But This Was So Good - Tumblr Posts

NOOOOOO FUCK NOOOOOOOOO NOT TODAY PLEASE NOT TODAY

MISTAKES ⛥ KEN RYUGUJI

Genre: Fluff & angst

Warning: Spoilers of the last arc of the manga

A/N: Over 3.8k love letter to the incredible character that Draken is, childhood acquaintances to lovers with a sprinkle of angst and sweet pining.

Likes, reblogs and feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged ✨

"It would be a miracle being able to forget you."

You thought you know love with the warmth of your mother, at six love changes to the form of water and a fist, to be precise Ken Ryuguji's first, an older boy was being a bully to you in recess, stepping on your crayons, paper, and your lunch box, the boy was trying to throw your water at your hair until Ken rescues you without a problem, hitting him so hard that the liquid splashed everywhere, making sure of telling the boy how much of a dumbass is if he dared to hit someone for being bored. When you said thanks for sticking up for you he laughed scratching his nape.

—Your welcome, I did it because I’m the strongest— watching the tall blond boy with a cute dapper hairstyle you thought that for you he was the strongest person in the world, like a titan against those who wrong you, you show to your Mamma a pretty drawing where a tall stick figure is defending you against a monster.

Ken Ryuguji with his blond hair, big smile, nice height, and good manners that always know the answer when is about numbers; you never thought badly of him, when you forget your bento in class, you can hear the teachers gossiping about him.

— He's not going to get very far— she eats her chicken leaving a stain on the meat thanks to the gloss she's wearing

— What do you expect? have you smelled him? he smells like a love hotel, the brothel smell— they laugh, your mind doesn't comprehend.

What is so funny? "Draken lives in a place where love is? That must be beautiful!? And his smell? What about it? Dada smells the same”.

When you have nine and your Father leaves your mom for another woman that smells like that, you understand what a brothel is. Ken Ryuguji keeps being the best boy you know, the only one who's always polite to you and smiles big when he gets an answer right, so why you would treat him differently no matter how he's raised.

The next memory you have of Ken is at fifth grade, every day he's scolded by the teachers for the tattoo in his head matching with the new bruises he sports every day he talks about someone named Mikey, something in your stomach does a somersault when you lock gazes, the teacher is asking for an explanation but the kid laughs in his face.

No one knows but his eyes and tattoo are the first " serious" sketch you draw in your life.

Two words… Ken Ryuguji… Ken fucking Ryuguji… AKA Draken, you wrote his name in the notebook, with all the force in the world, you could muster using your eraser to delete the proof of your thoughts of him, applying so much strength that the paper was cut in the middle. What is the reason? Why do you do that? You have a crush on the delinquent of the class who only has eyes for the midget called Mikey since you have six...pathetic.

What does Mikey have? That seems to impress almost every man on a ratio of 5 meters, as a modern Pied Piper of Hamlin, taking away freedom in exchange for being part of his stupid bike gang. You feel a presence behind you when you're struggling to do your math exercises.

— Sorry to bother, you have made a mistake there— the voice of your current predicament says kindly; trying to hide your feelings when you look at him as you grip the pencil harder.

Ken fucking Ryuguji, right? With his long dumb blond hair now styled in a braid, stupid black eyes that look like two pots of your favorite black ink, the haori that he seems to have thousands of copies for everyday use, his little crooked teeth when he smiles that make him look more human in comparison to the dragon image that everyone seems to have about him.

— Where?— You attempt to sound open to critics, even with the venom dripping from your voice makes him smile bigger

— Just there, the symbol is not right,— Looking at the notebook, it is easy to find your mistake, your pride is hurt. Why is he so good at math? When you, with all your years of forced Kumon, can't improve.

— Thanks— erasing everything, so he cannot witness more of your flaws

— Hey! It was just a symbol, no need to erase everything,— As you stared at him, he probably realized you didn't want more comments. He took off as quickly as he had come over.

In recess, your best friend is slurping her chocolate milk

—You like him, is so foolish how you act as if you hated him—observing how you try to forget your mistake, calming the beating of your heart

— I don't act as I hate him, what are you talking about?— trying to laugh away your awkwardness

—Babe everyone has a bet on when you are going to kill him with a pencil —You grimaced at the comment as you use the ice-cold bottle of yogurt on your face to feel refreshed, a part in your mind thinks that the chances of that happening are so low.

Hurt Ken? No...Maybe Mikey for being a big baby demanding attention, even if the rumors are right, he could kill you with only his pinkie.

Sighing —I'm a big fool for him— you smile with a trace of gloominess, she looks at the clouds like you have said the sky is blue

—I know, everyone who knows you as much as I could notice, yet this is not Pride and Prejudice you need to show him— you nod.

Exactly one week later, in the shade of a big tree, you confess your feelings. You were startled by a soft drizzle in autumn. He looks at the sky; you glimpse at how his hair has little beads of water, which shines in the cold sun. Your heart beats at the same time as the air exhales from his lungs, knowing how the story is going to end, having read enough books to know rejection.

—You deserve better—is his first sentence in the long statement, your mind is out of your body.

Better? Better than him? What? Who can compete with this man-boy hybrid? You half-listen until he says

—Is just a crush I can assure you when you're older you will not remember the boy with the shaved sides and the dragon tattoo— he tries to light the mood nevertheless the day was ruined, nodding you say thanks for the time he gifted you, not paying attention at how his hand seeks for yours, running away from him, the heavy rain begins, you count that moment as your first mistake.

You begin reading poetry made by other teenagers comparing themselves to sharp objects, they have been broken apart by love. On those shards of glass, you feel connected because loving Ken made you a loser. He left a big wound that even pouring paint on it feels raw like nothing could heal your shattered heart. In that time you encounter Emma Sano understanding everything in the soft way Ken looks at her.

Your mom sighs when you tell her that between sobs

—You are an artist, why you don't capture that feeling— with her advice, you create a worthy paint, almost dissecting your heart to the world, that was the piece that scores you a place in the art program in high school, the piece decorates for two days the hallways of the middle school, so your classmates can appreciate it.

You catch the subject of your heartbreak seeing it, his friend as always alongside him, he gasps in a show of emotion so not him, almost instantly his facial expression changes to a serene mask

—Let's go, Mikey, we are running late—he walks in big strides, said boy looks at the painting

—Kenchin— he says in the softest voice you ever heard in the short one, yet he runs, jumping begging for a piggy ride.

Even at graduation, you don't say goodbye to Ken Ryuguji. You count that as your second mistake.

Talking with your best friend, she tried to get together once in a while between laughs. You remember Ken for the first time in a long time. They say the rain brings memories. In a show of emotion, You ask Hiromi about him. Water is related to Ken in your mind. Even after all those years, the kisses you gift and the hands of other lovers, the ghost touch of the blond boy is the most distinct memory of love for you.

—Uh? Draken? I haven't heard from him in a long time. I don't know...he's not in my high school—You furrow your brows, how can she not know about him,

—Don't tell me you like him even now? —She laughs but gets quiet when sees your effort to laugh it out, asking around the party until someone says something about him.

—That guy is so cool because he has a repair shop now —says one of the boys of your old class, smoking a cigarette —He even left gang life— looking at his jacket.

—You keep being a delinquent?" —He chuckled and nodded

—Yes! I follow the Invincible Mikey in his new gang— you frown, Mikey has a new gang? Adding to that, why in that equation there's no Ken? Clearly a mystery, but you get distracted by life, getting ready to enter college so you could earn a spot in the art program. No one comments on how your paintings got water dragons as central themes.

Hiromi screams, making the people of the restaurant jump at the sudden sound

—She's the next Picasso, Da Vinci, Kahlo, Congratulations on being an Art Major!— she cries as you search for a napkin trying to not let her snot fall on her ramen

—"T-Thanks, Thanks, stop crying, oh my God! you're more excited than I"—Laughing with her boyfriend who’s trying to clean her up until you see him.

The same height, hairstyle, this time without his faithful rhombus' sweater he's chatting with a blond one, two twins who seem to devour their food too, Ken Ryuguji who seems to get caught in the earlier rain, he probably felt your stare because your eyes lock, the world rotates more slowly, a spark of recognition makes his face glow, a big smile breaks, the world spins out of the axis, somewhere on the planet something clicks, the oldest soulmates meets again.

WHAT THE FUCK? Echoing in your mind so hard that you're considering taking the pills in your bag to drown the ache. Sadly the exchange ends there because he stops midairs his wave to you, a sense of a pit of fire in your stomach, he nods his head to you, Hiromi turns around waving too, yet the two worlds don't rotate to each other, your phone rings a perfect excuse to go outside to take the air.

“Hey! I know is not the time to do this but I think we should break up” of course, your life again tumbles apart, and ok is the only thing you can say to your now ex-boyfriend.

