#Please give me more time on these my crops are wilting

[ellivenollivander]

A Worthy Trade

Summary: Garreth & Adelaide Weasley ready for the day, and Garreth ruminates on all of the Good in his life. Word Count: 2173 Rating: T A/N: Written for @garrethweasleyfest. My prompt used was Professor Gar. The inspiration to write left me entirely for basically a month straight, and this was actually meant to be a longer work. I might write a part two. We'll see what happens, and I hope you enjoy it for what it is anyway. HUGE thank you to @cuffmeinblack, @pluviowriting & @applinsandoranges for being so kind and encouraging. This wouldn't have happened without you! TW: Pregnancy, Pregnancy Mention

Hogsmeade was in top form when autumn descended upon it, Garreth had always thought. The vibrant hues and blue skies of summer giving way to overcast clouds and trees fading into brilliant reds and oranges and finally into nothing at all, when December came, and with it, linen-white blankets of snow. The florals that clung to the air beneath the summer sun dissipated with the bite of the autumn air, replaced with the scent of wood-burning smoke as the resident hearths were lit to chase away the cold, falling leaves dancing on the breeze and along the cobblestone streets. It all felt very much like home. Which is exactly where Garreth stood, half-drinking a tea now gone cold and scribbling notes into a journal that was stuffed as full as the mind of the man who filled its pages, splayed about on the kitchen countertop. The windows were open despite the roaring flames that crackled and popped in the fireplace, the curtains fluttering in the breath of an early morning wind. Garreth wasn’t fond of the curtains, to put it kindly, likely once a lovely ivory and now yellowed with age. Horribly outdated, and left behind by the home's previous owners but his wife had insisted they gave the place charm, so they had stayed, framing the old paned glass window that seemed to never be streak free no matter how often they scourgified. Garreth’s attention was drawn away from a scrawled note on adjusting the preparation of alihotsy to suit lesser needs (dried rather than chopped?), to their family cat outside the window, pouncing upon something hidden in the wilted and brittle remains of his wifes garden which had succumbed to the changing season. He thought he ought to clear it out, so it was ready for his wife to till and bring back to its usual glory the moment the ground thawed come spring. Or perhaps he ought to build her a proper greenhouse, so his green-thumbed wife could have all of the fresh produce and flowering blooms that she pleased, year-round. Adelaide would like that, he thought, and he knew Mr. Brown of Tomes & Scrolls carried the spellcrafts, and surely the materials would not break the bank with each of their comfortable salaries. With his face falling into an excitable grin that he swallowed with another glug of his tea, should his wife stumble in and catch him with one of his masterful plans, he scribbled a note to remind himself to stop by and visit Tom in the sparse open spaces of his journal after work. 

Tea cup halfway to his lips, he watched with an amused grin as the cat bolted off again, into the dying brush and off to wreak havoc elsewhere. Hopefully, to The Magic Neep, where it had become a thorn in old Mr. Teasdale’s side. The usually jovial herbologist had blamed the small beast for the destruction of his fluxweed crop on more than one occasion. Garreth had tried to defend his wife's beloved feline, with the entirely logical deduction that there was no way the old man could prove it was indeed their family pet, but his wife had shushed him, offering apologies and promises to bring over some of her esteemed ginger cakes as recompense in order to keep the neighbourhood peace. 

Saving the neighbourhood peace was growing to be one of Adelaide’s talents, helped by her enthusiasm for time spent in the heart of the home - the kitchen. Always delivering treats and sweets to their neighbours, and most often, Mr. Pippin, and of course on behalf of Garreth. Who had more than taken advantage of the short distance between their home and the potions shop, eager for spirited conversations with a man as enthusiastic about potions as he was. Only a small footbridge separated their home and the shop, and Garreth Weasley was as much a permanent accessory in the shop as the sign on the door, his wife soothing the scowl of its proprietor at his constant interruptions of his work with hot meals and warm pastries. 

Adelaide Weasley was always welcome, and her husband was welcome in the way a father swears he doesn't care for the family pet, but never moves it from its nap when it curls up in his favourite chair. 

Garreth had only just slipped the loose bits of parchment back between the pages of his journal, when his wife strolled into the kitchen, hair tied neatly behind her head in her usual plait, and fussing with the loose fabric of her blouse. He allowed his cup to fall into the hot, soapy water, mindless to the way it began to clean itself amongst the breakfast dishes, with his attention entirely on his beautiful wife and the contemplative scowl on her face. 

He wrinkled his nose at the sight of her pulling her blouse over the soft swell of her stomach, concealing it away with the ruffles and lace. He leant against the sink with an amused grin, green eyes following the way she poked and prodded at herself. 

“You know…” He began, with a strong arm reaching out to pull her close, wrapping her up in his embrace, his head instinctively tilting down to trail chaste kisses along the slope of her neck.  “... You can’t hide our good news away forever, or else people may question where you’ve got a baby from when it arrives.” His tone was light, Teasing. Even if it took every ounce of his self-restraint to not take out the entire front page of the prophet to announce the news that they were going to be parents, Garreth respected his wife’s choice to delay the celebrations. It was her body in the end, though that didn’t save her from his affectionate jabs due to his own impatience in the safety and privacy of their own home.

He hummed happily, forehead resting where her shoulder met her neck when she reciprocated his lazy morning affections with her hands in his hair, a giggle fluttering from her lips as she kissed his temple. 

“Yes, well. Evie said that once people know, they’ll be poking and prodding at me all of the time and I don’t fancy that much.” 

Evie. Evangeline. His wife’s best friend from their days at school and who had two children of her own already, after having settled down with her childhood sweetheart the moment they had graduated. Adelaide seldom did anything without her ever-present companions counsel and when Garreth had proposed, he had half-expected his lovely bride-to-be to tell him to Hold That Thought whilst she ran off to ask for her friend's opinion on the matter. 

(She hadn’t, and instead, the memory of her standing flushed and teary-eyed amongst the foxgloves and forget-me-nots whilst he slipped the modest ring on her finger during her gleeful acceptance of his self-proclaimed paltry offer would live at the forefront of his mind for the rest of his days.) 

Now, it seemed the two had all the more to talk about now that his wife was well on her way to join her friend in motherhood. Garreth was grateful for the feminine support through his wife's first pregnancy, even if it called for a few interrupted meals whilst Adelaide explained in detail her varying symptoms to Evangeline’s head in the fireplace. “Mm. Well we don’t want you being poked by anyone other than me now do we?” Garreth chuckled; Smiling and savouring the lingering scent of lavender and bergamot from her shampoo as he brought himself back to height, pausing only to steal a kiss from her pouting lips, soothing her look of mild disapproval before helping her into her cloak. “Come on then, the young and impressionable minds of our students thirst for our wisdom.” 

  ***

A choice to live within the faculty quarters of the school or to live outside of its majestic halls was given to each member of the general staff and faculty of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Garreth had taken full advantage of the former during his first few years as a Professor, putting every knut that would have been spent on room and board away on a dream for a potions shop with his name on the front. Then Adelaide Oakes came gliding into the picture. A lovely little thing who was sweet and kind and laughed at all of his jokes. Even the ones he knew weren’t his very best work as he slumped over potions essays that had him feeling the slightest twinge of sympathy for the grizzled Auror that had once held his post (and who still haunted his nightmares every now and again when he was struggling with a more difficult brew). 

Adelaide had transferred into the role of Magical Home Economics Professor, A class meant to prepare magical children for the mundane realities of living in a magical world, when the elderly Professor Spindle had finally thrown in the towel and retired to an island in the Gulf of Finland.

Garreth had only just settled into his fate in academia when Adelaide came around (Again. She so loved reminding him of all the classes and moments they had shared during their own schooldays that he had seemingly paid little mind too. He equally loved reminding her that his mind had been very busy becoming the next great potioneer thank you very much.) A year spent inside the castle he now called home for a second time, only this time, he was educating the next generation of magical minds in the world of cauldrons and brews. 

Playful banter, a few shared butterbeers in the staff-room, a decidedly romantic candle-lit dinner at the Three Broomsticks and a terribly, terribly awkward disclosing of a workplace relationship to his own bloody Aunt later, and the rest was well and truly history. Garreth found himself lamenting the years he spent Not Noticing her whilst they attended school together. Missed opportunities of fumbling around in broom cupboards and blushing faces  over sickly sweet teas at Steepleys. (Though Garreth had tried using his Weasley charm to coax his now wife into a broom cupboard rendezvous now and again when their days were especially dull, but his respectful wife had kept things firmly over-the-clothes.) He lamented, even, not taking his fathers job offer to work at the Ministry. If only because it may have put her in his path far sooner whilst she worked alongside her Uncle Rowland  in the Goblin Liaison office. The money Garreth had tucked away inside of his vault at Gringotts had swiftly been reallocated to other worthwhile endeavours. Gifts and dinners out, weekend holidays and yearly passes to the Magical Arboreal Gardens in London. Everything a girl like Adelaide deserved when being courted. Then, the modest sum of gold had dwindled after a sweaty-palmed conversation with Rowland Oakes had given Garreth his blessing, and he bought her a ring. (Not nearly as grand as she deserved, but she had gasped and cried as she stared at it on her finger, so he must have done alright.) The rest of it disappeared with a wedding and a honeymoon, and the scant remains of the gold were scraped together with his brides and spent on their home. 

More often than not, Garreth sat staring at the wall in the office he had spent much of his youth sneaking into, reminiscing on where his life had ended up – and deciding whether or not he regretted the choices he had made that had brought him here and now. His dreams of owning a potions shop seemed further away than ever before, though it still sat dormant in the back of his mind, and weaved its way between the lines of his journal. On a particularly optimistic day, He had even painstakingly filled out a patent application for his perfected Weasley’s Wonder Tonic. Though the high that had carried him through every line of legal jargon transfigured itself into a different sort of joy, when his wife had joined him in the little nook that served as his workstation, delicate hands holding her contraceptive potion and pink lips whispering “What if we started trying?” Garreth had beamed, A Winter Baby. Now wouldn’t that be nice? and took her blushing and giggling to bed. The application had been tucked away in the pages of his most private thoughts, and he barely paid it any mind. Thus, despite the dull longing that seemed to capture him on a Bad Day, the thought of his wife - bright-eyed and giggling by the fire, cheeks pink from the firewhiskey they had shared to celebrate their students surviving exam season their first year teaching together or the way she hummed The Enchanted Garden whilst she baked barefoot in the kitchen - soothed whatever doubts had crept their way into his mind, warming him faster than a pepper-up. Garreth Weasley had simply traded one dream for another, and would not trade a single moment, nor take a single step in another direction if offered the choice. 

[electricaquarius]

Hello friends, I come bringing my very first GeRolan fic and also my first m/m smut! The lovely people over on the Geraldus server got to see the genesis of this idea as well as the whole fic early, so please join if you're interested in our dear Harper Prince! Also on AO3 if that's more your speed.

Summary: It's a super hot summer day in Baldur's Gate and everyone is feeling sweaty and miserable. Rolan/Geraldus smut eventually, handjobs, anal sex, the lightest touch of angst.

It was hot. It was, quite frankly, more than hot. Geraldus had never experienced heat quite like this before, and certainly not in a city. The tall buildings, the crowds, the sticky heat settling on his skin, it all combined to make him summarily miserable. Heat like this conjured images of pale yellow grass and parched soil from back home and Geraldus felt like he was wilting right alongside his mother’s crops. He’d tried his best to hold his tongue, his mother often told him that complaining got him nowhere, but the inescapable humidity was getting to everyone. Lia, for example, hadn’t stopped complaining since she draped herself across the couch and began fanning herself dramatically. 

‘Come on, Rolan, you’re certain there’s nothing you could do? I’m on the verge of melting!’ It was a futile request really but if there was one thing Geraldus knew about Lia, it was that she couldn’t stand being reminded of things she couldn’t control. A lot like her brother, in that aspect. Rolan snapped shut his book and breathed an irritated sigh, turning to face her. A bead of sweat rolled down his back and he suppressed a disgusted shiver. 

‘Lia.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Powerful as I am, there isn’t a wizard alive or dead that can control the weather. You know that, and I know that you know as this is the third time I’ve told you. Now I’m going to strongly suggest that you leave before my patience entirely runs out and we spend the rest of the afternoon arguing.’ His tail flicked in short strokes from side to side, clearly cross but trying to keep his temper in check.

Lia rolled her eyes and stood up, sweeping her hair over one shoulder. ‘Fine, fine, but I’m not bringing you back any ice cream.’ She shot an apologetic look to Geraldus. ‘Afraid that means you, too, sunshine. Unfortunate that my brother isn’t feeling more charitable.’ She shrugged, grabbing her hat from a nearby table. ‘Well, off I go to faint from the heat!’ 

Geraldus managed a quiet ‘goodbye’ as Lia exited through the portal, not wanting to stoke the flames of the looming argument between her and Rolan. The remaining tiefling muttered something under his breath looking in the direction of the portal. Geraldus took the opportunity to stretch out now he was no longer sharing the sofa with Lia, resting his head on the arm and covering his eyes for a moment. He could feel the heat radiating off of him, sweat sinking into the cushions beneath him. 

Rolan took a moment just to admire him, as he often did. Delicately pointed ears against stark black hair swept up off of his elegant neck into a bun, stretched across the sofa like a big cat. His shirt had hitched up slightly exposing his pale skin, a sheen of sweat catching the light and giving him an almost ethereal look. Geraldus was a work of art, and Rolan knew it. He entertained the thought of swiping his tongue across his lower stomach and up towards his navel but thought better of it. Satisfying as it would be, Rolan knew far better than to just maul his lover whenever he felt like it. Still, it was a tempting idea…

‘I can feel you staring’ mumbled Geraldus. ‘Please, just tell me what it is.’ He bit back on an additional, far less nice comment. The heat wasn’t Rolan’s fault, of course, but Geraldus really didn’t have the patience for Rolan to dance around whatever it was he wanted in weather like this.

Rolan, slightly taken aback by Geraldus’ forwardness, came towards him and knelt in front of the sofa. ‘Just admiring you, that’s all.’ He placed a hand on Geraldus’ naked stomach and slowly started drawing it up when the half-elf grimaced. Rolan stopped, concerned. ‘Everything alright?’

Geraldus placed a hand on top of his and gently placed it back on the sofa. ‘In any other circumstance I’d be quite happy to let you… have your way with me,’ Geraldus felt the heat rising in his cheeks, ‘but I'm coated in sweat and very uncomfortable which doesn't lend itself to feeling, well, cuddly.’ Geraldus usually struggled a little with discussing their more intimate moments but had used his frustration to find his voice. 

‘Ah. Of course.’ Rolan backed off slightly, drawing back his hands to rest on top of his knees. Rejection never felt good, especially to someone with his pride. Not to say that Geraldus didn't have the right to say no as freely and often as he wanted, but it being due to Rolan's infernal heat gave a unique sinking feeling of disappointment. Rising, Rolan picked up the jug of water and took it to the kitchen, turning the problem over in his mind as he refilled it. If the heat was making Geraldus uncomfortable and miserable, then that had to be remedied immediately. Create Water wouldn't help as the humidity was too high, and he wasn't certain of his ability to create a Gust spell gentle enough just to cool them both down. Rolan was deep in thought when he heard Geraldus approach. 

‘Um, I'm sorry. For being short with you. I'm sure you understand but I've never quite experienced heat like this and I'm… having trouble acclimatising.’ Geraldus took the jug and poured himself a glass of water, taking two large sips. ‘I hope I didn't upset you.’ He put the glass down and pressed a quick kiss to the tiefling's cheek. Rolan turned to face him and gave him a warm smile.

‘You are far too sweet for your own good, my skylark.’ He chuckled. ‘No, I was just considering our predicament. I told Lia there was nothing I could do as she'd have me use all my energy turning the tower into a ski resort if she thought it were possible.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘But, there might be something I can do for us both to cool us down. No ‘snuggling’ required of course! I just want to make us both more comfortable.’

Geraldus hummed in confirmation, leaning back against the counter. ‘I'll leave you to it, then. Don't work yourself too hard, my heart. Come sunset I'm sure we'll both feel better, anyway.’ He patted Rolan's hand and headed back into the lounge.

***

Not more than a couple of hours later Rolan had emerged from his study, looking triumphant. Geraldus swivelled around from his seat on the floor where he had been folding paper cranes to pass the time. Keeping his hands busy had allowed him to stay calm and forget the more unpleasant side effects of the heat but he was happy all the same Rolan appeared to have solved their problem. Rolan crossed over and offered him a hand to help himself up from the floor, which he accepted gracefully. 

‘I think you'll be quite surprised at my ingenuity this time, my lark. I've made us an oasis of cool in this hot, humid tower. And now I know how, I can recreate it whenever you please.’ Rolan led him over to his office and opened the door, waving him through. 

As Geraldus stepped over the threshold he let out a sigh of pure relief. A cool breeze immediately stirred around his body intense enough to create goosebumps on his arms. ‘Oh, it's perfect, Rolan! What did you do?’ Geraldus turned just in time to see Rolan right behind him, wrapping him in a hug from behind. He began to explain, punctuated with kisses along Geraldus’ pale neck.

‘I began with a Cone of Cold. Perhaps overkill to just cool down on a hot day but I wanted to make sure it would work. Tweaking the intensity, I found a level that was pleasantly cool, then added a Gust spell on top to make sure the air circulated nicely.’ Geraldus reached a hand back behind him to brush his fingers against Rolan's horns. A shuddering breath of pleasure caressed his ear.

‘Am I to assume this is an invitation to pick up where we left off?’ Rolan asked in a low voice, trying to hold himself back from grinding against Geraldus’ thigh. Geraldus melted, arousal stirring deep within him at his lover's touch. 

‘Mmh… Yes, please touch me.’ Geraldus took Rolan's hand and trailed it down past his stomach to his cock, pressing down lightly. Rolan continued to kiss him, sucking and nipping at his neck as Geraldus moaned softly. Unable to resist, Rolan pressed his hips against his ranger's firm thigh and cursed under his breath at the sudden spark of pleasure. 

Rolan's hand went lower, removing Geraldus’ cock from his trousers and beginning to stroke lightly. Geraldus gasped, pressing his hips up to his lover's hand needily. The cool air of his study combined with the warmth of his hand was a completely new sensation, and all the more exhilarating for it. Geraldus’ moans grew louder as Rolan increased the pace, the half-elf's hips moving as he chased the pleasure until Rolan suddenly stilled his hand.

Geraldus was panting, whining, precum leaking from his tip as Rolan savoured every moment of his desperation. A low chuckle escaped his lips. ‘You did very well, my sweet. Very well. But, I'm not quite finished with you. If you'd let me, I'd quite like you to lie on my desk so I can make love to you properly.’ Geraldus shivered as Rolan caressed his inner thighs, turning his head to catch the tiefling's lips with his. Slowly they disentangled from one another and repositioned themselves, Geraldus winding a hand through Rolan's hair as they gazed at each other lovingly. Rolan stroked his lover's hip, adoring the sensation of soft flesh under his hands.

Rubbing his cock against Geraldus’ entrance, Rolan opened the desk drawer with his other hand and pulled out a bottle of oil. Geraldus mewled softly as the oil was applied, Rolan slipping a finger inside of him for a moment. The half-elf's cock twitched against his stomach, feeling very close to climax. Rolan smirked. ‘Ah ah, not just yet. Do you think you can hold on for me, skylark?’ Geraldus bit his lip and nodded, hands gripping the underside of his thighs.

Slowly, slower than he'd liked to, Rolan entered Geraldus. A shiver of pleasure pulsed through them both, knowing that neither would last long. Rolan began to move, pushing deeper with each thrust as Geraldus cried out, hips pressing up against his partner's. Every twitch and shudder around his cock sent a shock of pleasure through Rolan. He cursed under his breath, feeling his own climax approaching quickly. And when Geraldus wrapped his legs around his waist he was done for. Pushing down on the small of Rolan's back with his heels, Geraldus came on his stomach and chest. Something primal switched on in Rolan as he chased his own end. Before he knew it, his jaws clamped down on the spot where Geraldus’ neck met his shoulder. Rolan whimpered loudly against his lover's neck as he came inside of him, shooting three times before finally pulling out.

Panting, Geraldus slid over on the desk so there was room for Rolan to take a seat. A quiet moment stretched out between them. Rolan reached over and took Geraldus’ hand, pressing his lips to his knuckles. ‘Let it be known, my lark, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you.’

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Don't wait up

04/13/2022

Pairing: Walter Marshall x fem!reader (3rd person)

Word Count: 2,748

Warnings: language, angst, graphic description of a wet, freshly showered Walter, fluff

Summary: It's your anniversary and Walter has stood you up—again. When he finally comes home to apologise, he finds the house empty.

A/N: I can't believe this has been sitting in my WIPs for eight months now. I'm glad my muse finally showed mercy on poor Walter and let me finish this. It's my first time writing for the bear. Hope you like it.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Picture found on Pinterest (cropped)

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

With a sigh he checked the time before he turned off the engine and the headlights died away, leaving him in the dim light of the console. Already past ten. And he had done it again. A soft thud echoed through the cockpit as his head fell back against the head rest and his eyes shut out the world for a moment. He could see them so clearly now, her eyes, sombre from the disappointment, breaking his heart even before he would finally face her rightful wrath.

Although the day had started out rather promisingly. He had been in high spirits when he left the house, happy that this year he wouldn’t screw up again. Already two weeks ago he had made reservations at her favourite restaurant and requested to take half the day off. He had wanted to do everything right, clean up the house, iron the light blue shirt she liked so much on him, buy some champagne, strawberries and vanilla bubble bath for dessert, hell, he had even put candles and rose petals for the bedroom on the shopping list.

After all, he had a lot to make up for. There had been so much work lately, forcing him to leave early in the morning and return home past her bedtime almost every night. Of course, in his job that wasn’t unusual. There were always times when a case would keep him away from her more than he liked, but this time it had been particularly bad. He missed her terribly and he knew that she felt the same, although she never complained. She never would, that’s not who she was, but he could see it in her eyes sometimes or feel it in the way she hugged him tightly when he came to bed, her mind already far away in a dream while her body was still seeking his warmth subconsciously.

And today of all days hadn’t been any different. Something had come up last minute, shattering his meticulous plans. It was always something, he thought. It didn’t even matter what it was, he had let it become more important than her once again and that was inexcusable.

With a scowl, he glared down at the paper bag and the bunch of half-wilted red roses next to him. What a joke. She had probably eaten by now anyway and in case she had not, sitting down with him for a romantic self-made dinner was most likely the last thing she wanted to do tonight. But it was the least he could do, to just try, to apologise and hope for her forgiveness, if only because he didn’t know what he would do if she wouldn’t grant him her pardon.

But as he marched over to the front door, his measly offerings clutched to his side, he knew there wasn’t much hope left. The windows were pitch black, showing no signs of life whatsoever and when he stepped inside, he was greeted with nothing but glum silence.

“Y/N?” he asked into the darkness, tentatively. He hadn’t expected an answer and yet his chest constricted painfully for a moment. Setting down the bag on the kitchen island carefully, he huffed at the tattered flowers in his hand before he ascended the stairs, not prepared in the least to deal with the bitter resentment in her eyes.

“Y/N?”

Softly his knuckles pressed against the white wood, as if they were afraid to startle a sleeping fury. But again, there was no answer, giving him the chance to take one last deep breath before he stepped into the bedroom.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” he babbled while he crossed the room blindly. “I know I fucked up again, but—“ He halted instantly as the dull light of his bedside lamp illuminated the room, revealing that he had in fact been talking to himself. “Honey?” his voice bellowed through the room, loud enough that she would have heard him in the last corner of the house, but it stayed silent. He already knew that it was for nothing when he hurried into the corridor to roar her name again. His stomach twisted violently, sending a wave of panic through him that made his head spin when he finally reached for his phone.

A message. How could he not have seen that any sooner? Eyebrows knit together tightly, the first drops of sweat began to bead on his forehead as the three words slowly sank in.

DON’T WAIT UP

No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.

“Fuck!” he hollered into the emptiness of their home, an emptiness that began to seep under his skin as well, taking hold of him bit by bit as his back slumped into the wall and he slid down onto the floor.

Happy fucking anniversary.

Softly the terry cloth rubbed along his impressive thighs, the vibration of his steps sending some drops of water flying from his wet curls onto his bare shoulders from where they set out to cascade down his back and front, some of them catching in his lush chest hair to sparkle in the warm light of the empty bedroom. He would call her again, probably just another fruitless attempt like the other ten times he had tried to reach her before finally deciding to take a shower.

If only he knew she was someplace safe. He was almost sure that she was, but this last bit of uncertainty kept nagging in the back of his head, making his heart heavy and his stomach turn every time he imagined what might happen to her if she wasn’t. Fucking job. It served him right though, this torture. Maybe it was exactly what he needed to finally wake up—if only it wasn’t too late already.

With a determined motion, his hand set out to grab his phone from the messy pile of clothes he had left on the bed, his knuckles brushing a piece of white paper in the process. A piece of paper that definitely hadn’t been there when he had vanished into the bathroom a few minutes ago.

His phone thudding back onto the bed, he scooped up the small, folded sheet with a pair of shaky hands. Carefully his fingers unfurled the note, the paper trembling violently between them, making it almost impossible to read the black letters.

MEET ME IN THE TRUCK IN 10. DON’T BE LATE—AGAIN…

He couldn’t remember an occasion at which he had gotten dressed faster than now. Skipping the underwear, he ripped a pair of khaki shorts and a plain black T-shirt out of the wardrobe before he hastily set out to dry his hair off with the towel that had sat on his hips mere seconds ago.

His heart was beating at full speed when he finally made it to the head of the stairs, flying down the carpeted wood at a reckless pace, only one thought on his mind. He had almost made it to the door when another thought suddenly pushed aside her image for a moment and he rushed back into the kitchen.

It was only when he laid eyes on the car at last, the mild summer air welcoming him outside, that he remembered to breathe. The engine was already running, headlights on, making it impossible for him to catch sight of her familiar form in the driver’s seat. Only a few steps, one last sprint, separated him from her, a distance so small and yet she was as far away as never before.

Legs heavy as lead, he fought his way over to her, his hope that he hadn’t lost her for good yet sinking with every step he took towards the black vehicle. He needed to see her, needed to look into her eyes to know if there was reason for optimism and it was this need that made him muster the courage to close his fingers around the handle and pull.

A need, he realised, that wouldn’t be satisfied anytime soon as she just kept staring out front, not caring in the least that he had just yanked open the door, out of breath and desperate to feel her eyes on him.

“Get in.”

The tone of her voice, barely audible above the whirring of the engine, gave him nothing to ease his troubled mind. But even if it didn’t show any anger either, he knew that there was no reason for hope just yet. So he simply obeyed, gliding into the seat beside her silently.

He had expected her to hit the gas as soon as the door had fallen shut behind him, but she didn’t. Patiently he waited, a spark of newfound hope spiralling through him as the thought crossed his mind that she maybe wanted to say something, hesitating to set off until she had found the right words. And it was this tiny fragment of hope that spread his lips into an unsure smile while his arm moved on its own to hold out his pitiful peace offering to her.

And even though it didn’t make her speak, it made her look. Not at him, but at the representation of his regret, and that was good enough for him. Her eyes flicking from one burgundy bud to the next as if she had never seen a bouquet of red roses before allowed him a moment to take in the woman he loved and he couldn’t shake off the unsettling feeling that it might be the last time this privilege would ever be granted to him. For a split second, it seemed as if she would reach out to accept his apology, but instead of the flowers, her fingers closed around the gearstick and yanked it into reverse.

She was a good driver, even if she was prone to speed from time to time. Sometimes he would scold her for it, making her laugh it off every time. “It’s not my fault, Walter, you know that. It’s just the way my primal instincts react to this ridiculous amount of horse power.”

But tonight, for the first time, he couldn’t shake off the urge to hold on tight to something as the truck shot through the night and so his fingers firmly shut around the handle beside him. He didn’t let go until her foot finally left the gas and she steered the vehicle off the main road and into the pitch black darkness of a forestry trail. His hands were clammy and he tried drying them off on his shorts without catching her attention, but with every minute they ventured further into the woods, he felt the sweat return.

She still hadn’t said a word since their departure and he couldn’t think of anything sensible to talk about either, not for the life of him. To say that her unusually taciturn state threw him off would have been an absolute understatement, and slowly but surely his body switched into alert mode. He couldn’t help it. It came with the job and had slipped into his DNA after all these years. Of course, he knew that it was ridiculous. She was his sweet honey pie and she would never even think about hurting her Walter Bear, or would she? He had seen people snap and kill for less than a ruined anniversary—or two.

He jolted as the truck came to a sudden halt and risked a quick glance over at his driver. Still, nothing about her gave him a hint what she felt or what all this was about.

“Honey,” he tried, treading lightly, even though his voice was raised to drown out the roaring of the engine. “You’re making me nervous.” Halfway through his sentence she had turned the key and he felt like an idiot for hollering his insecurity into the silence that followed. He tried a meek smile to make up for the volume. “Did you take me here to get rid of me?”

But instead of laughing about his silly remark, not even the tiniest bit, she just opened the door and let the night swallow her.

“Hey, where are you going?”

Throwing the flowers carelessly onto the driver’s seat, he dashed after her. She might have given him a little scare with her strange behaviour, but thinking about her in the forest, at night, on her own, made his heart fall into the depths of his stomach instantly.

A deep sigh escaped his chest when he found her right beside the truck bed, busy rolling up the cover. Probably to get a shovel, his inner detective warned, just to look like an idiot once again when the rim of the truck bed lit up in a bunch of fairy lights as if by magic to reveal a cozy bed of blankets and pillows.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

With a contented sigh, he pulled her closer. She mimicked his movement, tightening her grip on him as well. Her hand had sneaked underneath his T-shirt a good while ago, her fingers lazily raking through his lush chest hair next to the spot where her head lay, right above his heart. He could feel her heartbeat underneath his fingertips as well, strong and steady, and he couldn’t stop a wide grin from forming when he realised that, despite everything he had feared before, it still beat for him. He was sure by now that she had staged her little surprise like this on purpose and he couldn’t blame her. He deserved every last bit of it. And he would take far worse if it meant he wouldn’t lose her.

But now that he held her in the faint light of the starry night sky, all those worries seemed long passed. And however much he tried, he couldn’t remember that he had ever felt luckier than in this exact moment. Well, maybe there was one moment…

“Do you remember our first date?” he mumbled against her silky hair.

“Of course I do. You were so nervous that night. I almost feared you had swallowed your tongue. I mean, you’re usually a man of few words, but that night I was almost sure that you weren’t the right guy for me.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t.” She waited until he began to stir underneath her before she went on. “You did.”

“Me? How?”

Walter watched her head rise from his chest and he was about to protest when her hand abandoned caressing his fur, but then her fingers tenderly brushed aside the stray curl of hair on his forehead and he was appeased.

“Walking me home that night, making sure I got there safely and then you didn't even try to kiss me.”

“But you did.”

He grinned like the Cheshire cat as the memory played out crystal clear in his mind. God, it had been so sexy when she had slowly gotten closer, leaning in ever so slightly until he could feel the heat of her body against his own and there had been no doubt left what she had wanted him to do.

