#The bastard smile pairs unfortunately with the ever bugged-out eyes

[personwho1s]

The L(e)ucys

Leucy's ID card Uncensored below the cut (mostly for the sake of the peeps I'm playing with on the off chance they find this)

BRO KEEP THOSE GLASSES ON EW WHAT ARE THOSE PUPILS And here's just the photo- (with a glasses version)

[bunniesanddeer]

Hate: Part Two

Loathing

Part two to this fic: Part One

Pairings: Alastor X Reader, (Hints of Angel Dust/Husk)

Warnings: Reader still hates Alastor, Reluctant enemies to enemies with benefits, angst, so much angst, Angel is a good friend, SMUT

Word Count: 5,109

MINORS DNI

Everything was awkward, now. You couldn’t look in any direction without being faced with evidence of his existence. He was absolutely everywhere, and not always in person. His coat folded neatly over the arm of a chair. The spices in the cupboard that he got specifically for when he made dinner. The red radio in the library. His scent lingered in your bed, even after the sheets had been changed twice. The bruises had stayed for weeks, dull green marks pressed into the dimples of your hips. 

Sometimes, when he spoke, you had such a visceral, subconscious reaction. Your body would jolt, your ears pricking and swiveling. It was embarrassing how obvious it was, but thankfully for you, the worst was over. Your heat had long ended, and you had made it a goal to avoid ever interacting with him again.

Alastor, being the bastard he was, made it as difficult as possible. It seemed that when you told him that nothing would change, he made it his goal to continue to piss you off as much as possible. He would be outside your door when you woke up on the weekend, and would insist on walking you down to breakfast. If he was at the table, he’d pull out your chair, and dare you to deny him in front of Charlie. (How could you? The puppy eyes she gave you whenever you turned to take another chair could kill someone). So you’d sit, and he’d give you the most shit-eating grin every time. It made your skin crawl. 

Alastor would find time to ask you about whatever you were doing. He’d ask insane questions, and he’d follow you around if you tried to ignore him. You’d be talking to Angel, and Alastor would leer over your shoulder, getting impossibly close without actually touching you. You quickly learned how to keep your expression flat, but your conversation partner, often Angel or Husk, would always react, making it harder. 

There was one line, however, that he never crossed again. He never went inside your room. On multiple occasions he’d asked, but you’d firmly said no, (if a “fuck no, die,” was a firm no). He’d take your answer, and mosey on his way. 

And so you suffered under his strange attentions for several weeks. Charlie did her best to give him tasks to keep the two of you separated, when she could, but he was eerily efficient, all in the name of bugging you some more. Vaggie, on multiple occasions, had offered to skewer him with her spear, but you’d denied, the thought of Charlie’s dismay stopping you. 

Angel, nearing his namesake, (not the drug, thank Lucifer), was always close at hand when he wasn’t at work. And one night, seeing how stressed you were, he decided it was time to let loose. 

“C’mon babe! You know you want to-”, Angel crooned, swinging the bottle of liquor in front of your face. Husk huffed in the background, shaking his head lovingly. “Come onnnnnnn. Let loose with me, an’ ol’ Husky!”

You roll your eyes with a small laugh, and shrug your shoulders. “Alright, you bitch. Fine. Pour me one.”

Angel pumps two of his hands in the air, and then just hands you the bottle. You stare flabbergasted at the bottle, and he just laughs. “Oh, you can down that straight! I’ve seen you. Don’t even lie to me right now.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter as you take a swig. You immediately wince. Whatever Angel handed you burns like hell, and you can’t help but take a glance at the label to try and figure out what it is. It’s written in French, and unfortunately tastes like licorice. “God, what is this?”

“It appears to be absinthe, my dear,” Alastor’s voice drawls from above you. You jump, nearly dropping the bottle. Your heart is pounding, and all you can think to do is glare at him. His smile wedges wider, and you want to punch his ugly yellow teeth in. 

Without responding, you whip your head around and glare at Angel. “You gave me fucking absinthe? What’s the fucking — what’s the alcohol percentage?” You peer down at the label, and struggle to find the percentage. Alastor’s claw taps at small numbers underneath the name. 

“74%. Definitely French, although how you got that down here, my friend, I would very much like to know.” Alastor peers down at the bottle with renewed interest, and you can’t help but agree. This is from the mortal plane, and goods from there are rare. Someone had to smuggle it, and there are only so many that have access. You hum, and then the shock hits you.

“YOU GAVE ME THIS? Oh my goodness! Angel! Do you know how much this must cost?!” You rush to set it down on Husk’s bar top, and back away from it. “Dude! Not cool.” Your ears pin back, and you give Angel a light swat. He just keeps laughing, and Husk seems to be joining in.

“Figured you could use the stress relief, kid. It’s all yours.” Husk says it like it means nothing, still cleaning up behind the bar, but your eyes go wide. Husk is so rarely nice like this, and it makes your chest ache. You have friends. You have friends and you absolutely love them. 

Your eyes are on the verge of tearing up, but you swallow it down. “Aw, I love you too!”

Angel laughs, pointing a finger at Husk, and hugs you with his extra arms. “We love you too, doll! Now let’s get drinking!”

You can hear a scoff come from the demon behind you, but you ignore it. Who cares what he thinks? You ask for a shot glass from Husk, grab the bottle, and settle in on one of the couches. Unfortunately, Alastor follows, and settles in the armchair across from you. You settle a glare on him, and then pour yourself a drink. You are going to ignore him, you can do this.

Husk and Angel settle on the other couch, and Angel points at you. “We’re gonna play a game! To spice things up. So, tell me toots, what’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?”

You cock your head. “Mortal, or down here?”

Angel’s face scrunches up as he thinks. “Mortal,” he decides. No one has really shared much about their mortal lives, so it’s relatively interesting. 

“Well, if we’re talking about something I survived, then probably dislocating my shoulder. Most intense pain I had ever felt. Boyfriend had grabbed my armed and pulled a little too hard. But, if it’s not surviving that matters, probably how I died.” You don’t think on it too long, the pain flaring in your shoulder as if it had just happened. It had really hurt, too.

Angel leans forward, and even Alastor’s ear prick up. You try to keep from letting your gaze slide to him. “Ooo! How’d you die? C’mon! Tell me. You’ve gotta!”

Angel’s excitement nearly makes your eyes roll out of your head. Of course, he’d be interested, the bastard. 

“I’m not gonna give you all the details,” you start, downing the shot and ignoring his sad ‘aw’. “But I will say, that the other guy got worse. Bet the asshole is drifting around down here.” You can’t help the sour look that passes over your face. You’d been in your late twenties, and some guy went and screwed over everything. 

Alastor cocks his head, clearly intrigued. The look on his face tells you he very much wants to ask a question, but is restraining himself. The ‘why’ itches the back of your skull, but you just feel annoyed with yourself. You keep glancing over at him. 

“Anyway. My turn. Uh. Husk. How much can you drink in five minutes?” Your face burns, and you just want this annoying feeling to go away.

“We don’t have enough to prove it.” His tail lazily twitches behind him, and his face is the epitome of boredom. You and Angel just blink at him. Laughter bursts out of the two of you, and a smile twitches across Husk’s face.

“Wowza! Was not expecting that to be yer answer, babes.” Angel wipes a tear from his eyes, and leans back. “Your turn.”

Husk hums and glances at Alastor before turning back to Angel. “Would you eat a cockroach for fifty bucks?”

“Wha— no? They’re like, basically my cousins babe! That’s fuckin’ gross!”

Your whole body lurches, desperately wanting to laugh, but your brain is halted, trying to process his answer. A glance across from you, and Alastor’s eyebrows are hitched nearly to his hairline. He glances back at you, and you can’t help it. You laugh so hard that it hurts. Your belly aches, and your ribs have a stitch growing in them. Your ears pin back as you try to calm yourself down, but it’s all so absurd; your friends, the asshole in the room. Everything is just so screwed up right now. (If you don’t laugh, maybe you’ll cry, and that’s so much more embarrassing). 

“Sorry,” you start to say, taking a swig directly from the bottle. “Just, thought it was funny.”

All three men in the room are giving you strange looks, and you want to shrink in on yourself. God, could they not look anywhere else?

“Your turn, Angel,” you say, gently prodding him to start the conversation back up.

“Oh! Right. Hey Al, what’s your favorite position?”

You and Husk stiffen, and turn your attention to Alastor. His brows are pressed together, and his fingers twitch.

“What ever could you mean?” You can’t tell if he’s genuinely confused or if he’s annoyed. He’s always so good at shadowing one emotion with another, or maybe you are terrible at reading him, You never could discern between his expressions.

Angel laughs, and waves a hand. “Oh, come on, Al! You know, in bed. What’s your favorite position in bed?”

“Asleep,” Alastor bluntly replies, and it draws a snort from you. His eyes meet yours for a second as his grin grows. You stare at the floor.

“No, no! For sex, Al. What’s your favorite sex position?” 

You cringe, and from the corner of your eye, can see Alastor’s leg twitch, shifting when he’s normally so still. 

When the quiet pause lasts longer than you thought it would, you look up, and Alastor is staring straight at you. His gaze is intense, and his smile is as close to being flat as it could be, (excluding that night. The line of his mouth, the softness in his eyes), and he’s just staring at you. His brows furrow and smoothen, and the corner of his mouth twists. 

“I think I prefer it on all fours.” He cocks his head, and his sharp smile grows wide. His eyes narrow, and you feel like prey, caught in the claws of its demise. Your ears flatten back as he speaks, “I like them on their belly.”

You stand up, setting the bottle down on the coffee table, and point at him. “FUCK YOU!”

Husk and Angel watch on, eyes wide. Angel settles a hand on Husk’s knee, and squeezes.

“Fuck you Alastor! You came to ME! Not the other way around!” You clench your teeth together, trying to force down your shaking. You’re so fed up.

“Wait, what?” You hear Angel mutter, but Alastor is standing up, and it’s all you can focus on.

“Yes, but it was you who needed me. Don’t pretend like you did not like it, my dear! Nothing can change that it happened. There’s no point in pretending it didn’t.” He sounds so calm, and it infuriates you. He doesn’t get to pull this shit with you. You want him down on your level.

“Oh-ho. No. I told you nothing would change. I was EXPLICIT with that fact. I hate your fucking guts. Just because Hell decided your dick was the only one my body wanted, doesn’t change that. You don’t get to just be a goddamn puppy now, constantly begging for my attention! Why are you like that? Stop following me around! I hate you! You hate me! Get the fuck over it!”

His eyes are narrowed, and his ears tipped back. “So presumptuous, ma douce. You think to understand my motives, and you barely understand yours.”

You bare your teeth at him. “You snuck into my room, for my attention. You’re so damn desperate. Is that what this is? You want me to like you that bad, that you’ll fuck me to get it?”

Alastor’s expression screams that he thinks you’re stupid. “Oh, you know nothing, do you, dearest?”

“Fuck you.”

“You already have.”

Angel stands up, setting himself between you. You hadn’t even noticed that the two of you had stepped closer to each other. “Whoa, whoa. Calm down.” He turns to Alastor. “You went to their room? You told me you were leaving for the night!”

Alastor answers without missing a beat. “I lied.”

You want to scream. You pull at your hair, and turn to the side, trying to slow your breathing. This insufferable bastard. 

“I’m going to bed,” you finally huff. You take off towards the stairs. You just want to go to bed. Fuck everything. All of them. He makes your head hurt. 

Halfway to your room, you notice the static. He’s following you. Great.

You turn around, and glare at him. “What do you want?”

His expression is strangely open. His smile is smaller than usual, and he keeps glancing behind him. Why is his behavior always like this? So back and forth. You can never understand him.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” He finally says. His brows pinch together, and he opens his mouth, but shuts it again.

“I have. It’s easy.” You lie. It’s such a lie. When you are in bed at night, you can feel the ghost of his hands trailing your thighs, your neck. You can feel him cradle your head as he presses a strange kiss to your shoulder. It’s an ache, but the deep burning hatred is stronger. It burns the ghosts to ash, and it leaves you feeling empty. 

Alastor seems hurt by your words, but almost as if he expected them. “I want to do it again. I want—” He stops himself, hesitating. You just want him to get it over with so you can go to bed. It’s all so exhausting. “I want to touch you again, ma biche. I have been trying to get you to spend time with me, so I could bring it up naturally, but I have not been able to find the time or the words appropriate.” He swallows, and shifts, and you can feel his static swell. “I have never wanted someone before. It’s normally an urge that is easily handled alone, but you are different. I want to know why. And I want to get rid of this feeling. It’s hard to concentrate.” He coughs, and avoids your gaze for a moment, before staring back at you.

You fucking knew it. This asshole. Of course, this is what it is. He just wants his dick wet again, now that he’s had you. You scoff.

“Is that all this is for? Are you kidding me?” You frown at him and shake your head. “This is ridiculous.” You take a deep breath. “Will you leave me alone if we have sex?”

His expression twitches, and for some reason you feel like he is about to lie. “Yes, I suppose I can do that.”

You want to scream. You want to drag him to your room. You want to throw something. You settle on asking, “My room or yours?”

The two of you go to your room. He mutters about not having your scent in his room, and you shrug. You’re closer to yours anyway. 

When you enter the room, you start to strip off your clothing, anger clouding any shame. You can hear his noise of surprise, but make your way to the bed, ignoring him. Down to your bra and underwear, you sit on the bed, looking over him. 

“How are we doing this?” You want to poke at him over his comment from earlier, but decide not to. 

“I believe that I would like you in my lap. I’ve been having… dreams about it.” Alastor struggles to say it while unbuttoning his shirt. You quietly watch while processing his request. You’d have to be facing him. Can you do that? Would looking at his face prevent orgasm, or would it not matter? You hum, and nod.

“Alright. No kissing though.” He acquiesces, and settles onto the edge of the bed, shucking off his pants. His briefs are loose, and black. 

“Where should I be?” His question is asked softly, and it makes you hesitate to be mean. You decide to just focus on the act, and not who he is. It’s better that way, isn’t it? 

“Do you want me riding, or actually in your lap? If you want the former, just lie down. For the latter, sit up, settle against the headboard.” You gesture with your hands, and stand up to remove your undergarments. He eyes your motions as he sits against the headboard. You internally sigh. You really wish that isn’t what he wanted. 

He’s still wearing his briefs when you settle into his lap. His legs are bony, and they press awkwardly against your ass, so you wriggle to get comfortable. Alastor’s hands, thin and graceful, and incredibly sharp at the ends, settle on your hips. (You have to beg your mind not to focus on the fact that you’ll likely have a new set of bruises, overlapping prettily with the last set). 

Alastor’s head is level with yours, the tall bastard, so you turn yours into the crux of his neck, and sigh. Alright, you’re doing this again. You can do it. It doesn’t matter that you really want to punch him. His dick is kind of nice. You can do this. 

You roll your hips against him, starting a gentle rhythm. His fingers squeeze you, and you can tell he’s holding back. His grip is soft, and his thumbs rub back and forth, tracing a lazy pattern into your skin. You take a deep breath in, and immediately regret it. His scent is incredibly strong at his neck. It feels overwhelming, and you have to blink repeatedly to drive the dizziness away. 

The gentle rhythm of your hips eventually makes it clear that he’s getting hard. His thumbs hesitate every couple of thrusts, as if the feeling was too much for him to even lazily move his fingers back and forth. His cock rubbing against you, even through two layers of fabric, is kind of nice, you have to admit. Alastor feels nice, and the warmth of him is enjoyable too. You can’t tell if you are trying to convince yourself, or if that is how you actually feel. You don’t get to find out, because his hands grip down harder.

“Can I rock your hips, dearest?” His voice is rough, and the sudden noise makes you glance at him. His gaze is fuzzy, and he seems unfocused. The look wrecks you; he’s being vulnerable, the bastard, and you can barely look at him. You barely manage a nod, but his sharp grin is your reward.

His tight grip on your hips shifts just a little lower, to the crux of your hips and outer thighs. He presses you down onto his erection, and rocks you against him. The easy way he moves your whole body reminds you of the strength in his lithe body. You can’t help the admiration you feel, although it is quickly drowned out by the rocking of your body.

“Ma bichette, you feel so good,” he whispers. He presses you down rougher, and it feels as if he’s trying to slide into you through the scraps of fabric dividing you. “I want to feel you, dearest. I want to fill you and hold you. Je veux vous faire plaisir, mon cœur. You are so good for me, let me make you feel good.”

You rear up, pressing your hands against his chest as your eyes widen in shock. He absolutely pushed too far. That upsetting feeling from your heat is back. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes again. He is being far too nice, but you love it. You want him to make you feel good, want him to call you nice things. The anger that festers in your belly, that ever present loathing is blanketed by desire for him, and you give in. 

“Okay,” you quietly reply. Alastor’s eyes flutter, and then he is lifting you up on your knees, and attempting to remove your underwear. You assist him, and then sit back to let him remove his own. You settle back in his lap, your naked sex against his cock. The heat lifts a groan from you. You look at him, take in the mess of his hair, the set of his eyes, and you frown. “No kissing,” you remind him. You can’t let him cross that boundary. You’ve only kissed people you loved, and you hate him. Obviously. 

There’s a twitch of his brows, but he assents. His large hands settle back on you. One sits flush against the front of your thighs, and his thumb brushed against the hood of your clit. You gently huff, and roll your hips against him. Alastor’s hips twitch, and he groans.

His touch is perfectly coordinated, his eyes settled on your flushed, and quickly growing wet, sex. His teeth separate, and you can feel his hot breath fan across your face. It doesn’t smell the way you thought it might. 

“You are a sight, my dear. So pretty. I want to fill you, and see how far that blush of yours spreads.” His eyes flick up to your face, briefly, and then he's focused on the tight circles of his thumb on your clit. 

You don’t have the time to think of a response, because he’s pressing harder. White noise fills your ears, and with a single sharp thrust of his hips against yours, you feel your body clenching down on nothing. Your head tilts back, and your hands reach out, trying to grasp onto anything. You find purchase on his shoulders, and dig your blunted claws in, letting out a cry. You can hear Alastor’s grunt, but can barely focus on it. He just keeps circling his thumb. 

“Yes! Ma douce! Cum for me, dearest.” His other hand presses you down against him, and he thrusts up against your wet heat. 

You let out a harsh breath, his name slipping from clenched teeth. “Alastor – please!”

He lifts you, just slightly, your thick slick stringing between the two of you, and he uses one hand to guide his cock. “Just a moment, my doe.”

And finally, his erection is pressing into you, your slick letting him slide in with only just a bit of resistance. When your bodies finally sit flush, you both let out sighs. You forgot just how full he made you feel, and it hadn’t even been terribly long.

You take a deep breath, barely making eye contact with him, (how can you? He’s got this expression that’s nigh on impossible to name), and then you lift your hips. It’s that first drag that nearly knocks you over. You can feel his cock dragging against your velvety insides. Even with how wet you are, the friction is overwhelming. 

Your breath comes out in stutters, and your thighs shake with the effort to not just drop back down on him. Your hands on his shoulders clench, and then you settle back down. His resulting groan makes you clench. You’re still so sensitive from him getting you off first, so you shake with the effort to keep riding him. 

“Dearest,” Alastor says, his hot breath fanning across your face. “Would you like some help?”

You lock your gaze with him and drop on his dick rather harshly, and his eyes flutter. His hands flex, claws lightly grazing your skin. He’s being so careful, and it bothers you. 

“What does ‘help’ look like to you?” You ask, your residual anger tinting your words. Are you not going fast enough for his liking?

His hips thrust up, just enough to spear you further, and you rock your hips in response. The heat, the fullness, it keeps knocking the breath out of you. It’s so unfair. You need him just as off-kilter as you are. (But isn’t he already? Your head is fuzzy. You aren’t thinking straight).

One of his hands reaches up and cradles the back of your head, and then the world is shifting around you. Your thighs are slotted over his hips nicely, and the hand that had been holding your head is propping him up. You’re on your back. (How did he do that so effortlessly? He seems so experienced – it’s a thought that suddenly makes you unhappy). 

“Worry not, dearest. You were spectacular, but I’m losing my marbles.” He rolls his hips against yours, and you clench your eyes closed. It’s overwhelming. The heat is pooling in your navel, and there’s this fuzzy feeling to your hands and feet. You can practically feel his static scattering over the surface of your skin. “Yes, you are very good, mon cœur. I cannot get enough.”

His words make your eyes open, just a touch, and you gaze up at him. His eyes are already searching for yours, and the soft smile he’s giving you – you feel like you’re going to throw up. How could he do this to you? He doesn’t get to be such a dick, then go on and fuck you within an inch of your sanity while praising you. It’s not fair. 

Alastor starts thrusting his hips, his ears bouncing just a little at the effort. He’s on his knees, and the hand on your hip squeezes every other thrust. You can smell the musk the two of you make, and it has you dizzy. It’s a nice smell, but you know it’ll never wash out of your sheets. You might have to just change rooms when all is said and done. 

He suddenly shifts, settling further back on his knees, and both of his hands are lifting you up. “Is this alright, my doe?” He asks as he lifts your knees to his shoulders. 

Your eyes widen. He’s going to hit spots in you that you’ve probably never felt. His cock is already large, but this position is going to ruin you. However, you just can’t say no. You aren’t sure if it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the fact that you’re barely in your own head. With a rough swallow, you nod. 

He pants, and then you’re folded in on yourself, your slit snug against him, thighs cradling his head. His arms framed your head, and his weight pressed down on you. Each breath the two of you took was hard, and they mingled in the space between you. His forehead pressed against yours, and he kept your gaze as he began his rhythm again. 

Your hands could no longer be kept in check. What little of him you could reach was quickly grabbed onto for dear life. You were panting, and every drag of his cock had your walls quivering. 

