#I am the smell that permeates the air like a welcome home | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

junghelioseok · 4 years

Text

covenant.

↳ your best friend’s engagement forces you to reevaluate your own feelings.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | angst | werewolf!au | f2l!au ◇ 16.4k [1/1]

⇢ arguably also an arranged marriage!au, ft. kinda sorta dumbasses to lovers? a very, very late bday fic for the most beautiful man in the universe and my favorite funky lil dancer. ♡

notes: i started this in my drafts well over three months ago and all it said was “this ain’t gonna be on time for hobi’s bday i can feel it” and damn if past!me wasn’t right on the money!!! this has undergone three edits, going from 14.6k to 16.4k somehow, and i am going to lose my whole damn mind if i don’t just post it so here it is! hope you enjoy!

warnings: dom!hobi, alpha!hobi, bit of dirty talk, oral (f receiving), some grinding against hobi’s thigh, knotting, hobi’s got a big dick idk, also he’s in heat!!! but things eventually get really soft bc i love him and am a Soft Bitch™ 🤷🏻‍♀️

It’s going to rain.

You can smell it in the air and feel the damp chill against your skin, permeating through every layer of your clothing. The surrounding forest and all its occupants seem to be collectively holding their breath, waiting for the first drops to come. Even your footsteps, soft as they are against the loamy earth, sound much too loud in the hush that’s fallen. Dark clouds gather overhead, looming like an omen, and you silently reach into your purse to check that the umbrella you’d stowed this morning is still there. Vaguely, you wonder if it’s big enough for two.

Around you, the trees slowly begin to dwindle, until there’s only open sky above your head and a wide grassy expanse beneath your feet. A certain heaviness lingers in the air here—a low thrum of energy, born from the ancient magic that sleeps in the gnarled roots of the tree that sits in the center of the clearing. You can feel it prickling along your skin, raising gooseflesh and igniting your veins, and the closer you get, the stronger the feeling becomes.

At the far end of the clearing, you spot a small crowd of people, all clad in black. Your best friend—and your entire reason for venturing out today—stands amongst them in a tailored suit, his black tie snug at his throat and laid atop a charcoal gray shirt. He’s chatting with his father and a few other family members, seemingly calm and collected, but you can tell from the sloppy knot of his tie and the way he fidgets with the hem of his jacket that he is anything but. After all your years of friendship, you can read Jung Hoseok like a book. His auburn hair is disheveled as if he’s been incessantly raking his fingers through it, and even at a distance, you can sense the turmoil in his aura, haloing him like the stormy clouds overhead.

Sensing your approach, Hoseok’s gaze flickers up to meet yours. He raises a hand in greeting and bids farewell to the people he’d been chatting with, picking his way over to you with a wan smile.

“Hey. You made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss this,” you reply, reaching out to take his hand. It’s warm and strong as always, but you don’t miss the slight tremor in his grip. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, a sigh escaping his lips and dissipating into mist in the wintry air. “As well as can be expected, I guess. It just… it all happened so fast.”

“I know,” you murmur, twining your fingers together in quiet reassurance. “I’m so sorry, Hobi.”

“Thanks.”

Slowly, his gaze flits to the center of the clearing where the ancient tree sits, traversing from the leafy canopy all the way down to where the gnarled roots disappear into the dirt. In its shadow sits a polished wooden casket, and you squeeze Hoseok’s hand gently as he walks closer, his eyes beginning to glisten.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, you know,” he mumbles. “All these years of war, of negotiations and peace talks, finally seeing the Accords pass and the company flourish… and now he’s gone. Cancer. Just like that.”

His voice cracks on the last sentence, and you clasp his hand a little tighter. You know as well as he does that a healthy werewolf can live for well over a century, if not for the human genetics that remain susceptible to human weaknesses and disease. True immortality afflicts only the faeries and the vampires of your world—and even then, there are still ways that those folk can die.

“He lived a long life,” you say after a moment’s hesitation, grasping onto any semblance of comfort you can offer. Together, you and Hoseok come to a stop in the shadow of the tree, peering at the closed casket where his grandfather lays. “And it was a good, just life. Not all of us can say that.”

A lone, wet droplet falls onto the polished mahogany, and Hoseok hastily wipes his eyes, tilting his head skyward. “Not long enough,” he whispers. “He still had so much to do. I… I still have so much I wanted to do—to say. And now I’ll never be able to.”

You caress a thumb across his knuckles, the motion soft and tender. “I know. And I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

Hoseok glances down at that, a glimmer of something manic and desperate swimming in his amber-flecked irises. “You could,” he says, grabbing both your hands and clutching them to his chest like a lifeline. “You could bring him back. You know how, don’t you?”

You shake your head sadly, hating the way his frown deepens as you free yourself from his grasp. “That’s forbidden magic, Hobi. That’s necromancy. You know I can’t do that.”

Hoseok’s entire body sags, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a heavy sigh. Instinctively, you step forward to wrap him in a hug, and he loops his arms around your waist automatically, pulling you flush against him. “I know,” he mumbles into your hair. Then he huffs out a dry chuckle, humorless and deprecating. “Fuck. I’m a mess, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. Instead, you hold him a little tighter, rubbing his back soothingly in long, slow motions—the same way his mother used to do during bedtime. His heart thuds erratically in his chest, fast and frenzied like a caged bird, but lulls as you continue your ministrations, settling into an even rhythm once more.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a few moments, his warm breath caressing your cheek. “For coming today. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You can do anything, Hobi,” you reassure, running a thumb along the sharp line of his jaw when he raises his head to look at you. “With or without me. But… you’re welcome, all the same.”

Your presence at this funeral is unusual, and both you and Hoseok know it. Werewolf packs tend to keep their rites and ceremonies private, and the Gwangju pack is no different. Led by Hoseok’s father, and his late grandfather before him, the werewolves of the city have rapidly risen to prominence and power, aided in large part by the founding of JungTech. The company, started by Hoseok’s grandfather, began as a small operation in a battered old warehouse, but quickly grew to become one of Gwangju’s biggest corporations after the signing of the Accords twenty years ago. The peace treaty marked the start of a tenuous coexistence between humankind and Shadowfolk, and, together with your fellow witches—along with the werewolves, vampires, and the few fair folk who decided to leave their homes deep in the forests—you migrated into cities all over the country to forge new lives.

It’s proven easier for some. While the wolves of the city have found tolerance—acceptance, even—you have not fared quite as well. Humans, you have found, tend to fear the ancient magic that runs through your veins. Though nothing you’ve faced comes remotely close to what your ancestors faced in centuries past, you remain wary of those who take a little too much interest in your abilities.

You’re a bit paranoid, your familiar, Bast, has remarked on more than one occasion. But it’s justified, so I suppose it’s all right.

As if sensing that your thoughts have turned to him, Bast stirs in the back of your mind. You feel him yawn and stretch lazily before there’s a tug on the soles of your feet, as if the force of gravity has suddenly, inexplicably doubled. Then he’s materializing—morphing out of the spot where your shadow would be if the sun were shining, taking the form of an inky black cat with sharp, golden eyes. Hoseok perks up when Bast loops between his ankles, and immediately squats down to scratch behind his ears, a small smile settling across his face as a low, content purr rumbles up from beneath his fingertips. From elsewhere in the clearing, a single howl rises up into the air, forlorn and wavering.

It’s starting, Bast says in your head. At the same time, Hoseok straightens to his full height, fiddling with the hem of his black jacket and looking over at you tentatively.

“Sounds like they’re getting started,” he says.

You nod. “I should go.”

Hoseok opens his mouth as if to protest—as if to say no, stay—but you know better and cut him off with a single raised finger.

“I’ll go,” you murmur. “This is a private rite, and I don’t want to break centuries of tradition by overstaying my welcome. Go join your pack, Hobi.”

“Will I see you later?”

“Without a doubt.”

Your parting gesture is to reach out and grab his hand, tucking a little drawstring bag into his palm and closing his fingers over it. “Valerian root and chamomile,” you tell him gently, taking in his rumpled collar and the dark bags beneath his eyes. “Make some tea tonight. It’ll help.”

Hoseok swallows and nods, his features softening as he gazes down at his hand cupped in your smaller ones. He looks like he wants to say something, but another howl interrupts, disrupting whatever thoughts he may have had. Instead, he nods again, murmuring a soft goodbye before turning on his heel to join the rest of the pack gathering around the raised casket. You turn as well, leaving behind the ancient clearing with Bast trotting by your side.

Up above, the heavens finally open, drenching the dirt path beneath your feet with rain. And behind you, the single howl is joined by dozens more, echoing mournfully up into the weeping sky.

///

You’re in the middle of straightening out a display of dittany when the kettle begins to boil, emitting three short, shrill whistles accompanied by a long stream of whirling steam. When silence falls over the shop once more, you wander over to where the kettle sits—atop a small wooden end table next to an old wardrobe. It’s an old relic that’s been passed down through generations of witches in your family, wrought out of silvery metal and suspended in an iron frame above a single lit candle. The flame is glowing pink, flickering in a nonexistent gust of wind, and you smile. Quietly, you grab two teacups from a nearby shelf.

Not two seconds later, the door of the old wardrobe creaks open, revealing the familiar face of Kim Seokjin behind it. A fellow witch and a good friend of yours, Jin has made a name for himself as a baker, running a café in Seoul that offers all sorts of confections—both with magical properties and without. His hair is dyed a muted dusty rose—a stark contrast to the casual black hoodie and jeans he’s wearing—and you reach out to push a stray lock back from his forehead in lieu of a greeting.

“Your hair’s pink again,” you remark. “I like it.”

Jin grins, his plush lips pulling back to reveal perfect teeth. “Thanks.” Carefully, he steps out of the wardrobe and shuts the door behind him. A beat of silence passes, and you take the opportunity to select a canister of tea leaves. You don’t miss the flicker of solemnity that settles into Jin’s features, though, listening as he clears his throat before voicing the question that is undoubtedly the reason behind his unexpected visit.

“So. How’s Hoseok holding up?”

Jin has never been one to mince his words. You suppose you appreciate that about him.

Quietly, you lift the kettle out of its stand and beckon for him to join you at the little wooden table at the front of your shop. It’s tucked neatly into the nook carved out by one of the two bay windows on either side of the front door, flanked by two well-worn, mismatched chairs. Atop it sits a pile of books—everything from ancient remedies to common household spells.

One book in particular always sits open—a detailed list of all the herbs and plants you carry in your shop, along with the various concoctions you’ve created with them. Hellebore, the spine of the book reads, and it’s the same word that graces your storefront in flowing, golden text. An apothecary of sorts, you spend your days dealing out potions and remedies to those in need, both human and Shadowfolk. You do your best to help, for all the times modern medicine has come up short and left someone wanting.

“Honestly? I don’t think he’s been sleeping.” You set the teacups down onto the table and fill them both before handing one over to Jin. “I saw him this morning, at the funeral. He looked exhausted.”

Jin’s brows disappear behind his pink hair. “You went to the funeral?”

“I didn’t stay,” you clarify, taking a sip of your tea. “Just wanted to drop by, say hello, and pay my respects.”

“Werewolves are a private bunch,” Jin remarks. “I’m surprised.”

You shrug. “Hoseok wanted me to be there. So I went.”

“I see.” He doesn’t say anything further, and neither do you, lapsing instead into a comfortable silence that’s broken only by the occasional sip of tea and the clinking of china. Your gaze wanders, drifting over to the front door of your shop, painted a cheerful green and set with a flowery stained glass window that throws kaleidoscopic rainbows across the cream walls and dark wooden floor. Sunlight streams through the wide bay windows, illuminating the interior in warm, hazy gold. On the other side of the room, Bast is curled up, fast asleep on his favorite plush bench beside the glass door that leads to the greenhouse, perfectly haloed by the sun.

“Must be nice being able to fall asleep anywhere,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Jin hears you anyway, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You sound jealous.”

“Maybe I am,” you reply, laughing with him. “Speaking of which, where’s Adam? Did he stay home?”

Jin nods, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the wardrobe. “Yeah, he’s keeping an eye on the café. Told me to say hi to you for him, though.”

You giggle at the thought of Jin’s familiar, a long-haired sheepdog with a stubborn streak the size of the Nile and blatant disdain for following orders—especially those that come from Jin himself. “Keeping watch, or trashing the place?” you tease.

“With my luck, probably both,” Jin admits with a sigh. “I should probably get back there soon. He ate all the egg tarts last time.”

“Bring him with you next time,” you advise. “Bast will keep him entertained.”

He grins. “I don’t doubt it.”

Finishing off the last of his tea, he stands up and taps the rim of his cup, murmuring a soft cleaning spell under his breath. You smile gratefully as he replaces it back onto the shelf with the others, and stand to walk him back over to the wardrobe. Opening up the creaky door, you watch him clamber inside, standing amongst the hanging coats and the single pair of shoes on the bottom shelf.

“See you later,” you murmur. “Give Adam my best.”

Jin nods. “See you.”

He shuts the door, and you watch the flame of the candle once again turn a soft, roseate pink. It flickers briefly, dancing in an invisible breeze, before reverting back to the color of regular fire, signaling Jin’s departure. Quietly, you clean your own teacup and return it to the shelf.

The remainder of the afternoon passes with few customers, so you opt to close down early and head to your apartment, located up a short flight of stairs on the second floor of the shop. You’re rifling through the refrigerator for dinner ingredients and humming softly under your breath when your phone suddenly rings, Hoseok’s name lighting up the screen in bright white text. “Hey, Hobi,” you say, swiping across the glass to answer. “What’s up?”

On the other end of the line, Hoseok exhales shakily. “Can you come over?”

You blink, glancing at the darkening sky outside. “Now?”

“Yeah. Fuck, sorry. I know it’s late, but I really… I really need to talk to someone. I—” His voice cracks, and your heart sinks. “I need you.”

“Say no more.” Straightening up, you shut the refrigerator door and tug off your apron. “I’ll be there in half an hour. Have you eaten yet?”

Hoseok sighs. “No.”

“I’ll bring takeout,” you decide, already glancing around for your purse. “See you soon, okay?”

Bidding him farewell, you don your coat and head out the door, locking up behind you. Hoseok lives downtown in a sleek, modern penthouse that’s normally a twenty-minute walk away from Hellebore, but after stopping by the restaurant on the corner for food, you opt to catch the bus instead. Fifteen minutes after you hang up the phone, you are rapping the bronze knocker on Hoseok’s front door, a paper bag and a bottle of wine in hand.

Almost instantly, the door is flung open. Hoseok stands in the threshold as if he’s been waiting there, his auburn hair wild and his eyes even wilder. His aura is turbulent, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You raise the bag. “I brought dinner.”

“You’re the best,” he sighs, stepping aside to let you in.

Hoseok’s apartment toes the line between modern and cozy in a way that only Hoseok’s apartment could—with lush green plants and plushy, earth-toned furniture to offset the cold impersonality of the floor-to-ceiling windows and the stainless steel kitchen. Flicking on the kitchen light, you set the food down on the granite countertop and grab two wine glasses out of the cabinet. Hoseok sidles over as you pour a generous helping into each glass, rifling through the silverware drawer for utensils.

“Smells good,” he murmurs, popping a box open. “I’m starving. Thanks for bringing dinner.”

You brush off his gratitude and hand him a glass, raising yours so you can clink it gently against his. Quietly, the two of you fall into a comfortable routine, with Hoseok grabbing the food and you grabbing the bottle of wine to bring into the living room. You help him clear off the coffee table and arrange the food, then settle onto the couch beside him, sipping your drink in silence and patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Years of friendship have taught you that he’ll talk when he’s ready, and you’re content to wait as long as he needs.

Sighing, Hoseok tips the rest of his wine back into his mouth before setting the empty glass down with a soft plink. “So,” he begins, not quite looking you in the eye. “My dad and I had lunch today.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He takes several more seconds to muster up the words, and when he finally finds them, they’re exhaled in a tumbling rush. “He told me that he’s pleased with how I’m running JungTech. It’s been over a year, and things are going well… so he wants to expedite my takeover of the pack. In two months, he wants me to take over as the alpha. And…” He swallows. “He wants me to settle down.”

Perturbed, you blink. “What?”

Hoseok finally looks at you, his expression frighteningly devoid of emotion. “He wants me to get married, {Name}.”

Comprehension doesn’t settle in right away. But when it does, your jaw drops to the floor, landing somewhere alongside the ornamental persian carpet and a stray sock that has no doubt jumped ship from Hoseok’s laundry.

“W-what?” you manage after a few long seconds of gaping at him. “Why? Why now? That’s so… that’s completely out of the blue.”

Hoseok shakes his head, a few shaggy strands of auburn hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes. “It’s not, actually. He’s been talking about it for a long time—trying to arrange something with one of the other pack families. It’s tradition, you know? Mating within the pack, keeping the bloodlines pure through marriage. The difference is that Pops always talked him out of it. Always said I was too young, that there was no rush, that I should wait for someone I love, my true mate...” He sighs, heavily. “But he’s gone now. And Dad’s decided that he’s done waiting.”

You shouldn’t ask. You shouldn’t, because you know it’ll hurt, but the question comes regardless—leaving your lips in a near whisper. “Who?”

Hoseok takes a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he exhales. “Do you remember Im Nayeon?”

You do. You’ve known Nayeon almost as long as you’ve known Hoseok—the three of you having attended the same schools starting from elementary all the way up until Hoseok left to attend university in Seoul. Admittedly, you were never close—and if you were completely honest, you always found her to be a bit disingenuous for your tastes. Nevertheless, you often found yourself at the same events—parties and gatherings you attended at Hoseok’s request, and that she was privy to due to her family’s high-ranking status within the Gwangju pack.

“I remember,” you tell him, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. “Does… does she know yet? Have you met up with her?”

Hoseok nods. “She was there this morning, at the funeral. We talked a little bit and got coffee after, but… this is all happening so fast.” Slowly, he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, a sigh escaping his parted lips. “But there’s nothing I can do, right? It’s enough that Dad’s somehow talked Mom into the whole thing, but now he’s gotten the Council on board too. Did you know that Nayeon has an uncle on the Council? It’s insane, right?”

“Insane,” you agree in a whisper, doing your best to ignore the way your heart is splintering at the edges.

“You know, I always thought my Dad pressuring me was bad.” Hoseok buries his face in his hands, peering at you from between his splayed fingers when you hum in acknowledgment. “But this? The entire Council on my back? This is way worse.”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know what else there is to say. Your ribcage feels like it’s been split open and filled with burning coals, weighing hot and heavy on your insides.

Hoseok has dated in the past, of course. You both have—chasing that elusive, fluttery feeling called love and never quite being able to catch it and hold on. Hoseok’s last relationship fizzled long before he graduated from university, having lasted only about six months. You distinctly remember meeting the girl during one of your frequent visits to Seoul, at a small party hosted by Hoseok and his friends. By your next visit, however, things had already ended. He never really told you why the breakup occurred either—only that the relationship never would have lasted in the long run.

Perhaps foolishly, you chose not to pry.

“Is there anything I can do?” you ask softly. Reaching out, you take ahold of his hand and tug it into your lap, threading your fingers into the gaps between his. The gesture is familiar and comforting, like cocoa in front of a lit fireplace, and you can’t even begin to fathom the idea of another person sitting here and holding his hand in your stead.

“Just talk to me,” Hoseok entreaties, squeezing your fingers. “Distract me. What’s going on with you?”

You hum, swallowing down the lump in your throat and letting your head fall onto his shoulder as you pick through the events of the past week for the most interesting tidbits. “Bast has been bringing me dead rats lately,” you finally say, nose scrunching at the memory. “You should see the size of them—they’re almost bigger than he is. And they smell like the sewers, because I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s where he’s getting them from. It’s horrid.”

Hoseok huffs out a stilted laugh. “Sewer rats? Gross.”

“It’s not all bad, to be honest,” you tell him, nestling a little closer to the warmth of his body. Hoseok keeps his apartment chillier than you’re accustomed to, and you’re beyond grateful for the furnace-like heat he gives off naturally. “The bones are pretty useful. The tails too, provided you don’t tell people what they actually are.”

His laugh is much more genuine this time. “Tricky little minx,” he says, amusement lacing his tone. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

You ignore the uptick in your heart rate at his approval, grateful that he can’t see your face as a pulse of heat flushes your cheeks. Instead, you burrow into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Hoseok smells like the forest—fresh and woodsy, with a slight floral undercurrent from his fabric softener. It smells like home, and you smile when his arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders.

“Jin came by today,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” The monosyllabic response rumbles through his chest.

“Yeah. He asked about you, too. You should probably text him later.”

Hoseok hums a confirmation, and, satisfied, you cuddle a little closer to him. You pull at the afghan he keeps laid over the back of the couch, laying it comfortably over your lap as he rests his head gently atop yours, his ear pressed to your crown. Your eyes fall shut as you listen to the rhythmic thud of his pulse—solid and steady, backed by the soft hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic on the street far below.

It’s comfortable, sitting with him like this. Comfortable, stroking his arm with your fingertips, in time with the drumbeat of his heart. Ever so gradually, Hoseok’s breathing evens out, and you briefly think that you could stay like this—encapsulated in this delicate, iridescent bubble of contentment—for the rest of your life.

You know the thing about bubbles, though? Bast remarks dryly in your head. They burst.

I know, you sigh.

I know.

///

There’s something soothing about taking inventory—something calming in the repetition of walking down the aisles of Hellebore and restocking the shelves one by one. You’d woken this morning to an apologetic Hoseok making pancakes in the kitchen, his residual heat and woodsy scent lingering on the blanket tucked around your body. After a harried breakfast and a promise to text you later, Hoseok rushed off to the office.

You, in turn, returned to your shop, where you grabbed every ounce of cleaning supplies you possess and scrubbed the place from top to bottom, foregoing all of your usual dishwashing charms and dust-clearing jinxes. The physical labor is a welcome distraction from the events and revelations of last night, and you’ve thrown yourself wholeheartedly into all the chores you need to complete.

“Almost out of rosehip oil,” you mutter, eyeing the half-empty vial and making a note to extract more from one of several plants in your greenhouse. “Low on valerian too, hmm…”

The bell over the front door jingles merrily, diverting your attention away from your task. “{Name}?” a voice calls softly. A moment later, a familiar head of coppery red hair pops around the edge of the shelves, choppy bangs framing a soft, warm face. “Hey, there you are. You busy?”

You shake your head and shut your inventory book, setting it down on the nearest shelf. “Not terribly, no. What brings you here today, Lisa?”

Lisa’s answering smile is sheepish. “Got something to return,” she says, holding up a little glass jar full of lavender colored pills that you immediately recognize. “I’m guessing you’ve already heard the news. Looks like I won’t be needing these anymore, right?”

Your laugh sounds brittle, even to your own ears. “Right. Yeah. Not anymore.”

For just over ten years, Lisa has been the wolf assigned to help Hoseok through his heat. Between his family’s status and his longtime designation as the next alpha of the Gwangju pack, it’s imperative for Hoseok to avoid anything that might be perceived as scandalous. Torrid sex stories splashed across tabloid covers is the last thing a man like Hoseok needs, and that’s where Lisa comes in. Once a year, for three days, she goes to him, and no one is none the wiser. Her job is one that calls for the utmost discretion, and as the daughter of a high-ranking Council official, no one understood that better than she did. You’d only found out because of your role as one of the few witches in the country who makes and stocks the proper contraceptives for such wolves—the dosage much stronger than the human equivalent.

And when Lisa had first approached you to purchase the pills, you’d dropped two jars and nearly set fire to a third. Your stomach had fallen to somewhere around your toes, right alongside the shattered glass and little lavender tablets.

You’d chalked the accident up to surprise. Hoseok hadn’t mentioned anything to you, after all, and you’d known very little about the intricacies of werewolf heats back then, having just opened your shop at age eighteen. But surprise doesn’t explain the snaking jealousy that bubbles up in your tummy every time Lisa comes in to restock her supply of pills, nor does it explain the overwhelming sense of relief you feel now as she presses the unopened jar into your hands.

“I still can’t believe he’s going to be the most powerful man in Gwangju soon.” Lisa steps back, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting out a soft sigh. “And now he’s engaged, too. It’s pretty crazy, huh?”

“Crazy,” you agree tonelessly, turning to replace the jar onto the appropriate shelf.

Lisa, however, is nothing if not perceptive. A gentle hand lands on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey,” she begins, soft and slow. “You know you can talk to me, right? Are you—?”

But the sound of the bell drowns out the rest of her question, metallic and bright in the quiet of your shop. “Hello? Anyone home?” a cheery voice asks.

“Be right there,” you say immediately, shrugging off Lisa’s hand and stepping out from amongst the shelves. There’s a young woman standing at the checkout counter, rifling through the collection of seeds on display, and you cringe as she replaces a few packets in the wrong spots. “How can I help you?”

At the sound of your voice, the woman turns gracefully on her heel, her expression a perfectly crafted amalgamation of surprise and delight. “{Name}!” she exclaims, stepping forward with an outstretched arm. “Long time no see!”

“N-Nayeon,” you stammer, the shock of seeing her face freezing you in place. “What… what brings you here?”

The dark-haired woman steps forward to pull you into a hug, enveloping you in her fruity perfume. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to catch up with an old friend?” she asks playfully.

We were never friends, you want to say. In your head, Bast lets out a derisive snort of agreement. Lisa, you notice, has conveniently melted away somewhere amidst the organized chaos of your shop, disappearing into the myriad shelves and knickknacks.

“Plus, I really wanted to look at some flowers,” Nayeon continues, betraying her true purpose at last. “You’ve heard, haven’t you? About my engagement? I’m sure Hoseok—I mean, my fiancé—has mentioned it to you, of all people. You are his best friend, after all.”

The inside of the shop is beginning to feel stifling. Perspiration trickles down your neck and you tug at your collar, loosening the material from where it’s plastered against your skin. “Sure,” you manage, once you feel like you can breathe again. “Right. Sure. The flowers are right this way, if you want to follow me.”

I’d forgotten how much I don’t like her, your familiar remarks dryly in your head.

Shut up, Bast.

Mercifully, he does. There’s a tug on your feet, and you glance down just in time to see him morph out of the shadow you cast against the sun-drenched floor. Ghostly and amorphous at first, he quickly solidifies into the feline figure you’ve grown accustomed to, and slinks protectively around your ankles before darting off to perch in the cushioned bay window seat.

Conveniently, that’s also where the flower display is. Colorful blooms and trailing leaves adorn the wooden shelves and tables in this particular corner of the shop, and you force yourself to shift back into professional mode as you come to a stop in front of an assortment of honeysuckle. “So, what kind of flowers are you looking for?” you ask, brushing your fingers along the pale yellow petals.

Nayeon hums thoughtfully and picks up a potted rosebush, examining it from all angles. “Roses, maybe. Are roses too clichéd now?” She brings the crimson buds closer and inhales, eyes fluttering shut. “No matter. I’ve always liked them.”

“They’re beautiful,” you agree, turning your attention to the selection of roses lining the topmost shelf. “Do you have a color preferen—?”

“Or maybe these would be better,” Nayeon interrupts, plucking up a pale pink calla lily from the bouquet you keep in a table display. “Or that one—what is it?”

You follow the trajectory of her gaze to a bunch of little white flowers with golden centers, stark against the dark dirt and surrounding green foliage. “That would be bloodroot,” you answer. “One of my personal favorites—it’s both ornamental and medicinal. It would look lovely in a bouquet.”

Nayeon pulls a face and shakes her head. “No, no—I don’t want anything with such a horrible name. What about these?” she asks, reaching up to take a closer look at a larger bloom. “Peonies, right?”

By the time Nayeon makes it back to the checkout counter with a few sample rose cuttings in hand, you’re fairly certain that several eternities have passed. “Is there anything else you need?” you ask as you ring her up and wrap the flowers neatly in paper.

“A discount for an old friend?” she queries, shooting you a playful wink. When you don’t answer right away, she giggles. “I’m kidding! Obviously, I’ll pay. It’s not like I’m pressed for money—I mean, you’ve seen who my fiancé is, right? Now gosh, where did I put my wallet?”

Your cheeks are beginning to feel far too hot. Nayeon is still rummaging in her purse, and you quickly duck beneath the counter under the pretense of looking for some ribbon to tie off the bouquet. Fanning your face, you take a few deep breaths, listening as she continues chattering away.

“We’re having dinner tonight, actually, Hoseok and I. It’ll be our second real date, and… wait!” She gasps, and you peer up just in time to see her slap a hand over her perfectly lacquered mouth. “You should come! Bring someone, if you can—it’ll be like a double date!”

If you can? Bast snipes. Curse her.

You sigh inwardly and straighten back up, ribbon in hand. Shut up, Bast.

If you won’t, I will.

You’ll do no such thing.

Mustering up your best, most earnest smile, you hand over the wrapped flowers along with her change. “That sounds like fun,” you tell her, ignoring the way your insides lurch at the lie. “When and where?”

Nayeon beams and rattles off the address of an unfamiliar restaurant. “Don’t be late!” she calls as she heads for the door. The bell jangles cheerily as she departs, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, Lisa pokes her head around a nearby bookshelf.

“Finally,” she sighs, walking over to join you. “I thought she’d never leave.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn’t dare speak ill of a customer, but you’re willing to make an exception today. “You and me both,” you reply, watching as Bast slinks over like a shadow and hops onto the counter beside you. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your elbow in silent solidarity, and you mindlessly begin scratching behind his ears as Lisa speaks again.

“Are you really going to go to that dinner tonight?”

You meet her gaze, shrugging. “I already said I would. Do I really have a choice?”

There isn’t much else to say, and both you and she know it. Pushing off from where she’s leaning against the countertop, Lisa flips her coppery hair over her shoulder and shoots you a look, brown eyes full of sympathy. “Good luck,” she says sincerely. You get the feeling that she wants to say something else, but decides against it at the last minute. Instead, she bids you goodbye and walks out with a wave and another chime of the bell. Silence settles over the shop once more, and you allow yourself a few moments to breathe—slow and deep, in and out—before picking up your phone and opening up the most recent text messages. It doesn’t take long to find the name you’re looking for, but you still pause, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before you begin to type.

[4:21pm] You: how would you like to join me for a very awkward dinner date?

[4:21pm] Jin: consider me intrigued.

///

You and Jin arrive at the restaurant first. It’s an ornate, palatial place with tuxedoed waitstaff and a coat room, and despite giving the name ‘Jung’ at the door, you’re certain that Hoseok played no part in the venue selection. The host ushers you to a booth tucked in the back, the cushioned seats a velvety burgundy and a chandelier glittering overhead, throwing refracted, iridescent light across the veined marble table. All of a sudden, the simple black dress you’re wearing feels painfully inadequate. Glancing down at your feet, you wonder if you should have worn heels instead.

Beside you, Jin cuts a striking figure in a creamy silk shirt with ribbons that tie into a bow at his throat, the material loose and flowy up until where it tucks into fitted black slacks. His pink hair complements the elegant outfit perfectly, parted and swept off his forehead to reveal his dark brows.

As if reading your mind, he lays a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he says, before gesturing at the booth. “Now, do you want the inside or outside? Think you’ll need to make a quick getaway at some point?”

“Probably,” you sigh. Jin nods and sits down first, and you watch him slide across the seat cushion before settling in beside him. “I still can’t believe you volunteered to be here,” you murmur, plucking up one of the folded cloth napkins and fiddling with the crisp white edges. “You’re a saint, I swear.”

Jin chuckles and plucks the napkin from your clasped hands, laying it across your lap instead. “Not a saint,” he says, matching your soft tone. “Just someone who cares about you.”

Your cheeks warm at his sudden proximity. “Thank you,” you tell him, for what must be the umpteenth time. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you don’t have to, then,” he replies with a grin. “Now, chin up. They just walked in.”

You can’t help the groan that escapes you. “Is it too late to run?”

“Afraid so,” he answers honestly.

And then Nayeon is slipping into the cushioned seat opposite you, syrupy smile in place on her berry lacquered lips. “Hi!” she chirps, laying a hand on Hoseok’s arm as he sits down beside her. “Sorry we’re late. We, um…” She pauses and shoots Hoseok a conspiratorial look, giggling. “... lost track of the time.”

Your magic flares, hot and bright in your veins, and you know Jin feels it too when he lays a cautionary hand on your knee beneath the table. “We weren’t waiting long,” he says, offering the two a genial smile. He’s perfectly polite as he and Nayeon exchange quick introductions, and gestures toward the assortment of menus on the table as soon as everyone has settled down. “Why don’t we order some wine to start?”

“Oh, that’s a splendid idea! Isn’t that a splendid idea, Hoseok?” Nayeon turns to the auburn-haired man beside her, and you do the same, gaze landing on Hoseok for the first time tonight. He’s in an all black ensemble, sharp jacket layered over a silky black shirt, the top buttons loosened to bare a tantalizing sliver of golden skin. His auburn hair is parted, a stray lock falling across his forehead, and you shiver when you realize he’s staring right back at you with dark, unreadable eyes.

At the sound of Nayeon’s voice, Hoseok seems to snap out of his trance, his expression smoothing out as he plasters on a smile. “Take a look at the menu,” he says, picking up the leather-bound book and offering it to her. “Dinner’s on me.”

You blink. “We can’t let you do that, Hobi.”

“Let me pick up at least part of the tab,” Jin adds, already reaching for his wallet. “I’m no corporate bigshot, but I do well enough for myself.”

“No need to be modest,” you chime in, nudging him playfully. “Weren’t you just telling me about your new restaurant opening on the way over? Next week, right?”

Jin’s ears redden as all the attention is turned onto him. “Next week, yeah.”

“That’s amazing!” Nayeon chirps, pressing closer to Hoseok. “We’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe a date night, right, darling?”

Hoseok busies himself with rearranging his cutlery, swapping the knife and fork around. “Right—sure. If we ever make it up to Seoul, we’ll, uh… we’ll definitely stop by. Congratulations, man.”

The conversation continues. A server stops by to take your wine order, and Jin decides on a moderately priced bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Glasses are brought over, and wine is poured. Hoseok finishes his quickly and pours himself another, and though his wolf metabolism prevents him from getting drunk off of regular wine, you know that he’s a bit of a lightweight and tends to avoid drinking heavily no matter what the beverage. He’s drinking with a purpose tonight, and you’re beyond grateful when Jin pipes up with yet another story when the conversation lulls.

“And then I found out that the oven was on the whole time! Adam would probably let the entire apartment go up in flames just to spite me—I should watch my back.”

“Or, you know, just watch the oven more closely,” you tease. “I’ve seen your place, Jin—it’s a complete fire hazard. It’s a wonder it hasn’t burned to the ground already.”

Jin sniffs. “You’re exaggerating. Stop making me look bad.”

“You make yourself look bad,” you retort, laughing when his lower lip juts out into a pout.

Across the table, Hoseok clears his throat. “Speaking of fire hazards—did I ever tell you about the time {Name} set me on fire?”

“I did no such thing!” you protest, reaching over to slap his arm. “I mean, okay, maybe a little bit, but that was one time! And you were barely singed!”

Hoseok snorts out a laugh. “Barely singed? I couldn’t sit properly for a week.”

“Oh please, that’s a lie and you know it!”

Nayeon interrupts your conversation with a loud huff, setting her wineglass down with enough force to thud against the veined marble tabletop. “Do one of you maybe want to fill us in on the joke here?”

Abashed, you glance back at Hoseok, watching as his smile slowly fades back into the careful, neutral expression he’s worn all evening. “Sorry,” you murmur. “It’s an old story from when we were kids—when we first met, actually. We were seven years old, and it was the second day of school. I didn’t have a very good handle on my magic yet, and accidentally set Hoseok’s tail on fire during recess.”

“I preferred to run around in my wolf form back then,” Hoseok further elaborates. “There was a big field out behind the school—remember that, {Name}?”

You nod. “Of course. It went right up to the very edge of the woods. And if you kept going and went far enough, you reached the old wooden bridge.”

Hoseok is smiling again, soft and fond. “That thing was a death trap.”

“But the teachers could never keep us away,” you say, grinning at him.

“All right,” Nayeon interrupts again, sniffing disdainfully. “Enough about the old days—I think it’s time to talk about the present. And more importantly, the future.” She sighs happily and props her chin up in her palm, ensuring that the delicate golden band on her ring finger is on full display, the metal glimmering in the warm light. “You’re both invited to the wedding, of course. And I never did properly thank you for the flowers today, {Name}!”

Her words seem to come as a surprise to Hoseok, who straightens up in his seat. “Flowers? You visited Hellebore today?”

“Of course I did!” Nayeon hides a giggle behind a manicured hand. “I wouldn’t even think of trusting anyone else with my bouquet.”

