's not to say the same can be true to Mycroft and Albert?

"I can never truly understand what you are going through, but I will always understand how you feel."

[buckysgrace]

The Sinner

You're more than willing to help Billy Hargrove find his faith. The only problem is that he wants you on his knees for a different reason.

Billy Hargrove x Religious!FemReader

CW: Smut, some corruption, religious themes, Reader is holier than thou type, and Billy likes to break things.

Is this a result of my religious trauma? Absolutely.

"Hey,” Billy cornered you one day at the end of school as you were grabbing your books from your locker, “I wanted to ask you something.” You felt yourself staring for a moment, wondering what you had to offer for Billy Hargrove. You did your best to avoid gossip, but it still found you at times. You were smart enough to know that Billy had one thing in mind if he cornered a girl alone.

“You’d have to ask my father if you want to take me out.” You responded nervously, shoving the books into your bag. He chuckled, his charming smile lighting up the hallway. You could feel your hands shaking at the sound. You had never had him actually speak to you unless he was making fun of you reading your bible. He thought your devotion to your religion was something to make fun of. You always reminded yourself that he was lost and would one day hopefully understand. You always prayed for him when he would tease you about it. You didn't think anyone should have to burn in hell for eternity, especially when they were so young and could switch their ways. Then again, maybe that was your father's words inside your mind.

“I wasn’t going to ask you that actually, but noted,” You felt a warmth spreading through your body as you grew embarrassed. You hadn’t actually thought he’d ever be interested in you, but there was only one question Billy ever asked girls, “I doubt I’d get daddy’s approval anyways.” He muttered correctly.

The truth was you did like to imagine yourself going out with Billy. He was attractive, popular. It would be like one of those cliche movies. Maybe that was why you prayed for him so hard. You wanted him to better himself so you could dream of being with him. As much as you liked to pretend that you were, you weren't any better than the girls in your grade. You wanted him all the same. Late at night when you would toss and turn, dismissing the naughty thoughts that weighed in your mind. Those were the nights that you would pray and pray until you were too exhausted to think anymore. Your father would never allow you to go out with Billy, however much the boy could change. So, you pretended that you weren't interested in him. You'd still sneak glances, but you never told anyone about how you felt towards him, too afraid of the repercussions you would face. God always knew though.

“What’s your question?” You asked after a moment of silence. You swung your bag around your shoulders before pulling your bible from your locker. It was black and leather bound, and you liked the way the words were printed neatly on the pages. For some reason it made it easier to read.

“I want to repent, but I’ve never prayed before. I was hoping you’d help me.” Billy looked at you sincerely and you felt yourself growing lost in his blue eyes. A small smile formed over your lips as you pulled your bible towards your chest.

"You want me to teach you how to pray?" You repeated, filling yourself grow with pride. You couldn't believe Billy Hargrove had come to you for help. He nodded, almost bashfully as he looked over his shoulder, "I'd love to, but I really don't know how to explain it. It's just, talking to God." You explained, watching how his expression changed.

"I don't know how to do that. Please, I don't want to spend an eternity in hell. Teach me." You shifted on your feet, biting your lip as you considered him. You thought of his words again, understanding that you wouldn't want to burn in hell either. It was your job as a Christian to help eithers find the Lord, even if that person was someone like Billy.

"Okay," You responded slowly, watching how he grinned widely at you, "We could do it here?' You questioned him, watching how his blonde curls moved as he shook his head no. You found yourself raising your eyebrow in confusion, wondering why he was denying this location if he was so desperate to save his soul.

"I'd prefer a church. What about the one your dad runs? Is anyone there right now?" You faltered for a moment, not realizing he knew your father's position. You reminded yourself that it was a small town and he had more than likely overheard it from someone.

"Sure," You nodded in agreement, "No, he shouldn't be there right now. We could go by now?" You asked unsure, clutching the bible to your chest. Billy looked down at it, nodding like he was considering something.

"If you're scared about other people seeing you, you shouldn't worry. There's nothing to be ashamed about in welcoming the lord into your life." You smiled, repeating the words you had heard your father preach with hundreds of different times. You sounded robotic, like an exact copy of him. You thought of how proud he would be with you at the moment.

Billy faltered for a moment, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip, "It's not that," He responded easily, "How about I give you a ride over? It's not that far." You nodded, thinking of how it would be a lot easier for you. However, you were worried your parents would grow worried once you didn't arrive home at your usual time. You shook the thoughts away, once again thinking of your father's beaming face once he heard that you had saved a sinner.

“Okay, thank you,” You smiled, completely missing how he already knew the location of your church. You walked alongside him through the long hallway, unsure of what to say, “You know I pray for you every night.” You finally spoke up, meaning it as a compliment.

“Yeah, why’s that?” His blue eyes casted down on you and you felt nervous suddenly. He had such an intense way of holding eye contact. You quickly glanced away and towards your shoes while you walked at his pace.

“I pray for all of the sinners. I don’t think anyone should spend eternity in hell would they could forever live in God’s Grace.” You explained, meaning it in the best way possible. You looked ahead, missing the way he rolled his blue eyes back in his head.

“How sweet,” You felt happy in Billy’s response as you stepped out into the breezy wind. It was warm the sun sitting high in the air. You didn’t even have to follow him to his car, already knowing where he parked from hearing the other girls talking about him, “Here. I’ve got it.” He opened the door for you, his smile shining against you. Your heart hammered as you felt nervous suddenly. You had never been alone with a boy in a car before.

“Thanks,” You slid inside, carefully tucking your skirt under you to keep from sitting on the hot leather seats, “It smells nice in here.” You didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but you had seen the way he smoked. It was shocking that the car didn’t smell that way.

Billy grunted in response, turning the car on as his loud metal music blared to life. You jumped, completely taken aback from how loud it was. You bit your lip hard to keep from saying anything. Your father had warned you about listening to this type of music. He said it was as good as devil worship.

“Something wrong?” Billy questioned, noticing your expression. You should your head quickly, not wanting to seem fussy over the music he listened to in his own car. You didn’t want to scare him off either. If he was just now learning how to pray she couldn’t imagine trying to explain how the music he listened to worshipped Satan.

“It’s just loud,” You strained your voice louder to talk over the music. You quickly buckled up, realizing he wasn’t going to wait for you to do so before he left, “What about your sister?” You asked suddenly, remembering the small redhead. Billy shrugged.

“She got another ride tonight. I told her I had other plans.” You felt a bit guilty for taking her ride but quickly got over it. You reminded yourself that Billy had done it for a good cause. He was going to he learning of God’s love. That was even more important.

“Oh, okay,”

“Do you have a boyfriend or something?” Billy asked, turning his loud banging music down a few notches. You still had to strain your ears in order to hear what he said.

“No,” You spoke a little quickly and tried to correct yourself, “Daddy says I need a good Christian man.” You thought of what your father would say right now with you sitting in Billy’s car. He wouldn’t think of anything good, that was for sure.

“Huh,” Billy glanced over at you. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes lingered against your bare thighs where your skirt had risen high, “Have you been with someone before?” You could feel your whole body go warm as your hands clenched into fists, not wanting to have this conversation with him of all people.

“It’s up here,” You told him, pointing forward as your fathers church came into view. You purposely ignored his question, not wanting to feel the guilt and shame form in your chest, “It’s not much but it’s nice.” You admitted, unsure of why you found yourself needing to defend the size. You had never worried about it before. Perhaps, a small part of you wanted to impress Billy. After all, he had came to you specifically. Maybe you could change him.

It was tiny and white, with a long dirt path that blew up dust as he drove up towards the dirt parking spots. The sugar maple trees leaves had turned from orange to red as the seasons began to shift into Winter. It was one of those days where it had been chill in the morning, but the afternoon sun had made it hot. You smiled at him, hoping that he wouldn't be too worried about his nice car getting dirty.

“This is it,” You mumbled, thankful when he turned the music off, “I think it’ll be good to pray at the altar.” You responded after a second. He held onto his keys as he watched you

“Why there?” He asked, actually seeming to be curious. You grinned again, more than happy to explain the importance of the altar to him.

“In the Bible,” You began watching as he reached across you and pressed the button to your seat belt. You gulped, feeling the warmth from his hands linger against your side, “It’s where people used to make sacrifices for atonement of sin.” You explained, unsure if you made very much sense by the way he held your gaze. He nodded gruffly, before stepping out. You followed behind him, racing up the short cement steps as your skirt picked up in the breeze. You hastily flattened the material back down before opening the door.

“This is nice,” Billy spoke up after you, lingering behind your movements. You popped your knuckles, trying to walk as straight as possible and keep your hips from swaying, “Do many people come?” He questioned as you walked into the service room. You looked around the wooden, red pews before turning to face him.

“Sometimes. Usually around Easter and Christmas. Daddy says that’s when sinners feel the guiltiest.” Billy tilted his head as he watched you curiously. You dug your heels into the wooden floor, unsure of what he was thinking. You watched in a trance, staring at the curve of his hands as he reached into his back pocket. The church was so quiet that every little sound echoed in the room. Your eyes widened as you watched him bring a cigarette between his lips.

“No, no,” You quickly placed your hand over his fist as he began to open his lighter, “Not here. There’s no smoking in the house of the lord.” You explained quickly, watching how his lips curled up just enough to look as if he was smiling. You could tell that irritated him, but you stuck to your fathers' rules, watching as he placed his cigarette back in his box.

"S'alright," He grumbled out, glancing back up at you. You fiddled with your fingers nervously, unsure of how to speak to him, "Can we sit?" He asked after a second and you nodded quickly. You turned and walked towards the altar, sitting on the front row. You sat your bible next to you as you turned to face him, crossing your legs together.

"What do you want to pray about?" You asked, resting your hand against the side of his face. He faced you, mirroring your position. You thought that he looked far too large for the tiny pew. His shirt was unbuttoned in the manner that it always was. You found your eyes drawn to the necklace on his tanned skin and the blonde chest hair that peaked out from his blue shirt.

"My sins," Billy cocked an eyebrow, shaking his foot as he spoke. His movements were causing the pew to shake lightly, "I've drank, cursed, fucked. You know, all of that stuff." You turned away from his intense gaze, not liking how he cursed in the church. You didn't necessarily need all of that information.

"Maybe you should wait to speak to a preacher over that?" You could think of your father's gleeful face now, thinking of how he would be proud to bring another man like Billy to God's light.

“I don’t want to speak to a priest, I want to speak to you.” He reached across the pew, taking your soft hand in his large one. You stared, looking at how your hands connected. You thought of praying suddenly, trying to remove the thoughts that were clouding your mind. There were times you wanted to be like the other girls and have a boyfriend, but you knew your father would simply tell you to focus on God's love instead.

"Do you want me to write you down a prayer then?" You asked him, your skin burning as his thumb rubbed soft circles against you. You breathed in deeply, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. You pushed your legs closer together, feeling a warmth growing between your legs and shame rush into your chest.

