#how is it possible we have only one day of left?

[papayainsectorone]

Just The Two Of Us.

summary: a night of dancing and too much alcohol dredges up old (?) feelings and unresolved tension between you and lando, blurring the line between history and heat as a single moment threatens to unravel everything you’ve both been trying not to want

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, alcohol / intoxication, mutual (?) pining, soft angst, sexual tension, drunken vulnerability, thigh riding, drunk confessions, soft horny chaos

word count: 5,5k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

might be confusing if read as standalone

It’s been weeks.

Weeks since that night at the bar. Since you walked away with Charles and Lando just… let you. Since whatever that moment was between you all evaporated into the haze of alcohol, music, and unspoken choices.

Lando never brought it up.

Not once.

He never asked what happened with Charles, never made a comment, never let anything slip—except for the way he looked at you a little differently for a few days after. Like he was trying to piece something together and never quite figured out how to ask the question. Or maybe he just didn’t want the answer.

But after that? Things fell back into place.

Sort of.

The banter returned, light and easy. Familiar. You still teased each other over your tragic snack choices and made sarcastic comments about each other’s Spotify queues. There were late-night kitchen run-ins, the occasional movie half-watched together, and the same dumb inside jokes passed between you like muscle memory.

But everything now had Charlotte’s name quietly folded into it.

Her toothbrush was in the bathroom sometimes. Her perfume lingered in the hallway when she left. There were missed calls on his phone from her. Her laughter on speaker when he’d answer mid-conversation with you. She was never intrusive, never rude, always warm and friendly when you crossed paths but she was there.

And so you drifted again.

Still close, but no longer the center of each other’s gravity.

But one Thursday night, he brought it up casually, like it was nothing.

Lando leaned against the counter, half a slice of toast in one hand, his phone glowing on the table beside him.

“Oh—hey,” he said, glancing over. “Remember the DJ I wanted to take you to see?”

You looked up from your laptop, distracted. “The one from the night I violently started vomiting?”

That’s what you said out loud.

What you thought was: The one from the night you met Charlotte.

He nodded, grinning. “Yeah. He’s back this weekend. Playing that same club. Charlotte’s out of town—family thing—so I thought, you know… maybe you’d want to go?”

You blinked. “With you?”

“Well yeah,” he said, shrugging. “We haven’t properly been out together in a while.”

You opened your mouth to say no. You were ready to. The excuse was half-formed, something about being tired or having plans or just not being in the mood. But then you looked at him.

The way he was smiling, not the flashy kind he used with everyone else. Just quiet. Hopeful. Familiar.

It tugged something loose in your chest. Something softer.

And you realized how long it had been since it was just the two of you. Since the night was only yours, not divided by subtext or someone else’s presence. Just Lando. Just you.

“Okay,” you said, slower than you meant to. “Yeah, let’s go.”

His whole face lit up. “Yeah? Sick.”

He was already unlocking his phone, tapping away excitedly, like this was something he’d been waiting on for longer than he let on.

And for a second, you let yourself feel it too.

The anticipation. The comfort. The possibility of something that used to be yours.

Even if it wasn’t anymore.

And when Saturday came arround, you didn’t set out to get that drunk.

It started small. Innocent. A night out that felt overdue—just the two of you again, no lingering tension, no third presence hovering over your shoulder. Something that might feel like old times, even if it wasn’t.

The air was stiff at first. Not cold exactly, just... cautious. Like you both were waiting to see who would make the first move, who would laugh first, tease first, act like nothing had changed.

But the moment you really realized Charlotte wasn’t there and wasn’t even mentioned, something in you loosened. You let the tightness in your chest go slack. Just a little.

Lando’s voice was familiar. His jokes were predictable and comforting. His eyes, bright and warm and pointed only at you, felt like home again.

Then came the drinks. Just one each. Then a second. Then shared shots, the kind you never liked but took anyway, because he handed it to you with that grin and you didn’t want to be the reason it faded.

Then the music got louder. The lights got blurrier.

And you started to feel good. Really good.

The kind of good that makes you forget the ache in your chest. The kind that makes it easy to smile without thinking. Easy to dance without worrying where his hands aren’t.

Easy to believe that maybe none of this is as complicated as it’s become.

The place was packed, pulsing with heat and the blurred lines of strangers dancing too close. You moved through it all like someone trying to shake something off. The vodka burned, but it helped. The music was too loud, but it gave your thoughts somewhere to hide. People laughed, flirted, spilled drinks, and it all melted into a blur around the edges.

But none of that mattered.

What mattered was him.

Lando looked stupidly good. The kind of good you tried not to notice anymore. His shirt clung in all the right places, curls damp with sweat, cheeks flushed from the mix of dancing and liquor. His laugh was even louder than usual, a little reckless. Real.

And you hated how much it got to you.

At one point, he leaned close to say something, and his hand found the small of your back. Familiar, casual. But you felt it everywhere. You didn’t pull away.

And maybe that was the beginning of the end.

You’d missed that version of him. The one who laughed without checking himself, who let the music move through him like it belonged there. The version of him that reached for your hand without hesitation, eyes bright and mouth already curved into a grin before you even made it to the dance floor.

“You remember this song?” he yelled over the heavy thump of the speakers, his fingers tightening around yours as he pulled you into the mess of bodies.

You stumbled forward, laughter bubbling up before you could stop it. The alcohol made everything feel slightly off balance, spinning, sliding, but somehow safer in his orbit. “Of course I remember. You played it on a loop that summer.”

“I did not,” he protested, already grinning like he knew you were right.

“You did,” you insisted, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Three weeks. Same stupid song. I wanted to break your speaker.”

He raised his eyebrows, spinning you once with a dramatic flair. You wobbled, giggling, and crashed into him. His hands caught your hips to steady you, lingering just a second too long. “It’s a classic. Can’t argue with art.”

“You’re so full of it,” you said, still breathless.

“Drunk me is confident,” he corrected, swaying with you as the beat shifted to something heavier, deeper. His body moved closer, hands hovering but not quite touching now, the ghost of muscle memory dancing just beneath the skin.

“I said cocky,” you teased, looking up at him through lashes that felt too heavy.

He shrugged with a crooked smile. “Same thing.”

The air grew thicker with heat and sweat and perfume, the kind of charged closeness that made it hard to breathe but impossible to pull away from. Around you, people danced in a blur of limbs and laughter, but your focus narrowed. Just him. Just this.

You didn’t notice when your body curved back into his, only that it felt right. Familiar. Like falling into a rhythm your body hadn’t forgotten, even if your mind had tried. His chest pressed against your spine, hands still tentative, but closer now. Testing the distance.

His breath brushed your ear. “You’re dangerous like this,” he said, low enough to be private, words already slurred from the alcohol “You dance like you know someone is watching.”

The words sent a ripple down your spine. You turned in his arms, slow and deliberate, until you were facing him, nothing but inches between you. You tilted your chin up slightly, meeting his gaze head-on.

“And you talk like you forgot we’re not doing this anymore,” you said, voice even, but your pulse was anything but.

For a beat, he didn’t respond. Just stared, expression unreadable except for the subtle flick of his eyes to your mouth. His fingers twitched where they hovered at your waist, like he was trying to decide if he could cross that line again. Just once.

The moment stretched, pulsing in time with the music. His eyes darkened, parted lips like he might speak, or do something else entirely.

And then someone stumbled past, jostling your shoulder. A splash of liquid hit your arm. Someone swore. You stepped back instinctively.

The spell broke. The music kept going, but something between you stopped.

It was already clear Lando had passed the threshold long before you'd left the club. Inside, he’d been leaning on you between songs, mumbling nonsense into your ear, slurring the end of every sentence like it was a secret. His eyes had lost their usual sharpness, replaced with that wide, glassy look that meant he’d stopped keeping track of how much he drank.

And when he threw his head back and yelled across the bar for “just one more round!”, you knew he was gone.

But it wasn’t until the cold air hit your faces that it really sunk in.

It slammed into you both like a wall, sobering and spinning at the same time. The night outside was harsh and too quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your ears ring after hours of music pounding through your chest.

Lando blinked hard. Wobbled once. Then let out a groan so low and pitiful you almost laughed again. “Oh no,” he muttered, eyes big and terrified like he’d just remembered gravity existed. “I don’t like this.”

You swayed slightly, vision swimming, trying to focus on the street signs. “You’re fine. Just keep walking. It’s not that far to the taxis.”

“I can’t feel my legs,” he whispered urgently. “Are they still attached?”

“They’re attached. One foot in front of the other.”

“I feel like I’m floating. But in, like, a bad way.”

He sagged heavily against your side, nearly dragging you both off the curb.

“You’re the best,” he muttered, lips brushing your shoulder, “but I still want chips.”

“I know,” you said, pulling him toward the curb. “We’ll find you chips. And maybe an exorcist.”

You were barely holding it together yourself. Your head was full of cotton, your mouth dry, legs wobbly beneath you. But you kept going. Because someone had to. And tonight, it wasn’t going to be him.

The cab ride was a miracle.

It smelled like kebabs and stale beer, the kind of sticky, sour stench that clung to your clothes. Lando collapsed the second he was in, sprawling across the backseat like a drunk prince. His head found your shoulder automatically, and his arm flopped across your lap, heavy and hot.

He sighed, a deep, content sound that tugged at something in your chest.

Then he mumbled something “ketchup”, maybe “curry sauce”. Or maybe your name. You weren’t sure. You didn’t want to be sure.

His eyes stayed shut, but the faintest smile curled at the corners of his mouth. The kind of smile that only ever showed up when he felt safe. Like this. With you.

Your stomach twisted.

You stared out the window, streetlights blurring past like stars falling sideways. The world was still spinning, but slower now. Quieter. Almost peaceful, if you didn’t think too hard about the weight of his hand on your knee.

When the cab finally slowed to a stop outside the flat, you nudged him gently. “Lando,” you whispered, shaking his shoulder. “We’re home.”

He groaned in protest and buried his face in your coat. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, then threw one arm dramatically over his eyes like he was playing dead.

You sighed, the kind of sigh that came from the soles of your feet. Exhausted. Amused. A little exasperated.

“Come on, Lando.”

He slumped deeper into the cab seat. “Nooooo.”

“Get. Up.”

“Carry me,” he said without shame, eyes shut, arms flopping out like a child asking for a piggyback ride.

You half-laughed, half-groaned, already climbing out of the car. “You are literally all limbs. You’re a human octopus.”

But despite his dramatic protest, he tried to stand—sort of. Wobbled to his feet with the grace of a baby deer and immediately swayed into you. You looped an arm around his waist, feeling the full, ridiculous weight of him as he leaned into your side like you were gravity itself.

Getting him across the pavement was a comedy of errors. Every few steps, he muttered something new: a complaint, a question, a half-coherent lyric. “It’s freezing,” he whined. “I’m dying. You know, I think I miss my bed more than I’ve ever missed anything. And do we have crisps? Wait—wait. Do you have crisps?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you hissed, breath fogging in the cold. “Shut up and walk.”

“I’m charming,” he corrected with great effort, slurring it into something closer to shar-ming as he bumped his forehead against yours. “Also… I love your hair.”

You faltered.

“What?”

“Just sayin’,” he said, the words thick and sweet. “It’s soft. Like—like clouds.”

Your mouth went dry. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.

Finally—miraculously—you got the door open. The apartment greeted you with dim, golden light and that faint scent that was always there.

Lando nearly fell inside, catching himself with one hand on the wall before staggering upright. “I’m good,” he said to absolutely no one, then gestured grandly down the hallway like he was a knight returning from battle. “Bed. Now.”

He took off with a crooked gait, zigzagging like he was dodging invisible obstacles. You followed out of instinct more than anything, watching him collapse face-first onto his bed, limbs sprawled at impossible angles. He hadn’t even taken off his shoes.

“Lando,” you mumbled, pulling at your own boots, swaying a little. “Shoes. Off.”

“I can’t,” he whined, rolling onto his back. His voice went high and needy. “You do it. Please? I’m just a little drunk boy.”

You dropped to your knees at the edge of the bed, hands fumbling for his laces with what limited dexterity you had left. The room tilted slightly around you as you tried to focus.

Above you, there was a soft metallic clink. Then the subtle slide of leather on denim.

You paused. “Lando, what are you doing?”

A beat of silence.

“You said to get undressed.”

You looked up, then immediately rolled your eyes.

His belt was halfway undone, his jeans unbuttoned, his shirt half-off in the most chaotic, tangled mess you’d ever seen. He looked like someone who’d lost a fight with his own clothing.

“I said take of your shoes, you idiot.”

But he was grinning now. Slow. Lazy. His elbows propped him up enough to look down where you knelt at the edge of the bed, between his legs. Curls messy, eyes half-lidded and locked on you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, soft and low. “What a view.”

You blinked, heart stuttering.

Because his voice wasn’t teasing. Not really.

And neither was the way he was looking at you.

Your hands were still tangled in the laces of his second shoe, knuckles brushing against the fabric of his jeans, your body swaying ever so slightly from the haze of alcohol. You were kneeling between his legs—flushed, breathless, hair falling over your face in loose strands. A mess. But not the kind you cared to fix right now.

You giggled, quiet and nervous, trying to shake off the tension wrapping around your spine like a coiled wire. “You’re drunk,” you said, voice unsteady, caught somewhere between amusement and something far more dangerous.

Lando groaned in response, collapsing back onto the mattress with all the weight of someone who’d decided that gravity was now in charge. His arms flopped outward, one draped dramatically off the side of the bed, the other dragging lazily down the middle of his chest. The mattress springs gave a long, creaking sigh beneath him.

Then his hand stilled—paused low on his stomach, his crotch to be fair.

You froze.

Your eyes followed the subtle shift of his fingers as they drifted downward, slow, unhurried, until they pressed against the front of his jeans. Just a simple adjustment. Natural. Absentminded. Adjusting the obvious buldge.

He exhaled, low and slow, like the weight of his own touch had ignited something he wasn’t ready to name. His fingers lingered, just for a second too long. And you were still kneeling there. Still watching.

Your breath caught like a tripwire.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “You know…” he began, his voice gravel-rough and dipped in sleep and liquor and something els, something unmistakably want. “I could just… see your lips wrapped around me. Right there.”

He said it like a confession, not a line. Not tossed with bravado or smirked with smug satisfaction.

It landed like a punch in the chest.

Your body went still. The air in the room shifted, sucked out of it and replaced with something dense. Electric.

You stared at him, stunned, not because of what he said, but because of how it made you feel. The way it shot straight through you, molten and reckless.

And without a word, you stood.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just slow, deliberate, your knees unfolding, rising to your feet with shaky grace. You stayed between his legs, your body towering over him now, close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin.

He didn’t move.

For a terrifying second, you thought maybe he had passed out. That all of it—all of him—was already slipping away again. Just another foggy memory you’d try not to touch later.

But then, his lashes fluttered. His head tilted forward. His hands found your waist like muscle memory, fingers warm and unsteady, gripping you like he didn’t trust the room to stay still. It took effort, but he sat up, blinking through the haze until his eyes locked on yours.

And then he was there.

Right there.

Face level with your chest, his chin resting between your boobs while looking up at you through his lashes. Your shirt had slipped lower than you realized, the neckline gaping just enough for his gaze to catch on bare skin. His lips parted, eyes dark and unblinking, and something in the air cracked under the weight of it.

This wasn’t the look of someone flirting.

This was hunger. Unfiltered. Slow-burning.

He tilted his chin up slightly, mouth open, like he was already breathing you in. And his hands—god, his hands—tightened on your waist, not pulling, just holding, like you were the only stable thing in a world that wouldn't stop spinning.

“Fuck,” he whispered again, voice hoarse and reverent.

Your stomach knotted. Everything pulsed.

The room felt thick, too hot, your heart hammering in your throat. You couldn’t tell if the heat in your cheeks came from the alcohol or the way his eyes were dragging over you like he was memorizing every exposed inch.

“Lando…” you whispered. It wasn’t loud. Barely there. Like even saying his name might snap the fragile thread of tension between you.

But he heard you.

His eyes snapped back to yours. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t look confused. He didn’t look careless.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. It was like he’d already decided. Like your voice saying his name only confirmed something that had already started unfolding the second the club door closed behind you.

His fingers—warm, unsteady—brushed up your back, trailing lazily over the thin fabric of your shirt. The motion was soft, almost absentminded, like he was just touching to remember what you felt like. Then he dragged one hand across your side, curling around your ribs. The contact made you shiver.

“You look so good in this,” he mumbled, voice rough and low—drunk, slurred.

Then his fingers dipped forward, brushing across your chest. Not grabbing. Just a slow sweep through the valley of your breasts, knuckles grazing delicate skin like he wasn’t even fully aware he was doing it.

You exhaled, sharp.

His eyes flicked up again, meeting yours.

You didn’t stop him.

There was a long moment where nothing happened and everything did, your breath shallow, your thighs tightening, your hands flexing uselessly at your sides.

He got impatient, hands sliding down to your hips before tugging you down onto his thigh. The motion was clumsy, uncoordinated, but it lit a spark in your gut all the same. Now straddling him, your legs bracketed his thigh, your body pressed close—closer than it had been in weeks.

His thigh pressed between yours, firm and warm, the denim rough against your skin. The pressure made you gasp, a quiet, breathy sound you didn’t mean to let out. He heard it anyway. Smirked.

His eyes trailed from the neckline of your shirt up to your face, pupils blown wide and unfocused and then he was touching you again, fingertips brushing your cheek, slipping around to the nape of your neck. You froze, breath hitched, a pulse thudding between your ribs.

He looked at you like he was about to say something. But he didn’t. He just pulled you in, his mouth crashing against yours.

You kissed him back like you were starving.

His groan rumbled low in his throat as his hand tightened at your waist, pulling you flush to him. The kiss was messy, all teeth and heat and unspoken feelings bursting to the surface. His other hand threaded into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen it. You could taste the alcohol on his tongue, could feel the weeks of silence and missed moments pouring out of him and into you.

It was overwhelming and perfect and reckless.

You didn’t even realize you were moving at first.

It was slow—barely anything at all—but the friction caught instantly, your body shifting against the line of his thigh, your breath stuttering. His hands gripped you tighter, like he felt it too, a low sound slipping from his throat again, half moan, half curse.

You broke the kiss, lips parting as you pulled back just a little, your mouth still open, breathing him in. His lips were kiss-swollen, his eyes dark and glazed and fixed entirely on you.

What were you doing?

The thought flashed—brief, sharp—but it was buried under the weight of his hands, the warmth of him underneath you, the alcohol roaring in your bloodstream like a permission slip you didn’t need. All the silence. All the pretending. All of it collapsed into this moment that didn’t feel like a mistake yet.

And then—soft, urgent, not quite a plea—he said it:

“Don’t stop.”

It was barely more than a whisper, but it landed like a strike.

You didn’t.

Your hips tilted again, slow and uncertain, chasing that pressure, feeling the flex of his thigh through his jeans and the heat building in your own body.

His hands slipped lower—slow, possessive—until one settled firmly at your hip, the other sliding down to grab your ass, fingers curling in a way that made you gasp. He pulled you harder against him, guiding your movement with an unspoken rhythm that had your whole body humming.

The friction turned sharper, needier. Your breath caught in your throat.

You leaned in again before you could think better of it.

Mouths crashed. No hesitation now, no teasing—just tongue and teeth and heat, wet and messy and drunk. His hand gripped you tighter, pulling your body flush against his. You rocked down into him, your hips rutting against his thigh, the pressure between your legs maddening.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t slow.

But it was exactly what it had to be.

Neither of you spoke. There was nothing to say. Just the slap of mouths and the low groan in his throat as your nails scraped lightly over the back of his neck, as your lips dragged down to his jaw and he let out your name.

You barely noticed when you both tipped backwards, the mattress catching you in a clumsy sprawl. Lando grunted beneath you, his hands never leaving your body as your knee lifted, leg swinging over to straddle him properly now. You steadied yourself with your palms on his chest, breath ragged, hair slipping into your face.

For a beat, you just sat there, spine arching as your hips rolled down, your thin thong still catching friction against the rough denim of his jeans.

His hands gripped your waist harder.

You sat up slowly, heart hammering and peeled your shirt off, casting it somewhere into the darkened room. His eyes were locked on your body, mouth open, chest rising and falling fast.

Your skirt had already rucked up to your hips, forgotten. There was nothing left but that barely-there thong, stretched tight between your thighs, and the heavy line of him beneath you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice thick with disbelief, hunger, awe. His fingers flexed, holding you like you might vanish.

You leaned forward again, hands braced against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart through your palms. Then lower. Fingers dragging down to the buckle he’d half-undone earlier in some drunken, distracted haze.

He twitched beneath you as your knuckles brushed over him, still restrained beneath denim but so obviously hard now. His eyes fluttered, head tilting back into the pillow.

“Jesus,” he whispered, eyes meeting yours again, all glassy and unguarded.

Your fingers moved slowly at first, slipping beneath the open leather of his belt and trailing down to the place where his warm skin met the rough denim. His breath hitched as you brushed along the line of his hipbone, teasing just above the waistband.

Then he lifted his hips with a drunken urgency, clumsy but determined, shoving jeans and boxers down in one go. The motion made you gasp, half in surprise, half in something deeper. He reached up, pulling at the sides of your thong at the same time, dragging the thin fabric down your legs with a groan, not even trying to be careful.

You helped, just enough. And then his legs kicked out beneath you, tangled clothes gone, skin warm against yours, bare now in a way that made your breath stall in your throat.

As he fell back again, you reached for his shirt—fingers fumbling with the buttons, working them free one by one, trailing your finger tips over the skin you uncovered. He was flushed, warm, and trembling slightly beneath your touch.

Then he stilled.

His hips settled again, and you were sitting fully on top of him now, the heat of your bare skin pressed down against him. His length nestled right between your folds, your lips parting on either side of him and it was obscene how clearly you could feel him.

Every inch. Every ridge. Every slow, pulsing throb.

You weren’t moving yet. Just breathing.

And he wasn’t saying a word. Just staring up at you with wide eyes and parted lips, like he couldn’t believe this was happening either.

You moved again, slow, unsteady, your hips tilting as the friction sparked another moan low in his throat. His hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you down until your lips met again, even messier now, full of teeth and breath and need.

Then, in one dizzy motion, he rolled, flipping you beneath him with a half-laugh, half-groan, barely managing to brace himself on one elbow beside your head. The other arm stayed locked around your waist, holding you close, keeping you there.

His body hovered over yours, heat pressed to heat. You could feel him, right there, poised, waiting.

Lando looked down at you, eyes glassy and wide, his curls damp against his forehead. He searched your face like he wasn’t even sure this was real.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

He pressed forward, slow at first like he didn’t trust himself not to rush it. His hands gripped your hips like a tether, grounding him in the moment even as the rest of him trembled. You felt the stretch, the heat, the deep pull of him inside you, and your breath caught sharply. His mouth parted around a broken sound—barely a gasp, almost reverent.

And then he looked at you.

Really looked at you.

His eyes were glassy, yes, but there was something almost sober in the way he met your gaze.

You cupped his face, fingers slipping through sweat-damp curls, and he leaned into the touch like it was the only thing keeping him steady. “You okay?” you whispered, voice cracking around the edges.

He nodded, forehead pressed to yours, lips ghosting over your cheek as he moved deeper. “Yeah,” he whispered. “You?”

You nodded too. Because you were.

The rhythm was messy, offbeat and drunken but there was something devastatingly earnest in the way he held you, kissed you, clung to you like this was something he’d been starving for. Like your body was the first place he’d felt whole in weeks. His hands moved constantly: down your back, over your ribs, threading into your hair like he couldn’t touch enough, couldn’t get enough. Every time your breath hitched, every time you whispered his name, he answered like a prayer.

Not rushed. Not careless. Just undone.

Your hips rocked together, not perfectly, but with a building desperation that made it real. Your thighs trembled him, his grip tightening when you whimpered and he kissed you again, sloppy, open-mouthed, too much teeth. You didn’t care. You kissed him like you needed it to stay alive.

He whispered something then, your name, maybe, or a curse, or please. You didn’t catch all of it, just the weight of it, the way it split his voice open.

Your climax hit slowly, like your body was realizing it in pieces, rippling up your spine before washing through your limbs. You buried your face in his shoulder, breath breaking against his skin, clinging to him like you’d fall apart otherwise.

He came after, head thrown back, jaw slack, a sound falling from his throat like it had nowhere else to go. One hand held the back of your neck. The other wrapped around your waist, like if he let go you’d both come undone.

But he didn’t let go.

Not even when your bodies stilled. Not even when the heat ebbed into afterglow and your breath began to steady. He stayed with you, his chest pressed to yours, his hand curled at the base of your spine, holding you like something fragile. Sacred.

After it was over, the room settled into a heavy, almost reverent silence. You lay there, the warmth of his body molding against yours, his arm draped protectively around your waist while the other rested gently across your chest and shoulders. The rise and fall of his breath gradually slowed, matching the steady rhythm of your own.

He nuzzled his head softly into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. It was a quiet kind of intimacy—slow, unspoken, raw in a way that made your chest ache.

Not like the other nights.

Not like the hurried kisses and tangled sheets and the silence that always followed, when you'd slip away before the sun touched the windows. When he'd turn his back or mumble something half-asleep and you'd pretend it didn’t hollow you out.

Those nights were physical. Fleeting. Always burning out before morning.

But this—this closeness—was different. He hadn’t let go. Hadn’t pulled away. His arm stayed wrapped around your waist like a tether, his nose brushing against your skin like he needed to feel you to stay grounded.

You didn’t quite know what had just happened. Part of you understood perfectly, yet another part felt suspended, caught between clarity and confusion.

Your hand found his forearm, fingers curling lightly around the soft skin, anchoring you to the moment. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken things.

Then, barely more than a whisper, you broke it.

