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ahqkas · 21 days ago

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“WHEN YOU’RE LOST IN THE DARKNESS, LOOK FOR THE LIGHT — dick grayson.

PAIRING dick grayson 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS he was completely frustrating. him with his cheeky grins and perfect teeth. maybe that’s why it didn’t anger you when he took an interest in you WORD COUNT 5.6k WARNINGS / TAGS artist!reader, cursing, mention of reader’s hair, unedited NOTES yes the title is inspired by tlou & yes i compared dick to a blue jay. i decided to mix 2 different reqs ( req 1 & req 2 ) because they worked well together for me soo i hope it’s okay! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

IN ART, WHAT WE WANT IS THE CERTAINTY THAT ONE SPARK OF ORIGINAL GENIUS SHALL NOT BE EXTINGUISHED.

Said Mary Cassatt, and her words had echoed in your mind for as long as you could remember. There was something comforting in the idea that creativity—pure, untouched, and entirely your own—could endure even such cruel punishment as darkness. Darkness was a language you understood well, especially living in Gotham, where shadows devoured the city inch by inch until there was nothing but colorless void. The darkness wrapped itself around you, slowly seeping in to claim your soul as well, like the chill of a cold winter night creeping into your bones.

But even in a city this unfair, you believed there was still some beacon of light. Hidden, of course, but not extinct.

And so, you painted. You drew. You created. Every stroke of your brush and pencil felt infinite. Art was the closest thing you felt to immortality, and you clung to that belief like a child did to innocence.

Your small apartment was more than just a simple place where you lived. Every inch of the space bore a trace of you and of your determination to carve something special into the world. The walls, once peeling and beige, were now alive with color. A breath of life you granted the old home. It wasn’t much, your apartment, but it was yours.

The darkness couldn’t quite reach you there, and the light found you within your search for it.

It was late past midnight when you met him. The hour of the night was silent despite the fact you were living on one of the most dangerous streets of Gotham. Silent, but far from safe. The full moon hung high in the sky, its pale light struggling to pierce through the dark clouds that blanketed the whole night. Every so often, the moonlight would break free and shimmered a silver beam that barely softened the shadows.

You sat curled up on your old, beaten couch in your living room, aching legs tucked beneath you. The thrifted mustard-yellow couch sat beneath a gallery wall you’d arranged with so much focus you were unmistakably proud of the piece. The light from the fairy lights strung above the paintings softened the sharp edges of your apartment.

The pencil between your fingers moved along the paper with practiced movements of an artist as you clutched the sketchbook close to you with your free hand. You brought the drawing of a blue jay to life. Its small, delicate body was perched on the middle of the page, its head tilted slightly to the side as if caught mid-movement. The blue jay’s wings began to take a lively form beneath your hands.

You loved sketching birds—the way they had an open opinion of freedom in their feathers, how they could fly away from the weight of everything below on earth.

The quiet was broken by a dull thump.

Your pencil stilled, the sharp tip pressing into the delicate beak of the blue jay as you tilted your head towards the sound. It came again, heavier this time, right outside on the fire escape under your living room window. Living in Gotham meant you knew better than to ignore suspicious and strange sounds, especially at this hour.

Setting the sketchbook down on the coffee table, you slid off the couch with a pounding heart and bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. The window was already cracked open, letting in a cold breeze of night air. It prickled at your skin and sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine.

You moved with an intention to investigate, your hand gripping the window frame when you leaned forward slightly to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Before you could fully stick your head through the opening, something shifted — a flash of movement so sudden that you instinctively took a step back to avoid bumping your head. Then, just as quickly, a figure shot up from the darkness surrounding your fire escape and you watched as his top half leaned against the window frame with effortless grace.

Anyone could recognize the symbol gracing his chest.

Nightwing was on your fire escape, practically with one of his halves in your apartment.

You blinked at him, startled at the unexpected visit from Gotham's (wait, wasn’t he supposed to be in Blüdhaven?) acrobatic vigilante. He stared back without shame. His face was partially illuminated by the soft glow of your fairy lights and his forehead, plus the top of his eyes, were hidden beneath the dark strands of his hair. Damp with sweat and light spray of rain. The black domino mask was doing little to hide the attractiveness of his handsome face, although it did not tell you his identity. Or the color of his eyes. The white lenses didn’t show any signs of life, it would be almost unsettling if it wasn’t for the other features of his face.

His jaw was sharp, the bone ready to cut through glass, and his lips held a shadowy grin in them. His chest heaved as if he’d just ran a marathon, or in his case, as if he’d just been in a chase. And his suit—a sleek, midnight black with that striking blue emblem—was marred by faint fabric tears and streaks of grime.

When he spoke up after a minute of analyzing you, his voice was breathless but warm, like he hadn’t just scared the life out of you by his entrance. “Hey. Sorry about the dramatics. Mind if I, uh, come in?” He glanced over his shoulder briefly, as though checking to see if someone had followed him.

You swallowed the lump that formed in the back of your throat, fingers still gripping onto the windowsill. You were pretty sure the surprise and disbelief etched into your face could be completely seen. “What? You’re joking, right?” those small words stumbled past your lips in a sharper tone than you intended. “You can’t just—“ gesturing vaguely to the fire escape he was standing on, you trailed off for him to finish the sentence himself.

But instead of an answer, Nightwing simply offered a grin, all perfect teeth. It was the kind that felt like it was meant to disarm you and melt you into a puddle at his feet. A swooning, pretty puddle.

“Technically, I can. But I’d prefer not to freeze out here while we debate it.”

Your reply to his cheeky comment died in your throat the moment you heard it—an angry bellow from somewhere below, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots thumping against the wet pavement. The voices were low and animalistic, only growing louder by seconds. Whoever they were, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were looking for.

Shooting him a pointed look with one of your eyebrows raised, you realized it was useless as he was already halfway through the window, ducking inside easily. He didn’t so much as flinch when his heavy boots hit the floor with a faint thud. You could only watch the trail of dirt and grime he was leaving behind himself. The sounds from outside faded into muffled whispers when he closed the window, and effectively scanned the room with a quick glance.

“You really have a way of making an entrance,” you mumbled under your breath as you gave him space and moved back towards the sofa. The sarcasm wasn’t meant to reach his ears but with the way one corner of his lips tugged up, you knew he heard every single word. Did this guy have super hearing?

The faintest glint of amusement danced on his features, despite the lack of emotion in his hidden eyes. You could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips quirked up. “It’s part of the job description,” he replied to your remark casually, as if crashing into strangers’ apartments was just another Tuesday for him.

With a sigh, you shook your head and leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching him move around the living room. He didn’t sit, didn’t relax, didn’t even pause long enough to breathe out the weight of his situation. Instead, his gaze grazed over everything in clear sight — your paintings on the wall, the cluttered coffee table and its content, the pencils scattered across your notepad.

He was strange.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking,” his response came quickly, he was probably distracted by the hand brushing against the edge of the window frame as he double-checked the latch.

You watched him carefully and tried to not let his presence throw you off. There was something unbelievable about seeing him there, in the heart of your apartment of all places, where every inch of the space was yours. Technically, he was in your territory now.

“Don’t worry,” Nightwing added with humor etching his voice when you didn’t say anything. “I’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Take your time,” the dripping sarcasm got out the exact same reaction from him just like before, and you watched as he smirked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a way that told you he was far too used to getting under people’s skin. Cheeky bastard.

