#Free Spirit Silver Ring

[artsystudiofinds]

Today's update, sneak peek into coffin moldavite silver ring. The ring is handmade in silver featuring authentic Czech moldavite.

[bvidzsoo]

Daemonium

﹢﹑⟡ Daemonium → evil spirit [Latin] ﹢﹑⟡

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: demon!Jung Wooyoung x female reader

﹢﹑⟡ Warning: cursing, attempts of murder, descriptions of death, usage of witchcraft, suggestive ﹢﹑⟡ Word count: 17.5k ﹢﹑⟡ Rating: nc-17 ﹢﹑⟡ Genre: supernatural!au, university!au, demon!au, crack somehow too~ Summary: ﹢﹑⟡ Starting university and moving in with an unknown dormmate should've been stressful, not to you though. You couldn't wait to finally break free from home and live life freely. But isn't it weird that you start having near death experiences quite often after you meet your dormmate, Jung Wooyoung? ﹢﹑⟡

A/N: Hello, hello, my lovelies! The long promised demon!Woo oneshot is here! I apologize in advantage if I totally fucked up how a negative is developed, despite my research, I didn't understand much lol. Also, the usage of witchcraft isn't described too much but it still might not be that accurate so yeah, sorry for that too. I hope the humor in this isn't bad or cringey, I had quite a blast writing this story lol. I hope you enjoy and let me know your thoughts about it, I appreciate and love your feedback always! <3 divider (picture Vogue Korea shoot Wooyoung, where he wore that sheer-like fabric, making it seem like he was covered in tattoos & also, Coachella Mingi, thank uu)

            The first time I saw him was when I was down in the lobby, six months ago, all sorts of excited and nervous as I was waiting for my AR to show me to my room for the university year. My mother had been clinging to my arm, her eyes just as wide and curious as mine as we were looking around while giggling to ourselves about the decoration and any guy that passed by us. My father, much less impressed and excited, stood more to the back with his arms crossed in front of his chest, probably thinking of a possible excuse to save himself from having to help his only daughter move into her future dorm room. So very typical of my dad, yeah.

I was chewing on my nails, watching as another AR came down to greet the newcomers—too busy wincing as I ripped up the cuticle of my thumb accidentally—to notice the sudden presence next to me. My mother was reading through a magazine she found at the front desk, lips pursed as she muttered to herself about the atrocious décor the magazine was advertising just as my father’s phone started ringing.

Ah, there it was, his excuse to stake out in the car and do whatever he can to pass the time. Very cool, dad, yay!

I hissed as I finally was able to bite off the annoying thin layer of skin, stinging radiating up from my thumb to my palm. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I sighed as I wiped the smallest drop of blood off my skin and looked up, only to pause as I made eye contact with the figure standing next to me. I blinked once, twice—quite shamelessly letting my eyes roam all over his figure as I took him in—aura dark and definitely screaming, ‘I will kill you if you even as much as touch me, roach’. Well, isn’t that just so cool?!

The guy was taller than me by a few good inches—nothing high heels couldn’t solve—and despite his all-black outfit, he looked excentric, attention demanding. Well, with the tattoos littering his sleeves and neck, it would’ve been a little hard not to demand for one’s attention—even if he was just standing next to me, sharp eyes narrowed at my still gently bleeding thumb. His face looked like it was sculpted by a Greek God itself, who had taken their time to make sure every single feature of his guy’s was perfect. His jaw was all sharp in this angle, making one appreciate his profile even more. His lips were rosy red, and a silver lip ring towards the left corner of his mouth had my eyes lingering on it a second too long as I noticed it cut into his plush looking flesh. His nose stood tall and quite captivating with its special Romanic feature, not very common around here. I took notice of the mole underneath his left eye as well, my gaze slowly shifting to the two silver dots—piercings—underneath his eye that made his gaze even more alluring than it already was. And his eyes seemed to be uneven, the left one sharper and more monolided than his right one, making it feel like you were looking at two different persons depending on which eye you were staring at.

Almost at once, it seemed like my mother and father finally noticed this extremely intriguing guy standing next to me, however, their reactions seeing him were quite different. My father scoffed and gave him a scrutinizing look before walking off, motioning towards his phone in a way that was supposed to convey the fact that it was an important call, yadda yadda—it wasn’t; meanwhile my mother’s jaw dropped open as she very rudely gapped at the guy while nudging my side. Finally, it snapped me out of my blatant staring, and I quickly wiped the little blood off my thumb, smiling widely at the guy when our eyes met. For a moment, my smile faltered at the darkness swirling in his eyes, the depth in his sharp gaze, but as he blinked, it almost completely went away. It must be the light messing with us, because his eyes were a dark brown, almost midnight black like the hair that was falling messily in his eyes. With a sexily raised eyebrow, he gave me a questioning gaze, looking displeased by the attention from my mother and myself, and then he turned and stalked off towards the elevator. I whistled under my breath and my mother giggled like a schoolgirl, muttering something about how she’d devour him if she were young and wild once again—not cool, mom.

And after that encounter with the sexy and intriguing stranger, my RA finally made it to me and with his and my mother’s help—thanks dad for not giving a shit, again—I was up on the fourth floor, standing inside my shared dorm room with a dormmate that I still have had yet to meet. Dorms were mixed here, so unless you specifically made a request to share the dorm with the same gender, you could end up with either a guy or a girl dormmate. I have no specific preferences, therefore I left it up to whoever was assigning us to pair me up with whoever. The dorm room had one shared living space, it was quite spacious and served well for a living room, a small kitchen that could fit at a maximum four people inside, and, thankfully, a private bathroom so that we didn’t have to share it with everyone on our floor. And there were two separate rooms serving as our dormitories too. All in all, the dorm was fancy and quite to my taste, and I felt quite satisfied with it. Once I have claimed the room to my right as my own, I settled inside of it and unpacked everything, letting my mother help me as I knew she wasn’t just yet ready to part ways with her only daughter—who she thinks is sheltered, but turns out, I am quite the opposite of it.

Once my mother left and I was all settled in, I made for the bathroom for a long shower, needing a refresher as the days were still hot and made me sweat buckets. But the warm spray of the water compelled me to wash my hair as well, and I complied happily as I heard noise coming from the living room. My dormmate must have finally made it to our dorm, it made me giddy as I was finally done with my shower, only just now realizing I didn’t bring clothes with myself. Well, I should have thought of that before, now it was too late, but thankfully I had my towel with me and I securely wrapped it around my body, water dripping from my hair as I walked outside and into the living room. My smile was wide and voice chirpy as I exclaimed before even seeing my dormmate, “Hi! You made it! I was just taking a shower, my name’s—”

“Hell, why is your voice so high pitched?” The low grunt cut me off as my eyebrows furrowed, looking for the source of voice as I couldn’t see anyone in the living room. Was my voice high pitched? Nobody’s told me that before.

“Uh, well, I guess I’m just excited to meet you.” I made sure to lower the pitch, accidentally sounding like a creepy man that was trying to sound like he totally wasn’t about to grope you or act like a freaking creep. But I still couldn’t see the person, so I walked closer to the sofa, “Where are you—”

My eyes widened as my dormmate finally came into view as he stood up, eyes still so dark as he looked unimpressed, “Oh, it’s you.”

Well…he didn’t sound too excited, that’s for sure. I gulped, suddenly blushing as I realized I was stood in front of the hauntingly sexy stranger from the lobby in nothing but a towel. However, to my surprise, he seemed quite uninterested as he turned back around and crouched down again. I leaned just a little forward, curious as to what he was doing crouching underneath the window, “Yup, it’s me, we’ve met like…an hour ago? What a coincidence that we’re dormmates!”

“If only I had a little more luck in this shitty realm…” The guy grumbled underneath his breath and my eyebrows furrowed at his peculiar choice of words, oh, was he like…into some type of fantasy stuff? Like…does he think he’s like an elf or an alien or like…a zombie? Wait, no, he’s too sexy and normally behaving to think he’s a zombie, “I’m Wooyoung, by the way. Jung Wooyoung.”

I quickly plastered on a wide smile as he stopped and turned back, eyes calculating as he raised one eyebrow, “Nice to meet you, Wooyoung! My name’s Hwang Y/N.”

His eyes narrowed for a second before he grunted again and turned back to whatever he was doing, my curiosity only growing as I kneeled on the sofa and leaned against the back of it, craning my neck. As he moved to the side again, I noticed he held a small bowl in his hands which contained something solid and white. Huh, is it salt?

“So, whatcha doing, Woo?” I grinned as he turned around again, looking quite disgusted.

“My name is Wooyoung, not Woo.” His tone was snappy as he pursed his lips, giving me a once over again, “And I’m putting salt underneath the window, don’t want anyone with a big ego and stupid brains coming inside.”

“Isn’t that why we lock the front doors?” I arched an eyebrow as confusion laced my voice, and Wooyoung just blinked as if he was waiting for me to get to the butt of the joke.

“Humans,” He hissed underneath his breath before he stood up tall, knees popping and making me bite my lower lip before I could chuckle. It was funny for no reason, apparently only to me as Wooyoung looked still as unimpressed as ever, “Anyways, Y/N, I have some ground rules that you’ll have to respect heavily.”

“Ooh, lemme hear ‘em.” I grinned as I leaned my chin on my folded arms over the back of the sofa, making Wooyoung sigh long and loud. Did he not like me? Was he irritated by my presence?

“First, and most important rule, is to never enter my room, okay?” He leaned down, face coming closer to mine as his dark eyes bore into my curious ones, “Never ever, Y/N, understood?”

I pursed my lips and hummed, tilting my head to the side, “Sure, I’ll stay out of your room, but—are you like doing some rituals in there or what? You can come inside my room as long as you ask, you know, I don’t mind.”

Wooyoung’s jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed again and he tsked, shaking his head a little bit, “Rituals or not, human, you stay out. I bet your mommy would cry if you were to disappear.”

“She certainly would.” I did a mock salute, making Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrow as I chuckled, leaning forward, the gap becoming smaller between our faces, “Don’t you worry you weird little creature—human—I won’t go inside your room. I am quite capable of respecting people’s wishes, you know?”

“Anyways,” Wooyoung cleared his throat and stood back up straight, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “second rule, if you see salt scattered around the floor or on the windowsills, do not get rid of them, got it?”

“Sure, you’re lucky I’m not some clean freak maniac, though.” I chuckled, sitting back on the sofa before I stood up, suddenly aware again that I was standing in only a towel and my hair was still dripping water everywhere.

“Hell, why do you have an answer to everything?!” Wooyoung pinched the bridge of his nose before he turned his back to me and went to spread more salt underneath the window. I just chuckled and took off towards my room.

“Anything else, Mr. ‘I have two rules you can’t ever break’?” I raised my eyebrows as I grabbed the doorknob and Wooyoung scoffed loudly, looking quite unimpressed when his head turned to face me.

“Yeah, rule number three, don’t ever touch my chocolate if you want to live another day.” I started laughing, but when I realized he was dead serious about it, I stopped and cleared my throat, mock saluting him again.

“Yes, sir, yes!” Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrowed again and he closed his eyes as he muttered something, then turned back to finish whatever weirdo thing he was doing. I giggled and finally went inside my room to get dressed and dry my hair.

            Well, all of that was six months ago and Wooyoung changed nothing. Albeit, I didn’t change much either, apart from the fact that I cut my hair after Wooyoung accidentally managed to somehow burn the strands sitting against my back. It was a freak accident and we still don’t know how the fire got close to my hair as I was sitting at the table while he was cooking us dinner. But it was quickly forgotten as many of Wooyoung’s peculiar habits and actions. If you overlooked his weirdness, he had quite the persona. I rarely saw him smile, unless he was with that obnoxiously tall blonde guy, but he did stop glaring at me nonstop. Now he’d only glare for a few seconds whenever he saw me and then pretended I wasn’t even there. It was a good deal on my part, not that I had a habit of clinging to others and bothering them, but Wooyoung was quite good at setting up boundaries, and he certainly was teaching me how to stay in my lane and respect others wishes. I could be a little nosy, but Wooyoung was the first person to be bothered by it. I didn’t mind as long as he would watch ghost hunting shows with me every Wednesday and Friday. He hated it, but he didn’t complain—I viewed that as a small victory, especially if he bought salted caramel popcorn to snack on while we watched the new episodes.

The seasons were changing and the weather was turning warm once again—slowly but steadily—and that also meant more storms and power outages. Which were quite frequent around our campus, especially in our building. There wasn’t one storm where the power didn’t go out, and the last time it happened, I heard Wooyoung cussing loudly inside his room, something shattering, and then Wooyoung storming out of his room and our shared dorm with something red trickling down underneath his eyes. He could’ve been cosplaying or something, so I didn’t question it too much. Tonight wasn’t different, the storm hit at around 7pm and it kept going well into the night, making it difficult for me to fall asleep as the windows were quite old in this building and did a shitty job at insulating the sounds coming from the outside. Struggling to fall asleep, I had facetimed my mother and somehow managed to fall asleep to the gory story she was retelling that’s happened to her at the morgue yesterday. She must’ve hung up upon seeing that I have fallen asleep, because when I awoke due to the relentless and loud howling of the wind, the screen of my phone was black and the phone itself had been almost falling off my bed on the other end of the mattress. I could get quite restless in my sleep if outside factors were bothering me, and I groaned as I rubbed at my eyes, barely seeing anything in the darkness of my room. The window rattled against its hinges as the wind blew even harsher, the rain hitting the glass loudly and making me feel like I was inside a caravan on a stormy night. At least the thunderstorms haven’t started yet.

I yawned as I finally felt my phone under my extended palm and rolled over, burying my head in the spare pillow as I pulled the phone under my body. I was tired as hell and I wanted to go back to sleep right away, but something told me to check the time. It was a little past 3am and I groaned as I flopped back onto my back, reaching over for the cable of my charger. Feeling around for it, and growing frustrated that I couldn’t find it, I pushed up onto my elbows and turned my head over, completely freezing as I noticed my bedroom door was wide open, with a black figure standing in the doorway. My eyebrows furrowed for a second, brain hazy with sleep, and I blinked my eyes fast, thinking that I was just seeing things. But rubbing both of my eyes for a few seconds only made me see black spots, making the figure look like it was further inside my room when my vision finally cleared. My grip tightened around my phone as my eyes narrowed when I noticed something silvery in the person’s right hand. Wait—was it a knife? Our sharpest knife, and Wooyoung’s favorite knife to cook with? Ah, Wooyoung!

“Hey,” I called out, voice a little scratchy from lack of water, “something bothering you?”

Wooyoung seemed frozen, unmoving and unblinking as his red tongue poked out to lick at his plush lips slowly. Yeah, I could use a glass of water too right now. It was a little unsettling how well he blended in with the darkness, almost as if it swirled around him, pulled him into itself. His eyes were so dark that only the whites of them were visible, and his two piercings were almost as bright as the butcher knife clutched tightly in his hand.

“This storm sucks so much,” I sighed, turning over and instantly finding the cable, “I could barely fall asleep, and now I’m awake again because of it.”

I successfully plucked in my phone and then placed it on my nightstand, “You can’t sleep either?”

I rolled onto my back again, settling comfortably underneath my warm blanket as my soft pillow cradled the back of my head. Wooyoung still hasn’t moved nor said anything, and a wide smile spread onto my lips at the sudden thought I got, “Wanna cuddle, Woo?”

The figure grunted, the sound a lot lower than Wooyoung’s usual voice, and then it visibly shivered as I made grabby hands at him. When he still hasn’t moved, I smiled brightly at Wooyoung and raised my eyebrows questioningly. That’s all it took for Wooyoung to snap out of his weirdly frozen state as he visibly gagged, making me pout as he whirled around quickly, knife glinting as he pressed it against his lower back. And then he was out of my room, slamming the door shut loudly behind himself, “Sweet dreams, Wooyoung!”

My exclamation was probably drowned out by the heavy rain and I sighed contently as I nuzzled further into my comfortable bed, turning to lay on my belly as I felt my dreams threatening to kidnap me into dreamland once again.

            The morning that followed after the storm was cold and mostly quiet. Branches had been torn off trees and they lay astray on the streets, the city maintenance were out early in the morning to clean them up so that there wouldn’t be more traffic jams than usual. I was glad for once for not owning a car as I walked towards the coffee shop that is closest to our campus and university, my best friend probably already there. He’s always way too early and then complains about me being late, when in fact, it’s always him arriving fifteen minutes early while I’m on time. It’s an argument we’ve been having since highschool, and he still thinks he’s in the right and I’m just bullshitting my way through the argument. The big guy, in fact, cannot lose in anything and will obliterate you if you doubt his skills or piss him off while playing games. He’s a monster when it comes to playing games, and it’s been more than on one occasion that he managed to scare me to the point I burst out in tears. But I promise he’s the softest and kindest and safest human being you’ll ever meet—as long as you keep him away from anything that he can turn into a competitive game, like…who can eat more walnuts in three minutes. Don’t ask, but we ended up in the ER after that little stunt of ours—he’s allergic to nuts but he apparently wanted to prove a point. What point…we still haven’t figured it out. Maybe that he’s immortal or something—he isn’t. He once broke his arm and cried about it for a week, it was the funniest thing ever. I still have the videos of him laying in his bed with snot running into his mouth as he sobs about losing whatever points he’s made in Valorant or something—I wouldn’t know, I’m not much of a gamer.

I grinned as I finally reached the coffee shop, sidestepping a couple that were giggling to each other and having no spatial awareness to someone that was trying to enter the building that they were blocking the entrance to. I pushed the heavy door open and as expected, Yunho was already sat at our usual table with a cup in his hands, gazing out nostalgically the window. I chuckled and hopped over, scaring the shit out of him as I threw my arm around his shoulders and pressed a fat kiss against his soft and chubby cheek. He spilled a little of his coffee on the table as he whined and yanked himself free from my clutches.

“Yunho!” I grinned as I took a seat across from him, “I missed you!”

He looked tired as he gave me a short glare, taking a napkin to clean up the mess caused by me, “You’re lucky I didn’t spill it on my new dress pants, or else we’d be in the bathroom with your head flushed down the toilet.”

“Hey!” I couldn’t help but laugh as I wriggled out of my jacket and draped it over the back of my chair, placing my backpack underneath our desk, “Sometimes I wonder if you really love me or not…”

“You can’t guilt trip me when you made me spill my favorite coffee.” He deadpanned as he placed the cup down on the table, intertwining his fingers and placing his hands on the table, giving me a serious look. I huffed and pouted as I grabbed my own cup, knowing that it was my favorite as I raised it up to my lips, taking a tentative sip. The sweet taste of caramel invaded my senses and I hummed in content, closing my eyes.

“I’m buying next time.” I said as I placed the cup back down and leaned over the table to ruffle Yunho’s hair.

“You better.” He mumbled as he leaned forward, letting me pet his hair for a little longer. He loved it when others played with his hair, he’d often fall asleep in my lap if I played with his hair, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Yunho knew I hated storms, and after having offered to sleep over last night but I declined because he had an exam today, I knew he’d be a little worried about me not sleeping much, “Yeah, I struggled to fall asleep, but I did manage to sleep more than I expected.”

“That’s good, the power went out at around seven in our building.” Yunho rolled his eyes and we both leaned back in our chairs, our legs playfully pushing at each other underneath the table, “I hate these old buildings, they are so freaking creepy. It makes me feel like I’m a Victorian man getting haunted by my enemy’s ghost or something whenever I have to leave my room. The library is so dark too, I almost shat my pants last night when I ran into a dude in the very last aisle, you know, in the back where the light barely reaches even with the power on.”

I snorted in amusement as I fiddled with my fingers in my lap, shaking my head at my best friend, “Only you would be in the library when there’s a power outage, Yuyu, it’s you who’s creepy at this point, not the possibility of encountering a sexy and hunky ghost—”

“Don’t say that about ghosts, oh, my God!” Yunho gave me a disgusted look as he shivered. He’s a tall man with broad shoulders and soft cheeks, but fierce eyes if pissed off, yet, at his core, he is just a big scaredy-cat. He hates anything paranormal related, and when I once dragged him ghost haunting with me, we ended up in the confession box the same night with him begging the priest to bless him—and me—because he was convinced a demon attached itself to him. It was hilarious, especially when he stole a small vial of holy water and downed it on our way home.

“Anyways,” I playfully rolled my eyes and then took another sip of my coffee, “the power went out in our building too, but was back at 3am.”

“What were you doing up at 3am?” Yunho asked with furrowed brows, holding onto his warm cup of coffee.

“I dunno, the wind woke me up.” I shrugged, placing down my cup and mirroring Yunho, “And then I noticed Wooyoung standing in my doorway with his favorite butcher knife in his hand—”

“What?!” Yunho’s loud voice had heads turning our way with inquiring gazes and I chuckled, bowing my head slightly in a silent apology for being a nuisance. Then, I faced my best friend again and shushed him as he suddenly stood up from his seat from across me, and instead fell into the one right next to mine, “Are you okay?!”

“Yes, Jesus, what’s up with you, Yuyu?” I scoffed and gave him a look that said he’s crazy, making Yunho stare back at me as if I was the crazy one.

“Do you hear yourself right now?!” And before I could answer, he leaned forward and cupped my cheeks, squishing them together so that I couldn’t speak, “What the fuck is wrong with that dude, Y/N, you seriously need to change dormmates. We can move in together, I’ll pay the bigger part of our rent, I don’t care at this point. That guy is trying to kill you!”

I groaned loudly and rolled my eyes as I grabbed onto his wrists, pulling Yunho’s hands off my cheeks as he instead grabbed onto my shoulders firmly with his long fingers digging into my turtleneck, “You are overreacting, again. He isn’t trying to kill me, Yunho, he’s just peculiar. He was probably cooking something and came to check on me as he knows I struggle sleeping when there’s a storm—”

“Right.” Yunho cut me off with an obnoxious scoff, “He was cooking at 3am, Y/N, sure.”

“He does eat at weird hours, sometimes.” I shrugged and yelped when Yunho started shaking me violently.

“Wake up, woman, that man is weird and probably is a serial killer, and if you don’t move out you’ll be his next victim, please, Y/N, when has my intuition been wrong?!” Yunho’s voice was dripping with desperation and I bit my lower lip, blinking at him innocently.

“Back in highschool when you thought that guy you liked from drama class was gay and you kissed him at that legendary party?” Yunho’s eyes widened into saucers, completely mortified at the mention of the cursed exchange—which he have sworn never to speak about.

“Shut up!” He yelped, pressing his big palm against my mouth, “We agreed that never happened! And don’t divert the subject, I am serious, Y/N. Something is very wrong with that guy and you’re just stubborn and don’t want to see it, because you think I’m only saying all of this because I hate him.”

“Well, am I wrong?” I raised my eyebrows and Yunho sighed in exasperation, his hands falling from my shoulders.

“He’s trying to kill you, of course I hate him.” He snapped, eyebrows furrowing deeply, making me roll my eyes as I grabbed my cup and took a sip of my Caramel Macchiato.

“Yuyu, you can’t even pinpoint one instance when he’s tried to kill me, stop being dramatic—”

“Oh, I can’t pinpoint one instance?!” Yunho’s eyebrows angrily shot up, “How about I pinpoint a dozen then, you stupid woman!”

“I’m all ears.” I singsonged and leaned back in my chair as Yunho groaned loudly, leaning closer, as if that would make him sound less insane and make me finally agree with the way he thought things were.

“Fine,” He snapped and pressed a finger against my chest quite painfully, “you had been living with him barely for three weeks when it just so happened that there was a fire scare in your apartment, and your door was locked from the outside? Not even two weeks after that, he walked inside the bathroom while you were bathing and pushed your hairdryer into the bathtub, but thankfully it wasn’t plugged in, right?! Oh, and how about on Halloween when he dressed up as Ghostface and only chased you around and got arrested when the cops realized he had a real knife as a prop?! What about, I don’t know, when he quite literally broke a bottle and held it against your neck under the excuse that he wanted to see how you’d react ‘under pressure’?! Let’s not even mention him burning your hair when you were feet away from the stove. Or that time when the lunatic was playing around with throwing knives and almost fucking gauged your eye out with it? He’s set your favorite blanket on fire, Y/N, while you were underneath it! And you said he tried to push you into the river while you were out taking photographs for your portfolio for class—”

“Alright!” I raised my hands in defeat, sighing loudly, “I do admit it’s weird how often it happens that I’m placed in harms way whenever I’m around Wooyoung, but they are just coincidences, Yunho—”

“Coincidences my fucking ass!” Yunho hissed, cheeks and ears reddening from anger. I sighed defeated and placed my elbow on the table and then rested my chin in my palm with a pout on my lips. Yunho only cussed when he was really angry.

“Yuyu,” I poked his hand with my left hand, lightly scratching his smooth skin with my nails, “I love and you love me, and I know you worry about me because ‘you know how men are’, but Wooyoung is inoffensive, trust me. He’s odd and yeah, weird things happen around him, but I actually quite enjoy his personality. He’s a rational and down-to-earth guy, he tells me as things are and he’s quite fucking good at photography. I probably passed a few of my classes due to his help, so please, try not to think of him as a serial killer.”

Yunho shook his head and looked down, timidly intertwining our fingers, making me beam at him as I knew he wasn’t actually mad at me, “I’ll never like him, and if you freaking disappear, I’m going to dismember him and—”

“You sound like a serial killer right now—”

“And once the police get your case, they’ll tell me I was right, because that dude is nuts and has been trying to kill you for months now, but whatever.” Yunho scoffed and I rolled my eyes, squeezing his fingers between mine, “Let’s change the subject, I don’t want to go to classes angry.”

I grinned, leaning closer to his face, “You texted me something last night about a guy…”

Yunho’s cheeks flushed, and he yanked his hand out of mine as he stood and sat back in his initial seat, “Right, I think I have a new crush.”

I gasped, grinning from ear to ear, “Let me see him!”

Yunho cleared his throat as he unlocked his phone, his ears reddening as he opened Instagram, reluctantly turning his phone around. The guy looked familiar and I narrowed my eyes as I read his handle, wondering where I had seen him before. His eyes were sharp but he had dimples when he smiled. He looked shorter than Yunho, and that was weird, because Yunho preferred guys his height or taller than him.

“Is this Choi San?” Finally, his name clicked as I looked at Yunho with one raised eyebrow, making his eyes widen.

“You know him?” He asked surprised, turning his phone to look at San’s picture, “He’s on the university’s hockey team, majors in sports and such.”

“I know him,” I chuckled and leaned back in my seat, knowing that Yunho will hate what I was about to say next, “and he’s on pretty good terms with Wooyoung.”

Yunho’s face fell and he groaned loudly, throwing his head back, “Great.”

I chuckled and grabbed my cup of coffee, sipping on it as I watched Yunho have a visible meltdown in front of me. This man, he could be so dramatic at times. And maybe I lied a little bit, maybe San and Wooyoung on ‘pretty good terms’, but they did hang out…for business that I couldn’t disclose due to our unspoken dormmate confidentiality.

            Between two-hour long classes and everlasting lectures, I was lucky enough to have a two-hour break, away from all the brain maiming material that I had to sit through and study thoroughly for our fast-approaching exams. As I still had a project to finish, I was headed to the darkroom to check out if my negatives have developed well. It’s been a few days since I had been there, and I was curious to see how my pictures turned out. The porter of our university already knew me—like most photography majors—and as I knocked on his cubicle’s little window, he flashed me a grin and swiftly fetched the darkroom’s key. I thanked him as he handed it over and then I was off to the room, bouncing on my every second step as the hallways were littered with students eager to escape this hell-site. I shared their distaste for having to study so much, but I quite enjoyed what I was studying as long as it required of me to take photos and then present them to the teacher or to our class. Wooyoung, visibly to his horror, shared the same major as me and thus was forced to sit through lessons with me by his side, diligently taking notes and sometimes snorting at whatever the teacher was saying as I mockingly said it back to Wooyoung. He rarely reciprocated any of my jokes and even more rarely interacted back with me. Not that it bothered me, he usually ignored me even in the shared space of our dorm—unless it came to studying and things he didn’t understand. Like how a coffee maker machine worked, which was weird but I didn’t say anything about it to him. He had called himself an old soul or whatever, I didn’t dwell much on his words, unless he was screaming at me for accidentally sweeping up his little funky salt ‘barriers’ that he’d litter our dorm with. It wasn’t my fault I accidentally confused it with breadcrumbs as it was quite literally around our table in the kitchen.

The darkroom wasn’t too spacious nor lit up—hence its name—and I placed my backpack on a stool once I was inside, the door secured shut behind myself. I rolled up the sleeves of my jacket as I walked towards the hung-up strings, the ones I have put up there four days ago. I haven’t developed many negatives this time as I hadn’t taken many pictures, too busy studying instead of focusing on this project, but I was glad that they came out well. I gently took each one down from the string and took my time studying them, smiling as most were taken when I was hanging out with Yunho. However, there was one that was of my oh so lovely dormmate, Jung Wooyoung. He had been sitting on the floor at our coffee table in our living room when I had arrived home, too focused on scribbling things down to notice the click of our door’s lock. I stood in the doorway and took my time to take him in, rarely being able to see a serene look on his face. He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt, the strange runic like tattoos on display on his arms. There was barely an inch of skin bare, and as he was leaned forward, his t-shirt fell a little low and exposed his neck and collarbones, tattoos similar to the ones on his arms peeking through. The black ink was thick and it made me wonder whether it hurt like a bitch or not when he got them.

I had reached inside my backpack for my camera as Wooyoung’s upper teeth got caught in his lip ring, sucking it between his bottom lip and front teeth. You see, Wooyoung isn’t an unattractive guy and despite his odd behaviour, I am just a woman that appreciates gorgeous things. And so, I couldn’t be blamed for wondering what the lip ring feels like when it makes contact with your own lips, whether it’s bothersome or turns you on even more. Not wanting to pass up on the moment, I quickly snapped myself out of my thoughts and snapped a picture of Wooyoung just as he looked up. He looked taken aback, eyes widened and lower lip jutting out as I grinned and waved at him. His serene expression didn’t last for long, however, as his eyebrows furrowed and a glare made it onto his face. But I ignored it, like I always did, and then went up to him and joined him despite his complaints of wanting to be left alone. When I said he could go to his room and I wouldn’t ‘bother’ him anymore, he noted that the scent of the incense he had used was giving him a headache and he couldn’t stay inside his room today. What a bummer for him, all I saw was an opportunity to finally bond!

