#would you give the devil this dance; m; the empty

[huntersmooned]

teeny tiny open

" Quite a long way away from home, aren't you? "

[huntersmooned-aa]

an angel / demon dies, death shows up, and the empty is basically just like

'k thanks for visiting now get out of my house'

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Fall Drabbles, Day 2

prompt: "Are you cold"

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Matt waits patiently for you to admit he was right.

warnings: swearing, adorable fluff

a/n: I had so much fun writing this one. I hope y'all enjoy.

w/c: <1k

Bracing yourself for the bitter chill of the wind, you couldn't help the shudder that overtook you as the hair on your arms rose. You didn't need to glance at Matt to see his smirk, you could feel it--directed at you like a goddamn laser, searing the words 'I told you so' into the back of your head. 

“Don't even say it.” You grumbled, crossing your arms in a desperate attempt to retain the brief warmth the subway had provided. 

“Say what?” Matt asked innocently, mirth dancing across his face. With a huff you stalked ahead of him towards the stairs, leaving him to his own devices as you both exited the stop.

Tonight was date night, the first you'd had in nearly a month. The two of you had been swamped recently--Matt with work and deviling, you with travel and family drama. Tonight should have been a much appreciated reprieve from the mundanity of your day to day life, and it was, until the sun went down. 

Matt, in his all-knowing glory, had warned you that the gorgeous autumn day would give way to a crisp evening, encouraging you to wear a jacket to fight off the frigid air. Putting WAY too much faith in your midwestern heritage, you had simply laughed. “It's 65 out, Matty. Practically swimming weather.” 

Cursing your past self's lack of foresight, you shivered miserably against the blasting current of night air. You and your boyfriend had enjoyed a delicious dinner and were headed to a candlelit orchestra performance in the park.  Wearing nothing but a flattering, thin-sleeved, dress, you were quickly losing steam—but you would rather freeze than admit your mistake to your cocky partner. His ego didn't need the boost.

Catching up to you and taking your arm, Matt's fingers slid into the crook of your tense elbow. How was he so WARM? Sure, he HAD worn a jacket but it was disgusting out here! It couldn't have been over 35. Ugh, curse him and his tendency to run hot. It made the thought of cuddling up to him so tempting. His beautiful hands tracing soft patterns along your skin as you slowly thawed from his body heat...

No. Stay strong. You can do this. 

The two of you finally arrived at the venue for the performance--- unfortunately, the seats were not only outside but crafted with stainless steel. Their shining material sapping the remaining warmth from your skin mere seconds after sitting down. You set your jaw and tucked your body in as tight as you could without drawing the attention of your overly perceptive boyfriend. And it worked...for the first half of the performance. 

By the intermission, even the strength of your resolve couldn't keep your teeth from chattering violently. Matt looked at you, with more concern than you were expecting. “Sweetheart, if you need to leave—”

You shook your head defiantly. “I'm-m f-fine.” You stammered, tightening your jaw once more. 

Shaking his head at you, Matt huddled closer to you. ”You're clearly miserable, let's go home.“

Sighing in defeat, you dropped your trembling head against his shoulder, sinking into the cloud of heat around him. ”I'm c-cold, Matty.“

The shit-eating grin reappeared across his face. ”What was that? Are you cold?“

Elbowing his stomach, you glowered at the stage. ”Shut-t up.“ Moments after your reluctant admission, a heavenly warm garment was slipped over your shoulders. 

Exhaling with relief, you nestled into his side. “Thank you.”

“Of course, darling.”

“I'll wear a coat next time.”

Matt laughed at your empty promise, knowing damn well that he'd be giving you his jacket again and again this fall—and he wouldn't have it any other way.

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- epilogue

Well, we've reached the end guys. Thank you endlessly for going on this wild ride with me. I didn't really know what to expect when I started posting this fic because I wasn't sure it would be anyone's cup of tea, but as usual, you guys went insane with me for it and it never gets old. Love you guys so so much (and thanks for letting me be the evil author that tortures you with such sad stories) 💛💛

Warnings: sadness. just so, so much sadness.

“I have survived, but I have not been spared.” --Catherynne M. Valente

“You understand the agreement you are entering by accepting this retirement package from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit?” Strauss reads aloud for the tape.

“Yes ma’am,” you reply with a nod, signing your life and career away.

“You are not to disclose any of the details of this case with anyone. Family, friends, coworkers past, present, or future, and so on. You understand?”

It’s not like I want to tell anyone. “Yes, I understand.” You sign again.

“Please give me your credentials.” Your firearm was taken days ago. You slide your badge and keycard across the table toward Strauss. “Thank you.”

She recites her name and title, the date, this case number. You recite your name, your former title, the date. 

The tape clicks. Strauss exhales. You stare blankly at the space in front of you, drained of all energy.

“I am sorry,” Strauss says. “For all of this.”

You look up at her. You nod slowly. “Thank you.”

“If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

You nod. Slow. Everything moved so fast. Now time struggles to breathe.

“You are dismissed,” Strauss says finally. “Thank you for your time. During this interview, and at the FBI.”

You manage a smile. Both of you stood and exchanged formal handshakes, and you left.

The rest of the team is waiting for you in the bullpen by your desk. Your go-bag and cardboard box of your belongings that you packed sit on your chair. 

You don’t say a single word. Rossi pulls you in for a hug first, soothing you while you openly sob into his shoulder. Everyone gathers around you in a group hug, and it isn’t long before everyone is crying, too.

No one knows what else to do. The BAU will never be the same, nor will you, or anyone here. All there is to do is hold one another and cry. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to do anything else.

They help you carry your things to your car. Derek has your go bag over his shoulder. Reid is carrying the cardboard box. Rossi is holding onto your coat until you’re ready for it. Penelope hasn’t let go of your hand. Emily is rubbing perpetual circles into your spine. JJ has her arm linked with yours, and you rest your head on her shoulder in the elevator. 

“Dinner at mine tomorrow,” Rossi says in the elevator. Everyone nods their silent agreement. 

Nothing in the world can fix this feeling or make any of it better, but a homemade dinner with expensive wine in Rossi’s back garden will, at the very least, take the edge off.

Derek insists on driving you to your apartment and you don’t have it in you to argue. All it took was one look from you and he knew.

After another round of hugs, you’re in the passenger seat as Derek drives your car out of the Quantico parking deck for the last time. You fall asleep on the way home.

He wakes you gently when he gets to your apartment, unbuckling you and helping you out. Up the stairs and into your apartment. 

You stand like a ghost in the middle of the kitchen. The place on the counter that once held the bottle of wine you shared with Aaron now sits empty, glaring. The couch where you have tossed and turned countless nights -- and where Aaron once slept -- threatens to swallow you whole. 

You didn’t realize how much of Aaron is in this apartment until he’s gone forever. He’ll never be here again, but there is no getting rid of these memories, his shadow that still dances on the far wall. A time long forgotten, a man that hasn’t existed for some months. 

You turn around to see Morgan watching you, tears filling his eyes. You blink and feel the warm tears rush down your cheeks. Morgan has his arms wrapped around you in the next second, tucking you into his chest.

“I know,” he says softly, propping his chin on the top of your head. “I’m so sorry.”

Your sobs only grow louder, your grip on his shirt tighter. You’ll fall over if he doesn’t hold you up. He holds you up for as long as you need.

“I can’t stay here,” you say, the words muffled into his chest. 

But he hears you. “I know.”

+++

You move out of the apartment the next week, after staying in a guest bedroom at Rossi’s. Derek lets you live in one of the properties he recently renovated, free of charge, until you can find another place of your own.  

You don’t know if you’ll stay in the area, or if you’ll move farther away. The truth is, no amount of distance would suffice. No matter where you go, you’ll forever be running away from the memories of this.

So, you decide to stay close to your friends. Derek becomes Unit Chief (Rossi refused to take on that much responsibility). JJ becomes less liaison and more field agent. Emily toys with the idea of leaving, but nothing sticks. Reid is going nowhere. And as long as Derek is there, Penelope is there. You don’t know what the next years will bring, but for now, everyone is close, and dinners at Rossi’s house are frequent.

You’re in therapy twice a week and meeting with your psychiatrist once a month. You don’t know how much any of it is helping, but you’re able to eat and somewhat sleep, so things are better. Relatively.

Aaron is buried next to Haley and Jack. You visit him once. You haven’t gone back since. But you think about him every day.

Love is a funny, funny thing. For you to still love him after everything that happened, after the attempts on your life. For your heart to still hold onto the small parts, the moments before it all, when he was nothing but a crush, a casual affair, a man you stumbled into bed with while laughing, a man that if he had stuck around a little longer, you might’ve seen a future with. 

Letting go of him means letting go of all of it -- good days included -- and a part of you just isn’t ready for that yet. 

So, you spend your days floating. Making it through. Fighting the ghosts that crawl their way onto your back. Letting them linger and letting them go. One by one. Until the only one left is Aaron himself, hanging off of you, arms around your neck, face nuzzled into your shoulder. 

You’ll always miss him, probably as much as you’ll always love him. The version before he became the person you killed. Part of you died when you fired your gun that day. A part of you that you’ll never be able to get back. But you’re not sure if you want it back. Maybe it was meant to die. The consequence of killing him meant you killed part of yourself, too. 

So, you get through your days as best as you can. As a person half-alive. Forever changed, and not for the better. Always wishing for the past to return, hating the present, and dreading the future.

Because you were happy once -- with Aaron. You don’t know if you’ll ever be happy again.

You dream of him almost every night, though you don't tell your therapist the dreams are that frequent. You dream of what could've been. The life the two of you might've built. A fantasy world where you moved on from the BAU, he stayed Unit Chief, and the two of you grew closer, bought rings, settled down. A life worth living. A life better than the one you got.

He will always be gone. You will never be in his arms ever again. And these are the facts that haunt you every morning when you open your eyes.

You killed a man. Who happened to be the man you loved. Facts you can't escape. A judge ruling in favor of your self-defense doesn't quiet the thoughts, the questions of if you had behaved differently. You took a life. And it was the life you wanted most to save.

In the end, are you any better than he was?

[unrefinedmusings]

no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader headcanons

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, nasty situations, age gaps, dirty talk, strip clubs, threesome, mentions of infidelity, sexually forward behavior?, not proofread very well

a/n: blaming this one on ovulation and listening to hot stuff by donna summer on repeat. only one of the scenarios is told in second perspective, but feel free to think of all of them as you.

currently obsessing over a joel miller slut era

the outbreak never happened and sarah is off at college. being a father has been his greatest joy. he would not trade a second of his time with sarah for a more rebellious youth. but when joel is almost 45 and living in an empty house, he gets lonely. and bored. that's when he starts to notice. the fleeting glances. the overt stares. he never realized how much attention he got. so he lets his dick do the thinking for a while. who could blame him? people were throwing themselves at his feet. who could blame them?

some standout moments:

while shopping for a birthday present for sarah, joel walks into a boutique at the mall. it's a small store and a slow day. the girl at the counter perks up at the sight of him. she's not subtle, nearly salivating when he walks over to ask for help. she touches him way more than what is appropriate while giving an opinion on earrings. all he does is lick his lips in her direction before she's locking the front door and turning the shop sign to closed. he drags her into a changing room despite her suggestion of the back office. joel doesn't mind the size of the stall when it means he can watch her face while he pounds her from behind. when he finishes, he kneels to make her finish one more time on his tongue. "make sure to watch yourself, honey. look so pretty when you cum."

joel miller is neither stupid nor cruel enough to get involved in someone else's marriage...but that doesn't mean he can't have some fun. since entering the business, he's found that every bored housewife loves to flirt with the contractor. now he just lets himself flirt back. watch their cheeks flush when he winks across the room. see them turn their weddings rings around, as if not seeing a diamond will make him forget their husbands hired him. it gives him an ego boost knowing they'll think of him in their marital beds that night.

hank, one of the younger guys on his crew, is engaged and invites joel to his bachelor party. tommy insists he go, at the least so as to not come off as an unfriendly boss. the strip club is loud, and his beer is overpriced and watered down. none of that matters when he sees the little devil come out on stage. she's wearing a lacy red corset that's pried open, letting her tits bounce free. he palms his cock under the table when she spreads her legs wide for the audience, and chuckles when her horns don't fall off even when she's upside down. joel had always been impressed by the fancy spins and twirls, but what he loved most was watching a woman make love to the pole. she's gyrating against it like a cat in heat, even turning around and letting the smooth metal slide between her asscheeks. she saunters over after her show, slides into his lap and offers him a dance in a private room. the horns fall off while she's bouncing on his cock, chasing her orgasm as his fingers work her clit.

the one he should probably feel the worst about it is the least his fault. those girls were so eager. they zeroed in on him before he realized. joel wanted to get a beer after work, the two seniors from Texas A&M wanted to sow their wild oats. joel knew they were a little too young for him, but they insisted since neither had been with an older man or had a threesome before. both girls sidled up on either side of him at the bar, each slipping a hand onto his thighs. he can't feel that bad when he remembers what having two pretty young things kissing on his cock was like. what it was like lying in his bed, one on his cock and one sitting on his face. hard to feel bad about that.

his favorite occasion is the night he meets you. it's late. he's had an awful day. two guys on his crew called in sick and he had no time to eat. he stops at an old school drive in for a couple burgers. in his side mirror he sees you, sees your uniform: cropped white tee, short black skirt, and, oh fuck him, rollerskates. your tits jiggle as you come to a stop by the driver's side window of his truck. you catch him staring. he can't muster the energy to be inconspicuous. joel's gaze lifts to meet yours and sees the flirtatious smile you've got on. leaning against the door, you ask to take his order. "I'll get two burgers, some fries, and two shakes if you've got time, sweetheart. Only one if you got somewhere else to be." You take your break in his back seat sipping on a vanilla shake with his head between your legs. After you cum, he lifts your shirt up and jacks off on your tits. He makes sure to grab the panties hooked on your skates and tuck them into his jeans. When you ask for them back, he spanks your ass. "I'm coming back for another pair. When's your next shift?"

💕💕💕💕💕

Thanks for reading!

[funsize-cenobites]

Mihawk-Brain-Eating-Syndrome has seized me with such a gorilla grip I am losing my fucking mind so I guess we're doing this.

The post that started this whole train of thought came from @manofbeskar who's Mihawk thoughts, Mishanks heartwrenchers, and absolutely gorgeous art are so inspiring I feel chewing-on-the-doorframe feral every time I check their blog.

So.. thoughts of the day that Im just tossing into the void to get it out of me because otherwise it will fester inside me and make me ill:

Mihawk has a complicated relationship with vivre cards. Despite his best efforts to keep the world and everyone in it at arm and Yoru length he does manage to keep collecting bits of them though.

Not many nowadays of course, its a rather intimate affair after all; to have someone give you a literal piece of their life so that you may always find them no matter where in the wide seas you may be and that you'll be the first to know should they leave that world entirely. Far too intimate. It feels too obvious, too heavy handed, too much like handing him your heart and asking him to carry it. Such a thing is heavier than any blade and all the bloody deeds he can never truly wipe from the steel.

Its gentle and vulnerable and human, all the things hes convinced he can play at but never truly be again.

But I imagine at the start of his journey he was a touch more open, perhaps accepting his first from a mentor as a parting of ways. Though he didn't yet have one of his own to offer in return. Strange how a simple piece of card in his palm could feel like an open door. Always there, inviting him home. Always there, until it wasn't.

He will never forget the first time he felt one burning away into nothing in his hands. It went up so quick.. he had no idea it could take less than a minute to burn a home.

Then perhaps he found a crew, a more tangible place to nest and he suddenly had more vivre cards than he could tuck away on his person in a timely manner. Perhaps it became a ritual of sorts each morning, a part of his routine to tuck each one away. The captain, vice captain, and the rest of the specialists lining the inner band of his hat while the rest of the crew were individually squirreled away. A meditation, grounding and quiet. He would use it to remind himself of his role as the crew's swordsman, as their protector.

How could he forget the sharp sear of each individual card burning away, stuck close to his skin by waterlogged clothing as he dragged himself ashore gasping and choking on sea and blood and smoke. Having been left by marines that assumed he would drown because- perhaps pointed out by one that had deceived him, made Mihawk believe they were his friend to be led back to his family:

"No freak like that could exist without having eaten the devil's fruit."

How could he forget the embers escaping, dancing in the evening gloam like fireflies swarming around him? There were so many.. now there are none and gods he's been so empty since. How could such a small piece of paper take so much of him? To kill a man with a blade, even butchering him inelegantly, would be a greater mercy so long as he was dead.

Nowadays Mihawk knows better. Knows better than to trust or be trusted. That blades might chip and tarnish but they dont burn, never completely.

Yoru hums and sings in his hands as he wields her and she does not feel like home.. but she feels solid and eternal and cold. She will never burn. Her weight is bearable.

Impersonal.

Professional.

Yoru makes death an art in his hands. She is the brush not the paper, spattering fireflies over a night sky.

. . .

For years after, he kept far from others. Deciding to never get so close to anyone ever again. Safe in the knowledge he would never feel the burning sting of loss nor the cold cut of betrayal so acutely. Trust was a double edged blade, perhaps the only one he truly couldn't handle.

He was no protector.. so he wouldn't try to be.

Instead Mihawk would hunt. Chasing the marines mercilessly. Cutting a bloody path through their ranks and burning their fucking fortresses to the ground. At first they spoke of him as an insane lone swordsman, then a one man army, then a monster, a demon. The relentless yellow eyed freak that stalked the seas and nightmares of future vice admirals.

He systematically killed all those that harmed him. A shadow over the shore, a rogue wave swallowing their ships, a curse of vengeance come to reap. He destroyed all the records of his crew that he could get his hands on. If he must be cursed to slowly forget them over time, then the world government didnt deserve their memory either.

And so on it went for a time. Long enough for the hunt to lose its luster. Slaughtering sheep by the herd in search of a rare wolf.

Mihawk had almost forcibly forgotten about Vivre cards as a concept. His own remained untouched, never moving from where he hid it. He had no friends, no family, no nakama. Only a dwindling list of worthy foes to test himself against.

Until the day the king of pirates died. Until their golden age truly began.

Until he met Shanks, who held out a hand and asked him to step out of the monochrome past and into a thousand possible vibrant futures. Ones of lush reds and glittering golds, of polished onyx black and the purest, deepest blue.

.

"Here," Shanks said suddenly one night, holding out a small scrap of paper. The both of them were perched atop the ruins of a high sea wall on some remote island, enjoying the cold breeze from the north after a hard fought duel.

Mihawk, for all his composure, blanched. "What is that?" He knew and he did not take it.

"What do you think it is? Its a piece of my card." He said it so simply. Like it barely occured to him how precious such a thing was. Shanks didn't drop his arm, even as the silence stretched out between them.

"No."

"Come on, Takanome- Dont be like that! We're nak--"

"Rivals." He cut the younger man off abruptly. His chest felt too hot and too tight, burning and burning and, "We are rivals, Akagami."

Shanks must've been pouting, he could hear it in his voice, "Even more reason for you to take it. We could duel every day if you could always find me~ Come on.. Please? I want you to have it."

"...."

Hawkeyes glanced at his best friend rival and immediately regretted it. Shank's face was always full of so much hope, so much faith in... something.. It made Mihawk's heart catch in his throat every time to see those big earnest eyes staring at him almost as if, for a moment, it was faith in him.

"I don't know if I can give you mine.." He murmured. Shanks smiled soft, a little sad, and infuriatingly understanding without needing to know anything.

"I dont need it. I know you'll always find me." He pressed his heart, his home the scrap into Mihawk's palm and closed the swordsman's fingers over it. "And if I need to find you.. I'll just ask the wind."

[ofduskanddreams]

Truth or Dare, Azriel?

For @panicatthenightcourt :) The request: Gwynriel and Elucien. Tipsy truth or dare and maybe things get a little bit messy? I chose to make this a modern AU since it wasn't specified hehe.

A/N: It's implied that they've been drinking but let me assure everyone that they're still fully in control of themselves. There is no infidelity in this fic, everything is consented to by all parties involved.