"Maybe you could show me how to do it first? I'm so lost, I'll just follow your lead." He explained. You didn't know how to describe it, but his blue eyes looked darker than usual. You blamed it on the dim lights in the church. You didn't want to risk turning them on and having your father yell at you for running up the light bill.

"Over here, then." You stood, ignoring the wetness that was growing between your legs. You'd have to pray for your own sins later when you were finished with Billy. You walked to the alter, looking at the velvet red cushion that your father had spent so much money on. Billy stood close behind you that his warmth was seeping into you.

"Is he going to watch us?" He asked, sounding almost bitter as he motioned towards the very large cross with Jesus hanging from it. You smiled kindly, nodding as you watched his reaction. You were sure it was odd to see, gruesome even, but you knew it was a reminder to everyone of what Jesus had gone through to save people from their sins.

"Okay," You knelt at the altar, looking up at the blonde boy as he lingered above you, "Sit, with me." You smiled sweetly, completely unaware of the way he huffed and seemed to be growing irritated with you. You were too excited to share something with him that you were so passionate about. Not only that, but you would be saving him from damnation.

You flipped your bible open in front of you, referencing John 3:16 as it stared up at you in a golden hue. It was your favorite quote and the only time you actually allowed yourself to write on your bible. You thought of it as too holy to decimate but allowed yourself the pleasure to do so with this one quote.

"I think I should get behind you, that way I can mirror how you sit." You furrowed your eyebrows confused. You didn't understand how he wouldn't be able to copy how you were sitting by looking at you, but you believed him, nonetheless. Your breath hitched a bit in your chest and your body grew warm as he sat behind you. You moved your knees further apart as he nestled his knees next to yours and reached around to link his large hands over your own. You weren't sure you should be feeling this way in the house of the lord.

"Alright," Your voice was shaky as you spoke up again, ignoring the warm feeling growing inside your stomach. You glanced over your shoulder, noticing how intensely he was watching you. You felt like a trapped bunny suddenly and he was the big bad wolf. You exhaled, turning away and ignoring the picture of Mother Mary that seemed to be judging you. You reminded yourself that nothing you were doing was wrong, "Dear Heavenly father-," You began as you bowed your head and closed your eyes. One of Billy's hands moved away from yours, but you ignored it as you thought of the way your father prayed so powerfully and tried to mirror his words.

"We come to you praying for forgiveness of our sins," You continued, ignoring the rustling sounds that Billy was making behind you, "Billy comes to you, exhausted and needing your guidance to right his wrongs." Billy made a sound behind you, and you felt your eyebrows raise but kept your eyes shut. You were slightly worried but then remembered he had come to you for assistance. You reminded yourself of how eager he sounded to learn to pray earlier. You hadn't allowed him to smoke either, perhaps he was acting out of nerves.

"Billy invites you into his life-," Your voice caught in your throat as you felt a slight breeze underneath your skirt, feeling it lift above your thighs. You gulped hard, too lost for a second on the shivers that crossed your skin before you snapped your eyes open, "What are you doing?" You rushed out, turning to look at him.

"Praying with you," He replied simply as his hand toyed with the hem on your skirt. You felt your mouth turning dry. It had been so long since you had been touched in this way. It brought shame to you as you thought of the previous incident. One night at church camp was all it took for your father to think the worst of you. You had spent many evenings like this, on your knees repenting for what you had done in the dark, "What's wrong?" He asked oblivious as his other hand moved from your clutched fingers and traced the exposed section of your thighs. You gaped, feeling more warmth rush between your legs. You hoped he wouldn't raise your skirt too far to see the wet patch that had formed on your panties.

"This isn't praying," You responded quickly but were unable to push him away. Your body seemed to purr against him, urging for more of his touch as his fingers dipped under your skirt and near your panty line. You burned in shame as your hips moved forward to their own accord, "Billy." You warned as his chest vibrated against your back as he laughed. He pressed up against you and you could feel a hardness against your backside. You fought everything in your power to grind back against it as you remembered where you were, what you were doing.

"We're worshipping God, aren't we?" He rested his cheek against yours and you could feel the tickle of his mustache against your skin as he turned to speak to you. He smelt of smoke and mint, "What are we doing wrong?" You knew exactly what you were doing wrong as his hands curved over your hips and ground his bulge against you. You whined, overly enjoying how good it felt.

"You're praying?" You looked at him for reassurance, watching how his blue eyes held onto you. You felt nervous, but ultimately believed him. Was there really a written doctrine on how you were supposed to pray? You realized you'd have to ask your father later. Perhaps this was completely okay as long as it done in prayer.

"I'm praying for my forgiveness," Billy confirmed, letting the material of your skirt rest against your back as his hands traced over your backside. His fingers gripped the hem of your panties, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest. You didn't have any protests as he slid them down your thighs, "Keep praying for me. You don't want me to go to hell, do you?" He drew you away from your sinful thoughts and feelings. You blinked back as you looked at the words of the bible in front of you, unsure of where to begin again.

"Billy invites you into his life," You repeated again, taking a shaky breath as he rubbed the bare skin of your backside. You closed your eyes tightly, ignoring the sound of plastic tearing, "To fill the emptiness in him and make him w-whole." The gasp caught on your words as you felt pressure between your thighs as Billy slid his hard cock inside of you. He fit into you perfectly and you felt as if you were putty in his hands. The sounds that left your mouth was pathetic as your pussy squeezed around his cock, urging for more of him. Your hips rocked forward against the altar, elbows digging into your bible and curling up the delicate pages as he bottomed out in you. Moans left you breathlessly as you shook your head, trying to find the words to speak again. He pushed all the way forward, bottoming out inside of you as his balls pressed up against your bottom. He grunted in your ear, lips ghosting across your skin. It was sinful, it was pleasurable.

"Help him to understand your grace, your mercy," You squeaked out as he dragged his hips out slowly before pushing back into you. It felt so good, so good that you were unsure you'd feel anything like this again. You were having a hard time thinking of God when all you could focus on was the drag of his cock inside of your fluttering walls, "Your peace." You finished as you rested your head against your enclosed hands as Billy rocked into you. The grip on your hips was tight as he held you steady. Your knees were burning from digging into and slightly dragging along the hardwood floors. You began to pray for more, to never ever go a day where you wouldn't feel Billy's cock inside of you.

"Fuck," Billy's curse drew you from your thoughts and you felt your mouth open in horror as your conscience overtook your lust. You were letting Billy fuck you on your knees against the praying altar, "You're not so pious now, are you?" His warm breath tickled against your neck as you stared up the large cross that was hanging proudly above the two of you. You trembled against him, your thighs shaking as his cock rubbed against the bundle of nerves inside of you.

"Wrong," You moaned out, your hips pinning against the altar as he drilled into you, his hands gripping your waist and shoulder harshly as he kept you still. Not that you would purposely move away anyways. Your pussy was wrapped around him tightly, coating him in your wetness as you begged for more, "Billy, this is so wrong." You pleaded but you didn't want him to stop. You wanted him to continue, to bring you over the edge. Praying had never been this pleasurable before.

“How could this be bad if we’re with the lord right now?” Billy hummed from behind you. Your hands were linked together so tightly that they were turning white from the pressure. Your elbows were digging into the red cushion of the alter as you stared up at the portrait of Jesus hanging above the two of you. You prayed for forgiveness silently, hoping he would understand this one moment of lust.

"It's wrong," You replied weakly, a squeal leaving your mouth as he pulled his cock out until only his tip remained before slamming back into you. He laughed as his lips traced over the crook of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, "F-Forgive me lord." You pleaded, begged even as your body responded differently from what your mind was saying. You knew this was wrong, completely forbidden but you couldn't help how your body was reacting.

It felt so incredible. Your body felt as if it was lifting slowly into the air, warped in pleasure as Billy bent you down harder over the altar. Your hands were still crossed, and you could just barely hear the sound of paper tearing from being pulled against your skin over the sound of your skin slapping together. His rhythm was brutal, and you responded just as eagerly to him, coating his cock with your slick. The sounds that left your mouth that begged him for more, pleaded for him to never stop making her feel this good.

You could remember the way people reacted to your father, cheering him on and praising him during his service. You had never heard anyone sound the way you did at the moment when they responded to God. Billy was drawing out feelings and sounds from you that you didn't think were possible.

"Look at you," He mocked, smacking your cheek lightly, "So fucking desperate for my cock. What would your daddy say if he saw us?" You whined, licking the drool from the corner of your mouth as his cock repeatedly hit against your g-spot. You were so wet, drenching his dick so badly that every time he pulled out it was easier to push back into you and go that much further. Your toes were curling as you cried out.

"He'd be so mad," You whined pathetically, a gasp leaving your mouth as Billy wrapped a large hand around your throat. You moaned when he squeezed softly, tugging your head back so he could lick at your parted lips. It felt so dirty, so wrong as his wet tongue slid inside your mouth. You were desperate, rutting back against him as you opened your mouth wider for him to explore, "Oh God." You took the lords name in vain as Billy swatted at your ass.

"Oh, the poor preacher would be so disappointed in you," Billy tsked as he pulled his mouth away. His cheeks were flushed, lips red and eyes dilated as he spoke full of bitterness, "Knowing his daughter was such a sinner. Letting a stranger fuck, her in his church." He spit out and you turned your head in shame, not liking how his words affected you. They went straight to your core, making you clench around him as his movements became more rapid. For the first time, you didn't understand how something so wrong could feel so good. You felt as if you had been made to be forced upon your knees and fucked in this manner.

“Please stop talking,” You whimpered out, unsure if you could take any more of his words as you felt your stomach muscles tightening together. Your hips were rocking back against him with such urgency, such deprivation as your knuckles turned even whiter, “Billy!” You yelled out as he reached between your legs, rubbing harshly against the bud there that had been begging for attention.

He pulled his hand away quickly before swiftly smacking your pussy. You yelped, the force of his movements pushing you deeper onto his hard cock. You blubbered, moaning as the sensation from his slap traveled across your pussy. It was so embarrassing, but you could feel yourself growing wetter from his actions.

"I don't listen to slutty little preacher's daughters," He yanked on your hair, pulling you back and pressing you against his chest. You mewled pathetically as his cock moved into you harder and faster, "So drunk on my cock, aren't you?" He squeezed your neck, and you felt your face grow warm as the air left your lungs. You felt your eyes beginning to strain before he released his grip, and you were gasping for breath.

"Yes," You whispered out pathetically as he swatted your cheek, making your head more towards the side. You stared at where the piano was positioned in the corner, trying to focus on that instead of the way his hips were rolling into you, "Feels so good." You could feel tears forming in your eyes. You were unsure if it was from the pleasure or the shame.

Billy reached between your legs, his fingers tracing across your folds before rubbing your sensitive bud again. Your whole pussy felt sore from where he had smacked it earlier. You were whining, grinding into his hand as he played with your clit. The sound of the two of you echoed loudly inside of the church and you were sure that anyone nearby could hear your desperate cries.

