#my favourite genre of creature

[eddieintheocean]

there need to be more animals that resemble wet slop

[thecometcat]

the terror ep 2: shows the large and distinctly un-bearlike footprints of the creature

the tiny version of graham casner who lives rent-free in my head and has a lot to say about this show: bears don't have FUCKING thumbs

[shamrockst4r]

i had a bad day

[cruelsister-moved2]

my favourite lord dunsany stories are 'what if there was a weird city?' 'what if there was a scary artefact?' 'what if there was a creature?' and 'here's some gods i just made up. look at them btw'

[shhhhimwatchingthis]

Sort of bums me out that so many people didn't seem to Get the Cat King so here are my thoughts:

So let's start with Edwin's crime. He uses something the cat desires (a sardine) to lure the cat to him and then uses an enchanted string to trap the cat with magic. He demands the answer to a question in exchange for its release. Edwin knows it is dangerous to use magic on a cat, that it violates Rules but he does it anyway.

Binding a creature and agreeing to set them free under a certain condition is very Classic Fairytale. its also a favourite trope of Neil Gaiman's (he did not write this show but his influence is there). In both the Sandman and his novel Stardust (and the film adaptation) trapping a creature with magic and demanding a task/favour in exchange for their freedom is an extremely important plot point. Edwin binding a cat and demanding an answer in exchange is exactly in line with this Fairytale trope

And so is the Cat Kings response. The Cat King is a trickster. What he does to Edwin is exactly what Edwin did to one of his subjects. He entices Edwin, he binds him with magic and when Edwin demands to be free he turns his own words against him "why all the fuss for one little spell?" Edwin did something wrong. He imposed his will/magic on another creature and the Cat King is punishing him for it in a way that is poetic. Its fairytale. its trickster. its classic.

I've also seen people complain that the task Edwin was given 'count all the cats' is 'impossible'...except its fucking not. Edwin does it. He does it so well he actually BEATS the Cat King ("you didn't count yourself" Are.You.Kidding.Me. Classic!Fairytale!Vibes!)

The Cat Kings choice to bind Edwin to Port Townsend is good on so many levels. From a storytelling perspective it forces characters who can travel anywhere in the world to stay in one place, and increases the stakes for these characters who are supposed to be on the run. From a genre perspective...its an excellent use of fairytale tropes using both Rules of magic, a protagonist who is unkind to a seemingly weak creature who is punished by a more powerful law, a binding, a task to complete, etc

Which just leaves the character perspective which it ALSO does really fucking well and introduces the final aspect to the Cat Kings character. He's seductive. He is responsible for Edwin, 100 years old ghost boy, finally unpacking his internalized homophpbia. he is the catalyst (cat pun not intended)

He pushes Edwin, challenges him, at times literally forces the truth out of Edwin, but he really never does violate his consent. Significantly Edwin is attracted to him, like its an important part of his character that he is. He may not like the Cat King but he is attracted to him!

The Cat King is such a great example of a trickster, a morally grey character who imposes a sense of justice on Edwin after he crosses a line, but also has his own selfish interests and meddles. Hes so important to the plot of the show, to Edwin's character arc, to the genre.

And he's just fun. Unapologetically queer, powerful, complicated. Silly little outfits. Petty cat behavior. Deep heart.

Some of you just didn't get it. And I'm sorry for you. because the Cat King is Excellent actually.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

My favourite genre of Ewan picture: The Creature™

[prokopetz]

One of my favourite genres of Tumblr post is people RPing as fairy tale creatures who hate their jobs. Like, you'd assume the Bone-Thief of the Dark Forest at least enjoys taking people's bones, but no, apparently they get paid to do this. In what currency does a bone-stealing phantom of the deep woods get paid? What do they spend it on?

[orchidyoonkook]

The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino  

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word. 

Intimate. That would be a better choice. 

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering. 

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony. 

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy. 

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts. 

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go. 

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between. 

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company. 

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight. 

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off. 

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges. 

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter. 

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot. 

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are. 

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back. 

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses. 

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up. 

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.” 

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty. 

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is. 

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck. 

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself. 

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.” 

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night. 

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung! 

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing. 

You just lost all your tips for the night. 

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it. 

Fuck. 

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet. 

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know. 

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’ 

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it. 

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass. 

No one serves him but you. 

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you. 

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year. 

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath. 

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.  

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,”  he responded. 

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased. 

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you. 

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it. 

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink. 

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself. 

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.” 

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.” 

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’” 

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.” 

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation. 

No one calls the Devil by his first name. 

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to. 

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives. 

No one except you. 

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is. 

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I’m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that. 

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in. 

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night. 

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker… 

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up. 

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath. 

The King of Hell. 

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end. 

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon. 

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging. 

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him. 

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers. 

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully. 

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity. 

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive. 

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again. 

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well. 

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while. 

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was. 

And maybe he is. 

But not to you. 

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow. 

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him. 

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world. 

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you. 

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find. 

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos. 

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside. 

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor. 

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding. 

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system. 

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth. 

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing. 

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer. 

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.” 

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target. 

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own. 

Yoongi. 

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself. 

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real. 

And he looks like sin incarnate. 

Fitting. 

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you. 

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on. 

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved. 

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you. 

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises. 

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night. 

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse. 

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him. 

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”  

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate. 

“Yes.” 

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body. 

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.” 

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now. 

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening. 

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you. 

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant. 

Beautiful. 

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says. 

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I—I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you. 

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers. 

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you. 

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring. 

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear. 

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait— 

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse. 

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” 

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly. 

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’. 

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him. 

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides. 

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it. 

You’ve decided. 

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power. 

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years. 

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back. 

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club. 

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait. 

And apparently neither does Yoongi. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate. 

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil. 

You trust Yoongi. 

“That's a good girl.” 

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft. 

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people? 

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on. 

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get. 

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight. 

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent. 

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea. 

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh. 

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off. 

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?” 

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs. 

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you. 

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.” 

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him. 

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge. 

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look. 

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded. 

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter. 

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip. 

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue. 

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.” 

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?” 

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get. 

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it. 

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt. 

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines. 

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before. 

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip. 

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him. 

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it. 

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it. 

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.” 

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures. 

You’re the most powerful person here. 

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible. 

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know. 

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact. 

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets. 

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace. 

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them. 

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you. 

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else. 

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal. 

Perfect in every single way. 

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too. 

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back. 

Not yet. 

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling. 

Ever.  

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more. 

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence. 

There was only you. 

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He exists only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows. 

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming. 

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance. 

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white. 

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need. 

It’s yours. 

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze. 

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented. 

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?” 

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?” 

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before. 

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say. 

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.” 

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.” 

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him. 

You just know it. 

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless. 

You never expected anything like that. 

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years. 

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better. 

Because of you.  

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that. 

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly. 

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell. 

He was yours now. 

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.  

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

Sukuna "asshole to the world, sweetheart to his girl" Ryomen

🎀minors and ageless blogs will be blocked 🎀

Pairing: Yakuza!Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

Genre: Smut, dark hero.

Word Count: 1450

Warnings: first off, fucking sukuna himself is a warning on his own so let's just start there. Possessive Sukuna, dark sukuna, yakuza sukuna, shitty boss, mean fucking asshole boss, violence, against boss, dacryphillia, p in v sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, read at your own discretion.

Summary: Sukunas heard you cry because of your boss one too many times. He takes matters into his own hands

A/N: This absolutely SPECTACULAR ART is by @innaillus and you can find the original here.

I want to thank her, not only for allowing me to use this as a banner but also for making such amazing art and sharing it with us. ♥️

This is a purely self indulgent fic. If you don't like it, please don't read it. I had a shitty week and needed a place to cool off.

Sukuna Ryomen glared down at your boss. He’d come in to pick you up and heard the creature screaming at you for something he already knew wasn’t your fault. You’d told him about the trouble you were having with your co-workers who slacked off and your shitty fucker of a boss who for some reason didn’t tell them off, but instead unloaded his anger on you. This would be the last time this pathetic vermin made you cry, he vowed.

He pushed open the door to your small office and stalked in. You stood in the corner trying to make yourself as small as possible, silent tears streaming down your face as your boss kept berating you – not even noticing his presence. One of the other workers tried to step in his way but he shoved them aside like they were nothing more than window curtains. He placed himself in between you and the balding middle aged man who dared to call himself your boss. “Hey nimrod, she doesn’t work for you anymore. Don’t fucking yell at her.”

The man cowered. Sukuna was taller than him and his crossed arms made his thick muscles ripple under his skin.

“Ryo…” you whispered

“Wh-who let th-this man in here? Sir, th-this is an office space. You n-need to leave.” your boss sneered at your saviour.

Sukuna merely smirked at you and pulled you into his side placing his lips on the top of your head in a chaste kiss. “Yeah, don't worry, I’ll be going pretty soon. Breathing the same air as you is making me feel nauseated. Can't believe the patience my baby girl had with your shit-ass, fucker” his first met the man's stomach with a sickening squelching crunch, and your now ex-boss, crumpled onto the floor in a heap.

“I'm gon-gonna call the cops on you asshole’ he croaked out.

Sukuna just laughed. “Have at it, ya great ballsack.”

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

When Sukuna came to pick you up from work that day he had planned the night down to a T. He’d wanted to take you to a new movie that you'd been itching to see but hadn't had the time. He would follow that with a fancy sushi dinner at the city's best restaurant and then take you to the outskirts where there was a nice little viewpoint he had discovered where he planned on showing you the stars – in more than one way…

But when you didn't come out at your specified time, nor answer the cute message he’d sent you – Where you at, kitty-kat? – Sukuna decided to investigate and came across your asshole of a boss yelling at you. He’d had enough. You’d been coming home and complaining about him and even once returned in tears. It took everything he had to not rip the bastard’s throat out. But he was done with you being abused. You deserved better. Which is exactly what he told you now as you lay with him on the hood of his car.

The plans had been altered slightly, you would be watching the movie with him the next day. He’d skipped the fancy sushi and instead opted for your favourite comfort food – Chinese cuisine. Slurping down saucy noodles, and munching on crispy gyoza always made you feel better he knew and he found himself smiling at your joy. He’d then driven you to his secret viewpoint. You sat there on the hood of his car with him beside you. In the distance, the pretty lights of Tokyo lit up the horizon and reflected off your lover's red eyes. Above you, the stars twinkled in their own magic…

Something about you had him wrapped around your finger. One of the most feared yakuza, putty in your hands. Of course, no one knew the connection. It was all kept hushed for your convenience.

“Kitty-kat?” Sukuna called to you and you looked up at your man. “You know— you know I’m rich enough to support both of us easily right?”

You hummed. “Yes, but I don’t wanna be some dainty housewife, sitting and waiting for my husband to come home and serve him dinner Ryo! I have a whole ass degree that a lot of money was spent on, I’d like to use it babe!”

“Husband?”

“What?”

“You said, husband. Not boyfriend. Or SO. Or partner. You said husband.”

“Yeah… I said husband…”

“You wanna marry me?”

“I mean, yeah, eventually right?”

Sukuna crashed his lips into yours in a heated kiss; all teeth and tongue. He pulled your body close, pressing against you. “I want you so bad right now, future wife. I want you so fucking badly.” He half growled in your ear.

“You have me Ryo. I’m right here.” you replied. You tugged at Sukunas pants and he unbuckled his belt. Sukuna grinded against your thigh while kissing you. His hands tugged at the buttons on your blouse, undoing them as he went. You could feel the bulge growing in his jeans. He kissed down from your lips, to your jaw, to your neck down to the valley of your breasts.

“I wanna fuck you.” He looked at you with a lidded gaze “May I? I won’t be able to stop if we go further than this kitty-kat.”

You lifted your leg to rub against his clothed cock. “I’d leave you right now if you didn’t, Sukuna Ryomen. So fuck me already.” Sukuna flashed you a fanged smile and dipped his head pulling down your bra and freeing your breasts. He bit and licked and sucked, actions that were sure to leave marks on you. Further south his fingers pushed aside your panties and found entrance. He slowly worked his way into you, rubbing gentle circles in your skin. You allowed yourself to let go and dirty moans slipped out from your lips. Your fingers tangled in his pink hair – so soft, so smooth.

Once he had you dripping, he lay back down and ordered, “Sit on my face, and suck my cock while you’re at it.”

You followed, undoing his zipper and pulling his boxers and jeans off his semi-hard cock. You tentatively licked his head as you positioned your pussy right about his face. Sukuna pushed your skirt up and ripped your panties with a practised ease, pulling your hips down to his face. He loved having you like that. Every time he flicked his tongue against your clit your pussy would visibly tighten. You’d drool down the length of his cock hypnotised. Tongue flat against it as you struggled to maintain composure. It wouldn’t take long for him to make you cum all over his face for the first time. Legs quivering and hips shaking he brought you down again, laying you on the hood for him.

He lined up his cock – now rock hard from your mouth – with your entrance and sank into you. Slowly pushing his bulbous head, followed by his girthy length. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

Sukuna thrust up into you. Your lips were hot and burning. You felt a wave of emotion come through and tears welled up in your eyes.

“Fuck Ryo— feels s’good!”

Sukuna snarled and increased his pace. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Feels good, huh kitty-kat! Gonna make you mine. No man’s gonna dare fuck with you again.” His movements were rough and jagged but drew out the pleasure in your core. The tightly wound knot in your abdomen built up with each movement, each drawn out pull, each hard thrust. You arched your back desperate to have him more, more, more!

Your second climax hit just as Sukuna grabbed a fistful of your hair. Your cunt spasmed, clasping around him and you cried out his name in a debauched prayer.

Sukuna looked more composed than he felt. His cock throbbed inside you, attuned to the flutters of your pussy. Just because you’d come didn’t mean he would stop. He chased his own release inside of you pulling your hair back, devouring your lips. His cock bullied you to the point of overstimulation. Tears ran down your cheeks again but this time they were those of pleasure.

He came, towering over you, eyes squeezed shut, head buried in the crook of your neck. His giant frame collapsed onto you and he carefully rolled off to the side so he wouldn't crush you.

“So, about that husband thing…”

You turned to look at him, blushing. “Ryo…”

He held up a ring; the ring his father left him. Gold work, carved into a dragon that held a shiny black pearl in its claws.

“I’ll get you a prettier one later, I promise but for now…” he took a deep breath. “Marry me, kitty-kat?”

A/N: please note this was a very hurried creation and edit, if you do find any errors or typos feel free to point them out KINDLY. Thank you for reading.

As always likes and reblogs are much appreciated and comments will earn you kissies!

[makingqueerhistory]

Spooky Queer Books

Since spooky season is starting, I thought I would share a list of my favourite queer books that are great for this time of year.

Some of these links are affiliate links.

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror

Joe Vallese

Horror movies hold a complicated space in the hearts of the queer community: historically misogynist, and often homo- and transphobic, the genre has also been inadvertently feminist and open to subversive readings. Common tropes--such as the circumspect and resilient "final girl," body possession, costumed villains, secret identities, and things that lurk in the closet--spark moments of eerie familiarity and affective connection. Still, viewers often remain tasked with reading themselves into beloved films, seeking out characters and set pieces that speak to, mirror, and parallel the unique ways queerness encounters the world.It Came from the Closet features twenty-five essays by writers speaking to this relationship, through connections both empowering and oppressive. From Carmen Maria Machado on Jennifer's Body, Jude Ellison S. Doyle on In My Skin, Addie Tsai on Dead Ringers, and many more, these conversations convey the rich reciprocity between queerness and horror.

Into the Drowning Deep

Mira Grant

The ocean is home to many myths, But some are deadly... Seven years ago the Atargatis set off on a voyage to the Mariana Trench to film a mockumentary bringing to life ancient sea creatures of legend. It was lost at sea with all hands. Some have called it a hoax; others have called it a tragedy. Now a new crew has been assembled. But this time they're not out to entertain. Some seek to validate their life's work. Some seek the greatest hunt of all. Some seek the truth. But for the ambitious young scientist Victoria Stewart this is a voyage to uncover the fate of the sister she lost. Whatever the truth may be, it will only be found below the waves. But the secrets of the deep come with a price.

The Devouring Gray

C. L. Herman

After her sister's death, seventeen-year-old Violet Saunders finds herself dragged to Four Paths, New York. Violet may be a newcomer, but she soon learns her mother isn't: They belong to one of the revered founding families of the town, where stone bells hang above every doorway and danger lurks in the depths of the woods. Justin Hawthorne's bloodline has protected Four Paths for generations from the Gray--a lifeless dimension that imprisons a brutal monster. After Justin fails to inherit his family's powers, his mother is determined to keep this humiliation a secret. But Justin can't let go of the future he was promised and the town he swore to protect. Ever since Harper Carlisle lost her hand to an accident that left her stranded in the Gray for days, she has vowed revenge on the person who abandoned her: Justin Hawthorne. There are ripples of dissent in Four Paths, and Harper seizes an opportunity to take down the Hawthornes and change her destiny--to what extent, even she doesn't yet know. The Gray is growing stronger every day, and its victims are piling up. When Violet accidentally unleashes the monster, all three must band together with the other Founders to unearth the dark truths behind their families' abilities...before the Gray devours them all.

Tell Me I'm Worthless

Alison Rumfitt

Three years ago, Alice spent one night in an abandoned house with her friends, Ila and Hannah. Since then, Alice's life has spiraled. She lives a haunted existence, selling videos of herself for money, going to parties she hates, drinking herself to sleep. Memories of that night torment Alice, but when Ila asks her to return to the House, to go past the KEEP OUT sign and over the sick earth where teenagers dare each other to venture, Alice knows she must go. Together, Alice and Ila must face the horrors that happened there, must pull themselves apart from the inside out, put their differences aside, and try to rescue Hannah, whom the House has chosen to make its own. Cutting, disruptive, and darkly funny, Tell Me I'm Worthless is a vital work of trans fiction that examines the devastating effects of trauma and how fascism makes us destroy ourselves and each other.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere König Headcanons

Warnings: Some 18+ Moments (Nothing Explicit), Social Anxiety, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Acts of Revenge, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, Underwear Stealing, Possessive Behaviour, Yandere Behavious, Toxic Behaviour, Intimidation, Social Sabotage, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You', etc.

