#oh god in heaven... the Incident

[callilypso]

II ▷ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 — l&ds 0:01 ───|────────────────────

↳ there's no way they're getting jealous over pixelated men.. right? it's not your fault you've got a very particular type.

↳ scenarios in which they witness you fangirling over fictional men (ironic i know) that's actually quite similar to them in personality/vibes

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: mdni; fem!mc (but ur welcome to hc urself as whatvever you want); mostly crack; zayne suggestive (implied smut), fluff, xavier fluff, rafayel angst, hurt/comfort, sylus fluff; references to l&ds myths lore, a lot of anime references and possible spoilers for shows/game (jjk, apothecary diaries, ghibli movies, ff), established relationships; a lot of thirsting, jealousy, mc is emotional and assertive, periods, ovulation mention, mc and sylus have playful banter dynamic; unedited

❥ a/n: these are silly ideas that's been in my head for a while now and its most self indulgent. its been plaguing my head now about how i would let nanami and zayne hit at the same time and dingdingding! ideaaa. i do appreciate some feedback and reblogs!! this is my first time posting about l&ds, and my own interpretation for them may vary from yours. english isn't my first language so pls pardon my grammatical errors. minors and ageless blogs will be BLOCKED.

Now ever since you were both kids, he already knew your absolute fascination for anime, sometimes even joining you as you watch the latest Sailor Moon and Detective Conan episodes. He also remembers vaguely how you had an absolutely massive crush on Roy Mustang from FMA. He was sure you didn't even understand the plot you were just ogling at him as he silently judged you.

So it shouldn't be a surprise that you still are, in fact, a massive weeb.

And it shouldn't be surprising you would still have fictional crushes, even with your established relationship. It's not that Zayne feels threatened in anyway—they're not real for heaven's sake.

But after a long 36-hour shift and a major surgery, exhaustion seeping into his taut muscles, bones aching, skin longing for yours—something just slightly irks him when he sees wayyy too close to the TV, kicking your feet like a silly little girl on the floor, gripping your biggest plushie.

You were giggling and grinning like a mad woman as you were just practically drooling over the latest episode of Jujutsu Kaisen.

You were replaying the part of Nanami Kento pulling some blonde dude's hair roughly, pulling him to his shadowed face.

"What's the number and location of your allies?" Nanami growled through the screen, and you were giggling again, rewinding for the nth time. Damn his wide ass shoulders seems so nice to rest (your legs) on.

He was the perfect balance of serious and dry humor. His suits were always on point, paired with leather shoes and luxury silver watch. The way he would carry himself; his presence bringing in the level-headed maturity needed by the mostly teenage cast, truly the reliable adult they all need. Nanami Kento was truly husband material.

You go over the scene again when Nanami tugs the dude again by his ponytail, a good shot of Nanami's packed pants in side view.

And god, you would have pulled those pants down and showed Shibuya a real incident—

After a while, you were getting uncomfortable, so you stood up from your spot, deciding to get something to drink when you stop dead on your tracks.

There was Zayne, sitting on the couch still dressed from the hospital minus the white coat. He had his arms folded against his chest, watching you with tired eyes.

"Oh—Zayne! Welcome back, love." You greeted as you made your way to him to give him a kiss.

He didn't kiss you back.

You give him a concerned look. Although you were already used to his stressed demeanor though after work, you can sense this was slightly different.

"Love?" You called out to him again, hand travelling to his chest. You see his gaze faltering into a fondness familiar to you, and he looks away.

Ah..

You bit your lip to suppress a snort, grabbing the tie to make him face you again.

"Is Doctor.. sulking?" You quirked an eyebrow at him.

Zayne grabs your wrist, pulling you into his lap and you oblige, effectively straddling him.. You put your arms around his neck as he nudges his nose at the crook of your neck, placing butterfly kisses.

"I don't know... maybe my woman saying she's about to pull down another man's pants is a justifiable reason?" he murmurs into your skin, hugging your waist closer.

Oh fuck, you said that out loud?

He felt you shake with laughter. Unraveling from the embrace, you cup his face with both hands.

"My love, we both know the only man I can and will ever that to is you." You reassure him, still giggling as you feel him sigh a shaky breath.. and a familiar tent poking you down there.

You loved when Zayne gets like this, being extra clingy after long work days—soft, yearning, needy.

The renowned Doctor Zayne, always so frigid when it comes to other matters, is melting under your touch, almost pouty because of a fictional blonde man on TV. You could almost coo.

"Hm.. maybe I'd like a demonstration?" Zayne drawls out in request, almost plea. Polite as always, you would think,

If not for the sudden tug at back of your hair, exposing the column of your neck.

A silent moan breathes out of your lips, feeling him nip down to your collarbones.

You huff out a laugh, feeling Zayne hum on your skin.

"Seems like someone's got inspired."

Xavier is a jealous man. Whether or not he acknowledges this, everyone and their mother knows this is an established fact.

Another man breathes your direction and something immediately itches under his skin to pull out his sword. This may or may not be an exaggeration.. I mean the man is literally jealous of himself.

So what do you expect when, unbeknownst to you, he catches you giggling to yourself at your phone during lunchbreak? He's on his way to spend it with you at your usual place, take out of your favorite food in hand.

"Did your boyfriend text you or something, girl?" He hears someone tease you—Tara, he figures—and he stops at the corner where he's about to turn. Xavier peeks his head a little and he sees her nudging your arm as you look up at her, eyebrow quirked and a goofy smile on your lips. You were both turned away from him waiting at a table.

He remains hidden at the corner, confused.

He didn't text you though? Did he?

"Noooo—it's nothing.. just a new episode." You tuck your phone away from her prying eyes.

"Ohhh, so it's your other boyfriend-" Tara teases, and you hit her playfully. "Who is it now? Gojo? Himmel?"

There's a ringing in Xavier's ears.

"Ssshhhh!—you're so loud!" You whisper yelled, pulling Tara beside you to show her your screen.

It was Apothecary Diaries. Jinshi spotted Maomao at work as a servant after being laid off the palace, and of course, went to bother her.

Jinshi brushes his finger over Maomao's lips, staining it with pink rouge, before bringing it up to his own lips and kissing it. He smiles at her after and she looks away, flustered.

You and Tara start squealing as discretely as possible to avoid looking like total idiots in public to no avail, as you were shaking Tara in giddiness.

"If Maomao ain't gonna kiss him soon enough, I will!" You say through your gritted teeth in frustration.

The way he looks at her, like she's so far out of his reach whenever they do touch, sadness and longing in his gaze. You eat it up every time he's getting starstruck by her hidden beauty. It was so obvious he was the supposedly sickly prince of the kingdom, masking his own identity for the sake of his mission (ahem), yet it cracks sometimes just to let this supposedly common clever peasant girl to seep through, leading to his silly misunderstandings and petty jealousy-

Behind, you both hear someone clear their throat, and you slowly pan over your gazes.

There was Xavier, arms crossed, an unamused look in his eyes as he looks down on you both. Tara stands up way too fast.

"Hey there! I just remembered I have something to do—See you later, girl!" She quickly takes off, leaving you high and dry.. and awkward as fuck.

Yeah, he's seen the scene himself too while you two were too busy fangirling amongst yourselves. Yes, he knows who Jinshi is, as you two were also watching the show together every new episode. And yes, he was aware about your love for shoujo and how you absolutely going crazy over Jinshi and Maomao's moments way before this. He did find it cute whenever you get giddy about them, telling him they should just get together already.

"H-Hey, Xavier!" You stammer, also quickly standing to greet him. Shit, you think to yourself. You were holding those other thoughts to yourself as you watch together because once again..

Xavier is a jealous man.

Maybe you can still get off the hook because its a fictional man for heaven's sake. You internally sigh, remembering the one time you were hitting the sofa too many times with a hushed scream the moment Yuta Okkotsu popped out on screen in season 2 of JJK.. Xavier had his eyebrows knitted the entire evening after that.

But alas, Xavier is your jealous man.

There's a pout on his lips with the familiar frown, and you could almost laugh.

"You watched it without me.." He complained, yet still letting you pull him beside you this time, and sat down.

"We can watch the whole thing later again, bunny." You hook your arm around him, and you feel him loosen up a bit of his tension. But now he won't look at you.

"Maybe, I don't want to anymore.. It's been spoiled now." Xavier pouted.

You can't help snickering, squeezing your embrace on his arm, tugging him to catch his gaze again. He just continued to look away pettily, sulking.

An idea pops in your mind.

You brush your finger over his lips ever so slowly, finally catching his attention.

He watches as you bring them to your own lips, kissing intently just as Jinshi did for Maomao.

A blush creeps into his cheeks, ears tinting red as you smile at him. He's so adorable, and all yours.

"Kiss me?" You ask, eyes lingering on his lips, and Xavier's breath hitches.

"You're no fair.." He huffs, closing the distance between the two of you.

Who was he to refuse?

We've all got our childhood cartoon crushes, in more 'hear-me-out' ways or tame ones. There's ones we grow out of and ones that's like.. forever ingrained into your mind because it changed your brain chemistry.

You were rewatching your ultimate comfort Ghibli movie for the millionth time: Howl's Moving Castle.

Yeah, yeah—it could be considered overrated nowadays but that doesn't matter as it never truly gets old for you. You always find new ways to appreciate the film, from the enchanting music, the vibrant distinct art style and animation, the beautiful characterization of the cast, and the overall themes and plot is just absolutely perfect.

And yes, you do cry every time. You stopped wondering when you would grow out of that phase because it just hits so good.

It also doesn't help that it's your period, so the hormones are wack as hell and your uterus was killing you and stabbing out your fucking ass. You were contorted in an uncomfortable curled position as you downed the left over ice cream on Rafayel's couch in his studio. The night sky through the windows was a nice ambience as the TV illuminated the rest of the living space. You were wearing his favorite cream diamond patterned cardigan, the one with the red and blue hems. It still smelled like him, perfect for maximum comfort.

Rafayel wasn't actually in the studio when you got there. Ever since you got together, he gave you a spare key, insisting you were welcome anytime even when he wasn't around. His home was your home now too, he said. You texted him several times beforehand you were coming over, yet no reply—not even a seen. Moody as hell, you still crashed the place anyways, even more disappointed he wasn't anywhere in his property.

So now, you were just waiting for him to finish whatever business he has you have no idea about. You decided to stop pestering poor Thomas over him either as he too was didn't seem to know where in god's green earth Rafayel was—you were too tired and moody and in fucking pain to give a shit. If he doesn't wanna show up, fuck that guy.

Whatever, at least you've got Howl.

It was nearing the climax of the movie. Sophie was wandering through what was seemingly Howl's dream, finding herself in a familiar stone house in the middle of valleys of flowers. The meteor shower drifted against the night sky. A young Howl stood in the middle, jet black hair flowing with the wind as he catches a falling star. "I know where I am! I'm in Howl's childhood!" Sophie realizes, as the wind starts to lift her off her feet. Howl swallows the star, keeling over at a pain in his chest, and in his hands was his heart—Calcifer. "Howl! Calcifer!" Sophie yells desperately, and they both look over to her. "I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!"

Aaand you were bawling. It wasn't even that dramatic yet but you were bawling. It goes on for god knows how long as your attention wanders off.

Howl, despite his eccentric and seemingly vain nature, is deeply caring. Howl did not care for the war, only that it would end for everyone's sake. He sees the beauty within Sophie when she could not. The symbolism of Calcifer being able to be tamed by Sophie, the implied longing for her all those years, so much so even if the only thing seemingly linking them is an unsaid promise.

To be honest, you might just be projecting right now.

Maybe you actually miss him bad—his familiar low V-neck white shirts and black slacks hugging his waist, his pouty lips, and stupid charming smile. The studio was in the familiar mess, meaning everything was reminder of a touch of your own gorgeous annoying ass lover who's somewhere out there—

"Baby..?" A concerned voice calls out, and despite being here the entire time already, you finally felt like home.

You didn't even notice he was already there cause of your tear-blurred vision, relief making you cry a little harder as Rafayel wipes your tears away. All your irritation and the mental angry scolding you were gonna give him melts away as you lean into his hands.

"Hey—what happened? Are you—" Rafayel stammers, as this was kind of the first time he encountered you this seemingly distraught the entire time you were together. He knew he kind of fucked up by not answering soon enough because of his dead battery—fuck all that actually why are you even bawling your eyes out over the TV?!

He knew you can get emotional in films and shows but not this much. It made his chest ache seeing you like this even if it's just a movie.

"Let's run! Don't fight them, Howl!" Sophie cries out, drawing Rafayel's attention for a moment to the screen at the familiar dialogue. "Sorry, I've had enough of running away, Sophie. Now I've got something I want to protect. It's you."

He remembers you saying Ghibli movies were your comfort movies and you both had plans for a marathon together at some point. Seems like you started on your own. Rafayel knew a bit of this story.

Alright, perhaps more than just a bit.

"A-at the beginning, he greeted her saying he was—" you hiccupped, stammering your words out, placing your own hands over his, "He said he was looking everywhere for her."

"Yeah?" Rafayel whispered, hushing your cries.

"Mhm.. And he did wait for her, looking everywhere for his heart even when it was actually with him the entire time."

There's a pang in Rafayel's chest, squishing your face gently.

"And yet, it wasn't with him, even if his heart was in his chest—not unless she was with him." Rafayel whispered with an aching softness in his tone that's hard to miss.

Because Rafayel was holding his own heart in his hands right now, drying her tears.

You finally get a better look at him, the purple hues in his eyes twinkling like twilight seas against the dark. It was there again—a look into the familiar murky depths he doesn't let you dive into, lest you drown.

Yet you wouldn't mind if it was Rafayel. You wish he could trust you a little more.

Rafayel leans in for a kiss, but you stop him with a hand over his mouth.

"Wait—I'm literally snotty and ugly right now-" You quickly wipe the rest of the wetness from your face away, but then Rafayel's hands directed you back to his now growingly intense gaze.

"You're beautiful." He states, true with conviction.

"Are you trying to make me cry more?" You whine.

"Of course not, cutie. I-"

"You made me wait an eternity here.." You sobbed out, pain twisting in your gut again.

Rafayel's gritted his teeth, a flare of something unwanted momentarily rises but quickly gets doused again. No, this situation was all his fault and it's not fair on you. You were in pain and he wasn't there.

"I.." He manages, "I'm sorry.. But I would wait an eternity for you, my bride. I really will, I—"

I did.

The words immediately die in his mouth, drying his throat.

You notice Rafayel's own eyes glistening, tears threatening to fall and his breath beginning to shorten.

"Fyel? I'm not mad anymore, please don't cry too.." This time it's your turn to cup his face.

"I just really really missed you." You confess, caressing his cheek as you rested your forehead against his own.

"Well, I'm hear now, sweetheart.. Sorry I'm late." He breathes, finally pressing his lips against yours.

A heavy burden beats in his chest, one he knows you will unknowingly carry evermore.

Maybe you really had a type.

You admit you're always quite drawn to the questionable, morally ambiguous characters. Bonus points if the said character is insane to some degree. You tell yourself it's not like you would actually date people that crazy in your actual life. It's just all fun and games, right?

Sure.

Well, now you're dating The Leader of Onychinus, Sylus, the unofficial uncrowned emperor of the N109 Zone himself.

It isn't really as bad as regular people would think really. Sylus is a sweet and genuinely caring man in contrast of his public image. He has a reputation to uphold after all. He always spoiling you in whatever you wish, always open to whatever you want to say, and always present for you to call or visit. His tall imposing figure was more of a sign of comfort. He was basically a walking hearth, free to cling to whenever, wherever as you walk through the frigid streets of the N109 Zone.

Like look just at the man.. You literally fucking won at life.

To be honest, you have no idea how the hell you even got at this point. And who are you to complain? You were living your best life with someone who can match your freak, so to speak.

But, for now..

"Damn, why is he so.." You mutter to yourself, caressing the large tablet at your lap like an idiot.

"Don't deny me." Sephiroth says, doing some mental fuckery with Cloud for the hundredth time. It got you biting your nail. "Embrace me."

You definitely had a fucking type, you giggle to yourself.

You were just killing time since it's your vacation, and you were spending it in the ideal environment: your boyfriend's dark luxurious base, in the comfort of his king sized silk sheeted velvety bed, sleeping your troubles away. Sylus is out as usual, going on about his own business, so you had the whole place to yourself.. and Mephisto.

Upon your doom scrolling, you stumble upon this hauntingly beautiful man, Sephiroth, and you were pulled in like a moth to a flame.

It's not your first time seeing him—heck, everybody who's at least half as chronically online as you are has at least seen him once—but more of the first time to appreciate him more closely, especially that goddamn face—damn, are you ovulating or something what the hell?!

And now you've been going on for hours just ogling at the dude with no idea how long it's been. You already ordered all the games with the help of your so ever generous boyfriend's card, but your ass cannot wait for it anymore and just spoiled yourself silly watching other streamers and silent walkthroughs of every Final Fantasy content you could get your hands on.

One hundred percent no regrets.

You then wonder about how Sylus would look like with longer hair.. it might not be good for your health, you conclude, for both the sake of your heart and uterus.

Luckily for you at least, Sylus doesn't seem like he's hellbent to destroy the planet in an existential downward spiral of insanity. But it makes you think about how far you'd be willing to actually follow him in his path.

(Something dark stirs within you, but you pay it no mind. You don't wanna be hearing those voices again anytime soon.)

The camera pans to Sephiroth's lips for what seems like half of his screentime, and your biting your own goddamn lip. The curve of that upper lip was killing you.

They didn't have to make him literally so damn ethereal, although it fits his fallen angel motifs. His uncanny green eyes literally stares into your soul, pulling you in and in and in, until you you're all snug under his thumb. Sure, the dude is a manipulative murderous bastard with a literal God-complex, because fuck his ugly ass father you refuse to acknowledge has any relation to him..

But now that's just a part of his charm now, isn't it?

"Good, Cloud.. very good.." Sephiroth whispers as he embraces the blond with such eerie intimacy that shouldn't be possible while being fucking stabbed.

You swear you can already feel the hot breath fanning your ear as he said those lines.

"Damn it—Cloud, let me be the trusted adult to save you right now and switch!" You shake the screen with frustration. "That should have been me..!"

"What should be you, sweetie?"

A familiar deep voice calls out from the dark entrance of your shared bedroom, reverberating from your toes and up your spine.

"Sylus!" You throw your tablet so fast you weren't sure if it landed on the mattress as you stood up, sliding your feet towards him.

No one beats your real white haired, ruby-eyed, impossibly handsome, ridiculously tall powerful man for you..

But you would never say that out loud because the man needs to be kept knocked down a peg or you will never hear the end of it.

"A little birdie has been bugging me all night about how.. unfaithful you were being," Sylus tucks a strand behind your ear, finger trailing down your jaw. "Care to tell me what's that all about?"

You gape at him, snapping your head towards Mephisto who was still as a statue at your bedside. From your view, it seemed like that accursed bird is avoiding your gaze in shame.

"You little..!—"

Sylus grabs your attention back by your chin, making you lock eyes with him. There it was—that intense gaze, his crimson eyes pouring into yours, making you come undone. He can pick you apart and mold you back piece by piece, and the scary part of it all was that you would most likely let him.