I chuckled at the memory as I unclasped the negative Wooyoung was on and excitedly raised it up, close to my face, to see it better. But I froze at the image, wondering whether I have messed up when I was developing the image. Somehow it seemed a little distorted, not much, but if you looked close enough you could see it. The background was unnaturally dark and it almost looked like it was leaving Wooyoung’s body under a mist like form, wrapping around his neck weirdly. The black ink on his skin seemed to be almost glowing and it was his face that made my heart race a little bit, wonder whether my hands were shaky or not when I took the photograph. His eyes seemed to be brightly glowing, only the whites of them visible—much like last night when he had come inside my room—and it made my stomach stir, bringing this unsettling feeling forward in my brain. I have never been scared of Wooyoung before, there wasn’t a reason as to why I would be scared of him, but now I found myself feeling uncomfortable the longer I looked at the picture. There was a creak behind me and my heart skipped a beat as I swiftly spun around, gasping in fright as Wooyoung stood with his hip leaning against a table, watching me with hooded eyes.

My heart started racing in my chest and I quickly hid the picture behind my back as I plastered on a wide smile, “Wooyoung! Hi! You scared me.”

He remained emotionless as he tilted his head, pushing off the table as he very slowly—as if I was his prey—approached me. My heart continued to race in my chest and I wondered how I missed him coming inside the room when the door’s handle was a little faulty and it made a lot of noise. I cleared my throat and watched him curiously, raising my eyebrows, “You’re here to develop some pictures for our project too?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Wooyoung muttered, his voice deeper than usual. I gulped and hummed quickly, trying to keep the smile on my face. I didn’t understand why I felt so nervous all of a sudden, why the hairs stood up on my arms. I shared a living space with Wooyoung, we’ve walked in on each other more than once when the other was showering or bathing—so why now was I feeling like I should be running away instead of waiting for him to reach me? It must be that Yunho’s words got to me, and I was already jumpy seeing the negative. Plus, it was dark and Wooyoung was dressed in all black too, his dark eyes almost invisible as the whites of them shinned brightly. He was dressed in ripped jeans that had scribbles on both pantlegs in a language I couldn’t understand, the soles of his thick boots high, making him taller. The white shirt he wore was buttoned up to his neck and peeking through the neckline of the black fuzzy sweater he had on top of it. Wooyoung’s raven hair had gotten longer these past few months and he had decided to let it grow out even longer, the strands now jelled back and falling messily in his eyes. Eyes, which were outlined with dark eyeshadow and kohl eyeliner, making him look menacing for once. His many earrings matched his silver piercings, and I felt myself step back when he was stood in front of me.

My heart was now racing so fast I could feel the vein thump in my neck, making it harder to breathe when a smoky and intense scent hit my nostrils, Wooyoung’s perfume had always been distinctive and strong, “Got something you want to show me?”

I gulped, eyebrows furrowing as Wooyoung took another step, backing me back up into the closet behind me. I chuckled and shook my head, feeling confused all of a sudden. His expression bore no emotions, but his lips slightly twitched and his eyes narrowed, and I could swear he looked almost amused.

“N-no, not really.” His lips pulled into a smirk and then he reached out, making me freeze as his arm went around my hip and his cold fingers lightly traced the back of my palm until he gripped the negative I was holding, and ripped it out of my grip. My eyes widened and I coughed as he chuckled, raising an eyebrow mockingly, “Oh, I—I took that when we were studying, remember?”

“I rarely forget things, Y/N.” Wooyoung’s voice dripped with honey, sounding too nice compared to how he usually talked to me, “You took this photo without my permission, now look how it turned out.”

I gulped and looked at it again as he turned it around for me to see, making me inhale deeply. Something still wasn’t right with the picture, but I suppose I fucked up when I had developed it. I exhaled and leaned back against the closet, giving him an easy smile, “It’s not you, I probably messed up developing it.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and his smirk widened, he was almost leering, “It’s not me looking like a monster of your nightmares, but you messing up the developing of it?”

“Yup,” I shrugged and took the photo from his grip, smiling brightly again, “and I don’t have nightmares so I wouldn’t know what those sleep demons look like.”

Wooyoung’s sharp eyes narrowed and he leaned incredibly close, making me gulp as I laughed nervously under my breath, feeling a little weird due to our sudden proximity. He usually fled the room if I was inside it, and if we happened to accidentally touch he’d glare at me and rub at his skin as if I had rabies or something, “Would you like to meet one?”

“Not really,” I scoffed, quite glad that I had my peaceful sleep every night, “besides, I have my own little demon living with me, why want another one?”

“What?” Wooyoung froze, expression falling as I giggled and playfully pushed his shoulder.

“You’re a little rascal,” I started, giving him a smug look, “you act like you hate me, but I know deep down you’re secretly into me.”

Wooyoung scoffed as if I had said something very inconvenient to him, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I cannot stand you, Y/N, you’re too cheery and irritating.”

“Sure.” I giggled and leaned forward, our faces merely inches away once again. Wooyoung’s eyes flickered down for a second, then all over my face before he was back to glaring deeply into my eyes, “Are you possessed by a little demon or something? Is that why you sometimes act so animus?”

Wooyoung chuckled, his lip pulling back into a smirk as he turned his head and leaned forward, lips brushing against my ear. I froze once again, taken aback by how bold he was being. Like I had said, he hated it when we touched.

His lip ring felt weird against my warm ear, and I gulped as his voice had dropped lower than ever before, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I would, very much so.

            Today has been a long day. It almost felt like it never wanted to come to an end. Maybe because I’ve been studying all day long, blessed as our one and only Friday class got cancelled due to our professor catching a nasty flu, and so, I could sleep in and then…study all day long thanks to my misfortune. It was tiring, brain maiming, and absolutely atrociously torturous. But I have survived it and now I’m twice as smart as I was before I thought of looking through the professor’s power point presentations and the book he wrote and selflessly promotes every chance he gets. I mean, I get it, money from a side hustle always comes in quite handy. But the torture and suffering are over now, and all I have to do is get ready for tonight’s movie date with Yunho! We had been planning on having a movie night for quite a while now, but failed to find an evening when we were both free. We have agreed that as long as Yunho brought the snacks and alcohol, I’d be the one cooking for the night. Which turned out to be a fun and entertaining feat to do after the day I have had. The little speaker connected to my phone was blasting my favourite ass-shaking music as I cooked the ramen, probably having bought too much for just two people. But that wasn’t an issue, at least Wooyoung and I would have leftovers for tomorrow. The little sausages were the first thing I got to prepare as I fried them in a pan in a little sunflower oil since they work well with corn-cheese and the ramen I was preparing.

I was in the middle of stirring the ramen with one hand and putting more mayo into the bowl containing the corn as I was nearly shouting the lyrics of the song playing, unaware of the presence lurking behind myself. I raised my right hand holding the spatula in the air, hitting the beat as I scratchily whipped out my best high note to match the singer’s, shaking my ass in the process as I whirled around, jumping just slightly forward. Something cold and sharp poked my abdomen where my crop top had ridden up, and my eyes widened as I jumped in fright having come face to face with my dormmate, Wooyoung. His expression was cold and very unimpressed, brows set in a deep frown and lips pulled into a grimace that screamed disgust, and—his favourite butcher knife was clutched tightly in his right hand, the sharp edge of it pressing just slightly against my flesh.

“Wooyoung!” I exclaimed with a grin and scurried off to lower the volume of my music, “Hi! I didn’t hear you coming in.”

“With the way the music was blaring, I’m not surprised.” Wooyoung hasn’t moved from his spot as I went to take the cooked ramen off the stove, making way for my corn-cheese.

“Sorry, figured since I was alone it wouldn’t be bothering anyone—”

“Just our neighbours.” Wooyoung muttered and then finally moved, lowering the knife as he walked up next to me, leaning against the counter. The knife was still held firmly in his hand, but upon one prolonged stare at the side of my face, he placed it on the counter with a drawn-out sigh. I flashed him a wide smile as I placed the ramen away from the edge of the counter, not wanting the pot it was cooked in to burn our skin if we were to accidentally touch it.

“Yunho is coming over in a bit to watch a movie, do you mind?” I asked Wooyoung as I went back to the stove, placing another pan onto it before I poured some oil in it. Wooyoung grimaced, giving me a small glare as he suddenly approached me, pushing my hand away when I went to grab the bowl of corn, mayo, and a little bit of butter.

“My kin is coming over too.” I giggled at the weird word he used for the term friend, already knowing who he was talking about. The tall guy, as tall as Yunho probably, was a rather intimidating guy, more so than Wooyoung was. His sharp eyes were piercing and he always scrunched up his nose when he looked at me, tilting his head as his eyes followed my every move. He was quite the oddball, but he was hilarious, and besides that Choi San guy, he was the only one who could make Wooyoung laugh so loudly that it sounded like I was living with an evil witch or something. Mingi was quite cool and rather similar to Wooyoung, I could see why the two were friends.

“If Mingi is coming over too,” I grinned as I leaned closer to Wooyoung, but he was busy pouring the corn into the pan to notice me, “the four of us could have a movie night!”

“Absolutely not—” Wooyoung flinched as his head whipped around, probably surprised by the proximity. I chuckled and leaned away, grabbing the cheese as I sprinkled it over the corn in the frying pan, “Mingi and I don’t want to join you for your stupid movie night.”

“Wooyoung,” I whined, pouting in a way I knew would irk him, “please, I already made too much food. Mingi loves ramen and corn-cheese, you always make it for him when he comes over. Wooyoung, please, don’t be a party popper!”

I knew the whiney and high-pitched tone I used would drive Wooyoung up the wall, and he squeezed his eyes shut and then hissed when I leaned closer to bat my eyelashes at him in a disgustingly cute way. He didn’t appreciate it, obviously, and gave me a nasty stare.

“I’ll burn you alive if you act like that ever again.” I gasped in delight as Wooyoung threw another harsh glare at me, knowing that he had given in already. I blew him a small kiss and squeezed his bicep playfully as he wore a loose sleeveless tank top. The blank ink looked to be swirling around underneath his sun-kissed skin, and my eyes lingered on them before I went to wash up the dishes I have used for cooking.

            Despite Wooyoung’s initial sour mood and snarky comments, once the four of us got together, him and Yunho seemed to be enjoying themselves the most as the two of them forced Mingi and I through a variety of board games. I was in a team with Yunho and Wooyoung with Mingi, and the two were at each other’s throats as Mingi and I sat back and let them battle it out in Activity. But Mingi, having been ogling Yunho since the second he stepped foot in Wooyoung and I’s dorm, wanted to switch up the teams and due to his plan backfiring, the two of us were stuck as teammates in a game that we were so very embarrassingly loosing as Yunho and Wooyoung powered through all stages, obliterating us as best as they could. Having known Yunho for more than five years, I could notice the subtle jabs he’d send at Wooyoung, the way he’d ‘accidentally’ elbow him in the ribs way too often, or the way he barely let Wooyoung do his own thing once they became teammates. Wooyoung being rather smart had noticed it too, and besides the unimpressed glances and hasty glares, he let Yunho be without voicing his ever-growing irritation.

Alcohol got mixed into our games, and after we ate the dinner I had cooked, it seemed like everyone got bolder as we started randomly throwing shots back of whatever hard liquor Yunho had bought, our actions to be regretted probably tomorrow. The music was turned up to a normal volume so that it wouldn’t bother our neighbours and our laughter echoed in the living room more often than not. The alcohol made my skin feel tingly and there was a pleasant buzz in the back of my head, up-lifting my mood even more as I let loose after the stressful day I have had. Yunho, tipsy but not dumb, stuck to my side as best as he could, muttering things to me about Wooyoung he had noticed, and I decided to let him be and nod along to whatever far-fetched thing he was saying. Like the fact that his tattoos looked rather like pagan sigils used in witchcraft than just normal tattoos, or the fact that his eyes continued getting hazier and darker the further we got into the night, the whites of his eyes almost glowing. And then there was his irrational fear of Mingi, flinching away any time the blonde as much as looked his way, making Yunho almost climb on my back when Mingi decided to sit next to him, their legs and shoulders brushing against each other. I had to give it to Yunho, there was something weird about Mingi that I haven’t noticed before. He looked to be borderline salivating and it was almost as if he was constantly sniffing the air—and if he leaned in and took a deep waft of the air after Yunho basically ran off to the bathroom, I decided to store that away in the back of my head and analyse it another day. Similar to Wooyoung, Mingi had thick tattoos lining his chest—he was rather fond of deep cut V tank tops—and his arms had wire-like ink decorating his fair skin. The guy sometimes looked sickly, and his platinum hair only added to his pale complexion. I have asked Wooyoung more than once if Mingi was okay, and apparently, he just rarely went out in the sun. Come to think of it, the two had similar dressing styles and even spoke similarly; maybe they are from the same province.

Before we’d sit down and start the movie—something Yunho has chosen and I already forgot the name of—I went to the kitchen to mix another cocktail for myself, a lot tamer and less alcohol infused compared to the last one Mingi had mixed for me. I was in the process of pouring Vodka into my tall glass just as Yunho came basically bulldozering inside the kitchen. His eyes were wide as I looked back, and his cheeks were completely flushed, having reached his ears even. My eyebrows rose and I chuckled amused as he rushed to the sink and turned on the cold water, splashing his face and soaking the collar of his white t-shirt, his silver rosary not hidden underneath his t-shirt anymore.

“Are you okay—” Before I could finish my sentence, his head whipped around and he gave me a wide-eyed stare.

“No!” He exclaimed and then glanced behind himself frantically, as if he was being chased by a monster and had to hide, “That guy—Mingi­, there’s something very wrong with him, Y/N!”

“What do you mean?” I asked confused, grabbing the cranberry juice to mix the Vodka with, “Does this have to do anything with your whole belief of Wooyoung being a serial killer?”

“But he is!” Yunho whisper-exclaimed, crowding against my side as he leaned down so that he could continue whispering, “And Mingi isn’t completely sane either—he sniffed me in the hallway when we crossed paths when I was coming here and he was going to the bathroom! He literally leaned in, crowded me against the wall, and sniffed me, Y/N!”

I pressed my lips together and hummed, closing the lid of the cranberry juice as I grabbed a teaspoon to mix the drinks, “Yeah, he’s probably drunk too. People act weird when they are drunk. Remember that one time my ex tried to jump out of a window almost blackout drunkenly?”

“That’s—Hongjoong was a freak! You can’t compare him to Wooyoung and Mingi!” I leaned against the counter and raised my eyebrows at my best friend, intrigued all of a sudden where this conversation was going.

“So are you saying you two slept together because he was a freak and not because maybe he’s not so straight and you were drunk as fuck—” Yunho’s eyes widened into saucers and he pressed his palm against my mouth, his blush spreading down to his neck and no doubt to his chest. He looked mortified as he gaped, apparently struggling to find his words just yet.

“That—that was—that’s irreal! I never—I didn’t even know he was into me!” Poor Yunho, I tried to maintain a serious face as he spiraled even more into despair, his other hand clutching my nape, “Girl, we agreed to never bring that up, why are we talking about Hongjoong and I sleeping together, I—wait, I thought you didn’t care, Y/N, is this why you love to torture me? Because you secretly hate me?! You weren’t even together anymore; you have long forgotten about him and I was on a resort on a vacation with my miserable family and he was there and he was hot and I just—”

The laughter I couldn’t hold back anymore was loud and atrocious as I threw my head back, my throat starting to hurt from how loud it was. I could feel tears spring into my eyes as I held onto the counter for dear life, Yunho becoming speechless as he grabbed my glass and took a long sip of my drink. My belly was shaking and contracting from the good laugh I had, and once I had calmed down, I had to wipe my tears away. Yunho looked a mixture of angry, in despair and amused, and I threw myself at him as my arms tangled around his neck, hugging him tightly like I knew he liked it. His body was tense, but then he slowly eased up into the embrace and returned the tight hug, sighing loudly into my ear.

“Baby, Hongjoong is a closed chapter—has been for long—I’m actually glad you got the best lay of your life with my ex, even I can’t deny he wasn’t good in bed.” A beat of silence passed before we burst out laughing at the same time, Yunho’s body shaking as he nuzzled his nose against my neck affectionately, “How the fuck did we end up talking about Hongjoong when you were just being paranoid over Mingi for no reason?”

“Not for ‘no reason’, woman!” Yunho exclaimed and pulled back, eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed my glass again and took a long sip—there goes the drink I mixed for myself, “He looks at me like he wants to eat me—”

“Is that so bad?” I wriggled my eyebrows suggestively and Yunho groaned, grabbing my chin.

“Focus, woman.” He pointed his finger at me in warning, and I giggled as I stuck my tongue out, licking at his hand because I knew it would disgust him, “In an ideal setting, it wouldn’t be bad, but his saliva was literally dripping down his chin, Y/N! And I don’t know how else to put this into words, but he looks demonic, okay?!”

I chuckled, my eyebrows shooting up at what my best friend just said. Okay, we were apparently reaching the delirious stage of drunkenness, “Well then…Wooyoung and Mingi are one demonic bestie duo, huh?”

“I am being serious!” Yunho exclaimed in annoyance, fed up that I wasn’t on the same wave length as him, “You’re so irritating, you never believe me. But you will see it’s going to bite you in the ass—”

“Isn’t that what you want Mingi to do to you—”

“We’re watching that movie, now!” Yunho pressed his palm against my mouth again as I giggled, grabbing a bottle of water as Yunho took my glass and pulled me after himself, back inside the living room. Mingi was sprawled out on the sofa with Wooyoung sitting in front of the bed, typing away on his phone. As Yunho and I barged inside, Wooyoung lowered the volume of the music and Mingi sat up, eyes almost glowing as he leered in Yunho’s direction. My giant best friend grimaced and gave me a pointed stare as he went to fetch the remote control.

“Are we watching that movie now?” Wooyoung asked unimpressed, raising one eyebrow as I plopped down on the pillow next to him, leaning close as I grinned.

“Yes, excited?!”

“No, I’d rather be sleeping.” Wooyoung muttered and gave me a short glare before he grabbed the glass Yunho had placed on the coffee table to take a long sip of it.

“Hey! I made that drink for myself, why is everyone else drinking it but me?!” I whined and slapped away Wooyoung’s hand as he placed it back onto the coffee table, barely anything in the glass anymore, “Asshole.”

Wooyoung smirked as he looked at me, making me roll my eyes at him. Yunho, huffing loudly as he ruffled his brown hair had finally found the remote control as he joined us, leaning against the sofa, eyes switching between myself and all the empty space next to Mingi, “Won’t you sit with me?”

“I’m going to sit with you.” Mingi’s deep voice was strong and determined as he grabbed Yunho’s arm, basically yanking him down next to himself. Yunho went stiff as his eyes widened, sending me SOS signals with his eyes, but I just chuckled and turned my back to him, knowing that I’d never hear the end of it. Wooyoung’s jaw hung open as he gave his friend a rather nasty glare, subtly shaking his head no at Mingi, the two communicating with their gazes. I snatched the remote control from Yunho and finally turned on the TV, wanting to get on with this movie watching already. If I heard Yunho gasp and looked back to see Mingi squeezed uncomfortably tightly against his side, eyes boring into the side of my best friend’s head, I bit back the laugh that threatened to bubble up and instead kicked Wooyoung’s leg to annoy him.

            The movie took nearly three hours and by the time we have watched it everyone was sleepy, and so, the movie night was cut short as the time was nearing 2am. Yunho was drunk, not to the point that he wouldn’t be able to take care of himself, but he’s had brighter times. I proposed to him to sleep over tonight, but he insisted on going home as he apparently had to be somewhere early in the morning tomorrow. I just shrugged and then offered to walk him home, having sobered up enough, but he insisted he was a big guy and that he could take care of himself. And as if Mingi had been planning for this moment, he swept in and said that he’d make sure Yunho got home safely and that he'd text Wooyoung to let me know my best friend was safe and sound in his little apartment. I didn’t know how to proceed next, knowing that Yunho felt uncomfortable around Mingi, but when I opened my mouth to interject, Yunho threw a heated look Mingi’s way and scoffed, clumsily tying his shoelaces as he accepted Mingi’s offer, yanking the blonde man out of our dorm by the collar of his leather jacket. Wooyoung just blinked and then gave me a lasting look, sighing deeply as he muttered something under his breath which sounded a lot like Yunho had no idea what he had just done. Suddenly feeling a little bit skeptical, I could only hope Yunho was wrong about this whole serial killer fiasco.

“Mingi’s a good guy, right?” I had asked as I followed Wooyoung into the kitchen, my phone still connected to the speaker as music was quietly playing in the background.

“Why, do you fear for your beloved Yunho’s life?” Wooyoung’s voice was coated in amusement, but there was something darker in its undertone, almost morbid like fascination. I was taken aback and hesitated for a second in the doorway.

“He’s my best friend, somebody I love. Of course I fear for his life, should I call the cops—”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Wooyoung’s eyes were crinkled as he turned his head, the first time he’s ever looked amused by something I have said, “Mingi won’t do to him anything your friend doesn’t want. I know you noticed him acting weird, but that’s just what alcohol does to Mingi.”

I felt myself relax a little upon hearing Wooyoung’s words, and I grinned as I waltzed inside the kitchen, pulling myself up to sit on the counter by the sink, “I knew it, I told Yunho he was just overreacting, but he never really believes me.”

Wooyoung paused for a second and then turned on the faucet, taking the sponge to pour dishwasher on it, “Maybe you’d live longer if you had listened to him…”

My eyebrows furrowed as I handed Wooyoung the first dirty bowl, “What do you mean?”

He chuckled as he washed the bowl and I crossed my legs, narrowing my eyes at him. He didn’t seem drunk despite having drunk twice the alcohol I have, but then again, I didn’t know much about him. He was quite the mysterious person and kept everyone at arms-length. However, I did notice he was touchier than usual, kissing Mingi’s cheeks rather often while we were playing board games, especially if Mingi nailed something.

“You’re naïve,” Wooyoung answered as he looked at me, taking the other used bowl I handed him, “and too trusting of others, my love. People will take advantage of you.”

“Nobody’s taken advantage of me before.” I huffed and watched as Wooyoung washed the rest of the dishes, a smirk on his lips as he kept glancing at me, “And just because of what I seem to be like to you and to other people doesn’t mean I’m dumb, or that I don’t notice things.”

Wooyoung smirked as he grabbed onto the edge of the sink, leaning closer to me as his eyes seemed a lot darker than they usually were, “Really now? Do you just play dumb then, for the fun of it?”

“Not for the fun of it,” I averted my eyes as Wooyoung bit his bottom lip, his eyes raking over my body as I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling a little flustered under his watchful gaze, “it just happens, it’s what my personality is like—and I know you don’t like me.”

“I’ve never said I don’t like you.” Wooyoung tsked, leaning closer as he continued to wash a pan, “I’m just not too fond of obnoxious personas.”

I scoffed and grinned at him fakely, making him smirk for the nth time tonight as he turned his head and looked down at the pan he was washing. I didn’t say anything to him as I continued looking at him, wondering whether the lights were playing a trick on my eyes, or whether the black ink really seemed to swirl under his skin. A bit too curious and with the last remnants of the alcohol in my system pushing me to do as I wished, I tentatively reached out and gently traced the abstract tattoos on his left arm. Wooyoung froze, eyebrows furrowing as he whipped his head around, his serene demeanor back to its unimpressed and glaring one. His muscles tensed the longer my fingers touched his soft, but unnaturally hot, flesh and he suddenly turned the water off with his other hand, all the dishes washed. I snapped out of it and gulped nervously as I looked away, turning away from Wooyoung. I could feel his eyes on me as he walked towards the table and grabbed a towel to dry his hands in, lips slowly morphing into another attractive smirk.

“You know,” He started, voice low and almost sultry, “humans usually cherish their lives and have a deep rotted fear of losing it.”

I hummed and picked at the cuticle of my thumb, seeing him approach the counter from my peripheral vision.

“I’ve never quite met someone like you,” He paused and chuckled, and I saw him grab something from my peripheral as I had drawn blood from ripping the cuticle up, “a little stupid and ditzy, yet loving life so intensely.”

I gulped and finally looked up, eyes falling on Wooyoung’s right hand as it was slowly inching towards his abandoned butcher knife. I felt a lump raise into my throat as I looked back in his eyes, the same feeling that I have felt in the darkroom returning. I felt like his prey once again, defenseless and unable to run or hide if he were to do something unacceptable to me. His dark eyes seemed like endless pits of darkness, boring into mine as its whites seemed to glow brighter. I gulped again, hoping for the lump to disappear, but instead, something deep coiled in my stomach as his thin fingers wrapped around the handle of the butcher knife, his plush lips pulling into a sly smirk. He looked amused; his sun-kissed skin almost glowing as if he was feeding off of something. His upper teeth got caught in the silver piercing in his bottom lip, and I found myself wondering again what he tasted liked. I cleared my throat and licked my lips, our gazes connecting as Wooyoung raised one eyebrow, looking like he knew something I didn’t. My heart had picked up its rhythm, beating quickly, almost in anticipation as he dragged his hand against the counter, the sound of the knife getting dragged across the counter making me wince.

“You should have left when you still could—” I didn’t think for another second, pushing the alarming bells to the back of my mind as I jumped off the counter, marching up to him. Wooyoung seemed taken aback by my confident stance, and as his eyebrows furrowed, whatever he was about to say swallowed down, the littlest remnants of alcohol in my bloodstream fueled my curiosity strong enough to make me grab onto his cheeks and yank our lips together. Wooyoung yelped, the sound getting lost in the back of his throat as my eyebrows furrowed, his face just as hot as his arm was. But I was curious—and sort of needy from all that alcohol—and so I didn’t pull back, no, I pressed my lips harder against his, his silver lip ring cutting into my own lips. I ignored the tiny voice in the back of my head telling me to run, to get as far away as possible from this peculiar man. Suddenly, I felt his left hand grab my wrist harshly. My heart was hammering against my chest, making my temples sweat as Wooyoung’s body heat was too warm, and at last, I decided to pull away. Now at least I knew what his plush lips felt like, soft and a little wet, the lip ring prominent and cold against the flushed skin.

My grip loosened around his cheeks and I had started pulling back when suddenly something loudly crashed against the tile floors, and both of Wooyoung’s hands had me pulling back in by the cheeks as his calloused hands harshly cradled against my cheek. My eyebrows shot up, but I fluttered my eyes closed again and instead pressed our bodies together, fingers tangling into his loose t-shirt at his sides. Wooyoung’s perfume was still as overbearing as always, and it made me feel lightheaded as he suddenly parted his lips, sucking my lower lip between his teeth to clamp down onto it harshly. I hissed and tangled one hand into his long black hair, slightly yanking on the strands to get him to release my bottom lip. Wooyoung chuckled deep in the back of his throat and finally released my lip, pulling back. My eyes opened as I threw him a glare, and from being this close to him, I could finally see his eyes were black and the whites of them were actually glowing. Before I could allow my brain to really react to that discovery, I pressed my lips back against Wooyoung’s, walking him backwards as our lips slotted against each other perfectly. Our pace wasn’t slow and sweet nor patient, it was rather rushed and sloppy as Wooyoung kept trying to bite onto my lower lip, his teeth feeling sharper than anyone’s before; he could’ve drawn blood if he wanted to.

He gasped when he collided against the table and I smirked as I pushed him against it, throwing my left arm around his shoulders as I played with his hair with my right hand, Wooyoung’s legs parting as he leaned against the table comfortably. To tease him as I figured he’d hate it, I pulled back just enough to lick at his lips, prompting him to tsk and open up his lips enough for me to slip my tongue past them and into his open and inviting mouth. Wooyoung moaned in an instant, fingers of his left hand digging into my lower back, my t-shirt having ridden up, his nails burning my skin as they dug into it, and I felt my legs go a little weak as he eagerly sucked on my tongue, more moans leaving the back of his throat. I didn’t think he’d be very vocal, and suddenly I felt heated all over as he pulled me even more into himself, to the point it was almost painful, his right hand holding onto my neck firmly, fingers curling around my skin.

I let him lick into my mouth, explore it to his liking as my left hand travelled down his shoulder to his pecks, squeezing and fondling his nipple through the t-shirt, making Wooyoung groan as he suddenly whirled us around, placing me up on the table. I gasped and found myself pushed down against the table by the hand Wooyoung had around my throat, his eyes glazed over as I struggled to catch my breath, Wooyoung’s chest was rising and falling rapidly as well. His lips looked swollen and I bit my bottom lip as Wooyoung ever so slowly leaned down. His fingers tightened around my neck and made my stomach coil as he suddenly leaned down, lips brushing against the exposed skin of my lower stomach due to my tank top having ridden up again.

The breath stuttered in my throat as he pressed his lips firmly against my skin, his piercing feeling cold against my flushed skin, and I grabbed his wrist with one hand as he teasingly sunk his teeth into the skin of my stomach, making me grunt as I looked down. But he was already looking up with a smirk on his lips, chin brushing against my exposed skin. I gulped, my grip tightening against his wrist as he held eye contact while slowly kissing his way up, making the hairs on my arms stand up. I trapped him in between my legs as I raised my thighs and wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer in as he lit my skin on fire with his kisses, making it harder to breathe as he squeezed my neck just a little bit more, making me gulp almost nervously.

Wooyoung’s lips were finally hovering over mine and our breaths fanned each other’s faces as we stared down each other, probably wondering where this was going. I tangled my fingers of my free hand in his hair again and brought his head closer down so that I could gently take his lip ring between my teeth, making Wooyoung’s eyes widen as he whined quite loudly. I didn’t expect him to curse nor to slam his lips right onto mine next, let alone feel his bulge as he rutted against my thigh, making me moan as I was slowly starting to crave some friction. Wooyoung seemed too far gone to care about the quality of the kiss as his lips moved messily against mine, biting at my lips and sucking on my tongue as he rolled his hips against mine more frequently, driving me closer to wanting more. And I didn’t dwell much on the feeling, I grabbed the hand he had rested next to my head and gently guided it down my body, letting it rest where I needed him most. Wooyoung moaned loudly as he pulled back, cupping my clothed core and applying the slightest pressure, making me sigh loudly as I bared my neck more for him to do whatever he wanted with it.