This inspection of his lasted for a few more minutes before his pacing slowed down and his masked eyes landed on your beaten couch. The faint amusement in his features shifted, softening into something more thoughtful as he approached you. You stiffened when he got close enough. The light scent of cologne hit your nose from the proximity.

Gloved hand reached for your notepad, and you watched him again when he started tracing the soft pencil lines of your sketches. You seemed to watch him a lot tonight, but you didn’t dare to interrupt him. He was still a stranger and you lived alone. The vigilante could take you down without breaking a sweat, no comment.

The blue jays stared back at him from the page with their wings outstretched mid-flight, the faint smudge of pencil giving them a sense of movement, like they could lift off the paper and fly toward their freedom at any moment.

“You drew these?” the question slipped before he could think of it and the raw quietness of his tone surprised you.

You hesitated before you gave him the answer. “Yeah, I did. What, are you secretly an art critic, too?”

His lips twitched, but his eyes stayed on the sketches. “Blue jays,” the murmur was more to himself than to you. “They’re nice.”

“Nice?” you echoed back at him, a small smile ghosting your lips upon hearing his praise. “That’s your verdict? Nice?”

This time, his wide grin returned as he glanced at you from your artwork. You decided on the spot that you liked this look on him. He could be all sharp edges and rough words, but the genuine smiles and clever remarks were a part of him, too. “Hey, I don’t know the first thing about art. But they’re good. Really good. Why blue jays though?”

You shrugged your shoulders, crossing your arms around yourself tightly. His clear interest in your work made you feel strangely exposed. “They’re . . . free. They can leave whenever they want, fly away from everything. I guess I like the idea of that.”

Nightwing was quiet for a moment, his masked gaze flicking back to the page like he was seeing something more between the colors and lines you’d drawn. He really was strange. “Makes sense,” he said finally. “They’re tough, too. Survivors.”

For a man who’d just come crashing through your window, being chased by a bunch of angry goons, he suddenly seemed relaxed. The birds meant more to him than he was letting on.

“Guess that explains why you like them.”

“What, you think I’m a blue jay now?”

A smirk made its way to your lips, and you felt a slight hint of satisfaction brewing inside you. You finally got him. “You said it yourself. Tough. Survivors. Seems fitting.”

It was a strange image, seeing someone who carried so much weight on his shoulders standing here, in your little apartment, admiring a simple sketch of a bird. Most people assumed he was a machine under the suit, someone who did their job because it had to be done. But you saw the life in his smile and heard the feelings in his voice. Red flooded his system like any other human being possessed. A beating heart and marred skin. He was human, even under all that armor.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, effectively breaking the silence that followed your cheeky remark. “I’m glad my art could distract you from the mad mob outside.”

That earned you a genuine laugh, low and rich. You noted he had a nice laugh. Everything about him was nice, though. Maybe it was because it was the first time seeing him from up close or maybe it was simply that he got your attention.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The next few days were rather busy. You had more work on your shoulders and your family kept pressing about your upcoming visit (spoiler alert; you didn’t really plan on visiting them). Your family members lived far from Gotham, which you were particularly glad for. One boring and busy day went after the other, and so did you with your life. You weren’t going to admit it, but you missed the sudden excitement the cocky vigilante brought with him. It was something new, something that wasn’t boring.

The wind carried a chill that nipped at the exposed skin of your face, numbing your cheeks in the process. The streets of Gotham were alive despite the coldness the new day brought with itself—the city never really stopped, even when it probably should have. Your tea sat untouched beside your half-eaten croissant, warm steam curling lazily above the porcelain cup, while your hand moved steadily across the pages of your sketchbook.

You were drawing another blue jay. This one was perched on a thin branch, its head cocked slightly with ruffled feathers as if caught in the same breeze that howled right now. The pencil lines of your drawing were sharper this time, more confident, though you weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was because you couldn’t stop thinking about them—the blue jays.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, your thoughts fixating on a subject, but this time it felt different. Ever since that night, when Nightwing had stood in the heart of your living room and held your sketch like it was something worth admiring, you’d been thinking about them more and more often. Birds had always represented freedom to you. A fleeting kind of beauty, one that wouldn’t last long. But now they carried something else. Something more.

You found yourself replaying his words in your mind while you shaded the curve of the blue jay’s wing, your pencil working instinctively as the low conversations and local sounds of the café faded into a hushed whisper. The bird began to take shape, its tiny body beaming with life.

The next thing you knew, the chair you were sitting on rocked slightly and your bag was violently jerked from the edge of the table.

It took you a second to process what had happened. One second, your purse was there, sitting by your side, and the next, it was gone. Snatched by a blur of unidentified movement. Your heart skipped an uncomfortable beat as you whipped your head towards the stranger, catching sight of the thief bolting through the crowded street.

Panic started to settle in. Your bag. Gone. It was gone. Everything was in there—your money, your keys, your ID. The grip of your fingers on the pencil in your grasp tightened while adrenaline surged through your veins. Without having any second thoughts, you shot to your feet. The chair scraped loudly against the floor and you bolted after him.

“Hey! Stop!”

The thief was already halfway down the block when you finally pushed past the crowd with alarming speed. Your boots moved without any more thinking. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was quick on his feet, his figure darting between pedestrians who shouted in surprise and yelped in confusion when he pushed into them to clear his path. Your lungs burned as you tried to push against your limits and keep up with him. The strap of your bag was swinging wildly in his grip.

“Stop!” you shouted again, although you doubted he would listen. He wouldn’t. People around turned to look at the chaos, but no one made a move to help. It was Gotham, after all — everyone looked after their own self.

The thief rounded a corner, successfully disappearing into an alley, and you felt a pinch of dread forming in your stomach. You didn’t know this part of the city well, and the narrow alleyway clothed in shadows sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine. Hesitation brewed in you for a moment before you made up your mind. Fuck it. You didn’t care that chasing him was reckless. You didn’t care that you had no plan for what you’d do if you actually managed to catch up to him. All you knew was that he had your bag—your life—and you weren’t about to let him get away with it.

Whoosh!

You barely registered the sound at first. Your focus was entirely on your thief, the dark shade of his jacket disappearing deeper and deeper, just beyond your reach. The puffs of air left your lips in a sharp shape and the cold air didn’t help much. But you didn’t stop running. You couldn’t stop.

Then, out of nowhere, a dark blur descended from above, landing right in your path.

“Whoa, hold it!”

The familiar drawl of his voice ringed in your ears before you saw him. You skidded to a halt, nearly losing your balance as his figure stepped into the sight. His arms were outstretched to block your way, and you felt a sudden burst of frustration upon his appearance. After all, you still had a bad guy to catch.

“Move,” moving to the side, you tried to sidestep him and start your chase again. Key word—tried. He shifted smoothly, following your movements like a mirror.

“Not happening,” he interrupted you firmly. “You can’t go running after some guy who might be armed. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“I don’t care. He has my purse—my money, my keys, everything! I have to—“

“You have to stay here,” Nightwing cut you off again, and you pushed the urge to strangle him away. His presence was infuriating, even though you could see every muscle in his jawline tightening and tensing. He was holding back, that much was evident.

“I don’t need your help.”

