#rare pair and crack treated seriously

[teufelsabbiss]

Story idea: Tianlang-Jun/Yuè Qīngyuán, saving the world with papapa

Yuè Qīngyuán dies in Luò Bīnghé's trap and cycles back to his disciple days. He remembers everything.

Unfortunately, this doesn't help him to change the things he wants to the most, since he's already bound to Xuan Su, Qiu manor is burned down and Shen Jiu is missing. Searching for him doesn't yield positive results, Wu Yanzi is good at hiding his tracks.

During a meeting with other sects, Yuè Qīngyuán meets Su Xiyan and nearly has a heart attack, because she looks almost exactly like Luo Binghe. Or rather, his future damn half-demon murderer looks like her. He is aware that killing her right then and there will be discovered immediately and will spell death for himself. He almost attempts it, though. The only thing that makes him hold back is that he's not a hundred-percent sure that she really was/will be Luò Bīnghé's mother.

Then he is saved from Wu Yanzi's murder attempt by Shen Jiu again. He still thinks he deserves Shen Jiu's ire for failing him, but this time he attempts to give him a more in depth explanation – and is shocked to be forgiven and scolded for hurting himself. He never thought that was an option! Now he knows he can change things and hopefully prevent the horrible fate that awaits them.

Many events happen as he remembers them regardless. But he tries to amend them differently, with mixed success. For example, he swears his fellow succeeding disciples to secrecy and reveals to them that Shen Jiu and him grew up together as slaves and that his little sworn brother was sold to an abusive noble house. Everyone's reception of Shen Jiu and his prickliness is very different this time around. Especially Liǔ Qīnggē and Qi Qingqi are more polite and Shěn Jiu far less hostile in turn.

Yuè Qīngyuán remembers from his last life what the Huan Hua palace master will tell them about Su Xiyan spying on the heavenly demon Tianlang-Jun. After seeing her resemblance to Luò Bīnghé, Yuè Qīngyuán is convinced that was either an outright lie or he omitted a lot of what happened beside this. In any case, those two must never meet so that there will never be a future mad demon-lord!

This is easier said than done, though. He has no idea where the two met. Yuè Qīngyuán had enough knowledge about establishing the importance of spy-networks in his last life. The one they had then was sadly bad. But now that he knows this, he finds some people himself who inform him about what is going on around the Huan Hua territory. Tianlang-Jun and his general are weird enough to attract attention at once, disguises notwithstanding.

Yuè Qīngyuán immediately rushes to where the demon-lord was spotted. He is prepared to find a menacing, spying monster hell-bent on conquering the human realm and plans to lure him away to an unpopulated area. Once there, he would alert the sect with an emergency flare talisman to the danger, even though he knows they won't be able to defeat the heavenly demon emperor without the preparation that went into the siege at Bailu mountain. But he hopes this will at least make it impossible for Tianlang-Jun and Su Xiyan to meet. And, who knows, maybe she dies in the later upcoming battles, thus ensuing they can't have a child later.

Instead, he finds an easily distracted, embarrassingly lewd, yet strangely charming weirdo who loves trashy romance novels and eagerly takes every opportunity to learn more about human culture. It becomes understandable why Su Xiyan had (most likely consensually) dallied with this demon rather quickly. And unless Tianlang-Jun is the best actor in all three realms, which Yuè Qīngyuán highly doubts, he's not interested in conquest or war with the human realm at all.

Yuè Qīngyuán decides the best course of action is to keep him entertained in Cang Qiong territory until he is satisfied and peacefully leaves again.

Yuè Qīngyuán has ample experience with diplomacy, decades worth. How hard can it be? As it turns out, in Tianlang-Jun's case: not at all! And after Yuè Qīngyuán finds out that beside culture and art, a bit of ruthlessness and a firm hand is appealing to the demon-lord, it works even better. He can do this!

It works far too well!

After a few weeks of dumping novels and other art on him, leading him around to theater plays and having friendly spars, Tianlang-Jun is making marriage proposals and showers him with courting gifts and bad self-written poetry. Worse yet, Yuè Qīngyuán finds that he very much would like to accept. He didn't think that was a possible result of his efforts. But then again, what better and certain way to hinder Tianlang-Jun from siring a child with Su Xiyan than capturing the heavenly demon's heart (and dick) for himself?

Tianlang-Jun is way too noticeable and too exuberant in his adoration to stay a secret for long. They manage to keep his demon nature secret, though. One and a half year after they first met, the old peak lords ascend and leave their successors in charge. As the sect leader, Yuè Qīngyuán has full access to security on the peaks and can design a space with safety measures that can hide his demon lover visiting.

They wait another 10 years until his leadership of the sect and reputation is generally lauded by the entire cultivation world, then Yuè Qīngyuán announces that he will enter peace and alliance talks with the demon realm. Eventually he announces that he will marry Tianlang-Jun for peace with the demon-emperor's domain and protection from rivaling or hostile demon forces.

The other sects are outraged once they learn about this, but can't really do much against it, since this alliance is for the safety of the human realm. Despite the former good standing, Cang Qiong and Yuè Qīngyuán in particular retain a bad rep in the cultivation world as corrupted after this, though.

Yuè Qīngyuán cares little. Their sect remains the strongest and their territory is so well protected that the mortal townsfolk loves them. Newcomers clamor to gain entry in droves. Tianlang-Jun is funny and a loving, attentive husband. The sex is awesome. Xiao-Jiu doesn't hate him and is safe. They are all safe from a revenge-obsessed Luo Binghe.

As far as Yuè Qīngyuán is concerned, the other sects can go fuck themselves if they are unhappy with the situation.

[wheneverfeasible]

When Steve’s parents announced their divorce, Steve told Eddie he loved him. They weren’t dating at the time, though Steve thought that the feeling was mutual to at least some extent since Eddie always flirted back with him, but he hadn’t been certain.

He had known his parents stopped loving each other years ago. Hell, he didn’t know if they had ever truly loved each other, but in any case, Steve knew.

His parents decided to sell the house, to move away from Hawkins with its cursed misfortune and small town gossip, and there was no talk of either of them taking Steve with them. Which, sure, he was grown, he hadn’t been part of the conversation at all.

Steve was left at a crossroads on what to do. So, distraught at his change in circumstances, he’d gone straight to Eddie’s and confessed his feelings because he had to know if it was at all possible for anyone to want him the way he wanted them.

Luckily enough for Steve, Eddie did!

The Munsons still had a decent amount left over from the government hush money after everything, so Eddie took his share (Wayne tried to get him to take more since all Wayne had lost was physical possessions and the trailer while Eddie almost lost his life, but Eddie would only agree to a 50/50 split) and together he and Steve threw caution to the wind and found a small place to rent together in one of the new complexes being built as part of the town’s rejuvenation project.

Things were going great. They still visited Wayne, who could now stop working such long hours at the plant and who had moved to a small fixer upper on the outskirts of town. He even moved up the ladder at the plant after some of the higher ups were lost in the “earthquakes” (R.I.P.), which offered better pay and benefits.

Wayne even started dating again, which Eddie informed Steve of in such a scandalized tone, but Steve could tell that Eddie was happy for his uncle, ribbing the older man when they had stopped by one morning and the man hadn’t even been home, stumbling back an hour later with lipstick stains on his shirt’s collar.

(Wayne had told him that he was going to call the cops on them for breaking and entering while he was gone, but there was no heat in it as they set chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and a steaming cup of coffee before him, having made use of the kitchen while he was out.)

Wayne never introduced any of the women he dated to Eddie and Steve, saying that it wasn’t proper to introduce anyone to the kids yet until he was certain that things were serious, never mind that the “kids” were well into their 20s now.

(Steve also felt a warmth at being included as a “kid” of Wayne’s, however, filling a hole in his heart that his parents had left behind, though his mother had recently reached out to him to rekindle their relationship. His father remained radio silent.)

Eventually, however, there was someone Wayne kept seeing repeatedly, someone he’d met while outside of town when he was at some convention for work and her car had broken down outside of his motel room. She hadn’t left the motel room until the next morning, and Wayne was certain it was just a single night of passion, but…

They had really hit it off, it seemed, and though Wayne hadn’t thought such an amazing and sensual—(“Uncle Wayne! For the love of everything holy, unholy, and whatever’s in-between, please don’t say sensual!)—woman would be interested in him, they exchanged numbers. And then, the day after he’d told her he should be home again from the trip, she called him.

Things only progressed from there, and soon enough there were talks of something committed, of something truly serious, and after a while, Wayne broke the news.

“Boys, my partner is going to be moving back to Hawkins and, while we know it’s a giant leap, we decided to move in together.”

As it turns out, apparently the woman is actually from Hawkins too but had left after the earthquakes tore the town apart, so she is someone that they actually knew. Wayne still won’t tell them who it is, however. He seems a little embarrassed by that, actually, but he also tells them that he is the happiest he’s ever been and he was willing to fight to be with her, so what else can they do but accept that?

They are thus excited for him, excited to finally meet her (again?), and the plan is set that they would have a family dinner together once she was in town. Steve and Eddie are, of course, moderately worried given the whole being queer thing, but Wayne assures them that they will be safe. That Wayne had made damned certain that both his boys would be safe.

(Steve again feels that warmth of belonging to someone, of being loved and cared for and supported in a way he’d never known before.)

And then the day arrives. Steve and Eddie show up early, looking pretty damn spiffy they believe, and help Wayne get the dinner ready, though it’s more like a late lunch really. Eventually, they hear the sounds of tires outside of Wayne’s house.

Wayne, smiling and looking absolutely besotted, moves toward the front door to let his girlfriend in without missing a second. Steve and Eddie hear the door open and close from the kitchen, hear quietly murmured words and what disgustingly sounds like kissing, and then there’s footsteps and—

Steve turns around to greet this mysterious woman, a smile on his face, before dropping the bowl of salad in his hands as shock and something very much like horror make itself known to him.

“MOM???!”

~

Hostage Hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff

[midnightwinterhawk]

Last night in a Chris Pine movie marathon induced fever dream I had this revelation:

Then when I woke up and was coherent again I reread it and went from, 'I'm not a writer' to 'okay but what if' in two seconds.

But listen.. I'm over here trying to imagine the time travel shenanigans. Like.

I think if Kirk went back he would be kind of in love with all the motorcycles but only moderately phased by how archaic everything is, and Clint going forward would be chill and definitely not panic about being a couple hundred years in the future. He'd be like 'yup, this is just my luck and man is Tony gonna be so damn jealous', and he'd probably geek out a little at the tech.

(But it would probably have to be alternate time line too because there were definitely no superheroes in the past.)

And I think I want it to be Clint in the future because imagine Bones just staring at these two blond idiots flirting with each other and cursing his existence. Like, he just knows they're gonna fuck and be so insufferable about it.

[angellesword]

Love Is Not Black and White, It's Purple (Like Your Eyes) | JJK (oneshot)

Summary: You and Jungkook are not soulmates. The fact that you have been married for ten years but still see in black and white proves that.

It is never an issue for you two until…

"Jungkook, my eyes… they're purple."

Jungkook's heart stops.

You can see colors now. It only means one thing:

You have met your real soulmate, and it's not Jungkook.

Genre & Content Warning: soulmate au, housemate au, mention of murder, past child abuse, domestic violence, fluff, crack treated seriously, attempt at humor, marriage au, established relationship, kissing, blind!jimin, fashion designer!taehyung, alcohol, cursing, HAPPY ENDING. (tags are just for formalities, but tbh this fic isn't heavy at all)

Pairing: Detective!Jungkook x Fashion Designer! Female Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

****

Out of all the suicide methods in history, Jungkook thinks that if he were to try one, it would still not be as effective as listening to you talk.

"Jungkook, my eyes...they're purple."

Really. You don't need a plastic bag, a rope, or a pillow to suffocate Jungkook. With your harsh words, Jungkook could feel the air leaving his lungs.

He can't breathe. The terrible realization asphyxiates him: you--his best friend--his wife, can now see colors. For a moment, Jungkook doesn't know what to make out of the fact that he's now alone in this monochromatic world—a place where people see in black and white until they look into their soulmates' eyes.

Jungkook has looked and drowned in your calamitous eyes before, but he never saw hues.

"Jungkook...?" 

Distantly, Jungkook hears you utter his name, but all he can grasp is you will abandon him. Jungkook is rarely wrong. He's a detective, after all. One word, and he can deduce the situation, making this whole ordeal more painful.

"That's..." Jungkook intends to hide his hurt, but he feels his voice getting choked up. He has no choice but to pause.

However, you are thrilled to hear what he has to say, so Jungkook forces himself to continue.

"...great. You, that's great. So great!" Perhaps repeating the same words can convince him that his statement is true. It's not. Jungkook's heart breaks when you beam at him.

Calm down. Jungkook tells himself. But he can't. Everything hurts. His heart, his soul, his words.

"So, tell me. Where's the divorce paper? Should I sign now?" Jungkook's words hurt like a knife. They cut your heart into pieces. 

"What the fuck are you talking about." Your face falls. "Shitty Jungkook, are you kidding me right now!? I'm not leaving you for someone I just met!"

Now, something about your reaction takes Jungkook's breath away. Maybe it's the anger that quickly turns into panic as you take in Jungkook's words. Or perhaps it's the apparent trembling of your lips as you desperately speak of your promise of forever. Either way, your fear-inducing expression somehow reassures Jungkook.

You and him are not over. Not yet, at least. 

"I'm just kidding~." Jungkook chuckles and clicks his tongue, "Of course, you're not leaving me. I'm the only one who can tolerate you, ya know?"

The joke doesn't lighten your expression at all.

"Jungkook, I'm not leaving you," you repeat. The assurance is softer this time, and despite the lack of color in your eyes, the detective can see determination in them.

Jungkook puffs out air. His heart aching a little less.

"I know, darling." Jungkook stops his jokes. He engulfs you in a warm embrace. "I'm sorry."

"Don't say that ever again." You wrap your arms around Jungkook's waist. "You're my best friend. I love you, alright?"

****

10 Years Ago; 2013

Unlike others, your relationship with Jungkook is reversed.

"Let's get married."

"The fuck?" You choke on your water the second Jungkook opens his mouth. "Are you high again, bastard!?"

You punch Jungkook mildly. The latter moves away, exaggeratedly cradling his jaw. "Ow! Why are you always so violent? Can't you hear me out first? I'm being serious here!"

"Serious?" You laugh incredulously. "You just asked me to get married!"

"Exactly!" Jungkook ignores the painful thug in his heart. "It's for our benefit. Didn't you say you want to live in PM Village?"

Apartments in PM Village are too damn expensive. You and Jungkook recently finished college; your individual income is not enough to cover the monthly amortization of a house, but it's different if your incomes are combined.

"You're crazy. We can't marry because of a fucking house, Jungkook!" You are still not convinced.

"Why not?" But Jungkook intends to change your mind. "We're both single, and divorce won't be difficult in the future. We can just tell the court we've found our real soulmates. Besides,"

The newbie detective drags his words, knowing that he'll be able to convince you in the end, anyway. "You're gonna be rich soon. You don't have any living family members anymore. Do you really wanna give away all your money to the government when you die?"

"Why? Is giving my money to you any better!?"

"I can at least maintain your wine cellar," Jungkook shrugs. "And just think about the tax benefits! Don’t you hate Hoseok-hyung for siphoning your money?”

You open your mouth to speak, but damn. Jungkook’s last statement has convinced you already. Nose flaring, you say, "Fine!"

It's like music to Jungkook's ears. "I need your full confirmation."

Jungkook really wants you to say it. You fold your arms across your chest, "Fine, Bastard! I agree with your absurd proposition. Let's get fucking married."

At the age of twenty-two, you and Jungkook tied the knot. Ten years later, most of Jungkook's predictions have come true: you two have settled in PM Village—a warm home with a wine cellar awaits you after a tiring day. You have also become so rich that you often have issues with Jung Hoseok, your country's tax agency commissioner. Thank fuck there are good lawyers out there to clear your tax cases. 

You clearly have everything life can offer. If you want, you can divorce Jungkook now, but ten years later, you are still very much committed to your best friend.

*****

Present; 2023

You insist on telling Jungkook who your soulmate is. Admittedly, you can tell that Jungkook finds the whole storytelling unnecessary. You are married, but it's not as if you two are in love with each other or something. Nope. Jungkook only sees you as an annoying woman with whom he cohabitates.

"So, has Technology asked you on a date yet?" Jungkook asks without looking at you. He's busy filing his nails, acting as if shaping his nails into perfect ovals is more important than conversing with you.

"First of all, his name is Taehyung. Not Technology, you asshole. And no, he hasn't asked me out." You exhale. "I mean, not yet. It's not a big deal, honestly. We just met yesterday." 

Translation: give my soulmate some time.

"Right." Jungkook mocks and yawns, finally glancing at you. "You know, if I meet my soulmate, I’ll immediately ask them out. I can’t waste time.”

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes. "We both know you just can't wait to sleep with them."

"He-He. You caught me~." Jungkook half-smiles before returning to the previous topic very smoothly, "So you're saying that if Techno—Taehyung asks you on a date, you'll say yes?"

"Will you mind if I do?" You sound nervous.

The sole purpose of this conversation is for you to test the waters with Jungkook. You both went on dates in the past after ensuring that the other was comfortable with the set-up. You are married, after all. It won't bode well with the both of you if cheating rumors erupt, especially in your respective workplaces.