Hiromi is waiting with her coat on, what magnificent friend you have, rolling your shoulders you sit slurping your noodles, tears falling free yet your friend doesn't comment, when the waiter comes you ask for another bowl “For university, at least I will study what I love, I don’t care for men” Hiromi nods with you saying cheers even when you guys are drinking plain water. You don’t notice when Ken goes but the time to pay comes, the waiter says a gentleman with a dragon tattoo pays for your meal, the food in your belly roared like lava.

The next summer drowning in self-deprecating thoughts is when you have another encounter with Ken Ryuguji, you are crying (Nothing new there) he's drinking iced green tea spotting you sitting like a sad ragged doll in the park bench, hiding behind an enormous sketchbook ripping paper with a furrowed brow

Some things don't change no matter how many years have passed, he remembers the little girl with pigtails he helped and nos the beautiful person you have bloomed into, he walks not paying attention to the sweat building in his palms or how his breathing is getting faster, the blood circulating to his cheeks he thinks in bikes or something familiar, to not fall against the concrete and do something embarrassing.

You look up, his breath gets caught, he feels like something licks his stomach, a burst of heat, something so warm... familiar, homey; discreetly he cleans his hands on his back and tries to smile non-aggressive. Your eyes open surprised until you remember the sad state you're in because quickly you're cleaning the tears, snot, the deep black charcoal stains.

—Are you alright?—Your name rolls so beautifully on his lips, the sun renders you like an ice pop melting at the trash can, he waits patiently until your brain is connected with your mouth.

—Yes, thank you— the response is so automatic that he doesn't buy that, he asks silently if he can sit with you before you take your thing in your bag he put them in his lap

—Let's try again. How are you?— with only those words forgetting that you haven't seen Ken for years and never been that close to being considered friends you bawl.

There's always something so comforting surrounding Ken, between hiccups you tell him how art school is making you feel the worst, how every day they critique your work and nitpick all the details, the snot falls to your shirt until he offers you his handkerchief with a neat K.R. embroidered. —This looks expensive —You want to clean yourself with the tissue you found in your tote bag.

—Emma gifted them to me— oh! That was unexpected a mask fell into your face you are sure they might be engaged or married until he says

—She’s dead— you don't know if you pass out because of the surprise, the stress, or the empathy for Ken.

When you wake up, you are resting on a futon in the office. Ken is repairing something in the garage, speaking in a hushed voice with another man, He finally sees you. He dismissed his friend who waved saying bye.

— Hey— well that’s awkward; You are offered a seat next to him until he finishes. You have no idea what to say, he opens his lips and begins to tell you about what went wrong years ago. He doesn't cry, but he takes minutes to keep telling you about the deaths, the goodbyes, having to bury a friend and her first crush you listen not once thinking in your feelings just your heart beating in synchrony with Ken’s.

When he finished his tale. He searches for fright in your eyes.

— You were only a child— you say. He laughed and denied you a statement; trying to bring himself down — No, you were a child, no matter how tall or responsible for your age you were, you were a child, you did what you could with what you had at that moment, so please remember no matter what you didn’t deserve to carry all that weight at fifteen— he cries quietly with your hand in his back making circles.

Both of you don’t talk about it again, he doesn't question about your new habit to visit the place with all your materials, quietly drawing as he works, you don’t ask him his motives when he goes to your campus inviting you if you want to go to a ramen tasting escapade with his friends. The dynamic of childhood acquaintances to friends is smooth, even when you guys hide the skeletons of feelings somewhere.

The days blend together in a dynamic that both of you are too afraid to name, walking on eggshells in name of past loves, pining, regrets and what ifs.

The first time you invite him to an exposition of your college where one of your paintings would be exhibited... he's a mess. Mitsuya reassure him telling him his outfit is perfect not too fancy not too casual, perfect for a date, he's quick to deny it but Mitsuya is too smart and knows him so much to understand and pick up the blush of his face he tries to hide.

When he enters the gallery he feels so out of place, this is not a territory for someone like him, you say hi complete ecstatic to see him there until he gives you a single pink peony, your smile blinds him, raking his arm to introduce him to your classmates.

He's trying to give a good impression, to hide how his nails have bits of grease he couldn't clean no matter how many times he washes with a brush his hands, a classmate makes a wow sound.

–Your tattoo is so cool bro!—Ken finally relaxes when everyone begins to greet him, remarking how everyone is so eccentric, original, even one of them came to present his work dressed in jeans overalls. Maybe he thinks just maybe he could have a place beside you.

Later that night, you laugh beside him without shoes, as your other drunken classmates giggle painting an old canvas with their feet making a mess.

—Ready to make art, Ken?—your eyes are sparkling, his chest feels like could blast at any minute, he hadn't felt so light since so fucking long, he dips his feet on the paint jumping with a bunch of drunk students at the sound of Karma Chameleon in an old boombox.

The pink stains of paint his feet leave on the canvas are so big, that your green ones are lost, at the end of the night he saves the phone of some of the classmates so they can go out to drink, he says thanks for inviting him sadly he couldn't tell you what are his feelings for you.

Mitsuya encourages him, he will have another chance, Nahoya and Souya says the same, Inui gives him another beer to cheer him up.

However, when you go to the repair shop with swollen eyes, carrying your canvas as if is something radioactive, he looks at you with curiosity analyzing the painting.

—Do you have something to burn this shit?— the painting is a big crystal ball that reflects people looking at it like it was some kind of salvation.

—Why?—he asks, cleaning his hands to sit beside you like every day

—I did everything wrong— he looks at the painting trying to find something bad yet he doesnt find anything bad, he feels touched at the hands reaching for the object —Maybe they are right my work is mediocre at best, if I drop out of school I can search for a job that helps me to live a small life...-— he saw your face retorting to a kind of disgusted face as you scratch your hair, mediocre? mediocre? he hasn’t met anyone with such passion for their work except Mitsuya, so deciding whats best for you now he flicks your forehead

—Let’s go, you need a break— he walks outside rolling his bike —We are going for a ride...wait— he throws you a helmet and a black hoodie that resembles his old haori —You are going to need it— offering his hand so you can balance, your tummy is full of caterpillars that transform into butterflies when he puts your hands around him, the speed doesnt help, your hair even constricted on the helmet feels the breeze, after a minute you rest your head against his back.

When you see that the beach is close and the air becomes much colder thanks to the sunset, he stops

—Let’s walk on the sand, it always helps— he looks at the pier with longing, taking off his boots, he walks in little strides waiting for you when you look behind the motorcycle is so far —I came here years ago and I always come back when I feel a little lost— he looks at the sky hoping for seeing more stars that today seems to shine a little.

You want to talk more, telling him about how this place is so fitting for him, how you always associate him to water, about the crush after all these years, you burp something else —Why you always tell me all this stuff, I appreciate your trust in me but you have better friends — you feel so stupid putting a hand over your mouth, he smiles sitting in the sand as always he pats the side so you can sit beside him.

—I always think of you as one of my friends— you can’t decide what gets you so emotional, the fact he considers you a friend or how he thinks of you, your heartbeat gets erratic, wanting to burst, to confess how you are mooning for him again. —You treated me so good since preschool, I felt so bad when I didn’t return your feelings that time— he gets quiet, you know hes thinking in Emma. The sounds of the waves lull you, he coughs you smile at him sadly.

—Emma’s death will be always something that I’ll carry around my shoulders, the pleasure to have my heart broken by a woman who was a burst of sunshine in a person— he focuses on the waves that are getting close to your feet, you squeal he laughs wiping his tears.

—Thank you for bringing me here, it helps me— almost jumping trying to get warm by the movement, he rolls his eyes yet he moves his arms side by side to get warm.

—Maybe is time to get back before we freeze to death before I forget...you are doing your best maybe for those bigots is not enough and maybe a simple mechanic is not someone to criticize your work or know a damn about art I can say your works always find something to tug the heartstrings of everyone, the other day Angry cried to that old sketch you left in my desk— something in your heart pull you to hug him and something in his made him kiss your cheek.

—Fuck...Im sorry— trying to shallow the bad feeling, he tousles your hair you shriek when one of his rings got stuck in a knot —This is getting worse, oh my god im so ashamed—keeping talking as he with all the patience in the world detangles his ring

—Hey! you want to date?— he said it so surely and confident even when his finger toes are curling on the sand thanks to his anxiety, he doesnt want to carry more regrets, he knows that whatever he has with you is worthed, that he wants more afternoons buying solvents, helping you with out of the box ideas for your presentations or how you labeled his tools so you can help him, eating Chinese food sitting in old buckets as Inui tells a story, giving you water when the twins are tasting new recipes or how he says no when you are persisting in telling him he should adopt one of the cats in Chifuyu’s shop

You are so silent, he wants to say is a lie, he can almost hear Emma’s voice telling him to not chicken out, when you place your gaze on his, he can appreciate the little tears trying to escape.

—Yes!— fuck! he is happy

There’s something so eerie about this night. Ken looks at the buildings in front f the window, the sky is clear, hoping to see stars, even though he knows it is impossible in a city as bright. You are humming doing chores in the kitchen, his phone rings with Hinata’s name on it, asking if he knows something about Takemichi.