Again, not that he needed to know that.

"Now, now, kitten. Don't blame him." He chuckles and you swear it's the sexiest sound you've ever heard, your heart pacing faster.

"I—He's literally exaggerating! I was just watching a game here the entire time!" You huffed, crossing your arms and looking away like a petty child. He laughs a little more.

"What were you watching so intently that I catch you still awake at the break of dawn, hm?"

You glance at the clock. 5:02 AM. You were up all night? Damn.. not the first time but you haven't lost track of time that badly since binging House of the Dragon a couple months ago.

"Oh, I thought that little traitor—" You give Mephisto a pointed look, still looking away with guilt, "—told you everything at this point."

Sylus pulls you closer by your waist, until your chests bump each other. "Well.. maybe I want to hear it from you, since you somehow purchased a whole game series with the card I lent you."

Okay, fair enough.

"It's just a game, love. I saw a character I liked, so I decided why not get it myself? But then I couldn't sit around waiting so I just.. watched some videos." You scratch you head in frustration. "Like how did that turn into unfaithfulness!" You whine.

Maybe it's the sleep deprivation drooping your eyelids that's got you more irritated as you hit his chest with some considerable force.

He huffs mockingly. He was obviously messing with you, yet you were oddly taking this more serious than he anticipated. Makes him wanna tease you more.

In a blink, your tablet was in his hands, grabbed by his Evol. It's still open.

"Hey!" You jump up into your tippy toes, trying to pry your gadget back from him, but he's literal fucking giant.

Seeing an opportunity, Sylus hooks his arm under your thighs and hoists you up easily as many times as before. You quickly bring your arms around his neck, trying to remain in balance.

"Put me down!" You struggle in his hold whilst still reaching for your tablet to no avail. It made Sylus laugh even more.

"What's the matter, sweetie? I simply want to watch it together."

Sylus walks the two of you to the edge of the bed, sitting down with you on his lap. Before you could protest more, the video compilation starts playing,

And you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

"You're practically panting." Sephiroth says, walking up behind Cloud. "I'm excited." Cloud admits, claymore in hand. Amused, Sephiroth tilts his head with a hum. "Such a puppy."

You find yourself your face Sylus' shoulder in embarrassment, pursing your lips to suppress a scream.

Cloud, can you not enable this motherfucker I swear—

"Okay, that's enough of that—Sephi, shut the fuck up right now." You finally get a hold of the tablet with a burst of speed, throwing it in the furthest part of the bed.

Sylus just looks at you with a knowing smug grin, and you wanna smack the it off his stupidly handsome face.

"I am in no obligation to elaborate nor divulge into whatever the fuck that was." You quickly state like an automated message, and Sylus is just laughing at you. "I know that my agony brings you amusement but please just shut up right now."

"I haven't even said anything yet." He says between his chuckling.

"I can feel the judgement brewing in your brain, Sy." You glare at him half-heartedly.

"Could you at least tell me why are you so attached to.. Sephi?" He repeats the nickname you gave him mockingly, and so you smack his chest again.

"I'm going to kill you." You hissed at him. Sylus wants to kiss the scrunch on your nose. You wiggle out of his grasp, but his hand catches your fingers in time, holding you in place. You attempt to tug out of his grasp.

"Where are you going now, sweetie?" He quirks his eyebrow at you, tone amused. Sylus was enjoying this way too much for your sake.

"Out, far away, in another universe so I don't have to deal with you making fun of me." You sneered at him pettily, still tugging your arm away.

Deciding to ride along your silly threat, Sylus asks. "And how do you plan to do that? You can't go anywhere around here without me, kitten."

"I'm flying away with my half winged, crazy, silk-pressed white haired man to help him attain godhood since I am apparently disloyal to you." You spat out pettily, lacking any real venom. Apparently the wrong answer, since Sylus just pulled you back closer, trapping you between his thighs while gripping yours.

He had his eyebrow quirked, crimson gaze laced with something you can't discern maybe because sleepiness was slowly creeping up on you now. Honestly, you're like half aware of what you're saying at this point.

"Don't deny me.." Sylus whispers, almost like a plea instead of a command, breath fanning your skin, raising goosebumps. "Embrace me."

Your eye twitches, reference registering in your mind. "You—How long have you been standing there?!"

You raise your hand to smack him again, but he catches it and keeps it in place over his heart.

"Even if you do leave, sweetie, I'll still be here." He says, the sudden softness slightly catching you off guard. Sylus smiles up at you, not the usual smug one, but pure adoration.

His blood-red eyes were blooming roses as the first dew of sunrise greets its petals—it's pure, unadulterated, natural—like how his heart beats with so much fervor you could feel the thrumming of it under your fingertips like a rushing river. It was overwhelmingly powerful, tempting you to pluck it yourself, thorns digging in your palms. It was almost like you had your hand already buried deep in his chest, his heart pulsing in your grasp, blood pouring out and merging with yours, because you would carve out your own for him too.

"After all, my love, I know you will come back to me." He says with an assurance that shouldn't be possible without sounding pretentious, and yet it got your heartbeat racing, matching his.

Because you were his as much as he was all yours.

"You seem so sure of yourself, huh?" You say instead, feeble way of trying to remain composed after all that, scratching the back of his head lightly the way you know he loves. A relieved sigh leaves his lips. "You're lucky I love you."

"Perhaps I truly am." Sylus draws you closer, placing kisses on your neck, just above an artery. The blood flowing underneath hums against his lips, deciding to gently nip the skin. It made you melt, letting out a shaky sleepy sigh. Your eyelids droop dangerously heavier.

"Seems like your joining me in my sleep, sweetie." Sylus kisses your jaw.

You hum in response, and before you know it, you're curling on his lap again, relishing the welcoming warmth like a kitten and their favorite spot. Sylus swears you're purring.

You smile up at him. "Maybe that was the plan all along."

"Oh? How naughty, ruining your sleep just to blame it on me?"

You yawn, snuggling closer. "I would do anything for you."

He didn't need to know that, but you said so anyways.

He stills for a moment, bated breath, carrying the weight of your words in his embrace. Maybe it was just your groggy murmurings of the moment, but the declaration already sowed itself in his heartstrings, making it skip a beat. The kind that lingers physically for a moment. You were too dangerous, all cutely cuddled up against him to be saying that.

Despite your fading consciousness, you gave him a longing look. Your eyes flickered down where you were mindlessly tracing over his bottom lip, lingering for a moment, then back at his gaze again. It's all he needed to know you were being genuine.

He leaned in for a kiss, savoring the softness of your lips pushing back against his, until it didn't. As soon as Sylus pulled away, you were already softly snoring.

You really were purring.

"Such a kitten." He chuckled.

11:09 ─────────────────────|──

❥ a/n: i definitely got too carried away with sy and raf.. don't blame me i love me howl and raf parallels istg and im a sucker for sylus fluff. zayne got me feeling something all week istg and xavi is my forever baby. let me know what you think but pls be nice c: i'm working on the dads lnds one i swearrrr this just took longer than expected.

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits. 

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country. 

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend. 

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly. 

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank). 

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored. 

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that. 

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was. 

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment. 

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage. 

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction. 

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!” 

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?” 

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks. 

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding. 

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone. 

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still. 

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him. 

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident. 

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way. 

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture. 

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you. 

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture. 

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat. 

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk. 

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence. 

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away. 

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door. 

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice. 

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off. 

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note. 

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you. 

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole. 

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero. 

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you. 

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”? 

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot. 

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly. 

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute. 

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night. 

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?” 

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically. 

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying. 

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason. 

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching. 

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding. 

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly. 

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face. 

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you. 

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text. 

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time. 

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy. 

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense. 

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him. 

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement. 

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him. 

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same. 

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray. 

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes. 

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him. 

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream. 

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name? 

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers. 

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform. 

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?” 

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful. 

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything. 

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight. 

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom. 

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through. 

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do? 

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought. 

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift. 

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance. 

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage. 

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology. 

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years. 

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug. 

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache. 

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor. 

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well. 

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song. 

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers. 

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten. 

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him. 

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him. 

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick. 

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses. 

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you. 

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears. 

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant. 

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder. 

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back. 

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky. 

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought. 

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster. 

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one. 

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook. 

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind. 

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you. 

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs. 

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again. 

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out. 

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you. 

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent. 

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix. 

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it. 

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow. 

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles. 

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter. 

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope. 

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that. 

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it. 

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears. 

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer. 

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too. 

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers. 

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare. 

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind. 

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class. 

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel. 

But you do know, the universe responds. 

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond? 

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing. 

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation. 

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat. 

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance? 

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.  

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you. 

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door. 

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Drunk Mistake- Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky kinda messes up when he pushes you off of him when you try to kiss him at a party

Word count: 1, 321

*want to be tagged in my next Bucky fic? Click here*

Bucky wasn’t really that close with Y/N, she was more like an acquaintance, sometimes a friend…. Oh who was he kidding! He was pretty much in love with her! Every time she talked to him, he felt like he was in heaven, and at parties like this it was even worse.

He’d been watching you laughing with your friends, dancing with the girls and ignoring the advances of fellow agents. He’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, that his eyes can’t help but always find you in a room.

He enjoyed seeing you have so much fun, and there was no harm in keeping an eye on a friend. But once you began to dance again, Bucky knew he had to get out of there.

The way your body moved to the music was becoming too much for him. Your skin had a light layer of sweat, and the way you bit your lip and your eyes found his, he wouldn’t be able to control himself if he stuck around.

His plan seemed to be working as he sat in a quiet corner on one of the top landings, but as he saw you sauntering over to him, your shoes now missing, he knew he was in trouble.

“Hey, James,” you say with a cute drunk voice.

As you sit beside him, you swing your legs over one of his thighs, and hold his hand. Your other hand comes up to run your fingers through his hair, the alcohol in your system obviously making you more touchy than normal.

Bucky tried hard to shift his hips so you wouldn’t feel how hard you were making him, your sweet touch burning a fire in him.

“Why you hiding up here, baby?” You ask sweetly but seductively as you stroke along his cheek.

Oh god don’t call him that. The sweet pet name going straight to his hardening dick as he painfully swallows a moan.

The pet name really did get his attention, as he now properly faced you. His eyes flicker from yours to your chest, that you push out further as you become more and more brave. He licks his lips as his eyes find yours once again and you bite your lip as your touches now become even more forward.

Pushing yourself onto his lap, your fingers now dig into his hair as your face slowly comes closer to kiss him.

This is what Bucky has dreamt of, what he stays up at night fantasying about. God he wants you so badly, but he can’t, not while you’re drunk, not like this.

It takes every ounce of restraint Bucky has to push you off of him and back onto the couch. As he looks at you to explain, he sees a deep hurt in your eyes, as tears begin to well. Suddenly his words are lost, and his heart aches at your saddened state, and all he can do is walk off, leaving you there.

******

It had been a couple days since the incident at the party, and you could not have been more mortified. When you woke up the next morning you remembered everything, and ever since then you’ve been avoiding not just Bucky, but everyone.

You’d escape to the training trails around the avengers compound most days, literally running to escape your problems.

As you reach the summit of one of the hardest trails, you don’t notice that Nat had followed you up there. Catching your breath, you turn to sit down when Nat’s sudden appearance scares you half to death.

“Fuck sake, Nat! Scared the shit outta me! Were you following me?” The run seeming to give you more adrenaline than the endorphins that you hoped for.

“Okay something is definitely wrong, you’ve never yelled at me like that before. What’s wrong, sunshine?” Your friend asks, her once cocky smirk fading away.

“It’s, it’s nothing, I’m sorry for going off at you,” you try to push past her, but expectedly she didn’t let you.

“No it’s not nothing. I’m your friend, you can talk to me,” she tries to coax soothingly.

Looking into her eyes you knew you wouldn’t win. As you let out a big sigh you go back to sit on a large rock.

“It’s-it’s a little embarrassing, but um-heh. So at the party the other night, I-I tried to kiss James.”

“Finally! Wait tried to? What happened?”

“Well,” your eyes start to tear up as you remember the way he treated you, “I guess you were wrong about how he felt, because he pushed me off of his lap and left without a word.” You manage to push out, tears fully running down your face now.

Looking up you see a seething fury on your friends face.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Nat announces assertively as she runs off.

“Wait, Nat! No!” You panic as you try to run after her.

*****

By the time you make it back to the compound and find her, you’re mortified to see a troop of your female friends surrounding the poor super soldier.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Nat berates.

“Y/N, is hot as fuck!” Yelena defends you.

“You’d be lucky to have someone like her and you just push her away!” Wanda rages at him as a red glow begins to appear on her hands.

“Okay, okay! That’s enough! Thank you for coming to my rescue and I love you all but maybe it’s time to leave so we can talk,” you manage to calm the situation before Wanda could blow him up.

All three women look at you, then glare at Bucky before filing out of the room.

As you look into Buckys eyes you see they’re full of shame, and the embarrassment and self doubt begins to flood back.

“Hey, look, um- ignore them. You don’t have to apologise, I understand why you-“

“They’re right,” Bucky interrupts your self loathing rambling, “I would be lucky to have someone as wonderful as you and now I’ve ruined my chances with a beautiful woman.” Bucky sighs as he looks at you shamefully.

“What?” You ask, shocked and a little nervous at his confession.

Walking closer, Bucky stands before you and slowly looks into your eyes.

“I really like you and when you wanted to kiss me I got scared. You were drunk and I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I mean I wanted our first kiss to be special, as stupid as that sounds.”

Smiling up at his handsome face, your confidence returns with a fury as one of your hands holds the back of his neck, and the other squeezes his bicep. The contact makes Buckys eyes go wide as he looks at you.

“Well, would in the kitchen while I’m covered in sweat and my friends just yelled at you count as a special first kiss, or should I wait for you to dazzle me with fireworks and roses?” You cheekily ask as your face comes closer to his.

Buckys arms wrap around your waist as he chuckles.

“Just kiss me already,” he answers cheekily as his lips push heatedly against yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as Bucky holds you tightly, the kiss filling you with excitement. The excitement however turning into announce as you hear your friends clapping and cheering, both Kate and Maria now joining their gang.

“Shut up and leave!” You laugh at your friends as Bucky awkwardly smiles.

“Okay but remember Tony has security cameras so no fucking in the kitchen,” Natasha sasses as the girls finally leave you both alone.

“Well there goes my plan,” Bucky cheekily and seductively whispers as he begins to kiss your neck.

“You know, James, I still need a shower.”

The idea of a shower with you causes Bucky to groan against your neck.

“Fuck, doll, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for that.”

[nothomegal]

HIII I MISS YOU :(( straight to the point, I need a yandere pyramid head fic!!

I´m sorry for the disappearance ;v; Can't post much due my studies.

Anyways, I ADORE your suggestion! And boy if our little (Y/N) is going to have a rough time with a yandere creature like Pyramid Head ._.)

Welp, let's start the story!

"Innocent lamb"

(Yandere!Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Summary: the entity's realm was hell for some, heaven for others, and an inconvenience for the rest... But when one of the creatures encountered you, he made it everyone's problem, even the entity's that brough him there in the first place. But he meant no harm to you. He likes you. He wants you. He needs you. And he wͦ̀ͯi̸ll̩ͩ have Y̛̗̰͇͚͓͈̣͕̰͓̗͛ͤ̀̇̍ͥ͒̓͝Ơ̵̔_̰̅U̵̷̡̧̡̨͖̟̹͙̙͓̥̗̫̣̙͉͕͉̣̬̇ͭ͗̉͂̅̍͗̇̇́́̈͟͞

Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, violence and violent acts, quite angst(y) mood in general, (understandably) terrified reader darling :(.

Word count: 4.2k

The moment they entered the trial, all four survivors knew right away who the killer was. Either its the dread they all felt as soon as their feet made contact with the ground that gave it away, or the fact that the entity had placed all of them in the same spot next to two generators just to have any chances to make it out alive.

But they know it's in vain, they know they're doomed for a long long death by bleeding out.

They know it... Because (Y/N) is with them.

Said survivor had to bite their lip to avoid crying, as guilt and terror embraced them. Just because the monster had this unholy obsession with them it didn't mean they were okay with it, if anything it scared them more.

He, Pyramid Head, the Executioner... Or however you want to nickname him, is said to be one of the most powerful creatures the entity had the pleasure to bring, so powerful in fact that the spider-like being had to make a deal to bring him.

So it's not surprising that they are absolutely horrified, but who wouldn't? This monster, an embodiment of pain and punishment, almost a god, has been hunting them relentlessly ever since he laid his gaze or... Helmet? On them.

At first it was all jokes and gags;

'Aww look, (Y/N) has a boyfriend!'

'Watch out, here comes your crush (Y/N)!'

'Uh-oh, the triangle man seems jealous, look how pissed he is at Nea for healing you!'.

But the jokes stopped when it got clear how truly messed up and sinister said 'crush' is.

They still remember it, it was a regular match against that one masked knife wielding guy that runs a lot, he's called 'Legion' they think. The trial was going relatively well, just like many previous ones. Until it suddenly got an 180° turn when one of the walls to the realm was literally destroyed by a hulking mass of muscle and a giant knife. To say both (Y/N) and the killer nearly had a cardiac arrest was an understatement, things got so ugly that the entity had to intervene and cut the trial short.

That incident could be a fuel for a new wave of jokes, could... If it didn't happen again. And that next time was even worse, the beast nearly made his way into the survivor side of the realm, somehow bursting through the barrier the entity had created to keep the survivors separated from the killers to avoid any pity fights after trials.

Ever since that event, Pyramid Head was strictly kept in 'his' realm, aka Midwich Elementary School.

Sometimes, after escaping through the gates and running back into the camp through the fog, (Y/N) could swear they can hear the monster roar in the distance. Loud, distorted and fierce howls resonating somewhere behind the dense fog, as if the creature was desperately trying to yell out their name. Either to let them know how badly he wants them or a promise to break free and get them... Both possibilities giving them chills.

The entity of course wasn't okay with this, it was pissed! But it also could do so little... The great deal now had turned into a major curse. If the deal is broken, the Executioner won't hesitate to damage the realm to get what he wants. But if it remains, the monster will find new ways to bend the rules and make it everyone's problem.

Why the entity doesn't just give (Y/N) to the beast or gets rid of them ones for all? No one really has the answer. Some think it's due the entity's pride, or the possibility of the executioner going ballistic. For now, it's more of a silent (and petty) battle between two stubborn beings, each of them refusing to back away from their goal.

Goal. The entity's goal, though still confusing, is more or less clear; force people and creatures to play these twisted games and feed on those who get sacrificed. But the executioner's goal? It's straight up a mystery. (Y/N) know it has something to do with them, but... Why them exactly? Why not Cheryl? Didn't she come from the same place as that beast? What the monster even wants them for?

What will he do when he finally gets his hands on them? Wh-

A rough shake snapped (Y/N) out of their internal break down.

They blink a couple of times, tears of fear nearly sliding down their cheeks as their body shivers. They were scared, more than the other three survivors combined.