“Lan.”

A low groan, almost sleepy, came as a response. “Hm.”

You weren’t sure if he was still awake or already drifting away.

Gathering a quiet courage, you whispered again, “I love you.”

No answer. Just the faint sound of his breathing against your neck, steady and slow.

i literally said sorry in advance, pls don´t come for me

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[eznin]

Just imagine 22 years old in-okay-terms-with-the-bats Jason meeting 19 years old murderous-hell-bent-on-revenge Jason

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

Teen Jason, absolutely horrified that he not only failed to kill the Joker but he also managed to be re-adopted: How the fuck did this happen?!

Adult Jason, who is also not sure : Idk, Dick just kept inviting me to go get lunch and it all went downhill from there.

Teen Jason: Did we at least kill him?

Adult Jason: Timothy? No, but he fixed our helmet the other day.

Teen Jason: ...you are pathetic.

Adult Jason, still struggling a bit with self esteem issues: And this is why no one likes you.

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

Bruce is loosing it with having to find a way to solve this time travel mess while simultaneously keeping Teen Jason from killing someone.

On the other hand Tim is looking at Teen Jason, who is the same age as him and still has a little bit of baby face even after the pit, and wonders at how was he terrified of this dude for so long.

Dick, Steph and Cass just refuse to acknowledge any of Teen Jason's threats and have a lot of fun doing it.

Steph: Baby Jay, do you want pancakes ?

Teen Jason, who just tried to stab Dick with a dinner knife only to have his arm twisted in the most casual and infuriating way possible: I hate all of you.

Cass, already stacking pancakes on his plate: Love you too.

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

At one point they consider tying Teen Jason to a chair because he keeps trying to shot Bruce and Tim (and sometimes Dick) in the back.

Bruce, looking at the Batcomputer: So this way we might finally get younger Jason back to his time.

Teen Jason, who was let into the cave after promising to behave: That's an actually good plan, just a sugestion...

Teen Jason suddenly pulls out a revolver and unloads the entire cylinder into Bruce’s chest, who started always wearing bullet proof clothes until the mess is solved and only rubs his temple in response.

Bruce: I told you to keep him away from guns.

Tim: We did, I don't know where he got that from.

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

The only ones Teen Jason tolerates are Damian, because he just recently left the League and still has a bit of a protective streak. Duke, because there is no bad blood and he isn't too annoying. And Alfred, because he is Alfred.

Adult Jason can never ever be near Teen Jason or they will fist fight, although the worst part is the psychological damage. They know exactly what to say to make the other flinch.

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

Teen Jason does everything in his power to be an absolute nightmare, because if he doesn't he will have to think about how these people somehow don't hate him. And if they don't hate him then there is a chance his Bruce and the bats back home also don't hate him and that's too much for his heart to take.

Teen Jason, nearly crying: How can you not hate me?

Bruce, in the softest voice possible despite Teen Jason having exploded the Batmobile with an home made bomb in an attempt to push Bruce over the edge: I could never hate you, Jaybird.

Teen Jason's eyes go so wide and poisonous glowing green that everyone goes tense waiting for him to spontaneous combust out of rage.

Then there is a sob.

Oh, fuck he is crying.

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

Past Bruce is a mix of surprised, suspicious and hopefull when Jason shows up again after being inactive for two weeks and is not only not trying to torture them with shakespearian plots but also accepted one of Dick's lunch invites (Dick is just as surprised, he had been making them as a joke)

[moonstruckme]

Hello Mae!! I loooovveee your fics!!

I'm feeling rather sick right now, so I wondering if you could write EMT!Marauders x Sick!Reader (vomiting, passing out, high fever etc)

If not then that's ok, thanks!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: vomit mention (past tense), reader has a high fever but isn't like super super out of it (though it's mentioned some of her memories are a bit hazy)

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

The voices start out in your dreams. Low, indistinct murmurings, in voices that you know instinctively are safe. They’re warm enough to cuddle into like extra blankets. So, you don’t feel particularly inclined to rouse until something starts rubbing your cheek. 

Your lashes peel apart like they’ve been stuck together with glue in your sleep. It’s a herculean effort. Worth it to find Remus on the other side, though. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, thumb still stroking your cheek. 

“Hi,” you whisper back. 

Remus smiles—it’s one of your favorites from him, so tender it’s almost shy, like he doesn’t want anyone to see—and ducks down to kiss the corner of your mouth. Dutifully missing your lips, as your boyfriends have been sentenced to do for the past couple of days. You blink fuzzily. The hall light is on, illuminating dimly your otherwise dark bedroom and Sirius and James peeling off their uniforms. Sirius is typing something into his phone, while James watches you out of the corner of his eye, grinning when he catches you looking. 

It’s possible you’ll never not flush when your boyfriend grins at you while stepping out of his trousers. This may be a life sentence. 

“How are you feeling?” Remus asks. 

You make a sort of humming sound. You’re sick of feeling sorry for yourself and besides that you’re running out of adjectives. First it had been not right, then not very well, then plainly bad. Now you feel distinctly in worse territory, but to voice that feels too much a plea for pitying treatment, and you won’t do it.��

Remus murmurs, “Yeah?” and tsks like he hears it anyway. He lays a hand over your forehead, frowning. 

“What time is it?” you ask. 

“Early,” James says, like an apology. “We just got in.” 

You nod like this is expected. It’s not unusual for your boyfriends to come home from a long shift in the early hours of the morning, but truthfully, you don’t remember exactly when they’d left. You were in a sort of feverish, half-asleep state for most of the evening. 

“Open,” Remus prompts softly. You do, and he nudges a thermometer into your mouth, smoothing some hairs away from your face once he’s done. He looks worried. So many sweet, tender touches. It’d be enough to make you dizzy even if you were fully conscious. 

“Is she warmer?” Sirius asks. 

“I think so,” says Remus. 

James makes a sad puppy noise and flops onto the bed, now in his underwear. “I’m sorry, lovie,” he whines, practically crawling on top of you to put his face in your stomach. “It’s shit to be poorly for so long. Have you been sick again since we left?”

You have to think about it, but shake your head. This seems to satisfy James somewhat. 

“Did you drink your fluids?” Sirius asks. You nod this time. He walks over to the water bottle on the nightstand, giving it an experimental shake. “Still feels full.” 

Remus’ lips twitch at whatever look crosses your face. The thermometer beeps, and he pulls it from your mouth. 

“I drank some,” you defend yourself. 

Sirius gives you a playful reprimanding look, but then his attention is Remus’ as Remus pulls the thermometer closer. “Thirty-nine point seven.” He sighs, bringing his hand to your head again. He pets your hair. “Sweetheart…” 

“Nothing hurts, still?” James asks you. 

“No,” you mumble, contrite. You feel like you’re disappointing them. 

Sirius crouches by the bed, leaning forward to give you a pillowy soft kiss on your forehead. He’s thrown on an old t-shirt of Remus’, worn and with holes in the soft fabric. “It’s okay, baby. It’s not your fault; you’ve always been hot, it’s only getting worse.” 

You give him a dry look. That joke got old within the first day of your fever, but the way he delivers it so solemnly now does make a smile tug at your lips. Sirius bumps his nose into your temple teasingly. 

“Might’ve helped if you drank your fluids, though.” 

“Fuck off,” you murmur. Really, you love having him so close, and Sirius seems to know this. His expression is smug as he gives you another conciliating kiss. 

Remus is looking down at the both of you like you’re his favorite annoyances. “I think it’s time to go to hospital,” he determines. 

You frown. “But you just came from there.” 

“Ugh, I know,” Sirius groans. “The things we do for you, hm?” 

“You don’t seem to be improving,” Remus says. “We need to get a better idea of what this is.” 

“Can’t it just be a stomach bug?” you sulk. 

He hums, sweeping his thumb over your forehead. It’s warm and calloused. “It’d be nice if it was,” he says, “but we ought to know for sure. And this doesn’t quite fit the parameters of a regular stomach bug, dovey.” 

“It’d be helpful to have some bloodwork done,” James agrees, sitting up a bit to prop his chin on your stomach. 

“Bloodwork?” you repeat. 

“I sure fucking hope it does,” quips Sirius. When you still look trepidatious, he laughs and smooches your cheek. “You’ll be fine, my love. We’ll take good care of you.” 

“The best care,” James seconds, sitting up on his haunches to un-pin your stomach from the bed. “C’mon, let’s get up.” 

You eye all three of your boyfriends, but begin sitting up slowly. “You just got home. You really want to go back to work at” —you glance at the clock on your nightstand— “six thirty in the morning?” 

“That’s exactly what we want to do. You’re so smart, baby.” Sirius gives your cheek a pat. You pout at him in response; your head hurts now that you’re upright. “Anyway, I texted Mary at St. Bart’s, and she said we can get in if we go now.” 

Remus kisses Sirius’ head in silent thanks as James gets up to dig through a drawer of Remus’ jumpers for you both to put on. 

“We just love work so much,” he jokes, tossing you one. Sirius catches it before it can hit you. “We can hardly stay away, you know? Plus, bring your girlfriend to work day is a great time, I hear.” 

“So fun,” you sigh, resigned. 

Sirius smiles softly at you as he pulls Remus’ jumper over your head. “That’s the spirit.”

[zulashi-the-writer]

Hii💗 just came from your polyrujinu fic and absolutely devoured it, I saw that your request are open so I was thinking if you could write another polyrujinu fic but with a reader who has a secret identity 🤭

Like since both of them kept secrets from reader then why don't reader kept secrets from them😏

Honestly, I was thinking of reader being apart of alien stage, possibly a character like luka from alien stage?

And how would they react when they saw reader on stage😳 (I CAN SMELL THE DRAMA) and to not complicate things perhaps when reader is on stage she altered her appearance to be mostly unrecognizable 😚

If this request is overwhelming, you can just ignore this💖 (also would love more of poly rujinu crumbs even if it's not base on this request 🤭)

I'm really sorry I haven't watched Alien Stage🥲 so I hope you don't mind I'm making them apart of a band, which is K/DA

Biggest Fans

Poly Rujinu x Popstar Reader

Summary: when your secret comes out in the most terrible way and your walls come crashing down with the two most people in your life

1st/2nd person pov

"Ain't nobody bringing us down, down, down, down"- POP/STARS I sang into the mic, my mask making my hot breath fan into my face I held my pose as the crowd cheered, I stared out looking at all the band lights smiling underneath the fabric it feels amazing standing here, I relaxed from my pose along with my band mates taking a bow before running off stage peeling my mask off releasing a long awaited breath.

"Huntrix is here" one of our crew squealed making my body tense, my hands quickly rushed to put of the mask making a few mistakes as I watched them approach, Rumi smiled making my heart flutter "you guys were amazing" Zoey squealed rushing to hug all of us, the sudden pressure of her hug making me breathless, we all breathed out a 'thank you' leading them back to our changing room, we did a collab when we were just starting out so it's been a few times were we just hang out but my mask always stays on which they thankfully never question.

We plopped down on the couch with a huff Rumi sitting across from me on her phone most likely texting Jinu about dinner later, my heart jumped hearing my phone buzzed alerting me of a text, I watched her eyes flicker over with curiosity, I pulled it out, the screen switched on displaying her notification with a few hearts next to her name "hey guys I'll be back family calling" I laughed nervously standing up from my spot, walking into the connecting bathroom and shutting the door.

'Hey can I come over after this hangout???' my heart raced as my finger tips hung over the keyboard, I hate having to lie 'I'll be home late I have some new clients coming in for measurements, I have some snacks in the cupboard if your hungry' I typed out only to delete it 'I'm going to be here late tonight how about tomorrow?' I released a shaky breath as I pressed send, my eyes watched the double ticks turn blue, my breath catching as I saw the bubbles pop up and then disappear "everything ok in there" my body jumped and stumbled to catch my phone as it fell from my hands "y-yeah just a minute' I called out straightening up as I caught my phone, I checked one more time but no messages before slipping it back in my pocket.

It wasn't the first time I asked to move plans but they've done it to so she can't be that upset about it, I rolled my shoulders back relaxing them before leaving the bathroom, everyone was already standing by the door "so early" I asked confused Rumi only glanced at me before returning to her bandmate "yeah we got to bounce" Mira murmured her lips curled in a slight smile, we bid our goodbyes before they left.

"You know one of these days you are going to have to tell them" Madison spoke laying a gentle hand on my shoulder as I pulled off the mask, letting it hang loose on my fingers "I know your scared but they love you and I doubt they'd break up with you for being a superstar" she smiled before heading to her makeup chair, I stared at the ground in a daze 'how would it be if I told them' my mind went straight into a negative spiral it always does when it comes to them, I don't want to lose them, I just can't and them knowing I was lying would hurt them.

"Maybe" I murmured drowning out the conversation that continued sitting out the couch staring at my black screen no response or call just silent, it was nerve wrecking my phone dinged with a notification but it wasn't hers I tapped on it and it took me to a Insta live, jinu dancing with the band preforming on of their new songs, my heart fluttered he was just amazing "I'm gonna head out" I said standing up from my spot, I took off my mask and slid it into my pocket along with my phone.

I grabbed the rest of my things and waved everyone goodbye "remember I want the finished melody by tonight" our manager called out but I just waved him off and rushed into our drivers car that was waiting for me, we talked a little as my eyes traveled across the passing buildings watching the billboards switch between us, Huntrix and Saja Boys for the upcoming idol awards I sighed out of frustration throwing my head back against the head rest, this was so frustrating, why can't this be easy.

The car pulled up a hill nearing my small house slowly coming to a holt infront of its quaint garden, the beautiful wild flowers lit up by the small garden lights "goodnight" I smiled at the driver, stepping out of the car my body shivered at the cold night air, I just needed to shower I groaned in delight imagining the hot water racing down my body, I rushed into the house kicking my shoes off greeting the animals as I placed down my things heading straight for my room tearing off my clothes as I went, walking through my bedroom towards the bathroom I switched in the light before stepping into it, I was hit by the cold radiating off of the tiles.

My body quivered as I stepped into the shower turning on the water, a cold squeal leaving my throat as the cold water ran down my body before it started getting warmer, my body relaxed as the water heated up letting my hands ease my stiff muscles, once my body was relaxed I began to wash, combing my shampoo through my hair with my fingers letting the soap suds flow over my body I raised my head closing my eyes lifting my hand to rub my face, I i moved my hands to the tap starting to close it savoring the feeling of warmth till there was nothing left.

I grabbed my towel wrapping it around my body, flicking my hair forward wrapping it up too to dry, I walked into my room jumping onto my plush king sized bed grabbing my laptop bringing it infront of me "the finished melody here I come" I murmured stretching out my arms grabbing my headphones placing them over my ears, turned on my laptop scrolling to my music files watching the melody appear on my screen, pressing play the music was low in the background as I started feeling the beat "Is it really a surprise if I'm playing with your mind? And I treat you like a prize then I throw you to the side? Am I really that bad if I love to make you mad? And get happy when you're sad? Only care about a bag" my voice dwindled as I sung the new lyrics typing them as I go.

"In control That's how I like it and I'm never letting go, na-ah-ah Never had a soul (soul) So you ain't taking nothing from me when you go, na-ah-ah I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away" - Villains the music continued as the lyrics flowed out my life my eyes closed tight getting into the mood, my eyes scrunched closed as the lights flicked on, the lyrics caught in my throat, I opened my eyes looking towards the door to see Jinu and Rumi there their expressions almost unreadable, I rushed from my spot flicking my headphones from my head cringing as the song started playing on full volume "I-I" I didn't know what to say and quickly turned off the song shutting the laptops lid, I looked towards Rumi seeing her hold herself the look of hurt taking over her face "Rumi i-" I paused watching her throw my mask onto the floor infront of me.

"that yours" she questioned her voice low her eyes not meeting mine, I bent down grabbing it and mumbling a quick 'yeah' "why did you not tell us" she muttered moving uncomfortably on her feet I hated seeing her like this 'rumi' I said stepping forward but she stepped away from me making me holt in my movements I opened my mouth, my words coming out shaking "I don't know why I didn't tell you, I just didn't know how to bring it up now it seemed to late to tell you" jinu just looked between us not knowing what to say.

"you could've told me when we first collabed together or the second or how about the fifth" her voice slowly getting louder with each word leaving her lips "I'm sorry Rumi I really didn't know how to tell you" I said making her sigh and look down towards the ground "is that why you always cancel on us" jinu said his voice cracked like holding back emotions, I sighed heavily running my hands over my face "this isn't how it's supposed to happen" I breathed in frustration.

"let me guess you didn't want us to know" jinu muttered my mouth gaped "jinu you know that's not true" I said but he just shook his head moving out of the door "I think it best we leave so you can focus on your secret life" Rumi murmured following after him, I called out but no response just the sound of the closing door, I stumbled back sitting on the bed my hands gripping the edge of it, my phone dinging with messages, my chest heaving with every breath as I went over the conversation in my head imagining the different why it could've gone.

My body was stiff as I moved my hand to grab my phone, my eyes widening as I read their messages:

Rumi: I just need time to think I'll message you when I'm ready

Jinu: me too

My eyes fluttered as I sent a thumbs up exiting the chat seeing my manager send a message on our group:

Manager: The driver will pick you guys up at eight the plane leave at nine

Madison: los Angeles here we come🥳

Lexie: can't wait🎉

I switched my phone off as the messages kept coming, placing it down on the bed I fell back against the mattress turning away from the device, I don't know how long I laid there just staring off at the wall ignoring the world around me, my eyes finally moved once I heard a meow coming from the door it was my cat toasty sitting his big eyes staring at me "feeding time already" I murmured to him groaning as I slowly got up half my body asleep, I slowly made my way to the kitchen filling up their bowls petting them as they walked past me "I'm gonna miss you guys" I said smiling at them before walking back to my room to pack before bed.

I sat on my suitcase finally closing it 'done' I breathed a sigh of relief pushing it next to the other one, I grabbed my carry on from my bed placing it on my suitcase, I moved to sit on my bed looking at my phone, no notifications from them, I bit my lip contemplating if I should tell them "they did say I mustn't message them, but they do now so it's best that I do" I rolled my eyes at myself "what am I doing" I muttered throwing myself back onto the bed "why do relationships have to be so hard" I looked around my room seeing my lyric book laying on my bedside table, I sat up onto my elbows staring at it.

I moved to grab it, slowly paging through all the songs I've written about them, I've never showed anyone this because it's the most vulnerable I've been, my hands traced the page of the last song reading some lines over and over maybe it's time someone does read it, I ripped a blank page from the back grabbing a pencil and writing a letter to them, telling them I'm on tour, as I was almost done my eyes started to droop shut from exhaustion 'just a little nap' I thought shutting my eyes.

I wake up with the sun in my face, my phone buzzing with calls "shit" I muttered stammering to my feet rushing to get ready, the clothes I threw on look peculiar and wrinkled, brushing my hair till it looks somewhat decent and rushed with my bags to the kitchen to feed the pets "I'll see you guys soon, behave for mrs Morris" I called out rushing out the door waving to mrs Morris as she called out to me from her house, I shoved all my stuff into the boot before joining the girls in the car "dam when did you wake up" Madison laughed "3 minutes ago" I giggled making the others laugh too, my heart pinged with sadness as I remembered last night's events 'can't think about that right now' "we got a show tonight".

The stadium was packed with fans screaming widely as you performed the new song, but only the band and crew can see that you were distracted by something, the dance moves were a bit off and the timings a second too late it was frustrating you, how you couldn't get them off your mind but then you saw it a different fan light your favourite colour and the person holding it was jinu who was smiling and singing along to the lyrics "please give a warm welcome to our surprise guests Huntrix" Madison yelled making the crowd scream louder, I watched Rumi burst onto stage coming right next to me "I'm sorry" she murmured but I didn't care and embraced her "don't do that to me ever again" I whispered "I promise" she smiled as we slowly let go of each other, we performed our collabs while jinu cheered in the crowd I finally was all in with them by my side.

"I love you guys"

[tinytarotandtea]

「 ✦ PICK A CARD✦ 」

What's your future S/O's love language?

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33 Directions: Take a moment to breathe, calm down and focus as you choose a picture from above. From left to right is pile 1, 2 and 3. Then Scroll down to your pile! Please remember to only take what resonates with you and leave the rest 🫶

A/N: Hiya my loves! Sorry it's been awhile, been super busy and just not in the right headspace to be doing readings and I didn't want to force them. But, I'm back, and hoping to get back to doing more of these. Also apolgies for the change in style for these reaidngs, just trying out new ways to do these :)

PILE ONE -

Hello my lovelies!! How are y'all? Good I hope! And I hope this lil reading brightens your day a little if not :)

Your future S/O is very much giving off acts of service vibes when it comes to their love language. But in a deeper, more emotional sense. They're there for you through every dark time that passes through you. They're there to carry your burdens, help with your responsibilities, and help you heal.

So whilst they might show their love through little things like making you tea or helping you with the small things, they're also there to help carry those deeper burdens, ease your responsibilities and help with those deep emotional struggles that threaten to drown you. They're there to help you heal, too, maybe from past relationships that snuffed you out. They're there to help you learn those tricky lessons, too.

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33

PILE TWO -

Hiya, pile two! I hope your day is as bright as you are, and that this reading brightens it even more!

With your future S/O, my loves, I'm getting a mix of acts of service and a hint of quality time and emotional reparenting.

Their acts of service are subtle. Things like checking every morning, learning your routine and what helps you feel safe. They're not big talkers, or big on flashy, but they're reliable. They're there for you when it counts, and when you need them. They love spending time with you, too. Even if it's a quiet, daily activity. Be it helping you with the laundry or talking to you whilst they cook. They're not big on adventurous activities, and probably prefer to stay in for dates, or have sweet little dates like picnics or book shopping, things like that.

I'm also getting that your future S/O is healing from past wounds, childhood stuff or nostalgic wounds. They might be trying to unlearn love languages that they grew up with, or things they never received. This might mean them being extra soft with your inner child because they understand how that pain lingers.

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33

PILE THREE -

Hello pile three!! Are we doing well today? I hope so. Anyways, let's get into your reading.

So, your future S/O is giving major words of affirmation and emotional presence.

With words of affirmation, I feel like it's a mix of giving and receiving. Something in them wants to know that they're doing well, doing good, that they're safe and wanted. But they give it in return, too, like by giving you such words, it's helping them as much as it's helping you. They'll give the same reassurance in return.

They're very emotionally present, too. They're not going to leave easily, no matter how hard you try to push them away. They're in it even when things get messy between you both. They're there for all the small ups and downs, and even the bigger ones. They want to make things work between you two. A result of fear of abandonment or emotional stagnation, possibly. This might mean gently helping them release the past so they can fully step into being present with you.

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33

[very-merry-birthday]

Gluttony

Lust Gluttony Envy Sloth Greed Pride Wrath

Summary: You help the brothers out of tricky situation, and Dean thanks you the best way he knows how.

Warnings: Smut (car sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms)

A/N: Yes, this has been a seven deadly sins series all along!

You picked at your fries lazily as you relaxed against the grimy booth of the diner, watching the place carefully. You'd been following the same man for two days after a string of murders had landed you in a town not far from home. You saw as he began to stand up, making his way to leave.

Your phone began to buzz in your pocket, a number you didn't recognize. Normally you wouldn't answer calls like that, but you were waiting for some information, and wanted to end this hunt as quickly as possible.

"This is a prepaid call from "Hey Sweetheart", at the Washington County correctional facility, all phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring, to accept this call press one now."

You could instantly tell it was Dean, his voice just as deep over the phone as in person. You pressed #1 as you wedged your phone between your ear and your shoulder, standing to follow the man as you gathered up your belongings.

"Hey darlin', you picked up!" He seemed almost surprised on the other end, but kept his cool.

"What's going on, I'm in a rush." You pushed the door open, following him from a distance.

"Awe- I just thought a booty call might be fun right now?" His voice was laced in sarcasm.

"I'm being serious, Dean, what do you need?"

He sucked his breath in through his teeth, "Ya see sweetheart, we might have found ourselves in a bit of trouble over here and... well we need someone to come bail us out."

"I'm busy..." You sighed, finally grabbing the phone again in your hand.

"We'll see you soon!"

The line clicked, going dead as he hung up. You wanted to leave him there, teach him a lesson, but you knew you just had to see him. You looked over at the man walking away, letting out a deep sigh before turning on your heel, returning the way you came.

-

You pulled up around the corner from the tiny jail- more just a police station- checking your face again in the mirror before climbing out of the car, your heels clicking against the sidewalk. It wasn't often that you dressed professionally, the tight button up and skirt feeling claustrophobic against your body, but you knew it would work far better than your usual jeans and flannels.

You made your way in, the afternoon just starting to break into evening as a chill hit the air, and walked to the front desk, a young cop on the other side barely making note of you.

"I'm here for the brothers."

"You posting bail or you their lawyer?" He didn't look up from the screen in front of him.

"Their lawyer."

He nodded, "Take a seat, someone will come get you in a minute."

You did as he said, sitting down as you took in the room. You swallowed hard, you lied for a living, that bit was easy, but having to see Dean after three months without him- that would be slightly harder.

After what felt like too long you saw a cop approaching you, reaching out his hand to shake it, "You here for those boys?"

He was an older guy, barely any hair left on his head, a small coffee stain on his shirt that looked fresh. You weighed up your approach in your mind. Seductive felt odd, this guy was old enough to be your father, possibly even grandfather, and he wasn't trying to hide it. Relentless seemed wrong too, he clearly had a knowledge of the job and you knew clamping down on him would only cause him to fight back. So instead you stood, shaking his hand with a warm smile spread across your face. The friendly approach.

"I am indeed, sir."

"Names Officer Branning, I'm gonna get you to follow me."

He led you down a series of florescent flooded hallways until you were stood outside and interrogation room. You'd seen your fair few before, but normally you were in the same position as the boys. The officer pushed open the door and Dean looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you walk in.

