#how is that fic merely just existing bothering you THAT much

[evansbby]

i remember one time i posted an rpf chris drabble and tagged it as steve rogers (bc i try to use all the tags to get maximum views lmao) and someone said to remove it bc rpf is triggering to them

[tsxkkis]

# tsukishima kei - perfect match

a/n: watch me suddenly appear out of nowhere after the school year has finally ended to post something!! i'm sure absolutely no one is surprised that tsukishima is the centre of this fic, but tbh idk how to feel about it (it's definitely longer than my usual ones but i didn't proofread it, so idk if the lenght is an advantage or not) but i hope you'll like it ^^ with school being over for the next two months i'll finally have time to write, so expect more works soon!!

summary: you and tsukishima decide to help your friends get together, but the plan is long forgotten when you realize what your own feelings are.

warnings: nothing really, canon yamayachi (my loves), some light swearing, bad writing

tsukishima kei did not expect any of his friends to bother him in the middle of the night. hell, he didn't even expect any of them to disturb his alone time at all. and yet at exactly 2.34 in the morning, right as he was about to turn off his currently binge watched tv show and go to sleep, he felt his phone buzzing on the nightstand. 

his eyes focused on your name, written in white font on his phone screen, surely shocked by the sight.

'why are you calling me at 2 in the goddamn morni-'

'is yamaguchi interested in anyone?'

your question caught him off-guard even more than the call itself, his brows furrowing in a weirded-out look. 

'if you're asking for yourself, i'm positive that he is not interested.' 

tsukishima heard a sigh of annoyance on the other side of the call and could only imagine the exact look on your face in this very moment. 

'well, thank god, because i'm not asking for myself.' you said. there were muffled sounds of someone preparing food in the background. 'i'm asking for yachi.'

the blonde boy smiled unconsciously.

'he does like her.' the boy stated, turning off his laptop as he put it back on the desk. 'so much so, in fact, that it can be kind of annoying sometimes.'

you squealed with excitement, a giggle leaving your mouth at tsukishima's remark. 

'perfect! now, listen carefully.'

that singular phone call created an alliance between you and kei. an alliance with only one goal; getting your two best friends to finally confess to each other. to both of you, it was almost infuriating how blind they were; how they didn't notice just how obvious it was that they both shared the same feeling. constant blushing at as little as a mention of the other's name, the stolen glances, the very obvious pining - all of it seemed to be non-existent in the eyes of both yamaguchi and yachi.

but lucky for them, you had a plan.

his eyes lingered on you for a few seconds, as if awaiting a sign from you. tsukishima still thought of your 'master plan' as rather silly, but seeing the determination on your face, and the frown that appeared when he called your idea stupid was enough for him to sigh and go with it this once.

the four of you were currently occupied with studying for a math test coming up next week, everyone nose deep in their notebooks. well, everyone except for kei.

the boy cleared his throat almost theatrically, drawing the attention of the three of you.

'yamaguchi, i think i'll have to pass on the movies this weekend.' he said, the tone of his voice as lifeless as ever. 'akiteru insisted that i go to one of his games, so i guess you'll have to take someone else.'

the freckled boy looked a little troubled upon hearing the information. both you and tsukishima were well aware that the tickets to the cinema were already paid for; yamaguchi would definitely be sad if it all went to waste. 

'well, i guess i can ask hina-'

'yachi, didn't you tell me last week that you wanted to go to the movies with someone?' you barged in before the boy could even finish his sentence, your friend freezing in her spot at the mention of a conversation you had not that long ago, cheeks flushed pink at the mere thought of going somewhere with yamaguchi one-on-one. 'maybe you'd fill in for tsukki?' 

the girl glanced at you, panic in her eyes as an awkward silence filled the room, everyone waiting for her to answer. you gave her an encouraging smile, as if trying to non-verbally tell her to go for it, to use this as a chance to get closer to the boy she liked for so long. 

'if yamaguchi doesn't mind...' she mumbled quietly, head turning to face the boy who was already shaking his head. 

'of course i don't.' yamaguchi smiled, his small dimples showing up in the process. 

you glanced over to look at tsukishima, a triumphant smile on your face as if you just won a volleyball tournament. his hair was slightly messy, and his glasses were sliding off his nose, two of the top buttons on his school uniform unbuttoned, showing a bit of his collarbones. surprisingly enough, the blonde boy smiled back; a small, quick smile that your eyes barely noticed. you had no idea what it was, but something about that singular smile made your heart beat faster. 

don't. the main focus of this entire thing is to get yachi and yamaguchi together. not to think of tsukishima and how attractive he looks- 

shit.

developing a crush on tsukishima kei was certainly not part of your plan. 

at first, you tried ignoring it as much as you could, focusing solely on your friends and getting them to date. as time went on and yamaguchi and yachi started getting closer, you almost felt a sense of relief - you could finally stop spending so much time around tsukishima, which made your chances of getting over your stupid crush higher. 

but it wasn't as easy as you thought. tsukishima was intelligent, pretty, and his snarky remarks and judgy personality actually drew you to him even more with each passing day. through the countless conversations and numerous phone calls, he proved himself to be more than just a salty, mean guy that everyone viewed him as.

'soon enough, they won't even need our help.' you mumbled to yourself as you opened your bento box, a smile on your face as you noticed your mom homemade onigiri inside. 'i don't know what i'll do with myself then.'

tsukishima scoffed, closing the textbook in front of him.

'maybe start focusing on your own love life for once.'

'hey! it's not my fault that i'm a good friend.' you stated, mouth full of food, as you looked up at your friend sitting on the opposite side of the table, looking through the tasks assigned for next week. 'besides, it's not like i'm the only one.'

tsukishima adjusted his glasses, looking up at you for a mere second before focusing back on his notebook.

'touché.'

'oh, come on.' you whined out, dissatisfied with the lack of response from the blonde boy. 'you won't miss this even a little bit?'

alright, maybe just a bit-

'no.' tsukishima stated firmly, fixing his posture as he highlighted one of the important sentences written down. you heard a bit of hesitation in his voice, and the few seconds of silence before hearing an answer couldn't help but make you wonder. you decided to ignore it this time - he was focused on something else right now, there was no need to disturb him. 

'do you think yachi will like my outfit?'

tsukishima was sitting at the edge of his best friend's bed, mindlessly scrolling through his phone and occasionally looking up to see the twelfth - no, thirteenth shirt that yamaguchi has tried on already. the boy sighed, turning his device off. 

'it's your first official date, i'm sure she doesn't mind what you wear.' he stated, gaining a frown from yamaguchi.

'you didn't answer my question.'

'alright, i think she'll like it.' the blonde haired boy said, reaching out for a bag of chips, opening it with a loud sound. 'but i'm sure she'll focus more on the date itself rather than what you're wearing.'

ever since announcing to their friends that they're going on their first official date, both yamaguchi and yachi were full of stress, constantly overthinking every little detail from their outfit to whether or not the date will go well or not. tsukishima found it rather comical - it was only a date after all. why stress over it so much? he never went on one, obviously, but he always thought that when the day came, he'd approach it calmly.

'do you have any tips on how to not freak out?' yamaguchi asked suddenly, catching his friend off-guard. 'during the date, i mean.'

'how can i know? i've never gone on one.'

the freckled boy looked at tsukishima, a confused expression on his face as he processed his words.

'oh.' he paused for a second, his voice quieter when he continued speaking. 'i thought you and y/n were, you know, a thing.'

huh?

to say tsukishima was shocked was an understatement. he genuinely had no idea what to say; he never even let a thought of you and him being more than friends, 'partners in crime', as you loved to say, slip through his mind. never did it occur to him that someone from the outside would see your relationship as being something more than a merely platonic one. 

well, maybe there was something to it after all. 

yamaguchi's words made him wonder - although he did find you annoying at times, it was only occasionally and to a very little degree. that in itself was very rare in tsukishima's eyes, as he found most of the people surrounding him at least normally annoying. you, on the other hand, were a completely different case. your jokes, no matter how awkward or downright cringe, made him crack a silent laugh more often than not, and every time he saw you smile, his lips uncontrollably curved up into a small, barely noticeable one themselves. 

'oh, no, absolutely not.' the blonde blurted out after a long minute of silence, the tips of his ears turning a bright shade of red. 'there is not a single bone in my body that would want to date her. now get up idiot, or you'll be late to your date.'

the moment tsukishima opened his bedroom, after walking his friend to the bus stop, he immediately plopped down on his bed, phone in hand, instinctively opening messages to write to you. surprisingly enough, a message was already waiting for him.

'yachi almost cried because of how stressed she is T-T'

'do you think we should spy on them to make sure it all goes well?'

he found himself smiling at the words on his phone screen, quickly typing back an answer. 

'do you really not have a life of your own?'

'idiot.'

only after a few minutes did he get a response from you.

'can i come over?? i'm bored :33'

a harmless message, one might think. in reality, tsukishima was freaking out at the mere thought of hanging out with you for a reason other than setting up your friends, his cheeks a light shade of pink as his eyes kept digging a hole through his phone. 

you weren't any better than him - hands slightly shaky as you awaited a response for what felt like hours, but was actually just a few minutes. you had no idea what took over you; was it a sudden wave of bravery or rather an idiotic spontaneous choice to ask tsukishima that. but nonetheless, when you finally got the response, you felt ecstatic.

'alright.'

'bring some snacks.'

'kei, i think yamaguchi is he- oh, that's certainly a new face.'

you stood in front of the door with an awkward smile, facing tsukishima's older brother, akiteru, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. to say he was surprised was an understatement - he looked as if he'd seen a ghost. as if a friend that's not yamaguchi coming over to tsukishima's house was so out of the ordinary that it could become a national holiday. 

'come in.' the younger male appeared in the back of the hall, an oversized dinosaur shirt and shorts on. his expression was softer than usual; not until he looked at his brother, whom he gave a sharp stare, signaling him to let you inside and don't make such a fuss about it. 

you sat down on his bed, awkward silence filling up the room. not wanting to make the conversation about your friends as per usual, you slowly realized you don't know what to talk about, trying to think of something, anything, as you began unpacking your bag filled with snacks. 

surprisingly enough, it was tsukishima who spoke up first. 

'wanna watch a movie?' he asked, opening his drawer to pull out two bottles of soda, hidden there so that his brother doesn't devour all of them. 'unless it'll make you even more bored than you were before.'

'well, if you have a boring taste in movies-' 

'says the one who looks like their favorite movie is mamma mia.' tsukishima scoffed under his breath, turning his laptop on and starting to search up movies. you looked at him, a dramatic expression as you pretended to be offended. 

'and you look like you're about to mansplain the godfather to me.' 

a short silence filled the room before you heard the blonde boy let out a short, muffled laugh at your comment. 

'you couldn't be more wrong.' he sat down next to you, a small smile still on his face. 'i found it kind of boring, actually.'

'what do you like, then?'

'horror movies.' tsukishima stated, eyes focused on the screen. 'but tadashi gets easily scared, so i often don't have a chance to watch them.'

'same with me and yachi.' you said, unconsciously scooping a bit closer to the boy as you tried to get a better look at what he was searching up. 'i love them, but yachi jumps at every small scare on the screen. sometimes, she even gets scared when there's nothing happening at all.'

'they really do match each other.' he mumbled, putting the laptop on the bed as he pressed play on a movie he chose. his eyes quickly glanced your way to get a nod of approval on his choice.

'yeah, they do.'

and we could, too.

'are you and tsukishima dating?'

you almost spat out your drink, the words coming out of hinata's mouth catching you so off-guard you were close to choking. 

the three of you, along with kageyama, were currently cleaning up after volleyball practice, the boys racing on who would clean more balls off of the floor.

'no, we're not.' you said in a clearly sad tone with an obvious hint of dissatisfaction in your voice. 'what the hell made you think that way?'

the orange haired boy stopped in his tracks, his signature smile disappearing for a minute as he got lost in his own thoughts. 

'oh! i remember now.' he said after a short while, his grin coming back. 'yamaguchi told me that you two are close.'

'he did also mention that he seems happier around you.' kageyama added, joining the conversation. 'seeing tsukishima happy must be pretty scary.'

not really, you thought. but at the same time, what confused you more was what kageyama said right before. 

he seems happier around you.

yamaguchi has been kei's friend for the longest time, so any of his observations must be true, or at least that's what you liked to believe. but would that mean that tsukishima kei, the salty, closed-off guy whom everyone finds intimidating could possibly like you? was there truly a possibility that he enjoyed spending time with you? 

as you finished cleaning up the hall, saying your goodbyes to your two friends who ran off to practice volleyball somewhere else, a familiar, tall figure appeared in the doorframe, sharp eyes staring at you with an expression that you couldn't exactly decipher. 

'want me to walk you home?' he asked, hands in his pockets. 'it's getting late.'

you looked at him, trying to hide the blush creeping up onto your cheeks before quickly nodding as an answer.

'sure, let's go.'

most of the walk was filled with silence on both parts, exactly as you expected. even though it might've felt awkward for some, you did enjoy his presence in itself enough that a conversation wasn't necessary. 

the boy stopped in his tracks mid-way, reaching into his backpack and pulling out his phone and an old pair of white, wired earphones, showing them to you as a silent question of whether you wanted to listen to music with him or not. you agreed without a second thought, a small smile on your face as he put on one of his playlists. 

'i really like this song.' you mumbled, eyes lighting up upon hearing the familiar melody. with both of you wearing the same set of headphones right now, you were practically forced to walk closer to each other - hands constantly brushing against one another, a faint blush on your face as you tried to ignore it and focus on the music. 

tsukishima, on the other hand, couldn't shake away the thoughts roaming around his head. he felt as if what he was doing now was incredibly unlike him; and maybe it was. but for some reason, he didn't mind being like this around you. less cocky, sarcastic, mean and more... gentle.

he could feel his fingers brushing against yours from time to time, and it drove him crazy. should he go for it and play it off nonchalantly, or just ignore it? should he even make the first move or wait for you to do it?

before he was able to decide, tsukishima felt your hand reaching for his, heart rate immediately speeding up as your fingers shyly intertwined with his, looking the other way to hide your anxious expression.

his hand was much bigger than yours, but somehow it fit perfectly with yours. as if they were created solely to hold one another and nothing else. the plan to get your friends to be together was long forgotten by now - your mind was clouded with thoughts of tsukishima only, and little did you know that his wasn't any different. 

you glanced his way only to find his eyes already on you, hiding his true feelings behind a nonchalant look. only now did you notice that the two of you were standing in front of your house, the boy adjusting his glasses as he waited to see what you'll do next. 

'i guess i should go home now.' you mumbled, but you still didn't move an inch, hand not leaving his. 'see you tomorrow?'

his hand squeezed yours tightly before taking it away, an unusually warm and welcoming smile on his face. 

'sure. see you tomorrow, idiot.'

but as you slowly made your way towards the door, tsukishima couldn't shake away the feeling in him, telling him to go for it. and as much as he tried to resist it, he just couldn't anymore. 

'wait.’

before you could fully turn away, tsukishima kei's lips were already on yours, a sweet, long kiss that felt as if he was waiting to do it for years. his hand traveled to your waist and it didn't take long for you to react; lips moving swiftly with his, noses bumping into one another before you pulled away, a giggle escaping your mouth as you saw just how red tsukishima's face was.

‘don't laugh at me, moron.’ he said, immediately catching the reason for your laughter as he flicked you in the forehead. ‘your whole face is red, too.’

‘i didn't expect you to do this.’ you mumbled, eyes focused on his as you reached to hold his hand again. ‘didn't expect my feelings to be mutual, either.’

‘i'm glad we feel the same.’ his face leaned in closer to yours, a wave of confidence taking over him as he placed a short kiss on your forehead. ‘but i would still prefer to properly ask you out. if you'd say yes, that is.’ 

‘of course i would.’ you smiled, ‘i'd be stupid not to.’

‘should we bet on how long it takes the others to realize we're dating now?’ tsukishima smiled at you, eyes not leaving yours for even a spare second. you laughed at his idea, giving his hand a squeeze. 

‘get ready to lose, kei.’

‘you wish.’

taglist: @moonswolfie

[goldencithaerias]

Unexpected Intervention

Bully!Miguel x Reader

tw: dirty talking, semi-public sex, fingering, p in v smut, enemies to lovers if you squint, mean miguel o’hara, soft miguel o’hara at the end

(author note: first off, this is my first miguel fic after a few weeks of being down bad for this man, second, this is PURE FILTHY SMUT. nothing hardcore and more focused on reader’s pov if anything tbh, but maybe it’s just me projecting. anyhow, enjoy.)

(smut under the cut)

It was supposed to be just a small break.

You were simply tired and wanted to take a breather from all of your classes. So, as any rational student would, you skipped fourth period to go up to the rooftop, hoping that some fresh air would help boost your mood.

Unfortunately for you, Miguel O’Hara, the bane of yours and pretty much everyone else’s existence, was also there, smoking weed on a Tuesday afternoon. He was the stereotypical mean jock that picks on others with a hot body to die for, the kind that makes people both want and fear. In other words, a hot bully.

And that’s how you find your skirt hiked up to your stomach, back pressed against his chiseled body as his two thick fingers pump in and out of your abused cunt. This has to be at least the 4th orgasm that he had pulled out of you, and just from his mere fingers alone. His lips were pressed against your ear, his other hand fondling your tits as he whispers the vilest of words that make you whimper.

“Needy slut, eh? So desperate for attention that you need to wear that tiny skirt everywhere you go, hm? Need the whole world to fuck your pussy out before you’re satisfied, isn’t that right?”

You could only respond in loud and desperate moans, body bouncing up and down on his fingers as your arm clings behind his neck, brain too fucked out to come up with anything actually cohesive. Your juices have covered his entire hand white by now, legs spread wide as the man you swore you despise with your entire being hitting that gummy spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back over and over again.

It took so many illegible pleas and mind-blowing orgasms for him to actually unzip his pants, ripping your skirt off and filling you up to the brim with his girthy cock after pressing you flat onto the dirty floor. Hell, you were pretty sure the door to the rooftop wasn’t locked, and that anyone could walk in any moment now, yet that didn’t stop him from fucking your senses out like a madman. His grip on your hips was so tight that you were sure there would be bruises afterward, but the thought only made the lewd noises that escaped your lips louder.

