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kiame-sama · 2 days ago

Note

Similar question to the one with Drider!Rook on kissing but with the other Monster Boys

How would they handle me giving them a kiss on the cheek (Or even their mouth) only to take something from them in victory?

But it’s mainly to prove a point that I don’t need physical strength to win, but my cunning and intelligence (Like I take their Dorm Staff or whatever’s in their hand in triumph because I proved my point)

Honestly, Malleus, Vil, Leona and Azul would be the most impressed but would probably scold me if I did that with others (But their eyes are dilated)

Warnings; Several different Yanderes, yandere behavior, suggestive themes, kissing, thievery, if you kiss any of the monster-men you need to be ready to handle the consequences, mainly Dormleaders (Minus Kalim, because all you have to do is point somewhere and you can easily steal from him. You don't even have to steal, he would willingly give you anything you wanted the moment you showed interest. You'd have a harder time stealing candy from a baby), less thievery and more escaping in Vil's ficlet, use of gamer-tags in place of names for Idia's ficlet,

~~~~~~~~

"Hey, Riddle!"

The Unicorn glanced over his shoulder when he heard your happy greeting, smiling in response to seeing you walking over to him with a slight bounce in your step. Though he would never admit it, the way his heart seized whenever he saw you was both a painful yet wonderful experience. How he longed for you to return his affections and take your rightful place as his King of Hearts.

"Good morning, (Y/N). Have you been well?"

"Of course, but there was something I wanted to talk with you about."

"Oh? What would that be?"

"Come over here, so we can talk without shouting."

The red-maned Unicorn was bemused, yet complied with your request all the same. He would always do as you asked of him, even if it meant moving the very ocean by hand. You smiled in a way that was almost mischievous and Riddle vaguely wondered what it was you were playing at. When he approached, you looked up at him with a content smile that he returned in kind.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"I had some questions for you about Unicorns, actually. Unicorns are a myth where I'm from, so I wanted to see if you could clear up some of the misconceptions I might have surrounding Unicorns."

"I would be happy to teach you about Unicorns, (Y/N)! You can have the utmost faith in me to provide accurate information to your questions. What did you want to know?"

"Are you able to lay down without being injured? The closest we had to Unicorns was regular horses, and they rarely would lie down unless extremely comfortable, young, or ill."

"Of course I can! Here, allow me to demonstrate for you."

He moved his weight back to his haunches, allowing them to meet the ground as he curled one leg after the other beneath him. Once his equine half was settled on the ground, he was about to roll to one side to fully lay down when your soft hand cupped his cheek. Riddle was confused as to your interruption but his confusion quickly turned to shock when your lips locked with his.

An almost whinnying squeal left him, but he was eager to return to affection in kind. Even as he felt the crown of his dorm-uniform being lifted from his head, he pursued the kiss eagerly and chased your lips as you tried to pull back. You were only able to escape the Unicorn's desperate kisses by stepping back, as he was unable to get up as easily as he was able to lie down.

There was a clear red decorating the cheeks of the lovely Unicorn even as you grinned triumphantly and placed the golden crown atop your own head. Little did you realize how much this would actually impact the Unicorn you tricked. A certain darkness seemed to take over the bright blue eyes of the monster man as he gained an almost drunken smile.

"Prefect..." he breathed, "absolutely perfect. My wonderful King of Hearts... of course I'll marry you!"

"Wait, what-?"

The Unicorn stood now, almost invigorated as he easily caught your shoulders in his hands, pulling you back into another deep kiss. When he finally broke it, he was affectionately rubbing the side of his horn against your head with soft nickering noises.

"Didn't you know? Kissing and exchanging an article of clothing is akin to a proposal for Unicorns like me. You'll make a wonderful King, (Y/n). My marvelous King of Hearts."

~•§•~

The Nemean Lion was laying in the vast gardens of the greenhouse, resting beneath the large leaves of a fern commonly found in his homelands of Sunset Savana. He was somewhere between sleep and awareness when a certain scent on the air caught his interest. Without bothering to open his eyes, his ears angled around before pinpointing the location where the scent originated. Leona almost smiled.

It was clear to him that you were trying to be quiet and sneak up on the Lion that continued to lazily lounge as you drew close. The only true indication that he was awake and not sleeping was the almost imperceptible flick of his tail. He was almost eager for what you intended to do after your approach as he continued to flick his tail excitedly.

The moment you were within reach, the Lion proceeded to grab you and pull you into his arms. You had been under the impression that he was asleep, so when he grabbed you, you couldn't help but cry out in surprise and fear. Of course, Leona couldn't help but laugh at your response as he rolled to his side, laying next to you and propping himself up on one arm.

"You'll have to try harder than that if you want to sneak up on me, Mousey."

"I wasn't trying to sneak up on you."

"No? Then why were you trying to be as quiet as possible?"

"Because, I was going to do something else."

"Like?"

Your sudden kiss to his forehead made a loud purr erupt from the chest of the Lion. It was almost too easy to get Leona to let his guard down as your fingers began carding through his mane, scratching near his golden ears. That also gave you the opening you were looking for as you easily slid the dorm emblem off of the arm of the Lion.

However, when you tried to pull away to abscond with your winnings, the weight of Lion was too much to be able to wiggle away from him and from under his grasp.

"Nice try, Mousey. Now, you're going to lay there and be a good little pillow as payment for interrupting my nap."

"But you weren't even sleeping-!"

He was quick to place himself on top of your soft figure, grabbing both of your hands- making you drop the emblem- and putting them back in his hair. There was little else you could do but pet the Lion who began to doze while snuggling your much more fragile form. If you wish to play with Lions, you must be ready to face the consequences of your actions.

~•§•~

"Ne, Azul! The Human is here and says they want ta talk to ya!"

The Cecaelia glanced up from the contract he was working on as Floyd lazily called into the office Azul often occupied. Though he often didn't allow visitors on any schedule but his own, he would make an exception for the beautiful Human he adored.

"Send them in."

"Kay~!"

At least Floyd seemed to be in an affable mood for once, smiling and lazily walking off with the door left somewhat ajar. Azul would scold the Eel later for the blatant forgetful behavior, as it was rather important to close the door to Azul's office due to the many contracts stored within the room. Still, it was something he could bring up later.

Floyd returned to open the door fully, letting the Human into the room with a happy grin in their direction. He seemed to want to linger but instead closed the door and went back to whatever it was he did when he was not tormenting others. Perhaps he was just moving on to torment someone else or even his twin bother.

"(Y/n), welcome to my humble office. What can I help you with today?"

"Well, I was told that you were the one to go to if I ever needed anything others were unable to retrieve."

"You're... you're here for a deal? I would happily make any deal with you, dear (Y/n)! Name your desires and I will deliver as promised!"

He was thrilled to know you were seeking his assistance. He was the best bet most had, after all. Most would have to pay a rather steep price to be able to afford the aid of the Cecaelia on any given day, but he had already resolved to aid you for a much more generous and kind-hearted price than his usual rate.

What he wasn't expecting was for you to sit down on the edge of his desk with an almost coy grin, gazing affectionately into the eyes of the Octopus who now seemed nervous under your scrutiny. He would never admit it- excepting to Floyd and Jade who had already become wise to his affections- but Azul was madly in love with the soft Human of Night Raven College. The Octopus had been in love with the idea of Humans ever since he was a larvae, hardly hatched and struggling in the currents of the ocean.

The many depraved things he had written in his adoration of Humans would hopefully remain unviewed by the Human that now sat perched atop his desk. Of course, it did nothing for the suddenly dry mouth Azul now experienced as he tried to keep himself as composed as possible. Were he in his aquatic form, no doubt his tentacles would be all over the soft skin of the Human, tasting and kissing the flesh that seemed so ample and on display for his gaze.

"Wh-what- ahem- what was it you needed from me, (Y/n)-?"

A sudden warm and soft kiss to the small heart shape beneath Azul's right eye had the Octopus tensing up. He was completely flabbergasted and unable to say anything in response to the affectionate action, even as his hat was lifted from his head and placed atop the head of the grinning Human. The octopus was only able to blink one eye at a time from how scattered his brain had become as the Human hopped off of his desk and pranced to the door, hat still securely in place.

"That's all I needed. Thanks, Azul!"

~•§•~

"Would you stop moving, (Y/n)? Honestly, you are acting as if you have never modeled for us before."

You frowned somewhat at the gentle scolding of the handsome Harpy that was trying to finish stitching the hemming of the shirt you were wearing. Naturally, the Harpy would not be content with just a few outfits for your ensemble and called you back to tailor more clothing for you. Divus wasn't present at this fitting, but Rook was happily watching the Harpy circle you as he hand-sewed the clothes.

"Well, sure, but I wasn't thinking I was going to have to stand for so long. It's not exactly comfortable."

"Beauty is pain, my featherless darling. Pin feathers are annoying and sometime even painful, but they give way to the most beautiful feathers imaginable if left to grow. Patience is needed to truly appreciate the beauty of something."

"If you say so."

Vil smiled slightly at this, glad that you were somewhat compliant to his gentle attempts at giving you direction. He would certainly be far less patient and gentle were you anyone other than his beloved Human. He doubted he would even be so patient with Rook. To be fair, though, Rook hardly complained about much, even if the Drider wasn't particularly comfortable or at ease.

"What do you think of this top now it is cinched properly, Rook?"

"Travail merveilleux, roi du Poison. I was unsure about the draping of the garment, but as always you have a keen eye for such things. Mon Trickster does look divine."

You vaguely wondered, as the Harpy wrapped up his stitching, if you would be able to escape from the fashion inclined duo, and what it would take to achieve such a feat. It was while you were contemplating your daring stunt that an opportunity presented itself. Vil was holding up a new top that had yet to be fitted and was trying to see what color would look best on you when you caught the Harpy's hand and attention. He was clearly suspicious of your actions as he raised a single brow in question.

"You know, Vil, I think pink would look good on you."

"Pink? It depends on the shade of pink, but it would mostly clash with my feathers-"

A sudden gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth silenced the Harpy, a bright pink dusting across the Harpy's fair skin and highlighting the bright coloration around his eyes. Those violet orbs were wide with surprise and even Rook was taken aback at the bold action, unable to find words as you hopped down from the raised platform you had been on.

"Seems I'm right! Pink looks great on you. Thanks for the top, Vil!"

You were quick to abscond from the room as the Harpy held his cheek, still blushing a bright pink. Rook was enthused that you gifted the beautiful Vil with such a treasured sign of affection, trailing a finger down the ridge of his boon-companion's wings as he walked around the stunned Harpy.

"Rook, how do you think (Y/n) would look dressed in a wedding gown made from your silk and my feathers?"

"Absolutely divine, like you, Roi du poison."

~•§•~

"Why can't we just virtual visit class, HellKitty?"

"Because, Idia, you need to interact with the other students at some point. Push your comfort zone and be a student, for once."

Idia frowned as he hid behind his tablet, trying to avoid all of the curious looks he got from others in the halls. He was trailing behind you- more than a little unwilling on his part- to what was supposed to be his next class. If he had the choice, the both of you would be back in your dorm and just watching class through one of the cameras as you played videogames together.

Honestly, he was more than a little amused that you had adapted to the gamer-tag he gave you like your own name. Of course, it was no mistake that he chose the gamer-tag HellKitty for you. It was both a play on your ever faithful companion Grim the Hellcat, and the fact that Hellcats were ideal companions for Shinigami. As a Shinigami, why wouldn't he want you to be his Hellcat? Sure, you weren't actually a Hellcat, but you were raising one and that was good enough for him.

"-Idia? Idia!"

"What?"

"Were you even listening to me?"

"... would you believe me if I said yes?"

You sighed and stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning to face the tall student head-on. Naturally, the moment you stopped, Idia was quick to crouch and curl in on himself, wanting to seem as small as possible despite his already gargantuan stature. Only his own ancestor and the Kelpie Trey were taller than him, though not by much. This gave you the ideal opportunity to put your plan in motion.

While Idia was distractedly staring at his tablet, you reached up and cupped his cheek. The physical contact had the Shinigami looking at you with wide and confused eyes, his hair beginning to burn almost white in anxiety. Out of all the things Idia was expecting when you placed your hand upon his cheek, he was immediately error-screened when you pressed a warm kiss against his blue lips.

Could this possibly be happening? To someone like him? Was it even true, or was it a trick? If it was a trick, he never wanted to know because all he could think was how wonderful your lips felt against his somewhat chapped lips.

As you pulled away, Idia was finally able to get somewhat of a grasp on his own frantic mind only to realize he no longer has his tablet in hand. A quick glance around told him that you had his tablet held securely in your hands, grinning at him playfully.

