#lol it was supposed to be a few hundred words

[spatialwave]

...is it possible to love you both?

➸ ask: "Haii! I love your writing, could I request JayvikxReader please? Maybe something fluffy, like a cozy winter morning with them? Or something smutty, like Reader and Jayce making Viktor feel good? Maybe add some angst, he feels like he is not as attractive or is a third wheel so you two make sure he knows you both love him? 🙈 Thank you!" – ➸ pairing: jayvik x fem!reader ➸ word count: 2.1k ➸ tags: mdni! mild-nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, polyamory, canon-divergent a.k.a. nothing bad ever happens lol. ➸ notes: i tried to combine all the ideas together! not as smutty because i really got invested in the angst… i’m sorry 😭 tysm for sending an ask! <3

The smell of freshly brewed black tea, the scent strong enough to flutter your eyes open as your body stretched across the bed. A mess of blankets, one body beside you, and the winter sun filtering through the half-shut curtains. The daylight on your skin warmed your body, a feeling that you had missed during the past few weeks of dreary weather that left most Piltover citizens huddled away indoors.

“Good morning,” a tired voice rumbled next to you, muscled arms wrapping around your body and tugging you close. You were nestled into Jayce’s chest, face pressed against his skin, and wanting nothing more than to fall right back into sleep and forget about the day and any responsibilities you may have.

“Mmh,” you grunted in response, inhaling a deep breath as you peered up through sleep-riddled eyes. Your eyes locked with Jayce’s, a beautiful colour mixed of golden hues that put the evening sun to shame, “I like this new look,” you hummed quietly, fingers tracing along the edge of the beard he had yet to shave. Even his hair had begun to curl over his ears.

“Yeah?” He grinned, revealing that stupid tooth gap between his two front teeth you loved so much, “I don’t know. I’m starting to feel a bit shaggy.”

The blanket slipped from your body as you sat up in the bed next to him, yawning as your arms outstretched above you and a familiar hand smoothed over your hip, “it looks good, Jayce,” you said through a soft smile, “it’s not like you have anyone to impress these days.”

“Ouch,” he smirked, shifting to sit up against the pillows, hand moving over your thigh as you sat next to him, “suppose you’re right.”

Life had been quiet since Jayce stepped down from the council, focusing full-time on hextech with Viktor, exploring the possibilities and understanding the hexcore. It was meticulous work, but it was work that needed to be done. They both vowed their lives to it.

“Where’s Viktor?” You looked toward the open bedroom door, the smell of tea still wafting through the air. He couldn’t have been gone from bed for too long, likely set up somewhere with scatterings of research papers. Or a good book if he was taking a break.

Jayce sat forward, removing his hand from you so he could push the blankets off and swing his legs off of the bed. His movements slow as his body slowly woke up, “Is it just me, or has he been distant lately?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, shuffling off of the bed and sliding into your slippers, the floorboards cool from the deep drops in temperature outside, “I tried asking him about it yesterday, and he brushed me off.”

“Mhm,” Jayce mumbled passively, stepping beside you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders to tug you against his chest, rousing a giggle from you. 

“Stop,” you laughed loudly as he kissed at your neck and ear, the thick hair on his face tickling you.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled lowly into your ear, you could feel his smile on your skin, “we better go say good morning.”

“Already ahead of you,” you rolled your eyes, peeling away from his arms and stepping out into the hallway that lead you right to him. There he sat in the office they’d set up for home, hunched over the desk with a cup of steaming tea and eyes glued to one of the hundreds of research notebooks they’d collected.

“Good morning, love,” you hummed, stepping into the mess of a room and smiling brightly as Viktor glanced over his shoulder at you. His eyes were tired, cheeks rather sunken in – ill. Over the course of the past few months he’d been struggling more, but stubborn when you and Jayce offered help.

“Morning,” he murmured, running a hand over his tired eyes, “thought you weren’t going to wake up.”

“I bet you would’ve really liked that, wouldn’t you?” You asked, shaking your head as you stepped toward him and against the back of his chair, eyes scouring over the pages, “Getting work done?” Your hand absently rested on his shoulder, the other brushing through his hair that flipped out at the ends.

Viktor’s body relaxed in your hands, eyes closing, “Not really,” he sighed, and you could feel the defeat that had sunken in him. 

You only then had realized Jayce didn’t follow you in, the distant sound of the shower starting.

“Hey,” you murmured, inhaling a deep breath as you moved to sit up on the desk, your line of sight above Viktor as you looked down at him, “what’s wrong?”

His eyebrows furrowed together, a quick shake of his head following as he adjusted himself on his seat, “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Viktor,” you tilted your head, hand stealing the book away from his hands. His eyes snapped open immediately, trying to reach for the notes, but you pulled it away and set it on the other side of yourself, “I’m not leaving you alone unless you talk with me. Properly this time.”

A heavy sigh came from his lips, looking up at you with the faintest of pouts on his lips, “are you going to ask me why I’ve been distant again? Or is it something else to bother me about this time?”

The words were sharp, but they hadn’t stung. You didn’t take it personally.

“You’re smart enough to know,” you frowned, clenching your jaw, “it’s not fair to Jayce and me.”

“What isn’t fair? That I’m feeling unwell?” Viktor has been angrier than you realized, but you didn’t flinch at his outburst. He grabbed his crutch, using it to pull himself out of his chair as the metal of his leg brace creaked, and you tried to help, but he swatted your hand away, “That I have to stay home everyday working on hextech, while Jayce gets to go to the lab? While you two get to spend all your time together while I stay here?”

“Oh,” your eyes widened, pulling your hands back and staring at him. You didn’t know what to say, and you noticed the embarrassed look in his eyes – shame.

“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered.

“Viktor, is that what this is about?” Your heart ached as you slid off of the desk, stepping up to him and resting your hands along the sharp lines of his jaw.

He tried turning his head away, but you had the advantage now and kept him still, looking up at him with those big doe-eyes that worked too well on him and made his stomach twist in the best way possible. He did his best to avoid your gaze, feeling nothing short of pathetic.

“Can we leave it be?” He eventually croaked, “pretend I didn’t say anything, please?”

“I ran a shower for you, Viktor,” Jayce stepped into the room, towel in his hand as he looked between you two. There was a tension in the room that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, “uh, bad time?”

“Thanks,” Viktor mumbled, pulling away from you and limping against his crutch as he took the towel and marched his way out of the office, slowly.

“Do you need a han–”

“No.”

Silence filled the office as Viktor left, leaving the two of you stunned in silence. Jayce turned toward you, a puzzled expression on his face as he tried to put the pieces together.

“We haven’t been good partners,” you groaned, turning to press your face against him, mind reeling for ways to remedy Viktor’s heartache. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how he felt, having far too much privilege in this situation.

“Is he mad I’ve been spending too much time away?” He asked, ripping you from your thoughts, “I could bring some of the lab stuff home, or… or I could take some time off! Right?”

“No,” you let out a breathy laugh at his eagerness, one of the many traits of Jayce Talis that made you fall so madly in love with him, “well, maybe.”

“I can go right now,” he moved to turn.

“Jayce,” you laughed, holding him back from turning your home into the newest hextech laboratory and spending countless hours trudging through the snow with heavy equipment, “Baby steps. He’s been quite tired, lately. Maybe we should get him to bed and see if we can help him someway,” you wore a sly smile on your lips, attempting to push Jayce’s thoughts in the same direction as yours. 

He huffed out a laugh, “Sounds like you’re the worked up one trying to get what you want.”

You playfully hit his arm, “Oh, shut up. Like you aren’t, it’s been weeks. If we’re feeling it, then he is too,” you put your hands on his back, pushing him toward the door, “let me take care of it.”

You found yourself in the bathroom with Viktor, him sitting on a chair you’d slid in so you could help him. Help that he was appreciative of after taking time to de-stress.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes closed as you ran the towel through his hair, “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”

Anger wasn’t a feeling that Viktor was so familiar with, it often fleeted right by him. He had always been so ambitious, ready to take on the world with a cup half-full mentality. These past few years had taken its toll on him, leaving him uncertain. 

Worried. 

“It’s okay, love,” you cooed, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead as he tilted his head back on the chair, looking up at you, “you should come rest with us. It’s cold out, we deserve a day in bed.”

You could see a spark flicker in his eyes, the first in days. That’s all you wanted, was to see that spark more often, to show Viktor that he wasn’t being left behind – that you and Jayce couldn’t even imagine a life without loving him like you do. That, itself, would be an injustice.

Once refreshed, you helped him to the bedroom with nothing more than a gentle hand on his back. Mindful about your actions, knowing now that as much as he hid it well, he had pride. A need to just feel normal, once in a while. Like he wasn’t just the sick man people saw him as – the sick man he knew he was.

Jayce was sitting up in bed, legs sprawled over the mess of blankets and a book in his hand. Eyes flickered up from the bed, a small smile on his lips as he sat up.

“There he is. The love of my life,” he beamed, snapping the book shut.

“Eh, that’s too much, Jayce,” Viktor sighed, cringing at the display of affection, and you snorted out a laugh.

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, sitting up as he watched Viktor move into the bed and lay against the pillows, admiring him, “I can’t appreciate you?”

“You heard him, it’s too much,” you teased, closing the blinds so you could all hide away from the snowy surroundings. Take the time to focus on only each other.

Viktor looked up at Jayce, long lashes fluttering as a pink shade tinted his cheeks. One of his calloused hands gently rubbed along his slender waist where his ribs were visible, tilting down and wasting no time in closing the distance between their lips.

You crawled onto the other side of the bed, sliding against Viktor with ease, lips on his shoulders and hands exploring his body. You hoped you hadn’t been too eager.

“You don’t have to do this,” Viktor’s voice muffled against Jayce’s lips, frail hands pressing to his hardened chest, “I get it.”

“I want to,” Jayce answered earnestly, pulling back from their kiss, “I love you. You know that, right?”

“... I do.”

There was nothing else in the world that you and Jayce wanted more than to make sure that Viktor was loved and cared for, that his heart could be full when his mind and body felt weak. To know that you both unequivocally and unconditionally loved him, more than one should bear.

Viktor’s body was sensitive as you and Jayce ravaged him – tired and weak, but craving everything you two offered him. Eating up the desire like a starved man.

You straddled his hips, rocking atop of him lazily while Jayce pressed heady kisses along his neck, licking at the marks he left behind. Everyone was tired, paces slowing down and bodies spent, but you didn’t have the need to stop. You all made up for lost time, and you and Jayce showed Viktor just how much love you had for him.

“Thank you,” Viktor whimpered.

[pellucid-constellations]

Fable - After

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Your wings were gone. The healing process would teach you much about yourself, but it would teach Azriel, too. Does it matter, in the end?

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Angst, injury, symptoms of depression (including difficulty eating)

a/n: This is part of a mini-series and the other parts can be found in the link below. Sorry this is literally so long lol. Debating on adding another chapter to the end because I obviously have a lot to say! Also, I won't be posting an update for about a week because I'll be traveling, so I hope this long chapter holds you over. Thank you :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

You woke as the sun did. Yellow light made an imprint behind your eyelids and the grogginess that immediately followed let you know that this was not the first time you had been awake. Sleeping through the night had become a luxury not afforded to you. 

You clenched the pillow at your cheek between your fingers and tried to pull at the loose threads of sleep that were escaping you. 

Someone was in your room. 

Someone was always in your room these days, but this morning, you knew it was Azriel. You could feel the whisps of his shadows making barely-there strokes along your back, and his scent was unmistakable. If it was Azriel today, they didn’t expect you to talk. When they wanted you to try and speak, they sent Cassian or Mor or even Feyre on the odd occasion. 

They didn’t expect you to talk when it was Azriel. 

You supposed everyone thought you were mad at him. Truthfully, part of you was mad at him. If he had just opened his eyes once over the last hundreds of years, he would have seen that you were right there—that you were more than a responsibility for him to look after. That you were a woman in love with him and he was a fool for taking so long to notice. 

But another part of you felt that you couldn’t blame him. Azriel had never had much luck in the romance department, and you’d always chalked that up to self-sabotage. He seemed to go after women he knew he couldn’t have and only assumed late-night trysts with those he could, so you couldn’t expect much out of him. And how was he to know that you pined after him? It wasn’t as if you’d ever made any kind of move. 

But Elain had so enamored him and you were so angry at that part. Because you had been there and he had never taken the leaps and bounds he had with her. 

He had left you in that camp, so ready to believe your lie to appease her. 

You were the biggest fool of all. 

In actuality, neither of those parts mattered. There wasn’t some internal strife that fought against your sleep and made you question your feelings. You weren’t mad at Azriel. You weren’t mad at anyone or anything. You felt empty. 

You gave up on sleep, breathing heavily through your nose and squinting your eyes into the sun that peaked through your curtains. Your back ached, and even more, the insurmountable pressure on your chest was amplified by the bandages that wrapped around from behind you. They made it difficult to breathe. 

No infection had set in. It had been two and a half weeks since the incident, and Madja cleared you to begin moving around a few days ago and noted that you were “out of the woods, medically.” Everyone looked relieved as if that news had changed anything. To them, you supposed it did. You would live. That was good. 

Azriel knew you were awake, you were sure of it. You heard his chair groan as if he were leaning forward in it, and his shadows had begun to traipse around your head, weaving in and out of your hair and blocking the light from your eyes. 

He would try to get you to eat, look at you with those pitying eyes, and apologize when you could barely sit up and hold out a plate as if you were going to eat it. You hadn’t met his gaze since you woke up and there was more than just resentment behind that. There was shame—you were so ashamed of what you had become. What you had let happen. 

Maybe that was another reason why you felt so empty. How could Azriel even look at you as anything other than broken? When you were whole—when you had your wings—there was an irrational part of you that considered you had a chance with the Shadowsinger if he would just see you. 

There was nothing to see now. 

“Are you awake?” Azriel asked, keeping his voice low in the quiet room. You nodded against the pillow, face still turned from his view. The chair groaned once again. “Are you hungry?” 

No head shake. It was a frequent question that you hated being asked. 

Azriel’s footsteps were soft against your carpet. He kneeled beside your bed and attempted to catch your fleeting gaze, but you found a spot on the floor and kept it there. 

“Can you try?” he prompted. His textured fingers brushed the hair from your eyes. “Not even at the table. I’ll have the House bring you something here.” 

You pressed your lips together and fought off the burning in your nose. 

“Please, y/n.  I know you’re angry with me—I know. But please, just try to eat something.” 

Angry at him—anger wasn’t even in your repertoire at the moment. But he sounded so desperate, as did every other member of your family, and you didn’t want the let them down more than you already had. You shut your eyes and nodded, resigned. 

You built up the strength to prop yourself up on your arms, but that’s where you stopped. Your center of gravity had been completely ripped from you. Anytime you moved without your wings, it felt like free-falling from a mountain. Madja had offered—several times since physically clearing you—to come and get you back on your feet, but the motivation wasn’t there. 

You couldn’t imagine walking without the weight at your back. 

And you had avoided every reflection known to man; seeing yourself would be too much. 

“I have you,” Azriel encouraged, holding you at your waist as he twisted your body up. “Almost. There we go, angel” —he positioned you between pillows that hadn’t been on your bed before— “How’s that? Is it alright?” 

Humiliation felt like a hot knife. You nodded and found a spot on the bed to focus on. You could feel Azriel’s lingering gaze and he hesitated before placing a bowl of broth on a small platter before you. 

“Is that okay?” 

You nodded again, biting the inside of your lip. Your back ached. 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

You nodded. 

Azriel hesitated once more, rocking back on his heels before clearing his throat and letting the door softly shut behind him. The tears came then, and you were so tired of crying. 

~~

Azriel’s POV

Outside of your room, Azriel’s forehead was pressed against the wood of your door. The intricate carvings imprinted his right palm as he kept it pressed there as well, and Azriel had to breathe through his nose to calm himself. 

He was at a loss. 

He didn’t blame you for not speaking to him, but you wouldn’t speak to anyone. You wouldn’t get out of bed unless it was Mor or Feyre lifting you for a bath and you wouldn’t leave your room at all. They had all expected this—planned for a long healing process—but you were so… lifeless. 

Gods, he was helpless. You wouldn’t even look at him. 

Azriel clenched his jaw and tried to listen for the clink of the spoon against the bowl when a hand on his back startled him. Because that was another thing—he’d been off his game since you got hurt, completely useless as a spy. 

“How is she?” Cassian. Cassian was just as worried as Azriel, but Azriel was pretty sure you were looking him in the eye at least. “Get her to talk?” 

“No,” Azriel breathed through a constricting throat. He turned to meet his brother’s face. He was sure Cassian still held some resentment towards him, but he’d apologized for his outburst when you arrived at the House. Apologized, but not entirely forgiven. 

Cassian sighed and rubbed at his jaw. “Is she at least eating?” 

“She agreed to eat. I left her with some soup. She wanted me to leave.” 

“She say that?” 

“I asked and she nodded.” 

Cassian kissed his teeth and curled his wings in tighter. “Have you… talked to her?” 

Azriel had to fight the urge to scoff, throwing his brother an incredulous look. “Obviously I talk to her, Cassian. I don’t stand in her room and motion at things.” 

In response, Cassian did not fight the urge to roll his eyes. “I mean actually talk to her, Azriel. About what happened. You finding her. Her lying and you not being there. I know it was one of the only missions at the camps she’s been at without you there. That means something, no?” 

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me at all—let alone rehash all of that.” 

“Azriel,” Cassian started, stepping forward to place a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Give her a chance to push you away. Let her be the one to do it. If you play into this fear, it might confirm things for her, and you know her mind isn’t in a good place.” 

Azriel winced. “I think you might be better to—” 

“No, Az, you. Let her eat her breakfast, give her an hour or two, and then go back in there and talk to her. I’ve already been talking to her and she won’t say a word to me. I think you’re the only person who’s been too afraid to.” 

Azriel sighed and then leaned his head back until it knocked against your door. In another life, you might’ve called out and asked who was there. But there was only silence. 

Cassian sent Azriel a look with raised brows and patted his brother twice on the shoulder before backing into the hall. He had taken four steps towards the dining room before Azriel called, “What did you mean then, about me being blind?” 

Cassian paused but didn’t turn. Azriel watched his head tilt to the side and a deep sigh escaped him. 

“Shouldn’t have said that,” Cassian muttered. He started walking once more. “Just—think a little more.”

~~

Original POV

Breakfast was fine; you kept it down and that was the goal. 

Following breakfast, you thumbed through the books Nesta had sent to you. The action was lackadaisical and without purpose. You weren’t going to read them. 

You took breaks from staring at the wall to stare out the window instead, but that only sent waves of something heavy through your chest. The skies looked so open today, with only a few clouds and endless rays of sun. Maybe if it were raining, it wouldn’t hurt so much to look out the window. 

You were being left alone far more than usual today. 

Perhaps they had grown tired of being around a stubborn mute who refused to see the bright side of things, the “well, with your injuries it’s a miracle you’re still alive,” talks not entirely working on you. You were sure that was true, but you didn’t particularly care about the marvel it took to put you back together. 

This miracle felt hollow. 

As you were about to shut your eyes and drown the rest of the day in sleep, a small knock and the creak of your door stopped you. You snapped your gaze forward and quickly averted it when you recognized Azriel stepping in, his shadows preceding him and rushing you in circles. 

You expected him to take up his post in the chair beside your bed with a simple greeting—as he had done every visit to your room in the past weeks—so when he stood at the door and spoke, confusion and anxiety filled you. 

“Um, hello,” he began. You watched his hands fumble around each other before he cleared his throat and brought them behind his back. “I realize I haven’t given you a full opportunity to be angry with me. I’ve only offered pleasantries and… well, moved you around. I wanted to speak to you if that’s alright?” 

You fixed your gaze on the wall behind him and twisted your lips to the side in the show of a grimace. 

“You don’t have to say anything back—unless you’d like to. It would just—Can I just sit and talk?” 

You had no idea why he was asking. Everyone else in the House sat in your room and talked your ear off, asking questions they wouldn’t get an answer to and telling you about the happenings in town. Azriel was the only one who stayed silent and, now, was the only one to ask permission to speak. 

Still, you slowly nodded and shifted on the pillows. 

“Does anything hurt?” he began, stepping forward with a hesitant hand reaching towards you. “I could fix—” 

You shook your head. He sat in the chair.

There was a beat of silence—uncomfortable silence, which was odd because Azriel had always been the one you felt most comfortable being quiet around. 

When he spoke, the torture in his voice had you finally whipping around to look at his face, but his gaze was downturned. 

“This is my fault,” he said, strained and cracked as he clasped his hands tightly between his knees. “I know I’ve apologized to you since you woke up, but it’s never really been for that. You have to know how sorry I am, y/n. How much I wish I had just come with you. I always come with you.” 

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I—I don’t understand why you’d lie about Lucien going with you. Or Cassian, for that matter. I thought it was always obvious that I’d do anything for you—that you were more important to me than a date.” 

Something twisted and pulled inside of you. You were getting the devotion you so desired from him, but it was cast behind a layer of something ugly. You were more important than a date—then why did it hurt as he spoke the words to you?

“I’m sorry that I ever made you feel otherwise. I’m sorry that you felt you had to lie for my benefit. But, y/n, I thought you were dead. I walked into that camp and I heard you scream, and I thought—I thought you were dead when I held you in my arms. There was so much blood and—” 

Azriel’s words choked and stopped in the air. He pressed his hands in prayer over his mouth and when he looked up, he caught you in your stare. You sat paralyzed, wide-eyed, as he looked at you directly. 

“Why did you lie?” he asked weakly. “I would have been there. And I’m sorry I believed you so easily, but we’ve always been honest with each other. You’ve always had me.” 

Your chin trembled. You were tired of crying, but the irony of his words hit you with full force and your wings were gone. Your wings were gone and nothing would ever be the same again. 

Your trembling jaw quickly morphed into the too-quick intake of breath that made your shoulders tremble as well. And then you were heaving in ugly sobs that hurt to let go of. You clutched at the blankets beneath you until your knuckles turned white. 

Why did you lie? 

Why did you—

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Azriel hushed. He was on the bed now. You hadn’t heard the chair when he got up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. He held you at your shoulders and pressed your face into his chest. This was the most anyone had touched you. Madja only healed with brief skims of her hands and everyone else moved you with panicked touches.

“Angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” 

When you spoke—for the first time as this new person—your throat made the words unintelligible. Everything was scratchy and hoarse from misuse, but Azriel heard it. He gently pushed you back and found your eyes once more, his gaze wide and encouraging. 

You tried again, and again, each time more coherent but also filled with the tears the Shadowsinger continued to wipe from your cheeks. 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” finally ripped from your chest. “I only—only—” You hiccuped and Azriel’s face crumpled. “I just wanted you to be happy.” 

Azriel’s eyes were already glassy, but when your voice finally rang in his ears, the tears fell. He pressed your face into his chest once more. This time, you brought your hands up to clench his shirt between your fingers. And, because you were already vulnerable and because this was the first time in weeks you no longer felt numb, you whispered out, “My wings are gone,” and Azriel held you tighter. 

~~

You woke to speaking, a voice seeming to rattle in your head. You couldn’t remember falling asleep, only knowing it must have been a productive sleep because you did not feel weighed down. Your back throbbed, as it typically did after sleep, but there was no heaviness at your chest and you felt rested. 

Another voice in the room sounded off, and you kept your eyes shut as you tried to piece together the words. 

“—to walk. Important for her health—too much time—” 

The voice rumbling your head then said, “She might not be ready. We shouldn’t push her.” 

“She will never be ready, Azriel.” Rhysand, you deduced, the conversation in the room becoming more clear. “But, as Madja has said, if we don’t try to get her at least out of this room, she’ll be stuck in her head. Just try to get her to the balcony. Start with that.” 

“Rhysand—” 

“Don’t Rhysand me. It’s almost been three weeks. Her back is nearly healed. That’s not what we’re worried about now.” 

“And what are we worried about?” Azriel bit back. You were on his chest. Hands were on your waist.

The room lulled into a tense pause, the echo of Azriel’s near growl punctuating the silence. 

The door opened and closed, someone’s footfall departing. 

“You’ve scared off our healer, Azriel,” Rhysand noted with a mock scold. Azriel let out a small scoff. “We are all worried about her, Az. I know it feels… maybe like it’s you against the world, but it’s not. We need to get her up and moving. Her headspace isn’t good.” 

Azriel shifted you in his arms. “Fine.” 

“And Madja needs to come back in to change her dressings.” 

Your hair was moved behind your ear. “Fine.” 

Rhysand let out a tortured sigh. 

~~

Azriel’s POV 

Azriel was going to try today. 

He said that yesterday, but yesterday, you had let him coerce you into sitting by the window instead of in bed, and you had talked to him the entire time, so he forgot to bring it up. 

A large part of Azriel was afraid of pushing you—afraid that you would close up again and refuse to look at him. But he knew Rhys and Madja and everyone else in this House was right. You needed to start making progress. You needed to be able to live some semblance of a normal life without your wings. 

It was strange to see you without them. The pit in his chest grew each time you moved to accommodate them. You would shift in bed or reach around to reposition the fantom limb and realization would come before the dread. Sometimes that was it for the day, you wouldn’t speak anymore. Azriel would read to you when that happened. 

You had started to talk to the rest of the circle, which Azriel was mostly glad for, but the smallest bout of protectiveness had somehow dug its way into his heart. When he would walk into your room to find you chatting with Cassian or listening to Rhys, Azriel would have to pause at the territorial feeling that temporarily consumed him. He figured it was only because you were still hurt. That would fade. 

When he came in today, you were alone, and Azriel felt relieved. For a moment. 

You were already awake and looked well-rested, which was detrimental to his plan of asking you while you were half asleep. You set your book down to stare up at him, and even the fact that you were reading was not lost on him. 

You were making progress. This was part of progress.

“Good morning, y/n,” Azriel greeted, standing at the foot of your bed. 

The action already made you nervous. You eyed the chair beside you and glanced back at him. “Hi, Az.” 

Azriel’s lash fluttered at the sound of your voice, still so fresh after weeks of silence. You were meeker than you once sounded, unsure and small. 

Azriel took in a breath before asking, “How’s today?”

“Today is good,” you replied, words slow. 

Azriel spied the remaining badges peeking out from the top of your shirt. You needed this. “I think we should walk today.” 

Silence consumed the room. Your lips parted as you stared at him, and Azriel immediately wanted to eat his words. Another beat of silence. And then another. He tried desperately not to shift weight between his feet lest he look antsy or unsure. 

You blinked, twice, and then stared down at your fingers as they rested in your lap. 

“I know it will be difficult,” Azriel tried, speaking low. “But I’ll be here. We don’t have to go far. A few steps, that’s all I’m asking.” 

You pressed your thumbnail into your palm, brows furrowed. You hadn’t smiled, Azriel realized, not since before. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips before you spoke. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” Azriel asked, bending down to catch your gaze unsuccessfully. 

You blinked back up at him. “Okay, I’ll try.” And then, in a much lower tone, as Azriel walked to your side, you grumbled, “Not as if I could get any lower than I am now.” 

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” you replied, reaching for his outstretched hands. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

Azriel decided to revisit that later. He wouldn’t pass up this opening you had provided, even though his heart ached at what you’d insinuated. He held your hands in his own and leaned forward as you shifted yourself to the side, your legs hanging off the edge of the bed. 

Already, the disorientation on your face was difficult to stomach. You swayed backward with a pinched expression and your nostrils flared in frustration, but Azriel only held your hands firm and steady. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he comforted, allowing his thumb to brush your knuckle. “Anything hurt?”

You shook your head, your lips pressed in a tight line. Azriel forced himself into your field of vision and nodded, softly counting to three as your eyes darted quickly between both of his. As your legs straightened and Azriel’s hands held you up, you refused to break the connection. Azriel wouldn’t be the one to break it. 

You were shaky on your feet and completely unbalanced, but you were standing, and that was all Azriel could ask for. He gripped your hands tighter as your breathing deepened, the struggle evident on your face. 

“Feel okay?” Azriel asked. 

“No,” you grimaced. “But keep going,” you breathed out. 

“Okay, okay. Start with your right. I won’t let go of you.” 

And you did as he asked, albeit with a small groan and a look up at the ceiling. You abandoned the frustration in favor of staring directly at your feet and white-knuckling the grip on Azriel’s hands as you swayed and brought your right foot forward. The moment you placed it down you wobbled on it and had to right yourself three times, causing one of Azriel’s hands to come around your waist. 

You gritted your teeth but continued with your left foot with some encouragement from Azriel. He stepped back with each step you took forward, his hands glued to your body to correct the mistakes from your core. You made it six steps and Azriel was elated. He let out a small, breathy laugh. 

“You’re incredible,” he deemed. 

And it was so, so small, but the scoff-like laugh you offered was accompanied by a minuscule half-smile, and Azriel was over the moon. You looked up at him, a sarcastic upturn of your eyes lighting them up, and Azriel was struck then. 

Mate. 

Mate. 

It was so obvious, so clear. There was never anything but this. But you. 

You were meant to be his and he yours. Years of this pull to you, and he always thought it to be one of friendship. He’d always loved you, always, but he’d never humored the possibility of anything more. You’d seen him in his teen years. Gods, you’d seen him in his twenties when he was terribly full of himself without the credentials to be so. 

And he’d seen you through the decades of your life as well. 

But everything was so much clearer now. He’d always been protective of you, always been the first to follow you. That was part of why this had been so devastating—he’d let you down, left you alone. For another woman. 

Azriel felt his stomach lurch and then something rotten was left in his mouth. 

His mate—he’d let this happen to his mate. 

And what had he said in the store that day? When you’d asked him what would happen if he’d found his mate?

He’d said it wouldn’t matter, that Elain was bigger than a mating bond. 

Elain.

“Azriel?” Your worried tone snapped him back to the present. To the way your legs shook and your body swayed before him. He quickly scooped you up at your waist and held you close as he walked you back to the bed. 

“That’s enough for today,” he said, tucking you back into the bed. His hands were shaking. “Does anything hurt?”

“Are you okay?” you asked, and when you looked at him with your wide eyes, he was so angry at himself. 

Nothing made sense, but everything did. 

“I’m alright,” he reassured, placing a hand on the top of your head. “We need to take that slow. Your muscles need to be rebuilt along with your balance.” 

He needed to get out of this room. He needed to—

“I promise I’ll be able to do more tomorrow. You’ll… come back tomorrow, right?” 

Something was screaming at him. His shadows. They twisted and struck his ears before coming down to rest gently at your shoulders. 

“Of course I will.” 

~~

Original POV

Azriel did not come back the following day, or the day after that. 

Mor came on the first day, a smile plastered on her concerned face. She held her hands out as Azriel did and got you to walk ten steps before exhaustion made your legs shake. She sat beside your bed and went on and on about some shop in Velaris and you laid back and listened. 

You loved Mor, but it became hard to swallow when she was the one to walk through your door that morning. 

The next day, it was Cassian. 

He grinned and boasted about being the best person on the job, rounding your bed and heaving you up by your hips until you were pressed against his front. Cassian took a different approach to you relearning how to walk, placing your feet on top of his to move as he did. He was joking at first, laughter fresh in his tone, but he got serious as your brow twisted and your body swayed. 

“You got it,” he assured. He stepped back, his hands now just hovering over your hips as you balanced against him. “You’re doing great.” 

You gripped the sleeves of his shirt. “I should know how to walk,” you said through gritted teeth. “I shouldn’t have stayed in bed so long.” 

“You were healing. Resting. No one expected you to hop up and be fine, y/n.” 

“I moped for too long. This wouldn’t be so hard if I had started earlier.” 

“Hey—” 

Frustration had accumulated, building since realizing that you really were only a fraction of yourself, and that was probably why Azriel hadn’t come back. You clenched your teeth once more and pushed from Cassian’s body, finding the ground beneath your feet and ignoring the protest from the Illyrian before you—the one with his wings so tightly pressed to his back that you almost could forget they were there. Almost. 