This is it, you decided; Miguel O’Hara has ruined your experience with any other man from now on, as you were sure no other can ever fill you up as good as he does. You made sure to memorize each and every vein of his cock, taking note of how thick and warm his dick felt around your walls as you took him in as the good girl you were; his words, not yours, and tucking it in the deep corner of your brain for safekeeping.

You both were there until half an hour after fourth period ended, panting and out of breath from the intense sex that left you completely brain fucked. Miguel takes in your form, inspecting how your pretty eyes glaze over with so much bliss and with drool rolling down the corner of your mouth. All because of him, the person who has been bothering you ever since the beginning of time, the one you had cursed out so many times that landed you in enough after-school detention to last at least half the school year. He chuckled at that, chest swelling with pride as he picked up your helpless form in his arms, pulling your panties up and covering your lower half with his jacket like the gentleman he was. You nuzzled your head into his chest, which earned you a huff from Miguel, who then leaned down to you while halfway through the door.

“Why don’t we finish this at my place, muñeca? Gotta make up for your ruined skirt, after all.”

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [seven.five.]

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

— pairing; ot8 (general); 2.03k

— chapter warnings; death, death mentions, murder mentions

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

FIC WARNINGS: murder, manipulation, blood, blood drinking, torture references, dark magic, kidnapping. this series is very dark, if you're uncomfortable with the subjects listed do not read. warnings will change but be listed in each chapter. there is no tag list for this series.

“Negotiating without your spark behind you is brave, Hongjoong. Many would rather have some semblance of power behind them when they speak,” the Seelie speaks, leaning against the stone pillar.

“Why would I be afraid of your kind in my land?” Hongjoong merely states, arms resting against the small of his back. His gaze flickers to the Seelie’s partner, a dry laugh escaping him. “I desired for a conversation alone, Yeonjun. How hard is that to follow?”

“I am not stupid. You have already killed Beomgyu, no? Why would I enter this putrid realm myself?” His words are filled with venom, eyes narrowing as he looks down at the Unseelie leader. Fearsome gazes do nothing to Hongjoong, only satiating his desire for negative emotions. So Hongjoong smiles, head tilted.

“We have yet to fortify our treaty. Deaths are increasing on both sides - my home territory needs to be moved soon. I cannot have Seelie interrupting while we enter another realm of rowan trees.”

“Afraid?"

“Merely bothered.”

“A bothersome act wouldn’t call for a meeting between us, Unseelie,” he glances back, waving off his partner. The man disappears, leaving the two leaders alone. “You have yet to atone for killing one of my own.”

“I will not allow you to take out any of my spark, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun laughs, his head thrown back to the skies. “I am not a buffoon, Hongjoong. My offer is a small price to pay for what you’ve done to my spark. Give up the human in exchange, and I vow to not interfere with Unseelie unless provoked.”

Hongjoong’s brows furrow, “You want the pet? Why?” His chest aches suddenly, but Hongjoong holds back his expression. What the hell was that?

Yeonjun’s smile only widens. “An Unseelie kills humans, Hongjoong. You wouldn’t have it around if it was not important to you.”

“If she is important to me, why do you think I’d give her up on a whim?”

“This discussion between us is not on a whim. It is either the human, or one of your spark’s lives. Make the decision. And soon, Hongjoong,” Yeonjun steps back, mist left in his wake.

He can feel that same ache again. He was not sure what exactly it was, the strange feeling scratching at his heart. He ignored it at first, pushing through the hallways, determined to finish his duties here so he could go back to his spark.

But then it grew painful.

Hongjoong stumbles as he crosses a threshold, gasping for breath. His fingernails grow, digging into the wooden slabs. Blood spills from his lips, splattering against the floor. The feeling is unlike anything he's experienced, but his body knows. He cannot tell who it is at first, his mind whirling. Until a part of him begins to tear at itself, ripping his heart from the inside out.

San.

“No.” He pushes past the pain, the phantom of a gaping hole in his chest. He hasn't been gone that long, how could this happen? Why isn't Hongjoong there now? His speech is stuttered as he stands, the air swirling in front of him. His incantation is slurred but he manages after a few seconds of struggle. The cloud flickers in and out of existence. He steps through just as it appears, body shifting into the garden of his home.

He does not see much at first.

His eyes flick up to the porch, a massive gap presenting itself to him. Glass shards are scattered across the wood. He thinks for a moment that he arrived in the aftermath, until shouting surrounds him. His steps are quick, hand out in front of him as he rips the doors from its hinges with quick incantations. The first thing he sees is Yunho and Yeosang in the midst of a fight with witchlings.

Little time passes between him watching the fight and tearing the witchlings apart, limbs dropping to the floor violently, blood splattering against his cheeks. The remaining creatures disappear from sight, leaving the solemn echoes of the hallway. Yeosang struggles to his feet, pushing past Hongjoong and falling to his knees in front of San. The wound on his body has not healed in the slightest, limp in Yeosang's arms. Hongjoong can barely stand as he looks at the sight, but he must. He looks around, entering your room.

Glass is scattered across the floor. The same scene he saw from the ground, the hold the size of the creatures, looking back at him. Wind rushes into the room as he makes his way forward. You're nowhere to be found and after a brief headcount, neither is Wooyoung. He cannot feel the loss of him, so he presumes that he is taken along with you. He runs his bloodied fingers through his hair, thoughts elsewhere.

Grief is not something he can let himself process now. He has to save Wooyoung. He has lost one, he cannot lose him too. Hands dig into his shoulder and turn him around. His eyes move up. Mingi's cold gaze on him. His eyes are vacant, mind elsewhere. Waiting for a command from his leader. Hongjoong’s lip trembles as he tries to speak, lids shutting. He cannot grieve for him right now. They rely on him, rely on his strength to pull them through. To save who he has left. He takes only a couple of seconds to pull himself together, sadness swallowed momentarily.

“Do you know where they came from? If the kumiho had something to do with it?” He asks Mingi.

“I–”

“Is that all you can say?” Seonghwa enters the room. Tears stain his cheeks, moist, tired eyes meeting his. He can feel the exhaustion through their spark’s connection, the feeling forcing Hongjoong to stagger ever so slightly. “San is dead, and that's all you can say?”

“I cannot afford to let myself grieve, Seonghwa. I have to save Wooyoung –”

“San… he…” Seonghwa rubs his face. “He sacrificed everything, everything to be with us. He turned against his own kind, forced himself to feast on tortured souls. He gave us his all, his life, and all you can say now is that you cannot grieve? Not even for a moment? Yeosang can barely hold himself together in there, your spark is hurt, and you cannot afford mere seconds to acknowledge the dead body?”

Hongjoong cannot respond. He cannot let himself wallow in sorrow. Not when there is so much to do. He dismisses Mingi with a small nod, letting him leave the room. Seonghwa's anger only grows at the silence, stepping forward. His fist grips Hongjoong’s shirt, knuckles digging into his chest.

“You are selfish, and you are pitiful. I am amazed that San even wanted to be with us when he saw you.”

Hongjoong reaches up, his fingers brushing against Seonghwa's chin. Seonghwa allows him to cup his cheek, grip loosening on his shirt. “You can say what you need to say to me after, Seonghwa. Would you like me to sink into my grief or help find Wooyoung?”

Seonghwa pushes his hand away, his anger only rises. “All you’ve ever done is care for Wooyoung and no one else. Even in death we are not enough for you, never the first thing on your mind.”

“Enough,” Yunho enters the room, glancing between them. His clothing is soaked in gore and blood, footwear sliding against the wooden slacks barely holding the floor together. Wounds cover his body, slowly healing. Mingi shadows him, gaze turned back to Yeosang’s grieving, hunched over figure only a few strides away. Jongho sits next to him, hand resting on his trembling shoulder. “We’ve lost so much already, we cannot lose each other and ourselves too.”

Hongjoong could have stopped the conversation long ago and demanded that Seonghwa stand down. Any other Unseelie leader would have barely acknowledged the death at all – likely twisting their face in disgust and burning the remains without thinking twice. It is what he has been taught, what has been passed down to him. But right now he cannot. He cannot just send San away without giving the others some time to accept what has happened. Give himself time to accept the cold, empty look in his eyes.

“How did this happen?” Hongjoong asks again, this time to no one in particular.

Seonghwa leaves with a flicker, Yunho and Mingi left alone with their leader. “We cannot say. Jongho mentioned something about pixies watching on the edge of the forest, but they wouldn’t summon these creatures. Seelie are incapable of controlling these beasts, especially when we just manifested the shield when we came back. No other majik should be able to penetrate the barrier. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“You think they attacked because I was not here?” Hongjoong looks behind Yunho, blood staining the floor in pools. “Would they have attacked even if I were?”

“It’s doubtful. A spark without its leader is greatly weakened in comparison to when they are here. They might have noticed you were absent and took that chance to attack. Taking y/n away makes sense since she is valuable, removing San–”

They can see how it pains Yunho, his lids tightening as he closes them. He takes a breath, before continuing.

“Removing San makes sense since he is powerful, but I just cannot wrap my head around taking Wooyoung. What purpose does it have – he is not even your second or third. He means much to us, sure, but in retrospect, his position in our spark is not as important.”

“Cruel words,” Mingi mumbles.

“Wooyoung knows how much he is cared for, he’d likely laugh,” Yunho says. “Still, my point remains.”

“Wooyoung is cared for,” Mingi speaks again. “He is important to us. The kumiho cares for him, and Hongjoong cares for him. The leader of all Unseelie favors one in particular. He is a weakness. They, whomever it is that has taken them, must know what they mean to us. They know what we’d do to have them back. It is strategic, Yunho.”

“Can you two give me a moment?” Hongjoong interrupts their speaking. “I agree with everything you are saying, but I need time. Not much, but just...”

“Understood,” Yunho nods. His fingers seek Mingi’s, theirs wrapping easily around each other. Before they leave, though, Yunho turns around. “Shall we do something with San?”

Hongjoong takes a slow breath. “Place him in our memorial chambers once Yeosang is … Do not light the flame yet and do not allow anyone else to. I need a moment to think.”

“Alright.”

They leave him in the room. Hongjoong whispers a spell into his palms, misting himself into his chambers. He locks the door behind him, taking slow steps into the room. It’s as he has left it, papers skewed about, books piled upon one another. The sinking feeling lets itself manifest in his chest, slowly rising up his torso. He slumps into his bed, the smell of rotting flesh enveloping him as he trembles.

He lost San.

It should not have been possible for any being, including Lilith's creatures, to break the barrier. It is what he has set up and has worked for centuries. Nothing should have been able to come in. To kill. Hongjoong could barely look at San’s body, the cold shell of what he once was. You would think that him being an Unseelie would have him used to seeing the dead. He killed his own spark leader, and that affected him less than seeing his mated gone. His teeth dig into his lips, breaking skin as he holds back his own wretched sobs. He lifts himself up from his sheets, gripping the wooden desk as he stands, looking over his work.

His eyes move to the side, caged spellbooks behind metal bars. His finger drags across his bloodied lip before pressing into the rounded button. Wooyoung would be able to protect the both of you himself momentarily. Losing this chance now would only make him lose San. The rusted bars creak open. He reaches for the one book he swore that he’d never use, flipping through the crusted pages until he lands on the spell he needs.

Necromancy.

[muzzlemouths]

Apologies if this has been asked already, but is there any chance we might get to see what those conversations between sun and moon were like? I just started reading (Don't) Fear the Reaper and now that I know they talk when Sun is quiet, I can't help but wonder what's being said.

When I eventually get around to writing the follow-up fic (which will explore the story from Sun's pov) you'll get to see each and every conversation they had!

Since I'm not sure when that will be (and I have a rough version of what it might look like already written up in my notes) I'll go ahead and drop it here for you to chew on in the meantime :3

This conversation occurs in their personal cabin when y/n first finds out about Moon's existence. I've left the original lines in for context, but they'll be indented so you know what is and isn't internal.

“We?” You watch with growing curiosity as he freezes in place and winces, like he’s just been caught in a lie.

“Sun—”

“I know, I know.”

“Fix it.”

There it is, again. That distant expression like his mind is somewhere else entirely. You aren’t sure if robots are capable of internal monologue, but if they are, his must be pretty intense for the absolutely guilty expression he wears before smothering it with another mocked up smile.  “Me and…Moon,” he answers, voice pitifully small. 

“What are you doing?”

“It’s better to be honest, isn’t it? They’re going to find out eventually.”

“No. No. You’re going to say something you shouldn’t.”

“I can handle myself in a conversation just fine, thank you very much. I have so fa—”

“You don’t know when to shut up.”

His smile falters, eyes panicked like a child being scolded.

Moon. You recognize the name from the conversation with Oscar earlier, how scared he had looked from the mere mention of it. You aren’t entirely sure how to navigate this situation, but if this Moon has everyone up in arms, there must be a good reason for it, right? “Is he…dangerous?” 

“....Well? Am I?”

“Oh, now you want me to talk?”

“Just thought they should know all the grisly details, since you seem keen on being truthful.”

Sun hesitates to answer. He bides his time by tending to your ankle, instead. Carefully drawing your shoe away like a reverse cinderella, then gently turning your ankle in all directions to get a feel for the damage. 

“You’re not being fair.”

“Go on, tell them.”

“I don’t think that’s a good ide—”

“Tell them how I butchered her. How I didn’t stop until her pulse flickered under my hand.”

“Moon—”

“Tell them how much I regret letting go.”

“I—”

“Tell them how often we think about her blood caking our palms. How relieving it felt to finally—”

“It doesn’t feel broken,” he tells you. 

“Don’t ignore me.”

“I think you might have just twisted it. Should be in tip-top shape by morning!” He faces you with that telltale smile once more, only for it to droop significantly when you don’t immediately mirror his relief. It’s not the answer you’re waiting for. 

“Hypocrite.” Moon snarls. “Cornered yourself. Now you’re the animal stuck in a trap.”

“Little rabbit…” he sighs. “You are very, very lucky, you know. This could have been much worse.”

Pebbles climb in your throat, brought on by his words. Each bigger than the last and taking up space where you need to breathe. They rattle with every inhale, collecting in great heaps the longer he fits you with that emotionless stare. You don’t think he’s referring to your ankle, anymore.

“Cruel. Warning a rabbit with one foot already in a trap.”

“They’re smarter than you think.”

“It’s too late to save them.”

“...I know.”

“Then why bother?”

A twig snaps just outside the door, relieving you of his piercing gaze as his neck wrenches to follow it. Just a squirrel.  “Sun, I—” “Anyone can be dangerous,” he whispers, eyes still zeroed in on the animal.

“Caaareful.”

“I told you, it’s better to be honest," Sun's optics twitch ever briefly. "They ought to know it isn’t you they should fear.”

[billiedeansbitch]

How have you been!? Idk if you have TikTok or seen this trend, but it’s basically where someone is putting on lipstick and it ends up smudging the wrong way and the camera shows another person wiping it away and the other person had a bunch of kiss marks on their face.

I think it would be cute if that could be a one shot with Larissa Weems? It could be that Larissa is putting on the lipstick or the other way around with y/n?

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

a/n: thank you for requesting this anon i really liked the idea and immediately worked on it (like i'm not working on a couple of fics already) this was too cute.

warning/s: nothing.

Larissa took the compact mirror from her desk drawer and uncapped her lipstick, mindful of your lingering eyes that glimmer with excitement, lips slightly ajar in anticipation.

She started to apply her lipstick wantonly slow. You watched it glide on her lips like butter, painting her lips red. The colour was sensual contrasting the cool, breath-taking big blue eyes. It was so tempting and inviting you couldn’t help yourself but ask for a kiss. Just a kiss. One quick peck on the lips. 

“Please?” Her lipstick wasn’t smudged proof, it would transfer to your lips but that didn’t seem to bother you at all and she had seen you proudly walk in the halls of Nevermore wearing the sheer colour on your own lips, unapologetically flaunting it to everyone. 

She chuckled and beckoned you to come closer. You complied with unbridled enthusiasm and stood from the armchair in front of her desk. Larissa stood, leaning halfway over her desk and grabbed the collar of your button-down to pull you closer and peck your lips. And as always, you giggled as you attempted to kiss her deeper, ruining the freshly applied coat of lipstick.

And it happened, again and again. In the morning before she exited your shared bedroom, you asked for a kiss just after her lipstick was done, she shook her head, and kissed you.

After lunch with the faculty, which included you, she excused herself, grabbed her little purse and disappeared in the restroom to retouch her make-up and lipstick–for the third time and it was only midday. The culprit? You.

Eventually during one afternoon, you waltzed in with your hands behind your back, Larissa didn’t think much of it. You were holding back a cheeky smile when you noticed the tube of her favourite lipstick in her hand and her lips were popping red. “No” she said immediately while shaking her head knowing how this would go.

“You will not ruin my lipstick.” she added glaring playfully,, her tone final and dismissive.

You merely laughed, stalking toward her desk, “I’m afraid you’re overreacting, Love.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes and ignoring your antics. “Why are you here?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my favourite Principal now?”

“It’s usually more than that.” she said knowingly while feigning disinterest.

“I’m actually here because I’ve got you a gift.” But it wasn’t her birthday or your anniversary. Her eyes shot up. 

You pushed the little box you had been hiding behind you. You saw her eyes lit up. “Go on, open it.” She tried to hide her excitement by rolling her eyes but her lips betrayed her by curling into a dainty appreciative smile. She took it in her hands and unwrapped the gift.

“Now you don’t have to worry about running out of lipstick.” 

In the box was three full sized lipstick in similar shade–her favourite.

“Come here, darling.” her voice was much softer now  like she was melting inside. 

Sat on her lap, her arm smoothly pulled you in, keeping you close by the waist, eyes were levelled with yours and as if that little-to-non-existent gap wasn’t enough, Rissa leaned forward, her lips ghosting on the shell of your ear, “I think you deserve a kiss.”