"You should've told us you called your lawyer, son." The officer moved to sit opposite him, taking a sip of his coffee.

You saw Sam shift in his seat, looking between you and his brother, clearly confused.

"And can I ask what exactly my clients have been arrested for?" You took your own seat next to Dean, you could tell he was still gawking at you out of the corner of your eye.

"Well your boys here have been convicted of section A1 of the Burglary Statute. A house downtown, we get a phone call about suspicious activity and who do we find when we turn up, these two, both in possession of guns, which I don't have to tell you is of course a felony."

You turned to look at them properly for the first time, both of them shifting awkwardly in their seats. You knew that Sam would have already tried every trick in the lawyer book- and at least he had the Harvard experience compared to your Breaking Bad and Law and Order qualifications. He turned back towards the officer, not wanting to seem suspicious. Dean, however, couldn't care less, his eyes raking your body.

He'd never seen you dressed like this: all office siren, your hair pulled back, heels on. He had to admit he liked it, almost as much as he enjoyed you in your hunting gear, covered in grime and blood and sweat... Almost.

You turned back away, his gaze sending heat to the back of your neck. The officer looked behind the three of you, another sip of coffee, he was clearly already checked out for the day, his eyes on the clock above your heads. Sam might have the knowledge, the actual lawyer skills, but you were starting to think your pop culture education might be more likely to get you all out of here.

"Look I'm not gonna sit here and say these two men haven't been foolish, of course they have." You glanced over at them, Sam's eyes going wider, Dean clearly not listening as he watched the way your lips moved, "Entering a dwelling that doesn't belong to them, sure, that looks bad, I'm not denying that. But I do think it's important to note that they didn't use their guns, no one here got hurt, right? And is that not the most important thing?"

The officer nodded slowly. Sam looked between you and him, unable to understand how this actually seemed to be working.

"No one killed, no one injured, gosh not even a paper cut! Secondly, burglary, sir-" you chuckled lightly, "Do you have any proof of that? That they were actually intending to steal anything? Do we even have proof that they broke into the property? As far as I can tell these idiots most likely walked into a house that didn't belong to them, merely out of confusion!"

"I'm not sure-"

"Officer Branning, was it?" You smiled at him warmly, trying to put forth your least threatening expression, "You and I both know the perils of this system. A day in court, those uncomfortable seats they'll make you sit in as you wait to speak, only for what, all of five minutes!?"

He chuckled lightly at your apparent exasperation, "Less than that!"

"Less! A whole day wasted just because these two idjits don't know their own address! And I'm sure the jury will see that- just look at them they couldn't organize a back yard grill let alone a burglary!"

Sam put on his best puppy dog pout and Dean grinned from ear to ear as the officer looked at them both.

"I really don't want to waste your time, and I don't think you want to waste mine either. These are good boys, good god-fearing folk, they've just made a mistake. Surely a slap on the wrist and we can both go home happy?"

"These boys committed a crime-" he looked above your head again, eyeing the clock.

"Who've you got at home, Officer Branning?" You leant back in your seat, smiling at him.

"I'm not sure how that's important?" He questioned, his face flushing with confusion.

"You keep looking at the clock, sir, you got someone worth rushing off for?"

He smiled back, looking down at his coffee, "My wife. It's our anniversary, I was supposed to be home three hours ago but got stuck sat with these two-"

"How many years?" You leant forward. Dean eyed you carefully. He liked seeing you confident like this. He thought back to the last time he'd seen you, the church, your mouth pressed against his ear speaking sin. You'd finished that hunt only a few days later, Sam finally relenting in the knowledge there was no way he'd be able to keep you apart. But that was three months ago, and he hadn't expected to see you this soon. And yet, looking a you now, he realized just how much he'd missed you. He watched as your mouth curled into another warm smile. It made his stomach flip as he tried to suppress the thought.

"Forty-four." He sighed, taking another sip of coffee, "Feels like yesterday we got married, not that I'd ever tell her that."

You reached out to his hand, holding it gently, "Officer, I know it's been a real long day, and I'd hate for it to become an even longer night. I'm sure she deserves you home by now?"

He swallowed hard, looking between the three of you. "What the hell, fine!"

Sam almost fell out of his seat in shock. Dean had to hold himself back from kissing you there and then.

--

Dean's arm was wrapped around your waist before you'd even left the station. You knew he didn't care about who saw, but you also knew you had to get out of there before anyone stopped you.

You all skipped out, keeping your heads down, a smile plastered on all of your faces. Once you were far enough away Dean finally broke, loud laughter coming from his lips.

Sam shook his head with a smirk, "How the hell did you manage that?"

Dean pulled you in closer, lazily kissing your shoulder as you and Sam spoke.

"What, Harvard boy can't understand what an expert lawyer looks like?" You laughed. You knew ignoring Dean's advances was only riling him up more.

"Thought you were only coming to bail us out?" Sam shook his head again.

"If you think I'm spending a dime on you two you're more stupid than I thought." You started to walk back to your car, "Come on, both of you, let me give you a lift."

Dean broke away from you, looking over to his brother, "Go for a walk, Sam."

"Dean it's-"

"Go for a walk." His face turned stern.

Sam rolled his eyes, giving you another baffled smirk before walking away again, his hands sliding into his pockets. Dean pulled you into him again, his mouth attacking your neck. You dragged him towards your car, your hand combing through his hair.

You lifted his face up to look at you as you pouted, "That was mean..."

"He knew the deal the second you walked in wearing that get up." His hand reached down to your ass, inelegantly squeezing it.

"You still shouldn't leave him out in the cold like this."

"Be quiet sweetheart," he kissed you jaw heavily, "just let me show you how thankful I am."

He pushed you against the side of your car, his hands wandering over your body as you scrambled for your keys. You broke your face away from him for a moment as you put your key in the lock, your eyes looking into your own car through the window.

You hadn't really thought about the fact he'd be here, climbing into your car. Even if his mouth wasn't fixed to your neck, you'd still offered him a lift, he'd have seen it one way or another, but it still felt weirdly intimate. Car sex- that was normal. More normal for you two than sex in a bed. But it was always the Impala, a car you had to admit oozed seduction. It had space to move around, to stretch out on the plush vinyl seats. Your car was small, beaten up, only just big enough for you to sleep in on cold nights when all the motels were full. And yet here you were, welcoming him into a space normally reserved only for you.

He didn't seem to care, though, as he guided you into the back seat, pressing himself against your body as he moved to lay above you. You shifted awkwardly, trying to fit your bodies into the small space, a blanket stuffed under your back, old takeout containers on the floor next to you.

He kisses your neck, grazing it with his teeth as you softened into the shape of his body. He tugged at your clothes, his hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt up to your hips. You were suddenly very thankful for the dark descending outside.

You pushed your body up slightly as he continued his movements down, his fingers finally pressing against the middle of your underwear, "Tsk- thought I'd get another pleasant surprise."

He gently circled your clit through the fabric, sending gentle warmth through you, "I got you out of there, didn't I?"

He smiled, "Oh yeah, I was showing my gratitude wasn't I?" He kissed the inside of your thigh, "What's our record, sweetheart?"

"Three..."

He shook his head with a smile.

This had long been a point of contention between you. He insisted that since he'd been able to make you come five times in one day, your record should be five. You contended that since you'd split between a session first thing in the morning and another one in the evening, where he'd made you come three times, your record should be three. Of course, he'd also promised you if he had a full day, and an actual bed, he'd make you come so many times you would pass out.

But he wasn't in the mood to argue.

He hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear, dragging it down your legs as he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes fixed on you.

He pressed his tongue against your clit without any warning, your hand reaching out to grab hold of his hair as you steadied your breathing.

"Fuck darlin, you always taste incredible."

He spit hard, using his saliva as lube as he dove back in, his tongue lapping you up. You rolled your hips into him, needy for his friction. No one knew you quite like him, knew just where to touch you to bring you to the brink.

He pressed his mouth against you, alternating between pushing his tongue inside you and circling your clit in a steady rhythm. You could barely breath as you felt his tongue glide through your folds, savouring your wetness, his mouth curling into an amused smile as he listened to your gasps.

Right when he felt you tensing up he focused all his attention onto your clit, sending you over the edge as you gripped onto his hair, rolling your head back in a pornographic moan. He kept his movements quick as you came, your body shaking as he kept up the stimulation.

Your body sunk back against the seat, your head pressed against the inside of your cardoor as you tried to shed the pounding in your ears. He pulled away, kissing along your leg.

"You got a pen anywhere in here sweetheart?" He looked around, you were suddenly aware once again of the state of your car.

You leant down, rustling your hand on the floor without looking until you landed on the marker you knew you'd left there, handing it to him.

He held the lid between his teeth, popping it open and drawing a short line on your inner thigh, "That's one."

You bit your lip as you looked down at him marking your skin, taking you as his own.

He began to kiss up your leg again, making his way back towards your core.

You let your hand comb through his sweat ridden hair, breathing hard, "Just give me a minute, yeah?"

"What, and ruin this gorgeous high you've got going on? No chance, darlin'." He pressed his tongue against you again, slower this time, gently stroking it through your wetness.

You groaned, rolling your head back as he sucked lightly at your swollen clit. He knew how sensitive you got after you came, and he fully intended to use it to his advantage.

He teased the tip of his finger at your entrance, feeling as your pussy pulsed around him. He moaned against you, sending the vibrations through your body. Pushing his finger into you, you bit your bottom lip again, swallowing down any other noises.

He began thrusting into you slowly, even one finger filling you as his tongue sped up its movements. You arched your back into him, a second orgasm rising quickly. He pushed another finger into you, stretching you out, your breath shaking as you shut your eyes again.

He sucked on your clit again, pushing another desperate wave of pleasure through you. You reached out, seeking stability on the seats around you as you felt your body clench again. And then release. He slowed his movements, only just, as you came again on his tongue, your legs tightening up around him.

"Dean- fuck-" you couldn't stop your sounds, your body quaking.

You guided his face away from you as you let your body relax again into the seat, his movements almost to much to bare as he gently pulled his fingers out of you, sticking them in his mouth to continue savouring your taste.

Without a word, he reached down for the marker he'd thrown to one side, wetting his lips as he drew another line next to the first, "That's two."

He went to press his mouth against you again but you stopped him, cupping his cheek to get him to look at you, "Really, baby, can't take much more."

Baby wasn't a nickname you used. Not for him, not ever. But as your mind stayed fogged from your pleasure you didn't even realize you'd said it. And he didn't mind- his face tingling with secret enjoyment.

He lifted himself off of you, pushing the marker behind his ear as he moved quickly, his hands wrapping around your waist as he moved to sit, pulling you on top of him in a straddle. You slumped against him, your body exhausted, your forehead pressed against his.

"We'll never break our record with that attitude, sweetheart."

"It's just your tongue, Dean, i's'too much-" you kissed him lightly, his lips plump against yours.

"Well why don't we go at your pace then, darlin'?" He held your hips, lowering you down onto his leg. You bit your lip as you felt you pussy come into contact with the jeans on his thigh, rough against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He pushed your hips gently, getting you to rut against him. You held his shoulders to keep yourself steady as you began moving, harsh pleasure hitting you instantly.

"Dean- fuck- it's too-"

He kissed you, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your hips, "That's it, nice and slow, keep yourself steady for me."

You focused on his voice as he guided you through it, grinding against his thigh with your breath held.

"Good girl, that's it." He moved one hand to your stomach, commanding your movements, "You're doing so well for me, darlin', that feel good?"

You collapsed your body into him, your head leaning against his shoulder, "Oomf- fuck- yes-"

"Good girl, good girl, keep moving, keep your pussy on me. Fuck- I can feel how wet you are even through my jeans-" he chuckled lightly, kissing the top of your head, "You look so good grinding on me- gonna get you to do this every time if you're not careful."

You gripped your hand around his bicep, your fingers pressed into him as you felt another orgasm rising inside you.

"Keep yourself steady, sweetheart- focus on your body. You feel that? Feel that sweet spot- you're screaming out for more, I can tell- let it fill you up, that excess, darlin', let it consume you. Keep moving, there's a good girl, you want to come again, don't y'? You wanna come on my thigh?"

You nodded into his shoulder, a small whimper falling out of your lips in desperation.

"Be a good girl for me, sweetheart, be good." He spoke softer as he pressed his lips against your skin, "Come for me."

You did as he commanded, your body quaking as you rutted against him, your fingers digging into him, letting out a loud cry, another orgasm taking control as your body quaked. Your movements began to slow but he kept his hands tight on you, keeping your grinding steady as you rode it out.

He pressed his mouth into your neck, soft kisses as you lifted yourself off his thigh, straddling him properly again, your body still shaking slightly as you tried to come back to reality, blinking hard. He leant back, carefully checking your face for confirmation you were okay, before kissing you again.

He pushed you backwards slightly to give himself better access as he took the pen from behind his ear, once again pulling off it's cap with his teeth and placing it between your legs, drawing another small line, "That's three, darlin'."

"Jesus, Dean, you'll be the death of me!" You sighed, coming to your senses.

You looked down, watching as he carefully palmed the bulge growing in his pants, "You think you can take one more?"

You nodded slowly, however spent you felt, you still wanted his cock buried inside you.

You watched as he quickly undid his belt with one hand, pulling at the top of his pants as his other hand gripped your hip tight again. His cock sprung free, solid and throbbing, watching you come so many times already pushing him to the edge. He guided you above him, lining himself up with you, before gently lowering you down, his cock sinking into your already sensitive opening.

He held your hips still as he began to thrust into you from below, watching you carefully. He pressed his mouth into your neck, small kisses across your skin as you moaned into him, your body shaking with pleasure.

Once his pace was steady he began moving his hands over you, ghosting your curves with the pads of his fingers, gentle movements, his digits hot against you, sending soft tingles all over your body. He let one hand slide under your shirt, brushing over your breast, his thumb grazing your nipple only slightly.

"You feel so good, sweetheart." He sped up his thrusting, his own heartbeat stuck in his throat as he felt your pussy tight around him.

You began to roll your own hips in time with him, pushing him deeper until he was completely filling you, your sensitive clit colliding with him on every pound. You moved your hands to his chest, steadying yourself as you both moved, the small car filled with hot breath.

He groaned, desperate, his fingers dancing over your nipples, sending shivers through you. He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on yours, "You close?"

You bit your lip, nodding in response as you felt another orgasm rise in you, his cock stretching you out.

"That's it, keep going, wanna feel you coming on my cock, darlin'."

His words send another spike of pleasure through you as you continued to roll your hip, his thrusting from below only becoming harder. You screwed up your hands in the fabric of his shirt, the tension filling you once again. You couldn't focus on anything but your dam about to burst.

"Dean, I'm gonna-"

He pressed his lips against yours as you came, a moan escaping your lips flowing into his mouth as he pushed into you, hard, your pussy contracting around his cock. Stars danced behind your eyes as you continued to move your body, your climax skewering the coil in your stomach.

The moment he felt your movements falter, Dean pulled out, his own orgasm spilling out of him without warning, his cum plastering your thigh. He let out a groan as your hand reached down instinctively, stroking him through his completion, your thumb pressed against his tip.

You both sat panting, your bodies covered in sweat and each other, as your movements slowed, both of you twitching in relief. After a moment you rolled off of him, taking your seat next to him as you pulled your blanket up to wipe his cum off of your leg. He watched you carefully before reaching back out to you, pen in hand, and drawing the final tally mark on your leg.

"That's four, new record." He smiled at you, hooking his finger under your chin for a kiss.

You shook your head, smiling as your bliss started to slump again, "You shouldn't have called, Dean, I was busy..."

"Oh yeah, hot date?" He pushed his cock back into his pants, beginning to buckle them back up as he chuckled.

"Yeah, smoking hot, tall dark and handsome." You watched as his expression faltered slightly, doubt creeping in. "A murderous demon with an appetite for murder, what's not to love!"

He relaxed again, lowering his shoulders and swallowing hard.

You waited a beat before opening up your door again, climbing out as you pulled your skirt back down. He followed your lead, stepping out into the cold night air, trying to pull himself together as he watched you do the same. Both of you were messy, clearly sexed out, the pen tally, although now hidden, still burning into your thigh, a small patch on his jeans from where you'd ridden him.

You slid back into the driver's seat, letting him clamber into the passenger side, a position neither of you were used to when around each other.

"Come on," you sighed, "let's go find your brother."

"He'll've reached the motel by now, sweetheart, we weren't exactly quick." He eyed you carefully, "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Let's get burgers."

"What, just us?"

"C'mon sweetheart, my treat, give you a proper thank-you."

[lo1k-diamonds]

Standing Next to You 💜

Will we ever see each other again?

PAIRING: demon!Jungkook x angel!(f)Reader

SUMMARY: JK is a lust demon — a powerful being that inflames desires at the simplest glance. That is his nature and all there is to his existence. Until there was you.

WORD COUNT: 12.7 k

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN: November 2023 (edited June 2025)

GENRE: Demon AU, fantasy AU, forbidden love, MV based

RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: mentions of religious themes, like sins and virtues, mentions of torture, lewd scenes involving human souls and other demons, fear and anxiety, celesteal love making (I don't know what to call it, okay 😇)

A.N.: When I first saw the Standing Next to You MV, I had so many questions. I just needed to make all the amazing imagery come together.  To this day, I still think this is the most unconventional thing I've written, and I like it a lot :) Welcome back, JK! Enjoy 💜 (PS, thank you, Raven @shadowkoo, for your help with the banner!)

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

He raised his chin and looked down at the others gathered around on their comfortable loveseats, just like him. There was something in the way they spoke that irked him, and he found it extremely hard to hide, and as such, he didn’t. His lip curled in subtle aversion, and he ignored the conversation, turning to the lower level to watch.

The sea of souls dancing lasciviously and enjoying carnal sins in as much abundance as possible was a comforting sight. He didn’t remember ever being down there, but he remembered creating those thoughts, those urges. That was his purpose, and it filled him with an intense warmth he appreciated very much. It made him complete.

When the meeting around him ended, he got up and ignored the others' banters. After an eternity together, he was not in the mood for superficiality.

“What has gotten into you?”

The strongest, most piercing grip that could ever claw at his shoulder didn’t bother him the slightest. “They’ve been indulging instead of creating indulgence.”

The laugh from behind him was dark and sticky, like treacle dripping slowly down his spine. It was too intense, but he could handle it.

“Different demons have different talents. Some need to indulge to open the door, some just have to throw a look to turn a whole room into avid, lascivious souls.” The voice moved behind him to his other ear, whispering, “Not everyone has that gift, Jungkook dearest. You shouldn’t disdain those less able than you.”

Every word irked him even more, even if he knew others couldn’t hear their conversation.

“It’s not because they’re less able,” he insisted, turning to the Archdemon. “It’s because they don’t try. Creating the curiosity, whispering it into the first tremors, showing how to take the step forward.” His pose was immaculate, his dark eyes intense, as he stepped forward only to twirl, his arms wrapping around him. “And finally guiding it into the first sensuous longing that will become an ardent, beautiful flame of desire.”

He grasped the air with his hands to seize it, and his eyes shone pure carnality.

The Archdemon chuckled in amusement, and Jungkook stilled, relaxing his form. Screams of pure ecstasy and yearning were heard from the level below, but he didn’t look at them.

“It’s an art,” he insisted, and the Archdemon grinned.

“One you create like no other,” he agreed, smile so syrupy that Jungkook pouted. “That’s why you’ll keep making your art, leading rooms of souls into that beautiful flame.” He turned Jungkook to him with a flick of his wrist, towering over him like only such a beast could. “You leave the others to me and forget about any other matters.”

Jungkook sighed, and the Archdemon took that as an acknowledgement — he laughed and turned to other matters, leaving Jungkook on that stage with no reason to perform. He looked at the crowd again and pursed his lips. As usual, he was treated like a prodigy and left to his own devices. He wouldn’t complain; he liked being free. It was the lack of care and lack of enforcement of the necessary zeal that bothered him deeply.

He passed the other members of the circle and got backstage, only giving nods and glances to the other demons as they passed. He got into the lower levels of that orangey metal den and kept going lower. He liked to do that sometimes and see the products of his efforts.

Some thought less of demons such as himself, but it was nonsense. Lust was the easiest sin, the gateway into an unreserved realm of possibilities. Even if the soul didn’t indulge further in other, more egregious capital sins, it would rarely revert to being chaste. It was too sweet to skip, too liberating to be tied to, too intense to miss. As animalistic as it was, it was also the easiest to control, and he enjoyed reigniting the flames of—

He blinked and turned suddenly to another corridor in that engraved, sweaty maze. He thought he saw— But that was impossible—

He huffed and walked in that direction, using his agility and flight to go as quickly as possible. Souls shouldn’t be wandering that side of the den; it was backstage. Moreover, the shape looked… white. Which was impossible. Demons wore black, a consequence of their black feathers reflecting on their appearance. He had a black tight leather vest, trousers, and shoes, and—

He caught his breath when he saw something clearly white trying to hide in a corner, under some metal tubes on the wall. He frowned deeply, immediately pushed by his diligence to catch whatever it was and purge it. 

He rushed in a second and flew over it, putting his feet on the ground so close that the figure almost touched his shoes. He towered over the cowering, trembling figure easily, his full anger blatant in his eyes as he reached to grab it, but then he froze. 

You turned to look up at him with the most beautiful, shaken blue eyes he had ever seen. You were crying and trembling, fear disturbing your delicate beauty in a way that irked him a thousand times over.

He shook his head, disturbed by the image of grace itself so troubled, and raised his hands soothingly as if to catch you, but without touching you. He guided you straighten up with nothing but a look, and you sniffled while doing so. Your tears were shimmering and reflecting the light like tiny little stars, and he thought that pure light had no business emerging from your misery.

He heard the steps and the wings from further away, and so did you because you gasped quietly. Your eyes weren’t pleading; despite your fear, you accepted your fate. He also saw your curiosity; it was a spark that drew him to you like a moth to a flame, yet it stayed that way. Just a spark because you were simply and purely curious, like a soul who had never seen the sea or the snow and couldn’t name them even if they were before your eyes. How could that be?

He raised his chin for a second, and his black wings extended like shadows covering you both from the ceiling to the floor. You gasped again, louder this time, but he couldn’t be mad at you. He liked impressing you even if it risked getting you caught. But as the figures passed, blinded to you both, he felt an odd blazing certainty in his gut. No one could ever catch you.

You stayed like this for an indiscernible moment, just waiting for the sounds to fade away. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, and despite knowing it had to be a spell of some kind, you let it slide. It was in your nature to know exactly when to stop, and for now, your eyes wouldn’t turn away.

When he knew you were totally in the clear, he reached his arms around you, and you gasped as his wings closed in on you. You shut your eyes, darkness taking over you, and soon your feet weren’t on the ground. The wavering sensation was familiar, and you knew you were flying, transposing rudimentary things like walls and doors. You placed your hands over his chest, the black leather warm under your touch, and snuggled closer. Wherever he was taking you, you couldn’t do anything about it.

He landed softly on his feet, and his arms around you made it so you did the same, only a second later. He looked at your light brown hair, and he could have questioned himself, but he didn’t. Your gaze turned up to meet his, and the lightest color of blue in your eyes reflected the light. He thought that was a color he had only ever seen in the sky, and he immediately suspected what you were.

He stepped back as if giving you freedom, and you waited until he turned his back, watching his black feathery wings disappear before looking around. You were in a room with mirrors, lights, gramophones, and a small stage in the corner. It reminded you of an antique mini-theatre, and your lips curved with its charm.

He had stepped away to take a deep breath, his thoughts flashing from possibility to possibility before accepting that once he turned back around, he’d find you long gone.

But when he turned, you were still there, and the light shining on you didn’t bother hiding anything. You were wearing a white tulle mini dress that revealed way more than he thought someone like you would want to show. He could see the bruises on your skin, the traces of sweat that had your light brown hair still wet, just by your shoulders. He didn’t need to know, but your blinking told him — your cobalt blue eyeshadow was sparkling and instilling in him a sense of self-control he wouldn’t have had normally. He knew what you were.

It took you a moment to realize what he was. A demon, certainly, but what kind? Your first thought was wrath because he was angry when he first saw you. But he brought you to that room, so you thought of pride. He was certainly handsome and prideful about whatever art he seemed to adore. But now, gazing upon his dark, blazing eyes, you gasped mutely. You could feel something warm tracing up your spine, like the softest feather touch that promised a caress. It was trying to shake the pillars that held your judgment, working them ever so softly that you would want to melt in his arms and forget they ever existed. So that was who he was.

“You’re still here.”

You smiled and looked down for a moment. Not because of his question, but because his voice had puckered your skin into a million little particles of desire. You couldn’t believe it had taken you more than a heartbeat to know.

“I am.”

“Why?” His question was swift as his eyes bore into yours. He knew why, but he wanted something more. Your reaction to him wasn’t enough, and his reaction to you was a problem. He placed his hands on his waist, trying to placate his flame. He didn’t want to burn you, though he was incredibly tempted to.

“Because I can’t fly.”

Your eyes sparkled with annoyance before you looked down with a gentle smile. How could such a mild creature provoke his flames like this?

“Why? Why are you here?”

“I was captured.” Your eyes watered at the memory, and he knew what you would say. “I was held in a never-ending infernal fire and plucked for my feathers whenever they would grow.”

He closed his eyes, knowing it to be true. Your sweat marks meant you were in the deepest corners of hell, and your attire meant that your wings were not healthy. He faced you again, and the gentleness of your eyes pierced him thinly, like a needle soothing his emerging anger. That was no easy feat. He was a demon, but he adored all things pure and beautiful. Purity to him meant natural, instinctive, and faithful to one’s nature, good or bad. The fact that they would pluck yours out of you so cruelly angered him beyond words.

“Why?”