It didn’t take long after that. The feeling of his cock swelling inside of you, stretching you out with each thrust and hitting your g-spot mixed with his fingers rubbing your wet clit had you chanting his name as you shook around him.

"God," You cried out as you came, fully shaking and trembling around Billy as he held you in place. You were afraid that without his strong grip you would've melted into a puddle on the floor. You partially wish you would so you could slip between the tiles and disappear forever, "Oh my God." You repeated.

Billy grunted into your ear, slamming you against the altar so harshly that your hips burned and screamed in protest. You felt your toes curling as he held himself deep inside of you, before he pulled away quickly. You were stunned, shaking on your knees as he gripped your hair harshly and turned you to face him. You stared up at him from your knees, your hands still clenched together in front of you as he pumped his cock with vigor. You watched the lines of his face, watching how they curled into pleasure. His mouth fell open when he groaned loudly and released white, stringy liquid across your face.

You gasped, blinking your eyes quickly to avoid getting any of the liquid in your eyes. You felt the warm, thick goop resting on your cheek before slowly sliding off and landing on your chest, your arm, your bible. He cursed again, reaching down to wipe the goop away from your eyes. You opened your lids hesitantly.

You thought he looked like an angel. Surrounded in golden light with his cheeks red and his eyes dilated. He scooped his liquid from your face, watching you intensely before pushing it into your gaping mouth. You moaned as his thumb pressed down on your tongue. You held it there for a moment, unsure of the taste. It was odd, too salty and musky. His eyes narrowed.

"Swallow it," He commanded, holding your chin in his hand harshly. You closed your lips together but couldn't find the strength to swallow the odd taste. He frowned and pinched your nose together, cutting off your hair, "Do it." He spoke calmly and that scared you. You forced it down, furrowing your eyebrows together and wincing as you felt it settle heavily in your stomach. It almost burnt you.

"That wasn't God," Billy looked down at you, seemingly surrounded in the golden haze, "That was all me." His words left a gaping hole inside of your chest where your heart had once been pure. You could feel the darkness swirling in as it mixed with the guilt and the shame. You gaped, when he spit on you. It dripped down the side of your cheek, moving towards the curve of your lips. You hastily wiped it away, smearing the saliva onto your cheek and palm. You were repulsed with how good it made you feel.

You shook, still sitting on your burning knees as your emotions flooded inside of you. Billy seemed to be enjoying how conflicted you looked at the moment. You had to pull yourself away from his gaze as your eyes searched the altar for some kind of relief. You looked back, gasping as you looked down at your ruined bible. Pages were torn and ink was smeared from the drool that had left your lips. There was a large puddle of his liquid against your highlighted words. You were horrified and felt the swell of tears rising within you as you were suddenly too aware of what you had just done.

"You've damned me," You cried weakly, pathetically as Billy adjusted himself. He tilted his head, a grin ghosting across his lips as he looked down at you. Your hair messy, lips swollen and eyes red. Your knees burned as you moved to sit on your backside. Your thighs were slick from your come and your panties hung pathetically on your thighs as you tried to pull them up between your blubbering. He had taken away your faith and left you with an entirely different craving inside that you feared only he could solve, "Why?" You asked a loaded question, too full of your emotions to care. It was just as much your fault as his, but he had tempted you.

He crouched down in front of you, ignoring your rules from earlier as he lit his cigarette. You stared in horror as he blew a puff of smoke out at you. You suddenly wondered if he was the devil. The bible had spoken of Satan being so beautiful, so appealing that he could easily persuade those who were weak of faith into sinning. You realized your father had been right all along about you. You were weak. The worst thing was that you knew if Billy asked, you'd do it all over again. Despite your shame and humiliation, you would let him take you on the floor of your father's church again.

Billy cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at you as he stared at you with hardened blue eyes. You had thought that they were so pretty earlier, but now all it did was remind you of the terrible things you had done, "We're both sinners now," he mumbled, looking like he had just devoured his favorite meal, "God will forgive you if you just pray it away."

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Lapses

Billy x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: In the wake of death our minds begin to wander. To better times, to little moments. Reality is so fickle in the minds of the weak. But he's coming back. Eventually.

Tags: No use of Y/N, hurt/no comfort, set mostly during the nine months Reader spent grieving before Billy returned in 'My Ghost,' disassociation, distorted reality, death, references to 'Twin Peaks' (1992).

Previous Works in Series: 'My Ghost' (original) • 'Repentance' (prequel)

Warning: You should at minimum read 'My Ghost' before reading this work in the series first. (For best reading experience, please read both previous works beforehand.)

Notes: :)

-¤°》◇《°¤-

Down comes clumps of wet snow from the grey sky, falling.

                And falling.

                         And falling.

I don't know when I wake up.

The TV has been on for hours. Flashing the same photos.

He smiled at me from across the room.

Don't think. Don't perceive. Don't focus.

"I think you look pretty with your hair like that," I told him. His cheeks are so rosy when he smiles.

Smiled.

Why is he smiling?

Where is that photo even from? Have they contacted me with any new details? Check your email.

"Is the internet working? I can't get this fucking email to go through."

He left on an errand.

"Did the auto-payment go through for the bill?"

He's coming back.

"You didn't tell me that was due, I don't have anything on the account."

He's coming back.

"You don't have anything?"

He's coming back.

"I don't have anything."

What are you supposed to do after a death?

There's no guide. There's no instruction manual. Grieve, move on. That's it. That is all we know. How am I supposed to do the second if the general public disapproves so heavily of the first?

There's a long while I don't even leave my house. I lock the doors, shut the curtains tight and nail them to the walls so he can't leave. Like he's captured in my basement, wilting in the darkness as I try to preserve his voice ringing in my ears like the sirens on the TV I eventually break when I throw the remote at it in a fit of rage and desperation.

"It's a piece of shit anyways," Billy would say when he saw it again. "I always meant to buy us a new one."

First thing I did when I found out was rip open my nightstand drawer. "William, have you ever shot a man?" I ask, bolting upright as I wipe the crust from my eyes.

"What the fuck did you do? What the fuck did you do?" I whispered under my breath. "Where the fuck is the gun?in my nightstand. And if I don't get some sleep soon, I'm going to use it. I haven't before, but I can't imagine it's hard."

I tore the house apart looking for it. He's unwell. Wasn't it just last night he was curled on my bed, so sweet and small as he stared at the wall in front of him?

He didn't feel well. He said his stomach hurts. My stomach hurts. Must have been something he ate, he mentioned a mistake. He wouldn't do this of his own free will, I know him.

He walks through the living room, pulling on a jacket to fight the cold air that seeps through the thin windows.

"Whatcha watching?"

Your report "'Twin Peaks,'" I told him.

"Oh shit, seriously? I haven't seen that since high school," he laugh'sowhodoicallabouttheremains?"

"Apparently they came out with a new season," I said. "Got us a free trial if we wanna watch."

"We gotta start from the beginning. Won't make sense if we don't," he says as he throws himself and one other dead thus far against the couch, almost landing on top of me in his excitement. It makes me scream.

Our first date was a little bit of a mess. I wasn't really expecting to meet someone when I did. But I met him. And he was sweet.

"So he didn't tell you anything about this?"

I've dated. I've seen a few guys. Not to sound easy, it was only a handful. But I'd only dated one other guy seriously. It was high school, lasted all the way through. Didn't end well.

"He was running an errand. He does it all of the time."

Billy picked me up fifteen minutes early. Claimed Google overshot the time estimate to my address, so he left early. Later he admitted it was a lie.

                                   But he's not a liar. Why won't anyone believe me?

"What does he do on the errands?"

"I don't know, get groceries or something. I never asked."

                         I never wanted to know.

Billy hasd this romantic side to him. Oh yes, Mister 'Primps and Primes in Front of The Mirror For an Hour Just To Get Drinks' had a flare for the dramatics. Who would have thought? And he showed up with this grocery store bouquet of lilies and baby's breath mixed with wildflowers from the local park.

"They price the hell out of these things for half the product. Figured I'd give you the proper amount," he said with a wink.

"Did you know he was affiliated with gang activities?"

"No!" Yes. "Of course not!" I helped him pack a bag of coke about a week ago.

Did you know that I love the color blue?

                                                                        No.

Mm hmm. Had it on everything. Even dyed my hair that color in high school.

      You with blue hair? You're full of shit.

No, I'm serious! Hated the bleaching process though. Do you know how bad it looks when you grow out dark hair from neon blue?

                          I imagine It'd look co-

Ld.

                              It's cold.

It's been a week. The police have decided I have nothing to do with this. The town has nothing to do with me.

The house is in shambles. But some things are prestine. Like his ashtray sitting on the kitchen table. I kept the surface clean for him, for when he comes back. A string of photos is on the wall from when we went to the arcade and found a photo booth. Half of them are photos of us just looking at each other. Not kissing. Not smiling. Just looking. He has such gentle eyes, you know? I tried to draw them once. They're really hard. They're just so soft, just the right angle. The skin on his eyes crease so specifically. And if you don't draw them right, it doesn't look like him at all. Told him I was gonna get it perfect eventually.

"I may have to go away for a little bit."

They won't give me anything to bury. They won't let him come home. One time Billy was trapped at a bus station during a snow storm and couldn't come home. He'd been running an errand for a friend. I think I know who that friend is now. Billy could hardly even call on the phone from how bad the storm was. He was so cold. Said he wished I was here. Said how much he misses me. Said there was a rerun of 'Twin Peaks' at the station keeping him company. So I put on the same episode and stared at the TV while I waited for him to regain service and let me know where he was. I told him to give me a call when he could.

I'm at the bottom of his closet. Our closet. I don't know why I'm here.

       When I was a child, I liked small spaces

Yeah?

"This is a hard time. It's only natural that you're grieving," says my mother on the other side of the phone.

A month ago Billy sat across from me, eyes trained on the TV as we smoked our way through season two.

"If I have a psychotic break, would you reenact history for me?" He teased around his joint.

"Why don't you go to church?"

"No one talks to me there. I've tried, momma. They hate me. They keep thinking I was in on it." I helped him pack a bag of coke.

"God won't judge you."

Scientists aren't really sure what happens to your mind when you die.

I've looked it up. Once. Read an article. Well, read is a strong word. More accurately I stared at it on my ancient computer I'd had since college while I disassociated for hours on end trying desperately to concentrate. Maybe it's morbid, but when your soon-to-be husband dies in a fire one is prone to wonder about such a thing.

Recent articles suggest DMT- a psychedelic drug that can occur naturally in plants -can actually be produced by your brain in the final moments of brain activity.

"Do you think there's anything after this?" He'd asked me one time as we layed beneath the stars, sand in our hair from the beach of the lake.

"I think we see what we need so that we'll be content as we drift away."

"Studies of animals undergoing brain death have found that the organ begins to release numerous signaling molecules and creates unusual brainwave patterns to try to resuscitate itself, even as it shuts down external signs of consciousness."

I'm sorry. I can't focus anymore. On anything. I feel like my lungs are being squeezed from bottom to top like a tube of gogurt.