He doesn't know. He immediately texts Chifuyu. The man said he would check. The best man is supposed to have information about the groom, he texts smiling at his witty remark. Everyone in the group looks forward to the wedding.

There’s a loud crack in the air, he blinks...hum weird, something in him calls to hug you, He hid his face in your neck. “Where is Takemitchy? He doesn’t know, is obvious that the dumb man would rather die than not go to his wedding.

You brush his hair that's getting long again yet the raven locks are so soft, smooching his face he feels happy, very content with what he has made with his life, maybe he should start looking for a ring too,

Your third mistake was not paying attention to his friend because both of you have no idea that this future is being rewritten by a friend who cannot say goodbye to the other…

In 2008, Ken Ryuguji dies in a pool of blood. The last name he pronounced, is the name of the shape of love he knew, he's without his core friends, bullets marred his skin, the sky is totally black, the water pouring his body washing away the blood trying to clean his soul... giving him comfort.

Dying cold, wet, without seeing stars, last words forgotten as a lot of people reunite to fight. He never meets another form of love. He doesn't get redemption, just a sad stretcher in the back of the ambulance as a deathbed.

On the other side of the city, you are debating if you need to buy an Indian yellow oil paint for your new project, Hiromi asks you if you’re going to the party.

That's a good idea! Maybe there you can ask for Ken; Someone will have information about your crush; the blond boy with shaved sides and the dragon tattoo.

🔖@sukunasbabymama @meximorrita @notsocoolnana @aasouthteranoswife

School Play

There’s another school play in which you act as the main lead because Simeon thought you’d be perfect for the role, there’s no need to cast anyone else (much to Asmo’s dismay). He’s seen your performances before, and you’re one of the easiest actors to work with compared to the brothers that constantly got their lines wrong during rehearsals. Simeon can get frustrated, and it seems that the brothers feel the same way, if not terrified of the angel’s sudden change in attitude as soon as he plays the director. You’re just relieved he’s not that way towards you.

Of course, who wouldn’t want to see a play written by Christopher Peugeot himself. The theme was a thrilling love story wherein the hero would have to go through a long journey to rescue the one they love, which was you. They would meet so many characters that would either support the hero or become an obstacle on his way to defeat the cruel lord that locked you up. 

You’re the main love interest, and you sat on the side watching as everyone else in the room debated and fought each other on why they should have the main lead role, why they should be the hero who would rescue you. Seeing as how the atmosphere in the room is starting to have murderous intent, Simeon finally thought of a solution that would be fair to everyone. Draw lots. 

That’s how you ended up with Solomon as your hero, and Barbatos acting as the main villain and the rest playing a support role. They either help Solomon with the journey or act as one of Barbatos’ minions to try to stop him from his advances. Everyone could only blame their luck, though to say that Solomon was happy about his part is an understatement. Meanwhile, Barbatos does adore the parts where he keeps you all to himself, however he does not enjoy the scene where he had to terrorize a town since Diavolo’s character, a commoner (which he loves to play), is one of the victims that the hero finds which eventually sets the tone of the play to move forward. It takes a lot for Barbatos not to run to his master’s side while he was acting out his death.

Solomon is always ready to rehearse his scenes with you, and when it’s about lines talking about you, Simeon is impressed at how quickly he can memorize them. But then again, if they’re all about how much he adores you then it’s not difficult to remember at all. Lucifer and the others hate playing supporting characters where they have to hear about how much Solomon loves you. It’s bad enough they had to play the role of helping him, but there are several minutes of dialogue with his character telling them how important you are to him and how he needs to find you quickly! It took several practice rehearsals for Mammon to say his lines without sounding so forced or annoyed at him when his role is to literally help Solomon through the journey. 

Levi is quite happy with his role as the costume designer because there’s no way his envy wouldn’t flare up if he had to stand there and listen to that. That would’ve flooded the stage if he lost all control, so he decides to use headphones and blast music when it’s Solomon’s scene and only take it off once it’s you.

Satan would play the role of the narrator, and while he normally enjoys the part he got, it’s quite irritating that he has to tell the love story between you two, even if it’s merely a work of fiction. His claws threatened to tear holes into the script, but he kept himself calm and collected. They decided to put a leather cover binding to avoid that happening, and Satan actually likes how his own personal script looks like a book now. 

Lucifer is questioning why Simeon would write such a piece, given how most lines are so sickening and romantic. The angel wanted to tell a tale of lovers that could overcome everything, though he omits the fact that he really did have you in mind when he was writing this. Maybe he projected a little too much of his feelings, but the play still had more elements regardless that a lot of the audience would be able to enjoy. The action, the drama, and the tension that could keep everyone at the edge of their seats. 

What Simeon did not expect is for the brother’s self control to snap. Maybe he should’ve thought about that when he wrote down that kiss scene. It’s a page he kept between you and Solomon, as he knew that rehearsals would’ve been a disaster if they knew how the story would actually end. Of course he did ask for your permission, if this is something you’re comfortable with and he would rewrite the part if he needed. You don’t mind, and you understand why this was kept private. 

So when the day of the play came, everything was going smoothly. At least according to Simeon’s high standards.

Solomon and Barbatos really do seem to play the perfect role. A good villain doesn't need to yell, it comes with the composure they bring in the story that sometimes people wonder if Barbatos is really acting. The fight scenes were also phenomenal whenever Solomon would use some sort of imagery magic to make it more realistic, sparkes and effects flying in the air as they fought until Barbatos eventually fled, claiming defeat but he will be back for you one day. 

What the brothers thought was a successful play became something they dreaded when you and Solomon continued the scene. These were lines they’ve never heard before, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess where this was heading. Satan is furiously flipping through the script trying to see where this was coming from, but this part was hidden from the Avatars on purpose. 

“Oh how I longed to hold you like this in my arms.” Solomon says as he pulls you in an embrace that lingered longer than the brothers would like while they watched from backstage. 

“Did you truly miss me that much?” You say, meant to be a half tease to the hero as you returned the hug. It’s a romantic reunion that the audience has been waiting for. 

“More than you could ever think.” Solomon sounds so convincing. He says his lines as if you two were truly apart for so long, that there’s disbelief in his voice like this was all a dream and he would wake up to find that his journey is not over, that you were still locked away. But he has you in his arms, and that’s all he needs to ground himself. “Each time I see the crescent moon, I’m reminded of the smile that graced your lips. It pains me whenever I turn to my side and realize that you’re weren’t with me.”

Solomon brushes the hair away from your face before cupping your cheek, looking at you so lovingly that you feel your heart skip a beat, almost forgetting that you’re acting out a scene. But to the sorcerer, he doesn’t need to act. “Tell me, will you grace me with those lips?” He asks, and that’s the cue for you to slowly lean forward to seal the deal. 

“HOLD IT!” 

Both if you freeze before turning back to see Mammon pointing the sword prop at Solomon. The sorcerer is confused, and perhaps a little irritated that his moment with you was ruined. It would’ve been a perfect way to end the play. “What are you doing?” Solomon asks with furrowed brows. 

“That’s my line! Get ya grimy hands off em!” Mammon growled, taking a few steps forward. 

“You’re not even supposed to be part of this narrative.” Solomon reminds the demon, warning him for ruining the scene. 

“You claim that as so,” Satan says as he appears by his brother’s side in a puff of green flames, looking quite pissed. “How dare you rewrite the ending to your liking, and then use the Narrative as your shield. You should be ashamed of yourself, filthy thief.” the demon hissed as he threw the script he fashioned into a book  across the stage. The brothers fully believed they were deceived with the script, and that Solomon had something to do with it.

The audience are now all captivated at the scene unfolding before their eyes as they watched the Narrator throw the book across. Perhaps the book told the whole scene, and that Solomon actually rewrote the ending according to his will since they assumed that script was an actual prop to keep the story going. “Was the hero actually manipulating the whole scene?” “What a crazy twist!” “Wait, so who's the real lover?” “Were they tricked to think that Solomon was the real love interest?!”. Whispers rang in the air as they were all made to believe this was still part of the play

That might be the only way for them to salvage what could’ve been a successful performance: to keep acting. Solomon reluctantly lets go of you before standing up to face the two demons. “I can’t believe you all would cause a scene, after all we’ve been through. After all they’ve been through.” Solomon says as he gestures to you, who is just as confused as the crowd. 

“Ah, so you acknowledge our efforts and yet you get to keep them for yourself?” Belphie steps in on the other side of the stage, with Beel following behind him. “Kinda greedy isn’t it? Even greedier than him.” Belphie says while pointing at Mammon. That somehow got the audience to laugh. 

“That’s pretty selfish too, and that’s coming from me!” Asmo finally chimes in, holding onto his tulle costume while he stomps into the stage. He wouldn’t let his brothers steal all the spotlight, and there was also no way he was going to let Solomon just kiss you like that on the stage. If it were him instead, you both would be the talk of the week! “Honestly dear, that’s quite a big low. Even for someone like you.” 