Admittedly, it has been long since you two last went on dates. You were both busy with your jobs. Besides, isn't it exhausting getting to know strangers? Jungkook doesn't want to waste his breath on nosy people asking why he chose to be a detective, and you would rather ditch your date than deal with them bargaining for discounts once they find out you’re a prominent fashion designer.

Going out with strangers has become a nightmare instead of a fun way to meet your real soulmate. Because of this, you and Jungkook decided to just take each other out whenever you wanted. It's not exactly a romantic date. Sure, there's darling as a pet name, kisses under the moonlight, and wrestling who'll pay. But that's about it. You don't dare to do more.

Your partnership is of greater importance than sex and in-the-moment confessions. You don't want to regret it comes morning.

"Why would I mind?" Jungkook finally answers, feigning happiness. "I'll personally thank your soulmate for taking you out, honestly. I'm tired of you forcing me to take you out on dates. It's about time I meet new people, too."

"Right." You swallow your disappointment and the faint ache in your chest. "Who wants to go out with a shitty bastard like you, anyway? Go meet others! It's not like I care!"

Another fake smile blooms on Jungkook's face.

"Whatever you say."

*****

Kim Taehyung is the name of your soulmate, and the man Jungwon has been investigating for the past three days.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, here's all the information I can find about Kim Taehyung." Jungwon stifles a yawn as he approaches his mentor's table. He almost winces upon seeing Jungkook's monitor.

The older detective has many tabs on his computer, all related to Kim Taehyung.

"You're still investigating him?" Jungwon can't mask his surprise. "Jungkook sunbaenim, just what did Kim Taehyung do!?"

"He's a thief, Jungwon-ah." Jungkook accepts the files from his mentee without sparing him a glance

Jungwon dramatically gasps, his sleepiness fading away because of the scandalous information.

"Really? What did he steal?"

"A precious little thing." Jungkook is viewing Kim Taehyung's baby photos. No one knows how he found them. "Look, he's not that cute, right?"

Jungwon doesn't answer, lost in thought. What could Kim Taehyung have stolen? His Jungkook sunbaenim said a precious little thing. Could it be a diamond ring? Or...

"Tanzanite?" Jungwon shrieks. "Did he steal tanzanite, Jungkook sunbaenim!?"

"Huh?" Jungkook turns to his mentee with a furrowed brow. He suddenly remembers what he said to Jungwon, and being a good actor whose words consist of 10% truth and 90% lies, Jungkook can save himself by saying, "Yeah. He stole tanzanite —authorities said it was very expensive. Come, Jungwon-ah. Let's catch this thief."

****

You aren't lying when you say you won't divorce Jungkook because you 'met' your soulmate. No, your partnership is beyond colors. However, it also doesn't mean you’ll relinquish your connection with your soulmate.

The deal is this: You and Jungkook will stay together until you know your soulmates better. After that, you two can decide what to do next. In short, a simple meeting doesn't guarantee you would want to spend your entire life with your soulmates. You both have heard many stories before that not even real soulmates find romantic love with each other—some remain platonic soulmates, while others go as far as killing each other.

You and Taehyung's case seems to fall to the normal expectation of society: meet as strangers, get to know each other until you become friends, then fall in love and get married.

Unlike Jungkook pulling you in a reverse direction, Taehyung intends to drive you on the right path.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, aren't we breaking the protocol?" Jungwon covers his face with a newspaper, whispering softly in case the suspect hears him. They are currently inside a small coffee shop near Aurora Fashion Lane. Based on Jungwon's investigation, Kim Taehyung works as a designer for the company in the same building as this coffee shop. In fact, Taehyung is slowly becoming a regular customer here.

"Shouldn't we call for backup?" 

Jungkook ignores the younger detective. He squints his eyes hard, focusing on the table near the counter. Jungwon discreetly looks in the direction Jungkook has his eyes on. A woman with a similar haircut as yours is sitting there.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, isn't that your wife—"

"Ssshh, Jungwon-ah. Shut up for a moment. I can't hear them." Jungkook regrets not choosing a table near you and your date. Damn it. You probably won't realize he's here—not when your attention is focused on stupid Technology!

"Stay here. I'll be back." The older detective stands up abruptly. Right. If he pretends to look at the menu before ordering something, he can hear whatever you and Taehyung are talking about:

"Exactly. They should've added another layer of lace. It pairs well with jacquard." Jungkook hears you say.

What the heck are they talking about? The detective muses.

"Ah, unfortunately, the customer hates laces. Apparently, her father made her wear laces that itch." Taehyung responds.

"Poor Elise. I understand why she prefers satin dresses."

Are they talking about work? Jungkook thinks to himself again. He only snaps back to reality when the cashier smiles, asking if he's ready to order.

Jungkook orders drinks for him and Jungwon before moving closer to the soulmates' table. You and Taehyung have stopped talking, though. Confused, Jungkook tilts his head to check what's happening, but someone seizes his wrist.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jungkook hears a classic greeting, yet he still freezes. Only one person gets angry seeing him.

"Oh, hi, you~. I didn't see you there." The detective beams while prying his hand away from your iron-like grip. "What a coincidence!"

"Coincidence, my ass!" You grit your teeth, "Tell me the truth. Why are you here?"

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek, thinking of a way to translate, 'You were smiling through your phone yesterday while texting your stupid soulmate. I didn't want to invade your privacy, so I hacked his messages instead,' into something that won't ignite your anger.

In the end, Jungkook manages to simply say, "Why? Can't a detective have his coffee?"

"Jungkook." you utter sternly, "This coffee shop is an hour and a half from your workplace. You also don't drink coffee."

As if on cue, the barista says Jungkook's drinks are ready. The detective picks up his drink and sips it. "What was that? I can't hear you over my delicious caramel macchiato with whipped cream and seven pumps of caramel sauce, topped with small marshmallows, chocolate chips, and sprinkles!"

"For fuck's sake!" You let out a torrent of abuse, your face morphing into disgust. Seeing color intensifies your emotions. The colorful toppings in Jungkook's drink make you want to vomit. "Get your ass out of here, you tasteless bastard!"

Jungkook doesn't budge. He shoots you an innocent look, "Why are you shooing me away? Am I disturbing you and your date? Where is he, by the way?"

Taehyung went to the comfort room, but this was not the point. You hiss, "I'm not on a date. Taehyung and I are discussing work over coffee. How the heck did you even know we're here?"

Another question Jungkook doesn't have a ready answer. Fortunately for him, Taehyung is back. Your furious expression melts at once. Your fake personality makes Jungkook gag.

"Hey, should we head back?" Taehyung's voice is deep. This is the first thing Jungkook notices.

"Yeah, let's go." You smile at your soulmate.

Another thing Jungkook notices is how handsy Taehyung is. He touches the small of your back, leading you to the exit. Jungkook's expression darkens, and Jungwon, watching the whole exchange like a hawk, suddenly decides to act.

"Stop, you thief! Leave my mentor's wife alone!" Jungwon has the handcuffs ready. He's rushing in Taehyung's direction. Jungkook's eyes widen, only relying on his fast reflexes to stop his mentee.

He trips Jungwon, causing the younger detective to fall to the ground.

"Jungkook, you bastard--!!"

All hell breaks loose after that scream coming out of you.

****

'Disaster' is the only word to describe Jungkook's attempt to stalk his wife. He didn't plan for things to escalate to the level where he had to trip Jungwon to stop him from arresting an innocent citizen like Taehyung. You got so mad that the older detective had to apologize, making an excuse that they were detectives on a mission gone wrong. Jungkook remembers smiling apologetically at Taehyung, telling him to cut Jungwon some slack because he is a newbie detective.

You knew everything leaving Jungkook's mouth was bullshit, yet you played along with Jungkook's excuse. You clearly don’t want the issue to escalate further. Thankfully, Taehyung is an understanding man, telling Jungwon to be careful next time. You aren't as forgiving as your soulmate, though. You called Jungkook over the phone, yelling you'd kill him if he went home tonight.

Jungkook has no choice but to seek shelter at Namjoon’s house.

"Let me guess," Namjoon sighs upon seeing Jungkook at his doorstep. "You've angered your wife again, didn't you?"

"Namjoon-hyung! That's a mean guess. Can't I visit my friend?"

Namjoon remains expressionless. "You only go here whenever you and your wife fight. Your wife will think I betrayed her if I let you in."

Jungkook hmphed. "My wife already has beef with your soulmate and, by extension, with you too. So just let me in, will you?"

Namjoon releases a breath when Jungkook pushes the door open and rushes in. He is right, anyway. You have beef with his soulmate. Namjoon always receives texts from you complaining about Hoseok and how ruthless he is as a government employee.

"Would you like something to drink—" Namjoon cuts himself off upon seeing Jungkook helping himself with a bottle of soju.

The detective takes large gulps. He finishes half of the bottle in less than two minutes. Jungkook hiccups and clumsily wipes his mouth, "My wife found her soulmate. She can see colors now."

Namjoon stops in his tracks.

Jungkook laughs, mocking himself. "His eyes are purple, hyung."

"Jungkook..." Namjoon sounds apologetic.

"What's with your expression?" Jungkook’s lips twist. "You look sorry. Don't be. I'm—"

Happy for her? Jungkook shakes his head. It seems like that's not the case. Namjoon thinks so, too. He sits in front of the detective.

"You're what, Jungkook-ah?" The older man opens a beer bottle for himself, "What do you feel for your wife? What does she make you feel?"

Silence creeps into the room.

Jungkook's shoulders drop. Memories from the past play in his head as he closes his eyes.

Twenty-one years ago, 2002:

11-year-old Jungkook is freezing cold.

He is out in the snow, trying to take a sneak peek at children his age playing on the school grounds. Unlike him, the students are covered with expensive coats, mittens, and a hat. Jungkook's mother is a janitress at a private elementary school in Busan. Sadly, she can't afford to send her son to this school, so Jungkook can only watch the other kids in envy.

The children here have winter camps and activities to support their growth. Today, Jungkook watches as the students make mittens. Some children give the handmade gloves to their family, friends, or teachers.

Only one girl saves her mittens for a lone stranger.

"Here," Jungkook is taken aback when a girl his age suddenly approaches him. She’s shorter than Jungkook, but her determined eyes make people think she has much to offer. 

"I said here!" Jungkook remains unmoving, so the girl pushes the mittens to his chest. "I can't see it yet, but my mum said the gloves are gray like my eyes! I made them myself."

The little girl looks proud; a huge grin is on her lips.

Jungkook blinks dumbly at her, "Why...." He takes in a deep breath, clutching the warm gloves to his chest. "Why are you giving me these gloves?"

The little girl looks confused; she even lets out a small huh. Jungkook thinks the girl didn't hear him, so he repeats his words.

You are that little girl. You shrug your shoulders. "Because I want to. You look cold. I don't want to see you cold."

"But," Jungkook's lips tremble. He is having a hard time accepting the gift. "I have nothing to trade you with."

"Who cares?" You sit beside him. "I don't want anything. I just want to be friends."

Present; 2023:

Until now, Jungkook has no idea why you wish to be friends with someone like him. Clearly, you were a world apart. It was winter then. Maybe it was a Winter miracle—if this is even a thing.

But Jungkook is sure of one thing:

"She makes me feel warm, Namjoon-hyung." The detective finally answers his friend's question earlier. "My wife makes me warm, loved, and hopeful."

****

You receive a text message from Namjoon asking you to pick up a hammered Jungkook.

"Hey, you're leaving already?" Taehyung sees you leaving the office.

You rub the back of your neck and smile softly at Taehyung, "Yes. I have to pick up my husband."

"Ah." Taehyung nods, "Jungkook, isn't it? The detective from earlier?"

"Mn. I'm really sorry about what happened."

"It's nothing," Taehyung assures. It will probably take him a long time to forget his encounter with those two strange detectives, but it's not so bad. They apologized and said it was an honest mistake. He motions toward the door, "You brought your car, right? Let’s go down together.”

“You’re going home too?”

“Not yet.” Taehyung opens the office door for his soulmate. “Just gonna get coffee.”

Taehyung’s obsession with caffeine doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Taehyung joined your team only this week but has probably gone to the coffee shop downstairs more than your team did.

You brush it off. It’s none of your business. What matters to you is what Jungkook drinks. After bidding Taehyung goodbye, you immediately rush to Namjoon’s house. He is absolutely right. Jungkook is wasted.

"Why did you let this asshole drink so much!?" You bare your teeth at Namjoon. "You know how he is, Namjoon! Did he even eat before chugging down soju? Soju! You made him drink soju!? Namjoon, you golden-eyed clumsy bastard! Your eye color looks like horse piss!"

You are getting creative with your insults now that you can see colors. Namjoon shakes his head. He likes you better when you still see in black and white; at least then, you don’t go around terrorizing people and their eye color.

"I'm sorry. He forced himself into my home." Namjoon throws Jungkook under the bus. He'd rather get a playfully upset Jungkook than a screaming girl like you.

You know better than to put all the blame on Namjoon, though. You know Jungkook drank himself stupid because he can't handle it when you are genuinely mad at him.

You swallow your fury, "You know what? Just…have a good night, Namjoon-oppa. I'm sorry for shouting and the trouble. I'll make it up to you some other time."

You drag Jungkook to your car.

The detective is no fun when drunk. He just passes out. You can't even get blackmail material out of this hell.

"Fucking finally." You cover your husband with a blanket after cleaning him up and changing his clothes into new ones.

"Bastard." You sneer but still end up softly kissing Jungkook's forehead.

Ah. The things you do for love.

****

Jungkook wakes up with a stomachache and a sweaty forehead. He dramatically whines, cradling his stomach like he has been shot there.

Thankfully, you show up at once. You are carrying a tray with a full meal.

"My stomach hurts." He complains, earning an eye roll from you.

"Of course it does. You fucking drank alcohol on an empty stomach. You also had that stupid drink at the coffee shop. Just what the hell are you thinking?"

You sit on the bed. You first brush your husband's fringe with your fingers, then cup his cheeks and casually wipe the side of his mouth.

"Here, eat something."

Jungkook doesn't need to tell you to feed him. You bring a spoonful of food to his mouth, gently urging him to eat.

The detective moans. Your food tastes like heaven, even better than those Michelin restaurants. "My wife is such a great cook. Thank you~~"

"Whatever. Just don't moan, bastard." You can feel your cheeks turning hot. You easily get flustered with compliments.

Jungkook suddenly wonders if Taehyung has said something to make you blush, too.

"Oi, Jungkook. Don't tell me you don't have an appetite anymore. You barely ate!"

It's not like the detective doesn't want to eat anymore. His mood only plummets when he thinks about your soulmate.

Jungkook utters your name softly and asks, "Are you happy?"

"What kind of question is that?" You scrunch your nose, but you still answer. "Of course I'm happy." I have you in my life.

"No. I mean, are you happy you can see colors now?"

"I'm happier." You are surprised at how quickly you answered. Maybe because it's never hard for you to tell the truth. But still...you don't want to sound insensitive. You know your husband has yet to see colors.

You try again, "I mean...seeing colors makes my job easier, and I’m not just saying this because I'm getting promoted soon." People in their world have a greater chance of success once they see colors. 

"I guess I appreciate my job even more. It makes me feel alive, if you will. Things seem "livelier..."

You look into Jungkook's brown eyes. You can see them sparkling. For the first time in twenty-plus years you have known Jungkook, this is the only time you have seen how pink his lips are.

You can feel your heart thumping.

Looking at Jungkook with colors makes you feel "More." You whisper, "I feel things more with colors, Jungkook."

More love.

More joy.

And more clarity about what you really feel about your best friend.

"That's good, then." Jungkook rests his head on your shoulders. "I'm glad you're happy."

He really is. If he can go back to last night, Jungkook won't hesitate to tell Namjoon that, even though it hurts him, he's glad you met the one fated to you.

*****

Months pass, and things get even better for you. You got promoted twice and now handle one of your company's major customers. Your wallet gets fatter—so shouting at Namjoon to tell Hoseok to calm down doesn’t work anymore. Your free time is almost non-existent, though. It makes Jungkook sigh.

“Hey, Jungkook. You’re free to go.” Jungkook’s mood soars when his partner at work approaches him.

“Seokjin-hyung!” Jungkook’s jaw drops to the floor. “Did I hear you right? Are you seriously allowing me to get off work an hour earlier!?”

Seokjin is a hardworking detective who does not joke around since he knows his job affects the public's general welfare. Still, he also knows that you and Jungkook are celebrating your anniversary as a married couple for ten years.

“Just go, Jungkook-ah.” Seokjin pushes him. “Just leave before I change my mind. And for heaven’s sake, get your wife anything but flowers. No one wants to see you sneezing all day. Keep your snots away--!!”

Jungkook walks faster, not wanting to hear his work partner complain. So what if he sneezes all day? So what if he’s allergic to flowers? You love flowers, so he’ll get you bouquets.

Humming, Jungkook makes his way to the flower shop. The snowflakes fall lightly. It’s winter. Jungkook met you in the winter of 2002. You also got married in winter, the year 2013. Other people don’t like this season, especially Hoseok, who watched Namjoon suffer a fall accident because of slippery ground three years ago. Thank goodness Namjoon is okay now.

Jungkook buys flowers and your favorite wine. He’s almost home when a ghost from the past blocks his way.

“Oh, if it isn’t the beloved scoundrel of my bitch of a soulmate.”

Jungkook stiffens, eyes turning dark as he takes in the lone figure of his father.

