#; Autumn really pulls out all of his humanity and it's SUCH A CHANGE

[distopea]

❛ i wanted to hurt them for the way they hurt you. ❜ (Astra. Autumn did some terrible things hehe)

@kissmeau

&. 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

It wasn’t usual for Autumn to be that late after what was supposed to be a casual errand. Astra was aware that he had been up to something after the last meeting with the Ornelio’s family, but to which extent and how bad he would be involved, he had no idea. The main goal was of course to trust his lover, but a part of his heart couldn’t help but sink hard within his chest. He wouldn’t allow all those dark scenarios blooming inside his mind, announcing terrible events. He had to rely on Autumn’s capacities to handle complicated situations, as he had never been a man of fear before; for the sake of the Cleaners, he couldn’t start because of his love for another man. 

Yet, while he was absentmindedly trying to work inside his office on a new chapter for his students the day after, he always glanced at the clock on the wall, time flying way too slowly tonight. When he finally heard the familiar click of the front door, he was prompted to close the astronomy book and straightened himself back up, leaving a rather unusual mess on his desk. He stepped out of the room, pacing his walk, even if he wanted to run and make sure that Autumn was back in one piece. 

Autumn was standing in the kitchen, abandoning on the floor a black sport bag, probably with soiled clothes and other guns inside. He had learnt over time how Astra was sensitive to germs and dirty things, forcing himself into a respectuous routine, for his comfort. He was selfless in many ways, even when he shouldn’t be involved; even when it meant to put his life at risk for the head of the Cleaners. He could tell that he had been through a fight, and yet, he had still managed to change and clean himself before coming home. 

For Astra’s sake. 

Astra silently crossed the distance between them, before he strongly embraced his lover. He felt relieved to see him alive, far more than he had ever experienced with anyone. He wouldn’t like to get back to this life of silence and ticking clock without arguing about food, music, clothes, and whatever casualty they had created in their dangerous gangsters’ lives. “Shit…” Astra cursed, while he heard those words coming out of Autumn’s lips. He stepped backward, cupping his cheeks just to be certain that he was not badly injured. 

“I know.” He said, as he wouldn’t ever scold him for his decisions. “Yet, giving me a heart attack was not in my early fourty’s plans, you know.” He eventually smiled, and dragged Autumn back against his chest, stealing a warm and welcoming kiss at the same time. 

[kingofbodyrolls]

Till We Meet Again (m) | jjk

When your childhood friend that you had a crush on, moved away out of the blue— you never thought you’d see him again. A night swim in the ocean will have you feeling delusional, but the voice that fills your ears— sweet like cotton candy, you’d recognize that voice anywhere, it’s Jungkook.

→ Pairing: jungkook x reader (female) → AUs: mermaid!au, fantasy!au, magical!au → Trope: childhood friends to lovers → Genres: romcom, smut, nostalgia, and so much fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 11.4k → Warnings (general) + triggers: Jungkook’s first time (he is not a virgin lol, but it’s his first time with a human, so), this one is actually pretty mild, bordering on vanilla. There’s talk about how merfolk do it 👀 This is just crack fantasy okay, please don’t take it seriously! There’s some small pov changes in here, because, well, it just happened, lol. → Warnings (explicit): protected sex, oral (both male and female), hair pulling, multiple orgasms, nipple play/sucking, a little bit of dirty talk, begging, pleasing. → Taglist: @allie-is-a-panda @jeonsbabygirlsworld → Read on AO3! → Author’s note: happy birthday to my sweet and lovely friend Lua (@letjungcoook7) 🥳 I wrote this story for you as a present. I know you’re not that much into fantasy, but when I told you about my mermaid ideas, you were excited 🤭 So this first one is for you bby ✨ I really hope you like it, also that everyone else does!

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a collection of series that are stand-alone one-shots, but all of them are set in the same universe. They are slightly connected though 🤭

The rain begins to pour as Jungkook grips your hand, his touch both delicate and powerful, guiding you through the sudden downpour. Moments ago, you were laughing and playing at the local playground, unaware that Mother Nature was about to drench the world in her unexpected shower.

Your heart pounds in your chest and echoes in your ears as you race to keep up with Jungkook, a wide smile spreading across your face. For an eight-year-old, he’s pretty damn fast, making every step feel like a thrilling challenge.

He’s sprinting down familiar streets, and you quickly realize he’s heading towards your home. You’ve never seen his house or met his parents, but your own parents adore Jungkook, joking that he’s your future husband. You’re not thinking that far ahead—you’re just a child, after all. Yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a fondness for him.

Let’s be honest, you have the biggest crush on the sweet boy with the round face and big doe eyes that seem too large for his tiny head. His nose is adorable, and his teeth only add to his charm. In short, you love everything about him, even his occasional unreasonable moments. But when he pouts, sticking out his bottom lip in that irresistibly cute way, your heart completely melts.

Your house comes into view, but instead of heading inside, he veers into your backyard, leading you towards the hidden playhouse nestled among the bushes and small trees.

“Shouldn’t we get inside where it’s dry?” you ask, bewilderment etched across your face as you finally reach the playhouse. He crouches down and gently pulls you inside, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“No, we’ll be safe here,” he assures you, sitting down with his legs tucked under him. He bites his lip softly, a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes.

“We should go inside; I don’t want either of us to catch a cold,” you mumble, settling beside him and feeling the warmth of his body next to yours. Despite not feeling chilled yet, you know it’s risky to stay out in wet clothes. It’s autumn, and although the air still holds a lingering warmth, you’re aware that it won’t last long.

“Let’s just stay here for a moment, okay?” he pleads, his eyes wide and his signature pout in full effect. You find yourself unable to resist—after all, who could say no to that adorable face?

For a few minutes, you sit there side by side, listening to the sky weep as rain patters softly on the roof of the playhouse. A few droplets sneak inside, but it hardly matters.

Jungkook suddenly turns to you, his expression unreadable— sadness flickers across his features, his normally warm brown eyes darkening to near-black in the dim light. His smile vanishes, replaced by a somberness that seems to weigh heavily on him. You can’t help but wonder what has shifted, why he’s undergone this sudden transformation in demeanor.

“___. Promise me you’ll never forget me?” 

His eyes widen with earnestness, pleading like a puppy’s, and both of his hands seek yours, holding on as if afraid of being forgotten.

Emotions swirl in those hazel eyes, a tumultuous sea of feelings you struggle to decipher. You long to grasp his thoughts, to understand why he’s broaching the topic of forgetting him. But the idea is unfathomable to you; forgetting him seems as impossible as forgetting your own name.

Something shimmers in his eyes—what, you can’t quite discern. They resemble an ocean, deep and mysterious, where one could easily lose themselves if they stared for too long.

“Forget you? Kookie, what on earth are you talking about?” your eyes widen in disbelief, searching his face for any hint of understanding, but finding only confusion.

“It’s just... I like you a lot, and,” he murmurs, stumbling over his words, his hands fidgeting nervously with yours. Then, lifting his gaze to meet yours, he adds with a touch of vulnerability, “I’ll never forget you. You mean the world to me, ___. You’re my friend.”

With a warm smile and a gentle chuckle, you reply, “Duh, silly. Of course you’ll never forget me! And I’ll never forget you either. Now, can we please go inside?”

Jungkook smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as it usually does, leaving a lingering unease in the pit of your stomach. It feels like a storm is brewing within you, mirroring the turbulent weather outside.

“Just promise me. We’ll never forget each other, no matter what,” he implores, his voice firm and unwavering, his eyes reflecting the solemnity of his words.

He clasps your hand with his own, seeking out your pinky finger. 

“Pinky promise?” he asks, his eyes earnest, holding onto your gaze with a mix of hope and determination.

Your eyes flicker with a rapid dance of confusion and amusement. Despite the chaos of the moment, a smile spreads across your face, its warmth seeming to dissolve his frown and alleviate his frazzled state.

“Okay. Pinky promise,” you affirm, intertwining your pinky finger with his, sealing the pact with a vow that feels as timeless as eternity.

You never laid eyes on Jungkook after that—well, you did both retreat indoors, your mother showering Jungkook with love and sweet treats he adored. But after that day, twenty long years ago, he vanished from your life out of the blue, leaving only memories behind.

Why you’re thinking about him now, you really don’t know. Yet, just as he once asked of you, you’ve never let go of his memory—a part of you still holds onto the hope that he might reappear, surprising you around some unsuspecting corner, as if he never left. But with each passing day, the likelihood of such serendipity grows fainter, like the receding tide of the deep blue ocean.

Maybe it’s the nostalgia stirred by your recent home purchase by the sea that brings back memories of your childhood crush. The vast expanse of the ocean triggers thoughts of his eyes—not because of their color, but the way they used to glimmer, reflecting the light with a sparkle that danced like sunbeams on water.

Long strolls on the beach prove therapeutic, gradually pushing thoughts of your childhood crush to the recesses of your mind. With each step along the sandy shores, you uncover treasures—seashells, smoothed by the relentless embrace of the waves, and other mementos of seaside serenity.

You truly love the beach, which is why you chose to buy a house so close to the shore. It’s not just because the ocean reminds you of a certain childhood friend you wish you could see again. His sudden departure has always baffled you—sometimes you wonder what really happened. 

Was he kidnapped, or did he simply leave without a word? 

Why would he vanish without telling you first, especially if he just had to move?

It’s after dinner, and you find yourself lounging on your terrace, gazing out at the ocean. The view is breathtaking, and when the wind blows just right, the salty breeze gently caresses your skin. You smile a wistful smile as you raise your glass to your lips. Today is a red wine day; despite the heat, the perfectly chilled glass complements the warmth of the evening air.

With your legs propped up on the lounge chair, reclined for maximum comfort, you gaze out at the vast expanse of the sea. You can’t help but wonder about the treasures and secrets it holds, a mysterious world teeming with countless species you’ve never even heard of that call it home.

Mankind has long tried to conquer the world beneath the waters, yet the pitch-black depths of the ocean remain largely unexplored, beyond the reach of even the best diving gear. Though you’re no diver, the allure of the sea’s hidden secrets captivates you, and you dream of one day uncovering its mysteries.

A sweet, velvety sound caresses your ears, prompting you to sit up and listen more closely. The enchanting melody wraps around you, and you realize it’s a voice—someone is singing.

God, it sounds beautiful—captivating, sweet, and strong, yet tinged with sorrow. The melody weaves its way into your soul, leaving you spellbound.

For a moment, you wonder if it’s all in your head—a fleeting hallucination brought on by too much wine. But a glance at your glass and the nearly full bottle beside you confirms you’ve barely finished your first glass.

The voice is real, and it carries an eerily familiar tone. Intrigued, you rise from your comfortable lounge chair and make your way down to the sandy beach that has been your backyard for the past few days.

Your bare feet sink into the warm, fine sand, its texture caressing your skin. You glance around, searching for the source of the beautiful voice, but the beach remains empty, with no one in sight.

There it is again—the singing, so achingly beautiful that it sends shivers down your spine and raises the hair on your arms. Your feet carry you along the shoreline, but despite your efforts, you can’t pinpoint the source of the enchanting voice.

Then, just as you’ve been pacing up and down the shoreline, the voice abruptly vanishes—quiet as a still puddle after a rain shower. With a strange unease settling in your gut, you reluctantly turn back toward home. The voice felt hauntingly familiar, yet somehow elusive—like a distant memory struggling to resurface.

For the past few days, the hauntingly beautiful voice has serenaded you night after night, drawing you out to the beach in search of its mysterious owner. Despite your efforts, luck eludes you, and each failed attempt leaves you with a sense of frustration, reminiscent of the pout Jungkook used to give you whenever you were being unreasonable with him.

Your frustration mounts as the elusive voice continues to evade you, its hauntingly familiar tone persistently tugging at the corners of your mind.

Frustration coursing through your veins, you slip into your bikini, determined to quell the restlessness with a night swim in your aquatic backyard.

As the sand caresses your feet, you stroll down to the shoreline under the watchful gaze of the moon, its ethereal glow casting a mesmerizing sheen upon the water. The scene is nothing short of magical, and as the lukewarm water embraces your skin, a delightful chill courses through your body—not from the cold, but from the familiar embrace of your second home. The ocean has always held a special place in your heart, and in this moment, it feels like a sanctuary away from the world.

Surrendering to the embrace of the water, you allow its gentle currents to envelop you, cradling you in its soft embrace as you yield to its rhythmic sway. With only your head above the surface, you venture further into the depths, relishing the sensation of weightlessness and freedom that comes with each stroke.

A soft, melodic sound tickles your ear—it’s that captivating voice again! This time, it resonates clearer, as if drawing you in closer. Driven by curiosity, you swim towards the source of the sound, your heart pounding with anticipation. As you approach a cluster of rocks and a looming cliffside, you spy a cave nestled within its embrace, beckoning you with its mysterious allure.

The cave envelops you in darkness, yet the gentle glow of the full moon dances upon the water, casting an ethereal light that transforms the rocky surface of the cliff into glistening crystals. The voice reverberates off the walls, its echoes amplifying its haunting melody. Drawing closer, you discern a figure resting their head upon a rock, their silhouette illuminated by the moon’s gentle caress.

Intrigued, you inch closer, your curiosity piqued. As you approach, you discern the figure of a man, likely around your age, or perhaps a bit younger, reclining against the stone, his body partially obscured by its shadowy embrace.

“Hello?” you call out, your voice echoing softly in the cave. Instantly, a pair of dark brown eyes fixate on yours, their intensity sending a shiver of recognition down your spine.

As you hear something splashing nearby, you swiftly swim to the corner of the cave. Pulling yourself up onto the rocky surface, you cast an inquisitive gaze at the stranger, who remains silent, their expression enigmatic.

“Are you okay?” you inquire, met with silence as the man attempts to retreat, concealing more of his body beneath the murky depths, leaving you to wonder what secrets lie hidden beneath the surface.

You approach cautiously, taking slow, measured steps, careful not to startle the man. His features are striking—sharp, chiseled jawline, eyes wide and intense, lips full yet thin, and a cute nose that triggers a flood of memories from long ago, memories that have never faded.

“Jungkook?” you gasp, the name escaping your lips like a sudden gust of wind, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you—happiness and hurt colliding like waves crashing against the shore, overwhelming you in their tumultuous embrace.

The man cautiously peers over the rock, his bare torso partially shielded from view. The sight of him shirtless prompts a flurry of questions in your mind—why is he here, and why is he without a shirt?

Is that a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm?

You can’t help but notice the strength in his neck, the prominent veins tracing a path down to his defined clavicle and broad shoulders. Damn it you really shouldn’t, but you find yourself shamelessly admiring his physique, a flush of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks.

“___?” His voice breaks the silence, light and airy, reminiscent of a summer breeze whispering through the leaves.

“Is it really you?” you inquire, lowering yourself to sit in front of him, your gaze sweeping over his features once more. His face holds a striking resemblance to someone from your past, now matured with the passage of time. Yet, those deep, familiar ocean eyes leave no doubt—it’s unmistakably Jungkook.

“Yes, it’s me,” he confirms, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. The boyish charm of his smile clashes with the maturity reflected in his sharp features, creating a captivating contrast.

“What are you doing here?” you inquire, a mix of surprise and curiosity evident in your voice. The sight of him in this cave, serenading the darkness with his song, leaves you utterly bewildered.

“Just taking a breather,” he chuckles, his gaze shamelessly roaming over your form, sending a subtle shiver down your spine.

“Hold on a second,” you exclaim, frustration tinged with urgency in your voice as you scratch your head in bewilderment. “What brings you here? You vanished without a trace. What happened?”

Another splash in the water draws your attention, and you track the sound to behind Jungkook—then, you spot it: the tail. It’s a mesmerizing shade of purple, with delicate variations of violet shimmering in the moonlit cave. The translucent fins catch the light as they sway gracefully. The scales, rough and scaly, add to the otherworldly beauty of him.

Your jaw nearly hits the rocky surface—if it could, it surely would. You gaze, utterly transfixed, at the figure before you—your childhood friend, now revealed as a mermaid. No, a merman. The revelation leaves you reeling. How is this possible? You’ve heard of undiscovered species lurking beneath the waters, but this is your friend, someone you’ve known for years with two perfectly functional feet and no hint of a scaly tail.

“___,” he begins, his voice filled with warmth and genuine curiosity. “It’s been such a long time. How have you been?” His eyes radiate happiness, but you’re still reeling from the revelation before you. Seeing him again—something you’ve dreamt about for years—leaves you speechless.

“No,” you assert firmly, a rush of urgency in your tone. “You don’t get to ask questions yet. There are so many things I need answers to from you first.” Determined, you attempt to peer over the rock he’s perched on, desperate for a closer look at the astonishing sight before you—your childhood friend now bearing a tail, a reality that defies all logic.

“Alright, fire away,” he responds, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. “But give me a moment to settle in.” With a graceful movement, he hoists himself out of the water, his biceps flexing as he perches on the rock, his tail lazily swaying in the water. Bathed in the soft glow of the cave, his majestic purple tail shimmers, leaving you in awe of his breathtaking beauty.

He seems big and broad shouldered, the tattoos look intricate, reflecting ancient scribbles and drawings on his arm.

You plop down on the rugged surface, your mind reeling with disbelief—it all feels like a surreal dream. Unable to resist, you extend your hand to touch him, as if to confirm his reality. Your index finger tentatively prods his cheek before trailing down to his chest. The moment your touch meets his pecs, you’re met with a jolt of realization—his muscles are firm, real, and undeniably tangible beneath your fingertips, sending a surge of heat through your veins as you inadvertently find yourself groping his impeccable chest.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his eyes darting from your hand on his chest back to your face. Embarrassment floods your cheeks with a deep crimson as the realization of your actions hits you. You’ve been feeling the solid warmth of his chest, lost in the surreal moment.

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry!” you blurt out, yanking your hand back as if it’s been scorched. “I didn’t mean to touch you like that!” Embarrassment floods through you, your heart racing as you pull away from the unexpected intimacy.

Damn it, get a grip, you chastise yourself silently. “I just wanted to make sure this is real,” you confess aloud, your voice trembling slightly with lingering disbelief.

You release a nervous chuckle, the sound betraying the disbelief still coursing through you. But as you take in the surreal sight before you—Jungkook, undeniably real and impossibly transformed—you can no longer deny the truth. Your childhood friend is here, right in front of you, and he is, astonishingly, a merman.

“Oh, this is very real,” he teases, his voice rich and layered with an enigmatic quality that you can’t quite decipher but are desperate to understand.

“Are you really a merman?” you ask, your gaze drifting back to his tail, mesmerized by its iridescent beauty. It’s breathtaking, almost otherworldly.

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lips, his eyes glimmering with a wistful nostalgia that tugs at your heartstrings.

“What happened to you? Why did you leave?” you demand, the urgency in your voice revealing the depth of your longing and confusion. These are the questions that have haunted you for years, the ones you swore you’d ask if you ever saw him again. Why did he disappear without a word, leaving you behind?

You watch as his expression shifts, becoming more guarded. “My parents and I had to move back home... to the ocean, I mean,” he explains, his face twitching as if struggling to mask an inner pain. “A rift in a tectonic plate devastated my village. Everything was destroyed, so we had to return and help rebuild.”

You study him closely, a lump forming in your throat as a myriad of emotions swirl within you.

“Okay. But why couldn’t you come back when you were done?” you inquire, your voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and hurt. It’s apparent that there are unresolved feelings of abandonment lingering within you, a reminder of the wounds you may need to address with your therapist.

“I really wanted to, but my parents and the village elders forbade it. We dedicated ourselves to rebuilding our village, but returning to the surface was strictly prohibited,” he explains, a palpable sadness tinting his words. It’s evident that he had yearned to reunite with you, but the weight of his responsibilities as a merman ultimately kept him bound to the depths of the ocean.

“Why are you here now? And are there others like you?” you inquire, a mix of bewilderment and intrigue coloring your tone. As you press for more information, you notice him visibly relax, his features softening once again in response to your curiosity.

“Well, I’ve been here for quite a while. I come up here to sing, often thinking of you, actually,” he confesses, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. “And yes, there are others like me,” he adds with a chuckle, the sound carrying a mixture of amusement and friendly banter.

“Thinking of me?” you stammer in amazement, your voice barely above a whisper as the weight of his words settles in.

“Yeah. I’ve missed you since I had to leave, and I’ve been searching for you for years. Meeting you again feels like a dream come true,” he confesses, his voice filled with palpable joy at the reunion with a long-lost friend. His words send a surge of warmth through you, igniting a flutter of emotions you thought long buried. As your heart skips a beat, you’re struck by the realization that the childhood crush you harbored for him still lingers, stronger than ever.

“I’ve missed you too,” you exhale, your voice barely above a whisper, heavy with emotion. With a gentle touch, you extend your hand, laying it atop his on the rough surface of the rock, a silent reassurance of your enduring bond.

“How come you’re a merman? You were just a boy last time I saw you…” you begin, not really knowing how to ask the question that you have swirling in your mind.

“You want to know if something happened to me, to make me like this,” he gestures with his other hand over his body— it’s well defined, muscles big and strong, “or if I’d always been a merman?” His words hang in the air, a poignant reminder of the mysteries surrounding his transformation.

You choke on air with how effortlessly he articulates your thoughts, a skill he’s always possessed. You nod in agreement, the intensity of your curiosity driving you to lean in closer, desperate to unravel the enigma of his transformation.

“I’ve always been a merman. My parents chose to live as humans— they’re merfolk too, by the way. But they wanted me to experience life on land. So, despite appearances, I’ve always been like this,” he explains, a smile gracing his lips as he playfully flips his tail in the water, sending ripples dancing in his wake.

“How… How do you transform?” you ask, studying him intently once more. Despite his remarkable change, he still retains that familiar essence, stirring up the remnants of the childhood crush you thought you’d outgrown. A flush of warmth creeps across your cheeks, betraying the intensity of your emotions.

“Well. When I’m out of water for an extended period, I assume my human form. And when I’m in contact with water, I revert to my merman form,” he explains, a soft smile gracing his lips. As his fingers intertwine with yours, his touch is tender, each stroke a gentle caress that ignites a spark of warmth within you.

You nod, absorbing his explanation, but then you gasp as his words sink in, a realization dawning on you. “Do you transform when it rains then?” you blurt out, the question bursting forth with newfound urgency and curiosity.

His laughter fills the air, rich and unrestrained, sending ripples of warmth through your chest. Your gaze instinctively drifts to his chest, where the rhythmic movement of his pectorals accompanies the melody of his mirth, a captivating display of joy that you can’t help but revel in.

“No. That wouldn’t be very practical. It has to be seawater, or simply prolonged exposure to water can also do the trick,” he explains, his tone laced with a hint of amusement at the notion of rain-induced transformations.

You nod in understanding once more. “Nothing about this is practical, Jungkook,” you remark, a hint of incredulity lacing your tone.

He chuckles again, withdrawing his hand from yours and gently cupping your cheek. His touch sends a surge of warmth coursing through you, like a dormant ember suddenly ignited into a flickering flame, ready to blaze anew.

He locks eyes with you, his gaze unwavering and intense, brimming with depths of emotion that beckon you to explore. It’s like peering into an uncharted ocean, filled with mysteries waiting to be discovered. Despite the unfamiliarity, you’re drawn to dive deep and lose yourself in the depths of his gaze.

“Do you remember our promise?” he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble, yet resolute. Seeking solace in the familiarity of your gaze, his words carry the weight of cherished memories and unspoken vows.

“Of course,” you respond with a bittersweet smile, lifting your hand and extending your pinky finger. “I’ve never forgotten you, Jungkook,” you affirm, the weight of years past and promises kept evident in your touch.

He hums a melody, its tune unfamiliar yet strangely soothing, and in that moment, you find solace in the sound of his voice, the melody a balm to your racing heart. “I’ve never forgotten you either, ___,” he confesses, his words carrying the weight of shared memories and enduring connection.

With his other hand, he reaches out, extending his pinky finger to intertwine with yours, creating a connection that feels like two worlds colliding, merging into one. It’s a moment of transcendence, where past and present converge, binding you both in a promise that spans the depths of time.

“I never got to tell you this on that day, and it has haunted me since, but I like you,” His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths and a vulnerability that echoes through your soul. As he gazes into your eyes, it feels like he’s peeling away layers of your being, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, despite the fabric that shields your skin. With each moment, he draws nearer, his touch a gentle anchor amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling between you.

“I like you too,” your confession hangs in the air, suspended between you like a delicate thread woven with anticipation and longing. With every word, you feel the weight of your emotions, amplified by the closeness of his presence. As your breath brushes against his skin, you can almost taste the bittersweet tang of desire mingled with the salt of the ocean breeze.

In his embrace, you feel cherished, cocooned in a world where only the two of you exist. His gaze, laden with affection, dances between the depths of your eyes and the soft curve of your lips, a silent symphony of desire. You catch the subtle flicker of his pupils as they dilate, mirroring the fluttering of your heart. A fleeting gesture, your tongue brushes against your lips, a subtle invitation to bridge the divide between longing and fulfillment.

In the hushed sanctuary of the moonlit cave, time seems to stretch into a languid dance, enveloping you both in its tender embrace. The world outside fades into a distant murmur, leaving only the rhythmic melody of your shared breaths echoing off the rocky walls. Your gaze descends to the plush pinkness of his lips, a tantalizing invitation begging to be explored. A surge of curiosity and desire courses through you, igniting a tempest of longing as you ponder the intoxicating possibility of tasting his kiss.

“Can I kiss you?” His question hangs in the air like a delicate promise, and you feel a rush of anticipation flooding your senses, the tension between you crackling like electricity. His words, soft yet laden with unspoken longing, send a tremor of excitement coursing through your veins. In that suspended moment, you find yourself caught in the irresistible pull of his gaze, his eyes a sea of swirling emotions mirroring your own. With a silent plea echoing in your heart, you grant him permission with a subtle nod, your breath hitching in anticipation as you yearn for the moment when his lips will meet yours.

His tattooed hand, warm and possessive, slides from your cheek to the back of your neck with a gentle urgency, pulling you into him as if he’s afraid you might slip away. When his lips meet yours, it’s like a collision of stars, soft yet electric, igniting a wildfire of sensation that courses through your veins. As he pulls back, his eyes searching yours for any hint of discomfort, you’re overcome with a rush of warmth and affection. With a soft chuckle escaping your lips, you reach for him, fingers intertwining with the soft strands of his hair as you draw him closer. The second kiss is a revelation, a crescendo of desire and longing that leaves you breathless and craving more. His hum reverberates against your lips, grounding you in the intensity of the moment, like a lifeline in a sea of swirling emotions.

You draw back reluctantly, a sigh escaping your lips as you feel the bittersweet ache of parting. “It’s getting late,” you murmur, the weight of reality settling in as you remember your responsibilities waiting beyond the cave’s embrace. 

“When will I see you again?” the question hangs between you like a delicate thread, woven with hope and uncertainty, longing for reassurance in the face of impending separation.

A mischievous glint dances in his eyes, and he licks his lips with a playful flick of his tongue, relishing the way your senses are all tangled up in a whirlwind of emotions—frazzled yet utterly blissed-out in his presence.

“Soon,” he assures with a reassuring smile, his touch lingering for a moment longer as his thumb caresses your lip, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. “You can always find me here, or just listen for my voice. But duty calls back home. I’ll return, I promise.” With that, he pulls away, releasing you from the spell of the moment, but leaving behind a promise that lingers in the air like the echo of his voice in the cave.

Reluctantly, you rise, dusting off imaginary particles from your skin with a sweep of your hands, lingering in the moment a bit longer. With a soft smile, you regard him, your eyes filled with a mixture of fondness and longing. 

“You really have a beautiful voice, Jungkook,” you murmur, the words carrying a weight of sincerity and admiration, like a gentle breeze in the tranquil cave.

With a smile that seems to illuminate the entire cave, he gracefully immerses himself in the water, causing it to dance and ripple around him like liquid poetry in motion.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” you express, your voice tinged with a mixture of longing and affection, each word carrying the weight of the emotions you hold for him.

“I’ll be counting the moments until our paths cross again,” he murmurs softly, his words carrying on the gentle breeze as he fades into the depths below, leaving you with the lingering promise of his return.

Jungkook had indeed kept his word. Though you trusted him, a small part of you feared you’d never see him again. Yet, the very next day, he reappeared in the cave, serenading you with a song as you basked in his presence. This enchanting ritual has continued every day for the past two weeks, each encounter deepening your bond and making the fear of losing him fade away.

So far, your encounters have been limited to kisses, which you absolutely love—his lips are incredibly soft. Yet, lately, you’ve found yourself yearning for more. The stress of your upcoming housewarming party, which you’ve shared with Jungkook, isn’t helping. You think that letting loose with him might be just what you need to de-stress.

“Why are you having this party again if you don’t really want to?” he asks, genuinely curious. He can’t fathom why you’d willingly burden yourself with the hassle of pleasing others when it clearly brings you no joy.

“I guess it’s just expected of me,” you muse, looking down at the sparkling water as his tail gently plays with it, creating ripples. “My friends are coming, my parents too. They haven’t seen my new house yet.”

He smiles at you, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “It’s nice that you’re doing this for them, but it sounds like you’re forcing yourself. That makes me a bit sad.”

You shake your head and put up your hands in defense. “Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s not like I dislike it completely. It’ll be nice seeing my friends again.” You pause, a sudden idea lighting up your face. 

“You could also come, you know?”

His face brightens momentarily, but then he slumps down in the water, looking a bit deflated. “I’d love to come, but I’m not sure I can. My hyungs need my help in the village; one of them has been missing for days, and we’ve been searching for him without luck…” His voice trails off, a mix of concern and disappointment etched on his face.

You feel a twinge of sadness for him and say softly, “I’m so sorry, Jungkook. I hope you find him soon. Just know you’re always welcome, no matter when.”

His smile returns, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes as he speaks. “Thanks. Jimin usually never wanders off, that’s why we’re afraid something has happened to him.”

You envelop him in a hug, offering what comfort you can, despite not knowing Jimin. You silently pray for Jimin’s swift return—after all, you understand more than most the ache of missing a piece of your heart.

A few days later, the soft strains of music fill your home, weaving through the laughter and chatter of old and new friends alike, and the comforting presence of your parents, whose faces you haven’t seen in what feels like an eternity.

As you mingle with your friends, catching up on stories and laughter, time seems to dance away unnoticed. It’s only when the gentle kiss of the evening breeze starts to nip at your skin that you realize how long you’ve been engrossed in conversation with your colleague out on the terrace. With a shared chuckle at the sudden chill, you both retreat inside, seeking the warmth of good company and lively conversations.

Her joke evokes laughter from you, but the moment is abruptly interrupted by her sudden silence, drawing your attention to where her finger points. In the kitchen, your parents stand, their faces alight with smiles, engaged in conversation with a tall, dark-haired man whose locks curl gently at the ends.

Her curiosity piques as she nudges you with a mischievous grin. 

“Who’s that hot man with a tattooed arm over there talking with your parents?” she asks, her voice tinged with intrigue, prompting both of you to draw nearer to the kitchen.

As you draw closer, disbelief gives way to certainty: it’s unmistakably Jungkook standing beside your parents.

“___! You never mentioned Jungkook’s return! How long has it been, twenty years?” your mother exclaims, her smile radiant as she pinches Jungkook’s cheek affectionately, treating him like a long-lost child returned home.

Your dad’s eyes sparkle with the warmth of a long-awaited reunion, as if he’s just rediscovered an old friend, and you can’t help but chuckle at the scene unfolding before you.

Your mother reaches out to embrace Jungkook, her petite frame enveloped by his much larger one, but he indulges her with a warm hug, wrapping her in a comforting embrace.

With a playful grin, your friend nudges you, her eyes darting between you and Jungkook, a knowing glint sparkling in them. “Who is this handsome man?”

As you break from your reverie, you manage a sheepish grin, your voice carrying a hint of nostalgia and excitement. “This is Jungkook, my childhood friend. We go way back.”

“He’s hot,” your friend’s observation cuts through the air with a boldness that makes you chuckle, her eyes gleaming mischievously as she sizes up Jungkook.

Your mother’s laughter fills the room, a warm melody that dances around the air. “He really is! You’ve really outgrown that cute bunny phase you had,” she teases, her fingers playfully squeezing Jungkook’s rather impressive biceps.

“Mom! You’re embarrassing me,” you groan, a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation painting your voice as you reach for Jungkook’s hand, eager to escape the teasing clutches of both your parents and your friend.

As you pull him away, Jungkook chuckles softly, following you into the living room where you both sink into the inviting embrace of the couch.

Amidst the chatter filling the room, engaging in conversation with Jungkook proves challenging, his words often drowned out by the lively voices of others around you.

“Would you like to step out for a bit? Take a stroll along the beach?” he proposes, his gaze alight with anticipation, as if the idea itself holds a promise of something wonderful.

With a nod, you clasp his hand, a silent agreement passing between you. But before you step out into the night, you make a quick detour to your friend, informing her of your plans for a seaside stroll.

She scrutinizes you with the intensity of a hawk, then delves into her purse, emerging with something in hand. “Here,” she says, passing it to you. 

“I have a feeling you might need this.”

You accept the small foil packet, its presence alone sending a jolt of recognition through you. Your cheeks and ears ignite with heat, and you hastily tuck it into your jeans pocket, your gratitude tinged with embarrassment. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice slightly breathless.

As you begin to turn away, she shoots you a playful wink, causing you to release a sigh of embarrassment, your cheeks still flushed with color.

Outside, you stroll barefoot on the sand, reveling in the moment with Jungkook by your side—both of you connected to the earth beneath your feet. His presence captivates you, his figure tall and striking against the backdrop of the beach. Shoulder-length hair dances around his face, adding to his allure. With each step, you admire his physique—broad shoulders tapering to a defined waist, muscular thighs moving with purpose. Clad in a white tank top, his biceps speak of strength, while his snug blue denim jeans accentuate his powerful legs, showcasing a silhouette that commands attention.

His human form is undeniably beautiful, but it pales in comparison to the breathtaking splendor of his merman form. This realization brings a soft smile to your lips, and a blush warms your cheeks.

You walk with him along the beach, your hand nestled comfortably in his, the silence stretching between you like a warm blanket. It feels like an eternity before he clears his throat, a deep rumble that breaks the quiet. “Do you want to go to the cave?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hopeful anticipation.

You look up at him, captivated by the soft, teasing smile playing on his lips. “Yeah,” you agree, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest.

“Cool. I know a way to get there from land,” he says, pulling you along the shore. Your feet sink into the cool sand with each step, the waves gently lapping at your ankles as you follow him, while he makes an effort not to let the seawater touch him.

“You do? I thought it was only accessible from the sea,” you chuckle, feeling the excitement build as he leads you closer to the rocky formations along the cliffside.

“I know a lot of hiding spots,” he giggles, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes as he reveals a narrow, almost hidden entryway in the cliffside, just big enough for him to slip through.

You step into the familiar cliffside cave where you’ve been meeting for the past few weeks. Nestling into the small sandy patch, the only section not enveloped in stone, you feel a comforting sense of familiarity mixed with anticipation.

“Much easier to talk in here, huh?” Jungkook chuckles, leaning back against the cave wall. The gentle echo of his laughter fills the space, making it feel cozier. You nod, a soft, airy chuckle escaping your lips as a blush warms your cheeks. Sitting beside him, the intimacy of the cave amplifies every shared glance and whispered word.

You look up at him, your eyes fluttering bashfully. “I don’t really want to talk anymore,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, I thought you wanted to talk,” he says, his voice deflating as a pout forms on his lips. That’s when it hits you—he has no idea how much you crave him, how badly you want to feel him, everywhere.

You turn your body towards his, your hands caressing his face as you pull his face towards yours. “I want to do more than talk,” you quip, your voice small but steady. “I want to kiss you and so much more.”

Something seems to snap in him, and a mischievous smirk spreads across his cheeks. He moves his face closer to yours, your noses almost touching. “So you want more?” he teases, his voice a tantalizing whisper against your lips.