His hands shot out the moment you tried to brush past him again, gloves catching your biceps in a firm hold. It wasn’t painful, nor would leave any marks in the form of bruising, but he held you in a grounding manner. Almost as if he wanted to calm you down.

“Yes, you do,” the glint of seriousness in his gaze made you halt in your argument. He meant every single word. “Look, I get it. You’re pissed, you’re scared, and you feel like you have to do something. But this guy could have a knife, or worse, and you’re completely unarmed. He’s probably long gone by now, too. I’ll track him down and get your stuff. That’s a promise, Blue.”

You swallowed hard as the fire that fueled your intentions died a little bit. He was right, even though you didn’t want to admit it.

“Fine, but you better catch him.”

A small, reassuring nod and a gentle squeeze was all you received from the masked vigilante before he released you and took off after the thief. A moment later, you realized he gave you a nickname.

Blue.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The thick steam from your earlier shower still lingered in the bathroom, curling faintly in the air and clinging along the tiles and the edges of the mirror as you massaged moisturizer into your skin like you did every night. It was a routine by now. One you were excited to participate in. Your favorite playlist hummed softly from the phone propped up on the counter near the sink, the melody blending with the occasional rustle of the city outside your window.

Gotham was quiet tonight. No sirens. No shouts. Just silence.

You signed and leaned against the counter as you let the coolness of the white cream soothe your skin. The events of this day were rather . . . unpleasant. Your purse was gone, and the thought of all the things you’d lost still made your chest ache. Your keys, your ID, even your favorite pen you always kept in the front pocket—all gone, snatched in a moment. But at least you were safe. Nightwing had made sure you didn’t dive head first into what could have been a disaster.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, either. The way he’d swooped in like some kind of a movie hero. For a man who lived his life surrounded by constant danger, he’d had this unmistakably calmness about him, like no problem was big enough to not handle.

Reaching for a soft towel, you patted your face dry with it when you finished the last step of your nighttime routine. A moment of realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your sketchbook.

Your heart sank deeply in your chest, and you froze, gripping the towel tightly. You’d left it at the café. It must’ve been sitting there on the table, untouched, while you chased after that thief like a reckless idiot. You would be lucky if you found it where you’d left it lying as there was a possibility of a tired barista throwing it away.

That notepad wasn’t just another notebook to you. It held weeks, months, of drawings—ideas, experiments, half-finished sketches that no one but you had seen. And the blue jays he praised . . .

The day’s exhaustion weighed heavily on your tense shoulders as you finally made your way to your bedroom. You switched off the light in the hallway, plunging your apartment into darkness save for the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the cracks in the blinds.

A dark shadow caught your eyes the second you stepped into the room and your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. There, casually perched on your windowsill was Nightwing, dressed in shadows.

His grin was the first thing you recognized on him, the wide stretch of his lips almost haunting in the darkness. His teeth appeared almost sharp, like canines of a predator. But he wasn’t here to hunt tonight. One gloved hand held your bag, dangling it from his fingers as if presenting you a beloved prize.

“Miss me, Blue?”

“Are you insane?” hissing, your palm resting against your beating heart. “You can’t just show up like that!”

A delighted laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he stepped inside like he didn’t invade your personal space and almost gave you a heart attack. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He tossed your stolen (now found) bag on your bed with a flick of his wrist. It took you a moment to process what you were seeing but when you did, your panic gave away to stunned disbelief. “You got it back?”

“Of course. I promised you.”

The smug look on his face softened after those words left his throat. You crossed the room in quick steps, rushing to get your hand on your belongings. Once it was in your hold, you rummaged through the inside. Everything was still there—your keys, your wallet, even the blue pen you favored so much. Relief flooded your system and you finally felt your shoulders relaxing. It was all returned.

You glanced at him from the bag, suddenly feeling somehow embarrassed. “I—I don’t even know what to say.”

“How about ‘thank you, Nightwing, for saving the day’? That would do,” the arch of his eyebrows told you he was enjoying this, if only a little. Smug bastard.

Rolling your eyes, you felt your lips tugging into a smile anyway. “Thank you for getting me my bag back. Happy?”

“It’s exactly what I wanted but yeah, very.”

A minute of silence stretched between you, one that wasn’t entirely comfortable but during that time, you studied him. He was leaning against the edge of your bed, just shy away from your side.

“You’ve been drawing them a lot, huh?”

“What?”

“The blue jays,” Nightwing gestured towards your desk with his free hand, the other behind his back. He looked strange, amusing even, but you didn’t dare to point it out. You followed his movements, eyes sliding toward your desk full of stray papers. He was right, the wooden space was filled with your recent works, and among them were multiple pieces of those blue birds. “You were working on them that night. At the café, too.”

Your lips parted slightly to voice your confusion, but the words didn’t come. He had noticed? And kept track of it? You didn’t know if you should feel creeped out or honored.

You didn’t get to react much before he perked up. “Oh, almost forgot,” pulling the occupied hand from behind his back, you noticed he held a small book in it.

Not just any book, though. Your sketchbook.

“You went back for it?” the disbelief dripped from the tone of your voice as you reached for the notepad. Your fingertips brushed against his gloves when you did so, and a spark of light crossed through you at the faint touch.

“Figured you’d want it back,” he tried to act nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders without a care in the world, but even if you knew him for such a short period of time, you could tell he was just acting. The subtle tone of his voice betrayed him, along with the rosy dust painting his cheeks. Your thumb traced the broken spine of the notepad. The thought of him chasing down your thief, retrieving your stolen stuff, and then returning for your more personal thing left you speechless. He didn’t have to, but he did—again.

He was so close to you now that the faint scent of rain and city clung to him, mixing with his natural fragrance. You could inhale it all while you saw everything, too—the sharp line of the bone in his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows like he was constantly deep in his mind, and even the way the moonlight caught on the pink dusting the top of his ears.

His pose shifted lightly, in a way that made the space between the two of you feel almost nonexistent. Your instinct told you to move, but your feet didn’t move.

“You’re . . . really something, you know that?”

Your heart beat against the bones protecting your ribs so loud you swore he could hear it. The white lenses of his black mask flickered all over your face, almost like he wanted to memorize every delicate detail, like he wanted to count every lash on your eye individually.

“You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but I think I’m starting to.”

No response made its way past your lips. It died at the base of your throat, and no one could rip it out of you.

His hand reached out in your peripheral vision, slowly, like he was giving you an option to stop him whenever you felt like. There was no force between you, just purity of the actions. When you didn’t stop him, he moved bolder and louder, long fingers tracing the curve of your cheek before brushing against the damp strands of your hair. He pushed it back behind your ear, his touch lingering even there.

You could feel his breath mingling with yours, becoming one.

And then, just as you felt the unmistakable pull towards him, Nightwing pulled away. He took a step back like he remembered who he was.

“Take care of that,” he nodded towards your hold that clutched your sketchbook.

You opened your to say something, anything because what the fuck was he doing when he jumped out of the bedroom window, leaving behind the what ifs if he stayed with you.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The rooftop had become your favorite spot to disappear from your responsibilities. The view was magnificent with how the city stretched out in every direction and you could see everything. The chaos was muted up here, replaced by singing of the birds and occasional flutter of wings. This place was comforting.

You sat cross-legged on the concrete with your sketchbook propped in your lap, pencil in hand and mind open to new ideas. But the paper brewed alive with yet another drawing of a blue jay. Something about them had rooted itself in your head.