You blinked with a hint of confusion before smiling amiably. “You know why.” You waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. You thought this was odd, but it didn’t matter. “You know what I am, Demon of Luxuria.”

“I do, Angel of Temperantia.”

He could swear your eyes sparkled along with your smile, and he looked away, conflicted. Your nature was beautiful, and he was captivated beyond limits. But he shouldn’t be, he couldn’t. You were an angel. You were in danger. He shouldn’t help you; he knew who would have taken the pleasure of plucking out your essence. He turned away and clenched his fists, such fury coursing through him that a wrath demon would have applauded. It disturbed him beyond words to even imagine—

“Am I…” your voice echoed quietly behind him, and he turned around.

Your innocent blue eyes were the shade of concern.

“Unsettling you?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “No, not you.”

You blinked once as if measuring his words, but then you smiled gently, and his heart shook. You were absolutely exquisite. 

“I don’t want to disturb you in any way, even indirectly.” You placed your hands behind your back like a child restraining from touching toys at a store, and paced around his room for a brief moment. You were taking in the edges of his soul, and his chest burned in anticipation and wonder. He had never felt that way before, and he was a demon of lust. “I understand what you must do.”

Your tone was kind and accepting as if all was already forgiven, and he clenched his fists. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He could see the confusion in your expression, but he was just surer and surer. He’d never see you again; they’d keep torturing your soul, snatching your essence, and harvesting your sweetness. He couldn’t stand it. “No, you’re going to escape.”

“I can’t fly.”

“You’ll heal.”

“I have nowhere to go.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“They’ll keep searching for me.”

“I’ll hide you.”

He stepped towards you, and his powerful wings reappeared behind him, drawing your eyes. They shone brightly even when reflecting his darkness.

He plucked a handful of feathers from himself, and you gasped as if you had felt his pain.

“Stop!”

“Here.” He extended them to you, but you only looked at him as if he had hurt you unbearably. “Take them.”

You looked about to cry in outrage. “No!”

He sighed impatiently and stepped forward. “I’m giving them to you. Willingly.”

“It harms you,” you whimpered, bright eyes telling him you cared for him.

“It doesn’t, I promise you.” You seemed confused, and he added, “Not when it’s my choice.”

Your eyes softened in understanding, and suddenly you saw it. Kindness. Could a demon have a virtue?

“But…” You stepped forward, a palm away from his feathers near to your heart, but you ignored them. “Will you— Can you survive this act of kindness?”

He wavered for a second; was that what this was? He looked at the feathers in his hand and then at your darling eyes. Was he acting selflessly without expecting anything in return?

He grinned and shook his head. “It’s not.”

You were surprised at this and looked down again. “But it is a sacrifice. What do you expect in return?”

He sighed and insisted, “Just take it.”

You looked at him and tried peeking behind the curtain, but his eyes hardened and didn’t let you. You saw it as a kindness and feared for him, but if he was confident it could do him no harm, then you’d accept his gift.

You let him place his feathers in your open hands, and you immediately grimaced. His power was so very different from yours; it was like a magnet pulling you infinitely to steal your ground. You tried holding steady, but you were in a weakened state. Your knees bent, you’d soon fall in and—

He grabbed your arms to stabilize you and you looked at him through the energy trying to suck you in. Instantly, the winds seemed flexible, their strength could be managed, and their direction guided. You let him work through you until you felt embraced. You felt warm and nurtured and supported, and it had been so long since you last felt safe that your eyes filled with tears. You opened them to find him leaning his forehead on yours, feeling that moment in his way. He opened his eyes, and your heart shook with worry.

“Are you okay?”

He smirked. “I should be asking you that.”

You shook your head; you were safe. That was a silly question.

He could read your insistence in your eyes. “I’m fine.” He stepped back and looked down at you, and so did you.

You were covered in black leather: a skirt below your knees, short-heeled shoes, and a jacket covering you modestly to your neck. He smiled; not even his essence could defile yours. Sure, you were wearing black, but—

Your eyes locked, and he stared. Your eyeshadow was now black, but your eyes remained the color of the sky. Your hair was the same, too, not darkest in the slightest. He thought it was beautiful to see his essence shimmering through you and wondered what other ways you could be compatible. It could be your influence, but he wanted to reach you in the middle. Distorting your nature would be the vilest thing, but finding a bridge to cross into your beautiful—

He heard a sound and instantly snapped. You heard it too, but he was already waving his hand to keep whoever wanted to come in out. You guessed this was his plane, so he could choose who to let in or not, but you were still scared. It wasn’t impenetrable, and they were looking for you.

“You need to kick me out,” you urged him. “They’ll hurt you to get me!”

He held you by the shoulders, gazing deeply into your eyes. “Can you fly now?”

You furrowed your brow and focused on trying, but pain instantly pierced your chest. You would have fallen to your knees if he weren’t holding you. “I can’t.”

He pressed his lips and didn’t move away, thinking while his hands had you. You wouldn’t complain; you felt safe with him.

“It’s okay, I’ll hide you.”

“I can’t stay here!” You were breathless. Despite your wish to stay by his side, you knew you’d be risking his life, and you couldn’t bear it.

“I know.” His eyes were glistening with something again, and you felt it, though you couldn’t name it. He touched your cheek for a brief moment, and your lips trembled. You didn’t want this to be goodbye. “You’ll be somewhere safe. You’ll heal and everything will be alright.”

You were scared, and you didn’t hide it. He gave you a look that permeated confidence through you before turning away and walking to the other side of the room. You felt abandoned, suddenly lost without his touch or comforting gaze. It didn’t get better when someone knocked on the door, and he let them in, which frightened you immensely. 

“You called?”

The man was tall and well-built, wearing all black, although not leather. You instantly knew he wasn’t the same; he had no aura to him.

“Yes,” he answered the newcomer, and you could tell by the dynamic that there was a power difference. “You’ll gather the others and take her to The Grandeur.” 

You were confused and pleading with your eyes, but he stayed where he was. His eyes were dark and piercing; maybe it was his energy that was embedded in yours, but you felt a strange warmth rising in your spine. No longer a subtle touch, you felt almost drawn to him, eager to find out what would happen if you allowed it.

“If anyone asks, she’s a newly converted soul.”

“That became a demon?”

The man sounded skeptical, and the demon turned his piercing gaze to him. “She’s a powerful creature. You don’t believe it?”

The man looked at you, and you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how a demon acted, and even if you did, you couldn’t deceive anyone. 

The man nodded. “She feels powerful enough.”

The demon looked at you again and nodded. “Good.”

You looked at him with a sudden shudder. He was so powerful that only a piece of him was that strong. Just who was that demon?

“You’ll protect her with your lives, no matter who comes for her.” You shuddered at his words, at his command. He was their Lord — they would obey. “Now leave, I need one more second.”

You watched the man dissipate into a black miasm, and your body moved on its own. You rushed to the demon hastily while he turned to you with open arms to receive you.

“The Grandeur?”

“The closest palace. Think of it like a hotel where the highest demons reside.” He was talking, but his eyes were tracing your features as he brushed your now dry and fluffy light brown hair away from your forehead.

“You’ll hide me there?!”

“It’s the last place they’ll look.” He saved your eyes for last and smiled. You were scared, maybe a bit grumpy, but you trusted him. “I thought angels were taught never to trust a demon.”

“We’re also told demons can’t be kind.”

He would have lost his patience with anyone else, but not with you. “I’m not. This is not kindness.”

“It is to me,” you insisted firmly, staring into his eyes. You weren’t afraid, and you trusted him. He could turn you in at any moment he wished, and he didn’t have to help you, much less sacrifice part of his essence to offer it to you, but he did. You could feel the urgency, the instinct that the longer you stayed, the riskier things were for him. But you still asked, “Will I see you again?”

For a split second, he wondered what you were both doing. Were you so entranced by each other that you were falling into the trap he, as a lust demon, had set a million times before? Was that even possible for an angel? Angels could be deceived, but surely not like this?

Then he cupped your cheek and let the fire blaze just a little more, contrary to what your aura would have him do. 

He had his answer, as clear as your eyes. He nodded. “You will. I’m sure you will.”

You leaned into his touch, recognizing the sweet temptation his eyes represented, but then the world shook. You both looked around, and he stepped back.

“Remember, you’re a high-standing demon.”

And with that, he cast you out and placed you gently exactly where you needed to be for the lesser demons to put you in a limousine and take you away. He closed his eyes, sensing the planes parallel to his. Someone was so angry that it was rippling through all of them. The Archdemon would not rest until he found you, but now he’d be looking in the wrong place. That would give you a moment to breathe and rest, and him a moment to collect his thoughts.

He knew you wouldn’t heal in the blink of an eye; after all, you had no wings left. The level of torture and torment you had to endure for anyone to be able to suck your essence almost completely was immeasurable. Still, the Archdemon scoured every plane of his demon den, hoping to find you. He thought you were hiding somewhere; you couldn’t possibly have escaped his domain. And for now, that false premise would be what kept you safe.

But time was passing, and he knew you’d be somewhere. Angels didn’t die like that, immortal as they were, and powerful. Jungkook was not in charge of that aspect of that hell; he was a charmer, a seducer, a performer. He tempted souls, he didn’t help maintain hell’s prisons, and as such, knew nothing of such matters. Being kept out of the loop was unsettling, but it was also a good sign. Maybe there was still time.

He heard from his minions that you were safe and staying hidden. Every day, he would receive a report about you, but today his hireling looked dejected. It was enough to deeply unsettle him.

“What is it?”

“Miss is… She’s weaker. She tries to hide, but… she can’t lie.”

Those words shook him, and he gripped his hair as he walked from one end of his room to the other. He spent the night thinking about what was happening and what he could do. You should be healing, but instead, you were weaker. He didn’t know what he could do, and going to you was extremely risky. Having his minions in and out of places was not suspicious, but if he started frequenting The Grandeur without reason, it could be noticed.

So the next day, when his minion came with his report, which unfortunately remained unchanged, he handed him a letter. He hoped you would understand the way he had written it. To anyone else, it would be a blank piece of parchment, but not to you or him. He had written it using traces of his essence, as one would with blood, in a way only he could read. And you, because you had his essence flowing through you. 

He could barely contain the excitement while he waited for the day to end and another to emerge. He was particularly effective that day, drawing in so many unsuspecting souls that he could laugh. He wanted you to figure it out and send him something as well. He wondered about it and got tangled in the many possibilities, which kept him up and excited all night. 

When his minion came with a folded piece of paper, he got it and felt like a child who had just received candy. He opened it.

How are you? I hope you have recovered well.

And he laughed. He laughed because you were an angel — of course, you’d be worried about him losing a few feathers a week ago instead of your worsening state. But he was also happy. You figured it out, you understood his essence flowing through you, and didn’t reject it. You embraced it and, in turn, him as well. That made him ecstatic.

After that, you exchanged letters every day. At first, you remained reserved about your state, and he didn’t want to give away the fact that he was being updated about it, though you probably knew. Either way, he wanted you to share of your own volition, and he started sharing things too. Nothing that would worry you, or make you disapprove of him, but other things. Things his fellow demons didn’t appreciate, and that it turned out you did.

You admired the nature of all things and understood him when he expressed art as an emotion. He thought you’d hate it when he said he respected people’s natures when he tempted them, but you had agreed. It was in every soul the potential to do things with any degree of intensity. He shouldn’t tempt them, but the choice was always theirs. You believed in the balance of all things and that temperance was the key to everything. He, who had always been infatuated with the beauty and inevitability of desire, could respect that you saw it as something not sinful, but part of a whole. You spoke of other kinds of desire, not necessarily lustful or depraved, but that invoked the gripping feeling nonetheless. The yearning for a kiss, or a touch, or a mere presence. The longing to smell a flower, to listen to a song, or to repeat a familiar food. You debated passion versus lust, and he realized that was where you diverged: he saw passion as something that would lead to lust, and you saw it as the potential to do amazing things. He told you lust came from the desire to abuse something, and you disagreed. Lust came from a potent desire to experience something, but it didn’t have to be a bad thing. It didn’t have to be carnal either; it could stay in the mind and mold and evolve, as all emotions did.

He thought you two would combust in holy and hellfire, respectively, for even debating the limits of the virtues and sins you both battled for, but it turned out you didn’t. He didn’t feel any weaker or scorched, and as far as your health went, you were not getting better, but surely not because of your letters.

When his minion told him, along with your letter, that you were bedridden, he was lost. Two weeks. Two weeks, and you were so much worse. The worry was gripping his heart; he had the most intense desire to see you and know what was happening. That day, he didn’t open your letter; he flew straight to The Grandeur and onto your balcony. He was shrouded in shadows, and he would have knocked, but he couldn’t feel you, and he panicked. He barged in and immediately froze — you were sleeping with your arms over your belly and your light brown hair contrasting steeply with the white of the pillow and the paleness of your skin.

He sat on the bed next to you and held your hand. The shadow around your eyes was almost faded, and he could sense the black leather you were wearing hanging by a thread. His first thought was to help you somehow, and the only thing he could think of was to give some of his essence to you. 

He leaned in and kissed your hands, and you sucked in a breath. He looked at you and felt your desire as if you were whispering it in his ear with the softest of longings. Your eyeshadow was black again, but you were stronger than before. He could sense it in your lovely eyes — you needed a pick-me-up, but you were healing.

He looked down at your hands. “I didn’t think you could lie, but I worried. I’m happy you’re healing.”

You tried sitting up. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I’m happy I did.”

His heart was pulsing strongly in his chest at the chance of being reunited again, and you reached to brush his cheek. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“Can you imagine how I feel, then?”

He held your hand to his cheek and your gaze. He was crazy, but he wasn’t fighting it. In his endless existence, nothing had ever felt like that. And the way you moved to draw him nearer, to have his forehead touch yours as if you needed his embrace to feel safe, had him feeling all sorts of things he didn’t know were possible.

“I don’t want to worry you.”

Your whisper didn’t annoy him or hurt him because he could see. “But you know I do. And you know why.”

Your blue-sky eyes rose to him. “Is that possible?”

He squeezed your hand. “It is.”

You faced him with concern and knew he could see it. You were afraid of being deceived, of having a weak heart that couldn’t see the truth. He was a lust demon, maybe wanting things was his way. But as an angel, lust wasn’t the emotion in your heart. It could be passion and desire, yes, but they were connected to another emotion that you weren’t sure a demon could feel.

“Will you tell me the truth?” you asked, fear emerging but quickly soothed by your temperance.

“I would never lie to you.”

You faced his dark eyes, which you had come to dream of every night. “Is what you’re feeling lust?”

“Not purely.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I desire you, but it’s not the only thing I feel.”

“What else… is there?”

He gripped your hand firmer and let his cheek slide until his nose could rest against your warm skin. “Something deep. Something tender that I don’t want to force or abuse. Something sweet that elevates my existence with thoughts of you. I don’t know what it is. I’d say it’s a flower, but flowers’ roots don’t reach as deep.”

“Is that… possible?” Your voice was a whisper, and he faced you again. 

“I don’t know. I’m figuring it out as we go.”

You sat a bit better and made a decision. “If I asked you something, would you tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Would you tell me your name?”

He blinked; he knew what knowing the other’s name meant. He knew, and he didn’t care.

“My name is Jun—”

You covered his mouth. It touched you deeply that he would share something so precious with you. You were celestial beings on opposite spectrums, but the rules applied the same. Knowing someone else’s name was to have unparalleled power over them. Not even your captor had ever learned your name, regardless of the torture method he used. You would have died with that secret; it was your most important possession. Your self.

He was looking at you with patience as if he wished for nothing but that time between you, and you wished for the same. You saw the shine of that deep feeling in his eyes, and you let your heart give in for a beat — you felt the same. You felt absolutely the same way as he.

So you lowered your hand from his mouth and reached closer until your lips met.

He was caught off guard. He never thought an angel would— Well, weren’t kisses off-limits or something? The gateway into perdition or sin? But he didn’t question you, he wouldn’t. He didn’t care about any of those things; he was kissing you for the first time. And it filled his chest. It gave him air he never thought he needed, energy he never knew he could feel, and confirmed that whatever was taking root in his chest was real. 

The stories were bullshit. You together were not impossible, you were not incompatible, and you could very well nurture the most sacred feeling of all. Even if it was forbidden, his heart was beaming. It had to mean only one thing.

He didn’t want to stop, but he let you pull away to recover your breath. He opened his eyes and grinned; your eyeshadow was as cobalt blue as the day he first saw you, and you felt stronger than before. Knowing he was the reason you felt revitalized made him grin shamelessly. You smiled at his glee, and you chatted for a while more before he had to leave. You were worried about seeing him again, but he reassured you.

“We have the letters, and eventually they’ll relent the search. You feel stronger already, soon you’ll be healed enough to fly away.”

You pressed your lips with concern. “And if I am? Healed enough?”

He had turned to look at you, and you saw it: a hint of possession before it fizzled out. “Then you call for me in a letter. I’d like to say goodbye.”

You didn’t hide the pain the thought caused you, and his eyes softened, though the corners of his lips remained down. 

“It will be okay,” he had turned to you instead of reaching for the curtains to step out onto the balcony. “You’ll be free and safe.”

You reached your arms around him, holding him while you worried for his safety. You wondered if he could be found out, if you could become the reason he was cast out, tortured, or destroyed. Your heart couldn’t bear it.

You pulled away, and his kiss was waiting for you, stealing your thoughts for a brief moment. When you opened your eyes, you could see that it was part of his intent.

“I’ll see you soon.”

If only he could see you more.

Every day was torture, knowing that eventually his time with you would end and he would never see you again. He had moments of adoration, of wishing he could take care of your every need at every waking moment. But he also had moments of anger, of wishing he could carve his heart out and stop feeling that retched way. Because he would lose you. You were perfect, the perfect match to his anomaly, the untold impossible cause of a demon swaying his depraved ways, and for what? He would lose you regardless. He would, for your safety. He would because he wanted to set you free. He would because your well-being was more important than his selfishness. 

He would groan in the night, lying on his bed, thinking of you while he indulged in a sin you would have disapproved of. But he was a demon after all, and he saw every other soul living their dreams but him. They would bask in their appetites, savoring the deepest desires hidden beneath all layers of civility and ethics, and step into the light as souls true to their nature. He had indulged in it himself for as long as he could remember; demon, human, or otherwise, it mattered little — the soul’s beauty was what mattered. But now he couldn’t. His fire wouldn’t waver in their presence anymore, and it felt pointless. Not the pleasure itself, which he knew could feel good, but it wouldn’t ever scratch what it could feel like with you. He knew he’d never feel it — you were an angel. Not an asexual creature by any means: no one could hide desire from him, not even you, and purity angels existed as well, which meant that to be chaste, one would have to be able to feel lust as well. But still, he doubted you would ever indulge in such a desire, even if you had it. Though he never thought he would abstain from his, and there he was.

He observed the other demons and souls as they searched and indulged in their pleasures, but he remained quiet and absent-minded. It wasn’t like an endless orgy in every direction swayed him anymore, and he was doing his part just by being there. His presence was enough; he never had to lift a finger — before, he just wanted to.

Another demon from the circle climbed onto the stage where Jungkook was just lying and observing the crowd. The naked demon was laughing, covered in fluids of many kinds, but still thirsty. Jungkook ignored him and focused on a soul he noticed was staring and getting distracted. He reached out with his hand, and it was as if the stage moved closer, within the soul’s reach. It was a woman with dark brown eyes, long, fiery hair, and skin that glistened with sweat every time she took a breath. Her eyes were fixed on him with adoration while she jerked a man off, who was busy with someone else, and another woman with short blond hair plunged her mouth into her center. 

Jungkook kept his arm outstretched, and she raised hers, meaning to touch him. She had been thinking of him ever since she first saw him. It started with curiosity, with wanting to know more, but then it evolved as the want blazed in her heart. Now she was thinking of him fucking her mouth and using her lewdly, and he just looked at her. She would never be able to touch him unless he wanted it, which he didn’t, but his gaze was enough. One more second of his dark eyes and she could feel his nails gripping her hair as he plunged so deep in her mouth, she choked and drooled uncontrollably. She closed her eyes with a deep moan, a fulminating orgasm electrifying her nerve ends, and he withdrew his arm, returning the stage to where it was.

“Why not make her dreams come true?”

Jungkook shrugged. He didn’t have to justify himself.

The other demon chuckled. “Why not let her suffer, then?”

The demon didn’t wait for Jungkook’s response and jumped into the crowd again. Jungkook took a deep breath. He was not a sadist; he was the delicious temptation that always kept their promise of becoming something better. Different demons had different roles. But why had he helped her…

He let his head fall on the stage floor and wondered about it. Maybe because he wished the same grace could be granted to him. Perhaps because he now knew how much a heart could truly yearn and suffer from absence. It wasn’t the same, of course. What he had for you in his heart wasn't comparable, but still. Small blessings.

He felt the instant the Archdemon entered the plane, and Jungkook purged his thoughts immediately. He couldn’t risk even thinking of you in his presence. The Archdemon had absolute control over everyone, including Jungkook.

“Ah, Jungkook. Are you going to perform something?” He laughed smugly, and Jungkook just moved to the center of the stage. His mind was on his dance and performance, and he kept going for as long as the powerful being wished it.

His thoughts only flew back to you once he was in his own plane to rest. He didn’t regret meeting you, desiring you, or transcending his feelings into what many thought was barred from the chests of both demons and angels. He felt inexplicable things because of you, he knew more, and he reached deeper. He grabbed himself with nothing but the thought of you opening your arms and inviting him in. The dream of feeling you turned his dark soul incandescent. That was who you were to him.

So to keep you safe, he stayed away, watching every grain of sand pass towards its inexorable end. The Archdemon never stopped his searches, so it was a countdown to have you escape before he could find you.

He thought this race would be tense, but just a moment in time. Soon, you’d call him to say goodbye, and he'd watch you fly to your freedom, taking with you all these heartfelt emotions. He would think of you and dream of you, and you would be safe, spreading your generous nature to everyone you met. He was bittersweet about it, but accepting.

What he didn’t plan was that the world would suddenly shake, even from within the Archdemon’s layer of hell. Jungkook instantly got up from his couch, alarmed, the same as the other demons overseeing that crowd of souls. Something big had to have happened for such a shockwave to reach them, and he later learned what it was.

You were not confined to your room at The Grandeur. You wouldn’t interact with any other demon or stay in anyone’s presence long enough, but watching the sky and either the sun or the moon gave you peace. You were on one of your escorted limousine rides when demons started intercepting the vehicles, looking for something, and you grew nervous. You couldn’t deceive or lie, you thought, gripping the black leather to your chest. Your presence could be masked, but one look at you and they would know. 

Your anxiety grew to the point that your power rose to the surface, with the instinct of survival flooding you. You couldn’t control your anxious heart, and as such, your grace was acting on its own. Fortunately, the minions with you intercepted you in time. Suddenly, you had familiar faces inside the limousine, balancing your light with their shadow, and you thought of him. If you were found, they would know who those minions answered to, and he would be caught. He would be tortured and broken apart for daring to even look at you, and you couldn’t bear the thought.

So, you turned inward in meditation and focused on his essence within you. It was usually scorching hot and indomitable like a wild animal pushed to a corner with nowhere to go. But today, you didn’t stay respectfully away; you couldn’t. Today, accepting him wasn’t enough: his essence had to overflow from your pores and mask yours.

You stayed focused in this effort until you were worn out, drained from suppressing your shine to let his darkness beam somberly. You were about to pass out when you opened your eyes, the vehicle moving, you didn’t know where. All you could do was raise your hand with a folded message that only he could read before you blacked out.

Jungkook later learned you had passed the patrol, but your energy was still detected. He knew as soon as he saw you lying unconscious in your bed — your light was being oppressed, and you needed to leave. He kissed your forehead to transmit his darkness to you, and you took a deep breath, needing only one second to recognize him and jump into his arms.

“I was almost caught!”

He held you closely, supporting your head gently. “Almost.”

“I think… I think I used your essence too much.”

“Or not enough,” he argued, looking deeply into your sky-colored eyes when you moved away. “Your light provoked a shockwave that was felt. Everything shook to the deepest corners of this hell. He knows you’re still here, and he will turn everything upside down to find you.”

“But—” Your eyes were glistening in confusion. “But I tried so hard!”

He brushed your cheek. “You can’t suppress your light, even if you want to. This time it worked and you escaped, but it won't a second time.” You frowned with sorrow, and looking into his eyes, he was even more sure. “And my darkness will no longer be enough. Once you’re strong enough, it won’t last.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “No! Don’t even think about it!” He grinned; your concern for him was adorable. “I won't keep consuming parts of you to stay hidden, that’s despicable!”

His grin widened as he looked down. “Maybe… But it would be a righteous way to go.”

“Don’t say that!”

Your voice shook with fear, but his grin never wavered. He cupped your cheek with a certainty you couldn’t understand. “Can you fly?”

You grimaced and tried to soul-search within yourself. “I’m… hurt, but… soon. Very soon.”

“How soon?”

“Tomorrow.”

Something dark crossed his eyes for a moment before he closed them, and you were anxious. Then, your soul shimmered, and you were filled with serenity.

“Tell me,” you asked, supporting his hand to your cheek. You waited for his dark eyes to come to you before you filled him with ease. You never thought it would be possible to affect a demon, but this one was different. You knew him inside and out.

“It’s time, but they’re tightening their grip. You won’t be able to leave in these circumstances.”

Your brow creased ever so slightly. He was right, but that was not what you had asked him.

“I’ll create the opportunity for you to leave.” Your eyes instantly told him you disagreed, but he continued, “I’ll summon every higher female demon to a performance. And you will come too.”

You were shaking your head, scared and confused. “They’ll catch me!”

“They won’t know you’re there. You’ll take enough from me that you’ll be just as dark as any of them.”