“Yes,” the curve of her lips matched his own now, “and when you finally decided to kiss me back, I knew. Gosh, I had never been kissed like that. So tender but with a touch of passion and possessiveness. And the way you held me in your arms—” He remembered. He had wanted to kiss her so badly, but he had held back, afraid to rush things, and when she had kissed him instead, everything had happened on instinct. He had pressed her to his chest, needing to feel her closer, afraid when he opened his eyes, it would have all been a dream. Walter had known in that moment as well, that he never wanted to hold anyone else from that day on. “Mmmh, nothing could ever compare to that.”

“Nothing?” His eyebrow shot up, intrigued by the challenge he sensed in her words. And with a single shake of her head, the game was on. “Will you at least let me try?”

He was met with no resistance at all when he rolled her onto her back, caging her in underneath his massive body. Instead, her teeth bit down on her lip in a gesture she knew would drive him to the edge of sanity, her fingers eagerly diving into his messy curls as he dipped down with a feral growl to claim her lips with his own.

***

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[ddarker-dreams]

There was a time in Inazuma’s longstanding history — the name lost to age and unspoken on living tongues — wrought with calamity. 

"Let the lands be doused in torrential rainfall. Your crops will wilt, their roots too weak to cling to the turbid ground, and your stomachs will beg for fullness that will never come. Till the ruined soil from dawn to dusk and find your yield nil. My lightning will reign down from the heavens, striking indiscriminately. The ocean will rise, devouring what terrain remembers habitable, driving you to the tips of mountains lest you be swallowed and pulled to the dark depths.” 

The Raiden Shogun’s decree reverberated like a thunder’s roar throughout her court. 

Noblemen and military officials alike stood shocked into silence, having not understood the weight of her promise yet. Shrine maidens gossiped beneath the Sacred Sakura, exchanging ideas of what this foreboding message could mean, while children were forced to give up catching fireflies in the cool evening, shepherded by their parents to come back inside. 

Offerings were made beneath umbrellas and hastily thrown together shrines. Even those who never counted themselves as pious prayed to the Narukami Ogosho, pleading for forgiveness they hadn’t known they’d need to earn. 

It was as she said it would be. An eternal thunderstorm engulfed the quivering nation, battering the shingles of rooftops in Inazuma City and engulfing wooden houses in Yashiori Island with howling winds. A deaf ear was turned to the plight of her people as water filled their lungs and despair their souls. What had they done to earn divine punishment from their god? Would there ever be an end to their subjugation?

A bake-danuki had happened upon you as you rested in the woods, rain kissing your dirt-stained face and soaking your tattered clothes. 

“Come and play,” it bid of you. “Hide and seek soothes the woes of one’s heart.” 

But your heart was no longer made of flesh and could not be moved. 

“Away with you. I haven’t the slightest interest in your silly games.” 

And so it let you be. 

The rain carried on into the next morning. Unable to start a campfire, you settled on foraging for food, lavender melon bursting on your parched tongue. You couldn’t recall a more repulsive shade of grey than what the sky currently boasted. It troubled you, and so you closed your eyes, wondering when the rain might wash you away. 

And again, the bake-danuki approached. 

“I will have no humans to play with should this continue,” it told you. 

You threw nearby stones to scare it off. 

“I will not go back,” you replied. Salty tears intermingled with raindrops, dancing on your cheeks. “Away with you, before I lose what remains of my patience.” 

And so it let you be. 

The next day, you nestled yourself high into a tree, dangling your feet over the branches. You knew that the rising water would reach this area soon. You’d move before it could impede you, retreating to higher altitudes. This was the plan you repeated to yourself as lightning flashed and waves crashed. 

Once more, the bake-danuki greeted you in kind. This time, a cloth was in its paws, as it danced back and forth to earn your attention. 

“The smaller humans cannot swim well,” it told you. You looked down from your perch and frowned at the torn fabric. “I won’t have anywhere to play hide and seek with should this continue.” 

And so your heart was softened. 

"Ei,” you whispered, your voice carrying in the wind. The nearby trees keened as if listening to you and the rain softened from a downpour to a mist. “I will return to you. So please... wait for me, and extend the mercy that I know lives within you.” 

Sunshine poked through dense clouds for the first time in weeks. 

The bake-danuki watched as your silhouette bled into the horizon, traveling north; returning to whence you came. The Tenshukaku’s gates remained wide open until you entered them the same night. 

It regarded the fabric in its paws and laughed, despite no one being around to hear. In a blink of its beady eyes, it reverted back to a radish, which was left at the foot of the tree you once occupied. 

[emperor-palpaminty]

Oh hi,,,,remember,,,,when we talked about jealous tech?,,,,

Just think. Maybe medic!reader is helping an injured shiny while Tech is in the other bed in the (otherwise private) room. The shiny is explaining what Happened to cause his injury and of course he’s charming. (You and tech have def had unspoken of feelings.) you go “awe hey you’re really smart trooper.” And tech SNAPS because he’s your smart trooper.

You can decide to do with that what you will <3

Holy shit that is perfect for this because confidence and jealousy is hot, I love you activist cryptid you

i need therapy, perhaps, also Tech is 100% strong enough to bust a holopad okay

also there is gonna be some hunky kissin and smoochin so folks, beware, children please leave

___

You had been rolling bandages when you realized you had done something horribly and terribly wrong. You glanced up from your table in the back room of your ward and were only met with the glaring eyes of one very agitated Tech. You blinked slowly, fingers lingering on the rolled gauze in your hands."What?"

He mumbled, which was very un-Tech like. You paused, you tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek.

Your eyes flicked back to the doorway with the other regs, the nonseriously injured ones.

Oh.

You hesitated and then grinned, setting the bandages down as you sauntered towards Tech's bed, a confident gait settling into your hips with all the sway of a confident woman. "I think I know what's going on."

Tech glanced up at you, brows still knitted together. "Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong.'

"Am I?" You pursed your lips in a cheeky grin, leaning over, suddenly nose to nose with Tech. "I think I’m right."

His brow narrowed further, eyes not leaving yours, face increasingly speckling with blush spreading in a pattern you had memorized by now. “I doubt it.”

The two of you had been dancing around in- every busted rib, every scar, every bruise and tense moment on the battlefield, there was something there, magnetizing you, pulling you to one another in the most polarizing sense of the word. You both knew it. Played with it. Teased the idea, but you on your North end and him on his South, separate as you pondered this pull. You wanted to ignore it no more. You admired him, you wanted him, in every way.

Yes, you felt his eyes settling on you every time you flirted. Every moment at a bar, or around the hormonal soldiers who would take any oppurtinity to flirt with a breathing woman. The way he stood by you, the moments on the battlefield he stood over you and covered you as you bandaged the wounded. He wanted you, too- the grazing touches, the richness in his voice when he said your name, the quick glances as your lips, your body, the admiration in everything he did involving you- he really wanted you, too.

The perfect way to have him own up to his feelings- utterly breaking him.

You paused, then glanced back at the room, shrugging, leaning off the bed. “If you insist,” You purred, sauntering to the reg medical room.

"Where are you going?" Tech shifted, moving to sit up, grimacing slightly at the effort.

"To do my... doctor things." You beamed innocently over your shoulder at him, eyes malicious, as you entered the reg medical room. You felt Tech's gaze boring into you, and you turned to the current reg, and you smiled gently at him. "Hi. I'm the resident medic." You tapped om the insignia on your white coat.

He sat up, brows raising. Women in the ranks were rare, which happened to be perfect to prove your hypothesis. Your grin perked up as you grabbed a holopad, sliding a stool to him and sitting down. "What brings you to me today?'

"Aside from the beauty and brains I see in front of me?"

You made sure to laugh your most flirtatious laugh- high pitched, tinkering. "Oh, trooper." You giggled, sliding the stool closer, examining the arm he held up to you, which had been haphazardly bandaged. "Battlefield injury?"

"Mhm." He relaxed back against the pillow. "Yep. Defending the ray shields abiut three kliks from base."

"Mm." You unwrapped the bandage and examined the wound. It wasn't deep- a fracture at most, you decided. "You're a brave guy, aren't you?" You glanced back into the back room, where Tech's eyes had darkened. You shot him an innocent smile, quickly setting the bone and re-bandaging it. "Oh, good job. That hurts, I know." You crooned, applying some bacta to his skin and sealed off the splint.

The reg grinned, exhaling, trying to wiggle his fingers. "Thanks, Doc." He grinned, leaning back. "Say, am I your only patient today."

"No, but you're probably my favorite." You grinned, standing, typing in a status update on the holopad. The clone laughed, leaning up to look more at you.

"You're my favorite doctor, you know."

"Aw." You grinned, submitting the report. "Then you must be a smart man."

"Oh, I am!" The reg grinned, leaning back, good arm elevating his head. "I'm on the bomb squad."

You nodded, grinning, leaning on the doorway. "Oh, so you're very smart." You set the holopad down, tilting your head. "So smart, level headed- so you're the cream of the crop."

An irritated sputter came from the private medical room behind you. You glanced back, almost cackling at Tech, who was absolutely boiling. His face was a gorgeous tint of red, his muscles tensed up under his glove, and the holopad in his hands was diligently holding up to the pressure he was putting on it, fingers firm, the rim cracked.

You shot him a wink. Your attention shifted back to the injured trooper, who was trying to peer into the room. "Everything good, Doc?"

"Oh, just another patient." You offered the reg a sweet smile, a sticky sweet smile and you helped him wrap a sling around his arm and tied it behind his neck. "Coming to see me for a little cough. Don't concern yourself." You helped the trooper up, walking him to the door. "I'll send instructions to your C.O., don't come see me too soon."

The trooper was a fly caught in your honeyed feminine trap. He smiled, winking at you. "But I kinda want to."

"Give it a few days, trooper." You chuckled, gently shooing him out.

With a sigh, you turned, admiring the now empty medical room. Well.. almost empty.

Tech was standing at the doorway to the private room, honeyed eyes glistening in anger, jealousy written in his gaze, lip curled. "So," He said, a hiss relieving his voice. "He's your smart trooper."

"Considering that you didn't want to take that role, yes." The words held a beguiling offer, a tempting bet, brows raised in challenge. “I take it I was right, Tech?” Your tongue annunciated the last syllable, delicious on your lips.

Tech's jaw rotated in a way you rarely saw- perhaps amidst firefights, and his shoulders tensed. Your eyes flicked to the surprisingly broad shoulders- he was lean, but well built. The top half of his body glove outlined the sinewy arms and pectorals, while his bulky armor still on from the waist down did him the disservice of failing to balance out his body.

His eyes tracked yours, and he stalked towards you. You backed up, half in shock, half in amusement. “Oh, so my theory was-?”

Your mouth stopped moving as his crashed into it, a ship in a storm, hands shaking as the pressed to the small of your back. You sighed, shock washing out through your toes that curled in your boots, and you wrapped your arms around him as he pressed your shoulders against the wall, voice hoarse as she spoke, words warm against your lips. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t make up for what you did,” He whispered, tugging away, a spark in his eyes. 

You sighed, wilting, holding into him. “Oh, that’s funny, I can’t think of a reason. Maybe you should prove me right.”

Tech stared at you, then grinned brightly, the gleam still in his eyes as he leaned down, lips moving in a waltzing rhythym with yours, and he tugged you up to wrap your legs around his waist. “That’s a shame,” He exhaled, softly against your ear, hissing as you tugged at the neck of his body glove. “Neither can I.”

[andypantsx3]

if i could keep cool | 4

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters

summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question��is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

There was no other word for it. Todoroki was a menace.

Though his schedule seemed to return to something approximating normal, he was still in the apartment often enough that you began to anticipate him being there. Even when he wasn’t, however, he made life difficult enough for you by leaving behind gifts, with progressively more disappointed notes if you didn’t take them. You didn’t know how it was possible to convey that flat tone in the shape of his letters, but you could practically hear it as you read them over.

Worse, he seemed to know exactly which of your weak points to exploit to get you to want the gifts--leaving you several more books, a bag of the really nice coffee beans from the coffee shop you’d told him about, and a sinfully soft scarf as the weather turned colder. When you continued to ignore the insane amount of money he seemed to think passed for a tip, fresh vegetables started cropping up on the countertops with notes that said things like I’m not going to eat these, if you don’t take them they will be wasted to guilt you into compliance.

A month into it, an entire grocery order started showing up every Thursday shift. My refrigerator is full so don’t try to stuff any of this in there, his note commanded.

He was a master of manipulation, it seemed, and to what end you didn’t know. You made mental notes to not mention any further likes during your conversations, but when he was there, Todoroki’s conversation was so easy and so natural, he continued to pull all the details out of you with ease.

So things you really, really liked kept turning up. And as you talked to him, Todoroki was turning into a thing that you really, really liked as well.

It was overwhelming.

The final straw was a Friday afternoon when you hit up the fancy coffee shop just outside campus. You walked in with the extra money you’d saved up not buying your own groceries, and the vague idea that you would get a head start on an upcoming paper. And then, the barista very obviously glanced between you and a sheet of paper taped to a corner of the register, and refused to let you pay for your order.

“Your order is free!” she chirped cheerfully.

You stared. “What?”

“It’s already taken care of!” she said, and immediately, a cloud of suspicion settled over you.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked.

She smiled. “The occasion is someone already paid for you!”

You glanced around the coffee shop, but you could find nothing but a few unfamiliar students purusing books or churning out work on their respective laptops. You turned back to her.

“And if I were to walk into this coffee shop tomorrow, would the occasion also be that someone already paid for me?”

She nodded. “Yes! All your future orders are paid for, please come as often as you like!”

You gaped at her, and she cheerfully stuffed your coffee into your hands. Then you glared down at the white paper cup accusingly, and it stared back at you, looking like one half of a certain menace’s hair color.

Oh, he was in for it.

You stalked over to a table and whipped out your cell phone, shooting off a message so fast your fingers practically burned.

todoroki what the hell

To your surprise, you received a reply almost immediately.

It’s Shouto.

Like hell it was.

first names are for friends, not psychopaths. did you really pay for all of my future orders at the coffee shop?

Is this your first time there this month? he answered. Where do you usually go?

You stared at your phone. He’d done this a month ago? Also, no way you were telling him your budget spot where you picked up lukewarm bean water when you couldn’t afford four dollar americanos. The last thing you needed was for him to buy them out, too.

You got to your feet, marching back over to the barista.

She smiled. “Back for something else?”

“Yeah, how do I cancel the all my orders are paid for thing?” you asked. “Can you just delete whatever info he left you and charge me from now on?”

She looked you up and down. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She stared, then leaned in to whisper. “You do know who paid for all your orders, right? Are you actually sure you want to cancel?”

A migraine started in your temples. Had Todoroki actually come in here himself to give his information? Was he trying to get you caught up in the secret lover bullshit that was still swirling in the media?

“I’m extra sure,” you smiled, then went back to your table, satisfied.

No sooner than you had dug out your laptop, though, when your phone buzzed. You looked down at the name on the screen and paled. Todoroki was way easier to deal with via text when you couldn’t hear that low, smooth tone directly in your ear. His face and his voice were absolutely fucking mind-melting, and it would be hard to maintain your stubborn stance even in the face of just one.

Still, though, this was the last straw.

“How many times do I have to tell you that friendship is free?” you hissed quietly as you picked up.

“They told me you tried to cancel,” he said flatly, and your head whipped up to glare at the barista accusingly. She smiled.

“Todoroki--”

“Shouto,” he said.

“Fine, Shouto,” you said, “It’s been a month and maybe I let you get the wrong idea by accepting all of the vegetables and everything, but this ends here. I told you that it doesn’t cost anything to be friends with me, and you had better stop apologizing. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but--”

“Then do,” he said simply.

“What?”

“Then just appreciate it,” he answered. His voice was somehow even lower on the phone and a shiver went down your spine, despite your frustration with him. “Just accept them. Why is it so bad if a friend gives you things?”

God, he was such a rich boy, wasn’t he?

“Shouto, I do appreciate it,” you said. “But I don’t need any of that. And I know that you know this isn’t necessary--I highly doubt that you are buying Midoriya all of his weekly coffees or draping Bakugou in soft scarves. All you need to be friends with me is to just hang out, the same way you do them.”

Shouto was quiet a moment. “Hang out,” he finally said, slowly, like he was tasting the words in his mouth. Then, “Are you free right now?”

“W-what?” you managed.

“You don’t have class right now, right? Your last lecture just let out.”

You were surprised that he remembered your class schedule. Just how much had you told him?

“Uh, yeah?” you asked.

“Good, stay where you are. We’re hanging out,” he pronounced the words like they were foreign on his tongue, then hung up.

You stared down at your phone in shock. He wanted to hang out with you? Like, outside of his apartment?

There was no arguing the two of you got along relatively well, now that the threat of your crazy fandom and the weight of his mistake no longer hung over your relationship. You talked easily enough the one or two times you saw him during any given week. But so far your interactions had been somewhat limited, confined to the familiar space of his apartment and limited to the time that you had to be there. You texted a little outside of that, but you’d never just casually hung out.

Then the weight of his words really hit you. He was coming here? To the coffee shop? In full view of your entire campus? Was he insane?

You ran through a mental checklist of things in your bag that could be used to disguise him but came up short. You didn’t know exactly what he planned to look like when he put in an appearance here, but you were not interested in fanning the flames of the secret lover garbage that was still all over twitter and splashed across the glossy pages of the magazines at the grocery store.

You shot to your feet and threw your bag over your shoulder, then ran out the door, dashing for the campus shop that sat just outside the student center. You blew through the door and dove straight for the apparel section, grabbing the least heinous hat that looked like it would cover most of Shouto’s distinctive hairstyle while also drawing the least amount of attention to its wearer. You also helped yourself to a plain pair of sunglasses that would probably be kind of inappropriate in the fall weather, but would go a long way in hiding his eyes and that scar.

Why did he insist on having so many distinguishing features? Would it kill him to have dark hair and dark eyes like most of the rest of the earth’s population?

You threw the items and a wad of bills down on the register counter, then paused. A few small, slightly-wilted looking bouquets of flowers sprouted from buckets just beside the register in the colors of your university. You didn’t know what the colors or type of the flowers were supposed to mean, and they probably didn’t give off exactly the message you wanted to send, but Shouto had gotten you flowers as the first gift he’d ever given you…

You grabbed the least wilted looking bunch and threw them on top of the other items.

The cashier rang you up with all the urgency of a sloth, and you tapped your foot nervously as you waited. How was Shouto getting here? How long would it take him? Would he be at the coffee shop already?

You stuffed the flowers into your bag, then launched yourself out of the campus shop like a rocket, catching that mop of red and white hair just outside the entrance to the coffee shop. You put on a burst of speed and managed to jam the baseball cap down over his head before he pulled open the door. He turned to you in surprise.

“Y/N,” he said.

“Yes, hi, hello,” you managed while also trying to ram the sunglasses onto his face.

He let out a small huff of amusement. “What are you doing?”

“What you should have done before coming here, you absolute wackjob,” you said, finally managing to slip the shades over his high-bridged nose without poking his eyes out.

Shouto let you manhandle him to your liking, until his face and hair were mostly hidden under your university merchandise.

“Okay, you should be good now,” you said, looking him over. He still stood out, honestly, too tall and outrageously handsome, even covered up as he was. The sweater and well-fitting jeans he’d chosen would still draw anyone’s gaze straight to his trim figure, but it would have to do.

“We can’t go inside, though, you’ll look too shady with the cap and glasses,” you said. “We need to go somewhere outdoors.”

He stared down at you, one eyebrow lifted over the top of his sunglasses. “It’s fall.”

You thought for a moment.

“How do you feel about izakaya?” you asked. “There’s a street-side one not far from here that’s mostly outdoors. They’re good, and I think they’re still open.”

He nodded. “Do you go there often?”

You eyed him. “Oh no. If I tell you places I go, you apparently buy them out. The whole point of you being here is to prove that buying me things is stupid when we can just hang out.”

The corner of his mouth twitched like he was being told a joke you couldn’t hear. “Lead the way, then,” he said evenly.

You pulled him down a few blocks, expertly navigating your way through the winding city streets. You would never admit as much to him, but this place was one of your faves for good beer and cheap yakitori, and you could probably easily find your way both blindfolded and drunk. Shouto followed you easily, a tall, silent warmth at your back.

There were few people at the izakaya when you arrived, considering it was still a little early for dinner, and no one gave the two of you a second glance when you pulled back the curtains and helped yourselves to pair of stools in the corner of the stall.

“Okay, you have to get a beer and yakitori first," you said. "You can do whatever you want after, but the first round has to be that. Just trust me.”

“No vegetables?” Shouto asked.

You laughed. “I know that’s my brand. And there are good veggie side dishes. But there is nothing like fresh, warm, cheap yakitori and a really good beer, especially on a cool fall day like this. I know what I’m talking about.”

A soft smile pulled at his mouth. “So you do come here often.”

You stared up at him accusingly. “If you dare throw a single dollar at them, you’re in huge trouble. I know where you live.”

He smiled down at you. It was easier to notice how boyish his grin was when the rest of his face was hidden by his sunglasses, and heat flared in your cheeks. He was just so damn good looking.

It suddenly dawned on you how forward you’d been with him, sending him sassy texts and putting your hands all over him when you were attempting to stuff him into your university swag. Your relationship had progressed somewhat since that first book he’d bribed you with, but honestly, this was completely new ground for you.

Your face burned hotter. You’d been so, so inexcusably forward. Had you lost your mind?

Shouto seemed to be thinking about the hat as well. “So, do I look like a student at your university?”

You looked him up and down. Aside from your school’s name emblazoned across his baseball cap, he looked nothing like a student, too put together in his dark sweater and jeans that probably cost more than your monthly rent. You wondered if he’d even been within ten feet of an instant ramen cup in his entire life.

“Uh, no,” you said. “You look like someone forced you to wear a hat they panic purchased and it just so happened to be the least horrible one available.”

A smile played about his mouth again. “What were the other options?”

You grinned. “It was this one or a proud dad of a college grad cap.”

He let out a small huff of amusement. You smiled, then leaned forward as the man at the counter came over to take your order, making sure to cut Shouto off before he could attempt any rich boy tricks. You put in an order for two beers and what was probably a concerning amount of yakitori, then turned back to Shouto and almost fell off your stool when he was much closer than you’d expected.

“Do you have a teleportation quirk I don’t know about?” you asked, internally panicking at his proximity. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat of him and catch the scent of his cologne, light and fresh and disturbingly good.

He smiled that boyish smile again and your heart suddenly forgot how to do its job, freezing in your chest. “It’s cold.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have a fire quirk.”

You felt the air grow a little warmer around the two of you. “I meant for you,” he said.

You were torn between relaxing into the sudden warmth and freezing up in embarrassment. It was beginning to dawn on you just how attentive and thoughtful he always was, and you wondered vaguely if the gift giving was actually just a really extreme manifestation of that personality trait. Maybe being an awkward rich boy with a weird way of making friends was just part of the issue.

Your heartbeat suddenly kicked into overdrive. He was already so overwhelming to look at, incredibly brave, such a good listener, and way too easy to talk to. You did not need to pile on other endearing qualities to the frankly alarming number of things feeding into what was quickly becoming the fattest crush of your lifetime. Did he have to be so good all the time?

A hand suddenly reached out, pulling you closer so that you were practically fused to his left side. You stiffened, resisting the urge to curl into the warmth pouring off of him in thick waves.

Not good, this was so not good.

“Uh, you don’t have to do that,” you said, tongue thick, like you were speaking through a mouthful of applesauce. “I’m wearing the scarf you got me.”

Shouto tilted his head, and though you couldn’t see his expression behind the sunglasses, something like satisfaction curled the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he said in his deep tone, “but this will help too.”

“Really, you’re my friend not my personal space heater,” you insisted, trying to squirm away from him. “You don’t need to do this.”

He flared hotter, and a strong arm went around the back of your chair, halting your escape. “I don’t mind,” he said.

God it was like he didn’t even know what effect he had on people. People, of course, being cleaning ladies with twitters full of zoomed in pictures of his abs. It was not good for your health to be this close to him, couldn’t he just let you sit ten thousand miles away from him where both of you would be a little safer?

The izakaya owner interrupted this train of thought, pushing two beers and a plateful of yakitori between the two of you.

You instantly seized on the distraction, bringing a beer to your mouth to give you a couple moments for your brain to turn on again. It was refreshingly cold, and the flavor was nostalgic, tasting like breaks after class with friends and late nights stumbling back after several rounds of karaoke and drinking. You wondered now if, in the future, you would taste it and think back to the one time you’d hung out with Shouto Todoroki.

“It’s good,” Shouto said, looking at you over the rim of his own beer.

You smiled. “I told you.”

Then you shoved a stick of yakitori at him. “Now eat this and tell me I was right about it too.”

His fingers slid along yours as he took the stick from you, calloused and warm. “...You were right about this too,” he said after managing a bite.

You felt yourself puff up. “Of course I was.”

He smiled and helped himself to the rest. With the food and drink absorbing some of your attention, you were able to calm down somewhat, and the conversation returned to normal, you doing your best to forget about the sinfully warm arm curled around your back.

Here, too, Shouto was absurdly easy to talk to, the new venue doing nothing to dull his charm or the easy way that he pulled information out of you with a few, short, well-placed questions. Over the course of a few hours, you worked your way through a few beers and several more side dishes, the conversation never letting up. Shouto was just as intelligent and thoughtful as ever, and he made you laugh with a couple of unexpectedly short tempered comments. Even the discovery that he was not as princely as he usually seemed just fanned the flames of your crush.

It was only when the people around you began to shuffle off of their stools and pack up that you realized how late it had grown, and that you’d spent the entire evening hanging out and talking.

Shouto helped you off your stool when you stumbled a little, the number of beers you’d consumed suddenly making themselves known. “You’re more of a lightweight than I would have guessed by the conversation,” he teased.

You looked up into his face, realizing that he’d shed the sunglasses at some point during your conversation and you hadn’t noticed. Had anyone else noticed? No one had come over asking for an autograph. Maybe he was so unexpected at a place like this that the hat had been enough of a disguise.

You blinked, realized you’d been staring. “Nonsense, I’m a pro. I’ve put in many more beers at this place.”

Then your eyes narrowed at the slow movement his hand was making along the counter, what looked suspiciously like a stack of bills underneath. That little shit.

“Are you trying to distract me?” you demanded, grabbing his hand and stuffing the money back into it. “This is on me. I haven’t paid for groceries in weeks, thanks to somebody.”

Shouto smirked, looking strangely pleased with himself. His hand curled around yours, and his other came up to take your free hand. It was only when he’d transferred both of your wrists into one large palm that you realized what he was doing, plopping down a handful of bills on the counter quickly with his free hand, then pulling your backpack over your shoulder and tugging you away from the izakaya before you could make a scene. You’d been thoroughly outmaneuvered.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, steering you back out into the street. “Give me your address.”

“Shouto,” you whined, “this whole evening was supposed to be about proving you don’t need to spend money to be my friend. We were supposed to hang out.”

“We did hang out,” he pointed out, looking down at you from under the rim of that ridiculous baseball cap. “Your point was very much made.”

It was a testament to how tipsy you were, probably, that this warmed you. You forgot your annoyance with him almost immediately. “Really?”

He huffed a laugh. “Really. Now give me your address so I can take you home.”

You did and he plugged it into his phone. Then he led you along with one hand curled around yours. You spent the whole walk musing on how warm his fingers were in yours, how much larger his hands seemed than yours. Why was even his stupid hand so nice?

It was only as Shouto walked you to the door of your apartment that you remembered the last thing you’d gotten for him in the campus store. You quickly unzipped your backpack, shoving the bouquet of flowers at him.

“For you,” you said, pressing them into his chest. “You got me those flowers. These ones aren’t as nice, but I thought that you should have some too.”

He stared down at you, something strange glinting in his eyes. “You got me flowers.”

“Do you not like them?” you asked nervously. Was it weird to give a guy flowers? It was probably weird…

“I like them,” he declared, and a genuine smile flickered across his mouth. His eyes looked a little brighter, and his gaze was growing more intent by the second. “Now, you should probably get inside before I forget my manners.”

Forget his manners? You stared up at him in confusion.

He looked down at you for a long moment, and then he was suddenly very close, his face dipping down to yours.

“Get inside,” he said quietly, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. “Please.”

You nodded, swallowing. You had just enough presence of mind to turn and unlock your door. Shouto guided you gently inside with a hand on your back, and then stepped back outside, smiling.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he said.

You waved. “See you on Tuesday.”

You watched him make his way back down the street, only closing your door when you saw him turn the corner and disappear out of sight. Then you sank down against the door frame, heart feeling like it was going to beat straight out of your chest.

Shouto was the most overwhelming man on this earth. You were in such big trouble.

[rouiyan]

𝘙𝘌𝘔𝘌𝘔𝘉𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌 ☾ [ 𝘭.𝘮𝘬 ]

⧏ part of the ‘before i met you’ collective ⧐

synopsis: — “girl, i got your lovin’ on repeat.” but like, literally because mark can’t seem to stop replaying the memory of your love, over and over again, in his head. endlessly.

✧ idol!mark x (fem.) reader → idol!jeno x reader ✧ post breakup au, cheating au

✧ genres : angst, nostalgia, minimal fluff ✧ word count : 4.7k ✧ disclaimers : suggestive themes, mentions of infidelity, mentions of sex, minor swearing

✧ playlist : you were good to me - jeremy zucker, chelsea cutler | highway to heaven (english ver.) - nct 127 | be my mistake - the 1975

author’s note — a sad spinoff of mark’s infamous line in highway to heaven. it’s really sad, i don't know why you would read this and i'm unsure of why i wrote this in the first place. enjoy!

✧ PRESENT

mark takes four, evenly spaced out swigs of water, deciding to down the whole bottle before realizing that he's only a third of the way through his recording session. he's tired, the vein in his forehead showing and his hands limp by his side. there isn't much to the song, except the few lines that are in a deeper range, but mark swears that it's the lyrics that are getting to him. his throat seems to close up at the words 'love' and 'you,' and the producer is annoyed to say the least, telling him to take a break not thirty minutes into the session.

the said boy slips the headphones off of his neck and hangs it securely on the sheet stand, exiting the room per the producer's instruction. mark hesitates before taking a seat at the couch, even the most inconspicuous things seem to make his mind spin. he closes his eyes to rest but almost instantly wishes he didn't because he's met with the sight of you.