But the action was short-lived. Cassian grappled for your waist as your body only allowed you two steps forward before you shot backward, an ache permeating down your spine as it tried to accommodate the movement. 

“Cauldron, y/n, warn a guy,” Cassian scolded, stepping you back to sit on the bed. “Did you do this with everyone or am I just special?” 

Frustration burned behind your eyes. You stayed silent as you scrubbed your hand down your face. You couldn’t even fling yourself back against the bed as you wanted, knowing that pain would radiate down your back if you did. 

You couldn’t do anything. The extra time you’d spent with Azriel had created a false sense of… something you needed to let go of. He was pitying you—that was all. You were a broken creature, and he felt responsible. 

“What was that about, huh?” Cassian asked, kneeling before you and looking up below a raised brow. 

“I’m broken,” you admitted, resolute and small. “That’s why Azriel won’t come back, isn’t it? I can’t walk. I’m not how I was. I let this happen to me. I should know how to walk.” 

Cassian’s tongue clicked as his head tilted to the side. “No, y/n, you’re not broken. You didn’t let anything happen to you. This is all—Gods, this is all a fucking mess. But the one thing you can know is that you aren’t broken. And Azriel—he’s dealing with something right now. He’s not avoiding you because you’re broken.” 

You stared back at him, the empty feeling slowly creeping back into your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded when Cassian gave you an expectant look. You would act as if you believed him, and the following day, when Azriel stepped through your door, maybe it felt a bit easier to lie. 

“Did you handle what you needed to?” you asked him, your hands cemented against his own as he guided you around your room. The words came out strained as your balance faltered. 

Azriel took a moment before responding, “You could say that.” 

“Was it Elain?” You hadn’t meant to ask the question, and the bitterness in your tone was new to even you, but it came out all the same. You avoided Azriel’s gaze as it snapped to your face. 

“Some of it,” he admitted. His eyes burned into you. You stared at your feet as you stepped. “But only some.” 

“How’s that working out for you?” 

“Y/n.” 

You stepped again. And again. It was easier each day, but that also spelled a more difficult future. The further you walked, the sooner you would have to come to terms with your wings being gone. Staying in bed helped you avoid that truth. 

You ignored Azriel’s call and stepped again. 

“Look at me. Please.” 

You shifted your jaw to the side but glanced up through your lashes and gave in to his request. Azriel’s beseeching expression made you falter. 

“I can never apologize fully for not being there that night. With Elain—“ Azriel paused, wincing. “I’ve been blind to what’s important. You tried to tell me. Everyone tried to tell me. I was so caught up in a chance at happiness. It was never about Elain.” 

You had no reply. Your legs were shaking. 

Azriel seemed to take a different approach. “I meant what I said before—that you’re incredible. You’ve pushed yourself so hard and we’re all proud of you.” 

“Is that why you didn’t come back when you said you would?” you asked. The tinge of bitterness remained. “Because you’re proud of me?” 

“I had to—y/n, there were things—“ 

“Just say you’ve been visiting out of pity, Azriel. That would make this easier.” 

You gripped his hands harder as your wave of frustration made walking more difficult. You grunted slightly and Azriel took that as a sign to shift your weight from your feet, holding you to his body even as you struggled against him, even as you averted your gaze. 

Gods, this was better when you kept your mouth shut. 

“I do not pity you. Y/n—y/n. I don’t, do you hear me?” 

“Why?” you stressed, pushing your hands against his chest in a futile escape attempt. “Why, Azriel? Too busy running after Elain to make room for it?” 

“Don’t say that. I already told you—“

“Just let me go.” 

“No.”

“Oh, so now you listen to me.” 

“Y/n—“ 

“This was already humiliating, Azriel. And then you said you’d be back and you weren’t,” you accused. “You got weird when I finally started walking and I know you only came in here because Cassian told you about yesterday.” 

“Yesterday?” he questioned. 

You rolled your eyes. It was so much easier to be angry than hurt. “When I asked about you. I know he can’t keep a secret.” 

Azriel only shook his head. “He hadn’t told me anything. I needed a few days because I’m the weak one. Me. I needed distance because I’m reminded, every time I see you, that I could have prevented this. Im selfish.

“And Elain,” he trailed off, hazel eyes flicking between yours. “I had to tell her that I’ve been a fool. I won’t be pursuing her anymore.” 

Your brows furrowed. You gave up fighting against Azriel, but he kept both of your hands in a grip at his chest, his other arm locked at your lower back. This felt like a weight lifted from your chest, but it wasn’t that easy. None of this was easy. 

“Why?” 

Azriel paused. 

Something flashed across his face, indecipherable to even you, but he covered it just as quickly.

“It wasn’t supposed to be her. I’ve always known that.” 

More silence blanketed the room. Your earlier anger melted into a white-hot embarrassment that lingered in the pit of your stomach. You’d never been one quick to anger. Azriel hadn’t even blinked an eye. 

“Can I help you back to your bed?”

You pressed your lips together. 

“I want to read with you, if that’s alright?” 

Your head turned down. You nodded. 

~~ 

Azriel’s POV 

Azriel couldn’t tell you. 

He couldn’t. 

It was clear that no bond lit up your chest as his did, and that made sense to Azriel. You’d been through a loss few could ever imagine. You were stuck in your head for most of the day, and then angry or numb for the rest of it. The only time you seemed to find reprieve was during conversation that had nothing to do with anything of meaning. 

Azriel would take what he could get. So he read beside you and helped you walk and he didn’t tell you that a bond connected your souls. 

How could he even broach the subject, anyway? When he had so openly pined after another woman? 

This was not the time. 

You needed to focus on yourself. He would focus on you and you would focus on yourself. 

It had been about a month since you began walking again, and two since your injury. He counted each day. On the second week of the third month, Azriel saw you in the hallway. Feyre walked alongside you as you trailed your fingers on the wall, and while it gave the air of a casual stroll, he could see his High Lady’s hand hover behind you. While he took effortful breaths to calm his excitement, his shadows did not. 

“Azriel, what terrible timing!” Feyre scolded, batting away the shadows as they stormed you. “I finally got her out here and you're going to knock her over with air.”

“I apologize,” he spoke, but he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. Despite your unsteady gait, you lit up as his shadows swirled around you, displacing your hair and clothes as you went. And then you laughed; a small sound, but one that Azriel felt in his chest. 

“Call them back,” you giggled. Azriel’s face warmed along with his chest. “I’m going to collapse into this wall if you don’t.” 

“Azriel,” Feyre called, and Azriel hadn’t noticed he was staring. He blinked and shook his head as if to clear it and tried to call his shadows back. And then tried again. 

They were stuck to you. 

“I really am trying,” he explained, taking a step closer. “They seem attached.” 

“I can’t imagine why,” Feyre groaned. She shot the Shadowsinger a look and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her side. “Idiot bats.” 

As the pair walked past him, his shadows still whispering along your arms, you hooked your chin over your shoulder, casting him a lingering gaze. It was odd to see your face with such clarity, no wings clouding his view. Even more odd was the uncomfortable way you walked; the leaning into Feyre’s side was more necessary than for the show. 

The strangest thing, however, was the tug in his chest that left him breathless. Every time you looked at him, that thread in his chest tugged and yanked and begged him to get closer. 

But this wasn’t the time. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be the time for several decades. 

Not after he let you down in such a way. 

He would spend the rest of his life making up for that, even if you were none the wiser to the bond between you. He would protect you for the rest of your life, as he was meant to do from the beginning. That feeling, the urge, only swelled as you turned forward and continued your walk with your High Lady, Azriel still hearing the remnants of your laugh in the hall as you went. 

A shadow broke away from your figure and lopped around his ear, reminding him that he actually did have a destination before he became so enraptured by you. It whispered to him hurriedly and Azriel had to break his gaze from your retreating back as he made his way to Rhysand’s study. Each step had him increasingly irritated; he should have been with you the day you decided to leave your room. 

He bit back his vexation when he felt the tension in the room. 

“Azriel. Good,” Rhysand greeted. The door swung shut. “Sit. We need to talk.” 

“That doesn’t sound promising,” Azriel remarked, shifting his leathers as he took a wide seat on the chair across Rhysand’s desk. 

From the couch beside him, Cassian let out a humorless chuckle. “I think you’ll find this quite promising, brother.” 

“As long as it’s quick. I have other things to attend to today.” 

Cassian sent a wry grin in Rhysand’s direction. “I told you he’d see her in the hall.” He turned back to Azriel. “Packed schedule today, Az?” 

“You know better, Cassian,” Rhysand chided, the lightness in his tone betraying the scolding nature of his words. 

“Is there an actual point to this discussion?” Azriel deadpanned. 

“Bond feeling a little loose?” 

Azriel threw him a dirty look. It hadn’t taken a genius to recognize the change in Azriel the day the bond snapped, his heightened aggression paired with the scent of you still lingering on his clothes had Cassian immediately clocking the Shadowsinger. He’d looked surprised—gaurded and surprised. Rhysand looked as if he’d been the one waiting for the bond to snap, and Azriel had sent him a myriad of questions. 

Namely: Why the hell wouldn’t he tell him he thought you were his mate? 

“Don’t taunt him, Cass.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Are we getting to the point?” Azriel drawled. The desire to get back to you itched beneath his skin. Maybe you’d made it to the kitchen and he’d sit at the table beside you. 

Rhysand sighed. He tapped his finger against a piece of parchment laid on the desk. “I have correspondence from the northeast camp. From the spies you have placed there.” 

Azriel sat up in his chair. “Why wouldn’t they speak to me directly?” 

“I had them turn all communication over to me. You’re too close to this and I wouldn’t have you acting rashly and putting yourself in unnecessary danger.” 

“They are my spies—” 

“I didn’t do it to undermine you, Azriel,” Rhysand interrupted, raising a hand in surrender. “You can’t tell me that if you got word her attackers were found you wouldn’t immediately rush into that camp without a plan or even a weapon.” 

Azriel breathed hard from his nose and clenched the wooden chair arms between scarred fingers. 

In the silence, Rhysand continued. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, brother. But you understand why that was a risk I couldn’t take.” 

“What did the correspondence say?” Azriel gritted out, his mood depleted of the lightness you had brought. 

Rhysand eyed Cassian on the other side of the room before fixing his gaze on his Spymaster. “The escaped attackers have been identified. They aren’t contained, and no one even knows where they are, but we know who they are.” 

Fiery rage met Azriel’s soured mood.

If only he knew of the terrors that would continue to fall. 

[rafesangelita]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ breaking the one rule he was always supposed to follow, rafe found himself sitting in the shadows of the gentlemen’s club where bitchy!pogue!reader worked at. imagine your surprise when you find out the person that paid for a private dance with you is your brother’s best friend.. and business partner.

warnings: dealer!rafe, stripper!reader, brother’s best friend trope, mentions of you and barry arguing, sexual tension, flirty banter, making out, heavy petting

a/n: this is what bitchy!pogue!reader is wearing in this btw.. i watched anora and worked on this right after lol

wc: 1.1k

rafe knew it was wrong the second he got in his truck and drove down to ‘pink sugar’ to see if you were there. he knew it was wrong when he walked in and scanned the room for you, and he knew it was wrong when he took a corner seat furthest from the stage. after overhearing you and barry arguing about what you did for work, rafe couldn’t help himself from seeing what was making you come home with a duffle bag full of cash. his curiosity got the best of him, and when he saw you emerge from behind the curtains, pink lace lingerie hugging the curves of your body, the cutest pair of bunny ears adorning your head, with a little bunny tail on your g-string to match, all the guilt he once felt melted away into nothing.

you were sin with legs. rafe watched you smile at the men in the front, the group of them emptying their wallets when you hadn’t even did anything to make them shower you with cash. then again, rafe felt the urge himself to give you all of his money just because you were so pretty. rafe swallowed thickly when your song started and the lights went low, everyone’s attention zeroing in on you as you lowered yourself to the glossy floor of the stage. he watched you crawl to the center, arching your back as the rhinestones around your eyes sparkled under the club lighting. one of the men reached out, poking the little ball that was your bunny tail, slipping what looked like a hundred dollar bill in the string of your bottoms.

rafe hated the way the men in here were looking at you right now, his fists clenching at his sides as he imagined what kind of thoughts were currently running through their heads. “that’s it, baby!” a drunken holler was shouted, the rest of the club following suit and bursting into a fit of cheers when you managed to spin around the pole in the middle of the stage. rafe watched in awe, deciding he needed to get you to himself, and away from the hungry stares of the crowded club. making his way over to the bouncers that stood outside of a concealed hallway, he handed both of them a few crispy bills. “get the one on stage with me and i’ll double it.” without another word, both of the security guards moved aside, letting rafe through.

you finished the rest of your set, blowing kisses to the men who made it a mission of theirs to spoil you rotten tonight before you made your way to the locker rooms where you refreshed your hair and makeup. “y/n?” nancy, the owner’s right hand woman walked in, “i have a private dance for a younger gentleman in room five.. he requested you specifically.” you smiled at her through the reflection of the mirror. “okay, i’ll be right over.” you nodded, giving yourself one more glance before making your way down the dimly lit hallway. the first private dance of the night always made you a little anxious, but at least you knew you were guaranteed a hundred dollars that you didn’t have to share.

you took a breath, twisting the door knob open before going in, shutting the door closed right after. “i must be special if you chose me..” you placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, walking around him before standing between his legs. looking down, you felt your heart drop to your stomach when he looked up, the face all too familiar to you. “yeah, you are.” you gasped, retreating your hand from him as if he burned you. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing, rafe?!” you nearly lost your footing when you stepped back, suddenly feeling exposed as his eyes trailed down your body. “what? i’m just a paying customer.” he shrugged, tossing back the drink in his hand.

“oh, yeah? tell that to barry. he’ll kill you if he finds out you were here.” you scoffed, your eyes meeting his. rafe stared at you for a moment, motioning for you to get closer to him. you swallowed thickly, the small disco ball in the room illuminating his features. “i’m not gonna do anything to you, i just wanted you away from everyone out there.” he spoke lowly. you took a step, accepting the hand he held out for you before he guided you onto his lap. you wrapped an arm around his shoulders like it was second nature, his large palm running up and down your thigh. “sooo.. you think you’re doing me a favor by pulling me back here so no one else can watch me dance?” your face was just mere inches away from rafe’s.

“i’m losing out on a lot of money, ‘country club..” you whispered, the slow music playing softly in the background. “how much do you want. throw me whatever number you’d like.” you smiled, your fingers slipping underneath the hem of his polo. “two thousand,” you spoke, “with interest.” rafe laughed, nodding his head as he trailed his hand from your thigh to your hip, adjusting the strap of your g-string against your skin. “with interest, huh?” he smirked, eyes falling down to your lips, “..i’d happily give that to you.” you leaned in first, just wanting to feel his lips on yours. rafe stilled for a second, a groan rumbling from his chest when he pulled you closer by your neck, returning your kiss tenfold.

“is barry home?” he was breathless when he pulled away, his hands roaming your body as if he wanted to take you right then and there. at the mention of your brother, reality seemed to grip its claws into you when you realized what you were doing right now. rafe saw the look of confliction pass over your face, his fingers cupping your chin to avert your attention back onto him. “hey..” he whispered, “i won’t tell if you don’t.” his words echoed in your head, his cologne and his proximity overtaking your senses. as if you two were meeting on the same page, rafe watched as your eyes grew dark, a smile gracing your lips. “i don’t kiss and tell, rafe.” as if a flip switched, you two began ravaging each other once more.

time slowed when you two moaned into each other’s mouths, grappling onto one another as if the two of you would disappear if you let go. “barry’s gone for the night.” you managed to speak between kisses, rafe nodding as he cupped you through your bra. just as he was going to tell you to leave with him, the bouncer outside the door yelled that rafe’s thirty minutes were up. “what the fuck, already?” he glanced down at his watch. you sighed, letting rafe pick you up before he kissed you one more time. “get your shit and let’s go, i’ll be waiting at the front door.” he squeezed the globes of your ass, making you gasp as he walked out. and just like that, rafe never let you step foot in that club again.

[a2zillustration]

Farewell

Not "farewell," but "see you later."

| First | | Previous |

[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

...Time to blather on under the cut. I've got thank yous, some notes about potential future comics, and if you scroll to the end of the post, I've decided to compile Croissant Adventures into a physical book. It's mostly for me, so I can hold all TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE of these strips in my hands, as a brick, but if you'd like to own a copy as well, I'll have a link to the preorders down below. If this is where you're going to stop reading, I'll extend a quick heartfelt thanks to you for joining me on this adventure!

Thank you, reader.

This is undeniably the largest project I've ever tackled in my art career; it was never supposed to be this big, and I expected maybe a handful of people to read it, at most. Instead, it became this massive project that I've been working on for ten months straight, and in the end these characters meant so much to me. I'm incredibly grateful for everyone who's bothered to read my little comic strips, whether it was just one or two, or if you've been here since the beginning, following Croissant's adventure from the minute they plummeted off the nautiloid. Thank you so much for being here and supporting this project. Thank you to everyone who left kind words and comments, sent me asks about Croissant, liked or reblogged these posts, or just read these and enjoyed them! While I was determined to finish this project no matter what happened, you certainly made it all the more fun and kept me excited to tell you the next part of Croissant's story.

Thank you, Larian.

If by some chance someone at Larian ever happens to see these, I also want to give an immense thank you to everyone who was a part of making this game. I don't play that many games these days, but BG3 rocketed to the top of my all-time favorite games almost immediately. (It was also the game that made me feel the most out of anything I've ever played; I got legitimately depressed for a few days during my run don't worry I'm fine now we're all good haha). You can tell there was so much work, and so much love involved in this game's development, and I'm so happy the studio has been rewarded with multiple awards in recognition of that dedication to making a fantastic game. Thank you again for sharing this story with us, and I can't wait to see what the studio does in the future.

Is this goodbye?

I'm hoping this is less of a "goodbye," and more of a "see you later." I'll probably take a bit of a break, since I've put off other projects for months, and art fight is happening, but I have many more things I'd like to add to Croissant's story! I have yet to play the epilogue, and I intend to illustrate parts of that depending on what happens. I also have a handful of comics for post-game Breadweave, in addition to some scenes I thought would've happened in-game but weren't canon so I left them out of the original story. (If I haven't gotten to these in a few months and you find yourself wondering about Croissant again, my ask box is always open, feel free to give me a good kick to get me back into their story, lol).

...A book?

I said I never intended this project to be so large, and I meant it. But now that I'm sitting here with two hundred and five Baldur's Gate 3 Tav comics, I really wanted to compile them into a physical book for me to hold. This is mostly for me, but if you'd also like one, I'll have a preorder available in my shop until the end of July.

✨✨✨ Croissant Adventures Preorder ✨✨✨

If you made it to the end of this post, I can only thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. I hope Croissant's story brought you joy, and if you're able to play BG3, I hope that you're having just as much fun in your own tavs' stories.

[shawtuzi]

i’m still deciding whether i want to write for ellie or abby in my next tlou fic but until then pls enjoy these construction worker!eren hc’s bc i am sooo thirsty for him

cw include: black fem!reader, lots of fluff, lots of smut, eren being the cutest thing ever

sfw

construction worker!eren whose only dream in this life is to have a pretty wife with a litter of kids and a big ass house to go with it. he’s already slipped a gorgeous fat rock on your finger and talks of getting pregnant with your first child were slowly but surely happening which meant he was getting closer and closer to what he truly wanted most.

construction worker!eren who is a total mommas boy!! his mom is so very dear to him and to know she adores you just as much as him makes him so so happy.

construction worker!eren who looks so cute in his everyday work outfit. whenever he’s got his hard hat on around you you can’t help but knock on it a few times but it’s okay he thinks it’s super cute.

construction worker!eren who starts his day a six-thirty every morning and is always home by five o’clock on the dot. his morning routine consists of giving your forehead and lips a sweet good morning kiss as soon as his eyes open, a quick fifteen minute shower with music softly playing in the back (usually the trapsoul album by bryson tiller), making a big ass pot of coffee bc lord knows he’ll need it with the airheads he works with, quadruple checking to make sure there’s food in the fridge and pantry for you, another sweet kiss to your lips before he heads out, and then spending five minutes trying to pry you off of him while you beg him to take the day off. “m’sorry sugarplum i cant take off today, gotta save up for that big house we want you know how it is,” he’d always say before shushing your whines with a kiss full of tongue n passion.

construction worker!eren who is so tired and sore when he gets off work but is never too sore to accept one of your bone crushing hugs as soon as he walks through the door to your shared apartment. he’s always extra careful to make sure his hands that are usually covered in residue don’t touch your clothes even though you could literally care less.

construction worker!eren who facetimes you everyday around the same time to enjoy your company while he’s on his lunch break. usually the conversations consists of you telling him to make sure he’s applying a lot of sunscreen (bc this heat was nothing to play about), your plans for what you were making for dinner, and if anyone happened to piss him off that day you’ll surely hear about it.

“how’s your lunch?” you asked giving eren a loving smile as you watched him practically devour the leftover lasagna from last nights dinner. he wiped his mouth with a napkin before speaking, a content smile on his lips. “food is perfect honey tastes just as good as it did last night,” you smiled at his words but it faltered just the slightest bit when you saw how reddish pink his cheeks were. “baby have you put on any sunscreen yet? weather app says it’s supposed to be almost a hundred out today,” you pouted wishing so desperately that he was there so you could give his little sunburns kisses. eren observed his face in the tiny box on the corner of his phone, letting out a small hum. “don’t worry about me sugar i’ll put some on before we get off the phone,” he gave you a comforting smile which you returned. you folded your freshly manicured hands together before speaking, “so…for dinner i was thinking steak kabobs?” “now we’re fuckin’ talking”

construction worker!eren whose nicknames for you are sugar, sugarplum, honey, angel, and my honeysuckle (which is a type of flower heje)

construction worker!eren whose stomach is almost as big as his heart lol this man loves him a good home cooked meal!!! he doesn’t know what he did to deserve a wife who feeds him as good as you do but you best believe he thanks his lucky stars everyday for it. and yes he’s fs the kind of man to completely devour his food in record time meanwhile you’ve barely made a dent in yours, this usually leads to you splitting the rest of yours with him bc this man always has room to eat more food.

you had decided to make steaks for dinner and like usual eren had devoured his plate in less than ten minutes. “was it good my love?” you giggled taking a bite of the roasted potatoes you made as side. bc he had a full mouth all eren was able to get out was a satisfied sounding ‘mhm!’ eren had washed his dishes and put them away before making his way back to the table to keep you company while you continued to eat your food, love and adoration swarming in those jade irises of his. without a word you swiftly got out of your chair and got comfy on his lap. eren didn’t say a word but by the way he was looking at your plate you could tell he was dying for another bite. you cut off a piece of steak and held the fork up to his lips with a smile, “go ahead take a bite i know you wanna.” without a second thought eren took a bite and for the rest of dinner you took turns feeding him and yourself.

construction worker!eren who becomes even more attentive and loving than he already is once you’re finally pregnant!!! you have morning sickness?? he’s right behind you rubbing your back and even offers to brush your teeth for you after you’ve finished. you need your feet rubbed?? prop them up and he’ll get straight to work. he even takes more days off work than usual bc he misses your touch just as much as you miss his. ever since he found out there was a little him growing in you he frequently started talking to your belly.

construction worker!eren is a girl dad no ifs, ands, or buts!!!!! crazy story but he had the strongest feeling you were having a girl and low and behold on the day of your gender reveal you found out you were having a girl!! yes he cried like a baby himself and yes connie has it on video.

construction worker!eren who treats your daughter like she’s the finest china when she’s finally born :( the first time he did skin to skin contact with her he swore his heart was gonna explode with how much love his had for the tiny human in his arms. and once she was sound asleep in her lil bed he was quick to leave the hospital to buy you whatever foods you were craving—you deserved the best princess treatment for bringing his lil princess into the world.

construction worker!eren who keeps a polaroid pic of you, him, and your newborn daughter in his worn out wallet, showing it to everyone at his job…and a couple strangers….he rlly can’t help it you two are his pride and joy <333

“hey reiner did i ever show you this picture?” eren beamed holding up the polaroid in reiner’s face for the third time that day. reiner chuckled a bit before nodding, “yes eren you showed me, she’s a cute one you and y/n are lucky,” he smiled and eren nodded in agreement, still staring down at the picture. “yeah…m’the luckiest guy in the world aren’t i?”

nsfw

construction worker!eren who is six foot six and pure muscle. it’s a wonder how he eats so good and manages to look even better but hey! you weren’t complaining. he certainly was lacking down there either baby he’s the full package. his dicks eight and a half inches with two prominent veins on the underside that rubbed against your sensitive walls in the most delicious way possible.

construction worker!eren who has a raging breeding kink but is that really a surprise? whenever you two fuck and he’s able to rlly take his time with you i kid you not he has to cum inside you at least three times or he will not be satisfied. sometimes whenever he pulls out he’ll push down on your lower belly and watch his cum spill out with dark, predatory eyes. majority of the time he’ll use that as an excuse to fill you up for the umpteenth time bc he just cannot let any of his precious cum go to waste.

“so pretty,” eren had a lazy smile on his face as he watched three orgasms worth of cum ooze out of your puffy, spent pussy. just when you thought he had his fill and was ready for a much needed good nights rest you felt his one softening dick begin to harden up against your still trembling thighs. “eren…” you whimpered, but he just shushed you with a kiss mumbling a quick ‘jus one more’ before slipping back inside you with ease. he was extremely low on energy so he wasn’t quite able to fuck into you like a madman like he was before so he just settled for grinding into you. “o-oh honey! f-fuck!” you squealed wrapping your legs around his waist. between his swollen tip continuously bumping into your stomach, and the coarse hairs on his pelvis rubbing against your sensitive clit you were slowly but surely going dumb. “yeah jus’ like that, f-fuck yeah let daddy fuck a baby into you baby c’mon make me cum.”

construction worker!eren who is nawt a fan of quickies at all!! he’s a man that likes to savor the moment when it comes to sex and if he’s able to admire the faces and sounds you make then what’s the point?? when he’s got you all to himself expect to be occupied for the next couple of hours bc like i stated before he’s not satisfied until he’s cum in you at least three times and made you cum twice as much!!

construction worker!eren who is a certified MUNCH!!!! this man loves having his mouth on your pussy and yes if ur wondering he definitely eats it through your panties. he’s so sloppy and loud with it you’d almost be embarrassed if he didn’t completely turn you dumb whenever he tongue fucked your weeping pussy :(

“mm renny,” your brows scrunched together in pleasure as eren sloppily ran his tongue up and down your soaked folds. his hair was still damp from his shower and was slowly soaking the couch from the droplets falling from his locs but neither of you seemed to care. “couldn’t stop thinking about you today…i mean i already think of you all day but i kept thinking about you in that way and fuck it was so hard to focus. reiner almost ripped my head off from how distracted i was,” as he was talking he was pressing sloppy, wet kisses all over your cunt and the inside of your thighs. he inserted two fingers easily into your dripping center and couldn’t help the groan that rumbled in his chest when he saw how tight you were squeezing his fingers. “you got the prettiest pussy honey, you know that right?” he gave you a small smile before spitting directly on your clit making you jolt. you whined in embarrassment ofc and covered your face with a near throw pillow, whimpering out a pathetic ‘stop ren s’embarrasing.’ eren just hummed and attached his mouth back to your pussy, wrapping his slightly swollen lips around your throbbing clit, “m’never gonna fuckin stop my pretty little honeysuckle never ever.”

construction worker!eren who is a biggg fan of the 69 position. sometimes you suck him so good he tends to lose focus but you don’t mind in the slightest. your big strong man never stops working whether he’s on or off the clock so if he gets a little consumed in his own pleasure who are you to snap him out of it?? if you’re putting some serious work in he’ll moan n groan so loud into your pussy you could cum alone just from that!!

construction worker!eren who had the prettiest moans *sighs dreamily* he’s never shy to let you know you’re making him feel good and it’s so fucking hot hearing his breathy whines and moans especially when he accidentally overstimulates himself which he happens to do a lot heh. you’ve definitely had a couple complaints from neighbors bc of the noise but he don’t even give a fuck!! he knows it turns you on more than anything to hear him be so vocal so why on earth would he ever stop??

construction worker!eren who was soo nervous when you suggested having sex while you were pregnant. it was no problem for him at first but once you started showing that’s when the panic started to settle in—he was so afraid he’d accidentally hurt you or the baby that he kinda went on an sex hiatus much to your dismay, but after some convincing be finally gave in.

you were on your side and he was spooning you from behind, giving your shoulder or neck a kiss of encouragement every once in a while. “jus’ let me know if it hurts at all or you’re uncomfortable okay? cant believe you talked me into this…” eren mumbled into your shoulder. you replied with a soft ‘mhm’ your patience wearing thinner by the second. it had been a good couple of weeks since you and eren last had sex and you were almost sure you were beginning to lose your mind. you’d finally had enough when he came home from his morning jog looking like an absolute dream with his chest heaving and brown baby hairs sticking to his forehead. that’s how he ended up here: one hand securely holding onto your small bump while his other was slowly pushing his dick inside your awaiting entrance. “oh wow…” your eyes fluttered shut in pure bliss, toes curling once he bottomed out. “f-fuck that feel okay hun?” it felt more than okay. you brought your hand to your clit and began rubbing quick circles to dull out the stinging stretch. eren peeped this and replaced yours with his own, the rough pads of his fingers on your clit had your lips trembling. “y-you need to stop this—hah! sex strike and fuck me more please i—i miss this,” eren heard your plea and nodded feverishly. god was he a fool for ever depriving yourselves of each other, he will never be doing this again.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

I Know it Won’t Work || Tom Blyth x singer!reader

Summary: You and Tom break up after three years of dating and you perform a song about the truth of the breakup for the first time live.

Warnings: slight age gap, reader is 23 and Tom is 30

Wc: 658

A/n: these r addicting to make lol. Also, changed up some lyrics for the sake of the storyline making sense. 2/4? Fics I’m posting today!

Tom Blyth x singer!reader au masterlist

Divider by @pommecita

You let out a shaky breath, "I left you here, heard you keep the extra closet empty," You sing the first words of your unreleased song to the crowd. "In case this year, I come back and stay throughout my twenties, what if I won't? How am I supposed to put that gently?" You had just freshly turned 23 and broken up with Tom.

You honestly don't know how you ended up here, in-front of a crowd of hundreds in London. Performing in front of people was the last thing you wanted to do at the moment but you had to keep a strong front for your supporters, this show was highly anticipated.

"I've had the thought, tried to work it out through anxious pacin'" Your biggest coping mechanism was writing songs. You never knew how to really express your emotions in sentences to someone, so instead, you write them into songs. Your real feelings and emotions laced into words that in the end, formed a song.

"But it's a lot, all the shine of three happy years fadin'" The crowd watched in silence, partly because it was a new song and they did not know the lyrics to sing along, but also because they were mesmerised. Your voice held so much emotion.

Your fans weren't aware that the two of you have broken up, but a few had already pieced it up. "The whole facade, seemed to fall apart, it's complicated." Everyone viewed you and Tom as the power couple, deeply in love with one another with no flaw or doubt in the relationship

While half of it was true, the other half wasn't. The seven year age gap different had been brought up so many times throughout your relationship. You remember the first time the two of you got together, you were 20 and he was 27.

You both received heavy backlash from the internet but the two of you ignored them all. They weren't the ones in the relationship, they weren't the ones to make the call about whether or not you should be together.

"And part of me wants to walk away 'till you really listen, I hate to look at your face and know that we're feelin' different," As the three years went by, uou hoped you weren't the only one in the relationship that doubted a few things. You didn’t want to admit that other people's comments were getting to you. As the three years progressed with Tom, you felt as if you were just both in such different phases of life.