Hoseok’s gaze skitters over to you, awash with concern and tinged with apology, but you ignore him in favor of forcing your expression into something that’s meant to be a smile. Yet no matter how much you strain your cheeks and stretch your lips, it feels—and looks, you’re sure—far more like a grimace.

“I’m happy to do it,” you lie, your teeth gritted and tight. “I don’t mind it one bit.”

///

“So. That was just as awkward as promised.”

You and Jin are walking back to Hellebore, leaving behind the bustling downtown area for the darker, quieter streets of your neighborhood. Your companion’s hair is tinged orange in the glow from the streetlamps, and you can only chuckle humorlessly when he turns to you and raises his eyebrows.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I was duly warned,” Jin agrees.

A car drives by, the headlights throwing Jin’s profile into stark relief. His expression is solemn but he doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. The remainder of the walk passes in silence, broken only by the occasional strain of conversation from passersby and the low drone of late night traffic. You reach Hellebore with no incidents, and you muffle a yawn as Jin steps into the wardrobe to go back to Seoul.

Just before he shuts the door behind him, he shoots you a meaningful glance over his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel, you know. He deserves to know. And you… you deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t need him to. Long after he’s gone, his remark echoes in your head, and no matter what, you simply cannot seem to shake it.

///

It’s been years since you’ve last gone to the old bridge, but after last night’s conversation you find yourself pulled back, lured by the promise of memories of a kinder time. The forest beyond the field hasn’t changed much since your school days, and neither, you realize, has the bridge itself. It still stands tall, proudly spanning the steep ravine that your teachers warned you about, the rickety wood splitting apart at the seams and overgrown with lichen and climbing ivy. Far below, the white-capped river rushes by on its long, turbulent journey to the sea.

Carefully, you step onto the bridge—first one foot, then the other. The energy in the air shifts as soon as your feet leave the loamy earth, finding traction instead on hewn wood, and you sigh as your fingertips brush against the railing. The magic here is an old magic—different from the ancient magic that dwells in places like the werewolves’ clearing and the realms of the fae. The low thrum of it fills the air and seeps into your veins, quickening your pulse and prickling your skin.

“I thought you might be here.” The voice comes from your left, barely audible over the rush of the river.

“You thought right,” you reply, stepping forward until you’re toeing the railing and leaning over to stare down into the swirling, eddying waters below.

Hoseok joins you at the edge. His profile is stark against the leafy green backdrop, and for a few moments, all is still. Then: “I’m really sorry about last night.”

The apology hangs in the silence for a few moments before fading into the sound of churning water and wind whistling through the trees. You suck in a deep breath, oxygen swelling your lungs until you can hold it in no longer, before letting it escape in a resigned sigh.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Hoseok.”

“Maybe not. But I want to.” He shoots you a sidelong glance. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

You raise a brow. “Make it up to me? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Anything you want.” Hoseok smiles crookedly, but you can’t quell the tumult brewing in your belly.

“What do you want, Hobi?”

His smile fades. “I—” He stops and shakes his head, auburn hair flying. “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is about you.”

You gaze up at him, taking in the sharp cut of his jawline and the straight angle of his nose. Your eyes trail along the smooth slope of his rounded cheeks and the soft curve of his mouth, lingering on the little mole atop his upper lip.

And then you reach out and take his hand, savoring the way his fingers immediately, comfortably settle into the spaces between your own. “Why don’t we head down to the river?” you ask. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been, and I’ve missed it.”

Hoseok’s expression softens, a glimmer of something bright shining in his amber-flecked irises. Gently, he tugs on your hand, taking the lead as you leave the bridge behind and head north in search of the sloping path that will take you down and into the ravine that houses the riverbed. You chance a few glances over the treacherous edge, watching the water froth and tumble over the rocks.

“You know, this seems a lot more dangerous now than it did back then,” you muse. “I see why our teachers were always trying to keep us away.”

“We were kids back then,” Hoseok says, grinning. “We thought we were invincible. Nothing could touch us.”

“Simpler times,” you agree with a laugh. “I set your tail on fire, you cried—”

“—and then we became lifelong friends,” Hoseok finishes, joining in your mirth. “Easy-peasy.”

Together, you locate the path down to the ravine. The descent is easier than it was back then, your longer limbs extending your reach, but you’re grateful for Hoseok’s steadying hand all the same. He carefully guides you around the biggest rocks and tree roots, pulling you closer when you lose your footing near the bottom. His fingers remain twined with yours even after you’ve safely arrived at the riverbed, stepping across stones that have been worn smooth and warmed by the sun. You slip off your shoes, letting them dangle from your free hand, and Hoseok does the same.

Sunlight glitters off the water, throwing a thousand refractive diamonds across the surface, but when you dip your toes in you find that it’s cold as a mountain spring in autumn. That doesn’t stop Hoseok from bending down to splash you though, and you shriek in surprise before retaliating with a silent spell that sends icy water splattering across the faded denim of his jeans.

“That’s not fair!” he protests. “You can’t use magic!”

“I’m just using every resource available to me,” you reply with a sly grin, sending a swelling wave of water toward him with a lazy twist of your hand.

From beneath his drenched hair, Hoseok raises a challenging brow in your direction. “Oh yeah?”

Before you can even blink, he’s shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head, baring a taut, honeyed abdomen and toned arms. Tossing the discarded clothes onto the bank, he unfastens his belt and lets that drop as well, fixing you with a crooked little smirk all the while. The muscles in his torso ripple.

And then he’s shifting—limbs elongating and reddish-brown fur sprouting from his skin. His remaining clothing rips under the strain of the transformation, floating downstream in tattered shreds, but you don’t pay them any mind. No matter how many times you’ve watched Hoseok shift, you’ll never quite get used to it. He hunches over, more beast than man at this point, his chest rumbling. And before you know it—before you can even pinpoint exactly when the transformation is complete—he’s standing before you as a massive russet wolf, baring ferociously sharp teeth that you know could easily tear a man limb from limb.

His eyes, however, remain the same—warm, molten brown flecked with amber and gold, a devilish twinkle lurking in their depths. You cock your head to the side in a silent challenge, and swear that the wolf in front of you grins before pouncing forward, landing in the river with an enormous splash that leaves you thoroughly drenched.

“Now we’re both soaked!” you cry in between giggles, watching as Hoseok emerges from the water, his fur dampened black and dripping. “How is this a win for you?”

Hoseok rears back and lets loose a triumphant howl, shaking himself out and further drenching you with the spray of water from his coat. You squeal and back up several steps, batting him away, but Hoseok just presses closer and nuzzles his wet face into the crook of your neck. His body heaves with every breath, flaring hot against your skin, and for a few long moments, you simply stand there, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as icy water rushes past your ankles.

After what feels like an eternity, you step back, releasing Hoseok and staring up into his face. Even in his wolf form, he towers over you, and you reach up to stroke his muzzle tenderly before bopping him on the nose. “Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s dry off.”

Hoseok lets out a low rumble of agreement, and together, you make your way back to shore. You fold up his discarded clothing while he trots off to locate his shredded jeans, quickly finding them caught between some rocks and carrying the denim tatters back over to you in his teeth. Shaking your head, you add it to the growing pile and lay a hand atop it. Heat concentrates in your fingertips, mingling with the magic running through your veins. Stitch by stitch, his jeans repair themselves, drying in the process. Hoseok bumps your cheek with his nose in gratitude and darts off to change, and you dry your own clothes while you wait.

When Hoseok returns, he’s reverted to his human form, fully dressed and raking a hand through his damp hair. “Thanks for drying these off,” he says, flashing you a sheepish grin. “And for fixing my pants. Again.”

“Mending charms are easy,” you reply, and it’s the truth. Over the many years you’ve known Hoseok, you’ve mended his clothing countless times—from the accidental transformations in his early years, before he could control it, to the calculated ones as he got older. Hoseok doesn’t shift terribly often nowadays, but on occasion he still goes out to stretch his muscles and hunt with his pack. His grandfather, in particular, always made the time to take him hunting at least once a month. You wonder if he’s gone since he passed, but decide not to ask.

“Should we go see the Towers?” you ask instead.

“Lead the way,” he agrees, falling into step beside you as you head downstream. The ravine walls are higher here, decorated with gnarled roots and rocky outcrops that obscure the periwinkle sky and cast long shadows across the ground. Cairns begin to crop up on both sides of the river—each tower of stones carefully and deliberately stacked. They’re small and scattered at first, but gradually become taller and more frequent until you’re nearly surrounded by a forest of stone. The air grows noticeably heavier—the magic more potent. It almost feels as if electricity is dancing across your skin, the sparks sinking into your pores and melding with your soul.

Hoseok feels it too, if the look of awe in his eyes is any indication. “I can’t believe I’d nearly forgotten about this place,” he marvels, running a finger across one of the stacked stones. “Do you feel that? The magic?” Then he chuckles. “Wait, of course you do. What am I talking about?”

You smile softly, tracing the path his fingertips leave behind. “Yeah, Hobi. I feel it.”

The topmost stones are almost out of your reach now. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a gray pebble about the size of your palm—a near perfect disc veined with white. Gently, you place it atop the cairn closest to you, watching it glint in the sunlight for a moment before turning to your companion.

“Well?”

Ancient legend dictates that as long as an offering is left, one may take a stone from the Towers. You and Hoseok have each acquired a rather sizable collection during your childhood years, lured by the promise that the stones will bring about good fortune and happiness.

“I forgot to bring something,” Hoseok admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “But I can pick one out for you. Hang on…” He hums thoughtfully as he scans the towering pillars, tapping his chin until he alights on one in particular, plucking up a stone that’s been worn smooth, burnished orange and marbled with ivory and copper. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” you reply, admiring the way the marbled surface glitters in the sun.

Hoseok takes your hand and places the stone gently in your palm. “It’s yours.”

Then he’s off—stepping over a fallen log to admire another tower, brushing a curious finger across a moss-covered rock before glancing over his shoulder at you. “Coming?”

You nod, tucking his gift away safely in your pocket. Together, you carve out a path amongst the towering cairns, clambering over river rocks and brushing aside the dense undergrowth. The path opens up again gradually, revealing the burbling water to your left and the steep ravine wall to your right. The river is calmer here—clear enough to see all the way to the bottom where shimmering, silvery fish dart about. A low, flat rock juts out into the water a short ways away, and Hoseok strides over to plop atop it, gesturing for you to join him.

“This is nice,” he sighs once you’ve made yourself comfortable by his side. “The fresh air is doing me a world of good. I’ve been cooped up at the office for so long, I swear I almost forgot what trees smell like.”

“You’re more than welcome to sniff around the shop if you ever need a reminder,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Better yet, I’ll bring you a plant for your office. Spruce up the place a little bit.”

“That sounds great, actually,” he admits with a chuckle. “I don’t have your green thumb, though. I’ll probably end up accidentally killing it.”

“Something low maintenance, then,” you promise. “A succulent, maybe. When should I bring it by?”

Hoseok’s expression sombers. “You can always stop by tomorrow after the hearing.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach. The Ministry—the overarching government body that dictates all Shadowfolk affairs—summons every pack alpha for a confirmation hearing when they first come into power. “They’re holding the hearing? Already?”

He nods. “The Ministry’s summoned me for tomorrow morning. First item on their schedule, I’m pretty sure.” A resigned sigh escapes his lips, dissipating into mist on the air. “And there’s a party at JungTech HQ afterward. You know. So my dad can officially hand the reins over.”

“The most powerful man in Gwangju,” you murmur, thinking back to Lisa’s words.

Hoseok lets out a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. The most powerful man, beholden to his dad, the Council, and the entire fucking Ministry. It doesn’t matter what I want to do. Never has.”

It’s the second time he’s dismissed his feelings, and as much as you want to ask what it is he truly wants, you find that the words are stuck in your throat, your mouth suddenly as dry as the desert on a cloudless day. Instead, you lay a silent hand over his, feeling his warmth seep up into your palm.

“Hey.” Hoseok doesn’t tear his gaze away from the sky, watching a flock of birds fly overhead. “Yesterday, when Nayeon said she’d stopped by… did she say anything to you?”

The sound of her name leaving his lips leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “Not really,” you tell him. “She looked at some flowers and invited me to dinner. Simple as that.”

Hoseok nods slowly, lips pursed. “Was Jin already there when she came?”

You blink. “Jin? Oh, no—no, he wasn’t. I texted him after Nayeon left.”

“Ah.”

“I’m glad he was free, though.” You stare down into the water, where a curious fish swims in and out of the shadow you cast. “I’m honestly not sure who I could’ve invited if he hadn’t been available. Plus, it’s been ages since I’ve had dinner with him, and it’s been a few months since you’ve seen him too, right? I’m really happy it worked out.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t stop yourself. Hoseok has become eerily still, lost in introspection, and you feel obligated to fill the silence.

“You two make sense, you know.” Hoseok’s voice comes suddenly. “As a couple. Both witches—it makes a lot of sense.”

You peer over at him, eyes widening at his assumption. “We—we’re not actually together, Jin and I. We’re just friends.”

Hoseok straightens at that, his gaze flitting down to meet yours. “Really?”

“Really.”

A beat of silence. Hoseok looks like he wants to say something else, but a quiet buzz from his pocket stops him in his tracks. His mouth clamps shut as he checks his phone, teeth clicking together, and you can tell from the sudden tension in his jaw that it isn’t good news.

“Do you have to head back?”

He nods stiffly, silent apology written all over his face. “Work calls.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow after your hearing.”

He nods again and turns to leave. Before he can take too many steps, though, you call him back, reaching into your pocket to pull out the stone he’d gifted you earlier.

“Take this,” you murmur, pressing it into his hands. “I’m pretty sure you need it more than I do right now.”

Hoseok’s fingers curl protectively around the stone, holding on like it’s his only remaining lifeline. “Thanks.”

///

Downtown Gwangju is a monochrome forest of towering glass and steel, clamorous and unchecked by nature, proudly defiant in the face of the earth mother herself. The sidewalks are awash with people rushing back from their lunch break, forcing you to dodge around several businessmen too absorbed in their phones. Just as you are finding your footing again, a hapless intern carrying a tray of coffee cups rushes past, nearly crashing into you.

“Oh, shi—sorry! Sorry, oh, jeez. Are you okay?”

You wave off his apology with a smile, taking in the ill fit of his suit and the messy knot of his tie. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching out to help him steady the tray in his hands. A stabilizing spell—silently cast, the magic pulsing through your fingertips—should be enough to get him back to his office with no additional mishaps. You wonder if he’ll notice that his tray is suddenly more well-balanced, or that his hands have steadied.

But then again, you suppose it doesn’t really matter whether he does or not.

Somehow, someway, you make it to JungTech without running into anyone else. The receptionist recognizes you immediately and points you toward the elevator with a smile, and you thank her as you press the up button. It doesn’t take long to arrive, and you take a deep breath as you step inside, staring at your reflection in the mirrored walls.

All right? Bast queries, stirring awake in your mind.

You release the breath that you’d been holding in a long whoosh. Yeah. I’m all right.

The doors open on the top floor, and straight away, you are assailed by a cacophony of sounds. Scattered conversations and laughter intermingle with the clinking of champagne flutes. There are at least fifty people scattered around the open space that lies between the elevator and the glass-fronted CEO’s office at the very back—the office that bears Hoseok’s name on the door. There’s no sign of the man himself, but you have no doubt that he’s nearby. This entire party is a celebration for him, after all.

The elevator doors begin to close, and you quickly reach out to stop them, stepping out before it can protest at your dawdling. A young man in a pristine white shirt materializes on your right with a tray full of champagne flutes, and you pluck one off with a murmur of thanks. Sipping slowly, you wander around the perimeters of the party, listening to the lively chatter. Across the room, you spot Lisa, returning her friendly wave with one of your own.

“Hello, {Name}.”

The deep, familiar voice has you whirling around in an instant, head bowing in automatic deference. “Mr. Jung,” you murmur, not quite daring to look him in the eye. “It’s been a while.”

Hoseok’s father inclines his head in acknowledgment, salt-and-pepper hair gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. No doubt he was a handsome man in his younger days, but the salt in his hair has steadily overtaken the pepper in the last few years, the stern lines around his mouth deepening.

“I didn’t know you would be joining us today,” he says cordially. “But then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after all these years. Have you been here long?”

“Not long. Five minutes, maybe.” Beneath his piercing gaze, you feel like a small child again. Quickly, you scramble for something else to say, gesturing around the sleek glass interior of the office. “This is a lovely party. You must be so proud.”

Another nod. “I wasn’t sure that Hoseok was going to step up,” he admits. “I had my reservations about whether or not he would accept his duties as a Jung, but he has, and I’m pleased that he did. It’s no easy feat, running this company and leading the city’s pack. But I’ve served my time, just as my father did before me.” His gaze flits down to meet yours suddenly, and you find that you can’t read the emotion swimming in them. “I believe I spotted you at his funeral the other day, did I not?”

You nod, resisting the urge to take a sip from your nearly empty champagne glass as your cheeks warm under the scrutiny. “I was, yes. I’m very grateful to have had the opportunity to pay my respects. He was a great man.”

“That, he was,” Mr. Jung agrees. “Hoseok takes after him in many ways. My father—as great as he was—always had a soft spot for the boy. Coddled him a bit too much.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Jung, I think that’s a grandfather’s job,” you reply with a smile.

That earns you a smile in return, the lines around his mouth easing. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Hoseok’s father excuses himself to talk to the other guests, and you set off in search of Hoseok himself. You can feel his aura somewhere nearby, strong and steady, but the room is large enough that you cannot pinpoint his exact location. Not for the first time, you curse the fact that you don’t have a werewolf’s sharp sense of smell. No doubt it could easily be as cumbersome as it is helpful, but it would certainly help you right now.

Turning a corner, you are about to continue lamenting your average olfactory system when you suddenly catch a glimpse of familiar auburn hair, afloat in a sea of black suits. Dodging around a sharply dressed businesswoman and ducking beneath a waiter’s serving tray clears your path to Hoseok, and you’re milliseconds away from stepping forward to greet him when you feel it.

There’s an energy emanating from Hoseok, the likes of which you’ve never felt from him before. It’s heavy and commanding and so potent that the air is laden with it, and a cursory glance at the people surrounding him reveals that they feel it too—their gazes lowered, voices hushed and respectful. In his fitted black suit and emerald green shirt, he looks every bit the alpha he is, and you are quickly realizing that you’re not immune to the power radiating off of him. The Hoseok standing before you isn’t the same Hoseok whose tail you set on fire all those years ago. Far from it. The revelation is somehow simultaneously terrifying and thrilling, and your heart leaps into your throat when you notice that he’s waving you over.

As if compelled, you comply, striding forward until you’re standing before him. “Hi,” your murmur, suddenly feeling shy.

Hoseok’s face splits into a smile. “Hi yourself,” he says, and you would have laughed if your insides didn’t feel like they were about to burst.

“I, um. I brought you your succulent,” you tell him, reaching into your bag. There’s a tiny potted jade plant inside, packaged neatly into a box that you open up and present to him. “It’s jade. Easy to keep alive, and easy to propagate too, if you’re inclined.”

Hoseok accepts your gift, his smile growing as he admires the plump green leaves. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You shrug and wave off his gratitude, fiddling to clasp your bag shut. “So,” you start, glancing around and gnawing on your bottom lip, completely missing the way Hoseok’s eyes darken as he follows the movement. “It looks like everything went well at the Ministry. Your dad is pleased.”

Hoseok hums, low in his throat. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah, just now.”

“I see.”

He looks like he wants to say something more, but he’s interrupted by a blur of motion and a shrill cry of his name. A moment later, Nayeon is at his side, latching onto his arm and batting her lashes, adorned in a form-fitting red dress and golden jewelry.

“Hoseok! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Then her gaze alights on you, eyes going wide as if she’s only just noticed your presence. “{Name}, oh my goodness. I almost didn’t see you there, hi!”

“Hello, Nayeon,” you grit out, unable to hide your scowl. You wonder if she spotted it before you hid it behind a large sip of champagne.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention refocuses onto a spot behind you, and you watch as her expression lights up, delight etching across her features. “Mr. Jung!” she exclaims. “There’s my favorite future father-in-law. Come and join us—it’s not a party without you.”

Hoseok’s father chuckles lightly, coming forward to stand beside you. “Long time no see,” he jokes, nodding in your direction. “And Nayeon—hello. How are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh, I’m having the loveliest time,” she chirps, simpering up at Hoseok. “How could I not be, when my fiancé is here with me?” Then she smiles—her lips painted the same shade of red as her dress. “But I’m sure I’m nowhere near as happy as you are. You must be beyond excited to spend some quality time with your wife after being busy for so long.”

“I am,” Mr. Jung admits. The severity in his features softens as he seeks out his wife, standing across the room surrounded by friends and extended family. “I’m a very lucky man to have a woman like her.”

Nayeon giggles. “And I’m a lucky woman to have a man like your son. Isn’t that right, darling?”

She tilts her head to look up at Hoseok, who blinks twice in rapid succession, his throat bobbing. “Right,” he says, his voice raspy. “The luckiest.”

And as you turn to engage Mr. Jung in conversation once more, you miss the way his gaze lingers on you.

///

Tuesdays at Hellebore are for brewing. You save bottling for Thursdays—giving your potions and other concoctions ample time to simmer and set—but today, you are hunched over the stove with all four burners turned to different temperature settings, watching over your pots so that they don’t boil over.

A cursory glance out the window tells you that it’s well into the afternoon, the pastel blue sky littered with trailing clouds lit hazy and golden in the sun. You’ve been in the kitchen since early morning, and, desperate for a breath of fresh air, you crack the window open and inhale deeply. Then you turn back to the stove, giving one pot a stir and adding a pinch of burdock root to another.

Wandering downstairs, you head to the greenhouse. The sunlight is brighter here, the air more humid. Inhaling deeply, you breathe in the scent of the hundreds of plants growing inside, before heading for the laburnum tree in the far corner. Carefully, you brush aside the cascading golden flowers, about to gather the dried ones that have fallen to the dirt when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’m sorry, we’re close—” you say, stopping when you recognize the head of coppery red hair in the window. “Lisa?” Confused, you open the door and let her inside. “What brings you here today?”

“You need to go to Hoseok, now,” she says, foregoing any preambles. “He’s… well, you’ll see. Nayeon’s there right now, but she’s not helping the situation, and...” She sighs. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can help him now.”

All at once, your stomach drops to your toes. “What’s wrong with Hoseok?” you demand. “Is he hurt?”

Lisa shakes her head, red hair flying. “No, he’s fine. I don’t know how much longer that’ll last, though.”

The cryptic response sends your heart into overdrive, pounding against your ribcage like a doomsday drum. Striding over to the bay window, you wake Bast from his nap in a slanted ray of sunlight, scratching behind his black ears and watching as his golden eyes flicker open, pupils going wide when he senses your turmoil.

What is it?

Hoseok, you reply shortly. Beneath your touch, Bast’s ears perk up.

What do you need?

You swallow, hard, and suck in a deep breath. I’m going to open a portal.

It’s a dangerous feat, and both you and Bast know it. Opening a portal requires an immense amount of energy, and maintaining one long enough to travel through is a risk to even the most experienced witches. You’ve heard horror stories of spliced limbs and paralysis, and in some cases, even death.

But for Hoseok, you’re willing to risk it all.

“Lisa,” you say, grabbing your purse and striding back to the front door of the shop. “Can you lock up once I’m gone?”

She nods nervously. “Of course.”

You incline your head in silent thanks. At your feet, Bast is slinking continuous figure-eights around your ankles, betraying his worry at the task ahead. Your own heart feels ready to spring out from your ribcage and onto the sun-drenched floor, but you swallow down your nerves and look down at your familiar once more. Ready? you ask.

Ready, Bast confirms. Be careful.

I will.

Closing your eyes, you begin to visualize Hoseok’s front door, focusing on every little detail you can remember. There’s the scuff in the black paint from when he first moved in and accidentally scraped a table leg against it. There’s the bronze knocker that always hangs slightly askew. The image builds slowly in your mind, coming together like the broken pieces of a puzzle.

The air around you is suddenly much warmer than before, an invisible force sapping away at your strength and weakening your legs. Bast’s energy melds with yours, but it’s barely enough to keep you on your feet. Exhaustion seeps into your bones and steals the oxygen from your lungs. You gasp, chest heaving.

I don’t think it’s going to work. Bast’s voice is a faint whisper in the back of your mind.

It will, you hiss. It has to.

The front door of your shop is beginning to glow white, becoming hazy and amorphous as the edges begin to blur. You spot a splash of black paint coming through the fog, followed by a bronze knocker. A matching handle appears a moment later, growing out of tendrils of mist and solidifying before your eyes.

Sucking in a deep breath, you reach forward to grab it. Slowly, you turn until you can turn no longer.

And then you step through.

The first thing you hear is a low, cavernous rumble—deep enough that you feel it reverberating through your very bones. Then your surroundings begin to come into focus. You’re in Hoseok’s entryway, all your limbs thankfully intact. The relief you feel at your success is quickly eclipsed by worry though, when you see Hoseok himself on the far side of the living room. The look in his brown eyes is nothing short of wild, his white shirt unbuttoned to nearly his navel and his auburn hair sweaty and disheveled.

“H-Hobi?” Your voice is no more than a breath, dissipating in the open air.

“Hoseok.” The new voice has you whirling. Nayeon is pressed against the wall opposite him, her expression harried. “Hoseok, please—“

“Get out,” Hoseok growls, his voice dangerously low. He’s bristling with the same energy as before, the same energy you felt back at JungTech—but this time it’s enough to fill the room and spill out the opened door and into the hallway. You can feel it pulsing against your skin, hot and electric, and know that Nayeon is even more affected from the way her shoulders slouch, her eyes dropping to the floor when he snarls. “Get out, now.”

She does. Nayeon turns on her heel and dashes out, slamming the door behind her and leaving you alone with Hoseok. His eyes are alight with something more wolf than man, his chest heaving with uneven breaths, and it’s all you can do not to shrink back when he turns his full attention onto you. Even from across the room, you can smell the liquor spilled across the coffee table in a dark ooze of fluid, cloying and bitter.

“What are you doing here?” Hoseok asks, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “You shouldn’t be here right now, {Name}.”

“Lisa told me to come,” you whisper. “You’ve been pushing yourself too much, Hoseok.”

Hoseok shakes his head and rakes a frazzled hand through his hair. “You need to leave,” he grunts. Shakily, he reaches out to right the overturned liquor bottle, the pad of his thumb skimming across the shattered edge.

“Let me do that,” you tell him, making to step forward, but Hoseok stops you with a raised hand and a low growl that stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he hisses. “Don’t you dare come any closer to me.”

You shake your head. “Hobi, it’s obvious you’ve been drinking. Let me help you.”

“No!” he snarls, flinching back when you take a step forward. “You need to leave. It’s… it’s dangerous for you here.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice is reduced to a whisper at the severity of his reaction, the energy in the air intensifying until it’s almost unbearable. “Why?”

“Because I’m in heat!” Hoseok spits. He sucks in a deep breath, the air whistling between his teeth, before he lets out an agonized moan and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m in heat,” he repeats, reticence dripping from every syllable. “I can’t even fucking think straight, and I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you if you stay. So please, {Name}. Please go.”

“But Nayeon…” you begin, wavering when his eyes flash darkly at the mention of her name. “Or Lisa… I can call her, maybe—”

“No!”

You jump, startled at the volume of his shout.

“No,” Hoseok repeats, softer this time. “Don’t. I don’t want them. I’m—I’m fine.”

The sticky humidity and the pulsating energy flowing through the room tell you otherwise. “You’re clearly not,” you tell him gently, taking another step toward him. “Let me call Lisa. Or maybe one of the other girls in the pack, I’m sure someone can help y—”

“I don’t want Lisa.” Defeat suffuses his tone, his eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t want any of them. I want—fuck.” Hoseok groans and lets his head fall back against the wall, the dull thunk echoing in the stillness. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I want. You need to leave, {Name}. You’re only going to be in danger if you stay.”

For the second time that afternoon, only one word springs to mind. “Why?”

Hoseok groans again. “Because I’m weak,” he mutters hoarsely. “Because I’m weak, and I’m not thinking straight, and if you come any closer to me, I won’t be able to stop myself from pinning you against that wall right there and having my way with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. The rippling energy in the air is almost oppressive in its strength, and only grows when Hoseok’s gaze finally lands on you, his pupils blown out and blacker than the night.

“Go,” he entreaties, dragging a frazzled hand through his hair. “Please, {Name}.”

You suck in a deep breath, your lungs swelling and expanding with the newfound oxygen. Then, ever so slowly, you let your gaze flicker up to meet his. “What if I don’t want to?”

Hoseok freezes. Time comes to a standstill, and even the overwhelming energy emanating from him seems to falter. The room is near silent, broken only by your companion’s ragged breathing, his chest heaving beneath the thin white fabric of his shirt. Even from across the room, you can see the sheen of sweat coating his honeyed skin, shining in the light of the setting sun.

“You don’t mean that,” he says at last. “You can’t mean that.”

“I can,” you whisper. “And I do.”

For three agonizingly long seconds, Hoseok remains rooted firmly in place, his throat bobbing harshly. Then, before you can even blink, he’s striding forward—a blur of motion almost too quick for your eyes to follow. He comes to a stop a hair’s breadth from you, one hand reaching up to cup your face delicately, as if you’re made of glass.

“You,” he rasps, “have no idea what you’ve just done.” His thumb traces the swell of your cheek just below your eye, the motion surprisingly tender. Your heart stutters in your chest.

And then he leans down and crushes his mouth to yours.

The rest of the world falls away, dissolving into nothing. Your eyes flutter shut as Hoseok’s hands slide down your sides to curl around your hips, your body melting against his taut frame. He is all you can feel and all you can taste, and you keen helplessly when he grinds against you, his cock hot and hard against your stomach.

The sound seems to awaken something in Hoseok, a cavernous groan erupting from his throat. Pulling away from your mouth, he descends upon the delicate skin of your neck, teeth and tongue blossoming bruises in their wake. Shaky hands find the collar of your shirt, questioning eyes seeking out yours for permission that you happily give. He tugs the garment off almost delicately, his ravenous gaze roving across each bit of newly revealed flesh, and once it’s freed from your head he tosses it aside and sets about doing the same to the rest of your clothing.

Maybe it should feel odd, watching through lidded eyes as Hoseok drops to his knees to pull your jeans down and off your ankles. Maybe you should feel embarrassed, seeing your best friend bury his nose between your legs, delirious bliss etching across his features as he inhales, his strong fingers curling around your thighs to spread you wider. But instead, it feels completely and utterly natural—as if this was always meant to be.

“You smell divine,” Hoseok breathes, slotting himself between your spread thighs and running a fingertip along your lace-covered slit, collecting the considerable slick there and bringing it to his nose. “Fuck, {Name}. Just one whiff, and I can tell that you’re primed and ready for me.”

“Take me, then,” you breathe back shakily, rolling your hips when he slips past the lacy barrier of your panties to find your clit, circling around the sensitive nub until you’re gasping his name.

Hoseok’s gaze darkens to obsidian, his pupils swallowing up the amber-flecked brown of his irises. In one smooth motion, he’s on his feet again, straightening up to his full height as his hands find purchase on your hips. He twirls you around until you’re facing the wall, your palms pressed flat against the woven tapestry hanging there.

“Gorgeous.” A single word, laced with unmistakable awe. Then he’s fumbling with his belt buckle, the metallic clink and tug of a zipper reaching your ears, before he presses against you, clothed chest molding against your bare back. Even through the thin layer of fabric, you can feel the sweltering heat emanating from him, his sweat soaking through the cotton and sticking to your skin. His mouth finds its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder again—teasing at the flesh until you’re quivering—before he begins laying a trail of hot kisses down your spine.

“Wanna fuck you,” Hoseok rasps, tearing your panties away once his lips reach the waistband, the flimsy lace ripped to shreds in his desperate grip. “Want you on your front, want you on your back, want you on my tongue—” His voice drops, rumbling through his chest and sending shivers through your entire body. “Want you. Wanted you for so long.”

And as if to reinforce his words, the velvety head of his cock nestles against the cleft of your backside, hot and slick.

Wordlessly, you arch your back, presenting him with the tempting swell of your rear. A glance over your shoulder reveals the strained clench of his jaw and the bob of his throat, his biceps tensed and his gaze unwavering. His control is undoubtedly dangling by a single thread at this point—a delicate, gossamer thread that’s on the verge of snapping. The delirium of his heat is overtaking his senses, his grip tightening on your hips, and ever so slowly, he begins to press forward until the tip of his thick cock is just beginning to part your walls. Already, the fit borders on excruciating, and your body tenses at the intrusion, stretched to the limit around his thick girth.

Hoseok exhales shakily, his primal instincts warring with his desire to ensure your comfort. Soft lips drop kiss after kiss onto your bare shoulders, your back, your neck—wherever he can reach as he whispers tender praises into your skin. “Breathe, princess,” he encourages lowly. “You can take it—I know you can. You were made for me.”

Obediently, you inhale, focusing on the way your lungs expand and contract as you draw air into them. The pain ebbs away with each breath you take, until all that is left is a low throb of pleasure. Your hips rock back against him, and Hoseok takes it as a sign to push forward once more, parting your walls until he’s fully seated inside you, your body stretched to the limit as you mold around him.

There’s no pain now—only an aching desire for more, more, more. He’s deep enough to reach parts of you that you’ve never been able to explore before—either alone or with other partners—and you moan brokenly when he rolls his hips experimentally. “More, Hoseok,” you whimper. “Please.”

He obliges. One thrust leads into another, the punishing pace he sets fueled by his heady desperation for relief. The full, heavy weight of his cock dragging along your walls ignites every nerve ending in your body, sizzling electricity blazing through your veins. It’s all you can do to plant your palms flat against the tapestried wall, fingers twitching at the woven fabric as Hoseok grabs your hips with enough force to bruise and pulls you back against him in time with his thrusts.

“Look at you,” he says hoarsely. “Love the way you feel, clenching around me like that. My perfect, pretty girl, taking my cock so well. I always knew you were made for me.” He grunts, forehead falling against your back, damp hair matting against your skin as he continues rutting against you. “Always—fuck—knew you were my mate.”

The particularly harsh thrust that follows his raspy declaration sends all coherent thought flying out of your head, taking your surprise along with it. All you can manage is a shuddery whine that vaguely resembles his name, the sound intermingling with the obscene smack of flesh against flesh and the continuous stream of praises Hoseok whispers into your skin.

There’s something building inside you—a dull, throbbing pressure at the point where your body joins with his. He’s still rolling up into you, but each subsequent thrust grows more and more shallow. The realization dawns on your dazed mind all at once, as you feel the growing swell at the base of his cock. Hoseok is rendered near immobile as he finally reaches his high, the entirety of his length sheathed firmly inside your pussy as he spills ropes of white against your fluttering walls. The swelling continues, filling you until you feel fit to burst.

“H-Hoseok,” you gasp. “I can’t. I can’t—you’re going to rip me in half.”

Soothing hands smooth along your sides, warm lips littering kisses onto your bare shoulders. “You can,” he murmurs tenderly. “You were made for me, and I for you. You can take it, princess. I know you can.”

The gentle repetition of his fingertips trailing nonsensical patterns into your skin eases your labored panting somewhat. Beneath his touch, you slowly relax, the pressure in your abdomen abating as his knot begins to subside.

“You did so well.” His voice is no more than a mumble, almost lost in the sweat and slick coating your skin.

You sag against the wall, taking a few moments to catch your breath before slowly easing off of him, the sudden loss leaving your core empty and aching. Gingerly, you turn around to face him, acutely aware of the way your combined juices immediately begin dribbling down your thighs.

“You said I was your mate,” you whisper, almost afraid that the sentiment will disappear if voiced aloud. “Did… did you mean that?”

“Every word,” Hoseok replies, equally soft. “Is that okay?”

A smile blooms across your face. Rising up to your tiptoes, you kiss him again—a soft, reassuring peck that he immediately leans into, seeking out your touch like a flower in the sun. “More than okay,” you breathe, feeling the way his lips stretch upward against yours. “I’m glad, Hobi.”

Hoseok sighs into your mouth, a slow smile settling across his features. “Now it’s your turn,” he says, and in an instant, he’s swept you off your feet, one arm beneath your bent knees and the other around your back. “And I’m planning to take my time with you, princess. You’re not leaving here until I say so.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, crossing your hands at his nape. “Fine by me,” you tell him, earning yourself a wide grin. His lips seek out yours again as he carries you down the darkened hallway and into the shadowy depths of his bedroom, pausing only to nudge the lightswitch on with his elbow. Golden light suffuses the room as he steps forward to lay you on his bed, your back sinking into the plush mattress and dipping further when he joins you. He hovers over you with an arm on either side of your head, and you reach up to trace the vein that lines his biceps with a gentle fingertip, giggling when he gives your bottom lip a punishing nip.