For a moment all you could hear was the wet sound of your bodies rocking together, and the harsh breaths each of you took, but then you heard it. He was muttering to himself.

“Al- Alastor, what?” You asked quietly. Another harsh thrust of his hips and you moaned, your mind briefly dragged away from the thought. 

“Just singing your praise, dearest.” His left hand lifted just slightly, and his thumb rubbed against your cheek to the rhythm of his snapping of his hips. “You are wonderful. I just adore this with you. You are ever so soft, and tight, my doe.” 

You startle, eyes locked back on him. His smile is crooked, and he looks so genuine. That deep, angry ache is back in your chest, and it nearly clouds the lust and the wonderful sensations he’s flooding you with. 

“Je te veux. Je ne veux personne d'autre que toi. Je veux que tu aies envie de moi. Pourquoi ne le fais-tu pas?” He whispers to you in words you cant understand, but his eyes are fuzzy, and his smile is small, and soft. Alastor cups your face ever so softly, and he rocks his hips roughly against yours.

Suddenly the pace he sets is incredibly fast, and you can feel that tightness building again. You scratch at him, barely able to get air into your lungs. You can’t focus on much more than the deep heat beneath your navel, and the furrow of his brows. (Some small part of you wants to ease it with your fingers). 

His grip on your face tightens a smidgen, and then he rolls his hip and takes his right hand to rub at your clit. His thumb is in tight circles again, and he’s clenching his teeth and all your limbs go tingly and–

Everything is white-hot. There are lightning bolts zipping down your spine, making your back arch. Your mouth is open, but the buzzing in your ears makes it impossible to tell if you’re making any noise.

He’s still moving, but he’s reaching for your face, too. He cups it, his large hands holding you still as his cock continues slamming into you. Alastor is muttering again, but you can only tell from the movement of his lips. His mouth opens, a harsh pant leaving him before his body stills suddenly. His teeth clack shut, and he curls into you, the head of his cock brushing your cervix. You’re still dealing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and can barely comprehend the feeling. It’s nearly too much. 

He’s breathing hard, and he just barely sits back. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. His thumb brushes the skin just underneath your eyes, and there is a wistful smile on his face. He seems so far away, and you can’t comprehend why. Isn’t this what he wanted?

You’re about to ask when he slots his lips over yours. He’s warm, and his lips are soft. It only lasts a moment, and then he’s gone. 

You’re left empty, messy, and alone. 

You sit up in the darkness of your room, glancing around. 

“Alastor?”

I will post on my blog, giving an update. Feel free to check it out if you're wondering what's been so long.

[abominationvault]

Session 23 Sat 3 Feb 2024

We are almost all running late this week (due to Warhammer, among other things) so we start a bit later than advertised. Last week we defeated some cultists and two (?) of the cult leader bastard ones. Running low on hit points and spell slots now, the DM teleports us back to town for a well-deserved long rest. We arrive to the Otari map landing page:

Skabb wants to know what happened about the diary that she pasted up all over town in the live session before we left. We will find out shortly…

Various IRL spawn are giving their parents trouble, so Skabb goes on an adventure on her own. She hears a voice in Sylvan talking to itself in the forest. “Eyes open. Got to watch out for bug-scratcher and friends.” Skabb cackles to herself. It’s Belches!

She wants to sneak up and jump out on him. If she terrorises him enough maybe he’ll be her pet. He is up a tree to the side of the path, and has a little pile of butterflies - he is pulling the wings off and eating the bodies. She jumps up next to him - he startles and falls out of the tree. He hovers just above the ground while Skabb scrunches the remaining bugs.

Belches tells her that Flashbang wants to see her. Is it about mischief, she asks? "In part." Skabb suggests that Belches become her pet, and his expression turns terrified. She's already got Grabby Cat, he belongs to Flashbang! She wants two, she wails, but lets him lead her to Flashbang’s camp.

Last time he just had a teepee but now he has a full camp. Belches turns back and asks if we have any food? If so, hide it away from Biscuits, he tells us. We hide our rations in a tree. Skabb sniffs the air - there is Primal magic happening. She hears a thudding noise, and scampering, and giggling. She ventures a bit further and spots Biscuits:

(Sprocket gets a Hero Point for declaring that there’s no such thing as a bear, only two people living in one pair of pyjamas.)

Skabb senses primal magic on this bear, as well as crumbs all down its front. She cuddles him; he doesn’t seem to mind. He seems a bit food drunk; he’s full of biscuits.

The thudding gets louder, then stops. A familiar face pokes around the edge of the yurt:

(Someone’s had a glow-up.)

He smiles at her, then looks at Sprocket. Apparently Sprocket’s mummy (Wrin) made him some biscuits, but unfortunately Biscuits has eaten them. Sprocket rolls good on Society - he thinks Flashbang is lying. “Huh.”

Flashbang explains that the bear came into his camp and would've eaten everything, up to and possibly including Flashbang, if he hadn't calmed it with magic. Now they're bonded, and he's named it Biscuits. (Which, can I say, that's the best name for a bear I have ever heard in my life.)

As Flashbang talks, he spots Jorg’ath - he runs over and holds out his hand. “Brother dragon!” They shake. Flashbang is excited to have a dragon friend. (... Jorg’ath is not a dragon.) Flashbang proudly points out his teeny tiny wings. “Only the very best kobolds have wings!” he boasts.

He tells Skabb in Sylvan that our cat friend (Joto) came running down the path a while ago, and that he wondered where the rest of us were. Skabb says he must have got spooked or something. Cats are skittish. She explains the situation with Jorg'ath (also in Sylvan) and tells him not to tell Jorg’ath what he saw.

Flashbang goes into his yurt and gets a lump of silver, which he hands to Hartvig - along with a scroll. He liberated it from ‘the borings’ in the big gold building. (Hartvig can now swap out a cantrip for Needle Dart, which will do more damage.)

Skabb sidles up behind Flashbang and tries to poke his little wing nubs. Stealth 12, and he spots her. “Aren’t they amazing?” He runs and jumps, and flaps like crazy, and they carry him a little tiny bit further. He is the best dragon she’s ever met, Skabb tells him truthfully.

Flashbang gives us some scrolls of healing - One to Luna, one to Nadia, one to Grabby Cat, one to Jorg’ath and one to Sprocket. (The scrolls are the same as a potion, but will heal everyone in range for the same cost.)

How sneaky are we, Flashbang wants to know? Some more than others, is the answer. "Just don’t be loud," he says. "Follow me." He tells Jorg’ath to sit on Biscuits, as his armour makes a lot of noise.

(“Why does this Johnny-come-lately get to ride on a fuckin' bear??” Skabb asks, outraged; Jorg'ath ignores her and cackles with delight as he climbs onto Biscuits' back. She makes a mental note that she hates him a little bit more now.)

“Advance!!!” Jorg’ath cries. Flashbang climbs up with him, and leads us to a little overpass, where he points. “Stone Ring Pond," he says.

Can Skabb feel the Primal magic? he asks.

“Yep. It’s smelly.”

Stone Ring Pong is very magical, but currently infested with hippies. "Doing silly celebrations," Flashbang says derisively. "They think they’re worshipping nature. Do-gooder druids and rangers. Soap-dodgers. Planning a biiiig festival. Bring fine weather (?) to town. Me and sky-daddy wants you to interfere. They have a book with rituals. You go in and get it, and it’ll change their ritual. Is in their biggest tent."

“Okay,” says Skabb, and we plan. Jorg’ath offers to cause a distraction by rampaging through the camp on a bear. Sprocket can play inanimate doll, that’s a thing he can do. We could pass Augustus off as a piece of art that we made, like a Burning Man thing.

Augustus will pretend to be art while Grabby Cat does a recce, including taking a squizz at what the folk are doing. Deception for Augustus of natural 1 for 4 total. “… things went badly wrong,” says Sprocket before Hero Pointing that for a 15 this time. Augustus will stand with one big old mitt in the air like whatshisface from Shakespeare with the skull, holding Sprocket like the skull. “If you have to ask questions, you don’t get it,” Sprocket tells us as Augustus lifts him up.

Flashbang is rolling on the floor with laughter at this display. A figure comes out of the big tent - that’s the head druid, he says. "Nasty little gnome. Worliwynn."

She comes out of the tent and spots the art installation. Smiling, she comes over and starts placing flowers around Augustus, humming to herself and singing. Grabby Cat makes her move - Stealth 16.

(Luna arrives, having finally wrestled BWJ into bed. She asks Sprocket what we’re doing; breaking into a camp of hippies, he tells her. “Ooooh!”)

Grabby Cat enters the tent without being seen. It is empty of people, and there is a sort of shrine - on it sits the book. It’s too big and heavy for her to carry it, however, so Skabb relays this information to the rest of us as she can see through Grabby Cat’s eyes. Nobody seems to be watching it.

Are these hippies magic-user types, she wonders? Could be priests, clerics. Some have bows. Grabby sniffs the book to see if there’s protective magic on it. Nature 18. She senses residual magic, but nothing she recognises as protective or warding.

She scouts out the camp on her way out. The pond in the middle is about 60ft across but shallow, and people are scooping water out of it, probably for potions or tinctures or something (but not soap). The ones with the bows are leaning against the stones and watching what’s happening with the head druid and Augustus; she’s still singing to him. The gnome spots Sprocket, and very gently lifts him up with Mage Hand. She starts weaving flowers around his neck.

Skabb, with great sympathy: “Poor Sprocketses.”

Sprocket puts up with the ‘unasked-for touching’ with incredible grace.

Luna is up; Grabby Cat will watch for danger. Luna makes an attempt to get in to the tent: Stealth 23. Like a ghost she slips in and sees the book on the altar. Religion 18; she recognises this as an altar to the god Gosra (sp?). He is the God of wind and waves, the neutral god of nature. That tracks. She picks up the book and sneaks out with it. “Hooray!”

Sprocket is dipped in the pond while the druid says magical nonsense at him, but despite all this he maintains his composure. Well we got the book, now how do we get our poppet back?

(Skabb’s littl’un is not well at all, so we call it there for this week.)

[hollyhomburg]

Of Fire and Love Pt. 4

(Dragon! Yoongi x  Reader)  (Ft. Baby! Jungkook and Baby Dragon! Hoseok, Fairy! Jimin x Dragon! Namjoon)

W/c: 20.0k

Tags: Genderfluid! Jimin, changing pronouns, Questioning! Hoseok, non-sexual talk about dicks and pussys, knotting, mentions of overstimulation, Touch of breeding kink, Mentions of infertility, War, bullying, mild angst, Heaps of domestic fluff, Koo and Hobi grow up, violence/blood gore warning, time leaps, 

A/N: you guys are gonna be mad at me for the end of this but keep in mind the length of this chapter, and the fact that I will not be able to update for a little while. At the beginning of this part Hoseok and Jungkook are 8 and 10, and but the end of it they are 13 and 15. 

Series Masterlist 

- The second after a very naked fairy pops in an out of view is nearly unbearable in its awkwardness. Namjoon splutters for something to say and you try to take a sip of tea but end up choking on it. A moment later Jimin returns wearing a floor-length cloak of ebony silk beautifully embroidered. It matches the black lace intricacy of the dragon-fly wings that stick out of his back. They’re folded down towards the floor, iridescent and fluttering.

- He apologizes, much to Namjoon’s bright red-faced embarrassment, And Namjoon mentions that it’s just not in his nature to wear clothes much- gets in the way of flying and all. It’s a flimsy excuse- one that all of you are happy to leave unpunished.

- The fairy is pretty, his blonde hair curling over his forhead delicatly. He smiles and cups your cheeks when Namjoon introduces you and Yoongi stifles a smile to see you retreat at the sudden touch- it seems this level of physical contact is normal for Jimin. “Oh, you’re a pretty thing aren’t you- like a ranunculus or a tiger lily!”

- “Uhm,” you say, blushing as red as the flowers he calls you, “thank you?”

- “Do you spend much time in the fairy realms these days Jimin?” Yoongi asks after the fairy has fluttered over to pepper a kiss to his forehead, which Yoongi groans about. It shouldn’t surprise you- but somehow it does.

- Jimin cracks a feral smile- showing his sharper than seems human teeth, “You know I’d never resist the chance to terrorize my brothers and sisters Yoongi.” Jimin slaps him over the shoulder- your mate gives a little yelp looking scathed.  “What was that for!?” “For not visiting sooner you bastard-”

- “Uhm, darling?” Namjoon asks, hand over his face, the same second Hoseok pipes up, “why did you call him a bastard!?” “Yeah what’s a bastard!?” Jungkook joins in. Yoongi runs a hand over his face, trying not to laugh, then reaches across the table to squeeze your hand. 

- Although it takes the majority of the morning, once Jimin gets over his embarrassment (and once he apologizes for cursing in front of your boys) your two boys are absolutely enthralled with the fairy. Expressing interest in seeing Jimin fly. He buzzes happily and lifts off the floor- the action as natural as breathing. He touches down after a moment. Jungkook lifts one of them up and giggles at you through the mottled surface, completely ignoring Jimin’s “Aish little bug- these are delicate!”

- Jimin and Namjoon lean in close, Namjoon running a wide hand through Jimin’s blonde hair, and they tell all of you that flying is actually how they met. “You almost knocked me out of the sky!” Jimin cries. But he looks at Namjoon with something like terribly fond love instead of indignance like his tone might suggest.

- They’re something of a match made in heaven, the dragon whose hoarded object is plants, and the fairy that makes the plants sing with a twitch of his finger. You notice instantly- how all of the roses turn in Jimin’s direction when he walks, the flowers on the patio perking up. 

- Jungkook is especially curious about Jimin and asks him countless questions about his kind and others. Hoseok too- his eyes lighting up when Jimin effortlessly hovers up and off the floor. As someone who wants to learn how to fly but can only glide for a few feet- picks his brain too. 

- You can see the jealousy in Jungkook’s face- that boy has always wanted to fly- ever since he was little. And now that he sees someone human looking like him who has wings. You feel as though Jimin may have opened up a whole new vein of curiosity in your son. All of a sudden he’s asking you how many other types of things can fly. The world isn’t only birds and dragons anymore: now Jungkook’s world includes; birds, dragons, and Jimin.

- To answer his question- Jimin takes Jungkook to see their library on magical species. It’s the most complete in the city or so Jimin boasts. “Is he far along in his schooling?” he asks you, eyeing the way that the 7-year-old is pulling out some tombs’ from the shelves, only to cause a mini avalanche- Hoseok giggling as he clears Jungkook’s face from the debris. Dust coating both of them.

- “When he says ‘he can’t wait to read them’ he just means he can't wait to have me read them to him” that tempts a laugh from Jimin’s mouth. “Very well then, I better show you a few that you’d both enjoy” He even sends Jungkook and you off with a little parcel of them for his own collection. Impervious to your thanks that only make the fairy shy.

- Jimin and Namjoon are the best hosts, ready to take your sons down to the sea cliffs the moment they beg- though really- Jimin has hardly even had breakfast. the narrow steps lad to a beach with soft sands. Where Hobi can ripple and curl through the water- Jungkook and you walking along the beach collecting shells, Hobi piercing the top of the waves with a splash His claws digging into the sand as he happily trots after you- only to be tempted back into the water by the sight of a fish. 

- He actually does manage to catch one at one point. A shiny thing with dark scales.  He lets out a happy little roar, summoning the rest of you too him, Namjoon and Yoongi trot down the beach, neither of them wearing shoes, Jimin flutters over quick. “That’s a good one!” Namjoon says appreciatively, trotting to the edge of the waves and taking it from Hoseok’s little mouth, holding it up to show the others. “We can definitely cook this for dinner,” 

-“Good job my little hunter” Hoseok nibbles affectionately at Yoongi’s hand as it passes over his we head- and it makes you a little stupidly proud, Yoongi too- has his chest a little puffed up. Hoseok does a quick circle, snapping his wings free of water before he bounds back off in the direction of the waves.

- Unfortunately, his enjoyment is only temporary- because as soon as he gets tired with fishing and really starts to dry off his feathers curl from all the salt. Some sand sticking here or there much to his discomfort. Even when he shifts back he’s fidgety, says he can still feel the sand in weird places.

- That night, after your bellies are full of Hoseok’s fish (he caught two more- you’re both so proud) you curl up at the edge of their large fireplace. Hobi sits in your lap your brush in your hand. Combing him through like always. Letting out little grumbly whines when you have to switch out the water once it fogs up with the salt He fidgets, his claws scratching through his feathers to try and get some of the sand out. 

- A few feet away Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin play some sort of betting game, jimin in a pair of thin trousers and a long billowing silk shirt in the style of ages passed. Your son perched on Namjoon’s lap next to him. They’d invited you to play- but whatever game it was it seemed complicated enough for you to bow out without much of a fight. You were far too content to see them all a little riled up, punch drunk and sleepy- a little irate when the others played a card, their banter years in the making and kind of fun to listen to from an outsider's point of view. 

- Mostly though- you just appreciate the sight of your mate; sitting with his legs propped up, his shirt unbuttoned nearly down to his navel. He catches you watching sometimes, leveling you with a heavy look that just won’t abate, his dark eyes flickering in the light of the fire. 

- “I’m telling you that move won’t pay off” Namjoon’s deep but gravely voice croons. Next to him, Jimin uses his hand of cards to hide his smile. But Jungkook just eggs him on- only to be laid bare a few minutes later much to your mate’s groan. Jimin throws his head back to laugh, as he collects the pot in the middle (they don’t gamble with real money- but still- he looks like a dragon circling a new treasure)

- More than once that evening, you catch Jimin looking at your two sons with a hint of sadness. His gaze flickering down to Hoseok asleep in your lap. Especially when you stand and move to sit at the table, Hoseok shifting- finally more comfortable. You pout down at Hoseok and say fondly, pushing at his shoulders playfully. “You need to stop growing, pretty soon you’re going to reach my waist and that’s just not okay- you need to stay small forever.”  

- You sit next to Yoongi, your mate leaning back in his chair to put an arm around you- a comforting hand on the back of your neck. Namjoon’s gaze hovers of Hobi, sitting in your lap before you catch him looking, and his gaze somehow feeling chastise, flutters away.

- “Uncle Minnie’s winning so I wanna be on his team” When Jungkook sits in Jimin’s lap he goes ramrod straight- hands hovering and eyes wide, Jungkook oblivious to his surprise. Unsure how to hold the youngster. Eventually loosely holding him around the waist to keep Jungkook from sliding off.

- Namjoon see’s his mate hold the youngster's hand, Jimin’s own so large in comparison. The two of them sharing a pained look, all you know is that one-moment Jimin seems fine- and then the next he’s trying not to cry, looking heartbroken but happy to have Jungkook in his lap.  

- Jungkook is nearly asleep when you take him from Jimin, his hands hovering on your son’s small waist like they don’t want to let go. As you bid each other goodnight you could swear you saw longing and jealousy in his eyes, Namjoon’s too, but also something so sad- so wanting. From the top of the stairs, Hoseok asleep in Yoongi’s arms and Jungkook in yours you see Namjoon wraps his arms around Jimin's shoulders, the shorter fairy turns his face into Namjoon’s to hide his suspiciously glassy eyes.

- Later you’ll ask Yoongi about it, curled up close in your bedroom upstairs, his long fingers stroking delicate lines down your sternum, your hands connecting the dots on his many freckles while you talk the way that lovers do. Words pressed thin between the blanket of sky and wakefulness. Yoongi’s voice a low hush, like music on the salty wind meant just for you.

- You think you could like it here by the ocean if you decided to stay.

- “Hoseok and Jungkook just remind them of what they can’t have,” Yoongi informs you that Namjoon and Jimin have wanted kids for the last century (you splutter at that- because you hadn’t realized that they were quite so old- Jimin especially had more of an air of a youthful sprite than someone older than Yoongi).

- And despite the fact that all fairies’ can bear children, Namjoon and Jimin had failed to have any children of their own, and have all but given up on it. “That’s why you didn’t want to visit- not at first.” Yoongi hums in affirmation, and you feel it in the cheek that you rest on his chest. His arm encircles your back and his hands rub over your spine soothingly. 

- You’d notice- how could you not- how Jimin seemed as much a woman as he was a man. Though you’d heard Namjoon refer to Jimin as “he” enough to be content with using those pronouns, there where other moments, moments when Jimin’s hair seems a little longer, his lips a little redder and plusher, the curve of his jaw softer.

- The fairy seems just as comfortable in a pair of tight flying pants as she is in one of her many long and semi-translucent robes, that Jimin seems to prefer on the days that they don’t have to fly.

- He pops up one morning wearing a full-on dress- gauzy and white- and Jimin’s chest- definitely ampler than it was the day before.  You’re a little perplexed over the change, trying not to let your surprise show until Yoongi leans over to whisper in your ear. “It’s just the magic- she must be feeling more like a girl today.”

-  Neither of your sons mentions anything weird about Jimin- though Hoseok does look at him a little wide-eyed. A question hovering on his tongue, probably the same one that you want to ask- but are too shy too (it’s not even really any of your business to ask in the first place- but your kids are a curious bunch- and you know they’ll probably ask at one point)  

-  Namjoon and Jimin give you a tour of the outside gardens (namjoon- cryptically- says that the greenhouse is best appreciated at night). Hoseok and Jungkook climbing up on one of the rock walls, balancing precariously until yoongi tells them to come down, Hoseok reaching for Jimin to help him, ending up in his arms, he’s a little heftier than Jungkook- but Jimin easily holds his weight as he transfers him from the high wall to the ground. 

- Yoongi does the same with Jungkook, though the younger quite literally just- jumps off the wall into his arms instead of waiting to be carefully transferred like Hoseok- not an ounce of fear or hesitation in his little body.

-“Your hair is pretty,” he says, hands coming up to touch at Jimin's longer curls  Jimin looks surprised, but his red button mouth is nothing but kind as he smiles and thanks your son.  

