#edens teeth click

[eden-beast]

i realize i fluctuate between having wings in headspace and not.

[foone]

A world of friends

In the late 2030s, a research lab discovers how to travel to alternate earths. And what's even better, they've figured out how to best monetize it too: tourism.

See it turns out there's not a lot of variation. There's a nearly infinite number of earths, but it's not like you're traveling to an alien planet or Narnia. They're all pretty... Earthy.

And they turn that into a positive: all earths are similar, but the small differences are what counts. And they're always searching for worlds with interesting divergences from our own, as potential destinations.

Spend a weekend with Netflix on the world where Walter Disney became a little-known architect, and the face of children's media is completely different. Visit the world where the US Revolution failed, and most of the Americas remains part of the commonwealth.

Safari through the world where humans died out or never evolved, see the megafauna we weren't around to extinct.

The world where the planet's population is 97% Christian but they're also nudists because they associate nudity with the innocence of the Garden of Eden.

And if you're looking for a challenge, visit the world's where climate change has already melted the ice caps, the world's where the cold war went hot, the world where the first world war is also the last one, and it's still ongoing.

There's just one minor problem with their plan of setting up an industry to portal people to other worlds:

Someone else is already using it.

Their interdimensional tech relies on creating wormholes using a complex arrangement of superconducting magnets and there's a characteristic burst of neutrinos when the event horizon forms.

They have to monitor them to properly "aim" the wormhole, but their early work is thrown off by seeing spurious emissions coming from outside their facility, which they later realize are exactly matching their technology.

They're just seeing the wormholes from the other end.

They partner with a government agency, explaining their discovery, and express worry that the country (and the world!) may be getting infiltrated by an off world power.

They build sensors in major cities, and triangulate where the off-worlders are appearing, and follow them.

They seem harmless enough. Often skittish, taking lots of pictures, asking odd questions... These aren't security agents or an invading force.

They're just tourists. They're from another world's interdimensional tourism business. One that set up before ours.

But why are they here? What's so odd about our world among the trillions they have access to that makes them come here with cameras fully loaded with film and memory cards?

The security agents pour over surveillance tapes of them wandering around random cities, and finally spot (no pun intended) why they're here.

It's dogs.

The tourists are skittish around seeing people walking their dogs, they're taking pictures of corgis and greyhounds, they're visiting petstores and ignoring the cats and iguanas and tropical fish to go look at the most boring mutts, eyes full of wonder and fear and excitement...

One of the tourists is picked up by the security services, but hits their panic button and vanishes before they can be questioned. They leave behind a Daguerre Inc 2090 DSLR camera full of slightly blurry photos of dogs, and a pamphlet that fell out of their bag in the scuffle

The pamphlet is for this interdimensional vacation, and describes the weirdness of our world: The strange universe where humans somehow befriended wild wolves and let them into their homes and lives.

The pamphlet plays up the scariness of canines, showing Tibetan mastiffs and angry pitbulls biting into meat. Police dogs with titanium teeth replacements. There's very few pictures of chihuahuas and corgis and poodles.

So the next time you're at an animal rescue or a petting zoo, and you see someone looking on in fear and wonder at the amazing sight of a golden retriever puppy, their camera shutter clicking away...

Maybe ask them who the president is. And what year we landed on the moon.

And don't be too surprised if they answer "You mean the Prime Minister? It's still Thiers, right? I haven't been reading the papers much recently. And 1956, unless you're one of those pedantics who say it only counts if it was successful, in which case 1958"

(reposted from a twitter thread from 2022)

[lazy-ahh]

Haiii !! Me again lmao >:3 I dooo have a request I fear - idk how to explain it tho but I have songs that gave me the ideas, hopefully when you /if you listen to then you'll get what I mean !! I just think the way you write would be perfect for this

the songs =

Like real people do, from Eden, Nobody's soilder, cherry wine, it will come back

All by Hozier lol, if I find a proper way to explain it I will!

Thanks again!! ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ

IT WILL COME BACK

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

twenty five times jason todd warned you not to love him, and one time he begged you to stay.

this is the first of two! (i'm sorry, but i only have the time to write two of the songs and those two songs were the ones that clicked for me and i just NEED to write about them) i listened to this song first and immediately searched up the meaning of this song. and then i read someone's interpretation of the song and I JUST NEEDED TO WRITE ABOUT IT, especially with emotionally repressed jason who worships reader, who doesn't think that he deserves them but with the way reader teases and encourages him and showers him with love, to let him not be afraid of showing his true feelings, then how could he ever say no? hopefully you enjoyed this one!

taglist @kasarian , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

jason knows you know. he’s a mess of scar tissue and bad decisions, a boy who clawed his way out of his own grave only to keep dragging the dirt behind him—so why do you look at him like he’s something worth loving? like he’s not just a ghost wearing a man’s skin? you shouldn’t. you know better.

but then you grin at him, all sharp edges and softness, and say, "what’s that face for, jay? thinking too hard again?" like it’s that simple. like he’s not a loaded gun and you’re not pressing your finger to the trigger just to feel the danger of it.

the way you look at him, all mischief and molten affection—you know what it does to him. he’s not stupid. you’re not subtle. (he’s memorized the exact shade of your smile when you tease him, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh at his scowling.) but god, he loves it anyway. loves you anyway. even when he doesn’t think he deserves to.

than to look at it, look at it like that

your eyes drag over him like you’re starving, like he’s something worth devouring—and fuck, maybe he is, the way you touch him like you can’t get enough. fingers tracing the ridges of his abs, nails scraping just to hear his breath hitch. teeth sinking into the curve of his bicep, just hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to make him groan. lips pressing hot and open-mouthed against the back of his neck while your hands slip under his shirt, greedy, needy, like you want to memorize every scar, every shudder you pull from him.

"jason," you sigh, voice dripping with something sweet and sinful, "you’re so tense, baby. let me help."

he should scowl. should shove you away before this goes too far, before he loses what little control he has left. but then your tongue flicks over his pulse point, and his head falls back against your shoulder with a ragged fuck.

he never does push you away. never could.

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

he’s warned you before—voice rough like gravel under tires, that low growl he gets when you’re pushing all his buttons just to watch him unravel. "don’t," he mutters, fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but won’t let himself. "you shouldn’t poke the beast, sweetheart."

but you just tilt your head, all faux innocence, lips quirking into that grin that makes his pulse stutter. "beast?" you echo, stepping closer until your breath ghosts over his jaw. "where? all i see is you, jason." and god, the way you say his name—like it’s something sacred, something yours—it wrecks him.

his hands find your hips on instinct, grip tight enough to bruise, but you don’t flinch. you never do. instead, you press closer, all warm skin and teasing fingers tracing the scars on his knuckles. "see?" you murmur, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "just you."

he should argue. should remind you he’s not something to play with, not something gentle. but the way you look at him—like he’s yours, like you’d fight the whole damn world to keep him—steals the words right from his throat.

than to talk to it, talk to it like that

your voice drops to something slow and syrupy, honey-thick with teasing—the kind of tone that curls under his skin and lingers there, sticky-sweet. "jason," you sigh, dragging out each syllable like you're savoring the taste, and fuck, it's not even his name anymore. it's a blade between his ribs, a match to gasoline, and you wield it with devastating precision.

he tenses, jaw clenching as he pointedly stares at the ceiling instead of you. "don't," he grits out, but there's no heat behind it—just that rough, frayed edge that means he's already losing.

"don't what?" you hum, all false innocence, fingers walking up his chest like you own every inch of him (you do). "i'm just saying your name."

"yeah, like that," he mutters, finally snapping—one hand catching yours mid-taunt, pinning it against his heartbeat. it's racing. you can feel it. "like you fucking mean it."

don’t give it a hand, offer it a soul

he doesn’t want half-measures, doesn’t want the tentative brush of your fingers like you’re afraid he’ll break. if you’re going to touch him, he wants all of you—your laughter tangled in his sheets, your stubborn mouth biting back moans, the way you dig your nails into his shoulders when he fucks you just right. he wants the way you press your cold feet against his calves just to hear him yelp, the way you gasp his name like a prayer when he pins you down.

"jason—" you pant, arching under him as his teeth graze your throat.

"tell me," he growls, hands mapping your skin like he’s memorizing every beauty mark, every scar. "tell me you’re mine."

you laugh, breathless and bright, even as he steals the sound with a kiss. "always," you murmur against his lips, fingers twisting in his hair. "you know you’ve got me."

and he does. he does. your soul is already his—has been since the first time you looked at him like he was worth something. but he’ll still take it again and again, greedy and desperate, until neither of you can remember where he ends and you begin.

honey, make this easy

it should be simple. he should be able to push you away, to stay in the shadows where he belongs—where he can't hurt you. but then he sees you on that rooftop, outnumbered and backed into a corner, and his body moves before his mind can catch up.

the takedown is brutal, efficient. he doesn't let himself linger, already turning to disappear into the night—until your hand catches his wrist.

"jason."

his name on your lips is a punch to the gut. he freezes, heart hammering against his ribs. you shouldn't know. you shouldn't see him.

"you're dead," you whisper, but your fingers tighten like you're afraid he'll vanish. "i watched them bury you."

he should lie. should shake you off and run. but the way you're looking at him—like he's your only salvation, something precious, something real—makes the words stick in his throat.

"make this easy," he rasps, voice rough from disuse. "pretend you didn't see me."

you laugh, sharp and wet, and suddenly your arms are around him, holding on like he's the only solid thing in the world. "never," you breathe against his neck. "you don't get to ask me that."

and god, he's so fucked. because he should pull away. should run. but your warmth, your scent, the way you cling to him like he's worth keeping—it ruins him.

leave it to the land, this is what it knows

he was made for violence—knuckles split on brick walls, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, the way pain sings through his veins like an old friend. survival is coded in his bones, written in every scar. but you—you with your stupid jokes and softer hands, with the way you trace his scars like they're something precious instead of proof of how broken he is—you make him want. want mornings tangled in sheets, want lazy kisses pressed to his shoulder blades, want things he has no right to ask for. it terrifies him.

"stop that," he grumbles when you catch his hand, turning it over to press your lips to his bruised knuckles.

"stop what?" you murmur, all innocence, but your eyes spark with mischief.

"this." he gestures vaguely between you, at the way your thumb rubs circles into his palm. "acting like i'm—"

"like you're what?" you interrupt, leaning in until your breath ghosts over his lips. "worth loving?"

he flinches like you've struck him. "that's not—"

"too bad," you whisper, and kiss him before he can protest further. and god help him, he kisses back, hands clutching at your waist like you're the only thing keeping him grounded.

(he was made for blood and brutality. but maybe—just maybe—he could learn to be made for this too.)

honey, that’s how it sleeps

the nightmares come less often when you’re there—when he can feel the steady rhythm of your breathing against his chest, when your warmth seeps into his bones like sunlight through cracked blinds. he’ll never say it out loud, but he sleeps deeper with your limbs tangled in his, with your head tucked under his chin like you belong there. (you do.)

one night, after a particularly bad mission, you catch him staring at you in the dim light, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

“what?” you murmur, voice thick with sleep, blinking up at him.

“nothing,” he mutters, but his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer.

you smirk against his collarbone. “you’re such a liar.”

he huffs, but doesn’t deny it, just presses his lips to your forehead in a silent confession.

don’t let it in with no intention to keep it

his hands are rough when they grab your wrists, pinning them to the mattress as he hovers over you, breath ragged. "this isn't a game," he grits out, eyes dark with something dangerous. "i'm not some fucking toy you can pick up when it's convenient and toss aside when you're bored."

you tilt your chin up, defiant even as your pulse jumps under his grip. "who said anything about tossing you aside?"

"don't," he warns, voice dropping to that low growl that makes your stomach flip. "don't act like you don't know what you do to me. like you haven't always known."

your smile is all sharp edges and sweetness. "maybe i like what i do to you."

he exhales sharply through his nose, grip tightening just enough to make you gasp. "then you better be prepared to deal with the consequences, sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning down until his lips brush your ear. "because if you let me in, i'm not leaving. ever."

(he means it. he'll ruin anyone who tries to take him away from you—including himself.)

"who says i'd let you out?" you answer, voice just as raw, just as wrecked, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you loosen your grip. the look on his face mirrors yours—something desperate, something starving—and for a heartbeat, neither of you moves. "i lost you once before, i'm never losing you again."

jesus christ, don’t be kind to it

your kindness is worse than cruelty. the way you cup his face like he’s something precious, the way you press feather-light kisses to every scar—each one a silent i love you, i love you, i love you—it undoes him completely. he knows how to take a punch, how to bleed and keep fighting, but this? this tenderness? it terrifies him more than any enemy ever could.

"stop," he rasps when you trace the jagged line along his ribs—a souvenir from a fight he barely walked away from. his voice cracks, rough with something too close to vulnerability. "you don’t have to—"

"i know," you interrupt softly, lips brushing the raised skin before you look up at him, eyes warm as sunlight. "i want to."

and that’s the thing that wrecks him most of all—that you choose this, choose him, even when he’s all sharp edges and broken pieces. your fingers card through his hair, gentle as a summer breeze, and he leans into the touch before he can stop himself.

honey, don’t feed it, it will come back

he always comes back. no matter how many times he tells himself this is the last time, no matter how many miles he puts between you, his feet always find their way to your doorstep—bruised, breathless, and aching. tonight is no different. the second you open the door, he’s on you, hands rough as they pin you against the wall, his mouth hot and desperate against yours.

“told you not to let me in,” he growls between kisses, teeth scraping your bottom lip. “told you i’d come back.”

you laugh, breathless, arching into him as his fingers dig into your hips. “like you could stay away,” you taunt, dragging your nails down his back just to hear him groan.

he nips at your throat in retaliation, sucking a bruise into your skin as his hands roam, claiming, possessive. “fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “you ruin me.”

you know better, babe, you know better, babe

you smile at him, all sunshine and sharp edges, and he aches—not just with want, but with something terrifyingly tender that coils tight in his chest. he knows better than to reach for it, knows better than to let himself believe he could have this. but then your fingers brush against his, tentative and warm, and something in him cracks open.

"jason," you murmur, thumb tracing slow circles over his knuckles—the same hands that have done unspeakable things, now trembling under your touch. "you can hold my hand, you know. i won’t break."

he hesitates, breath catching, before his fingers finally—finally—intertwine with yours, clumsy and unsure. "...this okay?" he mutters, voice rough, like he’s bracing for you to pull away.

you squeeze his hand, grinning up at him like he’s just given you the world. "more than okay," you whisper, leaning in until your forehead rests against his. "perfect, actually."

than to smile at me, smile at me like that

like he's something precious. like he's something yours—a secret treasure you found buried in the wreckage and decided to keep. it makes his chest too tight, makes his hands shake with the effort of not reaching for you, not crushing you against him until you can't tell where he ends and you begin. he wants to bite that smile off your lips, wants to swallow it whole so it lives inside him forever.

"quit it," he grits out when you catch him staring, your grin widening like you've won something.

"stop what?" you tease, leaning in until your breath ghosts over his mouth. "smiling at my boyfriend?"

the word—boyfriend—sends a jolt through him. his fingers twitch toward you before he can stop them, catching in the fabric of your shirt. "you know what you're doing," he accuses, voice low.

you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, feather-light. "yeah," you admit, laughing when he finally snaps and drags you in. "and you love it."

you know better babe, you know better babe

he’s told you. he’s told you—with rough words and scowls and hands that push you away even when they tremble with the need to pull you closer. but you still curl into him like you belong there, still press your cold nose against the pulse point in his neck like you’re memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat. and the worst part? he’s starting to let you.

tonight, when you burrow under his arm with a sleepy sigh, he doesn’t stiffen. doesn’t grumble. his breath hitches, just once, before his arm settles around your shoulders, pulling you in like he’s been waiting for this all along.