Wordcount: 14,544 words

A/N: Hey Guys, Happy Valentine's Day <3 ! Thanks for stopping by to read my fic ! Much love and wellness to you all :-). I've had to split the bulk of the text and the ending into two posts because Tumblr will not let me keep them in the same post - it just won't save or post. A link will be provided below the main body of text to take you to the ending post <3

You and König became friends the very same day you met.

You were a new student to the school that König called Hell; not yet alive – conscious – to the incessant bullying and ignorance that occurred there.

Upon seeing you for the first time, feet pointed in, shoulders rigid, lunch pail squeezed – compressed – tightly between your tiny fingers, König felt… strange.

He’d never met you before, but he already felt that there was something to be done in the way of you.

As to what that ‘something’ was was completely lost on König.

But alas, he tore his resting head from his palm, his senses sharpening as he was drawn from the fantasy world he’d crafted for himself, becoming aware of his surroundings,

He watched you, for the first time, a child no older than himself, nigh-quivering under the curious gazes of students.

As if by instinct, König’s gaze drifted to the table that housed his tormentors.

And, sure as ever, their eyes held nothing less than malice. Intent.

Something in him told him to sit up straighter, to get his hands off the desk – anything to appear bigger than how he did now.

He recognised this feeling. Though, he’d never felt it towards a person.

In König, it only ever manifested whenever he happened upon some small, injured creature.

Despite being just children, König was already a little taller than everyone else in the class; foreshadowing of the monster he’d become, whose horns just peeked through his skull, made him an inch or three taller than the rest.

And yet, he was still the butt of every joke, the object of needless ridicule.

Little did he know that would all change the very same day he met you.

Something in him prompted him, told him, to talk to you, to find out as much about you as he possibly could.

An impulse he had never known until today.

Though, as to how he’d initiate conversation was tricky.

He could barely talk to his own parents, let alone a complete stranger.

As you peeked up from the floor every now and then, scanning the room and all its pieces, its players, your gaze fell upon König.

His heart fitted, adopting an irregular rhythm – a genre of music he’d never heard before.

Usually, he’d tear his gaze away, look down or out the window.

But he couldn’t.

With you, it was impossible.

The seat beside him was empty, a sliver of mercy his favourite teacher had imparted on him.

The possibility that you would be seated next to him – that you might choose to sit beside him of your own volition – filled König with a dangerous sense of hope.

He found himself clenching his fists when you made a move to go to him, taking but a small step in his direction. The right direction.

Before the teacher pointed to another seat halfway across the classroom.

König deflated, his shoulders sagging, his mood dampening as if sodden with tears.

He looked upon your reluctantly retreating form, your friendship withering away with each step you were forced to take.

König looked upon his teacher that day with something he hadn’t felt for them before.

Contempt.

The lesson dragged, yet playtime loomed.

It was less of a break for König than it was an opportunity for his bullies to find him. Capture him.

Yet today, he was the one seeking them.

He’d seen the way they’d looked at you, leered at you, repeated your name in mock mimicry when the teacher called on you for attendance.

König’s heart thrummed in his chest, an off-key harp.

He swallowed thickly, trying to hear over his internal symphony’s failing orchestra.

He almost considered calling off the search and searching for a teacher to help when he heard it.

You.

A sniffle. Then, insults.

Hissed and seethed and quiet, just below the radar of the adults ‘watching over’ the students.

König turned, only to find a long corner before him.

He pressed himself close to it, and listened.

Another sniffle, verging on a cry. Then, more insults.

The Cycle.

König’s fists clenched, his heart flared with the anger he’d felt many a time when he’d been on the receiving end of such torment.

Yet somehow, now that it was you receiving it, it was as if the cap König had set atop his anger, to prevent himself from doing something drastic, or displaying too much emotion, had blown off.

The anxiety that occupied König’s every waking moment boiled with his growing fury, a chemical gas that threatened all life that came into contact with it.

Without thinking, blinded by something greater than his limitations, he embarked the corner.

There you were, surrounded by four boys, each as diabolical as the last.

Devils in cherubs’ clothing.

König’s shadow descended upon the scene, covering your cowering frame.

The leader turned around.

He gave a sly grin, and turned partially from you.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to face König completely.

“Oi, oi,” he said, voice shrill and piercing. König stood his ground.

“And what’d’you want, König,”

König said nothing still, though the expression on his face was twisted, a far cry from the doe-eyed boy he was just two minutes ago.

The leader, when König didn’t answer, abandoned you, leaving you to his lackeys.

He approached König with a walk too old for his body, a cheap imitation of intimidation.

He only came up to König’s chin.

“I said–” he poked König’s chest, punctuating each word with a demeaning splinter.

And yet, König wasn’t paying attention to him.

He was looking at you.

You, having your hair pulled and your shirt practically torn.

König’s eyes narrowed.

“What. Do. You. W–”

Everything happened so fast that König scarcely thought it happened at all.

One minute, the bully was barely chest-to-chest with him. The next, he was on the floor, wailing, clutching his nose in his hands.

König almost couldn’t look away as a thin trickle of blood seeped between the boy’s fingers, staining his hands, and the concrete, a dark red.

König’s body shook, much like that displayed in starvation. He caught a glimpse of red along his knuckles.

And then, looking up from the bully, to his dumbfounded lackeys, he found you.

The lackeys were slowly backing away from you and making their way around König, as if he were a tiger, to their leader.

“Leave (Y/N) alone.” he said to the group, his shoulders heaving with his fresh victory.

The odd few nodded, mouths agape as they watched the leader struggle to get up onto his feet.

König walked past them and, taking cautious, slow steps towards you, stopped just shy of three feet away from you.

You were still shaking, your eyes wide as you craned your neck to look up at König’s face.

König felt giddy. A bubbling feeling welling up inside his chest.

Though, something caught in his throat. Something uncharacteristic of this situation.

“Hey–” König said, coughing, clearing his throat, when his voice cracked.

His face began to heat up, and he tried again.

“Hey,” he said, quietly.

You, awe-struck, with your mouth hung open, said nothing.

“I’m (Y/N)–...wait, no…I’m– König–”

König’s stilted introduction, and the fumble he made of it, was cut short with a soft, almost invisible feeling.

You’d thrown your arms around his middle and buried your face in his chest.

He looked down at the top of your head, only your hair visible.

The warmth on his face multiplied, growing hotter by the second as the gratitude in your muffled words – your ‘thank you’s – spilled from between the fabric of his jacket.

And, that feeling from before, the one that told him to act, returned; prompted him to do that which he thought best.

He put his arms around your shoulders and held you.

Only a moment later did you look up at him, eyes reddened with tears.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said.

König smiled, his teeth crooked.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

Immediately after the incident, a swarm of students gathered where the bully lay, ultimately unable to peel himself from the floor, his lackeys too frightened to turn their back on König for even a second.

The incident was passed around the playground like folklore, and König, and yourself, never had any trouble from those bullies again.

They’d all but discredited their leader, claiming that he’d “Tripped and fallen on a  rock,” and hadn’t finally gotten what was coming to him.

They could hardly say otherwise when König was staring them down with the look of hatred they’d all so mastered.

The group was disgraced, some of the boys eventually refusing to come to school altogether, transferring.

And all the while, you and König became inseparable.

That was the day you learnt what true friendship was.

Your parents came to know König very quickly, as his family came to know you.

You both walked home together every day, memorising the paths to each other’s houses “In case aliens invade and I need to find you!” as König justified his vested interest.

The first time he visited your house was like visiting another country.

You were much different at home than you were at school.

For one, you were more vibrant, more prone to voicing your opinions rather than keeping quiet.

And König found this quality to spark something in him.

The fact that he had gotten to know this side of you while no-one else had felt like an accomplishment.

Whenever you had anything to say, he was listening.

Regardless of how menial it was, how borderline unexplainable or just plain complex, König tried to make sense of it every time.

The two of you would spend every waking moment together, never apart for a second save for sleeping and the singular day of the week when your family would take you away somewhere; and even then, König was often invited to go along.

You had sleepovers as often as you could manage, exchanging stories like currency in a continent where only you and König lived.

König’s favourite to recite was Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart, which, the first time he relayed it to you, had you peeking out from beneath your bed sheets, shivering.

That night, as König tried to sleep, he heard you whisper his name in the dark.

He spared no hesitation as he answered.

“König,” you said. “Will you…” your tiny voice barely permeated the suffocating dark.

“Will you sleep next to me ?”

König froze, then, as understanding gripped him, he thawed.

He clambered out from his sleeping bag and onto your bed, unsure of where to look or what to do once he got there.

He rested his arms above the sheets and stared up into the abyssal ceiling, hearing your breathing next to him.

You shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his front.

König became a corpse.

He stiffened, his breathing stopped, and he dared not move a muscle for fear of doing something wrong.

“Thank you,” you said. König could feel your smile against the fabric of his shirt.

"Goodnight, König,” you whispered, your face buried into him as it had been the day he confronted your bullies.

Swallowing thickly, and, sliding an arm around you, König shot a reply into the darkness.

“Goognight, (Y/N).”

After that night, König began to feel…different where you were concerned.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it would hit him whenever his mind drifted back to you, which he found himself doing much more often than he already did.

Considering you were his only friend, you already occupied a good portion.

König always shelved the feeling, promising to try and make sense of it later.

Later, later.

He tested his tolerance for physical contact again one day when you were both walking home.

He’d calculated what he was going to say, to do, and, taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand in his.

His palm was sweaty, the anticipation of this action weighing on him all day.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you – to see your reaction.

His heart spasmed.

With nothing to say, to rebuke, you just smiled and squeezed König’s hand.

He felt a weight fall from his shoulders, the sky clearing, his face heating with that feeling of butterflies rather than crushing doom.

You would walk hand-in-hand everywhere you went after that.

Eventually, when all the stories you each had to offer were spent, you found another way of amusing yourselves – of remaining connected regardless of how far away the other was.

The Bestie Bible.

A scrapbook, patchwork, Frankenstein’s novel of shared memories, diary entries; testaments of the people you were.

The book would be passed between you each week; a ‘safer’ alternative to sending letters where your parents were concerned.

An encyclopaedia of your lives right at your fingertips.

You got to know things about König that not even his own family knew, details that he was too shy to tell you, causing him to write them to you instead.

Like his hopes to become a ‘protector’ when he got older.

Little did you know, he wanted to do it for you – to protect you.

That part, he kept to himself.

And vice versa, König got to learn of your life, too; everything from your second favourite colour, bands you were into at the time, your favourite foods, shows - anything.

And he’d feverishly consume your every entry, committing them to memory.

Bible verses.

Whenever he was with you, he felt as if his whole world got brighter, that he could see a clear future with you and him in it.

And that feeling would always come with you. That damned feeling.

It only strengthened the older he became, heating his cheeks and knotting his words in his mouth.

And he’d shelve it, every time.

Because his time with you was precious.

That much was innate; he just knew.

He didn’t have time to understand, only to enjoy.

You celebrated birthdays together.

Every year, without fail, König would buy you a present that remained as timeless as your friendship.

And you’d always thank him the same way; a bone-crushing hug, a squealing “Thank you!”, and a lifetime of gratitude.

That, and one birthday, you kissed his cheek, sending him bright red, making both your families point and coo and stare.

A social nightmare for König, one which you rescued him from by finding a table to hide beneath and sit with him.

You apologised. He told you that you’d done nothing wrong.

You didn’t kiss him again after that.

Which, little did you know, evoked something from within König that was stronger, more potent, poignant, than the feeling he’d felt before. Its predecessors.

At what point König stopped seeing you as just friends was clear to him, yet the shift in his behaviour was subtle enough to be a snake hidden in the grass, a knife slipped between the mattresses – the ribs.

Or, perhaps he had always been that way. Completely and unequivocally in love with you and simply unaware of it.

Or, as close to love as one as young as him could interpret his feelings to be.

But that didn’t mean he understood what he was feeling.

It was light yet strong, a great army pounding on the walls of an even greater empire. A takeover.

He’d lay in bed most nights, hands clasped over his racing heart, as he thought of you, your smile, your everything, and he’d hope beyond hope, pray beyond heaven, that this feeling would last forever.

At first, he’d condemned it, and while he continued to shelve it, he couldn’t deny the butterflies you made him feel.

The warm jitters you’d give him whenever you’d hold him.

One day, sat in the tunnel of your favourite slide, in the local park you and König had claimed as “ours”, you sat together, waiting for your mothers to pick you up. König sat close beside you, almost fused to your side.

His hands shook in his lap, his gaze drifting to yours in a similar position, just lacking the jitters.

He wished he could be calm like you, to not be plagued with the mental anguish that he was born with.

He’d rehearsed this many times the night before, speaking with himself in the mirror – the only person aside from you he felt comfortable talking with – and prepared himself.

He took a deep breath, and before he could think about what he was doing, took your hand in his.

König waited a second, then two, before looking to you and gauging your reaction.

You didn’t even flinch, instead looking back at him with a small smile.

You squeezed his hand as you had done many times before.

So why did this time feel so different?

“What’s wrong, König ?” you said, tilting your head.

Wrong wasn’t even a word when König was with you.

König stifled the urge to withdraw, to retreat to his bedroom and hide beneath the covers of his bed until the day melted away and began anew, wiping your memory of this ever having happened.

But, again, König ignored the impulse.

He breathed deeply, hoping you wouldn’t notice as he tried in vain to placate his racing heart.

“Do you–” he swallowed, looking away, into the skyline of the fading sun, a sun set, then returning to you.

“D’youwannakiss?”

It came out so fast that even König had a hard time understanding what he was saying.

Your eyebrows crumpled, and you looked down in thought.

König’s heart stopped.

Had he said something wrong ? Had he offended you?

He thought his body would just seize up and release his soul to the heavens right then and there.

You turned to face him, your previous expression dissolving.

“König, we’re twelve. We don’t know how.”

It took König a second to understand what was happening until, yes, of course, the answer came to him.

Come to think of it, he’d only just realised.

His, and your, only knowledge of what ‘kissing’ was was something that people did when they loved each other.

He knew he loved you, though he knew the love he felt for you was different from the love he felt for his parents, or other family members.

He was rather sparse on the friend front, so he had little to compare you with there.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and, thinking, found a solution.

He said nothing as he placed his forehead to yours.

You seemed confused for a minute, before you understood and applied equal force, your forehead resting against König’s.

And you stayed that way. Just you and König sat in a kaleidoscope of childhood with your heads pressed together; two halves of an arch way, one side meaningless without the other.

Act 2

Your childhoods came and went, a flambaic fanfare of hopes, dreams, and cartoons. And your teen years gave way to feelings you’d never felt before.

And throughout it all, König was at your side.

Even now as he shot up in height, you lagging behind in that same department compared to him, he would gladly bend the knee to take your hand in his.

As was the case on your first day of high school, where you and König hurried down winding, identical corridors that you could only ever have hoped to be liminal; too many people existed here for them to be so.

Eventually, you found your classroom, miraculously having an identical timetable – at least for now.

And as you sat beside each other, your knee bouncing, watching the students filter in, König squeezed your hand in his, casting you a small, quivering, nervous smile.

Your shared anxieties would continue on from this day forth, solidifying as, just as you had been in elementary, you and König seldom spoke to anyone outside your duo, having created an impenetrable wall through which nobody could enter and neither of you could leave.

Your habits from elementary continued on, too; you both completed homework together, you had sleepovers, you continued the Bestie Bible.

But something was…amiss.

This feeling, this loss of something, grew as you did, and by your early teen years, you realised what it was.

It was around every corner, at every block of lockers, leaned against them, gazing into the eyes of the most wanted.

Love.

Sure, you knew what love was, hypothetically. You could identify it on paper, sense it between two people you’d never even met. But you never felt it.

Not the kind that you observed, anyway.

Perhaps it was your young curiosity.

Perhaps it was simply a longing for something new.

But you wanted to feel what everyone else seemed to feel.

What on-screen heroes and heroines so easily attained.

And thus began your pursuit of that which would be your downfall.

Your gaze would begin to linger more on boys in your classes who you could see yourself liking.

Prospectors, you called them to König.

Your first mistake had been ever trying to like someone in the first place.

At your sleepovers, your homework and study sessions, your park wanders, you’d spill your heart to König.

Just not in the way he wanted you to.

You’d tell him of guys you thought you may, perhaps, just a little bit, be interested in.

The first time you told König, he almost laughed.

He cast you a doubtful look, only to unfurrow his brows, unhook the smiling corners of his lips when he found you to be dead serious.

That night, König went to bed with what you could characterise as indigestion of the heart.

What you’d said didn’t sit right with him. Stirred a storm in his chest.

And he hadn’t even interpreted your words correctly.

He thought you just wanted to be friends with other people.

More people.

The idea made him anxious, made his nerves light with doubt.

And he calmed himself, looking upon your Bestie Bible, reminding himself that your friendship was God, stronger than all the forces that kept the earth together.

Or so he believed.

One evening, weeks later, during one of your routine visits, König sensed a shift in you.

You were quieter, almost as if you had clouds drifting around your crown.

Over time, as your desire to experience more, do more, grew stronger, your gaze began to wander to your classmates.

One in particular.

Just some boy, really nothing objectively noteworthy about him at all, save for perhaps his kindness, his wit, and another benign personality trait you could romanticise.

Initially, you thought little of him.

But as the weeks crawled by, and you had extra time in your classes to simply retreat elsewhere, into another world, he would be there, smiling, waving.

And you would speak with him, imagine what his opinions would be, what his voice would sound like up-close.

Fleeting instances of a desire for friendship.

That’s what you thought they were.

What else could they be ?

Meanwhile, you and König still shared as much time together as you could, even when school was becoming troublesome. Difficult.

You’d study together, have sleepovers, write in your Bestie Bible and exchange it like a letter, a story almost as old as you were.