And then—as quickly as everything happened, it all stopped. Wooyoung’s body almost flew off mine, eyes wide and expression conveying complete shock as he stared down at me sprawled out on the table and I stopped breathing for a second as I stared up at him. Yeah, I guess we shouldn’t have done that, perhaps my curiosity led me a bit too far. But I couldn’t deny it anymore, Wooyoung was attractive. He wiped his mouth with the back of his palm and I chuckled as I sat up, running my fingers through my hair.

“This—”

“I’m going to sleep.” I cut him off as I announced with a chuckle, hoping off the table, watching Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Thanks for the kiss, handsome.”

“What the fuck,” Wooyoung muttered and he turned after me as I walked past him, “you know how to make-out?”

I snorted as I paused in the doorway, giving him a sneaky look, “I’m not that naïve anymore, am I?”

“Goodnight.” Wooyoung’s voice had turned cold, unimpressed once again. I chuckled as suddenly Wooyoung’s expression turned nonchalant again, and I shook my head as I was off to sleep off the alcohol and pray that I wouldn’t be hungover in the morning.

            And as expected, the alcohol I have drank last night came back full force in the morning, to bite me in the ass. The bile in my throat that threatened to send me running to the bathroom refused to go away, and feeling like a complete zombie, I had no choice but to get out of bed and brew some coffee for myself. It was the only thing that could help this awful hungover, and I stood stared blindly at the counter as I listened to the shitty coffee machine make noises it wasn’t supposed to make. Wooyoung didn’t like coffee, so it was mostly me who used it, and because I didn’t have enough money, I couldn’t buy a better machine. This one would do for two more months, until I was finished with this university year—not that I was too happy of moving back home for the summer break, but it had to be done as I didn’t have a job yet and couldn’t stay in the city. Yunho would probably let me move in with him, but I didn’t want to bother him as long as I didn’t have a job. I sighed as my phone on the table dinged once, then twice, then thrice, and I dragged myself to it very lazily and painfilled. Yunho’s contact name stared back at me as I curiously tapped onto his message, wondering if he was feeling any better than I was.

My fake boyfie<3: Y/N. I…might have fucked up Can I come over?

My eyebrows raised as I walked back to the coffee machine to turn it off, desperate to feel the first drop of caffeine on my tongue.

Me: I’m on the brink of death and I also have to study Did something bad happen? Can’t you tell me through text? My fake boyfie<3: I don’t want to type this down, but it can wait Don’t mind that your best friend is on the brink of death too, for other reasons than you…

I scoffed and took a sip of my coffee, the plainness of it harsh, but very much so welcomed right now.

Me: Stop being dramatic and tell me instead. My fake boyfie<3: Are you free tomorrow for brunch? Me: Sure am, see you at our usual spot? My fake boyfie<3: Yes…unless I get abducted by a fucking demon Y/N. Me: Lol, okay Not you being paranoid again Ttyl

The loud footsteps coming to a stop in the doorway made me look up from my phone, and I smiled upon seeing Wooyoung’s dishevelled form. Someone had a good night’s sleep, apparently, and seemed rather fine despite the many drinks he’s had, interesting.

“Morning.” I smiled at Wooyoung as I leaned against the counter behind me, taking a sip of my coffee. His eyes narrowed as he walked inside the kitchen, never leaving me as he was headed towards the fridge. I snorted and watched as he grabbed the cartoon of milk greedily, then let the fridge door slam shut.

“Shouldn’t you be hungover?” He asked, eyes narrowing as I downed the remaining bitter coffee in one go.

“I am, but can’t let that stop me.” I shrugged, and walked to the sink to wash my cup.

“It’s a full moon tonight, are you going anywhere out?” Wooyoung’s voice sounded suspiciously nice and forced, and I threw him a quick quizzical glance before turning the faucet off.

“No, I have to study for our exam on Monday.” I sighed and wiped my hands down on my pyjama pants.

“Good.” My eyebrows furrowed as Wooyoung smirked, turning his back to me as he muttered something under his breath. Knowing that I couldn’t waste any more time on useless things, I walked back to my room to study some last-minute things I have missed out on previously. Wooyoung and his quirkiness could wait for another day to be deciphered.

            Studying with a hangover was the worst possible idea I’ve ever had, but since I have procrastinated terribly, I had no choice but to power through the suffering like a champ, and save the whining for another day. By 10pm I felt completely brainless and tired out of my mind—quite literally—and so, I have decided it was time to call it a day. I have studied as much as possible, and now I felt positive about passing this class—unless the teacher has something secretly against me, unlike with Wooyoung, with whom he isn’t so secretive about the fact that he can’t stand my dormmate. With a rumbling stomach and body begging for a long and refreshing shower, I pulled my hair into a bun with the short strands falling out annoyingly so, and changed into some fresh pajamas so that I wouldn’t have to carry it with me to the bathroom. I stepped into my flip flops and shut the lights off, throwing my door open.

The first thing I noticed was the salt weirdly scattered in a perfect line right underneath my doorway. That wasn’t there in the morning, and I have never seen Wooyoung place it there before, so I made sure not to smudge it as I stepped over it—for some weird reason waiting for something to happen. But nothing did, and so, with a shrug, I closed the door behind me and looked around the dark living room. Smog seemed to lightly coat the air, and I scrunched my nose up at the overbearing scent of something strong—rather earthy and weed-like smelling—making me wonder what Wooyoung was up to.

I knew his room was off limits, but I also knew he was home. And the smog seemed to come from underneath his door. The whole dorm seemed to hum lowly, hushed voices traveling through Wooyoung’s closed door, and I bit my bottom lip, wondering whether I should approach him or not. But I’ve never been inside his room before and I was curious—I have always been—and almost as if I couldn’t control myself, I found my feet carrying me towards it. The hushed voices turned into low whispers the closer I got, and I found them changing in pitch as I gulped nervously, raising my hand to knock on his door. Despite the weird drive to barge inside, I felt myself hesitate for a second—and then I was knocking on his door, not waiting for an answer as I pulled it open and stepped inside. However, the sight I was presented with wasn’t something usual, nor one I had expected to see.

Wooyoung’s room was coated in pitch darkness, except for the black candles that were placed in a circle and lit up, barely illuminating the weird sign that was painted on the floorboard with black ink. Salt was drawn in a circle around the candles and the drawing, and the room reeked of that earthy and weed-like smell I have felt earlier, making me cough. Wooyoung was sat on his knees inside the circle, in the middle of it, three different ancient looking books opened up, one of them sizzling slightly. He wore a sleeveless tank top once again and grey sweatpants, the black ink underneath his skin darker than before as it swirled around, curling around his arms in weird patterns. The floorboard outside of the salt and candle circle was covered in different runes—I could only assume that’s what they were—and as Wooyoung’s gaze met mine, I was taken aback by his completely black eyes. The whites of them were completely gone, and they instead looked like endless pits of blackness, keeping me rooted to my spot as my eyes widened. When he grinned widely, his teeth were sharper and much whiter than usually, and the image sent my heart into a frenzy.

“Well, well, well,” Wooyoung chuckled, sitting back on his ankles, “exactly who I needed, thank you for making this easier for me.”

I gulped, feeling unsure and really confused, “Uh, what’s this?”

“I suppose since you’re about to die, I can tell you…” Wooyoung chuckled as his fingers touched the yellow paper of the book he had right in front of himself, “It’s a death ritual, my love, more exactly a sacrificial one.”

“Oh,” I whispered, feeling the hairs on my arms stand up, “that’s—I thought satanism is illegal?!”

Wooyoung threw his head back and laughed darkly, making a shiver run down my spine, “Satanism is beyond me, my love, I am what satanist love to blindly and dumbly worship.”

I gulped, eyebrows furrowing as I tried to think whatever that could mean as Wooyoung’s eyes fell back on my figure, narrowing as he leered at me, “So you’re like…a cult leader then?”

Wooyoung’s expression fell for a second, jaw clenching as there was a snort coming from somewhere I couldn’t see. My eyebrows furrowed as I surveyed the room, but the darkness was too permeating for me to see anything beyond it. The candlelight cast eerie shadows over Wooyoung’s face as he grabbed something that lay next to his left hand—his favourite butcher knife. I gulped and considered leaving the room for a second, but I felt rooted to my spot, like something was keeping me there.

“You’re so dumb, it’s tiring at this point.” Wooyoung hissed and I chuckled, scratching the back of my head in embarrassment, “But I also must be grateful to your naivety, or else you wouldn’t still be here.”

“I pretty much don’t want to be here anymore, but I find it hard to leave when something invisible is clutching at my ankles.” I grinned widely at Wooyoung, feeling a little panic rising up in my veins as he chuckled, slowly standing up. Why did he look taller than before? That wasn’t a good sign, was it?! I chewed on my bottom lip, tensely watching out for his next move. That butcher knife clutched tightly in his right hand didn’t seem so inoffensive anymore.

“Are you terrified now that your useless little cross can’t do anything to protect you from me?” My eyebrows raised in surprise as I looked down, patting the golden cross that sat underneath my hoodie. I never thought Wooyoung noticed my necklace, I always wore it underneath my clothes as I wasn’t a very religious person. I only wore it because my mother thought it would protect me from demonic and evil entities and energies. Don’t know about that anymore…Wooyoung looks pretty demonic to me right now.

“I’m more confused than terrified, to be honest, Wooyoung.” I chuckled and shrugged at the same time, ignoring the cold sweat my body broke out in all of a sudden. My heart was still pounding fast in my chest, but I ignored it.

“I can’t be bothered anymore with you; you are so irritating.” Wooyoung groaned as he twirled the knife in his hands, “I am going to stab you, and you won’t scream. And before blood loss can kill you, I’m going to carve your heart out.”

Well, shit. That didn’t sound too pleasant, nor like a fun time. I gulped, my mouth having gone dry, and I plastered on my friendliest and most innocent smile, hoping that it would somehow change Wooyoung’s mind and make him like me in just a few seconds. Perhaps he’d choose someone else for his sacrifice then, “Okay, but…may I know why you chose me for this complicated and totally cool sacrifice of yours?”

Wooyoung froze for a second, looking puzzled as deep giggles came from somewhere in the darkness again, making me look around confused. Was there actually someone else in the room with us?

For a second, the look Wooyoung gave me screamed that I was completely mad, and then he pinched his nose and heaved out a long sigh, “I need someone pure and innocent for this ritual to work. You see, I’m a demon but I’m not exactly very powerful, nor everlasting, just yet and the heart and blood of a virgin will help me rise in the ranks.”

Oh, “Wooyoung, uhm, this is a little bit awkward, but, uh, what I’m getting from what you just said is that you assume I’m a virgin?”

Wooyoung smirked as he stepped over his ancient looking books, “Exactly. You’re perfect for me, my love, I have to thank you—”

“Actually, you don’t.” I cut him off with a chuckle, pushing my hair behind my ears as I felt my cheeks flush, “I’m not a virgin.”

Wooyoung froze, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. There was another loud snort in the room, and my eyes narrowed as I tried to see past the darkness to notice an even darker form, but I wasn’t successful, “You can’t lie to me, there’s nothing you’ll say that will save you now—”

“I’m not lying, though.” I shrugged, clasping my hands together behind my back, “I really am not a virgin.”

“What?” Wooyoung scoffed, eyebrows furrowing as he took me in, his dark eyes raking over my body slowly, “How is that possible?!”

“Wait,” I deadpanned, mouth falling open in hurt, “are you saying all this time you assumed I was a virgin and kept trying to kill me?! I can’t believe Yunho was right—”

“Yunho knows?!” It was Wooyoung’s turn to look shocked, eyes darting around the room as they stopped on something further inside his room, near his bed. I looked towards it and narrowed my eyes, trying really hard to see whether there was someone there or not. And then, almost as if a mist lifted off that side of the room, I was able to make out platinum blonde hair.

“He doesn’t know we’re demons,” Suddenly a deep voice spoke up, sounding beyond amused, it was Mingi, “I mean, he doesn’t know you are a demon.”

“Then how—” Wooyoung’s head whipped back in my direction, his eyes narrowing again, “you told him everything?!”

“Obviously!” I exclaimed with a scoff, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I noticed my heart wasn’t beating that fast anymore, even my muscles seemed more relaxed, “He’s my best friend, of course I tell him everything!”

“But then—” Wooyoung paused, pointing his knife at me, “You really aren’t a virgin then?!”

“No, I’m not!” I exclaimed exasperated, rolling my eyes as I saw movement in my peripheral vision, “I literally lost my virginity when I was seventeen, Wooyoung. And I mean, I know you still might not believe me, but there’s someone who can prove it—oh, hi, Mingi—if we were to hit up Yunho right now, he could totally prove that I’m not a virgin—wait! I don’t mean that Yunho and I slept together, because he’s not exactly the straightest person I know—”

“Yeah, I know.” Mingi’s plump lips were pulled into the widest smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief as he finally made himself visible, walking towards us with his arms crossed in front of his chest. My eyebrows furrowed and I took a deep breath to fill my lungs with air, watching Mingi with confusion.

“What do you mean ‘you know’?” Mingi remained silent as he nonchalantly leaned against Wooyoung’s dresser, raising an eyebrow smugly. Oh. Oh. My jaw fell open as my eyes raked over Mingi, something in my stomach coiling as realization dawned upon me. No. Fucking. Way. There’s no way Yunho and Mingi…is that why Yunho was so desperate to speak to me today? Oh, my God, “You slept with Yunho?!”

Mingi chuckled as he looked down at his hands, checking his black painted nails with much interest, “It’s more like he slept with me, but yes, and it was pretty fucking amazing—”

“Can we focus?!” Wooyoung exclaimed, throwing Mingi a heated glare before he turned back to face me, looking rather pissed off.

“Right, right.” I huffed, throwing Mingi a small glare before I looked back at Wooyoung, “You said Mingi was a good guy…”

“I also mentioned he wouldn’t do anything to your friend as long as he didn’t want it—”

“Oh, he rather desperately wanted it—”

“Enough!” I exclaimed, thankful for the invisible force keeping me rooted or else I’d be at Mingi’s throat, beating him up for taking advantage of Yunho when he was drunk, “Fuck, okay, so Yunho was in the next room when I slept with my boyfriend for the first time—and many other times to be fair, poor Yuyu suffered enough because we were often horny—you can literally ask him. I’m not a virgin, Wooyoung, so unless your sacrifice would still work, can you release me?!”

Wooyoung tsked, tapping the knife against his head rather carelessly, “This is bad…I can’t believe I wasted six months on finding ways to kill you, and you aren’t even a virgin. I have to wait another year until I can perform this ritual again, Y/N.”

I scoffed and glared at my dormmate, “Is it my fault you dumbly assumed I was one—why did you even think that?!”

“Well, first of all, you’re super lame.” Wooyoung gave me a once over, pursing his lips as he placed one hand on his hip, “You’ve got no game and you never brought any guys over. I didn’t even see you interact with one, besides Yunho, and he doesn’t count. Secondly, you’re too loud, nosy, and annoying—no guy likes that, my love. Thirdly, I don’t like you, getting rid of you would’ve been perfect, but now I’ll have to continue being dormmates with you for another two years—straight up horror.”

Well, that wasn’t too nice, and it did certainly hurt a little bit, “You know what, fuck you, Wooyoung. You’re not the nicest person—”

“I’m literally a demon, but whatever—”

“Shut up, idiot, I’m talking now.” I snapped, glaring at Wooyoung as I was able to move again, and I stepped closer to his stupid circle, making his eyebrows shoot up, “Despite our differences, I remained nice to you, and here you were, planning my death all this time. You know what? It serves you right that your stupid little ritual failed and you deserve to wait another year until you can try again. And by the way, it’s on you for not realizing sooner, considering what happened last night—”

“Oh, what happened last night?” Mingi grinned like a little child, wriggling his eyebrows at us.

“Shut up, I’m mad at you.” I snapped, directing my glare onto him now, “You shouldn’t have slept with a drunken Yunho, I’m going to beat you up real bad for it, you just wait. And Wooyoung and I made-out—quite heavily at that—who knew Wooyoung is just a whiney idiot—”

“Okay, you’re mad, but you don’t have to call me an idiot in each sentence you say—”

“Yeah, I have to, idiot—”

“Okay, for the record—” Mingi’s hands were raised in the air, eyes big as he looked comically innocent, “Yunho wasn’t drunk by the time we got to the fun part, Y/N. I might be a demon, but I like my partners sober and rather conscious when we get down to business—”

“Just say sex like any normal person, you dumb fuck.” Wooyoung groaned, throwing his butcher knife onto the floor as he sighed, looking at the mess he had created, as if it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t go through with his ritual.

“But I’m not a normal person.” Mingi teased, sticking his tongue out as Wooyoung sighed, running his hands through his hair multiple times. I sighed and turned to leave the room, but Wooyoung yelped, making me stop and turn back.

“Where are you going?!” He sounded rather panicked, eyes wide as I rolled my eyes, “What are you going to do now?”

“I am going to take a fucking bath and if you come inside, I swear to God, Wooyoung, I will cut your balls off in your sleep—demon or not.” I narrowed my eyes at him, “Unlike somebody, I was busy studying my ass off today, and now I have a headache thanks to your awful incense—open the windows for me, please.”

“So, you—won’t call a priest for an exorcism or the Catholic church and the Pope on me?” Wooyoung’s voice sounded small, lower lip jutting out as I looked at him confused, wondering if I had started hallucinating now. Was this Wooyoung’s real personality? Gosh, I desperately needed that bath and sleep.

“Do you still plan on killing me?” I raised my eyebrows as Mingi’s phone buzzed. He smirked as he unlocked it, and I didn’t miss the quick glance he took at me. That fucker, he must be texting with Yunho now.

“Not really.” Wooyoung muttered, sounding rather disappointed. I scoffed and stepped over the threshold, grabbing the handle of his door.

“Great, good to know.” I muttered and plastered on a fake wide smile, “Then, my dear dormmate, can you put out your candles before they fucking burn down our whole dorm? Last time I checked, carpets aren’t fireproof. What sort of idiot sets candles alight near a very flammable thing? And let me not even get started on the wooden floorboards—”

“Don’t worry, it isn’t his first time doing this.” Mingi chuckled, and then extended his leg, putting out a candle with the sole of his shoe. Which, shouldn’t have been on his feet, but I had a feeling he hasn’t come through the front door like a normal person would’ve.

“Oh, shit.” Wooyoung muttered and then quickly got on all fours, blowing out the candles one by one. I shook my head and went to leave, but paused and looked at Wooyoung with a shit eating grin.

“Wooyoung?” He hummed and cast a fleeting glance my way, too busy with making sure no candle would burn his carpet to ashes, “You’ve got one day to study for our exam, you know that, right? And with how much Mr. Kim dislikes you…I wonder if you’ve got some ritual to help you pass your grades too…”

Mingi giggled and then crouched down next to Wooyoung, murmuring something under his breath that I didn’t understand before he broke the salt circle, and stepped inside of it to help his friend clean up faster.

“Can’t you just help me out with your notes?!” Wooyoung snapped, throwing a heated glare my way. I chuckled and leaned against the door, smiling sweetly at him.

“Weren’t you just about to sacrifice me for an everlasting life and more power?” I singsonged, “You’ll have to make it up to me generously before I help you out, handsome.”

“So, like…” Mingi looked up, eyes twinkling with mischief, “with sex?”

“Mingi! Shut up!” Wooyoung and I exclaimed at the same time, making Mingi pout with a hiss as he knocked over two of Wooyoung’s black candles. He grumbled something under his breath again, and then with a loud crack, he was gone. I blinked once, twice, and then sighed, feeling my mild headache turn into a full-on painful pounding. God, if I sleep for a whole week, will this madness stop?!

“I can make you all sorts of potions,” Wooyoung spoke up after the stretched silence, smiling tentatively, “to help you relax while you bathe, or when it’s storming outside to help you fall asleep. If you catch a cold, I can brew you something that’ll instantly heal you or whatever you want, to be honest. I’m quite good at brewing stuff.”

“I thought you were a demon.” I hummed, leaning my head against the door as Wooyoung shrugged.

“There’s many types of demons, my love.” Wooyoung said, the whites of his eyes finally returning as he chuckled, “You’re lucky I’m the nicer kind.”

“Nicer, my ass.” I huffed and closed my eyes for a second as the headache made me feel nauseous.

“I’ll make you something for your headache, Y/N.” Wooyoung’s smile was soft as he stood again, gathering the thick books in his arms, “You go ahead and take a bath.”

“Okay, fine, but if I get sicker, I’m reporting you to the Pope.” Wooyoung froze for a second, and then his head fell back and he started laughing loudly, making me giggle quietly as I watched him place the books on his desk. He turned around and grinned widely as he leaned against his desk.

“So, a soothing potion, and—” His eyes narrowed for a second, and I wondered whether it was a trick of the light making them looked suddenly hazed over with desire, “Sex does fix quite a few issues, you know.”

I chuckled, my eyes narrowing challengingly at Wooyoung as I pushed off the door, undoing my bun, “Really? See you in ten minutes, then.”

I winked and then pulled my hoodie over my head, wearing nothing underneath it. Wooyoung’s eyes widened as they fell onto my breasts and I chuckled, threw my hoodie at him, and then turned around and took off towards the bathroom, skin on fire as I felt Wooyoung’s lustful gaze burn my body apart as I pushed the sweats off too before I stepped inside the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“Fuck.” I heard him curse loudly before I turned on the water, letting the bath fill as I smirked to myself upon hearing Wooyoung drop something and curse again, run from his room to the kitchen, then back to his room.

Well, guess Yunho won’t be the only one getting that magick demon dick anymore. Another thing to bond over as besties, yay. At least he’s not getting boned by my ex, again.

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[queers-gambit]

Bait and Switch

prompt: ( requested ) Adar knows you by surname and reputation, but makes a fatal mistake: underestimating the mutual desire to reunite with your husband.

pairing: Elrond x female!wife!reader -> hair color specified reader that does not specify race

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 7.7k+

note: did i steal the Targaryen hair color? "obviously," - Severus Snape. but don't let HOTD's wigs fool you - this hair color is NOT indicative of race.

warnings: reader insert for the haters, spoilers, cursing, angst, hurt and comfort, fuck tone of ellipsis 'cause Adar talks slow. POW!Reader (prisoner of war), violence, blood, injury, depiction of medical phenomenon (cauterization), slight gore (Reader bites off an Orc finger). healthy family dynamics, embedded Aragorn quote, Middle-earth fire is hotter than reality so JUST. roll. with. it. okay? okay. also, this requires a lot of imagination 'cause author invents really random lore but have fun with it. not edited, author can't see straight so what the fuck is this?

incarnate: embody or represent (a diety or spirit) in human form

"We found an Elf still alive, Lord Father!"

Adar watched lazily as one of his children stood over a body covered by toxic volcanic ash; twitching as it regained consciousness. "Kill it," he answered simply. The Orc snarled in pleasure and bent to grab the Elf's head; gripping their hair aggressively, yanking their head up - possibly snapping the Elf's spine - and lifted his blade in the air. However, the clump of hair was familiar and suddenly, Adar was barking, "Wait!"

Not many Elves had this particular hair color. It was dyed from soot and ash, but he could recognize the bright, platinum white-blonde hair. While some Elves were extremely fair yellow-blonde, this was white - like the purest of snows. And Adar only knew this trait belonged to one single bloodline.

The Incarnated, a single brood blessed by the Valar to give them unnatural strength and skill in battle. They were impressive, formidable foes; and typically, never lost a fight, battle, or war. They were absolutely brutish, almost impossible to kill, yet humble, generous, and kind.

Their aim always found the bullseye. Broadswords able to sever bone. Morality skewed more positive than simple neutrality. Silver tongues sharpened to prick the ears that listen.

However, it should be noted that even the Incarnated cannot withstand against the eruption of a volcano.

The Orc snarled with confusion now, hissing through his bloody teeth but not lowering the Elf. Adar strolled over, glaring at their captive, but slowly lowering himself to a squat as the Orc presented his finding. Adar's eyes squinted, reaching out and musing the trademark locks out of the Elf's face; smirking as he caressed her cheek free of ash.

He growled your name, sight still hazy from the eruption of what will later be known as Mount Doom - yet could still recognize sounds. Slowly, you blinked and tried to focus, groaning as pain in your scalp burned and prickled; spine bowed from the horribly painful position.

"Adar?" You whispered in confusion.

"You remember me."

You scoffed, slurring slightly, "You left quite a lasting impression."

His hand dropped to push hair from your neck and shoulder, revealing a long blemish from his dagger years ago. "And here we meet yet again," Adar chuckled. "Release her," he told his child, who instantly dropped you with a grunt; ash puffing up on impact. "Come," Adar offered his hand as you tried to sit up with trembling limbs, "we've still farther to go."

"Fuck you," you seethed, spitting at him; ready for the pain to end after the displacement and turmoil of your people. You had been with the Númenoreans, along with Commander Galadriel, and this... "King" Halbrand; celebrating victory against Adar's first volley of Orcs when the explosion happened; spewing toxicity into the earth, through the air, and evidently, over the area to distinguish what will be known as Mordor.

"Hm," Adar considered your weak form, chuckling. "Get her up," he commanded, standing, and watching as chains were slapped to your wrists and ankles before being tossed into a bloody, maggot-infested, wood-rotting wagon.

Seemingly eons away, Elrond was being informed of your assumed demise. Your husband refused to believe it, but by the solemn look of the messenger, his greatest companion, Galadriel, he knew there was weighted truth to her words.

"Did you see her?" Elrond asked.

"See her fall? No - "

"Did you even look for her?"

"Of course we did, but it was too dangerous to linger longer than what we'd been there for."

Elrond's head shook, "No. No... I won't believe it - "

"I know it's difficult to accept, but... She's gone, Elrond."

"I would know if my wife is dead," Elrond snarled uncharacteristically. "Believe what you wish, but I know she still lives."

Galadriel knew better than to argue; she, herself, spent years of denial after Sauron murdered her brother, Finrod. So she gave Elrond space to process what he'd learned.

Yet while a circumstantially redeeming quality, Elrond was stubborn and confident in his morals and opinions. So, he refused to believe your life was lost; something in his gut twisted knowingly, assuring you were just misplaced and surely, soon to be home. Elrond knew you had a flair for the dramatic, so, he just prayed this was one of those times - where you wouldn't reappear until the very last second to make an entrance.

Yet Adar took every precaution to ensure you did not escape or could be rescued. He didn't parade you around, he kept you hidden away to prevent gossip from revealing your location. You were constantly left chained to posts by rusting irons, no comfort offered, no reprieve; nothing to pass your annoying suffering a little easier. You were fed just enough to be kept alive, you were allowed to wash yourself with a single cloth every few weeks - but typically with an Orcish audience watching, claiming they're "on duty". You lost use of your tongue after so many months had passed without a single indication aid had been deployed - hope shattered and futile.

You wondered if Elrond knew. You worried he thought you lost to the war. In vain, you prayed he didn't give up on you. However, you were logical and logic screamed at you that nobody would come - there was no point! You would've believed being told someone perished, too, if you heard of such circumstances.

Despite being an Incarnated, you were emotionally drained. Though, it's worth noting that under normal circumstances, you would've NEVER ended up in this position; but because of your vulnerable state and the opportunity was too good to pass up, Adar prided himself on "defeating you". He didn't know that you were beyond patient; waiting, observing, listening, leaning routines and schedules. Any opportunity you identified, you searched for anything that could help you escape; something sharp, small enough to pick the lock of your irons. You were Incarnated - your will to survive (even out of pure spite) rivaled that of any enemy.

Camp to camp, you were moved. Day by day, you lost a little more sanity. Nights grew cold, days short.

You were surprised when a pair of Orcs lumbered into "your" room, unlocking you from the post but keeping the chains on your wrists in place. They yanked you behind them, shoved you into Adar's tented shelter then forced you to your knees before the food-filled banquet table.

"And of course, there's her," Adar waved at you lazily, smirking when his newest prisoner of war sat forward with a gobsmacked expression.

She whispered your name, head snapping up to find your companion, Commander Galadriel, sat at the opposite head of the table to Adar. You smiled slightly and whispered her name softly, aware of your appearance and how straggly, despondent, and wary you must look.

"What is the meaning of this?" Galadriel demanded, the emotion in her thick voice making it crack.

"We found her," Adar smirked, "after you and your people abandoned her."

"We did not - "

"She's been... An honored guest of ours," Adar cut Galadriel off. "Her hair - it's a rare trait, I knew who she was when she was found. Figured she could truly help... Turn the tides in this war."

"You do not know what you've done," Galadriel breathed. "If her kin knew you held her, they would raze your camp into the dirt and return your children to darkness."

"You think... I do not understand the risks of holding an Incarnated? I have faced them before, known their wrath... But against Sauron, it was a necessary risk to take."

"Why?"

"You must see," Adar explained, "that it is not His lies which must be extinguished. It. Is. Him." He paused, revealing, "And I can help you do it." Adar leaned forward in his chair, "I can help you destroy Sauron, and should you value your friend's life, you will let me help you."

"What help could you possibly provide, Orc?" Galadriel spat, now leaned back casually in the chair Adar sat her in.

"Uruk," Adar corrected in Black Speech, standing from his seat to venture towards the side of the room. He stood before a plain wooden box, lifting the lid, and revealing in his hands:

"Morgoth's crown," Galadriel sat up. "I was told - "

"There are many stories of what happened after the Silmarils were pried from its setting," Adar validated. "But I was there when Sauron re-fired it to fit Himself. I was there when He kneeled to be crowned. And I was the one who used its power to slay Him."

Adar set the crown to the table, your stomach growling at the sight and smell of full platters.

"If what you say is true... Why did He return?" Galadriel asked.

"Because I had not yet found you, as I have her," he gestured at you.

