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stuff-from-the-void-matron · 4 years ago

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Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (9)

(c!technoblade x fem!reader)

(so people showed they liked chapter 8 well enough so I wrote chapter 9! also how miffed would everyone be if... this was also maybe a dreamxd x reader fic? like idk i’m just having some persuasive thoughts. also don’t forget to show this chapter some love or I won’t have the motivation to do chapter 10! reblogs and comments are the best! <3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wilbur did not like this ‘Reader’ person. God she was just as bad as Quackity, coming into L’manberg and making demands and acting like they even HAD a say in HIS country. Now more than ever he wished he’d have just exiled Quackity instead of humoring him with this ridiculous election. There shouldn’t BE an election. HE was the rightful president of this country! He fought and died for this country. Put his blood, sweat, and tears into it! HIM! Not them!

“-ur?”

This whole election thing was a mistake. He should have just listened to his gut.

“ilbur?”

But he’d been pressured by everyone to ‘be fair’ or whatever. Nobody knew what was best for L’manberg but HIM.

“Wilbur!”

The curly brunet jolted a bit at the sudden shout to his left, he blinked and felt himself unfurrow his eyebrows before looking over at his vice president. Said teenager was looking at him curiously, eyebrows raised in a questioning way. No doubt wondering what his friend was doing just standing there silently and chewing on his thumbnail like a madman. He was still tense but gave a quick ‘sorry’ before saying he was just lost in thought.

Tommy gave a semi awkward laugh and joked that it looked like he was trying to catch the wall he was staring at on fire just by staring at it. Wilbur gave a polite chuckle at the younger man’s attempt at mood lightening humor before sobering instantly and saying in a deadly serious tone that had the blond stiffening up anxiously,

“I don’t like this ‘Reader’ person you’ve been hanging out with Tommy. She seems really judgmental and arrogant. Not to mention her attitude. She’s argumentative and childish. She very clearly doesn’t care about you or L’manberg.”

That last part hit Tommy right in the chest like the blow from a size 12 boot. How could Wibur say that? You did care! You did! You wouldn’t have-.. People who don’t care wouldn’t-..

Tommy’s hurt showed on his face, making Wilbur sigh in sympathy before clapping the younger boy on the shoulder and saying that it would be best for him to just focus on the L’manberg election. This Reader person was just serving as a distraction from Tommy’s job as vice president anyways. And Tommy didn’t want that, right? Wilbur had entrusted him to be his VP over everyone else. He couldn’t slack on that, right? Tommy just gave a mumbled ‘yeah, s’pose not’ but it was clear he didn’t have his heart in it, though that was all the affirmation Wilbur needed to think the conversation was over..

-0-

You sat in the audience with Tubbo and Fundy for a bit while the candidates talked to each other up on the stage. Fundy seemed sweet, if not a bit mischievous. Though you supposed that should be expected from a fox hybrid. You smiled when his ears went back after you asked why his uniform was a lighter color than the others, unable to not think he looked adorable. But when he huffed, pretty obviously upset but trying not to show it, you frowned. And you pursed your lips when he explained that it was in ‘baby colors’ because Wilbur thought it would be cute for his ‘little champion’ to have a different uniform compared to everyone else.

You couldn’t help but awkwardly ask, “Aren’t you an adult though?” To which Fundy gave a slightly loud and exasperated, “YES!” that made you feel sorry for the poor hybrid. You gave him a reassuring look and said that well if he didn’t like the uniform then he didn’t have to wear it. Or if he liked it save for the color then just dye it darker to match the others. Fundy looked a bit put out and replied that he’d thought about dying it or just not wearing it but then his dad would be all depressed and hurt. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and say that he shouldn’t set himself on fire to keep others warm.

“You don’t have to do whatever your dad wants you to just because he’s your dad or cuz he’ll be sad. You’re an adult now Fundy. It’s time you make decisions for yourself in mind, not your dad.”

Fundy started up at you with wide eyes, like he’d never heard anyone tell him that before. Which was worrying but you put it out of your mind before continuing,

“Caring about others is important, yes. But you can’t let yourself be miserable just to avoid maybe making your dad sorta bummed out. That doesn’t seem fair to you.”

Tubbo chimed in from his spot to your left and said that the uniform was a symbol of their independence from the Dream Smp, they wore it to show they were loyal to L’manberg. He didn’t say it accusingly or even angrily, just in a factual matter-of-fact way. You said that might be true but then asked why Fundy’s uniform was different? Shouldn’t they all look the same if they supposedly stood for the same thing? If they’re meant to have a deeper meaning then they shouldn’t be altered for a joke. You said he had to see how that would make Fundy feel left out. You asked how Tubbo would feel if he were the only one with a different uniform and stood out. The brunet boy’s goatish ears drooped and he mumbled that he’d be sad. You ruffled his hair and turned back to Fundy.

“Look Fundy, if you wanna keep wearing the uniform as it is, that’s fine. If you wanna wear it but only after altering the color, that’s also fine. But if you wanna drop the uniform altogether then that’s fine too. It’s up to you, Fundy.”

Fundy looked contemplative, like he’d never thought he’d had a choice in the matter. But here he was with three whole options thanks to you. He honestly wasn’t sure which one he’d end up choosing, he had a lot to think about. But he gave you a grateful little smile and soft ‘thanks’ that made the corners of your lips quirk up. Though your chat soon came to an end when Fundy saw Niki approaching. He and Tubbo waved happily to her and gestured for her to come over. She stared up at you with mostly hidden surprise and said hello before Fundy introduced you both. Niki looked almost shy as she gave a short wave up to you. You chuckled and greeted her warmly and said you liked her uniform, pointing out hers was a different color than the others, like Fundy’s. She looked down at her blue version of the L’manberg uniform and flashed a grin and said,

“Yeah, I just liked the lighter blues better than the bright red and navy.”

You brightened and gently tapped Fundy’s shoulder with the back of your hand and cheerfully pointed out that if Niki could choose to alter her uniform from the original she was given then he should be able to do the same no problem. His ears twitched happily and he grinned, showing off his canines and nodding. This led Niki to asking him what you meant and him explaining he wasn’t happy with how his uniform was dyed. She agreed with you, if he wasn’t happy then he should change the color. But she joked that he should avoid any bright greens… Fundy let out a bark of laughter before Niki gasped and pointed out they, as in she and Fundy, had to go get ready. Tubbo raised an eyebrow and asked if they were still planning on running in the election. Fundy sighed and said yes, like he’d been giving that same answer repeatedly. He probably had been, sadly..

“Oh, you’re both running for president and vice president?” You asked good naturedly.

Fundy nodded, waiting for you to give some kind of remark about him running, or how it was against his dad, or something else. But instead you just flashed him an encouraging smile and wished him and Niki good luck. You glanced at the fox hybrid and the blonde next to him before nodding and commenting that they both looked smart, with good heads on their shoulders. You thought they’d do just fine. Fundy’s tail was wagging from the genuine encouragement, making Niki giggle a little. The two did actually have to go get ready, so you and Tubbo said good luck and waved them off before chatting about this and that. The election speeches would be starting soon..

-0-

He was watching her again.

He couldn’t help it. He’d started watching her just to ensure she wasn’t going to pose a threat to the server, but the more he watched her the more he started to actually enjoy it. She was like him and Drista, maybe not exactly, but more than anyone else on the server. But at the same time she was so incredibly different. Seeing her interact with villagers and mobs and now players was intriguing. She was so much more powerful than all of them combined, but she had no trouble blending in like she was just another player. End sake, most of them even seemed to gravitate towards her!

The only other time he’d seen a deity blend in so well with mortals was… Dream. But he tried not to think about that too much.

His currently invisible form phased through the building he’d been lurking beside, going up until he had a better view of the seats in the audience by the stage. He watched her and the small hybrid boy she’d endeared herself to bid a fox hybrid and blonde girl goodbye before taking their seats. He watched her sit and talk happily with the brown haired boy so easily. He wanted to learn to do that. It may be foolish but he wants to be like her. Happy, open, accepted, loved. He’s powerful, yes. He’s the most powerful being on this server without a doubt. But… it gets lonely. Sure Drista is around sometimes but she sleeps so often, preferring her dream world more than the waking one. And Dream… well that’s complicated.

His brother and him have a… tense relationship after the whole ‘falling from grace’ debacle that happened so long ago. Dream barely speaks to him anymore. Actually the last time they’d spoken face to face was after that silly little war Dream had been in not too long ago. He’d told him that he just wanted to sleep afterwards. At the time he didn’t bother to involve himself in the daily lives of the server’s players like Dream did so he wasn’t exactly sure of the intricacies of the whole ‘disagreement’ that led to the fighting. But according to Dream some players wanted to govern themselves because drugs? It all sounded utterly stupid to him so he just sort of didn’t absorb any of the details Dream was complaining about. To him it seemed like the more involved with the players Dream got the more stressed out and tired he became. Though he hadn’t spoken to Dream since their last talk when Dream had vented about all of this.

‘Perhaps I should visit my brother soon,’ the floating entity thought with a hum before he faded from the realm, drifting back to the End.

-0-

Some time had passed and during it you chatted with Tubbo casually, idly noting all the people who started to trickle into the seats around you. You recognized most in one way or another. Some more than others. Like you’d watched a good deal of the ‘main characters’ on the dsmp. And while you knew the names and skins of the lesser involved players you didn’t watch their videos much. Like Callahan, Punz, and Ponk. You knew the bare bones info about them. In fact most of what you knew was from clips and animatics you’d seen on youtube..

You tuned back into the election, watched from the front row as the rally began. It looked like Quackity was going first, alone too it seemed since George was nowhere to be found. Apparently he was ‘too busy being gorgeous’ to bother showing up. You pursed your lips when you noticed Quackity was sounding a touch nervous at first. Which you could understand, speaking in front of a crowd was always tough. Especially if you’re not really used to it, which even then you’d heard that public speakers said they never truly got rid of the jitters going out in front of a crowd causes. So you sent some good vibes to Quackity, he may not be the one you necessarily want winning this election but.. well you don’t want him to embarrass himself either. But it turns out he.. didn’t do great but didn’t bomb either. It didn’t help that the others running were making little comments through his speech.

He spoke about caring about the people of L’manberg and how his endorsement was KSI, despite the fact KSI hadn’t replied back to him. Not a great start. Also Jesus Christ himself apparently. That had actually made you laugh a little. And you laughed louder when you heard the chime to signify you’d gotten a message, only in multiple around you. Turns out everyone had gotten a message from Dream on the main channel.

<Dream> god endorses swag2020

Quackity laughed, cheering loudly while Wilbur rolled his eyes and Tommy sighed. Then it was Pog2020’s turn to show off their endorsements. The first of which being Vikkstar it seemed. You couldn’t help but think it was so surreal to see these… well normal people from real life being canon characters in the Dream SMP universe… apparently. Well that seemed to make the crowd go wild in disbelief and amusement while Tommy pounded his fist on the podium triumphantly while Wilbur cheered. After that Wilbur shoved Tommy aside so he could speak into the podium and said he also brought in an endorsement. And then he introduced…. Schlatt. You wanted to facepalm so bad. You’d actually forgotten this part from the videos. It had totally slipped your mind that Wilbur was the reason Schlatt even knew about the damn election in the first place.

And to top it off the man was clearly drunk or at least hungover. He didn’t even seem to know where the hell he was. Idly you wondered when he got unbanned by Dream as you watched the messages from Schlatt roll through on the message system. It was mostly him asking where the fuck he was and if the ‘big fuckin’ wall’ he was next to was the Great Wall of China. You facepalmed and heard Tommy say he was going to go fetch him. Quackity was laughing and saying one of their endorsements was ‘some old man’, and you rolled your eyes because little duck boy was gonna be engaged to that ‘old man’ soon.. But you kept that tidbit to yourself. Though when Quackity called the ram hybrid ‘babe’ and he said to not call him that, making Quackity laugh you raised an eyebrow, figuring they were already together! Nonchalantly you wondered how much stuff you’d missed.

And then came the yelling.

Schlatt started rambling about how democracy was overrated and he didn’t ‘need a president’, how he’d be his own president. All while Tommy and Wilbur tried to talk over him and get him off the stage. Then he started shit talking Quackity, asking everyone if they really wanted HIM to be their president. Then he went on a tangent about how Quackity’s vice president ‘stole his woman’, which just caused everyone to laugh, even you. You have to admit, the man was funny if nothing else. Made you wish he wasn’t an alcoholic drug using abusive asshole. Blah Blah Wilbur stole his heart, blah blah Coconut 2020, etc that you were half listening to.

About then is when Tommy, still laughing at this whole debacle, glanced down and noticed you and Tubbo sitting in the front row. He gave a bright grin and waved to you both, to which you both smiled and waved back. This little interaction somehow managed to catch Schlatt’s attention, even through his booze addled ramblings. He just stopped mid sentence and stumbled over to Tommy and asked that the fuck he was even doing. Tommy gave an awkward laugh and said he was just waving hello to his friends. Schlatt gave him a ‘wtf’ look and scanned the crowd for who the blond boy was talking about. His horizontal oval pupils finally landed on Tubbo, making the boy give a slightly stiff wave to the older male. Schlatt stared at the boy for almost a full 20 seconds, making Tubbo sweat nervously.

You could almost tell yourself that you saw a flash of recognition in the goat hybrid’s eyes, but before you could blink it was gone and he was instead turning to look at you. Your eyebrows lowered as his gaze perked up and a grin you’re not above describing as ‘sleazy’ crossed his features. His eyes raked over your form, making you give him an unamused look. Schlatt leaned over to Tommy, missing how the teen sorta leaned away from him, and asked who ‘the baddie with the fat ass’ was. Tommy grimaced and replied saying for the other man to not say something so gross.

“That’s Reader, don’t say nasty shit about her man!”

Schlatt laughed and told the younger man to not be such a little bitch, he had to see how hot this woman was! The hair, the horns, the ASS! Before Schlatt could continue to make lewd comments about your person Quackity smacked him with a golden carrot and started cursing him out in Spanish. While the two argued Wilbur went up to the microphone and said that the ACTUAL people running were going to be going into the White House to have a little chat and they’d be right back. Then he and Tommy ran off, Quackity, Schaltt, Niki, and Fundy hot on their heels. Leaving the stage totally empty. Everyone in the audience gave each other side glances before looking up when you stood from your chair and headed to the podium.

Tubbo blinked in surprise before hopping up and following after you, calling your name and asking where you were going. You ruffled his hair and said you just wanted to say one thing to everyone in attendance. He hummed and followed after you, curious to see what you were up to. You knew the outcome of the election, sadly, and didn’t think there was any way to change it really. But you wanted to impart some wisdom onto the citizens of L’manburg really quick before all those dorks came back after finishing their nonsense. So you sat down on the stage, legs hanging over the side by the podium, and grabbed the mic and sighed before saying to the crowd down below,

“Listen up everyone. I’m not part of the other campaigns or anything, but I wanted to just say something real quick to all of you.”

The crowd watched you with rapt attention, wondering who on the SMP you were. You started off with a light chuckle, saying you’d never been a public speaker so if you started rambling and not making a ton of sense then that was why. Then you took a breath and just said what was on your mind.

“I’m not here to endorse anyone or try to convince you to vote for this or that person. I just wanted to say that despite all the shenanigans going on today that this is actually supposed to be pretty serious. Goofing off aside, you all are going to be voting for the person in charge of your country. The person tasked with ensuring you are all safe and cared for. Being president is a big responsibility. One that shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

You looked at each person in the crowd, lots you knew OF but didn’t know personally. But you made sure to tell them what you thought a president should be.

“Being president shouldn’t be about having glory or power. It should be about working to make sure all your citizens are safe, happy, and above all; THRIVING. If the citizens are miserable or not being heard then the president has failed. So I want you all to think hard about who you want to vote into office. Who do you think will honestly care for your needs as a country? Who will defend you and ensure you’re all living your best lives?”

The crowd seemed to be listening to you, none of them had interrupted you anyways. And Tubbo was smiling, having apparently thought you’d done a good job speaking. But you heard the sound of approaching voices and sighed again. You’ve been sighing a lot today, but that’s not really a surprise is it? Instead of dwelling on it you conclude your speech with a simple,

“Just keep in mind who you’re voting for, because you’re going to be stuck with them for the next few years.”

Then you placed the microphone back on the podium and grabbed Tubbo around the waist, and to the boy’s shock you jumped down from the roughly 8 block high stage. He let out an involuntary high pitched yelp of shock that was abruptly cut off when you both landed on the ground unharmed. He blinked then started laughing, which made you begin to snicker. He shoved your shoulder and called you a bastard for freaking him out. You just teased him for even thinking you’d let him get hurt. He changed the subject when everyone saw Schlatt coming over, though you could tell he was happy to hear you cared. But the moment was over once Schlatt stumbled into the audience, looking more than a little out of it. He hobbled over to the bed Tommy had put down for him before he’d gone on stage and collapsed down onto it, for some reason in mismatched armor and clutching carrots. You had no idea where he got any of that stuff because he’d shown up with nothing but the suit on his back you thought.

But then Wilbur, Tommy, and Schlatt all came back from wherever they’d been while talking. And it didn’t look like they’d come to any peaceful resolution, though you’re not surprised. And you’re even further unsurprised when Quackity announced he was going to be pooling his votes with Schlatt. But that right now the debate was over and they just had to let the voting go on until the next day. So with that Wilbur ended the rally and bid everyone a pleasant rest of their day. And soon everyone had dispersed, leaving Tubbo and you waiting by the stairs that led up to the stage. Tommy walked down with Wilbur, the older of the two looking pensive. But as you all walked down the main path it seemed Wilbur was deep in thought. You watched him while Tommy and Tubbo chatted, but as the cobble path turned to wood the older brunet said he’d see them tomorrow and walked off to who knows where.

Then Tubbo gave you and Tommy a secretive glance and said to follow him, which you both did without complaint. That’s when the brown haired boy started saying he’d been ‘hoping for the best but planning for the worst’. Tommy asked what he was going on about, ‘planning for the worst’?? So Tubbo explained that he’d made a little thing for if things went bad. That’s when you noticed he was leading you both far from the main area and towards the edge of the L’manberg territory by one of the border walls. And there hidden under the water thanks to some craft sign placement was a hidden entrance into a secret tunnel. All of which led to a bunker. Tommy was in disbelief at the sight, frantically asking his best friend when the hell he’d even had time to make this! Tubbo just gave a vaguely cryptic reply of, “I don’t sleep.” Which you scolded him for. You placed a hand on his head and rocked it back and forth a little roughly and said he was a growing boy who needed sleep!

“Sleep is when your body grows! If you don’t sleep you’ll be short forever!” You huffed.

That made Tommy burst out into borderline hysterical laughter while Tubbo shouted in outrage. You laughed a little and easily blocked the hits Tubbo was weakly trying to land on you. But once they both settled down Tubbo actually showed off the supplies, like potions and such, he’d prepared for Tommy and Wilbur should anything go sour. Tommy, still shocked but appreciative, thanked his friend and said they should go tell Wilbur. They asked if you wanted to come or if you’d like to sleep for the night. You just shrugged and said you weren’t really tired. But you told them THEY needed sleep however.

They groaned but you shushed them and made them go back to their place and sleep. They said they didn’t have a bed for you but you just pulled out a book and said you’d read by the fire until it was time to read the election results. They complained that they weren’t tired but you hushed them and said you could see how they were more sluggish compared to how they’d been that morning. And after some weak whining they eventually gave in and placed their beds down, took their armor off, and crawled under the blankets. Meanwhile you sat by the furnace, book in hand and hummed to yourself softly as you read. The two boys fell asleep faster than usual, chalking it up to the busy day they had. Not thinking to link it to feeling safe as they laid in bed.

-0-

It felt like barely an hour had passed before the sun was creeping up over the horizon. You’d finished going through the enchantment book forever ago, and it sat on your lap while you stared down at the fire in the furnace. You wondered when the election results would be read out and breathed in slowly, feeling tired but not physically. With nothing else to do you got busy making some breakfast. Just something simple, eggs with toast. But it worked to wake the two boys up, the smell of the fresh food rousing them to the land of the living. They practically devoured the breakfast before slipping their armor on and saying they should go now. It was a decent time to start the day. So they led you along to Wilbur, who had been in the midst of leaving his ball house. The two boys said they had something secret to tell him, and he actually hadn’t wanted to talk ‘government topics’ with you around. You rolled your eyes behind your mask but agreed to go wait by the stage until they were done.

So you sat alone in the audience, watching people slowly arrive as you did. Ponk was the first, his signature fire colored mask and lab coat(?) revealing who he was. Then right after was HBomb, dressed almost like a pirate for some reason? Or maybe he was a referee? He was in black and white stripes with a headband so you’re unsure, could go either way. And then Punz with his stylish white hoodie and gold chain. Then you saw Niki coming down to greet Eret. He was in full netherite and nobody gave her a second glance which sorta surprised you. They’d betrayed everyone hadn’t he? You admit you don’t know much about her. But they seem to be on good terms with Niki at any rate. Regardless he stood to the side, not really sitting with anyone. So maybe things weren’t as gucci as you thought. You were distracted from thinking about it as a man in a L’manberg uniform and headset arrived. Jack Manifold you think. Walking past him was George and Dream.

You narrowed your eyes at Dream, something about him felt off? Which was weird considering you’d never met the man in person before so you’re not sure how you could tell if he was ‘off’ or not. But something about him was just… weird. Maybe it was the hood and mask obscuring his entire upper body save for some dirty blond hair poking out from said hood. Or maybe how his body moved fluidly like a person but… it also didn’t seem to be in the right proportions. His arms and legs felt a teeny bit too long while his torso seemed shorter than it should be.

‘Maybe it’s the cut of the hood and pants making it look that way..’ you thought to yourself.

Wilbur speaking suddenly caught your attention, and when you looked up at the stage you saw all the candidates standing there while Tubbo was hurrying over to the seat you’d saved for him next to you. Seemed they were starting now. The little goat hybrid gave you a nervous smile before focusing on the results. Wilbur started reading but paused to ask Tommy why he was standing with his own mic, and then said he should be standing behind him. You watched them bicker a second before Wilbur gave in and let Tommy stand with his own mic. You smiled and shook your head fondly when Tommy gave a silent cheer for himself ‘winning’ that one. Once that was done Wilbur began explaining what was going to happen. They weren’t just reading off the results, they were also going to be inaugurating the winner as president. And then explained how the new president would make a decree and how the first decree was very important.

“My fellow L’manbergians, and by that I mean Ponk, HBomb, and Tubbo. And the others in the crowd as well, including Tommy’s tall friend…” he said while gesturing to you.

Tubbo loudly cheered for Wilbur, making Tommy and Quackity laugh. You giggled a little at his antics but mostly kept silent to hear. Wilbur announced he had the election results in his hands, then held up an envelope and continued by reading off the four competing parties: POG2020, SWAG2020, COCONUT2020, and SCHLATT2020. And there had been a total of 220,000 votes. This of course confused everyone and Quackity pointed out there were barely 10 people in the audience, so how had so many votes been cast. Wilbur let out a tired sigh and elaborated, saying he’d accidentally opened the vote… to all the other servers when he’d broadcasted the election live…

Everyone started kicking up a fuss, some upset strangers from other servers were weighing in on a server they weren’t even a part of while others found this all hysterically hilarious. Wilbur settled the crowd down and explained there’d been some voter fraud as well, but he’d gotten rid of all the votes that had come from the same communicator protocol. But then he pointed out that all the fraud votes were only voting for one party.. then stared directly at Fundy and Niki. They glanced away from everyone else and Quackity said through laughter that they should be disqualified. Tommy agreed and said there was only one coder in the Coconut2020 party.. But Wilbur sighed when Fundy was silent before saying diplomatically that they should count all the votes regardless of their CP address… Everyone started laughing until Wilbur shushed them and started actually reading off the results, finally.

“In last place is Coconut2020 with 5%,” Fundy and Niki cheered for the votes they did get. Tommy gave them a slightly sarcastic congratulations while Quackity cackled. Then Wilbur continued,

“Then in second to last place with 9% is Schlatt2020…” That was actually surprising to everyone since Schlatt was a very charismatic guy on most fronts and usually never had issues with luring people to his side.

The current president turned to look at Quackity and George then glanced at Tommy and said that the two final running parties were Pog2020 and Swag2020, and coming in third place was…. Swag2020 with 22%. And Pog2020 with 31%. Tommy’s eyes went wide and he practically screamed his joy, nearly tripping backwards in his excitement. He rushed up to Wilbur and demanded to know if they’d won, and when Wilbur said they did Tommy missed the rest of the statement telling him to wait. The blond boy was too thrilled to stop and listen and without thinking he yelled down to you,

“MUM I WON THE ELECTION! WE WON!!” practically bouncing off the stage.

You gave him a grin, mentally cooing over him calling you mom and not even noticing but inside your stomach was churning as you waited for the other boot to drop.. And after Wilbur calmed Tommy he made clear that Quackity and Schlatt had made a deal to pool their votes. Meaning together they had 31% as well. Meaning it’s a tie. This caused an uproar between the parties, everyone seemingly arguing while you puzzled over it being a tie! That hadn’t happened originally… But it was Niki who quieted everyone and pointed out something rather jarring…

“All four of our votes only equal up to be 67%... there’s a chunk of votes missing!”

Everyone was silent before George barked out a ‘what the hell?!’ that made everyone start arguing again. Schlatt was insisting that Wilbur counted them wrong while Quackity demanded they be recounted. Meanwhile Wilbur adamantly said he’d counted right and they were wrong. It took Tommy snatching the slip of paper out of his hand that had the election results typed out on them to get Wilbur to stop shouting. As Tommy read the list of results he mentally counted up the percentages and frowned before saying Niki was right, that was only like 67%! But then Fundy chimed in and asked what was written on the back. Confused Tommy turned the paper over and his eyes went wide. He was in shock and spoke in a normal tone, which just got drowned out by everyone. Seeing he was being ignored he shouted,

“OI! DICKHEADS! You missed the ‘other’ section of the votes!”

That grabbed Wilbur’s attention easily, he’d forgotten all about the ‘other’ voting option. And hadn’t even known anything was written on the back of the slip of paper. He ripped it out of Tommy’s grasp and rushed to read the back, his voice getting more subdued as he spoke…

“With the most votes at 33% is…. Reader..”

---

@salinesoot @lady-bee-fechin @kacchasu @putridjoy @lunawritesstories @galaxypankitty3030 @paradigmax @zachariethememerie @killmewithafanfic @trinity-1002107 @hufflepuff-demigod @truthdaze @exorcisms-with-elmo @redbloodtea @heythereimhaylz @olyink @jackalopedoodles @nikkineeky @artsimatsu @hufflepuff-demigod @corpiet @beepa99 @anxiousnarwhale @bananaaddictmilkshake @realitycanbeajerk @lostandsouciant

#technoblade x reader #techno x reader #technoblade #dsmp #dream smp #mcyt x reader #c!tommy #c!tubbo #c!wilbur #c!fundy #c!niki #c!quackity #c!schlatt #c!george

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missymurphy1985 · 4 years ago

Text

Out of the Blue

*This was a request*

Warnings - smut / unplanned pregnancy / talk of abortion

I've used a fictional family for Cillian for this, names have been changed.

"That's it then," Cillian sighed, reading the letter from his solicitor, his friend Adam sitting opposite him in the kitchen of Cillian's new apartment in North Dublin. The Decree Nisi, his divorce from Kate now final. He felt a tinge of sadness, he couldn't help it, they'd spent most of their lives together and shared two teenage boys, but he couldn't forgive her cheating on him while he was away filming, the trust had left him completely.

"To a fresh start, Cill." Adam raised his bottle of beer to Cillian's pint of Guinness as they toasted, Ada ln trying to lighten the darkness in his best friend's eyes. "You're better off without her - now you can move on."

"Yeah no thanks, I'm done with women for a LONG time Ad, they're all the fucking same!" Cillian smiled, almost a laugh. "All I'm interested in now is the boys, they've been through one hell of a rollercoaster this last year."

"When are they coming to stay?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, I've got them all weekend."

"Then tonight Mr Murphy I am taking you OUT! Come on, we can go check out that new bar in the city, there's a band on!" Cillian groaned, that was not his plan for this evening. All he wanted was his pyjamas, a good book and an early night. This wasn't lost on Adam. "I'm not taking no for an answer here, come on! It's been months since you went out, let's do this!"

"Adam please... Not tonight yeah? Maybe next week, or.."

"Enough! No! You're not moping any more, I'm taking to out and that's the end of it." Cillian rolled his eyes. Fuck it, arguing with Adam was pointless, he'd known this since high school.

Within an hour they were ready, both of them in jeans and Timberland boots, Cillian in a blue striped t shirt and Adam in a green one. Hair fixed, they headed out to the waiting taxi outside.

"The first sign of someone trying to take my picture, I'm out of there Adam..." Cillian dreaded the thought of being papped out on the town following his divorce. The papers just wanted a scoop on who he'd be sleeping with now he was freshly single and available. Adam nodded in agreement a deal, as the taxi pulled outside the bar.

******************************

Y/n woke up, her head pounding. Opening her eyes she looked around at her surroundings, not recognising a single thing.

"The fuck have you done this time y/n..." You groaned, rolling your eyes and sitting up gingerly, trying to stop the contents of your stomach from evacuating violently over the unfamiliar bedsheets. Glancing at the alarm clock, you groaned again. 8am... Why the hell was it so damn early.. and where the fuck was she?? She heard a door downstairs open and close, and froze. She wasn't alone. Footsteps up the stairs, she quickly hid back under the covers pretending to be asleep as she heard the bedroom door open and the pressure on the side of the bed as someone sat down next to her sleeping body.

"Hey.. you awake?" An Irish voice filled the silence, as the smell of fresh coffee found its way under the duvet you were hiding under. Clenching your eyes tightly together, you slowly pulled the duvet back and opened them, seeing the man you clearly spent the previous evening with. Your eyes found his.. my god they were so blue.. he was handsome.. bit older than you, maybe? You couldn't tell for sure. You definitely recognised him from somewhere other than last night though, maybe he went to uni with you?

"Um... Morning.. I uh -" you sat up, taking the coffee from his hand, thanking him.

"Did we -"

"Did we.."

You both spoke at the same time. Clearly neither of you remembering the night before. You smiled, he smiled, before you both burst out laughing.

"Fucking hell, how wasted were we? We can't even remember if we had sex or not? I've NEVER been that drunk.. listen I'm sorry, this isn't exactly a great morning after huh?" He took a sip of his coffee, blushing slightly.

"Hey this is not something I do regularly okay.." he shook his head agreeing, neither did he.

"Cillian." He offered you his hand to shake, still smirking. "Listen if you can't remember if we had sex, you definitely can't remember my name..." Your turn to blush now.

"Y/n. And no. I definitely don't remember. But if it makes you feel any better, I'm still fully clothed? I don't think we had sex then redressed, do you?" You laughed, showing him you were still wearing the top and jeans you had on last night.

The pair of you laughed in relief.. eyes meeting again as the tension finally left the room.

"I can drive you home whenever you're ready y/n. If you need to get back?" Cillian offered.

"Erm.. oh yeah.. that'd be great, thank you.. listen, would it be cheeky to ask for a shower, or..."

"Hey, no not at all! Just through there," he pointed to his en suite. "I'll fetch you a towel, take your time."

You smiled. Those beautiful blue eyes were captivating you completely, you couldn't drag your own eyes away. He couldn't take his own from yours either, that tension was back, but it was a different kind of tension this time. Neither of you could remember how you got here, but neither of you minded that it had happened.

"You.. I'll go have that shower, yeah?" You moved to stand but stumbled slightly, landing closer to Cillian. He didn't move. Your face was now a mere few inches from his. Those eyes, once again never leaving yours. Your core burned, glancing down you saw the obvious excitement in his trousers, causing you to groan quietly.

He leaned in slowly, lips brushing yours carefully. You couldn't stop yourself kissing him back, within seconds the kiss becoming heated, tongues colliding. He leaned you back down onto the bed, moving his body to cover your own. You couldn't stop yourself, it was as if you were moving in autopilot, everything inside your core was on fire, demanding more of this incredible man immediately.

He stopped kissing you and hovered over your face, rubbing his nose against yours.

"Are you sure about this y/n?" You nodded, and kissed him again hungrily, parting your legs as he fell between them, grinding his own hips against yours. You could feel his hard-on, and you bucked your hips against his.

"Please... Don't stop now... I need this.. even if I never see you again after this Cill, just let me.."

"Baby I don't do one night stands... I'm taking you for breakfast as soon as we're done. Deal?" You smiled, no that was probably a grin. Breakfast sounded damn good right now, but not as good as he'd feel buried inside you.

"Deal. Now fuck me.. please?"

"Your wish is my command." Clothes removed, he grabbed a condom from his jeans pocket (Adam bought them the night before, he remembered that part at least, him slipping a couple into his jeans pocket as Cillian protested he wasn't going to sleep with anyone that night anyway...) Slipping it on, he pushed himself inside you, filling you completely.

"Fuck... Cillian that's fucking it..." You raised your hips with each thrust, he buried his face into your neck, biting the skin and sucking it slightly. You could hear him moaning into your collarbone.

"Shit you feel good... So fucking tight y/n..."

"Harder... Cillian, harder..." Your nails scratched down his back - if he was marking you, you were absolutely marking him in return. His thrusts now came hard and fast, as your walls clenched around him, your body finding that sweet release you needed, you hands pulling his hair hard. He came immediately after you, with a low moan into your hair as he pulled it in return, both of you panting trying to catch your breath.

"Shit me... I wasn't expecting that.." Cillian eased himself out, catching the condom before throwing it on the floor by the bed. Collapsing next to you, he turned to face you.

"I'm sorry... I don't even know you and I'm fucking you.. this isn't me y/n, I mean it, I don't do this, I've NEVER done this before."

"Hey, you've never had a one time thing? Seriously?"

"I was married for 20years until last night y/n!" He laughed, causing you to smile too. Suddenly your smile dropped a little.

"How old are you? If you don't mind me asking.."

"42. You?"

"If I tell you, don't freak out yeah?"

"Y/n I know you're younger okay, just tell me. It's okay."

"24." His eyes widened, was that in horror? Shock? Disgust? You couldn't tell but it didn't look good...

"24?? Shit me... The press are gonna have a field day with this..." You sat up, suddenly extremely self conscious. Age was never an issue for you, you actually preferred an older man, but it clearly bothered him.

"The press?" You asked, confused. "Why on earth would they be bothered?"

Cillian looked at you. You looked back at him completely deadpan. Shit, you were serious.

"Google me. Cillian Murphy." You reached into your jeans pocket for your phone and typed his name.

"Oh shit..."

**********************************

"Y/n, you still with me?" Cillians voice floated through the screen, knocking you from your daydream. Filming over in England for Peaky Blinders, Skype calls were your norm now.

"What? Shit sorry, baby, I was in a world of my own then! What did you say?"

"I asked if that delivery had arrived from Amazon, those books I ordered? You ok?"

"What books? Oh, those.. erm yeah I think so, something arrived for you earlier anyway, I left it on the kitchen side for you for when you get home next week. At least I think I did..."

"What's going on with you? Are you okay? You haven't been yourself for a few days now, forgetting things? You left your keys at work the other day, your phone in your friend's car.. what's going on?" Truth be told, you had no idea. Since your chest infection four months ago, you'd lost the ability to adult. You and Cillian had moved into a new home on the outskirts of Dublin 4 months ago, that morning after being the start of a blossoming romance, that led to you moving in together within the space of 6 months. Everyone had something to say, especially his ex wife who was still telling everyone who'd listen that you were obviously sleeping together while Cillian was still married, obviously he traded her in for a younger model, obviously blah, blah, blah... Never mind the fact that SHE cheated on HIM, no mention of that... Luckily your friends and family saw past all of it, and welcomed the new relationship - seeing how good you two fitted together, it wasn't hard to see why. You were the gin to his tonic, exactly what you both needed without you knowing you needed it. But these last few months, you'd felt completely spaced out - not even you could deny it.

"That chest infection really knocked the wind out my sales Cill, I haven't been right since! My mind's gone to absolute mush! Maybe I'm just run down, I've got the rest of the week off now so I'll get some rest, I promise."

"Maybe book a doctor's appointment y/n, you should be over this by now, you took all your antibiotics, yeah?"

"Yep, every one, right on time. Babe I'm so tired! I can't explain it!"

"Hit the sack babe, get an early one. I'll call you tomorrow. Don't forget to make that appointment okay?" You agreed, eyes growing heavy. You told each other I love you before closing the call and heading straight to bed.

You left the doctor's appointment the following day with tears in your eyes. This couldn't be happening... You took out your phone to call Serena, your best friend.

Approaching her front door, she opened it and immediately held you as sobs racked your body. Taking you inside away from any prying paparazzi, she put the kettle on.

"He's gonna kill me Serena... This isn't supposed to happen! We agreed - this wasn't part of our plan!! What am I going to do? How could I have been so stupid?"

"This isn't your fault y/n.. and he is not going to kill you, okay?" Nausea overcame you and you ran to her downstairs toilet, your breakfast evacuating violently into the toilet bowl. Serena made you a glass of water. Your phone vibrated, Cillian's name appearing on the screen. You ignored it. Again. Three times he'd called, three times you ignored it.

"You have to tell him sooner or later, y/n..." Serena was at the door, glass of water in hand.

"How? How exactly do I tell the man who is adamant he wants no more children that I'm fucking pregnant Serena? And I'm already 13 weeks gone? How did I not know?" Sobs overcame you again, your phone vibrating a fourth time. This time, a voicemail was left. Shakily, you listened to it.

"Y/n what the fuck? Call me. Call me right now." He didn't sound happy - from just a few missed calls, that was a bit extreme! Once you'd calmed down, Serena left you alone in her kitchen while you called him back via WhatsApp, hands still shaking.

"Baby, what's going on?? Paul's just shown me a photo on Twitter of you leaving the doctors with tears in you eyes, what the hell is happening?" You cursed yourself.. fucking photographers everywhere!

"Babe, are you alone? And sitting down? Put your phone on video call." He did as you asked and you saw his panic-stricken face fill the screen as you settled your phone on the counter. He saw your pale, tear-stained face and turned a shade of white.

"Y/n what is it?"

"I went to the doctor's -"

"I know that, y/n..."

"Look, this is easier if you don't interrupt me, yeah?" He nodded an apology and sat back, arms folded. "So that chest infection.. I had to take antibiotics. And it would appear that antibiotics... Well.. they render the pill completely useless and -" his eyes widened as he listened to you.

"The fuck are you saying y/n?"

"I'm pregnant, Cillian. 13 weeks." You closed your eyes, waiting for him to scream at you. Shout at you. Curse you. But he said nothing. Silence. Complete radio silence. You opened your eyes, tears threatening to fall any second. "Well fucking say something Cill!"

"I... I don't... Fuck y/n... This is a joke, right? You're joking? It's April 1st and you're having me on, yeah?"

"No, Cillian, it's July 15th and I am not FUCKING JOKING!!" The tears fell freely now, how much of an arsehole could he be. You saw him stand up and walk across the room out of view and your tears fell harder. Serena re-entered the room hearing your sobs but you waved her back. Composing yourself..

"Cillian... Cillian are you still there? Cillian?!" He came back into view and sat back down, eyes wet. He was crying.

"I'm sorry.. baby I'm sorry I didn't mean.." choking his words, so many emotions running through his mind. Another wave of nausea saw you suddenly dash out of view to throw up in the toilet again. All he saw was you run.

"Y/n?? Baby?? Where you going??" Serena came into view.

"Cill she's fine - it's morning sickness. She's okay don't worry." Cillian breathed a sigh of relief seeing your best friend there, at least you weren't alone.

"Listen, go take care of her yeah, tell her to call me when she's feeling okay.. and tell her I love her. We'll be okay. Everything will be okay, I promise." Serena smiled, nodding her head, ending the call, making her way back to you, still wretching into the bowl.

*************************************

"How are you feeling?" Cillians voice helped to ease the pain. Your morning sickness had subsided, at least for the last couple of days. Your bump appeared out of nowhere once you'd found out you were pregnant, but with the sudden change in your body came changes you really didn't appreciate - your pelvis was agony. Since you hit the 7 month mark, it felt like it was on fire daily.

"Like dogshit. Like my hips want to cripple me. This is hell Cillian, I miss you so much!" You started to cry again, Cillian feeling completely helpless. He'd already missed so much of this precious time filming, neither of you able to come home or visit due to Covid restrictions and y/n having a high risk pregnancy. Severe morning sickness, coupled now with severe pelvic girdle pain, doctors had signed you off on sick until your maternity leave kicked in in 6 weeks time. You couldn't walk now without crutches, relying on friends and family to bring you groceries. You were beginning to resent your own baby, which made you feel even worse.

"I'm on the first flight home tomorrow morning, we wrapped filming up a month early so I could come home sooner. I wanted to surprise you, but I'm shit at surprises!" He chuckled, causing you to giggle too. You perked up, still lay on the sofa like a bloated whale but at least you were smiling now.

"Really? You'll be home tomorrow?"

"Flight lands at 7am. I'll be home by 7:45. And I'm not going anywhere, y/n, I've cleared my schedule. Nothing coming up, no press, no interviews, I'm completely yours and the baby's for the foreseeable future. I promise." Tears fell again, but this time, happy ones. He'd be home in less than 12 hours. One more sleep, and he'd be home.

*************************************

"Come on y/n... You can do this!" You gripped Cillians hand hard as another contraction rippled painfully across your abdomen. Why the fuck did you refuse the epidural? What the hell were you thinking??