Whenever you’d fall asleep, König would watch you, unabashed and unfettered.

An identical habit to that he’d created during childhood, with a similar goal in mind; to protect you.

Though, that was not his only motivation now.

König would watch you, watch over you, and look for as long as he liked upon your sleeping features.

And, as he advanced into his later teen years, he couldn’t deny that he found you to be very attractive.

Anyone with eyes and common sense would !

He always found his heart stuttering, his breath catching, his body heating at every docile gesture you made.

Not that you knew this, of course.

He’d studied, learnt enough from watching failed couples and friendships in school to see where mistakes were made – where friendships ended due to another’s impatience. Lack of restraint.

He made sure to avoid them at all costs.

And so he fed from you as you slept, unawares, your vulnerable state further motivation for him to protect you.

From what ?

He didn’t quite know yet.

But he held an answer, and it hung in his mind, a constant.

Everything.

During your study sessions, König began to notice that your attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Let me rephrase that; he’d noticed weeks ago that you seemed taken with something, but König couldn’t tell what.

He’d studied your Bible many times over, trying to find something indicative of your newfound interest.

And yet, nothing struck him.

Nothing new, at least.

And now, sitting here with you, König grilled you. Politely, with enough characteristic fragility in his tone that made him sound endearing enough to be spared any wrath you’d think to impart on him.

“Nothing’s wrong, Köni,” you assured him, smiling.

Your words were clear, but your eyes held a dream in them, a haze which settled over them like clouds before the moon.

König’s eyebrow raised, and, with a playful lilt, pressed further.

“That’s not true,” he said. He put his pen down and rested his hands upon the table.

“Something’s occupying your mind – I can see it.” He took a shallow breath, trying to keep his mouth stretching into a smile for as long as he could.

The fact that he didn’t know what was causing you to be this way killed him.

He recognised it in you, much as he recognised it in himself.

Love.

Or the infantile beginnings of it.

And yet he knew not from what it was borne.

You shrugged him off again, smiling, returning to your work.

“Really, König, it’s nothing !” You made mindless markings on your paper. “Now come on, drop it. We have a history test tomorrow.”

That night, König couldn’t convince you to stay over.

You both knew the evening would drag on ‘til the early hours of the morn, and neither of you wanted to fail this test.

As König embraced you, his giant form eclipsing yours, he saw the back of your bag unzipped.

He knew exactly how many seconds he had until you’d pull away.

Without a sound, he slipped his hand inside and withdrew the paper you’d been scribbling on earlier.

For once, he withdrew first, though it pained him to do so.

That night, he looked upon the paper.

There was little he could decipher from the obsolete doodles and scribbles, but something did stand out to him.

A name.

Nothing more.

The name of a boy.

It was given neither ceremony, nor decoration, simply slapped onto the paper as if it belonged there.

Looking at it made bile churn in his stomach, so he folded it, tucked it away somewhere he didn’t have to think about it.

The next day, it was his turn to receive the Bible, his makeshift friend, to give a near-identical account of experiences as you.

Given how you were both attached at the hip, there was little fluctuation in your day-to-day encounters.

In all honesty, he’d hoped that whatever had been plaguing you last night would emerge in the pages of that book, somewhere between the Frankenstein’s monster pages of glitter and brightly-coloured card paper and receipts from shops that exposed a most ambitious fashion sense.

And, like an answer from God, it did.

Laying in bed, leafing through the shared history book you and König shared, he sought your latest entries.

His heart burned as he discovered them, and, enthusiasm unmatched, he consumed every word.

He’d initially suspected that perhaps you’d taken up a new hobby, was maybe, in even a miniscule capacity, planning a gift for him, what with all your secrecy and all.

But König could read you like the book in his hands, and though he wanted to believe anything that crossed his mind, he knew any answer he came up with wouldn’t be the right one.

He truly had no way of knowing what was making you tick.

And then, he saw it.

A needle in a haystack; a whimpering puppy in a darkened alleyway.

A name.

A confession.

König’s body seized, his heart palpitating, his mind beginning to burn.

His throat tightened, and his stomach clamped shut, causing an immediate sickness to shoot through every nerve in his body.

The corners of his vision darkened, as if a cloud – or the cape of a villain – had settled over him.

And for a second, König thought that this was death.

There, in your handwriting, your letters, your words, was the cause of your distractment.

‘I like someone,’ you said, and König heard your voice in his ears, his head, as if you were speaking these words to him now, tearing his heart out now. ‘A boy from our class – the one who sits at the front, with the vintage biker jacket.’

König’s mind acted of its own accord, searching every frame of memory from the beginning of your school career to now to find the perpetrator.

All the while, König’s throat stung, the antiseptic truth bleaching, purging, the hope that had grown there over the years, a feeling which had persevered above all others.

The tightness in his chest gave way to a smouldering, burning, second death, the peeling of his heart in two, acid poured into the separate halves to be drunk by you, disintegrating the cumulative joy he’d felt there. Once.

The pages of the book tore in König’s hands, his grip on the edges enough to give the impression of a seizure, or some primal, uncontrolled bodily spasm.

The searing behind his eyes gave way to tears, an onslaught that choked him, choked him as the fiery clump in his throat burst into a sob.

König threw the book aside, feeling minimal relief from having done so, instead simply discarding the cross from his Hell-skin.

It hit something, unknown damage being done.

It would not compare to the damage done to König.

His hands clawed at his chest, pounding against the skin as if to search for the stolen heart beneath.

No words could, or would, leave König, no language of anguish or despair elaborate, violent, or loud enough to express what he felt.

On his knees now, König keeled over himself, compacting his large frame to a ball, as if to disappear entirely.

His mouth hung open, moulded to The Scream’s tune of horror, saliva stringing from within and onto the sheets.

He sobbed, convulsed, the same, nerve-frying stress that turned one’s hair white crushing him.

He knew now.

He knew what that feeling was, all those years ago, as another, younger version of himself lay in the same bed he wept on now, the agony his older self was benign subject to unseen by him, merely a pin-prick in the fabric of the universe, a bout of sadness, brief and fleeting, the desire to mourn, if only for a second, yet not knowing what for.

That feeling he’d felt…

It was love.

In all her most glorious, radiant terms, what he’d felt since the beginnings of your friendship, to the tumour it had developed into now, malignant and all-consuming, was love.

König wanted to part from it. To tear its parasitic tendrils from his mind and erase it so thoroughly from the universe that none should ever know it again, not its name, nor its face. Neither its feeling.

König’s face, pressed into the sheets to stifle his cries, to block out external stimulus, was scrunched in a portrait of terror, mid-scream, mid-death.

Eternities passed. The infernal suffering encapsulating König in its current made him break out into sweats, soaked his shirt and his body.

Through the dense thicket of heartbreak, König saw a thinning of trees, a glimmer peeking between distant gaps.

He searched for it, sought it, followed it blindly – anywhere but to be here.

An idea was brewing. A dangerous one.

König fled to the treeline, tangling in the vegetation and clawing his way free, sacrificing whatever material sentimentality he had to propel himself to freedom.

Body shaking, trembling, König threw himself into the light.

He shot up from the sheets, still clutching his spectral heart in his hands, breathing heavily, panting.

The idea settled, nestled in the forefront of his mind, incubated and basking in his attention.

König’s eyes darted from one dark corner of his room to the other, only the lamp by his bedside enough to fend off the monsters.

That, and the demon which sat upon his shoulders, bringing with it a weight which did not crush König, but grounded him, anchored and committed him to the plan festering in his mind.

If I can’t have you, he said to his two selves, the spirit of his innocence watching helpless and fraying from the sidelines.

Then nobody can.

Every time you returned with your findings, of guys you thought were nice, of those whose personalities you analysed and decided would be optimum for your first relationship, König felt his blood start to simmer.

Anything to get you away from those Prospectors.

You were slipping away from him.

He knew it.

Especially when you started liking that guy.

König never bothered to learn his name – not properly. Even after he’d seen it square on your research paper like it was printed there intentionally.

And besides, it seemed to please you greatly whenever he’d get his name wrong, making you laugh.

Every night whenever you and König lay parallel, one on the floor and one on the bed depending on whose house you were staying at – since when did you stop sharing a bed…? – all you could seem to talk about was this feeling your whatever-he-was gave you.

And König listened, albeit unwillingly.

Though, even as he lay, fists clenched beneath the bed covers, his ears would prick as you relinquished something new, something palpable, taintable, to him.

Like how he drove a car, how he was an athlete, how he was tall – “Not nearly as tall as you, though, Köni~” – and how he’d be taking you to the school dance.

König felt his heart seize.

Oh no.

That wasn’t right.

Everything faded into white noise after that, König’s head burning with a thousand ways to separate you and your “crush”; how to remove him from your portrait and replace him with König.

But, having been willfully confined to the incredibly small circle that was only you and König, your social skills left… a lot to be desired. Made it easier for König to keep a closer eye on you without you flitting off to your other ‘friends’.

And whereas König never even thought about trying to alleviate his affliction, the “curing” of yours was all you ever thought about.

Each night, as you lay in bed, you dreamt of another you who was unafraid of public speaking, of private speaking. Of interacting in even the most broad or minimal of capacities.

Of talking to him.

And whenever you’d wake from those dreams, your chest puffed with the remnant confidence your alternate self gave you a sample of, it would deflate, crumble into ash the second you set foot over the threshold of the classroom.

People casting you a passing glance, the close proximity to others in a packed classroom…

It shot you straight back to square one.

And each time, you’d sit beside König, shoulders slumped, hands clasped in your lap, eyes devoid of any semblance of hope.

König wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that look was.

He’d encountered it many times in his youth before he’d grown comfortable with the uncomfortable; laid to rest his desire to remove the enemy and instead just live with it – anything for an easy life.

But with you…it was different.

He could tell.

And as he watched your mind become filled with calculus and angles and the dates of histories that barely sounded factual, something, a wicked little thought, crossed his mind.

You were going to be difficult to break.

The idea cracked in his mind’s eye, a flash of lightning against the clouds.

It shocked him, made his heart stammer.

He wondered where it had come from, and he glanced over his shoulder, as if to find the person who had put it there.

When the blazing cold panic fizzled out, calmed and quelled, he gave a glance to the thought, which hovered just out of reach; a legendary sword – antagonist – with not enough room in the inventory to keep.

And so König cast it into the Memory Pit, to die and to fade, while he returned to the lesson.

But it never left him.

It clung to the sharpened cliff edge, giving way to a bottomless pit.

The wright remained the day after. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Weeks passed, and König continued as normal.

Normal to you, at least.

He had another set of eyes now, up above him, behind him, wherever he needed them.

His intuition sharpened, a cat in all but disposition, as he discerned the most miniscule of gestures in the most benign of people.

All excluding you, of course.

Knowing what he did now, König could see what you were thinking and when, especially whenever your attention turned to the boy at the front of the class with the decrepit cyclist’s jacket.

One time, you’d actually gone up and spoken to him, coincidentally on the one day König was off school ill.

Beginning a dark descent into something you couldn’t even fathom as of yet.

A ‘secret’ friendship that, when you’d tell König of it, excited and overjoyed at your progress, his face soured, his mood darkening.

And yet his demeanour remained unchanged.

König had pretended not to have seen your entry, pretended not to have actually had the book at all, but to suggest that someone may have stolen it, or that it had been thrown out when his parents were cleaning his room.

You found it difficult to believe, but what other alternative was there?

Trust your best friend or the possibility of pure, freak chance?

You chose the latter.

König neve let you out of his sight for a second.

Whereas he could trust you before, to handle yourself, to be loyal to his friendship, he could no longer.

Even when you were separated by timetable differences, he still had eyes on you.

A well-timed bathroom break, the revelation that he’d left his textbook in his locker – anything to slip out of his classroom and glide past yours, his eyes on you all the while.

Even if you’d caught him, you’d have assumed he was simply being humorous, as all friends were, or, again, pure chance.

He’d work harder than all other students, earn the teachers’ praise and trust, all to worm his way out the classroom a few minutes early to ensure he could pick you up from your class whenever you were separated.

In the corridors together, König would watch your line of sight carefully.

He’d see who you were looking at, who was looking at you.

Luckily, he never had to do much to deter others from interacting with you.

His rapidly growing height did that for him.

By his mid-teens, König towered above everyone else, giving an unsuspecting you scary dog privileges, and giving everyone else a heart attack when they caught sight of the well-dressed Austrian constantly at your side.

Given his stature, König could cast rotten looks to those who seemed even marginally interested in you, completely unbeknownst to you.

And besides, you wouldn’t believe anyone who told you as much.

König, the shy, quiet, socially anxious boy shooting daggers at another student ? Preposterous !

With this crush of yours, König already had enough to deal with. He wasn’t about to relinquish you to the throws of another person’s friendship as you seemed to already have done with your heart.

The one person König could never seem to do away with was your crush.

He truly was fearless. Or arrogant. Or braindead.

Not that you knew, but König would catch his eye in the hallways, see him stare at you for a moment before the reaper beside you caught his eye.

He looked away, and König hoped that was the end of it.

It was not.

The boy would look at you again.

A feat not yet coined by any.

Except for him.

König knew he was losing you.

Or, losing what part of you was meant to be his.

And so he brought you to where you’d frequent as children, where you scarcely came to now ever since life had become so much more complicated.

The playground was desolate and empty, void of distractions save for the equipment – rides – which seemed too small for you now.

That didn’t stop you from trying to squeeze down the straw-thin slide, though, or into the seats of the roundabout.

König only watched, knowing he wouldn’t even have a chance of fitting like you would.

His palms were sweating, the script he’d rehearsed laying in some crevice in his room, ink smudged with anxiety and sweat.

König clambered up onto a climbing frame, the one which you had occupied when you ‘kissed’ for the first time.

The memory warmed König’s cheeks. But he couldn’t lose focus now.

He called you over, his voice deeper than it had been then, all those years ago.

And you came, bounding over to him, a labrador or a kitten.

You clambered the frame and came to sit with him.

He offered you his hand. Wordless. Intentionless.

(Or so he would seem).

And, wordless, equally intentionless, you faltered, just for a moment, then took it.

He pulled you into the tunnel, the tube wide enough to support König’s staggering height.

Comfort wasn’t the goal here; not for him, at least.

You fit perfectly, a perfect, perfect, perfect specimen as ever in König’s eyes.

That word reverberated in König’s soul, the only sublime measure capable of describing you in your purest form.

Now, hand-in, hand, you and König sat in silence.

Geese called somewhere in the distance, flying through the sunset gates in the sky to a land unknown, collecting passengers on their non-stop express to salvation.

The wind blew the trees as night began its slow descent, ink hands reaching down from the top of the canvas to transform this half of the world into its playground.

Much like the one you and König inhabited.

König looked down at your conjoined hands.

He ran his thumb across the back of yours, your knuckles.

He saw – felt – you wince, flinch. The beginnings of doubt, of retreat.

He knew he had to be quick.

The crippling anxiety that had shadowed from childhood sat with you in that tube now, your Venus, your evil twin.

It was you, who spat at him, at his attempts, and fed him tales of rejection and deceit, of your loyalty to that boy instead of him.

And yet here you sat, eyes wide as ever, curious and ambient, an ocean of possibilities.

The demon on König’s shoulders growled, its claws taking König’s heart in its clutches, knives to your feather-touch, and squeezed it.

König gave a cavernous, inward sigh and returned to you.

It’s now or never.

“(Y/N),” he said, timid, lamb.

He tried looking into your eyes. Peering into them as if they were the future.

You leaned in, swearing you could hear his voice twice.

One which spoke the truth, one which spoke a darker truth.

You listened for your friend’s tone.

“Yes, Köni ?”

God, that nickname.

As old as König himself.

Stay focused.

König swallowed. His throat prickled.

An oncoming sickness. A nestled affliction.

Lovesick.

“Do you remember…when we were kids – and we…”

He faltered. His gaze dropped.

Keep going !

He cleared his throat again.

Your hand lay limp in his.

”And we…we did that…thing?”

Your head tilted and your gaze flew to the sky in remembrance.

Your nose scrunched.

“König…that doesn’t particularly narrow it down,” you laughed, returning from the Heavens to him once again

König swallowed, thickly. He gave a wavering chuckle that barely reached his chest.

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, only to mortify himself when he found sweat collating there. Colony.

He slapped it back down on his thigh, desperately, discreetly, trying to wipe the sweat off.

He returned. Head above water, bobbing.

“I– what I’m trying to say…is…”

He shuffled closer. You mirrored him, ear-first, trying to catch his words, butterflies in a net.

“What I want to say is…”

He looked at you, dead in the eyes.

He was partially hunched, giving his tilted face a menacing, sharp look.

It almost took you aback.

His free hand, puppeteered by his demon, snaked past your body, fingers crocheting through your strands. Fusing you to him.

Your breath hitched, your guard defiled, as he placed his hand firmly there, the cold tips harsh against the warmth of your scalp.

“König–” you said, as if trying to identify the person in front of you.

König – or what he was now – didn’t listen.

He pulled your head closer, braced your hand in his.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your nerves beginning to spark with…something.

You didn’t know what it was, but you knew you’d never felt it with König before.

You couldn’t place it, tried as you may.

It was only when König’s forehead kissed yours, his skin scorching, his eyes puppy-like and pure, that you found the answer.

It was the same feeling you felt for the boy with the vintage biker jacket.

You felt frozen, breath stilted, thinned with revelation.

And, with your forehead to König’s, a mirror image of the past, you were flooded with an ocean and all its creatures.

Confusion, apprehension, affection, and…disgust.

You’d never viewed König like that, not once.

And even now, it made you uncomfortable to feel this way.

And so, with the vigour of one escaping a trap, your eyes squeezed shut and tore yourself away, past König’s grip, his hold, and landing a foot or two away.

The umbilical cord, his hand in yours, was cut.

Your body felt cold, a phantom gust of wind prickling the skin, your heart.

König looked at you with wide eyes, pleading eyes, and a hole in his chest.

You looked upon each other, trying to find an answer, trying to see what the other would do.