You were still so young in your early twenties and fresh in your career while it seemed that Tom was ready to settle down, marry, and start a family. He would always mention starting a family and you would listen, not really knowing what to say to him.

But recently, you came into terms with the truth that both you and Tom don't share the same feelings or goals at the moment. "Cause part of me wants you back, but, I know it won't work like that, huh?" You loved Tom, parts of you still do. He never did anything wrong, he was everything you could have ever wished for. You like to think of him as the right person, wrong time.

But nothing was going to change the fact that you two were just in different stages of life. Nothing will change the seven year age gap between the two of you. "I know we cut all the ties, but you're never really leavin'"

Tom hasn't left your mind. It would've been easier if he did. But he just couldn't. "And part of me wants you back, but, I know it won't work like that, huh?" Your voice slightly cracks, a single tear drop runs down your face. Eyes closed, you let it. The dewy stream your tear left—accentuated with the bright lights focused on you—did not go unnoticed.

[planetpedri]

I saw your requests were open, and was wondering if you could write for Gavi, and a fluff fic where he takes her on a day out and takes her round Seville and shows her places from her childhood? Something like that maybe? Thank you in advance 💘 (sorry it’s long lol)

Fountain wishes — Pablo Gavi.

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’d grown up in Barcelona and had never really left the big city, so when Gavi asked if you want to take a tour of his hometown, you were more than happy to go.

Word count: 592

Disclaimer/s: ngl, i don’t know what coin currency they use in spain and google wasn’t telling me shit so let’s act like they use coins please…………😓

A/N: i hope i followed through w this req to your liking:)

A week ago, Gavi had planned a trip for the both of you. He wanted to show you Seville and you were more than happy to go. Growing up in one of the biggest cities in the country, your parents never cared to travel outside of it. So this was new for you.

Walking down the brick path, Gavi points out a small convenience store, a small laugh escaping his lips. “Aurora left me there on accident when I was ten, she thought I was behind her but I was still looking in the candy isle.”

A small memory, most would forget. He didn’t though, you noticed Gavi was like that. He remembered the little things, even with you. It was part of the reason you fell in love with him.

You continue your walk, he shows you small little things that held a memory or two. You listened intently, loving to learn about his past as he’d done for you when you showed him around your old neighborhood at the beginning of your relationship.

“And here’s where I had my first kiss.” You were outside the middle school he’d attended. His face pulls into a grimace, making laughter bubble in your throat.

“And here I was, thinking I was special.” He gives you a ‘really’ look, only making you grow more amused. “Who was it with?”

Gavi feigns a shudder, “her name was Maria. It was a dare for her, totally humbled me.”

Moving on, he brings you to the other side of the school, showing you the recess area. He points to the long grass field. “Here’s where I spent most of my time during recess.”

“Shocker.” You tease. “Who would’ve thought.”

He’d originally meant to show you more around the city, maybe a few tourist sites, but you’d insisted he showed more intimate places. You wanted to know more about his childhood than the tourist attractions.

He loved that about you. How much you really cared for everything about him. He happily agreed, sticking to the areas that had meant more to him than some might imagine.

By the time night fell, and you were walking home, you were sure the soles of your shoes were falling off. You never complained though, simply listening to what he had to say and show.

A loud gasp escapes the boys lips as he points to something in the distance. A water fountain, the cracks in the concrete hidden by the darkness, only illuminating by the shimmering blue surrounding it.

“Aurora pushed me in that once.” He chuckles, pulling you closer with your hand as he walks toward it.

You grin, “she really loved to torment you, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” he nods, “she was just evil.”

You two sit down on the dry edge of the fountain, examining the hundreds of decaying coins at the bottom. You have an idea, opening your purse and fishing around in the darkness for a moment before pulling out two coins.

Placing one in Gavi’s hand, you smile. “Do you believe in wishes?”

“I suppose so.” He shrugs, eyes flickering from your face to the coin.

“So make one, i’ll go first.” You close your eyes, saying your wish in your head before flicking the coin into the water, you only open them after you hear the plunk of Gavi’s in the water as well.

He looks at you, love in his eyes, and asks, “what’d you wish for?”

You. Forever.

“If I told you then it wouldn’t come true.” You giggle, zipping up your purse.

DTS , @halfwayhearted <3

[kingkat12]

seven minutes in heaven (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: foul language, alcohol, book-accurate Roman lol, (and he is such a brat???)

summary: you really, really hate Roman Godfrey. but what you hate most, is that he doesn't notice you at all.

word count: 4,502

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10

I didn't like Roman Godfrey— not one bit. 

Everything about that spoiled brat was infuriating. All from the way he walked around as though he owned the town, to the way that he'd get a kick out of throwing tater tots at people. Fucking child. The amount of times I'd sat at the bleachers and watched him throw it at the cheerleaders, specifically aiming right down their shirts, made my blood boil.

Roman Godfrey believed that the world was his, including the people living in it. That's exactly why he dared to take such liberties. 

I specifically hated the way he'd move his hair out of his green, green eyes, the look he'd give me after he tugged my hair in the hallway with a sneer, and his sadistic need to claim his conquests in the absolute weirdest ways known to man. If we are to believe Brooke Bluebell from the cheerleading team, he also had an affinity for poking girls with needles in public just for the sheer thrill of watching them squeal. Because who would tell him off, right? I wondered if he was familiar with the word 'no' at all.

After the needle-rumour spread, I made sure to keep a few meters between us at all times. There was no way in hell that he would get away with doing that to me, anyway. 

And I would've stayed as far away from Roman as possible, had it been up to me. Sadly, my best friend at school was his cousin— just my luck. Letha, like the rest of the girls at school, was quite fond of Roman; since she was the oldest of the two, she somehow couldn't see that he had grown past the age of five, treating him as though he could do no wrong.

And this was why Roman was always invited whenever we would have study sessions at Letha's place. He would splay himself out on the bed, stretching out his long limbs, watching us as we worked and he lazed away. 

God, how I hated him. I hated the way his hair was kissing his forehead when he laid like this in Letha's bed, the way he'd grin whenever he watched me erase a wrong answer, and the way his cologne would linger in my system several hours after he'd left.

Currently, we were supposed to be working on the half-year assignment everyone in our year had to do. Letha was sitting at her desk with her back turned to us as Roman and I sat on the bed, each with our own computer. My meter-rule to protect myself from any incoming needles was impossible to implement on Letha's tiny bed, and I let out a huff as Roman's knee touched mine. I prayed to every God in the universe that he didn't have a needle in his pockets somewhere— I was quite fond of my knees, and would very much like to keep them intact.

"Five hundred bucks," Roman tried, nudging me. "Do this assignment for me and it's yours."

I rolled my eyes, shifting further away from him on the bed. "Do your own shit," 

He proceeded to sneer, watching me with his big, green eyes. "Six hundred,"

"No,"

"Seven?"

"Suck it, Roman," I cracked my knuckles, doing my best to get back into the flow of writing the assignment. It was so damn hard to focus when Roman's incessant sighing continued, almost as though he was being forced to take his own life. 

"Help me, then," he mumbled, moving closer to me. His leg was almost on top of mine, now. "How did you answer question b?" Roman leaned over me, his head now obstructing my view of my screen. In a flash of pure instincts, I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of his hair that was tickling my nose. I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly what it was that smelled so good— him or the shampoo?

I got yanked out of my state when Roman pulled away, typing away on his own laptop, finally inspired. 

I couldn't help but sigh; I hated Roman. And I hated that he didn't notice me in the way I wanted him to. I hated the way he smiled, the way he'd so blatantly flirt with girls at any opportunity he'd get, and how my heart fluttered when he flirted with me once in a blue moon.

It only got worse when we were in chemistry class the next day, and Roman had caught me sitting all alone in the back. I wasn't sure what came over me and why I had allowed him to sit down next to me again— the last time had been an absolute catastrophe where he got the both of us kicked out for bickering too loudly, so I hoped it wouldn't be a repeat-situation. I really needed to make sure I was getting every drop of information out of class today, as we had a test coming up soon.

However, Roman was the absolute biggest distraction on earth. I knew this. He kept leaning over to draw crude drawings in my book, making me have to swat his hand away over and over; "Stop it!"

Roman huffed, leaning back against his chair with a bored expression on his face. "You're no fun," he whispered back. 

And this was when it hit me— maybe I wasn't fun? Did he really think that of me? 

... Maybe it was time to show him how fun I could be?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When Letha mentioned a party happening this weekend and the fact that Roman would be joining, I couldn't help but feel a certain sense of dread— I knew what that would entail for him. He'd either disappear with a girl upstairs and/or get absolutely shitfaced, as always. And was I really going to put myself through seeing him disappear with someone else again just to prove I wasn't boring?

Yes— Yes, I was.

As I sipped my drink, I couldn't help but feel my hatred for Roman simmer and come to a boil— I hated how he had me doing the most ridiculous things known to man just to get a sliver of his attention. Why was a question I couldn't bring myself to answer. 

As I stood in the kitchen with Letha, I spotted Roman passing by the door, laughing with a friend of his. My heart thumped hard as I let out a shaky breath; "Letha, I have to tell you something,"

She turned to me, a beer in her hand. "Don't tell me you've killed someone again? I don't have the energy to drag another body out of my car today,"

"Ha-ha," I mumbled; had this been any other instance, I would've thought it was funny... but not right before I was about to tell her why I had come tonight. I dreaded it; I knew she'd disapprove. But just as I opened my mouth, ready to put my friendship on the line, I caught Roman backtracking and appearing in the door again.

"Girls!" He walked over, looking tipsy as ever. Up close like this, Roman towered over the both of us, and I had to look up an unusual amount to meet his eyes. "I've been looking for you all over! They're playing seven minutes in heaven downstairs, wanna join?"

Had this been any other night, I would've given him an immediate no— but tonight was different. Tonight, I was fun. Shrugging, I glanced over at Letha to check her reaction.

"That's so childish," Letha mumbled, sipping her beer. "I don't know, and I'm sure grumpy over here isn't too keen on that either—"

"No, I'm in!" My words came out like a panicked squeal which immediately made my cheeks burn. 

Roman seemed caught off guard by my reaction, but he eventually reached out to pat my shoulder, looking smug as ever. "There you go," he cooed, clearly teasing me. "Maybe you'll finally get laid or something!"

I was abruptly reminded of why I hated him so much in the first place. Swatting his hand off of me, I brushed my fingers over my shoulder where he had touched me, feeling a lingering burn. "If you think seven minutes is enough for everything that goes into sex, I think you need to lower that ego of yours,"

Letha bit back a smirk as Roman's lips parted in shock. Maybe the spoiled rich kid hadn't gotten a reality-check from his long list of women before? He eventually recovered from the diss, rolling his eyes; "Well, seven minutes with me can be more than enough. Need me to show you?"

Letha let out a loud snort, shuddering; "Ew, Roman! I've told you not to talk to my friends like that!"

As they turned to each other, bickering like siblings, I gripped the counter behind me with all my strength. I was almost compelled to agree, to say yes to letting him have a go, and I had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself. After a few drinks, I knew I could get a little loose-lipped.

It didn't take long before we all made it downstairs, everyone spreading out on the couches and chairs scattered in the basement. Letha and I sat down on a few pillows on the floor, far away from Roman and his rumoured needles. 

I felt my throat go dry every time the bottle spun around, landing on random people from school who later went into the empty closet nearby. But my attention was elsewhere; I watched as Roman put his arm around the girl next to him, whispering something into her ear which made her laugh. It made me want to slam my head into the wall behind me— I would rather pass out and bleed out than witness him picking up another girl again. 

I swallowed hard as the people in the closet came back out and the bottle got spun again. The first person was picked; a girl with long, brown hair whom I remembered from history class; huge bitch. Holding my breath, I watched as the bottle got spun again— it eventually slowed down and pointed to Roman, which made the girl's friend group cheer as though they had won a million dollars. It felt like my heart was getting ripped out of my chest as Roman got up from the couch, grinning from ear to ear. The girl he had just had his arm around wasn't as happy, to say the least.

This whole display was making me sick. I bit the inside of my cheek as Roman closed the door to the closet and the previous drinks in my system threatened to come up. Everything about this was making me sick. I got up, taking hurried steps to the nearest bathroom, planting myself on my knees in front of the toilet just in case.

I heard a few knocks on the door before Letha stepped in, looking worried. "I told you not to drink that vodka crap," she mumbled, locking the door before she sat down next to me on the floor.

I felt my tears press on as I grew further nauseous. "Don't mind me," I breathed. "I just need a minute." 

This only solidified my absolute and utter hate for Roman. Spoiled fucking brat— why did he have to make me feel this way? Why was my jealousy making me so sick and bitter?

Letha put her hand on my back in an attempt to soothe me; "Maybe I should drive you home?"

"No!" I said, fighting my gag reflex. "I need— I need to get out there again."

This only made Letha sigh, her hand now reaching for my hair to be ready. "You have a crush out there or something...? You know that you don't need this stupid game to get whichever guy you want, right?" 

I did my best to get up from the floor without immediately falling back down. Of course she didn't understand. 

"Seriously, hold on—" Letha grabbed my hand, holding me back from leaving the bathroom. Her eyes were just as green as Roman's, and up close like this, I could see all their similarities; the upward curve of their nose, the same full lips, and the exact same way of weaving their brows together in worry. "You don't need to do anything just because you want to prove Roman wrong," she said, squeezing my hand. "I know you came down here to make a point, but... do what's best for you, okay?"

"Okay," I mumbled, tugging at her hand. The seven minutes were almost up, and I wanted to see the look on that girl's face after she left the closet with Roman. I wanted to see the look of bliss in her eyes, the hint of red in her cheeks, and watch her inhale with soft, sharp breaths just like the rest of his girls always did. The best part of watching this, was imagining that the girl was me instead— that I was the one feeling euphoric, and not her. And on the other hand, the masochistic part of me wanted to feel my heart burn with jealousy and my chest tighten with the ache I had gotten so familiar with. "Let's go. Please."

My nausea dulled down as I sat back down on the floor, realizing Roman was back. Maybe it was good that I missed the moment they came out— maybe it was good for me to spare my psyche, just this once? As my eyes met Roman's across the room, I couldn't help but notice the dark satisfaction on display across his lips. It was almost as though he knew— or maybe it was the fact that I probably looked a little sick? Did he like the look of pain in my eyes? I was reminded of Brooke Bluebell and her needle story... how he liked imposing pain on girls he found to be vulnerable. The fucking needle thing would haunt me forever.

I barely noticed that the bottle had been spun again, and I was yanked out of my mind-storm when Letha nudged me. "You don't have to," she tried, nodding towards the bottle that was now pointing at me.

My eyes immediately moved from the bottle and straight to Roman, who seemed to grow further amused. There was no way in hell I would back down now— maybe this would change his outlook on me? I had to prove I was fun, after all. Shrugging, acting as though it was no big deal, I reached for the bottle, spinning it.

I couldn't help but ponder if someone up there in the sky was playing games with me when the bottle pointed at the one person I had hoped it would be.

The girl Roman had just been with protested; "What? That's against the rules! He can't go in two times in a row!—"

"Sure can," Roman shot in, watching my every movement like a hawk— something told me he was a little excited about this as well. He got up from the couch once more, walking up to me with confident strides, reaching out for my hand. 

As I looked up at him, breath short and choppy, I couldn't pry my eyes away from his. I had always imagined what it would be like to look up at Roman from this angle, to see the sheer look of satisfaction on his face as I— Oh no, my mind was wandering again, wasn't it? I did my best not to shiver as I accepted his hand, feeling our fingers intertwine as he smoothly got me up from the floor.

I didn't even dare to look at Letha in this moment, knowing how she probably felt about it, but I really didn't have time to dwell on it— and it didn't take long before Roman closed the closet door behind us, pulling me back into the moment.

We were quiet for a few seconds, the sounds of our breathing filling the closet— I didn't know what to say or do. The beating of my heart was so loud that I could barely hear my own thoughts, and the light in the small room was dim and warm, making it a rather disorienting experience. It didn't take long before I felt my back hit the wall, letting out a little wince; the alcohol was definitely doing wonders for my balance. 

Roman snorted at the sight, emitting a soft laugh; "Careful, there," 

I let out the breath I had been holding, happy that he had been the first one to say something. "It's the vodka," I mumbled, rubbing the part of my head that had hit the wall. 

Roman hummed; "Typical,"

"What is?"

"That you can't handle your drinks,"

I wanted to smack him— that was allowed in seven minutes of heaven, right? "So what if I can't? It's not a big deal,"

"Sure," Roman said, nodding to himself. "You just need to be broken in or something." 

I wasn't the biggest fan of his choice of words— I was also not a fan of the thought of Roman breaking me more than he had already done, all whilst being completely unaware of it. Choosing not to comment on it further, I switched the subject; "So when was the last time you didn't do anything with a girl in this game?"

He needed a few seconds to scour his brain; "Never, I think,"

Typical. "Even back in middle school?"

"... Definitely,"

I held back a rather large groan— I should've predicted this. 

Roman caught onto my eventual silence; "And I reckon this is your first time playing?"

"... Yeah,"

"Okay, I see," Roman ran his fingers through his hair, the usual smirk returning. "You know what usually happens in here, or...?"

I rolled my eyes; "I'm not an idiot,"

"I know," Roman's voice got lower, breathier, as he took a step closer. There wasn't much room for more steps, actually— it was getting rather cramped up at this point. "But if there's anything you've always wanted to try out and haven't dared to, now's the time."

My breath hitched as I hoped the thumping of my heart wasn't loud enough for him to hear. There were many things I wanted to try out, sure, but not here.

It was almost as though Roman could sense how nervous I was; he bent down a little, getting on my level before he whispered; "I won't tell Letha,"

... Oh? Feeling his hot breath against my skin, how dangerously close he was, was almost too much for me. The way he said it made me even more conscious of what was happening; I hadn't even told Letha how crazy I was about Roman yet, and I knew she'd be against it.

However, I was being served my biggest dream on a silver platter. Maybe if I got this bit over with, my feelings would subside and go back to being purely hateful again? 

"Okay..." I mustered up the courage, letting out a shaky breath before I opened my mouth to speak; "Could you maybe... kiss me, then?" My words came out barely louder than a whisper. "I've just had a really shitty night."

Roman's expression remained unchanged. "I'm sorry to hear that,"

"... No, you're not,"

"Okay, you might be right," He let out a soft laugh against my lips, and my eyes quickly darted down to his hands to check if he was holding a needle or not. One could never be sure... and this was how I knew my anxiety was through the roof.

"So... you want a kiss? That's all?" Roman asked, looking rather pleased with himself and the situation.

This was too nerve-wracking. I kept imagining that he would switch up and tell me no, that he would reject me somehow and make me the only girl at school he didn't want to do anything with— that would definitely make me hate him even more. In a flash moment of weakness (which I later blamed the alcohol for), I sighed; "Just... could you? Or am I asking for too much?"

Something about Roman's expression changed— he seemed to realize what I was actually asking for before I fully understood it myself. Not to make out, not to drown in one another, but the simplest of all things romance; affection. Something gentle, something sweet, just to check if he had a sliver of anything resembling that in his system. 

"You like me, don't you?" Roman whispered, nudging his nose against mine, eyes rounding out as he heard my breath hitch at the simple gesture. "This is what all of this has been about?"

Doing my best to still my breathing and not faint, I closed my eyes, revelling in the feeling. It was the smallest thing, yet it was a comfort in the midst of the conversation. "All of what?"

"Your anger," Roman let out a sigh, connecting our foreheads, closing his eyes as well. "You can't stand that you like me, can you?"

For some reason, I felt the urge to cry— I spent a few seconds pressing down the stream of tears that threatened to surface. Having someone say it out loud felt like a desperately needed release. "It's been a nightmare,"

Roman stilled, eventually letting out a hum which sent a shiver down my spine. "You know nothing about nightmares," he breathed against my lips. "If I tell Letha we fucked in here, you'll be living through your worst one."

For fuck's sake. I mumbled a curse as Roman laughed, clearly amused by the terrified look on my face. "No, I wouldn't do that," he teased, pulling away just a bit. "I'm not that bad, you know that, right?"

I huffed, not meeting his gaze anymore. Confessing to liking him had given him all the power over me in the world. "I don't know... You tend to be quite horrible,"

"And what horrible things do I do, may I ask?"

Oh, I was ready for this question— I had been ready for a while. "First of all, the fucking tater tots," I grumbled, meeting his amused eyes. "The fact that you pull my hair like you're five years old, you've drawn about a hundred dicks in my chemistry book, and the whole needle thing!"

"Needle thing?" Roman furrowed his brows— damn, he and Letha really had the same face, didn't they? 

"Yeah, the needle thing! Brooke told us!" Something about the confusion on his face felt rather satisfactory; your turn. "You pricked her and her friend Rachel and just... laughed, or something!"

Remembering the incident, Roman burst out laughing. "Oh, that!" he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, that was fun, I can't lie. So, okay, maybe I'm a bit bad, but... you still like me." His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and I knew it could lead to no good. "You still want to kiss me, so you can't be too scared? Or maybe..." Roman's hand travelled up to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear as he smirked. "Maybe you're just a massive masochist?"

"What? No!" My protests were quick and loud— I wondered what the people outside this closet thought we were doing. "Roman, just... Ugh, fuck this, I'm leaving."

As I reached for the door, Roman grabbed my hand with force I hadn't expected of him, pinning it above my head against the wall. Like this, he was even closer to me than he had been just under a minute ago, and my eyes went wide with the realization that I could physically feel his bottom lip against mine, not yet coming together in the kiss I so desperately craved.

"I'm not going to make this easy for you," he whispered, words slow and low. Something about this whole situation was so intense, I nearly gave in to a shiver. "Whatever this will be, you and I... won't be easy."

"There is no you and I," I mumbled, feeling my heart beat up against his chest. "We do this once, and then we forget it." Please.

Roman hummed, a cocky grin spreading across his plush, pink lips. "You think you'll be able to? I have a feeling you've wanted me for a while,"

Fuck's sake. I hated him even more when he was right. My gaze hardened as it met his, and I wondered how much time we had left. No matter how mad I was at him, I still wanted to kiss him, just once. This might be the only chance I'd ever get, and I was going to take it. 

"Okay, then," Roman accepted my silence as an answer. Nudging my nose with his, he finally pressed his lips against mine with a softness I didn't know he had in him. 

This was not what I had expected. Something about this kiss was shaking up my whole view of the world, along with my view of Roman. The most obnoxious guy with an unmatched arrogance could... kiss like this? Like he actually had a soul? 

His lips moved against mine as though I was made of glass, and I felt his fingers intertwine with mine in the hand he was holding above my head. It sent shivers down my spine as my mind went haywire, wondering why he was being so careful with me. I brought my free hand up to cup his face, feeling how soft he was against my palm. I had expected him to be rough, aggressive... so what on earth was this?

Roman's arm snaked around my waist as he pulled me closer, and I let out a shaky breath against his lips— heat swirled in the pit of my stomach, feeling as though I was burning up from inside. 

But just as it started to get heated, two knocks were heard at the door; Roman pulled away, a victorious smirk in place as though he had successfully proved his point. "Thirty seconds left," he said. "Now, convince me why I shouldn't tell Letha."

What? Still trying to catch my breath, I felt myself freeze up. How was I supposed to think clearly when I was in this state? Roman's hand slid out of mine, waiting for my answer; "So?"

"Just don't," I breathed, putting a hand on my chest to feel my heart— did all of this just happen? "Don't tell her."

"That's not good enough," His green eyes were drilling into mine, and it was clear that he wished to corner me. Sadist.

"I'll do your stupid assignment,"

"Nope,"

"I'll... fuck, Roman, I don't know!" 

Roman snickered at my panic, fixing his hair, checking his clock; ten seconds left. "Fine, I'll be nice," he said, reaching out to swipe his thumb along the edge of my lip, wiping away some lipstick. "But you owe me."

Owe him? I wasn't the biggest fan of making a deal with the devil reincarnate in front of me. However, did I have any other choice? I let out a sigh of defeat; "... Fine,"

And this was when it truly hit me; I hated Roman Godfrey with all my heart— I hated the fact that he could make my heart flutter with the smallest gesture, that he could practically walk all over me with no remorse, and that he always looked so fucking good. 

However, at the end of the day, what I hated most... was how much I wanted him.

(a/n: click to read PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10 here!! thank you for reading!<333)

[dollfacefantasy]

Meant to be Broken ♡

pairing: corrupt cop!naoya zenin x fem!reader

summary: on your way home from work, you accidentally hit naoya zenin with your car. you believe you're in huge trouble when you find out he's a police officer. luckily (or unluckily) for you, he has a few ways you can make it up to him in mind.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dub-con, p in v, oral sex (m receiving), degradation, car sex, misogyny (it's naoya lol)

word count: 3k

a/n + tags: comm for the bestie @nexysworld @gor3-hound picture of naoya by @/sso_s__ on twt

Your fingers thrum against the steering wheel as your car glides along the road. You match the beat of the music playing in the background. It's a good distraction for you. It was a nice enough day out, but your mind wasn't as sunny and serene.

You'd had a shitty day at work. You woke up late and got shit from your boss for it. Your computer wouldn't log in, so you had to work at the outdated one towards the back of the office under a drafty vent. On top of that, you had a killer headache. You really just wanted to get home.

The sun was setting over the horizon in the distance, the sky a pretty hue of pink. You take it in while making the turn into your neighborhood. Only a few hundred yards till you could pull into your garage and walk into the comfort of your home. You just have to get down one more street.

You're making the final turn on your route. You can nearly feel the soft fabric of your sweatpants and oversized t-shirt when there's a blur in front of your windshield and a sound thud against the hood of your car. You slam on the brakes as fast as humanly possible, jerking yourself hard against the seat. Whipping the car into park, you sit there for a moment. There was no fucking way you just hit someone. If asked, you would swear on everything that no one had been crossing.

After a couple moments, you unbuckle your seatbelt and get out. Your movements are a little slow, simply for the fact that you're still questioning if this is some kind of joke.

You round the front of your car and gasp at the sight before you. You'd actually hit someone. A man lies crumpled up near the bumper, writhing in pain.

"Oh- Oh my God. Are you ok?" you ask him. You rush over and crouch behind him.

He turns to face you, and your heart drops. His face is stained with scarlet, blood oozing from a cut on his forehead. He's got a nasty scowl aimed at you too.

"What do you think?" he snaps. You're pretty sure you hear him grumble something about how of course it was a woman that hit him, but you can't be sure. Your pulse is pounding in your ears too loud to focus on mumbling.

"Jesus, I'm so so sorry," you say.

"Instead of wasting your time with apologies, you could try helping me up," he says.

"You're right. My bad. Here," you say, offering your hand. He takes it but doesn't stop glowering at you for a second.

You help him to his feet again. Once he's stable, he lets go of your palm and wipes it on his pants. A bit rude, but you supposed you deserved it.

"Are you hurt? Could I take you to a hospital or anything?" you ask. 

You try to sound as sweet as possible. He could be as pissy as he wanted, you were just praying to any higher power you could think of that he wouldn't sue you.

He simply rolls his eyes at your question. Your cheeks burn, and you awkwardly avert your eyes. You notice he'd dropped his wallet on the asphalt, so you reach down to retrieve it for him. Once you pick it up, your blood runs cold. Inside the wallet is a shiny silver star. A police badge.

Panic runs through you. The last thing you needed was a ticket, let alone a criminal charge. Your eyes dart up to him. He's wearing the smuggest grin you'd ever seen.

"Officer. Sir, I am so so sorry. Again, please let me know if there's anything I can do to help you. It was my stupid mistake. I swear, I'm normally a super safe driver," you say.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "It's cute how you little girls try to get out of trouble once you see how helpless you really are," he taunts.

You're speechless. If he was going to be like this, you were truly fucked.

"Don't tell me that's all you have for an apology. I've heard better from a mute," he says.

"I really didn't mean to hit you. Please, I'm just having a really bad day," you start timidly, but he cuts you off.

"Stand up. You look like a bitch begging for scraps down on your knees like that," he says, flicking two fingers to beckon you up.

You rise quickly at the command. You hated obeying a total asshole like him, but he held so much in his hands right now. There was nothing to do but follow along.

"There we go," he says and brings his hand to your face. It runs down your jawline to your chin. He tilts your face around, getting a look at you from all angles. "You're cute. No wonder you hit me."

Confusion flickers through your eyes. "What's that mean?" you ask as non-confrontational as you can manage.

"Well you know what they say: a pretty face or a brain, women don't get both," he mocks.

Now it's your turn to scowl. You can't even help it. The expression shows itself before you have the chance to hide it. Your previous mindset shatters in a matter of seconds.

"I didn't hit you cause I'm a woman. I hit you cause you darted into the street," you say.

His eyes brows raise with amusement, and the urge to bicker with him dwindles inside you.

"Really?" he asks, "Are you high then? Drunk maybe? Those are the only other reasons why you'd make such an egregious error."

Internally your blood pressure rises, but externally you keep it cool. "I promise it's neither. It was an accident. I just didn't see you," you explain.

"An accident? I don't know if I believe that," he tuts, "Before you said mistake. That could imply some intention."

"Accident and mistake mean the same thing," you dispute with a little desperation.

"I don't know... changing your story, cause to suspect intoxication, arguing with an officer. Things aren't looking good for you. I have reason to write you up at the very least," he chides.

"Please don't," you practically beg, "I'm sorry for arguing, but I swear on everything that I'm not on anything and it was absolutely not my intention to hit you with my car. Please there has to be something I can do."

That grin from earlier spreads across his face again. "I suppose there's a few things you could do. Don't think we should talk about them in the middle of the street though."

"Oh um, did you want me to pull my car to the side of the road?" you ask.

"Sounds like a good start, don't you think?" he asks.

You nod and quickly turn around to hop back in the car. Alone in the interior, you let out a shaky breath. You had a feeling as to what was coming. It wasn't ideal, but you guessed it was better than hundreds of dollars for a ticket or thousands on bail. Maybe he didn't get laid often with an attitude like that, and you could make him cum quick.

You drive a little way down the street before putting the car in park again. It crossed your mind to speed off and drive away, but you'd bet your life he had your license plate by now. You let out a final deep sigh before the backdoor opens, and he slides into the car.

"Get in the back with me," he says.

You obey again, opening your door and transferring to the rear seats of your vehicle. You look over at him with a mix of apprehension and annoyance. It entertains him all the more.

"You look like you know what I want," he says.

"I have a pretty good guess," you say, your voice quiet compared to his.

He leans in closer to you, nuzzling the side of your head and taking in your scent.

"You get yourself in this kind of situation often?" he asks before nipping at your earlobe sharply.

You wince and pull away slightly. His hand comes up and keeps your head close before you can move too far away though.

"No," you scoff.

"Good," he chuckles.

Despite his pretty face, everything about this moment is absolutely vile. He teases your ear and down your neck with a mixture of his lips and teeth. Simultaneously, his hands slide up your body to fondle your breasts. He gropes the mounds haphazardly, digging his fingers into them a bit too hard.

"You got nice tits, I'll give you that. Think I should've frisked you first," he whispers, "Maybe taken you back to the station for a strip search. Though then some of the other guys would've wanted a turn, and I don't like sharing my toys."

You scowl and look in the other direction. He was repulsive, but at the same time, some heat was beginning to pool in your belly from the combined touches of his mouth and hands. Though just as you're coming to enjoy the sensations, he takes them away. He pulls back from you, his hand going to the hardening bulge in his pants instead.

"I wanna try out that cute mouth first. I know there's a better use for it than talking," he says.

He's quick to undo his fly and whip his cock out. He gives it a few lazy strokes. It's pretty like everything else on him, the head already starting to glisten with pearly white precum.