“Jeon Sungmin.” Jungkook’s tone is scathing.

“The one and only.” Sungmin juts his chin. “Did you miss me, son?”

“Don’t call me that.” Jungkook clenches his fist. Unadulterated anger fills his heart. He’s trying hard not to punch this pathetic man. “In case you forgot, I still have a restraining order against you. I can even arrest you myself.”

Sungmin lets out a sardonic laugh. It’s loud—the kind of laughter that makes Jungkook’s skin itch. He can’t see colors but could’ve sworn he sees blood. Maybe he just wants to claim blood.

“Don’t act so tough on me, boy. In case you forgot, you just stood like a dumb bastard when I killed your bitch of a mom.”

“Stop.” Jungkook chokes, feeling a lump forming in his throat. He can’t breathe. Memories have come to haunt him.

“Scared, aren’t we?” Sungmin drags his limping feet to Jungkook. Twenty years in prison broke his body but not his soul. Even with only his tattered clothes and one functioning eye, Sungmin can still bring terror to his son.

“You should be. You’re nothing but a pathetic scourge.” Sungmin pulls Jungkook’s collar, slamming him into a cold wall. “Now be of use and give me money.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. His eyes droop, wanting to puke as he feels his father stealing his wallet. He hears screams inside his head, the pleas of his mother. Jungkook-ah, run. Please. You have to save yourself. 

Jungkook remains rooted in his spot back then, just hollowly looking at the blood on the floor. He watched as Sungmin smashed the baseball bat into his mother’s head.

More screams. Sungmin didn’t stop the beating until the police officers came.

Twenty years later, Jungkook is still the same. He still can’t stand up for himself. He watches his father take his wine and wallet, leaving like nothing happened.

Jungkook doesn’t know how he manages to walk back home. He stays outside, ruined flowers in his lap. He cannot get in as his keys are inside his stolen wallet.

Jungkook could only wait for a purple-eyed girl whose eyes he thought were gray.

****

Like Jungkook, you get off work early as well. Your secretary runs after you, saying that you can’t leave yet. However, you dismissed the secretary and passed the work on to Yeonjun instead. You hate that you are not home yet. You are actually supposed to take the day off to plan your anniversary date with your husband better.

It’s your 10th anniversary, after all. You are thinking of cooking Jungkook’s favorite food and giving him a…body massage. Many things are running into your mind—you can’t wait to try them all with your husband. Too bad work is holding you back.

“Sunbaenim, what do you think about this color combination? Is the shade of blue too dark for this winter’s theme?” Yeji excitedly shows off her design.

You rub your neck roughly, stopping yourself from throwing profanities. Calm down. Yeji is a hardworking designer who only wants the best for the team.

“I’m thinking of using an aqua frost instead. One shoulder sleeve should do the trick if—”

Oh my God. ‘Someone, please kill me now.’ You scream internally.

“Yeji,” you press your lips into a thin line. “I actually can’t entertain you right now. Would you mind checking in with Taehyung instead?”

Yeji’s shoulders drop. “Ah, Taehyung-sunbaenim isn’t here at the moment.”

“What do you mean he’s not here?” You feel your head pulsating. “Where is he?”

Everyone is so busy. Taehyung can’t possibly skip work, right?

“He’s at the coffee shop downstairs.”

That son of a--!!

You stand up abruptly. Taehyung’s coffee break ended an hour ago! How can he still be at the coffee shop!? You are seething in anger. You know Taehyung is your soulmate, but you can’t just connect to him. The first few months are okay. However, you soon realize how incompatible you and Taehyung are. Your connection starts with colors, and it also ends there. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’m going to call him.” You exit, ignoring Yeji’s call. Honestly, what you said is half lie and half-truth. You just really, really want to leave the office. It’s a pure happenstance to bump into Taehyung in the elevator.

“Hey.” He calls your name. Remnants of joy are still visible on Taehyung’s face. Two coffee holders are in his hands—he got the whole team some drinks. “I got coffee. Where’re you going?”

“Home.” You press the elevator button. “It’s my husband and I’s anniversary.”

“Ah.” Taehyung nods in understanding. He never once shows any sign of disappointment over his soulmate spending time with another person. “Didn’t you say Detective Jeon likes eating sweets? Jimin-hyung baked a chocolate cake today. Will you accept it as my anniversary gift for you two?”

You pause. It’s like your brain short-circuits upon noticing Taehyung’s expression when he utters Jimin’s name.

Jimin—the barista and baker at the coffee shop where Taehyung frequents.

“Taehyung,” your heart stutters. “D-Do you remember your first day in the office?”

“Of course.” Taehyung offers a small smile. “It’s hard to forget that day, don’t you think? We both saw colors for the first time.”

You blink at him, not saying anything.

Taehyung avoids eye contact, thinking he’s not smart enough to understand what you implied. He tries to remember every detail of that day.

“I think I came to the office ten minutes earlier. I got everyone coffee. Come to think of it, Jimin-hyung actually saved me that day. He knows everyone’s order—Hey, are you alright?”

“You…” You gasp. “You met with Jimin before seeing me at the office, right?”

“Yes?” Taehyung’s hands are getting clammy for grasping the coffee holders. It doesn’t help that you are acting weird, making him more anxious.

“Taehyung, I think there’s been a glitch.”

Yeji goes after you a few minutes later. Both of you and Jimin are taking too long. Luckily, she instantly spots you at the elevator door. You look agitated, while Taehyung seems dumbfounded.

“Sunbaenim!” Yeji tries to stop you two, but you and Taehyung have already gotten inside the lift.

“Yeji, there you are.” Taehyung passes the coffee holders to Yeji. “Drink this with the others. We’ll be taking another break. See you later.”

“Wait—!!”

The elevator door closes.

Yeji whines, “I still have to show you my designs….”

****

You rush home, excited to see your husband. However, your excitement quickly turns into horror when you spot Jungkook sitting on your porch.

“Jungkook!?” Your eyes dilate. Jungkook is staring into nothingness. You are familiar with this kind of expression, the kind where you are forced to swallow your insults because you know. 

You know something terrible happened to your husband.

You quickly open the door and pull Jungkook to his feet. The detective is still unresponsive, letting you drag him into the bathroom. You did all the work; you immediately opened the heater and got warm clothes.

“Kook,” you call softly, cradling Jungkook’s hands to blow on them. “ Can you lift your arms for me? Let’s get you changed, alright?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer but does what he’s told. You are shaking as you help your husband change. You want to give the detective warm water and candies, but Jungkook still looks shaken. You can only gently drag him to bed. You lay down beside Jungkook, hugging him close to your chest.

You didn’t ask any questions, allowing Jungkook to breathe first.

“I--” Jungkook hiccups, sounding broken. He weakly grips the hem of your shirt.

“I’m here, Darling.” You kiss your husband’s forehead. You hug him even tighter, wishing to melt your body and bones and offer all your warmth and love to Jungkook.

Jungkook calls your name, his voice almost sounding like a wounded animal.

You caress your partner’s cheeks. They’re wet. It takes everything in you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. No. You can’t fall apart now. Jungkook needs you.

“Mn. I’m here. You can tell me what you want.”

“N-No.” Jungkook whimpers, “I don’t want anything. I—I don’t deserve anything.”

“Jungkook.” You break the hug and force Jungkook to sit up on the bed. He’s warm enough. He’ll live.

The detective cast his gaze down, though—an indication he doesn’t want to hear whatever you have to say.

It pisses you off.

“Jungkook. Look at me.” You demand sternly. But Jungkook shakes his head.

“No, you’re mad at me.”

“Heck yeah, I’m mad. I’m so mad I can punch your face right now.” You have been patient with him, believing he’s vulnerable and in need of space. But your heart is only soft for a sad Jungkook, not for a Jungkook who blabs stupid things.

Jungkook balls his hands into fists, “You don’t understand. It’s so noisy in here.” He points at his head, “They won’t shut up. I’m—he….”

Jungkook gasps for air. You panic. You rub Jungkook’s back.

“Jungkook,” the saddest thing in this world is not seeing colors; it’s watching your beloved deal with the pain while you sit there pathetically, unable to take even a fraction of his hurt.

What good is a soulmate when all it can bring is color? Why can’t you take away Jungkook’s pain?

“He’s back, my father is out of jail.” Jungkook grips the bedsheet, “He’s come back for me. He hurt her before. He always takes away the people I love.”

Trauma is a part of Jungkook; napping silently and with one wrong shake, it’ll wake up and wreak havoc.

“You should run. Leave me. I don’t have a use to you, anyway—”

“Hush,” you can’t bear to listen anymore. You pull Jungkook to your chest, but the detective struggles.

“Please. You have to listen to me! Just leave! We’re not soulmates. I don’t understand why you’re still here!" Jungkook pushes your chest, but you catch his hands, burying Jungkook’s face into your neck.

“Oh, ma moitié.” The French endearment sounds easy coming out of your mouth. Jungkook melts at once. He sobs against your skin.

Ma moitié translates to my other half.

Jungkook wants to curse this unfair world. That’s right. How can you and him not be each other’s other half? It’s difficult to fight for you when fate is against you two. Sometimes Jungkook feels like no one has the right to tear you apart, mainly because you two paint each other's life—not with colors but with love. You and Jungkook are soulmates by heart. Many people call you twin black. The monochromatic world doesn't rob the two of you of happiness, love, and care. It takes one Jeon Jungkook to know that you like drinking cold water, not just 'cold water.' It has to be a certain degree of coldness:

If the water sits in the refrigerator for two hours, that's not cold enough. If it's water coming from a semi-solid ice cube, then that's too cold. 

You are fussy, but you give your effort to Jungkook similarly. Whenever you pick Jungkook up from work, you never fail to put your expensive leather jacket on the passenger seat, so Jungkook wouldn't have to deal with a burning hot seat. You don’t mind being stuck in the traffic and driving for hours to pick him up at work every day.

“Why can’t you be mine?” Jungkook doesn’t have the energy to push you away. His hatred is directed toward fate, himself, and his deranged father. Why are they against you and him being together?

“But I’m already yours, Kook.” You lick Jungkook’s tears and kiss his eyes. “Everything about me belongs to you. This,”

You guide Jungkook’s hands to your eyes, lips, and neck, then lower Jungkook’s hands to your heart. You let the detective feel your beating heart.

“You hear that, Kook?” Your eyes well up with tears. “That’s my heart telling you something.”

Goosebumps prick at Jungkook’s skin.

You do not break eye contact. “I love you, Jungkook.”

You have said those words countless times before, but it doesn’t fail to take Jungkook’s breath away—especially now that the I love you is said so softly…so romantically.

“You’re my soulmate, Jungkook.”

Jungkook flinches, shaking his head rapidly.

“T-That can’t be. You…you see colors. I don’t. We’re—we’re….”

Why are you lying? Why are you giving Jungkook false hope? It’s cruel.

But you are insistent.

“Jungkook,” you kiss him. “Stop thinking for a while, yeah? Focus on me. Focus on my heart. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jungkook answers against your lips. He never responded before, simply allowing and relishing the taste of your sweet lips.

“I love you so much,” Jungkook repeats, groaning and biting your lips until it draws blood. Jungkook had never allowed himself to possess before, scared that he would end up ruining what he loved. But today is different. You are addicting. Claiming he loves you gives him so much power--

He pushes you to bed, pressing himself on top of you.

Jungkook kisses you. “I love you. I love you. I really, really love you.”

 --so much happiness.

“I love you.”

--so much color.

Jungkook stops kissing you; his head spins.

--so much color.

Color.

The monochromatic world is slowly changing.

Color.

More colors.

Jungkook’s eyes grow wide.

He looks at you under him.

He gasps and calls your name. Your name sounds like a prayer coming out of Jungkook’s mouth.

“Your eyes…they’re purple.”

You chuckle under him. You wipe Jungkook’s tears.

“Took you long enough to realize, Kook.”

Jungkook laughs hysterically. He stares into your eyes again, ensuring he’s not dreaming or going crazing.

Your eyes are really purple—not gray.

At this very moment, Jungkook realizes something: out of all the suicide methods in history, Jungkook thinks that if he were to try one, it still wouldn’t work because seeing the purple in your eyes will bring him back to life.

Really. No amount of oxygen can compare to the image of you lying on your bed, purple eyes glistening as you whisper sweet nothings to your soulmate. With that, Jungkook feels he can finally breathe.

****

Meanwhile, on Aurora Fashion Lane, Taehyung runs toward the coffee shop. The conversation he had with you at the elevator rings inside his mind.

There has been a glitch.

That’s right. Taehyung remembers that day like the back of his hand.

It’s 6:23am. He went to a coffee shop looking so composed, but he’s actually very nervous. However, the presence of the barista calms him down.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Jimin, the barista, asks. A soft smile adores his pretty face.

Taehyung feels his heart skipping a beat. He licks his lips, “You can tell?”

“You smell different.”

“Really.” Taehyung feels blood rushing to his face.

Jimin laughs. “Don’t be conscious. I said you smell different, not bad. I can tell because I’m blind. My other senses are heightened because of it.”

“Ah.” Taehyung is fascinated. Jimin prepares coffee like a pro. He won’t know Jimin can’t see if he didn’t say it.

“This one is for your head designer; she likes her coffee with some liquor. I sneak some little candies onto her tray so she can bring them home to Detective Jeon, her husband.” Jimin pushes a coffee cup to Taehyung.

“This one is for Yeji. She prefers iced coffee even when it’s freezing cold. This one is for Ji-Eun. She likes tea and not coffee. Yeonjun never changes his order. It’s always two shots of espresso. Jake drinks anything, as long as it’s not too bitter. And this,”

Jimin smiles, “Is for you. A bulgogi sandwich and iced latte. The sandwich is not spicy, so you don’t need to worry. Have a good day.”

Taehyung feels like floating in the air when he goes to work. He first sees you at the door, looking so pensive early in the morning.

You are thinking about your husband. His birthday is coming soon. You want to give him something precious.

A wristwatch? Nah. That’s too simple.

A perfume? Nope. You prefer it when he smells like you.

What about a picnic date near the sea? You can arrange for a firework display and…

Confess.

You flinch at your own thought.

Confess.

You want to confess to Jungkook because---

--you love him.

“Good morning.” Taehyung greets.

You are startled. You snap your head up to meet Taehyung’s face.

All of a sudden, a splash of colors welcomes you.

You see colors, and so does Taehyung.

“So yeah, I think there’s been a glitch.” Taehyung tries to explain to an expressionless Jimin. He swallows when the barista doesn’t answer.

Taehyung releases a deep sigh. Right. He probably sounds crazy right now. It’s not cool to suddenly barge at someone’s work and announce that you think the barista is your soulmate.

Taehyung scolds himself. He’s about to apologize and tell Jimin to ignore what he said when—

“I know,” Jimin responds.

Taehyung blinks up at him dumbly.

Jimin’s lips twist, “Didn’t I tell you I’m blind?”

What’s his blindness got to do with anything? Taehyung still likes him.

“Taehyung, I’m blind.” He repeats. “I’ve been blind since I was born. When I dream, I don’t dream visually, but.”

There’s a sudden pause. Jimin looks lost in thought.

He continues after a while, “The night before I met you, I dreamt of you. I saw a man who told me I was his soulmate. You two have the same voice, and here…” Jimin brings out his sketch pad and finally shows it to Taehyung.

“I draw the face of the man in my dream. Does it look like you?”

Taehyung gasps dramatically because, my gosh. Jimin has perfectly drawn his face!

“This is really me…I’m your soulmate, Jimin.” Taehyung stutters a breath. His heart beats fast.

Jimin chuckles softly, and then he touches Taehyung’s eyes. “Yes, you told me in my dream, too. I’m just waiting for you to realize it in real life.”

The thing about soulmates is it’s complex. Researchers even claim there are different universes, all of which have the concept of soulmates. Some hear the thoughts of their soulmates in their heads. Some are immortals and will only die if they do the act with their soulmates. And then comes their world, a monochromatic place where you’ll see colors once you look at your soulmate’s eyes.

But it’s not that simple. Sometimes, you have to free yourself from your own judgment first. Sometimes, you must be honest first; sometimes, you just have to wait.

****

Accept this fic while I take my time writing my ongoing JJK series here.

This is originally a soukoku fic I've written before. If you prefer that version, click here. I've converted it into a JJK x reader because it was requested by an anon here. If there are obvious mistakes in pronouns and such, please tell me because as said, this is originally a fic for a different fandom and it used to be a mxm pairing. I may have missed some thing while editing it.

I've written the same concept of soulmate ft. JJK years ago. It's a series which you can read here.

I appreciate comments the most! If you have suggestions about addtional tw, please don't hesitate to message me. Thank you ~~

[vinsmokesangio]

'You’ve always had me' | Trafalgar D. Law x female!reader 

pairing: trafalgar law x female!reader, a little bit of sanji x reader, but nothing serious. summary: You and Law have been childhood friends, having gone through similar traumas in the North Blue. You never left his side, becoming the first member of the Heart Pirates and consequently Law's second-in-command. During your crew's alliance with the Straw Hat Pirates, Law sees you getting very close to Sanji aboard the Thousand Sunny and feels an inexplicable jealousy.

cw: SFW, angst with happy ending, friends to lovers, fluff | heavy use of ‘y/n’ for grammar purpose 😛 wc: 1.4k author’s note: this is my first time writing for One Piece! I hope you like it! ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦··············•✦•······················•✦········

Just before departing from Zou, Law discusses strategies aboard the Straw Hat’s Thousand Sunny, deciding to travel to Wano on their ship while Law's crew remains on the Polar Tang. After a long discussion, Law notices y/n from afar, engaged in an animated conversation with Sanji. A pang of jealousy stirs within him as he watches. Sanji flirts, of course, and y/n laughs—a laugh that always made Law's heart clench, though he’d never admit it. That beautiful laugh only Bepo usually brought out of y/n, the one Law secretly adored.