Swallowing, breathing uneven, you crawled out from the tunnel, not looking back at König as he all but whimpered in your absence, eyes stinging, throat singing. A familiar condition settled upon him.

A paroxysm of his loving sickness, seeping deeper into his veins when you’d done your part in trying to uproot them.

Neither of you spoke about the incident after that.

It took a week of wavering smiles and faltering waves, of a wince or a jump when one of you spoke to the other, for you to eventually put it behind you.

Even with your minimal experience in Romantics, you knew something about the way König held you was different from every time before.

Or, maybe, you had only just awoken to the fact that such intent lay in all his actions towards you.

You tried not to think about it.

And besides, it made no sense to.

Since your crush had asked you to the school dance !

You’d made an effort to conceal that information from König, but he was fluent in the language that was you, and all its most obscure dialects.

You knew he’d figure it out sooner or later, whether you told him or some Rogue of Fate did.

But you wanted to live in this bubble of possibility for a bit longer.

Sure, you didn’t know your crush to a degree that you could call him as close a friends as König, but you’d done something to make him want you.

Your heart soared, chest swelled, the pit of pride held within.

And you waited.

And waited.

Your face grew sourer over time, the dripping of wax work, as realisation crossed your mind.

You didn’t want it.

This ivy – creeping – dread lacing around your heart, chains.

You felt your eyes kindle the embers of tears, your shoulders lowering yet remaining rigid, deflating.

And you jumped as a hand found your shoulder.

You knew who it was.

You could feel his fingerprints against your skin. Distinct as he was.

You turned, a sliver of relief finding you, nesting between the cracks in your chest as you set your eyes upon him.

He wore a dark suit, altered in the sleeves and legs to accommodate his height.

He’d gelled his hair to appear as one would in a romance film. At least, that was what you thought.

The very incarnation of a classic heartthrob.

Just for a second did your mind dare to tell you that this situation would not have happened if König had taken you to the dance.

The thought left you as you faced him fully, your hand coming atop his.

You squeezed it.

“Here all by your lonesome?” König said, voice low, a hint of humour within it, just short of malice.

You nodded. Dropped your head.

You went to talk, to say whatever came to your mind, when your voice gave way to tears.

König didn’t even flinch, even as your grip on his hand tightened.

Instead, he offered himself to you, bringing you close to him by your waist and holding you to his shoulder.

Bystanders would give a glance and König would give them death in a stare, and they quickly turned away.

The material of König’s jacket felt lavish, a far cry from the polyester of the other boys’ outfits.

You couldn’t place it. Not as your head panged with an oncoming headache and your heart burst with a reddening ocean, fire beginning to spark at the edges, boiling it.

You couldn’t help but go over every interaction you’d ever had with your crush, analysing it, scanning it, identifying any and every discrepancy that could have caused him to leave you this night.

And each time, your heart was heir to the shocks and bolts of despair, a palpable, gaseous substance that burned each time you inhaled, each time you thought

And as he held you, felt you shudder, quiver, into his shoulder the weight of your rejection bearing down on you, a far greater weight rested on his.

His demon sat there, smiling, grinning, the ghost of god.

He already had you flush against him, two cards packed tightly into the same pack.

“What’s wrong, Engel?” he said, softly, quietly. He rubbed your back, squeezed you.

“I am certain that whatever has you so upset is not worth your tears.”

And that just made you want to cry more.

The fact that König always knew what to say and when made the doubt from before – the regret – materialise.

König wouldn’t have done this to you. He wouldn’t have even thought about it.

“Come now, (Y/N),” he moved, his hand on your shoulder trailing the length of your arm and taking your hand.

You made no attempt to move.

He sighed, though you knew it was not of frustration. It was…something else.

König went still, then, his arm from your waist disappeared.

You nuzzled closer, an unconscious practice, as cold air hit your back.

“Listen !” he said, enthusiasm uncharacteristic of this situation laced in his tone.

You risked a glance, sniffing as you looked up at König.

He had a hand cupped over his ear, a makeshift megaphone. His gaze was occupied elsewhere, over your head.

“Do you hear that ?” he said.

Your chest stuttered with the remnants of your upset, and you strained to cease, to hear.

Music drifted over the sound of both idle and excited chatter, of the hazy, dusty, dusky layer of first love that had encompassed all.

All except you, it seemed.

You nodded into König’s chest, giving a cracked hum.

He finally looked down at you, both hands coming to yours.

He held them. Squeezed them once.

“It would be a waste for this song to go unremembered,” he said.

You gave a smile, strong as you could, yet it still turned out watery. Incomplete.

Something about König was…different.

You couldn’t quite tell what it was, but you knew you’d never seen it before.

His vehement denial of attending events such as these in the past had led you to the assumption he’d have stayed well away.

Now, you were glad he hadn’t.

Still, the prospect of König even existing in a roomful of people, nevermind being watched by them, stunned you to the extent that you were sure it usually would have König.

You gave a short nod, and offering you his arm, you rested your hand upon it.

That night, König kept you close to him, sheltering you from everything.

When you were at your lowest, he brought you cake and a drink, watched over you as you tried to make sense of it all.

Then, he encouraged you, slowly, softly, to dance a few steps with him.

It started with him taking your hand and pulling you, like rope, up from your chair.

You resisted, initially, terribly invested in the comfort and protection of the corner you’d both taken up.

You felt as if everyone else knew of your predicament – like they were aware of your suffering.

Were somehow party and privy to it.

It took König’s reassurances, his placating tone as he promised he’d “Let nothing happen to you,” and “you’re safe with me, Little One,”

And, on your knees, with nothing else filling your head save for the crushing defeat of a love you hadn’t even had chance to know, König was your only salvation.

At first, dancing was the last thing you wanted to do – especially when it was what you were planning on doing with the person who had ripped your confidence out.

Other couples melted into the atmosphere, the ambience, becoming the backdrop to this milestone in your life, making the experience feel somewhat…less lonesome.

That, and the gentle grasp König had on you.

He was particularly agile as he kept you both in time with the music, setting a gliding rhythm and spinning you in his arms.

Initially, he was slow, despite the upbeat music not permitting such.

It shocked you how little König cared about the million ways he himself would have identified his actions as making him ‘stick out like a sore thumb’.

And yet, his confidence reassured you.

Created a buffer between you and the rest of the world.

Though the sting of rejection followed you from each scene of this tragedy, its bite dulled, grained and blunted by the sheets of film placed over it, filled instead with the growing phantom of König, and you.

Little did you know that, inside, König was dying.

This place, this event, was a composite of all his worst nightmares, you being stolen from him included.

But, he knew that if he were not to face his demons – at least the ones that held him back – tonight, he’d lose you forever.

A sacrifice he’d make any day.

He only hoped you wouldn’t hear the clattering of his heart, feel it amid the plush layers of his suit.

Amidst the streamers and music and sticky scent of perfume and the slice of cologne filling the air made your mind hazy.

The music slowed the deeper into the night it became.

You swayed with König, your head against his shoulder, eyes shut. A glint of the dimming, pink lights reflecting against the disco ball pierced your eyelid, making you squeeze your eyes tightly, rub your face into the confines of König’s jacket.

He resisted the urge to let out a yell of victory.

The evening was drawing to a close, and König knew that, now, he had you.

Both mentally and physically.

He knew how untrusting you’d be towards your crush if you ever saw him again – if he ever dared to exist near you again.

And he knew how likely you were to take things like this – no matter how minimal the inconvenience – to heart.

König rested his chin atop your head. And, when you didn’t move, not one muscle, he relaxed onto you.

His mind and body had been a firework of nerves all day, waiting for even a second of doubt to cross your eyes, or your crush to come staggering out of the bin König had hidden him in.

But, here he was, the person he loved most in all the world with him and him alone.

Yet, despite his victory, he knew he couldn’t have you fully.

Not yet.

While no longer children, you both still had a considerable amount of time to change your minds, your mindsets, and so acting now while your life would be at its most volatile would be a wasted opportunity. A dangerous opportunity.

No, König knew when he had to act.

For now, he would abstain, take to your hand holding and secret sharing and forehead kissing until, one day, your eyes would open as his were, see the world with him as he did with you.

Pink. Rose-tinted as the very hall you occupied.

Act 3

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

If anything, it grew more palpable, yet not stronger.

It was already at its most imposing height, its final form, as König thought it.

The demon on his shoulders had retired to the corners of his mind since Prom night, surveilling everyone and everything that it thought a threat to your relationship with König.

And all the while, König kept it concealed from you.

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

You both ended up moving within close proximity to each other, though, given his occupation (which you’d vehemently warned and even denied him of doing) kept him away for many months of the year.

Resultingly, König could think of no-one better to guard his house and all its worldly possessions than you.

“What’s mine is yours,” he told you, handing you your very own set of keys.

“So you’ll see no point in stealing my shirts again.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! I was cold and it was just there !”

“Just say you missed me and save us both the effort.”

But seriously though, König almost died the first time he saw you in one of his shirts.

He leaves them strewn about in easy-to-reach places in the hopes that, one evening, he’ll come home and see you bundled up on the sofa, wrapped in one.

He gets a little frisky when he sees you in them.

First time, he thought you were adorable, pint-sized in his clothing.

And then, once the initial shock had worn off, his mind began to wander to…places.

He himself was rather taken aback by the ferocity of these fantasies, now breaking through the surface of his dignity to plague him.

He knows you have a preference for one of his hoodies, and he’s seen you wear it enough times to know that your birthday present this year was going to be very easy to choose.

He could have wept for the joy that spread across your face when he gifted you the hoodie, watching you wriggle into it before the wrapping paper had chance to fall to the ground.

He had to excuse himself to the bathroom soon after, though.

You honestly spent as much time at König’s as you did at your own home.

Watering his plants, dusting the shelves, cleaning before he returned home; König found it all to be quite domestic.

Especially whenever he was ill and you were always there to make him feel better.

Like one time, when he was hit with a  particularly bad cold, and was bed-ridden for three days.

You came and cared for him, cooked for him, catered to his every need with neither hesitation, nor complaint.

During his delirium, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you around like this all the time – to have you as his housespouse.

The thought, to König’s heavy, weary head, was particularly appealing, nigh euphoric, and when he slept he dreamt of you, serving him as you did now.

And he’d return the favour, of course.

It was in times like these that König’s mind began to…degrade, one might say.

More so than it already was.

Whether it was delusion or a sheer desire to have you, König began to try and make these scenarios a reality.

Make no mistake, he’d had similar ideas when he was younger, but now he had both the means and the time to actually do it.

And König’s mind had no qualms with exploring the darker avenues of this possibility, of the methods of how to enact it.

In the meantime, he was perfectly content with keeping you close to him while you watched films together, your head on his chest, arms wrapped around him.

“My big bear,” you called him.

And a bear to most, he was.

Ferocious and positively massive, his mere presence was enough to frighten off potential suitors.

And friends.

That, coupled with his often silent exterior made for a terrifying experience to all that were not you or the handful of allies König had.

Often, you’d call him whenever you were frightened, or anxious.

Especially if you were out in the evening.

Not that König ever left you during those hours; regardless of the time of night or day, he’d accompany you anywhere and everywhere, your shadow.

But, on the rare occasion he was kept away, you’d call him, ask him to talk to you, keep you grounded.

One evening, you’d made the mistake of not telling König you were leaving to go out, and when he woke up at some odd hour of the night to find you gone, his first, soldier instinct was to panic.

He swept the house, found you nowhere, and began calling your phone so many times it very well could have exploded.

And when you answered, voice laced with sleep and heavy without judgement, König had to resist the urge to cry out in relief.

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“Corner shop. Had to get some snacks.”

Had he not still been coming down from the panic high, König would have considered being angry.

“All right, just stay there. Don’t leave the store until I find you.”

“How do you even know which store—”

Needless to say, König was not best pleased to find you practically putting your life on the line for a bagful of crisps, a chocolate bar and…a toy fish?

“Impulse buy,” you told him.

König sighed.

“Next time, try not to act on your impulses so quickly.”

Like me, the voice told himself.

Your hand was shackled in his for the duration of the walk home.

And the whole night as you slept together.

Though, despite your blatant lac of self-awareness or judgement, König couldn’t help hut find you endearing.

The chocolate in your bag was his favourite brand, one which you couldn’t stand.

You’d gone out to do it for him.

He pulled you into his chest, practically purring as you nuzzled into his chest, enveloped completely by him.

“I’ll always protect you, Y/N,” he said, running a hand through your hair. “I promise.”

Even during those moments where you were at your most intimate, regardless of how innocent your intent.

The first instance of this, a most shocking development, occurred when you and König had visited the beach.

It was a few months before his deployment to a far-away military base to train.

The two of you, as was to be expected, wore swimsuits.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was only when you’d shed your thin jacket that König was affected.

His gaze fixed on you, unable to be torn away as he took in the silhouette of your body.

He’d never had an innate desire to see you partially, or fully undressed, even when he was at his most hormonal.

His love and appreciation for you had been based purely on you, your demeanour, your personality.

So to now see you having shed your fledgling body in return for one that was more mature, more defined, König couldn’t take it.

Sure, he’d seen people scantily clad before, though that was in magazines and shopping catalogues and movies that never quite took his fancy.

Not real life.

And they had never been you.

König felt a familiar tightness forming in his swim shorts.

He swallowed thickly, the sun suddenly too hot, the sand suddenly too sharp.

And then, you had to bring him closer to ruin.

“Köni,” you called, melodic, a tune König would fall for every time.

“Would you help put this sunscreen on my back?”

This was all moving so fast.

Sure, he’d had thoughts of being intimate with you before, but they’d only been thoughts, hallucinations, even.

And he knew they weren’t real, weren’t palpable.

Unlike this.

Hesitantly, fearing his secret would become apparent to you, he sat beside you, legs clasped together as he tried desperately to keep you oblivious to the growing issue.

He’d lathered the cream between his waiting hands, and his breath shuttering, placed them upon your skin.

You were soft. Tiny in König’s giant hands.

He’d have cursed his genetics for making him so adept at this practice – for making it pass too quickly – was he not fighting every moral and ethic he had yet to break.

You purred as his hands slid from the to the bottom of your back, your unintentional mewls destroying König’s resolve.

His hands dipped, slowly, fractionally, down your sides, close to your front, your chest.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But he knew not to risk it.

Abstain. Abstain, the voice told him.

He resisted, took in your body feverishly one last time before he got up, finished, his hulking figure blocking out the sunlight.

“Be right back,” he’d told you.

And off he sped to the nearest bathroom, where, whimpering into the jacket he’d balled over his fist and put to his mouth, he apologised over and over to you, his toes curling as he brought himself to a reluctant conclusion.

He returned soon, just as he’d said.

You smiled back at him from your shallow edge of the ocean, waving him over.

He declined, instead hiding beneath the shade of the umbrella.

He was still sensitive between his legs, as was his mind.

He wouldn’t risk compromising himself again. Not when he was so close to having you.

Or so he thought.

After that first encounter with his own beasteous appetite for you to a more…carnal degree, König had begun to indulge in some personal delights.

AKA, stealing your underwear and using it to get off during his long trips away.

And, whenever he stayed over, he’d take his opportunity to rifle through your drawers, gather intel (as he was so trained), see what new clothes you’d bought (why – and who for?).

You and König took to sharing a bed again.

Perhaps it was the false assurance of maturity that stopped you from realising – from seeing – how König felt about you.

Whenever he would come and pay you a visit, the afternoons would transform from a dusk-ridden sky to a languid black wine speckled with the universe’s offspring.

And there you and König would be, in bed together, talking for what would always be hours about anything and everything.

Much like that time in the tunnel, neither of you spoke of your time at the dance, though rather for you it was a source of hurt, whereas König, proof of conquest.

Regardless, you’d both matured, left school, and had pursued your own paths.

All while remaining as close as you had since childhood.

König’s decision to join the military had been one you’d discussed at length.

Or rather, you’d tried to convince him of staying.

He won that particular argument.

Not that he’d have let you stay mad at him, anyway.

“I can handle myself extraordinarily well, mein Maus.”

Your eyebrow quirks up.

“König, I’ve never seen you hurt a fly, nevermind a person.”

His stomach dropped when he remembered that you didn’t know about his…altercation with the boy who almost stole you from him all those years ago.

And the odd few he’d instigated whenever a potential suitor walked onto the scene.

He gets called away on business a lot, so you find other ways of communicating.

He’s not permitted to use a mobile phone since it serves as both a distraction and a vehicle for tracking, and the last thing König would do is put you in harm’s way.

Instead, you send each other letters, from addresses different to your true ones, of course.

You often send him books you know he’ll like, going through and annotating all the parts you found funny, sad, or profound.

And there was always a heartfelt note trapped within the pages, pinned to the paper in ink.

He has a limited edition copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart and a body of his other works that he keeps hidden beneath his bed.

‘Limited edition’ because you’d gone out of your way to print out each page of the book when you were just children, unable to purchase the book for both a lack of personal finances and not wanting to get König into trouble for reading such dark material.

Perhaps that had been some precursor to what your lives would become – a foreshadow over you.

The copy König had was worn, despite his best efforts to preserve it.

Dog-eared corners, blunted edges and yellowed, softened paper.

Some of the ink had scratches through the letters, faded.

And between those pages, a picture of you was held.

Each night, König would hold that photograph between his fingers, sometimes quivering with adrenaline, other times numb with the same affliction.

And, without fail, your visage brought him to sleep, to slumber, to a recreation of your domestic future that played behind his eyelids.

Your letters kept him more than excited, too.

When he’d be gone for months at a time, you’d update him on your life occurrences; birthdays, anecdotes, work complications; König lived for it all.

All, except, for one sliver of news which you’d so foolishly told König.

And, as he held your letter between his clenching, grasping, white-knuckled hands, his teeth gritted, his eyes going wide, breath billowing from his nose like steam.

You’d started to fancy someone at work.

König did something he’d never done with your letters before.

He crumpled it between his fingers, his every nerve ablaze with the need to do something, to intervene.

König knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care.

This was different from Prom; he couldn’t reach you here.