He smirks at you taking in the sight. "What're you waiting for? I don't have all night."

Reluctantly, you get on your knees on the bench and lean forward. Your fingers wrap around the lower half while your mouth engulfs the top portion. The salty liquid spreads over your tongue, and your eyes flutter shut.

You hear him grunt from above you. One of his hands comes to rest on the back of your head and pushes you down a little more. You suck him deeper, laving your tongue against the underside of his cock.

"There you go. Take it," he moans quietly.

You tune him out and begin to bob your head. Soft slurping noises come from your mouth. Your hand lazily strokes the base. He was long enough to give you a little challenge but not thick enough to present a real struggle. You pick up a little speed, still wanting this to be over as quickly as possible.

He hums with satisfaction and relaxes against the smooth leather seats. His head tilts back and a low, whiny purr leaves his lips. You give his dick a gentle squeeze and suckle on the tip, letting some of your drool dribble down to his balls.

His hips buck up at the onslaught of sensations, and you gag a little. The noise isn't too loud, but he hears it. His eyes glow with desire at the thought of making you do it again.

His hands find their place on either side of your head. He acts as if he's guiding you at first, but he doesn't have the patience to truly ease you into having your face fucked. Before you can really register it, his hips start to thrust upward. His tip rams against the back of your throat, his shaft sliding between your lips over and over.

You give him what he wants and gag again. Spit seeps from between your lips onto his length. Your eyes water as he forces his cock as deep as physically possible.

"Think your throat was made for this. With lips like yours, it has to be," he mutters.

He keeps going, using your mouth as his fleshlight for the next minute or so. Your nose is nestled against his pelvis before he finally yanks your head off and sits you up again.

You're a bit dizzy when you're upright again. It's a relief to get a full breath of oxygen without the obstruction of him in your throat. He laughs quietly at the dazed look on your face, your teary eyes, and your saliva-coated lips.

"You liked that, hm? Think you needed it more than I did," he mocks.

You don't give him any indication either way. You're occupied with your vision coming back into complete focus.

"Now, face down ass up for me," he commands.

You go to move, but then pause and stare at him.

"In the car?" you ask uncertainly.

"Yes, in the car," he says, "It's cute how you ask that as if you have a choice."

"But- but why? I could make you cum if you lemme use my mouth a little more," you offer, but he shoots you down.

"I don't want your mouth. I pulled you off for a reason. I want a taste of that pussy before I cum. If you know how to give a blowjob like that, you must have something worthwhile between your legs," he says.

It's hard to fight off the heat creeping to your cheeks after hearing that. But you still don't move just yet.

"But someone could see... that's more obvious," you try to reason.

"Yeah? And what's anyone gonna do about it besides live with the knowledge that you're a slut?" he asks.

Just like that, you're really reminded of what this situation is. You flip over and pull down the clothing on your lower half to expose your cunt to him.

A whistle comes from behind you. You feel his hand come up to cup one of your ass cheeks. He drags his thumb up and down your folds, feeling the small amount of arousal that had collected there from giving him a blowjob. He dips the digit inside for a moment before pulling it out again. He just wanted to hear the sweet little noise you'd make. He wasn't disappointed by the whine he received.

"Are you on the pill?" he asks.

"Mhm," you hum.

"Clean?"

"Yes," you scoff.

Your attitude amuses him. It doesn't discourage him from rising to his knees behind you in the slightest. He balances himself on the seats before nudging his tip at your entrance and sliding in. The both of you moan and groan at the feeling.

Your nails claw at the seams of your seats as he sinks all the way in. He grabs your hips and makes sure you can't squirm away. He goes in until he bottoms out, completely wrapped in the warm wetness of your tight heat.

He doesn't give you time to adjust before he begins thrusting. He starts rocking right away, chasing his own pleasure like it's running from him. Your cheek rubs against the leather as he bumps you back and forth. You can tell the car is shaking from his movements, you just hope it's not too obvious to anyone who passes by. Though it wouldn't really matter. Even if they didn't see the car's motion, they'd surely spot the silhouette of the man in the backseat.

"Fuck," he whines, "You're tight. Think this might feel better than that mouth of yours."

You simply mewl in response. His cock was sliding deep, reaching all the little spots that didn't get as much attention as they needed. Your breathing turns to panting which only makes Naoya thrust harder.

"There you go, puppy. I knew you'd like it. This is what you're good for," he says as he continues pistoning himself inside you.

You try to hold in your shameful moan, but it slips out anyways. Your toes curl and your eyes flutter shut, rolling back behind the lids. From above, Naoya continues speaking. You're pretty sure he gets off to the sound of his own voice.

"I could've fucked you right in the middle of the street and made you thank me for it," he grunts, "You would've done it too, you little whore. Knew from the moment I saw you that you'd let me do anything I wanted."

You whimper because in a way, that was partially true. You gasp as you start to get closer. He smacks your ass hard while he continues rutting into you.

"Dumb slut. Not so concerned with people seeing now that you're about to cum, huh?" he taunts.

Shaking your head in agreement, you press your cheek further against the seat. You'd have preferred if you could at least maintain the story that he didn't make you cum, but it didn't seem like that was going to be the case. And honestly at this point, you felt too good to care.

He knows that he's getting close too. He can feel how his dick is pulsing with the need to empty his balls, fuck you full of his load.

He goes faster, gripping your hips strong enough to bruise. He's going so fast that it's like a blur. That's what pushes you over the edge. You clamp up on his cock which in turn causes ecstasy to spike through him and drag him to the finish line.

The two of you cum in tandem, you gushing on his cock and him stuffing you with his release. Even with your disdain for him, being fucked full of cum gives you the warm feeling of satisfaction. By the time he's finished, you're practically a puddle in your backseat.

He pulls out quickly, not caring to let you adjust to the emptiness as you would have preferred. He doesn't rub your back after or tell you that you did good. Doesn't let you curl up to his side or stroke your head. He simply pulls his pants up again and wipes the sweat from his brow.

He glances at your fucked out state. It brings him nearly as much satisfaction as his actual orgasm had, seeing how totally ruined you were.

Patting your ass, he scoots to the door and steps out.

"Have a good night, miss. Make sure you watch out for any pedestrians on your way home," he says, imitating a professional tone.

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you to scrape yourself back together.

[sungbeam]

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 — part two

nonidol!ji changmin x f!reader

messing around with demonic rituals isn't exactly how you imagined getting bound to changmin's soul. (note to self: salt circles don't work when you draw the pentagram inside it...)

▷ genre, warnings. f2l, technically a college au, demon au (it's different from night terrors i swear. also it's not as intense lol), comedy, suspense/mystery, swearing (a lot... sorry 😭), drinking, low fantasy/supernatural elements, mentions of chronic illness, mentions of rituals and pentagrams, self induced soulmates? 🤔 but ofc 😂, kissing, mentions of blood, very small amount of violence (like one scene), what is a mfking slow burn like who needs to take their time w falling in love i sure don't 🤷🏻‍♂️, one allusion to death

▷ part word count. 18.5k out of 34.8k / read part one here

a/n: HI IF UR STILL HERE THEN YAY 😭 PLS DONT READ THIS WITHOUT HAVING READ THE FIRST PART. ALSO, ENJOY!

PART IV: THE SPELL

THERE WERE ONLY SO many ways to make a boy squirm. On top of that, there were only so many ways to make a demon boy squirm. Halfling status was of no consequence to certain observations of patterns involving the laws of attraction.

Case in point: Ji Changmin's dilemma.

“You look a little lost, man,” Hyunjae chortled into his friend's ear to bypass the bone-rattling volume of the house music.

Shuhua's friend Yangyang had thrown quite the rager in his shared house with his roommates. There was probably about a hundred people shoved into the first floor of the house, with some littered across the lawn outside and the backyard, too. The five of you had arrived as a unit and donated a few cases of beer to help the hosts out, but proceeded to grab your own drinks, disperse, and mingle.

Changmin coughed as he blinked furiously out of whatever daze he'd been in. His neck and ears had turned a brilliant shade of vermilion, but the dim lighting was his savior tonight. Oh, to have the shadows on one's side. “What?” he stammered.

Hyunjae's smile widened at his flustered reaction. “I'm sure Yn can introduce you to whoever her friend is.”

The roaring in Changmin's ears dulled considerably. “What?” he repeated, but this time, the word had an upward intonation at the end. Now he was confused.

He glanced back to where you were standing further into the living room. Who?

Oh.

Changmin hadn't even noticed you'd been talking to another person. His focus had been… elsewhere. Not that said focus was anywhere inappropriate in the name of Friendship—of course, the burn in his throat was the alcohol and the tightness in his chest was the soul-bond. That was all. He hadn't been considering the dress hugging your figure or the way your smile brightened your face—no, really it was the entire fucking room. He didn't want to linger on the thought of that torturous car ride over either, with his body pressed against your side and your perfume so sweet in his lungs. Was it possible to replace the very air he breathed with it?

Essentially: he was not faring well tonight. What had gotten into him? He'd attended plenty of parties with you before, and he hadn't been this strung up before.

Or maybe he had… he wasn't so sure of a lot of things at this moment. He wasn't supposed to be able to get tipsy on this human alcohol.

Only a week had passed since the soul bond was forged between you and him, too. Though he knew it was supposed to be an emotional and metaphysical link, he was certain it had nothing to do in terms of creating things that were never there in the first place.

Hyunjae grinned at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Come on! We should go introduce ourselves.”

For a moment, Changmin cringed at the thought of him appearing beside you with all the swagger he knew he lacked. He took a deep inhale and glanced back over at you… something in his mind flipped like a switch. “You know what? Sounds like a plan,” he said to Hyunjae, plastering a typical dimpled smile on his face.

The two of them maneuvered their way over to your position. As he gained proximity, the tightening in his chest gradually loosened, a rope slackening. Despite the loosening, it didn't mean the weight had gone away. The weight filled him with something comforting like his heart and lungs weren't alone in his ribcage.

He kept his eyes glued to you as he and Hyunjae neared.

You must have felt his gaze because you turned around to meet his eyes soon enough. There was a dilation in those pretty eyes and a smile that reached them.

“What have you been up to?” Changmin shouted to you over the music as he sidled up beside you. Your shoulders brushed against one another and he fought the urge to pull your form to his.

“Nothing much,” you chirped back, sharing his grin. You gestured to your talking companion. “This is Leona, by the way! She's a friend of Indigo's.”

Changmin finally pulled his eyes away from you. Leona, as you had introduced, was not someone he recognized. He didn't know many of Indigo's friends, but she smiled at him widely. “Nice to meet you!” she said.

“Nice to meet you, too. I'm Changmin,” he nodded back.

“And I'm Hyunjae,” his friend chimed in, raising a hand in greeting. “Did you come with Indigo then?”

Leona nodded her head. “I did! She went to go find Juyeon, so I'm not sure where they are now, but Yn found me wandering and we've been chatting since.” She flicked her attention back over to Changmin, and he cocked his head at the sight of something peculiar. He could have sworn there was a flash of electric blue in her eyes.

“Are you a student here?” he asked. He couldn't have imagined the blue, could he? But if she was a friend of Indigo's, then there was a good chance he hadn't.

“No, I'm from out east by Blue Brook,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm just in town for a couple of days visiting with my, uh, sisters.”

No, Changmin was certain now. Leona was a member of Indigo's coven. Blue Brook was where Indigo was from, and it was well-known amongst the supernatural community in this state as a witch's county. There were probably a dozen or so covens in that one area, but Indigo's was one of the largest. And if Leona was a witch, that meant…

Leona arched her brows at him expectantly. Demon? she mouthed.

Changmin stiffened beside you, and your head whipped over to him when you read her lips, too.

You swiftly turned to Hyunjae. “Hey! I'd love a drink, Jae. Let's go get one!”

Hyunjae's eyes widened as you snatched up his wrist and started hauling him in the direction of the kitchen. “Wha—hello? Bye, I guess?” he laughed in disbelief, sending a wink at Changmin through it.

Changmin pressed his lips together. He knew why you had taken Hyunjae away, but that didn't mean he liked it. Should it not be his wrist you were holding?

“She knows?” Leona's voice tore him out of whatever jealous stupor he was in. That cloud had returned to his head, the tightening to his chest.

He held his hand to his brow. “Yes,” he sighed. “Is there a reason you needed to make it so obvious?”

She shrugged innocently. “He didn't notice.”

“He could've.”

Leona wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, loosen up. I forget that folks outside of heavily concentrated paranormal centers are so uptight about their identities. It's your heritage, for goddess's sake.”

“You mean you forget that you're privileged enough to live in a highly concentrated paranormal area,” he nearly snarled back at her. Adrenaline rushed into his veins with an uncontrollable velocity and bite. He wouldn't have gotten so worked up about this normally, but he already accepted that tonight was likely going to be filled with the irregular. “If you said it even louder than a whisper, that could've put you, me, and her in danger.”

Especially with some lunatic running around targeting demons with energy-draining curses, he couldn't be too safe.

The witch made a face. “I guess I know why Indigo's no fun now, too. No wonder you're friends…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes found someone behind Changmin.

Changmin peered back over his shoulder and locked eyes with a familiar face in the crowd. Indigo's dark eyes widened considerably at the sight of him before she began shoving her way through partygoers to reach him. He raised his arm up like a flag to signal where he floated in the ocean of people.

The crowd quite literally spit the poor thing out and she had to grapple onto his arm. “Where'd she go?” she exhaled out, head on a swivel.

“She's right—” Not here…? The place where Leona had been right beside him was vacated, as if she hadn't been there at all. Why did she run from Indigo?

“Changmin.” There was a desperate strain behind Indigo's voice as she wrestled his collar with her hands and dragged him down to look her right in the eyes to ensure he was listening. “Leona has been releasing empitachynsia synthios in the party. I don't know exactly where, but I found one broken flask of it on the second floor with Juyo.”

Empitachynsia synthios? In the Old Language most covens grew up learning, that term translated directly to ‘acceleration of emotion.’ Based on the vague knowledge Changmin boasted on potions, empitachynsia synthios was a potent liquid that turned into vapor when exposed to oxygen, affecting those who inhaled it by escalating their emotions to alarming proportions.

Changmin's eyes went as big as Indigo's. “She fucking drugged the party with an airborne stimulant?”

“Just the second floor,” Indigo corrected with a grimace, but she released the vice grip on his shirt collar. “I managed to convince Juyeon that it was someone's dropped perfume bottle, but I left him with Lee Minho on the porch to clear his airways.”

Changmin's head swam. Lee Minho—black cat spirit—okay, then Juyeon was fine. He dragged his hands through his hair with a groan. “Hell, if I had known, I wouldn't have turned away from her like that. Sorry, Indigo.”

“No, no, it's my fault for letting her come at all,” she dismissed with an anxious flick of her wrist, then flexed her fingers to crack her knuckles. “She's been acting strangely for the past few days and I should have taken it more seriously, but I thought it was because she needed to relax a bit.”

He exhaled through his nose and braced his hands onto his waist. “Yeah, she's got a loose mouth though, that's for sure.”

“Good goddess, what'd she say?”

“Let's just say that Hyunjae could've found out who I am.”

Indigo's face ashened to a horrified shade. “Shit. I'm so sorry about her. This is turning out to be more and more of a disaster.”

You can say that again, Changmin thought, but he wasn’t about to put the blame on Indigo for something that was her coven sister’s doing. Though, he couldn’t imagine what manner of thought convinced Leona to release such a strong, and potentially dangerous, potion into a house full of young adults. It didn’t matter that some were horny or hammered—all that mattered was that there would be consequences to this, and it wouldn’t even be their faults.

Indigo recruited his help to locate the runaway witch and Changmin was swift to agree. There were only so many places in this house that Leona could have run off to, but the problem was the amount of people here.

As he and Indigo hunted, he couldn’t help but linger upon the effects of empitachynsia synthios that he was aware about—its presence in the air must have been the reason for his own unrestrained thoughts earlier, both in regards to you and Leona. He convinced himself that that was the reason, not the bond or any feelings of his, but the artificial intensification of whatever miniscule feelings that lingered. The potion could not work from nothing—that wasn’t how magic worked—but he could stomach confessing to a little bit of the feelings from earlier.

This, however, should have not been his main concern. If he had even gotten a little bit of the potion in his system, then what about you? Were you feeling alright? Were Hyunjae and Shuhua unaffected? Hyunjae hadn’t acted differently from his usual self; he hadn’t had much to drink either—that applied to you, too.

Changmin could only come to a shaky conclusion that even if all of you had inhaled a drop of empitachynsia synthios, the dose was not strong enough to have any noticeable effect on your emotions.

It was some divine fortune or providence that, not even ten minutes later, Indigo reported that one of her friends had gotten a hold of Leona in one of the rooms upstairs. With all of the panic that had plagued the two of them, Changmin and Indigo agreed to take their separate ways for the night and to be grateful for a swiftly concluded catastrophe.

The remaining adrenaline left in his system fueled him in his search for you and Hyunjae, wherever the two of you had ended up. The bond had squeezed his chest cavity all throughout the past ten minutes when he was away. His senses led him toward the kitchen, whose crowd was hardly any better than out in the living room. He couldn’t quite differentiate the pounding of blood in his ears from the heavy bass in the house speakers; he could hardly hear himself think. But his eyes found yours and Hyunjae’s forms squished together in one corner of the kitchen, and there was no need for him to think anymore.

Hyunjae noticed Changmin first and tore his attention away from his phone where both you and he had been hunched over watching clips of cats on Instagram. “Hey, done so soon?” he posed the question with a teasing lilt in his voice.

The teasing, though no fault of Hyunjae’s, made Changmin’s eye twitch. Even the suspicion that Changmin was interested in Leona left him with a sour tongue and clenched throat. “Indigo came by,” he said with little inflection to signal the end to that conversation. He inclined his chin to you, who had yet to raise your head. “Oy, Y—”

Your head lolled slightly onto Hyunjae’s conveniently-located shoulder, and the shift in angle revealed to your two friends that you had, in fact, fallen asleep.

Changmin and Hyunjae shared a fond laugh between themselves, glancing at one another in silent agreement. The former quickly pulled out his phone to snap a picture of you unawares, saving it to the group photo album of drunk mishaps.

“How much did she drink?” Changmin lowered his voice, even if the music didn’t give a shit whether you were asleep or not.

Hyunjae screwed up his face into something like unserious exasperation. “I dunno what she was thinking, man. We were talking and she drank waaay too much of the flavored soju. You know how that stuff tastes and goes down like juice.”

Changmin bobbed his hand knowingly. “I think I’m done for the night, to be honest,” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I can take Yn home. Have you seen Shuhua around?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” Hyunjae slipped his phone into his pocket and carefully swapped places with Changmin. “She came by with Yuqi to get refills of some cocktail and said that a few of them were playing Speed downstairs. I’ll probably go join them. Have you seen Juyeon?”

The weight of your head settled comfortably into the crook of Changmin’s shoulder, and he couldn’t help but gently ghost his fingers over your nose to brush the hair out of your eyes. “Huh? Oh yeah, he’s with Indigo and Lee Minho.”

Hyunjae stared between you and Changmin for a pregnant second, but nodded afterward. “Got it. Well, get home safe, man.”

Changmin clasped his free hand with Hyunjae’s. “Same to you.”

When it was only you and Changmin, your living and breathing pillow considered his current position. He did intend on escorting you home—you grew drowsy when you drank a little too much, and as Hyunjae asserted, it was the flavored soju’s fault; but he was loath to wake you from such a peaceful-looking nap. He twisted his head in a way to peer down at your face, your cheek squished against the muscle of his shoulder and your lip gloss leaving a shiny smudge on his shirt sleeve.

He exhaled a careful breath, then gently gave your shoulder a shake. “Rise ‘n’ shine,” he sang. The grin on his face was remarkably large and unsuppressable as you stirred with a small whine.

“There’s a new picture in the drunk folder, isn’t there?” You glowered while lifting your head up and blinking to adjust your vision. You squinted your eyes at him. “You’re not Hyunjae.”

“Is that so disappointing?” He hoped his voice didn’t betray the miniscule shard of bitterness that just pricked his chest. He reached over and helped you with an errant strand of hair; there was no need for him to sulk when he was the one with you now. (Hell, did he think like this all the time or was the potion still in his system?)

You still couldn’t open your eyes much and you yawned. “No, of course not. What time is it?”

“It’s nearly half past midnight.”

“Not bad,” you said. You yawned again, gingerly dabbing at the corners of your eyes when they began to mist. “I think I drank more than I planned to.”

Changmin chuckled, “Yeah, I figured. C’mon—I’ll take you home.”

The pair of you departed out through a side door in the kitchen, a rather convenient exit that helped you evade wading through the living room crowd to get to the front door. The alleyway on the side of the house was illuminated only by a single light above the kitchen door to accompany the trash bins.

You stumbled alongside Changmin with your wits not having returned yet.

His hand bumped against yours. “Can you walk?” he laughed, glancing over at you.

“If I said no, would you carry me?”

Perchance his pulse jumped. “Sure.”

There was nothing, to him in that moment, more lovely than the way you lit up like the fucking sun. Even the shadows in the alley washed away briefly in awe of your elation—an elation he elicited. “Really?”

His cheeks dimpled and a laugh, breathy but giddy, tumbled out of his mouth. “Yeah. Hop on.”

Thus, Changmin found himself strolling along a deserted sidewalk with your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms draped loosely over his shoulders. You had your head tucked into the warmth of his neck as you focused on trying to arrange an Uber to come pick the two of you up at the nearest 7-Eleven; Changmin fought every instinct in him to be still, including his heartbeat. There would be no hiding, even if you were drunk and less observant. Something about your weight on his back eased the ache in his chest at the front.

The night had a bearable chill to it. He rather enjoyed the silence encapsulating you and him, and the shadows clinging to his heels as if they were his guardian. Every so often, he would step into the glow of an amber circle of light and watch your entwined silhouettes cascade across the sidewalk.

“How’s the Uber situation coming along, sweetheart?”

He held his breath until you answered. “Almost,” you murmured in a small voice, focused. The white light of your phone screen streamed up the underside of his jawline from where you held it and also clung to him. “Done!”

He smiled and refrained from turning his head; that would be a dangerous thing to do with your mouth quite literally against his throat. “Good job. When will they be there?”

“I scheduled it for 1:30,” you replied matter-of-factly. You turned your phone off to ease the light shining up into his face, and settled your head against his shoulder in a more comfortable position. “Minnie?”

Ba-bump. “Yeah, Yn.”

“I remember why I drank more than I intended to earlier.” At his quiet prompting, you continued, “Hyunjae was asking about you. It was… he was kind of skirting around it, but he was kind of saying that we’ve been acting weird lately. He mentioned something about you and Leona—I think he saw that she mouthed the word ‘demon’ to you. So I got a little worried and thought if I got a bit tipsy, he’d change the subject.”

Changmin’s steps faltered, but he recovered neatly. A lump seemed to have lodged itself in his throat and it was no longer because he could feel your breath against his pulse. “Is that right,” he muttered, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He had been so careful, too, and all it took was one, little word to shatter his efforts. “Thanks for getting drunk then,” he jested in an effort to lighten his own mood.

“Maybe he doesn’t actually know,” you said to him quietly. “It took you at least two tries to get me to believe you, and Hyunjae’s more of a skeptic than I am.”

But Changmin simply couldn’t be too sure. Of course, what you said held ground, but paranoia was often a pebble in his shoe. “Don’t… don’t worry too much about it, okay? I’ll figure it out as we go.”

“I’m here for you, too.” You lifted one of your hands to give his head a pat. “Well, I’ve always been here for you, but now that I know your secret, you don’t have to hold onto it alone.”

He couldn’t fathom how mere words could warm him from the inside out as if you had taken a handful of whatever sunshine you radiated and placed it in his core. When you had asked him that day why supernaturals were forced to hide their identities from humans, he didn’t linger on the idea of his words sticking with you. He supposed he had underestimated you in that way—you were his friend, and you cared about him as much as he cared about you. Of course you would take those words to heart.

And perhaps that was what eased his anxieties about Hyunjae for the time being. He and Hyunjae were as good of friends as you and him; giving him the benefit of the doubt was what felt right.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

You hummed. “I’ll protect you, Minnie. Hyunjae—well, I guess it should be Leona, huh? Leona can catch my hands.”

Changmin’s joyful laugh echoed against the nearby houses. “Oh, you’re too cute.”

He felt your sigh even more than he heard it. “You’re always laughing at me,” you sulked. “I’m trying to be sincere here. Hey, that rhymed.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He was not super sorry; the grin wouldn't leave his face. “Thank you, Yn. Really.”

By the time you and Changmin raided the 7-Eleven, caught your Uber, and returned to your apartment complex, it was swiftly approaching two in the morning. Your knees no longer wobbled like those of a newborn giraffe, so you walked beside Changmin to your apartment unit. The hallway, alight with its typical blinding fluorescents, was appropriately deserted and effectively made even the smallest of whispers ricochet like the acoustics in an arena.

Changmin had walked this path to your apartment door dozens upon dozens of times before, and though the scenery and the smell hadn’t changed a bit, the feeling that nestled itself into the very fibers of his being had. The ache in his chest, the inconsistent thrumming of his heartbeat, and his headspace had all changed.

Your keys rattled with a tinny sound as you isolated your apartment key from the others. You shoved the carved metal inside the locking mechanism, then sent him a sidelong glance. “Wanna come in for a bit?”

His mouth went dry and it was difficult to pull his lips into the shape of the words that he didn’t want to say. “You should sleep. We should both get some sleep.”

He liked to think he imagined the slow blink of your eyes and the way your eyelashes brushed over the fleeting disappointment in them. “You’re right,” you sighed good-naturedly. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as a thought occurred to you. “I do have to be up in a few hours; I almost forgot.”

“Why’s that?” he chuckled, and the image of your feet propped up on your desk as you finished a last minute reading for one of your classes painted itself in his mind’s eye.

“Ah, uhm, Chan’s driving me up to see my parents and his sister.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you wished you could reel them back into your throat.

Changmin’s expression shuddered as the carefully constructed bubble that had formed around his reality tonight burst. The brightness of the hallway lights were suddenly stifling, and he feared what exactly lurked behind its artifice. It reminded him so starkly of your childhood friend—the cordial and warmth he put on as a show a stark contrast to a foreign murkiness that lurked below the surface of the water. There were only so many ways to make Ji Changmin squirm.

He managed a smile to reassure you. You didn’t have to censor yourself on his account, and he wished to know how you filled your days anyway. “Oh, that’s cool of him. Hope you guys have a nice trip home tomorrow,” he said, then brought his arm around your shoulders to bring you into a partial hug before he could talk himself out of it.

You reciprocated the action, but with both of your arms, slotting your bodies against one another so you were two hearts and one body for a second. “Thanks,” you murmured into his shirt. “And thanks for taking care of me. I should be the one taking care of you.”

Changmin pressed his cheek to the side of your head, his arms locking around your waist. The hidden implications behind your words weren’t lost on him, which was why he had told you that he would be good about the soul-bonding thing; about taking care of himself, so that you weren’t forced to in the name of your own privacy and safety.

He was the hazard out of the two of you, after all.

“You do,” he assured you. “You do take care of me.” By continuing to be normal with him, by continuing to treat him as you had always done, he could rest easy at night knowing that he still had a place in your life despite being who he was.

Love was felt in his chest where you belonged—you had made the bones of his ribcage your home, kept his lungs from collapsing, and rested your head against his heart at night. The bond had inadvertently made him two halves of a whole, and he could no longer bear to be without the other half.

There was too much negative space, you thought, as you laid in bed that night (morning). The ceiling was a rather interesting thing to look at with its imperfect, popcorned edges and the dark masses lying in the bottom of the lights, the dead carcasses of foolish insects who couldn’t help themselves.

In particular, there was a distinct lack of someone else. It was strange how fast another’s presence could grow on you, but how could that be when the two of you had already been friends for a couple years? When had spending time with Changmin become essential to easing an unseen ache in your chest?

When you were in the 7-Eleven earlier tonight, Changmin had filled you in on what had really happened at the house party. The idea of a witch being in your midst, releasing a perfumed potion that could escalate someone’s emotions was a frightening prospect. How many other times had you been in similar situations and none the wiser?

And if that potion had worked its way into your system or Hyunjae’s or Juyeon’s or Shuhua’s, then how did it affect Changmin?

A mental image flashed in your head. The first time one possessed another’s body would almost always feel akin to a dream. You were looking at yourself from an outside perspective at the party, your head tucked toward your chest as you slouched over Hyunjae’s shoulder. The body you were seeing through had laughed with him—subconsciously, you knew, exactly which laugh belonged to whom. But when he had pulled out his phone to snap a picture, that was the moment it came together.

When you woke up on Changmin’s shoulder at the party, you couldn’t be too sure that it was a dream; it had felt too real. Your physical body had yanked your astral form back into its vessel right before your eyes opened.

You lifted your hand up to your face in the dark and graced your fingers over the path Changmin’s had when he brushed the hair out of your sleeping face.

That same hand fell onto your sternum, the hard bone at the very center where you imagined your soul to rest deep within. You wished you could wrap your hand around the line that connected you to him, because then, maybe you could cling to it… and maybe it would make more sense as to how your mind ended up in his body tonight.

PART V: THE DIABOLICAL

TRUTHFULLY, 8AM was too early to be pondering moral dilemmas. Options as to how you would tell Changmin about your out-of-body experience flipped through your mind like a deck of flashcards. You were a hypocrite. You were a massive, clown-faced hypocrite whose thumbs hovered over her keyboard as you debated on how best to start the text message:

Option 1: Heeeey, you know how I gave you shit about possessing my body without permission? Well… we're even now.

Option 2: Guess what lol I might be going insane but I might have had a dream that wasn't a dream about possessing your body.

Or, last and certainly least, option 3: I'm pretty sure I'm interpreting your gestures wrong because I have feelings for you. Also, did I mention that I possessed you during my nap last night?

When you were drunk last night, you couldn't be so certain. (Saying this was if sleeping for less than three hours would've helped clarify your memory any better. Drunkenness and sleep deprivation were more alike as states of brain rot than one might think.) Nonetheless, you determined that you were in the wrong—not because you possessed him; that was an accident. You were in the wrong because you had contemplated murder for Changmin doing the same thing to you.

The question was: how? How were you able to take your soul and jump physical bodies? Changmin said this bond was largely for the benefit of the demon, but he also mentioned that the only reason his experience occurred was because he was exhausted.

If control was the baseline of demonic magic, and Changmin was under the influence of a powerful emotional stimulant, would that justify how you were able to pull it off?

(And if he really was under the influence, did that mean you were getting your hopes up about your feelings being reciprocated? Option 3 was looking less and less attractive.)

You chewed on your bottom lip meditatively as the driver's side door opened to your left.

Chan sighed as he dragged his seatbelt over his chest. “I can't believe I forgot to get gas last night,” he said, cranking the engine. “I could've sworn I did.”

“Maybe you just imagined it,” you teased quietly. When you peered over at him, you couldn't help the frown tugging down at the corners of your lips.

The eye bags and puffiness weren't exactly subtle on him. You could acknowledge that it was rather early for both of you to be up and at 'em, but it was essential to hit the road early since the drive was almost three hours.

Chan gave his head a rough shake in the same manner as a wet dog would. “Guess so,” he said before a yawn cut him off.

“Are you sure you're okay to drive?” You plucked one of the paper cups in the cupholders and handed it to him.

He gratefully accepted the cheap gas station coffee and took slow, measured gulps of the scalding liquid. “I think I should be fine. You should rest; you didn't get a lot of sleep last night, right?”

As he began pulling the car out of the quaint lights of the gas station proper, you adjusted your sitting position. “Chan,” you mused, “you look worse than I do right now. Were you up late last night, too?”