Gwynriel & Elucien ✦ Rated M ✦ 1.3k words ✦ on AO3

Azriel dropped his head onto Gwyn’s shoulder, closing his eyes and inhaling the scents of sunscreen and lavender shampoo.

The bonfire was crackling merrily and carving a pool of orange out of the deep violet night. Crickets chirped, frogs trilled, and the lake water lapped gently at the sand.

He was tipsy.

Gwyn smelled fucking amazing.

There were still four days left of their vacation.

He was at his favorite place with his favorite people.

It was too….

No. 

Azriel sat up, blinking against the firelight and reminding himself that he was allowed to have this without the constant fear of it being stripped away.  

Some things were truly good. Other shoes didn’t always drop.

“Everything alright, Az?” Elain asked. She was curled into Lucien’s side across the fire from them.

“Yeah, fine. I just spaced out.” He hoped his face betrayed nothing. The last thing he needed was for Lucien to spend the rest of their vacation calling him Sadzriel again. 

“Okay,” Gwyn exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “We are going to play a game because it’s too early for us to be getting tired. Besides, we need to give them—” she jerked her head toward the house on the hill “—more time before the cabin will be safe.”

Half an hour earlier, Nesta had dragged Cassian away from the fire claiming she was “tired.” Rhys and Feyre made their excuses not long after.

Gwyn had a point. Even if they wanted to go to bed right now, Azriel knew none of them would be able to fall asleep due to the volume of the others' activities. It was the one downside of this pine-sheltered haven on the lake. 

“What kind of game?” Lucien asked.

Azriel turned to his right. The flames danced tangerine in the teal reflection of Gwyn’s eyes making them gleam with a devilish light. 

His girlfriend shot him a sly smile. “Truth or Dare.”

Elain grinned, “I’m in.” 

“Me too,” Lucien said with a huff of laughter. 

“Az?”

His past experiences of Truth or Dare weren’t what Azriel would call fond memories. Then again, maybe that was an unavoidable consequence of playing with Rhys and Cassian instead of being the fault of the game itself. And the way Gwyn was looking up at him all wide-eyed and lower lip caught between her teeth the way she knew drove him crazy….

“Fine, I’m in too.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Lucien chuckled and Azriel threw an empty beer can at his head.

“If you had my memories of Truth or Dare, you wouldn’t be so psyched about it either,” Azriel grumbled. 

It didn’t take long for the game to spiral in the direction that Azriel had been dreading. They made it once around the circle and then it was Elain’s turn again. He knew it was going to be bad no matter which option he chose. The world may think Elain Archeron the epitome of sweet kindness, but those close to her knew better than to fall to that facade. Elain Archeron could be the devil in disguise.

“Truth or dare, Azriel?” she asked, her tone intentionally disarming.

Knowing Elain for as long as he had, he knew she knew things about him that few did—that Gwyn didn’t. Not yet, at least. They’d been together for a year but some things he wanted to share were so weighty that a year might not be strong enough to hold them. To choose “truth” would be too risky.

“Dare.” Azriel leaned back, leveling Elain with a look of challenge to belie his fear of her next words.

“I dare you to kiss Lucien. For at least five seconds. With feeling.”

And Elain looked so smug at that, Azriel couldn’t help but laugh. Lucien was very attractive. Had they met in a bar and weren’t attached, he’d waste no time. “What do you say, Lucien?”

Lucien wore a smirk as he pushed off the log to stand. “If the ladies want a show, and you are willing, who am I to deny them?”

Azriel rose, moving until they were standing nearly chest to chest. “Oh, if it’s what the ladies want, I’m all in.” 

He shot a questioning glance toward Gwyn over his shoulder. It was only a fun game if everyone thought so, if she didn’t want him to do this he wouldn’t. But Gwyn was smiling, and she waved her hands as if to say by all means, please continue.

So, Azriel reached and tangled his fingers in the thick red hair at Lucien’s nape. He winked at Gwyn. “I always have had a thing for redheads,” and then he stepped into Lucien’s space.

Lucien was slightly taller than him. Azriel had forgotten until he had to tilt his chin at the last second. The kiss started out questioning: hi there, hello—drawing back, a second chaste brush and press—we’re doing this, yes we are.

Then it turned exploratory: how good of a kisser are you?—adding pressure—very good I’ll have you know—Lucien’s hands on either side of his jaw, tipping Azriel’s head as he took control. Azriel nipped Lucien’s lower lip in response to the challenge.

Someone wolf-whistled. Probably Gwyn. Azriel took that as his cue to slow, and Lucien did the same.

The kiss ended sincerely: that was rather nice—a strong press—it was, wasn’t it—parting, then coming back for one last peck, featherlight and lingering.

They stepped away from each other, smiling. Lucien offered Azriel his hand, “Nice work.”

Azriel shook it, “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Lucien rolled his eyes and went back to sit beside Elain. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

Elain, whose red cheeks (though not as red as Gwyn’s when Azriel looked) were answer enough, but she huffed a laugh, “And then some. I don’t know what I expected but that was… something.” 

Lucien arched an eyebrow, glancing between Azriel and Gwyn with a silent question. Azriel couldn’t deny that the idea intrigued him, but that was something to think about for another night. Now he needed revenge.

“Elain—Truth or dare?” Azriel already knew which one she would choose, but they had to play the game. 

“Dare.” 

Just as he had hoped.

“I dare you to ask Gwyn to go skinny dipping in the lake with you right now.”

“Oh,” Elain feigned surprise. “So that’s how it’s going to be? What do you say, Gwyn, should we give the boys a taste of their own medicine?”

“Now hold on. That wasn’t—” Azriel’s half-hearted protest was interrupted when Gwyn stood up and tugged off her (it was actually his, but she’d stolen it) hoodie.

“There is nothing I would like more,” Gwyn replied with a wicked-looking grin aimed at Azriel. 

Elain and Gwyn walked down the beach, a trail of discarded clothes marking their path to the lakeshore. 

Slowly, Azriel and Lucien rose and turned as one, as if there were little more than puppets on strings. 

Inky water swallowed pale limbs and soft curves as they walked further out. The two women seemed to glow in the light of the nearly full moon reflecting off the breeze wrinkled surface of the lake. They were ethereal, otherworldly, like nymphs or sirens.

Azriel glanced at Lucien to find the man already looking at him. They exchanged nods, starting to follow the trail their girlfriends had left behind.

Gwyn and Elain stopped when the water was just below their shoulders. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but the next thing he knew their hands were in each other's wet hair and they were kissing. 

“Fuck me.” The words sounded like they’d been punched out of Lucien’s gut.

“Yeah,” Azriel breathed. He shared the sentiment.

“Well boys,” Gwyn’s voice carried over the water. “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to join us?”

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @damedechance @talons-and-teeth @krem-does-stuff @iftheshoef1tz @thelovelymadone @mmiscbutterflies @shadowriel @foundress0fnothing @sunshinebingo @octobers-veryown @areyoudreaminof @moonpatroclus @separatist-apologist @kingofsummer93 @velidewrites @wittyrejoinder @bagelfyre @itsthedoodle @sv0430

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Tuesday, March 7 - Wednesday, March 8

Cain: No wonder this town's overrun with monsters. No one here's man enough to kill 'em. Buffy: Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that. (bends his gun into an arc with her bare hands) How about you let the door hit you in the ass on the way out of town?

~~Phases~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor. Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Self-Doubt by badly_knitted (Buffy, Faith, PG)

Define Special by madimpossibledreamer (Buffy/Devil May Cry/Resident Evil/Background NCIS Crossover, Xander, T)

Birds of a Feather by DWEmma (Black Widow crossover, Faith, T)

Flock Together by DWEmma (Black Widow crossover, Faith, E)

A little more time by LJ94 (Buffy/Spike, Buffy & Xander, M)

The Benefits of Being a Hero by anonymous author (Tara/Willow, T)

The Neurology Wing by heckate (Buffy, Willow, G)

Welcome to the Clan by JessicaSnow (Twilight crossover, Buffy, M)

I Would Kill Him (If You Let Me) by thoughtsofahouseplant (Buffy/Spike, Hank Summers, T)

Spike's Night-Time Bites by Supernatural_Artefact (Buffy/Spike, T)

Rainbow by BeatriceEveryTuesday (Buffy/Anya, M)

facing sorrow with Faith by watcherless (Buffy/Faith, E)

The Weird & Wonderful Tale of Buffy the Horse by TheBatmanPersona (Buffy/Faith, T)

A little more time by LJ94 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Empty by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Paper clouds, open windows - Chapter 1 by tinkerbellamy (Willow/Heidi the hyena, T)

Who Am I - Chapter 1-3 (COMPLETE!) by Luka (Dawn, G)

APOCALYPSE - Chapter 1 by TheCitron (Faith/Robin Wood, M, in French)

Askew - Chapter 1 by ApexDrive (Xander/Larry, Xander/Jesse, Xander/Jonathan, Xander/Andrew, E)

Slaying Nightmares - Chapter 1 by LinzOd (Sandman crossover, Scoobies, Buffy/Spike, T)

Several chapter updates on Elysian Fields (Buffy/Spike, various ratings)

And chapter updates on Twisting the Hellmouth (various characters and ratings)

=

Found family ties, Ch. 1-4 by Julikobold (Buffy/Spike, G)

And many chapter updates on Sunnydale After Dark (Buffy/Spike, various ratings)

[Images, Audio & Video]

5 Buffy Icons by debris4spike (Buffy, worksafe)

Crafts: Slayer scythe replica in progress by dykerikki ()

Animated drawing: a master vampire and an unruly fledge by sundayroadkill (Angelus, Spike, worksafe)

Gothic rose Willow manip by emmatheslayer (worksafe)

💃🏼 BtVS 505. No Place Like Home 💃🏼 by tmcarlee (Glory, worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

Older and Far Away by elliebartlets

S7 rewatch : review of Storyteller (Pt 3/3) by PuckRobin

First Time Watcher (S2 Halloween) by genz9

Check out my Buffy podcast, Slayer Lair, on Spotify or Apple Podcasts! by Jera420

First Time Watcher S2 Ep 8 (The Dark Age) by genz9

5.10 Soul Purpose | Angel on Top

7.11 – "Showtime" by If the Apocalypse Comes, Beep Me

Pop Culture Role Call: Mazel Tov Molotov - Angel S04E07 - Apocalypse, Nowish

[Recs & In Search Of]

Three fanvid recs by apachefirecat

Spuffy style Reading Challenge - #21: Dancing with Fantasy and Sci-Fi by mcgnagallsarmy

[Community Announcements]

The Buffy Fashion Bracket (a tournament to determine the Ultimate BtVS Outfit) is open for submissions

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[Fandom Discussions]

[The vibes Buffy is giving off in I Was Made to Love You] by all-seeing-ifer

I don’t like the idea that Cecily Addams and Halfrek were the same person by coraniaid

Re: if you were going to make Faith/Buffy into a throuple, which character would you ship with them? by juanabaloo

Angel leaves Buffy to give her a chance to have a full life, and... by petpluto

[Spike is the Perfect Romantic Lead™ to an absurd degree] by deadthingu

Multiple Homestuck classpect headcanons for Buffy characters by tavtiers

Ever had a Buffy related dream? by garuffy and others

What would you say is the best season for your favourite characters? (cont'd) by Dogs of Winter and fauxindigo

Willow's arc was the opposite of the Slayers by garfan and others

Which villains or neutral characters could be evil counterparts for each of the Scobby and Angel Investigations gang members from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel? hosted by EnvironmentalAd6108

When the vampires *didn't* go poof! and get dusted... by sakura_drop

weird buffybot observation by PuzzleheadedSteak868

Why is everyone so quick to think that Buffy would sleep with Angel again? by LeahcarA

What's something that happens in the show that you understand and don't blame them for but really don't like either? hosted by Captainoats88

Poll: Would you rather work at... by Captainoats88

My So Called Life, Halloween, & I Only Have Eyes for You by MissMash01

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

90s Con 2023 Schedule (inc James Marsters & Buffy cast) via dontkillspike

Emerald City Comic Con 2023 Reports, Pics & Videos (James Marsters, Kristine Sutherland, Charisma Carpenter) via jamiemarsters

Buffy's New Slayer Transforms Willow & Tara's Queer Legacy by Andy Davis (Screenrant)

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[huntersmooned]

pointless headcanons part ???

very, very few beings hold sway over the empty's realm. chuck and amara cannot create or destroy while there, archangels / angels / demons are little more than human -- the only ones that can do anything are the empty himself and the horsemen, and that's because their power is less power and more what they are.

[huntersmooned-aa]

this will never not be funny to me

just let him nap, goddamn

[monsterdreams]

Unexpected (SFW) - Part 1

A whopping 3,116 words of angst 😬 I don’t know why, I just felt like writing something angsty, but I promise part 2 will be a sappy, fluffy, happy ending! 

I had two ways I wanted this to end, so I’m going to write both. One with Talla and one with Kal(since their personalities are so different and I can’t choose between which of the two I want). 

Warnings: angst, cheating, manipulation/gaslighting (I think that’s it?)

I also wanted to keep the reader and M non-gender so let me know if I missed anything in that regard.

-----

“Good morning…” A breath fanned across your face, blowing your loose hair slightly to the side as it fluttered over your ear. The deep grumble that accompanied it sent a small shiver down your spine, something you could never get used to and didn’t want to. It was always so intimate waking up on the weekends with your lover, nowhere either of you had to be so you could just be lazy in each other’s arms.

“Morning.” You grumbled back, content to snuggle closer into the warmth at your back rather than get up yet. Alas, the arm around you slipped out instead of pulling you closer, and the warmth you wanted left the bed to head to the bathroom. 

You had met your Orc boyfriend, Gun, just over 2 years ago and he was always the handsy type, even before you started officially dating. Some people were put off, but it made you feel warm and wanted – exactly what you were looking for, and the past 2 years almost seemed like a dream.

Whenever you were feeling down, he was there to offer a hug and listen. Whenever you had something to celebrate, he was there to acknowledge your achievement and dance with you. Whenever you felt like your emotions would boil over, he was there to catch them in his arms – and once with a kiss. That was when you both knew you wanted to share these moments with each other more deeply than you thought your friendship allowed.

After hearing the shower turn on you figured your walking heater wasn’t coming back to bed anytime soon, so you begrudgingly pulled yourself out and into some slippers to go make coffee. You always appreciated some quiet time to yourself to sip on your coffee in your favorite armchair by the window, basking in some fresh air and sunlight to help you wake up.

The only thing interrupting your peace was a quiet ding from the cellphone on the side table.

‘He must’ve left it here last night after the movie.’

You weren’t normally one to look at your boyfriend’s messages, trying to give him the privacy he deserved as he also gave you the same, but then a sequence of dings came through in a rush that worried you a bit. Was it a family member with a problem?

‘It could just be a group chat.’

You reasoned with yourself and decided not to open the messages directly, just look at the name on the notifications.

M: !!

M: We need to talk TODAY

M: You can’t keep putting this off

M: This is too much I’m not okay with being the one….

The message was cut off by the character limit in the notifications and you hesitated for a second, just trying to figure out who M was. You’d never noticed the single letter as a contact before.

‘Maybe one of his coworkers?’

You ignored the devil on your shoulder and set the phone back on the side table. While you wouldn’t have minded much if he looked at your phone, you knew you would appreciate his respect if roles were reversed, so you shifted your focus back to your coffee and heard the shower turn off.

“Hey Gun, you’ve got some messages on your phone.” You called out, grabbing his phone and taking your empty mug to the sink. As you turned to head back to the bedroom another set of messages came in rapidly, catching your attention.

M: If this doesn’t make you leave them, idk what…

M: [image]

M: Don’t you miss this body?

You froze in your tracks, heart stopped and jaw open in disbelief. It felt like your blood was simultaneously running cold and burning you at the same time.

‘This… No.’

Your brain couldn’t even wrap around the idea that someone was sending nudes to your boyfriend, and you immediately had to banish the idea from your head by proving it wrong. Even if it was happening you were so sure they were unsolicited. Your thoughts started moving a hundred miles a minute as you quickly put in his pass code, only to be stopped when it was wrong.

‘When did he change it?’

You both had each other’s codes for emergencies, but maybe you were remembering the code wrong?

The ding from another message brought your mind back to the phone.

M: I’m just remembering last weekend when you…

You’re not even sure what the sound was that gasped out of your mouth, but it was loud enough for your boyfriend to hear along with the thump of his phone hitting the ground. He stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and a confused look, then froze when he noticed his phone on the floor.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” His eyebrows pinched in concern as he put his hands on your arms to get your attention, leaning his head down slightly to catch your eyes. “What happened? Is it an anxiety attack?” 

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, it may have in fact been the start of an anxiety attack that kept your mind from organizing your thoughts. You wanted to cry and vomit and demand answers, but you just stood there in shock. Breathing started to feel like a chore as your chest heaved rapidly.

Your lack of response prompted your boyfriend to pull you into a tight hug and rub soothing circles into your back while whispering calming phrases to help you steady your breathing.  

“Count with me, ok? Take a breath, and one, two three, hold it, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven eight, ok now let it out slowly. It’s ok, just keep breathing.”

You started counting and taking steady breaths but as soon as he said “it’s ok” it was like your body was on fire. His touch that used to be so comforting, so loving, felt like ice that was so cold it started to burn. His voice caused you to heave and you couldn’t stop yourself from pushing him away.

“No, no, I’m not ok.” Your voice cracked as you looked down at your boyfriend’s phone and then back up at his face. “Wh-who is M?”

Your boyfriend’s face fell as you spoke, and he tightened his grip on your arms. Not painfully, but more like he was afraid something would happen if he let go. He sighed and looked away.

“M… is my ex from awhile ago. The one I told you about…” He looked back up with determination in his eyes. “They started texting me a couple weeks ago and I told them to leave me alone.”

His eyes softened, “I know I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want to upset you. I’m sorry.”

You expression didn’t change much. There was a big part of you that wanted to believe him, that trusted him and knew you could be misunderstanding the text messages, but you were still shaken.

“…Can I see the texts then?” Your voice came out small, tentative, and as unassuming as possible. If what he said was true then the proof would calm your anxiety and put your raging thoughts away. You voiced as much but stopped when your boyfriend slowly shook his head.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. If you see them you’re just going to think about them more. I should’ve just blocked their number once they reached out, I’m really sorry you had to see that.” His words were soft and calming, but his dismissal sparked anger within you.

His story appealed to the side of you willing to trust him, but the catch was in the last message referring to last weekend. He had told you he was going to play cards with friends and came back after you had gone to bed, but doubt creeped in to fuel the spark. Then there was also the changed passcode.

“Why did you change the code on your phone?” Your voice was growing stronger, more challenging, and your boyfriend dropped his arms from your side to straighten and school his face into a look of irritation.

“Someone at work saw me put my code in and I didn’t feel comfortable leaving it.” He crossed his arms loosely. “Why are you being like this? You don’t trust me all of a sudden?”

“Why are you so against me seeing the texts? That doesn’t make sense to me and I just feel uncomfortable.” You countered, wrapping your arms around your waist for comfort.

Your boyfriend let out a short, breathy laugh. “You almost just had an anxiety attack, if you aren’t still in it, so you’re obviously more sensitive than you think you are. You’re overreacting and I think you need to calm down.” His tone lost some of the previous aggression but was still final as he reached to grab his phone.

-----

After your boyfriend had dressed, he found you still standing where he left you in the hallway, your arms still tightened around your waist. What he said wasn’t necessarily wrong, you did tend to have problems with your anxiety and you’d built mutual respect for each other over the past two years that was hard to dismiss so lightly.

“Come here.” Your boyfriend gently wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head and setting off the tears built up from your hurt and frustration. “I’m so sorry baby.” He sighed and cradled you in his arms for a moment. “I promise this won’t happen again, I’m just going to block her.”

You took in choppy breaths as you tried to stop the tears. You felt silly now, like you had been overreacting and misunderstanding the situation and now the mood drop was your fault.

“I told Kal I’d help him today, so I have to go.” He pulled back and wiped some of the tears off your face. “Why don’t you get some rest today? Watch a movie with some snacks and order in?”