Simeon is just thankful that Lucifer and Levi didn’t even chime in on this monstrous mess of a show, he has their pride and anxiety (respectively) to thank for. Despite the sudden improv show, it seems that it captured the audience’s attention… just not in the way that he hoped.

Solomon is now putting you behind him with a magic spell flaring by the palm of his hand. Nothing harmful, just something that’s more flashy than anything. The other demons are closing in on you both, trying to make up lines on why you should choose them. Of course, a fight breaks out and everyone in the audience cheered for whoever they were rooting for to win while you stayed behind and watched the chaos unfold. 

It took one wrong spell after another for the boys to lay on the ground, groaning after Satan and Solomon’s stun lock spell collided into something bigger that it affected everyone in the stage except you since you stayed behind. You wondered what you could say or do to salvage this as the audience is watching intently on what happens next. 

Thankfully, Lucifer finally steps on the stage, calm and collected as ever while he tries to avoid the groaning actors. He played as one of the Barbatos’ henchmen that Solomon defeated, so seeing his reappearance was definitely a shock to the crowd. You prayed that Lucifer has a plan on getting you out of this mess without ruining the play you all worked so hard for. Luckily, Simeon told him a few lines that could salvage the play and save you from the embarrassment.

He grabs your hand and kisses the back of it, a small smirk appearing on his face before he continues. “I’m here to collect you, under my master’s orders. It seems that he was right, that none of these heroes were ever deserving of your heart.” Lucifer says while he stares at his idiotic brothers with discontent, managing to stay in character just like you hoped. “Luckily, we don’t need to rely on cheap tricks and underhanded tactics.” 

Solomon groans, rubbing his eyes profusely but his vision won’t focus yet due to the spell. “Don’t listen to them…” He says, desperately trying to reach out to you. Lucifer only lets out a low chuckle as he watches how pathetic the hero has become.

“Come with us, and we’ll be sure to prove them wrong.” His line is full of confidence with a slight mischief, and the crowd cheers as the lights go dark and the curtains drop, signaling the end of the play. 

What should’ve ended in a happy love story became some sort of twist. People now assume the hero might’ve manipulated the scene which they find amusing if the good guy of the story was not who they pictured to be, and the villains may actually have a shot of winning your heart. It’s the talk of the school, and people are praising Simeon for writing such a crazy plot twist, which he finds a little frustrating since it’s the only part he didn’t actually plan. He’s not sure if he wants to thank the brother’s recklessness or not. 

Even after Simeon explained the hidden parts that were reserved just for you and Solomon since he expected something like this could happen at the rehearsals, he never really anticipated that they would jump in the scene like that on the actual performance itself. Now he has to write another play in the future as many expressed their wish to see what happens between you and the dark lord Barbatos. 

Needless to say, many of the brothers were strung upside down by their feet after the show.

no cuz all i could think of when i read this was

save a horse kim mingyu x afab!reader (18+)

summary: a country bar is the least likely of places you’d be if not for your friend’s invite. but, when they keep to tradition and bail, you quickly find another reason to stay. a six-foot, tanned, mouthwatering reason.

content: half-asleep!proofread, mingyu is a cowboy bartender idc, but kind of a slow burn/fluff at the beginning bc still such a gentleman idgi, oral (f receiving), drunken one-night-stand energy but probably gonna be a forever-night-stand, kinda size kink, fingering, pet names (sweetheart, darlin’, beautiful)

word count: ~3.3k

the neon sign flickers above the door, a beacon in the dusky evening promising cold beer and the warmth of a crowded bar. you still can’t believe you got yourself roped into this. the muffled country music makes you feel so out of your element, you consider turning around, but the temptation of drinks at such a discounted price will not be passed up.

you push through the wooden swing doors, the sound of laughter and twangy tunes spilling out to greet you. your friend waves you over, their smile bright amidst the sea of cowboy hats and boots. they’re your lifeline, the only reason you're considering spending your friday night in a place that feels like a film set from the wild west.

but no sooner have you ordered your first drink, your friend gets a call. something about it being a work emergency, and they're sorry, so sorry, but before you can plead they're gone and you're suddenly an island in a stream of two-stepping strangers and yeehaw’ing bar-goers.

you consider leaving, the door not too far and the comfort of your couch even closer in your mind. but then there's a voice, a deep rumble over the music.

"what can i get for ya, darlin’?"

you look up, and up, into sparkling dark eyes that have your heart skipping a beat.

your surroundings settle into a background hum as you take in the bartender moving effortlessly behind the bar. his movements are a dance of strength and grace, a testament to the insane physique hidden teased in a fitted dark denim vest that stretches across broad shoulders, exposes arms that could snap you in half, and tapers down to a lean waist. you can’t help but admire the way his muscles flex and shift with each pour and shake of a drink.

his skin is the color of rich caramel, a smooth canvas that speaks of days spent under the blistering sun. his curls are pressed to his forehead due to his hat and fuck, those beautiful eyes have a depth you could fall into and never hit bottom.

“another one of, um, these,” you gesture to your empty glass. “please,” you add, voice a hell of a lot steadier than you feel. he nods, and as he turns to grab a bottle, you make a mental note that you’ve been staring a little too intently. the drink is mixed before you know it and lands in front of you.

"here you go," he says, his voice a smooth drawl that seems to resonate just in the hollow of your chest. he leans in slightly and you’re enveloped in a scent that’s all warm leather and open fields. then the fucker smiles and it's like the room gets brighter. it's then that you see his sharp canines, giving him a predatory edge that sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. "enjoy, sweetheart."

and just like that you realize you're not just staying for the drink.

after tackling the other patrons’ orders, heat rushes to your cheeks when his attention finds its way back to you.

“so, what brings you here of all places, beautiful?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice, clearly amused by your out-of-place demeanor in the rugged tavern.

“just keeping a promise to a friend,” you admit, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a huff. “though… clearly i’ve been stood up for something more pressing.” you roll your eyes and take another drink. sweeter than the last thing you had, but you’re not complaining. covers up the ick that liquor usually sends down your throat.

“their loss is my gain,” he replies smoothly, his eyes locking with yours. it’s flirtatious, a line delivered with the ease of a man used to charming his clientele, yet there's a glint of genuine interest that makes you smile despite yourself.

the conversation flows as easily as the drinks he pours. with each laugh, his eyes crinkle at the corners, his smile revealing those intriguing canines again. you find yourself opening up about your favorite books and the trips you've dreamed of taking, things you haven’t shared with anyone in a noisy bar before.

as the night wears on, the crowd thins out, and the music lowers to a gentle hum. you hadn’t noticed how many drinks you’ve had, each one crafted by his skilled hands, until you feel the warm buzz of tipsiness washing over you.

“i’m mingyu, by the way,” he finally says after a particularly hearty laugh, extending his hand across the bar. “rude of me not to introduce myself sooner.”

you take it, feeling the rough calluses against your palm, a testament to hard work. “nice to officially meet you, mingyu.”

“likewise,” he says with a grin that fades ever-so-slightly when he continues. “though, i hope you’re not planning on driving.”

you shake your head, reaching for your phone. “no, i’ll just call a rideshare. i took one here thinking my friend would be my ride back but...” your lips purse in a pout when the screen blurs slightly as you tap on the app, the alcohol muddying your coordination.

mingyu watches you struggle for a moment before he wipes his hands on a cloth and says, “hey, if you can wait a few minutes, i can give you a ride home. my shift’s just about over. if that’s… alright.”

there’s a moment’s hesitation. the sensible part of your brain reminds you that getting into a car with a stranger, even a disarmingly handsome one, isn’t usually a good idea. but then there’s the other part, the part that’s had a surprisingly good night because of this man, that trusts the kindness in his eyes.

“sure,” you find yourself saying, a little surprised at your own boldness. “that’d be nice, mingyu.”

as you wait for him to close up, leaning against the bar, you wonder if this night might just be the beginning of something unexpected. and for the first time since you walked through those swing doors, you’re glad your friend ditched you.

the ride through the quiet streets with mingyu is an unexpected comfort. the cab of his truck is clean and smells faintly of pine. he asks you about your favorite songs, and you find yourself talking about the music you love, the bands that no one else seems to know. mingyu listens, really listens, nodding along and occasionally tapping the steering wheel in agreement. you tell him about your dreams, the ones that keep you up at night, and he shares his own. you’re not sure if it’s just the buzz, but he’s so easy to talk to you wish the moment would never end.

when you arrive at your apartment, the world is spinning just a tad more than you'd like. mingyu comes around to your side, offering a steady arm as you make your way to the front door. he remains close, just in case, but his touch is respectful, never overstepping.

inside, the soft glow of your living room lamp feels welcoming. mingyu lingers in the doorway, ensuring you’re okay. "thanks for the ride," you say, a little more steadied now that you're home.

"anytime," he replies, and you believe him. there's a pause, a silent conversation where both of you wonder if this is where the night ends.