✧ NINE (09) MONTHS AGO

the producer's angry at mark but he isn't entirely sure why, too preoccupied with glancing through the thick glass window, separating the rest of the studio with the recording room he's currently in. he figures it probably has to do with the fact that he can't take his eyes off your sleepy figure on the black leather couch, clutching the matching black leather pillow to your torso. your eyes are glossed over and laced with fatigue, laid shut for most the time, only snapping open at the sound of mark's singing voice. 

he thinks, well knows, that you're cold, noting how you're dressed in only a thin baby blue cropped camisole and his sweats that are obviously too big for you. despite the heat of summer outside, the recording studio stays cold with a generous amount of ac. he's in the middle of silently reprimanding himself for not thinking of bringing a hoodie for this specific case scenario but is brought back to reality when the producer has taken it upon himself to play the backtrack of the song, not bothering to notify mark in his current state. 

mark rubs at his throat with his left hand, his right clutching a wilted sheet of paper with the lyrics and his notes on it. he takes another glance at you, giving a small smile and thumbs up, before jumping into his part at the right beat. a part of him is always nervous when you decide to join him in the studio but moreover, he's extra motivated to give you the best (almost) one-on-one show he can, absolutely giddy off the times when your eyes would glisten with astonishment at how well he could rap and sing or when he would comment at how he thought this line should sound and how that line should should be sung (especially after you had told him, albeit a little drunk, how hot he looked when he was so clearly passionate for what he did).

while he came to the closing line, confident he had closely nailed it, he met eyes with a displeased producer. quickly finishing up, mark questioned him, with a quirked brow, only to be met with a rather comical response. "your girlfriend's snoring too loud, i can't focus. can you ask her to leave, please?"

this wasn't the first time the two of you had encountered complaints like these and mark let out a low chuckle as he nodded in understanding. mark retrieved his phone and quickly dialed jeno, whom he knew would be awake, asking him to pick you up at the main entrance, however soon. after confirming the ride and returning his phone to his pocket, he took quick and quiet steps to the couch where you lay and slid an arm under your knees, another around your back, lifting you as gently as he could. mark felt you curl into him and he looked down to make sure you were still asleep, returning your mindless gestures with an involuntary smile.

he loaded you into the backseat of jeno's pristine mercedes, careful not to fold your legs in an uncomfortable way, and jeno returned the curt nod he had sent in thanks. the boy looked as he usually did at this time of night, messy hair and glasses just about slipping off his face. stretching the seatbelt across your frame, mark gave you a quick kiss to the forehead and shut the door as quietly as he could.

mark trudged back into the studio, gulping down a good amount of water before stationing himself in front of the mic once more. he felt another surge of motivation, the source this time being the strong desire to head back to the dorms as quickly as possible to cuddle you to sleep. his head should be brimming with thoughts on how to better approach his line but instead, he focused on the realization that whether you were there or not, you were always his motivation, his driving force.

✧ EIGHT (08) MONTHS AGO

the night was young, or rather the morning was, the clock on mark’s nightstand telling you it was just past two a.m.. your head was brought back to face mark’s, his finger guiding you by the chin, and he closed the distance between your lips with haste. it wasn’t like midnight makeout sessions were all that uncommon for the two of you but these days you felt that mark wanted something more from you. his kisses that were once filled with slow adoration and sweet smiles now felt rushed and with a new purpose that you couldn’t quite place. 

unknowingly, you stopped kissing him back, not realizing until he detached his face from yours. mark’s eyes were clouded with confusion and something you could only describe as lust, though you were scared to confront him about it. moments were shared just looking into each other’s eyes before his low voice broke the silence, “what are you thinking about?” 

you genuinely contemplated his question but were unable to come up with any string of words that could encompass the suspicions you had. so you replied with a nonchalant, “nothing,” knowing that he would take the hint that you were uncomfortable and stop before anything escalated.

it was shocking to you how mark had simply accepted that as an answer and returned closer, this time peppering small kisses to your jawline, down to your neck. you let out a small grunt at this but didn’t stop him nonetheless, opting for silence. his lips had reached the base of your collarbone and you felt him rearrange his hands so they were at the hem of your shorts, sliding two fingers under to smooth out the skin beneath. 

you felt he was about to pull down your shorts, hands already moving quickly, when you shot your hand up to his wrist. “stop,” you let out, weak and embarrassed, with the hope that you could dodge this situation out the window. he lifted his head ever so slightly to look you in the eyes and for a fleeting second you think you saw a hint of annoyance in his expression. well, that’s new.

“every time, y/n,” his voice sounded exasperated, “every time i think we’re getting somewhere you always stop me.” a few seconds elapsed as you drank in the understanding that he knew you were avoiding having sex with him. 

“is it me? and i doing something wrong?” you were surprised at how small he sounded, in stark contrast to the words he had said just before. his eyes were no longer hungry but instead, worried and distressed, and you had an inkling that this was somewhat of an inner debate for him as well.

“no, mark. it’s just- i’m not ready for it. i’m not mentally ready for it.” the words were slow and precise coming from you and you hoped that they delivered the amount of sincerity that you meant. you went on, continuing your thoughts, “i’ve always thought that i would wait until i was 20,” you paused, trying your best to stop your voice from shaking, “but i’ve always known that i want my first time to be with you.”

he took his arms from your hips and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. mark neared you once again but this time encircled his arms around your shoulders, bringing your head into his chest, the sobs that you had suppressed now being forced out by his sweet actions. he stroked your hair until your erratic heartbeat slowed and whispered into your ear, “it’s okay, baby, i understand.” 

it was the first night of few that you had gone to sleep feeling safe in his arms, now with his knowledge of your insecurities. mark, on the other hand, didn’t quite know how to feel, his thoughts keeping him up until the ungodly hours of morning before his mind surrendered to his tired body.

he knew, first and foremost, that your feelings were to be respected. he knew, more than anything, that forcing you to have sex with him was simply not an option, much less a possibility. but laying in bed that night he couldn’t help the unsettling feeling in his stomach of disappointment. he couldn’t help but think about how he had to wait until your twentieth birthday, at the very soonest, in order to fulfill the desires that had stampeded his mind since day one. however wrong he knew the situation to be, he couldn’t help but think that he really wasn’t going to wait and that maybe, just maybe, he could get away with switching things up.

✧ SIX (06) MONTHS AGO

you were at the dorms since seven in the evening, occupying yourself while waiting for mark to return from his hangout with his old school friends. it was late by now, nearing one in the morning, and as usual when situations like these would occur (as they often did these days), you found yourself in jeno’s room, sitting on one of the many cushions strewn about the floor in front of the large flatscreen tv, also propped up on the floor because jeno hadn’t bothered to buy a table for it to sit upon. the two of you were loud despite the quiet hour, yelling at the screen in hopes that it would give you some extra power up or increase your abilities at striking the opponent. also as usual, jeno would win, sending you into a long rant about how you would’ve won if only you had used the character that jeno used or if you hadn’t fallen off the map twice or if jeno just, didn’t play. he had retorted with something along the lines of, “i think that what you’re really trying to tell me is that you just suck at this,” and you had agreed good-naturedly, not wanting another full blown pillow fight to take place.

halfway through laughing at jeno for being too slow to pick the character you both were eyeing for the next round, the door to his room had opened, revealing a very worn out mark, his lips curved into a lopsided smile until he noticed your close proximity with jeno as he tried to strangle the controller out of your hand. you and jeno had paused, mid-strangle and mid-struggle, looking at mark with wild eyes, filled comically with surprise. 

“hey y/n, i- i’m back,” were the words that had left his mouth after he had conquered his flustered state. further venturing into jeno’s room, mark noted the childlike glances you and jeno stole at each other like children caught in the middle of a fight and wondered when the hell you guys could have possibly gotten so close. you were almost always busy in the daytime, as was jeno, and mark was reluctant to admit that maybe it was in those times where he was absent, in his free time that he used to save up solely for you, that the two of you had gotten well past acquainted with each other. a familiar feeling of guilt gnawed at the edge of mark’s mind as he realized that the time he spent on his sexcapades was also time you spent with other people that were not him. the jealousy must have outswept his guilty mindset because he gently prodded at your elbow and said, “my room?” before you could press play for yet another round. to his relief, you had nodded excitedly and turned to excuse yourself from jeno, the boy nodding in return and shooting knowing smiles in your direction.

it was no surprise to you that mark had already pinned you under him barely two minutes after settling into bed. these days, he was so kind and gentle with you that you were so sure that he might as well be the love of your life. it softened your heart that mark had really heeded to your preference to not have sex until you were twenty and you couldn’t help but feel even more prepared, now that you knew it was with someone so worthy of your trust. 

tonight though, you felt as if it were okay to break the little rule you had made for yourself, with the way mark was kissing you and the low thrum of excitement and longing in the pit of your stomach. you felt as though you didn’t need a number to signal when you were ready but rather a feeling, a sign, that made everything clear. you were so sure, oh so sure.

with your hands tracing the bottom hem of mark’s shirt, you held onto it and raised it up and above his head and outstretched arms, ridding him of the shirt and tossing it aside. your hands explored the vastness of his bare chest and broad shoulders, your eyes clouded with the one thing mark had always wanted to see, lust. his heart soared and pumped wildly in his chest as he watched the expression on your face slowly morph into confusion. switching his line of vision down to where your eyes were trained, he felt his heart drop, and his mind reeled at the sight of a hickey, proudly flushing the skin just under his collarbone, unabashedly. your eyes on him suddenly felt like they were burning holes through his composure, like they were carving up the secrets he had buried deep within his heart. he felt it all, his world of carefully planned lies crumbling under your stare and wilting at the touch of your fingers on his guilty skin.

you watched him gulp visibly and had to remind yourself for the fifth time in the last ten seconds that you didn’t give him that hickey, not today in his bed, not yesterday or the day before in yours. you pressed your index finger hard into the colored blotch, pushing him off of you, sitting up and gulping yourself before asking, “why is that there?” 

mark’s silence only increased your desire to throw up. your emotions had really took a sharp u-turn and instead of feeling like the luckiest girl in the world, you felt shitty and even more than that, pathetic. “mark, why is that there?” you repeated, and after being left in the dark once more you urged on, “who did that, mark?”

mark seemed to be at a loss at what to say, his mind bickering endlessly on whether to come clean or say that it was just an unfortunate burn mark. but after minutes of debating, he could only come up with one thing that felt the most appropriate to say, “i’m sorry, y/n.”

your tears fell, sliding down and across the crevices of your face unopposed. mark’s hand instinctively went to wipe them with the pads of his fingers but he found his wrist caught in your hand. again. you gently laid his hand back on the bed and reached for his shirt, tossing it in his direction, then almost ejecting yourself off the bed and out the room before you were stopped by mark’s incessant rambling in attempts to make you stay.

“y/n it’s exactly what you think, i’m not gonna lie. i know, this is bad. i’m bad and- and extremely at fault. i just- i thought i wanted more. but please, y/n- y/n please look at me.” 

the tears in your eyes made everything seem like distant blurbs but even if you could see clearly, you doubt that you wanted to see him. “i can’t, mark.”

“okay, yeah i get that. but please, trust me when i say that i’m so sorry and that- that they didn’t mean anything to me, nothing at all. and that i won’t mess up again- ever again if you just,” he paused, entirely sure that this wouldn’t work but going on nonetheless, “give me another chance, y/n.”

if your heart could break again, you’re sure it would’ve. the ache that had dulled in the last two minutes returned again, this time twofold, as you hung your head low, back still facing the boy. “they,” you muttered as though it were a foreign word, “they as in... more than one.”

mark chastised himself at the minor slip up but felt that it was better anyways to fully come clean. he let go of his shirt that he was harshly gripping and slid off the bed, crossing the room quickly and grasping you by the shoulders to turn you towards him. you let out something that could only be described as a sad yelp and pushed his arms away, gently. “this isn’t something we can just talk about, mark. no matter who or how many times or even how many. all i know is that it’s over, we’re over.”

with that, you left the dorms, scurrying to get out of the damned place, ignoring jaemin’s worried glances and jeno’s ‘are you okay’s?’ you were anything but okay. you were falling apart with each step you took, farther and farther away from the boy that had once made your heart whole, the boy that had also crushed it in his bare hands, the sharp edges scraping his flesh apart like glass. you walked the long two-hour walk home, sore feet yelling at you but you were deaf to everything except the memory of mark. the elatedness he had made you feel and the crippling pain he inflicted on you not a second after, it was all coming down in fast breaths and shaky hands. you felt as if you were on a rollercoaster, the cart unfastening itself from the rails just as it hit the climax, the only way to return to the ground was to plummet to your death.

✧ TWO (02) MONTHS AGO

mark was really uninterested in his cereal but there was nothing else in the pantry that could fill his stomach. jaemin enters the kitchen as well, but says nothing to mark as he also sits along the counter with his own bowl of cereal. both the boys sit in silence... that is, until you enter seven minutes later, when the boys are just about sipping the sweet and lukewarm leftover milk. you’re carrying two large brown paper bags, one in each hand, and your back is turned towards the pair, unaware of their presence. just as your about to turn and set one of the bags onto the counter where the boys are sat, jeno enters, also unaware of them, and slips two arms around your waist, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear before pulling back, taking one of the paper bags with him. he turns to set it on the counter but stops halfway when he sees mark and realizes what he had done in his presence, eyes wide.

mark was still uninterested in his cereal but the little show of affection he just witnessed suddenly made the now gray-ish milk seem infinitely more intriguing. he opts to stare at it instead, swirling his spoon around and trying to mull over his thoughts. his head was about to blow with all the new information. just seeing you for the first time in four months would’ve been enough to catch a sob in his throat but knowing you had moved on? that packed one hell of a punch.

you finished unpacking the contents of the first bag into the fridge and proceeded to get the other one, folding the bag along its creases, but were met with three boys staring at each other in silence. collecting your expression to show less concern and more surprise, you thought that maybe it was about time you confronted him, after all, you felt that you had moved on well enough. still, parts of you thought that it was too risky, that your heart would prove you wrong and show you that you really weren’t fully over him. but looking at the boy himself, for the first time in months, your heart calmed itself. maybe what it was seeking was closure. 

the corners of your mouth inadvertently edged upwards into a small smile as you place a hand on the counter, leaning into it. “hi, mark. it’s been awhile.” the boy wasn’t even looking at you, but rather at what you assumed used to be a bowl of cereal. he raised his head slowly, looking unsure, but locked his eyes with yours nonetheless. a small smile, not unlike yours, was plastered across his face as his voice came out small, “hey, y/n. it’s nice to see you again.” 

you gave him another light smile before taking the other bag in your hands to empty it out as well. in all honesty, you had no idea mark was going to be at the dorms today. and it’s not like you were actively avoiding him, it’s just that jeno and you opted to spend time at your place rather than the dorms, just for the privacy. you wondered why mark never thought of that when you were with him. maybe it just wasn’t important to him at the time.

shutting the fridge door with a firm push, you turned once again to be met with the three boys in silence. jaemin’s eyes were frantically looking back and forth from jeno and you to mark, seemingly taking on the role as spectator. in a sense, you felt that this may have been entirely inconsiderate on your part. the boys hadn’t said much to you regarding mark since the breakup but from what you gathered, they knew the basis of what had happened. jeno knew for sure, being the one to comfort you and bring you down from your hysterical state but it was odd to know that the rest of the boys were also aware of mark’s actions.

you felt bad for him, however incredulous that could sound. he was a kind boy, no doubt in that, and yes, he cheated on you but even then, you never questioned his love for you. in some heinous sense, it was genuine, albeit also twisted. perhaps he was exactly what you needed to learn that love wasn’t always just a rush of feelings; it wasn’t always the beating of your heart thrumming in your ears, and very rarely was it the nervous flush across cheeks paired with shy glances. love, more than anything, was trust and respect. it was long-withstanding patience, over greed and over self-indulgence. he was there to teach you that love was both the big picture and the little gestures and everything in between and that you had simply fallen for the little sliver of true love he had offered. mark would never be the love of your life but for once you were fine with the fact that he was your first.

turning on your heel, you exited the kitchen, head cleared and heart light because the hole in your heart no longer felt hallowed and empty. it was full now, healed with only a scar to remind you of the highs and lows of the boy that once held your heart in his hands followed by the boy that did the same now. mark’s feelings were beyond you, a figment of your past you didn’t bother to unearth. sauntering into jeno’s room, you set up the game console you brought over, with nothing on your mind other than jeno, jeno, and jeno.

✧ PRESENT

if mark swears that he loved you then, he isn’t sure how he could describe what he feels now. he knows it’s stupid that he doesn’t want to move on and how he’s let himself fall farther into the idea of you even as you slip farther and farther away from him. he is lovesick in every way that he isn’t allowed to be.

mark’s grip on the black leather pillow loosens as he tells the producer with a rushed tone that he doesn’t want this. he doesn’t want to be in nct dream anymore. he tells the producer that he feels it should be time to focus more on his new projects, like superm or future nct 127 activities. he doesn’t tell the producer that, more than the previously stated reasons, he doesn’t want to see you sneaking into jeno’s room after dinner at the dorms and he doesn’t want to sit in his room, alone with the sounds of your voice blooming through the thin walls and spilling beneath the cracks under his closed door. he doesn’t tell the producer or his manager or any of the higher ups at his company that he doesn’t want to keep up the facade of looking okay whenever you strike up small talk or ask him about how he’s doing. he doesn’t tell anyone, and barely even admits to himself, that he loves the way you still smile at him and how his heart speeds up ever so slightly whenever your eyes would meet. the least he can feel is ashamed of himself and the most is hatred and disgust; each time he hears your name in passing or sees your face for a split second he’s reminded of how little he feels as a whole in comparison to his feelings towards you, good or bad.

it’s later that night when mark returns to the dorms for one last time. he swipes makeup remover under his eyes, revealing the dark circles and the pimples that had sprouted from the new layers of makeup that were needed to cover his fatigue. mark runs his fingers through his disheveled hair and decides that showering is for tomorrow, that today, he would let himself fall apart one more time. 

he dips the edge of his bed, looking down at his hands to keep some sort of semblance. breathing ragged, he hopes that no one comes to interrupt the pain he has laid out for himself. he’s worn out from within and he prays for a day when he can feel okay without having to dissolve himself within his workload. he waits for that very day when he can fall asleep without the need of exhaustion. 

feeling around the duvet, his fingers clasp around his phone to check the time but is instead met with a notification that says: one year anniversary♡. his breath hitches, heart lodged in this throat.

tossing his phone back into the messy abyss of his bed, mark lays down on his back, lost in the vast emptiness of the ceiling, and asks himself for the nth time if it was all worth it. the petty lies that held so much more meaning than he’d let himself feel. the desire that clawed through all his righteous thoughts and dared to disrupt the pretty glow in your eyes. the pointless girls he used to chase his highs, the same highs that he would fall from in tears and sweat that drenched his soul, suffocating him yet drowning out his sorrows. he shuts his eyes, your hearty laughter ringing in his ears, over and over again, like a mantra he could never tear himself from. and for the nth time, mark admits that no, none of it was worth it. 

and so mark bathes in the silence of his dimly lit room, in remembrance of why he feels nothing and everything at the same time.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ edited end note — hello you, yes you who just read this. this piece was my first published fic and it has such a deep hold on my heart. reading through a few months later, it makes me happy to see growth in my writing and growth in my blog. thank you for stopping by. wishing you lots of love, rouiyan.

[vanaera]

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝟎𝟑 | 𝐣𝐣𝐤

Synopsis: A future technology allows cops to jump in the past and future to investigate crimes that have happened and prepare for those that are about to happen. A simple hit-and-run turns into something more when Captain Jeon Jungkook finds himself as the victim of a culprit who cannot be identified by the system. Especially when the culprit seems to be the same person behind the new case that’s threatening the order in the justice organization. All goes haywire when Jungkook gets involved with Y/N L/N, the clairvoyant sketch artist who may be his only help to solve the case.

Characters: Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre/AU: Sci-fi, romance, angst, mystery, action, fluff (in this chapter!)  (cop!JK x artist!you), based on the movie Minority Report

Wordcount: 7.8k

Warnings: Dark themes and implied smut (in future chapters); mentions of blood (PG-16 Rating)

A/N: I busted my brain cells writing the action scenes for this so please feel free to tell me what you think about this chapter!

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

              Jungkook steps away from Yoongi and races out of the Murder Sector and into the Left Wing. “Captain Jeon!” Yoongi hollers behind him, but Jungkook doesn’t turn an inch towards his way.  His mind is set. There’s no time for this. Jungkook runs to the main building’s hallway, eyes set on the closing elevators. He could hear Yoongi and even Jimin and Taehyung close behind. Jungkook sprints. He reaches the elevator just in time and slides himself into the sliver of space left by the closing doors.

              By the time Taehyung shouts “Captain!” the doors of the metal lift have already shut close.

              Jungkook raps his knuckles on the gray door in hurried beats. It takes six more knocks until it bursts open.

              “Why are you here?” Y/N pointedly looks at him, forehead creased.

              Jungkook doesn’t say anything and makes his way inside the studio. He scrutinizes the room. The buckets of paint are still a mess, the owl painting still unfinished. Jungkook turns around and finally looks at the girl. “What do you mean with your text? That you saw a ‘Sooah Kim?’”

              Y/N closes the door shut and shakes her head. Jungkook only notices she’s wearing a black, sleeveless, turtleneck cropped top. Black, baggy cargo pants cinch at the top of her black combat boots. She has her hair tied in a low ponytail, stray strands framing her face. She looks like a different person once again. 

              Y/N pulls the stool and sits, clasping her hands together on the table. A black dragon tattoo spirals from her upper arm to her elbow. Jungkook has never seen it before. Nor the monochrome hornet bee tattoo peeking from the center of her abdomen, its translucent wings spread wide. From the size of the insect’s abdomen, Jungkook thinks it could be a queen. He’s seen one of them in his trip to Vietnam with Namjoon last year.

              Y/N tilts her head. Jungkook’s eyes dart back towards hers. Y/N chuckles. “So, that’s why you rushed here?” she raises a brow, “to know if I indeed saw a Sooah Kim?”

              Jungkook walks to the table. “This is not a time for joking, Y/N,” he grits, slamming his hands on the table. 

              Y/N stares blankly at him. She leans back in her seat and crosses her arms. Her top rides up. The hornet shows in complete view. It is indeed a queen. “If that is your question, then, yes, I saw a Sooah Kim. Though I don’t know why you have to come here right now without any schedule—”

              “I need answers, Y/N. Right now.” Jungkook’s brows meet together. “The red file we saw yesterday—a blank turned up earlier containing the same Winston file and—”

              “So you believe me now?”

              Silence.

              Jungkook takes a step back, “When did I tell you I didn’t?”

              Y/N scoffs, “You don’t have to tell me, Jungkook. I know you didn’t. And now that one of my visions matched with your current reality, you’re suddenly open to trusting me with answers you so seek.”

              “Y/N—”

              “It’s okay, I understand.” Y/N waves a hand. “I already expected it. Actually, I’ve already seen this day coming. You with that funny face,” Y/N points at him, chuckling, “God, I’ve never seen such a conflicted face in a while.” Y/N sits back up, “Anyway, I have to give you leeway in my judgment. After all, it’s not easy for anyone in an established system to believe in something that doesn’t belong in their paradigm. So now that you want your answers,” Y/N kicks back the stool in front of her, “Sit.”

              Jungkook slowly makes his way around the stool and sits. It feels oddly nostalgic to be in the same place again. Even if this time he’s sitting in Y/N’s initial position, Y/N in his—their social position remains the same. He still has the shorter end of the stick.

              “Let’s start now.” Y/N bends down to retrieve a small, black canvas bag from the stack of boxes and papers on her side. She produces a white folder and pushes it to the man.

            Jungkook looks at Y/N. The girl only smiles. Jungkook’s eyes drop to the stationery in front of him. He flips it open. It’s a composite sketch of a woman in her late twenties. She has a small, square face with a rounded chin, short button nose, and small but wide, mono-lidded eyes. Her ears are quite big for her petite face, her shoulders are short, and her neck, elegantly long like a swan. Her hair is parted to the left, chopped at shoulder-length, dark strands softly framing her face. For lack of any better word, she is beautiful.

              “That’s Sooah Kim.” Jungkook’s eyes dart back to Y/N. The girl explains, “I tried to do a read in the future based on what we found at Somerset Road. What I only got are short clipped frames. A white lobby of a hospital, dark metal bookshelves, a tipped hourglass, a picture of this woman, and a label at its bottom that said ‘Sooah Kim.’  Y/N cups her jaw, “there’s also a frame that showed Winston’s red file.”

              Jungkook’s brows bunch up together.

              Y/N continues, “So I figured the two of them must be connected. I drew a composite sketch of Sooah just in case we chance upon her someday. Though I’m not sure she will look this young. The vision looked kinda grainy so it must be memories.  I’ve experienced seeing these kinds of things before and most often than not, they’re remnants of the past that will separately appear in the future. Like a prophecy.” Y/N looks at Jungkook, “I can’t put this into better words, so if you’d like, do you want to see them?”

              “What will I see?”

              “My vision,” Y/N smiles. “I could say you coming here as soon as I finished my read is actually a good thing. For you, that is. Not for me. You disturbed me from my work.” Y/N rolls her shoulders back, “The vision won’t be as vivid as I first saw it but the memory of it is still fresh in my mind. Good for you, you could do a little peek-in.”

              “But how will I do that?”

              Y/N leans forward and opens her left palm, “Hold my hand.” Jungkook looks at her confused. Y/N rolls her eyes, “Just hold my hand, goddamn it.”

              Jungkook clears his throat. He raises his hand and ghosts it above Y/N’s. He closes his eyes and he fills every slot between her fingers with his own. 

              And then, Jungkook feels it—the fall. He feels like falling in a still body of water, the sound of the splash violent like the shot of a rifle. A gush of water soon fills his lungs, vanquishing the oxygen in each fiber of his muscles. Jungkook claws at his throat but no matter how hard he pulls at his skin, no matter how hard he coughs, no water spills out. He’s drowning in frigid nothingness.

              The fall seems to go on forever. Jungkook stretches out his limbs but it’s useless. There’s nothing in his way that could tether him to the above. He falls deeper into the waters until he suddenly feels a ripple beneath his head. The world tips over and his head shoots out from the surface, setting off a spray of water from the movement. 

              There’s something cold beside his face but there’s no longer water filling his lungs. He’s breathing fine again. The fall has stopped. Jungkook’s eyes shoot open and he gasps.  He’s floating on water. It’s cold and there’s nothing but darkness in front of him. 

              That is until the blackness filling his eyes flickers and all he could see now is light. Bright light. Natural like the ones that pass through the windows in the early morning. The light dims and it fades into the view as a brightly-lit white hallway replaces it. There are people in white coats walking. Some are running with assistants behind their steps. It looked like a hospital but devoid of any patients. The whiteness of the hallway faints into black and soon, there are no more hallways nor people dressed in white coats. Just metal shelves lined next to each other, foreboding as they stand under a dingy light that paints everything in murky dark green. Before Jungkook’s perspective could see more of the shelves, the view changes completely, and frames flash before his eyes in quick successions. 

              A tipped-over hourglass, wilted flowers falling down its hollow neck instead of sand. Black blood-like liquid running down a mountain of lackluster coins. A black eagle against a golden wall, its bloody wings severed, pinned next to its body, burning. And then, Jonathan Winston’s red file flat on a wooden desk. A phantom hand turns it open and instead of Jungkook’s crime record and thick documents of paper, it contains a picture of a woman with mahogany hair, long neck, and small, wide eyes staring right into Jungkook’s eyes. Inked letters smudge the white edges of the picture black, forming the words “Sooah Kim.”

              Jungkook’s eyes widen. It’s exactly like the woman Y/N sketched. Before he could ponder more, he is pulled back into the waters. His lungs squeeze tight and he’s falling once again. When he gasps, he’s no longer in the murky water, but slump over a wooden table, dry and warm. Jungkook flinches back and he feels a strong tug on his left arm. He raises his head and he meets a pair of dark eyes.

              “So, did you see enough?”

              Jungkook’s brows raise and he realizes he’s still holding Y/N’s hand. He immediately lets go as if he was burned. His eyes roam around. Buckets of paint lay on the floor. Newspapers are messily strewn around. The huge gap of a window letting sunlight inside. So much it completely fills the room with the golden hue of the afternoon. He’s back in Y/N’s studio and it’s ironically warm. 

              “You look so shocked.”

              Jungkook whips his head to the girl. His eyes stretch wide as he wraps his hand around his throat. It doesn’t feel sore and he doesn’t feel out of breath.

              “Your throat is fine, don’t worry,” Y/N snickers. “The water and the fall, they’re all just mental projections.”

              “B-but the black blood, the hallway, the shelves, and the burning eagle—”

              “That is my vision.”

              Jungkook looks at her. Y/N tilts her head, “Did you see Sooah Kim?”

              Jungkook’s eyes glance at the sketch composite in front of him. He nods, “y-yeah.” He turns to Y/N, “But I don’t understand, how did I see your vision?”

              “Simple,” Y/N leans back in her chair, “Time jump to a memory.”

              Jungkook brows shoot up, “I ju-jumped in your m-memory?”

              “You didn’t make the jump. I let you jump into my memory.” Y/N crosses her arms, “I want you to see my vision. I couldn’t make sense of the hourglass, the coins, the bird, and their connection with the white hallway and dark shelves. I could only connect Sooah Kim and Winston. The driver of the Jaguar has a Winston file in his car. Of course, he’s interested in it. And Sooah appears to be involved with Winston’s case. So, I guess we could say she may be a key to solve your unidentifiable suspect.” Y/N flashes him an apologetic smile, “Sorry you had to suffer the waters. They’re boundaries of the memory map I set on myself.”

              Jungkook’s forehead crease. “You set a memory map on yourself?”

              “Of course. My business revolves around memories, I don’t want any of my memories messing with the ones I need for a case. Nor do I want my clients invading them, especially those who have access to time-traveling technology.”

              “Why? What’s with people who can time travel?”

              Y/N sighs, “In case you didn’t know yet from your job, memories mark passed time. Time is made sense by people’s memories in them. So, every travel you make, you’re jumping into memories. Your organization has eyes on almost everywhere to see and have the same memories the people have.” Y/N looks into his eyes, “With your kind of technology, you can easily get into anyone’s head.”

              Jungkook presses his lips together.

              “I think our meeting is done for today,” Y/N stands up and smiles, “I’ll send you off.”

              Jungkook climbs down the steps of Mini-Palais, Y/N following behind. He doesn’t know why she suddenly wanted to see him off but he’s not against it. In fact, he feels relieved she’s being kind to him even after he doubted her skills. Maybe it’s because of the large sum of money he’s gonna wire to her at the end of the week. But Jungkook feels it’s more than that. At least, that’s what he wants to think.

              Once they make it to the street, Jungkook turns around. “I’ll contact you as soon as I get something on Sooah Kim.”

              Y/N doesn’t seem to focus on him because she’s eyeing the surroundings. Jungkook clears his throat.

              Y/N darts her eyes back to his, “Where’s your car? You didn’t bring it?”

              “Um, yeah. Its coding is today.” Jungkook shrugs.

              Y/N smirks, “So you ran all the way here from your work just because you wanna get your answers?”

              “Well, I didn’t run all the way,” Jungkook chuckles, “I took a cab.” The mirth in his eyes soon dies down when his phone rings in his bomber jacket. “One second,” he says to Y/N. He swipes the call to answer it.

              “Yeah, Namjoon?”

              “Jungkook, yeah, hi,” Namjoon says, his voice hesitant. “I don’t think I can make it. The Bureau wants us to do overtime for the backlog of files in the archives. I know you don’t have your car with you. I’m sorry I won’t be able to drive you to the hospital.”