“Maybe a little later than usual… I was just—y’know, preparing some things for today.” He nudged his blinker on and craned his neck to check for oncoming traffic. When it was safe, he pulled out onto the road.

At this point in the morning, there weren't many cars accompanying the two of you on your journey north. The sky was a blanched blue further enfeebled by the pale autumn sunshine. You would instinctively settle in to watch the passing scenery—mountain ranges, pastures, and the like—but you continued to keep one eye on your driver this time around.

“Preparing things,” you repeated softly, turning your phone off having long given up on deciding on a text message to Changmin. “Are you—are you okay? Is everything okay?”

He liked to fuss over you, but you weren't ignorant to his own struggle. Chan was the one who faced adversity, not you—at least, in your mind. Sure, you faced your own troubles, but it hurt you to see him hurt. The two of you hadn't been as close recently, which was no fault of yours or his; people drifted apart sometimes. That was the way of life, but it didn't mean your care for the other waned even the slightest.

Chan physically loosened up his tense muscles. “Yeah, of course. I promise that I'm fine.”

Your eyes shot wide open as they tracked a trickle of something dark and viscous seeping down from his nose and into the cradle of his Cupid's bow. “Oh my god.”

Your friend's eyes flitted off the road for a second. “What?” He brought a hand up to his mouth and pulled it away. “Shit,” he muttered and gritted his teeth. The blood had dribbled into his mouth now to stain the white of his smile a gory crimson.

“I think you need to pull over,” you fretted as you tore through the center console for tissues.

Chan clutched the ball of tissues in one hand and held it up to his nose. “I'm fine, Yn—”

“Pull over. Now.” There was enough force behind your voice to make him twitch, but you suspected that the slight tremor wasn't unnoticeable either. Just how much had he been overexerting himself lately? “I'm driving.”

He didn't have a choice. Defeat clung to the tails of his exhaustion, digging the grooves of his eye bags deeper. Chan didn't argue as he pulled off to the side of the road.

You didn't have to pretend to be even a little angry—you were frustrated, yes, but only because he was clearly not in the state to drive for three hours. It was irresponsible and stupid, you wanted to say to him.

But after swapping seats and glancing over at him in the passenger seat, you opened your mouth with no voice to use. Chan couldn't meet your eyes as he kept the bloody wad of tissue to his nose. You didn't have the heart to reprimand him, and he sure as Hell didn't need that from you.

You reined in your concern and resumed the drive.

Changmin wondered if texting you was too desperate. Before one judged him too harshly, there once was a time when he didn't think about interactions like this as if they were rocket science. There was a time when he could text you with ease and without stress.

That was no longer the case.

“Please tell me you didn't spend the entire morning on your phone. That's a horrible example for the kids, you know.”

Changmin had known Aunt Jenna and her husband Kian were outside the door before they could pull out their house keys. His two cousins, who were reading and napping, respectively, on the rug scrambled to their feet with screeches of welcome to their parents. Changmin pretended their pitch didn't nearly destroy his eardrums. “No,” he protested, “we finished their homework really fast, so we were just chilling.”

“Yeah, eomma. We were just chilling!” parroted the youngest of the two—Dae—as he clung to his father's arm like a jungle gym.

Kian gave a laugh as he waddled into the kitchen with his hands full of groceries and a kid. The second child, Julia, wrapped around her limbs around his ankle; hence the waddling.

“Just chilling,” Jenna deadpanned, unimpressed. She swiped the bags from Kian and set them on the kitchen counter, peering over at her nephew. “Well, were they good?”

Changmin dimpled, nodding. “Yup. I think they deserve ice cream.”

“Oppa gave permission!” Julia hooted.

“I've got it,” Kian mused, squeezing past his wife in the narrow kitchen space. “Kids, go grab your jackets and we'll go down to the store.” He glanced between Jenna and Changmin. “We'll give you two some space.”

As soon as the front door slammed shut and the sounds of eager children disappeared down the hall, Jenna joined Changmin in the living room. Today was the day Changmin promised his aunt he would watch her kids. Rather than being out the entire day, Jenna and Kian promised to be back once they'd completed their long list of errands. Changmin didn't mind watching his cousins for the past few hours; they were, over all, decently well-behaved. (Plus, it was easy to bribe them with the promise of ice cream for good behavior.)

Jenna hiked up one leg beneath her as she claimed the opposite end of the couch from him. “How are you? Has it fully faded?”

Ah, there was no beating around the bush then. He sucked in a breath, but nodded. “I'm pretty sure, yeah. I haven't felt anything for at least a week.” It was strange to go from a period of sporadic headaches to none at all. It was like waiting for a dormant volcano to suddenly awaken; would the curse strike again and how soon?

How did he even come to be cursed? Now that was the question of the hour.

“Good, good. I don't… I can't sense it from you anymore,” she said, nibbling on her fingernail. “You had me worried there, Changmin-ah. How's your friend? Her name's Yn, right?”

A smile crawled onto his face. “You and Mom are always so bad with names.”

“I got it right, though,” she pointed out, but didn't deny his accusation.

“Yeah, she's doing alright.” He licked his lips and became contemplative. At least, he was pretty sure you were doing alright. The memories of last night came rushing back at him in a dizzying whirlwind of laughter, thrills, and warmth; the undeniable wholeness in his chest, your lips at his pulse. He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “I'm trying to focus my efforts on the curse situation now though,” he said after clearing his throat. “I think that should take priority.”

Jenna gave a grave nod. “I'm inclined to agree.”

“Right. I reached out to that one guy you told me about.”

“Oh, the prince? Did he answer?”

Changmin hummed an affirmative. “You said he's a… demon prince. What circle is he from and how the Hell was he let out?”

Out of all the years Changmin knew his Aunt Jenna, it never ceased to amaze him that she was friends with a duchess of Hell. She was more of a social butterfly than his mother, but the extrovert quality didn't necessarily grant one the keys to class mobility and intermingling. Demon pride ran as dense as concrete most of the time, so it was a wonder that Jenna kept in touch with her highborn friend even after moving to the human world.

Jenna squinted one eye. “Ah,” she drawled, “pretty sure he's only second prince. His older brother's inheriting the throne to the third circle.”

Damn. A prince to the third circle, huh? Changmin chewed his bottom lip and his knee began bouncing up and down fervently. He was aware that there were plenty of the supernatural among him on campus, but he didn't go out of his way to interact with them. There had been a party here and there, but he couldn't get away with too much since his closest friends were all human.

“Well,” he continued from earlier, “he replied to my text and agreed to meet with me.” The task had been surprisingly easy. He imagined demon princes, or demon mobility in general, to be unbearably arrogant with each boasting an ego the size of the moon; however, this prince didn't treat Changmin any differently than if he were a classmate with a mutual friend. It was… nerve-racking.

“That's great! The hard part is over.”

Changmin made a face. “I really don't think that was the hard part.”

She flicked her wrist flippantly. “Nonsense. He'll be just as anxious to uncover the culprit as you are.” Jenna cocked her head to the side in thought. “And, well, who knows? Maybe he knows how to break a soul-bond.”

Changmin cradled his hopes for this interaction close to his chest as the day went on. He was supposed to meet this guy in the early afternoon at one of the music studios by campus—apparently, he practically lived there. Word through the hellfire was essentially that this prince was barely seen at his apartment, in class, or outside for that matter.

Suffice to say that Changmin hadn't a fucking clue what he was walking into.

He chained up his bicycle just outside the studio building with his phone's GPS open in one hand and the other absentmindedly rubbing at his chest. (It had been tight all day; you must really be at home, hours away from where he was.)

He glanced up at the unassuming brownstone facade towering above him. This was supposedly the place. The numbers 1117 were tacked onto the side for the building's street address, and Changmin triple checked that it coincided with the address sent to him.

When he was satisfied, he strode over to the front door and let himself in.

The interior of the building was a labyrinth of its own with white plaster walls that looked the same down every corridor. The building designer had left a small mercy, however, in the form of a large directory in the lobby with arrows directing the weary wanderer down a certain path depending on their desired studio number.

Changmin located the number and followed the signs. Before long, he stood before a sleek, black door with A8 emblazoned on its surface. He inhaled deeply, then knocked.

A long moment passed.

Changmin drummed his fingers against the seam of his pants and glanced up and down the empty hallway. Did he get the wrong room?

As if the demon prince could hear his thoughts (Changmin wouldn't be surprised if he could), the door opened. A light brunet poked his head out into the hallway, his eyes large like a doe's and paired with a rather warm smile. “Ji Changmin, I presume?”

Changmin cleared his throat, awkwardly bending himself at the waist in a hasty bow. “Yep, that's me.”

“Not here, not here,” Prince Kim Hongjoong of the Third Circle hushed with a grimace. He flicked his hand in the air, widening the opening to flag him inside. “You really don't need to bow to me, man.”

Oh. There wasn't anything Changmin could think to say except to mutter out an apology under his breath. He ducked into the dimly lit studio, and Hongjoong shut the door behind him. The studio itself was larger than Changmin expected with a small couch shoved into a corner, an expansive mixing desk with a couple monitors, a mini fridge tucked beneath, and a recording booth that spanned the entire back half of the room.

A demon's vision, even a halfling's, didn't worsen or get better with more light, but Hongjoong still turned it up. “Sit, sit,” Hongjoong insisted, gesturing to the couch in the corner. He took his own perch upon the office chair by the mixing desk.

Changmin stiffly lowered himself onto the edge of the couch and placed his bag by his feet. He placed his hands on either of his knees. “Ah, thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” he said.

Hongjoong nodded. “Sure!” That smile was both beautiful and sharp; Changmin couldn't put his finger on it, but it was the epitome of demonic royalty. Hongjoong's expression sobered slightly. “But when you said something about the curse going around lately, I did think that it would be best to talk about it as soon as possible.”

“Right, same here. Were you inflicted by it at any point?” Changmin decided that Hongjoong didn't look any worse for wear, but not everything could simply be observed upon the surface.

“I was lucky,” he replied, shrugging. “Probably because I don't go out much, but I can't be too sure. What about you?”

Changmin dipped his head once. “My aunt says I was, and I had been feeling more exhausted than usual and had random headaches. It's faded by now—but that's because I'm half-blooded.”

Hongjoong nodded his head in understanding. “Okay, glad to hear you're not doing too bad now and the curse was able to fade for you” —he paused, massaging his jawline, before turning to his laptop on the mixing table— “that clears something up for me, at least. Here—I’ve been putting together a document with my findings.”

Changmin stood from his seat and leaned over the desk to see the screen. It seemed that despite Hongjoong's lack of touching grass, the prince did get down to business. He wondered if all princes of Hell were so attentive to their species’ needs; cynicism though told Changmin that they weren't.

“Basically, with your testimony, it seems that whatever curse was performed was intended to only affect those of demonic heritage.” Hongjoong scrolled down to one portion of the document to add in this new nuance. He then worked his way down to a section where there were three images pasted side by side on the screen. Changmin recognized that they were books, but he couldn't identify their titles or purposes. “Which then narrows the curse's point of origin.”

Two images were deleted. The one left was a tome fitted with a dark colored cover. Deep purple veins seemed to scar the black and its edges were torn and crumpled like decaying flesh. There were letters engraved into the front—Changmin squinted to read them: nem focta diabolica. It was an old dialect, more similar to Latin than the more modern dialects used in Hell.

“‘For diabolical deeds?’” he murmured. His eyebrows creased. “That's the Book of the Diabolical?”

Hongjoong hummed, “Yes. You've never seen it?”

“Not until now,” he said while shaking his head. A shiver rattled down his spine and he braced his hand on the desk by the laptop. The Book of the Diabolical was one of the several forbidden cursed magic tomes that existed throughout the realms. Each tome was stuffed full of curses written to specifically target a species. The often lethal effects and methods of use were why most originals were banned and locked away. “But you said that my testimonial is what confirms that this was only targeted toward demons. Could we not have assumed that based on reports of who have been affected?” The reports had only noted a pattern of demon victims. If anybody else was affected, word would have likely been spread.

“Yes and no,” the prince replied. “We can make a judgment call based on reports, but your experience specifically is what gives us cause. If your mild symptoms are due to your half non-demoness, then we can now conclude that the curse is only supposed to work on demons.”

Changmin straightened as his mind went to work, putting together the pieces. “So now we just need to find out who is in possession of the Book of the Diabolical.”

A solemn nod. “I thought it would be easier to track down, but there's been nothing through my contacts about recent acquisitions. We know there are copies of the book that exist, too. It's just… ah, frustrating.” Hongjoong combed a hand through his dirty blond strands, a muscle twitching in his jaw at the thought.

It must have been another layer of aggravating to be a prince and have no control over the situation. Changmin truly could only imagine. “Do we know exactly which spell was used? I know it's energy-stealing, but the nature of it could lead us toward an answer.”

Hongjoong leaned back into his chair as Changmin settled his back against the edge of the table. “I do,” the prince said. “I consulted my circle's chief authority on magic and she mentioned that it was a spell that took energy in order to transfer it to another living being. The spell is also able to locate demonic entities without knowing them personally, so any demons within a certain radius of the spell would be cursed.”

At his own utterance, Hongjoong lurched into an upright position. “So we need to determine where the curse was performed!”

Changmin jolted slightly at his sudden exclamation. “How do we do that? Is it like checking for radiation poisoning?”

“Kind of. We'd just need a sample to match.”

“I'd offer my blood, but I'm not sure how potent the magic is any—”

There weren't many ways to describe what happened simply because Changmin himself couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

One moment, he could breathe perfectly fine; the next, he'd doubled over, desperately clawing at his chest as every ounce of air left his body and refused to come back. Black spotted his vision, narrowing his sight into a tunnel as his knees slammed against the ground.

His blood thundered in his ears as the pain in his chest seized his body whole. Someone had taken a knife and carved their way down the center of his chest.

Then, as quickly as it'd come, it was gone.

Sweat dripped down the sides of his face as Changmin greedily inhaled air into his lungs. Hongjoong was right in front of him, his arm hoisting his body into an upright position. He was murmuring something, but the sound was muffled… little by little, the pain and the blood in his ears dwindled to nothing but a terrifying dream.

Changmin grabbed at his chest as if he could feel the strained pull deep down where soul lived—where you lived—

His eyes shot wide open. “Yn.” The stabbing sensation that pierced his chest now was no longer physical agony but pure, unbridled fear.

He fumbled around for his phone and Hongjoong grabbed it from where it had fallen onto the floor. Worry creased the prince's brows. “Are you okay, Changmin? Who's Yn?”

“My—my soul—” Changmin dialed your number, half blinded by the sweat and tears blurring his vision.

Hongjoong seemed to understand. “Something happened to her?”

“I don't—I don't know.” All he could think about was the fact that you were with Chan and that he was afraid.

You and Chan arrived at your parents’ house just before the clock hit noon. Your childhood home was much like it was when you left and visited every break: half-dead azalea bushes and a rusted wind chime hanging over the porch; hallways and a stairway adorned with the occasional family picture and portrait from over the years; and the smell that clung to the walls, and when bottled up, would be called “home.” It had been where you and Chan spent so many of your formative years together running, playing, crying, and living.

Lunch was eaten at home, and while you stayed to help your parents out with a few errands, Chan went ahead to the nearby hospital to see his sister.

You followed behind him nearly an hour after he'd left, your stomach full and your hands buried beneath a basket of treats that your parents put together for Chaeyoung. Flowers had been considered, but then your dad reminded your mom that flowers could not be eaten, and that had marked the end of that conversation.

The room the nurse's station directed your toward was down a lengthy hall of clean white. You'd consumed media before—books, shows, movies—where a character had a distinct aversion to hospitals because it reminded them of a lost loved one or a moment of distinct pain and weakness. Whenever you passed by the open doors or closed curtains of these rooms, you couldn't help but wonder how many of these people thought the same.

At the end of the hall, you stopped before a closed door whose accompanying window was sealed off with closed blinds. You couldn't tell by squinting through the slits if Chan and Chaeyoung were inside, but there was a little whiteboard off to the side with “Lee Chaeyoung :)” written in dry erase marker.

You lifted your fist up to the door, gently knocking upon its surface. When there wasn't an answer, you took the gamble to let yourself in.

Either the hospital was generous this time, you thought to yourself, or Chaeyoung just got really lucky. The room was spacious for a single person, but there was only room for one bed. Shoving a second in here would have been cruel and unusual punishment. The television hoisted onto the opposite wall from the bed was playing an old episode of Friends at low volume, a comfortable white noise for the sleeping form tucked into bed.

You carefully tread over to the bedside where you saw Chan's backpack left on the chair. You set the basket as quietly as possible onto the nightstand, your eyes flickering over to Chaeyoung to ensure you didn't wake her.

Just as you were moving Chan's backpack off the chair, a book slipped out from the open zipper.

“Shit,” you whispered, barely catching it before it slapped against the linoleum. You'd seen a lot of books before, but this one… you peered at it with a small frown. It was incredibly worn at the edges and the cover design seemed to be something like human veins but in the color of a deep violet. There were words scrawled at the center, but you couldn't get a good look at them before you heard Chaeyoung stir from the bed next to you.

You shoved the book into Chan's bag and set the backpack down, simultaneously dropping your butt into the chair. “I woke you up, huh?” you winced.

Chaeyoung smiled sheepishly at you. Even with the nasal cannula and the formless hospital gown, she was beautiful. Though her skin was more blanched than usual, it didn't take away from the utter warmth she radiated in this sterile environment. In that way, she and her brother were so similar. “Hi, Yn-ie,” she mused. “And no, I was just pretending to be asleep.”

“Well, that's not very nice then. Were you planning to let me watch you sleep this whole time?” you teased back at her. Your lips pulled into a fond smile. “How are you feeling? Any better today, unnie?”

She lifted her hand up onto the railing of the bed and you gently clasped it with your own. Throughout the years, she had come to be almost like your own older sister figure, in a way. “I'm a little tired, but it doesn't hurt a lot, so don't worry. A little coughing here and there, but nothing a bit of water won't fix.”

You wished you could believe her.

“But enough about me. What's going on with you? Are you seeing anyone yet?”

You choked on your own breathing air, pulling a grin out of Chaeyoung. You had to let go of her hand in order to thump your own chest. “You sound like my mom,” you retorted as heat crawled up the back of your neck.

Chaeyoung made a movement akin to a shrug. “I'm bored; sue me… so are you?”

The silence in the room was enough to speak volumes. The way your mind immediately flashed to a particular demonic friend of yours made the tightness in your chest hum gladly. You rubbed the spot with the heel of your palm absentmindedly.

“Oh, well you have to tell me about them now,” Chaeyoung gushed, squeezing your hand. “You can't even deny it—your eyes just went so soft, Yn.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. How were you supposed to tell her that they were only feelings? The urge to tell her about the knot around your ribs was suddenly too great; it was like looking into Shuhua's eyes and denying everything to her. “He's,” you stammered, “we're friends.”

“That's usually how it begins,” she chimed in.

You fixed her with a look. “And he's…” How did one say “everything” without saying everything?

Chaeyoung grinned, knowingly. “I know you'll just deny it, but it's—” Her words broke off with a violent cough.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you scrambled off your chair to reach for the tissues on the nightstand. Her coughing fit raged on without a moment of mercy, not even to let her breathe air. Each one grated on you for your stupidity, for letting her waste her energy on coaxing an answer out of you.

She took the tissues gratefully, shoving them against her mouth as she hacked up globs of crimson red to stain the paper and sheets.

You began searching for water. Maybe medication. Anything that might soothe her for a second.

The door bursted open, and Chan and an older man with a white coat hurried into the room. You ducked out of the way as another nurse barreled in after them. The doctor and the nurse converged on Chaeyoung's bed and you held your hands close together by your chest as you stood next to Chan in the doorway.

“They heard her heart monitor skyrocket from the nurse's station,” Chan said quietly with his eyes on his sister's bed. His eye bags had not gotten better as the day dragged on, but you had been foolish to think for a second that this trip would make him feel any better. His hand gently warmed the place between your shoulder blades. “Come on. Let's give them the room.”

You and Chan ended up in the hallway just outside the door. Your back was pressed against the wall facing the window while Chan practically paced a hole into the floor.

Just a minute ago, he'd seemed almost resigned. But the energy around him had become frantic, frazzled. You grew wary and nervous simply by watching him, your fingers cracking knuckles and tugging at loose strands on your shirt sleeves.

He tore his hands through his hair for what felt like the fiftieth time, and you stepped forward. “Chan—Chan, please just sit down. You're going to tire yourself out like this.”

“Yn, I can't,” he said, and the tremble in his voice was unmistakable.

You grabbed his hands away from his head to force him to look at you, to stay still. “She's going to be okay.”

His eyes glittered with mourning. The jewels that welled up in his eyes poured down the slopes of his cheeks. “She's not,” he rasped, shaking his head. “They said she's getting worse and—and I—I don't know what to do anymore.”

There was a heavy pang in your chest, but you forced both you and Chan to the side of the hallway closer to some of the chairs left out. He balked, stopping in his tracks. “Yn, I don't know how to save her. I've tried everything.”

You squeezed his hands and your eyes began to sting. “I know you have,” you breathed out. “I know you have and I am so sorry.”

“I don't know, I don't know,” he sobbed. He hung his head. “It's my fault. I should've tried harder—I could've done better—”

“Chan,” you cut in, “why in the world would you blame yourself? You've done so much for her; Chaeyoung would never blame you for this, not ever.”

Chan lifted his head and you were so certain there was a glint of purple in his eyes, but there were so many tears it could've only been a trick of the light. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Anything.”

His fingers curled with yours and you believed that he was finally squeezing you back—that he was finally leaning on you. “Can you promise me that you're not chained to him?”

What?

You hardly registered what he just asked you when you keeled over. A searing pain ripped through your body and twisted around your sternum. It was as if someone had wrapped their hands around that central bone and was trying to tear it out of you. Your heart and lungs seized all at once—you couldn't breathe.

Oh my god—you couldn't—breathe—

Air rushed into your lungs all at once, and you found yourself grappling onto the sides of a chair. Chan was saying something to you—they were words, but words you couldn't hear correctly. …so sorry… can't… you… like me.

Your center of gravity tilted violently on its axis and leaned toward the ground. As blood pumped violently back into your skull, you could feel the cold embrace of unconsciousness pull you closer.

A pair of hands grasped yours again, and you felt something cool pressed into your hold. A cup? Water?

“Yn? Yn, can you hear me? I'm gonna call a doctor—”

“No, no,” you waved the comment away with a weak hand. Your vision gradually cleared along with the fog in your head. You groaned quietly, bringing the paper cup to your mouth and poured it down your throat. Your chest heaved with labored breaths and you slumped into the chair you were draped in. “I'm fine now.”

Chan's face was twisted into deep worry as he leaned over you. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yn, I can't lose you, too. That looked and sounded awful. What even happened?”

You closed your eyes. “I… I'm not sure.” It was like that one time you had nausea while Changmin was possessing you. But that wasn't nausea; whatever the Hell that had been, it was closer to your heart being clawed out than a measly migraine. “Would you mind just, uhm, getting me more water, please?”

“Yeah, of course. I'll get you a proper bottle from the vending machine.”

“Thanks, Channie.” You blindly patted his hand, and heard the sound of his footsteps soften as he hurried away.

You brought your hand up to your chest and let the warmth of your palm soothe the ache that haunted you. What was all that? There was no way that could have been a heart attack. You hadn't felt it in the heart.

“Shit,” you huffed as your phone vibrated in your back pocket. With a slight grunt, you managed to maneuver your hand beneath your body to answer the call. “Hello?”

A heavy breath filled your ears. “Oh Hell… are you okay?”

Déjà vu, much? You pulled the phone away from your ear to see the caller ID. “Changmin? How did you” —the pieces clicked together in your mind and you straightened in your seat— “oh my god, you felt that?”

“Are you okay?” he repeated instead with more strength.

“Yes, yeah,” you exhaled. The pain was slowly receding to the edges of your memory and breathing gradually became nature again. “Did you feel it, too, then? Are you alright?” The though of him enduring that pain at the same time as you—your heart might as well have fallen straight into the pit of your stomach.

You definitely weren't mistaken when you heard a sniffle from that side. “I'm alright,” Changmin said softly. “I just—I needed to hear—I needed to make sure you were okay.”

A smile pulled so strongly at your mouth that the corners curled downwards. “Well I'm okay now. I promise.”

“When are you coming home? I… I need to see you.”

Your free arm wrapped around your stomach and wished it was his. Unconsciously, your eyes raised from the glossy floor to the presence coming back down the hall with a water bottle in his hand. (Was it survival instinct that had you looking at him in a light you never once considered before?) “Soon,” you promised with all the tenderness in the world. “Wait for me?”

“For however long I need to.”

PART VI: THE CURSED

Nightfall swaddled the world in its embrace when Chan pulled his car into the parking lot at your apartment complex. The headlights sliced through like twin blades across the sidewalk to blind the bushes lining the building’s perimeter. Sleep hadn’t claimed you at any point during the drive back down to the university, and you could feel the dryness begin to sting at the corners of your eyes.

You grabbed your bag from between your legs as Chan let the engine thrum beneath you. “Thanks,” you said quietly.

“Yeah,” he muttered back, dragging a hand down his face.

The drive hadn’t been much better. If someone asked you to point to the exact moment you were aware of the rift between you and Chan, you wouldn’t be able to tell them. There was a cloud of uncertainty, dark and stormy, that now blocked the radiance you were used to.

You glanced out of the window with your palm ghosting over your chest and you locked eyes with a figure loitering by the entrance to your apartment complex. The jump in your heartbeat was confirmation enough of who it was.

Fingers grazed over your shoulder—you shifted away, something you had never done before. A meekness took over your counterpart’s face. “There’s nothing I could say, is there?”

“You’ve never brought this up to me before,” you countered. At some point between Chaeyoung’s hospital room and the apartment parking lot, you figured out what Chan had asked you and who he was referring to. ‘Chained’ was an interesting word choice; you foolishly decided not to dwindle on it too long while you were within five feet of him.

It was a lot to think about. The chasm that gradually stretched between you had never existed before, and it cracked through the bridge that was your history with him. Your immediate thought was that the bridge was worth saving, but whenever you leaned over to grab the flayed ends, there was something in the dark that snapped at your fingers.

“He’s… Yn, he’s not who you think he is.”

You shoved the car door open. “I’ll make that judgment for myself. Good night.” Without another word, you stole into the night and let the door’s slam echo in the quiet.

As you made your way across the sidewalk to Changmin, there was an undeniable skip in that reliable rhythm called a heartbeat. The more you closed the distance between you, the less your chest ached and tugged. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered the sound of tires dragging over gravel and lights fading away, but if it wasn’t in your direct view, you didn’t quite care.

Changmin didn’t look hurt, at least from the outside. His dimpled smile graced his features as he took a few steps to meet you.

“Hey—” Your mouth muffled against the fabric on his shoulder as his arms scooped around you and pulled your body flush against him. An emotion bubbled up in your chest, then your throat, as you relaxed into him. The ache was gone, but he was here. You slowly brought your arms up around his middle and allowed the unspeakable to simmer.

You heard a small sound by where his face was tucked into your neck, and when the realization hit you, you could only laugh. “Are you sniffing me?” you snickered.

“You smell nice,” he sulked.

You patted his back. “So not only are we leashed, but you have also adopted the characteristics of a dog—”

“I’m letting go now.”

“Noo, don’t let go. I’m sorry,” you said and locked your arms around him. You both knew he could break out of your hold at any point, but in your arms, he remained. “Are you okay? You wanted to see me right when I got back.”

A breath was released against your skin, and it was so similar to the brushes of wind that he demonstrated early on as a physical manifestation of his power. “I needed to see you,” he corrected. “I needed to see that you were okay.”

The top-left quadrant of your ribcage fluttered. “I… yeah that was scary, wasn’t it?” you whispered. The phantom pain ignited within your breast for a moment, and you screwed your eyes shut. How could a single touch cause such physical agony? You were careening toward the truth you had been avoiding for hours now. You were peering into a dark chasm with no end to the bottom, but the longer you delayed, the longer it would continue to instill that fear and anxiety within you.

You cupped the back of his head with your palm, brushing your thumb through the strands of hair. “We need to talk.”

He hummed. “We do.” Changmin straightened and while one of his arms lingered about the curve of your waist, the other lifted toward your face. Before he could touch you, he stopped himself and pulled the hand back down to his pocket. “Are you tired? We could talk about this tomorrow?”

The thought of tomorrow morning’s lecture, but leaving the seat beside Shuhua empty, made your stomach sink. Your nod was reluctant. “I guess so… thank you for coming though. It was sweet—good. It was really good to see you. I—”

That hand from just a moment ago reappeared to cup the underside of your jaw and drew you over to kiss you.

(Under oath, Changmin would have admitted that there was a part of him that had been craving to kiss you since that day in his apartment when he confessed that murder from your lips was damningly divine; but if you were to ask him now, he would have said he simply didn’t want to say good night yet.)

You weren’t out of your wits enough to be completely slow as to what was happening. His touch was hesitant and bereft of the full strength he wished to impart. The brush of his lips against yours was fleeting and he was pulling away all too soon.

Cheater. You grabbed a handful of his hoodie in your fist and yanked him back over to you. You’re not getting away with that.

He stumbled in surprise, slapping his palm against the wall over your head. That arm was looping back around you in an instant, and your chests pressed together as if connected by opposite poles of a magnet. He was better this time around—sloppier, more fervent. His fingers dug into the meat of your waist, his mouth bruising against yours.

You wondered if a few minutes spent devouring the air between each other was enough to carve the other’s name into your mouths permanently.

His mouth glistened in the low light when you pulled away to relieve your lungs. Changmin’s eyes were hooded, pupils dilated to the black of deep space: consuming, but wondrous. “Another thing to talk about tomorrow then?” he exhaled out against your skin.

You nodded—that was a given—and you watched his eyelashes flutter as he leaned in again. Something deeply satisfied purred in the recesses of your center, somewhere only one’s soul might dwell. (Love was felt in your chest where he belonged, after all.) You breathed him in as he kissed you once more. It wouldn’t matter if the invisible string that tethered you to him eventually faded because your souls were far too comfortable with each other to ever let go.

The sun hung midway between the sky's precipice and the horizon, washing the world beneath it in a whimsical filter of gold. While Mondays were usually a lighter load for you, today happened to be the one you stacked all of your academic appointments onto. It wasn't until about three in the afternoon that you were able to see Changmin again.

You stepped out of your department advisor's building with your hand raised to shield your eyes. Waiting for you at the curbside and straddling his bicycle was the other half of your soul bond.

“You like guys with bikes?” Changmin grinned, half laughing as he nodded to you.

You threw your head back and couldn't fight the smile off your face. “You pick up all your girls like this?”

“That would be a yes, 'cause I only have one girl and I don't have a car.”

Your laugh bounced off the nearby walls and made Changmin's cheeks hurt from how wide he smiled. You made your way over to him, and he curled his hand around your waist, thumb rubbing into your hip bone. “Hi,” he mused.

“Hi.” Nothing had been said between the two of you since last night besides wishes of good sleep and to perhaps see one another in your dreams. (If dreams were considered a weakness to demons, it was safe to say that Changmin didn't give a damn.) You licked your lips. “So where do you wanna talk? Because we do have to talk about some things.”

“I know. Juyeon said he won't be home, so I thought we could go back and talk, and maybe… watch a movie, if that's cool.”

You snorted. “You kiss a guy once and he suddenly gets game.”

His eyebrows went sky high as he handed you his helmet to strap on. “Actually,” he scoffed, “we kissed at least f—”

“Ah!” You pressed your pointer finger to his lips, fixing him with a pointed look and ignoring the warmth in your cheeks. “That's semantics. Is this even safe, by the way?” you asked, gesturing to the back of his bike where he had a small rack installed over the back wheel.