"What part are we to play in this?"

"It is said the Three Elven Rings saved your people from fading. Is it true?" When Galadriel didn't answer, Adar nodded at one of his children standing over you; making the Orc bash you in the temple. "Is it true?" Adar repeated over your whimper of pain.

"Yes," Galadriel grit, glaring at the small dribble of fresh blood dripping down the side of your face. She decided red wasn't your color - no matter how much your husband liked seeing you in it.

"Then perhaps... Together, this crown and your Rings would be powerful enough to truly destroy Sauron forever. The Deceiver believes he is still beyond my grasp... But I know he hides in Eregion. And I suspect you know for certain... Halbrand is Sauron... Isn't he?"

You laughed a little, "Halbrand? Sauron? Come off it, you're mistaken. Go on, Commander, tell him - tell him." Galadriel was silent as she was overwhelmed by her memories. "Commander, tell him he's wrong! Halbrand isn't Sauron, tell him he's mistaken!"

Adar mistook the silence as her being defiant, nodding to his son again in permission. So, the Orc swiftly backhanded you with enough force, it literally toppled you backwards with a groan.

"I kept her alive... For you," Adar growled, bearing his teeth at the Elleth. "But I'll execute her at nightfall if you continue down this path of resistance. The fate of that city and your friend now rests on your ability to put aside your pride." Galadriel's teary eyes casted over you, sprawled out on the floor - not finding the use in sitting up to your knees again. "I suggest you find the will to do so... If you can, for everyone's sake." Adar removed the crown from the table and placed it back in its box, Galadriel hissing your name, only receiving a nonverbal thumbs up to indicate you were okay. When the Father of Uruks returned, he clipped matching irons to Galadriel's wrist before snatching up his sword, tossing over his shoulder, "We will speak again. I'll give you until nightfall to decide."

The Orcs filed out of the room after Adar, leaving you on the ground and chained to a spare post. Slowly, you tried to sit up and use the beam as support; grimacing in pain that made your friend question, "Are you hurt?"

"They're not the most merciful lot," you tried to joke with a smirk, but it turned into a wince, "but I've been through worse, I'll be fine. Listen to me, Galadriel," you sniffled, "you can't tell Adar anything. I don't care if he's gutting me, you don't tell him - "

"I would not have your life ended on my account, it would be as if swinging the sword myself!" Galadriel argued with heat.

"Adar is not your ally," you scoffed, "nor are the Orcs - look at what they've done! Continue to do! Do not be so foolish! So blinded, please, I beg you, my friend. If you tell him about Sauron, yes, your enemy might be vanquished, but you could be creating an entirely new and future enemy that all of Middle-earth must endure. My life is not worth that."

"It's worth more."

You smirked, "Don't forget who I am, friend; I am Incarnated, and I will not die easily nor without a fight. Adar will not succeed in my death so easily."

Galadriel shook her head, "If I do not indulge Adar with information I have and you lose your life because of that, Elrond would never forgive me."

You gave a watery smile, sniffling, "How is he?"

The Elf shook her head, "He's... He refuses to accept your fate, operates on a shorter fuse, he's mourning - even if he doesn't acknowledge or believe he is."

"It's not that I don't love you, my friend, but... I'll miss him the most," you let a single tear fall, a wistful smile toying on your lips. "You'll look out for him, won't you? Just... Just don't let him be alone, please. He'll try to push you away, but be patient; he'll need you and I'll rest easier knowing you'll be there."

"I won't do as you ask," Galadriel grit. "Look at you!"

"How can you be so confident that the moment you tell Adar what he wants to know, he won't kill me anyway?"

"Because Adar appears a man of rationality - unlike Sauron - "

You scoffed, "None of them are rational, Galadriel! They have their own agendas - and none of them benefit the likes of us! Don't tell him anything else, I don't care if he's gutting me like a pig, you don't say anything!"

"I can't agree to that," Galadriel shook her head, "I won't, not when there's a chance we can both get out of this alive."

"And if we survive just to witness the eradication of our people!?" Galadriel was silent, bowing her head. With a sigh, you asked, "Where's Nenya?"

"Safe with Elrond."

"Oh?" You chuckled. "How'd that happen? You have to break his finger off to put it on?"

Galadriel gave a breathy chuckle, "He needed a bit of convincing, but with the greater good at stake - he was left no choice."

With a smirk of amusement, you nodded slowly, then requested, "Could you promise me something decently reasonable?"

"I can try."

"If you make it outta here and I don't - "

"Do not say that!"

"Galadriel, just - stop for a moment and listen to me, please. If you get out of here and I do not, tell Elrond what happened. Tell him Adar found me after the volcano erupted, kept me prisoner, and that I tried." Tears brimmed your waterline, "Tell him I tried to escape, to get back to him... But if I don't make it and you do, please, tell him I love him - more than anything. Tell him I'll wait for him on white shores."

"Tell him yourself."

As promised, when night fell, Adar returned. His second in command, Glüg, approached you with a brandished sword and laid it at your neck with a cruel and twisted expression.

"Have you made your decision?" Adar questioned, Galadriel looking between him and the threat to your life. "Choose wisely, or I'll let my children bleed her; right here, right now. Tell me what I've asked."

"Don't tell him shit, Galadriel!" You barked in a last ditch effort, earning a balled-up-armored fist to rock your jaw. You spit a glob of blood to the side, snarling at Glüg, "You hit like like a bitch." He spit on you.

With a huff, Galadriel exposed, "Yes, Halbrand is Sauron. He's in Eregion to craft Rings that will allow Him to dominate my kind... And yours."

"Every kind in Middle-earth," Adar corrected.

Quickly, Galadriel rushed, "But He will not attempt escape until His task is complete. And that gives us a momentary advantage."

"'Us'?" The Father repeated.

"Unlock me."

"Galadriel! Think for a second!" You snapped, but Glüg pressed his blade deeper into your throat. You seethed, frustrated and angry tears turning suffocating. Adar approached your friend, eyes trained on her, causing the Elleth to look away in discomfort as Adar undid the iron cuff on Galadriel's wrist.

"As we speak, Y/N's husband, Elrond, hastens from Lindon with an army of Elves..." She boldly looked at Adar, you struggling against the blade at the sound of Elrond's name, "And Nenya, my Ring."

"Galadriel! Stop, don't say another word! Silence yourself!" You begged, whimpering shrilly when blood flowed from Glüg's disgustingly dirty blade.

"I see," Adar turned from the Elf.

You were ignored and Galadriel rose from her seat, following Adar while continuing, "Once he arrives, he will seal off the city, loose Celebrimbor from Sauron's grasp, and then together... Uruk, you and I will eradicate all trace of Sauron from this world. Never to return."

"And what then?" Adar questioned.

"Any Ring that have known his touch must be destroyed."

"I meant, what then for the Uruk? Will your High King permit us to return home in peace? Or will he proceed with his plans to invade Mordor? The shadow has not only overcome you, it has overcome all of Elvendom. In the end, your drive to prove your virtue will work right into Sauron's designs."

"You speak lies," Galadriel whispered as if in disbelief. "Hoping I will reveal something."

"You have already revealed everything I hoped you would and more."

You groaned and tossed your head back into the beam; a harsh thump echoing as Adar charged out of the tent with Galadriel and Glüg on his heels.

"Where are you taking her!?" Galadriel struggled in her restraints, unable to stray far from her seat as two Orcs entered the tent and began unclipping your irons. You didn't fight them, rolling your tired eyes as they began dragging you out on your backside. "NO! NO! Where are you taking her!?" Galadriel sobbed, on her feet, trying to follow.

"Remember your promise," you told her, forcing yourself to find contentment that your friend could be the last friendly image your brain would register.

"No, please! Please! You will not profit from her death! I have told you what your Father wanted, now release her! Her death will not profit you, but instead, will bring about your utter ruin! Please! Y/N!"

The Orcs ignored Galadriel's pleas, dragging you from the tent and amongst the snarling, snapping Orcs. Adar stood before a cart big enough for a single prisoner, smirking, giving his children command in Black Speech to load you inside. He watched, telling you, "Galadriel says your husband is on his way with an army. Surely, the sight of his wife might give Commander Elrond pause. The knowledge that you're alive will bring him to my table."

You were strung up by your arms, spread in exposure, tarps thrown over the cage to effectively cut you off from the rest of the world. You felt the cage rattle as you were lugged through mud. You couldn't identify hardly anything... Until a familiar horn bellowed in the short distance, making your chest tighten. While excited by the prospect of a rescue, you loathed the idea of Elrond running head first into a trap.

Your Elven ears picked up on the sound of thundering horse hooves, knowing your people (kin, too) were charging towards Adar's army; who were swiftly gathering in organized ranks. Your cage came to a halt, and a moment later, you flinched when the front-facing tarp was ripped down and the light above Eregion glared down on you. You were greeted with the sight of your husband surging closer on horseback, time seemingly slowing when your eyes locked and he registered who Adar's prisoner was.

You flinched when an Orc pressed the tip of their blade into your already injured neck, reopening a wound to send a single stream of blood steadily flowing.

"Halt!" Elrond called in Sindarin, the entire procession coming to an almost synchronized halt. He sized up the enemy, but kept letting his eyes glaze over you - disbelief coloring his expression. Elrond's horse stamped in place, Adar stepping forward to speak.

"Welcome, Commander Elrond."

"Y/N!" A voice shouted from the army, Elrond's head snapping over in time to see your siblings - three brothers, two sisters - dismounting their horses.

"Wait, wait!" Elrond barked at them, holding a hand up; your siblings halting themselves.

"Wise," Adar taunted, your irons noisily rattling when you tried to adjust your stance.

In Sindarin, you called to your eldest brother, "Do what needs done, do not spare my life for this foolishness! Take them down! Be done with it! Rid us of their filth!"

"I should think... Commander Elrond would like to hear my proposal first," Adar told you casually.

"I think they should put you and children in the dirt!" You spat, earning several snarls, growls, and hisses from the surrounding Orcs.

Elrond encouraged his horse forward, standing in the sunlight highlighting 'no man's land'. He glared at Adar, but asked you, "Are you hurt?"

"Only my ego," you assured.

His eyes flickered over to Adar, then nodded, "I will hear you first."

"You're wasting your time," you told him in Sindarin.

"On you, it's not a waste," he answered stiffly, almost angrily. "I would have her set free for the duration of our parlay."

"But of course," Adar agreed, being carted away at his Blackened command. Due to the tarps hanging over the other 3 sides of your prison, you lost sight of Elrond; forced to blindly follow instruction and behave.

The Elves were not permitted weapons in the Uruk camp.

Elrond dismounted his horse with Vorohil and your eldest brother, Iallion, who insisted on going to gauge your state, in time to watch the Orcs yank you from the cart and drag you into a tent as if your legs were of no use. It was all he needed to know to understand your treatment the past few months you've been 'missing'. His hand clapped Adar's shoulder before the Father of Orcs could pass him by, snarling, "If I come to learn you've been mistreating my wife, I assure you, there will be consequences."

Adar just chuckled and lead the way into his tent. Several Orcs shoved Elrond's shoulder and forced him, his second-in-command, and your brother to follow.

Inside, Elrond noted the walls lined with Orcs, all surrounding their prisoners of war - you and Commander Galadriel. The blonde Elleths were shackled to the same post, both standing, though, you were leaning into the beam for support as it appeared you could not stand on your own. When you noted their arrival, you perked up slightly, but not enough to wash away the worry he felt.

Elrond was offered a seat, just staring down Adar, who began, "The Ring you carry... Show it to me."

Elrond snarled, "Show me the care you've taken of my wife."

"She is perfectly healthy... As you can see. The Ring, Commander..."

Elrond glared for several long minutes, then answered, "A foolish act if I had brought it here."

"You are a courtier," Adar pointed out. "More suited to wielding a scroll than a sword."

"You've never seen me wield either."

"And yet," Adar's head cocked slightly, "I have faced the Incarnated and won. Beside Sauron, there's none alive... Entitled to those rights."

Iallion demanded in a snarl, "How came you by my sister? You say you won against her - where?"

"Didn't win a fucking thing! The bastards found me; facedown in volcanic soot after the battle with the Númenoreans. I told you to keep charging - you should've kept charging," you answered, earning a swift kick to the back of your knee; making it buckle and ram the post.

"Touch her again and I'll slaughter everyone in here," Elrond threatened.

"You so much as twitch - "

"And one of your children shall kill me? My wife? My men? You think I am not aware of that fact, do you honestly think I wouldn't risk life and limb for my wife? Do not. Touch. Her."

Adar just stared at Elrond, then nodded, "Fair enough. Though, if she speaks again... Cut out her tongue."

Elrond, Iallion, and Vorohil all sat forward when Glüg's blade chimed as it was deployed from the sheath; another couple Orcs shuffling and snarling forward to box you in. Your eyes rolled when the same dagger pressed unforgivingly to the pulse point beneath the hinge of your jaw.

Adar continued, "Sauron is my enemy as much as yours... Give me what I need to defeat Him and let us be rid of Him."

"Is it not you that has done his bidding by laying siege to Eregion?" Elrond countered.

"Eregion has fallen into shadow... It belongs to the Deceiver now, as does every Elf within its walls."

"Not Lord Celebrimbor," your husband tried to refuted, desperate to believe there was still some good left to fight for.

"It was Celebrimbor himself who welcomed Sauron in. You cannot save him... You can...save...them," Adar explained, naturally making Elrond look to you still held at knife point. Galadriel was uncharacteristically silent, chained to the same post, facing one another. "It is an earnest offer... I suggest you take it," punctuated Adar before he rose from his chair. "And leave Sauron to me..."

"Right, 'cause that worked sooo well last time," you scoffed, making every Elven eye widen in surprised shock. "You're the reason He still lives, you're forcing us all to do your bidding and fight against Him!" When an Orc's hand rose in a sudden movement to grip your chin - intending to hold open so Glüg could amputate your tongue - you simply reacted out of panic by erratically whipping your head to the side in time to catch the Orc's hand. His pointer finger landed between your teeth, too slow on the draw; losing the finger to the single, incredible chomp as if a root vegetable.

The Orc screamed in pain, spitting the finger and causing black blood to coat your lips like sadistic make-up.

"Lord Father - "

Adar silenced Glüg with a hand in the air, the injured Orc being escorted from the tent; hissing at you in a way that made you smirk. The Father of Orcs glanced at you, demanding, "Quiet," before slowly moved around the banquet table. He complimented Elrond, "You have the beauty of your foremother, Melian of the Valar. If even a fragment of her wisdom is in your veins... You must know you cannot defeat me in battle. I will outmaneuver you... My forces outfight yours... And you will fall."

"Not before you have painted the sands of the Glanduin black," Elrond stood to meet Adar, "with the blood of your kin."

You smirked slightly, always having faith Elrond would choose responsibility over emotion - something Galadriel was increasingly struggling with and unable to master. Glüg lowered his blade when he heard Elrond's threat - thinking this war was meant to played with strategy, not overwhelming numbers that would discard Orcish life without thought or consideration.

Adar assured, "My children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud."

"Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely... Adar?" Elrond questioned, using the Uruk's name as if an insult. "Are they?" He asked the room, letting his eyes bore into those of few Orcs to truly drive his words and plant seeds of doubt.

Adar didn't respond, pausing, then demanding, "You may haggle over Galadriel... But it's the Ring for your wife's life. What is it to be?"

Elrond's eyes locked with yours, noting the way your head shook. He slowly stalked around Adar, his hand unsuspectingly unclipping the decorative detail of his cloak's shoulder broach. His teary gaze lifted to lock with yours, portraying his apology and grief, then turning to Adar, "Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours."

Orcs hissed.

"Very well," Adar accepted, sounding genuinely disappointed. "I suppose not all vows are kept sacred... I will meet you there... With your wife's head on a pike."

Elrond held Adar's attention, relenting, "If that is to be the way of things, I should like to bid her farewell."

Adar's eyes shifted to Glüg's over Elrond's shoulder, the Orc assuring, "He's unarmed."

Interesting, you mused to yourself, he saw Elrond's broach but doesn't report it? Perhaps this war caused tension among their legion - beginning to question the man they followed.

After Adar's nod, Elrond turned to approach the beam in record break time. "My love," he greeted softly, tears evident and ready to spill. You both just stared at each other, unable to accept or process being within proximity to one another after being apart for so long - and only now, reunited to say goodbye. "Forgive me," Elrond whispered in Sindarin.

"Win," you answered in a matching hushed volume. "And if you don't, meet me on white shores."

He nodded, hand lifted to caress your cheek in disbelief; shuddering at the feel of your flesh. "I've missed you past the point of words, my star," he frowned.

"No more than I you."

You snuggled into his hand, stomach lurching when he leaned forward to press his final kiss to your lips. It wasn't passionate, but something chaste for show only; your chained hands reaching to hold his free one as it was all you could reach. The broach's center was pressed to your palm, your tear streaking through grimy cheeks when he pulled back to rest his forehead on yours. "I love you," he swore.

"I love you, too," you whimpered, bottom lip trembling with emotion as Adar looked to the ground. You wished to say your acting skills were that good to be truly deceptive, but in reality, something in your intuition refused to let you believe you'd survive this.

Hating the look of devastation on your otherwise devastatingly beautiful features, Elrond leaned in again before hushing against your lips, "Be ready."

"Be smart."

Elrond nodded, kissed you one last time before pulling back. Almost as if in pain, he turned, unable to handle being so close so improperly; causing him to snap, "Iallion, Vorohil," who flanked his tail upon their exit of the Uruk tent.

You sniffled, leaning on the beam in exhaustion, still playing into the facade you thought Elrond was trying to silently communicate. You weren't defeated yet; the pin kept in your clenched fist to cause indentations from the star-point design.

Outside, Iallion and Vorohil questioned Elrond's confidence, being told a legion of Dwarves had been summoned to march to Eregion's aid; telling his second to guide the army to the battle while he held the city. Before trotting away, Elrond pulled on his helmet and told the two in Sindarin, "And it starts with the rescue of my wife and decimation of this camp."

You used Elrond's pin to pick Galadriel's lock first, insisting she had to flee before anyone caught you. She tried to refuse, something about loyalty or other, but you all but shoved her away from you and snarled for her to leave you.

"Elrond's near," you reminded her, "I'm not going anywhere."

"He's coming for you," she realized.

"Did you have any doubt?"

She chuckled, "I suppose not."

"Get out of here," you cocked your head, indicating she flee out the tent flap. You focused on your own lock as the sounds of invasion echoed around the camp. Praying Galadriel found a way to disguise herself, you struggled to unlock your irons; hearing someone rush into the tent behind you.

"You!"

An Orc was surging up to you in record time, bloody dagger in hand, twisted snarl curling his lip. You dropped the pin on accident, unable to retrieve it; but having enough mind to wait until the Orc was a foot from you, stepping back, extending your chains. The Orc slashed directly into the weakened metal, severing your bond, but the loss of tension made you flop backwards; rolling over your shoulder and onto your feet.

The Orc, ever graceful, hacked wildly at you; forcing you to go on the defense and dodge his attacks around the tent. Three more Orcs filed in; but however you might argue, luck was on your side for your brother, Iallion, came charging in with your sister, Eliriel.

"Y/N!"

You caught the sword your brother tossed, slashing the offending Orc's head from his shoulders as your siblings disposed of the other three enemies with ease.

Realizing the Orcs were vanquished (for now), you turned to your brother and raced into his embrace. He grunted and caught you, petting the back of your head before releasing and letting you hug your sister.

"Do you need medial aid?" Eliriel asked in worry, pushing hair from your shoulders to expose flesh - checking for any injury or bloody blemish.

"No - "

"Can you fight?"

"The day I answer no, you've permission to put me in the ground yourself," you scoffed, nodding at your brother. "You came back?"

"Elrond's leading the charge, they're razing the camp," Iallion explained, "otherwise he would've come himself."

"Where is he?"

"Come, we can find him," he insisted, eyes raking over you. "Sure you're all right?"

"Never better," you chuckled without humor, intent on holding the horrors you've experienced at the hands of your captors close to your chest. "Now, we gonna stand here and talk or go hunt some Orc?"

"YES!"

The Incarnated swarmed together in a protection fashion around you; a sibling shield, if you would, due to your lack of armor. Individually, the Incarnated were almost impossible to defeat, but together, they rivaled armies; exactly as the Valar intended. However, while fearsome in battle, you were still but a few and the Orcs were a grand-many; almost easily overwhelming any Elf they encountered.

Exactly why you were separated from them.

You faced against four different foes, turning as if dancing steps to something intimate; blade flashing in the sunlight, ringing as it clanged against blackened blades and rusted armor. It was easy to cut off your retreat or direction back to your siblings, forcing you back several yards as the Orcs swiftly closed in.

"Y/N! DUCK!" You heard from behind you; not thinking, just dropping like a sack of potatoes.

Horse hooves passed you, looking up in time to defend against another blade as Elrond engaged the others. You were both fairing decently until a moment of distraction - where an Orc swung his axe into Elrond's chest and knocked him from his horse - leaving an opportunity for your attacker.

With a scream, the Orc's blade sliced your chest in a deep slashing, managing to cut into your neck; blood starting to stream into your torn and tattered prison clothes. You were blinded by stinging pain, whimpering as your non-dominant arm curled across your chest as if gauze to lay over the injury; dominant hand occupied by your sword, defending yourself with weak whimpers.

One final hack made your sword arm collapse into the ground and for the Orc to stomp on your wrist to hold you there. You were pinned. The Orc laughed and sadistically reached down to swipe a grimy finger into your wound, causing you to hiss through teeth, only to lift his finger to his mouth and taste your life force. The sight alone made your stomach lurch, a panicked cry escaping your lips.

Elrond heard the enemy's laugh and lifted his head in time to see it lick your blood; noting your cry and position beneath the Orc. His face steeled into something beyond infuriation. The three Orcs that filled the space between you and he were quickly dispatched, Elrond engaging your attacker - letting you scramble backwards into a tree trunk for a front row viewing.

With a wild swing, Elrond swiped at the Orc; who reached up to grab hold of his helmet, which was freed when Elrond rolled from under him. The Orc swung, blade whistling; catching Elrond's cheek and sending him to the dirt, much to your worry. He glared at the enemy, wiping at his injury as the Orc growled, "I'm gonna spill her guts at your feet, Elf!"

Elrond's eyes flickered to you, taking the threat as credible; swiping the sword away, using a second blade to inflict injury before driving his longsword into the Orc's belly - driving him backwards into the basket of a trebuchet (or catapult). When pinned, Elrond drove his dagger into the Orc's sternum; leering over him in Sindarin, "Die."

Elrond yanked both weapons free and turned for the machine's mechanisms; yanking a rope and setting the trebuchet into motion. "No, no, no, no," the Orc begged when he realized what was happening; lifted off his feet only to be flung with the basket of rocks through the air, over the width of the Glanduin, and into the walls of Eregion.

Your husband wasted no time to drop the rope and turn for you; rushing forward and sliding to his knees beside your bleeding form. "Elrond, oh, my stars," you rushed with a bloody grin, reaching for him with your dominate hand as the other still tried to staunch your injury.

"I knew you weren't gone, I knew it," he breathed, taking your face in hand, "I'm so sorry, my love, I'm so sorry. I should've come sooner - "

"You got here right when you were supposed to," you assured, sniffling. "Have you - Have you seen Galadriel? I set her free, have you seen her?"

"Why was she not with you?"

"I sent her away, I wasn't sure how long I'd take to escape," you trembled, "then Iallion and Eliriel got me out."

"Why didn't you run?"

"I did..."

"No, away from the battle - "

"I ran to find you," you whispered, offering a sad smile. "Oh," you breathed, fingertip ghosting over his cut cheek, "that'll scar."

"It's nothing," he shook his head, "but yours isn't - I have to get you away from here - "

"There's no time," you rushed, "so, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

You swallowed thickly, "Clean your blade, put it in the fire."

Elrond's brows furrowed, glancing over his shoulder to see the trebuchet set ablaze by his men; the Orcs fleeing from the danger, leaving a rare opening. "I don't... Oh," his eyes widened, nodding and rushing to do as you bid. He cleaned his blade on his cloak as he sprinted to the burning machine; sticking his blade in, then returning to your side. "Can you stand?" He asked.

"If you can get me up," you nodded.

"C'mon, love," Elrond whispered, hands under your arms and hoisting you up the bark with a small grunt. "I've got you - "

"Elrond!"

He didn't think, just gripped the blade of his dagger and flung it in a fluid motion over his shoulder where you were staring. The weapon struck an approaching Orc in the throat; gurgling black blood as he went down, but Elrond didn't even bother to watch. He just returned his attention to you, "C'mere, starlight, I've got you."

"Commander!" A different voice shouted, your siblings rushing to the scene. Iallion, as the eldest, gave command to the others, "Circle - circle up! Get around them!" As the Incarnated surrounded you, Elrond was assisting you towards the flames. "Commander, orders, sir?"

"Stand guard," Elrond replied, easing you to your knees. "All right, my love," he paused, checking the blade, "think it's good?"

You nodded, "It's good. Just, uh... Aim, please."

He huffed, "As if I'd miss." He pulled his sword fully from the flames, the thin metal burning bright red; even sizzling subtly. "Ready?"

"Wait, wait," Eliriel bartered, finding a chunk of wood and placing it in your mouth. She lowered to her knees and hooked her arms around yours; restraining them behind your back in a vice. "Okay... Okay, good - do it, do it now, Elrond!" She begged, seeing blood flow a little more freely now that you weren't trying to plug the wound.

When your husband lowered the blade to your injury, you lost consciousness after screaming blood murder until air depleted from your lungs. The flesh was cauterized as cleanly as Elrond could manage, satisfied when he noted no weeping openings.

"Commander! What orders, Commander!?"

Elrond was torn between his wife and his company - but Iallion encouraged, "Go, brother. We'll get her somewhere safe."

With a scoff, Elrond shook his head and carefully pulled the wood from your mouth; gathering you off your sister and into his chest. "Where's safe anymore?" Elrond asked rhetorically in Sindarin, standing with you in his arms.

The camp was in complete disarray, Adar realizing the Elven Calvary had destroyed nearly everything in their path, almost to a barbaric extent. He would've questioned the displayed Elven bravery, but his mind knew better and reminded him he threatened Commander Elrond's wife... No wonder the camp was stamped into the ground.

The sun sank, darkness spread, and Adar listened to report after report, all confirming the Elves were fairing better than expected. Many Uruk lost their lives, more were injured, and the Orcs were encountering outmaneuvers no matter where they attacked.

Adar returned to the tent he left you and Galadriel in... Finding empty irons, no prisoners, and several of his children - dead. There was no confirmation as to who the wounds were from, but considering the swift yet strategically fatal injuries, he assumed the Incarnated had come to your rescue. Death was only graceful when dealt by their hands.

"Perhaps, Lord Father," Glüg reported, "we should sound the retreat. The Commander Elrond is formidable, angry over his wife's injuries..."

"No," Adar refused.

"He slaughtered half the camp to find her!"

"We do not retreat," Adar growled, making his son shy back a step. "Send him in..."

"He will kill our own kind!"

"Send. Him. In. Commander Elrond is on the battlefield, his wife smuggled away - "

"His wife is on the field, Lord Father! Khor saw her," Glüg gestured at his brother, who nodded vigorously at Adar.

"All the more reason... Send him in."

After your wound was cauterized, Elrond managed to find a horse and rush you a safe distance into the woods with Eliriel to guard you. Upon awakening, you were stiff with pain, but infuriated by the obvious delay in consciousness; rolling to your feet and testing the bounds of the near-fatal, scabbing wound.

"You can't go," Eliriel insisted, watching you stretch, "you'll tear open - "

"Adar kept me alive just enough for this moment, I have business to settle with him. I've been on the sidelines too long, sister," you snapped, "and injured or not, I will not leave Eregion to the darkness. There's still a chance - our people still fight. Will you join us? Or shall you turn tail, as our uncle did? Demote yourself?"

Your uncle, another Incarnated, had been a member of the original alliance of Elves against Sauron; one of the first to leave Valinor on a noble quest to Middle-earth. He was one of the reasons your kin had been blessed, but he's also the reason you know what happens if Incarnated refuse their Holy Calling... Facing Morgoth's apprentice was traumatizing beyond belief, your uncle leading alongside Galadriel's brother, Finrod, in many abattle. Yet Sauron's craft was vast, weaseling into your uncle's heart and brain to the point of insanity; so much so, that upon your uncle going AWOL, Finrod was slain in response.

Galadriel never blamed you nor other Incarnated; she blamed only Sauron, rationalizing he was who fucked up your uncle's head so much that the Valar took back their gift. A forfeited Incarnated was gazed upon with utter contempt until driven into exile, and even then, they aren't immediately granted immunity nor entrance into Aman, - or the Undying Lands - but instead, must plead for redemption. Needless to say, your uncle gave your kin quiet a public mess to rectify and it was a grave insult to throw such an accusation at an Incarnated.

"Sister?" You prompted.

From the dirt, Eliriel nodded and reached for your hand; allowing you to heave her onto her feet. "You'll need armor - do not argue!" She snapped with a pointed finger when your mouth opened. "Come."

Eliriel lead you through the woods at a mild pace as to not irritate your injury. Using the darkness to your advantage, you snuck around until happening upon a fallen Elleth who was about your size and body type. Swiftly, you took her armor with a prayer in Sindarin, securing it, then latching on her weapons belt.

"Ready?" You asked, seeing Eliriel nod. "Stay close."

"I'm older than you!"

"Then act like it!" You laughed over your shoulder, sprinting from the treeline and directly towards the fray taking place before Eregion's walls. You snatched a full quiver from a dead Elf, not stopping; plucking up an abandoned bow, still surging; then snatching whatever spent torch-arrows you could, doubly determined.

Blood transformed impacted dirt into a marsh; bodies littering the land, a city on fire, and Death permeating the air. Your sword sang with glee at each blow; injury holding strong, giving you fuller permission to move as you needed. When you raced into battle, you were an entirely different breed; purely animalistic, relying on your senses to cause the most damage. All you could process was you needing to kill.