“Yes,” you breathe, the word escaping in a breathless pant as you close the distance between you. Your lips meet his in a fervent, passionate kiss, igniting a fire that blazes between you. Your hands hold his cheeks in place, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch, as he responds eagerly, deepening the kiss with his tongue, sending waves of desire coursing through you.

When you part, both of your eyes are wide, pupils dilated with desire, reflecting the intensity of the moment.

“I want you, Kook,” you plead, your breath mingling with his, your foreheads pressed together in an intimate connection.

Your fingertips trace the lines of his body, dancing over the contours of his chest until they halt at the brink of his jeans.

“I want you too, ___, but I—” he pants, his words cut short as you start to rub your hand over his clothed dick, eliciting a deep, gratifying groan from him.

You keep teasing him with your hand, feeling the growing hardness beneath your touch, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. You lick your lips, watching as his face contorts in pleasure, every subtle reaction driving you wild with desire.

“Hmm, you like it?” you ask, positioning yourself directly in front of him, locking eyes as you continue your ministrations.

“Yes, but I—” as your hand maintains its pressure on his crotch, he stammers out his words, his voice a mixture of desire and hesitation.

“What, are you a virgin?” your playful tease hangs in the air, accompanied by a soft chuckle, as you lean in closer to him, your breath warming his ear with your whispered words.

“No!” His response is hurried, almost defensive, tinged with a hint of embarrassment. “I’ve just never done it with a human before…” he confesses, his tone a mixture of vulnerability and curiosity.

You draw back slightly, scanning his face, catching a glimpse of uncertainty mingled with desire flickering in his eyes.

“I can guide you through it, show you what feels good. Trust me, you’ll enjoy every moment,” you say, your eyes shimmering with a mix of confidence and anticipation.

“I mean, Jin hyung already told me how it works,” he pants, his gaze fixated on your hand as it works its magic, his hips instinctively moving in rhythm, “I’ve touched myself before, out of curiosity, but I’ve never had sex with a human before.”

Your expression softens, recognizing that this is a new experience for him, so you resolve to take it slow.

“Mermen don’t exactly have dicks like humans,” he chuckles, his movements against your hand betraying his eagerness for friction.

You lean in again, teasing him, “How exactly do merfolk have sex?”

He chuckles, smirking at you, “Well, it’s more like a mating ritual, honestly. There’s some swimming around, almost like a dance, rubbing against each other. It’s quite primal and intimate, in its own way.”

You frown, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief evident on your face. “That’s it?”

He nods, his expression both amused and sincere.’

“No teasing? Release of bodily fluids? Making out? Sticking things into holes?” you list, your expression a mix of incredulity and disappointment. God, you really do like sex and all of the things you just listed. Mermaid intercourse sounds slightly boring in comparison.

“No sticking things into holes sadly—except for tongue kissing,” he chuckles, masking his disappointment with a playful grin, though you sense a tinge of longing in his eyes.

“But you get to try that now, okay? Then you can tell all your friends how it is to have sex with a human,” you smile, feeling a bit mischievous, your words laced with humor as you try to lighten the mood after the serious discussion.

“Many of them have already experienced it,” he laughs, his tone tinged with excitement and a hint of anticipation, “My hyungs have done it a lot, and I can’t wait to experience it myself.”

“They sound like they’ve had their fair share of adventures,” you chuckle, stealing a glance downwards, noticing the telltale strain in his pants.

He chuckles, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. “Can we talk about something else? Because I’m having trouble focusing on your hand when I’m talking about my friends.”

With a playful laugh, you grasp the situation and share a knowing glance. Eager to reignite the passionate spark between you, you playfully unzip his pants, only to discover he’s gone commando—a thrilling surprise that sets your heart racing and ignites a rush of desire.

A mischievous grin plays on your lips as you raise an eyebrow, your fingers wrapping around his cock teasingly. “No underwear?” you jest, a playful twinkle in your eye, as you give him a tantalizing stroke, feeling his anticipation building with each caress.

With a low, guttural sound, he shifts his weight, arching his back to assist as you peel off the remainder of his jeans. Your fingers eagerly find their way back to his dick, marveling at its girth and length, already imagining the delicious stretch it will bring. The anticipation sends shivers down your spine.

His cock is long— longer than average, and thicker too. The tip is red, a small bead of precum gathered at the top, just waiting to be tasted by your tongue.

He teases you, his hips surging upward as if to test your grip. “Do you like it?” he murmurs, a hint of mischief in his voice, his eyes locking onto yours as he waits for your response.

You meet his gaze with a smirk, your fingers still wrapped around him. “Yeah, it’s impressive,” you concede, your voice laced with anticipation. Honestly, you don’t care much about the size of it, more about how good he is at using it.

He watches you intently, his gaze probing yet curious. “Have you had a lot of sex before?”

You nod and give him a small smile.

You lean in closer, your eyes locked with his, conveying your sincerity and eagerness. “I have, but let’s focus on us now,” you whisper, your voice tinged with determination. “I want to make you feel good, and then you can return the favor. How does that sound?”

With a tantalizing smile, you moisten your lips before lowering them to his cock. The instant contact makes him quiver, a reaction that only fuels your desire. You start by tracing him with your tongue, savoring his taste, before enveloping him completely in your warm, wet mouth.

He utters adorable, needy moans as your mouth envelops him, his reactions spurring you on as you slide up and down, sucking him with fervor and intensity.

His hands find your hair, gripping it gently at first, then with a bit more urgency, but you don’t mind one bit. Instead, it fuels your desire, urging you to take more of him into your mouth, to please him further with every movement.

The echoing sounds of slurping fill the cave, reverberating off the rocky walls, creating a symphony of desire. Each wet, sucking noise only fuels your arousal further, igniting a fire within you that burns hotter with every passing moment.

“Shit. I’m feeling like I might come already,” he pants, his fingers tightening in your hair, a futile attempt to control the rising tide of pleasure coursing through him.

You release him with a soft pop, panting as you meet his pleading gaze, a flicker of desire mirrored in your eyes, silently promising more to come.

“It felt really good, but I really want to know what it feels like being inside your pussy, please,” his plea echoes through the cave, his eyes pleading like a desperate puppy, and you can’t help but chuckle at his adorable earnestness, your own desire kindled by his longing gaze.

“Of course. I want to have you inside of me too,” you pant, urgency seeping into your voice as you hastily pull your shirt over your head, revealing the lace of your bra to him, a silent invitation in the flickering light of the cave.

“You’re stunning,” he breathes, his voice filled with awe and genuine appreciation. “It’s not just your body that I love, but your entire essence, your personality—it’s all so captivating.”

Your smile widens, mirroring the warmth and affection swelling in your chest as you gaze at him. As you begin to unbutton your pants, a thought nudges its way into your consciousness. Retrieving the foil packet from your pocket, you place it on the ground between you, a silent promise of the intimacy about to unfold.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers to the foil packet, curiosity sparking in his eyes like a flame catching kindling. “What’s that?” he asks, his voice laced with intrigue and a hint of anticipation, as if sensing the gravity of the moment wrapped in that small, innocuous package.

You chuckle softly, charmed by his innocence, realizing he’s never encountered a condom before. It’s endearing, really, how sheltered his underwater world has been.

“It’s a condom. It’s for protection,” you explain gently, feeling a mix of tenderness and amusement at his innocence. “You put it on your cock. I’m on birth control, but it never hurts to be extra safe,” you assure him, deciding to take the lead and offer to help him put it on.

As you attempt to open the foil packet, he intercepts your movement with a smirk, halting you with his hand. “Not now. I want to taste you first. Can I? And will you let me know if you like it or not? I’ve never tried it before,” he trails off, his voice soft and endearing. It’s moments like these that make you realize just how charming he can be.

His hands find purchase on your hips, and with a deliberate tug, he pulls your pants down, leaving you bare in your underwear. His gaze travels over you, from your eyes down to your dripping cunt, igniting a fire of anticipation in your core.

“Your panties are wet.” 

You chuckle in response, a mix of excitement and nervousness dancing in your eyes as you obediently part your legs wider, inviting him in with a playful yet anticipatory smirk.

“That’s because I’m aroused,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper as his touch sends a delicious shiver down your spine, your anticipation building with every electrifying caress of his hand against your hip bone and down to your pussy.

“You can remove it,” you whisper, your voice husky with desire, as you arch your back, offering yourself to him, a silent invitation. With a slow, deliberate motion, he slides your panties down your legs, revealing your glistening pussy to the dimly lit cave, the anticipation thickening the air between you.

He lowers himself between your parted legs, his touch sending shivers up your spine as his hands explore the soft skin of your thighs, eliciting playful giggles from your lips. With agonizing slowness, his fingertips inch closer to your aching pussy, your body aching with desire, yearning for his touch. You find yourself silently begging for him to make contact, your entire being consumed by the anticipation of his caress.

“Please, Jungkook,” you implore, your voice trembling with urgency and longing, “I need to feel you, your touch—whether it’s your fingers or your mouth, I don’t care. Just touch me.”

As he gazes into your eyes, his expression filled with desire and understanding, he delicately traces his index finger over your sensitive clit. The sensation overwhelms you, eliciting a strangled gasp of his name, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

With each gentle stroke of his finger over your clit, you can’t help but release a soft moan, your body instinctively responding to his touch. Sensing your pleasure, he continues, his movements becoming more confident as he circles and rubs your clit, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

As your breath quickens and your body trembles with anticipation, you find it increasingly difficult to maintain control, your legs quivering with need. Sensing your urgency, he gently guides your legs apart with his free hand, allowing him better access to your pussy.

He watches, entranced, as your clit pulsates, the rhythmic flexing and relaxing of the muscle a mesmerizing sight. The vision of your arousal sends a jolt of desire through him, making his own need painfully evident.

“You can put a finger in,” you pant, your voice trembling with need, eyes wide and pleading for more.

He looks up, his eyes searching yours, “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper filled with both concern and anticipation.

You bite your bottom lip, a soft groan escaping your throat. “Yes, Jungkook,” you breathe, your voice laced with desperate longing, “I want your fingers inside me now.”

With the hand that was expertly teasing your clit, Jungkook slides it down to your slick folds, marveling at how you glisten in the moonlit cave. He gently positions his index finger, then slowly, almost tantalizingly, pushes it inside you, making you gasp at the intimate sensation.

The pleasure hits you instantly, a surge of desire overwhelming your senses. You crave more, each second intensifying your need, as if every nerve in your body is crying out for him.

“Wow,” he breathes, mesmerized by the sight of his finger slowly disappearing into your hole, his eyes wide with awe and desire.

Mesmerized, he begins thrusting his finger in and out of you, his movements slow and deliberate. Your sweet noises of pleasure fill the cave, encouraging him. After a moment, he looks up, his voice husky with desire, “Can I add another one?”

You nod, and another finger slips into your pussy, stretching you just a bit more. The sensation is intoxicating, yet you crave so much more. You’re trying to maintain control, to let him take his time, but the need inside you is almost overwhelming.

“Please,” you whisper urgently, your voice trembling with desire, “add a third finger and use your other hand to play with my clit.” You crave the sensation, the stretch, the readiness for his cock, your need palpable in every word.

With a swift motion, you unhook your bra, allowing it to slip to the ground. His movements pause as his gaze fixes on your exposed chest—your nipples standing pert and proud, a silent invitation to his touch.

As his gaze reluctantly leaves your exposed chest, he resumes his attention on you, the third finger sliding into you with a gasp of pleasure escaping your lips at the welcomed stretch. His thumb, slick with your juices, finds your clit once more, initiating a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Breathless and on the edge of ecstasy, you manage to muster the question, your voice filled with awe and admiration, “Are you sure you haven’t done this before? Because you’re really good at it.”

His laughter dances in the air, a melody to your unraveling pleasure. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he withdraws his fingers, leaving you with a perplexed frown until you see him drawing nearer, his tongue tracing the contours of your pussy.

You surrender to the ecstasy, tossing your head back as waves of pleasure wash over you, relishing the sensation of his velvety tongue caressing every contour of your quivering folds and sending electric pulses of delight through your clit.

With a hunger that matches your own, he envelops your clit, his mouth becoming a vortex of ravenous need, as he sucks and teases, drawing forth the essence of your desire and savoring every drop of your arousal with a fervent devotion.

With an almost expert touch, he draws your sensitive bud into his mouth, creating a vortex of sensation that sends electrifying pulses of pleasure coursing through your body. Each suction brings you closer to the edge, igniting a fiery intensity that threatens to consume you entirely. As you pant and gasp, your senses reel with the impending release, the anticipation coiling tighter within you like a spring ready to unleash its pent-up energy.

Your fingers trace the curves of your breasts, igniting a trail of sensation that sends shivers down your spine. With each touch, you feel the heat building within you, a primal urge demanding release. Your fingertips dance over your nipples, teasing them to attention, and you can’t help but respond with a symphony of gasps and moans.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up, drawn to the symphony of your movements, your gasps and moans orchestrating a melody of desire. Yet, he remains steadfast in his task, his lips and tongue weaving a spell of ecstasy as he devours you with hunger, like he has done this many times before. It’s as though he’s an artist, each stroke of his tongue a masterpiece, each flicker of his lips a masterpiece of passion.

As your body arches and trembles with impending release, you’re acutely aware that the peak of ecstasy is just within reach. “Jungkook,” you gasp, your voice a fervent plea, “I’m... I’m going to come.”

With his deep chuckle vibrating against your most sensitive spot, you’re overcome by the intoxicating blend of sensations. In an instant, your world explodes into a symphony of pleasure, your fingers tangling in his ebony locks, anchoring you to the dizzying whirlwind of ecstasy as he eagerly savors every drop of your essence.

With a gentle and tender gaze, he pulls away, his features adorned with a shimmer of your essence. “Was this alright?” he murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty, yet his eyes brimming with warmth and adoration. With a gasp of disbelief, you draw him into a passionate kiss, savoring the mingling taste of yourself on his lips, yet your heart races with an electric thrill. “It was perfect,” you murmur against his mouth, your voice laden with sincerity and longing, sealing the moment with fervent intensity.

“Now you can fuck me,” filled with need, you voice your desire, urgency coloring every syllable, as you reach for his shirt and hastily pull it over his head. Your fingers fumble with the foil packet, opening it with a sense of anticipation, before your hand finds his still-hard cock.

With careful precision, you slide the condom over his dick, a tangible barrier between you and raw desire. As you spread your legs, creating space for him, his cock hovers tantalizingly close to where you ache for him most. In his gaze, you detect a mixture of longing and uncertainty, silently seeking your permission to proceed.

You take control, grasping his cock firmly and guiding it to your eager entrance. With a whispered instruction, you urge him to press forward, “Push a little, but slowly.”

As he nods in agreement, a determined glint ignites in his eyes. With gentle yet purposeful movements, he starts to ease his cock into the welcoming warmth of your eager pussy, each inch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, stretching you deliciously with every inch gained.

His breath hitches, voice laced with wonderment, “Wow. You’re so tight,” he pants, his words punctuated by the sensation of more and more of his dick disappearing into the velvety depths of your cunt, a symphony of pleasure enveloping you both with each inch he claims.

“God, you’re big,” you pant back, a mixture of excitement and anticipation lacing your voice as you try your best to relax, welcoming the exquisite stretch and fullness as he almost fills you up, every inch of him stirring a delicious ache within you.

Finally, he’s completely inside, and you release a shaky breath you didn’t even realize you’d been holding, feeling every pulsing inch of him deep within you, a rush of sensation flooding your senses as you revel in the delicious fullness he provides.

“You can move now,” you encourage him with a smile, eager anticipation shimmering in your eyes as you invite him to explore the depths of pleasure with each rhythmic thrust.

“How? You’re hugging me so tight,” he groans in pleasure, his voice tinged with uncertainty, as if seeking your direction amidst the waves of sensation coursing through both of you.

“Feel how we fit together?” you whisper, your hands tenderly guiding his hips. “Just move your hips—back and forth. Follow the rhythm of our bodies, and trust me, it’ll be amazing.”

“I already feel so good.”

He starts with a gentle push, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through you. With each thrust, he delves deeper, igniting an electric dance between your bodies, and you can’t help but moan in bliss.

“Don’t stop—faster,” you urge him on, and he responds with a surge of intensity, each thrust echoing in the cavern, a symphony of desire enveloping you both.

Your hands abandon his ass and hips once you’re satisfied he’s got the rhythm, his every thrust hitting that perfect spot, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you, your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

You moan his name, the sound igniting a primal response in him, his grunts mingling with your name, creating a symphony of passion in the cave.

“Keep going—harder,” you plead, your voice laced with urgency and desire. With each thrust, he drives into you with unyielding force, your back meeting the rough cave wall, igniting a primal intensity that leaves you breathless. You know there’ll be marks and scratches later, but at this moment, all you care about is the raw, primal pleasure he’s giving you.

“Yes!” you scream, your voice echoing against the walls of the cave, the intensity of his thrusts driving you to clutch his strong biceps for leverage. The intricate tattoo sleeve he has on his right arm, flexing with the strength he puts into his thrusts. With each powerful movement of his hips, he plunges deeper into you, igniting a primal fire that consumes both of you in an insatiable frenzy.

“___. I think I’m going to come soon,” he confesses, his voice strained with pleasure, his brows furrowing in anticipation of the impending release.

“Me too. Shit. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” you gasp out, your disbelief mingling with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. His skill and passion feel too seasoned for a first-timer, leaving you both questioning the truth of his innocence.

“I’m just a fast learner,” he teases, his lips finding solace on one of your exposed nipples, eliciting a fervent moan of his name from you. 

He sucks and nibbles at it, all while hitting your soft spot with precision. It’s an onslaught of sensation, driving you to the edge of ecstasy. You can feel the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter within you, threatening to unravel at any moment.

With a tantalizing pop, he releases your nipple, only to lavish the same attention on its twin. His kisses, licks, and sucking send ripples of pleasure through your body, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you whole.

That’s it. You’re gonna come again.

“Fuck, Kook,” you cry out, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you as you surrender to the torrent of ecstasy, your pussy releasing your liquid and pulsating around his cock, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you with the breakneck speed he’s moving his hips at.

“Damn, how did you just get even tighter?” he groans, his voice strained with pleasure, his primal urges driving him to the brink of ecstasy. You feel his urgency, knowing he’s teetering on the edge of release.

“Fuck—” he pants, his breath ragged and erratic. Then, he stutters, his movements turning feral for a moment as you feel his cock twitch inside your pussy, and he releases into the condom, his body shuddering with the intensity of his climax.

He stills inside you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he puts all of his weight into his arms. You gaze at him with a smile, your hand finding his cheek, gently pulling him closer to you, a silent reassurance in your touch.

You kiss him tenderly, the intimacy lingering in the air as your lips meet in a long and deep embrace. When you finally part, your breath mingling, you whisper softly, “I loved every moment of it.”

“Me too,” his voice carries a gentle exhaustion, mirroring the weariness you also feel settling in. You share a quiet moment, the weight of your shared passion and pleasure evident in the silence that follows.

As he gradually softens inside you, he withdraws gently. You swiftly retrieve the condom, deftly disposing of it with a practiced flick, tossing it into the depths of the cave, a silent testament to the intimacy shared in this hidden sanctuary.

“Can we do it again?” he pleads, his eyes ablaze with desire, each word heavy with anticipation, begging for another swim into ecstasy.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his once more, the promise of another intimate time igniting a fire within you both.

“But maybe we can go for a swim first?” you suggest with a playful glint in your eyes as you feel your breathing gradually returning to normal.

His expression shifts to one of surprise. “You want to swim? I’ll revert to my merman form then…”

You gently grasp his cheek, locking eyes with him, the intensity of your gaze echoing your sincerity. “I love you, whether you’re in your merman or human form. I love all of you. And yes, I want to swim with you. You know how much I love being in the water.”

As he eases into your proximity, he nods, inching towards the water within the cave. With a mesmerizing display, a cascade of sparkle and glitter dances in the air as his legs seamlessly meld into a majestic purple tail. Your jaw drops, captivated once again by the breathtaking sight of his merman form, each time feeling like the first time you saw him like this.

He gracefully glides into the water with a splash, and you eagerly trail behind, tentative at first, dipping your toes into the cool embrace, then succumbing to the gentle caress that envelops your entire naked form.

You swim alongside him, venturing beyond the confines of the cave, out into the vast expanse of the open sea. The ocean stretches endlessly, meeting the horizon in a seamless blend of moonlit waves. Above, the sky is a tapestry of stars, each one twinkling like a promise of infinite possibilities. Though your house is a distant silhouette against the shore, it fades from your thoughts in the enchantment of this moment.

As you glide through the water beside him, the gentle rhythm of his tail occasionally breaking the surface with playful splashes, you find yourself drawn to the mystery of his world. “I’d love to see your home someday,” you say, the words carried away by the ocean breeze, mingling with the soft lullaby of the waves.

“Yeah. I know a witch that can turn you into a mermaid, if you really want to,” he says with a big smile on his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief as they meet your surprised gaze, mirroring your astonishment with his own excitement.

Your eyes widen with wonder— the thought of becoming a mermaid, a cherished childhood dream, suddenly within reach. “I’d love that,” you breathe, your voice filled with an intoxicating mix of excitement and disbelief, as if daring the universe to make this fantasy a reality.

→ Disclaimer: the banner is obviously partly made with AI— I just want to point that out, to clear the air. I’d normally never use AI in my work, but for this specific fantasy series, I just came up really sort with making them myself with pre existing images of bangtan 😭 Because I want a certain aesthetic (no, a moodboard is not what I was looking for), I decided to use AI to crunch out the merman— I did not, and I repeat this, I did not write any of their names for the prompts, which is also why I do not want to show any faces in these banners, because I know how the guys feel about making AI with them, and I agree. Which is why, this is in short just generically made images that are prompted by a scene in the story. In the end, I still made the banner— did retouching, color grading, added and/or removed stuff, added background etc. Just to let you know. Normally, all my banners and graphics are 100% made by me, unless otherwise stated! (lol, what I mean here is that I’m making them myself, I still use stock photos and vectors made by others in my work sometimes (the banners)).

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[awearywritersworld]

the boy spurned as evil and the girl of his youth

sukuna x reader w/c: .6k tags/warnings: angst, i'm afraid. young!sukuna. depictions of blood. ur dad's an asshole. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: please check out the lovely artwork by @demonzaemon that inspired this piece!!! i'm definitely down to write a second part about a reunion, so let me know if that would interest anyone! masterlist read part two here

thinking about sukuna at 10 years of age— he's been abandoned by his family and scorned by his village because of the strange way he looks. he has to steal stale bread during the night to survive. he has to take shelter in the ruins of an abandoned home. he has to bear the harsh elements. he has to do it all alone.

that is, until he meets a curious little girl by the riverside during the spring. he'd found an old, frayed fishing net the day prior, and while he hopes to catch something he can eat for dinner, he catches your attention instead.

and you marvel at him as if he's the most remarkable thing you've ever laid eyes on. you're poking at the harsh lines that mar his skin. you're pulling at his pink hair because you're convinced it's fake. you're counting his arms as if the extra two will eventually disappear.

he doesn't mind though. he's too caught up in the fact that someone's touching him. that he can feel the warmth of your skin against his. he can hardly believe it when you scamper off, calling over your shoulder gleefully, "i'll meet you here again tomorrow!"

after that, everything changes and he finds himself in your company more often than not. you sneak your meals out of the house each day, even though your portions are meager. you bring him a few of your blankets, even though it means you're cold at night. what he appreciates most though? the fact you look at him like he's human.

then, what is simultaneously the best and worst night of his life happens. you fall asleep beside him in the overgrown grass near the river. its early autumn by now and the stars are twinkling in the sky, so your body clings innocently to his, seeking his warmth.

he takes the opportunity to study you in the moonlight. to commit every detail of your face to memory. he considers the fact that you feel safe enough to fall asleep beside him, even when every other person in the world has deemed him evil and sinister.

eventually he's lulled to sleep by your slow and gentle breaths, but not before coming to the decision that he is yours and you are his. and while you're the only thing in the world that the young boy has to his name, he's okay with that.

then, all too soon, he's awoken by yelling and it's not a moment later that you're ripped from his arms by your father. he's screaming about how you've defiled yourself by associating with such a despicable fiend.

"no, he's my friend! he's good!" you wail, your arms stretched toward sukuna in a plea for help. "don't let him take me! please!"

and he tries. he really, really tries. he runs after your father, beating at his back in an attempt to free you, but he's just too small. his body is weak from years of malnourishment. the older man pushes him to the ground with little effort and sukuna's palms slice open upon the sharp stones protruding from the earth.

crimson spills from the wounds, but he can hardly feel it. the ache in his chest is too consuming. too agonizing. it's unfair that such a little body should house so much pain, but that seems to be the story of his relatively short life.

so as he calls out to you, his voice broken and desperate, he knows it's the last time he'll ever see you and he's forced to come to terms with the universe's cruel edict— that he deserves to spend his life alone.

[chris-prank]

Peaceful post-apocalypse settings have always been one of my favorite tropes! There's just something so freeing about the thought of humanity being set back to simpler times...(boomer ahh mindset but wtvr)

That said, may I request more Martin content?🙏 He's such a sweetheart!! Maybe something about reader wanting to join him on a hunt? Him teaching them how to? Or just any ideas you have for him really

Hope you have a lovely day mwuah :)

With the deplorable state of our world right now, it’s perfectly fair to prefer a time without the complicated life of the city 😆 so I totally get you 🤝 Also I’m so happy that you called Martin a sweetheart 🥺, if we take away if yandere tendencies he really is! And have a great day too ❤️❤️❤️

Yandere hunter x GN reader

CW: animal death, manipulation sorta, reader get frozen by fear/ fear response

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

“You want to go hunting with me?” Martin asked, surprised, while casually throwing his crossbow over his shoulder.

He felt extremely flattered that you wanted to take part in his daily duties and by looking in your hopeful eyes, he couldn’t dare deny you anything. So after you changed into more appropriate clothes, the two of you were ready to go into the forest. You walked hand in hand, looking like you were going on a romantic stroll. In reality, this adorable display was a safety major, since the surroundings were filled with traps Martin had previously set up. He said that it was to make sure that nothing or no one could escape him while he hunted. Whatever that meant.

“So what are we looking for exactly?” You asked while keeping an eye out for any sounds in the crisp autumn leaves.

“It depends… there’s usually deers roaming around this time of year.”

“We’re going to kill a deer?!” You repeated, your jaw hanging wide open. You thought you were going for something smaller like a rabbit or a bird at the very least.

He grinned and winked at you. “Only if you can actually do it.”

“Hey!” You pushed his arms while sticking your tongue at him. “I’m a very independent and capable person.” You added while puffing your chest out jokingly.

The man next to you seemed to mumble something under his breath, but since he didn’t repeat himself despite your lack of response, you figured it was nothing important.

***

You couldn’t believe you two had found one. Of course, you knew that Martin was skilled in tracking animals, but still, what were the odds! The deer was lazily drinking from a small pond, unaware of the crossbow pointed at its neck.

Martin had helped you get in the right spot and revised with you the shooting position he had taught you before. But you kept shaking. The idea of killing an animal seemed so simple and inconsequential, but now that you were faced with the reality of the situation you just couldn’t do it. That’s when you felt his warm embrace enveloped you, your back now pressed against his chest. His hands crept up to rest over yours, steadying your grip on the weapon.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to do anything.” His voice was so calm, so enticing. It was pulling you in a sense of comfort and stability that few people had the chance of experiencing, “you can just rely on me.”

You simply nodded, you just wanted to lose yourself in his presence and forget that you had the life of a living being in the palm of your hands. Then his finger was over yours and, without hesitation, pulled the trigger. Everything went by so fast, as a shrill shriek followed by a loud thump made all the birds take flight from the surrounding trees. You slowly lowered the crossbow, still a bit in shock of what had just happened. In response, Martin rubbed your arms up and down in a soothing manner.

“You were so brave for me.” He whispered against your ear, “but don’t worry, you won’t have to do it ever again, I’ll be brave for the both of us if you let me.”

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Karma love to make a fool out of me 💀 it’s always when I say “oh it’ll take a while for me to complete” that I suddenly get a wave of inspiration. Not going to complain too much though, it’s always better than having writer's block.

[sweetercalypso]

Can I request a fic where reader is dating Joel and Ellie is a little skittish and shy around reader at first but Joel assures her that Ellie likes her and eventually Ellie comes around at the end

It Takes Time || Joel Miller

word count: 0.6k

When Joel returns from patrol, he finds himself headed in the direction of the Tipsy Bison as soon as he’s cleared through the city gates.

You’re the only thing on his mind as he walks through the empty streets, nose turned into the collar of his jacket to hide his face from the brisk night air. He doesn’t even bother to stop and check the time – he knows this routine better than he knows himself.

After twenty minutes of loitering outside the bar and rubbing his hands together to stave off the bitter chill of October, the door swings open and he’s greeted by your tired smile as you shrug your coat on over your uniform.

“Hey,” you say softly, shuddering at the sudden change in temperature. “Missed you today.”

He offers to walk you home with his usual dose of Southern charm and you accept with a grin, slipping your fingers between his and telling him all about your day.

“Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow?” He says as you’re passing through the center of town. “I’ll introduce you to Ellie – properly this time.”

Cool wind wraps around the two of you, and you shiver beneath your heavy, woolen coat. “I hope she likes me.”

Joel glances sideways in your direction, offering a look of bemusement. “She already likes you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, thumb rubbing over your knuckles in slow circles. “Says you’re good for me.”

“D’you think she’s right?”

“She’s not usually wrong.”

The rustling of autumn leaves fills the comfortable silence that stretches after his words. Soon, there’d be snow on the ground, and your walks would be cut short by Wyoming’s inclement weather. Your shoes scuff against the sidewalk and you think about trading for a pair of snow boots just to have an excuse to visit Joel during the winter months.

You think back to the first time you’d been invited to Joel’s house, and Ellie had scurried off to her room without so much as a ‘hello’. Or the time you’d run into her outside the stables, and she’d ducked down an alleyway to avoid making conversation. Had you been too quick in judging her actions as animosity?

“Ellie just takes a while to warm up to new people,” he says in a pensive tone, thinking back on all the questionable first impressions she’d made in their time together. “Part of growing up in a FEDRA school, I guess.”

You nod in understanding, though the corners of your mouth dip into a frown at the thought of how the world must seem for a girl like Ellie, born too late to remember the best parts of humanity.

“I can be patient,” you promise with a newfound conviction. “Whenever she’s ready, I’ll be there.”

A pleasant warmth blooms in Joel's chest as he pictures the three of you building a future together. Before he has a chance to comment on the sentiment, the sound of his name grabs his attention.

“Hey- Joel!”

Ellie stands on the other side of the street, huddled together with a couple friends that Joel had yet to learn the names of, the apples of their cheeks dusted similar shades of pink from the cold, autumn air.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greets her, offering polite nods to the kids standing by her side. He watches raptly as Ellie turns her gaze towards you and hesitantly raises her hand, a sheepish grin pulling at her features.

You wave back at her with enough animation that your coat sleeves swish from the force of your movement, and Joel swallows his laughter as Ellie’s smile turns into an amused, lighthearted grimace.

After a brief exchange, he says his goodbyes and takes your hand again, turning to continue the trek home.

“See?” He says once they’re out of earshot, knocking his shoulder gently into yours. “Best friends already.”

[starsreminisce]

I have to preface this by saying that I really don’t care who gets the next book; this is more about me trying to get my thoughts out.

A lot of people are basing their expectations for the next ACOTAR book on HOFAS, and I feel like this is another situation where, despite being told how influential ACOTAR was going to be for HOFAS, it ended up being just Nesta and Azriel on a walking museum tour with Bryce under the Court of Nightmares. Someone who had never read ACOTAR wouldn’t have missed out much on who the ACOTAR characters were. I feel like the same mistake is being made by relying too much on HOFAS for Azriel and Gwyn to take the lead in the next book.

It’s not about a character being at their lowest to prompt the next main character; it’s about a character needing to exhaust all viable options in their current circumstances before they are presented with a change that will help them.

That’s basic storytelling when starting out a book. In the first chapter, there needs to be a hook—the “why,” the Call to Action.

In ACOTAR, it was Feyre killing the wolf; in ACOMAF, it was Feyre struggling post-UTM and finding comfort in the night sky; in ACOWAR, it was Hybern coming to the Spring Court; and in ACOSF, it was Nesta’s intervention.

Even HOFAS’s first chapter started with Lidia to preview her upcoming revolt later in the book.

There are theories that Elain will see Azriel pull away from her, become more drawn to Gwyn, and that they’ll end up being mates, which would then push Elain to focus on Lucien because Azriel is now soul-bound to someone else.

The problem I have with that theory is that Elain already has a mating bond that she’s avoiding, and seeing Azriel happy with his mate isn’t going to force her to finally face her own bond. She has Nesta’s ceremony coming up to do that for her.

Azriel needs to understand why the third sister was given to someone else. He needs to see why Lucien, the male who supposedly doesn’t deserve her and in whom she had no interest, ended up with her. Why Lucien’s patience was rewarded while his own was not. Azriel needs to realize that with every mating bond, it's only a matter of time before mates inevitably come together.

It doesn’t do Elain any good to be rejected twice by Azriel and then realize there’s no one left, so she defaults to Lucien. She’s already aware of that after being rejected twice by two people who aren’t her mates, realizing she can no longer afford to ignore her true mate.

If the BC was supposed to be a “test” or lesson from the Mother about the mating bond, Elain passed because she applied what she learned from Graysen to Azriel. Azriel failed because not only did he not have an answer for Rhys about Mor, he ignored it. The Mother graded him on a curve to pass by means of Gwyn.

Rhysand also gave a vital clue when he said that Lucien would defend his bond against Azriel and how important Lucien’s survival is to maintaining the fragile peace between Autumn, Spring, and the Human Lands.

Both Lucien and Elain are now at a point where their next chapters are coming into focus. Lucien’s assignment to be permanently stationed in Spring is technically over because Feyre gave birth, and his frustration with Jurian and Vassa constantly clashing is reaching a tipping point, especially with Vassa’s time running out. Lucien has also demonstrated inherent dominance, and Beron is becoming more audacious with his alliance with Hybern to take over the Spring Court from Tamlin, who is still dealing with grief and guilt.

Elain’s last distraction from the mating bond just told her it was a mistake and left. She doesn’t need salt rubbed into that wound by having him be right about calling it a mistake. But Azriel does need to understand, through Lucien, that it doesn’t matter if Elain showed disinterest in Lucien because, in the end, Elain is still Lucien’s mate. Mor’s lack of interest in Azriel isn’t why the mating bond between them hasn’t snapped.

Azriel is the one who misunderstands the mating bond, while Elain is the one avoiding it. Elain has no reason to avoid it anymore, but Azriel still has more to learn about the mating bond.

So, with that said, even with HOFAS, Elucien now has a much higher chance of providing a compelling hook in the first chapter compared to Gwynriel.

And that starts with Nessian’s ceremony because SJM gave an oddly specific timeframe for when that would happen at the end of ACOSF, in addition to Nesta placing Elain's rose marker on Papa Archie's grave.

That’s not to say Gwynriel can’t or doesn’t happen in the next book. I’m sure Azriel will experience a wave of emotions during a ceremony (especially since Feysand did theirs in secret) and might look over at Gwyn, sparking something more between them, or this could unfold after Bryce’s first, second, or third visit.

But Elain watching the sister who was most antagonistic toward the Fae embrace the most Fae aspect of herself, pulling herself out of her downward spiral with Cassian’s help, could have a profound impact on her. Realizing that Lucien would be staying in Velaris (possibly for two weeks, as Feyre suggested in FAS) to figure out the next steps with Tamlin and Beron, especially after Nesta’s interference, sets the stage for the next book.