“Yeah, you just need to hold on tight.”

You threw one leg over the middle and braced your feet over the two bars jutting out from either side of the back wheel. Your arms came around his nearly nonexistent waist, the side of your head resting against his backpack. “You just want me to hug you.”

Changmin laughed from the front. “You said it, not me!”

Who said sharing a bike was romantic? Certainly not you, but there was plenty of fluttering in your stomach that made you think otherwise. You didn't keep your face against him for long, and lifted it up to feel the wind across your cheeks and through your hair.

It was strange to think of him as a demon when you had known him longest as a good friend. There was nothing remotely unhuman about him, but what made someone a human? Was it physical traits or lack of magic ability? Was it the realm we hailed from or was it simply… prejudice and stereotype?

Whenever you thought back to that fateful night, you couldn't believe you'd harbored even an ounce of fear for him. A part of you thought he'd pulled all those stops to make you scared, but the other part knew that maybe they were necessary out of his own alarm.

When you arrived at his apartment complex, he locked up his bike in the room in the lobby. The two of you worked your way up to his floor, a light conversation bubbling between you about what movie you should watch after you filled each other in. Speaking about anything regarding the supernatural out in the open like this was not ideal.

“—it’s really not even that scary,” Changmin insisted as he fished around his bag for his keys.

You crossed your arms over your chest, unconvinced. “I know you've got a thing for Chucky, but—”

His mouth fell agape as he managed to grab his keys and shimmy open the lock on the door. “I do not have a thing for Chucky. That's just disgusting and perverted. I thought you were better than—oh. Shit.”

You were about to ask him what was wrong when you followed him in through the door. Seated on the couch was Juyeon, Shuhua, and Hyunjae, two of whom had their arms crossed and their faces fitted with matching masks of suspicion.

“Hi guys,” you greeted awkwardly and nudged the door closed. What were they talking about without you and Changmin?

“We’ve been expecting you—ow! We agreed that I was going to greet them,” Hyunjae hissed to Shuhua who had dealt a brutal blow to his ribs with her elbow. “Also, your elbow is so fucking bony—”

Shuhua harrumphed, sitting up straight with her chin inclined. “We’ve been expecting you. Juyeon purposely lied to Changmin so we could confront the two of you.”

You and Changmin exchanged nervous glances. Your counterpart then swiftly turned toward his roommate with an expression of betrayal. “You lied to me?”

Juyeon went doe-eyed. “I’m sorry, Changminnie—they made me!”

Hyunjae’s cough was annoyingly loud, and he thumped his fist against his palm like a gavel. What was this—court? “Ahem. We all agreed that we needed to catch you guys in the act and to hold an intervention. I tried” —he dragged out the word ‘tried’ as if he’d nearly died in the Sahara Desert while doing it— “to confront Yn about it at the house party, but then you went and got yourself drunk.”

Oh. You performed a mental rewind all the way back to last Saturday. Oh no.

You and Changmin gravitated toward one another’s side. “What exactly,” Changmin drawled with narrowed eyes, “are you holding an intervention about?”

“Guys, please. We’re not fucking stupid,” Shuhua huffed. “We know you’ve been sneaking around together. And whether you’re actually dating or just hooking up—”

You choked on your own spit.

“—we need to know if you’re committing friendcest.”

You had to hold back both a laugh and a tremendous sigh. This was about fuckass friendcest, not Changmin’s demonhood. You opened your mouth to relieve your friends of their concern when Changmin beat you to the punchline.

“We’re not sneaking around for that reason,” he said, his eyes flickering over to you. You felt the back of his hand graze yours, and you blinked at him. While it was true that the original reason you started sneaking around was not because of mutual attraction, there was a tablespoon of truth to that now. If last night hadn’t happened before this conversation, it would have been a lot harder for you to answer their questions, and if you had talked about the kiss before…

There was conflict across Changmin’s face as he warred with himself on how to properly put yours and his hunt into words that they would understand. There was undoubtedly a build-up of years’ worth of guilt mounting in him to put pressure on his reveal of the truth, but it was clear that he was still not ready for that conversation yet.

You stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “He’s lying. We have been dating,” you declared. It was an innocent white lie that was somewhat truthful. “We” —you cleared your throat as every pair of eyes darted over to you, including Changmin’s— “wanted to try it out. We only really have gone out a couple times though, and it hasn’t been long since it started. We’re sorry we hid it from you guys.”

Changmin’s eyes gleamed with gratitude as his fingers braided with yours and he cupped around your bound hands with his free one.

A beat of silence passed as the other half of your friend group exchanged glances with one another. Had they expected you to deny it?

At last, Shuhua broke out into an almost pouty smile. “I wish you guys didn’t hide it from us, but if you’re happy…”

“We hid it because we weren’t sure yet and didn’t want it to affect the group’s dynamics,” Changmin chimed in. He squeezed your hand at his side. “I mean, I’m happy.” He glanced over at you, cheeks dimpled. “You?”

You smiled back, nodding. “Very.”

Juyeon sniffled and clasped a palm over his mouth. “Ugh, this is so romantic. You guys look so happy together. I need to tell Eric and Indigo about this.”

“Man,” Hyunjae feigned exasperation, but even he couldn’t hide the large grin on his face, “I really thought this was gonna be more dramatic. Glad you guys really were just sneaking around and dating and stuff, and not like, hiding a body or anything.”

You and Changmin looked at each other again and produced similar sounds bordering on a suspicious level of nervousness. “Yeah… definitely nothing like that.”

The other three were, unfortunately, sharper than you liked to give them credit for. “Wait, what do you mean—”

“Bye now!” Changmin whisked you out of the apartment unit with a slam of the front door. Yours and his giggles wrapped around one another as you left, leaving your dumbfounded friends high and dry.

When you and Changmin had escaped to the end of the hallway by the stairs, you finally released the breath you had been holding. Keeping Changmin's secret was one thing, but lying to your friends was another. What you claimed back there wasn't a total lie, but in this case, perhaps ignorance was bliss. You didn't doubt your friends would be supportive of Changmin's heritage, but if it was something he wanted to continue to keep undisclosed, then that was his prerogative and it was not your truth to reveal.

Yours and Changmin's hands remained intertwined as you made your way back down to the lobby. Since his apartment was clearly occupied, you would need to find somewhere else to speak privately. The answer came in the form of a park nearby, who's trails and pathways were rather vacant at this time of day.

Changmin locked his bike and helmet up at the park's entrance before his hand found yours again. “We are dating now, right?”

You snorted. “That's the first thing on the agenda?”

“Well, yes,” he beamed boyishly at you, swinging your hands between your bodies. “Are you saying that what you told them back there was really a lie?”

“I mean, no,” you stammered. Heat prickled beneath the surface of your skin and you fought to avoid his direct gaze, so knowing. “We are dating, if you're okay with it.”

“Sure.”

“Sure?” you squawked. Such indignation in that pretty boy smile of his. Your expression flattened into a deadpan. “I suppose I do have something to confess before we put a label on it.”

Changmin smiled to himself. “This is the moment you tell me you're a serial killer, isn't it?”

“You're really sick in the head,” you joked back. “But no, I mean that… well—hear me out: that night at the party when I was asleep? I may or may not have possessed your body.”

Changmin halted so abruptly that you were almost yanked back into his body from your linked hands. “What?”

You squeaked out a nervous laugh. “It's not, y'know, that big of a deal. It was only for a few seconds, and it really could have just been déjà vu or something.”

“No. No, it makes sense.” He shook his head, then pressed the black of his knuckles to his pursed lips, eyebrows creased together in a pensive stare. “My mind wasn't the most stable, so I wouldn't have been able to stop you from coming across the soul bond. It's just an interesting notion to consider; I've never heard of a case like this before.”

“Ah.” You were glad he wasn't bringing up the utter irony of the situation. “Maybe you can ask Aunt Jenna, and I bet most demons don't regularly come across that potion very often.”

Changmin cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “That's true. There is something that I've been meaning to tell you though. I don't know if you remember the random headaches I used to get” —you hummed your acknowledgement— “but it was apparently because I, and other demons in this area, were inflicted by a curse.”

Your face shuddered. A curse? How long had he been holding onto this?

His mouth set into a line. “I didn't want to worry you, but my being half human pretty much saved my life. It was… something from the Book of the Diabolical—a curse that stole energy from one being to transfer to another.”

The Book of the Diabolical rang a distant bell in your head. “That's really scary,” you murmured.

“I—I know,” he said, taking you by your arms, “but I'm working with another demon on campus to solve it. It shouldn't affect you at all because they've only been targeting demons, but—”

“That's incredibly worrying for you to say—”

He exhaled, “I know, I know. I can take care of myself though, especially now that I have this other demon to help.” Changmin's grip on your body tightened, but not to an uncomfortable degree. His possession of your gaze was even more secure; there was an urgency within him that compelled you. “I'm telling you this now because… because I can't stomach the thought of you getting hurt, and I need you to promise me to be careful.”

You brought your hand up to cover the back of one of his. “But you said this curse only affects demons,” you whispered.

“Yes, but” —he cut himself off, tearing his eyes away for a moment. He bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. “I just have a very, very bad feeling about something.”

“Then tell me what it is,” you pushed. There was no way you could safeguard yourself if you didn't know what he was worried about.

Changmin considered you for a moment, then in a low voice, said, “It's about Lee Chan. I know you're friends with him, but I just can't put my finger on how he's connected to all of this.” Your eyes fell away from his, and his heart stuttered in his chest. His palm was gentle as he ran his thumb over your cheek. “Please. Please just be careful, sweetheart.” Please believe me.

At last, you nodded and slowly raised your head up to meet his eyes once more. “Okay,” you said, “I promise.”

There was a beat of hesitation in his heartbeat again—he couldn't bear to be without his other half.

Your conversation with Changmin was severed short when he received a call from his demonic friend—a Kim Hongjoong—about an update regarding the curse's residual essence. He biked you to your apartment complex first, walking you to your door. He left soon after, but not before bestowing a lingering kiss to your brow, the words between the stressed lines of his eyes imploring.

You promised to call him tonight, and you shouldered your way into your apartment. Your heart had not ceased to stop rattling in its confines since Changmin admitted his wariness about Chan. You didn't know why you didn't immediately agree with him then and tell him about your thoughts from the hospital day, but your thoughts whipped around in your mind, trapped in a violent rip current.

The reason you had looked away from him earlier was not because you doubted him, but because you feared those whispers of suspicion were quickly becoming your reality. It was a grave accusation to name Chan specifically, and to even suspect him having a hand in recent diabolical deeds, but you couldn't deny that your view of him was morphing into something else.

It wasn't right, you thought. Lee Chan was the sun—bright and warm. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Right?

You fumbled for the lights in your darkened apartment. It was strange that your roommates weren't home; usually they would have been. You suppressed a yawn as you failed to find the light switch for some reason. Had you been this tired all day? Your eyelids were growing heavier and heavier by the second…

“Shit,” you muttered as your foot hit something solid on the floor. Your fingers caught the switch and light flooded into the room.

A gasp tore out of your throat. By your foot laid the body of one of your roommates, her limbs splayed sporadically, but her chest still rising and falling with breath. (Asleep?) You lifted your head, and a dooming chill fell over you as you realized that the body on the couch was your second roommate; and there—the third's hand poked out from behind the kitchen counter.

There was another aspect to survival instinct. It launched into effect as soon as you spotted a figure emerge from your periphery.

You whipped around and reached for the door handle, but to no avail. A strong arm caged around your middle and slapped over your mouth. Whatever was on his hands—dry, chalky—dragged a cough from your throat. Though your heart pounded in merciless rhythm, it seemed only to work to your detriment.

“Can't let you do that,” said the voice behind you, gruffly. It was familiar.

The world grew darker… dimmer… your body's thrashing slowed. You screamed and attempted to flail around, desperate to get free. Why the Hell was your body getting weaker? Why—why were you tired—

Just before you surrendered to unconsciousness, the epiphany slammed into you like a truck. The worst part was it was way too fucking late.

If desperate people found faith, then Lee Chan was admittedly the most desperate of them all. Most people—humans, it should be clarified—found faith with the established religions of the world. There were truly far too many to count, but desperate and depressed ten year old boys were more resourceful than others gave them credit for.

The problem was that Chan was a creature made whole by the love imparted onto him by you and his older sister, as well as the neglect and hatred sown by his parents. It made for a dynamic persona—a soul torn asunder by the people he yearned for most. He wished his parents could have cared more, then perhaps he wouldn't have cared so much.

(Though, if they had cared even an inch more than they had, he wouldn't have traded their lives for Chaeyoung's in the first place… maybe he would have still done it, but he might have regretted it, at least.)

Wasn't there a definable point when a hero became a villain? No, he didn't like thinking of himself in those terms. “Protagonist” and “antagonist” were far too restricting. It was similar to the stigma surrounding the forbidden tome of curses in his possession; why was it forbidden if it was so very useful?

The only thing was that it lacked the spell he seemed to need most right now: a spell to convince you of the pure evil you had bound your soul to. Whether it was inadvertent or purposeful, Chan would do you a favor: by severing the demonic soul bond, he could save you—his beloved little sister. He could save you and protect you from an ill-begotten fate.

But even as he settled your unconscious body over the summoning circle sketched in confident, chalk strokes, he racked his brain for any possible reason why you were bound. To what end was your bargain with Changmin? Were you so desperate as to strike a doomed deal with a half-demon? He considered your face with a frown; even in sleep, your browser were furrowed with stress. He needed to get a move on.

The Book of the Diabolical laid open atop your desk where he had pushed it into the corner. The entirety of your room was rearranged in order to give him a wide berth to work—bed shoved to the far reaches, drawers and file boxes relegated to the closet. The middle of the room featured your body over his summoning circle, rounded out with burned phlox candles who's scent suffocated the room in its bitterness.

Chan hunched over the book and consulted the line of curse he had tabbed with a sea otter sticky note. Over the past several years of his life, he dedicated himself to learning how to decode the old dialect of this tome in order to use it to its full reaches. “Asmantha's star for summoning, check. Burned phlox, mhm. Conscious blood of the victim…” his voice trailed off as he caught miniscule movement from the corner of his eye. “You're awake already? What a weak spell.”

Your body stilled. “Chan…?”

“Just another minute,” he promised and reached into his backpack down by his feet. He withdrew a slim paring knife he had brought with him from his apartment. “This'll all be over soon.”

His eyes scanned over the lines of directions. Without looking back at you, he said, “I also wouldn't do that if I were you.”

You froze with your fingertips centimeters away from the edge of the summoning circle. If your nail had so much as crossed the line, your body would have been rendered paralyzed. It wasn't a pleasant feeling—Chan knew from experience—but it was a necessary evil.

“What are you doing to me? What is all this?” you queried, your voice as small as a mouse's.

He could feel your eyes go to the paring knife in his grip, and the thought occurred to him that it was troubling you. Chan turned around then with a reassuring smile, only to be met by your eyes, so round with fear. Oh. “Yn, this is for your own good,” he crooned sweetly with all the boyishness that you were used to. “I'm just doing you a favor. I know demon bonds are really hard to get rid of. They're nasty things, but I have a way to do it with minimal damage.”

You eyed him warily from your side of the line. “You mean a soul bond?”

Chan barked out a laugh. “Is that what he called it? Fucking disgusting,” he spat. Every molecule in his body boiled with anger—for you, of course. How dare Changmin fool you into some romantic vision of such a treacherous, vile thing? “I don't expect you to understand right now, especially if he's gotten into your head, but I'm going to help you.”

“Help me? I don't need any help—”

“You’ll thank me later,” he interjected with a click of his tongue. He nodded his head toward you. “Now hold out your hand. I just need a little bit of blood, and we'll be done.”

You scrambled backward on your hands. “What? No.”

Annoyance twitched in his jaw, but his chest twisted with something heavier. You were so far gone… if he didn't act now, it would be too late. “I'll come in there myself if I have to,” he replied and rose to his feet.

Wild, unbridled fear flashed across your face as your head swiveled around. You were trapped between a knife and the circle bounds, prey meeting predator.

Chan stepped into the summoning circle, brimming with determination. The spell's incantation swam fresh in the forefront of his mind, locked and loaded upon his tongue for the proper moment. His thumb ran over the flat side of the blade and he stalked over the chalk markings. “I only need a little,” he reassured you.

“Don't do this,” you sputtered, “please! You don't have to break the bond.”

Your words only spurred him on. Chan lunged for your ankle, and you rolled out of the way, the crown of your head narrowly missing the edge of the circle. It was to your slight advantage that he had drawn the thing so fucking large, but it only gave the lion more room to play with his food.

Rich purple fractured across his irises and you could no longer dismiss it as just a trick of the light. Stupid. You had been so fucking stupid.

He pounced again. The breath flew out of your lungs as you hit the ground, your hand grasping his knife wrist where it was poised above your cheek. Your entire body shook as you held him back. “Stop,” you cried. “Why are you doing this? Chan, we're friends.”

“That's exactly why,” he grunted and used his body weight and gravity to inch the blade down further.

Pure adrenaline was all that kept your limbs from failing. Sweat collected between the grooves of your palms and fingers, your heart racing at two hundred beats a second. Every ounce of energy went toward survival. “I don't” —you heaved at his wrist to get it to move away— “understand.”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Tears had welled up in the linings, trickling down onto your face. Agony contorted his own, flushed, as he exerted every exhausted bone in his body. He'd used so much of his energy lately. “I can't have you end up like me,” he said through gritted teeth. “And if I can't save noona, I can still save you.”

He slammed the knife down.

Your head jerked out of the way, just as the tip of the blade crunched into the wood floor.

Before you could tumble out of the way, he snatched the front of your throat with his free hand and pinned you in place. Your hands whipped up to your neck, desperately clawing at his fingers and knuckles, your airways narrowing. Blood from his hand trickled down from your angry marks, a river of red flowing to stain your own skin.

“Please,” you choked out.

He didn't listen. You felt the bite of steel; blood, hot and thick, bubbled out of the cut and dripped down the side of your face onto the floor like a tear.

Chan kept his hand around your throat. His eyes, drowning in his own sorrow, never left your face. You once knew his eyes, but the purple that corrupted them struck you with fear. “Utimana catenia ab eterno effodiant sycut sol ad auroramae. Abi, daemon. Abi, daemon!”

You never thought you'd ever feel that same searing pain from the hospital ever again, but this was much worse. A guttural scream tore out of your throat with more wind than volume. Someone had dug their way into your body and was ripping their way out. They buried their fingernails and were shredding your muscle, cracking your bones apart, and they wouldn't stop until they saw the cold light of day.

The physical sensation—it was no clean slice. When a rope was pulled under strain, every fiber unwound until it snapped. You couldn't breathe. Every fiber of your being, physical and metaphysical, clung onto the soul on the other end of the line.

The rope splintered. Only then did you lay still.

Air once again flooded into your lungs, but your chest ached and ached and ached. Your throat burned from your crying. Your head hit the ground beneath you and you pawed at your sternum. The negative space was so damn loud. He wasn't there—he wasn't there—

“Yn?” A shaky voice, small and childlike. Chan's face appeared above in your line of sight with worry written stark over his face. “He's gone now.”

He's gone now. A cough boiled up in your throat, and you turned your head to hack up the residual blood. It was as if something truly had broken in your body. An entire piece of you was missing.

When you remained silent, Chan dragged himself up to his feet. “You’ll be grateful one day, you know? I'll clean this up and leave you be—”

You didn't have the heart or strength to lift your head, but you heard what happened next.

Chan's breath caught, followed by sounds of growling protest. There was a foreign voice or two over by the doorway. Take him to the Third Circle. We'll deal with him later.

The heart in your chest, its beats weak, stuttered into a pitiful skip as if it could sense the other half of it approaching. A face appeared in your view, his eyes wet and blood seeping from his nose. “Yn?” he rasped, wiping the blood with the back of his hand.

His blond hair hung in his eyes as you peered up at him. Your body relaxed in the presence of the one it yearned for most.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, as he dipped his head to touch his forehead to yours. I'm so sorry I'm late, so sorry I let him hurt you. You could feel his body shake with silent cries. “I am so fucking sorry.”

“He said you were gone,” you managed to croak with your hoarse voice. Your nose and eyes stung with oncoming tears, and as soon as the dam broke, you could not reverse it.

“I'm right here,” he assured you. His arms wrapped around your body and pulled you up toward his chest.

“It hurts.” You pressed a hand to your chest where the gaping chasm now sat. You didn't know how deep your soul laid within, bruised and battered. “Are you okay?”

Changmin loosened a wet chuckle from his mouth, holding the side of your face tenderly. “I should be asking you that. I was so scared—Hell—” Loss was a unique feeling. It was strange because you were right here in his arms, but no amount of proximity soothed the visceral throbbing in his chest. He once was whole, one part loved and the other part loving. But what was done, was done: the goal you and Changmin originally had in mind was accomplished, but neither of you were sure that you wanted it anymore.

The two figures you didn't recognize approached the summoning circle. One was a boy who looked human enough, but with eyes that seemed too sharp. The other beside him was a woman with gray hair, styled to coiffed perfection as a bed for the pair of curled black horns jutting out from the crown of her head.

You struggled into an upright position and leaned back against Changmin. “And” —you cleared the congestion in your throat— “you are?”

“Kim Hongjoong,” said the former with a sad tilt to his smile. He gestured to the woman. “My colleague, Amari.”

“Prince of Hell and Magika Supreme,” Changmin muttered into your ear.

Your eyes went wide. “Should I bow?”

Hongjoong waved his hands in front of him. “No need. Are you feeling alright though? Soul bonds are… they aren't the easiest things to live without once you've had one.”

“You know what it feels like?”

“Definitely not,” he said sheepishly. “But I can guess. Changmin collapsed when he felt his end was devastated. I, uhm, imagine that your experience was similar.” The prince lowered himself into a crouch to be eye level with the two of you. “Your friend—the one who did this to you.”

Your throat squeezed tight with the phantom of his hand around it. “Chan?” you stammered. “What's happened to him?”

“We've taken him into custody,” the Magika Supreme replied with a low voice and perfect posture. “Did you know that he had a copy of the Book of the Diabolical?”

There was that title again. You shook your head, but pointed in the direction of your desk. “That thing? I didn't know what it was until now. He—he had it when I was at the hospital with him yesterday.”

“Do you know how long he's had it in his possession?”

You were about to answer, when Changmin cut in. “With all due respect,” he swallowed, “Yn deserves her rest, not an interrogation.”

Hongjoong exchanged glances with Amari, then nodded and rose to his feet. “Fair enough. We'll help you clean up and be on our way—”

“Wait.” You didn't expect them to listen to you. “I need to know what happened. I don't—I still don't understand.” When had everything gone wrong for your friend? In your mind's eye, you could picture the canyon that spanned yours and Chan's relationship, the tattered bridge hanging listlessly over the gorge. You could not banish his words from your head: I can't let you end up like me. And if I can't save noona, I can still save you.

Hongjoong pressed his lips together. “Your friend has been using that book of curses for a very long time to steal energy and transfer it to his sister. Recently, your Changmin and many others fell victim to one of them.”

Your hand fell over where Changmin's rested across your middle. Could he feel the guilt sloshing in the pit of your stomach like turbulent waves?

“We believe he targeted demons specifically because of a deal he made with a demon in his past.” A shadow fell over the prince's face, and you read the grave sadness embedded there. “He must have held a grudge against our kind since that rotten deal.”

It made sense. As much as it caused bile to creep up your throat, the pieces were slipping into place. The pure, venomous loathing he directed toward Changmin and the soul bond—if he had experienced a demonic bargain before, he would not only be aware of the existence of the supernatural, but the nature of such soul-binding deals.

Chan had done it for Chaeyoung—that conclusion wrung you through the deepest pits of Hell and destroyed you. He'd done it to save her life, but it hadn't been enough.

“What's going to happen to her?” The bloody tissues and crude scratches of her coughing crushed into your mind. “She didn't ask for any of this.” They said she's getting worse.

The Magika Supreme was the one who answered. “The energy Lee Chan stole and imbued her with was corrupted, which is unfortunately why Miss Lee's condition is worsening.”

An idea manifested in your head and you shifted to sit up out of Changmin's hold. “Then can you—”

“Yn,” Changmin lamented, predicting where your mind had wandered.

“—save her? Could you save her? Is there any way?” Someone titled with Magika Supreme must have the power or authority to achieve something like this. Chan's love for his sister fundamentally fueled all of his actions. Every malicious deed he pulled, every incantation he uttered, had been with the intent to save Chaeyoung from a fate she could not control. You wished his desperation hadn't shoved him over the edge; you wished he never had reason to get to such a point.

Amari paused, but not because she was uncertain of the possibility. She passed a glance to her prince, then to Changmin, before returning to you. “Of course, there is always a way, but it would require something in return.”

“Name it.”

Changmin grappled onto your arm. “Yn, you're walking into another soul bond. Please, just think about this first,” he implored, forcing you to look him in his wide eyes, dark and entreating.

It was reckless, you knew, but Chaeyoung was dying. Her brother tried all his life to lead her from a fate she couldn't control, but it only doomed her more. Were you simply continuing the cycle or could you do something good for her?

“The difference between your friend's magic—” you and Changmin's attention flitted over to Hongjoong, “—and the Magika Supreme's is that the latter won't be using corrupt magic to steal corrupted energy.” Hongjoong's smile was something warm and reassuring. What an effortless prince he made. “Whatever healing magic she'll use will work without crippling Chaeyoung's health more. Though, I can't promise about side effects; nature is a difficult divinity to fight against.”

Right. You blindly curled your fingers with Changmin's and the touch eased the throbbing in your chest. “What would you ask for in return?”

“You would be called to testify against Chan in our court,” Hongjoong stated, but not unkindly. “Take your time to think about it. I'm sure Changmin has my number.”

In the blink of an eye, Hongjoong and Amari were before you one second, then gone without a trace. A light gust of wind brushed past your face as the only evidence of magic being used. Beneath you, your floors were rid of the summoning circle and candles; and the Book of the Diabolical had disappeared from your table.

You and Changmin took your time returning your room to its former state. Your roommates outside in the main living space had all woken up from their forced slumber, their minds blank of the events leading up to Chan's ambush.

The emptiness in your chest left none to be desired. You sat in bed with your head against Changmin's shoulder, his hand playing with yours while your other rubbed your chest absentmindedly. No matter how much pressure you put, the chasm remained. Staying close to Changmin though remained second nature.

“What're you thinking about?” he murmured into your hair.

You tilted your nose up to graze his pulse. “How I'm going to tell Chaeyoung about this. She deserves to know what happened to Chan, at least.”

Changmin gave a slow nod. “I agree.”

Your eyes flickered up to his. “You're okay with me telling her? I can leave you out of it.”

“No, that's okay. She doesn't really know me,” he chuckled, that dimple impressing into his cheek. His smile widened as you leaned over and pressed your lips to it. “Are you feeling alright though? After everything?”

There wasn't much you could express with your words at the moment. How did one describe the loss of a friend? And how did one string together the words to tell someone that they loved them, that they were both the remedy and reason for the pounding of your heart? You did not know either for the time being. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

“What? The hole in your soul?” He pressed his palm flat against the center of his chest to feel the distant beat of his heart, slow, solid, and steady.

“That, and not being able to possess you.”

Changmin squawked in indignation. “And you say I'm the creep?”

“You literally still are!”

Both yours and Changmin's laughter lit up the dark, one spurring on the other. Though, if the shadows truly claimed him, then he was the night to your day; the other half for your whole; the one. Even if this entanglement began as an accident, all of the love you held for him was fully intentional. You would keep it safe in your chest, where he would always belong.

[the cast of incantations will return... maybe?]

a/n: IMPORTANT!!! i would like to write a follow-up/sequel to not only continue the plotline, but to also get a chance to better explore minor character dynamics, subplots with loose ends, and the literal fallout of these events because leaving it here is VERY unsatisfying. it would fulfill my creative needs esp since this was written under an extreme time constraint, but i also won't feel inclined to unless u reblog TT so pls. reblog and lmk what u thought ! thank u so much for reading :')

[idleoblivion]

"An Unexpected Lesson in Envy" Cater Diamond x GN Reader

Synopsis: Cater wants to show off pictures of you on Magicam, but the online response is not what he was expecting.

Word Count: ~1.4k

A/N: Well it turns out that Cater’s speech and whole overuse of internet lingo thing feels so unnatural to write for me so I think I ended up making him more serious than I was supposed to lol, I did my best. Also the @ looks like that cause I almost accidentally tagged a real person lol

Warnings: jealousy, light reverse comfort

“Come on, just a few more!”

“You said that ten minutes ago!”

You loved him, you did, but your boyfriend had a habit of roping you into photo shoots that could be inconveniently long. You were too cute, he’d always say, he couldn’t help it. You were in the gardens of Heartslabyul, which made for the perfect background as well. Today though, you have a history essay that you really need to get started on. If you stuck around too much longer, you’d have to work pretty late into the night to finish in time. 

“You’re so cruel to leave me~” he whines, which you respond to with a lighthearted glare. “Fine,” he sighs, “We’ve already gotten enough good pics anyway.”

“Thanks. I’ll text you later tonight.” You quickly kiss his cheek before hurrying back to your dorm to work. 

Cater returns to his room as well. While he’s ascending the tall, twisted stairs to get there, he’s scrolling through all the photos he got today. He’s almost giddy as he looks through them, you ended up with some fantastic shots today. 

He flops onto his back on his bed and starts collecting his favorite ones to post. He decides on a short collection of them, and rushes to Magicam to show them off. 

‘Some adorbs photos with @ ididntasktobehere in the gardens! Some of my fav pics I’ve taken! #aesthetic #gorgeous #photoshoot #CayCaythebestphotographer’

He smiles to himself, satisfied with the caption he typed out. He posts them immediately, excited to see the response that they’ll get. And the attention starts coming within minutes of posting. 

He knew the pictures would get some popularity, his followers liked almost anything he posted featuring the gardens, and you were always a stunning model in his opinion. What he doesn’t expect is the amount of attention. The comments and likes start rolling in like they never have for him. No other post of his has gone as viral as this one. 

He’s ecstatic about it, until he starts actually reading the comments. 

-OMG, who is that? They are BEAUTIFUL 

-literally ethereal omg

-They could slap me and I’d actually thank them for real

-JUST ONE CHANCE PLEASE I BEG

He’s…conflicted. 

Of course you’re beautiful, and of course people would notice. That was to be expected, so why was his chest still feeling tighter and tighter the more he read?

He wasn’t the jealous type, really. He never got upset if you were affectionate with your friends. He never blamed you if some other guy flirted with you, because of course you always turned them down. And as long as they took no for an answer, he couldn’t really blame them for finding you attractive either. 

It’s never been so many people though. Especially all at once. It wasn’t just one person who wanted your attention, it had turned into hundreds thanks to his post. People were praising you with every compliment they could think of, and some were even asking if you were single. 

Your account was private, so he wasn’t worried about you being flooded with unwanted attention suddenly. But he was worried about what you’d think if you saw all the comments. Would you be uncomfortable? 

…Would you like them? He guesses he could understand if you did, everyone was being so nice and complimentary. But he realizes a part of him really doesn’t want you to. 

He was the uncomfortable one. As uncharacteristic as it was, he was jealous and had to admit it. 

Now he was at a loss for what to do, though. Does he delete the post? You followed him, so if you checked once you were done with your essay and the pictures weren’t there, you might ask what happened to them. He technically could respond to everyone that you were taken, but didn’t that make him seem insecure? He should be able to just brush it off, he thinks. 

It’s getting late by this point, and he decides to just try and ignore it for the night. He’d deal with any more comments in the morning, when his head was a little clearer. 

—-

He could not ignore it for the night. Every few hours he was up and checking for any more replies to his post, always finding at least a few new ones. His frown deepened with each additional comment. For the first time, he was actually loathing the popularity of his own post.