You nodded your head mutely and your boyfriend gave you a quick peck before saying goodbye.

-----

The day was now yours to do as you wish, and of course you weren’t in the mood to do anything, but you walked down to the diner your best friend Talla worked at. Talla was a cute half elf/half faun that had inherited everything from her Elven mother aside from a pair of twisting horns, a button nose, and a short yet fluffy tail. The morning rush was heading out so you had a chance to sit down together with a small plate of eggs and bacon, and her with some coffee.

“I’m sorry hun, that sounds awful.” Talla rested her hand on the one you weren’t using and rubbed the back with her thumb. “I don’t mean to throw him under the bus but I think your concern was valid at the least, if not completely justified. Who does this ex think they are anyways?” Talla’s face scrunched up in disgust before she took a sip of coffee. “Going after someone who’s clearly in a committed relationship. That’s just bullshit.” 

Initially Talla had been convinced something was going on with your boyfriend when you told her what you saw of the texts, but she did listen to what you had to say in his defense and how you feel. She was always like that, very determined in her convictions but knew when you needed her to be more comforting than convincing.

“You are definitely not silly, and I’d have been livid if that was me.”

You sighed and picked at your food. “I really don’t want to throw away this relationship over nothing though, especially with how well he’s treated me. He has always trusted me and I want to do the same.”

“Ok, ok, I see your point. I don’t like it…” She raised her eyebrows to emphasize. “…but I’ll let it slide.”

You gave a small smile and thanked her. 

Talla peaked at her phone. “Kal should be here any minute to pick up the order for his mom and then I won’t have any other preorders for the day. Want to stay a little longer?”

You drew your eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, he has some family in town so he brushed me off when I asked him to help me today.” Talla said with fake hurt in her voice. She was always teasing him somehow.

“Gun said he was helping Kal today. I wonder what they’re doing.” You took another bite and paused when you saw Talla’s expression morph back into one of suspicion.

“Yeah… I wonder what they’re doing too…” She slowly took a sip of coffee while she studied your face in consideration. “I suppose we could just ask Kal when he gets here, right?”

Her cautious tone and the weird looks were making you uneasy. You stopped eating when you felt bile rise into your throat and a pit form in your stomach. Suddenly you weren’t sure that you actually wanted to ask and it was hard to swallow.

Just then the door opened and in stepped Kal, a Tiefling with a slender frame and deep brown eyes. His horns were Ivory and contrasted with his darker complexion. “Hey guys! My order ready?”

Talla looked towards the back window and saw a brown bag that the cook must’ve set there for pick-up. “Yeah, looks like it is. You can get it yourself, right?”

Talla leaned back into the booth and took another sip of coffee, giving you the side eye. Your breathing was a bit heavier and you weren’t looking at Kal. She would’ve thought you were under a spell if you hadn’t finally swallowed hard and taken in a deep breath.

Kal scoffed and rolled his eyes as he slipped behind the bar to grab the bag. He made sure everything was in order and said his thanks, but as he turned to leave you found your voice.

“H-hey Kal, uhm…” You looked back at Talla who tried to be reassuring with a smile. “What are you and Gun working on today?” You looked back at Kal expectantly.

Kal paused at your table and scrunched his eyebrows together. “Me and Gun…?”

Kal’s confusion was exactly what you were afraid of and the pit in your stomach sank even further. “Yeah, isn’t he helping you with something today?” Your voice shrank as you spoke.

Kal paused to think, wondering if he had forgotten some plan he had made with Gun. “No, not that I can remember at least. My family is in town so I didn’t make any plans for this weekend.”

You couldn’t respond. This one lie seemed to bust open the crack you were trying to close, and your mind couldn’t make sense of it without the possibility (or rather probability) that your boyfriend wasn’t as faithful as he said he was, as you believed he was, and as you finally opened your mouth to respond your phone went off with a series of dings. The texts popped up in your notifications as an unknown number, but they caught your eye immediately.

Unknown: pack your bags

Unknown: he doesn’t want you anymore

Unknown: [video]

You thought you were going to vomit as you quickly opened your phone to see the messages, too in shock to be embarrassed about having an audience. Talla gasped, and while Kal wasn’t aware of the situation he was smart enough to understand Gun wasn’t where you thought he was. The silence before starting the video only added to the tension.

The screen was black at first, then there was some light and you could see Gun at an awkward angle leaning down to kiss someone. The video went dark again but continued into a conversation.

“You promised Gun…” The one who seemed to be recording whined.

“I know baby, I just need a little more time to handle this.” The second person was unmistakably Gun. “I told you, she’s not mentally stable. I can’t just breakup with her, who knows what she’ll do. Even this morning she freaked out for no reason, so I need time to make a clean cut.”

The video ended and you just stared at your phone. Over and over you kept thinking, ‘this… this isn’t reality.’ Your eyebrows drew together in confusion while your brain tried to understand how the person you loved, the person you trusted, had a master plan for leaving you high and dry. It felt like everything was a lie, every kind word, every common interest, every encouragement and note of love to each other was just… entertainment? A solution to boredom? What could possibly possess someone to be so involved just to decided they didn’t feel like it anymore?

Or if it all was meaningful, what was his plan? What was a clean cut supposed to even look like when you were together for so long? 

You started to question your value, whether you were good enough for him or not, how this other person must be so superior to you, why didn’t he tell you, and Talla could see the toxic mindset you were spiraling into.

“No, no way that scumbag is going to make you feel this way.” Her words were firm and she reached across the table with just as firm of a grip on your hand.

“Look at me.” She waited for you to process the command and make eye contact. “I wish I could tell you why Gun would do something like this, but no matter the reason you don’t deserve this.”

Kal’s face had also morphed from confusion to hurt, discovering the truth of his friend alongside you, and he slowly sat down next to you in the booth shoulder-to-shoulder. He was never good with showing physical affection, but you could see he was trying. “I can’t believe he would do this… you really don’t deserve it.”

Your throat felt tight and it was like the tears pushed themselves all the way from your aching heart to the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t stop them, and you felt a flurry of hurt, embarrassment, and failure that forced your head into the crook of your arm on the table. Nothing made sense and you were starting to feel angry as well, but you couldn’t tell who you were angry at. Gun? The person he was cheating on you with? Yourself? It just made the tears come harder.

-----

Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you have any advice or criticism, or just how you feel about it in general :) 

[yandere-society]

pjm | “carnal lechery”

pairing: yandere! vampire! jimin x novice nun! virgin! fem. reader

rating: M

genre: yandere au, supernatural (vampire) au, smut, angst

word count: 10.5K

Headline: Halloween Night Massacre; Police Baffled By Murdering Spree

warnings: yandere themes, dub con, angst, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral (m.rec & f.rec), bonding, blindfolding, biting, loss of virginity, virginal blood worship, overstimulation, use of feathers and chains, mentions of blood, graphic descriptions of slaughtering, mentions of religious cults, mentions of christianity, mentions of sacrifices, gore.

synopsis: Attempts to precede his arrival made you ornery as he slipped like thin air from your fingers, even when you’d have him so close. You had almost ultimately fixated in your mind that you’d never know your secret admirer. Meanwhile— mysterious murders, disappearances and uproars about the return of the most fabled coven of vampires: ❛The Rouge❜ leads you to expect your imminent death. However, you do not expect the turn of events and the appearance of the one you’d been seeking for.

admin: @unfurlingtwinklingstar​

It was one of those macabre mornings when you’d find an oh-so-familiar garland at your doorstep.

The very same kind of flowers that you’d prefer for decorating your little reading nook with, would lay wrapped in a delicate paper foil. The dew on its petals would appear golden as it would kiss the ray of dawn streaming through the porch of your fern-scented cottage.

A feverish shiver would run through your spine at the sight of a caramel-colored envelope right underneath the lavender foil in anticipation of what this letter would say about you.

It would be hard to persist the laden need to find the giver first when the lovely pink petals would almost frown at your resistance.

You cherished calla lilies. There wasn’t a day when they’d not sit on your vase with their trimmed stems soaked in lukewarm water, smiling as they bloom.

Every Friday, this was to be expected. Yet, you weren’t fully comfortable with the handwritten cursive that’d make your fingers slack at its message.

The meander cursive masked the obscene descriptions of your curves, the filth in the mind of the writer was impeccably reflected in the flow of the dark ink.

The first time you had gotten such a letter, you had a recurred session reading it with obscure scrutiny, only to find the title ‘Third youngest of the Rouge’ in the sender name column.

The letters had chanted your name like a prayer, it’d beckon for you to have a taste of the kind of pleasure that you were trying to celibate yourself from, the kind that’d be a sin to indulge in.

It made your body thrice warmer, your body blazed into a pretty rouge like the robes you wore during service hours in the church.

Eroticism and romance were taboo subjects to conventuals and canonesses at the convent of Volterra. Being a novice in service to the almighty, you were taught to be a holy carmelite, a slender benedictine, devoted especially to scholarship and liturgical worship.

But the intimate descriptions highlighted the black traces of sin in the depths of your soul as if the devil awaited his chance to stand erect and applaud in sheer satisfaction at the sight of your crumbling control.

Sucking in shaky breaths, you grab hold of the stirrer and kindle the crackling flames dancing in your fireplace.

Without a second thought, you toss the expensive pieces of poetry into the topaz flames and watch as the fire comes to life and blazes the parchment to ashes.

You were considered too much of a vestal to submit to this admirer of yours.

The choirs at the convent church were different compared to other choirs that didn’t sing hymns. Their voices were almost like the angels’, high notes soaring over the clouds, graceful notes dancing on the staves, they sang for the almighty only.

This was halloween at the monestery. Whilst the town wore spooky robes and went around sharing treats in exchange of spared tricks, you sang along with your fellow sisters, honouring the almighty and paying tribute to saint Marcus.

You sang along, keeping a low voice and swaying to the gentlest harmony in devotion. The stanzas are clutched to your heart and you cherish this moment when you feel the string between you and your god. You cannot fathom how satiated you feel. Your mind strays to your past, when you were under foster care.

You were a doting, little child despite how the other girls prayed for a future where they can possess expensive goods and glittery jewelry. You only kept away from their notions of want and sinful desires for pleasure even as you became an adult.

You chose to bake cookies, share blankets, study the Bible, smile and croon at the praises the church would give you, rather than read obscene novels and join the young woman of your age in subjects that were atrocious in the eyes of the holy.

Sister Siena walked you to your dwelling at the convent’s residence while she chattered about her moss garden and herbs that could treat flu. You listened quietly, letting out little nonchalant hums. Gardening wasn’t a subject of your interest and you were much more fatigued to feign enthusiasm.

“The halloween rituals might probably need an addition of prune juice, don’t you think?” she asks while you unlock the latch and walk into your home.

You let out a small smile and usher her in whilst nodding to everything in your surroundings. A little envelope peeks out from the gap between the floor and the hallway door, making your chest tighten at the realisation.

A letter from your mystery admirer was unforeseen and definitely unwelcome, especially in the presence of a fellow nun in your dwelling.

The attention of sister Siena is brought back at the sight of a cream-coloured envelope with a rather unfamiliar stamp on its surface.

Her olive eyes narrow to two slits and makes perspiration bead out and down your clavicle in fear. In the blink of an eye, the envelope’s seal is torn and the letter is perused by the chestnut haired female at once.

Her response however, gives you a cursory shock. Her lips turn into a smile and she stares up at you, eyes in awe as if she had witnessed the grand work of Caravaggio.

“You have an admirer”, she infers and you scour her face for signs of offense only, to find nil. She seems rather, glad.

“I— I usually burn them there” you point to your fireplace and her shoulders buckle in a brief fit of giggles, as if you had shared an anecdote.

“Who would pray to have a vestal nun? It is like counting the stars.” she mumbles into her mug of tea, eyes flickering from your face to the letter, absent-mindedly.

You shrug and get seated opposite to her, straining your eyes on the flickering flames that warms your numb, cold toes. You sigh in bliss at the tranquil frame of your nook and almost the next minute, your eyes flutter shut and you sink into the lulled sounds of the crackling fire.

Unbeknownst to you, the young nun seated at your opposite has her nerves ossified at the glimpse of the sender’s title. Comprehension of ‘third youngest of the rouge’ sends her mind into frenzy. Dismay sinks into her heart and makes it thud and toll like church bells at the realisation of the plight that you have been pulled into and she shudders.

Without so as to even a noise, the letter is slid into her crimson tunic and the envelope is thrown into the fire.

The coolness of the midnight is deceptive; the sun has barely risen and this altitude is always cooler. Siena’s destination is low down and deep into the interior, well away from the onshore winds. When she reaches, the heat of that region makes her compare the temperature to her kitchen’s, on a baking day— like a friendly warmth instead of the inferno it always is.

Her footsteps are ushered as the heels of her moccasins rap against the laid out cream carpet in dull thuds, her breathing is in a frenzy too for, hundreds of thoughts swarm in her head at once.

Siena is cold to the bone despite striding across the blazing heat of the deep, dim chambers of the three elderly canonesses, at the convent. The canonesses— head nuns are rather reserved and hostile about their roles in the society.

Before the 17th century, such chambers were often considered clandestine— precisely, before the battle of Tuscany. The battle held a significant place in history, for how saint Marcus and his veterans fought and impeded entire Tuscany off of sanguinarians— a term used to describe vampires.

The rise and fall of the most fabled coven of vampires was inscribed in the olden scriptures and was forgotten to tell tales about wizards and curses as of the present. Siena had studied about them at school.

The mere image of the counts brings shivers down the woman’s spine and she shudders as she holds onto the letter and walks, toward the canonesses’ chambers.

It is dark when she arrives; gnarled trees hung low over the baronial church, creaking ominously in the howling winds. The heavy oak doors broke open, echoing around the empty church.

The moonlight shone through the heavily cracked stained-glass windows, casting an eerie glow onto the dusty alter. Thick cobwebs hung on every surface and her footsteps sounded deafening on the cold stone floor.

Two elder ladies sit perched on their carpeted thrones with their veils over their heads and backs turned toward Siena. They hold hands in a circle and mutter chants to themselves.

Siena’s eyes capture the silent movements of their fingers and the incessant nods of their heads. She gently walks— almost stalks, until one of the elder canonesses perk at her arrival and seek her to sit with them.

The chamber walls radiate off its warmth and the conversation is lulled as Siena breathes out her concerns with utter respect, her expression remains composed despite her rapid breathing.

The canonesses nod with eyes widened at the size of fire lanterns, their fingers tremble slightly in comprehension of the magnitude of issue that the young nun had brought to them.

In the next hour, right on the death of halloween, nuns and monks are summoned from the monastery and a ceremony is held right in their place to seek peace once again.

The seven Rouge sanguinarians, the fabled coven of vampires have returned to Volterra.

The four canonesses sit in a circle and one of them draws a circled figure at their center. The symbol seems ominous to Siena, it seems almost like a satanic pentagram. A silver crucifix is fixed right at the junction of the chalked lines and the series of chants begin.

For almost a quarter of a hour, Siena sits— rooted and in the careful look-out for queer changes in the surroundings. The next minute, one of the canonesses jerk as if she had felt a foreign presence and collapses on the canoness next to her.

The chamber queerly begins getting chilled as the chants get more louder in unison. Whooshing noises of the wind soon fills the chamber and an eerie figure settles through the open window, making Siena freeze, petrified.

At the end of the hallway stands a slender yet, robust, almost surreal, young-looking man sheathed in a heavy, scarlet cloak. His eyes are shut, as if he is in deep thought, and once they open, they make Siena jump out of her seat in fear.

Skin almost translucent, a bloodless hue, reminiscent of cave dwelling creatures that never saw the light of day, as pale as the living dead, as pale as a corpse. His bleached skin was as white as a sheet of paper next to the sleeve of the black woolen sweater, his orbs seemed bloodshot, yet, they held a life of their own like the burning rouge of a ruby.

“Third youngest of the Rouge”, Siena hears a canoness announce, the latter’s voice seems both startled and in disbelief.

“Ann. Fancy seeing you there, you seem older than in our last meeting, don’t you agree?”, the young count seethes and takes steps toward the eldest of all the canonesses.

Siena stares at the duo, perplexed. The two seem to know each other like old acquaintances yet, their eyes hold an unexpressed rage that she does not fathom.

“I am afraid greetings will have to wait, Park. You and your brothers must be well aware of the treaty you have broken.” Ann almost hisses, stepping in front of the rest as if she is unafraid to emphasize her point.

The ethereal man quirks an eyebrow at Ann’s actions in disapproval yet, curls one side of his mouth in a smirk, eyes reflecting a certain devilish glint.

“Ah. You accursed humans never seem to learn, do you? Fifty years ago, we made a pact. For our coven to never be disturbed by you humans, in exchange for us to move our grounds”, he accentuates the words and sets his eyes on Siena, making the latter freeze.

“Twenty years ago, there was a lovely young woman with round orbs and curves more enrapturing than the meanders of Tuscany’s hills”,

At the mention, something turns in the face of Ann as it hardens like wilted musk. Park further continues walking and retracing his steps, eyes glued shut and jaws clenched in raw rage.

“She was bonded to one of the youngest counts and the war—” he pauses in his steps with his sculpted back turned toward the canonesses, as he stares blankly ahead, grieved.

“The war, it killed her. She lost her life, she died in vain. She was destroyed by her own race. The pact was shattered broken at that moment, that moment when the light left her bewitching eyes.” he croaks a bit, shoulders slacking as if the memory was his venom.

“She was innocent yet, she was killed. By your people.”

There’s a shadow casted in the slender man’s eyes and it was quite clear. The rage for revenge that was cloaked in it.

Even whilst his back was turned, his head seemed calculative of the canonesses’ immediate response. Ofcourse, humans never seemed to learn.

Ann’s eyes reflect death and almost the next second, she strides forward with the silver crucifix in her hand and tosses it at the empty black space where Park stood, moments before.

The next second, a heavy, red, mushy liquid is splattered onto Siena’s face as she screams and crawls toward the exit, horrified for her life.

The canonesses’ throats had been cut and they lay like butchered animals in a waste of blood. One corpse had slipped from the low throne to the right of the door and lay staring up at her, the mouth open, the head almost cleft from the body. She saw again the severed vessels, sticking like corrugated pipes through the clotted blood. The second was propped, ungainly as a rag doll, against the far wall. Her head had drooped forward and over her chest a great mat of blood had spread like a bib.

Tuscany’s most esteemed dignitaries of the church society lay like ghoulish mannequins, the esophagus and arteries sticking out like so much corrugated and rubber tubing. The smell that vapoured from their bodies could only come from slaughtered animals.

Thick, warm blood crawled into Siena’s throat and clawed at her air sacs like muck. Spewing with every glance at the mass slaughter, she struggled to wipe away the splutters of blood stuck to her skin and crawled on her limbs not any different from a five-sensed mutt, heaving and croaking for mercy.

Her pleadings for mercy fell upon deaf ears. When the bone of her ankle was seized to pull her toward the ghoulish young count, Siena thought the night would take away the last of her breath.

Her jaws were clasped in the count’s fingers and her eyes were a hair away from the orbs of death. The young count was sheathed by the moonlight in a silvery halo.

Without the traces of blood on his mouth, skin resembling the late winter and rage on his sculpted visage as red as his name, anyone could mistake the monster to be an angel.

His temper was on a hair-trigger and his eyes were lethal.

“You will run to the town’s mayor. If you want your soul to be spared, you will run there and shout to those mucks that the Rouge have returned”, the count spewed venom with each word.

“You will throw this parchment on their faces and demand that they comply to every syllable that’s scribed in the sheet!” he speaks, spelling out thunder claps and boulders at the poor nun.

“If not, Tuscany will have every breathing and crawling creature slaughtered like its canonesses”. He warns and whooshes away like smoke— ungraspable by bare hands.

Even in the wintry morning when town folks discussed the daily’s headlines with an uneasy settlement in their guts, you pursued boiling tea and folding your blankets neatly, unmindful of their great fear.