The kiss deepens from there. Hoseok parts your lips and seeks out your tongue with his own, subduing it into compliance. By the time you pull apart, all the oxygen has left your lungs, leaving you flushed and gasping. Hoseok chortles breathlessly and trails down to press a kiss to your navel, before traveling downward until he’s reached your clit. Gently, he wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, rumbling with laughter when you buck against him.

“So needy,” he murmurs. To your displeasure, he straightens back up to kneel between your spread thighs, but your complaint quickly dissolves into thin air when he edges forward until his knee is pressed against your aching clit. Desperate for more friction, you grind against him, your wetness soaking through his jeans in a matter of seconds.

It doesn’t take long for pressure to build up in your belly again, winding tight as a coiled spring. Hoseok is staring down at you, transfixed, and his undivided attention only serves to bring you closer to the edge, teetering on the very brink.

“Look at you.” His voice could almost be described as a purr, if he weren’t so utterly canine in mannerisms and appearance. “Such a greedy little thing, all desperate to get off. You’re making a mess of my new jeans, princess.”

You’re too far gone to care about the teasing lilt that colors his tone. The edge is rapidly approaching, and one last roll of your hips is enough to send you over, your walls convulsing around nothing as you ride out your high.

Hoseok doesn’t wait. In an instant, he’s back between your legs, having moved so quickly you didn’t even see when he’d started or stopped. His tongue darts out to lave at your folds, a growl rumbling through his chest when your hips jump on instinct. Immediately, he tightens his grip, strong arms winding around your thighs and anchoring at your waist to render you helpless in his grasp, only able to take what he sees fit to give.

“How is it that you taste even better than you smell?” Hoseok muses as he leans down to suck your clit into his mouth, lips curling up into a pleased smirk when you gasp out his name. “Cute,” he says, releasing the nub in favor of descending to your drenched entrance instead, flicking his tongue shallowly inside before withdrawing with a chuckle.

“Hoseok—” you begin, only to dissolve into a moan when he sheaths two fingers inside you without any warning, curling them up and in until you’re shaking in his grasp.

“Come for me,” he commands softly. “Go on, let me hear you.”

And you do, chanting his name like a mantra as a wave of pleasure overtakes you. Hoseok’s thumb circles your clit in just the right way to prolong your orgasm, and it isn’t until you’re cringing from overstimulation that he finally relents, descending down to mold his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. His lips part yours, tongue dipping out to explore as he sheds his shirt and shucks off his ruined jeans. His skin, when he presses against you, burns hot as a furnace wherever it touches. Against your stomach, his cock stirs back to life.

He’s gentler this time. Every movement is slow and deliberate and tender as he breaches you, murmuring your name reverentially as he fills you again. Your body bows to his willingly, stretching to accommodate him, and the spike of pleasure that lances through you when he bottoms out is almost enough to send your oversensitive body over the edge again, your walls fluttering around him.

There’s an unmistakable shift in the air when Hoseok starts up a slow rhythm, leaning down to kiss you again. His lips move against yours, soft and tender, before moving past your jugular and down to the crook of your neck, elongated canines scraping against the delicate skin in a silent question. You wind your arms around his neck and nod, giving him his answer. There’s no need for words.

And then his teeth are sinking into the spot he’s so lovingly scoped out, breaking the skin. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, and the pleasure intermingles with the pain of the bite until you are delirious, rendered boneless in his grasp. Hoseok’s hips stutter, his pace growing erratic as he soothes the wound over with his tongue.

You’re prepared for the swelling this time, but the fullness still manages to knock all the air out of your lungs, bordering on painful as his knot grows. Hoseok quells your whimpers with tender kisses, the instinct to comfort his mate paramount even as he paints your walls with ropes of creamy white. He traces a path from your lips down to where he’s marked and claimed you as his, imbuing your skin with a litany of praises that warm you from the inside out.

“My mate,” he murmurs, reverent. “Finally.”

You lean into his touch with a tired smile. “Finally? How long have you wanted this?”

His lips curl into a smile against your clavicle. “Ages. If I’m honest, I think I fell in love with you the day you set my tail on fire when we were kids. It’s always been you, {Name}. Only you.”

You can’t help it—you need to hear it from his mouth again. “You love me?”

Hoseok chuckles. “Of course I do. My tricky little minx—my perfect, pretty mate. I love you more than anything.” One hand reaches up to caress your cheek, running along the tender skin beneath your eye before cupping the back of your head so he can mold his mouth to yours. “Love you more than I can even explain,” he breathes, punctuating each word with a kiss. His hands blaze trails down the slopes of your body until he finally anchors below the crook of your legs. “So why don’t you let me show you instead?”

And he does. Over and over that night, and in the two days of his heat that follow, he shows you exactly how he feels. Propriety is forgotten, left by the wayside with his scorned fiancé and marriage. He is yours, and you are his.

Consequences be damned.

⇢ aftermath.

also set in this universe:

[myg]

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heyiwrotesomethings · 4 years

Text

Afraid to Love Again

Lady Tamayo x They/Them Reader

A/N: Heyooo. Tamayo is great, but I kind of struggle writing her. I tried anyway though because I love this demon doctor lady. Be prepared for sickness, death and a dash of angst. There is a happy ending though (my delicate heart wouldn’t be able to take it if there wasn’t)! Also, it’s kinda a reincarnation/ soulmate kind of deal but I didn’t really develop that angle too much. And I can’t remember how much of Tamayo’s backstory was discussed in the manga vs the anime so just a heads up on that. It’s not super spoilery or anything (I think you could guess how that went) but just in case I thought I’d let y’all know. Hope you enjoy! Word Count: 6,939

The village had fallen on hard times. Work was scarce, poverty and disease was rampant. Over the past several months, (Y/n) had seen many family, friends and neighbors fall ill and never rise again. Those who had the strength to leave did, and many offered passage to (Y/n) as well. Though they were thankful for the offers of sanctuary, (Y/n) remained in their family home. They converted it into a makeshift hospital and began caring for the people who no longer could take care of themselves.

There were no doctors in their little village. The nearest, (Y/n) heard was days away. They couldn’t risk leaving all of these sick souls without someone to look after them, they would surely be dead before they could get back. If these people, their people, were going to die either way, they wanted to be there to make the process as easy as possible.

(Y/n) had seen more death and sickness than most. They had almost forgotten what it was like to truly live.

“(Y/n)-san?”

(Y/n) paused their movements wiping sweat from an old woman’s body, and turned to the cot behind them.

“Yes, Ichiro?” (Y/n) smiled kindly, though their eyes reflected just how tired they were.

“I don’t feel so good.” The young child coughed harshly.

“I know, I’m sorry. Let me get you some water.”

(Y/n) quickly finished bathing the old woman left behind by her family and tucked her in. (Y/n) suspected she’d be dead before the next morning. The rattling, gurgling breaths were just about the only sign that she wasn’t already gone.

(Y/n) put the rag in a basket to be washed for later, then they retrieved some water for the sick boy. They made their way through the sea of moaning people waiting for death, checking in with the more lucid villagers as they went.

(Y/n) was caring for thirty-seven people in their ancestral home and they did so alone. Any healthy people that remained in the village avoided the plagued building at all costs. It was hard work, keeping all of these people as comfortable as they could. But compared to the seventy people they had started with during those first weeks of winter, it was much more manageable.

“Here you go, drink as much as you can.” (Y/n) spoke softly, helping the boy sit up to receive it.

He took a few sips before spluttering, excess water slipped down his chin. He sniffed and held his throat, curling back into himself.

(Y/n) skimmed their hand over Ichiro’s burning forehead and watched him struggle forlornly.

How much longer would they all have to live in this hell?

(Y/n)’s question, however rhetoric, was answered the next night.

(Y/n) groaned between blinks of sleep. They had fallen asleep while standing, again. The noise that so rudely awakened them sounded like someone was rattling the door of the main entrance.

Who could it be at this hour? Weary travelers? Surely they had a fair choice in vacated homes already. No matter, (Y/n) figured once they caught the full blast of the smell of death permeating the air they would retreat quickly enough.

They approached the door sliding it open with little preamble. Even if the smell wasn’t enough to deter the unwanted guests, surely the look of utter despair (Y/n) wore would scare them off.

“I’m afraid if you came searching for lodging, I cannot take you.” (Y/n) spoke, barely perceiving the two people before them. “There are, however, many empty homes you have passed by that you are more than welcome to help yourselves too. I would recommend to be on your way quickly, sickness is rampant here.”

“That is why I’ve come.”

(Y/n) allowed themself a puzzled face, finally looking at the woman and her stern looking companion more carefully, taking in the delicate beauty of the stranger before them.

“I’m a doctor.”

(Y/n) suddenly felt more awake, staring at the woman with unrestrained hope and awe.

“Really?” They whispered, as if afraid this was all just a dream or a sleep deprived hallucination.

“Are you doubting her?” The young man spoke up sharply.

“Yushirou.” The woman warned, leveling a look at her companion that immediately shut him back up. The woman turned back to (Y/n). The soft, empathetic look in her eyes made (Y/n) feel weak. The softness of her voice as she addressed (Y/n) again made them feel fragile, all the while they shook like a leaf.

“Allow me to evaluate your sick. I’ll do everything I can.”

“Please,” (Y/n) nodded, making room for the pair to enter their home turned sick ward, “even in my wildest dreams I never thought anyone would actually come for us. I’ve tried so hard to save these people, but I am no doctor.”

The woman came forward, gingerly taking (Y/n)’s shaking hands in her own. (Y/n) noted how cold they were but still held on to the offered hands like a lifeline.

“You’ve done well with what you have, your kindness is immeasurable. Sleep now, and leave the rest to us.”

“Who are you?” (Y/n) asked, suddenly feeling as if they were about to collapse. Just hearing those words was like a weight was dropped from their aching shoulders. The woman caught them before they could fall, the young man, Yushirou, let out a strangled noise of displeasure but stayed back.

“You may call me Tamayo.”

***

When (Y/n) awoke, it was still dark. They assumed they must have only slept a few hours. At least, they thought so until they noticed a crack of sunlight shining between the curtains.

(Y/n) held their head in their hands and grimaced. They couldn’t even remember the last time they had slept in their own bed before now. They didn’t even remember how they got there. They sighed. It didn’t matter, they needed to get up and see how everyone was doing. They had already been negligent long enough.

(Y/n) noticed as they walked through the halls that all the curtains were drawn. They found it odd. The curtains were always kept open regularly, (Y/n) couldn’t be bothered to deal with such minor details in the grand scheme of things and they wouldn’t start now. They left the curtains closed and continued on their way.

“What are you doing up already?”

(Y/n) turned, shocked at the clear and present voice. It had been a long time since they heard someone who sounded so strong and healthy. They turned and saw a grumpy boy staring sternly at them.

“Who are you?” (Y/n) asked, holding on to the wall as a dizzy spell passed through them.

“Tsk, get back to bed. You clearly aren’t well.” The boy said.

“Yushirou? Did you find any— oh, awake already? You should rest more.” (Y/n) turned back down the opposite side of the hall and saw the woman who had been in their restless dreams the night before.

“You’re... You’re real?” (Y/n) asked, mostly to themself, peering at the woman with blurred vision.

“Yes,” Tamayo smiled sadly approaching (Y/n), “you don’t need to worry anymore. Yushirou and I are taking care of things. Please, rest.”

“No, wait. I want to help. Please, teach me everything you know.” (Y/n) pleaded, sliding to their knees as they gave out.

“Like you could help anyone like this. You were already way past your limits before. Stay out of Lady Tamayo’s way.” Yushirou stated harshly.

“No need to speak in such a cold manner, Yushirou.” Tamayo scolded lightly before coming to kneel at (Y/n)’s side, rubbing their back. “How about this, you rest until you are back to full health, then you may observe my work. Is this acceptable?”

(Y/n) frowned, but nodded in agreement. “Yes, thank you.”

“Of course. Yushirou, help our host back to their room please.”

Yushirou readily complied, easily picking (Y/n) up and retiring them to their room.

“And stay there this time.” He grumbled.

(Y/n) fell back asleep almost immediately and when they awoke once more, another day had come and gone. They felt a lot better, just hungry. So they got up and made their way back down the hall to see what was left of the foraging they had done a couple days prior. Hopefully, Tamayo and Yushirou were well versed in the plant life of the area and got some more.

They stopped at the sick ward first to see how things were going. Yushirou wasn’t around, but (Y/n) saw Tamayo whispering to a sick man. Whatever she had asked him, he shook his head looking a tad uncomfortable. (Y/n) moved closer and Tamayo turned, like she could sense their presence and offered a tight smile.

“You look much better. How are you feeling?” She asked.

“As good as I can be. How have things been going here?”

“I apologize, we lost three while you slept.” Tamayo informed solemnly.

“You don’t need to apologize. It means the world to us that you care to try at all.” (Y/n) replied, sincerely. “I’m sure you’ve noticed we don’t have very much in value. Not many people would work like this for no incentive.”

“You must be one of them.” Tamayo’s eyes softened, “you could have left, but you stayed with them. You have a kind heart.”

“...Thank you.” (Y/n) rubbed the back of their neck and looked away, feeling heat gather around their cheeks.

“I just realized I don’t know your name.” Tamayo said. “How rude of me to not ask sooner.”

“It’s alright. I haven’t exactly been conscious most of the time you’ve been here.” (Y/n) let out a dry laugh, “I’m (Y/n).”

“Just (Y/n)?” Tamayo blinked.

“If I can call you Tamayo, please call me (Y/n).”

“Very well, (Y/n).” Tamayo smiled. “I have a few more people to visit with at the moment. Would you care to observe?”

“Yes, I—“ (Y/n) stomach growled before they could finish speaking, they held onto their gut, abashed.

“Oh, you haven’t eaten? You should have told me, we must keep you healthy. Come,” Tamayo guided (Y/n) to their own kitchen where Yushirou was watching over a boiling pot.

“Yushirou, when the broth is done give (Y/n) a bowl please.” Tamayo asked.

“I just finished it Tamayo-sama. I’ll get on it right now.”

(Y/n) slurped down the broth with vigor and thanked Yushirou profusely, making him blush and turn away. They fed the rest to the sick. (Y/n) had asked Tamayo and Yushirou why they hadn’t taken any for themselves to which Tamayo replied that they had already eaten not long before (Y/n) had woken up.

After a long day of absorbing any teachings Tamayo had to share, (Y/n) was sent back to bed for the night much to their dismay.

“But, I slept just recently! I can still help!” (Y/n) frowned as Tamayo ushered them back to their room.

“I don’t know if you remember this, but humans are supposed to go to sleep every night. Yushirou and I have everything under control.” Tamayo assured.

“You guys need to sleep sometime too you know.” (Y/n) retorted.

“Don’t worry, we rest in turns.” Tamayo spoke. (Y/n) couldn’t explain why, but they felt as if Tamayo was being a bit deceitful with her words. However, they let her be for now and went back to bed without anymore fuss.

When (Y/n) woke up the next morning, they were surprised to see that some of the people looked much better already. Of course they were still quite ill, but (Y/n) felt hopeful for them. Unfortunately, the man, Jiro, that (Y/n) had seen Tamayo talking to the day before had died sometime in the night. A few others seemed to be not far behind him in that aspect. Still, (Y/n) worked hard and learned everything they could about the medicines Tamayo crafted and how to distribute them.

“Tamayo?” (Y/n) asked one night before being sent back to bed by the motherly woman.

“Yes, (Y/n)?”

“I was just wondering... what made you come through here? Our village hasn’t had outsiders since last spring, if even then.”

“I was simply looking for somewhere quiet to practice my craft. We were passing through when we realized this village was a little, too quite.”

“Mm, yeah... well, you’re welcome to stay. You can even live here forever if you want, I don’t mind.”

“That’s a rather, bold, offer.” Tamayo replied after a short pause. It was then that (Y/n) realized how that may have sounded and got embarrassed.

“I mean, because— sorry if that was weird. I just, it’s nice having you and Yushirou-san around. I can tell your both good people, you know? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!”

“You didn’t,” Tamayo had a far away look in her eye, but she still reached out to pat (Y/n)’s arm in a gesture of kindness, “I appreciate the sentiment, but it will be best for all of we take our leave once we are done here.”

“I see,” (Y/n) tried to keep the disappointment out of their voice, “we’ll just have to make the most out of the time we do have.”

“I suppose. If that is what you wish.”

Over the next several days (Y/n) noticed several odd little behaviors and happenings in their home. They went out one morning to gather certain plants and herbs for Tamayo and when the came back, they noticed a piece of paper with a strange symbol drawn on it that they had never seen before. They questioned Yushirou about it since he was the first one they saw upon returning.

Yushirou scoffed, saying it was a healing symbol and told (Y/n) under no uncertain terms that they shouldn’t look at it, much less even think about touching it. (Y/n) promised him they wouldn’t and backed away into the kitchen with their basket of herbs and a bead of nervous sweat running down their chin.

They also noticed how neither Tamayo or Yushirou appeared to ever eat or sleep when they were around. Even when (Y/n) made something as light as tea, they were refused by both travelers.

Another oddity was that Yushirou always yelled at (Y/n) for peeking through curtains to see if the sun was shining. For some reason, he and Lady Tamayo did not seem to be fond of the sun. Perhaps they were just light sensitive or burned easily. They both seemed to be very fair skinned. (Y/n) was often sent off alone on errands during the day as well. They didn’t complain though, they were happy to help in anyway they could, even if the doctor and her assistant were a bit odd.

Stranger yet was how Tamayo would speak so softly to the deathly ill who showed no signs of recovery. The soft lilt of Tamayo’s voice was not what (Y/n) found strange, they were quite enamored with its dreamlike quality. It was the soft urgency in which she spoke so quietly that always left (Y/n) curious. They only witnessed such events a few times, but they always had ended with the recipient of Tamayo’s whispered words dead mere hours later.

(Y/n) didn’t fault Tamayo for such coincidences. The good doctor probably knew who would die the second she entered the room that first night. (Y/n) figured she was just giving them some form of solace in their final hours to help them find peace.

It was one night where (Y/n) had woken up with a painful thirst for water when things became... complicated.

“We need to think about leaving soon, Tamayo-sama.” (Y/n) heard Yushirou speak as they neared the kitchen. “You have already gone past your limit of resistance by a few days.”

“I’ll be fine, Yushirou. Soon there will be a good handful of people who will have their strength back. (Y/n) still has much I can teach them... we mustn’t leave just yet.”

“The blood here is diseased and of poor quality, even if you could get some without anyone noticing, it would not be filling enough to do much good. Please my lady, let’s keep moving to the next city like we planned.” Yushirou stressed.

“I can’t Yushirou, not when these people need help that only I can adequately provide. I can go a little longer...”

(Y/n) stood still in the hall as they listened in. Tamayo needed blood? For what, a transfusion? They took a deep breath and entered the room.

“If you need blood—“

The air was suddenly knocked out of their lungs as Yushirou came forward with inhumane speed and knocked (Y/n) hard into the back wall.

“Spying? Why couldn’t you just keep your nose away from where it doesn’t belong!” Yushirou hissed, tightening his hold.

“Yushirou!” Tamayo warned, coming up behind him, willing him to loosen his grip, “don’t hurt them.”

Yushirou clicked his tongue in agitation and allowed (Y/n) to slide to the ground in a fit of gasps and coughs.

Tamayo knelt beside them and checked them over with a worried frown.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n). You aren’t hurt are you?”

(Y/n) took a moment to catch their breath before answering, “I, I don’t think so.” They coughed again, “Damn Yushirou, you are a lot tougher than you look!”

Yushirou growled, but upon seeing the stern look Tamayo leveled at him he backed off and looked away, almost sheepish. He looked more like a scolded guard dog than anything else.

Tamayo turned back to (Y/n) looking forlorn, “How much did you hear?”

“You need blood or you’ll have to leave.” (Y/n) answered honestly, “If you need blood, you can have some of mine... I don’t know if it’s the right type, but if it’s what you need, I’ll be more than happy to give it to you.”

Tamayo shook her head. “(Y/n), I don’t think you understand what you are offering.”

“It’s my blood, I’ll offer it to whomever I please,” (Y/n) staggered back to their feet, “and I want to give it to you. You don’t even need to tell me what for.”

Tamayo scanned (Y/n)’s face before closing her eyes and turning away. She walked towards a nearby window and pulled open the curtains, allowing the full moonlight to glide over her skin and flowery kimono. (Y/n) swallowed thickly, clearing their throat they turned to look out the window as well. The young doctor was bewitchingly beautiful and (Y/n) could not risk missing whatever Tamayo had to say.

“Before you commit yourself to this decision, you must first understand what I am.”

“Tamayo-sama!” Yushirou called out only for Tamayo to raise her hand to call for his silence.

“...What you are?” (Y/n) cocked their head to the side, confused. “You look like a normal person to me.”

“That’s what makes a lot of my kind so dangerous.” Tamayo sighed, her eyes still trained on the moon, “Monsters in human skin. Although there are many who wear their sin in grotesque and prideful ways.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, but it’s not like all humans are great people either. Like how Ichiro’s parents left him here after he got sick and still haven’t wrote back like they promised. Even if you are different from humans as you are claiming, I can’t say that your any worse than the people I know. In fact, I’d say you’re better than a lot of the people I know.” (Y/n) tried to explain.

“I’ve done more evil and unforgivable deeds in my time on this earth than I could ever atone for. Even as I work to do better I know I can’t take back all the harm I’ve caused.” Tamayo shook her head and turned to (Y/n), cupping their cheek with a chilled hand, “I’ve aided in more atrocities than you have years on this planet. Do not let what you’ve seen of me in these short weeks fool you.”

“Okay, so you’re committed to believing your evil and irredeemable, is that right?” (Y/n) grasped the hand at their cheek, holding it in their own, “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to believe that. I don’t know what you’ve done, but you’re obviously torn up about it. I can’t say someone who was pure evil would think twice about that.”

Tamayo pulled her hand away, cradling it close to her chest and turned back to the window with a slight tremble before whispering, “I’m a demon, (Y/n). I’ve turned Yushirou as well. We get by on blood these days but before then, I have killed and devoured many humans in five hundred years. Tell me now you don’t find me repulsive.”

“I don’t!” (Y/n) spoke immediately and resolutely, surprising the demon doctor and Yushirou to an extent with their resolve. “I don’t know who you were or what you were going through back then, but the Tamayo I know is kind enough to stop in some nowhere village to take care of sick people she doesn't even know while expecting nothing in return. I can’t say my word means very much in the grand scheme of things, but I don’t think you’re a monster. Monsters don’t mourn over their victims. I think you’re a good person Tamayo, worthy of my blood if you’ll just let me give it to you.”

The determined look on (Y/n)’s face made Tamayo feel as if she’d seen a specter from her past. She felt tempted to reach out again but held back, afraid of what, she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell. (Y/n) took her silence as a hesitation and insisted once more, bearing their arm up to the crook of their elbow.

“Take what you two need. Please don’t make me try to do it myself.”

Tamayo closed the distance between them quickly and held (Y/n)’s arms as if she was frightened of them doing something dangerous to themself.

“Yushirou, please get the phlebotomy kit from the travel bag.” Tamayo asked softly.

Yushirou nodded. Though he was not particularly fond of how close his master was to the human, he was glad she would finally be getting some sustenance.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” (Y/n) tried to joke to lighten the mood.

“You can revoke your offer whenever you wish. If you want us to leave you may ask us to do so without fear. I promise you.” Tamayo said, nothing but sincerity in her tone.

“I’ll keep it in mind, but I’ll do no such thing. Now, I hope you don’t think it rude of me for drinking some water myself first before I get you your... beverage. It was the whole reason I was walking through in the first place.” (Y/n) said as they walked across the kitchen and fetched some water.

Tamayo’s lips curled ever so slightly into a wisp of a smile aimed at (Y/n)’s back as they drank.

***

Now that (Y/n) knew they were sheltering a couple of demons, the strange behaviors they had noted prior made more sense and they took them in stride. They loved teasing Tamayo and Yushirou about the quality of their blood. Often making Tamayo flush faintly or earn a quick jab to the chest from Yushirou that was probably harder than he should be hitting a fragile human.

They kept the knowledge of their species to themself, not wanting to stress the sick or endanger Tamayo in some way. They had since learned that the strange papers that were littered around their house were actually some kind of warding seal that Yushirou could produce to keep their presence hidden to outsiders. If all that Tamayo had told (Y/n) about the realness of demons held true, they were surprised that they hadn’t encountered them sooner. Perhaps the constant scent of death and decay had kept them at bay, figuring there was no fresh flesh to tear into.

However, that was all changing now. Of the twenty-six remaining villagers, twenty-five were making marked improvements in their health and many could even walk about the the house without being too fatigued. (Y/n) had smiled so brightly when they saw Ichiro slide out of bed one morning that they had brought a hand to their mouth in delighted shock. They couldn’t remember the last time they had smiled so earnestly. Tamayo had surprised them, taking their hand away from their mouth.

“Let your joy shine through. The light you have to share could lift anyone’s spirits. I know it has lifted mine, so don’t hide please.” Tamayo said kindly.

“Right!” (Y/n) laughed sheepishly as heat crawled up their neck. They were sure Tamayo could hear the blood rushing through their system but thankfully she was polite enough not to comment on it.

“(Y/n)-san, can you take us outside?” One of the other young children asked.

“Mhm, only for a little bit though. Don’t want to over do it now, do we?”

“Tamayo-san, do you want to come?” Ichiro asked hopefully.

“Tamayo-san is very busy. But I’m sure she’ll be happy to read you a story later. Won’t that be nice?” (Y/n) smiled, saving Tamayo from having to come up with an excuse to avoid the brightness of the spring sun.

A small group gathered and slowly made their way outside, blinking hard against the bright sun stinging their eyes. Still, they felt overjoyed. Many never thought they’d make it through the winter so they took in the scenery before them with a range of emotions.

When they returned, (Y/n) helped everyone get settled again. As they did, they noticed Tamayo speaking quietly to the young woman in the corner cot. She had been fighting against the illness for a particularly long time and had been getting worse as of late. Keeping the interaction in mind, (Y/n) made their way to the kitchens to see if Yushirou needed any assistance with lunch. Now that everyone’s appetites were returning they had to produce a bit more than they had in the past.

When everyone was fed, (Y/n) had managed to find Tamayo alone. The doctor had found the old ceremonial tea room and enjoyed the space, so naturally (Y/n) had given her permission to do with it what she liked. (Y/n) knocked and announced themself, waiting for Tamayo to beckon them in before entering.

“(Y/n), does someone need something? Do you need something?” Tamayo asked, momentarily pausing in her herb crushing to look up at them.

“No, everything seems fine right now. Although Kotori does not appear to be doing well at all.” (Y/n) sighed, kneeling across from Tamayo. “...She’s going to die, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” Tamayo nodded solemnly. “I gave her medicine to dull her pain, but she’ll be dead before the next morning. There is nothing more I can do for her.”

“What do you tell them?” (Y/n) asked, “I mean, I’ve noticed how you talk to the dying ones before they pass. What do you say to someone who’s dying like that?”

“Many times they already know the end is near and have accepted it. Many are relieved to know the fighting and pain is almost over for them. What I offer them... is a second chance at life.”

(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed in concentration before shooting back open. “You offered to turn them into demons, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“It can be, only if you don’t have someone to look out for you and remind you who you are. I would be there for them as I was for Yushirou of course.” Tamayo assured, though she looked guilty. “You must think it cruel of me to offer this cursed existence.”

“Not at all. Many people fear death. I can especially understand it from a perspective of those who have yet to truly live. As long as they can remember their humanity, I don’t have a problem with it.” (Y/n) smiled, “I’m sure with you to guide them they would be just fine.”

Tamayo blushed and got back to work, grinding her herbs.

“Though I’m surprised, has no one taken up your offer since you got here?”

Tamayo shook her head, but a small smile pulled at her lips, “No. I’m content with their choices though. I think they were all very brave choosing to face the unknown.”

“Speaking of unknown,” (Y/n) mumbled between their fingers as they watched Tamayo carefully scoop her powder into a jar before moving on to the next herb. “Everyone will be more or less back to full health soon... are you still planning on leaving?”

“(Y/n), we’ve already discussed this,” Tamayo frowned, “I was never meant to stay here.”

“But you could.” (Y/n) said, an almost frantic waver in their voice, “you taught me a lot about medicine and how to be a physician, but you’ve quite literally have hundreds of years more experience than I do. Not to mention everyone here loves you, I love you—“ (Y/n) tried to shut themself up but it was too late. As made evident by the roundness of Tamayo’s eyes.

“Oh (Y/n), I’m sorry.” Tamayo said, the pestle held in between her fingers shook.

“Don’t be sorry, just, stay?” (Y/n) stuttered. “You can forget the last part if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“This just further proves that I mustn’t be here.” Tamayo put the pestle down and covered her eyes with her hands.

(Y/n)’s heart ached so much they felt compelled to rub the the spot in an attempt to soothe it. “Is the idea of me loving you really that awful?” They asked, a watery chuckle falling from their lips.

“(Y/n), it’s not that simple.” Tamayo tried to explain, but (Y/n) was already getting up and heading out of the room.

“It’s fine. I’ll try to stay out of your way. Stick around a bit longer for the sake of the village is all I ask.” (Y/n) didn’t wait for an answer. They went to their room and felt numb the rest of the day.

They were jostled out of their upset thoughts by the sound of pounding feet drawing closer and before they could react any further, Yushirou barged in practically foaming at the mouth. (Y/n) was not intimidated by the display however.

“Would it kill you to knock?”

“What have you done to upset Tamayo-sama?” He seethed, his voice a dangerous whisper.

“I’ve momentarily burdened her with my feelings. Don’t worry, once you get on the road again I’m sure she’ll feel much better. And you’ll have her all to yourself again, you must be thrilled.” (Y/n) bitterly informed.

“Don’t speak as if this is no large matter, you’ve left Tamayo-sama very distraught! What did you do? Why was she crying?”

“Crying?” (Y/n) asked, the information chilled them like a sudden torrential rainfall.

“Yes! Now what did you say to her you mongrel? Spit it out!” Yushirou growled, grabbing at the neck of (Y/n)’s clothing to shake them around a bit.

“I kinda... told her I loved her?”

“You what?!” Yushirou bellowed with rage and envy befitting a rival.

“I’m pretty sure you heard me the first time.” (Y/n) still had the gall to tease the demon knowing full well he could think of ten different ways to kill them with one hand tied behind his back.

“You idiot! Don’t you know what she’s been through? And you just think you can say such things and be on your merry way? Honestly, a goddess like her should not have to shed tears for such insolence!”

“What are you talking about?” (Y/n) grunted. The hold Yushirou had them in was very uncomfortable.

“If I tell you, you must never bring this up to Tamayo-sama, and you will apologize right away for your unsavory actions. Do you understand?”

“...yes.” (Y/n) nodded tentatively. Yushirou let go of them and they rubbed at their tender flesh where he had dug in.

“Tamayo-sama was ill once as well,” Yushirou began, observing the books (Y/n) had strewn around the room with a bit of disdain for the mess, “when she was human, she was desperately searching for a cure that would save her from an agonizing death. Then, as fate would have it, one day she met a man who promised her a cure for her ailment. What that man did to her turned her into a demon. It was true that Tamayo-sama was freed from the pains of her illness, but at the cost of everything she held dear. For you see, the man had not explained what she would become and with no way to control herself, she had killed and devoured her husband and children.” Yushirou crossed his arms tightly, “Do you understand now? Can you imagine what that must have been like?”

“I had no idea.” (Y/n) looked down at their feet.

“Yeah, then you come in and— argh! What are you still hanging around for? Go apologize already! You’ve already waited the daylight away, get moving!”

“Okay, I’m going! I’m going!” (Y/n) batted the angry demon away and jogged down the hall. They checked every room until they made it to the sick bay.

They asked around and quickly learned that Tamayo had gone out for a moonlit walk. They thanked the patients and quickly made their way out the door, shutting it tightly behind them.

They looked out from the engawa, scanning the scenery they saw no sign of the demon doctor. Deciding the nearby forest was their best bet, they hopped off of the engawa, bare feet against the grass and dirt, and jogged into the woods.

“Tamayo?” (Y/n) called for her, searching around for any clues to her whereabouts.

They traveled deeper still, teasing the edge of the deep woods where not even the sun could shine through on the brightest of days, much less the soft reflection of the moon. They heard a rustle.

“Tamayo?”

(Y/n) felt the hairs on the neck and arms scrape to attention. Their heart was beating frantically as the noise drew closer. It couldn’t be Tamayo, she surely would have called out in return.

Then, (Y/n) screamed.

They couldn’t remember how they had ended up on the ground. They blinked sluggishly up at the moon only for it to be blocked moments later by a blurry figure. (Y/n) swore they saw swirls of colorful flowers dancing at the corners of their vision. (Y/n) winced and gurgled. Why did their chest hurt so bad, what was this pressure?

“(Y/n), please, tell me what to do. What do you want me to do?” A muffled voice cried, confusing (Y/n).

They tried to take in another breath but it just felt like they were drowning. The voice sounded farther away, but no less pleading, mixed with far away screams and angry yells. Neither of which sounded like they belonged to the figure before them.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

‘For what?’ (Y/n) wondered, the pain had faded greatly. Whatever was happening, it was better than the pain. Perhaps they could go back to sleep now.

And so, they did.

***

When (Y/n) awoke, it was to the soft brushing of knuckles against their hair which was almost immediately drowned out by a ferocious hunger. They bent to snap at the fingers but something had kept them restrained. (Y/n) struggled and growled, the need to tear into flesh was, all too fittingly, consuming them.

“(Y/n), take a little at a time. Control yourself.” The voice beside them gently urged, presenting (Y/n) with a tube. They were highly uninterested at first until the further end of the tube was released from a pinched grip and allowed blood to flow down to their waiting mouth. It wasn’t fresh or hot, but it was better than nothing. After a few minutes of stopping and starting the thick slide of blood, the figure took the tube away all together, causing (Y/n) to growl and hiss with displeasure.

“You will need to learn to pace yourself, the sooner you do, the better.” The soft voice informed, not that (Y/n) really understood them.

(Y/n) wasn’t sure how long this had gone on, but they learned quickly not to bite the hand that feeds you, even if it was only aged blood on the menu.

Then slowly, they felt their brain working overtime. Apparently, there was a lot of information hiding under all of the bloodlust, and (Y/n) thought maybe, just maybe, there was a part of themself that detested those desires for human flesh and bone.

Then one night, it was like a fog had finally rolled out of (Y/n)’s mind and they struggled against their restraints for a whole other reason.

“How did I get here?” They yelled, breathing heavily though they had no real need to breathe at all anymore.

(Y/n) heard the soft patter of footsteps on the matted floor out in the hallway. They were honestly surprised they could hear such a slight noise to begin with.

The door slid open and Tamayo stood there, observing them nervously.

“Tamayo!” (Y/n) sighed in relief, “Where were you? All I remember is going out to look for you. How did I even—“

Tamayo was over in a flash, resting her forehead against (Y/n)’s with her hands cupping their cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” She sobbed, “I didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t speak for yourself. I should have just tried to make your passing quick and comfortable, but I was selfish. I’m so sorry.”

(Y/n) winced, thinking back hurt, but with that last ‘sorry’, they were back in the moonlit woods, bleeding out with Tamayo above them and Yushirou dismantling the low level demon that had jumped them.

(Y/n) leaned their forehead up to meet Tamayo’s more firmly since their arms and legs were still tightly bound.

“You don’t need to apologize, but I forgive you.” They rasped, drawing more tears from the demon doctor.

“I couldn’t lose you. Not again.”

“What do you mean?” (Y/n) asked, puzzled.

“Do you believe in reincarnation, (Y/n)?”

“I think it’s a nice idea, to be reborn as something new.” (Y/n) shrugged as best as they could.

“When I first came to this village, something pulled me to this old house, and it wasn’t the smell of death and ruin. Something inside me told me this was where I needed to be,” Tamayo ran her thumbs along (Y/n)’s cheekbones, “it all led me to you and though you are unique from any other person I have met in all my years roaming this earth, I feel like I knew you life times ago.”

“I feel like I felt something similar.” (Y/n) whispered, “Something about your eyes just felt so familiar. Do you think...”