The kiss was fond, very sweet and gentle, short but satisfying. You thought it was over, that it was done because you confusingly watched her retouch her lipstick. You thought she would usher you off her lap but then Larissa ’s lips were hot, a little damp as they made contact with the outer corner of your eye, then to your nose and automatically, with the attention she was giving you using her lips, you puckered your own, directly asking for a kiss on your lips. She chuckled and gave in.  She nipped on your lip affectionately, moved on to kiss you down to your jaw again. 

It was so wholesome and light, then it turned to sloppy, playful bites and before you knew it her lips were smothering your whole face with kisses, faint marks filling your face like an art on a sheet of canvas. Larissa’s very own art.

The adorable sound from your lips falling in between a snort and laughter filled the room. Larissa kept kissing you, filling the areas where she hadn't kissed yet. You let her fill your face with the imprint of her perfect lips.

And then the doors flung open without any sort of warning catching you off guard in Larissa’s lap.

Wednesday’s eyes widened in disgust. Enid, who was trailing behind her bumped to her roommate when the goth girl suddenly stopped in her tracks.

“Oh, hi Mrs Weems!” The werewolf greeted with a wave—you waved back. Larissa pinched your side. 

Enid had a megawatt smile on her face like finding you in their Principal’s lap, your face filled with kisses was the most normal thing on earth.

Wednesday turned without breathing a word and pulled the other girl outside. The door slammed leaving you two alone. 

“I think I just saved you from Wednesday.” you quipped and bursted into laughter. Larissa laughed along, too carefree to care–for now–about what Wednesday and Enid just witnessed before resuming to kiss you all over again.

Now this, this is heaven, you thought.

[lemonhemlock]

No because all the anons talking about the Aemond x TB OC self insert fics are so real. Because those are so ridiculous derivative it is crazy

-White haired Targaryen looking child of Rhaenyra, probably named Visenya is either 1- takes after her mother because genetics don't exist 2-is the one trueborn daughter of Laenor and Rhaenyra who was conceived during consummation

-Can sword-fight, ride, talks like a 21st century woman, is a #girlboss and a 3rd wave feminist

-Takes Aemond's eye out as children instead of Luke being the one to do it

-Aemond somehow falls head over heels in love with her because she is #notlikeothergirls and just really really super hot

-Aemond abandons his family, his brothers, his sister, his mother and all the people he cares about to go fight for Rhaenyra because apparently the SI is just so hot and he is so in love with her

-They probably repeatedly have amazing super hot poorly written pre-marital sex but SI ofc doesn't get pregnant but there is no explanation like moon tea or anything

-Aemond calls his family out for being misogynistic haters or something for some reason????

- 639363 pages of Alicent bashing

-Aegon is the devil himself

-SI and Aemond get married and have children with white hair who they name after Rhaenyra and Daemon

-Author somehow managing to sneak in their own opinions that Rhaenyra is the one true heir and her and Daemon are innocent little saints who do no wrong

Just explained the plot of like a min. of 50 of Aemond x TB OC fics

i mean.... yeah :)) good for them for having their fun, but, bless their hearts, i had to check out

at the end of the day everyone can relate to this feeling of frustration when the majority of fics skew in a direction you're not a fan of. and every author should absolutely feel like they can post whatever they want and enjoy themselves; the target audience isn't always you and that's fine. but i simultaneously feel like venting these annoyances with like-minded people in your own space is also not a crime. sometimes we don't like stuff and want to gossip about it. it's really not that serious, everyone has the thinnest skin imaginable these days

it's like we've forgotten how to interact with one another. not liking something is not a personal affront to the person who does like it. it does not require outrage at the expressing of an opinion. it does not require a silencing campaign. you shouldn't expect others to keep quiet all the time just so your feelings won't be hurt. the fuck. especially when, i repeat, the tags can always be muted. what are you even doing interacting with the posts if the mere act of verbalizing a dislike bothers you so much?

there's a world of difference between occasional banter and sending authors hate, leaving disgruntled reviews, telling people to kms or insinuating that on your blog, casually accusing them of being illegal sexual deviants and whatever other deranged insults stans trade like candy and we definitely should stop acting like these two things are the same. you don't have to turn everything into a fight in the trenches

Anonymous asked: Yeah while I don't expect Alicent to be portrayed in every fic as the best mother who has no bad qualities since nobody is perfect it's becoming tiring to constantly read about how she's always trying to actively destroy her children's lives and is to blame for most things including the upcoming war while Rhaenyra is an amazing mother who truly loves her children and can do no wrong, like the worst she'll do is maybe arrange some unwanted marriage to her OC daughter or betroth her to another man who is not Aemond. I've come across to stories in which Alicent was abusive to Aemond for no reason other than she's a bad mother, was physically recoiled by his lost eye, turned and indoctrinated him into a religious extremist just like she's always portrayed in many fics or even tried to have Rhaenyra's daughter be assassinated just to prevent Aemond from defecting to the other side by marrying her and not the Baratheon daughter the greens want him to marry. To some extent I do believe it's very hard to avoid some OOC-ness from these characters since they're being put into new scenarios that didn't happen in canon and everything about this is being left to the author's personal interpretation which will naturally spark some debate whether or not what a certain character's actions are believable within their universe, however, due to the formulaic nature of a lot of those fics most characters (especially green ones if we're talking about Rhaenyra's daughter OCs) are brought to insane levels of OOC just to make their story work. Like yeah, if Aemond has constantly been abused by his mother (not physically necessarily), by Aegon, by his grandfather and, on top of that, Alicent and/or Otto try to have his beloved OC assassinated well, chances are this will make him denounce his family and switch sides sooner or later. Something that would've never happened under normal circumstances. Oh and I've also noticed a trend in quite a few of these fics of using Alys in cheating tropes and always turning her into an evil witch and seductress who tries to separate Aemond from the OC and use him for her own benefits…all I'm going to say is you don't want to see how demented and misogynistic people get about her in the comment sections. Anyway I'm sorry about extending this discussion about Aemond x OC fics and I hope it hasn't attracted too many weirdos who are spewing hate in your inbox!

i pretty much agree with you, anon, not much more to add. :))

[fanofstuff01]

Feel Better - Amnesia AU

So I’m working on my Behind Her Back fic, but today my angst side was kicking me stupid so I decided why the fuck not write something that probably won’t be that great. Know more about the AU from here, though some stuff is different, like Adam still remembers Lilith but as a bad person too.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66 @decentsoupperson @adambrainrot @talesfromawannabejournalist @kittenfangirl20 @cakerybakery

And read the tags first pls.

3, 2, 1, penguin.

Here you go my best

Adam was going to beat someone up.

He couldn’t decide who, but he was.

Be it that fucking servant who touched his guitar, that little devil spawn bimbo who thought now he’d be interested in her redemption bullshit because he fell to hell by mistake, heck a random demon at the streets, all would work. They were all fucking at the same low.

He turned around uncomfortably in bed to face the ceiling, it helped him keep his silence. A new way to say “I don’t want to be there” to that fuck face.

Oh right, he forgot about one demon who was beyond low. He would prefer having him as his target.

He growled at the thought, oh just how much he was willing to give just to have him on the ground punched and kicked to near death by Adam himself, where he fucking belongs, preferably with also three apples stuck to his throat and his dick cut off….

But of course, the only guy he wanted to fuck up more than any of those already filthy demons was also the only guy he couldn’t touch and was chained to.

He was fucking supposed to live with him instead. Just to have some protection as an angel in Hell.

The prick even thought that he was still fucking naive like he was back in the garden and would fall for his dumb tricks, still telling him that hilarious lie about how he loved him and having the balls to

Out of a sudden anger blast, he grabbed his lamp on the nightstand and threw it to one of the walls. He didn’t care if it drew any servants in the room, it wasn’t like they were coming because they cared.

He then turned around in bed and pulled the sheets on himself.

At least he was allowed to imagine it.

-

He didn’t know if he slept or not, but he sure was dragged out of his surprisingly great rest with a knock on the door.

He groaned, grabbed one of his pillows and threw it to the door harshly.

He squeezed his eyes shut again and buried his face on another pillow.

The knocking stopped for a minute before it returned, even a bit louder.

“You-!”

His eyes caught the clock and his voice died down in his throat, not because he got calmer though. If anything it made him even more pissed.

Right. Just about fucking time.

“Come in.”

He rolled in his bed once again, not caring to see who bothered. He already knew.

He heard heels clicking on the floor and felt a small weight on the bed, almost afraid to get close to him.

Lucifer fidgeted with his hands and hair nervously, staring at Adam’s still soft looking brown hair and beautiful wings.

He knew Adam hated these visits as much as he hated him and was going to ignore him all the way through. But, at least he had news to give that day. News he’d probably like.

And hey, at least he stopped yelling at him a few days ago. An improvement between them!

…

He was too delusional and desperate wasn’t he.

But he just couldn’t help himself. He simply had to be close to his Adam in some way. No matter what the man did or felt towards him, Lucifer was always drawn to him merely by his existence.

He missed the times Adam was to him, too…

A tear threatened to get out of his eye but he sniffed and wiped it away. He didn’t want to cry near Adam again, he knew he found it pussy-ish.

He then subconsciously brought that hand on his mouth and began biting his claws, looking around the room to find anything to start talking.

“Did you break that lamp?”

The first man didn’t answer, of course.

“Adam.?”

Adam turned around slightly and peeked a frustrated but pretty golden eye open.

“Yes. Are you going to fuckin’ punish me?”

“Of course not. It was ugly anyway, I should rather thank you.”

Adam shrugged and returned to his old position.

“Don’t.”

Lucifer’s heart broke a bit more, but he decided to keep his mood.

“Okay…”

He coughed little to his fist.

“Can I si-”

“You already do.”

“I can- Sit at somewhere else if you want or anything. If you want more space for yourself.”

Adam blew out some air secretly, he just wished him to stop asking questions.

He pointed at the floor.

Lucifer smiled hopefully and sat down, still near Adam.

He summoned the duck he was working on currently, along with its stuff.

He took a brush and began painting it’s wings, it was great to have the actual inspiration around when you were making a duck.

He began going about his day to Adam, starting with plain words only to continue with paragraphs. He talked about how Charlie’s exercises were mainly focused on trauma healing, how Angel Dust’s fuck head boss bothered with a visit during the breakfast, and of course how annoying Alastor was as usual.

Adam gritted his teeth and placed the pillow over his head when he heard the first words, but of course his new ears heard everything clearer than they should. The pillow barely blocked the annoying noise.

What did he had to do for Lucifer to get that he didn’t give a shit about his boring, generic, useless life? Should he just use his old yelling.?

No, that shit worked as much as his current silent treatment.

He truly just wanted to grab the twink’s neck and throw him out of the window.

Lucifer glanced at Adam’s head when he was done with the right wing, and decided now was the time to break the news he brought with himself and the ones he would actually care about.

“…Then the angels came to visit.”

The orchestra of swears and threats in Adam’s mind suddenly fell silent when the sentence was dropped in the middle of them.

Of course he’d keep important shit for last, just a delightful way to torment him.

..

But fuck didn’t he want to hear more.

Last time he’s seen them was when Sera came to demand Adam’s soul back, only for that cunt Lilith to chime in and say that it was impossible.

Both Sera and Adam hated to admit that she was right.

He hadn’t talked to or heard from them for months almost now. He didn’t even had any ideas what the angels were doing, or were they searching for a solution to his problem.

…But that still didn’t mean he was going to ask anything to just because he had news he wanted to know.

Lucifer smiled when he saw Adam’s hands loosen around the pillow, he wasn’t burying it to his ears anymore.

Good, he had his attention, at least.

“They decided to check Charlie’s hotel once again. Considering it officially works now, they apparently decided to make it more “Heaven-like”.”

He nonchalantly switched the brushes to add the reds on Adam’s wings.

Adam wanted to slap him and just tell him to get to important stuff and details. Like who came. Or if they..

“They didn’t tell or ask me anything much about you if you’re curious.”

Adam waited for him, then groaned on the inside when he remained silent.

Of course they didn’t tell him much about him, they weren’t going to reveal heaven’s secrets and plans of getting the first man back, to the devil and Adam’s maniac capturer.

Lucifer sneaked a peek at Adam, he could tell that he was dying to hear more just by looking at how stiff he was.

He decided to keep his silence for a while, he really wanted to hear Adam’s voice more that day.

He would tell him later if he was more stubborn than he looked.

Adam cursed himself on the inside, he was going to make him work for it wasn’t he?

He’s the ruler of hell for a reason, genius.

He breathed in sharply.

“What… Did….”

He wanted to bite his tongue and shut up but he managed.

“They say.”

Lucifer’s smile grew and he turned back to the duck, thinking what shade would reflect Adam’s eyes.

If he saw them…

“Just Sera wondered why you weren’t in the hotel.”

Adam gripped the sheets in much more anger and frustration when he heard his weak humming. He swore to God if he kept silently playing with that duck he would take it and shove it up his ass.

“And..?”

Shit, maybe Lucifer had went too far with the waits.

Adam sounded the angriest he ever were in days.

“And I, uh, told her that you didn’t want to be there and were at my mansion, but really missed her and the others. And asked for a meeting.”

He really hoped this would make him happier and see that Lucifer worked for him.

Okay, this made Adam a bit more at ease. But just a tiny bit.

Seeing angels, seeing real people would be way better than anything he had there.

And escaping Lucifer just for a while.

Lucifer glanced at him with the corner of his eye, and was more than happy when he saw that he at least wasn’t that angry.

He couldn’t actually get one, but still! Adam liked the idea so it was worth it.

“Anyway, that was all they said.”

Adam didn’t answer once again, but this time it was rather to think. And he surprisingly didn’t mind the way he talked much, it was more of a white noise.

Lucifer said a few more things before he fell silent once again, a stupid smile on his face.

He finally made Adam’s eyes perfectly, after his seventh try. He then began working on the little halo he was going to have, humming that melody Adam loved back then.

As time passed, a conflicting detail appeared out of nowhere in Adam’s his mind, he frowned when he thought about it.

Why wouldn’t the angels want to see him right when they were here? Was it because they were busy?

But “angels”. Not all of them could possibly be busy, and besides, they could at least inform him themselves. He wasn’t Lucifer’s kid or anything.

The thought really got under his skin and suddenly Lucifer’s humming was as annoying as a hundred flies buzzing.

Lucifer put the shiny little halo on top of the little duck and smiled proudly at his work.

Maybe he could give it to Adam at that moment, using how he was right now as a way to get a better reaction.

“A-“

Adam decided to let his walls go for a second, just to get more information he said to himself.

“When the fuck is it? The meeting?” He snarled out, even turning around a bit to look better at him.

Lucifer dropped the done toy he had in his hands.

“Uh…”

He quickly tried to think of a random date, but his mind didn’t work well just when he needed.

Adam noticed how panicked he was, of course.

“When the fuck is it. Lucifer.”

Lucifer gulped.

“It…”

Suddenly all the anger Adam had bottled inside him that day, coupled with a long lasting ten thousand years of rage and hatred found it’s way out. He almost jumped out of his little nest of blankets snd sat straighter, even scaring Lucifer.

“Let me guess, it doesn’t exist does it?!” He said with a maniacal smile.

His eyes only held negative emotions.

It split Lucifer’s heart into two.

“It-It does! I-” He tried desperately, just when he got Adam to-!

“Oh it does? Then why don’t you call Sera right now, so I can ask her, dear Lucifer?!”

“I can’t! She told me-”

Adam laughed painfully.

“She told you to, not fucking contract her? About me? And I’m supposed to believe that you fucking follow Heaven’s orders now?!”

Lucifer felt them coming back, just like Adam’s hatred.

“Look, I know, it doesn’t-”

Adam was sure his teeth were going to crack.

“Get out.”

He almost laughed once again at Lucifer’s crocodile tears, what a fucking bold of a demon he thought he was. He got up and Lucifer did too, holding onto the night stand.

The fallen angel tried to make them go away so badly, but it couldn’t be his priority at that moment as he decided. He raised his hands in an attempt to get him to listen him.

“Adam, listen. You’re right, it doesn’t exist, but-”

Adam tried to claw him but it phased through him, of course.

“BUT, WHAT?!”

Lucifer backed away a bit, still with a spark of hope.

“I just wanted to make you feel better! You’re-!”

Adam looked around to find something to take his anger out and he saw the little duck Lucifer was working on all the time.

It fucking looked like him.

He stomped on it in a swift movement, the duck let out a big quack before it popped under the weight of Adam’s hoof.

He made sure every part of it became flat before he let it go and returned to Lucifer’s frozen, teary, snake face.

“You fucking wanted me to feel better? You?”

Lucifer’s words died down in his throat. There were almost a puddle of tears under his feet.

“I-I…”

Adam chuckled.

“There is only one fucking way for you to manage that. To make me feel better, the slightest.”

Lucifer peeked his head up, still with a smidge of hope.

He hardly lost it when it came to Adam.

Adam pointed a finger directly to his chest, his eyes still burning with all his anger towards Lucifer.

“Going away and fucking killing yourself. The only worthy thing you can do for me and the whole fucking universe!”

That was the final hit he did to Lucifer’s heart and hopes. Even his tears stopped as he just looked up to Adam. Nothing else.

Adam’s blow of anger died down in as they simply stood there for a long minute. Just the blow, not the anger.

Adam decided to go back in his bed and ignore Lucifer, he wasn’t worth more of his anger.

He heard him slowly leave the room, but he cared even less than how much he did at the beginning.

Lucifer didn’t come to dinner he was supposed to have with Adam that evening.

He never missed them.

———

Hehe…

Whew. That was a long run.

Hope you liked it, been a while since I wrote anything.

And if your confused:

1: Adam doesn’t actively wants to kill Lucifer at this point. Sure he dreams of having him “as hurt as he was” but he doesn’t want him directly dead, yk? Just wants him to live what he went through. He didn’t think he’d actually do it either, he said it as just an insult. He’s said it before, and Lucifer didn’t do anything.

2: But this time he shattered Lucifer’s already broken and barely standing together heart into near micro places.

3: I know Adam’s outburst is a bit random, sorry. But he never got calm, and kind of used this as a way to let all his anger out, not just at the thing.

4: Lucifer respawns in his bed after a few days like a sinner, but he can’t die to angelic steel either, unlike one.