[headcanonsandmore]

Thasmin Fanfic Recommendations, a master post

Hi all! A fandom is at its healthiest when we share things, so I thought it'd be a good idea to share a list of all my favourite Thasmin (Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan) fanfics that I've read over the past few years. I'd highly recommend all of these. And, if you have any to add, please reblog with the links!

I Think You Might Like Me by Holie47. The Doctor asks Yaz to try and help her figure out what's going on and ends up coming to a realisation. Rated G for General Audiences. Cute Thasmin first kiss.

In This World Of Strangers I Belong To Someone by timetravelbypen. Autumn, 1904, London. Yasmin Khan is newly arrived in the city, eager to start the law degree she's spent so much time working towards. Determined to prove her worth to sceptical classmates and professors, she throws herself into her work. But a chance encounter with eccentric clockmaker Johanna Smith - and a mystery surrounding a progressive pamphlet written by someone called the Doctor - might just remind her she's worth more than her doubters could ever imagine. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Edwardian!AU with human!Thirteenth Doctor. One of the best Thasmin fics I’ve ever read (if not THE best!). There’s also a series of short sequels which you can find here.

to know how it ends and still begin to sing it again (as if it might turn out this time) by  Eriadu (@eriadu-in-the-wildwood) and timetravelbypen (@timetravelbypen). They’ve been here before. The Doctor always sidestepping, always avoiding; Yaz always following, always hoping. But in a museum simulation of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, confronted by an all-too familiar tragedy, the cracks begin to show. If they’re going to get out alive, something has to change. They’ve been here before… this time, can they make it through? Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Thasmin fic, set inbetween ‘Legend Of The Sea Devils’ and ‘The Power Of The Doctor’; some really interesting and in-depth characterisation for both Yaz and the Thirteenth Doctor, with some awesome sci-fi elements too.

Flying Lessons by timetravelbypen. A series of vignettes set between Ryan and Graham's departure in Revolution of the Daleks and the end of The Power of the Doctor. In which Yaz learns to fly the TARDIS, and learns just how capable - and how loved - she is in the process. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Just a word of warning, to quote the author; “there is a reference to an attempted suicide/self-harm in line with its depiction in Can You Hear Me as Yaz and the Doctor encounter someone else in a similar situation and Yaz deals with some flashbacks. If you would prefer not to read that, you can skip Lesson Five: Controlled Fall.”.

falling down the stairs (of your love) by timetravelbypen. The gravitational pull Yaz has over the Doctor is unavoidable, inescapable. The Doctor is falling for Yaz... and the Doctor is also falling. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Thasmin sweetness set after ‘Legend Of The Sea Devils’. Fluffy with a bit of angst; very sweet.

Two Idiots In A Box by timetravelbypen. Dan realizes quickly that, if left to their own devices, Yaz and the Doctor are never going to just talk to each other like functional adults. So he and the TARDIS hatch a plan. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. So funny and so sweet!

In fact, just read anything by timetravelbypen; they’re an amazing writer and understand these characters and Doctor Who so well! Their Tumblr blog is here; @timetravelbypen; send them some love!

Miniature #13 - The World Will Wait For Us by vaelerius. Yaz and the Doctor go on a totally-not-an-actual-D.A.T.E in Sheffield to Yaz's favourite restaurant. What could possibly go wrong? Rated G for General Audiences. Easily one of the funniest Thasmin fics out there; this is a good one to read when you want cheering-up.

You Have A Wife??? By LonelySpaceAce. Yaz asks the Doctor about something that she's been wondering about since they fought the Sea Devils. Rated G for General Audiences. This is written by one of my awesome Tumblr friends, so please check it out.

You Have Kids??? by LonelySpaceAce. Yaz learns that not all the Doctor's companions have been in love with them A sort of sequel to "you have a wife???”. Rated G for General Audiences. It also scratches my particular itch for having Thasmin with a side helping of Tegan/Nyssa.

(Un)familiar by EvvieJo. Yaz is trying to settle into her post-Doctor, UNIT life. Rated G for General Audiences. Less of a Thasmin fic per-say as opposed to a bit of closure for Yaz after leaving the Doctor, although it does have a lot of Thasmin elements to it.

The year of the cat by zurau. post-lotsd. thirteen disappears, again. a cat appears. it's some consolation. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Funny fic about a mysterious cat that appears whilst the Thirteen Doctor has disappeared; you can probably guess where this is going…

Candy Floss And A Carousel by 13beautifulghostmonument. Team TARDIS make a festive stop over in Cardiff. Yaz and the Doctor finally admit to their feelings. Rated G for General Audiences. Very cute and sweet.

Courage & Stupidity by seaunicorn. Yaz was his best friend and, much like the Doctor, Dan would do anything for her. Four years marooned in the past can forge quite the friendship, and he would go to great lengths to protect her from anything, or anyone, that hurt her. Including the Doctor herself. After Dan learns what happened on the beach, he confronts the Doctor. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Set after ‘Legend Of The Sea Devils’ and with some excellent character work.

giving up and giving in by seaunicorn. It takes Yaz almost dying for the Doctor to actually confront her feelings. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Really sweet fluff and first kiss stuff.

All The Time In The World by Metal_Gear_Steve. Yasmin has developed feelings for the Doctor, but she isn't sure how to bring this up with anyone. Ryan and Graham have settled after their first few crazy adventures, so it's not like she can rely on the "adrenaline and whimsy" excuse to explain her standoffish behavior forever - sooner or later, she has to bite the bullet and confess her feelings to the Doctor. But there's so much that she doesn't know about the Doctor, and any number of factors could get in the way of a potential relationship. Will Yasmin's confession be successful? Is there room in The Doctor's heart for a new love after a multitude of relationships, most ending in disaster? Will Graham get to try that alien ice cream again, with what's-its-name seeds in it? I guess we'll find out - we've got All the Time in the World. Rated G for General Audiences. Some really wonderful fluff; super sweet.

Our Moment on the Beach by docwhovians. When Yaz and the Doctor find themselves held prisoner a hostile pirate ship, there's not a whole lot they can do except talk. Feelings that have been brewing come to a head. When the moment is interrupted by an order to walk the plank, things get interesting. Rated G for General Audiences. Really cute fluff with some pirate stuff.

A Home For The Holidays by mag_lex. In which Yaz and the Doctor visit Yaz’s family for Christmas after the events of the Flux, and Najia decides to intervene when she realises something is going on between them… Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Sweet domestic fluff and a little bit of angst thrown in (since it is related to series 13 of the modern series).

i will always hold you close but i will learn to let you go by jodieoswald. Yaz listens to Dan's advice, and takes the leap, hoping that the Doctor will listen. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Angst with some fluff and a happy ending. Very sweet and tender.

The One With The Hen Do by isabrella. Yaz takes the Doctor to a friend's hen party to cheer her up. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Angst with a happy ending; very tender. 

Confessions by SimpleSapphic. Set directly after Eve of the Daleks (and directly after thasmin becoming canon may I add akshakdhsksh), Dan does what Dan does best: he plays wingman to get those two to *finally* confess their feelings and actually do something about it. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. A fair bit of angst but with some really sweet fluff at the end. Gotta love wingman Dan!

The Lodger by bells_n_roses. The Doctor moves in with Yaz to investigate the mysterious upstairs lodger. As they spend more time together, however, feelings start to build. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Very cute and sweet, but with some mild angst mixed in.

I Still Burn For You by timelostdoctor. Yazmin Khan and the Doctor's relationship has been over for ten months. Ten months in which they haven't seen or spoken to each other. With Sonya and Ryan getting married, they are both part of the wedding party. How can they find happiness for their friends when they both wish it was their wedding instead. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Oooh, mate; this is one of the tenderest Thasmin fics I’ve ever read (complete with a human!Thirteenth Doctor); sweet with just the right mix of angst, and a good bit of humour as well! Always worth a read when you want something to get lost it (and, yes, I hope that Mandip Gill has read this one since she asked for fanfic recs).

Love is a lottery, and I’m betting on you by riptheh. The Doctor knows how it is with the female companions. Lived it dozens of times before. And this time, she's determined to make sure it doesn't happen. Or, five times the Doctor was so busy making sure Yasmin Khan didn't fall in love with her, she failed to realize that the opposite was happening. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Tons of fluff, mistaken-for-a-couple, bed sharing, this fic has it all!

February by softestbutch. The Doctor stepped a little closer, still partially obscured from view, still animated in the quiet orange glow. ‘Oh, it’s a little silly,’ she said. Yaz raised an eyebrow for her to continue. ‘I can go,’ she said, and Yaz breathed an endeared laugh.‘What is it, Doctor?’ she asked. A pause. ‘It’s snowing,’ the Doctor said. In short: the doctor is incredibly excited about the snow, and yaz is incredibly in love with her. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. A cute fluffy fic about Yaz and the Thirteenth Doctor having fun on a snowy day.

Live inside my mind forever by timelxrd. Yaz fell asleep precisely ten minutes and thirty-two seconds ago. The Doctor knows, because it’s been ten minutes and thirty seconds since she’d had to consciously regulate her breathing and the rise and fall of her chest against Yaz’s soft cheek so not to jostle her. Rated G for General Audiences. Cute fluff about cuddling and hair-plaiting.

A trusted place to rest by multifanwho. After she manages a prison break, the Doctor finds herself exhausted with her feet carrying her to the one place on Earth she feels most safe. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Fluff with a side ordering of angst.

Cuppa? by softly-penned-valkyrie (softly_speaking_valkyrie). The Doctor's slipping and she knows it. Everything's getting too much for the first time in thousands of years and she's finally having trouble coping with it mentally. How often does that happen? Following a double adventure involving the Judoon, incredible revelations and alien birds, it all becomes too much to handle, and when the TARDIS itself nudges at Yaz to go help the Doctor alone, it becomes a little too much for the copper too. But when the Doctor lands in Yaz's kitchen desperate for help, how can she refuse the woman she loves.... Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Fluff, hurt/comfort and some mild angst.

not-so-fake-feelings (and their very real consequences) by ActuallyMe. Yaz needs someone to pretend to be her partner whilst some really annoying family friends are in town. Turns out, the Thirteenth Doctor is happy to play along… Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Fake dating scenario, with some hilarious fluff.

astronomy in reverse (it was me who was discovered) by transboytwelve. Fake dating, bed-sharing, camping fic; Thirteen has to pretend to be Yaz’s partner for a family get-together. Hijinks and definitely-not-just-platonic confusion ensues. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences.

Around The Rink by sheregenerated. The Doctor and Yaz get a bit competitive, Graham has some cocoa, and Ryan rides a reindeer (sort of). Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Cute fluffy goodness.

The Changing of the Seasons by rubyofkukundu. The Doctor gets her first period. Thankfully, Yaz is on hand to help. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Fluff with a bit of hurt/comfort and humour.

Hooked on all these feelings by Moonlightkitten (orphan_account). In which Thirteen wants a set of earrings to match Yasmin's and won't take no for an answer. The only problem? She doesn't have pierced ears. Yet. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Very sweet and very funny. The person who wrote this has since orphaned their account.

Erlebnisse by Val_Creative. The Doctor surprises a very ill Yasmin with a visit. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Very cute and sweet.

I Met Her On The Beach by C1ashi1dr. While Graham and Ryan are taking a break from traveling, the Doctor and Yaz head for a relaxing day on the beach. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Some really lovely fluffy goodness.

Trick or Treat by HalfBakedPoet. What do the court of King Louis XIV, a futuristic pumpkin-based religion, a secret pumpkin carving society, and a two-person horse costume have in common? The Doctor and Yaz celebrate Halloween in a variety of ways. Apple bobbing ensues. Leads up to (presumably, hopefully) the beginning of Flux. Rated T for Teen and Up Audiences. Some fun Halloween fluff.

Hope you all enjoy these fics; I know I certainly did! Remember, if you enjoy a fic, please leave a comment; authors love it when we recieve comments and it inspires us to create more!

[stardust-sunset]

okay so fantasy au 😭 i needed to ramble

Mrs Curtis was a nymph. Shes kinda like the nymphs in percy jackson, her skin is leaf green (maybe changes colors in the autumn?) and her hair is this sunstricken golden color and she ofc has leaves in it almost always. I also like lowkey wanna say that she has a tail with leaves at the end too-she loved to make flower crowns and maybe she even photosynthesizes? Who knows! I need to draw this concept out

Mr Curtis was a gargoyle. He’s REALLY terrifying looking but once you actually get to know him he’s a huge goofball. He used to pull faces and stuff to make his sons laugh. He had huge bat like wings and a long spiked tail-he had talons too and his eyes would glow bright yellow when he was mad-like ONLY yellow. The pupils and irises were GONE. He taught Darry how to fly!

Onto Darry-he’s a gryphon/human mix? Kinda? Like a centaur but the lower half is a fire gryphon. He was born normal size but VERY quickly grew and ended up being gryphon sized (Like…50+ft in size, gryphons are BIG) and dude couldn’t fit in the house anymore by the time he was like thirteen :( But he’s a fire gryphon so cold doesn’t bother him much. But his wings are kinda flame colored? He has a mane of harness fire around his neck too and the tip of his lion tail is a flame ofc-when he’s mad though the fire flares up and can become harmful. He still roofs houses but he has to be awful careful with his size, though he also gets paid to clear out areas because he’s so big so he can easily sweep stuff. He’s harmless tho, just a big birb/lion boi

Soda is a centaur-his lower half is a palomino colt and his upper half is human obviously. He REALLY likes having his mane and tail played with and sometimes will just flick his brothers with his tail until they give him attention lmao-he is NOT quiet either like you can hear this boy galloping from a mile away. He’s also a big fan of having his tail braided and sometimes will braid it before. work to make sure oil doesn’t get on it. He’s very prideful of his coat though and likes when people give him attention for how shiny his coat is-He hates cleaning his hooves though because it’s hard to do :( Sometimes he’ll nestle into Darry’s wings after a hard day too :(

Pony is a cervitaur ofc-his lower half is a fallow deer (maybe an axis deer…) but this boy is SO prideful of his antler nubs and styles his hair purposefully to make sure there showing at all times. When his antlers actually start growing though he’s really happy except for when leaves and flowers get stuck in ‘em-but this boy is FAST-like 50mph fast. He could outrun Soda any day (I know horses are faster shhh) but he’s so fun. His coat is also super fluffy…his hair is too thanks to being half deer. He definitely sneaks into orchards to steal their food tho and Darry gives him an earful. Something I’m considering is having one of each curtis brother be in control of some element considering their mom was a nymph…Darry’s fire but I have to decide on the others…maybe Soda’s water and Pony’s earth? Idk)

I’m still deciding what I wanna do for Johnny…I’m thinking kraken or something of that nature? But like he can live on land? Idk what I wanna do for him, I wanna have him be opposite to Dally but I dunno how a kraken would fit into Tulsa…Just a big ol water creature…I’ll probably create my own creature thing for him LMAO

Dally’s a dragon. No doubt. He has a dragon form and a semi human “disguise” of sorts…like he has dragon ears, dragon wings and a dragon tail and he has some splotches of scales along his body but his full dragon form is a sight to behold. He’s about Darry’s size in full dragon form and him and Darry have definitely gotten into some •Godzilla vs Kong” esque fights because Dally kept trying to burn down the jail and Darry had to stop him…Johnny was watching (he’s about the same size as Darry too) and he’s just frantically trying to put all the fires out while yelling at adam LMAO-but this boy is so unruly sometimes…also horns. His horns are sharp as a blade (play it cool little brother…sorry-) and he’s not afraid to use them

Two Bit is definitely an imp to me. He likes to try and pull pranks on the Socs a lot-he’s kinda like an evil looking satyr…like he has little goat hooves and he even has a pitchfork but he’s really not and. He’s just a funny guy who wants to scare people sometimes. He’s a bit smaller than average (like…5’6’’) but he’s still trying to be scary. He has bat wings too and flares then when he’s all angry and tries to make himself look bigger but he just cannot-

Steve’s a werewolf. I don’t have much on him whether :(

I’m debating on keeping the Socs human or making them mythical beings too…I have ideas for Marcia and Cherry and even some of the musical Socs so we’ll see

(also if someone wants to listen to me yap about gryphon darry i mean…👀

[caelesjjk]

sanguine | jjk | pt. 2

⟶title: sanguine pt. 2

⟶au: vampire au, arranged marriage au, royalty au

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ genre: romance, kinda slow burn?, smut, angst

⟶wc: 12k

⟶warnings: some swearing, mentions of blood, blood drinking, biting, drowning, lots of sexual tension, a damn good kiss, Jungkook is the perfect man which makes for some very sweet moment, jealousy

⟶ summary: Marry the vampire king. Save the kingdom.

Your father is the king of a rare human kingdom that has been plagued by famine and sickness. And in a last ditch effort to save the kingdom, he has arranged for you to marry the vampire king to the north. Your hand in marriage in exchange for his help in saving your kingdom.

Everything you swore could never happen between the two of you begins to unfold as you spend more time in the vampire kingdom with its king and his subjects. Can you learn to love this place and it’s beloved ruler?

⟶ authors note: hello darklings, welcome to part 2 of the sanguine series. I cannot wait for you to read this and tell me your thoughts. So much happens in this chapter and the ride is just getting started. I also promise that the smut is coming. Not in this part, sorrrrrry. But so soon 👀

Special thanks once again to jords @jeonjcngkook , hali @haliiimede and Kay @tea4sykes for reading over this and convincing me it’s not crap and fixing all of my epic grammar mistakes. You guys are my hero’s honestly.

banner: @missgeniality

One last thing, this is a link to the playlist I made for when I’m writing Sanguine. It really sets the mood when reading too, enjoy!

Sleep evades you most of the day. You’re too exhilarated by the thoughts of what Jungkook plans to show you tonight. You’re unsettled, but even more curious.

You change your clothes several times, having no idea how to dress. Finally, you decide on a deep green velvet dress that just barely brushes the floor, its long sleeves and turtleneck have you hoping it will keep you warm in the new autumn breezes. The nights have become chilly recently.

You find a half cape made of fur to wrap around your shoulders before a knock echoes throughout your bed chambers. It makes you jump slightly from the sudden sound but you quickly recover, heading to the doors expecting it to be Jungkook on the other side.

“Ready to take our leave, my lady?” Yoongi bows to you as the door opens. 

“You’re coming too?” Confusion evident on your face. 

“I am.” Yoongi moves aside so that you can exit the room and walk ahead of him down the hallway. “Protecting the king and queen is in my job description.”

“Why will we need protecting?” You try to walk next to him, but he stays a step behind.

“I hope that you don’t, my lady.” Yoongi clasps his hands behind his back, some of his dark hair falling into his eyes as he watches you.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“I think I should let the king give you that information.” 

“I’m the queen though, aren’t I? You have to tell me if I ask.” You lift a brow at him in defiance. Yoongi laughs quietly.

“Are you always this insistent, your highness?” He offers his hand to you as you approach the staircase. 

“Perhaps. How insistent must I be to get information out of you?” You place your hand into his, still not quite used to the cold feeling of vampire skin against your own.

“Let the king have his time.” Yoongi half smiles, helping you from the last step. You glare at him in disappointment, making him laugh quietly once more.

You pull your fur around you a bit closer and look towards the huge front doors of the castle where Jungkook and Seokjin are waiting. 

Jungkook looks…beautiful. Casual. Comfortable. His hair unstyled and hanging over his forehead. Brown dress slacks fitted against his muscular legs and tucked into knee height leather brown boots. His white button up shirt has more buttons undone than it does done up. It is absolutely maddening.

“Good evening, your highness.” Seokjin says, his cheery voice breaking you from ogling your husband for too long. You pray he didn’t notice.

“Good evening.” You clear your throat and bow as you approach the two of them.

“You look…” Jungkook starts to say.

“Is it too much? I had no idea how to dress for whatever it is we’re doing.” Your hands rub nervously at your thighs.

“Perfect.” Jungkook finishes, taking a step towards you. “You look perfect.” You feel heat rush to your cheeks at his words.

“Thank you.” You bite at your bottom lip, feeling lost for words when he’s so close. “You look nice too.”

“Was that a compliment, my queen?” Jungkook teases, holding out his arm for you to take. You roll your eyes.

“Do not get used to it.” You take the arm he’s offered, watching Seokjin open the doors so that the two of you can walk out first.

Outside on the stone path awaits a carriage, different from the one you remember riding in on the night of your wedding. This one seems smaller but still just as intricate in its gold embellishments and filigree wheel designs. 

Jungkook helps you inside, letting you slide to the other side of the bench seat before he joins you. Yoongi and Seokjin climb into the seat at the front, the former taking the reigns and bringing the horses to a gallop.

“May I know where we’re going now?” You don’t look at Jungkook, your eyes are too busy taking in the way the orange and red leaves glide down from the trees in the moonlight. They make an autumn colored blanket over the dirt road and waft out beneath the wheels of the carriage as it passes over them. Jungkook loves the wonderment on your face.

“To see the kingdom at night. I think the city of Asteria will be something you rather enjoy.” Jungkook finally gives you the information you’ve so desperately wanted since last night.

“Asteria?” You ask, breathless at merely just the name of it.

“You may hear others in the kingdom call it the city of stars. It’s the largest part of the kingdom where most of our subjects reside.” Jungkook leans forwards and looks out the window of the carriage with you. “It’s there, between those hillsides with the cliffs.”

As the carriage approaches the hillsides, you start to see more of what Jungkook is referring to. More lights. Soft and gentle and not too bright. Buildings, so many buildings. Large ones, small ones, some at ground level while others were built into the cliff side.

The closer that you got, the more you could hear. Voices of the subjects who lived here. Vampires. So many vampires. More than you imagined existed walking around the busy cobblestone streets. 

“This…these are all vampires?” You finally turn from the window to look at Jungkook.

“Yes.” He smiles gently. “It isn’t something we go around advertising. Keeps everyone safe that way.” 

You look at him dumbfounded for a moment before turning back to the window as the carriage comes to a stop. Yoongi and Seokjin don’t even have enough time to jump down from the front to open the doors before you’re swinging it open and jumping out, almost tripping on your skirt as you do. 

“Your majesty?” Yoongi scrambles down when he sees you, worry in voice.

You can barely hear him though. Every single one of your senses switching into overdrive as you take in the sight in front of you.

Flowers. There are thousands of flowers with their bright colors and heavenly fragrant smells. They’re lined in almost every windowsill on the main road in front of you. There are also shops and vendors placed throughout selling even more of them. It’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

Your feet have adapted a mind of their own, propelling you forward towards all the hustle and bustle happening on the street. You almost forget that you didn’t arrive here alone.

“_____? Are you okay?” Jungkook’s hand comes to your shoulder and stops you from going further. When you turn to look at him you know your eyes must be blown wide as they can get.

“This is beautiful.” You bring your hand up to the one he’s resting on your shoulder and wrap your fingers around his. “Can we please go and see it?”

“As if I would deny you a single thing.” Jungkook smiles, moving your hand down from your shoulder and holding it instead. You look down at your intertwined hands for a moment before you’re taking off in a rush towards the busy market. Jungkook merely laughs at your excitement.

Overwhelmed is an understatement, as you try to take in everything along the busy street. There are large glass windows in front of all the shops, displaying some of the things you might find inside of them. 

Multiple shops are selling beautiful handmade clothing. Gorgeous dresses, embroidered shirts, sparkling skirts and dazzling leather. Your hands itch to run over the materials and feel them for yourself. But you’re too excited to go inside them, you need to see what else there is to discover in this beautifully hidden city.

You see jewelry shops stacked full of effervescent gems, chains of silver and gold, and bracelets made from both. There are also watches and braided leather. It’s absolutely incredible.

“See anything that you like?” Jungkook asks and you suddenly remember he’s still holding your hand as you drag him to all the shops.

“Oh. No, do not even think of it. It must all cost a fortune.” You shake your head at him.

“You continuously forget that you’re the queen of this whole kingdom, _____. Anything you want is yours.” Jungkook tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

You look down at the blood drop shaped ring on your finger, wondering if this is the shop that made it for you when you married Jungkook. The ring doesn’t feel as heavy as it used to. It stopped burning your skin where it sits against your skin. It doesn’t remind you of the terrible days anymore. Now you only think of the vampire who slid it down your finger all those months ago.

“I have enough jewelry for now.” You squeeze his hand and move to the next shop. As you approach the window, you feel confusion wash over you like a massive wave. 

Toys. Children's toys.

“Why is there a toy shop?” Goosebumps cover your skin. “Vampires are forbidden from biting children.”

“You’re right, darling. We are forbidden from biting children.” Jungkook pulls your hand and brings you to stand at the corner of where one street meets another.

As your eyes focus on what he wants you to see, your breath leaves your lungs entirely. The sight in front of you is so shocking that your ability to think clearly has completely disappeared.

“What…children?” You whisper.

“Indeed. Born, not bitten.” Jungkook takes you closer to them.

“How? Vampires cannot have children.” 

“And who is it that told you that? Old legends and lore perhaps?” Jungkook rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “Vampires are capable of having children with other vampires. Works much the same way it does with humans.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing, beginning to wonder if anything you thought you knew was true at all. Your chest feels heavy with this new information.

“What other lies have I been led to believe are true?” You can’t take your eyes off of the children running about in the grass kicking around a ball.

“We can debunk them as they come up. There’s no need to overwhelm you more right now.” 

Before Jungkook can say anything else, you’re letting go of his hand and jogging over toward the children. Once you reach them, you lower down onto your knees in front of them and they all stop their game to gather around and regard you. 

Their parents, you assume, all bow to you and encourage their children to do the same. 

“There’s no need for that.” You smile at them gently. “Do you think I could play your game with you?”

One of the little girls amongst the children steps forward, a look of confusion painting her sweet face.

“Don’t you hate us, your majesty?” She asks simply, your heart sinking in your chest.

“No. I could never hate you, little one.” You reach out and gently touch the cool skin of her hand, thankful that she doesn’t flinch away when you do.

“You can be on my team, your majesty.” She smiles, her little fangs poking out and reminding you that even though she’s small, she is a vampire. 

But that doesn’t seem to bother you at all.

“I would like that very much.” You let her take your hand and lead you towards the area where they were playing their game.

Looking back over your shoulder, you see Jungkook standing nearby with Yoongi and Seokjin a few steps behind. His arms are crossed over his broad chest as he watches you with a fond smile. You smile back just before the children begin shouting and explaining the rules of their game to you.

You lose track of time. Not sure at all how long you’ve been playing with the children. Your skin is warm and flushed from chasing the ball around and running about. 

Jungkook still waits for you, he and Yoongi talking as you pick up your fur cloak you had discarded earlier in the game from the ground. His eyes meet yours while you’re watching him, neither of you breaking that eye contact for what seems like forever. 

“Did you enjoy the game?” Seokjin asks, suddenly at your side.

“I had a lot of fun, yes.” You attempt to smooth out your hair to no avail.

“I don’t think many queens would be caught playing games with children of the kingdom. It was rather heartwarming considering how you once felt about them.” Seokjin says, not meaning to be rude. You appreciate the honesty.

“I am not sure how I feel. But what I do know, is that I was far too harsh towards the people of this kingdom. Whether they are vampires or not, I never should have said the things I did.” You sigh, walking slowly towards Jungkook and Yoongi with Seokjin at your side.

“I was the same way, you know. I hated them. Vampires have the worst reputations in this realm. But they’ve never tried to dispel the rumors…makes them seem dangerous. Keeps them safe.” 

“I think that I have a lot to make up for. I have not been an easy person to deal with these past few months.” 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, your majesty. I think you’ll find if you keep your heart open here, you’ll be surprised by what can happen.” Seokjin smiles, the apples of his cheeks lifting in the cutest way.

“I’ll do my best.” You lift a hand to give his shoulder a squeeze, pulling it back a little too quickly when you feel how warm he is. “Are you okay? You’re burning up.”

“Ah, yes. No need to worry. It’s a werewolf thing, blood temperature is warmer than a humans and far warmer than a vampires.” Seokjin assures you.

“It seems I’ll learn something new around here every day.” 

“That will make two of us, my lady.” Seokjin bows to you as you reach Jungkook and makes his way towards another group of people.

“Did you have a nice time?” Jungkook asks.

“Yes, I did.” You smile at each other, knowing your cheeks are warming the longer that you look at him.

“Shall we return to the castle soon?” 

“If that’s what you wish to do.”

“We can come here whenever you like. I admittedly do not do it enough these days.” Jungkook holds out his hand for you to take and you do without thought. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, your highness.” You let him gently lead you back towards the busy street you had entered the city on.

“May I ask you something?” Jungkook inquires.

“Yes.”

“Do you still have that kitchen knife strapped to your thigh?” His eyes seem to darken slightly as he watches your face.

You aren’t sure what comes over you, but you pull his hand to a stop, looking around to make sure no other eyes will hone in on what you’re about to do.

Swiftly, you lift the slit of your dress a little higher up your thigh, revealing the same kitchen knife that you had come by in Hoseok’s kitchen all those months ago.

“Just in case.” You smirk as Jungkook groans quietly. 

“You’re bewitching, do you know that?” Jungkook stares at your thigh until you let your dress fall back into place. 

“And you are out of your mind.” You laugh with a shake of your head.

“I merely appreciate beauty in the form of a woman with a weapon strapped to her thigh.” Jungkook's smile reaches his eyes revealing his perfectly shaped teeth, along with his own set of sharp weapons. It doesn’t frighten you as much as it likely should anymore.

“Masochist.” You tease, putting your hand back into his.

“Only for you, my queen.” He brings your hand up to his lips, brushing a kiss against your knuckles. 

It catches you off guard, to feel his cool lips against your skin. The contrast is maddening in an unexplainable way. The invigorating touch of his kiss and the burning hot fire that ignites in your belly.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, letting it sink in that Jungkook has just done something very intimate with you. The most intimate the two of you have been and it was merely just a kiss to your hand.

“Are you okay?” He finally asks. You nod your head yes. “Good. I want to make one more quick stop before we take our leave then.”

“Of course.” You clear your throat.

You walk with him down the street until you reach a shop with leather workings in the window. All sorts of intricate belts and straps with the most beautiful details hang from the displays.

“Wait here a moment?” He asks, releasing your hand as he heads inside the shop. You nod and turn to see Yoongi standing behind you.

“Your highness.” He says, bowing slightly.

“You’re never too far from Jungkook, are you?” You smile tenderly and he does the same.

“He is my king and my oldest friend. I only wish to look out for him.” 

“Was Jungkook born or bitten?” You ask curiously.

“Bitten, my lady.” 

“He was human once.” You say more to yourself than to Yoongi, letting the thought sink in.

“A very long time ago.” Yoongi steps up a bit closer. “He was chosen to be the king because he refused to stand down when the king before him sentenced us all to death.”

“How?” 

“The former king disapproved of making treaties with the humans. But obviously, we require their blood to live.”

“That’s something I’ve been curious about…how do you get the blood?”

“Donations. Humans come to us by their own will and are paid handsomely for their donations. The people of your kingdom have been given this option now as well.” Yoongi looks in the shop window, making sure that he can see Jungkook.

“There are not many human kingdoms left.” You say, sadness evident in your voice.

“Jungkook hopes to prevent any more loss. We need each other to survive.” Yoongi bows once more when he sees Jungkook is walking towards the exit of the shop.

Everything Yoongi has told you just now, has your brain reeling. You were never kept in the loop enough as a princess in your fathers kingdom, it wasn’t your right. You didn’t know half the things going on in this realm that you really should have known.

“Have something for you.” Jungkook says, breaking you from your thoughts.

“You didn’t need to.”

“I rather think this gift is necessary.” Half his mouth rising into a smile. “Come here.” Jungkook lowers down onto one knee in front of you.

“What are you doing?” Your eyes widen in surprise.

“No one is looking, and if they do I’ll kill them. Place your foot here.” He pats the top of his thigh.

“Have you gone mad?” You hiss through your teeth at him.

“Trust me, darling. Aren’t you curious about what I have for you?” Jungkooks tongue slyly licks over one of his fangs as he watches your face.

“Fine then.” You look around once more before lifting your foot and placing it on Jungkook’s thigh as he requested. Your dress slides up and reveals your makeshift knife sheath.

“You are immaculate.” His eyes hungrily roam your exposed skin. Like he could quite literally consume you whole. 

His fingertips come to your skin, sliding up and burning in their wake. It didn’t matter that his skin was cool to the touch, he was setting you ablaze. They stop at the sheath wrapped around your thigh, removing the knife before far too easily ripping the material away.

“Jungkook…” You barely recognize your voice.

“You see, my queen. If you insist on carrying a weapon, and I so hope that you do,” he pauses for a moment, taking something out of the giftbag next to him, “You should at least have a proper sheath.”

Jungkook withdraws a black piece of leather from the bag, holding it up to show you. The leather looks so soft that it could possibly be velvet. Silver threads sewn into intricate designs up and down the surface. It’s an absolutely stunning piece of work.

You slide your foot through the opening, letting Jungkook glide the sheath up your leg until it fits snugly around your thigh. He lets his hands roam your skin and you instinctively feel the need to clench your thighs together to keep the foreign feelings at bay.

“It’s really beautiful.” You whisper to only him.

“You’re so deliciously soft. It’s fucking maddening.” Leaning forward, his nose skims your knee. Your eyes fall shut, lips trembling slightly.

“Why?”

“Every day is a new test of my restraint, my queen.” He moves his face back away from your skin, trying to breathe in air that wasn’t full of you.

“Are you restraining yourself from biting me?” You open your eyes slowly, just in time to see Jungkook rise from his knee to stand in front of you.

“Yes.” He answers, making you shudder. “But I never will. Not unless you ask me to. I would never hurt you.”

Before you had spent all this time with Jungkook in the vampire kingdom, you would have been disgusted by the mere thought of him biting you…drinking your blood. But now the only thoughts in your head are whether it would really hurt. Would he kill you? Would it change you into a vampire as well?

Yoongi and Seokjin return and give you an excuse not to continue the conversation further and decide to return to the carriage instead. 

“Did I frighten you?” Jungkook inquires gently.

“No.” You release a shaky breath. “I think I’ve just begun to forget that you’re a vampire. It must be very difficult for you to be around me.” 

“Don’t do that.” 

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t start blaming yourself. I would suffer a thousand years before I ever let you do that.” He declares, voice stable and a little stern.

“I just don’t like the idea of making your life more difficult than it already is.” You huff, scooting over across the bench seat to put more space between the two of you.

“It’s very selfless of you to feel that way.” His fingers tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, cool skin brushing over the skin of your jaw until they reach your chin, gently bringing your face around to look at him once more. “But you are the most important thing to me now. I will never do anything you do not ask of me. I mean that. I do not care about the discomforts it causes me.”

“Now who’s being selfless?” You tease, leaning into his touch when his hand slides to cup your cheek.

“Stubborn girl.” He mumbles quietly. 

The carriage suddenly feels very small. And very warm. The look on Jungkook’s face as he studies you, makes you shift in your seat. All of these new feelings for him begin to bubble at the surface and beg to be released. If only you weren’t such a coward.

“Have you gotten any word from Taehyung?” You clear your throat and slowly move your face away from his gentle touch. Jungkook smiles, but it’s more out of frustration than anything else.

“We expect to hear from him in the next few days. I’m sure he will want an audience.” Jungkook sighs, leaning back against the seat and running a hand through his silky hair.

“Will he come to the castle?” A different type of nerve pricks your stomach. You do not know much of Taehyung other than he is a ruthless leader always waiting for the next fight.

“If I allow him, yes. And I think it best to have these conversations with him on my terms.” Jungkooks jaw is tight and sharp as he finishes speaking.

“He wants to bargain for my fathers kingdom, doesn’t he?” 

“Yes.” He turns his body towards you. “But no matter what he says or offers, I will not let him take it. I made a promise to your father and to you.” 

You don’t speak of it any further on the way back to the castle. But your mind continues to reel with thoughts of the merciless werewolf king and his unwavering determination to rule your fathers kingdom. You know Jungkook will do his best to keep everyone safe, but at what cost?