-  Neither of your sons mentions anything weird about Jimin- though Hoseok does look at him a little wide-eyed. A question hovering on his tongue, probably the same one that you want to ask- but are too shy too (it’s not even really any of your business to ask in the first place- but your kids are a curious bunch- and you know they’ll ask at one point)  

- He finally asks later- once night has fallen and they can finally show you the greenhouse. The room seems to have some sort of magic expanding it beyond its physical bounds because while it’s normal-sized on the outside- on the inside trees grow dense and thicker than seem possible. A mess of pots and plants blocking out the slate floor more often than not With moss growing up between the cracks or pushed up by the roots of trees that seem too tall for the greenhouse. 

- You’d stumble and almost trip over a vine and Yoongi catches you around the waist. “Are any of these poisonous?” you asked, and Namjoon rubs a hand down the back of his neck suddenly looking a little worried. “Maybe like- stay away from anything that looks too vibrantly colored? Wait! Jungkook! That definitely not edible even though it smells like chocolate!”

- At night- the flowers are particularly gorgeous. night-blooming cereus flowers that glow brilliantly in the darkness. Pink Flowers that look like little jellyfish and seem to flutter on their own hang in great swathes from the high ceilings. Bright blue lilies hanging, large enough for Jungkook to stick his head inside of them. 

- Each of them let out a little tinkle of stars, little bright specks of light that glow brilliantly- like little stars. It’s only pollen Namjoon explains when it falls onto Jungkook’s face and makes his dark hair glitter like the night sky.

- Your sons have a good time after that- scooping up the pollen from the floor and shoving it in each other's faces, even Yoongi joins in, rubbing it all up and down Hobi’s face- much to the shrieking giggles that echo off the high glass walls. “Oh no you don’t! Hobi! Hobi” you chide when he giggles, running forwards to press his hand to your dark pants, leaving Hoseok sized glowing handprints on the fabric. 

- Later you and Yoongi get a chance to slip away. Sitting in one of the large isles on one of the stone benches. Yoongi tucking a large flower behind your ear, kissing the little stars of pollen that has gathered on your face. “We haven’t talked about when we’re leaving yet- how long do you want to stay?” he can tell (he always can) when you’re getting a little overwhelmed. And you are- but maybe you’d want to leave more if things weren’t so new- so bright and fantastic. Getting to be apart of this world that you’d never known existed.

- The world that you’d grown up in starts to feel terribly small, Even more so than it had before. You and everyone you’d ever known had only ever thought that there where dragons and humans. Maybe an odd sorcerer or witch and wizard in the world. But this- this world of glowing flowers, of scales and magic, boys with fairy wings- was a lot to take in. And you were still struggling to piece together what this meant for you, and your little family.

- You’d been deep in conversation with Namjoon minutes ago, about which of his plants in his greenhouse could be used to cure various ailments. He’d given you a few- and put out other samples for you to dry. Showing you plants with uses you’d never dreamed of. This one to stop clotting- these small berries to stop pregnancy and it’s roots to help one take. A brightly glowing fern to heal a burn, and another to heal a magical burn. so many different plants you’d never even heard of. 

- Suddenly- you’d been consumed with the realization that you’d kind of stopped being a healer after Jungkook had come into your care. Still- you’d kept most of your skills up to date, tried to make sure you didn’t forget what you’d learned.

- And yet- you kind of missed it. You missed how you’d used to help the people in your old little town. Regardless of the fact that they’d never properly thanked you for it. And though you felt a deep satisfaction over being a parent with Yoongi- and wouldn’t trade that for the world- you missed it still. Missed how you’d been able to look at the human body as a problem with something to fix.

- You’d love to find a way to continue to use your gifts healing- helping others- but you don’t exactly have that many opportunities too- given where you live in the mountains. And your children- which are getting easier to take care of now that they’re getting a little older- but still- they require a great deal of your time. You let the melancholy in your heart slide away as Yoongi thumbs across your jaw, bringing you back to him, sitting in Namjoon and Jimin's greenhouse.  

- “I think- it will be okay to stay for a little while longer? I think the boys enjoy Namjoon and Jimin- and I like them too even if Jimin is a little” Yoongi suck’s his lower lip into his mouth- deciding that whatever had made you look so sad- if you’re not ready to tell him yet- then he’ll let it go. 

- “He’s very different- I know, but I’m glad you like Namjoon and Jimin” “They’re your family Yoongi- of course, I like them” Yoongi leans close, pressing a kiss to each of your knuckles. “But you’re my family too.”

- Despite your initial misgivings about Jimin (really it’s only shyness you swear) you do end up spending a fair bit of time with him that night. Especially when you start quiz Namjoon about the ways he propagates some of his plants.  And he says, “Actually- Jimin knows more about the specific uses- he’s the real grower here after all.”

- You walk with Jimin in the gardens- you children winding this way and that around you- Yoongi and Namjoon trying to wrangle them. Namjoon reluctantly letting them pick whatever flowers they want. Even heaving Jungkook up onto his shoulders at one point so that he can reach a tall bloom, a dimply smile brighter in the half-light of all the glowing flowers.

- When Jungkook has Retrieved his prize he scampers off of Namjoons shoulders dashing away through the underbrush calling, “thanks uncle Namjoon!” making Namjoon choke. Yoongi gives him a withering look, deadpan “you’ve been forcefully adopted.” 

- Behind you- Jimin waves his hand and more pop up, every plant in the greenhouse standing to attention blooms popping open for your children to pick. Yoongi sends him a thankful glance. 

- The longer you walk- the quieter Hoseok gets. You know it’s just him getting sleepy. And as always, when he gets a little more tired he hangs closer to you, holding your hand as you walk side by side with Jimin. He almost trips on Jimin's long silvery grey robes. Sometimes when he gets so tired- he accidentally shifts- and you can tell from the way his little feet are dragging that he’s close to that now.

- More than once in your conversation Hoseok looks up- words almost leaving his mouth before he falls silent. Near the end of the tour of the garden, Jimin catches him- touching him gently on the shoulder.  “I can tell you have a question for me little sprout- go on- you can ask.”

- Hoseok must be feeling a little shy because it takes a moment for him to respond. “Are you a boy- or are you a girl?” it’s just childlike curiosity. But you almost want to stop him. Tell Jimin he doesn’t have to answer. But before you can- Jimin leans down to Hoseok’s level.

- “To tell you the truth, being a girl or a boy doesn’t matter much in our part of the world. What matters is that you’re good to the people who need you and kind to the people that don’t when you meet, do you think you’re kind Seokie?”

- It’s kind of riveting, seeing the way your son tilts his head at the fairy, thinking softly to himself- the flowers around you almost seem to lean in to listen closely.  you too, want to see how he responds. “Well, I always try not to step on flowers when I see them?” he says, eyes flickering to the flower behind Jimin's ear and the many around him. 

- Both of you bark out a laugh, the plants seem to shiver in delight at his words in time with the shaking of Jimin's shoulders. Jimin urges Hoseok on with a hand at his back, “then you must be incredibly kind- go- find your brother. I think its time for both of you to get to bed.” Hoseok’s curls bounce as he runs down the aisle, calling Jungkook’s name. Jungkook does not call back- instead, his voice echoes sing-song- “flower! flower flower flower~” some sort of song he’s made up for himself on the other side of the greenhouse. 

- Jimin straightens, and for the first time- the two of you find yourselves alone together. “Sorry- I didn’t mean to overstep” Jimin looks a little shy. A little worried at being chastised.  You're quick to reassure him- “No it’s fine- please, it was bound to happen. There are so many new things here- even for me, I’m not sure I know how to navigate them, it’s better that he learns now.”

- Jimin laughs, “Is that why you’ve been tiptoeing around me?” you blush, Jimin’s words kind of stinging your chest because- he’s right- you have been a little shyer around him. But that comes more from a fear of being rude than anything else, overstepping some line only because you don't know it’s there.  

- “It’s okay- I know this must be a lot for you- I’m a lot.” “No-no- that’s not it at all! Please don’t think that Jimin” your grab his hands in yours and under his skin- you can almost feel something humming- something that feels an offal lot like magic. He looks down at you sucking on his lip.

- “We’re pretty similar- you and I- aren’t we? Neither of us likes it when someone else is uncomfortable at our expense,” Jimin’s voice is soft like honey, almost shy and he fails to meet the gaze whey you try and catch it. “Maybe” you agree, picking up your pace from where you’d stopped, ducking under a wide leaf that crosses the path. 

- “I’ve known Yoongi for so long- Namjoon and I have always wondered who Yoongi would choose as a mate- what kind of person they’d be- he’s so hard to get to know. But I’m glad he found you. You’re very well matched.”

- He means your shy nature probably, but it’s a compliment. “He’s my mate,” you say softly. You happen upon a wider stretch of stones, the little clearing that you where you came in before. On one side you can see your family- all of their heads pressed close over a flower- a massive red bloom- little fish swirling around in the pool collected in its stamen. 

- Jimin nudges your shoulder- his smile turning devilish, “Probably can’t say you’re mad about that- what is it about dragons that’s so big-“ you choke on your spit, suddenly looking at him wide-eyed, Jimin gives you a few hearty thumps on the back waiting for you to get your breath- cringing internally.

- “I’m sorry I’m so crass, talking about sex is normal in my culture” You swallow thickly, “that seems a little…understandable considering?”

- “Considering what?” “Well…” you gesture to all of him, Jimin grins showing his sharper than seem safe teeth. The fairy leans in, his charming face swallowed with mirth- you feel his words as if they where whispered in your head, it must be the magic you tell yourself. Jimin laughs at your flustered expression.

- “Are you asking me which one I’ve got? a pussy or a cock?” you try to ignore the blush that sparks on your cheeks when you nod, their pale wings fluttering behind him in the inviting spring breeze, “god you’re fun to tease” you slap Jimin's arm good-naturedly and they lean into the touch, eyes disappearing when they smile. 

- Namjoon must sense his mate, because he turns and gives Jimin a happy little smile, his eyes disappearing, dimples flashing. In his hair, Namjoon’s horns turn a little pink. The look in Jimin’s eyes as he gazes at his mate is almost feral, “I can have whichever one I want.”

- The six of you retire to your separate rooms, not before Jimin pulls you close- “just so you know- all of the rooms in this house have a soundproofing spell attached to them” Yoongi hears- so does Namjoon- and he has the good nature to cuff his mate over the back of the head and drag him away with a panicked ‘good night’ before he can be any more suggestive.

- That night you do end up taking advantage of the supposed soundproofing spell. Once you tell Yoongi he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, nearly ripping your dress in an effort to get it off of you. You’d fooled around last night but Yoongi doesn’t often get the chance to knot you given on account of how vocal that makes you and how long it takes to go down

- You do have to admit- you tend to go at it like rabbits whenever you have the chance, as privacy is hard to come by with your children around you nearly always. Especially in your mountain home when you all sleep in the same space. 

- You end the night with your legs thrown over Yoongi’s thighs, sitting sideways in his lap. You’re back against the bed. Yoongi’s knot tugging at your entrance, unable to keep your breathing steady with how he’s stretching you. You always forget how overwhelming it feels to have him so close, so fully and completely inside of you so that barely any thoughts remain. Yoongi props himself up on an elbow so he can watch you and run his fingers gently up and down your sternum.

- He leans in close and kisses you through your breathlessness, his tongue tracing along every inch of your mouth, drinking down your gasps, the way you say his name again and again- your walls quivering around him. A nearly feral growl building in his chest, leaning in to lick at the over-stimulated tears that start to bud as you let out little sobs at the pleasure still rippling through you with every pulse and lash of thick heat.

- His hands smoothing up and down your quivering thighs, jerking when he decides to tease you further and slide his hand slowly up and down your core. Stopping when you start to jerk, only to start up again when you calm down a little. A satisfying feeling filling him at how wrecked he can make you- at how well he can please his mate.

- His knot deflating isn’t an instantaneous process, but once it gets a little smaller he lazily grinds his hips closer. Letting it tug and rub against your walls in a slow push and pull making you gasp louder. Usually, you’d be biting the pillow to keep your noises down, but now you don’t have too. 

- His words are almost a growl. “More?” you grab at him- pulling him back in for another kiss. You drop your face to his throat as he starts up again. It’s wet and messy and slick- and you’re going to have to apologize to the servants tomorrow for the ruined bed sheets but- you can’t help it.

-  He’s insatiable, hands hungry over your stomach, he always gets a little laconic when he’s like this- a little closer to his more dragon headspace, hands possessive when he clutches over your stomach. Probably intent on fucking you full until it’s a little tighter than usual, a little swollen, the drive to breed you full a primal instinct.

- He kisses you again- a loud- feral growl rippling out as you kiss him back, messy and sloppy but he loves it. Needless to say- you’re glad that Jimin told you about the sound canceling charm by the end of the night. Even if your legs feel like jelly until noon the next day. 

- You hand the sheets over when their housekeeper comes by to your room. trying to hide your blush. She’s understanding, mutters to you “you should see mistress Jimin’s sheets” Yoongi can’t help but laugh behind you. 

- You’re happy to stay mostly at the manor house where it’s quieter. Content to spend a few days relaxing with your sons, joined mostly by Yoongi and Jimin and by Namjoon in the afternoons after his council duties have finished. But you are curious to see more of the city, if not for your own curiosity then for your children's. 

- Hoseok is anxious about the possibility of school- and so are you. It will be good to see it before he actually attends. You decide to take a day trip into the city to see the school and one of the markets.

- The school is on the edge of the city on account of how much space it requires for flying lessons, rolling hills surrounded by high walls made of a sandy-colored stone. Namjoon arranges with the headmaster for the four of you to see a tour. 

- The students are of every kind, color, and age group. clad in the school's simple uniform: a white robe with sleeves that only go to the elbow,  and grey pants. the school's emblem, a firey leaf emblazoned over each of their chests. It will be a few more months until Hoseok needs them so you decide to forgo purchasing them yet, he’s still growing so much, they probably wouldn’t fit him by the time he starts. 

- “This place is still the same,” Yoongi says as you watch a flying lesson between a small feathered dragon and a larger less birdlike instructor. Hoseok watches curious, you too- had never known there where dragons with beaks. “You went here?” you ask, and Yoongi nods, “it was more a military school back then.” The wind shifts, casting your scent in the direction of the students. At the smell of a human on the air, all of them turn and look in your direction- regardless of how their instructors shout at them to stay concentrated. 

- “Can we go to the market now?” Hoseok asks, smelling you discomfort and looking up at you with a panicked glance. “Please?” 

- The canals that run through the city are populated with sea serpents and small boats from the few traders that are allowed in. Wide mountains shroud the city from any attack by land. its walkways are crowded with dragons, most of them walking in human form but here and there, thick legs and wings scramble over the cobblestones.

- You see more than a few children as well, smaller dragons mostly preferring to be in their shifted forms who send Hoseok curious looks. Bumping him in the chest with their snouts and cocking their heads at him- like an invitation to play, only to hiss and scramble back to their parents when Jungkook comes near.

- You’re careful to hold his hand to keep him from running off, even when he pouts looking close to tears at being hissed at. “It’s okay Kookie! I’ll play with you when we get back to uncle Joonie’s house” Hoseok looks up at you for approval and you smile down at him, running your fingers through his hair in thanks.

- There are a few humans that live in the city- usually apart of one dragon’s hoard or even in rare cases, mated to a dragon-like you are to Yoongi. But they’re few and far between. You see a few of them, men and women who walk dripping in pearls or diamonds and carefully kept close by whatever dragon they’ve sworn themselves too.

- “Keeping humans against their will isn’t allowed don’t worry” Yoongi notes when you look at one young human who actually has a collar of sapphires around their delicate throat.  The humans themselves smile and greet you and Jungkook, eyes lighting up to see another human, and the other dragons- just stare.

- Yoongi takes you to the market and the three of you ogle over the wears and fine silk clothes burnished to look like gold, thin gauzes that shimmer one color in the light- only to turn opaque when you bring it into the shadow. Your sons make a game out of bringing you fabric scraps that you might like- while a salesman talks to Yoongi about tailoring prices and ready-made gowns that would fit you. Yoongi grumbles and internally bemoans the loss of the quiet in his mountain den. Yoongi is defiantly not a city person.

- You do need new clothes though- and the staff here is far better made than the rough mountain clothing you’ve come to favor over the last few years- it’s nice to get a few more things- pretty things. Yoongi lightens up substantially when you try on a soft blue dress patterned with crises crosses of dark blue embroidery, a thick soft skirt, a shirt that hangs on your frame well- in a way that makes Yoongi want to growl and hide you from any prying eyes.

- It makes him happy too- to see the way you twirl and appreciate the fine fabric. Yoongi has always been a provider, and if the simple blue dress that you choose makes you smile- then that’s a price he will gladly pay. He smiles when you look up at him, “are you sure?” his hand on your waist reassuring, “you’re forgetting I get to see you in these- they’re basically a present for myself.”

- It’s at the market that a salesman who has bright golden scales dotting his face eyes Jungkook the same way that any dragon would eye a piece of his hoard. And Yoongi’s attention is immediately diverted from you. He feels the prickle at the back of his neck before he turns, he’s is careful to step close when the stranger talks to his sons even as Jungkook- always overly friendly, introduces Hoseok as his brother.

- Yoongi feels his heart warms at that, but keeps a steely gaze with the other dragon until he shrinks away from Yoongi’s intimidating gaze, disappearing back into the crowd. Yoongi can’t wait to leave the dragon city after that.

- Summer is edging into fall- and by winter- Hoseok will attend daily classes. Yoongi agrees to part with some of his hoard of jewels to buy some sort of residence, there’s no way that you’d ever let Hoseok live in the city alone, or even stay in the dorms at the school. 

- But because of that, you’ll need to linger longer than you’ve planned. Your cave is almost a weeks flight away from the dragon city- and when it comes to procuring a residence, its easier to do a short tour here and there and try to find something while you're close to the city rather than try to make the trip back to your secluded cave in the mountains.

- Yoongi assures you that it’s not uncommon for the dragons that live in the countryside to send their children to school only during the winter session so Hoseok won’t feel too out of his element or like an outsider. And honestly- you’ll be glad to get out of the mountains during the worst part of the winter, escaping to the more mild countryside where it rarely even snows- nothing compared to the deluge that you’ve grown used to.

- Namjoon and Jimin understand entirely and are only too happy to have you linger. Both of them have grown a little attached to your boys, and your boys attached to them in kind. Many an afternoon will Namjoon come back from the council only to immediately be happened upon by Jungkook- hurling himself into Namjoon’s arms and Hobi- nibbling at his robes and tugging him away to the Ocean. 

- And Of course on the days when you have a new possible residence to tour- Hoseok and Jungkook are eager to explore their new possible home. Giving you their rating on how much they like it or don’t. “I don’t like the rooms in this one- they’re too stuffy” “But come on Hobi that one has a stream! You can’t say you don’t like the idea of that?” 

- The first few homes you tour are either too close to the city- or too far away, or on the other side of the city from namjoon and Jimin- and you can tell Yoongi likes the idea of seeing his friends more often. But eventually, you find it, a manor house that is actually more of a castle in an old section of forest. It’s in-between one of the first small towns in the countryside and the city. Barely an hour’s flight from the city and a half hour’s flight from Namjoon and Jimin’s home by the sea.

- Here the ginkgo trees are thick and yellow- a forest of gold spotted with weeping red maples that grow taller and thicker than any you’ve seen. Citrine and carmine leaves dotting the forest floor, impossibly bright. It’s the fifth home you’d seen, and the only thing you’d really disliked about the last place is how close you were to your neighbors.

- You know the second you see it it’s the one- it’s roof tiled in blue-green slate- windows tall and narrow with shutters to keep out the snow and wind. It’s so large- it’s nearly a small castle but that wasn’t a surprise; houses here needed to be larger on account of there more often than not- large and scaly residents. you hadn’t been surprised to find out that most residences here are built to be that large because of how much larger dragons tend to be.

- It’s old too, the single spire caved in a little and decrepit, vacant for about a year. once a secluded private residence of some wealthy merchant who lived in the city abandoned after a storm had damaged the spire. Dust hangs thick over every surface, but the furniture comes with it. Including a generous four-poster bed and balcony on the second floor that you and Yoongi claim as your room.  Happy that you can finally close the door and have privacy between the two of you- something you’d lacked in your other home. 

- there’s a small library as well, that Jungkook wants to tear through the second he sees it. Yoongi shows you the cavern below as well, accessed through the slightly hidden stairwell and an iron door with a formidable lock. its ceilings aren’t rough to warn- but High vaulted, it’s green-tiled floor slippery. It’s a hoard chamber, which yoongi tells you is the staple in many a dragon home. it’s the only room in the house that must have been cleared when its previous owner left. typical.

- But it might impress you a little bit your world view shifting a little. Of course- you’d seen Yoongi’s hoard- knew the size of it- had let him show you it long ago- back when your love was new and blooming, his face blushing and shy when you’d complimented it. But this was putting it in perspective- this room could fit barely a tenth of the treasure hidden in your mountain home. 

- There is also a wide dance hall next to the kitchen, a balcony ringing it, skylights glittering above, one cracked in but easily fixable. It’s large- but barely large enough for Yoongi to shift in as long as he’s careful. it turns into a second bedroom of sorts, only used when Yoongi feels like he needs to sleep in his dragon form (it takes a fair amount of energy for him to stay in his human form all the time- and it’s much more restful).

- Hoseok and Jungkook have separate rooms on the other side of the manor, though you know that they don’t prefer to sleep separated from each other, you went into Jungkook’s room one morning and found it piled with pillows and blankets too- and both of your sons piled in the Centre of it. Forgoing the bed entirely.

- You sleep in your bed often, but still some nights, Hoseok will come trotting into your room in dragon form around bedtime, unable yet to sleep in his human form the way Yoongi does. Jungkook following sleepily behind holding the pillows from their beds in his hands. 