"would you like to come in for a drink?" you find yourself asking, the words surprising even you. "it, um, doesn’t have to be an alcoholic one." you add with a giggle, "it’d be kinda silly to try and make a drink for a professional, huh? i've probably got like... wine or a can of something, somewhere."

mingyu's eyes crinkle with amusement, the corner of his mouth lifting in an adorably crooked half-smile and he takes off his hat, ruffling his hair with his hand. “sure, darlin’, don't mind if i do.”

inside you shuffle to the kitchen, conscious of mingyu's presence filling your small apartment. there’s a part of you that wishes you’d uncharacteristically cleaned up before you went out for the night. you distract yourself from the idea by grabbing yourself a glass of wine to revive the buzz and breathe a sigh of relief to find a can of beer leftover from your friend’s last visit.

mingyu’s ridiculously large frame makes your loveseat look smaller than you remember. with your buzz revived and a slight tinge of pink at the tip of his ears, the conversation flows again, easy and free.

time slips by unnoticed, a quick glance at your phone being the only sign the night is waning. mingyu's addictive laughter fills your space and you start to notice a different kind of warmth spreading through you.

as the night deepens and the conversation touches on dreams and soft confessions, there's a shift in the air. a charge in the space between you and mingyu. electric, expectant. he’s listening to you recount a particularly embarrassing memory, his eyes never leaving your face, his smile encouraging every word.

then there's a pause, a lull in the storytelling, and you both laugh. a little nervously, a little excitedly. he looks at you, really looks at you. and not just at your eyes, but at your lips, and the world tilts slightly on its axis.

"i should probably go," mingyu says softly, but neither of you move. his voice is a low rumble, almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

"or… you could stay a little longer," you whisper, the words hanging in the thick silence between you.

he answers not with words but with a gentle hand reaching across the space to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. your breath catches and then his lips are on yours, a soft pressure that's both a question and an answer.

you’re not sure which one of you deepens the kiss, but you’re practically melting into it. mingyu's lips are softer than you’d expect, but they’re moving with a careful intensity that sets your nerves alight. his touch grounding, safe.

when his arm hooks around you, it nearly takes your breath away. of course he’s strong. duh. but even with just a gentle hold it’s obvious. your tongue brushes against his lower lip and you’re almost surprised when he lets you in without hesitation, his hand going to your side and toying with the hem of your shirt. when his warm fingers brush against your skin the sound that you make is so startling to the both of you that you briefly separate. there’s a small string of drool on his chin and you can feel the mutual wetness on your own face.

his eyes are half-lidded, but still completely focused on you. there’s something different about them, something darker. hungrier. the ball of warmth grows in your stomach and you’re reaching for him again before you know it. he grabs your hand and tugs you into his arms, hooking his own around your waist and hoisting you up easily as he stands. the question is unspoken as your lips crash into each other again, but somehow you manage to mumble something along the lines of, “down the hall. last door on the left.”

the feeling of your bed under you is welcome, but not as much as the stunning man looming over you. you’re not really sure when he took his shirt off, or where it went, but you certainly aren’t complaining. just looking at him makes you drool.

as you’re fumbling to take your own shirt off, his fingers fly to the band of your pants and, ever the gentleman, he looks up at you to silently ask permission. granted as fuck. he tugs your pants down, your underwear with them. your face flares up and you fight the urge to bring your knees together. he makes it easy for you and his large hands keep them apart as he, again, just fucking looks at you. this time like you’re a 5-course meal. his hands only leave your knees so he can put them on your thighs, pressing into them as he dips his head down.

you bite back a squeal when his tongue laps over your folds, a warm tease to your hole and ending with small circles on your clit. you’re not sure if it’s spit or your own juices making that squelching sound or that has both his chin and lips glistening when he tilts his head. “fuck…” is the only word you can get out, your voice high and more desperate than you’ve heard it before.

he hums against your pussy, clearly pleased with the want in your voice before his tongue is at work again, making your vision blur even more as you lift your hips. “oh, fuck, please mingyu.”

to your horror, he pulls back, propping himself up on an elbow and using a finger to tauntingly trace your dripping slit. “what?” you whine, trying to move your hips again when his finger brushes against your hole. “why?”

the chuckle that leaves him sends chills through your entire body and you can feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second.

“well. i just don’t know what you want, exactly, sweetheart.” he says it with a tinge of playful condescension and you shiver as his finger moves up to your clit. “please what?”

you whine louder. “are you fucking serious—” your voice cuts as he momentarily lifts his hand away and you shake your head. “no, no, please. oh god, please i want you. i need you.”

your words seem to hit the right spot and he hums. you don’t see where he’s moved his hand, but you’re too delirious with desire to care. his voice is low and so fucking sexy when he speaks again. “where, baby?”

the answer leaves you before you can even think on it. “inside. fuck, mingyu, i need you inside. please.”

he doesn’t answer, given all the push he needs. suddenly you feel a thick finger at your hole and before you can register what’s about to happen it’s curling inside you. your jaw drops in a silent cry and for a moment, he hesitates. you push your hips down just for the chance to feel him even deeper.

“fuck,” it’s him saying it this time. he thrusts his finger into you and soon another one joins, pumping and curling into your oh-so-wet heat. the sloppy noises from your pussy fall in tune with the series of what mingyu thinks are beautiful moans spilling from your lips as your eyes roll back.

you’re not even aware that you’re dripping down his hand until he pulls it out with a pop! you whine again, the heat taking over your body threatening to make you melt.

then you hear his belt.

suddenly his large form is over you again and he presses a wet kiss to your lips. “hey, sweetheart,” he says softly, “you don’t happen to have, uh…”

“nightstand.”

he’s just as eager as you are, and not many words are exchanged before you feel something hot and fucking big at your opening. with how wet you are it’s no surprise he’s able to just push himself inside, but you still gasp and claw at his back at the stretch. it fucking burns but it feels so amazing you’re seeing stars.

he waits patiently, though his shaky breathing shows how much he’s keeping himself in check. your nails ease out of his skin and he takes the opportunity to rock back and thrust into you again, starting a steady pace that threatens to have you sobbing in pleasure.

“fuck, baby,” he hisses through his teeth before coming back to place a wet open-mouthed kiss to your lips. “y’feel so good, darlin’. so wet n’ good for me, fuck.” there’s something about the giggle you let out that pushes him over the edge, thrusts quickening, deepening.

“oh, y’like that, don’t you beautiful? you want m’ to fill you up, huh? pretty baby likes bein’ full?”

“yes,” you practically sob. “oh god, yes, please. wanna feel full. you feel s’ good.” words are spilling out of your mouth like drool down your chin and mingyu absolutely adores the pretty little needy mess under him. “oh, s’ big… feel s’ full and good, please. please don’t stop.”

and it feels like mingyu has no plans to, his pace never faltering. he leans down to press his face into your neck—kissing, biting, sucking. the idea of the marks he’s leaving behind make you clench around him and he lets out a breathless moan into your collarbone.

“needy little baby, aren’t you?” he drawls, brows furrowed as he slams into you. you shake underneath him, dwindled down to a sobbing, moaning mess. just how he wants you. “so fuckin’ beautiful when you beg.”

your back arches, legs weak but still desperately trying to hook as far around his waist as you can. whatever gets more of him deeper. it’s all you can think about, all you want. “please, please, mingyu, please, fuck. s’ big, you feel so good, so good, more, please, wanna feel full, more—” you’re incoherent, babbling what feels like the only words you know. if your vision wasn’t so blurred you’d likely see the wickedly pleased grin on mingyu’s face at your state.

“so good, sweetheart, you’re so fuckin’ good f’ me.”

when you feel it, you’re almost disappointed because you don’t want it to end, but mingyu has full intention to make sure you’re enjoying every single second like it were hours. there’s a dull ache in your pussy from his size, but it only proves to make you wetter, allowing him more ease in sliding in and out of you. “fuck, baby, you’re so wet. so fuckin’ wet and perfect f’ me.”

you keen at the praise, a drunken smile tugging at your lips. one look at your face and he groans, biting down on your shoulder. he’s waiting for you like the perfect guy he seems to be, but he isn’t waiting long. with another thrust, white pricks the corners of your eyes as you clench around him, your orgasm jolting through your entire body and bringing out a sound that’s a mixture between a moan, a sob, and a scream.

he’s not far behind and you can feel his muscles tense under your fingers. his lips meet yours in a breathless, sloppy kiss as he pushes into you, his thrusts slowing but still just as deep as he cums. you have the sudden intrusive thought of what it would feel like if every drop was filling you up instead, but your mind and body is practically jelly.

when he pulls away, you notice his curls matted to his forehead with sweat. his lips plump and wet, fangs peeking out when they quirk into that adorable smile. “you’re amazing,” he breathes, kissing your nose before he pulls out, a wet stream dripping from your hole. you whimper at the sudden emptiness and he calmly shushes you after tossing the condom into the trash.