Pausing in your work to glance up at the sky, you were greeted by the most remarkable sight. Caught by the horizon where the sun dipped lower, brushing its streaks across the rooftop in a golden orange. The light breeze tugged at your hair, and you reached up to tuck it behind your ear. You managed to smudge a piece of graphite along your cheek upon the gesture. Your sketch was coming along slowly today; your mind kept wandering off and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

Which you were correct about.

“Nice view,” a familiar voice drawled.

You flinched upon the sound, nearly dropping the tools on your knees as you whipped your head toward the source. There he was, perched on the edge of the rooftop, the sunset behind him painting him like some sort of an angel. Nightwing.

“Seriously? Do you ever not sneak up on people?”

The cheeky smirk made its usual appearance on his lips when he hopped down from his spot, taking slow steps towards you. It was impossible to stay annoyed at him, with that face and easy charisma. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With a roll of your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile a little. “What are you even doing here?”

“Patrolling,” he replied casually to your question, just like he did the night he came to return your bag. Trying to act all nonchalant, but deep down he cares. You know that. He’s acting again. You could tell by the experience and by the tone of his voice. It suggested otherwise from his answer. His masked eyes shifted to your knees, noting the open book. “Another blue jay?”

“I’m trying to capture the way they look when flying. It’s harder than it seems.”

You watched him while he watched your drawings. The vigilante crouched down beside you, his knee bumping against yours softly, almost as in unsaid greeting. He was saying hello while you responded hi back. “You’re getting better.”

Silence draped over the two of you after that sentence left his throat, this one much more comfortable than the one you experienced the week before in your apartment. His elbows were resting on his knees, which bumped into yours from time to time in a silent gesture. Your eyes found the white lenses behind the domino mask.

“You’re not gonna disappear this time, are you?”

“No.”

Your sketchbook lay forgotten in your lap as you gazed into the void of his eyes. You couldn’t read the emotion in them but you somehow could tell every single feeling brewing inside him. It was written across his face, open like a book.

“You’re staring,” you whispered.

“So are you,” his reply was quick, like he knew exactly what to say the moment you spoke up.

A faintest tug at your lips brought the corners up in a smile, but it faltered the moment he leaned in, taking up your personal space inch by inch. He was moving slowly, giving you the opportunity to pull away, to reject him and his touch if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

His palm hovered near the curve of your cheekbone close enough to feel the warmth seeping through the glove. He cocked his head slightly to the side, as if silently asking you a question he was too caught up in to say aloud.

“You’ve got graphite on your cheek.”

“Do I?”

He brushed his thumb across the smudge, wiping it away. He didn’t pull away once your skin was clean.

You noticed the way his eyes briefly dropped to your lips before flicking back to meet yours, searching for an answer he so desperately wanted to hear.

If you didn’t want this, he’d pull back. You knew he would.

But you didn’t want him to.

Leaning in, you closed the little distance between you, and that was all the answer he needed. His lips met yours firmly, pressing against yours like a puzzle, like they belonged there. Your hands gripped at him, fingers moving to the base of his neck to grab a handful of his black hair and pulling slightly to deliver a message.

Although the darkness around you enveloped you, clothing the day in dark, you felt a spark of light every time his lips pressed against yours more urgently, licking and biting his way inside to get a taste of you. You felt it when his gloved hands tangled in your hair, tugging you impossibly close to make you his.

His forehead came to rest against yours when you eventually had to pull away for a fresh breath of air, both his and your breaths uneven.

“Tell me I’m not gonna regret this.”

“You won’t.” That was a promise.

Because when you’re lost in the darkness, you should look for the light.

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jinuaei · 9 months ago

Text

Cleaning up

Yandere! Husband! Alastor x Fallen Angel! Accidental Spouse! Reader

Part 1 --- Additional art

Maybe it was a bad idea to be married to this man. You thought as you saw other demons run away and cower from him, you would have also ran with them if only the person that everyone is so terrified of wasn't holding your arm hostage.

It would have been embarrassing getting dragged around by this tall deer if it wasn't the fact that you're also pissing yourself sacred. But the good thing is he actually believes that you are his ‘spouse’, so you don't think you'll be hurt…much. Besides, he’s such a gentleman that he gave you his coat to cover up your wings so that it wouldn't be exposed to any more harm.

After a while of trying not to trip, actually stumbling, and Alastor dragging you up again and again, you manage to notice the change of scenery, from tall depressing buildings to smaller, more quaint establishments. The demons that also frequent the streets changed from shark demons, to red imps, and finally to black eyed demons with sharp teeth.

Well, at least they look friendly.

“This place here is the cannibal town! We’ll be visiting a good friend of mine, I’m sure she’ll be able to clean you up in no time!” your ‘husband’ exclaimed.

I reclaim that statement.

The town is charming, and rather calming in contrast to that chaotic, overstimulating city you crashed landed in. Despite being in hell, there were flowers growing here, clearly being taken care of wonderfully by the citizens of this town. Vintage cars roam around the road and you see children playing in the parks you've passed through. It’s almost identical to what you see in heaven, but more demonic and nobody uses cars because well, everybody has wings. When you are reminded about the wings, yours twitches in response, rubbing against the deer’s coat. Because of that, feathers, still stained with blood, fall off. Alastor’s shadow tendril grabs it midair and pockets it into his trousers.

Finally, the radio demon abruptly stops, giving you enough time to stabilize yourself properly. With a wave of his hand he shows off to you a building named ‘Franklin and Rosie Emporium’, and you notice on the side there is a huge line of people waiting to enter. Whatever they sell here must be quite popular. Now that you think about it, it might be related to the ‘cannibalism’ part of the town.

Alastor must be important here because people moved away from him as he waltzed through the entrance and into the door. As soon as you both step in, an exclamation of his name catches both of you and your ‘husbands’ attention.

“Oh Alastor! It's always a delight when you come to visit the Emporium, how have you been? And oh! Who is this adorable birdie? Though they look absolutely filthy,” the demon steps into the view, a sweet looking lady with a polite smile who gingerly holds your hands.

“Rosie, meet mon cher, sent by the heavens to become my beloved spouse,” the radio demon lifts up your chin with his fingers, moving your head side to side as if to show you off to Rosie, “Also, would you be a dear and help them clean up? I expect my spouse to be absolutely pristine considering they're married to the greatest radio host of all time!”

“Well, I’ll be delighted to play dress-up with the sweet thing, maybe you can run to the tailors real quick and find them new clothes too.”

Agreeing to that, Alastor waves you goodbye and leaves, Rosie then ushers you to follow her while shouting at Franklin to man the store while she's out. You both emerge to a room above the shop, Rosie leading you to a spare bedroom with an en suite bathroom. It's quite homey, with mostly red as its main colour, other than that, nothing stands out to you.

“You can stay here for the time being as you wait for your husband, bathrooms over there, and there should be bandages and such under the sink. I will be down below to help Franklin with the customers, just find me if you need help!” Rosie closes the door to the room and leaves you to your lonesome. It's time to clean up, you think.

Stepping into the normal looking bathroom, a bathtub greeted you, thankfully it's big enough to fit you and your broken wings. You absentmindedly fill up the tub as you think back to before you fell, trying to determine what happened to cause you to fall from heaven's graces. Nothing comes to mind and eventually the tub fills up.