- And regardless of the fact that it’s after their bedtime, the four of you will together every single couch cushion and throw pillow in the house, making a game over who can get the most the quickest. You pile it into the dance hall so that Yoongi can shift- and you sleep like dragons do, all soft and heaped together, surrounded by Yoongi and his warmth. 

- It’s those mornings that Yoongi wakes feeling the most fulfilled, the happiest he’s ever felt. All of you safe here between his clawed arms. Your hands reaching up to sleepily scratch his scaled cheek. His head close to your resting form. Resisting the urge to lick out and groom you and Jungkook the way that Hoseok barely tolerates (dragon slobber is still gross- even if it is affectionate in its nature) 

-  It’s the safest place for your little family to live, in this part of the world where dragons are common and mixed settlements dot the old woods, and Yoongi tells you that werewolves aren’t that uncommon in this part of the country.

- “Werewolves???” You ask scathed, because honestly- the things your mate doesn’t tell you exists in the world- it astounds you sometimes. “They’re harmless really- unless you’re small and like- a dear or something?” “Do they ever attack or are they violent?” you’re worried, “no-no- they’re more like the ‘lets farm this land and live with the land’ type of people.”

- The rough dragon folk in the nearby town are different and smaller than their jewel-toned and massive counterparts that inhabit the city and other niches of the world. No- the dragons that live around your home are scaled in every shade of green, some more yellow. Their scales changing with the color of the season and the color of the leaves- not true chameleons- but they might as well be. In their human form, most of them have claws instead of hands. Most of them live in houses like your own, or underground hovels, or tree houses that dot the largest of trees they don't seem picky. 

- Your neighbors, dragon and otherwise, aren’t all that perplexed or hostile towards your family like you’d initially been worried about. Mostly just curious and a little bit afraid or they pretend like you’re not there. You meet the werewolf pack that lives on the other side of the woods from you- easily your closest neighbors. They’re a rough folk, but the matriarch is kind to you- saying if anything ever happens to just howl and she’ll hear.

- You don’t know if you’ll ever need to do that- but it’s the thought that counts you suppose.

- You decide to spend a month there before Hoseok starts school (something he is definitely not excited about) to really adjust and get the place cleaned up a bit. With the extra month added to your time, you’ll spend a total of 4 months there, avoiding the worst of the winter at your mountain home. The manor house has more than a few repairs, the leaky south corner of the roof that Yoongi repairs- but not without nearly breaking one of his fingers with a hammer.

- You spend the evening letting him pout and act like a big baby, and he’d never admitted it or do it around the others- or even Hoseok and Jungkook who have finally gotten to the age where any affection between you two is decidedly gross, but it’s nice when he gives you a little pout and you tease, “Want me to kiss it better?” no matter if your children groan and hiss saying “don’t be gross mom” 

- He waits until later to pin you against the low table in the kitchen, both of your sons already put to bed. “I’ve got something else that hurts” you raise your eyebrows before you pull him close by the collar of his shirt, pressing your lips to his slow, deepening after a moment, “better?” you ask when you pull away breathless. “Nearly- might need you to try again.”

- There are more than a few empty corners in your house, a quiet secluded room where you and Yoongi retreat to, giggling like school children, the wide fireplace in the sitting room with the comfortable Fur rug that feels soft against your bare skin, your bedroom with its balcony, the butcher block table in the kitchen than Yoongi pins you to, getting to his knees to pleasure you like you’re his last meal, anything will do.

- You might ask a favor of Jimin- and have him come to your home to put a few of those noise-canceling spells on your place- just for good measure. Though your sons are busy often enough exploring the woods it’s still nice to not be worried about being overheard. They know not to go too far, and it’s safe here, for both of them. 

- As the month continues before Hoseok goes to school there are many repairs that need to be made on your house, little things here and there- Yoongi makes the trip to gather a portion of his hoard to fill the cavern below the house- nothing compared to his hall of jewels back home but still- it’s something. But there is also the matter of the tower and its spire- which leaks into the kitchen area. You have half a mind to turn it into something of a study for you- if you ever had time to work on it when it came to the upkeep of the house.

-  You keep it as clean as you can but it’s so large Jungkook and Hoseok help but they’re more interested in playing “knights and dragons” than in cleaning no matter how Yoongi might growl at them. He helps too- does as much as you if not more with how he’s constantly flying here and there, to pick up Hoseok’s books, and his new school uniform, and food for all of you.

- Eventually, the cleaning and upkeep needed to get the house in working order are too much for you. You and Yoongi talk and eventually you agree to hire one of your neighbors, a young werewolf girl (who should be in school) to stop by a few days a week and clean the house. The aforementioned werewolves aren’t nearly as hostile or as concerning as your worst anxieties have made them out to be you’re extraordinarily glad to have the help as Hoseok finally starts school.

- You lament the ease of which you used to clean your old tiny cabin. Though the amenities here are far more comfortable- trust the dragons to figure out an efficient system for Heating water. they also have really nice pillows, but you have a feeling that might be a nesting thing. 

-The aforementioned werewolves aren’t nearly as hostile or as concerning as your worst anxieties have made them out to be you’re extraordinarily glad to have the help as Hoseok finally starts school.

- Hoseok’s first day of school looks something like this- the new white robes bunched at his arms and his legs, the new pouch over his side where you’d packed his lunch, the red sigil of the school standing smart over his heart. You’d gotten him ready for school, combing his hair and making sure he had enough lunch.

- He’d been unwilling to part The black scarf that you’d gotten him to match Jungkook’s red one. You fuss with it, turning to Yoongi “You sure his teachers won’t have a problem with it?” yoongi shakes his head. “They were stricter when I was there, the worst they’ll do is make him put it with his things.” 

- Hoseok looks worried and anxious and like he might be sick. He holds on tight around your waist when the four of you fly to the dragon city. You’re not the only ones who look like they’re making the trip- other families are traveling to the city at this early hour too. children tagging along on their parent's backs, or flying behind them, their small bodies dipping and jumping with the force of each flap. 

- Jungkook is so sleepy but excited as you wave with him and watch Hoseok go through the gates hand in hand with Yoongi- whose only going in to make sure Hoseok gets to the right room. You and Jungkook waiting out front as Yoongi goes in and gets him situated. A few dragons give you weird looks- but most of them are too sleepy to be curious. 

- You basically have to hold Jungkook back from wanting to follow. And the farther away he gets, the more Jungkook’s smile falls until he’s unusually quiet. “You okay Koo?” you ask, and he nods, his curls bobbing, hand rubbing at his eye. “I’m hungry- can we get some breakfast before we fly back?” Jungkook is unusually quiet the whole morning and by midday, you're starting to get worried. 

- He gets better the second you return to pick Hoseok back up from school his face lighting up when you spot a redhead in the schoolyard, both of them running forward to collide with him, holding closely around his waist, and tucking his face close under his shoulder. Hoseok too- scent marks rapidly along Jungkook’s shoulder. Obviously having missed him too. 

- He looks much less anxious than he did before, even waving goodbye to one girl with bright blue wings and a boy whose tongue flicks out, split down the middle. Hoseok crashes into your legs scent marking you before he can even speak. Jungkook behind him still hanging on. Unwilling to let him go again now that he’s back. “Did you have a good first day of school? I want to hear all about it Hobi!”

- “It wasn’t as bad as I thought- but I missed you guys the whole day” Jungkook looks almost pouty, “good” later that night you treat both of them to sweet rolls (you may have shown up a little early to go to a food market before picking Hoseok up from school- for a special treat) you and Yoongi overhear them playing in front of the fire.  “I was lonely the whole day Hobi- You’re going to find better friends and leave me” “Of course I won’t Kookie- you’re my family”  

- It’s a good thing that every 6th-day Hoseok has a day off from school- It’s your savior actually- on those days that Hoseok and Jungkook can explore the surrounding area of your new home as much as they want to. It lets Jungkook get his zoomies out, his need for adventure contained into one day as Hoseok is often too tired for much when he gets home from school. 

- He does have enough energy usually to show Jungkook what he learned. gathering in the field in front of your house, you and yoongi watching from the stone steps. He’s learned how to glide better recently- the way his wing sits into the wind different than before. It has Yoongi smiling showing his gums excitedly- apparently, Hoseok is only a few weeks away from learning true flight. 

- The day he does finally fly- the four of you meet up with Jimin and Namjoon- who have heard the good news from Hoseok’s teacher. Their gift is opulent, you try to refuse- tell them its too much, but Namjoon just touches your arm “please- it’s the uncle's job to spoil their nephews.”  

- They take the four of you out for a well-known sweets house on the fancier side of the city. The kind that the fancy lords and ladies take their children too for mid-morning tea. You borrow one of Jimin’s fancier dresses for the occasion a gauzy thing that's a little too risque for your tastes- but is in style. 

- Jimin has to fight with you to get you to wear it “I swear if you don’t start acting as pretty as you are I’m going to take it for myself” you'd jolted, looking at her face through the mirror, “can you really do that?” you know Jimin is powerful, can use magic in a way that only sorcerers can, but even that seems a little excessive. She puts her hands on her hips, “are you sure you want to find out the answer to that question?” 

- But in the end, you’re glad you did. Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of you the whole night. You get more than a few stares at the establishment- though more due to the nature of your mixed party. It’s not often they serve a fairy, a well-known war hero, and two humans. but they never let their shock show- especially in front of a councilman. 

- The staff is nice enough- They bring Jimin a Stool so that his wings won’t get crushed against the back of the chair, his dress low and backless. You’d tried to convince your boys to both go without their mismatching scarves- but they’d been insistent, even if the edge of Jungkook’s is getting a little ragged with age. 

- Both of them gorge themselves on sweets and savory cakes the whole evening. Jungkook is almost unmovable by the end of the evening, both their cheeks sticky- how the hell Hoseok got syrup in his hair- you have no idea. if being messy was a field you could be accomplished in- your sons would already be experts. 

- but as the school year continues, and Jungkook gets used to Hoseok being gone all day he becomes forlorn. Following Yoongi around or following you around and helping as he can with you trying to get the house together. You and Yoongi are still trying to get the tower in working order. Jimin is coming by later- to help install some windows and the glass pains already sit out in front of your house.

-  Without his companion- Jungkook just doesn’t know what to do with him. Sitting and pouting no matter what you try to do. “I want to go to dragon school too” “there is a school in town you could go to if you wanted to” “No! I want to go to Hobi’s school!”

- “Jungkook” Yoongi cautions and it’s not like he exactly rules them with an iron fist but you do have one rule: listen to your mother. And Jungkook isn’t doing a good job of that right now. He ends up huffing and walking away- disappearing to who knows where. 

- Later he comes back and apologizes to you for raising his voice. And it’s quite well thought out an apology for an 8-year-old you do have to admit. He brings you a clutch of dandelions he must have picked from somewhere nearby. Later you catch Yoongi congratulating him and you think maybe he’d had a talk with him.

- Dandelions- it reminds both you and Yoongi of the first time you ever saw each other- or at least- the first time you met face to face. Jungkook- a baby, sat in a wildflower field with you- so many years ago now. You keep the dandelions by your bedside the same vase stuffed through with red feathers from Hoseok’s molting. He likes to keep them to give them to you- the longer ones that are almost the length of your forearm.

- Yoongi putting one behind his ear to make you laugh. Though he still leaves to raid every now and then- he spends as much time as he can at home. Sometimes- he gets called upon by Namjoon- and leaves with Hoseok in the morning only to return with your son later in the day. Honestly- Yoongi would tell the council to fuck off if it wasn’t Namjoon asking. But wherever he goes- he sees dandelions and thinks of home.

- You don’t mind much- even if you, like Jungkook- get lonely. You repair your house with some sort of zeal- painting the room’s different colors, fixing things here and there. It’s been a while since you really had a place to make your own. You flourish a little excitedly setting your house in order. 

- But then Yoongi comes upon your old medical things in the belly of the spire one morning, turning over the few old medical texts and the herbs that Namjoon had set you up with. Here there are a few dried herbs, from namjoon’s garden and from the woods- well-known ones that even he recognizes. 

- he hovers on that disconcerting feeling again, the same one he’d had in Namjoon’s greenhouse more than two months ago. but before he can ask- you slide away again asking him something else- and he can’t bring it in himself to bring it up. And before anything can really get better or get worse- Hoseok’s school year-ends. And so does the extraordinarily mild winter. And the four of you head back to your mountain home and whatever unhappiness you feel seems to dissipate once you have both of them to look after all the time again. 

- It’s probably fate that he’s in town that morning, it’s only been two weeks since you got back into town for the next winter session. Hoseok is a little more interested in it this time around, growing less shy as a 12-year-old. A little excited to see the few friends he made last year- and get reacquainted with his flying teacher. Jungkook, by comparison, is even more twitchy and restless this year. Now 9 years old (neither of you can quite believe it).

-  It’s a small errand- but he’s honestly just picking up some bread for dinner from the baker when he hears the shout. And sees the crowd of people hovering around a young werewolf behind a wagon, His arm to the side, bent at a weird angle, the bone popped through the skin. 

- The mother spots Yoongi- and internally he cringes. He knows you’d created something of a buzz when you moved into the manor house- and the people here know he was a commander at one point and used to serve the people. Her hand is clawed and furry when she places it on his arm “can you take him to the city? We don’t have a healer here-”

- “No, but my mate used to be a healer- she can help him, come with me” everyone knows who you are- that you’re his human. Though there are a few mutterings about that. Yoongi ignores them and so does the mother- desperate to help her pup who hasn’t stopped howling in pain the whole time. his cries echoing loudly probably making the hair of every wolf in a mile radius stand up on end. 

- Two of the wolves’ older brothers heave the little one up between the two of them- and he howls out in pain the ears on top of his head flicking in pain when they move his arm. The mother and what feels like half the town follows Yoongi down the trail- a half-mile from your home. 

-  you’re just clearing out some of the old books in the library Hoseok and Jungkook helping you. All of you are covered in dust- a silk blue handkerchief tied over your mouth.  “Uhm- mom?” Jungkook tugs at your sleeve, looking out the winds to where you can see the crowd of people, worried for a moment before you see Yoongi at the front. 

- The three of you rush to meet them out ion the front steps. Yoongi hops up the steps two at a time he puts a hand on your arm. “There was an accident in town- I thought you might be able too-“ the wolf boy behind you lets out a howl and you turn- the change is almost instant, your attention diverted from Yoongi to the patient that needs your care. 

- The way that Yoongi see’s your brain starts moving, working as you come close, tugging up the covering over your mouth and behind your ears to keep back your hair. The mother launches into what happened- and also bursts into tears. “This way- the dining room table should be wide enough.” The rest of the town seems to hover outside as you and the family head inside. Hoseok shifts and curls up around Jungkook in the hallways outside, Yoongi trying to field some of the questions of the town as best he can without losing control of his temper. 

- “How long was she a healer- can she really be trusted?” Yoongi lets out a growl at that one- “she healed Hobi’s wing!” Jungkook pipes up. Hoseok gives a little flutter- flapping them to show that they’re alright. One of the younger shifted wolf pups comes close, so much smaller than Hoseok- the dragon back-peddling wildly. Jungkook curious- upset that the wolf pup isn’t as curious about him as he is about the dragon.

- The town has dispersed within the hour, and Yoongi manages to keep Jungkook and Hoseok away from the kitchen for long enough. A muted scream punctuated by some sobbing. You must have managed to crack his arm back then. When they finally leave it's with the youth still held by his older brother. This time in a piggyback. His arm back into place and braced with two of the wooden spoons from your kitchen. The mother thanking you profusely, again and again, clutching your hands.

- When they finally leave you to hover by the door watching them go winding the silk scarf over your hands, again and again, your hair spilling out unbound. “darling?” Yoongi asks. You turn to him, lower lip quivering before you lean forward, taking his face in either of your hands pressing kiss after kiss to his cheeks to his brow, peppering his face with countless kisses, Yoongi can’t help but smile.

- “How do you always know what I need? What I want? I didn’t want to say but-” yoongi understands, understood the second he saw the injured pup. the thing that you’d been sad over was this. “I know honey- I’m sorry it took me so long to realize what you were missing.” 

-“You mean-“ you break off, looking down as Yoongi cups your cheeks, “you don’t mind?” he presses his forehead against yours, making sure you look at him, see every inch of his eyes and the truth held there, “Darling listen to me: I promise I won’t ever mind something that makes you happy.” 

- He smiles and pulls you against him around your waist, tugging on the loose ends of your hair. Your kisses taste of smiles and of a giddy kind of joy he hasn’t seen in you in a long time. Who knew all you needed were a few broken bones to make you happier.

- You forgot how much you loved this- helping people. 

- You’re happy- how could you not be? Especially when more and more of the town start coming to you with injuries of their own accord, not willing to make the flight into the city- or in other cases unable too. It’s the exact opposite of how it was in your old village. 

- you make it clear that you won’t take their payment for your services (Yoongi takes care of you so well you want for very little). But they’re insistent and always come back the next day or later.  bringing the freshest of food or a bushel of fresh peaches in thanks. The orchards around here are plentiful- even in the winter- there are always sweet things here and there. 

- When you go into town, fewer people stare, fewer people shoot you uncomfortable looks, and more greet you by name. Older dragons with holes in their wings coming out of their houses to see if you have any more of that ache relieving cream- a little dragon girl holding up her finger to you saying “I got a booboo” you giggle- her mother ushering her away and apologizing for taking up your ‘invaluable’ time. 

- But really you don’t- it’s been a while since Jungkook was that small- you miss it. The other children, both dragon and wolf alike run up to you when you’re in town- usually- they’d retreat if Jungkook was there. But now they call his name too- asking if he’d like to play in the square while you tend to your errands. 

- There are a few here still, that lock your doors when you come into town. that hold their children close when you and Jungkook walk by. Yoongi assures you that anti-human sentiment isn’t strong enough here as it is the closer you get to the south. But still- the wounds of war linger in every lingering look. 

- Suddenly the stakes have changed, now- It’s harder to leave, not that you don’t still want to go back to your mountain home. But with a new town to take care of- people depending on you to be there for them. It’s hard to constrain your stay to only the time when Hobi has school. 

- And Yoongi might dislike the countryside a little more than he does the mountains, but at the end of the day- if it keeps a smile on your face- then it’s nothing he won’t absolutely inflict upon himself- with gusto- as many months out of the year as long as it keeps you happy. 

- You decide to split the year. You spend the milder- and less balmy fall and winter months at your manor house, and the spring and summer months in the mountains. Jungkook is glad to spend a little more time in the village where things are a little more entertaining and interesting to explore- even if that does mean surrendering his favorite person half of the time. 

- You get to see namjoon and Jimin more often too- something your son’s love. they love spending sleepovers at Namjoon and Jimin's house- after evenings where it’s gotten too late to fly home. it’s sweet- the first time namjoon hovers near you awkwardly. both of your sons have already done the peculiar forehead touch- symbolic of dragon familial ties.

- One moment you’re just talking and the next, namjoon ducks quickly to press his forehead against your shoulder, chickening out at the last moment. “You’re so awkward joonie” Jimin chides, both him and yoongi laughing at Namjoon’s bright red horns. but you don’t mind at all- you’re glad that Namjoon and Jimin see you as a family- and feel comfortable enough to accept you into their little cadre. 

-  Hoseok suffers through more schooling with Jungkook in mind, the younger always picking his brain whenever he comes home. And really he doesn’t mind it much. He likes the city even, likes the little freedom that he has when his teacher cuts him some slack during lunch and he can go get a sweet pork bun from the stall outside his school, eat it on the parapet looking over the training grounds. 

- The other dragons there have always been a little wary of him- he always smells a little bit too much like a human. But there isn’t much opportunity for free time and making friends with the other students, he isn’t good at it- too quiet and shy to make any close friends. 

- It hurts him a little- that he dosent fit in, something about him that just isn’t dragon enough for his classmates. But Hoseok has people he wants to be with at home- who understand him- where he doesn’t feel strange and like he’s caught in the middle. 

- besides, all of the dragons here his own age never seem to like Jungkook much when they meet him when Jungkook finds Hoseok in the crowd hissing at him and growling. Hoseok has decided long ago- that anyone who dislikes Jungkook on the basis that he’s human isn’t someone Hoseok wants to be friends with. 

- It gets worse when they approach the more historical part of their schooling. their teacher announces they’ll have a history lesson on the human dragon war. And Hoseok wants to sink so far down in his seat when his teacher starts talking about the humans. The humans that live on the other side of the wall- bloodthirsty and hungry for food. Who doesn’t know enough about their land to take care of it- who depletes the soil and then search for more land to ruin- selfishly destroying the earth. 

- He wants to stand up to defend you and Jungkook- you’re definitely not selfish, definitely not untrustworthy like his teacher is saying. He tries to speak up at one point- face as red as his hair, but one of the older students in his section- turns around and growls at him. Later- he volunteers the information that his grandfather died in the last war, and Hoseok understands- he must not like the fact that Hoseok smells like a human. Has obviously been scent marking one in the last 24 hours.

- The discomfort- the feeling like he’s an outsider- creeps up on him, Hoseok feels uncomfortable and unwelcome and like he wants to leave but can’t bring himself too. 

- A little bit of a Reprieve comes from he next section they cover, a list of important generals during the war- Yoongi’s name at the very top of the page in the textbook, a small blurb on his accomplishments. his teacher reads it off “There are very few of the Tahsuya breed left in the world as a result of the war- known for their dark scales and their massive size, this kind of dragon is the reason why dragon kind was able to win against old king henry and his army of enchanted warriors.” 

- Hoseok sees the picture on the page, the wings that seem to blackout the sky, human warriors with all-black eyes raising their shields against the fire- running screaming. He raises his hand, then takes it back. The teacher catches it though- and Hoseok will not remain unscathed.  