We were hardly paying attention to the show anymore. So smoked out it was hilarious to us, laughing at everything as we focused on nothing except for the feeling of each others skin. My hands on his cheeks, his hands covering mine so soothingly. It was so sweet when he guided me off the floor where I lay. Julee Cruise sang on the old TV. Falling, falling. All I can feel is falling as he guides me into a gentle sway across the old shag carpet lit with the mid-July sunset, holding me like I'll fall far, far away.

"I think I've fallen in love with you," Billy whispered against my ear. His breath is warm.

"Yeah?" I'm too high for this conversation. I didn't even realize how low my tolerance had gotten since the last time I smoked. "You make me feel like I'm in high school again."

We'd danced the whole night. He didn't know hardly any of the songs, causing him to be off beat. I was too drunk to keep time, so I stepped on his leather boots enough times there was a visible scuff on the top of one by the end of the night. I always felt bad, offering to replace or help pay to fix it. He wouldn't let me.

"I could die tomorrow and I'd be happy," Billy confessed in a strained voice, finally letting all of the walls come tumbling down around us to the gentle beat of the song. "I'm so glad I got to meet you."

I was so nervous during our first date that I forgot how to eat hummus properly. It sounds so silly, doesn't it? But there was something about him. He wore this white button up shirt, basic jeans that were tight on his thighs. Not that I was looking. Much. His hair was combed neatly, gelled away from his face in a chic manner. Really, he took the whole thing so seriously he almost looked like some youth pastor they would have shuffled into a room with high schoolers to play a guitar and say 'you know, I was troubled once'  before offering his story of repentance. It was so different from how he usually looked. Was he scared?

But anyways, I was so nervous that when they brought us our tray of hummus and bread to share, I took my little triangle slices and barely dipped them so to not look greedy before shoving the whole piece in my mouth one by one. I didn't even remember I was supposed to tear them apart until a week later. I was just trying to avoid double dipping.

"I think that's the first time I fell in love with you," Billy confessed. I giggle so stupidly, so incredibly high as I float on air.

"Because I was stupid?" I ask.

"Because you were sweet," he said.

There's a long moment of silence, the music swelling and making the cheap TV vibrate from the bass it was unequiped to handle.

"Tell me you'll marry me one day," he whispered.

What do you do with a ring that no one wants you to wear? I'm sorry I couldn't help you.

"Isn't it a little early for that?" I laughed softly.I'm sorry you went out on a romantic whim and borrowed money you shouldn't have for the ring I was too ashamed to wear on the proper finger. "It's only been a year." I don't even think we're dancing anymore. I think I'm sorry you couldn't come back for me.we're just swaying softly to the music flowing around us in a blind stupor, the humidity so suffocating outside that Billy shoved an electric fan in the living room window to try and blow in the cool air earlier that afternoon.

And I'm sorry for hating you when you showed up unannounced at my door.

“It shuts the door to the outside world and takes care of internal business because the house is on fire,”  says biomedical scientist Charlotte Martial of the University of Liège, who studies near-death experiences.

He looks guilty sitting on the bed, watching me fiddle with the small container in front of me.

"You can't bring much," he tells me. There's sadness in his voice, honest and tired. His clothes smell like lavender.

"It's fine," I said.

He simply stares at me, bags heavy under his eyes. He had this spark of life before he returned to me that evening. I'm so glad he's home. Things weren't the same.

"Your hair looks so pretty like that," I said, stepping closer to cup his face in my hands. The contents of my nightstand drawer stabbing the bare skin of my feet as I walk to him. He blushes, looking away in shame.

"You can't ever come back if you leave with me," he says softly.

"I have nothing to return to. Everything is gone," I insisted. But I can see he's having second thoughts, glancing down the hallway. "You can't leave me again."

"What the fuck is that?" I screamed into the phone.

"Baby, I don't know-"

"There is a manhunt for my fucking fiánce who can hardly kill a fucking spider and all you want to say is you don't fucking know?!"

There's an article staring at me. Sent by my mother just a few minutes prior. Billy had been gone for a couple hours after leaving me with a small little keychain on the kitchen table and a soft kiss on my forehead, saying he had some plans for that evening. But he'll be back soon. He wasn't lying.

"I want you to come. But you have to be sure."

His eyes are desperate, staring up at me as I stoke his hair away from his face. His clothes smell like lavender.

They finally sent him home today. Took nine months. First they had to confirm it was his remains. Then I had to decide where I wanted him to go. It's such a hard process trying to get your loved ones back, especially when you were running out of the pills that kept you sane. Kept you wrapped in the thick fog of memories left behind to damn the living in a house that has turned more into a tomb. No sunlight, no visitors. My mother came over to see us once, but the smell was so bad she left soon after. I got a new bottle today. Might as well, after all.

He looks so tired on my bed. Curled in on himself. You could fit him in a box. So small. So tired.

It's so cold.

                  "You know, today would've been our anniversary?"

Zemmar says, because “death is sort of a mystery—we don’t really know what it is.”

I wonder who found me alone in the closet of our room.

                    We were too busy dancing to notice.

▪︎》◇《▪︎

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

Masterlist • Article

[lawva-girl]

Historically.. We don't mix. pt. 2

Law x fem!Reader, College AU

Pt. 1

Notes: Sorry i took forever, i kinda forgot i even posted this... HERES PT 2!!! let me know about any ponderances or possibly any errors... i dont have a beta reader or anything.. ALSO i could not come up with a nickname for reader..... so in the chat rooms i put "Y:" for "You". PLEASE tell me suggestions i will go back and fix it :D

WC: 2526

Back at the dorm that Law and Bepo shared, there was no chatter. Law was simply laying in bed with his laptop open to 5 tabs, one for each of the classes he was taking. He was taking all history classes this semester, since his counselor told him to. He would definitely miss the bio information but he did like history. Scrolling through each class, he breezed through all of the syllabus quizzes. Once he felt satisfied, it was onto checking his email, with one catching his attention. 

“DIRE!! MAKE AN APPOINTMENT OR TEXT ME ITS EMERGENT!” The email title felt like a scam but he knew it was not, in fact it was a daily burden. The man who had sent it, his counselor and adoptive father, always communicated like this. After opening the email, he found himself irritated again, Cora had only wanted to remind him that classes start today. 

“How would I not know?” Law muttered to himself. Reading through the email, then deciding he had been too neglectful of the man Law opened up their chat.

L: I know it was the first day, I got to my first two classes on time.  C: Good!!! I miss you! <3  C: Any new friends?!  C: Do you like your professors?? I hand picked them :D  L: Hand picked? You are making me socialize on purpose.  C: Not true! Nico Robin is the smartest! She already had her masters by the time most have an associates!  L: The classes are fine. Bepo made a friend, her name is Perona. C: Oh! Mihawk’s kid! Good to know she’s here! Is his step-daughter here too? Maybe y/n?  L: Yes.  C: Oh! I heard she’s similar to you! Maybe you two can be friends or something?  L: How long did you have to think to come up with this plan of yours?  C: No idea what you are talking about…. L: Cora.  C: … C: Anyways, have you gotten all the textbooks you need?  C: I want to make sure you find them all!  C: It's my job, you know.  L: I still have two more classes to go to tomorrow, but i’ll be fine.  L: Thanks.  C: Anything for you! We should meet for lunch soon! I can make you salmon rice balls! Like when you were still a baby… remember? You loved my cooking! L: I did not. You should not be in a kitchen alone, Ill meet you on friday at 11.  L: Don’t start until i'm there. Please.  C: Okay !!!!! C: I'll see you then law! C: Cant wait ! C: Sleep tight <3<3<3 

Law closed his laptop, relaxing his shoulders. He glanced over and Bepo was already asleep. He kicked off his blanket and got up to go to the bathroom. After he finished his business, washing his hands like any good bio major, he strolled to the microwave area. He had only wanted water but he saw the picture of him holding a letter, standing next to Cora. Staring at it, he wondered why the giant had wanted him to socialize so much. It’s not like he never sees human faces, or stays inside all day everyday. He just liked being alone when he could, no one to ask him stupid questions. 

After finishing his water, Law went back to bed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two went through the rest of the week, meeting each other an embarrassing amount of times. Neither one had any reason to talk to the other, so they didn’t. Until Wednesday rolled around, and they were back in Nico Robin’s class. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Someone has it out for me. I know it for sure” You wrote in your journal, along with the date and class name. Looking at Law, like you had these past two days, made you realize it more. 

“I have pissed off whatever god actually exists and they want me to repent. There is no way that all four of my classes are naturally shared with Trafalgar.” You finish scribbling away in your journal, just in time. 

“Okay, pass forward the paper I handed out to you. This was just a fun assignment to see what areas we, as a class, are most interested in.” She spoke smoothly, with an even tone. It was almost like she didn’t care, or like she had done this 20 times. 

You heard some of your classmates groan and while you agreed, you thought it was inappropriate to voice that. Tapping a pen on the paper of your journal idly, you waited for more instructions. Even though your classmates weren't raised well, your father had done a fine job with you. You were nice, respectful, studious. Sure you are shy but it's not like it mattered. 

Why speak to people and risk being embarrassed if they don’t want to talk to you? 

“Okay, as I said before this class is based in groups and communication. Please tell one person about what you studied for this assignment.” Robin had said before sitting at her desk with a book in hand. 

Suddenly everyone was talking but you and one other person. 

“My assignment is on the Five years war. I chose it because of a coin flip, I found the sources in the library database.” Already you were irritated. Another interaction with the man who had no manners. 

“Hello. That is how you start a conversation, who raised you? Anyways, my assignment is on the First Crusade. I chose it because it was the first war I thought of-” “Really? The first? Liar.” He interrupted you, of course a man like him would. 

You squinted at him, before responding with “Not lying, I was watching a documentary on the pope a day before class, which made me think of all the holy wars. It's not polite to interrupt people.” 

“Okay. I think we have discussed enough.” “Fine.” You scoffed at him mentally, before turning back to face the front of the room. 

“Okay now, I want someone to tell me about their partner's work! This is worth participation, as a friendly reminder.” She smiled eerily 

You did not raise your hand, in fact you looked away. If you were called on you would end up having to lie, since stupid Trafalgar didn’t tell you anything about his assignment. 

“Okay, randomly generated, we will have Mr. Trafalgar, Mr. Reyes, and Ms. Churchill. In that order please.” “My partner researched the First Crusade, she told me that she learned about the context of the war. Specifically Pope Urban the second’s motivations for launching the crusade, who was mainly following the lead of the Byzantine emperor. She also learned about the cost of the war, not only economically but also what it did for the Pope’s approval rating.” Incredible. He pulled all that from his ass? Wasn’t he a double major? How long ago did he even learn that? How was he able to say it so confidently? He is actually smart?! Hold on, he could’ve seen the same documentary you did and just so happened to remember important stuff. But even then, he didn’t even hesitate, he was so confident, even with a professor like Nico Robin. 

“Very good, point earned. Mr. Reyes?”