Shrugging off your ripped clothes and Alastor's coat, you sink into the water, seeping into the open wounds on your body. As much as you want to climb out the tub, it's important to rid yourself first from the golden blood and debris that cover you. You look over your whole body under the tainted water, you are covered in cuts and bruises but other than that, there's no concerning wounds to be found. Well, other than the numbing pain of your wings. Now that you think about it, your halo has been missing the whole trip. You can sense that it's there, but you cannot feel it above you, nor do you see it illuminate the room.

Maybe it's just hidden?

As you think that, the halo starts to manifest just above you, the glow weaker and flickering just slightly as if it's a broken bulb. You frown at the sheer difference from when you were in heaven, when it was incredibly bright, the other angels would tease you for being a walking lighthouse sometimes. When you lift up your hand to touch the halo, you notice a mark on your ring finger. Looking closer, it seems like a tattoo, of two snakes twisting into something akin to chains. How odd.

A knock pulls you out from your thoughts and a voice from the other room calls out to you.

“I’ll be leaving out your clothes on the bed my dear, Rosie will come by in a moment to help you with your hair!”

You quickly finish the bath and stumble in front of the mirror. Eyes darting to your mirrored self, you gaze upon the broken wings and dim halo, you are ashamed to see what you are now. Though you have done nothing to cause the fall, you still feel the undeserved guilt of being wrong. Ingrained to you during your time alive and dead, but you yourself know you've been good, so why berate yourself over other people's definition of good and evil?

Still, you try to will away the angelic limbs attached to you, and are successful in hiding it, leaving only red patches of burned skin on your back. Thankfully, you were able to soothe the irritated skin and patch up the area fairly well.

You close the door behind you and check out the clothes Alastor got for you, it's similar to his in design but also suited to you. How he was able to get your size right you're not sure. Regardless, it fits you perfectly, and there's even an opening at the back for your wings, though you've already willed it away, still you appreciate the sentiment.

“Are you done honey?” a knock reverberates in the room and you answer with a ‘come in!’. Rosie does and is pleasantly surprised at the lack of wings on your back. You remember the coat left in the bathroom and grab it, shrugging it on to cover the exposed skin and bandages.

The cannibal guides you to the vanity, starting to brush your hair.

“So you're Al’s little angel hm? How’d he manage to catch such a cutie pie?” The woman's Boston accent grabs your attention from the various tools in front of you.

“Well… As he said earlier I’ve been assigned to him as his spouse haha…” you laugh awkwardly,”but enough about me! How about Alastor…What is he like?”

“Oh! He’s such a sweetheart! Well he is an Overlord, he eats other demons, and kills for fun, but don't you worry about that! You're his darling, he wouldn't do anything to harm you. You're in good claws sweetie.”

“Sorry, what???”

“Hm?”

Rosie just smiles at you before finishing up your look. And might you say, looking at the mirror you look absolutely breathtaking. Coming out of the room, you find Alastor in the kitchen cooking. The smell wafting around the house is magnificent, you are reminded how hungry you are after falling from heaven.

“There you are my dear, I made some Jambalaya for you! My momma always said once I got my own cherie I should always provide for them for the rest of our days. So, expect more of this dear,” the man hums an upbeat tune as he gives you a plate of the food.

Adorably, he wears a yellow apron that says ‘Deer-est cook’ at the front, you also notice that he had his hair up with a ribbon in a low ponytail.

You were excited to consume the meal right in front of you but then you remember where in hell you are now.

“...Did you put demon meat in the Jambalaya…?”,eyes glancing up at him, the question lingers in the air as he catches your eyes and stares back, still smiling. A few unnerving seconds pass before he answers with a ‘of course not!’

You breathe out in relief and trust your so-called ‘husband’.

Or maybe I shouldn't trust what he says, but he's still staring, what if he gets angry that I won't eat it?? Oh heavens, please forgive me.

With closed eyes, you finally bite down on the food. Praying to all things holy, hoping that you did not do anything blasphemous by accidentally eating demon meat, you find yourself pleasantly surprised at how delicious it was. You almost forget proper etiquette when you start ravenously gulping down the rest of the food.

The demon before you chuckles in delight at the sight of you enjoying your food. As much as he would like to feed you his exotic diet, he would rather not force you to do anything you don't want to. And oh…the pleased shiver that ran down his spine at the trust you've shown him by not questioning him any further regarding the meal was truly delicious.

Dear angel… MY dear angel. How perfect you are… I'll never let you go. After all, you were made for me weren't you?

“I forgot to tell you how absolutely darling you are in that outfit! I must say I have quite the taste! Haha!” he laughs at his joke,“might I ask where your wings are? I could’ve sworn it was there when I left! Unless you cut it off? You should’ve asked me though, I’m sure your wings would be a delicacy…”

“I was able to hide it, I don’t want to be a walking target you know? An angel down in hell seems like a bad thing to be.”

“Oh don’t worry about being a target! I’ll kill whoever tries to even look at you wrongly,” crooning at you, he brushes away invisible dust on his coat, “also you may keep my coat dear, it’ll be a good way to show people that you belong to me now, that is until I can find a ring worthy enough to be worn by you!”

“I-uh thank you…”

Crap. If I don't escape soon I'll be officially married to him. Then again…if he keeps cooking me good food I guess it won't be too bad…

With that in mind, you hope your future will be brighter than your descent to hell.

A/N GODDD THAT TOOK SO LONG. Honestly, the more people kept asking for part 2 the less inclined I was to actually make one but here I am.

That being said, I will be making more fics at my own pace. Finals is coming up so please do not expect new parts for this fic. Truth is ITS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE MULTIPLE PARTS! It was merely an idea I had while I was in an art block. Nonetheless I hope you enjoyed it :DD

(I unfortunately do not do taglists)

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Divider by @/cafekitsune

#yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader

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revelboo · 1 month ago

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No pressure but are you planning on continuing the sunny and sides stories? It can be hard to find someone who writes for them. I love all your works though and are always excited to see what you've written!

I am, I just have… quite a few ongoing storylines at this point

Can’t Finish What you Started Pt 8

Sunstreaker x Reader, Sideswipe x Reader

• Stretched out on your belly, you yelp when a heavy box is dropped about a foot from your face, neck craning to glare up at Sunstreaker as he just stares right back, completely indifferent to your annoyance. Pushing up onto your knees to look into the box, your lips part. Because the big, yellow jerk has brought you art supplies. Charcoal sticks, canvases, pens, watercolor palettes, acrylic paints, and paper. “Did you rob a Hobby Lobby?” You ask, digging through the pile.

• Stiffening with a low growl, he hooks a servo inside the box to tug it away. “If you don’t want it,” he begins before you’re seizing the box with both hands and pulling it back toward you, expression almost afraid and he relents. “I didn’t steal anything. I used a holomatter avatar to retrieve the items and convinced the console funds were exchanged.”

• Convinced the console. Biting into the inside of your cheek to keep from blurting out the fact that he definitely stole it, because with his temper he will take it all away just to be petty. Mostly you’re surprised that he’d cared to begin with. That he’d been listening when you’d told Wheeljack you were an artist. “Thank you for this.”

• “Just don’t make a mess,” he growls, uncomfortable warmth spreading through his spark as you smile up at him before turning your attention back to the box. Surprised that he does want to see what you create even as it spills bitterly through him. Reminding him that he’d wanted to be an artist once before the harsh reality of living on the streets of Kaon had crushed those idealistic dreams. Part of him wanting to linger, to do more than watch you create, wanting to add his own touches to a piece. Instead, he walks away to leave you to your excitement.