"...comfortable?" he mutters, voice gruff but lacking its usual edge.

you hum, nuzzling closer. "mhm. you’re warm."

his fingers flex against your side, hesitant, before they start tracing idle patterns on your hip—his version of an apology, a confession, a please don’t let go.

than to hold me just, hold me just like that

your arms around him are a vice, a salvation, the only thing anchoring him to this world when the memories threaten to drag him under. he should pull away—shouldn’t let you cling to something so broken, shouldn’t let himself believe he deserves this. but then your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding tight like you’re afraid he’ll disappear again, and something in him cracks open.

"...you’re gonna suffocate me," he mumbles, but there’s no bite to it, just a rough edge of something tender he’s still learning to name.

you laugh against his collarbone, warm and bright. "liar," you murmur, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. "you love this."

he should deny it. should shove you off and retreat to the shadows where he belongs. but instead, his arms tighten around you—just a fraction, just enough to feel the way your breath hitches—and he ducks his head to press his lips to your hair.

"...shut up," he mutters, but it’s ruined by the way his voice cracks, by the way his hands tremble where they rest against your back.

i know who i am when i’m alone

alone, he’s sharp edges and old blood, the metallic taste of violence thick on his tongue. alone, he’s the red hood—a monster stitched together from Gotham’s rot, a ghost wearing a dead boy’s face. sometimes, in the quiet, he thinks maybe he should’ve stayed buried. maybe the world would’ve been kinder if he’d never clawed his way out of that grave.

but then you’re there, your warmth pressing against his back, your fingers threading through his like you’re trying to pull him out of his own head.

"jay," you murmur, soft but insistent, "come back to me."

his breath hitches. he should shrug you off, should snap that he’s not something you can fix. but instead, he turns his hand over, palm-up, an unspoken invitation. your fingers slot between his like they belong there, and he exhales shakily.

"...’m here," he mutters, rough but honest.

you press a kiss to his knuckles, gentle as dawn light. "good," you whisper. "stay."

(he will. for you, he’ll try.)

i’m something else when i see you

with you, he’s just jason—not the red hood, not the ghost, not the boy who should’ve stayed dead. just jason, who loves too hard with hands that have known too much blood, who wants too much when he deserves so little. it terrifies him, this fragile thing between you, like one wrong move could shatter it all. and you—god, you’re just as broken, just as scarred, always waiting for the day he doesn’t come back, always counting his breaths like each one might be the last.

tonight, he finds you curled into yourself, knees to your chest, staring blankly at the door like you’re already mourning him. his chest aches. he doesn’t know how to fix this—doesn’t know if he can. but he kneels in front of you anyway, hands hovering like he’s afraid to touch.

"...hey," he murmurs, voice rough. "i’m here."

you look up, eyes red-rimmed, and your breath stutters. "for how long?" you whisper, the question hanging between you like a guillotine.

he doesn’t have an answer. doesn’t know how to promise something he might not be able to keep. so he does the only thing he can—he pulls you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin, holding you so tight it almost hurts. "long as i can," he breathes into your hair.

your fingers clutch at his shirt, desperate. "that’s not enough," you choke out.

he knows. god, he knows. but he presses a kiss to your temple anyway, slow and lingering, trying to pour every unspoken i love you into it. "i know," he admits, voice cracking. "but it’s all i got."

you don’t understand, you should never know

you don’t realize the power you have—how one touch from you could bring him to his knees, how he’d carve out his own ribs if it meant keeping you safe. (he hopes you never find out.) but that night, with your lips on his and your hands tugging at his belt, he’s not thinking about hiding. he’s not thinking at all.

"jason," you gasp as he pins you to the mattress, his body covering yours like a shield, like a prayer. "are you sure—?"

his answer is a growl against your throat, teeth scraping your pulse point as his hands map every inch of you, desperate and reverent. "shut up," he breathes, but there’s no heat in it, just a raw ache. "just—fuck, just let me have this."

you arch into him, nails dragging down his back, and he swears he sees stars. "you have me," you whisper, voice breaking as he finally, finally sinks into you. "all of me."

(and that’s the thing—he doesn’t have you. you have him, heart and soul, and he’s too far gone to even care.)

how easy you are to need

it’s pathetic, really. the way he craves you—not just in the heat of battle or the dark of night, but in the quiet moments too. the way you hum off-key while making coffee, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh, the way you sigh in your sleep like the world can’t touch you here. it’s too much. it’s not enough.

tonight, he watches you bathed in moonlight, fingers tracing the slope of your shoulder like he’s memorizing his favourite verse of a poem. you stir under his touch, blinking up at him with sleep-soft eyes.

"why’re you staring?" you murmur, voice thick with drowsiness.

his thumb brushes your cheekbone, reverent. "just thinking," he admits, quieter than the rustle of sheets.

you turn into his palm, pressing a kiss to his pulse point. "about?"

he swallows. "how you’re like sunlight," he starts, haltingly, "even when you’re not trying to be." it’s clumsy, poetic in a way that makes his ears burn, but it’s true—you warm him from the inside out, melt the frost in his veins until he’s just a man, just jason, just yours.

your smile is slow, sweet. "say that again," you tease, but your eyes are shining.

"shut up," he grumbles, pulling you closer until your laughter vibrates against his chest.

(he’ll never tell you how easy it is to need you. but he’ll show you, every day, in every touch, for as long as you let him.)

don’t let me in with no intention to keep me

he’s not asking. he’s warning—voice rough like gravel, hands trembling where they frame your face. if you let him in, if you peel back his armor and see the broken thing beneath, he’s not leaving. he’ll carve a place between your ribs and make a home there, ruin you for anyone else, love you until it hurts.

"you sure about this?" he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaky. "i’m not—i don’t know how to do this right."

you kiss him anyway, slow and sweet, fingers carding through his hair like he’s something precious. "good thing i don’t need you to be perfect," you whisper against his lips. "just yours."

his breath hitches. he kisses you back like he’s drowning, like you’re air, hands sliding down to grip your waist—gentler now, but no less desperate. "...mine," he repeats, testing the word, and it sounds so right.

jesus christ, don’t be kind to me

your kindness is a knife, twisting deeper every time you look at him like he’s worth something. your love is a live wire, sparking through his veins until he’s breathless with it. he can’t take it—the way you reach for him first, fingers lacing through his without hesitation, the way you press kisses to his scars like they’re something holy. but god, he’ll take anything you give him.

tonight, it’s him who initiates, catching your wrist as you pass by and pulling you into his lap with a quiet grunt. you yelp, then melt against him instantly, laughter bubbling up as his arms tighten around you.

"missed me?" you tease, tilting your head to nuzzle against his jaw.

his nose brushes your temple, inhaling the scent of your shampoo like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. "shut up," he mumbles, but there’s no heat in it—just a rough tenderness that makes your chest ache.

you pull back just enough to cup his face, thumbs brushing the dark circles under his eyes. "you’re so pretty," you murmur, hopelessly, helplessly in love.

he flushes, scowling, but leans into your touch anyway. "you’re such a sap," he mutters, before kissing you—soft, slow, and so painfully sweet it steals your breath. as if he hasn't said cheesier things in his head about you.

honey, don’t feed me, i will come back

he always does. no matter how many times he grumbles about needing space, no matter how dramatically he flops onto the couch complaining about your terrible taste in movies, he always circles back—drawn to you like gravity, like his bones know they belong wherever you are. and now? now he doesn’t even pretend to resist.

today, he catches you mid-eyeroll as you reorganize his haphazard stack of books (alphabetized by color, what the hell—), and before you can protest, he’s lifting you clear off the ground, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"jason!" you shriek, kicking halfheartedly as he carries you toward the bedroom. "i was fixing your chaos!"

"ruining my system, you mean," he counters, giving your thigh a light smack just to hear you squawk. "besides, you’re way more fun when you’re not judging my life choices."

you pinch his side in retaliation, grinning when he yelps. "oh, so now you admit i’m fun?"

he dumps you onto the mattress, looming over you with a smirk. "shut up," he mutters, but he’s already leaning down to kiss you, swallowing your laughter like it’s his favorite flavor.

it can’t be unlearned

he’s tasted your mouth, your skin, your laughter—memorized the way you arch beneath him, the way your breath hitches when his teeth graze that spot just below your ear. he’s ruined for anything else, addicted to the way you fall apart in his hands, and now? now he doesn’t hesitate to take what he wants.

tonight, he pins you to the sheets with a hunger that borders on desperation, hands roaming like he’s mapping a religion he’ll never stop worshipping. “mine,” he growls against your throat, and the way you shudder—like the word alone is enough to undo you—sends a thrill down his spine.

afterward, when the air is thick with sweat and the scent of you, he surprises even himself by pulling you close, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

“...okay?” he murmurs, voice rough but softer now, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip.

you hum, nuzzling into his chest with a contented sigh. "more than okay," you mumble, already half-asleep. "you?"

he huffs a laugh, tucking the blanket around you both. "could go for a few more rounds," jason teases, voice thick with exhaustion but still grinning as he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

you laugh—soft and breathless, the sound curling warm in his chest. "oh my god, jay."

"alright, fine," he concedes, already pulling you closer as his breathing evens out. "sleep it is." but the way his arms lock around you, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish by morning, says everything his voice won’t.

i’ve known the warmth of your doorways

your home is his—the creak of the floorboards, the way your sheets smell like that cheap lavender detergent you swear by, the half-empty coffee mugs left scattered on the counter because neither of you can be bothered to clean up properly. your bed is his, with its too-soft pillows and the way you always steal the blankets, leaving him to grumble and pull you closer just to steal your warmth instead. your heart is his, beating steady under his palm when he wakes from nightmares to find you already watching him, fingers carding through his hair before he even has to ask. (he’s not giving it back. he couldn’t if he tried.)

tonight, it’s him who reaches for you first once more, catching your wrist as you walk by and tugging you into his lap with a quiet "c’mere." you go willingly, laughing as he nuzzles into the curve of your neck, his arms locking around your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

"since when do you initiate cuddles?" you tease, but your hands are already sliding into his hair, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck the way he likes.

he hums, low and content, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "since you ruined me," he mumbles, like it’s a confession, like it’s the easiest truth he’s ever spoken.

(he has. you have. and neither of you would change a thing.)

through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you

no matter how far he goes, no matter how lost he gets in the blood and the noise and the weight of his own ghosts, he’ll always come back. you’re his north star, his fixed point—the only thing that makes sense in this godforsaken city. tonight, he watches you from the rooftops, silhouetted against the neon glow of gotham’s skyline as you move through the fight below. you’re beautiful like this, all sharp edges and fluid motion, but his stomach twists when he sees you take a hit, when blood blooms dark against your sleeve.

he’s there before you can stumble, his hands steady as he hauls you into the shadows of an alleyway. "hold still," he mutters, voice rough with worry as he presses a gloved hand to the wound. you hiss but don’t pull away, your breath warm against his jaw as he works.

"since when do you play medic?" you tease, though your voice is tight with pain.

he doesn’t answer, just peels back the fabric of your suit with careful fingers, his touch reverent as he cleans the cut. when he’s done, he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth—soft, clumsy, lingering—before lifting your hand to his mouth and brushing his lips over your bruised knuckles. "don’t do that again," he murmurs, but it’s not an order. it’s a plea.

you smile, thumb stroking the stubble along his jaw. "make me," you whisper, and the way he leans into your touch says everything he won’t.

(he’ll always come back. and you’ll always be there, waiting.)

oh, please, give me mercy no more

"apologise, and maybe i'll think about going easy on you."

you laugh, bright and teasing, when he pins you to the mattress, his hips pressing yours deep into the sheets. "offering me mercy, jay?" you gasp, like the concept is foreign, back arching as he drags his teeth down your throat. "since when do you believe in mercy?"

he doesn’t answer—not with words, anyway. instead, he sinks into you in one slow, deliberate thrust, the stretch so perfect it punches the air from your lungs. he groans, forehead dropping to yours as he bottoms out, the heat of you clenching around him like you were made to take him. "fuck," he grits out, voice wrecked already. "you feel—" but he can’t finish, too lost in the way your nails dig into his shoulders, the way your thighs tremble around his waist.

he sets a punishing pace, each snap of his hips dragging a broken sound from your lips. "jason—" you whimper, fingers twisting in the sheets.

"look at me," he demands, voice rough, and when you do—when your eyes meet his, hazy with pleasure—something in his chest cracks open. suddenly, he’s imagining more than just this: lazy mornings tangled in your limbs, a house with too many windows, maybe even a tiny human with your sense of humour and his temper. the thought is so terrifyingly sweet it makes him falter, his rhythm stuttering.

you notice, of course. "where’d you go?" you pant, hips rolling to meet his.

he shakes his head, thrusts deeper, harder, until you’re gasping. "nowhere," he lies, but the way his hands cradle your face, the way his lips brush yours like a promise, says otherwise.

(he wants it all. and one day, he’ll tell you.)

that’s a kindness you can’t afford

he’s not kind—not in the way that matters, not when his hands are stained and his heart’s been carved out too many times to count. but you, with your stupid, stubborn hope, keep offering it anyway. tonight, it’s in the way you press a kiss to his scarred knuckles, like he’s something fragile, something worth gentleness. it makes his chest ache.

“stop,” he rasps, fingers twitching in your grip. “i told you this before, you don’t gotta—”

“i know,” you interrupt, lips quirking. “i want to.”

your thumb traces the ridge of his knuckles, slow and deliberate, and he should pull away. should remind you he’s not built for softness. but then you lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his jaw, and whisper, “guess you’re just stuck with me being nice.”

he huffs, but his hand turns under yours, palm-up, fingers curling to catch yours before you can retreat. “...reckless,” he mutters, but the way his thumb brushes your wrist is tender, almost apologetic.

(you are. and he’s not sorry at all.)

i warn you, babe, each night, as sure as you’re born

he tells you. every time. don’t start what you can’t finish. you never listen.

(like that first night he came back—really came back—when he appeared outside your window like some half-feral ghost, all sharp edges and haunted eyes. the fire escape creaked under his weight, the cold metal biting through his gloves as he hesitated, knuckles hovering just shy of the glass. he shouldn’t be here. shouldn’t let you see him like this, still smelling of blood and gotham’s rot. but god, he missed you.)

then the curtain twitched, and there you were—sleep-rumpled and wide-eyed, your breath fogging the pane as you stared at him like he was the answer to a prayer you’d never said out loud.

“...jason?” your voice was barely a whisper, cracked open with something like hope.

he swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists. “go back to bed,” he muttered, rough as gravel. “this ain’t—you don’t want this.”

but you were already unlatching the window, already reaching for him with hands that didn’t shake. “shut up,” you breathed, and then you were pulling him inside, your arms wrapping around him so tight he couldn’t tell where his trembling ended and yours began.

“i told you—” he started, but his voice broke, his face buried in your hair like he could memorize the scent of you.

“i know,” you interrupted, fingers gripping the back of his jacket like you were afraid he’d vanish. “i don’t care.”

you’ll hear me howling outside your door

you always let him in.

(like today, when the two of you are walking along the beach, barefoot and carefree, the golden hour sun painting everything in warm hues. the sand is soft under your toes, the waves lapping at your ankles as you laugh over some stupid childhood memory—that time he tried to bake cookies and nearly set the kitchen on fire, or when you tripped over your own feet trying to impress him with a skateboard trick. his laughter is rough but bright, unfiltered in a way it rarely is, and it makes your chest ache with how much you love him.)

then, because you’ve never been able to resist, you shove him playfully, sending him stumbling into the surf with a yelp. “oh, you’re dead,” he growls, but there’s no real threat in it, just that fond exasperation he reserves only for you. he lunges, catching you around the waist, and the two of you go down in a tangle of limbs and saltwater, the waves swallowing your shrieks of laughter.

you come up sputtering, coughing as you accidentally swallow a mouthful of the ocean. “tastes like shit,” you wheeze, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

he’s no better, blinking furiously as the water stings his eyes. “serves you right,” he mutters, but he’s already reaching for you, his hands gentle as they brush the wet hair from your face.