- “I thought you would know all about the war Hoseok, seeing as General Min is your guardian” every single student in the room turns to start at Hoseok- and all he wants to do is sink into the floor. Suddenly everyone’s asking him questions- “is he really that big?” “Is it true he ate the last king?” 

- “Why do you always smell like a human if your father killed so many of them?” Hoseok is overwhelmed. Wants to turn away and run, because he doesn’t know- doesn’t understand where all of this hatred comes from. A few of his classmates are sniffing the air in disgust. 

- Hoseok himself is soul bonded to a human and they’re nothing like everyone is saying- when he thinks about anyone eating you and Jungkook it just makes him feel like he wants to hide and hold you close forever- not joy like one of his classmates is saying- how good it must have felt to defeat the armies. To kill. 

-  Hoseok feels like he’s going to be sick- the only thing he manages to say, “he’s not my fathe-“ but he can’t even manage to say that- because it’s not really true. He might not call you and Yoongi mom and dad yet- but- you’ve looked after him for 7 years at this point. You have protected him and held him through his nightmares, took care of him after his first parents died. And though He never wants to forget his mama omega and alpha dad, but…

-  But You and Yoongi- if anything like that happened to either of you- Hoseok doesn’t know what he would do. It would feel the same as losing his first parents. Only he wouldn’t have you both to hold him through it- to make sure his pains were eased, that he was cared for when he needed it the most. His classmates don’t know what they’re talking about, they don’t understand. 

- He doesn't want to forget his parents, but he’d already made the mistake of not appreciating what he had before it was gone. (If you were able to hear his thoughts- you’d tell him to cut himself a break- he was only six after all)  

- When Hoseok was younger- his mother and his older sister would groom him, their tongue dragging through his feathers. And now you do the same- albeit in a different way, any night that Hoseok asks- you’ll smile and pat your lap and brush him through, no matter how big he gets- no matter that he’s not a fledgling anymore. 

- Whenever he craves comfort you give it to him. It feels the same when it thinks of his mother, and when he thinks of you- it’s the same.  Hoseok shoots up, his chair falling back, stumbling as he rushes out of the room- only stopping to take his scarf from the hook. Furious tears budding at his eyes as he runs despite the fact that he can hear his teacher shouting after him. 

- It’s uncle Namjoon that finds him- having been called to the school for some reason or another- he’d probably found out from one of his teachers that Hoseok had been AWOL. It’s not every day that someone on the dragon council takes a special interest in a student. (Namjoon may have gone to the teacher personally and asked to be updated at the beginning of the school year- but really- it’s only the concern of an uncle and not of the council that drives him to do this). 

- Namjoon finds him sitting on one of the towers, the door opening behind him. “I figured you would have found the tallest place,” he says as he comes over to sit by Hoseok, his blue councilman’s robes rustling in the wind. Hoseok keeps his scarf tight and up around his nose, the sent of his family slowly soothing him and his panic. 

- “Did Yoongi really do all of the things in my teacher said he did? Is that why everyone knows his name?” he asks, has to struggle not to call him dad. “He did, but you have to understand Hobi- the king back then was the one who killed his whole family.” That kind of grief- Hoseok understands. And he thinks now- if anyone hurt Jungkook he would more than rip them limb from limb, he would burn them to dust. 

- Namjoon ends up taking him home early that day, Jimin joining them- the tiny fairy buzzing by Hoseok who only tries to keep up, needing to pause to rest halfway through the flight and have Namjoon carry him the rest of the way. Yoongi is surprised when both of them turn up but not for long, all he has to see is Hoseok’s bloodshot eyes before he’s dropping it. 

- Before he knows it- you’re there pulling him in for a hug. Hoseok has grown so much, he’s nearly as tall as you now Doesn't have to get up on his tippy toes to press his forehead to your neck and scent mark you. “oh Seokie” you say, as he starts to cry again. Yoongi behind him with a hand on his shoulder. He and Namjoon make eye contact- Namjoon shaking his head, Jimin looking small next to him- equally as concerned. 

- And it’s good to have them both over for dinner. Eating dinner and Making Hoseok laugh with a round of games. His aching heart soothed by good food, bread from town, meat that you cook over the fire and eat all together with chopsticks. Jungkook knocking into his elbow telling Hoseok animatedly about the new forms his master had shown him. 

- later the four of you wait up late into the night, enjoying a glass of sweet wine together, you’re concerned by what Namjoon tells you- and it’s not like you hadn’t suspected it would one day have this effect on Hobi. Yoongi told you long ago the role he’d had in the war. But it seemed like it bothered Hoseok in some way. You hadn’t missed tonight how he’s seemed attached to your hip, scooting closer to Jungkook at the dinner table. 

- “I think it just scared him, hearing about how many people died- though he said something about his classmates” you shake your head, leaning your cheek on your hand, knees brought up close to your chest. Across from you, Namjoon sits with Jimin’s feet in his lap. You recline against Yoongi’s chest your front warmed by the fire but your back warmed by him. Playing with his long fingers absentmindedly. “We should ask him tomorrow,” Yoongi hums, looking concerned.

- Jimin and Namjoon leave soon after that, you tease jimin about how dangerous ‘sleepy flying’ can be. “Uhm, actually- can I talk to you for a moment yoon?” Namjoon asks, Yoongi touches your shoulder and tells you to go to bed, he’ll be there in a moment. Jimin is standing out in the middle of the field, and from the open door, Namjoon and Yoongi watch them. Jimin’s face turned up to the moon, eyes closed like they’re a flower in the sunlight recharging their energy. And Yoongi knows that by tomorrow morning, a ring of toadstools will ring the spot where Jimin now stands. 

- “Spit it out” The younger dragon looks nervous and anxious, “in the last few weeks- we’ve gotten reports of discontent in the human realms” “is it another famine again?” “No- quite the opposite- but apparently they’ve had a few good years, and the current king is wonder if he should strike while the iron his hot.” Yoongi stiffens, thinking about the possibility of another war. 

- Long ago- when they used to fight side by side before Yoongi would often level Namjoon with one question, “odds?” he’d ask. And Namjoon would answer what he thought the likelihood of them surviving the next hours would be. 

- “The council dosent want to believe it, but I put the odds of war at 50/50,″ “How long?” that’s all Yoongi wants to know- how long until he has to take you, Jungkook, and Hoseok and run with you to the farthest edge of the world- because he won’t have his family caught up in another war- he won’t lose them. No matter how the council will try and talk him into commanding their armies again.

-  “Probably a few years until we know- but the snow isn’t falling as hard as usual in the mountains, the passes are staying open for longer, we expect an increase in attacks at the very least.” More hunters getting through the mountains means more calls from the council for- and less time with his family. 

- That night, when Yoongi crawls into bed next to you- you curl into his warmth seeking his familiar form out in your sleep and settling your body more fully against him. He makes a noise in the back of his throat but You don’t respond- you must really be asleep. That night- Yoongi holds you and doesn’t sleep a wink.

- After the incident, Namjoon stops by and watches Hoseok more and more- keeping an eye on the goings-on at the school. And all the rest of his classmates will stand- their backs straight as rapiers while Namjoon patrols the lines. Nodding officially to his teacher, shooting Hoseok a look that has him giggling and being scolded by the teacher's assistant.  

- Namjoon’s check-ins might have something to do with Yoongi asking the older dragon to keep an eye on Hoseok when he’s in the city after the incident. And Namjoon takes his role as uncle very seriously. Jimin even more so- always making sure that Namjoon comes with extra lunch- some sweet fruit or fancy fish from the ocean for Hoseok. A little spare baggy left to bring home for you and Jungkook. 

- “What about da-Yoongi” Hoseok catches himself at the last moment one afternoon- talking with Namjoon. Namjoon’s smile is a little abashed, “Jimin has some very choice words for him- apparently something about accidentally burning a hole through his favorite robe again.” 

- Jimin and Namjoon are always glad to have you come for a visit, day trips close to the city so you can pick up Hoseok, he and Yoongi coming back to Namjoon and Jimin's house instead of your own for dinner. You and Jimin take day trips into the city when Yoongi is called in on some council business with Namjoon, Jungkook tagging along when he wants too. 

-  They’re always upset to see you go when you have to return to the mountains in the summer months (if you didn’t- Yoongi thinks he might actually go insane) But you become friends, a little closer than that even. You know they view Jungkook and Hoseok as their own children- or something as close to that as they’ll ever be able to have. 

- It’s shortly after the summer solstice the next year when Jungkook finally managed to articulate the words that have been bothering him- for longer than he’d been willing to admit. You’re sat at the lip of the cave together reading. Yoongi and Hoseok dive-bombing each other and play flying- trying to keep their skills honed in preparation for the looming school year. 

- Hoseok has grown bigger in the last year or so and hit his second growth spurt. His head now coming up to your stomach (which he abuses, constantly nudging into your stomach for more food- you swear- with the amount they eat between the three of them- you and Yoongi have the work cut out for yourselves.)

-  He’s finally mastered flying- maybe not all of the more complicated maneuvers, and he can’t yet fly for more than 45 minutes before his stamina runs out- but he’s getting there. Every day he pushes himself farther gets a little stronger. This next year- it’s likely that he won't need Yoongi to fly him too and from the dragon school anymore. (Though he still will- just a safe distance above- he just wants to keep an eye on his son)

- Jungkook looks melancholic and conflicted, now almost 11 years old and sitting next to you- fingering one of the books that Jimin had given him on their last trip. One about an adventurer that had crossed the ocean and discovered a whole new species of sea serpent- he’s read it probably about a dozen times since you came back to the mountain for spring and summer. “I can’t help but feel like- like Hobi is leaving me behind,”

- “He’s not Kookie- he could never leave you, you’re his best friend- and I know you read all of his school books to help him study for his tests.” “Yeah but still- he gets to go to school to learn how to be a dragon, what am I learning? who am I learning to be?” your boy has always been sensitive and emotional and you realize now more than ever, how much he’s grown. “You know we’re just- trying to make sure he’s getting exposed to everything he would have with his other family. And they’re the pressure from the council”

- “I remember,” Jungkook looks thoughtful, sucking on his lower lip, wanting to ask but being unable too- because- because he knows how Yoongi has been about this in the past. He remembers how his father had snarled at the council- my child will never learn how to fight.

- But what if that’s exactly what Jungkook wants? “I want to learn how to be a swordsman, like in the books-“ your gaze slides a little, you raise your eyebrow and he can tell just by your look that you’re not going for it- it’s the same one you’d given him countless times- each time he and Hoseok had tried to convince you to let them camp out with the wolves on the full moon- or assured you that really- riding the giant forest spirits wasn’t nearly as dangerous as dad said it could be. - Jungkook is indignant, however- “if Hoseok gets to learn how to fight- then I should too! He might not always be there.” you put your hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. Despite how much you shudder to think of either of your sons need to know how to fight you understand. And you have to admit; even you might feel more comfortable if Jungkook did at least learn the basics.

- “No” the finality of Yoongi’s words rings in the chamber when you ask. You’re glad that Hoseok and Jungkook are off lounging in the afternoon sun outside so that they don’t have to see the way their father instantly starts shooting smoke from his nose. “I won’t allow him that- you know what this means to me. It’s too dangerous- and why would he need to? We’re safe!” I made the world safe. 

- Yoongi has had a lot of time to think about the war, about how after his parents had died- he’d pursued it for the sake of revenge- or so he’d thought. but now he thinks that maybe he’d known that one day he would want the world to be safe for a particular reason. And now he has that reason: his family- which would always be torn between these two worlds and any war that might come. 

-  He’s pacing, unable to stop his hands from shaking- memories of carnage and war coming to the forefront of his mind- what’s more- the memories of the night where Yoongi had burned down Jungkook’s village. The men rushing forward with their swords- only to die by fire- his fire, and then the idea of that position being reversed Jungkook fighting others- getting hurt. Makes Yoongi’s hands shake. 

- “do you really think it’s such a bad idea, or are you just worried that he’ll turn into what you took him from?” Yoongi flinches, it’s not usual that you surprise him- or that your arguments get so heated. But you don’t talk about the beginning of you- what brought Jungkook into your care very often- and you know how guilty Yoongi feels. How much it weighs on his shoulders like a lead weight. But you’re right- he is afraid. The words aren’t meant to be cruel even if they do sting.

- He remembers raising Jungkook- both of you do- how instantaneously he’d become a protector, of your old chickens in the coop, of Hoseok when he’d come to stay. He’s always been making play swords out of sticks and asking Yoongi to please read that one night story again- the one where a knight defeats the scary mountain troll- that’s always been Jungkook’s favorite.

- You touch Yoongi’s cheeks, “when do you think we should tell him?” you’d always left this up to him. Deciding when exactly to tell Jungkook where he came from. Luckily that’s not a question he asks very frequently but it’s only a matter of time until he asks again. And each time it gets harder to dodge and avoid giving him a real answer. 

- Both of you are scared- so scared- for both Hoseok and Jungkook. How will Jungkook react when he finds out that Yoongi is the one that killed his family? What will happen to Hoseok when he finds out that his best friend came from a family of dragon hunters? The same kind that killed Hoseok’s parents? 

- The wounds of his loss are still there but healing with your love and support. He no longer wakes up so many nights from nightmares. And even if he does Yoongi is there for him, all of you are. More than once you’ve woken to Hoseok curled up around you. And though while he’s never called you ‘mom’ before, you know he loves you and cares about you as much as Jungkook does. 

- Even if he suddenly decided he didn’t want much to do with you- probably a poor replacement for the mother he lost (if Yoongi ever heard you say these words out loud he would probably growl at you for thinking so), you’d accept it- and love him still. 

- Not that that kind of thing has ever been in Hoseok’s nature. He’s turned into quite the little sunshine the last few years. Bolder, and curious about the world in the same way Jungkook is, always ready to laugh and be silly to amuse the younger.  When he wakes in the morning he follows Yoongi’s lead, bringing a cloth up and over his curling golden horns, burnishing them to polish- the same way you might expect someone to learn how to shave from watching their father. 

- He even has a few feathers that have started to appear on his human form- a mark of his growing age. They poke out of his hair- long and leggy. He never fails to slap Jungkook’s hand away when they younger reach over to try and play with them. “Koo that feels weird-“ “Sorry they’re just so soft.” He never gets too angry- even when Jungkook absentmindedly starts playing with them again a few moments later. 

- One day- you catch them fiddling with one of the many feathers that Hoseok loses (it’s natural- he looses a few every time he shifts) and both of them had come to you- happy- Jungkook showing you the Tiny feather they’d managed to fasten to his hair on the back of his neck. The bright red feather sticking out harshly among the black. The 11-year-old had been so so happy- even if getting it out had been hell later. 

- You don’t think their bond could be damaged by anything- but still- you’re worried what kind of friction it could cause- if the information wasn’t revealed at the right moment. 

- “This year? Maybe next year? Who knows- when he’s ready” you roll your eyes a little at this- and Yoongi knows- can hear your words before you say them “that’s such a nebulous thing to say- try again love.”

- “Can we talk about the learning to fight thing another time?” Yoongi says against the palm of your hand, tugging you in close. Peppering kisses across your palm. The scent of disquiet clings to you- makes him anxious- makes him want it off of you. And maybe it’s stupid to ignore this problem. When it could very easily rear its ugly head.

- Maybe Yoongi is just scared of losing you- scared of losing this. He finds himself a little too choked up when he pulls you to lie against him your back against his chest. Your fingers hooking around the back of his neck to run your fingers through his hair while you look up at him. And his hand is free to run up and down your stomach and sides. Simple and lovely in the light of golden hour, the birds chirping, the muted laughter and shouts of your sons outside. Absolutely peaceful were it not for the rolling worry in both of your heads.

- When you return back to the countryside for the next season, Yoongi surprises Jungkook with his first sword. It was easy to get it made during one of the many trips Yoongi had taken with you into the city- mostly to meet with Hoseok’s teachers. Jungkook dropped off at Jimin’s library yet again- his uncle happy to see him and watch him for the day after so many months apart.

- Jungkook’s eyes are wide his smile incandescent when Yoongi hands him the thin hand and a half blade. it’s no larger than Yoongi’s forearm, but still- Jungkook’s narrow arms struggle to hold it up. “This is a practice blade, I’ll get you a sharp one after you learn the basics.”

-When it comes down to it- Yoongi is of little help when it comes to teaching Jungkook how to fight- it’s not that he can’t it’s just that he’s only ever fought in his full-bodied scaled form. And Jungkook while- he can’t shift, Though he’s no longer quite as put out as he once had been. finally, come to terms with the fact that- yes- his wings are never going to come in. Now to soothe that hurt- he just learns as much as he can about magical creatures. 

- It never fails to amaze you how easily he talks to the other people in town, the werewolves, and the rough dragon folk- grown almost fond over him in the past few years you’ve been popping in and out of their lives. one day when you’re tidying up- you come across a little booklet- little notes scrawled here and there about dragons and other magical creatures things Jungkook wants to remember. 

- It's in the town that Yoongi finds him a teacher- an old werewolf by the name of Jagged claw (werewolf customs- Yoongi rolls his eyes at the strange name) one of the last students who ever attended the military school in the city before it was closed to outsiders and turned into the flight school. He’s old and hobbles about on a roughly worn staff, teaches Jungkook and two other dragon hatchlings the way of the sword four mornings out of five. 

- There is also a condition to Jungkook’s schooling, for every lesson he attends with his instructor; he’s going to have to spend a day with you- learning the healing arts instead. It seems a fair trade- both of you decide. Though he already knows a fair amount. Jungkook looks a little frustrated but you hold up your hand to stop his words, Your expression is uncompromising. “If you’re going to learn how to hurt others- and only when you need it- then you need to learn how to heal them too.”

- Every morning you and Yoongi see both of them off Hoseok shifting and taking off to fly most of the way with Yoongi- and you and Jungkook left to walk through the woods in the direction of the wolf’s cabin. An apple and some other yummy treat wrapped in his scarf for lunch. His sword strapped to his narrow waist. 

- on your walk through the forest, you’ll take the time to quiz him on the medicinal plants there. “That one is- nic- octos- ugh!” he’s frustrated, glaring down the blue-purple bloom like it will surrender all of its secrets easily. 

- “It begins with an A” you remind him as he investigates the flowers their leaves too.  “Aconitum!” he shouts when he gets it, turning to look for your approval. You side-eye him for his early success- but he’s only half what there, “uses?” you prod, “fever reducer-” 

- “But-“ you tilt your head expectantly.  “Basically everything is a fever reducer- and this one can be dangerous so- only use it as a last resort” “you’ve got it-“ you finally give in, ruffling his curly hair affectionately- taking care to step over a gnarled root. Jungkook almost trips- too busy looking around for other plants in the underbrush. 

- But before long- the swordmasters cabin comes into view. The old wolf standing on his porch looking about ready to smack Jungkook for being late. His other students are already running forms in the cleared fighting circle out front. You smile at him in greeting as Jungkook rushes to take his place, bowing and apologizing. You ask if his joints are holding up and he nods sagely. 

- When you return home Yoongi is already waiting for you. Both of you ready for a little privacy, maybe you’ll be interrupted by someone in the town needing your help. But if it’s a calm day- you’ll make each other lunch knocking elbows.  and maybe you’ll sit out in the grass with it later, Yoongi’s head in your lap. 

- Maybe you’ll decide to split a sweet orange from the orchard a few miles over, Yoongi will peel it and give you most of it while he only takes a piece. And your kisses will be sweet and sticky and even sweeter still when he asks if you’ll sing for him. 

- Maybe you’ll fall asleep and be woken in the afternoon by Hoseok touching down softly next to you- shifting and collapsing into the grass on the blanket you and Yoongi have set out. “God today was exhausting- they had us running stamina tests all afternoon” “how long did you fly for?” 

- “3 hours and 45 minutes-“ his grin is already proud. “The longest in the class.” Yoongi’s grin is happy too, as you congratulate him and pull him close, Hoseok scent marking along either of your shoulders- he’s always a little more cuddly than usual when he gets home. You’ve asked him before and he says he doesn’t like not smelling like you guys. 

- Hoseok offers to make the short walk to pick up Kookie and a few minutes later- both of your sons come through the woods, laughing and slapping each other on the back. A new bandage on his arm- “I promise he didn’t mean it- I was the one who fell during practice, it wasn’t master’s fault.” 

- “Really you need to be more careful,” you say, angrily bandaging his arm later while Hoseok and Yoongi recline in front of the fire playing a game of cards. “I’m going to get more than one scar you know, and besides I already have one on my face so what does it matter?”

-You freeze; Yoongi goes ramrod straight- the fire in the hearth spluttering before it roars back to life. And you exchange a glance. It’s barely quick enough for either of them to catch. And you launch into an explanation of why he should care enough to be careful because it will quite literally give his mother a heart attack if he comes back with another cut like this.

- You and Yoongi think you’ve been quick enough to conceal your surprise. Both of you thinking about the scar on Jungkook’s cheek- the one he’d gotten the night Yoongi had attacked his Family. The night that had cascaded and affected both of your lives forever. But Without that night and without that bloodshed none of the joy and love you have would exist.

- But Jungkook doesn’t know that. Not yet away. That next day, Jungkook touches the mark trying to remember when he got it but he can’t, doesn’t know where the scar that marks his face came from.

- Hoseok finds him pouring over his reflection in the mirror. “Something bothering you Koo?” Jungkook fingers the scar again, Maybe he should ask you- he didn’t know if memories could disappear out of the blue- but he’s only 12, Maybe you know.

- He remembers how he got the scar on his palm; from sliding down Yoongi’s wings and missing the pillow pile in your winter home, and the one on his elbow- accidentally tripping over Hoseok’s tail the one time at uncle Namjoon’s house. But the mark on his face bothers him for some reason- lingers in the back of his mind.  