"Alright, UnderworldBlues, if you can get through class without freaking out, I'll give you the tablet back, and maybe even another kiss if you behave. Think you can do that?"

"..."

"Idia?"

"..."

"Did you seriously just faint-?"

You sat on the arm of the thorn throne of Diasomnia, the common room occupied only by yourself, Lilia, and Malleus. Silver and Sebek had classes, so they were not present despite the unusual temper Malleus had as of late. Lilia suggested the two of you should spend some of your down time with Malleus to try and lift his dour emotions from where they seemed to be stuck for the past few days. As Lilia was a trusted friend of yours and Malleus was a strong ally, you figured there was no harm in spending time with the two Fae monsters.

Malleus had calmed considerably with you and Lilia by his side, holding his dark torch-like staff in his gloved claws. He now almost seemed to be dozing somewhat, even as you glanced at the staff resting against his leg. Somewhere, you wondered how easy it would be to distract the Dragon and escape with the clearly important item, if only to break up the monotony of the moment.

Idle hands were the devil's playthings and you were certainly more than a little bored perched next to the Dragon.

"Did you need something, my (Y/n)?"

"Hm?"

"You keep glancing in my direction as if you need to say something or would like some kind of assistance from me."

"Not really. I was just wondering why you have that staff? I thought you didn't have a magestone weapon since you're a Dragon?"

"It is true, I have very little use for a magestone myself, so you have likely never seen it before. This staff is my magestone, you are correct. You are also correct in assuming I have little use for weapons. My fire and my claws are my weapons, most times."

"So, it wouldn't be a big deal if someone took it away, like it was for Leona?"

"Of course not. Strong and versed in magic as Kingscholar may be, he still does not have the same adeptness in-"

The green eyes of the Dragon widened in surprise as you leaned over, catching his lips in a tender kiss that left him breathless. Despite all of his power and his abilities, he was rendered mute and dumb from the sudden show of affection. He didn't resist the pull of his staff from his hand even as you pulled back to grin triumphantly. In fact, he didn't seem to have much of a reaction other than a vaguely humored grin.

Though it was quite a small expression on the outside, Lilia could see how Malleus prepared to pounce from the tension in the Dragon's shoulders, wings, and tail. You were far too interested in the staff that now sat in your hands- examining the green gemstone affixed in the top- to realize that the Dragon was not about to let such a small show of affection satisfy his sudden cravings. A sudden tug at the front of your shirt had you locking lips with the Dragon yet again, being pulled into the lap of the beast who seemed all too eager to take what had been offered.

"T-Tsuno-!"

"Hush now, my dear mate. You should know better than to tease a Dragon. Didn't you know that even one little kiss is considered enough invitation to mate?"

"But I-"

"You," he interrupted, "will not be going anywhere for the next few days. I intend to christen this- our first day as official mates- with many sleepless nights spent entangled in the embrace of passion. Prepare yourself, my soft little Human mate, because you may regret teasing me so callously."

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ennn · 3 days ago

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Re: “Rio's goal is to kill Agatha so she can be with her forever”

My brother in Christ, if Rio's ultimate goal this series was to kill Agatha we wouldn't have gotten past the first episode.

Okay okay, I get how it can be confusing because Rio literally says she wants to see Agatha dead in episode one and tells Agatha she'll let the Salem Seven (who do want Agatha dead) know where she is.

But it is noteworthy that Rio tells Agatha what she is going to do and when the Salem Seven are expected to arrive. Rio is usually surprisingly fair in how she deals with Agatha.

Rio has always met Agatha at her power level

In episode one, even assuming Agatha was protected by Wanda's spell and Rio couldn't harm her there, once it was broken Rio went "full analog" – to quote Hahn – with her knife, the only magic she used being the wind blasts.

Guys, that's not a serious murder attempt, that's foreplay to them. Violent, bloody, sexy foreplay.

Also Rio has healing powers. That's a thing they have very clearly shown.

To be clear, my read is that Rio can't actually kill anyone before their time ("You can't kill me, it's not allowed") just hurt them really really badly until they maybe choose to die ("I can make you wish you were dead"). Which you could argue equals killing I suppose, just slower.

But this is Agatha Harkness: all she really needs to survive is a bit of time to scheme and manipulate and do her usual girlbossing, gatekeeping, and gaslighting – and I think Rio also knows this. Agatha keeps surprising her, for better and worse.

Yes, Rio gets BIG MAD in episode 8 because Agatha says possibly The Worst Thing to her but the first part of their confrontation is technically physical torture, not murder attempts.

I know it sounds like I'm splitting hairs here but my point is that having Agatha dead isn't Rio's ultimate #1 goal. It's not so clean and easy.

There's something to be said about how the wounds Rio inflicts speak to how Rio sees herself hurt by Agatha emotionally in the relationship i.e. death by a thousand cuts, the severing of her Achilles tendon.

There’s probably something also be said about the relationship a being like Rio has with physical pain. Trees feel pain. Everything living does. Rio mocks Agatha for dulling herself to it using dark magic.

But I digress.

Anyway, note: it's only after Agatha gets magic back that Rio starts throwing magic blasts – and even then she seems to be holding back.

These two are possibly the worst two witches to fight each other directly like this because Agatha can't absorb Rio's magic or she'll die. She has to actively block or avoid all hits. And I bet this isn't something Agatha is used to dealing with considering she had no issues taking Wanda's magic.

And Rio is aware of this because she’s just lobbing quick little green blasts Agatha's way. It's not a torrent of magic like what Agatha is gleefully unleashing.

It's also the Watsonian (in-universe) explanation as to why this fight is so short. Because you literally can't straight up fight Death. Rio is a hard counter to Agatha's special siphoning ability just like how Agatha was a hard counter to Wanda's magic (insert your scissors-paper-stone visual of choice).

Rio doesn't want Agatha dead, she wants Agatha to want her

It's clear that Rio is grieving when Agatha dies. This isn't the outcome she wants. They're also both crying during the kiss it's great.

Rio wants what Agatha specifically tries to deny in the deal Agatha proposes: she wants to keep pursuing Agatha, to keep seeing her, provoking her, to be shocked and surprised by her. To keep loving her but also, to keep hurting her.

Because Agatha also hurts her right back. And Agatha knows she has Rio constantly on the emotional backfoot, that Rio – despite centuries of hatred thrown her way – still humours her more often than not and what levers to push.

I don't think this can happen with Agatha dead and gone.

To be fair, we don't know what the rules are in this world's afterlife. The only insight we get into Rio's job is her scene with Alice and that still leaves a lot of things unanswered: Does Rio just escort souls to a destination or does she have more control beyond that, like a domain? Can souls refuse to go with Rio? How do ghosts happen?

I had previously assumed Rio needed to allow it but Schaeffer says that her vision in that moment has Agatha's using an evolved form of the power to take Rio's magic by touch.

And with that, it's telling that it's Agatha who ultimately ensures that she dies (with the "calculated risk" of becoming a ghost), siphoning Rio's death magic energy.

Agatha embraces death, embraces Rio, but she also doesn't – Rio's clever witch got away again.

#agatha all along #agathario #agatha x rio #rio vidal #tv: agatha all along #ship: vidarkness #aaa meta #sometimes a bad take inspires me to write meta #aggravation is a fantastic motivator lol

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justchillandshipit · 1 day ago

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My guess. Tommy is going to inadvertently say something that makes Buck think he "may" have initially been pursuing Eddie. Tommy doesn't know he has said something out of the ordinary. It bothers Buck. It bothers Buck soooooo bad. He begins his spiral. He goes to Bobby. He goes to Maddie and Josh. (maybe not in that order). He goes to Tommy to verify that he didn't misunderstand. Tommy realizes he may have created a problem. He is honest and confesses that he was pursuing Eddie. Buck needs to process. The breakup isn't tonight. He goes to Eddie's place. Eddie is freshly shaved. He can't tell Eddie what's bothering him. He can see Eddie is struggling with something too. They don't talk or they actually say something along the lines of, "I can't talk about it yet. Can you sit with me?" They sit in silence. They're there for each other, and it truly is a testament to their friendship that they have each had major epiphanies, and they each know a larger conversation will need to come, but for now, they need each other as friends.

(caveat- It may not happen in this order, but it will still be the general gist of what happens.) There may also be something within all of this that Tommy learns about Buck. Based on Buck's reaction to learning about Tommy being interested in Eddie, maybe what Tommy learns is that Buck wasn't trying to get his attention after all.

edit: Buck's confession is that it was Eddie's attention or that he is feeling jealous and Tommy does the breakup. I'm all over the place.

Also, Maddie's confession. She wants more kids.

#911 spoilers #911 abc #buddie #ryan guzman #oliver stark #eddie diaz #buck buckley

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mamaito · 1 day ago

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People keep questioning the otome label towards Homicipher just because it does not have dates or kissing that is commonly expected in the genre. This is a misconception and is based on common dating games and romance focused visual novels.

Otome means female targeted game, as long as the player is a heroine who can pursue male characters and end up with him then it is an otome, how it goes about it does not matter. It can be any genre and should not be trapped on simply being just a dating game.

Love should not be about constant affirmation but rather a simple validation should be what is expected.

The entire game is about doing something out of love based on action rather than words.

The apparitions in question do in fact express interest, even outside of the 6 bachelors. It's just that people are placing human expectations on individuals who do not understand nor behave in the same manner.

Mr. Silvair for example expresses his interest and affection towards you in his own way but is being brushed aside and assumed that he only wants you for researching, that is half truth.

He doesn't understand the concept of love but is willing to understand it because he does care if you saw his other ending. If Mr. Silvair was a yandere, this way of thinking would've been seen as acceptable and considered 'romantic' but since he isn't, suddenly it's not an otome.

Mr. Hood and Mr. Machete are not considered as options because their spotlight in the game is minimal at best, which is what the game's shortcoming is. Does saying it out loud need to be stated when he's going through lengths to protect and stand by your side? What matters is that he chose you and that should be enough to be seen as affection.

Mr. Gap's entire existence gives insight on how these entities take things in a literal sense and never by it's secondary meaning. He want someone's heart but takes it literally when all this time what he wanted was someone's company. If you have reached his route, he declines your actual heart, he always asks for permission but in the return end, he didn't need to anymore because he found what he was seeking.

There other who think Mr. Chopped has no route when in fact most did not trigger it during Chapter 1.

Mr. Crawling is popular because he is the one with the most screen time, most interactions are with him and he has the optional romance endings and even a confession on chapter 4, which you can still continue onwards Chapter 5 with the info that the two of you are together regardless.

Mr. Scarletella is the main plot and the reason for MC's arrival in the world, everything he did stems from obsessions and misplaced affections towards you.

All of these are otome related, I don't know why people are struggling to accept this. It's right there in front of you.

#homicipher

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emjayewrites · 1 day ago

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in between the lines • jules kounde (2/4)

SYNOPSIS: At Zuri’s engagement party, Senait meets her best friend’s fiancé, Aurélien, and his friend, Jules. A spontaneous hookup with Jules sparks undeniable chemistry, but when Senait ghosts him afterward, she finds herself wrestling with her insecurities as the casual fling begins shifting into something deeper.

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules, instant attraction/fast development. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @saturnville @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @serpenttines-library @sucredreamer @julescpu @tchouathon @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @shelovesfootie @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior

A/N: This is the last 'book' of the "football baes universe". Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. Gif by @tchouathon

Barcelona's streets hummed with late afternoon energy as Jules left training, his body pleasantly sore and his mind, as usual, drifting to Senait. Her latest text sat unanswered on his phone:

Just booked the flight.

A smile played on his lips as he slid into his Lamborghini Urus. Everything with Senait felt like a delicate dance – one step forward, two steps back, but always moving to some rhythm only they understood.

The drive home gave him time to appreciate how different she was from anyone else he'd pursued. Her unpredictability should have frustrated him, but instead, it only made him more intrigued. Where other women were an open book, Senait was a story that revealed itself one carefully guarded page at a time.

Their late-night conversations had become something he looked forward to, not just for the content but for those rare moments when her guard dropped completely. Beyond the sass and witty comebacks was someone thoughtful, complex, and surprisingly vulnerable.

Pulling into his driveway, Jules checked his phone again. The flight details still seemed surreal – as if he'd somehow managed to convince a wild bird to willingly fly into his hands. His mind wandered to all the places in Barcelona he wanted to show her, though he knew she'd probably resist half his suggestions just on principle.