The carriage stops in front of the castle's huge front doors, Seokjin jumping down from the seat at the front to open the door for you and Jungkook. 

“Are you hungry?” Jungkook asks, taking your hand to help you step down from the carriage.

“A bit, yes.” You continue to hold his hand as the two of you ascend the stairs, the doors opening as you approach so that you can enter.

“Shall I have Hoseok make something for you? Seokjin is probably hungry as well.” Jungkook points out something that you had not thought of during your time here. Jin is not a vampire and requires food as well. How silly of you not to think of such a thing.

“Could hear your stomach growling the whole ride back, my queen.” Jin teases as he comes up behind the two of you. 

“Perhaps a little.” You laugh quietly, eyes finally honing in on the group of people standing at the foot of the grand staircase. “Who are they?”

“You need to eat your meal, and I need to have mine.” Jungkook squeezes your hand but you suddenly feel uncomfortable.

A woman in a pale pink dress steps forward as you approach, curtsying to Jungkook but not to you. She’s very pretty, small and petite. Her hair is swept up neatly but the smile on her face is vicious.

“My king.” She says in an overly sweet voice that makes your skin crawl.

“Celeste.” Jungkook addresses her. “Shall I meet with you after you have your dinner?” He’s speaking to you but all you can do is stare at the woman in front of you.

“Will you be long?” You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Not long.” Jungkook smirks, sensing your unrealized jealousy.

“I’ll just head to bed after dinner. Enjoy your…meal.”

“Do not worry your majesty, I will take good care of the king.” Celeste practically purrs. You want to stab her in the neck with your kitchen knife. 

“I’m sure you will.” Grabbing your skirt in your hands you stomp off towards the kitchen to find Hoseok and beg him to talk you out of murder.

You slam open the swinging door of the kitchen causing poor unsuspecting Hoseok to screech and almost drop his mixing bowl. You’re pacing the floor before he even has a chance to recover.

“Did you know Jungkook has a woman that he drinks from? A pretty little thing. He had the audacity to introduce her to me. As if I give a fuck.” You grab a piece of bread off the counter top and bite into it with very little care.

“First of all, could you please stop barging in here like this? You’re going to give me a heart attack.” Hoseok sits the mixing bowl down, wiping his hands on his apron. “Second, don’t say fuck, it’s very unqueenly.”

You glare at him and savagely take another bite off the bread you were eating. 

“Why do you care who he drinks blood from? You don’t even like him.” Hobi laughs and shakes his head before your eyes meet his. “Wait…you do like him! When did that change?”

“It hasn’t! I mean not really…I don’t know! All I know is that I do not like the idea of him drinking from her.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s…I’m told it’s very intimate. Drinking someone’s blood…it’s very intimate.” You can feel sweat forming on the nape of your neck.

“So what you’re saying is that you don’t want him to be intimate with her?”

“Correct. There’s something not right about her.” 

“Then do you want him to be intimate with you?” Hobi stops what he’s doing and stands in front of you to halt your pacing.

The question throws you completely off guard. You should know the answer. You should not want the answer to be yes. You hate the thought of Jungkook being that close to anyone else.

“No! How could you say that!” You smack his shoulder.

“What do you propose he do then? He needs blood like you need food. You’re being unreasonable.” Hoseok rubs his shoulder.

“Who’s side are you on Hobi?” You pout your bottom lip, sad that you know he’s right.

“I’m always on your side.” He hands you another piece of bread before continuing. “But I think you need to tell the king how you feel.”

“Well that’s not going to happen.” You scoff. “I don’t…I don’t know how I feel about the king.”

“Yes you do. You’re just a stubborn ass that doesn’t want to admit it.” 

“You cannot call me an ass! I’m the queen!” You laugh, only slightly surprised at his words. Hoseok has always been honest with you.

“A queen that I have known quite literally my entire life. Would it really be so bad to love him, ____?” 

Love. You were especially unsure of what love meant. You felt the love of your father…from Hoseok as your friend. But you had never been in love. It was something you always assumed you would just know as soon as it happened. You also thought you would marry for love and maybe you hadn’t at the time…but now? Now you still didn’t know.

“I need to get some air.” You tell Hoseok, moving towards the door.

“At least take this food with you.” He hands you a basket with more bread, along with some cheese and fruits. You notice a second basket sitting on the counter.

“Who’s that for?” 

“Seokjin. He has to eat food too.”

“I’m aware of that now.” You look at its contents a little closer. “Why does he have more in his basket?” You raise a suspicious brow.

“He’s a werewolf. He requires more food than a nosy little human queen.” Hobi pinches your side, pushing you towards the door. “Out of here, you menace.”

You can’t help but laugh, still feeling slightly suspicious of Hoseok and his beautifully packed food basket. But you decide to let it go for now, turning to hug him quickly before leaving the kitchen and finding yourself alone in the dimly lit hallway.

It doesn’t take long to find your way into the garden. You weren’t sure where else to take out your annoyance and frustrations. 

Annoyed that you let that blood bag of a girl get under your skin.

Frustrated that you cared.

“Digging somewhere in particular?” Jungkooks familiar voice says from behind you. You don’t turn to look at him.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“The hole you’ve dug has gotten rather large.” 

You roll your eyes, finally focusing on the ground you had been digging at. You’re surprised to see that he’s right, you’ve been so inside your head that you had no idea how long you had been digging in the same spot. This annoys you even more, taking your small shovel and shoving it into the ground in front of you as if it were a sword.

“Do you need something?” You stand from the ground, brushing off your knees in the process.

“You seemed upset earlier. I wanted to know why.” Jungkook stands with his hands behind his back, not coming closer.

“I am not upset.” 

“You are.”

You roughly grab a rake from where it sits against the concrete fountain, walking to a different spot to make more distance between the two of you.

“You are mistaken.” You start to rake some of the fallen leaves that were making a mess of your flower beds.

“Tell me what you are thinking then.” Jungkook comes a bit closer, trying not to smile as he watches you. You don’t answer for a moment.

“I’m thinking about stabbing you.” You throw the rake to the ground and trudge towards Jungkook who stands unmoving. “I’m thinking that you’re probably having sex with your dinner as well.” 

“I love when you threaten me with sharp objects.” Jungkook smiles widely and it makes your blood boil.

“You should have stopped feeding from her when we got married. It’s the least you could do.” 

“Would you like me to?” He asks. 

“Yes!” You throw your hands up.

“Done. You’ll never see her again.” 

“Then you’ll just get another woman to drink from?” 

“Are you offering to let me drink from you?” His infuriating brow raises.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Are you afraid that I’ll turn you?”

“No. I know that you won’t.”

“Not unless you ask me to.” His fingers come beneath your chin, grasping it gently to bring your eyes to his. “I will do anything that you ask of me. But I need to eat.” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“For a moment. But what follows is the opposite.” His fingers move along your jaw, caressing the skin.

“Will you…fuck me when you drink from me?” The words fall from your mouth before you can sugar coat them in any way. Jungkook growls quietly in his chest.

“Such a filthy mouth.” His thumb brushes over your lips. “Do you want me to fuck you, my queen?”

“I do not know.” You breathe, eyes falling shut when he closes the last bit of distance and his nose skims over yours.

“I think that you do know, but are afraid to admit that you may in fact want such a thing.” You can practically feel his lips ghosting yours as he speaks. Your breathing is ragged and the burning in the pit of your stomach is spreading to the apex of your thighs.

The earth feels as though it could crumble beneath you at any moment and swallow you whole. He was so close to you. Breath fanning your lips. All you have to do is lean forward and you can kiss him. Tell him that he’s right and you do want that. You want it so badly that it’s making you feel deranged.

But instead of giving into the desire, you pull back. You need to get out of his intoxicating presence and his addictive smell. 

“I should go.” You try to bow and almost trip, stumbling away towards the back stairs that lead into the castle.

You don’t make it to the stairs though, a strong hand seizing the back of your neck and spinning you back around to face him. He doesn’t give you any time to protest, full lips coming down to cover yours, stealing away the breath in your chest and lungs. Your eyes flutter closed at the gentle way he cups your cheek and neck. 

Jungkook is kissing you. You feel such shock that you don’t realize you haven’t kissed back just yet. When your wits return your hands seize his hair, tangling in the dark locks and pulling him closer to you. He hums against your lips, his tongue begging at the seam to slip inside the cavern of your mouth.

You’ve never kissed anyone this way. You don’t know if you’ll do it right. But you part your lips and let Jungkook take the lead, his tongue skimming your lips once more before the kiss deepens and your tongue is moving with his. 

One of Jungkook's hands leaves your face and travels down your side to your waist until it reaches your lower back, bringing you flush against him. Your own hands come down from his hair and wrap around his neck instead. 

Everything feels so warm. How could a man who is cool to the touch feel so warm when he’s kissing you? 

When Jungkook withdraws his lips from yours, you feel dizzy, afraid to open your eyes. But you want to see his face, see if he has been as affected by the most perfect kiss you had ever experienced, so you will them to amble open.

The way that he’s already looking at you makes the fire in your stomach spread to your muscles and bones. His eyes are so dark, that crimson red ring that surrounds his irises just a bit brighter than usual. He looks as if he wants to devour you and you know that you would let him in an instant.

“Are you alright?” He finally asks.

“I am.” You ache to touch him again. “Are you?”

“I was afraid you would consume me. Steal away the small bit of humanity I have left…but it was so easy.” He smiles softly, reaching out to touch your warm cheek.

“You kissed me that way without knowing if you’d lose control?” You glare at him.

“I told you I would never hurt you. That was not a lie. But my desire…no, my need for you is something I’ve never experienced.” 

“Idiot!” You step forward and push against his hard chest. He doesn’t budge, but it gets your point across. “I should have stabbed you! You could ha-“ Your sentence is cut off by his lips on yours again. 

This kiss is much more bruising than the last. Jungkook wants you to understand that he’s in control of himself and that your life means everything to him. Your blood sings to him, it begs him to drink from you and not leave a single drop behind. But he won’t let that monster win, not when it comes to you.

Your fingers grip at the soft fabric of his shirt, needing something to anchor you to the earth before you float away. 

“I should walk you to your rooms. The sun will be up soon.” Jungkook's lips stay close to yours as he speaks, his lashes tickling your cheek when he kisses it.

“Okay.” You try to breathe in deeply, something to steady your mind. His lips move to your temple, pressing a kiss there before the defined shape of his body leaves yours.

“Come.” Jungkook takes your hand, leading you back inside. He doesn’t let go as you make your way through the halls and up the staircase to your rooms.

“I may have forgotten to say thank you earlier. For showing me Asteria. It really was incredible.” You stand close to your bedroom door, eyes falling to the floor when you feel unable to look at him. But he won’t have any of that.

“We have much to prepare for in the coming days…” His fingers brush your jaw and cup it to bring your eyes to his. “And we must also prepare for your coronation celebration.” 

“My what?” Confusion veils your face. “I didn’t think we would be having one.”

“The kingdom loves an excuse to have a party.” He laughs quietly. “And you deserve a formal welcome as Queen here.”

“I’m still not sure that anyone in the kingdom wants me here.” You step up a little closer, seeking the new found comfort Jungkook’s presence brings you.

“Anyone who has an issue with you ruling as queen here can easily be exterminated.” 

“You wouldn’t do such things.”

“For you? I think you underestimate the lengths I will go to keep you safe, darling.” A soft kiss to your lips that has your knees trembling.

“Masochist.” You smile against his mouth, teeth bumping his when he does the same.

“You should sleep before I throw you over my shoulder and have my way with you in my rooms instead.” One last kiss to your forehead as if he didn’t just threaten to have his way with you.

“I am rather tired…suppose I’ll need to call on my ladies in waiting to help me out of this dress.” You decide to tease him as well, letting the shoulder of your dress slip off slightly when you turn to open the door.

“Your husband is here now, isn’t he?” Jungkook glares, fingers itching to touch your exposed skin.

“You should rest, my king.” You bow to him, knowing your cleavage will spill out and his eyes do not miss it.

“______.” He groans your name, but you’re already slipping into your room.

“Goodnight, Jungkook.” You close the door when he tries to step closer, pressing your back to the cool wood, listening to him whine on the other side before it gets quiet and you know he’s gone to bed.

A few days have passed and Taehyung has not yet sent word of when we will be arriving in the vampire kingdom to discuss your fathers land.

It baffles you each time you think of it. Why would someone want the land of your kingdom so badly? It wasn’t as if it was more special than any other kingdom in the realm. 

You find yourself walking the halls just as the sun has fallen beneath the horizon, the clouds swirling with deep blues and hues of purple. A perfect twilight.

“My queen.” Yoongi suddenly appears, making you almost jump out of your skin.

“General.” You manage to squeak out.

“Are you well?” He asks.

“Honestly…I’m rather bored.” Yoongi smiles at your statement, the endearing gums above his teeth showing along with the dangerous shape of his fangs.

“Shall I teach you something then?” He questions.

“What will you teach me, General?” 

“I’ve heard you’re harboring a knife for safety.” He chuckles quietly. “I thought perhaps you might want to learn how to use blades properly.”

“You’ll teach me to fight?” Your eyes light up at his words.

“To protect yourself.” Yoongi begins to walk down the hall, looking back over his shoulder at you. “Are you coming?” 

“Yes!” You almost stumble trying to move your feet too quickly, but manage to follow him without injury.

Yoongi brings you to a large room downstairs, the walls filled with weapons of every sort. There are mats made of a padded material spread out across the floor as well.

In one corner of the room, you notice a very large pile of silver fur, and said pile of fur seems to be…breathing.

“What is that?” You ask, voice shaking slightly.

“That…” Yoongi smiles, “is Seokjin.” 

“Oh…” You continue to stare, never having seen Seokjin in his werewolf form.

He had taken some time a few days ago to explain that he’s in fact, a lycan, he was born and not bitten. The kind that depends on the moon to change are werewolves that were bitten by a lycan.

Jin hears the two of you approach and lifts his head, ears perked before he bows his large head to greet you. You return the gesture.

“Are you going to stay and watch me teach the queen how to use a blade?” Yoongi directs his question towards Jin.

Jin huffs through his nose once, laying back down with his eyes on the two of you.

“Is that a yes?” You wonder.

“It is. He also said that if I hurt you he will rip out my throat.” Yoongi smiles again, pointing the sword he had just picked up from a table towards Jin across the room.

“How would you know he said that? He didn’t speak.” 

“Because I can read his mind.” Yoongi says so matter of factly.

“You…I’m sorry. You can read his mind?” 

“Yes, my lady. He can read mine as well. It happens between beings like us after we’ve spent long amounts of time together.” Yoongi picks up another sword and hands it to you but you’re too distracted, almost dropping it to the ground.

“Can you read mine?” You’re absolutely fascinated and terrified at the same time.

“No, I cannot. We haven’t known each other long and you are very…human.” Yoongi adjusts your grip on the sword while you barely pay attention.

“What about Jungkook? Can he read my mind?” 

“That’s a question the king will need to answer.” You can hear the frustration in Yoongi's voice as he continues to try and help you hold the sword while you barely acknowledge what he’s doing. 

“Fascinating.” You mumble.

“If you will, my lady, hold the sword.” He finally says.

“Oh, yes. I’ve got it.” You’ve held a sword before, but have never needed to use one in any type of battle. 

Yoongi begins to explain that the movement is all in your wrist but the strength comes from using force from your upper body. He goes over the basics: how to hold the sword, how to step, how to avoid counterattacks and how to do some very simple counter attacks of your own.

You can feel sweat forming on your brow and dripping down your back. You haven’t done this much physical activity in quite some time.

“You’re doing well, your majesty.” Yoongi compliments.

“I wish I could know it all, all at once.” You sigh, leaning against the wall. Yoongi laughs quietly.

“With due time.” He places his sword back on the table. “We can train whenever you like, as long as the king doesn’t have me out and about.”

“I would like that very much, General.” You smile and he does the same as you place your sword into the holster.

As you do, the sheath pinches your finger and makes a small cut. You hold it up with a wince, seeing a small drop of blood form on the tip.

“All that swinging a sword around with no injury only to get a cut from a small pinch.” You wipe it against your thigh, wondering why Yoongi has become so quiet.

It did not click in your mind that this would be a problem.

“You need to get out of here. Right now!” Yoongi half yells and half growls, breathing rapidly through his mouth. The earthy color of his eyes was now soaked in a blood red.

“I’m sorry…” You take a step back towards the exit door, tripping over the table leg and landing on your back.

“Your blood…it’s screaming at me.” Yoongi groans and covers his ears with his hands, trying to stop himself from pouncing on you and draining you dry.

In the next moment, a mass of silver fur appears in front of you, blocking Yoongi from moving any closer. Seokjin growls deep in his chest, the rumble of it vibrating your bones. He turns his head towards you, nudging you with his nose and huffing, silently telling you to get out now.

You don’t hesitate, scrambling from the floor and dashing out the exit door and up the stone stairway. You look back once, only to run directly into the chest of your husband.

“What’s going on?” He asks, hands steadying your shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I didn’t even think.” You're prattling on and making no sense you’re sure.

“Shh.” Jungkook hushes you, cupping your face in his hands. “Look at me and tell me what’s happened.”

“Yoongi was teaching me to use a sword…for protection. I just…I nicked my finger a little…I’m so sorry.” You feel as though you’re unable to string a coherent sentence together.

“Did he hurt you?” Jungkook asks, jaw tightening.

“What? No, he didn’t hurt me. Seokjin was there, he stepped between us so I could leave.” Jungkooks face softens a little at that bit of information. You’re about to speak again when Jin comes up the stairs in his human form.

“Are you okay, your majesty?” He asks the question to you, but looks at Jungkook. They’re talking with their minds.

“I’m fine.” You tenderly take Jungkook's hands from your face so you can turn to face Jin. “Where is Yoongi? Is he alright?”

“He could have killed you and you’re wondering if he’s well?” Jungkook shakes his head, a slight smile on his lips.

“It wasn’t his fault. I was bleeding in front of a vampire…and he resisted.” 

“Yoongi will be fine, my lady. He just needs a moment.” Jin bows to you and Jungkook, obviously saying something else with his mind before heading back down the stairs.

“That’s going to get very frustrating.” You exhale loudly, turning back to face your husband who has an amused look on his face.

“I suppose my General filled you in on more than just swordsmanship.” Jungkook takes one of your hands in his, bringing it to his lips and brushing a kiss across the knuckles.

“Can you read my mind?” You ask, trying not to crumble at the feeling of his cool lips on your skin.

“No. That may take time to happen.” Jungkook turns your hand over to inspect the small cut on the top of your finger.

“Why does my blood not bother you?” 

“It does.” He stares at your finger, swallowing harshly.

“Then why are you torturing yourself by being close to me now?”

“Because I will never hurt you.”

“I know.” Gods, you want him to kiss you again.

“I should kill Yoongi for even thinking of hurting you.” Jungkooks mouth was suddenly covering yours. Was he sure he couldn’t read your mind?

You allow the kiss and the rush of warmth that spreads through your body before your mind catches up, pushing Jungkook back from you.

“You will do no such thing. Yoongi is your friend. Promise me right now that you will not harm him in any way.” You look at him sternly.

“Seeing as I’m afraid you may stab me if I don’t do as you say, I suppose I’ll let the General keep his life.” He grabs your waist, pulling you back against his body.

“I’m glad I’ve gotten my point across about the stabbing.” Your hands travel up his chest, fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket. Jungkook smiles as he lifts your chin with his fingers to look at him.

“I came to find you so that I could speak with you about something.” He whispers the words, breath fanning your lips.

“And what would that be, my king?” 

“I like when you call me your king…very much.” He playfully kisses your lips and makes you giggle. An actual giggle leaves your mouth.

“Stop changing the subject! What did you want to speak about?” You hold him at arm's length until he tells you what he needs to. His face becomes much more serious.

“Taehyung arrives the day after tomorrow. He’ll be here at sunset.”

“Oh.” You knew the time to meet Taehyung was coming but it was still surprising to hear the news. “Should we make arrangements?”

“That’s what I want to talk about, _____. I think it would be best if you stayed away while Taehyung is here.” Jungkook's eyes are on the floor as he speaks, he knows this won’t go well.

“Suddenly you want to keep me out of things? How did you think this conversation would go, Jungkook? That I’d be your good little wife and submit to your request? I refuse!” You push past him, starting towards the staircase.

“I thought perhaps you would be reasonable.” Jungkook sighs, his inhuman speed bringing him in front of you again.

“If you wanted a quiet and pliant wife you should have married your blood bag.” You scowl, fully prepared to pull your knife out of the sheath.

“You’re pulling away.”

“You’re pushing me out! Why? I want to know why.” You step up and shove your finger into his chest.

“Because Taehyung is already aware of our marriage. Now he knows that I have a weakness. I want to keep you out of harm's way where he can use you against me.” Jungkook takes one of your hands in his, begging you with his eyes to understand.

“If that’s the case, your highness, then perhaps we should be showing Taehyung that I am not a weakness and will not take his threats.” You yank your hand from his, walking up the stairs without another word from Jungkook.

Once again, sleep evades you. Every time you close your eyes you see the hurt look on Jungkook's face when you walk away and it makes tears threaten to escape.

The sun is still up, beginning its descent to drop below the horizon. You throw off your covers and make your way over to the window. Tiredly, you undo the latch and push open the panes.

It’s a strangely warm day out for this time of year. A comfortable breeze brings the scent of the flowers and trees floating into your room and tickling your nose. 

You breathe it deep into your lungs. It feels good to just breathe.

Out past the gardens, you can see a turquoise colored lake. Willow trees surround it and dangle their long branches across the water's surface. It’s stunning and enticing.

Not having been out in the sun for months, you decide to forfeit sleep and make your way outside the castle to the lake that felt as if it was calling your name.

You wrap a shawl around your shoulders, quietly padding through the halls and down the staircase towards the back doors. Quickly, you check on your flowers in the garden and thankfully they are all taking nicely to the soil and growing.

Looking towards the veranda across the garden, your eyes fall onto the oversized pile of silver fur that you’ve come to know. Seokjin lays in a ray of sun, warming his muscles and bones and soaking it in. You’ve seen him do this quite often. He must miss the sun as well at times.

His head lifts when he hears you begin to walk across the lawn.

“It’s okay, Jin. I’m only going for a walk.” You reassure him. He tilts his head to the side, huffing through his nose. “You don’t need to accompany me. Enjoy the sun.” Jin whines a little and lays his head back against the stones.

You make sure that he doesn’t decide to follow you before continuing the short journey to the lake. The long grass tickles your calves and fingertips when you flatten your palms to feel the silky blades. 

When you reach the bank of the lake you breathe in as deeply as you can manage. Everything smells fresh and earthy. The urge to get into the water is too hard to ignore even though you know it will be cold this time of year.

Gingerly, you slip off your boots and the shawl you had grabbed on the way out of your bedroom. The breeze makes you shiver when more of your skin is exposed to the outside elements, but you ignore it, standing at the water's edge in only a flimsy camisole and sleep shorts.

Unable to resist any longer, you step into the water, pushing away any protest from your body as the cold water rises up your body the farther you submerge. 

You let your body float on top of the pool, tendrils of your hair sticking to your face. Floating here may be the closest thing you can imagine to heaven. Light. Airy. Blanketed. Free. It was almost overwhelming.

As you begin to move your arms to move across the top of the water, something seizes your foot and pulls you back. Jolting upwards, you look around frantically but the surface of the water appears calm as far as you can see. You almost begin to wonder if you had imagined it happening.

But something feels wrong.

Swimming back towards the shore, your heart pounds in your chest. You almost make it before you’re being pulled under completely.

You hold your breath but you’re losing air too quickly. Daring to look down, you see a creature with pitch black eyes and orange fins sticking out in every direction on its face. It smiles when your eyes meet, it’s mouth full of sharp teeth.

You scream. It won’t do any good beneath the water but you scream and thrash and try to kick your foot free from its grasp to no avail. 

Looking up, the sun dances across the surface of the water in the most beautiful way. You’ve never taken the time to see it from this side of the water. And you suppose if this is how you have to die, there could be much worse views to have.

Losing too much air, your body begins to tire and your vision becomes blurry. 

You hope that your father knows that you love him. Even if he kept so much from you, you know his intentions were to protect you. You miss him. You wish you could have the chance to invite him back to the vampire kingdom and see it properly.

You also hope that Hoseok won’t miss you too much. You hope Jungkook will take care of him and make sure he can still cook for Seokjin. You hope he knows how much he and his friendship means to you. You’d be so lost without him in this life.

How you wish you could have at least said goodbye to Jungkook. Tell him that you didn’t hate him if he didn’t already know. That you had started to warm up to the idea of living here with him for the rest of your days. That…kissing him was the single best feeling you’ve ever experienced. If the gods would let you live now you swear you’d tell him.

Your surroundings begin to fade and the last sliver of hope you held onto goes with it. The claws of the creature scratch at your skin and pull you farther down.

A loud crashing sound reverberates around you but you’re unable to open your eyes to see what it is. But what you can feel is the creature releasing you very suddenly. If only you had strength left to swim back up to the surface.

Strong familiar arms wrap around your waist, jerking your body and bringing you out of the water in an instant. Why can’t you open your eyes?

“_____. Look at me. Open your eyes right now.” You recognize Jungkook's voice as it floats into your ears. “Come on, my darling, look at me.”

Water suddenly fills your throat, making you twist to the side to spit it out, coughing and choking slightly. You gasp for air to fill your lungs again and your eyes finally open.

You turn back towards Jungkook.

“There you are, my queen.” Jungkook smiles, softly stroking your cheek. He’s holding you in his lap, an arm behind your head holding you upright.

“You saved me.” Your voice feels hoarse and scratchy.

“I do wish you wouldn’t go swimming with nymphs, darling.” He teases. 

“Thank you.” You cup his cheek in your hand. But when you touch his skin, it’s not the usual cool temperature you’ve come to know. It’s burning hot and blisters are forming in places across his face and exposed arms.

“It’s okay…I’m okay.” Jungkook winces.

“Jungkook…what’s happening? What is it?” It takes your mind too long to catch up with the situation. 

Jungkook is a vampire and he is outside in the sunlight.

“Shit. What should I do? How do I stop it?” Your body aches but you don’t care, you force yourself to sit up.

Jungkook's eyes roll to the back of his skull and he falls onto his back from his sitting position. Panic floods your veins like wildfire.

“Jungkook!” You scramble onto your knees, throwing yourself on top of him. You cover his body with yours to block out the sun the best that you can. “Seokjin!” You scream. “Please hurry!”

You pull Jungkook’s arms beneath you making sure they stay covered from the sun. His beautiful flawless skin is covered in burns and chars. Fuck…how do you make it stop?!

Seokjin comes over the hill in his wolf form, lifting his head up towards the sky and releasing a long howl. After, he rushes towards you, shifting to his human form right in front of you.

You heard his bones crack and watched as his fur disappeared and turned into perfect human skin.

“What’s going on!?” He demands.

“I was drowning…there was a nymph. Jungkook saved me but the sun…” You hadn’t realized that you had started to cry until just now when you tried to speak.

“We have to get him back inside immediately.” Jin states the obvious but you nod your head in agreement. 

“As fast as your legs can take you. Please.” Your eyes meet Jins and he nods. Jungkook begins to shake beneath you, groaning in pain.

Seokjin shifts back to his wolf form, you move just enough to let him lay next to Jungkook and roll him onto Jin's back. The sun is starting to lower more but it’s still too much.  Jungkooks fingers grip tightly into Jin's fur just before the wolf takes off at a dead sprint. 

Your human legs and weak muscles from your near drowning don’t propel you quickly enough but you force them to move you back to the castle, shoving open the door and listening for any sign of where they have taken Jungkook.

Groans of pain take you to the right hallway where you find your husband laid out on the meeting room table, the other vampires scrambling to help him.

“Have one of the servants fetch a human donor right now!” Namjoon shouts at Yoongi.

“There’s no time for that! He’ll be dead before they return with one.” Yoongi tries to cover one of Jungkook's arms with a medicated towel, but he only screams.

“He can have mine. I’m right here.” You announce, ripping open the collar of your shirt to expose your throat as you walk towards the table.

“My lady…you don’t know what you’re doing.” Yoongi grabs your wrist to stop you.

“I’m the reason he’s dying, so let me do this for him now.” You gently touch his hand, you need him to let you go. Yoongi nods once before releasing you.

You climb onto the table where Jungkook is lying, his body shaking. You sit near his head, lifting it to settle in your lap. 

“Jungkook…I need you to bite me, okay? You need my blood to get better.” You press a kiss to his forehead and hold your wrist to his mouth but he doesn’t bite you. “Jungkook…please.” You beg.

He moves his face away from your wrist each time you try to bring it near his mouth. His body still shakes, sweat soaking his white shirt as he lies there in pain.

“I’m asking you to. Jungkook, it’s okay. I promise it’s okay.” You hold your wrist to his mouth once more, hearing him groan before you finally feel the coolness of his lips press to your skin. “That’s it…go ahead.” He presses a very weak kiss to your skin in preparation for the bite that follows it.

You flinch at the sudden feeling of fangs piercing your skin. It’s foreign and strange. Jungkook moans and it makes your head swim. His hands come up to circle your wrist and hold it tighter to his mouth while he takes a long, fluid draw of your blood.

Each time he drinks, your veins fill with liquid fire. It’s too hot. You’re burning up. Tingles shooting from your nerves too many at a time. 

You let your free hand come to Jungkook's hair, brushing it from his face and watching him. He is lust personified. Dark eyes practically flooded with red. His chest rises and falls rapidly while his tongue licks at your skin and catches any drop of your blood that tries to escape him. Deep rumbles of pleasure radiate from his chest.

You’ve never wanted someone so badly. You want him to touch you and feel you and taste. You want him here and there and everywhere. On top of you, beneath you, inside you. You want, want, want.

No, you need him.

“Jungkook…” Your voice sounds weak in your ears but you know he hears you.

“You’re fucking exquisite.” His voice is suddenly in your ear making you reach out to touch his body that’s made its way into your space.

“Are you…okay?” You focus on his face, seeing that the burns and chars have disappeared from his beautiful skin.

“Tell me how you feel…” His tongue is exploring your jaw and throat and you feel too much. 

“I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t have you.” Your arms slide beneath his arms to hold him around his shoulders.

“How do you want me, darling? I’ll give you anything that you want.” His words slither into your ear and spread until they bloom between your legs.

You grab at the buttons of his shirt, ripping them open to expose a torso sculpted by the gods. All the dips and curves of muscle are begging to be licked by your tongue and stroked by your fingers. 

Jungkook kisses his way from your ear to your jaw until he reaches your lips. Devouring your mouth with his own. He grabs your thighs and lifts you onto his hips, wrapping them around his waist.

“I want you so much.” You can barely get the words out between kisses and strokes of his tongue.

“Take what you want.. Every bit of me is yours” Jungkook drags his fangs across your jaw in the most enticing way.

“Your highness…” A voice that doesn’t belong to Jungkook says. 

“What?!” Jungkook's firm body leaves you as he spins around, snarling at the person interrupting your moment of passion.

“You should clear your head and think about whether you really want to continue this…here.” You recognize the voice as Yoongi now that the fog in your mind has a moment to start lifting.

Jungkook whirls back around to look down at you, your shirt ripped open, blood covering your arm where he had drank from you. You are beautiful beyond words.

You watch as the heaving of his chest begins to slow and the deep brown of his eyes becomes more prominent than the red that was there just a moment ago. His hair is tousled and his mouth was stained from your blood. How was it possible to look like an angel and a demon all at once?

“I’m…I'm sorry.” He bends forward and cups your face in his hands. “Tell me that you’re okay?” 

You try to catch your breath before you answer him, afraid that your voice will shake. The fog in your head lifts more and you suddenly don’t know what has come over you. You were ready to fuck the vampire king on the middle of the meeting room table in front of his most trusted friends. 

You scramble away from Jungkook, pulling at your shirt to cover yourself from all of the eyes in the room.

“I can’t. I need…I should go.” You bite your bottom lip to try and keep the tears from falling.

“______, please don’t go. We should talk about what just took place. My bite…” Jungkook follows you off the table, grabbing your wrist.

“I cannot even look at you right now, your highness. Please let me go.” You don’t look at him, eyes instead meeting Jins as he stands in the doorway. His face shows concern and sympathy that you can barely stand to see.

“Don’t walk away.” Jungkook quietly begs.

You don’t answer him, you simply continue walking out of the meeting room, looking down at the floor the entire time to avoid any more looks from the others. You felt awkward and uncomfortable…but mostly humiliated.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, the oversized front doors of the castle swing open, a royal guard rushing inside.

“Your majesties.” The guard bows as Jungkook joins you in the foyer. You make sure to keep distance between the two of you.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks the guard.

“He’s here, your highness.” The guard seems almost spooked.

“Who is here?” You question. Jungkook visibly stiffens as if he is on high alert. 

“I can smell them.” Namjoon says, his deep voice making the hair on your arms stand at attention. 

Suddenly Seokjin is changing into his wolf form, growling quietly as he comes to stand between you and the open doors in front of you. Your heart begins to beat too quickly as the pieces fall into place and you remember who it is that is arriving earlier than everyone thought he would be.

“I’m not going to tell you to hide away. I won’t do that ever again. But Taehyung is dangerous, a loose cannon at best. I won’t hesitate if he threatens you in any way.” Jungkook is in front of you now, desperation in his eyes as he waits for you to answer him.

“I’m ready. I promise.” You whisper the words and Jungkook nods, thankful that he doesn’t touch you like you thought that he would.

“Ready for what?” A deep, buttery voice that you don’t recognize says from the doorway. You had not even seen them approach. “How sweet of you all to greet us.”

You presume this man is Taehyung. His long, dark hair is half pulled back and his smile is intimidating and full of menace. The long cloak he wears is made of thick fur and drags the ground as he walks back and forth, his golden colored eyes landing on you. 

“Have you come to discuss land or have you come to stare at my queen? Only one of those choices allows you to leave here alive, Taehyung.” Jungkook stands in front of you slightly and Jin lowers his head to snarl at Taehyung.

“So hostile and I’ve only been here for a moment.” Taehyung begins to walk in a circle around the three of you. “I suppose I can’t blame you for marrying a human when she looks the way this one does.” Those golden eyes flash and follow any move you make. 

You can feel his eyes rake over you, your soaked pajamas doing nothing to hide you from him. There’s also blood slowly drying to your arm and to Jungkook’s mouth. You can’t even imagine what all of this must look like to these strangers.

“You’re pushing your luck already, Taehyung.” Jungkooks jaw is wound as tight as it can be.

“Fine then. You want to talk? Let’s talk.” Taehyung practically growls, scowling at Seokjin before he moves to spit at him. “Traitor.”

You’ve had enough.

You reach down to your thigh and yank your knife from its sheath, rushing between Taehyung and Seokjin who was starting to cower and whimper. You can see Taehyung's guards moving behind him but they’re too late, your blade is at their king's throat.

“You have a lot of nerve coming into his home and spitting at him. I should slice you from ear to ear for even thinking such a thing would be allowed.” You seethe through your teeth, watching as the menacing smile returns to Taehyung's face. He raises a hand in the air, signaling his guards to stop.

“_____…” Jungkooks says from behind you, his teeth clenched.

“My king?” One of the guards comes up closer behind Taehyung. He has one golden eye and one pitch black eye. He’s smaller in stature than the others, black hair that falls into his face and full lips pulled into a scowl.

“It’s quite alright, Jimin.” Taehyung puts both hands up when you tighten the blade against his skin. He looks at Jungkook over your shoulder. “Managed yourself a rather feisty one, didn’t you Jungkook?”

Jungkook snarls loudly, his chest pressing up against your back and an arm wrapping around your waist protectively. 

“That’s enough! If you want to talk, I suggest you follow the king's advisor to the meeting room or these negotiations will be over before they’ve even begun.” You look at Namjoon, who is standing with his hand on his sword and a very large werewolf guard in front of him. He nods to you, straightening his stance.