You blushed; you didn’t know if that was a good idea.

“But in my performance… I’ll sow chaos. I’ll make everyone’s darkest desires come to the surface, I’ll turn them crazy and wild. I’ll make them cross the line, and the Archdemon will be furious. He’ll send his lackeys, and everyone will run from his wrath. While he’s busy handling this, you’ll slip away.”

He was comfortable with his plan; he knew he could do it, you saw his confidence in his dark eyes. But something was unsettling him.

“When?” you asked.

He looked down and frowned. “Tomorrow.”

“Do you hate tomorrow?”

You still had difficulties interpreting the range of his emotions. He grinned. “I hate that I can’t stop it from coming.”

You couldn’t hate, and time was inevitable, as many things were. You reached for his hand. “Will we ever see each other again?”

He couldn’t face you, but the lines in his expression hardened.

“Come with me. Let’s run away together.”

His eyes jumped to yours. “You’d take me with you?”

Stars twinkled in your eyes as you smiled, and he was breathless. You genuinely wanted him by your side and were not afraid of what that would mean.

“I thought only humans could feel this way,” he confessed, eyes tracing your features with the utmost longing. He missed you as if you weren’t there in front of him. He yearned for you as if you were the brightest and most distant nightly star. He revered you in ways that would seem abhorrent to any other demon, but he couldn’t catch himself.

You smiled. “I never doubted we could. I have faith that every creature can embrace all states and emotions and still focus on the balance within themselves.”

“Aren’t we disturbing that balance?” His eyes darkened, and you only smiled at the caress navigating your skin. His tangible desire flowing around you didn’t bother you anymore.

“Not when you have become a part of it.”

His breathing stopped with his eyes boring into yours, but you stayed calm as ever. He heard you, and you spoke nothing but the truth. His essence could never fuse with yours, but it coexisted within you peacefully. Almost lovingly. He had to know of the feeling inside your chest; you never hid it. He was part of you now.

Yet he swallowed dryly, recoiling. “What if you fall?”

A delicate line showed between your eyebrows. “That would imply a sin.”

He scoffed, but his expression was sad, and you didn’t understand. You reached out to brush his soft cheek.

“Not every desire between two souls is a sin.”

He took your hand to cover his mouth and kiss the palm, and you could see it. He had fears, but he tried his best to disguise them.

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

You couldn’t suppress a chuckle at his white-and-black view of the universe. “A sin is also an irrevocable choice to do evil. Would I be doing evil, then?”

He shut his eyes, hiding in your hand. “I don’t want to find out…”

It was the first time you saw his fear, and you knew it was for you. He was so worried about you that he was rejecting you in every way.

You raised his chin. “Don’t be afraid.”

Your tone was firm despite your kindness, and his guts twisted as if he had been caught off balance. He was embarrassed, staring into your eyes as you saw so deeply inside him. But it was odd. He knew that with anyone else, he would have instantly rallied to protect his secrets, his core, and keep any risk away. But not with you. He wouldn’t lash out or push you away because you accepted him. He wasn’t afraid of being vulnerable with you. You carried his essence; whatever there was to know about him, you already did.

“I can’t help it…” he confessed, nuzzling your palm for comfort. “I don’t want you to fall just because—” He didn’t know how to say it, and you waited with a firm gaze. “I don’t want you to suffer for having crossed paths with me.”

Your resolve wavered for a second; was he saying that was all it meant to him? Just crossing paths? When you thought there was a feeling taking root in him in the same way as with you?

Your lips curved gently. “I understand.” You took a deep, pacifying breath. “If the Archdemon finds us, he will imprison you, torture you, or worse.”

His expression hardened — he knew what you meant. Yet your eyes watered with the pain that thought caused you.

“And yet you speak of my suffering for crossing your path.” You could have chuckled, but there was no mockery in you. “I can’t bear the thought of that happening to you.” Your voice wavered as you faced each other. Your soul was as open to him as it had always been. “I don’t want to exist if there’s no chance that I’ll ever meet you again.”

He lounged for your lips, his expression hardening at the softness of your kiss, the tightness in his chest, and the certainty that you only spoke the truth. That was your authentic heart, and he wanted to drink it as if he had been dying of thirst. He couldn’t hear you speaking of not existing, and he wanted to plunge into whatever ocean carried you so he could always stay near. He wanted to bask in your light forever, even knowing that it blinded him. Because he didn’t need to see, the way his heart was beating for you was enough. All you had to do was be, and he would follow.

He was lost in this reverie as he kissed you, grabbing your arms to loop them around his shoulders and sitting closer to hold you firmly. You saw it and stepped carefully, but you continued. You had to ask yourself what kind of desire that was and if it was pure, and every step of the way, you knew it was. You had made your decision, and if it turned out to be wrong, at least you knew you did it with a good heart.

His kiss deepened, and you knew what to do, against all odds. It was probably his essence within you guiding you. It felt overwhelming for a second, but he waited for you to match him. He didn’t want to overrun you or ensnare your senses; he wasn’t trying to steal your free will or instill temptation to make you sin. He was quite simply adoring you with his lips, and it tranquilized you because you could feel the heart beating underneath.

But suddenly he pulled away. He was frowning deeply, though he didn’t move very far. You looked up at him from where you lay under him on your pillow, and he opened his eyes. “Shouldn’t you… stop us?”

You reached out to brush his cheek. “I don’t want to stop.”

He was startled and held your wrist. “Wait.” He looked confused, but then he faced you again. “I’ve heard that before. Countless times. It’s the first step. I can’t help it, it’s my nature. But I don’t want to condemn you,” he sounded tortured, and he was about to move away when you grabbed him back to stay put.

“You’re assuming it’s a sin again. I asked you before: would I be doing evil?” His eyes were darker and darker; he was fearful, so you answered in his stead. “No. Uniting with you could never be an evil act. It’s as pure as any other expression of this feeling. I can adore you in words, in feeling, and in action. That can’t be wrong when it is true and pure in itself.” His eyes widened and glistened, and his expression still showed disbelief, so you sighed. “I can only know the purity of the feeling in my heart. If yours is different, tell me.”

He instantly shook his head and leaned to hold you closer. “It’s not. I feel the same. I feel crazy, none of this makes sense, but whenever I look at you, I just know.” You closed your eyes, letting his deepest truths caress your skin gently. But he hesitated. “Aren’t you… disgusted by me?”

“Are you?” Your question was simple, but he frowned. “Maybe I should be, I was with the others. But not with you. With you, I see and feel so much more that— There’s a balance. There’s just a cosmic balance.”

His dark eyes revealed his thoughts, and they were enough. You knew he agreed, you knew he felt the same way. You were entranced, like two opposite beings were meant to be, trapped to orbit the other without the ability to exit the magnetic field you created by yourselves. But it wasn’t bad, you thought, as he traced his lips down your neck reverently. It was inevitable, and you didn’t want to fight it. You had faith in the two of you and your hearts.

You were the one who, through kisses and caresses, decided to pull back the energy that covered you. It extended from his essence inside you, and yours, and without it, your body was fully revealed. He waited a moment before pulling away enough to look at your exposed body with a single look of solemnity before looking into your eyes. His gaze was grave because he understood — without your wings protecting you, or his essence, you were at your most vulnerable state, unprotected should anyone wish to harm you. That was how much you trusted him, and he took it seriously. He retracted his wings and all the protection they provided him as well, but you didn’t look down. Your eyes stayed on him as you smiled, and then you opened your arms, and he shook. He rushed to press his lips to yours, rattled with the opportunity blooming in front of him like out of a dream. For a moment, he believed he was asleep.

But soon you were kissing him with passion and looking to unite with him at all levels, and his fire raged. For a second right before he felt you, he saw in your eyes the water of temperance that created you. The water of longevity and forbearance that he could never hope to attain, but that he admired. Inside him, his craving was a fire threatening to burst out and consume you both, and he wondered how that was so. How was it that your temperance didn’t smother your passion, and his lust didn’t pervert him into derailing everything?

He only understood it when you finally connected both in body and spirit, like a key to a lock. He unlocked your potential from the clutches of austerity, and you unblocked a fervor that could burn without consuming. He felt it now, and so did you. Every time he thrust into you, attempting to intensify that carnal tension, you answered back, tightening, gripping, and holding. You were giving and receiving in a fire that didn’t have to reduce to ash.

You were ecstatic with the union of your bodies, never having felt such caresses or touches to your actual skin. You had almost died, and the only things to ever graze you had been blades and claws, just to make you suffer and bleed. But now you knew that it was possible to be touched and scratched in such a vulnerable form and not hurt. There was pleasure in the vulnerability, in the closeness, but you could sense there was more.

He was lost in the way you were together because it was as new and unique to him as it was to you. He had been with countless souls and felt innumerable bodies, and yet nothing compared to you. His deviating urges were satiated in a way because that was not what you were doing. He didn’t know it was possible ever to have that hunger quenched; he was a demon. He was condemned to starve for lust for eternity, and yet not with you. He pulled away from your kiss for a moment to confirm this: he was inside you, buried deep between your legs as he moved slowly; you were naked, lying on a pillow and holding his arms in support, cobalt blue eyeshadow emerging with your essence bubbling to the surface. You were beautiful, straight out of one of his wildest reveries that could never come to pass, but it did. You were real.

You knew that both of you were awestruck with your pleasures, but you sought more. Not out of greed, but because your sharing of each other was not yet complete. You wanted every part of you united with him, balanced between you in harmony. That couldn’t be achieved just with your physical bodies. It was time.

He lowered, each arm framing you sweetly as he kissed you, and your essence flowed to him like a brook. Surely and velvety, like a cloud coming to cushion and soothe any ache. He moaned in your mouth in a mix of ecstasy and relief, and you couldn’t help your bliss.

He parted your lips but stayed in the same place, breathing heavily as he looked into your light blue eyes. You had no idea how it would feel to him to have your light, but you were happy it didn’t hurt him.

He was blinded to anything else that wasn’t you, breathless with the sparks shining inside him like thousands of suns. You were the embodiment of elation, the bliss evoked by demons like him to convince others to seek a pleasure that was too utopian to achieve. But there was no deception there. You were not deceiving him with delusions of pleasure or illusions of grandeur. You were truly elevating him to another level of enlightenment, and his knees became weak.

He brushed your chin softly with his lips as tears filled his eyes. “You’re so—” His voice dissipated under such joy, but he wasn’t blinded. His eyes were wide open. “I don’t want to weaken you.”

You smiled, and he knew he had to protect you above all things. “I won't be. I’ll be filled with you, and you’ll be filled with me.” His instincts roared inside him, urging him to take you and keep you for eternity. “You’ll be stronger, and we’ll fly together.”

You brushed his sweaty hair falling over his eyes and nodded in assurance, and he fell on you again, kissing you. You exchanged essences, communing in spirit, and elevating your physical senses in a way that culminated in a blazing supernova, igniting both your senses. You felt it so intensely you thought you would have emitted light in that plane and across many others, alerting all demons in the seven hells, but fortunately, you didn’t. That radiance was only seen by both of you in each other and through each other.

It was so intense that parts of him disintegrated in pleasure, just to be reassembled again, like grains of sand fusing to create glass, only to be shattered and melted into cohesion again. He feared that it was the prelude of an event horizon and that the subsequent black hole would suck the both of you in for infinity, but he was at ease. Even if that happened, you would be united in eternity, and that could never be a bad thing.

Instead, and as you expected, your essences compacted together harmoniously, never mixing, only coexisting tenderly and nurturing. You came down from your high together with him and smiled at him before exhaustion took your senses.

When he woke up in the middle of the night, he was confused. In a good way, he felt as though he was waking from a million-year-long sleep, with his senses heightened, at the ready, strong, and cunning. He could face anything, but his eyes immediately fell on you. You were sleeping quietly under him, and he had slept on your chest, lulled by the sound of your heart and warmth from your arms holding him. There was no need to fight the battles of the world when you were right there in a moment that needed to be relished and cherished.

That was the moment he contemplated both of you, what you were doing, and all those emotions. He had a melody in his ears, a few words just about on the tip of his tongue, and a spell on his mind that would sew all the chaos needed for you two to run away. Together.

He brushed your sweet, light brown hair and realized that wasn’t enough. To escape, it wouldn’t be necessary more than his usual power, but he wasn’t his usual self. Not with your essence scintillating in every corner of him. He didn’t have to, but he wanted to exalt you and what you meant to him. 

Later, you woke up and gently petted his raven hair. He was again on your chest, charmed by your pulsating heart, and when he looked up at you, you wordlessly requested a kiss that he promptly gave. Every time your lips brushed, he could feel the infinite in which your souls intertwined, and if he had wondered if there was a limit to that feeling, now he knew there wasn’t. There was absolute adoration in his chest, and if he ever doubted it, you just showed it to him again.

He was inside you again, both sinking into your body and mingling with your soul when you whispered, “Harder.”

The fire in him erupted like a flame fed on gasoline, and he knew it could risk becoming so overwhelming that it would consume you both, but it didn’t. He obliged your request, diving so deep into you that he feared you would hurt. You didn’t hurt; he could hear it in every breath, feel it in every particle, and you weren’t consumed. He was a powerful demon, further empowered by the strength of an angel, and even then, he did not harm you. He sought in you the answers, but you were tranquil—you didn’t have them, but you didn’t need them because you were balanced. And so he searched for his, and as you both exploded into new universes, he understood. He was reunited with his origin through you. It was as if he were back to creation at the zenith of his existence, yet without denying his true nature. Existence was meant to be experienced in this way, and he couldn’t go back. It wouldn’t make sense.

Your soul radiated with the last traces of your union, and you sighed, fluttering back to reality. You wanted him marked in your body and spirit, and it felt right. If you were caught, then at least you would remember that sensation. And you would for eternity because no other soul in the cosmos could fit yours like his. You knew the emotion that was now part of your soul, as it should be.

He had to leave to put things into motion. “The sooner it happens, the sooner we’ll be free.” You smiled as he reached the balcony, ready to fly away, but not without cupping your cheeks first for one last caress. “You’ll get an invitation, it will be signed JK—my initials. Worry about nothing other than being at ease. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

You were already at ease, brimming with a confidence you suspected wasn’t entirely yours.

Your foreheads touched for a moment of affection and longing before he gave you a confident look, stepping back and flying away. You took a deep breath and readied yourself for the waiting. What were a few hours compared to an eternity in each other’s company?

Two hours later, you received the parchment that self-combusted before touching your hand. You eyed the underling, but he just nodded, and you were reassured. You could only read the fiery ashes because of his essence: In half an hour, JK.

You didn’t ask questions; you were more than ready for this event, and you stepped into the limousine. The trip was unimpressive; what surprised you was seeing him casually walking as you passed by. You lowered your window, but he just glanced and then at the horizon, where you knew others were gathering to reach the event in time. You couldn’t risk everything now, so you closed your eyes and let the vehicle take you. Soon, you saw the façade of a concrete building as sterile as the rest of the landscape, except for a golden ‘JK’ carved in the center of radiating traces of light. Your eyebrows twitched, thinking he had maybe risked a bit too much, but it wasn’t the time to question him, nor did you feel inclined to. 

Your limousine was the first to arrive and stopped facing the stage of that hollowed construction. It wasn’t fancy, but you recognized it didn’t have to be. Other limousines parked on either side of you, and you could feel the animosity bubbling. The envy, the rivalry, the malice — whoever was inside those cars wanted something and was there to have it. 

When you thought the tension would snap, you decided that being inside the car trying to peek wouldn’t work. You opened the moonroof and climbed out, moving to the front until you could sit with your legs to one side and support yourself on the opposite side with your hand. You could feel the jealousy saturating the air like smoke, but you couldn’t be bothered. The air also carried a familiar energy, and the show was about to start.

The music suddenly started, and dancers wearing black started pacing and crossing paths all around the stage until he appeared from in between them to dance with them. You were surprised; he meant a musical performance? As far as demonic rituals go, you hadn’t expected it. Also, he was wearing a white V-neck crop t-shirt alongside his black pants, and you held your breath. As he danced, he looked up at you, and you shivered; he wasn’t hiding it, but neither were you. Your eyeshadow was black, matching every single piece of cloth reverberating from his essence inside you. Black-heeled boots and tight pants followed by a semi-transparent waist cincher corset. Above it, from your chest, two cloth strips stemmed that covered your chest in both directions and were tied chaotically over your right arm in a sleeve. As he danced in perfect synchrony with his dancers, his dark eyes were set on you until he stepped his foot once, and you felt the air shift — the spell started.

His lips moved, though what answered was a distant echo of his voice, “Standing next to you.”

His foot pressed on the base of the microphone stand, raising the microphone to his lips, and it was just him. “Play me slow, push up on this funk, and give me miracles.”

He twirled with the stand and closed his eyes, and you knew it would work. You didn’t know if those words touched you so deeply because of what you had shared together, but even you weren’t indifferent to his charm.

“Make it known: how we left and right is somethin' we control.”

He circled the stand, and you felt weirdly hot, as if you had been summoned, called by your name to replace the stand.

As if he heard your thoughts, he faced you with dark eyes and beckoned you to come closer before singing cleanly as he contoured your shape in the air,  “Screamin', I testify this lovin'.”

Your heart shook; his words. He had actually named—

He stepped to the side while his dancers flocked around him, holding the microphone stand to give him a voice as he kneeled, as if in a plea or prayer. “Screamin', I testify that we'll survive the test of time, they can't deny our love.” He grabbed the microphone and stood clear, facing anyone who would hear him, but with his eyes inevitably set on you. “They can't divide us, we'll survive the test of time. I promise I'll be right here.”

The voices echoed around you, but you were starstruck, trembling as he danced and echoed something neither of you had dared to say aloud. Something you wanted all universes to know, but would have never imagined he would proclaim so blatantly. It was insane.

He told of how deep that feeling went before the lights flashed to the wild beat. Then he twirled, and a black jacket covered him, formed with sparkly metal chains that you recognized. He was showing parts of you, tempting fate with such confidence. As if his words weren’t enough, as if you weren’t facing him on that stage on the front row with his dark eyes set on you at every given chance. He knew he was too strong for any of them to detect it, especially since he had your love.

He was so in it, he felt like an incandescent star. That was his game, his nature. Enticing and ensnaring were things natural to him, and his effects were fatally effective. Even demons wanted to see him perform for the chance to burn in that lustful desire that only he could create. And yet, those were not his thoughts this time around. He had voiced his soul regardless of the chaotic spell he was trying to cast, and as he did, images of you running away inside the Archdemon’s den flashed through his mind. He was there, thankfully, and he had found you. He danced as he remembered your state clearly; he would protect you forever. 

“Afterglow, leave ya body golden like the sun and the moon.”

His hand slid slowly to his crotch, and you tilted your head, knowing the feral scent in the air couldn’t be avoided. His spell did not enchant you; you saw beyond its crude nature, but the echo replying, You already know, gave you goosebumps. It wasn’t obscene, and it wasn’t meant to ensnare you, but you knew of all the ways you intertwined. More than that, it wasn’t his main focus, because when he again proclaimed his love for you, he looked at you and placed his hand over his heart. He was singing about staying by your side forever because of that feeling that no one could deny, when his dancers fell back into a circle around him as he stood, reaching for the light above. You were touched; he saw you as a miracle that would take him high and beyond, worth any obstacle.

Then he looked down at you and repeated, “They can't divide us, we'll survive the test of time. I promise I'll be right here.”

You had underestimated him — his capability and his power. As he performed body and soul, you met in another plane parallel to that one, but exclusive to you both. That was why you had white over your skin, and he black — two opposite essences that now flowed freely through both of you.

You heard him in both planes when he declared he would stand in the fire next to you, and you felt it. His dark eyes lit a familiar flame that could withstand your flowing waters of temperance as if they were flammable. You didn’t mind it, whether he was alluding to the fire of hell that would torture you both for eternity should you get caught, or the supernova blast of when you fused body and soul.

Everything about the performance was intense: his sharp eyes, powerful voice, preaching lyrics, and almost aggressive dance moves as he cast a spell that would soon discharge all the tension that had been building up. You knew it, you could feel it, and yet in another plane, he was gently caressing your cheek. His eyes were firm, almost possessive as he claimed that love couldn’t be taken away by any external force, and you almost smiled. No, indeed. It couldn’t.

Echoes of his voice sounded all around again and again — he would stand next to you. He wanted you to know it, and you did. You also knew it was the calm before the storm, and it was confirmed as the underlings walked to the space immediately after the stage. He bid your eyes to stay on his and not face what was to come. You could feel the jealousy sparking in the air, charged with a desire and envy to feel such a way, and with him. You couldn’t feel such an emotion yourself, and you wouldn’t — you were sure of you, and his heart held no secrets.

Still, he stepped back, and his attire morphed yet again. A single long black jacket and pants sparkling with stars of your light, and you knew it was time. The music crescendoed, and his movements became sharp and aggressive as the fight broke out around you and you vanished, seemingly to protect yourself and escape. Through his essence, you could tell things were escalating with such power that the Archdemon was aware. It was a matter of time until his wrath descended there — your window of opportunity was small. 

He jumped to the center, focusing intensely on something before his dancers formed the shape of enormous black wings spreading out from him, until his spell faded and the music ended. By then, the limousines had escaped, and time was ticking. You exited the shadow and stepped over the dusty, barren floor to get to him, leaving traces of water and sparkling energy behind. You weren’t paying attention; soon your energy would burst just the same as his.

He met you halfway, his dark, committed eyes on yours, and you faced each other. You were ready. Together.

[biteyoubiteme]

meet me in montauk teaser

choi soobin x fem!reader

𓅪 synopsis: do you ever truly forget a person? even those whom you have specifically paid to be removed from your mind? no matter how hard some try, some people can never be forgotten because the love and the hurt can be found in even the smallest things. memories easily triggered by nothing more than running your fingers through the grains of sand on the beach where you met, not once but twice. ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings: fem!reader, angst, romance, bit of a science fiction au, soulmate trope ish, depression, mentions of pregnancy, miscarriage, postpartum depression, smut, more to be added/subject to change/full warnings to be posted with fic

estimated word count: ~25k I could be lying I don't know how to estimate word counts so we will actually see how far off I am or just right when it’s posted lol ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ release date: july 2025

ོ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: back to me- the marías an: this is based off the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, most of the movie is spent going through memories and this is a bit of my interpretation of that although not as heavily as the movie does it. i hope that you guys like this one its very heavy but i love it and was looking for a bit of an outlet and its helped me a lot and i hope you guys can find something you like in it as well <333

[m.list]

With beomgyu on one side, teasing him, and taehyun on the other, telling soobin he should have given you his number, he looked back at you across the street, looking back at him. And it didn't matter if he looked like a madman, he turned back, hand cupping his mouth as he shouted across that nearly empty New York street right at the head of the subway stairs, “Do you work tomorrow?” 

The question had pulled everyone to a stop, your face heating up, not caring if yeonjun and Kai joked over the clear crush you had formed over a single beach trip, “On Monday! You'll visit me, right?” 

“I wouldn't miss it!” Not when he had found someone so interesting, he forgot himself enough to shout into the busy city just to catch one more line with you. And while both of you left in the opposite direction, you still wore identical, hazy, love-struck, love-sick smiles all the way home. 

It had been instant then, and it was instant now. The unfurrowing of your life lines not crossing once, but twice, when the two of you had done everything in your power to forget one another. 

The treatment had been offered as a last ditch effort to pull your relationship out of a sinking ship. A lifeline tossed into the water, thrashing with unrelenting emotions, drowning the both of you until the waves were too high and too heavy to fight. But it had not been like that at first; your ship was just sailing, and the masts were heavy and strong with each gust of wind heading your way. No low going self-implosion waiting on your horizon. At least not just yet. 

Because at the start of it all, on that Monday morning, soobin had called in sick, faked a strained voice with the aid of his sleep-ridden one, and made sure to secure the full day without a blink of an eye. He didn't know when you started your shift, if it was in the afternoon or even at night; all he knew was that he would be there waiting to be checked out with your favorite novel tucked in the crook of his elbow. 

He hadn't gotten your number, and distance made the heart grow fonder, so the only replay in his mind was the way you made him laugh and the way he wanted to see you laughing right along with him. And when he arrived, you hadn’t been in sight, the checkout counters bare of people, just as the rest of the store. His languid stroll only made him take in the place as you might have seen it. The towering light washed wooden shelves holding far too many books to not make the place feel cramped in the best way possible. Ladders sitting at the edge of each aisle waited, and he wondered how often you must have had to climb up one for a customer scared to reach a height they hadn't been expecting for a paperback. 

And as he rounded that last corner, he ran into you with your apron on, the bookstore logo tattooed on the front in delicate green stitching above the neatly done black of your name. “You came,” your voice hooking him in the way it was just so easily said, an exhale that he had been waiting to feel the second he saw you again. Because it had been a bit like holding his breath. His anxious mind worked to ask him the question: Was she really like how he remembered her, or was it just the salt and the sand influencing his mind? 

But it hadn't been the beach, not when you stood so vividly alive there, just as you had sitting next to him on the shore and the train. “I told you I wouldn't miss it,” because anything he had been feeling washed away, and he was just a boy in a store flirting with a girl he felt like he had known for a lifetime.

⸝⸝⸝

taglist 🏷: want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join!want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! everyone on my txt taglist will already be tagged

[neiptune]

assessment gone wrong

cw: 2.5k wc, female reader, miscommunication trope, very self indulgent, quite sappy by the end, yikes yikes yikes, oliver comes up with a not so brilliant idea to test out how much you actually like him and it blows up in his pretty face

“I think we should have a threesome”.

You damn nearly choke on the piece of whipped ricotta toast you’re eating, eyes darting to where Oliver is sitting across from you at the breakfast table he so kindly set.

“What?”, you swallow, trying really hard to hide your astonishment. He just smiles.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that for a while. What do you say?”.