• Sitting crosslegged, bent over a canvas, you dip your finger in a puddle of paint and use it to mix colors. There wasn’t a mixing palette so you’d stripped into a pair of shorts to use your thigh and you’re shivering as you paint with a finger like a kid because there were no brushes either. But you don’t mind as you use a pinky to feather on highlights. The desk around you littered with quick charcoal sketches, working in almost a feverish state like you need to get it all out. Get it down. So focused you don’t even notice you’re not alone until the shadow falls across you. “Sunny is going to lose it,” Sideswipe groans and you startle, looking up. And he’s laughing at you, making you realize you’ve got paint all over your hands, your thighs, probably on your face. And charcoal smudges everywhere there’s not paint. Just don’t make a mess. Oops.

• Flicking his servos at you to shoo you toward your tiny curtained off wash rack area, he studies what you’ve done. Sees himself and Sunny from different angles. Alone, together. Arguing and relaxed. He hadn’t realized you’d been watching them both so closely. Or that Sunny would have cared enough to give you art supplies just because you’d said you were an artist and they might make you happy. Neither one of them able to say the things they want to say out loud, it’s always been that way. Awkward silences and false starts. Maybe you’re the same way, unable to say what you need to. But studying the art of him and Sunny leaves him oddly warm inside, because it’s your own way of telling them that you like them, like being here despite the unfairness of having no choice at all.

#transformers x reader #sunstreaker x reader #idw sunstreaker #sideswipe x reader #idw sideswipe

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minhosimthings · 27 days ago

Text

From Eden || HJY

Synopsis: You ask your favourite angel, Hyunjin about love. And he has a lot to say on a chilly night.

Pairings: Angel!Hyunjin × demon!fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, biblical themes, Heaven and Hell, ik angels don't technically have genders but I made reader a bit feminine, teensy bit of angst, mention of Han because I love him, VERY poetic, me yapping about love

A/N: whatsup my popsicles your girl's back from her hibernation with Hyunjin because God damn this man has been bias wrecking me so much. Also this is based on Good Omens, so I hope anyone who watched the show notices the details I put in. As always, enjoy!

Song Recs: From Eden by Hozier, My love Mine all Mine by Mitski

I am yours,

The way the sea belongs to the moon,

And the way the moon belongs to the sky.

The cicadas were chirping. It was a beautiful, wintry night.

An angel and a demon lay on a tiny mound in a park.

“Do you ever think about going back up there?”

Your question stuck to Hyunjin’s mind like pollen to a bee. His magnificently outstretched left wing was practically numb now, from bearing your weight on it for so long. But Hyunjin didn't complain.

After all, he wouldn't have let you lay on wet grass on a frosty November night if his life depended on it; even if he knew that you—as a demon—couldn’t technically feel anything. But as much as you’d tried to convince him of that factual piece of information, he’d rather throw his halo into a river than believe that you had no emotion hiding in you. Hyunjin was a stubborn angel.

Your stubborn angel.

“Not really.” Hyunjin said in a tone almost as soft as his feathers, “Why do you ask?” He pressed a light kiss to the side of your forehead before you could answer, as if wanting to distract you from the topic at hand. You’d understand why. He disliked the idea of talking about it.

“Just….” You trailed off with your sentence, not knowing what reason to give him. Why did you ask him that?

Hyunjin hummed softly, shifting his legs so that yours could be more comfy. You didn't have the heart to tell him you were just fine in your previous position. In fact you didn't have a heart at all!

That was the common human perception of demons, Hell, Lucifer and all that jazz. But you knew that your boss, Lucifer, was only scary when his new assistant didn't get some paperwork done for souls to enter that paradise that was Hell.

“Do you remember the first time we met on Earth?” Hyunjin suddenly asked you, his eyes still gazing up at the painting of the starry sky hanging above you.

“Of course I do.” You laughed gingerly. You vividly remembered the first time you had met Hyunjin.

Five Years Ago

Contrary to popular belief, demons or—as you liked to call yourself—fallen angels, actually didn't like wrecking stuff and destroying everything in their path. You just had to trip people on the sidewalk every now and then and occasionally make a deal with a naive human who stumbles across a cross-road. Most of the time, you were stuck doing paperwork.

So there you were, on a fine November’s evening, strutting down a nice little street in your very cliche all-black outfit, when you abruptly stopped in your tracks in front of an art supply store. It wasn't the Studio Ghibli-esqueness of the shop that made you stop or the fact that the most beautiful paintings of flowers lined the big windows.

It was the familiar celestial energy that was practically leaking out from the shop.

The energy only got ‘louder’ as you entered the shop, having lost the battle to your curiosity. You knew this feeling well enough to figure out that there was an angel or perhaps even God themselves hiding in this store. Turning into a corner, which was lined with shelves of paints of all sorts, you stopped in your tracks, when you lay eyes on the only other living being in the shop.

It was a tall, long-haired man, wearing a black worker’s apron over a white shirt and beige pants and restocking some empty shelves. Perhaps the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on. But you knew better than to strike up a conversation with him.

He was no ordinary man, from the looks of the golden halo floating above him, something only you could see very faintly.

Angels and Demons who get stationed on Earth are warned very strictly not to interact with each other. Not even so much as a glance if they accidentally reach for the last cupcake at a bakery. Hell and Heaven's monitoring systems were the best in the universe. But perhaps they were lying about that.

Because no sudden flash of death-inducing lightning struck you or the angel when he turned his eyes to you in the store and said with a sweet smile, “I can see you staring, you know.”

To say it in simple words, you were practically awestruck when you saw him face-front. It was a face which was….eerily familiar. Beautifully familiar. Like a face from a memory you had chosen to rewrite. His beautiful hair fell perfectly onto his face, framing it in such a way that all his features stood out. With eyes that stood proud yet gentle, like a stream by a forest, and lips that looked as if they could heal anything with a single kiss, one could say that he looked angelic.

“What are you looking to buy today?” He asked you as if you two were nothing more than mere humans, “The oil paints perhaps?”

“No…” You said with uncertainty, “I’m sorry I barged in, I just…” You paused, studying his features even more, why was he so familiar? “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

He smiled again, his eyes forming half-moons at you. “Don’t worry, the shop has a spell around it.” Then as if to certify his point, he said in a childish whisper, “Neither Hell nor Heaven will find us here.”

“Oh.” You said simply, not knowing what else to say. You slipped your hands into the pockets of your coat and considered him for a while. Then you slowly walked towards him, feeling warmer and warmer as you did.

“Y/N.” You extended your hand, “Former angel of creation, collector of souls and occasional deal maker.” This was perhaps the boldest act you’d ever performed ever since you fell into Hell, “Oh and I like plants.”

“Hyunjin.” He took your hand in his and shook it formally, “I own this shop.” His gaze was locked on yours, never once wavering, “I’m an angel of Heaven.” He finished the sentence with such gusto that you were sure wind was blowing inside the store.

“Yeah I got that figured.” You said curtly, “I just wanted to ask—” You took a deep breath before speaking, “Have we ever…met before? I mean you just seem so familiar for some reason.” You let out a forced laugh, “I’m sorry if we haven't. It's just that I don't remember anything that happened before—” You stopped briefly, you hadn't talked about it much, “before my fall.”