“This way.” Namjoon says and you remove your blade from Taehyung's throat, letting Jungkook move you a few steps back and out of reach. Taehyung laughs quietly.

“It will be in your best interest that these negotiations go well, your highness.” Taehyung let’s Jimin stand in front of him now. You glare at the werewolf king, making sure he can see your distaste for anything that comes out of his mouth.

“We shall see, your highness.”

[flowerflamestars]

the rolling in the graves reread thoughts/ favorite lines/moments:

Chapter 1

"He thought, some nights, of walking into it." "Himself, Autumn-gutted and war-torn: the trees might as well swallow him whole." -- AAAAHHHH my poor forest baby T-T

Lucien contemplating starting a forest fire.

Eris contemplating if Rhysand has a domesticity kink.

"He didn’t want to be alone, in this strange body of his." *cue more screaming* "Blending where he didn’t belong had been Lucien’s whole life, of course he was subtle." T-T

Lucien, sun drunk, losing his shit. Nesta walks in while he's naked and absolutely nothing sexy happens and I love it.

Lucien's longing for home including the sound of Eris's real laugh and his dogs.

The last summit. The image of Feyre in the most obscenely eye catching dress possible insisting that she didn't want attention. And the fact that people were probably still gossiping about the fact the Nesta and Elain hadn't been there.

“Feyre was busy stealing me.” Someone please rescue my fox baby

The Night Court is afraid of Jurian.

"Nesta Archeron lived, and no on in this court wanted her living."

"That Lucien wanted, horrifically, to be touched. To reach out, to all that fearsome strength, and touch."

Chapter 2

Rhysand trying to call in Eris and Eris being like "Ha, ha. no We're doing this my way." A way which includes every diplomatic formality he can muster and the IC having a whole ass dinner/meeting just to bitch about it. (Azriel keeping his mouth full of alcohol to avoid having to talk to anybody.) Elain making off with the whole cake.

The Laugh That Changed The World.

Cassian scowling at the sight of Nesta being genuinely happy in someone else's presence how dare.

I'm suddenly having thoughts about the fact that what changed everything between them was Nesta's genuine unbridled laughter and one of the things Lucien misses when he thinks of 'home' is Eris's genuine laughter. (not meaning to imply Lucien's having any sexy thoughts about his brother. Maybe a representation of Lucien wishing the people he cared about were safe to feel and express such laughter. Words hard. Thoughts not wording good. I think I remember "Lucien missed his terrible, awful brother" from a snipit)

"She was so fucking gorgeous, and utterly unable to ask for what she wanted. It seemed possible she’d never had the chance." *screaming again*

"Nesta opened her eyes and showed Lucien pure, molten silver fire."

“Absolute authority and eternity should mean something.”

“He pulled away?” Lucien just sounds so, so offended that Cassian pulled away. Like, this dude, this asshole, could have all the Nesta bites in the world and he pulled away. Lucien just trying to reassure Nesta that the biting thing is natural and being like "You can bite me when ever you want" and also being like "Please bite me. please please pretty please."

"Nesta Archeron was not easy, but Lucien thought Andras would have liked her too." T-T

Feyre and Rhysand insisting that humans were under their authority and then proceeding to not really give a shit when Lucien tries to tell them about them.

Feyre only caring about Lucien going to see Elain.

"There was no question as to whether Elain would be present- she did not seem to use her magic for anything but to avoid him, and Lucien couldn’t blame her. There were only so many awkward conversations one could have with someone magic and tradition insisted you want, where absolutely no spark lived- and it remained easier to just go, than fight Feyre."

“If you smell like blood, it’s usually mine and you’re much, much happier.”

Feyre buying Elain a house and painting it completely in nursery colors. Elain and Nesta repainting the rooms Elain actually uses.

“Someday,” Lucien said, leaning down to kiss beneath her ear, “I want you to fuck me.” I think I speak for the whole Lucien fandom when I say that we all want to see Lucien get pegged.

“Do you think,” Lucien asked, “Elain will ever tell Feyre?” “What? That she’s about as romantically inclined toward you as she might be” “A chair? A hunk of stone?”

“For three people obsessed with fucking each other, It is staggering they’ve never managed it, in half a millennia.”

Lucien finding Cassian's fixation/obsession with Nesta uncomfortably familiar. What other man might we know of that's over-controlling and possessive of his powerful wife. gee I wonder. (not)

"You hate it.” “What I like doesn’t matter.” *rage*

"Choking on pollen, stupid Spring cravats, cutting out pieces of himself until there was nothing left. He didn’t need to like Ceylon velvet. Itchy lace. Stag hunts with dogs and horses and arrows, when Lucien had fought wyvern with his bare hands as a boy. He didn’t need to like Tam’s rules or the courtiers jokes, the endless pale fucking roses- Until Lucien had talked himself into walking after Ianthe in that cave, let Tamlin flay him to the bone for disloyalty-" *more rage*

“It matters. Your husband should care to know.”

"But Feyre just laughed, wine glass jaunty in her grip, and admittedly blithely to bumping up against all their shields- Rhysand hadn’t even taught her to keep her magic to herself. Just that power, power, was hers. For the having, and taking." *rage again*

"The North had enough men who used emotion as an excuse- enough faeries in this whole fucking world, who’d made anger a haunting."

"Nesta folded her cheek on top of his head, one of those not quite right, even for High Fae, motions that snuck into her mannerisms when no one was watching, like she didn’t have joints. That Lucien got to see." *That Lucien got to see. That Lucien got to see. THAT LUCIEN GOT TO SEE*

"The sword of a Queen if he’d ever seen one, blade imbued with screaming, forest-fire wild wrath and beautiful for it."

"Lucien had done worse things than say yes, for the hope of belonging." have we rescued our fox baby yet? I think we need to rescue our fox baby.

"One of the things about Feyre that both charmed and wore, as time went on, was that she saw love in an utterly human way. Childlike. Rhysand was her soulmate- her only interest, her sole desire, the best she’d ever have. Lucien had wondered, more than once, if they were even friends."

To Feyre, love was an ending, happy. To an immortal- to perhaps, Nesta Archeron, smiling at him sidelong, it was an open door."

"She would have burnt the sky. If they hadn’t sought out to humiliate her from the start, hated Nesta human before she ever found a power than could cleave forever- she’d set fire to the world, for those she loved. But not for herself. None of them deserved her."

“Earlier. I am usually happier. You make me happy.” *excuse me while I sob*

"All fire wanted, was to be free. To burn."

“You owe me.” Lucien Vanserra said, burnt bright and alive for it, beloved of this place where he’d never been, “So help me.” It would take a High Lord you said? Pardon me, I'll be right back. I'm gonna go traumatize my dad/give him a heart attack.

ANYWAY, lovely story is lovely. I deeply, dearly love all the non-sexual intimacy. The cuddling! The "That Lucien got to see". The *flailing gestures to whole fic* EVERYTHING.

so, anyway, reread hearts <3 <3 <3

(I really need to figure out how to do emojis on my laptop keyboard)

this has filled me with delight and joy!! and fully reminded me how much I love this story <3

thoughts thoughts thoughts: you're poking at one my favorite through-lines, which is that it is an AFFAIR, a sexy sexy affair and they're going at it like crazy, a thing they are both pretending is The Only Thing Happening, when in reality it is...maybe the least important aspect to their relationship from either of their perspectives?

(despite the desperate horniness)

Eris actually shows up next chapter, and continues to be pure comedy.

No, but the laugh thing IS something- Lucien hasn't felt safe in. forever, really. A very, very long time. He's not at a point where he dreams about that for himself. He wants the people he loves to be safe. He's so, so, so deeply sad but he lets himself actually be mad beyond belief over other people. Fox babe IS burning it all to the ground on his way out.

And he just. god, he loves SO HARD.

Enough to reveal that he does know about his secret birthright and just completely shatter Helion's heart in the process, along with committing himself to a full-scale Autumn rebellion, if it gets Nesta out. With the hope that maybe, MAYBE, she'll want to help him...with all that.

[miserymerci]

Dear Desolence (Good Omens S3 take)

Seven months after a change in leadership, Heaven slips up and "accidentally" released Jesus Christ onto the Earth before their plan is ready. Hell is in shambles, angels in Heaven are dividing, and they can't seem to shake off that stupid Book of Life crap. It would do some good to throw it off a cliff.

When Muriel is assigned to find the missing Son, Crowley is pulled into the storm, Aziraphale risks his all, and two equally-misguided children of two big, ineffable entities face what "humanity even means"

Chapter One: Ready for Duty

(Word count: 22,445)

Jesus has gone missing. Muriel is assigned to find him, but in an effort to reach out to Crowley, Muriel realizes that he needs a little pick-me-up. Cue the girls' day out! Meanwhile, the Archangels try to keep Jesus's disappearance a secret from The Metatron.

Lower Galilee, Nazareth: 6 CE

“What’re you doing here in Galilee?”

Aziraphale choked on his stew. 

The first thing he probably should have said was: ‘That’s none of your business, snake,’ and then the second thing should have been, ‘now crawl back to whence you came,’ followed by a very unfriendly strike over the head— but with a mouthful of vegetables, it was difficult to make the whole thing look professional.

He sniffled and chewed carefully.

“Having a meal,” he said.

“Well,” said Crawley, looking around the inn, “I can see that.” 

Aziraphale swallowed, pushed away the bowl, and then hastily got up from his seat. He had nearly finished his food anyway. The last few bites didn’t matter— he had already been caught red-handed.

“I’m here on business. Angelic business. What about you?” he brushed over his wool tunic and spared another glance at his adversary, who continued to stare at him blankly. 

Glasses were such a bothersome invention.

Crawley mulled over his question. Aziraphale doubted he had to think about it for very long, but Crawley rather enjoyed the suspense. He was very good at keeping Aziraphale guessing.

“Demonic business, if I had to put a label on it. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on the Romans,” said Crawley.

“Galilee isn’t exactly a hotspot for Roman control.”

“Not yet it isn’t,” Crawley shrugged, “but it still counts. It’s near the area, anyway. I have an excuse to be here.” 

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, turned, and exited the inn.

In truth, Aziraphale never saw Crawley often. Since the incident in Uz, he’d been… well, not flighty. Busy, more like. He had lots to think about, and lots to do, and lots to solve. A busy angel was a fulfilled angel, Michael always said. 

Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with himself.

The bright sun brought little warmth to his skin. In the aftershocks of summer, darker clouds had begun to roll by. It would rain within the next few weeks. Then, the autumn crops would finally take root, and Aziraphale’s assignment would end. He wasn’t used to staying in one place for very long. He had tried not to be twitchy about it, but something in his chest urged to flutter and twist. Maybe it was homesickness. What a silly thing. 

“You know, everyone knows about the Messiah,” said the demon following him.

Crawley lingered to his side; almost like a herding dog, the way he was leaning into his space. He spared a watchful look at the people passing on the streets before turning back to Aziraphale. When he did, that cheeky smile was on his face.

“Good grief,” whispered Aziraphale to the sky.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you don’t have to be so anxious about keeping secrets. I already know so what’s the big deal? You keeping an eye on the kid?” 

“That’s not really your business,” said Aziraphale, wringing his hands. He continued walking, looking over at the clouds or the far hills or anything else that could coax his nerves. 

Crawley retreated, vanished, and then came back to his other side.

“Figs?” he offered, and Aziraphale startled.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Buy figs? You don’t like figs?” 

Aziraphale scoffed to himself and waved away the demon. It didn’t do much. Instead, Crawley welcomed himself into Aziraphale’s bubble with a funny expression. Maybe calculating, maybe just teasing— it was hard for Aziraphale to pinpoint.

“I… do! I mean don’t come to me thinking you can get something out of me. I’m here on assignment, fine. I’m keeping an eye on the Messiah, fine. But that’s all you’re getting from me.”

Crawley was quiet for a moment. He trailed Aziraphale up narrow steps, weaving past a group of kids running out of a nearby entryway. The smallest child was being tugged along with gleeful giggles. All of their knees were caked in dirt.

Aziraphale paused, turned, and watched Crawley lean against the wooden column holding up the little building’s eaves.

Crawley raised his eyebrows.

“You think I’m tempting you for information?” he asked. 

“Well,” began Aziraphale, hesitantly, “I find it hard to believe that you just want to talk… are you saying that I should enjoy long walks with my adversary and sharing a warm meal with the Serpent of Eden? I got a very harsh scolding, you know, for letting you slip past me.”

Crawley grimaced and tilted his head this way and that.

“Ehhgh, when you say it like that, it does sound pretty awful of us. We are pitting against one another. Usually.”

Aziraphale swallowed. He glanced down at his fiddling hands, caught himself, and instead used them to smooth down his tunic. 

Morals were always a push and pull for Aziraphale. There was always a right and always a wrong— and they always depended on who told them. If an angel told Aziraphale something and a demon told Aziraphale another thing, what was Aziraphale to do other than believe the obvious? But hadn’t Crawley and him worked together the last time they met? He had disobeyed Heaven. Did that still make him a loyal angel? Obviously not, but what was he to do? Confess his sins? Fall? If he could be not-quite-an-angel, then Crawley would be not-quite-a-demon. But the other had been adamant on only temporarily being on the same side. 

Ah, there he went again— a headache crept up at the thoughts he had been trying to avoid since Uz. 

“I… wasn’t around to witness the birth of the Son.”

In his peripheral vision, Crawley’s face twitched, as if he hadn’t expected Azriaphale to speak up at all. His foot slipped as he tried to stand up properly, but he recovered quickly.

“Oh yeah? I guess Gabriel realised the last birth you observed had almost been a muck up,” said Crawley, slyly. 

“I know!” blurted Aziraphale. He clasped his hands together against his chest. “Oh, I felt awful. Gabriel went through the trouble to send me away so I wouldn’t be around for it, I’m sure. I had to go to Egypt to ‘observe the Red Sea’. As if it’s going anywhere? Moses parted it a millennium ago and Gabriel had been concerned about it eleven years ago?” Aziraphale noted Crawley’s blank look and hurriedly added, “Not like he was wrong to be or anything of the sort. It’s just a shame that I wasn’t back when I needed to be. To help, you know.”

Crawley frowned. 

“Riiight,” he said, in a tone that made Aziraphale want to hide his face forever. “I know. So what’re you doing here watching the boy, if the Supreme Archangel Gabriel wanted to keep you away?” 

It would be embarrassing to admit to this demon that Aziraphale’s assignment didn’t have anything to do with the Messiah. Gabriel had been so apparent with his stretched smile and gleaming eyes to steer clear of the plan that was unfolding. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s division. However, he could see that the few angels who were assigned the boy weren’t clapping their hands with joy at the whole thing.

Aziraphale was ashamed enough already. He didn’t want to hand Crawley salt for his wound.

“At-a-distance mission, I suppose,” said Aziraphale, knowing he’s supposed to be blessing the harvest, “but he is interesting. ‘Son of God’ and all that. Gabriel must have been thinking about how that title puts a huge target on the boy’s back and, well, I—… I mean, he is just a kid; the Messiah.” He realised he had taken his eyes off the demon, and caught him picking at the figs’ stems one-by-one.

“That’s obvious, angel. They all start as kids once. I just hope he won’t grow up to be a prick.”

“The Son of God won’t be a prick. He will be as forgiving and loving as his Mother, and will lead humanity with bravery and benevolence. That’s what the Plan says.”

A challenging look sparked in Crawley’s eyes. For a moment, Aziraphale felt something in his stomach twist (because he was saying that God was good and gracious to a demon’s face), but then those teeth bared at him like a snake, and Aziraphale stubbornly held his ground. 

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” said Crawley in a rumbly voice, “that that little boy has such expectations on his shoulders? If he messes up, then what? It’s not like people come back the way they were before. Something always goes missing somewhere. If you ask me, it would be easier to forget the guy and stop trying to act human all the time.”

“Act human?” 

“We both know you’re an uptight, prissy agent of what your side thinks is right. It’s all you angels are. You’re fussy with your drinks, fussy with your food, and fussy with your duties. What’re you doing down here wasting your existence away living with people when you could just go home? Leave the Earth to the demons and just smite any sign of life from above? Would make you a real angel, you know– being cruel and mysterious like that.”

Home. 

Aziraphale had just been thinking about “home” again; what it was, what it meant to him. The fluttery, sickly feeling drew attention to his chest and spread down and around until he swore his skin was buzzing. Did he miss Heaven? Those bright halls and those endless skies? It had always been his home. He had never seen anything quite like it on Earth. 

He swallowed the mysterious feeling and said, eyes fixed on the ground, “you’re just trying to tempt me, Crawley.”

And just like that, Crawley disengaged and rolled his eyes. 

“I could be,” he said with less heat, “you wouldn’t know. I’m the enemy, remember?” 

“I don’t understand if you want to get rid of me or not,” admitted Aziraphale. “Why do you talk like that?”

“Why do you always look at me like I’m shameful?”

Oh, goodness. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all. But Aziraphale didn’t have the words right now, like his entire body was paralyzed, and he had left his mind in the clouds. He couldn’t correct him because he himself couldn’t say what was correct. 

He had tried to make an effort today. This was the first time, after all, that Crawley had really reached out to him, but Aziraphale just couldn’t understand. He didn’t truly know his quirks, really, or his sense of humour, or the way he liked to spend his time. Crawley likely couldn’t even read him, either. It seemed like they had just made a muddle of things in their attempt to find common ground.

Maybe Aziraphale did miss Heaven. Maybe this was homesickness, as close as Heaven was to “home”. But then Crawley bit into one of the figs, the seeds cracking and popping against his teeth, and vanished with the crowds— and Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with himself.

Oh, how this distance was unbearable.

Present Day, Heaven

What was distance? 

Aziraphale tossed and turned that question in his head often. Of course, there were many dictionaries in the world. Aziraphale had witnessed the first one being written amidst a dry summer in Mesopotamia, where it had found itself sunken into a watery tomb.

But all words came with definitions. Not all of them came with meaning. 

So if you were to ask Aziraphale what ‘distance’ was, he would quote the Oxford English Dictionary: 

‘Distance (/‘distəns/ : the amount of space between two places or things’. 

But then again, ‘distance’ came with a plethora of other definitions. And while they would all technically be the truth, it would also be a lie.

‘Distance’ came with feeling. Surely poets, not as old as he, could mix up the perfect lull of words to describe it. Aziraphale could not. 

Could not. 

So the only thing he could do was stick it to something. There was a distance between Aziraphale and Earth, for example… a distance between Heaven and the Earth and further Down, for another. 

Distance was for places, and distance was for people, and distance was for thoughts. Distance was connection and the lack thereof. 

Aziraphale would not be able to tell you where he stood. 

It was certainly not lonely in Heaven. Aziraphale had never once thought throughout the last few months that he was alone. Heaven had eyes, and Aziraphale had eyes, and eyes could close a distance.

Eyes for seeing and hands for holding and mouths for— oh… lights! Lights could close a distance, and Heaven had plenty of those. And, as per the eternal ways, ceiling lights in Heaven never went out. Angels on lightbulb duty were only given this task so that even the lowest of cherubs could pretend to be busy (this was a recent discovery to Aziraphale, who had found this fact atrocious. He was outvoted 1-to-4). 

On this particular day, one light dared to flicker. 

Aziraphale blinked apologetically and turned away from it.

He continued down the Heavenly Halls. The ceiling light that had flickered was likely glaring at his retreating back at the attempted murder. But really, Aziraphale hadn’t meant to do that. He should be cherishing the silence right now, not–

“Supreme Archangel,” said an angel coming up to his left, breaking all of Aziraphale’s wishes, “Sir, you are aware you are late to your meeting, yes?” they turned down at their clipboard, flipping up a few pages, “if you do not wrap it up in approximately eight minutes, you will be behind on your–!”

“–Archangel Aziraphale!” said another, to his right. “There’s been another pressing issue that we need to add to your schedule. It’s about–.”

“The schedule is already full. I can’t fit anything else in,” mumbled the angel on the left.

“Then make some room! There, there’s a little slot between the platoon training and the weapon inspection,” said the right angel.

“I suppose so… well, then, I’ll put that in for you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded ahead.

All of Gabriel’s duties had seemed so stagnant compared to this. Had Aziraphale ever actually seen him do anything of importance? Gabriel had hovered more than planned, in Aziraphale’s distracted memory. Perhaps he never noticed because he was too busy not getting caught by Gabriel in the first place.

The next time Aziraphale blinked, he was in another room entirely. That was a funny thing about Heaven: its lack of doors. Most believed it was just a hassle in the grand scheme of things (Who wanted to reach out for a door knob, anyways? Who wanted to use their hands to make an effort, to touch solid ground, to open a door? Why go through the trouble?). 

Aziraphale swallowed and looked up.

"Late again, Aziraphale," said Uriel.

Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows, smiled, and neatly placed the folder he had been carrying onto the table.

“So I am,” he said. “Giliel had needed assistance in their new position. None of the other scriveners had the spare time.”

Michael smiled back at him. 

"The lower ranks have been experiencing a flux of changes in the past several months. It’s not our responsibility to coddle each one,” Michael crossed one arm, blinking slowly at him as if they were perfectly in their element, “let the officers do their jobs, Aziraphale."

"Am I to blame for wanting to make sure that there are no breaks in our formations?" challenged Aziraphale.

Michael snorted, the action forming into a sneer. 

“Ironic,” they said.

"Please leave the arguments for later, Your Reverences," said Saraqael, as if watching Michael’s and Aziraphale’s odd bickering had become boring over the past few months. "The matters of this meeting are far beyond a squabble between cherubs."

Aziraphale nodded (Mostly because Saraqael is looking at him to take the lead). He opened the absurdly-thick folder in front of him that read 'Meeting Notes', paging through delicately before he settled on an empty page.

The Metatron cleared his throat. For the first time during that meeting, Aziraphale looked up at the floating head.

“Thank you for gathering on such short notice. Your flexibility and resolution will be rewarded with good news: the Second Coming is almost among us. In a few weeks–"

"Already?" Aziraphale blurted. He looked surprised at his own interruption, and he glanced around at the table. No one said anything, so Aziraphale took a deep breath and continued, “It took eleven years for Hell to concoct the Apocalypse. We are only a few months in."

"Honestly. Do you really believe us to be as incompetent as those creatures? Of course we would have the advantage, Aziraphale,” said Michael.

“What advantages?” asked Aziraphale.

Sandalphon hummed, but it came out more like a goose honk.

"Fall jostled their good-thinking ability, for one,” said Sandalphon. "Brewed for far too long in the sulfur. Mushy, those ones. Brain soup."

Aziraphale threaded his hands together tightly and watched the way that Saraqael stared at Sandalphon.

“…Gabriel used to laugh at that one,” said Sandalphon.

Michael sneered again.

"Enough," said The Metatron, finally. "Be thankful that any of you play a part in God's Great Plan. It would be just as easy to keep this information solely between The Lord and I."

Aziraphale’s eyebrows scrunched. He manifested a pen and scribbled something down in his notes.

"No need for that, I'm quite sure. Do go on. Unless anyone has anything else to say," said Aziraphale. He tried to ignore the way Uriel’s lips twitched and how Michael’s look withered.

"Very well. Thank you, Aziraphale,” said The Metatron. “We have the Son of The Almighty under supervision. Since the failed Apocalypse, he has been carefully raised in a quiet confinement. The Almighty does not want his judgement to be influenced, unlike what happened with Hell’s botched attempt.”

All eyes turned to Aziraphale's end of the table. The angel quietly added to his notes. 

Uriel turned back to The Metatron. 

"You mean to say that we've had the Son of God under our jurisdiction for almost five years? And nobody ever thought to tell us?"

"Why wouldn't we have The Almighty's Son?” Michael asked all-too-quickly.

Uriel whipped around at them, titled their head, and then leaned closer.

"And... you knew of this? That we had the Son?"

"More or less,” said Michael. “Not my place to say, is it?”

Before they could begin to really argue, Saraqael sneakily waved a hand. 

Uriel and their chair blasted off to the other end of the table. They knocked into Aziraphale, who stammered ungracefully.

Michael hung on to the edge of the table for dear life.

"We had everything under control, and if we had needed your assistance, then we would have sought it out. Do not fret. The raising of Jesus is none of your concern,” said The Metatron.

Aziraphale sniffled.

The Metatron continued, "The Son will soon be on Earth. You will continue preparing for battle. Hell's forces are itching to destroy every value we've spent millennia protecting. Heaven must meet them halfway. If we want to finally triumph, it would do you wise to worry about what is happening Up here than down there."

Aziraphale thought about the power struggle happening Down Below, but kept his mouth shut.

"With all due respect,” said Saraqael, in the tone of someone who was at least trying not to sound unkind, “all Heaven has been doing is preparing for war. We have done all we can in our formations and drills. I see more paperwork of weapon assignments than I do ceiling lights these days. What’s the point of rechecking a file that has already been checked, rechecked, and further checked? There’s already a division for those duties.”

‘Humans have done it for hundreds of years: the reevaluation of works dozens upon dozens of times,’ thought Aziraphale, ‘What was it? The scientific method?’ 

Certainly worked for many things. It just so happened that Aziraphale was one of the places that it didn’t apply. 

"This is the part you play. It is decided by God,” said The Metatron, and that part of the conversation was over.

At Sandalphon’s delighted expression, Aziraphale sent one nervous finger down the side of his pen’s feather.

"Ineffable,” sighed Aziraphale, smilingly.

The Metatron smiled back at him.

"Ineffable," he agreed.

Whatever tension that was starting to build subsided. It seemed like Aziraphale had chosen his words correctly this time.

Close to his left, Uriel leaned over to look at Aziraphale's notes. They had been curious, lately, about Aziraphale’s note taking— he hadn’t been thrilled at first, but then he learned that there was little he could hide from Uriel. Aziraphale tapped his paper, shared a look with Uriel, and then said, "I have a few questions."

"Every meeting," groaned Michael.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and levelled his gaze with The Metatron. They stared and stared, until finally, the Voice of God hummed, and Aziraphale had won the face-off today.

"Well, Aziraphale?”

"Where is Jesus, when will he be sent to Earth, and how will he be sent to Earth? I believe those are justifiable questions, yes?"

Slowly, The Metatron nodded. It was probably a nod, anyways. As just a head, it looked more like a bob.

"I understand your curiosity. However, we are too close to the Second Coming for us to want to… risk our plans. Where Jesus is being held is not information relevant to your role. I already have angels assigned to transport the Son when we are ready to do so. However..."

A miracle split through the air, like a light zap— less like a sound. In the middle of the table, a folder appeared. Aziraphale beckoned it over with a hand. As the folder slid within reaching distance, Uriel straightened quickly and reached over for it the same way Aziraphale was.

Aziraphale flicked his other hand. Uriel and their chair rocketed back towards Michael. 

“Guh…” Uriel or Michael said after the collision settled.

"You want to send him to... Iceland?” Aziraphale asked gently. He raised his brows, not looking up from its contents.

“No mosquitos– hm, just don’t tell the All Creatures Big and Small Department. They could put up a fuss, and that’s the last thing Heaven needs. The mosquitos’ original designer is a demon now, however. For good reason. Pesky pests,” said The Metatron. 

Sluggish nods and murmurs made its way around the table.

Aziraphale blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then blinked again.

"Well? What does it say?" said Michael.

"This file will go to our twelfth degree courier. They will know what to do, so there’s no use in explaining the process. Would only be tedious work for an Archangel. Simply deliver the folder, yes?" After a moment, when Aziraphale did not reply, The Metatron added, "Supreme Archangel?"

The folder shut slowly, delicately, as if the contents were dynamite and closing it could spark a fire. Aziraphale nodded, even though the orders were suspicious. Why the twelfth degree courier? Wouldn’t it make more sense to hand it to the captain of the division? Then again, Aziraphale had hardly been a messenger in his early days, and had been more interested in his own purpose.

"Quite right," hummed Aziraphale, registering The Metatron’s words and raking through his mind to remember who the twelfth degree messenger was, “this information will be safely delivered to Orel..."

“Very good,” said The Metatron.

"...by Sandalphon."

"Sorry?" said Sandalphon.

"Don't be," replied Aziraphale.

The Metatron scoffed, bobbing its head from left to right, and Aziraphale furrowed his brows.

"Well, I hardly think this is appropriate. I gave you an assignment, Aziraphale, and I expect you to be the one to complete it."

"A folder with 'Second Coming' printed on it being delivered by the Supreme Archangel?" said Saraqael, squinting over at it. "That will turn heads. It would be safer to keep such a key component to our success on the down-low."

Ah, that was likely why the messenger chosen was so specific; hidden well in the midst of numbers to help with the secrecy of the entire plan. Aziraphale smiled at Saraqael, but they didn't return it. Sandalphon had already been eyeing Aziraphale, something dark and gloomy in its already-dark-and-gloomy eyes, and finally moved to reach for the folder.

Aziraphale tossed it, letting it land into Sandalphon's hand safely— possibly thanks to a little miracle. He likely would have fretted about being too reckless to such an important thing. It just-so-happened that Aziraphale wanted it out of his hands as quickly as possible.

"And I," said Aziraphale, "can't think of any other angel that will keep it better protected than Sandalphon."

Sandalphon's lips twisted and widened into a smile. Aziraphale returned it with a hum.

The Metatron glanced over his audience, clicked his tongue, then said, "Very well," then, to the lower Archangel: "Sandalphon. Deliver the folder immediately. You’re playing a crucial role in the Plan, and any failure will be dealt with equal reprimand. Any other... questions?"

No one took the bait. Aziraphale likely would’ve, seven months ago, when he felt defeated and inspired all at once– like red wine against his tongue every morning and every night. He couldn’t risk it anymore, now that he had his feet on the ground.

The Metatron smiled at his angels.

“Amen,” he said.

Sandalphon sent himself off to his duty.

No one would ever utter anything after the meeting was declared over. Aziraphale, in his more-than-six-thousand years of existence, had had many more meetings in Heaven than he could bother to tell. Exchanging pleasantries was decidedly a human thing. It was never written in their rules, but instead smudged into the small dents a finger would leave in paper. And Aziraphale was very good at reading the fine print.

Sandalphon was different. He didn't know what pleasantries were in the first place. And much like how pleasantries were a man-made concept, magic was, too. 

In fact, the angels often shook their heads at the word. ‘Magic’? How silly the humans were to make up a term to excuse the existence of great wonders that they couldn’t explain. Maybe that was the interesting thing; how when approached with something unknown, they make it known with a name. Those who do not search for answers will not receive them, and those who do tend to hit solid ground. The thing about magic is that it can happen even when one is looking. To expect to be deceived only ensures that you will find deception.

Angels were awful at magic. Especially Aziraphale. Thankfully, what he lacked in magic, he made up for in miracles.

Sandalphon stopped right in another angel's way. He looked the angel over once, then twice, then said almost accusingly, "Morel."

"Orel, actually," Orel corrected, unfazed.

The Archangel leaned in, and Orel leaned back. He handed them the folder with a smile.

"Directions from The Metatron."

A flash of understanding crossed Orel's face, breaking through their initial blankness. They looked down at the folder, flipped it open, and closed it just as quickly.

"I will get onto it right away–," Orel started to say, but Sandalphon had already vanished.

Magic was messy. It spilled and splattered on white floors and was almost impossible to scrub clean. It was alarmingly human, because it had obvious flaws, and because it was unpredictable. That was terrifying.

Miracles were more clear-cut. Miracles were direct. You would have to know what you want for a miracle to be a miracle.

When Orel walked into the elevator, there was a milky-white button just above the 'H', a button that only appeared when Orel wanted it to. They clicked the button. The doors shut.

The elevator remained motionless. Orel waited patiently, keeping their arms to their side, until the doors opened once more. One step told Orel that they were in a different place than they had entered from. 

This was their duty, and once this was done, Orel wouldn’t serve any other purpose to the plan. They were just a screw in a machine for the greater good.

"State your business," said an angel, to the left of a door. Something glinted at their waist.

Orel didn't seem disturbed. Instead, they turned to the second angel at the right of the door. They presented the folder toward them with an outstretched arm, and the second angel took it. 

The first angel peered over the second's shoulder.

"It's time to send him down. The Metatron's orders," Orel announced as the two stationed angels shared a look.

In this small, white room, it was easy for it to feel strangely like this was a dead end of Heaven. Heaven didn't have dead ends. If it did, it would start feeling as if it were a cage, and Heaven was a little more complicated than that. Heaven was always endless, even when you hit a wall.

The first angel moved from their position, revealing a light switch behind them. They reviewed the folder once more— because mistakes could cost the winning side, and nobody wants to be the loser.

One perfectly-placed miracle can change the trajectory of an entire story. Isn't that magical?

They flicked the light switch on.

On Earth, there was a single angel stationed.

But it wasn't very lonely, so they didn’t feel too bad about it. It was a very important job that had many more pros than cons. Like, for one, they got to read books— fun ones and sadder ones and ones with lots of words. The ones that weren’t too wordy had pictures with more colours than one could ever imagine in Heaven. Their new favourite colour was green— or maybe purple— but blue was pretty as well.

They could feel the rain, the heat of the sun, and the dirt that got stuck under their fingernails. And then, when it got really cold, snow flittered down to the earth as if it were on angel wings, landing and melting into the waiting cups of steaming hot chocolate below. 

And the smells. Well, actually, the smells left a lot to be desired. Some of them were pleasant, like old books, and others were bitter and cutting like spoiled milk. Smells were the most confusing of all of Earth's specialties.

But best of all, there were the people.

In this particular building, coffee brewed, and cinnamon wafted from the kitchen hidden behind the counter.

People liked coming to places with coffee. Coffee was a necessity for human life, and took a lot of shapes and forms. It was almost as important as sleep, which humans also needed to sustain life. But then, coffee wasn't a replacement for water (even though they're both drinkable liquids. How odd), which humans also needed to sustain life.

Even though the concept was confusing, Muriel grew to love coffee shops. Really, just Nina's coffee shop, where they've played board games like Monopoly (Muriel liked the top hat the most), and had gathered around one of the tables to partake in a seasonal gift-giving event that was meant to honour the birth of Jesus Christ.

Lovingly, Muriel had gifted Nina a pack of instant coffee from the market so that she wouldn't have to work as hard to keep up with the morning rush. Nina, just as lovingly, explained that instant coffee wasn't actually 'instant'.

In the cosiness of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death, Maggie folded onto one page of a magazine and flipped it over for Muriel to see.

"Here," Maggie tapped one of the images, "do you remember this one?"

Muriel leaned closer. Quickly, their face brightened, "Oh, yes! London's spinning wheel. We saw it the other weekend."

Maggie snorted, but shook her head in good humour, "Well, yes, it's pretty much a spinning wheel. But it's actually the–."

Some magazines that were fanned out on the table crinkled and shuddered as Muriel patted their palms against them in excitement.

"Oh! Oh, don't tell me!”

Muriel hadn’t ever been assigned anything about human culture before. They had annotated documents that had already been annotated, were given half-finished reports on miracle usage, and never had their meeting notes used by their higher-ups. The closest thing they could think of that was ‘human’ would be the communication documents that would rarely be sent Muriel’s way— along with Aziraphale’s trust in them with the bet between God and Satan. 

Despite their colleagues taking up most of the work, they not only had a fierce passion for literature, but for learning as well.

Through Muriel’s focus, Nina placed an iced coffee next to them.

“Eye-ced coffee for you,” said Nina. Muriel's eyes glittered before Nina had even finished her sentence.

"The London Eye! See? Didn’t I say I knew?” they said. 

Maggie gave Nina a look– something bordering between fondness and chide– who shrugged.

“Just doing my job,” said Nina.

"Thank you very much for the drink.” Muriel sent her a grin, something they did often in their presence. They picked up the drink and rocked it. The unmixed cream swirled and danced as it crept down the ice, much like the clouds that they had grown accustomed to watching.

Nina didn't linger long. With a fleeting smile, she returned to the front counter to tend to a squad of teenagers who had just entered.