"I can't... I can't do it... Cillian I've been doing this for hours I can't..... Aaaaahhhhhh!" You screamed as your body took over and you bore down. The midwife ordering you to push.

"You can, you can baby, come on... She's nearly here! So close now, just a little longer..." He breathed with you, patting your head with a cold flannel to cool you down. Another contraction, another push...

Suddenly the room erupted with a baby's loud cry, swiftly followed by your own. Cillians eyes watered as your daughter was lifted in the air, still attached by the umbilical cord. Cillian cut it, taking your daughter into his arms. It was already decided he would hold your baby first, after all, you'd been carrying her for 9 months! You choked, seeing him holding your baby for the first time, as he carried her over to you to hold to your chest.

"She's here... She's beautiful.. look at her eyes Cillian!" Ocean blue, just like his.

"She has your nose y/n... My god she's perfect..." He kissed your head gently, openly sobbing now and not caring in the slightest. He thanked you. He thanked you for bringing his daughter safely into the world, for going through hell during the worst pregnancy you could've imagined..

"All worth it... Every second.. but I'm never doing this again Cillian.. I mean it, never again." You glared at him then at the scissors on the table, then down at his groin.

"Fuck off, y/n, I'm not having anyone snipping anything down there..."

"Looks like a life of celibacy then Murphy, that's the only logical conclusion."

"I'll book an appointment next week." You smirked. Very rarely did you not get your own way, and now he had two girls against him, he knew he'd never get his OWN way ever again.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Taglist:

@queenshelby @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @margoo0

#cillian x smut #cillian x fem!reader #fanfic #cillian x pregnant reader #cillian x childbirth

160 notes · View notes

jjkpls · 4 years ago

Text

set your world alight (m)

genre : fluff, smut, tiny lil bit of angst

pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

word count : 24k (eye-)

warnings/content : mentions of bruises, mature language, long haired jaykay, awkwardness & cutesy overload, clumsy frustrating idiot(s), bratty reader, explicit sexual content (fingering, handjob, protected penetrative sex), HARRYPOTTER!AU (i cant believe i forgot to precise that in the teasers), jeon as charlie weasley, pretty much.

Jeon Jungkook is a mystery. Master of dragons. Long dark locks hiding a face most have never seen. Skin covered in scars. A brave, unpenetrable, curious being that you don’t know much about for, the very few times you’ve seen him in your life, you didn’t dare talk to him. Of course, you’d have the fatest crush on him.

“If we add roses instead of eucalyptus, wouldn't it turn into a love potion?”

You could have predicted it. If you were to have spent your evening scribbling the course that this morning, with the introducing of a new potion to your year 6 class, would take, solely based on intuition and experience, you would have gotten it right. Down to who's asking the question.

“No, it won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Are you? After having spent your whole schooling career in Hogwarts, having studied the art of potion-making for five years filled with internships in the four corners of this Earth, in the greatest House of Potions there are, are you sure?

You could say all that. You could even tell to this annoying Gryffindor to shut the hell up because everyone, and you first, can’t stand to hear her voice anymore, interrupting constantly every lesson either with pointless questions or with obnoxious jabber.

But you don’t. Obviously, you don’t.

“For now, let’s just focus on learning what the actual recipe is. We’ll worry about interchanging ingredients later.”

Which is almost a lie. You won’t ever do that with them. You have your tight program, with a limited amount of recipes, that you’re supposed to go through with them. And creating new potions, or adapting already existing one to discover new effects are not on the plan. Not with Mrs Umbridge watching closely over every Hogwarts teachers' shoulders.

If they ever still find themselves obsessed with their dating life and enlarged pores once they'll be done with school, they will worry, on their very own, about creating the magic juices and ointments they need -given their lack of attention, investment and overall talent, you do sincerely hope they drop it because the results might lead to catastrophes but that's beside the point.

Miss Gryffindor sighs loudly. Turning slightly on her chair to roll her eyes to her friends, who snicker along, they’re whispering Merlin knows what about you and you’re just left there, trying to find your way back to the lesson without losing too much of your composure.

It doesn’t take you so much effort because unfortunately you are used to this. This class of Gryffindor is terrible. In your couple of years of teaching, you’ve never fallen upon a class filled with so many disinterested, awfully rude teenagers. Naively, when you just walked out of Hogwarts yourself almost ten years ago, when you were wondering with a certain dreadful desperation, what path to head for, you had finally chosen the teaching one, believing that by the time you’ll become a teacher, you’ll be old enough and teenagers would stop being scary by then, you might even grow a little fond of them, embodiment of a something long time gone, of nostalgia.

You were wrong. At twenty-six, you still feel like a barely done with teenagehood human, hardly an adult yet. The weapons you thought you’d gather along the way didn’t appear in your robe’s pockets as you thought they would.

Instead, you only have one, effective on an immediate use, but pretty useless on the long run: a monk’s patience.

You can ignore them. When they’re being so aggravating, you consider sometimes taking a hundred points away from their house -but you don’t because you’ll have to justify to the very biased Head of Gryffindor and fucking Umbridge-, you can ignore them. It’s the most effective way to react as it doesn’t feed them much, they just get annoyed with your unresponsiveness and decide to contain their disruption between themselves. The thing is, the steam has to blow some way, somehow. It’s fine when you can wake up early and spend an hour or so meditating, to gather all of your monk's potential, or if you ever have a Draught of Peace laying around, that can help too.

These days, it’s just harder to meditate, to try and keep your mind light, unbothered and calmly content.

So much harder that by the end of the class, only fifteen minutes left, you snap and end up taking off ten points from Gryffindors.

There’s a lot of whining, of strident eruptions of indignation, however, you’re smart enough to do it the moment you’re dismissing your class and they have to leave, sulking and hating you with a passion, for their next lesson.

“What have you done?” It’s Taehyung asking. He has a little alarmed look shading his abnormally handsome face, but a tiny little tremble of the corner of his mouth gives him away.

“Ten points.” You state with a bored raised of your eyebrows. What a bunch of babies.

“You suck. They’re going to hate me too, now.”

Which is not true. Immature profiles like them would tend to hate a teacher simply by association -it is to say that Taehyung is well known to be always stuck to your shoes, you grew up together anyway- but they would never Taehyung. He’s too handsome, has a voice way too sultry, too much charisma for anyone to hate him, especially his students. They can't stand his lessons though. He’s the worst option for a History of Magic teacher. He is passionate about his studies, really really passionate. Therefore his classes, in summarise, turn into him ranting non-stop, jumping from the main point to tiny insignificant streams made of pointless anecdotes that leave his students lost and confused, holes in their parchments, hands burning from their poor attempt at trying to take notes. His classes are Hell, made of boredom and confounding. The only upside being that he’s very nice to look at. He’s like an ancient mage stuck inside an elf body.

“Do you know how many times this year I’ve had to tell them that ‘no, this potion that has nothing to do with a love potion can’t be turned into one’? Why do I have to deal with their hormones all the time, seriously?”

“You mean, on top of yours?” It freezes you on the spot You could have heard that coming, with the big old ton-heavy boots. You don’t bother looking up from your papers you are reorganising. It’s pointless because you already know what you’d see. The smart ass’s shit-eating grin, singularly square at the edges, with the mischievous squinted eyes and subjective dance of the eyebrows.

“Shut up.”

“I can’t. I know you love talking about him since you don’t talk to him.”

The shame is burning the back of your neck. It’s climbing up your cheeks, taking over your ears in the process. If there’s one person who does wonders at not-making-you-feel-like-an-adult, it’s Kim Taehyung. Because of course he saw you grow up, and of course, he’s noticed that the timid, coward of a little Ravenclaw you used to be, hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re so mean.”

“Am not too.” He giggles as he leaps from the front table he had been sitting on to your desk, where he takes a seat, not caring about your quill holder that he knocks down. “You’re never going to try?”

“I don’t know, Tae.”

“He doesn’t look mean. A bit gruff but I guess that’s what living like a wild creature surrounded by the wildest creatures makes you look like.”

You hum non-committally. You have come to the same conclusion already. But you hate the idea that you could be right because it gives you one less reason to not dare approach him. “He must be nice.”

“He must?” You cackle a bit. He doesn’t even sound so sure of this statement. Taehyung smiles along, shrugging with a tilt of his head.

“Well, I don’t know. But you have to talk to him. Soon he’ll be portkeying back to his Transylvania-“

“Romania.”

“-you won’t see him ever again. And also, seriously, it’s been like, what, three months since he’s back?”

“Actually, it’s been barely a month.” The idiot is pretending, with a grandiloquent theatrical performance, that he doesn’t believe you, that somehow you’re trying to deceive him. And it’s ridiculous because no matter how dramatic he always aims to be, no matter how long indeed this whole pinning over the pretty guy without having the courage to act on your feelings has been lasting, it still has not been three months. It’s been three weeks and four days, not that you're counting.

He arrived on a rainy Friday morning, you remember it well because the wet weather agitated the frogs an awful lot and you ended up spending your ten minutes of break between two classes, on all fours, crawling along the hallways of Hogwarts to try and retrieve three escapees.

A real joy.

Especially when he appeared at the end of the hallway. Soaked to the bones but not seemingly caring, as opposed to Mr Filch who seemed even angrier than he usually does. You barely recognised him, from so far, looking up from the ground, with the hood of his heavy coat low above his eyes, nothing peculiar in his appearance that would give him away, not a word uttered that could have helped. Until he turned the corner of the hallway, and the emblem of this foreign school of wizardry appeared. With the purple embroidery contouring the white seagull, it just clicked. You remembered the rumours spreading wildly, excitedly around the castle, that despite the very vindicative Mrs Umbridge's opinion, dragons would be introduced this year to the course of Care for the Magical Creatures and real dragons, seen by their master, would be flying to you and inhabit the grounds of Hogwarts for this semester.

And of course, it would be him. With his impressive resume, or that unauthorised biography written about him by that one stingy journalist singing his lauds that you could read anywhere -there was even a version, presented as fiction, that’s been published in the muggle world- and also, his first and last visit to Hogwarts, two years ago, for the Triwizard Tournament when he proved his talent and bravery in front of all by forcefully regaining control over a Horntail that was just about to chew a few students’ heads off after having eluded his chains -and conveniently, it's also the same time when you fell head over heels for the stranger.

It was ridiculous because you never talked to the guy. But two years later, just his silhouette and the bouncing of his heavy head of curls you have to come to the shameful acknowledgement that your heart hasn’t gotten over the crush.

It’s ridiculous.

It precisely why you shouldn’t have talked about it to anyone. It’s just too hard to keep anything from Kim Taehyung though. Even if your life would have been so much easier if you’d only have to listen to your own nagging about this and not his.

“You’re going to end up as a crazy old spinster if you keep acting like that.”

“And you’re going to be late for your class if you keep on bothering me.”

“I don’t have a class.” Taehyung stares, dubiously. Now that you don’t have to face head-on your shame, attention slightly steered away from your useless self, you can stare back, glare even, as you challenge him with a raised eyebrow.

“You do.”

You relish in the sickly white suddenly brushing all over his face. He curses under his breath, grabbing his briefcase with one of his gigantic hands, before he’s flying out of your classroom.

Quite frankly, you’re not sure if he does have a class at the moment. You do know for a fact that he doesn’t know either because strangely enough, for a teacher whose whole subject depends on memory and a good one at that, he’s never been able to memorise his planning.

An easy escape you’ve come up with.

Everyone needs those.

Especially whoever’s having their ears talked off by the crazy old howl, Umbridge, down the corridor. You can hear her from your room, even with the door almost shut close. Her whole monologue is hard to decipher. You do hear that it has something to do with “her disapproval” and someone else's “irresponsibility” and “pure lunacy”.

By curiosity, you lean your head through the thin entrance your door is offering, picking discreetly to see who the victim is.

It's the guy. Jeon Jungkook. Standing with his feet pointing away from Umbridge, hands tucked deep in the pockets of a thick winter vest, you can’t see half of his face because of his hair, as always sitting low down his forehead, but you can tell from the thin line of his mouth, his tensed shoulders and something else, maybe his aura, so loudly screeching annoyance, that he's not having a good time.

It’s him. And for some reason, for the first time ever, you recall words Taehyung has said to you, loud and clear and pressing and inspiring. You don’t want to become a “crazy old spinster”. Therefore you decide to become a crazy something else you don’t bother to identify right this second.

“Oh, Mrs Umbridge!”

“Miss ___, as you can see, I am already-“

“Oh!” The loud gasp, hand clasping on your gaping mouth, wide eyes completing the look. You can’t find the courage to turn to him to reinforce -in case it wasn’t clear enough- that you just, now that she mentioned it, realise the man was here.

Mrs Umbridge has this quality to her. You find her so awfully ridiculous that you turn yourself in a clown, subtly mocking her -though you don’t think she fathoms it since you’ve always acted this way around her- each time you share any kind of conversation.

It can work and you can go along with your usual antics only if you forget the obnoxiously troubling presence of the dragon master.

“I am so deeply embarrassed, I didn’t realise. I’m not wearing my glasses, I’m an incorrigible mole without them.”

“Is that so?” From above the frame of her pink glasses, her beady eyes scrutinize. “You should wear them on your nose then, Miss ___. Now, if you will-“

“I’m sorry, I needed- It’s very important.” You cut her off with such speed and enthusiasm, you know she can't shut you off. “After discussing with my students about the program, I thought about something. Maybe I could introduce a new-“ “Miss ___!” She screeches, the triggering words -”introduce” and “new”- having hit perfectly right. “The program, as you owe to know, has been carefully crafted by the great Minister for Magic and doesn’t need for an airheaded little teacher like you to add any changes to it.”

“Oh yes, of course, how could I forget?”

“It is bad enough as it is that this foolish Hagrid has been able to convince my confreres of bringing a useless study on the most dangerous creatures there is-“ She pointedly glare from the corner of her eyes to the man who remains silent and immobile. His hands haven’t moved from the depth of his pockets, you can’t see his eyes even up close, because the curtain of dark curls hiding them is even thicker than it looked like from the other end of the hallway. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered. You wonder if he’s even listening. Barely swinging on his long legs, waiting for his presence to be dismissed it seems.

“Dragons are quite interesting creatures. I suppose that’s why they were added to the program. The Ministry for Magic must have thought so too since they voted...”

She gnarls at that. She tries to be discreet, conceals a bit of her spite but there’s no doubt in your mind that her mouth's just filled up with a distasteful repellent aftertaste.

Since the main goal was to distract her from him and free him from her claws, you start again with the suggestions for a revised scholar program. Her cheeks grow pinker than her jacket, her eyes start reflecting a fire alike the ones from Hell, her usually perfectly well-combed hair releases a few angry frizzes. She’s beyond herself and without letting you finish your little act, she’s going over all the things that are so wrong about you, about Hogwarts teachers in general, about young people and their disrespectful tendency to want to add their little spice to every tea.

You take the nagging like a champ. Because you’re used to it and to be perfectly fair, you’ve mastered a certain state of meditation whenever she’s coming your way with some complaining.

None of her words successfully reach you to stick around.

She holds strong for a good, fat fifteen minutes. At some point, you even worry that this time, her pit of nonsensical arguments won’t ever show a bottom. Until it does.

She looks all dishevelled from her heated argument. The hair worsened, with now drops of perspiration shining on her forehead. The mean beady eyes are dull, exhausted from the fight as she contemplates the void between you and the man. With a last dismissive wave of her hand, she leaves, stumbling on top of her lacquered Fuschia heels.

How can someone work themselves up so badly with so little provocation -and no further response too?

It leaves you alone with the dragon master and only now, even though you had plenty of time to take in this present, you realise how inconvenient for your coward self the predicament is. You are meant to talk to him now, aren’t you? Maybe the same question raises in his mind however he certainly doesn’t reach the same conclusion. Deeming it unnecessary, he turns his back to you and heads down the hall without much of a look spared to you. Maybe he did check, through or maybe under the impenetrable curtain of hair, for the identity of the idiot that thought he needed help to escape the annoying old owl but you wouldn’t know.

Watching in pure despair, your heart prickling uncomfortably in your bosom, you wonder if you somehow upset him. He did look irked from what you could tell. Anyone else, anyone less grumpy, anyone feeling anything but discomfort or discontent would have said something, wouldn’t they?

That’s what you explain to Kim Taehyung. Emphasising on the fact that you did try to approach the guy. You did. You created the situation, you faced him fully, you did miss the moment when you were probably supposed to say something to him but he left, too soon, and clearly is not interested in getting to know you, and whatever, you’re fine with that you just want your friend to note and remember for later reference that you did try this time.

Taehyung who’s never keen on trusting your words, no matter the fact that you’ve never lied to him -or maybe just a few times so he would leave you alone, but nothing major really- decides that you are wrong. That somehow you misinterpreted the whole thing and surely you need to hop back on the horse and try, again, maybe this time more vindictively.

It takes quite a couple of days for him to convince you. You’re not sure how. It might be from exhaustion, it might come from those three too many butterbeers you drank even though you didn’t remember ordering, back when you were gloomily celebrating your never-ending celibacy in Jjang Jjang -the magical bar held by your friend, Min Yoongi, in the far end of Hogsmead.

You promise that if an opportunity appears to be showing the very tip of its nose, if the universe is kind -and delusional- enough to gift you another chance, then you would try.

It’s funny how the laws of attraction work. Or rather, probably more accurately, it’s funny how Taehyung can be so shameless and volunteer when he has his mind set on something. He has no problem manipulating people and situations as if the universe is his and he decides whatever happens to the little pawns inhabiting it.

A week later, when he, the dragon master, is the curious apparition manifesting itself in front of you when you open the door to let your class free, it doesn’t fall into place right away.

It’s a strange coincidence. Maybe he messed up and meant to find another classroom, any other classroom but yours. He doesn’t budge when he sees you, doesn’t seem startled by your presence. He only takes a step to the side once he realises that a wave of hurried teenagers is about to swarm him in their way out.

“Miss, are we still going to study this potion next time or will we move to something more interesting?” It’s that same Gryffindor. The same as usual. She’s just made of attitudes, eye rolls, hand on the hip and all.

“Once you’ll be able to make it without cooking a hole in your cauldron, we’ll be starting with a new one.”

You’re snarkier than usual, there’s no denying that. It’s your fifth class of the day, everyone seems to have signed an agreement on messing with your patience and he’s here, hearing and seeing an umpteenth attempt to humiliate you from this kid and you’re not having it right now, not today. She grows red on the cheeks, eyebrows frowning dangerously low, they might fall from her face when she barks, “I told you the hole was already there!”

“I understand. Next time, I’ll lend you my old cauldron so there won’t be any issue, alright?”

The angry wands she owns for eyes shoot you a good dozen of curses and she departs, with her friends, as angry as ever.

There’s a heavy silence, setting around you both, engulfing you. The wood of the walls, dark and cold, make it old the more uncomfortable until you can not take it anymore. You’re about to mumble something, maybe point out the end of the hall and suggest he tries there, to find whatever or whoever he is looking for. He beats you to it. Having reached the very limit of handling this silence at the same time as you do.

“Good morning.” He starts, clearing his throat. A husky, quiet yet somehow soft voice that he doesn’t seem to have used quite often. “Here’s the stuff for your potions.”

He holds out a strong hand to you, all veiny and sparkled with tiny bruises, a dark bag made of linen held in his fist. If he can see you, he can undoubtedly take in your confusion. You have no idea what “the stuff” is. If it’s a badly expressed thought. If he meant to say, “some stuff” for your potions. Because you’ve never asked for anything from anyone for your potions -even though, the thought crossed your mind that he, with his magical pets, must have some fantastic ingredients for your searches. You don’t know if it just comes from him. If he thought you may need it and generously prepared this for you -you doubt that one highly. The other reason, way more evident, quite obnoxiously obvious actually, that doesn’t reach your brain which is only working at a quarter of its habitual capacity given his standing here, and his smelling like woods and smoky and something subtler, you can’t pinpoint but feel addicted to as soon as it reaches your nostrils, is that someone -Taehyung- must have put him up for it. He must have gone behind your back, mumble some basic potion ingredients knowledge he owns to him and asked him to bring it to you.

“I put my Norvegian Ridgeback's scales in a separate bag because they’re very sharp -and poisonous too- so be careful when you open it.” He’s done talking, he clears his throat again, this time you’re pretty sure it’s out of discomfort as your gaping silently like a dumb fish must not be the easiest response to receive. A little inviting shake of his fist brings you to your senses, and you reach forward to grab the present. Your arm drops down from the surprising weight of the thing, fortunately, as if he expected it, he catches you before you topple over, a hand on your shoulder and the other encasing yours holding the bag, squeezing around your own as he lifts some of the weight up.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it to be this heavy.” because you carried it like it was filled with dragons feathers instead -you mean to add.

“It’s fine.” He simply mumbles. You add your free hand to cup the underside of the thing, pressing the whole to your bosom and he lets go there, letting you step inside your room to find a place on a shelf to put it away. You probably take a second to long, your back facing him, as you stand staring at your new possession. It’s the heat remaining on the back of your hand that troubles you. As if not only have his pets decorated the top of his skin with scratches and bruises, they’ve sighed enough fire in his palms for them to forever feel this warm. And he touched you so naturally so. Pressing his large hand around yours that seemed so tiny in comparison. Probably without even acknowledging it while you are shook to your core.

This added to your confusion born from his surprise apparition, are the reasons why, as I said, your brain doesn’t reach its full capacity. Still, the idea that Taehyung is behind it all, that it can’t solely come from this man here, just won’t do in your idiotic head.

You’re enamoured, even more than before, just by a touch and by the gentleness his words hold under the tougher surface. And you decide, that if you turn around and he’s still standing there you’ll ask him out.

You do so, spiralling in slow motion, filled with apprehension. He’s here. His hands back inside the pockets of his jacket, the shadow of a sparkle coming from his eyes, under the heavy protection he’s wearing in front of them.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He’s startled at the call of his name, the top of his mop of hair bouncing slightly and you just find it adorable. Maybe he didn’t expect you to know his name, he must not even know yours. Of course, he could not have expected that you had spent way too long, two years ago, back when he came to Hogwarts for the first time and you had heard his name amid a conversation, trying it out for yourself. Not to wear it out but repeating his name to yourself, appreciating the way the syllabus formed, how they felt so well chosen for each other’s, for him, and the feeling, light heading, that it gave you to pronounce it.

“Would you like to have a drink with me? On Fridays, I like to go to my friend's bar in Hogsmead and I was wondering, maybe you’d like to come?”

More clearing of the throat. It’s stalling the delivery of his answer, you hate it and almost jump to your cooking station to sort out a quick remedy for it. Your heart is beating so furiously, you might pass out and he’s just taking his sweet time to answer. You feel the awkwardness. You don’t see it. You can’t see anything, the bottom of his face not telling any secrets on his feelings. You must look terrifying, red anywhere it’s possible for you to blush, sweating and fidgety like you’re on a Girding Potion bad trip. And he doesn’t show anything. You’d rip the hair out of his eyes if only you could.

There’s only one telling sign that manifests in the form of his hand, slipping out of his pocket to reach for the back of his neck where it scratches for a bit.

It’s no. It must be a “no, I’m absolutely not interested and this moment is very awkward”.

“I have my dragons to exercise. Sorry.”

“Oh. It’s ok.” It is not.

You hope, with all your might, that he doesn’t notice how upset you are. Through your prickling eyes, through the trembling pout you try to hide behind a casual smile.

It is terribly not ok but fortunately, he doesn’t stick around. That’s probably the thing you’re the most thankful for at this moment, his laconic tendencies. Anyone else may have tried to say something else to make you feel better, to make you feel like the rejection isn't worth throwing you off one of Hogwarts high tour. Instead, he just quits, swiftly. Leaving you alone to compose yourself back enough to handle your very last class of the day. You manage to feel fine, sort of numbed out for long enough until you don’t have to pretend anymore and you can let all the emotions out.

Bent over on the wooden tabletop of Yoongi’s bar, you’re crying out your whole soul, face laid in a pool of your own tears, a gentle hand petting awkwardly the top of your head.

“I hate you Taehyung!” It hardly comes out, half mumbled, half coughed out. The hand on your hair still in the air for a second so he must have got the jest of it until it resumes to its previous activity.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d reject you.” He sighs deeply. “I didn’t even think you’d ask him out!”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” You rise from the depth of your despair, hidden in the centre of your crossed arms. Yoongi looks extremely distraught. Your face looks awful, you know. But seeing him this shaken upsets you even more. You feel mad and vengeful and you’d like to flood his shitty bar with your tears to teach him a lesson -you’re not sure which, maybe: don’t look so disgusted when your friends look indeed disgusting, that’s mean- but the realisation downs on you that you cried so much you don’t have any tears left. Just the rashness around your eyes and nose, no snot left because Yoongi had maternally cleaned it for you, tiny pathetic sniffling around nothing but heartbreak now.

“He sent him to me!” You bark, punching Taehyung in the shoulder, not caring the least that half of his drink gets spilt everywhere.

“You didn’t have to just ask him out! You could have just, I don’t know (he pretends to think deeply, the tip of his fingers tapping lightly his chin), talk to him! Like a normal person that’s never spoken to him would have done.”

You gasp, eyes burning with fire. “Yoongi, he called me a freak!”

“When have I ever-“

“Normal people, my ass!” You continue, sort of having a lone conversation parallel to theirs. “What do you know about normal people, you fucking Grindylow.” You swallow down your fourth butterbeer, one furious finger indicating Yoongi that you need another one. Taehyung is just rolling his eyes, not taking offence of the nonsensical insult. “I hate you so much, Merlin, how am I supposed to face him again?”

“You do like everyone else’s does. Just start hating him until you don’t care anymore.”

“People do that?” Yoongi asks curiously. He’s slid you a new pint, filled to the brim.

“I know I do.” You slap the back of his arm there, without giving him any explanation, just because you’re sure he’s bullshitting you -the guy surely never has been rejected.

“Doesn’t matter. How could I ever hate him anyway?” A lone survivor tear falls from your lashes into the calm, quiet amber lake topping your glass. It doesn’t hit you there that there’s no foam. Yoongi watches you carefully, one of his hand is patting your forearm.

“Is he really that great?” Taehyung just shrugs. He’s such a dimwit. You nod, heart growing big with sadness before it breathes it out, turning into a tiny, squeezed on itself pained creature. You leave the conversation then. Simply trying to rest with your hurting bosom. It needs nurturing and a benevolent yet firm healing hand to tell it to rest for a bit, and stop overreacting.

[“What's he like?” Yoongi asks directly to Taehyung as he can see, clearly, that you’re not here anymore, for now.

“He’s... uh...” Taehyung starts with very flimsy conviction. “He’s into dragons.” More shrugging.]

Honestly, you might be exaggerating. You do not know much about him. Most of what you believe to know, assumed by what little you do know about him. You believe he is nice and sensible, from the way he treats his animals and the way they treat him.

[“Oh. Holy Dumbledore!”

“Stop saying that! I told you it’s fucking disrespectful.”]

You’ve seen how much respect and trust lay between them. It’s blatant. And to create this kind of relationship with some of the fiercest creatures in the magical world, he must be something else, something exceptional.

[“It’s him. It’s fucking him!”]

And you read about him, a lot, the two books he wrote solely about his creatures. They don’t directly tell much about him but indirectly, they hint his humility and humbleness. It’s not like that stupid Gilderoy Lockhart and his autobiographies on magical creatures. And there are the numerous articles that were written about him and his exploits and alleged character.

[“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

Sharp short nails are jabbing annoyingly in the skin of your forearm. It’s Taehyung, of course, he never stops bugging you. It’s his second passion after the soporific subject he’s decided to teach. You close your eyes, frowning a bit because he won’t stop, trying to annihilate him from your existence, to annihilate yourself from it too.]

Simple, humble, smart and strong. Passionate, sensible and a beautiful set of thick dark locks you want to slip your fingers through as the cherry on top.

“It’s apple juice!” You screech in disgust, pushing your fake butterbeer far away from you. The hocus-pocus, if it irritates you, at least brings you back to earth, and back to the noisy bar. Min Yoongi mouths something about you having drunk enough but his attention is elsewhere, along with Taehyung's.

“Oh, Merlin's beard.”

Of course, he would be there. He’s been back to Hogwarts for over a month now, you’ve never seen him around here, but of course, the day he rejects you, he has to come to your retreat, and witness the mess he's made of you. What kind of sick joke from the stars is that?

“Holy shit. Isn’t he a bit much for you?”

You know exactly what the barman means. It makes you blush slightly under the tipsy flushing already adorning your cheeks.

If Jeon Jungkook may or may not be made of all the qualities you’ve named for him -with or without reasons-, he has some very visible, very obnoxious other qualities to him. Qualities that you’re not proud of pining over because it makes you feel shallow and superficial. The expression on Yoongi's face makes it feel better though. Justified. As if, well, here they are, you can’t deny it. And since you like his imaginary personality, you might as well like the body imaginarily hosting it.

Jeon Jungkook is tall as a tree and as strong as one. It’s hard to tell, from here, with the layers of clothes he’s wearing on his back to protect himself from the cold, to what extent he fills them but it’s obvious he’s broad, wide. He walks with strong determined steps, with his fists tight to his sides, as tight as his jaw, square, sharp.

He’s big. Both in appearance and aura and you can understand how Yoongi wonders if he’s not “a bit much” for you.

“Don’t call him over!” You whisper-yell, digging your nails in the tender skin of Taehyung’s forearm. He whines, curses and tries to let himself free while telling you that of course, he’s not that dumb, he won’t. He doesn’t need to, anyway, because the guy, after seemingly exploring with his gaze the bar, sets his aim on your table, slowly starting to make his way towards you.

“He’s coming.” Taehyung mumbles, bewildered.

You are too. Could it be you misunderstood earlier when he said he couldn’t come because he’d be “exercising his dragons”? It can’t possibly be true. You don’t even know what the heck is up with this excuse. Because it can’t have been anything more than an excuse. Since when do dragons need to be exercised and by a wizard at that?

And now he is here.

Literally, he’s standing right in front of your table, a hand reaching for the back of the empty chair, next to yours, but stops mid-track and backs away to his side.

“Hi. Do you mind if I sit here ?”

You can feel, physically, the two heavy heads of your friends, turning slowly on their necks towards you, like an idiotic audience, not wanting to miss one beat of the drama playing for them.

There’s a little snappy answer that rises to the back of your throat. Something inspired by what Taehyung said earlier, about hating him. You almost tell him aloud that he can do whatever he wants, that you don’t own this fucking chair.

Jeon Jungkook is still raspy but soft voice. With his bruised hand with the fingers red from the cold, not assertive and confident enough to dare grab the chair yet and you can’t do much but nod your head, swiftly sliding your own chair to the side to draw a little distance between you.

It takes forever for the initial tension to drop a little bit. You can’t say anything, Taehyung the chatterbox can’t either, Jungkook probably feels too awkward by your behaviours to find a casual way to start the conversation. It’s Yoongi who realises the successful start. By doing what he does best, serving your new guest the best butterbeer there is in Hogsmead (Yoongi would say that it’s the best in the world, both magical and muggle, but given he hasn’t stepped two feet outside of this village for the past two decades, you wouldn’t give him that).

“My name’s Jungkook, by the way.” He starts quietly, in the direction of Yoongi. The latter nods and smiles a bit too eagerly. He tries to be natural, you can tell. And fail miserably, you must add.

“I’m Min Yoongi. Welcome to Jjang Jjang!” Taehyung cringes visibly. Yoongi leans further, towards yours and Jungkooks side of the table, wanting to ignore at best the unhelpful clown beside him. “You must already know...” With a vague hand gesture, he points Taehyung and you. It makes you want to die, the idea that he knows your name, he knows you. You’re unsure what’s going on. Why he’s here, where this will lead. But it would all feel infinitely better if you knew that somehow, he didn’t know anything about you. It’s hard to remember people without their name. It’s the first thing you learn about someone, really, like a tag they’re wearing on their foreheads and when recalling about them, ever, consciously or not, the name comes always. He knows yours so he won't forget you.

It takes all of you a short eternity to warm up to each other. The bar is still noisy, with its occasional rough burst of laughter from the tough-looking wizards, maybe missionaries, the high giggles of a group of Hogwarts 7th year students hidden in a corner. You’re all nurturing your drinks, even you with your stupid apple juice and the unease is even louder, the silence deafening in the middle of the concert of voices and shatters of glasses.

Until Taehyung says something weird, “So you like dragons, uh?” You don't understand why he persists on making it sound weird, like he's romantically interested in them.

You hit him under the table, a good kick to the kneecap but it’s clear to everyone that his yelp comes from you. That makes Jungkook laughs.

He pretty much giggles, sounding like a boy, head tilted down forward with his locks sadly hiding his smile.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He finally answers, clearing his throat, words coming out sweet and sheepish-like, as if he’s embarrassed from having been caught laughing.

“Oh, that explains this.” Yoongi says, pointing at his skin and the numerous bruises orning it. You’ve never hit Min Yoongi because 1) he’s older than you, 2) he’s a tiny little thing that you’re scared to hurt but you are this close, the width of a hair away, from throwing your foot up again and hit him in the junk. For a second, Jungkook seems awkward. Staring himself at his hands, one sliding over the other, the tip of his thumb grazing with insistence on a deep scar. Until he raises his head again, you assume to let his eyes go over your faces, studying them silently and something he sees there, maybe innocent benevolence -even if Yoongi's comment was lowkey inappropriate, he didn’t mean any ill- and something else, childish excitement probably suffice to relax him. Letting his hands be, one wrap around his pint, the other flat on the tabletop, tip of his fingers drumming quietly every now and then, out in the open for anyone who'd like to to see.

“They tend to be a bit playful.” He says this with a sly smile raising the corner of his mouth. Something ridiculously sexy that makes you choke on your fake beer and back away from him even more. You shouldn’t raise an arm to plant your elbow into the table, as a sort of shield between you two, because it’s rude and lame, but you do it anyway. Because it’s all a lot.

He's a lot.

Yoongi, probably, knows you better than you could ever imagine. Seeing right through you, added to the statement he raised earlier -and maybe he was right, maybe he's a whole lot, and a whole lot too much for you-, he reconsiders forbidding you from consuming any more alcohol. Kindly, he manifests a glass of sparkling juice, right in front of you. It's a light peach colour, from the first sniff of the aroma, you can tell it won't knock you unconscious any time soon. It's more sugar than alcohol but at least, it succeeds to soothe the harsh edges of your nerves. Because your nerves are on the verge of a fucking spontaneous combustion.

"Hey! Why does she get another one?" Since earlier, Taehyung, too, has been switched to a strictly non-alcoholic beverages diet. He's not happy about it but you understand easily Yoongi's train of thought. You need to relax so you deserve a little something -especially given the fact that Jeon Jungkook's appearance had you almost entirely sobered up-, while Taehyung's stupid mouth is way too loose and needs to be fed something soft and safe.

"Because he likes me and he hates you." You mutter, not daring to look up from your glass by fear of coming across your neighbour's attention. Your comment is well received though. You allow yourself to joke like that because everyone, Taehyung included, knows that Kim Taehyung is everyone's favourite. No matter the competition. No one can hate him, even when he's boring as hell, even when he's too loud, too nosy, dumb or annoying. He knows it as well as you do and each time you throw one of these snarky taunts, a glint of amusement sparkles his almond eyes and he loves to act all hurt and offended.

He turns all gasps and bombastic hand movements, claiming unfairness, misery. You start nagging back at him, adding more about how dumb he sounds and stupid he looks, while he counteracts with more dramatic appalled cries, as Yoongi just shrinks onto himself, shaking his head in disconcertment -even though, he's too used to your antics to be any surprised nor confused.

You're so caught up in your childish bickerings that slowly, only you two, and the amusement you're trying to contain in your stomach, matter and exist. Jeon Jungkook disappearing entirely. It has your voice turn louder, mimicking Taehyung's, your insults getting bolder, your face raises as you squint your eyes menacingly at your friend.

It's once Taehyung grabs the wand from his pocket and aims it at you, threatening to turn you into a pile of ghoul's shit if you won't shut up, that he's reminded to you.

The giggles, like earlier. Boyish and rusty, uncommon, that can only be his, ring and bless your right ear. It has you shut up instantly. Startled, you stare at him, only for a soft smile to grow on your lips, fond as you are to see him laugh like that, because of you.

You must look stupid as your eyes jump to Taehyung, silently begging him to acknowledge the wonder taking place just next to you, too giddy, too excited, too blushy to be part of it. He just grins back at you, nods his head even though you're not exactly sure at what, one of his elbows poking Yoongi's side.

"How long have you two been friends ?" He asks once he's managed to calm down his fit with a bite on his lower lip. Your heart is running a marathon and you're not sure for how long it'll keep holding up, you might need to focus all of your energy on the course, on not breaking a leg or pass out in the middle of the run, but you refuse, because he's talked to you again, because your best friends are accessorily here to help out, ease a bit of the burden of having to face the terrifying idea of being rejected (again), of failing at being good enough, somehow, to a guy you don't know much but like a lot.

Therefore you answer, aiming a joking dark glare at Taehyung because it helps to look at him, "Too long." Jungkook sniggers at the answer as Taehyung slips his ugly tongue out to you.

Somehow the tension diffuses itself. As if now that all of you had placed a word in the conversation, played somehow a role in it, it feels better, the ice has been melted and you can all, finally, relax.

Without even realising, your elbow slips from the tabletop, you're still wary, still very much aware of him sitting so close to you but you're fine with it.

As the drinks, more or less loaded, flow, Jungkook's cheeks fill up with mountains upon mountains of the fried wonders Jjang Jjang's beloved house-elf, Seokjin, has to offer, the discussion runs smoothly, tongues untied and excited.

It starts with Taehyung telling a very inaccurate version of your first meeting and blooming of this decades-old friendship (you add now and then, when the exaggerations and blatant lies get too much, little modifications to the tale that have Jungkook snigger and nod his head discreetly to you in secret confidence). It continues with Jungkook, pressured by a very adamant audience (which you are not part of, even if you are probably the most interested in the topic, in any topic that would have him speak a bit more, you don't want to bother him with your curiosity which Taehyung and Yoongi do not seem the least disturbed about) telling about the couple of last years he'd spent all around the world, in the most secluded corners of Earth, where only dangerous creatures like his beloved pets live and where only the foolhardiest or most suicidal wizards dare to adventure. As you expected, he's quite humble about it. He doesn't insist on details that make your heads spin in bewilderment, shrugging his shoulders lightly when you're the one whisper-yelling that "but you could've died?!". After a lot of cooing, from all angles of the table, tiny whispers repeating some of his words like a strange echo as you all try to handle the admiration -and intoxication-, he starts feeling himself, a tiny, discreet but visible smile, slyly redrawing the corner of his mouth. He shrugs a little less, nods his head firmly a little more, voice louder and more confident, shaping in the full form it's able to take.

He sounds lovely when he doesn't care anymore. When he feels unrestrained, comfortable and easy-going. He laughs a lot, you notice. It colours almost every single one of yours and your friends' comments, and maybe the fact that you're all a bit dumbed by shock and interest and starstruck and tipsiness makes it so that they're pretty ridiculous, hence him laughing so much. It's not so much that you're all hilarious, rather than you all being pretty stupid but it doesn't matter. You note how easy his laughter, that you couldn't even picture before hearing it for yourself, can come out. How open he is to meddle with you.

He fits so well in your bubble. This personal place only Taehyung and Yoongi have ever been authorized to inhabit. He matches perfectly. It fills your heart and mind with so much content, you feel your cheeks hurt from smiling constantly without meaning too. It's what he does, you suppose, making you smile. And when you notice the pink tint colouring his cheeks, rounded out lovingly so by a grin, you assume he's feeling the same, enjoying his time with all of you, your heart dips in the warmest bath.

"Dude!" For the umpteenth time, he's trying to wave himself some air with a hand. Taehyung has had enough and just slammed his fist to the table, making everything on it knock against each other, Yoongi's eyes this close to falling out of their sockets. Jungkook just giggles some more, he might be a bit tipsy. "Just tie your hair up, you're making me sweat just looking at your mop!"

"I don't even have-" Taehyung's already up from his chair, he bumps his leg in the process but pay it no attention, marching over his future victim with a little hair-tie that seemed to appear from thin air -probably did too. Jungkook is so lenient with your best friend, too lenient you'd say, you wouldn't even have it in you. When he excitedly reaches forward, his long fingers parting the dark locks in two, he's trying to tie one end into a little side ponytail. Before he's even done with the first one, you roll your eyes, knowing what he's aiming for. Of course, he wouldn't just give him a regular manbun or something.

For the first time, you meet one of Jungkook's eyes, the one uncovered thanks to Taehyung's shenanigan. It's round, dark but warm like rich chocolate, sparkling with exhilaration but concerned.

"What's he doing?" He asks you, unbeknownst to the fact that meeting half of his face for the first time, the endearing pretty thing, stole every single little last word from you. With two fists hold to the side of your head, you attempt to show him the cute girly hairstyle Taehyung has in mind. He winces at that, nose scrunching into itself so high, the round thing turns into something adorable, shaking his head to try to free himself from your friend's prying hands, a grin still on his lips.

"Stop being such a baby!" Taehyung growls, trying for a little while to keep ongoing, his hand desperately holding onto the second bunch of hair. He's soon forced to stop as the victim turns to be too unwilling. "Ok fine! You do it then!"