The afternoon too was eerily quiet and folks everywhere preferred to speak in a whisper and contain themselves in their abode. It seemed rather dubious and as heedless as you were, you never perceived that your innocence would lead to your downfall.

The sun sank lower in the sky, draining away the golden hue of the warm and gave path to a velvety dark night. The same moment when the crickets came out to chirp, dusky colours subdued in the fading light as shrieks and collective roars were heard at the heart of the town.

You, along with some of your fellow nuns peaked at the commotion and threaded through the crowd that swarmed in front of the Mayor’s office. On the board was a derogatory notice. Although, the crumples and rusty stains gave away the fact that the notice wasn’t pinned by the authorities. Its calligraphy looked eerily familiar to you.

“Tunic as red as our coven’s name, skin shining like beacon, tresses sheeny and burnished, eyes like the forest floor and gentle flowers with mirth, feminine curves softer and untouched like a laden bush of peony,”

The fear is a weight on the Mayor’s ribs and there exists a dull ache in his eyes, an unwillingness for his mouth to lift past neutral, to charge against but, words are lost in the hollow of his throat. Fear stills his lips as he pursues it to read out the rest.

“—The young vestal nun with a name that echoes across valleys of Tuscany, the one who dwells in the only fern-coated cottage near the gates of the lush forest.

Bring her to the place where human ritual pyres blaze, those who dare do otherwise, prepare to meet death as painful as a swine’s.

Against you rise, prepare to pay a deathly price.” he ends and mutters hurriedly in the commissioner’s ear and you notice the skeleton of his wrinkled fingers tremble at the slightest.

There’s a hushed eruption of conversations that bubbles ever so slowly amongst the townfolk at the astonishing notice and you freeze, petrified when eyes stray toward you, almost accusingly. You realise, with horror, they’ve recognised the vestal nun in the description.

You breathe heavily and your gut begins to twist into an uneasy coil when the commissioner’s fingers point directly at you.

Your desire to evaporate heedily rushes into your mind and something akin to being a criminal overwhelms you. When you step away to sprint far, you are seized by heavy men as they haul you off the earth by your limbs.

The thousand pair of ears at the town’s center fall deaf to your scattered pleadings— screams. Heartlessly, they drag you to the threads of your last few breaths and you helplessly submit, falling prey to your fatigue from the endless stream of tears that races down your rosy cheeks.

Your wails are unheard as the elder women of your town shield you from the public view, sit you in a warm creek and wash you in the clear stream, no different from a creature to be sacrificed for their religious rituals.

You croak out the last of your pleadings before the sun sets, and the women only watch you with nothing more than pity in their eyes.

Their hands are hurried as they strip you and dress you in the most rouge of all cloaks in the town, steam your hair dry, stain your lips with sliced beet, trace the lines where your lashes lie with charcoal.

Other than the sizzling charcoal that dries your tresses and your dull sobs, the creek is silent even as the herd of women stand together.

When you are sat and tied to the sacrifice stone, you shriek with more violence than gales. The ties that bound your limbs to the stone would not come loose at the desolate way you cried.

You sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until your throat closed on itself and you felt the heaviness on your eyelids. Fatigue beckoned you and you obeyed, submitting to it unconsciously.

The stillness of the air seemed to suck even the sound of the chain’s clanks when you moved your limbs into the nothingness of the cave. Even the trees seemed not to rustle as if they were tense with nerves for what was to come.

You jostled awake when the trees rustled and a strong wind blew from nowhere, chains rattling at your limbs’ sudden motion.

Trees stood naked as they had before, but their twigs curled in a distorted way, as if the tree itself screamed in pain.

The sky was a mass of grey cloud, again so ordinary for autumn, but instead of letting small shafts of light through they emitted an ethereal glow.

The wind was just as bitter as before, coming straight from the north, but the scent was something else, metallic almost, with a tinge of acrid burning.

The fire that kept you warm flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the tunnel, causing shivers to ripple across your body. You drag your legs across the surface of the sacrifice stone, gathering yourself into a ball.

Wind streams through the tunnel, waking the bats in the cave, twirling them in the air, only to drop them off into the void. All signs of life vanish from the tunnels that were once so full of warmth and the fire becomes extinguished.

You peer as you stare at the mangled stone beneath you.

A heinous laugh echoes throughout the tunnel, rebounding off the crumpled walls, and you crawl closer to the wall in sorrow. Like the cave, your soul is too abandoned and then all fades to black.

You shut your eyes and sit, quivering in fright as footsteps echoed menacingly. There was a hoarse breathing heard dully and you began to hear your own whimpers.

At an unexpected chime of the hour, through the empty night, a gentle voice calls out your name.

Your arms tighten around your body and the curtain of your hair falls around your face, shielding your view of the silhouette growing in front of you.

“Tuscany’s most loveliest lily”, the voice shallows into a soothing whisper and a woody fragrance tickles your nostrils. Your mind ticks at the familiar syllables uttered out and something blossoms in you besides fear, your features contour into slight puzzlement.

“I climb so high, lost in the sensation, I succumb to the scent of the stream that runs in your veins”, you listen more closely.

“I cry out in pleasure, my body on fire, I cling to your scent, hunger feeding my desire”, by then, you are sure of the stanza. It was what licked your insides, it was what beckoned you to sin. The lines were your admirer’s.

Then, it pauses.

The voice is gone, so is the scent. You push your tresses off your eyes and cautiously look in the dead of the night that seemed alive a few moments prior.

Something creeks and rustles at the faintest— right behind your neck, causing its hair to stand. There’s something behind you. Or rather, someone.

Your eyes shut at the feeling of a cold breath tickling the locks of your hair. When a thick strand is pulled and a deep inhale is heard, you whip to find only emptiness.

There’s a few moments of listening to only your anxious breath and thuds of your breathing heart before a fine piece of silk is wrapped around your eyes.

You let out a startled scream at the sudden hindrance of your sight and the feeling of a glacial pair of brawny arms sheathing around your waist. A set of black dots disperse in your vision and your mind is lulled by a hushed, smooth voice into your ear.

“Found you, my little fawn”.

You regain consciousness in a dimly lit room, on a lush, oak-coloured duvet. With the movement of one leg the tell-tale clink of wine bottles rouses you and one blink of the eye tells you that your head is just as bad. You squint, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva and your legs are immediately pulled to your chest at the queer recognition of the place.

You feel as though you have lived a very long time in this colossal manor.

The Manor grew out of the manicured lawn like an infant castle. It’s nascent stone walls were a pale grey and were barren of the moss or ivy that clung to the walls of the older homes in the village. Its large oak door was double wide and was sheltered under a wide porch supported by stone pillars. The entry way was grandiose, sweeping into a wide circle in front of the dwelling with an ornate fountain in the center.

As seconds advance, your mind harks back to unfamiliar images in the same space— a young woman in an elegant frock chortling as she gets chased by a burly yet, slender man who looked youthful as well.

His laboriously chiseled face, cheekbones that had near pierced his flesh had led to sunken eyes, puddles of avarice set about them.

Dark hair covering his head, long and fragrant with rose thorns.His chin, one such extremity which sought to put his cheekbones to shame, it succeeded in its purchase to pierce its own flesh. A small scab could be seen about it’s exit, to which his hand tended to itch.

A thick, velvety cape traces his sturdy steps— chasing after the woman and you gasp when her face comes into your sight.

It is you.

Only, more alluring in the gown that hugs your— her curves. Her laugh is unceasing and sultry mostly, seductive.

Your eyes dilate when you see her unhitch the ties holding her robe to her curves and like a vixen, she steps out of it, lying back on the duvet, beckoning for the ethereal man to her.

He seemed ravenous, his irises iridescent as they turn from raven to crimson at the sight of the slick between her legs.

She seemed brazen, like a cur in heat, in need of flesh when she crawled upon the alluring man, rolling her hips into the air provocatively, she caused the balls of the man to get filled, none similar to your dainty facet.

She takes his girth into her lips, making the count seethe in pleasure, her tongue wrapping around its head, she makes him bellow like a buzzard when she takes him deep into her throat and teases his balls.

He looks feasted, satiated beyond syllables when she licks every inch of his hard wood and takes him to a state of druken stupor.

Your breathing comes out in strained huffs as you watch him take her— you as he presses his lips against her skin and utters words that make her keen and bawl in pleasure.

You watch as their naked flesh twist gracefully into one and something else begins to unravel in your memories.

Where there should be blank space is blank memories, like a soft beige wall bereft of photographs. It brushes through the subconscious, recalling memories that bring out the deepest spark of nostalgia of the soul.

You recall every single one of it, your eyes shut intuitively and you sink into a rather familiar abyss of lost memories. In it, you hold hands with the same man who appeared moments prior. Only now, you know his name.

The one who loved you past all the years that went like streams to the sea, in all your lives as a mortal.

“Soft. Your hands. Soft and warm - on my face, on my chest, in my dreams, in the umbrella of dawn, under the first streams of morning light. Your hands in the pitch black of night, muscles and tendons dancing between each other in a lover’s dance. Fingertips like matches grazing my skin with flame, our scars being the measure of our love. I bare my scars, because I remember the time when your flame danced on me forever, before your hands turned to ice.”

All of your admirer’s words make sense to you. The lost passion, the lost memories, the lost life of yours as the light left your eyes when humans attacked the manor you had peacefully lived in.

There was a deep cut in the skin of your neck from the shattered pieces of glass and a heavy cry escapes the throat of the man at the dreadful sight— you, on the Jimin’s thighs, in his arms as he cried for you to not leave him.

You had smiled and reached your hand to his cheeks, engulfed his lips in one last passionate kiss before your eyes shut on its own, soul departing your frail body.

You see him, your past lover begging for you to return, you see his brothers lifting you into your grave.

Shudders rack your body and your cheeks are wet when you open your eyes to the present, to find the shadowy, familiar presence sitting right across you, his arms prop his chin upright and his eyes drink you in.

Jimin steps from the shadows, stealing your breath and the heat from your skin. Suddenly your defences are just paper, paper that is being soaked by the rapidly falling briny drops.

Before you can draw in the air your body needs, you have melted into his form. You feel his firm torso and the heart that beats within. His hands fold around your back, drawing you in closer.

You feel your body shake, crying for the missed time the two of you will never make again, crying to release the woe of long years in separation.

He caresses your cheeks and wipes the tears with a calloused finger, even this roughness brings more relief than your heart can hold. He is eating you with his eyes, running his hand through your hair, as if he cannot quite fathom you are not part of an almost forgotten dream.

When he kisses you, it is sweet, gentle, and it tastes of your tears. You want to speak but all you can do is croak,

“Jimin”.

His mouth paints a soft smile and he kissed you once before folding you in his arms again.

“My beautiful peony, my little fawn, my love, my heart, my entire world. It was never your fault”, he mutters and you keen closer to him, pulling his mouth to yours once again. You close your eyes shut at the feeling of his tongue twisting with yours and your knees lose strength, sending you spiralling into his arms.

“Oh, how I missed having you close to me, seeing yet, not being able to ravish is a curse” he whispers and you feel the heat pooling in your core when he noses at your jugular and inhales your scent.

“The scent of your blood remains heavenly through the ages” he sings, arms digging further into the curve of your waist.

“And this musky arousal—”

You gasp when you feel the tips of his nimble fingers brush the crotch of your undergarment, relishing in the heat of your wetness.

“This time, I’ll have you breathing for eternity, little fawn. I’ll turn you into what I am”. He declares with a stern voice, consuming the breaths that escape your lungs.

When you stare into his crimson irises, you pray for his touch, beg for what he promises. “Claim me, my lord. I’ll spend an eternity in your arms. Touch me, make me yours”.

Surely, it would be yes. The count was a notorious rake and libertine. He was called a thorough and absolute rouge, true to his name. How could he possibly turn down the chance to debauch the most delicious little fawn tempting him to revel in her taste?

With one kiss, Jimin swooped you off the floor and completely into his arms, transporting back to the cave you were sacrificed in.

He had planned for the entire town to hear your wails of pleasure. When you felt and heard the rattling of chains around your limbs, you shrieked, startled.

“No need to be afraid, my lovely fawn. I only wish to show these mongrels who you belong to”. Jimin expounds, making your core clench in need.

“Touch me, my lord” you scrounged like a fox, coaxing the ravished count with the tantalizing motions of your hips.

“Disrobe for me, little fawn. Take that sheer robe off, I want your naked flesh”, Jimin snarls and his mouth waters when your dainty fingers scramble to untie your gown. You sputter, your cheeks flush a vivid red at his grimy words.

Fear. Nerves. And illicit, forbidden, wrong physical desire. You felt it all at once.

Jimin bent to you and pressed his lips to your neck. The oddest jolt of fire leapt from there. It rushed through your veins like flames licking at the sky.

His hair tickled the bones of your cheek as he stroked and hollowed his mouth along your throat and reached the rim of your ear. He brushed back your hair. Surprisingly, his breath was cool. Almost icy. You had heard women speak of men blowing their breath by their ears—something that hadn’t sounded at all enticing—but the maids had described warm breath. Jimin’s breath was cold.

Still, the brush of it did feel surprisingly … good.

He nibbled your ear, making shivers tumble down your spine. He stroked the exposed skin at your collarbones. Goodness, how could it feel so hot—like a candle’s flame flickering close to your skin?

He tugged your cowering hands away to expose the swell of your breasts. His body tightened with arousal at the sight of your full, generous curves, erection bucking against his stomach.

Pushing you on the boulder, he ravaged your mouth, letting his hands venture down to the cleft of your arse. You bucked at the foreign feeling, gasping at the feeling of his tongue suckling the soft flesh of your lips into his mouth. His tongue curls around yours and he suckles it too, making you melt into a puddle in his full hold.

His mouth traces your throat and when it ghosts over the curve of your breasts, you shudder and your skin breaks into goosebumps.

He suckled. God, you were delicious. And you were moving beneath him. You arched to press your breast to his mouth.

Your scent reached his nose. And, he was lost. Lost in want. He rolled over you, coaxed your legs apart with his, and settled between, caressing your sweet cunny all the while. You gasped at the feeling of his thumb rolling your pearl and whimpered when his middle finger found your entrance, dipping to revel in your slick insides.

Oh goodness, he had flicked that most sensitive place—the little bump that lay between your nether lips, and you almost rolled her eyes back into your head at the pleasure.

Your hips arched up. He stroked you a little harder, as if he had known the rocking of your hips was a wordless signal that meant: I am begging you for more.

Then he slid his finger inside you. Between your nether lips, parting them gently. Goodness, he was inside you. You were doing the most intimate thing possible. With the man who remained an enigmatic admirer in your mind until the touch of his fingers tainted your soul, with the man who held your heart for eternity.

“Open your eyes.”

The first things you saw were thick, velvet-soft black lashes and gorgeous crimson eyes. Eyes that glittered at you in the firelight. “I want your eyes on me” he ordered huskily.

Then his finger slid deep inside, and you gasped at the sudden sensation—an intense quiver that rushed through you. You heard a shocking wet, sucking sound as his finger thrust in and out. It was the sound of your arousal.

“Let your moans out, little fawn. I wish to hear your sweet voice” he coaxed.

Biting your lower lip, you whimpered. You didn’t want to speak. The pleasure his wizardry brought was fervent, it felt foreign yet, acutely compelling and delicious. It made you drool, you needed him, flesh, bone, heart, soul.

His hand moved and he stopped stroking the little nub that vibrated with such intense feeling. You gasped in frustration.

He wrapped his hand around the shaft of his erection—you could feel the brush of his fingers against your stomach as he took hold of himself. Then, with his hand tight around it, he stroked the head of his erection against your nether lips. They had stuck together, resisting him, but he gently eased them apart.

Your arms were splayed on the mangled boulder beneath you and your eyes appeared to have gotten a taste of heaven, hands clenched in tight fists, toes curled and digging into Jimin’s hips at his ease into you.

Deeper he went, and his manhood stroked a place inside you that made explosions of light in front of your eyes. Then a twinge of pain rushed through you and you gasped in shock.

His fingers traced the curve of your cheek. “Shh, my fawn” he whispered. “Easy. It will hurt when I go past your little maidenhead. But after that it will be very, very good.”

“Jimin—”

He thrust. You squealed. You clenched. You tightened. You wanted to back away. But you couldn’t vanish into the boulder. Nor could you push him off. There was a searing pain that burned the walls of your insides yet, the delicious stretch of his girth brushed the softest tissue that made your mouth open wide, soundlessly and expose your luscious throat for his mouth to marr.

Jimin’s lips suckled every inch the clammy flesh of your shoulders and breasts— until lilac bruises respired in its wake. The perked peaks of your breasts were soft and toothsome in his mouth. And the tiny heels of your palms digging into his chest felt euphoric, he wished for it to caress his veiny member instead.

His nose nudged into your sternum, imbibed the scent of rushing blood to your breasts. His eyes shut as he sniffed deeply, his fangs grew in length and a gravelly groan rumbled from his chest at the redolent aroma of your blood.

“You feel warm and soft, my delicious little fawn. I could forever inhale this toothsome stream running through your veins”.

Without stalling, Jimin enveloped the teat of your breast into his mouth and laved, before piercing his honed fangs into the soft flesh, guzzling at the divine, rouge liquid that leaked onto his pearly teeth and sharp tongue, making you hiss at the feeling.

The feeling was gut-wrenching at the onset, it made you scream into Jimin’s shoulders.

He pressed against you, seating himself all the way inside, and he didn’t move. He stayed motionless, and he rained kisses on your forehead, cheeks, lips. It was hard to feel pain with such glorious kisses stealing your breath. And little by little, the stinging sensation ebbed.

A few moments of incessant suckling and your strained huffs at the strokes of his tongue on your tormented peak unfolded a queer pleasure, obscure to be produced by human males.

Soon, each suckle and lave from Jimin’s mouth pulled you to the white, hazed edge of pleasure and you cried out in ecstasy. Your cheeks were riddled hot, body spasmodic, in graceful waves as you began to roll your hips.

You whispered, “More”, Then you saw his sculpted visage.

He looked starved, ravenous. He looked raw, ravaged, tormented. His eyes were wild. His mouth was a slash, bracketed by harsh lines. He looked as though his control could snap in a heartbeat.

“My lord?” you called for him.

“You are tight, sweet, and perfect, my fawn. So no, I am no longer all right.”

You let your arms slip from his neck, but your legs were still wrapped around him, and his groin, hot and hard, was pressed tight into you. Then came the gratifying wave of pleasure as Jimin rolled his hips into yours, his girth slipping in and out of you, wholly, fulfillingly.

Gods, he was huge. The thick, hot, pulsing hard muscle of his legs throbbed against your thigh. His big manhood twitched inside you— feeling as thick as your arm. He groaned, kissing you fiercely as he moved his hips and nudged his swollen head further inside, almost into your cervix. You cried out, feeling it pulsing into your drooling slit.

With a moan into his lips, you strained your thighs and allowed him to pound in and out of you, the thick, slick shaft of his cock sliding wetly out from between your lips as you groaned throatily.

“Have a screaming orgasm, little fawn.”

He circled his hips as he said it, stroking his long shaft within you. He planted one sweet, sensual kiss after another on your lips, and kept your gaze locked with his.

You watched a smile touch Jimin’s full, handsome mouth. Then groans deepened the lines framing his lips. His eyes glowed as if they were on fire, and his deep, throaty moans … You drink all of them.

You were weak with pleasure, yet driven to rock with him. You clung to him, arching your hips, panting. Your nipples had hardened, and each thrust brushed them against his chest. Lips tingling from kisses, breasts throbbing from swift brushes, your quim pulsed … and fire raged in you, hotter than fire and you screamed as you came, body spasmodic.

He held you as his lips slurped at the slop of blood from the punctured marks on the peaks of your breasts.

It is when he pulls out of your body, he turns. This time, his eyes travel below your navel and licks at your core. There’s a thin stream of his release that flows from within you and there is a whit of warmth that seeps along with it, making his stomach clench with carnal hunger.

Carnal lechery for your blood and the musk of your release, it blows like a breeze over him.