As he relaxed into his chair, you couldn’t help but stare. His hair was sticking out, a bit unruly from his beanie. It was white with weird black spots on it, maybe a statement about faux animal fur? Could he be vegetarian or something? Maybe he likes to hunt? His sideburns went right into his weird facial hair, “should be shaved” was scribbled into your journal, along with “spots?” and of course “T is smart?”. You saw his black hair under his beanie and thought of your father, who would never slouch like the man in front of you was. 

“Okay good to hear. This wraps up our class for today, I’ll see you all on monday.” 

You started gathering your things, excited to go back to Perona. She promised she would have your favorite food ready for you as soon as your class ended. It was a little weird, but you two always were close. 

“Are you always the last to leave?” The sudden voice pulled you from your thoughts, and made you drop your pencil case. No pencils escaped but the case clunked right under whoever had just shocked you. Law, with no expression on his face, immediately thought of his giant  adoptive father; who was extremely clumsy.  

“No. Are you stalking me? I feel like the campus police or a trusted adult should know about this.” You looked up at him, not reaching for your case at all. 

“I’m not, somehow, we have the exact same class schedule. With the exception of my online class.” “That's crazy buddy… Will you grab my case?”

“You can’t get it yourself?” He scoffed and folded his arms. 

“I think the reason why I dropped it should be the one to get it for me, no?” You thought he looked childish, folding his arms like he just got told to go to his room. 

“Fine.” He reached down, grabbing the case and placing it on your desk, “even though you were closer to the floor… I'm sorry.” He looked away as he said it. Once again you thought he was childish. 

You found yourself staring again. This time you noticed his hands, the word ‘death’ tattooed on his fingers, and the heart on the back of his hand. Shocked to say the least.

“Holy shit.” Huh? You said that outloud? Maybe you weren’t nice. 

You looked up to see Law’s face, somewhere between shock and disgust.

“Oh uh.. I meant, holy shit your tattoos are cool. They look like they hurt.” Maybe you saved it, you really did mean it in admiration. 

“It was painful, but worth it. Bearable at times.” He looked at his hand and held it up between the two of you. Shocked that he held it up for display, you raised your eyebrows. Staring at the tattoo, you were about to reach out and hold his hand closer so you could get a better look at the line work. Then your thoughts were interrupted.

“I know we aren’t on the best terms, but you heard the professor. I think it would be a good idea to bite the bullet and partner up.” He said it so matter-of-factly you almost agreed without realizing you were lost. 

“Huh? Partner?” you blinked up at him. “Of course you weren’t paying attention. The collaborative presentation that you and another student must present on the 18th?” He sounded annoyed, but his face wasn’t telling. 

“Yes! Sorry I got lost in my thoughts, we might as well partner up. I don’t have anyone else in mind, so I can stick with you.” You finished packing, finally, and stood up. Swinging your bag onto your back, you held out your hand towards him. 

“Okay… What is that for?” He nodded down to your hand. 

“Give me your phone. I’ll put my email in. We can make a google slide and share it that way.” 

He paused, with a semi frown on his face then gave up. He put his phone in your hand, and watched intently as you typed in something. Then you returned his phone, much to his delight. 

“Bye then. Just do 5 slides on the First Crusade or whatever other war the pope has started.” He put both of his hands in his pocket as he casually strolled out, leaving you to the room. 

“Hey! We should at least pretend you won't be a dick this whole time! Don’t boss me around!” You realized that you had said that just a bit too loud for the circumstances. Maybe you weren’t nice. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y: Okay! I just left class, do you have my salmon nigiri?  Y: You won't believe how good I was today. P: WHST  P: who are you?  P: The y/n i know would never ever say that.  P: Yes i do have it ready :) Y: I had to partner up with Him :/  Y: The strength  Y: Also he has finger tattoos?  Y: What the fuck.  P: You didn’t see them before?  Y: Sir traffy has been through it P: I wonder if hes like some ex-gang member? P: That is such a gang member thing to get tattooed P: Why aren’t you responding?  P: Helllllooooooo  P: y/n P: y/n P: ….

“Rona! You are literally crazy. I was walking over here, that's why I wasn’t responding.” You closed the door behind you, making sure to lock it. 

“Anyways! I’ve never seen you have such a strong reaction! To a guy no less, did he like to recite everything in the declaration of independence?” Perona called out to you while you entered and took off your shoes.

You walked over to the kitchen, where she wasdoing some dishes. Tossing your bag on the couch, then taking a seat at the bar that was connected to the kitchen. “If he did that I would’ve proposed on the spot… He just is kinda smart? It’s freaky! One second he’s brushing me off and not wanting to talk to me at all, the next he's explaining the cause of the First Crusade? Well… Kinda.” Perona turned with two plates in hand, and took a seat next to you. She placed the plate of sushi in front of you, “Well honestly i'm not surprised… Bepo says he is always studying.” 

“You talk about him with Bepo? Perona…” you made a disappointed face at her as you pulled your plate closer to you. “Noooo it’s all kosher! Bepo just offers up info about everyone he knows. I think he just doesn’t have a filter or whatever.”

“Yeah…” you took a piece of nigiri and dipped it, then ate it. As you chewed and swallowed you thought of your dad, “Do you think your dad would come visit us here?” 

“Hmmm only if your dad forced him to. I can picture it now ‘don’t you miss our girls?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then lets go! You pay and ill bring the beer!’ ‘beer isn’t allowed on a plane shanks’ or something like that…” Perona tried her best but didn’t really get the overall attitude of your dads. You decided not to comment and just take another bite. 

“Do I get to know why you asked?” Perona said, food in her mouth.

“Traffy, as you call him, has hair as dark as Mihawk’s. It made me think of him today…”

“Sigmund Frued would have a lot to say to you right now.” “No he wouldn't, he’s dead.” 

“Not for long…” “What the fuck?” You both burst out in laughter at the same time, something you had only ever done with your sister. 

After dinner it was off to bed, except you weren’t actually sleeping. Your laptop was open on your lap, on the google slides page. The document was created, named, and shared to Traffy. It wasn’t the most well-mannered thing, but you decided that nicknames meant you’re friends. Your sister desperately wanted you to have friends, and this would make her think you had them. You didn’t like the deception, if you could call it that, but it's not like you were gonna go out and get real friends. 

You started typing away, filling out 3 slides with information and pictures before deciding to get actual sleep. 

[gamesception]

Sception Reads Cass Cain #32

Batgirl (2000) #14 writer: Puckett pencils: Scott

Different inker this time, John Lowe instead of Campanella. I'm not enough of a connoisseur of comic art to really notice the difference. Honestly, I've been favoring pencil art in this series in general and not really mentioning inker & colorist. Should I be crediting/calling those out specifically? Let me know.

Anyway, we're back to the main series. Last time Cass was riding high after saving a repentant assassin from government agents. It fit more or less right in with the sort of one shot story we've seen a few times in her series, so there really wasn't a reason to expect any follow up from it, though the tone was a notable break from the usual Batgirl benchmark somewhere between sombre and miserable. This time is a return to form.

Before we get into the issue, that note about the tone does tie into that DCWomenKickingAss post that's been making the rounds again recently (link), the one with the interview with Scott Peterson where he describes the original instructions he gave to Kelley Puckett for designing the new batgirl as:

“Hey, new Batgirl. Young–late teens, I think–and Asian. And cheerful and chipper and always up and good natured and she has a complete and total death wish.”

As much as the Cass we got ended up being my favorite comic character ever, it's unfortunate that the 'cheerful, chipper' aspect - which is definitely there in the character, I've talked in previous posts about how much she loves being Batgirl and how critical that is to her character and to the overall themes of the book - is rarely the dominant tone of her ongoing. The quote from Puckett above implies book that on the surface is bright and cheerful, with a subversive undercurrent that fades into the background only to rear up and slap you in the face unexpectedly, where as what we got is an unrelenting 'long darkness of the soul' situation, punctuated by brief flashes of light that more often than not turn out to be the headlights of an oncoming train.

Which brings us back to the current issue.

We start with some government suits watching video of Cass and debating whether she's a metahuman or not, before being surprised by the fact that they have no matching info for her. Still pretty fun and lighthearted, but it does establish the idea that these guys are going to be a problem.

we also re-do the goodbye scene from the end of last issue...

Only this this time Puckett adds this bit where the assassin realizes he'll never get to see his family again, dampening the mood, setting up for what happens to him later, but also putting this divide between himself and Cass. Last time this guy could be read as a sort of self-surrogate for her, someone parallel to her situation as a former assassin, and by saving him Cass was sort of getting the chance to save herself.

Here, though, the guy establishes himself, however briefly, as his own person, with a life and a family. All the things that Cass's unique history and circumstances have denied her.

Things that Barbara is extremely concerned that Cass may have permanently cut herself off from ever having in the future by letting herself be recorded by the government outside of costume.

Cass, of course, can't imagine a future for herself. Because she's going to die within the year when Shiva returns. And because she doesn't want to be anything other than Batgirl. But mostly because deep down she doesn't believe she deserves a life or a future, and doesn't want to think about why that is.

As it is, Cass doesn't think she has any connections, so isn't afraid of losing them.

Bab's dialog implies that she's going to go to Bruce about this thinking maybe he could get through to her, but Bruce, consciously or otherwise, has been actively isolating Cass, so can he really be counted on to prevent her from isolating herself even further?

There's this transition page where Cass wakes up to find Bruce instead of Oracle in the Tower. I don't talk about color much, but Jason Wright does a good job here, the colors not just conveying a transition to night but also the switch to a darker emotional and narrative tone, despite still being all smiles, not knowing what happened.

Just like John way back in issue two, we have another guy who Cass thought she had saved, and let herself feel happy about, only to find out that the villains had come back for them later. And once again it's a pretty gut wrenching twist.

Cass asks Bruce's permission to hurt these people, not just take them down and capture them, but to personally punish them, and he grants it, which is a pretty gross dynamic all round.

Remember this bit from issue 4, when Bruce is talking about how 'perfect' Batgirl was?

Better even than himself, not just as a matter of skill, but more importantly for how she was untainted by any excess cruelty. It's why he was so shocked to find out she might have killed someone, despite knowing Cain had trained her from birth to do just that. It wasn't something that the Cassandra the he knew was capable of. But a few short months working for Batman and...

This isn't 'gentle'. This isn't someone you'd be shocked to find out had killed someone.

Remember this bit from issue 4? Bruce all high and mighty about what David Cain did to Cass. But for all the painful and potentially lethal extremes of his training regimen, and for all the evil he intended her to do, David raised a girl who, once she understood what killing was, chose to abandon her life and her father - despite loving both - rather than kill again.

A few months exposure to Bruce is eroding away the humanity and compassion that compelled her to seek atonement in the first place.

Bruce, his methods, the way he treats his friends and family, he's actively making Cassandra worse.

On the way home Bruce says he's sorry, but it's about what happened to the assassin, he's not sorry for what he's doing to Cassandra himself, what he's taking from her. He's not even done taking things from her this issue, as he doesn't take her back to the clocktower.