You noticed the way Hyunjin’s face dropped for only a second or two before he went back to his calm gaze. “No worries.” He said cheerily, “I don’t have a really good memory either so we can just start over from now.”

As an angel of Heaven, a loyal servant of God and Humanity, Hyunjin hated lying. His honesty proved to be as useful as it was dangerous. For example, Hyunjin had gained one of his best friends, Jisung, when he kindly albeit bluntly stated that beige would be a horrible colour for Jisung to paint on a rock album’s cover. After a few hours of debating, in which many noise complaints were involved, Hyunjin had gained a human friend for the first time. He knew Jisung wouldn't live for as long as he would, but it didn't matter. Hyunjin loved the company.

Of the three lies he had spelled in his entire life, this was one of them. You were the second angel he had lied to. Well, fallen angel.

He, in fact, had a terrific memory. And he distinctly remembered the time he first set his eyes on you

After a few days of the Universe’s creation, he had been ordered by Gabriel to bring you forth. They alleged that you had been far too creative in your matters of creation–and too curious as well. God didn't create curiosity for the angels.

After a few hours of drifting through the vast caves of the newborn Universe, Hyunjin spotted an angel of high ranking standing stagnant before what appeared to be a large canvas of infinite, colourful, space.

Your wings were spread high and mighty, beautiful feathers of gold and silver silhouetting an excited figure. You were rushing your fingers about in orchestral movements. Every flick of your finger brought forth a string of rainbow colours that burst forth into one or the other star in front of you.

Angels were not meant to have feelings. It was something that only the lowest of

organisms—humans—had. Atleast, that was what Hyunjin was taught.

But something inside him stirred when he set his eyes on you.

(Was it hatred? You’d broken the Rule of Heaven with your curiosity. Hyunjin loved rules.)

Your sparkling eyes, filled with far more stars than any galaxy that surrounded him, captivated him. You looked like one of those things that the humans did, what was it called? Perhaps it was called a painting, but Hyunjin's memory disappointed him for the first time. He took a deep breath and flew towards you, his mind frantically racing as to how he’d tell you that you had apparently failed God.

“Ahem.” He had said, trying not to seem too overenthusiastic, “Excuse me?”

Hyunjin couldn't find a word to describe your appearance when you turned towards him. He described the moment to you eons later—in a heated argument of betrayal and trust that shook the very Earth itself—as the most beautiful thing he had seen since his birth.

“Oh hello there!” You had responded, not waiting for the angel’s response as you beckoned him to come and stand by your side, “Come look! This is always my favourite part.”

‘Favourite part’ evidently meant the stream of colours that had just erupted in front of you both, some rushing off rapidly in different directions, while some lay still joining together to form a nebula. Hyunjin had seen the creation of nebulae before, but this one was exceptionally magnificent to look at.

“That's…amazing.” Hyunjin breathed out, his eyes widening by the minute as he stared at the dance performance in front of him. You stood with a smug smile on your face.

“I’m quite proud of it actually.” You grinned at him, “I love making nebulae the most. Don't get me wrong though, I still like galaxies!” You threw him a wink, to which he sheepishly smiled

“I don’t see the point in nebulae much though.” He mumbled, trying to make conversation, “I mean, a poor star has to die in order to make such a divine formation.” He motioned towards the theatre of colours in front of you, “It seems odd doesn't it? For death to be so beautiful a thing?”

“I dont think it's odd.” You said, tilting your head, your gaze fixed on his, “I think it's a lovely thing. That the star, which was so beautiful in its first life—” You turned your head back towards the nebula and smiled wide, “—is allowed to be so beautiful in its second one as well.” You grinned with all your teeth this time, “Makes me wonder about all those humans down there on Earth. I think they’re rather lucky to have a life which is short, don't you think? They get to appreciate love better.”

“Appreciate it?” Hyunjin asked, feeling a creeping emotion cling to his wings. Did curiosity always feel this amazing?

“Of course! Loving is practically what anyone would—and should—live for!” You said in the same cheery tone, “Love wasn't made to be locked up in some cage and fed a beggar’s meal all day like Heaven thinks! Absolutely not!” Your eyes shone with determination, “Love was created to be talked about. Asked about. It was made to be yearned for, cried after and laughed about. Love, I think, took God the longest time to make. It would be hard, wouldn't it?” Your eyes softened, “To make something that is to be given so tenderly and felt so violently.”

Hyunjin drew in a sharp breath at your words. He didn't comprehend the concept of love that well, having only been taught that it is a dangerous thing. Now he mused on what danger might feel like.

“Personally I think we angels should be allowed to live a mortal life at least once in this infinitely dreary life-span of ours. I do love the idea of love so much and maybe we’ll learn to appreciate warmth once in a while. Heaven does get so cold.” You laughed.

“So it’d be like some sort of mission?” Hyunjin asked, cocking his head to the side. You stared off into the distance for a while before answering, your eyes wider than ever before.

“Oh I have such a brilliant idea!” You said, radiant joy lacing every word you said, “Why haven't I ever thought about it ever before?” You noticed the dark-haired angel staring at you in confusion before you started to explain, “Why don’t we suggest to Gabriel and everyone else to have a few angels be posted down on Earth?” You looked around you frantically, before your far-seeing eyes landed on a tiny blue dot floating about its own space, “So we can keep an even better check on them.” You smiled widely, before looking at Hyunjin and making an excited sound, “I should go right now if I want to catch Gabriel at a good time.”

Your wings seemed to have understood your excitement, as they fluttered rapidly, at the prospect of going down to the planet you and a few others had designed so carefully. A planet that was neither too hot nor too cold. A planet filled with your favourite creations of God. A planet that was just right.

“Oh I never asked.” You snapped your gaze to him, “What is your name?”

Right. He never told you his name. What an idiot you are Hyunjin, he scolded himself, getting distracted by pretty angels.

“Hyunjin.” He said, bowing his head, “My name is Hyunjin.”

“I’m Y/N.” You said, bowing your head back, your lucent halo shining so brightly in Hyujin’s face. He already knew your name. He had to bring you to Gabriel in chains.

“Well I’m off to Gabriel’s.” You said, “Thanks for the idea, Hyunjin!”

Hyunjin never thought his name could sound so harmonious. So melodic, full of stories. A captivating name.

He relished that moment endlessly, all the while trying to suppress the carnal hunger within him that wanted to speak to you again. To explain all his thoughts and ask every question residing in his non-existent heart. He had that feeling that you’d know the answer to each of them. But he wouldn't have the opportunity to do that for a very long time.

A couple thousand years to be precise.

In a paint store.

Out in the middle of nowhere and yet in the middle of everything.

Time always seemed faster to you after you became a demon. The same old routine—though it tired you out—seemed to continuously keep you on your toes. You couldn't remember the last time you looked up at the stars. For some reason unknown to you, you had always felt a special sort of connection to them, as if they were your own creation. You could always retrace your footsteps at night, feeling the warm splutters of light being shaped like soft clay in your hands. And then you’d forget it all by the morning.

It was only a dream, you’d surmise, demons don’t get dreams though.

But the dream you had that day was one you’d never dare to forget.

The dream in which you stumbled upon a faintly familiar (absolutely gorgeous) angel, brought a few weird looking paints called gouache, realised you knew nothing about painting, and took up the angel’s offer to teach you.