Muriel swallowed and turned back to the magazines. But something had shifted now; and Maggie had become used to recognizing when Muriel was really thinking about something. 

At Maggie's questioning look, Muriel shrugged and waved around one of the magazines dismissively, "Nina does her job very well,” they said.

"And?" prodded Maggie. She turned to grab her latte and took a long sip.

Muriel's lips pursed, frowning at the magazine in their hand, not really reading the words. It wasn't as if it really mattered if they did, anyways. They would eventually. Anything with words that landed in Muriel's hands always ended up finished. Maggie's previous set of magazines had already fallen victim to Muriel's eyes, until, eventually, Muriel had memorised it all— and Maggie had had to dig up new ones.

“I think it’s that I wish that I had a job? To do well in, I mean,” Muriel took their fingertips and glided them along their lips just to have something to do. “It makes me feel… strange… thinking about it.”

Maggie glanced up from a magazine.

"Is watching over the bookshop not your job?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes!" flustered Muriel. "Yes. Of course. I've been doing an excellent job watching over the bookshop. No one's really checked up on me so I don't really know–," Maggie's expression twisted into a wince, "–but I'm sure that just means that my performance has been satisfactory. No one at work writes for unimportant purposes like check ups. Everything has a purpose.”

Maggie nodded slowly. It was an odd nod though, like she was trying to understand, but couldn’t. Luckily for Maggie, Muriel didn’t know all of the humans’ expressions yet.

Muriel turned back to their coffee to watch the swirling cream. 

"But oh... well, I just wish I had a little direction. Someone to tell me what to do so I could do it." 

"You've been amazing at learning about all these landmarks. You know Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, The London Eye..."

Muriel leaned over and pointed at one of the pictures on a magazine neither of them had touched yet, "That's The Shard."

"Right,” said Maggie, causing a grin to split blindingly across Muriel's face. "Not only that, but it took you like– a week to learn about ancient Rome and Greece. That's impressive. And theatre production– you learned that one in a few days, even if you didn’t like it that much. And the discovery of a fashion sense: a place where I’m pretty sure no angel has ever ventured before.”

"You really think so?"

"Of course I do, Muriel. You're my friend. I'm always looking at the best of you."

Muriel was relieved to drop the subject. They leaned back in their chair and reached out for a strawberry jam biscuit from their plate (that they had forgotten about in their studying) to carefully inspect.

Yes, the people were the best of all.

People were all sorts of funny and weird. Sometimes, they would yell, or cry, or swing their hands at one another. Other times, they whispered, or laughed, or held hands. There were no patterns or set lines. Not usually. If there were, people tended to walk over them anyway— so did they really do anything? The patterns and the lines?

People were hard to read.

"You know, I don't think we had you study that one," Maggie said suddenly.

"A fashion sense?" Muriel asked, worried. They tugged at their jumper to get a good look at it, trying to find something wrong, but Maggie waved her hands frantically.

"No, no. I meant The Shard."

"Oh!" Muriel watched Maggie drink as they talked. Her latte was a lovely shade of tan, reminding Muriel of the uniforms up in Heaven. "I used to be able to see it Up in Heave— I mean... Where I moved from. The other human settlement. Greece, probably."

"Right," Maggie agreed, but shook her head anyway. "The Shard. From Greece."

Muriel nodded.

"Maybe we can start some human geography next month," suggested Maggie with a tentative smile.

It had been difficult for Muriel to ask for help in studying everything the humans have done and what they were currently doing. The last thing they had wanted seven months ago was for their cover to be blown, but just three months ago, Maggie herself had brought up the idea– and who was Muriel to say no to such an offer? Especially since Maggie had insisted in exchange for her rent (Muriel had denied her money offers. From what they read, Aziraphale didn’t take the money, so why should they? It’s not like they needed it…).

The sound of trumpets echoed through Muriel's head. With a startled gasp, they jumped out of their seat, their iced coffee almost tumbling down. They flung out to catch it, but their hands were far too jittery. Maggie came to their rescue.

"What happened—?" Maggie began after the cup was steady.

"Well— oh— um!" Muriel's mouth hurried to form a cognitive thought, but they accidentally backed into a man waiting in line, and all roads were lost. "A little something came up! My telephone is ringing, as it does. I will talk to you later, Maggie and Nina! T-T-Y-L!"

And then Muriel was out of the coffee shop.

Nina opened her mouth to say something to Maggie. One glance at her flushed face made her reconsider, and instead, she leaned over the counter, amused.

"...we haven't gotten very far on abbreviations,” said Maggie.

Muriel skipped off the curb and almost got hit by a car.

"Watch it!" yelled a man with his car horn blaring. Other cars followed his noisy lead as Muriel scrambled across the road, calling out 'sorry's the whole way.

They turned over to The Dirty Donkey (Nina had taken Muriel to see what it was like. Muriel stepped in for only a moment before walking right out). Its windows flashed a familiar white, the doors flying open only a second later. Muriel forced themself to look away and focus on just getting to the bookshop's doors.

Muriel had only owned one key in their entire life– but searching for it now taught Muriel a lesson about excessive amounts of pockets on pants.

"Muriel," greeted Uriel, their shadow casting over the panicking angel, "having trouble?"

"Not at all," Muriel replied kindly. They finally aimed the key into the keyhole correctly. With a click, the door opened, and they gestured for the Archangel to come in. "I am so delighted to see you, Archangel Uriel."

Uriel passed by them. They looked around the bookshop– maybe looking for something, maybe judging it– while Muriel stepped in after them. The door closed with a chime.

Uriel blinked slowly like a tiger.

"Quaint. I have an assignment for you."

That was something that Muriel had been waiting to hear since they were bound to the bookshop.

"Oh, anything. What is it?" Muriel clasped their hands together. "Oh! And would you like a cup of tea?"

Uriel fixed a narrowed look onto the lower angel. With a sniff, Muriel pressed their arms to their sides and straightened. The Archangel let the silence stretch until it was the perfect temperature of uncomfortableness.

"A few hours ago, the Son of God dropped from our radars. We believe he was sent to Earth. As the angel stationed here, we believe you to be the best candidate to retrieve him and give him back to us," said Uriel.

Muriel nodded frantically, wide-eyed.

"Yes. I can absolutely do that. I won't let you down, Archangel Uriel."

Uriel was tight-lipped. They tilted their head, narrowed their eyes further, and then hummed. They only made it halfway to the door when Muriel made a strangled noise.

"Except…,” they said, “I might have a few questions.”

Uriel stared at them.

"What.”

"Well, for one, the Son of God– who I’m assuming is Jesus– is dead," Muriel explained carefully, looking away from Uriel's blank face. "Has been for two millennia, now, actually. And also–! Where would I start to look for said-dead Jesus. Who has been dead for… you know, like I said… two millennia now."

Uriel looked up at the Heavens. For a moment, something sharp glinted in their eyes, but they dropped back down to meet Muriel's.

"You've heard of the Second Coming, yes? As a scrivener?"

"Well, omens and prophecies aren't really my responsibility. It's more of a 10th-degree-order-scrivener-and-up sort of thing."

Uriel chuckled at that. Their smile was crooked, but it was more amused than anything. Strange and brittle, but amused. Muriel flitted their eyes across the bookshop and pressed their lips together into a line. 

Uriel's expression slid off their face.

"You're serious?" Uriel asked. Muriel nodded curtly, and the Archangel's nose pinched. "That's ridiculous."

Muriel made a face.

"It’s always been this way,” they said.

Uriel took a moment to gather themself. When they finally did, they turned to the doors again.

"Jesus is back. Alive. Find him and bring him to us. Understand?"

"Yes!" Muriel smiled. "Yes. Of course. Uh, but... could you tell me what he looks like?"

"It's the Son of God. You'll know."

Muriel cleared their throat, trying very hard to keep their smile steady. "Course," they said softly as Uriel reached for the handle of the door.

The Archangel paused, glanced over their shoulder, then looked distantly through the window.

"Don't forget what your duties here are for. You’re an angel. Act like it."

That could mean a lot of things for Muriel; acting like an angel. Did Uriel mean to keep themself busy? Or was it more like… ‘Muriel, hunt down and extinguish evil!’ or maybe, ‘you’re doing an awful job passing as a human’. 

But Uriel was gone before they could ask, leaving the scrivener all on their own in the almond-smelling bookshop.

Leaving the scrivener all on their own... with an assignment!

"Yes!" Muriel whooped.

The last thing that Maggie had expected was Muriel's sudden exit, looking to be more frazzled than Maggie had ever seen them. The second-to-the-last thing that Maggie had expected was Muriel to practically fly down the bookshop's stairs as Maggie passed by.

"Where are you going?" Maggie asked, paused a few feet away on the pavement.

"I'm—."

Muriel tripped.

Maggie jumped the distance between them, the magazines she had been carrying flapping ungracefully to the ground. The sacrifice was in vain, though. Muriel righted themself up without Maggie's help, looking as if nothing had happened. 

"Ah, bugger," Maggie sighed, watching her magazines flutter from the passing cars.

"I'm sorry!" Muriel said. They took a moment to gather themself before diving in to help their friend. "I'm sorry," Muriel said again, once they had gathered all the magazines, their smile never faltering.

"It's all right," said Maggie. She held a hand out and pulled the both of them to their feet. "Are you okay?"

"Ah! What's the word? More than okay!"

"Great?"

"No– tremendous," Muriel's face brightened even more. "Oh, Maggie, it's a miracle– well, it wasn’t. I don't think it was a miracle— but it's very very good news." Maggie nodded along. Muriel took that as a good sign to continue. "I was given an assignment! Me! Archangel Uriel needs me to find the Son of The Almighty, here on Earth!"

Maggie made an 'o' shape with her lips, head tilted up as if to fall into a nod– but she was still missing something. She frowned and glanced off to the side.

"Oh, that's..! Well, I have no idea. Does that happen often?"

"No! Isn't that great?" Muriel answered.

Maggie scrunched her eyebrows together. In her moment of thought, Muriel caught something absolutely crucial. 

They squawked and said, “Well, actually– because you see, Uriel is one of my bosses, and Archangel is their first name. Andddd ‘Son of The Almighty’ is just a code word for… um…”

“A super secret project?” suggested Maggie, not believing them.

“Exactly.”

"Yeah, that's pretty great, Muriel,” said Maggie after a moment. “Where will you go?"

Maggie had begun to move. Both of their arms full of magazines, they walked together down the street to The Small Back Room.

"I don't know," admitted Muriel. "But I'm sure Mr. Crowley will have some ideas."

Maggie paused, almost making Muriel run into her. "Mr. Crowley?" she repeated after giving them an odd look, leading them the final few strides to her shop.

Muriel nodded, their enthusiasm never faltering. They watched expectantly as Maggie opened the door. Maggie went in first, but held the door open with her foot to let her friend in. The door closed behind them.

"I'm not too sure you'll find him. I mean, I haven't seen him since Mr. Fell left. It's like he's vanished off the face of the Earth," Maggie said as they made their way to the shop's front counter.

Maggie placed down the magazines. Then, she turned around to Muriel, who had a pinched look on their face. 

Muriel shook their head.

"No," they said, "no, that's not right. Mr. Crowley lives in a flat in Mayfair. I've read it in Mr. Fell's diaries. I have the address."

The magazines that Muriel had started to hand over to Maggie fell to the ground, slipped in Maggie’s moment of surprise.

"Ah—!" Maggie ducked down to pluck them all up. "You— what!? Wait— you've known where Mr. Crowley was all this time and you never told Nina and I? And you read Mr. Fell's diaries?"

"Oh, yes. He has plenty of them. I've read all the books in the bookshop. Except the ones near the back."

Maggie frowned at that, but didn't question it further. She placed her elbows onto the counter and stared at Muriel. When Muriel didn't elaborate on anything, she sighed.

"Okay. So, here's what I'm hearing," Maggie took in a deep breath, then splayed her hand out. "You're going to march over to Mr. Crowley's flat, ask him to help you find, uh, Jesus Christ, and he's just going to say yes?"

"Yes."

"I... don't think he'll want to help you, Muriel.”

Muriel frowned.

"Why not?"

Maggie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She shook her head once, twice, and then tried again.

"Mr. Crowley hid himself away for a reason. It doesn't feel right of us to barge in and tell him what to do,” she said.

Muriel considered that. They looked down at their nails, which were worn-down and bitten, and said, "Because Mr. Fell is gone?"

Maggie swallowed. She turned to the magazines. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

Muriel straightened, reaching out toward Maggie, but caught themself. Their eyes fell down to look at a splinter in the counter’s wood. They began to pick on it.

"I know that you and Nina feel bad about how your advice to Mr. Crowley didn’t work out, but I have to try. This is an assignment," Muriel said. "My assignment. And Mr. Crowley has been down here for six-thousand years–"

"–he's been what!? Actually, why am I surprised?–"

"–if anyone can track the Son down, it's him! I need him to help me, Maggie. For Heaven’s sake."

Maggie pursed her lips. Muriel stared at her, begging, trying to pour all sorts of feelings and emotions into their eyes— something they had seen plenty of humans do in the past. It must have done the trick, because Maggie’s shoulders sagged with a sigh.

"I don't think I'll ever understand your lot," she said, finally.

"I’m just like you and Nina," replied Muriel.

Their friend snorted.

"You sure are."

The address that Muriel had dug up had led them through a series of twists and turns around Mayfair. Even with Maggie’s help in deciphering which streets to take, one step forward made Muriel step three back, only to then turn to the left— no, the right— maybe take a loop? 

Humans’ streets were confusing. Muriel didn’t often like to explore the city alone.

When Muriel did find the right building (it was rather big and obviously demon-esque with its many windows and drab colour scheme. How had they missed it before?), they were forced to go to the front desk. Aziraphale hadn’t written which flat Crowley had taken residence in, and even the receptionist had been surprised to hear Crowley’s name (“Fourth floor, ma’am, and take a slight left– but I hardly think he’s home, these days.”).

Then came the problem of getting in.

Muriel didn't often talk to people other than Maggie or Nina. Maybe, if they had, they would have a better idea of how to knock on someone's door.

What they should have said was: 'Hello? Mr. Crowley, it's me, Muriel. I need your help. Can you please open the door?' Who is it? Muriel. The why? They need his help.

Another option would’ve been: 'It's Muriel! Open the door and help me, or else I could be demoted to numbers that are yet to exist.' Again, it's Muriel. The why? Failure would mean serious trouble– a nice mix of kindness and urgency.

Muriel said neither of those things.

"POLICE!! OPEN UP!!"

Ah.

Muriel only found the courage to gently knock on Crowley's door, despite their yelling. 

The lights on this floor were dimmer compared to those on the lower floors. They hummed as if their bulbs were ready to burst. Maybe, if Muriel listened hard enough, they would sound like the ceiling lights in Heaven. Instead, Muriel could hear two people arguing, too muffled to make out any words.

Muriel swallowed and knocked again.

"A-hem! Mr. Crowley! You're under arrest!'

A harder knock cracked the door open. Muriel gasped, hesitated, and then quickly lost to their curiosity. They pressed their palm to the door and coaxed it further.

"I'm... coming in…!”

The door fully opened. With it, a gentle mist casted over Muriel. It cooled the nerves beginning to buzz beneath their skin, but it was too chilly for the middle of February. Muriel shivered and rubbed their arms as they stepped into the shaded room. The door shut, unprompted, behind them.

“Okay,” whispered Muriel, “that’s probably a normal human thing…”

It was dark. Muriel had only seen darkness at night. Even then, in the bookshop, the moon would peak between buildings, and the streetlights continued to glow until the humans returned home.

This type of darkness was self-made. 

The curtains were closed tightly. Few slivers of light squeezed through them, fighting against the black silk to reach into the flat. It outlined vibrant, green plants that climbed up and up to the ceiling, tracing the walls, coiling around frames; twisting; turning; wild like a pit of watching snakes.

The finest house plants one could find in London had made itself into its own jungle.

Muriel took a deep breath. They brushed away a curly stem and ducked beneath another to go deeper.

"Mr. Crowley…?" Muriel called softly into the almost-darkness.

The plants were muttering something to them; something that couldn't quite be put into words. Something like the way thunder roars before lightning, or the squeal of a burner before the fire spins out of control.

Leaves slowly shifted out of place. They curled away or tipped up a little higher, and Muriel walked through a newly-formed path past a dewy desk and into a hall with a ceiling so high that it made them feel dizzy and small.

In hindsight, the tall ceilings were very Heaven-like. There was no reason to be afraid.

Muriel noticed a flash of light colours in the dark and curiously leaned around a squeaking plant. Past the mist, the wings of a statued demon were flaring fiercely, arching at the furthest joint to block the skies from its downed opponent. They took a small step closer (despite the plants’ flustering) and read on the plaque that the flailing creature underneath the demon’s claws was an angel. 

They swallowed.

Just behind them, another plant whined softly, and Muriel turned to see it beckoning them back down the hall. In their curiosity, they had strayed from the path unfolding around them. 

The plants had led Muriel to a door. The paint was chipped near the knob. Muriel could spot the little claw marks dipping into the flesh of the wood, jagged and frantic, as if a fight had happened here– but the scars were old and blunt on its edges.

A leaf fluttered in their peripheral vision, making Muriel jolt. They gave it a single look of betrayal and turned the loose doorknob.

The plants hushed. For the first time since Muriel was left on Earth, they became uncomfortably aware how misplaced they were.

Something was sleeping here. 

Crowley laid silent on the bed, arm slung over his eyes. Condensation from the mysterious mist dampened down his hair. The air was heaviest here; wet; stuffy. Muriel didn’t need to breathe, but the temptation was almost irresistible. 

Muriel focused back on Crowley. They could have easily mistaken him for another statue. One thing that Muriel continued to doubt themself over was the stillness of a human in sleep. They were kind of like snakes, weren’t they? Capable of striking? Looking too much alike to their dead counterparts? The uncertainness of closed eyes made Muriel dramatic, and odd. They cleared their throat and tried to remember what Maggie had taught them about pulses.

They eyed Crowley’s chest, found the rise and fall of it, then quickly moved back up to his face. 

The idea that something was wrong was just a silly thought. Crowley was breathing just fine, and Muriel was… well, not really breathing, but doing fine too. They were fine.

Muriel watched Crowley go through the humans’ breathing motions and tried to mimic the movement.

The angel inched a little closer, cautiously, but Crowley didn't stir from his slumber. The plants shook. And because Muriel was not fluent in plant language, they took it as encouragement.

Muriel reached out–

–and they were on their back.

Something dug into their arms. Claws pinned them to the cold, unwelcoming Earth. Above them, the plants cried out and rattled down to the stem. They were only shadows in the dark.

The world went fuzzy– like a million pins itching at their eyes– and the houseplants were squealing– something like an animal. Muriel had helped take in a trio of kittens on the side of the road, once, in the middle of the night. The veterinary clinics had been closed. The kittens, hungry and cold, had sounded like this then, too.

‘Focus, Muriel!’

Their head buzzed. The hissing bubbling from the thing’s throat spilled through teeth. It could drip and drip into Muriel’s eyes and claw there, until it got to their brain and claw that, too. 

Suddenly, they lost all their courage.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” they yelled over the noise in their ears, “Don't take me to Hell!"

And then, as quickly as it started, the descent to darkness stopped.

"Muriel?"

"Yes!"

Muriel had screwed their eyes shut somewhere during the whole ordeal. With great effort (and with a very shaken conscience) they peeked just as the shadow retreated.

Crowley sat back on his heels. He was frowning, but not at Muriel. The plants that were leaning in to watch withered back. They were almost ashamed— more so frightened, really— to have been caught in their spying.

Head tilted up at the leaves, Crowley's eyes drifted off to Muriel's.

Muriel winced.

Crowley inhaled sharply. He turned toward the bed, picked up his sunglasses, and smashed them onto his face.

"What are you doing here?" Crowley asked.

"Wh... well, I–."

Muriel needed a little more time to think. Words they thought of could only jumble together uselessly. When Crowley stood, they proceeded to sink further against the floor. He raised a brow at them.

Muriel cleared their throat. 

"I need your help," Muriel tried to say bravely. 

Crowley waved away the plants that were still crowding their space. He pulled his hand up and snapped, the condensation that had been caught on his corporation vanishing along with the motion. He was now completely dry. It seemed like the cool mist that was there when Muriel had first entered was long gone.

"If this has anything to do with Heaven, then you should leave,” he said.

When getting in an argument, one expects to be yelled at. When following a beat, people will make it into a rhythm that is predictable, and, therefore, comfortable.

Muriel had gotten into arguments in Heaven before– if one angel yelling and the other angel standing there counts as an argument, that is– but whatever the case, yelling meant an argument, and an argument meant anger. People who argued were angry. People who were angry yelled.

Whatever anger Crowley had was so much worse.

Crowley spoke in a low, steady tone. It was tauntingly delicate– maybe as if it’ll break him, but far more likely that it was at bay for Muriel’s sake.

"I really need your help Mr. Crowley," Muriel said, finally, after they figured out how to sit up. "You know Earth better than anyone. Archangel–" the plants squealed and quivered. Muriel glanced up to see Crowley's darkening expression, "–Uriel–" Crowley turned to look off at a wall, "–asked me to–."

"Get up."

No point in arguing. Muriel quickly scrambled to their feet, chewing their nails. Crowley fully faced them. With a jolt, Muriel pressed their arms stiff to their sides.

Crowley made a face.

"Er, don't do that."

"Do what?" Muriel asked.

He made little circles in the air with his fingers. "That little soldier thing. You look like a board," he said.

Muriel didn't know what to do with their hands. They crossed them behind their back, then tried clasping them together at the front. Finally, Muriel decided to mirror Crowley by shoving their hands into their pockets.

Crowley sneered openly this time. It was gone before Muriel had the chance to think about it.

"I," started Crowley, in that same angry-voice Muriel had noticed before, "do not want anything," Crowley neared Muriel, "to do with there," he pointed Up, "or there," he pointed Down.

Muriel blinked, stunned. Crowley leaned in closer at their silence.

"Do I make myself clear?" he pressed.

The angel slowly nodded. But even as Crowley turned away from them and began herding up the plants, Muriel couldn't shake something.

"Your home is very scary," they said.

"What?"

"It's empty. It feels empty. There's something missing. I mean… there’s a lot going on. Too much going on… but it’s this gritty feeling, like it’s cutting out my chest.”

Crowley was quiet. He glowered at Muriel, but they were too busy taking in their surroundings. The plants seemed to shy away from their gaze. Painfully, one of Muriel's hands rubbed at their chest.

"I don't think I’ve ever felt love like this before."

Something in the room made a shuddered noise. Muriel, alarmed, looked at the plants, but they were deathly still.

"Get out," choked Crowley.

Muriel startled as Crowley darted towards them. They scrambled backward, where plants that would have been in their way moved to clear the path. They stumbled out into the tall hall together, to the wild living room, and up until Muriel could see the front door over their shoulder.

"Agh!" cried Muriel, frustrated and desperate. "Mr. Crowley, please listen–!"

"You come to my flat demanding me to help you in whatever sadistic business Heaven is up to? No!" Crowley spat. "Do you know what I am? How did you even find me? There's a reason why I didn't want to see you around."

If Muriel continued to back up, they'd hit the door– thankfully that wouldn’t be a problem. Miraculously, the door opened up for them. 

They stepped out into the hall.

"Mr. Fell had–!"

Crowley hissed. With one jerk of his hand, the door slammed in Muriel's face.

"I honestly don't know what you expected," Nina said. She took a bite of her chowmein and chewed as Maggie whacked her shoulder.

"Nina!" chided Maggie.

"I'm just telling the truth!"

Nina turned to Muriel, who had their head in their hands. If there was one thing she knew about Muriel, it’s that failure was always a tough thing to face. She clicked her tongue and reached out to touch them tentatively on their shoulder.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, though," sighed Nina. She managed a smile, but didn’t receive one back. "You can only say so much to someone else before it becomes one-sided, yeah?"

Muriel winced. They leaned back in their chair, scanning the empty coffee shop.

Nina was taking her lunch break. She didn't use to have a lunch break, but Maggie had nagged her senseless about skipping meals, and they had reached a delightful middle ground. As in: Maggie had barged in at midday, hands full of whatever takeout she had come across that day, and gifted it to Nina. For the first few days, Nina made it a point to give back the cold, untouched meals. Maggie's determination had been endearing, though, and Nina found that it didn't hurt to entertain her (“Food is too expensive to waste. I guess I’ll just have to eat it,” she had said, making the other two snicker).

And it had made Nina feel much better, too.

"I... don't understand," Muriel said. "The way he’s acting– Mr. Crowley– It's confusing me."

"There's still a lot of things you don't understand about Earth," comforted Maggie.

Muriel pursed their lips and said, “I know you meant good by that, but it makes me feel… not good.” They began to pick at their nails, not really knowing how to describe beyond that, feeling pathetically un-human. “I feel sad for him. He’s struggling, I can feel it. Or, well, I can’t feel it– it’s a little complicated. Like I want to help him not struggle… Does that make sense?”

Maggie nodded slowly. "You want to make him feel better."

Muriel sighed, their shoulders dropping in relief.

"Yes," they said, "and, well, whenever one of us is not feeling well, we always go out on a girl’s day out."

Nina sputtered on her next bite of noodles. Maggie, ever helpful, patted her back sympathetically as she coughed. Nina put her hand up.

"I'm okay. Thanks, Angel," Nina wheezed. She smacked her fist onto the table to ground herself and then looked at Muriel. "You're telling me that you want to take Mr. Crowley on a girl’s day out?" 

Muriel smiled. All the doubtfulness that had been gnawing at them blinked away.

"Yes! It always helps me when I'm sad. Mr. Crowley doesn't have anyone else but us to take him on one," they said. “Girls’ date! Day out on the town! Let’s do it!”

Maggie and Nina exchanged a glance– one of those glances where they could say something that would completely ruin someone else's day. These glances usually don’t happen in Heaven. In fact, Up There, the glances were vocal and held no secrecy at all. Because of this, it wasn’t easy for Muriel to read the room.

"Oh, please, Nina and Maggie!" pressed Muriel when they didn't respond. "I'll do anything! I'll even try those disgusting shop snacks again!"

Nina snorted, shaking her head. She tried not to smile.

"Those were decorative fruit. They're made of styrofoam," Nina explained.

"Well, is normal fruit made of styrofoam?" asked Muriel.

"Normal fruit is made of fruit, I think," said Maggie.

Muriel supposed that made sense. If all fruit was made out of styrofoam, then Adam and Eve would have never wanted to eat it. Fruit must be enough to be willing to risk it all. Then again, if the fruit had been styrofoam, they wouldn’t have known until they took a bite… How many bites had they taken again?

‘Enough to be exiled by God,’ Muriel’s mind provided, helpfully.

“We can schedule something for tomorrow?” said Nina. She knocked away some celery bits to the side of her bowl. “I’m not sure if we can fit that much into a couple of hours.”

“I know,” said Muriel, now familiar with the quick passing of time (especially when they got into a good story), “but this is crucial. What if Mr. Crowley takes off to the Americas overnight and we never see him again? Then he’d never feel better.”

Crowley was still an enigma for Nina and Maggie. Even though they could spot a lovesick gaze from a mile away, their familiarity with him stopped at his shadowy companionship with Mr. Fell. Maybe he was just shy, or wasn’t very partial to people. Nina likely wouldn’t be if she were a demon. So it was entirely possible that a supernatural being would simply disappear if they couldn’t be worth the trouble. 

Besides, if Crowley was able to befriend Mr. Fell despite them being demon and angel, then Crowley couldn’t possibly be one of those stereotypical demons with the barbed tails and pitchforks.

Muriel leaned in and smiled.

Nina blinked away her train of thought and scoffed to herself. 

“You know what? Fine. I’ll close the shop early– but just this one time,” she said.

“Then I’ll do the same,” said Maggie, too smiley for her to even pretend to be disappointed by closing shop early. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The hierarchy in Heaven wasn't hard for an angel to wrap their head around. Understanding what they were in Heaven was supposed to be easy. Knowing what others were in Heaven was even easier. 

This meant that those who came into contact with angels ranking lower than themselves could stretch their wings with ease, and those who came into contact with angels ranking higher than themselves should tuck their wings behind their legs and pray for the best.

There weren't many angels who ranked higher than Michael. Just two: Aziraphale, for one, and he was an idiot as far as Michael could care to admit. The second was The Metatron; a much more worrying symbol of authority.

Michael paced back and forth. The glassy walls helpfully reflected their own image back to them: The little coil sticking out of their otherwise-perfectly-put-together hair; the golden dust brushed down only one cheekbone; and for some reason, the cuffs of their sleeves wouldn’t stay unflipped. 

They forced themself to stop. As calmly as they could, they put their hands together at the tip of their nose and closed their eyes.

"What happened?" asked Michael, slowly. They turned to look at an angel observing them. 

This angel stiffly jolted. They spared a nervous glance around and said, "According to the protection unit, the two angels on duty received a document ordering them to launch the project.” Michael groaned. The Archangel began to pace again, and the courier angel stammered to continue, "My division verified that the twelfth degree courier delivered the file. Was this incorrect?"

"No. What was not correct was them letting go of–!” 

Something made a scribbling noise; rough pen on paper. It made Michael’s ears ring. Their gaze peeled off of the courier and onto a second angel who was standing behind them.

"What are you doing?" snapped Michael.

The second angel startled. They sent a worried look toward the courier angel, who ignored them, before turning back to the Archangel.

"Eight degree scrivener," they said, finally. They wiggled their stark-white pen. "I write everything about the Second Coming's progress, my Archangel. It’s my assignment from The Metatron."

"Okay," said Michael. "Okay. Stop writing."

"Any… reason why, your Reverence?” said the scrivener.

The courier finally turned their head to give the scrivener a look that appeared awfully dismayed; maybe scolding, maybe a warning– and Michael's expression pinched right as they expected it to.

"Are you questioning me? I say do not record it, do not record it."

The scrivener flinched. They let the clipboard and pen flit out of existence. When the courier returned their attention back to Michael, the Archangel already had their back turned to them.

"I do not want to hear either of you talking about this conversation– or anything about the missing Son. This is Archangel business, now. Await your next orders," said Michael. "Dismissed."

The two angels briskly made their way out of this plane of Heaven.

The footsteps ceased. The ceiling lights hummed. The clouds floated, thin and wispy, below.

Michael forced themself to watch them travel sluggishly along. Clouds were a bother, these days, in Heaven. They had served a purpose once. Those days were long behind them now. There was no reason for their existence that Michael could think of (unless they thought of them as another layer between them and Earth. In that case, it was good to have a clear label somewhere).

Higher places existed beyond the clouds.

Michael took one fisted hand and pressed it into the glass. The weight of it wasn’t flimsy. It was stubborn, as if it were made to live for as long as time allowed it. When Michael tested it further, their hand shook with effort.

The glass, admiringly, remained.

"…You didn’t have to do all that, did you? Eliel and Shirel meant no harm."

Michael jerked away from the glass. They fixed a nasty glare onto Aziraphale and straightened their cuffs.

"Lurking, Aziraphale? Hardly praise-worthy," they harrumphed.

Aziraphale briefly quirked a brow at that, but Michael caught it before it disappeared. They crossed their arms.

"Well?"

"You are keeping the Son's disappearance secret from The Metatron," said Aziraphale, more observation than accusation. 

Michael turned to face the glass. Their eyes strayed off to the side, where Aziraphale’s reflection was watching them.

"Hardly," said Michael. "The Voice of God is supposed to know all, because God knows all, and God would surely share everything with Their Voice. It is our duty as The Almighty's Archangels to... smooth out these bumps as we row."

"In the road," Aziraphale corrected gently.

Aziraphale neared Michael and took a cautious place by their side. He blinked at them, peeked down at their ruffled cuffs, and then turned to the glass.

"Saraqael is keeping an eye on any miraculous activity on The Globe," said Aziraphale. "If he’s down there, we will be the first to know. Sending down any more angels could cause an imbalance Down Below, and we are certainly not ready for a war."

"We are ready for war. It’s been our assignment for seven months,” scoffed Michael.

"We don’t need a war,” said Aziraphale, absentmindedly.

"So you’ve said before.”

The clouds used to move in a way where it was near impossible to see the ground below. It was a practised march, where if one part lacked, other parts made up for it. It had been mesmerising; it had been constant; up until it became an expectation. Something had changed recently. Michael wanted to find out what as soon as possible.

Michael turned away from the clouds to look over at Aziraphale.

"It doesn’t work that way, you know, Aziraphale. Telling Hell not to attack is like telling the sun not to rise. Not only is it inevitable, but it wastes time that could have been spent doing something about it," their tone became lighter. "But that’s okay. I know you were never really into strategies in the first place, with your plans never going as you wanted them to."

Aziraphale blushed this time, only exposed by the lights above. He squinted down at the clouds.

Michael's lips twitched up.

"You think you have control here after your promotion. But truthfully, you’re here so The Metatron can keep an eye on you. Keep your friends close and enemies closer, yes?” when Aziraphale didn’t reply, they said, “You are still the incapable, poor Principality who was tempted by a demon. Your sins remain. Beg for forgiveness, Aziraphale, but I fear that everyone knows you’re out of chances."

With that, Michael vanished, leaving Aziraphale to stand alone.

The Archangel's gaze faltered. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let the exhale rattle in a place deep in his corporation’s ribs. There was the start of something there, like a flutter– something small and sickly in the small cavity of his chest. He rubbed at it. Then, after discovering that that was only worsening its effects, he frustratedly balled up the button-up beneath his palm.

Something chimed. Aziraphale straightened up. When he turned, another angel dipped their head to him in greeting.

Aziraphale recognized this angel from over the past few months– one he hadn’t had the time to properly meet until his promotion. It had been for the best to form allies in this uncertain place. This angel had been one of the first, and had rarely left him alone since (if they could help it).

“Hello, Visiel,” he said, and Visiel smiled a silly smile. It was one of those expressions that was supposed to be comforting. Aziraphale was thankful for the attempt, but didn’t feel great beyond that.

“My Archangel,” they replied. “Saraqael requests your presence at The Globe,” then, as if they were sharing a secret: “they’ve located the Son.”

"This is a joke."

Muriel smiled sheepishly at Nina as they pushed aside a leaf that had sneakily shoved itself into their face. The plants in Crowley's flat were just as overgrown as they were nearly an hour ago, and the room was still shrouded in darkness. This time, though, the mist was absent.

"Ah, yes," replied Muriel, then stuck their finger up as if they had just thought of an excellent point. "Well, no. Not a joke. Mr. Crowley has been asleep the whole time, you see. The plants probably grew restless, as plants do."

Nina shook her head the same time Maggie nodded.

"No. No, I don't think they do," mumbled Nina, even though the only plant she’d ever had was a cactus. She shoved past a Monstera deliciosa leaf and shouted into the jungle, "MR. CROWLEY! MR. CROWLEY, YOU SORRY SOD, GET YOUR ARSE OUT HERE!"

The plants quivered as they softly squealed in surprise. Nina and Maggie stared at them.

"Did you hear–" Nina started.

"Did they just–" Maggie interrupted.

They didn't get to think about it for too long. The sound of something shattering echoed from a different room. The group shared a look– and thank God that Muriel had been studying human expressions, because they were able to recognize the look of collective agreement. Together, they neared the opposite way Muriel had once gone in search of the noise.

"These plants are beautiful," whispered Maggie.

Before Muriel could agree (because now that they weren’t alone anymore, they realised that the plants were actually rather kind and lovely) someone close-by mumbled something. It was low and dark and muffled.

Muriel hoped it was Crowley, as himself.

The plants helped guide them to a wall, then shifted their stems to flutter toward a cold draft coming from a slightly ajar door. The rambling became louder and louder.

"–honestly. You can't even grow this big. It's not possible. What the Heaven are you–" Crowley’s voice dipped in and out. “–is that a fig!?”

Muriel gently pushed the door open.