“you’re so beautiful,” mingyu purrs as he lays next to you and you immediately curl into his chest. you’re both sweaty and your skin sticks a bit, but for some reason this feels so right, you can’t bring yourself to move or push him away. he seems to think the same and god, you’re so grateful for that. you find some comfort in the sounds of your breathing meshing with his and when he speaks it proves to make your heart skip a beat.

“so… shower later?”

Nightcall

Yoongi's never been anything but honest with you. He's not looking for a relationship. It's too bad that you've been in love with him since you met him.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Non-idol AU, angst, smut

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, emotional unavailability

Yoongi’s bare ass flashes past you, pale as the rest of him, as he steps into the shower. You avert your eyes so he doesn’t catch you looking as he turns.

You brush your teeth and pat serum onto your face. You’re always conscious of your skin, sometimes you hate the way you look, barefaced.

Yoongi showers in silence, steam fogging up the glass partition separating you.

You’re moving before you give yourself a chance to second-guess yourself, stepping behind the glass with him.

The surprise in his eyes nearly makes you lose your nerve, but he’s quick to rally.

His hand closes around your arm, and he pulls you into a kiss. He tastes minty, fresh. He cups your breast, touching, squeezing. The weight of his cock brushes against your belly as you lean into him.

‘Yoongi,’ you sigh.

He pushes you against the marble-tiled wall, his body insistent against yours, the hardness of him making you breathless.

‘Turn,’ he grunts, hands already on your hips spinning you around. He drags your hips back, pushing down on the curve of your spine, positioning you for him.

You’re not quite wet enough when he enters you, but Yoongi knows how to get you there.

He cups your breasts, litters your back with kisses, thrusting shallowly until you’re slick enough that he can glide into you.

‘Fuck,’ he pants. He’s moving fast, hard, you don’t think you’ll have time to cum and you’re right.

Yoongi groans as he spills himself into you, arms tightening around you, holding you.

It’s the best you’ve felt in a long time.

Then, too soon, he’s pulling away, rinsing himself off.

He barely looks at you before he steps out of the shower, leaving the water running.

You stand in the shower longer than you need to, trying to compose yourself, and by the time you come out he’s fully dressed.

You spend time on your makeup, put on the work clothes you brought with you the night before when you came over, and pack your things.

You’re stepping out of his bedroom, heading for the door, when he calls out after you.

‘Do you want a drink or anything?’

You’re thirsty, but you want to go before your feelings catch up with you.

Yoongi’s quick when he wants to be. He’s crossing the living room, handing you a glass of juice, watching you gulp it down.

You hoist your overnight bag over your shoulder.

‘Bye,’ you say.

You risk a glance at him.

He’s looking at you like he cares, and your resolve wavers dangerously.

You leave, closing the door behind you, walking quickly because the greater the distance you put between yourself and Min Yoongi, the better.

***

Min Yoongi is honest to a fault. He said from the first time you fucked that a physical relationship was all he was prepared to offer you. He told you not to expect to meet his friends, to be taken out on dates, to even think about romantic gestures.

You make casual conversation but he doesn’t ask you anymore about your dreams, your feelings. He asks you about work but he doesn’t probe.

He’s never asked you when your birthday is.

If he notices that your phone is constantly lighting up today, he doesn’t say. You’ve put it on silent but your friends are chatting about what a great time they had with you this evening at your birthday dinner, before you left to meet Yoongi.

The joint present they got you is tucked in your handbag, and if Yoongi notices the pale pink wrapped box, he doesn’t say.

He’s sliding his hand up your thigh as he kisses you, making the red silk of your dress ride up.

He’s a good kisser, firm but not insistent, letting you set the pace. Kissing him has always been your favourite part, because he holds you, really holds you, when you kiss.

It makes you feel like he’s there, it helps you pretend that he really cares.

Yoongi tugs at the tie holding your dress together, unwrapping you, smiling at you as he sees your matching lingerie.

‘So pretty,’ he says. His voice gets so deep when you’re together like this, sometimes you can barely make the words out but you love the sound of it.

Yoongi’s sucking at your tits in that way he knows you like, getting you slick and sticky for him so that by the time he enters you, you’re humming with pleasure.

He doesn’t take long to make you cum, he may not know where you work now but he knows how to make you arch your back for him, how to make you cry out his name.

You’re breathing hard still, coming down from your high when he gets up off you, leaning back on the couch he’s just fucked you on.

Sometimes he holds you after you have sex, and those are your favourite times because God knows, you’ve been in love with him almost since you met him.

You feel a pang in your chest because you know you deserve more than this. You would have loved to have him hold you for a while, today.  

You’re automatically straightening your clothes, putting your shoes back on, picking up your bag to go. The ridiculously cheesy birthday card your friends got you falls out of your bag as you pick it up, and Yoongi picks it up, handing it back to you.

His expression is impassive, you don’t know what he’s thinking.

You tuck it into your bag and force a smile.

‘See you later, Yoongi.’

‘You’re not staying?’ he asks.

‘Oh, I have an early start tomorrow,’ you lie. It’s true, but the main reason you’re not staying is that leaving in the morning is harder than leaving him the night of.

Spending the night in bed with him makes you want things he’s not prepared to give you.

You’re the one blurring the lines, because Yoongi’s always been clear with you.

‘Happy birthday,’ he says.

You smile at him, easy. ‘Thanks.’

‘Why don’t you wait up here for the taxi?’ he asks.

‘Oh, it’ll be here soon, don’t worry,’ you say.

He doesn’t tend to walk you out, so you’re surprised when he gets redressed, shoving his feet into slides, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head.

He waits with you for the taxi, waves as you’re driven away.

It’s not the worst end to your birthday.

***

Your best friend, Lia, doesn’t understand why you’re so caught up with Yoongi, but she loves you so much she doesn’t make you feel less because of it.

Yoongi had a girlfriend when you met him, a woman he’d been dating seriously for a while. He’d made it clear from the beginning that he was a taken man, and you hadn’t befriended him with any intention or expectation of anything more.

He’d been funny, irreverent, honest. You’d hung out at the park a few times because you were both trying to get into running. The running thing had petered out quickly, but then you’d started getting coffee together after your runs, then breakfast.

Then you hadn’t heard from him in a while, you’d assumed he was busy.

When you saw him again he was different, a little harsher, less soft. He’d invited you over to his place, which was unusual.

You were deep in friend mode, too distracted to recognise a booty call when you saw it.

You’d stopped him as he leaned over you, put your hand to his face so he’d look at you, questions written all over your face.

‘We broke up,’ he’d told you.

You’d realised then what he needed you for, and you’d sealed your own fate when you’d let him use you that night.

Maybe ‘use’ is too callous a word, because God knows, Yoongi had made sure you’d enjoyed yourself too.

It was after that first time that Yoongi had said what he’d said about not expecting anything from him.

It’s been months since then of late night texts, leaving his apartment in the early morning. The Yoongi who texted you to come over wasn’t the same Yoongi who you’d met at that party of mutual friends. The Yoongi who’d taken you running and made you laugh had turned into a harder Yoongi.

He was hurting, you could see that much.

There’s a niggling worry in your head about what he’ll do when he’s healed, when he doesn’t need you.

***

Jung hyuk is a decent guy, you decide. It’s not his fault he’s so damn boring. He’s obviously highly intelligent, he’s an accountant of some description.

He’s one of Lia’s boyfriend Henry’s work colleagues, and you’re going to kill Henry when you next see him for setting you up on this date.

‘What are your plans this weekend?’ you ask politely, taking a mouthful of your pasta.

He sips his wine. ‘Nothing much, probably some hiking. My sister’s got engaged and my mother wants us all around to dinner this weekend too.’

‘Oh how lovely. Do you know her fiancé?’ you ask.

‘We haven’t met,’ he says.

You take another bite of your pasta, because carbs are the only way you’re going to get through this meal.

‘What about you?’ he asks, valiantly.

You’re opening your mouth to answer when the front door of the restaurant opens and you see a familiar dark head.

Yoongi’s walking in, but it’s not the Yoongi you’ve come to know over the last few months, who seems to live in sweats and baggy tees.

This Yoongi is so beautiful he takes your breath away.

His dark hair is styled away from his forehead, a lock falling carelessly forward over his pale skin. He’s smartly dressed, in a suit jacket, a shirt, clothes that look like they’ve been tailored especially for him.

His familiar silver earrings glint in his ears, and they’re the one thing that look the same.

Because the other unfamiliar thing is that he’s got a woman on his arm whom you instantly recognise as his ex.

She’s as beautiful as he is.

You’re not surprised at seeing them together, maybe a part of you has always known that your thing with Yoongi is transient.

What you are surprised at is how small and sad seeing them together makes you feel.

Jung hyuk’s speaking to you, and you apologise, turning back to him, reaching for your composure and your social smile, pasting it on your face.

You make it through the rest of your date with barely any idea of what you’re saying.

Jung hyuk, like the decent guy he is, wants to see you home, but you beg off, saying you’re meeting a friend.