“worth it,” you grin, leaning into his touch.

he rolls his eyes, but the way his thumb traces your cheekbone is achingly tender. “idiot,” he murmurs, and it sounds like i love you.

don’t you hear me howling, babe?

you always will.

bullets ping off the metal crates you’re crouched behind, the sharp scent of gunpowder thick in the air. jason’s pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with you, his breath warm against your ear as he grins, wild and bright. "told you this was a bad idea," he says, like he’s not having the time of his life.

"you love my bad ideas," you shoot back, peeking over the crate just long enough to return fire. a man yelps as your shot grazes his arm, and jason barks out a laugh, loud enough to startle the goons into hesitating.

"showoff," he mutters, but there’s pride in his voice as he leans around the corner and takes down two men with precise shots. you cover him without missing a beat, your movements synced like you share the same pulse.

when the last thug hits the ground, the warehouse falls silent except for your shared, ragged breathing. jason turns to you, blood smeared across his cheekbone, and you reach out, thumb brushing it away. "messy," you tease.

"you love it," he counters, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm, right over the bruise forming from where you’d punched someone too hard.

the walk back to his bike is slow, the adrenaline fading into something softer. you bump his shoulder, grinning. "can’t wait to deal with this bullshit every day when we’re married."

his heart stutters in his chest, so loud he's half-afraid you'll hear it. his right hand curls instinctively in his pocket, thumb brushing against gold—the same way it has every day for weeks, checking, reassuring. the weight of what he's about to do tightens his throat, makes your casual words echo like church bells in his skull. when we're married. like it's inevitable. like he hasn't been lying awake rehearsing this moment for months. "yeah?" he manages, voice rougher than the gunfight warranted. the smile that tugs at his lips is helpless, unbearably soft. "...me neither."

(he looks at you then—really looks. the way the streetlights halo your hair, the way your smile cuts through the grime and exhaustion like sunlight. he wants to memorize this, wants to carve it into his ribs so he never forgets the way you love him, reckless and relentless.

"c’mon," he murmurs, nodding toward a quieter street. "let’s go somewhere else first."

you raise a brow but follow, because you always do.

and tonight, he’ll kneel on the rooftop where you first kissed—where the city lights painted your face in gold and he realized he’d never love anything as much as he loves you—ring in hand, voice trembling just once as he asks you to keep following. forever.)

WOAH this one was a long one—6.5k words??? i'm literally crying right now as i wrote this last part cause like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it took me 4 hours... 4 FUCKING HOURS TO WRITE THIS AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE IT I NEED MORE I NEED MORE OF JASON (as if i don't have the ability to write more of this.......)

[rosecoloredsunshine]

honey, you're familiar — james patrick march

masterlist | character.ai bot | part two

PAIRINGS: james patrick march x female!reader

SUMMARY: you are the reincarnation of his greatest love, the woman who mysteriously vanished from his life in the 1920s. though you have no memory of your past life, you are an exact replica of the woman he adored.

REMINDERS: please be reminded that this is a work of fiction. meaning that all events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. any resemblance to actual life events and people, living or dead, are all purely coincidence.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, reincarnation, slight implication of reader being murdered (if you squint enough), the countess does not exist in this fic, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! i've been rewatching ahs, and i wanted to give it a try writing for the ahs fandom. this will also be my first time writing for the ahs fandom. i also made a character.ai for this fic that is linked just above. i hope that you guys will enjoy this one! :)

2015

The night air was unseasonably cold for Los Angeles. You had stepped out of the cab with a soft huff, wrapping your coat tighter around your body as you glanced up at the building that stood before you. The Hotel Cortez. It loomed like a relic of another era, gothic and imposing, the dark stonework catching the dim city lights in odd angles. Truth be told, it wasn't your first choice, it was far from it, but after calling around every hotel in the city, it was the only place left with a vacancy. You had hesitated for a brief moment in the cab, chewing the insides of your cheeks, but what other option did you have?

Inside of the building, the lobby was a different world. Grand, in an old Hollywood kind of way, but there was something off. Maybe it was the silence, or the way the golden fixtures gleamed too brightly, as if they were watching you. You have your luggage in tow behind you, the sound of wheels clattering against marble floors echoing through the space.

From behind the front desk, a woman perked up at your approach. She was a much older woman, thin lips pulled tight over perfect teeth, hair styled in an immaculate bouffant that screamed another decade. Her name tag read Iris.

“Welcome to the Hotel Cortez,” she said brightly, but her eyes didn't seem to match the warmth in her voice. “Checking in?”

You nodded at her. “I need a room for the night…maybe two.”

Iris’ fingers clicked across the keyboard, an ancient looking machine that still required a punch of force on each key. “Well, lucky you,” she said, “we’ve got one left. Seems like the city’s just full up tonight.”

She then slid a paper across to you, pushing a fountain pen along with it. “Sign here, please.”

As you scrawled your signature across the page, you felt something in the air had shifted. It was subtle at first, like the faintest change in pressure before a storm. You did not notice it, but he did.

James Patrick March was standing on the mezzanine above, his hands resting on the brass railing as he stared down at you with eyes wide, unblinking. He had not known fear in his lifetime, he’s the kind of man who reveled in control, carnage, in bending fate to his will. His usual smirk was absent, replaced with something that is raw, something akin to disbelief.

His mind could not accept it at first. It had been nearly a century since he had last seen you. Since you had vanished without a trace, leaving him to scour the world for any whisper of your presence. But now, James watched as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, just the way you always had. Your fingers were delicate, graceful, as if they belonged on piano keys. Your profile turned toward Iris was devastatingly familiar, the high curve of your cheekbone, the sharpness of your fox-like gaze, even as your eyes darted so casually across the lobby in a way that suggested this place unsettled you.

You are here. His lost love. His obsession. His salvation and his damnation.

James’ chest constricted. You were unchanged. Not merely similar, but the same. Perfect. Flawless. As if God himself had honored James’ desperate plea for your return, despite his profound aversion to the Christian values. He descended the stairs without realizing he had moved, the sharp click of his shoes announcing his approach. Iris noticed him first and immediately stiffened. You did not see him at first, too busy retrieving your wallet from your bag.

“Sir,” Iris said, voice lower, deferential.

James’ voice was honey-drenched steel. “I will handle this guest personally, Iris.”

You turned then, startled. For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause. He stood before you, immaculate in a three-piece suit from another age, posture unnaturally straight, predatory yet elegant. His mustache was neatly groomed, and his dark eyes were captivating. It was as if they burned into you with such intensity that you took a small step back without thinking.

“I—” you began, voice soft and uncertain. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

His smile was slow, it was like a knife slipping beneath flesh. But there was something else there. Reverence and awe. “You will,” James replied, voice low and velvety. “In time.”

There was an unsettling calm to him, like the eye of a hurricane. Iris handed you an old-fashioned key on a brass fob before scuttling away, leaving you alone with the man.

James gestured toward the elevators. “Permit me to escort you to your room. It is the least I can do for a guest of your…exquisite standing.”

You briefly hesitated, but politeness was second nature. It had been drilled into you at finishing school, and this man spoke with such an archaic elegance, like he had directly stepped out of a Fitzgerald novel.

You offered a wary smile. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

As he walked beside you, pace measured, James studied every delicate angle of your face. They way you held yourself, graceful and poised, just as he remembered. Your perfume was different, more lighter, but your skin—he could almost swear, still smelled faintly of rose and sandalwood.

“I’m James,” he said as you reached the elevator. “James Patrick March, the owner of this hotel.”

You nodded. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

The elevator doors opened with a groan, and he ushered you in, following closely. As the doors slid shut, you glanced at him, feeling the weight of his stare.

“What is it?” you asked softly.

James tilted his head, smiling in a way that made your stomach twist, half-charm and half-sinister. “Forgive me. You remind me of someone…very dear to me.”

You flushed faint at his words, but nodded, really unsure of what to say. As the floors ticked upward, James kept his hands behind his back, concealing how they trembled with restraint. He wanted to touch you, just to confirm that you were real. That you were flesh, and not some cruel hallucinations that had been conjured by centuries of longing.

When the doors opened, he stepped aside and let you lead the way, gaze never straying from you for an instant. You walked to the door that Iris had assigned you—room 64. He took the key from your hand with a touch that sent a straight shiver up your spine and opened the door for you. You crossed the threshold, feeling the strange energy of the room settle over you like a veil. As you set your bag down, James remained in the doorway, just watching.

His eyes darkened as he spoke again. “If there is anything, anything, that you require, you need only ask.”

You turned to him with a gracious nod, still smiling politely, though something about his intensity gnawed at you. “I appreciate it, Mr. March. Goodnight.”

James took a breath, lips parting as if to say something more. But he did not. Instead, he gently grabbed your hand and kissed it softly, as though you were a queen and he was a loyal knight.

“Goodnight, my dear.”

The door shut softly, but he stood there for a long time, staring at the wood as though he could see through it. His mind reeled. You were here, at his hotel. Alive. Returned. Though you bore no memory of the life you once shared, of the nights he whispered secrets into your ear and how your voice had caressed his name like a prayer as you lay tangled in his arms, of the dreams he had for the empire he was building with your beauty at its heart—he would remind you.

James would awaken the love you held for him. Brick by brick, memory by memory, he would reconstruct you into the woman who once adored him with such fierce devotion, and this time, you would never leave the Hotel Cortez. One thing was certain—James Patrick March did not believe in coincidences. Fate had returned you to him, and he had no intention of letting you go a second time, so he wasted no time and descended the stairs to find Iris.

He turned to Iris. “Send her dinner, something divine. And Iris…”

“Yes, Mr. March?”

James’ gaze was gleaming. “Nobody disturbs her. She is not to leave. The lady of the house is home at last.”

Then slowly, he smiled.

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[p0orbaby]

Eden or Armageddon

summary: because we can’t keep tearing each other apart

warnings: (inexplicit) breakup sex

a/n: im sorry okay!

word count: 705

-

Room 317.

The gates of hell. The stairway to heaven. The break of dawn and the clap of thunder.

Your hands are trembling, from rage or excitement you don't know. The why does not seem to matter anymore. But you are here, standing in the corridor of some expensive hotel ready to strip yourself bare for a stranger.

A stranger you hate to love and love to hate.

You scan the keycard and are greeted with a beep and a click and a sharp intake of breath. Everything is quiet, apart from the rain outside and the beating of your heart and the faint shuffle from behind the wood.

Alexia is pacing. You can tell.

Finally you exhale and push the door open. The first thing you notice is how big the room is. A waste of money for just one night, no, you will not be sleeping here. A waste of money for what may only add up to an hour. But it’s her money not yours, and she always did like fucking you up against floor to ceiling windows.

The second thing you notice is Alexia’s state of undress. Sports bra, training shorts, socks. Perhaps she has not long come from using the hotel gym. Perhaps she thinks you will fall to your knees at the mere sight of her body. She is beautiful, yes. But beauty fades.

She stops pacing and her eyes meet yours. You fell in love with her eyes first. Then her hands. You fell in love with her as a whole when she looked you in the eyes as she fingered you in the back of her car.

She’d won a trophy that night.

She stops in her tracks when you drop your bag to the floor.

As if by habit you are drawn to her. A magnet pulling you in the direction of A marks the spot. You hate that your body craves something that gives you so much pain. She stands her ground as you get reeled in one final time.

You promise.

You close the distance in a heartbeat, your lips crashing together in a desperate, bruising kiss. It isn’t gentle. Teeth clash, tongues tangle, and hands roam with a ferocity that matches the storm outside.

Clothes are torn away with a frantic urgency, fabric ripping, buttons popping. There is no tenderness in your movements, only a primal need to feel, to consume each other one last time. You push her onto the bed, your hands gripping her wrists, pinning her down as you devour her mouth with yours.

Her nails rake down your back, leaving marks that will sting for days, a reminder of this final, violent act of love. Your bodies collide, a raw, elemental dance of need and anger. Each thrust is a battle of pleasure and pain, every movement a tribute to the intensity of what you shared.

The room is filled with the sounds of your lovemaking—the slap of skin against skin, the guttural moans, the ragged breaths. There is no softness, no whispered words of love, only the brutal, unfiltered expression of your passion and your suffering.

As you reach the peak together, your bodies tense, shuddering with the force of your release. You collapse onto the bed, limbs tangled, hearts pounding in a disordered rhythm. The silence that follows is deafening, the only sound the rain outside, a steady backdrop to your heartbreak.

You lay there for what felt like an eternity, clinging to each other as if you could hold on to the remnants of your love. But eventually, reality seeps in. You have to leave, to walk away from this love that has consumed you both for too long.

You disentangle yourself, getting dressed in the heavy silence, Alexia’s eyes following your every move. You reach the door, pausing for a moment, your hand on the handle. You look back at her one last time, your heart breaking all over again.

Without a word, you step out into the hallway, the door closing behind you with a final, resounding click. The rain continues to pour as you walk into the cold, wet night, each step feeling like a piece of your soul was being left behind.

[dalliancekay]

A Pinned Post!

Hi, so, I thought I should do this, in case someone at some point will decide to click on my profile.

AO3

Hmm, my AO3 is basically a bunch of one shots 🍹, sometimes loosely banded into series. But honestly, most of them are just - thinly veiled porn, designed to make one angel and one demon very happy - disguised as stories. See for yourself:

Post S2 musings of various kind (always kind to Aziraphale! ⚔️)

Gentle Dom Aziraphale my beloved

Eden/God related fics

Soft/Fluffy Post-Everything ficlets (don't forget to brush your teeth after)

And there's more!

Good Omens Metas

'Or unhinged ways Kay defends Aziraphale ⚔️⚔️⚔️' This is but a small selection, you can (probably) find more under #kaypost tag But 🍑 - some of my favourites:

Aziraphale is perfect

Bandstand and Final 15

Why didn't Aziraphale tell Crowley everything…

Somebody threatens Crowley

Help

Aziraphale, misogyny and the female character treatment

Aziraphale and Manipulation

Aziraphale needs to finally learn…

Gentle Dom Aziraphale

On How Aziraphale Protects and Loves Crowley

"There is no 'our side', Crowley!"

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you.”

Aziraphale as God

Crowley's Rank

The 'Aziraphale Still Believes in Heaven' Take

Aziraphale vs Shostakovich

"Shut Your Stupid Mouth And Die Already."

Look. I'm glad you've never been in an abusive relationship but…

AFTER

Angel vs demon colours

Crowley Knows Aziraphale

What if this mirrors another conversation…

Aziraphale loves Crowley but…

Crowley is not stupid, Aziraphale is not an idiot and other assorted thoughts

Whoa! That's quite a few... but I guess I can't just link them all. Anyway! Enjoy or ignore, however you please.

Ciao!

[hy6erion]

The one Rule — Part 1

Désiré Doué x Reader

synopsis: you’re in Ibiza with your brother Achraf and his teammates—one of them being the one man you’ve been told to stay away from. you pretend you don’t care but the tension builds fast. teasing touches, stolen glances, filthy nights that leave you breathless. you don’t even like him… right? still, he’s everywhere. And he’s not playing fair

cw: fem! reader, explicit, fingering, oral (m receiving)

< prologue part 1 part 2 >

Ibiza, Day 2

The villa in Ibiza is too big for its own good.

White stone walls, sun-bleached terraces, glass doors that open straight into a view of the sea so blue it almost looks fake. There are twelve of you here, give or take a few stragglers—footballers, friends, girls with half-zipped dresses and unbothered sunglasses, and of course, your brother. Achraf rented the whole place for the week.