It was the kitchen. Muriel hadn’t seen it before, but they were relieved they hadn’t. The smell of alcohol clung to their nose in an attempt to kill it. Muriel recoiled, covered the lower half of their face, and then scanned the room.

The kitchen was filled with more plants than any actual kitchen supplies. Aziraphale’s kitchenette had been decorated nicely with various clutter, including kettles and pretty pots and pans. The counters here were barren from any of that. There were bottles askew. The surfaces had splotches of something fruity and sticky. For a moment, Muriel had half a mind to just leave.

Muriel blinked. They looked up at the small painting of a grumpy-looking toad with a chef’s hat on for courage and then turned to Crowley.

Crowley was on his knees. He busied himself in piling up shattered pieces of a black pot. Dirt smudged across the floor in the process, and one tiny, shaking, spout-of-a-plant was in the middle of the wreckage.

"–this flat is mine before it's yours, you know. Out of it for a little while and you decide to– what, mutate?– what is this?”

Crowley flicked away a bulb of something onto the ground. Then, he twisted his torso to grab a large plant behind him and brought it down to the floor. He fixed a weathering stare at it. One that, even through his sunglasses, the plant seemed to shiver at.

"Shrink," said Crowley. He shook the poor thing.

Muriel’s foot kicked at an empty wine bottle. It spun once, then twice, then stopped facing Crowley.

The demon had started to glare at it the moment the damage was done. Slowly, that same glare rose to his three intruders.

"I locked the front door," said Crowley, incurious.

"Yes," said Muriel. "I unlocked it."

Crowley quickly turned to Nina and Maggie and said, "And you two are still alive. That's nice."

Nina looked him over with a raised brow while an offended expression passed Maggie's face. In their shock, Crowley rose to his full height and shoved one hand into his pocket as he examined the room (even though he likely wasn’t looking for anything specific).

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Maggie after she found her words.

"As rude as ever," mumbled Nina, crossing her arms.

"You broke into my flat!" said Crowley, "Which, by the way, I never asked for the company. Could've left a note at the door. Would've gotten back to you within the next century or two."

Crowley stepped over the mess on the ground, stalking closer to the others. Muriel took a tentative step back. Thankfully, Maggie and Nina made up for it by keeping themselves rooted.

"But considering that this is a blatant violation of privacy, I would appreciate it if you saw yourselves out."

Nina’s jaw set. Something was happening in her eyes, as if she were arguing with herself. They shone, then squinted, then hardened in only a few seconds. She abruptly went off to the nearest window and shoved away its curtains.

Sunlight poured in. Then, the window latch clicked and opened.

Crowley immediately scowled. He looked around at his plants, which perked up with delight at their first proper touch of sun in seven months, and decided that he should have just stayed in bed.

"I can smell your misery," Nina said, making Crowley turn back to face her. She placed her hands at her hips and clicked her tongue. “And you look like shit. I want you to take a shower. We’ll get you an outfit from your closet, and we–” she made a circling gesture with her palms, “–are going to sort out all of this with a nice day out.”

Crowley raised a challenging brow.

��You’re kidding,” he said, after a moment, but it seemed like there was no punchline here. Maggie crossed her arms and had the same expression as she did when she had stayed behind with Aziraphale in the bookshop, back with the demon horde. Even Muriel had caught on and made a point to nod sternly. “I– hn– huh? This is ridiculous.”

"You heard her! Off you get, Mr. Crowley," said Maggie, trying to wave Crowley out the door. "It’ll be fun."

"Fun?" groaned Crowley.

"Maybe we'll do some cleaning afterward," added Nina, looking around at the wasteland of a kitchen. "Do you have any disinfectant?"

"Well–"

Maggie shook her head.

"Oh, nevermind that. We'll take a look around ourselves. Muriel, grab something nice for him to wear,” she said.

And then Crowley was ushered out of the kitchen into the office, Nina following close behind. Muriel skipped a few steps ahead of them. They thanked a leaf that politely moved out of their way (Crowley’s jaw dropped at that) before saluting to the rest of the group.

"Muriel, ready for duty!" cheered Muriel. "Now where is the ‘closet’? …Oh! In the bedroom, of course."

Crowley began to say something, but Muriel was already wandering away.

"Now, hang on!" he flustered.

The plants behind Crowley dared to snicker. He glared glarefully at them and then turned back to his intruders. Nina and Maggie were looking at him, but Muriel was still trying to remember which way in the plant labyrinth the bedroom was. He snapped consecutively for their attention.

"Oi! Stop. There's nothing in the blasted wardrobe. I miracle in all my clothes."

Muriel opened their mouth with a silent 'oh'. They had never considered that to be a possibility before. It had seemed like such a futile thing to use a miracle for. Nina, on the other hand, looked absolutely appalled.

"Your clothes aren't real?" Nina stared at Crowley's rumpled outfit cautiously.

Crowley pointed at her.

"No. No, that is not what I said," he pressed matter-of-factly. "Secondly, I do not need to take showers. And thirdly, I am an occult being— and occult beings do not go on your… feel-good… fun-times…” 

“No? Seems like your scene, being rebellious and all,” interrupted Nina, trying to think of what she was taught about demons in Bible camp.

“Stereotype,” said Crowley. He didn’t want to explain how it was more complicated than that. Other demons tried to be feel-good, fun-timey, but they were all too stupid to not come off as creepy in their attempts. Crowley just didn’t feel like it right now. “A very hurtful one, in fact. Now. Out.”

Crowley didn't bother watching, instead turning his back to them to lecture the previously-snickering plant in a low, whispered hiss.

Maggie put a hand on Nina's shoulder.

"Nina," she whispered– almost as if she was about to launch into a speech about how sometimes things don't work out– but Nina wasn't ready to back down.

With a reassuring smile to Maggie, Nina stepped toward the demon. He had gone quiet now. Nina cleared her throat.

"I know you need time. These things... they're messy," Nina paused, watching Crowley's face pinch. He continued staring at the Ficus elastica. Nina took a deep breath, her brows rising, "...but it honestly smells like an unsupervised party in here and you've gone and grown a jungle in your sleep. Give it a chance. If you really don't like it, then... Well, then, we'll never bother you again. I swear this’ll be the last time."

Crowley smacked his lips and glanced up at the ceiling.

Maggie brushed past the plants to the window hidden behind them, letting the curtains in the office open. The sun spilled golden colours past Maggie and Muriel, past the good-intentioned leaves, past Nina, and pooled itself right before Crowley's feet.

Crowley took a step back.

Muriel knew very little about Crowley. But they had known Aziraphale through their duty as angels. They knew that Aziraphale believed in them. In their attempts to be useful, Aziraphale had never put them down for trying, and he had certainly never brushed Muriel to be the type to sink his teeth into someone. In fact, the things they heard from the other shopkeepers only comforted Muriel’s view of him: he was kind, he was tolerant, and he was almost like an angel, the way he gave (granted that it wasn’t one of his books). 

But there was something going on here that Muriel didn’t very much understand. The way Muriel felt about Aziraphale was different from the way Crowley felt about Aziraphale. 

Nina had explained it to them, once. Muriel had thought they had gotten it at the time. Now, they rubbed their chest, and weren't too sure anymore.

"…Alright, then," said Crowley.

London never truly rested.

At all times of the day, people walked, the cars roared, and even the birds never shut up. They always prattled on with their funny little pastry-stealing grabbers. If you gave a bird a cookie... Well, a mouse?

Mice were quite nice, actually.

Well, if you gave a bird a cookie, they would eat it without a second thought. Would make a big fuss about it, too, as it ate, because birds were fussy like that. That’s why they don't have hands. It was funnier when they stomped around like a bowling pin. Something had to keep the birds' cockiness in check.

A pigeon pecked at a biscuit crumb, dropped it, and flew away when Muriel neared.

Crowley, Nina, and Maggie followed them along the pavement. As the cars whizzed by, Crowley stared longingly at each and every one of them.

"–but then, it turned out that he was his dad!" Muriel was saying. "Which, by the way, is a human word: dad. It's short for father, I think. Humans are so funny, trying to be little gods like that," they waved a hand as they talked. "But then he was devastated because–"

Crowley nodded along. He was obviously not listening. He took a moment to readjust his tie. The wrinkles in his outfit had been miracled away, and he smelled an awful lot like coconut and strawberries.

"Yep," said Crowley in the middle of Muriel's rant. "Funny things, humans."

Crowley must have said something right, because Muriel's smile brightened. Before they could start rambling again, Maggie looked over her shoulder.

"What are we thinking for nails?" she asked.

Muriel and Crowley swivelled their heads to look at her.

"I mean…” added Maggie, quickly, “if you'd like.”

"Oh, yes!" Muriel agreed, and then turned to Crowley. They stuck their finger up. "You see, it's a human thing. They don't actually mean their nails, they mean painting them– or putting something over them that has paint. It is just the best. Oh, but it's not the paint you put on walls. It's nail paint. For nails. We get them done every girls’ day out."

Crowley, who was staring at Maggie, blinked out of his silence.

"You know, no one told me what we’d be doing. I was thinking maybe… eh, I mean… lunch, probably." Crowley said as they continued walking.

"No offence, but I've never seen you eat anything. At all," said Nina, and Maggie nodded beside her.

Muriel smiled at Crowley and said, "Don't worry. I don't eat anything either. We can just look at the food."

Crowley was quiet after that.

Muriel had gone down this street many times during their time on Earth. Maggie had been the one to bring them here for the first time, and she had bought them a little bracelet with their initial on it (It had meant so much to Muriel. They had gifted Maggie a bottle of their Heavenly nail polish reserves). They had gotten their nails done then, too. That’s how Muriel had begun to meet other humans.

They arrived at a blue-tinted door. It was soft blue that probably needed another coat of paint. Hanging pots of morning glories and cranesbills seemed to shudder at their arrival. Muriel glanced curiously at Crowley.

Just beside them, Maggie’s necklace jingled as she sped up to the front of the group to open the door. The bell above it chimed.

“Come on in,” she said.

The air conditioner hit them in the face. An overpowering odour of polish wafted through the salon, grabbed them by the throat, and shook them like rag dolls. It was glorious. The first whiff of it was always the best, in Muriel’s opinion. 

It wasn’t the best place to go for sensitive noses– or sensitive eyes– but Muriel preferred the pastel palette. Especially since the bookshop lacked them. The walls, a stark white, had candy-floss-blue and bubblegum-pink waves painted at its bottom. Above, buttery-yellow, five-pointed stars were painted on the ceiling. 

Crowley gagged. He tried to hide it underneath his hand, truly, but Muriel managed to catch it.

An elderly lady who appeared to be cleaning up her work station lifted her head to look at them. Recognition fluttered past her face. She smiled, the corners of her eyes wrinkling with the motion.

"Nice day, isn't it, Lucia?" said Maggie as the lady neared.

"The weather?" Lucia pondered. "It is perfect."

Lucia turned her crinkly smile towards Crowley as she leaned over the front desk's computer.

"You were at the Whickber Street Shopkeepers' Association meeting a few months back. I would remember a face like yours," said Lucia.

Crowley frowned further. 

"You were there?" he said.

"My grandson insisted I come with him. Something about having a good feeling? Well, it must have been something, if I can't for the life of me remember what happened that night."

Crowley swallowed. Maggie stepped in, her hand hovering over his arm.

"This is Mr. Crowley. He's joining us," Maggie spared a glance at Crowley, who was still staring straight ahead, and smiled at Lucia tightly. "Just for today. To see if he likes it."

Lucia tapped the keys on the computer slowly. Her fingers appeared unsteady and frail, and that might have worried anyone else who came in hoping for nicely-painted nails. What many wouldn’t know is that she was rather good at her craft. She had found a passion for it late in life, and retired so she could do what she loved in her last few years.

"Of course,” she said, “Come, please sit down."

Crowley had invented naming all the sub-sub-sub-shades of colours. Red wasn't just red. Red could be carmine, mahogany, and vermillion... but carmine, mahogany, and vermillion could not simply be called 'red'. Like how a square was a kind of rectangle, but a rectangle couldn't be called a square.

Crowley wasn't sure who invented that one. Probably an angel, if he had to put money on it. Maybe even Gabriel himself.

But now Nina was passionately advocating how cinnabar would clash too much with Crowley's hair, and that scarlet would be all-too bright– and, yet again, Crowley's actions patted his shoulders and bit him in the arse.

Nina leaned over to look at the progress of Maggie's nails. The lady doing them smiled nervously at her hovering and continued to apply little bees. Nina nodded approvingly. Then, she got back to analysing the five bottles of different reds before Crowley.

"What do you think of this one?" Nina pointed meaningfully at a reddish-purple polish.

Crowley frowned down at it, shook his head aimlessly at Nina and Lucia, and then shrugged. Unhelpful.

Nina put a hand to her cheek.

"Maybe something other than red?" Maggie suggested lightly, noticing the growing distress in the room.

Muriel twisted in their seat across the room and accidentally jolted some closed bottles. The man doing their nails 'tsk'-ed loudly.

"Sorry," Muriel said to him. The man waved dismissively, but they took the time to line them back up anyway. Muriel looked at Crowley, thought about his reaction, and then said, "What about stars?"

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but the noises died deep in his throat.

"What about stars?" he challenged.

Wuh-oh. Had Muriel misread the room? For all they could know, he hated space, because wasn’t that one step closer to Heaven? Muriel cleared their throat and peeked down at a little speck on the ground.

"Well, you've been over here brainstorming for five minutes. If you don't like it, then we'll wipe it off and that's that," said Nina.

Maggie laughed at that. Nina frowned.

"What? What's funny?"

"Nothing, nothing," Maggie said in a voice that told them it was most definitely something. "It's just that... you were the one fussing over colours."

"Not helping, Angel. Just a big fan of colour-coordination."

"Great," drawled Crowley. "Because something is going on over there. Might need a colour-coordination professional."

Crowley pointed over at Muriel, who had a big grin on their face as Nina looked at them, then at their nails. Maybe they were rainbows. Maybe someone had slaughtered a unicorn.

"What's that you got there?" Nina asked.

"Oh," giggled Muriel. "Remember The Flood?"

"No, I don't think she would," Crowley chimed in quickly without looking.

Nina ignored him.

"That a rainbow?" she tried instead.

"Yes! I thought a little bit of everything would’ve been fine. I mean, aren’t rainbows supposed to have all the colours, anyways?"

Nina nodded, as if convincing herself that the colours weren't actually all that bad. If anything, there may have been some sort of charm in the half-neon, half-pastel, not-in-the-correct-order rainbow. Would Nina choose it for herself? Err, no… she’d have to be blackmailed for it to even be a possibility. 

“Whatever makes you happy, Muriel,” said Nina, finally.

Lucia grabbed the tips of Crowley's fingers and guided them down to lay flat on the table. Crowley looked up at the old lady. She offered him a pleasant smile.

"Should we do what your friend recommended, young man?" she asked, even though Crowley was thousands of years older than her. 

Crowley let a deep breath run through his lungs and ease somewhere deep in his ribcage. These were ridiculous human fears. Crowley had endured worse things than painting his nails. He’d done it himself a handful of times in his existence, and had even found some enjoyment in it. But he wasn’t feeling right. Maybe even a little sick; like he was being fed on a full stomach; like he’d been so rudely awakened and then jostled out of his body.

He shrugged, then choked, "Ye– ah.”

"Colours?"

Crowley gave her another shrug. A mesh of noises came from his mouth, none of them real words, and he finally decided to quirk his head shortly to the side.

"Just whatever, really,” he said.

His difficulty didn't seem to phase the kind, age-worn grandmother. As if she'd worked with customers far stingier than Crowley, she went straight to work. Each stroke was as careful as the last. Whatever shake that had been in her hands vanished as if it were never there in the first place. 

The black nail polish she used wasn't truly, completely, black. It was a deep, dark blue that reflected the ceiling lights in its shine.

Crowley stared.

He stared until Lucia placed his hands under the nail dryer after that coat was completed.

Maggie was the first to shift in the silence that had taken over the salon. Nina, Muriel, and Crowley watched her as she dramatically displayed her nails for the rest of the room.

There was a gathering of 'ooo's and 'ahh's that everyone but Crowley joined in on. 

"How pretty!" Nina fawned. Her smile grew into something so genuine that Maggie immediately needed to return it tenfold.

Nina came close and took Maggie's hand in hers. The base colour was a soft brown, decorated with skulls alternating between white and pink. Nina’s orange nails, a teddy bear design centred on her middle nail, paired for a silly sight beside Maggie’s. They snickered like it was all just one big joke.

"Isn't it just?" Maggie sighed.

And then Lucia was taking Crowley's hand away from the dryer and returning to work. Crowley's eyes snapped down to watch, but Muriel had just begun to talk. He lifted his heavy head.

"Can we please get frozen yoghurt after?" asked Muriel.

"It might be a little chilly out for frozen yoghurt," Nina replied.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind. I've been thinking about paying the local froyo place a visit for a while now. I’ve been thinking about their watermelon," said Maggie as Crowley's hand was led back underneath the UV lights. Crowley kept focusing on the others.

"Have you ever tried frozen yoghurt?" Muriel said to Crowley suddenly.

Crowley blinked at them, then glanced up.

"Nah. Not a big fan of cold treats."

"But you've never tried it. You should. You don't have to eat it if you really end up not liking it," Nina placed her hands to her hips. Crowley recognized the unsaid statement instantly: 'if you don't try this frozen yoghurt I'm going to make you try.'

Part of Crowley wanted to challenge that. Crowley was a challenger, after all, and he didn’t feel in the mood to be particularly nice– but he also wasn’t in the mood to be particularly nasty, either.

Crowley’s head tilted to one side and didn’t reply. 

Lucia hummed in satisfaction. Crowley turned from glaring holes into the walls– something he had been doing for a few minutes, now– to look at her. He caught her eye, but she gestured down towards Crowley's hands.

Crowley swallowed. Slowly, he followed the movement.

Against dark blue, against undulating lighter blues and whites, yellow sparkles of stars rested.

Their next stop ended up being a quaint, little froyo shop that was wedged between a big building and an even bigger building.

The shop smelled like waffles and vanilla which was strange, because not an ounce of waffles or vanilla was displayed. Maybe it was just the sweetness of everything that made the illusion. The walls were a drab grey that didn't do a very good job telling people that it was a froyo shop. If a tourist came by, they’d probably assume it to be a furniture store. 

The teenager at the counter didn't spare them a glance as they walked in. Muriel, as chipper as ever, beelined right to a stack of paper cups and passed them out one at a time.

Crowley put his hand up in protest at Muriel's offer. Nina immediately gave him a blank look, but he spoke before she could voice her potential threats.

"The floor is sticky. It's ruining my boots," Crowley nodded his head toward Muriel. "Surprise me."

And with that, Crowley was moving to the nearest table. A chorus of 'shh-tick, shh-tick, shh-tick' followed his footsteps. Muriel reached out for his retreating form, but there was no point. 

"Ah," said Muriel. "Okay..."

"Don't mind him too much, Muriel. New things like this can be very tiring to humans," said Maggie.

Muriel brightened at that.

"Oh, is that right? Ah, of course," they shuffled and their tone turned into something that could have been all-knowing, "of course. Well, I'll just have to make Mr. Crowley the best frozen yoghurt cup known to humanity."

Maggie snorted at that. Muriel grinned.

Crowley had liked the flavour of espresso, Nina told them once. Espresso was kind of nutty, kind of bitter, kind of tangy– not that Muriel knew what that tasted like. A good rule of thumb that Nina had taught them was that if it smelled acrid, then it probably was acrid. But it was socially unacceptable to smell all of the flavours. Also, it was a frozen yoghurt place. Everything was supposed to be sweet.

Muriel bit their lip, uncertain now.

"Focus on our task, soldiers," whispered Nina as she pressed her cup underneath one of the machines. White yoghurt swirled down into it. She glanced up at Maggie and Muriel and then tipped her head sneakily toward the demon sitting a few feet away.

Maggie came close, sparing a worried look at the object of their conversation.

"Does he look any happier?" asked Maggie, softly.

"Hard to tell with those bloody shades on," huffed Nina.

"I think it's going splendidly," said Muriel.

Muriel shifted to the right, away from where they had huddled, to fill Crowley's cup with something red. It read ‘cherry’ at the top, and sometimes cherries smelled bitter. That was probably a good start.

"Do you think Mr. Crowley is of the almond sort?" asked Muriel. "Or maybe sprinkles? Chocolate chips?"

They put something bright green into the cup. The colour seemed to surprise Muriel. The label, after all, had read ‘apple’, and weren’t apples red? Their brows scrunched together in wonder, and they made sure to stick their own cup underneath that one, too.

"Liquorice. He probably invented them," said Nina, finally. "But the circle ones. There’s a difference. Anyways, I did promise to keep out of his life if this all didn't work out, so maybe I am a little worried."

Maggie turned to Nina with a gentle smile. 

Muriel noticed that Maggie smiled the most at Nina, even if Maggie was friends with Muriel, too. There was a flutter that went through Muriel’s chest. Somehow, they knew that the butterflies weren’t anything that they were personally feeling.

"We'll have known that we tried our best. Don't beat yourself up for it, Nina, Love," said Maggie.

A chair squealed across the floor horrendously. They looked back at Crowley, who was slouched down his chair. He was probably eyeing them out of the corner of his shades. Maggie, quick to the damage control, offered him a strained smile while Nina coughed into her wrist.

Maggie cleared her throat. Cheeks pink, she moved over to where Muriel was currently pouring sprinkles into their cup. Muriel offered her a scoop-full.

Maggie grimaced. "No, thanks."

Nina began to fish her wallet out as she and Maggie placed their cups onto the weight at the counter.

"I think that maybe a walk in the park would be a nice way to end things off today," Nina said to Maggie. “Look at his face– I think we may be pushing it.”

Muriel stood behind them. They were looking between their own frozen yoghurt and what they had chosen for Crowley. They nodded, satisfied, but the pleased expression was smacked off their face.

A Heavenly horn echoed in their head.

"End things off? It's barely four. We never end off our days this early," said Maggie. "You know what he needs? A little taste of window-shopping."

Maggie shuffled her shoulders and Nina groaned, but she couldn't help but smile.

Muriel, frantically, twisted around to look at Crowley. He had already gotten up. He squeezed through the group to get to the teenager in front.

"Bathroom,” he said.

"Second door down, sir," said the worker. "Let me give you the key."

The teenager ducked down. Something went ‘clunk-clink ting dwowowow’, and he hit his head on the way back up. Crowley sniffled. Finally, the teenager handed Crowley the head of a golfing club. The rest of it, presumably, had been lost somehow. 

"Nn–," grumbled Crowley, looking weirdly at the key dangling from it. "Thanks."

Muriel’s heart dropped as they watched their only lifeline slink away. They turned to the shop's window right as Uriel appeared from across the street. Uriel's stony face didn’t twitch as they scanned the buildings.

Muriel knew that they couldn’t hide from the Archangel, and without even confirming where Muriel was, Uriel began to march over.

"Right. Muriel, where's your–?" Nina turned. There was no 'Muriel' to be heard of. She continued turning and spotted Muriel already out the door, two unpaid cups of frozen yoghurt in their hands.

Nina and Maggie stared at the teenager. The teenager stared back.

"Guesstimating here: Thirty total," he said.

Maggie sucked in air through her teeth.

"That was a lot of sprinkles," she told Nina.

Nina furrowed her brows. She glanced between Maggie and the poor teenager.

"Twenty-five,” she said.

Muriel, both hands preoccupied by frozen treats, rushed over to the left– away from the shop's windows.

Uriel watched them, unblinking. They stepped out onto the busy road. A car honked, but miraculously swerved away last-second. The crowd uncharacteristically parted until Uriel was face-to-face with Muriel.

"How is your progress?" greeted Uriel.

Muriel tried to smile, but it was difficult when they felt like they were being choked. It wouldn’t do to stand here like a silly goose. They used both cups to gesture to the shop.

"No Son in there!"

Uriel looked down at the frozen yoghurt, then narrowed their eyes. Muriel doubted that they had ever tried human food before. Somehow, this made the situation feel even worse.

"I see that," said Uriel.

Muriel swallowed. They let out a quiet breath that Uriel raised a brow at, but despite the preparation to talk, nothing came out. Muriel stared until the Archangel crossed their arms.

"This is frozen yoghurt," squeaked Muriel. "It's fun to look at. It’s for humans."

"Thirty-seventh degree recording scrivener. We have reason to believe that the Son has landed in a human settlement to the east called Dover."

Muriel shook their head quickly, as if just awakening. A lifeline, finally.

"Dover! Dover. Of course. I can go to Dover. I know exactly where that is," then, for good measure: "Dover."

"Then you should run into no issues."

"No issues. None at all."

"Uh-huh.”

Uriel looked down at Muriel's hands, where the cups were wrinkling under their grip. Muriel snuck another experimental breath. A car honked close-by. Muriel startled. Uriel did not. 

"Get a move on,” said Uriel.

Before Muriel could respond, Uriel sent a pointed glance back over their own shoulder, toward the froyo shop. Their nose crinkled.

"Go to Dover. Find the Son. Hand him to us," the Archangel looked down at Muriel, "You are not to do anything else other than what we've already told you to do. We’ll handle the rest once you’ve done your part."

"Of course, my Archangel."

Uriel didn't immediately leave. They stared at Muriel as if something else could be said to them, but whatever it was was lost. Something sparked in Uriel’s eyes; like they had just uncovered a dark secret, and Muriel feared that it may have had something to do with them.

Muriel made the mistake of blinking. When they opened their eyes, Uriel was gone, and Maggie, Nina, and Crowley were filing out of the shop.

"There you are! The hell did you run off to?" asked Nina.

"Mm! Might have... needed the fresh air, actually. I'm–" the group neared. Even though they were all looking at Muriel, Muriel's gaze drifted off to Crowley. His arms were crossed, but his face was strangely lax. "–I'm feeling a little homesick, I think."

Nina's expression softened. On the other hand, Maggie looked especially panicked, now, nervously turning from Muriel to Crowley to Muriel again.

"Well... there's a park not too far from here," Maggie said gently. "St. James’s. We can take the little detour past that nice fashion boutique."

"Would've been faster if I took the car," said Crowley.

"It's not supposed to be fast, six-shots-of-espresso-in-a-big-cup," Nina rolled her eyes. "It's supposed to be enjoyed."

"Well, I enjoy things best when I'm going sixty over the speed limit," the demon snipped back. He turned away, then did a double take. "Six-shots-of-espresso-in-a-big-cup?"

Muriel laughed. It shook slightly around the edges, but the group hadn’t completely fallen apart– so the mission could still go on. They glanced down at the frozen yoghurt still in their hands and hastily offered Crowley his own.

"This is frozen yoghurt," they said as Crowley took the offering.

"I see," he replied.

Crowley stared at the yoghurt. It had melted. All that remained was a mush of brown slop and two yellow, circular pieces of liquorice staring up at him.

Together, the ragtag group made their way through the streets of London.

It was a little silly, really, how they looked to the normal passerby.

The black-clad stranger in the dark sunglasses in the middle of winter? Good chance he’s hiding something, maybe even from himself. Whoever conceals their identity in public is surely not to be trusted at all.

The warmly-dressed one’s carefully-embroidered cardigan gave the impression of passion. There was something strange about her walk, like she was certain but uncertain; kind but unkind; like a secondary school English teacher. 

The stranger right behind her was scanning the streets as if she were looking for her next target. That or she had a resting angry face, which didn’t make it any more comforting– other than the fact that she was walking around with someone who was skipping. 

The skipper turned, smiled at the rest of their weird little group, and patted their big cargo pants. Maybe the skipper was secretly carrying around knives in one of their many pockets. It would make more sense than the mix of night and day going on here.

Well, best not to speculate. Walls have ears, you know.

Not by design.

They passed by the windows of shops too expensive for their wallets; but the experience laid not in what they had, but what they could have.

Sunglasses considered every outfit on display carefully. It was as if he was actually considering buying one of them, but with no wallet to speak of, maybe his threats were worth more than any amount of money he could provide.

"See anything you like?" English Teacher asked him, but Sunglasses just shrugged.

"Lots of inspiration," Sunglasses replied. He didn’t sound impressed.

The suits and dresses and boxes of jewellery were impressive. Only someone with lots of spare money to spend could throw it here (or very passionate advocates for the divine). But Sunglasses knew that some of these shops were just tourist traps. He had gone down here on occasion, and had more-often-than-not been in the presence of someone who could sniff out a cheaply made product.

(“It has a stench, really, like it’s musty… even if I washed the poor thing, I’m sure I would smell it in the back of my mind. No love put into it at all.”)

"I want that one," Skipper awed, pointing towards a set of jewelled bee earrings that sparkled reflections of light in every direction.

Sunglasses turned to look at them, "you, quite literally, could have them."

"Oh, but that's not the right way," said Skipper, looking genuinely worried. "We’re supposed to say we want it but not actually get it."

"Sounds like a torture method," mused Sunglasses.

"You're no fun," Resting Angry Face chided him.

"It's his first time, Nina," English Teacher said, and, just like that, the illusion cracked.

Crowley glared at a particularly-overdone set of light gloves. It had strange gems and flowy patterns, and the sight of it was like dipping donuts in maple syrup. His eyes flicked up in consideration before he frowned again.

"I'm plenty of fun," said Crowley. "But I'm not up for looking into an expensive boutique like I'm a dog looking for something to drop on the ground."

Nina snorted. "You do have an imagination, don't you?"

"Don't doubt my imagination. It's gotten me through some serious scrapes."

As a group, they turned the corner, passing the last of the sparkly windows and escaping from their voluntary torture. Crowley recognized this stretch to the park’s steps. He frowned, faltered, and then continued.

"Oh yeah?" laughed Maggie. "Like what?"

"Hellfire, for one," said Crowley. 

Maggie's smile awkwardly dropped from her face.

"Oh."

The sun was glaring between the trees, hiding along the edges of the park. Muriel found that it was always the brightest right before it sank into the ground. It was ironic, in a way, but maybe fitting for the situation. There was still some time before they had to call quits on this mission.

Nina pressed her shoulder against Muriel's as they bounded down the steps. The angel startled.

"Are you okay?" whispered Nina.

Muriel frowned. They glanced at Nina, then at Maggie and Crowley behind them, who appeared to be focused on the Christmas roses that had just started to bloom.

"Yes," said Muriel. The trees dotted them with shade as they crossed into the park. "I'm just... thinking."

"Dangerous thing: thinking," said Nina, dryly.

Muriel pursed their lips together. They glanced up at the sky, where the clouds, thick and heavy, were beginning to creep up on them. It wouldn’t do any good for them if it rained now. 

"Muriel?" Nina tried again.

"Sorry," said Muriel. They found that their voice had come out strangled, and tried again, "Sorry… I have this feeling in my chest."

"Still thinking about–" Nina's eyes flicked up. "–about home?"

Muriel nodded, gnawing at the inside of their cheek. 

"I’ve never been away for so long. It's only seven months. It should feel like nothing to me…” they said.

"But it's different," said Nina, graciously filling in the blanks. "New things can be nerve-wracking, if you've only ever been–" another glance, "–you know. All your life."

Muriel swallowed.

They didn’t know all that much about Earth and its humans before this mission. It was embarrassing, really, knowing how unprepared they had been. Had Heaven done it intentionally? Maybe it was all just a test. Replacing Aziraphale, after all, was already a tall order. He had been associated with the higher-ups since day one.

It was hard to tell, and even harder to ask. 

Even though Muriel had to keep their mission– whatever that had been over the past seven months– a secret, they could hardly even do that properly. Their human friends knew it. 

"Well, most of my existence, anyway,” replied Muriel. “I've been occasionally sent to Earth– um, close to The Beginning. But never for long periods of time. It was just... you know, maybe a few minutes. A few hours. Most of us had assignments like that, back then."

"What changed?" asked Nina.

"Oh, I don't know," Muriel admitted, softly. "The Almighty was still brushing out a few kinks. Needed to make adjustments, maybe. Heaven had some– err– missing spots to fill. The world was still new."

Nina stared at Muriel from the corner of her eye. She looked them up and down, glanced thoughtfully at the approaching lake, and then seemed to rethink something.

Muriel frowned. "Did I say something wrong?" they asked.

Nina tilted her head. Nina had promised, early on in their friendship, to be honest with Muriel. Even though she often chose to spare Muriel’s insecurities, Crowley’s return seemed to have pushed her.

 "It's hard to look at you and see an immortal,” she said.

Maggie rushed to their side.

"Mr. Crowley is glaring at all the plants. I think he's trying to set them on fire," whispered Maggie.

"'m not," grumbled Crowley, faintly, behind them.

Maggie scoffed to herself, leaned closer to Nina and Muriel, and said in an even quieter voice, "I think he's getting restless. Does he even like walks in the park? Doesn’t that seem not-very-demonic? Ugh, I hadn’t even realised at the time. Maybe we should have done some research before assuming. Oh, Nina, I'm so sorry– I don't want to give up on him, either."

Nina quickly placed a hand on Maggie's shoulder. 

"Calm down there, Angel,” she said. “It's all right. Let’s think about this… First of all, he probably needs the sun. He’s not a vampire. And what could we have possibly researched? The Bible? We’re doing the best we can, yeah?"

Maggie's pinched expression eased, but not by much.

Nina swished her thumb repeatedly over Maggie’s back. She hoped that it was a comforting gesture. Maggie had been the first to use this technique on Nina, found that it had helped her, and had tried to sparingly return the favour ever since.

“Crowley’s an adult, anyways. I mean… technically, right? If what Muriel said was true, then he’ll be able to survive… It can’t fall on us. What he chooses is his choice. No point trying to control him.” 

Muriel closed their eyes. Nina was very good at talking. Nina was reasonable and did smart things that Muriel wouldn’t have thought up. The warm words built at the cavity in their chest, up and up, into a little ball that would dissipate if Muriel exhaled– and then a hand jostled them out of their thoughts.

Muriel looked up at Crowley, then at the fence right before them.

"Thank you," they said.

Crowley’s face twitched. For a moment, Muriel feared that Crowley would snap at them; but the hand he had used to block Muriel from walking straight into the water’s surrounding fences slipped right back into his pocket. He stepped back.

"Look," said Maggie, pointing. "There's Abigail."

Abigail skittered over the surface of the water, excited to see familiar faces. Ducks were clever like that. They were almost like humans, but with wings and beaks and smaller brains. They were also much kinder than geese. And less toothy. 

The three of them squatted at the lake’s edge to meet the mallard.

"Hello Ms. Abigail," cooed Muriel. From their pocket, they produced a baggie of peas. "Where’s your friend?"

Muriel poured some of the peas into Maggie's and Nina's palms. They had a slight sheen left behind from defrosting in Muriel’s pocket. When Muriel tested its strength, the pea smushed with ease.

Abigail flailed her wings. She stuck her head through the fence’s bars and attacked the squished snack from Muriel’s hand.

Muriel had only known the mallard for about four months now. Maggie and Muriel found her trying to sit on other ducks in their sleep. Abigail hadn’t taken part in their autumn migration. Instead, she chose to stay in St. James’s until her flock returned for wintering, and Muriel had familiarised themself with Abigail’s more-grey-than-orange bill. 

A quack– sounding like a smokey wheeze than anything– made Abigail turn her head. From somewhere further into the lake, another smaller mallard lazily drifted through a group of waterfowl toward the excitement. Abigail's ferocity towards the peas subdued.

"Hello Ms. Lottie," said Nina. She tossed the peas over the fencing. Abigail, graciously, allowed Lottie to peck at it.

Muriel grabbed onto the fence, pushed themself up, and swung over to the other side. They teetered on the bank. Maggie stared at them nervously (she never liked it when Muriel did something risky). With a reassuring smile, Muriel knelt down carefully at the lake’s edge, keeping one hand on the bar behind them.

"It looks like she's doing better," Muriel said as they peered closely at Lottie's wing. They leaned over to move aside a few askew feathers to check the injury, and Lottie nicely continued to nibble on peas.