Of course. Of course he's fine with throwing away even the possibility of a future independent of him and his mission. You can just imagine how the conversation with Babs went too, at first trying to appeal on Cass's behalf, Bruce just not getting it, switching to practical threats to the mission, how Cass's exposure potentially exposes Oracle, in the hope that he'll respond to that - only for Bruce to respond by taking Cass away entirely, severing the one lonely link to someone who at least tries to care about her as a person in her own right.

When Babs was trying to appeal to Cass earlier, she brushed her off, convinced that she didn't have anything to lose anyway. You can feel the realization dawning on her that yeah, she really did have something to lose.

And the issue ends with this panel that makes her tiny to emphasize how completely isolated she is now.

This issue is a major emotional low point in Cass's early series, maybe *the* major low point. Bruce at his worst, Cass at her most alone.

Things will slowly improve from here, though sadly never in quite the way they needed to, with a direct confrontation of Bruce himself.

[yaralulu]

i mean i will always hold the things rhysand did in book one against him but that’s mostly because he had zero character growth since then, we were just asked to think there was because we were idiots who thought he was a murderer for murdering people. retconning =/= repentance

like yes lucien “endangered” feyre by playing a trick on her but he didn’t say “you know who you should totally get chicken nuggets with? my bestie the suriel!” (encourage her) how could he have known that the nagas were going to attack? people also bring up “he drugged her and laughed” and it’s like. they’re faeries. and he didn’t drug her so she could forget all the terrible things he was making her do - unlike some people - just like the suriel chicken trick has nothing on sending your future wife and mate into a known cannibal’s house to retrieve a fucking wedding ring

people talk about nesta like as if she was stood by the front door with a broomstick yelling “come back wihh the some meat or don’t come back at all, shoo!” feyre repeatedly says how pointless it would’ve been for nesta to try and stop her from doing anything (the convo about a brawl post mercenary scene comes to mind) so like???? nesta could’ve tried to lock her up so she wouldn’t endanger herself but we all saw how that’s received

it is genuinely irritating how feyre constantly disregards what she’s asked to do - even if it’s in her best interest and done with good intentions - but will demand an apology if said disregarding has consequences she did not like

Oh I will also always hold the shit Rhys did in TAR against him because like you said he hasn’t changed one bit since then. He’s never truly taken accountability or apologized which is unlike Lucien and Nesta,who yes were assholes in the first book but have had immense character development and have apologized and atoned for their wrong doings.Thats where my point differs.

It’s incredibly stupid to keep circling back to Lucien being a jerk to Feyre in TAR as an excuse or rationale for her mistreating him now.The argument just doesn’t hold because since then Lucien and Feyre’s relationship has changed drastically and Lucien has done so much for Feyre and he’s even acknowledged that he was a bad friend to her (not true but he believes it anyways which says a lot).

The suriel situation is so blown out of proportion because like you said Lucien couldn’t have predicted the naga attacking Feyre and he was literally standing by in case she screamed for help.Yes,he hesitated but he did end up running after her,Tamlin just got there before him.Lucien was never gonna let her die that was never the point and he literally stated that.He also felt bad about hesitating and gave her a jeweled hunting knife as a peace offering.Like that moment changed the trajectory of their relationship because Lucien saw Feyre in a completely different light after that.That scene was the building block for their entire friendship.It wasn’t some malicious moment where Lucien tried to kill Feyre,it was the start of their friendship.It had to happen.

And with Nesta,SJM kinda dug herself into a hole because she purposefully made the sisters the “evil sisters” stereotype in TAR which is why I literally couldn’t care less about anything they did then.But like also remember when Nesta hiked all the way to the wall to try and find Feyre? Yeah nobody wants to ever talk about that but let’s talk about the hunting debacle for the 175th time 🥱.

[rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw]

Saturday Morning Session

Come Ye That Love the Lord

Conducting: Dallin H Oaks

The Morning Breaks

Sustaining vote – in the morning session? Normally afternoon

Church audit report – in the morning session? Normally afternoon

Did You Think to Pray

Jeffrey R. Holland

Awwwww the most fortunate of men!

More concentration, focus on the Savior, hope on His word, etc.

“Thanks are the highest form of thought. Gratitude is Happiness doubled by Wonder.” – Chesterton?

God hears every prayer we offer.

- Prayers are often answered differently than we expect

Our prayers are our sweetest hour, our most sincere desire, our most purest form of worship

Hesitation to pray doesn’t come from God.

Prayers should be spoken out loud. -It is a conversation with God

Listen to the spirit to know how to pray

If you don’t know what to pray for, just pray anyway!

Even the Savior had to pray to be closer to His Father – even He could pray “more earnestly.”

J Anette Dennis

You can look for a deeper meaning in all the things you read – how does this bring you closer to the Savior?

Jesus Christ is the center of ALL covenants we make.

Covenant relationships bless us, but it is out choice as to how,

Everything done in the Temple points to Gods plan for us. -Prayerfully seek the further meanings

Our symbolic outer clothing is only worn in the temple. Other than the garments, although those show that Jesus covers us.

Armor of Light – which is Christ

Choose to have a relationship with God by making and keeping covenants with Him

Alexander Dushku

Restoration began with a boys desperate prayer and a pillar of light

Rather than a pillar of light, the Lord sends us a ray of light – and then another, and then another

How do you experience the rays of light from the Lord? -Peace, impressions, desires, testimonies, hopefulness, prayer, feeling the love of God as you serve others

If we’re believing and repenting, we ARE living in revelation, even if we don’t recognize it or think we are experiencing it.

You cannot always expect big miracles and pillars of light – the Light comes line upon line, precept upon precept, here a ray and there a ray

Experiencing depression and anxiety make it difficult (sometimes impossible) to recognize the Spirit - Sometimes we don’t even know we are feeling the Spirit at all until after the fact!

Perhaps one ray is not enough for a Testimony, but together they can become a Light that will scare away the darkness.

D&C 93:36 “The glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth.”

D&C 50:24 “That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.”

Press Forward Saints

Ulisses Soares

Covenant confidence through Christ

When we enter the Lords house, we embark on a sacred journey to become like Christ

What happens IN the temples is important

Remain Confident in Christ

Confidence in the covenants made with Jesus Christ is something you should pass on to your children

“My disciples shall stand in holy places and not be moved.”

Go to the temple with confidence and humility - Make preparations to go – not just for those going for the first time. We should be perpetually preparing - Will help with anxiety about worthiness

Home centered, Church supported, Temple Bound - Being Temple bound connects us to the Savior

Cast not away your confidence, instead let your confidence wax strong.

Jack N Gerard

Jesus Christ is our exemplar. - Integrity means being true to God, to each other, and to our identity.

Do what is right, let the consequence follow.

Exercise integrity in your choices

Would others see God through my conduct?

A life of integrity is not a life of perfection - Due to the fact that during this life you literally cannot be perfect - Perfection exists but not in me

Christian kindness is not a substitute for integrity - Meaning don’t be fake in your kindness? - Don’t be hypocrites?

I Know that My Savior Loves Me

Henry B Eyring

Story about going to the temple and finding out after the sealing that people have lost houses (teton dam break) and they left their kids at home and had to spend the night in a hotel and couldn’t make it home

“How can you sleep at a time like this?” - Whatever the outcome, all will be well because of the temple. We have made covenants - Apostles at gethsemane

John 14:27 “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

God will not abandon His relationship to all those who have covenanted with Him - He will never tire in His efforts to help us, and we will never exhaust His willingness to support us

Light and hope can come from keeping covenants, and they are opportunities to draw closer to God

We Thank Thee O God for a Prophet

[eventinelysplayground]

How Old?

Well today is everyone's favorite playboy author's birthday so Happy Birthday Arthur! Here's just a short little fic for it as I had a lot on my plate this week. Pure fluff WC approx 570.

It was a typical morning at the mansion as a few of the residents sat around eating breakfast.

“Are you looking forward to next week Arthur?”

Vincent's cheerful voice broke the quiet that had settled over the table.

“Why of course, I can't wait to see what Mitsuki has up her sleeve this year.”

Mitsuki smiled briefly at Arthur before her brows knitted together.

“I've never asked before but, how does that really work anyways?”

“How does what work?”

It was Napoleon's voice drifting towards them as he entered the dining room.

“It's not important luv.”

Mitsuki frowned at Arthur's dismissal, her brows knitting together even more in concentration.

“Don't make Hondje think so hard in the morning, it's not good for her.”

“Hey!”

“Theo be nice. I'm not really sure, I've never thought about it before.”

“Thought about what?”

“Mitsuki was wondering how birthdays work for us now.”

“It's really not that important, Leon old chap.”

“Well Mitsuki thinks it is and honestly now I'm curious too.”

Vincent flashed Arthur one of his angelic smiles but there was clearly mischief in his eyes. Napoleon looked puzzled and Mitsuki continued with her thought.

“I mean a birthday celebration and the thoughts and feelings behind it are the same no matter what but…how do you figure out how old you are now?”

“Ya, just how old are you now?”

Theo leaned back in his chair as he folded his arms across his chest and smirked at Arthur.

“Still younger than you lot.”

“I don't think that's right.”

“It’s not, if we add on to your age from before you're over 8-”

“Didn't you say you wanted to go to that popular bakery this morning luv, we really should get going.”

Arthur glared at Theo and Napoleon while desperately trying to change the subject.

“Well if you don't like that, we could always just start counting from when you were revived.”

Vincent's way sounded better on paper but…

“That would put you around what-”

Arthur coughed loudly interrupting Napoleon.

“I don't ever want to be quite that young again.”

“Well I don't see another option, sorry Arthur.”

Vincent looked repentant but he truly wasn't, at times like this it made Arthur wonder which brother was truly the devilish one.

“Actually there is a third option.”

The group startled at Isaacs sudden contribution, they had all assumed he was off in his own little world not having acknowledged any of them until now.

“What would that be Isaac?”

Isaac looked up at Napoleon and sighed.

“Just use the age he's supposed to be.”

“Huh?”

Mitsuki wasn't the only one to voice her confusion.

“Well Arthur was still alive at this time right, so just use whatever age he would have been this year.”

“How old would you have been Ar-”

“43.”

Theo and Vincent's voices overlapped each other. Arthur was pouting now as he slumped in his chair.

“Well given my other choices I suppose this way isn't that bad.”

Mitsuki leaned over and kissed Arthur on the cheek.

“I think it's a good age, but honestly I'd love you just as much no matter what age you were.”

“It really wouldn't matter if I was an old man?”

Mitsuki shook her head.

“No, you're still you no matter how old you are.”

Arthur's smile was back as he pulled Mitsuki in for another kiss.