You clear your throat, gaze low while you keep your fingers occupied by tapping them on the mug filled to the brim with freshly brewed tea.

Oliver relishes in that agitation and, as he brings a spoonful of spinach tofu scramble to his mouth, he secretly congratulates himself on the brilliant idea his brain came up with while on his morning run.

The thing is, you two have been dating for a while now and he truly likes you. That’s precisely why he would like to confirm that you like him too. No, more than that: he wants to understand just how much you like him. So of course the mature and adult thing to do would be to test whatever feelings you might or might not have for him through a silly trial. An assessment, if you will. All you have to do is say no, confirm that you don’t want to go through with something like that because you want him and no one else. You don’t need anyone else. He’ll take any confession, really, from the sweetly embarrassed one to the heartwarming, touched, emotional one.

It’ll be his cue to tell you, too. Tell you that he doesn’t want anyone else either.

It’s the perfect plan: you’re nervous, surely debating how it’d be best to tell him that it’s not a good idea. Victory already tastes so sweet on his tongue, like a ripe mango or a drizzle of honey…

“Okay”.

Oliver blinks.

“Sorry?”.

You offer a smile.

“Fine. Let’s do it”.

Suddenly, the taste in his mouth is sour. He clears his throat.

“You sure?”.

“Yep”, you pop the ‘p’, “how about Itoshi?”.

Oliver calmly swallows another bite of his breakfast and washes it down with a generous sip of coffee. He didn’t expect you to accept, let alone to have a preference. What the actual fuck.

“Which one?”.

“Either”, you grin, “Sae, if I had to choose”.

Why do you want to choose in the first place? He can’t wrap his head around the unexpected result of his experiment. He wasn’t prepared to face this specific scenario.

“Will you ask him?”, your tone is so sweet, as it always is when you want him to do something, “or were you thinking of someone else? Sendo is cute but I thought it’d be weird since you two are practically brothers and, like, he’s the straightest guy I know. How about Isagi or Karasu? Oh, I know! Shid-”

“I will ask him”, Oliver sternly interrupts the little philippic of possible men you’re apparently dying to sleep with. He only has one remaining wild card to play.

“How about a woman? I was thinking Anri, she’s really hot”.

Oliver almost smirks when his question is met with the hesitation he was looking forward to at last. It only lasts a second, then you offer the biggest smile as you shrug.

“Yeah, she’s beautiful. Why not?”.

The wild card burns to ashes right in front of his eyes. Fuck.

“Okay, then”, he chirps, ever the charming liar.

“Okay, then”, you say back and if Oliver wasn’t so focused on contemplating how every single one of his certainties was disrupted like a house of cards left in a rainstorm, maybe he would’ve noticed the tense corners of your smile.

A few days go by without the stupid agreement being mentioned and part of you hopes that practice and games and silly family drama will be enough to take his mind off of it. But you also know that once Oliver sets his mind to something, it’s nearly impossible for him to reconsider it.

Honestly, you were completely blindsided by the threesome idea. Not letting it get to you, not falling into the trap of thinking you may not be enough for him, has been hard. The past few days have been hard. You’ve been replying to his texts normally and it’s still quite early for him to notice that your smiles are all forced, your enthusiasm fictitious.

It’s just that it kinda felt like the dating stage was finally about to transform into something different, something more. Perhaps you’ve been too naive but the thought was there: you couldn’t help but believe he likes you as much as you like him, enough to not feel the need to see other people anymore. Clearly, not only he still wants other people, he’s also been wondering whether you’d want them too. Which is fair. Unexpected but understandable. He’s not your boyfriend, is he?

It’s your fault for having been dumb enough to say yes to something you don’t actually want to do. But the thing is, you panicked and feared that refusing would have automatically led to him breaking things off.

It’s embarrassing how badly you’re falling for Oliver Aiku, enough to blindly accept a goddamn threesome apparently. Enough to be scared of not living up to his standards as a partner. But if this is what he wants, if this is what he needs, clearly you’re not the right person for him and prolonging what’s not meant to be will only result in heartache.

Still... are you ready to just let him go? Couldn’t you maybe at least try, for his sake? Isn't this how you get to prove that you like him enough to do something like this in the first place?

These thoughts have been tormenting you day and night, you’re too embarrassed to mention the issue to any of your friends so you’re just letting the endless pondering eat away at your sanity.

Oliver casually swings by your place after practice, takes your face in his hands to kiss you when you open the door for him.

“Can I shower here? I have a change of clothes”, he murmurs against your mouth and you kiss him again, tell him he already knows where the clean towels are.

Your apartment is considerably smaller than his, so it’s easy to chat while he’s in the bathroom and you’re putting together dinner for two in the kitchen. The familiarity you have so easily fallen into feels comfortable and warm in your belly, the tune he hums in the shower making the perfect soundtrack for your quiche to bake in the oven.

Oliver smells of your shampoo and body wash when he wraps his arms around you by the kitchen counter, hair still damp tickling your collarbone when he kisses your shoulder.

“How was practice?”, you ask with a smile.

“Pretty good. Guess the best part”.

“Mmm. Sendo finally scored with a corner kick”.

He chuckles.

“He was in great shape today but no. The best part is how close practice is to your place”.

Your heart fumbles in your chest at his words and when you turn in his arms he instantly presses you against the counter to give you a proper kiss. It’s slow, sweet, his hands squeeze your hips and you angle your head to kiss him deeper, your lungs unfairly claiming their fill of oxygen too soon. You’d give up something as trivial as breathing instantly, if it meant you got to kiss Oliver forever.

“Stay here tonight?”, you ask sheepishly, thumb stroking his skin where your hand rests on his cheek. He smiles.

“If you want me”.

He’s so beautiful. And so stupid. Occasionally makes you want to hit his pretty head with a baseball bat.

“I may”, you grin, “if you wash the dishes”.

Oliver rolls his eyes with fondness.

“We have a deal”.

He pecks your lips again, then offers a sly smile.

“By the way, I just saw that Anri is currently abroad. Guess she’s off the list for now”.

You blink, then blink once more, something sour suddenly simmering in your stomach.

“Yeah, saw that too”, you lie easily, “we can wait. Or ask someone else”, clearing your throat, you slip away from his embrace and shuffle to your living room, where you let yourself fall on the couch. He soon follows, eyes wary in a way you can’t quite make sense of.

“I asked Sae”, he says quietly, “he said yes”.

You look at him, surprised.

“He said yes?”.

Oliver nods, feeling nauseous.

He is at his wits’ end and the amazement (relief? Excitement?) in your gaze isn’t helping at all.

That’s it, he decides. He’s just going to tell you it was all a giant bluff, the very reason why he stopped by in the first place. To be brave, to finally come clean and admit that his plan wasn’t so brilliant after all. And that maybe, just maybe, if this is what you really want perhaps you’d be better off with Itoshi Sae. Or Isagi. Or Karasu. Or fucking Shido-

“Oliver, I don’t want to do it”.

He looks up from his lap, lips parted.

“What?”.

You look mortified, which makes him feel like a monster.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but I really don’t want to”.

“But”, he pauses, “you said-”

“I know what I said”, you sigh, exasperated, “I lied. I wanted to make you happy but I can’t watch you kiss, let alone fuck anyone else”.

“I wanted it to be all about you, I don’t have to-”

“Oliver”, you interrupt his stupid nonsense, too distracted to notice the joyful glint in his eyes, “I don’t care. I don’t want to bring anyone else into this, even if this is just dating casually. It’s fine if you want to, uh, end it here though. I’d get it. I wouldn’t want to hold you back or anything”.

He’s too engrossed in the way your voice trembles, in the sadness reflected in your eyes, to focus on the actual relief flooding over his chest. He just feels like a dick.

“I came here to tell you I never really intended to go through with it”, Oliver takes one of your hands in his, brings it to his mouth to kiss your wrist, “I’m sorry. It was stupid”.

“What?”, you furrow your brows, “are you joking?”.

He offers an embarrassed smile.

“I only now realize that it might’ve been a bad idea. But the way you responded… I thought you actually wanted to! You had a list ready-” 

“You’re an idiot”, you release your hand from his grasp and punch his shoulder, “are you stupid or something? And fucking insisting even after I said no because it’d be all about me! God, I’m gonna go fuck Itoshi Sae out of spite right this second”, you are snatched backwards as soon as you get up from the couch, pulled by the arm and then caged in a strong embrace you wouldn’t be able to free yourself from if you tried.

“I don’t want it to be casual”, he murmurs into your shoulder. You freeze into his hold.

“What?”.

“Not only I don’t need to bring anyone else into this, I don’t need anyone. I don’t want anyone”, Oliver rests his chin on the juncture between your neck and shouder. You can feel his breath hot on your skin when he speaks next. “Be my girlfriend”.

When you look at him, your heart squeezes at the sheer vulnerability in his hopeful gaze.  

“Like… in a relationship?”, the question makes him chuckle.

“Yeah, like in a relationship”.

“An exclusive one”.

“That’s what I had in mind, yes”.

“In a way that would make you my boyfriend”.

Oliver laughs again, the sound lighter this time.

“I believe that’s how relationships usually work”.

Your irritation dissipates, which annoys you to an extent but there’s no time to focus on that because Oliver Aiku just asked you to be his girlfriend. You never even got to dream about this scenario, that's how out of reach it felt.

When you gently take his face in your hands, something melts in your chest at the way he leans into your touch.

“I’d like that”, you murmur and Oliver smiles so big before kissing you, arms wrapping tighter around your frame.

“You have goosebumps”, he whispers, the pads of his fingers gently tracing your arm.

“Shut up”, you mutter, burying your face in his neck. He adjusts you better against his chest, kisses the crown of your head.

“S’that because I’m your boyfriend now?”, Oliver’s teasing doesn’t actually feel exasperating for once, not when it sounds so sweet. You just hum against him, an affirmative sound that makes him smile. He decides against admitting it out loud but he feels it somewhere in his chest, loud, clear, eager. He’s falling in love with you.

“Can I ask you something?”, you speak quietly after a moment of comfortable silence.

Oliver knows exactly what the question is going to be because he knows you.

“Shoot”.

“Would you have wanted it? If it was a woman or if… you know. It was all about you instead”.

He hums, pensive. This is not your way of invalidating his attraction to both men and women, it’s an insecurity he’s somehow responsible for. You’re asking because you’re still wondering if there is something else he may need from someone who is not you. You’re asking to make sure he’s sure. You’re asking because his dumb plan backfired and now there are still too many uncertain thoughts in that pretty little head of yours, the most urgent one leading you to ponder whether jealousy is the one thing holding him back. If it would’ve been different, with a swap of the right variables.

“I don’t need a man the same way I don’t need a woman”, he simply says, “I just wanted to know if I’m enough for you. The way you are enough for me”.

“You could’ve just asked, you know”.

“Where’s the fun in that?”.

He groans when you punch his shoulder again, with less strength this time.

“You’re such an idiot. I’m still mad at you”, you click your tongue.

“I’ll make it up to my girlfriend”, Oliver smiles, half apologetic, half cocky. The term conjures a storm of butterflies in your stomach, their little wings fluttering restlessly along with the pathetic muscle in your rib cage.

You choose to taste the word on his mouth, feel the texture of it with every brush of tongue against his. The way you kiss him may feel like you’ve already forgiven him but Oliver knows better. He just shuts up and counts his blessings as his hand slides up to cradle your neck and jaw to angle your head the way he needs to kiss you deeper, until you make that sweet little sound that is usually his cue to flip you on your back and devour you whole.

But then you suddenly pull away, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?”, he asks, gaze hazy, lips swollen. You’re distracted by how beautiful he looks for just a moment.

“What are we going to tell Sae?”.

Oliver blinks once, then throws his head back in laughter.

“First, I think I’m done hearing that man’s name coming out of your mouth”, he grins and you roll your eyes, “second, I never really asked him”.

You stare at him for a moment, incredulous. Then scoff.

“You’re the fucking worst”.

“Maybe”, Oliver shrugs with a smirk, “but I’m still your boyfriend”.

[dimestoresuguru]

singledad!toji x singlemom!reader | 2.

cw; swearing, toji makes a creud joke bc duh he's still toji, short chap bc my brain doesn't work.

wc; 624

author; i really don't like how short this is but i am otherwise happy with it!! hope u enjoy & don't forget to like and reblog!!

MASTERLIST -> PART 1 PART 3

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it wasn't like you could just ignore his presence now. you may have been staring at your shoes currently, but it was just five seconds ago that you had locked eyes with the dark haired man stood in front of you and said his name. toji said your name, you winced knowing that you had to speak to him. if not for yourself, then for hikaru. you couldn't ruin his chances at making a really good friend simply because you used to know his new friend's dad, and you just couldn't bear to be around him? you refused to be such a coward that it cost your son anything. 

"hi, toji. i can't say that i ever thought i would see you again either."

"well then i guess it our lucky day." 

"..you could say that. i wouldn't"

toji chuckled at your sharp wit. "ouch, sweetheart. that stings, thought you'd have some sweeter hellos for me, considering how we spent most of our time together. i'm sure you remember how i did that one thing-"

you cut him off quickly, knowing exactly where he was going with that. it seemed his dirty mind hadn't changed one bit. "OKAY! we are at a school! for really small people! don't be saying that shit, and don't be an ass." 

"hey, i haven't even said anything. you're the one with the foul mouth on school grounds." you didn't even have to look at toji to know the exact expression he was wearing. and sure enough, when you did glance at him, his lips were pulled taught in a smirk that was so smirk-y it was almost ridiculous. 

it was very clear that toji's confidence hadn't changed either. 

"toji, what is it you approached me to say? because i really don't have the time to just stand here with you."

"ah, but if you had the time you would stand here with me? is that what i'm hearing?"

"toji."

"okay, okay. i wanted to talk to you about setting up a playdate between our boys. megumi hasn't left me alone about his new best friend hikaru, and they've only known each other for two days. figured that it would be best for all of us if the boys got together soon. to keep you & i sane." his tone was entirely free of teasing now, the sincerity of his words clear. 

"...yeah, hikaru hasn't stop talking about megumi either." you sighed, reluctantly admitting that the man was right. "they're already self-proclaimed best friends." 

"exactly. and who are we to get in the way of best friends?" his smirk is now just a grin, clearly enjoying your reaction to him, but seeming to be issuing an attempt at appearing slightly less smug for your sake. that puzzled you, because the toji that you remember never really cared whether or not he was being too much of an ass.

his general apathy towards pretty much everyone but himself had really been a driving force in what separated the two of you when you were in highschool, along with the fact that you were moving to a town on one side of the country, and toji was moving to a town on the other side. 

you couldn't dwell on this new information for long. you really had to get to work. "playdate soon, then? i really have to get going, though. bye." 

he called your name as you were running walking away. "yer number still the same, sweetheart?"

"why don't you try it out for yourself? use those big muscles of yours." you called back, jumping into your car and getting out of that damn parking lot as fast as safely possible.

work first. the million questions racing through your mind second.

*********

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚⊹♡. ⋆｡𖦹°‧₊˚⊹♡. ⋆｡𖦹°‧ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚

taglist (OPEN); @probablynotleahhhh @divineindica

if u would like to b added to the taglist pls send me an ask!

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

Dead Dove (Do Not Eat)

- Hozier x Fem!Reader

Summary: You, Andrew, and the band get together and play a drinking game involving fanfiction. what could go wrong?

Tags: Fluff, friends to lovers, drunken confessions, drunken kissing, no use of Y/N, FIC DOES NOT CONTAIN DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT CONTENT, it was just a title i swear, written for fem!reader but could be gender neutral

Word Count: 3139

Author's Note: THEY CALL ME A CHIROPRACTOR THE WAY I'M BACK‼️‼️‼️ like for realsies. i know i keep coming back like once a month and saying "i'm back" but i mean it now. anyways! i wanted to thank @cervidaewasteland and @sillycartoonhozier for coming up with this concept, as well as @deprivedmusicaljunkie and @uprightpillar for betareading!!! hope you enjoy because this is lowkey a crackfic. also yes i know the format of the texting is weird, tumblr hates me

read on ao3!

as always, fic under the cut :3

Touring with your best friend since your late teens was genuinely a dream come true. The moment Andrew first offered you a spot in the band, over ten years ago when his debut album was released, you’d said yes. Your love of music (combined with your looming crush on Andrew) made the job as easy as breathing. You wouldn't trade this job for anything, no matter how routine being on the road might get.

Another concert wrapped up. Another mostly flawless performance (Andrew flubbed the words to Cherry Wine, but what else was new). Another stay at a hotel that you never would've picked if you had the choice. And most importantly, another bed with too-soft pillows that was calling your name. That was, until Larissa called it first. You turned to look at her from down the hallway, pausing as she sped up to meet you. Once she reached you, you continued your pace towards your hotel room.

"The band’s gonna go to Andrew's room, have a little celebration since we don't have to hit the road until the morning. Are you coming?" She walked beside you as she explained. You could hear the eagerness in her voice at the possibility of your presence. However, at the moment you were much more enthralled with the idea of getting a good night's sleep.

"I think I’ll have to pass. I'm pretty tired, I —" your sentence was cut off by a yawn, like your body was proving your point. "I might just turn in for the night.”

"Please? We're playing your favorite game!"

You stopped in your tracks upon hearing the teasing of your favorite pastime on tour: an admittedly juvenile game that the band had dubbed “Fanfiction Book Club”. One member of the band would find some outrageous fanfiction written about Andrew — usually one written with grammar mistakes and plot holes galore — and take turns reading it aloud. You laugh, you drink. More often than not, it resulted in tour buses full of hangovers the next day, but you never regretted a second of it.

Your favorite part was the fact that it made Andrew squirm. It was consensual, of course; half of the time playing the game was his idea, and you were sure that tonight was no different. He seemed to enjoy it as much as anyone else, laughing and blushing and sometimes even muttering an That's actually a good line.

"Hmm... oh, alright. I'll be there in a few minutes, just let me get changed so I'm not still in my concert attire.” You finally gave in, gesturing to your all-gray outfit left over from the performance less than an hour ago. Larissa didn't seem to care when you showed up, her eyes gleaming with excitement the second you agreed. You said farewell for now and rushed back over to your hotel room, texting Andrew on the way there.

Hey. U ready to read some teenage girl’s flawless writing about u?

This is what i was born to do

Of course I’m ready.

I’ll bet you € 20 they misuse Gaeilge

I’ll bet you €30 there’s only

one bed

You got changed into a much more comfortable outfit, a simple old t-shirt and some shorts, something you knew you'd soon change out of. It seemed that by the time you entered, all the other members of the band had already arrived, and you took the only empty spot. All squished into Andrew's hotel room, you were all sitting in a makeshift circle, going across the floor and onto his bed. Everyone already had a drink in hand, and feeling a little left out, you went to grab a can from the room’s mini-fridge. Andrew was already sitting in front of it, ready to distribute drinks to those who asked. He handed your drink to you instead, and you wanted to kick yourself over the fact that your heart fluttered when your hands brushed.

You quickly scanned the room, noticing the only empty space to sit was between Alex and Melissa. Sitting criss-crossed on the carpeted floor between the two, you watched as Alex stood up from his spot, commencing the events of the night.

“Welcome to Fanfiction Book Club, my fellow musicians. I found tonight's selection on the modern day Library of Alexandria: Wattpad.”

Alex was almost always the ringleader, being an absolute menace and finding the fanfiction. Andrew supplied the drinks and the hangout space. Everyone else brought their spirits. Everyone had their small habits to make the reading more enjoyable. Deepening their voice drastically whenever they had to read for Andrew. Making sure to pronounce every spelling error just as it's spelled. Giving “Y/N” the most outrageous name possible, so that Andrew was about to go on a date with “William Shakespeare”.

The story of the night featured the main character being Andrew's backup singer who was a decade younger than him. They hated each other at first, but after a night in which they shared a hotel bed (you owed Andrew that money later), feelings were beginning to be reconsidered. The band especially had fun with tonight's pick, with jokes ranging from cradle snatching to HR violations. Andrew laughed along with them, taking everything in stride and even taking quite a few drinks of his own. The phone got passed around, and you had made your way through more than one drink already from the sheer amount of fun you were having.

Andrew seemed especially flustered when the phone got around to you. You read out loud about how the main character had confessed her undying love for Andrew in a rainstorm, despite only knowing the man two months. Her pining couldn't even compare to yours, you thought as you read. Two months versus almost two decades. Unfortunately, there was also a pang of discomfort you could feel, as some of the words you were reading aloud actually resonated with your situation. It almost gave you shivers to read someone describe how “in love” a character was with Andrew, and express thoughts that had crossed your mind daily. I love your smile. Your eyes are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Your kindness is overpowering. How dare words on a screen — likely written at two in the morning by someone with nothing better to do — relate to your situation so deeply.

You were able to keep it together and not laugh, likely thanks to your comparison between the fanfic’s story and your own. You passed the phone back to Alex, who was much more inebriated than he was at the beginning of the game. By the time his phone got back to him, his words were slurring.

"Everybody listen! Here's where it gets good," Alex yelled, effectively shushing the room and capturing everyone's attention. You leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a sneak peek at the next few words as Alex read them. You couldn't resist a laugh as Alex read. "'Andrew leaned in, and as his lips met yours, he kissed you with the burning passion of a thousand suns—' Oh my god," Alex read before being stopped by his own chuckles. Poor man couldn't even finish the sentence. When your gaze jutted over to Andrew, he looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He had thrown the hood of his zip-up over his head, like his thought process was if you all couldn't see him, he couldn't feel the shame. Alex had no aversion to making Andrew cringe like this, and a shit-eating grin was plastered on his face as he read out the next segment.

“‘You never would have known it, but Andrew could touch a woman just how she wanted to be touched, and look at her like the way she's always wanted to be looked at.’ Want to teach me your ways, there, Andy?”

“That's kinda hot, actually,” you joked, turning to Melissa as you took a voluntary sip of your drink. Andrew coughed, followed by dropping the hood and taking a deep breath. This caught your attention; you assumed he had just had a moment where he was choking on his drink. You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking Are you alright? He held up a thumbs up to reassure you, using his head to nod back towards Kellen, whose turn it was.

“Okay, here we go. ‘Your kissing quickened, until eventually his large hands were…’ oh, I don't think I can read that aloud,” Kellen said. He flashed the cellphone screen to Alex, who scanned the words on the screen, his eyes getting cartoonishly wide at the contents.

“And then they start having sex, so that, my friends,” he said, snatching up his phone from Kellen’s hands, “— is where we have to cut the story off.” This was met with groans, everyone upset that the game had come to a close.

“Additionally, if we go any further we run the risk of Andy turning the same shade as a stop sign,” Alex teased, gesturing to Andy who, true to Alex’s word, had now turned a bright shade of red. Eventually, the group conceded and began to leave the room, congratulating each other and laughing on their way out, sometimes mumbling a witty remark.

“Same time next week?” Rory asked as he left, followed by an agreement from Andrew. His exit meant you were the only two people left in the room. In the moment, you decided to make yourself at home, sitting at the foot of his bed and plopping your back onto the mattress.

“So… that was… quite the story, huh?” you said, stretching your arms out before crossing them over your chest. Andrew chuckled, nodding as he walked over and sat down beside you.

“Tell me about it. That had the grammar of someone who’s never heard the words ‘spell check’ before.”

"Plus, the way they wrote about you? It was like some... some cheesy BookTok romance novel."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You scoffed, accompanied by an eye roll. Maybe it was his ego, or his intoxicated state, but he really couldn't see how absurd those words were.

"C'mon, Andrew. 'Kissed you with the burning passion of a thousand suns'? Be for real. You would not kiss like that," you explained. Your sentence dissolved into a chuckle towards the end, likely because you had been made more giggly thanks to the alcohol in your system. Your laughs subsided when he asked you a question that was without a doubt a result of the alcohol in his system.

"Wanna put that to the test?"

You laughed again — now from nerves and not from amusement — and shook your head in disbelief. Did he actually just say that? Fully sitting up now, a confused look came across your face.

"Andrew, what do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is that you keep saying those descriptions are inaccurate. You don't know that.”

Could he really not see that those words were completely asinine?

“You really believe you… what was the line… ‘touch a woman just how she wants to be touched’ and all that crap?”

“Well, y’know, any man would like to believe that. Won't know until you try,” he said with a nonchalance to it that made you almost angry. It felt like a life or death decision was being thrown into your lap, and he couldn't care less.

You thought for a moment, weighing your options. It was just one kiss. Just to prove some stupid point. If anything more happened, it would be blamed on the alcohol. Even the worse outcome to saying ‘yes’ still meant you got to kiss the man you had been longing for. What did you have to lose?

“Fine, Andrew. You can kiss me.”

He nearly lunged at you, grabbing the sides of your face and smashing his lips into yours. You felt a jolt down your spine at the sudden sensation, kissing him back.

Holy shit, he really was kissing you with the passion of a thousand suns.

Kissing Andrew, your best friend as well as your boss, was, to put it lightly, playing with fire. There was something about his lips on yours that felt like burning. You were more than willing to step into the fire and let it consume you.

His tongue ran across your bottom lip, asking you for permission to enter, which you happily gave. His tongue explored your mouth, hungry to memorize every inch of you that was available. You relished in the feeling of his touch, letting him pull you closer. He grabbed onto your hips, your lips still interlocked as your hands made their way to his untamed curls. Trapping his legs between yours, you accepted as he pulled you into his lap and let you straddle him. A soft moan escaped you as you felt Andrew's sudden grasp of your ass, and you wanted to do something in return, but you came to a realization.

Andrew probably thinks there's no feelings involved.

As much as it pained you to do it, you leaned back, pulling away from the kiss.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait.”

Andrew blinked up at you, his lips now red and slightly swollen. If you didn't know any better, you’d say he looked a little worried.

“What's the matter? Did I not meet your expectations?”