You could tell something was off when he greeted you with only a half-hearted smile and spent your whole walk to class together clearly lost in his own thoughts. He wasn’t any better anytime you spotted him in the hall between classes. He still wasn’t any better at the end of the school day, which is why you follow him to his dorm to confront him about it.

“Come on, you know you’ve been weird today. Are you feeling sick? Is something wrong?” “It really isn’t that big of a deal.” There’s absolutely zero pep in his tone, none of his usual Cater mannerisms present. He seems almost exhausted.

“That’s a lie and you know it. Cater, why can’t you talk to me about it?” He ponders for a second, still feeling guilty for being jealous in the first place. But clearly he wasn’t hiding it well, and making you worry about him didn’t feel very good either. So he takes a deep breath in before laying out everything that happened with the post.

“...That’s it? I saw the post, you even tagged me. I looked at the comments too when I saw you were getting so many. I honestly just rolled my eyes at them. I didn’t realize they were making you upset.”

“I…I guess I didn’t expect to be either? I just…I don’t know why. It’s not like I think you’d break up with me for one of them or anything.”

“It’s still okay to feel weird about it though. Do you want to take the post down?” “I thought about it, but I’m not sure. And the same thing might happen if I ever post more.” He seems extra dejected at the thought of that. Luckily, an idea pops into your head.

You grab his phone out of his hand. He looks at you surprised, but lets you open up his camera and sit next to him.

“Okay, now like this…” You put his arm around you and lean into him close. He seems to get the idea at this point and smiles widely before pulling you in tightly himself. You both position yourselves in frame, and you press your lips to his cheek as you take the picture.

When you pull away and hand him his phone back, his mood has already flipped completely. Even more so as he types out his next caption:

‘Thanks for the love on the pics we posted! Me and my lovely partner @ ididntasktobehere have been reading all the nice comments together! #cutestcouple #cutiesinlove’

“‘Cuties in love?’ Get rid of that, that’s embarrassing.” “But it’s true! We’re a couple of cuties, the cutest couple in the school!”

He laughed at himself and closed his phone with a satisfied grin. He was sure the two of you got the point across to everyone. With his confidence restored, he looks at you and starts brainstorming again.

“Oooh, maybe Vil will let us use one of the rooms at Pomefiore, everything in there is so fancy, it would totally blow up if we did a little shoot there.” “You’re seriously already planning another?” You laugh.

Of course he was. Now that everyone had it straight that you were taken, he was going to take every opportunity to show you off. 

Plus, if anybody had something to say, he could always just ask you to kiss him on camera again. In fact, he decides, he’ll probably ask you even if they don’t. Because as good as showing you off felt, it didn’t feel nearly as good as showing off that you were his and he was yours.

[spreadyovrwings]

Honey, I Can Feel Your Pain

A late night heart-to-heart before the end of the world. Or, two idiots try to talk about their feelings but they’re both demons and not very good at it.

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: my writing/me trying to navigate a complicated character, i cringe therefore i am

A/N: literally just ignore me lol i wanted to see if i could write Alastor well so this is something of a personal challenge and a warm up for me (and i’m obsessed with him) so hopefully i’ve done him justice. there’ll be a part two if anyone wants one!

//

Chapter One

The door to Alastor’s studio was always locked to everyone but you. You weren’t sure how he did it. He was a complete technophobe, so a hidden camera was out of the question. Perhaps he’d cast some sort of spell or could sense you coming. You weren’t sure. All you knew was that if you needed to see him, and Alastor permitted it, his door was always open.

That night, the radio tower was dark and still, the only sound a slow, jazzy number sent oozing over the city and into people’s homes.

You found Alastor at his sound desk, one long finger poised idly on a bakelite dial, as if debating whether to alter the sound his tower produced. His ever-present smile was fixed in place but his lips were closed, his deep red eyes focused.

You tapped your foot against the floor, once, twice, three times, announcing your presence as gently as you could so as not to disturb him too abruptly. It didn’t matter that Alastor had to let you in in the first place, it always seemed impolite to come barging in.

He didn’t look up as you approached but you could tell you had his attention, and when you put your hand on the back of the chair next to his, a question, he answered with a short nod.

“Are you alright?”

Alastor barely moved, his eyes fixed on the glowing buttons and dials in front of him.

“Fine, fine.”

He spoke faintly, airily, with no hint of static, as if he were lost in thought. You couldn’t help feeling like you’d interrupted a private moment.

“It’s just you’ve been locked away in your room for days now.”

“Hard at work! Nothing more.”

As if to prove a point, Alastor wrapped his long fingers around the dial and adjusted the volume, then slid his fingers along the desk to conjure up the next song.

This tune was a lot more uptempo. It wasn’t like Alastor to be so sloppy, you must really have caught him off-guard.

Alastor seemed to realise his mistake too. He turned to you, leaning back in his chair, exuding a confidence and poise that many envied and few saw through.

“Is there something I can help you with, my dear?”

His attention was yours. Too late to go back now.

“You’ve been quiet ever since Charlie came back from Heaven.”

“Well, I-”

“And you don’t go quiet,” you pressed on, refusing to let him chart the course of your conversion. “So what’s wrong?”

The two halves of his face told two different stories. Alastor’s eyes were fiery and guarded, he didn’t like being questioned but you’d cornered him. Below, his smile stretched his skin. You wondered if it hurt.

“I’ve been reviewing the situation,” he said after a thoughtful pause, every word considered and weighed.

“You’ve missed dinner four nights in a row for that? I made all your favourites to try and entice you down, you know.”

Alastor hummed. He wasn’t listening.

“Do you know, for almost one hundred years, I have lived here quite happily. I’ve carved out a nice little niche for myself. And then the princess started getting bright ideas…”

Alastor’s long fingers danced over the faders again but he didn’t move any of them. It seemed to be the habit of a lifetime. Two lifetimes.

“The angels… Unsettled me. And you’re quite right, I don’t get unsettled. It required meditation.”

“The angels unnerved you?”

“Unsettled. But I suppose there’s not much point arguing over semantics. Either way, the result n’est pas bon, cher.”

“What did they say that unsettled you?”

One of Alastor’s ears flicked in irritation. It was a rare thing for him to give away even that much. It was a particular kind of personal hell, for him to have a body that could betray him so visibly. He could rattle everyone with his big grin, he could even hide pain behind walled eyes, but the attributes given to him, gifted to him, shackled to him, when he fell, weren't so easy to control.

“It’s not quite that simple, my dear. The angels are all bluster and hollow virtues. I care very little about what they have to say, the self-righteous...”

He took a breath.

“But then they halved the time till the next Extermination. It’s of little consequence to me. They’re clever enough to leave me alone most of the time and if any angels do try their luck, well, they’re quietly done away with. Plus, it’s just plain old good sport to watch the show.”

You smiled.

“Might have to disagree with you there, handsome.”

Alastor laughed humourlessly, a dry, sharp sound like a bow pulled roughly against violin strings.

“That’s just it, I might too. The issue is… Now it’s only a few weeks away…”

The song changed. Low, smooth, like sand through an hourglass, a single trumpet groaned into life, filling the room before disintegrating and travelling along the airwaves. Was it a distraction? Was Alastor struggling to hold his focus? Who knew? Maybe not even him.

“Alastor,” You leaned forward in your chair, undeterred by his hesitancy. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze slowly slid to you. The close-mouthed smile was back. It was the closest he ever came, or ever could come, to relaxing his expression completely.

“It usually doesn’t bother me,” Alastor murmured, his words barely audible over crackling static.

You frowned.

“But this time it did?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Alastor’s nose wrinkled.

“Because before, I didn’t have you. It was easier. I’ve never relied on anyone or had anyone relying on me. Now there’s the hotel, its inhabitants…”

You remedied the sting with a vacant smile of your own.

“When you say ‘you’, you mean all our friends?”

Alastor shook his head.

“No. No, I was attempting to obfuscate.”

“Oh.”

Alastor stared at you. You stared back. Then, with a clang, the penny dropped.

“Oh!”

“Mm.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Quite.”

You smiled at his sour expression. Your own face was burning but you bravely ignored it.

Your relationship with Alastor had been a nebulous, vague sort of a thing. He was a terrifying colleague to have at the hotel, and at first, you couldn’t be sure why in Hell he was there. He liked to watch others struggle, suffer, and fail miserably, it was all just good entertainment for him. But that couldn’t be all there was behind his sudden interest.

As soon as you figured out that Alastor served himself and himself only, things became a lot clearer, and it was a lot easier to like him. You didn’t have to worry about trusting him, because you couldn’t. You didn’t have to question his motives, you knew they were ill-intentioned and that you were better off not knowing. He liked to pretend he was oh so mysterious, but Alastor was perhaps the most honest person in the hotel.

Mutual respect grew into friendship, into something more. You often went out with Alastor when he required assistance or just wanted some company, and you were always the first person he came to when he got home.

Slowly, incrementally, that trust bloomed. Alastor began to ask for your opinion. You would sit together in companionable silence, reading by the fire long into the night. He didn’t need to ensnare and trick and manipulate you, because you did things for him happily and without question, though within reason.

He was always honest with you, or at least, as honest as he could be without it endangering his own self-preservation. And you respected that. It was a harsh world, you had to look out for yourself, but slowly, so slowly that neither you nor your friends had noticed until it was too late, Alastor had bound his life to yours.

You hadn’t appreciated the depths of that connection. You’d always known you had a soft spot for him, ill-advised as it was, but never in all that remained of your afterlife could you have anticipated a requited affection.

Alastor interlocked his fingers and rested them in his lap, keeping his composure well considering the situation.

“It pains me to think of you in danger.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed quietly.

“Steady now, Alastor. You sure know how to sweep someone off their feet.”

He’d never rolled his eyes at you, he was far too refined for that, but Alastor gave his equivalent, waving an airy hand at you and soldiering on.

“We have always been close, you and I. Right from the start.”

“That’s not how I remember it but…” You smiled. “I like to think of us as a little team.”

He brightened, his pained smile morphing into something a little more authentic.

“Exactly! A team! But what was once companionship and, admittedly, amusement-”

“Do you mean we have fun together or do you mean amusement at my expense?”

Alastor waved his hand again.

“A little of column A, a little of column B.”

“Wonderful.”

“What I mean to say is… My feelings have evolved somewhat.”

In all the time you’d spent with him, you’d never known Alastor to be so hesitant. In fact, you couldn’t remember a time when you’d seen him show any sign of apprehension. His stitched-on smile was still intact but his clawed fingers drummed against the sound desk and his gaze had been lost in safer ground, somewhere over your shoulder.

“Evolved into what?”

Though your heart was thudding in your ears, you didn’t hesitate to push him. You thought one of the reasons Alastor had grown to enjoy your company so much was that you liked to talk, as well as listen. He got bored so easily and he’d always been a chatterbox; you were one of the few people in his life who could match him in that without any sign of fear or an ulterior motive.

Alastor’s ear flicked again. This was a hard conversation for him.

“The Extermination meant nothing to me before. But now, the thought of it…”

You watched his eyes grow unfocused as his imagination consumed him. His fingers stopped drumming. The song on the radio rose by a few decibels.

“Alastor, it’s okay-”

“It frightens me. And it’s not about self-preservation this time. When I consider how our companions may fare…”

“They’ll be okay.”

“What if I can’t protect you?”

Sensing you might need to ease off, take a breath, anything, you leaned in closer, reaching out for him but never, ever touching him without asking first. Instead, you rested your hand beside his on the desk.

“I don’t need protection, Alastor.”

“Still, I want to keep you safe, my darling. There’s a… A sharp tug here…”

He pressed one clawed hand against his empty chest.

“And here…”

He dragged the same hand down to the pit of his lean stomach.

“When I think about you in any kind of danger.”

How did he always manage to be so charming, even when he didn’t mean to be?

You barely held back a pleased smile. Like Alastor’s, it tugged at the corners of your mouth, threatening to spill over into a stupid, happy grin.

He didn’t have the language for what he felt, that was fine. You and Alastor had always found a way to communicate, even without words. He’d told you more with one gesture than you ever could have expected him to say aloud.

But it wasn't just unexpected, it was completely astonishing. You couldn’t let him sense that though, it might make him retreat into himself. So instead, you turned it back around on him, letting Alastor choose how much he wanted to give away.

“What do you think that could be?”

“I have an idea. But I dread to think.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you knew you were on the same page.

It would be difficult for him, far more than it had been for you, to pin down and explore and accept the feelings you had for each other. You hadn’t been able to figure out a better word for whatever it was that fizzled between you, though, like Alastor, you had a sneaking suspicion and it terrified you.

Nothing sounded right. Logically, you knew there were some words that ought to fit, but acknowledging them felt like wearing someone else’s shoes.

You couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be for Alastor to come to terms with it all. So it surprised you when he slid his hand over yours.

It wasn’t the first time you’d touched, he was always holding out his arm for you, patting the top of your head, often even lifting your hand to his lips when he greeted you in the mornings or bade you goodnight. But this wasn’t a fleeting brush of his hand against yours, this was sustained, purposeful contact, and it meant something, to both of you.

Alastor’s gaze still couldn’t meet yours, so he stared at your hands, his close-mouthed smile back in place.

“I’ve grown quite fond of you,” he said quietly, and it was just his voice you could hear, no static, no sound effects, just Alastor.

You smiled.

“I’ve grown quite fond of you too, handsome. I get the same feeling.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, all the time.”

“Oh, well, that’s reassuring, at least.” Alastor finally met your eyes, his head tilted quizzically to one side. “Have you told anyone?”

“What, and admit I’m in love with the Radio Demon? No thanks, I’d never live it down.”

Feedback shot through the room, a grating, warped sound, like someone had held a microphone too close to a speaker. It was hard to tell if the sound emanated from the mixing desk or from Alastor himself, but his scarlet eyes were wide.

His hand tightened over yours, though it was more likely out of surprise than him trying to give you comfort. The tips and edges of his sharp claws dug into your skin, not enough to hurt, but it still made your jaw clench.

Alastor, to his credit, didn’t seem as put off by the admission than you might’ve expected. Maybe he wasn’t surprised by the actual sentiment, just that you’d finally said the words out loud.

You smiled.

With just a week or so left until an Extermination that would surely kill you all, there wasn’t much room left in your damned soul for shyness. It wasn’t an all-out ‘if this is my last chance to say it’ confession. You and Alastor had always appreciated candour, and with so little time left, why not say what you were both thinking?

“Have you spoken about it with anyone?”

Alastor shrugged.

“Well, yes, I’m doing it now.”

“No, I meant someone you can trust. Someone you can talk about your feelings with.”

Alastor watched you blankly.

A second penny dropped.

“Oh.”

You had to resist the urge to shiver under his heavy stare.

“You couldn’t talk to Rosie?”

“I considered it but, bless her heart, my old friend can be a sentimentalist. No, best just to get to the source of the problem.”

“Alastor…”

You huffed, pretending to be insulted, and Alastor’s smile once again looked a little more real. It met his eyes, open, unguarded and calm.

“So, what would you like to do about it?”

“Hmm,” Alastor raised the hand that had covered yours to tap one long finger against his chin. “Any chance you’d let me lock you away in a secret, impenetrable bunker?”

Your smile grew.

“Sorry, honey.”

Alastor tutted.

“I thought as much.”

“Do you have one of those?”

“Hm?”

“A secret, impenetrable bunker.”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, my dear. You’ll just have to be particularly careful. And perhaps this… Feeling will go away with time.”

You smiled, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Perhaps it will.”

“When I’m right, I’m right, my darling.”

”That’s not the expression and you know it.”

//

Master List

[mingsoooo]

Hallow

Pair: sunghoon & reader

genre: hallow Ball romance, kiss, past lives.

Word count: 1.5+ words

Synopsis: Your school invited your grade to a hallow ball which was unusual but what was more unusual was that you met these two men. What were you supposed to do when you met one of them in a dark narrow path?

Author notes: Uh... Tbh, I would need to make a second chapter about this to make sense of this chapter lol. Well, it was fun to write but there are still a lot of loopholes so, hopefully, I can continue it. For now, please enjoy it! Hopefully next one will be a full-fledged R18 smut chapter cuz sunghoon has quite alot of pent-up emotions. ><

"Y/N!!! Who could have thought that our school would organize a ball? Uh, I still don't believe it." Lily gleefully spoke. She wore a dress inspired by the nineteenth century. It was a lemon-yellowish dress with a full hem and short sleeves, which were full. 

"Me neither. But I'm glad. I have always wanted to celebrate Hallow this way at least once," you answered. You wore a red and black dress that had black flowers sewn on the hem—a perfect costume for the hallow with the air of the past and the Gothic. 

You were a part of a private school that was managed by the largest business in the country, the Park's. Apart from the government, they were the runner of the country, from the most luxurious schools to the factories, buses, and everything. And apparently, three of the family members of the park's were in the same grade as you. 

Perhaps they had demanded this type of celebration, which was why such an exception was made, as usually for Halloween, the school only provided holidays. 

"You know, Y/N, some girls earlier in the bathroom were talking about how the heirs of the park's are also attending the Halloween celebration today." Lily's eyes glinted while you could only pull off a smile. 

"I hope we don't run into them then," you replied. After all, any interaction with the rich people was only a quicker way to death.

As a commoner, you had enrolled in the academy with a scholarship. You had a family that was being torn apart, all because of the expensive fees despite the lower cost. You had a dream, and most of all, you were in a land of wolves. Lily was an exception, perhaps because she mostly lived away from society, abroad, but not you. 

You knew well about all the eyes of the people who wished for you to leave, thinking you were a leech of some sort. 

"Aww, don't say such bad things with such a warm smile, y/n." Lily patted your back while walking down the hallway, which was decorated in gothic decor. The lights were dim, and luxurious paintings were hung in the narrow pathway, which had a few fake cobwebs and even fingers of humans hung. 

After walking for about the next ten minutes, you finally arrived at the ballroom. When the guards opened the door, the magnificent hall was decorated with golden paint, and hundreds of paintings were revealed. The music was sad and slow. All were dressed in Victorian yet modern dresses. Some drank the red wine while some danced. 

"Y/n-ah! We have to dance as well!! Let's downstairs go!"  Lily excitedly pulled your wrist down the velvet stairs while your eyes remained vigilant, but your heart felt unsettled. As you were running downstairs while looking towards the vault of the hall. It had a painting of seven men raising their glasses. 

But just as you were gazing more closely, suddenly a strong something hit your shoulders. Huh? 

"Ah-" You whined while Lily's hands abruptly left you, making your balance shaky. As your heels were tall, your body almost fell backwards, but in a swish of a moment, a man caught you by the waist. 

His eyes were filled with boredom, and he wore pristine clothes. A neat black tux with slick hair. It was just for a brief moment, but as your eyes locked with his, the subtle changes in him were so fast, you couldn't help but be fascinated. 

"Uh, thank you for helping me." Your eyes looked away while the tips of your ears were rosy and warm. It hadn't gone unnoticed, but Sunghoon only gave a nod before heading upwards. 

"Y/n! I'm so sorry."

"That's okay. But let's head down now." 

"Eh"

You intertwined your hands with Lily while walking down the grandiose stairs. By the time you had arrived, the music changed right away, signifying the change in partners. So, despite the awkwardness just for Lily, you too decided to participate in the ball dance. 

"May I?" A man wearing a golden tux got on his knees and kissed the back of your palm. His eyes were sharp and hazel, almost as if he were staring at your soul. His expressions were quick to change from a condescending man to a caring gentleman, his hair neatly set, and he had a flirty gaze. He was perhaps one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. A perfectly sculpted nose and soft kissable lips. 

The time went on, but you could only take a gulp. While the heartbeat accelerated, you took a sign, closed your eyes, and replied, "Yes, please."

Gently, he pressed his lips on the back of your hand while locking eyes with you. It was just an act, and yet, it made your heart race. 

Focus Y/n focus!! You chanted while the man took the lead. 

The soft music began to play, and as he pressed his hand on your waist while you kept your palm on his shoulder, you danced. 

"I am Jake," he spoke behind your ear while holding you close. The dance was far from over, but you could already feel your legs giving up. 

"Y/N," you too revealed, but after a long silence. Jake was handsome, but he caught too much attention. You could feel the glares and daggers and burning sensation behind your head. Right when the music was over, you immediately gave a bow and ran away from the hall, asking one of the servers for the way to the bathroom. 

"Tsk, always on the tip of her toes." Jake rolled his eyes while instantly being surrounded by a crowd of women who wished to dance with him next. 

He was dangerous! He was wild! He was something else! But he was not the way he portrayed himself to be! 

As per the instructions of the server, you continued to run through the narrow hall, which was only lit by a couple of candles, which were soon about to burn out. "Phew," you breathed out while still pinching the hem of the skirt and running for your life. 

"Ah," you were stopped by a strong force. It was warm but sturdy. 

'huh?'

Your hands pressed on the wall-like thing with both your hands while you looked upward only to meet with the same man again from before. This time her hair was ruffled. His necktie was slightly loosened, and his eyes were hostile instead of bored. 

"What are you doing here?" He glared down at you while his gruff voice enveloped the silence of the narrow path. As you looked at your hand placement, suddenly you realized it was his chest! "Ah!!" you screamed in lowercase while taking your hands to your sides. Blood rushed to the apples of your cheeks due to embarrassment. 

"I am running away," you blurted out. It was sudden, and although you were telling the truth, the ma gave a side eye before his eyes landed on your open shoulders and tender neck, which gave you some time to look at him closer. 

He was handsome, almost like a work of art. He had chiseled jaws, thick brows, and sharp eyes, with a tall nose that was perfectly sculpted. But he had an icy and dangerous feel to him. As you continued to admire him, suddenly a hand made both your hands pin to the wall behind you while a thick pair of top lips pressed on yours. 

"Umm--um!" It was all too sudden, and as you tried to shake off his strong grip, your muffled muffles soon were so pressed down by his kiss. His kiss was soft, almost heart-fluttering despite him dominating you. 

He kissed each part of your lips, then gently nibbling them down. Right after, he started to kiss your jaw, then your neckline, while you continued to feel it all, tears in your eyes. It felt wonderful; somehow his touch was warm and almost melting, but it was your first kiss! 

It was supposed to be special! But to whom could you tell about it? Who would take the side of the poor, especially when the man before you were definitely someone with lots of power and position? It was sweet but bitter. Still, as Sunghoon continued to kiss down on your neck, he found a sweet spot right between the shoulder and the neck. It was sweet; it smelt heavenly, almost mouth-drooling. 

"It's my first kiss," you whimpered with teary eyes. As if out of a hallucinating dream, Sunghoon suddenly let go of your hands. His eyes looked to the ground while biting his lips. 

Were you free? Could you run? You were not sure, but the very moment he let go, you started to run away, reaching for the door. While Sunghoon could only look your way. 

"Fuck," he muttered while still listening to your footsteps. He knew he had fucked up, but how could he stop? Especially when he had held back for a thousand years.

[foreveric]

"𝓘 𝓓𝓞."

pairing — john wick x f!reader content — 70% FLUFF 20% ANGST 5% SMUT words — 2,284 dividers — @saradika-graphics tagging — @feinv and @iovesia (srsly their blogs r what kept us inspired to finish this while sick, lol)

This is it.

The day hundreds of lives were ended so that John would be able to settle down in his life with you, the most precious thing that he’s ever had in his life. You’re like his rock that he’s never had growing up, and he wouldn’t dare risk allowing his bloody career to get in the way of the life that he could have with you. And now, everything that he had planned and gone through that day for this very ceremony was coming into fruition.

Today made it feel like everything he did that night was worth it: all of the lives he took, and the blood he had to so violently spill. Watching you walk down the aisle in the dream wedding dress he’d always imagined on you, kissing you slowly at the altar after you’ve shared your vows to seal your commitment after years of dating each other. 

Hearing the marching music begin to fade in, John’s gaze flickered up to meet your own, even if it was covered slightly by the mesh of the white veil you were wearing. Lifting the veil up, John would flash you a smile full of warmth and affection; the most emotional smile the man was ever able to muster in his entire life — you could just see it behind his eyes.

“Do you, Mr. Jardani Jovonovich, take Ms. (Y/N) to be your lawfully wedded wife…” The Officiant asked, his attention focusing on John as he stood at the altar, holding onto your hands.

A few months earlier, John was in a much different place mentally. Instead of getting prepared for his wedding with you, he was preparing for his final assassination, the “impossible task”, as Viggo called it. Of course, John was more than willing to perform such a task, if it meant getting to settle down with the love of his life.

“You did well, Jonathan.” Viggo commented to John with his hands held behind his back.

“Thanks,” John replied with a small nod of his head, silently expecting Viggo to add onto his statement.

“I suppose you still want to be released from our organization?”

“Yeah.” He answered firmly, yet he still tried to keep himself level-headed after the adrenaline rush of the mission.

“Well, I wish you and your lover the best life.” Viggo replied to John before turning his back to him, holding his hands behind his own back while he stared out the large window that was just placed just behind the desk. “Be seeing you, Mr. Wick.” He added in a colder voice than before. It was a tone that didn’t go unnoticed by John, but he didn’t care then. At least, not about this “family” he’d been stuck in since his childhood. No, now all that he cared about was the future he was about to lead with you.

In the shower at home, you were luckily not home that day, giving John the perfect chance to wash the blood away from his body. None of it was his blood, though. No, he was washing off the lives he’d ended a mere few hours ago. But, he was used to this feeling — he was used to killing, to seeing the red on his hands and chest after an exhausting mission. 

And now, John tried to make himself focus on the plans he had made for today many months ago — to propose to (y/n), and make you his officially. That ring he got a few weeks ago? It was going to be used for this special day. His heart leaped when he opened up the box to check on the ring, the diamond shimmering brightly in the sunlight that seeped in through the nearby glass windows of the mansion he was now sharing with you. A smile painted itself across John’s lips as a reaction to the thoughts he began to have flooding through his mind of the day that would soon be in his future.

Then, just as he’s lost in thought, John’s head whipped up to the sound of the doorbell ringing, announcing your presence at the front door. Quickly hiding the box away from view, underneath the bed, John sprinted out of the bedroom to greet you at the door. There’s a smile still present on his face as you open the door, immediately welcomed by him wrapping his arms around you to pull you into his embrace and kiss the top of your head.

“Hey, hon.” John greeted you, his voice more cheerful than it normally is.

“Hey…how was your day?” You ask, your voice sounding groggy from working long hours throughout the day.

Catching on to your exhaustion, John gave you a light nod of his head before taking his right hand and gently placing it on the back of your neck, his thumb resting on the side of your jawline. 

"I've been thinking about you," he says with a tone of sincerity laced through his voice while his deep brown eyes were locked onto your own.

"Yeah?" You reply with a hint of playfulness that John quickly caught onto, making him smirk down at you.

"Mm-hmm." John murmurs affirmatively right before leaning in to lock his lips onto yours; they always surprise you with how soft they are every time you feel them. After breaking the kiss, he brought his lips up to brush them against your ear, sending shivers down your entire back. "You go take a shower while I cook you some food, alright?" He offers, yet there was a silent hint that he wasn't going to budge on this.

"Okay." You agree, nodding your head lightly in response to the offer John had just made you.

Lying wounded on the cold ground of the warehouse in which Viggo's enemies operated in, John gasped for breath as he locked eyes with the sky, which was pouring down the same tears he nearly shed at the idea of not standing at the altar with you, not putting that ring on your finger, not marrying YOU. He couldn't bear himself if this is how it all ended. When he noticed he was unable to get up, however, you seemed to have a spiritual hold on him — or, maybe even...a connection? John began to hear his phone ring, prompting him to glance down and take a look until he saw that it was your contact displaying as the number that was calling. At first, John was hesitant to answer. Not because he didn't want to answer your call, it would be far from that. No. Instead, it would be because...he was terrified of what you'd think of him if you were to find out about the truth of his past and what he used to do for his life. But, something clicked inside of John for him to press the green button on the keypad of the cell phone, lifting it up to his ear to hear your voice speaking to him once again.

"Hey, babe. I got dinner ready a few hours ago and you didn't come home, are you okay?" You ask as the line connected, the concern evident in the tone of your voice.

"Long story..." John answered in his own weakened and strained voice. You could immediately discern that something was horrifically wrong.

"Where are you?"

Not a beat was skipped between either of you before you swung your purse over and around your shoulder, jingling your car keys in between the crooks of your fingers. John gives you the address to the warehouse he was in. Of course, the sketch location raised questions in your head, but you knew you couldn't probe him for answers now; not when he's in such a risky position.

"I'll be right there." You say as you swing the front door open and begin to rush out to the driveway until you reach the car that was left.

In a matter of no time, John would soon begin to hear the engine of your car rumbling in the near distance until it was parked a mere few yards away from his limp body. "Oh, John!" You exclaim in concern right before rushing over to where John was leaning against the warehouse wall, the adrenaline immediately beginning to course through your entire being.

"I'm alright, honey." John replied in a soft-toned voice that was only meant to comfort you through the distress he knew he must be putting you through.

"I'm going to get you in the car," you declare in a tone that leaves no room for him to argue with you. But, in that moment, it really seemed as though John had no thoughts of even attempting as such. Taking his arm over your shoulder, (y/n) used your strength to walk John back over to your car to the passenger side. Once he was seated, you quickly pulled the seatbelt over John’s chest and buckled him in right before shutting his side’s door and darting around the car until you were able to get into the driver’s side.

Back at home, you gave John the stitches he needed for the deep gunshot wounds he had when you first got to him. There was a surge of emotions flooding throughout your entire mind, mostly being that of fear and concern for John’s well-being. You couldn’t lose him, not when you still have the chance to save him. Shoving away the questions you may have wanted to ask him, you focus on the task at hand of saving his life.

After you took John’s black tuxedo and white dress-shirt off by sliding them up his arms and chest, revealing two gunshot wounds to his right shoulder and chest, eliciting a gasp out of you.

“Jesus Christ, John.”

“I know, I know…” he attempted to speak up while keeping his voice low and soft-spoken, but you were too panicked to even hear him as you prioritized making every last move count.

“This is the worst I’ve ever seen you.” You continue to mumble to yourself as you attempt to concentrate on the bloody wounds that were penetrated straight through John’s skin.

“(Y/N)—”

“Where the Hell even were you?” You question, quickly followed up by an exasperated sigh with your eyebrows furrowing deeply in frustration. The thought of someone hurting John made your blood boil into pure rage.

“(Y/N), relax.” He finally spoke up, this time at a much louder volume than before to ensure that he got your attention. John would then notice you flinch back slightly, prompting him to reassuringly reach both of his hands up to lightly yet firmly place them on the top of either of your shoulders, his thumb slowly rubbing the exposed skin underneath your crewneck top. “I promise, I’m okay.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” You sigh before reaching your hands back down towards the one gunshot wound you were giving stitches to. John appeared to hardly even flinch the entire time, only raising more questions in your head. But you knew that now was not the time to probe for anything. After you have finished stitching up John’s wounds, you exhale out a deep sigh and rub your forehead with the back of your hand. He could see how exhausted you were after a long day, making him reach his hands out to hold onto your shoulders. Your eyes lock onto each other’s.

“Thank you,” John said. A soft smile curls up across the corners of his lips and he trails one of his hands up from your shoulder to the nape of your neck, prompting you to lean in closer to him. Locking your lips, you and John began to share a searing kiss. It was one of those that made your heartbeat start to speed up against the walls of your chest, one that you would never forget for as long as you shall live 

That’s the moment that John recalled when he snapped back into reality to see you standing in front of him, looking like the most gorgeous bride ever. His eyes sparkled with love and affection, his smile growing warmer right as the Officiant continued on with his speech. The music already faded out and it was all silent on the Western front – only the Officiant spoke, and the audience was also silent, even the babies. “— in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” The Officiant asked while his head was turned in John’s direction, who answered with a light nod of his head in confirmation.