[jungkookslipring]

what abt a seonghwa fic when y/n (fem) breaks down one day when everything is seemingly fine abt abuse she had from her mom when she was akid.

y/n's really independent and admirable and hides her feelings underneath a warm friendly exterior but no-one knows what's underneath it.

idk if this is too intense, but i kind of feel like it..

haha love you

I LOVE THIS! Thank you so much for the request!

Pairings: Seonghwa x Reader

Relationship: platonic or romantic

Genre: hurt/comfort

Warnings: mentions of verbal and psychological abuse, crying, mentions of eating disorder but no graphic description

Mother Knows Best

Mother knows best, right? Even when she was very protective of you growing up and claimed to be a mama bear and 10 times out of 10 always acted on it, it made up for the things she’d say to you, right?Every time she said you’d look prettier without all those piercings, every time she’d comment how your body wasn’t VS material, every time she’d gaslight you and say you weren’t depressed you were just having a bad day, or “it could be worse”, she knew best, right? Your parents could do no wrong, no matter what they said was said with a purpose right? What they said, especially what she said was okay, right? They were allowed to say negative things cause they were your parents and that fine, right? Well it sure took you long enough to realize it was far from fine. It took one memory for you to break down in your bedroom. You were scrolling through Pinterest looking at constellation piercings, trying to decide which piercing you’d like to add to your collection. Maybe a double helix? Or a tragus? Or go for the more simple route and do a third lobe? There were just so many options at the end of your fingertips. You found a combo of jewelry you loved, and when you went to hit “pin”, the words invaded your brain.

“Why would you do that?”

“There is no reason for you to get those”

“That’s so ghetto”

“You’d look prettier without those piercings”

You lost it. Your vision blurred and your heart began to race, the fear from your childhood when you’d cry over something and your mom would comment

“Of course you’re crying”.

It was all too much. When you heard footsteps you threw a hand over your mouth and squeezed your eyes shut, imaging your mom storming down the hallway to yell at you, to stop crying, and to suck it up. What you didn’t expect was a dip at the end of your bed and a soft

“Hey, hey sweetie, what’s wrong?”

You opened up your eyes and saw Seonghwa, looking at you with a concerned facial expression. You shook your head, you’ve never wanted him to see you like this.

“Let’s try to catch our breath honey okay? We’ll take deep breaths together, you and me, yeah?” he asked oh so kindly. He wasn’t yelling at you, wasn’t telling you to suck it up, he was gently helping you calm your breathing. Just the mere thought of this new way of calming down actually existed was enough for your breathing to level out within maybe 30 seconds.

“Was there something or someone bothering you?” He asked as he put a hand on your knee. You looked down, worried that if you express your feelings, you’ll be shut down. Seonghwa took his hand and slowly tilted your chin up to look him in the eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I respect your privacy. I just want you to know I’m here, okay?” he said so sincerely. Your lip wobbled and before you knew it you were hiding your face in his shoulder, weeping as you held the back of his sweatshirt If he was startled he didn’t show it as he wrapped his arms around you, resting his cheek on your head. He’s never seen you so sad before, let alone shed a tear. It hurt his heart hearing you hiccup with every sob.

“My sweet girl…whatever it is, I’ll be there. I can help. I can help fix it,” he whispered. You shook your head. How? How can you fix childhood trauma.

“I-I don’t think it’s s-something that can b-be fixed” you whisper tearfully. He held you tighter and started stroking your hair. It was his silent way of saying

'I'm here, whether you want to tell me or not, I'm here'.

You let out a shaky sigh and found only a small bit of courage to tell him. You told him everything: the verbal and psychological abuse from your mother as a child, the way that abuse followed into your teens and young adult years, how you were paranoid over everything you did cause you knew she’d have an opinion on it, the fear of speaking up, the challenge of expressing your feelings, and the shame of feeling sad. Everything you let out was word vomit, and the strong confident girl that Seonghwa met was replaced with a shy, quiet and scared girl that was weeping from years of trauma. But Seonghwa didn’t care. This side of you he had never seen before and even though it broke his heart, he was relieved that you were letting go of the pressure that built up inside of you for so long that you kept trapped in a box refusing to open it.

“…so…you know I guess that’s what did it…I couldn’t take it anymore…but I’m really sorry I didn’t want you to see me like this-“ you rambled before Seonghwa oh so gently, in the nicest way possible, cut you off by pulling you further into his hold.

“Shhh shhh shhh. My y/n, you don’t need to apologize over this type of thing, bubs, this isn’t your fault, none of this is your fault,” he said with his voice only slightly shaky. He pulled back a little to cup your cheek.

“I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t talk to me sweetheart, and I don’t want you to feel afraid to show your emotions. Your feelings are valid and no one can tell you otherwise cause it’s your body, not theirs. And I’m so so sorry your mother caused this,” Seonghwa said sadly. He genuinely felt so sorry for you.

“It’s okay…I mean…I know it’s not okay but don’t feel bad, I’ll get over it eventually,” you say shrugging. Seonghwa had sadness in his eyes as he took your hand into his.

"You are loved. You are so so loved sweetheart. You have a family who loves you, even if its just me and the rest of the seven crackheads that live in this household," he chuckled as you let out a wet chuckle. You loved them all so much, you really did. This conversation wasn't going to change the past, but it was going to help you move forward, knowing that you had the best support system, even if they weren't blood.

[fixaidea]

Excerpt from a fic I'll probably never write:

(From the DMBJ end this takes place in a sort of mixed 'verse that's mostly book, but Zhang Rishan is still around, because it's fun to bother him.)

(The premise would be that an ancient artifact in the Smithonian starts acting up. By the combined efforts of Dr Strange and the leading historians of the museum they work out that this thing is likely a piece of a set of four, and might be stopped from taking out the museum and half of Wasington with it if reunited with the other pieces. Problem is, no one has any idea where to find these pieces beyond 'somewhere in China' which, let's be real, is kind of a broad scope.)

****

This was the kind of situation where someone knowing a guy who knew a guy would have helped a lot, but since he cut ties with the SHIELD a lot of these connections went up in smoke and, regrettably, Steve Rogers did not know a guy.

He did not, but, as it turned out, Doctor Strange did. Not only did he know a guy, he knew an entire clan of once-powerful mystics who doubled as professional graverobbers and had connections all over the Chinese antiques mafia.

Phone calls were made, plans were discussed, and by the time Steve, a handful of ex-Avengers and some new faces he managed to round up landed in Beijing the Zhang clan was waiting for them with people and equipment ready to go, and the probable location of the three missing pieces all worked out.

Used as he was to taking the lead, Steve was both appreciative of and, honestly, quite nervous about having been swept up in the flow like this, but since the matter was extremely time-sensitive he was ready to swallow his pride and follow along.

As it turned out, not everyone on his team felt the same way.

About two hours into packing and organising people into teams (three teams for the three tombs with three graverobbers for team leaders) Steve was approached by Doctor Strange's main contact, a man called Zhang Rishan.

Director Zhang did not look happy.

'Tell me Captain, your friend, Mr Stark - would you say his behaviour today is typical?'

Steve stifled a groan, opting for a deep sigh instead.

'No, I'm afraid usually he's much worse.'

Director Zhang nodded.

'That settles it then. He's going with the Iron Triangle.'

Steve followed his gaze all the way to the other end of the hangar, to a white minivan and the three people around it. If Steve had to sum up his first impression he would have described them as a middle-aged substitute teacher, a slightly older guy who was as round as he was loud and some twenty-something prettyboy who never quite grew out of his emo phase. He sighed and tuned back to Director Zhang.

'I take it you don't like this 'Iron Triangle' very much?'

Director Zhang opened his arms in an elegant shrug.

'Let me put it this way: there is some lingering tension due to conflicting loyalties and... certain past events, but I have no personal problem with any one of them. I'm certainly not trying to punish them by foisting your friend on them. No, out of all three team leaders Wu Xie is best qualified to deal with him.'

'How so?'

'Because I don't want to work with him and judging by his performance today he'd just waste Xie Yuchen's time and energy by trying to engage him in a power struggle the whole way. Wu Xie has the air of a harmless nobody even if he's anything but, so he's unlikely to provoke your friend's ego by merely existing. Besides, his greatest strength is how well he gets along with even the most difficult people. Give him enough time and he will befriend a stone statue.'

Steve sniggered and shook his head.

'Oh good! I just hope this friendly energy keeps up when Stark tries to steamroll over him.'

'That will not be a problem' said Director Zhang 'Wu Xie himself may not be naturally confrontational and might let him get his way, but the Iron Triangle is three people for a reason.'

He turned towards the trio in the far end of the hangar, nodding at the boy in black.

'I haven't worked with Zhang Qiling since the sixties, but unless he'd become a fundamentally different person since, I can tell you exactly how any disagreement will go. Mr Stark will have his opinion, Wu Xie will try to reason will him, Zhang Qiling will listen to them for about one and a half minutes and then take whatever action HE thinks is best.'

This time Steve didn't hold back a snigger. Stark was going to have and interesting week.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

can you write a fic about y/n whose very touchy (their love language being physical touch) and has to touch overhaul in some sort of way whenever they see him?? either it being holding hand, a hand on his shoulder or just resting their head on him. just innocent little touches 😗

Never on his life he liked even the concept of touch. Ever since he could remember, just the thought of someone hugging him was suffocating while merely touching was repulsive.

He didn't liked touch. He despised it.

Although, in his almost three decades of life... he could pit point two exceptions for that.

One was the boss. How could he not be a exception? He was the man that took him out of the streets, gave a place to stay and even proclaimed he was his successor of a whole group of yakuzas. He changed his life. So of course the old man could touch him. From a scolding slap on the back to a simple yet so refreshing patting on the top of his hair when he was little.

The second exception was more shocking that it even existed for him to be honest. But alas, it was here... and it was resting their head on his shoulder right now.

He side eyed your figurine, which was navigating through the internet, for a moment before looking back at the clock on the wall.

Funny... with you, time seemed to pass with more speed than usual...

"You should go to sleep." He muttered, yet his voice was very evident due to the comfortable silence that was in the room.

You hummed while arching one of your eyebrows at him with a smirk.

"Are you going to sleep?" You inquired while he let out a scoff.

"Don't act so smug now you brat." He muttered before standing up suddenly, making you blink up at him.

"I'm not. Is it that wrong to not wanting to leave my boyfriend alone in the middle of the night?" You asked with pure innocence in your eyes, making him sigh before averting his eyes away from your figurine to the door of his office.

"Is it wrong of me to want you go rest then?" He heard your soft chuckle before feeling your fingertips brush on his upper arm.

"Alright, that's fair. But care to join me?" You mumbled sleepily on his shoulder.. shivers running down his spine at every single touch you provided him.

And the shivers... didn't felt bad. They didn't made his skin erupt on those hives he despised so much like it had happened to many other poor fouls that accidentally touched him.

No. They were like sparkles of electricity, almost giving him a overwhelming feeling of.... being wanted. Cared. Loved.

It was oh so strange...

You were.... a true exception.

"Perhaps I should take a break." He muttered while leaving the room with you trailing behind him, a soft pinky linked with his.

"Yeah, perhaps." You snorted and smiled up at him, surpringly making a small one appear on his usual stoic face.

"And perhaps I should have you with me?" He muttered in dark, close to your face as he felt your hands once again traveling up from his hand to his torso and finally cupping his jaw softly.

How exactly you managed to do that? How exactly have you managed to make a numb, problematic, mysophobic man ... secretly adore your magical touch?

Sometimes, he swore that despite being quirkless, you had this effect on him... he couldn't quite explain it... but it felt calming, healing even.

"Perhaps I should." You whispered delicately near his lips, he felt the hot air leaving your soft ones and his eyes softened even more... his own gloved hands taking a mind of their own and simply positioning themselves one on your waist as the other cupped your chin to tilt it up.

"Have you got the knowledge that this little habit of yours could result on death?" He muttered as you hummed in confusion until he spoke again "Touching me without a fear of being killed ever since we met."

"It never seemed to bother you when I did it... so I never stopped... after all, is how I like to show I love you." You whispered before tilting your head to the side "you want me to stop?"

If it was anyone else he wouldn't even answered. If it was anyone else he would have killed them. Scoffed in disgust. Anything that surely wasn't considered... right.

But to his surprise once again, a 'don't even dare' escaped from his lips before his mind could comprehend them before his lips connected with yours.

Chisaki Kai hated touching others and that others touched him.

But certainly he didn't minded when it came from you.... not even one bit.

[the-infinite-hole]

hi my ~realistic~ narry/reader broken marriage thoughts turned into a 3k word fanfic about trying to reconnect with him.

you're in the shower but you don't do anything xD

tentatively tagging @caltverkeys because i probably wouldn't have thought about it for so long if they hadn't expressed interest in my initial thoughts. :)

not that i expect ANYONE to actually read all 3k words of this silliness lol.

(*i wouldn't normally post whole fics to tumblr except this one probably wouldn't exist WITHOUT tumblr.)

sooo here ya go

...

...

...

When you hear the faucet squeak to life and smell his soap beginning to waft down the stairs, you smile because you know it means he's had a good day— or, at the very least, that he hasn't had a bad one, which is sometimes all you really need.

Sometimes.

Saying his name quietly to yourself (you know he can't hear you over the din of the water, but you feel like saying it anyway), you creep up the stairs, heading toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door is half-open, and through the noise you think you can detect him muttering something to himself.

His muttering doesn't bother you, though; it never has: Thinking out loud is something he's always done, and anyway, it's actually quite nice to hear his voice— especially when he's been flat-out ignoring you in favour of his own pursuits, which lately he's been doing quite a bit.

For days and days now, your Narrator (actually, he's your husband; however, he just as often insists upon being addressed by his own chosen title) has been holed up in his dark, smoky little office, working on his very own video game: His 'parable' as he likes to call it. He's been building it privately on his computer for as long as you've known him, adding dialogue and settings and characters and concepts at what most people would describe as his leisure.

At first, you were charmed by the strength of his creative drive— however, having been married to him for as many years as you have, you now know first-hand that there isn't actually anything 'leisurely' about the way your husband works on his game.

How long has it been, you think, since he last had a job— real job; a job that actually made him real-life money? How long has it been since the two of you last went out to dinner together...? Or entertained company, or took a trip—?

...You shake your head as you step into the bathroom, banishing both the thoughts and the hard, sticky bitterness clinging to them like old barnacles.

Not right now.

He's already standing under the water when you arrive, hidden safely behind the curtain: A mere silhouette, although over the years you've grown sadly accustomed to him being somewhat of a shadow to you. He spends so much time holed up with his game in that little office of his that sometimes you worry you're going to forget what he even looks like.

His glasses (at least those haven't changed) are resting on the edge of the sink; his pants are balled up on the floor with his socks. His shirt is hooked on the doorknob, its sleeves hanging just low enough to brush up against the worn linoleum tile peeling up from the edges of the floor. Even over the soap, you can smell the sweat on it; see the coffee stains, too. It feels like a long time since you've seen him undressed, and maybe even longer than that since you've seen him without his glasses.

It's embarrassing— you certainly wouldn't admit it out loud— but the god's honest truth is that you can hardly even recall what colour his eyes are anymore.

You bite down on your lip as your stomach ties itself in knots. You've been married to him for longer than you haven't been, but all of a sudden— right here and right now— you feel nervous: Like you're intruding, or crossing a boundary.

...Like you shouldn't even be here.

He's probably busy, you scold yourself. Busy trying not to get soap in his eyes; busy thinking about his game. Busy spending time in his head with Stanley.

'Stanley' isn't real, though, and neither is the game, no matter how much your Narrator seems to wish they were. You don't resent his inclination to retreat into himself so much as you wish you understood it; you knew he was prone to bouts of depression when you married him, and you would never begrudge him his feelings. But to witness him running headlong into a set of digital arms when you've been there for him in real-life all along...

Shh, quit it. Not right now.

No, you think, it isn't the right time to indulge your own misplaced jealously and pent-up bitterness any more than it's the right time to contemplate your husband's chronic lack of employment or unwillingness to join you for dinner. You didn't trail him in here to scold him; you can do that any time. No, you came in here to...

...to...

...wait.

Wait, what did you come in here for, anyway...?

He coughs from behind the shower curtain, maybe to let you know he's detected you; maybe just because he smokes too much. The sharpness of the scent of his soap and the headiness of the humidity in the air are what coax you back to reality; you're still frightened, but before you know it, you're peeling your own clothes off and discarding them to the floor right alongside his anyhow.

Could this be it, you ask yourself—? The thing you came for? Joining your husband (or your 'Narrator', or whoever the hell he thinks he is these days) for a shower is something you haven't done in years. What could possibly be possessing you to do it tonight?

What do you think you're going to gain from it— do you really think it's going to help?

Now less-than-sure of yourself, you almost give up right then: Put on a towel and scurry out of the bathroom; maybe to go and make some tea, or even just pretend to go to bed. But then— then— you think better of retreating, because what does it really matter whether or not it 'helps'? Running away is something he does; something he does, in fact, that you loathe. What kind of message would it send to him, if you went and did the very same thing...?

Whatever precipitated that well-timed cough of his, he already knows you're here: Quite simply, you can feel it. You don't need to ask.

Goosebumps pepper your skin as your throat seems to close in on itself; without meaning to, necessarily, you start taking steps: First one; then two, and three, and then finally (it feels like it takes a lot longer than it does), you're standing at the edge of the bathtub with your hand on the curtain, trying not to breathe too fast.

Perhaps in spite of yourself, you shoot a quick glance back in the direction of the mirror, just to make sure you're still smiling. If you're here because you love him, you reason, then shouldn't you greet him as though you're happy to see him?

Next, you pull back the curtain, letting out a hot puff of steam; after that, you lift a foot, stepping high over the lip of the tub and into the shower. He isn't facing you, but the source of the water instead; he also isn't washing his hair or his face, or anything else, for that matter. He isn't moving or talking, and he certainly isn't singing to himself the way he used to when you first got married. Really, all he seems to be doing is standing there: Stiffly, beneath the water, like a pillar of something soluble— something that wishes it would melt.