Y/n observes Sanji eagerly as he adds spices to a cauldron, smiling at every word he says. Law, unable to bear it any longer, strides toward them. His face remains stoic, but jealousy burns in his eyes.

“Hey, Captain! Try this!” y/n says excitedly, offering a spoonful of sauce Sanji had prepared. Law, however, doesn’t even glance at y/n when he replies, his gaze still fixed on Sanji.

“No, I don’t want it,” he says coldly, still staring at Sanji, who looks back with a smirk.

“It’s a good thing he doesn’t want it, y/n-chan. I made it just for you,” Sanji teases, winking. Y/n smiles, but Law’s face burns, and he fights the urge to punch that perverted cook. Instead, he watches y/n taste the sauce and practically explode with happiness.

“Oh my God, this is so good, Sanji! Are you sure you don’t want to try it, Law?” y/n beams, her excitement palpable. But her joy is cut short when Law snaps at her.

“I said no, y/n!” His voice booms, loud enough to catch the attention of some of the crew members scattered around the ship. Y/n flinches, wide-eyed. Sanji, enraged by how Law had spoken to her, yells back at him, but neither y/n nor Law listens. Her heart races, and she finally explodes.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been rude to me since this morning!” Her voice trembles, and her legs shake. In all the years of friendship, Law had never raised his voice at y/n or acted so coldly toward her. Among the Heart Pirates, everyone knew Law only let his guard down when y/n was around, trusting her deeply. But ever since they allied with the Straw Hats, Law had been treating y/n differently, and now she had reached her breaking point.

Nami, sensing the tension between them, steps in to help.

“Sanji-kun! Why don’t you show me some of your new desserts, huh?” Nami suggests, luring Sanji away. With hearts in his eyes, Sanji follows her, leaving Law and y/n alone in the kitchen.

For a long time, Law remains silent after Nami and Sanji leave. He keeps his back turned to y/n, sensing the growing tension. Yet, his pride holds him back from admitting what’s bothering him. After a while, he finally speaks, still not looking at her.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he says coldly, but y/n can tell he's hiding something.

“I know something’s wrong. I trust you. You trust me. We grew up together! Just stop being such an asshole whenever I’m around!” her voice breaks, exhausted by the situation. Law is caught off guard by the crack in her voice—it was rare for y/n to sound this vulnerable. His heart aches, but he struggles to find the words. Admitting that he was jealous of the attention y/n gave to Sanji felt too difficult. He envied the way Sanji could make her laugh and smile—something Law couldn’t seem to do. But he was too proud to say it, even though y/n had always been close to him.

“You’re not going to say anything, are you? Fine.” y/n sighed, frustrated, and started to leave. Law watched as she walked away, anger and disappointment evident on her face. Guilt gnawed at him—he knew he was the reason she was upset. He wanted to explain and apologize, but his stubbornness held him back. Cursing under his breath, he slammed his fist against the counter, frustrated with himself for not being able to say how he truly felt.

—

Later that night, Law finds y/n sitting on the deck, enjoying the sea breeze. She looks calmer, but her swollen face suggests she had been crying. Guilt grips him as he approaches silently and stands beside her. Neither says anything for a while.

“If you came to treat me badly again, you can leave,” y/n says coldly, not taking her eyes off the sea. Law takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I didn’t come to treat you badly… I came to talk.”

Y/n turns her face to him, her gaze serious. Law almost loses his nerve seeing those eyes he loves staring back at him. She gives him a silent signal to continue.

“I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. I was being a jerk, and I didn’t mean to be like that with you,” Law admits.

“Why? Why have you been so mean to me since we made this alliance with the Straw Hats?” y/n asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Law hesitates but knows he has to be honest. His heart pounds as he prepares to admit his feelings.

“I’ve been feeling… jealous.”

Y/n freezes, her heart racing. She hadn’t expected that answer. All she can whisper is a quiet, “…What?”

“I’ve been jealous because… I don’t like seeing you spend so much time with that stupid cook and laughing so freely with him. It makes me angry and frustrated,” Law admits, clenching his fists.

Y/n processes his words in disbelief. Law? Jealous? Of Sanji? She never imagined it. After taking a deep breath, she responds.

“You… You’re jealous of me? With Sanji?” her voice is calm, and Law nods, still avoiding her gaze.

“Yes, I am. I know it’s childish, but the thought of you with him makes my blood boil. I don’t know why, but I just can’t help it,” he says, still clenching his fists.

“Law, look at me,” y/n says, taking his hand, forcing him to meet her eyes. Slowly, he turns, heart pounding.

“Me and Sanji… we’re just friends. He’s also from North Blue, and we were talking about that…” y/n tries to explain but hesitates, unsure if she wants to know exactly how Law feels. She takes several deep breaths, trying to speak but always stopping short.

“What is it?” Law asks softly, noticing her struggle.

“Why are you jealous? Tell me the truth, Law,” y/n presses. Law, surprised by the direct question, freezes momentarily before sighing heavily.

“I don’t know… I just don’t like seeing you with him. It makes me feel… upset. And angry.” Vulnerability wasn’t part of his usual demeanor, but with y/n, he couldn’t hide. He looks down at the sea again.

“What do you really feel about me?” y/n’s voice cracks as she asks, avoiding his eyes.

Law hears the emotion in her voice, making his heart hurt. He finally looks at her, eyes filled with frustration and sadness.

“I… I feel a lot of things. We grew up together. I care about you, but lately… those feelings have grown into something more. I’ve been struggling with them, especially when I see you with Sanji.”

Y/n, shocked and unsure of what to say, stumbles over her words. Law, anxious, assumes she doesn’t feel the same and starts to leave, but she grabs his hand.

“Wait! Just… wait.”

Law freezes, heart pounding as she stops him. Her touch makes his heart race faster. He looks at her, waiting for her to speak.

Terrible at expressing her feelings, acts on instinct. She pulls him close and kisses him intensely. Law is taken by surprise, but quickly responds, pulling her closer and pouring all his pent-up emotions into the kiss.

Slowly, y/n pulls away. With their foreheads touching, she whispers, “I feel the same way… about you… but I was so afraid of mixing things up…”

Relief floods Law as he hears her confession. He lets out a shaky breath, still holding her close. Vulnerable, he admits, “Me too… But I can’t hide my feelings anymore. I want you.”

“You’ve always had me,” y/n smiles, gently stroking his blushing cheeks. Law smiles back, kissing her again, relieved by her reciprocation. Their kiss is abruptly interrupted by the sound of a loud crash from the ship's deck.

“Dammit, Usopp, you idiot!!” Nami, Usopp, and Chopper, who had been spying on them, had fallen over. Y/n bursts into laughter as Law storms off, completely irritated, chasing after them.

“ROOM. SHAMBLES.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦··············•✦•······················•✦········

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 39!

yay more fics! guys i have to tell you this was an excellent reading week for me, so many brilliant fics!

two things: some of these fics aren't buddie but gen/a rare pair, but i figured i'd keep the title, since it applies to the majority of fics. i'll make sure it's clear which fics are for other ships! also, now that season 8 is airing, i've decided to keep the buddie fic rec list spoiler-free, and i'm setting up a season 8 rec list alongside it. this week's season 8 list can be found here!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading!

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

5 times buck and eddie thought they were on the same page +1 where they figured it out | WendyDarling95/@bi-buck-hi-eddie | 11.8k | E

"Ok but miscommunication trope where Eddie keeps trying to tell Buck he’s a werewolf and Buck thinks Eddie’s telling him he’s a furry. Buck would buy a fur suit absolutely" i'm genuinely not joking when i say that this fic was the highlight of my week. it's crack treated seriously in the absolute best way, i was howling (lol) while reading. brilliant <3

the book of love | colonoscopys/@colonoscopys | 8.1k | G

It was a pretty regular day. He had an eight hour shift the day before, slept in a little bit, ate dry toast and drank a black coffee before dropping Chris off at physical therapy for an hour. If he had known he was gonna die, he would have sprung for the hashbrowns in the freezer. time loop fic!! lovely lovely time loop fic!!

but you're holdin' me like water in your hands | TheGirlWithTheKite/@muddiedfoxglove | 11k | E

In which Eddie offers a helping hand when Buck's relationship starts to sour. (The Frogboiled Infideleddie Fic) frogboiled infideleddie?? yall the way i ran to this fic the second i saw it <3 so so so good

constant craving | Inell/@inell | 7.8k | E

Buck and Eddie have recently started dating, and it’s their third official date. While playing a game of pool, they make a little wager, and Buck gets to indulge a craving he’s had for years. i spent a lovely hour this morning catching up inell's recent fics and i highly recommend you do the same!! brilliant fics, both of the sweet and spicy variety <3

FREE MOUSTACHE RIDES | Killbothtwins | 5k | T

All is not well in Station 118. Gerrard is running the show, Christopher is gone, and, worst of all, Eddie has a mustache now. Somehow, it's only Buck who realizes how catastrophic this is. this is exactly the fic i needed to cheer me up earlier this week. so good, so funny!!

keep your brittle heart warm | Ink_Dancer | 8.8k | T

Buck convinces Eddie, notoriously a dog person, to adopt a cat. Buck then helps Eddie adjust to his new family member while the cat tries to meddle in their relationship. fics like this make me want to adopt a cat even more than i already do. so sweet, so cute, i love pinto bean <3

a little wisdom | Daisies_and_Briars/@cal-daisies-and-briars | 8.6k | T

Christopher comes home from Texas and needs his wisdom teeth removed, which leads to a larger discussion on hurt and comfort and needs that Eddie doesn't see coming. the diaz boys <3 i love them so much and they're so so well-written here!!

the more it hurts, the less it shows | ummrys/@ummrys | 2.4k | M

Eddie finally hears the story of Dr Wells, and Buck finally understands the depth of what happened to him. so well-written and a great look at the whole dr wells thing!!

nothin' but a little shut eye | Tizniz/@tizniz | 3.9k | G

Buck and Eddie accidentally nap together. And then keep napping together. buddie naps i love you so much <3 this is the softest cutest it's so good

put my heart inside your palms | markofalover/@markofalover| 3.1k | T

how an accidental pet name, a thoughtful dinner, and a shared shirt makes them get their shit together.. love is stored in the kitchen indeed <3 this is so so cute!

suddenly the only thing i saw was you | ipretendtobesane/@userbuddie | 8.2k | E

five times adriana diaz and may grant run into each other and the one time they show up together adriana/may?? the VISION holy shit. this is a brilliant fic and has probably my fav adriana diaz ever, it's just that good <3

[the-bar-sinister]

All Teeth and Tongue (3051 words) by thesavagesabretooth Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bepo/Buffalo, Bepo/Trafalgar D. Water Law Characters: Bepo (One Piece), Buffalo (One Piece)

Additional Tags: Crack Treated Seriously, Character Study, Kissing, Human Male on Male Anthro | HMOMA (Furry), Fluff and Angst, Banter, Developing Relationship, Implied Relationships, Background Relationships, Polyamory, POV Bepo, Flirting, Awkward Flirting, Rare Pairings Summary: After Law becomes the new Corazon Bepo is in the awkward position of finding his place in the Donquixote family. A little bit of time with Buffalo makes things more comfortable.

(I can't imagine anyone has ever used this ship tag before. Just go with it, okay?)

-

It had been a heck of a strange week for Bepo, with events and emotions that he was still moving through and processing. The Polar Tang had been destroyed by Blackbeard, and Bepo had only narrowly been able to save Law, himself, and their new crewmate, Komurasaki, who they'd picked up on Wano. But that rescue hadn't been complete; all he'd been able to do was get them away from Blackheard— to keep Law out of the water long enough for them to be picked up by a ship.

The ship of the Donquixote pirates. 

That hadn't gone the way Bepo expected. And thank goodness it hadn't. Bepo had expected a frantic last stand— instead, Law and Doflamingo had repaired their relationship. Smoothed over what had been called a 'misunderstanding', and Law had been welcomed into the family, along with his surviving crewmates.

It was strange. Bepo didn't know how to feel about it. He'd never met the Donquixote family when they'd been Law's enemies, and now, admittedly they just seemed… friendly. Rough around the edges, bloodthirsty, like pirates tended to be. But weirdly nice.

He was still figuring out what the new situation meant for him, but he was willing to throw himself into whatever Law wanted him to do. And today, that had been fighting a bunch of marines who had had a ship surrounded.

After the battle was long over and the island's treasures picked clean, Bepo found himself asked to sort through the looted marine weaponry in the hold along with Buffalo, a member of the family that he'd so far only spoken to incidentally.

Somehow despite him being on the larger side, standing at over ten feet tall and draped in a large fur coat that hid his broad shouldered body from view, he didn't exactly project that size. His soft-featured face and large expressive eyes flicked from weapon to weapon as he bounced between piles to pick up different marine weapons with genuine curiosity.

"Hey, I think this might be a named sword!" He cheerfully announced, turning with a sway of his dark and braided pigtails, holding up a large blade before dropping it with a rattling thunk on the pile. "...nope. Never mind. It's just a big one." 

"We could give it a name," Bepo joked, looking through the pile of guns. It was strange— and not unpleasant— being around the Donquixotes who ran on the larger side in general. Buffalo seemed to naturally give an impression of boyishness. Bepo, meanwhile, an 8 foot tall bear mink surrounded by small, easily frightened humans, had made a practice of making himself seem smaller on purpose.

He was thinking maybe he could break out of that habit going forward.

"Big Bastard the Sword," Buffalo laughed, his smile blooming wide on his face before he leaned towards Bepo and the pile of guns. "I've always liked guns more, me and Baby 5 used to practice with all sorts of 'em with her power. Wonder why nobody ever names guns like they do swords?"

He put his hands on his hips for a moment, thinking visibly, before he bent down and grabbed a large flintlock rifle in his hand. The nails were painted, a dark green that matched the dress shirt visible under his coat. 

Bepo scratched his ears and thought about the question too. The shiny green of Buffalo's nails caught his eye and distracted him for a moment before his mind snapped back.

"Probably because most guns are mass produced?" he guessed. He didn't make any particular effort to get out of the way as Buffalo leaned in toward him and the gun pile.

Buffalo held the gun up and aimed it at the far wall with a laugh. Despite it being a hefty rifle, he held it easily in one hand and aimed down its sight with practiced ease. 

 "I mean, so are a bunch of swords, right? There's a guy, Kaidou. Doffy used to do some work for him, and he mass produced swords like nobody's business. So why hasn't anyone made masterwork guns like they make masterwork swords?" 

Bepo thought about that, too, and the ease and comfort with which Buffalo held the gun influenced his answer. "That's a good question. I mean, I guess most people treat guns like they're interchangeable. Just point and shoot. Like there wouldn't be a difference if you made a masterwork versus some mass produced one."

"I dunno about that," Buffalo lowered the gun to lean on it, his coat fluttering as he caught Bepo's eyes. "I've spent a lot of time with guns, and like—my best friend is a gun, kinda. I mean, she can be any gun she's ever seen or heard about. There's a lot of little differences between one of good make and one that ain't…"

He pointed to the sight on the gun. "Like the calibration and accuracy of the sights. Or the rifling and how it spins the bullet, or range and quality." 

"I don't use guns much," he admitted, pausing as he sorted through the bunch of standard issue marine pistols. "But I feel like you're probably right. All that seems like it would make a big difference. Your best friend's a gun– you mean Baby 5, right?"

"It sure would! So they should start giving them names too!" Buffalo finished with a grin, before looking at Bepo with an excited nod of his head. "Yeah! Baby 5. Me, Baby and Law all grew up together, you know?" 

"He talked about that a little," he nodded. "But not much. What was it like growing up together?"

Law had never talked much at all during their time as the Heart Pirates about his childhood, and the people he'd lived with before they all met. It had come as quite a surprise to Bepo to learn that he'd had friends.

"It was fun," Buffalo laughed cheerfully, hopping up onto the pile and grabbing a sword to practice swinging with as he glanced over at him. "We all came from pretty bad places, but Doffy took us in and taught us how to survive. Law, Baby 5 and I were all part of the same 'group' of kids around the same age, so we kinda did everything together. Heck, we used to think Baby 5 was gonna marry him! He was probably the only guy in the world Doffy wouldn't have killed for it." 

"For real?" Bepo laughed. He wasn't a swordsman, really– he knew a little– but he picked up one of the other swords as well and looked it over. "I mean about marrying Baby 5. I knew about the…. tough backgrounds. Me too."

Bepo wondered for a moment what it would have been like if he'd washed up on Spider Miles a year or so earlier than he'd washed up on that other beach…

"Oh yeah, for real!" Buffalo mimed swinging the sword. It was clear he had a little practice, at least, probably from Diamante from the way the man talked about swordsmanship. "Baby and Law were really close. They'd bicker a lot, but that was just them joking around. All three of us were like that, thick as thieves and always joking around together—sharin' secrets. Kissing. You know how it is. Baby 5 was practically attached at his hip until he ditched us."