-“It’s Nothing,” he says, but at this point, he’s sure it’s something. Hoseok can feel the lie when it leaves Jungkook’s mouth- but like most things with the soul bond, he just leaves it. He’ll find out sooner or later what’s bothering him when Jungkook inevitably gets fed up with keeping secrets, if he’s not ready then he’s not ready.

- Over the last few years- they’ve developed a delicate balance, their souls might be intertwined together closely but there is a place where Hoseok begins and Jungkook ends. An understood barrier that needs to exist or else they’d both probably fight a lot more than they do.

- After all- Jungkook isn’t the only one who doesn’t always tell Hoseok what’s going on in his head. Hoseok has more than a few things that he just…doesn’t feel like he can voice out loud yet. Part of him is afraid, what if he’s misinterpreted this feeling? what if it’s temporary? he tells himself to wait it out- to wait until he’s sure (even though he knows he already is).

- Sometimes Hoseok thinks about uncle Jimin- who is often more than not aunt Jimin. How when he’s feeling like more of a she- her hair gets a little longer, cute and shoulder length, her hips more curvy than usual. About how Namjoon loves Jimin- no matter what skin they want to inhabit that day.

- Hoseok wonders what he would look like with hair like that, if he’d look pretty. “I’ve been thinking about growing out my hair- what do you think?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the mirror- not meeting Jungkook’s gaze. “I think it would be fine? why wouldn’t it be? My hair gets long some time too the trouble will be when mom tries to convince you to cut it short?” he says, confused like he’s wondering why Hoseok is asking- why Hoseok doesn’t know this.

- Anything that Hoseok does Jungkook will be on board with and will support 100%. Hoseok knows this- because the same is true in reverse. “It’s nothing-  forget I said anything.” Both of them look in the mirror- seeing something missing, but not knowing quite what.

- Hoseok resolves to ask Jimin a few more pointed questions the next time they visit, maybe corner them on the beach or in the greenhouse. Trying to ignore the weird stinging rotten feeling in his chest when he looks in the mirror and sees himself. 

- Jungkook forgets about it too wrapped up in his training forms. Trying to recognize the new ones because he knows master jagged fang will quiz him. But the confusion- the wanting curiosity- lingers in the back of his mind. A feeling like he’s missing something. 

- Jungkook easily becomes proficient in the blade, soon overcoming most of his classmates. And there is something about the way that the blade feels in his hands that feels- almost too purposeful.

- Fate is a hard thing to avoid. Being a warrior was in Jungkook’s blood from the day he was born, and he might not have been raised to hate as much as his ancestors, but his natural inclinations and the warrior's instincts are still there.

- Both of your sons get older- growing bolder and more interested in the outside world. On the days when Hoseok isn’t going into the city for classes, they take the world by storm. Hoseok isn’t old enough to fly with Jungkook on his back like you and Jungkook do on Yoongi’s but he’s getting there. Now the size of a horse when he shifts, his face eye level with your own. His claws scratching the stone floor in your house when he decides to muscle his way through the door. 

- They already give you both a run for your money and a short run on your nerves by the amount of mischief they get up to in their free time. Yoongi assures you that it's normal for a dragon of Hoseok’s age to want to test their bounds- push outside the nest and explore. And wherever Hoseok goes Jungkook follows.

- Even after all this time- they’re still each other’s favorite person. Whatever friends Hoseok might make eventually in school- don’t matter when it comes to Jungkook, No one comes even close.

- Jungkook and Hoseok manage to get into trouble more than a few times on their adventures. Exploring the woods, the edge of the mountains, the city less because Namjoon keeps a very close eye on them both. They bring back things for you- Hoseok especially likes too. Yoongi almost wants to cry the first time Hoseok brings back a large shiny rock- the first piece of what will one day be Hoseok’s hoard.

- Hoseok puts it on the shelf in his bedroom, Jungkook sitting on the floor looking at him, “Wanna go try to find something else Hobi?” Hoseok feels a certain fire in his chest, one that he hasn’t known before- something greedy and wanting. “Yes please.”  

- Most of the trouble they get into comes in the name of Hoseok and Jungkook finding things for their hoard, they try to steal a silver egg from a cockatrice and Jungkook gets pecked on his arms so deeply that it needs stitches. “What did you learn?” you ask, already having given them a stern talking too when they’d turned up on your doorstep Hoseok clutching at Jungkook’s arm crying like he’s the one whose been hurt.

- You sit in front of the fire that night, stitching him up- Jungkook is a little trouper, barely cries at all, Hobi lies across his lap in dragon form, little tears dripping out, licking at Jungkook’s wound making little distressed noises- you don’t begrudge him for his sensitivity- you know he can feel it too when Jungkook gets hurt. “That we should be more careful around things we haven’t seen before.”

- They try to take a pearl comb from a batch of selkies who have taken up residence in a nearby lake and you make them go and return it. Both of them hiding behind you a little as you hover by the edge of the lake. “Sorry about this,” you say, as one of them rises out of the water, their faces sunken, skin green and oily, hair flowing like algae, black stones where their eyes should be. Their voices send a shiver down your spine- “it’s okay- happens all the time!”  and you shiver as they sink back into the water.

- “What did you both learn this time” “unless they’re bad people you shouldn’t steal” “not quite, try again” “stealing is wrong?” “but isn’t that what dad does?” you wince internally- maybe you should have a more concise talk about this with Yoongi later.

- Time passes, and Yoongi finds himself waking up happy every morning, cuddled with his family. Or sometimes just with you, his nose pressed to the nape of your neck, heart thrumming with happiness at being close to his mate. he thinks that if he had this- every day for the rest of his existence he’d be fine- be more than fine.

- As both boys get older and turn from children into gangly teens, Hoseok starts to learn how to breathe fire, though he’s still only capable of blowing smoke and sparks on the best of days. He won’t for a few more years- that doesn’t stop him from trying and bugging Yoongi to show him how he breathes fire, “please just show me one more time dad I promise, I think I can get it this time” no matter how many times Yoongi assures him that he shouldn’t rush fire breathing.

- It’s a few months after their last trip to the dragon city when the council- Namjoon specifically calls him on something. Though it’s sooner than he would have expected given the last call it’s not really that big of a deal. Just a report of a nearby dragon den that had gone into early hibernation and tempted concern. But Yoongi just finds them all sleepy and cuddled over each other, the alpha lifting his head at Yoongi’s appearance at the caved entrance, sleepily asking what council business he’d been called on and why it couldn’t wait until spring.

- Yoongi might only be gone for a day, but it’s enough for them to find you.

- The hunters find the hidden manor house only a few hours after Yoongi leaves. This close to the dragon city they’re looking for an unguarded hoard and find it in your home. Because a hoard guarded by two humans and an unmatured dragon shouldn’t be too much of an obstacle. What they’re doing so far into dragon lands- how they’ve managed to come so far undetected- you don’t know.

- A dozen of them that surprise you. it’s a lazy easy day, Jungkook already home from practice. Eager to go out after lunch and explore with Hoseok since he didn’t have school today either. They complain about the chores you make them do before they go out- but since you have your housekeeper in today you're intent on more maintenance. and that includes cleaning the floors which means all the furniture needs to move off the rugs. 

- It’s then that you hear a knock on the door- your housekeeper running to get it while you and your sons follow,  both of them internally glad at a visitor- if it’s someone from the town looking for your healing abilities that means they’ll be free for the rest of the day!��

- Imagine your surprise when your housekeeper answers the door only to receive a sword deep in her gut, falling backward, the light leaving her eyes before she hits the floor. 

- They’re after Yoongi’s hoard (hidden in the cavernous basement) but they’re aiming for Hoseok first as they spill into your entranceway to eliminate the greatest threat, and Jungkook lunges in front of him- stupid. The smaller boy easily muscled to the side by one of them, 3 more waiting at his back to storm into the room and more behind them. Jungkook clutches at his side, blood on his hands and pain in his face- and no- Hoseok will not stand for that- not his Jungkook. The second pain radiates down the soulbond Hoseok shifts. 

- You lunge for him before Hoseok can, You’re feral when he aims his knife in their direction. “not my sons you ugly bastard-” you cut your hand and it gets in his eyes as you wrestle the knife away from him, he doubles over after connecting your knee to his groin. 

- Hoseok rears up and attacks. His fear gone- only action, bearing his teeth and using them. Head striking out like a snake- only blind rage in his heart and head- all at the sight of Jungkook- bleeding for him. No one hurts his family like that- one of them tries to run, and Hoseok peruses them. 

- Jungkook shakes it off- it’s not a bad wound- he’s honestly gotten worse in practice. his sword is by the entryway, laid their carelessly after his lesson (how many times had you reminded him that his weapons belong in his room- asked him to pick them up along with his shoes- you’d never imagined you’d be glad for his carelessness).

- Though his practice blade is dull- master long fang has taught him well enough that he can use it to get a sharper sword away from his opponent, the new weapon is absurdly heavy in his arms, and it sends vibrations that rattle to his core when Jungkook brings it up to block a strike. 

- The adrenaline thudding in his veins as he faces the hunters down erases the soreness from his earlier sparring session. The second the sword is in his hands, a chilling calm set over him, and he falls right back into what's been thought through countless hours of practice. keep your shoulders down, elbows tense, step with commitment- he can almost hear his master scolding him for a poorly parried lunge. Around him Hoseok bobs and weaves, using his wings as much as his claws and neck. 

- Jungkook vaults over his back to defend against his side from another attacker. They move like they’re talking- like the countless hours they’ve spent exploring together, like the way they hold each other at night, one part of the same soul, predicting the other's movements- you too, 

-  Though the dagger in your handshakes you hold your own. It helps that these men don’t seem like trained soldiers- more thuggish than that. Their axes are no match for Jungkook’s quick movements. their movements slow and brutish. No match for Hoseok’s bite. 

- Jungkook has the first kill- more dumb luck than anything else.  He feels the man die by his hands, He sees the blood hot and smelly, soaking into the little lines of his fingertips, And immediately decides he doesn’t want to be a warrior after all of this- not if it’s like this. Jungkook would lose it- start crying and sobbing if it weren’t for Hoseok at his side, the brush of his feathers- the way the wind hugs him and buffers Jungkook when he moves. Hoseok is the only soothing thing he can hold onto. 

- Hoseok manages to mortally wound one and send another through the window with a swipe of his tail and it scares the rest off. They might have thought they could handle you and Jungkook- but Hoseok is a force to be reckoned with- all of those lessons paid off. Now Hoseok knows how to handle his larger scaly body- how to make himself lethal and feral. 

- You are just pausing; chest heaving in fear, just as the other two retreats and run out of the house, deciding that the hoard must not be worth losing their lives. Hoseok and Jungkook are shaking with adrenaline, your hair bloody and free of its braid. 

- Hoseok shifts back to human form reeling from the bloodshed. His mouth as red as his hair. You wipe it away with your sleeve crying as you touch his head, Jungkook’s too, needing to make sure both of your children are safe. To touch them and make sure they’re there. Jungkook is the only one injured a little cut on his side that isn’t bleeding too much. “I’m fine mom- I’m fine-” 

- You verify they’re okay before you go to your housekeeper- touching her neck to feel her pulse- only to find out she’s already gone. You move her to the side so you can close the door and lock it with the deadbolt. Dead men litter your entryway, some of their chests still rising unevenly with death rattle breath. It has been a long time since you’ve been around dying men and it doesn’t feel any better knowing they deserve it- that you were fighting for your life. 

-And in the Centre of them, Hoseok holds Jungkook close, sends you a pained glance, crying, touching Jungkook’s side, blood all over both of them. they’re 13 and 15 now but at that moment- they look like the same scared little kids you raised.  

- You go to them, clutching them close, Jungkook is crying, Hoseok looks too shaken- like he can’t breathe around the adrenaline- but you can still hear distantly the other men in the woods running and starting to regroup. So you need to push them away urging them in the direction of the basement, “Head to the hoard- they won’t be able to get through the door-” they hesitate, “just go- your father will be back soon and he’ll-“ 

- Jungkook will remember the next moment for the rest of his life; 

- Hoseok doesn’t see- the exact moment it happens, head turned away just slightly- but Jungkook does. Jungkook sees every moment of it. 

- He’ll remember The way you’d paused, made a choking noise- only to look down at your stomach. Jungkook remembers when Yoongi had bought you that dress- the one with the little blue flowers on it, that day in the dragon city. Now turning blood red, the stain seeping outwards too fast from your belly.

-  You stumble trying to keep your feet under you, the dagger in your hand clanging to the floor. Revealing the man behind you- his sword shining with your blood.

-“Mom!” Hoseok shrieks, as you crumple to the floor.

I know times are tough on all of us, but if you like reading my stories please donate to my Kofi to help support my work! 

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Duplicity

An AU where Kaidan joins Cerberus for the events of ME2.

Chapter Nine: Of Explosions, Traps, and Thresher Maws

"Who did you blow to get access back?"

Mary looked up from the safety of the relatively stationary floor of the shuttle. This wasn't a day where the nausea meds worked to full effect, but she could suffer through a grin, "Illusive Man didn't appreciate Leng's interference with our mission."

"What a bosh'tet."

"You should still avoid him, if possible."

"Come on, Shep! Give me a reason to smear him against the cargo bay walls," Jack retorted with a smug grin.

Tali huffed, "I can take care of myself!"

Mary rubbed at her temples, focusing again on the grooves in the flooring, "we might be pushing it already."

"As I said," Jack sighed, "it's an empty facility. Since when did you give a fuck about what Cerberus thinks? Did you drink Cheerleader's kool-aid?"

"I jumped at the idea of blowing up this facility if my urgency was not noted," she retorted, "and only if it was cherry flavored. Unfortunately, it tastes like watered down orange."

"You're fucking weird."

"I'm sure someone likes orange flavoring."

"And they would be wrong, and besides, have you ever tasted orange?"

"That's beside the point, Shepard."

"Why is the bastard even here?" Jack interjected, becoming the voice of reason.

Mary puffed out her cheeks, "he was elusive about it. Leng mentioned something about a confidentiality breach. Tali, did you try and hack their systems?"

Tali shook her head, "if I did, they wouldn't have caught me."

Shepard grinned.

"Cerberus has the entire Normandy bugged, and not to mention that AI. I wouldn't do something like that without you knowing about it."

Mary nodded, "I thought so. If I wanted to get rid of those bugs, what would I need to do?"

Tali went silent.

"Way to ruin your plan," the biotic gently mocked.

"Who is Kai Leng to you?"

Jack leaned back in her seat with a growing scowl, "him and some Cerberus bitch tried to capture me. It didn't happen, but some mercs got me instead."

"That explains how you got to Purgatory," Mary murmured in response.

Jack shrugged, not interested in further explaining that particular defeat.

"Please be careful with him; even Miranda seemed spooked," she cautioned gently.

"Cerberus has really got you by the balls."

The blond flinched, "I'll have you know I ignored an urgent message from the Illusive Man to bring you here." It was a poor attempt at a deflection; everyone aboard the Normandy knew about her history with a certain crewmate. Worse was the presence of nearly every friend she had left in the galaxy. Most brought in by her. She had no doubts that the Collecter threat was overly sensationalized, but for the time being, it what her only option in stopping the threat. Anderson had seen the threat for himself, but whether or not he could help remained unknown partially because she was afraid of a formal admonishing.

"I forgot how much I hate this place."

~~~

"Shepard-- we caught a break."

Predictably, the break was a trap. Mary wasn't liking the new habit of trampling through her ship in armour fresh from a fight. Or how annoyingly composed the Illusive Man always was, even in her impromptu meeting, he was waiting with a cigarette and drink in hand. The bastard knew what he had done. Worse, he was ready for her to explode.

"In the meantime... I suggest you tell your crew I didn't risk their lives unnecessarily," whether or not the microscopic curl of his lip was imagined in the end, "it would make things easier going forward."

"I'll tell them the truth, screw this half-truth bullshit," Mary leaned back on her heel, folding her arms.

"Our reports missed the petulant child side of you," he took a long drag, flicking away the butt, "can't you see this was necessary."

"Not in the way you handled it."

His pupils narrowed as he stared at her, mouth kept in a thin line. Boldened by this slip, Mary pushed it, "you'll be lucky to have my crew after this."

"Who, exactly, is going to help you? The council already dismissed you once. The Alliance doesn't care about the humans in the Terminus Systems," his posture and blank expression returned, "unless you don't care about the abducted colonies and the Reaper threat anymore."

"Fuck you!"

He issued a long and drawn-out chuckle, "I expected better behavior from you, Shepard. Be an adult, and put aside your petty grievances. You need me to stop this threat."

The coldness pierced her heart first, spreading through her veins with incredible speed until it froze the tip of her fingers. The frigidity of her body forcing her face in a neutral expression, "Akuze was no petty grievance, you conniving prick."

She couldn't lose much more face, so stomping off without a pause was well within her wheelhouse.

"Mary?"

Kaidan knew that look, not that he had to be blocking her way to read it. The emotionless mask was there for only a select few emotions, and all urged him to reach out. Whatever it was, at least meant he wouldn't have to explain why he hovered around the briefing room. He stood his ground, allowing her the time to breathe before he attempted to pry it out of her. Eventually, her shoulders dropped for the briefest moment before squaring back up.

"Talk to me," Kaidan murmured gently, "what happened out there?"

Shepard's posture had corrected, but the mask had yet to fall. Moving him into unfamiliar territory, so he waited for her to speak. Timidly, slowly, placing his hand on her pauldron once the time elapsed into the space of no response.

"Shepard," he called.

First, her body lurched forward, he instinctively moved to pull her in, but the arm that reached around him corrected course and shoved him aside. Perhaps a little harshly, as his back met the metal wall of the hallway. Finally, the mask slipped, catching the moment her eyes filled with regret that morphed with the half-assed raising of her arms, "it was a trap."

Mary spun away to the right, sputtering another few choice words as Mordin collided with her across the opening doorway.

"Go get Grunt ready; we're headed to Tuchanka."

~~~

"You've had a lot more poker practice, Alenko," the turian mused in defeat.

"Back then, I was never invited," the biotic returned snidely.

"Only because Shepard took you everywhere," Tali added wistfully, "you were both so moony-eyed."

"Is that your excuse for always losing, Vakarian?" Kaidan grinned, fighting a bittersweet blush, "careful Tali, you'll start slipping."

"You were all formally crewmates?" Thane finally decided to speak from his corner of the mess hall table. His gaze lingered longer on the human. The other two were obviously connected to Shepard. His short time aboard the Normandy, he hardly saw the Commander and this man in the same room.

The human's next smile a little less forced, "yeah. With Joker at the helm. Those were crazy days."

"Much simpler times, just chasing a rogue spectre across the galaxy."

Tali hummed, "it felt more heroic back then."

"To hell with Cerberus," the man muttered.

Thane stood from his seat, this talk of the past making him feel further like a stranger in this group. Why Officer Alenko had invited him in the first place was a mystery, he hadn't attempted to speak with anyone. Not out of malice but out of desire. Shepard's words about him socializing with the crew to find meaning the sole reason he attempted this game.

The three looked up at him in unison.

"We can change the game."

"You can just stay and talk if you want."

"Look at you guys scaring away the new blood."

Thane glanced between the group; they were a good sort. He shrugged in an effort not to disappoint them, returning to his seat; he had little else of import to do.

"How about a game of go fish?"

The turian turned to the man, "isn't that a children's game?"

"I thought keeping your credits would be an enticing offer," Kaidan returned smugly.

"I already owe you a small fortune when you do decide to collect," the turian drawled, "might not be wise to encourage you to do so."

"I'm banking on interest too, Garrus."

"You would," Garrus chuckled, his eyes sweeping to the quarian, "but Tali, I've always wondered why your faceplate is tinted. Doesn't that distort your vision?"

"Garrus my e-"

Grunt barrelled by the table, taking the L2's attention with him. Adding biotics to the already large Krogan only increased his appetite, especially after a fight. The youngster looked pleased, settling down at the table with whatever was easiest to sweep into his arms—tearing into the still bagged loaf of bread sideways, the group watching with mixed reactions.

"Grunt," Tali was the first to scold, "you should be a little more careful."

"He's just a growing boy, Tali," Garrus replied.

The krogan looked up and around the table with a sheepish grin, "I am a boy no longer. I have passed the rite, and with my battle master, have defeated a thresher maw! You should be in awe!"

"That's no small feat-" Thane finding himself suddenly the chatty one.

"It was glorious! A worthy opponent. So big and in your face," Grunt continued to gloat through mouthfuls of bread and plastic.

"And Shepard?" the man dared to ask.

"The best battle master. Our enemies should be afraid!"

"Was she upset?" Tali pressed.

"No- she fought bravely."

Garrus was next to speak, "nothing odd?"

The krogan groaned, "she fought well. So well, she was too tired to speak."

Kaidan shuffled from his chair, hesitating as the turian and quarian took turns locking eyes with him, "am I supposed to sit here and do nothing?"

"I wouldn't test her patience."

Tali folded her arms, "what could you even do? Guilt trip her again?"

"Ouch," Kaidan flinched, running a hand through his hair, "I deserved that one."

Grunt looked around the table, cocking his head to the side. Thane went still, achieving a far better understanding of the situation than the confused krogan. Until Miranda, followed by Kai Leng burst from the second officer's office, both beelined for the elevator. Garrus, Tali, and Kaidan moved to intercept the pair.

"Out of our way," the Cerberus assassin seethed.

"Do you have a death wish?" Garrus tried to defuse him with humor and a well-intentioned claw on his shoulder. It did not work; the man's eyes only narrowed the anger held in his posture, doubling.

"Keep your dirty talons off of me, bird!"

Tali pulled Garrus back, allowing Kaidan to get in the way.

"That wasn't necessary," the biotic stated bluntly.