It's you he is barking to. If the hair tie thrown straight in your eye is any teller. It renders you blind for a second. Until you can blink the stingy discomfort away and you’re greeted by Jungkook and his endearing face with the oh so adorable tiny tail hanging from the side of his head, observing you with great attention, single eye blinking worrisome. He looks cute, half dolled up like a girl, fearful and curious to discover how you’ll treat him. For a second, you are tempted to follow your friend's design. Because how cute would this man look with two ponytails hanging on top of his head, with maybe even tiny hair clips to perfect it all.

He’d be pissed though and wouldn’t keep it probably so what’s the point.

The real point is that you have a hair tie in your hand, fingers itching on instinct to play with the shiny raven locks and the owner of said pretty locks, silently permitting you to do just that.

Maybe Taehyung is not as dumb and as useless as you thought him to be. Your prior reflex would be to assume he didn’t even mean to create this opportunity for you. He’s just invading as a person, touchy-feely and very comfortable with anyone entering his vicinity. You do owe him more credits and you willingly give them to him for this time. Because if he didn’t intend to put your foot on the stirrup, he surely did anyway, with a natural and a smoothness you couldn’t imagine coming from him.

Standing behind Jungkook's chair, hands hovering centimetres away, you feel so blessed, you’d jump over to Taehyung's side to snug him to your fervent heart if you didn’t have better at hand -and if the idea of actually having him this close to you did not fill you with an immense cringe.

Taehyung is watching, over the rim of his glass, with an obnoxious, kid like excited sparks burning you uncomfortably. You curse him out, soundlessly but with such great articulation, he can’t possibly miss the words.

Yoongi who watches all of it notices and understands it all as he always does even when he pretends he doesn’t, starts talking then. Something about Brazil where Jungkook had spent nine months, living alone in the wild forest of Amazonia, and about the curious plants and fruits he heard that could be found there. It’s a nice distraction. Soon Jungkook is on it again, Taehyung partakes a role in it too, leaving you alone to handle the grandiose yet terrifying fantasy that is touching and messing with Jungkook's hair.

The first ponytail comes undone easily, the hair tie simply slipping off with just the tip of your fingers to guide it.

When you timidly start, reaching with two hands to grab all of the hair from him, you feel a rush of blood to your cheeks, heart skipping beats and perspiration bubbling at your temple. Your fingers just have to graze slightly the skin of his neck, all warm and soft, you have to do it a few times even because his pretty locks are rebellious and your fingers too willing to let them run in between them, silky as they are.

There’s a strand refusing your gentle taming, slipping from your grasp and falling in front of his eye. You go to catch it back, meeting hot fingers on his temples. Yours surrender immediately. Jungkook from the corner of his eye, over his shoulder, throw you a glance and a smile. A small one, small but fond.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" Yoongi asks as Jungkook tucks the strand behind his ear.

"Not really. I'm used to it." He shrugs. You take your sweet, sweet time to finish the half-bun, half-tail hairdo you're working on. Somehow something lovely has settled. Something comfortable, domestic. He's not wary of your touch, letting you mess with his hair, not even flinching when, tentatively, just taking a chance, just once, the pad of your thumb stroke the hot skin of his neck. "Dragons can be very affectionate-" That makes Taehyung cackles as Yoongi gasps in disbelief. You have a hard time picturing those creatures as affectionate. Jungkook is different anyway. You need to be different to go after the path he's chosen for himself. "I swear!" Taehyung rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"Have you considered all this time spent away from civilization turned you mad?"

The bun is done, sadly. You made it last for as long as you could but eventually, as every perfect moment, it has to come to an end. You don't even bother to hide your dread as you let your ass drop to your chair, puffing.

"Leave him alone, moron." A few peanuts to his stupid head and Taehyung stops messing with Jungkook, stops acting like he's insane and starts telling about something no one cares about -so much so, Yoongi leaves to go chat up an old goblin who's just entered the bar.

Jungkook turns to you, leaning a bit. Smiling quietly, gently. As if he doesn't realise the face he owns once his hair isn't hiding the majority of it anymore.

It must be a joke. He must know. He must have noticed how his straight, dark eyebrows, with the cut splitting the right one in half, gives an irresistible, dark, mature shape to the roundest, sparkliest set of eyes the world has ever seen. He must know his face is a wonderful work of art, with the tiny little details, here and there, adding charms and depth and uniqueness, that only the greatest, only a special artist would know to use -like this faint scar linking a mole under his lip to the corner of his mouth, or the one craving in the top of his cheek. His colours are splendid too. While you'd always seen him with black everything, black hair, black clothes, quiet sombre aura and a tiny bit of red, you'd catch sometimes, where he'd hurt his hands. Never would have you thought, he's more harlequin than monochromatic. Golden scopes, tipsy patches of red matching the tiny pout he owns for a mouth, eyes not dark but the richest shade of chocolate.

"You," Jungkook starts in a whisper, now so close you have a whiff of his smell, torturous scent of pinewood, of soot, and something else, more natural, sweat most definitely but turns out to be the better element of the mixture, suave, awfully addictive. "you believe me, don't you?" You need a full minute to get your brain's vessels to connect. A full minute during which you have no idea what the hell he's talking about, what words are and how to use them, and all you can focus on is not dying from a heart attack -and also, not show that you are having one.

You shake your head up and down, still unsure to what you're agreeing to. It does not matter that much because he's smiling the way he does. The adorable smile another wonderful novelty, shaped like a bunny one, eating up his upper lip into the thinnest cupid bow. The sparks in his eyes, on his cheeks, from excitement, mirth. He's really here with you, warmer than you've ever thought him able to be, and somehow, different than what you had expected, but thousand times more endearing. Having developed a crush on him previously makes more and more sense by the second.

"Thank you for the invitation." He says quietly. You don't miss a single word, nor the least flinch in his intonation (soothing, genuine), even in the loudness of the bar, because, for some reason, he's never leaned back. He remains there, hardly a dozen of centimetres away from you.

"No problem." You lie, effortlessly after a few gulps of liquid courage. If you're enchanted by the evening, the unexpected turns of events, he still made you go through a short misery for this. He must see your awkwardness, he must notice how you're sweating bullets and swallowing with difficulty. How your eyes keep battling between wanting to bath in his and avoid them at all cost. Jungkook doesn't budge though and it almost gets annoying, almost upset you how he doesn't care -or maybe simply doesn't realise- the effect he's having on you. "I thought you couldn't-" You start, meaning to sting him a bit because he deserves it.

"I finished early, and um-"

"Was it even real?" You ask, genuinely curious to have him clear this out for you. It's not like you're mad anymore. On your face, you only feel a tingle at the apple of your cheeks from how many smiles and waves of laughter you've shared, the desperate tears from earlier long dried and gone. "The excuse, I mean."

"It wasn't an excuse..." Jungkook turns his face away from you then. Biting hard on his bottom lip, a traitorous grin hardly contained. The tip of his ears are flushed, you wonder from what, until you see his hand raising to the top of his head where it flats down hair that doesn't need it. "I- I just-" Maybe it's seeing him this abashed that pushes you forward, literally, scraping your chair to the wooden floor, thigh meeting his in the process. "I was startled when you- asked. When you said my name even, I wasn't- like- expecting it and I'm not used to-" He cuts himself off, a hand vaguely motioning the room.

"To what?" You insist, mimicking his murmuring tone, terrified as you are to pop out the little bubble now only he and you dwell.

"Going out with people or just- hang out, I don't know." He looks inherently embarrassed now. Possibly even a bit saddened, you note. Still, his face remains open, kind, the ever-boyish smile teasing at least the corner of his lips. You don't mean to be so sappy but you wish, consciously, right this second, for this very moment to last an eternity or at least, for your memory to take a picture realistic enough, as in-depth and detailed as possible so that you'll be able to recall and relive it for years to come.

"Oh. Dragons don't like to go clubbing?" He bumps your thigh with his knee, chortling at your words but shaking his head nonetheless. As you stare at his thigh, covered by a cheap black cloth stretched to the very limit, stuck to yours, almost supported by yours, sending a continuous channel of heat from there to the pit of your stomach, it seems like you've reached a determining point. A definite phase where you can handle him (more or less). Enough not to liquefy on the spot at his every glance, while remaining way too aware of him, his smell, his warmth, every sound coming out of his mouth, his lovely, lovely charms.

You really like him.

"My head hurts." Taehyung's half-dead on the table. You're not too worried because as his head lies flat, his hair marinating in a pool of spilt beer, he can mumble with a lot of coherence about how heavy his head feels, and how it will probably weigh this much until Monday. Jungkook grabs a bunch of tissues to try to slip under Taehyung's head as an absorbing pillow, it's no use though, because Taehyung, strangely enough, feels too comfortable in this position to let himself be disturbed. Jungkook seems concerned, a bit bothered even -way more than you are because you are very much used to this depiction of lame- until Yoongi passes by, observing with deep disapproval written all over his face. He kicks on purpose one of Taehyung's chair legs, making him groan, and leaves.

Greediness turns you bold. Knocking Jungkook's leg the same way he did earlier, you call back his attention on you. For some reason, he stares at your legs, touching. You wonder for a second if you shouldn't have. It's not that much, he did it earlier, but maybe you shouldn't have. He's too pensive. Doesn't budge a muscle. In deep reflection. You hit him again, a tiny little push, and a few others to follow, like an annoying bratty kid trying to steal someone's attention. His hand finds its way to your knee then, enclasps it entirely, thumb pressing and you have no idea if any of this means anything, but it does send a rush of jolt straight between your legs. Surely he doesn't mean this use of firmness to turn you on, does he? How could he even guess it having this effect? You didn't even know it yourself.

It does work though. You stop acting like a feisty little brat, patiently waiting for him to be ready to listen to you. He pretends, mean as he is, that the hand won't stay, letting it slide slightly away from your knee. It doesn't go far though. Somehow it's comfortable a bit higher on your thigh. Not very high. It's awfully PG, awfully casual and platonic, but it serves to drive you a little breathless.

With the wide glassy eyes, the small smile that keeps finding its seat on his lips each time he turns to face you, he's all ears, all eyes, just for you. It's infuriating. Galvanizing. You lavish in it.

"You said it doesn't get lonely?" You blurp out, putting all efforts on focusing on the question you are sincerely curious about. If you didn't have it blinking loud and bright in your brain for the past ten minutes, you would have had it long lost and forgotten. He's messing with your head. But you owe to ask. The curious sadness, that you may have imagined for all you know, you saw briefly earlier needs to be addressed.

If it ever were there, it's gone anyway. As he stares into your eyes, seemingly pondering his next words around in his head, there's a gleam shining to you personally there.

"It doesn't when you don't know what you're missing."

"I don't feel too good, puffskein." Taehyung burps out. Thanks to some miracle, he doesn't end up vomiting all over the table but it's obvious he's this close to it and needs to be taken home. It takes all the goodness of your soul, all of it, to control your urge to grab your wand and throw a forbidden curse on his stupid ass.

The asshole makes you out to be an ungrateful friend, appreciation long gone, aggravation deeply grounded. It was going so well.

"Sorry about Taehyung." You start, wincing a bit. Your back leaned against the door of your room, it's late, quiet and badly lit up in Hogwarts' hallways. Taehyung is sound asleep in his bed, fully clothed and wrenching of a burp who turned down to be vomit. You've managed to use your wand on him, something to make sure he'll have a long and safe night and a rather gentler awakening tomorrow.

Jungkook pretty much carried him on his back, all the way to his bed, without much of a complaint, only a growl or two when Taehyung showed himself difficult in the capricious stairs hall -because it's the best and safest place to try and stumble, blindly, drunk out of your mind.

"It's fine. I had a great time."

"Dragging Tae's drunk ass all the way here was fun to you?" You tease, squinting at him. You know what he means. You know that he knows what you mean. You're only trying to earn time. Just a little bit more time. It's late, he's about to leave you for his room, you assume, and you're not just ready for it yet.

"Maybe not this part."

You don't know what to say to make him stay. It's not like you could possibly invite him inside, is it?

Yoongi would say it's way too soon. Another version of you, maybe a twenty-four-hour younger version of you, the one that didn't know him from this close yet, that didn't get to talk and undergo the full experience that is Jeon Jungkook, to feel his hand on your thigh, his pretty eyes -Merlin, there is a time when you didn't even suspect he hid those wonders right here- would agree. It's not your kind, to have hook-ups. You wouldn't even know how to.

That being said, it's not like you often meet Jeon Jungkooks.

You're not that greedy. You're sure of it. When he's leaning himself against the wall, shoulder pressed against it to support himself, head slightly tilted, watching you soundly, the corner of his lips always curled upward. His eyes say it all. Completely black in the shadow, hooded, tempting. Sending heat to your core, shudders along your spine, tingles to the tip of your fingers.

If he says something, if he suggests anything, you'll say yes. He just has to say it. You've been courageous enough already. Asking him out, talking to him, and everything else. You just can't. You can't imagine admitting out loud what you wish to happen now, exposing yourself to him again by asking him if he'd like to stay the night.

And it's too soon, isn't it?

But Hell, you still have the lucid memory of his hair, running in between your fingers and it's become undeniable how bad you'd like to have it again except this time, you could be less delicate.

"I should probably go."

The disappointment is the language you speak because you're too tired to filter the vexation in your voice, "What, your dragons need to be tucked in?"

"Uh?" He chortles. All teeth out, eyes a bit wide, he regards your face, evidently amused. "Is there anything on your mind you'd like to share, maybe?"

"Absolutely not." You're bratty. It's the tiredness and maybe the butterbeer too. Undoubtedly the frustration. Arms crossed, looking away, pouting because somehow you are unable to relax your mouth and need to be so obvious about it all.

"Are you mad at my dragons?" Jungkook asks lightly. If you don't dare look at his face right now, you can guess it. He must have that smirk you've seen a glimpse of a few times tonight. From your peripheral vision, you can tell he's mocking you. Standing away from the wall, a step closer to you, chest puffed out and arms crossed on it.

"Why would I be?" You mumble, ever so vexed.

"Exactly." He's holding back a laugh, you can hear it louder than if he were to let it out.

Continuing, same tone, same pout, squinting harder at the void that is the end of the hall, "They sound awesome, I have no reason-"

"They are. You should meet them."

Startled, you look up to him, eyes wide with both fear and interest. "Should I?"

"Yeah." His tongue swipes swiftly over his bottom lip before he bites on it for a second, pondering. "Go to bed now so that you're in good shape tomorrow and I'll introduce you then."

Of course, he'd be so casual about it but the idea kind of blows your mind. "Really?" You've seen dragons from afar a very few times, during competitions or this one time, with Taehyung at that circus in Wales. But never have you approached one. Like most wizards, at least all wizards holding the basic amount of worth necessary to their life, it's not something you want to do: approach a dragon. You know that for the Care of Magical Creatures class, Jungkook only brings one dragon at a time. The class with their professor standing on one end of a wasteland, and Jungkook, at least a hundred feet away, presents them the animal.

"Yeah," Jungkook says again, bobbing his head along. You're dazzled by the light the grin adorning his face brought. He really wants to show you his dragons. "But early. Like super early. They're tired in the morning so they won't be too... agitated."

"Is this supposed to reassure me?" He shrugs with the same cheerful beaming.

"Did you hurt yourself with Taehyung?" For the third time tonight, you've seen him reach a hand over his shoulder, messily massaging the muscle with a tiny grimace on his face. He hasn't mentioned it so you did not bring it up but the thought that maybe it's your dumbass of a best friend who's responsible awakes your guilt.

"No, it's not Taehyung." He scoffs. Almost offended that you could imply he hurt himself that way. "I had a bad fall."

"On your back? How do you fall on your back?" There are, actually, a lot of ways for someone to fall on their back but somehow, you can only imagine Quidditch players to have the occasion to do so. You haven't fallen to the ground since you were twelve and finally mastered the skill of flying on a cheap broomstick. But Jungkook is different, right?

"Tina. You'll meet her tomorrow."

Tina. One of his dragons. Of course. He sounds so excited to introduce you to a mythical creature who manifestly attacked him, you start to wonder if that's not the thing that is wrong about him. Because everything is too sweet and lovely and perfect about him, something must be wrong -or else, it's not fair. And maybe his thing is that he is batshit crazy.

"Anyway," A clearing of the throat -you almost missed those, "go to bed. Sleep tight. Tomorrow, I want you-" Your heart stops in your bosom. There's the tongue winking at you again, through his pink lips, it's indecent, makes you forget it all about his alleged insanity, "alive and kicking."

You roll your eyes, raising your eyebrows, bewildered by his choice of words. He laughs, again. The boyish one but quieter, as if he's scared to wake the castle or just a grumpy painting possibly hanging somewhere in the dark. It's lovely. "Thanks for walking me to my room. And for Tae." You say, sincerely, turning to your door to open it.

"You're very welcome." Before you disappear in your suite, you glance his way. It's sappy-you again, needing to take a mental picture of his face, with the hair still pushed back, the rebellious strand from earlier curling against his cheek, his handsome everything, his soft expression and charming smile. He doesn't seem to mind. If anything he's doing the same, not hinting to a departure until you take it upon yourself that maybe, it's enough staring at each other wordlessly for tonight and you wave him goodnight, closing the door behind you.

By Merlin's beard, what the hell happened today?

And what the fuck is going on, now?

Your ass down on the hard ground, head dizzy, with a little warm tingling sensation in the crook of your neck.

Jungkook is standing, looking like he’s a thousand feet tall with his long legs, chest puffed out and leaning upward. He’s facing Tina, the infamous Tina, about his height if you put aside the long tail laying flat to the ground in between her legs. She's a bright degraded of a deep purple and a fire red, covered in scales, sharp and standing upwards every few seconds as if they're breathing along with her lungs.

He has a forearm blocking her jaws open, glaring with the most severe set of eyes you could never have imagined on him boring holes in her flamboyant ones. He’s growling things in a language you think you recognise as Romanian, barking in her face as he forces his arm deeper, gagging her, not caring about the sharp teeth digging in his skin.

After a while of the strangest and scariest staring contest you’ve ever witnessed, the tail lying between her legs flap once and she whines a heartbreaking mewl.

His face softens at that, slightly, he frees her from his arm, taking a step back while keeping an attentive eye on her.

Tina snivels more, as soon as her master’s attention hints at leaving her, rubbing the tip of her gigantic snot against his shoulder blade.

“Not now.” He says, sending her away with a pat to the side of her neck.

This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced.

You simply remain there, staring, gaping, trying to process it all.

You’ve been jumped by a dragon and Jeon Jungkook is-

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He still has his hair pushed back in a messier bun than the one you made for him yesterday as if he knows that you like him a lot like that. Therefore nothing is hiding the most pitiful look you've ever seen on anyone's face when he looks down to you. Eyebrows dropping low above shiny wide pearls, his two hands reaching for you, munching nervously on his lip.

-Terrible. You just had the biggest fright of your entire life -and probably, hopefully, the last one of the kind- and all you can think about, is how wet you got from Jungkook growling like an animal, and somehow intimidating the fiercest animal there is to submission.

“She doesn’t- I didn’t think she’d be that excited, I’m sorry, ___.” He mumbles, guilt laced in every syllabus he pronounces. You accept one of his hand, sliding yours against his palm, hot and calloused, sending warm all over your body as he squeezes around your fingers. “It’s my fault. She’s used to playing rough with me and she doesn’t control her strength very well yet-“

He bends over, catching your second hand in his and lifts you, a bit too strongly given how you are entirely made of mush right now. You hit his chest in the process, he has to steady you once you’re up on your wobbly legs. He holds you with a hand to your upper arm, still hot, still firm, it has the blood to your face boil even more. What kind of experience would it be to bathe entirely in this warmth, to have not the least stupid barrier in between yours and his skin, to feel his firm hold grabbing you, his whole body covering you and pressing you down?

You need to focus on the pets.

Tina seems upset, a few meters away, her tail slapping the ground impatiently but her head held low. There are three others, different sizes and spices, quietly laying above the trees forming the forest glade. They’re watching inquisitively, quiet, as cats would, you had no idea they could behave like that but then again, they were raised by this fucking guy.

The guy still holding you close, breathing hard over your forehead, who’s most definitely searching for your eyes you are deliberately not allowing him to meet. You’re not mad. A bit shook still maybe. You’re just soaked, head filled with inappropriate thoughts you're terrified he might hear from how loud they are. And the oblivious idiot keeps apologising and asking if you’re fine because you should not be, you should probably be more traumatised, certainly not aroused as you are, especially when he’s feeling this guilty. You catch a wobble in one of his words and wonder if he could even cry from a guilty conscious.

Therefore you grant him a glance.

“I’m fine, Jungkook. Really.”

He must see something there, hear the subtle tilt your voice, too soft, has taken because he nods, visibly relaxing. His hand departs slowly, fingers grazing your skin.

“Jungkook, I have something for you.” You say it like you know where it’ll lead. Frankly, you have no idea. You can hope, wish very loud and clear in your mind, but you can’t bet on it. “For your back.” You fish out of your shoulder bag a tiny flask. With its shimmery blue content, the tag on it with his name and a short note consisting of wishes of healing you’re somehow embarrassed to show him. “I made it before coming. It should fix your back in no time.”

“That’s very kind of you, ___. Thank you.” He grabs your hand along with the bottle as if he couldn’t take it on its own, and now you’re sure he knows what he’s doing to you. He can’t be innocently stealing all of these touches from you without knowing how intensely pleasing it feels all over.

“Don’t thank me yet, you might not like the... process.” He raises an eyebrow, head slanting to the side. “It’s a bit uncomfortable for like... 30 seconds and then it gets better.”

“How uncomfortable?”

“Well... Nothing too bad. I’m sure you handled way worse.” He can see you’re not completely honest with him. For your defence, looking at all the scars scattered on the very few skin your eyes have access too, he must be used to some kind of pain. It’s not painful per se. It is uncomfortable. Like dipping a firstly warmed up skin in a cryogenic liquid for half a minute kind of uncomfortable. He senses it. Watching the strange liquid carefully, suspiciously, he’s not certain he’ll use it.

“Is it dangerous?”

You scoff, hands raising to your sides, “No, I mean- Not if you apply it correctly, it’s fine.”

“If I-“ He worries at his lip, frowning, mentally debating the subject as if it’s that much of a big deal. Honestly, the risk, is, not that tragic. An over-application can cause a curious discolouration that will, later on, turn into a marble-like blue patch -it might be definite but you’re not sure-, you can potentially burn your skin too but usually, it only happens -and it’s the case with any magical ointment really- if it’s mixed with another ingredient it shouldn’t come in contact with or on a body that’s already under certain charms -which is not his case, you assume-, and of course, an ointment made for local application should in no circumstances be ingested. It’s not that complicated. He doesn’t need to look so scared and suspicious.

“For Merlin’s sake, Jungkook! Don’t use it if-“ You aim to snap it out of his hand but he’s quicker, holding up where you can’t reach, the corner of his eyes crinkling cutely.

“No I want to but- can you do it for me? You worried me.”

“You really are a big baby, aren’t you?” He shrugs, doesn’t deny it. He looks cute like that. Dancing on his two feet, munching on his lip, hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “Fine.” You say without meaning it. You wouldn’t say that you’re fine or that you’ll be fine.

When he walks you to his cabin, twenty meters away from the dragons' playground, your heart starts beating hard and fast, more furiously at every step. It might not mean much more than a nurse job. At the same time, would it make any sense for you to not take the opportunity to take a step and make it more than that? Kim Taehyung would turn you into some kind of pile of whatever gross creature's shit if he were to hear that.

The cabin is super tiny, rustic and barely equipped. Wooden floor, wooden walls, wooden furniture -if you can call them that. Mentally, you curse at Mrs Umbridge. If she didn’t plan this on purpose just because she despises the guy and his pets. You can tell he sleeps in it because of the shitty mattress sitting on a pile of wooden boxes, with the sheets unmade. Discarded used clothes in a corner, a little tower made of books that all seem to be about travelling, magical creatures and travellers’ autobiographies. It’s dark, smells like soot with a tint of something sweet, as if the remnants of a pastry made of cinnamon is hiding somewhere.

Jungkook excuses himself for the mess, even if it’s not much compared to the poor condition he must have received the cabin as, jumping to the only window to tear open the dusty curtain.

It brings a bit of light inside, a subdued but warm yellow-ray coming straight from the barely awakening Sun.

It feels a bit stuffy in here. With him taking over the whole space, and your lungs struggling to pump normally. It feels too intimate, to be standing a few steps away from the place he sleeps in at night. Too intimate because you're not used to it, and two days ago, or even fucking yesterday morning, you would have never thought you'd ever be standing here.

"It's cosy."

You comment, humming to yourself, at the same time as he asks, "Should I take off my shirt?"

You almost choke, tilting your head, watching him with misplaced shock. He's already holding the hem of his black shirt higher on his stomach, exposing smooth golden skin, tight on a thin, sculpted waist, a trail of teasing black hair under his belly button, yet looking at you with his wide round eyes, unsure, quite innocent somehow.

"I don't think you need to- the whole thing." Coward-you hurries to answer, trying to divert your attention to anything but him.

Jungkook turns around, giving you his back and raising his hands to the back neck of his shirt, wincing silently, as he lifts the cloth. The back is almost worst than the front. The thin waist you had a glimpse of, the smooth skin with the golden highlights, the cute dimples at the bottom of his back, the developed, beautifully drawn muscles. A dizzying hot flush takes over your head.

This guy is a mystery. Under his thick, oversized clothes, you knew he was well built, but never would you have expected that. It's not like you care about it usually but with him standing in front of you, smelling so wonderful, with this thing, intense and unique, linking and running in between you two, you can't ignore it all. You can't ignore nor deny how attracted you are and giddy and greedy at the idea of seeing it, of touching it all -when most people don't even get close enough to him to suppose what he's hiding.

It's easy to get back to Earth and the present moment with the large, blue hematoma marking his right scapula. It looks painful as hell, so much so you wonder how he's been handling it so far, how he hasn't visited the infirmary yet, how often it happens and if he always simply tighten his jaws and take the pain until it just leaves.

He turns you cheesy again. You'd like to lean forward and press a kiss to make it better. You wouldn't dare though, and you know, for a fact, that the ointment you prepared for him would be an infinite amount of times more effective to heal him.

He shudders at some point. Probably because you're taking a short eternity to do anything, or just say anything, silently contemplating instead.

Gulping hard, you start, "Bear with me, ok? It'll be better in no time." He grumbles something to himself, way too quiet for you to hear over the loud popping of your potion's bottle and the even louder rummaging of your heart in your bosom.

The first drops seem to be fine. He's not squirming under the gentle touch of your fingertips, handling the strange sensation that the potion causes at first, instantly warming up at the contact with skin. He even relaxes, letting you spread evenly all over the bruise, calm and still as the perfect patient. Until he squeals.

"Fuck, what- ah!"

On reflex, he tries to bend and twist, attempting desperately to avoid the inhumanly freezing discomfort burning his skin. You try to hold him still, hands clasped to his shoulders but he wouldn't stop wriggling, whining like a hurt puppy.

For a tough guy, he can't handle much, you decide. It's amusing but concerning as you see him move around so much, you can imagine how he's stimulating the pain coming directly from his injury rather than the ointment.

"Jungkook, stop!" He manages to knock the pile of his books down with a blind kick. "It'll last just a few seconds, calm down!" Your hands fully pressed against his bruise, the heat coming from your overly agitated heart helping, it releases some of the cold. Somehow your tiny hands on his broad back are enough and he sighs in contentment, just a tiny whimper uttered as a remnant of his short but intense torment.

"Are you ok?" You ask after a few minutes. His breathing has quieted down too. His shoulders hanging low, his head relaxed, ease and comfort have taken over his body and mind.

"Yeah. But-" Tentatively, he tests out his right shoulder, rolling it up and down a few times, a tiny impressed 'wow' escapes him and you grin to yourself, enchanted to see him acknowledge your talent. "When you said discomfort-"

"Sorry about that. I thought you wouldn't want to try but it's worth it, isn't it?"

"It is." He has a sudden burst of laughter when he turns around, flashing you a relieved smile. You can read in his eyes that he's a bit surprised, a bit confused himself about what's so funny, probably settling on the little fright the experience gave him. You won't mention that the potion, if it's so effective and this, so quickly, is because it has very highly active ingredients that mess with the organism as soon as it penetrates the skin and his insides might be a tiny bit all over the place for a few moments.

Suddenly, a big whooshing sound comes from outside, seemingly knocking against the front wall of the cabin and making it shake on its hinges. It just makes him chuckle some more, not worried the least and beyond amused by your reflex to step towards him, hands raised, this close to grabbing a hold of his shirt.

"It's just Tina getting impatient, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" You scoff. The mention of her name brings back the memory from earlier. For some reasons, Jungkook's presence now and inside that memory, make it all seem rather mundane but you're sure, you're positive that you should feel traumatized by what happened. A dragon fucking attacked you. Jungkook shoots you a crooked smile you can't say you recognise. With a little bite on the corner of his bottom lip, dark eyes squinted yet shinning mischief.

"You're safe with me." He says, voice low, teasing, as one of his hand reaches for his index and thumb to pinch lightly at your waist.

"Because they're scared of you somehow?" He laughs again, hand now encompassing your side, staring down at you. He looks so inhumanly attractive. You're confused where this intensity comes from. If it's simple lust, coming from a genuine natural place, the same as yours. Or if the potion is not still messing with him, and his hormones, possibly. It shouldn't. It's been a good ten minutes and his build wouldn't entail this long of a repercussion.

"They're not scared. They just know who's the alpha." He explains with the cockiest shit-eating grin you've ever seen. Even greasy Gilderoy Lockhart doesn't have those. You'd find him gross if he was a hundred per cent committing to the act. There's a lurch though, in the way chocolate marbles shine in childish amusement, the tendentious beam turning into a boyish one, biting back something you know would sound like a giggle if he let it escape. You chuckle yourself, hitting him on the chest -because now that he's healed, he can take it. He doesn't budge an inch, doesn't back the slightest away from you. If anything, the hand holding you slide a bit further behind your back, keeping you close. "I'm just kidding." He whispers, voice as soothing as his attentive gaze as turned. So attentive you feel your face burn with shame. As a poor attempt to deflect your focus on this, your hand raises to his chest again, fingers scrapping at a tiny default in his shirt.

"You're not." He snickers. "I still don't understand how you're not scared of them..." The question somehow was never brought up. The whole night, the day before, your friends and you spend your time praising him and asking so many questions about his life and dragons in general, the things he's seen, the things he's done, the reasons that push him to take this orientation -something about adventure and wanting to see where the world ends was the answer however you could tell it wasn't entirely the real one- but you never actually asked how come he's not terrified of these deadly creatures.

"Honestly, your students are way scarier to me than they are." Your eyes grow big with surprise as you simper. You naturally lean a bit back as you laugh, and he follows you, for some reasons, eyes fixed on you, a tiny smile shaping his mouth. "That one girl the other day, the way she looked at you."

"Yeah, they can be real brats sometimes."

"My dragons, on the other hand, are super playful and soft." He sounds like a little boy, trying to brag about his alleged better pet. Of course, he'd be lethally sexy a second and undeniably adorable the next.

"You're a bit weird, Jeon." Jungkook shrugs, not sure what to say to that because he knows you're right. He can also hear in your voice that you don't mind and he's not sure how to say that he's glad you don't. Because he doesn't say anything you force yourself to look up, study his handsome face to read him. His expression is precisely what you expect yours to look like. Content yet expecting for something more, enamoured.

It's just hard to take the first step. Impossible to overcome.

Only now, from so close he can probably feel your breath hitting his neck, you notice he has a thin beard decorating his jaw. There's a patch missing on the left. You press the tip of your index to the tender skin, noting he's probably got burnt.

"That's what happens when a baby with a cold refuses to leave your shoulder." "It sneezed on you?" He nods, grinning. "I could make something for that. And for your eyebrow too." You stare, your finger caressing the soft skin, cheating a bit and slipping to the side of his jaw where there's nothing except a barely unshaven skin. Jungkook sucks in a breath.

"Would you?"

"If you want me too. You'd be losing charm points for sure but-"

"Oh, I have those?"

For some reasons, it’s this moment your memory chooses to recycle your friend’s words. The ones about him being that great. With the pretty gold glimmer coming from his peculiar round eyes, you do not doubt that he is. “As if.” You roll your eyes, jaded by his certain lie.

And the ones about him possibly being a lot, being too much to handle follow quickly behind. He is a whole lot, from head to toes, to the very essence of his character. The thing is he’s dipped in a thick pool of sweet honey, rounding his edges into something so much more accessible, too easy to swallow, how could you not try. “Let’s not fix it then,” He starts, one of his hand roughly rubbing at his short beard. “you already have too many ahead of me.” You give him a doubtful “oh really?” look he greets with an amused grin. He’s pretty smooth for a guy that hardly ever interacts with women and humans in general. You almost ask if his pets give him dating advice but you decide to keep it for later. The cat and mouse game is getting hard to endure. You’re not bored of it but you know you’re both ready for it to turn a little less playful and a little more decisive -also you don’t know exactly what time it is, however, you do know you have a class in the morning. It (whatever it is) won’t happen with you bullying him restlessly. Maybe one of you will get tired of watching so closely the other's face, you both know the details by heart by now, are probably even able to draw them with your eyes closed, and act. There’s a subtle frown messing up his handsome face. A tiny dip of the starting lines of his eyebrows and a pout reshaping his lips. “I’m really sorry about that.” He mutters, shame dripping from his words. The pad of his thumb raises to your neck, grazing ever so lightly the skin surrounding the tiny cut Tina gave you earlier. It’s not that bad. Doesn’t even hurt anymore. When your heart is beating so fast, when your cheeks are burning so high, when your core is quivering so much, you barely remember about the cut on your neck ever hurting. He seems so sorry though. And then he’s leaning towards you, dubious eyes not leaving yours until he’s hidden in the crook of your neck and can’t see you anymore, and softly, presses his lips to the bruise. It feels like a seizure in your heart. It shouldn’t be much but it is, the softest touch, most delicate, also a beautiful promise for more to come.

You relax under him, his arm naturally sliding further behind you, pulling you flush against him. You tend your neck, expecting more, demanding more. He instead breathes in, nose buried in your hair, humming to himself as if the scent pleases him before he’s kissing your neck again, this time a more resolute kiss, with a tough pressure, a louder smack.

You can’t help but giggle, he sniffed you like an animal would, like a dragon would. The giggle turns into an embarrassing fit of laughter, the tension wearing you out probably helping a lot.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asks, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with curiosity and a smile translating his bemusement. He backs away for a second, just to see your face.

“Sorry-“ More giggles, he pinches your side, you barely manage to bite your laughter back in your throat. “Sorry but you’re really- I just didn’t realise to what extent you’ve been raised by dragons.”

He’s confused you can tell, frowning in deep thought yet not looking the least vexed. It makes you smile. Seeing him looking so adorable, a little lost, a little embarrassed. You kiss the palm of his hand, the one that’s sitting where it fits perfectly, tucked in the crook of your neck, his eyes grow big for a split second. “Cause I smelled you? Was it weird? I’m sorry, I’m just used to- like- smells are imp-“

He made it so easy for you to press your lips to his. Everything about him, from his smell to his warmth, to his smiles both from his pretty flushed lips and from the wonders he owns for eyes, his voice soothing, welcoming, words always gentle, always soft. He’s both the unknown and at the same time, the most comfortable aura you’ve ever wanted to dip in.

It’s hesitant at first, or more precisely sheepish, like testing the waters. Figuring out where you’re stepping in, noticing you’re barely keeping your nose up and afloat. It’s scary, new and exciting. Requires a little bit of practice, some intended nibbles, some timid lingering.

You’re both unsure, trying until you’re not anymore. Like a button blooming into a rose, suddenly turned bright bloody red, intense and passionate, with fierce thorns digging and scratching at the skin.

You sigh into him, he’s humming as in agreement. There’s a little agitation coming from outside. As if they know what you two are doing, how you’re feeling. As if impatient Tina can tell you’re stealing her human right under her snoot.

He is so willing to get stolen though. Chasing after your mouth when you worry for a second about the ruckus going on just behind the wall, arm tightening around you, hugging you as close as he can, his body melting with yours whenever your fingers dig in his skin.

You’re the first one to slip your fingers underclothes to just have a little sample of naked skin. It’s just past the hem of his sweatshirt, the soft and burning skin of his waist. It spurs him on. As if he was just waiting for you to give him permission, his hands find a home under your shirt. Flat on your skin, so large, so hearty, raw skin from someone who’s worked with those hands a lot, feeling so nice on you, feel like he’s holding you captive in between the palms.

The hand against your back slides up, stopping an instant where your bra is sealed, toying with it as if he’s wondering if he can. Deeming that he can’t, for some unknown reason, he goes further to grip the back of your neck. You’re too busy with his tongue teasing yours, with the growing stiffness digging in your stomach to notice. Have your brain been less occupied, you would probably have the fingers playing with the ends of his hair, pulling a little harsher than they already are. He’s loving it, it seems. Moaning each time you do, groaning each time your nails slip through the hair to scrap at his skin.

Everything is too good. Everything feels made to be, bodies made to meet and make up. It feels like this could be enough. Highly satisfying, more delicious than any make-out session has ever felt because none of those boys before were Jeon Jungkook and never have you liked someone as much as you like him.

But Jeon Jungkook can’t be perfect. You don’t know if he means to be to tease or if it’s just him holding onto some doubts, some insecurities, not wanting to go too far without you explicitly telling him that it’s what you want -because, clearly, it’s not evident enough, the way you’re hanging off of his mouth, limp in his arms, subjectively grinding against his cock can’t be telling enough.

His second hand, the one closest to all the places you want him to invade, won’t give in. Set on your stomach, his thumb retracing the underline of your bra, this hand is the very incarnation of a tormentor. You don’t last long, grousing in your mind, losing your shit and your patience, giving him chances after chances to finally get to it but of course he never does.

Your frustration reaches its limits when you back away from him, hitting his chest with your fist, breathless and frowning.

He’s too dazed, hooded eyes barely seeing anything but your swollen mouth, to comprehend. Until you bark his name, punching him again.

Jungkook takes in your mad eyes, scrunched eyebrows and impatient tapping of your foot on the cabin's floor.

“Touch me.” You whine more than you demand. His light chuckles fill the suffocating air, diffusing a little bit of the tension and maybe it’s not for the worst.

“Is that all?” He asks, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your pouty mouth. “You scared me.”

“I don’t care.” He is so gentle on your lips. The sweetest touch you’ve ever received there. Your heart is growing exponentially, threatens to burst in your chest and you’re loving every single second of it.

“You’re a bit mean when you’re frustrated, you know that?” He can hardly contain his amused grin long enough to kiss you. Explicitly telling you, he doesn’t care much for your moody outbursts. “And,” Another kiss right in the centre of your awaiting lips. “I was touching you.”

“Not enough.”

“What’s enough, lil’ brat?” He mumbles against the skin of your neck, biting a little at it, definitely grinning to himself there. You almost cum there.

“Touch me here.”

You can sense his cockiness drops to the ground when you grab his hands and press them to your clothed breasts. He just gapes, too shocked to act, as if it’s the first pair he’s coming in contact with. You have to do everything on his behalf and really, thankfully for him, you like him that much you don’t hold it against him. Tearing the cups of your bra down and under your breasts, guiding his long fingers to your tender mounds, he takes in a shaky breath, his curious eyes borne into yours.

Tentatively, he wraps his hands around them, weighing them, the pad of his thumb caressing the skin, enjoying taking extra time on the nipple. You can tell he wants it, he’s too willing to touch you, yet his mouth, the stupid thing, starts to stutter, “B-but, I don’t think righ-“

“Please.” And if this isn’t enough, you’re giving up. You’ve tried so hard. Asking, moving his hands for him, pleading with your boobs out and your shirt bunched up over them. If this isn’t enough, you’re giving up and probably kicking him in the dick in your way out.

His puppy eyes fall from your eyes down to your breast, almost reluctantly. He leaves out a tiny whimper of pain. As if he’s the one hurting. As if it’s not you, the one suffering, the one tortured, because he’s been messing with you, shaking your insides upside down, baiting and lightening up sparkles but refusing to feed you accordingly the way you need to. As if he’s not the only one inflicting himself the torment, refusing to give in for reasons you don’t understand.

Until something clicks in his brain, finally, common sense meeting desires, his mouth fall from your neck and straight to your nipple, kissing hungrily. Licking and sucking and nibbling, moaning almost as much as you do. Once both your nipples are swollen and a pretty flush, he senses your sensitivity, deciding to drop from the buds, meaning to cover the whole supple surface of your tits with lovely kisses and infuriating grazing of the teeth.

The position is awkward. Him bent in half, you on your tiptoes, trying to ease the access for him while simultaneously ordering your wobbly legs to keep on supporting you. The task is not easy, so poorly executed he gets tired of it in seconds, big hands seizing you to pick you up, holding you close, your legs wrap around his waist, so comfortable, so natural, somehow more convenient for him, he doesn’t seem to be in the least amount of effort as he feasts gladly on your chest. His hands stay on your ass, fingers digging, occasionally dragging you up and down his front where you can feel him hot and hard against your centre, a few times squeezing and tearing your cheeks apart. If this is not what paradise tastes like, then you don’t know what is.

It’s perfect pleasure, pure satisfaction.

But of course, you’re human.

Soon, it’s not enough, anymore. And more and more you want and you need. You can feel your cunt clench around nothing, drops of honey dripping from the side hems of your panties crotch. He’s so good to you, lavishing and ravishing your breast like it’s the only job he’s ever wanted but you want more. Maybe you’ll let him worship you another day. Place the kisses and paint the marks he wants on every inch of your body.