He looked up at Bepo with a waning of his smile. "You too, huh? You'll fit right at home here, then." 

He scratched the back of his ears, the sword hanging loose in his other claw. "I'm already kind of starting to feel at home, admittedly."

Law's almost immediate comfort had made a huge impact on his own. He hadn't understood quite why Law had been so comfortable, but it was making more and more sense. Especially if he'd been that close with them here— kissing. It flustered him to think about. "But uh, kissing huh?"

Buffalo seemed both delighted by Bepo's increasing 'feeling at home' and by the question. 

"I mean, yeah? We were close. At some point Baby 5 had seen people doing it around the gang and decided she wanted to give it a try so she convinced us to all practice together." He grinned sheepishly. "And I mean—it's fun right? Especially with people you like. Law used to really suck at kissing, though. LIke, all teeth." 

The first time he'd kissed Law, Bepo had been the one who was all teeth. It had been awkward to start. But now it made more sense how willing Law was to keep trying— and the amount of advice he had to give.

"No wonder he managed to teach me," Bepo chuckled, his ears flicking. He had so rarely seen this side of Law that he was hearing about. There were moments of it, sure, when Law was wild, and passionate, and free— but so often in the time they'd known one another he was aloof, and melancholy and drawn in. He hoped he'd get to see more of this Law. He was deciding that he liked him, and he liked his friends.

Buffalo held out the sword, a short sword of what looked like Wano-make. "I call this one Law's Tooth. In honor of Law's bitey-ass kisses, and his patience in teaching you!"

He nudged Bepo playfully. "You should show us sometime. You know. What he taught you." 

Bepo chuckled and bumped him back as he felt the insides of his ears flush with heat. "I should? Not many people I've met are interested in kissing a bear."

Buffalo tilted his head quizzically. For a moment it wasn't even clear if he'd noticed Bepo was a bear, at least until he spoke up. 

"I mean, you're a bear man, but you're not a bear. You know what I mean? That'd be like saying kissing Derringer's like kissing the daily catch."

He grinned, tossing the sword in his hand, "I'd kiss a bear mink." 

Bepo was so pleased to have his personhood recognized he almost failed to notice that he was being flirted with. Most people didn't bother to see a distinction between him and a bear. They didn't pay any attention to the shape of his limbs, the stance of his posture, the human touches to his facial features. To his hands, and eyes. They just saw a bear. Maybe, if he was lucky, a talking bear.

The warm bloom of recognition pleased him before it was abruptly replaced with a different recognition— that he was absolutely being flirted with.

This was almost entirely a new experience for Bepo, and his mouth tried to catch up with his hindbrain badly, leading to something mushed coming out of his mouth that wasn't quite words. His ears flicked embarrassedly as his jaw snapped shut. "Ghrlla? I mean– yeah? You would?"

Buffalo laughed, his laughter high and tittery like a giggle as he bounced on his heels and nodded. 

"Well yeah, of course I would. Honestly, I'm surprised you're the first Mink to join the Donquixotes, Bepo." He winked at him. "Lucky us, you're pretty handsome!" 

He made another rather stupid noise, and found himself rubbing his shoulder against Buffalo's. This was direct. This was definitely flirting. This was not just Bepo's early Mink upbringing convincing him that it was more appropriate to be close with people than it really was— he was sure of that. He told himself that.

It was almost too much for him. "W-well, you're pretty handsome yourself," he grumbled.

He watched Buffalo's cheeks darken as glanced over at him with a bump of shoulder to shoulder "Me? Handsome? You're making me blush!" he ducked his head. "Thanks, Bepo. Heh, we Donquixotes are a real striking bunch, you fit right in!" 

"Really striking," he agreed. He scratched his ears with his free hand, still rubbed up against Buffalo's side. "You think I fit in, huh?"

Buffalo's fur coat rubbed back against him as Buffalo nodded, raising a painted nail to his chin with a bit of perhaps theatrical 'thinking about it' as he looked Bepo over appraisingly. "Hmmm…" 

He shifted from foot to foot as Buffalo appraised him, lifting his chin maybe to give him a better view of himself.

Buffalo nodded once, his braids bouncing on either side of his bright-eyed face as he flashed a broad smile. 

"You know, I think you really might. You've got the look of a real Donquixote, Bepo! He playfully nudged his side. "Watch out, I think you're gonna be a rrreeeallly REAL popular guy!" 

"Popular? You think so?" He tilted his head. "You mean like, uh, in terms of kissing?"

Buffalo blinked his large doe eyes at him, broadly smiling as he nodded. 

"Well, yeah! In terms of kissing for sure. And I kinda also mean in general. You're a pretty friendly guy, you seem real interesting—you're handsome. You're just gonna be…ya know, like….popular." 

He laughed embarrassedly, and grumbled. "I haven't been much of a popular guy before. That's probably why I'm a bit awkward."

"No? Not even in your crew? Huh," Buffalo seemed a bit surprised by that. "...I mean, before I joined the family, it was like that a lot for me—not exactly a popular guy." 

He put a hand companionably on Bepo's back as he bent down to rustle in the gun pile again. "It's hard to get used to when it isn't what you're used to. I'm not gonna make fun of you for being kinda awkward about it."

"Yeah, not even in my crew," he said with a shrug. "I mean, except Law of course. Thanks for not making fun of me."

Hoping he wasn't as awkward as he felt, he started sorting through the gun pile again as well.

Buffalo looked up at him with an earnest, open expression…it seemed genuine. "thanks for not making fun of me too, Bepo! You're one of us—and even if you weren't, I wouldn't make fun of a guy for being different." 

He shook his head. "I wouldn't do that either. Hey um…" he hesitated for a moment, but finally pushed through his nerves. "Did you still… want to kiss a bear mink?"

The Donquixote assassin lowered the pistol he'd found with a broadening of his grin. "....boy would I!" 

Bepo didn't let the moment go to waste, moving in until they were chest to chest, and, careful of his teeth and snout, going in for a kiss. He wasn't exactly capable of a simple peck on the lips– that really just ended up being pressing his nose to someone— so like when he kissed Law he went in for an open mouthed lick.

Buffalo had leaned down to meet him, his face warm as he met Bepo's tongue with his own, moving carefully and curiously to navigate the kiss that was still pretty new to him. Still, one of his warm hands rested against Bepo's back, gently pulling him closer. Bepo didn't mind the slight difficult, taking the kiss slow. He had no idea if Buffalo would enjoy it, but he did his best. 

It struck him as funny for a moment how different the height difference was between him and Buffalo versus him and Law. He wasn't used to being the short one. 

He tried to slip his tongue carefully into Buffalo's mouth.

Buffalo parted his soft lips, meeting his tongue with his own as it slipped into his mouth as the man made a curious murmur. He didn't pull away, or seem repulsed in the least. In fact his arms hooked around Bepo in a hug made warm by his fluffy coat. Bepo let himself be pulled close, putting his arms around him in return as they kissed. 

It was strange, kissing someone who wasn't Law. Kissing someone who he'd basically just met.

It was fun. It made him feel wanted. Liked. Accepted.

He licked Buffalo's lips as he let the kiss break, and wondered if he could see how— not unpleasantly— flustered he was.

Buffalo's cheeks had a deep, reddish flush to them as he rubbed his neck with a lopsided and flustered grin. 

"Wow, that was somethin'! You're a hell of a kisser you know! Wowsa. I gotta tell Baby 5 , she'll wanna try that." 

His ears flicked and he returned an open mouthed grin, his sharp teeth showing. "Really? It wasn't too weird?"

"No way," Buffalo laughed, tittering away again before he put his hands on his hips. "it was fun. And not any weirder than kissing anyone else, you know? Everyone kisses different. Derringer tries to bite off your tongue sometimes."

He paused before he said "that's a joke. Mostly." 

Bepo laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll keep it in mind. But… I'm glad. Feel free to get another kiss any time."

He rubbed up against the other man affectionately. 

Buffalo nuzzled up against him with a wide and cheery grin. His body under the coat was broad shouldered, long limbed as he leaned close with a flush "Trust me, I'm gonna! I like you already, Bepo. I'm sad we lost Law for so long, but knowin' he was with you makes that feel a little better!" 

"I'm… glad I could bring him back." Bepo said, still embarrassed. It was embarrassing, and strange how much he liked these people. The ones that Law had spent so long trying to get away from, and had so easily fallen back in with. "Sorry it took so long."

Buffalo laughed cheerfully. 

"Don't worry, we aren't holding it against you guys." he shook his head "Law's always been a stubborn jerk, you know? It took as long as it took for him to come back around on us." 

"Yeah," Bepo smiled. It made him feel better to think of it like that. It took as long as it took. "Uh. Speaking of that, we should probably actually sort this stuff, right?"

Buffalo blinked in surprise, and put his hand to his mouth with a gasp. "Shiiioooot. Shoot, fuck. You're right, or Pica'll get PISSED! Let's go, Bepo!" 

He laughed and patted him on the back. "We can do it, no problem. C'mon."

As they sorted through the stolen loot, Bepo thought again, maybe he did fit in here.

[bubblegumrush]

A𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 H𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤⌇𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚 𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫⌇𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

In the old, decrepit building, which once belonged to Class 3-E, the sun shone through the cracked windows with a small gust of wind creaking through. In this class, we could find the faded spirits of the former students of the famous group 3-E. Here on this hill, you found yourself a few feet away from the old building. Overwhelmed by the memories of the past, you hear your comrades, who had come back to clean the cabin, shouting your name from a distance.

"Y/N, save me!" Kaede screamed, hiding behind you as Okajima ran after her with a hose. She blocked herself by pushing you in front of you, thus getting you sprayed in the process. "Ha, that’s what you get for showing up late." Okajima mocked you. 

You shot death glares at him before balling up your hands into a fist and getting yourself ready to pounce on his head. "Ow!" He yelled loudly, kneeling on the ground and covering his head. "And that’s what you get for spraying me." You mocked him the same way he mocked you. "Jerk, I have a meeting after this. So, this better dry up in an hour." You glared at him threateningly. He gave an apologetic look and waved his hand for mercy.

 "A meeting? Are you sure you’re not too busy?" Yada asked, "No, no. It’s perfectly fine. Plus, I can’t miss out on visiting this place again. It’s been so long." You looked around to see the building, clean and shining. "Yeah, agreed. We’ve all become so busy, so it’s nice to reunite once again. Sadly, not all of us could make it but I’m glad you could, Y/N.” Isogai looked at you with a soft smile, “Now, let’s finish up inside. Y/N, you should join us; we could use an extra pair of hands." He suggested and you happily accepted.

You walked in the corridor of your old school; each step creaked louder than the previous. You peeked your head into the old teacher’s lounge and found Kaede cleaning by herself.

"Hey," You walked in quietly, making sure not to scare her. "Need any help?" She smiled widely and handed you a soaped cloth. "It’s been so long since we last talked; how’s life?" She asked you, "Ever since you became a lawyer, we rarely got to see each other. I got kind of scared that you forgot all about me. You must be really busy." She chuckled at the end, looking over at you. 

"You’re one to talk, releasing movies after movies like it’s no big deal. You seem so busy; I feel like you forgot about me." You both laughed, as your laughter echoed throughout the room. "But in all seriousness, work's been killing me. I have never dealt with such a pain in my ass. What’s more, I’m not even getting paid to suffer through his bullshit. This ‘supposed’ meeting he planned this afternoon, that I have to leave in an hour or two, he probably won’t even show up." You sighed angrily, rubbing the desk harder as you ranted about your frustration.

"Hehe, poor Y/N. Why don’t you just get a new client? I heard you have pretty big clients, and I’m sure you’ll be able to get a much bigger one and get paid way better than what that jerk is paying you." Kaede suggested.

"Easier said than done. Plus, it’s not about the money; I’m actually doing really well financially. Besides, I’m stuck.. with that jerk…"

You let out a long sigh before dipping your dirty cloth in soap and warm water. "Who’s your client anyway? There’s no way they can treat you that way." She inquired.

"…" A long silence filled the room as you searched in your head for some plausible white lie you could tell her. "Nobody of notable name…" You replied after letting a long silence fill in every creek in your conversation. She looked into your eyes, reading your face like an open book. You avoid her glare, feeling like she's found out a big secret of yours. 

"No… Don’t tell me it's..."

Once again, the sound of quietness took over the lounge as she stared deeply into your eyes, knowing exactly which guy you were talking about.

"It’s Karma…" You revealed it in a hushed tone before she said anything.

Big surprise, not really. You were Karma’s assistant—well, assistant is a little far-fetched, but you were basically his to control... sounds bad but it’s actually not that bad. After being tricked into being his lawyer, all his dirty work became yours, and you were essentially being exploited for his needs since he wasn't paying you. You weren't doing charity work, of course, since he promised to pay you when he finished his work, which is in an indefinite amount of time. But it's not like you needed the money; you were well off for having big clients, so money wasn't a problem. Although doing his work and being constantly condescended by his egotism didn't help the fact that you were basically his slave... so, on second thought it is bad...

You could see her eyes fill with disappointment. "Y/N, really? Karma?" she questioned. "I thought you were over him?"

"I am, honest. But he and I are still friends, and I couldn’t refuse him; who could refuse a friend?"

"Liar, I know you’re doing this because you’re still into him. I can see it in your eyes." She pointed at you, accusing you of lying. "Honestly, Y/N, just get it over with." She sighed, crossed her arms, and shook her head in disappointment.

"Huh?"

"I mean, you guys always had this tension between you guys; it’s obvious you guys have a spark. So, why not just hook up and see where it leads you? I don’t see what’s holding you two back."

"HUH?"

"Stop ‘huh’-ing me; you know what I’m saying, you just won’t admit it."

"Sorry, I thought you were going in a disapproving direction. Didn’t think you’d be saying that." You shook your head in confusion.

"I don’t see what’s the problem; you guys definitely kept in touch after all those years, and he chose you as his lawyer, meaning he definitely wants you around. Plus, you kept being his lawyer after—who knows what he makes you do? This is definitely a commitment from both sides. So, what’s missing is a hookup, and BAM, I’ll be patiently waiting for a wedding invitation in the upcoming months." She smiled devilishly at the last remark.

"Hold your horses; I doubt this is anything like what you’re thinking of. He and I are work buddies; we have a purely work relationship. My feelings for him are one-sided. The only interactions between us are the emails we send about work, boring ass conversations and his endless pranks. So, sorry to crash on your wedding hopes, but there isn’t going to be one." You grunted, leaping into a chair demonstrating how you’ve given up chasing after him.

Kaede sighed loudly: "You guys are complicated; you’re clearly chasing after the wrong guy. And knowing Karma, he probably already knows about your thing for him. So, what I suggest is that you ditch this meeting and let’s go get some drinks. He can do the documents or whatever you planned on doing alone; he’s not a baby. And we, the girls who haven’t hung out in a while, can go have fun and let loose. I've been waiting for a day like this; being on movie sets gets irritating after a while."

She grabbed your hands, pulled you closer, and gave you puppy eyes. She also wore a devilish smile, but all in all, her idea wasn’t so bad. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you stayed with Karma for the chance of something happening between you too, but clearly you had the wrong idea. You’ve known for a while that he knows about your crush on him, but he still hasn’t made a move. So, it clearly means he isn’t interested. Besides, he can handle the work himself; he doesn’t need you on his ass to fill out those documents. "Sure, one beer, though. I can’t get wasted; tomorrow I have an actual meeting with a prominent client."

"Yeah, yeah." Kaede agreed, knowing full well you were going to have more than one beer.

 Six beers later, you were fully wasted. Though not as much as Kaede, you were wasted. With the little soberness you had inside of you, you called a cab for Kaede and you, making sure she got home safely before you went home. During the car ride towards her house, your mind cleared up a little, but as soon as you got up and stood up, the dizziness came back. You carried Kaede on your back to her apartment before leaving with a clear mind that she was safe and sound asleep in her bed.

When it came time to head home, everything just seemed to go by so fast that you could only remember crashing on your couch and falling asleep.

The door gently opened; somebody clearly forgot to lock the front door. Footsteps moved closer and closer to a resting body before kneeling in front of it. Resting his body against the couch and sitting down on the floor, he looked at her peaceful face while she slept, mouth wide open. He pinched her nose, closed her mouth, and waited.

You gasped for air, waking up in an instant. The blood rushed through your head, causing you to have a headache. "Fuck. What’s wrong with you?" You looked frustratedly to your left, knowing exactly who it was.

"You’re one to talk; who lets their front door unlocked? And since you didn’t show up to today’s meeting, I thought you got killed or something. Turns out you’re fucking wasted." He explained furiously, furrowing his eyebrows.

"And...what the fuck do you want? I have the right to be wasted and to be wasted whenever I want, like you have the right to be a bitch and to be one whenever you want. Have you heard of the word freedom? Clearly not, plus you’re trespassing in my house. I have the right to call the cops on you. Get your ass pulled into jail. That’d be a funny news story and a nice image to have for myself." You started spewing a bunch of nonsense, clearly slowly sobering up but still as drunk as before you fell asleep. "Plus, why are you on my ass all the time? It’s not like I’m going anywhere. You've got me so fucking obsessed that leaving now would be a fucking waste."

"Obsessed?" He questioned you, still sitting in front of you, while you yelled at him.

Oops, slip of the tongue. 

"Pfft, stop acting dumb. You know fully well what I’m obsessed over; I’ve been for years. Ugh, years…" 

Why can’t I stop yapping...