Leng rolled his eyes, "and neither is whatever fit Shepard is having in the elevator."

"So you're going to make it worse by demanding she stop?"

"Kaidan, we can't let her damage the ship," Miranda added gently.

"Yeah, I know," Kaidan sighed, rubbing at his temples, "but she won't. I don't think she will, anyway. It's her way of coping."

"By letting off biotic charges?"

"Yeah, I know, but has she damaged anything?"

EDI piqued up, "damage remains cosmetic."

Miranda placed her hands on her hips, "well, this is why we hired you, Alenko. Make her stop, or we'll be forced to act."

"Next time, a little warning after she's faced a Maw would help."

~~~

Riding through the elevator of the Normandy was an old pastime. Something about being crammed into a small space with blank walls let her think. About the good, about the bad, about anything that needed her consideration, really. She had spent hours in the old elevator; they moved much too quickly in the new ship. With more floors and staff came more distractions.

Usually, it involved much less biotic discharge, but this time that display kept the peace. The strain to keep it contained and from flaring too brightly occupied her mind pushed out the thing... the creature... that kept trying to wedge back in her mental space. Pulling it all back in, only characterized by a faint aura around her form, was another challenge. She kept her back to the person.

Ignoring it until the crinkling of a bag pulled her attention.

The opened bag revealing the light reddish-brown contents within, "I thought you might be hungry."

She looked Kaidan up and down, resting on his gentle gaze. Why was she so stubborn? Was he really so different? Did who he worked for matter? She couldn't pretend that all she saw of Cerberus was bad. She trusted Jacob- he had many of the same qualms she did about the organization but continued under their banner without compromising his morals. Her work was good fighting to protect the galaxy from the Reaper threat. Sure at the moment, it felt solely based on saving humans from the Collector threat, but they were only a tiny piece of the problem. She saw no shift in Kaidan, despite the things he had done after she passed. The same integrity, the same aggravating calm, the same compassion.

Perhaps she was unfair. What would she do to bring back the man she loved?

Huh, love was a funny feeling—a light but at the same time heavy notion.

Fuck this.

Fuck the forced distance.

If they were going to die, why waste what could be their last moments together?

"Kaidan."

Pushing the chips aside, she wriggled her way into his arms. A hand threaded through her still damp hair, his nose pressing into the top of her skull. The other arm supported the small of her back, cradling her in gently. Mary breathed in his familiar scent, no different than the man she knew two years ago. It was this easy. Some, but not all, of her worries faded into the background. She had missed physical comfort.

"Wrex was there," it was all she could offer.

Kaidan's chest rumbled, the patch pressed against her forehead an unwelcomed annoyance. A reminder. Hot and blinding, the logo was all she could focus on as it rubbed against her.

Maybe she was weak, but she could not separate the horror from the uniform.

He let her escape without a fuss, leaving him empty-handed.

[captnbarnesrogers]

Underworld, Over You

Pairing/Characters: Demon!Harry Styles x Reader Warnings: we like angsty harry in this household oop Summary: You left Harry six months ago after he asked you to follow him back to the Underworld but you couldn’t, in fact, give everything up for him. WC: 1.4k+ A/N: my first demon harry fic ever, I know it suxx okey????

All he could do was look over at you. You were laughing. He wondered what the bastard was saying, how was he making you laugh like that. Harry wanted nothing but to go up to your table and rip this fucker’s heart out. Of course, he could do it but he chose not to. There was light glimmering inside your eyes, something he only ever saw when you were both together. It was very rare for Harry to see that in people, it’s usually the shallow despair and need for the impossible that he sees. Unfortunately, that glimmer of light faded the last time you both talked.

6 MONTHS AGO

“Come home with me.” He asks, half asleep with his hand gently trailing up and down your arm.

“We’re already in your home.” You groggily state. Your hand giving light scratches on his chest. You liked having moments like this. A day off, if you will, where Harry didn’t have to take care of business, where you could both just take a second to breathe each other in. It was hard to love Harry at the start, he didn’t want to be loved but eventually he realised that it wouldn’t be so bad to fall in love with someone like you.

“I mean, back to m’world, pet.” You suddenly propped up from your spot, surprised by this request.

“Like, back to the Underworld?” He nodded and placed a kiss on your hand. When you first found out about him and who he was, you were scared and shocked. The man you loved dearly and protected you with every being he had (or had left), was a lowborn demon of the Underworld, “Harry, you know that place isn’t for humans like me.”

“I could make it so.”

“You’d have to kill me, Harry!” You sat up and looked at him intently. Your heart was beating so fast but missing beats left, right, and centre.

“Yeh wouldn’t have to die,” he paused for a moment, “painfully or entirely.”

“Jesu-”

“Watch your mouth, sweetheart.” He sits up and fold his arms like a little boy who didn’t get what he wanted.

“Sorry, I just- Harry, we’re talking about ending my life and leaving everyone and everything I know behind.”

“I could jus’ take yeh soul-”

“You’re making me a non-human! You’re making me cold a-a-and spiritless, what if I fall out of love with you, huh? What am I gonna do? What are you gonna do?” He rolls his eyes at you. A sweet moment, now turned sour.

“It’ll take one second an’ we can be together forever.”

“You’re being selfish, Harry, you’re asking me to leave everyone and everything I know behind, for you.”

“Yeh don’t wanna be with me?” You rushed over and caressed his cheek, giving him a kiss on the lips.

“I do, baby, I do but I just can’t… I can’t leave everything behind.”

“Fine, jus’ leave me, then.” He huffed angrily, his temper getting the best of him.

“Harry…”

“Yeh don’t love me, I get it, we’re done.” He pushed himself out of bed and next thing you knew he had disappeared without a trace.

Now, all he could do was watch you as he drank some expensive scotch neater than the cleanest street in the world. Every sip he took became more bitter the more he looked over at your wide smile. It’s like every sound that emitted from your mouth was a needle going into his body – slow and painful. He saw you stand up from your seat and the man in front of you nodded. You walked over to the bar and you noticed a shift in temperature. Ignoring it, you ordered drinks for yourself and your friend.

“Is this how he treats women? You have to get him a drink?” You heard beside you, giving you a fright.

“What are you? Stalking me now?” He took a sip from his glass and rolled his eyes.

“How long have you been seeing him?” You scoffed and laughed, taking the glasses from the bar top.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, I’m just wondering why you’re getting over us so fast.” You wanted to throw your drink at him. You wanted to scream at him. Instead, tears welled up in your eyes.

“You think this is me getting over us, you fucking psycho?” You whisper-screamed, “I’m far from it, Harry, far, far, from it.”

“You don’t need to lie to me.”

“You’re such a lousy demon, you know that?” His eyes were getting dark, “My friend is adopting with his husband.” You walked away, tears still in your eyes.

Demons, in fiction, don’t cry. It was a known fact. Demons are to be heartless and cold. But at this very moment, Harry defined all odds. His odds. Warm droplets came from his eyes. His darkened, soulless eyes – he wiped it away, he looked at his hand and a red streak was left over. Blood, he figured. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t know any other demon that did this – cry blood, or cry at all.

He disappeared from the bar and there you stayed until you could barely walk. Your friend had left hours ago. The bartenders hadn’t noticed how drunk you were until you stood up from your seat and fell down almost immediately. They had led you outside and called you a cab. There on the street you stood, drunk and upset. The cab still hadn’t come so you decided to start walking. With drunken movements, you gripped your bag tightly and walked.

“You shouldn’t walk by yourself, pet.” You only knew one person who called you that.

“What is up with you and bugging me tonight, Harry?”

“Jus’ wanted to see you.” You laughed drunkenly.

“Do demons have a different aftermath of break ups? Because us humans usually don’t want to see people we’ve broken up with.” He held on to you to help steady your walking, “I mean, you didn’t even officially break up with me, you just left and didn’t speak to me for six months and now, here you are.” You stopped walking and turned to him. You noticed the streaks of colour under his eyes. You couldn’t tell what colour it was from how drunk you were. If tears could have colour, these marks on his face could be tear stains. You trailed your finger across the markings, “Have you been crying, Harry?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N.”

“Is it so ridiculous to think that you actually have a soul?” You shook your head and laughed. Continuing your walk, “Of course, it’s ridiculous, it’s even silly to think you ever truly loved me.” A punch in the heart, that’s what it felt like to hear those words come out of your mouth, “I mean, a demon, out of every guy I have ever dated, I fell in love with someone who doesn’t even feel love.”

“How do you know that?”

“You wouldn’t have left me in the shits wondering if you were ever coming back or if you loved me at all.” You arrived at your doorstep.

“I didn’t ask you to come back with me for nothing, sweets.”

“But could you understand what I was leaving behind? My whole life I worked for it, my job, my family, my friends… I couldn’t just up and leave when you wanted to but I fucking love you Harry, I still do.” He couldn’t stop thinking of what could’ve happened six months from then if he’d just understood it from your perspective.

“Sweetheart…”

“I keep thinking, if I said yes, I’d still have you, right? But I’d lose everything else.” You began to cry, Tears flowing from your eyes, “I want you in my life, Harry, and I know you can never fully-” Suddenly, he had cut you off with a kiss.

“I was mad, I didn’t see it how you saw it an’ I was so disappointed in myself, I couldn’t do it to yeh.” He sighed and held your face in his hands, “The truth is Y/N, I love yeh so much, so fuckin’ much.”

“What about-”

“I’d rather have yeh than not at all.” He pulled your face closer to his. He looked into your eyes and down at your lips, licking his lips, he leans down and kisses you passionately.

At this moment, Harry, who was tough and cold, was vulnerable and filled with warmth. He wanted nothing but you. To keep you happy and love you until he let go of his last breath.

---

@narcistyles​ @iloveshawnieboi​

[kyloswarstars]

Eric Coulter, you’re a bastard • part 4 – “the trial” Divergent • Mini-Series AU

How do you say sorry when you have fucked up basically everything? Eric isn’t sure. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to ever earn your forgiveness. On the other hand: why should you forgive him? He had made the mistake of his life.

A story about Professor Eric Coulter, Harold the chimpanzee, midnight coffees and fries in the auditorium. You and Eric, Ms. Giraffe and Mr. FBI, trying to conquer life together until Eric did what he thought would be the best for you.

Pairing • Eric x Reader

Warnings • language

Words • 2.3k

Eric Coulter, you’re a bastard • masterlist

/////

////////// 2 years ago //////////

The lecture had started ten minutes ago and you still weren’t there. By now he knew you weren’t one for arriving in time. Like never. But when twenty minutes passed and then thirty, Eric grew kinda nervous. He was constantly checking his watch, always touching the screen of his phone that was on the table, to see if you had texted. Only the picture of you, looking over his shoulders and wrapping your arms around him, looked back at Eric.

When forty minutes had elapsed he texted you. He as the professor could use the phone in his lecture, still he hid it behind his bag.

Shortly after fifty minutes when he had almost ended the class early to go and search for you, you sneaked in from the back. You didn’t look at him, not a single glance or a smile on your lips.

Eric tried to hurry through the remaining ten minutes. It was a horrible trial of patience. When the clock finally stroke 12 he finally dismissed his students into lunch break.

„What happened?“

You felt bad when he hurried over to you after everyone had left. He seemed worried. „I’m sorry, I should’ve texted.“ Getting up from your spot and checking again that everyone had left, you tiptoed to be on eye level with him. „I was just not in the mood for class.“

As your professor it kinda bugged him. As your boyfriend he wasn’t mad at all. Especially because your face was so damn close that one tiny move would close the gap between your lips.

„But as a peace offer I brought lunch.“ Your grin spread over your whole face before you finally kissed him.

„Peace offer accepted.“

You grabbed your stuff and walked over to his desk. Eric locked up the auditorium so no one would walk in on him having lunch with you.

You’ve been sitting on his desk, not for the first time, looking down at him and Eric couldn’t believe he had let come it this far. With one of his students. That you actually had a relationship. That you had to keep it a secret was obviously. The only reason why he had ever let it happen was because you’d change professors. Only a few more weeks until the semester was finished, though. Then Eric and you were just an ordinary couple.

„Mr. FBI, you have some ketchup on the end of your sleeve.“

Eric looked at you then at his sleeve. It was one of his few white shirts with the grey jacket, and the only tie he owned, Eric wore today. „Oops.“ And he wasn’t Eric if he hadn’t just licked it up, so he did.

„You know, Ms. Giraffe, you have some ketchup on yourself too.“

„Is that so? Where?“ You knew you didn’t have any on you but this situation was way too tempting to not go along with it.

„Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.“ 

////////// current day //////////

Eric saw you sitting on his desk in the auditorium. He wished he could go back to those days. Even though you hadn’t been able to be open with your relationship yet, everything had been way easier than this bullshit.

He wasn’t supposed to sit this way back in the court room. So far away from you that he could hardly see if you were alright or totally shattered.

He shouldn’t sit here at all. You shouldn’t sit here. Why had he told them? Why did he fuck up everything that had been, and still was, precious to him? What did he think he was doing?

It had been months since that night he stood in your front yard, talking to you on the phone. It had been the last time he had talked to you. It had been hard to wake up every morning ever since. He was barely able to give decent lectures. His concentration was wearing extremely thin, always leading him back to you. Work was pretty much the only reason for leaving his apartment. Besides grocery shopping. He didn’t have the motivation or simply the will to do anything slightly exciting. If he did, it would tear him apart even more because he couldn’t do it with you.

The trial had just started. You were accused of breaking into the zoo and stealing a chimpanzee. Which was the truth.

Eric didn’t understand yet, why you didn’t tell them that he helped you freeing Harold. When he told them after they stopped searching, he didn’t exactly tell them what happened, just that Harold was at your place again. He didn’t expect any mercy from you, he was ready to face his part of the law-breaking as well. It never came to facing it though. Sitting in that court room now felt even more unbearable.

A long day of putting together a timeline of what happened in the zoo and after Harold got back to the rescue center started. They put in a break at noon before they would get people on the witness stand.

For four hours straight all you had done was stare at the wooden floor in front of the table you were sitting at. Rafael got to your desk when they announced the first break. His hand rubbed soothingly up and down your back. You heard him chatting with your lawyer Mr. Leo but didn’t get what he was saying. Even though all you did was stare to the floor, you heard every word they had said throughout the trail. They made it look like all you did was out of pure selfishness. They were wrong.

„Come on, let’s get some coffee.“ Your twin brother pulled you up from the chair you were glued on. He guided you down the hallway outside of the court room to a crappy old vending machine. „They are assholes, Y/N. Once Mr. L starts to beat their asses no one will doubt that the intentions of your actions were only sincere.“

You nodded your head without the confidence your brother had. Sipping on the coffee Rafael gave to you, you excused yourself to go and search the restrooms. On your way over there you saw Eric standing in the hallway. When your eyes met, you couldn’t walk on.

After that night he stood in your front yard, there had been no contact anymore. He respected your not so polite demand to leave you alone. Everything from then on turned into chaos. Interrogations through police, endless meetings with your lawyer to discuss the strategy for the trial, struggling to pay for the bills because of all the time you had to use on this bullshit that only happened because Eric thought he knew what’s best for you. 

You hadn’t attended a lecture since that night until Mr. L made clear you had to in order to show the court your life was stable enough to take care of all your responsibilities. Only then you had a chance to get Harold back at some point.

Eric stood there, wearing one of his white shirts, the infamous grey jacket and a tie. You hated this. It hurt. His presence still tried to pull you into his arms and press your body to his. To let you know you were safe. You weren’t anymore though.

Some nights you would lie in your bed, stare at the dark ceiling and wondered what he was doing in that moment. His betrayal unfortunately didn’t vanish your feelings for him. But for every weak moment came another one around with all the wrath that still felt so fresh. It made you crush the cup of coffee in your fist. Some last drops were pouring out of it over your hand. You tossed it into a bin on your way to the restrooms without paying Eric any more attention. You hated this. It hurt.

/////

As Rafael predicted, Mr. Leo was able to show everyone there was always a reason behind every action. In your case it had been family.

When that letter arrived and you had first met your assigned lawyer, together with your brother, Rafael said NO right when you got out of the meeting. He had insisted on getting you a real lawyer, one with effort and ‚some fucking heart‘. The next day you had already met up with Mr. Leo.

Mr. L was exactly doing what you had discussed in so many meetings. After you agreed to it because your brother had insisted again. 

He was pulling heartstrings. He laid down the situation of your family. He offered your feelings to everyone in this court room. You didn’t want anyone to know how it looked on your inside, especially not one certain person in this room, but Mr. L was sure to avoid a prison sentence with showing what made you do what you had done. And with specific questions for the rescue center employees that were close to you and able to draw a picture of your responsibility.

By the end of the day you were found guilty. Your sentence didn’t include prison though. You had to serve hours of community service. Harold would stay with the zoo until you graduated and had your degree that prove you were capable of caring for him and all the other animals. Then he could come back. Like a degree was necessary to treat animals right.

////////// Half a year ago //////////

„Does this ring any bells?“ Eric was holding up a napkin. You hardly remembered the last two hours from being out last night. But you remembered the stupid napkin.

„Nope, I can’t hear any bells ringing.“ Trying to avoid him, you were dancing around his kitchen in one of his t-shirts. He was slowly coming up and forced you into the edge,  took the cup of fresh coffee out of your hand and before you knew it, he threw you over his shoulder and didn’t let you down again. 

„Read it.“ He reached behind his back and held out the napkin to you.

While you were getting drunk in that pub last night, Eric had scribbled his most preferred question to you on this napkin. 

do you want to move in with me?

□ YES

□ maybe

□ no (is not an option, you used that answer too much before)

And in your drunken state, loosing the restraint to say no, you had crossed ‚Yes‘. In that moment you did want to move in with him. So bad.

„Eric.“

He didn’t let you down yet completely, but took you down from his shoulders and held you in front of him with his arms under your butt.

Cupping his face and drawing lines on his lips, you started to whisper. „I want to but I can’t yet.“ Caressing his face with light kisses, he slowly set you down again. You stopped your efforts after a while to look him in the eyes and make him see your next words were nothing but sincere. „One day, babe.“

////////// current day //////////

On the way down the steps in front of the court building, you thanked Mr. Leo for his work. He was kidding and advised you not to thank him before we received his final bill.

Still laughing you didn’t notice Rafael abruptly changing the direction. You only realised when you heard him yelling.

„Didn’t you cause enough chaos already?“ 

„I just want to talk to her for a second.“

„You are not coming close to her!“

You hurried over to them and dragged Rafael away from him. After you being to court you didn’t need him to punch Eric right in front of it and get arrested. „Raf, go wait at the car. I got this.“ As much as you didn’t want to talk to Eric, you didn’t want your brother to do something stupid more. He hesitated but left after you didn’t beg down.

Silence was engulfing you.

After all those monologues in front of the mirror, Eric didn’t know what to say all of a sudden. The sight of you, even if you looked worn out from the trial, made him feel… everything.

„I… I’m happy they didn’t send you to prison.“

„You got to be kidding me.“ This couldn’t be real. Why were you even standing here with him and listening to this bullshit! „Eric, what do you want?“ You still had to resist getting closer to him. Bitting your lip distracted you from his face, though. 

„I miss you.“

Fuck. „And?“

He was hardly able to endure your coldness. You had any right to give him a cold shoulder and to be honest, Eric didn’t expect anything else from you.

„Why did you not say anything? You could’ve told them I was with you, breaking into the zoo and getting Harold out.“ Somehow he wished you would’ve done it. It wouldn’t have lessened his guilt but he would’ve had to face something for his mistake. Other than… losing you of course.

The face you wore almost killed him. All the pain he had caused rose in it. There was no way, he realised it in that exact moment, you could ever forgive him his betrayal. Eric had been foolishly hoping for the last couple months that maybe one day you could. You wouldn’t. It was the first time he saw you crying sober. It wasn’t even crying, water just flowed out of your eyes, but it was horrible to watch.

„I’m not like you.“ Still, after what he had done to you, there had been no way you would’ve done the same to him. You loved him too much. 

With that you took a deep breath, studied his face one last time, imagined how it felt under your touches, and left.

[thepencilnerd]

Melophile | Part II

– please read part 1 if you haven’t  – (it can be found on my masterlist ^^ )

melo·phile- noun; a person with great love and affluent passion for music

➵ A piano major and a composition major collaborating for a final semester project. It seemed straightforward, right? But what if you were forced to pair up with the school’s most problematic genius, Min Yoongi? Add to that the fact that he absolutely hated your guts and you had the perfect recipe for disaster. How can someone you’ve never even met before despise you like a sworn enemy? Getting to know each other was hard enough, but what happens when the most beautiful, painful, and darkest secrets force the two of you to expose the thing you each guarded the most—your own emotions?

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: AU! enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, slow-ish burn 

➵ word count: 27k (sorry mobile readers)

➵ warnings: swearing, too much fluff, angst, discussions of depression, oral sex (m&f receiving), marking, biting, hair pulling, cumplay/eating, light impreg kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), i’m still screaming while writing these warnings bc i thought it’d pretty tame this chapter i was wrong

a/n: my longest work to date :’) i hope you all enjoyed and thank you so much for staying with me on this emotional rollercoaster <3 

Previously on part one of Melophile...

“Stop calling me that.” Each word came out through pursed lips and clamped teeth. Leaning into you so that he was directly in your line of vision, his lip curled into a smirk and his eyes flaunted a veil of malicious intent.

“Make me,” he snarled. Never in your life had two words made you more furious than at that exact moment.  

“Fuck you, Yoongi,” you spat out, face just centimeters away from his. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, I really am, okay? But you don’t know a single goddamn thing about me, so stop acting like you’re the only one who’s been hurt in the past.”

Moving closer to you in response, you felt his hot breath fan over your lips, making you lean back instinctively.

“I’m not hurt,” he pointed out with venom dripping from his voice. Leaning towards the shell of your ear, his exhaling breath tickled your neck.

“I’m broken, _____…” Yoongi growled.