              “Hey, it’s alright,” Jungkook says, “I can commute on my own. Don’t worry.”

              “But—”

              “Namjoon, just focus on your job and come home safely, okay?”

              Namjoon sighs, “Okay.”

              “Bye,” Jungkook ends the call, slipping his phone back into his breast pocket. Turning back to Y/N, he sees the curious tilt of her head so he explains, “It’s Namjoon. He’s supposed to, um, drive me to the hospital.”

              Y/N’s eyes widen, “Why? What happened?”

              “Nothing serious. Just have to get my stitches off,” Jungkook raises his right arm.

              “Oh, from the crash.”

              “Yeah.” Jungkook shrugs, “It’s alright. Nothing big. Namjoon made it sound serious. He tends to over-worry.”

              “Yeah,” Y/N nods. She looks down, sighing, and looks at Jungkook, “Well, if you want, I can drive you to the hospital instead.”

              Jungkook’s forehead furrows.

              “I have a ride,” Y/N answers, turning around in her heel, “Wait for me, I’ll get my keys.”

              Y/N disappears back into the staircase, leaving Jungkook alone in the street. Well, this is something he didn’t expect from her. He smiles to himself. He looks around the neighborhood. There’s a woman carrying her groceries in a flimsy newspaper bag. At the end of the street is a mother holding the hand of her daughter, probably just fetched her from school. Drunkards start early in their alcohol indulgence at a convenience store by the corner. And a senile man standing in front of his porch is staring intently at him. Jungkook looks down at himself. He’s still wearing FJO’s ID. Jungkook zips up his jacket, tucking away his ID.  When he looks back at the man, he has already shifted his attention to the drunkards. Jungkook presses his lips together. This may be just a boundary between Middle Town and Down Hill but it’s still the other side of the town. 

              “Hey.”

              Jungkook turns around and sees Y/N walking towards him, pushing a mechanical panther by her side. Jungkook thinks it’s a 1981 Kawasaki KZ400. It looks similar to the bike Taehyung has been fantasizing from his vintage magazines. Although the engine’s rust starkly contrasts the bike’s shiny black coat, it’s still a wonder to behold. It looks so old and new at the same time.

              Y/N thrusts a white helmet in his hands, “Where’s your hospital?” 

              “Uh, Metropolis Medical City.”

               Y/N hums as she shrugs on her leather jacket. She slips on her own black helmet and swings her leg onto the bike. She kickstarts the motor, the engine immediately revving alive. Y/N  looks at him and cocks her head, “What are you waiting for? Hop on.” 

              Jungkook slips on his helmet and hesitantly rides behind her. Once he adjusts in his seat, he secures his hands on the back handle. “I-I’m okay now.”

              Y/N starts and the sudden speed throws Jungkook off balance. His hands scramble on air until he frantically loops his arms around the driver’s waist. 

              Y/N looks back at him, “We’re gonna go pretty fast to keep up with the cars in Middle Town. So if you don’t wanna die before we even solve your case, you have to hold onto me like this.”

              Even with her helmet on, Jungkook can see her smirking. With his heart still beating loud in his ears, Jungkook grumbles a begrudging “Fine” at her back.

              The trip to the hospital is supposed to take forty minutes. However, Jungkook felt only fifteen minutes have passed. Exposure to movement makes it feel like everything is going in fast motion. Jungkook is so used to the isolation of his car as he speeds through the highways of Metropolis. He doesn’t need to constantly shift lanes to keep up with the other vehicles because inside his car, his pace is fine. 

              And now, he’s out in the open air and the wind is continuously beating against his jacket and the adrenaline from avoiding and overtaking speeding vehicles is nipping at his nerves. The concrete overarching flyovers twist and turn above him as it bridges Middle Town to Metropolis. The metallic kingdom of Metropolis shines in silver and polished glass and metal from afar. The rest of Middle Town lay on his side. It pales to Metropolis in the mediocrity of their old buildings and cheap cracking paint. 

              Y/N lowers herself onto her bike, climbing up her speedometer. Consequently, Jungkook leans further into her. Everything then seems to go much faster. So fast they warp into each other, producing a convoluting mass of moving streaks of colors. It’s dizzying but it’s beautiful. For once, Jungkook thinks feeling everything goes fast is liberating. 

              However, things are bound to return to the way they used to be. Jungkook finds reality sinking back too fast for his liking when they pull up to the huge parking lot of Metropolis Medical Center.

              Y/N turns the key off and Jungkook hops down, taking off his helmet. He hands it to Y/N, “Thank you for this.”

              Y/N pushes it back to him, “No, hold onto it. I’ll drive you to your home when you’re done.”

              Jungkook scratches his nape, “You don’t have to.”

              “Well, I want to. After all,” Y/N smirks, “it seems like you want to ride my bike for longer.”

              Jungkook doesn’t need to reply. The small smile forming on his face says it all.

              “Clean it as usual and make sure to still put on a bandage on it.” The doctor points to his closed wound, “With your job, it’s likely to swell or split open again if you don’t protect it well.”

              “Yes, doc, thank you” Jungkook smiles at the woman as he pulls down the sleeve of his jacket. He picks up the doctor’s prescription, thanks the woman once again, and pushes the door open. When he steps outside, he sees Y/N sitting on the metal benches across, legs crossed, their helmets by her side. Jungkook makes his way and plops down on the seat next to her.

              “Everything okay?” Y/N asks, pointing to his arm.

              “Yeah,” Jungkook leans his back on the wall.

              “Do you want to go now?” Y/N starts to picks up her helmet but Jungkook stops her with a firm hold her hand.

              “No. Let’s stay for a while. I don’t feel like coming home yet.”

              “You’re acting like a petulant eight-year-old.”

              “Geez—”

              “It’s actually funny,” Y/N snorts, “you remind me of how I hid from my service driver in middle school.” Y/N relaxes back in her seat, “The service ended up leaving me and I had to walk my way back home. My mom scolded the hell out of me all night ‘til next morning.” Y/N looks at him, “Have you ever done that before?”

              “Um, no,” Jungkook looks down at his hands, “my school is actually near my home so I just walk from home to school and vice versa.”

              “Lucky bastard,” Y/N sighs as she puts her arms behind her neck, “I had to commute for long ass hours for 17 years of my life.”

              Jungkook’s phone rings and he opens the notification. 

              Sir Andrews: I covered you for today. Let’s talk about this tomorrow. Take care, son (4:37 P.M.)

              A fond smile makes its way to Jungkook’s face as he types, “Okay, sir. Thank you.”

              Y/N leans forward and bumps Jungkook’s shoulder, “Your girlfriend?”

              “Nah. It’s Sir Andrews.”

              “The Chief General of FJO?”

              “Yup,” Jungkook slips his phone back into his pocket.

              Y/N raises a brow, “You seem very close to him.”

              “Well…yeah,” Jungkook purses his lips. His eyes wander to the passing hospital staff. He internally shakes his head. Jungkook’s eyes dart back to the girl, “Actually…he’s my benefactor. He, um, provided for me for years until I’m able to start providing for myself. So, of course, I’m close to him. He's like a father figure in my life.”

              “Oh,” Y/N’s brows raise.

              “Yeah, well, I’m lucky I got someone like him to finance my education. It’s not easy for a foster kid to make it out on their own without sufficient financial help.”

              Silence. 

              Y/N’s eyes dart to her own interlocked hands, “I’m sorry…I…I don’t know what to say to that.”

              “You don’t have to say anything. It’s a past memory I long got over.”

              “Okay.”

              Silence fills the air once again. Jungkook shifts in his seat to face the girl, “Say…Namjoon said you used to work for FJO ‘bout 10 years ago. I’m already in FJO around the same time. How come I didn’t see you around before?”

              “I’m in the visual information sector. Under the Intelligence,” Y/N quirks a small smile, “We’re not exactly known to run around for everyone to see.” 

              “Well, you’re right in that.”

              Y/N sighs, “It’s a shame it’s no longer in the current system. Forecrime was enough to cover their scope.”

              “Yeah. It was kinda shocking at first because we’re used to sending in witnesses to the Intelligence and just wait for the finished composite sketch. The first time we tried the system with Forecrime, I was actually shocked. I didn’t expect the suspect’s face will be already clearly recorded as soon as the case was filed in.”

              “But they work faster than our traditional papers and pencils so it’s a good upgrade,” Y/N muses.

              Jungkook nods. He clears his throat. “So…have you been sketching composite drawings ever since you got in, or you got to work in other departments, too?”

              “I just did composite sketches. I don’t know what else to do,” Y/N shrugs. “I graduated a bachelor’s in Forensic Science. I actually don’t want to join the police. I wanted to do fine arts. But my mother was the one financing my education so I followed what she said. Said it matches my wit and I’ll make plenty money out of it,” Y/N shakes her head, chuckling. “She doesn’t know how money works here. Look at me, I got a job from it but I’m not rich.”

              “But did you like your work,” Jungkook looks at her, “even just a bit?”

              “Hell yeah,” Y/N smiles. “Aside from feeling accomplished whenever my drawing helps the police catch the criminal, it feels good to be able to comfort witnesses and victims from their trauma. Whenever I interview them to gather descriptions, or let them pick distinct features they’ve seen from the catalog book, I see this gleam in their eyes. The one that that says, ‘I’m taking back the integrity and power this motherfucker took from me.’ It’s hella satisfying seeing them feel avenged in some way. And that, I helped them feel this way.”

              Jungkook smiles, “Seems like you love your work. Not just a bit of it.”

              “Of course,” Y/N tuts, “I wouldn’t stay so long and get over 400 criminals caught just because of my drawings.”

              “If you don’t mind me asking…what made you resign?”

              Y/N whips her head towards him.

              Jungkook gulps. “Namjoon said you didn’t get dismissed because of the turnover of Intelligence to Forecrime.  He said you…resigned.”

              “Well, he isn’t wrong,” Y/N stands up, grabbing her helmet, “I did resign. As for the reason why,” Y/N looks at his eyes, “I have my own boundaries like you, captain.” She turns around and starts for the exit, “It’s getting late. I think it’s time to go home now.”

              Jungkook follows behind, face conflicted. 

              The ride to his home felt completely different from earlier. Jungkook felt her stiff in his hold. The tension between them, undeniably thick. Jungkook feels if he says a word, he’ll set off a bomb. Y/N’s speed is faster than their trip to the hospital, reaching Jungkook’s condominium in record time. Whether it’s to go home earlier or to get away from him as soon as she can, Jungkook can’t tell.  When she dropped him off, Jungkook said his thanks and bid her goodbye. Y/N didn’t say anything. She just waved goodbye and sped away.

              Pushing himself off the table, Jungkook pulls up his phone.

              Jungkook: I’m sorry I ticked you off. I didn’t mean to. (6:36 P.M.)

              His reply came a second later.

              Y/N L/N: It’s okay. You didn’t tick me off. (6:36 P.M.)

              His phone rings one more time.

              Y/N L/N: Good night. (6:37 P.M.)

              Jungkook puts his phone down. He glances back at his computer.

              “Error 401: The name you’re searching, ‘Sooah Kim,’ doesn’t exist.”

              A loud thud resounds. Jungkook springs up and whips around his back.

              Namjoon stands by the hall, frozen. The door pushed open wide, the doorknob recoiling from the wall. 

              Jungkook’s stiff shoulders immediately loosen. “God, don’t startle me like that.”

              “Sorry,” Namjoon squeaks as he turns to kick the door close. Jungkook sees two huge gray briefcases by his friend’s feet.

              He stands up and walks to the analyst. “What are these?”

              Namjoon hangs his coat on one of the hooks behind the door. “Work from the Bureau. We still got loads of unprocessed transactions,” Namjoon goes to the table and grabs a cracker. “The chief was furious.”

              Jungkook follows his friend, “Natasha Ryde?”

              “Yeah,” Namjoon says, “We got a huge backlog from DOJ freezing our coordinating processes just to check if each one of us is clean. Now, they’re rushing us to let them see all the recent files of the Bureau. Natasha wants us to clean our shelves before DOJ can catch wind of the backlog and suspect something unnecessary again.” 

              Jungkook tongues his cheek. If Natasha is busy cleaning up the Bureau, that means his favor to Chief Spencer will not be processed soon. And with DOJ sniffing on the backs of the Bureau, Namjoon won’t be able to help him. He has to find an alternative fast. Jungkook tilts his head, “The DOJ is still not finished with their conspiracy theory against the Bureau?”

              Namjoon shrugs off his blazer, “Yup. Well, we practically hold more information than Precrime and Forecrime combined. Of course, they’re gonna sort us out first. And it’s only ‘bout time ‘til they go for the Basement Archives.”

              Jungkook’s forehead furrows, “Why? I thought the Basement Archives just store outdated files of the previous system’s Bureau?”

              “Old. Not outdated. Those are two different things. Even if some files there are deemed scraps from the past after the technology turnover, they still contain valuable information. Our computers there may look archaic but it doesn’t change the fact they’re made by the Bureau. No matter how slow they are, they still have access to the master system.” Namjoon chuckles, “But of course, you wouldn’t know that. The Basement is exclusive to the Bureau after all."

              “Why are you telling me this?”

              Namjoon shrugs, “Just wanna dispel the myth around it before it goes. DOJ may take it away as soon as they’re done with us.” Namjoon takes off his ID and chucks it on the cabinet by the hallway that leads to their bedrooms. Jungkook’s eyes immediately dart to the article.

              “Enough about me. How are you?”

              Jungkook whips his head towards his friend.

              “What did the doctor say?” Namjoon points to his arm. 

              “It’s fine,” Jungkook assures. “It healed well. Though I still have to wear bandages to prevent it from splitting open.”

              “That’s good then,” Namjoon nods in understanding. He purses his lips. He looks back at Jungkook. “I heard about what happened earlier.”

              “Oh that?”

              “Hoseok told me on my way out. Jungkook,” Namjoon sighs, “If you called me you needed to leave for an emergency, I would have driven you to the hospital.”

              Keeping his face straight, Jungkook claps Namjoon’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t fret too much about it. I got to the hospital early and I’m fine.”

              “How did you get there early?”

              “Well, uh,” Jungkook darts his eyes away, “Y/N drove me.”

              Namjoon’s forehead furrows, “She drove you?”

              Jungkook nods, “Yeah. She met me on my way and offered me a ride.”

              “Didn’t know you two are being chummy now,” Namjoon hums, “It took us a month just to get her to talk openly with us.” He tilts his head and turns around, heading to his room.

              As soon as Namjoon disappears in his room, Jungkook bounds to the cabinet. He grabs the analyst’s ID and dashes to his office. Pressing the buttons of his flat digital copier on his desk, he hurriedly slides the ID into the bottom slot. The machine starts with a soft whirr and in a second, its mechanical hands start to 3D print a duplicate of the ID.

              However, Jungkook’s luck is short-lived. He hears two knocks sound against his door and Namjoon’s muffled voice in the hallway, “Hey can I come in?”

              Jungkook bites his lip. His copier has just finished replicating one edge of Namjoon’s ID. It’s nowhere near done and he can’t let Namjoon see this.

              Namjoon calls once again, “Nevermind, I’ll be quick anyway.”

              Immediately, Jungkook grabs his jacket slung on his chair and drapes it messily over his desk, haphazardly covering his keyboard and copier.

              In the same second, the office’s door swings open and Namjoon stands inside, wearing sweats and a faded blue shirt. The man smiles, “Sorry, I forgot something.”

              “It’s alright,” Jungkook rounds his desk and walks to the rectangular table in the center of the room. He leans his hip against it, the pressure from the edge softened by the table cloth running on its laterals. Jungkook chuckles, “I don’t know if you forgot, but this is also your office.”

              “I didn’t forget,” Namjoon chuckles. He sits on his own desk on the left corner and places a water bottle by his side, “I felt like making an apology beforehand because I think my search will take a while.” He glances at Jungkook, “Even if we share this room, it feels like I’m intruding your space. With the amount of time you’ve spent in here, you practically live in this room.” 

              Jungkook presses his lips together.

              Namjoon turns back to his desk and pulls drawer after drawer, fingers continuously searching what he intends to find. After another minute of fumbling, he pushes the last drawer close in a forceful shut, “Yep, it will definitely take a while.”

              Jungkook raises a brow, “Why? What are you looking for?”

              Namjoon stands up and nears the center table, uncapping the water bottle, “Keys. Bureau-issued. To open the briefcases I brought.” He tips the bottle to his lip and drinks. After a couple of gulps, he places the uncapped bottle on the table, “You mind if I go to your table?”

              Panic sets off in Jungkook’s chest. His copier is just an inch away from his keyboard. Even if it has a soft mechanical whirr, it’s impossible for anyone who’ll sit in the chair not to know the copier is processing something. And with his jacket laying on it, it’s sure Namjoon will become suspicious. Jungkook tries to keep his voice stable, “I don’t mind. But can I ask why?”

              “I used your copier to duplicate the key before I went to work. Seokjin called the second I was done and I had to use one of your memo pads so I pulled all your drawers ‘til I find them. I think they fell in one of the drawers.” Namjoon sends him an apologetic smile, “Sorry.” 

              Namjoon starts to make a move toward Jungkook’s desk. Before the analyst could move his hand away from the table, Jungkook tugs the table cloth. It sends the bottle off-balance and it topples to the edge, spilling its contents everywhere.

              Namjoon whirls around and sees the wet mess. He immediately crouches down to flip up the bottle again. “Oh shucks, I’m sorry! I didn’t know I left it uncapped.”

              Jungkook nears his friend, “It’s fine. I can clean it up.”

              “No, I’ll clean up,” Namjoon insists. “It’s my mess. I have to clean it up.” He stands up and disappears into the hallway.

              Jungkook steps back and takes a seat on his chair. Namjoon comes back with a mop in his hands. With Namjoon busy clearing the water spill, Jungkook opens his drawers and starts his search for the keys. His top drawer is devoid of anything but pens and other office supplies. His middle drawers only contain folders and papers. He feels like he has to restart his search again until his hands land in the last compartment in the bottom drawer. His eyes catch a metallic glint in the dark. He leans forward and sees the falcon insignia of the Investigation Bureau. Jungkook grins. 

              He sits back up in his chair just in time Namjoon returns in the office, the mop nowhere in sight.

              Jungkook stands up, waving the two keys in the air, “Found them.”

              “Oh god, thank you so much,” Namjoon sighs, retrieving the keys.

               “Anytime,” Jungkook smiles.

              “Sorry again ‘bout the water.”

              “Hey, it’s just a spill,” Jungkook snorts, waving dismissively.

              Namjoon sends him a timid smile. He turns around and pulls the door open.

              “Hey, Namjoon. What time is your lunch tomorrow?”

              Namjoon stops. “At 12. Why?”

              “Gonna see if I can join you,” Jungkook grins.

              Namjoon breaks into a grin as well, “That will be great then.” He closes the door behind him.

              When Jungkook hears faint footsteps lead to the living room, he heads back to his desk and rips his jacket away. Two identification cards gleam under the light, unmistakably identical.

              When Jungkook reaches the fifth floor, he goes to the leftmost door. He doesn’t knock. He pushes the thick wooden door and lets himself in.

              “Oh, you’re here,” Matthew glances from his work. He motions to the leather chair in front of him. “Come, sit, son.”

              “Thank you, sir,” Jungkook smiles.

              Matthew piles his papers in a neat stack and pushes it aside. “How’s your arm?”

              “Just got the stitches out yesterday,” Jungkook says.

              Matthew nods, “That’s good then. You won’t have an injury hindering you anymore.” Matthew chuckles, “I missed seeing you run around the building doing god knows what. You’ve always been a busy bee.”

              Jungkook smiles, “Well, I would have been like that if it weren’t for DOJ.”

              “Right,” Matthew nods, his smile immediately slipping off his face. He clasps his hands together and sighs, “So, yesterday, you went off work so suddenly.”

              Jungkook sits up straight. “Yes, sir, I’m sorry you have to cover for me. I just—”

              Matthew holds up a hand, smiling, “You don’t have to explain yourself, son. I know you’re dealing with a lot of stuff. After all, you just survived a car accident. It must still be weighing down on you.”

              “It’s alright,” Jungkook shrugs.

              Matthew darts his eyes to his desk. He sighs as he turns back to the captain. “Jungkook, you mustn’t allow Yoongi to see any gap.”

              Jungkook’s forehead furrows, “Sir?”

              “Everyone is talking about how you rushed out of FJO with your team and Yoongi chasing after you. They don’t know where you went and surely, a captain being chased by his subordinates and the auditor is an unforgettable spectacle. I had Jimin relay an emergency excuse about your arm and luckily, that immediately quelled your sector.” Matthew’s smile falls, “But it seems it wasn’t enough for the auditor.”

              Jungkook stills in his seat.

              Matthew sighs, “I heard from Hoseok that Yoongi suspects you have some source—external or internal, whatever—to the blank that dropped yesterday. And he’s suspicious of that.”

              Jungkook keeps his face indifferent.

              “Look,” Matthew leans forward, “I don’t mind whether you consult external help or not. Desperate measures call for all the help you need. We do whatever we have to do and I respect whatever decision you’ll make. All I ask, son, is,” Matthew looks at him in the eyes, “be careful. Your sector is hot in DOJ’s eyes and I don’t want to see you get placed in a position where I can no longer help you. I can’t see you lose everything you’ve worked so hard for. You didn’t spend 15 years climbing the hierarchy just to get prematurely dismissed from your job.”

              Jungkook nods, “Yes, sir, I understand. I’ll take extra care from now on.”

              “Okay,” Matthew turns back to his documents and Jungkook takes it as a signal to leave. He salutes at the Chief General and makes his way towards the door only to be halted by a call of his name.

              “Jungkook, do you still take those…medications?”

              The captain doesn’t reply.

              Matthew sighs, “Make sure Yoongi won’t know about that.”

              “Of course, sir,” Jungkook pulls the door open, “Thank you, once again.”

              Stepping out of the Chief General’s office, Jungkook heads to the elevator and pushes the button for the archives. It’s time to work now.

              Jungkook has searched for Sooah Kim in Precrime, Forecrime’s systems. He even checked in Freedom Security’s system. But nothing has turned up. He even looked into Jonathan Winston’s history of associations and not one Sooah Kim appeared. He tried searching through hospitals, laboratories, and research centers for an employee or associate named Sooah Kim. But still, nothing. He’s already exhausted every search engine and system of both the general public and the government and yet he’s made zero progress. Holding onto the duplicated ID of his friend, Jungkook’s only choice left is FJO’s Basement Archives. 

              Jungkook looks at his watch. 12:10. He pulls up his phone.

              Jungkook: Namjoon, I think I’ll do a raincheck on our lunch (12:10 P.M.).

              The elevators open on the third floor. 

              “Captain Jeon,” Sally salutes at him. Jungkook returns the salute and pushes past the heavy glass doors of the Archives. He heads to the left aisle and walks to the 5th row shelf. He ghosts his fingers over the line of files until it lands on a particular red file—the recent attempted assassination of James Kim. He opens it and slowly flips page after page.

              From his peripheral, Jungkook looks at his right. The walkway is devoid of any people. There’s just metal shelves and files. The hallway it connects to, the center aisle, is devoid of people as well. Jungkook looks up. Only about 4 cameras are installed above the aisle.

              Jungkook spends another minute flipping through the file before he closes it shut and inserts it back in its place. With his alibi set, Jungkook walks along the 5th row until he reaches its corner where he disappears from the vicinity of the cameras. 

               Jungkook turns around and starts on the center aisle. To anyone who’s looking at the surveillance cameras, it will look like Jungkook’s just viewing a file in the 5th row’s corner, which just happened to be a blind spot in surveillance. With the general security disregard on the old and faded Archives and its basement level, Jungkook takes advantage of the system’s blind spots as he threads along the aisle, guided with the knowledge of the general scopes of standard surveillance cameras.

              But just when he’s about three feet away from the end of the aisle, two staff members stroll across, pushing a huge cart of files. Jungkook swerves to the nearby shelf and hides. When he glances up, a CCTV camera is staring right at him. Jungkook holds his breath.

              Nothing. No alarm has been set off. No red lights are sweeping across the room. Just nothing.

              Sweat runs down Jungkook’s temple.

              The chatters and footsteps fade away and still, nothing.

              A couple of seconds pass by in silence.

              Jungkook slowly stands up. The silence remains unbroken. No one must be watching.

              Jungkook looks at his watch. 12: 20. He only has 10 minutes left of leeway from his lunch.

              Jungkook comes out of hiding and continues forward, making it to the end of the aisle. He arrives at a plain wall coated in navy paint. Old and faded. Just like the rest of the Archives. Jungkook spots the rectangular metallic plaque on his left. He scans Namjoon’s duplicated ID under it. A second later, a faint shadow outlines a figure of a door onto the wall. It pops open and the door slides to the right, revealing an escalator that leads downward. Jungkook steps inside and the door immediately shuts behind him.

              The Basement Archives is dark, its walls painted in olive green. Several dim hanging lamps light up the room. Jungkook knows the Basement Archives is connected to the second floor of FJO’s main building, behind the hallway that bridges Precrime and Forecrime. But he didn’t expect it to be this extensive. The Basement Archives is about the same height as the main floor. Its area, a half of its upper floor. What makes it a seeming replica of the main floor though are its metal shelves. Unlike the main floor’s circular labyrinth, the Archive Basement’s shelves are aligned in straight horizontals, like a snake coiling on itself. And far ahead, Jungkook could see 2010s computers lining the room’s perimeter. 

              Only when Jungkook steps away from the escalator does he only see the similarities between the basement and the main floor. The metal shelves are rusting in their edges. The files and books they hold, covered in dust. Even the small indents on its metal flooring are worn thin. Some are even already busted. The Basement Archives is old and faded. Jungkook only hopes what Namjoon said is right.

              Jungkook walks past the rows of shelves and heads to computers. Grabbing a seat, he sets off to work.

              The monitor alights to FJO’s coat of arms. And then, it displays the FJO standard wallpaper. The keys of the keyboard instantly crunch under Jungkook’s fingers as he hits on the shortcuts for FJO’s system. The processing of the command takes a while and when it opens, the elements are scattered and labeled in unfamiliar names. Nevertheless, Jungkook manages to get inside the Surveillance system after a couple of minutes of fumbling. He deletes the footage of him hiding behind the shelves and stretches the clip of him just walking through the hallway. Satisfied, he confirms the command and watches the new CCTV footage play. Only his back is shown to the camera from his entry inside the Archives to his walk towards the Basement Archives. He looks just like any Bureau analyst entering the Basement.

              With his identity secured, Jungkook goes to the general system and starts his search for Sooah Kim.

              Only to arrive at— 

              “Error 141: The name “Sooah Kim” doesn’t exist in the system.”

              Jungkook squints at the monitor. He refreshes the computer again and again. He tries to search for additional keywords: “hospital,” “research center,” “laboratory,” and “Jonathan Winston.” But he arrives at the same result:

              “Error 141: The name “Sooah Kim” doesn’t exist in the system.”

              Jungkook sighs frustratedly. He clicks again and again and the computer produces the same result again and again. Jungkook pushes himself off the desk. There’s got to be a way to find this Sooah Kim. If she’s related to Winston’s assassination, she must be inside the system. Jungkook glances around the room. Just then, his eyes land on a door on his far right.

              The door is made of metal and it’s almost invisible in the dark save for the black and yellow hazard tape under a note that says, “Restricted. Authorized Personnel Only.”

              Jungkook dashes to the door. He spots the metal plaque beside it and scans the ID.

              A red light glows from the plaque’s sensor. The plaque’s small screen lights up and flashes in red: “Access denied.”

              Jungkook scans it again.

              Red light. “Access denied.”

              Jungkook bites his cheek.

              Red light. “Access denied.”

              Grunting, Jungkook picks up his phone.

              Jungkook: Sir, do you have any updates on last time’s work?” (12:25 P.M.)

              Jungkook’s personal phone rings. Seeing the familiar set of numbers, Jungkook picks it up.

              “Jungkook.”

              “Chief Spencer.”

              Nathan sighs, “Look, I’m afraid the authorization of your unrestricted access to the Archives may get delayed. I already applied for the authorization of access but the Bureau hasn’t responded yet. I heard from one of the lieutenants there DOJ is keeping a hard eye on the Bureau. Natasha refused my calls, too. I think she will not be accommodating anytime soon. As for the Memory Temple…the answer is obvious.”

              Jungkook pinches his nose bridge. He already expected this will go against his plans but he didn’t know it will be at this dragging extent. He heaves a sigh, “I understand, sir.

              “Okay. I’ll try on my end to get through the Chief.”

              “Thank you, sir.”

              “Thank you, too. Please extend my gratefulness to Chief General Andrews as well. My wife loved the necklace.”

              “I’m glad she did, sir.”

              “Yeah,” Nathan says. A beat. Nathan clears his throat, “I’ll end the call now.”

              “Goodbye, sir,” Jungkook replies. The line goes dead.

              Jungkook leans his back against the wall and closes his eyes. His heartbeat rings in his ears. Loud. Just like when he almost had Leigh Anderson in his hands. Jungkook releases a frustrated sigh. He’s come all this way just to have nothing. Again.

              His personal phone vibrates in his hands, jolting his eyes open. His eyes widen at the screen.

              Y/N L/N

              He immediately swipes to answer. “Y/N, hi—”

              “Jungkook. A red file will drop about—now. Listen to me. Take the stairs, okay?”

              Jungkook walks away from the door, forehead furrowed. “What do you mean?”

              “If you follow the crime record you won’t catch the killer.”

              Jungkook shuts the computer and jogs to the escalator, “What killer?”

              “Look, you don’t have much time. So listen to me. Just take the stairs.”

              The call abruptly ends. Jungkook looks at his phone, bewildered. Right at the moment, his work phone vibrates with another incoming call. 

              Jungkook whips it out from his pocket and presses it to his ear, “Taehyung.”

              “Captain Jeon, come to the Murder Sector, quick. It’s a red file.”

              Jungkook halts.

              “The time of the crime is in 10 minutes. Hurry.”

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Note: This story is based on Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s short story, Minority Report (2002). That being said, this series may contain spoilers for the movie so if you want to watch the movie, please do so first before reading!

A/N pt. 2: Heya Hons! Thank you for reading! This chapter is quite short compared to the first two. The next chapter will be much longer though hehe. Writing this chapter is probably the most I have ever re-written so many scenes again and again. Especially the action scenes, they gave me a headache. Nevertheless, I’m happy how they turned out! What do you think about them? Feel free to talk with me! I actually love talking with my readers!

I think the next update will come two weeks from now. So far, I’m noticing I’m able to post for this series bi-weekly. Although this week, I’ll focus on the Chapter 3 of my yoongi office au series, The Heart Holiday. I promised my hons the THH!couple is coming this June but my finals two weeks ago fucked up my schedule and now I’m quite behind my supposed posting date. Anyway, I’ll make it up to you hons! Your wait is gonna be worth it because a lot is going to happen in THH Act 3!