He told you it was a chance to unwind, to enjoy “a real summer” before you went back to school. You weren’t dumb. You knew he also wanted to keep you under his eye.

You knew what—or more specifically, who—he was trying to keep you away from.

You can feel the heat in your teeth.

It’s the kind of sun that melts the inside of your bones, wrapping your skin in gold and salt, and dragging the hours out until you lose track of time. The pool glitters like a spilled jewel in the center of the private villa, blinding under the midday sun. Your brother went all in—beachfront, a rooftop hot tub, a private chef who makes fresh smoothies and eggs in the morning like this is some sanitized, rich-kid version of Eden.

You’re lounging at the far end of the pool, sunglasses down, bikini damp, book open across your stomach but unread. The music is low and thumping from someone’s speaker. Glass clinks. Someone laughs.

He’s in the water.

You don’t mean to look. You really don’t. But your eyes find him anyway.

Désiré.

Half-submerged. Leaning against the wall of the pool with one arm stretched across the edge, like he owns the place. Water beads on his chest, gliding slow down the dark line of muscle that disappears beneath the waistband of his swim shorts. His mouth curls up at something one of the other guys says, and he grins—white teeth, warm eyes, dimple flashing. Like this is easy. Like he doesn’t see the tension wrapped tight around your throat like piano wire.

He hasn’t spoken to you since Paris.

Not really.

Not unless you count the way his gaze drops when you pass him in those tiny sundresses. Or the way his shoulder brushes yours just a little too deliberately when you squeeze past each other in the hallway. Or the way he never, ever looks away first.

You swallow and sit up.

The sun slides over your shoulders. You reach for your towel, slowly—aware of the way your wet bikini hugs your curves, aware of the silence that always seems to follow when he’s watching you, even from across the pool.

You glance up.

Sure enough, his eyes are on you.

Direct. Dark. Focused like a threat.

He doesn’t smile this time.

Just watches.

And it makes your stomach twist.

⸻

Later.

It’s dark by the time the dinner plates are cleared, and the night air smells like sea salt and citrus. Everyone’s a little sun-drunk, a little tipsy, lounging on cushions out by the terrace with beers and half-lit joints and music that fades in and out of someone’s Bluetooth speaker. Achraf is talking animatedly with one of his teammates about something that happened last season. You’re perched on the low edge of a lounger, nursing a spritz, trying to pretend you’re not hyperaware of the weight of Désiré’s stare from across the firepit.

You feel it. Like gravity pulling sideways.

When you stand to go inside—just for more ice, nothing dramatic—you hear footsteps behind you.

The kitchen’s quiet. Cooler. The hum of the fridge is the only sound.

You open the freezer, reach for the ice tray, and then—

The door clicks shut behind you.

You don’t turn around. You already know who it is.

The sound of his voice is low, almost amused. “You keep running away from me.”

You laugh under your breath and drop a handful of ice into your glass. “You keep following me.”

“I never said I wasn’t curious.”

Now you turn. Lean back against the counter, sip your drink. “About what?”

He’s close. A few feet away. Black shirt, sleeves pushed up, chain glittering at his collarbone. His eyes flick from your mouth to your neck to the edge of skin showing beneath your loose beach cover-up.

“You.”

There’s a pause.

You don’t say anything.

He takes a step closer.

“You really think I’m the worst guy here?” he asks, voice low.

You tilt your head. “No.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I think you know you’re the worst guy here,” you say. “And you like it.”

His jaw flexes. Just a little.

“I think” you add, slow, “you’ve never had someone tell you no.”

You set your drink down and move past him—close enough that your bare shoulder brushes his chest.

And just like that, he snaps.

He grabs your wrist.

You turn, startled, and he’s already there, already pressing you back against the fridge, hand sliding around your waist like he’s waited weeks to touch you.

His mouth is on yours before you can speak.

Hot. Rough. Messy in a way that makes your pulse crash into your throat.

You make a noise—something between a gasp and a moan—and he swallows it, hand tightening on your hip, pulling you flush against him. He’s hard already. You can feel it. The press of him against your stomach, thick and urgent, and you don’t even try to hide the way your thighs press together.

He kisses like he fucks—like he knows.

Then his hand slides down.

And down.

Your breath stutters.

He hooks two fingers beneath your bikini bottoms and watches your face. Waiting for you to stop him.

You don’t.

He sinks them in—slow and deliberate, letting you feel everything.

Your mouth falls open, head tipping back against the fridge. A gasp leaves your lips, broken and breathless, as he curls them just right. He moves slow. Cruel, almost. Like he’s savoring it. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you from the inside out.

“God, you’re wet for someone who hates me” he whispers.

You dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Shut up.”

But your hips roll down against his hand. Seeking friction. Desperate.

He kisses your neck, breath hot against your skin.

You come quietly. Shaking. Clenching around his fingers with a soft, wrecked sound that leaves you completely undone.

He pulls his fingers out and watches the way your body twitches.

Then he brings them to his mouth.

Sucks them clean.

Doesn’t break eye contact once.

“Still think I’m the worst?”

You grab his jaw. Pull him down. Kiss him like he’s the last mistake you’ll ever let yourself make.

⸻

Two days later. Ibiza, Day 4

You find him alone, at the edge of the rooftop deck just after sunset. Everyone else is downstairs watching some fight. The sky is purple and orange and bleeding slowly into darkness. You sit beside him on a cushioned bench, legs bare, breath tight.

Neither of you says anything for a long time.

Then you shift. Reach over. Let your hand drift onto his thigh.

He glances at you.

You don’t look at him.

You sink to your knees in front of him instead. Payback.

“Wait” he says, voice tight. “Are you—?”

But you already have your hands on his waistband.

And when you pull his shorts down, he makes a sound you’ve never heard before—something low and ragged and utterly wrecked.

You don’t tease.

You don’t flirt.

You wrap your mouth around him and take.

The taste of him—salty, skin-warm, slightly bitter at the tip—is addictive. You hollow your cheeks, hands gripping his thighs for balance as he breathes sharp through his nose.

He tries not to move at first.

But soon his hips twitch.

His hand slides into your hair.

He doesn’t force you—but the weight of it lingers, like he needs the anchor.

You keep going. Let spit drip, let your jaw ache, let him fuck your mouth at his own pace.

When he comes, it’s with a guttural groan, head thrown back, muscles locking.

You swallow everything. Then sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He’s staring at you like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Still think I’m just some idiot striker?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You shrug.

“Guess I’ll need a few more nights to be sure.”

And you leave him there—pants half down, breathing like he’s been sprinting for 90 minutes, heart still racing.

[cry4mina]

Aqua Regia - Part 3 - (Remastered)

Take Me Back to Eden - Nayeon x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Angst/More Angst/Angry Fluff/A secret fourth thing?

Summary: Reader has the name of the person who wrote the note and decides it's time to let the culprits know how they feel.

TW: Mentions of drinking, confrontations, trapped in a small space, sitting in the rain, mentions of food, intimate moments sprinkled in there (Not sex, but like something you'd only do with your partner, if that makes sense??). Reader is half way on a war path, but is overwhelmed by their own emotions, lost of confusion. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Even with reworking this series, I’m so proud of this whole thing. I really thought I was going to end it with this part and then ended up with 9 parts already written and 2 more to go.

There are a lot of firsts in this series for me. My first fic being part one, my first smut being part 4, my first series…this series is just my whole child fr.

Anyways, part 8 soon🖤 Thank you for taking the time to read these! Have a wonderful day mwa mwa!

Staring at the screen of your phone in absolute disbelief, you read the singular name texted to you.

Blood boils under your skin as your fear turns to rage.

The phone starts vibrating in your hand as Nayeon calls trying to get a hold of you. You throw your phone across the room in a fit of pure anger.

It continues to vibrate against the floor, refusing your want for silence.

Dumbstruck and livid, fighting the water that threatens to fall from your eyes. Your feet are flat on the floor, elbows resting on your knees as you hunch over, head in hands.

Too furious to even begin to decipher exactly what your body needs as the trauma sinks its teeth into your bones.

A cold poison taints the warmth of your soul.

You’ve spent years unearthing and healing old scars, only for the person who helped you through it to completely undo all the hard work.

Quickly standing up, retrieving your now shattered phone as it rings, you make your way back to the couch when you see a cable tucked until the cushion.

Raising an eyebrow, you place your phone on the arm of the couch before tugging on the wire to reveal Nayeon’s ipad hiding between the cushion of the love seat you plopped on.

“She’s probably pissed she forgot this.” smiling at the thought, wishing for inconvenient things to happen to annoy her for the remainder of the day.

Never wanting to wish actual harm on her, you still loved her but you are definitely upset enough to wish for one of her nails to break enough to make them look uneven, or for her shirt to be caught on a door handle while walking through it.

Swiping up to unlock the tablet but it reveals a keypad for a passcode.

Hesitation sits on your shoulders as you twiddle your fingers.

Was this something you really wanted to do? You no longer had any trust in her but would you breaking her trust make it any better?

Punching in the first code, the screen shakes indicating it’s incorrect.

It’s not her birthday.

Trying your birthday next, the lock shimmies back at you asking for another set of numbers.

Thinking for a second before it dawns on you.

Trying your anniversary and it opens.

A deep breath in, and you click on the messages. Searching for the name of the person who accompanied your partner in betrayal.

Noticing in the sidebar, your name with a heart and the banner underneath your name swiftly changing as it synchronizes with the pinging of your phone.

You fixate on the other names in the list. Momo, Sana, Mina, a few Twice group chats when THE name pops up to the top of the list.

*“Are you alright?”*

Seething, knowing the hands that typed that message are the hands that touched Nayeon.

Seeing the text bubble start to move and then stop only to start up again.

*“No, I’m flying back home tonight instead of tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”*

Great.

Thinking about packing a bag and heading to Momo’s but this was your apartment.

Why should you have to leave?

But how long do you have until Nayeon arrives?

Your phone goes back to buzzing as she’s panic texting you. Telling you that she will be home later tonight and you can talk it through then. She begs you not to leave the apartment.

You scoff.

The iPad pings again.

*“Okay, just checking in. My plane just landed back home and I have a meeting. I should be home after that. If you need a place to stay, just let me know.”*

Stomach churning at the offer, hands that aren’t yours trailing Nayeon’s body weighs heavy in your mind, nausea creeping in.

This person can’t be offering this to her. What if she says yes? You’re fixated on the screen as the chat bubble pops up.

*“I really do appreciate that but I don’t think that y/n would want me to stay with you.”*

“A little too late, no?” outwardly annoyed that she’s trying to assert a boundary with this person.

Knowing full well what’s already happened.

*“So she knows now? When you said you got into an argument, I didn’t think it was about that…”*

Gritting your teeth, hearing your jaw crack under the pressure as your eyes widen, seeing the acknowledgement of the deed with your own eyes.

It has your sights on red.

“Yes. I know now.” Typed into the virtual keyboard, hitting send without a second thought and tossing the iPad to the side.

For a brief second, silence fills the room. No notifications, no pinging of text tones.

Just pure silence.

Standing up hastily, leaving all your electronics behind, grabbing your keys and wallet before walking out the door.

You’ve got a meeting to get to.

—

Hopping into the driver's seat, putting your car in reverse and pull out of the parking spot and onto the road at an unsafe speed.

The tires are recklessly screeching behind you as you swerve through traffic.

Running through the red lights like they’re nothing. Not even blinking as you speed onto the freeway in silence. Knowing exactly where the meeting is and you plan on being present for it.

Getting off on the exit, you pull up to the JYP building, parking in Nayeon’s spot knowing she wasn’t going to be in today.

Ripping the keys from the ignition, hear the scrape of the metal as you push the car door open and slam it behind you.

The fresh infuriated rage in your body physically manifests as you speed walk through the cold air, steam rising from your arms as you start to walk through the side entrance close to the elevators.

As you walk past the security guard. He stands to greet you and informs you that Nayeon isn’t in today. You look at him and he sees the absolute fury in your eyes, “Carry on, Y/n”  and seats immediately back at the desk.

Returning to your hasty pace, you reach the elevator and slam the “Up” button with your hands, probably too hard as it starts the woman also waiting.

Crossed arms; heart racing with your jaw and fists clenched, leaving the taste of copper in your mouth and indents in your palms as you “patiently” wait for the elevator to come down to pick you up.

Hearing the ring of the door and snap your head up to see none other than Park Jihyo standing inside about to get off, when your eyes connect. Her smile fades quickly when she realizes what’s about to happen.

She tried to take a step out and greet you, but you put your hand on her shoulder and shove her lightly back into the elevator. The woman you previously startled hesitates so come in.

“Would you mind taking the next one?” You hiss at her.

Not waiting for an answer, hitting the button for floor 7, and facing the doors as they close.

The lights are bright and threatening as you ascend up. You count the floors as they pass, Jihyo silent behind you nervously playing with her hands when you reach out and hit the “Stop” button.

The elevator grinds to a halt between floors. You turn around to face Jihyo, eyebrows creased and lean against the walls of the 6ft wide box.

Hand raised up to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“When were you planning on telling me, Hyo?” Spat at her loudly.

Flinching at the tone and volume of your voice, the echo violently bouncing off the walls.

You weren’t going to hurt her, she knew that. Never having seen you like this before, she takes in your demeanor and slowly runs her eyes up your body taking note of your unkempt clothes, the bags under your eyes, and lack of jacket.

“Did you speed here after seeing that conversation?” quizzically inquired while tilting her head at you.

Rolling your eyes, you’re uninterested in the question. This feels like she’s challenging you, even if it is innocent.

“Here’s what we are going to do.” Firmly enunciating your words as they sputter out of your mouth.

“I’m going to ask you the questions and you are either going to answer them or we are going to be in this elevator for a very long time.”

Jihyo nods her head, understanding that this isn’t the time for her to try to ease the tension with playful banter.

She does pity you though, knowing that she was part of the cause makes her eye shift to the floor as she begins to speak. Her empathy is losing its meaning in your apathy.

“Listen Y/n, I know that this is a lot and I can’t imagine what you are going through and feeling right now. I need you to know that it was a one time thing and it has never happened again….We were both drunk out of our minds…”

Lifting her head up to try to sneak a look at your face, she sees your eyes spilling over and winces. She hates this just as much as you do but you’re unsure of if it’s because the conversation is emotionally charged or just uncomfortable.

“It was a stupid mistake. We were going to tell you but we were trying to avoid this. It was years ago. I didn’t even know she was seeing someone until she told me the morning after.” Looking you right in the eyes as she explained it all.

“She was inconsolable. She was so scared to lose you that she couldn’t stop crying and shaking…I wrote her that note and stuck it in her wallet the night of thinking it would be funny to wake up too. I thought she would’ve thrown it away by now.” Jihyo sighed heavily, searching your face for signs that you were absorbing her story.

“I can tell you this much. I’ve never seen Nayeon look at anyone the way she looks at you. The way her eyes light up when she talks about you is something other people dream about when they think of love.”

Choking on your emotions, dropping your angry mask to reveal the truth behind your eyes.

Suffering.

Squatting down, wrapping your arms around to hold your knees to your chest as you sob. Jihyo quickly follows, placing a hand on your back trying to console you.

Once you have some semblance of calm, Jihyo speaks again.

“Do you remember the night that I called you from Nayeon's phone?” Hyo smiles at the memory.

It lives happily in her brain too.

“I didn’t know how into you she was until she started crying about missing you…and when you got to my house and she almost tackled you in the snow, it only solidified how important you are to her. It was my idea not to say anything…”

Glaring at her, waiting her to finish.

“I know, I know! I’m sorry. I really am. I just didn’t want to shatter something that was just starting. Look at the beautiful relationship you’ve built with her.