Right now you need release. Any kind. He’s pent you up to a point, you can’t handle the idea of not letting any steam out.

You’re about to get bitchy again. Getting saltier and saltier at every empty-handed clench of your cunt. If you don’t take a step now, make him take the step, you’ll turn into a sex-deprived gremlin again, this time worse than earlier, and it’s not a good look you wish for him to see -again.

“Jungkook?” You can sense him perk up at the call of your name, even though he doesn’t stop his ministrations. He hums against your nipple, held tight in between his wet lips. “Fuck, Guk- just- uh- your bed.” No reaction. You suspect he didn’t even listen. “Take me to your bed, Jungkook!” It’s the harsh pull on his hair that’s made him look up and pay attention to your words. Like an obedient puppy with unmatching dark eyes, he nods, swirling around to head for his bed, carrying you effortlessly like you're not a full-grown adult hanging from his neck.

You’re about to meet his sheets. You’re about to get ravished and treated so, so right. You can tell from all the promises his hooded gaze has no shame sharing. Anticipation is killing you. The tenderness and affection along with the evident intense lust you read in him are killing you. Your back is just about to meet his sheets when it just doesn’t. He’s holding you centimètres away from it, eyebrows frowned, preoccupation taking over his face and covering everything sexy that fitted it so prettily.

“I can’t have you on this bed.”

“Wha- why?!” Maybe you yelled a bit. He winces. You don’t know what you look like right now, lust turned into pure fury, you just hope if you feel and talk like a gremlin, you still don’t look like one.

“Have you seen it? It’s not even a bed, it’s just a pile of dirty rags probably a thousand years old-“ It’s sweet and annoying, infuriating beyond belief. He’s blushing too. One foot hitting with spite the pile of rags he was given to use as a bed.

You want to cry.

“Why are you so fucking difficult, Jungkook?” You spit his name with venom, forehead hitting his shoulder, defeated as you feel. He’s hugging you closer, hands less sexual and just warm tenderness as they slide along your spine, pressing you closer if it’s even possible. Feels nice. But your panties, the soaked ruined cloth that is uncomfortably sticking to your cunt are reminding you you’re hating this moment.

“I don’t mean to. I- you deserve better than-“

“But you sleep on it!”

“I can sleep anywhere, it doesn’t matter but you’re too pretty to be laying on this.” You huff at that. Too frustrated to just take the compliment and let it shake your belly with the butterflies in it like a kid would a Christmas snow globe. “I’m sorry.”

“Should apologise to yourself, why you’re sleeping in it if it’s shit? Don’t you deserve better?”

He can tell how you feel. You’re kind enough to let everything clear as day, written in a language he mastered in so little time, an intimate one he’s only allowed to see. He sees the disappointment. Also the ease you’re feeling. The lust that’s not left. The despair and frustration tinted by dark shades of anger. You look cute as hell. All pouty and mushy in his arms. Whining and complaining and so angry yet fingers gently caressing the nape of his neck. He can tell you’re bitchy, feel like arguing but probably want something else even more.

“Wouldn’t it be better to use your bed instead? I saw it yesterday, looks nice.” He suggests, kissing your jaw to relax you.

“It is, it’s a troll size.” You lean your head back, giving more space for his mouth, mumbled words hardly falling from your pout.

“I saw that.” He says, amusement teasing the corner of his eyes.

“Professor Jeon!” The amusement completely annihilates from his eyes, his pretty rosy lips falling in a shocked o, along with all colours leaving his face. You gasp silently, wide eyes matching his.

There’s a terrifying succession of thuds shaking the little cabin, the call of his name again. Slowly, he releases you from his arms, making sure you meet the ground without emitting the least noise.

“I told you I had a class-“ he mimes with his mouth rather than speak.

“You never told me that?”

“I mean- I tried to but you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t list-“

“Professor Jeon?” More knocking on the door. You both hear the man outside mumbling to himself, a little commotion and you can tell, he’s trying to find a way to reach the window to have a look through it. Jungkook jumps on it, tearing the curtain in front of the blurry glass.

“Yes- uhm-“

“Are you okay? The class is ready for today’s demonstration! We’re all excited about that Opaleye you’ve talked ab-“

“Hagrid, I- I need to- finish get ready so- if you and the class could wait- f-five seconds?”

You are fuming. Glaring at him with the meanest eyes you own. Smoke probably coming out of every orifice, desperately trying to leave out some steam or else you’ll be spitting fire better than his fucking pets do. Tucking your boobs back in your bra, tearing your teeshirt back down, probably looking as miserable as you feel.

He’s apologetic though. One hand holding yours between gentle fingers, massaging kindly the palm of your hand. Looking guilty as hell, pouty with the watery eyes, a sweetheart.

And you like him. The realisation hits you once again, full force, you like him a whole lot. Frustration fading into compliance, leaving you helpless, about to forgive him wholeheartedly and suggest to come back later when his schedule sees it more fitting.

“Alrighty! I’ll show them that cute baby dragon I see over there-“

Jungkook winces visibly. Even you can tell it’s not a good idea to leave Hagrid alone with kids and dragons unsupervised, his reputation precedes him, unfortunately. He doesn’t hint a gesture towards the door though. Observing you with attentive eyes, the same from earlier, as if he’s trying to memorise your traits with utter accuracy, knowing he won’t be seeing it for at least the whole day ahead. You should suggest he takes a picture, it’ll last longer. But you’re overwhelmed with a vague wave of sadness, suddenly, so close to the parting from him and so unready for it.

You don’t know if he sees it, senses it, if when he kisses you hard on the mouth it’s to make himself feel better or if it’s just for you. It works in any case. Your heart filled up as it’d been, with lust and affection and something that can’t be but is so akin to love.

“I wish you didn’t have a class-“

“Do you want me?” He asks in a breathless whisper. The question is ridiculous, the answer being so fucking evident, you’d hit him to the side of the head if you didn’t like so much how intimate, how sexy he sounds murmuring against your lips.

You nod. Realising as you try and fail that he’s stolen all air from you -and probably a few other things like your heart and sanity along the way.

“Can you be quiet?” His hands have already dropped from your face, attached to the hem of your pants, hurried fingers proceeding to open them up. The situation in its entirety with the environment, with the people outside at most a dozens of meters away, the awkwardness, the everything can’t hit you, can’t take a sensible shape. No information able to be treated because of him, his everything, the whole lot that he is, infuriating, dizzying, shattering, moving. All you know is that you can be quiet, you can be whatever he wants you to be right this instant.

“I’m sorry for being so terrible at all that-“ He starts, sincere but light, amused, comfortable with you -and that’s the nicest look you’ve seen on him. “I’ll make it up to you until later when I- can really make it up to you.”

It’s funny to see the two facades of his personality clash like that. He’s apologising, red in the cheeks, but also a mouth, reshaped by a confident fatal crooked smirk, stating promises as facts.

How does he know he’ll make it up to you? How does he know he’ll make you feel good enough you’ll forgive his clumsiness?

“I’ll need more than five seconds, Jeon.” That makes him chuckle silently, shaking his head and squinting in defiance.

“You’ll need hardly more than that.” He says, dragging your pants and your panties at once, down a few centimetres.

Heat burns your face as air hits your centre. It feels shockingly exposing even if he can't see much from up there, with your shirt down, with little to no light coming from the curtained window and his large hand, that doesn’t wait for a second, slipping in between your thighs, covering your mound instantly as his mouth covers yours.

He’s right. This fucker.

You don’t time but you know he makes you come incredibly fast.

First starting by sliding a lone finger in your heat to quickly realise that you are soaking wet, sloppy to be exact, perfectly able to fit at least two and probably a third one easily. And he obliges so, filling the torturous void, fucking you with them slowly, dragging the pad of his rough fingers along your walls, teasing your sensitive entrance with lovely, lovely strokes. The sound -and he has to slow down to keep it quiet enough- is obscene. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been so fucking turned on. Dripping down your legs and unto his hand.

He spends only a few minutes on that, on fucking you nice and open when you both know he won’t even be able to fill you as you both wish he would until, well, some undefined time. It should be revolting, that thought, sort of a quick, immediate satisfaction for a long term painful wait.

But then his fingers leave your hole to migrate to your clit, as engorged as ever, as it’s not been for a long, long time, all of this for this stupid crush, from this stupid man, from his kisses and his scent, and his purposefully neglecting to give it attention. A few strokes only, fast and hard, messy and desperate with a sweet pet name he’s never used but fits so nice from his lips press to your ear and you’re coming, hole kissing emptiness, it sucks but you're invaded with so much content, legs shaking, heart beating fast, remnants of the orgasm reshaping the whole stance of your body, feels like you've just moved in an entirely new one, and head dizzy, feeling in love.

“Told you.” He’s chuckling to himself. Full of himself as he wipes you clean with a teeshirt he just picked up from an open travelling bag.

“Shut up, Jungkook.” You groan. One hand holding onto his bicep while his owns diligently tie back your pants, fixing you like nothing happened. The orgasm has been so good, it devoided you of all strength and energy you may have had.

You need to leave. Or more precisely, he needs to leave and meet the class, take them away probably in the forest so that you can escape and flee back to the castle. It’s inevitable.

You close your eyes for a second. Trying to empty your head, focus on breathing properly again, hiding how upset you feel. It’s not that dramatic. Surely, you’ll catch him again, today probably, later, tonight, but you feel so upset. Like a little girl. You don’t want to leave him yet.

Jungkook calls your name softly. You open your eyes, biting on your lip to contain all the emotions wanting to spill out right under his nose.

“Do you like me?” This time you have to throw a punch to his side -it hurts your knuckles more than it does him- because how dare he ask and look so unsure of the answer. “Well, I don’t know- I don’t- you never know with women and- and like- I- you never said-“

“I’ve liked you for two years, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Two...?”

You see the gears rolling, slowly, unsettled by big knots of confusion. You’re sweet, you’re generous and you just came in his hand, literally, so you have no issue admitting -with only a slight blush on the apple of your cheeks, “When you first came for the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t-“ Again with the apologies. With the looking so pitiful, with the guilt, with the him being so lovely of a man, especially when he’s so big and covered in all those warlike scars.

“Well you had this in your eyes anyway, would have been hard to notice me.” You joke, stealing one of the locks hiding behind his ear and tickling his eyelids with it. He scoffs, smiling before he slips it back where it was.

“Thanks to Taehyung, I have a hair tie now. So that I can see you better.” He’s beaming, staring at you fondly, it’s insufferable and you look away, embarrassed as ever because those big eyes being just yours, admiring you -for what too?- are hard to handle. You need practice.

“Is it your dragons teaching you all this cheesy garbage-“ He cackles at that, not even letting you finish and you’re loving the idea that it’s you causing that. “You need better wingpets.” He laughs even harder, you’re grinning even harder until a screech, ear-splitting, resonates through the whole surrounding forest. For a second you wonder if it’s not just Tina throwing a fit because she heard how her master is having so much fun with someone else than her but there’s a commotion following and what sounds like a seventeen-year-old Slytherin boy losing his shit, yelling and crying, and alarm takes over Jungkook's face.

“Can I see you tonight?” He asks in a hurry and you nod. “I’ll meet you in your room after I trained-“ A big smooch to your lips. “Actually maybe before, I don’t know, I-“

“Just go, Jungkook.” His eyes say something his mouth can’t, you can read the trepidation, as he sprints to the door, gaze not leaving you.

You can’t be sure a hundred per cent but you’re almost certain he just told you that he really likes you too and suddenly, you don’t feel as upset as you did, knowing you will find him back later.

« Thanks for earlier. »

For a second, you don’t know what he’s referring to. Until he points a finger towards his crotch, a little flush showing on his cheeks, where his hair doesn’t reach.

That makes you laugh. You shrug your shoulders, waving his thank away because of course, you wouldn’t let him run in the middle of a class full of teenagers with a rock hard cock showing through his pants.

Too focused on the possible catastrophe happening in his front yard, he didn’t seem to realise, if any discomfort or pain ever existed he couldn’t acknowledge it but you surely did.

After having it pressed to your crotch, having felt its hardness and its heat, there’s no way you’d be able to just stop thinking about it. Then in the cabin, with your tingling cunt and sticky panties, and the whole day ahead, no matter how far away from him you were, physically and supposedly mentally, it’s just all you could think about.

Blushing incessantly at the least stimulating moments. Gagging back giggles whenever a word, a touch, a smile of his recalled itself to you, and this in front of confused and suspicious eyes.

The whole day was a pain. It simply wouldn’t roll fast enough.

Now here you are, standing in front of him, not recognising him fully. He’s hiding behind his hair again. He’s quiet and awkward like he too forgot how to talk to you.

Maybe that’s what you get for meddling with him so quickly. Suppose you get separated for a short dozen of hours, he becomes a stranger again.

It’s an awful feeling. Seems like maybe you made it all up. The comfort, the noncommittal love and adoration, the ease, the lust, the warmth. Maybe all of it was just a hazy dream. Made up yesterday evening by alcohol and this early morning by fatigue.

Here you are sober and empty of any other commitment and you can’t picture how you could have gotten to that special place and how to find it back if it ever existed.

“You’ve let your hair down.” You simply say. Maybe it’s your way to point out aloud how you feel like you’ve been thrown a thousand steps back. He’s hiding behind his hair, being unreachable again.

“Yeah, I just- they were all staring so I felt awkward-“ You mean to interrupt, let him know because you’re sure that he doesn’t (the boy from the bar yesterday didn’t know) that if they were staring it’s because he is that beautiful and certainly no one has expected that. “I wanted to tie it back for now but I lost the little thingy.” You take a step forward, closing some of the distance between him standing against the wall and you in the middle of your room. The more you hear his soft voice, the more you recognise him. “I hope Taehyung won’t be mad, I can buy a new one for him.” You could probably point out that Jungkook probably did not lose anything. That probably Taehyung used a charm and like any of those, the object you didn’t pay for, that materialised itself from thin air, simply disappeared after some time. Maybe you’ll tell him later. Right now you’re close to him again, so close you can catch a glimpse of an eye under the pretty locks. Your ears recognise him, your nose too, and you’re impatient to see if your fingers would too.

You reach up, catching his fringe in between your fingertips and dragging them behind his ears, opening the silky curtain and smiling to yourself, eyes almost blurry with emotion, when you see his handsome face now on display. With the pretty brown eyes, the rosy lips, the cut eyebrow and that scar on his cheek, just above his timid dimple that shows up only when it wants.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” He squeaks out, flushing. “I must look ridiculous-“ He gestures you his hair your holding hostage behind his ears, taking advantage to caress his soft skin with the pad of your thumbs.

“You look cute.” He does. He looks a bit awkward, like a boy who just finds himself with too much hair and tries to do something about it. “Very cute.” You add, beaming when you see his embarrassment grow.

“Liar.”

He catches one of your wrists in his hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the thin skin of the inner part. Lips soft, eyes soft, voice tender. “I thought about you a lot today...” Somehow he found you back too. He feels comfortable saying this while you’re sure he’s not used to it. Therefore even if you hate it, you can’t help but admit it. That you too, obviously, could only think about him the whole day. “I’m not here to stay forever, ___.”

Your airy smile flatters until it disappears completely.

Way to ruin the mood.

He senses it. Press the hand leaving his face back against his cheek, pressing the second one to his mouth again as if he could bring you back to him and forget all about what he just implied.

Obviously.

Obviously, his life is not here, in Hogwarts. He’s not a professor, he doesn’t want to become one, he’s here for a project that has a defined limited time - Mrs Umbridge made sure of it. He’s an adventurer anyway. He only knows forest and lands and mountains and mythical creatures, extreme weathers and dangerous places.

Obviously, you two only properly met a few days ago, only started to get to know each other less than 24 hours ago, it’s too soon to be in love, too soon to be so attached that a separation would feel that devastating. But even if you’re not, you feel in love. You feel wonderful in his arms, under his gaze, with his pretty smiles lighting on you and his sweet voice rocking your heart.

It’s so upsetting to think about. You don’t want to. Just him hardly bringing it up makes you so upset you could cry.

“But I- I know that you know that already. Maybe it’s clear for you that- we can’t-“ The more he talks the less sense he makes. Every syllabus seems dragged out of his mouth. He struggles so bad, your hand distractingly playing with the neck of his shirt, only because his hand wouldn’t let it go, you can feel his beating heart through the thick vein of his neck. “What I mean to say is- I don’t know what this- could mean to you. If it means anything or it’s just- like- fun,” Your eyebrow ticks at that. How dare he? “either way I don’t mind-“ He’s quick to add. “Really! Whatever you want is fine. I just mean to say that we can’t- I mean- at some point, I’ll be very very far away so-“

“Does it matter now, Jungkook?”

The whole dilemma is not that hard to solve, on your part anyway. There’s nothing you can do about his future departing, is it? All that’s under your control is either you decide to indulge in him, have him the way you crave to, feed in this lovely thing that’s started blooming yesterday evening between you two and later on, deal with the heartbreak you’ll surely have once he leaves. Or will you deny yourself this, still get the heartbreak but way earlier on and have to nurture it for probably less long but in this peculiar case, through a thick coat of regrets.

You hate to think about it all. You hate to think about a time when he’s not going to be around, not even only appearing at the end of a hallway, not even noticing you, not doing anything special except existing and breathing the same air as yours.

It’s clear for you. He’s right here, right now, literally right under your hands, there’s no doubt in your mind that you’re going to consume as much as him as you possibly can, if only he’ll let you.

He looks worried, concerned. Not on the same page as you maybe. Guilty too. While it’s not his fault. It’s your own stupid, unpractical dumbass’s fault for falling for the only guy that lives like a fucking wild animal and is probably inept to leave his wild savage life for more than a couple of months at a time.

An attempt nibble to his bottom lip. Your eyes shut close slowly as to not squeeze a droplet menacing to fall from your eye. He sighs deeply, leaning into your mouth for a moment.

“I guess it doesn’t have to matter now.” He decides, pressing a new kiss to the relieved smile growing on you.

"Cause you had a few things to show me, I believe..." It's subtle. Sort of. The words may be but the eyes you give him are not, demanding, minxy. Your intentions are no secret to him and you can tell in the way he smirks, kissing you again, this time his warm palms holding your cheeks still. He's made up his mind too.

It's all you needed to wash it all behind. Everything that could be too heavy for your shoulders or your heart to carry right now. Anything that could affect this moment, tarnish it, make it lesser than it could be.

It just has to be good. Only good and nothing else. His hands everywhere, on your ass, squeezing, on your breast, fondling. He seems to have remembered what you like. He's not withholding, he's not overly gentle. He's still awfully tender, awfully sweet because it's just the essence of his person, you feel it in every breath you steal from him. The way he carries you so softly, sitting you down on his lap as careful as ever as to not have you tip over and fall off of the bed.

When you're so greedy and almost rude in comparison, lavishing in the position he just offered you, groaning when you feel his thick thighs stretching yours wide, grinding already, sliding forward to feel his hardness anew against you. You touch him everywhere because his body feels surreal. Hard and taut and skin boiling even through his clothes. Your hands disorganized, impatient, start by unbuckling his belt to then jump to the hem of his shirt, dragging the cloth up and off of him.

You hardly catch a glimpse of fair honey skin before the light is shut off suddenly. There's the very recognizable thud of a wand hitting the wooden floor that hints at you that he's the one who did turn it off and you want to whine and complain and maybe even argue a little, and maybe more, enough for him to turn it back on but his wet mouth is sucking at your collarbone, the indignant scold dies into an insignificant, trembling whimper.

He lets you undress him. Even if you're missing the visual, you decide you'll enjoy the touch. His skin is so soft, too soft in a few spots where you guess he's been hurt, uneven, little bumpy traits, here and there, like the trace of a road on a map, scattered all over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He feels wonderful under your fingers. Hot and soft. He smells heavenly, encaging you as he does, you're bathing in his scent, earthy, smoky, masculine.

You have the push him away, a hand on his jaw, another on his chest to have him quit mouthing at your skin and lay his back down on the mattress. In the very dim light, you catch his shiny eyes, wide and intense as they observe you in the dark. You lean over, pressing kisses you hope as loving as his on his skin, starting from his cheek, you feel moving under your lips from him smiling, descending to his hard belly without missing a spot.

Your mouth turns extra delicate when your lips meet uneven skin, as if you could hurt him, as if he hasn't been long healed and your lips aren't the last thing that could ever hurt him, it makes him gasps and sighs though, each time, you feel his abs tighten under you, his thighs stiffen.

"Am I hurting you?" You ask quietly, even if you doubt it.

"Yeah-" He sighs and you freeze. "I mean no! No, no, don't worry."

"Are you sure?" You insist and he groans in defeat. You might be palming his cock through his pants, which you should be patient enough to wait until he answers properly if you'd honestly like an answer. But the rock hard member has been poking your thigh for too long and you can't help it. He's so responsive too, concealing poorly his groans and his moans, his whole body and cock twitchy under you.

You're close to giving him more. To give him fully what he came for. Nails grazing with intent the line where the hem of his underwears lay but not moving down further, hinting at something more but not giving in yet.

It's exhilarating to have him so docile under you, waiting, hardly patiently, for you to give him what he wants and you can tell, from how hard he is, that he really does want it. He sucks his breath in one more time, loudly, and you snickers above him, excited as you are.

Until he decides it's enough. Raising one thigh fast and hard, pushing at your ass, making you tip over with a squeal. He catches you with the cheeky chuckle you've grown to adore, rolling you unto your back so he can hover over you. You feel so tiny under him, with his strong thick arms encasing you, the line of his wide shoulders barely decipherable in the dark. Your hand follows the line, appreciating him to be so willing to be touched, always leaning onto your fingers. When it stops at his chest, your fingers mean to play a little but you're stopped in your track by the thudding hitting your palm. It takes you a hot second to realise it's his heart, being so loud and agitated, so expressive from where it's hidden. Of course, someone as reserved as him would have a heart that vocal.

"Your heart's beating so hard." You comment quietly. You don't mean to embarrass him. You don't even mean to reverse the power button hanging between the both of you. Yours in your own chest has to be causing a similar ruckus. But it's his that matters right now. You can't get over the fact that it's for you.

"Stop teasing me." He grumbles. He's not even vexed. He's embarrassed, but you hear the slim smile in his voice, a sheepish one.

"I'm not. You should feel mine." He hums against your mouth, then backs away laughing a bit.

"Smooth."

"It wasn't-" You sigh in defeat. It was not a subtle attempt to have him take care of your tits. Seriously. He's too glad to comply though, you're not one to complain.

You only have a vague notion of time passing, of things progressing. Somehow a second he's suckling on your nipples through the thin material of your top and the next, both of you are naked, panting in each other's face. Your nipples erect and still wet, occasionally rubbing against his chest, two of his thick fingers pumping in between your folds, a third one occasionally teasing the entrance, hinting at a stretch you're so greedy to feel even though you're not sure you can take; your hands wrapped around his shaft, pumping furiously, squeezing hard to have him hiss and curse against your lips, with your thumb teasing the slit of the tender slick head.

His free hand is at your neck, resting there, fingertips pressing in your skin, his thumb toying with your swollen bottom lip whenever he's biting too hard on his own to kiss you properly.

"I'm close..." You whimper, nibbling on the flesh of his thumb. He smiles vaguely at you, hooded eyes unfocused, eyebrows scrunched from pleasure. "I want you, Jungkook."

"Like now?" Fuck. You really have to like the guy a lot. He dares stop fucking you too, all attention now driven to your face. You don't say anything, your eyes telling enough. He nods to himself. "Okay, now. But uh-"

"Jungkook, sometimes you're half-useless." You try not to be mean but you can't help some snarkiness to escape. You have patience. You have a lot of it. But he just makes everything so difficult. How can you be sin and temptation embodied and at the same time, be so fucking clueless? He's like the cure but also the disease.

You roll over on your bed, grabbing a condom from your bedside table that a certain friend I don't need to name provided you with, to then face him again, brandishing the foil packet in his face.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to-" He seems confused for a second, struggling to get the thing open and you wonder if it's been as long as it's been for you since the last time he's been with someone like that, or if it's been even longer. "but-" Growing even more impatient, you jump on your knees, kneeling next to him, taking the thing from him and tearing it open for him. "You're, like, a lot."

You stay silent for probably too long, frozen, hit by his words probably too intensely.

"In a good way! In a- in a, you're- I like you a lot and it makes me all-" He's talking too much you decide. Stuttering the sweetest things you have a hard time hearing while you're both naked in your bed, so near to get even closer, even more intimate to each other in a way you're too excited about to handle any extra pandering -especially given, you know exactly what he meant. Who would have thought? Jeon Jungkook talking so much you'd have to kiss him quiet.

"How do you like it?" He asks in a whisper, kissing your jaw in a way that makes you shudder. He's making you lightheaded, so dizzy, with the stupid jumps between his sexy lust-filled self and the adorable clueless dude he can also be.

"Just- however you'll have me." You answer, ignoring blatantly that it doesn't mean much.

So he decides. Laying you down on your back, hovering you. The thought that maybe you are made for each other hits you full face then, because that's exactly how you'd like him to have you. Just like earlier, so close, so intimate, sort of intimidating, dominating too. All yours and you, even more, his, with his soft locks caressing your forehead, lips so close you hardly have to make any effort to reach, not that he lets you have your mouth for your own for too long anyway, every few seconds, claiming it with lingering kisses tasting of greed. You know you're in trouble as soon as the very tip of his cock squeezes in. It's somehow a tight fit, even with his earlier ministrations, even with the ones from this morning that made you feel loose all fucking day. Jungkook only fucks you with the head of his shaft for a while, feeling you so tight around him, savouring the sensation but also worried he'd hurt you if he were to go further.

You're on edge. On edge of a devastating orgasm, already too fucking close, and even if you could blame it on the foreplay, on your hormones or whatever else, he'd know. He'd know it's because of him, because of how much you like him, of how good he makes you feel, how much he turns you on.

You don't really care. He's already panting in your ear, groaning and moaning with tight jaws about how good you feel and how pretty you are, when he's only half of the way inside and that's more than enough. It's kind of too much. Kind of impossible to handle.

It's a mewl to the shell of his ear and the digging of your nails in his firm ass that push him further and balls deep inside you. It feels like discovering new places within yourself, places you haven't reach before alone or with someone else, brings a rush of excitement to your whole body that translates in a vice tight clench around him.

He fucks you so good, it feels so nice, his cock was made for you. His rhythm steady, rather slow but powerful, sending you a tiny bit higher on the bed at each thrust, with one arm slid behind your back, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck to hold you still enough. It's little to no effect but it drives you crazy, having him own you like that. From all those places, his dick, his thigh pressing yours higher, his hands, his mouth, his words. Bewitching, he is. Everything feels and sounds and touches him, the air you breath tastes like him.

You wish it'd last forever but it can't. Like everything that tastes that wondrous.

"Jungkook, I think- uh- gonna come." You lie because you don't think, you know you're about to come even if it's been a couple of minutes since he's started. Conveniently, the moon chooses this very moment to come out of wherever she was hiding, shining right through the only window of your suite and hitting him right in the face to bring clear light to him and to his grin, the smug grin you've only caught glimpses of. Your nails dig deeper in his flesh, he gasps lightly and bites on his lip but the smirk doesn't leave, even though it looks ridiculous with his heavy droopy gaze, his red cheeks and his heaving. He's as affected as you are. And that's that precise revelation that throws you over the edge. You mewl aloud, turned euphoric with how incredible it feels to have him keep fucking you through your orgasm, with his cock dragging along your tight, sensitive entrance with his movements.

Soon he follows. You don't exactly catch the moment, too lost in your own euphoria to decipher when his begins, but you feel the change in his thrusts, sloppy and harsher, skin slapping louder in the quiet room and once you've both bathed fully in the pleasure, came back to the now calmer, quieter Earth, you realise your ear rings with the ghost of a raw, low scream that certainly was his.

Fuck, you need to hear this again but this time with your full, undivided attention.

But another time.

Right now, you're half dead. Your hearts have just started coming down from their high. With him laying almost entirely on you. The most of his weight he safely pressed to your side but he's clinging to you, the round tip of his nose buried in your neck, hands holding you tight against him and legs intertwined with yours. Your hand has found its way to his hair, the ungodly mess, fingers gently massaging his scalp, rolling the curls in between.

"So warm..." He hums against your skin, almost purrs. You smile lazily. "Never wanna leave."

"You don't have to." It's the exhaustion that renders your filter ineffective. You know you shouldn't have said that. You know even more so when he doesn't say anything back. "For now, I mean." You don't even know how much of this is a lie. If you really were only thinking about this moment, this night or if the future you both know too well, ugly but very real just waiting its moment to play out, was also on your mind. You're too tired and concretely, fucked out, to even think properly.

"I still have four months." It's a poor consolation. You don't mean to spoil it all. After having spent such a precious, wondrous time with him, you don't want to fuck it all up but you can't help your heart from squeezing painfully in your chest, your throat from struggling to swallow down the heavy ball that's lodged up there. Jungkook senses it. You know he does by the way he holds you tighter, pressing one of those kisses, the most tender ones, at the corner of your lips. "We'll figure something out." He says with an assertion you didn't expect and don't know the origins of. Yet, you trust him and the lump in your throat decides to leave for now.

Somehow, persuaded that you and your heart are safe with him.

A/N: i can’t believe i finished this fucking monster. i need sleep. i’m sorry if it’s not super well edited, i did the 33 pages in one go and yeah. also it’s been so long since i wrote actual explicit smut, i have no idea how it turned out. 😳 let me know :)

to anyone who’s made it this far, thank you so, so, so much. you have my infinite gratefulness and i sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

i’m off to sleep, i hope you are having a wonderful day. stay safe, lots of lots of love 💜

#ksmutclub #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #ggukienet #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #bts scenario #bts fanfic #my writing #when posting will stop being so scary lmao

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sunjaesol · 3 years ago

Text

love, between the shadow and the soul

chenford | drabble | post-canon | title: sonnet xvii - pablo neruda

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Look, Tim Bradford did not get attracted to rookies, okay? In all the years he had been a TO, none had grabbed his attention. Not when he and Isabelle were dating, or married, or when she disappeared into the night with a trail of illicit affairs and a shot of heartache for him. Dozens of young women had sat in that car beside him and never ever had he let their femininity distract him. He served his country. He fought wars overseas. He looked Death right in the eye every single day and never blinked.

But then came officer Lucy Chen. He instantly knew the type of cop she’d be the second she turned in her seat, meeting his gaze for the first time, and nervously smiled at him. Nerves were normal, he was aware, but the doe-eyed look and the hopeful grin sold her out. No mystery. Just another young cop that would either slip through the cracks by the exam by tanking their grade due to stress, or she’d become a desk duty cop — one that stayed far from danger, that handled life with a perpetual softer touch ‘cause of her shrink parents.

Nothing wrong with that, Bishop would chastise him. Every cop had its use, she’d add. Sure, that might be true, but Tim didn’t want to babysit an armed toddler waiting for it to cry and call for mom. With just a couple well-placed Tim-tests, she’d be out of his hair in no time and then he could cross his fingers for a better recruit in the following weeks.

Life had the ability to change in a snap though — their funny, yet stern reminder that the universe called the shots, not the gun in his holster, or the rulebook. He got shot. Officer Chen backed him up. Her stubborn, yet brazen, yet honest attitude reeled him in just enough to ignore her little quirks she always joyfully displayed in the shop. Whenever he didn’t nip her ramblings in the bud fast enough, she babbled on and on about her personal life, her personal issues and relationships, like they were best friends (They weren’t! Boots and him never befriended!), like their relationship was anything more than a transactional training period. They got each other’s six. That was it.

But fuck, man. She got under his skin, too.

Lucy wore this… really nice perfume. A lot of female officers had make-up and perfume on, allowed a small sliver of self-expression, and he and Lopez had spend countless hours in a shop together. He was used to it. But somehow, Lucy’s stuck in his nose and didn’t leave. He felt like a creep, thinking about the blend of cardamom and oranges and cherry blossoms mixing with her warm skin, uncontrollable while also wanted. He wanted to fantasise about that fucking perfume of hers, a realisation that took a long time to come to terms with.

That didn’t mean he liked her though — he quickly corrected himself the first time he caught the pattern of behaviour — all it meant was that Lucy had good taste in perfume. Case closed.

So why did he linger whenever her shimmery eyes flicked up at him, why did his breath catch in his throat when her voice dropped to that infuriating sincerity as she uttered words of appraisal? Why his heart go haywire when she recorded all those audio books for him; an out of line gesture and overzealous task for a boot, which would normally result in him laughing their face.

Tim never thought he’d get over Isabelle, nor did he ever believe he’d have his happily ever after with Rachel, but with Lucy he foolishly hoped for more. A more that came from such a stupid and deluded place, probably fostered through months of loneliness and the Pavlovian response to her perfume, but one he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop it. The man was always in control about everything, ran his own tests and went over every possible outcome every day, every hour — and yet he didn’t see her coming. Lucy Chen had been right under his nose and he hadn’t been prepared for the ground to disappear beneath his feet; something that should honestly get him fired. The callousness of his emotions while entertaining the idea of a relationship with his own boot sentenced him straight to P2 or desk duty, or whatever.

Lucy deserved someone better, anyway.

Someone that understood her love for sage and cleansing homes. Someone that liked veggie burgers, chai lattes, karaoke nights and social media lurking. Someone that wouldn’t hesitate for one second to open her door for a teenage girl in need of safety and a little bit of that Chen-love. Someone that wasn’t any of those firemen assholes, but wasn’t Tim either.

He never let his insecurities get the best of him, but after seeing her thrive as a P2 without him, handling undercover stints like a pro, conquering her trauma of being buried alive, it only showcased that she had more bravery in her index finger than some army members had in their entire body, all while staying innately kind. Of course Tim lost his mind over her. Of course he tried shaping officer Barnes to be more like Lucy — more sun and bite and charisma, less army BS. Of course, of course, of course. Even Rosalind, the person he hated most besides Caleb, had him figured out in seconds. He was obvious as hell.

Which was why he had to move stations. Away from the Mid-Wilshire Division and to another. He couldn’t be around her anymore and risk compromising missions or attacks. He didn’t tell Angela the details, though her knowing look said enough, and simply replied that she’d miss him and that she was sure the chief would happily reinstate him any time.

He should’ve known that information leaked through like a wildfire.

The morning of his resignment, uniform neatly folded in his locker, Lucy stopped him in the hallway with the most befuddled expression he’d ever seen.

“What?” he said.

“What the hell,” she exclaimed. “You’re leaving and I have to hear it from Angela? Why’re you…? You love this division. Is everything okay?”

Shouldering past her, he drawled over his shoulder: “Everything’s fine, officer Chen. I’d advise you to put on your uniform and get to roll call.”

“Don’t pull this crap with me,” she bit back, latching onto his arm before he was out of reach. His feet reflexively stopped in place, stupidly waiting on her to finish her train of thought. “Tim, you can tell me if something’s wrong. We’ve been through… way too much for you to act this cold with me.”

He scoffed, feigning mockery, and put his hands on his hips. “We? Chen, I was your TO. That’s it. Get it out of your head it was more.”

Lucy blinked, once, twice, a hurt expression crossing her features, followed by disbelief and a quiet contempt he had become awfully familiar with. Swallowing back the regret, he watched as she pursed her lips and took a step back. “Wow. Okay.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“Hard not to, officer Bradford,” she muttered. Turning to the locker rooms, she added, “Talk to me when you’re ready to not be an asshole.”

That should’ve been his cue to let her go and resume his trek to sergeant Grey, but a whiff of her fragrance wafted in his face from her dancing curls and any sensical thought was knocked out his head. He wanted to embrace her and burrow his face in her hair, he wanted to hold her with intent, he wanted to kiss the scent off her skin. His feet followed her instead, both fully aware and totally impulsive at once. He chose the excuse of loving a good argument with her to then utter: “I’m not an asshole, Chen. I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest, you’d admit that we’ve been very close friends these past months,” she exhaled, refusing to look him in the eye. He supposed he deserved that. Stopping in front of her locker, she continued with, “Distorting your own reality to fit your macho narrative isn’t healthy. Also, this is the women’s locker room. Out. Now.”

Tim sputtered out a laugh and crossed his arms. “Macho narrative? Please.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, all air sucked out the room at the intensity of her stare, and Tim felt himself flailing, suddenly wondering why the hell he wanted to turn in his badge when the only place he could have moments with lucy was, well, here. Why was he giving up on this, how silly it might be?

With a resolute voice, she said, “Tim, why are you resigning?”

Nothing in his entire career prepared him for this. Tim Bradford had survived Iraq and Afghanistan, twelve years of the LAPD and counting, a deadly virus, hundreds of bullets taken by the vest and felt the power of death on the blue lips of Lucy in the quiet countryside. Fear got pushed aside. Pride pulled him forward, onwards. But right now, he had to take a leap of faith — the sole thing he never relied on, but Lucy did — and trust she’d be there after the fall.

(He wanted to be that amazing someone for her.)

“Because of you,” he whispered. His fight or flight told him to run for the first time in forever, but he kept his feet glued to the floor.

Her jaw fell slack in shock. “E-excuse me? Me?! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Exactly,” he spit. “You… you’re…” Tim sighed. “You’re the best, Lucy.”

Faltering, her brows furrowed in utter confusion, a grain of her fury replaced with compassion. He wasn’t sure if that was warranted. All he was trying to do was get it off his chest, confess, before it escalated to insurmountable heights. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Uh…”

“You’re resigning, because I’m the best?” she tried to deduce. “No offense, any other day I’d be dancing right now, but this is just…” She gestured at him. “So weird.”

Tim let out a miserable sigh and ripped the band-aid off. Fuck it. “I’m trying to be honest about my feelings, Lucy.”

She froze. “What?”

“I like you. A lot.” Her wonderstruck expression didn’t make him feel better, so he quickly added: “Which is why I gotta decrease the risk of this exploding in our faces and go.”

“Whoa!” Lucy’s hand wrapped around his, eyes wide and searching, like any empirical data would be found within his green irises, otherwise known as fondness and unresolved tension with every quiet moment they had. “Is this… another test? Are you getting back at me for pranking you?”

He quirked a brow. “You’re a P2 now. Tests are over.”

“Right,” she quipped, catching herself. She let go of him and nervously tucked a lock behind her ear. “Yeah. Okay. And you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. O-kay. Let me, uh…” the locker swung open “… wrap my head around this.”

“It’s a pretty easy thing to—”

“Tim.”

“Yeah, okay.” He backed off, hating how the control was out of his hands now, how he practically shoved his heart in her grip and her pretty fingers could crush it to dust if she wanted to. “I’ll let you do that.”

Walking out the locker room, he took a deep breath and straightened up his face. Alright. He royally screwed that over. If his army buddies knew, they’d all laugh in his face and tease him for the rest of his life. But at least he told her and got his answer, that a relationship was off the table but that they could save their friendship once he switched divisions and some distance mended his twisted, inside-out heart. Lucy had rocked his world and all she had to do was exist.

“Tim!”

“Wha— wow!”

Her body crashed into him the second he turned around to her beautiful voice, Lucy’s arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down to her level ‘til all he experienced were her sweet eyes and breathless smile and a kiss. Lucy kissing him, slow and tentative, but it lit his heart aflame and urged him to hold onto her. Her perfume was all-encompassing, nose full of the fragrance and the soft slope of her neck and long, brown hair and fuck, he was kissing Lucy Chen. Except he didn’t care if the entire precinct idly watched by, or if she yanked him out the building on impulse, or anything — ‘cause he was kissing her and it was perfect. Her plump lips were better than he ever imagined.

Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, arms and then his hands, squeezing. His forehead pressed against hers, embarrassingly weak in the knees from that incredible kiss that he didn’t dare to stand up straight. Two silly grins broke loose on their faces. He had no clue what to do now, or not do, but he did know he wanted her. He wanted everything.

Lucy decided for him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

Tim smiled. “Okay.”

#testing the waters... figuring out their voices...#chenford #the rookie fanfiction #the rookie x pablo neruda overlap is the funniest thing about this whole thing #the rookie

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a-froger-epic · 4 years ago

Text

Interview with a Queen “groupie”

Cross-posted to AO3. I encourage you to leave any comments you have there.

---

I compiled this interview following a long email exchange with J, a very sweet lady who went to Ealing Art School between 1972 and 1974. She knew all four members of Queen personally and was part of their larger circle of friends.

First off, you may find this hard to believe. I don’t blame you. But I assure you I’m not pulling your leg. As well as the pictures I share in this post, I have seen current pictures of J (which I will not share to protect her privacy). There is no indication as far as I am aware that she isn’t who she says she is.

Nastally, hold up. How exactly did you find this lady?

She found me. It turns out that she has been following my story Dawn of Aquarius for quite some time. The story is set in 1969. A lot of research about the era went into it, because I wanted to portray that time period - and Freddie’s and Roger’s surroundings - as accurately and realistically as I possibly could. That was what drew J in. She tells me it brought back a lot of memories for her. One of the reasons I love DoA so much is the nostalgia, she says, which genuinely means the world to me. Eventually, she talked to me in the comment section. Of course, I freaked out!

And then, I asked her for an interview, to which she replied: I will give it a go, but you must remember that I am 65 and there were great drugs in the 70s, and at 16, away from home, I had a lot!

And so...

Here’s what is IMPORTANT TO KEEP IN MIND when you read this interview.

These are one woman’s 50-year-old memories and subjective impressions. J has been incredibly kind to let me pick her brain, trying to recall everything as best as she can. In her own words:

Just remember that when I answer the questions, it is from a 16-year-old who is 9 years younger than Freddie and a little girl with no family and friends in a strange country trying to fit in. The only reason I was there, was because some hippie thought I had a unique art style.