Inside his house, he dropped his training bag and headed straight for the shower. The hot water soothed his muscles as anticipation built in his chest. Everything about Senait challenged him – her sharp mind, her fierce independence, the way she matched him stride for stride without backing down.

His phone rang just as he was stepping out of the shower. Zuri's name flashed on the screen.

"Your best friend is impossible," he said by way of greeting.

Zuri's laugh crackled through the speaker. "She's coming to Barcelona, isn't she?"

"How did you—"

"She called to complain about how pushy you are." He could hear the amusement in Zuri's voice. "Said something about you being 'criminally dominant' and 'annoyingly persuasive.'"

Jules grinned, toweling off his hair. "She's not wrong."

"Just... be careful with her, okay?" Zuri's tone turned serious. "Senait's independent to a fault. She's been hurt before."

"I know." Jules sat on his bed, sobering. "I'm not trying to cage her, Zuri. I just want..."

"Want what?"

Good question, he thought. What did he want with Senait? "I want to know her," he said finally. "The real her, not just the walls she puts up."

Zuri was quiet for a moment. "You really like her, don't you?"

"She's... different." It felt like an inadequate description, but it was the best he could do.

After hanging up with Zuri, Jules checked his messages again. Senait had sent another text:

This is crazy. I have meetings.

I have excellent wifi, he typed back.

S: That's not the point. J: What is the point?

There was a long pause before her reply:

You're too much.

Jules smirked. You haven't seen anything yet.

He could almost see her rolling her eyes. Another message came through:

S: I have to go. Some of us have actual work to do. J: Have dinner with me when you land Thursday. S: We'll see. J: That wasn't a question, chérie. Her response was immediate: You're so fucking bossy. J: You love it. S: I tolerate it. Barely.

Jules laughed, settling back against his pillows. This was what he enjoyed most – their back-and-forth, the way she pushed back against his dominance while simultaneously responding to it.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of training sessions and match preparation. Jules found himself checking flight trackers, making sure Senait's flight was still on schedule. He'd arranged for a car to pick her up from the airport, knowing she'd protest but do it anyway.

Thursday evening found him pacing his living room, checking his phone every few minutes. Her flight had landed twenty minutes ago. She should be through customs soon.

Landed, came her text. Then: Your driver is very persistent.

J: Good. Let him take you to the hotel. S: I could have gotten an Uber. J: But you didn't need to. Stop arguing and get in the car.

There was a pause, then: So bossy.

Jules smiled, knowing he'd won this round. He gave her time to check into the hotel before calling.

"Hello?" Her voice was tired but carried that edge of amusement he'd come to recognize.

"Dinner in an hour," he said without preamble. "Wear something nice."

"I just got here. I'm jet-lagged."

"Perfect time for dinner then. One hour, Senait."

He heard her intake of breath, could picture her preparing to argue. But then she surprised him: "Fine. Text me the address."

"No need. I'll pick you up."

"Jules—"

"One hour," he repeated, then hung up before she could protest further.

Exactly fifty-eight minutes later, Jules stood in the hotel lobby, ignoring the appreciative glances from other guests. He'd chosen dark blue pants and a Jacquemus men's horse-print camp shirt that he knew looked good on him, though he suspected Senait would roll her eyes at his effort.

The elevator dinged, and there she was. His breath caught slightly – she wore a fitted spaghetti-strap pink mini dress that hugged every curve, her hair falling in tight curls around her shoulders. She looked incredible, and from the slight smirk on her lips, she knew it.

"You clean up nice," she said, approaching him.

Jules let his eyes roam over her deliberately, enjoying the way her breath hitched slightly. "You look edible," he replied, his voice low.

A faint flush colored her cheeks, but her voice remained steady. "You're impossible."

"So you keep saying." He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. "Yet here you are."

"Against my better judgment."

"Your judgment isn't as good as you think it is."

She laughed despite herself, the sound making something warm unfurl in his chest. "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

The restaurant he'd chosen was one of Barcelona's hidden gems – intimate without being overwhelming, elegant without being stuffy. He'd called ahead, ensuring they had a private corner table with a view of the city lights.

Senait took in the space with appreciative eyes. "Trying to impress me?"

"Always." He pulled out her chair, his hand brushing her shoulder as she sat. "Is it working?"

"Maybe." She picked up the menu, then frowned. "It's in Catalan."

"That's why you have me." Jules settled across from her, enjoying the way the candlelight played across her features. "Let me order for you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Bossy as fuck."

"You knew that in Paris."

"Paris was different."

"Was it?" He leaned forward slightly. "Or are you just scared it wasn't?"

Senait met his gaze, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes before her walls came back up. "I'm not doing relationships right now, Jules."

"Why do you keep saying that? Maybe I just enjoy your company. And the way you moan when I—"

"Jules!" She glanced around, but no one was paying them any attention.

He grinned, unrepentant. "Just stating facts."

The waiter approached, and Jules ordered in fluid Catalan, including a bottle of wine he knew she'd love. When they were alone again, he studied her face.

"What?" she asked, fidgeting slightly under his gaze.

"Just thinking about how beautiful you look when you're pretending not to be affected by me."

"Your ego is astronomical."

"It's well-earned."

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the smile she tried to hide behind her wine glass. "Tell me about your week," he said, genuinely interested in her life beyond their charged exchanges.

To his surprise, she did. She told him about work drama, about a funny incident with her neighbor's cat. He listened, offering input when needed but mostly just enjoying seeing her gradually relax.

"What?" she asked again, catching him watching her.

"Nothing. I just like seeing you like this. Real."

"As opposed to fake?"

"As opposed to guarded." He reached across the table, taking her hand before she could pull away. "You don't have to protect yourself from me, Senait."

She stared at their joined hands, something uncertain crossing her face. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"This. Whatever this is. I'm not good at... letting people in."

Jules squeezed her hand gently. "Good thing I'm patient then."

She looked up at him, and for a moment, her walls completely dropped. The vulnerability in her eyes made his chest tight. Then she blinked, and her usual sass returned.

"Patient? You literally demanded I come to Barcelona."

He laughed, accepting her need to lighten the moment. "And you came. What does that say about you?"

"That I have questionable judgment?"

"That you want this too." His voice dropped lower. "Even if you're not ready to admit it."

The rest of dinner passed in a blend of comfortable conversation and charged silences. Jules paid the bill despite her protests ("Let me be a gentleman, Senait") and led her back to his car.

"Taking me back to the hotel?" she asked as they drove through Barcelona's lit streets.

"Eventually." He glanced at her, enjoying the way the city lights played across her profile. "But first, I want to show you something."

He drove them up to one of his favorite viewpoints, where the whole city spread out below them like a carpet of stars. Senait's soft intake of breath was worth the detour.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, stepping out of the car.

Jules moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. To his surprise, she didn't resist, instead leaning back against his chest.

"Thank you for coming," he murmured against her hair.

"Thank you for being annoyingly persistent."

He laughed softly. "Stay with me this weekend. At my place."

"Jules..."

"If you're not comfortable with that, let me know. But let me show you my city. Let me have some quality time with you."

She was quiet for a long moment, and he let her think, content to hold her while she processed.

"Okay," she said finally, so quietly he almost missed it.

"Okay?"

She turned in his arms, looking up at him with a mix of uncertainty and determination. "Okay. But I have conditions."

"Name them."

"I need to work at times during the day. And... and I need you to understand that this doesn't mean..."

"I know what it doesn't mean," he interrupted gently. "Let's focus on what it does mean. You're here. With me. The rest we'll figure out."

She studied his face for a moment, then nodded. "You're still annoying."

"And you're still pretending not to like it." He bent down, capturing her lips in a kiss before she could argue further.

Above them, Barcelona's stars twinkled, witnesses to whatever this was becoming. Jules didn't know where it would lead, but for now, he was content to have her here, in his arms, gradually letting her walls down.

The drive back to her hotel was charged with possibility. Jules found himself hyperaware of every small movement Senait made – the way her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh, how she kept stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

"Stop analyzing me," he said without taking his eyes off the road.

"I'm not—"

"You are." He reached over, placing his hand on her knee. "Still trying to figure out your escape route?"

She didn't immediately brush his hand away, which he counted as progress. "Maybe I'm just wondering why you're so intent on... whatever this is."

Jules squeezed her knee gently. "Because you intrigue me."

"That's a dangerous word."

"I like dangerous." He glanced at her then, taking in her profile against the passing city lights. "And you like that I like it."

Senait turned to face him, challenge sparking in her eyes. "You think you've got me all figured out?"

"Not even close." Jules smiled, genuine rather than cocky. "That's part of the appeal."

When they reached her hotel, he killed the engine but made no move to get out. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"Coming up?" Senait finally asked, her voice carrying a note of something almost like nervousness.

"Not tonight."

That got her attention. She turned to him sharply, brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

Jules enjoyed the flash of indignation in her eyes. "You heard me." He leaned across the console, close enough to feel her breath hitch. "You're still settling in. Get some rest."

"I don't need you to—"

"I know you don't need anything from me," he interrupted smoothly. "But I want you fully present when I have you again."

The way her pupils dilated told him his words had hit their mark. "You're infuriating," she muttered.

"So you keep saying." He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. "Dinner tomorrow night. I'll pick you up at eight."

"What if I made plans?"

"Cancel them."

She narrowed her eyes. "You can't just—"

Jules cut her off with a kiss, deep enough to make her grab his shirt but brief enough to leave her wanting more. When he pulled back, her eyes were slightly glazed.

"Eight o'clock," he repeated, enjoying the flush in her cheeks. "Don't be late."

Senait gathered herself, trying to regain her composure. "You're not as irresistible as you think you are."

"No?" He traced her jawline with his finger. "Then why are you still sitting in my car?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile as she got out. Jules watched her walk into the hotel, admiring the sway of her hips that he knew was at least partially for his benefit.

His phone buzzed as he pulled away from the curb: This doesn't mean anything.

J: Keep telling yourself that, chérie. S: I mean it, Jules. J: Get some rest. Dream of me. S: I fucking hate you.

Jules grinned, imagining her expression as she read his texts. He'd learned that Senait's protests were often directly proportional to how much something affected her. And tonight? Tonight she'd been affected.

Back at his place, he found himself restless with unused energy. The thought of Senait, just a few miles away in her hotel room, was maddening. But he meant what he said – he wanted her fully present, not jet-lagged and guarded.

His phone lit up one more time before bed: I don't dream about annoying men.

J: Liar. S: Goodnight, Jules. J: Bonne nuit, ma belle. Don't fight it too hard.

He could practically hear her scoff through the phone, but she didn't respond. Progress, he thought. Small steps.

Just as he was drifting off, another text came through: Thank you for dinner. And the view.

Jules smiled into his pillow. Senait offering genuine gratitude without a sarcastic comment? Definitely progress.

J: Thank you for letting me show you. S: Don't get used to it. J: Too late.

Tomorrow, he thought as sleep pulled at him. Tomorrow he'd show her more of his city, more of himself. And maybe, if he played his cards right, she'd show him more of herself too.

Sleep had eventually claimed Senait, but it wasn't Jules who invaded her dreams. Instead, her subconscious dragged her back to a moment she'd tried hard to forget:

Tymir, lounging on their college apartment couch, barely looking up from his phone as she confronted him about another girl.

"You really don't care, do you?" Dream-Senait had asked, her voice cracking.

Tymir had just shrugged, the gesture so casual it cut deeper than any words could. The same shoulders she'd massaged countless times after his basketball practices, the same nonchalance that had once seemed cool back in high school now just felt cruel.

Senait woke with a start, her heart racing. Fucking perfect timing, brain, she thought, glancing at her phone. 6 AM. No point trying to sleep now.

As she made coffee in her hotel room, memories she'd carefully tucked away began surfacing. High school Senait – glasses, braces, always first to raise her hand in AP classes. The kind of girl who spent lunch periods in the library, who tutored other students in calculus, who had a ten-year plan before she even hit puberty.

Then came Tymir. Star shooting guard, dreads always perfectly maintained, smile that made every girl's head turn. When he'd first started showing interest in her junior year, she'd thought it was a joke. Guys like him didn't go for girls like her.

But he had. He'd wait for her after her tutoring sessions, charm her with that easy confidence of his. "My smart girl," he'd call her, and she'd melt every time.

God, I was so naive, Senait thought, settling at the desk with her laptop. Work would be a good distraction from this unwanted trip down memory lane.

Her phone buzzed: Morning, chérie. Sleep well?