The survivor holding them by their shoulders, David, sighs when he finally notices them react.

—"Look, I know you're scared..."— he starts talking, his voice surprisingly calm.

—"I'm-... I- I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry-..."— you choke out in a weak wobbly voice, guilt eating you from inside.

—"No no. Just listen for a sec. I... Well, we all can tell that you aren't enjoying it neither. So, let's not break down into a soap opera, okay? Don’t think of this as hopeless match, but as another chance to woop that asshole's ass and escape."—

—"And also leave him empty handed!"— Feng announces from her place while already working on a generator.

—"Yeah, screw that triangular piece of shit! Let's try out Dwight's strategy this time. You remember it, do you?"— he asks you, not letting go of your shoulders yet.

The surprisingly positive and reassuring words of their teammates towards them really soothed and even cheered (Y/N) a bit. With a small smile they quickly wipe their eyes before nodding.

—"Good, see? We're already starting on a good note!"— he lets go to then pat your back, basically pushing you forward. —"Now go help with a gen before putting the 'plan' into work."—

Though the push hurt a bit, (Y/N) didn't care at all about the pain, too focused on keepings all the negative and pessimistic thoughts away.

For the first minute and a half everything was going well, (Y/N) and Feng were working on one generator while David and Jonah were working on the other one. The four of them were dead silent, straining their ears for any of the sounds the creature makes, such as heavy footsteps, the scraping of his gigantic knife or their own heartbeat. Weirdly enough, everything was calm... Too calm.

(Y/N) nearly choked with air when a cold chill ran through their spine.

Spine Chill. The beast... Is watching them.

They attempt to subtly alert Feng by carefully tapping her leg, but as soon as their fingertips touched the other girl’s skin, their heartbeat started to get louder and louder, until…

—“WATCH OUT!”—

(Y/N) exclaimed as they pushed Feng, just in time to dodge a bunch of sharp and rusted metal pieces coming out the ground.

—“Holy-...”— she mutters.

Now that the monster is here, the four survivors decided to put in action the mentioned strategy.

They all let go of the generators and run away in different directions, (Y/N) being the most desperate while running since they know exactly who the beast is targeting.

His pattern is always the same; chase after until sending them into a cage to then down all of their teammates and then come straight back to all caged and helpless (Y/N) and then… Stare or touch them until the others bleed out or the entity has enough.

The difference in the current case, is that (Y/N) is not playing just cat and mouse. In fact, chasing them is the worst the killer can do. All of their abilities are chase oriented, another teammate lurking around has all the boon ones, while the last two have all is needed to rush through the generators. If everything works out, the monster will get himself in a situation where he's be forced to leave (Y/N) alone.

The chase was intense, at least for (Y/N). Despite never catching a clear view of the Executioner, they could feel him close behind, following them methodically like a wild animal on a hunt, waiting for the right moment to strike while keeping up the tension.

It was hard to maintain the focus, every single hallways in The Game looked the exact same. Did they vaulted that window already? Didn't they pre-dropped that palled over there? Did Feng placed it up again? Are the other two working on the generators? Have they taken this left path before?

So many questions where swarming their mind as their legs kept carrying them on, only momentarily relaxing when two generators finally made that distinguish noise.

Two done! Tree left.

A breathless laugh escaped from them. Great! This is already going better than all of their previous encounters with the Executioner, which would always end with the first generator barely reaching 30%.

However, their smile was quickly swept when they realized they no longer hear their heartbeat or thundering footsteps tailing behind. It was silent, dead silent, with no other sounds that their own breathing.

A wave of anxiety flushed through (Y/N) like a tsunami wave and started to drag and drown them deeper into their own worries.

What the?... Okay, this was not part of the plan. The Executioner had never left the chase with them, never. So the fact that he finally did, and apparently a while ago, made them shake.

With nothing else to do, they gather the courage to start moving again. Where? Somewhere! Anywhere but to stay in place and be an easy target to the beast that so desperately wants them.

They keep running, stopping only for a brief moment before turning a corner, making sure they don't hear any muffled breathing that at times resembled growls. They learned the hard way with the Shape that some killers like to wait around corners, and they don't want to commit the same mistake right now.

Their heart jerked when they heard a scream resonate from their left, and a faint reddish aura in the shape of a human gleamed for a second before disappearing.

David is down.

And it seems like he's not getting picked up, which could either mean that the monster is setting up a trap or chasing someone else. Whichever the case is, they shouldn't go-

They hear a bunch of footsteps come their way, and in a set of panic they crouch behind a bunch of boxes, silently praying that their disguise is mildly good.

They can't see much from their spot, but they can clearly recognize the shape of Jonah running away from something massive.

As soon as the two figures passed by, (Y/N) gets up and takes off running towards David to check on him.

After some wondering around the labyrinth-like place, they finally reach their injured teammate, who was still on the ground and groaning from pain.

—"{David!}"— you whisper-yell as you start running towards him.

He weakly lifts his head just enough to see them. When he recognized who it is, he starts to frantically shake his head.

—"NO! GET THE FUCK OUT!"—

Huh? What-

As (Y/N) is about to reach David, a path of sharp metal pieces and razor wires had emerged right in front of them, just when they're about to make contact with the floor again, making in impossible to dodge.

The second their leg got tangled into the sharp metallic mess, everything went too fast. They don't even have time to pull away as something sliced them on their side, sending them directly on the ground.

They send a guilty and ashamed glance to David, who had an frustrated expression.

—"{Sorry...}"— you mouth.

(Y/N) has no chance to see David's answer as a massive hand suddenly curled around their throat and forced them to look away from the other man.

Their eyes wide at the sight of the beast menacingly hovering over their helpless form, holding their body in place between him and the ground. The muscles of his extended arm were tense, his breathing heavy, almost like he's holding back the anger and displeasure caused by them giving attention to someone else.

Their heart skipped beats, their breath uneven, their eyes watered as they tightly closed them, not wanting to witness whatever this thing was about to do. They can feel the warmth coming from his body, his breathing slowly stabilizing, as if staring at them and watching them slowly submit was enough to calm the monster. Ironically, it did the complete opposite to (Y/N), as their own heartbeat raised from the anxiety of having to face the unknown, attempt to predict the unpredictable and prepare to witness another massacre unfold around them at any second... Just to then end up caged and at the mercy of this-

—"LEAVE THEM ALONE ASSHOLE!"— David angrily yells from his place, struggling and trying to stand up. —"You're fucking terrifying, of course they don't want to look at you!"—

They can feel Pyramid Head's hand tense and start shaking, his fingers twitching and pressing further into their skin. (Y/N) was beyond terrified now, just a little bit of pressure and the creature could crush their throat like a cardboard tube.

David, though clearly using all of his strength, ended up falling back on the ground, as if some invisible weigh is actively pushing him down.

—“You freak! Absolute sick fuck! Let them go already!”—

As the waterfall of profanities continues, (Y/N) slowly places their hands around the monster’s wrist to attempt to push his hand away, unfortunately he didn’t budge at all.

Suddenly, David’s stops screaming and the very next second (Y/N) feels something warm and slippery press against their cheek.

They jerk in place at the uncanny sensation and shoot open their eyes, a breathless gasp escaping them at the sight of a… Wh-What even is that? A freaking tentacle? A tongue?…

The dark pink muscle wiggles in front of their face for a moment before licking another stride, wiping some of their tears and blood in the process, making (Y/N) shiver in discomfort.

They shoot a confused glance to David, desperately wanting to know if he’s witnessing this too. The man had an expression of pure ‘what the fuck’; eyes narrowed, brows furrowed and mouth slightly gaping.

This eye contact was brief though. (Y/N) got startled for a loud growl that reverbed from the beast's chest and helmet. The hand finally leaves their throat as the beast stands up to his full height and starts making his way to David, leaving them alone, as well as his knife?

(Y/N) throws their teammate a scared look, but David responds with a forced smirk.

—"Ah, now you decide to drag your big ass towards me."— he mutters through gritted teeth.

The monster seem to not react to his taunts. With each step that he takes towards David, his mask of confidence seems to crack.

Nevertheless, the man didn’t back out from his insults, he never does.

—“What’s wrong? Why so pissy, huh?! Jealous that (Y/N) prefers us?!”—

Saying their name was a sore spot to hit, and the way Pyramid Head reacted confirmed that.

The monster roughly grabs David by the neck, completely ignoring the fact that he’s not even holding his weapon. Instead he uses his bare hands to silence him.

Nasty, wet and crunchy sounds resonated through the room and hallways as the creature began to tear the man’s body limb by limb, piece by peace, unbothered by the pained screams of his victim or the low groan of displeasure that resonated from above for again not playing by the rules.

(Y/N) froze in horror at the sight in front of them. Blood, chunks of flesh and bone pieces where flying everywhere, never before they’ve witnessed this type of gore, not even during the ‘mori’.

Though it felt like the massacre lasted hours, it was actually second. The monster threw the whatever remaining he had in his hands and slowly turned back to (Y/N), who was still frozen and unable to look away from what was left from David. They know they will meet again in the fire camp, in one piece and alive, but god they felt sick...

Their shock breaks only when the thundering footsteps began to resonate again, shaking the ground underneath them with each the creature took. He grew closer, and closer, with them being able to do absolutely nothing aside from attempting to crawl away.

But that pity attempt was stopped when the same sharp wires and rusty metal pieces emerged from the ground and wrapped around their body, pulling them slowly underneath and sinking them further into the ground. And before they realize it, their body is already trapped in that rotten metallic cage.

Cold metal spikes just inches away from their flesh, so close to penetrate their skin, a wrong move and they would undoubtedly get hurt. But even if they wanted to move, they couldn't really. The space in the structure was small, claustrophobic even, each spike perfectly adjusted to keep their form in place. In some twisted way, it felt like a hug, a very cold, unwelcoming and unnerving hug.

They flinch when they hear a scream resonate from somewhere, which was cut by a loud slam.

Feng was caught.

It seems like the Executioner didn't bother to down her, rather getting rid of her directly, most likely because he's aware that Jonah is not keen of going for rescues...

And speaking of the man, there is his aura flashing before (Y/N)'s eyes as his body fell on the floor.

He's down... Which means that-

Before they even finish their conclusion, the tall figure of the monster appeared. Just by looking at them his behavior seemed to change; movements more erratic and pace uneven, almost like he's hypnotized.

He makes his way to them, slowly, as if purposely building up the tension.

(Y/N) wanted to look away or close their eyes, but whenever they did so the cage felt painfully small. It hurt, literally, so they stare at that beast grow closer with wide shaky eyes that struggled to keep their focus on him. This is something Pyramid Head was always good at, he could always make you fear, even the toughest bravest ones would inevitably succumb to the terror his presence brings.

Ones in front of them, the creature stops in place and simply stares, like he always did.

(Y/N), though still scared, was a tiny bit relieved that this is what the rest of the trial would be; them being pinned like a butterfly with the monster observing.

It would be just that.

Just this bizarre staring contest.

...Right?

WRONG.

The creature suddenly let go of his weapon and grabs the edges of the cage with both hands quite violently.

Now the little hope and comfort (Y/N) had was thrown out the window, as now they realize they no longer have any idea of what will happen next.

And by what it looks like, the entity is not planning to intervene, as if curious itself to see what will happen next.

Pyramid Head remains like this, his big hands tightly squeezing the imperfect metal bars, bending them slightly and making the already miserable looking material groan from the pressure he was applying.

It looked like he wanted to destroy that cage, rip it apart and get to them, but didn't do it by holding himself back... Why? What's even the point of this build up? What's even the point in wanting them?!

—"{Wh-...Why?...}"— you choke out in a very quiet voice. —"{Why a-are you d-... doing this?...}"—

(Y/N) knows is stupid to ask, Pyramid Head can't even speak! But they can't help themselves, they're too scared, their anxiety is unbearable and their thoughts are too out of control. They need answers, anything that could even hint for a possible explanation of the killer's intentions.

They began to second guess their decision to speak when the creature froze in place, even his breath was now inaudible. This was the first time (Y/N) spoke directly to the monster, but they didn't expect him to react at this fact, not like this, or at all.

But he did, he did acknowledged that little detail, and he will make sure they acknowledge it too.

The creature soon moves again, by slowly leaning closer and slightly tilting his head to the side, almost like trying to get a better look at them.

His breathing got heavier, low huffs and growls resonating from that metallic helmet of his. It really looked like he was actively holding back some major urge or desire, but what it is?

(Y/N) wanted to ask again, but decided against it as there is little Pyramid Head could do to answer, and even if he could, why should he? Maybe it's more amusing to him to see them helplessly wondering in the dark and unable to comprehend what's going on.

Or maybe, there is simply nothing to explain?... Maybe he does what he does just because? Human mind is way too used to seek for reasons and explanations for anything and everything, often forgetting that sometimes the answer is way too simple or straight up null, could that be the case?

The same groan coming from the cage bars pulled (Y/N) out of their thoughts. They forget how to breathe at the sight of the structure slowly collapsing as the monster starts to rip the bars with his raw strength.

A scared yelp escaped them as they try to back further into the cage as much as they can, ignoring the sharp edges that scratched or pierced their body. They barely felt pain, none at all actually, the adrenaline and basic survival instincts keeping their body resilient and ready to run. The sad part is, is that there is nowhere to run, nothing to do. It's sweet that their body tries so desperately to keep their hopes up and reassure their survival, but their mind is more than aware of the cold desolated reality...

The front part of the cage was eventually ripped off and thrown against the floor violently. (Y/N) can only cover their eyes with their hands and quietly sob as they wait for whatever the monster had planned to do next.

Even when no further actions are made, they refuse to look. They no longer want to face this thing, they no longer want to suffer this torment. Regardless if they believed in any religion or no, they mutter silent prayers under their breath, but not no save them, but to make it end and to know how sorry they are for any evil or harm they've did in their life that leaded to such tragic conclusion.

But this is where the catch is... They've committed none. At least from the Executioner's perspective.

Despite their whispers being so silent to a non-existent point, Pyramid Head heard them loud and clear. And the more he heard their voice, the more he felt the inside of his chest burn and the desire for them grow even more. (Y/N) is not perfect, they're human after all, and all humans have their fair share of flaws and defects... But unlike the rest, (Y/N) has the ability to acknowledge said imperfections and genuinely try to make up for them, to fix them... Regardless if they get something in return or not.

This, this is the true purity in a human being. An innocence and kindness so genuine that it would be a sin not to worship and protect... And who is a best fit to take care of it other than the fearsome Pyramid Head?

(Y/N)... So pure... So innocent... So kind... He must keep them save.

He must keep them...

He wants them...

W̴͕̳͈͔̭̝͠ͅ a̶̩̰̲̎̓͊̈̓̕ ǹ̴̢͇̬̘̗̯̜̍̋͊͠͝͠ ṭ̶͇̃̔͝ s̶̭̩͔̹̝̼̅̍̆̉͌͝

As the monster is about to reach them, a spider like legs burst out through the floor and wrap themselves around (Y/N).

The trial... Is over.

And while the absolutely livid roar gets overshadowed by the groans of the entity as the black fog surrounds the whole place. (Y/N) only keeps quietly sobbing as they cling to the spider leg sticking out of their chest. And though they knew the entity is the main responsible of their current torment, they were too overwhelmed with emotions to properly process their actions.

Surprisingly, the spider-like being didn't disappear right away, probably feeling pity for their situation and allowing them to cry for a brief moment, most likely to compensate this unplanned mess they have to deal with.

To everyone's surprise in the camp, when (Y/N) finally arrived they where unconscious, either passed out after such emotional roller coaster or the entity wants them take some genuine rest. Whatever the case it, it didn't matter, what matters is that their fellow friend is back save and sound, right?

As one of the survivors decided to take them closer to the bonfire for warmth and comfort, they could swear they heard some weird noises from afar.

It resembled a demonic cry filler with rage, so distant yet menacing. Everyone instinctively shivered.

And though (Y/N) successfully 'survived' yet another trial with the executioner, almost everyone had the gut feeling that the next encounter they have with the beast, it will not end good...

They all take a glance at their still unconscious form.

Poor (Y/N)...

[angelsforthenight]

BEYOND SALVAGE — ellie williams x fem!reader.

a catholic boarding school AU pt 1 🍓

pt 2 here!

you’re somebody that’s virtuous, staying in an all girls catholic boarding school. fallen victim to the vast fear of god, you try your hardest not to sin. however what happens when an embarrassing incident catches a certain rogue girl’s attention — who absolutely reeks of sin?

content: heavy religious talk, catholic, holy! reader, rebel!ellie, quiet!reader, player!ellie, ellie has piercings, ‘lil raunchy but no smut (yet heheh), v brief mention of drugs, v brief mention of porn.

a/n: this is a rewrite of a fic i did back in the summer! i had accidentally (and stupidly) deleted my account :,) let’s pray people see this.

having lived in a catholic boarding school for half of your life, it’s only natural you were heavily religious. the fear of god plagued you like a disease. you were nailed on following the Word, and earning a seat in heaven — not it’s roaring, fiery counterpart.

you were a good girl: always following the rules the sisters bestowed upon you. always deemed as pure, and untainted. you prayed every night without fail: knelt beside your bed, elbows against the mattress, hands clasped together.

you had always tried your hardest to stray away from sin. however, there’d be temptations, of course. for instance, that one time you caught a bunch of girls in your dorm giggling and squealing at a porno-magazine they had randomly found somewhere. you had accidentally caught a very brief glimpse at a woman flaunting her tits and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it made you feel something. a needy little throb between your thighs. that night, consumed with guilt, you had prayed so hard that your head hurt.

oh, and if we’re talking about temptations? ELLIE WILLIAMS had to be the hardest one yet.

take the word sinful and ellie would come to mind. she was someone you had always tried your best to avoid. rebellious, brash and cocky. it was said she was forced here as punishment from her parents. she had always been hard to discipline: had piercings (spider bites and one on her right brow), always snuck out and was notorious for smuggling in drugs.

even though ellie was a pain, there was no way the nuns could expel her since her parents sponsored the school a generous amount. they had to resort to seeing ellie as someone they could “save.”

whenever she roamed the hallways, every girl would scramble to move out of her way. she was incredibly intimidating and got into fights whenever she wanted to — both with students AND the sisters. of course you wouldn’t want to mess with her.

there were also numerous rumours circling around about her. too many to count, but one stuck with you the most: that she gets it on with girls. hearing from your gossip-gripped friends that ellie had fucked a handful of girls in your school had surprised you. you were brutally naive, so preoccupied with seeming good in the eyes of the Lord that you weren’t aware that something like that could happen. this had only made you want to stay away from ellie even more.

you were quiet, so timid and meek that you believed yourself lucky to actually have friends. your quietness allowed ellie not to notice you, not even be aware of your existence despite you two being in a lot of the same classes. you didn’t mind — in fact, you were glad. relieved, even.

that is, until the school’s annual sports day.

it was a scorching hot day in the middle of june and many of the girls were excited. not particularly because of the sports but because every time, the neighbouring all boys school would join yours. a classic boys versus girls. you didn’t really care whether the boys were here or not, as opposed to your friends who were all bashful and red-faced. you found it understandable considering they’re sheltered away from them most of the time. bless them.

you and your friends were leaning against the fence of the tennis court. you were so hot that your t-shirt stuck to the small of your back, little baby hairs glued to your forehead. bored from all the boy-talk, your eyes decided to drift to a certain auburn-haired girl: manspreading on the bench right across from you. you wondered how a woman could sit so unladylike.

ellie was out of breath, probably from doing a running activity. there was visible sweat gleaming on the corner of her forehead and her cheeks were pink. god knows why, but you allowed yourself to prolong your stare. you watched as ellie grabbed her water bottle, gulping down desperate sips; some of the water spilling and dripping down her slender neck. you watched as the skin on her neck bobbed as she sipped, heard as she panted breathlessly like a dog. you felt the skin on your cheeks begin to prickle, and you suddenly found it hard to breathe. when her pale green eyes caught yours, you immediately looked away, turning your attention back to your friends. that was the first time you two had ever made eye contact.

a moment later, it was your group’s turn to play tennis. ellie remained perched on the bench, and as you waited in the queue to have a go on batting the ball, you happened to be quite near her. you tried your very best to play it cool. ellie paid no attention, spaced-out and obviously too lazy to participate in the activities.

there were also boys in the queue, right behind you, which had got your girls in a frenzy. one of your friends decided to push you against them. “oops” she would say before purposely bumping you towards them again and again. you were awkward and uncomfortable, but you had played it off and giggled, acting as if it was funny. at a point, she accidentally pushed you too hard which made you lose your balance; stumbling on your heel and falling backwards. right onto ellie’s lap. yep! her lap.