You looked at him in the darkness that was your living room. The small light that beamed through your silk curtains lit the room slightly. You saw his dimmed face; you saw his eyes, his ears, his brows, and his lips. You were obsessed with him.

"I’m obsessed with you…" 

Fuck. 

Silence dominated the room, and as soon as five seconds passed, you felt yourself sober up in an instant from what you just said. You sprung up quickly and left towards the kitchen, not looking back or wanting to look at him at all. You filled yourself a cup of water and gulped it down as if you'd been dehydrated for days. With a sober-ish mind, you hit yourself mentally for absolutely embarrassing yourself.

You weren't aware of him creeping up behind you when he said, "Y/N," turning you towards him. Tightly grabbing your waist, he pulled you closer as he loomed over you. "Stay."

You chuckled awkwardly, confused about what he was doing. "Hehe… It’s not like I can go anywhere..."

He rested his head on yours since he was obviously taller, while you tried to glance up in an attempt to see his face. "Karma... Are you okay? You're not acting like your usual self."

He didn't respond, "Are you making fun of me? Cuz if you are, it's not funny. My feelings for you are genuine, and making a joke out of it isn't funny." You felt a sense of humiliation, he clearly was trying to do something to embarrass yourself.

He still didn't respond, but he moved closer. Slowly raising his right hand to cup your cheek as he approached your face. He raised your chin to look into your eyes. The longer you stared intensely into his eyes, the faster you could feel your heart beat.

Suddenly, he burst into laughter, hugging you tightly in his arms and rubbing your head, frizzing up your hair.

Your heart began to break as soon as you heard him laugh, as you knew it was all a joke to him. You felt your blood start to boil, so you pushed him off angrily and kneed him right where it would hurt.

"Fuck, Y/N. What's wrong with you? I didn't mean to laugh at-"

"You think I'm a joke to you. I am, aren't I? A big fucking joke to fuck around with." You cut him off furiously. You felt your heart shatter after you had opened it up for him. You were about to knee him again but got stopped midway through.

"Hey, stop it." He angrily grabbed your thigh, so you couldn't knee him anymore. "Will you calm down and listen to what I have to say?"

You calmed down and listened, though with very little patience. "Fine." 

He released you from his grip and prompted himself on the kitchen island. He let out a long sigh before chuckling to himself. 

"Jeez, you are crazy." He looked at you with a smirk, making you turn your head in frustration. "Guess I have to make it even know." He stood up and walked closer to you.

"As you have embarrassed yourself, I guess it's only fair to you if I embarrass myself by telling you this." He paused for a second before looking straight into your eyes.

"Y/N, I'm in love with you."

"…" 

"You are…?"

He burst into a fit of laughter, completely dumbfounded by what you said. "Is it that hard to believe? I guess you’ve never had this charming of a guy fall for you, have you?" He grinned at you, his ego showing.

"How do I know if you’re telling the truth? How do I know you’re not lying to me right now?"

You squeezed your fists tightly, looking down at the floor and feeling angry with yourself.

"Y/N," he called out your name, knowing you were off in your head. "Listen, maybe there is no way for me to prove it; maybe there is. But right now, I’m telling you the truth and nothing but the truth. I know I’m not the kind of guy to say things like this, but for you, I’ll say them." Slowly, he moved closer and closer to you, his body inches away from yours.

"I love you; I have since the day I’ve known you. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again and again." He leaned closer, lowering his head slowly towards yours. The tension between you could be cut with a knife. You felt your heartbeat get faster and faster as your hands became moist.

"Karma, I-"

He suddenly stood up and straightened himself up, passing his hand through his hair and loudly sighing. "It’s getting late; I probably should head back. You should get some rest; you look like you need it."

And then he left. Without looking back or saying goodbye, he left.

[ae-azile]

Gossip After Death: Preview

Likely Chapter Count: ? Shorter chapters though

Noted Tags: Magic, Ghosts, Missing People, Past Character Death, Soul/Body Separation, Gossip, Spying, Mysteries, Reluctant Closeted Medium Vegas Theerapanyakul, Crack Treated Seriously, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending

Characters: Porsche, Big, Chan, Kinn, Chay, Gun, Vegas, Pete, Macau, Tankhun, Arm, Ken, Korn, Namphueng, Pol and more

Pairings: KinnPorsche, future and posthumous ChanBig, secret ArmTankhun, angsty KimChay, VegasPete

Summary: When Porsche goes out shopping on his own, he expects his day to be routine. Get a few outfits, maybe some gifts for the people he loves, then go back home to seduce Kinn into a night out or a night in. But when he finds himself in a dingy basement next to his lifeless body and a woman who is clearly at fault but he can't make any physical contact with, he figures he is having one elaborate dream. Even when he gets back to the compound, he hopes to turn this rare lucid dream into a sex dream.

But Kinn can't see him. In fact, no one can. It isn't until he runs into two men who have been long dead and buried that he is finally acknowledged and informed that he must be dead too

Chay is going to be heartbroken. As for Kinn, he's going to burn the world down once he finds out about this. While Porsche is desperate to reach out and comfort them, their reactions are somewhat flattering. He knows he shouldn't think that, but Kinn bringing in people to torture just to gain more information about Porsche's whereabouts is hot to watch. With no one able to see him except for other ghosts, Porsche feels like he shouldn't be judged seeking out strange forms of entertainment.

Preview Below Cut:

Porsche sometimes likes to go out without his guards. While he has never faced consequences from the walks, errand runs, or shopping sprees, he has been made aware of them. He makes sure to evaluate his surroundings periodically, keep his location on, and keep a gun on him in case he does run into trouble. 

But ever since he became the head of the minor family, trouble has been hard to come by. In some ways, the job is much more boring than Porsche had expected. Part of him is grateful for it. The mundane tasks that he can often divvy up between himself and the administrative staff lets him be more present for his mother, who hasn’t spoken but at least seems more comfortable around him now. It also lets him be more present for Kinn and Chay. Nurturing all three of those relationships are important to him. It's the one task that keeps him from questioning the holes in Korn’s story. 

It's the one task that keeps him from turning his now rarely used gun into Korn. 

But today, he is trying his best not to think about that. He gets a latte with Yok, catches up with her, then parts ways to browse some of the higher end stores in hopes that something will catch his eye. Maybe high end paints for his mother, or new clothes for Chay, who unexpectedly hit a late growth spurt. 

A ring for Kinn. 

Maybe he should wait on that. He isn't sure if that's something Kinn wants. For the longest time, Porsche never entertained the notion, even when he primarily was interested in girls and the legalities of marriage weren't a concern. 

But that was before he met Kinn. Plus, it's finally legal now…

“Would you like me to pull anything out of the case, sir?” the man says behind the counter. Porsche quickly shakes his head and walks out. Maybe he should go to a store without a jewelry section. That sounds like a good plan to stick with for now. If he does get Kinn a ring, Porsche feels like he would like to design it himself. Something unique, classy, and one of a kind. 

It's something he doesn't need to think about right now. He has plenty of time. 

At least, he hopes he does. Once he walks outside, he feels something hit him on the back of the head. His vision goes black before he can even turn around.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

When Porsche wakes up, he doesn't recognize his surroundings. He knows he is not in either compound or at his old home, where he and Kinn occasionally stay to have some privacy. None of those places are this dark and dingy. None of the rooms have leaky pipes. But most of all, none of the rooms have an unconscious man on the floor who looks like him. 

Exactly like him. Same exact features, same exact clothes. When Porsche examines him more closely, he even sees the body has the same faint hickey from the other night. The only difference is that when Porsche touches the other Porsche, his hand goes right through him. 

He's clearly a hallucination. That should be more of a concern - it is one - but Porsche can't help but feel slight relief because at least that makes a little bit of sense. He wonders if it is drugs, a head injury, a sudden and severe mental illness, or-

“You won't be able to touch your body. You are not corporeal.” 

Porsche jumps to his feet and stands in a defensive stance. The woman in front of him is small and petite. He won't bother with fighting her. He just needs to scare her. 

“I don't think you realize who you are messing with,” Porsche tells her, “If you want to put this incident behind us and remain unharmed, you will need to release me.” 

The woman looks at him, seeming unbothered, “I'm not interested in your spirit. I need your body. You can go wherever you'd like.” 

Porsche glances down at the other Porsche again. He seems slightly off. When he focuses on him, there are no signs of breathing. 

He's clearly a doll. A hyper realistic doll. 

“Unlock the door,” Porsche says, walking closer to her. The woman remains unbothered. Even when there are just inches between them, she smirks. 

“Like I stated, my business isn't with your spirit. You are free to do as you wish.” 

Fine. He’ll get rough. He was hoping to avoid it, but it's self-defense at this point. His gun isn't on him, but his set of hands are sufficient enough. Or they would be, if they didn't go right through her. 

“Are you finished?” she asks him as he feels himself go rigid, “I have places to be. I don't need an amateur spirit following me around-” 

“What did you DO to me?!” Porsche spits out, “Why are you doing this?! How-”

“Go on. Leave. I have work to do.” 

“No! Tell me what you did! Who are you?!” 

The woman says nothing. She just draws a circle on the desk with chalk, pours powder in the middle, and lights the powder on fire. As it puffs up, Porsche feels his core being pulled in a completely different direction before finding himself outside of the compound. 

What was that? Was it some strange dream? When he attempts to touch the brick wall and his hand goes through it, it tells him that isn't definitely not a dream. 

Or that he is still dreaming. That seems like a more reasonable answer. Maybe this is where he becomes lucid and can control it. He needs to find Kinn so he can turn it into a sex dream. This is about to get so good. He barely ever lucid dreams. When he does, he usually flies down the staircase and then gets distracted by something enough to lose the lucidity. This time, it will be different. He will stay lucid and fuck mid-air with dream Kinn. Maybe dream Kinn will let him top. If he's just a figment of Porsche’s imagination, he definitely will. It isn’t as if Kinn never lets him top. He does occasionally. But Porsche can tell his boyfriend gets uncharacteristically nervous about it. He doesn't understand why. Kinn seems to genuinely enjoy it. Maybe when Porsche wakes up, he will set up a time to talk about it, see if there is a deeper and more serious reason. 

But until then, he's fucking dream Kinn. 

“Pardon me, boys,” Porsche says, knowing for sure it's a dream as he lets himself levitate and fly up the main steps, “You are mere side characters in this dream. But next time, I will give you both juicer roles, you hear me?” 

Alan and Chol say nothing. They don't even acknowledge him. It's probably because of Porsche's lucidity. Their presence in his dream has now been reduced to mere decor. They are here to provide some realism to the environment Porsche has built in his head. Part of him wonders what they would have done if Porsche hadn't become lucid, how their presence would have played out in a scene Porsche didn't have control over. 

There is no reason to question the what-ifs. He's having dream sex with Kinn. That is his main goal. He needs to focus on his mission. With that resolve, he flies faster through the compound. When he realizes he can't fly through the ceiling, he flies through the walls of the elevator and tries to press the button to the floor Kinn's office is on. His hand goes through the panel.

Strange. 

He’ll just fly up the stairs then. It doesn't take long, not with his flying powers in this otherwise realistic dream realm. He arrives in front of Kinn’s office door in a few minutes. When he sees Kinn sitting at his desk, focused on skimming through a stack of papers, Porsche struts over and leans over the desk seductively, only to fall through it. When dream Kinn doesn't respond to that, he tries the same pose but hovers instead. 

“Such a surprise seeing you here,” he says, a smirk playing his lips, “Why don't you save the work for later and make yourself comfortable?” 

Ideally, he expects Kinn to enthusiastically agree, pull his pants down, and bend over the desk. If dream Kinn decides to be more stubborn and realistic, maybe he will bend Porsche over the desk instead. That is something Porsche will NOT complain about. Some of his fondest moments were spent bent over this desk. 

But he does not expect dream Kinn not to respond at all. He continues focusing on his work, jotting down notes, and not giving Porsche the time of day. 

“Kinn,” Porsche says, waving a hand in front of his face, “I want to have sex. Come on. We can do it in mid air here. I know it. Let's go outside so we can levitate to the sky and fuck on a cloud. It will be fun.” 

But Kinn doesn't break character. He doesn't even crack a smile. He continues blatantly ignoring Porsche before pulling out his phone. When Porsche looks over his shoulder, he watches Kinn type out a text to him.

Kinn: Miss you 🥺 Can I take you out later? We can go somewhere nice to eat, do something fun, and bring dessert back to the suite. I want it to be just the two of us.

“I am offering to be a dessert right now!” Porsche snaps, but something feels off. In dreams, he usually can't read more than a couple of words before they become a jumbled mess and he can't focus on them anymore. But he just read Kinn's text clearly. Even when he starts reading the lengthy contract Kinn has in front of him, Porsche has no issues understanding what it says. He may find it dull and a bore to read, but he can still comprehend every word. 

This is such a weird dream. It's annoying, and dream Kinn is annoying. When Porsche swats the back of Kinn’s head, his hand goes right through it. 

He's starting to get a strange feeling. 

“Kinn, I am giving you one last chance to have some of this,” Porsche says seriously, coming back around the desk to stand in front of him before taking off all his clothes,”You want this, right? I know you do.” 

As Porsche shimmies around and makes sure all dangling parts wiggle, Kinn continues to ignore him. 

“Fuck this! I hate this dream!” Porsche says, storming through the door as he leaves his clothes on the floor. It doesn't even matter if he has clothes. No one is acknowledging him, CLEARLY. He would rather have a dream where everyone is gawking at him being naked in public, so maybe this will trigger the dream to move on because this is the worst dream he has ever had. When he wakes up, he is giving Kinn an earful-

“Oh. He's walking around the compound without clothes. That's…I never thought he would be this bold, even with the promotion.” 

“Neither did I.” 

Porsche recognizes those voices, but they are voices he hasn't heard in over a year. Even though he wanted this to be a lucid sex dream, he suddenly doesn't mind it becoming a dream where he reunites with people he has lost. 

When he spins around, he sees Big and Chan standing there, looking free of bullet holes and healthy. Even though he had his differences with both of them at times, they were good men and didn't deserve what happened to them. 

Especially Big. Even though Big was such a bitch to him, he still gave his life for him. Porsche knows he did it for Kinn, that there were likely one-sided feelings there. But instead of frustration when he thinks about that, Porsche always feels sadness. Big proved he had a big heart that day, and Porsche wished he could have lived and found someone who reciprocated romantic feelings and loved Big in the way he deserved. 

“Why is he tearing up?” Big asks Chan, wrinkling his nose. 

“Maybe he is having a mental health crisis,” Chan theorizes, “Walking around naked in the compound while crying doesn't seem like something he would do.” 

“You should run through him,” Big advises, “Give him a cold chill. It might snap him out of it and make him want to put some clothes on.” 

“Why don't you do it?” 

“You're better at it than I am.” 

“Practice makes perfect,” Chan smirks. It strangely makes Big bite his lip and look away. 

“We’ll do it together,” Big says, “On the count of three. If we tag team him, he’ll get really cold.” 

Chan studies Big for a moment then holds out his hand. Big stares down at it before hesitantly taking it and giving Chan a smile. 

“One,” Big starts. 

“Two,” Chan adds. 

“Three.” 

Porsche knows he should tell them to stop, but the bizarre situation has him feeling frozen. Maybe that's why he doesn’t feel cold when Big and Chan run into him. However, they don't run through him like they said they would. Instead, Big hits him first and it is a head on collision, causing Big to stumble back and fall into Chan, who looks worried and disbelieving, but catches Big anyway. 

“Why are you two the only ones who can see me in my dream?” Porsche asks, putting his hands on his hips, “The guards out front ignored me, Kinn ignored me when I propositioned him for sex, and the only two people who acknowledge me want to knock me over and have been dead for over a year! What the fuck? Wake up wake up wake up-” 

Porsche stops pinching himself for a moment before giving both of them a soft, kind look, “Not that it isn't nice to see you both. I…I was really sad about what happened to both of you. You didn't deserve that. And Big, thank you. I know you are just part of a dream, but this is probably the only opportunity I will have to say that and…” 

Porsche trails off before rushing forward to wrap his arms around Big. Big stays stiff in his hold as Porsche feels his face slightly crumple before he lets go. 

“Sorry,” Porsche says, then rolls his eyes, “Why am I apologizing? You're part of my fucking dream. Wake up wake up wake up wake up-” 

“Porsche,” Chan says, causing Porsche to stand at attention and stop his chant, “You can see us?” 

Porsche blinks, then waves his hand, “Stop fucking with my head. I don't feel like getting sucked into whatever storyline my mind is trying to play out. I'm not saying that because I don't respect you. I do. I really do. But-” 

Before Porsche can finish explaining his reasoning to Chan, his clothes rush through the door of Kinn's office, fly over to him, and somehow make it back onto his body. As Porsche looks down at them in disbelief, Chan and Big look at each other. 

“This is the weirdest dream I have ever had,” Porsche decides.

As he attempts to slap himself, Big reaches over to catch his hand. 

“How dare you stop me from waking myself-” 

“Porsche,” Chan says, his expression withdrawn and somewhat sad as he lets out a sigh, “It isn't a dream. I'm sorry, but it's not.” 

Porsche stares at him then purses his lips, “It actually is. I uh…I hate to break it to you, but if I am able to stand here and talk with you, then that proves it's a dream. You're both dead-” 

“We’re well aware,” Big says sarcastically. Chan briefly reaches over to rub Big’s back to get his attention. 