“Yes and no,” Tamayo smiled sadly, “I believe my husband had a hand in bringing you to me. You may have the same soul but you are still you’re own person with unique experiences. I like seeing little reminders of him in you, but I’m also growing very fond of who you are on your own.”

“Then, why didn’t you tell me before?” (Y/n) asked.

“Because I was afraid and I had every right to be. I almost lost you again.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Tamayo raised her head to brush a kiss over (Y/n)’s forehead, “Forgiven.”

“...Do you think you could maybe untie me now or...?” (Y/n) asked with a goofy smile on their face.

“Oh, yes, I should do that. So long as you promise to tell me if you ever feel like you’re losing yourself.”

“You have my word, my lady.” (Y/n) replied, leaving Tamayo a bit flustered.

“So, how is everyone?” (Y/n) asked with a stretch, sitting up from the bed.

“They all left for new opportunities in the southeast. I apologize, but Yushirou and I thought it best if they believed you had died. A bear mauling.” Tamayo’s nose crinkled very subtly, but (Y/n) easily saw her displeasure.

“Don’t worry, I understand.” (Y/n) said with a melancholic smile. They leaned over hesitantly and kissed the faint wrinkle of Tamayo’s nose away, making the doctor fall forward to bury her head in (Y/n)’s collarbone.

“I worry that you’re too understanding.” Tamayo commented shyly, earning a laugh from (Y/n) and after another moment of stillness, (Y/n) spoke up again.

“Where is Yushirou anyway?”

“I’m in the kitchen and I can hear ever word you say you blood sucker!” Yushirou yelled, making the doctor and the new demon jump at the volume. “You better get travel ready soon, because you gobbled up the last of our blood supply!”

“Sorry!” (Y/n) called awkwardly, snorting only after Yushirou replied with a handful of sounds that made no sense, but got his grumpiness across.

“Don’t feel too bad. It’s a process Yushirou has endured as well. He was no less needy and feral than you were when I changed him.” Tamayo said.

“Needy and feral,” (Y/n) groaned, “I wish you didn’t have to see me like that.” Tamayo chuckled lightly, raising her head from (Y/n)’s chest to look into their eyes making their breath hitch.

“That hasn’t harmed my image of you at all,” Tamayo kissed their cheek, “you are still the sweet,” a kiss to the other cheek, “selfless,” a kiss to the nose, “person you were before this.”

(Y/n) tentatively raised their hands to cup Tamayo’s cheeks, noting the pale blue hue of their previously clear nails as they did so.

“Forgive me if this comes off as needy, but could I kiss you?” They asked, barely above a whisper.

“Please.” Tamayo responded quickly, pulling in (Y/n) from the back of their neck.

Soft lips glided together, occasionally leaving their target to land sweet pecks elsewhere before diving back in. When they finally drew apart, resting their foreheads together, Tamayo smiled brightly. It was a feeling she hadn’t had since she was human all those years ago.

#kny x reader #kny oneshots #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer oneshots #lady tamayo #lady tamayo x reader #tamayo #tamayo x reader

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crescentsteel · 4 years

Text

When in Brazil - Beach

pairing: Oikawa x f!reader genre: SMUT wc: 7.8k (i am deceast bye) warnings: fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, edging

Let me bore you to death zzz

I promise the last chapter will be exciting (in my head it is at least) :(

Prior to this series, I have zero knowledge about Brazil. So if there's anything sus somewhere there as I describe Rio, pls be kind to me.

No beta for this one once again uwu

Lmk if you wanna be part of taglist

Sunshine || masterlist

In the hustle and bustle of a busy city as Rio de Janeiro, one finds themselves having their time stolen away from them as they get swept up in all the craziness the place has to offer.

That’s you, except the craziness is in the form of a never ending cycle of wake up, work, then go home.

You’re just glad a certain orange-haired boy joins you from time to time to ease your thirst for something exciting.

Yet sometimes, you crave the silence, the quiet, to be alone and actually enjoy it. Living in one of the most tourist-infested places in the world, you rarely find yourself in such a situation.

That’s why you dragged your feet outside even if your clock tells you it’s 2:48 in the morning.

You woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. Rather than waste your time away in bed, you grab a can of beer from your fridge and decide to make the most out of it.

The thing about Rio — it’s almost never silent. Even at this time, you can hear the soft beat of music from the local bars and clubs alongside the sound of the sea right across the streets where they’re located. The shores of Copacabana, being the most famous beach in the city, are never empty as well.

But what good is being a local if you don’t know places you can hide from the crowd?

A tad bit more than kilometer away from Copacabana is Posto 1 in Praio de Leme, a beach not as crowded as the others.

With the absence of people flocking here and there, you easily make your way to the beach, almost prancing on your steps for the slight tang of freedom and muted noise you haven’t had in forever.

Despite the stroll being an all-familiar route you take, it feels blissfully different. And when you arrive at Posto 1, you suddenly feel grateful for living in Rio. You take your slippers off and feel the sand beneath the soles of your feet. The smell of salt water permeates the air while you welcome the dainty breeze brought by the sea.

You savor each step, taking your time to reach a certain spot you consider yours as the darkness of the dims the bright liveliness of the city.

Luck must be in your side as you find the place still as you remember it the last time you went there. Trees surround the area abundantly compared to the more famous beaches in the city.

Lifeguard stations that separate the area covered by each beach look like mini lighthouses made of white stone. Posto 1, being the first station, is situated beside rocky shore that signals the other end of the beach.

In between Posto 1 and the clump of rocks, that’s your secret spot. The station blocks the view of the rest of the shoreline, the trees behind you conceal you from the buildings across the street, and the rocks perfectly completes the set up as it eludes you to think that you’re hidden from the tropical urban jungle that is Rio.

You pick a spot near a tree so you can lean on something when you sit down. You unknot the canga on your hip and sprawl it on the sand. You seat yourself comfortably and cross your stretched legs. You open your can of beer and savor the first taste as you stare in the vast darkness

You don’t know how long you’ll stay there, but you don’t care. You have the day off tomorrow and you don’t mind if you’re there long enough that the sun will rise on you.

Damn. You should’ve brought at least two cans of beer for this.

However, your paradise of being alone was quickly interrupted when you hear coarse footsteps approaching somewhere behind you. Shortly after, a figure emerges from the trees, much to your displeasure.

He notices your presence too as he looks your way as soon as he comes to your view.

“Hi!” The stranger greets you all too friendly, which adds to your irritation. You haven’t even enjoyed your time alone and you’re already disrupted. What’s worse is that it’s not even a local. It’s a freaking tourist, probably Japanese based on his features.

“Sorry, but the beach is closed at this time,” you announce in an amicable manner despite being annoyed, something working on a diner has instilled in you for years.

“Oh? But you’re here,” he responds with an easy-going smile that pisses you off even more. You should’ve spoken in Portugese. Maybe then, he would’ve left you alone. “Yeah. It’s not open for tourists at night,” you lie with a fake smile, still hoping that he’ll leave.

However, he does the opposite. He crosses the few steps away from you and crouches to get to your eye level. You stare at his face for a few seconds and realize that he’s actually attractive — brown hair, brown eyes, and a dazzling smile.

Still, you came here to be alone. You don’t want the company of another, no matter how good looking they are.

“Can’t you make an exception for one tourist?” He flashes you a grin that you’re pretty sure would sway a lot of women when directed at them. Maybe you too on a different night. But not this one.

“I’d be honest, mr tourist. I prefer to be alone. If you go past that station, you’ll find a lot of space for yourself.”

He purses his lips. “But it seems more fun here, ms local.”

How is this place fun? There’s literally nothing here. That’s why you claimed this place for your own because people rarely go here when the night deepens.

He’s most likely looking for someone to bother and entertain himself, as expected of tourists.

You sigh when you realize he’ll probably keep pestering you until you give in. You take one sip of your beer and turn to him.

“You better hold one hell of a conversation, tourist. Or else I’ll be the one leaving,” you announce with a deadpan voice.

He chuckles lightly before sitting on the sand. He extends one leg on the side while he bends up the other so he can rest his elbow on his knee. “I’m sure I can manage,” he declares with unshakeable confidence that makes you scoff a bit.

The guy is full of himself. If he wasn’t very pleasing to look at, you would’ve left already.

You return your gaze to the dark waters to distract yourself from his presence. “I’d offer you a beer, but I only brought one.” You say out of courtesy as you lean back to the tree and try to relax despite the stranger beside you.

“I won’t mind sharing yours,” he responds casually.

You take one more sip and face his direction to hand him the drink in your hand. He grabs it with a smile and a wink that would’ve made you cringe if he didn’t look so damn good when he did it.

He puts the drink on his mouth and nips it casually. “So what’s a pretty local doing at the shore at this hour?”

You raise an eyebrow at the subtle flattery he included in his question. “Like I said, I wanted some time alone. Unfortunately for me though, a very rude tourist arrived a few minutes after I just settled down,” you eye him meaningfully which earns you a pout from him.

You almost want to laugh. What is up with this guy? He’s a bit weird, but in a charming kind of way. “What about you, tourist? What’re you doing out this late at night?”

“Jetlag. Our hotel’s just across the street and the people I’m with are already tired. I’m so bored,” he whines as he drinks again from your can before he hands it to you.

“So you decided to take a stroll in a completely foreign city?”

He feigns a surprised look. “Are you a fortune teller?”

“A witch, actually. Better leave now before I curse you,” you warn him with a straight face.

Not even fazed a bit, he meets your dead eyes with affable ones. “I don’t mind being cursed by you, ms. witch.”

You shrug off your shoulders, unaffected by the flattery. You’re used to it with the amount of foreigners hitting on you during tourist season. “You better decide what you’ll call me then,” you respond coldly.

“You really want to keep being strangers, huh?”

Something surfaces in his orbs that unnerves you, a glint that tells you there’s more to this man behind the pompous persona he’s purposely showing you.

“Uh-huh. Ms. local sounds fine to me.” Not that he seems dangerous or anything, but you don’t want to get to know him. You’d like to remain as strangers. This is just a small chat for you both to pass time. There’s no need for names when you already have a way to address each other.

“Alright then, ms local. Lets play a game.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What game?”

“A guessing game. The person who first gets three correct guesses about the other wins.”

“What does the winner get?” You ask with intrigue.

“Anything they want.”

You tap the can of beer dangling from your fingertips while you study him. What can he possibly ask of you if he wins? He looks friendly, but you can’t be too certain. He might ask for something like your number. You have no intentions of giving it to him and getting involved with a tourist. The most you can get from the is a one night stand and a “thank you for the experience” message, as if fucking a local completes their whole Rio trip.

He suddenly laughs. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for anything weird. I just want the tree you’re leaning at.”

You frown at him. “Seriously? There’s another tree over there.” You point a tree a few steps away from him.

“I want that one specifically,” he says firmly as he ignores where you’re looking at and eyes the trunk you’re leaning on.

“Okay then, tourist. If I win, will you leave?”

“Deal” he quickly agrees. “Go ahead, ms local. Ladies first.”

Without even thinking, you make your first guess. “You’re probably a model or an actor in Japan.”

He breaks into a wide smile at your hunch, which doesn’t tell you anything whether you were right or wrong. “You really think so?”

Did you get it wrong? He seems like someone who has a nightly skin care routine to make sure he doesn’t have any breakouts. His skin looks nicer than yours too. So it makes sense for him to be either of the two.

You don’t tell him that though. He looks like he’s well aware that he’s a pretty boy.

“I mean you do look nice. You’re tall and stuff,” you justify briefly.

He gives out a pleasant laugh that sounds way too rehearsed, like he’s been practicing it in case someone compliments him.

“I’m flattered, but no. Sorry!”

He doesn’t look sorry at all. “Actually, I’m a starter for a pro Volleyball team in Argentina,” he says with his face becoming a little bit more serious as it oozes with pride. You find it interesting — how he glorifies being an athlete. He does have the build for it, but he’s kinda too pretty to be a professional athlete.

Your thoughts suddenly go back to Shoyo now that he mentioned the sport.

“Oh oh oh wait,” your enthusiasm shoots up when a hilarious assumption hits you. “I’ll go again then you’ll get two turns after this,” you clear your throat before voicing out your thoughts.

“Let me guess. You traveled all the way from Japan to Argentina to pursue Volleyball,” you declare with all smiles despite how ridiculous it might have seemed to him. You could waste one guess to entertain yourself.

He stares at you wide-eyed with disbelief. “How did you know that?”

You gape at him in surprise. You were just goofing around with Shoyo’s story. You don’t expect that he’d have a similar story.

“For real?”

He nods. “Yeah. That was frighteningly accurate.”

Wow. What were the chances that you were actually right? What was just a ridiculous hunch was actually on point. Now, you’re far more entertained. You’ll ask for his name before you part ways and tell Shoyo about him. You don’t have a clue what the Volleyball scene is like in Japan so maybe somehow, they know each other.

He recovers after a quick while and regains his composure. “Okay, my turn. I’m guessing…,” he looks up as he scurries what guess he’ll make before his gaze lands back to you, “you’re into nice guys.”

You let out a scoff at his too safe of a guess. He must be frolicking when he appears to be thinking earlier because that’s kind of a no-brainer.

“Who isn’t?” You ask back sarcastically instead of confirming that he’s right.

“A lot of women actually,” he swiftly responds. “So that’s one for me. And I’m also guessing you don’t go out much.” This time he doesn’t pretend to be thinking and straight up tells you, as if he’s figured it out already earlier.

You squint at him. “How did you know?”

“You wouldn’t be out here at this time of the night if you did,” he cocks an eyebrow as he answers.

Shit. That’s two correct guesses off the bat. The stakes are not that high for you. You’ll just lose a back rest, but it unnerves you that he’s this astute. You just assumed that he’s nothing but good looks.

You put a little more effort to the game he initiated and thought of a hunch that’s very likely to be correct.

“Umm. I think you like beer,” you surmise. If he didn’t mind sharing one with a stranger, he must like it enough.

He purses his lips to the side and shakes his head. “Nope. I think it’s vile. Also, our fitness coach will chew me out if he finds out I’m drinking tonight.”

You furrow your brows together at what he just admitted. “Then why’d you ask for mine?”

“I wanted to look cool,” he confesses without shame which makes you palm your face.

“My turn.” You remove your hands away from your face and hope that he gets it wrong this time. You’re kinda enjoying the game and want to continue for a tiny bit more.

“It’s been a while since you got laid.”

It’s a staring contest between you after he utters it. He holds the same seemingly good-natured expression in his face despite the sexual nature of his statement. You, on the other hand, can’t suppress the frisky smirk that’s creeping up on the corner of your lips.

You roll your eyes and look away with the smirk still planted on your face.

He finally bares that certain wickedness you saw a glimpse of earlier, and he does it at the right time. He’s probably waiting for the moment you start getting drawn to him, and when you do, he lures you a step deeper into his trap.

You feel stupid for thinking this game is his way of small talk. It definitely isn’t. Yet, you find yourself taking the bait he set.

“Actually, I had a good fuck the other night,” you answer indifferently.

The look that surfaces on his face mirrors yours a while ago, except he doesn’t try to hide the sensual gleam in his eyes when flashes you a grin.

“Boyfriend?”

You suddenly miss the bitter taste of the beer so you drink again prior to answering, “Friend.”

The curve of his lips twitch up, evidently amused with your reply. “I didn’t think you were the type, ms local.”

“Why? You thought I was boring?” You question with haughty disdain from what he was implying.

He stretches his bent knee as he plants both palms on the sand and leans back a bit. “No. Just really uptight.”

Only because his company was unwelcomed, but you’re positive he’s aware of that so you don’t comment on his remark. You move on with and proceed to make your guess.

“Right. Okay, my turn.”

You’re absolutely sure of this one, so you go for it without hesitation.

“I think you’re trying to get me in bed.”

Oikawa doesn’t know if he’s going to give you a free pass on that one. You’re not entirely wrong, but you’re not totally right either.

He does want to fuck you. You’re hot and you’re as interesting as he thought you’d be. But he’s not trying to get you in bed, not yet at least. He hasn’t taken any action yet.

He was still treading carefully until you were no longer treating him like a bothersome stranger, which seems to be the case when you unfiltered your words and then willingly gave him intimate information about your sex life.

“Yeah,” he says with no hint of shame. He decides to grant you a second correct answer since that’s the last one you’re going to get. His next guess will be the start of his attempt to actually get you to have sex with him, like you speculated.

“You like beer.” He already had three probable guesses in his head before the game even started. He just panned the game longer so you’ll ease into him. He reserved this particular guess to seal the deal.

“That’s no fair, tourist. That’s too obvious,” you complain yet you still wear an entertained grin.

“Not my fault” He chuckles at his already calculated victory.

“Ugh. Fine. The damn tree is yours.” You start to get up but he grabs your arm, causing you to frown inquisitively at him.

“I didn’t say you have to leave. Move a bit to your front,” he commands which you do even though you still look confused.

He stands up and takes the place you’re sitting at earlier. Your neck is craned towards him as you gawk at him while he comfortably seats himself behind you, stretching his legs just a bit so you’re positioned intimately between them.

“What are you doing?!” you ask with a panicked voice.

He ignores your question. He takes it just a bit further and grabs your waist to pull you closer to him so your back is pressed to his chest.

You gape at him with a scandalized expression, your body rigid with his touch.

He only smiles innocently at you. You might be frozen solid, but if you really don’t want him to, you could easily tell him to fuck off. But there you are, eyes wide open as you try to grasp what he just did.

“I just claimed my prize. I can see why you chose this tree. So comfortable.” He tries to sound nice and friendly, but knows it’s useless as he can’t help the sarcasm that tainted his words now.

You let out a deep breath and shake your head as you rest your back resignedly on his chest. You snuggle even closer until you fill the spaces between you two perfectly, your head nestled comfortably on the nook of his neck.

Still, you don’t seem pleased. The look in your face is a mix of frustration and defeat, but it only strokes his ego even more because despite that displeasure on that lovely face of yours, you’re still leaning cozily against him.

You straight down gulp the remaining liquor you have and put the empty can down on the sand.

“You played me well, tourist,” you mutter, the bitter taste of the beer matching your resentment towards him.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, ms local,” he continues playing innocent.

“Oh please. You planned this from the start. That’s why you asked for the fucking tree.”

He lets out the laugh he’s been holding in since you made him admit that he was trying to bed you. “You finally caught up, mi querida?”

You hoist yourself up to face him. “You speak Portugese?” you ask him curiously.

“Español. I did say I’m from Argentina, mi bella dama.”

You’re stunned with the way the supposed foreign words roll off so naturally from his tongue. It didn’t sound pretentious nor forced, proof that he’s fluent with it. You definitely underestimated him. There is so much more to his charisma than just his pretty face.

“So, ms local,” his gaze drops to your lips with uninhibited hunger that he doesn’t make the slightest effort to hide. “Can I start claiming my actual prize now?”

You open your mouth but no words come out. You don't know how to respond because you’re at war with yourself with the direction of your supposed small talk is heading to. Yet, you can’t deny that you want to reciprocate his overt desire for you.

He takes his thumb and skims it lightly over your lower lip as he keeps his eyes on it. “Say yes,” he orders you with the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him.

The wind suddenly feels colder as your body heats up from the ache that’s beginning to set in your core.

He completely has you in a trance, mindlessly obeying his dainty command.

“Yes.”

He smiles darkly at the consent you gave him. He moves his thumb down to your before he slowly dips down and presses his lips against yours. It was gentle, too gentle for your growing arousal as he’s deliberately teasing you to want more of him.

He peppers your cheek with the same soft kisses that are making you more and more impatient.

“Kiss me already,” you mutter when his lips reach your ear, causing the sound of his amused chuckle to be heard crisp and loud.

“But I am,” he whispers before licking the sensitive shell of your ear.

You snap your thighs together from the sharp pleasure the action sent to your pussy, your eyes almost half closed from how fast your desire is engulfing you.

He must have sensed it for he turns his gaze to your clenched thighs. “Well, well, well, ms local. I didn’t think you’re this sensitive. I’m barely doing anything,” he teases while his other hand skims your bare waist.

You want to wipe the smug expression off his face but you’re too horny to fight back. You just want him to kiss you properly already.

A triumphant glint surfaces in his orbs as he dips down and gives you what you’re silently asking for. He parts your mouth with his thumb on your chin and claims your lips, flicking his tongue on your lower lip before sucking it.

You grab his shoulder for support as you push yourself up a bit to feel him closer.

“Mmmm, beer tastes way better from your mouth,” he mumbles then quickly returns to your lips, slipping in his tongue as he deepens the kiss.

His hand on your chin travels to the side of your head, fiddling the other ear his mouth hasn’t touched earlier. You whine into the kiss, fully revealing to him how sensitive your ears are.

His other hand skims the bare skin of your waist he easily accessed because of your cropped top. Then, he moves it up to squeeze a clothed boob, earning him a moan you deliciously deliver to his mouth.

He pulls away to get a glimpse of you and he can’t help but be pleased with himself for a job well done. He’s totally got you, hook, line, and sinker with your eyes pooling with lewd desires, completely different from the cranky stranger you were minutes ago.

But he’s not done yet. He’s not yet satisfied. He can do more than this. He can break you just a teeny tiny bit tonight.

He gets back to your lips, your tongue seeking his while he fervently moves his mouth against yours. His hand lets go of your face so he can pay attention to your other boob he’s been neglecting, kneading both supple mounds with his huge hands at the same time.

You lean your head on his shoulder as he trails his lips down your exquisite neck, softly nipping the delicate flesh as he entertains himself by watching you squirm within his hold.

He lugs your bra down so he could feel your bare breasts, and as his idea of fun, he softly bites the nook of your neck while he harshly grips both tits.

A very indecent moan from your throat erupts in the tranquil air of the beach. You must have realized it too because you bite your lip while your other hand tightens its grip on his thigh.

“Let’s see how well you can keep it down,” he breathes on your neck as he puts his fingers to work, rolling both your nipples with his thumbs while licking the spot he just bit.

You plan to protest, but you’re scared that when you open your mouth, an obscene moan will come out instead. So you do your best to stay as silent as you can, your muted whimpering reaching only his ears.

His mouth goes back up again to your ear, his hot breath gradually melting your resolve to keep quiet. “Should I lick your ear again so you’ll moan for me, hmm?”

You ferociously shake your head, certain that you will lose it if he does. “I’ll do it if you don’t use your words,” he threatens you by grazing his lips on your earlobes.

“N-no,” you weakly answer.

He laughs lowly and withdraws his lips away from your ear. You feel a little bit of relief as he shows mercy. Only to feel stupid when he suddenly pinches your nipples, the surge of pain and delight causing you to lose to your own body as another moan rips out of your windpipe.

“Aahh! ”

You bury your face on his biceps to muffle the next ones as he continues tweaking the hardened buds while he sucks the curve of your shoulders.

You can feel the strain in your hips from how hard you're clamping your thighs, desperate to alleviate the ache in your already sopping cunt by grinding your inner thighs together.

Being the scum the tourist is, he hooks his foot on your ankle and does the same to the other, successfully prying your legs apart, worsening your need to be touched down from the lack of any sort of friction.

He removes one hand away from a boob and drags it down to your stomach, the cloth of your loose shirt catching on his knuckles before it comes to a stop in the waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?” He asks while he traces circles on the skin just above the garter of your cloth.

Despite the overwhelming lust, you look around. Even though you used to have this place on your own at this wee hours of night, the possibility of someone going there is not completely zero.

You let him get as far as this because you can just swat his hands away the moment someone emerges from the other side of the lifeguard station.

Instead of putting his hand in, he dips his hand further down on your crotch, cupping your sex over the fabric of your shorts. Even with just that, your pussy is already throbbing.

You look at him with hesitation.

“What if someone comes?” You ask apprehensively, your lust-induced mind hoping he comes up with a sensical answer that you can accept.

“I won’t remove your shorts, ms. local. I’ll just,” he teasingly tugs the waistband, twisting it around his index finger, “put my hand in, yeah?”

He gives a drawn out lick on the spot behind your ear as he tugs a nipple, making you shiver with the unspoken oath that he can satisfy your needs.

You nod agreeably, impatient for the touch you’ve been craving for.

With your permission, he slowly slides his hand in, the leisure drag of his fingers almost making you mad with anticipation. Your torment only increases when he steadily traces his middle and ring finger on the length of your slit.

“You’re practically dripping,” he remarks as he continues the tortuous caress of his fingers. “Holy shit. You’re twitching already.” He laughs sardonically behind you.

“Jerk.” It’s supposed to sound angry, but it comes out as a needy whine.

You throw your head back on his chest, the night sky and the leaves of the tree you’re under starting to become hazy with how feverish your whole body feels.

“You’re really mean, you know that?” He mopes flatulently before he suddenly pinches your clit, the abrupt pang of pleasure causing you to arch your back as you cry out.

“Oh my. I’m starting to think you actually want to be heard.”

You’re no longer able to respond when he starts rubbing the bundle of nerves, covering your mouth with the back of your hand to suppress the erotic sounds coming off of your mouth.

“Mmmmmpp,” you whimper when he gives your boob a firm squeeze again.

You close your eyes shut as you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Gonna cum already, hmm?” His question drenched with mockery.

Yet, you don’t give in to his taunt as you’re completely distracted with his fingers sending you to a frenzy. You nod your head frantically, shamelessly admitting that he can easily make you cum.

Then he stops. He slides his fingers down and spreads your folds open as your cunt throbs from the climax he’s defied you of.

“What I’d give to see this view,” he purrs on your ear, “this pussy twitching at nothing.”

You hate the way he’s treating you, but you hate yourself more for letting him do so. As if teasing wasn’t enough already, he starts massaging his fingers around your folds, keeping you spread open while deliberately avoiding any spot that will feel too good.

It’s utter hell for you.

You’re about to ask that he puts it in, but thankfully, he does so before you almost disregard your dignity and actually plead for him to do it. He inserts one steady digit, pushing it deeply until the whole length of his finger is in.

“You’re too wet,” he comments as he thrusts another finger in.

You bite your own hand as the stretch of his two fingers brings back the pleasure he thwarted earlier. But this time, he makes sure to not let it escalate as he keeps the speed of his fingers to a bare minimum. He drags them out incredibly slow and lunges them back in in the same excruciating tempo.

Your eyes flutter shut as you relish the sensation, his digits hitting their deepest reach at the same time the waves crash into the rocks of Leme beach.

Oikawa watches with utter fascination, seeing and feeling the rise and fall of your chest as he prolongs the pleasure his fingers can give you.

But he already misses how you sound when you lose control.

Without any warning, he increases his pace from tedious thrusts to ruthless ones.

Your clutch on his biceps almost hurts, but he really couldn’t give a shit when your moans start to seep out of your hand despite how hard you try to contain them. He can bet you’re not even aware that you’re already rolling your hips against his hand.

But it’s still not enough for him.

Luckily, he knows how to make things even better .

He flicks his tongue on a certain spot on your neck while rolling your nipple between his skilled fingers.

“Too much!” You bat your eyes open and face him, successfully unlatching his mouth from your neck. “Its too muuu aahhhh haaa. ” Your eyes instantly become cloudy as he makes sure that the base of his wrist rubs your clit while he continues ravaging your pussy with his fingers.

His cock is getting stuffed in his shorts with your back grinding against it as he witnesses you lose yourself with your mouth falling open as you whimper with wanton need for your release.

“To- hnnngg, tooouurist.”

Damn. For a moment, he thought you were going to moan his name. He would tell you right now but he kinda likes the idea that you’re a literal stranger allowing him to do vulgar things to you as he pleases.

Your feet leave the seams of the cloth you sat on as the pleasure stretches out to the tips of your toes, the coarse grains of sand getting stuck between as you curl them with your orgasm tingling too close.

The simultaneous stimulation of your most erogenous places is coercing you to let go.

“I’m gonna cum mmmppp.”

Then he withdraws his fingers completely, causing you to regard him wide-eyed with a confused look as he denies you of your high that was a thrust away from your reach. All the while, he just smiles pleasantly at you like he didn’t do anything wrong.

He takes his middle finger in his mouth while you watch him with both impatience and intrigue.

He gives it one thorough suck before sticks his tongue out and licks it, effectively making you wonder how it’d feel if he does what he just did directly on your pussy.

Then he turns to you with a naughty grin. “Why are you staring at me like that, ms local?”

Your eyes lingers on his fingers and tells him instead, “Put them back.” You can’t ask him to do what was just on your mind. The place isn’t right for it. But that’s just fine. His fingers prove to be good enough.

“You want me to put my fingers back in your pussy?” he reiterates your request haughtily.

You look down on the sand before you nod.

He hums on your nape while he inserts his hands back in your shorts, his fingers ghosting just above your slit. You buck your hip up to feel them but he retreats them when you do so.

Your mind is staggering from how much you want him to fill you up again with his digits. You look at him with your eyes begging him.

“Please,” you whimper.

He goes for your lips, kissing them passionately as he traces your slick opening. He plunges his tongue in the same time his fingers enter your cunt, easily pushing you at the very edge you were at earlier.

Then stops again.

“Why?” You sound almost sulking, your foiled orgasm looming over you.

“Like you said earlier, ms local. I am trying to get you in bed.”

He presses his lips in your temples and drags them down back to your ear. “I don’t see any bed here. Do you?”

The sultry drawl of his voice makes you shiver, the ungratified ache in your groin making you succumb to him.

“My place is near,” you answer timidly.

“You’ll really take a stranger home?” He sneers at you, making you doubt your own decision. Yet, convinces you otherwise when he slowly rubs your clit again.

You shut your eyes and nod frantically with parted lips.

He takes his hands out of your shorts and cheerfully says. “Let’s go then.”

You fix your clothes before standing up to which he quickly follows. You take your canga and wrap it back again on your hips then picks up your empty can of beer. You plan to lead the way, but not even three steps away from where you were, he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to where you were.

He shoves you to the tree he was previously leaning on. Your hand flies to the trunk of it while he wraps one arm around your waist and pulls your ass against his erection, an entertained chuckle coming out of his lips.

“I lied, ms local.” He slides his other hand under your made up skirt, trailing his palm from the side of your knee up to your thigh.

“I didn’t want you in bed. I want you right here right now.”

He briskly tugs down your shorts while you worriedly grip his forearm, alarm evident in your orbs as he reveals his actual intention.

“We’re gonna get seen!” You warn with a cautious whisper while you look around to check for the possible presence of another.

He ignores you and hitches up the cloth hanging from your hips as he takes out his cock and traces it against your moist slit.

You drop the empty can as you drive your nails deeper in the tree with your eyes getting misty from the reminder of the little death he’s relentlessly and purposely deprived you of.

He leans over your back and reaches for your cheek with his lips, tenderly placing a kiss before speaking. “Then they’ll see a tourist with a local whore.”

Flames of fury spark in your eyes as you hiss at him. “You fucking asshole!”

He ignores your futile anger and grips his cock to align it on your entrance. He sees you try to keep up the resentful facade but you’re twitching wildly again for him to even take it seriously. He easily makes you crave for him again by grinding his shaft on the length of your cunt.

“I’m kidding, ms local. You’re too pretty and too interesting to be one,” he says with his lips latched on your shoulder.

“Do you even have a condom with you?” you ask exasperatedly.

“Nope. Should we stop and get one?” He asks back as he once again rubs his member on your opening.

“I.. uhh,” you mumble undecided even though you unknowingly just grinded against him.

He places featherlight kisses along your nape. “I promise to pull out. How about that?” His voice is delicate, persuading you to abandon your hesitation.

“Fine! Just make sure you do it right,” you firmly forewarn him, which he doesn’t even bother answering.

He begins to sink himself inside you, feeling your fluttering walls swallow his cock inch by inch.

“Shit, it’s so hot and tight inside you,” he groans.

Your knees buckle a bit as you cover your mouth with your palm this time. “You okay there?” he asks not out of concern but because he wants to entertain himself with how you sound when you’re trying so hard to keep the obscene sounds at bay.

You shake your head but your face is one deluged of sinful desires.

“But you look like you're enjoying this,” he pants as he’s starting to feel good too with how well you’re squeezing his cock. He closes his eyes and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder as he rams his length completely inside you.

“Fuccck,” he moans on your shirt while you deliver a muffled one on your palm, which he didn’t like.

He snakes his arm from your waist up to your chest once again, forcefully lugging down your bra that he hears it rip a little.

“I want to hear you feel good,” he says as he toys with your boob he wasn’t able to pay much attention to earlier.

In between struggling puffs, you manage to say, “I don’t wanna be heard uughhh.” You let out a suppressed whine as he pulls his cock back all of a sudden and languidly slides it back in.

“You’re lucky enough I’m allowing this,” you continue on.

“Make me luckier then,” he hums on your shoulder as he aggressively tugs the nipple poking at his palm.

“Gaaah!” You snap your head back, prompting him to softly bite the flesh of your throat you exposed to him.

“Yeaaah. You sound so hot, ms local. Just like that mmmm.” He originally planned to take his time with you, but shit, your pussy feels too good clamping on his cock like you’re already about to cum.

It’s taking all of him not to pummel his cock stupidly fast into you and sought his own pleasure.

“Faster, tourist. Fuck!” Your voice cracks at the last word you uttered from keeping it from being too loud.

Instead of quickening his pace, he stops moving at all. He needs a moment to regain control of himself despite how splendid your insides feel. He wants to tease you some more until you lose that fiery pride of yours. He finds it sexy, but it would be sexier if you drop it and desperately beg for him to fuck your brains out.

He lifts himself off your back and retrieves both his hands to skim them over the curve of your ass.

He kinda wonders what face you’ll make if slams one hand against the meaty flesh. Oh well. No need to wonder if he can just see it for himself right now.

The solid sting of his palm hitting against your skin pierces the quiet air of the shore, quickly followed by a sharp gasp from you that is just as audible.

Fuck, he put a little too much force on that one. He can see the pinkish mark he’s left on one cheek. He checks on you and expects a pained expression but what he finds is eyes lidded with intense carnal longing while panting heavily.

He looks around briefly, checking to see for any unwanted onlookers before landing another slap on your other ass cheek.

Your hand grips his that just struck you as you turn your neck to look at him with utmost desperation he’s been wanting to see from you.

“Make me cum already,” you mumble with a wavering voice as you start moving on your own, wobbly withdrawing your hips and pushing them back against his cock.

The sensation in his shaft as you use it to give yourself pleasure is nowhere near enough for him, but he continues to stare at your cute attempt to make yourself cum.

“Please!”

Ahh, fuck. Yes. That should do it. You look just the right amount of pathetic he can get himself off to with satisfaction.

He plants both hands on your hips, holding them in place so he can give you what you vehemently begged for. He buries himself inside you in one swift thrust and repeats it again, and again, and again until he sets a steady rhythm.

You wretchedly grasp the tree again to support yourself as he does his way with you.

Harsh slaps of skin to skin contact can be heard, but he figures it won’t be heard from a distance.

“Ah, ahh, aaaahhhhhh!!” You practically yelled out that last moan, causing him to lean over again and put a hand over your mouth.

“As much as I want you to- shiiit -hear you scream for me, I’d rather not be caught here,” he tells you in a raspy voice. He doesn’t know the laws in this country. He might get arrested for this if found. Their coach would probably take him off the starting roster as punishment if he gets in trouble because of this.

But fuck, you really feel unbelievably good. Even the vibrations of your stifled wails on his hand is an added stimulation for him.

Even he himself is having a hard time to keep his voice hushed as he feels his orgasm about to explode. He removes his hand away from your lips and replaces it with his mouth so he drowns out his groans as he swallows yours.

With his knee, he nudges your leg apart from the other as he dips his hand from your hip down to your clit, rubbing the swollen bud ferociously to finally push you to your peak he previously kept on declining you to reach.

You start trembling beneath him so he wraps his other arm around your waist again to support you.

He pulls away a bit to look at you become undone and holy shit, you do not disappoint. You look so fucking pretty with your moist lips gaping as you puff while your eyes have completely surrendered to the sinful goodness he��s giving you.

“So good, so good, so fucking good uuhhhh,” you mewl shamelessly.

“Yeah? Gonna cum on a stranger’s cock?” He goads you even though he’s about to cum himself just to see if you still give a crap about that.

To his delight, you just nod thoughtlessly.

“Cumming, ahhh, A-“

He covers your mouth again with his before you’re able to let out a scream that will probably expose you two.

He feels too good that all your senses are filled with nothing but the intense carnal bliss as he batters the insides of your pussy by ramming his cock wildly into you without restraint, probably chasing his own high as well.

Your vision becomes a static blur as the coil in your stomach snaps viciously, making your whole body convulse with how intense you came. If he wasn’t holding you up, you’d probably be a thrashing mess on the sand.