“woah?” ellie said, caught off guard. “oh shit. go. go!” your so-called friends murmured as they scrambled off, leaving you completely and utterly humiliated. you immediately bolted off her lap as you turned around to look at her.

“i’m really sorry. that was— i mean, my f-friends were…” you began to ramble, feeling your whole body turn hot. ellie’s lips cracked up into an amused grin.

“it’s chill. not very often you get a cute girl sitting on your lap for less than a second.” she chuckled. you blushed immensely, before rapidly nodding and speeding away.

if only your little innocent self knew how quick things would change…

a/n: hooked? read pt 2 here!

[svtcrus]

───── `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃 BABY LOVE ME EVENT SERIES

FORBIDDEN ; WRIOTHESLEY X AFAB!Reader

warning : office sex, slight degradation, ass slapping, not proofread (i apologize, i tried getting this done as fast as i could), just smutty so MDNI

synopsis : you and his grace have formed quite the bond. a bond that isn't quite typical between a boss and his secretary.

who would've thought, you're caught up in the handcuffs of the warden, the duke himself. you were–trying at least–playing a joke on him, to liven up the gloominess that's sought all over the fortress.

such a harmless joke really. yet wriothesley himself decided to take this joke into his own hands and twist it all around.

you had simply just wanted to tease him a slight, you wanted to see how much of a rise you could get out of him despite your willful obedience.

so you took it upon yourself to wear a flaring skirt instead of the your usual skin tight leggings–which wriothesley has secretly grown to adore– it was quite humid and hot in the fortress anyways. perhaps you would talk to him about the fortress's air conditioning.

"your grace, the fortress feels quite warm today doesn't it? the temperature felt quite different that-"

the duke in question had raised his head, eyes widening at your change of look. your half assed explanation is slowly fading in his head, for those dark eyes of his began to trace every curve of your body.

archons. he shouldn't. this is clearly forbidden. you're his secretary, and he's your boss, the duke. this is so... wrong?

having formed quite the formidable friendship with the duke was something inevitable. he had recently thought of having an aide to assist him on more serious matters, especially after the incident with the primordial water.

so now here you were, 6 months into the job and having formed quite a tight knit bond with his grace. however today, didn't seem to be quite gracefu and instead lustful to your situation.

"you're quite the slut aren't you?" large calloused hands are rubbing against your sides, said duke has you stuck on his lap. skirt pulled up revealing your behind for everyone to see if they were to walk in.

"acting all innocent, when really you're the most guiltiest person out there. and in front of me?... how bold." plump ass on his growing bulge is all for him to see. black lace panties too? gosh, he feels like the luckiest man alive.

such a view causes his breath to hitch with bitten lips, meanwhile you sat atop of him. your hands holding up your skirt as your cheeks burn red. his own are feeling you up... until you were squeaking with a whine. his palm hits you out of reality, and you can't help but to hold yourself up on the edge of his death.

this reaction he gets from you has him blooming with pride. only he can make you this way. only he should be the one to have you twist and bend the rules that one should oh so be obediently obeying.

"sweetheart, do you really want to do this?" pulling you back onto his chest, holding by your waist. a man so cold has never felt ever more warmer against you.

he's whispering into your ear, and now both your hot breaths that speak of anticipation can be heard more clearly between the two of you. god, you want him so badly

"m'please wrio... I've never wanted something as bad as this... please." and that's all he needed before he's pounding into you on his big desk. quills and pens thrown, all scattered around indicating the feverent lust that is happening in his very office. anyone could come in at any moment. heavens even poor sigewinne could witness the absolute debauchery you were both comitting. yet at the same time such rational thoughts have been clouded by your irrational need for wriothesley.

"m'fuck..! wrio—! too much!" you're gripping aimlessely at something, anything, to pace yourself with wriothesleys pounding rhythm. he's addicted, fully hooked on you. the way your walls squeeze around him and how beautiful moans you let out as he enters you, the sound of skin against skin echoing in his office. he's completely high off of you.

"hold it sweetie, because I'm not done with you yet— fuck!" wrio is bending down, placing needy kisses along your nape and shoulders. his grip on your waist is tighter, your cries and pleas only getting louder. the thought of being quiet completely out the door.

"mm– wrio i'm gonna–!" your head is practically digging into the table, wriothesleys pace seems to only have gotten more forceful. you can feel the knot tying inside, and with one more thrust you cry from the euphoria of your release.

scarred, muscular arms wrap around your body tightly. the deep grunt from wrio vibrates against your back. you both stay like this for a few moments, the sound of your hot panting being the only sound in the room.

yet before you could even exhale one more time, you're flipped around so that your now eye to eye with the duke. and his gaze has only gotten darker.

"your grac-?" before you can even protest, it's replaced with another moan. you're biting your lip again, and your hands instinctively wrap themselves around him.

"i told you sweetheart. i'm not done with you."

@svtcrus || 07.11.24 ; baby love me event

©️ all rights reserved. do not copy , repost , alter , plagiarize my work.

[respectthepetty]

Gosh I’m so curious about your insight into why Juyeong removed his cross again in episode 6 and how Dohoe noticed it and became upset. I am so confused

IT'S ABOUT GOD!

Okay, gather 'round, you heathens (affectionately)! Let me school you in religious righteousness and shame.

Although I questioned if what Ju Yeong wore was a cross,

If it is a cross, Ju Yeong took it off BEFORE he confessed to Do Hoe.

He was using that moment to confess not only his love for Do Hoe, but also his sin.

So now, act like you were raised in a super religious family and truly believe that Jesus Christ is your Lord and savior who died horribly on the cross, so YOU could get into heaven one day.

That's right! God sacrificed his only son, so YOU wouldn't have to go to hell.

It's a heavy cross to bear, the weight of knowing someone died for your sins. Someone scarified their child, so you could have eternal happiness. God condemned his only son to be executed for you.

However, the catch is that you cannot sin in order to get into heaven.

You have to obey your parents.

You can't commit murder.

You can't idolize anyone above God for there is only one God, and he willingly allowed his son to be killed FOR YOU!

Oh, and you cannot lie because that's a slippy slope to hell.

So, once again, imagine you are that boy who wears a cross necklace and truly believes you will go to hell for your sins, so when you confess to the boy you like, you take off the necklace, because God should not bear witness to this offense.

But then, you sacrifice your body for that boy to be happy. You also take care of that boy's father to make up for the sin. You become the prodigal son, so the boy you like can live in eternal happiness even if it's without you.

And you keep wearing the cross, so God is with you in all you do and He will see the good in your heart.

God is with you always, in everything you do because the necklace is always on as a reminder of the one time you liked a boy and almost sent both of you to an earthly and eternal hell.

But the thing is, we know Ju Yeong takes the necklace off, and so does Do Hoe.

So how must that feel to Do Hoe to know that Ju Yeong removes his necklace when he is with him? How must that come across? Probably as if Ju Yeong carries shame about Do Hoe, or specifically about their relationship with each other and that Ju Yeong does not see what is between them as godly, but rather sinful, shameful, and even more, wrong.

When Do Hoe told the truth about the night of the incident, he looked at Ju Yeong's neck.

And it could come across as sexual, like he wants to kiss or touch Ju Yeong after such a brutally honest moment or when it's snowing, but in the context of the argument, that is an odd time to fantasize about wanting someone in such a sexual way.

But it's because Do Hoe is looking for the necklace. And it's there.

Ju Yeong had it on the first time he kissed Do Hoe, but he didn't wear it when they kissed in the van nor during their first time, so Do Hoe is checking to see if it's okay to kiss him now, with the necklace on.

Because if the necklace is off, he knows Ju Yeong will allow himself to be selfish, abandon God, and accept the sin.

But that has to be a fucking awful feeling, no?

To believe that you, a person who probably lied about your schooling and now sit in a fancy apartment with your nice car and cushy job because of that lie, are in love with a man who is so morally righteous that even your relationship with him is so sinful that he has to take off his cross and forsake God to be near you.

Once again, Ju Yeong could not be wearing a cross, but imagine being a liar in love with a saint.

Hell, I'd hate myself too.

@heretherebedork, @benkaben, @chicademartinica, @anxiouswannabe90skid

[dollielliot]

˳ ･ׅ ⠀⠀ . ﾟ* 𑙕 ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׁ𐄙transcripts from police calls about columbine

F.B.I. report excerpt about the Library 911 call:

"On April 20, 1999, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold shot and killed twelve students and one teacher at Columbine High School Littleton, Colorado. During the incident, teacher Patty Nielson placed a call to 911 Emergency. Neilson was in the library when she placed the call. The 911 operator answered the call stating "911" at 11:27:47 a.m. The phone call lasted 26 minutes. During the call, noises including gunshots, explosions, screaming, and yelling can be heard. The initial backround noises heard come from the hallway just outside of the library. Four minutes and ten seconds into the call, Harris and Klebold entered the Library and begin shooting. They left the Library eleven minutes and forty-five minutes into the call. The remaining gunshots and explosions heard on the tape occur in the Cafeteria, Science classroom area or the hallways of the school."

Eric - "Get up!"

Dylan - "GET UP!"

Eric - "Stand up right now or we'll blow your fucking heads off!"

Dylan - "Fine I'll start shooting then..." (shoots Velasquez) "Woohoo!"

Dylan - "All jocks stand up... white baseball cap"

Eric - "Pigs are here..." (begins firing out the window)

Dylan - (shoots Hall, Ireland, Steepleton) "Yahoo!" 

Patti Nielson - "our father.. who art in heaven... hallowed be thy name" Dispatcher - "ma'am, you need to forget about praying right now. What's happening there?"

Nielson - "They're in here... they're killing kids... I have to go." (drops phone)

Eric - (kills Curnow) "Die! Motherfucker!"

Dylan - "WOO!"

Kasey Ruegsegger - (after being shot by Eric) "Oh!"

Eric - "Stop your bitching! It's merely a flesh wound."

Dylan - (laughing hysterically)

Eric - "peek-a-boo" (kills Bernall)

Dylan - (shoots Ireland) "Die! …..down on the floor!"

Dylan - "REB?"

Eric - "Yeah?"

Dylan - "hey, man... there's a [ n word w/ the hard r] over here."

Eric - "shoot him."

Dylan - "SHIT YEAH!"

Shoels - "no…no…no.mom!"

(shoels and kechter killed)

(C02 bomb detonates)

Valeen Schnurr - "oh my god... help me..."

Eric - "do you believe in god?"

Valeen - "no. yes..."

Dylan - "Why?"

Eric - "God is gay."

John Tomlin - "Don't... done enough?"

(shots fired)

Dylan - "You think we've done enough?" (laughing)

Eric - "nice glasses" (shots fired... sounds of a scuffle.. shots fired again, Mauser killed)

Dylan - "was he trying to jump you?"

Eric - "yeah"

(shots fired... DePooter killed)

Dylan - "Look what we have here..."

Eric - "What?"

Dylan - "just some fat fuck"

Dylan - "give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you."

Evan Todd - "I don't want to get into trouble."

Dylan - "Trouble! You don't know what trouble is..."

Evan Todd - "That's not what I mean... I don't have a problem with you guys..." 

Dylan - "I'm going to let this fat fuck live... little fat fucking piece of shit... you can have him if you want." 

Eric - "Let's go to the commons"

Dylan - "One more thing" (sound of something smashing)

Dylan - "Reb, ya ready?"

Dispatcher - "Columbine Senior High School. There's been a shooting. There's a female in the south parking lot. OK, I'm sorry, can you tell me where she is?"

Student - "She's in the south parking lot on the lower parking lot."

Dispatcher - "She's in the parking lot, the lower one?"

Student - "Right, toward the east end of that parking lot .... I just saw everyone running. I just saw the smoke."

Dispatcher - "OK. We had a report of explosions down there. Is there a car fire or anything?

Student - "People are saying there's a gun."

Dispatcher - "Do you know if anyone was carrying a weapon out there?"

Student - "No, I do not. There's like smoke going off in the parking lot right now. There are loud noises. I'm not sure exactly. A cop is pulling up."

Dispatcher - "Can you direct them?"

Student - "No, but they're going in the right direction. People are running out of the school like mad right now."

Dispatcher - "Where is the female ... is she still in that south parking lot?"

Student - "I can't see her anymore. I ran to the phone."

Dispatcher - "Can you see anything else?"

Student - "A lot of people are at the front of the parking lot and they're running out."

Dispatcher - "When the kids came out of the school, which direction were they going?"

Student - "They went down towards the street."

Dispatcher - "What part is this? Is it like the gym area, the cafeteria or just classrooms?"

Student - "They're coming from like the commons, the lunch area right now."

Dispatcher - "The commons area? 

Student: Everyone's running and I'm still standing here."

Dispatcher - "You're out of the way of danger, aren't you?"

Student - "I believe so, I don't know." 

Dispatcher - "Do you mind if I keep you on the phone here so you can tell me if anything else is going on there?"

Student - "I think the fire alarm is going off right now. Yeah, the fire alarm is going off."

Dispatcher -  "...Shots fired at Columbine High School, 6201 South Pierce, possibly the south lower lots toward the east end. One female is down"

[unintelligible]

Dispatcher - "71"

Deputy Neil Gardner - "Shots in the building. I need somebody in the south lot with me."

Dispatcher - "MC-2's in the area."

Dispatcher - "140 enroute. 11:26" (dispatcher gives time of broadcast). 

[unintelligible field radio with siren in background]

Dispatcher - [unintelligible] "11:26"

[unintelligible, officers acknowledging their response]

Deputy Neil Gardner - "Several shots. Code 33."

Dispatcher - "71. Several shots fired. Columbine High School. Use caution...."

[unintelligible]

Dispatcher - [unintelligible] "You were covered."

[unintelligible field unit]

Dispatcher - "Copy. Attention. All units, there's a code three on this channel. For the officers at Columbine High. Take your traffic to channel two...."

[unintelligible field unit]

Dispatcher - [unintelligible] "11:27"

Officer - "41"

Dispatcher - "41"

Officer - "Yeah, the alarm's OK. Enroute down to Columbine."

Dispatcher - "11:27"

[unintelligible]

Dispatcher - "71 requested assistance at the south lower lot."

Officer - "At the lot?"

Dispatcher - [unintelligible] "at the lot. That's where we had the female down.... [unintelligible] 127 [unintelligible]"

Officer - "OK ... We've got the pupils leaving the grounds."

Dispatcher - [unintelligible] "I have report of possible grenades in the school."

Officer: "147"

Dispatcher: "147"

Officer: [unintelligible] "teacher thinks somebody is in the school with a gun."

Dispatcher - "Report units of possible parties inside the school with weapons. Also we have reports from outside the school that possibly grenades are being thrown from the roof of the school."

Officer - "27. I'm set up on Pierce at the, uh, south side lot."

Dispatcher - Pierce south side of the lot.... [unintelligible]

Officer - "44. I'll be set up on the west side of the back of the school, by the ball field."

Officer - "MC-2. I've got the west side by the ball field. Supposedly they're in black trench coats."

Dispatcher - "MC-2. West side by the ball fields, parties in trench coats, possibly has a shotgun."

Officer - [unintelligible] "copy."

Officer - [unintelligible]

Dispatcher - "Last unit"

Deputy Neil Gardner - "71"

[astridthevalkyrie]

oh my god, bakugo's kind of my friend! | k. bakugo x reader

----> summary: You'd never dare tell anyone that he was your friend. You'd never be so bold. Katsuki agrees. He's definitely not your friend.

----> warnings: quirkless university au, video game violence, fluff n feelings

----> a/n: title blatantly stolen from the office—"oh my god, dwight's kind of my friend!"

----> word count: 2k

God, no, you’re not friends with Katsuki Bakugo.

No one is.

Yeah, okay, that’s not totally true. He’s sort of friends with Ochako, that’s how you met him. He’s actually fairly close to Izuku and Eijiro, his roommates. He tolerates Shoto, might even begrudgingly respect him. And he’s got some weird mutual-depression pact going on with Kyoka. 

But you’re not any of them. And you vehemently deny it when people ask, lest he, heaven forbid, think you’re going around telling people he likes you. You saw what happened to Neito last year when he, just once, said something about his friend Katsuki. You’re pretty sure it was the reason behind his switching majors, too, just to avoid being in the same classes with the terrifying blonde.

Sure, you’re in his apartment. Neito’s never stepped foot in here (aside from The Incident). And you’re well acquainted with the people he does clearly consider not-enemies. Earlier today, you and Momo had been out getting chips and soda for tonight. Just half an hour ago, you’d been playing blind karaoke with Eijiro, Izuku, and Ochako on Kyoka’s old laptop and mic that somehow both still had really good audio quality. Not to mention, you and Mina have had at least one class together every semester since you both started—she always races to slide into the chair next to you on every first day.

And you’re currently sitting on Katsuki’s couch, two feet away from Katsuki, playing a battle royale on Katsuki’s console.

“Behind the building,” he mutters, and you hum in acknowledgement, running to the spot he generously marked on the map.

It started a long while back. You and Denki had been playing some shitty racing game, and you’d very easily kicked his ass, leaving him groaning and flopping back onto Kyoka’s lap, where she offered no pity, rolling his head off with a light shove. As you were laughing at the display, Katsuki had taken Denki’s place on the floor, and all but demanded you pick up the controller once more.

(You’d won again. Terrified, you simply claimed that your controller must be broken before racing out of the room.

Imagine your surprise when, the next time you visited, he’d barked at you to assist him with a multiplayer, ordering a pouty Denki off the couch.)

You like playing, and you don’t have a console with as much storage back home, and you’re too broke to be buying multiple games anyways, so you don’t mind taking advantage of Katsuki’s appreciation for your skill. It’s usually a nice way to end the night, whether you and Ochako end up leaving or if you fall asleep right there on the couch.