You place a hand on his shoulder from behind, and his back tenses beneath your touch. Your smile fades before he's even had a chance to see it; your breath catches, and already you're terrified you've made an awful mistake.

"I'm sorry," you start...

But then, he turns around.

Nearly choking on your own words, you stop as quickly as you started: Again, it's been practically forever since you last law his eyes.

They're green.

A beautiful, sparkling emerald green; as bright and brilliant as ever, almost as if in direct and deliberate defiance of all the things that so often seem to conspire to take him away from you. They're so lovely (and so lovely on him) that you're ashamed to have so flagrantly forgotten them. Then again, you think, maybe you were meant to forget them: Maybe he wanted you to.

"Don't be sorry," he says. "I'm almost finished."

Calm and cordial (entirely too cordial, actually) his spoken words come near-devoid of any particular intonation— betraying very little of the pain or confusion swirling about behind those pretty eyes of his. It's been like that for a long time; again, you sorely miss the sound of his voice, but he just doesn't seem to have it in him to use it the way he once did.

Not unless he's narrating for Stanley, anyway.

"I wasn't waiting for you to be finished," you tell him— trying as best you can to tamp down both your long-standing bitterness and your hope, lest either of them get the better of you.

His eyes dart to the side, as if he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't try to hide himself from you, and hasn't since you joined him; however, you know that's less because he's comfortable and more because he simply doesn't give a shit— about the way he looks; about the way you feel about him. The Narrator hardly seems to care about anything anymore.

Shut up. You're here because you love him anyway, remember?

"...You aren't?" he asks, voice creaking like an old door as he places a single hand on the slick tile wall beside him and keeps on refusing to look up at you.

"I'm not," you promise... tentatively reaching back out toward him, only to stop just short of actually touching his chest.

"Then why are you—"

"I just wanted to—"

"Just wanted to what?"

Clearly off to a less-than-stellar start, you bite your lip again. "...Let's not interrupt each other," you suggest, as gently as you can. Your hand is still hanging there between the two of you, resting in the air like a spectre. His body is shielding it from the water, and therefore the rest of you, too. You shiver— cold, now, in spite of the steam.

"...I'm sorry," he says, only barely audible over the insistent pattering of the water. Venturing to lift his head, he looks first at your hand; then, eventually, up at your face.

If nothing else, you suppose, his apology is at least sincere.

"You don't need to be sorry," you tell him... and (for now, anyway) it's the truth.

"...I wasn't lying when I said I was nearly finished," he mutters, shoulders shifting as though he's about to try and move past you. In desperation (desperation you hope to god he can't sense), you let that floating hand of yours finally make its landing: A gentle one, in the very centre of his chest, warm little rivulets of water flowing over and around it.

"Wait," you plead... pressing the tips of your fingers insistently into his skin.

"What for?" he asks back, having apparently grown uncomfortable enough with your presence that it's actually beginning to annoy him. You try not to let your heart sink; how many of your fights with him have started out precisely this way—?

"...Do you remember our first apartment?" you ask him, irreverent and hopeful and still not to be deterred. "The one with the leaky toilet and the irritable landlord?"

He sighs, pursing his lips. "...I do remember," he admits, if reluctantly. "He was always complaining about—"

"The water bill!" you blurt out— unable to resist finishing for him as an entirely unintentional grin flashes across your face.

Apparently unmoved, your Narrator shifts his weight from leg to leg. "I thought we were going to quit interrupting each other," he huffs... averting his gaze yet again, this time in favour of staring intently down at the water swirling around his own feet and down into the drain.

You hate admitting it, even to yourself, but you miss when he used to stare at you.

"...I'm sorry," you say, kicking yourself internally because you should have known better than to get excited.

"Anyway," he goes on tersely, "we haven't needed to share showers to save water for years— and so unless you're here to deliver some sort of unfavourable news with regard to our financial situation, I quite frankly don't see any reason for you to have joined me."

You almost wish you'd gone ahead and interrupted him again. Nonetheless, you curl your toes hard into the ceramic beneath your feet; having come this far, you aren't giving up on him.

Not yet.

Not tonight.

"If I told you that I just wanted to join you," you start, "then would that be a good enough reason?" Gazing down at your own hand as it rests on his chest, it dawns on you that you don't exactly have a whole lot of room to criticize his reluctance to make eye contact.

Looking up, you catch his gaze and hold it— maybe for as long as you've held it in years.

It isn't easy, but it's worth the effort... isn't it?

Already flush from the steam, you can't quite tell whether his cheeks have gone red, or whether he's merely grown too warm. "I— w-well, I suppose it would be," he spits out, "but... but, well, I... I..."

Mindful of his having chided you for it earlier, you refrain from cutting in, giving him a moment to try and finish. Only when it becomes evident that he isn't going to finish do you dare to prompt him.

"You what?" you ask— emphatically, yes, but also kindly; more curious, now, than impatient.

Your thumb begins to stroke gently at a damp tuft of hair on his chest. It's familiar, but in a way that feels distant, too: Like something you're remembering from a whole other life.

He focuses his gaze somewhere behind you, then: Past the shower curtain, in the direction of the bathroom door. He could very well be thinking about pushing right past you and bolting though it; in fact, it's more likely than not that he is— but if he's thinking about running, he must also be thinking about not running in equal measure, because (it'll seem almost miraculous, when you look back on it later), he doesn't so much as move a muscle.

He does cough again— maybe just clearing his throat.

You don't stop stroking that little wet tuft on his chest.

"I... well, I suppose I thought you didn't want to," he reveals, as earnestly as it feels like he's revealed anything to you in years.

For a moment, you feel newly ashamed... but then, of course, you feel frustrated: He thinks you're the one who didn't want to be with him—?!

You're aren't the one who spends every waking moment holed up in an office with their pixilated boyfriend.

...No, you remind yourself: Now isn't the time to bring up Stanley.

"Of course I want to!" you tell him back, and once more, it's the truth: Again, you didn't join him in the shower to berate him; you joined him because you love him— you always have, and even through everything, you've never stopped. You don't think you ever will. "We're still married, aren't we?" you ask, as your feet shift forward and a nervous, playful little lilt infiltrates your tone.

He blushes. There's no question about it this time, steam or no steam. He's always been prone to it, and (for better or worse) you've always loved making him turn red.

"I— I... w-well—"

As careful as ever, you close the remainder of the distance between the two of you— snaking a trembling arm around his waist in the process. His back seems to straighten out, but he doesn't try to pull away; you look into his eyes, and (maybe because he doesn't have anywhere else to look), he stares back into yours.

You don't say anything to him, but you do smile: Not bold enough to expect, perhaps... but certainly brave enough to hope.

He pauses, drawing a breath.

"...Y-yes," he finally manages. "Yes— yes, of course we're still married; it's just that— th-that—"

In lieu of interrupting him with words, you take yet another chance... this time by tilting your head (once again, in a way you haven't done in years), and shutting him up with a kiss.

It always used to work before.

You close your eyes, partly because you're scared; but also partly because of the fine spray misting out from behind him. The water pelting his back trickles over and around your hand; he breaths in, lungs expanding against your body in a way you never quite realized until just this moment how very much you missed.

...Maybe he misses it too, because the next thing you know, he's kissing you back.

He's really, actually kissing you back.

It's been so long since he last put his arms around you that you almost flinch when he does. He tastes, as always, like his favourite cigarettes; his lips are exactly as warm as you remember them. More grateful than ever to be surrounded by water, your eyes fill with tears; you know you shouldn't cry, but your body doesn't seem to care.

The pipes, old and lime-encrusted, whine from above you. Droplets tap-tap-tap against the plastic shower curtain; the drain gurgles from under your feet; and— somehow, suddenly— you're quite positive that you can hear the far-off droning of someone's car alarm, blaring faintly from outside.

Your Narrator himself, however, doesn't make a sound. He doesn't move, either... except to part his lips, and pull you even closer to him.

...Maybe, you think sadly to yourself, he really does need 'Stanley' as much as he seems to believe he does. Maybe he's depressed; maybe he's angry— maybe he's been touched by something he hasn't yet gathered the courage to reveal to you, and it's eating him up from the inside-out. You still don't know, any more than you know how to pull him out of his head and back into real life.

Right here, though— right here, in this very moment, steeping together like human tea in the warm, fragrant steam— your Narrator seems just as content to need you as he does to need his office, or his computer, or his best digital friend.

A kiss in the shower might not seem like a lot to some people, no... but to you it's something: A lot of something, in what often feels like a sad and lonesome sea of even more nothing.

It may not be able to singularly mend everything that's wrong with him (or with your marriage, or with you yourself), no: But tonight, it feels like enough.

Maybe— for now; from him— 'enough' really is all you need.

[yuhhxhxx]

Grieving. (Luocha x reader)

| Pairing : Luocha x reader (indirectly)

| Warnings : Reader is passed away, mentions of death, violence (lots of), revenge, hatred, Luocha is grieving, kind of angsty overall

| Genre : Like I said, angst 🥀

| Summary : You are (or, were) his beloved significant other and he is now suffering, for he has lost his dearest person in the world.

| !SPOILER ALERT! This fic also merely contains spoilers from the Xianzhou Luofu's latest Trailblaze quest, but even so, I mostly wrote about my own perspective upon Luocha's reason of existing and overall his reasons of being a traveling merchant. I hope you'll enjoy :D

It has long been since he had last seen you. It has long been since he had last spoken to you. It has long been since he had last touched you, since he had felt your warmth against his- since he had kissed you, since he had heard your voice, listened to your stories, enchanted you songs, fought alongside you- it has been a long, rough time for Luocha, for not a single day has passed without thinking about you- and how cruel the destiny has been with you. He curses those who had brought you to your end sooner than it should have happened.

He reminisces the day you have left this world- the day you had left him- how cruel and merciless your murderer was. He still recalls how their weapon pierced straight through your heart, looking back with horror at how terrified you were in those very moments- your last moments. He blames himself even to this day that he couldn't save you. He was weak in those moments- the moments when you needed him the most.

He swore that he would tear the individual that dared kill you to pieces- craving nothing but avenging you and seeing them crumble to death, just like it happened to you.

Nobody, not even him, would have ever thought that such a higher and noble being would ever do such terrible things to a mere, innocent, harmless human. But Luocha should've known better. He should have. He shouldn't have let himself be captured, he shouldn't have let himself become so helpless before a being whose reputation has been made of deceiving truths. Such ugly being hiding its devilish side underneath a charming facade... who would've thought?

After all...

...Aeons are supposed to be Holy...no?

Ever since you have passed away, Luocha has been on a never-ending journey hoping to find a way to bring you back to him- bring you back to life. His heart also seeks and craves vengeance, for he never forgets. After all, his dearest thing in the world got stolen away from him so cruelly and so quickly that he feels like things haven't yet been solved- he neees to return the favor to the same Aeon that murdered his beloved.

Despite his healing aptitudes, Luocha cannot bring the deceased back to life- at least, he fails to do so. He has tried several methods to revive your poor body, yet he never brought himself to succeed. Thus, he always has a talisman with him all the time, just in case he will eventually succeed, or just in case he himself gets wounded. Of course, now, it would be weird to carry around a deceased person's body- he might even get arrested for that, so what better way to carry a corpse at your discretion than placing it in a coffin? A lot of people wonder what's with that big, weird, decorated and elegant coffin that he always has with himself, yet they never really bother to ask too much.

Luocha's interastral journey and every single one of his travels revolve around you and the purpose of your revival. He always seems so close, yet so far from the Aeon whom he wishes to end so badly. He has always been a rather special man- always wearing a mysterious, elegant and innocent facade despite his dark secrets lying deep within him.

After failing to bring his never-ending journey to an end, he has decided that his next destination will be the Xianzhou Luofu, where destiny will help him cross paths with his greatest enemies- or, perhaps, his potential allies. What is unknown is the outcome of all events. After all, he too is a slave of destiny.

!HUGE SPOILER ALERT BELOW THE CUT!

☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆

"What's wrong, Luocha? You seem pretty down."

"Jing Liu, the general will surely disagree with allying with us. Of course, now, I wouldn't mind fighting him or the whole nation- however, it'd only be a meaningless journey, and the Luofu seems to be amongst the few settlements that is rather acquainted with the Aeon of Abundance."

"Oh, Luocha... what a man of emotion you are. Traveling world after world just to revive your deceased partner... I would probably let it slide. However, I do understand why you would seek revenge so eagerly. After all, we have a common enemy...

...Hm. It seems we have arrived. Make sure to play your part well."

"That's the Astral Express over there, no?"

"Indeed, it is. But no one and nothing will stop us."

"Indeed. We will find Yaoshi and avenge well." Caressing your coffin, Luocha says those words and proceeds to plant a kiss on the heavy package of porcelain and stone.

Jing Liu chuckles. "Besides, I do have somebody that I have been hunting down for centuries now... this time, I will end him."

"Ah... you're talking about your old friend that has now become a Stellaron Hunter, correct?" He stands up and smirks, looking at the Luofu.

"Correct."

"Well then, Y/N, Jing Liu, let's take our leave."

To be continued...

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [5] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find. it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, mxm (this chapter); san x reader, yunho x reader; 9.98k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: murder references, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, lying, emotional turmoil, injuries, slight descriptions of gore

Chapter 5:

The town is quiet as you walk down the road. Stores closed, streetlights beaming onto the pavement. Rarely does a car pass, light shining against your face before disappearing. You hold your bag close. Being here feels a bit strange, to say the least. Holding yourself together long enough to break down in your apartment. Soobin won't be there, that you're sure of. Something tells you you won't see him for a long while. Kicking a rock you turn the corner, your eyes on the apartment. Nothing had changed from what you can see – streets still silent, neighbors still quiet. You push your key through the lock and open. Even the eerie creak is familiar, rusted and lacking security. You shut the door behind you, looking around the room.

Nothing has changed. The books you left in a pile still sit in the same place, though a thin layer of dust rests on the top. The dishes you left in the rack sit, your coffee cup way beyond spoiled in the sink. You throw your bag to the side, chest tightening as you make each step. You said you'd be okay with entering this place again. You said you'll be fine. But all it does is remind you of how lonely you are. You glance at your phone that sits on the edge of the coffee table, plugging it in. You grab your gloves off the side of the sink and begin washing, the stream of water the only noise in the apartment.

You're over him.

You'll be okay.

Your fingers grip the cup tightly, scrubbing roughly. It is just not shiny enough.

He left you.

He won't be coming back for you.

The handle of the cup breaks, pulling you from your thoughts as it cracks against the framing of the sink. You stare at it, shutting off the water. Nothing you can do to go back in time, fix this. It's not your fault he left. It's not your fault he abandoned you like this. You should be over it now, it's been so long.

The sinking feeling only deepens.

You close your eyes, very much expecting Soobin to reflect in the darkness. Instead, your mind travels to the soft caress of Mingi's palm against your cheek; the sweet smile of Jongho as he adamantly discusses a novel he's reading; the irritated glare of San watching you eat; the loving look in Wooyoung's eyes as you scold him; the curious gaze of Seonghwa watching you silently; the very obvious avoidance from Yeosang; Yunho holding you delicately as you walk through the halls; the creepy grin of Hongjoong.

You open your eyes.

“Hell,” you murmur, throwing your gloves to the side of the sink. You don't bother picking up the pieces of the shattered ceramic, turning off the lights and roaming down the hall. Sleep. That will stop all of this. That would help you forget about the Unseelie. Maybe even help you forget that you killed a faerie yourself. Not that you remember anything from it.

Just the blood.

The one thing you can't forget.

—

“Sorry for not calling you in so long, I’ve been occupied.”

“It's been only a couple days, sweetheart. We just thought you were busy with the shop and all,” your mother says softly. The sound of dishes being washed echo in your ears, plates scraping against one another. “How are you feeling? Customers tiring you out?”

You hold the phone against your ear, stunned. It had to be over a month that you resided in your home. Or at least close to it. And you didn’t call your mother throughout that time. How could it only be a few days to her? What the hell did they do?

Slow down time?

You swallow, “Um, plenty busy Mom. Sorry I didn't call again.”

“No worries. We were just worried about you, you know. Soobin and all – we want to make sure you're faring well without him.”

You glance at the framed photograph on your desk. Soobin’s lips pressed against your forehead, your eyes shut in pure glee. His arms around your waist. You turn it away from you, leaning against the wood. “As well as I can be, it still feels fresh. Has his mother reached out to you about him? Anything new?”

“She told me he's still out and about. But nothing about him coming back. y/n, I hate to pry into this, but it might be time.”

“Time for?”

“Moving on. If he hasn't contacted you this whole time, you should let that settle in your mind. It's terrible, I know. But it'll soothe your heart. I hate to see you dwell on something that'll never come true.”

“Maybe I'll take you up on that.”

“I hope you do, baby. No need to dwell on things you can't change.”

You continue the conversation, love yous exchanged before ending the call. You stare at the front of the bookstore, the door slightly ajar. The sound of a crow loud enough to be heard in your store. You can remember the day Seonghwa walked in, head to toe in casual clothing, beauty unreal as he meandered around your shop. You were still in the early stages of mourning your relationship when he appeared. At that moment you thought he was strange, but it was a reprieve from your inner turmoil.

You wished you sent him away back then. Maybe things would be different now.

The bell rings, pulling you from your thoughts. An older woman from town enters, a few others just behind her. You thank them for coming in, distracted from your lingering thoughts for just a moment. As you’re helping her grab something off the top shelf, the bell rings again. Facing away from the door, you greet the customer.

“Welcome to my bookstore!” You say loudly, fingers gripping the spine of the book as you pull it down.

“Didn’t I tell you to be careful climbing up that ladder, you’ll hurt yourself moving around like that.” Hands wrap around the base of the metal, your body frozen, afraid to turn back. You can recognize his voice from anyone’s, soft but sure. The customer thanks you for the book, sending a greeting to the man holding you up.

You step down slowly, unable to face who’s behind you. “Why are you here?” You ask, your tone harsher than you planned it to be.

“I forgot to tell you some things.”

You try to calm your nerves, but your body is trembling, crumbling beneath your hold. He isn’t supposed to be here. You were moving on, you were going to be okay again. Why is he here?