That day, König’s kill count far exceeded that of his peers, many bodies ravaged with enough stab wounds to think them sacrifices for some angry god.

His teammates seemed a little reluctant to cooperate with him this time round, and steered clear of him for the duration of the mission.

Days later, König was home.

His fury remained with him, that demon he’d harboured for so many years now emerging from the corners of his personality.

But he knew to conceal it from you – knew how to.

He arrived at your doorstep before he’d even gone home yet.

To him, you were his home.

And as you invited him inside, his mask no longer an instigator of fright to you but of your best friend, your soulmate in another life.

König took little time to settle in your living room, putting his overnight bag somewhere, all the while his mind still rubbed raw with the mission.

And you.

Seeing as he’d been gone for some months, he knew he’d need to be attentive to the way you spoke of this new ‘crush’ of yours.

I’ll crush him, all right, he said to himself.

He couldn’t be sure how serious you were about him.

How deep a threat he was.

You’d cooked König’s favourite in anticipation of his arrival, having developed something of a sixth sense when it came to his making an appearance.

And as you brought him his fresh, spare clothes from your wardrobe, König couldn’t help but let a comment slip.

“We’re like an old married couple,” he said, stitching a laugh between his words to give the illusion of jest. Of humour.

An easy deflection tactic.

You gave no indication of rejection.

No idea of disgust.

You only laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, placing König’s meal down in front of him.

“I suppose we do.”

And, as you went to pull away, König took your wrist, gently, in his hand.

He dwarfed you in every aspect, and this was no different.

But something that was different that you’d picked up was his stare.

It was deep, almost half-lidded in its demeanour.

König’s hand slipped from your wrist into yor hand, holding it, gently, like porcelain.

You squeezed his fingers.

“Something wrong, König ?” you asked, turning to give him your full attention.

He paused for a moment, then two, then three.

“No.” he said, final and certain. He let you go.

“Nothing at all.”

König began showing up to your work.

Since you stayed at each other’s houses as much as you did as children, König found it almost frighteningly easy to make you blunder.

He’d take your lunch out the fridge and hide it, only to deny ever having seen it when you searched for it in the morning.

Later that same day, König would come and pay you a visit, dropping off your lunch, claiming it to have “been in the back of the fridge. Must’ve missed it, Silly,” and he’d give you a smile.

The first few times, he’d treated your artificial oblivion to your surroundings as ‘cute’, ‘endearing’.

Then, when you began ‘misplacing’ your keys, your phone, everyday essentials, König would shoot you a concerned look.

“(Y/N), Sweetie–” he’d look in the cupboards with you, a look of concern laced into his features.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right ? You’ve been losing track of your things for quite a while now.”

At first, you could only give him quick reassurances before rushing off to work.

Rushing off to see him.

And König would remain.

Searching the house not for your lost items, but for those he could hide next.

You’d never find them again.

You’d have to get copies of your keys, a new phone – replace all the contacts you lost,

And even then, König made sure you’d have to work for the ones he didn’t want you to have.

Like His.

Eventually, three months into this plan, this scheme, König made a proposition.

He sat you down at his dining table, his hand atop yours, holding it.

He appeared genuine.

True.

“(Y/N),” he said, almost exasperatedly.

“I’m…concerned about you.”

He gave you a second to consider what he was saying, wanting to give you the illusion of verbal freedom.

When you only nodded eyebrows knitted together in mirrored concern, he inhaled deeply.

“And, considering how…” he pretended to rummage around in his mind for the right word. “Forgetful you’ve been recently…” he watched you. Tried to gauge your reaction. Something flickered behind your eyes.

Annoyance.

König began to tread carefully.

“I thought that, perhaps, just for a week or so, you could try…living here.”

He waited in silence, for your confirmation.

Or denial.

You sniffed, rubbed your eye, and settled your weary head into your hand.

König pushed further.

“Unless…” he cast his gaze down, to the oak table.

“You don’t think I’d be able to care for you.”

At that, your eyes widened, and you clasped König’s hand between yours.

Desperate.

“Oh, no, Köni !” You exclaimed. “I-I can think of no-one better to look after me than you !”

König cast you a doubtful look.

“But…?”

You swallowed.

“But…” you retracted. König had to resist the need to pull you back into his arms.

“But you’re just so busy. I don’t know if… I’d just be a burden to you.”

König almost let out a snort.

“A burden ?” he said, leaning back in his chair, as if taking an arrow of offence straight to the heart.

“My dear, you would never be a burden to me.”

He leaned in, took your hands in his again.

His voice lowered. Soft. The flight of a bird across the ocean’s face.

“Ever.”

You looked up from your lap.

Your eyes were glassed. Doll-ish.

You sniffed. Sniffed again.

A tear fell onto the hoodie you wore. The one König gifted you.

“Okay.” You relented.

The shark tore the bird from its glide, dragging its corpse into the abyss.

König squoze your hands.

“You won’t regret it,” he assured you.

You were his prisoner from then on.

You just didn’t know it yet.

König left on official business not long after you moved in.

You still had you other apartment, but the way König spoke of it, using ‘was’, ‘were’ and ‘used to be’, gave the impression that it was off-limits to you now.

Lost.

You were allowed time off work after explaining your predicament to your boss.

She was supportive, told you to take as much time off as you needed.

As you bade König a farewell at the door, something about him felt…different.

You could feel it in the way he gripped you, pulled you up to him, his arms around your waist, hanging lower than usual.

His breath hot against your neck, the phantom brush of his lips against your most sensitive part.

And when you withdrew, König imparted only a sliver of advice to you.

“Don’t go into the basement.”

The look on your face implored ‘why?’, yet your lips did not.

König set your mind at ease regardless.

“There’s a bit of damp down there. Don’t want you getting sick–” He looked at you, smiling. “–er.”

And he bore himself into the night, shedding König and becoming a killer.

That night, when the TV had little to offer in the way of entertainment, and your phone offered little incentive to play games or socialise, your mind began to wander.

Through meniality, then obscurity.

You thought about your old home, and everything in it you loved.

Your heart ached for it, for everything you’d left behind there.

I’m sure König wouldn’t mind if I…just had a little time at home.

You consorted with your mental audience.

After all, he’s going to be gone for at least a few weeks.

Standing from the sofa, legs wobbling with inactivity, you hunted for your keys.

König kept his on a hook by the door.

But when you checked it, yours were nowhere to be found.

You searched your shared bedroom, the drawer.

You found something…peculiar.

You lifted a pair of underwear from within that you swore you’d lost months ago – before you’d ever moved in with König.

Perhaps I’m mistaken, you thought.

Rationalised.

I probably just packed these without thinking. Found them in the wash bin and threw them into a suitcase.

And you continued your search.

Soon, however, you were beginning to run out of rooms, and you were growing restless.

The longer you were forced to abstain from the outside world, the more ants felt like they were crawling under your skin

Eventually, despite König’s warning, you had no choice but to descend into the basement.

And you did so.

Quietly.

The feeling of having König over your shoulder didn’t leave with him.

Not this time.

And, as you clambered the newly-cleaned stairs down, you saw a dim light peeking out from beneath the door frame.

You reached for the handle, breath bated with the hope of discovery.

Your keys had to be here, right ?

Reaching for the handle, you opened the door.

And everything stopped.

For a second, you didn’t believe what you were seeing.

The source of the light had been candles.

Many, many candles, varying shades of your favourite colours, blended into a macabre rainbow over a horrifyingly familiar artifact you’d assumed had been lost to time.

The Bestie Bible.

Mounted on a makeshift pillar and aged with childlike handling, though it was noticeably pristine.

Stepping back, you hit something.

A wall that hadn’t been there before.

You gasped, turning on your heel.

A man stood before you, but it wasn’t König.

It couldn’t be.

Though identical in build, in height, and in the way he stood, this veiled man was not your König.

At least, not the König you’d grown up with.

He took a step forwards. You scrambled back.

Ending...

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist

Masterpost

[randomationality]

and sgtfp soundwave!!

rambling about SOME goofy ass headcanons now yayy

In my SG:TFP AU, Sir Soundwave doesn't change his alt mode when he arrives on Earth. So he pretty much still has his same taller-than-Megatron height (He's basically taller than the whole gang except Predaking 😭). But after some exploring and researching about Earth, he's become fond of the 1964 Chevrolet Corvair Van and 1967 Volkswagen 21-Window Samba Bus after seeing them on the beach being used by surfers and some others by garage bands, both with cool art on them. But he's worried he won't have a subspace for Laserbeak.

Like Starscream and Shockwave, he loves Earth's nature. Every animal he's come across, he always grows more and more fond of them. His favourite one, is an elephant! He likes to talk with Starscream about animals, and listening to him talk about insects. He's also grown protective of Earth's creatures, so if you hurt one of them, he will find you. And the last thing you will ever see is an empty, faceless mask of nothingness, staring right into the core of your dreadful, unforgivable and inferior retched soul before it slips right away from your physical vessel of rotten flesh.

Sir Soundwave (obviously) has that surfer bot accent, more specifically Words With Friends Tiles' one. He uses 'dude' as a comma and full stop in his speech. He also uses them at the end of every name he says e.g. Screamer-Dude, KO-Dude (lolz).

He has a very, VERY inconsistent music taste. So if you ask him to play something, it's gonna be the most random song ever it'll catch you off guard. The reason why a very inconsistent music taste is because after exploring Earth's VARIOUS genres and songs, he's made a strong liking to all of them, except for one. The one genre you'll NEVER catch him listening to is country.

Thanks for reading my bad headcanons

[dixons-sunshine]

Study Buddy | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: Your exams were coming up soon. While studying for your history exam, you offered to tutor your boyfriend. However, Daryl accidentally revealed that he's much smarter at school than he gave himself credit for.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Pre apocalypse.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: Swearing.

Word count: 1.3k.

A/n: This sucks. I don't like this at all, but I really wanted to get some actual writing done, so I powered through. I hope you like this nonetheless.

The late afternoon sun was starting its slow descend beyond the hills. The birds' chirps were slowly being replaced by those of crickets, and the owls were making their presence known one by one. There was a lone pigeon resting on the bench outside your trailer home, but the unsuspecting creature was startled by the rumbling of a stopping truck.

Daryl Dixon got out of the truck his brother had unofficially given him, a shopping bag with multiple snacks and a few drinks in his hand. He slammed the driver's side door shut behind him before walking up the small steps into your trailer. Without even really thinking about it, Daryl walked down the familiar narrow hallway that lead to your room.

The sound of your door opening diverted your attention away from the history textbook that rested on your bed. An enormous smile spread across your face at the sight of your handsome boyfriend. You got up from the bed and walked over to him, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a soft, tender kiss.

Daryl, shy as ever, could feel his face heat up at your actions, but he didn't resist. His hand that wasn't holding the bag rested on the small of your back, his fingers lightly gripping at your sweater. When you pulled back, he gave you a lopsided smile, his eyes holding a softness that he reserved only for you.

You smiled at him, your fingers playing with his hair at the nape of his neck. “Hey, handsome,” you greeted him in a whisper. “Took you long enough.”

Daryl chuckled and shrugged. “Sorry, sunshine. Got caught up at the store,” he explained, pulling back from your hold slightly to reach into the bag and take out a soda for you. “Got yer favourite for ya.”

You gently took the drink from his hands, sending him a look of appreciation. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Daryl ducked his head in embarrassment, his cheeks taking on the colour of the red rose bush outside your window. “Ya might've mentioned it once or twice.”

“Well,” you began, popping the lid of the can open. “Then I definitely don't tell you that enough. I love you, Dar.”

“Love ya too, peach.” Daryl smiled a small smile, before moving to plop down on your bed. He picked up the textbook that rested on your bed and started flipping through it, his eyes skimming over the pages. “Ya already started studyin'?”

You sat down next to him, placing the can of soda on your nightstand. “Only to make flashcards.” To prove your point, you picked up the aforementioned flashcards from your nightstand. “I was just skimming through for good measure. Just wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything important.” You made yourself more comfortable on the bed, adjusting the flashcards. “You ready to get some studying done?”

Daryl nodded. “How's this gon' work?” he asked.

“Well, I wanna see how much you know, so I'm gonna start asking random questions to see what we need to pay special attention to.”

“Alrigh',” Daryl shrugged nonchalantly. “Do yer worst.”

You smirked playfully. “I'll try my best.” You shuffled the cards, selecting a random one. “Okay, let's start easy. When did the Second World War start?”

“September 1st, 1939. Tha's when it was generally considered to have started. S'when the Nazi's invaded Poland,” Daryl replied with zero hesitation, absentmindedly twirling one of the loose threads on your blanket. “The UK and France officially declared war on the third, two days after the invasion.”

You looked at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows, impressed by the way he answered the question so easily and proceeded to answer two separate questions without being asked to do so. You knew Daryl was smart, there was no doubt about that, but you were still a bit surprised. Daryl made it no secret to you that he wasn't the best student, so his perfect answer to the question was a nice surprise.

“Correct,” you told him with a smile. “Next question: How many alliances were there in the Second World War, and what were they called?”

Daryl pondered over the question for a moment. “Two. The Allies and the Axis Powers, right?”

You flipped the flashcard over and read the answer, humming in approval. “Correct again. You're on a roll, Dar.”

Daryl shook his head, shrugging nonchalantly. “Ya ain't askin' any hard questions. Everybody knows the answers to those.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully, shuffling through the flashcards again to find a different question. “Okay, then, smart guy. How about this one: Which cities did the United States detonate atomic bombs over?”

“Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Two cities in Japan. The bombs were dropped on August 6th and August 9th. The US wanted to force the Japanese to surrender.”

“Okay, time out,” you started, carelessly tossing the flashcards to the side. “Please tell me again how you're not smart? Because those were perfect answers and you haven't even read through the textbook yet.”

Daryl shrugged again, averting his eyes to the bed. “Ain't smart. Jus' heard the teacher talkin' 'bout it in class. Ain't tha' hard to remember it. 'Sides, history is interestin'. S'the only class I dun' mind attendin'.”

You laughed in disbelief, looking at your boyfriend in wonder. “You manage to find a way to surprise me every day. I thought I knew everything about you, and now I learn something new. You're a history nerd.”

Daryl scoffed incredulously. “Ain't no damn nerd. Jus' 'cause I know some history doesn't mean m'a nerd.”

“Sure,” you started, sending him a playful smile. “So I know a lot about science and I get called a nerd by you, but you know a lot about history and I can't call you a nerd?”

“Damn straight,” Daryl replied, his tone playful. “Yer a nerd. Tha's one of the many reasons why I fell fer ya.”

“I love you, too, Mr I-know-that-Hitler-was-born-on-the-30th-of-April.”

“He was born on the 20th. He shot himself on the 30th, ten days after his birthday.” You smirked, and Daryl instantly knew that he had fallen into your trap. “Oh, fuck ya fer tha'.”

“My point has been proven,” you said with a victorious smile, leaning forward to let your lips hover over Daryl's. “No need to be ashamed of being a nerd. I find it extremely hot.”

Daryl hummed, his lips grazing against yours. “Ya find it hot tha' I know 'bout the world war? Then yer gon' find it really hot when we get to the Cold War.”

“Colour me intrigued,” you whispered, before closing the gap between the two of you.

Daryl's lips moved against yours hungrily. Soon, he gently guided you to lay on your back, hovering over you as his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck. You giggled, leaning your head back to allow him more access.

“You might be really smart in history, Dar, but I'm not. I need to study,” you told him.

Daryl hummed, but his kisses didn't cease. “Ya'll be fine,” he mumbled against your skin. “'Sides, we got a human anatomy exam comin' up soon. I suck at tha'. I need to get some studyin' done fer tha'.”

You laughed lightly, yielding to the desire. Well, studying would just have to wait. You had other, much more fun activities planned for the time being.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Blooms Of Serenity ~ BC

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

GENRE: comfort fic, chan being very sweet and comforting toward a reader who has had a hard time with their anxiety/panic attacks lately, cute boyfriend chan, NON IDOLVERSE, established relationships

PAIRING: Chan x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - February 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

Sliding out of the seat carefully you held your hand out to Chan who was still refusing to let you take off the blindfold he'd put on you about an hour ago. Part of you was a little sad he'd refused to let you see, you loved going on night drives with Chan since you'd spend all of your time looking up at the stars that were scattered across the sky it was one of your favourite things to do.

"Are you going to pout all night?" Chan whispers in your ear, his breath catching on your skin making your whole body shiver. 

"No, but I'll stop sooner if you let me see," You giggle trying to tempt him but it wasn't going to, Chan had been working on this surprise all week long and he wasn't going to ruin it now. 

In the heart of a packed city, where life echoed everywhere and it didn't matter how far you went you'd still hear the sounds of car horns or people yelling there existed a small haven of tranquillity known as the Serenity Garden. After extensive googling, Chan had managed to find the little slice of heaven for you.

Its charm lay not only in its lush greenery and vibrant blooms of flowers but also in its ability to soothe troubled souls. And it was here that Chan decided to bring you.

The gardens were said to be completely silent, breaking away from the hustle and bustle of life which was exactly what you needed right now.

As Chan stepped into the garden, the air seemed to change, becoming lighter, and more fragrant and turned his attention to you, his hands shakily taking off the blindfold as he studied your reactions. As soon as the blindfold was off and your eyes had adjusted to the light your once tense shoulders relaxed slightly as you took in the sight of the colourful flowers swaying gently in the breeze. The place looked like something straight out of a fantasy romance book.

"Chan...Where did you even find this?" Your voice barely came out as a whisper as you walked further into the gardens, being careful of the flowers as you strolled.

"I'll never reveal my secrets,  Google did play a huge part," He winks at you playfully as he smiles to himself. He was pretty proud of his find and happy with himself that it seemed to ease you, even if just for a little while.  

Your eyes were still busy trying to take everything in, the garden stretched out like a patchwork quilt, with winding pathways meandering through lush greenery and colourful blooms. Huge trees provided perfect picnic spaces underneath them.

"This place is...beautiful," Your voice cracked a little as you turned to look back at Chan, who had a giant grin on his face.