[cuddlefishextrodinaire]

so now that all of this stuff is happening in the dc batfam thing, with batman 2016, #148, i am now going to put in MY say because obviously, i have the best perspective.

so first off, yeah. Dc messed things up with the jason and dying thing. like, there's no reason you should bring him back that fast, which brings me to talk about the complaints people have been saying about how death is treated to trivially in the comics world, and how,if a character dies, you leave them dead.

permanently.

and here's me view on that:

yeah, i would say that this move that dc pulled is an example of a simple money-views grab, and is cheap, and i don't like it. they need to simply create better stories, if they want more views/money.

which isn't to say that death should be eradicated completely from the comics world. if you've many comics at all, you know that there are a LOT od characters dying and coming back, in both marvel, vision, image and dc comics.

i woulnd't say that this is a bad thing. simply that it can be abused and overrused very easily.

take, for example, the x-men (if you don't know who they are, then god help you, i don't know what rock you've been living under). they die ALL THE TIME. someone's always getting brainwashed or turning evil or having a mental breakdown. it's like a soap opera, and im not exactly a fan. but the point is, x-men are dying all the time, but what i would say slightly redeems it, is they actually talk about it. they mention how people are always dying and coming back, and, i can recall a comic where Death is really tired with shipping all of the souls to hell, and then they all just leave anyway when they come back to life. it's frustrating, and she felt that all her work was going unnoticed and was, in the end, worthless.

then we have, on the dc side, the batfam, with everyone dying, and coming back and having breakups and getting back together, and yes, it's somewhat like a soap opera. but i didn't really mind it, right until this 148 disaster. Like, yeah, they've lost pretty much all respect 90% of the characters involved, and i am not liking this.

they should let jason be dead for at least three comics, and show how his death (again) affects the characters, not just have him get bitch-slapped, die, and bruce suddenly repents of all of the trauma he's given the kids.

anyway, i don't really remember where i was going with this post, except for the fact that at this point, i think marvel's better.

have some standards.

[noonecaresaboutmyreview]

The Return of High School Gangster - Kdrama Review

Hi everyone! I just finished this very short 8 episodes web drama called The Return of High School Gangster and wanted to share my thoughts.

Before I start, I want to say that I know that this is based on a BL manhwa but as we know about mainstream media in South Korea - the director had to remove the BL elements (not really tho).

I understand that people might want to boycott the drama for removing the BL plotline but I genuinely think that you should give it a chance. The drama doesn't suggest romance but two episodes in, I could tell that it was from a BL plotline. so....

Anyways, this is about Deuk Pal, a Gangster (second in ranking) who died while saving Song Yi Heon, a High School Student who was bullied in school. Song Yi Heon was bullied in school to the point he wanted to off himself. Deuk Pal's body sadly died and somehow his spirit entered the body of Song Yi Heon.

This drama is where it's at if you're in a drama slump. It's short, funny, filled with actions (duh, gangsters) and heartwarming scenes.

Deuk Pal as a character is a caring yet a fierce gangster. I love that the moment he entered Song Yi Heon's body, he immediately vowed to protect Song Yi Heon upon realising the abuse he had endured. Throughout the 8 episodes, his focus was to set things right for Song Yi Heon. Though we know that he is sad that his life ended, he still focused on studying hard, ending the school violence and even protecting his mum so that when Song Yi Heon comes back to his body, he gets a second chance at an easier life. Truly such a selfless character and it is understandable why his loyal underlining boys were so upset when he died.

And in Song Yi Heon's body, he build relationship with his classmates, ensured that his bullies stayed in school and graduate and protected his mum from getting hurt by his dad. He was an adult, in a 19 year old boy's body.

We also meet Choi Se Kyung, a boy that had history with Song Yi Heon (in the manhwa, he was the love interest). Choi Se Kyung is a broken boy with daddy issues yet so caring toward his friends. The chemistry between the two main characters are off the chart. Like I said, 2 episodes in, I had to check if this was BL. His eyes are always looking at Song Yi Heon (Deuk Pal) with care and concern. But he is still sassy and feisty towards those he doesn't like.

Can we please take a minute to appreciate the beauty that is Bong Jae Hyun (Golden Child). I first saw him in Twinkling Watermelon (another recommended drama!). He played the mute brother of the main character. But here, hearing his low soft voice makes me wonder why they muted him in that drama haha! He is such a good actor that I am excited to see how he will grow in the future with different roles.

But my main MVP for this drama is Yoon Chan Young. He was able to embody an ajusshi (he is only 23!) to the point that I could see Lee Seo Jin (the actor that played Deuk Pal) in him. And his voice doesn't sound awkward saying these really deep and mature sayings.

Ok I am rambling. But the most important part that I want to talk about is the ending. SPOILER. Song Yi Heon ended up not wanting to go back to his body and instead gave Deuk Pal a chance to live as him. I thought about it and I think I can get behind that ending.

(This is solely based on drama plotline and not the manhwa.)

Shin Se Kyung and even the repented bully Hong Jae Min really needed a proper adult guidance. With Deuk Pal remaining in Song Yi Heon's body, they will be able to remain friends (same age, not ahjusshi and young adult). He will be able to protect and guide them. And Deuk Pal will be able to live a different life this time. A second chance at life.

And I understand, why can't real Song Yi Heon get a second chance in life? The boy had a hard life, he is depressed enough to off himself. Deuk Pal may have bettered his high school life but Song Yi Heon is still Song Yi Heon. He might not be able to be better in college. Whatever Deuk Pal build is never Song Yi Heon's because they are not the same person.

Being depressed doesn't go away even if your life is all better now. He is afraid of his tomorrow than death, hence he chose death and I respect that. Like he said "He is happy to see at least see a smile on his face."

Overall, I think both Deuk Pal and Song Yi Heon have their own happy ending. And that is what's important.

Rating: 4.75/5

-- Fary

[childrenofthesun77]

Okay, commentary based on rough translations for servamp chapter 139 under the cut

Mahiru gets to use his uncles weapon to make the night sky as bright as midday (aka what mahiru's name means). That's so cool!!! I'm a bit suprised that he can use the weapon though because he's has no magic abilities according to tooru and I thought the weapons could only be used by magic users? Maybe being an eve helps? Or maybe it has something to do with whatever is special about mahiru. Anyway, the ritual requires a moon to work so I guess turning night into day might help to stop that.

On another note, tooru is still badly injured and starts to bleed again, please don't die on us uncle tooru.

Kuro finding the strength to stand up again as he sees mahiru's light was sweet to see. I believe the sloth demon says something about always going to remember mahiru's name when he sees dazzling light and kuro tells tsubaki that midday is no time for vampires.

I think misono is telling lily that he doesn't believe lily that it was all a farce, that he does have expectations of others and that he does want to repent for his sin, calling back to misono's talk with the lust demon at the end of the lust arc. Don't trust my translation on these things though. Anyway, misono says that you can't end a game of chess without the kings on the board by a checkmate, but you can end the game in other ways like a stalemate in which no moves are possible anymore, which is the situation misono goaded lily into, ending the game and freeing misono from the spell. Ironically the only pieces remaining on the board are pawns (aka characters/chess pieces lily seems to see little value in). Back in the garden lily turns into butterflies and vanishes while misono is confused because it should be night, but it's as bright as midday.

We also return to sakuya and mikuni. Mikuni attacks sakuya, but sakuya reveals that he used his powers and the spot he attacked was the sakuya from five seconds ago (?). Then sakuya attacks mikuni, but it's not the real mikuni either? I didn't really get it, but there seem to be multiple mikunis (I think 13 or 12 now that sakuya killed one) in different locations and tsubaki's subclass are facing them trying to stop tsubaki from destroying himself (whatever power tsubaki is using right now seems to harm him and he can only keep going because of mikuni's help. If mikuni would stop helping tsubaki might be forced to stop the ritual/would not be able to complete it. Or maybe it's about some barrier spell mikuni used? I'm not sure what exactly mikuni is doing to help tsubaki).

Higan is facing one mikuni and something prompts him to talk about the time he lived with a woman who for a short time made him feel like an artist and not like an abnormal being.

All in all it seems as if things seem to turn around this chapter! Mahiru got to use a powerful attack that seems to have filled the other heroes with hope, even though we don't know yet what exactly it managed to do (is pandora finally destroyed so the eves and servamps can finally split up into smaller battles again?), but since the moon seems to be a big part of the ritual it might help in that regard.

I still have no idea why the hell mikuni is doing any of this (his main attack, granted he developed it when he was 16, was about judging those who kill humans. So why is he okay with killing millions to gain power? Has envy's curse turned him insane too?) and I guess lily returned to his side after misono freed himself?

It's great to see that misono is now free and able to share what he learned from lily once he runs into the other characters again.

With tsubaki's subclass now also trying to stop mikuni and lily's plans (and tsubaki from destroying himself) the protagonists should be able to convince them to fight together with them right? Now that they have the same goal.

Really liked this chapter, servamp has their protagonists on the losing end a lot more often and longer than I'm used from other stories so it's nice to see the protagonists get some wins.

[hughiecampbelle]

Numen (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,299

Requested: Can you do Roman with the “I’m in love with my best friend ” trope, but there’s a boyfriend or whoever is in the way, with a happy ending? - anon

Inspired By: Born To Die by Lana Del Ray

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: Am I so nervous I want to barf? Perhaps lol. I miss my old writing style, so I'm trying it out again. Is it any good? I think so. I really love it. Will you? I hope so. It's heavily inspired by the songs which I love. I'd love to know what you think my loves!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

You used to think He could save you. That He was your salvation, your savior, your God. That if you prayed, if you repent, if you bow to your knees till they bleed that you might be worthy enough for Him. He liked the gruesome way your spine bent as you prayed, the spokes sharp, bloody. All of them, your whole life, spent their every waking breath berating you. Your posture, your mind, your beauty. Too little, too much. He was perfection, proof of God, Godlike in his own right. He was powerful and pretty and he knew it. He knew that a moment of His attention would keep them calling. Pews filled so that they might hear His word, so that they might stand in His light. You thought if you shared in that light, if you basked in the glow, then you might be holy. You might be worthy. Divine. It’s been years now, those rosary beads around your neck like a string of pearls. The burning cross embedded in your skin where they cannot see, for His eyes only. You sleep between hymns, exhausted, stuck, unsure of who you are without His wisdom, wondering how you got so lost in the first place. This is not a happy marriage. This is not a religion or a calling, it is a trap. It has been from the very beginning. The halo He wears is a cheap knockoff. Faux. His bible is full of false numbers and a god complex, an inflated ego. You plead to Him every night, but He rarely listens. To them, His fans, the men and women who throw themselves on to him, they are His people. They are His angels. His disciples. You have spent your entire relationship doting on him, preserving his happiness, his every word, and yet you still aren’t enough. You are a mere mortal. You always have been. There is no eternity between you. You were born to die. 