The dream in which your colorless penthouse apartment held a little more colour when Hyunjin stepped into it, with a canvas and an easel and another home-stitched apron made just for you. A white one with tiny black cats on it. He always despised the fact that angels couldn't also turn into any animal they wanted. He wanted to be a snow-coat ferret.

And the dream in which a sin was committed, a sin greater than when Eve sunk her teeth into God’s most precious jewel.

It didn't matter though. You weren't struck by Heaven’s lightning.

Just sweetly kissed on your forehead by Hyunjin as you both lay in bed, silently wrapped in each other’s arms tightly, afraid the other would float away if you let go.

“I think I want to love you.” Hyunjin said, "I think I really want to love you."

Love was for humans, not angels and demons.

"I think I do too." You said, breathing in his scent. It was the same old crisp smell of paint and a bit of something else. Rain maybe? Or was it pine? There were some traces of old paper as well but you thought—

"I love you, Y/N." Hyunjin exhaled shakily, "I love you so much."

Love was not meant for demons.

"I love you so much too, Hyunjin."

Present

"How could I ever forget the time we met?" You chuckled, cuddling closer to Hyunjin. His warmth made you want to sleep so bad, but you persisted. Anything to complete a conversation with your favourite angel.

"I think that was the day I made up my mind to never leave Earth." Hyunjin said slowly, tentatively almost, “That was the day I found something—” He smiled, and closed his eyes, taking a breath in before continuing, “—that made me want to love again.”

“It's funny.” You chuckled, admiring a distant red star in the sky, “People would usually end that sentence with ‘live again’.” You sighed, the red star glistened again, “But we’re not people are we?” You nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck.

Hyunjin’s arm beneath your neck slightly shifted, causing you to press your nose into his chest instead. Angels smell like rain, you thought. His breathing slowed down and you could hear the cogs in his brain turning. My angel smells like paint.

“Would you like to be human?” Hyunjin asked hesitantly. The constellation of Cassiopeia was particularly bright tonight, with her five stars reminding everyone of the downfall due to vanity. You shifted again, not saying anything. The same silence remained hanging in the air for a few minutes, with the two of you just taking in each other’s mellowness. And then you spoke.

“What do you think about love, Hyunjin?” You asked him, for perhaps the fifteenth time in five years. Every time he had been confronted with that question, he’d either never answer it or find a way to flirt with you. But he couldn't escape now, you thought. He was trapped in between your arms and your attack of a thousand tickling kisses was notorious for its ability to—

“Love…..” He started, “is practically what anyone would—and should—live for.” You tilted your head curiously up at him and he began to narrate.

“Somebody once told me that, you know?” He laughed, “Back in heaven. She loved the idea of love so much, she gave me an entire speech about it.” He cleared his throat dramatically.

“Love wasn't made to be locked up in some cage or thrown onto the streets.” His eyes seemed to gleam, “Love was created to be talked about. Asked about. It was made to be yearned for, cried after and laughed about. Love took God the longest time to make.” It would be hard, wouldn't it?” His eyes softened down at you, as he pressed the umpteenth kiss of the night to your skin, “To make something that is to be given so tenderly and felt so violently.”

Those words…..why were they so familiar?

“But I think I disagree.” Hyunjin said again, saving you from the task of replying, “As much as I liked that idea back then, I think I find it a bit incorrect now that I know more about love.”

“It's not like you to disagree on most things.” You smiled to yourself. Though Hyunjin did like giving his own opinions very honestly, he didn't like to disagree or argue over other people’s choices. Unless it was his mortal friend Jisung of course. Hyunjin chuckled and raised his hand up to touch the sky. You followed his outstretched finger to where it was pointing and your gaze stopped on something.

A nebula.

Though you were a demon, you were still technically a celestial being. So your vision stretched about as far as the Aries constellation’s multitude of galaxies. And maybe even farther. You didn't know though. You were far too lazy to waste your energy on peering at the sky.

“You know that angel who told me about love?” Hyunjin dropped his hand back down onto the soft grass, “She was creating a nebula when she said that.”

Hyunjin shifted to lay on his side, his wing beneath you stretching to adjust to the new position. He fluttered his eyes from your eyes to your lips, admiring all of your features in the process. You felt warmth cloud your cheeks and ears. He always did that to fluster you, and it was a battle you could never win.

Reaching out a hand, he cupped your cheek in his palm. You melted into his touch and closed your eyes, relishing the moment like a touch starved human.

If this was what being human felt like, then you wanted to be human.

“I think love is like a nebula.” Hyunjin said in a crooning voice, “Nebulas are created by the death of a star right?” He started to explain, amused at your confused expression, “When the star dies, those wisps of starstuff come together again to form something so beautiful, something which can support another galaxy, something that is as pretty as that late star.” He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, you could clearly see the mole beneath his eye, “That's what love is, I think.”

You shifted in your place onto your side, and took him in—his words and his beauty. By God were both of them absolutely gorgeous.

“Love is eternal.” Hyunjin’s voice was an early morning mist, “Love is something that can never truly die out, no matter what. It's those little things that we do without realizing it was the habit of someone in our past. It's the fact that we are all just made up of starstuff and little bits of someone else’s soul. In a way we are also nebulas, don't you think?” He brushed a strand of hair back behind your ear, his hands were still warm in the cold night’s air, “I think love is a mystery which shouldn't be solved. Just embraced.” You blinked, feeling the mellowness of him and for a moment, you thought it was a dream.“I don't think love should be felt violently. Just….warmly.”

His solid form pressed into you, the familiar rise and fall of his breath. Your fingers resting gently on his chest, and the sense of closeness sent a rush of feelings that almost hurt. Your mind spun as you tried to recall your memories as an angel. Were you the one who had told him about love?

Hyunjin looked at you, at the faint crease between your brows as if he were afraid to lose you again. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he allowed himself to think for a moment—just a moment—that an angel and a demon could defy the rules set by the one who created them. If God didn’t want love to exist between Hell and Heaven’s soldiers, then damn Them, Hyunjin thought.

“If love is a nebula…” You softly hummed, eyes flickering to his lips every now and then, “...that means it's always changing right?” Hyunjin nodded, taking note of the teasing expression on your face and taking his eyes down to the grass instead, “Then I think I want love to be us.”

In that second heartbeat of silence, Hyunjin looked up, his eyes blazing with passion, and before either of you could think, you pulled him by the neckline of his hoodie, your lips crashing onto his with a desperate intensity that left no room for doubt.

Your breaths mingled, Hyunjin could see the flicker of longing in your gaze, the vulnerability you’d always tried to hide. With a hum, he closed the distance between your bodies, capturing your lips again with a tenderness that held nothing but love, both of you melting into the intensity of the moment.

“Love is us.” You said, after pulling away from the brief moment of passion, “I think love is nothing but us.”

“An angel and a demon?” Hyunjin asked, his lips faintly pinkish and his cheeks even more so.

You shook your head, “A star and another star.”

Hyunjin laughed heartily and nodded, “A star and another star it is then.” He pressed his lips to your forehead, “Love is us.”

The cicadas were chirping. It was a beautiful, wintry night.

Two stars lay on a tiny mound in a park.

And even if the jealous stars

Break and shatter upon the milky way,

I will still see Heaven in your eyes.

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