"You needed time away from everything, so I found a small home away from home," He smiled, taking your hand in his and kissing it softly before making his way through the garden with you.

Every corner of the garden held its own enchantment, there were clusters of roses in shades of pink and red, and beds of vibrant tulips that swayed gracefully in the night breeze. There were even patches of wildflowers dotted around the landscape, something you truly never thought you'd see in person. 

"This is like something from a book," You whispered to Chan, somehow it felt wrong if you were to speak too loudly, like somehow you would disturb the peace that was around.

"I knew you'd love it," He chuckled softly, taking you toward the centre of the garden where a majestic water fountain was sat. It was a marble basin adorned with intricate carvings that all depicted mythical creatures and flowing vines. The water trickled from the spouts filling the night air with the sound of cascading water.

"I love it and you," You told him as he carefully sat down on a brick bench that was sat in front of the fountain. 

"I love you too, this is your sanctuary," He told you as you carefully sat down beside him, smiling and letting out a sigh of relief as you just let the world be.

Sitting there amidst the blooms, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, a welcome respite from the storm raging within your mind. But even in this serene setting, the echoes of your anxiety lingered, threatening to pull you back into its grasp.

As if he could sense your distress Chan wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him.

"I'm here, Yn," He whispered softly, his voice soothing your frazzled nerves as if like magic,

"You're not alone." You leaned into his embrace, finding solace in his presence, something you'd always managed to do with your boyfriend. There was something about him you couldn't quite explain, something you never thought could be possible but he calmed you.

He made you feel safe and secure whenever you were together, safe enough to let your mind go blank as you just relaxed against him. Sleeping next to someone had never been easy for you before but with Chan you always found yourself able to fall asleep with ease and even sleep through the night. Your body trusted him.

"Just close your eyes and let it be," Chan whispered, you closed her eyes, letting the sound of the water fountain and the sweet scent of flowers envelop you like a protective cocoon, Chan's strong arms around you helping all the more. With each breath, you felt the tight knot of anxiety within your chest slowly begin to unravel.

"Listen to the leaves." He said, his breath warm against your ear as you kept your eyes closed.

"Each one carries a message of hope, reminding us that even in the darkest of times, light is always there to be found." Chan pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his hands gently running up and down your arms as you felt a lump in your throat beginning to form.

"You're stronger than you realised, Yn." He continued, his voice filling you with hope and confidence.

"You've faced so many challenges before and you've emerged stronger every single time...You have the courage and the resilience to overcome this..." He stilled his hands before moving closer to your ear,

"I believe in you," He whispered as your tears began to flow, you turned to bury your face in Chan's chest and he smiled weakly.

"I know it's hard," He told you as his arms tightened around you.

"But you're not and never will be alone in this. I'm here for you, every step of the way." He tells you as you snuggled closer to him.

"We'll face this together and we'll be stronger on the other side." He promised you, and you knew you could believe him, you just knew.

As you sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you, a beacon of light in the darkness you'd been consumed in for days. With Chan by your side, you knew that you could weather any storm, and conquer any fear. Together you'd be able to emerge from anything victious.

"Thank you, Chan...for everything," You sniffled a little and Chan smiled using his hands to gently swipe away the tears that had fallen.

"You never have to thank me for something like this, I just want you to come to me in the future." He told you as you nodded, cuddling into him and smiling warmly.

After a few hours of sitting there, enjoying the night sky and the sounds of water you knew it was time to head home but there was something different. It felt as though there was a renewed sense of purpose coursing through your veins. You knew that the road ahead would be filled with challenges, but you also knew that with Chan by your side, you were going to be able to face anything that came your way.

In the days that followed your visit to the  Garden, you found yourself leaning on Chan more than ever, which he was adoring every second of. All he ever wanted was to be there for you, it was part of being a boyfriend he was supposed to be there to support you in times of hardship. He became your rock, your steady anchor in the tumultuous sea of emotions. With his unwavering support, you began to face her anxiety head-on, armed with newfound courage and determination.

The two of you had developed different coping mechanisms that would help you out whenever your mind would become stormy. You took walks to the park almost every other night, leaving your phones at home and just walking hand in hand, breathing in the crisp air as you tried to let things go. Throughout every single part of it, Chan had been there, a constant source of love and encouragement, never once letting you go through any of it alone just as he had promised.

Through everything, Serenity Garden was your sanctuary, a place of refuge and where Chan would take you when everything would get too much again. You both returned to it often, seeking solace amidst the flowers and fountains and every time you came back you felt a little lighter as if the weight of the world was lifted from your shoulders, even for a short time. The two of you were back again tonight, cuddled together on the brick bench, surrounded by the gentle melody of the water fountain and the fragrant embrace of the flowers. Chan had his arms around you, pulling you close to him as his arms were a comforting shield around you.

"I love you, Yn," He whispered, his voice soft but fulled of unwavering sincerity. 

"I will always be here for you, through the good times and the bad." Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you stared up at him, overwhelmed by how much Chan truly meant to you and how deep his love went for you. At that moment, you knew he was absolutely your soulmate, your partner in life's adventures.

"I love you too, Chan." Your voice choked with emotion/

"Thank you for being my rock, for never giving up on me even when I felt like I was giving up on myself." Chan brushed a gentle kiss across your forehead, 

"I'll never give up on you and I'll never let you give up on yourself," He whispered to you, kissing your forehead one last time before you sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, your love burning amidst the tranquil beauty of Serenity Garden and you felt peace completely wash over you.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @myyouthdonut @extrhotjne @ca11me3mily @elissasimp @xakx @sleepb @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @kpopmenace143 @minhosify @loveforred @b1nn1e-1s-cut3

[stariikis]

enhypen as your valentine ᡣ𐭩 ꪆৎ ˚⋅༝༚༝༚₊˚⊹♡

pairings ; ot7_enha x fem!reader genre ; fluff, established r/s warnings ; light kissing and probably kinda cringe

heeseung ✰

heeseung would bring you on a karaoke date for valentine's day. child-like excitement glossing over his eyes, he'll pick out the cheesiest and most romantic love songs for you both to sing to. he'll choose the songs with both male and female parts - even though he gets so enthusiastic he sings the female parts on your behalf.

"why aren't you singing anymore?" he asks innocently, as if he didn't just steal your spotlight away from you.

"you're singing for me!" you feign annoyance, laughing at the guilty look that instantly crosses his features.

after clearing that up, he goes to the digital screen and selects 'i see the light'. this time, he leaves you to sing your part, a proud smile gracing his cheeks. and as the song ends, he leans in to press a small kiss to your cheek. "you sing like an angel."

jay ✰

jay would cook a special three-course meal for valentine's day. a mere three hours after his special breakfast in bed. somehow, without him even asking you, he has your favourite foods laid out on the dining table for you. it's a pleasant contrast to the instant noodles you've been downing the past few days, studying for exams and all.

for some reason, he seems nervous and paranoid as you try his cooking. "does it taste okay? do you need more seasoning, dear?" he asks repeatedly, worry furrowing his eyebrows.

only after reassuring him for the 347824th time that his food tastes immaculate (and is not at all overcooked or under-cooked) does he calm down and start to eat with you. jay may have cooked for you many times before, but nothing feels as special as this, even when he asks you the simplest of questions. "what else do you want to do today?"

jake ✰

jake would bring you out on a picnic date for valentine's day. however, your attention isn't on him. it's all on layla. she receives all the kisses, cuddles and special treatment, even when jake tries to show you his homemade ham sandwiches.

you notice the light slowly fading out of his eyes, but continue to tease him by turning to layla and cooing, "did you make anything for the picnic, my sweet girl?"

jake falls silent and starts laying out the tupperware boxes, full of assorted candies and goodies, and that's when you start to feel guilty. you nudge his elbow, pouting at him. "your sandwiches look really pretty!"

you could swear you see puppy-dog ears perking up atop his head as you speak. he grins at you. "really?" and you nod vigorously, leaning in to kiss him gently. your mind starts to wander as he starts pointing out the blooming cherry blossoms, though. what if he and layla are the same soul split into two different creatures? pretty believable, right?

sunghoon ✰

sunghoon would buy you lego flowers on valentine's day, on his way back from dance practice with the other members. he wouldn't know which flower you'd like to build the best, much less does he know your favourite flower because you two never bother to ask each other these types of things. so he just blows his money on all the variations on the toy store shelf.

he comes home, sweating profusely to your shock, and dumps a heavy plastic bag on the floor. for some reason he looks proud as he points at it, still trying to catch his breath. "take your pick! let's do it now, right now!"

in honour of valentine's day (and because you, ironically, don't have a favourite flower) you choose the pink tulips set. after opening all the plastic bags and laying out the instruction sheet, lego pieces scattered all over the place, you both get to work. a couple of hours later, you have one final piece left.

"care to do the honours?" you ask sunghoon, handing him the small circular piece. he salutes, and presses it into the lego structure - a little too hard. lego pieces go flying everywhere, to both of your dismays. you don't know whether to laugh or cry, but sunghoon just starts cackling like a witch. "at least i get to spend more time rebuilding it with you, no?" "darling, you've forgotten that we have 50 more sets."

sunoo ✰

sunoo would already have planned a full day of activities for valentine's day. first you'll grab brunch at a nearby cafe, then you'll go couple clothes shopping at the mall, then you'll go take photobooth pictures, then-

"wait, i'm already lost..." you look at sunoo, confused. your interruption seems to dampen his animated energy, and he pouts at you.

"brunch, clothes shopping, photobooth, more shopping! and even more shopping!"

you take a while to process it before dissolving into a round of applause for sunoo's detailed itinerary for the day. that day, you buy matching pink vests with cute heart stitches on them, take photos with the prettiest frames you've ever seen, and he treats you to strawberry milkshakes. "you're just as pretty as the colour pink, in my opinion."

jungwon ✰

jungwon would try (and fail) to bake you chocolate-chip cookies for valentine's day. at first, you wouldn't suspect a thing. his cookies look pretty much well-baked, with just the right consistency of dough in the middle. there's an even sprinkle of chocolate chips throughout the cookie, so it's not too many or too little.

but you have to refrain from choking the moment you put it in your mouth. they may look soft to the touch and innocent, but they crumble like dust the moment they hit your tongue. it's so dry you forget how to breathe for a few seconds. jungwon notices you stifling a few coughs and looks devastated. "are they bad?"

"no..." you lie. "i just choked. but, um, they're a little bit dry. did you put too much flour? or not add enough butter?"

jungwon frowns and proceeds to check the recipe. upon doing so, his eyes go wide and he covers his mouth. "i forgot to add the egg."

"... ah." you smile awkwardly at him. "that must be it." he still looks pretty dejected about it, so you pull him close in a soothing hug. "it's okay, wonie. even if you're bad at baking, nobody needs to know."

ni-ki ✰

riki doesn't have anything planned for valentine's day. or so he says. you scoot closer to him during breakfast, blinking rapidly into his face. he takes one indifferent look at you and looks back down at his phone, feigning nonchalance.

you huff a sigh. he must be doing this on purpose to annoy you. "ki. do you know what day it is today?"

without looking up, he mumbles, "is today a special day? oh shit, is today your birthday?" that's when he straightens up and puts down his phone. this teasing is too much, it's gone too far. with a roll of your eyes, you smack his head and cross your arms. "riki!"

"okay! okay, i know what day it is," he laughs boyishly, patting your head. "don't worry, i have things planned for my sweetest valentine's gift." he physically cringes at himself after saying that, gripping your shoulders tight as if stabilising himself.

that night, however, he doesn't even cringe once as he kisses you beneath the bright and blooming fireworks, a plethora of colours from the very bottom of his heart.

thank you for reading! actually i rather enjoyed my first headcanon fic, will definitely make more in the future. happy valentine's day!

more of my works >>

[lovieku]

Good Luck, Babe! #3 ☆ jeon jungkook

what happens when you leave everything behind, only to be faced with it again years later? eunbi is convinced she was given another shot at keeping all she ever wanted, but it’s difficult when that all is her childhood best friend who doesn’t want to do anything with her anymore. how to earn his trust back?

☾ pairing: non idol!jk x fem!oc

☾ genre: childhood friends to strangers, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

☾ word count: 9k +

☾ warnings: explicit language. say hi to eunbi!!! and to the friend group!!! its a bit funny until it becomes angsty … ouch. jeongguk is a bitch lowkey. pun unintended (you’ll see). theyre dramatic as hell. like bro it cant be that serious 😭. im sawrry for this. and its not all!!! see you in fourth chapter 🫡

☾ author’s note: hi hi hi!!! this took a bit to fully convince me but in the end it did. i was frustrated because i felt like i couldnt really use my words properly to tell the whole thing but… here we are now!!! thank u!!! enjoy 🫶🏻

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three ⋆ this is me trying

Up to that point, Eunbi’s life has been a constant adjusting to new surroundings, leaving bits and pieces behind, getting attached to new ones, and hoping they wouldn’t be taken away from her. It would always end up as she feared it would, though. From as early as she can remember, Eunbi would live off her blue backpack, where she gathered a toothbrush, a change of clothes and her favourite plushie to help her sleep and adapt faster to the smaller bed at her dad’s house. When her parents had divorced, it had been a rough patch before the both of them could come to a legal agreement; that being, she would spend the weekend with her father, and then stay with her mother again until Friday rolled around.

She rarely looks back at those days now, but when she does — mostly at night, her mind seemingly incapable of putting a stop to her furious flow of thoughts and just sleep — she thinks if it hadn’t happened to her when she was still pliable and mouldable, when she was yet to be met with what ordinariness was supposed to look like for others, she wouldn’t have been ready to wholly face all that followed. Eunbi was young when she learned that love between two people could end so easily, and her innocent self accepted that as the norm.

As a result, what she found harder to accept, more than her own mother and father not even being able to stand next to one another without ending up quarrelling, was having to leave her small black poodle in Gwangju, with her grandma, after moving away to Busan. Curly (little Eunbi had given him that name for obvious reasons, and to this very day she finds it dumb, but it makes her giggle nonetheless) had been a great companion through the inevitable loneliness she had to face as an only child. She was convinced he could understand her better than no other, even when she would force the tiny creature to sit and listen to her ramble on.

Busan was the next big change that was pushed onto Eunbi, only a few years after her mother got engaged to a man that would soon replace her biological father: with time, sleeping over at his house for the weekend was no longer even a contemplated thought on his side, coming up with excuses after excuses as not to, and that slowly led to showing less and less interest in keeping up with her and meeting up. The little girl had always been numb in relation to such negligence, and because of this she could consider herself lucky in some distorted sense; it didn’t affect her as much as it should have.

Part of that was also due to her step-dad being a great father figure during the initial times of his and her mom’s relationship, making sure to adapt to Eunbi’s pace and boundaries, never overstepping while also being able to bring fun into her life by taking the family out to visit places and eat delicious meals. What he couldn’t do for her, however, was live with a dog. When he and her mother decided to finally move together following their wedding, they both agreed on wanting to restart from a brand new place. Busan was their perfect pick for a variety of reasons: her mom got offered a job at a recently established company that seemed promising, and her step-dad could fulfil his deep-rooted dream of expanding his by starting a new branch.

Every single thing about him seemed perfect to her mom’s eyes, even if he was apparently deathly allergic to dog’s fur. And, of course, she picked her husband over Curly. Eunbi couldn’t believe it, nor accept it. The girl cried over the small dog for the two weeks prior to moving, during the trip to Busan, and for the following days there. Her grandmother would keep her updated by sending pictures of Curly through email, and even after the scar had healed, those would never fail to make her tear up.

As shameful as it might be to admit it, after having dried herself from half the water that made up her body because of the constant crying, it didn’t take long for the scar to close. When she first stepped foot in the big city by the seaside, Curly showed up right in front of her. Just in human form. Big eyes, long black hair and puppy manners, her neighbour was definitely sent to her by something greater. Eunbi was obsessed. It didn’t show at first, her pride prevailing. But it was harder and harder to fight against it. Jeongguk was simply too easy to love.

They became inseparable. Wherever he was, better believe she was there too, attached at his hip. And if they showed up alone, people would naturally ask about the other. Because the moon is never seen without its stars, and sunflowers only ever turn to face the sun. Their bond could be perceived by anyone as unbreakable, a friendship to envy and wish for, and every brick that built it had resulted in the creation of their own safe haven that only had space to contain the two of them. Not anybody else could be let in, the bubble exclusively recognised their password. It wasn’t composed of words, or numbers. It was the look of understanding they would share; the white lies used to cover the mischief of the other; their own handshake, accompanied by an original friendship jingle that Eunbi came up with randomly; the assurance that they could reveal their biggest secrets to one another, and they’d be kept like an oath.

There’s many of those that Eunbi shamelessly revealed to Jeongguk, some with intent and others unleashed spontaneously during their many endless talks. But when she thinks of it, she never admitted the single one that really mattered, the one that her best friend in the whole world needed to know, and remember. At all times. In any circumstance. It wasn’t a secret, it was more a result of her pondering; it came to a full reasonable thought only years later, and by then it was too late to tell him.

Eunbi thinks, and she’s sure, Jeongguk was the reason why all that came before the two of them had to happen. If it didn’t, she would have spent her whole life looking for that missing puzzle piece: under the cushions of the couch, in between her bed sheets, accidentally thrown away in the bin. It was as if all the hardships she experienced were justified, because at the end of the tunnel Jeongguk was waiting for her. And everything finally made sense. The puzzle was complete. Jeongguk was the reason himself. He was sent to teach her an important lesson: everything happens for a reason. There’s a cause and an effect, and even if the cause was suffering, at least the effect was her favourite boy.

Then, a gust of wind had wiped the puzzle to the ground, every single piece losing its place. When her best friend was taken away from her, she stopped being so convinced with the thought she herself had harboured, because she suddenly couldn’t find the meaning behind such a cruel fate. If everything really happened for a reason, then what was it? Jeongguk helped her see colours, only to return to black and white. Leaving him behind had marked the death of a version of herself that she would never get back.