I could tell when I saw you both together that you were meant for each other. I felt bad for it then and I feel even worse about it now.”

The molten anger solidifying into sadness, once more. A heavy breath leaves your mouth when you realize you were so wrapped up in what was happening that you forgot you were in a stopped elevator.

Calmly standing, you brush yourself off and hit the stop button again.

The elevator groans to the 7th floor.

The doors open and a few people file in, not realizing the emotionally charged conversation that had just taken place, though you’re sure it’s displayed across your face.

A man in a suit pressed the “Ground level” button and the elevator descended to the lobby.

Once the doors open, you swiftly walk past security. Trying to leave behind the anger fueled attempt at a conversation, even if you didn’t say much.

The friendship you developed with Jihyo allowed her to know exactly what to say so keep you calm despite that being the first appearance of your unadulterated anger.

Leaving JYP through the front doors, you start walking down the sidewalk through the heavy rain.

“Where are you going?!” Jihyo shouts from the front of the building.

You just keep walking without even a glance back at her.

—

Finding yourself in a park by a river, you sit down on the wet bench. The light drizzle that threatened rain all day opened up and washed over your skin the entire way there, so what was a wet bench to you anyway?

“I should’ve brought a jacket” you think as you let the cool drops land on your back completely soaking you.

Reaching in your pocket, forgetting that your phone is at home.

The words “Missing something?” Unearths itself out of the rain with a black umbrella and sits next to you on the bench, shielding you from the downpour.

“Didn’t want to be bothered by the constant ringing?” Sitting in silence, not wanting to interact with Jihyo.

She knows you well.

You’ve been around each other for long enough to pick up on the little things. You roll your eyes wishing it wasn’t someone who could reflect you back to yourself.

“Look, I know this is overwhelmin-“

“No, you don’t” cutting her off with a tone that could dissolve the strongest on metals.

Your face contorted with exasperation as you spew out the words, “You have NO idea what it’s like to look at the person you’ve spent the last 3 years with and question whether or not they are who they say. You don’t know what it’s like for that same partner to hide things behind your back with someone you consider family. Please tell me about a time you’ve experienced this level of betrayal, Hyo. You’ve got no clue what I’ve been struggling with these past few days and don’t you dare say that you have!”

Your words were harsh and she accepted them.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She calmly states while holding eye contact with you.

You're more upset that she’s so polished in her responses. Maintaining your angry demeanor, you turn to face the river in front of you.

The rain continues to fall as you sit in silence, Jihyo just sitting next to you waiting for you to speak.

“Why are you still here?” Annoyed at her presence.

“Because I’ve made you upset with my actions and you’re my friend.”

The emotional whiplash your body is projecting is infuriating. Overwhelmed by the notion that two things could be true at once.

On one hand, you’re livid with Jihyo and Nayeon. On the other, you respect the accountability of the person in front of you, even if it only instills anger in you further.

She’s sat here in silence with you, in the middle of a thunderstorm only to be yelled at.

“If I would have known this was the result of keeping it a secret, I would’ve told you years ago. I wouldn’t have convinced Nayeon not to say anything. Hell, I barely remember any of it, neither of us do. I really am sorry.”

Her words make you think about Nayeon. If she didn’t remember…if she wanted to tell you.

Nayeon had never broken your trust before. She was always honest, even overly honest. She would answer anything you asked her. You had trusted her with every detail of your life.

Every scar that ever calloused over your heart was shown to her. Whenever they started to ache again, she would kiss the wounds and soothe you. You crave that same comfort now, undecided if you are going to go and get it, reeling at the potential falsehood of it all.

Jihyo watched the cogs move in your head as you sorted through the information and filed it away where it belonged.

She stands up and looks over, “do you want a ride back to your car? The rain is only going to get worse from here.” Nodding your head yes, you walk back to the car with her, getting in the passenger side.

Sitting in silence the 4 minute drive back.

Your stomach starts to growl as you approach the JYP building. Wishing you brought your phone with you so you could order something and have it be at the house by the time you got there.

“If you ever want to talk, please know I’m here for you” she says as you get out of the car in silence and close the door behind you.

You ended up stopping at a local cafe to get something to go. The girl behind the counter widening her eyes as she watches you walk in, absolutely drenched.

You order your usual sandwich.

“Anything else?” The girl behind the register asks, still looking at you like you’ve got something on your face other than rain and tears.

“Yeah, actually. Can I get that one salad you guys have with the apples in it? I’m not really sure what it’s called.” You only know it by “Nayeon’s favorite”.

The girl rolls her eyes and punches in the order. You pay for it, and twiddle with your thumbs while you wait.

—

Pulling up to the apartment felt different this time. No people waiting for Nayeon outside, no cars blocking you from making a swift escape into the building. Wondering if she’s home yet as you get into the elevator.

The kitchen is lit up upon entry. You left all the lights on. Phone and ipad are still on the love seat but the sectional is occupied by a sleeping Nayeon.

Wrapped in the blanket you’ve been using and laying on your pillow.

Quietly walking in, place the food on the counter and quickly step into the bedroom. Letting out a light sigh, and decide it’s time you take a shower. Feeling grimey from the rain.

—

Emerging from the bedroom in sweatpants and a cropped tank top, hair still wet. Tying it up into a bun and quietly pull plates down from the cabinets.

Glancing over to see Nayeon still asleep and notice that her phone is in her hands.

She’s probably waiting to hear from you.

Plating the take out, you quietly bring the dishes over to the living room and place them lightly on the coffee table.

Returning to the kitchen and grab another bottle of wine from the refrigerator and a set of glasses.

Popping the bottle open, you freeze when you hear a shift coming from the couch.

Not looking back at the sound, you continue pouring the wine into the glasses you had already set out.

A light gasp erupts from her lips as she notices the food on the table. Hearing the smile in it, you fight back the upward pull of your lips.

Anxiety sets in as you remember what you’re walking into. Feeling your fingers lock up as you reach for cutlery.

It rattles in the drawer, drawing Nayeon’s attention. She stills as she feels her brain turn on, remembering what had happened hours beforehand.

Picking up the glasses and bringing them to the table, her eyes follow your every move. Placing a glass down in front of her, you hand her silverware.

“Eat.”

She’s moving very cautiously through this unnavigated territory. Not only in the sense of “walking on eggshells” even her usually fluid movements were slow and strategized.

Taking in the sight of her in as you pick at your food. It looks like the nap she took was the first ounce of sleep she’s had in days.

Eyes bloodshot and half lidded as she chews. She sets her fork down, takes a large sip of the wine and looks down at the floor.

“...Y/n…” she briefly looks up to see you already present and focused on her.

Waiting for your explanation that she owes you as her eyes return to the food in front of her to avoid adding discomfort to herself.

Her face beams a shade of red as her eyes close. It twists in a way you’ve seen many times before and she tries to hold it all together. Pools of tears start to collect and shed as she continues. Her words muffled underneath a thick layer of guilt.

“I made a mistake, a really bad one, at the very beginning of our relationship.” Wincing at the sound of her voice cracking.

The sharp edged subject matter slicing at you in the same way finding that note did.

“I need you to know that I do not remember any of it. I was that drunk and so was Jihyo.” Another twist of the knife in your chest.

Remembering to breathe, you continue listening.

“Nothing has happened since, and nothing like this will ever happen again. I wanted to tell you but the person I was then and the person I am now are two completely different people. Even that version of myself would never dream of hurting you in such a way. I allowed myself to be convinced that not telling you was better than you leaving. Please understand that I would do anything to remove this from my past…our past.”

It all becomes too much as you shoot up from your seat and bring your plate to the kitchen and put it in the sink. Faucet on, you scrub the plate like it’s caked in dirt.

Nayeon blinks aggressively, glaring at you for leaving in the middle of the conversation before she stands up and follows you to the sink.

Sniffling behind you and covering her mouth with the sleeve of your sweater she was wearing.

Tilting your head to face her, taking in the pure shame she was already putting herself through for the act that she committed. Turning the faucet off, you dry your hands with the towel hanging on the oven’s handle while turning to fully face her.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, trying not to break again. Wide eyes looking at you, studying your body language trying to determine what you’ll say…if you’ll say anything.

She can see the stress emanating from you.

“Please say something.” Breathed out in a whisper, reaching out to touch your shoulder in hopes to bring you back to the present.

Hoping it’ll keep you from emotionally shutting down.

It sends a shock to your nervous system, almost jumping out of your skin as the soft familiar hand glides down your arm to your hand where she leaves it.

“I don’t know what to say, Nayeon.” You are battling yourself.

Both angry and so in love with this beautiful human in front of you. Even with tears in her eyes, she was magic to you.

Effortlessly, stunning even in the face of fear and uncertainty.

Endlessly baffled by the mistake made because she’s always been so attentive, so patient, so tender and caring that even her admitting it to your face felt like a lie.

You know that’s not who she is, right?

Wrong.

You don’t know anything for certain. Logic and emotion argue as you stand there silently. Trying to figure out where to go next.

Reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the other hand still in yours and tears still falling. You don’t want to let go of her hand, but you don’t want to tighten your hold on it either.

Patiently watching your eyes as they animate the war in your head; The two sides were fighting and you were standing on the fence of the choice you had to make. Pondering what life would be like without her and what life was like with her.

Do all of those amazing moments count for nothing?

Were they all just a waste of time?

Taking a deep breath, you look Nayeon right in the eyes. She feels almost violated by how deeply you are looking into her.

“I am devastated.” Shoulders are feeling lighter as you continue.

“I can’t believe you did this and didn’t tell me. For our entire relationship to be built on this foundation absolutely shatters me and everything we’ve ever built together. I feel like I don’t know who you are.”

The last sentence knocks the wind out of her, gasping for air and holding back sobs.

“I just never expected this from you…” said shakily while you watched her try to collect herself.

Rotating and sit down on the floor, sliding your back down the flat doors of your cabinets. She follows but on the other side, feet between yours. Trying to muffle the cries because she seemingly can’t bear the fact that she has caused this damage.

The exhaustion takes over.

Body being so tense to hold the weight of the situation for days now. You yawn, Nayeon regulates her breath as you try to gain the energy to continue the conversation.

Standing up, she lays her hand out for you, wordlessly. Not letting go of it as she leads you to your shared bedroom, a bed left untouched sits right in the middle of the room.

Thinking about how great sleeping in your bed will feel after being on the couch for days. She’s out of the room as quickly as she brought you here.

Staring to feel warm under your clothes, you remove them and fling them into a corner. Crawling under the comforter and settling in.

Nayeon returns, your pillow in hand. She notices you’re missing your tank top and shifts her eyes down out of respect. Not knowing if you wanted her to see you this way anymore.

Bending down to unplug her phone charger and grabs her pillow silently.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, I know how your back gets. Please get some rest.” Kneeling on the bed for a second, leaning into you but hesitates.

Was it her place to kiss your forehead still?

Nayeon took the risk worth taking, kissing your forehead tenderly. Before quickly walking out of the room.

A tear from her eyes trailed down to your cheek.

Rain continues to fall.

—

Laying in bed for what feels like hours. Uncomfortably tossing and turning in the lonely sheets.

Opening your eyes and stare at the ceiling, getting lost in the patterns of the texture.

Exhaustion is no match for your mind and you really don’t want to be in this bed alone right now. Sitting up, the comforter falling to reveal your chest as you weigh your options.

Thinking about how Nayeon is on the couch by herself right now. Probably overthinking everything and stressing herself out, no sleep in sight.

In a moment of weakness, you stand up and saunter into the living room.

Laying splayed out in the sectional, phone in hand scrolling mindlessly in the warm light. A useless distraction, you were all that filled her mind.

Taking note that she removed the sweater and was only in a sports bra now. You can’t help but reminisce about how her skin feels on yours.

Noticing you standing in the doorway, arms crossed, holding yourself- she looks away from her phone to acknowledge your presence, locking it and laying it on her chest.

“Having trouble sleeping too?” Nodding your head and biting the inside of your cheek.

You take the risk.

Slowly wandering to the front of the sectional and climbing into the blanket with her. Surprised by the action but she lifts the blanket so you can get comfortable, making sure you're covered.

“You’re so cold, why didn’t you wear something?” she whispers as you press your face into her neck and wrap your arms around her causing her to shiver.

“I wanted to feel your warmth…” barely audible back to her.

You don’t have the same compulsion of not wanting her to touch you.

She feels like Nayeon.

She feels like home.

Nayeon starts tracing patterns on your shoulder as she leans her face on the top of your head. Both silently enjoy each other's comfort as you drift off to sleep.

—

Awoken by the sound of humming in the kitchen, you smile before you even open your eyes, knowing exactly what’s happening before you are even half awake.

Still wrapped in the soft blanket on the sectional taking up more space than you originally were now that the other person was up and about.

“Shit.” A whispered voice rings through the apartment.

“Too much creamer again?” Slyly said from the couch.

You hear her jump, she must’ve not realized you were awake.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, ba-“ she stops herself from saying the pet name, not knowing what the boundaries were anymore.

“You didn’t wake me. I should be the one apologizing, I was the one who scared you.” You chuckle, getting up and stretching before throwing on the sweater, laid across the couch’s back, to cover up a little before you start your morning rituals.

When you turn around you see her cheeks fill with red as she takes in your naked body.

“You okay?” grabbing the black mug, taking a sip knowing she’s flustered.

“I think so…” she says slowly, unsure of her next step.

“I think I just want to know what the next step is…for us.”

Her eyes flicker to your face waiting for a response. You start to walk over to the bedroom.

“Well, we usually shower next, have you forgotten our routine already? It was only a couple of days” Trying to make light of the situation.

She giggles “you know what I mean…I just need to know if I can mend this. To fix this. Falling asleep with you last night was the calmest I’ve felt… ” interrupting her before she can cloud your brain with sweet things.

She always knew how to break you with that.

“I’m still angry that you hid it from me” stoically expressing the truth.

Both truths.

“But I love you.” She smiles, hopeful of what’s to come, walking towards you with her arms out.

Wrapping them around your neck and pulling you in for a soft peck.

After a few more quick kisses, foreheads connected as her arms slid down to your waist.

“But I need to make it very clear that I cannot do this again. So if you’re hiding anything else, please tell me now.”

She cups your face in her hands and brings you in for a long kiss that makes you a little weak in the knees.

“I’ll never hide anything from you again. Ever.”

“Good, will you start the shower then?”

Watching as she happily skips into the bathroom humming the same tune she was while making coffee.

Wandering behind her to pick out what clothes you’re wearing for the day when you hear a phone vibrate in the kitchen.

Walking over to the counter and picking up the closest phone to see which one it was. It’s Nayeon’s phone with a message from Jihyo.

Your face drops as you read  “Did she believe you or do we actually need to stop seeing each other?”

[justmochi]

OA ENTERTAINMENT uploaded: EDEN - The Making of 'WHO AM I' Documentary

Eden rubs her eyes with her fingers, checking out her puffy face in the mirror. “Good morning,” She whispers to the camera before pointing her phone screen towards it. “It’s currently four a.m. It is going to be our very first day in the studio recording for my first mini album.”

She quickly brushes her teeth and washes her face. She applies toner pads before whispering again. “I am very excited, but also anxious. It’s gonna be my first release working with an entirely new team, but I’m confident the results are going to be great. I managed to get about three hours of sleep, but we shouldn’t be recording too many vocals on the first day. I’m hoping it’ll be pretty chill as we create a roadmap for what we’re going to accomplish.”

She slouches over the kitchen counter, waiting for her coffee to brew. “I’d usually head around the corner to the cafe near our apartment, but it is four a.m. So I’m just gonna make a quick coffee and order breakfast when everything starts opening up.”

The video cuts to Eden kissing her fingertips, proceeding to press it against the top of a teddy bear. “Gotta give Younghui a goodbye kiss before I leave.”