Your fragrance consisted of a scent that represented freshly cut timber, like the damp forest after a rainy day; you smelt heavenly, like fresh-scented pine and honey, he wanted to indulge in the depths of the hint of cinnamon-like musk it produced.

It is the blood that reflected your lost virginity, your lost innocence. You are no more vestal, he has made you sin.

In the depths of night, your eyes were dew, scattering the nascent rays, ever illuminating the dark in his soul and he lusted vigorously for the taste of you, to let him be consumed by everything you offer to give him.

And so, he chains your limbs again, and blinds your vision for the nonce, for your senses to get heightened, for your slick to stream like nectar from ambrosia.

You gasp quietly at the impairment of your vision.

His fingers pluck a pair of pampas grass fluttering in the wind and when you feel it caress the tiny puncture holes at your sensitive nipples, you whimper, your slick caressing Jimin’s chest.

His lips find purchase at your inner thighs, fangs shallowly sinking into the soft flesh. The feeling makes your toes curl and you croak his name out in pure bliss.

“How delicious, your scent is divine, my fawn” he growls and pulls your core to his nose with vigour while you attempt to slither away, shyly.

“Trying to escape my grasp is useless, little fawn” he warns, making you cry out at the feeling of his arctic breaths blowing over your sensitive core.

“I’ll catch you faster than the wind could sheath around you” he gutturally breathes and spreads you beneath him, holding your soft thighs in his metal hold.

He moved lower, his breath teasing over your thigh. And then, you felt it, and the moan of pure ecstasy tore from your lips.

Jimin’s hot, wet tongue delved between your lips, dragging slowly and wetly up every bit of you until it flicked across your aching clit. You moaned in pleasure, crying out as his powerful hands pushed your legs wide apart and his wicked tongue pushed deep between them.

With a moan, your eyes flew open to see his face hovering above your delicate and exposed core. His eyes glinted wickedly at you, and you watched, panting in pleasure as he slowly licked his lips clean.

“Like nectar,” he growled. “Lie back, little fawn. Lie back and let me taste you.”

He moved back in, and suddenly, you moaned loudly. The feeling was like nothing else you had ever felt — this perfect, electric feeling of his icy tongue teased over your lips and clit. His wide, strong tongue dragged up and down your pussy, making your whole body arch and tremble for him. You balled your fists and cried out into the flickering firelight of the cave.

He slid his tongue deep inside, spreading your lips with his fingers, dragging your sticky wetness up from your opening to slide electrically across your aching clit. You arched my back and cried out as his tongue made contact there. It curled at your bud, bringing whimpering mewling sounds to your lips before sliding down through your folds again. You stiffened, and then moaned as you felt that hot, wet tongue slide wickedly against the opening of your arse, making you gasp as it slid over the sensitive ring there.

You couldn’t believe the sensations flooding your body at the touch of this rough, powerful, demanding, gorgeous man — from the rouge who was gentle to a creature with hound-like   lust for your dripping arousal and blood.

His tongue pushed against your opening, pushing in to curl sensually inside of you. His thumb moved to your clit, his growl rumbling through me as he teased your little bud and tongue-fucked your slippery core, making you clench and arch your back off the stone under you.

You screamed as the orgasm exploded through you, hips bucking against Jimin’s perfect mouth. Your core clenched at the invading tongue, spasming around its thick wetness while the orgasm ripped through me. The famished count hungrily growled and pushed his tongue deep inside, tasting all of your virginal blood as the aftershocks exploded through you.

Slowly, he pulled away, his lips trailing over the little seam of your inner thigh as your whole world spun under you.

The feathery leaves of the pampas grass caressed the seams following his mouth and you felt his arms lifting you onto his lap, straddling him. He gently entered you again, mouth tracing the prominent vein at your jugular, tongue teasing it.

You shook and rippled around his thick wood, chains rattling loudly as you bite at every inch of his skin that your mouth could reach.

“I am going to turn you, my sweet fawn. Tonight is perfect, the moon is hidden and the branches sing for us. Let it all out, scream my name” they are incessant breaths against your jugular and you clench around him, hearing him cry out his devotion for you.

“I am ready, my lord. Turn me, I— I belong to you!” you cry out as the tip of his girth brushes your most sensitive spot.

Then the whooshing wind caresses your bare bodies, you feel the chains loosen and fall to the ground while Jimin embraces your shaking body entirely, increasing the pace of his inhuman thrusts.

His mouth takes yours and swallows your pleasured pants, yours tongue mulls his own when he feels your fingers thread through his soft locks and dig into his scalp. His hold on your hips are deathly and when he feels you clench and pant harder, he bites into the inside of his cheeks, closing his eyes as his blood trickles from his mouth, into yours.

Your throat closes at the repulsive, metallic taste and you gag, making Jimin tighten his hold on you. He twists your tongues together and urges you on, making you swallow down the thick drops of his blood.

When you feel his member caressing that sensitive spot of your insides once again, you gulp faster and Jimin smiles blissfully into your mouth as his tongue traces the sharp lines of your protruding canines, they course rapidly into pointy knives and he relishes in the sharpness of your fangs, tongue drinking your breaths in.

There’s an ethereal glow of light sheathing around the two of you. For a nonce, the bright, golden-silvery stratum panelling over you in particular makes the deep, dark abyss of the night seem like day. The round curves of your orbs sparkle an aurish dust and makes you look more beguiling than any other supernatural power to ever exist.

Jimin feels the illuminance and shuts his eyes in ecstasy for the warm streams of your blood chills into familiar ice, the same temperature as his. Your thrusts are gentled and you cry out in a new found lust for Jimin’s blood.

He can feel the urgency in your gulps as you grow more hungry for blood, his blood. He shudders when you sink onto him again, tilting his head to pierce your fangs into his throat.

He groans at the pleasurable feeling of your mouth gulping his blood hungrily and he forces you to pause, for his eyes to drink in the birth of your vampiric form.

The moment you open your eyes and stare into his, his breath catches.

Your orbs are a beautiful, fierce topaz-crimson and there is a bleached tone added to the luscious sheen of your skin, when you lick the drops of his blood from your lips, exposing the knives of your fangs, he feels the carnal lechery for you boil in his heart and stir at his manhood.

You are fully turned, looking like the goddess of death herself, veiled in an ethereal halo in the deep, dark, inked night.

His eyes drink your appearance ravenously and he concludes. Carnal lechery for you, that’s what possessed him all those years ago, that’s what drives him to sink his fangs into your flesh and drink your sweet blood over and over.

You are turned and you are eternally bonded to him, there’ll be no mongrel mortal in this universe to take you away from him.

Autumn days wane toward the inevitable colder weather ahead, each nightfall coming sooner that the one before.

Seven days were gone ever since you were welcomed and brought to the Rouge’s dwelling, the rocky fort miles away from your grim, little mossy town.

Topaz leaves dangled from the shadowy skeletons of trees, each one like as ominous sword of Damocles. The river was almost ice, showing reflections of the heavy, ashy sky so thick. The chill breeze rattling at the closed windows of the fort seemed to cry autumn, the roads were moist with stealthy dew as the season deepens their graceful boughs will be the prettiest of charcoal sketches, drawing themselves tall, reflecting the light of a wintry sun.

You are huddled in the silky red sheets of Jimin’s large duvety mattress, the lines of your naked legs traced by the sheets. You lie fatigued after a thorough session of lovemaking with your mate while he wordlessly caresses your hair, eyeing your curves, breathing the essence of your hair as he licks the remains of your dried blood from your breasts.

The sudden slam of the door came like a punctuation. There were panicked calls all around in the veranda and one of the maids peek their head through the door to the master chamber, her chest rising and falling in urgency.

“Forgive me for barging in, master and mistress”, she breathlessly bows, making you both rise, startled. You scatter to cover your body with the sheets while Jimin groans and ties his night robes to shield his body.

“Master, we seem to have an intruder. The other masters summoned you to the court immediately”, she keeps her eyes low and Jimin barks at her.

“How would we have an intruder? This fort is well protected!” he grunts and turns to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips as you eye the maid scurrying away, bowed.

“I’ll be right back, my love. You might as well get dressed".

You smile and pull on your silky night robes to your body, mindlessly staring at the creaking trees in the wind while Jimin marches to the veranda, his booming commands slowly ebbing away.

For a few ticks of chime, you hear nothing but the rustling leaves, sparrows chirping at a distance and the echoes of voices downstairs. When the door to the chamber you lie in opens on the spur of the serene moment, you fall back and onto your elbows, on the cottony patchwork of the carpeted floor.

A loud gasp knocks your lungs at the sight of the familiar fern-eyed, thick woman looming over you, offering her hand.

Siena. She is puffing out harsh breaths and her legs tremble, hasten. She seems too afraid as her eyes cavort to the door in trepidation and you realise, she is the intruder.

“Y/N! Y/N. You should listen to me, you should run away, the one you are with is a monster!” she hastily whispers, gripping at your arm.

You yawp at her gnawing grip and attempt to pull your arm to yourself and grit your teeth. At the sight of your crimson eyes, Siena’s hold gets loosened.

“H—he turned you, didn’t he?” she utters in shock, something in her eyes clutches at her back again and she pleads you again. You sigh and move to the chamber’s doors, pulling the latch to lock and you turn to face her.

“I am sorry sister Siena, but I must ask you to leave. History does not tell the truth. The Rouge were innocent, it was the people who broke the treaty”.

You eye her pitifully. She had come all the way for vain.

“Jimin is by nature of laws, my soulmate. I cannot live apart from him, I am no longer one of the mortals”. You proclaim, clasping your fingers together.

“Now, please leave—”

“I am afraid you do not know everything” mumbles Siena quietly, her olive eyes swimming in a stream of exigency, her limbs still tremble.

“Who has Park claimed to have murdered you in the past, Y/N?”

The will to not let her affect your resolution faintly faltered at the sight of her tenacity, she shakes similar to a leaf jostled by storm gales yet, her eyes remain adamant.

“Tell me, please”, she begs to the extremity of crumbling, her orbs trembling just as much as her limbs do.

You release the air from your lungs and mutter softly— “Humans. The ancestors of our town. I saw it, the evocation of my past self, I was killed by the town folks”.

Siena shook her head, her face contouring into a brew of disdain as well as pity, you were almost uncertain if it was aimed towards you.

The whooshing gales and Siena’s voice seem the same when she mutters out what earth had not devised itself ready to hear.

“No, my dear. It was not the town folks who had killed you, it was the very man you share this bed with, the most conniving, astute count amongst his brothers— Park Jimin of the Rouge!”

And in that light the carpet of leaves became crooked, and all aurish colours vanished, the wind tumbling around the empty space. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest and your face morphed into one of disdain, you were abhorred yet, shattered to the ground like the dry twigs stepped on by passing carts.

You knew nuns took an oath to preserve and authentic despite the unembellished life they lead because you were one too. Siena was not lying, every single word of hers proves to be true only by the contours of concern etched on her face.

“H-how? I—” you flounder like a fish taken out of the pond.

Siena sighs dismally. “When I went to the elder canonesses on halloween night, the eldest of them apprised a hidden tale of a young town girl and her lover— Hyun woo whose throats were silt by the third youngest of the Rouge”,

“Only sister Ann knew the story behind it”. You listened carefully, feeling prostrated mercilessly.

“Park Jimin had found his consort and by the scent of her blood, he knew she was destined to be bonded to him by nature’s law. But, she was irrevocably in love with another mortal to whom she had been having love affairs with, even as she was taken against her will to the Rouge fort”,

“An infuriated Park had butchered the young woman’s lover in front of her whilst the woman pleaded and cried for the man’s life. As days passed, Jimin’s consort became coldly vacant in grief",

You were turned into stone at her words.

“She had ultimately repudiated to consummate their bond. The same night when Jimin had killed her to erase the memories of her lover, the town folks declared a war to avenge Hyun woo and rescue the young woman. Park Jimin had promulgated to his brothers that the woman was killed by humans, he must have recast your past self’s memories, Y/N! He is not the gentle lover you loyally surmise him to be!”

One time when you were blind in a tree, waiting motionless for wind to wander by, you dozed off and fell ten feet to the ground, landing on your back. It was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from your lungs, and you lay there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.

That was how you felt at the moment, your ribs felt crushed into a mere refuse, fear and disgust of your past killer’s touch burned everywhere, the faded puncture marks on the peaks of your breasts, thighs, neck, shoulders felt as if touched by the flicks of flame, you felt abhorred.

Even the loud rap of knocks and thuds on the door to the chambers were heard, you were frozen into ice. Eyes teary, vision blurred, you fell to the ground, crestfallen.

Siena shakes you harder in panic at the sight of the door’s latch rattling violently, the sundry of voices with Jimin’s voice rack unpleasant shudders through her spine as she attempts to resuscitate you to the present.

A single squawk like a squall causes the doors to shatter as if hurled to the ground by a tempest. Park Jimin stands sited at the other side. There is not a sliver of a plinth to hold his rage in place, he looks irked to the brim of extremes.

“Seize her!” he barks and by the tick of a second, Siena is hefted into the air by a couple guards, their grasps cause her to bawl in pain.

“Y/N! My dear, what did she do to you?“ Jimin’s voice is mellowy as he gathers you into his arms, perusing your form thoroughly.

Like the mountain river under sunlight, like snow melting under the beaming sunlight, like the gentle song of the topaz leaves swaying in the autumn breeze, his voice was pleasant as beautiful as his perfectly sculpted face.

You shake away weakly from his grasp and his face withers, twinging a deep cut into your heart.

“You cold-blooded murderer, let her free”. You mutter, abhorred and stare at him, as empty as the ocean at night.

Jimin peruses Siena and you wordlessly, taken aback by your sudden disgust. When you see his head lift and lips curl to one side, you see the once loving mate of yours turn into the callous, blood-thirsty hound of a creature that slaughtered so many lives for its own illiberal gain.

“I see my little fawn has discovered the truth”, he heinously chuckles, making you swallow down in utter disgust.

“It was worth the effort, was it not?” he perches himself on his lush seater loftily, a wicked grin stretches his lips at Siena’s struggles.

“Now that I have the maiden of my dreams to myself”, he wickedly whispers, his sharp eyes travel down your body as he slips his lower lip into his mouth.

“I can debauch her to my heart’s content” his eyes are demanding as they meet yours, his slender fingers tipping against the mahogany handle of his seater.

“What causes you to think I would submit to you?” you spew the words like venom as the haughty count feigns hurt, crumbling to the ground.

In a blink of an eye, Jimin whooshes at an inhuman pace across the chamber to you, gripping your jaws tight from the behind as he has his own clenched. Your wrists are pressed together at your back and he presses his chest to your back.

You attempt to wriggle away at the bulge pressing into the cleft of your arse and you screech at his hold.

“What can be done by a little fawn like you, against me? There is a reason why I did not wait even for an hour to turn you that night”. He lilts mockingly, lips brushing the lobe of your ear.

“Oh, little fawn. I had become the master of your body, soul and mind duly after turning you. Every single thought that runs in this little head, I can hear it”. He declares, arms slithering around your body in a vice-like grip.

“After decades of longing, I finally had you. Would I not have prepared for the same mistake to never occur again?” he presses his nose to your jugular, breathing your scent. It makes him roll his eyes in pleasure as the heavenly scent tickles his lungs.

Your fighting limbs fall limp as his fangs pierces the skin of your jugular, taking little gulps of your sweet blood.

Siena screams as she realises the actions performed on you by the count. She seethes and cusses, fighting against the guards’ hold on her.

“Forget everything that makes me bad in your eyes, little fawn”,  Jimin whispers pleasantly, making you fall into a lull of sleep with a soft hum.

“Only I am your love, only I am your lord, no other mongrel of a mortal owns you, forget it all, my one and only little fawn”, he sings soothingly, lifting you in his arms more delicate than a priceless treasure, cooing in adoration at the sight of your angelic face in peace and parted lips, memories flitting you away from him washed away profoundly.

In the course of a mo, Siena’s head is snapped and the poor nun’s body is embedded into the fertile earth heedlessly.

A famished count with an endless carnal lechery presses a soft kiss to your lips and envelopes you in a lover’s embrace, waiting for your eyes to open and say his name sweetly, oblivious to events that have unfolded a very few chimes ago.

Carnal lechery, it was what possessed him to possess you.

© unfurlingtwinklingstar 2020 | all rights reserved | do not re-post/translate

[10millionyearsdungeon]

Acts of Contrition

A/N: Heeeey, it’s been a while. Like...a long time while. Shaking the rust off, this is for @chiwhorei​ and their Heavenly Bodies collab (*see here*). No beta, we die like everyone else. Per the theme, and as a send off to my fellow fallen saint and recovering Catholic, it’s a kind of riff on a prayer? Not my best Shindou, but it’s Shindou all the same. Really need to revisit this guy. ANYWAYS--

TW: Sacrilegious themes, Oral (giving/receiving), Dacryphilia, Spit, Corruption, implied monster fucking (because why not?), mild exhibitionism, squirting, mild cockwarming ================================================

Your whole life, you always tried so hard to be everything your parish priest and father wanted you to be; pious, virtuous, radiant-- the epitome of the girl-next-door with a rosary tucked between your breasts and a prayer on your lips. It was your wholesome, squeaky-clean image that initially drew his attention and had you malingering on your knees with your mouth gaping and drooling into the carpet bristles of your parish confession booth.

"Got something to confess, sweetheart?" Shindou grinned in the darkness as you gazed up at him from your knees, nose pressed into the curling pubic hair tickling your mouth as he twitched down your throat. He held you there until your eyes began to roll back and tears threatened to break free from your waterline in trails of smudged ink down your flushing cheeks. You could taste his disappointment when they didn't fall, and he curled his thick fingers into your hair to rip you from his length. Incense and shame burned down your throat and into your lungs as you gasped for reprieve. His smirk was a gleaming scythe, all but signaling the beginning of your end.

"Please, more," you begged, scrambling to clutch his parted knees and nudge his cock closer to your waiting mouth. "More." His hum vibrated the dust lingering in the cramped space, as if he needed time to carefully consider what was originally his idea. "Shindou, yo--"

Gagged by his fingers, your tongue laved over his thick digits and your voice rose into unintelligible moaning. Your saliva ran down his wrist and your chin in thin rivers to the carpet digging into your knees. "Ah, ah. I asked for your confession, not for your begging. Perhaps I need to keep this pretty mouth busy while you take your penance." Eager to please, you nodded furiously into his hand, gagging and spluttering over his fingers as he twisted your body in half. The humble pleated skirt draped over your ass like a dainty envelope, the flash of white cotton panties plastered with slick against your pussy an invitation he couldn't deny-- he tore away the flimsy fabric with his teeth and whistled low at the silvery strings of slick still binding you to your underwear. You always forgot how strong Shindou was when he had a goal set before him.

"Mm, let's begin," he purred into your cunt, the sudden lash of his tongue against your neglected clit nearly tipping you into exaltation.

"H-hewl mwwwree fughlo gwssss," you babbled over his fingers as they dug almost painfully into your tongue. Cheek pressed hard into his knee, you heaved into his skin as your eyes rolled back into your skull with another skillful swipe of his tongue teasing your spasming whole. "Haaorrtsswiffee."

"C'mon, sweetness, you can do better than that. Really enunciate. It doesn't count if He can't understand you." Your toes curled in your knee socks as another wave of ecstacy washed over you with a flick of his sinner's tongue against your swelling clit. With a bend of his wrist, he tickled down your throat and dug his teeth into the swell of your ass when you gagged around them. "So tight. Do better. You know you want to. You asked for this, sweetheart." He retracted his fingers from your panting mouth, tracing the slick, bruised skin of your lips before he gave your hair a gentle pet.

"H-hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee…" you began again trembling over every word earning another vicious bite to your inner thigh. Shindou moaned into your scent tracing his tongue over the darkening bruise.

"Y'know, I'm feeling like a Hail Mary isn’t good enough. Let's try again," Shindou hoisted you into his lap, chest pressed firmly into your back as he lined the head of his cock, glistening with dewy precum, with the touch-starved maw of your cunt aching to stretch around him. Ever the tease, he tapped at your entrance, grinning at the sticky slapping of flesh on flesh as you squirmed to better accommodate him in the booth.