“No, no. It was great, but,” you watched his lips curve into a cheeky smile. Grabbing the sides of his face was the only way you could get him to focus. “Andrew, wipe that smirk off your face. I’m trying to be serious here.

“I’m sorry, but it's hard to be serious in this position,” he replied as you looked down at him (for the first time, thanks to your height difference now being reversed). You paused in hopes of taking a mental picture of the image to save it in your psyche forever.

“Yeah, well, try your best.”

A sigh left you. Your brain tried to articulate how to tell him what you needed to get off your chest. Thanks to the alcohol, even when you did speak, it came out much more simplified than you had hoped.

“Okay. I like you. I really like you, and I have for a while. I feel so stupid for saying it, but I do. I couldn't let this continue without letting you know that.”

To your shock, Andrew's reaction to your confession was to… burst into laughter. It felt as though your heart could escape your chest at any moment, the nerves now hitting you all at once. Hastily, you said your thoughts out loud.

“You're laughing. Oh no, you're laughing. Shit, I’m an idiot, aren't I?”

“No, no, you're not, I promise,” Andrew replied, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, composing himself before meeting your gaze with a new sincerity in his eyes. “I’m only laughing because I’ve felt the exact same way. Also for a long time. Just never knew when the right time to tell you was. And tonight… the opportunity just arose.”

You gave him a calculating look, like you were trying to make everything make sense in your head.

“So we’ve both liked each other for close to a decade, just said nothing about it for years, basically wallowing in our own self pities, until you decided you had enough liquid courage in your system to finally hit on me? Because of a fanfiction?”

Andrew exhaled, giving you a defeated nod after essentially he had been called out.

“Sounds about right."

The situation was almost comical. Really comical, actually, and you now understood why Andrew’s first instinct was to laugh. Your forehead rested on his shoulder as you laughed into his hoodie. Of course he had liked you the whole time, how could you have been so oblivious? Once you fully composed yourself, you pulled away, shaking your head in disappointment. “God, what a couple of idiots we are.”

“A right pair of knobheads.”

Andrew smiled up at you, a dumb grin like an idea had popped into his head. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

“I wanted to ask you this when we were much more sober, but I guess no time like the present, right?” Letting out a small sigh, he continued. You could see his cheeks flush again, like whatever he was going to say would make him more flustered than the fact that you were sitting in his lap. “Would… ehm… would you want to go out sometime? I don't need an answer now, if you want to just let me-”

“Yes. Yes, please. I would want nothing more than to go on a date with you.”

The goofiest grin spread across Andrew's face. You couldn't help but think he was adorable.

“Grand. I don't know what I would've done if you said no.”

“Shoving me off of you would've been the best option.”

“Yeah, probably.”

You both laughed together once again, before your giggles where cut off by a yawn. Seemed that the tiredness you were feeling before the whole ordeal was beginning to catch up to you.

“I guess that's a sign I should retire to my bed chambers, huh?” You lifted yourself off of him, moving so that you were now merely sitting next to him. Looking over at Andrew, you could tell he had an idea forming.

“Maybe you could just… sleep here tonight? No one needs to know, and if they question anything, I’ll just say you passed out and I didn't want to wake you.”

Another way your night began to overlap with fanfiction: there was only one bed. Sharing a bed with Andrew was an offer you simply couldn't refuse. You nodded.

“Let's get comfortable, then,” you mumbled, shimmying back until you took up one side of the bed. Andrew maneuvered himself backwards to get comfortable. You watched him lay down, both of you on opposite sides of the bed. Buried underneath the covers, you gazed at him as he did the same; he looked perfect. He raised an eyebrow at your staring and gestured for you to come closer. If you nodded any quicker, your head would’ve fallen off. You let the both of you get fully comfortable with one another, shifting to find the best position to cuddle in for the night. Once you found a way, Andrew made it work. He enveloped you, holding you to his chest with one arm and cradling your face with the other. You placed a hand on top of his.

“I always did like when they mentioned how big your hands are,” you murmured jokingly, your eyes already fluttering. In reply, Andrew rolled his eyes before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night, Andy,” you responded.

You had never felt more at peace.

[ladyhoneydarlinglove]

one piece fic | zosan | pride kisses 2025 challenge

{REMEMBERED KISS}

(CONTEXT BEFORE READING: so i was going back through WCI while working on this prompt and discovered this particular panel of sanji telling reiju "i thought i could just sacrifice myself and everything else would be fine! what kind of fantasy world was i living in?" and thought 'oh hell yes, i can TOTALLY make this moment that has objectively nothing to do with zoro into a zosan thing about thriller bark' :)c )

It’s funny, Sanji thinks as he trudges back to his room through the pouring rain. Ever since he arrived on Whole Cake Island, every time he thinks he’s finally hit rock bottom, the ground goes out from under him again to swallow him whole. He wonders briefly what could possibly be the next thing that’s going to go catastrophically wrong, and then decides that it doesn’t really matter.

He’s going to die tomorrow. Nothing matters anymore.

His jaw clenches, tears dripping slowly down his cheeks as he grapples with this new reality in which everything he’d tried to do—for his crew, for Zeff, even for himself—has ultimately served no purpose. Sanji really, truly thought that if he just sacrificed himself, if he was the only one suffering, then everything else would be fine. He knows that his life has never been worth much, but he had hoped that it at least had enough value to buy some safety for the people he loves. To realize he can’t even achieve that much…

It sort of feels like Thriller Bark all over again, with Sanji offering himself belly-up upon the altar only for Zoro to say in everything but words that no, that isn’t good enough, you’re not good enough—

What kind of fucking fantasy world are you living in? 

Sanji stops, tears welling up hot and heavy as they begin to pour down his face in earnest while a pitiful sob forces its way out of his throat. No, he thinks to himself. That’s not fair to Zoro. Sanji was the only one on Thriller Bark who thought that even if his life didn’t mean much, at least his death could. Who naively believed that if only he could sacrifice himself, then everything else would be fine. It stings something fierce to realize how much he apparently didn’t learn his lesson.

Why the fuck didn’t you let me take your place, asshole! This crew needs you!

Oh what, and they don’t need you?

You could always find another cook, shithead! But a first mate—

Oh, bull fucking shit, twirly-brow! You really think we could just go out there and find another cook capable of even half of what you do on a regular basis? What kind of fucking fantasy world are you living in?

This is nothing like Thriller Bark, and Sanji knows it. Zoro didn’t stop him from offering himself up to Kuma because he thought Sanji wasn’t good enough; he’d stopped him because he thought Sanji’s life was too valuable to simply throw away. 

Zoro has…

Zoro has always been good at that. Seeing the inherent value in people that they can’t see themselves and reassuring them of it in his own awkwardly blunt way. Sanji has always admired that about him.

Sanji has always admired a lot of things about Zoro.

He slumps against the nearest wall, uncaring of the rough scrap of stone against his back as he slides down, or the wetness that begins seeping into his pants the moment his bottom hits the ground. Sanji buries his face in his hands and then cries like he hasn’t cried since the day his mother died—with all of his body, heart, and soul.

And in the midst of all that crying, remembers something that happened what feels like an entire lifetime ago.

Sanji.

Thanks for being there when I woke up.

Sanji slides one hand down his face until the tips of his fingers rest against his lips as he recalls the soft, barely there brush of Zoro’s kiss that night in the galley, a mirror of the one he’d left at the corner of the swordsman’s mouth three days prior, when Sanji sat by his beside and quietly begged him to wake up because he couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t have Zoro in it. 

Zoro in front of him, heads butting together in another heated argument. Zoro by his side, helping in the kitchen and doing dishes after meals whenever Sanji asked him to, no matter how much he might grumble and complain about it. Zoro at his back during a fight, in perfect sync with each other without either of them ever having to say a word, because that’s just how it’s always been between them. A push-and-pull, a back-and-forth, a song-and-dance that no matter how at odds they might find themselves, has always ended in a perfect balance, a perfect harmony.

Sanji wanted so badly to believe that he could find that somewhere else too. That maybe Pudding—dear, sweet Pudding, the one silver lining he thought he had in this whole fucked up mess—could fill the Zoro-shaped void in his chest. That even if all his other dreams were shattered, this one—a life spent with a wonderful, loving wife, the kind of wife Sanji’s always thought that he should want—might be able to survive intact.

What kind of fucking fantasy world are you living in?

Sanji lets both his hands drop into his lap, tipping his head back against the wall and staring blankly up at the dark clouds and pouring rain above.

He’s going to die tomorrow. Pudding said herself that she plans to put a bullet between his eyes. Nothing matters anymore.

And if nothing matters anymore, then maybe…

Maybe Sanji can stop lying to himself. Just for a little while. 

He’s been doing it for so long, after all. Since the day they got separated at Sabaody, since the aftermath of Thriller Bark, since riding the sea train from Water 7 to Enies Lobby, since the Davy Back Fight, since that first messy, violent kiss in Alabasta.

Since Arlong fucking Park, when Zoro yelled at him—

Thirty seconds! I won’t last more than that!

And Sanji had yelled back—

That’s plenty!

It was the trust, he thinks. Trust is something that has never come easily to Sanji; usually it has to be painstakingly earned with blood and sweat, tears and time. He knows Zoro is the same way; has seen it in the sharpness of his gaze whenever they enter a new place and meet new people, always watching, always waiting for the next threat to the crew.

And yet, even though they barely knew each other back then, Zoro gave Sanji his trust at Arlong Park without a second thought. 

What was Sanji supposed to do, except try and return it in kind?

What was he supposed to do, except start falling in love?

Sanji could never admit it to himself before now—too scared, too stubborn, too in his own head about what he should want versus what he actually wants. But he’s going to die tomorrow and nothing matters anymore and Sanji loves Roronoa Zoro. He loves him so fucking much. He has for a long, long time.

And it doesn’t fucking matter because unless there’s a goddamn miracle waiting in the wings for him, Sanji is going to die tomorrow.

Fuck.

(optional reading: bsky thread feat. my thoughts on why i think this particular moment is the one where sanji can no longer hide from his feelings for zoro (click the second post to get the whole thing, i fucked up the thread somehow).)

[docholligay]

Thicker Than Water

Do I even think this is good at this point? Could not fucking tell you. Probably not. But it's more than I have written in a long long time, and it combines just, so many of my favorite things, and it's with the new dollies Papa brought for me from across the seas. About 4300 words, I would love it if you could find one nice thing to say! This will absolutely be the regular liveblog draw and I reserve the right to give extra draws if you lie well.

I HAVE NOT SEEN PAST EPISODE 17. PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL ME AND KNOW I AM AWARE I AM JUST MAKING SOME SHIT UP BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW ANY BETTER THAT'S FINE WE'RE FINE.

The trouble with Hawkeye was--among other things Roy would list--you had to be able to read her. Hawkeye considered what she was feeling at the moment to be, like so many other things, on a need to know basis, and not relevant to the overall mission. 

Luckily, Roy had become very good at reading her. 

Unfortunately, not needing to explain herself to Roy had left her with little will to improve in this arena. 

Even less fortunately, a decision had to be made, and quickly, with nearly a dozen of his men around him, and Hawkeye doing everything she could to hide any anxieties in particular. 

It was like solving a Rubik’s cube colorblind. 

Roy took a long look at Hawkeye, her arms crossed and staring straight forward. A hellish barb stuck out of her leg, blood pooling around it. 

“The convoy should be here soon.” A kid. Probably nineteen. Roy guessed he should probably dismount the high horse about being and recruiting young in the military, but anyone could be a medic. You didn’t need to get to them young. 

“So we should wait?” Roy snapped his fingers, and the medic’s eyes widened at the sparks. 

“Uh, well, the thing is--I mean I don’t have anything to give her, so it--it’ll be bad. But…” he looked over to the wound, making a mental calculation, “Given what I know about the coating, leaving it in might be worse. If we wait. So. But, yeah.” 

“Love the confidence.” He muttered under his breath, walking over to Hawkeye. “Thoughts, Lieutenant?” 

She looked up at him, and Roy tried to read. Her eyes flicked over to a staring group of men, mixedly loyal, annoying, or both, waiting to see her squirm. But she would not give it, and she nodded stoically. 

“Take it out.” 

“Agreed.” Roy spun around and gestured to the entrance of the tent. “If you aren’t operating, being operated on, or me, I need you to leave. Go to your tent, go to the mess, go to hell, I don’t care, but get out of here, and be far out of the way.” 

“I need someone to hold her down.” He nearly stuttered it out. 

“I’m not here to be decorative.” He looked back over to the group. “That was an order I just issued.” 

He eyed Roy as several much bigger soldiers, not to mention what was possibly a good quarter ton of Al, left the canvas tent. Even Ed said nothing to question him, the one bright spot in an otherwise miserable day. 

“I’m not sure...this is going to be excruciating, sir. I--” 

Roy delivered his well-practiced glower.  “And I’m sure she loves hearing that. I wasn’t asking for a consultation. We’ve got it.” 

Roy knelt next to Hawkeye and took off his gloves, folding them neatly and laying them to one side. 

“Give us a minute.” he gave a smirk.  “Please.” 

The young medic looked to them both, and then nodded. “”I’ll get my tools.” 

Roy took off his coat and put it underneath her back. “Remember how all Alchemists are weak and pale and don’t have any physical fitness requirements, so we’re like squishy little baby birds? You’re always telling me this. So, if you fight back too hard, you’re going to hurt me. Having physical standards and all. There’s a reason I don’t mess with you and Hughes’ little war games. You need to try and stay still.” 

“The only weight an alchemist has ever lifted was a book.” 

“You like to say.” He rolled up his sleeves. “So be careful with me, I’m delicate.” He looked her in the eye.  “Me and you. We’ve got it. We don’t need anyone else.” 

He could feel her trembling as he put his arm around her shoulders and grabbed her elbow. It twisted his stomach into a cramp. The medic walked back over to them with a cart, rolled over the stone and dirt. He sat on the ground next to Hawkeye and ever so slowly cut around the wound, exposing the sick burgundy of it. Roy took a quick glance at the ceiling. 

Hawkeye took a short, brave breath and closed her eyes. “Keep talking.” 

“Boy, is that something I thought I’d never hear from you. Maybe he was wrong and you are dying.” He nodded to the young man, who was pale with anticipation. “I was thinking about our office the other day. My office, of course, but I let you in there. Who in the world let you set that up? Was it me?”

There was the high metallic ping of some tool Roy was too cowardly to look at, and she stiffened. 

“If it was me, I’ll write myself up. If it was you, I’ll make you do the paperwork.” Hawkeye’s back arched, and a cry stalled in her throat. “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I’ll have you do the write up either way. Your penmanship is neater.” 

He heard the rasp of something against flesh, and listened instead to Hawkeye, taking a deep breath. 

 “You don’t even--” A swallow “Know where the forms are. Ah!” 

“Exactly. Exactly.” He held her tighter, and she twisted against him. “Makes me feel like a damn kindergarten teacher. And don’t try to make me feel bad about bringing this up now,” he tried to keep hold of her, “you never make yourself available to discuss this when I want to, so I have to take what I can get. Let me tell you what else is irritating--” 

His mind raced through a dozen things. Something she thought would be stupid, and funny, and would irritate her in the way only he could. Something that would make her forget the same thing he was trying very hard to forget. Had she pushed him aside, when the attack came? He couldn’t remember, and he couldn’t ask, because Hawkeye would roll her eyes at him and say something about how he was always in the way, so why should this be any different, or just roll her eyes and expect him to supply the sentence himself. Should it be him, gritting his teeth? He was a talker, he was a wheedler, he was a weaver, that was what he did, was talk and explode things, and if here he was failing at the first one when all he had to do was try and hold on to Hawkeye, to keep her still, and say bullshit, but the sound of it all was so loud, and the smell of Hawkeye’s blood was tin in the air and--

“Sir?” The medic interrupted, his hands bloody and his eyes soft, “This will be the worst part. It’s wrapped--”

Roy popped like hot sap in a fire. “Just do it!!” 

He complied with a twist and a tug, and Hawkeye found the end of her tether. 

“Roy!” She screamed it as she bucked her head against his shoulder, and a sheet of ice went down his back, the taste of bile in his mouth. She stopped herself and bit her lip, a prickle of blood coming from it.  She must have felt him freeze up. Hawkeye.

“No. Don’t.” He grabbed his glove and put it in her mouth. “Bite on that. You know, I think you’re trying to give me a complex about my name.  I always liked it, but you must not.  I am never having a good time when you say it. Not once.You know it means king? What do you want me to change it to? You think I look like an Andrew?” 

There was a crisp yank of Hawkeye’s leg, and then she collapsed into him, panting. There was an arc of small holes across his glove. The sweat from her forehead dripped onto his neck. It took him a moment to realize he and the medic were panting too, the three of them having run a race to the finish. Hawkeye remembered herself first, raising a hand to push the hair off her face. She closed her eyes, took two very calm breaths, pushed herself to to sitting, and promptly threw up in the instrument basin. 

“I got it out.” The medic remembered, the spell broken.  He held the twisted, bloody thing aloft. There was a small chunk hanging from the top barb. 

“I see that.” Roy lamented, his gaze sharpening,  “Go get something to clean her up.” 

The young man sprung to his feet for some fresh towels, and Roy took her shoulders. 

“You’re okay. It’s over.” He reassured himself as he squeezed her shoulder. 

“I’m fine, Colonel. Water.” She spat. “Please.” 

“Right.” He shook off the haze of the moment and began to fix his shirt, buttoning it at the sleeves. “Thanks for missing my jacket. I’ll charge the glove to your paycheck.” 

He walked to the other end of the tent, took the water from the bottle and drank deep himself, the cool of it breaking against the dry of his throat. He poured some of it into a small cup and went back to Hawkeye, who at least had been supplied a towel to wipe her face as the young man bandaged her wound. 

“Here.” He crouched by her. “I suppose you’re going to want the afternoon off. Lucky for you I don’t have much to do.” 

She drank the cup in one gulp, and handed it back to him without a word. She leaned back on her hands, closing her eyes. 

Roy stood up and went back to the water bottle, pouring another glass. He motioned to the young medic, who looked even younger than he was in the wake of the incident. He scampered over to Roy. He should be playing tag or something, Roy thought. It was easy to talk kids into games they had no business playing. It was part of the job.

“You like being a medic?” he nodded. “You want a better position?” Another nod. “As far as you’re concerned, she didn’t even whimper, and I expect that to be the gossip I hear at dinner.” 

“Yes, sir.” He saluted, and it seemed like he meant it. 

“Is she cleared to leave?” Roy wished he’d put his coat back on. He looked more authoritative with the coat. “I’d like to get back to my quarters.” 

“Yes, sir. I doubt she can put much weight on the leg, sir. It’ll be better tomorrow, sir. She needs some rest--” 

“Sir, I got it, I hear you.” He strolled back over to Hawkeye and gave her the cup of water. “You’re dismissed. The only thing I want from you is to tell the doctor to bring something for the pain when he arrives.” 

He gave another stiff salute, and left quickly, seemingly forgetting this was the medical tent and technically his domain. 

Hawkeye set down the empty cup and took a slow breath out. She pushed herself up onto the good leg, and tried to stand up, wobbling nearly over until Roy rushed under her arm. 

“Goddamnit Hawkeye, knock it off. I’m going to go get Armstrong. He’ll just throw you over his shoulder or something. Be done with it.” 

Her eyes widened. “No.” 

“Don’t be more irritating than usual. “ 

“I can manage.” She took a hop, and leaned heavily on Roy. Too heavily. It was easy to forget by looking at her, by seeing how quickly she moved in battle and with a grace that could surprise you, but she was not a delicate fairy of a woman. Roy struggled and nearly fell, which he did not consider very flattering to him, but to think any further than that would be to consider that possibly Hawkeye was right about his book to gym ratio. 

“You can’t. I’m getting Armstrong.” 

“Don’t!” 

He leaned her up against the sturdy metal table, which was currently holding both a bin full of instruments and puke, as well as several bloody towels, and picked his coat up out of the dirt. 

“Listen to me. I cannot carry you. Remember my very moving speech about being a fragile baby bird? I thought it was pretty good, but maybe I was the only one listening.” 

She snapped at him. “What would you do if I fell in combat?”

“What I’m trying to do now! Tell Armstrong to pick you up and move it before I burn a hole in his ass!” 

“I’ll walk. Just--a second. I can do it.” 

“I don’t like your color.” he stiffened up and threw his coat back over his shoulders..  “Lieutenant. I am your superior officer. As your superior officer, I am telling you, you are not going to walk anywhere. As your superior officer, I am telling you to accept the help from Major Armstrong.” 

“Permission to speak freely, sir.” She said, unimpressed by the coat. 

Her eyes attempted to bore a hole in him, but he deflected the gaze with a wave of his hand. 

“No. Denied. I have a pretty good idea of what you’ll say, Lieutenant, and I’m not in the mood.” He pushed back his hair, and it fell into his face just as quickly,  “You have my permission to shut the f--” 

There was a set of footsteps, rapidly approaching the tent, and Roy turned to meet them. 

Hawkeye gave an exhausted smile. “Hughes.” 

“Knock knock.” Hughes walked in and quickly surveyed the bloodied towels, Roy’s crossed arms, Hawkeye’s bandaged leg, and the general sense of argument and exhaustion in the room. “You two have all the fun without me.” 

Roy threw his hand up. 

“Is he allowed to know you’re human, or is that verboten too?” 

---

Out in the dust and sand, things were more like they had been in the war. One of the few aspects of it Roy had never particularly hated, though plenty of people did. There wasn’t enough room for officers to have their own quarters, so there was a tendency to double up in whatever arrangement made sense. No one had even asked if he wanted Lieutenant Hawkeye with him. No one ever needed to. 

They hadn’t asked where he’d wanted his quarters, however. He would have said, “Closer to the med tent, or closer to the officers’ mess tent, or closer to anything at all.’ Or maybe he wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t realized he’d be hauling one half of Hawkeye across the field. Hughes had his arm wrapped around her chest, under her armpits, and was doing a fairly impressive job of hauling her along. Roy both realized he was mostly providing balance, and that he was exhausted by the effort. Thank God for Hughes, he’d thought more than once.

The tent was large canvas, with a large bed, plush as Roy remembered for all the annoying higher ups he had now become, and a smaller, less nice bed for the subordinate officer. When had he become this? It seemed the years had been such a grind, but when he looked back at them, he wasn’t sure what the moment had been. 

Roy gently dumped Hawkeye on the larger bed, Hughes following suit. 

“This--” she protested.

“I’m tired of carrying you. This is where you stay.” Roy grabbed the pillows and piled them behind her back. “Where’s your bag? You’re sweaty and you’re making my bed sweaty.” 

“They told me as soon as I got off the convoy. Doctor’s right behind me, though I’m sure he’s probably reassuring the medic that Roy’s not gonna burn his tent down. Here, I stole this for you.” He took a slice of cake in a cardboard box out of his bag, and set on the side table. “The fancy lads with the fancy food are in camp. You deserve a treat.” 

Roy brought over one of her multiple grey t-shirts, and Hawkeye slowly took off the sweat soaked one and replaced it. Hughes squeezed her shoulder and gave her a little smile. 

“Can I fix your hair?” 

“I’m alright.” 

“Of course you are! I wasn’t worried about you for a minute, you could do this twice a month and come out swinging.” He looked at her.  “Maybe once a month.” He whirled around to look at Roy. “You, I’m not so sure.” 

He grinned and rubbed at his arm, wincing. “I think I hurt my shoulder.” 

“Precisely. Honestly, it’s more that as the father of a daughter, I should learn to do more than pigtails.” He sat down next to Hawkeye.  “Elicia’s hair’s not long enough for a braid, but she’s going to want them any day now. I don’t want to be a leech on Gracia. So let me practice on you.” 

Hawkeye looked at him with a haze of true exhaustion. “Okay.” 

“Thanks.” He took Hawkeye’s hair out of its bun, and smoothed it as he began an uneven low braid, filled more with kindness than with skill, and he laughed. “You see I need the practice.” 

Hawkeye’s eyes were far away, and she started to shake, just a little at first, enough that Roy could ignore it, and then a cold sweat broke out on her brow. Roy could read Hawkeye, but Hawkeye could also read him, which he found at equal parts annoying and useful. 

“I’m fine, Colonel. Don’t be worried.” Her voice did not shake, but only through sheer will. 

Hughes roped up the end of her braid “Who’s worried? We’ll just get you warm. We’ll get some food in you.” He looked at Roy, “This is just a thing that happens.” 

Roy wanted to argue with Hughes that he knew that, that he had seen more combat and more destruction and more ugliness than Hughes had ever seen riding a desk, that he was condescending, but it was so damn comforting that he couldn’t manage any of it. Fucking Hawkeye. Fucking Hughes. How they fucking cared about him. How annoying. 

Roy grabbed an extra blanket from off the end of the bed and tossed it over Hawkeye. “You need to lay down and rest. You’re off duty.” 

Hughes picked up the piece of cake. “You should eat this.” 

“I don’t want it.” She closed her eyes. 

“Where exactly is the rumored doctor?” Roy wondered aggressively. 

“Colonel. I’m fine. Just tired.” 

“It’s Grand’s. I thought you’d enjoy that. Considering your feelings.” Hughes sat down on the bed. “I stole it at great personal and professional risk, so it’s the least you can do for me.” 

There was a call from the front of the tent, and in came a serious looking man, who Roy was delighted to see looked old enough to be shaving. He nodded to Roy and Hughes with an the confidence that could only come from a man who had gotten to avoid the hard work, and set a bottle on the small table next to Hawkeye’s slice of cake. 

The examination was mostly perfunctory, and mostly to avoid having Roy as an enemy, and all that was fine by Roy. Hawkeye looked over at the bottle, sitting poker straight, holding herself still as possible, as the doctor gave her some instruction about rest and signs to watch out for that she mostly planned on following as long as it didn’t get in her way. 