You happened to be in the right place at the right time because just yards ahead of you, several jagged arrows thumped into your comrade, Rían's, body at varying angles. She swayed and dropped to her knees, revealing ahead of her, a small gaggle of Elves - Elrond included. Rían reached for a torch arrow as you noted the barrel of oil by the Grond and quickly connected the dots.

It was as if the Valar arranged it themself: where one Elf fell, an Incarnated steps up to assume responsibility without hesitation nor prompt. Three additional arrows struck Rían, who fell dead, and there you stood; causing your name to fall from your husband's mouth and for you to spring into action. Without hesitation, you ignite your own arrow, notch it, aim, then release before rushing towards Elrond; seven arrows impalied the place you vacated. "What're you doing here!? It's not safe!" Elrond demanded when you lowered to his level behind a barrier of dirt.

Your arrow found it's mark, catching the entire Grond and surrounding Orcs in a violently gnarly explosion. You smirked at your husband, anchoring him by his neck to place a desperate, messy, slippery kiss to his lips. On retraction, there came a loud, wet smooch sound; you nodding and answering, "Winning a war."

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[euphoricfilter]

standing next to you:

pairing: dancer! jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff || smut || non-idol au || strangers to somewhat lovers

summary: with all those eyes on him, he only had eyes for you

word count: 4k

tags/ warnings: infidelity (womp womp), m/c has a crusty rich old bitch of a husband, smut in the forms of: dom! jungkook, who is a little condescending (because we all know i like that), subby! reader, semi-public sex?, oral (fem. receiving), unprotected sex, the pull out method (womp womp), multiple orgasms, cum marking? jungkook has a dick piercing!!!! lets goooo!!!!

notes: yippee jungkook gave me another smut idea. kinda half edited so if there’s mistakes then no there isn’t <\3

.　 . �� ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

It couldn’t have been more than half a second, Jungkook’s eyes catching yours for the briefest moment as the spotlights dance over the crowd, what could have been mistaken for the galaxy reflected in your irises as you look at him.

The eyes that told a story of worship, how his mere existence was a crazed phenomenon your brain was barely able to process as you follow his body across the stage.

For months now, he would catch glimpses of you, always sat at the same table with the same people. Never once talking to them as your focus lays solely on him as he dances on stage.

Your face is soon veiled by one of his back-up dancers, flicker of a moment gone. Whatever was there, a short spark of interest simmering out as your face is no longer in his line of sight. Buzz of something a little more snapped, dissolving into fine dust under the orange hue of the light.

There was such innocent wonder in your eyes as your gaze flickers across the stage, entirely enamoured by what lay before you. The theatre nothing like you had ever seen before, ever so extravagant, and elegant. Male dancers dominating the stage, flowing as if they were dancing on ice, so free-spirited in the ways their bodies move.

Constant stimuli of such an event scratching the back of your mind—the way Jungkook moves enough for you to drown out the rest of the chatter behind you, your existence nothing to any of these people.

Your heart hammers in time with the base that tickles the bottom of your feet, broaches on the dancers’ jackets star-like as the spotlight finds its place back on stage, Jungkook’s face soon illuminated again. Face sculpted, a gift from the high heavens, a man that captures the hearts of many, man and woman alike.

He wonders if your eyes remain on him, bright with wonder as he glides across the stage, trying his hardest to find your eyes behind the harsh glare of the lights, sat ever so pretty, the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen.

It’s only when the lights dim does he see the hand on your thigh, silver band of a wedding ring sat one of the fingers.

Though you don’t seem to notice, entirely focused on the stage you don’t seem to realise when your husband squeezes your thigh, entirely unaware when he pushes his chair back to stand up. Ignorant to the fact that he saunters over to another woman a couple of tables behind where you’re sat.

Left alone in the company of your husband’s friends, who have no means to talk to you, nor acknowledge your existence. Because who would talk to the wife of the man who clearly has no care for what should be his lover? And as much as you pretend to not notice, never once asking why he gets home so late, or the messages that flash across the screen of his phone, never once have you brought it up.

Because that wasn’t your job. You weren’t there to care, to worry about who got your husband’s dick wet or who was stuffed full of his cum, who had it dripping down their legs when he re-emerges after you hadn’t seen him for what felt like hours. You were there to look pretty, and to smile at any man that gives you attention, nothing more and nothing less.

Jungkook thinks you must be the first to stand on your feet once the performance is over, eager in your applause. Too shy to meet his eyes from where he looks down at you from the stage, but not enough to not show your appreciation for his art. Glittery shimmer of the dim light illuminating you, stood centre of the room, awe reflected from your face as you quickly glance up to look at him before the curtain lowers.

So many minutes of your life stolen by him, perfect in the way his body moved, moments you never wish you get back because you wished to watch him dance forever.

Your eyes flit down to the sliver of stomach that peeks from beneath his blazer when he raises his arms at the applause.

You swallow at the deep rumble of his voice as he thanks the crowd, turning to thank the back-up dancers too before he’s facing you again, hint of a smile on his face as he takes one final bow. The curtains falling from the ceiling, your hair tickling your neck at the short gust of wind it produces.

It takes a moment for you to gather yourself, mind reeling as you glance around the room. Entirely isolated, even with hundreds of people surrounding you.

You can’t see where your husband had wandered off to, swallowing down any apprehension you have as you sit back down, fingers gentle as they pick up the flute of champagne—too expensive for your tastes, and you hate to think just how much it costs. Much rather having the host spend that sort of money on the reason for this evening than wowing guests with expensive alcohol and high-end food. Because surely the fund raiser would fare better with all that money than the pompous assholes that laughed in the face of the less fortunate.

You almost jump out of your seat when a heavy hand lands on your shoulder, eyes wide as your tilt your head upwards to see who it could be. Heart hammering when your eyes meet Jungkook’s, flickering across his face.

You swallow, “Hi” you breathe, turning your body to face him a little better.

The corners of Jungkook’s lips curl up into a smile, piercings catching the light, “What’s a pretty girl doing sitting alone?”

He pulls out an empty chair beside you, your head flickering across all the empty chairs around the table, wondering where all your husband’s friends had gone.

“Oh just…” you start, turning back to look at him, words dissolving on your tongue when your eyes meet his.

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back in the chair a little, legs spread wide. His eyes flicker down to the ring on your finger.

“I thought your performance earlier was amazing” you rush, hands running over your silk dress. Perfect change of conversation.

Jungkook leans a little closer to you, reaching across the table a little to grab your glass of champagne. Your eyes stay trained on his lips as they wrap around the rim of the glass, breath catching in the back of your throat as he downs the rest of your drink.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name?” he urges, eyes sharp as they flicker across your face.

“Y/n” you breathe, “and you are…”

“Jungkook” he holds out his hand for you to shake. You take it, toes curling, imaginary electric current slipping down your body at his gentle touch.

“I could show you backstage if you like?” he offers, hands smothering down the imaginary creases in his suit, nodding towards the stage, “It’s pretty nice back there”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes scanning the room for a moment before you’re looking back at Jungkook nodding, “I would like that” you murmur, taking his hand when he offers it to you. He tugs you a little closer to his side once you’ve stood up, linking your arm with his as he walks the both of you around the maze of tables.

Not once does it cross your mind that all the people in the room can see you clinging onto another man, eyes glued to the side of his face as you paint a picture of him in your mind. After so many months of watching him perform on stage, a perfect entity so far out of reach, he was not stood beside you. Warm flesh radiating underneath his suit jacket, scar on his cheek deepened from the overhead lights, calloused hand holding yours.

Someone that had felt entirely unhuman, so long of yearning, but there he was, touching you like it were nothing and he weren’t one of your dreams. Silly little fantasies of a man that should never be yours, dreams of what days would be like with someone like Jungkook. Dreams that should have never been yours to begin with, not while the slippery claws of the law tie you to another man.

Jungkook, ever the gentleman, helps you up the stairs backstage. Narrow hallway entirely empty as he flicks the light on, “It’s truly wonderful back here” he tells you, not letting go of your hand once.

You look around in awe, head turning to look over the outfits hung on clothes racks as you walk by.

“We can order food in my dressing room? I assume you haven’t eaten yet and I don’t think they plan to bring dinner out for a while longer” he tells you, pulling a set of keys out the front pocket of his jacket, opening the door with ease.

“I am a little hungry” you hum, stepping into the dressing room, sitting on one of the couches when he motions for you to make yourself comfortable.

Your eyes flicker towards the door when he locks it, apprehension clawing its way up your body.

“Jungkook…?” you ask, gaze never leaving the lock, even as he slinks towards you, long steps across the room having him in front of you in no time.

“You’re tense” he sits beside you, hand running down the length of your arm, “Let me fix that”

You don’t miss the dark haze in his eyes, cunt clenching at the mere thought of a man of his calibre wanting you in any sort of way.

You swallow, eyes glancing down at his lips then back up to his eyes, “We can’t” you whisper.

“Why’s that?” he murmurs, fingers training over your thighs, silk dress soft under his fingertips.

“Because…” you start, swallowing down a whimper when his fingers graze your warm skin.

“Because” he urges, teasing as he inches his fingers that little big higher.

“Because my—” you swallow, Jungkook’s scoff cutting you off.

“Because of your incompetent husband?”

You tongue wets your bottom lip, fingers clenching by your side, “Yes” your voice breathless.

“Leave him” Jungkook groans, hand tugging yours closer to him, slipping the wedding ring off your finger.

You watch as he holds it, prickle of guilt building within your chest at the fact you don’t feel bad in the slightest for what you want from Jungkook, nor the fact he holds a symbol of love and you can only wish for him to take it forever, no longer yours. No longer a burden you wish to carry.

He slips it into the pocket of his jacket, leaning forward enough for the tip of his nose to kiss yours, short huff of a breath slipping past his lips. He tilts his head a little, gentle hesitation tugging at his body; leeway for you to pull away and stop this whenever you want.

You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket, tugging him towards you. A groan catches in the back of his throat when your lips collide with his, desperate need radiating from every pore of your electrified body—tongue prodding at his bottom lip.

“My darling” he breathes in the brief moment you part, though he wastes no time tilting your head backwards that little bit as he kisses you again.

You hum against his lips, eyes slipping shut as his hands wander the length of your body, thumbs digging into your hips, down the length of your thighs until he’s tugging at the hem of your dress.

Your pussy clenches as his fingers inch that little bit higher, moan caught by Jungkook as he ghosts over tender skin, pulling the fabric higher and higher until he’s brushing his knuckles over your panties. Damp beneath his fingers as he presses through your covered folds, your hips bucking upwards when he nudges your clit.

A breathy laugh is pulled from him as you rock forward a little, chasing the pleasure as he presses his thumb a little harder against your clit.

“Pretty girl” he murmurs, hand slipping from between your legs to tug at your dress, pulling it up and over your head.

Your arms fold over your bare chest, Jungkook’s tongue wetting his bottom lip as his eyes rake down the length of your body, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs.

“How beautiful” he says, bending down a little to press a gentle kiss over your collar bone. His hands leaving your thighs to tug your arms away from your chest, guttural groan vibrating from his chest.

You let out something similar to a squeak when he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, goosebumps prickling up the skin of your arms at the flash of pleasure that shoots down your spine as his teeth graze over the sensitive skin.

Slick leaks into your panties as your hand grazes over the evident erection that strains behind the expensive fabric of his pant, cock twitching beneath the tips of your fingers as you squeeze his length.

“Want you” he ruts his hip upwards into your hand, tongue flat over your tits before he sucks at your warm skin, red blossoming with every mean little nip of his teeth. Claim of your body as his, evidence of his lust and your leaking pleasure that pools between your legs.

“You have me” you breathe, fiddling with the button of his dress pants, stumbling over yourself a little as he helps you lay back on the couch. He tugs your panties down your thighs, bottom lip tucking between his teeth as he watches the string of arousal that connects the cotton to your sodden pussy, all puffy and pretty. Clit erect and desperate, moan slipping off your lips when he leans down to press a kiss to the swollen little nub, pocketing your panties in his jacket.

“Jungkook” you moan, fingers digging into his hair, pulling him further into your pussy, hips rolling up into his face as he lays his tongue flat for you to ride.

He tugs down his pants and underwear just under his straining cock as you use him to get yourself off, shameless in your own pleasure as he moans into your pussy—incoherent whisper of how good you taste drowned out by the slick sound of your folds parting, fingers prodding at your entrance before sinking between your walls.

You clench around the intrusion, fingers tightening their hold on Jungkook’s hair as you moan out his name, mind nothing but lust filled mush, pleasure coursing through every inch of your body as he sucks on your clit.

“Gonna cum” you moan, fingers tugging at your nipples. Hiccup of his name catching in your throat at a particularly hard suck, thick fingers curling right over your sweet spot.

He presses a second finger into your, incessant nudge against your insides sending you reeling over the edge. A cry falling from your lips as you reach your peak, hips still rutting up into Jungkook’s mouth as you ride your high.

“Good girl” he murmurs against your pussy, fingers slipping out of you so he can drink down your release. Tip of his tongue pressing past your entrance to take whatever your body has to give him, cum coated fingers pressing slightly over your still buzzing clit, fiery pleasure thrumming beneath your skin.

“S’ too much” you whine, pushing his head from between your legs, sheen of your arousal coating his mouth and chin shiny.

Your eyes flicker down when something shiny catches the light, and they widen slightly when you see his hand wrapped around his thick cock, thumb running over the king’s crown piercing.

“Oh” you murmur, pussy clenching at the prospect of him being inside of you.

Jungkook hums, fingers squeezing tighter around his length, “You like it, baby?”

You swallow, tongue running over your bottom lip.

You nod, legs falling open a little wider for him, “Want it” you mumble, fingers parting your folds, silent invitation for him to split you open, fuck and fill you until you’re nothing than a pile of pleasure.

“Yeah?” his lips curl at the corners, hint of a smile showing.

“Mhmm” you nod, and his eyes catch sight of your cunt clenching.

“What do we say when we want something, baby?” he urges, scooting between your legs, pressing his cockhead through your folds, watching your hips jolt at the gentle stimulation to your clit.

You arch your back, dribble of slick caught by the tip of his cock as he slicks his length up with your arousal.

“Please, Jungkook” you breathe, “Please I need you”

“So good for me” he groans, thumb pressing just under his piercing, pressing his cock into you.

Your mouth falls open into a silent moan, ache throbbing down your length as his cock splits you open.

“Good girl” he murmurs, stomach tensing when you clench around his cock, piercing dragging deliciously against your walls.

“So good” you moan, hands finding his hips to pull him further inside of you, desperate for every agonising inch he had.

He holds himself inside of you, pelvis flushed with the backs of your thighs as he helps you rest your legs around his waist.

“Yeah, you feel good, baby?” he leans down, lips pressing against your jaw, fingers sinking into the flesh of your hips, gently rutting his cock into you, “Better than your husband could ever make you feel, yeah?”

He lets out a breathy laugh when he feels you clench around his girth, thighs twitching at his words.

“Come on baby, tell me how much better I make you feel” he taunts, dragging an inch of his cock out of you, distressed whine tumbling past your lips as your pussy clenches, trying to pull his cock back into you.

“Tell me” one of his hands takes hold of your jaw, tugging your face so your eyes meet his, “Tell me”

“You make me feel better than he does” you mumble.

“Louder” he shakes your head a little.

“You make me feel better” you say a little louder, chest tightening.

“Than who?” he urges, thumb running over your bottom lip, pressing into your mouth and over your tongue.

“My husband” you slur, mouth tugged open by his thumb.

“And who do you belong to?”

You blink up at Jungkook, drool gathering in the corners of your lips, such a pretty little thing. Ever so messy and desperate, awfully cute if you asked Jungkook.

“Who?”

You swallow, pussy clenching, “You”

“Mmhmm” he hums, “that’s right, all mine”

You rut your hips upwards, clit dragging against his stomach, thrum of pleasure making your toes curl, eyes still trained on Jungkook as you try and get yourself off.

He tugs at the corner of your mouth, thumb pressing into your cheek, watching as the skin bulges. And he wonders briefly what you’d look like with his cock stuffed in your mouth, pretty eyes blinking up at him like they did when he performed on stage; like he held all the secrets to the world in the palms of his hands. Those same hands that would smother your body with his love, dimpling pretty skin and pulling you back onto his cock.

“Jungkook” you whine, hips rutting a little more desperately, so needy for a second orgasm.

“A needy little thing, that’s what you are” his lips curl into a smile, thumb falling from your mouth as his hips pull backwards, your thighs quivering at the drag of his piercing inside of you.

He pulls out until the tip, hands tugging your thighs open a little wider before he’s snapping back into you, relentless as he picks up his pace. He holds you by the backs of your knees, angling your body that little bit off the couch, cockhead pressing against your sweet spot with every rough jab back into you.

“Shit, that’s good” he groans, wet smack back into you echoing off the walls of the dressing room.

You moan a staccato of his name, nothing but how good his cock fills you up in your mind, so entirely full of Jungkook in every respect of the word.

He doesn’t slow down, rhythmic with every thrust back into you, pussy clenching as your fingers slide down the length of your body, pressing over your sensitive clit.

“I’m close” you moan, free hand dragging down the length of his arm, grabbing at the fabric of his suit as your back arches.

“Come for me, baby” he groans, “Make a mess of my cock”

Your hand slips from his arm, grabbing hold of your chest as you continue to flick your clit, moan catching in the back of your throat as you slip head first into your orgasm.

Jungkook watches your face contour in pleasure, snapping his cock into you sloppy. He twitches between your walls, fingers digging into you a little harder, staving off his orgasm for as long as he can while you ride out your high, mind so far gone, eyes glazed over as you look up at him.

“That’s it, baby” his voice is gruff, pressing his cock against your sweet spot, your hips jolting, pleasure slipping into odd tingly overstimulation as he ruts into you, your fingers still pressing over your clit.

Jungkook moans, cock slipping out of you, his hand quick to wrap around his length. Slick noise reverberating in your ears as he brings himself over the edge, angling his cock so his cum paints your stomach. Thick string of white coating your skin, spurts of it shooting out of his cock. His stomach tenses, eyes slipping shut as he squeezes his cockhead, final spurt of his seed slipping just over your clit, joining the wet mess of your cunt as it slips down your folds.

“That’s a good girl” he groans, letting go of his softening cock.

He looks at you down the length of his nose, watching as you smear his cum over your skin, absolutely fascinated as it clings to your fingers.

His cock stirs in interest when you dip your fingers into your mouth, tongue licking up his release.

“You little minx” he laughs, bringing your legs back down, bending to press a kiss to your cum stained lips.

Your eyes slip shut as he kisses you, any tension left in your body dissolving as his tongue licks up his own release from your lips.

“Leave him” Jungkook murmurs, mouth hovering over yours, eyes still closed as the both of you bask in your afterglow. Skin sweat tacky, cooling slowly as his fingers dance over your skin, final humming of pleasure beneath your skin fizzling away.

“I can’t” you breathe.

“Run away then” he says, “with me”

Your eyes slip open, hand holding Jungkook’s jaw.

“Jungkook” you warn.

“What?” he mumbles, eyes slipping open to meet your own, “We can go somewhere far, he won’t find you… he won’t find us”

You wet your bottom lip, mind reeling as you weigh out your options.

“He doesn’t love you” his thumb runs over your cheek.

“I know” you whisper, eyes flickering between his, “But do you?”

Jungkook swallows, “Not as much as I want to, but that doesn’t mean what I’m feeling isn’t love”

You glance over at the clock on the wall, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as silence stretches out between the both of you.

You let out a long sigh, “We have an hour at most… before he’ll come looking”

Jungkook can’t help the smile that tugs onto his lips, “Then we should get going?”

The corners of your own lips tug upwards, “Yes… I suppose we should” you say, taking the hand he offers to help you sit up.

“Don’t make me regret this” you warn him as you slip your dress over your head, cringing at the drying cum that clings to your skin.

“I won’t” he promises.

[smusherina]

bridges burnt - chapter 2 [epilogue series] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: When an invitation to Gretchen Wieners' wedding ended up in your mailbox, you'd been sure it was a mistake. Only, it read your name in neat, swoopy calligraphy. It was addressed to you. And Regina George, whom you hadn't spoken to in years.

additional clarification: This is set in the universe of yard work, a series of mine that can be found on my page! Reading this one might be a bit challenging without the context of the series :)

chapter 1 / chapter 3

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your suit was still immaculate thanks to your incessant fiddling, adjusting, and pruning. If not for the gel wearing out in your hair and the sweat beading your brow, the illusion was almost believable. Your rings clinked against the sink's enamel, your silver accents glinting in the fluorescent lighting, while a person did their business in the stall behind you. You sighed and washed your hands.

Damn, the soap was nice. They'd really gone all out for the reception, the fall theme extending even to the cinnamon spice soap bars.

Who were you even trying to fool? You were hiding in the bathroom. You'd arrived on the scene of the reception party in relatively high spirits, convinced all was fine and dandy, that Gretchen was looking to make amends in this small way. But you'd been wrong.

The invitation hadn't been a fluke. There hadn't been some mistake, because on the little plaque where your name was scrawled in neat cursive sat another right next to it. On the round table where you'd be sitting, there would be Regina George directly to your left. On your other side would be Shane Oman. Across from you, Damian and Janis.

You stepped out of the bathroom, a lump still firmly lodged in your throat but resolve found. You'd brave it, be an adult about it. The breakup had been perfectly amicable, for the most part anyway, so there was no reason for you to be so wound up.

"The maid of honour is a major bitch." Amanda sidled up to you as you walked towards your table. She directed you to the bar by the arm.

"She won't let us switch?" You asked, dismayed but not surprised.

"She won't even let you move to the spare table," Amanda said indignantly. "The whole time, I swear, she was lookin' me up and down all judgy."

"Ugh," You groaned. "Can she get your strongest drink?" You motioned for the bartender. The man nodded with a smile, seeming relieved to be rescued from the old lady chatting him up. He was a good-looking fella, tattoo sleeves and a military haircut.

"Anything for you?" He asked you, eyes lingering on Amanda shyly. Amanda leered at him unabashedly, batting her eyelashes while he made her drink.

"Just a coke." You'd been sober for a good couple of years now, free of all substances. You'd had a nasty relapse in college, a disgraceful return to party drugs and obscene amounts of alcohol, but you'd been able to find your footing since. Largely due to Amanda's intervention.

"You gonna be alright?" Amanda asked, for now deciding not to make a move on the bartender. You knew she was biding her time, establishing tension before she struck. She picked up men like a shark.

"Sure, yeah. It's gonna be okay. It's just, y'know, my ex. And her ex. And her nemesis and that nemesis' best friend. All good."

Amanda eyed you warily. You sipped at your coke through a straw. She, too, took a large gulp.

By the time the bride and the groom made their entrance, you were sitting in your spot, desperately trying not to make eye contact with the other occupants of the table. Shane was squirming on your right, fiddling with what seemed to be an engagement ring. Janis and Damian, sitting across from you, didn't seem to have changed much, except obviously grown up.

Janis was still unapologetically goth, though seemingly turned more toward clean, angular lines rather than messy, smudged blacks. She had on a dress and a shawl, beaded bangles and silver jewellery covering her wrists. She'd gotten more piercings since you last saw her. Angel bites on her upper lip, a bridge between her eyes, and stretched ear lobes. There were some bold tattoos as well, such as a rose crawling up her neck and the head of a snake on the back of her hand, extending up her arm.

Damian was in a cute, velvety green suit. His shirt, white with light green fleur de lis patterns, had ruffles going down the buttons. The length of its sleeves also surpassed that of the suit's, which made the whole look seem kind of piratey. His natural hair, a poofy afro, the bulky red-tinted glasses, and the pointy boots he had on gave off a bohemian seventies disco star vibe. He had a very specific aesthetic and you couldn't help but be impressed.

The seat on your left was pointedly lacking a person. Only the plaque was there along with its elegant scrawl. You crossed your legs and threaded your fingers together, bracing for the moment somebody said something to you. Or you were forced to do it yourself.

"So..." There it comes. Surprisingly it was Shane, of all people. "You and Regina."

"Huh?" You made a sound.

"I mean, you're here together, right? That's what I heard." He scratched at his neck, seeming nervous. All the confidence and obnoxious self-assurance seemed to have melted off of him.

"No, you- what? Where'd you hear that?"

"Just some nasty gossip. Don't worry about it. Aaron and I know what it's like." He smiled supportively but somewhere in the crevices of his cheeks, it seemed sad. "Have you been out for long?"

Your eyebrows furrowed. Shane and Aaron? Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

"Um, pretty much since high school. To be fair, I didn't tell a lot of people back then. You know how Northshore was." He nodded along solemnly. "But in college I sort of bit the bullet."

"That's really brave. Aaron and I haven't been out for long, only since the new law passed." He still seemed cautious and shy, but talking about Aaron clearly made him happy.

"When did you two get together?"

As Shane began to tell the tale, you slowly began to relax. Maybe Regina wouldn't even show up. If you and Gretchen were estranged, Regina and she were even more so. Regina had never given you details, but you did know Gretchen had been heavily involved in your shitty junior year. They'd had an explosive, very public falling-out that'd led to a whole lot of drama.

By that point, you'd sort of checked out of high school as well as your relationship with Regina, so you'd paid very little attention.

"Oh, here she comes," Shane pointed behind you, cutting off his own story. You whirled around, back crackling as you twisted your spine.

Regina George, in the flesh. Your mouth watered, pupils dilated, and there was no way you could've suppressed your reaction. Her eyes were locked on yours, a predatory glint in her eye as she strutted towards your table.

You almost didn't hear Damian's whistle or Janis' stunned laugh, but as Regina shifted the white fur stole she had to reveal her shoulders and chest, you went wholly deaf to all but the clack of her heels.

She had on a baby pink bodycon dress with a slit sinfully high up on her thigh, satin hugging her hips sensually. She had on white high heels with thin straps at the ankle and fur at the tops of her toes.

Her makeup was natural, with subtle browns and blacks, except for the prominent blush she'd picked. Her hair was a warmer blonde than before, complimenting her tanned skin. She had on golden jewellery, a familiar golden necklace resting on the dip of her clavicles like a taunt.

She kept on advancing towards the table. You could do little else but stare, slack-jawed at the visage of her. Other people were staring too, you could tell. You could only imagine what Gretchen was doing with her face at the moment, perhaps scowling like a pug or maybe looking like she was about to cry. Regina was but a guest and yet...

Regina was never just Regina. You knew that better than anyone. No matter how she dressed, behaved, or what her priorities were, she was an innate presence that influenced those around her. Gretchen inviting her to this wedding was essentially like shooting herself in the foot.

Regina didn't have to try to snatch the attention of the room, but when she did, there was no competition. And Regina had gone all out. You could tell by the movements of her hands, the way her lashes fluttered, and how her mouth parted just a little. It was obvious, at least to you, that Regina was doing what she did best: Revenge.

"Hi, baby," She cooed down at you. You took a moment to react, surprised by how she was suddenly there, right in front of you.

Her hands reached for you, long acrylics brushing against your collar, then your neck, then the back of your neck and in your hair. Her thumbs directed your head to tilt up. She pulled you close as she leaned down and then—peach lipgloss, glittery eyeshadow, saccharine perfume—your skin tingled where she touched you, sparks going off behind your eyelids as they fell closed, bliss pouring out of your pores as you became filled with it.

You kissed her back, took hold of her hips and pulled her to stand between your legs. Fuck, this was bad. But, fuck, it felt good to kiss her again.

Distantly, like someone shouting into the water in which you were submerged, you realized that this was perhaps the worst way, place, and time you could've reunited with Regina.

Even so, you kissed deeper, licking into her mouth until she made a sound you'd so missed all these years. Just as you began debating the pros and cons of laying her down on the table right there in the open, Shane tugged hard on your shoulder.

"What?" You grumbled, turning to him with a glare already in place.

He was red-faced, and frazzled, but had on a wide grin. "Get it, girl, but calm down. The mother of the bride looks like she's about to implode." He inclined his head towards the long table where all the important people sat. The mother of the bride did indeed look to be on the precipice of a furious blow-out.

"Okay," You swallowed, sense slowly coming back to you.

"Ugh, you're such a party pooper, Shane." Regina pulled away, leaving your palms achingly empty. She didn't go far though. She sat down on her chair before reaching into her white Valentino bag and pulling out some napkins. Then, she leaned in again.

Your eyes fluttered closed and lips puckered. Regina laughed.

"Silly, you have gloss all over your face."

"Oh," Your eyes opened. Gosh, that was embarrassing.

Regina wiped your mouth. Then, she pulled out a compact mirror and fixed her own lips. You watched her do all this. She and Shane started chatting. Apparently, they'd been in somewhat regular contact.

You'd just kissed Regina George. After, what, eight or nine years? In front of the whole goddamn venue. In front of Gretchen, in front of Gretchen's family, in front of basically your entire year from high school.

You got up. "Oh, where are you going?" Shane asked, all innocent. You hoped you didn't look as panicked as you felt. He didn't seem to think anything was wrong. You glanced at Regina.

Fuck. She totally knew. Obviously, she knew you. She could read you like a book.

"Smoke. Be back in a few." You fled.

"I'm coming too," Janis said.

Notes: Sorry for the long break everybody! I graduated and had a party for that! Went on a little trip to the countryside with friends! And now, at last, I'm back at my desk and ready to churn out some long overdue chapters.

Taglist posted separately! Comment on that post to get on it if you want!

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Tears to Shed

This is based on Tears to Shed from the Corpse Bride. Where Alastor accidentally marries the reader. The only problem is Alastor doesn't want to marry anyone. TW: Angst, Hurt, Sorrow, Illusions to Suicide but you can't die in hell unless it's angelic steel; Alastor is well Alastor, Mimzy is Alastors partner in this. <I am open to writing a part 2 if yall like this> @willowaudreykeyes helped me edit!

The day Alastor slipped the ring onto your finger seemed to shake the whole world with the weight of fated lovers. He was a striking figure, with caramel skin glinting beneath the sun, eyes alight, and a vigorous appetite for power and immortality. But beneath the surface, a shadow lingered: his heart was not free but tied to Mimzy, that star of the city, resplendent with the possibilities of influence and status among humans.