"Oh, my God!" You nearly screamed, sheathing him within you in one turbulent bounce. He barked out a laugh, dark eyes glittering in the shadows as he lifted your hips again with his teeth on your neck. "I-i-i'm heart-heartily so-sorry for haaah-ving offend..fuck, offended thee…" His pace was an idle one, but the vicious gnashing of his teeth burying into your neck made the aching around his cock pale in comparison. He needed you shamed, broken and sobbing out for release before he'd taste satisfaction.

"And I de-detest all my sins moh-ost s-sincerely because they d-disp-please thee." Pried open for him to abuse, Shindou let his hands wander beneath the carefully starched collared shirt and loosened tie to tease your pert, overly sensitive nipples through the fabric of your simple bra. He searched your face as he thrust up into you, knowing it wouldn't be long before those tears would begin to fall. "My God!" you gasped.

"Keep going," he groaned, tugging your blouse open and shoving your bra out of the way. He devoured the full-body shudder of your exposure, dragging his tongue up along your ear with a sigh. "You're so gorgeous when you break," he whispered, earning a hiccuping whine and the bubble of sobs he had waited so patiently for. Gyrating onto his cock, you couldn't stop the tears staining your cheeks with mascara as he rutted into you. Glancing down at where your bodies fused into one, you whimpered out the next verse as your cream dribbled down his balls.

"M-my God, who art so-oh deserving of all my love…"

"All your love, princess?"

"Ah-ah-ah!" He busied his free hand between your spread legs, rubbing tight circles on your clit. With a jump, you keened back into him and sobbed out wordlessly. Shindou ran his tongue to capture a stray tear from your hairline and moaned into the taste as he redoubled his efforts. "All my love f-for thy infinite good-fuck-goodness and--"

"And what? C'mon, finish like a good girl." Every thrust into your clenching heat had your body tensing like piano wire tuned by a master. His pulse vibrated through your core, loosening your tongue as he continued to tease and tug at your darkening nipples. “Most ah-amiable perfections…” He smirked into your hair, breath condensing on your neck like incense cloaking you in his scent. “I firmly pu-purpose by Thy Holy Grace never more--” Eyes rolling back, you stuttered and bucked fitfully back into the hardened planes of his lap. Your voice rose, cutting through the confessional booth and earning a satisfied grunt from the two-faced demon splaying your cunt wide for the congregation to observe if anyone dare open the door. “Never more,” you cried. Shindou paused, content to flex his length into your warmth while you sobbed out another broken, “Never more.” He dug his nails into your breasts, roughing your tender flesh to coax another wave of shuddering sobs and glistening tears from your weeping eyes. He sighed into your skin, dragging his lips along the moistened trails of shame and relief running down your jaw and cheek. “Please,” you whispered, rocking your hips fruitlessly to your own end. He hushed you as if silencing a toddler and stilled your hips with a single stroke. “Ah ah ah. Good girls finish their prayers.” With the head of his cock just kissing the gummy ring of your cervix, you grinded against him and cried out again, much to his annoyance. “Figures. Couldn’t be a good, pious little shit. Had to be a filthy, needy, broken little whore like the others.” “I’m broken. More, please give me more!” He scoffed at your pleading, content to have you writhe and wring yourself out on his heavy cock. Breasts bouncing and the unmistakable sounds of flesh penetrating flesh to defile that most sacred space, the sights and sounds of you coming undone for him proved all too tempting to ignore. He could taste it on you-- the rhythmic spasming of your cunt around his cock, the wobble in your legs, the uneven cadence of your breathing when he finally fucked back into your eager hole, all of it signaled your end. “Finish your prayers, sweetheart.” With two thrusts you let out a long, piercing moan, drawing the attention from those outside of the booth. Carelessly, you thrashed against him, milking his tumescence as if it would be enough to grant you divine forgiveness. “Finish like a good girl.” Shindou’s hand wandered between your trembling thighs as he rutted into you, his fingers dancing over your swollen clit despite your body bucking and fighting against him. The pressure in your belly was indescribable under his constant attention. “Finish for me.” Your body was his to play, to abuse to his delight. Shindou reveled in your shame as your squirt painted the door and carpet, shadows playing sinister tricks on your eyes as you searched the space for his face over your shoulder. “I firmly purpose by Thy Holy grace never more to offend Thee,” you whispered, coming down from your high with dripping thighs and shame staining your features. The door creaked open on its ancient hinges. Candles flickered in the chapel like whispering witnesses to a most capital crime. Tangled in the remnants of your uniform, your eyes glazed over and stared past the nuns exclaiming over your ruined state. You could feel his fingers ghosting over your exposed buds, taste his sweat and preek over your tongue. Your cunt throbbed around the memory of him, empty and hungry for his approval. His devil’s mark ached on your throat, a bruise you hazily hoped wouldn’t fade before his return. Captivated by the spectre of his presence, you melted into the tweed cushioned seat as far removed from the shouting and outrage of your audience as one could be. He’d be back for the rest of you and leave a more permanent mark. There were more pretty, pious words to pry past your lips, more tears to taste on your road to damnation, and he would be remiss  to miss out.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Bogotá Kiss

Prologue: There Was a Boy

Summary/Author’s Note: Javier Peña had finally gotten his life together. He was a newlywed, back in the states with his bride, and starting his new life free of Escobar and the world of the cartels. That is until he found his wife in bed with another man. On a path of self destruction, he goes back to Bogota, reclaims his job with the DEA, his partner Steve Murphy, and throws himself into his work, cheap whiskey, and the company of his...informants. 

You are a singer in the hottest burlesque club in Columbia. Pulling yourself out of poverty and into a world where men throw money at your feet, buy you diamonds, and pay untold amounts for your services. You don’t mind that the club’s biggest source of income is smuggling diamonds from the necks, wrists, and ears of its prostitutes and into the pockets of their buyers, until a handsome DEA agent gets too close and figures out the scheme. 

**IMPORTANT: For those familiar with Moulin Rouge--The reader will NOT die at the end. Fuck that. Let Javi be happy god dammit. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (Moulin Rouge/French Kiss AU) Word Count: 1.6k (its just a prologue, the next chapter will be better) Warnings (for entire fic): NC-17/18+ - Language, sex, prostitution, mentions/implied R*pe (nothing will ever be described in detail or used as a plot device), typical canon violence for NARCOS, shooting, attempted murder, drug use, blackmail, hurt/comfort, lies and betrayal, happy ending

[MASTERLIST]

"It's not what it looks like."

People didn't actually say that line, did they? And worse yet, no one actually would possibly believe it. Right? The words fell from her lips and suddenly Javier Peña felt like he was watching a movie about someone else's life. A cliché of a film in which the idiot of a husband walked in on his wife bouncing on the dick of another man. He was that idiot, and as she scrambled off the lap of the stranger and called his name, he slammed the door behind him, not bothering to wait for an explanation. Queue the laugh track or cut to the scene of him walking in the rain to somber music. 

Only this wasn't a movie. There would be no comedic relief, just a lot of heartache, wasted time and money. He had always had a bad habit of falling for the wrong girl. He would see himself mirrored in the eyes of the broken, the depressed, the ones who, much like him, just seemed unable to catch a break in life. But instead of getting a kindred spirit to share his world with, he usually just got a lot of baggage and a quick lay.  

He packed a bag, not giving a shit about any of his worldly possessions, and found himself at the Dallas airport, sitting at the bar and waiting for his gate number to be called. 

He raised two fingers, letting the bartender know he wanted a fucking double, as he held his cellphone to his ear and listened to it ring. The boxy phone didn't fit comfortably against his shoulder and he dropped it just as the other end picked up and Steve's voice came through.

"Murphy."

"Fuck. Shit." Javier fumbled the phone and held it back against his face.

"Javi?"

"Yeah, it's me." Javier sighed as he picked up his whiskey and tossed it back with a mild wince. "I'm on my way back."

"I heard." Steve paused. "Carolyn called. I told her I didn't know where you were."

"Thanks, 'appreciate it."

"I talked to Noonan. She said your job's still open. You can have it and the keys to your apartment." 

They both paused for an extended period of time. Javier ordered another shot of whiskey and Steve breathed quietly on the other end of the phone. Neither one of them had to say out loud what they both already knew. Javier had fallen for the wrong girl, again. His heart was broken and he wanted to drown out the ache he was feeling in cheap booze, a carton of Marlboro, and expensive pussy. 

"I'll pick you up from the airport. Safe trip, Jav."

"Thanks, Murph."

Javier pressed the button on the phone and rubbed his forehead with a heavy sigh. It was all smooth sailing from here. He was on his way back to normalcy, back to doing what he did best, hunting Narcos and not having any emotional ties to anything that mattered. 

--

The car ride from the airport had been quiet for the most part but Javier could tell that Steve was just dying to ask. So, when they parked in front of the apartment and neither one of them moved, he dug his smokes out of his jacket pocket and rolled down the window. He flicked his silver lighter to life and inhaled deeply as Steve shut off the engine. 

"Go ahead. Ask."

Steve sighed and looked at his friend. "What happened, man?"

"I let it go too far, like an idiot. And she couldn't even wait until the honeymoon was over before she tripped and landed on some other man's dick." He inhaled deeply and ran his thumb along his mustache. 

"Shit. I'm sorry--"

"Don't," Javier cut him off and shook his head. "Okay? Don't."

"You file for divorce?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Lawyer is drawing everything up now so we can sign it." 

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm sorry, Javi. You seemed happy." Steve looked at him and Javier flicked his cigarette out of the window. 

"Yeah, I know." He took another long drag of his cigarette before tossing the butt out onto the sidewalk. “Tell Connie I said ‘hi’, okay?” 

With a mumbled thanks for the ride and a couple of quick 'see you tomorrows', he opened the car door and grabbed his suitcase out of the back seat and walked up the stairs and into the apartment building. He went through the motions of coming back to this place that he knew quite well, as he went downstairs and stuck his keys in the door without needing to turn on a light. 

He tossed his keys on the side table and kicked the door shut gently as he dropped his shoulder bag and looked around. The only furniture that the place had was the old embassy supplied leather couch, scuffed up coffee table, and bar stools against the kitchen counter. Fuck. That settled what he would be doing tomorrow, getting all his furniture out of storage and having the embassy replace what he didn’t have. 

Before tossing his leather jacket on the back of the couch, he got out another cigarette and let it bob between his lips as he mumbled to himself. He inhaled deeply and tossed his lighter next to his keys before making his way to the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, he didn’t know if he wanted to run upstairs and kiss her, or if he wanted to clutch his chest and cry. 

The entire appliance was completely bare and wiped out, the light making the white shelves look entirely too bright, but sitting in the middle of the top shelf was a covered casserole of some kind and a bottle of whiskey. A note was taped to the tin foil that read: 

“Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Please eat something while you drink this. -- love, Connie.”

At least Steve knew how to pick a woman, because that’s exactly what Connie was, one hell of a woman. Javier grabbed the bottle of liquor and mentally promised Connie that he would eat later. He wasn’t hungry. He really hadn’t been hungry for the last few days, and as he looked at the whiskey and cracked the seal on the lid, he didn’t mourn that the kitchen didn’t have any glasses. He was well beyond the need for a glass. 

He took the bottle to the couch, kicked off his boots and plopped down heavily. The whiskey was a familiar burn down his throat and he felt it all the way to his belly. Warm, inviting, and just what he needed. Another drink was followed by a long drag of his cigarette before he kick backed and muttered, “Home, sweet, home,” to a cold, empty house.

--

The banging on the door permeated his skull in a way that he didn’t think was possible. But then again it had been a long time since he had been this hungover. He rolled over on the leather couch and shoved his face into the cushions and prayed that whoever wanted him would just go away. There was no one on this green earth that he wanted to speak to.

He must have fallen back asleep briefly because the next thing he knew, his partner had let himself into his apartment with his spare key and was nudging his leg that was hanging off the side of the couch. 

“Javi,” Steve said as he plucked the empty liquor bottle from under his friend’s arm. “Javi!” 

“Is too early,” Javier mumbled into the leather of the sofa.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon.” Steve said, setting the bottle on the coffee table. “I told Noonan you were taking the weekend to unpack--” Steve looked around the apartment and then back to the horizontal man. “Looks like you’re done.”

“Fuck you.”

Steve shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “Come on. You need a shower. I’d offer to buy you a drink but you smell like you’ve got that taken care of. So, how about a lap dance? There’s this new place on the other side of town--got your name written all over it.”

“Go away.”

Steve, rubbed his hand down his face and glared at the shell of the man that he had gotten to know over the last couple of years. The day Javier Peña turned down a lap dance, it would have been a cold day in hell and yet the evidence was right there in front of him. Someone needed to tell the devil to go check his thermostat.

“Mmkay.” Steve said sharply and took the empty bottle over to the sink and filled it about half way with tap water. When he dumped it on top of Javier’s head, the way the dark-haired man sputtered and sat straight up brought him more joy than it probably should have. “Good morning!”

“F-fucking hillbilly,” Javier cursed as he pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face.

“Get your ass in the shower and I won’t tell Con that you didn’t eat her food she left you.” When his friend paused long enough to lower his shirt and glare at him, Steve continued. “I’m not fuckin’ around, Javi.”

The two men stood at odds of one another, but the blond refused to relent. Javier shoved his now soaking wet hair back from where it was plastered to his face and nodded. He stood with a groan and gave Steve his middle finger as he trudged to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“Missed you, too, bud!” Steve cupped his hands around his mouth in a mock yell after the other man’s retreating form. It was going to be a long road to getting his partner back to his usual self, but the natural place to start was with some no-strings-attached pussy.

--

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[itsmeevie01]

Before A Moment in Time

ok! this is a LOT of information, but i wanted to make it easier to understand whats going on in my head when i write over the next bit!

MASTERPOST

this is Before A Moment in Time. Enjoy!

Three years before A Moment in Time. One year after Hawkmoth appeared.

Marinette Dupain Cheng is sitting at her desk. Second row back left side. Making her way up the stairs is her friend Alya Césaire. The two girls have been practically inseparable for the last year.

Fuming one row down on the other side of the aisle is Chloé Bourgeoise. Her eyes are glued to where Marinette is smiling at Alya. Nino Lahiffe is sitting in front of Marinette. His headphones are on, and his hand is moving over a sheet of paper that has a music staff on it.

Adrien Agreste can be seen bounding up the stairs, his eyes alight with the joy of going to school, even a year after he started. Behind Marinette and Alya are Rose and Juleka. Across from them are Ivan and Nathaniel. Behind the boys are Alix and Kim, who are across from Mylene and Sabrina.

Max is sitting behind the two girls by himself. In the empty seat next to him, the tech genius has a computer running through a code that he is trying to double-check.

As their classmates greet each other during the first day of school, Madam Bustier can be seen enter into the room, one Lila Rossi walking behind her curiously.

As Bustier called the class to attention, Marinette shared one more smile with Alya before spinning around. When she was facing the front, the teen blinked.

Standing there was a girl who looked vaguely familiar. It took the teen a moment before she realized that this was Lila Rossi. This was the girl who had been sued by both Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. This was a gold digger that they had warned her about.

Chloé must have made the same connection because Marinette’s phone started to blow up.

 Mariii + Chlo

Chlo- OH HELL NO

Chlo- M this chit cannot sit with me

Chlo- Dad sued her over the summer

Chlo- MARINETE

Mariii- Chlo

Mariii- hey chill

Mariii- I got this. If you can sit with Alya.

Chlo- anything

Chlo- MY WONDERFUL NONCOFFEE DEALER KEEP ME AWAY FROM THE FUCKING DEVIL

Mariii- on it, queenie

 Marinette looked up as the bell rang. Alya gave her a concerned look. With a smile, the younger girl bumped her friend’s shoulder. “Hey, Als, since I’m class president, I think it would be best if I welcome the new girl. Could you go sit with Chloé today? I promise that we can go back to normal once we get her settled.” Alya flashed her friend a smile before giving the girl a side hug.

“of course, Mari! You have such a big heart!” the girls traded smiles before Alya packed her stuff up and moved to sit with the haughty blonde. The noirette saw her teacher give her an approving smile for diffusing the situation so easily, without conflict.

Inwardly, Marinette scoffed. Outwardly, the girl gave her teacher a glowing smile in return.

 Marinette truly tried to be nice to Lila. Really, she did. Early on, the girl had learned that being nice was a better route when interacting with people who she didn’t know. Even if it was just a small smile, the noirette had always found success from kindness.

Lila was a sweet girl who had batted her eyes at her and given Marinette a small smile. The two had spent the first period of school passing notes and getting to know each other.

In all honesty, Marinette had no idea why the Italian girl next to her was branded a manipulative liar in her world. Then, during the break, Marinette saw what was going on.

When the rest of the class gathered to introduce themselves, Lila panicked. Then, Lila shifted her posture just slightly. She smiled a blinding smile that stood out to Marinette as obviously fake. She started interacting with the class, sickly sweet and subtly guiding them to beliefs.

Shaking her head, Marinette turned away. She had time during her break to call a certain someone. She needed more answers.

 “Clara! Hey… do you have a moment?” through the phone, Clara Nightingale, giggled.

“Of course, Marinette! What is going on with my favorite little cousin? Is everything ok?” the young teen hesitated, before shaking her head.

“I need you to tell me more about Lila Rossi” the dark look that crossed the singer’s face confirmed many of Marinette’s worries.

 When she sat down next to Chloé in the hotel restaurant for lunch, a look of pure disgust was dancing on her face. “this girl has filled a level of malice that I have never heard of. Chloé, she has manipulated every person of interest under the sun who doesn’t have the common sense to not listen to her bull shit. Chlo…this girl is vile. Clara told me what they had to do to sue her. One of the requirements of Lila not going to prison for a long time was getting a psych eval. Chloé…this girl is only fifteen! This is insane...” Chloé raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“Today it looked like you two were good friends. Or on the way there at least.” The noirette shook her head in disgust.

“she has some good traits, but as soon as she gets in front of the crowd…she abandons everything for power. I can't trust her, but it seems that she is under multiple restraining orders. I get the feeling that as long as we stay out of her webs, we should be fine. Jagged texted though. He said that Lila can be vicious if she is provoked.” Here, Marinette looked Chloé dead in the eye. “do not cause trouble. I don’t want you to have to go toe to toe with her, Chloé.”

 Six months later.

 Marinette is settled at her desk, the swivel chair reclined as she looked at the Blonde who was in her room, grinning.

“did she really ask you out?” Chloé’s excitement paired with her nosiness was making Marinette steadily turn Lady Tyche red. Turning back to her desk, Marinette tried to hide her flaming face.

“she asked me if I wanted to go out…like a date…before my birthday.” The noirette tugged slightly on her hair. Her anxiety that had been manifesting more and more at school was not helping her now. “I told Aurore yes. We haven’t set a date yet, but it’ll be soon.” Chloé raised an eyebrow.

“are you two going on your first date on Valentine’s day? Because Mari…I refuse to be best friends with someone so cliché.” The girl flamed a darker red if that was possible.

“I really like her Chlo. But…no. she asked about the 14th. I told her that I was going to spend time with my parents that day. Plus,” here, Marinette turned back to her friend with a Cheshire cat grin. “We,” She gestured between her best friend and herself, “have a standing date. we have for the last three years. Why would I break a pact we made when we were ten, over a girl I haven’t gone on one date with yet?” Chloé’s face broke into a matching grin.

“oh, hell yea. Then, I guess I could help you get ready for that first date of yours…” the friends broke down into giggles and started debating the merits of each of the outfits the young designer had in mind.

 That night on patrol, Lady Tyche alighted on the roof of one of the local lycées.

Her blonde hair whipped in the wind that had been howling all afternoon. Across the streets, the spotted hero was able to see a pair of blue luminous eyes. Using her yoyo to pull herself over the street, the girl smiled at the younger miraculous wielder.

When her red boots hit the roof, Apate handed the girl an unmarked bag. Inside was a pastry and a hot chocolate. Both girls knew they were in for a long night.