Jules. Of course he'd text first thing. She stared at the message, suddenly hyper-aware of the similarities. The confidence, the natural authority in their bearing. Hell, they even both had dreads, though Jules wore his longer.

Fine, she typed back, not wanting to engage too much. Her mind was too full of ghosts.

They'd followed Tymir to college – her on an academic scholarship, him on a basketball scholarship. That's where she'd met Zuri, in their freshman orientation. They'd bonded over being some of the only Black girls in their communications seminar, and soon became inseparable.

Zuri had never liked Tymir. "He doesn't deserve you," she'd say, especially after the first time she caught him with another girl at a party. But Senait had forgiven him. And the second time. And the third.

Her phone buzzed again: You're quieter than usual.

Working, she responded, though she'd been staring at the same email for ten minutes.

It had been the injury that changed everything. A bad landing during a game their junior year – torn ACL, shattered dreams of going pro. The coach had been kind, allowed him to keep his scholarship, even offered him a position as student assistant coach.

But Tymir's pride couldn't take it. He'd spiraled, started partying more, caring less before eventually dropping out. And through it all, Senait had tried to be there, to be understanding. Even when understanding meant turning a blind eye to lipstick stains and late-night texts from unknown numbers.

Stay focused, she told herself, forcing her attention back to work. But memories kept intruding.

Senior year. The final straw. Not even finding out about his latest cheating from another girl, but the casual way she'd mentioned her pregnancy. As if Senait was the afterthought, the footnote in someone else's love story.

Her phone lit up: You're in your head today. Tell me.

Senait stared at Jules' message. That was another similarity – the way they both seemed to read her so easily.

Just tired, she lied.

J: Liar.

She almost smiled despite herself. Almost.

The hours ticked by, a blend of actual work and unwanted reminiscence. Jules checked in periodically, each message carrying that same quiet authority that both attracted and unnerved her.

By 7 PM, she felt wrung out, but somewhat happy to be able to log off work early. The emotional toll of the memories, combined with jet lag and the lingering effects of the dream, left her wanting nothing more than to curl up alone.

Not feeling up for dinner, she texted Jules. Rain check?

His response came quickly: You can rest. But you're still coming over.

S: Jules… J: What snacks do you like?

The question caught her off guard.

S: What?

J: Snacks, chérie. Simple question.

She found herself listing her favorites, almost on autopilot. Salt and vinegar chips, dark chocolate, Swedish fish candies, peanut M&M’s…

At 8 PM sharp, a knock on her door announced Jules' arrival. He stood there, looking unfairly good in casual clothes, eyeing her oversized sweater and leggings with amusement.

"Comfortable," he commented, picking up her weekender bag before she could protest.

"I told you I wasn't feeling up for—"

"You can rest at my place just as well as here." His tone brooked no argument as he guided her to his car.

The drive to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Jules seemed to sense her mood, not pushing for conversation. His hand found its way to her thigh though, thumb stroking absent patterns that somehow managed to both soothe and unsettle her.

His house was exactly what she'd expect from a bachelor athlete – modern, minimalist, but with personal touches that made her smile despite herself. Action figures lined the soundboard beneath a massive TV, various gaming consoles neatly arranged below.

"Very adult," she commented, gesturing to what looked like a limited edition Naruto figure.

"Judge all you want, but that's worth more than your monthly rent."

She rolled her eyes, but found herself relaxing slightly. This was better than being alone with her thoughts in the hotel room.

Jules disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a bowl of her favorite chips and the exact candy she'd mentioned. "Bathroom's through there if you want to change," he said, nodding toward a hallway. "Make yourself comfortable."

The casualness of it all – him providing comfort food, not pushing for conversation – made something twist in her chest. It was thoughtful in a way Tymir had never been, even in their best moments.

Don't, she warned herself. Don't compare them. Don't fall into old patterns.

But her traitorous mind kept pointing out the differences. How Jules noticed when she was off-balance but didn't demand explanations. How he managed to be commanding without being controlling.

When she emerged from the bathroom in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, Jules had set up what looked like every pillow in the house on his massive couch. He patted the space next to him, and she went, telling herself it was just because she was tired.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked as she settled in.

"No."

"Want me to distract you?"

She glanced at him sharply, but his expression was innocent. Well, mostly innocent.

"Not like that," he said, though his small smirk suggested he wouldn't object if she changed her mind. "I have every Studio Ghibli film ever made. Your choice."

His thoughtfulness – remembering she'd mentioned loving these films during one of their late-night calls – made her throat tight.

"Howl's Moving Castle," she said finally, her voice smaller than she intended.

Jules pulled her closer as the movie started, and Senait found herself gradually relaxing into his warmth. This was dangerous territory – this comfort, this ease. She'd been here before, let herself believe in the security of strong arms and gentle touches.

But as Jules's fingers played absently with her hair, as the familiar story unfolded on screen, her inner voice spoke up: He's not Tymir.

It was a dangerous thought. More dangerous than any physical attraction, any heated moment. Because physical she could handle. Physical was safe, contained.

This… this quiet intimacy, this understanding without demands… this was what had broken her before.

"Stop thinking so loud," Jules murmured against her hair.

"I'm not—"

"You are." His arms tightened slightly around her. "Whatever ghost you're wrestling with, let it rest. Just be here."

Senait closed her eyes, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. Just be here, she repeated to herself. Don't overthink it.

But as she drifted off to the sound of Sophie and Howl's adventure, one last thought slipped through: He's not Tymir. And maybe… maybe that's exactly why I should be worried.

______________________________________________

Consciousness came to Senait slowly, her mind registering sensations one by one: soft sheets that weren't hotel-issued, a mattress that cradled her body just right, and the gentle sound of a spoon clinking against china. The last detail made her eyes flutter open.

She was in Jules' bedroom – presumably having been carried here at some point during the movie – and beside her, propped up against the headboard and wearing his durag, was Jules himself. He held a delicate teacup in one hand while his other worked steady circles into her shoulder, touch firm but gentle.

"Tea?" she mumbled, voice rough with sleep. "In pitch black darkness while watching..." She squinted at the massive TV mounted on the wall. "Is that The Dark Knight Rises?"

Jules' chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Don't judge my nighttime rituals, chérie."

"Oh, I'm definitely judging." But she made no move to escape his touch as his fingers found a particularly tight knot in her shoulder. "Professional footballer drinking tea like a British grandmother."

"It's chamomile," he defended, setting the cup aside to use both hands on her shoulders. "And you're incredibly tense."

Senait bit back a moan as his thumbs dug into a spot that had been bothering her for weeks. "Occupational hazard. Hunching over laptops isn't great for posture."

"When's the last time you had a proper massage?"

She had to think about it. "Before graduation maybe? Zuri treated me to a spa day after..."

After finding out about Tymir's baby mama, her mind helpfully supplied. She felt Jules' hands pause momentarily, sensing the weight in her unfinished sentence.

"That's too long," he said simply, resuming his ministrations. "I'll arrange for someone to come by tomorrow while I'm at training. My regular masseuse is excellent."

"Jules—"

"This isn't a discussion." His fingers found another knot, making her gasp. "You're carrying too much tension. It's not healthy."

"You're bossy even about self-care," she muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

"Someone has to be." He worked his way up to her neck, touch careful but firm. "You're too busy taking care of everyone else's PR nightmares to look after yourself."

The accuracy of that observation made her uncomfortable. "I take care of myself just fine."

"Is that why you're wound tighter than Aurélien before a Clásico?"

She wanted to argue, but between his skilled hands and the late hour, she found herself drifting off again, lulled by the quiet sounds of Gotham's reckoning and Jules' steady breathing.

An unfamiliar sound jolted Senait awake. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, and she found herself alone in Jules' massive bed. The sound came again – was that... a rooster?

Confusion drew her from the warmth of the sheets. She spotted one of Jules' hoodies draped over a chair and pulled it on, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne as she went to investigate.

She followed the sound through the house, down the staircase, and onto a beautifully landscaped patio. There, in what appeared to be a luxury chicken coop that probably cost more than her first car, stood a proud rooster.

"Ah, I see you've met Maurice."

Senait turned to find Jules leaning against the doorframe, looking unfairly good in training clothes.

"Maurice," she repeated flatly. "You have a rooster named Maurice."

"Technically, Aurélien has a sense of humor and I have a rooster named Maurice."

The absurdity of it made her laugh despite herself. "Explain."

"Aurélien gave him to me as a housewarming gift," Jules explained, looking far too fond of the preening bird. "Said every proper Frenchman needs a rooster. You know, since it's our national symbol."

Maurice strutted over to the edge of his enclosure, eyeing Senait with what she could have sworn was judgment.

"So naturally, you kept him."

"Of course. Look at him – he has excellent posture."

Senait turned to stare at Jules, trying to reconcile this image – the elite athlete who kept a gift rooster – with the dominant man who'd commanded her to Barcelona. The contrast shouldn't have been charming, but somehow it was.

"You're ridiculous," she informed him.

"You like it." He guided her back inside, toward the kitchen. "Breakfast?"

She watched as he moved efficiently inside his kitchen, beating eggs with the same precision he probably used on the pitch. There was something domestic about it all – the morning light streaming through windows, the sounds of Maurice greeting the day, Jules cooking while explaining his training schedule.

"I'll be done around three," he was saying, sliding a perfect omelet onto her plate. "The masseuse will come at four. Then dinner?"

"You just assume I'll still be here?"

He set a cup of coffee in front of her – prepared exactly how she liked it, because of course he'd noticed that detail too. "You will be."

"Awful confident there."

"Just observant." He leaned against the counter, studying her face. "You slept better here than at the hotel."

She wanted to argue, but he was right. Despite the emotional turbulence of yesterday, she'd slept more soundly in his bed than she had in weeks.

"That's because your mattress probably costs more than my yearly salary."

"Among other reasons." His smile was knowing. "Eat. The food will get cold."

They ate in comfortable silence, interrupted occasionally by Maurice's commentary on the morning. Jules' phone buzzed with messages – probably from teammates – but he ignored them, focusing instead on her.

It should have made her uncomfortable, that focused attention. It had with Tymir, eventually. His gaze had gone from admiring to possessive, from protective to controlling.

But Jules... Jules watched her like he was trying to solve a puzzle, not own it.

Dangerous thoughts, she warned herself. Very dangerous thoughts.

"There you go again," Jules murmured. "Thinking too much."

"Some of us have to think. Can't all coast by on good looks and football skills."

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "You think I'm good looking?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

The challenge in his voice sent heat pooling in her belly, but before she could respond, his phone buzzed again.

"Time for training," he sighed, standing. He bent to kiss her temple, the gesture so casual it made her heart stutter. "Rest. Let the masseuse work her magic. I'll bring dinner."

"I didn't agree to—"

"Senait." His voice dropped to that tone that seemed to bypass her brain and go straight to her nerve endings. "Stay. Let yourself be taken care of, just for today."

She wanted to argue. Wanted to maintain some semblance of the control she usually clung to. But something in his eyes – concern mixed with that quiet authority – made her pause.

"Fine," she conceded. "But I'm not promising to be here when you get back."

His smile said he knew better. "Whatever you say, chérie." He grabbed his training bag, pausing at the door. "Oh, and feed Maurice around noon. He likes classical music with his lunch."

"You're joking."

"Am I?" With a wink, he was gone, leaving Senait to stare after him.

Through the window, she watched him get into his car. The morning sun caught his dreads, and highlighted the easy grace of his movements.

He's not Tymir, her mind whispered again. Not even close.

That thought should have been comforting. Instead, it terrified her. Because Tymir she knew how to handle. Tymir was a familiar hurt, a known quantity.

But Jules? Jules with his tea and his rooster and his gentle hands that could so easily command her? Jules who noticed everything but demanded nothing?

Jules was uncharted territory.

And as Maurice continued to crow his morning opinions to the world, as the scent of Jules' cologne lingered on the hoodie she wore, Senait realized she was already in deeper than she'd planned.

Fuck, she thought, but couldn't quite tell if it was despair or anticipation coloring the word.

Only time will tell.

_______________________________________________

Training had been intense, the Barcelona sun unforgiving even in the cooler months. Jules wiped sweat from his forehead as he headed toward his car, his muscles pleasantly sore from the session.

"¡Julio! ¡Hola, Julio!"

He turned to see Lamine Yamal jogging toward him, still full of energy despite the grueling practice. At seventeen, the kid seemed to have endless reserves.

"¿Puedo practicar conducir en tu coche de nuevo?" Lamine asked, flashing his most winning smile. "He estado mejorando!" (“Can I practice driving in your car again? I've been getting better!”)