She fastens her seatbelt before taking a sip of her coffee. “It’s kinda weird seeing me drive, right?”

“We’ve made it to the studio. I’ll see you inside!”

[WORKAHOLIC]

“I look back on my career and decisions I’ve made and always ask myself, “Is this really what I want? Is it worth it?” I may be a bit greedy, but is it so wrong to want more for myself?

“I just really wanted to interpret how young workers are faced with the dilemma of either working hard or enjoying life. So if you’re struggling, just know that I acknowledge you and all your hard work. If you’re not where you wanna be in life right now, that’s okay! Take it one day at a time, and make some changes! Lay out a roadmap in where you want to see yourself in a year and stick to it. Don’t be discouraged from reality and live in the moment. One day, I wanna hear all about it.”

[HAIR DOWN]

“I think this song is, in a way, a continuation of Workaholic. It’s more fun! Sometimes I just need to forget about my deadlines, let loose and live my life. Life is too short so you have to make the most of it.”

Eden has her hands on her hips, putting all her weight on one leg as the producer messes around with the mixing. She notices the studio door open behind him with her peripheral vision. She realizes it’s Jennie with takeout bags. Both of their faces light up when their eyes meet. Eden has to put her headphones on the stand before she can exit the recording room.

“Hey!” Eden hugs her member once she sets the food down. It had been a couple weeks since they last saw each other.

“How are you doing? Is everything comfortable for you here?”

“Oh, I love it. We’re getting a lot of work done.” She extends her hand, patting the back of his chair.

“I’ll let you two chit chat. I need to make a few calls.” He makes a few clicks with the mouse and then gets up to exit the room.

Jennie smiles towards her, opening the takeout bags and reaching in. “I know you’re working extra hard so I got us some good food.”

She hands Eden her favorite cold noodles, while also taking out her own order. They get themselves situated before sitting down and taking their first bite. The girls talk about how good the food is, while making small talk of what the day has offered to them so far.

“So what are you working on now?” Jennie wipes her mouth with a napkin.

“Well, let me show you.” Eden puts her chopsticks down, pushing herself towards the computer and finding a part in the song to showcase to her.

Jennie listens attentively, swaying her head back and forth. The instrumental and voice guide are the only things done but it still sounds very nice.

“And then I have two options for the second verse, one in English and the other Korean.” She clicks away and plays each version of the verse, watching Jennie’s reactions.

“I like it! They’re both very nice.”

“We haven’t decided which one to go for. Which do you like more?” Eden stops the playback, turning in her swivel chair to face the woman.

Jennie purses her lips for a second, pondering. “Well, they’re both very pretty, and I don’t know who’s all working on this one but I think the Korean verse would make it more ‘you’. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I do.” Eden sighs and clicks her tongue, tilting her head before making more adjustments. “That settles it then.”

“You’re using the Korean verse?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t you have to discuss it with your team?”

Eden slides back over to her, smiling at Jennie. “You are my team. And I trust your judgment.”

They both smile at each other lovingly.

“I’m so proud of how far you’ve come,” Jennie squeezes her knee. “I’m so glad you have your freedom now. I’m just happy you’re doing what YOU want to do and it’s not being altered. I haven’t seen you this carefree in a while.”

“Jennie… Don’t make me cry.”

[CAFFEINE]

“The melody was the first thing to come from this song. I made it up in the passenger seat on the way home from a drive-in movie, actually. Do you ever just listen to music and think ‘this would be such a good song to play in the car, windows rolled down and feeling cool air through your hair’. That was my goal with this song. It feels very retro and nostalgic. I’m very happy with the end result.”

[SUNFLOWER GIRL]

Eden smiles, pulling her legs up on the chair to her chest and resting her chin on her knee. “I don’t really need to explain this one. It’s simple and genuine and full of love. And I’m happy. I’m really happy with how it came out.”

[HATE TO BE LAME]

“This song is about wanting to tell someone that you love them but are scared to. For me, a lot of it stems from my past relationships. You give a lot of yourself up when you say I love you for the first time. And the first time for me, it was very real. I thought it was very real for the longest time.

“The ideal way to feel when saying I love you is to be happy. But for me, I was filled with more fear and anxiety. It took a very long time to allow myself to love again. But even longer for me to express my love. I was extremely cautious about the next time I would tell someone I loved them.

“I always wonder what I would say to my past self who just finished writing this. She was so paranoid and small. But she was also very worthy of love, no matter how much she thought she was not. She didn't know that when the day finally came, it would be the easiest thing in the world. As simple as breathing.

“I wrote this many years ago so it’s just been sitting in my notes app, collecting dust. It wasn’t until earlier this year that I reached out to Finneas. I’ve always been a very big fan of his works. The first thing he sent me back was amazing and that’s the take that we use in the song. His verse was absolutely perfect and it really solidified the song as a whole.

{First time listening to Finneas’ take.}

Eden sets up the camera on the table, her hands shaking as she presses on the audio file. “I’m so nervous, I don’t know if I can press play.”

She takes a few deep breaths. “Okay.” She clicks on the play button, staring at her lap as his voice plays through the speakers. Her eyes widen as soon as it sets in that he’s singing along to the melody of her song with his own lyrics. She covers her mouth with her hands, squealing as the clip ends.

“Oh my god.” She replays it. “Oh my god.

“I gotta chill out, I can’t focus on his lyrics.” She stands to her feet, pressing her palms to her cheeks as she plays it once again. She has to replay it six times before it’s engraved in her brain. She looks at her producer friend, giving him a definitive look. “That’s it. Like it’s literally perfect. We just have to record our parts together and it’s done.”

[FIRST TIME]

Eden set up her camera at the kitchen table, soon rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands. She let out a sigh and sniffled. “This song is from twenty eighteen or so, the darkest time in my life. I keep on forgetting it exists for obvious reasons. And I know I shouldn’t keep revisiting it if it keeps resurfacing past trauma, but I think in order to heal, I need to tackle it and make something of it. The whole concept of this album is to humanize myself and it would be wrong of me to just lock this song away. There could be someone out there that resonates with it as much as I do.”

She wipes her eyes with her fingers, nodding towards someone offscreen. A tiny smile appears on her face. “It was bothering me all day while recording and arranging, ‘Should this make the cut or not?’ but I think I just needed to catch my breath and think it over, get some reassurance. I feel much better now.

“Well, time to sleep so we can record this track tomorrow.”

[jinxpantsu]

Because I Said So.

Sami stood in the entrance of Bailey’s office, her tail flicking from left to right behind her. She hugged herself close, her gaze failing to meet his.

“Come here.” He demands, leaning over his desk with that same irritated glare. “Make sure you lock my door. I don’t want any of the other brats getting any ideas.”

Sami wasn’t so sure about this anymore. But now that she was here she couldn’t just back out. Bailey would lose even more respect for her. If she called out of this she could even be accused of leading him on… this was a very bad situation.

She shut the door carefully, hearing the soft click. For good measure, she locked it. Her ears at the top of her head bent backwards upon hearing a soft huff of laughter from across the room.

“I haven’t got all day brat. Come here.”

Fuck me and fuck my stupid life.

Sami crossed the room with a nervous gait, hands clenching the edge of her skirt. She felt like a school girl, still deep in trouble with Leighton.

She hoped where ever he is, his balls still ache from the swift kick she gave them last time.

“So. Little birdy tells me they caught you down at Briar's the other night. I’m hoping you were only there for the fake ID. You aren’t thinking of skipping out on me are you?”

His arms are crossed over his broad chest. He sounds like he’s being a tease, his voice lighter and calmer than what Sami would have considered normal, but if he felt anything other than a boiling rage at the idea of Samantha escaping he doesn’t share it with her. No, his emotions were well concealed like always.

“I was just…. Curious. I got… turned away at the club downtown. Someone slipped me a note—“

“You let someone get close enough to grab you. You better be lucky all they did was leave you a note.”

It could have gone much worse if they had ulterior motives… and after all it’s not like Sami would resist too much anymore. She had a beauty that reached a sort of radiance, even long after her purity faded. It was only natural in a town like this that she would have people asking to buy her.

So why not make a little cash off of it? It’d be better than just sitting around waiting for the Temple to pick her up. Or for Bailey to send her there for a personal punishment for non-payments.

“I get it.” Bailey sighs, breaking the brief silence between them. “You want a little freedom to get paid the real money. You always were one of the better looking little shits here too. I guess you did some maturing out in the woods with Eden, didn’t you little girl?”

Excuse me?

That’s what Sami wanted to say anyways, but her tongue was caught against her teeth, eyes wide at his comment.

"I don't understand what you mean-"

A bark of laughter escapes Bailey this time, bold and crass. "Don't play me for a damn fool. I sold you to him, I know what he could do to a little thing like you. You didn't exactly come back with a skip in your step."

Despite it all, he doesn't sound too upset over it.

Why the hell would he? He's said it himself. He sold her... And he only came back to remind her that this wasn't permanent.

"Get your shit together one of these days and get out of here. I was expecting you to learn for yourself how to escape shitty situation, but all you're doing is sitting on your hands feeling fucking sorry for yourself. Eden isn't going to let you go. Figure it the fuck out."

He's...

"I have to go, but I'm doubling your payment next week, you brat. You're not getting any sympathy from me."

Encouraging me...?

I don't get him at all.

Ears curved backward, Sami settles on one leg to support her weight, arms crossed. She should be annoyed at his audacity, but now she's more curious than anything...

Eden did say Bailey shared more between them that his old girlfriends after all.

God, she was hoping it was Eden he was jealous of. But what would that even mean for her?

The way Bailey's eyes trace Sami's body suddenly makes her uneasy. She shifts awkwardly under his gaze and he sucks air in between his teeth at her inability to sit still for long.

Like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You're jittery. If you feel like moving a lot, you should flaunt what you have. Since you'll be Briar's whore that means you'll be having a lot of eyes on you. You already know how to dance-"

How exactly does he know that?

"-so let's see if you know how to flaunt."

"I'd rather not-"

"I don't care. Get over here."

When Sami doesn't move, a trigger in her mind set off that forces he to free, Bailey lunges. His grip on her wrist is tight but not painful as he pulls her closer to the edge of his desk.

"Don't fight. Don't you fucking scream either." he tells her. "...Just be easy all over again. Let Daddy give you some advice, little girl."

Oh.

Oh that's-

"What are you saying?" Sami whimpers, but she's not stupid enough to be unaware.

She's caught him before, his eyes wandering her way but not exactly looking at her. His hands too close when he leans against the counter next to her by the coffee machine first thing in the morning. The way he knows exactly how to pet and praise her, good puppy, very good girl, the dull nails rubbing deep into the space beneath the cartilage of her ears when she's so vulnerable that she needs his touch to calm down.

The way his hand lingers on her belly when he rubs her, fingers not wandering too far but linger just off the beaten path of her scar when he feels her soft sweet flesh against his rough palm. The feel of it covering so much space on her stomach, the slight grip when he squeezes the natural weight left there to shield her womb. The weight of him when he rests his hand on her head while he focuses on his laptop, or his paperwork and the idle tugging at her ears that feels more comforting than painful.

The feel of when he unconsciously pulls her head towards the place just below his belt before he stops himself and kicks her out...

Sami has never been a sexual person by nature. Not until this town ruined her, but she was already being primed before she knew it.

With the way Bailey touched her it bordered on molestation, but she couldn't really call him out on it when no one else ever touched her in the first place. Was innocent little Sami supposed to know that Daddy shouldn't touch her the way he did?

At least back then he hadn't tried anything outright. But what about now when he was guiding her to sit in his lap?

She throws a leg over his broad thighs and settles uncomfortably on his knees, and Bailey tuts and shakes his head at her unwillingness to just go where he wants her.

He pulls her closer, literally dragging her by the hips so that she can sit where he needs. So he can grab whatever he wants just in reach and not have to work to hold and keep it there.

"You want to whore yourself out little girl... this is where you belong."

In his lap?

"Just so your johns can get their feel of you."

The nervous look on Sami's face tells Bailey that even Eden hasn't given her time to do something like this yet... and that's good news for him. Since that means he can teach her what boys want. Because if she's going to sell her body for the freaks down the road, she is going to need to know that.

And who better to teach her, than the man who saved her?

"You'll also need to learn to kiss, now don't you?"

"What?" Sami blurts out. "I-I know how to kiss, I'm not some... loser or something. H-haha, I don't need kissing advice-"

"Give me a kiss then." Bailey instructs. Sami's jaw drops.

"A kiss?"

"A kiss."

"You want me to kiss you?"

"I want you to try."

Sami feels intimidated... she feels humiliated and suddenly somewhat annoyed by his demand. To kiss the man who sells her body would be like rewarding him for the abuse. So why give him anything he wants?

Why give anyone anything they ask for when Sami couldn't even keep the one thing that mattered most to her?

...And ignoring how comfortably she now settles on his lap...

... and the shudder up her spine when she feels his hands grip her waist to keep her still...

God dammit. She wants to give in.

There was something hypnotizing in the way Eden would grip her waist back at the cabin. His big hands could grab any part of her body, palms large enough to engulf her torso, her sex, her throat even. She wondered... just how much could Bailey hold?

"I don't think I want to." Sami says as Bailey's hands travel around her waist. "I don't think I should kiss the man who sold me to his best friend."

"What, are you upset that uncle got to fuck you first, and not daddy?" he shoots back immediately and the question is so out of left field that Sami can't help but stumble out another reply.

"No, I'm upset that 'Daddy' is okay with sending me away in the first place. You're supposed to care about us!"

"I do care." he says in a way that makes Sami not want to believe him. Even so, with his hands sliding down to her hips to tug her against him more.

.... He's not completely hard yet, but she can feel something down there. Her eyes narrow at him.

"Why else do you think I sent you to Eden, and not to another party? Why do you think Jordan and your other little temple friends haven't come looking for you yet? Why do you think I'm letting you sit on Daddy's lap right now?"

He leans in instinctively, and Sami can get a waft of his breath. It smells like toothpaste and instant coffee.

"I'm going to teach you what boys like. And boys like a nasty slut who will do what they're told. What do you think Daddy likes?"

She trembles in his grasp, because now he's actively pushing and pulling her hips against his. That sensation between her legs starts to itch in a familiar way she can't help but crave, and the way she's being forced to grind in his lap like a shy little girl getting off for the first time is scratching an itch she's missed since she escaped the woods.

"Daddy likes teaching girls like you to be sluts. You'll let Daddy teach you, right?"

His lips are almost against hers, eyes half-lidded as he stares at the soft fleshy pink. Sami stares into his eyes, his gaze slightly unfocused...

...She wants to bite it.

But she doesn't stop him when he presses his lips against hers. Doesn't stop him when he forces her mouth open seconds later and his tongue slides in. Doesn't stop him when his fingers grip her hips and is holding her still while he humps like a horny teenager.

Her mind swirls with sensations crashing against her brain, the heat from the summer humidity, the air conditioner and fan occasionally drifting across her lower back, the searing heat of his palm when one hand slides over the space and makes her shiver. The lack of air when he doesn't let go of her lips until he's muttering something into her mouth-

"Breathe, baby girl." he growls before taking her lips again. "Daddy needs you to breathe through your nose."

Right. She needs to breathe. Because Daddy's telling her to.

She needs the air otherwise she'll suffocate against his lips in this already suffocating weather. So when she takes in a shaky breath and he praises her for doing what she's told, his and glides up her spine and she moans-

"Fuck." she grunts. "You're fucking sick."

Bailey just chuckles against her lips. "Some people like it for the romance," he instructs as if he heard her say something entirely different. "Kiss me back. You'll want the other boys to feel like you want it just as bad. A wet pussy isn't always enough."