“y/n–” His cold hand wraps around your elbow but you shove him away, eyes finally looking at his.

Soobin looks exhausted. Bags heavy beneath his eyes, the usual warm gaze of his a bit cold, off-putting. His clothing is wrinkled, loose against his body. You recognize the coat he wears, the same one he wore when he left you alone that night. When you cried as you held that note between your fingers. Neat hair combed back from his face, skin unusually pale. As if he hasn’t slept nor seen sunlight since he left. He takes a step away from you, glancing around the bookstore.

“You’ve kept it up well. A bit dusty, but you don’t have me around to get to the hard to reach places,” his finger drags along the top of a shelf, a thin layer of dust coating the surface of his skin. He rubs it between his thumb and middle finger, humming. “Maybe you should hire a part-timer. A tall one, preferably.”

You ignore his words, looking up and down the aisles of the store. Noticing no one inside, you lock the door, flipping your sign to close before looking back at him. There’s a mix of emotions, deep within you some form of yearning. You thought you’d never see him again and yet here he is. You didn’t notice it before — how well you’ve handled hearing his name without breaking down, falling to your knees. How easily you lied about your feelings, how people haven’t realized just yet that the thought of him makes you feel ill, makes you remember all that’s he’s done and has yet to do.

“Your mother has been looking for you.”

He pauses, nodding solemnly, “I know.”

“You can’t just disappear off the face of the Earth, Soobin. There’s people that care about you. What,” You rub your face, thoughts scattered. “Where the hell were you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he shrugs.

The man in front of you now, expression cold, eyes uncaring. He’s not the Soobin you know. Even before he left, before he was upset with you, he never looked so ill. Like he hasn’t seen sunlight in months. Even the blush of his cheeks are gone, skin seemingly hollow. If he weren’t in front of you now speaking you’d think he was a corpse.

“How are you going to waltz in here to see me, and act so cold? What’s wrong with you?” you glance over his clothes. “Are you sick?”

He scoffs, the expression only making the pit in your stomach grow. “No. I called mother today, she’s fine. Spoke to the sibling too. I just came here to settle things before I go.”

“I thought you settled it with that little note of yours?” It’s long gone now, somewhere deep in your closet filled with gifts he’d given to you. You couldn’t bear to throw any of it away.

“No, it hasn't been settled,” he digs in his pocket, pulling out an envelope. He slides it across the table. You stare at it for a moment, a sigh echoing around the empty store. “Open it.”

You grab it, ripping the tap off and looking at what’s inside. It’s a letter, a legal document in fact. You look at the header, words in bold font.

Transfer of Deed of Land to Y/N, on Behalf of Soobin Choi.

“The bookstore will be solely in your name, and Choi Soobin will be removed from the paperwork, relinquish all rights to it. You won’t have to worry about it being taken from you. You’ll have it for yourself and own the property. Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care.”

You do care, you think. You’ve wanted this for so long.

“Think about it tonight,” Soobin says. “I can be back tomorrow. You probably would need someone as your witness and a notary. It’ll take you a bit of time, but there’s no rush. I’ll give you the PO box to send it to,” he digs in his pocket, taking out a small business card. He does not hand it to you, sliding it across the wooden surface between the two of you. “I’ll be around in the afternoon.”

“Is this it?” You look at the card, a firm’s name and office printed. “This is all you came for?”

“What else would I come here for, y/n?”

You’ve known Soobin for so long, enough so that you’ve never seen him this distant, this cold. Who is the man in front of you now? He is not the man you’ve known for over a decade. Something must have happened in the months he was gone. There’s just no possible way he’s the same Soobin that was angry with you. But pushing for answers would be useless, so you merely nod.

“Nothing. You don’t have to come tomorrow, I’ll sign and send it to your attorney.”

“Great!” A smile cracks his solemn features, hands clapping together. “Have a good life, y/n. I hope you take care of this shop well, or leave it to someone else. These people in this town are pretty fucking shitty towards you.” He moves himself off the bannister, swallowing. “And don’t bother his mother anymore, she’s been through enough as it is. Hearing you or your mother’s voice would only make her more anxious. The relationship ended such a long time ago.”

Your brows furrow. “Who’s mother am I bothering?”

“Hm?”

“You said his mother.”

His smile stays, “Must have been a slip of the tongue.”

You stare at him, his brow raised in waiting. He is just not himself. You can only wonder what happened in the time he has been gone. Still, you cannot help yourself. “We were going to get married soon,” you whisper. “You said it would be me and you to the end. You said you wouldn’t hurt me, but you did. You left me alone, and so much has happened since then–”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he stops you. “Don’t make this harder than it is, y/n. Just forget about it and move on.”

“You…” You close your eyes for a moment. “Get out.”

He raises his hands, backing up away from you. Just as he begins to turn the knob, he turns around one last time. “I will always care for you y/n. In a strange, twisted way.” The door slams almost violently, the handmade sign you two made together falling to the hardwood. You flinch as it hits the floor, led shattering.

—

San hears a door slamming a bit down the hallway from his own room, quite aware of who it could be. Seonghwa slid by his room earlier and told him about Mingi. It was enough of a hint that he decided not to feed tonight, waiting for him to come back. He gets up off his chair, placing his journal to the side and walking down the hallway. Hongjoong’s door is shut, as well as many of the others. Including the one he’s looking for.

The closed door greets him. No one else has left their own dwellings, likely due to their leader's instructions. Mingi is not to be disturbed at times like this. He will recover on his own. San has learned to never take those words to heart; the last time they left him alone he was distraught for days.

He grips the brass doorknob, slowly turning it open. It creaks. Torn clothing scattered about. Human blood dripping onto the floor. If looked upon with an untrained eye you would see a human on the brink of death. All San sees is his Mingi, body twisted into someone unlike himself. He’s forced himself into the couch, back to the door. All he wears is underwear.

“One.”

San holds out his hand, staring down at Mingi. The large Unseelie seems smaller now, body curled up, shaking every few seconds. He hates seeing him in such a state, his heart aching at the pain he's under. It is something Mingi rarely does – shape-shifting into a human. It takes a toll on his physical and mental state, his physique unable to handle it for longer than a few hours. Though he did not stay long at the bookstore, it was enough to make him slip. Lose himself.

“One,” San repeats, arm still extended. He is in the middle of transitioning, deathly pale skin warming, brown strands fading into a darker green. “Repeat it, Min.”

“No,” his voice is hoarse, fingers digging into the soft cushion beneath him. Though the door is ajar, none of the others appear to help. It is something only San and Yunho can do well. With Yunho preoccupied, he is the chosen Unseelie to pull Mingi back. “No, no.”

San reaches out, forcing his thumb against Mingi's temple. He whispers as the Unseelie claws at his arm, flinching when his nails peel off the surface. He grinds his teeth, his other hand pressed into the cushion beneath him. Perspiration coats his forehead. Mingi's body slowly calms down, hands dropping to his side.

“One.” San murmurs.

“...One.” He says back, blinking slowly. None of them enjoy this. His mate is in pain, dire need of their assistance. The only aspect he enjoys of bringing him back is seeing life breathed into his skin. The iridescent eyes staring back at him. Mingi is not truly there yet, lids heavy, but he almost is. It is enough for San to continue.

“Two,” San says.

“Two.”

“Tell me your name.”

Mingi's brows furrow, tongue dragging across the cracks in the plush flesh. “Soob–” His jaw tightens. “Mingi.”

“Right,” San's cheeks indent, hand off his temple. “What is my name?”

Mingi blinks quickly. Eyes growing moist the longer his gaze settles. It is difficult for him to speak, lips opening and closing. He sighs. “My San.”

“Right,” San presses his lips against his skin, covering the mole just beneath his eye. “I am your San. Always.”

Without another word, Mingi's arms wrap around his body, pressing San deep into his chest. The remaining pieces of the human’s clothing peels away as he holds his lover, chest trembling after each breath. San lets himself settle there, knowing it may take him a while until he is himself. His fingers dig harshly into San’s skin, his grip rough enough to rip right through. San holds back a hiss, letting him continue. It grounds him. He will be upset with himself later, but right now all he cares about is making sure he’s okay.

“Don't leave me,” his voice is hollow, unnerving. “Don't let me slip away.”

“Never, Mingi,” San's voice is sure. “You'll always be yourself.”

—

“Everything is going too far,” Yeosang dips his spoon into his bowl. “Mingi can barely leave his room without his thoughts fading into one another. I greet him and his speech is slurred. As if he's still that human. We’ve prevented him from human shifting for a reason.”

“I know,” San holds his drink, gaze lingering on the doorway. “It’s not needed anymore though, the Soobin persona completed his duty. He will no longer awake from his slumber.”

“For now, until our leader finds another use for him.”

“I will not allow it.”

Yeosang stops gnawing on the slim branch between his lips, gaze glued on San. The smell of cinnamon wafts through the air, softening when he sees how terrible San looks. Nails bitten bloody, hair thick with dust and oil. Jaw tight. Burdened with the feeling of care. Very unlike an Unseelie, but do any of them fit the true embodiment of a wretched faerie? Even Hongjoong, as conniving as he can be, is still warm-hearted. Deep down beneath that scorned heart and thickened skin. Yeosang reaches over, stopping himself halfway. He is not one inclined to physically comfort someone. That type of caretaking is heavily given by Wooyoung or San himself, not Yeosang. He cares a bit differently.

Yeosang digs in the box in front of him, nudging San slightly as he hands him a smaller branch. Said faerie takes it without question, sincerity in his smile as he begins to chew. The smell calms him down a bit as he chews, throbbing headache lessening with each swallow of the tainted saliva.

“Have you spoken to him about it? About the toll it takes on Mingi? Yunho is barely himself these days, it will only hurt us all more if Mingi crumbles too.”

“I've attempted,” San’s smile is wiry, plush lips set in a pout. “Hongjoong doesn't want to hear it. He told me that Mingi could decide on his own and he does not dictate his actions.”

“In summary: Mingi does not want to let him down so he won't deny his wishes.”

“Right,” San agrees. “He will continue to appease as long as mentally and physically possible. He would be nearly on his last breath before saying no. It's in his nature.”

“Hongjoong is taking advantage of that,” Yeosang merely sighs, chewing the branch slowly. “Once Yunho finds out he'll be–”

“Once I find out what, exactly?”

The two turn, Yunho leaning against the entrance to the room. Yeosang closes the box in front of him, Yunho’s eyes catching the movement. He is not one to get inebriated and dislikes it when the rest partake, but he does not say much about it. His nose might wrinkle a bit, but that’s all. So seeing him stand there, without as much as a twitch of his brow, only worries them both. Seonghwa said it would take a little longer for Yunho to truly be himself.

“What’s going on? I went to the lab and Seonghwa wasn’t there. I presume the rest are out feeding?”

Yeosang shrugs, “Some may be, some not. There’s a bit of disorganization around here lately, with the Seelie and all.”

“You didn’t answer my question about y/n.”

Yeosang’s gaze shifts to San. They were told to hold that information until Yunho was truly well, and neither of them knew if that was the case now. He’s allowed to be upset about the circumstances, but finds out suddenly like this- it may only hinder his progress.

“I am fine, you can say it.” Sharpness beneath the words.

“How did you get out of your room? I was sure Seonghwa placed a spell upon it.”

“He didn’t solidify it again, which is why I went to his room first to see if he could. But not seeing him there and the house eerily quiet, I decided to walk around and see what’s happening. And since neither of you are telling me where y/n is, she’s likely removed from our land, no? Where did Hongjoong take her?”

Again, neither says a word.

This time, Yunho’s brow twitches. “Do you want me to be upset?”

“She’s not here,” San says. “She could be anywhere. But she is safe.”

“If she is anywhere how would she be safe?” Yunho’s jaw tightens. “We were to protect her.”

“Are you not the least bit concerned as to why you’re so infatuated with this girl?” Yeosang asks, taking another bite of the branch. He raises his brow, “She has left on her own. We’re leaving her alone.”

“We as in all of you?”

Again, another question they cannot answer. Yunho gives San a hard look, before turning on his heels. Yeosang makes no movement to follow after him himself, watching as San leaves after him.

His steps are close, slightly jogging to catch up to the lanky Unseelie. “You are not thinking clearly.”

“Neither of you will tell me what's happening so I'll gather the information on my own.”

“Yunho, stop,” San slips around him, blocking his path. He sees the familiar fury in his gaze, the onset of his clenched jaw. It makes worries continue to swim within him, the thought of Yunho further losing himself lingering. Despite the circumstances, San reaches for his hand. Yunho almost pushes him away until San rests his hand on his chest, gazing at the floor. “Please.” Desperation coats the singular word.

It's enough for Yunho to sigh lightly.

“You've hidden things from me, San. What else am I to do? Accept your silly explanations?”

No. San knows him better than that. And he knows Yunho would leave with the slightest hesitancy in his response. San lifts his hand, wrapping it around his waist. Yunho tenses up, but does not move.

“I'll take care of you. I'll take care of this.”

“How?”

San's head lifts. He can see the hurt in his pretty eyes. He loves him, dearly. There is nothing that could come between him and his spark. Nothing he wouldn't do to make them happy. It is his duty – to protect them from all the hurt and terrors. It is hard to be so entwined with seven Unseelie, unable to resist helping them in whichever way he could. It is not something he'd ever fail on. So if Yunho wanted the human with him, if he hurt in even the slightest way without you, San would scour the Earth for you. He would hunt endlessly, until his last breath.

“I'll get her for you.”

Yunho's hand reaches up, holding San's face delicately in his hands. Said man's eyes flutter beneath the faintest touch. A soft groan escapes his lips when he feels Yunho's brush against his. It is merely seconds between that and San gripping his waist tightly, his back pressed against the hallway wall. Wood cracking beneath the strength of their combined desire. Their hands are everywhere as San truly shows Yunho what he means to him.

Blind devotion.

—

This is foolish.

This is completely foolish.

In fact, you wonder why you’re even thinking of doing this, the act silly and stupid all in the same.

You stand in the train station, scarf wrapped around your neck, the holiday lights still up despite the season passing. A small clover growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. You grip your suitcase, fingers trembling from the breeze. You hold your train ticket in your phone. The Unseelie informed you that your home was protected from Seelie, that you’d be safe there. You’re far enough away that it’d be impossible for whatever spell was placed to work on you here. But you need to get away. You’re sick of being in that apartment, in that bookstore, surrounded by reminders of your ex-lover who left you. Seeing him only days ago just made everything much worse. The ill feeling in your body continues.

“Quite cold, hm?”

You glance to the side, a man much taller than you, a yard or so away. He leans on a nearby pole, hands tucked in his pockets. He shivers, blowing his breath into his cupped palms. “They didn’t say the temperature would drop this much.”

“It is cold,” you agree, giving him a quick smile before staring forward.

“Little humans like you shouldn’t be out and about alone,” he says after a moment. “Could get yourself into trouble out here.”

Your grip on your suitcase tightens. Humans.

Is he a Seelie? You barely left the perimeter of your town. How could they find you so quickly?

Your thoughts wonder, landing on the spark of Unseelies. Hoping that somehow, someway, one would come. One would help you.

“Surprised you left them,” he continued. “The source of your protection. And without telling them? Humans are truly stupid.”

“There’s people around, you-” You point, noticing the once busy station completely empty. “There’s…” The once full staircase of people waiting for the train was utterly empty, seats against the walls unoccupied.

“No one,” he shrugs. “What will you do? Call the police? Believe that they will help you?” He moves off the pillar, slowly coming into the light. With each step he takes, his body changes, growing taller and into the grotesque creatures that were in your bookstore not too long ago. You haven’t trained enough with Mingi to truly protect yourself against a Seelie alone. That one time wouldn’t be able to be replicated again since you haven’t the slightest idea how you killed it.

Will you finally, truly be helpless?

“Messing with what’s mine?”

The name gathers chills within you, mouth running dry. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer into his side. You do not bother to look up, his laughter enough for you to know who it is. Your heart, used to the fear that would run through at the mention of being his possession, almost warms when he presses you against his side. He smells of metal and plants, head tilted as he looks at the Seelie.

“Have they not told you to leave her alone? This is not your territory, Seelie.”

The Seelie pauses, gaze narrowing. “It is free of your protection spell.”

“She is our human and she is under our protection. Big mistake, coming here by yourself,” his tone is cheeky. “She has already killed one of you alone. It would be idiotic of you to come by yourself.”

The Seelie laughs, “A human killing a Seelie? I haven’t heard of that.”

“Beomgyu would say otherwise. Emphasis on would,” you glance at San, a slight pout on his lips. “Since he is very dead right now. Right, y/n?” San nudges you slightly. “Poor guy screamed for death.”

“Yeonjun said he was on a mission,” the Seelie grunts. “That is not possible.”

“I cannot lie, you know that well.”

The Seelie looks between the two of you, “You have forgotten yourself, San. There is only so much you can do before she knows as well.” The face distorts, a grin creasing each corner of its face. It looks at you briefly, before disappearing into nothing.

—

Sounds echo in your ears as the stations immediately increase in volume, travelers out and about. San holds you close as he walks through, fingers gripping your side. It's strange, feeling his touch on you. He is one of the Unseelie who hates your presence. Having him so close, hands desperately holding you, feels wrong. Wouldn't be much different from what you've been dealing with lately.

“Inconceivable,” he murmurs, stepping through the open doors. “Do you know what you were about to do? Have you been taking our words lightly?” The cool breeze bone chilling. San hands you his scarf, wrapped tightly around your neck.

“You found me.” You say.

He hums.

“Am I that easy to find?”

“No,” he says. “We just know when you leave town. I followed the smell of Seelie. It was easy to spot you then.”

“Did you all know that this would happen if I left?”

He pauses. “Yes.”

“Should I be worried now that one may pop up since we're not in town?”

“Why would you be? I'm here with you. No Seelie would dare to come near you with one of us around,” his eyes roam over your face. “You look tired.”

You touch your face at his words, feeling the thick bags beneath your eyes. You cannot see your face now, but you can only guess. After seeing Soobin you haven't slept. More tears than anything else. Body barely able to get out of bed some days. His visit rocked you to your very core. Having San confirm your haggard appearance only makes it so much more real. Soobin was here, and he shattered you again. And now knowing of him being somewhat okay without you while you struggled to hold on, crumbled your heart. But there is only so much crying you can do. The tears dried up days ago. Sleep still evades you, though. You look at him.