As usual, if you guys wanna get notified as soon as I post the next chapter, I’m gonna add you all to my taglist! Just hit me up down the comments of this series’ masterlist so I can better track you all! The search function of Tumblr is messing with me and my notifs in my inbox usually come late so it’s highly probably your asks and DMs may get lost ☹

Once again, thank you for reading My Time! :”)

Note pt.2: As you know, this is a mystery fic so it will be most appreciated if any theories pertaining to the story be kept down the comments so I can entertain them all without spoiling our future readers! Once again, thank you so much for reading this!

All Rights Reserved 2020 © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.

[beyond-the-mirror]

The Blue Eyed King’s Gift

Oof! After an eternity incredibly long time I’m finally back to writing! This one will be a three part fic to accompany the Fairy Tale AU one I wrote with Dante x Fem!Reader.

Can you guess which tale I got inspiration for this fic? I won’t include it in the tags for now, but as the story progresses you will start to get the idea of which tale it is.

Warnings: Slight violence against children. Don’t worry, it’s nothing too serious.

Story under the cut.

IMPORTANT EDIT: I decided to make this a four-part fic rather than a three-part, mostly because I realized that the second part may be a little too long to be included in just one chapter.

Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

............................. 

Part One

"(Y/N)!! Where the fuck is my breakfast?!!"

Your father yelled from his bed chambers in such a loud volume you swore the entire house trembled in fear at his wrath. Letting out a defeated sigh, you hurried up placing all the served plates and the warm teapot on the tray before heading upstairs.

Life hadn't been easy at all for you, especially these recent years. Ever since you had memory, your father has been a cruel man to both you and your poor mother, the only reason she had ended up marrying him was because of an arrangement both their families had agreed upon. He was the sole heir of his family's fortune, but needed to marry a woman in order to keep their status unblemished. Eventually your grandparents passed away and your parents received the inheritance, the only problem they didn't take into account was their son's unmeasurable greed and hedonism. Soon enough, your father had wasted pretty much all your fortune in alcohol, unsuccessful business deals and gambling, reducing all your family's possessions to merely a modest but still pretty chateau in the countryside and a few valuables.

You still cried at the memory of your mother wilting away on her bed due to a most terrible illness, the medicines she needed to recover were far too expensive, not that the price mattered much since your father wouldn’t even bother to pay for them anyways had they been any cheaper. Alcohol and gambling were far more important for the man than his dying wife.

"Finally! I swear you're doing this on purpose." Your father scowled from his bed as you placed the food tray on his bedside table. "Do you wish for your own father to starve to death? Talk about an ungrateful child. Get out of my sight already!"

You only resigned to silently nod before leaving, the harsh words from your father never failed to hurt you deeply, cutting down your heart so much you weren't able to mutter a single word to him.

A few tears threatened to escape, but you forced them down. A new day full of possibilities was right before you, so you wasted no time in collecting some of the many fruits and vegetables you grew by yourself in your own garden. This year had brought an exceptional harvest, your crops would certainly make a great profit at the town's market.

Unlike your father, the townspeople respected you and treated you with utmost kindness. Often would they offer their help knowing your situation, something that you would forever be grateful for. You promised to yourself that one day, shall your economy ever recover that is, you would repay them to the last penny for their unwavering support.

After another successful day at the town market you decided to return home, all your produce sold out and now replaced by a small satchel of silver coins, some of them spent in meat, spices and bread for cooking meals at home.

It was a simple life, but you were happy with what little you had. Now if only your father weren't so cruel and abusive...

.............................

"C'mon V! Let's explore over here!"

You were in the kitchen when a soft giddy voice in the distance caught your attention.

"Wait Nero! I don't think it's a good idea to stray further. What if Father becomes worried?" A second voice answered back.

Peering out the window, you noticed two little children playing not too far from your chateau's front yard. Both had pristine white hair, one of them seemed to carry a black kitten in his arms while a blue bird was perched on his shoulder. It was a rather endearing sight and an odd one too since they weren't familiar to you at all, not many people lived in the countryside area you resided in. Perhaps a family recently moved nearby without you noticing.

"Don't worry V, after all he sent Griffon and Shadow here to look after us. Look brother," One of them pointed at your residence with the small wooden sword in his hands. "I found a tiny castle!"

"Whoa, what a lovely house! Do you think a tiny princess lives there too?" The other brother pointed out. You couldn't help but giggle at their adorable antics as they approached your yard.

Reaching for some of the pastries you had bought earlier, you decided to grab a few to give to the brothers. You were about to reach for the back door when-

"GET OUT OF MY PROPERTY YOU BRATS!!"

As soon as you stepped out, you witnessed your father in a very drunken state harassing the poor children. "I SAID GET LOST NOW!!!"

You watched in absolute horror how he harshly grabbed one of the kids by his arm before throwing him to the ground, prompting his brother to wield his toy sword in an attempt to defend him, but ultimately failing as he was backhanded so roughly he too fell to the ground.

"NO! FATHER STOP!" You immediately sprinted to them, basically throwing yourself over harm's way as you shielded the children, pulling them away from your father's relentless attacks. Even the black cat and the blue bird that accompanied the kids had started attacking him, effectively helping you keeping the man at bay as you hugged the kids protectively.

"Damn animals, GET AWAY FROM ME!" The man struggled and flailed against the bird and the cat, missing every strike as he was too drunk and unfocused for their agility.

"Please father, you're completely inebriated and you will only hurt yourself and others. Just go back to the house, please?" You implored doing, your best to calm him down until he finally relented.

"Fine. Food better be ready soon though or you're sleeping outside tonight." His words came out slurred as he stumbled back inside.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you turned to the young twins in your arms, kneeling down before them to check for any wounds they may have gotten. The poor little ones were crying, a few bruises and cuts on their knees and faces.

"It's okay little ones, the bad man is already gone." Gently wiping their tears away, you comforted them until they calmed down. "Are you alright?"

"I-I think so... How about you V?"

"I... I’m fine. That man was so scary though."

A sigh of relief escaped you as you determined all the wounds were minor and merely superficial, nothing you couldn’t handle quickly.

"I'm truly sorry for what happened. Please come inside, let's get your wounds treated."

.............................

“Much better now, isn’t it?”

It didn’t take long for you to finish cleaning and disinfecting the boys’ wounds. Luckily yout homemade medicinal balm was already working wonders, their skin already healing considerably.

“Here! A gift for being the bravest boys in the world.” You handed each one the pastries from before. The brothers’ eyes began sparkling at the sweet treats before them, they didn’t hesitate for a second before grabbing them and taking a bite.

“Thank you so much lady (Y/N)! These are so delicious!” they happily ate their pastries, even sharing a bit for their company animals too.

“I’m glad you like them. And you don’t need to call me lady by the way, just (Y/N) is fine. May I know your names too?”

“I’m Nero!” The twin with short hair and blue eyes answered.

“My name is Vitale, or V if you prefer.” The twin with shoulder-length hair and green eyes replied. “Oh! And these are our friends Griffon and Shadow!” V hugged Shadow close to his chest while Griffon perched himself on Nero’s shoulder.

“A pleasure meeting you four! Does your family live nearby by the way?”

Nero nodded as he kept chewing on his pastry. “Our house is just north from here actually, but Papa doesn’t let us go out often.”

Oh?

“And why is that?”

“Well...” V started, looking a bit down. “Father is very protective of us, that’s why he only lets us play outside as long as we stay close to the house. But today we tried convincing him to let us go explore a little bit farther, it was difficult but he finally agreed as long as we promised we would be alright...”

“I really hope he doesn’t get mad at us after he finds out what happened.” Nero added worryingly. Their saddened eyes really plucked at your heartstrings.

You knelt down so you could look at them in the eyes. “Don’t worry my children. How about I write a note to your father explaining the situation? I’m not sure if this would help much, but at least he would know he has my word that no harm will come to you. And if that doesn’t work, I could always go and meet him personally to get to an agreement.”

“You would really do that for us?” They looked at you expectantly, and when you nodded your answer, their faces lit up in so much joy that they unexpectedly enveloped you in a hug. You chuckled before wrapping your arms around them, returning the hug.

.............................

Since the brothers wanted to continue playing, you allowed the children to stay for a few more hours while you finished cooking. You let them keep playing in your garden, a place where you knew your father wouldn’t spot them and risk another scene like the one before.

Politely excusing yourself to your little guests before leaving to deliver your father’s meal. Luckily this time he received his food without saying much of a word, a very welcomed improvement from this morning’s rant.

As you returned to your guests, you noticed they were looking at you in concern.

“(Y/N), is that man really... your father?

“Yes, he is. Why the question?”

The glanced at each other briefly before V continued “Why did he treat you like that? I thought fathers were supposed to love their daughters...”

To say the question took you a bit by surprise would have been a underestimation. You simply sat down at one of the wooden benches, not knowing exactly what to say.

The brothers sat down next to you, each one by your sides.

You fumbled with your words, tears already pricking your eyes before you managed to control them.

“I know he is not exactly a good man, he made many mistakes in the past that cost our family so much… But, despite everything, he is still my father. Maybe I’m wrong, but I want to think he still has a good heart deep inside. That’s why I can’t give up on him. I stay with him in hope that one day he would finally change for the better.”

You forced a smile so you wouldn’t make the children worry anymore about you, and yet they managed to see through your façade. Their little arms wrapped around your waist and hugged you, an attempt to give you some comfort for the pain you were going through daily.

A warmth unlike no other enveloped your entire self, maybe it was cuteness of the situation or the great empathy of this wonderful children felt for you, but it felt so soothing how peace seemed to overtake you at the moment.

It was strange, yet so familiar. Like a distant memory of better days gone by.

.............................

The sun was about to set in a few hours, so you decided it was time for the children to head back home before it became dark.

As you had promised the brothers, you wrote a note for their father apologizing for the incident that happened and gave it to Nero. You also packed a few slices of fruit in a pouch for them to snack on during their trip back home.

“Um (Y/N)... can we come to your house to play again some time?” V asked in a shy voice. Both he and Nero had so much fun playing and staying with you, for them it felt that they had genuinely met a new friend that day.

“Of course little ones. You can come here and play whenever you want, as long as your father agrees to.” You ruffled their pretty little heads, making the brothers giggle.

“We promise to visit as often as we can! Right V?”

The younger one nodded his head enthusiastically.

And so, Nero and V departed. It was odd, how the chateau felt a hundred times emptier without them despite just meeting them earlier.

They were both so sweet and innocent, you just hoped their father wouldn’t get angry after reading your short letter. It would be a shame if the boys got punished for something that wasn’t their fault.

Going back into the kitchen, you cleaned a bit before tending to the plants at your garden, wondering if your new friends would soon brighten your day again with their presence

.............................

At the throne of a majestic palace, an all-seeing orb conjured at his hand, a demon king watched over his two sons.

The day they were born, he vowed to The Creator above that he would always protect them, even if that meant giving up his own life, he would gladly pay the price if it guaranteed they would keep living theirs in peace.

His kingdom may not be a vast one, completely isolated from others, but the land was prosperous and peace reigned over everyone. The king knew his sons would grow safe and sound behind the powerful barrier that surrounded the kingdom, but he couldn’t help a small seed of doubt that gnawed at his chest.

He feared for the day curiosity would awake in the hearts of his twins. They would want to know everything about the outside world, their innocent minds not knowing how cruel and dangerous it could be. The king often taught them of the outside world through the many books and scripts in the royal library, but he was afraid that would not be enough for his children.

So when that morning they had insisted of going beyond the barrier, no matter how much he had prepared himself mentally for this moment, his heart still ached with worry.

But he wouldn’t take their freedom away. Doing so is one of the most horrifying acts one could bestow upon another.

So the king allowed them to venture beyond their home. He had to let them fly, not clip their beautiful wings.

However, as much as he wanted to trust his sons, his concerns were bigger. He tasked two servants to keep them company, knowing that their eyes would keep guard on them. Using his demonic power, he summoned an oracle that would let him watch over them from his throne.

He watched as they approached a small chateau outside the forest, they were happy and playing along the way which brought a smile to his usually stoic face.

That contentment was gone in an instant.

A drunk man stepped out of the house and attacked his sons, scaring them and making them cry.

The king immediately stood from his throne, his fists tightly clenched as his eyes filled with immeasurable wrath and ire. He was about to unsheath his own sword to open a portal and go there, ready to end the miserable man’s life, when another figure ran into the scene. A woman who shielded his sons from the attacking man.

And when he finally managed to look at her face, he froze, almost dropping the sword in his hand.

For she looked exactly like-

… No. It couldn’t be her.

And yet there was a tenderness in the way she treated them. The way her soft hands cleaned the boys’ tears and kindly healed their wounds. The way she offered them a few pastries with a sweet smile in her face and warm light in her eyes. It was rather endearing, how this woman gained his sons’ trust in just a few minutes.

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the king sat down at the throne once again, attentive to what the oracle revealed to his eyes.

Maybe the outside world wasn’t so dangerous after all.

[fantastic-bby]

Snowdrop

Pairing: (F)Reader x Yeosang

Word count: 11.3k (oh my god)

Genre: Fluff | Royal AU | Mage AU | Romance | Strangers to Lovers 

Summary: As a king, Yeosang’s duty is to take care of his kingdom. Despite being known as ‘Ice King’ due to his colder demeanor, the young king likes to wander around the kingdom disguised as a commoner. When he comes across a mage being cornered by thieves, he helps her. Yeosang realises after that that he seems to be arriving just on time whenever the mage is in trouble. He also realises that he can’t stop thinking about her...

Warnings: Use of magic | Violence but it isn’t too bad | Yeosang bleeds a lil bit

Masterlist

He looks out of the balcony of his castle, the view of the icy mountains that surrounded him usually gives him joy. But, today, the king felt only loneliness as he looked out at one of his favourite views. He wonders what makes him feel so lonely this time. 

The knock on the door makes him straighten his back to appear more professional. “You may enter.” He hears the door open and the sound of footsteps slowly entering the room before the door closes. 

“Your majesty, there’s word of mages in the kingdom.” Yeosang turns around to look at the servant. 

“Mages are a problem?” He cocks an eyebrow. The servant stiffens as he swallows the lump in his throat. “May I ask whether they’ve been disturbing the kingdom?” The king steps closer until he’s right in front of the servant. 

“I-I,” the servant stutters as he looks to the ground to avoid looking Yeosang in the eyes. He knows better than to look ‘the ice king’ in the eyes.“T-They worry the v-v-villagers, y-your majesty.” 

“Are they harming the villagers?” he presses. The servant hesitates before shaking his head. “Then, we leave them be. If they live in my kingdom, they are still my people.” 

“B-But-”

“Do you go against my word?” Yeosang asks softly. His tone implies something more intimidating and causes the servant to quickly shake his head. 

“O-Of course not!”

“Then, you shall leave.” He turns around and makes his way back to the window. “On your way down, tell my advisor to meet me in my throne room.” 

“Y-Yes, your majesty.” There’s a moment before he hears the door close. Yeosang lets out a heavy sigh as he relaxes his body. He’s once again faced with the view of the mountains. Yeosang’s mind starts to wander once more as he feels a cold breeze blowing into his bedroom. The breeze brushes against his skin, goosebumps forming on the exposed skin of his neck and his hands. 

He takes a deep breath before turning around, leaving his sleeping chambers to head to the throne room; making sure to grab the dark blue fabric gloves from his dresser as he does so. Yeosang would be lying if he said being a king wasn’t boring. The young king spends most of his time either sitting in either his throne room or the garden of the palace where he admires his favourite flowers. 

He’s constantly watched by the palace guards and the servants; all of them awaiting his next orders. The constant eyes on him also meant that he would barely have his own time; leaving him to constantly wanting to shy away from his servants by hiding in his bedroom in the early hours of the morning until he had to move to the throne room. 

When he steps into the throne room, he’s surprised by the sudden appearance of his cousin. 

“What brings you to my palace, hyung?” Yeosang questions the ashy brown haired man. 

“I need to ask you something in private, Yeo.” Seonghwa’s tone is urgent, which worries the younger king. Yeosang turns to the guards that are standing by the door and gives them a sharp look. They nod silently before leaving the hall. He does the same with the servant standing by his throne who bows before backing out of the room. 

“Is something bothering you?” he asks once the room is empty. 

“It’s about that.” When the older man points to the dark blue collar of Yeosang’s royal suit, he knows exactly what he’s talking about. “How have you been doing?” he questions coolly. 

“I haven’t been alone as often as I’d like,” Yeosang explains, trying to be as vague as possible. They both knew the backlash they would receive from their respective kingdoms if the public were to know that the royal family were secret mages. Movement from one of the doors catches Yeosang’s eyes. He narrows his eyes when he notices a servant trying to eavesdrop. “Let’s talk in my garden.” His eyes flick back to Seonghwa who immediately agrees. 

The walk to the garden is silent as both kings refrain from bringing up the topic of their magic. “Is it safer here?” Seonghwa asks when they step into the garden. 

“I always make sure the garden is empty because I like walking around here on my own.” Yeosang nods as he looks around. 

“I’m going to safely assume that you’ve been hiding it well,” Seonghwa starts, “I would’ve heard news about it in my kingdom if you were found out.” 

“Well, hiding it is easier as I thought it would be. My gloves are on constantly,” he raises his gloved hands, “and I’ve been practicing to control it better. So, maybe soon, I won’t have to wear my gloves as often.” 

“I don’t think you should take them off at all, Yeosang.” The older man shakes his head. 

Yeosang’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why not?” 

“Did you not hear? Mingi’s servant caught water dripping off of his palm when he thought he had it under control. His people are outraged.” There’s a shiver running down Yeosang’s spine. 

“Is he safe?” he asks softly. 

“He’s trying to convince his people that he doesn’t use his magic maliciously, but you know how townsfolk get.” He sighs as he turns around to look at a Yeosang’s carnation bush. Seonghwa slips his own gloves off and tucks them neatly in his pocket. “He’s hidden his charm for the time being. He said he can’t risk showing more magic until his people calm down.” Yeosang watches as his cousin crouches down to cup a wilting flower. There’s a small shift in the air before the flower starts to bloom once again right in front of their eyes. 

“Your magic is still as strong as ever,” he points out as Seonghwa stands back up. 

“You should take better care of your garden,” he scolds as he turns to Yeosang with a hard glare. “The flora is crying at me. They tell me you only have gardeners in here in the morning.” 

“I’ll let them know to come in twice a day.” Yeosang smiles as he watches his cousin inspect the plants of his gardens. 

“Oh, you poor azaleas,” Seonghwa coos as he stops at a bush of purple azaleas. “Your king hasn’t been taking good care of you, now has he?” He crouches down in front of the bush and blows air towards them. 

“It’s a good thing you’re here to revive my flowers.” Yeosang snickers when Seonghwa shoots him a glare. 

“Your garden is miserable. You better give them proper care or I’ll be sending hounds after you,” the older man threatens as he stands up and turns to his cousin with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, hyung,” he chuckles. “Winter has come. I have no choice but to leave them. My snow does nothing for them.” 

“Tell your gardeners to focus on flowers that can actually survive during winter. Their work here is abysmal,” Seonghwa huffs out as he looks around. He knows he can’t expect a user of ice magic to know how to care for flowers, but his heart aches at the sight of Yeosang’s mediocrely cared for garden. 

“I’ll let them know later.” He nods. 

“I also heard that you’ve been labeled the Ice King?” Seonghwa glances at Yeosang. 

“Ah,” Yeosang lets out a soft chuckle. “After father passed away and I took over, the servants realised I wasn’t the same warm hearted boy that they raised. I think I realised that the world isn’t all butterflies and meadows like I used to think it was. I don’t really think changing the way I act would really affect my people. Either way, I’m still doing my job as a king. How I use my position matters more.” 

Seonghwa purses his lips into a straight line. “It’s more comforting to your people if they know that they’re king isn’t a stone.” 

“Yeah, well, I can’t fake being soft.” He shrugs. There’s a silence that settles between the two as Seonghwa glances around the garden before nodding. 

“Well, that’s all I came to you about,” he says as he steps closer to Yeosang. “Be as careful as you can. Don’t use your magic unless you’re certain you’re alone and if you need anything at all, you can always come to me.” Yeosang nods at that. “Also, first snowfall. Make it next tuesday. My queen wants snow.” Yeosang’s jaw drops at that. 

“You can’t just tell me to do that!” he whines as he watches Seonghwa walk towards the entrance to the palace. 

“I’m your older cousin, you have to listen to me!” he cheekily says before he disappears behind the wall. Yeosang scowls before turning to his azalea bush. 

“If he tells me to start the snowfall unscheduled again, so help me, I will wilt you.” he threatens the flowers before heading towards his castle.

Yeosang’s annoyed as he looks out his window. He has to start the first snowfall or else Seonghwa would wilt the winter crops; which forces him to drop the temperature. He had been dropping the temperature for the past week so as to not make it seem so suspicious when snow starts to suddenly fall. 

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before exhaling. A cold sensation fills his mouth before a flurry of snow wisps out of his mouth and into the air. Yeosang opens his eyes and watches the night sky until snow starts to slowly fall. He lets out a pleased hum before turning around and grabbing his cape. 

It would surprise the town people, but their so-called ‘Ice King’ would disguise himself as a villager and head into town to make sure everything was in order. It was also a way for him to hear what his people wanted or needed from their king. 

Secretly, he sneaks out of the kingdom after dinner and makes his way into the town. Townsfolk walk past the hooded stranger without much thought. His hood is low enough that even if he were to smile at people, they wouldn’t realise it was their king. Yeosang appreciates watching the way they interact and especially loves walking past the pub where drunken laughter and cheers emit from. 

Yeosang continues to walk through the town, his mind pleased with how lively and cheerful his people are. It’s only when he reaches a more deserted part of the town does he hear what sounds like a scuffle happening in an alley. He peeks into the alley to see you backed up to a wall as two men hold a knife towards you. 

“Can’t use your magic anymore, huh witch?” one of them sneers. Yeosang sees shards of ice falling from your palm and shatter as they hit the ground. “Take her gold,” he orders the man beside him who nods and tries to grab a pouch from your hands. 

To say he’s livid is an understatement. Yeosang raises his palm and a large icicle grows from his palm in between you and the men. “Back away from her,” he growls. The thieves look between him and you before laughing. 

“You think you can handle us?” the first one laughs as he approaches Yeosang. He moves the icicle towards them, knocking them out as they hit the wall behind them.

“Run,” he tells you. You nod as you immediately run from out of the alley and towards the safety of the busy town while Yeosang follows behind you. When you’re surrounded by more townsfolk, you stop running. He turns around to make sure the men aren’t following the two of you before turning to you. “Are you okay?” he questions. 

You shake your head. “If you had come a second later, they probably would’ve killed. It’s by God’s grace that you had come on time.” You turn to him. 

Yeosang blinks a couple times before nodding. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” You flash him a smile. During the run, his hood had lifted slightly. You’re able to see more of his face, but not enough to figure out why he seems so familiar. 

“Oh,” you open your pouch, “as thanks, I’ll give you a few of my gold coins.”

“No, it’s okay,” Yeosang quickly shakes his head. “I would feel guilty if I did.” You give him a weird look. “You don’t have to worry about repaying me. Just remember to visit the palace tomorrow to report the thieves to the king.” You nod, making a mental note to do so. “Stay safe, and if anything happens, look for a palace guard.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You nod once again before watching him walk away, his form disappearing into the crowd. You head your own way as well, heading home to the house you share with the seamstresses from your shop. 

“You’re home quite late,” Ash points out when she sees you enter the house. 

“I almost got robbed,” you state absentmindedly as you pull off the shawl wrapped around your shoulders. 

“Again?” Eri groans from her spot on the couch.

“What do you expect?” Luna snorts as she turns away from the dishes to look at the three of you. “We’re mages, and we’re women. These thieves think they can do whatever they want with us because we look weak.” 

“You know it’s mostly because we’re women,” Ash yaps. “These men think we’re weak and vulnerable. Little do they know, we could beat them up with our magic.” 

Eri rolls her eyes before turning her attention back to you. “How’d you get out of this one?” 

“Well, a magic user showed up and saved me,” you say as you sit on the spot beside her and pick up the blanket Ash was knitting. 

“Another witch?” she questions, not taking her eyes off of the wool she’s knitting together. 

“A man.” Your statement causes all of them to freeze and suddenly, Ash and Eri are right up in your face. 

“Was he handsome?” Eri asks. 

“Was he charming?” Ash presses. 

“What did he look like?” she questions. You’re so overwhelmed by the two seamstresses that your mouth opens and closes like a fish as your mind processes what they’re asking. 

“I didn’t see his faceーhe was wearing a hood.” You watch with slight amusement when they groan and deflate into the couch. 

“What magic was he using?” Luna asks from the kitchen. 

“Ice.”

“A male ice mage?” Eri tilts her head questioningly. You understand why she’s curious: male mages very rarely used ice. Their magic usually leaned more to fire and earth. You turn to her and nod. 

“He refused to accept my gold as thanks and instead asked me to report the thieves to the castle.” Your explanation causes Ash’s face to contort in confusion. 

“A male ice mage who saved a woman from thieves but refused gold as thanks and instead asked you to report it instead?” she repeats. 

“What would the ice king do anyway?” Eri snorts. “It’s not like he seems to care about the people.” 

“He’s done a good job at taking care of us, though,” Luna points out as she enters the living room to join the three of you. “I would at least expect him to take care of thieves if they were reported.”

“But (Y/n) unnie has no proof,” Ash argues. “They would most likely investigate but drop it when the men deny that they had anything to do with it.” 

“But the king would still do something about it,” she argues. 

“Doesn’t mean he cares,” Eri retaliates. You watch as their bicker quickly turns into an argument of Luna protecting the king’s image from the two of the younger seamstresses. 

“I’m going to my room,” you announce loudly enough to interrupt the argument. “I’m a bit tired from the whole affair and I’ll be waking up early to head to the palace.” You stand up from the couch and make your way to your bedroom, chuckling when you still hear them argue at a softer volume to avoid disturbing you. 

You were the eldest out of all four of the seamstresses being twenty-one. The shop you work at was previously owned by your grandmother who had passed the shop down to you when she became too weak to continue. There, you hired Eri—the youngest—first. She was only 18, but when you saw she had nowhere else to stay, you offered her to work and live at the shop with you since it was big enough to house more people.

Luna came next. She was one year younger than you and although she was still living with her parents, she would sleep over at the house when she felt like it. Ash was the last girl you hired, and she had moved out of her house with her aunt and uncle to live with Eri and you. 

You lock your pouch of gold away in your jewellery box before deciding it was best to take a shower. The fight with the thieves has exhausted you and it felt like only a hot shower could help ease up your tense muscles. You head to bed straight after, reminding yourself once again to visit the palace when you wake. 

Morning comes and you’re awake before any of the other girls. You take a quick shower, emerging from the bathroom to be faced with a tired looking Luna. “You’re awake already,” she points out with a yawn. 

“It’s best I head to the palace now and return later to help with the shop,” you tell her. She nods lazily at that before pushing you away from the bathroom only to step in herself. You dress yourself in the nicest dress you have before grabbing some silvers after deciding that you’ll just buy yourself a bun from the bakery right beside your shop.

You walk towards the palace with the bun in hand, munching away at the jam filled pastry. The closer you get towards the palace, the more nervous you are about whether or not you’re presented appropriately enough. You had never had to visit the palace before and you had no idea just how formally you had to dress. 

When you reach the entrance, the palace guards stop you by crossing their spears together. “State your business,” one of them says. 

“I wish to report thievery to the king.” You’re proud of yourself for not stuttering. 

“Occupation?” he asks. 

“Seamstress.” 

“Name.”

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n).” The guards eye you for a moment longer before moving the spears away. 

“When you enter, state all that I’ve asked to the servant before the doors,” he states before both of them push the large wooden doors. You hesitantly step in, jumping when the doors close with a slam. 

“What business do you have here?” a servant speaks up from beside you. You turn to her and repeat everything you had said to the guard. “Kneel at the foot of the throne and await the king’s arrival. When he arrives, do not look him in the eye as it is disrespectful. Do not speak unless he tells you to, and sit upright,” she tells you softly. You nod, doing as she says and wait patiently. Minutes pass before you hear the door to the right of the throne room open and footsteps approaching the throne. 

Your mind is practically going haywire when you realise it’s the king by the way you see him sitting down from your peripheral vision. 

“Speak,” he orders. You swallow the lump in your throat. 

“I-I was robbed last night, your majesty,” you say softly. You hear a moment of silence before he speaks up again. 

“Do you remember what they looked like?” he asks. 

You nod shakily. “I also know that they work in the pub.” 

“Did they harm you or take any of your belongings?” You pause for a moment as you consider telling him about the mage. It would be the best thing, right? 

“I was saved by a mage before they could do anything to me.” You hear another moment of silence before he speaks up again. 

“You may look at me if you wish.” You slowly lift your head and you feel a strike in your core when you see him. Your jaw goes slack when he nods. The king is a magic user. The thought runs through your mind over and over again as you realise just why you found him to be so familiar the night before.

“As I said before, the mage came right on time,” you repeat when you see his eyes flick to the servant standing at the other end of the throne

“That’s good to hear,” he nods. “Describe their appearances and I’ll have the guards search for them.” You do as he says, your eyes silently thanking him over and over again. “Send the guards out immediately,” he orders the servant who nods silently before backing out of the room. 

“T-Thank you, your majesty,” you thank him softly. Yeosang gives you a nod. 

“What’s your name?” he asks. 

“(Y/n)—I work at the tailor down by the river.” Once again, he nods. 

“Stay safe out there, (Y/n). You may leave.” You hear the heavy footsteps of one of the guards approaching you. 

“Let’s go,” he urges. You quickly stand, turning to look at Yeosang to give him another thankful look and he gives you a small smile. As you’re escorted out of the palace, you decide that maybe the king isn’t as bad as you thought. 

“Yeosang.” The voice of his cousin snaps him out of his thoughts and Yeosang quickly looks up to Seonghwa to see him eyeing him suspiciously. “What’s occupying your mind?” he questions as he raises the glass of wine to his lips. 

“I-It’s nothing,” he brushes it off as he takes a sip of his own wine. If Yeosang is being honest, he was thinking about you. There was something about you that seemed to catch his attention. 

“Nothing makes you this quiet during dinner,” he points out. It’s rare that Yeosang isn’t mindlessly telling his cousin about what he’s been doing whenever Seonghwa visits him for dinner. 

“I can tell by your eyes that it could be a girl,” Ara giggles teasingly. Her giggles only grow more mischievous when Yeosang’s cheeks flare. 

“Are you thinking of someone?” Seonghwa cocks an eyebrow. The younger king quickly shakes his head. 

“I-It’s nothing, hyung, I’m fine.” His voice comes out squeaky and he clears his throat, praying that his cousin failed to catch it. 

“It is!” Seonghwa’s fiance excitedly claps her hands together. “Oh, dear! Young Yeosang has finally found a girl he’s interested in!” she turns to her lover with a bright smile. Seonghwa chuckles as he takes her hand in his, silently asking her to calm down so as to not frighten Yeosang. 

“My love, let’s not jump to conclusions,” he tells her gently before turning to his cousin. “Though, I am curious to know whether or not you’ve got your eye on someone.” 