You hope that he keeps his word and pulls out because honestly, you just don’t have it in you anymore to stop him as he prolongs your orgasm by seeking his own.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he spews while his forehead rests on your spine as his thrusts become wilder and more erratic.

He takes out his cock a second before you feel hot spurts of liquid on your lower back accompanied by his hoarse grunts.

He unties the canga around your waist and uses it to wipe off the mess he made on your skin while you’re still holding on for your dear life on the tree.

“My legs,” you whine as they give out with exhaustion.

Thankfully, he catches you in time and releases the soiled clothing he used to wipe off his load. He pulls up your lower garments before he settles you back to how you two were seated a while ago, except it’s less compromising this time.

You’re all curled up within his grasp, still catching your breath from what just happened as he puts a hand on your forehead to make you rest against his heaving chest.

The sound of the waves, the blow of sea breeze, and the sand beneath your thighs are lulling you slowly back to the present, making you aware that you just had sex with a stranger, with a freaking tourist

“So,” he speaks first but you keep your eyes closed and pretend this is just one sexy dream then you’ll wake up in the morning and realize that you actually didn’t go out at this time.

“Ms. local, helllooooo?”

He’s obviously recovered based on the familiar, frivolous tone he had when he came out of the trees a while ago.

You sigh since you aren’t able to convince yourself enough that this is just a dream. The sex felt too good and too hot for it to be unreal.

“Do I finally get a name?”

You open your eyes and find him looking eagerly at you.

“No,” you respond immediately which visibly turns his excitement upside down.

You also discard your previous plan to get his name. There’s no way you’re telling Shoyo about this guy.

Sunshine || masterlist

Taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @aphroditeschambers @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @crescenttooru @yashuaaa @liberhoe @richkookie @hqbeesun @megatron-1199

#oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #hinata smut #hinata x reader #haikyuu smut #im done with tags

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natashacoco · 4 years

Note

Hi angel, here's my request!

Flo and reader have mutual friends but aren't close since both of them are always traveling, till one morning when Florian wakes up at his friends house after this party and has a massive hangover, he walks to the kitchen and finds reader baking something for the guys and after some chit chat they just click. The end of the story it's up to you, steamy or fluff I simply adore your writing, she could take care of him or something. 🤷🏾‍♀️

I love this request! Here you are babe, hope you love it! And happy New Year’s Eve/New Year. Got this done just in time for the end of the year.

Florian Munteanu x Mutual Friend! Reader

The scene in front of you was something straight out of a Hollywood party scene. The night was slowly trickling into the early hours of the morning, a few stragglers littered here and there as you and your girlfriends made it back to the rented Airbnb. You passed by a large body passed out in the lawn, chuckling as you walked by at how crazy the party seemed to have gotten.

You’d just recently gotten home from taking a solo six month long round the world trip. You had saved your money for two years, researched, planned and counted the days and hours until you finally set foot on the plane to your first destination. To say that the time spent abroad was something you’d not only needed, but accomplished on your own was a feat. You were able to do this on your own, and now nothing was out of the realm of possibilities for you and your future.

The girls had all decided that a night out on the town was needed as a welcome home celebration, especially considering you’d made it home in time for the New Year. You all had dressed to the nines, outfits, hair, makeup, everything was on point. You’d gone out to dinner followed by hours of dancing and drinking at the newest and most exclusive nightclub in town until you decided to call it quits for the evening.

One of the girls boyfriend had rented out the large home as a mashup of a New Year’s party and apparently some kind of party for somebody, you’re not exactly sure who the person is but it must be something big for them to go all out like this.

Following the rest of the girls into the house, soft music is playing off in the distance somewhere, empty bottles of alcohol, cups, plates, and other miscellaneous items are strewn about. You even notice a bra hanging off the banister of the stairway.

You all make your way into the kitchen, pouring yourselves a drink and continue the vibe set before in the evening. You notice another tall guy, this one dressed in a white tee and jeans and a chain that captures the light and makes it hard for you not to stare at him. From the look of things, he is completely plastered in the corner, using his hands like little guns and giggling like a schoolgirl and you can’t help but to laugh. A few of the guys end up joining you and you all catch up, relaying tales of your time abroad.

A short while later people start to head to bed, or find places to sleep. Remembering the guy in the lawn from earlier. “Hey, you guys do know that there’s some big ass white boy in the front lawn right?” You ask, wanting to make sure that he’s accounted for, or at least know he’s there.

“When you say ‘Big Ass White Boy’ are you referring to Florian or somebody else?” your friend Lorenzo asks.

“Don’t know a Florian, so maybe?” you reply.

“You know Florian, Romanian-German guy, tall as a house, corn fed and built like a eighteen wheeler, any of that sound familiar?” he questions.

You look at him with a confused face, nothing of that making any sense to you with that description.

“He’s Mike’s friend, the guy who played Viktor Drago opposite him in Creed II, and he just got cast in Marvel’s Shang-Chi.”

“Oh right, right, right. That guy, I haven’t met him-met him. I think I was told about him in passing, or we always seem to miss one another at parties or get together” you reply.

“I saw him earlier over in the corner, I think he was doing some gun things with his fingers or whatnot. I think I took a video, here, take a look” you friend Cristina says, pulling out her phone and pulling up one of her Snapchat stories. You take a look and immediately recognize the guy from earlier. You look through the stories and see some of his other hilarious drunken shenanigans and tell them that the man you mentioned earlier wasn’t him.

“The guy in the lawn is Masias, one of Sandro and Florian’s friends, more like brother. I think the guys are getting back at him for pulling some kind of prank. Just leave him out there, he’s too big for him to carry” another friend, Theo, replies.

Sleep starts to take over and the last of the party goers decide to call it quits for the night. Those of you who are staying at the house make your way upstairs to begin your nighttime routines. On your way upstairs you see a few guys sleeping on the couch and notice Florian among one of them, his large body taking up a large portion of the couch. An idea comes to mind and you go in search of the linen closet.

Finding a few blankets, you grab a stack and head back downstairs to those sleeping, placing them over each of the bodies to make them comfortable. When you reach Florian, you shake out one of the larger blankets and place it over him. You must have done something to momentarily startle him from his sleep because his eyes snap open suddenly in a sleepy haze.

“Wo bin ich? (Where am I?)” he asks in German.

“Shh, sorry to wake you up, go back to sleep, yeah.” you whisper and nod your head, tightening the blanket around him.

He nods his head in agreement before he closes his eyes and settles into a more comfortable position before falling back asleep. You grab the last of the blankets and make your way outside to the lawn and place it over Masias, making sure that he’s as comfortable as comfort gets for somebody sleeping outside. Heading back inside, you finally make it to bed and settle in.

You wake up early the next morning despite only getting a few hours of sleep, your body still not use to the current timezone you’re in. You decide to get up, the cry of breakfast foods pulling you out of the warmth of your bed.

Making your way down to the kitchen, you rummage through the fridge and freezer until you find some food. You decide on making pancakes, eggs, hash browns, bacon, fresh fruit, coffee, juice, the entire works. You look outside the window, taking a sip of your drink and are amazed to find the now dubbed Sleeping Giant still asleep outside.

“What are you looking at?” a deep voice behind you asks, startling you into giving off a high pitched shriek, almost throwing your drink in the air.

You whip your head around to face the voice and have to crane your neck up to face Florian, his eyes lit up with curiosity as he looks down at you.

“Um, there’s a guy who is currently sleeping outside, he’s been there since last night and I’m just surprised to see him still out there.”

He looks past you to peek outside the window and starts to laugh. “I was wondering where they ended up putting Masias” he says. “I better go and get him, I’m sure the hangover and all the pics the guys took of him is going to be worse than anything else.”

“Oh don’t worry, the sprinkler system will be turning on in about 5 minutes,” You reply. “But I was planning on manually turning them on in about 3.”

He lets out a hearty laugh, his entire body shaking until his laughter starts to sound like some kind of sprinkler system. He wipes at his eyes with the back of one of his large hands and when he’s done laughing, he turns back to the window just as the sprinkler system starts to pop up from the ground and the entire lawn is sprayed with water.

“Well it looks like I may have been wrong about the sprinkler timing.”

Masias’s head pops up in confusion, just as water is sprayed in his face. He gets up quickly, shouting and what you can only come to the conclusion of swearing in German before he looks around at his surroundings to see where he’s at.

Florain runs outside and helps Masias inside, the two of them laughing hysterically. When they return, the three of you start to plate your food and make your way to the kitchen table. The smell of the food permeates throughout the house and soon enough others join you all.

Florian ends up sitting next to you, multiple plates all but licked clean as the two of you get to talking. “I’m Florian Munteanu, by the way” he says, “I don’t think I introduced myself to you earlier.”

“You were a little busy, it’s okay. I’m Y/N Y/L/N” extending your hand out to his larger one to shake it.

“Wait, YOU’RE Y/N?” he asks, his eyes going wide in shock.

“Yes. Why do you say it like that?” you question.

“Oh, it’s, it’s just that everybody is always telling me that we would get along if we met, and every time it seems to happen it seems like we always end up missing one another somehow. ”

“Yeah, life somehow turns out like that, but look at us now, we finally met.”

“Honestly, last night when I saw you I thought I was imagining things, imagine my shock when it turns out I wasn’t actually crazy. I’m glad that we finally got to meet.”

“It may have taken us some time, but we made it., it only took us what, 84 years?” You say, referencing The Titanic.

“84 years and worth the wait. Plus, it’s not at a better moment in time I say.”

“How’s that?” you ask.

“It’s New Year’s Eve Y/N, what’s a better start to the New Year than getting the opportunity to get to know you, and I fully intend to get to know you, if that’s okay with you?”

“I would really like that.”

The two of you continue talking throughout the morning, the both of you talking about some of your favorite New Year’s traditions, him telling you about some of the Romanian traditions, such as tossing money into water where people wash their hands, him giving a little sample of Plugusorul and Sorcova-songs that wish good luck, happiness and success for the New Year. You tell him of your own New Year’s traditions, those from your own background and ones you’ve come to make on your own, and something deep down tells you that somehow you and Florian will be making even more in the New Year’s to come.

#florian munteanu #big nasty #florian big nasty munteanu #ask #requested #superficialfeelings #florian munteanu x reader

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seokmingiggles · 4 years

Text

jasmine green.

Pairing: Wen Junhui x gender neutral reader

Genre: fluff (to prevent spoilers, that’s all I’m saying).

1.49k words

No warnings.

Nothing could make you happier than the knowledge you’re flying home after much too long. Wait, no, there’s actually one more thing to which you find yourself anticipating more. Alternatively, the fragrant scent of green tea evokes the memory of home.

A/N: This was actually the last drabble of the collection that I created an idea for and began to write. Yet, it quickly became one of my favourites after I unexpectedly wrote it in one sitting. I apologize for the lack of a genre description and the ambiguous synopsis. I promise what lies ahead is pure fluff!

Back to the teacup masterlist.

•• "The airport, please."

The taxi driver nods their head at your request, the signal rhythmically clicking to pull out onto the street.

You lean back against the headrest, training your eyes out of the window. It's drizzling outside today; the fresh smell of rain permeates through the cab mixed with the floral jasmine-scented car freshener. It's a calming combination, allowing you to sit back and watch the streetlights flutter as you drive by. The dots of rain on the car's windows glow each time you pass a lamp.

The sky is grey, dark. The low rain clouds loom in the distance, rolling into town as far as the eye can see. But they don't dampen your mood. Instead, you feel tranquil; nothing but ease is flowing through your veins. Your heart beats with anticipation.

Amidst the gentle sound of classical music playing on the early-morning radio to fill up the quietness of the drive, the little taxi pulls upfront to the airport.

The automatic sliding glass doors welcome other travellers inside as you collect your luggage from the trunk. You thank your driver one last time and wave goodbye to them.

The inside of the airport isn't as chaotic as you're used to seeing. At five in the morning, there are some people scattered about—some are buying tickets at the automatic kiosks, some are lining up for the baggage check-in, some are sitting and drinking some coffee at the small cafe located in the corner.

You make your way to the luggage claim, following the required steps and signing the required papers. The whole time, your mind is buzzing, despite it being barely dawn. All you can think about is how you're heading home.

You eventually find yourself waiting at your gate and then finally in line to board your flight after it's announced. And before you know it, you're sat in your designated seat on the plane, ready for take-off. It's a window seat, allowing you to see the beginnings of the golden sunrise peeking up from the horizon.

It's still drizzling; the tiny raindrops patter on the plane's windows, tinted a slight orange from the sun ascending in the sky, now visible in the far distance like a fiery yolk in the egg whites that are the surrounding misty clouds.

You think you're lucky enough to have the row to yourself, yet at the last minute, a young man takes the seat beside you.

He's handsome, you'll admit that to yourself, but he seems flustered.

You gently clear your throat before asking him, "Are you alright?"

The male turns his head to look at you once he hears your question.

"Ah, yes, yes," he says, getting settled in the seat after securing his bag in the overhead compartment. "I nearly missed the final boarding call announcement. But luckily, I made it." He gently smiles.

The safety instructions from the staff begin to resound from the speakers above, interrupting your attempt at creating a reply.

The engines begin to come to life as the plane steers in the direction of the runway, preparing for take-off.

The sunlight is now shining through the opposite side of the plane. The radiant glow of the plane's interior catches your attention. Your eyes land on your neighbour's profile backlit from the golden rays, but you pull your gaze away before he can notice you glancing at him.

"Are you heading home?" you hear from the voice to your left.

You smile at the reminder and nod your head, adding, "It's been a while. I've been away for my job."

The boy hums, "It's the opposite for me. I was here to visit my family, but now I'm heading back to work." His bangs fall into his eyes as he leans his head back into the seat. He lifts a hand to brush his hair from his forehead before saying, "But I'm happy for you. You seem really excited."

Your heart warms at the stranger's words. "I am," you say, flashing him another smile.

You find yourself becoming drowsier from being awake so early in the morning. You take one last look out of the window before allowing yourself to close your eyes, leaning into the wall of the plane. Eventually, you manage to doze off; the last thing you remember is the dinging of the seatbelt sign removed from overhead.

You're not sure how much time passes when you find yourself rousing to the sunlight beaming through the window next to you. Your body feels warm from the illuminating rays dancing on your lap.

"Good timing."

You carefully rub your eyes and comb your fingers through your hair a bit before eyeing the boy sat next to you. His plastic tray is down with two little packets of sesame-honey crackers sat upon it.

"The stewardess came by with snacks already, but she should be coming back, doing another round for drinks. Here," he takes one of the translucent packages and hands it to you as you lower your own tray.

"Thank you," you respond, your voice crackles slightly at your grogginess.

The stewardess returns to your row with her cart of drinks moments later.

The boy sat next to you makes his order first.

"Do you have jasmine green tea, by any chance?"

The woman shakes her head, "Just regular green tea, unfortunately."

The male proceeds to tell her that the alternative is fine. She places the tea bag in a styrofoam cup followed by hot water.

He turns to you after taking his drink, "Are you going to have anything?"

Your eyes are fixated on the teabag, slowly changing the colour of the water as it floats on the surface.

"I'll have the same thing, please," you say, watching the stewardess make the same preparations for you.

"You like green tea?" the stranger asks once you both have your drinks.

A smile spreads across your features once more, "Yes. It reminds me of my boyfriend." Your eyes move to the view out of the window, already picturing your destination in the distance. "It reminds me of home." You take a hesitant sip, careful not to burn your tongue. "By the way, I don't think I got your name?"

"Right, sorry," the boy's smile reaches up to his eyes, "I'm Joshua."

"It's nice to meet you," you reply after introducing yourself.

"Likewise."

Junhui scans the sea of people. His eyes land on each vaguely-familiar mop of hair, but his heart is set on finding one in particular. He glances upwards for the nth time to check the list of arrivals, hoping to see your flight added to the list. His hand fidgets by his side as he resists the urge to check his phone in his pocket yet again.

Once he does see your flight appear on the board, he doesn't wait to head as close to the arrivals gate as he can.

Soon enough, he sees you before you spot him. You're stepping through the gate, walking next to someone he doesn't recognize. The attendant by the doors appears to be signalling where the baggage claim is located. However, you don't seem interested as you simply thank them and head off in an opposite direction.

Jun's heart doesn't fail to soar at the sight of you weaving your way through the crowd. He watches you scan the room until your eyes find his.

And when you do see him, you run to him.

Your boyfriend braces himself for your impact, arms tightening around your smaller frame once you collide with him.

"You're home," his voice is hushed, but you hear it loud and clear over the airport's bustling surroundings.

"I'm home," you repeat, your grip around Jun not wavering. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too," he doesn't hesitate to reply. "Come on, let's go wait for your bags."

"No, I want to hug you for a bit longer. Let's wait until we hear the signal from the conveyor belt."

Junhui smiles, feeling the kiss you place on his jawline.

"Okay," he whispers, leaning down to give you a proper kiss for the first time upon your arrival.

The two of you remain standing like that: basking in each other's embrace. It's like a breath of fresh air—the feeling of being reunited with Jun—compared to the recycled oxygen from the plane ride.

The sun is now setting as you leave the airport with your rolling suitcase in one hand and Jun's palm in your other one. The sky is painted with breathtaking saturations of peach-pink and honey-yellow, but the sight of your boyfriend beside you for the first time in months is what you prefer to admire.

He glances down at you, catching you in the act of admiring him.

"Whatcha looking at?" he asks with an eyebrow quirked.

"Nothing," you mumble. "Just happy to be home."

You squeeze Jun's warm hand in yours, and the boy beams a smile even warmer in return.

••

#caratwritersclub #wen junhui #wen junhui x reader #wen junhui fluff #wen junhui imagine #junhui #junhui x reader #junhui fluff #junhui imagine #jun #jun x reader #jun fluff #seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagine #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen jun #moon junhui

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

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Thunderstorms ||Jasper Hale x Reader||

This one was requested by @deathaffection666 and after some umming and ahhing I finally came up with an idea. I hope you enjoy :)

Words: 2420

Warnings: A little angsty near the start, implied PTSD, but it ends nice and fluffy.

Summary: Jasper has never liked thunderstorms, they don’t bring anything good with them, so when the storms start raging in his head you hold him up to make sure he doesn’t drown in them.

The Olympic Peninsula was said to be one of the wettest places in the continental US. Cold and grey, the sun was such a rarity that it sent humans flocking into green spaces, hands outstretched as if they could grasp the golden rays and hoard them for their own personal use when the rainy days came again. They always came far sooner than any of those humans would have liked; it was the one thing he still had in common with them. Jasper didn’t clamour to be in the sunlight of course but he relished in the days it did come, for they were days of intense relief, relief only Edward could half understand. He saw but he never felt, had no true comprehension of just what sunny days meant to Jasper.

Sunny days meant days at home with his family, where there were no humans to make his throat burn with thirst and bitter rage. Better yet, they sometimes meant hunting to, where he could douse the flames and keep them gone for longer without human interference stoking the fire once more. Sunny days meant the freedom to be himself at home since he didn’t have to be so tightly wound. There was no more constant watching of his surroundings, no lingering tension as he scanned for exits and tried not to exert too much strength onto school equipment, no last second changes in direction as an avoidance tactic or listening to the irritating whispers of those high schoolers who spoke in hushed whispers of his oddness.

I am odd, more different than you will ever perceive until it’s far, far too late…

There was no caging the beast inside of him on sunny days, because these were the rare occasions that the beast felt tamed. He didn’t dislike the overcast gloom that constantly hung over Forks, per say, on the contrary it gave him great freedom of movement compared to the half life he’d lived in the shadows of other cities in other states. The gloom was welcome, even a light drizzle was since it dampened human scents and had them scurrying for their homes, keeping them far off of his radar and lessening his temptation to devour them. No, no Jasper longed for these sunny days to keep away what came after. Sunny days were almost always followed by a thunderstorm or two, and they were torturous in their own way to him.

He had been able to taste it in the air since early that morning, the damp and stagnant smell of water rolling in on the clouds above. The wind had picked up just a little, shifting from the gentle breeze of yesterday into a more ferocious gust today, one that nipped at soft flesh and riddled it with goose bumps. The sky had darkened gradually, more cloud cover coming over and weaving together to form armour above the Earth that refused to let the smallest drop of sunlight through. It had all set him on edge before the day had even really started, the crackling feeling of lightning dancing on the gusts of wind that were undeterred by their failure to permeate his skin making him grind his teeth so hard he was surprised he had any left.

You knew of course. Your relationship with Jasper had built steadily, slowly, but in all the time you’d known him you had built a policy of honesty between you both. It was an unspoken rule that you never lied to one another, and over the decades that you had passed together that honesty had brought up stories you were sure he’d never tell anyone else. If there was anything to know about Jasper Hale you knew it and vice versa, you simply didn’t see the need for secrets, so when the first drops of rain fell onto perpetually sodden earth, you knew where his mind took him. Vampirism had its perks, but sometimes the enhanced senses were more of a curse than a blessing.

Jasper was rigid by the window of your shared bedroom, a place he had retreated to the moment he had tasted the lightning in the wind. With his arms folded over his chest, he stared out at the forest through unseeing eyes, the golden irises already being taken over by black, like ink spreading across old parchment. His jaw clenched so hard you were surprised it didn’t crack, his expression twisting as the rain came down in first a few drops, then in sheets. Gallons poured from the sky, mother nature openly weeping for the state of the world in this quiet, private corner of Washington state. His fingers curled into fists, nostrils flaring. The problem with thunderstorms is they were strong in such heightened senses, and when you hated them, having them take over your every sense was like an invasion you were too powerless to fight.

Every raindrop that shattered against the soil was a clattering, ricocheting gunshot vollied across a battlefield straight into his ears. Where lightning struck and scorched the ground, the faintest smell of smoke was a shell that had exploded amongst comrades too far away for him to reach. The rain that spun in dizzying patterns on strong winds blurred his vision, shadows moving erratically in his line of sight, enemies coming to get him and all he held dear. Jasper had spent many a thunderous night staring from the rooftop barn of Maria’s stronghold reflecting on his days as a soldier, on what was right and what was wrong, and as with all things the more you think of them the more easily they are called to mind. Jasper had associated thunderstorms with war ever since, and to his scarred heart war was a painful reminder of every shameful thing he had ever done.

As if he needed any of that! He didn’t need the gut-wrenching anxiety or the shame or the guilt, or the fear. He had enough frustration in his day to day life, watching his adopting siblings’ swan about with restraint he could only dream of while he felt the disgust and trepidation others felt towards him. They all revered his family, oh how the masses adored the pretty and polite teenagers that they longed to be but be nowhere near, but him? Nobody had ever felt anything good about him until you came along, and you always came, especially when the storms began raging in his head. You were distinct, unique. You could be lost in a crowd of a million and one people and Jasper would always find his way to you. You were his lighthouse on stormy nights like this.

His body tensed as your hands slid around his waist, and up his abdomen, but some distant part of his brain recognised the gentle touch as your own. Then came your lips, soft and sweet against the back of his shoulder, moving upward slowly to the nape of his neck as you squeezed him back against your body.

“Stay with me.” You whispered. Jasper swallowed back the venom that had pooled in his mouth without his knowing, the dark thoughts bringing forth his darkest nature. Hesitantly, he unfolded his arms and placed a single hand over one of yours, feeling the smooth skin and the cold ridge of metal that graced your ring finger.

“It’s loud.” He ground out through clenched teeth. The hand he wasn’t holding drifted up into his hair, setting off every instinct he had. They’re going for your head, they’re going for your head, they’re going for your head. He stayed frozen in place, breathing in and out evenly through his nose in the hopes your sweet scent would overwhelm the dampness of the storm, those muddy battlefields beyond the glass slick with rain and blood and venom.

“Then let’s make it quieter.” You suggested lightly, hand carding through his hair rhythmically. Jasper leaned into your touch, the soothing feeling a complete contrast to his agitated mind. He welcomed it, embraced you whole heartedly as your scent made his head swim a bit, his thoughts wavering. When you pulled, he followed, body turning away from the window so all he could see was you. His vision was filled with your gentle smile, your liquid gold eyes so full of love it almost hurt his heart. With his focus on you it was easier to tune into your emotions to, the calm adoration and quiet confidence that this moment would pass and peace would be restored. They washed over him like waves gently lapping at the shore, ebbing and flowing, pulling him out of the darkness and into you.

It took him a few moments to realise you’d lead him to the family bathroom. It was right in the centre of the house and given the private nature of the activities that occurred in such a room, the windows were smaller here. You’d sealed them shut, and steam had clouded them over, steam that rose from a bathtub full of bubbles. Jasper blinked, eyes flickering about the room to the lamps dragged in on extension cords that cast soft, warm light over the porcelain and tasteful grey tile. No candles, no reminders of the fires he’d lit with innocent people as kindling. The room smelled floral, not a sour note in the air to be found, and the radio you cherished for it’s retro look was playing the gentle, plucking guitar melodies he loved to listen to in his spare time.

You had already taken three of his five senses back, so when you began to undress him Jasper let you take a fourth to – touch. Your fingertips idly caressed his skin, brushing sometimes on accident, sometimes on purpose, against him as you worked buttons free of holes and pushed the fabric to the floor. He focused in on the feel of your hands, soft and warm against his own marble flesh as they glided over his pectorals up, up, up towards his jaw. With his face cupped in your hands he was helpless to do anything but lean in when you pulled his mouth to your own, a soft, sweet kiss lingering on his lips just briefly before you pulled back again with a smile, brushing your thumb over his lower lip and inclining your head to the water waiting for you both.

“You’re wearing one too many layers for a bath, sugar.” He murmured, not taking his eyes off of you yet as he lowered himself into the water. It was like velvet against his skin and he knew you must have used the fancy bath oils Emmet held so dear for this. He made a quiet vow to protect you from his wrath later. Your only answer was a smile, and with a few quick movements you stripped yourself down for his hungry eyes only and settled yourself behind him in the tub.

It’s a trap, it’s a trap, it’s a trap, they’re coming at you from behind…

He drew in a deep lungful of air, your scent mixing pleasantly with all the oils and soaps in the bubbles surrounding him. Your hands cupped water and poured it over his shoulders, massaging gently as you went down either side of his spine, tugging him back so he was forced to rest against you. Your lips played along the column of this throat as he stared up at the ceiling, the soft lighting leaving no room for shadows in any corner of the room.

“Done a lot of things that I’m not so proud of took a lot of turns, that turned out wrong, it’s a worn-out song.” Your voice was like honey in his ears, drowning out the rain he could still faintly hear pounding outside with your singing. Jasper willed himself to close his eyes, leaning his head back against your shoulder and letting himself sink into your strong embrace. With his head a little clearer it was easier to train his senses one by one on the room you’d set up, focus in on one thing at a time to chase away the last vestiges of panic that hadn’t had a chance to settle and burrow in thanks to your quick actions.

“I will survive, I will endure, when the goings rough, you can be sure.” He sang along quietly to the radio, feeling you smile against his skin as you kissed his temple.

“Letting go of my bad habits, hanging onto hope, for better times, I’ll be fine.” You continued, pouring some shampoo into your hand to massage it into his scalp. Jasper hummed, focusing on the feel of your fingers in his hair, the lingering smell of coconut.

“Tear drops, no one sees but me, I won’t stop, I’ll always believe.” Jasper rumbled, smiling slightly as you used your hand to shield his eyes from the soap washing away from his hair. You were everywhere with him all at once, your scent in the air, your body against his. You were real, and solid. You were hope incarnate. When the darkness came for him you pulled him back into the light and renewed his faith in himself. Your gentle actions and the outpouring of love and devotion and all things good he felt from you would always keep him buoyant when the storm threatened to drown him again.

“I’ll tough it out, I won’t give in, when I’m knocked down, I’ll get up again.” You sang along, nuzzling his wet hair. Jasper squeezed your thighs that rested either side of his waist, turning his head slightly to lean into you. You were his everything in moments like this, and he wished they never had to end, that reality never had to seep in like it did.

He wanted more for you, to be better for you, to live a life where he was free of the pain he carried so it would stop hurting you to. He could see that future, so tantalisingly close yet so far away when his demons came back to haunt him. He would be better tomorrow, when the storm had passed, but for tonight he was safe in your embrace to dream the beautiful dream of a life without struggle, where you could both just be, together and whole and happy.

So, he sang the last line of the chorus to you as a vow, a promise that better times were coming for you both.

“As long as my dreams alive, I will survive.”

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #oneshot #jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #emmet cullen #the cullens #request #yes I did steal the song from Holes but it was a good song #mentions of maria #tw ptsd

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deepdarkdelights · 4 years

Text

Stay (Jimin x Reader)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: None really, this isn’t yandere babes. Uh, I guess the topic of death and dying? Yeah, we’ll go with that.

This is NOT a part of my current series I am writing, this is separate much like “The Darkness of The Night.”

A/N: This is just a little something I made a while ago when I was not feeling the best, tbh I was really depressed. So, this is something to give everyone while I work on the next part of my series. I hope you enjoy it, even though it’s short and nothing like my other fics. It’s pretty corny tbh and most definitely been done before lmao.

There was nothing, that much I knew. And by nothing, I mean nothing. The sky was an absent stretch of swirling dark grey clouds, no light able to permeate through their thick cover. The world was one that had been plunged into darkness, devoid of the sky, devoid of the ground, and devoid of life. It was just the dark mist overhead and me.

It was quiet, not that soothing deep quiet kind, but the kind that made your ears ring, the kind that reminded you that you were completely, utterly alone. But, it wasn’t scary. Just dark, and quiet, and familiar.

I felt numb, my limbs buzzing like they had fallen asleep and my lips were left tingling. It felt like I had been asleep for a very long time or maybe awake for far too long. It was this strange limbo in between the two, almost indiscernible. Was I even alive, had I ever been born? What is this strange but familiar place? This place that held no name, no life, and no meaning was now harboring me. But, I was left without an explanation.

“Hello?” I called, “Is anyone there?”

My voice echoed out into the void, bouncing against an invisible force before returning to me once again.

“Hello?!” I tried once more, only to be met with the same response. An echo and a void, my own voice being tossed back to me in a way that sounded foreign. Like it wasn’t fully mine.

What is this place? My mind felt as if a thick fog had curled around it, squeezing and tightening as if it were trying to subdue me back into that calm and apathetic way I had felt upon awakening. It was as if this place was aware of me and that I didn’t belong there, like it was alive. Was I not supposed to be awake, or whatever it is that you call this?

“Can anyone hear me?!” I cried out, grunting as the pressure in my head doubled. The mist hovering in the empty seemed to thicken, darkening the veil around me as I stumbled about like a newborn deer. The pressure in my head was pounding now, harder and heavier than before as the mist began to swallow me whole, pressing me down closer into myself as I struggled to stand and force the invisible foe away. This place was awake and I was not supposed to be. In the span of only a few moments the calm had raged and turned into a storm.

“Please!” I gasped, “Please, let me go, I need to go! I can’t stay, I don’t want to stay!”

The mist only grew thicker, heavier, and angrier, pressing down into me and forcing me into submission. It did not care about what I wanted, that I had this feeling that something was horribly wrong and if I chose to stay then something bad would happen. My mind was foggier, it felt like an invisible force was pressing down into the curve of my spine and folding me into the deep mist surrounding me. I felt like I was drowning in the depths of the ocean where no one could hear me, where no one could save me.

“I want to live,” I whimpered. “I want to live.”

And suddenly, there was a shift. What had felt like hundreds of hands holding me down became weightless and gentle. And there was light, beautiful, beaming, golden light that was so bright it burned my eyes just looking at it. I raised my forearm to shield my eyes and settled my weight onto my knees. Before, it had felt like I was dying. Now, it was like air was rushing into me and lifting me up, cradling me and comforting me. But it was far too bright and far too beautiful. It was painful all the same.

“Come to me.” A voice whispered so quietly it was like it was barely there. I held myself still, eyes closed and waiting, anticipating the sweet lull of the voice to call me again. And sure enough, it was there.

“Come to me.” It cooed, its sweet trill beckoning me to come forward and into its arms.

I stumbled to my feet, spinning around wildly in an attempt to see the user of such a melodic voice. The person I could only assume was my savior.

“Where are you?” I whispered, turning on my heels once more in search of the voice so rapidly I couldn’t see once more. Not only blinded by the stunning light, but the desperate spirals I was making in search for the voice.

“Come find me.” It called back, this time sounding even softer and farther than before.

First I took one step, then another, and another, and finally I was running. I ran straight into the golden mist, stumbling through the blinding light in search of the siren that called to me. I still did not know where I was, what this place was, and who called to me but I did know one thing, I needed to find them. I needed to know who called to me and who wanted me to find them.

The light stretched onward, touching the entirety of the misty emptiness but seemingly extended with no end in sight.

“Won’t you come find me?” It spoke again, this time a little clearer and a little stronger.

“I’m coming! Please, don’t leave me alone, please!” I gasped, urging my legs to move faster through the veil of mist that curled around my calves, still begging me to stay in the depths of the void.

“Please come find me, I need you.” The voice continued, it was like I could feel it reaching out towards me even though there was only the blinding light in front of me and all around me. I wanted them so badly, I needed to feel their touch, their embrace, and to see their face again.

“I miss you so much baby, please come home to me.” It urged, the voice becoming even clearer than before. I could tell now, this was a man and his voice was so familiar it made my heart ache in my chest, pounding as I ran even faster towards him. I could make it through, I would make it through for him.

“Live for me, God I’m begging you to live for me because I can’t take one more day without you.” He said, his voice cracking as he continued. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, and I know this is so selfish but please come back sweetheart, I can’t live without you.”

“You’re not selfish!” I yelled into the light, my legs working even harder than before. “I want to come home, I want to come home to you! This was my fault, I was the one who left but I don’t want to leave anymore!”

Tears were running down my face, blinding me even more than the light had. So many memories of him were there, hidden in my mind. Soft blonde hair, a sweet smile, and deep brown eyes that begged for me to stay. But I hadn’t and I ended up hurting the both of us in the end.

“I was scared! I thought we were moving too fast and I was the one who left, I was the one who was selfish!” That was right, he wanted to marry me and I had left. It was dark that night, the fog was so thick that I couldn’t see anything.

“You look so small.” He whispered, the skin of my hand bursting to life with tingles. “So small compared to all of this stuff you’re hooked up to.”

His voice was closer, the closest its been this entire time. But with the clarity of his sweet voice, there also came the pain. It was terrible, excruciating, pain. It stung throughout my jaw and head, sliced at my legs, punctured my arm, and punched me straight in the sternum. It hurt so bad to be this close to him, this close to the sun but it was worth it beyond measure. The pain was terrible but his voice was beautiful. I would take all the pain in the world if it meant I could be with him again, if I could start all over again.

“When they found you, I was so scared.” He cried. “They thought you were dead and I felt like I was dying too. But you held on, baby, you did so well. If you want to go, I’ll let you but I’m begging you to try for me because I don’t want to live in a world where I won’t see you everyday. Where you won’t make fun of me, or kiss me, or wake me up with that beautiful smile.”

“I don’t want to go!” I screamed, falling to my knees as the pain worsened. I reached forward, fingers curling into the mist and pulling me forward, the pain splintering off down my fingers and up my arm.

“I want to see you every morning, I want to stay with you, and I want to marry you! I don’t care how much it hurts because I love you!” I panted, dragging myself forward with what strength I had left. The light burned brighter and ignited the pain, bringing me down to the absent ground. A loud ringing sounded through the air, becoming louder and louder as my eyes began to flutter tiredly.

“Please, I need him.” I insisted as my body became heavier, the darkness rushing up behind me and attempting to latch its tendrils to my weak limbs. “I don’t want to go back to sleep, please let me go.”

“I’ll wait as long as you need me to,” he sobbed, “just please don’t go.”

“Don’t take me away from him, not yet.” I mumbled as the light dimmed and the darkness began to swirl around me again, pulling me deeper into its welcoming embrace. “I love him.”

The ringing only became louder and constant, jarring me as I felt the darkness wrap itself around me even tighter. His voice was gone, and the light was gone. Now, it was just me, the ringing, and the thick coat of darkness that swaddled me.

“Go.” It whispered.

The ringing became solid, melding into constant and consistent beeps. The air was light and smelled sharp and the lighting was dim and soothing. My hand was warm and my body was stiff, immovable from the immense pain that wracked through me. With all the effort I could manage to muster, I slowly opened my eyes again. They were heavy and puffy from sleep, struggling to fully open and take in the world around me. The walls were white, the floor was white, and the sheets on the bed were the same shocking shade. But he was there, with soft blonde hair and big sweet brown eyes staring at me in shock.