But in that very moment, as your eyes caught the gleam of the ring, you could almost think he chose you. You were, after all, wearing his ring, and he had said those vows with such passion as if some unseen force bound your destinies. 

But then time unraveled, and the truth trickled in like a cold, silent mist: Alastor wanted neither you nor Mimzy. He wanted to be free and live a life unencumbered by chains called commitment. He wanted power and to be feared above all others in his realm.

You had been heartbroken, perched up on the roof of a falling building in Hell, looking out at the fire spreading to the horizon. Never a fan of red and black, you'd always enjoyed blue and silver. The licks of flames danced like lost souls, taunting your self-worth.

You did, indeed, feel the gravity of your life in that moment-the corpse bride, once a loving beauty, now a demon cloaked by yearning and solitude: Alastor had brought one spark of hope into your heart only to cast it down into the dark. The pain of betrayal and the weight of your new existence as a demon were crushing you, threatening to consume the last remnants of your humanity.

You remembered that cold, starless night when he slid the ring onto your finger. For the beat of a moment, you were complete, while today, you are the broken pieces of what you once were: a beautiful woman full of life and a longing to be loved. But now, the truth stared you in the face: he was trapped, and you were the specter haunting his every step, it would appear.

You'd found Alastor begging for Mimzy's help only hours before. The scene had played like an echo in your mind, a foreign sound that twisted your insides. You'd seen it in his eyes, heard it in the shake of his voice. Beneath the bluster of a power-hungry fool, he was just a man desperate to be free of the tethers of a promise he had never wanted to make. And you, you were the one who had been used as a pawn in their twisted game of power and love.

As the reality fell in your heart like ashes, your friends emerged from the shadows: Nero, the imp, and Arianna, the succubus. Their loyalty to you puts a soothing wave over your spirit of fire and ice. They pressed themselves against your sides, the heat from their bodies contrasting with the chill of your skin and the despair that began to wrap around you as time passed.

They stared at the scene before you, knowing this was their doing. Had they not encouraged you to keep Alastor in your life, to guide and mentor you in a fantasy of mortals and demons in love, you wouldn't be like this on the brink of unleashing your powers on all of Hell once again, just as you had on the day you had died.

"What does that wispy little brat have that you don't have double?" Nero's voice was soft yet managed to cut through the fog in your brain. The gentle touch of his hand to yours was akin to a lifeline for a moment.

Arianna leaned in, her eyes aglow with wild affection. "She can't hold a candle to the beauty of your smile!" she said, in words that were an attempt at stitching the pieces of your heart together.

"Yeah, how about a pulse?" You snorted, the venom of bitterness thick in your voice as you stared at the fiery scene below your chosen hideout. You just felt like an antique compared with the sweet Mimzy.

"Overrated by a mile!" Nero chipped in, his voice light yet grave, as he sat by your side with a mutual understanding of the pain you are experiencing.

"Overfed!" Arianna cut in with a snort, her tail flicking in outrage.

"Overblown!" Nero exclaimed, with echoes of laughter resounding around the darkening space. Then he turned to Arianna, who nodded with full vigor. For a moment, their eyes shone with playfulness as they looked at you, hope alighting in their pupils.

"If he only knew the you that we know," they chorused in unison, gripping your hands tight. Their faces held pride with a touch of pain, but they held steady on one thing: their unity in support of you.

Arianna played with the ring on your left hand, smirking with mischief and love. "And the little silly creature isn't wearing his ring!"

Nero playfully elbowed you. "And she doesn't play piano!"

"Or dance or sing! No, she doesn't compare!" they chortled, their voices rising like some haunting melody.

But the shadows of doubt clung to you like a second skin. "But she still breathes air," you muttered; the weight of your reality fell again.

"Who cares?" they chorused, still enthusiastic, though you knew they were growing tired of your self-doubt.

"Unimportant!" Nero insisted, scrambling onto your shoulder, his small frame reassuring.

“Overblown!" Arianna echoed with whimsical reassurance, wrapping her tail gently around your arm.

"If only he could see how special you can be. If only he knew you that we know," they said in one accord, a mantra to which you were no longer sure you believed.

You stood, peeling yourself gently from the tangle of friends. Your undead eyes threatened to spill over with tears as you swayed on the precipice of despair, humming a mournful tune. Closer to the edge of the building you sat atop, the seductive allure of the fall whispered promises of nothing, for you could not die here.

"If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain. If you cut me with a knife, it's still the same." You flourish the blade hidden in your garter, the cold steel calling to your mind your immortality. The use of it on Alastor flashed across your mind a spark of the most dangerous kind. You chase the thought away, turning back to your lament. The struggle between your desire for revenge and your lingering love for Alastor was tearing you apart, threatening to push you over the edge of sanity.

"And I know her heart is beating, and I know that I am dead. Yet the pain here that I feel, please try and tell me it's not real." You turned your gaze to your friends, their faces dimly lit by the firey light of hell, then fell back from the rooftop, landing softly within a coffin overflowing with blue and silver roses, the delicate petals wrapping you in a sorrow growing only larger by the minute.

"And yet, it would seem I still have a tear to shed." Your eyes, no longer shining bright, now blazed with the bitter salt of lost love, lost on the one with whom you had believed you shared. Yet time was a thief and saved little space for sorrow. Nero and Arianna were already down to your level, their eyes afire with determination in jarring contrast with the despair flooding your heart.

Nero was first to huddle beside you, his face lined with concern and encouragement. "The only redeeming feature of that little creature is that she's alive!"

Arianna joined him, her cheeks flushed from the hurried descent. "Yeah, it's overrated!" she chimed in, light in tone but weighted with the depth of unsaid meaning.

Nero nodded vigorously, nudging you gently as he gestured to the world beyond. "Yeah, even overblown!"

Arianna smirked, crossing her arms in a very defiant pose, even going so far as to tilt her chin upward in some kind of dare for you to say otherwise. "Everybody knows that’s just a temporary state, which is cured very quickly when we meet our fate!"

Nero's grin widened as he helped you sit up, your surroundings—a darkened alleyway—looming on like some sort of forgotten lover's heart. "Who cares?

Arianna wrapped her arm around your waist, the touch grounding and warm. "Unimportant!" she insisted, dismissing the weight of your sorrow with a wave of her hand.

Nero tugged your good hand with newly formed determination, pulling you toward the busy streets, back into the folds of society. "Overrated!"

Arianna toyed with your hair before flashing a mischievous wink over the mask of worried tension she knew was building the more they danced around your feelings. "Overblown!"

The pair sparkled brightly as they laughed-a stark difference amidst the cowering crowds shrinking away from you, the infamous Corpse Bride, the dainty specter who wielded more souls than damn near Lucifer himself.

"If only he could see how special you could be, if only he knew you, that we know!" Their words of encouragement merely cut through your heart like daggers.

You merely shook your head, a deepening frown as the shadows danced in your eyes, before pulling away and meandering to drift across the streets. A melancholy tune tumbled from your lips as those who'd dare to follow quickly began to wither into roses of silver and blue, scattered remnants of what once was. As you approached the next street, your lament started again, an echoing whisper.

"If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain; in the ice or in the sun, it's all the same." You breezed by a café with candles on its tables casting their golden light into the night air, and without even batting an eyelash, you blew them out, embracing the darkness like an old friend.

Your eyes closed, knowing, sans sight, that you were the most significant threat this Hellscape had ever known. Your heart clutched, and your sorrow blossomed into a dark storm that sent those who knew your power scurrying back into the shadows, fear etched upon their faces.

"Yet I feel my heart is aching; though it doesn't beat, it's breaking, and the pain here that I feel, please, try and tell me it's not real." As your eyes fluttered open, the street transformed before you: what once was vibrant red and black now lay cloaked in shades of blue and silver- your wailing, weaving a tapestry of despair, draped over the once bustling scenery.

"I know that I'm dead, yet it seems that I still have some tears to shed." Your voice was barely heard, and there was a broken murmur as you made your way to your house. The chill of the stone outside was like the weight of your grief. Climbing the stairs with sluggish motions, you sat at your piano bench and stared onto the keys, the swell of your sorrow deep.

Nero and Arianna watched you, their faces heavy with what was not said, too much pain entering them as it had the rest of hell when you started your lament. They knew all too well that you only called upon your full banshee powers when the weight of despair bore too much, even that they could not fix it.

You laid your fingers against the keys, and the weight of silence fell. You pressed a key, and the note sang out to resound as one deep ache in your soul, for Alastor would go back to the world of the living, leave you for another, and leave you a shadow.

The sob, so fragile yet mighty, ripped itself free from your lips and unleashed a storm into the very pits of hell. Your wail pierced the night, a chorus of anguish, seeing as you were Y/N, the Corpse Bride, or better yet, a banshee of ill fate, rivaling the voice of Lilith herself.

The roses that danced around your abode shook with solemn trembles at the harmonization of keys to a requiem of lost love. And you, still lost between the planes of life and death, celebrated being the Harbinger of Sorrow.

[hunnylagoon]

hey! I want to request a fluffy one shot about ellie being a parent with the reader. The rest is in your hands, write what comes to ur mind!

Small Hands

Summary: People say that the magic disappears when you have children, that never applied to you and Ellie, you are just as hopelessly in love as the day you were married. You celebrate Christmas with your friends and family despite a few bumps in the road.

A/N: I usually don’t fuck with kids but this concept actually seemed really cute to me. This chapter is a bit shorter, sorry if it’s rushed, I wrote this while studying for my exams. Thank you for requesting! If anyone else has requests, feel free to leave them and I will get around to them! There is the smallest teensiest weensiest smidgen of a angst in the middle but it comes from a third party. Warning for mentions of postpartum depression

-

The air was infused with the spicy aroma of gingerbread and the warm glow of twinkling lights as a group of friends gathered for their annual Christmas party. The cozy living room, adorned with tinsel and stockings, echoed with laughter and the jingling of bells. The adults, each holding a mug of steaming cocoa (with a splash of Bailey's), exchanged stories of the year gone by while the children, eyes wide with wonder, eagerly awaited the arrival of Santa Claus.

The living room sparkled with the joy of reunion, as friends who had become family over the years shared in the holiday spirit. You being the hostess of the party, had a flair for festive decorations, you had turned your home into a winter wonderland, complete with a towering Christmas tree and a crackling fireplace. "Levi, get away from there!" Your eyes went wide and you slammed your mug onto the coffee table before you ran to retrieve your son who was wearing an elf onesie and had been attempting to pull out bottles from the wine rack. Your friends and family laughed at the scene "Geez," You grabbed him from beneath his arms and scooped him up, quickly bringing him close to your chest. He had just turned four and was rapidly getting too big for you to carry him. You put him on the ground and ushered him toward the game room telling him to go play with his sister while all of the children were playing some kind of board game or watching the Polar Express. "Where is your mother?" You mutter under your breath, gaze suddenly focusing on the sink full of dishes, you sigh and walk towards them, figuring it easier to get them done now as opposed to when the part has ended and you're too exhausted to do so.

In the tranquil kitchen, the rhythmic cadence of water splashing and the clink of porcelain against stainless steel create a melodic backdrop as you diligently tend to the post-dinner ritual of washing dishes, humming along to the song 'Last Christmas' which you could hear ever so faintly rise above the busy chatter of the living room. your hands, adorned with soap bubbles, move with a graceful choreography, navigating each plate, glass, and utensil with practiced efficiency. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminates the dance of water droplets, casting a prism of reflections on the gleaming surfaces. The scent of citrus-scented dish soap permeates the air, as you, lost in thought, scrub away at remnants of roast chicken and mashed potatoes.

"There's my girl," You feel a pair of arms snake around your waist, you didn't need to turn around to tell who it was; it had of course been your wife, you looked down at where her hands rested on your midriff, her silver wedding ring glistened beneath the warm overhead lighting in the kitchen.

"Are you aware your son is trying to get into the wine rack again?" You turn around to face her, her hands changed from their spot on your waist to the edge of the kitchen sink, leaving you stuck between her and the counter, faces inches apart.

"What can I say? He's got drinking problems," She teased, gaze flickering to your lips for a minute.

"That's all you," You said, your faces were so close that you could've sworn that you could count every single freckle on her face. Without warning, Ellie puts her hands back onto your waist to pull you close, she plants little kisses on your neck, earning a giggle from you "Really?" You laugh "Is me washing dishes really that attractive?"

"Oh, absolutely," She thought you were so incredibly stunning, even in something as simple as a red cable-knit sweater with faded mom jeans and hair tied up sloppy in a claw clip. You had only bought the claw clip in the first place because your daughter told you they were trendy.

"Okay, seriously, there are kids here," You laugh, gently pushing Ellie away from you "We can save that for later."

"You just look so beautiful," Ellie wears a goofy smile on her face.

"In mom jeans?"

She shrugs "As beautiful as the day I met you, if not more."

You can't help the huge smile that consumes your face. You and Ellie had met in college, she was a bartender and you went to her bar every single Friday just to see her, all of your friends sat in a booth but you would always push for them to sit at the bar when they refused, you sat alone just to talk to the pretty girl behind the bar. "Do you remember how we were spending Christmas in College?"

"One bottle of peppermint schnapps and a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels."

"You're forgetting a game of strip poker," You add.

"That's probably because I was hammered off my ass," She says bluntly and it makes you laugh. Back in college, the pair of you made plans to fly home to see your families but a snowstorm had other plans, with arrangements cancelled you went back to each other, cozying up on Ellie's beat-up couch and dumping schnapps into eggnog, god it tasted awful but the sound of Ellie laughing, her cheeks and nose pink from cold air almost made it taste better.

"You know..." You say, drawing Ellie's attention "I think it might be time to start the gingerbread house contest."

Ellie is way ahead of you, she leaves the kitchen and enters the game room, you can tell the exact moment she announced it by the kid's reactions all you heard was cheering before a dozen kids stormed out of the game room and gathered around the dining table where you had meticulously placed a gingerbread house decorating kit at each chair as well as little bowls full of several colours of frosting and miscellaneous candies lined down the center.

Parents sat next to their children or stood behind them, either rooting for them or guiding their small hands along the gingerbread, aiding the decorating process. Ellie sat between both of your children "Levi, you can eat it after you build it," She chuckled, gingerly moving the plastic butter knife of icing to the edge of a wall for the gingerbread house, "See? You put icing along the edges and then you stick it together and then when it dries, you have a house!" She explained in simple terms to your youngest, turning her head to look at your daughter who was too busy conversing with her friend to decorate "You should be listening to this too, Kenna, useful tips," She teased. Kenna rolled her eyes, she was ten years old and at that stage where she was starting to get embarrassed by her parents. Ellie laughed at your daughter's reaction, locking eyes with you from your spot by the doorway where the two of you share a look of understanding.

"Uh oh, looks like Papa's intervening," Dina said, she stood next to Jesse, cradling her baby, JJ, in her arms, watching the scene unfold.

"Alright, kiddo, here's what we're gonna do." Joel shooed Kenna's friend away, replacing her. Under hushed whispers he explained a plan to Kenna, the two were discussing a layout to win the gingerbread contest.

"Oh, it's getting heated now," Ellie said, now moving her focus onto Levi's sloppy gingerbread house.

Everyone was in the festive dining room, laughing and talking, truly in the Christmas spirit, all except for one; you heard what sounded like faint sobs coming from the kitchen. With furrowed eyebrows, you followed the sound and found none other than your friend, Catherine crying into her hands.

"What happened?" You break the silence, catching her attention.

Catherine begins to wipe away tears, shaking her head "It's nothing, it's so stupid-

"Well, it's not nothing if you're crying." You cross your arms. Catherine can't seem to get the words out, she just shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut in her best attempt to push back tears, her blue eyes red and puffy "Whatever it is, I'm not going to judge you."

"It's just-" She takes a deep, shaky breath" Sometimes I wish I wasn't a mom, I just wish I could pack up my bags and leave in the middle of the night and never come back." Catherine was an English teacher at a middle school, you had met her not long after you met Ellie. She was also a new mother, she had only had her baby girl, Clementine for six months; you saw how tired she was, she always for dark bags under her eyes, she used to intricately braid her dirty blond hair every day but now she only had the energy in her to tie it up into a loose bun. "I'm sorry," She laughed "I don't know why I'm crying."

"Because it hurts." You answer, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

Your daughter ran into the kitchen with a huge smile on her little face "Mom, you need to see my house, Papa Joel is helping me and it looks really cool so far-" Her smile faded in the slightest when she saw you with Catherine, "Is Cathy okay?"

"She's fine, sweetheart," You kneel to eye level with Kenna "Her tummy just hurts from too much hot chocolate so I'm gonna take care of her for a bit." You brush one of Kenna's lose hair behind her ear and plant a kiss onto her freckled forehead "Just go back to making your house, I'm sure it looks awesome, I promise I'll come see it when it's done but I think your auntie Sarah would love to see it." Kenna nods casting one last look at Catherine who turned around to hide her tear-stained face from your daughter and hurried out of the kitchen. "Cath, let's talk outside." You move towards the sliding door on the other side of the kitchen, you hold it open for Catherine who follows you outside, immediately hugging herself in an attempt to fight off the cold. "So, where is this coming from?"

Catherine looks around the snow-covered yard, she sees the snowman that your children made with Ellie the day before and it only adds to the unbearable weight on her shoulders "I'm not good at this, I'm a bad mom-

"No, you're not-

She lets out another sob "Like just now, you are so patient with Kenna and Levi, you and Ellie have this incredible house and an amazing family, you guys never fight and I just feel like I'm falling behind."

"You're crazy if you think Ellie and I don't fight, we argue all the time about the stupidest things, like earlier we fought about who would pop that champagne cork. We fight, but that doesn't mean that we don't love each other, I'm sure you feel the same way about Emmet."

"I love Emmet," She says "I really do and I love Clementine so so much I just wish I had a minute to breathe." Catherine can hardly look you in the eyes "I work with kids all day and take care of them and then I get home and it's just more of the same but there's cooking and cleaning and it's endless."

The silence stretches between you two. Catherine's face is scrunched up, her pale turning red from the cold. With each unsteady breath, she heaves, a cloud of carbon dioxide emerges. The sleet covering every inch of ground acts as soundproofing over the neighbourhood, the only thing you can hear are birds flapping their wings and Catherine's heavy cries.

"Do you remember when I wanted to be a writer?" She asks "When I used to have dreams, I would hole myself up in that one corner booth of that coffee shop every Sunday and I would write for hours on end."

"And every time someone mentioned a book or movie that they like, you would ask what they liked about it so you could use bits of it in your writing." You say, your lips stretching into a thin melancholic smile at the memory.

"Well, it's all gone out the window." She was shaking by that point, not from the frigid air or her now wet socks but from misery "Two years ago I was hosting wine-tasting parties and Emmet was taking me out to these beautiful high-end restaurants. I could fit into sleek back dresses and wear high heels for hours without getting blisters, now all I eat is Kraft dinner and takeout. Every nice blouse I own has gotten baby vomit on it."

The way Catherine is speaking, she sounds bitter with despair hanging in her tone. You at a loss for words, postpartum depression was common but you hadn't realized just how much Catherine was suffering. She had spent six months feeling this way with no one to talk to. When you first adopted Kenna you were terrified, you thought that you wouldn't have a mother's instinct and that you were going to screw her up in some way or that she would resent you because you aren't her biological mother.

"I haven't got a full night of sleep in six months, all I hear is that fucking screeching cry. That's all she does is scream, she screams when she's happy, when she's sad, when she's upset and angry, it's all I hear and I'm so fucking sick of it." She buried her face into her hands "Emmet just loves her so much, he does everything with her without complaint and I can't help but hold the slightest bit of resent for her, I probably sound evil right now."

"You don't," You pulled Catherine in for a hug. Embracing her and all of her sadness, if it belonged to her then it belonged to you as well. "I'll tell you this right now, it's going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better." Her head was tucked into the crook of your neck.

"That isn't helping-

You pushed her away, holding onto her shoulders, forcing her to face you. "Remember when you adopted that dog?"

"Toothless," She smiled at the thought of her old Labrador.

"He was a puppy when you adopted him, he had way too much energy, barked at every sound, and pissed and shat on the floor of your apartment a lot," You say, face dead serious despite the subject matter "That night before exams when you were exhausted and all you wanted was to sleep, you tucked yourself into bed and Toothless was right beside you and then he pissed all over your white duvet. You called me and you just cried and cried because you were so stressed and that was the tipping point. How about that time he dragged your period-stained underwear out of your laundry basket when you had a date over-

"Okay, I get it," Catherine laughed.

"My point is, when that puppy stage passed, you were in love with that dog, you blew off plans just to take him on walks downtown. If you had a bad day, you would curl up on the couch with him. Not that I'm comparing your child to a dog but when this postpartum leaves, that child is going to be the light of your life. Fridays at the bar won't sound appealing when you can make popcorn and watch Disney with your daughter, nothing else is going to matter as much as that girl. When Clementine gets older you'll find that every eye-roll means you're doing something right."

"Is that true?" She asks "About the eyerolls?"

"No," You laugh "It's just something I say to make Ellie feel better."

Catherine chuckles, wiping away what remains of her tears. "Thank you."

"I know it feels like it's the end of the road but it's not. It gets easier every single day but that's the hard part, you need to get up and face it every single day." Your words calm Catherine down. Her tears dissipate and with a deep breath she is no longer shaking "We should go back inside now, I wanna see who won the gingerbread building contest." You sling an arm around her and guide her back inside through the sliding door.

"But my socks are wet." She says, hesitant to step back inside.

"I'm sorry for making you stand in the snow but that conversation needed to happen," You urge her inside anyway, not caring if your freshly cleaned kitchen floors get wet "I'll lend you a pair of slippers."

You and Catherine return to the dining room where the contest is just wrapping up, both in fuzzy slippers; the pair Catherine wore had little black spotted cows on them while yours were teal and made to look like Perry the Platypus, a gift you received from Ellie out of the blue because she thought they were hilarious and wanted both of you to have a matching pair. "Just in time," Dina says, she's wearing a white turtle neck and blue skinny jeans, leaning against the wall, watching her husband with a smile "They're about to announce the winner."

Ellie is speaking in a hushed voice with Jesse who is holding JJ in one arm, she's acting as serious as ever and even pretending to ask JJ for his opinion, the baby just babbles in return "Interesting, thank you, JJ," She says. Ellie turns to the crowd, everyone goes silent waiting for her words "The consensus is... You are all winners!"

Many of the older kids groaned in annoyance, all of the adults knew this was coming that didn't stop Tommy from saying that it was outrageous.

As the night unfolded, the kids, bundled up in cozy sweaters, gathered around a table filled with art supplies to craft their ornaments. Laughter filled the room as little hands carefully adorned paper snowflakes and painted wooden stars. The parents, caught in the infectious energy of the children, joined in the crafting, reminiscing about their childhood holiday traditions.

With bellies full and hearts warmer than ever, the group of friends settled into a circle around the fireplace. The children, tucked in cozy blankets, many of the kids fell asleep in the game room while 'Home Alone' played on the TV.

As the night drew to a close, the guests exchanged hugs and well wishes. The flickering lights of the Christmas tree cast a soft glow on the scene as the friends, with their children in tow, bid farewell, knowing that the memories forged on this magical night would linger in their hearts long after the last snowflake had fallen. Parent hauled their sleeping children away into their cars, putting a close on the night.

Ellie took Kenna, hand in hand, to the bathroom, making sure that she thoroughly brushed her teeth. She tucked her daughter in, giving her a kiss on the forehead. Kenna tried to argue that she wasn't tired but the second her head hit the pillow her eyes shuttered closed and any chatter she had in her was replaced by soft breaths emerging from the sleeping girl.

You had taken Levi straight to bed, he was already passed out when you found him curled in a ball on a blanket in the game room. He gently put him down on his bed and pulled a Spider-Man blanket over the top of him to keep his little body warm. You made sure that his night light was plugged in before stepping away and closing the door, but not all the way, you left it open a crack, just the way he liked it.

And so, the echoes of laughter, the warmth of shared moments, and the spirit of togetherness lingered in the air, a reminder that the company of cherished friends and family had just left, leaving you and your little family to sit in the static quiet of the fireplace crackling.

The air is still tinged with the scent of cinnamon and pine, and a soft glow emanates from the myriad of twinkling lights that adorn every corner. The Christmas tree, a majestic centrepiece, stands tall and proud, its branches adorned with an array of ornaments that glisten in hues of red, gold, and silver. A cozy fireplace crackles merrily, casting a warm embrace upon the room. Festive stockings, embroidered with care, hang in anticipation of surprises. Plush blankets drape over sofas, inviting you to sink into their warmth. Every surface seems to gleam with the holiday spirit, from the gleaming silverware on the dining table to the festive wreaths that adorn doorways. The ambiance is a symphony of holiday joy, where every decoration tells a story of cherished traditions and the magic of Christmas despite the displaced blankets and dishes, as well as random craft supplies that were somehow everywhere.

"We should probably clean this up before bed," You say, bending down to grab a throw blanket off the floor.

Ellie grabs your wrist to stop you "That's what tomorrow is for," You turn to face her "Right now I just want to be with my wife."

You grin "I don't think I'll ever get sick of you saying that."

"I don't think I'll ever get sick of saying it."

You kiss Ellie, she has one hand pulling you in from the small of your back. "I think I have a crush on you." You giggle.

"A crush on your wife?" Ellie raises an eyebrow "Who could imagine that."

"No I mean, I obviously love you but there's a difference between being in love and having a crush, we've been married for fourteen years and I still get excited when you call me pretty. I can't help but stare at you in a room full of people and when you look back I get butterflies because I just can't help but be thankful that I got lucky enough to have you." Your lips curve up into a smile "I don't think that was corny enough," You say sarcastically.

Ellie kisses you again, it is simple and sweet, like the taste of sugar resting on the tip of your tongue "I guess I have a crush on you too," She looked so pretty in her jeans and red flannel, sporting the haircut you gave her with pride; whenever someone mentioned her haircut she would get all giddy and say 'My wife did it!'. An idea snaps into your mind, and you swiftly break away from Ellie and kick off your Perry the Platypus slippers, jetting to the kitchen to the sliding door and running outside. Ellie calls after you, with no response, she follows your trail of teal slippers. She pokes her head outside "Honey?" She calls into the night, and instead of your voice answering her she is decked in the face by a snowball. "Ow!"

With rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes, your breath forming clouds in the cold, launched the first snowball, its trajectory guided by both precision and mischief. Ellie, undeterred, retaliated with a well-aimed throw which truthfully fucking hurt when it crashed into you as she used to play softball and didn't know how to gently throw anything. The world around you transformed into a playground, each snowball being thrown with more power.

As the not-so-friendly competition unfolded, your movements became a dance—a graceful ballet of dodges and throws. The landscape bore witness to their camaraderie, marked by the hushed giggles (trying your best to stay quiet enough that you didn't wake the kids) and the occasional shrieks of delight. Frost-kissed eyelashes framed your beaming faces, capturing the essence of a moment suspended in the magic of winter.

The cold air filled with the warmth of your connection. You both paused, momentarily breathless, her laughter echoing in the serene stillness of the snow-covered landscape. Amidst the snow-laden trees and glistening ground, you and Ellie shared a quiet gaze—a fleeting, unspoken acknowledgment of the bond that stayed unbroken with each tossed snowball.

Your cheeks flushed with both the chill of the air and the thrill of the game, finally forfeited, coming out from your shielding spot behind the shed, you laughed as you approached Ellie, moving your delicate hands to shake snow out of her hair. The memory of the evening lingered, a cherished chapter in the story of your enduring love.

[curufiin]

Okay i am pissed enough about this:

MIRIEL WANTS TO BE LEFT THE FUCK ALONE IN MANDOS.

edit: read my bloody reblogs and comments before you make an opinion bc i am not repeating “how is any of this Indis’ fault actually” again

NOTHING Finwë could’ve said and done would’ve changed her mind. and to people who say “he should’ve waited for her”, HE FUCKING DID.

But in the bearing of her son Míriel was consumed in spirit and body; and after his birth she yearned for release from the labour of living. (all of the following are from Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor)

Then Finwë was grieved, for the Noldor were in the youth of their days, and he desired to bring forth many children into the bliss of Aman; and he said: ‘Surely there is healing in Aman? Here all weariness can find rest.’

Manwë delivered her to the care of Irmo in Lórien. At their parting (for a little while as he thought) Finwë was sad, for it seemed an unhappy chance that the mother should depart and miss the beginning at least of the childhood days of her son.

The maidens of Estë tended the body of Míriel, and it remained unwithered; but she did not return. Then Finwë lived in sorrow; and he went often to the gardens of Lórien, and sitting beneath the silver willows beside the body of his wife he called her by her names. But it was unavailing; and alone in all the Blessed Realm he was deprived of joy. After a while he went to Lórien no more.

Now it came to pass that Finwë took as his second wife Indis the Fair. She was a Vanya, close kin of Ingwë the High King, golden-haired and tall, and in all ways unlike Míriel. Finwë loved her greatly, and was glad again. But the shadow of Míriel did not depart from the house of Finwë, nor from his heart.

But the children of Indis were great and glorious, and their children also; and if they had not lived the history of the Eldar would have been diminished.

From Peoples of Middle Earth:

points that may explain the conduct of Feanor are here recalled. Miriel's death was of free will: she forsook her body and her fea went to the Halls of Waiting, while her body lay as if asleep in a garden. She said that she was weary in body and spirit and desired peace.

Her weariness she had endured until he was full grown, but she could endure it no longer. (If you want to come at me with some drafts quote bs, right back at you. Here she raised Feanor to adulthood.)

But Miriel was reluctant, and to all the pleas of her husband and her kin that were reported to her, and to the solemn counsels of the Valar, she would say no more than 'not yet'. Each time that she was approached she became more fixed in her determination, until at last she would listen no more, saying only: 'I desire peace. Leave me in peace here! I will not return. That is my will.'

When it became clear at last that Miriel would never of her own will return to life in the body within any span of time that could give him hope, Finwe's sorrow became embittered.