Seoul was big, and harder to adjust to, even more with the baggage she was now dragging behind. Unpacking it, she found out all she had brought with her was a shattered trust and a soon to be broken promise to never get attached again. It was hard to be faithful to such an imposition, when Eunbi was born to give out love. It was hidden in that luggage, in between fears and regrets, but surely present.

And it prevailed in the end. Even at a slower pace, love found its way up and helped a lost Eunbi navigate the big capital city, promising new beginnings and healing. She found that in the faces of people that she would then start to recognise as friends, inside warm cafes during the coldest days of winter, and in the certainty that no matter where she is, she is always looking up at the same moon.

What she has built in Seoul so far feels the closest to stability that she has experienced in years. Starting university and meeting Dahye was the last bit of convincing it took to make her consider once again that a reason could exist, and that in the end it would make sense. Maybe not totally. Maybe just partly is enough after all.

Until, seeing a pair of familiar starry eyes in the midst of dull ones was all she needed to firmly believe in what she had been finding hard to accept. It took one shared look for past and present to get blurred together, and the mixture of old with new feelings created a mess. It was nice, nonetheless. Better than the seemingly impossible to get rid of emptiness at the pit of her heart.

Behind her eyes, Eunbi could see the puzzle slowly reaching its final form again, this time with more missing pieces, but the image was at least recognisable. When Jeongguk showed up in front of her again like magic, she contemplated becoming religious. Getting to her knees and starting praying to whatever greater force was shining on her path to please keep doing that. None of that showed on the outside, her smile breaking and mirroring the expression on the boy’s face. Pure sorrow. She knew she was probably the last person on earth Jeongguk wanted to see, and the fact that he wasn’t even trying to mask it didn’t help.

The most rational response she could come up with at that moment was to act as if nothing ever happened. And then, the bricks that a long time ago held together their safe bubble were being used by the boy to raise a high wall between them, making sure accessing his space would be impossible for Eunbi. Who could blame him? Still, the happiness she shamelessly felt when Jeongguk showed up at her 20th birthday party was too consuming, she selfishly wished for the rest of her birthdays to always look like that as she blew the candles. Nonetheless, when he suddenly left sprinting on his bike she knew the gods would need time to grant her desire. Although, this time around she had faith.

She doesn’t know how long it would take for it to break, though. September getting closer and closer only means that Jeongguk’s birthday is just around the corner. As part of his friend group, she had been involved in the process that led to organising the surprise camping trip, even if she didn’t exactly participate. After all, she doesn’t get to say she knows the boy better than anyone, anymore. Jeongguk has evidently changed, and as a consequence she knows way less about him than the others.

For that exact reason, Eunbi had made various attempts to back down from the trip, fearing her presence could significantly ruin it for the celebrated boy. At first, she tried to be casual about it with Dahye, since she’s the only one she’s opened up to about the whole dilemma, “I think it’s better if I don’t come. After all, it’s a friend trip. I’m not really his friend.” To which her roommate only replied with bullshit, proceeding to type away on her keyboard. That did not help whatsoever.

Then, the night she was too tipsy to take a taxi back home and Jeongguk had offered her a ride on his bike, she came home with a smile on her face only to burst out crying in front of a just as drunk Dahye. In between sobs, she begged to be left out of the trip, “Ple- Please, Dahye. He hates me. I can’t stand it.” Her friend tried to shush her whines, pushing Eunbi’s head on her chest and consoling her, “He doesn’t, baby. I’m sure he doesn’t.”

As a result of that night, Dahye had then sat her friend down with the intent of fully convincing her to be present for Jeongguk’s birthday trip for a number of reasons, “It would be rude to not show up after he was there for your birthday. And also, what if you two end up talking about… things! And everything gets solved! That would be nice, wouldn’t it, Bibi?”

Eunbi had just nodded all the way through the motivating speech, not really understanding nor believing her words, but apparently they were enough to lead her to the present moment: awkwardly squished between Dahye and Jimin on the couch of her flat, while they animatedly converse with the others to approve on the trip schedule. She has never felt so out of place before, not only because she doesn’t feel like she has a say in the whole discussion, but also because as time went by the two friends by her side kept shifting to subtly get closer to one another, not realising they were compressing her body in the process. To the point she is forced to get up, the position she was in being too uncomfortable, and sit on the ground under the couch next to Namjoon.

She can feel her movements being followed by a pair of curious eyes, and when she looks up to meet them, she finds out they belong to the origin of all her worries. Before Jeongguk can divert his attention elsewhere, aware he was caught observing, she gives him a quick tight lipped smile. It goes dismissed, as if it hadn’t happened. Ouch. It’s okay, Eunbi can take it. She used the few days prior to this to mentally prepare. She knows she’s not exactly welcomed anywhere near him, that’s why she made a silent secret pact within herself: whatever happens during the trip, don’t be a bother to Jeongguk. Stay away from him as much as possible, and if not possible, then do anything to avoid putting that frown on his face, exactly the one he’s sporting right now. On a second thought, if just looking at her gets him to react like that, maybe it’s best to mentally wipe that off her list of things to keep in mind for Jeongguk’s birthday camping trip.

With there still being a day left before their minibreak takes off, the girl can already tell it’s going to be hard to follow the flow of that list, Jeongguk making it obvious her presence could have been avoided before the vacation has even started. Still, she remains composed and brushes off what had just happened, instead focusing on the main topic of conversation.

The group (Hoseok) has decided to meet to go over the schedule one last time because, “Everything needs to be perfect, guys. We can’t afford to slip!” It’s still Hoseok talking. Eunbi learned that he had always been the one in charge of organising events and little getaways when it came to the friend group, his obsession with keeping everything under control coming in handy in such scenarios.

Not only that, but the reddish haired guy is also amazingly quick on his feet, and in a relatively short amount of time he has managed to find the perfect excursions and experiences to go over during the trip, making sure every day spent together would be filled with fun activities that he knows the birthday boy is going to look forward to. In between what he has arranged there is cycling, canoeing, trekking, and more stuff that Eunbi can’t keep up with. Surviving this is going to be made ten times harder by the amount of energy that is going to be expected out of her. She sighs at the thought, looking down at her manicured nails. She just got them done, and now they would surely break.

It takes a few seconds for her to realise the sudden silence that fell above the room, and when she looks back up she’s met with eleven pairs of eyes staring at her. She straightens her posture, suddenly too aware of being perceived, and she deduces her previous exhale had been released with more energy than intended. Hoseok sweetly smiles at her, “Anything you don’t agree on, Eunbi?”

The panicked girl opens her mouth to justify herself, her eyes getting wider and shinier with embarrassment, but Dahye beats her to it, “Bibi, didn’t you say you, like, hate cycling? I’m sure we had a whole conversation about it.“

Eunbi is mortified. Her eyes jump from Dahye to Jeongguk, trying to get her best friend to shut up while also registering the boy’s scoff and muted roll of his eyes. Oh god. Her whole be-lowkey-and-make-yourself-unnoticed plan just shattered in a matter of seconds. She can feel Jeongguk’s eyes bore flaming holes into her skull, his arms crossed and his legs furtherly stretching out on the armchair. If she still had a small, tiny hope left that he didn’t fully hate her, she just witnessed that shattering in pieces too.

She quickly shifts to sit on her heels, her hands frantically shaking to try and save her face for what she could, “No, what? I love cycling. Seriously, I’d do it everyday if I could.” She chuckles shakily while subtly shoving Dahye’s knee next to her to signal going with the lie. At first, Dahye looks clearly confused: she was so sure of that information about her roommate. She furrows her brows, looking down at a panicky Eunbi widening her eyes. It takes only a few more seconds for her to suddenly get it, shaking herself from her doubts and catching the ball, “Oh, right! You do! I got it confused with, huh… something else.” The girl mutters that last part only to join her friend in a nervous laugh, and an apologetic smile. Best believe Dahye is going to hear about this later.

Hoseok looks just as puzzled as the others, but nonetheless he nods, announcing the schedule has been officially confirmed. A collective acclaim fills the room, only for the boy to stop it with a raise of his pointer finger, “Now, I will assign you guys in your respective cars.” Which is comically followed by a joint groan, and some protests. Hoseok ignores them, and goes on reading off his perfectly planned out Word document.

”Namjoon is the first driver, and he’s travelling with Iseul, Seokjin and Sora,” he looks up to briefly check with the mentioned members to see if there are any complaints, then proceeds. “We’ve got Yoongi with me, Aera and Taehyung. Then…” Hoseok squints his eyes while scrolling down the document, and those few seconds of silence are enough for Eunbi’s thoughts to anticipate what is about to follow. She lowers her head, unwilling to meet Jeongguk’s glare when Hoseok says, “Jeongguk is driving with Jimin, Dahye and Eunbi. All set?”

The positive response is quick, even too rushed and disregardful of what was said, as Namjoon and Taehyung have been impatiently begging for the never-ending organising to be over so they could order food and finally fill their starved stomachs. No one pays any mind to it, but Eunbi and Jeongguk stay quiet, while Jimin and Dahye share a knowing look. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

The evening is spent in the cramped living room of Eunbi and Dahye’s shared flat, eating pizza and letting a random movie play, which soon only functioned as a background noise the moment Taehyung started a game of Would You Rather. Even if Yoongi initially shushed him, everyone eventually became more delighted with Seokjin’s unthinkable suggestions than with the film, “Would you rather be trapped in a small room with 10,000 tarantulas for 10 minutes, or eat 10 tarantulas in 10 minutes?”

Eunbi tries to let herself be distracted by the content smiles on her friends’ faces, even feels less distressed when she notices Jeongguk relaxing as well, but that doesn’t stop her mind from overflowing with all the things that could potentially go wrong. It inevitably shows on her face, and in her unusual quietness. She has been pondering on the last information Hoseok had shared about the confirmed schedule for hours now, worrying it was going to start the trip on the wrong foot. There were all the best intentions to not poke the sleeping bear, but she fears being in the same car as him is going to stir him awake.

After the group leaves the apartment at past 1 a.m., Hoseok checking with everyone that they’ll show up at 8 sharp tomorrow morning in front of the same building they’re now parting ways from, Eunbi releases a long sigh as she closes the door behind her shoulders. Dahye catches the look on her features immediately, taking her pretty face in between her palms, “I’m sorry for earlier. I was trying to help.” She pouts, and it makes the shorter girl chuckle.

Eunbi shakes her head, dismissing her apology with a small it’s okay, and freeing herself from her friend’s hold so as to avoid meeting her eyes, instead busying herself with tidying up the mess in the living room. Her flatmate looks at the strangely silent girl narrowly, “What are you thinking? Please, don’t let it be something stupid like I don’t wanna drive in Jeongguk’s car.”

When all Dahye is met with is silence, she knows that specific something stupid is flowing in the other girl’s head. Eunbi spends the next hour packing and letting Dahye think she’s wholly convincing her distressed roommate nothing could go wrong from just being close to each other, and if anything, it could be a starting point.

For the sake of getting at least three hours of sleep before the long drive ahead, Eunbi fake promises her friend that she won’t let such thoughts haunt her mind and stop her from enjoying the holiday (she was forced to repeat those exact words) knowing she’s going to let them do precisely that. She also ends up staying awake all night either way, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse that she can use to ask Hoseok if a small change would be possible, hoping it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle to him and his perfect plan.

When the following morning rolls around, the group gathers in the courtyard of the flat complex as instructed hours earlier by Hoseok, who looks like he’s on the verge of a serious crisis when it’s one minute past 8 a.m. and Taehyung still hasn’t shown up. Eunbi fears for her life when she taps his shoulder as delicately as she can, still unable to avoid a jumpy reaction from the boy, who then relaxes when he sees the girl’s sweet smile. That lasts for about one second, because when Eunbi softly asks him if they can talk he’s back to puffing out panicky breaths.

She hesitates a moment before uttering in one single exhale, “I’d rather not go in Jeongguk’s car.” Faced with Hoseok’s perplexed stare, she goes on explaining in a rushed, messy speech, “It’s nothing personal, really. It’s just- Iseul! Yeah, Iseul begged me to be in the car with Dahye… She doesn’t know Sora that well so she said it would be way too awkward. I can go with Namjoon!” She ends it by trying to sport a convincing grin on her lips, but with the way it looks like she’s being held at gunpoint to smile it’s doing the exact opposite, not helping in hiding her own panic at all.

Hoseok takes a few seconds to process her request and read her expression, but in the end he just shrugs and nods enthusiastically, “That’s okay!” He then claps his hands twice, recalling the others’ attention who comically snap their heads in unison, hanging on the boss’ lips, “Tiny change. Eunbi doesn’t wanna be in Jeongguk’s car, so she’s going with Namjoon.”

For the second time in under 24 hours, Eunbi is so embarrassed she prays the ground to swallow her whole. Hoseok doesn’t seem to be making a big deal out of the way he worded his announcement, busy typing away on his phone, probably updating his Word document with the recent change. The others don’t look too fazed either, accustomed with the two infamously not being too fond of each other for no apparent reason, except for Dahye and Jimin: the former is looking at the girl incredulously; the latter has shifted his attention to his best friend.

Eunbi can feel cold sweat dripping down her forehead, the weight of the world crushing on her shoulders. She’s afraid to follow Jimin’s line of vision, but as she slowly does, it leads her to meet Jeongguk’s intense gaze, a slight pissed scowl hardening his features along with his brows almost meeting at the bridge of his nose. His all black attire composed of an oversized t-shirt, cargo bermuda shorts and chunky sandals matches perfectly with the look on his face. He seems confused, and unnerved. And sad? This is not how things were supposed to unfold.

Under such pressure, the girl impulsively releases a nervous laugh, her whole face red with awkwardness, “It’s not like I didn’t- Okay! I’ll just go wait in the car.” Her head hangs as she distances herself from the group, finding an escape from Jeongguk’s disappointment in Namjoon’s car. She bangs her head on the dashboard a few times, making the most of the last minutes alone she’s getting before departure.

Starring in that shitshow was not on her list of things to keep in mind for Jeongguk’s birthday camping trip in any way. On the contrary, what she has been trying to do is going by the rules of the list itself: stay away from Jeongguk and don’t be a bother. Instead, the opposite seems to be happening every time she attempts to be nice to him so as to not be a hassle during the trip. Releasing a shaky breath, she hopes her intentions wouldn’t be misinterpreted by the boy, as she tries foolishly convincing herself the telepathy between them still exists, at least to a small extent. She was only doing this for him. To make it easier for him. Please, please send this telepathic message to Jeongguk.

Connection probably isn’t working too well, because when they all get to the destination after a fairly long ride, Jeongguk still looks pissed, shutting the car door with more energy than required and unloading the luggages, taking his and Iseul’s to the entrance of the camping site. Eunbi narrows her eyes as she observes the scene, the short haired girl thanking the previously annoyed boy and effortlessly putting a smile on his lips, and she almost doesn’t notice Namjoon urging her to move. She abruptly shakes herself out of that trance, relaxing her hands that had subconsciously closed into fists, and takes her bags out of the car. As she clumsily drags them on both of her shoulders, her Converses do little to protect her soles from the rocky ground, and she groans. It’s not like she was expecting Namjoon to carry her baggage, she can do it herself. But as she keeps watching Jeongguk easily handling all that weight, she huffs.

The campsite looks amazing. The space that the group has at their disposal is huge and wholly surrounded by nature, making it the perfect getaway from the chaos of the city. Not too far, in between trees, a glimpse of the sun reflecting its rays in a large lake can be caught. Eunbi witnesses an excellently carried out jam session, with the lively enthusiasm of her friends on microphone, birds on percussion and cicadas on bass. She smiles, and sighs contentedly. Dahye’s words from last night echo in her head, don’t let this stop you from enjoying the holiday, and today she wants to believe them. She’s glad she chose to wear jeans shorts instead of cargos, the heat slowly but surely rising, and a flowy white top that keeps her fresh, for now.

Hoseok instructs them to get to work, and they do. All their bags are gathered under a big ancient tree as each couple and trio starts (tries) setting their tents. While they’re busy figuring out how to ensure the tent won’t fly away, which Taehyung fears particularly, Jimin and Jeongguk offer themselves to go and fill everyone’s water flask at a nearby drinking fountain they had found. Eunbi kneels down to fish hers out of a blue backpack and goes to hand it out to Jeongguk, who’s collecting Dahye’s bottle. The boy smiles at her friend, but it gets wiped off when he shifts his gaze on Eunbi’s shorter figure. The moment is brief, and awkward: her big unsure eyes stare into his hardened ones, arm extended out to him, wondering if there might be something funny on her face for him to turn so serious; she hesitantly lifts her brows, waiting for something; Jeongguk looks her up and down, only to not acknowledge her water flask, and just walks past her.

Eunbi is dumbfounded, the tip of her ears reddening as she remains paralysed with her hand out, even after Jimin collects her flask, muttering something close to Don’t mind him, please accompanied by an apologetic smile. She regains consciousness of her surroundings only when, beside her, Dahye can’t help the snort coming out of her mouth, trying but failing to save it with her hand. The still shocked girl slowly turns to face her amused friend, mouth slightly agape and left eye clearly twitching, “Did he just… act as if I don’t exist.”

The situation shouldn’t be funny, but to Dahye it’s the peak of comedy as she keeps giggling the more the slow realisation of what has just happened shows on Eunbi’s features. Obviously, the latter can’t find one single reason to laugh about it, whining while the taller girl pats her shoulder, still smiling, “You really need to talk to him.”

The targeted girl ignores that, biting her nails nervously, ”Was he saying anything about… me, in the car?”

Dahye lifts her brows, shaking her head, ”Nothing. He’s probably talking shit about you with Jimin, though.” Eunbi follows her pointed finger and catches Jeongguk animatedly discussing with his flatmate, balancing the bottles in his arms, before they turn a corner. Eunbi fusses, lightly tugging on her braided pigtails, and she feels helpless as even the friend who’s supposed to be supporting her through all of this is chuckling at her. Despite being shorter, when Eunbi shoves Dahye’s shoulder she manages to make her stumble, but that doesn’t stop her laughs, though.