“I’ll stay, Jimin.”

#bts #bts jimin #bts x reader #jimin #park jimin #jimin x reader #bts fanfic #kpop #park jimin x reader

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

(i'm not sure if you're actually taking requests so ignore this if you aren't, oops) “You don’t know anything about her/him!” with Diego?? Thank you have a good day :)

A/N: Sorry for the confusion darling, I was indeed open for requests (and most likely would not have ignored you anyway). I hope you have a good day too, and enjoy the fic. 😊 Word Count: 2283 Content Warnings: Reginald Hargreeves (and his usual emotional abuse/manipulation bullshit)

Diego wrapped his arms around you from behind, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck.

“Hi baby,” you hummed, leaning back against him while you stirred some scrambled eggs on the stove. “What’s the occasion that’s got you all snuggly?”

“Does there need to be an occasion?”

“Need, no,” you turned off the stove and turned around in his arms, looping yours around his neck. “But there usually is one anyway.”

He smiled, kissing you tenderly and you melted into his touch.

“I was thinking…” he said eventually, reluctant to part from you.

You turned back around to dish out breakfast, laughing. “Oh? That’s never a good sentence. Especially when you end trailing off like that.”

He rolled his eyes, pouting at you from over your shoulder.

“Are you going to share, or leave me hanging?”

“My father is the featured speaker at some ceremony thing tonight, so he won’t be home.”

“Mhm?” you hummed, turning raising an eyebrow, gesturing for the two of you to shuffle together toward the island so you could set down plates and eat.

“I want you to m-m-m…”

The ceramic in your hand clacked heavily against the counter. Your hands came up to cup his face as you locked eyes with him.

“Deep breaths baby,” you murmured coaxingly. “It’s alright.”

He flashed you a grateful smile.

“I wantyoutomeetmymom,” he blurted out as one word, unintelligible gibberish seeming better in his mind than stuttering.

You stared at him, blinking twice in shock. “It sounded like you just said you want me to meet your mom?”

He nodded sheepishly, as best he could with his head still between your palms.

“Really? I mean that’s a big step. Are you sure?”

“I love you, Y/N. And I want the two most important people to me to know each other.”

You bit your lip and slowly smiled. “Okay. Sure. I’d like that a lot.”

The Umbrella Academy towered over you, somehow managing to be even bigger and more intimidating in real life than you could have imagined, especially in the fading light of afternoon. You and Diego laced your fingers with one another, looking at each other nervously before he reached up to knock on the massive double doors. There was a long pause, and you were tempted to suggest that he knock again, or that no one was home. Just as you opened your mouth though, the door swung open.

“Master Diego!” the man-monkey on the other side greeted, sounding shocked. “Were we expecting you today? Master Hargreeves is not home at the moment.”

“Hey Pogo,” Diego answered casually, a half smile on his face, and you tried your best not to stare too much. “Actually, we’re here to see Mom. I tried to call ahead but no one answered.”

“I see. Of course. Grace is in the kitchen, and I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you.”

Diego nodded and moved to lead you in past the apparent butler.

“Who is this?” Pogo asked.

Diego looked startled. He had momentarily forgotten that you were new to this part of his world and hadn’t always been a part of it.

“Right. Pogo, this is Y/N. My...Y/N. Y/N, this is Pogo. He’s…” he shrugged, unable to clearly put labels or titles on either of you for the other’s benefit.

“I work for Master Hargreeves as a personal assistant and butler,” Pogo explained. “And I helped in the day to day care of the children.”

You nodded. “Right, Diego’s told me about you. Or told me stories and you were in them. Which is kind of the same. I’m...dating Diego. We’ve been together for a while.” You hesitated, not sure if he’d want you to mention that the two of you had just moved in.

“I see,” Pogo smiled somewhat stiffly. “Congratulations. It’s always a pleasure to know that one of the children has found someone who makes them happy.”

You smiled in return, and Diego cleared his throat.

“You said Mom was in the kitchen?” he asked, hating how exposed he felt there in the foyer, as if his father might appear at any moment and ruin everything.

“Yes, I believe she is,” Pogo answered with a nod. “Once again, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

With that he turned and walked off, disappearing into another room.

Diego sighed, gripping your hand a little tighter as he led you down the hall.

As you walked down the flight of stairs into the kitchen, it was like you were entering an entirely different house. Despite being what looked like a converted butcher’s shop or maybe bakery, it had a warm, welcoming air. You suspected most of that feeling was coming from the smell of fresh pastry permeating the air, or perhaps the bright smile of the elegantly dressed woman who had looked up with a gasp of surprise and enveloped you and Diego both in a warm, tight hug almost immediately when you crossed the threshold.

“Hi, Mom,” Diego said, face lighting up.

“Diego, dear,” she said cheerfully as she backed up again, holding Diego by the shoulders to look him over. “It’s so good to see you! And you brought a friend! Your father isn’t here right now. Were we expecting you?”

“No, Mom, you weren’t. But I wanted to come over and introduce you to Y/N,” he said softly.

You gave an awkward little wave with your free hand. “Hello.”

Grace looked knowingly between the two of you, eyes falling to your joined hands. She winked at you.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Y/N,” she said. “Both of you sit. Dinner should be ready soon.”

He glanced at you nervously. You shrugged, hoping that he understood you were leaving it up to him and his comfort level.

Dinner turned out to be lovely, and even though she didn’t eat, Grace sat across the wooden-plank table from the two of you, asking polite questions like any other mother. You found yourself surprisingly comfortable in her presence and in the room, and were glad to see that as the evening wore on, Diego was relaxing too.

Suddenly all of the peace was shattered.

“Number Two!” a sharp voice called and you watched your boyfriend flinch.

You turned to see a tall, slim man silhouetted in the stairwell. You slipped your hand into Diego’s, squeezing comfortingly and he turned back to you to flash you a grateful smile.

“Mr. Hargreeves!” Grace said cheerfully, a smile on her face somehow managing to be forced even though you knew it was programmed, colder but no less bright than the ones you had received all night, making her even more into the quintessential housewife. “I didn’t think you would be joining us. We can move dinner to the dining room if you’d like?”

“No. I don’t intend to stay. I’m only here to inquire what Number Two was thinking in allowing that vulture into this house.” He pointed to you harshly, his gaze pinning you like a frog on a dissection tray.

“Vulture?” you demanded. “Who are you calling a vulture?”

“Are you simple as well as opportunistic? Obviously I am referring to you and your attempts to gain access to my house and secrets.”

“By having dinner with my boyfriend and his mother? I must be a lot dumber than I think because I don’t see how that’s part of some grand evil scheme?”

“I am not interested in playing games. I will request, politely for now, that you leave. I know what you’re up to, and will not waste my time bandying words with you, or refrain from taking action if you persist.”

“You don’t know anything about them!” Diego shouted suddenly, pointing a finger at his father and turning in his seat as if to position himself between you and his father.

You looked at him, surprised by his outburst. Clearly he understood more of his father’s veiled implications than you did, and whatever they were, they upset him. You didn’t even care what Hargreeves was saying, hating him by reputation alone, just that Diego was suffering for it, trembling under your still linked fingers.

“What is there to know? A journalist, if you can call anyone who works for that particular publication such a thing, happens to develop a romance with one of the famed Umbrella Academy. One who, for all his myriad failings, is at least attempting some mediocre facsimile of continuing the works he was born for. The only thing I do not know, and it hardly matters in the grand scheme, is whether fame or fortune is the primary motivator.”

You frowned, opening your mouth to protest, but Diego cut in again before you could. He jumped out of his chair, only held back from lunging at Reginald by the fact that he hadn’t released hold of your hand, and you weren’t about to let him now.

“You’re wrong!” he shouted.

“Am I, Number Two?” Reginald raised an eyebrow, stepping forward as if challenging Diego. “What do you actually know about this person?”

Diego hesitated, and you felt your heart breaking. It was true that not only were you a journalist, but that you had met while you were reporting on a home invasion he had helped to stop, saving all six people in the household, and that your initial interest in him was professional. It was true that you still hadn’t admitted every life’s detail to each other yet, but for how long you’d been together it was a fair number of things, and you knew that you both still had secrets. That was normal in a relationship.

Surely he knew that you loved him, as much as you knew in the core of your heart that he loved you?

“Diego…” you murmured, trying to coax him around to look at you instead of his father.

If he did, he would see in your eyes how much he meant, how obviously full of shit his father was. Why wouldn’t he look at you?

You felt a gentle hand on your shoulder and looked up to find Grace gazing sadly back down at you, an attempt at comfort from someone more familiar with disagreements between the two men than you ever wanted to be.

“You...don’t know what you’re talking about,” Diego argued again, voice soft and hurt.

Reginald’s eyes slid past his son to lock with you, still sitting at the kitchen table. You glared a challenge back. Grace’s hand tightened, as if she sensed that you were about to do something reckless, and she might have been right.

“Last chance,” Hargreeves said. “Leave now. Or I will make you leave.”

Diego growled and you stood up, moving to stand beside him, despite his noise of protest and attempt to hold you back with an arm.

“I love Diego,” you hissed. “I don’t need to prove that to you or to anyone else. I don’t care what you think of me. You’re just a sad, bitter old man who thinks because you have no love for anyone but yourself that everyone must be similarly self-serving, and if you want to project that onto me, go right ahead.”

Diego shifted, drawing you closer to his side and wrapping an arm protectively around your shoulders, since you wouldn’t let him stand in front of you. Reginald glared and Diego returned the look, jaw tightening.

“If you threaten Y/N again,” he started.

“You’ll what, Number Two?”

You felt him trembling and wrapped your arm around his waist. “It’s okay Diego, we can just leave…” you murmured.

“No,” he took a deep breath to steady his voice. “No it’s not. He’s not allowed to speak to you like that. To assume that…” he sighed. “I love you, Y/N. And I shouldn’t let my father or anyone attack you.”

“Truly touching,” Hargreeves said, rolling his eyes. “Get. Out.”

“Fine,” Diego said, and you both turned, headed for the back door. “But we won’t come back. Either of us. Ever.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Reginald says.

You had to practically run to keep up with Diego’s long, angry strides, trying to get away from Reginald as quickly as possible. You paused, dragging him to a stop to hug Grace warmly.

“It was really nice meeting you,” you said to her with a smile. “I can really see where Diego gets his heart from.”

“Hey,” you said when you and Diego had gotten back in the car. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He turned to look at you. “I’m sorry.”

“Diego, relax,” you said. “I knew he was a dick.”

“But you deserve better than that. And...I let him get into my head. I doubted you for a second.”

“Diego Hargreeves, you listen here,” you said sternly, trapping his face between your hands so he couldn’t look away. “I love you. And I do not care if you doubt it, or if you need me to prove it every single day. Because I will.”

“Y/N…”

“You spent your entire childhood being manipulated and controlled by him. So of course, he got back into your head. And a second’s doubt doesn’t scare me. Because you stood up to him.”

He frowned. “I…”

“Like, actually stood up to him. That took guts baby. And I’m so proud of you.”

“Proud of me? Brave?” he laughed. “No, no. Honey, it was only because I had you there with me.”

You opened your mouth to protest when he leaned across the center console, tucking a finger under your chin.

“Thank you,” he murmured before pressing his lips to yours tenderly.

#this was a lot of fun to write #I couldn't resist making it another in my set of 'meet the family' fics for Diego #although it can stand alone pretty easily too #Diego Hargreeves x reader #The Umbrella Academy fic

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jojo-reader-hell · 5 years

Text

Lisa Lisa x Fem!Reader: Let’s Only Think About Love

Every time Araki does something homophobic in his comic I make one of his characters gay. Strap in ladies. We’re marrying Lisa Lisa. Also congratulations Joseph, I’m your daddy now ;) Under a cut for length. Hope you enjoy!

Taken from a prompt I made up myself: They said Lisa Lisa married a screenwriter, I don’t remember anyone ever said the screenwriter was a man.

Never… He never in a million years would have imagined himself in this exact predicament.

Joseph Joestar must have been the only one here whose brain was too slow on the uptake. When he heard his mother married a screenwriter, he didn’t expect this to happen. Suzie Q and Granny Erina were enjoying themselves with the guild, Suzie fawning over the impeccably tailored suits that the ladies were wearing and Granny Erina commandeered by a group of incredibly friendly men, cooing over her pearls and listening in earnest to the advice she gave them on the many uses of rouge and why Mr. Fahrenheit would most certainly look better if he was to try the red versus the peach color.

“Mrs. Joestar, you are a goddess my darling!” said Mr. Fahrenheit exclaimed, wrapping his large arms around her small frame and making her giggle like a schoolgirl. “Jim sweetheart, you might have a bit of competition, I quite think I’d like to take a wild leap of faith and run away with Mrs. Joestar instead.”

“I cannot say fully that I’d blame you.” Laughed the taller man, kneeling by Granny Erina’s chair as she chastised both men for such talk.

“After all,” she insisted, “It’s not proper to say such things in front of your betrothed.”

The love in the air. Maybe that was what had first flabbergasted him. Every single person in the room was either engaged or to be married, pairing off separately with the opposite sex to prevent suspicion but celebrating the true union with their beloved. Some men in gowns, some women in suits, a bit of both on others, love was everywhere in the room. Permeating the air and sweetening it more than even the scent of the various cakes and sweets crowding a large table. It was quite the foreign concept and Joseph was not used to such freedom. He normally suffered through the parties of the affluent that his Granny dragged him to in his youth, the stiff collars and harsh whispers that permeated the smell of cigars and brandy. Here, the air was so sickly sweet with love that it was nearly suffocating.

Your friends came up to him and tucked flowers in his hair and kissed him warmly when they heard he was already married to the beautiful blonde that befriended nearly everyone in the room. Granny Erina’s lap looked like a garden with all the flowers everyone gave specifically to her in honor of her beloved Jonathan. Joseph even noticed some gentlemen getting very acquainted with Mr. Speedwagon, and the elderly man positively enjoying the attention. Every single one of the people you knew treated the Joestars like royal guests of honor, because of everyone present, the Joestars were the only family members that showed to the celebration.

“I am making this toast not only to the lovely brides who will set sail for their glorious honeymoon abroad in the morning, where they will undoubtedly fill every hour with the intensity of the love they share, but to the lovely people my darling is marrying into.” Mr. Fahrenheit had raised a glass of champagne, his hand on Granny Erina’s shoulder as she held it, “You’re Lisa Lisa’s family, her mother, her son, her daughter. All of you came to see this blessed event because you all love her and want her to be happy. That means more to her and her wife than anything in the world. By our laws, you belong to us now. For this moment in time, though we began as nothing but strangers struggling among the norm in Hollywood, everyone in the room is your blood. We are all Joestars this evening.”

In a million years, he never thought his mother would marry another woman, but when he saw you nearly falling over in your heels trying to greet everyone in his family with all the warmth and happiness of the sun, he couldn’t say he blamed her for falling in love with you. You were sweet, possibly even sweeter than Suzie Q if he was honest with himself. Constantly checking on Granny Erina and crying when she welcomed you into the family, attached at the hip to his wife who absolutely adored you, and more often than not he happened to accidentally catch you and his mother kissing as though you both were going to a war you would never return from. You were wholly and irrevocably in love with his mother, and by extension you loved his family too. There was so much kindness and love inside your pure heart… How could she not love you?

“I’m so happy to meet you Joseph.” You had told him before the party, taking his gigantic hands in yours and smiling sweetly. “I… I hope I’m not imposing myself, but I’ve always wanted a son. And I understand I cannot ever take the place of your father, but I do hope that there will come a time where you will see me as something closer than just the person who married your mother. Even if you just see me as a dear friend. I do love you as if you were my own, and if you ever need anything at all… Please do not hesitate to ask me. I will give you anything you need.”

“Jojo! Take your head out of the clouds my darling, have a drink. It is a reception after all!”

His broad shoulders were engulfed in a hug. At his side materialized Mr. Fahrenheit, a close acquaintance from your childhood that you insisted was like a father to you. He had an unusual manner of speaking, his attitude was that anyone he didn’t know was his “darling”.

“N-nothing.” He insisted, taking the punch the other man offered him. “I’m just…”

“It feels surreal doesn’t it? Seeing them in love…”

Mr. Fahrenheit’s arms never left Joseph’s shoulders, and there was so much sincerity in the embrace that he found himself even leaning into the other man for comfort.

“I… I don’t wish to be rude…”

“You’re not my darling.” Mr. Fahrenheit insisted. “It’s natural after all. You hardly knew your mother, and my sweet darling at her side is even more a stranger to you. But do not worry about the small details. It doesn’t matter a whit about conventionality. You’re not a stranger here. It is as I said before, tonight we are all Joestars, and this is your family. Never be afraid to feel safe with your family my boy.”

From the corner of the room he noticed Suzie Q cooing over the couple of the hour, her arms wrapped around your waist as she gushed over the gown you wore, wishing you and the towering woman at your side all the happiness in the world.

“Of course you’ll come see us every day when you return from your honeymoon, won’t you?” Suzie Q all but begged you as you smiled through the tears.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You insisted, “I told Elizabeth that Mr. Fahrenheit would be scouting for a home when we returned to New York, and she’s given me so many ideas for the decorations! I hope I have enough room for everything I can find abroad.”

“Wasn’t it you that said whatever we could not fit in the house we can give to Jojo and Suzie?” Lisa Lisa smiled as you turned pink, leaning into her touch as she wrapped her arms around you and kissed you deeply.

“Elizabeth.” You whined. “You’re going to spoil all the lovely surprises I wanted to send them!”

All this time he’d hesitated. Not wanting to make the wrong move that would alienate his mother away from him. And isn’t that all he’d ever wanted anyway? His family… He wanted his parents for his entire life and there they were, standing in the middle of the room with his wife.

Mr. Fahrenheit was right. Conventionality be damned. You were his family, and it wasn’t a bad thing to want to be a part of that love.

“So I guess since you married my mother, I am to call you my ‘papa’ now?”

Joseph snuck up behind you and lifted you in the air, careful not to harm you with his mechanical arm. You squealed, and Lisa Lisa bristled with a rough warning of “Jojo” before you began to giggle.

“I told you Joseph,” you laughed, “I want you to think of me as your parent. If you want me to be your papa, I’ll try my best for you!”

“Oh goody~…” he cooed, nuzzling into your cheeks and making you laugh. “Because I’ve always wanted to be bounced on my papa’s knee, and I have her now. Won’t you indulge your poor neglected son??”

“Jojo I’m warning you…” Lisa Lisa growled, only to be stopped when Joseph put you down, and was suddenly swept up in your arms much to the delight of the guests.

“If that’s what my son wants, it’s what he gets!” you giggled, much to his sputtering protests and red faced chagrin. “Come along Lisa Lisa, let’s shower our little boy in affection! He’s upset because we’re getting all the attention!”

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missingartist · 5 years

Text

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter Three

Geralt followed the golden-haired Mage with an intense brooding. The sky was beginning to darken, and the streets were almost deserted apart from a few stray stragglers who watched as they walked by, the others were drunks who swayed where they stood, to fascinated with their rum bottles to take notice of the trio. It had been many years since he had last seen Cersi, she had still been at the court of King Lidwig, her lover, it had been many years since his death and her self exile from court life. Hiding in this backwater town, away from the war and the troubles of the outside world. She had led them to a ramshackle building in the middle of a market street; the wood was worn and old, pitted by time and the weather. The smell of moss seeped out the pores of the place, mixed in with the smell of herbs and smoke but all undermined by that sweet smell of apples and the ocean. The mysterious women and her smell. She was here. The woman in the market must be the other healer, Adva, the girl Fagen warned him off of.

Inside was much like the outside. But the scent of sweet and fresh salty water was much more intense it permeated the room soaked into every piece of cloth, every piece of wood, every piece of stone. The hut was a long room, a large fireplace that flickered lowly above a brewing pot of burning herbs filling the room with the smell of rosemary and nettles — poor man purifying herbs, unusual. Why would the Mage’s use these? More importantly, what was in need of purifying? 5 bodies laid inside on campers beds, cramped into the space meant for 2, all sleeping deeply. A man sat on a desk laden with apparatus that has all been pushed careless to make room for an ornate leather book that he was feverishly reading. The man was of handsome feature, soft jawline lined with a thin stubble across his dark skin and dull green eyes. As soon as he saw them, the short man stood and thrust the book into his exotic satchel etched in magical symbols. Geralt narrowed his eyes at the unfamiliar man with interest before his eyes once again rested up against his old acquaintance.

‘Tradi its nice of you have finally taking responsibly for your duties. Tradi of Browdon, Geralt of Rivia. Geralt is an old friend back in my courtesan days, come to sort our beast problem.’ Cersi spoke uninterestingly, cocking her hip to the side as her eyes ran over the patient lying motionlessly in their beds.

‘Ahhh the Great White Wolf, an honour. If I can give you any assistance, my door is always open to distinguished guests. But I fear the beast we had here will be your match.’ Tradi bowed with a flourish and held his hand open to Geralt who remained unmoving.

‘I think you should leave that up to the professionals?’ Geralt huffed out in annoyance.

The male healer snatched his hand back to his body and narrowed his eyes in angry, raising his nose in the air in defiance. ‘I think you will find that I have a good range of experience, for 10 long years I was a head researcher at the Guild Sorcerers for dangerous creatures. I know many creatures and none documented have the power to rip through tissues and curse the blood with toxins without anyone seeing it. To vanish into thin air like it was never there.’

‘Hmmm’ Geralt grunted looking down at the arrogant man in front of him as they glared at each other.

‘The child seems a little stronger today, that’s good the toxic seems to be withdrawing. Geralt this the latest victim found outside her home, father and pregnant mother died. Slashed and ripped, mother died straightway; it was the toxins that got the father. They are powerful magic of some kind, but nothing I have ever come across ’ Cersi called to the Witcher, pulling the rough blanket away from the girl's and loosen the bandages around her wound for Geralt to investigate.

‘Claw marks, powerful beast, one long strike, indicates that the creature was moving when it delivered the blow, fast. Perhaps, a wolf, but the livers and heart were left. No respecting wolf would waste a meal. Hmmm.’ Geralt inhaled deeply, several times, having to struggle through the intoxicating scent of apples. ‘Hmmm, mountain moss. Only grows at the very top of mountains, no way a peasent family from Brightwater could come into contact with this substance, the creature must have tracked it in. Griffin then but never met a Griffin that had toxin in their claws. Not the style for them to attack villages, especially unprovoked. What have you been using to heal this blood poisoning.’

‘At first, we used Swallow, it took the edge off but too slow, healed the wounds but not the toxins going through their system. Nothing we could do but make them comfortable, we nearly lost this child 4 days ago. That is till Adva brew a similar healing potion using, limes, honey, dittany root and wormwood. And doubling the effect by burning rosemary and nettles. It has…’

‘That is something we need to discuss Cersi’ Tradi interpreted angrily ‘letting that simple-minded child lose on these poor devils. Burning rosemary and nettles, I wouldn’t use those herbs to heal an injured dog.’ Tradi huffed angrily.

‘Well they are working, at it not like we have a vast range of supplies, we had no stock. Adva did the best she could with anything she could find. Your just jealous because they are working.’ Cersi glared at the other Mage, with rage in her eyes.

‘Jealous of that orphan wretch. No match for the Great Tradi of Browdon…’

‘If he was so great, then why did he get kicked out of his Kings court.’ Cersi gritted out in pure venom.

‘I will not stay here to be insulted by the Whore of Court…Good day’ Tradi snapped, clutched his satchel to his chest and flouncing off into the distance.

‘Well, that was awkward.’ Jaskier stood wide eyes as the door clattered close.

‘Forgive Tradi. He is a grumpy old twat, but so would I be if I was as untalented as him…so Geralt have you figured out what it is yet.’

‘If I were to put money on, I’d say a Griffin, but never seen on giving of toxin scratches.’

‘Well, whatever it is I am sure you’ll get to the bottom of it. Lord Fagen has sorted out lodging at the Tavern of Carnal Appetites… well, that what the merchants call it. It is at the end of the town, looking over the port, can't miss it. Afraid I won't be able to take you there, one of us has to stay in the hut, and as Tradi has gone off it a hissy fit, it falls down to me. Adva works at the Tavern; she will be able to help you if you have any questions or need supplies. You best hurry, I hear they are putting on quite a little party for you two some of the best whores in the land at your disposal.’ Cersi smoothly sighed, giving a half laugh as the bard escaped through the door without her having to finish her sentence. ‘You have an interesting one there. No good in a fight but I hear the songs are excellent, never heard of a Witcher with their on songwriter before.’

‘Is this going somewhere Cersi? You know I am not one for half-hidden questions and answers.’ Geralt quipped as he folded his arms as he learnt against the stone mantle of the fire.

‘Ahhhhh that is the Geralt I have missed… Let me be a little more straight-edged. I felt what happened in the square; I can sense your questions and your confusion.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ Geralt shrugged.

‘Oh, Geralt. I am far older than you so don’t try to lie to me, I felt that energy bond being created. I have seen some soul bonds in my time but never with the couple never actually touching or meeting. For a bond link, this to be created is unheard of. From the reaction of poor Adva had must have been a powerful one; indeed, I had to send the sweetling home.’ Cersi was no fool; she had been waiting for this for a long time. Truth and honestly she did not think it would be Geralt, the white wolf that would stumble across the little healer, that was a surprise, not much of one given recent events. It did, however, threw some unneeded confusion into the pot, muddied the water, that was a concern, she would need to rectify that quickly to make the process as smooth as possible.

‘I vaguely seem to recall your friend at the square; she probably inhaled too much rosemary and nettle.’ Geralt face remained impassive, but his golden eyes swirled.

‘Vaguely recall? I’m surprised about that; you didn’t take your eyes off her. At one point I thought you were going to jump off the stage carry her off to your cave.’ Cersi teased, moving over to wash her hand in the basin to the right of the fire and Geralt.

‘As I said, no idea what you are talking about, I think you have spent to much time away from court, you're losing your edge. Witcher’s do not get soul mates.’

Cersi silently observed the Witcher out of the corner of her eye for a long moment as she scrubbed her hands. ‘Well, then, I must be mistaken. You better catch up with your friend. Give my love to Adva; I hear she is making roast lamb.’ Not looking up as Geralt left without another word.

Cersi waited several long moments scrubbing her hands thoroughly before picking up a dagger from beside her and adding a few drops of her own blood to the water, watching as the deep red liquid dissolved in the clear water and a bright light because to ripple across the basin. The Mage waited and waited until a familiar figure replaced her own reflection.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ‘Geralt of Rivia, you are most welcome to our fine establishment. If you require anything, and I mean anything, please let me know… Our Sirens of Brightwater are at you and your friend's disposal. I reserved the best table for you here’ Madam Vivian greeted, fanning herself with a garish fan as she indicated to a velvet-covered table in the middle of the room.

‘Hmmm,’ The hulking Witcher replied as he surveyed his surroundings, scrunting up his nose.

The smell of the room was overpowering, intense perfume and oils to overpower the smell of sex and cum that lingered underneath. Sweat and body odour where another murky smell that offended his nose, he would prefer to be covered in selkie guts again than have to endure the nauseating smell. The only thing that made the room tolerable was the hint of crisp apples and the fresh ocean breeze — an undercurrent of pleasure in a sea of disgust. Ignoring the offered table, Geralt marched off to a bench table in the corner of the room. It had a good view of the bar, which a heavyset man, dressed in beautiful clothes looking very uncomfortable tended to. Hired security doubling as staff, interesting. Geralt ponders as his eyes again searched the room again.

On the opposite side of the room, there was a large hatchway window opening up to the kitchen, the girl from the market flittered around the room tending to two large lambs turning on a spit, basting it with herbs and what smelt like lemon, occasionally she would pass a hunk of meat to the boy turning the spirt who would guzzle it down immediately with a gapped tooth grin. Her skin was pale, but a rose flush dusted across her cheeks and chest. From this distance, even if he didn’t have Witcher's eyes, her eyes sparkled dangerously in the light of the coals, creating hundreds of little stars staring back at him, a gentle smile painted on her lips. Every now and then a patron would wander passed, throwing her a greeting or stopping to chat. She was a short, curvy thing, meaning she would have to learn across the wooded serving platform. Causing the blouse, she had over her bodice to give way a little, and the onlooker caught an eyeful of creamy cleavage. Rage filled his vision as he watched the men jeered and whispered behind tankards of mead with offensive jokes. Part of him, a big part of him, wanted to pull out his sword and slash their throat. Feel the warmth of their blood pool against his skin.

‘This place is amazing!’ Jaskier roared gulping on his goblet of wine, a woman sucking upon his neck already.

Geralt ignored his friend who busied himself with devouring a woman mouth as her hand explored the regions of his pants. Instead, he busied himself drinking mead and watching the young kitchen maid. Her face was partially hidden by the curls that mopped around her head, dark roots that faded into a honeyed blonde; they bounced about her as she dished up plates of meat and cheeses. Geralt amber eyes remained on the figure of the girl as she hummed softly as she worked, but the Witcher saw the dark circles underneath her eyes, and the effort the woman had to put in as she moved. Geralt eyed her with concern as he felt the wavering force of magic filter through the air.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Geralt was on his third mead when the Madam of the tavern reappeared and made her way over to her favourite girls. Nesta and Bela huddled in the corner of the room. Nesta let her hair loose, brushed to a healthy shin, a deep split in her bodice ran down to her navel, showing off her pert breast and slim waist. To her face, she had applied a thick band of charcoal to create a smokey eye, and a faint shimmer of blush to define her cheekbones. Bela was to the left of her, a taller, slimmer woman, dressed in a forest green dress, she was older, nearing her 30s, but still kept an athletic figure, men liked her for the thin body she possessed and girlish charm which she played to her advantage. They had spent the last hour as requested by Vivian watching the white-haired man quietly drinking. ‘How has he been? Has anyone taken his fancy?’ Vivian mumbled from behind her fan.

‘No, he just keeps looking at the wall? Maybe he doesn’t fuck on the job? Maybe he needs to keep his stamina up or something’ Bela spoke is a sultry whisper, pouting at the thought of having to wait. Bela was one of the newest girls, but she also had almost 10 years on the rest, the madam thought it is employing someone more mature might have given her a little more brains, it seems that there was little to be had in her.

‘A Witcher is mutated, has several times the stamina and strength of a normal man. I think one fuck would set him up for a night of hunting. I think perhaps he has a type.’ Vivian purred following the man's gaze. ‘Get Adva to bring the food to the table. Tell her to be accommodating. ’ The madam gave both the girls a big grin, and she grabbed a pitcher of mead and made her way to the table and began to fill the silver tankard without asking, eyeing him discreetly and gave a smile as he eyes never wandered far from the shy kitchen maiden.

Bending down she whispered low into his ear ‘You have a good eye for women. However, that particular girl is just a mere servant…though, I am in the middle of persuading her to sell her virginity. There has been a lot of interest in Adva, such a good-natured girl, gorgeous, especially when out of those rags. Inexperienced, would need someone to break her in. If that is something, I can tempt you with; I would be happy to keep you in mind. I'm sure she would be an honour to accept your offer. I was thinking 50 gold coins’

‘The only thing I want to break in is a leg of lamb.’ Geralt growled lowly, aggressively, through gritted teeth.

Vivian scarlet smile faltered, and an ugly sneer replaced it but as quick as it appeared it disappeared, replaced with a strained smile. ‘Of course,…. Ahh, here it is now. Adva, please give the Witcher extra attention, make sure he has everything he needs.’ Vivian cooed at the young girl before flicking her fan up and swayed away. Leaving the golden eyes and blue eyes to meet.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva ached. Her body felt heavy with the want of sleep. It the haze of everything that has happened at the square she had only managed to splash some water in her face before Vivian had put her to work, prepping two full lamb, soup and cakes, she hadn’t even had time to make sense of what occurrence earlier. The connection between the two felt intense, heavy and energetic. In the back of her mind, she was aware that Witchers were the vessel of magical force due to the mutations that their body was put through, since the attacks she had become tender and raw to the chaos around her making her extra sensitive. It must be why he was affecting her so much! It was nothing, she was sure, she doubted the Witcher even felt it, it was paranoia.

‘Adva…Viv wants you to personally bring food over to Witcher. Be nice; I think she has something planned. Tread carefully’ Nesta whispered across the hatch, as she passed.

Panic surged through her as she stared wide-eyed at the opening; she hadn’t been realised that the Witcher was here. That was good right? It meant that everything she felt was it her sleep-deprived head. With her faltering strength, she carved off a leg of lamb and ladled the sizzling juices onto a wooden bowl with the cooked vegetables, wedging that under her arms while picking up another tray laded with cakes and cheeses. As quick as she could she matched out to immediately be hit by an overwhelming scent of spice, wood and mint. Usually the tavern smelt of perfume and lavender, but the smell faded into the background for this wintery warming fragrance. The anxiety seemed to melt away, and her heart slowed, and an overriding sense of comfort as she made her way through the crowd of laughing people. The girls were strategically placed throughout the establishment, Vivian was a wise woman, made it her business to know the indulgence of her customers to please them and ensure they kept spending the coin which is why she was surprised to find the Witcher sat alone in a dark corner. Even before she saw him, she could feel his eyes burn through her, those circles of fire that swirled followed ever her every movement. Vivian was standing next to him, giving her her sternest look before she greeted her and departed to a safe distance to observe.

‘Sir your meal’ Adva tried to smile as she placed the heavy platers around him, her arms sighing with relief as they were unburdened of their bounty. ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’ She tried to smile, but the penetrating stare he held was daunting, unwavering and powerful, which is why his first words surprised her,

‘Dwarven Spit.’

So they finally meet! The next chapter will be there meeting and little action, as requested by one of the readers. How are we finding it? I am trying to stay true to the character of Geralt, but he is damn hard to write. What do you think of the characters? And once again, if you want to see or want me to included anything, just let me know.

Also I am open to request, so feel free to send them through.

#geralt of rivia #geralt smut #geralt x oc #Geralt #geralt x reader #the witcher #witcher netflix

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coyotesongwriting · 4 years

Text

Home - Ch. 3

Chapter 3 - Fresh Start

Chapter Summary: Bucky’s gone, and so are you. What happens when you find out some big news?

Word Count: 3222

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading this story and I hope you enjoy it. I’ve tried a new writing style for this fic and I can definitely say it’s not my cup of tea but I love the story anyways!

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters so don’t sue me please. I just really like them haha

Previous Chapter Series Masterlist

May You weren’t sure where you were headed when you left the compound, but you knew you had to go as far as you could. For the next two weeks, you wandered wherever the road took you in the Ford Explorer Fury had gifted you. At first, you traveled down to Florida and spent a few days on the coast. The smell of the fish that seemed to permeate the harbor areas left you feeling ill though, and you decided it was time to move. You slowly made your way along the southern coast, stopping in New Orleans for a few days to take in all the sights you’d always wanted to see. You even did a few of the cheesy ghost tours, a part of you hoping that maybe you would receive a sign from Bucky, but knowing you wouldn’t.

As you drove through Texas, you took the old two-lane roads through the middle of nowhere. On one hot summer day, you were driving when you saw a dog on the side of the road. The large German Shepherd mix was tied to a pole on the side of the road, a piece of paper that said ‘free’ taped to it above his lead. The dog had been tied out in the heat with no water for who knows how long, and without a second thought, you loaded him up into your car. Pouring some water into your hands, you gave him a bit before rushing him to the vet in San Antonio.

According to the vet, if you hadn’t come along when you did, someone would have found a dead dog in the summer sun. The vet scanned him for a microchip and was able to find out his name was Rex. His owner’s information was all outdated though, and when they asked what you wanted to do, you didn’t hesitate to say that he was staying with you. You found a hotel room nearby and stayed for the two days Rex spent at the vet, waiting for him to be given a clean bill of health. Every day, you went to visit him for as long as you could. He was always happy to see you and seemed to know you had saved him from a slow and horrible death. You constantly were texting the Avengers pictures of Rex, and Clint immediately claimed him as his godson.

When the day came that you finally got to pick him, you took him to the pet store where you bought him all the supplies he’d need, a nice collar, bed, leash, food bowls, treats, all of it. That night, Rex climbed onto the bed next to you and fell asleep with his head resting on your stomach. For the first time since losing Bucky, you finally slept through the night.

Back on the road, you drove until you reached Sedona, Arizona. There, you decided, was going to be your first stop. The beauty of the surrounding mountains and cliffs surrounded you, and it was completely unlike the forests and meadows you’d called home in upstate New York. The desert was never going to be the place you’d permanently settle down, but it was the perfect place to spend a few months, to heal before attempting to build a permanent life somewhere with Rex.