---

J as a teenager.

[I have edited the interview together from our long, and somewhat messy at times, email exchange. Typos have been fixed and some punctuation added for clarity, but I have not changed anything J has written to me. Again, bear in mind these are personal opinions and impressions.]

So, J, how did you end up at Ealing Art School in 1972 and what was it like?

This was the painting done for the Australian school-leaving certificate.

It placed first and gave me a scholarship. I could pick France, the USA or England. As a dual citizen of the UK, the choice was easy. The scholarship paid for board and fees, so had to be and sell whatever for spending money.

This picture is from the dorm. We all had a 10pm curfew and a very thick rule book that, I am proud to say, I broke every one of them, one by one. The rooms were on the 1st and 2nd floor. We were on the first floor, rooms one side and admin staff the other end. We had two bathrooms for 18 girls. One of them had two baths. The walls were your standard half wall, so it was a given that if you had a bath you run the risk of having a bucket of cold water dropped on you. Downstairs was the kitchen and lounge room.

I want to ask you a few things about life in London in the early 70s, to get a picture of what it was really like. For example, was there alcohol at the music gigs you went to?

If it was a school, church or community hall, no. If it was a pub, yes.

Did you and your friends drink as much then as young people tend to drink now when you all went out?

No, we didn't. I think it had a lot to do with money. We didn't have the disposable income, and it was unheard of to still be living at home with the parents after the age of 20.

Was weed and LSD as big and easily accessible as depictions of the 60s and 70s would have us believe?

The drugs! Got to have drugs. Pot (weed) was easy to grow, very cheap. Used to smoke it in bongs rather than joints, more bang for your buck. Trips [LSD] were cheap, I think. About 2 pounds and you were on the high for over 24 hours with no sleep. My drug of choice was hash. Either the oil or the block. It was a nice high, but you could not function well. But if you listen to the music of the time it really does reflect what it was like, to have a group of friends over for a session. Having said all that the most outlandish and shocking drug I ever saw anyone use was the birth control pill. Didn't you have to hide that stuff away?!

Can you tell us some 70s slang that isn’t really in use anymore? What in the world does “ultra-blagging” mean? (As written in a letter penned by Freddie to his friend Celine in 1969.)

Abso-bloody-lootely!

Man, I thought I was the bees knees to be on a scholarship in London. But that didn't stop me from jigging or having a skive day. They were the days that I blagged my way into a pub, had too many lagers and ended up chundering in the gutter. That was how you knew your night was ace. I would get a right bollocking if anyone found out. It would be a bugger when all that you could find at a car boot sale was chavtastic, but sometimes you could be Jammy Dodger and tickety-boo you find something brilliant. Bob's your uncle. Anyways, I need to see a man about a dog.

[It seems to me that J uses a bit of Australian slang here, like chundering, which makes sense because she is, after all, Australian. She also provided the translation:]

Cheers

It would be my honour.

I felt very privileged to be given a scholarship that let me study in England. But being so young and having no family to guide me, it was often tempting to not turn up or give a false excuse for being sick. (I had a lot of food poisoning). These would often happen if the night before I had been drinking beer and ended up vomiting outside the pub. But in my young mind that was a good night. If any of the teachers found me drinking I would be in a lot of trouble. Often I would have to say I was holding it for someone else. Not having much clothes with me, I would buy them second hand from church jumble sales or other students and, yes, Kensington market (the market). Some of the stuff would not be very tasteful or in good condition. But sometimes you would find something that was cheap and in good condition. I will stop this text now as I must go to the toilet.

PS: Ultrablagging sounds very Freddie. Blagging was used, but not ultra, meaning to persuade someone to do something or act better than you are. They were always rock stars.

Sincerely

[It was at this point that I realised I was talking to an absolute legend. She also told me then that the majority of her old photographs had sadly been lost when her house was flooded in 1988, including most of the photographs from her stay in London. Noooo! :(]

When you went out to dance, did you have only live music? Were there DJs yet?

You know, that is hard. We did not have a DJ. Sometimes there would be a band. Often we looked for places with a band or the jukebox. I think pubs closed at 10pm and some stayed open to 12 or 1, but public transport stopped at 9. So if you had not arranged a lift then you had to make the last bus. Most of the time we would be heading back to someone's place to get stoned and then crash there. In the morning you would have to work out where you were. When I got back to Australia, the discos were all the rage. They could have been in London too but it was not cool to like disco.

How many people would show up to Queen’s gigs when they played in pubs or at, for example, the Imperial College?

Depending on the location and the night: 10 to 1000!

So how did you first meet the Queen boys?

I was at the pub talking about a band we saw last week when Brian stuck his head into our booth telling us he knew a better one. Thinking about seeing them at the stall... Roger not often, Freddie quite a lot. Often on different stalls, I think that is why I can't remember the name. [The name of the stall. Other sources confirm that Freddie also worked at Alan Muir’s stall, for example, selling shoes.]

How well did you know them?

Just looking at your tumblr account. [she has had a look at my blog, where somebody asked if ‘groupie’ meant she had slept with the band] No, I never slept with the boys. I would not say I was a close friend, but I started at Ealing Art College in ‘72 and moved in the same circles. I loved the music and could be called one of the first groupies. I had to sneak into the pubs because I was 16. Roger always teased me for being so young. They all did seem to be one very large family, not just the band. It was a group of about twenty regulars, both male and female. Everyone knew that Fred was too gay to function. We were all at the gay rights march in London in 1972, had to run after the march. Lots of sharpies [Australian slang: youth gang, thugs] wanting to bash us. Back then I was in every protest that was going, student union rights, even the secretary protest. Just part of the times, stick it to Man or Woman. I left London in ‘74 for Australia, been here ever since and lost track of the boys but have never stopped being a fan.

What do you remember about them? How would you describe their personalities?

Don’t let the trolls hate me, but I did not like Brian. I found him to be rather full of himself. Space was a subject you never brought up around Brian or you would die of old age before he stopped talking. He was always the first to speak and start a conversation and then quickly passed you off to John, who was always tired and shy. Roger was also quite shy at times. He was very self-conscious of his looks, as he felt being pretty, nobody would take him seriously. Fred, well, he was not yet the big star, so I think he was working on his stage persona. When talking to groups at parties, he had the best stories of things that had happened to him or close friends. They were very funny and very descriptive. He was the life of the party. When he had a few to drink or was the centre of attention, he would take a cigarette out of the closest person’s hand and start smoking. Now remember this is the point of view of a 16-year-old girl that was a fish out of water, trying to fit in and not having much worldly experience.

It is said that Freddie and Roger were very stylish. How did they dress in everyday life?

Fred would do his hair and makeup to check the mail. Yes, he was always turned out, but so were a lot of people. Freddie did go over the top with hats, scarfs and jewellery. With Roger, it is a surprise he was able to have kids his jeans were that tight. And his shirts were always open unless he was in a jumper. I think it could have been so that you knew he was male, as it was the start of the unisex clothing. When I travelled out of London I realised it was a London thing. When I got back to Australia everyone thought I was a show-off.

There are some disagreements about how tall especially Freddie was. I know this is a difficult thing to try and remember accurately. But do you remember?

Freddie was taller than me but everyone was. Roger was shorter than Fred, but I never saw Roger in platform shoes. I did meet up with the band by chance at Sydney airport in 1984, said ‘hello’ but they did not remember me, or if they did then they did not say anything and I did not want to be a dork. At that time Fred was the same height as me (5ft 8in/1.72m), Roger was taller than me. It made me think at the time that he had a growth spurt! John was shorter than me and Brian has always been tall. [I have a feeling the platform shoes - or lack thereof - played a vital role here! Although 172cm for Freddie seems likely.]

You said everyone knew Freddie was “too gay to function”. Attitudes towards homosexuality have changed so much that it can be hard for us, now, to fathom what exactly people must have thought of him. Was it more of a joke that he was so camp? Was it something he would have been teased for? Also, he had a girlfriend. Did you ever meet Mary or the other girlfriends?

In 1972 a whole group of us - and I am pretty sure that Fred, Roger, Brian and Tim were there - were in a gay pride march. [Since then, J has found and showed me a picture of a boy she thought was Tim Staffel, and it wasn't, so Tim was most definitely not there. Whether Freddie, Roger and Brian really were there or if J is misremembering, who knows?] Us youth believed you could not choose who you fell in love with and if it was same sex, so what? However, if it was two girls then it was every guy’s duty to change her!

It was also a time that the gayer the guy was, the more the girls were interested. Also, if a guy was gay then you did not have to worry about him and he was a good person to take with you if you were going out drinking. However, the police, parents, teachers and anyone of authority were horrified and treated them badly. I did meet Mary a couple of times at pubs and once after a gig. This is just my opinion, but I found her a bitch. It could be that I was so young. It could be that I was very Australian. It could be that she felt threatened as my accent was a magnet to people around. And the boys (Queen) were no exception. Brian had a cousin in OZ and was always asking questions. I remember that my close group of friends thought that Mary made the perfect girlfriend for Fred as they were as fake as each other. Having said that about them, I often wonder if I would think the same now and if my perceptions were just because she would not give me the time of Day. Chrissy and Jo were a lot of fun.

This was before your time, but I read that Freddie's nickname at Ealing Art School was ‘Freddie Baby’. Any ideas how this came about? His showmanship or maybe personality traits?

I don't think so. There were an older crowd that would talk like that. I think the slang ‘baby’ was a 60’s thing, like groovy baby.

How long, roughly, did Roger and Freddie have their stall? I can't find anywhere when it closed down. What did it actually look like? Was it a sort of wooden stall type of thing? Or an actual room? What were some of the other things people sold at Kensington Market? Mostly clothes or all sorts?

The markets were little divided shops. The back was brick and the walls wood. I have been trying all day to remember the name. [Of the stall.] I think it was something hard to say. More often than not it would be Freddie's dad in the store. It was still open when I left. Roger and Freddie were both in the store on Saturdays and some Sundays. There was a girl, I think Jill, who was in the store more. And during the week it could be anyone. You name it and you could get it at the markets. Second hand or designer clothes, shoes, jewellery, pot and assortments. Hair cuts, food, bric-a-brac.

Wait, wait. What? Freddie’s dad? Really now?

Yeah, it was an older Indian man. so we just assumed it was his father. It was my understanding that he started the stall then the boys would work it as the whole markets were set up for younger people, but if needed he would work there. I don't think the boys would be able to pay the rent on their own. [I have since found out that the stall closed in late 1971, and Freddie continued to work at the Market until '74, for Alan Mair and possibly others. So the stall J witnessed wasn't their original stall - explaining all the different people she saw there - but she had no way of knowing that it wasn't.] They always had incense burning that was very big in the 70s. I still occasionally bring out the sticks, but it does not last like the candles and diffusers of today. If you could get in touch with Robert Daniels, he ran ChaChaDumDum it was the stall across from Freddie. He would know the dates.

[J says it’s this look, in a picture she happened across while looking at my tumblr] Yep, that is the one. It usually means that he does not believe or agree with something that was said and is working out how to respond, or he has lost the plot.

You mentioned Roger seemed shy to you at times. Was he also quite charming? We read a lot about what a chick magnet he was. Was this the impression you had?

My favorite subject! I had a thing for Roger. Everyone has a type and mine is the blue-eyed blond. Now, before you ask, was he brunet? No, he was a mouse/dirty blond. If it was summer he would have blond streaks mostly at the ends. He knew he was pretty and was always dressed in the latest fashion and had the current hairstyle. So, being my type I was constantly watching him. Everyone slept around during that time. I did not notice Roger doing it more or less. 80% of the time he was with Jo. Yes, he was a chick magnet, but he did not do the chasing. He was always very polite to everyone. If it ever looked like there would be any conflict he would be the first to leave it. It was not that he was a coward, just not into conflict. If he saw anyone that needed help he was right there, and often had to have Freddie's back. I never saw him in a fight. He could always talk his way out of things. He was also very patient and would listen for hours to other people talk. However, he would get this vacant look in his eyes at times.

And Freddie would either click his fingers, change the subject or just give up. I don’t think that Brian noticed, and it would be fair game for John, he would see how far he could push it. Roger liked to drink a fair bit and when drunk he would be hanging all over Jo. If she was not there then he missed Jo. If, however, he thought that he or his friends were not being respected, then look out! It was a verbal volcano heading your way. That is what happened to me one time. I was trying to talk with my friends close to where a drunken Roger was and I yelled at him to shut the hell up, you wannabe blond. We/I coped a mouthful back, all in the same sentence, that finished with: Sorry, I didn't realise you were on your rags (period)! I have to have the last word, so I told him the truth: I don’t get them yet! (I was a late starter.) He went so red in the face and called me JB [jail bait] from then.

You also mentioned Roger’s cat Ziggy having kittens. I read about this but never when exactly it was. Do you remember?

I think it was winter ‘73. I remember being cold when he was asking around the pub. [To find homes for the kittens, I gather.]

Is it quite strange reading fictional interpretations of real people you knew? When did you first find out there was Queen fanfic?

No, we used to make up stories about people all the time, a verbal fanfic. Was looking up Adam Lambert and came across the fanfics. Some had me in stitches! Others, like DoA, had me hooked.

Please, allow me to be a little self-indulgent at the end. What's one thing I got totally RIGHT in DoA?

All the Ibex stuff.

What's one thing I got totally WRONG in DoA?

Roger did not have a temper, and I don’t know what the go with his father was, but he would talk about him quite a bit and was always visiting his mum. [Absolutely fair, not only did I change the timeline of Roger’s parents divorce in DoA - for lack of information at the time - but also created a completely fictional narrative around it for the sake of storytelling.]

J, thank you so much for all this, sincerely. Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Are you still an artist?

I don't paint or draw any more. At the age of a 50 the doctors operated on an aneurysm or three, and now my eyesight is very bad, I have no fine motor skills and a tremor. I was married in January 1984 and have just celebrated our 37 year anniversary. I have one daughter who is 30 and two great, although tiring grandkids. A girl, 11, and one boy, 5. I have lived my life as the average middle class Australian with great memories. Talking with you has helped me a lot to remember a time when the world was mine for the taking. When I returned to OZ I started nursing, met my best friend, and we planned that once we graduated we would go back to London to study midwifery. But I fell in love instead.

J's wedding in 1984. As you can see, she found her own blue-eyed blond.

---

Upon request, J has shared some of her past and present artwork with me.

These are from her time at Ealing Art School:

These were done later, back in Australia:

J: Did this just before Christmas as you had inspired me. It did not require fine motor skills!

So there you have it! I hope you found this little glimpse through a 16-year-old girl’s eyes as much of a fascinating read as I did. I urge everybody one more time to remember that J did not have to share any of this, and I think we all owe her a big thank you for delving into her memories. She is likely to see the responses on AO3, so I have comment moderation enabled there as I will not let anybody harass this lovely lady. The tumblr she created is @since72, but she isn’t really an active user and also very new to it all. Again, I can only urge everybody to be respectful.

If you have other burning question for J, feel free to leave them in the comments on AO3. I will either pass them on, or she may want to reply to them herself directly.

#Queen band #Freddie Mercury #Roger Taylor #John Deacon #Brian May #interview #i am so excited about this #so much into #information #JB

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http-mingi · 4 years ago

Text

room 657. ⤑ jjk + kth ☏︎

⟶ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 : you didn't even realise you were calling a hotline. you're best friend jimin gave you a random number. he said it was a surprise ? well you're in for one.

♡︎ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 : sexhotline!au, worker!taehyung, worker!jungkook, student!reader

♡︎ 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 : ∝ filthy smut if you squint there’s fluff

♡︎ : 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 : sorry i fr forgot to do the word count !!

⟶ 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 : stressed reader, soft!dom jungkook, harddom!tae , big cock!tae, bigcock!jungkook, size kink??, sub!reader, pussy eating, dirty talk, face riding, hair pulling, fingering, cum eating, praise kinda?? unprotected sex, roughsex, multiple orgasms, heavy heavy dom sub themes, brat!reader , dom/sub themes, pet names, daddy!kink, threesome, dirty talk, cunnilingus, orgasm denial, begging, humiliation, creampie, intense orgasms(?), multiple orgasms, cum eating, insecurities, derogatory language, sexual face-slapping, punishments, dumbification, overstimulation, basically pwp.

let's go!

you sighed heavily as your boots clicked along the laminated floor of your university.

today so far had been a hassle. traffic kept you 2 hours late from school you were earlier fired from your job. your ex boyfriend had recently been stalking you and to top it off there was no hot water this morning.

you were beyond stressed.

most of the time you could deal with it you had thousands of stress relieving techniques. but this time you were all types of frustrated, with school, your job, sexually, friendships, family. you sighed heavily as you dragged yourself inside your classroom.

the bright walls of your university aided in your pounding headache. the distinct smell of coffee and muffins flooded your nose as you blinked slowly.

the tall dark bookcases shielding you from the sunlight as you sluggishly made your way to your seat.

you slumped down on your chair as you massaged your temples in effort to calm your self down. your headache clouded your vision immensely you hastily downed your water and some paracetamol nursing your forehead throughout.

you hadn’t been out on a real date in months. it seemed like the universe didn’t want you on dates, you rarely ever found yourself being okay with that fact.

whilst in a trance your best friend jimin walked excitedly into the classroom.

he constantly and i mean constantly reminded you off the things you were missing out on but it wasn’t like you didn’t want to go out but the issue was you were way too busy.

being an english, law and history major meant that you were constantly studying literally.

you did love him though he always tried for you.

"_____ !! " your friend jimin called out to you. you grumbled in annoyance as you turned your neck towards him.

"what." you sighed out tiredly.

" what the- what's wrong with you ______ ?!" he exclaimed loudly.

" jimin... why are you so loud. " you whine loudly.

“ shut up ___ im literally your only friend.” he said nonchalantly.

“ stopppp!” you whined with a breathy giggle.

“ anyways what are you doing here you have biology?” you asked innocently wiping your exhausted eyes.

“ uhhh... well..”

“ spit it outtt.” you say , head tilting slightly.

" sorry _____ i just- i have a number to give you and i don't call it until you get home! trust me you'll thank me later!!”

0800-765-877

it looked like a legit number so you decided to trust him this one time.

"come on ____ class ended 20 minutes ago wake up." he whined loudly.

" what.....? " you yawned as you groggily wiped your eyes.

jimin let out an exasperated sigh as he dragged you out of class and to your apartment.

" i love you but sometimes i feel like stabbing you. " he says plainly.

" sorry chim, ive just been really stressed lately. i'll make it up to you i promise."

"you can make it up to me by calling that number, it'll solve all your problems i promise."

" jimin... did you connect me to a sugar daddy or something? " you asked as you flopped down onto your sofa

" something like that." he said grinning

" okay well you can go home now . " you muttered yawning

" promise me you'll call them? "

" okay, okay now you can go. "

as jimin left you groaned into your pillow did you have to call them it wasn't really gonna change anything. but at the same time jimin would do the same for you.

your home was simple, minimalistic but you loved it your soft grey sofa in the corner. your small tv playing comfort noise in the background.

you fought your tiredness to finish your essay due for next week. you ached in places you didn't even know you had the most you were aching was down there.

you hadn't had any sexual action in weeks even months.

you decided to go up to your room to try and relive yourself.

you sighed as your hands hovered over the pulsating area.

as a finger trailed it's way up your slit you involuntarily whined as you got tired of the foreplay you plunged a finger inside your soppy cunt.

your plush walls also fighting to relish your much needed orgasm as you groaned into your pillow.

you moaned, whined, groaned and breathed heavily as you desperately tried to reach your high.

you angrily quickened your pace. you were trying so hard yet you still weren't feeling anything.

in a huff you decided to stop trying to reach your endless high.

in the corner of your eye you saw the number jimin had left you.

it wouldn't hurt to call right?

it wasn't gonna be anything weird..... right ?

you took a small breathe as your fingered trembled attempting to type in the numbers.

1 ring

2 rings

3 rings

......

" h-hello? " you whispered out meekly

" hey honey, why don't you speak up for us?" the man on the other end spoke in a deep voice

" im sorry i- i don't know what this- is r-really for?" you spoke slightly louder as you stumbled over your words

"it's a sexhotline darling? "

" i- i well oh...” you huffed out , eyes widening softly you were lost in a trance of thought.

you were suddenly put on hold.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you gave yourself time to think.

it wouldn’t hurt right?

you were basically an adult, you felt like a teenage girl again.

so you decided.

Putting a client on hold was a part of their fun. It allows the person to wait and to draw out the anticipation. however in this case you were just confused.

you’ve been pacing back and forth inside your bedroom for minutes it was half eleven in the night , and you certainly didn’t think that your attention would be on this instead of your essay.

suddenly you heard another 'hello' erupt from the phone quickly you grabbed your device breathing heavily you gulped and mustered up your voice.

" h- hi i just want you to know that y-you can carry on I've been- struggling and i- need some just some help?" you say whispering the last part.

" you want us to help you cum bun? " another voice said this time it was lighter, kinder in a way.

“don’t make us talk to ourselves, darling.” the other man snarls.

a gasp emits from your dry lips when the tone of his voice turns firm. there was a strict, domineering tinge in his speech that made you sit still. you were too shocked to reply as your mind tried to comprehend the situation that you got yourself into.

“I-I…” you stuttered completely, wanting to smack yourself in the face. the pet names, their voices it was all over whelming you too much.

you let out a needy whine, both of the men groaned quietly into the phone.

" how old are you baby ? " baby. they called you baby.

" i-im 19? "

" fuck, will you be okay with this?" they ask to make sure

jungkook can’t help the soft growl escape his lips. It has been so rare for him to receive callers who aren’t twenty-five and above, and you might be his first time.

“Ohh, baby girl,” he bites his lip, “I think you’re the first client I’ve had who’s so young.” jungkook says to you

“ is that okay , i-im sorry- "

“Oh, its more than okay , baby. You still wanna continue? I can make you feel so…” he pauses, groaning quietly to himself, “so good.”

your pussy clenches around nothing as you felt yourself getting wetter by the second

" yes daddy. " you say nodding to yourself. you suddenly froze as you realised the contents of your words

taehyung's eyes widen in shock, his mouth agape, certainly not expecting that sudden word to come out of your lips. He throws his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he feels his dick harden.

It was so difficult for him to hold himself back because all he wanted to do was to say the dirtiest, nastiest things that he wants to do to you in your ear. but he had to slow down.

“daddy? Oh, what makes you call me that, hm? baby?”

you feel your throat go dry, your eyes wide in shock. You didn’t know what to respond without being so shocked with yourself.

" i-i just really need you please please please i need it. " you let it all out, you couldn't be bothered to hide it anymore.

“don’t be a brat kitten.“ taehyung snarled into the phone.

“ b-but daddy! please i- i need it so so bad it’s not fair!“ you whined softly as your fingers ghosted your aching, soppy cunt.

they both groaned loudly, as jungkook conversed with taehyung

" kook, fuck i need to do her in real life she's making this so hard for me."

" same here let's just go for it here she's going to make me cum in my pants." he sighed as he palmed himself to your weak whimpers.

" darling, me and tae were wondering if you wanted to do this in real life- we'd fuck you so good honey, you'd become our little cum dump id love to see your body tremble to the force of my cock. " taehyung said interrupting jungkook.

" yes.. please you said as you moaned quietly to their words

" okay bun, we'll text you where to meet us." jungkook breathed out.

the atmosphere was dripping with heavy lust your eyes shut right as you relished their deep gutural voices.

“ i can’t cum daddy please help me cum pleas-“ you begged in frustration

“oh honey, it’s okay sh- sh it’s ok ill help you just be patient okay? you can do that for me right?” jungkook said in a calm tone

" what's your name by the way."

" it's ____." you say meekly

" ____ edge yourself, fuck yourself just do not cum. "

and with that in the call ended

you sighed loudly grinning slightly, you were gonna get your brains done out by two sexy sounding men.

you smiled to yourself giddily as you finally got some sleep.

________________

the next morning you got up and did your daily routine entirely different you waxed everywhere, shaved, exfoliated, moisturised, basically every strawberry flavoured you had in your bathroom.

it was a Saturday, you had time to spare you texted jimin to meet him before you went to meet 'kook' and the other guy.

not to mention you were frustrated beyond belief you had done what they asked you to do and you half hate half love them for it.

on one hand you could cum from any suggestive touch you were given.

on the other hand you couldn't help but want to thank them you felt so ready for them.

you walked to the cafe.

the soft brown walls encompanied the mahogany floors and the cascade of plants across the room as you happily walked into the bustling cafe.

" what's got you so excited." he said grinning like the Cheshire cat

" uh nothing i just had some good sleep last night. " a lie.

" oh really? "

" yeah i even finished my essay!" not true but not false at the same time.

" wow! " jimin looked at you shocked

" jimin do you really have that little faith in me. " you say annoyed

" to be honest no. " he said chuckling

" jiminnn, well i have to be going now i have an appointment soon. " you explain pouting

" an appointment where? "

" somewhere special ? " you say in attempt to hide

" if you say so. " he uttered playfully and he watches you walk away

you stared at the building in front of you as you checked the address again and again it was a massive condo.

you rang the bell of the apartment square and dialled in the number seconds later you were buzzed in.

you took the elevator and anxiously played with your fingers you finally reached the floor you were headed to and walked into room 657 .

" h-hello i-im here it's ______ " you say confused you really made a large mistake.

suddenly turning around, you were pulled into a sloppy kiss. You immediately relaxed into it, wrapping your arms around his neck the deeper it went. Before it could go on too long, he pulled away.

Pressed between both of their bodies, you could help the way your body reacted. Your lips met Taehyung's again and you whimpered.

Jungkook took the opportunity to press his lips against your neck, skimming them over the collar now around your neck.

He hands gripped your waist, pulling your shirt up ever so slightly to touch the skin that became exposed.

Goosebumps across your skin and you gasped into Taehyung's mouth. The elder chuckled, reaching down to where Jungkook's deft fingers explored to tug up the hem of your shirt.

you gasped loudly as you tensed under their touch.

Already, you could feel your mind turning fuzzy, falling into your submissive roll to let them mold you how they wanted.

Jungkook chuckled as you lifted your arms, allowing Taehyung to pull your shirt off. Left in your bra, you couldn't help but cover your chest as vulnerability set in.

"None of that, bun," Jungkook growled softly, ripping your arms away from your chest. "You wanna be a good girl for us right? Let us take care of you?"

"Y-Yes..." You whined, whining when Taehyung leaned down pressing kisses against your chest above the seam of your bra. Gasping, you pushed your chest out to get more of the feeling.

"What a good girl," Taehyung cooed, falling to his knees in front of you.

You leaned back, using Jungkook as support to help Taehyung pull your jeans off completely. He tossed them away in a heap nearby and without wasting a second, his mouth was on your core.

The fabric of your panties put on the side, feeling his mouth on you fully but as he slid his tongue over your slit and caught your clit, you let out a soft moan.

"What a good kitten for us," Jungkook groaned, hands still cupping your breasts. He pinched your nipples, making your back arch as you cried out.

“Is that pretty pussy wet, Princess? Does your cunt ache to be filled by my cock?” jungkook coaxes

The filth of his words doesn’t surprise you, Under his teasing words, you feel yourself grow wet, your lust-filled desire mingling with the humiliation that flutters through you.

"Aw, your pussy that sensitive, baby?" Taehyung cooed pressing his middle finger to glide directly over the patch where your clit was, making your hips curve inwards as the intensity was blare enough to startle you.

He chuckled deeply at that, kind of sounding like a purr and just when you didn't think he could fuck with your sanity anymore than he was already doing, he turned his head to the side and lapped his wet muscle along your jugular vein before enclosing his lips area the area for harsh suck.

you moaned loudly as you arched your back against jungkook. taehyung put one leg over his shoulder to go deeper.

"Daddy!" You cried as his tongue slid through your folds. He moaned at the unimpeded taste of your cunt. Circling your entrance, he eagerly tasted everything you had to offer.

" don't take it all tae, shit she looks hot." jungkook groaned into your neck, biting licking and sucking against your sweet spot.

you whined as you trembled against the two men. you felt hot.

"Fuck!" You shrieked, spasming when he gave you a slap against your sodden folds . " I—!"

" be careful girl." jungkook growled into your ear

you moaned apologies left right and centre as he continued to abuse your aching clit.

suddenly you were harshly pulled away from taehyung's hot wet muscle and pushed into the soft plush bed.

you whined in protest at your denied orgasm.

" now, you're going to choose. me or tae." jungkook questioned sadistically

" i...i can't choose that i okay um jungkook?" you said in a small voice.

" good decision honey, now lie back let me take care of you." he cooed kindly

taehyung scoffed as he sat back

you were more than happy like this, but when you shifted your hips to grind your centre against his, you both groaned open-mouthed into the kiss.

You could feel that he was already hard in his boxers. Knowing that his willing cock was so close to your needy core erased your mind of any thoughts that weren't of him.

When you dragged your clit against him again you keened, the pleasure incredible despite the barriers between you.

he felt so big as you continued your actions

suddenly you felt his large and literally massive cock push into your plush soppy cunt.

you moaned loudly as jungkook groaned.

taehyung smirked as he shook his head.

" get moving i wanna see her squirt."

jungkook rocked back and forth at a steady pace it was amazing don't get me wrong but you wanted more you needed more.

"more! more please harder jungkook please! " you begged.

" princess, don't beg for things you can't keep up with." he chuckled

there was an animalistic gaze in his eye as he started plunging into your pussy, taehyung mouth open jerking himself off at the sight, your open lie open as he ground his fat cock into you.

you felt hot and euphoric and couldn't help but let moans continuously fall out of your mouth.

suddenly you felt a harsh slap on your face. you felt tears well up in your eyes.

Without warning, his cock was rammed inside you. Raw and hard with the way your pussy was soaking wet from your denied orgasm , he began to relentlessly fuck into you.

tears began spilling out of your eyes continuously and your moans became pornographic.

as if he couldn't go any faster he began to drill inside you, your body shook in ecstasy as his fat cock was pistoned into you.

you felt your high approaching, you panicked and begged for them to let you come.

" please! please let me cum ! ill be good , ill be a good girl ! " you cried out towards them

jungkook craned himself to be face to face with you, as he stared at you with his dark and lustful. his wet lips capture yours into a sloppy kiss .

he forced your mouth open and let his tongue glide upon yours. he sucked on the wet muscle softly as you cried out.

everything felt so good, too good.

you came 3 times alone with jungkook and felt overstimulated beyond belief.

" now it's my turn . " taehyung dead panned

" w-what i can't take anymore ill just su- "

" i said. it's my turn. " he uttered in a harsh tone

you wailed in frustration as your body writhed in defeat .

" you're gonna take it . that's what you asked for . " he spat at you.

observing the way your eyes darken, turning neediness, and the way your chest heaves in short breaths, Taehyung’s jaw flexes.

He pressed the tip against your hole, seeing you tense up almost immediately. taehyung rubbed the end of his cock along your wet cunt before sinking himself into you.

" d-daddy ple- ! " you body spasmed against the head board as taehyung suddenly slammed his body into you continuously.

“ you’re such an eager little whore, aren’t you?” he purrs, condescension laced in his tone.

you tightly held onto the relentless man as you felt your high approaching once more.

taehyung’s thrusts became sloppy as he grunted against your neck.

you felt your body swirl and turn around you and you finally came.

hours later

you groggily woke up as you felt your body give out into the bed.

“ hel- hello? ” you said wearily

“ hi princess.” taehyung smirked

“ round 5?” jungkook asked

you sighed as you submitted to them in their bed

here we go again.

5 missed calls from jimin

#jungkook #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #maknae line #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #networkbangtan #bts x reader #bts jungkook #bts taehyung #bangtanarmynet #bangtan #bts network #bts au #smut #jungkook au #taehyung au

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nevermindirah · 4 years ago

Text

Dorothy Freeman facts

By facts I of course mean headcanons, because Nile's mom doesn't get a first name in canon (or even confirmation that her last name is Freeman). All we know about her is the picture on Nile's phone lock screen (which is Kiki Layne's real-life mom and brother!) and a few lines that Nile tells Andy about her. I’ve been collecting my Dorothy headcanons for a while now to eventually make a post, and @mprosperossprite‘s excellent post giving non-Americans context for what it means that Nile is from the South Side of Chicago prompted me to go ahead and share this. Disclaimer that I’m white and I will absolutely make corrections if it’s pointed out that I’ve caused harm with any of this.

So here have some fun facts about the version of Mama Freeman who lives in my head rent-free:

Her family and growing up:

she was born in the mid-'60s and named after Dorothy Dandridge

I can’t decide whether she was born in Chicago or moved there later on (maybe with Nile’s dad?) and when in the waves of the Great Migration her family left the South

she came of age in the "post"-Civil Rights movement and went to college in the mid-80s when a lot of what are now the foundational classics of Black feminism were being written

she was a young adult when Anita Hill risked so much to report that a Supreme Court nominee had sexually harassed her, and as a result she HATES Joe Biden

Marriage and babies:

she met Nile's father — I can’t decide how they met and I have two competing headcanons for his name, either Gideon for the hefty Biblical masculinity vibes (Giddy for short among family, that man loved to laugh) or Carl, which started out as a shitty Carl’s Jr burger chain joke that turns out to be perfect (it means free man!), and @knoepfchen used it in the sequel to if you do take a thief where Carl is alive!! — and Dorothy was a little skeptical of his near-religious devotion to the military but he was really hot and really devoted to her and they made it work

she's a little pissed that she was right but it's unbearable if she thinks about it too often

it's going to be a long, long time before she can look back on pictures of Baby Nile stomping around the house in her dad's combat boots (this is a Gina Prince Bythewood headcanon, whyyyyyyyy can I not find a link to where she said this)

she named their second baby Indus, Indy for short (this is nearly as established fanon in Book of Nile circles as how much Booker loves eating pussy, and Indy Freeman as a young adult is portrayed by either Aldis Hodge or John Boyega I don’t make the rules)

Work:

Dorothy did some office jobs but nothing really grabbed her, and she was probably gonna have to move for her husband's career, so she decided on teaching — high school humanities

she’s been active in CTU (one of the strongest teacher’s unions in the US) her whole career and one year she was on the bargaining committee and her babies know damn well never to trust a boss, not even one who says all the right things — if she ever finds out the way Nile said "like Quynh?" when Andy promised to protect her, she will lose her mind with pride

(Nile was 18 and freshly graduated from high school in 2012 when CTU went on strike for the first time in a generation and she brought her mom snacks on the picket line)

one of her very favorite things is getting her students to laugh despite themselves at her "oh my GOD you're so EMBARRASSING" old-people jokes

she's one of those teachers who can get 30+ teenagers to go dead silent with judicious application of body language

she's known to occasionally go easy on grading subjective things like essays when she knows students are having a particularly rough time at home, but the second she gets the feeling they're taking advantage and not trying their best that shit is over and they better mind their Ps & Qs

she's the kind of person who says old-people shit like that

she gives her students assignments like "help 5 neighbors register to vote" and "write a compare/contrast table about the candidates in this local election" and "research 5 different ways you could get grant money to do X" and other practical civic-minded shit

standardized testing is her supervillain origin story, just kidding it’s Rahm Emanuel, why the fuck did Obama trust that asshole

After her husband died:

she would have lost her goddamn mind if it weren't for her church friends after her husband died, people from the church raised money so they could make ends meet while his pension paperwork was taking forever, church friends watched Indy so Nile could go out for the soccer team, etc etc

she sold her and her late husband's house and moved to a 3-bedroom co-op unit when Nile started high school, it's more affordable and it meant she didn't have to worry about household repairs in the same way, she can use a wrench if she needs to but she doesn't have time and it just makes her grief flare up (co-op housing has a long history in Chicago and other US cities (like Washington DC where I live) as a way for Black people to access decent, affordable housing in the face of entrenched discrimination)

the move meant putting a longer commute between her and church, but she didn't even bother looking for a church closer to their new home, she loaded the kids into the car on the weekends, parking is hell in their new neighborhood but it's worth giving up a hard-won parking spot to not have to wait so long for the L on Sunday mornings

Indy lived with her through college and he was gearing up to get his own place when Nile died, Dorothy was planning to move into a one-bedroom in the co-op building because she doesn't need so much space anymore, Indy took a day off from his new job (not so new anymore, her baby's so grown!) to help her sort things to donate when those dress-uniform Marines came to their door

part of her wishes she could've been home more and not had to rely on Nile so much for help with Indy, but he's turned out such a kind young man, and he's a much better cook than his sister is (was, oh God — no wait, is! she’s alive! what do you mean you’ve been alive all this time??)

some of the girls from church are encouraging her to check out this social dancing thing, nobody's pressuring her to date but there's definitely been some ribbing, and with Indy out of the house... maybe? probably not, but maybe

Her feelings and beliefs and likes and dislikes:

she's an absolute badass and also she's a soft human woman with lots of feelings

she's very, very traditional in some ways, and part of her mixed feelings about Nile following in her dad's footsteps is gender stuff, she's proud of her daughter and would never stand in the way of what Nile wants to do with her life, and if Nile came home and told her she's a lesbian she would never reject her, but if Nile came home and told her she's bisexual maybe she can just try focusing on men? “I love you sweetheart and I want you to be happy I just know how hard it is already for us in this world” type shit

she has been on team natural hair basically her entire life and one of the worst fights she and Nile ever had was over Nile wanting to straighten her hair as a pre-teen

Indy takes more after her and Nile takes more after their dad, she's so proud of both of them, but Dorothy's activism was mostly wearing her natural hair to work and daring bosses to give her shit, Indy's out there marching in the streets like her parents had and she WORRIES

she teases Indy for going to so many protests like he's using it as an excuse to meet girls, but she WORRIES

when she turns 60, she gets box braids with streaks of dark purple, subtle enough that it's still work-appropriate but it makes her smile, she may be old now but damnit she’s still pretty!

she loves Grey's Anatomy and Star Trek and she watched Bridgerton all in one day

she has a dirty-old-lady celebrity crush on Chris Hemsworth

if she's ever masturbated thinking about Donna Summer, well, that's nobody's business but her own (do non-Americans know about the queen of disco??)

If you want to read fic featuring Dorothy:

I won't have to leave alone, 1000 words, Nile has a nightmare and decides to go tell her family she's immortal

I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore, 65k, Nile adjusts to immortality and does a lot of soul searching about what it means to "do what we think is right", Booker goes to grad school for trauma studies, the working title of this fic was Booker Reads Edward Said and Gloria Anzaldúa and Goes Down on Nile and the final product has an annotated bibliography in the author's notes if you’re into that kind of thing, a lot of my Dorothy Freeman headcanons were born of my process writing this

Gather round the table, we'll give you a treat, 2279 words, college AU, Nile brings her Jewish boyfriend home for Christmas

a contribution I made to Shitty Old Guard Deaths: (Booker, USA, 2025, cause of death: a mother’s righteous wrath)

#nile freeman #nile's family #dorothy freeman #tog headcanons #tog meta #mine #long post

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deniigi · 4 years ago

Note

A fic from Boba’s POV as a babysitter seeing Din’s family dynamics isn’t self indulgent it’s indulgent to your readers - fuck, that sounds like the best, most hilarious thing ever?!? (With peppered in bits of Boba’s identity crisis/diaspora feels)

I say you release babysitter boba fic ;) It sounds hilarious

Ask and you shall receive, anons. Beware. It’s like 11k of world building lol.

(I will post here and not on Ao3 because I’m not ready for that level of commitment rn lol)

Title: in the plains of Zeffo

Summary:

“I don’t like him,” Karren told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

(Din’s original finder’s old crush on the Armorer is rekindled after he helps her reunite with Din. He tries to win her favor, but keeps getting tripped up by Din who knows she’s not interested. Boba Fett’s POV.)

---------------------------------------------------------------------

There was little more entertaining than watching Djarin snap.

Boba ten years ago would have spat at the very idea that such meagre fare would suit his humor, but he was getting old, man. You had to take what you could get, and Djarin’s bared rage was a sight to behold.

Currently, he was locked in combat with Urro Bojzka. The Urro Bojzka. The one who even Boba had heard of, growing up on Kamino.

Dad had had some pointed feelings about Mr. Bojzka. Mainly, they revolved around how it was unfair that everyone called him an opportunistic traitor when Bojzka continued to exist and thrive in the universe at large, but Dad also had more specific feelings about Bojzka that bordered on jealousy.

Urro Bojzka was said to be the ideal Mandalorian man.

He was big. He was strong. He sounded like he’d smoked six different kinds of spice for forty years, and nothing and no one could take him down.

The cherry on top was that he was notorious for rescuing kids. The man had snatched nearly two hundred up out of smoking ruins and battlefields. A good twenty or thirty had become foundlings and then Mandalorians themselves, and counted among their number now, to Bo-Katan’s absolute glee, was their sweet, precious Din Djarin.

They should have known. Din was the epitome of Mandalorian; it figured that Urro Bojzka himself would have picked him up as a child.

Din however, had little appreciation for this fact beyond that which was only polite. He made it very clear that he’d already thanked Bojzka for taking him out of his childhood hellhole. He’d done that bare minimum and so no one could ask anything more of him.

Bojzka had other plans.

It turned out that Urro Bojzka had a thing for Din’s covert’s Armorer. God, did he have a thing. And not only did he have a thing, but he’d had it for decades.

Apparently, a thousand years ago, when Boba and Din and all the others around them had still been rolling around on dirt floors trying to eat beetles and shit, Bojzka had attempted to court Din’s Armorer. He’d gone as far and wide as a young Mando could. He’d tried flowers, perfume, credits, displays of strength and courage. He’d tried gifts of food and offers of travel. He’d even stooped so low as to read a book.