Shivering, you bring your feet under the wool blanket you’d brought with you. You’re the only one who finds the apartment freezing. Everyone else typically sheds their extra layers, while you once hunted down Eijiro’s sock drawer to steal a pair of He-Man stockings for the night. 

“Up in the window,” you warn, at the same time he says, “Oi.”

Both of you meet each other’s gaze for a second in bewilderment, before rapidly turning your attention back to the TV. He dodges the shot from the window, and then continues.

“You been tellin’ people I hate you?”

“What?” Your hands almost drop the controller, but you regain control just quick enough to roll out of the way of a grenade. “No.”

“Kirishima said Tetsutetsu told him that Kendo told him that Tokage told her that you told her I hated you.”

If you weren’t nervous, you’d tell Katsuki you were surprised he even knew all those names. “I didn’t say that. I just said we weren’t friends.”

There’s an awfully long pause. You can still hear the sounds from the game, and the chatter of everyone else in the apartment—Hanta’s trying to rap?—but not a word from your couch partner. If it weren’t for the screen in front of you, you’d be nervously biting your nails or just full on escaping, honestly. Not that you’re scared of Katsuki, at least not more than one should be, but…

Well, the truth is you did see him as a friend. Or, screw it, as more than that, if those little arrhythmias you observed in yourself every time he would raise his hand in greeting when he passed you on campus were any indication. And you know it’s going to hurt—it already does—to hear him confirm the same thing that you told everyone when they asked. That you meant very little to him, in the long term.

“We’re not friends, huh?” he finally says, as more of an inquiry than you’d expected it to sound.

Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t stop staring straight ahead, spamming X to whack someone over the head with a bat. “Um. Are we?”

“Isn’t this your favorite game?” he shoots back, as though that answers your question.

“Yes? So?”

Another pause. You climb up to the roof of some building and emote pointlessly before hopping down and ducking behind a bush to heal. Katsuki lets out a mix of a sigh and a grunt, dashing across an abandoned minefield. 

“So,” he snarks, “I only bought it after you told me it was your favorite.”

Faintly, you feel the tips of your ears grow hot. Is that true? That can’t be true, can it? The timing does line up. You think it was back in the first week of October that you mentioned it, and then by Halloween you’d already played several rounds. Between that and losing to Momo in several games of pool, finals month had flown by.

But…

“I didn’t even tell you that.” Your voice comes out meek, and even though you’re in a safe space now, you’re still too nervous to turn your head and look at him. “I was talking to Shoto.” You’d even been half sure that Shoto wasn’t really registering what you were saying, with Ochako an inch away from him shrieking starships were meant to fly-y-y-y-y directly into his ear.

Katsuki grunts. “I was there, wasn’t I?”

If you wrack your memory, you can sort of remember it. He was…on Ochako’s other side? When she got drunk, she usually wanted to whack something, and Katsuki’s arm had been her victim that day, her palm smacking against his elbow at every other sung word.

The heat from your ears travels down to your neck. Over the singing and over everyone else’s conversations, was he paying attention to…you?

“I appreciate it,” you squeak quickly, wincing when you’re shot in the leg, “I mean, that was nice. Thank you. I just—I didn’t think you wanted me telling people we were friends, after what happened to—”

“If you bring up Monoma, I’ll take away your blanket,” he threatens; it makes you chuckle weakly. “You’re not that shithead. He pisses me off. You’re…you know.” You don’t know, actually. “You.”

Yeah, you’re you. You play games with him. You know his friends. You’re the only one who can try to outdance Eijiro to Rasputin in Just Dance. What does any of that have to do with…

“Do you think I ever fuckin’ carried that dick’s bag to class?”

“I don’t—”

“Do you think I had his stupid long ice cream order memorized? Pistachios, on the sides only,” he mimics, and you huff in an affronted sort of way, defensive of your topping choices. “Telling people to shut up so that I could hear what he was saying? Turning up the heat and burning up everyone in the apartment just to keep him warm? Was I inviting him to my place every two weeks just to fuckin’ watch him play Kingdom Hearts 3?”

And so, you finally look to the side. Katsuki’s cheeks are red, and his gaze is still on the television. His thumbs move furiously against the controller, and you have to bite your lip to prevent a quiet you’re really cute, you know that? from carelessly slipping from your mouth.

“But, to be fair,” you attempt, still confused, “you don’t exactly do all of that for your other friends either, Katsuki.”

At your words, he slouches into his seat more, the creases on his forehead deepening as an uncharacteristic frown—a frown, not a scowl—forms on his face. One would think you’d just told him you hated his guts. 

“Yeah.“ His glare flickers over to you for a moment. “Exactly.”

There’s a blast from the TV and a realization that hits you at the same time. 

You’re not his friend. He doesn’t see you as a friend.

The heat finally reaches your cheeks, and your mouth falls open slightly. 

Then, realizing something else, your head immediately snaps back to the screen to see that blast sound had actually been your character getting blown up. 

Your mouth falls open. You’d looked away for a few seconds at best. Which aces are in the lobby tonight?

“I lost,” you tell him, crestfallen. 

Katsuki snorts. “I didn’t.”

He keeps playing, and your cheeks don’t take any time to cool down. Instead, you stare at him while he’s distracted trying to escape the same vicious bastards who hunted you down, and you note that his face doesn’t look any less heated either. For once, it’s clearly not because he’s just getting into the game.

You wonder if that was ever the case at all, or if he just felt the same striking little jolt you did everytime you two accidentally bumped into each other while playing on this exact couch.

“I think I’m done for tonight.” The announcement comes out a bit louder than you expected. “I’ll probably head back.”

“I don’t think so.” Without breaking his eyes away from the TV, he nudges his head in the direction of the bedrooms. “Uraraka’s dead on her feet, and you’re not walkin’ back alone.”

Has he always purposely caused the fluttering in your chest? “Okay, well. Izuku’s still awake, I’ll just take his bed for now.”

Katsuki’s tongue clicks in a fuck-around-and-find-out kind of way. “Alright. Put the controller back before you go.”

“Fine. Where’s the, uh…” You turn your head this way and that, looking for the little box that they all go in.

“On my right,” he offers casually, not a hint on his face that he essentially just confessed to you.

Feeling a little spiteful, you reach to the side, blanket and all, instead of just standing up and going behind the couch like you would any other day. Purposefully blocking his view of the screen as you reach over him to toss the controller into the box, you smirk slightly when another blast signals that he’s died as well.

Only to yelp when a firm arm shoves you down against his chest.

“Would you look at that,” he murmurs, red eyes glittering in amusement as he watches you struggle on his lap, “I lost too.”

Tokage is going to hear a very different story tomorrow. “And how’s that my problem?”

His grip tightens, fingers gently digging into the thick cloth of the blanket that’s draped over you. “I wanna play again. And I’m cold.”

There’s a small, dumb grin on his face that you’d consider kissing off if it wasn’t mirrored by an equally dumb one of yours. You’re pretty sure Katsuki’s never ever complained about the cold in his apartment. But then, he’s never complained about the heat either. If he wants to be a sauna under you, who are you to deny him? Besides, you’re feeling cold too, you might as well just take advantage of the free insulation.

From the table, in the midst of pouring something that looks like cookie batter into a bowl, Kyoka raises her brow at the sight of you, then pats Tenya’s arm and points. 

He mouths something like, “Finally.”

Face burning once more, you bury your face in Katsuki’s neck, and relax in his hold while he presses X to replay.

[drvscarlett]

Let Him Cook Pt4

Series Part 1, 2, 3, 4

Taglist: @bookstore-of-dreams @barcelonaloverf1life @ririyulife @minseok-smaus @mehrmonga @sltwins @charlesgirl16 @six-call @spideybv28 @casperlikej @weekendlusting @janeholt3 @evie-119 @leilanixx @randomgirlnumber-13 @itsjustkhaos

Y/NCooks just posted a photo.

Y/NCooks Finally some vitamin seaaaaaaaaaaaaa

User1 Oh she is living the life!

Friend1 Say hi to the boyfriend for me

YNCooks he says hi Friend1 enjoy lovebirds!!!

User2 She is so hot and her boyfriend is equally hot. Power couple!

User3 Something about that back and that filter seems kinda familiar.

User4 OMG right? Its like I know it from somewhere but I can't pinpoint it. User5 I thought I was the only one but it seems like its really familiar.

User6 Its giving a pinterest vibes! She is everything I aspire to be.

User7 Are you still the one in-charge of cooking Y/N?

Y/NCooks Yuppp. But don't worry because he lifts the grocery and pays for the food, its an equal relationship User8 The boyfriend seems like a catch

User9 God when will it be me?

Charles_Leclerc just posted a photo.

Charles_Leclerc good food and good company

User1 Who is that??? Who is that hand?????

User2 Charles is finally breaking his single streak, a sad day for all the Charles girlies

PierreGasly Oh so that's why your boat was missing Charles_Leclerc I'm not discussing it here PierreGasly We just want to know, who is the lucky lady User3 Ohmygod Pierre just found out just like we all did

User4 That blue filter is back

User5 Just when we thought he forgot about it

User6 why is everyone and their partners softlaunching in a yacht

User7 who else is in a yacht? User6 There's this homecook and masterchef winner named Y/N that is softlaunching their partner on a yacht User7 Oh bestie that back looks familiar, don't you think User9 User9 SUSPICIOUS!!! User9 Nah, I highly doubt Charles can bag a chef. I mean the man couldn't cook pasta and its just pasta User7 you are probably right, im just delulu

"This is getting mildly annoying"Charles pouted "Usually they are quick to connect the pieces"

"All in due time honey"

It was actually a funny thing for you since fans find it highly impossible that Charles could bag a chef as his partner. You wouldn't tell Charles but you admit that his cooking skills is not a major selling point to a lot of chefs out there.

Ever since MasterChef ended, you two have been open about going public. The relationship has been kept in wraps for over 3 years so Charles is feeling pretty confident that it has already been a tested by time. But more than that, Charles opened up how he wanted to go public so that he'll be able to showcase his support.

"I can't wait for them to figure it out just so I can tell the world that I am the luckiest guy in the world for having you as my partner" he clings to you as a loopy smile appears on his face.

"And I can't wait to showcase the world how you have been drastically improving with your cooking skills" you smile "You can be my sous chef when you are off season"

"I'm not really sure if you are being sarcastic but I'll take this as a win and I'm considering myself masterchef approved"

The Gordon incident

There were 5 missed calls from Charles which made you slightly worried. You were unable to answer the call since you were driving home. You immediately rushed to the apartment and you saw a weird scenario. Charles was spread out on the floor, face down and seems to be in pain.

"What happened to you?"you asked as you set down your bag at the counter.

"Leave me be, I am a disgrace. I have fallen from heaven." Charles moped.

"Seriously honey, what's going on. You are scaring me"

Charles only lifted his phone for you to look at. You looked at it and it was a screenshot from Twitter with a quote tweet from Gordon about the pasta incident.

"Charles, you can't bag a chef if your cooking is as disastrous as that. Call me when you have the time-Oh my god. Gordon did not just say that" you burst out laughing.

"Laugh in my misery, go ahead and laugh."

You have to contain your giggles but then you cannot seem to help yourself. Charles continued to mope at the floor how no one will believe that you are his girlfriend now.

"It was just one time that I wasn't able to cook pasta properly, one time"

"Yes honey but the internet is forever"

After a while, Charles got up and you were slightly confused when he started bringing out the pots and pans out of the cupboard. He took out some of the pasta and then he grabbed his apron.

"You are going to teach me and we won't stop till I get a good pasta redemption" Charles said with full determination.

There was a bright idea that suddenly popped in your head, "I think I can do something better than that"

You started to type in your phone and after a while your phone started ringing. A familiar face on the screen and Charles almost fainted after hearing the accent.

"YOU GOT GORDON ON SPEED DIAL TO TEACH ME?"

Dinner with the drivers

The Australian Grand Prix was the first time that you actually met Charles' friends and former teammates. Charles arranged for an exclusive dinner with the grid drivers of 2025 in your restaurant.

"How did you get a reservation here Charles? I have been trying to get one for my parents, they love the Chef here and supported her during the masterchef days"Oscar asked.

"I know someone" Charles was trying his best to suppress his grin and elaborate further.

"Make sure to tell me later, I would love to bring my parents here. Cheers mate"

Dinner went on progressively well. There were variation of cuisines available and it catered to their specific Even Lewis loved that the vegan option was vast and Nando even agrees that if this is how much food options vegan has then he can go Vegan.

It was now tiMe for dessert and some drivers opted for a coffee while some thinks they deserve for a cheat day.

"Is this Ferrari's new strategy to shaving weight?"Max joked "Make the other drivers eat more so the car will be unbalanced"

"Fred is getting more creative with his strategy eh. Last year with my appendix and this year with Charles' food"Carlos agreed

The whole table erupted with the antics but Pierre is dying with curiosity already. Charles kept on mentioning how tonight is a really important night for him to announce something. He can't forget this dinner since its all that Charles has been talking about ever since they arrived in Australia.

"But in all honesty, you said you have something to tell us Charles" Pierre wondered "I'm dying to know"

Charles excused himself for a second and all the drivers on the table watched as he went to the kitchen. You were still in your chef's jacket when Charles spotted you.

"Is it time already? Do I look okay?"

"You look more than gorgeous mon amour"Charles replied, giving you a soft kiss to the cheeks.

The two of you walked out of the kitchen with hands interlaced with one another. The table suddenly fell quiet as they saw the two of you approaching the table. Charles has the most smug grin on his face.

"Everyone, I would like you to introduce the talented and amazing Chef for tonight Y/N" Charles lifted your intertwined hands "And she's also my girlfriend"

The drivers were all silent and shocked as they pieced out everything together. Then the flurry of questions started.

"Did you try Charles' pasta?" "Were you poisoned to say yes to him?" "How on earth did Charles get a MasterChef winner" "Can you teach me how you made the appetizer with the pea and corn"

It was so funny and you two were in a long night for explaining. But as you sat down bext to Charles, you felt at ease. You know that you can handle anything together.

The accidental reveal

Charles_Leclerc just posted a photo.

Charles_Leclerc We’ll do everything together to get as many of those trophies in the years to come

User1 Charles is a future WDC

User2 those trophies needs a little bit of polishing, don't you think?

User3 The dust that they have been collecting

User4 Leave the man alone, he's away from home 24/7

User5 is it just me or did you guys see the MasterChef trophy at the back

User6 isn't that the australian trophy, maybe its the p2 from last year User7 nooo! User5 is right, it has the logo

User8 SIR THAT TROPHY IN THE BACK ISN'T YOURS

landonorris lol since when did you have time to do a sidequest with masterchef while we race User10 LANDO! maxverstappen1 surprised he can hold himself till the end. CarlosSainz55 surprised he can cook Charles_Leclerc uninvited for dinner landonorris NOW WAIT A SECOND

Charles_Leclerc and Y/NCooks posted a photo.

Charles_Leclerc spot the game difference is getting difficult.

User1 Man really said fuck it!

User2 I can't believe this crossover

User3 If someone told me this happened a year ago, I would have laughed at you User4 There is no way Charles_Leclerc Why not, I have lots of redeeming qualities

User5 So you mean to say Charles Leclerc is the boyfriend she has been talking about in MasterChef. How did we not piece this out together?

User6 The adopted by the italian family. The cake after Charles P3 in Jeddah. The long distance relationship. THE LECLERC BROTHERS AS HER CLOSEST FRIENDS. HOW DID WE NOT SEE IT User7 I think its because we think Charles can't bag Y/N Charles_Leclerc you all underestimated me

User8 My new favorite trope, the woman who loves to cook for Gordon and the man who loves to get grilled by Gordon

User9 IM LAUGHING! Remember that tweet Charles_Leclerc I'll have you know that I have improved!

User12 Where can I get Y/N, she is so beautiful and talented

Charles_Leclerc sorry out of stock!!!!

User10 Im laughing at how Charles is fighting everyone in the comment section. He really said, he has time

Y/NCooks posted a photo

Y/NCooks the first two was taken two weeks into dating. We preferred staying indoors and the comforts of the house so we could have our privacy. Charles burned the fries and that's a photo of him insisting it was crispy not burnt // fast forward to two weeks ago when he insisted on cooking pasta and making pizza, it was pretty good. The pasta was actually al dente and the pizza was made from scratch.

Thank you honey for growing with me for the past 3 years. I love you all the way from Melbourne to Monaco (or whichever country you are in rn)

User1 This is so wholesome, I ship them together

User2 CHARLES CREMATED THE FRIES

User3 3 YEARS???? THAT MADE ME EVEN MORE SURPRISED

Gordongram FINALLY. The boyfriend is revealed. Hope I can taste some of your cooking Charles_Leclerc

Charles_Leclerc please have mercy on me Y/NCooks He cooks as much as he can so he can cook for you as a thanks for your tutorial lessons User5 GORDON TAUGHT CHARLES???? WHATTTT

User6 God I have seen what you have done for others

User7 I'm looking back at every post of Y/N about the boyfriend. I think I'm sleeping at the highway

User8 same, they are so lovely with each other

User9 Couple goals!

Charles_Leclerc I love you so much. But I thought you deleted that first date photo

Y/NCooks the internet is forever honeyyyyy User10 I love them so much

landonorris so now the cat is out of the bag, can you teach me how to cook now?

yukitsunoda0511 me tooooo! maxverstappen1 i wanna learn too Charles_Leclerc you're cooking maxverstappen1 ??? maxverstappen1 if you can cook, anyone can cook Charles_Leclerc you are always cooking during the races, let me have this maxverstappen1 no :)) landonorris I JUST WANT COOKING LESSONS!

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ౨౿  ׅ ۟   ֪ 𝓐cross 𝓣he 𝓢tars ۪ ׂ   𓈒 ୭

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ knight!miguel 𝓍 queen!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. after an assassination attempt, a personal bodyguard is assigned to you by the court. an old childhood friend. as time goes on, you two rekindle your friendship but it blossoms into something more that risks both your occupations.

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. royal!au, anidala coded, sorta futuristic setting (like star wars), forbidden love, slow burn, tension, fluff, angst, smut (mild and fluffy), pet names, mention of assassination attempts, secret pregnancy, hispanic/latina!reader ( mdni )

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. for my fellow anidala stans, this one is for you. even tho star wars day already passed, imma still post this. ngl one of my favorite fics i’ve ever written! enjoy, mis amores! ♡

an assassination attempt.

fear plague the streets. citizens remain locked in their homes. whispers of fear and concern for their queen throughout the city.

the court was in pure chaos. members shouting at one another, demanding answers for this troubling incident, questioning who dares attack their queen. the room was consumed with fear and anger. an authorized investigation is underway, handled by authorities and military officials. in the meantime, a collective proposal was constructed.

a personal bodyguard.

you aren’t opposed to it, since it was your final say on the proposal. it was logical, protection against the opposer. nueva york looks up to you, their queen. they love and worship you. admire your devotion and dedication to them, the selfless spirit you carry. always putting your people’s needs as your top priority. serving what’s best for them.

to see their queen almost assassinated breaks their hearts. losing you is like heaven losing an angel. you are aware of their love for you. this assassination attempt is not going to pause your queen duties.

once the green light was given, a bodyguard was found in a manner of minutes.

general miguel o’hara.

an old childhood friend. a friend you haven’t seen in 10 years. a friend you were desperate to see again.

when he was brought in, your breath was stolen.

handsomest face on a man. chocolate curls with sprinkled gray streaks within, sharp cheekbones, and a incredible physique with of pure muscle. more than the average male. stands tall at 6’9 which makes him a tower compared to you. perhaps an intense growth spurt. he was already taller than you but now a tower. a faint scar on his right cheek, possibly from battle.

he grew up, from a shy young boy to a charming knight. he has changed so much.