Roy took the bottle and twisted off the top, handing it to her. “Take this.” 

She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it just as quickly, giving in the twin temptations of modern medicine and her own bone-deep exhaustion. She should measure it, she should reject it, she should do a dozen things, but the number one thing she wanted to do was the thing she did, which was take a reasonable drink of the bottle and let it numb her tongue. 

Hughes turned and smiled at the doctor. “Thanks.” 

“That means you’re dismissed.” Roy added. 

“Roy. C’mon.” 

Roy smiled in his charming, warm, and utterly fake way. “Thank you for your help, doctor. I’ll have someone report to you in the morning. That will be all.” 

“Of course, Colonel.” He picked up his bag and left through the flap, Hughes securing it before his shadow could even fully leave. 

Hawkeye laid back on the pillows with a deep sigh and a heavy flop, eyes closed. 

Roy shook his head. “You’re a ridiculous person. I don’t know why I bother.” 

“Stop talking.” 

Hughes grinned. “See? She’s fine. You know you should probably get to--” 

“I don’t need it from you.” He looked down at Hawkeye, pulling up the blankets. “I’m going to touch you. Don’t be paranoid.” he tucked them in around her and turned back to Hughes. 

“Well, you need it from someone, and Hawkeye’s tired, so it’s just me. If you didn’t want to get dinner, I do have some new pictures of Elicia to show you, and--you’ll never believe how cute she’s gotten--you know, Gracia was just saying the other day about you--” 

“Maes, it’s been a long day.” 

“Sun’s not even down yet.” 

“Maes.” 

“Anyway, Gracia was saying you--Hawkeye, are we keeping you up?” 

“No.” She smiled sleepily, her eyes still closed. “I like it.” 

“Great. Anyway, she was saying you should really meet this girl --” 

___

Roy sat down on the small bed and took off his shoes. He blinked back a wave of exhaustion that had finally crashed over him, as if his body had suddenly remembered the effort of holding so much tension. 

“She’s out cold.” Hughes gave him a glass. “Here. Have some brandy.” 

“I do think I hurt my shoulder.” Roy massaged it for a moment. “God, she’s strong.” 

Hughes sat down next to him and took a drink. “You’re not usually on the receiving end, so it’s easy to forget, but considering she’s flipped me over her back a time or two, I’m not all that surprised. ” 

“Thank you.” He stared into his glass. “For being here.” 

Hughes considered a moment. “She scare you?” 

“It wasn’t the greatest moment of my life.” He lifted the glass to his lips, but mostly wetted them. “Hawkeye. God. She’s so stubborn. I fought with her at--” He glared playfully. “See, this is why you need to pick up a job in Eastern. She listens to you. ” 

“No, she lets me get away with things. Besides, Gracia hates the east. You’re on your own.” He shook his head. “Roy, I know we’ve had a lot happen, but you remember the early days. She had to be more. Everyone treated her like garbage for the crime of being a woman. Hawkeye holds a grudge.” He chuckled.  “Honestly, like no one I’ve ever met. Impressive.” 

Roy swirled around the brandy, the heavy legs of the liquor making rivers back into the sea of the glass. He took a drink, long and slow, flipping over the events of the day in his mind and assembling them, like a man playing solitaire. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You look tired.” 

“No wonder Information gave you a promotion.”

“Ass.” He snorted, smiling. 

Roy sighed heavily . “She pushed me out of the way.” 

“Of course. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but, she’s just kept doing the same job since you met. You’re her Alchemist. She keeps you alive.” Hughes laughed. “And honestly considering the Alchemist, they ought to give the woman a medal.” He swirled the brandy in his cup. “Hawkeye’s Hawkeye, and I don’t try to fix it. You’re you.” 

“She could burn her life better.”

Roy glanced over at Hughes, who was considering. He took a drink and moved the words around like scrabble tiles, waiting to present them. 

“Not to her, Roy. And that’s her choice to make.” He nodded. “I don’t try to fix it.” 

Roy looked up at the ceiling. Hughes was annoying: Sometimes by accident, sometimes by design, but he was much keener and smarter than he pretended to be. He was a fantastic fighter, a brilliant informant, because he watched people. He understood them. It had been that way since they were young. All these things benefited him.

Hughes interrupted his thoughts by ruffling Roy’s hair with a smile. “And I like you both.’ 

But the greatest thing he was, was kind. This was also by accident and design. 

There was an unsuccessful tangle with the knot Hughes had tied at the midpoint of the zipper, and an angry man called through the tent flap. 

“Hughes, are you gonna come do your job, or are you gonna keep playing grabass with your little friends?” 

“I better go.” Hughes poured the remains of his brandy into Roy’s glass. 

“Pretty sure I outrank him.” Roy said, unsure if it was true, but sure enough that he could make the man think it. 

Hughes stood up and nodded to Roy. “I’ll come check on you after.” 

“I’m beat flat.” Roy shook his head, set down the glass, and began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Hughes took a moment to look around the room before grabbing his bag. 

“Well, if she’s not gonna eat this, I will.” He picked up the slice of cake and gave a little rub to Hawkeye’s arm.  “Goodbye, little friends!” 

He left out of the flap and zipped it behind him. Roy thought about getting up to tie the knot, but his body felt like it was made out of lead. The bed felt so soft beneath him. He tossed his shirt onto the floor and laid on his back. Hawkeye’s breaths were deep and slow on the other end of the tent. It was okay. Everything was fine. He didn’t need to fix it. 

He fell into sleep like a child falls out of bed, without warning, and all at once.

[lilyinavalley]

Refractions🪞

𝙼𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛 - 𝙿𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗

Taiga Hoshibami x mc Ao3 Ao3 versione italiana Warning! possessiveness [Masterlist] Welcome to my new series! Prologue Chapters: One - Two - Three

“And fundamentally, this is the situation.”

I had just finished recounting in detail everything that happened after we left the table. Ritsu had already escorted the woman out of the establishment, right after erasing her memory. Now that only three of us remain, four if we count Taiga, we can speak freely.

“Do you have any idea what kind of anomaly this could be?”

I anxiously watch the two ghouls, desperately hoping they have an answer to this question, but their expressions promise nothing good. Romeo paces back and forth, scratching his chin, his sharp eyes fixed on Taiga’s sleeping image inside the mirror. Ritsu, on the other hand, is busy searching for something on his phone. The vice-captain suddenly stops, as if he’s had a realization, but when he turns to me, his malicious gaze isn’t quite what I expected to see.

Romeo: “You know what, BB, let’s just leave him in there. His problem.”

“Are you kidding me?!”

Ritsu’s eyes widen as he looks up from his phone, staring at Romeo in disbelief.

Ritsu: “Vice-captain, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Romeo: “How many times have I told you to call me Fico?!”

He clears his throat and continues:

Romeo: “Besides… From what she told us, he’s trapped because of his own fault; sometimes it’s only fair that he faces the consequences of his actions. Plus, with him in there, my problems would decrease exponentially.”

Ritsu: “From a logical point of view, you’re not entirely wrong, but as my client, I can’t abandon him in this situation.”

Romeo: “And since when are you his official lawyer?!”

“Guys, please, let’s drop this discussion for now. Ritsu, I saw you looking for something earlier; do you have any idea how to get him out?”

Romeo: “Don’t igno…”

Ritsu: “I see you caught on, partner.”

The ghoul says with a brilliant smile, completely ignoring Romeo’s complaints.

Ritsu: “I did a little research and I think I understand what it is. It’s a Class C anomaly, so practically harmless, that manifests through an inanimate object but can also separate from it, a bit like a hermit crab leaving its shell. Its official name is Speculum Memoriae, which literally means Mirror of Memory.”

As soon as I hear that the mirror is harmless, I feel ten times lighter and let out a sigh of relief.

Ritsu: “People who pass through it can relive their memories and, without harming them, the anomaly absorbs their energy. From the testimonies that have been collected, those who enter should be able to exit autonomously.”

But Taiga has been inside for over an hour now…

Romeo: “So you’re telling me that idiot is staying in there of his own free will?”

Ritsu: “Exactly.”

“Is there nothing we can do to get him out?”

Ritsu: “No, only one person can enter at a time. We just have to wait.”

Romeo: “That’s if he ever gets out… With the shitty memory he has, I imagine he’s having a great time in there.”

“Do you think we can move the mirror?”

Inside me, all the moments I spent with Taiga, and which he immediately forgot the next day, begin to flood back… The thought that right now there’s a possibility he’s reliving the memories we shared ignites hope within me.

So when he comes out, will he remember everything? Even if only for a few hours, I’d like to talk to that version of him.

I approach the mirror and, careful not to touch the reflective surface, trace the outlines of the golden frame’s decorations.

Ritsu: “Theoretically, we should be able to do it.”

“Good, for now, let’s keep it hidden from the academy.”

I turn to them with a serious look.

“Could you help me take it to my dorm?”

This time I find myself in a place not entirely unfamiliar to me: infinite green fields stretch around me, rising occasionally into small hills. Countless animal-like anomalies walk in groups or alone towards who knows where; others rest in the shade of some trees.

Ahh, I know this place, it’s Harry’s new dorm

The good weather and boundless nature give Jabberwock its usual cheerful and carefree atmosphere, completely opposite to Sinostra, where greed and despair reign supreme. With the memory of the kitty-cat scolding me for eating yet another anomaly still fresh in my mind, I try not to get too distracted by the surrounding creatures and, hands in my pockets, head towards the dormitory. There’s literally no one around, but if I remember correctly, there are no ordinary students in this place, so it’s normal.

?: “Very good, keep it up.”

As I get closer to the strange mushroom-shaped building, I start to hear a familiar voice.

Haru: “Maybe do it a little slower… Exactly, just like that.”

Inside a modest circular enclosure, Harry and the kitty-cat are sitting on the ground with small monster-like creatures similar to marmots, but with the limbs and tail of a chameleon.

How disgusting.

Both are intent on brushing the coarse fur of these creatures. Haru guides the girl’s movements, getting unnecessarily close to her.

“Am I doing it well?”

Haru: “Yes, that’s great, I don’t know what I’d do without you, I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“You don’t have to repay me, I do it with pleasure, plus I have a lot of fun when I spend time here in Jabberwock.”

Sitting that close, their bodies brush against each other with every small movement.

Haru: “Unfortunately, these little ones have very sensitive skin; if they’re not brushed properly, all the things on the ground get into their fur and they risk getting a bad irritation!”

Who gives a shit

The irritation, however, starts coming to me; seeing him so close to the kitten makes me feel a burning sensation that begins to spread from within, burning the walls of my stomach, then rising through my esophagus, and consuming all the tissues along its path. Then this fire reaches my head and burns away all the thoughts that try to deny what I’m feeling, instead fueling the rawest and most selfish ones.

He shouldn't touch her; he needs to stay away from her. She’s mine, and I don’t want to share her with anyone else.

Everything I had decided to leave behind comes back to me: the feelings, the desires, and my repressed resolve tear at my chest, opening a raw wound that brings me to my knees, making me prostrate helplessly before them, without leaving me the possibility to deny them.

As I approach furiously, the two have already finished brushing those things, and Harry leaps to his feet, throwing his arms in the air.

Haru: “Ahh, finished, thank you so much for today!”

And when the kitty also stands up, he wraps her in an friendly hug. She immediately returns the embrace, but at that moment our gazes meet, and she stiffens suddenly.

Haru: “Huh, everything alright? Why did you…”

Now I’ll kill him.

I pull out my special artifact, and when the machine gun returns to its normal size, I point it at Harry.

Haru: “Taiga?! Why are you here?! And why are you pointing that thing at me?!”

He screams in a panic, and meanwhile, raising his hands in the air, he distances himself from the girl; even the furball he always keeps in his sash makes shrill noises out of fear.

Good.

“Taiga, what are you doing, put that away immediately!”

The kitten says angrily, stepping in front of Harry as if to protect him.

Gyahahah, she’s really cute when she’s pissed off.

“Let’s go, come on.”

With one hand, she grabs the barrel of the weapon and moves it aside; with the other, she takes my forearm and pulls me away, trying to make me lose interest in the other ghoul. As we move away from Harry, I manage to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye making a gesture as if to tell him to leave quickly, and he disappears in an instant. As soon as she sees he’s gone, she releases my arm and stands with her arms crossed in front of me.

“So?”

Taiga: “So what?”

“What do you mean, ‘so what’? Why did you suddenly show up and point that damn weapon at Haru? We weren’t doing anything.”

I toss it in the air, shrinking it back to keychain size, and put it away.

Taiga: “None of your business.”

I cross my arms over my chest too and look at her defiantly, which she accepts without thinking twice. With the smile of someone who already understands everything, she approaches me and narrows her eyes, raising her chin.

“I didn’t take you for someone who makes jealous scenes.”

She raises the corners of her mouth even further, turning her smile into an almost unsettling smirk. Then I further reduce our distance, stopping only when our eyes are just a few centimeters apart.

Taiga: “I just made it clear to that idiot that he shouldn’t touch what belongs to me.”

I place a hand under her chin and vigorously rub her lower lip with my thumb.

Taiga: “And let it be clear, no one else can.”

I feel as if I'm possessed; my feelings have completely taken control of my language. The line between jealousy and the desire to possess her wavers along with my judgment. But in the end, what's the difference?

She’s mine. Her happiness, her anger, her sadness, and all her feelings belong to me, as does every beat of her heart, every glance…

Just as the dangerous train of my thoughts is about to derail, it’s abruptly stopped by the kitty-cat placing her hand in the center of my chest.

“Taiga… No.”

Without further explanation, she sighs bitterly, and I remain paralyzed by her clear refusal. She takes a step back and her face slips from my hand. Despite the scorching sun, I’m overwhelmed by an enveloping chill that paralyzes my fingers and makes my heartbeat slow down alarmingly.

“Come with me.”

This time she doesn’t take my hand or my arm, but keeps her distance. She approaches a tree with numerous clusters of drooping yellow flowers.

“Do you know these flowers?”

What kind of question is this?

Taiga: “Do I look like a fucking botanist?”

She looks at me condescendingly and continues to speak as if she hadn’t heard my scornful comment.

“It’s a Laburnum; it’s very beautiful, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer and continue to watch her from afar.

“It’s a shame that every part of it is extremely poisonous.”

She carefully caresses the plant's lethal petals.

“This plant reminds me of you. Its flowers are the same color as your eyes, but it’s not just that. I can stay as close to it as I want, but if I were to accidentally ingest even a small petal detached by a breath of air, I would risk being poisoned.”

When she releases the yellow cluster, it sways widely as if it were a swing.

“In italian it’s called Maggiociondolo, which literally means May-pendant, precisely for this reason: it blooms in spring and when the wind blows, the flowers dangle like this. Isn't it fascinating?”

I’ve never felt so little interest in something in my life, and this complete disinterest must be easily identifiable from my expression; in fact, as soon as she looks at my face, she pouts, offended.

“Ahh, never mind.”

She breaks off a thin twig with a cluster of flowers attached and dangles it in front of my face.

“In a second I’ve sentenced them to death. Right now they’re still beautiful, but then as the hours pass, the petals will get darker and darker, they’ll wilt, and finally fall. Because of my selfishness and desire to keep this beauty only for myself, I’ve ruined them forever, and the only thing left in my hand will be the dehydrated skeleton of this twig.”

She lets the twig fall to the ground, which, when it completely rots, will become one with the underlying soil.

“Taiga, I am like this flower. I am not yours, and you cannot prevent others from seeing or touching me. If you take me away, I will wither, and your actions will no longer have meaning, because I will become something completely different from what you wanted to have at the beginning.”

“You desire me as I am now, right? Everything has a compromise; you can’t monopolize me like this.”

She puts her arms behind her back, holding one wrist with the other hand, and with a proud stride, she approaches me again.

“It’s too easy to let fury overwhelm you and act like a hooligan without even thinking about the consequences.”

Her words, spoken with extreme serenity, fall into my ears like velvet, and manage to calm my all-consuming thoughts until they vanish. Now my mind is like a flat sea, without waves or ripples.

How long has she been so good at controlling me? Or have I become too malleable?

She takes my hand and brings it to her heart; through the fabric of her clothes, I can feel her light heartbeat against my palm.

“This, and all that follows, can be dedicated only to you.”

She places her hand over mine, which is now enveloped by her warmth from both sides.

“But you have to earn it, and threats or violence won’t work.”

She lets go, and my arm falls lifelessly back to my side. In her magenta irises, a sweetness lingers that seems almost unnatural, considering their vessel is myself.

What does a good person like her find in me? What nourishes that immense patience hidden within her pretty little head?

Up until now, I’ve always acted for myself; the goal has always been just me and my entertainment. What happened to everyone else was merely collateral. The end justifies the means, right? This is the first time my will has extended beyond the threshold of my egocentrism. This kitten, so fragile in her humanity and her curse, has, for the first time in my life, made me desire something beyond money or personal pleasure.

Perhaps what I feel for her is like what a master feels for their pet; yes, maybe for now it’s better to think of it that way. For this time, I’ll do as she says, only because she’s such a cute kitten, Gyahahahaha.

I raise my eyebrows playfully and twirl a lock of her hair around my finger.

Taiga: “Ugh, what a pain, I’ll behave, but you yourself said there’s a compromise to everything, so what will you give me in return, kitty-cat?”

A bright red color decorates her cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears, and she looks away, embarrassed.

“Well, I… I don’t know.”

I lean close to her ear and whisper:

Taiga: “I have an idea.”

I move to her cheek, careful never to let my lips touch her skin. When I reach her mouth, we’re so close that it gives me the illusion our lips are touching. Our warm breaths mingle in the space between us, and when I open my mouth to speak, I feel a tremor coming from her sensitive lips.

Taiga: “Do you remember when I told you I was going to live with you?”

Still blushing, she looks up at the sky to try and remember, and when that memory comes back to her, she narrows her eyes as if urging me to continue.

Taiga: “I will respect what you just told me, and in return, you’ll give me the keys to your room. That way, whenever I get tired of being in Sinostra with Lulù and that other idiot, I can take refuge in your dorm. Not even the principal will have anything to say, given that you’re his beloved inspector.”

I move away from her lips and stand up so that my gaze is at the same level as hers. To be more “persuasive,” I grasp her hips and pull her against me.

Taiga: “So, what do you say? It seems like a perfectly legitimate compromise to me”

Her face turns completely red.

She must have understood the implications.

We remain for a few seconds staring into each other's eyes, until the kitty decides to break the silence.

“Alright, that can be done.”

She moves away from me and extends her hand, which I promptly shake. As soon as my hand slips away from hers, my vision blurs, and I am catapulted out of this memory.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

(≧∇≦)ﾉ @pebblesforall

Hello guys, from now on the updates, may or may not, be a bit slow, I'm in full study mode for the summer exam session, so my brain is basically mashed potatoes when I write in the evening and I'm not very productive.

Also the weather does NOT help 💀 I hate summer with my whole being (┬┬﹏┬┬)

[invidiatechdemo]

Bunch of potential Flower King Dark World Talk

People have been talking about potential stuff with the flowers encouraging Asgore's problems narratively/being clingy, and something that's stuck in my mind is Miss Mizzle / HolywaterCooler mentioning the Bluest Flower specifically; as a result I have unfortunately developed an unlikely but really funny opinion:

. . . I hope the Bluest Flower in contrast to the other flowers is a boss (possibly a secret one? unsure) who cares deeply about Asgore but wants Asgore to move on, instead of continuing pursuing the 'get family back together' stuff, possibly in direct contrast with the other flowers theoretically...?

I also think it would be a REALLY fun direct contrast/narrative foil to Tenna, who hates thinking of the divorce, who wants the family be together again, who accidentally reopens little wounds here and there by talking wistfully about the old days, to have one of the literal expressions of Asgore's refusal to let go in the form of one of the flowers from a wedding bouquet under glass turning against the idea. This also works wonderfully with the fact Toriel's name in Undertale is initially shown in Blue.

Probably would turn that flower to stone soon after the boss fight, but... I think it would be fun!

I think it also works narratively with the fact Asgore keeps trying to give Toriel bouquets that get dunked in the trash, also.

Additional thoughts/some general thoughts and opinions about character ties:

-Holywatercooler's lines are as follows:

"The Bluest Flower, A disciple of my speech

Shy to no camera, And a specimen of

Elegance and kindness.

Should you meet, Please give my regards."

The mentioning of a camera, imo is not Just a reference to the wedding photo; TV World sure has a good number of Camerathings, after all, does it not?

This combines with a second point of interest:

Shuttah has a lot of interesting dialogue, but I want to call attention to this:

"There once was the great wilderness here!

Yes... But, the world became the theater, and us, children of Tenna's contract.

Those that did not sign the paper, set off for the far land and were forgotten.

Now... only the legend old hermit still knows the way to the place."

Now, the far land and being forgotten is a pretty on-the-nose hint for Forgotten Island, especially with references to the hermit.

... What about the 'great wilderness', then?

I think... The 'great wilderness' was because there used to be more flowers and plants in the house. Asgore's mentioning that 'these flowers are still kicking' implies they used to be in Toriel's house, especially with the mentioning of the climate being bad for them.

Many other plants probably also used to be there, at one point or another. And the fact that it's SHUTTAH mentioning these, a camera! When we know from Miss Mizzle that the Bluest Flower is 'shy to no camera!'

My other most evil opinion is that 'Those that did not sign the paper set off for the far land and were forgotten' is not JUST about Forgotten Island but also about THE DIVORCE, considering how Chapter 1 events with the playing cards and toys is reflected in the lore of those items.

Those who left for the far land can then also mean 'items that went with Asgore to Flower King', and those who stayed in Toriel's house, and with Tenna and the rest, 'children of Tenna's contract'.

. . . Asgore has his own CRT nowadays, after all. :]

[snackleggg]

TADC theory

Okay so episode 5 gave us alot of information and now that I've had time to process I think I've come up with a pretty good theory about how the characters ended up in the circus & a few characters backstories

So first off to address a few popular theories I previously believed that I think this episode has disproven:

1. That everyone was an employee of C&A

2. That Jax is an npc

I think there is enough evidence to suggest that these theories aren't very likely.

Based on the way characters act and the modern references they make (Jax making a breaking bad reference that Zooble understands) it's safe to say that the characters lived in our modern day world but the computer we see in episode 1 is of a very old early model.

I think the company C&A existed in the 20th century but was shut down and has been shut down for a long time, rendering its main offices as an "abandoned building".

During the bar scene we get a lot of information and this starts with Jax asking Pomni about her job and how she ended up at the circus. Pomni mentions her job as an accountant and then separately mentions how she would explore abandoned buildings, the way its said implies this has something to do with her ending up in the digital circus. Zoobles replies that they also liked to explore abandoned buildings. I think this is how they both ended up in the circus, exploring the abandoned building that was C&As offices, finding the headset, and trying it on out of curiosity.

Ragatha also mentions how before she ended up in the circus she worked in real estate, its possible that is also how she ended up in the circus, checking the abandoned, and probably for sale, lot of the C&A building and stumbling across the headset.

The implication around why Gangle may have went to an abandoned building is very dark considering their chronically depressive state, hate for their job in fast food, and the ending of episode 4 where they fell infront of the moving truck in a manic episode. The assumption is that they probably went there to end themselves and got stuck in the circus before they could.

While Jax doesn't give us a lot, the reactions he has to certain things and the information we get from other characters implies a lot in my opinion. I think Jax may actually be a lot younger than he let's on. He questions Pomni about her age, comments about the school setting in a way none of the other characters do, and he & his friend ribbit have very "childish" bodies in the circus. Presumably he and ribbit entered the circus at the same time as he seems to have a very deep connection to them, being much more upset about their abstraction than the other characters seemed to be about Kofmo who they presumably only knew within the confindes of the circus. They are also similarly themed, both being animals, which only Queenie & Kinger have in common because of their connection prior to the circus & possibly entering at the same time.

Jax being a teenaged boy when entering the circus can also explain his behaviour. He's masking, coping, and immature all at the same time. He falls back on being "edgy" and acts like a bully yet is very sensitive at times, especially when confronted with particularly upsetting things. I also think that Jax may be related to a former employee of C&A. He seems to know quite a bit about Caine's ai (or at least he presumes to since we see him being disturbed when he's proven wrong in ep5) more than the other characters and he has keys to most places in the circus which could imply he got the old employee keys to enter the abandoned office with his friend. It is a very teenaged boy thing to do, especially with a friend, checking out an old abandoned building you have easy access to, one you know there is an interesting game like ai left inside.

It could also explain why Jax has such a strong reaction towards the mention of his lost friend. Not just from grief but also guilt. He could blame himself for being the one to get them stuck there.

Unlike the others, I think Kinger was an employee as C&A. I think he and Queenie may have even been some of the first people trapped within the circus back when C&A was still in operations. We know Kinger has an education in computer science and he's not only been in the circus the longest out of the current cast but he seems to be the oldest as he's put in positions of authority over the others multiple times in episode 5, being the teacher and then the coach. Kinger was probably one of the first people to test the digital circus and therefore one of the first to get stuck, only surviving all these decades because of his partial amnesia/insanity.

Finally, Caine. His behaviour this episode was very interesting. He was very obsessed with improving his adventures and proving they were better than the ones suggested. I think Caine is afraid of becoming obsolete. Presumably whatever job he was designed to do, he was bad at, which led to C&A getting shut down and Caine being left to rot. He's trying to prove both to himself & to the characters that he CAN do what he was programmed to do better than anyone. I also think his focus with horror themed adventures may stem from the fact that people like Zooble, Pomni, & Jax only stumbled across the digital circus because they were seeking thrills, because they were exploring this "creepy" abandoned place so Caine thinks that's what they would find alluring in an adventure which is why he thought making a horror adventure would get Zooble to finally join in episode 3.