“I don’t,” Yeosang states. “If you keep asking, I’ll remove the carnation bush you love so much.” His threat makes Seonghwa snort. 

“If you do that, I’ll kill your whole garden.” 

“I’ll frost your entire garden in the spring.” He glares at the older king who raises an eyebrow and leans back in his seat, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. Seonghwa glances over at the lone servant in the corner of the dining room. “Laura has been working with us since my grandfather was alive-she’s the only person in the palace who doesn’t care about our magic.”

“Touche.” Seonghwa muses. Yeosang gives him a challenging look. 

“My love, could we not wager our garden?” Ara squeezes his hand gently and gives him a look. 

Seonghwa scoffs. “Yeosang’s the one that threatened the garden!”

“Yeosang wanted to remove his carnation bush,” She points out before turning to Yeosang, “if you do anything to my garden, I will raise the temperature in your region and burn out your people.” Curse Seonghwa for marrying a fire witch. 

“That’s quite the threat, noona,” Yeosang grumbles as he moves to poking at his dinner. 

“Just keeping both of you in check,” she smiles. 

“Shall we move on from this topic?” Seonghwa suggests. “Have you been into town recently?” Yeosang nods silently as he sticks a piece of chicken into his mouth.

“Mages are being hunted down, Yeosang,” Ara states. The young king freezes. “Known mages in our kingdom are going missing, and we fear what could be happening to them.” 

“They get looked down on just because they dabble with magic. It’s upsetting,” Seonghwa mutters. Yeosang looks at his plate as a weird feeling starts to overcome him. “We need to start being more careful…” His cousin’s voice starts to fade away as Yeosang starts to wonder about the safety of the mages in his own kingdom. Are they safe? More importantly: are you safe? 

“I should go back into town and check on the mages.” Yeosang’s sudden statement cuts Seonghwa off.

“Go in the day; it’ll seem less suspicious,” Ara tells him. He nods at that. 

“If you see anything weird going on, don’t make it obvious that you want to investigate. Just point it out to your guards,” Seonghwa adds. Yeosang turns to the only servant in the room, but Ara stops him.

“You two were bickering about magic, I couldn’t just let him listen to us.” With the snap of her fingers, the servants jolting in his place and looking around in cconfusion.

Yeosang nods her way before turning back to the servant. “I’ll be going into town tomorrow morning. Make sure at least four of the guards are ready.” 

“Yes, your majesty.” 

“Your majesty! Take a look at my stall!” one of the merchants excitedly calls. Yeosang turns to look at the old woman and nods, 

“In a moment, miss.” He turns back to look at the hair pins being sold. He doesn’t need a hair pin, but he could probably give it to Ara since she’s always helping him with maintaining the temperature of his kingdom.

“Feel free to choose whichever you like, your majesty,” the old vendor tells him. Yeosang looks towards one of the red and gold hair pins. He picks it up daintily and hands it to the man. 

“I’ll take this one.” The man lights up even more if it’s possible as he packs the pin into a paper bag. Yeosang reaches into his pocket to pull out his money pouch, but the man stops him, 

“For the king, it is free.” The young king quickly shakes his head. 

“It would be wrong for me to do. How much is it?” he insists. The man gives him a hesitant look. “Please, sir. I would feel guilty if I were to take this without paying.” 

“If you insist, it is ten silvers.” The man gives in. Yeosang hands the man the silvers before continuing through the market. He stops at one of the stalls, looking through the array of buttons.

“Your majesty,” one of the guards whispers. He gives the guard a hum in response. “In the pub.” Yeosang looks towards the pub to see flashes of light coming from within as well as two men standing out the front. 

“Magic users?” Yeosang simpers as he makes his way towards the pub. The guards follow closely, ready to protect their king if anything were to happen. Surprisingly, the men stop the king. 

“We’re sorry, your majesty. It’s safer if you stay outside,” one of them says. Yeosang raises an eyebrow at the man. 

“Allow entry to the king,” the guard demands. 

“Mages are inside, your majesty,” the other man warns. 

“Are you stopping the king from entering a pub that is built on the land of his father?” Yeosang asks nonchalantly as he looks at the man. There’s an iciness in his tone that causes both the men to move away from the door. Yeosang steps into the pub and when he sees you lying on the ground, his first instinct is to jump in front of you to protect you from a blast of magic coming your way. 

“Your majesty?!” you exclaim when suddenly the king is hovering over you. His jaw is clenched when he feels the fire hitting his back. Despite the pain, his focus is on you.

“A-Are you okay?” he questions. You can only stare at him with wide eyes before looking behind him to see the guards arresting the mages that were attacking you. 

“Y-Your majesty,” you mutter out. 

“Are you hurt, your majesty?!” a guard asks. Yeosang shakes his head quickly, 

“I’m fine,” he reassures them before moving away from you. You sit upright and gasp when you see the burnt mark in his back. 

“Your suit is burnt, your majesty,” you quickly point out. He looks over his shoulder and takes note of the singed fabric of his velvet suit. 

“What a waste,” he grumbles before standing up, extending his hand towards you. You take it without much thought and he pulls you up. “What happened?” Yeosang asks. 

“I came here to return a glass Mr Hong lent to me. These mages came out of nowhere and said that I got their friends arrested.” 

“The men who tried to rob you the other night?” You nod. Yeosang purses his lips into a straight line before turning to the guards, “Check them for weapons and investigate them. According to the lady, they’re affiliated with the men from before.” 

“Yes, your majesty.” 

“(Y/n), they didn’t hurt you, did they?” he asks yet again. 

“I’m fine,” you reassure him. “Once again, you arrived just on time.” Yeosang’s face lights up slightly before he looks around and clears his throat. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he says. You’re confused for a moment before you realise he’s slipping into a more professional head space. 

“Would you like to head back to the palace, your majesty?” a guard asks. Yeosang lets the thought sit in his mind for a moment before shaking his head. 

“I’d like to speak to Ms (Y/n) for a moment longer.” The guard nods before making his way out of the pub along with the other three. “Could I ask how you keep getting yourself into these situations?” Yeosang turns to you with a questioning look; eyebrow raised as though he’s silently teasing you. You only roll your eyes before making your way out of the pub. The young king casually chases after you, following by your side as you stop at one of the stalls. 

“It’s not that I want to be attacked. These people just have a thing out for me,” you shrug, picking up a hair ribbon. Eri’s birthday is soon and you still haven’t gotten a birthday present for her. 

“Moths to a flame, perhaps?” Yeosang teases. You give him a weird look before choosing a lilac hair ribbon. 

“Don’t you have more important things to do, your majesty?” you huff. 

"I want to see how my people are doing," he hums as he follows by your side. Slivers of sunlight shine through the clouds and make your skin radiate. Yeosang likes that. He wonders how you look in the spring when the sky is clear and the sun is out. 

"Do you think this is nice?" you turn to him as you stick a rose pin into your hair. Yeosang stares at you for a moment before looking down at the choices of hair pins. You watch as he silently picks up a golden pin with a dandelion instead, holding out in front of you. You give him a weird look. 

"Just give it a try," he encourages. You take the rose pin out of your hair before sticking the dandelion pin in your hair. You turn to the elderly woman behind the table of pins for clarification. 

"It looks lovely, dear," she smiles kindly. You turn back to Yeosang who's still staring at you. You give him a questioning look before he shakes his head and reaches over, plucking the pin out of your hair with his gloved hand. Your eyes widen at the gesture and you watch as he picks up a different pin. 

Yeosang gently pokes the silver pin with a snowdrop charm into your hair and gives you a pleased hum. "Suits you better." Your cheeks are flaring. "How much for the pin?" He turns to the woman. 

"8 silvers, your majesty." He reaches into his pocket, handing the silvers to the woman before turning the other way. 

"Are you coming?" Yeosang turns around to look at your frozen form. Your mouth opens and closes twice before you follow afterーnot without hearing a 'lucky girl' being muttered by the woman. When you take a look at his back, you can't help but feel irked by the singed fabric of his otherwise gorgeous suit. 

"Your majesty," you call out to him. "Let me take you to my shop. My girls and I can fix up your suit." Yeosang stops walking to turn around to look at you. 

"Lead the way.”

“Before we continue, I just want to warn you that the girls can be… a lot… sometimes,” you say as you stop at the front door. “They also know that another magic user saved me that night.” Your voice lowers into a whisper, not wanting the guard following behind him to hear. Yeosang responds with a shrug. 

“I don’t think that’s a problem.” He turns around to the guard, “Could you wait out here? I wouldn’t want the seamstresses to be alarmed.” The guard nods as he turns his back to the wall by the door. You open the door and guide Yeosang in slowly. 

“Girls, there’s a special guest today!” you announce but freeze in your tracks when you see Eri blasting Ash with magic. Luna’s watching the affair with an annoyed expression which quickly switches to horror when she sees the king standing by your side. 

“Oh my god, stop.” Eri and Ash turn to Yeosang and their faces drop as well. The three of them are quick to compose themselves and bow their heads in front of the young king. You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out an annoyed sigh before you turn to Yeosang. 

“They do that sometimes,” you turn to the girls, “his majesty has a burnt patch on his suit. Do we have any more red velvet lying around?” 

“We have one last portion of red velvet in the back,” Luna speaks up. “It should be enough for a suit fitting for the king.” Yeosang looks around at your shop before turning to you. 

“It’s a bit hot in here, isn’t it?” he points out. 

“Our heater has a problem,” you shrug, gesturing to the heater in the corner of the room. “It tends to overheat, but if we turn it off, it’ll be too cold since the fireplace is only in the living room.” He hums in response. 

“I could get the fabric to get started,” Eri pipes in. 

“We need your measurements, your majesty,” Ash adds. Yeosang nods as he slips the blazer off of his shoulders. 

“Before we begin, I think I could help you with your heating issues,” he points out, slipping his glove off. All of you give him a questioning look and watch as he aims his bare finger to the ceiling. A small spark of magic shoots from his finger and hits the ceiling, the added ice lowers the heat in the room to a more comfortable temperature.

“Y-You,” Luna gapes at him. He gives her a nonchalant look before shrugging. 

“Are we not all magic users?” he questions. You hold back your laughter when you see the corner of his lip raising ever so slightly. 

“He-” Ash turns to you with wide eyes. 

“Yes, he uses magic,” you nod, “he’s also the wizard who saved me that night.”

“He?!” Luna exclaims. She turns to Yeosang who has a small smile on his face. 

“What were you doing out that night?” Eri asks. “Do the palace guards know you’re a magic user?” He shakes his head. 

“I like to sneak out at night to see how the kingdom is. I’m worried that the town only acts lively and bubbly when they know I’m here. So, I come out at night disguised as a villager to check on everyone,” he explains. 

“That’s nice,” you hum as you start to take his measurements, writing them down into a notebook that you hand to Luna. 

“I’m safely assuming that since you mentioned my magic, this shop is a safe environment,” he speaks up and pulls the necklace hidden underneath his white shirt. Ash’s eyes widened. 

“T-That’s an elementalist charm,” she chokes out. Your own eyes widen when you see the snowflake charm. 

“You never mentioned that you are one of the elementalists.” You look up at him. 

“You never asked.” 

“The king is an elementalist,” Luna mutters out in disbelief. She turns to you. “We have to bring him to the guild.” 

“The guild would look down on him,” Eri points out as she brings the fabric to Luna. 

“The guild would accept him as a mage,” Ash corrects her. “There is no discrimination in the guild. They accept all mages who use their magic for good.” 

‘The guild does not like the king.” The moment the argument leaves her lips, Eri’s quiet and looking to the ground. 

“You two need to stop arguing like no one’s watching,” you grumble as you throw a cut of fabric at them. “We bring him to the guild. At least if the kingdom finds out, there will be a group who will protect him.” You glance over at Yeosang who really doesn’t show much emotion to the argument. Instead, he looks around at the shop as Luna finishes up a new blazer for him. 

When she’s done, Yeosang slips the blazer on and rolls his shoulders. “Fits perfectly.” He turns to the girls and smiles, “Thank you for your work. I’ll have something that should suffice as a payment by tomorrow.” 

“You don’t have to pay us, your majesty,” Ash shakes her head. 

“We’re just doing what we know,” Eri adds. 

“I’ll walk you out,” you offer. He nods and makes his way to the door with you following behind. When you step out, he turns to you. 

“Thank you for this, (Y/n). I'm a bit relieved that I don't have to wear a burnt blazer anymore," he chuckles. You flash him a small smile. 

"Take it as thanks for constantly saving me." Yeosang returns the smile. 

"Well, I have to head back before it gets dark," he glances over at the guard before leaning closer to you. "The guards get really paranoid." You let out a small giggle. 

“We can take you to the guild soon. Just drop by the shop at night when you feel like it.” Yeosang nods.

“I’ll see you then.” 

“You would look absolutely wonderful in a tiara!” you exclaim. Yeosang shakes his head persistently. You forgot how you landed on the topic, but after the king had shown up disguised at your shop, you decided that he should wear tiaras rather than a typical crown.

“A tiara wouldn’t fit my… face.” He had been making up multiple kinds of excuses for not wearing tiaras and even said that he ‘wasn’t pretty enough’.

“Your majesty,” you roll your eyes, “you have a perfectly shaped face for a tiara. Can’t you at least try?” Yeosang glances over at you and his eyes stop at your pout before flicking back up to your eyes. 

“No.” His statement makes you huff. “(Y/n), I just don’t think I’d be fitting for a tiara. If you want on so badly, maybe one day, you’d wear your own.” Yeosang’s eyes widen as quickly as yours. 

“W-What?” You turn to him to see his cheeks flaring intensely. You can feel the heat on your own cheeks as you look away from him. 

He clears his throat. “Are we arriving at the guild soon?” Yeosang glances up to Luna who’s trying to force Eri and Ash to stop giggling. 

“Almost there, your majesty.” She tries her best not to giggle, but there’s a stifled snort at the end of her sentence. 

“I would prefer it if you just called me Yeosang. I wouldn’t want anyone else recognising me.” Eri glances over her shoulder to look at him, 

“Yeosang oppa?” she suggests. 

“Sure,” he shrugs. 

“You shrug a lot,” Ash points out. Yeosang’s about to shrug again, but he stops himself. 

“I’m more formal in the palace, or when I’m talking to important people. But I just shrug at everything when I’m not because it feels more casual here.” 

“Are you implying we’re not as important?” you tease. He glances over at you and just stares at you. 

“Maybe,” he smirks. You give him a look and open your mouth, but Luna stops you before you can say anything. 

“We’re here,” she gestures to the large cottage that stands before them. The rest of you wait, watching as she knocks on the door exactly three times before whistling. There’s a pause before the door opens to reveal a man that Yeosang can’t help but recognise. 

“Noona, welcome back.” He gives her a welcoming smile, his eyes scanning over the group before stopping at Yeosang. He turns to her with a harder look, “The king?” 

“Jongho, the king is an elementalist,” she tells him softly. The man looks back up to Yeosang, 

“With all due respect, your majesty; prove it.” Yeosang reaches under the collar of his shirt and pulls the necklace out. 

“I was given this by my grandfather before he passed away.” He slips the necklace back under his shirt when the man nods. 

“You may enter,” he moves aside and allows the group to enter. When they enter, the mere action of Yeosang pulling his hood down has the entire building silent. 

“Why is the king here?”

“Are we being arrested?”

“Is this the end of the guild?”

Murmurs and mutters of disapproval fill the air. You catch the way Yeosang’s jaw clenches from the corner of your eyes. 

“King Yeosang is not here to harm you,” Luna announces. “The king is a magic user as well.” The murmurs pause for a moment only to continue once again. 

“The royal family involved with magic?”

“It’s a lie. He’ll arrest us the moment he sees us using our magic.”

“I told you the seamstresses couldn’t be trusted.”

A nerve snaps within Yeosang. “Enough!” His voice booms throughout the cottage and it silences all of them. You turn to him in surprise. For the time that you have known him, you’ve never seen him raise his voice. “I am a mage just as you are. When the servants tried to arrest mages, I told them no. As long as you are not causing harm, you are still my people.” He reaches under his collar once again and pulls the snowflake charm out, “I am an elementalist. So was my father and so was his father. I ask nothing much of the guild; I only ask for acceptance.” You place a gentle hand onto Yeosang’s bicep to calm him down. He glances at you from the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the guild. “If you wish to join me; protect me. For if the kingdom were to know I use magic, I will be hunted.

 A cousin of mine is in hiding because his servants caught his hands dripping with water. Another cousin of mine had come all the way from his region to make sure I was okay. The royal family is filled with mages, and we spend our entire lives hiding our magic for the sake of our lives. If you, the mages of my kingdom, could offer your protection to me and my people, I will grant you immunity. If you are to harm my people, then you will be arrested.”

There’s another pause. This time, it worries you. You anxiously scan the quiet eyes of the guild, waiting for any kind of a response. You know that them rejecting Yeosang could end even worse than if the kingdom finds out that their king was a mage. You turn to Yeosang whose jaw is still clenched as he prepares himself. What surprises him is Kai,

“The king protects his people!” he shouts before kneeling to the ground. Another mage follows his actionsーthen another. The whole guild is kneeling before the king; showing their loyalty to their ice king. Luna, Eri and Ash follow as well. Yeosang turns to you with sparkling eyes. 

“Long live the king,” you smile before kneeling to the ground. Yeosang looks around at the guild that kneels before him, and he realises that never once has he felt so accepted. 

“If anything were to happen to you, we would fight,” Jongho adds as he stands. “My heart is to the king.” Yeosang swallows a lump in his throat as he watches the guild stand up. 

“Shall we celebrate the king’s appearance?” one of them suggests. The rest agree and soon, the cottage is bubbling with excitement of the new member of the guild. Yeosang mingles with the mages, learning all of their experiences as well as how they were gifted with magic. 

“My mother was a witch,” Kai starts. “She was a healer that worked at the pub. Our house is by the river where my aunt takes care of her now.” 

“Did something happen to her?” Yeosang questions. 

“Not at all,” he shakes his head. “She’s too old to continue working at that grimey place. My father convinced her to stop working.” 

“I wish I had come down to the pub more often. I would’ve gotten a chance to meet her,” the king hums. A hand gently holds onto Yeosang’s bicep and he turns to see you. 

“Having a fun time?” you ask with a soft smile. He nods happily, a wide smile on his face. You have to admit, the guild would be the first time you’ve seen such a spark in the young king’s eyes. You like how bright he is here. 

“Could I speak to you outside for a moment?” Yeosang asks. You nod and allow him to pull you out of the lively building and out into the quiet of the outside. The cold winter night envelopes you, and your hands quickly move to rub at the exposed skin of your shoulders to warm you up. Yeosang silently slips off his blazer and hangs it from your shoulders. “Wouldn’t want you to get a cold.” 

Your heart warms at his gesture as you watch him sit on a bench. He pats the spot beside him and you oblige. “What did you want to talk about?” You turn to him and see him looking up at the sky. 

“I want to thank you for bringing me here,” Yeosang turns to you. “As a monarch, I can only wonder whether or not I’ve been accepted into the society that I’m ruling. Thanks to you, I finally feel accepted.” There’s something about his words that you can’t help but sympathise with. Never in your life had you imagined that a king would actually worry about being accepted. 

You place your hand over his, interlocking your fingers with his. “You’ll always be accepted in the guild.” He looks down to your hand before bringing it up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. 

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” Yeosang confesses. You turn away from him and towards the town in the distance. You lean your head against his shoulder. 

“I think I have, too,” you hum. You feel him pressing his lips to the top of your head before nuzzling his nose into your hair. 

“I don’t care what the servants sayーI will make you my queen.” He knows a king marrying a commoner is never the best idea, but he can’t stop the feelings that you make his heart feel. You can’t deny that he doesn’t make your heart race as well. The snowdrop pin that he bought for you is neatly tucked away in your jewellery box, a reminder that is safely hidden away from any prying fingers. 

“That would be hard, Yeosang.” A sigh leaves your lips. “The villagers know I’m a mage. A lot of the time, they come to my shop for magic rather than needing something tailored.”

“But, you’re an ice mage,” Yeosang points out. 

“I’m a healer,” you raise your hand in front of him, a bright turquoise glow emitting from your palm, “but it’s a weird form of ice healing. My parents were both magic users and their magic combined when I was born.” You close your palm, watching as the glow in between your fingers slowly disappears. “My magic isn’t strong, but it’s enough to heal large wounds and illnesses.” 

“That’s still magic,” he says softly. You look up at him to see his brown eyes intently watching you. “It matters not whether your magic is strong, it matters more if you accept the magic,” Yeosang recites the words as he takes your hand in his, “my grandfather used to tell me that. He didn’t want me to push away my magic like my father did; he wanted me to embrace my ice.” He extends his hand out in front of himself. You watch as a pale blue light starts to glow from his palm before it swirls to form a snowdrop shaped out of ice. “I’ve been hiding my magic for twenty-one years, but I practice it every time I can.” Yeosang picks the icy flower up with his other hand and tucks your hair behind your ear. “My precious snowdrop.” 

You blush as you look up at him. His index finger grazes your jaw before he cups your cheek, his thumb running over your cheekbone. You lean into his touch. “No matter what happens, I’ll be there for you.”

The knock on the door makes the four of you groan. You had just closed the shop barely even ten minutes prior. 

“I’ll get it,” Eri sighs as she pulls herself off of the couch. You turn your attention away from the door and back to the book in your hands. “Your majesty?” Her voice makes you whip your head to see Yeosang standing in the doorway. 

“Is (Y/n) here?” You stand from your spot on the couch, placing your hand on Eri’s shoulder. The younger girl backs away from the door and gives you space to talk to Yeosang. 

“Are you okay?” The look in his eyes worries you. 

“Is there anywhere we can speak privately?” he questions softly. You glance over your shoulder to see the girls obviously watching the two of you curiously. 

“Uhh, there’s the campfire out by the gardenーwe can talk there.” You usher him out of the house before turning inside. “Ash! Fire!” You close the door and bring Yeosang to the garden, relieved to see the fire already lit by the mage from the inside. He sits himself down on a log that sits right in front of the campfire and you join him. 

Yeosang immediately leans his head against your shoulder and closes his eyes. You look down at him in surprise, but decide against asking anything. It’s rare that he’s this quiet which could only leave you wondering what rampages through his mind. 

The two of you sit silently as the clouds slowly pass by over you. Yeosang stays in his position for almost an hour before he lets out a sigh and sits upright. “Am I a bad king?” You turn to him in surprise at the sudden question. 

“Of course not,” you quickly shake your head. “You’re treating us way better than your father did.” You quickly grimace when the words leave your lips. “I didn’t mean it like that-”

“It’s okay,” Yeosang reassures you softly. “I understand what you’re trying to say.” He turns to you with the corner of his lip raised slightly. “I was walking around the town and I overhead villagers in the pub saying I wasn’t doing enough for the kingdom and that I wasn’t fit to be the king.”

“Who would say that?” Your brows furrowed in confusion. “You're an amazing king, Yeosang.” 

“You say that because we’re courting,” he sighs unconvincingly. 

“I’m not.” You stand up from the log and stand in front of him. “Villagers will always find fault in their monarchs even if they’re doing the best that they can. You,” you point at him, “are doing the best that you can. You even make it colder in the summer when it’s too hot for our crops! What other king would do that? You built the kingdom back up after what your father did, and you’ve brought us further in the past two years than what he could in the ten years he was a king. Now, don’t listen to what the villagers from the pub had to say—they’re so drunk they don’t even know how to tell apart up from down!” 

Yeosang stares at you for a moment before pushing your finger away from him. “It’s rude to point at the king.” His tone is lighter as a soft chuckle leaves him. It relieves you as you sit back down beside him. 

“I think you’re a wonderful king, Yeosang. I just know that you’re going to bring nothing but good to this kingdom.” You turn to look at him, admiring his side profile as he looks up to the sky. 

“I’ll keep doing my best to please my people,” he turns to look at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. Yeosang’s eyes are looking intently into yours and you feel your heart flutter under his gaze. His hand comes up to cup your face - hesitant and watching for your reaction. When you don’t pull away, the icy skin of his hand comes into contact with your cheek and his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “I’ve never met someone as beautiful as you, (Y/n). May I kiss you?” 

“Y-You really don’t have to ask,” you chuckle as you nod. Yeosang leans down and presses his lips against yours softly. When he pulls away, he presses his forehead against yours. 

“My delicate snowdrop.” 

“Hyung, you really don’t have to worry about it,” Yeosang reassures him through gritted teeth. Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at him, watching the way the younger man puts his chopsticks down onto the table. 

“If you can’t find anyone, drop by our kingdom next week. Ara and I are planning a dance.” 

“I don’t need to find a queen.” The thought of you enters his mind. Yeosang wants no one else but you. He would rather not marry at all than marry someone who wasn’t you. 

“I’m not saying you need to, it’s just something you need to think about,” Seonghwa adds. He continues talking but his words are a blur to Yeosang. He just knows that every word that his cousin adds just makes him angry. He doesn’t know what Yeosang feels inside—he doesn’t know how Yeosang feels about you. Seonghwa can’t see what Yeosang sees when he sees you. Without much thought, he shoots from his seat and slams his hand on the table, 

“Enough about this!” There’s a sound that rips through the dining hall that causes every living being to freeze—literally. Yeosang raises his hand and stares at the hole in his glove; the pad of his index finger exposed. The hole at the tip of his finger was what iced the dining table in front of the palace staff as well as Seonghwa. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest and his ears ringing as he waits for a reaction from the guards and the servants that stare at him. 

“Y-Yeosang,” Seonghwa mutters out in disbelief as he stares at the large spike of ice that’s grown from the centre of the dining table. 

The sound of the door opening is followed by a loud crash as the servant drops the plate in his hands. “H-His majesty is a magic user!” His shout echoes throughout the dining room and starts a chain reaction. 

“He betrayed the kingdom!” another servant cries as she runs out of the room. Guards have put their weapons up against him, but Yeosang stays motionless. Seonghwa shoots from his seat, 

“Yeosang!” He reaches for Yeosang but a guard grabs him. The action shocks the older king. “How dare you?! Let go of me!” he orders. 

“We arrest traitors to the kingdom,” the guard says monotonously. Yeosang rips his glove off of his hand and holds it up to the guard. 

“Let go of him,” he orders. The guard doesn’t move. Yeosang aims to the wall right by the guard’s head and uses his magic, an icicle growing out from the wall and barely missing the guard’s head. “You will let go of King Seonghwa.” Out of fear, the guard lets go of Seonghwa and starts to back away slowly. 

“You’re a traitor to the kingdom!” another guard hisses as he aims his spear at Yeosang. 

“Would you hurt the king?” he glares at the guard, daring him to make a move. 

“We protect the kingdom from those who wish to harm it.” he retaliates. 

“Then why hurt the man who’s been trying to protect it for the past two years?” Yeosang turns his whole body to the guard. “Are magic users that much of a threat to you? I protect my people. If I had to use my magic to protect the kingdom, I would.” 

“How do we know you haven’t been plotting against the kingdom this whole time?” a guard questions from behind Yeosang. 

“If I was plotting against the kingdom, I would’ve taken it down by now!” he barks. “I don’t use my magic for malicious intent. I bring snow to the kingdom and I lower the temperature in the summer when it’s hot,” Yeosang turns to the guard beside him, “Is that malicious?! You,” he points to the guard behind Seonghwa, “You’re smart to put your hands on a king of another region; is my magic so malicious as to bring snow? Is my magic so malicious to make the palace colder when the servants are sweating to the point where they’re ready to collapse—is my magic so malicious that I would attack my people?!” 

A silence fills the room and it’s deafening in Yeosang’s ears. The feeling of being rejected fills his heart and he struggles to just let it sit in there. “I was born an elementalist. I was born to protect my kingdom!” The guards are still silent. Seonghwa watches with a shaking form; he fears that Yeosang would be forced into hiding just as Mingi was. 

“Would you turn your back on the king when he needs you most?” Seonghwa finally wills himself to speak. Although his voice is shaky, he knows he can carry the message. “You look down on magic users when half of them don’t even use their magic at all. King Yeosang has proven that his heart is to his people. What would it take for you to believe him?” Both kings watch anxiously as the guards exchange glances among each other. 

One of them turns to Yeosang and slams his fist to his chest. “For the king who protects his people! My heart goes to you!” he shouts. There’s an obvious divide between the mindsets when the guards in the room split sides. Three of them join Seonghwa and Yeosang while the other three stand opposite them, weapons out. 

“Your majesty, leave. We will protect you.” a guard tells him. Seonghwa grabs onto his cousin’s arm and pulls him out of the room. A piece of Yeosang’s heart wants to stay to make sure the guards are okay, but he knows that he needs to get to a safe place first. When the kings reach the main staircase, there’s already a division between the guards there. 

“Your majesty!” one of the guards calls when they see him. An arm grabs onto Yeosang’s bicep and he whips his head around to see a guard beside him. 

“We need to bring you to safety, your majesty.” Yeosang stares at the man before the thought of you enters his mind. 

“I know a place, but you must trust the villagers there.” 

“(Y/n) unnie! Unnie!” Eri cries as she and Ash barge into the shop, the sudden disturbance causing you and Luna to jump.

“Unnie, the king is in trouble,” Ash goes straight to the rack of dresses you're standing in front of. “He used his magic—the kingdom is turning against him!”

“He’s hiding at the guild!” she adds. You look between the girls before throwing the basket in your hands onto the ground. You run out of the shop, slowing for a moment to see the people of your village starting to angrily head towards the kingdom. Fear starts to fill you to the brim as you let your legs carry you to the guild as fast as they can. 

By the time you get there, there’s already a mob of angry villagers trying to get in. There’s a line of guards protecting the outside of the building, but you know they can only do so much to control the villagers. You watched as the villagers tried to force their way into the building and you knew for a fact that Yeosang would never use his magic on his villagers. 

“The king is a traitor to the kingdom!” one of the villagers yells angrily as he throws a rock towards the building. The windows shatter as more and more of the villagers start to throw more objects and you fear for what’s going on inside of Yeosang’s mind. You see the man beside you picking up a brick and out of instinct, you grab onto his arm. 

“The king would not hurt the people!” you cry out. You’re shocked at the aggression the villagers exert when one of them turns to you. 

“A protector of a magic user is a traitor!” she angrily yells. Your mind screams at you to back away as another three of the villagers turn their attention to you. 

“The seamstress is a witch!” one of them hisses. You hold your hands to your chest, willing yourself to not use your magic against them. 

“You know that I would never use my magic for malicious intent,” you retaliate. 

“A witch is a witch!” You’ve heard that phrase one too many times before. You know what happens to magic users who are found by scared villagers; they get murdered. Inside the cottage, one of the windows shatters, glass raining over Yeosang’s head as he lays on the ground. 

“Your majesty, (Y/n) is outside!” Kai tells him. A switch flicks in the king’s mind and he’s immediately standing to look outside of the window to see you surrounded by villagers. His hand raises before he can stop himself and he shoots ice towards the ground around you. 