None of it had gone well for him. And that was probably because Din’s Armorer had recently proven herself to be no less than one of the heiresses of the Katzkai clan.

The Renda Bears. Those people were hard-fucking-core.

When Bo-Katan found out that Din’s ‘Goran’ was, in fact, Nomri Katzkai, the second daughter of Lanlee Katzai and the official apprentice of Fii Katzkai, the imperial Armorer himself, she threw up her hands and declared all endeavors hopeless now.

Din was one of them; he just didn’t know it. And his buir, who had removed herself from her family to be even more hardcore than anyone would have thought possible, didn’t seem overly excited to start explaining shit to him anytime soon.

So here they were. With Din about to kill one of the most famous war heroes in recent Mandalorian history over a crush that wouldn’t quit.

Bojzka smiled at him with dark eyes with scars through both of his eyebrows.

“Just a message,” he lobbied. “One letter.”

Boba would’ve fucked him. Yeah, why not? Just look at him.

“She’s busy,” Din said. “You’ll have to submit it to Eegang Quodo. That’s E-e-g-a—”

“Yeah, see. Here’s the thing, kid. This letter’s gonna be kinda personal, if you catch my drift—”

“Q-u-o—”

“—probably not great for the eyes of anyone who ain’t, you know, in on this whole relationship—”

“—d-o. He’s usually busy, too. So you probably should submit it to Paz, instead. He’ll lose it for you forever. That’s P-a-z—”

Fennec hid a razor-sharp grin behind a clenched fist. She flashed it at Boba.

‘I love him’ she mouthed, pointing at Din’s hiked-up shoulders. Even his cape seemed to have gone stiff in Bojzka’s presence.

“Din, honey. Listen to me,” Bojzka crooned. “I know you’re protective of your mama, but—”

“She’s not my mother. Don’t you fucking dare call her that, you hulking piece of—”

“Ah-ah-ah. You’re not listening. Come on. Chin up. Ears open.”

Bojzka tapped at the bottom of Din’s helmet like a CO with a teenage recruit, and Fennec just about screamed when Din went completely still and silent.

Bo-Katan met Boba’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. She mimed a syringe. Boba shook his head. If this fucker got bit, he deserved whatever infection it brought.

“Atta boy,” Bojzka said to Din’s rigid silence. “Here’s how it is: your mama and me go way, way back. And you know, after your touching reunion the other week, she even went and had a drink with me, and we got to talkin’ and started to reconnect, the old folks do. And I could read her body language, Din-Din. She wants a man. And that man’s me. So instead of actin’ like a child over all this, why don’t we—”

“She wanted Naseem,” Din snapped. “But Naseem died. Twenty years ago, he died. You just wear similar boots.”

Get ‘im, Djarin. Get ‘im.

“I—who?” Bojzka snapped.

“Naseem,” Din repeated like he was an idiot. “Traditional, bantha-sized, green armor. He worked all the time to keep all the kids in the covert fed.”

Bojzka processed this.

“Naseem what?” he asked stiffly.

“He’s dead,” Din said. “And Hajka left. So no. Goran needs neither a man or a woman, and especially not you. What she needs is a break and for Karren to stop fighting people on sight.”

Bojzka backtracked like a champ.

“Karren, that’s her youngest, right?” he asked. “Well, I bet Karren could use some sisters. I bet he’s lonely over there on, uh.”

“Zeffo,” Din gritted out. “And no. He’s not. He has three sisters. One of which is still at the covert, terrorizing him left and right.”

Even Bo-Katan could only empathize so much with Bojzka, war hero or nah.

“Why’re you all up in arms, Din? What’d I do to you?” Bojzka finally asked. “Don’t you want your buir to be happy?”

Din’s shoulders finally came down from his helmet.

“Of course, I do,” he said. “Which is why if you set so much as a toe on Zeffo, I’m taking both of your knees with me to Yavin.”

Any parent would have been proud to have Din as their child. He took family honor to a level that even the Katzkai clan would have had a hard time sniffing at.

He had to have learned this from the wayward heiress. Although, if Boba was honest, he didn’t really think that the wayward heiress was all that wayward.

She’d come to visit Din on Tatooine. She was short and stocky and not terribly interested in the court or anyone outside of Din.

She wasn’t nearly as hostile as Bo-Katan expected either. She didn’t appear to love anything that she was looking at, no, but Din had explained that that was mostly because she wasn’t really a fan of him having become Mand’alor to start with.

When she came to visit, anyways, she was far more interested in getting a good fuss in to give herself peace of mind that Din was okay. That way she could then go back to dealing with the apparently endless series of crises at the new covert.

She was a great parent in that way. She even brought along her youngest, so that he could see his big brother.

That kid was fuckin’ adorable. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. Barely, barely, barely in armor. He was strapped into his leathers so tight, he looked like he was stuffed with straw.

He had medium-brown skin with yellow undertones and huge, nearly-black eyes. Coarse black hair poured into his face and curled around his ears—and if he thought he was going to stuff all that in a helmet one day, he had another thing coming.

He bopped after his buir when they entered the palace and stopped occasionally to stare up in awe at the palace’s high ceilings. Upon realizing that he’d lost his escort, he scampered along to catch up and did the whole thing again and again until buir had enough and snatched his hand.

He didn’t like that. He was fourteen-fifteen years old. He was too big for hand-holding, buir.

Never too old to be ignored, though.

“Goraaaaaan.”

“Hush,” the Armorer told him. “Keep up.”

He was handed off to Boba outside Din’s personal quarters, mostly because he was making such a fuss at the Armorer that she began contemplating leaving him at the palace forever. Din intervened and the kid latched onto him instead until Din convinced him that he’d be available talk just as soon as he and their buir were done speaking.

The kid’s name was Karren.

He and Boba were now best friends.

“—so Goran said, ‘I’m not having that idiot in my rooms.’ But then Eegang said, ‘we already have Paz in these rooms,’ and you’re not supposed to laugh, Mr. Fett, but we all did because we’re all stupid. So we had to do like, a thousand chores for eavesdropping.”

“So she’s not into him, then?” Fennec clarified. “He’s really into her, you know.”

“Of course, I know,” Karren lamented. “But Goran’s picky and the last person she was all close with was Hajka and we’re not allowed to talk about her anymore or Din’ll make you do two hundred push-ups while he watches.”

Amazing. Say more about Din’s oldest-child syndrome, little one.

“No, I like Din,” Karren sighed. “Now that Digo’s gone, he’s even nicer.”

Oh?

“What happened to Digo?” Boba asked as Bo-Katan joined them in curiosity.

“Digo’s a jerk is what happened,” Karren huffed. “She wanted Goran to give over the forge and join the elders, but Goran isn’t even that old. So when she said ‘no,’ Digo got mad and said that the only foundling Goran respects is Din. Which is bullshit because everyone knows that Goran has always been the nicest with Digo and Nasif—she made all sorts of excuses for them, Mr. Fett, like when they went out and got caught stealing parts like Jawas, she did four whole hunts to raise their bail. When Din gets in trouble, he takes care of it himself. He doesn’t ask Goran to do that kind of thing. And me and Shimmol just don’t get in that kind of trouble to start with—but no. Digo had to be all ‘if you don’t treat us as equals, then we’re gonna leave and start our own forge.’”

“No kidding,” Fennec said. “So they left?”

“Yeah, both of them ‘cause Nasif does anything Digo tells her to,” Karren said, kicking his feet. “And good riddance.”

Too many sisters, this one had. Boba felt for him.

“So Goran’s still recovering from that betrayal, I take it?” he asked.

Karren frowned and chewed a lip.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “No one tells me anything. I think that Goran’s been more worried about Din than them after all that happened. We thought he got crunched by the jedi—or at least I thought he got crunched. Paz says that Jedis compact Mandalorians into cubes of armor and Din’s got the best armor.”

Do not laugh at the child. Do not laugh at the child.

“I don’t think Jedis crunch Mandalorians,” Bo-Katan said generously, having snuck into the bare antechamber while everyone was distracted with the kid’s story.

“Well, I do,” Karren countered, with zero conception of who he was talking to.

Fennec beamed.

“Do you like this Urro guy?” she asked.

“No,” Karren answered immediately. “He’s sent Eegang four messages and they’re all gross.”

Yep.

It was gonna be a late puberty for this one.

“What makes them gross?” Bo-Katan asked.

“The mush,” Karren said expertly. “Bojzka calls Goran ‘Nomri.’ That’s a bad word at home. No one says that word. Goran is ‘Goran.’ The only people who call her anything else are the elders.”

“And you and your siblings, no?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karran cocked his head at her.

“Yeah, and ‘buir’ I guess, if we aren’t in trouble,” he said.

Bless him.

“Are you in trouble a lot?” Bo-Katan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I got a temper or something.”

“Is Din in trouble?”

“With buir? No, not like me and Shimmol. He’s too old to be in that kind of trouble. His trouble’s like ‘help, I fell a hundred feet off a cliff’ kind of trouble. He gives Goran indigestion, but she can’t make him reflect on falling a million feet out of a ship—Eegang says that’s called ‘rehashing trauma.’”

The covert on Zeffo sounded like it was holding itself together through sheer force of will and that alone.

Where did Boba sign up? It sounded like a fantastic experiment to pass the time.

“Are you a foundling, Karren?” Boba asked.

The kid lit up.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been with Goran for five years now. Six in a few months. My dad’s a piece of shit. He killed my mom, and Goran got him arrested for that and for what he did to my auntie.”

Well, fuck. That explained a lot.

“And you like it there—on Zeffo?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karren shrugged.

“It’s cold and wet,” he said. “I liked Nevarro better. Din was home more on Nevarro.”

Awww.

“Aren’t you proud of Din for becoming Mand’alor?” Bo-Katan asked as gently as she could manage.

Karren’s frown eased up finally.

“No,” he said. “Din should just come home. He doesn’t need to be Mand’alor or married to some jedi. He should just come home. It’s stupid; his foundling should have stayed with us from the start. We always have room for more foundlings. I dunno why he had to leave with his foundling at all.”

Bo-Katan sat back and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If it helps, I think he just wants to come home, too.”

“So let him,” Karren blurted out to her.

Tough tits, kid. That wasn’t how it worked.

“I think we should perhaps focus on one thing at a time,” Bo-Katan said. “What do you think, Fett?”

What did Boba think?

Boba thought that he had a great idea to distract this kid from missing his big brother.

---

Karren was perhaps a little too small still to reach the brakes in the crawler, but you know what? So was Fennec sometimes and she did just fine.

“Gas,” Boba said, pointing. “Neutral. Brake. Park.”

“Gas, neutral, brake, park,” Karren repeated to him with his hands on the wheel and his knobbly wrists peeking out from the gap between his gloves and his leather braces.

Bo-Katan had refused to be present or responsible for this. Fennec had told them to wait while she went and took a shot first. ‘For safety’ she said.

“What’s neutral for?”

“You’re about to tell me,” Boba said, adjusting the rear view mirrors down to kid-height.

The sound of Fennec throwing herself onto the back of the crawler rattled through to their compartment.

“That’s our signal,” Boba said. “You ready to jam?”

“Jam?” Karren asked him.

Hm.

Punch it?

“Punch what?”

The fuck kind of slang did they use at the covert?

“Rock?”

“OH. Yeah, I’m ready.”

There we go. Onward march then.

---

An hour later, Din sighed with Karren whining under his arm.

“There is a reason he’s not trained yet, Fett,” Din said as Karren started chomping on the bunched-up flightsuit in his elbow.

The Armorer pressed both palms into the forehead of her helmet.

The crawler had perhaps seen better days. But it had also seen worse days, and Fennec was still going through little loops of cackling at the memory of having to chase after its open tailgate. Boba didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The kid had done amazingly well for his first time at the wheel.

“I’m leaving all of you,” Karren grated out, trying miserably to escape Din’s elbow-prison. “I want to be Mr. Fett’s foundling.”

Bless him.

“You don’t,” Din told him forcefully. “Fett can’t handle a foundling.”

Ay, Boba would drink to that. He was happy to be a foundling-sitter and borrower, though.

“Buir,” Karren pleaded.

“You make me tired, child,” the Armorer told him. “Say goodbye to vod.”

“NO.”

Din sighed. The Armorer sighed. Karren, in a beautiful 180, latched onto Din’s ribs again.

“Come hooooooome,” he pleaded with Din.

“I caaaaaaan’t,” Din drawled back at him in a delightfully uncharacteristic tone.

“These people don’t need you. We need you. Shimmol took your bed and if you don’t take it back, she’s gonna keep it.”

Din’s shoulders dropped.

“I told Shimmol that she could take my bunk, Karren,” he said. “I’m not using it—”

“BUT YOU COULD BE.”

Boba took it back. He could take on a foundling. Fuck it, why not? This one was great.

“Come here,” Din said, dragging the kid up to his toes. He knocked the front of his helmet against Karren’s forehead with enough force that the bump was noticeable. That made the kid shut up and stand up straight on his own volition again.

“Soon,” Din told him forcefully. “Behave for buir.”

“Promise,” Karren demanded.

“Ehn.”

“Din, promise.”

“I dunno, kid. I’ve got a husband and all these damn kids to worry about.”

“Bring them. All of them.”

“No room,” Din said without missing a beat. “You have no idea how much space the husband needs to thrive.”

“Well, if you don’t come, then Urro’s gonna try to move in,” Karren snapped.

Din actually paused at that. The Armorer shook her helmet.

“Territorialism becomes neither of you,” she said. “If Urro wishes to join our covert, then we will treat him as we treat any other who wishes to.”

Din’s helmet seemed to squint at her. Karren glared outright.

“I don’t like him,” he told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

“Carry on with your work and give my best to the jedi and the child,” the Armorer said with an air of dismissal. “Come, Karren. Thank you three for looking after him. Apologies for the vehicle. Come.”

Boba missed that kid already.

--------

Bojzka, Boba had to say, really had no shame and he could almost appreciate that. Either that, or Din’s buir was a catch that the rest of them were failing to appreciate.

“How bad can it be?” the guy mused at Din’s stiff, furious hands mere days after the Armorer and Karren’s departure. “It’s a helmet, right? You can take it off with the people who matter, no?”

“We do not take it off,” Din said from between clenched teeth.

“Right, I got that. But there are exceptions for kids and spouses,” Bojzka said. “Or did I misread that part?”

Din was going to start shaking at any minute now. Bo-Katan assigned Boba the task of making sure he didn’t commit War-hero-homicide while she went off to find a calming device. It was only polite. It wasn’t Bojzka’s fault after all that he’d come in right after a tense meeting with a dissident group from Mandalore itself that made even Bo-Katan’s jaw jump.

“I think the rule is more important than the exceptions here,” Boba pointed out on Din’s behalf. “Joining the Children of the Watch isn’t something to take lightly.”

Din pointed at him wordlessly. Bojzka lazily followed the finger and then pointedly ignored Boba.

“What I’m hearing is that if we marry first, nothing changes,” he said.

Din’s index finger curled in with the rest of his knuckles until it was a fist.

“She is not looking to marry,” he said.

“What, so you speak for her now?”

“She is not looking to marry.”

“I can repeat things, too. Wanna see? You don’t speak for Nomri, Din.”

Boba was getting the feeling that Ms. Katzkai sort of did let Din speak for her in these types of situations. He was, after all, her oldest. And it sounded like he was the most loyal of her foundlings, too. If she shared anything personal with anyone besides her second in command, then it was going to be Din. That was just how these things worked.

“Did you call Eegang?” Din asked.

“I did,” Bojzka said. “He’s not especially helpful, I have to say. He keeps sending my missives back to me with grammar corrections.”

No. No. Keep it in, Boba. Keep it stoic.

“Eegang is the second CO at the covert,” Din said. “If you won’t take my word for it, then you’ll take his.”

Bojzka arched a fucked-up eyebrow.

“Eegang, the same guy who is allegedly secretly married to his partner? That Eegang?” he asked.

Din balked. Boba felt like electricity had just rocketed through him.

“Eegang is—” Din started.

“Nomri told me about him,” Bojzka said off-handedly. “She seems to think that he’s bitten off more than he can chew with taking on his last kid.”

“Eegang—”

“Something about baby being blind? Funny, did you not think that she trusted me enough to talk about her people?”

Any more of this and steam would start rising from the lip of Din’s helmet.

Thankfully, Bo-Katan returned with the jedi, AKA the calming device. Skywalker even came equipped with Grogu. They both appeared very confused and innocent, what with Skywalker drowning in his formal robes. They looked like they were going to absorb Grogu at any moment.

A+ distraction work, Kryze. Well done making yourself useful.

“Who’s Eegang?” Skywalker asked.

The line pulled taut across Din’s shoulders began to loosen.

“A comrade,” he said sharply in Bojzka’s direction.

“Is he nice?” Skywalker asked. Grogu chirped at him and resumed trying to dig into his multitude of collars.

“Very nice,” Din confirmed, staring deep into Bojzka’s eyes.

“He’s got foundlings, too?” Skywalker asked.

“Two,” Din confirmed. “Who he adores. Regardless of all challenges.”

Ah. It wasn’t just Eegang Din was protective of. It was the baby. Bojzka had really stuck his foot into that one.

“I’m sure the foundlings are fine,” Bojzka said. “It was just Nomri’s concern that—”

“Stop calling her that in my presence,” Din said. “In fact, let’s drop the whole thing now.”

--------

Boba wanted to meet secretly-married Eegang. He sounded like he had a rich interior life. Din gave him a strong look and said that if the Armorer had left the covert, Eegang would not. One of them had to be there at all times.

Bo-Katan asked what Eegang’s speciality was.

Surprise, surprise: it was diplomacy.

Kryze was now invested. She followed Din around on his heels and suggested that if the Armorer gave words to Eegang to deliver during a formal meeting with the Mand’alor, then Bojzka might finally get the picture that Katzkai wasn’t interested in him.

Din thought about that.

He asked if this was not just a ploy for Boba and Bo-Katan to rally his covert comrades against him.

And it honestly wasn’t until he phrased it like that.

-----------

Eegang was tall, sea-green, and in Bojzka’s face without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Three tests,” he threatened Bojzka with a baby on his hip. “One: stop sending transmissions. Two: get Elder Fayrz to approve your presence. Three: make even one of Goran’s foundlings like you. If you pass all three, your admission will be taken into consideration.”

The baby was very pink with curly hair so pale it was almost white. Its blue-gray eyes moved rapidly back and forth as it cuddled into its buir’s teal armor. Bojzka glanced from it to Eegang’s chipped helmet.

“Where did you find him?” he asked.

“Please give confirmation of your understanding,” Eegang said mechanically.

“He’s kinda cute.”

“Please give confirmation of your understanding.”

“Are you a droid or somethin’?”

“Please give—”

“Alright, alright. Fuck. This is confirmation of my understanding.”

“Excellent. This conversation is over,” Eegang said. “It is your responsibility to contact the elder and earn the approval.”

Bojzka jerked.

“Wait, what?” he said. “How am I supposed to do that if y’all won’t even let me through the door?”

Eegang’s helmet tipped so daintily to the side that Boba could have shed a tear.

“That sounds like a you-problem,” Eegang said.

-----------

Eegang thereafter blocked Bojzka out of his mind and heart. He introduced himself with a dipping motion to Kryze and Boba that probably would have been more dramatic if he’d opted to wear a cape, which he did not. He revealed himself to be exceedingly polite and very fond of Din, though—if the gentle armor tapping and the use of the word ‘little brother’ was anything to go by. Din was usually receptive to gestures like that, Boba had learned, but not this time.

No, no. Din cared not for his ‘big brother.’ He cared only for the attention of Eegang’s baby.

“His name is Mesa,” Eegang explained after Din had kidnapped said baby. He introduced Mesa to Grogu who was stationed nearby, stuffed in the sleepy jedi’s shirt this time. . Grogu waved from Skywalker’s chest, but Mesa didn’t register the motion.

“His grandmother was quite ill, and it was her dying wish to see the child placed into the care of someone trustworthy. I have to admit, though, I may have made the decision a little rashly,” Eegang hummed as he watched Grogu lean as far as he could out of Skywalker’s clothing to try to make contact with his fellow foundling.

“Is he your first?” Bo-Katan asked.

Eegang winced.

“No, uh. I’ve got another,” he said. “She’s a huge fan of certain someones.”

“Me,” Din said without hesitation.

“And Paz,” Eegang said. “Which is a deadly combination.”

“She will be a mighty warrior,” Din informed Mesa and Skywalker. Skywalker twitched awake and didn’t understand anything that was happening. He noticed the baby, cooed, and waved with his gloved hand.

“She’s declared this one goat her nemesis and I cannot—I cannot—get her to just leave it alone,” Eegang said.

“A goat clan in the making,” Din said with approval.

“I’m hearing unnecessary commentary,” Eegang said without looking at him. “Please rephrase or shut up.”

Din seemed to gloat at the scolding. Skywalker glanced between him and his tall, teal comrade. He made his move and carefully came in to extract baby Mesa from Din’s arms to add him to his ever-growing collection. Grogu cooed again, closer now. He offered Mesa a hand, and this time, Mesa perked up and tried to grab at it clumsily.

“You manage the covert in the Armorer’s absence?” Bo-Katan asked Eegang. “You must be very dedicated to the Children of the Watch.”

“Define ‘manage’ and then ‘dedicated,’” Eegang said. “I prefer ‘accidentally charged with responsibility one too many times’ and ‘in too deep to turn back now.’”

“He’s being humble,” Din said. “Eegang has brokered peace between our covert and locals on numerous occasions.”

Eegang’s shoulders started to raise.

“Stop telling people that, they’re going to expect things from me,” he said, then popped back up like flipped switch. “Oh, I totally forgot why I even came. Jedi?”

Skywalker looked up from the conference of baby talk happening in his arms all wide-eyed, as though he’d been caught in the act of stealing imperial property.

“We did not welcome you into our covert,” Eegang said, “You must allow us to present you with a gift of welcome and entry.”

Oho. Very formal. Boba folded his arms and watched Skywalker for his reaction.

“A what?” Skywalker asked.

-------

Bojzka was somewhat justifiably upset at the double standard going on here.

Skywalker was a jedi and yet welcomed into the covert with open arms and no admission requirements. He was, in fact, measured against his will for a set of armor. This was what Din’s buir had actually been after when she’d sent Eegang along to say hi.

Boba found that he enjoyed the reciprocation of ulterior motives that they were getting from Din’s covert. Kryze had never been happier. This was a game that she knew how to play.

“Wait no, hold up,” Bojzka interrupted. “I deserve a chance. Din, at least give me the name of one of your siblings so I can track them down with the elder.”

Din didn’t want to; there were foundlings happening and another meeting soon, but eventually even he had to give the guy something.

An honorable battle required at least two willing bodies.

-----------

Din and Karren’s remaining sibling at the covert’s name was Shimmol. According to Din, Bojzka had next to no chance of gaining her favor because she did not leave the forge and therefore Bojzka had no access to her. Eegang corrected Din and said that Shimmol did, in fact, leave the forge, but never on her own volition.

She was preferred the dark. She hated social interaction.

To circumvent that, the Armorer had refused to induct her into the trade until she proved herself able to coexist with others. But Shimmol was eighteen, that fun age where no incentive or punishment was effective and digging your heels in was far more preferable to doing a damn thing your elders mentioned.

She’s announced that very weekend that she was officially becoming a recluse. Her present aspiration in life was apparently now to become a forge spider.

Bojzka, along with everyone else, had no idea how to receive this information. Kyrze took it upon herself to pat Bojzka on the shoulder and tell him to start with the elder. He might actually have some luck that way.

-------

It took two weeks for Bojzka to re-emerge from whatever hellhole he’d had to walk a tightrope across to locate the covert’s elder Fayrz. He climbed in through Din’s personal quarters’ window and interrupted him and the Jedi in a moment of infrequent intimacy.

The sound of a body being throw over a bannister had a special kind of thud to it. Boba was up on out of his quarters in an instant.

Din flung Bojzka’s helmet after him. Skywalker had the grace to cover Djarin’s face with his shirt and walk him back into the room before anyone caught sight of it, telling Boba and Fennec, who had also emerged from her bed, prepared for drama, that all was fine. There was just a misunderstanding.

His bare torso was covered in scars. Boba found himself somehow surprised and impressed as the jedi unsuccessfully wrangled his furious husband back in the direction of bed.

He and Fennec peeked over the banister to see what had become of Bojzka. He was fine.

Fennec informed Boba that she was claiming part of his bed ‘in case anything else good happened’ since he was closer.

-----

In the morning, Din was in marginally better spirits. Skywalker was to be found at his side, walking backwards and tripping over his cloak every four paces. He truly knew how to hit all Din’s ‘endeared’ buttons. If not to the earnestness and the near-miss of a disaster on the stairs, it would have looked like manipulation.

Bojzka attempted to rectify the peace by breaking into the court through one of the windows high up on the wall outside the second floor’s conference room. This time, to ensure that he had Din’s full attention, he removed the jedi from the equation. Or he tried to anyways.

The jedi, in a split second, decided that, all joking aside, today, he would not be moved. His green saber managed to glow even in the sunlight pouring in to the hall.

“Do not touch,” he ordered, with both feet planted and Din and Grogu securely at his back.

Bojzka cocked his head at the saber pointed right at his nose.

“That’s a fun trick,” he said.

“Do not touch,” Skywalker repeated. “Me, him, or the child.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bojzka said. “Stand down before you regret it.”

“Luke,” Din said testily. “He’s not worth it.”

“Make me regret it,” Skywalker said to Bojzka.

Bojzka’s eyes widened slightly in interest. He used the back of his wrist to try to nudge the saber’s tip away and snapped his hand away from the burn.

“Do you expect me to be afraid of you, jedi?” he asked, trying to play it off.

Skywalker’s eyes reflected the light of his saber.

“Ask him what the glove’s for,” Fennec called from the far hall. Bojzka scoffed. Skywalker didn’t move.

“What happened to your hand?” Bojzka asked.

“My father cut it off,” Skywalker said. “But not to worry, I got a new one. Now step back. Sir.”

Bojzka didn’t move for a long time.

“Does it feel good to walk in the presence of these people?” he asked. “Is it a kink for you the way it was for your master?”

Boba had officially lost the plot. These were old politics now. Kryze would know what Bojzka was talking about, if only she deigned to come out from wherever she was hiding, which she wouldn’t. Of course.

“Does it offend you? My presence here?” Skywalker asked back without emotion.

“It doesn’t,” Bojzka said.

“I’m glad. That’s very convenient for me. I’d feel terrible if you bled out on these tiles,” Skywalker said. “So move.”

And goddamn. The mountain finally yielded to the sky.

-------

Skywalker spent the rest of the day on high alert, with one hand on the hilt of his saber and his full concentration tied up with making fierce eyes into the palace’s corners to keep Bojzka at bay. It was really something to see. Din looked about ready to lay his fingers on his heart and swoon, and that was more than fair. If Boba’s spouse threatened to kill a man for looking at him wrong, he’d be touched too.

Fennec told Boba that she’d protect him from a man the size of a bantha but no larger, and it just didn’t have the same kind of ring.

She apologized and he told her it was fine. It was just in the delivery--and also, he’d murder anyone so blinked at her wrong, too.

She was pleased. Boba was glad they were on the same page.

“Let’s go find Kryze to negotiate,” Fennec said, “I need to know why Old Faithful’s back.”

--------

Kryze’s commanding voice wrang out of Bojzka the real reason for his presence. The truth of the matter was that, War Hero aside, he was having a hell of a time getting the covert elder to grant him a second look.

Din told him that that was the point. Elder Fayrz was like that all day, every day and he’d change for no body, spiritual or physical. He bothered people when he wanted to bother them, and the rest of the time, he liked to pretend he was senile. He only really ever showed up if someone was buying a round or their life was in the balance.

Skywalker said that he sounded a lot like his late master.

Din agreed and said that Elder Fayrz had dedicated his life to two things: the covert children and fungi. Somehow, he made those two interests overlap. Din recalled being twelve and being taken out on a ‘mission’ by the old man who had informed him that he required his nose.

Elder Fayrz had no sense of smell. For a man with a fungi interest, he called this ‘very dangerous business indeed.’

Kryze demanded to know if all the weirdest Mandalorian elders still living had congregated at Din’s cohort which he quickly confirmed. Bojzka, however, demanded to know what would make this elder look him in the eye.

Din told him to go find a deathbed and lay on it.

He remembered belatedly to add ‘nearby Elder Fayrz’ to that statement.

----------

After about a month of this kind of back and forth, the Armorer decided that she’d had enough. She did not come to the Dune Sea. She sent a missive to Din informing him that he was coming home.

‘To talk,’ she said.

Boba vaguely remembered Karren saying something along the lines of ‘Din doesn’t get into trouble anymore,’ and was pleased to find that that was not the case. Din already knew what awaited him at his home covert and anyone with slightly more than a rock for a brain could see that it wasn’t going to be hugs and kisses.

Bojzka volunteered to accompany Din as a guard when the jedi made himself conveniently unavailable. Kryze and Boba flipped a coin while Din resisted stabbing him, and of course Boba won. Kryze flipped it again to be sure, and Boba told her sweetly that he’d send her a postcard.

“Have fun with the schmucks lounging around this place,” he gloated at Bo-Katan’s rolling shoulders.

She gave him two naughty fingers.

Whatever, girl. Sucks to suck. Bye, bye, now. Come on, Fennec. There’s adventure to be had.

---------

It was a ways to the new covert on Zeffo. Several hours, in fact, many of which were spent playing ‘I spy’ with Fennec while Bojzka gritted his teeth and asked them if they were always like this.

Fennec got Din to join in at that comment.

Eventually they ran out of white dwarfs and capes to identify and settled down into silence until the ship declared landing to be imminent.

Karren remembered Boba and the second he set foot inside the curiously constructed covert entrance. The kid came hurtling up to tackle him and wrap arms around his middle. It was endearing. Boba checked the doors to see if a guard would notice a kidnapping.

Fennec reminded him of child-based expenses. Her wisdom was invaluable as usual.

Karren scrambled away from Boba and, for a moment, made like he was going to attach himself to Din’s armor, but instead wriggled past Din to go tearing down the hallway. He skidded, crashed, and then clambered into a different room at the dead end of what appeared to be a row of barracks. Seconds later, Eegang exploded from one of the rooms adjacent wearing no armor but his helmet. He flung himself through the same doorway Karren had vanished through.

Din tilted his head.

“It’s fine,” a voice said behind them.

Their small party turned to see a woman wearing a cool purple helmet with only her flakvest on. Eegang’s pale baby was sat on her hip, pawing at her chest, trying to find purchase in the vest.

“Sotra,” Din greeted.

“Welcome back, brat-child,” Sotra said. “We missed you.”

This had to be Eegang’s secret-wife; unless she’d stolen that gurgling foundling in the night or something.

“Electrical?” Din asked, pointing at the far room.

“Loft,” Sotra said. “There’s hay, so of course all the kids have to be in it.”

“Just hay?” Din asked.

“And goats,” Sotra said.

Ah.

“We raise goats now?” Din asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Sotra said, sashaying past him towards the room her husband had abandoned, “It’s either coexistence or war, I’m afraid. The forge is past the hangar, keep going through the kitchens. Voxie knows you’re here—he’s awake, by the way. Welcome home, Din.”

“Thanks,” Din said. “This is my advisor, Boba Fett and our friend Fennec.”

Sotra splayed her whole, tall body into the doorway of her and Eegang’s barracks just as a fearsome battle cry sounded out on the other side.

“Hi,” she said.

“RELEASE ME,” a child in front of her about hip-height with serious bedhead shrieked in Mando’a.

Fennec’s eyebrows launched up to her forehead. Boba felt like he needed to record this so that Kryze understood what she was missing.

“Vod Din is home,” Sotra told the child.

“DIN.”

“Shhhh.”

“RELEASE M—mmf.”

“Shhhhh. It’s quiet time,” Sotra said with her free hand over the child’s mouth. “We’re being quiet.”

Din chuckled.

“Hey, Samo,” he said.

Samo let loose an ear-piercing scream behind her buir’s hand and ducked under Sotra’s legs. She ran at Din like there was a bomb behind her. Din caught her and swung her up to perch on his arm and she kicked relentless at his tassets in excitement.

“Shhh,” Din said. “People are sleeping—”

“YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE—”

Doors started opening all down the line of barracks. A few curious, hazy, and lopsided helmets poked out from some of them, and from others, calls of ‘EYYYYYYY’ and chats ‘ALL HAIL THE MAND’ALOR’ started up, to Din’s immediate mortification.

This, Boba was delighted to realize, was not a cry of honor.

These half-asleep fuckers had been waiting months to embarrass Din. And he’d known that this would happen.

“Be quiet,” Din snapped all around him. “The elders are sleeping, you’re going to—”

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally home,” a taunting voice rang out on top of the rush. “If it isn’t the Mand’alor himself.”

“Paz,” Din sighed. “Not now.”

“When could there possibly be a better time, your liege?” a huge Mandalorian wearing full blue armor despite the early hour drawled from the doorway he’d attempted to casually lean in. Samo’s braids flew as her round cheeks snapped his way.

“Paz, don’t be mean,” she told him from atop Din’s arm. “Or it’ll be to the goats with ya.”

“Fuck me, the goats, what ever will I do?” Paz scoffed.

“BUIR, PAZ SAID A BAD WORD.”

“I heard him,” Sotra said scathingly, right at Paz’s visor.

“To the goats,” Paz’s neighbor hissed at him.

The hissing was taken up just as quickly as the earlier ‘all hails’ had been. Paz told everyone to shut up and mind their own asses. He was publicly booed until Eegang emerged from the loft room with Karren stuffed under an arm and demanded to know why people were congregating in the halls. He reminded everyone that that shit was a fire hazard, and in doing so, his tone changed completely from easy-going to Commanding Officer and the effect was immediate.

People scurried back into their rooms like frightened mice until there wasn’t a single open door left in the whole line.

Eegang huffed and traded Karren to Din for his daughter. Samo happily climbed onto his shoulders and held onto his chin. Karren grinned mischievously up at her, winked, and then thumbed back to the goat loft.

“Not the welcome you deserved, but the one you got. I’m afraid nothing has changed here,” Eegang told Din compassionately, wrapping his fingers around Samo’s ankles. “I see you brought friends.”

“And foe,” Din said, gesturing at Bojzka who beamed.

Eegang’s visor contained a grimace that would otherwise have wracked his whole body.

“You got in,” he deadpanned.

“Sure did,” Bojzka said. “Lovely place you have here.”

And honestly? Yeah. It sort of was. Maybe a little ramshackle, what with all the scaffolding and haphazard support beams thrown into the walls to keep the wet earth above ground from crushing everyone below it, but for all the unsteadiness, it was oozing with comradery. Family.

Behind each of those doors was a little unit like Eegang and Sotra’s or perhaps a tired body, barely extracted from its boots, taking comfort in this honeycomb of tunnels and rooms.

Boba couldn’t help but wonder how he and Dad would have done in a place like this.

“We try,” Eegang said flatly. “I’ll let the Armorer deal with you herself—if she’s awake, I mean. Otherwise, you’re condemned to Shimmol. I’m going back to sleep. Vok is waiting for you, keep going straight through the kitchens, Din.”

“Thank you,” Din said. “Sleep well, Vod.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Monster. No goats for now.”

Samo waved at Boba and Fennec with a smile as bright as the sun. She ducked expertly as Eegang passed through the doorway to their quarters. He closed the door behind them.

------

“You don’t see families like that much anymore,” Bojzka hummed as Din led their troop down the hallways, through a series of ladders into a kitchen and then from there into a surprisingly neat, up-to-date hangar with concrete floorings. Six crafts were parked inside, tucked into the tight space like fish in a barrel.

“We have a few,” Din said. “I don’t know how many people are living here now, though.”

Given the size of the place? Maybe fifty or so, if Boba had to take a guess. There had been several sets of boots lining the wall outside the barrack doors.

Din picked his way through the crafts to two tarps covered in piles of spare, rusting, and grease-covered parts. At the end of the aisle between the tarps was a rectangle bordered by wooden benches and to the left of that was a little box that a mechanic presumably operated from. The box, however, had no windows. Its door was slightly ajar.

Din knocked and a snort and a slurp answered him.

“Jus’ a mo,” a thick voice said inside.

Fennec looked at Boba with intrigue.

“Tool gnome,” she said.

No, friend. Just a grease-monkey.

“Tool gnome,” Fennec insisted.

The door opened and a man at least six feet, two inches peered out of it.

“Tool giant,” Fennec amended in a whisper.

“Is that you, Din?” the mechanic asked. His helmet was rusty red and gray. Its visor had a yellow tint to it.

“It is,” Din said. “It’s been a while, Vok. These are my—”

“Forget them. Goran told me what you did to Razor.”

Din cringed.

“I—”

“AH. No. I don’t wanna hear it,” Vok said. “I just—I’m glad you’re safe, but you ain’t touching any more of my children, you hear me, boy?”

Din sunk into his shoulders in shame.

“I hear you,” he said.

“You’re damn right you do,” Vok said. “Man, I had a whole speech written out and shit, and here you are, early as the fuckin’ dawn. Did you miss Paz?”

“We did not,” Din said.

“I tried to have him do an inventory, I did,” Vok said sympathetically. “But he wasn’t havin’ it. Took an IOU and everything.”

Din sighed.

“Thanks for trying,” he said. “Is the forge...?”

“That way,” Vok said, gesturing to the far end of the hangar, where a series of scaffolding led up to a dark hole in the wall. “Mind your step. Stairs are next on my list. Who’re your friends?”

Din introduced them. Vok considered Fennec and after a moment of thought, saluted her. She tipped her jaw to the side and gave him a once-over.

“Din’s got my number if you’re not busy,” Vok said.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Fennec said.

“I hope you do, my darlin’. You? Boj-whatever? I heard about you. You can go fuck yourself.”

“Thanks, Vok, we’re going now,” Din intervened.

----------

Fennec said nothing on the way up the scaffolding. She didn’t need to. Boba applauded her.

---------

The forge was the least finished part of the covert, and Boba could respect the Armorer’s dedication to looking after the flock before her own needs. Not that the forge wasn’t a comfortable place. Upon entry, Bojzka whistled at all the equipment inside. There were steel beams crossing in hatches along the ceiling. It appeared as though someone was working on a ventilation mechanism up there. Ropes and pipes hung down from the beams as though a pulley system had been recently removed.

The forge itself was a huge circular structure with a high wall around its exterior. It was built of a slick-looking black material. There were three water troughs set up in a line behind it and two rudimentary wood blocks with anvils set on them. Benches littered with iron tools sat next to the anvils.

Din appeared very at home in this place, despite not having even been in it. He wove around the accoutrements of the room towards a wooden door that had been placed on hinges on the far side like an afterthought.

He knocked.

“We don’ want any,” a sleepy woman’s voice drawled.

Boba jumped as a something brushed his elbow and discovered that Karren had followed them all the way down to the forge. His soft boots had hidden his footsteps, but, like Din, he was now in a place that he knew like the back of his hand. Din grabbed the scruff of his neck as he went for the door with both hands.

“You’re supposed to be in the nursery,” Din told him. “Shoo.”

“Shimmol, Din’s home,” Karren said through the door. “Goran, Din’s home.”

Very cute. Karren wanted to be the one to shared the news. Din pulled him back as shuffling started up on the other side of the wooden door.

It opened to reveal a fluorescent pink helmet with floral patterns painted down the edges in white.

“Din?” the young woman, who could only be Shimmol, asked.

Din’s brain stuttered.

“Uh?” he said.

Shimmol’s flightsuit was once white, but it was burned and smudged to gray all over. Her heavy gloves were half-burnt on both hands, too. She surged forward into Din’s chestplate. Din hugged her back awkwardly.

“Hello, sister,” he said. “This is, uh.”

“Do you like it?” Shimmol asked, pulling away from him to touch the edges of her helmet. “I thought it was cute. Wait til you see the pauldrons. They match.”

“They’re hideous,” Karren said.

“Did anyone ask you?” Shimmol flung at him. “No, I didn’t think so. Get gone, womp-rat.”

Wow. No wonder Karren was desperate for Din’s attention.

“I’m not a womp-rat,” Karren said. “I’m a Tooka. Goran said so.”

“You know, what you actually are is a ‘nuisance,’ so it doesn’t matter what—”

“Children.”

And lo and behold. The lady herself. Gold helmet and everything.

“Din,” the Armorer said, placing a hand on Shimmol’s side to move her. “Welcome home.”

Din accepted the helmet touch with grace.

“Bojzka,” the Armorer said next. “I didn’t expect to see you in my home so soon, or at all.”

Bojzka beamed.

“You’ve grown a beard,” the Armorer noted. “It does not become you.”

Boba coughed into his elbow to hide the bark of laughter screaming to escape his throat. Fennec thumped at his back.

“Let’s move somewhere with more light,” the Armorer said. “Karren, Shimmol. You’re dismissed for the next hour. Go eat breakfast.”

“But—” Shimmol started.

“Up, up, up,” Karren chanted, getting behind her and shoving hands into the small of her back. “It’s people-time.”

“Leave it. I hate people-time,” Shimmol said. “I thrive on darkness. It sustains me better than food.”

Din looked desperately into the Armorer’s helmet. The Armorer ignored him and told Shimmol that she knew this to false and to stop whining. Upstairs, now.

The kids relented and left the forge. Din pointed after them.

“I know,” the Armorer said. “Let her work through it.”