“I do.” John responded to the Officiant, his eyes never once straying away from yours.

“And do you, Ms. (Y/N), take Mr. Jardani Jovonovich to be your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do.”

The ring bearers then handed the proper ring to the bride and groom, which was then followed by you and John sliding either ring on each other’s ring finger. You both were smiling gleefully at each other while the trade was made between you. “In the power vested in me, I hereby declare you husband and wife.” The Officiant announced with joy radiating through his tone of voice as he took a small step back, allowing you and John to close the distance between the both of you. “You may now kiss the bride.” He said to John, who didn’t waste a second in making your marriage official.

That kiss, it’s like one that you could only ever dream of. It was one that would change either of your lives forever; not like how your first kiss did, no. This kiss was one that would change the course of your relationship for the rest of your lives, officially making the both of you legally married. He was your husband, and you were his wife. And now, you could live happily ever after.

[revasserium]

I can do this, I thought. Then: And even if I can't, I have to.

Karasuno request, lol

from David Levithan, How they Met and Other Stories

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

can, would, have

atsumu; 3,045 words; fluff, childhood friends to lovers, no "y/n", highschool to post-timeskip, kissing and banter, lapslock bc lazy

summary: there's no could have. not for him, anyway.

a/n: is this my hq!! revival phase? network @houseofsolisoccasum

there’s no such thing as could have — there’s only did, or didn’t.

can or couldn’t.

it’s something that he’s always said, though you’d never really thought about it. till now.

“you did it!”

“course we did,” atsumu drags a hand across his chin, feeling the sweat slick off his skin even as you press a cool, damp towel into his hand. he reaches out to pinch your cheek, smirking when you swat him away, pushing a bottle of pocari sweat into his chest.

“mm — for a second there, it looked like you were gonna drop a set — mmph…”

your words are cut off by a pair of large, warm palms squishing your cheeks together, forcing your face back up to meet dark, honeyed eyes. they’re narrowed as atsumu levels you with a frown.

“oi oi oi, don’t you dare doubt us now — this ain’t the u-19’s for nothin’!”

you make a valiant attempt at rolling your eyes, even as atsumu holds your face steady.

“right. so… everyone else here’s supposed to be just as good, no?” you grin cheekily up at him as he finally lets go of your face to wipe his palms on his jersey.

“alright, alright — that was a great series of scrimmages, but you all must be hungry! dinner time!” the coach hibarida says, clapping his hands, a wide, fatherly smile crinkling the edges of his eyes.

“don’t forget to stretch properly!” he calls as the crowd of teenage boys start to break off a few at a time, heading for the gymnasium doors.

“yeah, ‘tsumu — y’hear? you gotta stretch properly,” you parrot, grinning as atsumu whips around to glare at you, halfway through reaching down for his gym bag.

it is not the first winter break you’d spent with atsumu (and by extension, his twin osamu), but it might be your last for a few years, though neither of you knew it at the time. because youth, as everyone no longer considered youthful by an standard knows (painfully, immutably), is truly wasted on the young.

wasted because it is never treasured the way it ought to be. wasted, because time isn’t yet a concept that they’ve been caught victim to.

“you really think you’re invincible, don’t you?” you ask, one night, towards the end of training camp, when the air is still cold enough to make you tug your jacket around your shoulders.

atsumu hums, spinning a volleyball absently with one hand, a grimace digging its way between his brows as he looks at you.

“why’re you always askin’ me stupid questions?”

“how’s that a stupid question?”

“cause you already know the answer, duh.”

atsumu rolls his eyes, tossing the volleyball up and catching it before bumping it lightly on the top of your head.

“i’m asking you because i’m not sure about the answer. i… i know what you might say, but… i don’t know that you will. not… a hundred percent…” your words trail off as atsumu blinks down at you, looking nonplussed.

“ha? i mean — i don’t get half’a what you just said but — uh — i guess i do think i’m invincible. why? don’t you?” there’s a twang to the end of his words, like a tease or a test. you pause to cast your eyes up at the moon, round as white as a rime of rice —

“i think… that whatever you believe… you’re right.”

you smile, satisfied with your own answer, even as atsumu makes a strange, low-level groaning noise that sounds something like a car engine refusing to start. your smile lopes into a smirk as you turn to glance at him.

“eugh… you’re so weird.” atsuma shivers, tossing the volleyball up again. he twists away before you can see the inexplicable heat washing into his cheeks; he speeds up his pace, forcing you to jog to keep up with him as he makes his way back to the youth camp dorms.

“t-tsumu! wait!”

he only twists around to stick his tongue out at you before turning to dash off, cackling into the night. you chase him all the way to the entrance of the dorms, where he swivels around to catch you round the middle, the pair of you toppling into a patch of manicured lawn. you yelp as you realize that the grass is still damp from a recent bout of watering, but atsumu’s hold is firm and you can’t get free, no matter how hard you try.

so you allow yourself to go slack in his arms, laughing and laughing, your face pressing into his chest. his whole body shakes because he’s laughing too, but at a certain point, he quiets down just to watch you, to listen to you, to soak in the rich, generous sound of your laughter.

“c’mon, we’re gonna get in trouble!” you say, still laughing, your eyes bright beneath the darkened sky, cut with shiver shafts of moonlight.

“mm, didn’tcha know? trouble’s basically my middle name,” atsumu says, though he lets himself be pulled up, one hand clasped in both of yours. and your smile, when you look back up at him, is bright enough to put every single star to shame.

—

“it’s alright — you can say it,” atsumu says, a few months later, walking off the spring tournament court, karasuno’s cheers and shouts still fresh in all your ears. you bite your lips, shaking your head.

“i… i don’t know what you want me to say…” you admit, head drooping as osamu slams a hand into the locker room door and atsumu buries his fingers in his hair.

“say — say that you knew it! say that you told us so! y-you’re always sayin’ we goof off too much so —”

“but that’s not true,” you say, your voice steady, even as your heart thunders behind your ears, blood rushing into your head, your cheeks, the backs of your eyes, until your whole head is pounding and you have to steady yourself against one of the faded metal lockers.

“you asked… if i thought i was invincible,” atsumu says, his voice low — too low for the rest of the team to hear. faintly, you feel rather than see osamu shift by the door, his sweat-drenched hair still covering his eyes. but you know he’s listening.

“i — i did,” you admit.

atsumu sighs, “i… i guess i’m just not smart enough to doubt stuff like that.”

your eyes flash up, catching his with such a sharp look that he almost stumbles back. you purse your lips, curling your fingers into your palms hard enough to sting. there are bruises on your legs from all the late nights you’d stayed to help them practice, scars and scuffs on your arms from all the times a stray volleyball had flown out the court and found you instead.

“yeah, well —” you find your voice oddly steady as you press him back against the lockers with a firm hand, your eyes hard and certain —

“i’m smart enough not to.”

—

he does not win his first game with the jackals, but at least you’re not there to see. not there in person, at least. because when atsumu gets off the court to check his phone, he sees a missed call and another one incoming.

he sighs and picks it up.

“if you’re just callin’ to rub it all in —”

“you did good,” you say. and it stops him in his tracks. and then —

“well. not good enough.” his voice is quiet, is flat, is not quite like himself.

“so you’ll do better next time.”

“hn. could’ve done better this time.”

there’s a silence across the line that makes atsumu pause, makes him straighten up as he tugs open a bottle of sports drink and chugs half of it before wiping the back of his hand across his lips, feeling the sweat slick off his skin.

“there’s no such thing as could have,” you say, your voice even, your words solid and steady as the passage of time itself.

neither of you are children anymore. but you’re still young enough to act like it, sometimes.

atsumu grins, chuckling as you stares down at the sports drink in his hand, “yeah. guess there ain’t. just gotta do better next time.”

he can hear your smile in the way you breath out, “yep. simple as that.”

—

they do not win the olympics, but they get close enough.

“we’ll get the gold next time,” atsumu says, leaning back as hoshiumi loudly challenges bokuto to another drinking game and hinata hiccups, laughing with kuroo.

in the corner, osamu is grinning as he chats with some old high school friends, kita and aran each nursing a beer each, though osamu is still wearing his server’s apron.

all around you, people are drinking and laughing and eating.

you run a thumb around the lip of your drink, a bubbly cocktail of some sort that’s probably too alcoholic for your own good.

“i’m sure you will.”

“what? you don’t believe me?”

you laugh, shaking your head, “it doesn’t really matter what i believe, does it? you’ll get what you want, no matter what.”

your voice is soft, and atsumu pauses, his eyes flickering down to your lips. your entire body stills as you notice him noticing you. you fight the urge to purse your lips.

“ah…” atsumu turns to face you properly, setting his drink down with a dull clunk. you swallow, unable to help the way your heart flutters inside your chest. you thought you’d done a good job of keeping your feelings to yourself. you thought you’d gotten home safe.

because you’d grown up friends — hadn’t you? best friends. with him, and his twin and — your eyes skip over towards the corner where most of the inarizaki grads are sitting; you find osamu watching the pair of you with a knowing smile. the moment he catches your eyes, he cocks his head and has the audacity to wink before letting his gaze slip back towards aran and rintaro.

“oi. where’dyou think you’re lookin’, hm? ain’t we supposed to be celebrating my insane olympics debut?”

your attention snaps back to atsumu, now leaning down way too far, pressing into your personal space.

you purse your lips, “celebrating you? it’s the national team, right?”

atsumu rolls his eyes, leaning back with a soul-heavy sigh, “ah — you’re no fun.”

you bite back a laugh; he’d always been so good at making you laugh.

atsumu’s arm brushes against yours, and all of a sudden, you feel your stomach lurch, your entire body on high alert as he reaches over to sling his arm casually over your shoulders, pulling you close.

“so. you think we got it in the bag next time?”

you’re stiff for three seconds before you force yourself to relax. it’s not the first time he’s been this touchy, not even the first time he’s held you like this, looped into his side, tucking you into his body as if that’s just where you’d always belonged.

“in four years?” you ask, peering up at him as he reaches up to tug at the ends of your hair, “sure, if you think so.”

“if i think so? hm… you’ve always said weird stuff like that.”

“have i?”

he ruffles your hair, and you reach up to swat at his hand, but he catches your wrist, tracing up your skin till he slots his fingers through yours, and suddenly, he’s pressing you back into the bar, the hard edge digging into your lower back as he looms over you with that god-forsaken smirk — sweet and lazy as a summer moon.

“tell me,” he drawls, letting his vowels stretch out on his tongue like toffee, his voice dipping dangerously low, “if i were to ask you to kiss me… what’dyou think you’d say?”

“w-what do i think?”

“mhm,” he nods, leaning in further, till his nose is almost brushing yours.

you’re stomach-twistingly aware that you’re both standing in the middle of an izakaya, rented out by the japanese national team, filled to the brim with people who have know the both of you for far too long.

and still, all it takes is one smooth sweep of his dark, thick brows for your world to spin down to a single turning point — to him and you and the negative space caught between the pair of you, to the gravity of your lips and his, to your shared breaths twisting in the solid, stagnant air.

“i think… that you’re… not as stupid as you make yourself out to be,” you say, quietly, so that no one else can hear. but somehow, you wonder if everyone can hear you, because you can’t seem to hear anything else. not the ruckus of the karasuno alums, not the clink of chopsticks on flatware, not the dull thunks of glasses being put down and picked up and put back down again.

“see?” atsumu says, cocking his head, seemingly satisfied with your answer, though he makes no move to hide the fact that his eyes track down the length of your face to fix on your lips.

where they stay, and stay, and stay.

“i-if you were to ask me for a kiss… what do you think i’d say?” your words are breathless. eager. in a way that you’ve no power nor wish to take back.

atsumu’s grin stretches as he makes a mock contemplative noise.

“i think… that whatever i believe… i’m right.”

“a-and… what do you believe?”

atsumu’s lips are so close to yours you almost feel the weight of them against your skin; you let out a sharp exhale, your chest aching like an open wound.

“well… i believe…” atsumu traces a finger along the line of your jaw, holding your face still as he cocks his head to one side, watching you with those dark, hungry eyes of his —

“that you’re mine.”

you inhale, the sound sharp and short and wanting.

“and,” he adds, tugging you in till it’s really a miracle there’s any space left between the pair of you at all, “that you’ve always been mine.”

“then…” your lashes flutter; his thumb draws tiny circles against your chin, “i guess… you’d be right.”

faintly, you register that his lips taste like overpriced beer and ricecakes. faintly, you register that someone is clapping, that someone else is cheering, and then that someone else is telling the first two people to shut the fuck up and mind their own business.

you don’t care — because there, atsumu is kissing you. and you’re kissing him back. and of all the things you’ve thought and believe, you don’t know if you’d ever thought this would come to pass, if you’d ever believed hard enough that he might even feel the slightest bit the same way that you do. that you’d always done.

but it doesn’t matter, because clearly, he’d believed enough for the both of you.

when he pulls away, it’s with a satisfied smirk, your lips slick with spit, your breath coming in short, staccato pants.

“ah — tsumu —”

“mm… always wondered what my name’d sound like comin’ out your mouth like that…” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair absently from your cheek, before trailing his finger down your face to tip your head back up towards his again.

“h-have you?”

“mhm,” he nods, humming as he traps you against him with his free arm looping around your middle, “sure have.”

“that’s — why — why didn’t you — earlier —” words tumble from your mouth, and atsumu seems content to catch them between his lips as they fall. he grins at your relative incoherence, pulling back with a wicked grin.

“cause… i was a stupid, volleyball-obsessed kid. still kinda am sometimes…” atsumu cocks his head to one side, slow and steady, his eyes dark, half-hooded as he blinks down at you, “but i’d like to think i’ve gotten… a lil bit smarter. though you were always smart ‘nough for the both of us, hm?”

he taps your nose affectionately, and suddenly, it’s as if someone’s turned the volume back on in the izakaya, and all the sound comes flooding back in. you bury your face in his chest, curling your fingers into the front of atsumu’s loose-fitting shirt.

“don’t really feel smart right now,” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut as your cheeks begin to burn.

atsumu tuts, running his fingers through your hair, “ah… don’t go thinkin’ bout stuff that could’ve been — i’ve told you before, right? there ain’t no could have. only did and didn’t —”

“can and couldn’t —” you finish for him, lifting your head back up to meet his soft, certain gaze.

“though… i think i’ve learned enough to add one more to that list…” atsumu runs a thumb along your bottom lip, his dark eyes going even darker as his pupils dilate at the parting of your mouth.

“bet i can guess,” you say, feeling the spark of that familiar, youthful recklessness bubbling up inside you.

“oh yeah?”

“sure — will and…” you lean in, reaching up to tangle your fingers into the hairs at the nape of his neck. your revel in the way he gasps.

“kiss me,” you say, batting your lashes, “won’t you?”

atsumu hisses as you tug on the ends of his hair; when he twists to look back down at you, all the light’s gone from his eyes. all you see there is a deep, dark, unrelenting hunger.

“i sure as well will.”

[lemoncrushh]

What Happens In Vegas...

Summary: Your Vegas trip to celebrate your friend's birthday turns into a night you hadn't expected when you meet Harry Styles in the casino.

Warnings: Fingering, hand kink, gambling (well, it is Vegas). 18+ ONLY!

Word Count: 3533

A/N: One shot originally posted in 2017. Inspired by Harry's performance at the iHeart Festival in Las Vegas. Edited to be a reader fic. This is for the gals with the obsession with his hands. Also, rereading this, I realized you aren't that great of a friend, but hopefully you can look past that lol.

"Thank you," he said to the crowd. "I am a narcissist, so that will help my ego, thank you very much."

"Oh God," you rolled your eyes. "Like he needs any help boosting his ego."

You felt Simone poke you in the side, her apparent glare of disapproval burning a hole into your profile. You chuckled as you lowered your head. She'd drug you to this iHeart Radio concert in Vegas. You hadn't really wanted to go when she announced she had tickets, but because it was part of her birthday trip, you'd agreed to attend.

Harry Styles. Give me a break, you groaned. The kid had come out looking like a cross between a court jester and a Tim Burton character in his harlequin suit and nearly see-through shirt with a big bow at the neck, and you were supposed to swoon? Apparently so, you thought to yourself when you heard the crowd made up of mostly females fill the room with screams louder than any heavy metal audience you'd ever been a part of. And you supposed the bow was supposed to signify his desire to be a present you were to unwrap?

You giggled during his set as he pranced across stage trying to be a rockstar. You had to hand it to him. He definitely had the stage presence and charisma, and despite the fact that you'd never been a fan of boy bands, you could see why he had so many fans. Plus, you had to admit even if only to yourself, he had an incredibly handsome face. No doubt he knew it though.

Stepping further out to the catwalk, Harry gave the audience what they came for, even if they hadn't initially come to see him in particular. You couldn't help it though. Watching him dance around in that suit had you laughing, especially when he'd bop his head from side to side as he sang about "having your baby" and "it's none of your business."

By the time his set was over and he'd walked off stage, you knew Simone was waiting to let you have it. You gave her a smirk as she shook her head at you and rolled her eyes.

"I don't wanna hear it," she said.

"What? I didn't say anything!" you laughed.

"No, but you're thinking it."

"What?" you held up your hands. "It was actually not bad. I kinda liked it."

"You thought it was funny."

"Yeah," you laughed harder. "It was. But that last song's gonna be stuck in my head for a while, so you should be happy about that."

"Ugh," Simone groaned.

You stayed for a few more acts that you didn't think were much better before finally calling it a night and heading back to your hotel.

"You're going to bed?" you asked when you saw Simone pull her bag of toiletries from her suitcase and walk to the bathroom.

"Yeah...why?"

"This is Vegas!" you exclaimed. "The city that never sleeps."

"I thought that was New York."

"Whatever. Let's go hit the tables."

Simone slumped her shoulders. "I'm kinda beat."

You stuck out your bottom lip in an attempt to sway her with a pout. "But your birthday's not over."

With a sigh, Simone dropped her items on the bed and grabbed her purse.

"C'mon," she grinned. "Just an hour or two."

"Yay!" you squealed as you opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Luck was on your side for the first twenty minutes or so, and you were up a good three hundred when you suggested you make your way to the higher dollar tables.

"Are you kidding?" exclaimed Simone. "You'll lose it all on one bet!"

"It's called gambling," you snorted.

Despite her argument, Simone followed you to one of the exclusive rooms. You saw the pit boss eye you as you sat down at the table, but he didn't say anything when you laid down your chips. Hesitantly, Simone did the same and you caught her swallow hard when the dealer placed a card in front of her and then one in front of you, followed by two more cards facing up. You grinned when yours was an ace, and the dealer slid the cards into the finder. Flipping up the bottom card, he revealed a Jack.

"Woohoo!" you cheered.

"Damn, you are on a streak," Simone commented as she decided to stay on a six. Unfortunately, the dealer didn't bust and she lost. "Crap. I'm gonna sit the next one out. Meet you at the bar?"

You were barely listening. Something - or someone - had caught your eye as he walked across the room.

"I'll be damned," you muttered.

"Huh?"

"Look who just walked in," you nodded toward your right. "Mr. Ego himself."

"Holy shit!" Simone breathed. "Ooh he looks good, too. He changed out of his suit."

You turned your head slightly to notice that he indeed was wearing a basic white t-shirt and black jeans.

"Well of course," you mocked. "Even a narcissist like himself can't keep up the facade all night."

"Stop calling him that," Simone argued. "You know he was just being cheeky, and he doesn't have a big ego."

"Please," you rolled your eyes. "His ego is so visible; I can almost watch it grow."

"All bets up," you heard the dealer say.

"Oh, I'm done," Simone shook her head while you placed another healthy bet.

The dealer slid the cards in front of you. Your top card was a three. Not good. you took a peek at your bottom card. A queen. Shit. Fortunately the dealer had a four, so he was likely to bust. you went with the odds and stayed. Turning over his bottom card, the dealer revealed a ten. Taking another card, he turned over a king. Yes!

"Oh my God woman, you have some luck!"

You beamed at Simone just as you heard another voice behind you.

"Ah, wonderful," he clapped. "Looks like I picked the lucky table."

"Hello."

It was Simone who actually spoke. For the first time ever, it seemed you were tongue-tied.

"Hi," Harry greeted. You caught a glimpse of his dimpled grinned before his fingers grazed your back and he took the seat next to you.

Clearing your throat, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Harry placed a stack of chips on the table. But it wasn't the obvious amount of money he was willing to chuck on a single bet that caught your attention the most. It was his hand and the lovely rings that adorned it.

You'd always had a thing for nice hands on a man. And Harry definitely had them. Long, slender fingers, great for playing piano, guitar and...other things.

The cards were dealt, and you peeked at your bottom card. You already had seventeen and the dealer had a five showing. You were definitely going to stay. You watched Harry's hand as he tapped lightly on the table, seeming to contemplate his next move. Suddenly, he leaned towards you and whispered.

"What should I do?"

You raised a brow. "Excuse me?" The kid didn't know how to play?

"Well, I...I know the rules of the game. It's just...you seem to have the luck on your side, so I wanna make sure I make the right move."

"Oh," you chuckled. You looked at the dealer's card and pointed. "He's only got a five. Odds are, he's gonna bust."

"And why's that?"

"Because...the dealer has to get to at least seventeen. You have to assume he has a ten underneath. So that's only fifteen. The next card has a high chance of being a ten or a face card. That would make him bust. So...you have a three. If the card you're not showing is anything over an eight, you're gonna want to stay."

"What if it's an eight?"

You grinned. "Well then, that's eleven. You're gonna want to double down."

With a stoic expression, Harry grabbed a stack of chips the same height as the first and placed them next to it. Then he nodded and gestured at the dealer who laid another card down for him. A queen. When the dealer revealed his own cards, your prediction had been right and he busted. Harry turned to you with a Cheshire cat smile.

"Thanks, love," he said.

You couldn't help but smile back. "Anytime."

You played several rounds, both of you winning most of them except when the dealer got an automatic blackjack. You heard Simone yawn behind you, and you felt a tinge of guilt that you'd almost forgotten about her.

"Are you ready to go?" you asked her.

"Yeah, but you can stay."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course." Then she leaned to whisper in your ear. "I told you he's not a bad guy."

You pursed your lips. "I didn't say he was."

"Yeah...you kinda did."

"Okay, okay," you nudged her. "We'll talk about it later."

You said a quick goodnight, and she walked away just as Harry got another blackjack. He hooted, making the dealer chuckle.

"I reckon you're good luck," Harry beamed at you.

You shrugged, nonchalantly. "I have my moments."

You watched as Harry inspected his next facedown card, completely mesmerized by his hands. You suddenly felt flushed as you wondered what they would feel like on you. You blinked hard and shook your head. What the hell was wrong with you?

"I really like that ring," you finally said aloud.

"Which one?"

"That rose-shaped one. Very pretty."

"Thanks," he looked at the ring and back up at you. "It's one of my favorites."

A handful of games later, you realized you must be up at least a grand. Unfortunately, luck only lasted so long, and you started to lose, busting a couple times and then staying when the dealer got a twenty.

"I think it's time to cash in," you admitted. "While I'm still ahead."

"Oh, don't go," said Harry. "You're my good luck charm."

You laughed. "I'm sure that's not true. You're doing great on your own."

"Stay. Please."

You sucked in your lips as you looked at his face. Goodness, he was cute. Perhaps you had been a little harsh, dismissing him merely because of who he was...or rather, who you suspected him to be. It wasn't fair.

"Okay, but I'm not playing anymore."

"Then we'll play something else," Harry suggested. "Craps? Roulette?"

"I'm not good at either of those," you frowned.

"Roulette's easy. It's just a guessing game. C'mon."

Taking your chips, you followed Harry to the roulette table where a larger crowd was gathered.

"Pick a number," he said.

"That easy, huh?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"There's probably more to it than that, but I have no idea," you commented.

"Probably. But we're just playing for fun."

You watched the wheel spin and the little ball stop in the number twenty-two. A woman squealed and the dealer paid her her winnings.

"Playing for fun is for Monopoly money," you said. "This is real money."

Harry chuckled. "So was blackjack."

"Yeah, but I know how to play that."

"Pick a number, love," he said again. "Or a color if you'd rather."

You looked at the board and considered your options. Finally, you chose the number thirty-five. You watched Harry's fingers as he placed a stack of chips on the number itself, more on the column, and even more on black. You weren't sure how much money that was, but you weren't about to ask. Your stomach was in knots as you watched the wheel spin. Finally, the ball stopped.

"Number eleven!" the dealer shouted. Your heart sank, but you caught Harry smiling.

"What happened?" you asked.

"You won," he replied. "Twice."

"Huh? How'd I do that? He called eleven."

"Eleven is black and it's in the same column as thirty-five. That's where I put the bets."

"Oh," you mouthed.

Harry rubbed his hand up your back. "Told you, you're my good luck charm. Now pick another number."

"I can't keep betting with your money!"

"Alright. Then we'll use yours," he reached for your hand.

"Hey!"

Harry laughed harder, grabbing only a few of your chips. "C'mon, pick something."

"Fine, but I'm just choosing black."

"Black it is," Harry nodded, setting your chips down. Then he took more of his own and placed them between several different numbers in different places. you weren't sure what he was doing, you were lost. Finally, he turned to you.

"Have an idea," he said.

Sliding the rose ring off his finger, he kissed it, then placed it on top of your chips on the black.

"What's that for?" you inquired.

"That's yours if you win."

All you could do was stare at him. The dealer spun the wheel, you could hear the ball bouncing and the other players cheering. But you just stood there staring at Harry Styles. This guy you'd thought was a complete egotistical douchebag until about thirty minutes ago.

"Number seventeen!" the dealer called.

You cringed, trying to read the expression on Harry's face. But he merely stared back at you.

"Is seventeen black?" you asked him.

He threw his head back and let out a loud guffaw. "Yes, it is."

Your eyes grew wide and you pushed his chest with your hands. "What the fuck, no way!"

Harry continued to laugh as he covered your hands with his that clung to his t-shirt. Your eyes fell down to look at them and it was then that you noticed his shirt was almost sheer, just like the one he'd worn on stage, minus the pineapple shapes. You could see several splashes of ink displayed on his chest, and for a second you wished he would let you examine them all in private.

Your chest rose and fell from excitement and exhilaration, and you chuckled to yourself. Letting go of you, Harry collected the winnings and his ring.

"Here you are," he said, handing it to you.

"No," you shook your head. "No, I can't take that."

"Why not? I said it was yours if you won."

"This is too..." you felt the ring in your hand momentarily. "No, I can't accept it."

Twisting his mouth in confusion, Harry watched you as you slid the ring back on his gorgeous finger.

"That's where it belongs," you whispered.

"Sorry?"

"On your hand," you let out a sigh. "You have really beautiful hands."

You heard him giggle slightly as you continued to stare at them, taking them both in your own hands as though you were inspecting them. You were probably creeping him out, but you were lost in your own thoughts.

"Um...here's your...your money," he swallowed, releasing his hand from yours and reaching for your chips.

"Oh, thanks. I should..."

"No, thank you," his lips curled up. "I really do think you had a lucky streak tonight."

You grinned at him, your tongue darting out of the corner of your mouth. "Not completely lucky."

Harry's smile grew as he raised a brow at your cheeky comment.

"See ya, Harry," you winked and turned around. "I had fun."

"Wait, where are you going?" you felt his hand on your arm.

"To my room," you pointed up at the ceiling.

"Do you have to?"

You paused and glared at him. This guy was very hard to read. You could tell he'd been flirting with you, but it also could've been harmless, and he was just being kind. Now he didn't want you to go? You bit your lip and stepped closer to him.

"I guess not," you nearly whispered. "But I think I might be done with gambling for the night."

"No worries," he said low, his eyes looking down into yours. "We could go somewhere else."

"What'd you have in mind?"

"My room."

You should have known he'd have one of the biggest rooms in the hotel. It took up nearly the entire side of one floor, front to back. You stared out the windows at the city lights, the amazing view taking your breath away and making you feel alive at the same time.

"Here you are," you heard Harry say behind you.

You turned to see two glasses in his hands. Taking one from him, you murmured a thank you and took a sip of the best tequila you'd ever had in your life. You threw your head back with a sigh as you heard him hum in agreement.

"So you stay in rooms like this...all by yourself?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

"Must get lonely."

"Sometimes."

Taking another sip, you strolled around the outer perimeter of the room, stopping at the other corner window where you could see a view of the mountains.

"I love Vegas," you commented. "I used to want to move here. It's like it's own little word, separate fr-"

Suddenly, your glass left your hand and Harry set it on a nearby table. Then he grabbed you and kissed you, hard, his tongue darting deep into your mouth.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded as his lips traveled down your neck.

"What?" you asked, breathless.

"What you want me to do to you. I'll do whatever you like."

"Oh..." you said with a moan. "Your hands. I want your hands on me."

"Okay. Where do you like to be touched?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. I just...I want those gorgeous hands and fingers on me."

Harry's eyes met yours, and he nodded his understanding. Reaching behind you, he found the zipper of your dress. It fell to the floor instantly, pooling at your feet. Though there was a cool temperature in the room, you suddenly felt hot all over as Harry's gaze roamed your body. Then giving you his hand, you stepped out of your dress and kicked off your heels. He pulled you closer to him until his hands cupped your naked breasts. You shut your eyes at the contact, the sensation already more than you could bear.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his thumbs grazing over your nipples causing goosebumps to rise over your flesh.

You covered his hands with yours, slowly guiding one of them down to your panty line.

"Mmm," he sounded as his fingers slid down and met wetness.

You heard his breaths quicken with yours, and he swallowed hard. His fingertip touched the outer rim of your center, teasing you in tiny circles. You bucked your hips to allow him access, but he was insistent on keeping with his own rhythm.

"Please," you begged softly.

"Not yet, love," he cooed.

Releasing his hand, he pushed your panties down and off. Then he kissed you again before guiding you to the plush sofa. He sat down and pulled you on top of him so that you straddled him, your hands on his shoulders. His eyes dark and lids heavy, his hands caressed you softly before kneading your breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples.

You moaned low, wishing he would put his mouth on them, but you could tell he was taking you at your word, giving you exactly what you'd asked for. You looked down at his hands as one slowly slid down your stomach, and his thumb met your already swollen bud.

"Oh God," you panted, lifting yourself on your knees so he had better access.

Harry then brought his hand to his mouth where you watched him lick two fingers before returning them to your clit. He stroked you slowly, making your knees buckle until he finally, ever so gently, inserted one finger, then a second.

You threw your head back, your own hands clawing at the neck of his t-shirt as you rode his fingers. You could feel the cold chill of his rings against your skin and you let out another cry of pleasure.

"Tell me how it feels," you heard him say as he picked up speed.

"So good," you breathed, urging his other hand up your breast to your neck. "Feels so good."

Harry brought his fingers to your mouth, where you licked the tips seductively before sucking.

"Mmhmm," he agreed. "You look so good, too."

"I want you," you sounded, looking at his face, his shirt in your fist.

Harry chuckled. "I'm right here."

"I want you inside me," you clarified.

"I am inside you," he smirked. Cocky asshole.

"No," you pouted, sliding your hand down his chest to the bulge in his jeans.

"You said you wanted my hands." Harry raised a brow smugly, his fingers nearly finding just the right spot. You leaned towards him, your head falling in the crook of his neck.

"Please."

"I'm gonna watch you come like this," he said. "Then we'll fuck, yeah?"

You moaned against his skin, your hips bucking as you felt yourself reach your peak.

"Say my name when you come," he growled.

You looked into his eyes and smiled. "So you are a narcissist. I knew it."

"You bet I am."

You rolled your eyes, but not at him. The truth was, there was no way you couldn't have said his name. He made you come harder than anyone ever had. Twice.

Harry Styles and his fucking ego.

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