Jules snorted. "¿Quieres decir que es mejor casi estrellarse?" He nodded toward the parking lot where he spotted Lamine's mother waiting. "Además, parece que tu viaje está aquí." (“Better at almost crashing, you mean? Besides, looks like your ride's here”.)

"Vamos, ¿solo una vez alrededor del lote?" ("Come on, just once around the lot?")

"No después de la última vez. Todavía tengo pesadillas sobre mi transmisión.” (“Not after last time. I still have nightmares about my transmission.")

Lamine rolled his eyes. "No fue tan malo." ("It wasn't that bad.")

"Confundiste el freno con el acelerador”. (“You confused the brake with the accelerator.")

“Menor detalle”. ("Minor detail.")

Jules ruffled the teenager's hair, earning a protest. “Vete a casa, chico. Tal vez cuando tengas dieciocho años”. ("Go home, kid. Maybe when you're eightteen.")

“¡Seré mejor conductor que tú para entonces!” ("I'll be a better driver than you by then!")

“¡Establezca metas realistas, Lamine!” ("Set realistic goals, Lamine!")

Sliding into his car, Jules couldn't help but smile at the exchange. But as he started the engine, his thoughts drifted back to Senait. Something had been off since last night – beyond just the usual walls she put up. The way she'd tensed when mentioning that spa day with Zuri, the shadows that had crossed her face…

He checked his phone before pulling out. She'd answered his texts throughout the day, but sporadically:

J: Masseuse coming at 4. Don't overthink it. S: I know how massages work, Jules.

And later:

S: Maurice is judging my lunch choices. J: He has refined taste. S: He's a rooster. J: A sophisticated one.

J. Cole's voice filled the car as Jules navigated Barcelona's streets. He'd been surprised to learn Senait liked Cole too – another little detail he'd filed away during their late-night talks.

A thought nagged at him – what if she'd left? But no, she wouldn't. Not without saying goodbye at least. Besides, he'd seen how she melted under his touch last night, how she'd curled into him despite her usual aversion to cuddling.

He pulled into his favorite restaurant, one that made the best paella in the city. The owner, Maria, greeted him warmly.

"Lo de siempre, Julio? (The usual, Jules?)"

"Y alga extra gambas al ajillo (And some extra garlic shrimp)," he added, thinking of how Senait had mentioned loving garlic shrimp once.

While waiting for the food, he sent another text: Bringing dinner. Hope you're hungry.

Her response came quickly this time: Can't move. Your masseuse is a sadist.

He grinned. Good. You needed it.

I hate that you're right.

The drive home was filled with anticipation. Jules found himself thinking about how natural it had felt, waking up with Senait in his bed. How she'd looked wearing his clothes, sleep-soft and unguarded.

Don't push too fast, he reminded himself. He could sense her skittishness, knew there was a story behind her careful distance. But patience was one of his strengths – on and off the pitch.

The house was quiet when he entered, but he could hear soft voices from his home gym. Following the sound, he found his masseuse, Clara, instructing Senait through what looked like some final stretches.

"Breathe through it," Clara was saying as Senait winced. "These knots didn't form overnight."

Jules leaned against the doorframe, taking in the scene. Senait lay on the massage table, face down, looking both relaxed and slightly murderous.

"I'll let you finish," he said, enjoying Senait's half-hearted glare. "Dinner's getting set up."

In the kitchen, he arranged the food, opened a bottle of wine to breathe, and tried not to think too hard about Senait's bare skin under Clara's expert hands.

Twenty minutes later, Clara emerged. "She'll need another session," she told Jules as he walked her out, accepting his generous tip. "Lot of old tension there."

"I'll set it up," he promised.

Senait appeared in the kitchen, wearing his hoodie again, her hair piled messily on top of her head. She looked soft, relaxed in a way he had come to enjoy.

"Your masseuse tried to kill me," she accused, but her voice was languid.

"You'll thank me later." He guided her to sit, placing a full plate in front of her. "Eat."

The appreciative sound she made at the first bite sent heat through his veins. "Okay, maybe I'll thank you now."

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, Jules watching as some of her usual sharpness returned with each bite.

"Stop analyzing me," she said without looking up.

"Can't help it. You're interesting."

"I'm really not."

"Disagree." He topped off her wine. "Want to tell me what was bothering you last night?"

She tensed slightly, then consciously relaxed – probably feeling the ghost of Clara's warning about tension. "Not particularly."

"Okay." He let it drop, knowing pushing wouldn't help.

Senait looked surprised at his easy acceptance. "That's it? No interrogation?"

"You'll tell me when you're ready." He shrugged. "Or you won't. But I'm here either way."

Something flickered in her eyes – surprise, vulnerability, maybe both. She covered it by taking another bite, but Jules caught the slight tremor in her hand.

"Tell me about your day instead," he offered. "Did Maurice actually judge your lunch choices?"

That got a laugh out of her. "He turned his back on my sandwich. Literally turned around and ignored me."

"He prefers a proper meal. Very French that way."

"He's a bird, Jules."

"A French bird."

She rolled her eyes, but he could see her smile. This was what he loved – how easily they fell into banter, how her wit matched his step for step.

Loved. Dangerous word. He filed that thought away for later examination.

As they finished eating, Senait seemed to relax more fully. Whether from the wine, the massage, or just the comfort of the moment, her usual guardedness had softened around the edges.

"Thank you," she said suddenly. "For… this. All of it."

Jules reached across the table, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "My pleasure, chérie."

She leaned into his touch, just slightly, but it was enough. He stood and drew her up against him.

"Jules…"

"Shh." He traced her jawline with his thumb.

When he kissed her, she tasted like wine and possibility. Her hands fisted in his shirt as he backed her against the counter, deepening the kiss. She made a small sound in the back of her throat that drove him crazy.

"Still planning to leave?" he murmured against her lips.

"Shut up," she breathed, pulling him back down.

Jules smiled into the kiss. They both knew she wasn't going anywhere – at least not tonight.

And tonight was all he was asking for. For now.

Jules guided Senait over to the couch, his touch gentle but insistent. He sank down, settling her on his lap, her legs straddling his thighs. His hands slipped beneath her hoodie, pushing the fabric up and over her head, revealing bare, beautiful skin.

He paused, taking in the sight of her breasts. A low, appreciative groan rumbled in his chest, and he leaned forward, pressing kisses to her collarbone before his mouth found one sensitive nipple. His tongue swirled and flicked, and she let out a soft, breathy moan, arching into him. His large hands cupped her breasts, kneading and teasing as he lavished attention on her, making her squirm and press herself even closer.

"Jules," she whimpered, her voice cracking under the pressure of his touch.

He looked up, his lips curving into a wicked smile. "Mm, I like the way you say my name." His thumbs brushed over her hardened nipples before he helped her shimmy out of the rest of her clothes. Each piece fell to the floor, leaving her bare and flushed under his intense gaze.

Her eyes fell to the bulge straining beneath his pants. Senait slid off his lap and dropped to her knees between his legs, her fingers working on the waistband of his pants. Jules lifted his hips to help her, and she peeled the fabric away, followed by his boxers, freeing his dick. He was already hard for her, the head flushed and glistening with precum. The sheer size of him made her bite her lip in anticipation.

She leaned forward, her tongue darting out to taste him. She ran it along the length of his shaft, swirling around the tip, savoring his reaction. Jules let his head fall back against the couch, a deep groan spilling from his lips. His hands found their way into her hair, fingers tangling as he watched her work.

"Merde," he muttered, a smile pulling at his lips when she tried to take more of him into her mouth. She had gotten better since their last time in Paris, but even now, she could barely fit him in. The way her mouth stretched around him, though, was enough to send a jolt of pleasure through his body. Senait’s hands moved to play with his balls, and he hissed in pleasure, his hips bucking slightly.

She hollowed her cheeks, doing her best to take him deeper, but he was still too thick, too overwhelming. The challenge of it only made him harder.

Jules tugged gently at her hair, guiding her off of him, and his eyes were dark, filled with need. "Come here," he instructed. "I want you to ride me."

Senait climbed back onto his lap, but not before grabbing a condom from the sideboard. She tore it open and rolled it over his length with practiced ease. He watched her with hooded eyes, hands steadying her hips as she positioned herself above him.

Slowly, she sank down onto his dick, and both of them moaned as he filled her inch by inch. The stretch made her head spin, a delicious ache that left her gasping. Jules groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as she took him all the way.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he growled, his hands guiding her as she began to move. Senait’s hips rocked against his, her movements slow at first, savoring the friction. But as the tension built, she quickened her pace, riding him with growing desperation.

Jules’s hands slid up her sides, one coming to wrap around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her whimper. "Look at you," he whispered, thrusting up into her. "Taking me so well."

The dirty talk spurred her on, her nails digging into his chest as she bounced on him, her moans growing louder. His grip on her throat tightened, sending sparks of pleasure through her. He thrust up to meet her movements, their bodies colliding in a frenzy of need.

"You like that?" he taunted, his voice low and rough. "Like me fucking you like this?"

"Yes," she gasped, her voice breathless. "God, yes."

The room filled with their sounds—moans, grunts, and the slap of skin against skin. Jules’s control was slipping, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chased his release. The feel of her, the way she moved on top of him, was almost too much. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close, his other hand still lightly squeezing her throat.

Senait’s head fell back, her entire body trembling as she came, her walls tightening around him. Her orgasm sent him over the edge, and with one last thrust, he followed, spilling into the condom as he groaned her name.

They stayed there, tangled together, catching their breath. Jules finally let his hand drop from her throat, cupping her cheek instead and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Crazy," she whispered, a smile curving her lips.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over her flushed skin. "Yeah. But you liked it."

She laughed softly, leaning into him, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

Senait was curled up in Jules' home office, half-listening to a virtual meeting, when her phone buzzed with the news alert. The headline made her stomach drop: "Police Visit Real Madrid Star's Home Amid Domestic Dispute Claims."

"Fuck," she breathed, quickly unmuting herself to make an excuse about technical difficulties before dropping from the call. Her fingers flew over her phone screen, pulling up the article.

The tabloid's tone was deliberately salacious, painting Aurélien as some kind of monster. But Senait knew better. She could see Ernest's fingerprints all over this – the strategic leaks, the twisted narrative. Her PR brain picked apart the story even as her heart ached for her friend.

I should have been there, she thought, guilt gnawing at her. Here she was, playing house with Jules in Barcelona while Zuri dealt with this nightmare alone.

Before she could spiral further, she hit call on Zuri's contact.

"Hey," Zuri answered, sounding tired but steady. "I guess you saw?"

"Why didn't you tell me it had gotten this bad?" Senait demanded, already pulling up flight searches on her laptop. "I can be in Madrid in two hours."

"Sen, breathe. We've got it handled." There was a rustling sound, like Zuri was settling somewhere comfortable. "The police visit was just a wellness check. My father's accusations were so obviously false they didn't even need to do a full investigation."

"Still—"

"Still nothing. We're actually moving forward with a restraining order. And…" Zuri paused. "We're planning a trip to New York. Going to handle this face to face."

Senait sat back, processing this. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"Probably not. But necessary." Zuri's tone shifted, becoming lighter. "Now, enough about my drama. Tell me about Jules."

"Zuri…"

"Come on, give me something good. I need the distraction."

Senait couldn't help but smile, even as she rolled her eyes. "He's… attentive."

"Attentive how?"

"Like, I can barely walk some mornings attentive."

Zuri's delighted laugh filled the line. "Get it, girl! Though I have to say, I'm surprised you're still there. Wasn't this supposed to be just a weekend thing?"

The question hit a nerve Senait had been trying to ignore. "Yeah, well…" She glanced around the office she'd somehow claimed as her workspace. "His team lost to Osasuna last night. He needed cheering up."

"Mhmm. Very selfless of you."

"Shut up."

They chatted a bit longer before hanging up, but Zuri's question lingered. What was Senait still doing here? She should be back at her hotel, maintaining some semblance of boundaries. Instead, she'd seamlessly integrated into Jules' space – her laptop on his desk, her toiletries in his bathroom, her clothes hanging next to his.

This is getting to be too much, she thought, eyeing her hotel app. She should check out, stop wasting money on a room she wasn't using. But that thought felt even crazier – actually moving into Jules' house?

"You're thinking too loud again."

Senait jumped. Jules stood in the doorway holding a plate of what smelled like his signature chicken and rice.

"Just work stuff," she lied, accepting the plate. He gave her a look that said he didn't believe her but wouldn't push.