“I–”

“Mingi did not train you enough for you to run away on your own. You could have died. Or worse, they could have taken you. Humans with your abilities don't last long in faerie territory. They would torture you.”

“I don't care.”

He stops walking, hand dropping from your side. “I didn't catch that.”

“I don't care, San. I could give two fucks if they took me away, if they tortured me. I don't care,” Your words sink in. You don't. You're exhausted. Everyday takes the air out of you. You wake up afraid that you might go through something similar again. That you'll lose yourself and won't know what happened. That you'll kill, unable to control yourself. It hurts to even think about it.

San looks at you. Your sure resolve from before has worn down. Body struggling to hold itself up on two feet steady. You haven't known them for long and you're already breaking down. None of them have drained you and it looks as if it has already happened.

He should not care about your well-being. He should not feel sorrow the more he looks at you. He should not feel ill that he hasn't checked to make sure you were okay. So why can he not shake the feeling? Why does he want to move closer, hold you, whisper comforting words? No, he does not, of course. He has a much stronger resolve than he gives himself credit for.He thinks back to his spark. The hurt emitting through the walls.

“I'm not going to let you kill yourself.”

You freeze at the words. You don't want to die, despite how peaceful it may be. You have too much to live for. You just cannot explain how little you care if something did happen to you? None of it makes sense. Nothing you can concretely say. So you look at San, his strong gaze looking back.

“I don't want to die.”

“I can help you. We can help.”

You swallow, “How?”

“Yunho–” his pauses for a second, notice how your heart quickens at the mention of his name– “is well enough. We can help you move your things into a spare room of ours. You'll be around us, so no Seelie will be able to hurt you. The barrier will remain intact since it is not just one of us around. You will be gone for an extended period of time, y/n. It may be a long time. You won't see home. But no one you know, no one you're related to will be in danger.”

“Is there no other solution?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Now that they know of you, and know that you've killed a Seelie, there is no going back. You will be in danger for the rest of your life. Everyone you meet, as such, will be in that much more danger. Including your parents. It will be more exhausting than it is now. ”

You never thought that the conversation you had days ago would be the last. You would have said more. Would have told her how grateful you are for being her daughter. The pain is too much to consider now, but you have no choice. You love her. You want her safe.

“Will they hurt while I'm gone?”

“They will remember you as you are, y/n. They will think you're okay, they will have memories of being with you all the time. You will remain in their life, they just won't be in yours. You will have to make this decision on your own.”

You don't want to say the next words. You don't want to leave your friends and family. But there is nothing else you can do. You let out a low sigh, “Okay.”

He nods, holding out his hand. You take it slowly, and he pulls you into his chest. You can tell he keeps himself in shape, but feeling how solid he truly is against your body – if you weren't feeling so down you'd be nervous.

“Wooyoung does not know how to move through the air with a human,” he explains softly. His breaths are steady, eyes closed. “He just learned. When transporting your kind, there needs to be permission given. Trust. Without it, it will be painful, disorienting. Can I touch your cheek?”

You nod.

“Words please.”

“Yes.”

His hand lifts, lightly cupping your cheek. You can feel how rough it is, though solid. No shaking. His eyes open. They look a bit lighter, brown focused on yours. “I ask that you trust me to help you. Let me pull you through to my home. Are you willing to come?”

“Will it hurt?”

He shakes his head, “Trust me and it won't hurt at all. Will you be able to do that for me?”

You do not trust any of them. All are conniving, cunning. Easily use their tongue to lie without explicitly doing so. San could be speaking between words, between your fears and comforts. But with this, you do trust him. You know how he practices his magic, how he protects his spark. You are not one of them but some do care for you. And you doubt San would let you get hurt, if only to protect their hearts.

“I trust you to take me there safely.”

“Okay, close your eyes.”

Yours flutter close. His arm wraps around your center, hand still cupping your cheek as he molds your body into his. His lips are merely centimeters away from yours.

“May I?”

“Yes.”

His soft skin drags along your jawline, before pressing against the corner of your mouth. You shudder, the stroke of his thumb against your temple distracting you. Without another word, his lips cover yours. San does nothing more than that, pulling away. His hand moves off your face, touch gone from your body. You open your eyes, San several feet away from you. His eyes look around you.

“Home again, y/n. Yunho would be glad to see you around,” San steps around you swiftly, the sound of his steps crunching through the leaves. You follow him, the familiar home resting in the middle of the forest. You can feel how your stomach drops at the sight.

How your hands were tainted.

The front door is open. San pauses for a moment, looking at you. “Your bedroom has all of your belongings inside. It's the same as when you were here prior. There's a few of us home, and the rest are out. You don't need me to follow you around.” He does not mention the kiss, disappearing before you can say another word, specifically questioning what that Seelie meant by him hiding something from you. Your chest aches as you step inside, pushing that to the back of your mind. Trying to settle your thoughts about not seeing your family again.

The house is eerily quiet as you make your way to your room. Usually there's one or two meandering the hallways. But there's not one, not even a quick spotting of San. He did say some of them are around, but you can't spot one. You drag your suitcase up the stairs each knock echoing around you. Your door is already unlocked, swinging it open.

You almost freeze at the sight. All of your things are where they should be. Oddly similar to the layout of your own room. The books you’re currently reading stacked up next to the oversized bed. Obnoxiously oversized, close to two kings combined. Your closet with all of your clothes on hangers neatly. You place your suitcase next to your door, walking to the dresser. Peeking inside, your underwear is how you left it at your home. Dwelling on the thought that they've dug through your belongings will do no good. It has been done (though, fairly quickly).

“She is here?”

His delighted voice sings through the hallway, stomps louder than he has ever been. You step slightly away from the door, prepared to be hugged, possibly violently, in his embrace. There should be no joy with this situation, stuck under their gazes, but you can't help but feel excited to see Wooyoung. With your door ajar, he lands outside of your room, peeking in. Much different from the man who invited himself around you whenever he'd gotten the chance.

You can see how roused he is, body trembling in anticipation. His gaze glances around the room before meeting yours, grin wide. Nothing on him suggests that he was feeding, though his eyes are a bit darker. His hand grips the frame, holding himself back.

“Solaris!” He looks at the frame, the ghost of a pout on his lips. “Has someone placed a spell on your room?”

You raise your brow, stepping closer to the frame. You didn't quite notice it before, but you see small carvings around the borders, words you cannot understand. Your fingers brush against it, a whine escaping Wooyoung's lips as he leans on the outside perimeter.

Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.

Latin, maybe?

His eyes follow you, shifting each time you do so.

“Let me in?” He asks softly.

“I don't know how–”

“It was a simple spell,” you both look back at Seonghwa, a bit down the hall. His eyes are cold which you expect, but they seem to linger. Glance over your body before looking away. “To prevent anyone from entering without her explicit permission. It will activate again when the person leaves. Only she can enter.”

“Did you do that to stop me?” Wooyoung deadpans.

“Not only you but yes, I did. It is a precaution.”

“I’m not going to take her away while she’s asleep,” Wooyoung frowns. You watch as even his fingers struggle to penetrate the barrier, pushed back slightly. “And I wanted to welcome her.”

“As I have said, a precaution. For everyone.”

It’s strange, the way Seonghwa looks at you. He does not step closer, arms crossed against his chest. Gaze glued behind you. There is nothing there - you’ve checked - so you can’t really explain why he’s acting this way. And why Wooyoung doesn’t seem to notice the shift in his behavior. Though Wooyoung is Wooyoung, he’s easily distracted when you’re around.

“You can invite him in if you’d like, human. He won’t be able to sneak up on you anymore. See you,” he turns on his heel, leaving the two of you alone. Wooyoung ignores him, pouting as he meets your eyes.

“Let me in?” He asks again.

You really don’t have to now. He seems to read your mind, falling to his knees in front of the opening of your door. It’s humorous enough to make you chuckle a bit, watching the drama of it all. He lies on the floor, arms spread out as he sighs quite loudly.

“Come in, Wooyoung.”

He moves so quickly, you can barely blink before you’re enveloped in his arms. His hands gripping your sides, face in your neck. He breathes you in, fingers rubbing small circles into your skin. You wrap your arms around him as well, the sound leaving him odd in itself. “I’ve dreamt of your touch so heavily.” His lips move against the skin of your neck. His chest rises and falls, body trembling. “I want you to want me so badly, y/n. I think I like you a little too much," Wooyoung says, pulling back. You don't give him a reaction on the surface, but you feel your heart tighten, breath hitch. "It's nice to speak to you even when you don't utter a word. I hope you never leave me."

"You're so fond of me that I can't help but wonder how I look in your eyes," you admit.

"You are my sunlight, solaris. There is no one that shines brighter.”

"Wooyoung," you merely sigh, stepping away from him. It is a miracle that he moves back. "Half truths are annoying to listen to."

"I'm not lying. I can't."

"I know that. But I also know that you speak using words that aren't exact so you can slip them through as truths. It only makes you even more of a liar. Now let me finish unpacking so I can go to Seonghwa." You step past him, burying yourself further into the crevices of your suitcase.

He places his hand on the zipper, forcing your gaze on his. The teasing look in his eyes is gone, lips tight. You would be scared if it wasn't Wooyoung doing the gesture. He tilts his head slightly, watching you. "Do you like me too?"

Yes.

"You're a good friend."

His eyes narrow. "A non-answer. You've been around Unseelie too long."

"What do you want me to say, yes?" You frown.

He sighs softly. His hand reaches out, fingers almost brushing against your cheek. before pulling back. "I want you to say what you feel."

"Wooyoung, you're pulling me away from this,” you say, gesturing to the suitcase.

"I like you." There is no hesitance in his words, no stutter. He stares at you as he says it, blinking slowly. The fear is coming back, the sureness of his words too much too soon. You barely know him, know any of them. How could he like you so easily? And why would he confess something like that? What's his end goal? "And I want to know if you like me too."

"I don't," you whisper. "Now leave me alone."

"You lie so easily," a smirk easily forms as he slumps into a chair by the doorway. "At least I know you aren't a fae."

-

The night is quieter once Wooyoung leaves you alone after several hours of occupying your time. You’ve finally unpacked your things, rearranging your room. The familiar sight of things where you left them at your apartment felt too eerie. And though this is not what you want, you’d at least like it to be somewhat different. Not the same design that you had when you were with your fiance. You sit on the edge of the bed. Exhaustion flows through you.

“Ah, there you are.”

Your head whips up. Yunho stands outside your door. His gaze rolls over you. The soft gaze he holds each time he looks at you. His outfit is comfortable, long pants and a sweater covering his upper body. There’s nothing in front of you that shows what happened to him that night. How his body was dragged away from you. How you ran, not daring to look back. You’ve regretted that ever since, hoped and prayed that he would be okay. And here he is - a bit tired looking, but he’s Yunho. Not much has changed.

You stand up, and he shakes his head. “Just walking by.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry for running and leaving you alone, I’m sorry.”

“y/n, I didn’t come here for an apology. I came here to make sure you were okay.”

“I still want to apologize.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, just as there’s nothing for me to forgive. You are alive, and I am alive. That is all that matters,” his head tilts as he stares at you. Cheeks lifting, “You’re safe.”

His presence does not give you a hint of anxiousness. You’ve been wondering why he hasn’t entered yet, until your eyes move to the barrier around your room door. “You can come in if you want to, Yunho. No need to linger in the doorway.”

He smiles, slipping in easily once you’ve let him. “I didn’t want to ask.”

“You’re welcome here, Yun.”

Your response is all too quick for your liking. Easily showing him that you crave his attention. At least a little. Yunho is ever so kind not to point that out to you.

“Thank you,” he takes the chair that Wooyoung was sitting in, sliding it closer to your bed. He sits in it, height matching yours even as he rests below you. “I was worried you’d be sulking alone without anyone around. This transition must be difficult for you. Leaving all you know behind.”

You’ve tried not to think of it, mind focused on making sure everything was in order. “It is hard, yes. But I’ve been distracting myself,” you gesture around the room. “Still wondering how the hell you guys got everything I own into this room.”

“We are Unseelie, y/n. Our magic can easily do things like this,” he smiles. “Did you think that we’d place everything one by one? That would be an invasion of your privacy. Some of us wouldn’t mind…”

You can easily guess who he’s speaking of.

“...but we do want you to be comfortable.”

Ah, so your underwear is free from prying eyes. You could kiss his feet for this revelation.

-

“She should not be here.”

“Yunho needed her here. As did Wooyoung. It was the best choice at the time.”

“I told you to stay away from the hu-” Seonghwa’s mouth is unable to say the next word. “Her. Now we’ll have more problems coming for us.”

“She was in danger, hyung. Did you expect me to let her suffer?”

Seonghwa merely sighs, flipping through his journal. “No. She would have saved herself as she did before. Or have you forgotten how she killed that Seelie?” It is not something he’s forgotten. The name still rings in his mind each time he sees you. “She should not be here.”

“It will be fine. We can protect her now.”

“You’re not taking in my words.”

“She can’t even control when she can defend herself. She doesn’t even remember how she did it. Seonghwa,” San watches him walk around the room, avoiding eye contact. “Is there something else you’re not telling us? Is that why you’re so defensive about this?”

“She is a liability,” he says simply. “She killed a faerie, San. I do hope you remember that. If she can kill one without her killing herself in the process, what do you think is the outcome?” It is a simple question with an even simpler answer. San only sighs, fingers rubbing his temple slowly. “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” San sits on the edge of the table, ignoring the glare Seonghwa shoots at him. He’s fairly close to the set of blocks Seonghwa has been working on. “I don’t think she would hurt any of us. Not on purpose.”

“An accident is still possible,” Seonghwa points out. “I hope you know that she’s your responsibility now. If something were to happen, it is on you and you alone. Watch her.” Seonghwa glances at his set, “And don’t break anything.”

Hongjoong enters the room as Seonghwa exits. San tenses up at his appearance, knowing what he said to Yeosang not too long ago. He stands by it, of course. A direct command from their spark leader would make him sway, though. And with enough digging at it, he would be at the mercy of his words, just like the rest of them are. Hongjoong has only done that once, with Wooyoung, but never again.

"She is an experiment to you," Hongjoong says, eyes flicking over San's face. He leans against the table, candy between his lips. "Just as it is for Seonghwa. There is nothing more?"

"I…" San cannot help himself, his mind immediately sliding to just days ago. When you stood with the others not too long ago, rolling your eyes at something Wooyoung said. Yeosang watched you silently, but San could see it. He could see how he looked at you. He would have been a fool not to.

"You are quite devoted to us, have been ever since you left them. But the lines seem to be blurring now," Hongjoong continues in. "You know that this is temporary."

"It is," San agrees softly. "It is temporary."

"But do you want it to be?"

He is not sure how to answer that.

—

It’s been a little more than a week since you’ve arrived at your permanent home. The others have greeted you as if you’ve never left, aside from Wooyoung, often stuck on your side if he isn’t with Yunho. Hongjoong even, a strange look on his face as he spotted you, welcomed you with open arms. Oddly enough, San has rarely left you alone longer than a few minutes. He did not really sit by you, but he’s always in the room. What was at first a curious coincidence became quite obvious. The only time he didn’t bother you was when you were in your own room. Aside from that, he’s always around. The scowl has shifted a bit whenever you’re with him though.

Like right now, as you’re sewing up a small hole in your shirt. You began the conversation around a book you were reading, the genre romance. San surprisingly brought up Jongho, and how he enjoyed the same types of books as you.

“He’s a hopeless romantic,” San murmurs, eyes steady on yours as he watches you sew. You pause in your stitch briefly, before continuing. “The type to want to belong to someone since the beginning of time, breath in your soul, kiss the path you walk, type of faerie. It’s a little humorous to think of an Unseelie with an affinity for affection. They usually thrive off terror and distaste.”

“He doesn’t seem like the type,” you note, glancing at San. He hums, sinking further into the couch despite the glare you send him. You already told him that you didn’t need him around, and he insisted that it was only for a few minutes. Those few turned into over an hour now. “Do faeries love like humans?”

“Not quite. If a faerie ever chose to love, it’s unlike humans. We can’t just stop loving or move on to a different partner. Desire is different when you are born to wreak havoc on poor souls. It is a luxury to be able to mate more than one. As for us,” he rolls onto his stomach, “We care for one another as a spark should. If one of us were to die, then it’d be physically detrimental to our beings. It’s less of an explanation of love and more of an obligation. We get to choose our family, but you don’t.” His lips downturn. “I do not pity you for that.”

“Are you not… born?” Is that the way to say it?

He laughs, “Not like you are. Our essence is created from the universe as well as our chosen destiny. I was more so created from matter than born from a biological relative. That is what I envy, just a little,” his brows furrow, thinking. “I know not all human parents are good, but a lot are. It would be nice to have a connection with someone without even trying. To have someone care for you without limitations. I can see why Jongho wants an affection so very deep when he has not ever or may never experience it himself.”

“So it is not just the books he likes to read, then?”

He agrees, “No. He has us, yes. But he is not truly a romantic mate. He loves us, but not that deeply. He is the last to join our spark. It makes sense that he does not feel as strongly as the rest of us.”

“Unseelie feel love?”

San's brows furrow, “Just because Unseelie are mischievous does not mean that they cannot experience happiness, joy and desire. Chaos is what drives their being, but there's always room for something other than that.”

“San.”

The two of you turn, Yeosang entering the room. He greets you with a light smile, turning to his mate. “Hongjoong wants to see you. I'll stick around her for a while until you come back.”

“Ah, so you are watching me,” you frown at San. “You think I'm going to chop you into bits or something?”

“The or something is what I am wary of,” San mumbles, standing. His hand brushes against Yeosang’s hip before disappearing from the room. You haven't spent much time with Yeosang on your own, so you don't say a word and continue to mend your shirt.

He rests where San once was though sitting straight up, a small book floating in front of his face, the air flipping through the pages as he reads. You do not mean to stare at him, but you can't help it. Seeing magic performed in front of you, real magic, is fascinating. You can't believe humans are so boring.