“Be nice.” 

“I'm being perfectly nice.” 

“Uh huh,” Chan says, raising an eyebrow before fixing his expression and focusing on Porsche again, “Big is right. We are aware of our passing.” 

Porsche nods, “So you see my point-” 

“And now you’ll listen to mine,” Chan cuts in calmly, “Big and I are both dead. Other than some of the livings occasionally sensing a presence, we have yet to be able to talk with them, touch them, or be seen by them. However, we can talk with, touch, and be seen by other ghosts in the building, or ones who visit. Your ability to see us isn't due to a vivid dream. If it was, you would have woken up from the pinches you have given yourself. Are you walking through walls and getting ignored by everyone you pass?” 

Porsche says nothing, but it's apparently enough of an answer for Chan. 

“If you are doing that and you are able to talk to us, then that only proves you are dead too.” 

[teufelsabbiss]

Story-idea: Shizun only wants what's in your head

Crack pairs FTW! How about some Shizun/Shifu action?

OG!Shěn Qīngqiū/Meng Mo

This will be unrequited Luò Bīnghé/OG!Shěn Qīngqiū, just so you're warned, no relationship for the protagonist there.

Shěn Qīngqiū knew very early where his tastes lie with certainty. Attractive older men are his weakness, not that he ever could indulge this particular craving.

Wu Yanzi wasn't interested, which was probably for the best, but still disappointing. While the things he said to him after the Qiu massacre were hurtful and made Shen Jiu resentful, the bitterness was directed towards Qiu Janluo instead of his new master. Wu Yanzi just told him what's what after all. But afterwards he was surprisingly nice to be around a lot of the time. Sure, he taught him to rob (more than he already could), fight dirty (more effectively than he was already able to), kill and didn't actually teach him much cultivation (at least not the righteous path), but he was not really cruel to Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu was aware enough that the man would kill him, if he made trouble and was disobedient. But Wu Yanzi, for all his faults, knew that one can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. In this story, that's another thing he taught Shen Jiu and that will change things significantly.

This friendliness was deceitful and Shen Jiu knew. It still made him feel good, though. Wu Yanzi was not youthful as most cultivators, he looked to be in his mid-fifties, his demonic cultivation did not grant him immortality. But he was still attractive. All of this combined with horny teenager hormones made Shen Jiu drool over his master often enough. He was still more than ready to kill him for Yue Qi, though.

Wu Yanzi's teachings have helped him a lot over the years. Not with his cultivation, sadly. He is, however, very good with honey-coating his words to hide the poison. Guilt-tripping is another thing he's good at. Yuè Qīngyuán spilled his shame-filled, guilt-riddled secrets after barely a week. His brother truly is an idiot. His reckless, too gentle idiot, but still an idiot!

There were a lot of nasty rumors about Shen Jiu having seduced his way into the Qing Jing peak lord's good graces. None of that was true and Shen Jiu resented the gossip even more for the fact that his shizun would forever be a wet dream and nothing more.

His shizun was a dream. He was kind and full of warmth and had let himself age to a point were he looked to be in his late sixties to reflect his readiness to ascend to the next realm. Shen Jiu fell for him very hard almost immediately and his need to sleep anywhere but the dorms was not only because he wasn't comfortable surrounded by other men, but also because of his frequent wet dreams about his shizun.

Most mortal men in town are bland or ugly and immortals almost always look too young. With the exception of the Huan Hua palace master that is. But this particular man, while superficially polite, seems to dislike him, so no luck there either.

Fast forward, now he has Luò Bīnghé as disciple, a brat with an infuriatingly outstanding talent and entirely too little brains. It's almost as if he got himself a mini Liǔ Qīnggē, except that this one is also still a pushover. Teaching the little beast will be quite the challenge.

His method of dealing with the boy is a mixture of sweetly concealed insults mixed with a bit of encouragement and harsh training, as well as strict punishments for every small failure. A bit of gaslighting on the side, too. It's vexing as well as amusing for him to see Luò Bīnghé struggle to make sense of everything, only to succeed more than expected.

Then Shěn Qīngqiū goes into seclusion in the Lingxi caves. He manages to save Liu Qingge. Shěn Qīngqiū has learned how to subdue and treat someone who's experiencing a qi-deviation from Mu Qingfang. Just in case something bad might happen to Yuè Qīngyuán again. It was also very good to learn for his own shaky foundation and his regular pitfalls.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. It seems to be true in Luò Bīnghé's case, because when Shěn Qīngqiū returns, he seems disgustingly excited to see his shizun again. He's even proud to be pitted against the demon elder during the invasion. Foolish boy, but very useful.

Then Shěn Qīngqiū is dragged into the dream realm with Luo Binghe. It's really annoying, especially because his disciple repeatedly fails to listen to his advice.

And then they meet Meng Mo.

The elder dream demon is pretty much the embodiment of Shěn Qīngqiū's dirty fantasies. And while Luò Bīnghé doesn't notice, Shěn Qīngqiū's desire is glaringly obvious to the demon elder. While Meng Mo generally hates humans and cultivators in particular, Shěn Qīngqiū' is interesting to him's reaction is rather intriguing. And it has Been. A. While. for Meng Mo, so why not have a little fun?

He sends Binghe into a deep sleep, then turns his full attention on Shen Qingqiu. The shared private dreamscape turns into something truly debauched...

Bīnghé is more infatuated with his shizun as well after his help in the dream realm. He's also very happy to hear that his shizun thinks not all demons are bad.

Actually Shen Qingqiu tells him that humans are just as evil as demons, there's not much difference, but Binghe misinterprets this. He offers to cook for his shizun and is overjoyed to have made a good enough impression to be allowed to move into the spare room beside the bamboo house. He vows to learn hard on Qing Jing peak and from Meng Mo as well to be able to protect his shizun. And to hopefully be one day worthy to court him.

In truth, Shěn Qīngqiū made him move into the spare room to have him close enough that Meng Mo is in range. It's obviously also best to treat the host of his lover well. While Bīnghé is training and dreams of a happy future with his shizun, said shizun is shagging his dream demon teacher in their own shared dreamscape. They briefly talk about Meng Mo changing hosts, but grudgingly agree that it's too risky. As a peak lord, Shen Qingqiu could be scrutinized more closely any time and both aren't sure carrying a dream demon around wouldn't catch the other peak lord's eyes. Luò Bīnghé, as a mere disciple, is far less likely to attract attention. At least for the time being.

Meng Mo is making fun of Liǔ Qīnggē's attempts at being friendly. He points out that the offerings of monster carcasses and frequent asks for sparring is more akin to demon courting than anything he ever saw from humans before. Weird, because the guy is fully human, Meng Mo checked. The last bit is a relief for Shěn Qīngqiū. He hopes that means the brute isn't actually trying to woo him all of a sudden and just has weird ideas about what constitutes as good gifts. Although, to be fair, the monster flesh is good for cultivation and make better gifts than he initially wanted to admit.

The disastrous Alliance Conference comes up. Bīnghé engages a Moon-Python-Rhinoceros, even though Shěn Qīngqiū orders him not to and the Endless Abyss opens. His seal breaks and Shěn Qīngqiū has a frantic conversation with Meng Mo, half past Bīnghé's head/mind, with Shěn Qīngqiū talking aloud and Meng Mo speaking in Shěn Qīngqiū's mind.

Shěn Qīngqiū asks whether he can conceal his demonic nature, to which Bīnghé and Meng Mo simultaneously answer no. Hiding him away until they are at Qing Jing again won't work until he learns how to conceal his nature on his own. Meng Mo tells Shen Qingqiu he will try to convince Bīnghé to jump into the Abyss to train, since he's reasonably sure he will survive there. Shěn Qīngqiū on the other hand wants Meng Mo to convince Bīnghé and then abandon him to stay in his mind instead, but inadvertently phrases it so that Bīnghé misunderstands that his shizun doesn't want him to leave because he doesn't want to lose him. Then they hear people call out close-by and Shěn Qīngqiū emphatically says to quickly come back to him and that he'll wait for him (meaning Meng Mo, obviously), then pushes Bīnghé into the Abyss.

Bīnghé is deeply confused why his beloved shizun threw him into the Abyss, if he doesn't want him to die. And he clearly doesn't, since he told him to come back! But why then? Meng Mo tells him that the other cultivators would've killed him on sight, obviously. He doesn't correct Bīnghé in his believe Shěn Qīngqiū meant Bīnghé with his last statements. It's not really a lie. After all, Bīnghé needs to return for Meng Mo to get back. He fails to notice that Bīnghé grows more and more determined to court Shěn Qīngqiū once he's back.

Cang Qiong is concerned. Everyone thinks Shěn Qīngqiū of all people mourns his disciple and most are weirded out by the change. Liǔ Qīnggē is more convinced he misunderstood his former rival's character. He and Yuè Qīngyuán try to cheer him up. Shěn Qīngqiū couldn't care less about Bīnghé, but is worried for Meng Mo.

Three years later Bīnghé comes back to Cang Qiong and proposes to his shizun. Shěn Qīngqiū and Meng Mo are both flabbergasted. Shěn Qīngqiū repeats his offer of being his host. Meng Mo actually leaves Bīnghé's mind and takes his lover's offer.

Bīnghé is surprised, then hurt and then absolutely furious. He tries to fight and kidnap his shizun and is met with the combined force of Yuè Qīngyuán, Liǔ Qīnggē, Shěn Qīngqiū and Meng Mo against him. He has to give up in the end, frustrated and heartbroken.

Yes, poor Binghe, no loving shizun to be found this time. I think it'll be funny, though.

[bits-and-babs]

🗝️

Old west gunfighter Mills aesthetic because I hat would be seriously hot. Thank you!

⋆ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐒

pairing: Gunslinger!Mills x Ladyof theNight!Reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: dark themes. Religious imagery, prostitution, violence, mild gore, mentions of bodies and death. Pining. Intimidating scenes. Oral (f receiving), fingering. Stoic Mills. 18+, ya friggin’ nasties. Not proof read, my ADHD is solid at the moment.

summary: In a tiny cowtown in The West, reckoning is found down the barrel of a gun.

mills masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist

Crucifixes litter the wooden walls of the local Tavern, imposing a sense of omnipresence over your local cowtown. The local preacher had been particularly pushing an agenda of following the ‘Golden Rule’ - Do unto others as you would have others unto you. In a town as illicit as this, his sermons frequently fell on deaf ears.

Despite the looming County Courthouse that cast a shadow over the settlement, deliverance on these dusty roads lay solely in the hands of a local man, one who embodied the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit and Justice all at once- an unholy quadrilateral.

As a Lady of the Night, your Golden Rule wasn’t quite as obtuse as the dogmatic missionary that screamed from the bell tower of the local church. The singular pillar of your line of work boiled down to a simple directive: never judge your client’s preferences.

That was harder said than done when it came to your most regular visitor.

Mills doesn’t live in town. The vigilante slipped into the tiny village whenever he heard of any trouble, hulking frame and huge black horse sticking out like a sore thumb against the population just shy of a thousand. He’d work against the clock, battling the County Courthouse to deliver justice before they were shipped out to one of the larger cities to face jail time.

One time, he shot a woman-beater right between the eyes on the witness stand, sneaking the barrel of his gun through the crack of an open window.

But, until the deed is done, he sleeps beside you. Your most aloof client, Mills, had entered the saloon on a rare, stormy evening. The air had crackled, charged for a lightning strike when the doors swung behind him, the locals occupying the stools at the bar slowly slinking their hands to the pistols on their hips.

“A Lady of the Night,” he had ordered. Settled across the lap of the local sheriff, you’d raised a brow in question, noting his familiar face. Deliverance or not, you’d treat him no different than the rest.

“I’m taken,” you’d stated, turning your head back to the rather smug-looking officer before hearing the loud crack of a heavy coin purse hitting the table before you. The thud of his boots approaching you across the rickety wooden floor sounded like powder kegs going off in the silent bar.

“$20 for an evening,” he’d nodded to the coin purse on the beer-soaked tabletop.

Choke on the cock of this sheriff, who smells of fermented beer and cigars, or spend the evening with a handsome stranger for two months' pay? It was a no-brainer— until you discovered what he actually wanted.

You’d expected him to launch at you the moment the bedroom door closed, rip your clothes and have you how he wanted against the mattress. Instead, he’d cradled you close on the bed, head settled against your bosom and swallowing your frame with his naked arms, his chemise discarded on the rocking chair in the corner.

It was the same every time, returning from the desert plains and throwing you mind-boggling sums of gold to listen to the thrum of your heart as he slept before returning to the sands in the morning. Months would pass between his visits, but your bed always lay waiting.

For three years, on and off, he would lay above you. Quite simply, you had gotten used to the strain of your bed frame with his mounted pressure atop, and had grown to appreciate the tickle of his long, ebony hair as it grazed your skin. It’s almost terrifying to admit, but you begin to realise the desperate need to lay awake with him. The constricting pain in your heart when you saw the first rays of sunlight meant more than simply appreciating his company.

You lived for it.

His life is a mystery to you. You question his availability, lamenting over the impossibility of such a handsome man being without a wife- though you note his finger lacks a golden band.

In the cold, silver moonlight that bleeds through the opaque curtains one evening, you brave the leap of faith and whisper the words you had considered to be blasphemous in these sacred, tranquil moments. A query no Lady of the Night should mutter.

“Do you… Belong?”

The question is vague, and open to interpretation. In the low lighting, your eyes strain to watch Mills’ expression, scanning the shadows of his face for any sign of disapproval in your frankly immoral utterance.

His large palms, sand-stripped and rough from years of pulling reigns and triggers alike, sweep down the form of your waist. They squeeze gently, feeling out the curves of your body as his breath steadily breezes across the contours of your breasts. Mills doesn’t lift his head, brow, or eyelids.

“No,” he whispers, voice so quiet it could carry away on the desert winds, “I do not belong to anyone.”

Winter crawls along on the wind that rattles the shutters and howls in the night. It creeps up on the town, microdosing the air with its earlier sunsets and slow-falling temperatures. In the daylight, the dark wooden chariots parked on the dirt tracks of the town still singe your palms when you touch them. But the frost bites at your window panes in the evening, crystallising in the corners like an unspoken threat.

You lay awake at night, heart bludgeoning your sternum as you listen out for the saloon door’s telltale creek. The hinges hadn’t been oiled in months, squealing beneath the strain of their own weight when a customer waltzes in, asking for a bourbon to take the edge off the cold.

He’s here.

The body of the young girl killed in cold blood on the white steps of the Courthouse played the part of the homing beacon. Another mistress; she had worked the room across the hall from you at the tavern and offered kind smiles of understanding when you sent a gentleman packing for being anything but.

Her blood pooled at the base of her skull, dripping down the crystal-white stairway and freezing overnight. She hadn’t been looted of her belongings, her expensive topaz necklace still hanging from her neck. It was a cold-blooded slaughter.

Then, other Ladies started disappearing, only for their corpses to appear posed and mutilated. Always political, always targeting their line of work. One was found in the pews of the local church.

The preacher had a field day, blessing the building with incense.

He’d arrived in town the following day, mahogany eyes drifting over the dried, crusty maroon flakes that stained the floor. Apparently, it was all he had needed, turning on his heel and disappearing into the heat ripples of the landscape.

No one in town had seen him in days. You hadn’t slept, refused to take on clients, and didn’t eat. It was unlike him to be in the area and not crawl into your bed. It felt particularly empty tonight, the weight of his head on your chest absent.

Splaying your palm across your chest, you feel for your own pulsation. It ticks against the crease of your lifeline, indicating its mechanisms were satisfactory despite the ache that strained against its chambers. Did he not want to see you? Had he found another to share his bed with? A wife?

In the pitch blackness, your candle still faintly smoking after being smothered, you hear a quiet ‘creek’. It’s faint, a whisper on the slight breeze that carries the dust from the saloon up the stairs.

Lurching in your chest, your pulse gallops against your ribs. You hadn’t heard the tell-tale clop of his horses’ hooves against the decking outside, the beast always tied by its leather reigns against the fencing. Hesitation glues you to the bed, a creeping suspicion needling the edge of your nerves as you strain to listen to the figure moving through the Saloon.

The footsteps are slow and tentative as they creep across the wooden planks that creak beneath their weight. Mills’ pace was deliberate, indifferent to the noise he made as he marched up the stairs towards your room. A chilling sense of alarm begins to take over, raising goosebumps on your arm as you reach between the pillows for your pistol.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the leather soles begin their ascent into the rickety wooden stairs. It’s all wrong. The pace with which the intruder ascends the stairs makes your blood freeze in your veins, frostbite burning the edges of your nerves with the cold. Mills would practically stomp up the stairs, the clink of gold coins in his purse rattling as he skipped two steps at a time with his giant stride.

Panic begins to urge you from your spot, feeling as though the springs of the mattress had twisted around your limbs and tied them to the sheets. Your fumbling fingers check that the hammer is cocked back, ready to spring, when your finger choked the trigger.

One, two, three… The gentle squeaks of the aged wood are, now, your only indication that someone is here. The prowling shadow was careful with its next steps, laying them across the planned floor so carefully that you almost didn’t catch that he’s made it to the first floor.

At this point, you aim. It’s wholly unstable, arms trembling under the weight of the pistol and the pressure of the patience you are forced to display.