“your majesty.”

oh his voice is so low yet charming. it sends shivers down your spine but in a pleasant way.

his height became more apparent when you have to crane your neck all the way up to simply meet his gaze. the height difference is quite amusing.

“general.”

your breath wasn’t the only one stolen. the minute he walked through those sliding glass doors, miguel was immediately captivated. it’s been years since he saw you personally. of course he had seen you before. the yearly ceremonies, festivals, and balls. your friendship may have ended but he observed you from afar, watch you blossomed into a beautiful, intelligent woman, his queen. beautiful couldn’t describe you best. ethereal is more accurate. his love for you never vanished from all those years.

with each step he took closer, he grew more anxious. by the time he stands before you, miguel is utterly enthralled. your beauty is truly beyond this world, this universe. those portraits of you don’t do you justice. how angelic you appear. white is your signature color, hence why the public refers you as the “angel queen.” god he truly believes an angel is gracing his presence right before him. it’s an honor to witness your beauty, the queen of his city.

the angel of his heart.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

it was simple protocols. miguel follows where you go, attached to the hip, eyes never leave your figure. stands beside your throne as you converse with the court or other officials during meetings. strolls alongside you with hands behind his back as you walk. offers a hand to assist you stepping in or out of vehicles. gently shields you with an arm from approaching individuals who wish to gain your attention. it’s a habit considering he’s a bodyguard and your life is currently at stake.

miguel is constantly on high alert for any potential threat. the crown is in his protection, your life is his responsibility. he vowed to not fail and keep you safe. he has to protect the angel he loves deeply.

in the beginning, it was a simple professional relationship between bodyguard and client. miguel remains at your side at all times and you continue with your duties as queen. your old friendship still lingers but you remain with a professional relationship with a small acquaintance.

however, those feelings of desire and admiration began tearing down that wall of professionalism.

it starts with innocent glances and soft smiles. acknowledging and appreciating each other. no one could suspect anything serious. just a queen showing her appreciation for her gentle knight.

then, those light touches.

passing large crowds, your breath hitches when you feel a large hand gently resting on your lower back as miguel guides you through the crowd. a tingly sensation invades your body. cheeks grow warm, heart fluttering, butterflies in your tummy.

that was a reoccurring hand placement. miguel’s hand resting either on your upper or lower back. most of the time on your lower back when in private.

both of you feel like a bashful mess. your heart fluttering at the intimate touch and miguel going insane at softness of your body, even through your dresses. he worries it’s an overstep of your boundaries but you kindly remind him it’s not.

the light touches grew more intimate.

during an private visit to your parents’ home, your foot missed a step which caused you to slip. but thanks to a pair of sturdy arms catching you just in time, you collide in your bodyguard’s chest.

“¿estas bien, mi reina?” miguel voiced his concern, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

looking up at him with fluttering eyes, your heart skips a beat by the close proximity.

“y-yes, estoy bien.” you whisper, blushing.

you remain in his arms for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. you feel his slightly nervous breathing gently hitting your face, yours hitting his chest. you can’t resist how comforting it feels being in his arms. a sense of comfort and safety. miguel relishes your soft body against his rough one. adores how tiny you appear, how perfect you fit in his hold. the fear of getting caught makes you pull away from his arms. blush creeping on both your faces.

he mumbles an apology but you kindly assure him and thank him for catching you. that moment replays in your minds for the reminder of the day.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

not only intimate touches but longing gazes at each other when one isn’t looking. private conversations began taking place, learning about one another. what occurred after your friendship ended. your journey to queenship, miguel’s training, changes in both your families. you rekindle your friendship.

the more time you spent together, feelings began forming. feelings that one should not feel, especially between a queen and her knight. you try burying those feelings. the last thing you want is ruining this relationship, make things awkward. it’s strictly a professional one yet those feelings prove otherwise.

you couldn’t allow these feelings to consume you, distract you from your duties. you shouldn’t feel these feelings towards miguel, your personal bodyguard. it’s forbidden, a queen can’t fall in love with her knight. it goes against royal morals. however, you can’t deny your heart. those feelings are something you’ve never experienced before with any man. miguel demonstrates what it’s like to long for someone. being around him, you feel safe and happy. he’s the only man to make your heart race and fill your belly with butterflies when he looks down at you or leaves gentle touches on your skin.

even after 10 years, he still has an effect on you.

miguel, on the other hand, is on the verge of insanity. he knows he shouldn’t feel those feelings for you, his queen. the woman he admires and cherishes since childhood. the same woman he vowed to protect with every fiber of his being. a queen and a knight don’t belong together, a forbidden relationship. of course he is aware of this issue. those feelings are forbidden but no matter how hard he fought against them, battling with his inner thoughts for days, his feelings for you only grew stronger.

during a private getaway at a reserved villa, you and miguel take a stroll among the lakeside. no one but you two, complete privacy. other guards remain at the villa. while you babble about childhood memories of the lake, miguel is admiring you the entire time. the lake dress you’re wearing makes his heart flutter, cheeks blushed. how could you look more beautiful? he swears he must be in heaven. walking alongside an angel by a lake sounds so dreamy. miguel mesmerized by your beauty once again.

you return to the balcony where it showcases the lake and mountains. leaning against the stone fence, you look outward towards the beautiful view of the lake. miguel stands beside you, briefly admiring the lake before turning his attention back at the true beautiful sight. the sweet, angelic tone of your voice smooths his workaholic mind. pure music to his ears. everything about you calms him.

those feelings began bubbling in his chest as he continues admiring you. he can’t help it you look so ethereal in the vibrant sunlight, the gentle breeze flowing in your hair. god he wants to give into the temptations but he knows he shouldn’t.

but all self-restraint flies out the window the moment you turn and look up at him with those gorgeous eyes he loves so dearly.

you two stare at each other, lost in one’s eyes. the doorway to the soul. both your hearts pounding your chests. the soft waves of the lake and birds chirping in the background. your heart flutters as you watch his gaze fall to your lips. those exact lips that have been taunting him for weeks in his sleep.

very slowly, miguel starts leaning towards your face. or more so, bending down a little due to the height difference. his back will hate him afterwards but miguel doesn’t care at this moment. he moves very slowly, hesitantly to give you space to move away.

but you don’t.

you feel frozen, utterly mesmerized by those soft brown eyes. your breathing grows heavy as you watch him lean closer towards you with fluttering lashes. your faces are only cemeteries apart, lips brushed against each other, eyes fluttering.

then finally, your lips collide.

the mark of your sin.

wow, his lips feel incredible. but yours, oh miguel is losing his mind. so soft and sweet. a divine taste that leaves a man yearning for more. your lips intertwined a passionate kiss. seeking for more, miguel changes the angle with a head tilt and applies a little pressure into the kiss. he holds back a groan when he hears a soft moan from you due to the pressure. unable to resist any longer, his tongue licks your lips for passage. you happily oblige and he doesn’t waste a moment to slip his tongue past your lips, eliciting another heavenly moan from you.

your lips intertwined in a dance. relishing the feeling of each others’s lips. his plump ones against your soft ones. the kiss is so passionate, you feel very floaty. he takes you away to cloud nine. the stress of being a queen and the assassination vanishes from your mind. his lips takes it away.

then, realization kills the moment.

no, you can’t do this. it’s an overstep of your relationship as bodyguard and client. queen and knight. but what you’re truly afraid is being caught, another pair of eyes lurking from afar.

much to yours and miguel’s disappointment, you break away from the kiss and avoid his gaze.

“no… i should never have done that.” you spoke barely above a whisper.

miguel is taken aback by the sudden change of heart. not even a minute has passed and he misses your lips against his. but he realizes what has happened and he has never been so disappointed in himself. he allowed those temptations to consume him and look at the result. you turn away from him and feel ashamed, the one feeling he never wants to make you feel about yourself. you mean so much to him.

“lo siento, mi reina…” hint of regret and shame in his tone, making your heart ache.

there no intimate touches or moments after that. however, those restrictions only lasted a day.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

during one night, after having internal battles with yourself about your feelings for miguel and the consequences, you finally accepted your heart.

for once, you allow your heart to speak.

during this past month under his protection, spending every minute with him, you fell in love with your gentle knight. you love miguel and only want him. he has stolen your heart.

slipping on your silky robe and walking down the hallway, you head to miguel’s bedroom. standing in front of the door, a few inches away from it opening by itself, you stare it as your heart races in both excitement and anxiety. you’re about to confess your love for your charming knight. the man who has been by your side, protecting and caring for you.

inhaling a deep breath, you take a step forward and the door slides open. upon hearing the door open, miguel quickly walks over to see who is visiting him at this hour but stops when he sees you.

“mi reina, ¿que pasa? are you unwell? is there something wrong?” he asks with each step he takes towards you. a huge concern look on his face.

his worries fade away when you shake your head but he’s still curious about your sudden arrival.

“i need to speak to you.”

now he grew more curious but also a bit anxious. stepping to the side, miguel allows you entry to his private quarters. flashing a small smile as a thanks, you pass by him and walk towards the bed.

“what is it you wish to speak to me about, mi reina?” miguel asks softly as he follows you, standing behind you since your back is to him.

it’s silent for a moment. the anticipation lingers in the air. if you had advanced hearing, you’d hear both of your racing hearts. pounding like a drum.

“té quiero.”

those three words linger in the air. miguel is speechless, eyes wide and lips slightly agape. heart fluttering at your confession. a confession he has been dreaming since the beginning. a confession he reciprocates, wanting to share his own.

slowly turning around, you nervously meet his gaze. “i know i shouldn’t have these feelings for you… but i don’t care, not one bit.”

miguel remains speechless also enthralled. you feel the same. you long for him just as he longs for you. however, the fear still lingers.

“pero… the consequences? the scandal? it would ruin your reign.” miguel does not want to jeopardize your legacy, your reign as queen simply because of him. you’ve been an incredible monarch, serving the people of nueva york. betraying their trust because of your love for him is something he can’t allow.

“i can’t deny my heart.” you say softly.

fuck. his heart did a summersault. his love for you blossoms more than ever before.

“mi reina, ever since i was a child, i’ve always loved and cared you.” miguel takes a step closer, closing the remaining space between you two. “you consume my thoughts everyday. i can’t hide my true feelings for you anymore.”

your heart flutters, a warm sensation flowing through your body. slowly raising your hands, you gently cup his face. “then let’s not hide them anymore.”

miguel leans closer and you stand on your tippy toes, your lips meet once again in a passionate kiss. his large held your smaller shoulders, holding them as if they’re delicate. his gently grips on your robe, a silent ask. he feels you nod and he slowly pulls of your robe, exposing your shoulders but taking it off completely. it quietly drops onto the floor, pooling at your feet. now you’re left in your silky white nightgown. his heart flutters at the feeling of your soft skin. his hands slowly move down your back, settling on your waist. you shiver at the sensation, goosebumps forming on your skin. wrapping your arms around his bulky shoulders, your fingers dig into his hair. that elicited a muffled groan from him.

giving into his desires, miguel sought to deepen the kiss, altering the angle. it becomes more heated, sneaking a bit of pressure which elicits a soft moan from you. his lips leaves yours, brushing kisses along your jawline then to your neck. your mouth hangs slightly open, soft sighs spilling from your lips at the sensation. broad hands roam over your back, gently groping your curves through your nightdress. you melt under his touch, growing putty in his hold.

“miguel…” you whisper breathlessly.

he softly grunts in response, mind hazy from how heavenly his name sounds from your lips. continuing leaving kisses on your delicate neck as his hands continue roaming over your soft body. miguel is practically going insane of finally touching you, having you in his arms after years of longing.

“make love to me.”

before you even know it, you find yourselves on the bed. you resting on the plush mattress and miguel hovering over you, positioned in between your legs. your fingers dig into his chocolate locks while his hands gently grope your curves as you continue your passionate makeout session. his lips kiss every inch of exposed skin. from your jawline, your neck, down to your chest. a soft moan escapes you as his lips suck where your nipples would be through your nightdress. with consent, miguel gingerly removes your silky nightdress, leaving you bare to his gaze. your white panties as the only source preventing you from being completely bare to his eyes.

miguel takes his time worshiping your soft delicate breasts. kissing, licking, kneading them with such tenderness. almost experimentally. his tongue swirling and flickering your perky sensitive nipple. his plump lips sucking on it. each action rewards him with those heavenly moans of yours. music to his ears. miguel shows same affection towards your soft tummy, adoring it with kisses and licks.

with your consent, your panties were removed and now completely bare to your handsome lover.

miguel doesn’t hesitate and dives into the fountain of youth in between your legs. the room is filled with your moans and whimpers, the sounds of pleasure miguel was providing you. his tongue ravishes your wet core so experimentally. reaching those spots you’ve never knew existed, making you arch your back. as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy, miguel devours every drop of your sweet nectar, drinking as if it’s an oasis. this man made you feel things you never felt before, so revolutionary.

once he removes his clothes and is bare, he settles in between your legs once again. your mouth falls open as his thick length slowly sides through your tight, wet walls. there were a few pauses in between, allowing yourself to adjust to his larger than average size. once he’s completely settled inside, you couldn’t hold back a soft moan. the bulbous tip of his cock rests against that sweet spot inside.

with a slow rock of his hips, a soft moan erupts form your throat. pleasure consumes both your bodies, your minds dazed. your tight walls squeeze his cock, making the man groan in pleasure. your nails leaving marks and idents on his muscular back as miguel continuously thrusts into you slowly. his bulbous tip repeatedly hitting your cervix, making you arch your back off the sheets. the mixture of your moans and his grunts mingle in the air. the four walls of the bedroom concealing your love-making session.

miguel softly whispers words of praise to you that makes your mind floaty. how beautiful you look as you take him so well. he relishes your expressions of pleasure, gazing at the angel underneath him. god you look even more ethereal. he can finally worship you properly. ecstasy consumes you entirely that you can only respond with whimpers and moans. he leaves soft kisses on your neck as he continues thrusting. your hands interlocked together, gently pressed against the pillow beside your head as your love-making progresses.

as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy for the second time, you coat miguel’s cock with your sweet nectar. he follows suit not long after, releasing his thick seed deep in your womb, painting your walls white. a shared moan echoes in the air as you both climaxed. you softly pant in unison as you both come down from the peak of pleasure.

you wake up the next morning in the arms of your handsome lover. the beginning of your love affair.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

a secret relationship.

you and miguel continue this forbidden love affair for a few months. holding hands when one wasn’t looking. sharing intimate moments when alone. passionate kisses here and there. reoccurring nights of love-making in your bedroom. it was pure love.

the love was so strong you two married in secret. at the lake house where you shared your first kiss. the only witnesses were your trusted handmaiden lyla and miguel’s younger brother gabriel.

you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with miguel and he wanted to spend it with you. even though the marriage is a secret, you’re forever together. once your reign is over and a new queen is elected, you and miguel will be able to live a free life.

the assassin was found but miguel remained as your permanent bodyguard, by your request. life in nueva york continued thriving until a conflict with another city ended it. the military was preparing for war, which included miguel since he was a general. you plead for him to not go, even thought about convincing captain stacy to not allow miguel to participate in the war but you know you can’t do that.

miguel eases your worries, holding you in his arms with a protective yet comforting grip. a hand gently stroking your hair as he calms you.

“i’ll return to you, mi reina. i promise you.”

with one final kiss, his eyes bore into yours, large hands cupping your tear stained cheeks. it pains him to leave you. to see tears trailing your angelic face. tears that he caused, it’s a stab to the heart. he can’t breathe without you. miguel doesn’t to go fight off in war but unfortunately it’s his duty, especially since he’s a general. but he promises to return to you.

“té amo.”

with that, you watch him walk away. tears trailing down your flushed cheeks. you want him to stay, by your side, but he has a duty to do and you have yours. all you can pray is for his safe return.

it’s been a week since miguel left for war. a week deprived of his love. during private moments, you speak to each other through holograms. he informs you with updates on the war. it’s still a long shot but there is progress. hopefully it’ll end soon.

one morning, you wake up with nausea. bolting to the restroom, you unleash that ugly feeling into the toilet. after cleaning up yourself, many thoughts invade your mind. what could possibly upset your stomach like that? was it the food you ate from last night’s dinner? no, dinner was delicious. are you ill? none of your handmaidens or staff members haven’t caught anything, at least what you know.

then, another scenario pops up.

you haven’t bled in a while. in fact, you might’ve passed the prediction date for your next cycle.

could you possible be…?

thankfully for the advanced technology you have, getting an answer would be easy. after doing a test with the help of your personal med droid, your eyes widen in shock at the results.

pregnant.

you’re pregnant, with miguel’s child.

part of you feels elastic about having a child with your secret husband. but the other part of you realizes how jeopardizing this would be.

a child with your personal bodyguard? that would cause the court to break out into chaos.

the scandal would threaten the crown.

you only have a year until your term is over and a new queen will be elected. however, that’s a year. it’ll only be a matter of time until your belly grows. hiding it is the only solution. from the court, handmaidens, staff and family members. the only person you would tell is lyla, your childhood best friend and loyal companion. she knows you like the back of her hand. you trust her completely with this shocking reveal.

unfortunately, you won’t be able to tell miguel until he returns from the war. and who knows how long that will be. you pray it ends soon and he returns.

until then, you have to keep another secret.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

four months has passed and the war has finally ended. the streets of nueva york cheer and celebrate now that peace has finally been restored.

it also means miguel is returning.

excitement flows through your veins. your husband finally returns home and you can’t wait to be in his arms after four months of deprivation. also, to share news of your unborn child. during these past four months, you’ve been wearing large gowns to conceal your swollen belly. luckily, no one has suspected.

dressed in a white silk cloak to hide you four month belly, you rush down the halls to greet your husband and father of your unborn child. oh how you missed him so much. it’s quite unbelievable how you managed to life without him for four months. without him by your side, without his touch, his comfort.

as you rush down the hall, you spot a figure tall figure dresses in black towards the end. your heart skips a beat, a smile forming on your face.

just as you reach him, your steps slow down and your enthusiasm dies down as you look up confusingly at the man in front of you. it’s miguel but he looks… different. normally when he’s with you, he has a gentle smile on his face. instead, it’s a scowl. furrowed thick brows and lips flat. he’s not even looking at you, instead the ground. he hasn’t even acknowledged your presence yet.

this confuses you. why is he behaving like this? cold, silent, angry. maybe the war has done some damage, it’s expected. but you expect him to overjoyed to see you as you are with him. those calls through holograms were prove. how badly he wanted to return to you and stay with you. seeked for your touch, longing to return to your arms.

now he has return and is the complete opposite.