You walk a few doors down from the restaurant to a bar and order yourself something to drown your sorrows in.

You’re on your second drink, armour almost entirely back on, when a painfully familiar low voice orders a whiskey next to you. You glance up to see Yoongi. He doesn’t look at you as he takes a seat next to you at the bar.

You turn back to your drink.

Your skin feels prickly, there’s a thrumming through your veins, a thrill at seeing him that you can’t deny.

Your body’s always had a visceral reaction to seeing him that your conscious self isn’t in control of.

You can’t stop yourself. You say his name.

At first you think he doesn’t hear you.

Then he’s turning to you, hand sliding around the back of your neck, pulling you into him.

His lips meet yours, and your eyes squeeze shut so you can focus on how he feels.

As always, the feel of him stems your longing. You know it’s transient but it feels so good.

He tastes like whiskey, and honey, and him.

Then he’s pulling away, tossing back the remainder of his drink, curling an arm around you to usher you out of the bar.

He keeps his arm around you as he pulls out his phone with his other hand, ordering a taxi. You’re tucked into his chest under his coat, face pressed against him, so close you can smell his subtle cologne, the fabric softener he uses on his clothes.

Lately you’ve been more careful about where you put your things when you go over to Yoongi’s. You’ve been planning your exits because you want less time after the high of being together and the inevitable fall when he doesn’t ask you to stay.

You want to be well on your way home so you can pull yourself together again.

And so you track where your things are – your heels in his entryway, kicked off hastily as he peels your coat off you and hangs it on a coat hook. Your clutch, placed carefully on the hall table next to his wallet and keys.

Your dress makes it to his bedroom floor, your panties in a fold of black lace next to it.

Your bra never makes it off you, not completely anyway, straps tight around your upper arms as Yoongi fucks you into his bed.

You moan into his ear as you cum, and he says your name as he spills inside you. Repeatedly, almost like a chant. Like he’s thinking of you and not the woman he dressed up for tonight.

Yoongi gets up to use the bathroom, and you get up to get your clothes back on.

Retracing your steps as you make your exit, picking your things up so there’s no trace of you ever being there apart from your DNA on his sheets, on his skin.

You’re getting quicker at this, so quick it almost feels like you’re running away.

Who are you kidding? You are running away.

Your phone lights up when you reach home, but for your own self-preservation, you ignore it.

***

You wake slowly, the insistent buzzing of your doorbell needling your semi-consciousness so that by the time you’re awake there’s a line between your brows, furrowed in annoyance.

You stumble to the door, press a button for the intercom.

‘Hello?’ you ask, voice husky from sleep.

‘It’s Min Yoongi,’ he says. ‘Can you let me in?’

There’s no time to wash the sleep from your face. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you first thing in the morning anyway.

You open the door warily.

‘Hi Min Yoongi,’ you say, looking askance at the two cups of coffee in a cardboard tray in his hand.

He’s got the grace to laugh. ‘I thought I might not be the only Yoongi you know,’ he says, trying to play it off.

‘You’re right. I know a lot of Yoongis,’ you say, straight-faced.

You nod to the coffee he’s holding out to you. ‘For me?’

‘I wondered if you wanted to get breakfast with me,’ he says.

You look at him for a long moment.

There’s a fluttering in your chest that only gets stronger as you take in his clothes, his hair, how good he smells.

‘Is this a date?’ you ask. Your voice comes out steady even though there’s a roll of the dice associated with it, your heart at stake.

Yoongi smiles at you, looking so much like the old Yoongi who used to take you for coffee that you know what he’s going to say before he says it.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I’d like to date you, if you’ll have me.’

‘Whoa there,’ you say, reaching for your coffee. ‘Let’s just see how coffee goes.’

Yoongi laughs and then you’re smiling at each other like idiots.

It’s the best you’ve felt in a long time.

©hamsterclaw 2022

THSI WAS SO BEAUTIFUL BUT SO SAD?!!? I LOCE IT SM BUT JAEM </3333

water fountain

pairings: lee donghyuck x reader, na jaemin x reader

genre/s: suggestive, angst

warnings: suggestive content

word count: 0.8k

a/n: a little surprise lolol, hope you enjoy!

tags: @neowritingsnet @czennienet @kpopscape @nct-writers @culture-cafe @ultkpopnetwork

—

Stars glow bewitchingly under the noxious night, enchanting anyone under its gleam. In the serenade of late night’s dim glimmer, the stars act as a choir; singing in infinite patterns.

The extravagant Chevrolet Corvette stays parked exquisite, allowing heads to steal glances as it appears deluxe; proving that luxury is a definite thief of scrutiny.

Graciously, Donghyuck grabs you by the hips; pulling your delicate body in as you fall breathlessly onto his figure. The Lee catches your plumped lips in his after brief departure, despising any loss of physical contact. He repeatedly leaves honeyed whispers into your ear, allowing your breath to get stuck up your throat in bewilderment.

Donghyuck holds your body tighter inside his arms, guiding your body towards the Chevrolet Corvette’s back seat as it is more spacious in comparison to the passenger seat.

Your hands find their way towards his soft locks, plunking them eagerly as your lips move together messily; not exactly in concurrence. Donghyuck’s hands continuously travel on your exquisitely breathtaking body, feeling every inch of it on top of his own.

“My phone-” You whisper breathily as the bothersome noise of your phone ringing agitates you both. Donghyuck lets out a groan in grievance, stretching out his arm in order to reach for your phone; acknowledging that it could be extensive.

“Who is it?” You ask as he stares at the caller id, letting out a chuckle afterwards.

“Na is calling, cute.” Donghyuck states as a smile out of mockery commences to play on his face.

“Did you have a date or something?” He questions gravelly, dropping her phone onto the passenger seat as his lips find their way back onto yours.

You throw your head back as his lips come in contact with your bare neck, one of his hands rests on your hip as the other fiddles with the hem of your top.

You hardly succeed in letting out a “Yeah” since Donghyuck’s lips sucking on your neck don’t exactly allow you to put together meaningful words.

“You’re bad.” Donghyuck whispers on top of your lips as he reaches towards your phone once again, switching it to silent mode.

“Tell me about it.” You roll your eyes, stating one last as time before the phone is long forgotten.

The two of you focus all of your attention on each other for the night inside the Chevrolet Corvette, bodies pressed tightly onto each other. You feel exceedingly captivated by the burnette, much more than you would like to admit. From the way his body delicately dances on top of yours to the way your name easily slips between his lips. Everything about Lee Donghyuck is more than enchanting and you seem to lose yourself under his spell even more as time passes, melting into every touch.

Though, things don’t feel as euphoric for the Na. A bouquet of dazzling red roses sit loosely inside his grip, about to fall any moment. Jaemin stands still in front of a water fountain, the water fountain you had told him to meet up with you just hours prior.

His expression is dull, no emotion seems visible yet he feels as though tears can stream down his face any second if someone ever slightly touches his figure.

Na Jaemin is absolutely broken. He blames himself for falling in so deep to the point where he has no idea how to get up.

You were the one who reached out. You were the one who told him to wait for you by the water fountain, where you had first confessed your love for him.

Oh, Jaemin swears that he would give up anything and everything to go back to those times. To the times where you visibly held so much adoration for him. To the times when his love received some type of reaction, some type of response.

I guess this is the reality of life, he whispers the bitter truth to himself as the tears he had been holding in for so long finally escape his eyes, coming in contact with his cheeks.

By now, Na Jaemin drops the bouquet made of alluring red roses onto the ground. He is crying, he really is crying because of you. The Na feels pathetic, absolutely pathetic. Yet he can’t seem to help it. He can’t seem to put a stop to the tears falling from his eyes.

That day, his hope gets destroyed. His plans of confessing the amount of adoration he holds for you get crashed.

Na Jaemin couldn’t tell you he loved you by the water fountain, though his tears sure were an accompaniment to the water falling out of the fountain.

After all, water fountains are always crying. How could be have expected to live through a pleasant experience with you in front of a broken water fountain?

I loved Hyun messing with Sunwoo. It was very entertaining

A Day In A Library | Sunwoo

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The room’s quietness is similar to Sunwoo’s house, but the scent is familiar in a different way. Sunwoo has been here before, a long, long time ago.

Min looks over to Sunwoo in confusion, crooning quietly, “where are we?”

Sunwoo shrugs and steps off the portal. The inscriptions glow once before they dim completely. The portal is quite old—it’s one that’s been around since Sunwoo was little. Ae remembers the first time ae used it; ae was visiting the village with aer maternal parent to buy fabrics. And back then, it was not in a building.

Ae reaches for the door handle and pulls it as slowly as possible, peeking outside the room. Bookcases, tables, lanterns, and people are the things ae sees. Ae promptly shuts the door and stares at it, heart pounding loud in aer ears.

“Well, so much for teleporting outside the village.”

“Inside?” Min says, voice low.

Inside is an understatement. They’re in the library—at the heart of the village. Sunwoo should have probably known this would happen—time goes on, and portals change over time too. It’s only natural that older portals would be repurposed for other uses.