"'M not wet-"

"I can feel you through your shorts." he grunts, his hips bucking particularly hard against her. The space between her thighs is cramped with him, and she can feel that firm hardness threatening her personal space each time he draws her in.

"Or are you just sweating?"

The laugh that leaves him is short, only because he doesn't give her a chance to refute him when his lips are back on hers. The hand up between her shoulder blades rests comfortable now, nails digging slightly into the skin. Not enough to cause any real pain, but enough for Sami to know that if she tries to tug away she won't get very far.

So she leans in instead, hands pressing against his chest as she kisses back. She follows the same motions of him, noting how he seems to like licking her teeth, like a dentist checking for anything unsavory. Her eyes are half-lidded as she stares back at him, sloppily licking everywhere her tongue can reach.

"Mhm," he grunts against her mouth. "Mhmm... That's it."

Sami needs to shut him up.

When she pulls her lips back to breathe Bailey only let's her go for a second before the hand on her back is snatched from under her shirt.

This doesn't count as molestation anymore, does it?

Not when he grips the back of her neck to drag her right back into it. Only his lips don't meet hers. The find purchase somewhere on her neck, and the way his breath hits her skin and his tone rumbles with an unspoken threat makes her body shiver with delight.

"You have no idea how stupid you look right now." he lets out a breathy laugh. "So fucking gorgeous sitting in my lap. You got comfy quick did you?"

Sami sputters again. At a loss for works when his lips close around the space just below her throat when he sucks deep, her eyes fluttering shut when his teeth press against the skin.

She needs to bite him.

But in her frustration she can't move properly with his larger hand gripping her neck to keep her still, his hips pressing deep enough into the crevice between her legs that makes her start seeing stars.

She hadn't felt like this since she started humping the pillows for the first time

The thought brings her a sort of jubilee that she can't articulate- not with how Bailey grinds like he intends to fuck, were it not for the fucking clothes getting in the way. The way he growls into her throat when she jerks her hips back against him, angry that he hasn't tried to strip them off.

"Feel me, little girl?" He grunts, and Sami's eyes open, stars exploding behind her retinas.

"Fuck- Mmh! B-Bailey-"

"Call me Daddy." He instructs gently. He 's got to feel some sort of separation in the moment. Otherwise he may grow soft at the thought of fucking his wards.

This was just one of Brair's whores now.

"D-Daddy..." she tries the word, and strangely likes how it sits on her tongue, waiting for Bailey to scoop it up with his tongue like he inevitably does-

Her back curls in his grasp, chest crashing against his as she kisses back without hesitation. Her eyes shut this time, letting her nerves wash away while she tastes his breakfast, his serving of cheap coffee, and the vague minty toothpaste still clinging to the corners of his mouth.

If she were naked and just a little more desperate, she'd ask him to put on a condom first. But she needs to get to his belt before she can consider what she actually would do once it comes off with his trousers.

From the feeling alone he's not as big as Eden, but he's just as eager. If anything, the restraint he has instead of using her like a fleshlight is more sexy than if he just threw her across his desk, papers scattered, and took her right then and there.

Bailey growls out his approval when his hand on her neck slides down again, over her clothes to grab at her hips. He's not even trying to hide what he really wants anymore, and by the way Sami doesn't seem to tug or resist he knows she wants it to.

His thumb hooks in the cloth of her shorts, and she says nothing. He jerks his hips up, keeping her from following them back down, and his other hand is sliding up her thigh.

"I-it's just sweat-"

"Shut the fuck up." he demands, and Sami is quiet until his fingers trace the lining of her panties under her shorts. "Take this shit off. Now."

She wastes no time. Stripping her shorts and panties off because Daddy told her to.

That angry gaze as he tugs at his belt to free himself is a sight Sami files away in her head for later. A man hell bent on getting what he wants out of her, the desire to push in and tear her apart, to make her beg him to stop or slow down-

A sick thought crosses her mind when Bailey drags her hips back over his, and she feels the dull head against her squishy thighs. She could get off on it alone, but knowing he's stopped just to let it sink in-

-Because the way he looks at her tells her that he's thinking the same thing--

There is no going back from this. What happens in his office will stay here... at least until he takes it down at Briar's in a day, or two.

"Some people are in it for the romance."

The feeling of soft hands, desperate to hold, to fill palms with flesh and the pulse in their skin when they take.

But she was in it for the feeling. And she could get addicted to the feel of a cock between her legs.

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*─ | “Something to Eat” | ─ *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Wren (they/them)

The next morning.

Wren slides out of their sleeping bag in the back of the van with a grunt, the hair on one side of their head flattened against their face. They blink the sleep from their tired eyes as their gaze lands on a very awake new companion of theirs. “Did you sleep at all?”

His piercing gaze flicks over to them, and he gives them a quick nod, but it’s very apparent from the weary look in his eyes that he’s lying.

Wren stares at him for a long moment, tracking the lie immediately. “Mhm.” They push the sleeping bag towards the boy. “We need to get on the road again. We’ll stop for gas and food in the next town over.” Wren leaps up and crawls over the console between the two seats and plops down on the driver’s side. “Sleep while I drive. You’ll be useless if you’re tired.”

The boy quickly rolls up the sleeping bag for them and tucks it into the corner, following them to the front. “I’m fine.” He grunts.

With a huff, Wren rolls their eyes and starts the van. “You won’t be soon. If we’re lucky, they won’t come looking for you yet, or ever. But if they do, we’ll be sleeping a lot less,” they explain, pulling out of the parking garage. “So sleep.”

He is quiet at their words. Leaning against the window, the boy stares out at the surroundings with an unmistakably sad sigh. “I’m fine.” He reiterates.

With a hum and an exasperated wave of their hand, Wren turns onto the main road. “Whatever. I’m not slowing down for you when we’re being hunted like animals. And trust me, whether it’s your people or not, we will be.”

No response. He stares straight ahead, gaze level. His hands are clenched tightly where they rest on his thighs, and his posture is stiff. Despite seeming to trust Wren enough to follow them out of Eden, he still doesn’t seem to have relaxed the slightest bit from the night before.

Wren sighs and slumps into their seat as they speed down the freeway. “You’re not going to say anything?” They ask after a long moment of silence. “I got you out of there. You should at least tell me stuff about you so I know who I’m working with.”

The boy’s gaze flicks over to them but he still doesn’t move. “Why should I?” He asks in a monotone voice. “I have no reason to.”

Wren glances away from the road to narrow their eyes at him. “I saved your ass. I say that’s plenty reason. I’m going out on a limb to trust you won’t kill me in my sleep.”

His gaze shifts away again. “Eden said the same thing to me, did they not? They were a whole lot kinder to me, too. That’s no reason for me to trust you.” He says again in the same flat voice.

Wren clicks their tongue and shakes their head, fixing their eyes on the road again. “Fine. Don’t expect to know anything about me either,” they grunt between gritted teeth.

“Don’t care.” He says with a slight shrug, eyes dull, going back to watching out the window.

With a groan, Wren tips their head back, eyes leaving the road for longer than was considered safe. “Okay, whatever asshole,” they grumble with a snarl. “We’re driving for another two hours.”

“Okay.”

· · ──────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────── · ·

They have been stuck in this damned van for over an hour already and Wren is suffocating in the presence next to them. He hasn’t so much as uttered a single word since Wren’s last attempt to strike conversation. The silence becomes too much and Wren finally speaks again, saying, “You have any…hobbies?”

It’s silent for a bit, the boy just staring out the window, watching with his back turned to them as they pass through the city. “Why do you ask?”

Wren’s shoulders sag slightly as they let out a sigh. His questions make their brows stitch together. “I don’t know man, I’m just asking.”

“Do you?” 

Wren admits defeat, nodding with a shrug. “Yeah man, I guess.” They glance over at him again, biting at the inside of their cheek. “I like to draw. And I like music.”

He hums, still staring straight ahead.

Wren adjusts their grip on the steering wheel as they wait for their companion’s reply. Nothing but stiff silence fills the air. They click their tongue and pry further, saying, “Were you allowed to listen to music in that place?”

The boy nods slowly, not taking his eyes off the road. “Yes.”

Wren leans forwards in their seat, pressing against the steering wheel. “What kind of music?”

“Whatever I like.”

“And what kind of music do you like?” Wren asks shortly.

“Am I annoying you?” 

They shoot him a sideways glance, letting their body relax as they sigh. “No. You could talk a little more though. You’re so dry. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I like a variety of music.” His gaze is blank – unnerving –  as he stares at them. “Is that a sufficient answer?”

Wren hums, rolling their eyes but accepting the answer. “All right,” they sigh, shrugging. “It’s good enough. I like K-pop.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

Wren’s head snaps towards him as he speaks. “Open the glove box. There’s CDs in there.”

The boy robotically does just as they say, opening the glovebox and carefully rummaging through the CDs.

“Pick one. Then put it in the slot.”

After a moment of hesitation, he selects a random CD and puts it into the disc player.

Wren presses play. “Just listen to it. If you don’t like one you can skip it.”

He nods and starts to listen.

Wren taps their hands against the steering wheel as the song is carried out. Their gaze shifts sideways with an expectant raise of their eyebrow. “So?”

“It’s different from what I’ve heard before,” he says, not sounding quite as terribly dull.

Wren hums. “What does what you usually listen to sound like?”

“I had a lot of old rock CDs at home.” He says. “I usually listen to stuff similar to that.”

Wren raises their eyebrows slightly at the boy’s first seemingly carelessly given response. The corner’s of their lips quirk up slightly. “Hey, that’s cool. Rock is cool.”

He nods in agreement. “It is.”

Wren feels lighter than only moments before. While the boy is still guarded and blank faced, at least he’s willing to speak now. A little anyway. “My dad’s a big fan of old rock. He’s got a ton of records and a big fancy record player. You ever own a record player?”

“Yes. I had one in my dorm.” Briefly, it seems like he wants to say more, but no more words reach Wren’s ears.

“That’s cool,” Wren says, fixing their eyes on him once more as they take the exit. “I’ve never had one myself. But I had a CD player at home. That’s why I've got all of those,” they say, nodding towards the glove box.

Silence.

Wren sighs. They turn down a bumpy road, grunting as the van jerks and grumbles against the asphalt. “Let's get something to eat. I’m hungry. What do you want to eat?”

The boy shrugs. “Whatever you prefer.” He says, glancing down the uneven road.

Wren glances over at him. “What, have you never had fast food before?” they ask with a raised brow.

WIth a blink, he slowly shakes his head no. From the look on his face Wren can tell he doesn’t even know what fast food is.

Wren stares at him for a long moment, silent. Then they sigh and rub a hand down their face. “Jeez.” They take another turn, the road smoothing out. “We’re going to McDonald’s.”

“Okay.”

Wren nods, satisfied, as they turn into a parking lot, shaking their head with a hum. “What food do you normally eat then?”

“The food provided at the cafeteria. It’s carefully selected to give us all our proper nutrients and vitamins.”

Wren scoffs and rolls their eyes. “That’s so boring. Do you even have a favorite food?” They ask as they put the van in park in front of the golden arches of heaven.

“Not particularly,” he says, staring up at the McDonald’s.

With a sigh, Wren thumps their forehead against the steering wheel. “That’s so sad dude. How do you not have a favorite food? Whatever, let’s go.” They turn the van off and climb out, gesturing for their new “friend” to follow. When he follows in suit, Wren leads him through the sliding doors and approaches the counter, jabbing a finger at the menu. “What do you want?”

“What kind of food do they serve?” he asks, looking around, lips parted, eyes sparkling in awe.

Wren deadpans and points at the menu again. “Read it. They’ve got burgers and nuggets and shakes and stuff. And chicken sandwiches. I like the spicy one.”

The boy narrows his eyes at the menu. “I’ll just have whatever you usually order.”

Wren sighs and marches up to the counter, placing their order and dropping a fist full of crumpled dollar bills in front of the cashier. “Let’s go sit,” they say, not waiting for the boy as they find a small table in the corner.

He follows, trailing after them like a lost dog, sitting down at the table across from them.

Slumping into the chair, Wren hums “It’ll be quick. That’s why they call it fast food.” They tip their head back and stretch their arms over their head. “Is there anything you wanna do before we’re being hunted down?”

“I don’t know.” He mumbles. He continues to look around at all the new people sitting around them, his eyes scanning basically everywhere except for Wren. 

Wren raises a brow and sits up, leaning forward against the table. They stick out a finger at him and shrug. “You’re free now. You can do whatever. For a short period of time anyways. There’s never been something you’ve wanted to try?”

He shrugs. “Not really. My duty to Eden is the most important thing for me to focus on, everything else is just a distraction.” He is still in the habit of quoting the mantras Eden has forced into his head.

Wren frowns and narrows their eyes at his words. “Welp, that’s not the case anymore. You can actually do shit now.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel…” he murmurs, quickly glancing to Wren for approval, like he’s scared he might get punished for saying the wrong thing. It makes Wren slightly uneasy.

They quickly brush it off and chuckle, their lips splitting into a faint smile. “Traveling’s cool. We’ll be doing plenty of that now.”

His eyes dart down to Wren’s smile. “Okay.” He says, perking up slightly.

Wren doesn’t miss the way he seems slightly more intrigued by the matter. “I mean, it’s not like we’re going backpacking in Europe but we’ll get to see different places at least.” 

The boy nods, running his fingertips along the edge of the table.

Wren eyes him for a moment longer before their order is called. “I’ll be right back.”  They retrieve their food from the counter and return, dropping the tray on the table. They grab one wrapped burger and hold it out to the boy, pushing a carton of fries towards him. “This is a Big Mac.” 

He takes it with a “thanks” and carefully unwraps it. He inspects his burger for a moment before taking a tentative bite.

Wren doesn’t wait for him to speak again, grabbing their own burger and ripping open the paper, sinking their teeth into the food with a groan. They chew away at their food, plucking fries from their own carton every now and then and cramming them into their mouth. “So?”

He chews silently for a moment before swallowing. “It’s… really good,” he admits.

Wren can’t help the smirk that breaks their features at his answer. “Hell yeah it is. You want another?”

The boy takes another big bite of his burger and nods. Wren takes a bite of their own burger, snorting before heading towards the counter again.

He continues to eat his burger, content washing over him, the last night's events slipping from his mind for a moment.

Wren places an order for another burger before returning to their place in front of the boy, busying themself with their own food once more. They finish their burger just as their second order is called and make their way over and grab it, delivering it to the boy.  For a long while, they stare, studying him as they pluck at their fries. They want to ask more. They want to pry information out of them. But this is the first time since meeting him that he hasn’t seemed completely tense and on edge. Wren remains silent.

Finishing off the last of their fries Wren crumples up their trash, stuffing it in the bag their food came in. “We should get back on the road soon. You want to finish that here or take it with us?” they ask, nodding at the burger he’s clutching.

He swallows his huge bite of food and wipes his mouth. “I’ll eat it in the car,” he says, carefully wrapping his food up again.

Wren almost smiles at the sight, him wrapping his food almost as if it were something precious. They nod and stand, tossing their trash in the nearest bin and nodding towards the door. “Let’s go.”

After tossing all of their trash, he nods and follows them back out the door.

Wren climbs into the van with a sigh, feeling more comfortable with food in their stomach. “All right. We’ll drive for another hour or so and stay in the next city. It’s pretty busy so we shouldn’t have a hard time going unnoticed.”

He nods, buckling his seatbelt and getting comfortable in his seat once more.

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A big thanks to @oros-ash3s for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.W. .ᐟ

[eden-beast]

so much changing. i dont feel so good.

[page-soobinnie]

Hello 🤗🤗🤗

I just saw that you write for Strangers From Hell characters so I wanted to request dating and jealousy headcanons for Moonjo, Jongwoo, Seokyoon and Jieun separately.