It was judged that Finwe's bereavement was unjust, and by persisting in her refusal to return Miriel had forfeited all rights that she had in the case; for either she was now capable of accepting the healing of her body by the Valar, or else her fea was mortally sick and beyond their power, and she was indeed 'dead', no longer capable of becoming again a living member of the kindred of the Eldar.

Death by free will, such as Miriel's, was beyond his thought. Death by violence he thought impossible in Aman; though as is recorded in The Silmarillion this proved otherwise.

From Morgoth’s ring:

But since it is not to be thought that the living shall, by his or her will alone, confine the spirit of the other to Mandos, this disunion shall come to pass only by the consent of both. And after the giving of the consent ten years of the Valar shall pass ere Mandos confirms it. Within that time either party may revoke this consent; but when Mandos has confirmed it, and the living spouse has wedded another, it shall be irrevocable until the end of Arda. This is the doom of Namo in this matter.'

It is said that Miriel answered Mandos saying: 'I came hither to escape from the body, and I do not desire ever to return to it'; and after ten years the doom of disunion was spoken.

It is said that Miriel answered Mandos, saying: 'I came hither to escape from the body, and I do not desire ever to return to it. My life is gone out into Feanaro, my son. This gift I have given to him whom I loved, and I can give no more. Beyond Arda this may be healed, but not within it.'

Then Mandos adjudged her innocent, deeming that she had died under a necessity too great for her to withstand. Therefore her choice was permitted, and she was left in peace.

Ulmo actually says that had Finwë waited longer, Miriel mightve returned, to which Vairë literally immediately responds with

'Nay!' said Vaire suddenly. 'The fea of Miriel is with me. I know it well, for it is small. But it is strong; proud and obdurate. It is of that sort who having said: this I will do, make their words a doom irrevocable unto themselves. She will not return to life, or to Finwe, even if he waiteth until the ageing of the world. Of this he is aware, I deem, as his words show. For he did not found his claim on his desire for children only, but he said to the King: my heart warns me that Miriel will not return while Arda lasts…

I can’t be bothered to find more but seriously. This isn’t even about Finwë or Míriel or Indis anymore, is it. This is about all of you demonizing and chastising a woman for daring not to be the perfect mother, blaming another person’s FREE DECISION on her, and then turning around and getting defensive when people call you misogynist.

And the way you guys talk about Míriel too borders on involuntary confinement as well. Míriel was absolutely miserable on Arda, and she found peace again in death (which cannot be compared to human death because we cease to exist when we commit suicide. Elves do not. So elven death is more akin to returning to some faraway home where you are still existing in the world than poof, gone.), but you guys seem to so want her to be forced to stay in a place that she hates because… oh no! Her child would be affected! That’s fucking ridiculous. Míriel should be allowed to choose what she believes is best for her, and y’all need to stop blaming it on Indis or Finwë because this is not the moral high ground you think it is.

Stop demonizing women in media because they dare do something that your favorite blorbo dislikes. You are part of the problem.

[novaursa]

rhaegar targaryen redemption arc 🙏🏻🙏🏻 thank you for your work queen ♥️ (he was fr a villain in the books)

The Crown of Winter Roses (Redemption)

- Summary: Rhaegar starts the Rebellion by stealing his sister, you.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Note: I've blended in your request into this series, dear anon. I hope you don't mind. 🙂 And yeah, I as well blame Rhaegar for everything that happens in ASOIAF.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The years had weathered Rhaegar Targaryen, carving lines of age and regret into a once-youthful face. The sun was low in the sky, casting shadows across the courtyard of the modest estate they now called home. He stood at the edge of the training yard, watching the figures move before him: a young girl with silver-gold hair that glinted in the fading light, her sword flashing as she sparred with her teacher, her laughter ringing out clear and bright.

Daenerys. His daughter. His salvation.

She was everything he had hoped for, everything he had feared he would never deserve. Born in a time of chaos and loss, she had been the one light that had kept him from drowning in the darkness of his own guilt. He watched her now, so vibrant and full of life, a fierce joy burning in her eyes as she practiced the sword forms she had insisted on learning. It was not the way of the Targaryens to wield steel, but she had her mother’s stubborn spirit, and Rhaegar had not had the heart to deny her.

He glanced over at you, standing a little distance away, your gaze fixed on Daenerys with a look of quiet pride. You had forgiven him—gods knew why, but you had. Even after everything, after the lies, the betrayal, the war that had torn the realm apart, you had stood by him. It was your strength, your love, that had given him the courage to change, to try to atone for the past.

The rebellion had ended in blood and ruin. Robert Baratheon sat on the Iron Throne now, his rule uncontested. The Targaryens had been shattered, scattered like ashes in the wind. Rhaegar had fled with you, with Daenerys, to this distant corner of Essos, where no one cared about fallen kings or broken crowns. He had abandoned his claim to the throne, left behind the dream of prophecy and power that had once consumed him.

In the quiet years that followed, he had learned what it meant to truly live. It had not been easy. The weight of his sins was always there, a constant, silent companion. The faces of those he had lost, those he had failed, haunted his nights. He could still see Elia’s eyes, the terror in them as he left her behind, could still hear the cries of his children as they were torn from this world before they had even truly lived. 

But through it all, you had been there, your presence a balm to his wounded soul. You had been the one to pull him from the abyss, to remind him that there was still something worth fighting for, even if it was no longer a crown or a kingdom. And then there was Daenerys, the unexpected miracle that had brought him back to life. She had been born amidst the ashes of his old dreams, and in her eyes, he had found a new purpose, a new hope.

He watched as she parried a blow, her movements fluid, graceful. She was strong, not just in body but in spirit. She had inherited your fire, your fierce will, and every day he thanked whatever gods still listened that she had also inherited your heart. She did not carry the burden of prophecy, of expectation. She was free to be herself, to choose her own path. And that, more than anything, was his redemption.

Once, he had believed he was meant to be the savior of the realm, the hero of some grand destiny. Now he knew better. His role was not to save kingdoms or fulfill prophecies. It was to be a father, a husband, to protect and cherish the family that had somehow come to love him despite his failings.

Daenerys glanced over at him, her face flushed with exertion, her eyes bright. “Did you see that, Father?” she called, her voice full of pride and excitement.

Rhaegar smiled, the simple joy of that moment filling his heart. “I did, sweetling. You’re becoming quite the swordswoman.”

She grinned, a flash of white teeth, and then turned back to her training, her focus unwavering. He marveled at her resilience, at the strength she possessed. He had tried to shield her from the shadows of his past, from the darkness that had once consumed him, but she was wise beyond her years. She knew more than he wished she did, understood the burden he carried even if she did not fully grasp its weight.

As he watched her, he felt the familiar pang of regret, the ache of old wounds that had never truly healed. But it was different now. The regret did not consume him as it once had. He had found a way to live with it, to carry it without letting it destroy him. And that was because of you, because of Daenerys, because of the life you had built together here, far from the shadows of the Iron Throne.

He turned to you, his heart full as he looked into your eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly, the words carrying the weight of everything he felt, everything he could never truly express.

You smiled, that smile that had always been his sanctuary. “For what?”

“For this,” he gestured to the courtyard, to Daenerys, to the life that surrounded them. “For saving me. For giving me a reason to keep going.”

You stepped closer, your hand reaching out to clasp his. “You saved yourself, Rhaegar. I just reminded you that there was something worth saving.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close, the warmth of your body a comfort against the lingering chill of his memories. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking with the intensity of his emotions. “I love you so much.”

You held him, your hand running through his hair, your touch gentle, soothing. “I love you too, Rhaegar. We’ve come so far, haven’t we?”

He nodded, his throat tight. “We have. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure that what we’ve built here, what we have, is never taken from us.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “You’ve already done that. You’ve given us a home, a family. You’ve given Daenerys a life free from the chains that once bound us.”

He kissed you then, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of love and loss, of gratitude and hope. When he pulled back, you smiled, and he felt a sense of peace settle over him, a peace he had never thought he would find.

Daenerys ran over, her training session finished, her face flushed with triumph. “Did you see, Mother?” she asked eagerly. “Did you see how I beat Ser Jorah?”

You laughed, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “I did, my dragon. You were magnificent.”

She beamed, and Rhaegar felt his heart swell with pride. This, he thought, this is what it means to be redeemed. Not the grand gestures of kings or the fulfillment of prophecies, but the simple, everyday moments of love and laughter, of family and home.

He watched as you and Daenerys began to talk, your voices mingling in the quiet of the evening, and for the first time in so many years, he felt truly free. Free from the shadows of the past, free from the ghosts that had haunted him. He had found his redemption not in power or glory, but in the love of his family, in the laughter of his daughter, in the warmth of your embrace.

And as the sun set below the horizon, casting the world in hues of gold and crimson, he knew that whatever lay ahead, whatever trials the future might bring, he was ready. Because he had found his way back to the light. Because he had found his way back to you.

[eriyu]

Day 28: Sun or Moon

*muffled humming dedicated to moonlight*

It's Sumire's last day guest starring! ♥ ( @blood-horns )

prompt list

Ehryu:

Augmented Lunar Envoy's Tathlums Horos Headdress (Woad Blue/Storm Blue) Virtu Dancer's Casaque (Woad Blue) Free Spirit's Ringbands (Ash Grey/Turquoise Blue) Etoile Bottoms (Storm Blue/Pearl White) Summer Sunset Sandals (Woad Blue/Metallic Silver) Menphina's Earring Moonward Ring of Aiming (Right)

Sumire:

Ravel Keeper's Tathlums Island Leaf Headdress (Dalamud Red) Weathered Dancer's Casaque Free Spirit's Ringbands (Pumpkin Orange/Mesa Red) Etoile Bottoms (Blood Red/None) Summer Sunset Sandals (Dalamud Red/None) Azeyma's Earrings

[dirtnapdreamfactory]

Sweetest Sin [Part One]

Content Warnings: Priest Kink, Breeding Kink, Corruption Kink, Loss of Virginity, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Female masturbation, Breaking Vows, Abandoned Celibacy, Etc. Etc.

Please let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 5.5K

[If this work looks familiar to you, it probably is. I originally had it posted to my old account that has since been deleted, so I am reposting it here.]

The grand archway of the cathedral framed Father Astarion Ancunin, his tall figure casting a shadow against the golden light that spilled from within. Despite being a creature of darkness, he had become an integral part of the town of Emberwood, serving as their shepherd of light. His vampiric nature had initially drawn cautious glances, but the townspeople's faith in him seemed to outweigh their fear. They flocked to the cathedral and found solace in his words, a paradox that the elf would have scoffed at decades ago—a vampire spawn preaching salvation.

"Good evening, Father Astarion," Mr. Tiller called out, his voice warm as he passed by with his family. "Your sermon today was truly moving."

"Thank you," Astarion replied, his smile genuine but unable to reach the depths of his crimson eyes. "Peace be with you."

For a quiet moment, the pale elf held up the silver band on his finger to catch the light, marveling at the small miracle that allowed him to walk under the sun. This ring symbolized not just his commitment to his vows, but also to a life he never thought possible. Each day, the weight of his past sins grew lighter as he embraced his newfound purpose with tentative gratitude.

"Father?" A timid voice broke through his reverie.

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Silverleaf." He recognized the couple instantly, their devoutness etched into every line on their faces. "What can I do for you?"

"Your words—they're a balm to our community," The man began, wringing his hat between his work-worn hands. "And…we hate to ask but…well, we've come to ask a favor, if you're willing."

"Of course. Speak freely," The priest encouraged, folding his hands before him in a gesture of openness. 

"It’s our daughter... She strays further each day from the path of righteousness," Mrs. Silverleaf confided, her voice laced with worry. "She has no care for piety or decency."

"Her soul, we fear, is in peril," her husband added, his gaze pleading.

"Would you speak with her, Father?" The woman asked. "Perhaps guide her back to the ways of the faithful?"

The couple's words hung heavy in the air, a weight that Astarion couldn't quite shake off. He knew his duty was to guide and correct those who strayed from the path of righteousness, but the thought of speaking with you, their fierce and free-spirited daughter, filled him with conflicting emotions.

On one hand, he felt a sense of obligation and responsibility towards your soul, which they clearly feared was in jeopardy. But on the other hand, the memory of you tore through his mind like a stormy sea, tempting him with desires he had vowed to renounce.

The request coiled tightly around his heart. The memory of that first night that he had laid eyes upon you surged forward, unbidden and wild. It had been a chance encounter at the tavern, where he had gone to seek solitude among the clamor of tankards and low-burning hearths. You had burst through the door, a vision of ferocious vitality, your presence so startling that even the rowdy din of the establishment had hushed for a brief moment. There you had stood, cloaked in the glory of your conquest—a deer, by the looks of your spoils—and had commanded attention with the ease of one who knew their own power.

"Talia, go fetch Lorrick! And tell the cook to get his shit together, yeah? We're having fuckin' venison tonight!" you’d declared, voice rich with triumph.

Astarion couldn't help but watch you, his eyes tracing the line of sweat that made a glistening path down the column of your neck. Each droplet reflected the light from the hearth, casting a warm glow on your skin. Your soft hair cascaded messily down your back and beckoned his fingers to explore its texture. The sight of you- so raw and vibrant - was like a sharp blade to his senses, breaking through the protective walls he had built around his chastity.

"Father, will you not try?" 

The distant echo of Mrs. Silverleaf's voice pulled Father Astarion back to the present, interrupting his thoughts. He nodded absently, his mind still consumed by the image of your mischievous smirk. Despite his inner turmoil, he affirmed to the couple that he would speak with their daughter, a wave of heat flushing his cheeks at the thought.

"God bless you," Mrs. Silverleaf and her husband intoned together, their sincerity in stark contrast to the hunger gnawing at Astarion's resolve.

"Peace be with you," he replied hollowly, his own words drowned out by the cacophony of conflicting emotions within him.

As the couple disappeared from view, Father Astarion turned back to face the sacred confines of the cathedral. Its cool silence offered no refuge from the heat that still coursed through him, memories of his struggle against temptation flashing through his mind. He had whispered fervent prayers and battled against his desires for flesh and sinew that night at the tavern.

"Forgive me," he muttered to the empty pews, unsure if his words were meant for his deity or for himself. His duty was clear - to meet with the girl and guide her towards the light. But as the sunset painted the stained glass windows in fiery shades of red and gold, Astarion couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to enter a battle for which he may never be fully prepared.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and called upon every ounce of divine strength to fortify his spirit. He would offer counsel to this wayward lamb and do his best to protect her from darkness. But as he locked up the church and began to trudge his way towards your home, nestled at the far edge of town, he couldn't deny the thrill of forbidden excitement coursing through his veins, like a fire burning just beneath his skin. Though he knew that this could prove to be a rather dangerous task, one that could potentially lead him down a path of temptation and ruin...for the sake of your immortal soul, he was willing to take the risk.

The dying embers of the day cast a warm, orange hue over the town as Astarion tread softly along the dirt trail, his boots pressing into the uneven ground scattered with pebbles and twigs. The outskirts where you resided was tranquil, the only sounds were his solitary footsteps and the distant chirping of crickets. He could see your home now, a quaint cottage that seemed to be in a perpetual embrace with the encroaching forest. The air was scented with damp earth and the sweet tang of herbs that hung from an overhang, swaying gently in the evening breeze.

"Ms. Silverleaf, it's Father Astarion," he called with measured calmness, rapping knuckles against the wooden door. His voice felt strangely intrusive in the stillness. "Your mother and father bid me to speak with you."

Silence greeted him, thick and unyielding. He knocked again, a little louder, allowing authority to lace his tone. "Ms. Silverleaf, please. This is a rather important matter."

The quiet persisted, and a frown teased at the edge of his lips. 'Perhaps she is out,' he thought, but something about the soft glow from within your home suggested otherwise. He reached for the doorknob, finding it unlocked. A moment's hesitation lingered like a warning. With a breath to steady himself, he pushed open the door and stepped into the muted warmth of the interior.

"Y/N?" he ventured again, voice barely above a whisper as he closed the door behind him.

Before him, the small fire in the hearth crackled its last dance, casting flickering shadows across the room. Astarion scanned the space, noting the absence of any presence. His gaze fell on the simple furnishings, the homely touches that bespoke a life lived simply yet fully. In that moment, he felt like an intruder in your world, privy to a privacy not his own.

His ears, sharper than most, caught the faintest sound—a rustle, a breath hitched in distress. His dead heart sank. 'Might the girl have injured herself?' The concern edged his thoughts as he moved silently, his steps practiced and light. The noises grew clearer, more defined, and his pace quickened with a mix of worry and something less definable.

"Y/N," he called out softly, reaching the slightly ajar door from behind which the sounds emanated. With the utmost care, he nudged it further open, just enough to allow his eyes to seek out the source of the commotion.

He stood motionless, his hand still resting on the door, as the scene within unfolded before him.

His eyes widened, the crimson depths reflecting a scene of forbidden desire. There in the dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desperation, you writhed upon your simple bed—a vision of unbridled sensuality.

"Gods above," he murmured under his breath, unable to tear his gaze from the sight. His voice was a mere whisper, lost amidst the symphony of your pleasure.

Your small fingers danced along the slick folds of your sex, each movement deliberate and hungry. Lustful whines escaped your lips in ragged sighs and your moans pierced Astarion's heart like an arrow. You were yet unaware of his presence, lost in your own world of ecstasy.

"Y/N," he finally managed to say, louder this time, but the plea in his voice was drowned by your cries. You did not hear him, or if you did, you gave no indication, consumed as you were by your own touch.

'Stop,' he thought desperately, 'you mustn't witness this.' But his body betrayed him, rooted to the spot, drinking in the sight of you. The heat that had been kindling within him since he'd first laid eyes on you now blazed uncontrollably.

He watched, transfixed, as your back arched, your breasts rising and falling with each labored breath. The soft mounds were flushed with arousal, your nipples taut and begging for attention. Your other hand alternated between caressing your breast and pinching your rose-colored nipple, sending ripples of pleasure through your body.

"Please," you gasped, the word a prayer for release. "I need... I can't..."

Father Astarion felt a surge of protectiveness, intermingled with a darker, hungrier sensation. He knew that he, a man of the cloth, should not be standing there, should not be watching this intimate act of self-pleasure, yet he found himself entranced by your uninhibited display.

"Is this what you seek?" he asked silently, the question for himself more than you. "To be the one to push her over that edge?"

His blood roared in his ears, drowning out the remnants of piety that screamed for him to leave. There was a battle raging within him, between his vows and the yearning to step forward—to replace your hands with his own, to taste the salt on your skin, to hear his name on your lips instead of the silent gods you seemed to be reaching for.

Another whimper, more tortured than the last, pulled him from his daze. He took a half-step backward, the creak of the wooden floorboard underfoot sounding like thunder in the quiet room. Astarion’s throat was dry, his body tense with longing.

"Forgive me," he whispered, turning his face away, though his eyes betrayed him, sliding back for another glimpse that lasted far too long. "Forgive me..."

His breath hitched, a silent witness to the carnal symphony playing out before him. Shadows clung to the corners of the dimly lit chamber as the fading light of day bathed your writhing form in an ethereal glow. Your fingers, slick and unyielding, danced fervently within yourself, your movements both desperate and deliberate. The decadent chorus of your pleasure—a blend of wet, rhythmic sounds—sent involuntary tremors through his body.

"Gods... yes, just like that, please..." Your voice was broken and full of lust, a prayer for release that echoed off the walls.

He swallowed thickly, the taste of his restraint bitter on his tongue. His hands, traitorous and curious, sought the heat beneath his breeches, and he winced at the contact – a touch both foreign and achingly familiar. The sensation clawed at his resolve, tearing at the fabric of his vows.

"Ah... A-Astarion..." you moaned, your voice slowly morphing into a sinful incantation - a desperate plea to the heavens, or perhaps to the depths below. His name rolled off your lips like a sacrilegious mantra, stoking that fire within him into something unbearable.

"Gods above…," he whispered under his breath, a ghost of words lost amid the melody of your solitary passion. Envy gnawed at him, its sharp teeth sinking into his heart as you envisioned another, even if that other bore his visage.

"Please... Fuck - ruin me..." you begged the illusion, your back arching, your body tightly stretched like a bowstring. The priest within him recoiled, but the man, the primal creature lurking beneath the clerical collar, stirred from its slumber.

"Enough," He hissed to himself, his conviction giving way to carnal desire. He could no longer be a mere observer, a passive guardian of sanctity. As you called out for him, in flesh or fantasy, he felt that familiar longing within him awaken. With a growl, he shed his clerical collar and entered the room with purpose. This was no longer a soft tread of uncertainty, but the confident steps of a man who knew what he wanted. You needed him, craved him, and he... he needed this. Gods above, he needed this.

"Ms. Silverleaf," he said louder now, his voice cutting through the haze of your ecstasy.

Your eyes snapped open, bright and piercing, locking onto his deep, vermillion gaze. Your silky hair cascaded around your face as you stilled, your body drawn with anticipation. In that moment, your eyes were a tangle of fire and gold, two stars colliding and igniting a blaze that consumed you both. Your stillness was a bird poised on the edge of a branch, ready to take flight at the slightest movement. And in that moment, the question hung in the air like a forbidden fruit, tempting and dangerous: Which would it be? Salvation or damnation?

"F-Father Astarion," you breathed, a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and something...darker. Something hungry .

The pale elf stood tall and imposing in the dimly lit room, his pastoral leash discarded and forgotten on the floor. The light streamed through the window, catching the soft curls of his silver hair and casting an intimidating glow in his intense eyes. You laid bare before him, a true vision of ethereal beauty - your pleading eyes and wild hair fanned out around you, nearly forming a halo around your glistening, desperate form.

"Tell me, my child," He began, his voice low and steady, "What manner of evil has reduced you to this? A whimpering, sodden mess baring yourself so shamelessly before a man of God?"

"Please, Father...I-I’m so sorry. Please…p-please help me," You whimpered, your voice soft as velvet.

"Of course, child," His voice was a soothing balm, yet it was wrought with an undercurrent of something depraved. "Would you have me guide you in prayer, to cleanse these wicked ideations from your soul?"

Your head shook, a silent bell tolling 'no'. His gaze never left you, sharp and probing as he began to unfasten his shirt, each button relinquishing its hold with deliberate slowness. The pale flesh beneath his priestly attire came into view - his lean, muscular body sending a sharp jolt to your needy cunt.

"Or perhaps," he continued, his tone laced with concern, "you'd prefer I summon the physician? They might concoct a remedy for your... afflictions ."

As he circled the bed, the air around you charged with unsaid words, he grazed your cheek with his knuckles, the touch feather-light yet scorching. Your skin burned under his caress, your heat evident to his discerning touch.

"Ah, you are quite warm," he murmured, almost to himself. He leaned closer, his breath fanning your face as he tenderly pushed away strands of hair that had clung to your dampened forehead. "What then, my dear, do you seek from me?"

You swallowed thickly, your body betraying your desires with a soft whimper. "I don't need a doctor, Father," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Then what?" Astarion whispered back, his proximity intoxicating.

Your breath hitched; you bit down on your lower lip, trapping it between your teeth. In a voice suffused with shame and longing, you uttered the words, "Touch me."

Astarion clicked his tongue, a reprimand and a tease all at once. "You know that is not possible. My vows..." He let the sentence hang, unfinished, yet heavy with implication.

But desire was a siren's call, relentless and seductive. As your fingers resumed their salacious dance, the soft wet sounds that they made reached his ears, sending a bolt of raw need through him. He watched, transfixed, his body responding despite his resolve.

"Is this a habit of yours?" he asked, his voice husky with restrained passion.

"No," you breathed out, your movements unabated.

"Has another taught you such pleasures?" His inquiry was both invasive and achingly tender.

"N-no. Never," you admitted, your voice tinged with innocence and discovery.

He hummed, acknowledging your confession. "There is much to learn about one's own flesh... to understand what brings pleasure, what stirs the soul."

"Please," you gasped, your plea floating between you like a fragile leaf caught in a tempest. "Help me, Father... Show me how to feel good..."

"Perhaps," he whispered, his voice a thread of silk amidst the tension, "a slight... guidance would not be deemed sacrilegious." The words felt foreign on his tongue, like a dark incantation that could unravel the very fabric of his being.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if absorbing the gravity of what he proposed. Your lips parted in a silent plea, your desire an unspoken prayer that beckoned him closer.

With reverent trepidation, he extended his hand, the silhouette of his fingers ghosting over the valley of your chest before descending. The heat of your skin seared his palm as he cupped your heavy breast, feeling its softness yield beneath his touch. Your sharp intake of breath was both a torment and a balm to his conflicted soul.

"Ah..." you sighed, a delicate sound that underscored the urgency of this illicit communion.

Astarion allowed himself a moment to marvel at the responsiveness of your body, the way your flesh puckered against the chilled air, inviting his thumb to graze over the tight peak of your nipple. To him, it was the first transgression – a tactile whisper that spoke volumes of forbidden pleasures yet explored.

His hand trailed lower, a painstaking journey across the landscape of your ribcage, the undulating terrain of your belly, each movement deliberate, a testament to the restraint he fought to maintain. It was an artist's touch, painting strokes of fire upon your canvas of anticipation.

"May I?" The question hung between you, laden with consequences yet to unfold. His eyes sought yours, seeking absolution in their depths. Your gaze held his, fierce and unyielding—a mirror reflecting your shared hunger.

"Please," you breathed, the single word a key turning in the lock of his resolve.

His fingers, cold and steady, grazed the small of your waist, drawing your attention away from his eyes to the point of contact. You shuddered as his touch met the sensitive skin just above your hips. His fingers traced the delicate curve of your pelvis, kneading it gently, exploring your body with the reverence of a man discovering the wonders of the world for the first time.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of your hip. "Sinfully so, darling. But your wants, your needs... they are only human."

Astarion's eyes lingered on the curve of your hips, tracing the silhouette of your form with his gaze. The desire within him threatened to consume him whole, promising to both destroy and purify. He knew that once he crossed this line, there would be no going back. You were both aware of the weight of your transgression, heavy like a shroud about your limbs.

But your voice broke the silence, another soft plea that cracked the veneer of control he had so meticulously constructed. "Please," you begged, your voice trembling.

His fingers found you, hesitant at first, exploring the soft folds that lay between your legs. The air was heavy with the scent of arousal and anticipation, a heady cocktail that intoxicated you both. Astarion was no stranger to the touch of a woman, but this was different. This was sacrilegious. He could feel the weight of his vows bearing down upon him, threatening to suffocate him, but he persisted.

Your body tensed at his touch, the resistance only serving to heighten his desire. As he continued to explore you, he whispered softly into your ear, "You are allowed to feel pleasure, sweet girl. It's alright..."

Your breath hitched as his fingers delved deeper, your body arching against him in response. He could feel the heat radiating from your core, the pulsing life within you behind the delicate tissue that covered your being. He had never felt anything so alive, so vital, so right.

His fingers continued their exploration, sliding gently against your skin, tracing the pathways of your desire. Every touch was a caress, a promise, a confirmation that you were real, that you were there, and that he was not alone in this sin.

As his fingers continued their journey, he felt a surge of pure lust wash over him. He knew that he could not resist any longer. He needed to feel you, to possess you. He needed to experience the fullness of your passion and the sinful pleasures that awaited him.

He could feel your heart racing, your breaths becoming short and ragged as he touched you. Every touch, every brush of his fingers against your skin sent electricity coursing through his veins.

"Gods," you keened, your voice a desperate plea for release as he slowly sunk his middle and ring finger into your tight channel. Your body trembled, and you pressed yourself against him, urging him to continue.

Astarion released a long, shuddering breath. This was madness, this transgression. But the need was far too strong, too powerful.

His pale skin almost seemed to shimmer as he shifted his position on the bed. His scarlet eyes, usually so intense and piercing when preaching from the pulpit, were now dark with lust as they focused on your form laid out before him. The contrast between you was stark—him, the embodiment of forbidden restraint, and you, the very image of uninhibited desire.

"Father," you panted, your voice a sultry melody that tugged at the most carnal parts of him, "please..."

He slid his fingers deeper, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. The sight of your pleasure, the way you arched beneath his touch, drew a low groan from Astarion's throat. He was no longer the vampiric preacher who had given his life to God and vowed celibacy; he was a man, flesh and blood, driven by primal urges he could no longer deny. Your scent filled his senses, intoxicatingly sweet, and it sparked a curiosity that overshadowed all rational thought.

"Gods, I shouldn't..." He murmured, more to himself than to you, but the words died in his mouth as his tongue dared to taste the honeyed sweetness of your center. The flavor burst upon his senses—a delectable mix of sin and innocence—and his groan vibrated against your sensitive skin. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated need.

"M-more...please..don't stop," You encouraged breathlessly, your eyes half-closed, hands finding their way into his silver curls, urging him closer.

Astarion complied, his once-hesitant licks becoming more insistent, delving into your folds with fervor. The holy man within him screamed for repentance, for restraint, but he was drowned out by the carnal beast that had been awakened. With each stroke of his tongue and curl of his fingers, he mapped out every contour of your dripping cunt, committing your responses to memory like sacred scripture.

"Ah, Astarion," you moaned, a symphony to his ears.

"Y/N," he whispered against you, his voice husky with passion, "you taste positively divine ."

As he continued to worship at the altar of your body, the church bells of propriety and oath rang distant, irrelevant. In this moment, there was only you and the undeniable truth that you were bound by something far stronger than doctrine. The friction of his fingers inside of you, coupled with the relentless pursuit of his tongue, stoked a flame within you that threatened to consume you both.

"Father," you gasped, your plea a beautiful litany, "Aah - Gods, yes.."

Your hips bucked beneath him, the fierce desire in your eyes melting into a tempest of ecstasy. The supple flesh of your sex clenched around his fingers, and the sight of it, the feel of it, sent a shiver down his spine. The moments of hesitation were a blur in the past, all that remained was the hunger between you, the natural dance of bodies, the silent pleas for release.

He felt that familiar throb of anticipation, the prelude to a world of pleasure and sin. It would be a fall from grace, a transgression of the utmost magnitude. But he knew, deep down, that his heart would break if he denied you the satisfaction you so desperately craved.

He could feel the tension within your body, the resistance slowly fading away as you came closer to the edge. Your breaths, once short and gasping, now deep and labored as you allowed yourself to fully succumb to sinful bliss.