Sunwoo steps back onto the portal and murmurs the spell—ae should go back to Ahn’s house and wait. Ae doesn’t even need to bring the memory thing up. If ae ignores it, it’ll go away.

Ae waits, but nothing happens.

“What the fuck?”

Sunwoo says the spell again, but nothing happens. The inscriptions on the portal are quiet.

“Look!”

Min conjures a small fire and holds it near one of the inscriptions on the wall.

“Known issues: the portal spell cannot be cast be the same person within a seven-hour interval. Reason is thought to be the age of the portal,” it reads. “Well, of course,” Sunwoo hums, “they’ll need to fill and polish the portal, then inscribe the spell again. But with how old it is, they probably don’t know how to write these particular inscriptions…”

“Also, we’re stuck here.”

Oh yeah, that too.

Sunwoo grabs a fistful of aer robes, breathing deep. Someone else could use the portal—they can’t wait here. Going out is the only way.

“Alright…here we go.”

Sunwoo reaches for the door, but it opens. A small person—a librarian—stands in front of the door, two books held to their chest. The step back, adjusting their glasses and removing their fringes from in front of their eyes. They look like they’ve been moving around a lot.

“Oh, sorry—“ The person who opened the door pauses abruptly and stares at Sunwoo. “I’ve…never seen you before? Are you new here?”

New?

“Uh…” Words evaporate from Sunwoo’s mind as ae tries to find something to say. “…maybe?”

The person in front of aer smiles, giggling. “Are you the Raven?” they ask. Sunwoo’s face must have shown some kind of ‘think-of-a-lie-quick’ expression, because the person followed, “I know you’re not a new hire, and there is no other way you’d know what the portal spell is. Also”—the person taps their cheek, right below their eye—“I know the other three Ravens.”

Their smile widens as the realization dawns on Sunwoo—there is no way ae can get out of this. Ae bows. “I apologize. You’re right.”

“Ah, no need to apologize,” the person says, waving their hand dismissively, “I’m actually quite glad; I didn’t think I’d ever meet the Raven in person.” They bow. “Jinja Im. Nightingale.”

“Sunwoo Song. Raven.” Jinja laughs at that, and it takes Sunwoo all the willpower in the universe not to laugh as well. It wouldn’t be .

A beat of silence, then Sunwoo steps out of the doorway. “Ah, you’re probably in a hurry—“

“No, no,” Jinja interjects, “I saw the portal signal on the surveillance board and I thought Ahn was stuck.”

Min croaks in laughter.

“Ahn?”

“You know Ahn?” Jinja looks surprised for a second. “Aer voice often fails mid-spell and ae gets stuck in these portals a lot. I guess ae didn’t have any trouble this time.” Jinja closes the door and sighs. “But that means ae’s here—“

“There she is.”

The voice that interrupts them is soft and languid, and Sunwoo immediately dislikes the owner. They turn in the direction of the source; a Raven is making aer way over to them, followed by Ahn, who looks surprised for a second before ae waves awkwardly. And Sunwoo would wave back, if it weren’t for the asshole Raven that’s currently blocking aer view. Ae’s dressed scholar robes, like Jinja. Must work in the library as well.

“Hyun, behave yourself.”

Jinja’s reprimand goes unnoticed as Hyun steps into Sunwoo’s personal space. Ae’s just a little taller, just enough to look down on aer. Aer purple eyes darken towards the edges, like Sunwoo’s own do.

Which Raven power is it?

“So, you’re the Raven, huh?” Hyun says, breath brushing past Sunwoo’s face. It’s cold. “Decided to grace us with your presence after how long now? A thousand years?”

“I’m not here to ‘grace you’ with anything,” Sunwoo replies, sneering despite aerself, “so why don’t you step back before—“

Then Sunwoo’s voice is gone. Faster than ae can move, Jinja steps in between aer and Hyun, stern.

“Hyun!”

They’re attracting stares of people in the library. Hyun laughs—it’s light and pleasant. Sunwoo is even angrier now.

“I’m just messing with you.”

Ahn steps close to Sunwoo and whispers, “are you okay?”

“You should be worried about your friend,” Sunwoo hisses, before ae collects aerself and apologizes. “I’m quite irritable.”

Ahn smiles a little and signs, “it’s alright.”

Hyun, the holder of the power Voice, is conversing with Jinja about something—some damaged books they need to transcribe into newer copies. Aer speech is smooth, and the provoking edge in aer voice is nowhere to be found.

“I’m supposed to be transcribing these books,” Ahn whispers, startling Sunwoo. “Sorry—I didn’t know you were jumpy.”

“I’m not.”

Ahn snorts. “Sure.” Then ae clears aer throat. “I wanted to—“

“Ahn, the scholars are here,” Jinja calls, adjusting her glasses, “shall we get going?”

“Can…can I come along?” Sunwoo asks, and Min repeats the question, stutter and everything.

“Of course,” Jinja smiles at Sunwoo like ae’s a little fledgling. Hyun snickers and Sunwoo pretends ae doesn’t exist. Ahn gives Sunwoo’s shoulder a little squeeze and walks by aer side as they follow Jinja and Hyun.

The library, though it’s the same size as ae remembers, somehow seems more spacious. There are more tables and more shelves, and no hint of magic being used. The way their footsteps are muted, however, says otherwise.

“Magic is pretty silent here…”

“Oh yeah, you need to really pay attention to find the spells.” Hyun looks back, a smirk plastered on aer annoying face. “Impressed, Raven sir?”

Ahn’s arm brushes Sunwoo’s, and ae leans close. “Hyun enjoys provoking people. Don’t mind aer.”

Hyun sighs and mutters something about Ahn ruining aer ‘good fun’. Thankfully, ae doesn’t speak for the rest of their walk to the meeting room, where 4 scholars—two humans and two Songbirds—are waiting. They recognize Sunwoo as the Raven—who wouldn’t? Ae’s the only Raven power user no one has seen. They don’t make a big deal of it, though one of them spends the entire meeting looking like they want to say something.

The meeting is over pretty quickly; Ahn only needed to talk to each scholar for a while. Thirty minutes later, the scholars get up and leave, accompanied by Jinja, who has other things to do. Hyun brings several stacks of enchanted paper and book covers and drops them on the table.

“Do you think you’ll be done today?” ae asks Ahn, who shrugs and pulls out aer quill and Memory book.

“I’ll need to examine the memories closely before I write anything.” A clear, gentle voice flows from the Memory book as the quill scrawls on the paper. “I can’t make any promises.”

Hyun doesn’t look satisfied with the answer, but ae doesn’t say anything about it. “Well, good luck.” Then ae smirks. “And farewell, Raven sir—“

Hyun trips on a strategically-positioned Min, who laughs at aer and exclaims “idiot” in a sing-song voice.

“Ah-em. Min, t-that’s ru-rude,” Sunwoo reprimands with a smile, unable to keep the laughter out of aer voice. Hyun gets up, adjusts aer clothes, and sighs very loudly before walking out of the room. Min walks around the table and climbs onto the chair next to Sunwoo.

“I want an apple for my toubles.”

“Of course.”

“Ahn should get an apple too.”

At that, Ahn smiles. Ae looks… uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” Sunwoo asks, but Ahn just shakes aer head. “Don’t lie. Is it the book?”

“It is a lot of work—“

“I mean the Memory book. The voice.”

Ahn sighs and picks up the quill then, after a few seconds, nods faintly. “I…” ae whispers, so quietly Sunwoo has to lean forward to hear the rest, “I don’t like using it, but no one here knows signed language.”

The dejected look on aer face doesn’t belong there. Awkwardly, Sunwoo reaches out and pokes Ahn’s cheek.

“Uh… Cheer up?” Then ae laughs. “I’m not very good at comfort, but please don’t be sad.”

Good job, Sunwoo. Amazing speech capabilities.

Ahn smiles at that—bless aer. “Thank you,” ae signs, then ae opens the memory book to an empty page. “This is going to be boring, so if you want to leave—“

“I’d like to keep you company.”

With a smile, Ahn turns to aer book and starts recording the scholars’ memories, to be examined for the contents of the books. Sunwoo leans on the table and watches Ahn as ae works.

As time goes on, the sound of the quill on paper and turning pages lulls Sunwoo to sleep.

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@givethispromptatry @writing-is-a-martial-art @random-oc-questions-fairy

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Background Info: Hyun's Raven power lets aer mute someone's voice. Very effective to render someone's spells useless.

More Background Info: OCs' Introductions (Hyun will be added tomorrow, probably)

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Titles are my passion. B)

Sunwoo: *is alive for 10k years* Also Sunwoo: Wait, time passes and things change? *surprised pikachu face*

Hyun is a jerk and I love aer. Ae has a good heart but ae's also a dick.

I don't have much to say about this; I just like how it turned out! I hope you enjoyed reading it. Thank you for reading and have a nice day!

Birds Of A Feather || Memories Of A Raven