“miguel…?”

taking a step closer, a soft gasp escapes your lips when his eyes finally meet yours. a horrified expression on your face.

his eyes are red. glowing and pierce.

you don’t recognize him. his eyes were brown like coco beans. sometimes stern but always soft when they meet yours. this time, red like blood and full of rage. the longer you stare, fear settles in. a feeling you never wished to feel when you look into his eyes.

his lips part open and your breath hitches. it’s unclear if you’re imagining things, but you saw a glimpse of fangs. pearly white fangs.

this can’t be your miguel. your husband. the father of your unborn child.

what happened to him?

who did this to him?

then, those red eyes soften. the scowl vanished, replaced with the old soft, loving expression he always had reserved for you.

“mi reina.”

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @lazyjellyfish300 ( just for you, queen ! )

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[peacesmovingcabaret]

It really feels like Hua Cheng’s character was design to showcase just how ineffective and dare I even say useless heavenly officials truly are.

First, you have reports of a ghostly groom who’s really just Pei Ming’s bitter ex kidnapping brides and murdering god knows how many people over the past 100+ years. Yet heaven does pretty much nothing, and dumps the responsibility on a twice demoted scrap god. It takes Hua Cheng showing up, guiding Bride! Xie Lian to the ghost’s domain and destroying the barrier that kept away outsiders for the issue to even get resolved.

When Xie Lian needed to find information about Banyue pass and asked around heaven, they declined to enlighten him on anything. Meanwhile Hua Cheng (while in his San Lang disguise) tells him every detail, helps him on his journey, finds him the antidote for the scorpion snake bite, protects him while trapped in the Sinner’s pit and helps him with exposing Pei Jr. as the culprit.

Oh and then there’s the boy with the multi-faced disease that he asked Ling-Wen to look for several days ago, that took Hua Cheng all of two minutes to track down. Like come on!!!

Then there’s the whole Fang Xin Guoshi/Golden Feast Massacre incident Xie Lian was accused of. That took Hua Cheng only a few hours to uncover the truth and prove Xie Lian’s innocent. A matter that would have taken heaven who knows how long to settle.

Heaven is so bad at their job, Hua Cheng made a jab at them for how they would be dragging their feet when it came to dealing with Qi Rong’s underlings. Then proceeded to highlight that fact by literally making it rain with the blood of said underlings that he’d just slaughtered in that very instant.

[phfenomena]

❝you’re my best friend. ❞ || tom blyth x f!reader

request- Could you do something for Tom based off you are in love by Taylor Swift??

A/N- girl i will do that and MOREEE

| WARNINGS- eating, mentions of dying, talk of ants being inside of toms underwear

tom decided it was a brilliant idea to go on a ‘nature walk’ after wrapping up all of his promos, but it felt more like a trek up mt. everest in 100° heat to you. tom had been one of your closest friends for a little over three years. you met one december afternoon after he had moved to brooklyn. you had accidentally dumped your entire cup of coffee onto his nice white shirt, an incident he still hasn’t let you forget.

you studied the profile of tom from behind of him, the way his muscles flexed when gripping the straps of his backpack tighter, the way he stops abruptly to try and make you run into him, and the way he just looks so damn perfect. the thin and airy blanket of sunlight carefully draped over him, making him look like an angel to you. a being sent down from heaven just for you to secretly dissect with your eyes.

you pick up you pace to walk side by side with him, you always liked looking at face, anyway. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were leading me deep into the woods to murder me. why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” you joke and desperately want him to smile at you. his lips curl up and he says “i’m not going to murder you, love. but if you trip and die then that’s your fault. i had no play in that.” he throws his hands up, acting innocent.

“you wouldn’t try to catch me? like a true gentleman? i thought all british guys were gentleman.” you say feigning disappointment. he throws his back and chuckles into the sky. “if i try to catch you and we both go down then you just killed both of us for no reason. better that i live on to tell the tale of your demise.” you narrow your eyes at him and playfully push him. your shoulders brush as you’re walking and you feel like you’re on fire. no proof, one touch. but you felt enough.

“how much longer do we have? we’ve been walking for hours, my legs are about to give out from under me.” you try your hardest to channel your inner karen to truthfully sale your complaining. “we’ve been walking for twenty minutes, and if you need to i can always give you a piggy back ride.” he says with that oh-so-smug smirk, the blood rushes to your cheeks. you hang your head and laugh, trying your best to hide the way you can’t breathe.

he quickly runs ahead of you and stops, signaling for you to stop as well. “i found this place a few months ago, and i just thought you had to see it in person.” he pushes away a wall of branches that meet the tall grass, and reveals a beautiful meadow with a lake nestled in between some trees. you mouth drops as you walk forward. “oh my god, tom. it’s gorgeous.” you mutter as you carefully tread onto the meadow. “yeah, it is.” he whispers, but he’s not looking at the meadow.

he squats down and drops his backpack, pulling out a white blanket you recognized from him linen closet, and an array of snacks and drinks that you both love. you bite your lip to keep from smiling. “a picnic, tom? how sweet of you.” you say sitting down on the blanket and waving your hair out of your face. he takes a seat next to you and just looks at you. “what, do i have something on my face?” “yeah a massive spider right there.” he says and pokes your forehead causing you to fall to the side laughing.

he pulls two small plates out of his bag and hands one to you. “for you, madam.” he says as posh as possible. “why thank you, kind sir.” you reply in your worst british accent you could muster. you both giggle and load your plates up. tom talks aimlessly about what he’s auditioning for and what he thinks he’d like to do, you just nod pretending to understand what he’s talking about. you’re just proud of him for being himself. “yeah, more blond roles! we need the blond hair to make a comeback, even the tiktok girlies say so” you could barley finish your sentence without laughing, knowing how much tom hated the blond.

“or maybe another cowboy thing, i really liked that one.” you shyly admit, averting your eyes back to the beautiful scenery. “why did you like it so much? you’re like obsessed with ‘billy the kid’.” he says laughing and popping another grape into his mouth. you hum and bring your gaze back to him. “no reason, i just love cowboys. you were really working it, don’t get me wrong. but daniel as jesse was just-“ you finish your sentence with a chefs kiss and a giggle. “i’m totally telling him you said that.” your hands cover your face “don’t you dare! he has a girlfriend! he just looks really good as an evil cowboy.” your smile is plastered across your face so hard your cheeks hurt. tom mirrors your expression.

you two sit in comfortable silence just listening to the birds sing their ballads, and the way the wind makes the trees play their own melody. you’ve never felt happier and tom just looks so content. you can hear it in the silence.

as you two, finally, round the corner back to your car you throw your hands up. “freedom at last! no more walking for me!” you squeal and run towards your car, waiting for tom to unlock it. “you know, you could just get your own car instead of using mine whenever you can’t take your bike somewhere.” he laughs while he’s putting away the remnants of your meal in the backseat. “why would i need to buy my own car when i have you? plus you love my bike.” he points out as he’s settling into the drivers seat. the setting sun has reached the horizon, and darkness is taking over the beautiful forest you were just in. you nod as you’re connecting your phone to the bluetooth and shuffle taylor swift for the hour car ride home.

the warm car and toms soft humming pushes you into a calm and tired state. a small smile still glued to your face. you just feel so warm and relaxed, it’s how you always feel with tom. you close your eyes and begin to drift off. tom looks at your empty hand resting on the middle console, and slides his own over yours. your heart beats faster than you can count but you still feign sleep. you can feel it on the way home.

after pretending to be woke up by tom you both head inside of his apartment and drop your bags by the door. you kick your shoes off and collapse onto his couch, groaning. “never make me go on a hike with you again, my entire body hurts.” you complain before he laughs and sits down next to you. “i’m sure you’ll survive. i also have atleast three more planned but i’ll let you recover.” he pats your back and plays a random show, but it acts more like background noise.

“fuck, i have to get home it’s already so late.” you tiredly stand up and stretch, tom puts a hand on your back and whispers “why don’t you just stay the night? it’s too late to driving and you’re tired.” you weigh the choices in your head and you know logically it’s safer to just stay. you nod and sit back down, pulling the blanket that previously draped over both of you back to its original spot. “sounds fine to me, your couch feels like clouds anyway.” tom nervously taps his fingers against his knee and mutters out- “we can sleep in my bed, if you want. you don’t have to, i just thought it’d be more comfortable. it’s a rather small couch.” you’re almost too tired to not freak out over the thought of being in a bed with tom. key word- almost.

your eyes are wide and your face is hot. you manage to stutter out a “yeah, that’s cool.” he smiles and goes to grab extra blankets for the bed, after he turns the corner you cover your face and kick your feet like a schoolgirl. he’s turns the corner right after you calm down and holds out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt for you. “i’m gonna go get changed, i think a colony of ants found home in my underwear from our picnic.” you almost wheeze at his comment and throw your head back. “lucky ants, they are.” you yell after he closes his bedroom door.

you settle into his bed and notice how everything smells like him. you’re not going to sleep a wink tonight. he turns his main lamp off and the room is dimly lit by a small night light plugged into the wall. he’s clad in just a tank top and boxers. you felt that you died a little bit on the inside after seeing him, and more of your died at the thought of laying next to him. he offers a small goodnight and rolls over so his back is facing you. you stare at his ceiling and try to fight the massive shit-eating grin that wants to come out.

you laid there for twenty minutes listening to his breathing before he turns over and faces you, still awake. “you’re my best friend, you know? i’ve never loved being around someone more. jus’ make everything feel so easy.” he whispers into the night, and you knew what it was. he is in love. you turn on your side to face him and smile wide. “thank you, tom. i’d say you’re my best friend as well but i don’t think rachel would like that, but just between us. you’re my best friend, and there’s no one else i’d follow blindly into the woods.” you whisper back, all nerves being forgotten. you can barley see his smiling face in the light, but it warms your heart. you stare into his eyes, wanting to flip back over and ignore the tension you feel. his eyes dart between your lips and your eyes, as if silently asking for permission.

you lightly nod and he sits up slightly and meshes your lips together. it was short and sweet and it leaves you feeling giddy. you grab the back of his neck and pull him back in, pouring your heart out into the kiss. he falls towards you, laying on top of you. he pulls away and cups the side of your face with his hand. you both snap out of the spell you were in and start laughing, hysterically. “i’ve been in love with you since i like met you, tom! daniel’s not the reason i love watching ‘billy the kid’ so much, i love it because you look so fucking good in it.” you confess, still laughing.

his head hangs into the crook of your neck as he laughs. “i know! i’ve been desperately in love with you as well, rachel and josh have been hyping me up for months to do that. they’re gonna be so proud of us.” you laugh with him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“we’re so stupid. i should’ve just made a move the first day i met you.” you say just above a whisper. “when you spilled your coffee all over me then tried to wipe it off with napkins?” you shove him off and turn your back to him.

“stop bringing that up!” “you brought it up first!”

[concretecultist]

Sacrilege

summary: being the daughter of a Pastor meant your life was the Bible through and through. Noah being the son of the choir director meant that even though he rejected the faith, he still showed up. You’ve known Noah all your life and always tried to get him right with Christ so he wasn’t predisposed to an afterlife of eternal damnation. What you didn’t expect though, was for him to begin chipping away at the walls of the only thing you’ve ever known. Faith.

pairing: PastorsDaughter!Reader x Noah Sebastian

warnings: sacrilege, smut, religious themes, corruption kink, unprotected sex, mentions of cult-like behaviors, "kool-aid" incident mentioned, just please beware reading this if this is not your vibe!!

word count: 4.6k

A/N: this is an 18+ blog so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! This is ALL FICTIONAL!!

You and Noah had known each other since you two could talk. He was always the rebellious one, you were the rule follower, you had to be. Your father was the Pastor of the Concrete Commune of Christ.

Coining its name based off of how "solid" the community’s connection to God was.

But even concrete can crumble.

“Have you changed your ways yet?,” You question him, “I grew up with you, Noah, I really don’t want you to go to hell,”

“Oh, Dove you’re gonna go to hell too,” he smirks, all of this was a joke to him. He has made it clear to everyone in the commune, from a young age, how he feels about religion but they let him stay in hopes that the 28 year old will one day accept Jesus as his Lord and Savior.

“No I’m not,” you shriek, “I’m a follower of God, I live by the book,”

“You live by the book huh?,” he plucks the collar of your shirt, “Deuteronomy 22:11, ‘ye shall not wear cloth combining linen and wool’… your little sweater with the mock collar is a sin,”

“Leviticus 19:28,” you eye his tattoos, any time you two were near each other, it was a banter like this. Noah found it amusing but you were serious. You cared about everyone in the commune, you wanted them to make it to Heaven.

“I’ve made my peace with knowing I won’t make it to those pearly gates,” he gets closer, “If I did it’d probably be to spit in your God’s face and dethrone him,”

“Noah, that’s blasphemous!,” you gasp, “W-what… what is wrong with you?,”

“Your God makes no mistakes right? So he made me this way”

“Satan really has his claws in you,” you give a shaky breath.

“He’s a cool guy,” shrugging as if it were a normal statement, “He’s not as uptight with the rules to brainwash you all like cattle,”

“It’s not brainwash! This is the way. The word of God is the true light,”

“Why do you think he’s called the Shepherd, Dove? Because you’re all sheep. None of you think for yourselves. It won’t be long before your father is feeding you all kool aid and you all commit mass suicide,”

“You’re real nasty you know that?,” How dare you he question your faith. Your faith is all you’ve ever known and as far as you are aware, it's the reason you wake up every day.

“Oh baby you haven’t seen nasty. I can show you though,”

“I cannot commit sin as freely as you,” the disgust written all over your face, “I cannot commit sin with a clear conscience,”

“So repent,” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, “What did your Lord and Savior die for if you don’t sin? You really want him to have died for nothing? Up on that cross with nothing but a sponge of vinegar in his mouth. You really want to be that ungrateful and not appreciate his sacrifice?,”

He gets closer to where he’s whispering in your ear. He’s so haunting, so… unholy, you question how he doesn’t burst into flames when he walks through the doors of the sanctuary.

“I can show you a real baptism. I bet you’d look pretty in all white… wet… as you cleanse your soul of the dirty acts you’ve committed”

“W-we… we should really focus on getting the lesson together, Noah,” you scoot your chair away from him and turn back to your bible, “I think the book of Psalms will be a great place to start. We can teach the others about the protection the Lord gives as long as you believe and do right unto others,”

Noah played your little game. Giving you pointers for the lesson. For someone who rejected faith the way he did, he knew the Bible pretty well, better than you actually, and almost no one in the congregation knows the Bible better than you.

That’s what started your time spent together. Your father was wary of Noah, considering his tattoos and his music taste outside of the church but when he saw the way Noah studied the Bible with you, he figured you were a good influence, he figured that you were following in his footsteps and spreading the gospel.

Except that wasn’t the case.

Noah was planting seeds in the garden that was your mind. He sat beside you every Wednesday night and Sunday morning whispering in your ear. Deconstructing everything your father was speaking at the altar.

He was able to plant seeds of doubt so easily and that shook you. How solid was your faith if you could question it in just a few weeks? Maybe the Devil is trying to get you on his side, but you must stand firm. So you pray more, you sit at the altar more, you sing hymns so that the voice of doubt could be drowned out.

But it was proving to be pointless almost, you’d go home every night and find it hard to read the Bible. Finding it hard to believe in a God that let horrible things happen around the world and to innocent people.

How do you keep faith like that?

That’s how you find yourself in the pulpit of the church.

Looking up at the statue of the figure that you called Lord and Savior for the last twenty something years of your life.

“Lord, if you’re listening I really need you to keep me strong in my stance. If you’re really there why is my faith in you wavering? If you’re really up there… why don’t you help the poor? Why do you keep sister Paula in an unsafe situation with her husband? If you’re really there-,”

“No one is listening, Dove,”

He has a teasing edge to his tone. He’s making fun of you.

“No one is up there answering your prayers,” his voice gets closer until he’s sitting beside you, “You’re alone. You’re praying to a voice in your head. You want to know why he doesn’t help the poor? Because he isn’t real. And if he is… then he’s one selfish fuck. Wanna know why sister Paula stays with her abusive husband? Because your father brainwashes his congregation into believing that divorce is something that immediately sends you to hell. Either that or your God is a sadistic voyeur,”

You feel Noah wipe the tears off your face as you turn to look for him.

“There are no pearly gates… there is no eternal damnation. Everything you were taught was to keep you in line. To keep you docile. But I know you wanna be set free, Dove,”

He sucks the tip of his thumb, humming at the taste of your tears.

“Do you want me to open the cage and set you free? Do you want me to show you the real light?,”

“I will be forsaken,” there’s a tremble in your tone. Your wings have been clipped long enough and yet now that you have the option to fly, a part of you wants to stay caged.

“You’ve already been abandoned, Dove,” his spit covered thumb traces over your lips, “I can give you something to pray to. Something that’s tangible. Something you can see… touch…,”

“I can be your God,” he was so close to your face now, so close that his lips were touching yours, you could smell the sweet mint of his favorite gum, “I can make today your judgment day. I can walk you to the light, Dove,”

“H-how? You’re just a mortal like me,”

“You doubt me but believe in a man that rose on the third day?,” he was smiling as if your words were the world's best comedy. The congregation had its hooks in you deep. But it's okay, he'd remove them with ease.

“Noah. I don’t wanna go to hell,” you cried, it was hard to break free of all you were taught

“With me, heaven is the only place you’ll go. Follow me and I can show you the real way. Follow me and you won’t have to live your life in fear. Follow me… and I will show you how a real God treats his followers,”

Before you can answer, Noah is taking your hand and guiding you to your father’s study, locking the door before letting go of your hand.

“Psalm 90:17, what does it say again?,”

You swallow thickly, you know the verse and for some reason it’s not coming out. It doesn't feel right to spew scriptures anymore.

“You claim to know the Bible front and back and can’t recite one of the easiest scriptures?,”

Why was he being so mean? One minute he seems as though he wants to help but the next he’s asking you questions related to scripture, what is his game?

“I do know it it’s just-,”

“Not important enough to remember,” he leans back on your father’s desk, arms folded, tattooed muscles stretching the sleeves of his tight black tee.

“Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us. Yes, establish the work of our hands" Noah answers for you, sarcasm dressing his tone as he throws his hands up as if he's praising, “what does that scripture mean, Dove?,”

“It means… it’s a plea for the Lord to bless people and their work beyond imagination,” you seemed dazed.

“Every night that’s the last thing I speak before bed after I cum to the thought of you on your knees, praying to me,”

“M-Matthew 7:15, Noah… Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves,”

“And you are but a little lamb,” He pushes himself off the desk to circle you and suddenly… he feels like a hawk circling his prey, “I never came to you in sheep’s clothing… you knew who I was from the beginning,”

He was so close now. Whispering in your ear so close that it sent shivers down your spine.

“I had faith you could change. I prayed for you every night, Noah I wanted you to see the light,”

“I am… the true light. I don’t need you to pray for me… I need you to pray to me,”

“I cannot… Exodus 20: 4-5. There are no other Gods, Noah,”

His dark chuckle made your stomach do flips. How is he okay with laughing in the face of God like this?