I know it's a lot 😅 but there's so little contents about them. So I would really appreciate it if you would. But it's ok if you can't. Thank you anyways ❤️ ❤️

✮Them Being Jealous✮

✮Special thanks too: Anon, Moonjo, JongWoo, Seokyoon, Jieun

✮Note: Hi hello!! Thank you for requesting and being my first Request on this account I hope you enjoy it and remember you can request any time as long as it fits my rules ♡︎

✮TW: Moonjo : Psycho JongWoo : Jealousy : Yandere themes : mentions of murder : mentions of a pervert : teeth (Moonjo) : gender of reader is not specified : creepy man in Seokyoon's : Jongwoos boss being weird :

✮Taglist: No one yet but you can join by clicking this link and commenting the category you want or dming me or sending an ask

©Yawnzzznnn do not steal or copy my work

9-11-23

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Moonjo

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Oh boy... He is very protective and Obsessive so he won't let you out Eden without him and the only time he leave leaves is for work so you don't really get to leave maybe once(1) or thrice(3) a week even then your not allowed to look at someone or speak to anyone that's not him

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥So if he was to get jealous it would be of someone at Eden no it's not the pervert or the twins, but instead let's say it's Seokyoon

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥I mean Seokyoon is young and cute who wouldn't fall for him, although you already had Moonjo you couldn't deny the little butterflies whenever he smiled at you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Moonjo isn't stupid he saw how shy you get around Seokyoon so before bed he brought it up to you "Yn" he said "do you have somthing to tell me?" He continued confused you shook your head "oh no?" He mocked "so you don't feel anything when Seokyoon looks at you? You didn't think I noticed how shy and giggly you get when he smiles at you?" He spoke his voice raising every word, in response you gasped "it's not like that" you say Moonjo wasn't buying it "it's not like that?" He scoffed and looked at the door

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"fine if you like Seokyoon so much" he mumbled rushing out the door with a familiar syringe in his hand you knew you couldn't stop him and if you tried too it'll make it worse on your end

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳Later that night Moonjo walked through the door with a bracelet filled to the brim with teeth "here these are Seokyoon's" he said trying to put the bloody bracelet on you in response you jerked your hand away looking up at your face he gave you the crazed smile before setting Seokyoon's teeth down on the table "now to take care of you"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥JongWoo

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Its no secret that JongWoo has an attitude with people he can't stand or that annoy him or weird him out

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥The two of you were at his work place you visiting to give him emotional support because of the things he's told you about Eden and how scared he was

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"Yn" he said causing you to raise your head from his shoulder "do me a favor and get documents from there" he said pointing at a file cabinet through a glass window after describing the kind he needs you walked to the file cabinet and bent down to search

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Unknown to your knowledge you've attracted a viewer the quiet guy who sits next to JongWoo was not so subtly starring at your butt

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"Yah" Jongwoo said grabbing the attention of everyone in the room including you "dont stare at my partner like that" he said the guy looked around a bit embarrassed "wait what happened" you said coming back with what JongWoo needed JongWoo snatched the file from you before grabbing your arm and forcing you back to your seat on the other side of him

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"I caught him starring at your butt" he said loud enough for everyone to hear you gasped before you heard giggling "that's gross" you heard the girl next to you mumble the guy looked down "your not even going to apologize?" JongWoo said standing up from his chair getting ready to grab the dudes keyboard you were quick to stop JongWoo

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"Don't your gonna get yourself in trouble" you mumbled holding on to his hands JongWoo scoffed "I don't care he needs to apologize" JongWoo said snatching his hand away from you "yah!" He said the guy refusing to look at him

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"what's going on out here?" The big boss said coming out his office "JongWoo caught him starring at yn's butt" the girl said next you in a disgusted tone "are you not going to apologize?" JongWoo scoffed "yah asshole!" JongWoo yelled kicking his chair the guy flinched "JongWoo!" You gasped "stop Yn" he said trying to pull his hands away from you "dont jeopardize your job for me" you said pulling him into a hug hoping to calm him down

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥JongWoo visibly relaxed before wrapping his arms around your waist "your more important to me than this job" he whispered you sighed "baby please I dont want to see you suffer because some hentai loving asshole can't keep his eyes to himself" you said rubbing his back JongWoo slightly giggled "I love you" he said swaying the two of you back and forth "I know" you said hearing him slightly gasp before pinching your back you giggled "I love you too now let's get you back to work" you said the rest of his time working there JongWoo had a really bad attitude towards the guy

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Seokyoon

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Seokyoon is a very understanding person he prefers to look on the bright side of things which means he hardly ever gets jealous

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Hes more protective of you like let's say you go to a bar with him after he begged you too, the two of you were relaxing having a good time cuddled up to one another in the corner kissing every two seconds Seokyoon stood up saying he had to use the toilet he promised to be fast and when Seokyoon makes a promise he'll keep it

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥While waiting for your boyfriend a random man comes and sits Infront of you "are you alone?" He asked eyeing your body you shifted uncomfortably in your seat "no-no I'm here with my boyfriend" you said quietly "boyfriend?" The man laughed "you mean that kid that walked to the bathroom?" He said acting like he just said the funniest thing in the world "Seokyoon isn't a kid don't call him that and please leave me alone" you said fear washing away replacing with irritation

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥In response the man laughed "you could date a real man" he said emphasizing 'real' you scoffed "I told you I have a boyfriend" you said leaning back in your chair slightly jumping when you felt a familiar hand touch your shoulder "besides your not much of a real man if you can't take a hint" Seokyoon hissed out towards the man

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥The tone in Seokyoons voice was something you never heard before the man gulped "sorry" he said standing up before rushing away. You and Seokyoon sighed in unison before you both bust out laughing after a minute or two Seokyoon sat back in his chair on the right side of you trapping you between him and the wall again

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"Sorry I couldn't get here faster baby" he said playing with your fingers "it's fine I just wanted him gone he stank" you jokes scrunching up your nose Seokyoon giggled before leaning in to kiss you

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Jieun

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Jieun is a pouty type of jealous like if your paying too much attention to another girl that isn't her she'll pout and latch herself to your arm

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥when the two of you leave that conversation she'll speak on it "you know she was flirting right?" She mumbled "that's why I left as soon as possible I don't need her I have an amazing girlfriend right here a clingy but adorable one too" you said ripping your arm out her hold in order to hug her "oh whatever" she said wrapping her arms around your waist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Jieun needs reassurance so you being the amazing partner you are made sure she gets that assurance

[signalterminated]

teeth of god comic spoilers below, just getting out my thoughts. do NOT click this readmore if you haven't read it yet.

pacing wise, this comic is an absolute mess. i see each intended story beat but the art style itself makes the pages hard to follow, which is not a knock against the artists themselves. they're very, very talented, and i'm unsure what directions they were given for the layouts here and how much freedom they had in that regard.

it's also entirely devoid of text beyond incredibly hard to read notes from the director. if this was a creative decision, it was a bad choice, because it's the only context we're given for anything that's happening. handwritten notes are fine but i was struggling to squint to make out anything legible. if this is vessel's handwriting, then dude. ask a friend to write these for you please lol

there was also a surprising integration here with alex tillbrook's creatures from TMBTE but they have taken some massive artistic liberties with their designs. i don't know why, if this was on purpose or due to a licensing issue (which would be odd because it's all under the Sleep Token IP?), but it was something i noticed and found a bit odd. that being said, the chokehold creature looks fucking adorable in this comic with his smiley sun face lol, i appreciated that change

the problem i'm finding with it as a whole is that the action happens at a frantic breakneck pace and doesn't leave much space for a reader to actually take in what's happening. i'm having to go back and doublecheck that i'm reading the panels in the right order. there were a couple of pages that actually did this, setting up environment to let you see the before and after the lunar anomaly broke through, which i appreciated.

and again. the actual quality of the writing and the art here is great. that isn't the issue at all. it's more of an organizational thing and a coherency thing, which makes sense if anyone working on this project has less experience in composing an entire graphic novel.

though despite that pacing problem, i was able to mostly understand the primary story beats and they more or less confirmed my suspicions: this new life on earth isn't innately hostile all the time, and in fact one of the soldiers pats a mutated doggie on the head for being a good boy. these new life forms are embroiled in their own scuffles, their own wars, and are struggling to define their identities with the life they've been gifted.

i had an inkling from the getgo that this is the direction vessel wanted to take with the comic -- fear not of just death, but of a life past death that leaves you unrecognizable, and alone, and confused. permanently altered by what horrors you've seen. it's on the nose in that regard but it's a concept that i'm also fascinated by and enamored with in cosmic horror.

and in that way i feel even more attached to vessel as a creator because i feel like mentally we're teasing at the same spheres of the genre. there's a panel near the end of the director literally embracing the reaper figure (that i've been calling eden), accepting union with the very entity that has wiped away humanity as we knew it.

the final notes from the not!director are almost painfully hard to read but they give the largest clues of all towards how vessel views sleep as a god in this fictional narrative he's cooked up and i very much enjoy how he's chosen to approach it. the writing itself veers into this stream of consciousness back and forth, a mental pingpong between the director and the entity that's merged itself with him, which is just chef's kiss to me.

also, this is speculation at best, but i think it might be hinting that vessel WAS the director before sleep joined with him? i'm not entirely sure. there were cultists wearing face masks which i think is the most confusing part of this whole thing. why are they not transformed and instead helping the lunar anomaly? they have superhuman senses and can fight armed men in blindfolds like something out of daredevil. the whole thing feels VERY 90's in terms of its presentation, which isn't a bad thing. it's just funny to see how retro its whole look is lol

all in all, i really like this comic, despite being as flawed as it is. i think the concepts sleep token is exploring here are a nice, refreshing take on invasive eldritch forces: there's a desperation and loneliness in the unknown, and it toes the line between romantic and horrific in that regard. it's the epitome of transcendental horror.

[jchnstones]

John Stones | Mini Valentines

in which john becomes his daughter’s first valentine, resulting in an excited Eden.

a/n: happy valentines day! back from the dead for one day only <3

when john stood at the letter box, fingers gripped to the card full of love, he couldn't help but think that this was a silly idea.

the previous night he'd clicked his pen and scribbled a quick message, signing it from a secret admirer. a glide of the tongue over the envelope sticks it into place, a last drag of the pen reads to eden. he hated the thought of boys one day sending his daughter cards that declared how much they love her, accompanied by bunches of flowers and cheap chocolates. that was his job, he thought, to love her so much she'd have no room left to fit anyone else's into her heart.

he sighs as the card leaves his his grip and falls into the red box, a snickered breath leaving his lips as he does so. perhaps it was silly, but at least her first valentines was daddy.

february 14th

Eden’s feet dangle from the stool tucked into the breakfast bar, her hands scooping up cereal with her spoon. you stand, arms crossed and back against the surface as you watch her, milk dripping from her chin as she licks her lips with every spoonful. "just like daddy, aren't you?" you mutter, fingers lacing through her hair. She beams, teeth showing briefly before she sloppily wipes her lips with the back of her tiny hand.

"and what's that supposed to mean?" john bounces through to the kitchen, one hand gripping a bunch of roses, the other some cards. “Postman’s been!” "john," you whine, lips pouting once you spot the flowers. "i thought we weren't doing valentines this year?" he holds them out towards you, bending over slightly as his lips pucker against yours. “can never help myself though, can I?” you take them from him, admiring their deep red colour before placing them on the counter.

"and a very special letter," john starts. he squints his eyes as he pretends to make out what the name says on the envelope. "for Eden!" she giggles, her palms clapping together as she watches her daddy place it down in front of her through the motion of an aeroplane. "mommy look." she struggles to hold the card, but once she has a hold of it with both hands, she waves it in the air to show you. "A letter for me." her cheeks bunch as her smile spreads across her face, into her eyes. john glows as he watches his daughter's excitement ooze from her bones. this is the moment he'd waited for for years. he glares over at you, pouting his bottom lip as his brows arch. how adorable.

"well open it then, lovebug." you call, watching as she stares at the card.

"daddy, what does it say?" Eden turns in her chair as she searches for john, who steps over to her. he takes it from her hands gently and bends over so his elbows are placed on the breakfast bar. you stand next to him, arm placed over his back as your head leans in to read along too.

“to Eden," john places his finger under the words as he reads, Eden’s eyes following along. her eyebrows furrow as her fingers rest on her cheeks. "i hope you have a great valentine's day and eat lots of yummy chocolates." she squeals as the thought of the sweet goods enters her mind.

“I love you to the moon and all the way back," the expression in johns voice makes your heart sink. he was so gentle with her, he adored her so much. "big bear hugs and sloppy kisses, love from your secret admirer." johns eyes gape at her as he closes the card, his lips tugging into a soft smile. her hands are now clasped over her open mouth, her little ponytails swinging from side to side as her body rocks through pure excitement.

"who is it?" she whispers, her green eyes studying johns face. he leans closer to her as you watch him, nose booping against Eden’s cheek. "well, perhaps we'll never know." he plants a kiss on her soft skin and slowly rises from his stance. he catches your eyes now and shares a content smile. to you, he screams of home and faint laughter from the next room; vanilla cupcakes on a rainy day and gentle fingertips tracing hearts on each other's back. he is warmth when it snows with hands like puzzle pieces so familiar to yours.

John opens his arm and scoops you closer to him, fingers squeezing around your waist.

[doric-column]

This time in Deprogramming, E, Aziraphale moves forward on closing the Programme, while Crowley withdraws in the days since, “I need a safe word.” There's never been an angel more prepared for one last chance to get through to his lover as Aziraphale when Crowley says he's ready to talk.

The demon stood fully nude and beautiful in the blue light of a cloudless night, nascent copper curls brushing the tops of his shoulders. Aziraphale reached powerlessly for him with a desperate cry of, “Crowley!”

“It’s okay, angel,” he said, pausing to look over his shoulder with a little smile, catching starlight in his eyes and in the soft mesh collar. “Gonna take a bath. Don’t wait up for me.”

More fic excerpts follow the break.

It’s been three days since then, as Aziraphale continues his covert interviews up and down Heaven’s common garden, a broad swath of unnaturally round leaves that’s altogether too uniform, too tidy, and without any obvious central growth to pass for a real garden to anyone who’s actually stood in one.

He offers all but one of them his hand and a concealed scroll—with a cover letter that concludes, “Send your yes by celestial memo, and prepare to meet outside the lift at the seventh hour of the seventh day following your receipt of the enclosed, unless otherwise instructed.” Along with the throne Barbiel, he’s recruited a power, a handful of principalities, a seraph, and a few of cherubs. Eleven so far.

“I’m establishing a Demon Relations Department to ensure demonkind is treated civilly once the programme has been shuttered. I need a leadership team of diverse rank—preferably headed by an archangel.”

“I won’t stop you,” they say. “When you come to overthrow the programme? I won’t stop you. They don’t belong here, Aziraphale. They never have. And their presence has a damaging effect on some of the host. Sandalphon reeks of corruption.”

Aziraphale considers them for a long moment. Then he offers the archangel his hand.

Crowley tips his head at a contemplative angle, grinds his teeth side-to-side, executes one of his rare slow blinks. “You think I haven’t been blissfully happy since Eden?” he asks, abruptly gentle. “You think I’d throw that all away for a God who abandoned me?”

The demon’s eyes sweep his own hairline as though to draw the glisten of tears back inside. His tongue coils mutely for a moment behind his teeth—the long, elegant column of his throat working over a click, a swallow.

“I can’t, ngk, just have the things I want, angel. Doesn’t work that way for me. Ever. And if…” He sniffs and admits at last, “If I lose you this time, I’ll break.”

“I just been up here for goddamn years (can you see now), filling up hulls with goddamn fears (I am free now), well I know about it, darling—I’ve been standing here.” ~Justin Vernon

Chapter 12 is live on AO3.