 Apate stood noiselessly and moved to the edge of the roof. As she stood there, profiled against the ridgeline, Lady Tyche smiled to herself. Her partner could be as vicious as she wanted when they were fighting Akumas, but the girl who stood in front of her was very kind.

The Cat vigilante, as she insisted she was no hero, had a pair of ears on her head.

They were flicking to and fro while she listened to the night below. Her hands were resting on her hips, one hand toying with the baton that was usually kept in a holster on her leg. The girl’s other hand was fiddling with a ring she had slid off her finger. The skintight black pants blended into the night. The black top she was wearing also seemed to disappear when Lady Tyche wasn’t looking for her partner.

Even now, with Apate being backlit by the city lights around them, the Tyche was the more visible of the two.

“She’s coming.” Apate’s voice broke her partner out of her thoughts. “Let’s hope tonight goes the way we want it to. Otherwise, we could be royally screwed.” The Hero nodded in agreement.

 “I trust Alya. She has been a good fit for Trixx so far.” Apate hmmed in response.

“I fear that our…favorite Italian…may be too close to her. I don’t our fox’s head full of lies and manipulations if I can help it at all.” Lady Tyche winced. She had heard all about Lila’s renewed attack on the allegiances of the class that her crush was in. the past few weeks had not been pretty.

  “No! That’s…you told Lila that I was going to be your first partner! Why did you lie to both me and your best friend! Everyone knows that Lady Tyche can’t do this alone anymore! She NEEDS Miss Vixen!” Lady Tyche closed her eyes and Alya’s rant ended with a yell. The anger simmering on the reporter’s face was worrying the hero.

“Alya. I have not told anyone about you. A few people have seen you training and on patrols. You ran the ‘exclusive’,” the disdain in Lady Tyche’s voice had Alya wincing. “but no one has confirmed anything. There is a good reason. The hope,” here, the Blonde teen’s voice turned cutting, “was that you could work in the shadows. There is only one visible member of this team, but I have never been alone. Tonight, and this attitude. Well, Alya, it has proven that you are not ready to be a holder of the miracle stones.”

The ladybug holder looked over to the roof next to where she and the trainee had been standing. There, in the shadows, were a pair of blue eyes. “go ahead, Apate. Wipe her memory of all of this.”

Seven months after Alya’s Miraculous is taken away. Two years after Hawkmoth started. Two years before A Moment in Time.

Aurore smiled at the girl holding her hand.

The two were walking home from their first day of Lycée. Aurore’s blonde hair fell around her shoulders as she turned to look at Marinette.

The 14-year-old, a certified genius, was glowing at the excitement that their first day of school had brought. Although she no longer was friends with Alya, there were no real hard feelings. The rift between the former classmates had made it easier to integrate Marinette and Aurore’s social circles. Claude, Allen, Chloé, Aurore, Mireille, Nino, Kim, Kagami, Felix.

Their group was full of laughter and life. They spent most of their weekends together, even over the summer. To everyone else, the group was the picture-perfect group of teens. Inseparable for life. Aurore had loved it for so long, had loved watching her girlfriend grow. Tonight, however, she had a feeling that the last half-year was going to be left in the past.

She and Marinette needed to have a talk.

 Chloé held her best friend as the girl cried.

The two had been sitting on the floor of the heiress’s hotel suit for the last hour and a half. When the small girl had shown up, wearing an old pair of Chloé’s sweats that had disappeared years ago, sniffling into the sleeves of the hoodie she was swamped in, the older girl’s big sister senses had gone off.

Now, as her friend started to calm down, Chloé shoved a pile of clothes at her friend.

“put these on, we are leaving.” Marinette glanced at her friend in confusion, before taking the clothes and slowly changing into the skinny jeans and loose grey top. A moment later, a green corduroy jacket was being flung at her by the blonde 16-year-old who had changed as well.

Quickly catching the jacket and sliding on the matching converse that Chloé had given her, Marinette stood to join her friend. Chloé picked up her purse and looked over the two.

While she had given her best friend a simple outfit that be comfortable for the train ride that her friend didn’t know was coming, Chloé had taken a minute longer before deciding to match her friend. Her jeans were light wash as opposed to dark, and she wore a fitted white t-shirt with a cartoon spider hiding in a red chrysanthemum. The red corduroy jacket was the same color as both the embroidery and her own red converse.

“Let's go, Minette. We are going to the country house. You can truly cry there. Horses await.”

 After Marinette and Aurore broke it off, the friends drifted apart. Kagami, Felix, Nino, and Kim refused to let the others blame the split on Marinette. Mireille, Claude, and Allen claimed that Marinette was more likely to be the cause. They couldn’t imagine Aurore doing anything to hurt the teen.

Chloé, Aurore, and Marinette kept their mouths shut over the whole debacle.

Chloé hadn’t heard the whole story, but she knew that Aurore had hurt her friend, and it had led to a discussion that led to the girls both walking away in tears.

It would only be years later that the girls would reveal that they had broken up because of the confusion around their secret identities.

 A week after the fateful breakup, Adrien Agreste pulled Marinette off to the side after class.

“Adrien are you ok?” the girl asked, confused. while usually, the two didn’t interact, Marinette had noticed that all day Adrien had been pale and shaking.

“I need help Marinette. Usually, I would go to Chloé, but last time she almost got Akumatized and I just…I need help. Please.”

“what’s up?” he glanced over his shoulder, to where a group of their classmates stood gathered around Lila.

“Not here, she can't know.” Marinette blinked in shock before grabbing the model lightly on the arm. After glancing at him with a raised eyebrow, silently asking if it was ok to hold onto his arm, she took off through the halls.

 By the time the two had made it to the home of one Gina Dupain just outside of what Marinette knew to be Hawkmoths reach, the blonde was bewildered. “you know the city so well. How?” she giggled slightly at the older boy before leading him to the kitchen and dropping her bag on one of the breakfast seats.

“I get stir crazy and spend a lot of my time exploring the city. Alix and I go and do Graffiti on the weekends sometimes. That means I’m pretty good at evading sight when I don’t want to be seen.” While her statements were technically true, Marinette had also left out a great deal of information in her response.

She had spent most of her time exploring the city as Apate. She grew up on the streets and would forever feel comfortable slipping into the shadows. She did go out with Alix to do graffiti, but the two also spent a good amount of time jumping into burrows to fix world-ending events.

“now, Adrien, what is going on? If it's bad enough that you don’t want Chloé upset, I expect it to be worth the trip out of the Akuma line.” Adrien nodded nervously, before going into an explanation of what had been happening in the Agreste family home.

 Three years into Hawkmoth’s reign. Marinette’s 2nd year at Lycée

 Adrien spent as much time as possible with Chloe and Marinette.

He had shown up more than once during their girls’ nights. Now, he was expected to be there.

When they had left for the weekend, Adrien had disappeared from the Agreste Manor. When had reappeared in time to get in the car that Monday, he learned that the only person who had noticed he was gone was his bodyguard. The man had called him, before joining the teens on the outing.

While the friends were getting Adrien out from his father’s thumb, Marinette was launching her brand.

She had a discussion during the branding process because the symbol that she had chosen, a chrysanthemum, was incredibly complex. Her grandmother thought it was too much. Marinette had told the older woman that she was going to use the flower because that was the one with meaning to her. She spent three weeks fending off the woman, who sent her a different flower every day, until the girl told the woman that she wasn’t going to change her mind.

Her Grandmother, her Nona, had laughed and told her that she was very stubborn, but that this time it had worked in her favor. The teen had come home that evening to a leather Jacket lying on her bed, with her named arching over the back where a chrysanthemum was embroidered in full bloom.

At the same time that Marinette was officially launching her brand and Adrien was embracing his teen rebellion, Chloé was becoming an influencer on social media. On any day that she wasn’t spending time with her friends, the blonde was working to cultivate her social media image. At 17, she started to model on the side. When she was gone, her friends would get calls during every free moment she had.

Fourth-year of Hawkmoth's Reign. 

The three were friends with the other outcasts from their college class.

Kim and Nino were often seen with Marinette when she was out on a shopping spree or seeking inspiration. 

Alix and Marinette were close, and after she became guardian at 14, Marinette had given the Pinkett and crash course on the miraculous, since she had inherited one. The two would always be fond of jumping through time and space to face world-ending events.

Kagami had insisted that Adrien and his cousin Felix make up, and now the three were a force to be reckoned with. As they entered their last year of Lycée, the friends felt like they were on top of the world.

 There had been a project due that morning that Marinette had forgotten about until the night before.

She had been up all night and had gone through three different super coffees. She had been running late when she burst out the door of the apartment.

There was a mug of coffee that was clutched in her hands, and she wasn’t looking where she was going. The guy that she collided with looked how she felt.

While he was in a suit, they were both clutching coffee mugs that they had moved out of the way on instinct before throwing apologies over their shoulder and going on with their days.

Neither thought anything of it. They had other things to worry about.

Tim Drake and Marinette Dupain Cheng had no idea that their lives had changed permanently with that one interaction that had lasted less than a minute.

AND...3000+ words later, here we are! let me know if yall have any questions.

I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later so that I can start to build with other characters now. I had a lot of fun writing the backstory, and I have thrown Cannon out the window...obviously lol.

tag list!

@moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter @trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh  @susiej1118 @t1dwarrior-of-earth @sassakitty @remy-289 @laurcad123  @iamabrownfox @m0chick0furan

[scriptaed]

bygones of the sun. 06 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 6.7k;

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

“You’re going out on another date with him tonight?!”

Junghwa’s louder than necessary exasperation renders you speechless. You shoot her a death glare, jaw slacking open to mirror her own gaping mouth; while she gapes at you for your recent absence from your weekly movie nights only to reappear with news of the boy you had been bad-mouthing just a few weeks ago, you glare at her in utter shock over her plans to announce your relations with the infamous player, Jung Hoseok, to the entire class―half of whom you don’t even know. In a panic to cover her tendency to spill even more, both you and Hani turn to hush her while the rest of the class remains unusually―albeit not surprisingly, for nearly everyone is on the brink of failing―fixated on your professor.

“How much louder can you yell?” you hiss, ignoring the pout adorning her lips as she reclines into her seat. “Are you trying to get us kicked out of class?”

“No…” she mumbles and crosses her arms. “But I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about all… this. You and Hoseok, I mean.”

The truth in Junghwa’s remark strikes you to your core. She’s right. It’s been two weeks since you had last spent your Friday nights with your two best friends. After Hoseok had barged into your house to nurse you back to health, your cold had quickly dissipated and that only encouraged Hoseok to take you out even more often to share his favorite pastimes, consequently taking time away from your friends. And you should’ve told them about your recent meetups with Hoseok and why you had to skip out on several movie nights with them for the sake of preventing your friend or pretend boyfriend―you aren’t even sure what to call him―from confronting your friends when he intrudes your house without prior warning, but you knew the day those two opposing worlds clash is the day all hell sets loose.

You wouldn’t even know what to do with Hoseok if your friends were to disapprove of him; it’s not that you don’t want to distance yourself from him, but the more you consider the benefits of your bet, the more you try to convince yourself to take this one last chance to move on from your unresolved crush on the ex-dance captain… or at least that’s what you tell yourself, because the more days that pass by, the fonder you become of the current Hoseok. It’s not that you like him—no, it can’t be that, but there’s something about him that pulls you in, that intrigues you, especially now that you suspect him of remembering exactly who you are.

And while you treasure your friendship over whatever your relations with Hoseok are, you loathe the idea of choosing one over the other.

Hani notices the fallen expression of yours as you slump into your chair in deep thought before interjecting herself, “Junghwa… I’m sure Y/N has a reason for not telling us earlier. Plus, we’re still holding our usual movie nights―just on Thursdays. She hasn’t forgotten about us, right Y/N?”

“Huh,” you utter in response, brows raising at Hani’s watchful gaze, “oh, yeah, for sure. I’d never just toss you guys away like that. I just… I need a few more weeks to figure this all out.”

Figure out whether her remembers exactly who you are in the first place.

“Okay, fine. But what exactly are you figuring out?” Junghwa inquires, leaning in with her head propped in her cupped hands. “I just don’t get it. You despise Hoseok, don't you? You were just complaining to us about how much he's changed! So why are you still hanging out with him? Are you guys even dating?”

Your eyes stay glued to your lap where your hands fidget with the hem of your―or rather, his―sweater, her question echoing your very own which stirs you awake at night. “...no.”

“Usually I’d advise you to ignore Junghwa, but she actually makes a good point,” Hani glances between the two of you and tilts her head in confusion. “You don’t actually like him, do you? Or at least... not who he is now?”

“No, I don’t,” you don’t hesitate to say, eyes glued to your fiddling thumbs when you recall how someone so sweet and dedicated could become the cocky player you know now. It irritates you how quickly and profusely Hoseok would shun his previous reputation as the dance captain, but the one thing that irks you even more is how he had suggested the bet so eagerly―as if he was confident you’d twirl right into the palm of his hands like countless girls had done before. “I’m not that naive.”

“Okay, good,” Junghwa huffs, slumping into her chair and mumbling, “I don’t want to beat up any more boys unless I have to.”

You snort, “you don’t have to beat up any boy.”

“No,” she blurts, bolting to sit upright, “I have to if they hurt my best friend.”

“Aw, I guess our Junghwa really can be sweet sometimes,” you sarcastically quip, eliciting a scoff from Junghwa and a giggle from Hani. Hearing your friends’ abundant support always assured you in times when you doubted yourself, and it warms your heart to know if you really did end up broken hearted by this eerily charming bad boy―something which you tell yourself otherwise every night recently―your friends would still be one step behind to catch you when you fall. Amidst your conversation, every student in the class begins shuffling papers and shoving binders into their bags not even a split second after the professor’s dismissal. Following with the crowd, you begin packing with a reassured smile adorning your lips, “alright, thank you then. I’ll try to keep your warning in mind.”

Slinging your backpack over your shoulders, you grab your cup of coffee for the evening and wave the pouting, puppy-eyed Junghwa goodbye, snickering at her overly concerned expression when Hani calls out to you, “be careful! Don’t blindly believe everything he says!”

“Alright, alright,” you laugh at Hani’s remark, slowly backing away from the cinched brows and frowns plastered all over your friends’ faces.

“You really don’t have to do this. There are plenty of boys out there, Y/N! Just call me and I’ll hook you up in no time, mm?” Hani desperately consoles you last minute.

“You sound like I’m heading off to war or something. And I’m not doing this because I’m a desperate woman,” you snort, scoffing until you wrap your head around the true reason why you’re so allured by this bet of yours with Hoseok. Why are you so entitled to winning this bet? Because you believe in yourself? Because you truly believe there’s no possible way for you to fall for the changed boy you had once been smitten, and consequently crestfallen, over? Why are you so enticed by this bet? Seeing how your two friends raise a brow at you, patiently waiting for the second half of your sentence, or at least an explanation as to why you’re doing this in the first place, you part your lips and utter much softer than you expected, “...I’m doing it because I want to tie up loose ends and finally get over him.”

Junghwa and Hani glance at each other, lips down-turned when they silently decipher whatever you had just uttered before the latter looks up to give you a nod and a warm smile, “alright, just don’t confuse your feelings for the past him with the current him.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “psh, feelings for him? I didn’t even like him that much. I just said he was really cute and sweet… that’s all―”

―you pause when you notice Hani and Junghwa’s deadpanned expressions, brows raised and eyes completely wary of your lies.

“Okay, maybe I did,” you mumble, clutching onto your cup as you avert your head to the empty side of the classroom. “But… I’m over that… or at least almost over that. It’s been a year now. I’m not stupid enough to be all hung up over some guy in my past. He’s changed, and so have I. I just need some closure, that’s it―”

―your phone interjects you with a buzz from the back pocket of your jeans.

Your friends snort at what they claim to be your never ending excuses―something that you have been apparently spewing since they had discovered your crush on the dance captain last year. Biting down on your lips to stop you from defending yourself from such accusations, and thus, furthermore proving their argument, you reach into your pocket to take a quick glimpse at your brightly lit phone screen.

Speak of the devil; just seeing his name on your phone screen renders the skip of your heart.

Hoseok, my beloved [7:35 PM] You haven’t forgotten about our date tonight, have you?

Hoseok, my beloved [7:36 PM] Knowing you, you probably have. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be over in fifteen.

Hoseok, my beloved. Scoffing, you can’t help but roll your eyes at how quickly he had sneakily changed his contact name on your phone the night he had brought you porridge and discovered said atrocity; and despite the twitch in your hands that itched to playfully, albeit purposely, smack him in the arm like you had gotten used to in the past week, anyone would be a fool not to notice the smile creeping its way onto your lips while butterflies fluttered in your stomach. It’s been awhile since you had felt like this―a year, in that very dance studio, to be precise.

“What what what?” Hani blurts out, her worries overflowing as they tumble from her lips. “Who is it? Is it that damn player again?”

“Alright, I have to go,” you chuckle, whirling around to skip towards the classroom door, “I’ll see you later!”

“Hey!” Junghwa yells after you. “Remember, don’t fall for him or you’re losing the bet and you’ll never find out why he quit!”

Laughing to yourself and figuring the main intent behind Junghwa’s remark is linked with her wariness regarding Hoseok, you wave your hands without a glance back over your shoulders.

“I won’t fall for him, don’t worry,” you chortle before muttering to yourself and shaking your head, “...at least not for who he is now.”

Usually, you’d let bygones be bygones, but when you’re dealing with boys like him, boys like Jung Hoseok, you know even the smallest of details can end up in the worst heartbreaks possible. This is the boy whom had supposedly used you for his own advances on his unreciprocated crush on Keiko. This isn’t the boy you had once fallen for. You just have to remind yourself of that every so often, and you won’t have to worry over falling for that deceiving, albeit nearly identical, mask of his bygones.

-

In fifteen, he said.

Rolling onto your right side, you pull the collar of his hoodie over your lips as you lie in bed and pull out your phone.

8:15 PM―he’s nearly half an hour late; he's the one intruding your private time and inviting himself over to your house more than once, and he dares to make you wait this long? And why does each passing second elicit such an impatient groan from you, each tick of the clock tugging at your heart, when you supposedly don't even want him here? So why are you still wrapped up in your blankets, face buried and body enveloped in his sweater, and consciously waiting for him to march through your front door like he always does?

A buzz comes rippling through the bed, your head pressed against the vibrating mattress, and you nearly fall to the ground when you scramble to your side to grab your phone, expecting a certain someone's name only to be disappointed once again.

Jung Hoseok just posted a photo for the first time in a while.

jung_hoesuck: night vibes.

Your jaw drops when the notification pops onto your screen only to slack open even wider when your thumb instinctively taps the appalling update; and surely, there he is, dressed up in skinny black jeans, belt half done, white muscle top peeking underneath a black bomber, and what appears to be a lighter colored snapback and sneakers underneath the black and white filter. A scoff leaves your lips as your hands grip your phone tighter than ever and your eyes nearly bore into the screen itself for staring at the photo with such intensity.

First, he invites himself over to your house without any reasonable prior notice, and now, he’s taking his time to update his social media when you rushed over here, delayed your night out with the girls, and waited for his more than late arrival. But as much as you’d like to slander Hoseok and his update appearance on his long abandoned social media, you can’t help but find the signature smug look of his half smirk as he bites his bottom lip,  glimpsing dimly into his phone screen which captures him in the mirror from head to toe, more than enticing. You mentally slap yourself and begin mumbling words of disatisfaction when you catch yourself checking him out through the post he had leisurely taken at the expense of his delayed arrival and your bated breath.

God, the boy may have mouth-watering looks and fawn worthy charms, but your dedication to remind yourself of the truth remains unwavered. You repeatedly remind yourself: that’s all he has going for him. While the past him was humble, admirable, and charming in his own ways as the sweetheart of the school, the pull of your heartstrings between now and then differs. You don’t feel the least bit attracted to Hoseok, you tell yourself, and even if you do, it’s all based upon lust and a desire to find the boy from within.