“Don’t overthink it,” Mills had told you when he handed the gun over to you, his golden eyes heavy with a demand that was so unlike him. “If anyone threatens you, raise this. Do not hesitate.”

The quivering barrel points at the wooden pane of your bedroom door, in turn threatening the trespasser as they approach. You have to guess, have to predict where he is, as the sounds cut off once he reaches the woven carpet.

The wind howls outside like a rabid dog, scratching at the oak with the sand grains it carries to get inside. Still, above the din, the creaks in the boards toll like bells, indicating your impending doom— until they suddenly stop outside of your door.

Repetitive clicking noises ricochet off your bedroom walls, the doorknob turning forcing a whimper of fear to bubble past your lips. You slap an open palm over your mouth, smothering the sound as you hear the deadbolt settle into the wood. It’s open.

Crack.

The booming sound of a flintstock pistol blasts behind the door, the loud bang causing a repetitive ringing to settle between your ears. It dizzies you, the sound knocking your equilibrium. A soft thud bounces off the floorboards in the hallway, and the wooden frame of your door swings open slowly.

You can’t see much of the intruder behind the gaps in your fingers that you peer through. A bloodied hand stretches across the threshold, fingers twitching slightly. Above him stands Mills, his gilded eyes wide and wild as they drag across the room in search of you. His pistol in his palm smokes like a cigar, and you can taste the gunpowder in the air, but you’ve never been so relieved to see him.

“Mills-“ you choke out. He doesn’t even give you an opportunity to reach for him, kicking the jerking limb out of his way and storming across the small distance between you to scoop you into his arms.

It may be freezing outside, the frost on the windows encroaching on the room, but Mills is red hot. His palms dwarf your cheeks as he cradles them. You gaze up at him through your wet lashes, his eyes searching yours to check you’re okay. ‘Did he hurt you? Was I too late?’ You can see the questions run through his mind, reflected back in the sheer terror in his pupils that slowly melt away when you lean into his touch, a sob wracking its way through your chest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, a softly-spoken yet crude attempt to say grace. Mill’s irises cast up to the ceiling, squeezing your body close and releasing a weak chuckle of relief. He’s crushing you, pushing the oxygen from your lungs in a strained sigh.

“Fuck,” Mills repeats himself, his sand-calloused palm settling on your throat to hold your head up as he stifles your shocked sobs with a kiss. It all blurs, almost as fast as the whizz of a bullet, but his nose crushes into your cheek, and his teeth knock yours, and you can’t help but think he’s kissing you.

Neglecting your standard procedure of asking for the gold before taking part in the act, you thread your fingers through the ebony strands of hair that fall into his eyes, loosened from the bun in the wind. You moan softly, melting into his affections as he winds an arm around your waist in what seems to be an impossible attempt to pull you closer to him. You’d dreamt of this moment, imagining what it would be like when he slept against you.

There is a moment, a static, charged instant, where the kiss is delicate. His lips are chapped, beaten by the elements, yet pressed to yours with such a tender caress that the harsh surface of the skin feels feather soft. You feel it, the subdued energy of something far more affectionate than crackling, carnal attraction.

It appears to spark its own lustful connection, Mills’ hands suddenly dragging over your frame as his kiss intensifies. It’s heavier, hungrier. His tongue delves into your mouth, tracing against your own while his fingers tug at the cotton fabric of your nightgown. Without your usual attire, as scandalous and lecherous as it is, you feel vulnerable, and gasp into Mill’s mouth when he rips the neckline of it open to expose your cleavage.

“Darlin’,” he whispers to you, voice as thick as the cigar smoke that clings to the ceiling of the Saloon bar. Embers settle in the pit of your stomach, fanned by his breath as it brushes the flesh of your cheeks. A warm chill licks up your spine, covering your exposed flesh in goosebumps as the pad of Mills’ thumb circles your nipple with the same reverence he extends to the trigger of his pistol. Soft, delicate, yet understanding the detonation he could spawn if he pulled just right-

“Please-“ you breathe, and it comes out much needier than you intend. It lilts, the single syllable, creeps up into a high-pitched whine when he gently pinches the peak of the tender flesh.

“I can see it,” he whispers, his voice falling to impossible depths within you and coaxing that craving within you that calls for him. It’s like he’s your opium, your whiskey that you drown yourself in until you can’t stand. “I can see how much you need me, how badly you want me.”

You shudder in his hold, squeezing your thighs together when you feel his lips brushing against yours. “I’ll give you what you want. I want to give it to you.”

The blood still leaks from the corpse at the entrance to your room, but the involuntary whimper that slips from your tongue is the only answer he needs.

He crowds you onto your mattress, your feet stumbling over the flat surface of the floor until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Mills descends with you, palms easily dragging the hem of your nightgown skirt over your knees and hips. The air is so cold, but you’re stifling, the simple sensation of the soft wear-worn fabric dragging across your sensitive skin, breeding a heavy arousal between your thighs.

You watch, entranced, as the town’s deliverance sinks to his knees beneath you, palms settling into your thighs and hoisting your body back to him with an ease that leaves you breathless. Your thighs are heavy on his shoulders, dead weight with how your arousal coats your muscles and renders them useless. Mills doesn’t complain once, burying his head between your knees and pressing delicate kisses against the soft flesh beside your knees.

It’s not right, you think. No man had ever asked for your services only to focus his attentions on you. The query, however, dies between synapses as Mills blows a gentle stream of cool air against your soaked cunt. You yelp softly, overwhelmed as the flat of his tongue glides through the seam of your sex and settles against your clit.

“Oh- Oh God-“ you choke out, hips jerking against his face despite your attempts to smother the involuntary action. You swear you can feel him smile against you, but again he hauls the thought from the depths of your mind when the tip of his tongue circles your clit. Mills leans the weight of his upper body into his palms, his hands holding the backs of your thighs to push your knees on either side of your chest. The exposure would be mortifying, if not for the overwhelming sensation of your muscles contracting in bliss with each swipe of his tongue.

“M-Mills,” you pant, fingers once again threading through his hair to seek purchase. It grounds you, pulling on the raven strands when something viscous lurches inside of you and threatens to overwhelm your trembling body.

“Ohh- hnnngggfuck-“ you curse, and it tastes like ash on your tongue in what feels like such a hallowed moment. Your arousal smears Mills face where you buck against him, nose and lips gleaming in the faint moonlight and his fingers slowly bury themselves in your cunt with little resistance, but it all feels so sacred. Like the crazy preacher from the bell tower would bless you both for discovering the feeling that ensnares your heart when you look at him.

Mills’ eyelids flutter, looking through his lashes at you. The honey of his irises are devoured by his pupils, watching you tremble beneath his lips. You’re sure that you must look ridiculous, eyebrows pulled up to brace against the impending release that teases at the edges of your body.

“H-hohhh-“ you wail pathetically. You want to say something. Want to thank him, want to praise him for saving you, will him on, tell him that you love him— but his now silky lips wrap around your clit and suck on the bundle of nerves, the pad of his finger brushing up against something earth-shattering within you. It slams against you, forcing your hips to drag across Mills’ mouth.

“Come on,” he whispers, lips moving against your clit. His mouth barely manages to expel the first syllable of his order before your building orgasm crashes around you, pulling up tight and crumbling like the goldmines beyond your city. The pad of Mills’ fingers inside of you continue to bear down on that mind-numbing place inside of you, and you scream something that slurs between a curse and his name.

Your ears ring again when you come down from the high he launched you to, eyes reeling in your skull as you encase them with your heavy eyelids. Despite the heaving of your chest, Mills appears comfortable when he settles his face against your cleavage. His weight pins you to the bed and roots you back down to earth after he’d catapulted you to the stars.

Of course, he waits. He waits for the dying light of your orgasm to dwindle until your lungs stop greedily stealing oxygen until the cramps of your muscles dissipate. His kisses coax you into the conversation, affections easing you despite the topic.

“I’d been trackin’ him for days, Darlin’. M’sorry he got so close to you.” An apology he didn’t need to offer— though it’s not an offer at all. It’s as though he shoves the regret into your hands like a cherry-bomb with a lit wick, anticipating his late arrival would blow up in his face.

You swallow, only just realising that the use of your muscles has returned to your shaken body. Sweeping your hands over his head, you settle his obvious discomfort with the simple, yet familiar, affection. Mills accepts it gratefully, and you feel his lashes flutter closed when they tickle your skin.

“You-… You don’t have to pay me. For that- you…” The words feel too big for your mouth, hesitation creeping between the syllables. “You didn’t complete- you shouldn’t have to pay.”

Mills pauses, eyes still firmly shut and head nestled against your chest. He doesn’t move, but you feel the way his breath stills as he contemplates his following words. Of course, he maintains his outward steel, emotions impossible to read on his flat, immovable expression.

“The only gold you will be receivin’ from me will go on your left hand. You hear?”

You do. Loud and clear. Though, of course, you don’t bother to remind him that a marriage officiant via the County Courthouse would be an almost impossible task given his proclivity for reckoning.

A trip outside of this tiny town seemed like a brilliant idea, away from the whispers, the cigar smoke of the saloon and the crazy ramblings of the preacher in the walls of the bell tower.

“… Yes, Sheriff.”

END

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[ricihh]

My bestie's request for his birthday gift!! (which was yesterday but anyway) A long pwp full of rare pairs and tws so read the tags!!

Rating: E

Fandom: Brawl Stars

Relationship: Ash/Rico, Ash/Fang, Ash/Colt, Ash/Doug, Ash/Buzz, Ash/Surge

Main Tags: Oneshot, Gangbang, PWP, Trans Male Character, Crack Treated Seriously, Double/Triple Penetration

Warnings: Extremely Dubious Consent, Infidelity, Voyeurism, AFAB Terms

Summary: Bachelor Party: A celebration for a soon-to-be groom organized and attended primarily by male friends, often on the night before or in the days leading up to the wedding, and ranging from a formal gathering to a night of drinking and entertainment at a strip joint.

Rico knew from the first moment he announced his wedding to Piper that his friends would go the second way when choosing the type of party, but nothing could ever make him imagine what the main attraction they would choose to entertain their guests would be. 

A live piñata. A (strangely) very hot one.

Maybe it was wrong to fall prey to temptation when you're engaged, but the bachelor party is a promise of one-night-only fun, so where's the sin in trying? 

Other guests had the exactly same thought. 

[ao3feed-twiyor]

Until Dinner Do Us Part (Rewrite)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/zqtpZBC by soulshine (soulspirit) Yuri Briar and Franky aren't really friends. They only tolerate each other because they love their family. But when they win a romantic dinner with the captain of the cruise ship they're on, they take 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' a little too seriously. This is inspired by a scene in one of my others works: What We Have (Chapter 3), but you honestly need no context other than the entire of the Forger family (and Damian) are on a cruise ship for summer break. Words: 3561, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: SPY x FAMILY (Manga), SPY x FAMILY (Anime) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Yuri Briar, Franky Franklin, Loid Forger | Twilight, Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess, Anya Forger (mentioned), Damian Desmond (Mentioned) Relationships: Yuri Briar & Franky Franklin, Loid Forger | Twilight/Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess, Yuri Briar & Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess, Loid Forger | Twilight & Franky Franklin, Maybe this should be Yuri Briar/Franky Franklin Additional Tags: this is a rewrite, Debated using Franky/Yuri, Frank-Yuri Uncle Rivalry, And General Rivalry, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, it's really more of a burden, No Plot/Plotless, Inaccurate Depictions Of The Marriage Process, No Homophobia, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends, just friends?, I'm not really sure even tho it's been over a year now, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Arguing, Bonding, Summer Vacation, Summer Love?, You Know I'll let you all decide their relationship, Rare Pairings, Kind Of read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/zqtpZBC

[crackinglamb]

Fanfic Writer Questions

Tagged by @dreadfutures, thank you! 💕

Tagging @ir0n-angel, @natsora, @lilbittymonster, @maculategiraffe, @bogunicorn, @theluckywizard, @fasterpuddytat and @pikapeppa. No pressure!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

113

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,917,213 as of this morning.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Dragon Age, Fallout 4 and Doctor Who are the three current. In the past I've written for Mass Effect, Southern Vampire Mysteries/True Blood and Borderlands. I have one (1) lonely Wayhaven Chronicles oneshot.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

What a Wicked Game to Play - 1590. This is my epic DA MGIT fic. Solas/OFC, rated E, 412K words.

Twist - 1416. This was my first DA longfic. Carly and Co. show up in the top five again. Solas/OFC, rated E, 197K words.

Junkyard Dogs - 551. My very first fic. Written for FO4 almost 7 years ago. Hancock/F!SoSu, rated E, 107K words.

Twist Some More - 460. An extended epilogue/love letter to Carly and Solas. Rated E, 67K words.

Humans Are Just...Like That - 327. A sorta crack treated seriously oneshot for Mass Effect. It began its life as a long thread in a Discord server. I made a comment to the effect that it should be turned into a fic, and everyone told me to go for it. So I did. FemShep/Garrus in the background, rated T, ~3K words.

(All of these are complete, too.)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Almost always. Even if it's just with emojis. I generally say that I will reply to every comment as long as it's polite.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

No More My Heart Beats Without You, a Solavelyan oneshot. 'Ware the tags. Rated E, 5K words.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

TSM, without a doubt. The entire point of the Twistverse was to write a happy ending Solavellan.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Rarely. I'd say I get more trolling than hate. To date I've only had to moderate one fic to keep it under control.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

*cackles* 51 of 113 of my fics are rated E and another 18 are rated M (although sometimes that's for violence). What kind? Any kind. Explicit, fade to black, character driven, pure PWP, established ship, there's a couple of threesomes in there, a variety of kink...

I am a shameless purveyor of sexual content.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've only ever written in-franchise crossovers, and I don't think those count.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope. People are welcome to as long as they credit back to my original, though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! I've written a couple round-robin style fics with the DAFF crew, and collaborated with my beloved Angel once or twice.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

I'm poly and aro. OTP is not in my vocabulary. 🤣 But I have pairings I return to, time and again. The Doctor/Rose, Hancock/SoSu, Varric/Hawke, Solas/Anyone.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Just Like Fire. It started as a prompt fic when I was in a slump. But now I'm kinda over it and don't really feel like putting in the energy to wrap it up. Solavellan, rated E, 26K words.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, smut, being succinct and bite-sized. Even in the longfics. And of course, canon shall be yeeted.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Endings! OMG, trying to get myself to a conclusion is like pulling teeth.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm eh about it. Sometimes I do it with fantasy languages, sometimes I do it if it's canon (I know, a rarity for me). Sometimes I just don't because it's more work than I care to do. It's case by case.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Fallout 4

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Uh... *forgets everything I've ever written*

Look, I tend to write for me first and foremost, so I reread a lot of my own work and inevitably get sucked into it. I am the target audience, after all. But there's a couple that I've reread the most:

Unexpected - FO4, Kellogg/SoSu, rated E, 30K words. This was my first real attempt at canon divergence and I still love it very much.

Hope Is a Fragile Thing - DA, Solas/OFC, rate T, 13K words. A soft but kinda sad post-canon thing. The goal with it was to both finish the writing before posting a word of it (which is how I do all my work now), and to write a MGIT without explaining how she got there.

Blank template under the cut

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favorite fic you've written?

[hannahhook7744]

Hitched!;

Written with: @ouatnextgen .

Rating: General Audiences.

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply.

Category: M/M.

Fandoms: Once Upon a Time (TV), Once Upon a Time in Wonderland (TV).

Relationships:

Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters:

Captain Hook | Killian Jones

Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Storybrooke Residents (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags:

Rare Pairings

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies

Marriage Proposal

Captain Hook | Killian Jones In Love

Hurt Captain Hook | Killian Jones

Captain Hook | Killian Jones needs a hug

Mild Hurt/Comfort

Chaotic Captain Hook | Killian Jones

Chaotic Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Misunderstandings

Eventual Happy Ending

Crack Treated Seriously

Language: English.

Series: MadHook.

Summary: Killian and Jefferson get hitched.

Trigger Warnings: swearing, smoking, mentioned drinking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, impulsive decisions, etc.

[wolfawaycamp]

name: Elijah

tumblr/AO3: @electricdecades X everywhere

age: 19

signoff emoji: 🌦️

NSFW?: sure

things I'll write: all counsellors, rylan, lauramax, ships, friendships, qprs, rarepairs, polyamory, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, furblygstos, blygbank, neurodiversity/disability, trans characters, crack treated seriously, alternate formats (e.g. transcripts, letters, chatfics), vers/switch agenda, nsfw, kink (with boundaries), mlm/wlm/wlw, honestly a Lot of things

maybe/I'll do my best: darkfic (with limits— esp rather not do sexual darkfic), x readers???, full on crack fics, Travis?????????

things I won't write: incest, ships with one of lauramax without the other, probably the same for rylan, dylan/women (romantically), pregnancy, ddlg/the like, severe OOC

hi I'm Elijah...... I've been writing terrible fanfiction since a young age and now I'm writing pretty okay fanfiction! nice to meet you all.... I'm pretty sure I also joined in October 2023 which is kind of an insane coincidence. I'm aggressively AuDHD and enjoy intentionally/unintentionally projecting that onto characters :3 basically if I can find a flow on it I'll write a massive range. submit your rarest pairs and I'll ponder them..... or submit the least rare pair (rylan) and I'll consume them

note: I write in British English (other than a few words that I prefer to spell in the American way, and word choices when it comes to American characters' POV/dialogue)