“Don’t you dare touch her.” Glass cuts at the exposed skin of Yeosang’s palm as he climbs through the window, pushing through the crowd with the help of the guards. They get the message quickly, moving to form a safe opening for Yeosang to run through. Your eyes widen when you see him in front of you, your hands moving to his chest, 

“You need to leave,” you tell him, panic dripping from your tongue. He ignores you and slams his hands onto the ground, a wall forming around the two of you; protecting you both from the villagers. 

“I can’t leave the kingdom,” Yeosang shakes his head. “I made a promise to my grandfather that I would never turn my back on them.” A loud slam comes from beside you. You flinch, turning to see the ice starting to crack. 

“Yeosang, if you don’t leave, they’ll kill you.” You’ve both run out of options and are ultimately running out of time, but Yeosang knows that if he leaves, the mages in the village will suffer more. He stares at you as his mind races to find a way to convince them to stop. A light bulb turns on in your mind and you reach under the collar of his shirt, pulling his necklace out. “T-The power of the elementalist.” You look up at him. 

“My grandfather used to say that if I were in trouble, I should break the charm,” he looks to the ground before looking back up to you. “When I bring the wall down, break the charm.” You nod, watching as he tugs on the chain to break it and hands the charm to you. “Ready?” You nod once again, your fingers clutching the charm in your hand. Yeosang places his hand onto the wall of ice before closing his eyes. The wall shatters into large shards of ice. 

As quickly as you can, you throw the charm into the air and shoot it with your magic. There’s a pause before a large wave of energy blasts throughout the kingdom. Yeosang throws himself onto you, forcing you both to the ground. You both look up to see a large snowflake floating in the sky, raining the entire kingdom with a gentle flurry of snow. 

The villagers have frozen, watching the snowflake in awe. Almost as though they had been brainwashed, they turn to Yeosang. “He truly is the protector of the kingdom.” 

“His majesty uses his magic to bring snow to the kingdom.” They gather around the both of you. “He means no harm.” A wave of relief washes over Yeosang when he sees them kneel, but he’s doubtful. He stands up before holding onto your hand and pulling you up with him. 

“It worked?” You look up at him and once again, you see his eyes scanning the suddenly calm villagers. 

“We see now,” one of them says softly as she looks up at Yeosang. “We see the truth behind the elementalists. They were created by the gods to protect humans from evil forces.” The king feels hesitant to believe that they’ve suddenly accepted him.

“The king brings us snowfall and ensures that winter is not harsh on our crops.” Another villager looks up as well. 

“The king is true to his word. He uses his magic for good.” You squeeze Yeosang’s hand, making him look down to you. 

“It worked, my love.” He’s only convinced when he hears it from your lips and he nods. He turns to you and pulls you closer to him, his arm snaking around your waist. 

“It worked with your help,” Yeosang ignores the fact that the entire kingdom can see him as he presses his forehead against yours. A hand claps onto the young king’s shoulder that causes him to pull away from you and turn to his cousin. 

“I assume she is the reason you got riled up during dinner,” Seonghwa chuckles. Yeosang nods sheepishly before turning to you, 

“This is my cousin, Seonghwa. He rules the neighbouring kingdom,” he tells you. “Like most of the royal family, he’s a magic user as well.” Yeosang’s voice softens to a whisper when he tells you of Seonghwa’s magic. You look at Seonghwa who points to the rose brooch that’s pinned to his suit. You nod knowingly at him and give him a bow. 

“Oh, please, there’s no formality needed,” he shakes his head with a smile, “if Yeosang has taken a liking to you, then I’m assuming that you would be the next queen.” Your cheeks flush at the mention of marrying Yeosang, but your lover only squeezes your waist softly as though he’s reassuring you. 

“Please, hyung.” Seonghwa gives you a sheepish smile before nodding, 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “I understand it still must be early for you both.” 

“I-It’s okay,” you say shyly, “I wouldn’t mind becoming the queen if Yeosang would be my king.” You glance up at Yeosang to see him trying to contain his smile as he watches you. 

“Well, it may be hard for a person of your status to be accepted into the royal family,” Seonghwa adds as he turns to Yeosang, “which is why you must hold your ground no matter what happens.”  

“Whatever happens, I won’t let you go,” Yeosang tells you softly. You turn to him and smile. “I would die before letting anything happen to you, my precious snowdrop.” 

[todorokiaimee]

Dopamine Chapter 2

Previous Chapter

The next evening, Jada walked down the bustling streets of the red light district, her large black duffle bag over her shoulder. She hummed along to the music pumping in her ears from her phone as she marked a few dance moves, earning a few looks from passersby. “The fuck are you looking at?”

When they quickly made their way past, she scoffed as she adjusted her black Tshirt dress before turning to walk around the corner. Soon she came to the back entrance of her work, nodding to the bouncer patrolling the door as she entered. 

Walking into the dressing room, she waved and said hello to the various girls inside until she laid her eyes on her best friend, Ito Sakura. She was a cute and petite woman with long soft pink hair and blue eyes. Sakura was the exact opposite of the kind of person Jada would seek out, but she was also the first person to befriend her when she had no one. 

“Thanks for covering for me last night, Sakura,” Jada said as she unpacked her bag. 

“No problem, girl. You deserved a night out.” The pink-haired woman smiled as she applied her makeup. “So how was it?”

The ravenette smiled to herself as she thought about the night she had spent with Top Pro Hero: Ground Zero. Dancing with him before he took her home. Spending the night with him underneath her as they both reached epic euphoria. “It was… fun.” I doubt she’d believe me anyway.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, girl.” She laughed, grabbing her friend’s shoulders, shaking them. “I need details!”

“Let’s just say I was able to blow off some steam,” Jada smirked coyly as she brushed her off. “You know I can’t talk about it at work anyway.” 

“Fineee…” Sakura pouted, returning back to her makeup routine. “I was just hoping to live vicariously through you. God knows I’m not going to meet anyone worth keeping here.” 

“Not true… We get a few high dollar clients.” 

“Like who?” The pink-haired woman questioned, looking pointedly at her friend.

“Mr. Sato blew 500,000 yen in one night.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that…. He’s kinda old though. What about Mr. Suzuki? He’s cute and drops mad dough.”

Jada scoffed, rolling her eyes as she changed into a pair of impossibly short shorts and a crop top, “Mr. Suzuki also has a problem with keeping his hands to himself.” 

“But if he makes you his Mrs. then you’ll be set for life.”

“And how many girls like us have ever married high dollar clients?” The ravenette asked, crossing her arms.

“Cardi B did it!”

“Cardi actually made her own money and then got her hubby. I’m pretty sure her net worth is much more than his.” Jada clicked her tongue as she buckled a pair of 7-inch platform heels to her feet. “God I hate these shoes. I feel like a fucking horse.”

“Yeah, but the clients can’t get enough of them. Did you know once in a private room, a client asked me to step on his junk with them? Not my thing but he tipped well so whatever.” Sakura hummed, tapping her chin before shouting, “Oh I know! Amber Rose!”

“Did she actually marry Kanye or did they just date?”

“I don’t know but she was with him long enough to tell the world that he likes a finger in the booty!” The pink-haired woman giggled as she held up her little finger.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Baby!” The two friends laughed as they playfully shoved and nudged each other until a man popped his head into the dressing room. 

“Hey, Jada! You’re up in 5!” 

“Coming!” The dark-skinned beauty called as she put the finishing touches on her lipstick. As she made her way out the door the ladies in the dressing room all cheered her on, giving her playful smacks on the ass, but none were louder than her bubbly bestie.

“Pop that pussy, Mama!” Sakura cheered with a laugh. “Make that money!”

As Jada made her way onto the stage, she took a deep centering breath. She got into her opening pose in the dark as she heard the hoots and hollers from the audience surrounding the stage. 

“Alright, alright, alright!” The MC of the club said into the microphone. “As our next act gets settled in here’s another reminder that here at The Secret Garden there is no flash photography or flashing of any kind. That’s right, keep it in your pants fellas.” He chuckled as he looked over to Jada, her giving him a nod that she was ready to begin. “Without further ado please welcome back to the main stage… the exotic beauty…  with tits, ass, and legs for days…. Nubia!”

As the lights lifted, Kelis’ “Milkshake” began to bump through the club’s speakers, Jada starting her performance. She began to twerk before making her way to the single pole in the middle of the stage. Taking it in her grasp, she gave a few body rolls before launching herself around the pole, spinning with ease as she performed various tricks. The crowd cheered and threw their money onto the stage with each pole inversion, jump split, and discarded piece of clothing until her dance finally came to an end as he panted to catch her breath. (https://youtu.be/Eu8Tyr4B_EA)

After she quickly picked up her discarded clothes and tips and took them backstage, Jada made her way back onto the strip club floor. She walked around her in lingerie until a man called out to her, patting his knee. “Hey, Sweet Cheeks! Come sit on daddy’s lap.”

“You want a dance Mr.?” She smiled sweetly, walking over to him.

“I want much more than a dance but that’s a good start.”

Gross. “It’s 3,000 yen for a dance, 10,500 yen for the VIP lounge, and 27,000 yen for the Champagne Room. Plus tip.”

“Umm…” He chuckled nervously. “Just a dance out here is cool.”

Cheapskate. With a flip of her dark locs, she turned her back to him before lowering herself onto his lap. She rolled her hips against him to the pulsating music, taking her time. As she continued her ministrations the man grew more and more excited. This became even more apparent as she began to feel the hard tent forming in his pants. She sighed, trying her best to ignore it until the strange man began to grab and rub her thighs. “I know it’s very tempting but this is a no-touch club, Honey.”

“Sure, Sure.” He breathed, removing his hands.

The ravenette continued her dance, confident that he got the message. Turning around, she straddled his hips so that she was facing him, hoping that the eye contact would deter him. Unfortunately, his hands once again found his way to her skin, gripping her waist, his fingers playing with the clasp of her bra. “Hey.” She warned in a more stern voice. “Last warning.”

“Feisty! I like it.”

Jada clicked her tongue as she pried his hands off of her. The man smiled apologetically, but it didn't reach his eyes. After another deep breath, the dark-skinned beauty returned to her lap dance, rolling her hips against his lap while giving him a full view of her breasts.  

Growing impatient, the man once again laid his hands on Jada, this time harshly grabbing her ass with both hands, pushing her further into his erection, a sick smirk on his lips. “Come on, Baby you can give me more than that.” 

“I said hands off!” Jada yelled. Getting up from his lap, she drew her arm back to land a hard slap across his face, the sound of impact heard throughout the club.

“Ow!” He bellowed, jumping to his feet with his face in his hand. With his eyes filled with rage, he raised his hand as Jada instinctively flinched away, “Fuck you, Bitch!”

Jada closed her eyes, waiting for the blow that never came; instead, she heard a familiar calm deep voice that made her stomach churn just the same. 

“What seems to be the problem here?”

The ravenette opened her eyes to see the Club Owner and her boss, Yamaguchi Eizan standing by as well as a club bouncer, holding the handsy man in a chokehold. She clicked her tongue as she crossed her arms, addressing her boss. “He grabbed my ass after 2 warnings!”

“I see,” Yamaguchi hummed, his cool expression irking her further. “Tanaka, can you see this gentleman out? After he pays for his dance with a generous tip of course.” The bouncer nodded and he wrestled the man out, ignoring the client’s shouts of protest. Once they were out of earshot, Yamaguchi turned his attention back to Jada, a frown beginning to form on his lips. “Nubia, can you follow me please?”

Jada felt a pit form deep in her stomach as she followed the man into his office, instinctively covering her scantily clad body. The loud music was almost nonexistent as the door closed behind them. He sighed as he sat down behind his desk, tapping his fingers against the mahogany wood. 

He was a physically imposing man and classically beautiful. Perfectly coiffed black hair and dark brown eyes. He dressed in an expensive suit, expertly tailored. For all extensive purposes Yamaguchi Eizan was every woman’s wet dream. Jada knew better, of course. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, Jada?” He finally seethed. 

“What was I supposed to do?! He was groping me!”

“I can’t have you striking my clients.”

“So I’m just supposed to let them touch me?” She argued, only for Yamaguchi to rise from his seat, instantly shutting her up. 

“I don’t think you understand the ramifications of your actions,” He breathed as he made his way over the beauty, his frame towering over her.  “That gentleman is going to leave this club and tell his friends about his experience. He’s going to tell his friends about how a stripper slapped him for enjoying their dance. In return, his friends will not come here to relax and now that money will not be coming into the club. I don’t get paid, which means you don’t get paid. And...” He paused, taking a single loc of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, a soft smirk forming on his lips. “I know how tight money is for you these days. Keep in mind, my offer still stands to give you some relief.”

Jada fought the urge to look away, not wanting to wilt under his gaze. He was so close that she could smell the sandalwood of his aftershave, “I’m good. Thanks.”

“That’s right. You are good.” He said lowly, letting go of her hair as he stepped back, leaning against this desk. “You’ll do good to remember how good you have it here. I only ask that you dance for clients. If you were with someone else you wouldn’t be as lucky.” 

“Okay, I get it,” Jada whispered, still holding herself.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

The two were then interrupted by a knock on the office door. After an acknowledgment by Yamaguchi, the bouncer entered the room and handed him a large stack of cash. “Is this from the gentleman in question?” Yamaguchi asked. The bouncer just gave a nod and left the room without a word. 

Yamaguchi hummed as he licked his fingertips before counting out the money. “That’s 8,000 yen for me…” He paused placing the stack on his desk. “And 2,000 yen for you,” He smiled as he offered the money to Jada.

“2,000? What the hell?” She protested, unfolding her arms.

“For the future revenue you just cost me with your stunt. Or would you prefer I kept it all?” He looked at her pointedly.

“Okay…” She frowned, taking the cash as she turned to leave.

“Remember, Love,” He called out as she stepped out of the room, the pounding music almost drowning out his words.  “Things could be much worse.”

Jada sighed as she closed the door behind her, making her way back onto the club floor, “Some days I’m not so sure.”

____________________________________________________________________________

The next day, Ground Zero and Red Riot were out on their daily patrols, walking through the busy Tokyo streets. The red-haired hero smiled brightly as he waved to the citizens, Bakugou holding his usual scowl. Once he was confident no one was listening in, Kirishima nudged his friend, earning his attention, “You’re lucky Mina loves you since you ditched her on her birthday.” 

“She’ll forgive me.” The blonde shrugged.

“What happened anyway? I left you at the bar and then you were gone.”

Bakugou once again thought over the happenings of two nights before. How he had bedded a mysterious woman, which he thought they both enjoyed, only for her to leave his side without so much of a care. “Long story short, I met a woman and took her home.”

“Bakugou, you dog!” Kirishima laughed as he slapped his friend on the back. “Now it all makes sense.”

 “Yeah, sure whatever…” Bakugou grumbled before rubbing his neck nervously. “Hey… Has a girl ever bolted on you right after sex?”

The red-haired man quirked a brow, surprised by his question. “You let your love interests stay over now?”

“I don’t have any fucking love interests!” He barked before asking again. “Do they ever leave right after?”

“Right after?”

“Yeah.”

“Like right right after?”

“She literally came and went.”

“Like on her own? No coaxing?”

“She hopped off my dick and got dressed to leave.”

“Damn. I can’t say I have...” Kirishima sighed, scratching his chin. Looking over to his seemingly dejected friend, he gave him a nudge. “Look maybe she just had an early appointment in the morning or something? Girls have loads of random appointments!”

“Maybe…” The blonde breathed, avoiding eye-contact with his friend.

“Or you’re just bad in bed.”

“MAN FUCK YOU, SHITTY HAIR!”

Kirishima laughed as he dodged his friend’s explosions and hardened himself to take the hits that he couldn’t avoid. “I’m kidding! You know you do the exact same thing when you have one night stands at a girl’s place.” 

Do I? Bakugou paused for a moment before scoffing, “That’s different!”

Red Riot rolled his eyes as he brushed off the soot and ash from his skin. “You said she came right?” 

“Of course she did.” The blonde smirked proudly.

“More than once? You were, you know, generous? Foreplay and stuff?”

“Nah, believe me, she was fuckin ready to go.” Bakugou chuckled as he remembered her sprawled out on his bed with her fingers deep in her heat. 

“There’s your problem bro! The ladies are all about the foreplay! You can’t get lazy and skip it. Not manly.” His friend only grunted in response but Kirishima could see the wheels turning in Bakugou’s head. “Why are you so worried about it this time anyway? You’ve always preferred one night stands. “Love is a distraction” and all.”

“I don’t know... She’s just different.” The blonde hummed before quickly recovering “And I never said anything about love!”

“Did you guys exchange numbers? Do you think she enjoyed herself enough that she’d let you take her out on a proper date?”

“Kinda...”

“Did she give you her number or did she take yours?”

“She took mine.”

Kirishima hissed in pain while he shook his head in disappointment. 

“What?” Bakugou questioned.

“That’s not a good sign bro…” He sighed.  “Mina does that when she wants to let guys down easy. She takes their numbers and then never calls.”

Ground Zero blinked up at his friend as he took in the news before a blanket of rage started to overshadow his disappointment. “Man fuck that! She’ll call! No woman can resist me! I’m a fucking catch!”

“Whatever you say, man.” Red Riot breathed as he patted his friend’s shoulder.

“You wish you could have as many women as me!”

“Dude, I’m happily engaged!” Kirishima laughed. “One woman is all I need!”***

“Shut up, Shitty Hair!”

As the pair began to get into another squabbling match out on the street, a loud ringing came from the pants pocket of the blonde hero. 

“You gonna get that?” Kirishima laughed as he blocked another explosion.

With one last growl, Ground Zero dug into his pants pocket, taking out his phone and harshly answering the call, “What is it?!”

“Well hello to you too.”

The velvety smooth voice on the other line startled the hero as he cleared his throat, this time speaking much softer. “Who is this?”

“It’s Jada. Up for round two?”

NOTES: ***This is referring to my friend’s Black OC Marina. You can find her fic here.

Chapter 3 | Masterlist

[dammithawke]

Catra and Adora attend Perfuma's meditation session. Bonus points for Melog!

Send me more Catradora prompts! I’m having so much fun <3

[Let me know what you think of this on Ao3!]

The first time, Catra met with Perfuma alone. Or rather, as alone as they could be in Brightmoon. One of the spare rooms was deemed acceptable, but only after Perfuma had opened every window and, for good measure, placed a single potted flower at the center of the room. With some effort, Catra did what she was asked. She breathed, she sat, she thought. She tried to let go.

It was hard.

The next time they met, Melog joined them. The magicat had insisted, after seeing how ruffled Catra looked after the first try. His presence, it turned out, helped more than either Catra or Perfuma could have expected. When Perfuma started waxing a little too poetic, Melog was there, mane flickering orange as Catra tried so very, very hard not to be annoyed at every word that came out of the princess’s mouth. When Catra needed a little extra help settling her racing thoughts, he was there to climb in her lap and purr until she was distracted.

The third time they met, Perfuma had made Melog a little vest that read “Therapy Cat”. Oh, Melog did enjoy Perfuma.

It wasn’t until their fifth session that Adora joined them.

The room was quiet when they entered, Perfuma already seated with her eyes closed. The lights, despite the sun being high outside, were dim in the lavash spare room. Catra gave Adora’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, moving to sit on one of the cushions Perfuma had set up in a wide triangle on the floor.

Adora just stared.

A minute passed. Then another. Finally, Perfuma and Catra were both looking up at Adora expectantly.

“You gotta sit, dummy.” Catra quirked an eyebrow at her.

“I- I knew that.” Adora’s face went beat red and she awkwardly sat down. She tried to mimic how Catra and Perfuma were sitting, legs crossed with their hands in their laps, but where their fingers were limp and relaxed, Adora’s were balled tightly into fists.

Catra, beside her, was snickering.

“So,” Perfuma said in a gentle voice. “What are your thought-goals for today?”

“My what?” Adora stared blankly.

“You know, just what do you want to work on? What would you help with?” Perfuma watched her expectantly. When Adora just stared back, Perfuma gave a slow nod. “Ok, maybe Catra and I can go first, so you know what I mean. I, personally, would like to accept more positivity in to my life, and will myself to open my heart to new people.”

Adora’s brow furrowed, but she still turned to look at Catra curiously.

“I’d need-” Catra paused, looking down at her hands as she sheathed and unsheathed her claws. “I mean, I would like to focus on my anger. Again, I guess. And anxiety.”

Perfuma nodded approvingly as Melog padded over to her, bumping their head against Perfuma’s knee. “Do you have a goal too, Melog?” She gave them a scritch under the chin.

The cat gave a meow that seemed to echo in Adora’s head, almost ringing.

“They say… They want to mourn and-” Catra stopped, mid-translation to snort. “And learn to accept more food.”

That helped ease some of the tension in Adora’s shoulders, but not all of it. Perfuma was giggling and nodding approvingly, before turning her attention once again to Adora.

“So? What would you like to work on? Is there anything you’re having trouble with?”

“No. No.” Adora said it almost too quickly, giving a nervous laugh. “I mean, I’m fine. I’m great. Everything is great.” Her hands were still balled in fists, and she was doing her damnedest not to look either of the other women in the eye.

Perfuma, bless her, put a comforting hand on Adora’s still-clenched fist.

“I can make some suggestions,” Catra offered, smirking and raising an eyebrow teasingly.

“Are they productive?” Perfuma glanced at her.

“...I can make some different suggestions.” Catra grunted, ears flattening in annoyance.

Somehow, Adora’s back just got more tense. Perfuma, for her part, nodded approvingly and motioned for Catra to continue, saying, “Go on.”

Catra shifted a bit to face Adora better. Slowly, as if she were Bow trying to explain to Scorpia how parents, aunts, cousins, and second cousins work, she said, “You literally just need to learn how to relax.”

Adora scrunched up her face. “Wow. Oh, fuck, wow. I cannot believe you, my own girlfriend, would accuse me of-”

“I’m not accusing you of anything!” Catra rolled her eyes. “It’s just a statement of fact. The war’s over and you still train like you’re fighting one. You still throw punches in your sleep. Hell, you flipped Bow yesterday for surprising you. You do not know how to relax.”

Adora opened and closed her mouth, making sounds as if she were going to say something, but she couldn’t decide what. Finally, she settled on crossing her arms and glaring.

“Ok, ok,” Perfuma put out a hand to each of them, trying to keep her voice soothing. “I’m sensing some hostility here. Adora, Catra; lets just take a breath, ok?”

Perfuma made a show of breathing in deeply, and then out. On her second breath, Catra at least joined her, forcing her eyes closed. Melog paced beside her, tail whipping about irritably, until the third breath.

Adora tried -- sort of.

Her inhale was sharp, and her exhale was more of a huff. Forceful, as if a hard enough blow could just eject the stress from her entire being. Catra opened an eye to watch her and, before Perfuma could stop her, burst out laughing.

“I should have known…” Catra shook her head as Adora opened her eyes again to glare at her. “How did I know this would be the one thing I could beat you at.”

“Meditation isn’t a competi-” Perfuma’s scolding was cut off by a scoff from Adora.

“Beat me at it? Oh, please. I bet I could meditate twice as hard as you.”

“You’re don’t really meditate hard-” Perfuma tried again.

“I’ll take that bet.” Catra moved to her knees, putting her hands on Perfuma’s arm. “How’s this. You guide us, we see who can meditate better. Flower-girl tells us who wins.”

“And what will I get when I win?” Adora laughed. There was already a gleam of determination in her eye.

“Can’t the reward just be a clear mind?”

“Perfuma, be serious. This is a serious matter.” Catra waved her off and kept her focus on Adora. “If I win, I want your shirt.”

“My shirt?” Adora looked down at her white long-sleeve shirt, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. That one.” Catra hooked a claw in the sleeve of it, pulling Adora’s arm closer to her. “You’ve had it way too fucking long.”

“Alright. Alright, and if I win--”

“Which you won’t.”

“--When I win,” Adora pressed on, “You have to start joining me on my morning jog.”

“Oh, no fucking way. Not happening.” Catra shook her head adamantly. 

“Just for a week.” Adora allowed, offering her hand to her girlfriend.

Catra hesitated, but finally shook the offered hand roughly. “Fine. But you’re not gonna win.”

“We’ll see.” Adora finally turned back to Perfuma, determination slathered over her face like war paint.

Perfuma, through all this, looked absolutely horrified, gaping at her friends. The potted plant, placed about a foot from her left knee, wilted as she paled.

“Alright, we’re ready. Meditate us.” Adora gave her a firm nod.

The next morning, Adora woke up at dawn. She lingered for a few minutes, watching Catra’s steady breathing as Melog cuddled close to her. The feline woman wore the remains of Adora’s shirt; the sleeves slashed off and the hem of the shirt cropped off. A fond smile touched Adora’s lips.

It did look better like this.

[songofclarity]

(Moss!!) okay i think this is gonna be a 2-parter afdjgsjd the flowers!! bby lwj internalised them as a sign of deep love and devotion (w his mom and then nmj, and much later, wwx who noticed how 🥺 lwj got the first time he gave him flowers and now gives him so many flowers all the time aaaahH) how about lxc tucking flowers in nmj's hair too?!?! AND BBY LWJ JOINING IN bc "xichen-xiong loves him. he is Good. yes." (like, Baby logic) nmj: my pores are clear... my crops...watered --(1)

(2)-and in seclusion, lwj left some flowers in a vase for lxc (their mom's favourite kind, then later, nmj's). lxc very nearly cried the first time he saw them but they actually help bring him some peace 😢 wwx also climbs in the window some nights to put pressed flowers on his table. (don't worry lan zhan i'm not disturbing him i always wait till he's asleep) the flowers help bring happier memories of nmj, and he slowly starts hurting less,(this is still sad?? sorry i guess i'm sending 1 more)

(3)ok fluff uhh- nmj bringing nhs flowers/gifts from lxc ("xichen pls dont spoil MY brother" "i'm only following your lead mingjue 😌") nhs is too happy abt this and demands he be allowed to plan their wedding. yes it makes da-ge turn red but not angry red so its ok- and this is out of order but i forgot to mention; nmj about to meet bby lwj for the first time like "i'm sure i can handle this no problem"; lxc: this is wangji! say hello to mingjue😊; lwj,extremely unimpressed(?): hello.; nmj: 😧

(3.5 of 3 IM SORRY I'M SENDING SO MANY AGDJDKD) also all the best for your exams!!! (since i'm already sending this how about an extra: bby nhs being Observant also makes small flower bouquets for his da-ge. nmj asks xichen to teach him to press and dry flowers, and keeps them all)

MY PORES ARE ALSO CLEAR... MY CROPS... WATERED... MY GRADES... EXCELLENT!!

Loving how this plays on Lan WangJi's love language being through gestures. He gives Wei WuXian the chickens in canon. Giving Lan XiChen the vase of meaningful flowers. Copying Lan XiChen to put flowers in Nie MingJue's hair 🥺

Wei WuXian breaking into Lan XiChen's room in the middle of the night to put down pressed flowers on the table LOL Wei WuXian please! (Please keep up the good work!)

--Happier memories of Nie MingJue, you say...

I'm just going to put out there the post-canon-theory-headcanon that Nie MingJue's resentful energy left him when he did what he needed to do and now he is finally laid to rest once more. Flowers as a sign of deep love and devotion are still placed on a peaceful grave of a still dearly beloved... Pressed flowers that do not wilt...

... 🥺 Moss, why would do this LOL

Lan XiChen giving flowers/gifts to Nie MingJue to give to Nie HuaiSang feels like such a power play, omg. Nie MingJue can’t say No because would he ever tell Lan XiChen no?? Never. Lan XiChen trying to cultivate some Nie bro bonding and Nie MingJue can't even be mad about it. Kettle calling the pot fat. Tallest man in the world is held in the palm of Lan XiChen’s hand.

Although this reminds me of a quote from the novel I came across today where Nie HuaiSang tries to cunningly trick Lan XiChen into passing a "good study behavior" report to Nie MingJue.

Imagine: Nie HuaiSang gives flowers to Lan XiChen to give to Nie MingJue, and then insists he doesn't know about any flowers, it wasn't him, it was Lan XiChen! So Nie MingJue ends up confessing to Lan XiChen thinking Lan XiChen made the first move... It was a trap, Nie MingJue, you've been tricked! Now you have a very handsome boyfriend to call your own, congratulations! 😂

Then of course Nie HuaiSang plans the wedding! Everything has to be perfect for his Da-ge and also, "I can't practice my saber, I have to go work on the dinner menu bye!"

This also making me think of Modern AU where at the wedding there is a slideshow that includes baby brothers. Lil Lan WangJi looking very unimpressed at Nie MingJue in one picture and Lan XiChen sees it and is just, Awww, those were good times!! While Nie MingJue is just ...maybe we should have included the flower picture instead?? (Surprise! All the pictures are included! Because Nie HuaiSang arranged them!)

And WOW, my heart--Nie MingJue pressing and drying Nie HuaiSang's flowers and keeping them. Lan XiChen teaching him how to do it. That's so soft, they're so soft... What if Nie MingJue kept them in a pouch in his sleeve? A gift from Nie HuaiSang and a happy memory with Lan XiChen. Yeah, that's fine, I'm fine 🥺

[johaerys-writes]

Playground Love, Chapter 10: Wilted Wildflowers

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Aran Trevelyan/Tristan Trevelyan

Summary:

Aran and Tristan are childhood friends. Best friends. Brothers, almost. They’ve been inseparable since the moment they met, one rainy autumn day underneath the maple tree in the school playground.

Best friends don’t fall in love with each other. Surely not.

The new chapter of mine and @oftachancer​’s collaborative fic, featuring her OC Aran and my OC Tristan is up! Where being in love with your best friend turns out to be more complicated than initially thought, and Tristan would very much like to make sense of it all now, please.

Read more on AO3!

****

The wind whipped through Tristan’s hair as his bike rushed down the steep slope. The warmth of summer was waning, but a sweet, mellow breeze still lingered. It smelt of salt and sea.

The polo coach had let them go an hour earlier than expected- Tristan hadn’t even stopped to change out of his riding clothes before setting off for Aran’s house. He hadn’t seen Aran since the day before and he already missed him. Which was to be expected, he supposed. With every day that passed, he missed him more and more, wanted to see more of him, hear more. Touch more. Ever since that time Aran had stayed at his for the night…

Tristan felt his cheeks warming. They hadn’t talked much, since that day. It was more so because they’d both been busy, he told himself; Tristan’s first polo match of the season was coming up, and Aran had more than enough assignments to occupy him. Yet, the fact that Tristan’s last few texts had gone unanswered, and that the only response he’d received from Aran to the poem he'd sent him the previous night was a meme of a dog rolling on its back did not help very much. Tristan had spent the better part of an hour combing through his books to find that poem, and he’d picked it just for him. Aran could have at least chosen a better meme to send him. At least.

He frowned, squinting against the bright sunlight when the wooden fence that circled the ranch came into view. The outer gate was ajar, Max’s truck stopped right before it. Aran’s eldest brother was tall and broad of shoulder, the skin of his forehead bronzed from the sun, his golden hair cropped short. He smiled brightly at him when he saw him getting off his bike.

“Tristan!” he greeted him cheerfully as he loaded a square bale of hay on the back of the truck. “Give me a hand with this, will you?”