He sees you again, for the first time in a long time. You’ve got this light about you, this gentleness. Every move, every word, out of a film. Out of the bible. Your laugh is proof of divinity. As if no time has passed. Your Roman, those big puppy-dog eyes speckled with gold, with joy. You’re not sure how you wander away from Him, not that He seems to notice, but his grasp around your hand loosense. He speaks sweetly to someone far younger, someone looking for a philosopher to worship. Your arms find their way around Roman. He doesn’t shrink away as he does to so many others. He does not flinch or wince or limp like a wounded animal. He finds his place with you, in your golden aura, holding you so tight, holding his own breath. The drink in his hand remains unsteady, shaking, but only out of excitement, out of relief. If you could remain that way for the rest of time you would. You are the first to pull away, then close again, needing him, needing this. He smells the same. Crème vanille. Sickeningly sweet, sugary. Familiar. Nostalgic. Your head finds his shoulder and everyone else in the house has disappeared. Only you and him, how it should have always been. He is blushing now, just like he did when you were kids. 

You don’t say anything for a while, instead leading him through the crowd out towards the balcony. They are only here for him anyways. You have never mattered to them, his followers. You are an obstacle, you are a burden, a non-believer, something  in their way of gaining true enlightenment. He follows obediently, taking in your home. Grand, creme colored, dull. None of it feels like a home. None of it feels like a place you could grow old. He will never grow old. His looks have barely changed since you met. They are infinite. You can see the lines around your eyes deepen already. Oh well. You take his glass and sip from it, a habit you have yet to break from childhood. He is full of questions. How many years has it been since you’ve seen one another? Too many, you think, though he has yet to change. You smile despite yourself. Your first love, your mortal friend, here beside you, looking at you, taking you all in, as if you are an angel before him. No one has looked at you like this in a long time. You want to soak it in.You grow shy in his presence, thirteen again, afraid to show him your scars before he showed you his. Matching childhoods. Matching neglect. This was something He could never understand. The slam of a door, the cold silence, the cruel way He looks at you, much like your father, like his. He has lived lifetimes before you and will long after you. You are a moment in his story, a name, but not for long. To Roman, you are everything. You are the whole religion. 

You catch yourself laughing, really laughing, your hands on his chest. It’s an odd sound to hear after so long. Foreign. He is all nervous smiles and fond eyes. He never takes them off you. Not when He makes a toast with one of them at his side, where you should be, drunken hands wandering where they shouldn’t. Not when He disappears. Not when He is in your bed with them. You tell him everything. Every secret, every shame, every single thing despite it being sacreligious. He doesn’t know what to say. Neither do you. What have you done? You can feel it already, their wrath. Not only his followers, his disciples, but your blood as well. How furious they’d be if they knew what you were doing, who you were turning to. You excuse yourself, but he grabs on to you, his grip fierce, the expression on his face serious, dark. He can’t let you go. Not now, not ever again. He could be a God, but god could he give you all the happiness you ever deserved. He could give you the life you always wanted. Not the begging, the pleading, the fighting. No more screaming. No more mass. No more eyes following, criticizing, scrutinizing. A home full of laughter, of memories, of a love you haven’t felt since you last saw him. This? What was this? A fancy house, with fancy strangers and bad booze. It was clear from the moment he saw you: you were miserable. 

Trapped. The ring burns around your finger, a reminder. You promised yourself to Him, and He did the same, but only one of you has followed through with those vows. I can’t, you say. You can’t leave him. You can’t leave this life. This coven. You have flown too close to the sun. to leave would be admitting defeat. You already have, he says, and you realize he’s right. Years you spent devoted to Him, your marriage, your future. He never intended for there to be a future. He never wanted you in the first place. Deals were made, arrangements decided, a ring from His grandmother. You were nothing more than a signature on a contract, a sum of money, an adopted surname. You converted. You sang every song and worshiped every stupid fucking word and still you were not good enough. Still he chooses them over you. Still you are the imperfect child your father hated, the same broken person Roman has spent every day since you met loving. Falling for you over and over again. If you don’t go with him now, if you don’t leave Him, you will never get the chance to again. You will never leave. You have to. How can you say no to him?

[reneedraws06]

Hello Everyone!

I'm back with another chosen drawing this one is of my favorite scene of the season so far and that is the Peter forgives Matthew scene

This scene is in season 4 episode 2.

I think the scene was well built up and well done I like how at first Matthew didn't understand why he should ask Peter for forgiveness when Peter said he would never forgive him

It wasn't until Jesus pointed out to him that it wasn't just Peter in the wrong at that moment that Matthew wronged him first by spying on him and almost reporting him to quintus that he realized he needed to ask for forgiveness and that forgiveness was a sign for repentance and that forgiveness was just a gift given by the other person

I also loved when Jesus and Peter was at the fire pit and Jesus told not to gforgive not just one or twice or even seven times but seventy time seven the number of endless forgiveness

As explained in Matthew 18:21-35

Anyway that's all for now unfortunately and as always until next time 👋

Ps: The speedpaint is below along with one of my favourite worship songs I hope you enjoy 😊

[gamesception]

Sception Reads Cass Cain #39

Batgirl (2000) #19 - October 2001 Writer: Kelley Puckett..........Pencils: Damion Scott Inks: Robert Campanella.....Colors: Jason Wright

Another memorable one shot story in what has become the definitive Cass Cain story mold. I don't think I'll have too much to say about this issue specifically. Those who were fans back in the day surely remember it, and if you're new to Cass's Batgirl run then as always for this early period it's a good book and I encourage you to go out and read the issue for yourself, especially since work has been busy this week, so I don't really have time to go through this issue in detail.

Still, by way of brief recap, this is the one where Cass is patrolling extra hard, determined that literally nobody in Gotham should die that night, when she's distracted by a news broadcast:

Wait, whatever state Gotham is in has the death penalty? Then why do all the super criminals never yadda yadda cinema sins ding sound.

The guy himself is super stoic about it. No sign of repentance or reflection or regret, but he's clearly accepted what's about to happen and determined to face it with some degree of dignity.

But then cast abducts him mid-execution

Only to be stopped by the mother of the woman he killed. I know I'm rushing through this summary, but just, the faces in these panels are so good. Cass's pleading and heartbreak, the woman's implacable stone-faced determination in the face of this demon-looking vigilante, the way the murderer, shocked out of his stoicism, can't bring himself to face this woman. Also just thematically, the metaphor here for Cass's own internal struggle with guilt, that no matter how much she's changed, no matter how much good she does as Batgirl, the man she killed, someone's son, maybe someone's father, is still dead, and she can never change that. It's extremely blunt and on the nose, but it works.

So anyway, back the murderer goes, only now that his stoic shell has broken he can no longer face his end with peaceful dignity. All Cass managed to achieve was to make his death more horrific.

And of course we find out that the reason Cass was so determined that nobody should die is that this was the anniversary of the murder she committed. Which of course is a very Bruce-like sort of sentimentality.

....

We've seen this sort of stand alone episodic one shot from Cass several times now. As much as I like the more serialized stuff playing with her various relationships to Bruce, Babs, the rest of the Bat family, or her dad, or her mom (as of yet unconfirmed by canon), these sorts of one shots really do seem to be the stories og Cass worked best in, the stories she was designed for even. While we've talked about this before, here a short bullet-point review of what defines a classic 'Cass Cain story' from her early Batgirl period

Stand alone story. One issue of the comic, one complete story. It might presume familiarity with Cass's character and background, but they're generally meant to be satisfying even if this is your first introduction to Cass.

Human focus. Cass's stories are concerned not with aliens and demigods and magic and science so fictional it might as well be magic and other larger-than-life comic book tropes, rather they're focused on relatable human characters, regular people trying to survive in a dispassionate world.

Somber tone. Cass's stories aren't upbeat action adventures where good triumphs over evil. The overall tone isn't fun, it's sorrow, grief, isolation, where light and hope are all the more precious for how rare and fragile they are.

'Street level' antagonists / no costumed criminals. This is arguably necessary to maintain the above focus and tone, but no super villains whose bombastic gimmicks and personalities would distract from the humanity of the everyday people around them. Even in the rare case when an enemy has super powers - "Meta" in issue 3, Kenny in issue 10, the cybernetic assassin in issue 18 - they're still dressed in more or less normal clothes and treated as regular people, not comic book super villains. And even then they're the minority of antagonists, usually Cass is fighting regular street thugs and mob guys, even though she's arguably the most explicitly superpowered member of the bat family, which in turn minimizes the length and importance of action scenes so the story can focus on human drama and personal themes.

Heavy thematic resonance. Cass as a character is about family - the family we're born to, or that we choose, and about the tension that results when a family member genuinely loves you and yet is still terrible for you or to you. And she's a character about doing the right thing even when it's hard, even when it doesn't seem to make anything better. And she's a character about guilt, about what it does to you, about how it can motivate you to do better while still hollowing you out inside, about how penance alone without the catharsis of absolution is a bottomless pit that will never be filled no matter how many acts of contrition you pour into it. These themes are the core of Cass's character, and her most iconic stories all relate back to one or more of these core theme in some way. "My dad's bad, isn't he" "Maybe he did [change], but my daughter is still dead"

Not every issue of Cass's book has fit into this description, but when she's not caught up in some crossover story or going through some significant shift to her status quo, these are the sorts of stories she's engaging with on a regular basis. Again, these are arguably the stories she works best in.

I've made no secret of the fact that, while I like modern Cass and I'm glad she exists, she doesn't really hit the same to me as Cass classic. And yeah, a big part of that is that her history and relationships just aren't the same. She doesn't have the same fraught relationship with her father, there are no parallels between David and Bruce, Bruce isn't particularly central to how she became a hero - he wasn't even Batman at the time. She didn't become a hero by stepping into a legacy role Babs had left behind, so there wasn't this close generational connection between her and Babs, or even any particular relationship between them at all until a good deal later.

She still felt guilty over killing someone, but it was something she was forced to do under threat, not something she willingly did only to suddenly regret it in the aftermath, so the guilt seems a lot more misplaced. Also everyone knew about it from pretty early on and forgives her for it, there isn't the same period of her actively hiding it sure that everyone would reject her if they found out like we talked about last time.

So yeah, so, so much of her history and relationships are completely different, but something I maybe haven't focused on enough is that her stories are different.

From the moment modern Cass is introduced she's tied up in global conspiracies, the league of assassins, people turning into monsters. She's on teams with super-powered allies fighting costumed super-criminals in serialized stories that take years to play out to any meaningful resolution. The concise, street-level stories focused on the individual humanity of the people involved and on connecting her stories to her history by thematic links... I haven't read all of modern Cassandra's appearances, but I've read enough of them to say that these kinds of stories either simply aren't present or are overwhelmingly in the minority.

Even in the 'Batgirls' title that sadly ended last year, with Cass, Steph, and Babs are working and living together, theoretically my all time dream book. But their interpersonal relationships are rarely the focus and their adventures are mostly fighting various larger than life costumed criminals. It was a fun book, sure, but even in itself that's a break from OG Cass's deliberately somber tone.

So I guess if there was one thing I'd like to see from modern Cass, apart from some sort of retcon restoring the OG David Cain with his difficult and layered relationship to Cass, it would be a return of the archetypical Cass story, because these are the stories that best highlight Cass's best qualities - her empathy, her compassion, her inner conflicts.