You found a small apartment on the outskirts of town with a balcony overlooking the cliffs and made it your own. It didn’t take long before you found a job at one of the diners in town working as a cook. You settled into the different lifestyle quickly and made a new routine, one that was reliable and without danger.

In the mornings, you’d take Rex for a jog on the hiking trail behind the apartments. By the time it started to heat up, you were back at the apartment, and Rex was relaxing. You’d go to the apartment’s gym where you’d do some basic exercises, even if you weren’t an Avenger anymore you wanted to be sure you were in shape just in case something happened. After that, you got ready for your shift and went to cook for the dinner rush.

Every day, you checked in with Nat and Sam, and usually one of the others. Everyone wanted to make sure you were doing alright and to be honest, you were. Things were hard of course, and you missed Bucky, you always would, but you were learning to live a new life. One that wasn’t haunted by the ghost of him. One where you didn’t have to worry every day about whether or not your friends would die in front of you.

June A month after getting settled into Sedona, you received a phone call from Steve. It was a late Tuesday night, and you’d just finished your shift at the diner, and you were walking back to your apartment down the quiet streets when you answered.

“[Y/N], we have to make the announcement” Steve’s voice was soft, careful as he spoke.

The warm night air seemed suddenly suffocating. You’d been so wrapped up in your own guilt that you forgot that to the rest of the world, Bucky was still alive somewhere, doing his job as an Avenger. When he first joined the team, he’d gotten mixed reviews from people on the street. Half the people they ran into feared him, blaming him for what he’d done as the winter soldier. The others seemed to understand and were more than willing to welcome him on as one of Earth’s Defenders. Over the years, he had managed to change the doubter’s minds and it wasn’t long before there was even fan merchandise being sold of him. Unlike Tony, he hadn’t relished the spotlight and tried to stand back whenever he could.

While you and Bucky had been more than happy to come out as a couple to the team, you’d decided to keep your relationship private. Since you always wore a photostatic veil when you were in public as one of the avengers, you didn’t want to make things awkward if someone saw him out with you when you weren’t wearing a disguise. He didn’t need the bad publicity if someone saw him kissing you with and without the veil. Besides, it was nice having something for just you and the team, one part of your life that didn’t belong to the world.

The realization struck you, the moment the world found out about his death? He’d be everywhere. You may have left the Avengers in the hope of avoiding his ghost, which still followed you, but the moment it was announced you’d see his face everywhere. The news coverage that would come was sure to run nonstop for days. There’d be a public funeral service. Bucky’s death would surround you once again, and this time you’d have no choice but to wait it out.

“[Y/N]?” Steve’s voice drew you out of your thoughts, reminding you of his presence.

“Y-yeah. Can you give me a little bit? A few days. Please. I just need to be ready.”

“Saturday, we have to do it then. People are beginning to ask why they haven’t seen him around lately and we can’t keep hiding this. There’s going to be a lot of questions” he paused before continuing, “People have been asking about you too.”

“Okay. That’s fine, that’ll work” your voice was nervous, trying to reassure yourself it would be alright, “What are you going to tell them about me?”

“You can still come back, you know. We miss you. Even Tony misses you.”

“I know. But I’m not coming back. I can’t. I can’t do that. I can’t watch one of you die again. I can’t do it again.”

“I can’t say if you come back you’ll never be in that position again, but we need you. It’s not the same without both of you…”

“No. I know, I miss you guys, I get it. But I can’t - won’t - go through that again”

“I just worry about you. Bucky wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“Bucky’s dead, Steve. We don’t know what he’d want, but he’d want me to be happy and I can’t stay there and pretend everything’s fine, okay?”

“Come home, [Y/N].” Steve’s voice lost the softness, his stubbornness setting in.

You could feel the frustration in you rising as Steve’s attitude changed. You’d been more touchy lately, but who wouldn’t be after losing the person they were meant to spend the rest of their life with?

“I am home.” you slid your key into the lock of your front door and were greeted by Rex’s wagging tail.

“You know what I mean.” he sighed, frustrated.

“No. No, I don’t. Because the complex isn’t my home, not anymore.”

“[Y/N]-”

“Look. I have to go. I just got in and I’m exhausted. You’re making the announcement on Saturday. I get it.”

“Come home. Please.”

You didn’t answer him, merely hanging up the phone. You set your phone on the small entry table by the door and leaned back against the door behind you. Sliding down, you sat on the floor, back against the door as the tears overwhelmed you again. You were getting better, truly. You could usually get through the day without crying by this point, but sometimes things were just too hard.

Looking back all you could see were the mistakes that were made. The things you could have done to save him. And in your darkest times, when it seemed like dawn would never come, you blamed Steve. If he hadn’t made you wait, you could have gotten to him in time. You could have warned him. You could have gotten him out of there, and you wouldn’t be here today. Blaming Steve wasn’t fair, you knew that, but sometimes it was hard to forget that.

Rex nuzzled his way into your face, and your hands closed around him, pulling him close as you broke. While you may have saved him, he’d more than repaid you since you brought him home. On the days you felt alone, he was always by your side. When you didn’t even want to get out of bed, he was there nudging you and making sure you got things handled. When you broke down at night, he was happy to lay with you and offer you a listening ear.

The night passed slowly, seeming to creep by. You slept in fits, but Rex was there every time you woke up. His calm presence lured you back to sleep every time. In your dreams, Bucky was there by your side again and things were good, things were happy and you got to relive some of your favorite memories.

The next morning, you called your boss, asking for Saturday and Sunday off. You’d been working every night since they hired you on. Not having days off meant you could live in the same routine day in and out, no surprises or confusion. Your manager quickly approved the request, and you began to plan.

Saturday came, and in the early morning hours you packed up your car with some supplies and Rex and set off on the five-hour drive to Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest. The forest there would give you the perfect chance to ride out the worst of the news coverage, give the world a chance to get over the shock while you were away.

You shut off your phone, knowing that if you left it on you’d be too distracted by what’s happening to focus on getting on getting away. The drive was nice, and you kept the music soft, not in the mood for anything loud at the time. On your drive to Sedona after finding Rex, you’d learned he was one of those pups who truly loved car trips. His antics as you drove kept your mind off the reason for the trip.

The towering pines and cool mountain weather enveloped you as pulled into the campground. The campground was all but deserted, only one other camper nearby and for that you were grateful. When you planned the trip, you feared that the campground would be busy and you’d be surrounded by couples and families, unable to get the chance to escape. Instead, you were able to focus on the peace and quiet of the forest.

The weekend passed quickly, too quickly for your liking. You and Rex spent the time hiking throughout the forest. Rex was eager to see it all, his exuberance reminding you that he was only a year old. For that, you were grateful. The idea of losing him, your only anchor left in the world, left your breath stuttering. Watching him bound after a squirrel, stopped by the leash, brought a quick burst of laughter from your lips, and with that, you left fears of losing him behind.

During your hike on Sunday, you stumbled upon a herd of wild horses. When you’d first decided to camp here you’d heard they had wild horses here, but you figured you’d never be lucky enough to see one. They were off in the distance across the meadow from you and didn’t seem bothered by your presence. The band stallion watched you for a moment when you first left the trees but quickly turned his attention back to his family, his mares too busy keeping an eye on their roughhousing foals to worry about you. You watched them with Rex for an hour before the herd moved on.

Monday morning seemed to arrive in the blink of an eye, and the dread you’d managed to put out of your mind all weekend crawled back in. Packing up the car, you kept eyeing the phone in the center console, terrified of what you would see when you inevitably turned it back on. For a long moment, you considered just not. Just leaving the phone behind, taking Rex, and running back into the wilderness.

But you couldn’t. Bucky’s death lay heavy on your shoulders, and you couldn’t face yourself if you had run from what happened. No, you had to face the music. And so, you did. The drive back to Sedona was a much more somber trip than the drive away, and you found your mind constantly wandering back to your phone, to what you’d turn it back on to find.

It wasn’t until you were back at your apartment with Rex napping at your feet, that you turned on your phone. It began to flood with notifications, emails from news organizations, and companies chiming in on his death. Texts from the avengers trying to check in on you grew more worried as the days ticked on. Quickly you shot off a text to them, letting them know you were okay, that you’d taken the weekend to go camping and hadn’t had phone reception. Almost immediately, you got responses from Nat and Sam, telling you they’d been worried. Steve’s response was to yell at you for scaring him. You didn’t text him back.

July It wasn’t until you’d been settled in Sedona for two months that you realized something was wrong. At first, you’d chalked missing your period off to stress, who wouldn’t be stressed after losing someone like that? But after four missed periods, you knew it was time to take a test. After your jog that day, you came home with three different kinds of tests, unsure what you hoped the answer would be. Within 15 minutes, the results were in.

Calling around, you were able to get a doctor’s appointment the next day for an official pregnancy test. Nerves ate at you about the idea of being a single mom, and a big part of you contemplated packing up and going back to the Avengers. If you chose to stay away from the Avengers, you’d be denying your kid the chance to really know their family, and your friends turned family the chance to know their niece or nephew.

The next morning your blood was drawn and within a few hours, they had the official results. You were pregnant. It wasn’t just a batch of faulty tests, it was definite. While the idea of going home to the Avengers, of having that support system, was a huge draw, you feared that going back would put you back in the same mental place you fled to get out of. With a baby on the way, could you really risk that?

You pulled out your phone, dialing Nat and before she could even say hello, you spoke, “Hey. Can you get everyone together?”

“Yeah, is everything okay?” she asked, before letting out a loud whistle. Clint loved to joke she’d trained them like dogs because they’d always come running when she whistled once.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’d just rather only tell this all once” you let out a nervous breath as you waited.

Within a few seconds, everyone had gathered on Nat’s line and after a quick round of hellos, you took a deep breath before blurting out, “I’m pregnant. About four and a half months along.”

The silence that came across the line was deafening, and you waited anxiously to hear how they’d react. Steve was the first to speak, “Y-you’re pregnant? With Bucky’s kid?” his voice was unsure.

“Yeah. Went to the doctor today and got it confirmed. I’m due in early January” you bit your lip, pulling it between your teeth nervously.

“Congrats, kid” you could hear the smile in Clint’s voice, and you let out a nervous breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, “I guess I shouldn’t call you kid anymore though, huh?”

“Probably not” you chuckled softly.

“What are you going to do, [Y/N]?” Tony chimed in.

“What am I going to do?” you repeated back curiously, “I’m going to have my kid and raise them up the best I can.”

“Are you sure you’re up for that?” Steve’s voice was quiet.

“Yes I’m sure I’m up to raising my own child, Steve.” your voice was hard.

“That’s not what I meant. I just - I meant you could always come back. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“I know what you meant, Steve. And no, I’m not going to come back because I’m pregnant. If anything, this just tells me I made the right call. I don’t want to raise a kid in that world, always having to wonder if I’m coming home or if they’re going to lose someone they love too.”

“You don’t have to rejoin us, you can just come home, you don’t have to fight.”

“Steve, no. I’m finally doing alright out here. I’ve got Rex, and soon I’ll have my kid, and I’m moving on. I’m not going to just move back to the compound because I’m pregnant. Women do this on their own every year. Look, I just wanted to share my news I wasn’t looking for a fight. I’m going to do what’s right for me and my kid” by the end, your voice was a low growl.

For a long moment, no one spoke. When silence began to echo down the line, you hung up and began to go about your day, hoping to forget their apparent doubt in you and your ability to be a good mom. You didn’t.

Next Chapter ->

Taglist OPEN: @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @queenoftheunderdark @redfoxwritesstuff @brokenthelovely @collinsstanharbour @samsgoddess @redhairedfeistynerd @winterisakiller

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Winter Soldier #marvel #Marvel The Avengers #marvels the avengers #Marvel's The Avengers #Marvel's Avengers #fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending #The Avengers #Avengers

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yunggumii · 4 years

Note

after reading your rules can i please have a scenario with asahi with reader braiding his hair while they’re just relaxing! tons of fluff and maybe some short nsfw ;) hehe thank you so much but you don’t have to if you don’t want to 💓

ofc !! i feel like asahi is such an underrated character and needs more love (;´д｀) #moreloveforazumane

smells like lavender

azumane x gn!reader

summary: you take care of your exhausted boyfriend after a long, late-night practice

includes: fluff, light cursing, and sexual references

wc: 1.229K

scenario below the cut

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The water was torrid as it filled up the tub, its steam rising from the surface; your boyfriend Azumane was at practice all day and you figured that once he got home he would be exhausted and sweaty, ergo you decided to start a bath for him. The aroma of the lavender scented essential oil permeated the washroom as it infused itself with the water’s vapor. Suddenly, you hear the familiar sound of the front door unlocking.

“Welcome home, babe~” you greet Asumane with a cordial smile, “How did practice go?”

“Hey, Y/N. Practice was good, Coach worked us pretty hard tonight.” He let out a spent sigh, leaning against the wall for support as he removed his shoes, “I can already feel my muscles stiffening.”

“Aw, you poor thing.” you say with a sympathetic frown, “Good thing I have a bath waiting for you! Hopefully that’ll help relax you a bit.”

Asahi lifts his head, his unfeigned expression warming your heart, “You’re so thoughtful, Y/N. I really appreciate that.” He places his lips upon your forehead, pecking it softly as he brings you in for a hug.

“I love you.”

You giggle, inhaling deeply before you speak, “I love you too, but you really need to bathe.”

Azumane chuckles, releasing you from his embrace, “Alright, alright. Let’s go.” You take his hand in yours, leading him into the bathroom; the air was marginally humid when you entered since the majority of the steam leaked through the bottom threshold, but the water was still hot. The both of you stripped, tossing your clothes into a hamper and grabbing the soaps and towels and placing them near the edge of the tub. You dip your foot in, the warmth of the water enveloping your form as you submerged.

“Wow, this feels nice.” You say as a prolonged sigh slips from your mouth; Asahi steps in, causing the water’s level to rise a bit. He groans, his back resting against the wall of the tub.

“Yeah, smells nice too. Is this lavender?” he asks.

You nod your head, a small yet proud smile spreads across your face, “Mhm!”

“Good choice. It’s very calming.” he says, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

“I figured you’d say that.” You say with a giggle as you bring your body closer to him.

“Okay, let’s clean you up!”

Asahi lets out a grunt as you grab onto his arm, pulling him upright, “We’ll start with washing your hair.” You cup your hands beneath the surface and lift them above his head, letting the water flow as you pour. Reaching for the bottle of shampoo, you pop open the cap and let the soap ooze onto your hand. A low moan fell from his lips as you pressed your fingers into his scalp, spreading the suds throughout his locks.

“You must be enjoying this, hmm?” You say with a chuckle. Asahi adored having his hair played with; whether you were brushing it, styling it, or pulling it—his hair was a total weak spot and doing anything to it never ceased to arouse him.

“Hell yeah, I am.” he replies.

“Good~” you say as tug on his hair playfully, eliciting another moan from him.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to toy with him more; to tease him while he’s drained of his energy and can’t resist, but you knew that moment wouldn’t last long—his posture seemed to slouch the longer he sat in the warm water. You rinse the shampoo from his hair, the bubbles sliding down his form and onto the surface of the water. “Time to wash your body!” You say, grabbing the body wash and drizzling the soap on a loofah. You circled the mesh-ball around his chest, then his stomach; dragging it over his defined abs. As you splash the suds from his body, you feel his hands grip your wrists gingerly.

“I know I said it already, but I really do appreciate this.” His words were candid and you could tell; Asahi was the type of person to show his gratitude frequently, regardless if it was on the court, or at home and no matter how small the favor was.

You grin ear to ear, bringing your hands to cup his face, “I appreciate you giving me the opportunity, babe~”

He places his lips on yours, smiling into the kiss, “Thank you, Y/N.”

You hum in response, pulling away slowly to speak, “Let’s get out of the tub how, okay?”

Azumane nods his head and reaches for the towels, passing the first one to you. The both of you step out of the tub, the water dripping off your bodies as you stand on the mat. Suddenly, a shiver shoots down your spine, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms and legs.

“I’m freezing.” You say between clattering teeth. The cold air struck the uncovered parts of your body as you left the bathroom.

“Here.” Azumane says as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to his warm body—he smelled like the lavender oil. You both enter the bedroom and get dressed; Azumane sports a pair of black running shorts, his underwear peaking above the waist band, while you wore a pair of grey sweatpants and one of his many stolen sweatshirts. You jump onto the bed, burrowing yourself underneath the comforter as Asumane dries off his hair. He tosses the towel into the hamper and pulls out a brush from the dresser’s drawer, running it through his dampened locks.

“Ooh, ooh! Can I braid your hair?” You ask, peaking your head up from the mountain of blankets.

Azumane chuckles, “Of course.” He sits at the edge of the bed, his back facing you as you scoot forward. You grab hold of his wet hair, separating them into three, even sections. You begin to weave the hair, overlapping them continuously until you finally get into a rhythm; it’s slow at first, but the more you braid, the faster your pace gets. You tie the end with a rubber band, letting the finished braid fall limp against his back. Azumane reached his hand behind his head, running it over the braid, “Woah, this braid is really good! There aren’t any stray pieces hanging loose.”

You smile proudly, placing your hands on your hips, “Well, I am the best braider ever, so it makes sense~”

He spins his body around, facing you.

“You’re so cute.” He says as he playfully ruffles your hair. He kisses your cheek before making his way to the top of the bed. He pats the spot next to him, signaling for you to lay next to him. You comply, crawling over and laying your head on his chest. He wraps his arm around you, placing his hand on your hip. You could hear the slow beating of his heart. With a smile on your face, you speak, “I love you, Azumane.”

He squeezes your waist, placing his lips upon the top of your head.

“I love you too. Sweet dreams, Y/N~”

You yawned, the melatonin flowing through your bloodstream. You don’t remember being this tired since just a moment ago, you were full of energy; but allas, the heaviness of your eyelids begin to weigh them down until they finally closed—your sight consumed by the still darkness of slumber as you drift off to sleep.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist✨: @j3lly0gre @imagine-bakery @vventure @hq-cuties @blobbyx2blobfish @baby-boy-taichi @gulfwanq @poppirocks @xiorrawrites

if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist, just ask ★彡

#haikyuu!! anime #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#azumane asahi #asahi azumane #hq asahi

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pressedinthepages · 4 years

Photo

Chapter 2: Expectations

Summary: After 30 years of walking the path alone, your heart has hardened over, but it seems there are a couple of cracks.

Series Masterlist

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382063/chapters/59027686

Words: 1754

Warnings: not really any this time, little bit of sexism and swearing, but nothing extreme.

A/N: I know I’m a bit early with this one, but I’m so excited so I can’t wait XD This one’s a bit shorter, but I like where it ended so it’ll be a good setup for the next chapter :) enjoy! Also, the term 'fauntkin' is a medieval term of endearment, essentially meaning "young child."

The sun is high in the sky, a slight breeze stirring dust from the trail as you walk. You can feel eyes burning holes in the back of your armor as you approach the notice board. You’ve arrived in a sizeable town in Velen, almost as far east as Oxenfurt. The people here, you can tell, are well-fed and prosperous. Being this close to a big city tends to leave people with an extra bit of coin in their pockets, but it also tends to come with bigger problems. Sometimes it’s bigger, meaner contracts, or it’s stingy, uptight employers. Your leather skirt billows around your knees, and you are grateful for the lined trousers you wore underneath as the wind bit your nose. You keep the hood on your cloak up, not yet having a chance to figure out just how welcome you are here.

1225. The year catches your eye from a slip of parchment on the board, glaring at you, taunting you behind a ruse of some poor sap looking for a lost ring. You think back, it’s been about thirty years since you left Kaer Morhen, and you’ve not been able to bring yourself to crawl back up those steps. You’d heard whispers among townsfolk about an attack, just a few years after you left on the Path. You had contemplated returning, feeling a wave of grief come over you as one of the last Wolves on the continent.

But as you started making the trek towards the mountains, a sense of panic and dread building in your chest. That place had held you down, smothered you, taken everything that you had the potential to be and robbed it of you. It turned you into something not much more than the monsters you are paid to slay and almost killed you in the process. You often found yourself wishing that the damned place had actually finished the job and let you die in the Trials, let you slip from its grasp into the cold, dark earth.

Shaking the daydream away, you peer at the fluttering papers nailed to the board. Most were useless, people looking for misplaced trinkets or threatening their neighbors. However, there was one in the corner that drew your attention, mainly because of the big letters scrawled across the top: WITCHER NEEDED.

You scan the notice quickly, shoving it into your pack before briskly turning and striding towards the edge of town. The contract spoke of a “hoard of flying women, tits sagging in a most horrid manner.” The man who had posted the notice had directed the reader to come to his home, where he would tell them what they needed to know.

As you approach, you see a bearded man with two young children playing as he worked in a small garden. You cross into the yard, the children quieting with your arrival. You clear your throat, the man startling at the noise. He stands and turns to you, taking notice of the two swords on your back and the scar on your brow.

“I’m here about the contract.” Your voice is even, decades of training and practice behind you to quell any emotion that may be conveyed in your tone. The man’s eyes quickly flick down and back up your body, seemingly confused by your existence. You’re used to it though, everyone is. His eyes settle back on the scar at your brow and it tingles, your hands fighting the urge to scratch at it.

Losing patience, you arch your brow and hold the parchment out to him. He glances down at it and clears his throat.

“Well, miss, I’m not sure if this is something that you’d really be able to handle…” his voice trailing off as your golden eyes narrowed in disdain.

“I can assure you,” you sneered, venom dripping from your tongue, “I am plenty capable of taking care of myself. Now, tell me more about what you saw.”

The man at least has the decency to flush, looking askance as he avoided your gaze. His name is Kasper, and as he weaves his story, you know exactly what the contract is asking. There is a dense forest at the base of the mountains where many people go to collect herbs and vegetables. But there is a new nest of “winged things, naked and smelling of rot,” and they attack anyone who ventures to the far edge of the forest. The man says there were about a dozen of them, all of them vicious. They scream and scratch, and they will steal any sort of jewelry or other shiny items with their victim.

“Seems you’ve been burdened with a harpy nest,” and you can tell that the children are listening intently to every word. “I’d be willing to take care of this for you, but I would like to discuss payment.”

Kasper shifts, scratching the underside of his chin before sighing. “I’ve never seen a Lady Witcher before, but if you feel confident that you can do this…”

“I do, and I am no Lady. I am but a Witcher, one who is here and able to solve your problem.”

You discuss the payment, agreeing on a price that is a few more crowns than the notice had stated, and that you would receive payment upon providing proof of the job being finished. As you turn to leave, one of the children runs to your side. She can’t be more than five summers, and you are briefly reminded of your fever dream full of confusion and betrayal.

“Excuse me, Lady Witcher?” She tugs on the hem of your skirt just above your knee, pulling your attentions back to her. You feel the edge of your mouth turn up slightly, you’ve always been weak at the innocence of children. You stop and kneel, finding yourself at eye level with the little girl. Her younger brother is behind her, clasping onto the leg of his father and bashfully turning his head into it. The girl’s eyes are wide and full of life and joy, and you feel your heart clench for a moment.

As you peer back at her with your bright eyes that burn with their intensity, you notice that you can’t smell fear. It’s a high, sour smell that permeates the air and follows you almost everywhere you go. But not here, not from this child. She only radiates comfort and trust, and grass. Your nose is especially sensitive to the smell of grass, twitching slightly with the effort to not sneeze onto the girl in front of you.

“You gotta promise something,” the little girl says, swaying slightly as she speaks, already tired of staying still for too long.

You smile kindly, a movement that you’ve allowed yourself to relearn over the years. There’s not a lot behind it, but it’s better than the empty holes where your feelings used to be. “And what would you have me promise, fauntkin?”

“You gotta promise you’ll be careful, cause if you don’t who’s gonna take care of the scary bird ladies?” she exclaims indignantly.

You blink in surprise, unsure of how to respond to that. You end up settling on “well, I’ve come back from every hunt I’ve gone on so far, so I have a pretty good feeling about this one.”

She doesn’t seem convinced, her teeth worrying her lower lip. “And then what? What about when another monster comes here? Will you come back?”

“If you’d like for me to, I will gladly return,” you say, and before you can register what happens she throws her arms around your neck and you stiffen, unused to the blatant display of affection. But as she rests her head on your shoulder, you gently wrap an arm around her waist, returning the gesture as best as you can. Your legs are at an awkward angle and they begin to ache, but you wouldn’t move for all of the coin in the world. It’s been decades since you’ve felt such trust from another person, and you can’t let it go before it’s ready. It’s easy to imagine a life full of love like this, easy and warm.

The girl moves back, her mind wandering to far-off worlds with sunshine and happiness around every corner. You watch her go as you stand, your lungs feeling a bit too tight and your eyes watering just a bit. You turn and head towards the forest, feeling your heart harden back up with every step back into your life.

…

The dwindling light from the sun casts rays through the leaves of the forest. They flash bright reds and yellows, precarious along the branches that dance on the breeze. The bright colors remind you of the approaching frost, and you decide that as soon as you complete this contract, you’ll move further south. The sooner you get there, the better, so that you can hopefully establish a presence in a town that would be willing to house you during the winter.

You’re kneeling at a small stream that runs through a clearing in the heart of the forest. You’ve set up a small camp for the evening atop a hill behind you, and you followed the sound of trickling water in the hope that you may get (at least a little) clean. You’ve left your armor with your horse at the camp, leaving you in a light chemise and your trousers, your two swords still strung across your back. You rest your hands in the stream, the cool water cutting through your skin before embracing it, swirling and gliding through your fingers. You take a deep breath in, surrounding yourself with the tranquility of a quiet forest, smelling only the earth and the water and the animals that call this place their home.

The peace did not last long, however, as the wind carried the sound of light, bounding hoofbeats followed closely by heavy, thundering footfalls. You stand, scenting the air as you move. You’re upwind, and all you can gather from what smells you can catch is that they’re alive. No shit, you think to yourself, unsheathing your steel sword and swinging it around your wrist to grip it. The threats are far too close for you to be able to rush back to your camp, so you face the direction they are coming from head-on. You raise your sword across your chest to strike just as the first ‘living thing’ bursts through the thicket into the clearing.

#hollow things #eskel x reader #fem!reader #female witcher #series #my fic

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spnsmile · 4 years

Text

Title: Burn out this Love

Summary:

Complete blackout in the Bunker during a stormy night has TFW2.0 setting up candles in the war room except Dean accidentally lights one of the cursed candles that extracted a part of himself that believes he loves Castiel. A shaman comes to help but not really, resulting in the angel’s short temper and taking matters in his own hands to make Dean remember. Dean did not forget his name after.

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 9390

Tags/Warning: non/Con, dubcon, Curses, Fluff, Domestics, Established destiel

Written for @supernaturalpromptchallenge March prompt: Element: fire-candle

It was a precarious move, so Castiel silences everything of the earth’s natural orchestra always playing by his ears. From the nonstop spatter of rain on the muddy ground to the howling wind beating against the fort’s thick walls. The electrical hum silently permeating the stone confines to the droplets of water from the sink.

He narrows down the sound to the light tapping of Sam Winchester’s fingers on the keyboard. Jack’s distinct swallows of anticipation beside him. And Dean humming contentedly across the table, waiting for the next course of action to transpire.

Castiel opens his eyes. He raises his left hand with two delicate fingers like pincers and with precision, jabs it at the wooden block of his choice in the second level of the towering pile of Jenga he, Dean and Jack had been huddled around.

There’s a second of everyone holding their breath. Even Sam’s fingers have stopped typing. Dean’s eyes are so round, breath held, Castiel can almost feel his controlled excitement. But he got this.

He meticulously extracted a brick in one pull without making the almost 24 cm tower tumble. Dean sighs with a small, biting his bottom lip to keep whatever he wants to say while Jack’s mouth drops as Castiel stacks the brick up the tower deftly. He then beams at Dean and Jack when the tower remained steady.

“That wasn’t so hard. This indoor game is actually quite entertaining. Humans really are creative when left in their own devices being stuck inside their homes.”

He clasps both his hands on the table then stares at Dean.

Stuck that afternoon because of rain with no case at hand, they were easily convinced by Jack to play Jenga. At first, Dean didn’t want to participate, but one look from the angel gets him to agree. He vowed to destroy Castiel teasingly before they begin.

Except Cas isn’t prone to losing this one yet.

“Your turn, Dean.” Jack says, “Those blocks on the second and third level looks very shaky.” Dean glares at Cas

“Yeah, because somebody insisted on taking out all the foundation on the get-go. Ten minutes later and welcome to Pisa.”

“Rules of Jenga states that you have to remove a brick from a layer other than the top—”

“Like heck I’ll give you top even in this one, babe.” Dean cuts in slyly.

Castiel’s eyes narrow at his boyfriend who looks really fine with his finger-combed hair straight from the shower. He could tell by the strong smell of the hunter’s shampoo pervading the air. He is wearing his soft green top that always matches his eyes. Castiel prefers those one-color coded than the flannels, though he would never be averse to any clothing as long as it includes Dean.

Dean takes a shot in the middle of the tower, then seconds later extracted another brick.

“I got one for tops in ten seconds. Gonna get your ass next, Cas.”

Castiel only deadpans. Dean is obviously flirting with him now but he doesn’t know what to do except stare. He doesn’t remember when this had become a battle of position but he returns the intent gaze with usual deadpan.

“I was using my non-dominant hand.”

Castiel raises his left with an eyebrow up, smiling. Dean huffs in disbelief and was about to put the brick on the top of the tower when Castiel’s phone suddenly rings.

Dean yelps in surprise and knocks the entire tower, sending bricks on the table and the floor with loud thudding sounds. Castiel catches one brick on the way to the ground, watching everything fall apart. Dean groans and smacks his fist on the table while Jack smiles all cheeks like he’s been waiting for it to happen.

“I’ll help get them.” He says instead.

“Who’s callin?” Dean says grudgingly.

They all look at Castiel who’s fishing inside his coat. He shrugs at the look Dean gives him as he takes his phone out. “Oh, it’s my contact—one of the angels.”

Dean makes a face and grumbles.

“Looks like your top didn’t make it, Dean.” Sam remarks lightly from the end of the table.

“Shut up.” Dean snaps, “I’ll win Cas one of these days.”

“A foreseeable future in an alternate universe.”

“Shut up, you want me, Cas.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow scathingly

“No, but I need you to help pick up the wood, Dean. Yes, hello? Uh… yes, you did call inconveniently, I was in the middle of something—”

“My my, this wood’s hard.” Dean kneels on the floor with the voice loud enough to be heard on the angel’s phone.

“Dean,” Sam says in warning.

Giving Dean an intense look, Castiel nods on his phone then hangs up. He stands up and walks to the hunter, kneels in front of Dean who freezes at the sudden approach till Castiel reaches out and tilts his chin up. Sam looks away pointedly.

“Bad boy, Dean.”

Dean’s whole face flushes as red as a tomato.

“I understand it now.” Comes Jack’s voice, severing the spell the two had fallen under when the Nephilim appears behind the angel.

“What did you understand?” Castiel takes the bricks from the boy, feeling Dean’s eyes hot on his back. Jack nods with eyes round.

“This game is much like when people try to reach the top of heaven, but god punished them by taking out what makes them stronger together one by one. Like in the Tower of Babel.”

Dean resurfaces from the trance, blinking.

“He’s all yours.”

Castiel smiles. “It does appear to be all interrelated when you stop and think about it, though, in reality, the prophet of the lord during that time was a bad drunk who was trying to dispute ownership over a windmill farm from his brother. Eventually ending their relationship. Only because his brother refused to speak with him, thus context. But it’s more of the lesson of the story, Jack, rather than the myth behind it. I need to go.”

Dean’s head snaps up from the table.

“Why? Where are you going?”

“To meet my contact? That’s why he called, you heard him, Dean.”

“I heard him destroy my chances of topping.” Dean frowns. Castiel can see the argument rising from his face so he chooses his words carefully.

“He requires my assistance.”

Dean blinks, “Okay, wait for me I’ll go get my coat—”

“Uh, no, Dean. You can’t accompany me.” Because like most angels, this one is also wary of Dean Winchester. All angels—all Supernatural beings are.

“Stop joking around.”

“I’m not. I think you know when I am.” Castiel says drily.

“What— you serious? But we had an agreement not to go out of the house without—"

“Um… Bunker hall pass?”

Sam snorts while Castiel hesitates when he sees Dean frown deeper.

Hall pass as he understands means something about … Winchesters want to do something private which basically is like the loophole in the whole agreement. It’s that pass where they do stupid stuff or deals or meetings without the others knowing.

They all agreed to never go out of the Bunker without a partner according to Dean. If it’s a hunt, it’s usually Sam and Dean together. But if it’s grocery shopping or Dean needing to have some fresh air it’s always Castiel on tow. Castiel doesn’t necessarily require the same attention, though he treasures Dean’s company to a fault.

He doesn’t understand the confused expression on Dean’s face.

“Cas, unless it’s a date you wanna get laid at, geez, I’m coming with you.”

“You’re not. Listen to me, Dean. You really can’t tag along.”

“But it’s raining.” Dean points. Castiel tilts his head, wordless. Dean stares at him, shifting from one foot to another before his expression closes into a grim.

“Fine. Go then.”

There’s nothing much left for Castiel to do when the man leaves.

Castiel quietly watches him go. No sooner than he left, the angel heard a distinct exploding sound somewhere far and the entire Bunker is enveloped in darkness.

***

Castiel stares blankly at the wall of the kitchen to the dancing shadow of Dean Winchester. He followed Dean ten minutes later and stationed himself by the door watching Dean busy himself by the sink, washing his hands with the flashlight of his cellphone, his sleeves pushed up his elbow and humming Led Zepp Castiel is already quite familiar.

“Dean.”

“What.”

“There’s been a massive blackout,” Castiel informs him.

“Don’t I know it? What are you still doing here? I thought your gonna have a date n stuff?”

“I don’t date.” Castiel rolls his eyes. “At the very least if their name is not Dean Winchester, I do not bother.” He sees the visible tension disappear on the man’s shoulder. It gets him talking more to get on Dean’s good side again. “I’ve decided not to go. It’s raining and I don’t want my boyfriend upset even though it’s ridiculous to be jealous—”

Dean coughs several times and swings to face the angel with the back of his hand on his lips. His ears are pink, Castiel can tell even from the dark.

“B-boyfriend?” he blurts out in shock.

“Unless you prefer that I call our engagement with different terminology. I believe the word ‘boyfriend’ is what this century is calling it nowadays. Or would you prefer to be my ‘beau’?” he narrows his eyes. To be honest he will prefer anything as long as he can tell their relationship is special. But Dean—

“N-no, I like boyfriend.” Dean stammers, turning back the sink and washing the frozen meat from the fridge. Castiel smiles and walks to him. He likes it when Dean gets all flustered because of something he said. Dean’s always been like that from the beginning.

Wrapping his arms around the hunter, Castiel sighs in contentment when he inhales Dean’s scent. Dean tenses in front of him but Castiel kisses the back of his neck, urging him to relax while he presses Dean back on the counter, body solidly against each other.

“Stop getting me a boner, Cas.” Dean chuckles.

Tag: Explicit

“Mmm. Why not?” Cas smiles, brushing his hand on top of the hunter’s fly. He can feel Dean’s body going rigid, his breath hitching. “I thought you said this is what boyfriends do?” He bites Dean’s ear. Too irresistible not to do it.

“Dammit, Cas—"

“I like it when you get angry with me.” Castiel whispers, unzipping Dean’s pants and snaking his deft hand inside his boxers. Dean is hard. The way he can easily turn Dean on is mesmerizing. “Because I know you’re worried. I know you care a lot. I’d prefer it anytime than you uncaring. Love it when you’re jealous.” He nips on the smooth skin, running his tongue back to Dean’s lobes and sucking hard.

“Now you’re tripping me—fuck!”

Dean squirms back against Castiel’s body, his ass pressing hard against the angel’s hips. It’s all sensual to him, all because Dean is a very sensitive man. It’s not physical alone, though that’s what draws Dean to Castiel at the beginning while Castiel is the exact opposite.

He saw Dean’s soul first and fell in love. Gradually, they were able to piece themselves together and now what’s between is both. Castiel understands that now. Dean is turned on sensually, emotionally and it’s mutual between them. It’s everything Castiel loves about Dean. But body contact is not to be undervalued either—Dean strives to be touched, hungry for it always, he spent the rest of his life seeking company on lonely nights. Now he’s with Castiel—responding to every caress because only Castiel knows how.

So, when he strokes Dean, they both know it’s more than just touches. Dean breathes like all the air is leaving his lungs. When Castiel presses his thumb on the delicate slit in the middle of the pulsing cock, they both know the running pleasure is multiplied by the thought of who is doing it. Castiel is. To Dean.