Sooner or later, you find yourself scrolling through his page. It wasn’t until tonight’s notification―which you’re more than relieved popped up before Hoseok arrives, if he arrives, that is―that you recall having followed his public account back a year ago when you felt obliged to check in every once or so often to keep your promise to yourself and admire the dance captain from afar, afraid to dive in head first with the mess of your insecurities regarding the all so perfect Keiko.

But ever since then, you’ve forgotten how drastically he’s changed, all which is reflected his scroll of pictures. While most of his current theme retains a sense of mystery, black and dark with descriptions as vague and brief as possible, his past page would be filled with pictures of the dance studio, worn out sneakers, new and sheepish members whom you’re sure was only there for the boy standing in between the two, and lengthy paragraphs to express his thanks for those who supported him in the most recent dance showcase. But now, all of that has changed. You find yourself staring at the end of his page, crestfallen as your stomach drops when you notice he had deleted every single picture since his days in the club―no behind the scenes, no smiles, no gym bag, no nothing. Everything had changed including his atrocious username, and even if you wanted to revisit the old days as an escape from the current troublemaker, you can’t. And the very fact that the boy you’re in search for is completely wiped off seemingly the entire school’s minds and shunned by the own beholder scares you.

Are you the only one who remembers?

And now that you’re on this topic, how are you going to convince him to attend dance camp? Should you ask him about what he had said that one night? Does he still recall who you are from back in the studio at night, a night you thought was special enough to remain unforgotten for the both of you? What about his relations to Keiko now? And then? Are you really just a pawn, a strategy for him to obtain his true desires for Keiko? With all these questions in mind, there really is no doubt you must consistently remind yourself to be wary of such a boy clouded by unknown motives and not wear your heart on your sleeve like you did for the past him―

“Y/N, baby, are you home?”

Your eyes snap wide open when you hear the familiar voice of Hoseok’s singing in the distance. Great, now you’re even hallucinating about him… or so you think. Because when the shuffles of his footsteps thumps closer and closer to your bedroom, a strife of panic strikes you to pull the bed sheets over your head and your unmade hair thrown messily into a bun. It’s not that you’re afraid to show him you in your natural state, rather, it’s the sweater―his sweater―that you’re wearing which you had totally forgotten about; just imagining the smug look on his face when he sees you wrapped up in his clothes in bed is enough to coerce you into locking yourself away from society for the rest of eternity.

The door squeaks open and you can hear him snort. You can’t quite see him, but you can hear him clearly. His soft, yet slightly heavier breathing than most, his siffling clothes as he adjusts his weight from one leg to the other, and his mere presence enough to send your heart racing and your cheeks burning.

“We’re not playing this game again, are we?” he laughs. “Mind telling me why you’re all buried underneath blankets again?”

“Well, mind telling me why you’re nearly an hour late?” you retort, popping your head out just enough to meet his concerned yet baffled grin. Scanning him up and down, you find him decked out in a gray beanie, baggy white tee, and slim fitting gray sweatpants―completely different outfit than what you were just goggling at earlier. “So you even took the time to change out of your outfit before coming here.”

“What?” he quirks a brow before sudden realization flickers through his eyes. “Ohh, you saw my post? You were so worried that you even checked my page? Aw, babe, if you missed me that much, you should’ve just texted me!”

Your jaw slacks open in disbelief as you scoff, “I did not miss you. In fact, I was even hoping you would bail me tonight.”

“Then why’d you check my IG?”

“I didn’t. I got a notification you updated.”

He smirks, one brow raising as he buries his hands into his pockets, “oh, so you follow me?”

A breath gets caught in your knotted throat. Damn, he really is perceptive.

“...fuck off,” you mumble, plopping your head back into the blankets. “I can’t believe you left me waiting here for an hour. It would’ve been better if you just didn’t show up at all.”

“Oh c’mon, babe,” Hoseok coos. “I’m sorry for being late, but I was busy getting something.”

He takes a step forward, and the beat of your heart hammers once against your chest before you roll farther away until you’re wrapped in your blankets like a burrito on the other side of your bed.

Ignoring his soft chuckle, you take a deep breath in a vain attempt to slow down your pulse. “Yeah? What were you busy getting?”

“Wow, do you really not trust me?” he chortles, sighing before rustling what sounds like a plastic bag. “I was out buying you some heat pads, but I didn’t realize how long it would take. Your hands are always cold and you’re always shivering when we go out, so I figured I’d be a good, dutiful boyfriend and care for my ungrateful wifey.”

Damn, he’s a smooth talker too. But can you really trust him? After everything he’s said and done? After knowing there’s a high possibility he had only asked you out for the sake of invoking jealousy upon Keiko’s half?

“...I don’t believe you,” you mumble, heart nearly stopping and lungs failing to expand when you hear Hoseok climbing onto your bed and you feel his knees sinking into the mattress along with you. You’re just barely able to squeak, “...then how’d you take that photo?”

“If it helps, I took that photo weeks ago. You can even check on my phone,” he chortles, continuing when you fail to respond. “I hadn’t updated in awhile. My follower count was falling, and I wasn’t getting as many DMs as usual.”

You scoff in disbelief, “actually, that doesn’t help. I could’ve gone without that last part.”

“Ooh, my girl’s a jealous one. I can delete it if you want,” he suggests, light-heartedly laughing when you roll farther into the bed. “Hey, I’m the one who keeps reaching out to you. You’re the one who rejects my offers.”

“No, I’m not jealous. And I’ve never rejected any of your offers.”

“Really? So can I stay the night?”

“No.”

“See,” he chuckles. “Now, let’s get my baby out of those blankets before she suffocates to death, alright?”

“Just wait in the living room and I’ll be out in a minute,” you clutch a fistful of his sweater, your chest nearly exploding any second now.

“No… I don’t think so. It’s pretty easy to spot liars, Y/N, and quite obviously, you’re hiding something from me,” he sing-songs. Bulls-eye. He practically knows you like the back of his hand. He places a hand on your waist and your eyes widens… in shock? Excitement? Annoyance? You’re not quite sure, but there’s no way of denying the fluttering butterflies in your stomach. “C’mon, what is it? Are you naked under there or something? Did I walk in on a private session?”

“W-What?” you nearly yell at his implications.

“Hm, guess not then,” he hums, and the tension within silence ensues for a few seconds before he quips, “but I am interested in what’s underneath this.”

And without another second to waste, he begins unrolling you from the depths of your blanket. Everything happens in a blur, and the next thing you know you’re staring up at Hoseok with wide, doe-like eyes. And he stares back at you. Hair just barely sweeping his forehead as he peers down at you from above, hands beside either side of your head, sun-kissed skin and tips of his brown hair glowing in the light hanging from the ceiling like an eclipse dawning upon you before your very eyes. The smug smirk adorning his lips only worsens the skip of your heart.

His warm hands wrap around what he had correctly predicted to be your cold hands, pulling you up onto the ground as you stumble forward into his equally snug chest.

“Hm… not exactly what I had hoped, but I guess seeing you in my sweater again isn’t too bad at all,” he lowly observes. With your eyes shut tight and your head on his chest, the thumping of his heart making itself known on your forehead, you push him away before storming out of the room. “What? Is it my scent? Do you really like the sweater? Or do you just really miss me when I’m gone?”

“None!” you exasperate, marching into your kitchen. “I already washed the sweater.”

And you don’t know if it’s just you and your wild imaginations, however, his scent still manages to remain latched onto the sweater akin to how the memories of that night remains etched into the back of your mind… you just chose to leave that part out.

“Then do you want my t-shirt this time?” he cackles, following closely behind.

“No! We’re not going over this again!” you’re baffled by his constant remarks, confused as to whether they’re his attempts at flirting or his desire to tease you. Whirling around, he nearly bumps right into you when you stop in the midst of your tracks. He raises a brow at your sudden change of pace. “So where do you want to go tonight?”

“We’re going out tonight?” he questions.

“I mean, don’t we always? You always drag me out for your wild shenanigans,” you retort, knitting your brows when you see the quizzical look on his face. Glancing yourself up and down, you suddenly feel more self conscious than ever―something you only experience around him lately, not necessarily in the bad way, but in a way which you wish you could impress him when you’re competing against all those girls fawning over the bad boy around school. “What? Do I look like a mess?”

“No,” he quickly denies. “I was only worried about my presentation. You look fine. Great, even.”

“You?” you snort. “Doesn’t matter even if you just got out of bed, girls would still faint in your path.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, looking away to walk past you and grab some pots from your cabinet―knowing your house inside and out after countless visits. “But they aren’t used to seeing me like this. They only like seeing me dressed up and poised like how my reputation goes.”

Frowning, you cross your arms, “...and is that the real you? Which boy are you really? The one standing before me now or the one notorious bad boy in school?”

Hoseok fills the pot halfway before placing it on the stove and turning his head to peer down at you. A good ten seconds of silence passes prior to his calculated response.

“The former.”

The… former? Such a particular yet general term that you even find yourself questioning the clarity of his answer. When he says former, does he mean the former persona you had crushed on or does he mean―

“―who you see right now, that’s who I really am,” he says, examining your state of confusion before turning back to grab two packs of ramen out from his plastic bag. “Do you like who I am right now?”

“Huh?”

“Do you like who I really am?” he questions without looking up at you.

Something tells you to answer carefully, as if this question weighs more than it appears upfront. But your stubbornness to see the old Hoseok, the crush you have yet to let go, overshadows your reluctance when the words slip from your lips, “...no.”

“I shouldn’t have expected anything less,” he says softly, chuckling.

“Hey, Hoseok…” you subconsciously call out for him, his dark eyes lifting to gaze into yours. “Do you remember me from somewhere else?”

He simply quirks a brow. It’s now or never, even if you’re risking your dignity to fulfill your curiosity. You have to know what you mean, or rather, meant to him.

“I mean, a while ago you mentioned something about me looking familiar―”

“―I don’t quite recall that,” he chortles. Without giving you a chance to follow up, he turns and leans against the kitchen counter with his signature smirk, “now, let me cook up some mean, authentic, gourmet ramen for us tonight.”

It’s quite odd how relieved you are when he switches the topic. Do you question his validity of his answer? A part of you tells you there’s something off about him tonight, but you don’t dare question it. You’d rather blindly believe in him than hurt yourself further by indulging in the irreplaceable past akin to the dimming light at the end of the tunnel. Sighing and rolling your eyes, you cross your arms and shrug, “alright, Chef Jung. Do show me how much better you can cook every college student’s basic dish.”

He turns his head and frowns at you before tossing the bags at your head, toppling them to the floor as you stand there bewildered. “I was just joking,” he scoffs. “You think I, Chef Jung, would cook you some lame dish anyone can make? I only bought these because I saw you were running low on food.”

“How’d… you know…?” you barely manage to say.

“I come here every few days, how would I not know?” he chuckles, grabbing some more groceries from his bag. “I’d cook you something healthy every day if I could, but I think you’d start getting annoyed by me. At least eat something when I’m gone, even if it’s junk.”

“You know how to cook…?”

“Yeah,” he briefly answers.

Cocking your head, you decide to investigate further, “how?”

“Back then, I had to cook myself meals for dance practice every day,” he equivocates. You can’t tell if he’s reminiscing out of force or out of bittersweet nostalgia. He glimpses at you through the corner of his eyes, “hey, can you grab me an egg or two? I think I saw a few left in your fridge.”

“Hm? Yeah,” you mumble, turning around to walk towards the fridge.

There most definitely is something off about him tonight. You’ve only really known him for a month, but that’s longer than you’ve ever known the ex dance captain and that’s enough for you to know that something is up. Is tonight the right time to ask? While your remaining questions regarding his relations to Keiko are questions you intend to ask when you’re fully prepared for its repercussions, there really is no time left until boot camp begins next week. As much as you’re irked by the three musketeers and their persistence to bring their dance captain back, you did indeed make a promise.

“Hey, Hoseok…”

“Yeah?”

You take a deep breath and sigh, “are you really not going to attend the boot camp?”

He pauses in the midst of preparing the ingredients sprawled across the tabletop. “Is there a certain reason why you want me to?”

“I just…” you gulp. If you really want to convince him against his own will, then you should at the very least be truthful. “I just want to see you dance again.”

Damn it, Y/N, stop wearing your heart on your sleeve. It’s too dangerous around boys like him.

“Well,” he carefully contemplates, “are you going?”

Looking up and turning your back on the fridge door, you lock eyes with his peering ones―ones void of any signs of emotion other than the motive to amass more information for his advantage, something he does quite well―and shake your head, “no, I can’t dance.”

He snorts, “then how are you going to see me dance? Cause I don’t plan on dancing again after camp.”

“I’ll go if you go.”

“And what do I get from this?” Hoseok bargains with his usual give-and-take virtues.

“Fine, then let’s just end this bet now,” you say out of frustration.

You don’t mean it, but the words slip before you’re able to retrieve them once again. Maybe this is for the better anyways. Based on this conversation and the last few night’s with him alone, only someone dense would deny the fact that you’re teetering between the edge of a cliff and sanity. If you delve in any further, you know you’d fall in too deep. The only reason you started this bet in the first place is to obtain closure and move on from the past, and yet before you knew it, you find yourself already treading in dangerous waters.

But the boy only raises a brow.

“You said we don’t need any time constraints to our bet, right?” you state, breath shaking and lips quivering. He cocks his head and knits his brows in concentration as you continue, “well, if you’re not going to attend the camp, then I’d like to end the bet here.”

“And how is that fair?” he deadpans―no sort of emotion detected in the rasp of his voice.

“Nothing’s fair, Hoseok. Some things just don’t make sense,” you say, recalling the irrational behavior of your panicking pulse and your wrenching chest at this very moment. “I don’t like you right now, so I guess that means I win the bet. So why did you quit―”

“―but you’re not considering my side of the bet. How do you know how I feel for you?” he firmly states.

And your heart nearly stops.

“W-What?” you stammer, eyes widening and blood running cold. “It doesn’t matter, because either way―”

“―yes, either way I have to tell you, but judging by the look on your face right now,” he smirks, “what you said before doesn’t hold the whole truth. So no, we can’t end the bet here unless it’s clear how we feel for each other.”

You scoff, “I do not like you. I’m telling the complete truth.”

Had you ticked him off? Or did he tick you off? The fiery within you grows each second he proves you wrong, because even you can’t deny the validity of his remark. You hate yourself for dancing right into the palm of his hands. But as long as you acknowledge it, you can always alter your course. You won’t fall for him just yet… or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Right, grab me the eggs, will you?” he says before turning around to gather his ingredients once more.

Mumbling to yourself in frustration, you open the fridge and glance through the brightly lit storage. Scanning through the shelves, you find nearly everything empty―just as he had claimed―and your feet begin to freeze as the rush of cold air brushes against your bare legs. Without turning around, you call out to him, “I don’t think I see any eggs―”

―your words halt when a pair of warm hands place themselves on your waist.

Air gets caught in your knotted throat, and you swear your heart nearly leaps out from within, especially when you feel the warmth of his chest radiating against your back.

“You said you couldn’t dance, right?” he whispers, his lips grazing your heated earlobes. “I highly doubt that. You just don’t want to go with Jimin and them. You don’t want to go with anyone but me, do you?”

“That’s stupid…” you’re barely able to say under your breath.

“Alright, prove it to me then,” he then whirls you around until your eyes are met with his own mischievous ones.

Wrapping one arm around your waist, he pulls your hips right against his and closes the distance between the two of you, while the other hand entangles with your right―tight and snug like two missing puzzle pieces. He then sways you side to side, humming to the beat of an old yet romantically classic tune.

Burying your head into his chest, you can feel his heart pacing in syncopation with yours. But it doesn’t resonate of the same panic, the same thrill, the same fear as yours. It’s calm and poetic and indecipherable, like a perfect mix between the old dance captain and the new mysterious boy of this demeanor they call Jung Hoseok.

Your cheeks burn bright red. You can’t feel anything other than your trembling hands he holds tightly onto, your knees go weak and threaten to buckle right underneath, and your eyes can’t see anything other than his white tee, his sweatpants, and the two pairs of feet rocking underneath.

“Can you stop hum―”

―but then he takes a step back, holds your hand high above your head, and twirls you.

Your feet scramble to catch up, your mind spins, your vision blurs, and the whole world turns upside down. Suddenly, you feel the warmth of his arm wrapped firmly on the small of your back until all you can see is his face hovering dangerously over yours.

“See? You can dance,” he says, a corner of his lips lifting into a lopsided grin. Pulling you back upright, you hold his hands for a few more seconds to stabilize yourself to the new center of gravity. You’re just about to scold him for his antics when he interjects, “fine, I’ll lead dance camp, but only under one condition.”

Glancing up from the ground, you find him staring right back at you. “What is it?”

“I’ll go... if you kiss me,” he smirks.

“Are you kidding me?” you gape. “First you nearly drop me when I said I can’t dance, and now you’re telling me to kiss you?”

“Just one,” he offers.

Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s pleas echo in the back of your mind as you glare at Hoseok, eyes subconsciously trailing to his smooth, tempting lips before flickering back to the glimmer in his dark chocolate orbs.

“...fine,” you mutter, kissing your two fingers―index and middle―and smacking it onto his own lips.

“Really? Is this how virgins kiss or something?” he states in lack of enthusiasm, removing your fingers from his lips. He then takes a step towards you, thus forcing you to take one back. “Do you really want me to show you how it’s done, Y/N?”

Another step forward, another step back.

Before you know it, your back hits the kitchen counter. Hoseok gently places both hands on either side of you, trapping you between him and the counter and leaving you with nowhere to escape to. He leans in, his mint scented breath tickling your skin as his nose brushes your tip and his lips just barely graze against your own. And through it all, you know he’s watching you through those lidded, intent eyes of his. If you really want him to attend dance camp, then maybe you should give in. Maybe this isn’t too bad anyways. It’s just one kiss. It’s not exactly like you don’t want it after all.

So you close your eyes.

And the second the boy before your eyes turns from the sun, the moon, and the mystical eclipse, and all you can see is black, the warmth on every inch of your body dissipates into the thin air.

“You see, Y/N, there really are only two tips I can give you in regards to kissing,” Hoseok says, his voice more distant than expected. Peeping one eye open, your heart drops when you find him standing back upright instead of towering over you. What is this feeling of disappointment? Shouldn’t you be glad? “One, you have to have consent. A kiss isn’t fun if it’s forced.”

“And…?” you utter, heart pounding so fast you think you might faint any minute now.

“And I can check that off my list,” he remarks, a smug smile tugging on one corner of his lips as he takes one step back and turns his back on you.

Was he talking about how you closed your eyes?

Your hands grip on the counter behind you when your knees nearly collapse onto the floor. Your cheeks blaze a flush of bright red, sheer embarrassment plastered on your face. Knitting your brows, you―or rather, your body―decides you need more. No, you want more.

“And second…?”

“Second,” he pauses, each tick of the clock agonizingly slow, “is the element of surprise.”

Then he turns on his heels. His hand cups your left cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and his other rests on the nape of your neck. His lips hover an inch over yours, waiting for your eyes to flutter close―which they do―before smirking once again and crashing his lips into yours.

He’s warm, plush, and most certainly an experienced kisser. He pushes with just the right pressure, he tells you he wants more and yet he’s willing to play hard for it through gestures absent of words, and his caressing hands and the stroke of his thumb across your cheek signify his gentle and caring way to handle his girl. No, he doesn’t need to stick his tongue down your throat or groan like man in desperate need to tame his hormones. No, all he needs is the simple touch of his tender lips and soft hands to melt you into a puddle of emotions.

Placing his hands on your hips, he lifts you onto the kitchen counter until your back and head presses up against the wall and the both of you are so out of breath that you’re coerced into parting from his tempting lips.

The both of you struggle to breathe, chests heaving and lungs gasping for air when he removes his beanie and puts it snugly over your head―something you would’ve rebelled against if it weren’t for how dazed and breath taken you were by what had just taken place before you. Running a hand through his freed, bronze hair, he peers down and grins at you from above.

“Now that’s what I call a kiss,” Hoseok chuckles. “Alright, deal. I’ll go.”

Shit, what was the deal again?