Din pointed even more insistently.

“No, no. It’s true,” Bojzka said. “Mine went through the same thing.”

--------

The Armorer sat them all down at a ‘u’ shape of benches on the far side of the forge. She turned on some overhead lights. They lit up the forge and threw its equipment’s shadows harshly against the floor.

“Thank you for coming,” she said lightly. “It takes a long time to get to Zeffo, even in the Outer Rim.”

“It suits you,” Bojzka flirted.

“It does not,” the Armorer countered unrepentantly. “And your flattery remains aggravating.”

Bojzka didn’t seem to process the meaning behind those words, too busy he was with basking in the Armorer’s presence. She ignored him to turn to Din.

“Eegang tells me that you have been aggressive towards Bojzka, ad’ika, is this true?”

Din hunkered down into his shoulders. He didn’t want to answer. The Armorer didn’t make him.

“This is unnecessary,” she said. “Bojzka does not bother me.”

Bojzka rounded a gloating grin at Din.

“He is delusional, but I’m afraid that head trauma does this over time,” the Armorer said lightly. “There is no need to defend my honor—I’ve already had this conversation with Eegang, so know that it is not only you who I’ve spoken to about this. And Bojzka.”

“Yes, dear?” Bojzka hummed.

“I would appreciate it if you ceased in antagonizing my foundling and second.”

“I’m not trying to, Nomri.”

“I know,” the Armorer said. “And that is where I believe this tension arises from. Din, you and your advisor may leave. I’ll handle this. In future, know that it is not your place to speak on these matters in my stead, yes?”

“Yes, Goran,” Din mumbled.

The Armorer waited.

“Buir,” Din corrected.

“Thank you. The last thing I need is the Mand’alor becoming invested in old-standing relationships. You may go.”

Din stood and Boba and Fennec stood with him.

“He is not Naseem,” Din said right at the doorway.

The Armorer’s helmet turned slowly his way.

“No one will ever be Naseem,” she said. “It’s okay. Go.”

-----------

Boba need the full story on this Naseem guy approximately yesterday, but all he had at his disposal in the kitchens where he, Din, and Fennec had been banished was a collection of foundlings all staring up at their party looking guilty as hell.

In the midst of their group was a ten-year-old holding a glass jug absolutely brimming with frogs.

Boba had never seen this many foundlings together at once before, and he had to say: these traditionalists knew exactly what they were doing. There was nothing quite like a whole mass of youths to shift the mood.

The kids made a break for it.

Fennec was the fastest of all of them, but even she was not as fast as the bodies that popped their heads out of the rattling back room and launched themselves without warning over the few rows of tables set out in the main space.

Din’s covert collectively looked after the little ones, he explained when one of these bodies returned with the wrist of a shrieking Twi’lek child in their grip. The shrieking cut off when the nurse dropped down into a crouch and flattened both of the child’s hands against their helmet so that they left splotchy prints behind.

Two of the folks who filed back into the room covered in mud did not wear helmets. Din didn’t recognize them until they spoke and said their names. They’d removed their helmets back on Nevarro, apparently, and they had not to put them back on. Now, they wore veils and headscarves—neither of them comfortable with their whole heads and faces on display.

One of these was a woman named Madda. She saw Din’s helmet and froze by one of the long tables.

“Din, I’m so glad you returned,” she said with hitching breath. And then she took her newly-acquired jug of frogs and went tearing back down the hallway towards the covert’s main entrance. Din watched after her, confused.

“Is the transition difficult?” he asked one of the other Mandalorians next to him.

Their helmet showed zero emotion, and yet Boba gleaned from it everything he needed to know. He put a palm on his forehead.

“Djarin, come here,” he said.

-------------

Din chased after Madda to apologize for fucking up what was probably a years-long infatuation at this point. Fennec watched after him with a sly grin. But the Mandalorian with the flat helmet turned to Boba with far more open shoulders.

“You got through to him like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“It’s his secret talent,” Fennec told her.

“What was your name?” the Mandalorian asked.

“Boba Fett,” Boba said. “And yours?”

“Jhuvac.”

“Nice to meet you,” Boba said politely.

“Aren’t you the clone-guy?”

Welp.

“I prefer ‘Fett,’” Boba said.

“Nah, I feel that,” Jhuvac said, tossing her scarf over her shoulder. “Paz calls you the ‘clone-guy’ is all. That shit’s wild, by the way. But you can’t help your dad’s decision now can you?”

What was this? Understanding? From a traditionalist? Kryze would lose her shit.

“I can’t, although everything after that was totally me,” Boba said.

Jhuvac glanced back at him.

“Including the Solo stuff?” she asked.

Boba lifted a brow.

“Is there something you would like to know?” he asked.

“No,” Jhuvac said. “I know everything I need to. But you know what’ll make Vok’s life miserable?”

---------

The mechanic was a huge fan of Han Solo, and he had a list of reasons why Boba should cease hunting the man about as long as one of his lanky arms. He listed them out one by one in his hangar full of metal scrap. Jhuvac was very correct when she said that the mere mention of Solo meeting his maker would cause Vok immense misery. Boba could see how it could be entertaining.

Fennec made it even more entertaining by poking holes in each of Vok’s carefully laid out arguments.

He kept asking her why she was hurting him like this. Was this a domination kink?

Fennec asked him if he wanted it to be.

Vok walked it all back and told her to do her worst.

Jhuvac decided that she suddenly had other things to do and invited Boba to accompany her on these things. Boba assented and left Fennec to her business.

----------

In the end, Boba found himself outside in a group huddle with a handful of covert people, two with no helmets, watching the feud between the foundlings and the local wildlife. The covert, he learned, broadly did not like Zeffo. They hated how wet it was. They hated how cold it was. 90% of them had grown up in desert climates, the remaining 10% in ice climates.

Zeffo, as far as they were concerned, was a backwater hellhole that they’d had little choice in selecting.

“It was this or breaking up and forming two coverts,” Sotra explained, removing Mesa’s captured snail from his face area for the third time. She gave the snail to the guy next to her who got up and took it down to the edge of the nearby river. He stooped to set it in the grass, then froze in shock when a fish’s wide mouth erupted from the water and encapsulated his whole glove.

It left the glove wet and empty.

“But you didn’t want to do that?” Boba asked.

“No, if we separated, it would be Eegang at the head of the new covert,” Sotra said. “And that’s just not in the cards for us right now.”

Gotcha.

“The children didn’t want to be separated either,” one of the Mandalorians with no helmet said. “Goran gave them the option, but things were frantic, you know. They cling to each other when they’re young like this.”

More than understandably, in Boba’s humble and correct opinion.

“What do you all think of Bojzka?” Boba asked them.

“Who?”

“The bull with no helmet? Beard?” someone said.

“The one trying to court the Armorer?” Sotra asked.

Everyone clambered back onto the same page in the face of this descriptor.

“He’s supposed to be some kind of hero,” Jhuvac said. “But I dunno, man. He seems a little, uh.”

“Goran’s too good for him,” Sotra interjected simply. “Imagine stooping so low after a life of respect and service.”

“He’s not ugly,” the Mandalorian who’d lost the snail pointed out. “I’d bang him.”

“You’re not a good bar, Ban.”

“I could be.”

“You’re the lowest bar, Ban.”

“Can’t be disappointed if your expectations on the floor.”

“Go bang him for Goran then,” Jhuvac said. “I can’t tell if she thinks he’s kinda cute or if she wants to stab him in the heart.”

“For the good of the covert, I will endure this hardship,” Ban said.

He was unceremoniously yanked back down when he started to stand.

“Din mentioned some guy named ��Naseem?’” Boba asked.

The name alone sent the group into titters.

“Naseem was so nice.”

“Naseem was great, you have no idea. So respectful.”

“He wanted to take Din on so bad, it was almost heartbreaking. He and Goran were perfect for each other. He was so happy around her; I don’t think he ever talked in front of anyone else.”

“God, when he died, I cried so hard. I cried for days.”

“Same.”

“Kind of a tough reputation to beat, then?” Boba asked.

“Oh definitely,” Jhuvac said. “I mean, there was Hajka after him, but she was just so explosive. Like, she made Goran laugh a lot, I remember that, but she was kinda awkward, too. There was a battle on her home planet and she left everyone here to defend what was left of her people.”

“Goran collects the awkward ones, they’re her favorite,” Sotra said.

“You can’t judge her, you collect Eegangs,” Ban pointed out.

“There is only one Eegang.”

“Girl, we know.”

There was a pause while Sotra handed off her child so that she could beat the shit out of Ban on the lumpy grass. Jhuvac handed Mesa over Boba’s lap to the quiet person at his right. They took the baby without question and laid him on their chest.

“Where did you grow up, Boba?” Jhuvac asked. “Sorry, Fett. Do you like Fett?”

Boba was taken aback. It had been ages since someone had called him by his first name—and a Mandalorian no less.

“Boba is fine. I grew up on Kamino,” he said.

“With a covert?”

No, no covert. No anyone, really. Boba was what people in white coats tended to call ‘under-socialized.’

“That’s sad,” Jhuvac said. “It must have been lonely.”

It was, actually. Especially after Dad had died.

“That’s so sad, I’m gonna cry,” Ban said. “Join our covert.”

All helmets and eyes rounded on Boba and he felt like his collar was suddenly digging into his neck. He shook his head.

“I’m not really a Mandalorian,” he said. “It’s not right—”

“Bullshit.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Jhuvac, let ‘im talk.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Listen, Din has ‘don’t trust people’ syndrome. If he trusts you enough to bring you with him here, then you’re Mandalorian enough for us,” Jhuvac said. “And anyways, being a Mandalorian is about what you do, not who you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re clone-guy so long as you follow the Creed in a more or less northernly direction.”

Boba stared at her and realized that everyone was staring at him again. He cleared his throat but found that he didn’t have any words trapped back there like he’d thought.

“Or easternly,” Ban offered to break the awkwardness.

There were still no words on Boba’s tongue. He struggled to say at least something.

“I—th—that’s kind of you,” he eventually managed. “I don’t think I could cut it here, but that’s really kind of you.”

The Mandalorians exchanged looks and shrugs.

“Know that the offer stands if you feel any pull towards it later,” Sotra said. “We have a number of reformed who converted and who move in and out of our covert. Not recently, but when we were children, there were more. Goran, too, was once a reformed Mandalorian.”

“My buir, too,” Jhuvac added.

“My ba-buir was reformed,” Ban said. “But she might have caused a public riot. Or two. Or three.”

“Speaking of which,” Sotra said. “Elder Fayrz has emerged from his cave.”

“I’ll get him,” Jhuvac sighed.

Boba frowned and looked from them out to the hill the foundlings had selected to gossip on. A Mandalorian in black and white with a green cape was, indeed, now kneeling among them. Every face was turned towards him in wonder.

“I’ve heard of this guy. He looks fun,” he noted.

At least one hand from every body came up to clutch at their face.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Ban said.

------

Din rejoined Boba in the midst of Elder Fayrz’s attempt to recruit him into the covert. He somehow knew Dad. That in itself was a little disarming. At first, Boba hadn’t believe that the elder was speaking the truth, but then he started up with alarmingly specific training corp numbers and mentioned off-handedly that he used to work in the corps, training kids from six to fourteen.

It made sense now why, in old age, he was considered the most dangerous person in the covert to have around the foundlings.

Grandpa was a serial spoil-er and mischief-instigator. The children saw in him everything they wanted out of life and were loathe to be separated from their most favorite old man.

Din got between him and Boba and informed the Elder that he’d just gotten married.

The Elder’s attentions went rocketing in the opposite direction. He wanted pictures, he wanted to know all about the reception, he wanted to know why Din hadn’t brought his partner home with him, what color their armor was, where they were presently based—the whole barrel of spotchka.

Boba appreciated the save.

He also appreciated the moment when the Elder fully realized that Din had, in fact, married a real jedi.

“YOU STUPID BOY.”

There it was.

The children bustled and whispered.

“This is what happens when we do not teach them to read—where is your buir? I told her, I told her that you needed more lessons. Always with the dogs, I knew it would have some effect—”

Din couldn’t even argue. He and Kryze had been over the very same deficit about sixty times. If they were lucky, Bo-Katan gave him a day or two off in between scoldings.

While the old man was outraged, Din signaled to Boba that they would be leaving soon.

--------

Bojzka joined Boba, Din, and Fennec at the ramp of their ship about ten minutes late. The Armorer personally showed him out of the covert and told him to return only if the galaxy began to collapse in on itself. She was at least cordial about it, which, in hindsight, was probably why Bojzka was having a hard time reading the glaring ‘please desist’ sign flickering over her head.

“Be safe,” she told Din while Karren made sad sounds behind her.

“Will do,” Din said. “Next time, I’ll see if Luke will come.”

“We would like to have him,” the Armorer said.

She dipped her helmet to Boba and Fennec and they returned the gesture.

“I hope you were well-received by the others,” she said. “Bojzka, good bye.”

“Talk to you later,” Bojzka hummed.

“We shall not,” the Armorer said.

---------

Back in the Dune Sea, Kryze was waiting in one of the conference rooms. Din avoided her and all her probing questions. Boba did not. He was in a sharing sort of mood and Fennec had a ‘thanks for the lay’ message to compose to Mr. Vok.

Kryze crossed her legs and gestured for him to join her at the table.

He did and crossed his legs right back.

“So?” she asked.

“Shocking peaceful,” Boba said. “Violent mostly towards their own members. Tried to recruit me at least three times.”

Kryze’s eyebrows did a little dance.

“Surprising,” she said.

“Not very,” Boba corrected. “Din is one of the more reserved members. He resembles his buir more than I expected.”

“And Bojzka?” Kryze asked.

“Soundly rejected, but somehow optimistic about it,” Boba said. “The good news is that Din’s been forbidden from trying to kill him.”

“That is good news,” Kryze agreed.

There was a long pause.

“Are you thinking about it? Joining, I mean?” Kryze asked.

“No,” Boba said, “But it is nice to occasionally be around Mandalorians who don’t have sticks up their asses.”

“Unicorns,” Kryze said.

“A whole covert of them,” Boba told her with a smirk. “Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you all.”

“I beg to differ,” Kryze said. “If the issue is resolved, then I suppose we’ll have to move back on to official business.”

That was no fun.

“Why is Fennec so smug?”

Oh, that was more fun. Sit back down, Lady. This is going to be a bawdy one.

#the mandalorian #the armorer #din djarin #boba fett #dinluke #ficlet #don't mind me I just need answers #and in their absence I make them myself

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luxekook · 5 years ago

Text

petal to the metal ✿ jjk

✿ pairing: jewelry-maker jungkook x florist reader

✿ genre: idiots to lovers, fluff, slight bits of crack and angst

✿ summary: every sunday, the farmers’ market took place in the center of town. vendors from near and far traveled to sell their crafts, their produce, their teas. as the local florist, you figured that running a booth each weekend would boost your business and bring in new clients. at least, those were your reasons in the beginning. but, now? now, you returned just for the handsome jewelry-maker whose booth was next to yours.

✿ word count: 7k

✿ warnings: pg15, slight innuendo, mention of alcohol, noona!reader, mutual pining, memes, vmin as teen prom dates, chaotic 2seok + joon as jk’s bandmates, scheming yoongi as reader’s assistant, sweetheart jungkook tries his best but doesn't succeed, one (1) make out scene uwu

✿ beta’d by: the gracious phia @meowxyoong

✿ banner by: the talented queen of banner-making maggie @kimtaehyunq

People, to you, are not unlike bouquets of flowers - uniquely complex with traits grown and cultivated throughout the years and brought together to form meaning and personality. It is far too often that you assign flowers to the people you meet in passing.

The boy running down the sidewalk chasing a butterfly is a blooming bunch of crocus (youthful gladness) and daisies (innocence).

The young woman storming out of the cafe after dumping her coffee on what you assume to be her ex is a flurry of peonies (anger) and black-eyed Susans (justice).

You find your flower assignments to be a fun way to pass the time when sitting alone in a coffee shop or walking along the beach.

They are decidedly not fun when you are caught staring unabashedly at a beautiful boy as imaginary petals of acacia (secret love) and daffodil (new beginnings) rain down upon him.

The second his dark eyes flick up to meet yours, you whip around and pretend to be preoccupied with your display of forget-me-nots. The irony is not lost on you as you rearrange the already pristine pale-blue petals. You are more likely to forget your own name than to forget the image of the boy’s crinkly-eyed smile.

God, it’s only the first hour of the first Sunday of the Summer Farmer’s Market, and you are like this? Things are looking more and more dire by the minute.

Your small beachside community holds the annual Summer Farmer’s Market every Sunday from the middle of May until the end of August. Not only does the market attract tourists, it boosts your own business and earns you year-round customers.

Founding Of Fern & Freesia Flower Co. has been one of your proudest achievements to date - perhaps second only to chugging a beer faster than a misogynist on a bar crawl. Now in your third year of business, you feel accomplished in the slow but steady growth of your shop. You have poured your heart and soul into your business, leaving little time for other endeavors.

Hence, you’re wary of your growing fascination with the owner of the neighboring stall.

When you had rolled up earlier with your overflowing cart of flowers, you had set up shop next to a jewelry booth full of gleaming silver and vibrant stones. It hadn’t been until a clang and a muffled curse sounded from the neighboring stall that you noticed it’s owner.

The first thing you had noticed was his outfit - all black clothing with boots that looked like they could stomp through steel. The second had been his adorable pout as he fiddled with a couple bracelets he must have just dropped. And the third - the third had been his hands and the gentle but steady way they fashioned the jewelry back in order.

The opening rush had distracted you from your growing interest for a bit; but the early birds have all since scattered, leaving you alone in between an old woman selling honey and a cute boy selling handcrafted jewelry. Now that you have thoroughly embarrassed yourself by being caught staring, you figure you should at least attempt to busy yourself.

You flutter around your stall, checking on flowers and rearranging errant blossoms.

“H-hey, do you have any tiger flowers?” A soft, sweet voice calls to you from one stall over. You pause in your movements. That can't be who you think it is... But when you turn your head to address the speaker, you find yourself face to face with your mystery boy.

Magically, you manage to blurt out a semi-coherent response, “Oh, hello! No, I don’t have any tiger flowers right now… I do have some tiger lilies?” You gesture to the orange be-speckled bunch in the corner of your stall.

“Oh,” The boy deflates a bit, but then perks back up, “Well, I’m Jungkook. I make jewelry.” He gestures to his collection behind him. “It’s more of a hobby, actually. I’m a vocalist, but I really like working with my hands part-time.”

Your eyebrows raise, and Jungkook blushes profusely. “I didn’t mean it like that!” He whines, his bottom lip jutting out slightly.

You decide to take pity on the boy. Grinning slightly, you extend your hand across the buckets of flowers in between you both, “It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m (y/n), and I really like working with my hands full-time.”

Grabbing your hand in his, Jungkook returns your grin. “(Y/n),” He mutters almost absentmindedly as he keeps pumping your intertwined hands up and down. You don’t have it in you to stop him, especially when he keeps looking at you like you just told him the secret to eternal life.

A throat clearing jolts you both from your reveries. Two teenage boys stand there awkwardly. One fiddles with one of the cut stems you discarded in a hurry earlier.

“Oh,” You reluctantly pull your hand away from Jungkook’s warm embrace. “Talk to you later?” You shoot him a wry grin before turning back to your customers. You don’t see the death glare that Jungkook sends the two boys as you greet them warmly.

They request matching boutonnieres for their prom, and your heart swells as they both argue over which flowers they think would fit the other best. One suggests yellow roses, and you can’t hold yourself back from interjecting, “Oh no. Not yellow roses.”

The two of them glance over at you, almost looking shocked to find that you are still there. “Why not?” The taller boy asks.

“They represent infidelity,” You say with a shrug, “But that’s just semantics. You don’t have to read that deep into it if you don’t want to.” Just because you follow the language of flowers closely does not mean that everyone and their mother did as well.

The shorter boy practically throws the yellow rose back in its bucket. “What are you trying to say, Tae?” He shakes his head in mock disappointment at his partner, “I trusted you.”

“Shut up, Jiminie,” The boy you now know as Tae rolls his eyes and turns to you, “Do you have anything that means, like, the opposite of that?”

“Yes,” You smile at the pair and bustle over to the flowers you have in mind, “If I may make a few suggestions…”

Ten minutes later, the two boys shuffle away from your stall with matching cosmos (joy in love and life), baby’s breath (everlasting love), and ivy (fidelity) boutonnieres and with matching grins. You gaze wistfully at their interlocking hands and the quintessential picture of young love they represented.

“You’re good at that,” Jungkook comments, fiddling with one of the earrings dangling from his quickly reddening ears.

“Hm?” You question, your eyes still lingering on the cute couple you had just assisted.

“You’re good at showing people exactly what they want – even if they hadn't known it yet.”

His words capture your attention. You know he’s referring to the two teens that you had just helped, but you can’t help but wish he had been referring to himself. However, before you can even respond, it is his turn to get pulled away by a prospective customer.

The rest of the day flies by. This isn’t a surprise to you as the newness of the market always tends to draw waves of people on the opening day. You and Jungkook only get to exchange some shy glances and small smiles with each other.

That is, until your floral assistant Min Yoongi arrives.

You have a running joke that Yoongi is simultaneously your best and your worst employee. He is your only employee after all and a headstrong one at that. You used to drag him along with you to the early hours of preparing and setting up for the market, but you have long since learned your lesson that Yoongi is decidedly not a morning person. You shudder at the mere thought of it. Now, you only ask that he arrives in the late afternoon to help you close down.

Yoongi greets you with a typical head nod and a half-hearted wave. “Hey, boss lady.”

You shoot him a half-hearted glare, “Hello, worst employee of the month.”

The sound of a gasp draws your attention back to Jungkook’s booth where he is openly gaping at you with wide eyes.

“Oh, Jungkook! It’s just a joke. He’s my only employee,” You laugh nervously as Yoongi gives you a side-eyed look that says ‘you’re acting weird, dude, and I don’t like it’.

“Ah,” Jungkook beams at you, his eyes sparkling adorably, “I see, (y/n). For a second I thought you might be one of those people that gets off on being mean.”

Yoongi spits out the sip of coffee he had just taken. Jungkook turns bright red for the second time that day as he blinks in confusion, “What? What did I say?”

“Nothing!” You pinch Yoongi’s side in an attempt to shut him up, but that boy never listens to anyone but himself.

Walking the short distance to Jungkook, Yoongi lazily extends his hand over the barrier of flowers, “Min Yoongi.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” The boy grasps Yoongi’s hand firmly and squints at him quizzically. “Have we met before?”

Yoongi shrugs in a typical Yoongi fashion, “Dunno, maybe? You do look a little familiar.”

Suddenly, Jungkook drops Yoongi’s hand and snaps his fingers, “You were at last year’s Battle of the Bands! Your rap was legendary! I remember talking to Joon about it all night…”

The two boys quickly descend into a musically driven conversation, leaving you to slowly pack up your flowers and intermittently stare as Jungkook passionately talks about his main craft.

After the fourth time you look over at the pair, you catch Yoongi’s eye. He’s staring at you with a maniacal glint in his eye. Oh no. He slowly looks back and forth between you and Jungkook. No, no, no. An ominous grinch-like grin grows on Yoongi’s lips as you can practically see the light bulb go off above his head. You are done for.

And not a second after Jungkook packs up his trinkets and bids you both goodbye for the day, Yoongi rounds on you. “FBI! Open up!” He mock-yells, cupping his hands around his mouth.

You splutter out an indignant laugh and shove him playfully, “He’s at least 21, Yoongs! You have to be in order to rent a booth here.”

Yoongi continues to playfully tease you for the rest of the time you spend together loading the flowers into your truck and then unloading them at your shop. You only hope your crush is not as obvious to Jungkook as it is to Yoongi...

You and Jungkook spend the next two Sundays observing each other, exchanging small greetings, and chatting in between customers. Slowly, you begin to learn bits and pieces about Jungkook.

You learn he’s the lead singer in a band with his friends, he boxes to stay active, and he loves to eat. In turn, he discovers that you’re two years older than him, your life basically consists of flowers, and you read crappy romance novels in your limited spare time.

And as the weather warms even further, you find out that he has a plethora of tattoos winding up his arm. Though you tease him about his love of black clothing despite the soaring temperatures, you cannot help but admire the way his tanned skin glows against the dark color and makes the tattoos pop. You swear you glimpsed a flower inked on his forearm but you couldn’t be certain. Perhaps it had just been the combination of your growing crush and your overactive imagination.

The weather burns even hotter still when he begins to call you ‘noona’.

“(Y/n)-noona, what do you think of this necklace?”

“Noona! Let me carry that bucket for you. It looks heavy.”

“Do you want to go out with me sometime, noona?”

Okay, that last one had just been wishful thinking; but, a girl can dream.

Meanwhile, Yoongi continues to poke fun at you and your growing infatuation. He had even arrived early for the first time in his career just to get in some extra roasting time. God, you wish Jungkook had some embarrassing friends to help ease the amount of times you had to physically turn away from the boy because you were blushing too hard.

And, finally, on the second Sunday in June, you get your wish.

“Ayo, JK!” A booming voice sounds from halfway down the long row of booths. A smattering of uproarious laughter follows the exclamation.

The boy in question sighs before shooting you a helpless look. “My hyungs are visiting today. I love them, but they’re…” He trails off, “They’re a lot.” Jungkook steps out in front of his booth to get ready to greet them.

The shouting gets closer and closer until three boys break out of the throng of the crowd and approach Jungkook with large smiles. You blink in awe at the sight of them. Do all good looking people really flock together? You’re beginning to think so as you try your best to subtly check out Jungkook’s friends. The loudest one playfully greets Jungkook by throwing fake punches at him. He’s tall and lean with broad shoulders and a face that looks like it could make anyone give him anything if he so much as glances at them. He reminds you of white hyacinth (beauty) and lemon (zest).

The tallest boy shakes his head fondly at Jungkook as he greets him through the other’s antics. You barely stifle a sigh as he grins and shows off the cutest set of dimples you’ve ever seen. He practically screams pear blossom (comfort) and polyanthus (confidence).

The last boy has a smile that makes you almost have to squint because of its sunshine-like radiance. He also has on the most colorful and fashionable outfit you’ve ever seen, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s had design experience. He is so white jasmine (amiability) and lupine (imagination), you think.

Before you can assess further, you’re pulled away by a long-time customer. As you prune and arrange their requested flowers, you can’t help but notice that the stall next door has grown suspiciously quieter.

Hushed whispers carry in the wind.

“That’s your noona?”

“Shut up, hyung!”

You hastily wrap the bouquet for your customer and bid her farewell with a smile. You barely have time to take a breath before three boys appear before you with a fourth scowling behind them in distaste.

“So you’re the flower noona that Jungkook always brings up,” The sunshine boy speaks first, tilting his head as he peers down at you.

“The flower noona, huh?” You shoot Jungkook an amused glance, only to find him with his face buried in his hands, “Maybe I should rebrand.” You grin and introduce yourself to the three boys who you discover to be Seokjin, Namjoon and Hoseok.

Soon you find yourself wrapped in a conversation with Namjoon while Hoseok and Seokjin gather flowers to make their own bouquets.

“Yes,” You nod your head at Namjoon’s question, “Some flowers do have multiple meanings. Take geraniums for example. The pretty pink oak-leaf geranium symbolizes true friendship, while the just as pretty scarlet geranium signifies stupidity.”

“And what does baby’s breath represent?” Hoseok crinkles his nose in distaste as he fiddles with the flower, “You smell bad?”

You crack up and open your mouth to answer, but Jungkook cuts you off. “No, Hobi-hyung, they represent everlasting love.”

Blinking at him, you nod, “Yes, that’s right. How did you know that?”

Jungkook mumbles something incoherent as he scuffles his heavy boot across the pavement.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows, ears straining to pick up the decibels. Why is he speaking so softly?

“He knows because JK eavesdrops on you all the time, (y/n),” Seokjin lets out a squeaky laugh, “He also downloaded a flower app on his phone to study. I even caught him making flashcards—”

Jungkook jumps on Seokjin’s back, slapping a hand over the older boy’s mouth. Meanwhile, your heart feels like it’s about to burst into a whirlwind of lilac (first emotions of love). Good god, your feelings have leveled up.

Namjoon and Hoseok pay for both their flowers and Jin’s, as the older boy is still preoccupied fighting off an embarrassed Jungkook.

“It was really nice meeting you, (y/n),” Namjoon smiles at you.

“Yes!” Hoseok beams, “Also, please tell your friend Yoongi that we want to collab. Kookie is too shy to ask him.”

You promise that you will and wave goodbye to the two of them as they drag a breathless Jin along with them. The older boy shoots you a wink as he is pulled along into the crowd and disappears.

“Sorry about them, noona,” Jungkook mumbles, looking down at his feet, “They like to embarrass me.”

You melt at his cuteness. “No, don’t apologize. Your friends are a whole lot of fun.” You can’t help but tease him, continuing, “And they were very informative... Do you really pay that close attention to me, Jungkook?”

“Aish!” Jungkook yelps, grabbing a bucket of red roses and hiding his face behind it. “Noona!” He whines, his large eyes peering at you over the red flowers, “You’re just as bad as them!”

“Oh, am I, Kookie?” You emphasize the new nickname of his that you just learned courtesy of Hoseok.

“Did they tell you to call me that?” Jungkook sets down the bucket of roses and looks like he is about to take off in pursuit of his three hyungs.

You grab his arm to prevent him from doing so. It’s warm and solid, and the physical contact sends a tingle across your skin. “They didn’t tell me. I just noticed Hoseok called you that once. If it bothers you, I won’t call you that again.”

Jungkook relaxes. “No, you can call me Kookie,” He says in a small voice.

“Thank god,” You grin and squeeze his arm once before releasing it, “It’s so cute!”

His responding squeal of ‘noona!’ can be heard throughout the entire market.

The following Sunday, the market is cancelled due to the tropical storm swirling up the coast, bringing with it a disappointing blend of rain and an absence of Jungkook.

You probably should be concerned at how rapidly your feelings for the boy are developing, but you aren’t. How can anyone not love him? It’s impossible, in your opinion. Even your grump of an employee likes Jungkook, and Yoongi likes very few people. You aren’t even sure if you make the cut most days.

Sipping your peppermint tea, you gaze out at the rain and wonder if Jungkook misses you just as you’re missing him. Does he feel anything for you?

You know he at least equates you with his friends; but is that all he sees you as? If so, you would respect that, albeit disappointedly. With a sigh, you turn back to your copy of “The Art of Jewelry Making: An Introduction” and pretend just for the day that your feelings are reciprocated.

One week later, you are scrambling. Somehow you had managed to sleep through all five of your alarms, and now you are so, so late.

Your truck’s tires squeal angrily as you whip into the first empty parking space you spot outside of the market. Where will you even set up today? You quickly grab your buckets of flowers as well as all the other supplies you’ll need. Will there even be a booth left for you?

You push your cart up the rows of booths and get more and more dejected at each turn. Finally, you decide to at least visit Jungkook before you dejectedly head back to your truck. You are in dire need of his sweet smile and positive energy.

The wheels of your cart bump and wobble over the uneven gravel. God, why couldn’t Min Yoongi be a morning person? You grumble as you wind the final corner to where your usual stall resides. You stop in your tracks.

Your usual booth… is empty? You blink multiple times in case this is just a beautiful mirage. Nope, it’s still open, it’s wooden tables bare.

Almost as if he senses you, Jungkook practically runs out of his stall towards you. “Noona! You’re here!” And before you can even answer, he sweeps you into a tight hug.

“Hi, Kookie,” You sigh, bringing your arms around his neck. You can’t resist the urge to bury your face in his chest. He smells so nice, like fresh soap with a hint of heady musk. Reluctantly, you release him, realizing you’re both blocking most of the pathway.

“I-I saved your booth for you,” Jungkook blushes and looks down at the ground. He shifts his weight from left to right and then glances up at you once more. “I hoped you were just running late. I didn't want to miss seeing you two Sundays in a row. You would not believe how many people I’ve had to fight off.”

Your heart swells at his words. “Aw, thank you, Kookie. You missed me that much, huh?” You reach up to ruffle his hair as you pass by him, lugging your cart along with you.

You miss the forlorn expression on his face as he gazes after you and mumbles, “Yes...so much.”

With Jungkook’s help, you manage to set up your booth in record time. You thank him profusely, but he just shrugs it off by saying that you would do the same for him. And you would.

Around midday you text Yoongi and ask him to bring food for Jungkook as an extra way of saying thank you.

Rather than respond with a normal yes or no, Yoongi just sends you a sea of smirking emojis. You should’ve known that Yoongi would (correctly) read too much into it. The boy is too smart for his own good.

Quickly sending back the gif of Hades from Hercules turning his flames from blue to orange in anger, you glance up to find Jungkook staring at you with a peculiar expression.

“Noona,” He begins, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You choke out a laugh that sounds sad even to your ears. “No, I don’t. Why do you ask?”

Jungkook perks back up, “I just thought you might be arguing with them. You seemed to be angry texting.”

Letting out a more genuine laugh this time, you reply, “I’m just texting Yoongi, Kook. He’s being his usual difficult self.”

“Oh,” Jungkook grins, “Well then don’t punish him too harshly. It’s fun to see you all riled up.”

Punish?

Riled up?

You blink rapidly at the boy who seems to have no idea how much his words affect you. Trying to brush off the images flowing through your mind, you decide to fight fire with fire – even if it had been unintentional arson.

You take a step towards him, “You like seeing me all riled up, Kookie?”

“Uh-h, yes?” Jungkook eyes you warily as you continue to approach him. He even takes a step back, only to bump into his table of jewelry.

You stand toe to toe with him as he is effectively trapped in between you and his table. Slowly, you rise to your tiptoes. Your lips brush his ear as you murmur, “Well, then I’ll be sure to stay cool and collected from now on.”

Pulling back, you saunter back over to your booth. Faintly, you hear a wheeze from the direction you’ve left Jungkook. You grin in success.

Yoongi had ended up bringing food with him that day. An action that had caused Jungkook to thank the two of you more times than you could count as he had shoved barbecue chicken into his mouth.

You had stared at the boy with hearts in your eyes as he ate. Yoongi had just made whipping motions from beside you, thankfully out of Jungkook’s line of sight.

And as June turns to July, your feelings grow substantially. Your mind is a meadow scattered with clove (I have loved you and you have not known it), cyclamen (timid hope), and gladiolus (you pierce my heart).

You can’t quite get a read on Jungkook. Every time you think there might be something in the way he interacts with you, he does something else that negates everything.

For example, the other day he had requested a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You had thought you might pass out from the way he looked at you, all blushing and shy. But, that might have just been the hundred degree weather.

It had admittedly been foolish to think that he would gift the bouquet back to you, but that’s just you – a fool in love. Your clown status had become even more confirmed when Jungkook had smiled down at the flowers, saying that his elderly neighbor would love them.

You had never thought you would experience being jealous of an elderly widow, but you had been ready to square up. It had decidedly not been your finest moment.

It isn’t until the middle of July that you begin to feel that Jungkook might actually return your feelings.

The boy comes barreling into your stall as you’re setting up for the day. “Noona!” He grins happily, “I have a surprise for you!”

“Please tell me it’s a portable fan,” You moan, as you wipe the beads of sweat from your brow, “It’s so hot out here in these streets.”

“No,” Jungkook pouts adorably, “It’s not a fan. It’s my new collection! I spent all week working on it. I even brought my supplies to band practice. The hyungs all teased me, but it was worth it because of y— because of how good it turned out.”

Had he started to say because of you? Your heart pounds as you watch Jungkook eagerly tug a box out from his large backpack. He holds it out to you expectantly, and you have no choice but to take it from him.

Shooting him a speculative glance, you slowly open the lid. Your eyes widen at the sight before you. Rows of flower themed jewelry gleam up at you - orchid (refined beauty) necklaces, lotus (purity) earrings, and dahlia (dignity) charm bracelets.

These are almost all of your favorite flowers. You blink up at Jungkook, “These are so beautiful, Kook. I want all of them. How are you so talented? It’s so unfair!” You reach down to grab a particularly gorgeous pair of silver hoop earrings with lotus charms dangling from the bottoms.

“I will pay anything for these,” You look back up at him. He’s smiling widely and his cheeks are shaded pink.

“They’re yours,” Jungkook shakes his head, “There’s no charge if my noona wants to wear my jewelry.”

His noona…

You think your cheeks might fall off from smiling too hard. “Well,” You murmur, “If you insist.”

You hand Jungkook the box back, and quickly switch out your plain gold stud earrings for your new hoops. “How do they look?” You flick your ponytail behind you and turn this way and that in an attempt to model his work.

“Beautiful…” Jungkook sighs as he watches you and then straightens suddenly, “Oh, I almost forgot!” He digs around in his backpack for a second time. Pulling out a small black velvet drawstring bag, he once again extends his hand towards you with a gift.

“I made this specifically for you,” He doesn't blush outright this time, but you do note that his ears are bright red. Curiosity overtakes you. You slowly open the bag and pour its contents into your waiting palm.

A silver cuff falls into your hand. It’s about an inch wide with what seem to be persimmon flowers (bury me amid nature’s beauty) engraved on its surface.

“My favorite flower,” You gasp, immediately sliding the cuff onto your wrist, “You remembered!”

“Of course I did,” Jungkook laughs, running a hand through his disheveled hair, “Do you- do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” You scoff, “Do I like it?” You take one large step towards him and basically tackle him in a hug. “I love it, you idiot.”

His hands rest on your waist as he sighs into your hair, “Good. That makes me so happy, noona.”

Reluctantly, you pull away. “I should be angry because you completely upstaged me,” You crack a smile as Jungkook crinkles his nose in confusion, “But I can’t be mad when you give me presents.”

You tug your own little baggie from your tote bag and hand it to Jungkook. “It’s not even close to your level, but you inspired me to try to make something and…” You trail off as Jungkook holds up the bracelet you had carefully strung together for weeks. You basically only had bought expensive black stone beads and slid them onto a string, but you think it’s cute nonetheless.

“(Y/n)-noona,” Jungkook’s wide eyes flick up to stare at you, “You really made this for me?”

“How many other JK’s do you know?” You say referring to the two little letter charms amidst the sea of black stones, “Yes, I made it for you.”

“There’s John Krasinski!” He argues, sliding the bracelet onto his wrist with a smile.

You cannot roll your eyes hard enough, “You caught me. I couldn’t meet up with the Jim from The Office this month, so I just had to give this bracelet to the next JK I came across.”

“I knew it!” Jungkook laughs, “I guess we sort of have friendship bracelets now, huh?”

You feel like you have just been slapped back into the friend-zone. “Oh,” You force out a chuckle, “Yes, I guess we do.”

Clueless to your inner turmoil, Jungkook grins as he hurries away to set up his stall for the day. He prattles on about how excited he is to see how the new collection will sell, especially since he is set up right next to you and your flowers.

You feign normalcy as you reply that his collection will be a hit. And you’re right. As the day wears on, you watch as Jungkook sells more jewelry than you had ever seen him do before. You consistently feel like you’re in a state of whiplash as he keeps referring to you as his “muse” during his sales.

Why are feelings so confusing? You fiddle with a stem of lavender (mistrust). You had honestly been beginning to think that Jungkook might return your affections, but now you aren’t so sure. Maybe next weekend you could try to get a better idea of his feelings?

But, as it turns out, you wouldn’t have to...

It’s midway through the market that next Sunday that you begin to realize Jungkook is acting strange. He is acting more jittery than usual, and despite your constant questioning of if he is okay, Jungkook refuses to give you more than two word answers.

Eventually, you give up asking and instead begin to silently observe. He constantly toys with the bracelet you had given him last week. He rarely can go a minute without touching it, almost as if he is afraid it might disappear right off his wrist. Jungkook also keeps peering into his backpack and adjusting something inside of it.

It isn’t until Jungkook checks his backpack for the third time in five minutes that you snap. “Okay, that’s it.” You stalk over to his booth, “Why are you acting weird today?” You stop in front of him, arms crossed in front of you. Jungkook’s throat bobs as he swallows nervously, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, noona.”

“Really,” You deadpan, “Then you won’t mind sharing with the class what riveting thing you have in your backpack?”

His eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, “How did you know there’s something in my backpack?”

You laugh, “You’re not exactly subtle, Kookie.” His shocked expression turns into a pout as you continue, “I’m just teasing. You don’t have to show me. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything illegal.”

“Illegal?” Jungkook gasps, “Noona! Who do you think I am?”

“I don't know,” You shrug, “You could have a double identity for all I know.”

Mumbling something about infuriating women, Jungkook turns and tugs something out of his bag. Holding it behind his back, he faces you, “I was going to wait until the end of the day to do this, but I guess this is happening now.”

He takes in a shaky breath, “I know that I’m not the best with words. That I’m shy and inexperienced. But, I need to tell you how I feel, because I think I might lose myself completely if I don’t. So, I decided that I would tell you in the language you know well.”

Slowly, Jungkook moves his hands from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of flowers. “These say everything you need to know about what I feel for you.” His hand shakes slightly as he extends the flowers towards you.

Your lungs refuse to work as your eyes cannot seem to look away from the flowers he offers you.

Striped carnations. Those are what he holds out to you. You feel as if he has taken your heart and stomped on it with his massive boots.

Striped carnations… symbolizing a love that cannot be shared. A gesture meaning that ‘he cannot be with you’.

Rejection.