"Eat," he said simply, dropping a kiss on her head before leaving her to her 'work stuff.'

Soon the sound of his PS5 drifted down the hall, his voice mixing with his friends' as they played some shooting game. The rapid-fire French was oddly soothing, domestic in a way that made her chest tight.

Stop it, she chided herself. This isn't real life. You're going back to New York on Wednesday.

But even as she thought it, she knew the truth – she'd be back. Jules would make sure of it, with his quiet commands and knowing smiles. And worse, she'd want to come back.

Her mind drifted to this morning, how she'd woken to find him watching game footage, absently stroking her hair. How natural it had felt to curl into his side, offer observations about the opposing team's defense. How he'd listened, actually considered her amateur analysis.

"Putain!" Jules' curse carried through the house, followed by laughter from his gaming friends. Senait found herself smiling before she caught herself.

This was exactly the problem. She was getting too comfortable, too attached. What had started as a steamy weekend fling was morphing into something… else. Something that made her think about time zones and flight schedules, about whether her company had a Barcelona office — it did not, but still.

Absolutely not, she told herself firmly. You are not reorganizing your life for a man. Not again.

But Jules wasn't Tymir. The thought snuck in before she could stop it. Jules noticed things – like how she took her coffee, which shoulder carried more tension, what made her laugh genuinely versus when she was deflecting.

More dangerous still, he noticed but didn't use it against her. He just… stored the information away, used it to take care of her in ways so subtle she often didn't realize until later.

Like now – she'd mentioned once, offhandedly, that she struggled to eat during workdays. So he'd started bringing her lunch, never making a big deal of it, just ensuring she was nourished.

"Merde!" Another French exclamation, followed by what sounded like good-natured trash talk.

Senait stabbed at her chicken, annoyed with herself. This was exactly how it started with Tymir – the small comforts, the easy intimacy, the gradual entanglement until she couldn't imagine her life without him. Until she'd lost herself trying to keep him.

She had to leave Wednesday. Had to go back to New York, back to her carefully constructed independence. Back to late-night calls with Jules that felt safer, more controlled.

Her phone lit up with a text from him, even though he was just down the hall: Stop overthinking and eat.

Stop bossing me around, she sent back.

Never. You like it too much.

And that was the real problem, wasn't it? She did like it. Liked how he took charge without taking over. Liked how he pushed without pressuring. Liked him.

Fuck, she thought, not for the first time since arriving in Barcelona. But this time, there was definitely more despair than anticipation in the word.

Because this thing with Jules? It wasn't just fun anymore. It wasn't just physical. It was becoming real, with all the terrifying possibilities that entailed.

And Senait wasn't sure she was ready for that. Wasn't sure she'd ever be ready for that.

But as Jules' laugh echoed through the house, as she sat in his office eating food he'd prepared just for her, she had to admit – ready or not, it was already happening.

The only question was: would she let it?

A week of silence from Senait felt different this time. Jules found himself checking his phone more often than he'd like to admit, even while being photographed at the Messika show during Paris Fashion Week. The flashing cameras caught him adjusting his cuffs, but missed him checking for messages beneath the table.

Nothing.

His texts had gone from casual to concerned: Miss your morning sass. Maurice is depressed. He needs his daily judgment. Chérie, talk to me.

Even his calls went straight to voicemail. This wasn't like her usual ghosting – something felt off.

It wasn't until he was back in his hotel room, fashion week obligations finally complete, that his FaceTime call connected. The sight of her face made his chest tight – eyes puffy, dark circles beneath them barely concealed.

"Senait," he said softly, all his prepared lectures dying at the sight of her obvious distress.

"Hey." Her voice was rough, like she hadn't used it much lately. "Sorry I've been... away."

"What happened?"

She shook her head, trying to deflect, but Jules wasn't having it. "Don't shut me out," he said, his tone carrying that authority he knew affected her. "What's scaring you?"

"I'm not scared," she snapped, but it lacked her usual fire.

"Liar."

They stared at each other through the screen until Senait finally broke. "I ran into my ex at Whole Foods," she said, the words coming out in a rush. "Him and his... them. With the baby."

Jules felt his jaw clench. "And?"

"And nothing. It just..." She gestured vaguely. "Triggered some stuff."

"You want that nigga back?"

That got a reaction. "What? No! God no." Her eyes flashed with genuine anger. "That's not... I don't want him. I just..." She deflated slightly. "It brought up a lot. About choices. Mistakes."

Jules studied her face through the screen. "You took time off?"

"A few days. Then threw myself into this new project." She rubbed her eyes. "Deadlines don't care about emotional breakdowns."

"Your anxiety is through the roof," he observed. "Take more time."

"Can't. Unless I quit—" She cut herself off at his expression. "Don't look at me like that. I have bills, Jules. Rent in New York isn't exactly cheap."

"That job is killing you." He leaned forward. "What about your calligraphy? The Etsy shop?"

Senait laughed, but it was hollow. "That barely covers my coffee habit. I can't support myself on—"

"You could expand it," he interrupted. "Make it a lifestyle brand. Manifestation journals, wedding invitations, calendar books—"

"Jules, stop." She looked tired. "I can't do that right now."

"Do you enjoy it? The calligraphy?"

"Of course I do, but—"

"Let me help you start up."

"Absolutely not." Her response was immediate, sharp.

"Senait—"

"I have to get back to work." She was shutting down, he could see it happening. "I'll talk to you later."

"Don't do this," he warned, but she was already reaching for the disconnect button.

"Bye, Jules."

The screen went dark. Jules slammed his hand against the hotel desk, frustration coursing through him. She was running – not from him, he realized, but from the possibility of change. From letting anyone help her.

But he wasn't about to let her push him away. Not when he'd seen how well they fit together, how she came alive when she felt safe enough to be herself.

His phone lit up with a text from Aurélien: How's Senait?

Stubborn, he typed back. Scared.

A: Sounds familiar. Zuri was the same way.

Jules thought about that. About how Zuri and Aurélien had found their way despite the arranged marriage, despite family drama. About how sometimes the best things in life required fighting through the fear.

I'm not letting her run, he sent to Aurélien.

A: Good. Zuri says she needs someone as stubborn as she is.

Jules smiled slightly, already forming plans. Senait could try to push him away all she wanted. But he'd seen the real her – curled up with Maurice, lost in her calligraphy, laughing freely in his kitchen.

That was the woman he... that was the woman he wasn't letting go. Not without a fight.

His fingers hovered over his phone, considering his next move. Finally, he typed:

I know you're scared. I know you're trying to protect yourself. But I'm not him, chérie. And I'm not going anywhere.

He sent it before he could second-guess himself. Then, after a moment:

Maurice misses you. He's playing Chopin to cope with his depression.

Let her try to resist that. His stubborn, beautiful, frustrating woman who thought she had to carry the world alone.

She'd learn. He'd show her.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

#emjayewrites #jules lore #jules kounde #jules kounde x black oc #jules kounde x black reader #footballer x reader #footballer x black reader #fc barcelona fanfic #fc barcelona fanfiction #jules kounde fanfic #in between the lines #jules x senait

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jikooklove9795 · 2 days ago

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Was going through ur last post it was amazing. I am curious though! What was *that* moment of realization to u?

To be honest I am in this jikook shit for years now and feel very refreshed and happy when I see more and more people share and celebrate their relationship

Lots of love❤️❤️

Hi Sweetheart! Thanks so much for your kind words.

The first ever video I watched of BTS was their Dynamite MV. In 2020. I loved it! Everything. The beats, the choreography, their outfits, their voices, their sync. Everything! I started watching everything related to Dynamite. And that's how I stumbled upon the behinds of their MV. I loved how loud and fun the members were. How enthusiastic they seemed about their job.

By this time I was able to tell which members were which. It took me almost a week 😅 It was my first time watching anything Korean. So, I kept getting confused about who was who. However, Namjoon was easy to spot. Maybe it was his blue hair at that time. But by the end of a week I could comfortably identify all of them and got their names correct too.

While I was watching a behinds video of Dynamite I chanced upon this video here. And what struck me was the way Jungkook kept staring at Jimin. He was so into the staring that I doubt he heard anything what was being said until Taehyung had to tap him to get his attention. Not only that but I also noticed that Jimin felt Jungkook's stares on him and was trying not to look at him directly but still looked like he enjoyed the attention.

I got intrigued by what I saw and tried to dig into it to see if it was just a one time thing or if there was more to it. I watched a few Jikook videos on YT. And sure there seemed to be something but I realized all the members are touchy feely and super close with each other. But still the way Jungkook kept looking at Jimin in the above video was something else. It cannot be explained away with normal skin ship, affection or friendship. So, I decided to watch original content cause then I can get the proper context instead of compilation videos.

I saw all the big, loud Jikook moments: RB, GCFT, GCFS, MMA 2018. But what made me realize that Jikook are different, that they're a couple was when I started watching og content in chronological order. Starting from the pre debut days. I could see their story slowly unfolding.

Them being best friends and being find of each other. Jungkook going up to seek Jimin's advice regarding him wanting to pursue a career in dance. We need to remember that Jimin was the last member to get in the team and Jikook knew each other for just 6 months at this time. But Jungkook still felt comfortable going upto Jimin for that talk and nobody else.

Both of them having a soft spot for each other. Jimin being loud and open about his fondness for Jungkook. But for me the more telling was Jungkook's behavior. Jungkook's constant teasing of Jimin (this is something I have seen a lot of teens do when they have a crush, want to get the other's attention but still not ready to admit that there is a romantic interest). Seeking him out, wanting to be next to him, wanting his affection and attention. All of it.

I could see the realization of feelings, the acting on it. By this time in almost every video, let it be backstage or even award shows Jikook were glued at the hip. They were constantly together all the time by their voluntary choice. Jungkook started openly enjoying Jimin's affection, he became more daring and outgoing in seeking out Jimin. He started enjoying his effect on Jimin. And was always coming up with ways to get more of that reaction out of Jimin.

There were grand gestures, most of it from Jungkook. Sometimes it's impulsive but most of the times its because he wants to show Jimin openly how much he's in love and cares for Jimin. He wanted everyone including us, fans to know that he sees and treats Jimin differently.

There's the living together theories (if I'm being honest its not a theory to me cause there's so much evidence pointing to it). Since we are talking about living together how can we not talk about sharing rooms in hotels. They're the only ones doing it. None of the other members are sharing rooms unless its decided by games that they have to share. The others are more than happy to have their own space.

By 2020 they gave an established, secure in their relationship vibes.

So, yeah for me it was all the og content when watched in that order which cemented my belief that they're a couple. A long term one at that. Who cherish what they found unexpectedly when they came to Seoul for their careers.

Once again thank you so much for sending this in 😊

Lots of love to you too ❤

#jikook #kookmin #jungkook #jimin #ask

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notaboypossiblyagenius · 1 day ago

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I have this very steadfast headcanon that Emily plays the piano and I just think reader would go insane over that actually (I’m reader)

i cut it because i yapped big time:P

i had never thought about this but yes, absolutely!! this would make sense as to why she knows so many languages.

there’s a study that showed that piano training enhanced cortical responses to pitch changes in music and speech!! both the temporal lobe and the frontal lobe play big parts in processing the candece and rhythm, and the rules of languages and music. so, they play into each other a lot more than we think. musicians learn to listen for cues and accents and intonations, which would definitely help in learning a new language.

anyway, she’s been playing since she was young. throughout all the different cultures and languages she encountered during such a critical period of her life, she found that the only thing that managed to stay the same was music. she falls in love with the fact that it is an international language—one that can communicate without borders or boundaries, and she embraces it as the only constant in her fast paced life. She practices and practices, familiarizing herself with the black and white keys that seemed to speak to her in a way her own mother couldn’t bother to.

she’d down play it a lot, and she definitely would not mention it. the piano was her and hers only. her own little piece of the universe she kept tucked away because if everything else in her life got taken away, she still had her knowledge and her muscle memory.

and then along came you, showing so much interest in her and what she had to say that it almost made her suspicious. so, it was no surprise that when you found out she could play the piano you begged her to show you. she denied, of course, claiming that her skills weren’t what you thought them to be. but you were unrelenting, and when she finally gave in you couldn’t understand why she ever kept this hidden.

you could spend hours sitting next to her on that uncomfortable bench listening as she tried to break down a chord for you, or explain to you how a key could be both sharp and flat at the same time. it wasn’t anything you understood, but she seemed to light up whenever she explained it, and you’d endure the hours of confusion if it meant seeing her get back every bit of life her job took from her, her lithe fingers gliding across the keys with such a gentleness that it made you envy the inanimate object. sometimes she’d go months without so much as looking in the direction of the instrument, too busy with work to even think about it. but, you’d coax her into sitting down, saying that you wanted her to teach you something. it was her passion, what set her heart ablaze.