And Cas knows how to serve him. Grabbing Dean’s hair with his free hand, he presses their heads together, his lips on Dean’s ear. “Are you going to come for me, Dean?”

It’s enough to get Dean convulsing on his palm.

“Cas— shit—” Dean's hand grapples the edge of the sink while his other grasped behind him to Castiel’s hips. His knees are wobbling against the angel. “C-Cas I’m almost—”

His voice just breaks in the most arousing way. Castiel turns Dean’s head and kisses him hard, enjoying the heat coming from the hunter’s lips, the way it’s so open in submission as dominates their exchange. He pumps Dean harder in the middle of his release, shooting off the sink’s ceiling and on Castel’s hand.

Dean groans and falls back weakly on the angel but Cas got him. He embraces Dean. Plants soft kisses around Dean’s salty throat, his hand still slowly stroking Dean’s cock till he feels it soften in his palms. Dean is breathing hard and Castiel feels a little proud to the one to do that. Things had been very peaceful around them since they both woke up from the idiot dream after their confession of love. Castiel will never forget it.

“Can I help with anything else?” he asks after thoroughly cleaning Dean with his grace and tucking his cock back in before unzipping his fly.

“You just jerked me in front of my bacon.”

“I cleaned it.”

“You just took advantage of me cause it’s dark here.”

“That is true, but you also did say that’s what humans do in the dark with four walls and blankets. We don’t have blankets—do I need to get one?”

“Unless you want to fuck me on the table?” the way Dean sounds hopeful gives Castiel a headache.

“We’ll have that when we can. For now, if you’re done fixing dinner, I will go call Sam and Jack so we can all be here. I’m sure they found the candles by now.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Candles? What are they—kids? No, use flashlights, the candles are last resorts. I have flashlights in the cabinet. Or make em use their phones.”

“I do not think that’s a good idea considering you might need your phones to communicate outside if the blackout persists.”

“Uh… You’re right.” The hunter smiles smugly all of a sudden, “Then can you be like my lamp now? You know—badass angel glowing light in the middle of the room—

“Umm, if I do that the entire Bunker will be enveloped with pure light and since it’s dark outside, the possibility of getting detected by your world’s ‘space cadets’ as you call them is at risk. So now. I do not believe it’s very smart to use my grace at all, Dean. Let’s reserved that for a real emergency.” Castiel glares.

“Geez, alright.” Dean laughs, wiping his hands with the towel hanging by his left shoulder. “Hang on, I’ll go with you to get the flashlights. Their only under the Ham radios.”

“Okay.”

“Wait— Cas!”

Dean surprises Castiel when he suddenly pulls him back, cups his face and catches his lips into a mouth to a kiss with the hunter leading.

Castiel smiles. He likes it when Dean is spontaneous like that. He lets Dean take him. When they pull away, Dean is looking at him with eyes full of love. Castiel nudges his nose on Dean’s lips and sighs. Together, they walk back to the library, all tensions obviously have been released away.

“But, really, candles?” Dean says in the dark.

Castiel uses the opportunity to pull Dean forward. “So, you can ask them. Let’s go.”

“Don’t make me trip on you—”

“You’re the one who keeps pushing—Dean!”

“Sorry!” Dean laughs, “Was that your ass or what?”

Rolling his eyes, he lets Dean pat his ass again until they reach the corridor. Sam’s laptop screen is on, the only light amidst complete darkness. In front of it, Sam looks up with Jack waiting beside him. “Finally decided to appear now, huh?”

“While you guys are playing another set of ‘Are you afraid of the Dark?’ episode?” Dean is clearly looking at Sam who rubs his forehead and nods at Jack.

“We’re waiting for Cas.” Jack explains brightly, eyes on the. “The candles are still unlit so I was thinking if you can use your grace them get them light up.”

Castiel doesn’t quickly answer but throws a look over Dean instead.

“It’s raining and there are candles. Add a cat and we’ll be calling out Sabrina. I can’t even see the candles!” Blinking hard with brows furrowing, he and Castiel steps to the table, casting looks over the place

“I’m not sure I can light all, Jack.” Castiel says solemnly.

“Sure you can.” Jack encourages.

“Just makes sure you don’t make any light bulbs burst and eyes burn.” Dean chuckles.

Castiel glares at that. He notices Dean emerging from under the table and pulling a box under the table to duck from his glare. Huffing, Castiel snaps his fingers and—

The fire flickers out of thin air from the four candles in the middle, lightening the whole war room with the dancing flames, sending their shadows tall on the walls. Castiel sees Jack beam and it made the effort worth it.

“And this,” comes Dean’s voice. Nobody saw him put another candle on the table. They found him already with a matchstick at hand, scraping the corner and tipping down the thick wax candle with an X-mark—

“Dean—wait—!” Sam begins, but too late— Dean lights the candle. The moment the flame flickers on the candle, Dean’s eyes roll back with white balls showing and he drops on the floor out cold.

“DEAN!”

“It’s a cursed object, obviously. Are you sure you’re with proper hunters? One look of the object and—”

“It’s a long story—there’s no electricity when you need it. I could power it up, but Sam says— anyway, just come here—I don’t care if it’s raining. I want to make sure he’s going to be okay after the candle dies out—” Castiel listens to the shaman’s mundane complaints while the angel stands outside the corridor right outside Dean’s room.

His body is still shaking as he relieves the memory of Dean fainting after lighting the cursed candle. Saw something leave Dean’s body that made him reach for the hunter and clutch him close. Protecting Dean at all costs. In the end, after determining it was a cursed candle from the box that Jack brought in the room unwittingly, Castiel resorted to calling his only resource for magical objects, The Shaman, Sergei.

After sending a photo of the nasty candle he wants to melt, his opinion changed drastically upon learning that Dean’s life force is connected to the candle. Now it became the most important thing for him.

“Be quick, I’m warning you, Sergei.”

Castiel hangs up and sprints back to Dean’s room. He can still feel his heart wild against his chest anxiously. The way it happened— he saw something get sucked away from Dean’s body when he lit the candle. Sergei only confirmed his suspicion which didn’t make him feel any better.

But at least it wasn’t any candle about death….

Sam brought his rechargeable lamp in the room that lit the entire vicinity conveniently. Sam looks up questioningly when Castiel comes in and Cas had no choice but to give him a curt nod.

“Yes, Sergei says it’s a curse.”

Sam’s face turns pale. “And? What kind of curse?”

“I don’t know… Sergei’s not sure but he says it could be of Japanese origin but apart from that we still have to wait for Sergei to confirm. He still wants to come over and see for himself.”

“Okay, that’s a plan.” Sam stands up and palms his face. “But I’m still going to search around lore books about Japanese curses then. I don’t trust Sergei. Do you?”

He frowns up at Sam. “I have every reason to doubt Sergei. He will be under my watch once he’s here. He should not be left with Dean. And even if it is the only threat of the cursed candle, I still would not relax until I see Dean as himself again. I’m afraid so trusting Sergei is the only thing we have for now.”

They all look at Dean fast asleep on his bed with the candlelight burning over the table by his wall.

Everyone knows it is Castiel who will be watching over Dean for the rest of the night. Sam left the room to do research in his room and see what else he can find with an extra flashlight at hand. Jack decides to let Cas and Dean alone and once everything is quiet, Castiel naturally focuses on Dean.

He sits beside the hunter’s bed, eyeing every feature of Dean he’s already memorized by heart. One look and he can tell something is missing, though whether it’s for the best, he is not one to decide. He places two fingers on his friend’s forehead and sighs. He closes his eyes, heartbreaking again when he could not reach onto Dean’s soul.

Castiel stays inside Dean’s room for the better part of the night, watching for any slight changes or disturbance over the hunter’s peaceful slumber. There’s none. In fact, Dean barely stirred on the bed unaware of the raging weather outside. If it was not for his chest moving steadily, Castiel would worry about his life.

He spends an hour like that, just staring at Dean’s face for the rest of the evening, recounting his freckles, noting those that faded and delighting himself in finding new ones.

He touches Dean’s forehead from time to time, let his fingers run down the soft hair. Let’s his warmth fill the empty vessel of his boyfriend. He knows it’s unnecessary, but he could not stop. Won’t. He’d do it even with a hairbreadth of grace left in his body.

He stares at Dean.

Achingly. Longingly. Willing those eyes to open for him again. So, he waits. He always waits for Dean. It only seems proper because it’s Dean who made him realize how waiting can sometimes be unbearable. Time is a concept no angel understood before.

Until Dean.

Nightmares didn’t visit Dean that night. Dean does not have any reason to fear, Castiel is beside him. The true nightmare is waiting for Dean alone in the silence of the night. So, if someone asks Castiel if he has any fear at all, Castiel will think of this moment and tells them he does.

***

The Shaman arrived around half past nine, two hours after Dean’s collapse. By then power was still absent, making it difficult for Sam to use his laptop. The Bunker’s generator hasn’t worked since the last invasion in the fortress.

Descending from the metal stairs with wet shoulders from the rain outside, he cast his eyes at the faces waiting for him by the war table looking like a phantom in black apparel, the lights of candles whipping in his presence.

“Has he woken up?” Sergei asks deadpan.

“Not yet.” Castiel shakes his head, “It’s only been two hours. Are you sure the lasting effect of the candle is only 7 hours?” Sergei looks pass Sam to the entrance of the corridor eagerly. He turns to Castiel again.

“Yes, unless you use the other two candles then the curse will continue.”

Castiel and Sam exchange looks. The Shaman raises an eyebrow.

“There are three candles for the shrine ritual,” he begins slowly, “together the three can have significant influence over the balance of nature. Do you mean to tell me—?”

“I kept the other candles in the box.” Sam presses his lips.

“Very well, please bring them into the room. Castiel? Can you lead the way?”

Castiel did not say anything. The look Sam gives him is meaningful, but since the hour is dire, the two decided to do as the Shaman says. Castiel leads the way to Dean’s room while Jack accompanies Sam to the storage room.

Once they reach the hunter’s room, Castiel quickly checks on Dean. The hunter is still fast asleep with no sign of any disturbance in his absence. Sergei doesn’t wait. He slides past Castiel and takes a look at the hunter from head to toe, then walks to the candle still burning bright by the table.

Castiel watches Sergei’s movement with his brows slowly furrowing.

“Will he be okay?” he stands beside Sergei, expression softening at Dean’s sleeping form.

“I need some time alone with him. The spell for—”

“No.”

He meets Sergei’s eyes but the final word is apparently with the clouding of his face.

“Fix him.” He says sharply, “And don’t do anything suspicious or I’ll smite you.”

Sergei quirks his eyebrows. “Always the Russian method with you.”

Castiel doesn’t like it. Truth be told, he’s wary of repeatedly asking the Shaman for help. He’s been pushing Sergei to the limits, always asking for favors they both know would never be compensated. It’s only a matter of time before the Shaman gets back to him. Sam shouting in the corridor at the top of his lungs seems to be the cue.

“Your other Winchester needs you.” they both look at the door but Castiel did not move from

“What are you not telling me, Sergei?”

“CAS!” Sam appears by the door, breathless. “Cas! Don’t let him near Dean!”

Castiel doesn’t ask why. He grabs Sergei by the collar and lifts him up the air before Sam can even finish. He’s been alert from the beginning— expecting danger lurking around and with an unconscious Dean, he’s not about to put his guard down.

Sergei is clutching his wrist tightly, choking as he writhes against Castiel’s hold. Castiel whose eyes gleam darkly, fixing the Russian with his penetrating stare.

“What…” he says, dangerously calm, “are you not telling me?”

There’s a groan on the bed. Castiel distractedly looks down at Dean stirring. Sergei chuckles and presses something hot on his hands. He feels his whole body becomes rigid—the ability to move gone from whatever the Shaman did.

“No!”

Sam comes forward, lunging at Sergei who was leaning on Dean’s side. He grabs him by the shoulder to take him out but in the middle of the struggle, everyone sees him rise from the bed.

Castiel swallows hard. He feels his grace trying to reach out to him but couldn’t—his grace is locked away. But it’s not this that gets him worried.

It’s Dean. Dean is now fully awake, staring at Sergei with unblinking eyes.

“Shit.” Sam whispers.

That doesn’t bode well for Castiel.

Smite. Absolute smiting.

This is the only thing Castiel can think about when he heard the truth about the curse on Dean and Sergei’s intentions for his friend.

Apparently, the cursed candles are used in Japan’s ancient, most famous and terrible curse-a ritual done mainly by jealous and wronged lovers. The three candles are only part of the instruments— as Sam reads.

“…dressed in white and a trivet worn like a crown with three candles burning in the night, a doll made of bound straw and wooden hammer or long iron spikes… They would have in their possession a part of the victim they want to curse—a hair, skin blood, fingernail, even photographs and perform the ritual by any Shinto shrines and time to the Hour of the Ox, witching hour where yurei and yokai spirits come haunting…”

Castiel is only half listening. No. He is emitting a certain air of danger for the Shaman bound by the chair in the war room. Dean is still in his room with a headache while Jack stands outside his door. Half of Castiel’s mind is with Dean, sensing his every movement but he could not. He knows something is different and it’s that he will extract from Sergei by force.

He points his blade menacingly at the Shaman who pulls away from the pointed blade as far as he could. Castiel doesn’t mean to make contact. He can only see blood.

“That’s not the entire story behind this, is it, Sergei?” Castiel glowers. Sam joins him with arms crossed, glaring at the Russian.

“The candles have been used before and was stashed away with the remnants of the curse left in it. What I don’t understand is why lighting one would be harmful to anyone who uses it.”

“Not harmful, of course not. You do not understand the power of words entangled with pure hatred and love, do you?” Sergei begins hooded eyes on the hunter.

Castiel jabs his knuckle on Sergei’s jaw. It connects—Sam doesn’t even bother stopping the angel whose glinting blue eyes burned on the Shaman.

“Tell us everything before I kill you.”

“Cas…”

Sergei harkens a laugh but obliges. “Dead spirits linger on earth, you know, because of their attachment to the mortal world. And when I say attachment, we speak of their sentiments. Very dangerous even for mortal people to possess. Anger, hatred, injustice… bound to materialize when given too much power over poor souls. Now, Japanese witches, they have different sources of power with their deeper connection to the pagan gods their culture have embraced. More resources, more creativity when it comes to Witchcraft you in the West would never achieve.”

“What about you?” Cas asks.

“I’m Russian. Shaman, Castiel. A chosen profession by necessity. We do not need to keep the Supernatural hidden in the East. We bask in them. The people worship them. Acceptance of the Supernatural passed down from generation until, well. The invasion of West insisting on their god.” He looks pointedly at Castiel who continues to glower in his direction.

“What has this got to do with Dean?”

“The three-candles-curse stand for hatred, jealousy, and intent to harm. If passed on, these emotions are also transferred to the next caster. It doesn’t matter if you light the three, put it on your head like a crown. Once lit, the emotions will flood the caster and urge them to continue the curse till done. Your boyfriend—” he nods at the door, “who only lit one will only be affected by the chosen candle. The question here is which one did he light? The one for hatred? For jealousy? Or the intention to harm? We’re about to find out.”

Castiel hears the quiet footfalls of Dean followed by Jack coming from the corridor. Sergei sees them too, standing at the door with the hunter’s gaze quickly falling on the Shaman. His face is pale, Castiel can see dark lines under his eyes. But above that, he sees Dean’s soul has been clouded. Dimmed. He grits his teeth then pulls Sergei’s collar.

“It doesn’t make sense. If those negative emotions will transfer to him then why—why are you getting involved?”

“Ah, I did not say it will affect him in the same way.” Sergei says with a malicious glint in his eyes, “For if a person does not intend to do harm nor feel any certain hatred over another… if this person only accidentally lights the candles without any then what’s left will be the root of the magic which is—”

“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean growls, frowning. “Get away from him.”

Sam steps forward to meet Dean halfway while Jack follows behind the hunter uncertainly.

“Dean, this guy doesn’t want to help you, okay? He’s here to screw with us!”

Dean frowns. “What are you talking about? He won’t hurt me. Get out of the way, Sammy.” His green eyes swim towards Sergei, the dull eyes slowly gaining fire of determination. Castiel stands his ground as he understood how Dean’s eyes melt softly—and to the angel’s horror—

“I love him.” Dean reasons.

The blade falls on the floor with a solid thud.

Castiel takes a lungful of air, eyes not leaving Dean’s. Beside him, he hears Sergei’s dark voice, “Be careful, angel. The curse is twice bound. You don’t want to burn him, do you?”

What is the root of all curses that spark from emotions…?

Of course.

Love.

Dean is left in his room alone, cuffed and all after punching Sam for getting on his way. He was only stopped when Castiel and Jack take him too and locked him away.

“Don’t kill him yet, Cas,” Sam says before they part. Sergei has just smugly admitted he wanted to get back on Castiel even for just 7 hours by taking Dean’s affection. He knew this was gonna happen and its only Sam who’s stopping him from burying his angel blade on the Shaman. Sam takes care of Sergei, promising to throw him somewhere far where Dean would never reach him. Castiel is left to take care of Dean, so take care of Dean he will.

The lasting effect of the curse is until the candle dies out which Castiel left in Jack’s care. He trusts Jack. The fire wasn’t in any danger of dying its fire soon anyway. His heart breaks at the thought, but he can’t be weak. Dean needs him now. As long as the man doesn’t start proposing to Sergei, that is.

Sam told him to clear off Dean until the next five hours but Castiel made no promises. He knows the curse will be lifted on its own yet, he can’t. It’s Dean and no sooner than Sam left the Bunker around dawn, he finds himself traipsing down the hallway to the end of the corridor

Dejected atmosphere greets Castiel when he opens the door of the room. Dean has fallen silent with his wrists cuffed together on the table. He looks up when Castiel enters, but his green eyes swiftly look behind the angel-like he’s expecting someone there. Disappointment fills his expression and Castiel mirrors him. That is. Until he gets a hold of himself.

Sam said they will be laughing this out after the five-hour mark. That Dean would be so embarrassed to declare his undying love to the Russian Shaman who he will hunt for the rest of his life. Castiel doesn’t find it amusing. He saw Dean back there— he saw how Dean’s innate ability to love was robbed of the man.

If Dean was going to hunt for Sergei in the future, he better does it quickly before Castiel gets there before. He closes the door behind him and locks it.

Dean sits up with wary anticipation on the bed. Castiel eyes him predatorily. He sheds his trench coat first, folding it carefully at the back of Dean’s chair.

Dean in love with someone else? Now that’s laughable.

Dean is his.

Dean belongs to him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Where is he?”

Castiel’s lips thin. He wants to say the Shaman is dead. Sergei will be once Castiel gets Dean’s heart back. He runs his hand on his tie before carefully pulling it away.

“Sam escorted him out of the Bunker. For your safety.” He says very quietly.

“Gee, thanks. Way to keep me in line, keeping away the only person who can straighten me out.” Dean kicks the side table enough to make Castiel finally look at him.

“Stop it. Destroying things won’t make you get your way. You’re only hurting yourself.”

“You know what the best way for me to actually not hurt myself?” Dean sneers, “Is for you to let me go!”

“I’m afraid I can’t let that happen, Dean. No. You’re only going to follow Sergei.” Castiel’s eyes are cold. “No, you stay here. With me.”

The man huffs angrily like it’s the last thing he wants in the world. If only his Dean can see himself now. Refusing Castiel’s company in the same room they’ve shared many times. What irony… but Castiel’s not about to let that stop him.

There’s a reason why Dean is locked here with him. He begins to unbutton his shirt, eyes gleaming when he sees Dean watch him warily.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Have you really forgotten our little secret, Dean?” Castiel asks, walking to the bed in two steps and stops in front of the man.

Dean looks up defiantly and Castiel finds himself like that. The number of times he and this man had gone against each other from the first time they met, Dean shines brighter like that. But when cornered like this like a prey, Castiel would rather Dean be a fighting soldier than a trapped animal.

The thought of Sergei touching Dean sets stone-cold dominance in his being. A possessive feeling of ownership takes him. Castiel suddenly becomes afraid of where it will take him as he touches the hunter’s chin and lifts it so the can peer him in the eyes, albeit a little dimmed, are still gorgeous green.

“I won’t let anyone, have you. Not by force.” He strokes Dean’s cheeks which turn the deepest shade of red. Dean still responds to him. At least, his body remembers this.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dean swallows, eyeing Castiel’s open button shirt revealing a mass of strapping muscles like he’s never seen it before. But Castiel sees it. That look Dean reserves for things he wishes to taste but daring not to take—he’s seen that numerous times.

“We’re different. You and I…we’re—”

“Connected?” Dean meets his eyes and strange enough there’s a glint of hunger in those green that Castiel never expected to see—not until the curse is lifted, but it’s there.

“You seem to understand it, Dean. That you are under a curse and whatever you feel for Sergei—”

Dean sighs, his head tilting back. “I don’t feel the same about you.”

Castiel freezes, his heart falling on the floor. He needed to remind himself that this is not Dean talking. That Dean—his Dean— would never say that to him. That once this is over, Dean will apologize and Dean will want him again.

No… this Dean wants him.

He has to believe in that.

Leaning down, he tugs the cuff when he stretches Dean on the bed, pulling on his leg till Dean’s arm stretches above him. The hunter growls at the sudden prone position, but his eyes widen when Castiel unbuckles his own pants and let it slip down the floor. He feels Dean’s eyes follow his hard cock—because Castiel will always be hard for Dean—so when he crawls on top of Dean, he knows he’s got attention.

Dean has told him many times how he is fucking turned on when Castiel is naked waist below while still wearing his white unbuttoned tops. Dean’s fantasies Castiel is always willing to oblige. He casts his eyes down on the hunter when their faces are leveled.

Dean doesn’t move, it’s him breathes that rapidly changes. With eyes bulging, breathe hitching, Castiel feels his heart thumping at what’s about to happen next.

Heart leaping as he recognized Dean’s soul trying to reach to him, he takes hold of Dean’s shoulders and grips him tight. He doesn’t look away and the hunter remains silent.

Slowly, he pushes Dean on the bed, falling with him till Dean is on his back, breathing heavily, the lump on his throat unsteady as it bobbed up and down. Castiel straddles him, melting Dean with the amount of hunger in his eyes.

“You remember this, don’t you?” he whispers, stripping Dean from the lovely green shirt. Castiel tosses it and begins on Dean’s black undershirt when a hand jabs on his chest suddenly. Dean is blinking at him with fear and uncertainty.

“It’s not you I…Sergei—” Dean suddenly struggles to say.

Castiel doesn’t show his dismay. He conceals it. He knows Dean is fighting, knows Dean wants him to help him, to fight with him. So whatever doubt he has about what he needs to do next, he pushes it down. Dean’s clear eyes begin to cloud. It’s the curse.

He’s losing Dean.

Oh, a shaman is really going to die.

Castiel’s eyes bulge as the realization hits him hard.

Whatever Sergei said about wanting Castiel to be jealous—because that’s what he means when he told Castiel ‘Be careful, angel. The curse is twice bound. You don’t want to burn him, do you?”

He figures it out that instant—that Sergei’s intention is not for Dean but for him. Dean will be under this love spell for seven hours, crying for Sergei’s name in his sleep. Something that is truly unforgivable for the angel who then will have to suffer intense jealousy.

This… here right now… is extreme jealousy and hatred within him… the intent to harm all because of love. Castiel’s heart dies inside him. He is an angel, a heavenly being. He is not supposed to be bound by such negative emotion and yet—

He closes his eyes. It was too late to go back now.

Sergei has succeeded in cursing him through Dean.

His fingers curl clutching the hem of Dean’s black shirt. That’s not gonna happen. Dean looking at him like he’s a stranger even when his body is reacting, that’s not what they promised. It was stolen from Dean.

No… Dean was stolen from him.

He knows he can wait it out, knows there’s actually no reason to do this but just the thought of Dean thinking he’s in love with someone else sends fearsome anger rippling all over his body. With a growl, he pushes Dean’s black shirt up roughly, brushing the mound of muscle with the heel of his palm. He begins kissing the hardening bud ever so sensitive under his mouth.

“No…” Dean grunts, hands clutching the angel’s shoulders “Get off— I want Sergei!”

The name awakens something primal inside Castiel. Jealousy or what not— innate possessiveness or what not—this is torture!

“You’re not putting much of a fight.” He sucks Dean’s nipples hard, making Dean squirm but Castiel stays one hand on his other pectoral, rubbing the unattended nipple with his fingers. Dean’s cries are so pleasing and both painful as Castiel faithfully continues his ministration for the next five minutes, rolling and flattening his tongue until the bud is hard. He grazes his teeth on the erect bud making Dean yelp and squirms beneath him. He applies the same suction on the left nipple, feeling the hunter writhe on the bed, trying to free his leg until Castiel grounds their hips together. He presses hard on Dean. The man groans softly.

Castiel frowns and looks down Dean’s pants to find the only possible reason is Dea still wearing his pants. Smiling, he gets up, straddles him and begins working on Dean’s belt.

“Wait—Cas…” his voice whimpers when Castiel pulls his pants and boxers down in one swift movement and throws it on the floor. Dean tries to hide his cock by crossing his legs, but Castiel is taking none of it. Pushing Dean’s legs apart, hands firm on his thighs, he let his palms ground Dean’s legs on the bed. Dean moves his ass, his cock twitching beneath him where he couldn’t see.

Sighing, Castiel slides both palms from the hunter’s knee caps down to the root of his cock. Both hands take it, Castiel’s body follows as he leans in, elbows keeping Dean’s leg open till the tip of his mouth touches the head of Dean’s cock.

There’s a stifled groan from Dean. Castiel closes his eyes. He erases the thought that Dean’s not thinking about him. That Dean is thinking of that dead-shaman walking. He digs his fingers on the man’s smooth thighs, sucks the top of his cock, before burying himself on Dean’s hole. He eats Dean, takes pleasure in the man’s cries until he can feel the live wire ready to explode. He takes Dean’s cock again to his lips, kisses the head gently before stroking him twice, eyeing Dean’s reaction.

“Cas—I’m—oh fuck!”

Castiel pulls away and sternly gazes up the hunter who whimpers and looks down in confusion. Tears slide from the corner of Dean’s eyes.

“Say my name,” Castiel commands.

“What…” Dean blanks out.

“Say my name. Tell me to fuck you, Dean, or I will leave you here for five hours—”

Dean’s eyes widen. He begins to tug on his cuff.

“Don’t—Cas, I—” he breathes out unable to say it. He shakes his head when Castiel begins to rise, “Cas—Cas please—” tears spring up from his eyes, “don’t—Cas, please—”

Castiel sighs. He strokes Dean’s cock, relaxing when Dean responds with trying to fuck in his hand. It’s easy to swallow Dean’s cock this time feeling like they are back to normal. He gets Dean to call his name again and again. He doesn’t need any release or Dean’s hand on his cock. He only needs Dean to say his name, all the while making his silent apologies.

He gets off with swallowing Dean’s cock straight down his throat and sucks, tasting Dean’s salty tang so different from his sweat. Feeling Dean’s familiar cock inside his mouth makes him forget everything. This is just him and Dean showing love and affection. Nothing has changed. He wishes that because now he understands he is taking Dean against his will.

He sucks Dean harder, making him scream and thrust in his mouth. He drags his mouth slowly across the hard length, pulling up only to kiss the reddening head before diving down again. He sucks Dean dry as only he could. Making Dean clutch on the wrinkled blankets with unbidden lust driving him to the edge.

“Cas… that’s enough, I’m—coming…!”

Castiel buries his nose deep the curls of Dean’s cock. He chokes and nearly pulls back but Dean closing his knees at the back of his head urges him to take him again.

Dean’s dirty sound fills the room as well as his cock swelling inside Castiel. He feels the turbulent sensation in Dean’s stomach and pulls up a little as Dean’s come shoot inside his mouth. Dean cries to the last spurt as Castiel sucks him through his orgasm.

He pulls out with smacking sound of his lips, eyes glowing with Dean still writhing under him. He holds the hunter’s softening shaft and stroke him again.

“Unggg…”

“Dean. Say my name.”

“Cas…!” the hunter complies tearfully.

Dean won’t stop calling his name after that. Not when he flips him to his stomach and licks his hole, not even with three fingers inside Dean, he doesn’t. It takes a while before Dean’s pliant body is ready for him. Castiel raises Dean’s hips from the bed and sets a pillow under his torso. Dean breathes heavily on the bed but did not say anything, probably in fear of Castiel leaving him in the middle.

“Don’t worry, Dean…” Castiel says, letting Dean feel the head of his cock, sliding between his cheeks, rightfully filling Dean with lube. “I got you… just… just keep calling my name. Please, Dean.”

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Dean makes a small sound but Castiel did not wait. He presses himself inside Dean, watches the muscle around Dean’s hole contract as he slowly slices him in half. The feel of Dean’s tight ring makes Castiel groans until he is sliding deeper and bottoming in.

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck! Cas!” Dean’s breathe catches.

Castiel doesn’t let him think. Closing his eyes, his thrust become wild. Dean cries his name when the jolting of their bodies becomes too intense and Castiel is wrapping his body around Dean’s back, a hand taking hold of Dean’s cock because that’s how the hunter wants it.

He fucks Dean for an hour and more—doesn’t even care if he heard Sam knocking on the door. He covers Dean’s mouth until Sam walks away, most likely getting the point after he hears Dean’s moans when Castiel hits his prostate again and again.

“Good boy.” Castiel whispers, pounding Dean, spooning the hunter with his cock deep in Dean. He drags the fucking to torturous slow, then catches pace again, breaking Dean’s moans and cries of pleasure. And all that while, Dean can only call him.

Castiel did not stop—not until the fifth hour where he has Dean on his lap resting. Keeping Dean so close seems to be the only way to make sure the curse passes without any glitch. That Dean is still with him. Sam did not bother him anymore. Castiel hopes he’s got Jack distracted not from all the noise Dean has made in the last five hours.

The hour strikes.

Dean lifts his chin from Castiel’s shoulder looking worn out and confused. Castiel quickly sits up straight but the hunter did not make any attempt to climb down his lap. He just stares hard at the angel, eyes large and disbelieving.

“Dean—?”

“Cas?” The hunter rubs his eyes. “Hey, babe…”

Castiel’s eyes fill with tears.

“Cas? Cas, what’s wrong?” concern fills Dean’s face. It was over.

The angel shakes his head and wipes his eyes. He’s just glad. “How are you, Dean?”

“You’re asking me that now? Why are you crying?” Dean gets on his elbow and pulls Castiel’s head to his chest, cradling him lovingly. “Cas, babe, talk to me.”

Castiel sniffs. “I… I made a terrible mistake.”

“Huh?”

“I… I fell under a curse. Curse of jealousy, Dean.”

Dean’s face relaxes as he wipes the tears from his angel’s cheeks resting on his naked lap. “Are you kidding? I feel jealous when it comes to you all the time—if you call that curse then lemme tell you again—I’d rather have you, cursed or not!”

Castiel takes a moment to take that in, and then slides his arms on Dean’s waist.

“Me too, Dean… I love you so much…”

“Me too, babe I—no wait— fuck! I just remembered that fucking nightmare!”

“What—” Castiel stares up but Dean just grabs him closer and snuggles on his neck. “I thought I lost you! You weren’t there in that dream!”

“Dean?”

“It was so dark and I couldn’t find you… but I knew you were there, I could hear you calling my name… you made me want to call you…”

“Dean…” Castiel’s eyes water, settling his hand across the hunter’s body, “I’m sorry.” Castiel cries and Dean holds him close. Confused and a little afraid, Dean pulls from him looking scandalized at the tears streaming down the angelic face.

“Cas—d-don’t cry! What happened?”

Castiel controls his emotions and explains about the candle, the curse and the Shaman who is about to die by tomorrow. Dean looks aghast after the story, his hands clutching tight on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Dean—" Castiel looks devastated. He keeps pulling Dean closer, keeps putting his head against his boyfriend’s chest afraid of Dean’s answer.

Dean pats his head gently.

“Don’t be an idiot. So, you ravished me. Ain’t that our deal?” Dean tells him. He cups Castiel’s face so they look deep in each other. “Well, fuck. I get fucked by my boyfriend and I loved every second of it.”

“Dean…”

“Cause if not, and this body rots waiting for you? I think I’d really go mad.”

Dean pulls the angel in a hot searing kiss with their tongues meeting. Castiel moans in the kiss and let Dean lead, gently putting arms around him and pulling him down so the hunter is on top of him.

Dean pulls back as he perches on the angel’s chest, his eyes twinkling.

“Can I top?” he asks, tone of excitement unbidden.

Castiel blinks. “But aren’t you tired? We just—”

A finger pressing on his lips stops him from talking. Dean’s face is red and he’s looking around Cas body with hunger.

“Cas, with you babe on the meal, I’d never required sleep ever again.”

***

“I hope you understand your dead the next time I see you.”

Castiel rumbles on the phone that evening. Dean is tucked tightly on his right arm, cuddled beside him so closely while he sleeps peacefully. The only time that day when Castiel can relax with the curse finally lifted. He was staring on Dean’s face quietly, remembering all the expressions when his phone rings and an unregistered number of flashes. The angel knew at once who it was.

“What can I say? It is sweet revenge—”

“You’re dead.”

“Come now, Castiel—”

“I have. Many times, inside Dean.”

There’s silence on the other line.

“I shall try to remember this then, your weakness is quite spot on.”

“If you mean Dean is my weakness, then yes.” Castiel looks away, teeth grinding, “but he’s not weak. Dean is stronger than I will ever be, but if you hurt him again—”

The phone gets snatched from his hand. Castiel turns to see Dean sitting up with a dark look on his face.

“Listen up, asshole. Call Cas again and I’m gonna be after you for the rest of your life. If you’re the maniac intent on death—fuck you—I will get you. And this is not even what you did to me. Show yourself here and I’ll show you the meaning of evil spirit.”

He doesn’t wait for the answer. Dean hangs up and threw the phone away.

“Stop talking to the guy!” Dean scowls downcast at the angel who’s staring at him quietly.

“Are you okay now?”

Dean rolls his eyes. He pulls next to Cas and drops his head on the angel’s shoulder.

“Are you?” he asks, wrapping strong arms around Castiel’s torso and heaving a deep sigh. Castiel copies him and buries his nose on the hunter’s hair feeling mildly content now that Dean is beside him and awake.

“I’m fine now. You’re in love with me again.” He whispers before cuddling Dean with both arms now clawing around him. Dean chuckles, tilting his head up so he and Cas can look at each other.

“Told you the only times I won’t love you is when I’m dead or—”

Castiel embraces Dean closely, their cheeks pressing warmly together.

“It’s okay. I just want you to love me now.”

Dean falls silent for a while before he crawls up on top of Castiel and begins kissing him gently. The angel lets him, a contented sigh slipping from his lips.

“I’m not just in love with you, Cas. I’m also a sucker for you, babe, also very much crushing on you now and horny.” Dean whispers when he gets around Castiel’s ears and begins licking inside. Castiel sighs. “If this aint my kind of love, I don’t know what else to call the urge to tie you up and just make you mine forever. Okay? So, cheer up.”

He pulls back, arms stretching from where he keeps both his hands on Castiel’s nape.

“Stop crying. I don’t want to see you crying just for fucking me. In fact—let’s keep the fuck and forget that asshole. Bleh… just imagining you thought that I—”

“It wasn’t the nicest thought I ever had.”

“Well, he’s not touching this hole any time soon.”

“I’ll soon be out of words to describe how dead he is when I see him.”

Dean finally nods and they cuddle for a few moments. Until Castiel flushes when Dean grinds his ass straight on his soft cock with a sly grin on his face. The man is just so happy to tease him after learning of Castiel’s tendency to get jealous. Dean watches intently, his tongue licking the topside of his lips.

He grinds harder, smirking. “So… did you just let me top?”

“I did but it’s a one time offer.” Castiel smiles holding Dean’s waist.

“Change your mind, I’ll never ask a hall pass ever again.”

“Dean, I am not that possessive.” Castiel narrows his eyes.

Dean smiles at him meaningfully. He smiles back and they snuggle closely again.

Castiel understands that this was not even a condition but an offer. He wonders before why humans are prone to jealousy. He understands now. It roots from loving. This is also where other evil stems from. Where all the curses gather around.

In time. He thinks. He’ll make up for that mistake—of being too human—maybe when he faces his own time but right now, Dean Winchester is here who says he’s still gonna take him, cursed or not.

#supernaturalpromptchallenge #destiel fanfic #element fire #prompts #deancas #ao3

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