The first tear falls from your eyes as you force yourself to look up at the boy you’ve fallen in love with. How long has he known your feelings for him? Why has he strung you along so much only to hit you with this now? Or have you just been oblivious to his indifference all along? ‘

Jungkook seems to be panicking as he lowers the bouquet back to his side, “Noona, please say something.”

You open and close your mouth, trying in vain to search for words to say, for questions to ask to help you make sense of this blindside.

The only thing you can eventually muster up the strength to say is a shaky “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone.” You take off, barely stopping to grab your phone and your bag as you run to your truck.

Behind you, you can hear Jungkook frantically shouting your name. He’s probably concerned that he has to monitor both your stall and his. You shake your head as you finally reach your car.

You call Yoongi as soon as you turn out of the parking lot, unknowingly leaving a teary-eyed Jungkook in your wake.

“What?” Yoongi groans when he finally picks up.

You can barely breathe through your tears, “Y-Yoongi, can you swing by the market early to pack up?”

The line is quiet for a second. Then, Yoongi rapidly fires questions at you, “What happened? What did he do? Where are you? Are you okay? Do I need to rough him up?”

You let out a small laugh. At least one person seems to care for you. “I’m okay. Just a bit of an unexpected rejection.” You sniffle, “I’m heading home for the day.”

“Wait,” Yoongi sounds confused, “He rejected you? What the f—”

Cutting him off before he asks you to rehash every painful detail, you sigh, “Yes, he did. Now, please, can you go clean up the stall for me? And don’t say anything to him.”

Yoongi growls something that suspiciously sounds like “Oh, I’ll say something to him, alright”. But before you can voice your suspicions, he agrees and hangs up.

Thank god for Min Yoongi.

The week passes slowly. You spend your days going through your usual motions, working in your shop and assisting customers.

However, after you make your sixth bouquet of marigold (grief), lichen (dejection) and cypress (mourning), Yoongi insists you take a few days off. You surprisingly listen.

On Friday, Yoongi brings you a bunch of yarrow (cure for a broken heart) and nearly runs when you envelop him in a tight hug. He offers to handle the market this weekend, and you don’t have it in you to refuse. But, you only accept on the caveat that Yoongi takes Monday off. You don’t want to take advantage of your employee and your dear friend.

Your weekend is spent by yourself. You stock up on cranberry juice in an attempt to pretend that it will have the same effect of its flower meaning (cure for heartache). Spoiler alert: it does not.

Even watching an exorbitant amount of bad Hallmark movies cannot cheer you up. And when Monday comes, you force yourself to try to be positive.

“It’s fine. This is fine. Totally fine. I’m fine.” You say, pointing at yourself in the mirror, “I’m totally cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.” With a firm nod, you head out.

Opening your shop is one of your favorite things. You revel in the solitude that the early hours bring, the first sips of your morning coffee, the feeling of being surrounded by your flowers.

Your flowers bring you peace – a big reason why persimmon flowers are your favorite. But, you can’t travel down that train of thought today. Nope. Today, you are all about self-love and positivity!

At least you are until 9:01am when your shop has barely been open for 60 seconds and Jungkook bursts through your doors.

The boy looks like a mess. His hair is sticking up in various places like he has run his hand through it too many times, his shirt looks like it’s on inside out, and he is staring at you like you’re a wild animal that might spook at any moment.

And he would not be wrong. You fight down the urge to run, choosing instead to head behind your counter so that there is at least a semblance of a divide between you.

You decide to just rip the bandaid off and attempt to be professional. Staring over his shoulder, you say, “Hello, welcome to Of Fern and Freesia. How can I help you?”

The sound of a stifled sob reaches your ears. Had that come from him? Or from you?

“Noona,” Jungkook finally pleads, his voice rough, “Can’t you at least look at me?”

Slowly, you bring your eyes to his. His large brown eyes search yours for a moment before they fill with determination.

“(Y/n)-noona, I know you’ve been avoiding me,” He approaches the counter, “But I need to know something. I have to or I’m going to lose my mind.”

Jungkook’s hands fall onto the countertop, his eyes blaze into yours, “Noona, is the thought of me loving you really so appalling that you can’t even stand to be around me? Is it really so terrible that we can’t even be friends?”

Your mind short circuits. “Are you making fun of me?” You whisper after a brief pause.

“What?” Jungkook cries, “No! Why would you even think that?”

Anger bursts to the surface as you throw his actions back in his face, “Maybe I think that because you openly rejected my feelings last weekend, Jungkook! Maybe I think that because I’ve stupidly been in love with you for weeks only to have you hand me those damned striped carnations!”

Jungkook looks stricken, “I-I thought carnations meant love a-and fascination?”

Oh. My. Sweet. Baby. Jesus.

Your anger at what you thought was Jungkook’s rejection morphs into rage at the complete and utter idiocy of his misguided confession.

You shake your head at the giant idiot before you, “Yes, you absolute fool. The general meaning of carnations is love, distinction, and fascination. But, how did you not think for one second that meanings might change depending on the color and the type?”

He continues to gape at you as you power on. “Striped carnations symbolize rejection, you colossal moron! They mean that you cannot be with me! You basically slapped me and my love for you with a big, fat nope.”

You watch warily as Jungkook rounds the counter, coming towards you faster than you’d like. But, your mouth is on a roll now, and you can’t stop, “How could any respectable florist interpret that gesture any other way? Hey! What are you even doing? You can’t be back here—!”

Jungkook reaches you, cups your face in both hands, and slams his mouth onto yours. Your eyes widen as he continues to kiss you, and then slowly you begin to return his affections. Your hands slide up his back to twine through his hair.

The cutest whine emits from his throat as you tug on it slightly. “Noona,” He murmurs against your lips, his wide eyes stare into yours, “You really love me?”

You shoot him an exasperated look, “No, Jungkook, I go around kissing everyone who walks into my shop like this.”

He pouts, “So mean to me.” He tries to kiss you again, but you shift out of the way slightly so his lips meet your cheek.

“I reserve the right to be mean after spending an entire week wallowing in unnecessary self-pity following your failed attempt at a declaration of love.” You cock your head slightly, “If that’s even what it was?”

Jungkook blushes, “I really screwed up, huh?” He rests his forehead on yours and sighs, “It was supposed to be perfect. I was supposed to give you something meaningful to show how much I love you and pay attention to your work, but all I did was accidentally push you away. I thought you were rejecting me.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips. “I could never reject you, Kookie. Not even after that.”

“God, I love you, noona,” Jungkook buries his face in your neck. “I missed you so much.”

“I love you, too,” You run your fingers through his hair, “But don’t think you’re getting off this easily.”

“Huh?” Jungkook pulls back, his eyes wide.

“You have a lot of making up to do, Kook,” You grin.

“And what do you suggest I do?” He smiles down at you, affection clear in his eyes.

“Well,” You shrug, “I can think of a few things…”

a/n: flower meanings taken from: The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh (flower definitions may vary depending on the source!! this is just the reference that i chose because i love the book uwu)

✿ Flowers left undefined in the fic:

Fern → sincerity

Freesia → lasting friendship

Peppermint → warmth of feeling

Tiger Flower → please love me* (*as defined by jk)

Tiger Lily → wealth

#bangtanscenerycollab #bangtanscenery #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #btsnoonanet #goldenclosetnet #jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #bts #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fluff

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it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream · 4 years ago

Text

Silva Lining (Saul Silva x reader) Chapter 2

Warnings: Swearing?

Word count : 2.1k

This chapter was a little longer, I really get hooked on all of the details and before long the chapter keeps getting bigger and bigger. It’s gonna be a whole story so bare with <3

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The night before starting at a new school you thought was supposed to be exciting, or you were meant to feel nervous, it was not supposed to be spent crying in Tara’s arms after explaining to her what had happened between you and the man you now believed to be your soulmate. You don’t know how long it had taken you to get to sleep in the end, all you knew is that you woke up as heartbroken as you were the night before. However, today is the first day to the rest of your fairy life, so brave face, and deal with the pain after hours.

Technically you didn’t have to go down to the courtyard to see everybody coming in, part of you was just interested, nosy, sick of being surrounded by only like 3 people for the last two months? Let’s just say you had your reasons. So there you were standing by yourself like an idiot, Tara was helping some of her friends move their things in, you noticed a girl with bright blonde hair, stunning, popular no doubt, she had the heir about her, not to mention there was already a group of Fairies crowded around her. Then you noticed another girl, flaming red hair, looking a little lost, part of you wanted to walk over to her, say hi or whatever, then you realised Sky had already clocked her too and was making his way over. Sometimes it was good to fade into the background, it just meant you could see everything happening without seeming too nosy. Like when you notice Blondie shoot daggers towards Sky and the girl he was speaking to, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Dramaaaaa. The conversation ended quickly when another guy, dressed in dark clothing with brown hair snuck up behind Sky interrupting. From the way they messed around you knew they were good friends. Maybe it was the guy River… no.. Riven, Sky had told you about. You looked away, starting to feel a little lonely as you watched friends re connect after time away. You only had one friend so far, and no doubt she had friends already here too, it was only a matter of time before you were on your own again.

It wasn’t long before the final students had come through the gates and they began to close, you were one of the last ones outside, some stragglers lingering, when you felt someone come up behind you. You could tell instantly who it was, you wanted to be pissed off, but you couldn’t, his presence making you feel more at home than ever. He was close enough that you could feel his breath fanning the back of you neck, but far enough away so that if anyone saw you both it would just look like a private conversation.

“You should be mingling with others, not standing here on your own.” You could tell by the tone of his voice he was frowning. It angered you. He was the one that decided what you felt for each other ‘wouldn’t work’ and now he thought he had an opinion when it came to your social life?

“Saul, I mean, Mr Silva, you made it pretty clear yesterday that what we have.. had, wouldn’t work, so why are you concerned about what I do.” You moved away from him as you heard him sigh. You could tell he was frustrated, you didn’t care. In the two months you’d got to know Silva, you realised that he was a pretty dominant figure, he wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, or having someone talk back to him.

“Listen Y/N, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He gritted out, it was paining him that he couldn’t touch you. You rolled your eyes and scoffed, turning to look at him, raising your eyebrow in a kind of ‘are you done?’ attitude. His jaw clenched. “Just stay out of the woods, there was another sighting of a burned one, it’s not safe to be out there at the moment.” With that he brushed past you, his skin brushing yours lightly enough to leave your whole body tingling, he faltered as he felt it too but carried on walking away. You headed off the the Fairy hall, looking back watching his re treating figure, you thought you had been the only two out there, but just before you rounded the corner you caught a glimpse of Headmistress Dowling, staring at the both of you from the top window of her office.

The hallways were bustling, students squealing and hugging friends, luggage being hauled through the crowds, you had to push your way past, noticing on the way, a lot of people staring at you. You could hear people chattering, whispering, getting bits and pieces of sentences here and there like “Changeling” ‘Burned one” “multiple powers”.. You rolled your eyes, how the fuck did the news spread so quickly. You were grateful when you reached the door to your halls. You pushed the double doors open wide and took in your surroundings. Tara was there, sorting out all of her plants, she looked up and gave you a wide smile.

“Oh Y/N there you are! I was just telling the girls all about you.” She rushed out and came to stand next to you. The noise attracted a few girls from the rooms off of the main dorm. Blondie from earlier sauntered out, you don’t know why it hadn’t clicked before that she was obviously the princess. Then followed a girl with headphones, a girl with funky looking hair, bits of blue were braided through it, and then the girl with the flaming red hair you’d seen in the courtyard. You stood awkwardly, your Doc Martens kicking the tiled floor. It was easy to see you all had different styles, you were no exception. There seemed to be a colour theme going on.

“You don’t have to be so worried you know, we don’t bite.” The voice came from the girl with the headphones dressed in purple. “I’m Musa, i’m a mind fairy, that’s how I know what you’re feeling, also the reason you’ll see me with these almost every single minute of the day” she said while holding up the bulky headphones that were around her neck.

The girl with the braided hair was next to introduce herself as Aisha, Water Fairy, explained why she had the blue theme going on. Next was Bloom, the girl from the courtyard with the Fire like red hair, which was suiting considering she was a Fire fairy. She was the other girl from earth.

Lastly was Princess Stella. A light fairy, her hair funnily enough as you mentioned earlier, a bright shade of blonde, her clothes weren’t yellow, matching the whole light theme, but you did clock that the majority of her room and clothing choices were shiny. She gave you a smug smile, you knew girls like her back home, you’d been friends with a girl like her back home, she gave off a vibe of “I’m better than everyone else” but it’s probably just so she can hide her own insecurities. There was hope for her yet so you gave Stella a smile, which shocked her. You looked down at yourself, taking in your appearance, heavy Doc Martin boots, black ripped skinny jeans, plain white top and black leather jacket, okay so if they all had colour themes yours would definitely be black.

“You’ve obviously met Tara, she didn’t shut up about you since we all got here, interesting that you’re from earth too like Bloom, two earthlings in one year, how exciting, and you killed a burned one on your arrival, isn’t that something.” You glared a little at the girl dressed in Green as it seemed she had already spilled some details to the girls in your dorm. Stella mocked surprise, oopsing at the fact that she’d brought up what Tara had obviously babbled out.

Tara mouthed a sorry from across the room, the earth fairy was harmless and you knew that anything she had said would have been accidental or came out in excitement. “Yup well, I’m Y/N as Tara has probably already told you, born in England, Silva found me, killed a burned one at the barrier in the woods, apparently I have multiple abilities andddd i’m a changeling. Any more questions? I thought not.”

You laughed and walked over to your room. You shared the space with Musa, just like her mezzanine, you had one directly above, sort of like a bunk bed but it was more like a bunk room. You’d mastered the art of not falling over the railing when getting up in the night to pee which you were happy about. You heard the girls below all talking about what a changeling was, how you’d killed a burned one, what a burned one was, all riveting stuff. The only thing you could think about, the only person you could think about, Silva. Musa looked at you and gave you a side smile. You were going to have to get used to someone around you knowing how you felt all the time.

“So Y/N, are you going to the party?” Your head peaked up, a party? You didn’t know there was going to be a party but you were sooo going. You needed to let off some steam, do some flirty flirting with the boys and for once be a normal teenager. “I say party, it’s not gonna be some total rave but it’s like a welcome party.” It surprised you that Stella asked. You flopped onto your stomach on your bed.

“Count me in, i’m gonna go for a walk first though, clear my mind and get some air before. Anyone want to join?” You watched as 4 of the 5 girls shook their heads no, it was yet again Stella who surprised you saying yes. Maybe she wasn’t going to be awful after all.

Stella was surprisingly easy to get along with and you could already tell she liked you, maybe you’d already become friends even, you didn’t want to push your luck. You found yourself walking by the pond near where the specialists train. You hadn’t realised that that’s where your feet had led you until Stella tugged on your arm a little. “See that guy there, the one with the blonde hair, that’s Sky, we used to date.” Stella linked arms with you. You nod your head and explained how you’d met Sky when you first arrived here. You tensed as you heard his voice, you heard him before you saw him.

“So, after your classes, you’re all mine.” It made you choke on nothing but air and your cheeks flushed. A few heads turned to look at the interruption and you ducked before Silva saw your red face. He’d seen you though, hiding beside the Princess, he tried to conceal his grin of amusement and then went back to teaching. You looked to Stella, the awkward moment hadn’t gone unnoticed by her. Before you could explain you heard shouting, you and Stella sat down on a near by bench and watched as Silva roasted the living daylights out of a first year specialist for being disrespectful. You could pick up pieces of their conversation, Stella filling in the blanks you didn’t catch.

“The shield is to protect us from the burned ones”….

“Have you ever seen a burned one.” Silva was pointing his sword at the students face.

“That’s the thing no one my age has, isn’t that all over now?” The first year specialist didn’t seem so confident now and you scoffed. Wrong, you’d KILLED a burned one, without even knowing what a burned one was at the time. You still don’t remember how you did it, that moment blanked out completely in your mind, the only thing you remember, Silva finding you haunched over the body.

“That’s where you’re wrong, one of the fairies here, was attacked by one on the way in, luckily, something was in her powerful enough to kill it before it could kill her, so no, it’s not all over now.” You could tell Silva was gritting his teeth, stopping from going any further, sometimes his anger slipped away from him. A few people that had obviously heard the rumours turned and looked at you, shock crossing their faces as if they were all thinking the same thing… so it was true, not a rumour after all. You’d finally had enough of the stares, you jumped up, catching the attention of Silva, Stella following behind you as you walked away and towards the woods.

The very place Saul had told you not to go to.

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PART 3 ---- CLICK HERE

Tag list :

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@anreeixcobra

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anime-alyssa · 4 years ago

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purple scars. (d ragnvindr x reader)

i posted this on ao3 and forgot to move it here - so you get it super long and not 2 in parts. i’m thinking of continuing this, maybe?

thanks for reading and the support! i’m working on a xiao rn hopefully i can get my shit together

warning: contains some emotional trauma, implied r*pe but nothing is overly graphic. the second half is smut, separated by stars if thats what you want to skip to.

The bitter cold of Dragonspire finally started to fade away as you crossed over the bridge back into Mondstat for the first time in 10 years. You were bundled up to the extreme, having prepared for the cold, your sword on your back and jacket heavy on your shoulders. Your sword and your jacket were all you managed to steal away before you were able to escape your homeland, Inazuma. You were still dressed in the encampment clothes, your ID number splayed across the chest of the shirt and the boots too big for your feet.

You hadn’t wanted to be gone for 10 years - you wanted to only be gone for a few, to get your Electro under control. But when Baal placed borders around the country and started hunting down anyone with a Vision, life had become a living hell. You were placed in a prison camp and locked away from society shortly after, tortured beyond anything imaginable just for being born with a Vision. The only thing that kept you alive was the hope that one day, if you had gotten strong enough, you would be able to escape Inazuma to head back to Diluc, and Mondstat - were you really felt at home.

Diluc Ragnvindr was a mystery to everybody, except for you. You found yourself more often than not sneaking onto Dawn Winery’s premises when his father was not around and exploring each other’s bodies, like the horny teens that you had been. Sometimes you thought you could still feel the ghost of his fingertips on your skin at night - and tried to imagine that it was him when the Bakufu would do unspeakable things to you and the other prisoners. It was painful, and left you scarred - would Diluc even want you?

It had been 10 years - you had last seen him when you were merely 16 and he was entering the Knights of Favonius. The two of you fell in love as teenagers - no one expected it to be anything beyond that, but the two of you were convinced otherwise at the time. For you, it was still the same - you thought of Diluc every single day while you were in Inazuma. You could remember the day like it was yesterday - his heartbroken eyes, the cries you let out as you told him that you would be leaving, the way he held onto you.

“I’ll be back - I promise - I just - I need help that I can’t get here.” you sobbed into his chest. The Pyro users warmth was all around you as he held you in his room at Dawn Winery, his father out for the night, leaving the two of you bare in his bed.

“You better come back, or else I’ll go to Inazuma myself to get you.” his eyes looked down at you and your heart broke at the sight of him - Diluc was never a vulnerable person, but right now he was. One of his thumbs stroked your tears away on your cheeks as his lips peppered kisses up your neck. “I will never forget you. Ever.”

“Neither will I.” you said with a gasp, as Diluc had given you a night to never forget.

You had officially reached the other side of the bridge - the cold gone away and the warmth coming back to you. You thought about taking the jacket off, now way too hot with it on, but you didn’t want people to know where you had come from. You didn’t want their pity. There was a small camp with other adventurers and travelers around, the chef offering you food for free before you went on your way. It didn’t do much for you to quell the aching hunger you had and the shaky legs - you weren’t really the best fed and had been surviving off of fruit from trees. In short, you were in no condition to be traveling, clearly sickly and unwell. But you were not stopping now - you couldn’t. Not after all that you had overcome. You hadn’t forgotten about him.

A series of snarls from the side of you caused you to jump as you saw about four hilichurls coming right for you. You shrugged the jacket off and grabbed your sword, standing your guard as the monsters attacked. You fought them tooth and nail until your vision all but blacked out - you had hit the ground and heard someone calling for you.

“Hello? Wake up - Lumine - she needs help! Hey, wait - that’s an Inazuma camp uniform!” a high-pitched voice said to you. Your vision slowly came back as you saw a floating - fairy? You didn’t know what she was - but she was floating above you looking concerned next to a young blonde teenager. “Are you okay?”

“I - I don’t know. Need food - water - Di -” you managed to weakly say, feeling your world spin around you. The blonde teenager ran to the water source across from you - a lake? - to get you a drink of water as the fairy thing fished out something for you to eat. You felt like you were going to die - you were starving, dehydrated, but Diluc, you needed to get to Diluc.

“Here’s some water! Drink this, please.” she said to you kindly. You took the cup and quickly chugged the water, then taking the offered food. “My name is Lumine, and this is Paimon.” You gave them your name back, as they seemed trustworthy, as they sat down next to you and watched you. Paimon looked at you with sad eyes, seeing your uniform.

“Thank you very much. It’s been…. a while since I ate anything. All I have is this.” you said to them, continuing to eat. You were already feeling better, but by the way they were looking at you, you could tell that you were still quite a sight.

“You’re welcome - did you escape Inazuma? Paimon and Lumine were actually trying to find a way to sneak in.” Paimon had announced to you. You froze on the spot and looked up to them.

“What - no. Don’t go there. It’s dangerous - the camps - ” You felt panic start to bubble in your chest, your heart-rate increasing and breathing becoming staggered at the flashes of memories that flooded your mind. Paimon started calling out to you again, trying to calm you. She and Lumine had started to talk amongst themselves, looking at you trying to calm yourself as they made attempts to as well. You tried to remember Diluc - what you could of him, and slowly you were able to calm down. “I’m sorry - it’s just - it’s awful. I was there for 10 years, I was a prisoner.” You sat in an awkward silence before Paimon spoke up again.

“Hey - Paimon remembers that when you were talking earlier, you almost sounded like you were saying someone’s name.” she said to you.

“I’m - I’m looking for Diluc Ragnvindr of Mondstat - the Knights - or Dawn Winery - I don’t know where he is, actually. When I left, he was joining the Knights.” you said to them with a sudden hope that you hadn’t felt in years. Even in your journey, you hadn’t felt hopeful. There was always the chance of the Bakufu finding you and bringing you back or dying. But suddenly, you felt some hope.

“Oh - Master Diluc! Paimon didn’t know he used to be with the Knights of Favonius - that explains why he dislikes them so much now - but he does run Dawn Winery now!” Paimon said, floating happily. She paused for a moment - then looked like some gears had clicked in her head. “Wait a minute - you’re Master Diluc’s lost love!!”

“His what?” You asked. Lost love? Was that what the rumor was? But wait - if there was even a rumor, that meant there was potential that he still cared about you - still thought of you.

“What Paimon means to say is that Kaeya told us stories about when Diluc was… not like he is now. That he used to be much happier - and it was because of you.” the blonde traveler said to you.

“What - what do you mean? He’s changed?” You wanted to slap yourself - obviously he changed, it’s been years. But they made it seem like he was completely different - and he left the Knights? When Diluc was younger it was all he wanted to do, so he could protect people and help them. What had changed? You assumed you would find out.

“Paimon thinks we should take you to him to find out - Kaeya made it seem like you knew him better than anyone, so you would know more. Let’s go check Dawn Winery to see if he is there!” she said happily. You gave her a nod as you shakily stood up, feeling like you had a little bit more energy and walked with the traveler and her companion.

You learned about her on the way there. She woke up on the beach with no memory, but knew she was not from Tevyat. Her twin brother was missing and she was in search of The Seven to see if maybe that would be a way for her to find him, which explained why she wanted to go to Inazuma despite your warnings. But, she was Vision-less - a fact that shocked you as you could have sworn you vaguely remember her using Anemo during the fight. That little factoid made you feel a little better.

As you approached Dawn Winery, your stomach started twisting into knots. All of your anxieties came flooding back - would Diluc even want you still? Would he be appalled at the state of you? Would he be able to handle the extra baggage you came with now? Your mind reeled at Paimon babbled on about how maybe you would be good for Diluc to be happy, and how she was looking forward to the food the winery always had for them. You felt yourself fidgeting with the jacket, having put it back on to cover your uniform.

You saw his red hair from a mile away and froze in your steps. He had gotten taller, but god he looked the same. He pulled his hair back like he always had, muscles built out over the years. He couldn’t see you yet, talking to someone else across from him at the entrance of the winery. Lumine stayed by your side, the teenager having a big heart and concerned. However, Paimon floated on over to him.

“Master Diluc! Master Diluc! Paimon and Lumine have someone who was looking for you!” she said excitedly. You couldn’t help but admire the creature’s happiness, despite your nerves. You and Lumine walked forward as Diluc turned around - eyes going wide seeing you. Your breath hitched in your throat as you two made eye contact. It felt like all air in your lungs had just disappeared and you were unable to breathe.

Diluc slowly stepped towards you at first, not being able to believe his eyes. You could tell he was taking you in, observing your features and you to make sure that it really was you. You didn’t blame him for taking his time - you were unrecognizable from before. Your features had thinned out due to the years of neglect from the Bakufu, eyes sunken slightly inward and skin paled. You saw a flash of doubt flash in his eyes - or at least that’s what your brain wanted you to think - and you let out a sob. That seemed to do it for him as Diluc ran over to you in a flash, pushing anybody out of his way to wrap his arms around you.

It finally felt like you were home, in Diluc’s arms as he held you. More sobs wrecked your now trembling body, overcome with emotion as tears spilled onto his clothing. His grip on you was snug, but not too tight, treating you like you were glass and frail. He was warm, as he always was, while he held onto you like you’d disappear into thin air if he let go. You felt your knees give out, exhaustion starting to hit you, Diluc picking you up to support you. You tried to say something - to say anything to him, but the shaking and the exhaustion was becoming to much and eventually, you blacked out in his arms.

——

You woke up on a comfortable bed - so comfortable it almost didn’t feel right. You were sunk into one side with the blankets over you, body bare underneath. Had Diluc been the one to take your clothes off - did he see your scars? Your body suddenly felt good - there was no aching, you suddenly felt healthy? If that was the word for it. You shuffled in the bed, making an attempt to sit up, before you were promptly pushed back down.

“Lay down - please.” Diluc spoke to you. You turned your gaze over to him, laying next to you, half asleep and half dressed. You covered yourself underneath the blankets as he threw an arm over you, pulling you close to him despite trying to hide. “Don’t do that. Stop trying to hide from me.”

“Diluc - I’m - I’m not the same.” you stammered out. You felt his fingers dance over your bare skin and you gasped, instinctively jumping back. He retreated his touch upon seeing this, examining you again. “I’m sorry.”

“What did they do to you?” he asked. Panic bubbled inside of you once more as you tried to find the words to speak. You wanted to tell him everything. He deserved to know everything if he was still going to be with you. But for some reason, you couldn’t find the words. “Did the Bafuku do this - give you these?” His fingers grazed over the discolored scars on your body, purple marks from Electro attacks embedded into your skin forever.

“Yes - they would - they punished us when we fought back. All of us - but the females - they would - they’d come at night - ” Diluc let out a low snarl, understanding what you were implying without actually having to say it. “I tried to imagine it was you. Thinking of you is the only thing that kept me alive most days. It was awful - once Baal placed the orders to capture everyone with Visions, they found me in days. The painful part was that I was right at Liyue’s border - I was so close to getting out. That’s when I got this one.” You lifted your left arm, pointing to a series of purple numbers on your wrist.

“I don’t want to hear where they came from. It only makes me angrier that the damn Knights of Favonius didn’t even try to do anything to help.” Diluc said, cautiously wrapping a bare arm around you, testing the waters. You allowed him the contact - knowing that you were safe. You were safe with Diluc. You just needed to convince your brain the same thing, which would take time that he didn’t seem to mind. “It’s the middle of the night, let’s go back to bed. You need rest.” he said to you.

You gave Diluc a quick nod as you found yourself inching closer to his chest, resting your head on him. He was warm, as always, wrapping his arms completely around you and pulling you onto him. He never used to be one who liked someone on top of him, even you, and you had respected that - but now it seems like he wasn’t going to ever let you go again.

You didn’t mind as you attempted to fall into a dreamless sleep - but you were unlucky. Diluc was out in five minutes flat, but every time you tried to close your eyes flashes of the past would come back to haunt you. You weren’t sure if you got a wink of rest at all, until you found Diluc looking down at you, the sun out behind him. Your throat was dry and your face was wet. Had you had a nightmare? You weren’t sure if you had, since you weren’t even sure if you had fallen asleep at all.

“It’s just me - you’re okay. You were having a nightmare, I think.” he said, trying to say it in his calmest voice he could possibly muster. You blinked up at him confused.

“I - I don’t remember.” you said sadly, racking your brain to see if you could remotely remember, but having no such luck. Your brain was telling you that it didn't want you to remember, you think.

“You were screaming in your sleep. Almost shocked me, actually.” he said, throwing a light-hearted chuckle in at the end. You were not amused though, staring at him with wide eyes as you sat up slowly.

“I did? Are you okay?” you asked him. He looked at you like you had ten heads, confusing you until he spoke next.

“What - are you okay?”

“I think that answer is obvious enough.” You replied plainly. Diluc’s hand went to your chin, bringing your gaze to match his. His thumb lovingly and gently ran across your jawline, and you instinctively leaned into his touch. Slowly, you climbed up onto his lap, and he allowed you the comfort. “I think - I think I’ll be okay now, though. It’s just going to take some time.” You nuzzled yourself back into his chest as he hugged you snuggly, a hum leaving his lips.

“I’ll be here with you until it is, I swear it.” Diluc pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and you knew then that he meant it just like he did 10 years before.

*********************************************************************************

Slowly but surely, you started to heal, and it was all thanks to Diluc. The nightmares started to slowly fade away and with time, you were feeling happy again. You lived with him at Dawn Winery and took on some responsibilities to earn your keep (though Diluc always insisted that you didn’t need to do so), like helping the staff keep the place running and making sure that Diluc was on time to everything he needed to be. Which was a challenge, especially once you started to feel like your old self again (or what you could of your old self).

“One of these days, Charles is going to quit and then you’ll be stuck!” you said to him from on top of his desk, his lips on your neck as you let out a sigh. You weren’t quite mentally ready for much more intimacy, and he was okay with that, but you slowly had become re-accustomed to more touches. Diluc was letting you take the reins for what you were ready for and what you weren’t.

“He threatens to quit every day. He never does.” Diluc spoke against your skin, grunting as you finally pushed him away - and just in time, as Charles walked in to look for him. You hopped off and ran to find Adeline to see if she needed any help. Later on that day, you saw Charles again and he said that Diluc had been in a particularly angry mood for the past few hours. With a sigh, you had hunted him down, finding him in your bedroom.

“What’s wrong? Charles is going around saying you’re angry.” you said to him. Your partner let out a scoff as he turned back around to you, your eyes immediately going to his middle. You bit back a laugh.

“Don’t.” he hissed through gritted teeth, face burning as you stepped closer to him.

“It’s like you’re sixteen again.” you said with a small giggle. Before he could protest, you had him backed against the wall and his pants shoved down, solving the problem yourself. Charles saw you before he left for the night and had said Diluc was in a much better mood the rest of the day.

You had found out about Diluc’s night-time hero work as The Darknight Hero a week or two after you had returned. Originally, you fought him tooth and nail against it, for selfish reasons - but once he explained what had happened to him over the past 10 years, you gave it a rest and let him go on. With the death of his father and everything that had happened with the Knights and his brother afterward, you almost couldn’t blame him.

He had put a pause on it when you came back, but people started to talk and worry, and the Abyss Order picked up on it. He had to begin it again, and you worried every single night. Tonight in particular, he had been gone almost all night, and you were starting to worry. It was an hour or two more than what he was usually out, and you were alone in the Winery with your thoughts. To make things worse, it was storming outside so you couldn’t go out to look for him even if you wanted to.

A crack of thunder caused panic to rush through your chest - it sounded too much like Bakufu punishment for your comfort. You were snuggled under blankets, bringing your knees to your chest as you tried to push the memories away - another crack making an involuntary whimper leave your lips as the shakes came on. You hadn’t panicked like this in months - but the conditions of the storm and Diluc being gone for longer than he said brought it on, and you were nearly unable to control it.

The door opened and you jumped, not paying any mind to whoever it was that walked through the door as you fought to keep the memories at bay - flashes of them coming through in segments. You heard a curse and then running as you steadied some of your breathing, a hand coming to your face and forcing you to look at your lover. He wrapped his arm around you and brought you close to him, letting you soak up his warmth.

“You’re okay - you’re okay.” Diluc chanted to you softly. You nodded against his chest as you wrapped yourself around him back, his hand gently rubbing your back. He was right - you were okay. “I tried to get back as soon as I could after the weather rolled in, I’m sorry it took so long.” he apologized from above you.

“It’s okay.” you mumbled into him.

“No it’s not. I know how it gets - I should have known better.” he pressed a kiss to your hair after he spoke, guilt starting to rise up. Diluc had been overly cautious when it came to you since your return - within days he had memorized anything that sent you into a panic and was there to prevent it from happening. Until today, that is, hence the guilt. You let out a sigh as you relaxed into him.

“I know you want to protect me, but you can’t always do it, on top of everything else. I’ll be okay.” you said to him, taking your head out of his chest and bringing your lips to his.

He slowly reciprocated once his mind caught up to his body - realizing that you were initiating, something that hadn’t happened yet since you came back. His arms around you tightened as the kiss became deeper and more passionate, from a tiny little peck to open mouthed pants. Diluc was almost struggling to keep up with you, mind telling him to slow down for you but body betraying him, his need for you coming to the surface.

Diluc almost lost his mind when he had dragged you closer to him and heard a soft moan leave your lips as you landed on top of the tent in his pants. The moan seemed to be the signal that flipped the switch in Diluc’s head, as he flipped the two of you over, placing your back on the mattress as he towered above you.

“Are - are you sure?” Diluc asked, needing your complete consent before he went any further. A selfish part of him was hoping you’d say yes, but if you were to say no, he’d have no problem getting off you right now and going on with his night. It was all about if you were ready.

“Yes. Please Diluc.” you said back quietly. It was his turn to let out a moan at your begging for him as his lips went to your neck, softly leaving pecks up and down both sides.

“You tell me if anything - anything - is too much.” he spoke against your skin, coming back up to make sure that you understood. Diluc felt his cock twitch in his pants seeing your blissed out face, lust clouded over you from him. You let out a weak nod before he went back down with more vigor, sucking marks into your neck for all to see.

Fighting back wasn’t a thought in your mind as your body grew hot, clothes suddenly feeling restricting and your core in need of some friction. You hadn’t needed anybody in years, but right now, you needed him. Everything felt so right as his gloved fingertips pushed your shirt off your body, exposing your chest to him. The cool air made you shiver, but was soon replaced with the warmth of Diluc’s mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to all the skin he could reach.

You managed to get Diluc to shrug his jacket off once you started to push it over his shoulders, pulling at his gloves next and discarding those. His mouth went back to its attack on your chest, finding one of your breasts and gently beginning to tug. A moan left your mouth as you tried to remember that your next mission was to get his shirt off. Your body was giving into him more and more as sparks of pleasure started to zoom through your veins and down to your core, slick starting to pool.

“Diluc…” you moaned out his name lustfully, spurring him on more. He pulled away from your nipple with a pop, panting as he almost ripped the rest of his shirt off his arms before going back down to pay attention to the other nipple. You continued to cry out, twisting underneath him as you filled with more and more need.

You felt his hands moving down your stomach, one resting on your hip while the other tucked under the waistband of your pants. For a moment, your mind started to reel and your heart raced - flashes of the past coming in. You were able to remember that you were with Diluc - you were safe, and you wanted him. Diluc noticed, immediately popping off you and gazing up at you.

“Should I - ”

“Don’t you dare stop.” you said, cutting him off. Throwing your arms around his neck, you brought his lips down to meet yours as he quickly continued what he was doing. Fingers dipped between your folds slowly, toying with your sensitive bud and making you moan against his mouth. With a small grunt back, Diluc slid two of his fingers into you slowly, beginning to pump. You sighed out his name as your hips ground into him, his lips moving back towards your neck as he panted against you.

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby.” he breathed against you, hips rutting against your thigh. You used your free hands to push your pants off, kicking them down your legs and leaving you completely exposed. The purple scars on your body reflected with the lightning outside the window and the candle light on the bedside while your body twitched with desire. Another moan left your lips as his fingers curled up into you, his thumb circling your bud making your walls tremble. “I need you. I need you.” he chanted into your neck, trying to use his freehand to fumble with his pants to push them down.

“Diluc…” you moaned as you started to meet his pumps, fucking yourself on his fingers trying to chase a high that you felt coming.

“I need to be inside you. Let me - I need it.” he stammered, continuing to finger fuck you until you said yes. You let out a cry as you felt yourself nearing the edge, body hot and sweat collecting on your skin. “Please baby - let me - ”

“Diluc, yes - fuck - ” As soon as the words left your mouth, he pulled his fingers out of you and finished pulling his pants down, kicking them off and letting them fall to the floor. You let out a whine at the loss before Diluc leaned down to kiss you again, gently using his knees to spread your legs wider and his hand that was in you to line his cock up with you. Nerves started to kick in ever so slightly, surpassing the need as you spoke out. “Be - slow - please.” you managed to say.

“Of course.” he said back, putting his lips back on yours as Diluc pushed the head of his cock into your hole. He let out a moan into your mouth, checking your face for any signs of discomfort before pushing in more. A whine left your lips at the feeling of being split open - it had been so long since you had someone inside of you that it almost felt like the first time again. Diluc pressed kisses to you, as some form of a distraction, as he continued to seethe himself inside until eventually, he was all the way in. “Okay?” he asked, bringing his gaze back up to yours. Diluc looked like he was absolutely holding back, restraining himself because you had asked. His face was red and he was panting above you already, heart racing with desire.

“Ye - yeah.” you said back to him. He let out a groan before he kissed you again, not moving inside just yet. His lips were warm against yours, swollen from all of the other kisses he had given you so far. Diluc wrapped his arms around you and brought you close to him, pressing your bodies together as you felt your need re-awaken. Your body was on edge, having him inside you but not moving - and you needed him yet again. “Diluc - you can move - please.” you begged.

“Fuck, yes.” he groaned into your mouth as slowly he started to rock his hips into yours, cock sliding in and out of you with ease. When he started moving, everything from before fully woke up again and you felt your muscles start to tense up, gripping onto his shoulders desperately as your moans started to fill the air. He took that as signal to start going faster and eventually, he started thrusting harder, with more purpose. A cry left your lips at the change of pace, feeling your body react by trying to move your hips to meet his.

“Faster Diluc - please faster.” you cried out. Your lover let out a loud moan at your plea, hiking your legs over his shoulders as he fucked into you harder, cock curving up inside you and hitting the spot that had you crying out his name. You started to shake under him, a warmth pooling in you that felt like it was about to bubble over. Diluc took your lips in his again, drinking up your moans as he pounded himself into you, the bed creaking and the sound of his hips meeting yours filling the room. You felt his cock growing harder inside of you with every thrust, your resolve close to breaking. “D - Diluc - Diluc!” you cried, tears streaming down your cheeks as pleasure started to overcome you.

“So good - you’re so good to me - so - perfect - fuck!” he said to you in a haze, a wanton moan leaving his lips as he felt your walls start to flutter around his cock. You let out a cry as you felt yourself nearly there - the pressure was bubbling and you were about to snap as the length of Diluc’s cock hit you right every time, his moans music to your ears and making your insides shutter. “Ah - ah - come for me, baby - come for me!” Diluc begged, now chasing a release by making you get to yours. You let out a whine - feeling yourself getting towards that edge - then a scream, feeling Diluc bring his hand down between your bodies to start rubbing at your clit. “Fuck you’re gonna - come - come!” he moaned.

“Diluc - Diluc - I’m - fuck!” you screamed out his name as white hot pleasure took over your body, feeling your walls finally clench down on him inside of you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your heard as you kept moaning, body arching against his and core still convulsing as Dilic continued to fuck you, now with a pace near brutal that had your orgasm being wrung out, overstimulation nearing. “Di - Diluc - ” you stammered as his fingers rubbed harder on your spent nub.

“Fuck - I’m - I’m gonna cum - so hard - inside - baby - ” Diluc let out one last loud moan as his hips slapped against yours, his cock twitching inside of you as his seed buried itself deep. He let out moans as he bucked his hips up into you, your twitching core milking his cock as he all but collapsed on top of you. “Fuck -” he breathed out into your neck, dragging your hips close again so he could keep pumping his high in your body.

You felt spent - exhausted. Eventually, you felt his cock stop twitching inside of you and Diluc pulled out, collapsing next to you. He brought the blankets over your bodies and pulled you close to him, pressing kisses to your temple.

“Are you okay?” he asked you. You turned to look at him, eyes wide with concern. You gave him a smile and pressed a kiss to his lips. Even after all that, he was still worried about you. You could argue that's what you loved most about him - that under the facade of not caring, he cared a lot - he was an emotional guy.

“More than okay.” you said back to him. He let out a hum as his hand trailed down to your abdomen - the area where you had the most scars from the Bakufu. Suddenly, you got what he was saying.

“I - well - I came inside. Are you sure?” he asked again. You didn’t really think about that in the moment, honestly. You weren’t sure how you felt about that one hundred percent - but you knew that you didn’t entirely mind it. You had gone through hell to get back with him because you wanted to be with him - you wanted to be with him completely.

“Yeah. I’m sure - I want to be with you, Diluc. That means… everything.” you said back. He nodded back down to you as he kissed you again, keeping his hand on you down below. When he stopped, he pressed your forehead to his lovingly.

“To everything.”

#diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader

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