late into nights after she’d press you into her matress, fingers gliding across your skin the same way they did those keys, she evoked sounds from you that were sweeter than any chord progression. in the quiet of her room, between soft conversation and whispered nothings she’d confess to you that if it weren’t for her mother, she’d have to loved to pursue music professionally.

#i kinda went overboard #sorry!!#⊹ ࣪ ˖ blue & blue #asks :3 #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader

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nowimjustastranger · 2 days ago

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fic request for stcmo- just ford helping out a stan. whatever interests you

Lee knew that it was a bad day before he even opened his eyes.

He felt like he was experiencing the world through a haze of numbness, his senses dull. Even opening his eyes to add sight to the mix didn’t help the veil lift, so he found himself staring up at the ceiling blankly. It took him a few moments to register that he didn’t feel present in his own body, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion that no amount of sleep could ever fix.

Lee let his eyes close because he simply couldn’t think of a reason to keep them open, drifting in and out of awareness. However, he knew it wouldn’t last; which came as a muted shock because he wasn’t sure how he knew that until a tentative hand settled on his shoulder. The hand was a warm weight on his bare skin, six fingers spreading out to cover as much surface area as possible.

“Lee,” An equally warm voice murmured, blanketing him with a sense of familiarity that was far more kind than the inescapable nothing that held him in a vice grip. “It’s almost two in the afternoon.”

Lee managed a weak grunt of acknowledgement, lacking the energy to provide more substance to the conversation. Ford didn’t seem to mind his lackluster response though, the bed dipping as he delicately climbed onto the bed beside Lee. And even if Ford’s company was unexpected, it wasn’t altogether unwelcome.

“Can you do something for me, Lee?” Ford asked, his body slotting against Lee’s back with an ease that had his chest tightening. Lee turned his head just enough to peek at Ford from over his shoulder, only able to see the top of Ford’s fluffy gray hair since he had his cheek pressed against the dip between Lee’s shoulder blades.

“Whaddya need, Ace?” Lee mumbled, lazily letting his head flop back down onto the pillow, trying to wrestle his mind into something that resembled functional. Lee already knew that he was going to do whatever Ford asked of him regardless of his poor mental state, he would sooner drive a nail through his own hand than deny Ford anything he needed.

“Could you call for me when you feel like this? I don’t want you to be alone.” Ford whispered, the words saturated with the kind of fear that Lee was all too familiar with. Lee’s eyes closed as the shroud of numbness slipped away, sucking in a fortifying breath before resolutely rolling over to face Ford, who immediately ducked his head to hide his face in the crook of Lee’s neck.

“Ain’t alone, Digit.” Lee huffed, affectionately knocking his jaw against Ford’s temple to try and coax him to come out. It worked like a charm since Ford could never resist the temptation of physical contact, his head raising to nuzzle Lee properly.

“You were.” Ford countered without missing a beat, running the bridge of his nose across Lee’s jaw, tracing an invisible path. “You were alone. For hours. Anything could’ve hap–”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Lee cut in, knowing better than to let Ford’s mind gain enough traction to pursue those dark avenues.

“I know. I know, Lee. But… but I can’t–” Ford couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, unable to find the words that could accurately convey the maelstrom of emotions that resided in his head. Thankfully, Stan could read in between the lines well enough.

“I’ll say it until you believe me.” Lee declared, one of his arms sliding over Ford’s waist to draw him closer while the other stayed tucked between their chests. Ford obediently closed the gap between them with a few calculated adjustments, tucking an arm under the pillow that Lee was resting his head on while his other hand trailed up and down Lee’s arm.

“You’ll be saying it forever then.” Ford warned with a half-hearted chuckle, an undeniable thread of truth in what was otherwise presented as a joke. Lee tenderly tapped his forehead against Ford’s with a sigh, lips twitching in amusement when Ford’s piercing gaze snapped to his face like he was the only thing worth looking at.

“Fine by me.” Lee said with a deceptively casual shrug, holding eye contact until the message was received. Ford slowly nodded with a soft exhale, the tense line of his shoulders easing as he melted into the contact, his eyes closing.

“Lee.” Ford said in a hushed tone, part statement and part desperate plea.

“I won’t leave you. Not like that.” Lee promised, relieved to find that he was speaking the truth. The thought of leaving Ford behind made Lee’s throat close up, blinking rapidly against the telltale burn of unshed tears. Lee couldn’t take another brother from Ford, it would be cruel to give in to his dark urges and condemn Ford to travel down the one-way road of self-destruction.

Funny how it was easier to stay when it was for someone else’s sake.

#gravity falls #somebody to call my own au #stan pines #lee pines #ford pines #lee and ford #stan and ford #stan twins #fic request #tw: depression #tw: implied/referenced suicide

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desmon1995 · 2 days ago

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The Warriors and their Odyssey of misogyny

I can’t stop thinking about how The Warriors is more relevant now than ever, especially in the wake of the 2024 election. This isn’t just a story about gang conflicts and survival—it's a brutally honest reflection of the world that marginalized people have to navigate every day. At its core, it’s about fighting through a sea of misogyny and toxic masculinity to survive in a system that’s dead set on crushing those who don’t fit its narrative.

Let’s start with Luther. He’s a white incel in every sense—angry, destructive, and, above all, ready to deflect blame the moment he’s caught in his own violence. After killing a black female activist, he immediately accuses the Warriors. Cleon, a character who knows what it means to fight for your community, begs for reason, for justice. But it’s hopeless—Luther’s lie spreads through his gang the Rouges, and every gang believes him. They want to believe the white man’s narrative. This is how the Warriors become outcasts, hunted by everyone.

What’s chilling, though, is how The Warriors dives deep into the nuances of toxic masculinity, showing it in forms we recognize all too well.

First, we have the Turnbull ACs—the poster boys of hyper-masculine violence. They’re the first to pursue the Warriors, and they’re more than willing to turn their hunt into something brutal. The ACs don't just want revenge; they want to dominate, to assert their power over the Warriors in every violent way possible. All in the name of Cyrus, no less—a symbol of a leader they’ll never understand. And they’re acting this way because of a lie, blindly following a dangerous white man’s narrative without question. It��s the rawest depiction of machismo and rage—almost an anthem of how Men of Color end up perpetuating harmful Eurocentric viewpoints just be a part of a society that hates them too.

Then come the Orphans. The Orphans are all talk, acting like the typical online "alpha males" we see on Reddit or Twitter. They talk big about their strength and what they’d do to women, but they’re nothing but insecure. The moment a more feminine-presenting Warrior flirts with them, they back down, only to puff up again when Mercy questions their manhood. It’s pathetic, really, but also painfully real. As soon as the Warriors fight back, the Orphans crumble, showing us exactly how performative their masculinity truly is.

Then there’s the Hurricanes—the only group to stand with the Warriors. They’re queer, and they know what it’s like to be outcast, to run because society sees you as something to be destroyed. The Hurricanes offer a quiet, resilient kind of mentorship, showing the Warriors that they don’t have to run—that they can fight. The solidarity here is beautiful, and historically resonant. Queer rights and women’s rights are so deeply intertwined because they’ve both faced the brutal crush of patriarchy, especially from those determined to keep the world “pure” and “safe” for white, conservative ideals. The Hurricanes help the Warriors see their own power, and it’s their influence that eventually allows them to survive.

But the most frightening group? The Bizzies. They’re the “nice guys,” the false allies who sing about being there to help. In their song “We Got You,” they say everything marginalized people want to hear. They’re supportive, kind, and reassuring—until they get you in a dark place, where your screams can’t be heard. Cowgirl lets her guard down with them, only to find out that their support was a façade. The Bizzies are insidious because this happens all the time in real life. Fake allies talk about helping marginalized people but vanish or even turn hostile the moment things get difficult. In 2024, we’re reminded every day that this kind of allyship is hollow.

A recent Vulture review questioned why most of the male characters in The Warriors are “bad” and argued that this one-sided view “limits” the story. But here’s the thing: this isn’t one-sided for those of us who are marginalized. For women, queer folks, and people of color, this is our reality. The Warriors reveals what’s true for many of us: that we have to rely on each other, and that the fight for our own freedom is in our hands because no one else will fight it for us without diluting or dismissing it.

In a way, The Warriors is the sequel to Hamilton we need in 2024. It’s a call to action, a piece that understands what it means to exist on the fringes of a world that was never designed for you. For those who think this story isn’t “realistic,” I urge you to think about what it means to live without the privilege of being heard, of being believed. This is the life marginalized communities face every day—the struggle of knowing that no matter how loud we shout, society might never listen.

We’re the ones who have to make our voices heard. And The Warriors reminds us that we’re not alone in this fight.

#warriors musical #lin manuel miranda #eisa davis #election 2024 #broadway #sexism #patriarchy #intersectionality

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sanjoongie · 2 days ago

Text

𝔄𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔇𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔰

😈Pairing: Demon! Kim Hongjoong x Piercer! Reader (f)

😈Au: supernatural au, demon au, piercer parlor au, fallen angel au

😈Trope: s2l, your lover's ex to lovers (?)

😈Genre: smut

😈Rating: 18+, MDNI

😈Word Count: 2,902

😈Warnings: heaving flirting from hongjoong's end, descriptions of performing a penis piercing, oral (f), use of demon powers such as teleportation, mind-fucking (influencing), Hongjoong calls you dollface, seonghwa calls you flower

😈Summary: you have an unexpected visitor to your tattoo parlor and it isn't your typical fallen angel clientele. When the demon utters Seonghwa's name, you begin to think that this is more than just a dick piercing visit

😈Beta’s: @downtoamagicalland & @mejuii thank you so much for helping me with this, you make everything better 💞

😈Author’s Note: this is a spinoff of my fallen angel Hwa series. Hongjoong weaseled his way into this au, and I posted fallen angel Hwa for his birthday, so why not give the jealous, possessive man in my life his way and write this for his birthday.

😈To the man that encourages us to dream big: you're the reason I challenged myself this year to enhance my life and become something more in my work life. You're the man that I lean on and look up to, even though you're 10 years younger than me. Please never give up so I can continue pursuing my intellectual and creative goals as well. No regrets moving you back to your rightful position after our agreement 🤣 happy birthday, my birthday twin.

Pt 1- Wonderlust | Pt 2- Burning and Yearning {Seonghwa’s birthday smut}

"Is this the right place?" A red-haired man walks in like he owns the place. The casual way his hands are tucked into his front pockets and the wrinkle of his nose says it all: he's used to the world bending for him.

You folded your arms under your breasts. “Did you read the sign outside? It says piercings,” You quipped.

His eyes narrowed down on you and you gasped. He had no whites, only black sclera. His irises, however, were light yellow. He pushed back his hood

He smirked. “Yeah but I heard this place doesn't discriminate against the Others.”

You laughed nervously. “Ah. Yes. I service all angels and demons.”

The demon’s eyes flit across your piercing salon, not looking at you at all. “Service, huh?”

You swallowed. “Is there anything you're looking to do today?” You pushed forward your catalogue.

He waved away your offer. “I know what I want.”

With that, the demon put one hand on your halfway door, jumped over it and sat in one of your piercing chairs.

“Wait a minute, I have appointments!” You protested.

The demon folded his arms behind his head. “I know. That's why I'm here.”

“Who are you?!” You demanded.

The demon laughed melodically. “Hongjoong.”

You slapped a hand on the chair Hongjoong was leaning back on and leaned in menacingly. “What do you want?”

“A Prince Albert, please,” Hongjoong had the audacity to say in a sweet voice, showing his teeth. “The curved barbell version.”

You hoped the look on your face shows that you're unimpressed. “You are aware that dick piercings are probably one of the most painful procedures?”

“Yeah.” Hongjoong's grin grew wider. “That's kind of the point.”

You threw your hands up in the air, your sign that you were giving up. “What is with you Others coming in here with a pain kink?!”

“Are you having fun with Seonghwa?”

You froze as you had been reaching for the proper items to wash and clean Hongjoong for his piercing. “...what did you just say?”

“You haven't pierced his dick yet, have you? I hope I'm not too late,” Hongjoong said in a mocking tone.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You said breezily.

“Maybe a dick piercing is too ugly for the freshly fallen. He probably got something pretty like a belly button piercing,” Hongjoong guessed.

No, but not for the lack of trying, you thought to yourself.

“He did get something pierced here, though, right?” Hongjoong pushed. “Otherwise, why does he keep coming back here?”