Tristan returned his wide smile with a more reserved one of his own before inclining his head politely. He disliked touching the hay. It made his skin itch. Still, he set his bike against the fence and helped him haul the last of the bales, stacking them neatly against each other. He gingerly drew his kerchief from his back pocket to wipe his hands when he was done, watching as Max lifted and secured the truck’s tailgate.

“How’s Almond? Is she treating you well?”

“She’s doing great. Yes, she’s wonderful. A delight, really. She and I placed first in the show jumping trials two months ago, did Aran tell you?”

“That he did. I had no doubts. She’s a fine mare, one of the finest we’ve bred. We wouldn’t give you just anything, eh?” He laughed heartily and patted Tristan on the shoulder. “I’m off now. Your pal’s up at the house. Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Okay. Thanks, Max.” Tristan got on his bike, waving as the truck drove off. He pedalled leisurely down the long gravel drive, then brought the bike to a stop when he reached the flower garden before the house. It was Aran’s mom’s work, and the rose bushes were neatly trimmed and fragrant this time of year. Patrick was lounging on one of the floral padded armchairs on the front porch, his long legs sprawled on the low table. Tristan’s stomach tightened when Patrick lifted his gaze from his phone to look at him. His eyes were the same hue as Aran’s, summer sky blue, but they had none of the warmth, or the kindness.

“Trevelyan,” he said flatly, his expression wooden and thoroughly unimpressed.

“Patrick.” Tristan straightened his back, returning his look levelly. “Is Aran home?”

The older boy regarded him in silence for a few moments - moments that Tristan stood there awkwardly, trying his best to look as bored and mildly bothered as he- before standing up with a long suffering sigh and walking to the door. “Wait here,” he commanded, then disappeared inside the house.

Tristan itched his earlobe as he waited, released and re-gathered his hair, studied the red clapboard and the sloped black roof of the house. It wasn’t a large building, but it was homely. The warm scent of the roast they had for lunch reached him with the passing breeze. Tristan never spent too much time there, and neither did Aran, if he could help it. Still, he liked it when Aran’s mum came out and offered him a biscuit or something else she’d made whenever he came to pick Aran up. She wasn’t much of a baker or a cook, but she was always nice to him. He hadn’t seen her in a while.

Muffled talk from inside drew his attention. It sounded rough and agitated, but Tristan couldn’t discern who was talking, or what they were saying. A man’s low rumble, then a woman’s voice- was that Aran’s mum? The voices grew louder and sharper, but the steady buzz from the TV rendered it impossible to make out any words. Patrick’s voice knifed cleanly through it as he said something that sounded much like his usual insults, though Tristan couldn’t tell who it was directed at.

He thought he heard the shuffling of feet coming closer to the front door, then what definitely sounded like pushing and shoving. Tristan’s ears pricked up when he heard Aran’s telltale high pitched infuriated snarl, followed by Patrick’s mocking laugh. His temper flared by instinct; he set his bike down and took a decisive step forward, when the door was flung open and a red-faced Aran stormed out.

“Aran-”

“Let’s just go,” Aran snapped, grabbing his bike that was leaning against the steps of the porch and promptly taking off. Tristan followed him silently as he took off at dead speed. They didn’t exchange a word until they were well away, past the farm and the apple orchard beyond it, until the lake’s still waters were visible, glittering in the distance. It was more of a large pond than a lake, really, and he and Aran often went there when the weather was good. It was usually quiet and peaceful, and that day was no different. Only a paddling of brown backed mallards glided on the water, the iridescent green feathers on their long necks catching the light as they moved.

Aran tossed his bike aside as soon as he dismounted, letting it fall to the soft grass. Tristan set his own down beside it, then came to stand next to him at the pond’s bank. He was tense and wired, a string ready to snap. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his nostrils flaring with every panting breath he let out.

“Hi.”

Aran dropped to his knees and buried his head in the water, loosing a scream that echoed through the still surface and sent the ducks skittering into flight. He sat up, shoving his wet hair from his face and stared at the ripples as they receded. “Hi,” he panted in answer, scrubbing at the water dripping from his nose, leaving a smudge of mud in its place. “How was practice?”

Tristan shrugged, "Good. I stole the ball from Johnston and he chased me down the field while the others cheered. Coach didn't like that very much." He slid his hands in his pockets and rocked a little back and forth on his heels. "How's the water?"

“Warm. You want to swim?” The fresh mud in his hair made a handful of it stand out to the side. “I could swim.” He rubbed his nose on the back of his arm. “Something wrong? You usually don’t finish until later, right?”

"Coach said he had to pick up his daughter from the dentist's. Dunno. I think he was just sick of Jonhston and me taking the piss so he let us go early." There were fat drops of muddy water running down Aran's forehead and into his eyes, and he rubbed at them, sniffing and wrinkling his nose. Tristan smiled despite himself as he reached for his handkerchief. "Come over here," he said, drawing him close to wipe the mud from his cheeks, the side of his nose. Then he cupped his neck and leaned down to steal a kiss. "Missed you," he murmured against his lips.

“I missed you, too!” Aran wrapped his arms around him tight, “I hope your match is worth it. Endless bloody practices. Can’t you just win and be done with it?” He tugged him towards the tree. “Best two out of three for all the marbles. Kiss me again.”

The pond water had left a slightly bitter aftertaste on Aran's tongue, but Tristan kissed him eagerly as he let himself be drawn to him. "We will win. But then we'll just have to practice more to keep up, and then win more matches, and even more practice..." He closed his teeth over Aran's bottom lip, pressing him back against the tree trunk. "As if it would make a difference to you," he said sulkily. "You hardly ever respond to my texts anyway. If I hadn't come today, you would have forgotten all about me."

“You’ve caught me,” he snorted. “I’m always forgetting you. Thank the Maker I see you all the time or I’d be lost.” His fingers were slick with mud and chilled from pond water when they slipped up beneath Tristan’s jersey. “Remind me, eh?”

"Yes, but-" Tristan shivered as the cool, pesky fingers travelled up his stomach, caressing his sides. He sighed, kissing Aran deeply, forgetting everything he'd been about to say. So what if Aran hadn't responded to a text or two, or if he replied to his poems with dog memes? He still wanted him. He'd still missed him. Every smile, every touch, every smooth glide of his tongue over his own pushed Tristan's thoughts and worries further and further back in his mind. It was good, what they had. No doubt about it. "Wait," he said, drawing back. He laughed at Aran's confused stare as he unslung his backpack. "I brought something." The small bouquet of wildflowers he had gathered on his way to Aran's house was slightly wilted, despite his best attempts to keep the blossoms from getting bruised during his bike ride. Even so, he held it proudly before Aran's face, beaming. "For you."

Aran leaned back against the trunk, blinking down at the flowers. “Okay.” He itched his nose with his knuckle. “...what am I supposed to do with this?”

Tristan's smile melted away. He stared at Aran, the warm fuzzy feeling he'd had only moments before turning sour in his stomach with every second that passed and Aran made no move to take the flowers. "You… you don't like it?"

“I mean-” He squinted, taking the flowers with a skeptical look. “Now what? What’s the game?”

"There is no game." Tristan frowned, "You're supposed to keep them. Or- I don't know, set them aside and take them with you before we leave, or-"

“Are they medicinal?” he asked, peering down at them with sudden curiosity. “Something you read about?” He plucked at a leaf and nibbled at it.

"No, they're not- I just passed them by and thought they were pretty, and-" He stopped abruptly when he felt his cheeks growing uncomfortably hot. "You don't have to keep them if you don't want them, of course," he said indignantly. "I simply thought- it doesn't matter what I thought." He crossed his arms before his chest, looking away.

“Sure it does.” Aran stuck his tongue out, spitting the nibbles of leaves out. “Thanks for showing me. They’re pretty. Could have just shown me where you found them.” He tilted the flowers to the side, peering at them. “You didn’t have to kill them.” He wiggled the flowers at Tristan, chuckling, “Too pretty to live!”

"I didn't kill them- Maker-" Tristan swatted the flowers away, scowling at him. "Just forget about it, alright? It was a stupid idea anyway." He turned around, pacing towards the pond. It had been a stupid, stupid idea. Whatever had he been thinking. It had seemed like a nice thing to do at the time, when he'd stopped to pick up the flowers and arrange the bouquet. A romantic gesture, something- something boyfriends did. Cardew gave Martina flowers all the time, and she always laughed and threw her arms around his neck, but Aran wasn't Martina. And Tristan wasn't Cardew, and what they had wasn't- He took a deep breath, chewing on the inside of his lip. "Just forget it."

“This one tastes pretty good.” A sprig of the white tufted flowers wiggled in front of his face. “Like almonds. You like almonds.”

"I don't like almonds," he mumbled petulantly. He glanced at Aran over his shoulder, "And you don't like these flowers."

“I do. I do like them.” He took a mouthful of the white flowers, crunching them, grinning like a goat. “See. Delicious. Now Tristan chaser.”

Tristan laughed, shaking his head. He hated that Aran could always make him laugh, even when he was mad. "I'm not kissing you with those things in your mouth." He took the flowers from Aran's hand, or whatever was left of them, anyway. "And you're not supposed to eat them, you know."

“I didn’t know that. I asked what I was supposed to do with them.” Bits of greenery and fluffy petals fell from his lips as he spoke. “Kisses. I like the flowers. Have some.”

Tristan scrunched his nose, brushing leaves and petals from Aran's mouth. "You're gross," he said before leaning in with a grin. "That tastes like shite, by the way," he mumbled against his lips, "not at all like almonds."

“You’re getting too many leaves. More flowers.” He wound his arms around Tristan’s neck, leaning against him. “You need more flowers. I like you.”

Tristan sighed, pressing his forehead against Aran's. "You do?" he asked quietly. "You mean it?"

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Cornflower blue eyes like the reflection of the sky in a still pond peered up at him. “You after wanting to show me where you found them? We can go roll around there.”

"They were just… by the side of the road. Past the chemist's. A mile or so from here maybe. There's a few of them on the way to the pier, I think. But it doesn't really matter." He reached up to brush a spot of mud from Aran's temple. His coppery blonde curls were just starting to get dry, wisps that kissed his forehead. "Can I ask you something?"

“Hm?”

What are we? What are we doing? He stared at Aran for a long while, unable to ask the questions. Perhaps they didn't need any answers. Perhaps Aran didn't know them either, even if Tristan asked. They'd been friends since they were children, and now they were something else, and that something was new and bright and exciting in so many different ways- and Tristan felt completely out of his depth. He let out a soft sigh. "Nevermind." He opened his fingers to let the wilted stems fall to the ground. "Race you back to my place?"

The grin split Aran’s face, brightening his eyes, and a moment later, he was scrambling to his bike, wheels spinning in the mud as he took off.

[grumpygreenwitch]

Summer Gardening.

So it’s been a while, and for that I apologize to the... 200+ people who follow me. I’m sure y’all are here for the cat pics and the nekked men, but TOO BAD. Today you get to suffer through pics of my green children. Also, I do share seed. My seed list link will be up later in the year. To begin with, the summer flowers are out en force:

Echinacea Purpurea, the original echinacea. I do save yearly seed from these guys, although it’s an incredibly pointy, stabby and bleed-y job. 

Mountain Phlox. Unfortunately, all of it around the house is afflicted with powdery mildew, so I will not share seed. But it’s still pretty to look at, and the clearwings (hummingbird moths) love it. Not pictured is the white variant, who grows on the other side of the house. Look, it was hot and I was already melting.

Peppermint Balsam. This thing is basically indestructible, for an annual. It will reseed freely (to truly Lovecraftian levels) and blooms continuously from late spring until mid-fall, when the seed-pods set. There is a dormant genetic in it for double flowers, but when it pops up it’s always been sterile. It just pops up occasionally from the peppermint seed.

I may give the roommate hell over the hostas (I hate them. They’re so useful to protect toads and control weeds, but I hate them), but they do put out pretty flowers. There are several variants around the house - white-edged, blue and green, but hostas in general are very, very hard to start from seed. I will save it on request, only. We were also incredibly lucky to have a Moth Mullein sprout in our porch bed, along with some Variegated Solomon’s Seal.The SS doesn’t put out seeds, and I don’t have enough to share bulbs (yet), but the mullein has been exceptionally generous with seed pods, and it repels bugs. It repels ROACHES. It’s going everywhere. And I may be convinced to part with some seed.

Onward!

A view from a hill. Can you see the garden? That’s OK, I can’t either. Those are peach trees, on the side of the orchard closest to the house. Unfortunately a freak storm during early spring killed all the blossoms. Also, don’t mistake ‘orchard’ for ‘organized’. There’s a pear, some apples, a plum, some nectarines? And front and center are two walnuts. I’ll probably be plunking my laurel there to see if it survives winter. And someday when I have a job and money again, I would like to drop a few Chicago Hardy figs, and maybe a kiwi trellis.

This is the big garden (and fortunately not my responsibility, or I would cry). The guys are ‘handling’ it. The weeds say otherwise.

The jasmine tree and the roommate’s garden. Because of a bad back injury that refuses to heal, I’ve been helping them on and off with it. And if you thought jasmine was supposed to stay a delightful little bush, AHAHAHAHAH. Yes, that’s a light-post next to it. For size comparison.

MY CHILDREN. Please ignore the dead soccer ball. That’d be a dog toy.

Lemon balm, amaranth, and a new bed that I’ll be finishing off during fall, for use next year. The lemon balm is a permanent row - it will overwinter just fine, and it will even keep growing through the mildest part of December. Mine didn’t die back until a few solid days of sleet in January. Unfortunately the weed fabric under the amaranth turned out to be an old roll, and fell apart on me (no big, the whole point is for it to fall apart eventually), so the weeds have kinda eaten it alive.

Unfortunately, both cucumber beetles and blister beetles love the amaranth. Fortunately, it does not seem to give a damn. It’s an incredibly resilient plant, not minding weeds, bugs, flood or drought. We’ll see what the grain actually tastes like, but so far it’s looking like a good candidate for continuous growing.

The lemon balm is lemon-balming. Planted on a lark, it’s proven to be a fantastic wind-breaker - because it grows so early and so quick, it keeps the colder winds that come down through the hollow from my more fragile seedlings, like the lettuce, dill and cilantro. You can see here where the spent flower-heads are dying but there’s new growth underneath; I really have to get in there and behead it. It makes nice hot tea, meh cold tea, and hanging fresh bunches of it around the balcony keeps the skeeters off. It also seems to be a decoy for cabbage moths.

Canary Zinnia. The seed was sent to me as a gift with one of my seed orders, and this is my first year growing it. -If- I can save some, I’ll definitely be sharing and growing again. It’s a lovely plant, very sturdy, and the bees love it.

Dwarf Castor Oil. I don’t think there’s anything dwarf about it, but then I’m a short green witch myself, so maybe it’s all about perspective. Don’t let the pods lie to you, until they dry the spikes are relatively soft. However, it being castor oil, I don’t recommend it to anyone with ducks, chickens, goats, or anything that might accidentally try talking a nibble or pecking at the beans. I do, however, recommend them from jewelry if you know how to pierce things and so on. They are a gorgeous tiger-stripe pattern.

Say hello to the chard! Say goodbye to the chard! Nothing else, absolutely nothing else since the limas, has given me so much trouble. The deer love getting into my chard bed and destroying it (ergo all the forks). And once I managed to chase those off, the blister beetles showed up in force. This will be the last year I grow it - we just don’t eat enough of it to make it worth my while, and it only occasionally sold at the Farmers’ Market.

Red lettuce - Merlot and Lollo Vino, a combination of bought and saved seed. I planted a red romaine of some sort, too, but unsurprisingly it bolted in the heat. The darker reds of my favorites, though, keep bugs off them, keep deer from noticing them, and keep them from bolting. It’s just now threatening to, and at this point its kind of allowed. I need more seed for next year. Seed for this will likely be shared by the teaspoon-ful.

Calendula! I searched for a long time to find the plain ol’ calendula officinalis ancestor, rather than a cultivar where I would have no way of knowing if the medicinal principles would have been sacrificed for looks. It’s supposed to work well as poor man’s saffron (color, no taste), and I’m going to be soaking the heck outta my feet on it during winter. The plant is... not pretty. It gets leggy and the leaves get grotty very quickly. But it’s very sturdy and as long as you cut the flowerheads off as fast as you can, it’ll keep blooming until well into winter. I usually leave it to go to seed around late September.

Green cilantro seeds. You pick ‘em when they’re brown, but before they drop off the plant. Or you pick ‘em when they’re brown-ing, and put them in a paper bag so they’ll finish ripening there and you don’t end up with fifty wild cilantro plants in your garden >_> Most of the row is already gone, and I’ll be putting in a late dill crop in its place. No such thing as too  much dill!

Don’t let lemongrass lie to you. Unless you tie it up, it will not grow up neat and tidy, as most grass does. Instead it will sprawl like a dramatic wilting Elizabethan lady and do its best to end up under your feet so you’ll feel bad about it. I just tie it up with a half-blade of grass; it dries up and withers away before it can hurt the plant.

I ordered pennyroyal seed because... Well, because it’s something one should have on hand, considering the way the world is going. What I got was Creeping Pennyroyal, which doesn’t care if you step on it (mint family), smells absolutely delightful, and has the most adorable, tiny purple flowers. I plan on harvesting, drying and sprinkling it everywhere in the crawlspace under the house. Making war on cave crickets, wood roaches, and other such sundries, me.

The thyme and Spicy Oregano took a beating in the heat, but they’re slowly bouncing back. The bed behind them is more pennyroyal, desperately in need of weeding, but there’s only one of me, y’know.

SIGH. Just. You absolute, ill-mannered monster of a creature. That would be horseradish, gloriously happy to be alive, as horseradish should be. Also, NOT IN ITS BASKET. Because never mind the rules, I guess.

I don’t even know how I’m gonna dig that up come winter. With some construction equipment, I GUESS. 

Decorative gourd! It’s the only one producing so far, but being the seed was 10+ years old, I’m very pleased.

And an apple gourd (I think?), from a mixture of drying gourds that was only slightly less ancient. Snake, apple and birdhouse gourds. There’s a bunch of them competing in the basket at this point, we’ll see what we will see.

And this, I think, is a great use of a dead canopy frame (the dogs ate the canopy. No, I’m not making it up.) I hope to coax the gourds to grow me a lil’ roof so I can sit in shade, surrounded by pennyroyal anti-skeeter barriers, eating my maters.

My Peter Peppers (nrehehehehe) aren’t producing yet - it takes them a while. But my Chinese 5-Color are getting started. It’s a lovely pepper, both edible and ornamental, with (so I’m told) about four times the heat of a Jalapeno. They’re tiny, with deep purple undertones to the plant. They’ll go purple-white-yellow-orange-red.

The bullhorns, on the other hand, are fairly sizable SWEET peppers on very tiny plants, and I honestly suggest staking them while they’re young so they grow a sturdy trunk, else you might end up with all of them growing at a slant.They’re just now beginning to turn colors. Keeping in mind I’m virulently allergic to peppers (less so sweet than hot, but allergic to all of them), the roommate loves ‘em.

It’s a small pepper bed - mainly to refresh my seed on the hots, and to grow sweets for the roommate. Pardon the nekked bed, the autumn lettuce hasn’t sprouted yet. And yes, that’s a mixed basil/dill bed next to it. My basil grew in patchy holes (NEVER buying from those seed people again), so I filled the holes with dill. Unfortunately, dill seed heads are so fine that they’re hard to photograph well.

The tomato row. After arguing with them for this long, I went the extra mile. Every plant has a metal stake. There’s also a double line growing at the top supporting the stakes so they don’t fall over. And they still fell over. Because why not, you unruly children, why not.

Green, white, pink and brown cherry tomatoes. Delicious!

Two kinds of cucumbers, some of the only decent shots of the dill seed-heads, and a special guest hiding in the shade. I usually plant dill as soon as the cucumber sprouts, to keep cucumber beetles off it. Otherwise I’d have no cucumbers and a lot of fat beetles.

The Muncher is a small cucumber, somewhat delicate. It’s very sensitive to temperature changes, and it’s candy to cucumber beetles - basically, it’s impossible to grow it without a heavy curtain of dill, or a heavy duty decoy. This year I got lucky enough to have both. It’s also delicious pickled, keeping its crunch and getting a good ooomph in flavor.

The Japanese Long is, as the name implies, long. It’s also incredibly bitey, and absolutely scrumptious. It’s sweet! And unlike the average cucumber, it does not go metallic when salted.

And now for the SPECIAL CHILD OF MY HEART. Seriously. I have been lusting after Blue Tea Peas since I first saw them offered, and every single time they’d be sold out pretty much the day of. This year I finally got some and... remember me mentioning that freak freeze that killed the peach blossoms? Yeah. Guess what it also killed. But two plants soldiered on. I have them heavily shielded by the cucumbers, dill and chamomile, and really I have no words for the blue. Pics don’t do it justice. I won’t have the tea this year, I’m saving as much seed as I can, but I am so pleased to have it at all!

 Last, but not least, and it’s a poor shot of it, the chamomile. I cannot drink chamomile to sleep - it does put me to sleep, but it also gives me bad dreams. I plan on using it as a skin wash for all the bug bites, along with the calendula, and to give me some respite from dry skin during winter.

Stay green! See you in fall! Now back to our normal schedule of frogs, cats and nekked men!

[silverlysilence]

Destinations Better Left Forgotten

Okay, this was an AU I’ve had rattling around in the back of my mind for some time now and I finally decided to just get it down.  Please tell me what you think because this is something I might come back to.  There is a lot of potential for further world building and it’s different enough from both fandoms that it is unique.

Jack gazed through the thick-doubled plated glass window of his compartment, not seeing the scenery at all. The white stone walls and gleaming stained-glass windows had long since passed, giving way to lush green fields full of crops and dotted with large majestic trees that towered over the lands. The tracks even went through the pastures where a heard of wild horses ran alongside train and keen eyes caught sight of a small regal foal in the mix, the white of her main only outdone by the glimmering purity of her golden horn.  

But as the day wore on and night creep closer, the lands they crossed faded.  The colorful wildflowers gave way to weeds and the greenery washed away to wilting yellows and then barren browns.  The chirping of songbirds turned to screeches of scavengers and more than a few red eyes gave the steam engine a second look.  However, with the wards freshly renewed, even the foolhardiest of monsters thought twice at the power emanating from the train.

Many of the passengers had rushed to the side and stare out the windows in awe as they passed by a gaggle of giants who’d rethought their plan to ambush the train and instead chose to turn tail.  It was the closest most of the people had ever gotten to a monster without fearing for their lives. Jack, for his part, had enjoyed listening to the children chatter on in excitement, unaware of the very real danger they could have been in if the fraying wards hadn’t been updated hours prior.

Regardless of how the luxury train’s amenities were and the attentive catering of their staff, they were far from the safest travel as they’d advertised.  Something the conductor was well aware of and despite his many pleas to the higherups for funds to update the wards and various safety enchantments throughout the compartments, they’d spent the money on charms that made the gas lamps burn different colors and expanding spells to increase the room sizes of their VIP compartments, one of which Jack was upgraded to.

The conductor had taken only look at his fine silk robes, embroidered with the finest silver thread and adorned with sapphires and had pulled him aside.  His economy seating was given away to a grateful woman and her granddaughter in favor of the luxurious sleeper cabin, all in exchange for a renewing the wards.  

Jack would have done it for free, he intended to when he took one look at the despicable deteriorating state of the ward the luxury line boasted as the best protection money could offer and knowing where they were headed, he didn’t want to put the lives of the people on board at risk.  Any other time, he would have reported the infraction to the magistrate and charged the company an exorbitant price for the services.  However, the Crown had already paid his guild an exorbitant fee in advance for their services and booked the first available train out for them. Going so far as to pay an extra fee to get the job done quickly and with such a hefty sum, he could not be the cause of any type of delay.

He’d already tried getting out of this particular assignment, but he was the only one available on such short notice.  Not only that, but Manny, the current Master of the Guild, had assigned him the mission. Jack couldn’t say no to him. Not after the man had taken a chance on a no named peasant and brought him into the folds of one of the most revered guilds in the lands that people had killed for just to get a chance at an opportunity to join.

Maybe, if he had been a little bit more open and honest with the master, Manny would have found someone else.  But Jack had never told a soul of his past, not even when it meant the difference between becoming a part of the guild or not.  He had held firm when Guardian North had questioned him and it was his resolve not to give in despite the alternative that gained him permeant membership in the guild.

If Master Manny or any of the head Guardians knew they were sending him back to the very place which gave him the nightmares that terrorized him most nights, they would never forgive themselves.

Burgess.  A hardy settlement that had managed to survive for decades in spite of being near the Dark Forest.  The people there were strong-willed—they had to be living where they did—and very superstitious.  There were those there that had kind hearts, but the kindness usually bled out of them—sometimes literally—over the years.

As a child, Jack saw the place as home.  Life was hard, but he and his family made due.  His sister and he had been out foraging through the nearby woods with his father, a supposed safe zone when a monster attacked. It clung to the shadows but razor-sharp teeth and claws tore viciously into flesh.  His father had held it off, screaming for Jackson to take his sister and run which he did.  Never looking back.

However, they’d fled across the frozen pond and while the ice was thick enough to hold their weight, it splintered underneath the weight of the large creature came after them. Jack didn’t know what happen, one moment he was pushing his sister forward, the next he was cold—cold—cold and water filling his lungs.  He vaguely recalled seeing icy blue eyes as he sunk further into the water then nothing.

He awoke on the side of the bank, frozen to the core and shivering and yet, alive.  The pond was destroyed, spears of jagged ice splintering up and outwards as if something exploded from beneath before freezing solid an instant later.  There were black fragments of what looked to be sand from a distance—Jack had not attempted a closer look in fear of what he might find the sand to actual be—encased in the ice and blood.

Jack had taken a good long look at the ice before pulling himself to his feet and making the journey back to the settlement.  Shivering all the way from the cold and the fear that his home had become a desolate battlefield in his absence. He should have been more worried for himself because as soon as he stepped foot in what would be his former home, all eyes turned on him and the whispers started.

He had stood there, not knowing what to do until his mother and sister made their way to the front of the gathered crowd.  Flee had made to run for him but his mother had held her back, horror on her face.  For when Jackson had left the settlement that morning with his father and sister, his hair and eyes had been that of earthly tones, but now standing before them was a boy as pale as the night, hair white like the moon and eyes of glaciers.

Jack didn’t know how he survived the next three months in the settlement.  Whispers followed him everywhere, his mother exiled him from the house but completely from the property in fear.  Instead, he lived out in his father’s tiny storage shed and feed scraps.  Though, to be fair, there wasn’t that much food to be had as the Dark Forest creatures grew ever bolder, creeping closer than they’d ever come before to the settlement.

The whispers became louder and fear gripped the people.  It was only when the whispers stopped when he strolled through town that the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise.  Something was coming.  Something big and he shouldn’t have been taken by surprised as he’d been when the lynch mob had come for him.

The people of Burgess were superstitious after all, and he’d come back from a watery grave with the hues of winter right as the monsters became more brazen.  It was not hard to figure out what their intentions were when he saw the rope and chains.  Jackson had fought tooth and nail, but he was a mere boy and they were many.

Tears had stained his faces, mixing with blood as they bond him with chains and rope to a stake near the edge of the Dark Forest.  His sobs muffled by the filthy gag that had been brutishly tied, pulling out more than several strands of hair.  Not a single one looked back as they left him there.  

A blood sacrifice to appease the monster in hopes of leaving the rest of them alone.

Jackson hadn’t known how long he sat there, crying well into the moonless night but his eyes never left the forest’s edge, which was why he immediately noticed movement as the most dangerous of monsters crept forth.

That was the night Jackson Overland died.

“I see you haven’t moved for quite some time,” a rough voice drew glacier eyes away from the darkened horizons and towards the cabin’s opened door where a tall man casually leaned up against the frame as if he owned the place.  Unlike the delicate silks that draped across his body, the man before him wore thick dark leathers well-worn and scarred from use.  A trained eye such as his could easily identify the various inauspicious trinkets and gems as the weapons and arsenal they were.  If it wasn’t for the black markings partly hidden by auburn hair on his forehead he knew was there and the unnatural shade of vibrant green eyes, Jack might have thought he was just another hunter.  

“Lord Haddock,” Jack nodded to the man as a pair of pretty ladies in their finest attire slow meandered down the corridor.  Their light giggles and hushed whispers a clear indication they were listening in and more likely than not had been following the lord for some time.  “Please do come in.”

The lord didn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he crossed the threshold with one large step and slid the door close, drawing the curtains closed for good measure before taking a seat. Vivid green eyes narrowed as they took in his paler than normal features and slightly trembling hands before darting over towards the small cart still laden with untouched food.

Jack saw the look and attempted to deflect.  “Hiccup—”

“You didn’t eat,” the lord shut him down before he could get any further.  Grabbing a cup, Hiccup poured the now room temperature cocoa and held the delicate china out to Jack.  After a moment, steam began to rise from the cup and the white-haired man finally relented, taking the now hot cup with both hands to prevent his trembling from spilling any of the exotic beverage and bringing it to his lips.

“Thank you.”

Hiccup didn’t say anything as he poured a second cup and stared the liquid down until it was boiling, only then did he drink.

“You need to eat, renewing the wards took a lot of energy,” the lord spoke once Jack finally finished his cocoa and his hands were no longer trembling.

“I wasn’t hungry, what with the giants still being as close as they are,” Jack shrugged, setting the cup aside.

“You don’t need to worry about them, they’ve been taken care of,” Hiccup grinned, revealing two sharp fangs. In an instant, the lord was across the cabin and in Jack’s space, a rough thumb trailing down the sharp lines of his cheek causing eyes blue eyes to flutter shut.  “After all, my pretty little gem, the prized piece of my hoard, is on this gods’ forsaken piece of garbage and I wouldn’t want any harm to come to him now. Even if he won’t allow me to rain fire down on the pathetic excuses for fleshbags that tossed aside such a precious treasure.”

“Hiccup, no.  They tried to sacrifice me once, but they won’t be able to again.”

“You’re right.  They can’t, after all, dragons only accept virgin sacrifice and you far from qualify anymore,” Hiccup smirked.

“And who’s fault is that?” Jack glared up into eager green eyes with no effect.  The red flush that spread from his face down his neck only made those vivid eyes darken as dark black plates appeared a crossed the lord’s cheeks. “Damn horny dragon.”

Hiccup sealed the distance between their lips, ravishing the white-haired man’s mouth and thoroughly exploring the moist cavern with his tongue, only pulling away when air became an issue. “Just for you, my pretty little gem, just for you.”

Not sure if i got this across correctly, but the world I envisioned is like a combination of D&D with its fantasy elements, RWBY with the dark creatures running about and the need for Guilds and hunters to keep the people protected, and Fullmetal Alchemist..

This also stems from the fact that dragons have hoards and Jackson is a precious gem that needs to be loved and draped with the finest of things because his dragon won’t see him in anything less than the best.  If his gem wants to learn magic from the best Guild out there, Hiccup will make it happen damnit, even if they don’t realize he’s one of the creatures they’re supposed to be hunting down.  But hey, it’s not his fault the fleshbags haven’t figured out dragons can do more than breath fire.