His fingers, still buried inside of you, crescendoed their rhythm, matching the tempo of your heartbeat. He traced the swell of your clitoris with his thumb and lapped at the nectar that spilled from you, staining his lips with its sweetness.

"Astarion," you whispered, your voice a low, sultry moan. "Please, I need more."

He understood. He needed more, too. He plunged his fingers deep within you once more, eliciting a scream of unadulterated pleasure. The supple flesh of your sex clenched and spasmed around him, and the sight of it, the feel of it, drew a deep growl from within his chest.

His breath was a harsh rasp, his every sense alight with the raw scent of desire that rose from your flushed skin. Withdrawing his hand and mouth from your quivering, wet warmth, he couldn't help but admire the sheen of arousal that coated him, a decadent gloss that marked his sin as much as it did his yearning. He gazed upon you, reclined and panting, through eyes hazed with lust, finding you all the more enchanting for the sweat that painted your delicious curves.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice laced with both reproof and undeniable affection, "such a greedy little thing."

His fingers, still trembling with the remnants of your pleasure, worked at the ties of his breeches with a deftness born of necessity—this shedding of his final vestment felt like the peeling away of his last vow. The fabric fell away, pooling around his knees before he kicked them off, discarding the cloth and constraint alike into a forgotten pile on the floor.

Bare now before you, the dying light cast shadows across his lean form, playing over the muscles that tensed with anticipation. His heavy, aching cock stood proud, a testament to their forbidden ardor, twitching as though it had a life of its own, the tip shining with evidence of his need.

"Can you handle more?" he asked, his voice a low growl that vibrated in the charged air between you. It wasn't just a question of your endurance; it was a challenge to his self-control, a plea for absolution for the hot sin you were about to commit.

Your response was caught in your throat, your eyes wide as you drank in the sight of him. In your gaze, Astarion saw the war between lust and trepidation—yet when you swallowed, it not only discarded your fears but also his lingering doubts.

"Please," you whispered, your voice thick with want. "Take me... I want to be yours."

The words crashed into him like a wave, sweeping away the last of his restraint. A part of him—the man who had clung to his faith amidst a sea of past temptations—whispered that this was the point of no return. But another part, deeper, more primal, rejoiced in the offering you presented.

"Then mine you shall be," he vowed, his mind afire with images of your union, of how he would fill you, stretch you, consume your essence until there was no distinguishing where one ended and the other began.

As he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick heat, he felt the weight of years of celibacy poised on the brink of oblivion. His heavy balls tightened, aching with the promise of release, the need to claim and be claimed overwhelming him.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Yes," came your breathless reply.

And with that single word, Astarion surrendered, gently pushing forward and guiding himself into your tight warmth with a slow, deliberate thrust.

You gasped as his girth split your virgin pussy, your body writhing beneath him, a silent plea for more. Astarion pushed in deeper, sinking slowly into you…inch by agonizing inch until you felt his balls press against the tender flesh of your ass. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced, a divine mix of pain and pleasure that sent shivers down your spine.

"Ohh, Gods above ...you're so tight, little one" he whispered, pulling back just enough to tease your entrance and admire the pink ring of your ruined maidenhood around his shaft before plunging himself into your core once more.

You moaned, your hands clawing at his back, urging him on. “Mmf! Ahh…d-don't stop, please..."

Astarion groaned, his hips bucking urgently against you. He wanted to savor this moment, to take his time, but the beast within him demanded satisfaction. He shifted his angle, his cock rubbing at that sweetest spot inside of you just right as his crown pressed rough kisses against your cervix over and over again, and you cried out in pleasure and pain.

"Ahhh - fuck ," you cried, your voice a mixture of ecstasy and anguish, "Gods, it's too much...I can't-”

"Yes you can," Astarion whispered reassuringly, his breath hot against your ear. He thrust faster, harder, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. "You're taking me so well, sweet girl. Being so very good for me..."

Your body arched beneath him, your nails digging into his back as you climaxed hard, your orgasm hitting you like a whirlwind of bliss and agony.

Astarion felt your muscles clench around him, a vice-like grip that threatened to pull him under. His release was imminent, and he knew that once it came, there would be no turning back.

His thrusts became more frantic, the need to conquer your petite body overtaking him. Each movement was a battle, each thrust a plea, each twitch of his manhood a promise. He could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Forgive me," he grunted, his voice strained, his voice echoing your pleas from earlier. "I just can't control myself around you..."

You let out a needy, lustful whimper as your overstimulated body trembled beneath him, matching his rhythm as you reached once more for the edge of a new kind of bliss you had never known.

"I don't want you to control yourself," you huffed. "I want to feel every bit of you inside me."

Astarion groaned, his eyes rolling back as he plunged into you with reckless abandon, his cock twitching and pulsing within your snug hole. He felt your walls tighten around him, milking him for everything he had to offer. This was it; this was the moment. He knew that once he emptied himself inside of you, he would be lost in you forever. With a desperate cry, he buried himself to the hilt inside of your molten core, stuffing you completely with his thick, neglected manhood as his seed flooded and filled you, a substantial overflow seeping from where you remained joined - a testament to your sinful union.

As he collapsed onto you, his breathing came in ragged gasps. You lay beneath him, your eyes closed, face flushed with the afterglow of your lovemaking. You felt his cock twitching inside of you, still wrapped around him in a tight grip from your shared ecstasy.

He could feel your heart racing beneath him. This was not merely sex or desire; this was something forever altered, indelible in your souls. As your bodies calmed from their fervor, he found himself still nestled within your warmth, where he belonged.

He knew that to stay burrowed within you would be to invite temptation's final caress, but he could not make himself retreat. Not now, not ever. You were his now, and he was yours; there was no turning back...

[apradonite]

every since i made her there's nothing i love drawing more in the world rn than kane's little mascot form

some deeper details about her under the cut v

Originally a humble and modest rotary phone saleslady with a squeaky clean criminal record in North Jersey, Alexis June Kane's silver tongue, boisterous-yet-charming public image, and overly-competitive spirit made her almost a seamless fit in the cutthroat business environment of Rapture. Noticing a fresh and underutilized slate in the television market, she immediately jumped on the opportunity in order to become one of the biggest faces on Rapture's televised programming.

The gameshow Kane runs is called All or Nothing: A high-stakes trivia game where 5 people answer questions correctly for money, but for each question you get right, you get the option to either leave with your current winnings or gamble to either keep playing for the big prize or lose it all and go home with nothing but the clothes on your back.

Like most companies in Rapture, it's completely bullshit: Kane is no stranger to bought-out wins, exorbitant fees to pocket winners' money, prizes that are shittier in quality than promised, etc. Hell, it even starts becoming another propaganda tool once Ryan starts getting stricter. But who cares? So long as Rapture's economy keeps going at a downward spiral, there will always be some desperate sob willing to risk their paycheck when the grand prize is a free warm meal! It even lets her in on her favorite hobby: punching down!

Outside of the show, she's a socialite who loves to go out to parties, has the alcohol tolerance of an elephant, and is currently banned from all casinos in Fort Frolic. Despite that though, she can't really say she has many friends (or any at all), but who needs people who will just drag her down anyway? All she needs is the show and the fat stacks it rakes in! More time to sit in her room waiting for the phone to ring again. And beg for forgiveness when she picks it up.

[writersundersiege]

Rooster and his Songbird

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader Seresin

Summary: Bradley is at the Hard Deck with the rest of the Dagger Squad like every Friday night, but Penny’s announcement for a new special event happening at the end of the month was have a local artist perform and their favorite drinks will be the special menu of the night all proceeds go back to help Homeless Veterans. The group Penny hires is excellent, but what catches Bradley’s attention is a gorgeous girl he’s never seen before. What will he do when he discovers it’s no one other than Jake “Hangman” Seresin's little sister? Will Bradley take the leap of faith? Is Jake going to let his only little sister anywhere near Rooster?

The music was loud as Bradley walked into the Hard Deck; it’s always busy, but tonight seems louder and more crowded, and Bradley looking around can’t seem figure out why. He’s making his way to a back table where the Daggers usually congregate when he spots Phoenix with his favorite kind of beer tipped toward him, signaling him to hurry his ass up over there.

Once he arrives and grabs his drink, he sits and takes note everyone who was usually on a Friday night out is here, minus Coyote and Hangman, who are sitting right next to the piano area for some reason. As he turns to Phoenix and Bob, who are talking about some movie Bob watched on Netflix, Penny’s voice rings true over the crowd, quieting them as much as she can.

“Good evening; thank you for joining us for the first Music Makes Miracles first event. All tonight's proceeds, besides the girls' tip jar, will be donated to homeless veterans. Also, just so that everyone knows, our special tonight is a Rum and Coke courtesy of the lovely girl, who I will let introduce herself, but as the rest of the night goes, thank you once for coming out again. Enjoy.”

As Penny hops down from the small black box stage, three girls hop up onto the stage; all of a sudden, it’s like the world stops all around Bradley. You’re laughing as you throw the strap of a regular Gibson guitar over your shoulder, but as he looks closer, he sees details of hummingbirds on it. You were smiling from ear to ear. It looked like there was an ethereal glow behind you as you tapped the mic a few times to make sure it was not too loud.

“Hey everyone, we’re so excited to perform; tips are appreciated but are not expected, but what is expected is to have fun with us!” here, the band cheers, which makes the crowd of Navy recruits, their loved ones, and few scattered civilians clap and whistle along to get the energy going.

Bob whistles while Phoenix shakes Bradley’s shoulder, yelling, “hell yeah, girl.” Bradley chuckles, cheeks turning pink, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “That’s the spirit tonight; we’ll start with Brandy by Looking Glass. I’m sure you all know it; feel free to sing along!”

Then you pull a little silver pitch pipe out of the pocket of your white sundress and put it to your lips, lightly giving the two girls standing behind you their pitches. You smile at the guy at the piano and twist the microphone to his lips so he can play and sing.

You walk back to the girls, and the music starts; you flip a switch with your foot to make your guitar sound electronic, and the man’s voice sounds out; he’s got a great tone of voice, but all Bradley’s eyes are you, and how you are keeping the beat perfectly singing back up with the girls, it’s like almost he can hear your voice all alone.

As they got to the bridge of the song, all the men and women in the bar alike were singing and laughing, drinking. Some of the older couples were even up dancing.

At the song's end, you were laughing with pure bliss on your face, eyes creased, cheeks peaked, and Bradley swallows hard, gripping himself to his chair to keep himself from standing and sweeping you off that stage and kissing you in front of all these people. What is wrong with him? He doesn’t even know your name, but he can’t stop this gravitational pull you seem to have on him.

You walk back to the man on the piano, grab the microphone, and twist it around as you kiss his cheek lightly. He smiles up at you. “Everyone give a huge round of applause for Noah; isn’t he just dreamy ladies,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Anyways, My name is (F/N), and the lovely ladies behind me are-“As she steps to the side, the girls wave, and the one with really curly black hair waves, “I’m Cora, everyone,” and the other girl with extremely long golden looking hair smiles big waving “hey y’all I’m Savannah” you step back in center stage, “And we’re just a traveling band of misfits who love a little music and love making people remember their love for music so please do enjoy we’ll be playing throughout the night we also take requests so feel free to submit them over here” she points to a little box with some paper and pen next to an empty glass jar that was adorably painted with pink and white flowers and said tips with a bit of smiley face.

Phoenix again tries to pull Bradley from his trance by smacking him upside the back of the head. “What’s with you tonight? You seem like you are in outer space.” he straightens back, turning fully to Phoenix and Bob, and points back in your direction. “the singer, she’s just kinda amazing, isn’t she?” Phoenix's eyes go as big as Saturn's moons until she starts cackling while Bob cowers back like he’s scared a tidal wave will take him out.

Bradley starts to get annoyed, clearing his throat and raising his eyebrow for explanations from either of his friends. “That-“Phoenix starts catching her breath. “That little songbird you are so infatuated with is Jake’s “Bagman” Seresin's sweet little sister (F/N) Seresin.”

Bradley’s eyes got wide, and he turned where Coyote and Hangman sat, head on a swivel, glaring any men who started approaching the stage and then sliding different dollar amounts into the tips for the case of scaring off a potential target was coming to be just so generous to you girls.

Bradley shakes his head almost in defeat until an idea comes to mind. He says, “I'll be back,” to Phoenix, which has her saying back to him. “ good luck, don’t get killed, “and he gets up anyway, heading straight to the piano. Jake tracks his movements the whole way, but so do you. The entire night you've been watching Bradley's awe-struck face, you thought he was charming but a bit of a big bumbling mess, so to say, but in an adorable way.

Bradley's movement is steady as he pats Noah's back, leans down, and whispers, which causes the boy at the piano to smile from ear to ear. Noah moves over, and Bradley sits and, just like many times before, starts to bang out the notes on the keys below, singing out loud right toward you and sings out.

“You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain

Too much love drives a man insane

You broke my will

But what a thrill

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

As Phoenix and Bob realize his grand plan, they are in fits of laughter as Coyote and the rest of the team are oblivious; Jake looks like he's about to implode on the spot. You, on the other hand, are dancing and singing with girls along with so many others in the bar Bradley admires as you dance, blinded by music as if there is no world. It's just you and the notes floating in the air. He and Noah continue to slam down notes in rhythm together, smiling at each other minorly as they play the last notes, and the crowd erupts in applause and whistles. He can hear Bob yelling, “Yeah, Rooster!” as Phoenix makes a rooster call, hands cupped around her hand to make it louder. Everyone else was clapping and laughing along.

Bradley smiles but starts shaking as he feels a small dainty hand on his shoulder, looking up and seeing your gorgeous glowing smile and bright (E/C) sparkling. “You are amazing, Rooster. Jakey never said you could sing!” Bradley sucks in breath. “He's told you about me.” Suddenly, Jake inserts himself between you, Jake grabbing your hand gently like you were a little girl who just ran from him. “I did,” he said, glaring in Bradley's direction, turning to you, saying, “Go back up there; little bird people are waiting on you.” he smiled, and you happily turned and hopped back on stage as if nothing ever happened.

Jake turns, facing chest to chest to Bradley, glaring. He says, “Bradshaw, I know what your thinking, and better fucking stop thinking it, or I swear I will make you regret everything you've ever done in life” Jake turns and points subtly at you. “She is my family; don't ever mistake or Mix that up. She's off limits to all of you, but especially you. Sound crystal to you, Bradshaw?” During this entire threat, Bradleys shakes his head with a smile and red cheeks, just watching as you and your band set up to start.

You throw the strap over your shoulder for your Gibson. You smile and pull your (H/T) from under the straps. You are adjusting the microphone and preparing to sing. Before you do, you look to where Bradley is standing, wholly frozen and silent in front of Jake; you smile and start humming your starting notes.

Bradley looks back to your brother and says, “Clear, Would never dream of it” With a smirk, he turns his back, walking, leaving Jake completely baffled, mumbling to himself, “What the fuck does that even mean? I saw the eyes he's been giving her, those creepy eyes all night.”

As Bradley sits back with Phoenix and Bob, they eye him patiently, waiting for him to say how it went and what Jake had said. No one gets their answers, though, cause the rest of the night, one pair of eyes is set to the other like they were connected by string.

Bradley isn't sure how or when he'll make you his songbird, but he would happily follow you anywhere to listen to your melodic songs.

All rights belong to the original creator of the Top Gun Franchise. I do not own any of these characters except band characters; this is all just for fun

[doumadono]

I don’t know if this counts as an emergency request, feel free if to ignore/delete this if it isn’t or if you don’t want to write it

but I’m just so angry right now that I feel like crying.

my mom passed away last march and her best friend is managing her trust. My or my siblings can’t since we’re all underage. She’s been selling and giving away things that belonged to my mom without even consulting us first. She first sold the house she’d been living in for the past 8 yrs (my parents are divorced so we’ve been living with my dad) that we were wanting to buy. She tried selling my mom’s antique Barbie collection that is INCREDIBLY sentimental to us. And she might be trying to sell her freaking wedding dress and ring. (I’m sorry if this is ranting, I’m trying not to)

could I request a Kirishima or Giyuu x reader who would be going through similar things? Just basically a bunch of angry tears

(Again, please ignore this if you do not want to do this.)

A/N: I'm so angry to hear about the difficult situation you're facing. Losing a loved one is challenging, and dealing with the management of their belongings adds another layer of complexity. It's completely understandable that you're upset and frustrated. In such cases, it might be helpful to seek legal advice. Given your age, you might want to consult with a guardian or someone you trust to explore options for managing your mom's trust more responsibly. Documenting your sentimental attachment to specific items could also be beneficial. If you need a listening ear, don't hesitate to message me. I trust that these small headcanons will manage to elicit the slightest hint of a smile on your face

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Kirishima

Kirishima would be the epitome of emotional support. He might not fully understand the intricacies of your situation, but his empathy shines through.

Kirishima's anger isn't just about the items; it's about protecting your feelings and memories. He firmly believes in standing up for what's right, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. "Your mom's stuff means a lot to you, right? I can't stand the thought of someone messing with that."

He suggests a proactive approach, perhaps talking to the trust manager, explaining your emotions, and trying to find a compromise.

Kirishima would spend time with you, engaging in activities that could help ease your mind – maybe a training session or a casual outing.

Kirishima would certainly surprise you with a small gift – a custom-made keychain representing your mom's hobbies or a necklace with a pendant with her picture inside. "I thought this could be a little reminder of the good times. Whenever you look at it, you'll remember her smile."

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the city as you sat with Kirishima on a quiet rooftop. The distant sound of traffic filled the air, but for now, it was just the two of you. Kirishima, sensing your distress, suggested spending some time away from the chaos.

The gentle breeze rustled Kirishima's spiky hair as he spoke, "I get it, you know? Losing something important... it sucks. When my aunt got laid off, we had to sell a lot of stuff. I remember feeling so powerless. But your situation, it's awful. It's so fucking unfair."

He glanced at you, his red eyes softened with empathy. "But we're not powerless now. We can do whatever it takes. We ca meet her and tell her how much these things mean to you. We can contact the authorities to accuse her of adverse management of property. There must be something we can do. Whatever you decide, I'm with you."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Kirishima handed you a small, carefully wrapped package. "I thought this might help. A little something to keep your spirits up."

Opening it, you found a silver necklece with a pendant with a tiny picture of your mom inside. Kirishima smiled sadly, "Whenever you look at it, please remember the good times. We'll face this head-on, together."

Tomioka

Giyuu is more reserved, but his empathy is strong. He might not express his anger openly, but his actions speak volumes.

He listens patiently as you vent your frustration, understanding the depth of your emotions.

Giyuu doesn't express his anger openly but conveys deep empathy through his calm demeanor. "I can't fathom your pain, but I'm here for you. We'll find a way together."

Giyuu suggests a more subtle approach, like writing a heartfelt letter to the trust manager, explaining the importance of these items. "Words have power. Sometimes, they can be more impactful than actions."

He may take you to a serene location, like a quiet lake or a peaceful garden, providing a calm environment to discuss your feelings.

Giyuu, with his calm demeanor, took you to a serene lakeside retreat. The peaceful setting was a balm for your troubled soul, and together, you reflected on your mother's memories.

Underneath the canopy of cherry blossoms, you and Giyuu sat in silence, the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the lake providing a soothing backdrop. Giyuu listened attentively as you shared stories about your mother, each memory a delicate thread binding you to her.

"You have a beautiful way of expressing your love for her," Giyuu spoke softly, his gaze reflecting a mixture of understanding and empathy. "Let the water carries your sorrows away. Feel free to let it all out, darling."

As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Giyuu suggested writing your thoughts on paper, symbolically letting them float away on the lake. The letter, carefully crafted, held the essence of your emotions, a silent plea for understanding.

"You've been strong through this. Your words will find their way to her heart," Giyuu assured, stroking your nape slowly.

[lex-the-flex]

In My Dreams

Morpheus x reader

Summary: A long-awaited reunion cannot express his love for you as the impending threats of war begin to take a new dawn.

Word Count: 1k

Warning(s): PURE FLUFF!! (Cause Dream deserves it) Happy reunion, brief moments of sadness, mentions of injuries, talk of a banned relationship/religion, the reader returning from exile, balanced and loving family dynamic, Orpheus being a dutiful son, brief nightmare imagery, and return to the Dreaming.

A/N: WORDS CAN'T EXPRESS HOW EXCITED I AM FOR SEASON 2 AND THESE PICS ARE JUST 🥵🤤.

The defining silence of your large apartment allowed an indescribable weight to form in the very airways of your chest. Not even the trickle of the rain hitting the windows or the muffled traffic below could raise your spirits while you patiently waited for your next cup of coffee to brew.

You couldn't remember how many days had passed since the siblings' trial. The horrible trial that cursed you to be separated from your loving son and husband for what felt like an eternity. The result was projected with saddened hearts whilst the main rule hurt, but it was still true.

He is an Endless, she is a Mortal, and the two of you should've never met.

Opening your eyes, you were greeted by the bright afternoon sky, and you were outside. The air felt cleaner, clearer unlike before, and the weight in your chest suddenly vanished, allowing you to finally breathe again. The sound of seagulls cawing at the rise of a new day made it harder to gain your bearings as you knew that your apartment was far from any kind of beach.

Slowly sitting up, your e/c eyes adjusting to your surroundings to discover that you were on a pebble-covered beach, and that your usual jeans and shirt were replaced with something more elegant for a ruler of The Dreaming. Standing from your position on the ground, you looked down at your figure to see that you were clothed in a dark purple set of robes with a flowing cape and shoes to match. Glancing at your hands, a series of silver rings adorned your fingers, and your eyes welled up with tears.

You were free.

The curse had been broken and your heart swelled at the sight of your husband, Morpheus standing along the dunes before you. Running to him, he joined you before catching you in his arms and spinning you in delight.

Closing his grip tighter around you, a lump formed in the back of your throat at how much you missed his scent.

"...Morpheus." Is all you could say.

Gently rocking you back and forth, the Endless held you as if he was handling the finest bottle of champagne. Burying his head in your neck, he carefully pressed his lips to your skin, silently rejoicing in your presence.

"I've missed you, my lovely wife." He whispered in your skin, before facing you.

Placing your hands to his chest, he was dressed in the same style of robes as you, the fabric remained as dark as ebony. Taking hold of your shoulders, Morpheus' bright blue orbs bounced against your own.

"I thought I'd never see you again. I heard the Corinthian attacked you and that you..." You finally announce with tears streaming down your face.

"Sshh, I know. But you're here now, we're here. Together." Morpheus replies, gently cupping your cheek in his hand.

Wiping away your tears, Morpheus presses his lips to your forehead, letting you know that everything is alright. Embracing you in his arms once more, the sound of the ocean waves being disturbed fills your ears, and your son Orpheus emerges from the light blue water. Joining you and Morpheus, the frigid water evaporates off his similar style of white robes and the lyre he carries in his hand.

Wrapping his arms around your form, you hold the back of his head and scrunch your fingers through his brown hair.

"Orpheus, my son. My beautiful son." You say, enjoying your son's embrace.

Letting go, Orpheus sets his instrument carved from wood and leather on the pebbled sand, and bows in your presence. Lowering his head to the sand, he extends his palms toward you.

"I am honored to have you with us again, Mother. But I bring news from the outskirts of Hell." Orpheus begins to explain.

"I told you to stay away from Hell. You and your mother are not Endless, Orpheus." Morpheus interjects, trying not to get angry at this moment.

"I know, but Matthew earned a lead and I had to see it through. It appears that Lucifer herself is planning to take down The Dreaming with an army granted by the Dukes of that infernal place." Orpheus explains firmly.

"I know, Lucienne told me. We shall handle this together." Morpheus replies, turning his attention to the waves.

"With what army, Father? I know dreams are strong, but at what cost?" Orpheus questions, gripping his lyre tighter.

"Orpheus, you are an excellent fighter. But I cannot have you on the front lines. You are mortal, as am I. And while I broke the treaty with the Endless, I still love your father for who he is. So I want you to stay out of harm's way." You say, guiding your son's face to gaze at your own.

Nodding at your declaration, a brief itching sensation takes over your left palm and you glance down at your hand to discover that a mass of dark matter has covered your skin. Clenching your hand into a fist, both Morpheus and your son offer their reassuring touches to each of your shoulders.

"What is this?!" Orpheus asks, with fear in his eyes.

Watching the black matter leave the tips of your fingertips, you lightly groan in pain.

"Your siblings decree. It's finally gone." You advise the boys.

Feeling a gasp leave his lungs, Orpheus releases his hand from your shoulder.

"We should return to The Dreaming and tell Lucienne of our plan. Lucifer's decision to potentially attack my realm will not go in vain. Besides, I know she and Matthew will be more than happy to see you, Y/N." Morpheus proposes.

Agreeing to join you, Morpheus opens a portal to his realm consisting of the same energy as open space, filling the air with dark skies and bright shooting stars. Offering you his hand, you follow your husband through the portal with your son, where the Kingdom would rejoice in the return of its Queen.

the sandman taglist ~

@dreamliners

@dearly-dreaming

@night-n-sky

@naive-daydreamer

@sassenach-the-pie-maker

@ya-boi-river

@firelightinferno

@stuckysdaughter

@flapjacques

@blueberries-stuff

@ilariyalavorowrites

@princessismx

@iraot

@shitpostingiris

@retrograde-raven

@writing-fanics

@sunflowersteves

@gay-dorito-dust

@cosmic-marauder

[xuchiya]

FOR MY 100 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION 🥳

"at least i got free dessert and you're now my future wife."

this is a full fluff and the one i had on my mind this past day. And i apologize if my celebration for my 100 isn't big or grand

wooyoung would probably be the type to fake propose in a restaurant or diner just to have a free dessert. like the mere idea of bad boy to him is do not bend the rules but thought he IS bending one because to wooyoung? Things like this made him look like one. 

 The clank of silver lining utensils against the thin plates creates a soft sound to the sophistacated air of the restaurant as Wooyoung enters the area with a proud smirk on his cherry lips as the waitress leads you both on an empty table upstairs. 

 The evening moonlight gleamed past through the towering windows of the old style restaurant, the dim lighted chandelier above the guests head dancing beautifully, flourishing the redness of the wine along with the fact there was a huge hint of mischievous glint in his eyes–  it usually meant trouble, or at least, some outlandish scheme. You never knew what he had up his sleeves, leaving you slightly anxious yet thrilled. I mean, you befriended the “schools bad boy” and the neighbouring “bad influence”. 

  "hey love" he drawled, his voice thick with amusement, "are you ready?"

you nearly choked on your food, wiping your lips with the napkin before turning to him with wide eyes “now?!” you whisper yelled, leaning forward that Wooyoung would only hear. He smiles that reaches his eyes, Wooyoung the boy you knew from your junior high school– with the image of the bad boy, with a smooth talk with Shakespeare’s spirit possessed him to confess to you on your prom night, had whipped out a velvet box and declared his "undying love" complete with a ring. The entire floor, guests, waiter and waitress, even the head chef just two tables away from you halted from their actions as they had gone silent, forks suspended in mid-air, as you– forgetting that this was all an act. You completely deafen out the noises and  blurred peoples faces as your eyes mainly focused on the man in font of you.

  The man that portrayed himself as the school’s and neoghbor’s bad boy but deep down, he just wanted to keep the facade as looking like the tough guy– a person that you easily can’t knock down. Deep down, you just saw a man that wanted to be loved– accepted and above all, cherished as who he is. 

   “My love?” because of your thoughts, your mind settles back to wooyoung who had a worried look on his face. He was already kneeling for the past minute with the velvet matte box on his hand– a ring but a ring that you know so well.

Mingi's ring.

   You shake your thoughts, wanting this whole fiasco to be a real thing but it would be soon brought up in the future and besides you still have a small explanation to Mingi why one of his rings went missing. so with a small smile, you cup his cheeks and peck his lips with a soft yes. His eyes lighted as he cheered, placing the ring on your finger before pulling you up and he twirled you slowly before dipping you, “i love you, mi amor.”

 The whole floor erupted in cheers, whistles of congratulatory and just like wooyoung planned— free dessert!

   “Hey love?” wooyoung called, you hummed as you walked side by side. The night in the restaurant ended with many congratulations from the owner and staff, you and wooyoung decided to walk around first before returning back home. His blazer wrapped around your shoulders neatly while your right hand was occupied with his warm ones and the other with your dress crumpled on your palm, “about the proposal …”

  “the fake ring and the free dessert, yes?" you spoke, raising an eyebrow. wooyoung chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "to you , maybe the ring was fake," he conceded with a wink, "but I meant what I said..."

your breath hitched. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now sincere, holding a depth that sent shivers down your spine. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box once more. This time, as he flipped it open, the moonlight glinted off a band of platinum adorned with a single, perfect diamond. It was breathtaking.

My jaw dropped. This wasn't some costume jewelry or came from a store prop. This was the kind of ring that came with a hefty insurance policy and a side of existential dread. My brain scrambled for a logical explanation, some grand prank or elaborate bet I was somehow unwittingly part of.

"Wooyoung..." I stammered, my voice barely a whisper, "what is this?"

He smiled, that heart-stopping, lopsided grin as he removed the ring that you thought was real but it was just Mingi’s ring, before placing the original one on your fingers. The cold yet fitting gold ring sat perfectly on your ring finger. 

    "This," he said, his voice husky, "is the real deal. I spent the last six months saving up every penny, moonlighting at that karaoke bar you hate so much, just to get you this."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the diamond's brilliance. The restaurant, the clatter of your footsteps, the world around you faded once again. All that remained was Wooyoung, his calloused fingers brushing against your cheek, his love story written in every line of his face.

 "Marry me," he whispered, his eyes pleading.

In that restaurant table, amidst the aroma rich talk and expensive food, outside and beneath the indifferent gaze of a moonlight shining above your heads along with the dazzling stars, you found your forever. With a laugh that mingled with tears, "Yes," you choked out, your voice thick with emotion. "I love you."

Wooyoung pulled you in a hug, his chin resting on top of your head, eyes swelling with tears as well, heart full, "I love you more, my love."

Thank you !!!