You let go of your nitrile gloves with a snap. “I don’t talk about what I do with other clients.”

“Oh, I bet he has all kinds of fun with you,” Hongjoong teased.

“You do realize I have the right to refuse service, right?”

Hongjoong pushed an exaggerated pout. “But you’re one of the good guys. I’m just a demon trying to get a hot dick piercing. You won’t turn me away just because I’m a demon, would you? Imagine the backlash.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I just want what I want, dollface. A dick piercing and for you to ride my face.”

All your tools clattered to the floor.

“Just kidding. You only provide that kind of service to Seonghwa, I’m guessing. Wheedled his way into your heart did he? He’s good at that.” That last part almost came out softly.

It was clear this demon knew Seonghwa. Before Seonghwa fell.

You sat down on a stool and lifted an eyebrow at the demon in your chair. “Do you really want a dick piercing or did you come here to inquire about Seonghwa?”

“Both,” Hongjoong answered cheekily.

You sighed. You had no idea why you thought dealing with a demon would be any different than dealing with a fallen angel.

“Seonghwa is…” You pursed your lips to the side in thought.

How did you describe how Seonghwa was? He seemed… happy? His goals to sin and sin some more were exhausting but you felt the fallen angel had a purpose and you couldn't turn him away with that. You had heard that some fallen angels have a hard time adapting to the human world because they couldn't figure out what exactly to do with the time they had no longer dictated by the big man upstairs.

“Satisfied?” Hongjoong smirked in response.

You sighed. “Be assured, he’s well taken care of,” You settled for.

“Will you take good care of me?” Hongjoong asked. He folded his arms behind his head, flashing a tattoo. Clearly he was no newbie to pain, unlike Seonghwa.

“I know you Others heal quickly, but please, abstain from all sexual activity until this is healed. If you get infected then my reputation as a piercer will go down,” You cited your warnings as you grabbed new, sterile tools, sweeping the ones from the floor to be cleaned later.

“Surely not all activity,” Hongjoong ribbed you. “I’m not just a taker. I’m a great giver.”

“Not something I needed to know,” You mumbled to yourself.

You jerked your head at him. “If we’re really doing this, it’s best if you…” The words you had meant to say fell off your tongue as Hongjoong easily removed his black jeans.

Hongjoong was thick and his mushroom head brought out your oral fixation. You quickly removed your gaze and turned around to grab the table that all your tools were on. Ogling your clients before you performed on them was not a professional act. And you were still a professional, despite Seonghwa’s corruption of your practice.

“It’s not necessary to be erect, you know,” You informed the demon in your piercing chair. “We take that into consideration when we perform this.”

“Why not take the guessing out of the game, hmmm?” Hongjoong practically purred at you.

You cleaned Hongjoong as detachedly as you could. Then after the solution dried, you marked the spot where you wanted the piercing to come out at the bottom of Hongjoong’s cockhead. “Does that look good to you?”

“I think I just got a glove kink from you handling me,” Hongjoong offered instead.

“Mister Demon Sir, this coming onto me has got to stop. I don’t know what else you heard about this place but Seonghwa was a one-time thing and--”

You froze when Hongjoong gripped your cheeks roughly. “I love a good cat and mouse game as much as the next demon, but dollface, you’re starting to make me think I’m rusty.”

Hongjoong let out a chuckle when your brow furrowed in confusion. “Fuck, you’re cute. I think I know why he picked you.” He let you go with a groan. “I came here for Seonghwa. If you could pierce me, to pay you back, I’ll tell you about Seonghwa before he fell.”

“I’ll pierce you but I don’t need to hear about Seonghwa,” you grumbled.

What the fuck was wrong with you? The way Hongjoong was flirting with you, the way he grabbed your face and growled at you, had made you extremely wet. You were used to being in charge with Seonghwa, but Hongjoong was bringing out your other side. Were you going to become a place that offered side services to your Others clients? Maybe you had to rethink your business strategy.

“Interesting,” Hongjoong mused out loud. “Then how shall I pay you for your services?”

You replace your gloves again, lubing up the receiving tube next. “Money works great. The normal way.”

Hongjoong chuckled at your sarcasm. “You’re not the least bit curious about his past?”

Your lips become a firm line of distaste. “If I need to know, Seonghwa will tell me.”

You’ve become a little protective of your fallen angel. You weren’t trying to discriminate against Hongjoong, but you felt like he was trying to stir up shit just by coming here.

Hongjoong watched with rapt attention as you inserted the receiver tube into his urethra.

“I need you to breathe in and then I’m going to pierce you,” You said tightly.

“Bring on the sweet pain,” Hongjoong said with a big grin.

You nodded tersely, pushing the needle through the marked entry point. Hongjoong giggled at the feeling and you pulled out the receiver tube. It unnerved you for a moment before you lubed up the barbell jewelry. Once you push the barbell in, effectively pushing the needle out, you grab the ball end and screw that on.

“Et voila,” You said with low gusto.

Hongjoong cocked his head. “Is it pretty?”

You rolled your eyes. You weren’t going to give him that win. You weren’t entirely sure what Hongjoong was looking to get from you, but you were very stubborn in giving him any satisfaction.

Instead, you grab some gauzes and wipe away any of the blood coming up. It’s a dark, viscous fluid, much darker than human blood.

You waved your hand towards the front of your shop. “Now, will you get out of here so I can meet with the rest of my clients that actually bothered to make appointments?”

Hongjoong snapped his fingers with a devil-may-care grin. “It looks like you’re suddenly free.”

You deadpan at him and get up to your laptop. All your appointments are cleared for the rest of the day. You turned and glowered at him. “That’s money you just stole from me. Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

Hongjoong shrugged and snapped his fingers again. “You did require payment, so you can consider this that and then a tip for the rescheduled appointments.”

You opened another tab and checked your bank account and your mouth fell open. “Seriously, who the fuck are you?”

Hongjoong snapped his fingers again. Where once you were standing at your counter, now you were straddling Hongjoong’s face on your piercer chair. “Why, I’m a demon, of course, dollface.”

“Fucking Others,” You growled.

Hongjoong snapped his fingers and your pants were gone. Hongjoong had a front row view to see your wet spot on your underwear. He chuckled deeply. “You don’t have to beg, you know, I’d be happy to deliver on my end.”

Your body is covered with goosebumps and your nipples harden. If you were being honest with yourself, the way that Hongjoong was coming onto you, despite your deterrents, was turning you on. Your ability to say no was melting away; all you wanted to do right now was grind down on Hongjoong’s pretty nose.

Hongjoong caught his tongue between his teeth teasingly. “Is it time to put my mouth where my money is?” He switched up the saying but you knew exactly what he was getting at.

Throwing all caution to the wind, you decide to hell with it. You didn’t win against Seonghwa and you didn’t think you’d win against Hongjoong. “Do it, Hongjoong.”

The demon took no time in pulling aside your underwear. He blew against the wet flesh and you shivered. “What a pretty pussy.”

You swallowed loudly. “Thank you?”

“I’m surprised you don’t have anything pierced here, however.” Hongjoong’s dark eyes met yours from below you.

“This is as far south as I’m going.”

You lifted your t-shirt to show off your belly button piercing. From it hung a sole dark wing and Hongjoong growled.

“Not me,” Hongjoong giggled and then wrapped two arms around your legs, pulling you down to his face.

Hongjoong played with your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue against the swollen nerve, making your hips jump at the sensation. He chuckled deeply as your body moved up his face. He held you more firmly and then began a combination of sucking and licking your clit.

All arguments flew from your head as your lower half grinded down on Hongjoong’s face. You had to brace yourself, hand on the head of the chair, whining and gasping with all the sensations you were getting.

Thoughts of a cute little clit hood piercing danced in your mind's eye, tinkling as Hongjoong enthusiastically ate you out. You shook your head. This demon was getting in your head.

“You're so beautiful, writhing above me, taking your pleasure from my face,” Hongjoong murmured, sitting back to watch you for a moment.

Was it because he was a demon that you didn't worry about getting dirty with him? Or was it the devilish smile, flashing those perfect pearly whites while under you, that got you dropping your defenses?

Hongjoong’s ringed hands slithered up your torso enticingly. “I'm going to make you feel so good.”

A finger absentmindedly played with your nipple as Hongjoong flattened his tongue and shook his head back and forth aggressively.

You cried out as pleasure shot through your nerves once again. All you wanted was to cover Hongjoong’s tongue and face with your slickness. Imagining him grinning with your desire all over his face was too much.

“Hongjoong,” You said his name in a whine.

The demon's eyes seemed to glimmer and say Come for me. You whined his name one more time and did exactly that. You cried out as you came, pussy walls convulsing and Hongjoong stuck his tongue into your hole just to feel you squeeze the wet appendage. You whimpered, not exactly opposed to the feeling but well aware it was in the overstimulation grey area.

Hongjoong snapped his fingers and suddenly he was fully dressed, his newly pierced dick packed away. He had a wet face cloth and almost adoringly cleaned you up. Once that act of service was complete, you found your magically poofed-away pants and put them back on.

“That was…” You really didn't know what to say.

“Just a taste of what hell might be like,” Hongjoong teased.

You cocked your head. “Why are you here and not there?”

Hongjoong ducked his head for the first time tonight, not meeting your eyes. “So Seonghwa gets a free pass for speaking of his past but I don't?”

“Well, I don't know you like I know Seonghwa,” You sputtered in protest.

“That could be arranged.” Hongjoong grinned, and you were starting to find that that devilish smile that you were falling for happened to be a mask of his as well, to cover up what he didn’t want to be looked into.

“Hongjoong?!”

Your head snapped up as you found Seonghwa hanging around the front of the store. “S-s-eonghwa!” You stuttered.

“Hello, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said, licking his lips lewdly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You shot a dirty look towards the demon. “You said you were here for Seonghwa.”

Hongjoong’s lips pressed into the stereotypical kitty-kat smile. “I also said I was here for a dick piercing and for you to sit on my face. Seems like I got everything I wanted after all.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened. “You gave him a dick piercing?”

“He paid for it,” You mumbled. “I didn’t do it for free.”

“Amongst other things,” Hongjoong smirked.

Seonghwa only had eyes for you, however. “How come you gave him one and wouldn’t let me have one?”

You rubbed your eyebrow tiredly. “Seonghwa, we talked about this. Your libido is so high, you would have me bouncing on your--” Your mouth closed immediately, remembering that Hongjoong was still in the room. “Now that Seonghwa is here, you two can have a nice chat--”

Seonghwa's face was a storm cloud of anger. “We have nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, Seonghwa, don't be like that,” Hongjoong lamented. “We've shared a human together now. Surely things are diff--”

“You should leave.”

“...Seonghwa?” You had never seen the fallen angel angry.

He pursed his lips, eyes snapping to you and then softening when he saw your face full of apprehension. “Flower, I…”

A brittle laugh came from Hongjoong. “Is this how you are with her? Who is this soft version of one of the angels of revenge?”

Seonghwa’s eyes could have cut with how sharp the look he sent Hongjoong. “I'm not that someone any longer, Hongjoong. And you haven't been that someone in a very, very long time. So drop it.”

Hongjoong’s eyes flashed with his own anger. “Are you exclusive with Seonghwa?”

You giggled nervously. You had a feeling you were about to be caught between a rock and a hard place. “Of course not, Seonghwa doesn't pay my bills.”

Hongjoong licked his lips. “That's not what I meant, sweetheart.”

Your stomach dropped out of your ass at the pet name. The words felt like a betrayal in your mind but you were compelled to speak the truth. “No. We've had no such talk.”

Seonghwa furrowed his eyebrows, unable to follow the conversation. “What are you two talking about?”

Hongjoong grinned like he had just won. “Then I'll be back when my dick piercing is all healed up.”

“Hongjoong…” you raised your hand to halt the demon from walking out of your parlor. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Believe me. I'm doing you a favor. If you become attached to him not understanding where you two stand, it'll break your soul apart. I know from experience,” Hongjoong told you quietly, out of Seonghwa's hearing.

The sorrow that poured from Hongjoong’s eyes was devastating. Then, like a mask snapping in place, Hongjoong was grinning once again. “Same time, same place.”

And in a poof of purple color smoke, the snap of Hongjoong’s fingers echoing, the demon was gone.

The demon had left you to explain everything. Fucking angels AND fucking demons!!!

#pirateeznet #lapydiariesnet #ateez smut #kim hongjoong smut #topaz's work #hongjoong smut #atz smut #fallen angel! hwa #ღatz #recent #teezers birthday fics 24

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