“It is a wonder any of us are interested in you,” Yeosang says, glancing at you. “Humans are boring.”

“You heard me?”

He shakes his head, low laugh escaping his lips, “No. But I heard your thoughts. A bit loud in there, I might add. You should keep it down.”

You blanch.

“You can hear what I’m saying in my head?”

A page pauses mid-flip. “Not exactly. I can only hear what you want me to. It’s quite complicated,” he glances at you. “No one but me can pick up on stray thoughts, if you were worried about any of the others somehow picking up on what you’re thinking. That one I heard just now slipped because you were so in tuned to me.”

Oh, you hate this. You definitely hate all of this. He drops his book on the table, body fully turning to look at you. “Would you like to take a stroll with me?”

[ancientgreekyuri]

Ribbon Bows (1/2)

Summary: Asterius ponders his relationship with Lady Dianthus while sharing a dessert with her.

Notes: Originally from a longer fic, but this particular scene was scrapped due to no longer fitting the overall mood! It had enough to it that I thought it would be worthwhile to post it on its own, though. This is set before Dia and Asterius are officially romantically involved, but are starting to catch feelings for one another. I didn't really edit this one much so be nice 💔

TWs: Food and eating + some slightly suggestive scenes. if ur really grossed out by the idea of someone getting their hand licked don't read this (it's not overly detailed but still 😭)

~ 806 words. Titled after the song "Ribbon Bows" by J.oanna N.ewsom (tho the title only makes sense with the part 2 of this particular fic...), except the actual song is very sad and has nothing to do with this thematically. Still!

Elysium was a strange realm. The godly magic that held it together was in no doubt powerful, but it still bent to the will of those who lived within it. The world itself would shift to reflect a person’s true desires. Asterius assumed he was imagining things at first. But now, there was no doubt; when he’d first entered the lady’s home, his horns would nearly scrape against the ceiling. Nowadays, there was more than enough space for him to comfortably move about, horns and all. It was not an unwelcome change. But any of his attempts to rationalize it would fell flat. When he observed Dianthus within her home, stirring a bowl of powdered sugar and sweet cream, it didn’t seem as if anything had truly changed about her or the relationship they held. And yet… the proof of it quite literally surrounded him. Dianthus’ gaze turned towards him, once, then again, before she set aside her bowl of icing. She came near him (the scent of sugar mixed with her natural flowers). She reaches upwards, her hand inching near his jaw, before dropping it back down to her side. “Asterius,” she began, “ you’ve been quiet for quite some time. You’re not starting to doze off, are you?  Or… perhaps something is bothering you…?”

Asterius did not shy away from touch. He reached forward, and lifted her chin so that she would be made to look at him. Icing had splattered onto her cheek. Though it would no doubt make his fur sticky, Asterius wiped it away with his thumb. “It is nothing, my lady.” he noticed the way she clutched at her peplos, “I was merely thinking about you.” “Oh…” though he’d spoken with the intention of alleviating the lady’s worries, it seems his words had the opposite effect. Her breath hitched, and her fists balled even tighter. When Asterius released his hand, her shoulders slumped, though her gaze remained hazy and distant. “Asterius, I… I really need to finish icing these cakes!!”  she jumped up, suddenly energetic, and got to work. Asterius observed as she dipped her spoon into her bowl of icing, and slathered each of the small cakes she’d made. She seemed to avoid looking at him now— something about it made him ache. It was odd. In the past,  did not mind if he and Lady Dianthus could co-exist in silence. But now that he had her attention, he found himself craving it.

Asterius, filled with a strange desperation, hurried to change the topic: “Why do you choose to cook?”

“Huh?” She looked at him again, her brow furrowed. 

“Shades do not need substance,” Asterius explained, “There is no real purpose for food here. Why, then, do you choose to cook?”

“Oh, well… I’ve honestly never thought too much about it. Force of habit, I suppose. And… while eating certainly isn’t necessary, it’s still nice to do.” Dianthus brought one of the small cakes she’d made to her mouth, and took a bite. She smiled, apparently satisfied with how it came out.

“Though, I think… sometimes it's nice to just do things for the joy of it. That may not make much sense to you right now, but… I hope as you spend more time here in Elysium, you’ll come to understand it. Now, then… would you like to have a taste?”

The cakes weren’t perfect; on one she’d placed the icing far too early and it’d begun to melt. Another  cake had somehow become slightly lopsided. But Asterius, who had no reason to care about such things, thought they looked delicious all the same. He nodded.

“It’d probably feel uncomfortable to get icing in your fur, so…” Dianthus took one of the cakes, and held it up to him. Asterius froze; to put her hand so near his mouth seemed a dangerous thing, considering his past. But she did not appear nervous. Her green eyes were calm, despite being focused so intensely on him. He expected her to flinch when he gripped her arm to hold it in place, but she continued to stand firm. So be it. It was impossible for Asterius to take small bites, but he remained mindful of where he placed his mouth as he ate from her palm. When he’d finished the actual dessert, he dragged his tongue against her hand, intending to clean all that remained. She felt her shiver, though she did not attempt to pull her arm away until he was finished, and he released her from his grip.

“...Thank you for your consideration, Lady Dianthus.” 

“You’re… very welcome, Asterius.”  she mumbled, once again refusing to meet his gaze. “I’m going to… um… I’ll be back!” With that, Dianthus disappeared into some other room of her home, leaving Asterius with only the sweet taste of lemon and honey on his lips.

[rockybloo]

As a prompt Monster/Kaiju bitter dressed as Bowser in the wedding suit, a sweetheart as Peach

Or

sweetheart and bitterbat go roller skating of course in disguise. I definitely recommend listening/watching to Left to Right by Marteen!! Definitely reminds me of BB trying to impress sweetheart in the ring

I def vibe with Sweetheart and Bitterbat roller skating but my drawing juice is low atm so I wrote up a fic instead

💗🛼💜

Amara sat on a cushioned bench, her fingers dancing along her skate's laces as she tied the strings. She made sure to double knot her loops for extra security as she gave a strong tug.

Sitting up, she kicked her legs ever so gently as a wobble test. Satisfied by how secure her footwear remained, she popped right up, making sure to grab one of the guard rails next to the rink.

"Alrighty Ace, I'm ready to go!" She turned her attention to her boyfriend who was currently leaning against the short wall of the rink. Due to his height, he practically loomed over her, though it was less intimidating with the lack of his monstrous features. His trademark bat wings were currently absent, replaced with pierced human ears. And his spikey purple and blue hair had a softer darker look to it.

The only thing that truly stood out were his bright golden eyes that glowed in the dim lights of the rink. Bitterbat wore just enough of a disguise to avoid bringing too much negative attention. However, he did garner the occasional stare.

Moreso for his fashion choices. Specifically his decision to make 99% of his outfits comprised of his girlfriend's wardrobe.

Thankfully, Amara had managed to talk him into wearing one of her larger shirts while preparing for their date. Sadly, large for her was barely a medium for him. The cute puppy face on the front was stretched and a portion of his midriff was revealed.

"Ace?"

Bitterbat seemed to be lost in his thoughts as he looked Sweetheart over, admiring how she just existed. Amara was very used to this trance of his and called again, this time in a harsh whisper.

"Batty!"

His response was almost immediately, snapping back to attention at his nickname. His human name wasn't said too often, just enough to know that when it was said, it was in reference to him. But unless he was already present in the conversation, it never truly worked out as an attention grabber.

"Hm~? Oh! Sorry Sweet Pea," Bitterbat straightened up as Amara rolled closer to him. "You just look reeaally cute in this lighting."

Amara raised a brow, an amused smile on her face. "The lighting of old flickering fluorescent lights from the 80s?"

"Yeah~" Bitterbat responded in a dreamlike tone. His girlfriend merely rolled her eyes at how lovestruck he could be. It was only when he took the hand she had held out to him that he noticed how warm she was. A sign she was flustered even if she was hiding it.

"Mind pulling me out to the rink?"

A wide smile came to Bitterbat's face. An inhuman one that stretched ear-to-ear and revealed his fangs. Another feature of his that he often didn't bother to hide while human.

"Anything for my Queen!" Bitterbat happily proclaimed as he gently pulled up around the wall, swinging her into the rink and into his arms. His blurt had caused a couple glances from the other roller rink patrons and Amara could feel her skin heat up more in his embrace. She was used to Bitterbat's favorite name for her causing some eye rolls but she knew it was much more than just a name. And that he wasn't simply calling her "Queen" to be, as Val loved to call him, a simp.

And as embarrassing as it was to have it said so loudly, so publicly, she couldn't help but find it utterly adorable. There was the creeping desire to give him a kiss right then and there but Amara shoved the urge down and breathed steady.

"Thank you..." She pulled back some, her hands slipping into Bitterbat's to hold her steady as she put a bit more space between them for the sake of some of the children skating on by.

Eventually, she let him go as she looked around the rink to keep track of which areas were the most congested and where there were less people. The rink was noticeably large, almost overwhelmingly so. It was smack dab in the middle of the capital of the state and one of the city's busiest tourist districts so of course it was designed to be eye catching.

On the outskirts of the rink, there was some light but closer to the middle, it was nearly completely lights out save for the neon and strobe lights and the stage outlined with foam to cushion the occasional run in. Smack dab in the middle were speakers blasting some old hits.

Bitterbat watched, his eyes locked on her face, a smile stuck on his own. He was used to this habit Amara had where she would always do a scan of the area before proceeding to do anything. He figured it was a reflex she had developed over the course of being a hero. A subconscious need to have a head count in case something ever happened.

After seemingly being satisfied with her findings, Amara turned her attention back to her boyfriend.

"Alrighty, lets roll...my King." She winked as she took off.

Bitterbat's eyes widened as his face turned a deep shade of pink. Having not reached too fast a pace yet, Amara could still safely steal a glance over her shoulder to witness the rest of her boyfriend's reaction.

And she looked back right in time to see his ears had poofed, his bat wings returning to their rightful place.

Quickly, Bitterbat clasped his hands on both sides of his head to hide his ears. Thankfully, the constant movement of the rink and the flickering of the lights were enough to keep people distracted, or at least blame whatever they did see on a trick of the lights.

Amara was still surprised at such an extreme reaction, struggling to stifle a giggle as she covered her mouth. Upon gathering himself, Bitterbat's golden eyes locked on target, narrowing as he made eye contact.

A random roller rink goer passed across Amara's vision and within the mere seconds Bitterbat was obscured from her view, he had seemingly vanished.

The smile on her face faltered into a wobbly nervous grin as a shudder ran down her spine. She knew that look he shot her before he disappeared.

It wasn't a look of anger.

It was a look of "I'm going to get you".

Within seconds, their position had switched from king and queen to predator and prey.

There was some safety in the fact they were in public as it meant Bitterbat couldn't do anything extreme like he could at home. But this was also Bitterbat.

He was known for being unpredictable.

Especially with her.

Gulping, Amara turned on her heel and sped up to better match the current of the rink. She never felt fear for Bitterbat, it was quite the opposite. But there was a sort of tension in the air and excitement in her veins of locking eyes with the King of Monsters and knowing he was coming for you.

She looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of where her king had gone. There was a child holding on to their dad, a quartet of teens with their arms chain link together as they skated, an old grandpa who was really feelin the vibes, but no Batty to be seen.

Her eyes skipped over a couple of couples also in the rink. She couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It was small but she wanted to be holding hands and laughing with her own partner. Or spinning around and singing to Whitney Houston over the radio like the two young skaters a couple feet away from her. A thought that was immediately scrapped from her mind as she saw them miss a beat and topple over each other, wiping out on the polished floor. A couple "Ooos" and "Ouches" echoed among the other skaters.

"I want somebody to dance with me but not like that." She winced and hissed in sympathetic pain as she turned her gaze away from the scene.

"That's my queue then!"

Amara immediately turned her head forward towards the voice and got a face full of puppy. And puppies. All she managed out was a squeak as she peeked out from Bitterbat's chest to see his wide grinning expression. Due to the darkness of the inner rink, his golden eyes stood out in the darkness. The shifting neon lights helped to blend in the feature.

He was snickering, obviously proud of catching her off guard. She had panicked, worry on her face as her mind flashed back to the fallen pair. She was concerned about sharing the same fate, only for Bitterbat to let her go, opting to skate backwards to face her.

"As much as I'd like to cuddle on the rink, I'd like to avoid us being the second couple they gotta scrape off the floor." He stuck out a purple and forked tongue at Amara who merely looked bewildered at his sudden appearance.

"W-where did you--"

"I was here, I was just outta sight 'til I was ready to pounce~" Bitterbat raised a hand, curling his fingers to mimic claws. Though, it wasn't necessary as he already had his out. A little boy near them seemed entranced with the razor points. A "WHOA-" escaping him as they skated by.

"Alright well, no pouncing in public. We're on a date. And that means," Amara reached out, grabbing Bitterbat's hand. His claws retracted and his mischievous demeanor melted into a look closer resembling a curious kitten. "No more disappearing acts."

A look of guilt immediately came to Bitterbat's face and he quickly locked fingers with Amara, his grip tightening like she'd go poof herself as payback. His eyes got big and shiny, like he was on the verge of bursting into tears.

"Ah, I'm sorry Sweetie Pie! I'll stick right by you!" Now Amara felt guilty. She didn't mean to come off so harsh to him and she had started to open her mouth to correct herself when Bitterbat had suddenly moved again.

He had released her hand, only to grab it at a different angle with his other hand as he twisted to skate next to her, facing forward now. It didn't take much for him to pull her in, her body pressing against his side and he purred. The stage and speakers in the ceiling dulled the sound but she could feel the strong vibrations of his body rocking through hers.

"So good luck running away from me now~"

She knew if it weren't for the constant momentum and the clunkiness of the skates in close proximity, he'd be nuzzling his head against hers. But alas, as she caught a glimpse of the catastrophic couple from earlier limping away from the rink, they both figured this was as safe of intimacy they could get.

Amara just chuckled.

After a few laps around the rink, Amara noticed some people rolling patterns as they went. Most settled for a casual sway from side to side. Bitterbat also noticed, motioning their bodies in a similar fashion.

It was small motion at first, making sure their bodies were synced before they began to swivel like a two-segmented snake, gaining a quick yet still safe speed.

The sudden rush along with the sensation of having Bitterbat tugging her along sent a wave of butterflies through Amara, sending her into a fit of giggles. The sound was music to Bitterbat's ears as his smile widened.

Navigating around the slower skaters, the couple swayed and swerved, lost in the euphoria of the music and each other. Bitterbat made sure to avoid sending them crashing into anyone. For a while, they felt less like they were skating on a packed roller rink in the middle of Decking and more like they were gliding in the air with the sky to themselves.

They've done such a thing numerous times before, and the feeling was both different yet similar. The woosh of the air, the sensation of their fingers locked together, Amara's bright pink glowing eyes looking back up at him.

Bitterbat's eyes widened.

Amara's deep brown hues were pink and her pupils were white, heart-shaped, and glowing. And it was certainly more intense than his own orbs.

Not wanting to disrupt her daze, Bitterbat moved fast to redirect them to a nearby outside wall where he positioned himself in front of her. His larger statue helped to hide her from the view of other skaters but the position made it seem less like protection and more like seduction.

The halt in movement seemed to bring Amara back to the present and she looked up at Bitterbat who was busy scanning her face over.

Amara had her location scanning, Bitterbat had his Sweetheart scanning.

And it seemed like she had passed as he let out a sigh of relief and a laugh.

"You went pink."

Amara's eyes widened and she groaned. Bitterbat's laughter only continued. It wasn't harsh and was rather light, a sign he found her reaction cute.

"Agh, dammit this always happens!" Amara rubbed at her eyes as though to scrub the Beloved hue away from them. It never worked and was just a force of habit that did nothing but make her sore and Bitterbat gently grabbed her wrists. He shook his head as he lowered himself a bit to her eye level, closing some of the distance between them.

Amara raised a brow. She knew pink and dark brown were very easy colors to differentiate and Bitterbat had better eyesight than her. There wasn't a need for him to be right up in her face.

But the second she opened her mouth to ask what he was up to, her lips were covered by his own and a muffled squeak was all she could muster.

It was a quick kiss but just enough that she felt something dart past her lips and run over her tongue and bail out of her mouth.

And when Bitterbat pulled away, Amara could see the forked culprit as it returned to his mouth. A smug grin sat on Bitterbat's face as he ate up her reaction.

"All clear!"

"I swear to god, you are a menace-" Amara did her best to sound mad but she couldn't hold in her laughter.

"Hey, you're the one who's in charge of kicking my ass when I am one." Bitterbat winked at her as he straightened back up, his gaze refocusing on her mouth. The smile on his face twitched.

Amara only rolled her eyes as she moved away from the wall with full intentions of rejoining the rink. "Whatever, Batty. I'll kick your ass later on tonight--" Her movement was halted by Bitterbat grabbing her hand.

"Actually, you might wanna go to the bathroom first or you're gonna be kicking my ass a lot sooner than you planned." The corners of Bitterbat's mouth wobbled and Amara squinted in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Lipstick." Was the Monstrum's quick response. It was obvious he was trying to stifle a laugh.

"Wha-Batty I'm not wearing lipstick." The Beloved's confusion only grew.

"Well you certainly are now!" Bitterbat broke into a fit of giggles. Amara's mouth turned into a solid straight line as her brain cells finally processed Bitterbat's warning.

She rarely wore lipstick but Bitterbat constantly did.

Specifically the kind that left purple prints all over whatever his lips were just on.

And he just kissed her.

Amara simply tightened the grip on his hand, the same he had just grabbed her with, as she redirected herself from the rink towards the bathroom. She shook her head, unable to hide the smile on her face from just how ridiculous a situation this was.

"Oh yeah, I'm definitely getting your ass later on tonight." Amara had been referring to her job as a Hero and he as a Villain.

But due to the vagueness of her statement, Bitterbat seemed to perk up at what was a halfhearted threat. "Well, don't forget you gotta kick it first~"

Amara could only cover her face with her freehand as she tried to hide the pink glow of her eyes again.