”You’re building the tent on your own.” Arms crossed and pout on, Eunbi isn’t joking as she goes to sit under the tree surrounded by bags and ignores her name being called out. Rather than reacting to it, she spots tiny bugs between the grass and inspects them for a while, pretending it keeps her distracted from what’s plaguing her mind. Soon after, with her knees to her chest, watching those ants working to transfer food from one side to the other inevitably gets her lost in her thoughts. What is she doing wrong? There’s clearly unresolved problems between her and the boy who brutally ignored her existence minutes ago, but she thought maybe if she started seeking for truce, then he would too. His response, instead, makes her realise no matter how much she tries, it’s apparently not enough to mend what happened all those years ago. She messed up worse than imagined.

The constant pondering makes her lose track of time, and she comes back to reality with undesired outcomes that she convinces herself to be true. When she recovers from the (as she has deduced, deserved) humiliation, Dahye has already set up half of the tent and Eunbi walks over to her bashfully, “Sorry for being childish. I’ll finish this, Hye.” The girl just smiles softly and nods, sending her a flying kiss that makes Eunbi chuckle before taking her previous spot under the tree. At least Dahye doesn’t hate her.

It takes her a while to figure out what to do but she soon grasps how hard a seemingly simple task can be, feeling bad for letting Dahye do a great part of it on her own. Still, she needs to work fast as lunch time is approaching, and everybody around her is almost finished. She has been crouching on a particular spot on the ground for a while now, trying to properly secure an angle of the tent unsuccessfully. Until she groans exasperated, puffing her hair out of her vision and lifting her body up to find a solution. She tries stomping on it a few times, but it doesn’t work, and if anything it worsens the situation. Huffing out, with her hands on her hips she looks around for help, and the first person her eyes fall on is Jeongguk.

He was already staring at her, comfortably sitting on a deckchair with his legs spread and sunglasses on. His tent looks perfectly set already, with Jimin seemingly fixing the inside of it. His hand is covering his mouth before he uses it to lift his glasses over his head, and is that a smirk? They both stare at each other in silence, Eunbi still struggling to breathe, and she hesitates slightly until her eagerness to be over with the tent becomes stronger. She speaks up to make herself heard over the small distance, “Can you- help me?”

Jeongguk narrows her eyes at her, initially not answering but not even moving from his relaxed position. The girl is ready to be met with silence again, but it’s something worse when he opens his mouth, “I think Namjoon would be happy to do that.” He’s as stern as ever as he returns the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, furtherly spreading his whole body on the chair and facing the sun. Only then, he releases a content sigh, smiling slightly.

All of this cannot be real. What does that even mean? Eunbi can feel her eye start to twitch again and she needs to clench her jaw to stop it. It’s okay. Breathe. She unexpectedly but successfully manages to hold herself from exploding on him, both overwhelmed with tent building and frustrated with his behaviour. She can’t really decipher what led him to not only act cold, as he usually is with her, which is fine, but also mean! But no problem, she’ll try once again. It costs nothing to be nice. And she tells herself she’ll stay that way, even if she’s met with the opposite, until he breaks.

The storm of negative emotions tormenting her thoughts can be distortedly seen as a good thing on one side, if she considers that the sudden adrenaline flowing in her body gets her through most of the task without any help, even mindlessly, while she keeps reflecting on the interaction and the previous ones. Why the fuck would Namjoon be happy to help her? Well, he would, he’s naturally a helper, but why did Jeongguk say that? Is he really that pissed about her going in his car? She tries to understand, she really does. Keep being nice is what she tells herself instead.

When the tent is finally up, only with Dahye’s finishing touches, and food is finally in her stomach, refilling her energy tank, it’s like there’s a switch going off in her head, making it seem as if nothing bad has ever happened. Eunbi is back to her talkative self with a full tummy and a bashful grin while her best friend teases her for the earlier tantrum she went on about, but at least it’s all smiles again.

The first day at the campsite is spent basking in the slowness that follows after ticking off the only two activities planned for today on Hoseok’s schedule: setting their tents and preparing meals for lunch and dinner. The boss then instructs the group on just getting acquainted with their surroundings, and they don’t need to be told twice, making the most out of those short remaining moments of ease.

The rest of those hours are used to laze by the huge lake, in between swims and sunbathes. Luckily, Eunbi had packed a few bikinis and she chose to wear a black set, its laces meeting at the back with a bow. Sitting back and taking it easy, before all that she will be faced with the next few days, gives her a chance to get closer to the others. During the earlier drive, she had the opportunity to chat with Sora and discover the sweetheart she truly is, and the car was then easily filled with laughter, mostly provided by Namjoon and Seokjin’s terrible jokes. She now sits by Sora on a beach towel, all the other girls in a circle catching up and laying by the sun. In the back of their gossip session, the boys could be heard laughing and squealing, and the sound reminded Eunbi of sweet childhood. She briefly shifts her attention to them and smiles when she observes how they’re doing the most to tire their energy out, from using a rope hanging by the branch of a tree to leap into the water, to initiating a volleyball match using one of their rolled up towels.

Eunbi grows even fonder than before of the people she’s surrounded with, the earlier stress leaving her body and being replaced by serenity, a small sigh released from her lips before she returns to listen to the girls’ chat. She laughs at something Dahye says and jumps on it excitedly, making the others chuckle at the two friends eagerly recounting one of their craziest uni experiences so far.

All of it is short lived when Taehyung and Jimin suddenly drop a water balloon over their heads, a collective gasp filling the space followed by the two boys’ childish giggles and Dahye’s screams, getting up to run after them. They all spend the rest of the afternoon trying to get back at each other with more pranks, bathing in the lake’s cold water and taking silly group pictures to seal the day. As the sun begins to set, they all sit on their towels and silently observe nature, definitely too tired to speak, and preferring to savour the sweet moment.

When the sun finally leaves its place for the moon to rise and the group of friends gets back to their tents, their stomachs growling signal it’s time for dinner. They take turns to shower using the nearby public structure and then help setting a campfire to cook. It also works as a very needed source of heat, given the temperature has significantly dropped and their bodies are still humid from washing up. Eunbi wears the grey cargos she had discarded earlier this morning when deciding on what to put on, and a white tee, her damp hair falling on her shoulders and making her feel slightly chilly. She comes up beside Yoongi to help him with the meat, benefiting from the warmth of the fire.

There’s not much talk between the two, only the older boy advising her to be careful of the flames every two minutes, but it’s comfortable. Eunbi still has a hard time reading through Yoongi, and maybe it’s what she enjoys the most about him: his aura is soothing and it exudes security. He doesn’t exactly show it, but he’s deeply attentive and caring of his friends, and the girl feels safe next to him. She can sense him looking over at her while the meat is cooking, and as she turns to him she meets his eyes with a smile. He ponders, scanning her face “You got sunburnt. You need to wear sunscreen tomorrow, or it’ll get worse.”

Eunbi chuckles, dragging her pointer finger up and down her red nose, “Yeah, I know. It kinda hurts but it looks like I have natural blush now!”

Yoongi shakes his head with a small amused scoff, “That’s stupid, Eunbi. Wait for me here, I’ll go get you an after-sun cream.” And even as he walks off, he reminds her to not stay too close to the fire. She thinks that’s an exact demonstration of what the boy is truly like in her head.

The girl keeps grilling the meat, humming unknown melodies under her breath, and she almost misses a broad figure sitting on one of the chairs surrounding the fire. When she looks up, it’s Jeongguk avoiding her eyes and instead staring at the flames, their light reflecting in his big orbs and making them shinier. He wears his bermudas from earlier, but he now has a grey Stussy hoodie on top of it. His locks are still wet after freshly coming out of a shower, and they curl on his forehead, making him look like a poodle. She smiles. It’s like 15 years old Jeongguk is there with her again, his bare, exhausted face and droopy eyes taking her back to Busan. Without even realising what she’s doing, she extends a cooked piece of meat his way, “You want some?”

Startled, the boy breaks from his spacing-out and registers the request. He looks between Eunbi and the meat, gulping. He licks his lips, and she swears she can also hear his stomach rumbling. When he keeps ogling the food without replying, she wiggles the fork and his eyes follow its every movement, as if hypnotised. Then, he suddenly screws his eyelids shut and breaks from the trance, simply shaking his head no and fishing his phone out of his pocket, mindlessly scrolling on it. Just like that, she’s back to the present, and Jeongguk hates her. Eunbi narrowly glares at him while he can’t see her.

Yoongi comes back soon after with two different creams in his hands, and he gives them to Eunbi with a chuckle. She thanks him and lets him take over the cooking, while she curiously inspects the products, still standing next to the fire. When Yoongi spots his younger friend on the chair, he asks the same exact question as her, forking a piece of meat, “You want some?”

Jeongguk’s attention is back up, this time on Yoongi, and when he sees what his hyung is referring to he eagerly nods. Eunbi interrupts her examination just in time to see the boy hungrily shoving the food in his mouth, brows furrowed and praising noises accompanying his munching, making the older friend by her side chuckle. Instead, the girl is once again in disbelief, even more as he watches Jeongguk patting his knee with force, satisfied with the bite, “Hyung, this shit is so good. I want more.”

Eunbi scoffs imperceptibly, leaving the scene with an annoyed scowl wrecking her pretty features. As she enters her tent, she’s glad Dahye is still showering as she makes the most of that isolating moment. She sighs wearily and whips out her phone. Using its camera, she tries to ignore her tumbling emotions and instead puts on the creams Yoongi had given her, but not even those are enough to distract her. She’s still incredulous at what she’s being put through, her patience wearing thin, and the pact she made with herself before coming here is dangerously close to being broken.

Dinner is spent with good food and even better people, and only then Eunbi visibly untenses again. In between bites and full mouths, they go from discussing random facts to casually engaging in games of Truth or Dare or Never Have I Ever, the beer bottles slowly being emptied while their tummies get filled. When they’re done eating, the relaxed smiles on their faces implicitly communicate how the meal has been the perfect ending to the lovely day spent together. Still, they stay by the fire and keep up an effortless chat. When one of them comments on the limpidity of the sky, its stars being perfectly visible in this zone of Seoul, they all look up and stare in silence at the fullness of the lights.

Even if it’s not too late, the weariness from being out in the sun for multiple consecutive hours is weightening down on most of them, Seokjin and Sora retiring to their tents, soon after being followed by Yoongi and Hoseok.

It’s a little past midnight, and Eunbi starts to feel more and more affected by the cool breeze, its effects showing on her prickled skin. She tries to warm herself up by rubbing her exposed arms with her hands, but it’s to no avail, “God, I’m so cold.”

A collective agreement follows her claim, with Iseul speaking up and curling herself into a ball on the deckchair she’s sitting on by taking her legs up to her chest and hugging them close, “Me too, it’s freezing.”

”Oh, I have a spare hoodie.” Both girls snap their heads at the voice, which belongs to Jeongguk. However, as he quickly gets up to retrieve the sweater from his tent, it’s not clear who between the two he’s referring to, their curious expectant eyes following his every movement. Eunbi has her reasons to feel so eager, given the fact that she has been begging for one nice interaction with the boy, a spark of hope lighting up in her chest at his offer. On the other hand, she doesn’t know why the other girl seems equally excited, twirling her short hair around her fingers as she waits for Jeongguk to come out of the tent again. She huffs, a pout ending on her features.

When the sought-after boy gets back with a blueish crewneck in his arms, both girls hold their breaths, the sudden tension going unnoticed by the others (except for Dahye, she’s like a psychic when it comes to her best friend’s emotions), until Jeongguk lays the piece of clothing on Iseul’s shoulders, coming behind her and then sitting on his chair again.

Iseul bashfully thanks him, the tips of her ears seemingly reddening while a sweet, alluring smile makes its way on her lips. Eunbi scoffs at that, and if looks could kill Iseul would be dead right now. The dirty look she sends her way luckily goes unnoticed, and she keeps hugging her own body trying to provide herself with warmth. When she shifts her attention to Jeongguk, he’s already looking at her, smirking. She can’t be convinced he isn’t doing all this on purpose.

Even with her teeth almost chattering, the neglected girl forces herself to stay with the others until the end, and with Namjoon and Taehyung retiring to sleep only six of them remain. Under a white full moon, the conversation doesn’t really follow a clear direction, steering from existential questions that none really have the answers to, to Jimin’s drunken adventures. Jeongguk giddily joins the recounting and adds many details to it, specifically highlighting the embarrassing parts that his roommate is trying to omit to save face, and making all of his friends laugh with their whole chest, Eunbi included. She simply can’t ignore the fact that he’s naturally charming, and hilarious as well. In the middle of his storytelling, his whole body gets involved and it makes the events seem even more impressive. Eunbi smiles when she compares the Jeongguk in front of her to the beloved one in her past, the one that would sit her down and force her to keep up with his running imagination, constantly up with new ideas for silly scripts.

Then it’s Dahye’s turn to share one of her experiences, and Eunbi inevitably gets thrown into the tale, which had seen the two friends drunkenly sneaking themselves into a concert. It’s like they’re perfectly mirroring Jimin and Jeongguk’s dynamic, because while Dahye is trying to leave out critical parts of the story, Eunbi strongly insists on specifying them with an unseen emphasis for 1 a.m., causing everybody to laugh along. In between chuckles, her eyes fall on Jeongguk, who is mindlessly scrolling on his phone and seemingly not paying attention. Throughout the recounting, she notices Jeongguk distractly listening but never laughing, and if he does it’s only after something said by Dahye. Slowly, the enthusiasm gets wiped off her face as she curls up on the chair, sulkily letting her friend finish telling the story.

Another hour of effortless conversation goes by, and Jeongguk is back to lively chatting again, his animated gestures and witty jokes getting laughter out of his friends, but this time Eunbi doesn’t join. She silently sets on observing the boy, despite being caught a few times. She really wants to understand the reason behind his behaviour, but there’s no factual explanation she can come up with other than the obvious reasons that put them in this situation in the first place. If that’s the case, there’s nothing much she can do other than going up to him and finally talking it out like the mature adults they should be, but with their petty, silent bickering she doesn’t think that’s happening any soon.

While she’s busy squinting her eyes at the boy, in a borderline creepy manner, she doesn’t notice Iseul crouching in half in laughter at something Jeongguk said, until she’s directly referring to her, “Oh god, Eunbi! Why did you never tell me Jeongguk was this funny?” Said girl is startled by the question and by the abrupt interruption that shakes her out of her trance, confusion written on her face and it must be evident with the way Iseul goes on explaining, “Dahye told me you’ve known him for a long time.”

All at once, the atmosphere is tense and maybe Iseul and Aera can’t feel it, but Dahye definitely can as she snaps her head to her friend, who’s staring directly into Jeongguk’s eyes. The two seem to be battling an unnamed war through eye contact, and the intensity of the boy’s gaze ignites something implacable in the girl’s chest, dangerously close to rage, and it has to do with all the feelings she’s had to bottle up in less than 24 hours. She scoffs, referring to Iseul but never breaking the staring contest with the boy, “Oh, is he? Don’t think I’m well acquainted with that side of him yet.”

If the tension wasn’t palpable to everyone before the comment, it surely is now, the only ones that have something left to say being the crickets and owls in the background. Jeongguk only snickers before washing a hand over his face, an unsettling smirk on his lips. He seems to finally acknowledge the other girl’s presence, but it’s not in the way Eunbi initially imagined it would go. Instead, it’s venom spitting out of his mouth, “You would've been if you weren’t so self centred, always wrapped in your own bubble all the fucking time.”

Eunbi's confidence falls as quick as her heart, a sudden force weighing on it and almost crushing it. She’s fast at hiding it, ignoring the slight sting she can sense in the back of her eyelids, her only goal is to shoot harder. She forces the fakest smile she can muster, “Self centred? Are you sure you're talking about me?” The affronted girl scoffs, loud and sarcastic, “Fuck, and I thought you'd know better than that, Jeongguk. You should try getting your head out of your ass and look around. Maybe you'd see how shitty you've been treating all of us-” me “-for these past weeks.”

Jeongguk is visibly taken aback, and it’s his heart falling this time, his face following suit. His broken features do little to hide the doubts plaguing his spiralling mind. Had he pushed it too far? Had he been actually so bad to his own friends? Seeing his contender’s face relaxing with victory makes him snap out of the sudden trance, as he regains consciousness fast. No, he hasn’t. Fuck this. Blinded by anger, he utters the unimaginable, “Speak for yourself when you say shit like that. As far as I'm concerned, I've been treating you fairly seeing the bitch you are.”

His eyes are as pitch as black, the stars in them that Eunbi would love to get lost into are unreachable now, almost as if a dark cloud had obscured them. It must be the pollution that's taking over his heart too.

She’s frozen in place as the cruel words echo in her mind, the force that was keeping her heart underwater had managed to crush it, and it was now coming up her throat, squeezing the air out of her lungs. Her ears ring with the sudden lack of oxygen, and she can only faintly hear Dahye’s raging comments coming in her defence against Jeongguk. She can only seem to focus on the cracking of the fire, though, its thumping noise suddenly unbearable, as she feels more and more engulfed in its flames. She forces all sounds to come back to her, strongly pulling herself out of her own plagued head, the boy in front of her now unrecognisable to her empty eyes.

Looking around, she notices all of her friends — his, after all — had gone extremely quiet, the pressure weighing on them too. She can't stand it, needs to get out. She wishes she had never agreed to this. So much for keeping her peace. Yet, she'll never give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that hurt her. She'll die before crying in front of him.

“Well, if you don't mind, the bitch has had enough now, so with all due respect, she's going to sleep.” With a forced tight lipped smile, she gets up in one fast movement and walks to her tent, leaving the others disoriented, and a still furious Dahye scoffing at Jeongguk. He follows her with his eyes until she disappears in her shelter, clenching his jaw and announcing his departure soon after.

Inside the tent, Eunbi takes several deep breaths trying to calm down, and she feels frail when she can sense her eyes prickle with tears. She tells herself it’s angry ones. Apparently, being nice isn’t enough, and she watches as the seal to her pact shatters with force, signalling no come back. Following suit, the puzzle breaks once again, and she’s left scrambling for the pieces falling, looking for the one that will start it over again. And this time, it’s going to be even harder.