“You’re forgetting a vital piece of that scripture, Dove,” his hands are touching you now and you find it embarrassing when his grip has to tighten when your knees buckle.

“I am not-,”

“I hate my people worshiping other Gods,” he answers plainly, “Your God admits there are others amongst him. He’s just a greedy…,”

A kiss to your neck makes you gasp, your mouth feels dry as you choke on your saliva.

“Selfish…,” a little nibble where your neck and shoulder meet, “Unworthy prick who doesn’t deserve a lamb like you. I deserve you. I deserve your praise. I deserve to hear you sing songs about me. I deserve to experience the look on your face when your knees ache from being on them so long when praying,”

His hand is under your skirt now, do you push him away? Do you… do you welcome it? What if this is God testing you to see if you’re a true follower?

Will you follow him?

Or the Devil?

“I deserve to be the flesh and blood you devour every first Sunday,”

His middle finger swipes between your lips and there’s an unfamiliar rush that takes over your body.

“Let me show you the fruit I bear,”

You can feel him smiling against your ear as he speaks directly into it. It feels like he’s speaking to your soul. All this time you’ve been praying and it’s been nothing but silence but now… now here Noah is, speaking his word into your ear and it’s taking over your mind.

That’s all you’ve ever wanted, was a voice in your ear with a sense of direction. Maybe the Lord has forsaken you… maybe it’s time to try a new path of faith?

“Show me the light,” you breathe out.

Those were the words he was waiting for. That’s all he needed to hear before he’s turning you around and gripping the nape of your neck to plant his lips on yours in a searing kiss. It was overwhelming, to feel his lips and his tongue and then his hands roaming your body as he sets you on the desk.

“Can I taste you?,” he asks, “Can I taste the sweet fruit you bear?,”

You don’t know exactly what he means by taste you but with the eyes of a lamb, you nod to him.

“I will be a good disciple. Show me the truth and I will follow you,”

The words coming out like projectile vomit. The haze of the confusion and deteriorating faith creates a cast over your mind.

Noah’s hands are slowly taking off your cotton panties, eyeing the string of slick that follows before it breaks its connection to your underwear and lands on your inner thigh.

“So ripe. So fresh,” he mutters as he lowers himself on his knees, “I just might have to worship you,”

It makes your cheeks heat up. All your life, all you’ve known is worshiping something you can’t see. You were taught to be humble and modest and yet here you are… with a heretic on his knees before you claiming he wants to praise you.

A flip switches.

“Show me,” you plead softly, “I wanna know what it’s like to be praised,”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought his eyes turned completely black for a second, but it’s too late now. You’re already committing sin and like Noah said… don’t let Jesus die for nothing, right?

His lips make a path on your inner thighs before they find that string of slick. You feel his warm tongue flatten against your thigh and suddenly his eyes are in the back of his head and he lets out a moan that was devilish, it came from the core, as if he was parched and it was the first drop of liquid he received after a long, desolate journey.

“I knew you’d taste good,”

You’re watching his every move. You can’t tear your eyes off of him. Especially when his mouth isn’t even an inch away from your core. He stared and stared and you were wondering if something is wrong.

So you try to close your legs but he’s not having that. His big hands spread them even wider than they were before, taking in the view.

“My goodness maybe there is a God,” he smirked as he stared at your wet lips, “Back out now, Dove, because once I start, I will feast as if it’s the last supper,”

“I wanna see the light. Show me the light, No- OH!,”

You’re immediately cut off when he finally touches you. His mouth is so warm, he’s getting you all over his face like a juicy peach in the summer time.

You’re gripping the edge of the desk as if your life depends on it and with what he’s doing, it seems like it does.

He’s suckling on your bundle of nerves, his finger tips are digging into your thighs and it feels so good but all the sounds you’re wanting to make are trapped in your throat.

“N-Noah… N-,” you wheeze

“N-N-Noah,” he pulls back and mocks you. He’s taunting you and it brings a wave of embarrassment so bad that tears flooded into your eyes, “Relax. You’re being a good disciple,”

Your eyes flutter at those words as he dives back in. He’s lapping at you as if you have a prize inside and he wants it.

Then you feel it. He’s sliding a finger in and it takes your breath away.

“There we go,” he whispers against your clit, “Tell me when I’ve hit that spot,”

You have no idea what spot he’s talking about. Not until he’s adding a second finger and reaches deep within you and lightly curls his finger.

“Oh! O-oh m-my… goodness!!,” your legs bend and tremble, toes pointed. You don’t know what that is but it feels immaculate.

“There she goes,” He’s got you now. He now has made a mental map of your core. Knowing what makes you cry out, what makes you mewl like a cat in heat.

His fingers are speeding up and your juices are splashing on the ugly carpet of the church office.

You’re committing sacrilege and you know it’s wrong but why does it feel so… right? so… Heavenly?

Your stomach begins to tighten and you need something better to grip on, so your hand flies to Noah’s head, gripping so tight the moan he gives goes straight to your core and before you know it, your body is convulsing and you’re crying asking the Lord for forgiveness for the sin you’ve just committed.

“You’re forgiven,” Noah answers, “Let’s repent, yeah?,”

He slowly stands up and within the light of the rising moon, his lips are red, swollen and glistening. He’s sucking on the fingers that were just inside you and a part of you feels as though it should make you cringe but instead it causes your heart to race and you want to taste his tongue.

As if he can read your mind, his lips are on yours once more and you can taste yourself. It’s not something you’d taste alone, but tasting it on Noah? That’s something you can get used to.

After he pulls away he pulls you off the desk and brings you around to the other side. On the back of the office door is a mirror and above the door is a cross.

“As much as I’d like you on your knees… I have something else in mind that’s far more exciting,” he pulls you back and takes the swiveling chair so the back is against the desk before helping you on it, situating you on your knees and pulling the neckline of your top down so your breasts spill over.

He toys with your nipples with a shit-eating grin, admiring the way your body responds to him.

“Hebrews 13:4,” you whine. The guilt started to creep back in, maybe you should stop, Noah would understand. With the cross staring right back at you, it all started to become too much, “Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous,”

“I am the only God here, Dove,”

Your eyes meet his in the mirror and you’re back under his spell.

“What God keeps his people from experiencing something so good, so… freeing that it feels like they’re ascending? I am unclipping your wings, Dove. Won’t you fly with me?,”

You feel him poke at your core, spreading the wetness, coating his tip. He just wanted to slide right in but he knew he had to work you up first. His grip on your breast was tantalizing. His tattooed hand in contrast to your skin was a beautiful sight to see.

He was right.

What God kept his people caged from experiencing beautiful sights like this?

“Start praying,” is all he says before he starts pushing the tip in, “I want to hear what you pray for,”

It was a distraction tactic but he couldn’t get enough of your voice. Especially when you pray for the congregation after Bible study. It always made him hard, he always wanted to bend you over the podium and just hear your delusional prayers.

“I..,”

His hand that’s on your breast is now gripping your cheeks and keeping your head straight to the mirror.

“Don’t get shy now,”

“I call upon God, the Father..,”

He pushes in more and it’s not painful but it is a lot to handle.

“God, the Son a-and God, the Holy Spirit,”

With each word he slowly makes his way inside of you before his pelvis is flush against your ass.

He sighs as if he’s been reborn again.

“Keep going, baby,”

“I… I ask that you watch over us. B-bless us with the gift to see another day. Please continue to guide and protect me,”

“You sound so pretty praying to me,”

“B-but I’m praying to God,” You correct.

“Dove have you learned nothing?,” his chuckle was so dark, “I am your God now. Everything you do. Everything you pray for. You’re saying it to me,”

His hips roll and it causes you tremble in his grip. It’s dizzying. Your vision doubles as he begins a pace to move in and out of you.

“So keep fucking praying,”

There was no room to argue. There was no hint of teasing in his voice.

You didn’t want to anger him. You wanted to make him proud.

You had to be a good disciple, right? Prove to him that you’re worthy.

“God, enlighten my mind with truth. Inflame my heart w-with… with,” a gasp is ripped from your chest as his hips snap into you, he’s so deep. It feels like your nerve endings are on fire and it’s hard to think straight.

You hear the mess being created between your legs and its mouth watering.

“Oh God, please,” your head is thrown back and you turn to look at Noah, “What… why does it feel so good?,”

Noah licked the tears that fell down your cheek. Kissing your waiting lips, picking up his pace and he swallows your cries while you grip his wrists that are caging you in that way you don’t topple over.

“I told you I would baptize you. I told you I would show you the light. I told you I’d show you how a real God treats his followers. You’re being reborn again, Dove,”

Your eyes roll the deeper he gets.

“God, please,” a whimper drips off your lips, you call out into the empty office, “Inflame my heart with l-love… enrich my life with a-service,”

Noah’s hand snaked around to your core to add pressured circles to your clit. He was everywhere.

His breath fanning on your cheek, his hand at your core, his cock deep inside, his eyes boring into your soul. His aura wrapped you up in a warm hug. This is what the presence of God feels like.

The tears flowed. This is the first time in a long time you’ve felt the reward of faith. Maybe Noah was a God… a patient God who waited for you to find your way to him.

He has a follower for as long as you’ll live… and maybe there after.

“Don’t forsake me,” you moan, “I need you. I need something to b-believe in. Don’t f-forsake me. Don’t forsake me!,”

It was a prayer that Noah never expected to spill from your mouth with such conviction.

“A true God doesn’t abandon his people,” Noah’s pace was deadly now. His hips clapping your ass sounded like the church drums during Sunday praise and worship. Your moans were more beautiful than any gospel Noah would help direct during Tuesday night practice.

“I will follow you, I will follow you, My Lord,” you reach behind him to grab at his hair. At this point, your hips were moving back to meet him.

“Thank you!!,” a wanton moan escapes you as he adds an intoxicating amount of pressure to the bundle of nerves between your legs, “Th-thank you for… for you faithfulness a-and presence in my life!,”

Most people loved for dirty talk… but this was incomparable. This couldn’t be topped. The little bird of his dreams was singing her tune for him.

Anyone could get off to dirty talk. But only someone as twisted as Noah could get hot and bothered to the sound of the Pastor’s daughter abandoning her faith to pray to him.

He is God.

Your God has been dethroned.

You’re his now.

“I tr-trust you with this day,” your eyes were so glossy that it actually tugged at Noah’s heart, “And all that it h-holds,”

“Fuck,” it was a mix of a moan and chuckle as he felt his cock twitch, “Say my prayer, Dove. I know you’re close. Say my prayer and you’ll see the light,”

He gave you a few moments to enjoy his thrusts with an empty mind. Mouth hanging open, breath hitching, tears falling and eyes rolling.

The beauty of this moment must have been what Peter felt when he saw Jesus walk on water.

“C’mon, Dove. Say it with me,” he slowed his pace down to pull out his phone. He wouldn’t record the action, but he needed to record the audio. He needed this and you wanted to put on a show, wanted to prove to him that he made the right choice.

“You can do it,”

You don’t know if you can. He’s so deep, his fingers are circling at a pace that’s too fast. His lips felt like they were searing an imprint onto your skin.

“Look at the cross and pray,”

He softly turned your head back to the gold cross above the door, picking up his pace once more.

“Our Father,” he begins, coaxing you to speak the words.

“Who art in H-Heaven,” the tears were spilling too fast for you to keep up, “Hallowed be thy name,”

His deep tone was mumbling under your high pitched mewls, creating a lovely harmony.

“Thy Kingdom come!!,”

He's bent you forward now. Hand under your chin, other still torturing your clit.

“Th-thy will be d-done,” the cross was hazy now, you were losing your wits about you. This was too good. It was shameful and it felt too good.

“Keep going, baby. You’re making your God so proud,”

You clench around him and you’d have thought there was a dark entity around you with the way he growled.

“On E-Earth as it is in Heav… en,” eyes rolling, there’s spit dripping down your chin and onto the expensive leather that the church tithes paid for.

Noah was on the edge. This was so sinful, even for him, but yet he smiled as he took in the view of your face in the mirror. So innocent. So… dumb. You really did have the eyes of a lamb, no wonder it was so easy for the church to brainwash you. You didn’t know any better.

But it’s okay.

He’s here to set you free.

“Give us this day our daily bread,” he groaned along with you, “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,”

You were almost there. You could see the light. It was coming. This was real. Noah was right.

“And lead us not into t-temptation… b-but deliver us from ev… evil,” you were breathless now. Panting like you were suffering from heat exhaustion.

“For thine is the Kingdom,” Noah interjected, hips not stopping, you could feel your wetness dripping, your stomach was in knots.

“Oh God!,” You trembled beneath him.

“No,” he lightly smacked your cheek, “You can’t step into the light until you’re finished. Be good. You’re almost there. You don’t wanna disappoint me, do you?,”

“N-no,” you’re sobbing at this point. You can feel it in your guts. He’s stirring you up like brother Jackson’s gumbo. You were so wet. So fucking warm. The veins of Noah matching perfectly within the ridges of your own walls.

“Then finish. You’re almost there,”

“For thine is the Kingdom,” Noah prompted again.

“And the p… the power and the.. the glory forever a-and ever,”

Noah rolled his hips a certain way and pressed harder on your clit and that was your undoing.

“Amen,” he smiled darkly, it gave him a new life purpose to hear you scream and fall apart in his arms while staring at the cross above the door. His stills as he fills you up.

“Oh God!! Oh God, please, please, please,” you’re sobbing, face fallen against the leather chair.

“I’m right here,” he speaks against your shoulder, slowly pulling out of you, admiring the way his cum spills out of you and falls onto the vintage maroon carpet. He figured he should clean it up but then he opted not to.

He turned the recording off and cleaned you up as best as he could before sitting you flat into the chair and holding your face ever so softly in his hands.

“Breathe,” he had to guide you for the next few minutes.

“Am I dead?,” you ask softly. It was the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced. More than when you caught the Holy Ghost during a sermon.

“No, Dove. You’re very much alive,” he kisses your tear stricken cheeks.

“You’ve just been reborn. Welcome to your new purpose. Your new life,”

[spocksmagicfingers]

Spirk shippers ahoy!

You're probably already aware of this book, but HOLY SHIT, have you actually read 'The Price of the Phoenix' by Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath???

Rambling review with passages included below (mild spoilers)

I heard this was gay but I really had no idea. This is GAAAAYYYY. A big Strong man has kidnapped and cloned Kirk to use/sell as a punching bag/sex slave and Spock must rescue him with the help of the Romulan Commander from 3x02.

I really love the way the Romulan Commander was portrayed, let me say. She deserved to get to kick some ass after being screwed over in The Enterprise Incident. She gave Kirk and Spock so much grace in this book while maintaining her authority and I loved it!

Now, on to the good stuff:

If you like erotic mind melds, whump, hurt/comfort, and Kirk in skimpy outfits, this book is for you. It's very romantic and almost overtly sexual.

It was suspenseful and enthralling.

At times the writing style could leave something to be desired, but mostly in differentiating between the POV of original Kirk and clone Kirk in one particular fight scene. It gets easier when clone Kirk starts being referred to as James.

Here are some of my favorite passages:

Here, Jim Kirk's body has just been recovered (seemingly)

Oh god my heart

Yes. Kiss him awake, Spock

Spock is Heaven to Jim. Canon.

THIS WHOLE SEXY ASS MIND MELD (during which, Jim is completely naked btw)

Spock is the best man in the Galaxy to Jim

Kirk on his knees for Spock

Jim flirting with Spock psychically and picturing him in a sexy outfit (also calling him his Vulcan)

Eyes only for each other

In conclusion: Get thee to a used bookstore and find a copy.

You can find most Star Trek books on thriftbooks.com

[brightgoat]

Hey hi! I’ve been an avid follower of yours for awhile for your Pucci art but, this green child au has me hooked more and more lately! Your art is stunning by the way, thank you for posting!! The final metamorphosis panel has me excited for the next installment you share ngl.

Anyways, I was wondering if I could ask a few things about it? Specifically, what has happened after O-moon came into the picture, and the buildup to part 13 and 14? Of course if you wish to keep things vague or don’t know, there’s no need to answer! I’m just curious.

When did Jotaro get alerted to the incident and decided to finally come around? Did he encounter Pucci first or Jolyne? After the revelations that O-moon revealed to Jolyne, how did her perceptions of her father and Pucci shift? Did Jolyne ever figure out what Pucci was most likely about to do to FF while they were cornered by him? Have you thought about how Weather Report factors into this AU at all (since he’s probably in prison at this point)?

Sorry for the bombardment, and again no pressure to answer these if you don’t wish to!

- Kimera

Greetings! Thank you very much for the compliment, hope the payoff to that comic was satisfying haha

So, I wanna keep things vague with this AU, telling the main story beats through images and short comics- not only cuz I like it that way but also cuz... I haven't decided a lot of the details hahaha-

Answering this via lore dump, hope you like reading, this can be just one of many ways it could've happened:

I imagined that while Pucci and Jolyne were out getting souls, Jotaro was studying whatever is left of Dio's followers, and eventually tracks down Pucci, and travels to the US. Perhaps he finds out Pucci has been tutoring Jolyne from Jolyne's mum (who knows maybe they reconnected).

Oh and yes, Jolyne's mum knows abt Pucci, but of course not who he really is.

During this, Jolyne has awakened the Green Baby and fused with it. Jotaro may even sense that something is wrong through their family psychic bond thing.

Jotaro, realizing Pucci is a step ahead of him by already taking in his own daughter, tracks Pucci down to the church and confronts him there, sparing no time and going straight to beating answers out of him, where's Jolyne, what happened to her, what's your plan etc.

I had this thought, that once Jolyne fuses with the green baby, she inherits a bit of Dio's knowledge, and it helps her realise she's been getting used by Pucci all along. Not only that, she inherits the will to go to Heaven, and it drives her to complete the plan, she's strung along by fate now.

Now obviously she feels betrayed by Pucci, but still sympathetic to him, and rescues him from Jotaro. She's conflicted, she's angry, the only reason both Pucci and Jotaro reached out was because of some bigger-than-her plot, and not because of herself. She doesn't know how much of what Pucci gave her was genuine or because of her use to him.

(had this idea for a scene that right after Jolyne rescues Pucci, all three of them are still in church and Pucci realises she's transformed, he yells for her to stay still so he can get Whitesnake to take whatever's inside her out, but as soon as Whitesnake reaches out, a hand bursts out, he thinks it's Stone Free and suddenly JUMPSCARE O-Moon jumps out at him and the reversed-gravity throws everyone away from her-)

The only friend she has left is FF, and yes she finds out what Pucci did to them, furthering her anger. So she drags FF along with her, they are eachothers' only allies here, and although FF doesn't fully understand what's happening to Jolyne, they'll stay by her side (cue the uhhhh 'oh jolyne gave me so many memories and memories make up my intellect so i owe her yadda yadda-')

Aaaaand as for Weather, yeah mf's still in prison lmao I haven't thought too much about him. I wanted this to focus on Jolyne and Pucci, though if I did turn this AU into an entire actual story, Weather would probably come up at some point. God knows how though lmao-