"Getting braver, too," said Maggie. She wiped her palm off against her pants, then looked at Nina. "She'll be able to join her flock for next year's migration, I’d think."

"Your wing will be all better by then," Muriel promised Lottie, who only looked at them with beady eyes and mushy peas sticking out of her beak. 

Nina had told Muriel that sometimes, when something was injured, it may not heal the same as it was before. Bones were tricky like that. Sometimes bones forget their original form, and mould around what little space they were given underneath the skin. Lottie’s little bones, thankfully, would not have that problem.

Abigail and Lottie, the wild ducks they were, took the last of the peas and paddled off together. They weren’t meant to be friendly. Muriel learned that animals outside of human domestication were just made to survive. How interesting it was, Muriel had thought, for something to unintentionally provide to the rest of the world by simply existing.

The sky was darker now. The clouds had snuck up on them, just like Muriel had predicted. Muriel hoped it wouldn’t rain. They didn’t feel like getting their corporation wet.

Yet, the group lingered at the side of the lake. Maybe everyone else had felt the change of tone, too, or maybe they were procrastinating on ending this mission like they were. Muriel had the sudden urge to check on Crowley. But instead, they stayed in place, watching how the ducks made ripples that waved out behind them, stretching down, down, until they died at the water's edge.

Muriel reached down for them.

The world spun. 

Muriel was strikingly cold— strikingly wet— strikingly ripped from the trance. They crawled against mud and slipped face-first into reality. Something was stinging. They gasped, choked— something awful shot out of their nose.

"AZIRAPHALE!"

The name came naturally. It was tossed to the frigid sky. It froze mid-air and dropped dead to the ground like hail.

And, suddenly, Muriel knew they messed up. This was the worst possible scenario that could have happened. How had Muriel chosen every little thing that could tick Crowley off? How come they had said the wrong words every time? How had they fallen in such an embarrassing way, when this entire mission relied on them not to?

Muriel sat frozen in the lake. Water dribbled down their skin, and their clothes, and their burning nostrils, and they felt pathetic. No one said anything.

They lifted their eyes.

Crowley stood the same way he had been for most of the day: casually, brows furrowed, lips tilted downward– but his hands trembled in his pockets. He swallowed a few times too many. Muriel felt their stomach plummet. For the first time, they feared that they may throw up.

Crowley smacked his lips, glanced at the lumbering clouds, and then turned and walked away.

"My Beatitude," greeted Visiel, bowing their head. They took a folder that had been tucked under their armpit and offered it to the Supreme Archangel. "The files that you asked for."

"Thank you, Visiel," said Aziraphale.

Visiel smiled at him. It seemed like another one of those days, to Aziraphale, where Visiel was hesitant to leave his side. Aziraphale tried not to mind it too much. Visiel, after all, seemed to look up to him– and Aziraphale would rather have that than the opposite.

Aziraphale took the beige folder and turned back to his lone desk. He placed it down, opened it, and began reading.

Visiel shuffled closer. They hovered at Aziraphale’s shoulder; maybe curious, which wasn't unusual. Visiel always tried to make his business their business.

"Yes?" said Aziraphale.

Visiel twitched out a smile. It was an awkward attempt, like they had tried to practise it and had failed when it was the right time. 

“I’ve already made myself familiar with its information. Shall I summarise it for you?” they said.

Aziraphale blinked. He huffed out a laugh and replied, “That’s quite alright. I think I’ll manage.”

“But this will spare you the time. You’re marvellous at writing notes, anyways, so let me help.”

Goodness. Aziraphale snuck in a breath and smiled faintly at him.

“Well…” he said. He furrowed his brows, glanced up at Visiel’s hopeful expression, and then leaned back onto the edge of his desk. “Of course. I do value your effort, you know.”

Visiel’s next smile was genuine, but smug. So did it really count?

"The demons are still bickering over who will be the Lord of Hell. The tides turned to Dagon, after Hastur's attempt to sway the demons by trying to ban the use of nursery rhymes– apparently, demons love Humpty Dumpty– anyway, Leviathan discorporated one of Dagon’s messengers and framed Hastur, so now they're at each other's throats, but some of the demons are quite liking the drama. Granted that they’re smart enough to not be squished along the way," said Visiel.

Aziraphale nodded along, flipping through the pages and trying to catch some words for himself. He settled the papers down onto the desk, pressed a flat palm to them, and then flung the contents up. The papers shimmered into holographic screens around them. Most of them frayed along the edges, but what quality was one to expect from something made in Hell?

"There's a reason you're the Lord of Files!" Recorded-Hastur snapped. Aziraphale squinted at the suddenness. “For being an expert on paperwork, you’d assume you’d know how to spell your own title properly.”

Recorded-Leviathan clicked his tongue.

“Yikes,” he said, tilting her head to Dagon.

Recorded-Dagon bared all of his teeth on a different screen. He swung a look at Leviathan, betrayed, and then glared back at Hastur. Faint snickers around them echoed.

"You can’t spell either! They put you up ‘ere because you couldn’t do anyth’ng else–!" Recorded-Dagon began, but Visiel talked over the raging demon’s next words.

"It’s fascinating, watching them squabble. What a bunch of squirmy animals. I knew they had a few feathers loose, but not even being able to communicate long enough to reach an agreement. How funny," Visiel laughed to themself, "finding the need to fight all the time."

Aziraphale hummed.

"You remember Job, yes, Visiel?" Aziraphale mentioned off-handedly, looking between all of the screens. He focused briefly on Hastur spitting insults at one of the Erics. When he blinked, the Eric had already discorporated from something he hadn’t seen.

Aziraphale scribbled something down onto a paper that wasn’t there before. Visiel watched his pen swoop and twirl.

"Of course," they said. "I was observing with a squad, for if anything went wrong,” they took a moment to consider their words. "But of course, nothing did. My Beatitude."

"I'm not offended,” said Aziraphale, automatically.

The tension that had started to build in Visiel’s shoulders smoothed out. They looked prouder, now; reassured. They stepped closer and nodded their head, thankful.

"The demons were very cooperative then, I would think. Heeding The Almighty's will. That didn't take much of a fight," said Aziraphale. He tried to keep his eyes on his notes. Somewhere, one of the demons on the recordings were giggling.

"That's different," said Visiel confidently. "Satan issued that order, but which was agreed upon by God. It was an…”

They trailed off. 

Aziraphale froze, because his mind helpfully tried to fill in the blanks for him, and where it had wandered felt almost like an epiphany. Aziraphale thought too much these days. Other days, Aziraphale felt like he couldn’t think at all. 

He turned carefully and smiled at Visiel, “Yes?” he coaxed, as if this was a casual conversation.

"…Well, we had our orders,” they said, “and they had theirs. 

Aziraphale folded the paper he had been writing on into a pristine square. He blinked and tilted his head in what he hoped was a comforting way. He reached out with the paper in his hand, which had changed into a white envelope, toward Visiel.

They took it.

"Would you be a dear and deliver that?" said Aziraphale as he rounded his desk. He closed the folder, and all of the floating screens sucked back to where they belonged. The faint remaining smell of sulphur tickled his nose. "And bring this to the archives, yes?"

Helpfully, Visiel nodded. They took their free hand and made a pulling gesture from the sky. In a blink, the folder vanished.

"You can count on me, my Beatitude," said Visiel, and Aziraphale knew that he could in this regard. The angel turned, paused, and then spun around on their heels, "Oh... Actually, my Archangel, is storytime still happening tomorrow? It’s only that Adiel and the others missed the last session, and they wanted me to ask..." they trailed off.

Aziraphale drummed his fingers quietly against the side of his desk. He glanced around the windowless room, pretending to be in thought, and said, "Tell them I still have plenty of stories to share."

Visiel smiled. They looked over Aziraphale one last time and then disappeared.

Angels didn't need sleep. Sleep was a source of energy, wasn’t it? Maggie had explained that humans have a certain amount of energy before they have to replenish it– like a recharge. Like… when you drink coffee, the cup empties until you pour more.

Something like that…

Muriel gently closed the book they had finished reading. It had been one they had already read; but they had hoped its familiar story would calm their nerves. It had been a book Muriel found in a drawer upstairs on their third week on Earth.

They traced the spine, felt a little dent in the hardcover, and pressed The House At Pooh Corner to their chest.

Muriel felt tired. It was a horrible thing. Muriel wasn’t human– Muriel was an angel– and they didn’t know how angels replenished their energy (if at all. They hadn’t known it to be possible. Maybe they were… different).

The thought wasn’t comforting. Maybe they needed to read another book.

They sat up in one of the comfy chairs and scooted up to the edge of the seat. They reached over to grab the tea, made an hour ago, but still warm to the touch, and tried to focus on the feeling.

Maybe their tea was defective, being hot after all this time. Maybe they could try to make another cup; they had been getting better at making it; but none of their end results had looked quite as pretty as Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale.

Muriel pressed their lips tight together.

It was horrible, being an angel in some… weird… unknown… human… Muriel sighed. They were being ridiculous, but they couldn’t find the words to describe the knot in their throat, or the buzzing that was spreading to their arms. Muriel was hot but cold and sick but alive. The longer they thought about it, the fainter their head became.

Aziraphale would have known what to do. He had helped to track down the Antichrist, went unpunished by Heaven, and had built up this little bookshop for himself. 

It was unlike Heaven, though. Heaven had some rhyme and reason in their order. Muriel still couldn’t figure out Aziraphale’s sorting system (and they were normally very clever at deciphering algorithms).

They stood to lean over the desk, closed the curtains, and decided that trying to sleep wouldn’t hurt.

“Muriel.”

Muriel jumped. They shoved the poor book onto some random surface and stumbled away from the chair.

"Archangel Uriel!" chirped Muriel in greeting. The Archangel had appeared right behind them, in the middle of the bookshop– but it was likely that Muriel just hadn’t heard the door chime. 

Uriel's brow twitched. "Hello," they said.

"Whhhat can I do for you?"

The Archangel took a long, excruciating moment to look over the bookshop and its surroundings. Muriel knew they didn’t have to make such a big show of the whole thing. It did a good job in shaming them, though.

A streetlight's glow crept in from the door's windows. Uriel, backlighted, turned to stare darkly at Muriel.

Muriel leaned back against the desk.

"I see that you’ve yet to leave the shop," said Uriel, finally.

Muriel grimaced at that. They made a wild gesture with their hands and then decided that was just making them look like a fool.

"Just some preparations. It's what humans do. So there is no suspicion from the other humans," they explained.

Uriel only hummed. They stalked the bookshop, examining the bookshelves and the untidy papers that had long since started to dust in Aziraphale's absence. They were looking more closely this time, it seemed. Some level of care had crept into their movements.

The quills and inks were Aziraphale's. That decorative pillow was Aziraphale's. All the little ornamental boxes tossed along the shelves and tucked away between a book or two were all Aziraphale's.

Uriel turned to Muriel.

"The Son, Muriel. Where is he?" they asked.

Muriel picked at their nails unconsciously.

"Yes, you mentioned that he's in Dover? You see, all the humans are asleep at night. It's what they do– so– so it'll be a little harder to get to Dover tonight. Because people are weird like that. Tired."

"The miraculous activity in Dover keeps setting off our private alarms," Uriel said. "It would be best if you started the journey," a head tilt, "now."

"Of course," said Muriel.

"If I catch you tomorrow morning lazing around in this… bookshop… then I will have no choice but to replace you with a better-suited candidate," said Uriel.

Muriel nodded. They ran a nervous tongue over the ridges of their teeth.

"Probably with Michael," mused Uriel. They were likely joking, but their casual tone sent Muriel reeling. They looked up at the sky. "That would be a sight to behold. Michael down on Earth trying to figure everything out."

Uriel smiled. Quickly, Muriel cleared their throat, and they blinked out of their strange mood.

"Surely one as high and respectable as Michael won't be sent in the place of a scrivener," said Muriel.

"Hm," Uriel looked at them– really looked at them– looked at them until Muriel squirmed. "It could be possible," they said, slowly, "like how a Principality can become the Supreme Archangel."

"I see," Muriel replied, dumbly. 

But Uriel wasn't focusing on the scrivener anymore. They looked around at the clutter and mess and, with one finger, swept up a line of dust that collected on one of the first books Muriel had finished. 

"Leave for Dover," said Uriel. 

Muriel couldn't do anything but nod. They watched as the Archangel turned gracefully and set off to the lift Up.

And then Muriel was alone again.

At the end of the day, sometimes all someone needed was a nice cup of tea, a comforting book, a well-loved chair, and the home around them. 

There was comfort in familiarity; and Muriel had months to build up a schedule. Months of reading and exploring and finding places to broaden their horizons. To see, hear, taste, smell, touch–

The phone across the room 'ring-a-bring'-ed.

Muriel startled, looking at the phone strangely. They had never once heard a peep from the thing– even when they had tried to make conversation with it (Nina came in to tell her that the phone wasn't the thing talking, but the person on the other side of the phone. Clever humans). But now it was yelling like its life depended on it. 

Muriel fumbled with it. It slipped out their hands twice and the coils tangled Muriel’s fingers thrice. ‘Ring-a-bring!’ it went, ‘ring-a-bring!’, like an alarm, and Muriel pressed the speaker to their ear.

"Hello!?" Muriel called out, still hearing the ringing echo.

"Aziraphale? It's me, Anathema. I found something that might interest you."

[lust4life01]

Jealous Jar

Warnings!! 18+ smut, implied sex, makeup sex

Pairing: Anthony Swofford x f/reader

(The lack of Anthony swofford fics on this app had me baffled!!, so anyways have this xox)

You and Anthony had been dating since high school, you had met because one day he had asked you to help him study for an upcoming English test. This was incredibly intriguing considering you had seen him reading pretty complex literature in class, especially for a teenager. Despite the fact that he had lied in order to spend time with you, you did actually end up become a long term couple shortly after. 

When Anthony had gone off to the mariners it was immediately hard for you. Going from constantly being on his arm, to now being a weekly phone call away really sucked but what sucked even more was Anthony’s pathetic paranoia. The calls started off sweet, asking about your day and his family until one random phone call he started berating you with questions of other men and borderline accused you of cheating on him. 

You and him ended up having a fight over the phone after the torturous call and a heavy, awkward, tension lingered. I mean how could actually believe you would cheat? More importantly, what the fuck possessed his mind to even consider it a possibility?

He was due home very soon and although you were desperate to feel his big arms around your waist, to nuzzle your face in his neck, and to kiss his lips, you were scared he wouldn’t be the same. What if he never trusted you again because of this weird new obsession with deception? You were fucking terrified being in the marines had changed him or fucked him up completley

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

It was a crisp autumn morning and a small draft ran through your apartment. Today was the day Anthony was home. Due to your lame fight you assumed Anthony would have gone straight back to his family home or to the asylum to visit his sister, however that wasn’t the case. As you were in your pyjamas and a big jumper that so happened to be Anthony’s, you heard and urgent knock on your door. 

“(Y,n)? , (Y,n)? Are you home?” 

You heard the familiar voice call as you hurried to the impatient man behind the door.

As the door swung open and you saw his angelic face and all the built up anger had simply washed away and you just wanted him to hold you, so you would know he was really stood in-front of you and you hadn’t just gone mad.

“(y,n) I’m so fucking sorry baby. I don’t know what came over me, I was far out of line and-“

before he could finish his guilty induced rambling you cut him off by smashing his lips to yours.

Caught off guard he stood for a second, then he grabbed your jaw and deepened the kiss, pulling soft grunts from you both. 

Finally pulling away you looked up at his pretty blue eyes

“I missed you so much Anthony. I was so mad at you for not trusting me.” You told him softly as he stared down at your face.

Without a word he wrapped his arms around you and brought your head to his chest. He whispered an apology in your ear as he held the back of your head and made sure to kiss your forehead softly. He knew you had always loved that.

You had spent the rest of the day cuddled up on the couch listening to his stories and just being in his arms for hours was dissolving any anger you had left. 

Although, the comforting affectionate touches were nice, you hadn’t seen Anthony in months. Hadn’t felt sexual contact with another human for months. 

You have needs okay. 

As you laid your head against his chest, he was rambling on about a story from the marines. Desperate, you turn your body so your chest was pressed to his. You started to kiss his neck softly while adding in a little “mhm” to at least pretend you were listening to his story instead of imagining him fucking you right there on the couch.

“So, um. Yeah and he. Fuck (y,n)”

He couldn’t compose himself, your attention was far more important than whatever story he was trying to tell.

After letting out a groan from the hot kisses to his neck, he flipped you over so he was on top of you. He kissed you hard and started to undress you while whines fell from your parted lips.

“God I missed you, missed this fucking body”

You moan at his words and try to pry his clothes off. 

As you were striped off in just your panties and he in his uniform pants, he broke away from your heated make out session and looked up to the big open bay window. 

Concerned with Anthony’s strange pause you look up at him and ask “what’s wrong baby?”

He smiled and shook his head to himself softly before answering.

“I think we need to go upstairs, trust me no one should witness the things I’m going to do to you tonight”

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

(let me know if you want a part two with actual smut lolll )

[youwouldntlietopapa]

for the kiss prompts, could you please do

pulling away and looking at each other with eyes full of love w/copia pls?

omg I'm so sorry this took fucking AGES. But here it is!

Contains: Copia x Reader, fluff, just... all the fluff. So much fluff. Basically straight up cotton candy.

___________________________________________________________

Over the last few months, it had become routine, starting with a simple suggestion of going for a walk. Copia’s day had been spent in the dimly lit archives, hunched over a stack of very boring books looking for information he couldn’t actually be certain was even there. By the time he’d found you, waiting for him in your usual reading spot in the gardens, he looked like he’d aged ten years since breakfast. Hunched over and a bit haunted, squinting at the late afternoon sun. A walk to clear his head, maybe feel a little more human sounded like a good idea. He’d grumbled at first but, walking around the calm water of the pond, in the dappled shade of the forest, he had to admit it was nice. From there, it had become a nightly occurrence, one that you valued deeply. A slow, relaxing stroll, a little peace and quiet, a little talking about your respective days, and one of his favourite things, unremarkable as it sounded, holding hands.

It seemed like such a small act of intimacy to be so excited about, and maybe that was just it. Those everyday, uncomplicated acts of love. That silent public expression of need and desire. Not enough to simply walk by your side but to reach out and hold on to you tightly. To be held in return. Your fingers laced through his, his thumb circling softly over your skin. The only time during his day that you’d ever seen him take his gloves off. Copia smiled the same each time, the small private smile that made his eyes crinkle and glitter that he reserved for moments when he was happiest and content.

Through the end of summer and into the autumn, after he’d finished for the day and finally having a reason not to stay much later than required, he’d meet you at your reading spot and off you’d go. Taking the time to enjoy the changing of the leaves and crunching them underfoot as they started to fall. Resting your head on his shoulder and listening him talk about the frustrations of his day - troublesome clergy, his own family - while they drifted, one by one, away on the breeze leaving him looking refreshed. His shoulders relaxing and the sound of his breathing so much freer. Until he’d relaxed enough to find some place comfortable to stop a few minutes and sit, enjoy the evening sun and the stillness of the pond.

The days, however, began to grow short and the temperatures dropped, as they always do. Autumn gave way to winter, bringing the snow with it. Not that it stopped the evening walks. But it did make walking hand in hand a little less comfortable than either of you would have liked. It wasn’t long before the cold meant Copia needed to keep his gloves on and you were wearing a pair of your own. Not really the end of the world, but it was hard to miss the look of disappointment on his face every time it was too cold to even bother trying. He never said it out loud or complained, but you knew him too well not to see it.

It was a problem that had a solution. That much you were sure of. By the beginning of November, you found one. By mid-November, it was ready. So, the next day, when Copia wandered out to find you at your regular place, you were ready with a small box black box tied up with ribbon that marched his cassock.

Stepping outside, the fog of his warm breath makes his heavy sigh a visual experience as well. Copia catches sight of you and smiles brightly, even if his eyes have that look about them that only comes from spending a day translating dusty old latin books in a poorly lit basement.

“Cara mia, you torment me so today.” He teases, walking toward you.

“Me?” You laugh. “What have I done?”

He clicks his tongue and wags a finger at you. “You, bellissima, have been haunting my every thought all day long.”

How he manages to be both completely charming and dorky all at once remains a mystery, and all you can do is laugh. “Forgive me, Cardinal. I will work very hard on doing better in future. I would hate to think that you missed out on such fun ministerial duties for even a moment on my account.”

Copia drops into the seat next to you, cupping your cold cheek in the soft warmth of his leather glove, and kissing you slow and deeply. “Don’t you dare.”

You steal another kiss and speak softly, lips brushing against his. “Oh? Then how may I serve you better, Cardinal?”

“Stop leaving me with my daydreams and let me actually touch you.” His mismatched eyes stare back into your own making you feel more seen than anyone has ever made you feel.

“All you needed to do was ask.”

His hand reaches for yours without looking, Copia’s attention faltering when he finds the corner of the box in your hands instead. Pulling away enough to look down, he quirks an eyebrow. “What is this, amore? Someone leaves you presents? You know I can be very jealous.”

You chuckle and hold it out for him. “Nothing to be jealous of. It’s not for me. It’s for you.”

His eyes light up and his whole face transforms just at the thought, turning immediately into an excited child. Taking the package carefully, he turns it in his hands, inspecting a little, trying to guess what it could possibly be. “For me? You don’t joke with me? It’s not my birthday, tesoro. And the Solstice, yule, all the celebrations are still a way off. I know, because I have to do the bookkeeping and to explain to Terzo again that there is a budget.”

“Who said I need a special occasion to get you something?” It’s hard to get him to accept, as someone who didn’t grow up getting any frivolous gifts or special little treats just because. But, at very least, he’s gotten used to it enough not to cry. “I should warn you, it’s a very silly present. I just hope you like it.”

“I can open now?” Copia looks up at you eagerly, but waiting for permission.

“Of course! Please do.” You grin.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Tugging the bow loose and setting it aside, he opens the box and stares inside for a long moment looking quite a bit like a confused puppy.

“Eh… I love it, amore! But… eh…. What is it?” Copia looks up at you a bit sheepishly.

You giggle, looking into the box yourself. Inside, there is a pair of knitted mittens in a soft black wool with a grucifix worked in red on each to mirror his leather gloves. Between them, however, there is what appears to be a third… almost mitten. One with two oddly placed cuffs and no thumb.

“I think it would be easier to show you.” Plucking the mystery gift from the box, you tap his hand closest to you. “Will you take your glove off for me?”

He doesn’t look any more certain of what you’re talking about, but he’s happy enough to comply. Watching you closely as you demonstrate. One cuff slips over your hand like putting on any other mitten. The other cuff you hold out for him.

“Now you.”

Copia’s head tilts to the side as he tries to piece it together, his face suddenly lighting up with the realisation. He quickly stuffs his hand into the open cuff and entwines his chilled fingers with yours, savouring how the warmth starts rushing back with you to hold onto.

“You’ve been so sad that it’s been too cold to hold hands properly on our walks. I thought there must be something I could do. And then I found this pattern.”

His eyes get wider. “You made this? For me?”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not perfect and it’s really just a silly thing. I only wan-”

You’re already blushing and you can hear yourself starting to ramble, panicking that it was a foolish idea, when he cuts you off with a kiss. His hand holding yours, squeezing a little tighter, and his free hand slipping into your hair and pulling you closer.

“You make all this for me, because I am sad. Si? Not because I ask, but because you think of me.” Copia whispers against your lips, looking at you with the unshakable certainty he often finds hard to hold on to but not right then. “È perfetto. Tu sei perfetto. Grazie, angelo mio.”

“I just wanted to see you smile. And I like the way your hand feels in mine.” You nudge your nose against his, smiling warmly.

His hand tightens just a little in your hair, and he kisses you again. In a way that makes the cold air feel warmer and the entire world shrink down to just the two of you. In a way that makes you wonder if this might mean you’re going to break your months long walking streak. In a way that makes you certain you are the luckiest person in the world.

“Ti amo tanto. Più di quello che posso dire.” Copia presses his forehead to yours, saying the words that his expression is screaming.

You look back at him, the same expression mirrored back. Your fingers tracing his jaw.

“Ti amo di più.”

______________________________________________________

È perfetto. Tu sei perfetto. Grazie, angelo mio. - It's perfect. You're perfect. Thank you, my angel.

Ti amo tanto. Più di quello che posso dire. - I love you so much. More than I can say.

Ti amo di più. - I love you more

[shadowqueenjude]

Five years after the destruction of the Inner Circle

Five years after the destruction of the Inner Circle, Lucien and Elain took over the Spring Court and Nesta and Eris took over the Autumn Court, Feyre's POV.

Feyre couldn’t believe the progress that had been made at the Night Court.

The Illyrians had several female generals now. The Court of Nightmares had been dissolved; Velaris was open for everyone to come live. Feyre had converted two of her homes: one had become an orphanage, the other had become a refuge for all domestic and sexual assault victims. A third house was currently being renovated into a homeless shelter. All in the span of five years.

Rhysand had claimed it impossible; that such change took decades, centuries even, due to their fossilized nature. Yet, Feyre had accomplished it in five years. Turns out, Rhysand was just an exceptionally shitty ruler.

Her mate. And husband.

It no longer hurt to hear his name, or the fact that he was dead. In her time of recovery, she went over all his actions and came to realize he was, in fact, far worse than Tamlin. That he had brought out a worse version of her. She had done horrible things while she was with him. She was ashamed; that couldn’t wholly be blamed on Rhysand. She had been complacent in it, doing all those horrible things, blocking out any criticism of her actions. In other words, she had been a wretch. But she was learning to forgive herself. It was an uphill battle, but one she was currently winning. Helping improve the lives of her people was really helping. As were her friends. The replacements for the “Inner Circle.” Only, there was no Inner Circle anymore. That group had only bred entitlement and mistrust. They had looked after their own interests but not of their people. That was no longer the case.

At least part of her guilt was assuaged by the fact that the Spring Court was now thriving. Lucien and his wife and mate, Elain, had been doing an incredible job. The Autumn Court was also a much better place under the rule of Nesta and Eris.

It was incredibly surreal. Once upon a time, they were just three little human girls in a tiny cottage, sleeping in one bed and wondering when their next meal would be. Now, all three of them were High Ladies ruling over different courts of the Fae. How far they had come. Two of them were married. Feyre had a baby. And Nesta was with child.

She was glad her sisters, at least, were in domestic bliss. They had found the perfect males. Feyre, on the other hand, had had the most despicable male in the world as her mate. It didn’t sting quite so much anymore. But sometimes, she wondered about what could’ve been.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dierdre, her court overseer and a Valkyrie, walked over to her. She was a beautiful female, with large dark eyes and black hair so shiny it reminded her of the starlight pool back at the Spring Court.

“Just thinking about my sisters,” Feyre said.

Dierdre smiled. “They’re really amazing. Each of you is your own character, but all equally lovely.”

Feyre scowled. “Equally?”

Dierdre’s smile faded. She raised a brow at Feyre. “What is wrong with that?” And then something registered in her mind. “Oh. Oh.”

“What?” Feyre asked irritably. She watched as her young son played with a mini carriage set.

“Do you like me, High Lady?”

Feyre froze. It had been a while since her last relationship. Her past two had ended in a disaster. “Maybe.”

“I thought you were into males.”

“Who said I can’t be into both?” Feyre replied. “Besides, after my past two relationships, I’m rather tired of males.”

Diedre smirked. “But not females?”

Feyre shook her head, a bit breathless. Wow, she was really pretty. Her feelings for this female had crept up on her, but all of a sudden, they were fit to burst as surely as the Cauldron spit out her sisters. She had been there for her throughout the entire debacle of her husband dying. Elain had personally assigned her, and she had done an incredible job, pulling weight when Feyre was still not well.

“You’re a force,” Feyre said. “You’re the reason I’ve survived this reign.”

Dierdre blushed, shaking her head. “You’ve done an incredible job ruling, Lady. That’s all you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Just shut up and kiss me already.”

Dierdre laughed. “As the lady wishes.”

I imagine after Tamlin and Rhysand Feyre is just sick of men and starts going after the women instead 😭 and who doesn’t want a valkyrie let’s be fr.

[nocasdatsgay]

Fanfic: Glorified Warmer

Pairing: Neris

Rating: G

Word count: 630

Summary: Nesta starts her cycle and Eris shows Autumn Males are in fact good for something.

Warning: menstruation talk otherwise it’s fluff

Read it on ao3 or read below| Based on this post

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Nesta?”

Eris’s voice carried into the bed chamber as he shut the door. Nesta groaned into her pillow. She had no idea what time it was or how long she’d been sleeping. She woke up after Eris, like always. Only this morning she realized her cycle started. She had enough energy to bathe and change the sheets, before lying back down. She felt the bed sink behind her.

“Love, it’s almost noon. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine I-“ she paused. She promised him no lying, not even if it embarrassed her. “My cycle. I’m always tired on the first day.”

She felt him shift under the covers and scoot towards her. She relaxed when his arm wrapped around her and his soft scent filled her nose.

“Do you have pains?” He whispered into her hair, kissing the back of her head. “I can help with that.”

“Oh can you?” She asked sarcastically, not turning to face him.

“Autumn males have some usefulness,” he chuckled. His hand grabbed and tugged up her nightgown.

“What are you doing?” She nearly elbowed him trying to pull away.

“Relax, Nesta,” he laughed. “I’m trying to help you.”

She was skeptical but stilled herself and let him slip his hand under her gown. He laid it on her abdomen. It took a moment but his hand was warm, more heated than normal. She relaxed again.

“See,” he said. “Better?”

She nodded. “Would you- it’s mostly in my back.”

“Roll over.”

They both moved, Nesta rolling onto her stomach and Eris sitting up. She felt him push up her gown again, tugging it higher and exposing most of her back. She let out a deep sigh as both warm hands pressed against her lower back. It was like a hot water bottle, but better.

She turned her head on her pillow. “Where were you when I had this every month?”

“By the cauldron, every month?” Eris’s disgusted tone only made her laugh.

“You’re half a century old and you didn’t know humans bled once a month?” She sighed again when he pressed his fingers down gently, massaging the muscles in her lower back.

“The Mother really cursed your kind when she made you.” Eris muttered as if she couldn’t hear him. He kept massaging her and said louder,“I wasn’t interested in the human reproductive system. I can’t say I was interested in humans at all.” Even though she knew he was simply being honest, she still frowned.

“We were equally uninterested in your kind.” She snapped back. “You’re nothing but a glorified warmer.”

He only laughed. “My love, this glorified warmer will leave you where you lie.”

“Then do it.”

He hummed in response but didn’t move his hands off her skin. Instead he shifted down to lean over her and kiss her along her spine. She could smell the air shift, a slight hint of arousal coming off her husband. She couldn’t even be angry about it.

“I love when your fangs come out.”

“Behave. I’m tired and bleeding.”

“I’m always on my best behavior.”

She scoffed at him as he said up and went back to rubbing soft circles in her back. They both fell into silence. It didn’t take long for Nesta’s breathing to even out, sleep taking over again. She briefly woke when Eris moved off her. He whispered for her to go back to sleep.

Eris gently straightened her gown and tucked the blanket around her. He stepped out and ordered a tonic be left for her by a healer and told the servants to not wake her. He came back with a filled water skin and heated it with his magic. He left it on her back and kissed her head again before finally leaving her to rest.

[millenari]

To you, what’s the key belief or beliefs in cats? I just really like your takes

Hmmm, key belief(s) as in, the beliefs that are woven through the media itself and are communicated to the (human) audience, or key beliefs as in, the beliefs the characters themselves hold, like the Cat Religion(TM)?

in terms of the media: I have a lot of thoughts about Cats and how it dwells so much on the concept of cycles. The Jellicle Ball happens once a year, in a cycle. The cat chosen for the Choice is reborn into a new life, a new cycle. The main song, Memory, is about dwelling on the happiness you once had and using it to motivate you through current hard times, another cycle. There's a particular back-and-forth through the whole play of the old versus the young, not just for Griz and her memories, but also in the cast. Jenny's song -about how she's hardworking and motherly and worthy of respect- is followed by Tugger the rebel being Young Dumb and Sexy. Jerrie and Teazer's playful acrobatic song is followed by the respectful duet that honors Deuteronomy as the oldest cat in the tribe. Back and forth, another cycle. The cats who reach out to Griz out of compassion are all young, and the ones that pull them away are all old. Throughout the play there's this almost tension between the young and the old, and it ends with Memory, where a young cat (the youngest maybe) and an old cat come together to teach the whole tribe a lesson about compassion and forgiveness.

A lot of Cats fans don't like Moments of Happiness much, but it's one of my favorite Cats songs. The lyrics are kind of dense, and they're not taken from any of TSE's cutesy cat poems, they're from one of his more serious pieces, The Dry Salvages, which discusses the cyclic nature of humanity and life and death.

Where is there an end of it, the soundless wailing, The silent withering of autumn flowers Dropping their petals and remaining motionless; Where is there an end to the drifting wreckage, The prayer of the bone on the beach, the unprayable Prayer at the calamitous annunciation? There is no end, but addition

(He must've been fun at parties, but to be fair I think anyone who lived through world war I and II was probably also like this).

Deuteronomy's lyrics from the Dry Salvages are taken from the middle-ish, and that section has a lot to do with age and experience and how they change how a person looks at things.

It seems, as one becomes older, That the past has another pattern, and ceases to be a mere sequence— Or even development: the latter a partial fallacy Encouraged by superficial notions of evolution, Which becomes, in the popular mind, a means of disowning the past.

Which is obviously super relevant to Deuteronomy, Resident Old As Shit Man™. I could go on about this poem & MoH for forever (But I Wont), but I think it has a lot to do with these themes in Cats of aging and dying and living again, and passing on your experiences to the younger people along the way. tldr:

‌

No wait actually I have more to say about Cats and The Dry Salvages. The whole poem is basically TSE going on and on about how life is cyclic and there's no real forward progress and humanity is fighting a losing war against nature and ourselves, and death is inevitable, etc etc. But it actually ends on a positive note

[For most of us] Who are only undefeated Because we have gone on trying; We, content at the last If our temporal reversion nourish (Not too far from the yew-tree) The life of significant soil.

Essentially this last bit is kind of saying 'the only reason humanity hasn't been 'defeated' by now is because we keep trying and living despite all the cyclic hardship and inevitability we face'. And the only way we can truly content ourselves is by 'nourishing' 'the life of significant soil'.

Of course there's interpretation there but that last bit makes me think of children. Maybe our lives don't mean anything and maybe humanity is caught in a cycle of violence and death but even with how temporary our lives truly are, we can still tend to something that'll outlast us, we can still tend to our communities and our children.

And that really ties into Cats and how Cats doesn't even really have much of a plot- because the plot isn't the point. The point, any dedicated Cats fan will tell you, is watching the silly little cat people interact and live with each other. The point is the relationships between these characters and how they're acted out on the stage/screen. There's no single overarching metaphor at hand here, or some 1:1 message that everything you see in Cats is working towards. It's just a bunch of characters living their lives, on an important holiday for them.

It's kind of the same thing for humanity in general. What is the point of life? Most of us are just... people. We have no grand purpose or Destiny™ we're working towards, we're just going to live our lives, unremarkable and mundane. But that doesn't mean that our lives have no point. Because, even if we haven't really consciously thought about it before, most of us do know deep down that the goal/purpose of our lives is to tend to and contribute to the communities we live in. It's what humans (and cats) do.

& idk I feel like that's really beautiful and meaningful for Cats in its own way? Sometimes all life has gotta be is sucking and fucking and taking care of each other along the way. Sometimes all life has to be is having a good time with those you love. Sometimes all life has to be is sitting down to watch a silly cat musical with catchy songs and fun dances.

And given that Cats made billions of dollars and broke all sorts of records, I feel like that's an idea that resonated with a lot of people, at least on some level.

‌

And now all of that said. Look at this. Look at fucking this. 'Munkustraps snickerdoodles'. Why do I always find the weirdest shit when searching for Cats images on google.