“Fucking hell...” you muttered silently while pinching the bridge of your nose. Contemplating your reason for existence, you felt an unpleasant stickiness rub the inside of your thighs but ignored it as you found yourself studying the face of the sleeping figure beside you—what a great distraction to start off the day.

Yoongi’s sleeping face was the epitome of serenity. Lying on his side, his face pressed against the pillow like a marshmallow in a way that made his cheek and lips squish to the side lazily. His eyes were shut and his mouth was open the slightest bit, a faint snore emitting from his throat each time his chest rose and fell.

A grin sneakily crept onto your face when you took the time to admire how peaceful he looked. It was probably the first time you’d ever seen him so—exposed. Realizing the mistake of your words, your timing couldn’t have been worse when Yoongi’s eyelids fluttered open.

The corners of his eyes formed into half-moons as he crinkled his nose. Stretching over your body with his free arm, you shuffled away from his reach and rolled off the bed.

You let out a strangled yelp as your body tumbled onto the floor. As if you didn’t have enough bruises from last night already...

Hurrying to peek over the edge of the bed, Yoongi’s face bore a bemused look and you’d bet a million dollars he was about three seconds away from—

“Are you okay?” he chuckled, bursting into a fit of raspy laughter with a lazy smile. 

His upbeat aura made you analyze his face for any indication that he was hungover or on possibly on something, but all you saw was a genuinely cheery boy. 

“Y–Yeah...” you stuttered. “I’m good. Fine. I’m fine.”

Softening his gaze, he sighed and rolled back into bed, staring at the ceiling. What the hell were you supposed to do now? Struggling to find a way to break the ice, you only realized then now dry and scratchy your throat felt.

Clearing your throat, you scratched your head at your surroundings. “Is this your room?” Mumbling something that resembled an ‘mhmph,’ you took his half-ass mumble as a yes.

“How did we, um...” you hiccuped, nerves beginning to take over. You resorted to pointing to random points around the room sheepishly.

Hearing the rustling of sheets, you met his half-lidded gaze. He wasn’t wearing a top, yet you were the one who felt self-conscious and covered your chest with your arms—and you were actually wearing a shirt.

Sniffling slightly, he rested the side of his face on his arm lazily. “I piggybacked you here after you knocked out like a light,” he chuckled to himself, reliving the moment briefly. “Drooled all over my shoulder and everything.”

“I do not drool!” you exclaimed, wiping your mouth subconsciously while blushing furiously at his accusation.

“I beg to differ,” he smiled, flashing a gummy smile that made you hiccup. The conversation was becoming much too casual for your comfort, and you quickly got up on your feet to try and find your clothes. You needed to get out of here. You needed to get out of here now.

Unfortunately, your body betrayed you when your legs trembled and gave under you. Your muscles felt like jelly and you couldn’t even make an attempt at getting up the second time, so you slid down back into a cross-legged position on the floor as smoothly as you could, trying not to look as embarrassed or defeated as you felt. Yoongi hid his snort of amusement with a cough. 

“Where are my clothes?” you questioned, suddenly aware that you were dressed in black boxer shorts and a shirt too large to be your size. Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the realization.

Hands shooting up to cover your chest instinctively, you stared at Yoongi like a deer in headlights. “You undressed me?!” you gawked.

Propping his elbow up, he rested his cheek on his hand as he chuckled. “Technically I redressed you after the undressing part, so it counts as a double negative,” he corrected. Smug bastard...

Wincing at the stretch you felt in your thighs from just sitting in a cross-legged position, you stood up again only to stumble again like a tower made of jello cubes. Yoongi sat up immediately, grabbing your arm to help you stay upright, but you tore yourself away from Yoongi’s warm hands. The soothing sensation of his touch was making you feel too comfortable for your own liking. 

Clothes. Door. Exit. Now. Four words you never expected to dictate your every move thereon afterward. 

He looked at you with a puzzled expression, taken aback by your irrational behavior. Yoongi opened his mouth to say something, but as soon as you spotted your pile of clothes in the corner of the room, you scurried across to pick them up. 

Yanking down the boxers you were wearing and pulling off his shirt, the smell of his cologne sunk through the fabric and made your heartbeat jump for a moment. Flashbacks of last night snapped like a series of camera shutters in your mind; his scent rubbing onto your skin, the texture of his hair between your fingers, the warmth of his lips against your neck, the feeling of his tongue—

“Pull yourself together,” you screamed in your head. Shaking your head to snap yourself out of your sinful thoughts, you jumped up and down into your jeans and threw on your hoodie in record time before he could make a remark about your nude state.   

Picking up your phone from his nightstand and stepping—more like tripping—into your shoes, you turned around and closed your eyes, crinkling your nose to focus and think about whether you needed to gather anything else. Once confirming that you didn’t bring anything other than your phone, you rushed out the door and left Yoongi with his mouth hung open. 

“Well shit...” he thought. 

It had been a full week since the “incident,” as you had labeled it, and you were cooped up in your dorm like a prisoner, only sneaking out to get snacks and coffee from the corner store across the street. The stupid week-long break could not come any sooner, could it? 

Words splattered like stray drops of paint across the walls of your mind as panic occupied every waking thought since that night. 

He knew your secret and you knew his.

You didn’t know why fear was growing on you like a parasite. It’s not like he was going to tell Powell. Even if he did, you’d probably just have to go to a few physical therapy lessons and get prescribed some medication to manage the pain. 

“He’ll restrict your physical participation hours and make you play less...” your subconscious suspected. There it was—that was your greatest fear. Crawling bugs, skyscraper-tall heights, deep dark oceans, and even being trapped in a burning building didn’t compare to the complete and utter dread you would feel if you had lost music. Just thinking about it was enough to make you bite your nails. 

As your silent nights of waking up, showering, eating a few bites of granola bars, and wallowing in your bed until you fell asleep became repetitive, Yoongi was as loud and active as he had ever been—in the form of texts, that is. 

Saturday

Min Salty: You good? [1:41 p.m.]

Sunday 

Min Salty: Earth to _____ ? [ 8:19 a.m.]

Min Salty: Did you get sick? [11:43 a.m.]

Monday

Min Salty: Are you okay? [4:50 p.m.]

Min Salty: Call me [5:01 p.m.]

Tuesday

Min Salty: _____ , talk to me [12:12 a.m.]

Wednesday

Min Salty: At least let me know that you’re alive [10:08 a.m.]

Yesterday

Min Salty: I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you need [9:04 p.m.] 

Re-reading each text was like stabbing yourself with a rusted dagger over and over again as the realization of what you had done loomed over you like a storm cloud. Lying in your bed, you buried your face in the pillow and screamed, thankful that everyone down your dorm block was away for a few more days. It killed you even more inside when you read over the text you had sent five minutes ago.

Today

Min Salty: Practice room 2B at 3? [2:34 p.m.]

You: sure [2:41 p.m.]

Thrashing your arms and legs wildly in an attempt to relieve you of your impulsive and rash decision, you huffed one more time before getting out of bed and changing into a pair of jeans. Rubbing your eyes and triple-checking whether you had just done what you think you had done, you wailed overdramatically, praying that this was all just one big nightmare. 

What the hell were you thinking? 

Blowing your wild baby hairs away from your face, you ignored the state of the bird’s nest of a messy bun that laid atop your head and didn’t bother changing out of your hoodie. You were way too used to wearing those since you started college. Packing your dorm keys and notebook into your backpack, you slung it over your shoulder half-heartedly and prepared for the storm that lied ahead. 

The entire walk across the campus was filled with dread and you didn’t bother cleaning up your disheveled state when you finally knocked on the door. When it swung open, you met his gaze for the first time in what felt like weeks. 

Yoongi was sitting on the piano bench with a cup-holder filled with two hot drinks and a paper bag settled on the guest table. He too was flaunting just as plain of an outfit as your black joggers and school logo-printed hoodie.

With grey sweatpants, matching sweater, and grass-stained sneakers, you both stared at each other with awe at your equal ability to feel so comfortable in your less than dress code friendly attire. You didn’t even notice until your eyes landed on his socks that they were different colors, to which you clamped your hand over your mouth and disguised your snort with a brash cough. 

“Don’t you look gorgeous?” he scoffed, admiring your equally casual half-strewn choice of an outfit. Pulling out two chairs from the side of the room and placing them next to the table, you opened your mouth to protest, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the room.

Starting with the coffee, he handed you the paper cup, tapping under your chin playfully because he found your dazed face amusing. Angling your head down low, you felt a pang of regret. He shouldn’t be this happy...

He tore the bag open to reveal an array of croissants, donuts, and pastries from the café across the street. You’d gone there so many times in the last couple of years, you would be a moron if you hadn’t memorized the menu by now. 

“Why did you—” you sputtered, pointing to the golden loaves of steaming hot fluffiness that made your mouth water. Sitting down, he patted the chair next to him, welcoming you to sit and make yourself comfortable.

“Food first then talk,” he halted. “You look like you haven’t eaten anything other than instant noodles and mix coffee in weeks—and I know better than anyone what that looks like...”

Scowling at his double-edged insult and scold, you sat moved the chair to be across from him rather than beside and sat down slowly like a cat who was exploring their new home. 

Were you dreaming? Why was he being so soft? Was he on something? Perhaps, plotting his revenge? Or worse, your murder? 

 Sensing your hesitant state, Yoongi shoved a mini-donut into your agape mouth. “I didn’t poison anything, you fusspot.” He continued eating his food in silence as if nothing were wrong in the world. Maybe this would be an opportunity for you to get some actual food into your system and not be forced to talk.

And who were you to turn down lunch?

Chewing the mouthful of glazed donut you'd been fed, you chewed slowly and closed your eyes to hold back the moan that nearly came out. Starchy bread and sugary fruit preserves had never tasted so good.

A few minutes passed in total silence. The only sounds came from the crinkling of papers as Yoongi pulled out more napkins and the gulps that came from the two of you idly sipping your drinks. Yoongi had finished eating, but you were purposely taking your sweet time by chewing slower than a turtle and being overly cautious with your now-lukewarm coffee.

Leaning back onto the wall, Yoongi looked up at your room, breaking the silence first. “You’re in a single-dorm?”

Pausing in the middle of chewing, you swallowed and nodded, reaching over for your drink again. 

“By request?”

Another nod.

“Does it get boring?” he continued, clearly seeing that he was getting under your skin with each question. 

God, why did he have to talk so much?

You shook your head a little too vigorously as you took the last bite of your donut before setting it down and then taking a few reasonably long gulps of your coffee, finishing that as well. 

“Why’d you call?” you finally asked. 

Chuckling at how he had broken through your shell with the peace offering of food and coffee no one could resist, he fumbled with the empty cup in his hands. “I just wanted to check up on you,” he replied simply. “Plus, I was bored out of my mind and you’re the only other person on campus so I figured it’d be smart to kill some time with practice.” 

You shifted in your seated position as the comment took you by surprise. “You knew I was fine,” you mumbled, voice coming just short of a shy child’s whisper. 

“I actually,” he cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about last week.” 

“It was a mistake.” That was all it was; a mistake. 

Yoongi’s eyes widened as his eyebrows lifted up, his expression morphing into one of shock at your unexpected answer. “No, I—”

Shaking your head, you gnawed on the inside of your cheek. The sooner you got this cleaned up the easier it’d be on both of you. “We made a mistake and we need to move past it. It wasn’t responsible for us and—”

“Bullshit.” The word came out in the familiar tone that he used with you that night; anger and rage directing itself into the fury of one single word. 

“What?” you scoffed, wide awake now more than ever. You couldn’t tell whether it was because you were shocked at his view on the situation or whether it was the caffeine kicking in and doing its magic. 

Stretching his neck to one side and exhaling through his nose, he couldn’t make direct eye contact with you and opted to stare at your hands wrapped around your cup. “It wasn’t a– you didn’t do anything wrong,” he altered his sentence. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Neither of us did anything wrong because you and I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he began to grow annoyed at himself. 

Why was he stumbling over his words so bad? 

“Yoongi,” you said firmly. It was your turn to take hold of the conversation. “Can we just pretend like none of this happened and go back to being—” Pausing to bury your face into your hands, you shrugged. “Whatever we were before.”

“You really don’t want to talk about it?” he asked bluntly. 

You refused to even give yourself a second to process the question before you responded with a firm no. His tongue prodded the inside of his cheek for a moment before he got up. “Should we work on the piece then?” 

For some reason, regret ate at you like a power-hungry monster that would never be satiated. 

“Yeah,” you responded robotically, sitting yourself down on the cold leather chair. “Let’s practice.”

Never in your life had those words tasted so bitter in your mouth. 

You wanted to say that moving past mortifyingly embarrassing moments in your life was a process in and of itself. You even dared to say that admitting them was the hardest part but of course, to each their own. 

It had been two weeks since you last spoke to Yoongi and timed seemed to move slower than ever. Whenever you found yourself pondering over the option of texting him, your pride got the best of you. 

Between passing periods and free time after school, you had yet to formally speak with him last week. You cringed internally as flashbacks of the week prior set off like landmines in your head.

Scurrying down the hallways like an undercover rat, you went as far as wearing sunglasses along with your hood to try and disguise yourself. Surely, Yoongi wouldn’t recognize you in this state, right? You were even wearing a colored hoodie, for God’s sake—completely unheard of for someone of your tastes. Black and grey hoodies were your wardrobes’ partners in crime.

You earned a couple stares from the crowds of people as you kept your back hunched and weaved through them, but it definitely won over having to run into Yoongi. Or even worse, actually having to talk to him. Chills ran down your spine. You’d have to face him one day, but this was the one things you could afford to procrastinate just a little bit. 

Then came the day when he too learned about your schedule after countless trials of “accompanying” you to your classes—while hiding from your line of sight. 

“_____!” he shouted through the bustling crowd, waving his arm in the hopes that you’d see him, but to aid him in the off chance that you wouldn’t run away from him this time. Somehow, by the laws of the universe and its devious ways, he managed to catch up to you and tug at your sleeve. 

Turning around after muttering a wave of silent swears to yourself, you turned around like a character who was moments away from being murdered by the serial killer. Spoiler alert: this scene actually had a happy ending. 

“I’m late for a class!” you chuckled wryly, cringing at your own forced and awkward tone. “Catch you later!” Waving goodbye, you sped off as quickly as your legs could carry you to your lecture. 

“Catch you later?” Did you jump out of a 70′s sitcom or something? Your pessimist mocked you, poking fun at your awful crack at an excuse. 

There was bound to be someone else who arrived at the lecture 20 minutes early, right?   

Lounging in the tightly nestled corner of the café, you were in the middle of shuffling through the notes from class when a certain someone decided to grace you with the gift of a heart attack.

“Jesus freaking Christ!” Your notes nearly flew into the air as you jumped like an animated cat. Turning around to face the person behind you who had made the ballsy choice to sneak up on you and poke your shoulder, Yoongi’s face greeted you with a cheeky grin.

“Busy?” he asked nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just given you the fright of your life. Looking at him with your eyes open to the size of saucers, you wet your lips and gulped, trying to think of a way to dig out of yet, another hole you had buried yourself in. 

Pointing behind you with your finger to distract him, you raised your shoulders and jutted your neck forward, contorting into an uncomfortable pose that screamed awkwardness. “Text me later!” you spit out, crinkling your nose with a forced chuckle.  

“But—” Yoongi’s sputtering faded into silence as you dashed out of there quicker than a farm dog that was herding a flock of geese. 

Each time you replayed the self-deprecating memories like a slideshow in your head, it was comparable to sticking your hand into ice cold water you’d scooped up from Antarctica. “Dammit.” Your voice came out hushed but dangerously close to being an audible growl and your fist slammed onto the wooden table. 

Studying in the library was a bad choice. Odd stares and hushed whispers scattered across the room like a swarm of bees and caused the people around you to shift in their seats. Murming a silent apology at your sudden outburst, you packed your things and tried to leave as quietly as possible.   

As you felt the satisfying crunch of leaves under your feet with each step, your eyes drifted off into nowhere while your mind was a million miles away. You didn’t know why you felt so strange. It was as if everyone saw the world through black or white lenses and yet, you were the only one who hallucinated color in between the lines. 

Huddling your arms closer to your body, a cold gust of wind blew across your face, making you shiver and prickle with goosebumps. A dull, aching sensation made its way across the tops of your hands as your muscles reacted to the temperature difference, forcing you to tuck them under your armpits. Fashionable isn’t it? The weather of the autumn and winter months always bid the worst for your hands, and yet, your forgetful self always let the errand of buying a pair of stupid mittens slip your mind. 

It had also been a week since you’d gone anywhere near a piano and it stuck like a wine stain on white linen. You were jittery and anxious like a stranded survivor balancing on on the tip of an iceberg. Since you had a natural inclination to let out your emotions through playing, your cognitive acuity also felt at an all-time low. The rare possibility of running into your professor while you were in this state was soul-crushing, and the off-chance that he might see your restricted playing ability was even more so debilitating. 

Even though you hated to admit it, the best thing you could probably do for your hands was to go and play, even if it were for a few minutes. The doctor—even though it was his sincere recommendation for you to stop playing altogether and consider taking up stress ball yoga instead—told you that light activity was actually beneficial in regulating your chronic pain. 

The occasional Advil helped as well, but you’d been popping the tryhard M&M’s like candy on a regular basis since sophomore year, so your built-up tolerance to the orange-coated tablets rendered them useless. 

Debating between taking a hot shower back at the comfort of your room and going to practice for an hour (or three), you settled on the latter. You could use the extra hours anyway—you knew better than anyone how much you needed them. 

You took your usual shortcut around the quad and turned at the corner of the brick building you’d grown too acquainted with throughout the years. Stepping into the corridors, warm air welcomed you like an old friend as the buzz and whirring of the heater indicated that it was on full blast. Thank God. 

Treading down the length of the hallway with tentative steps, you were surprised to see that there were quite a few people occupying the studios. You recognized a few classmates through the glass panes of the doors. 

Judging by the pointless blabbering, incessant arguing, harsh thumping of keys, and scattered frustrated groans, the muted sounds that were still clearly audible through the soundproof rooms made you chuckle. Something told you that these were the master procrastinators who didn’t decide to start on the project until now...

When you reached the end of the hall, you were relieved to find an empty room. Finally. Sighing in relief, you had never found the flick of a light switch and whoosh of a closing door more satisfying than in that moment. 

Sprawling your things out haphazardly onto the floor, the overly-stiff lid of the piano opening made you scrunch up your face. If this piano was the only one out of tune in the building, you were going to—

You didn’t even finish the thought before your finger pressed on a key as if it had a mind of its own. “Thank the tuning gods,” you sighed, bringing your hand to your chest and exhaling out the air you’d held in your lungs. Sure, it was one of the older models the school’s inventory had to offer, but it was still miraculously in tune. 

If anything, you let out a ‘hm’ of intrigue as you sat down. You’d never played in this particular studio or on this piano before, but the different weight of the keys and peculiar texture of sound that emanated from them piqued your interest. 

Playing on a different piano than your usual model could best be described as a painter who had to paint with a completely different base canvas, colors of paint, and a set of brushes. Whereas a painter was familiar with his or her usual painting medium and more than comfortable with the feel of their brushes, the process of adapting to a new set of materials altogether was neither difficult nor easy, because they didn’t know what they were dealing with yet. 

It was just different. 

Pianos were almost grouped in the same theory, except rather than produce a visual piece with brushes and paint, you had to paint a picture with sound; an odd medium considering the less physically pliable nature of it. 

This piano in particular, for example, required more weight on certain keys to produce an equal amount of sound as the others. The texture of the sound was also a different quality, this being more rustic and ragtime sounding than the new models lined up in the front entrance studios. Those sounded much more acoustic, crisper, and sharper, fitting a more classical and structured repertoire. 

Starting easy with a few scales and basic pieces you learned when you were younger, the aching in your hands still lingered, but the pain grew more than bearable since your hands had warmed up. 

What were you going to practice today? Chopin? Beethoven? Lizst? Forming your mouth into an ‘o’ shape at the last name, you quirked your lip into a meek grin. When was the last time you played one of that psycho’s pieces? 

Settling on Liebestraum No. 3, you took a moment to try and remember the piece by heart. Closing your eyes to concentrate on picturing and mapping out the piece in your head, you breathed deeply and grazed your fingertips across the keys. 

The collection of three pieces was also known as Dreams of Love and the third piece’s gentle and melodic hymn was just that. The beginning of the piece was soft like a lullaby, enveloping the listener into a space of warmth and tenderness; like the sparks of a newly blossoming and dreamlike relationship. Hypnotizing and consuming, the simple unfolding melody drew you in completely.

The second cadenza then transitioned into the harsh reality of love, becoming more weighted and melancholic as the tempo not only sped up and became more frantic, but the tones and harmonics also developed into more complex ones. Desperate, heartbreaking, and filled with the raw reality that love had the ability to take just as much as it had to give, your hands no longer dictated how well you played at that moment; your humanity did. 

The final cadenza was the one that shredded your heartstrings. After the highs and lows of falling in and out of love, the dynamic returned to its former soft and lulling roots, reminding you that the everlasting form of love and eternal happiness was truly unattainable, and only lurked in the distant world that was your dreams. 

The words that constantly lurked in your head sent a pang of guilt into your chest, erupting and manifesting itself physically into the delicate and drawn out keys of the pieces final notes. Would you ever be happy?

Coming down from the euphoria that engulfed every nerve in your body, tears brimmed your eyes. Scoffing at yourself, you sniffled, dabbing away the wetness that dampened your cheeks as self-pitying chuckles left your mouth. This was a definitely a first. 

The sudden sense that someone was watching you made you grow suspicious. Snapping your head around to the door, your body went cold as a figure was visible through the glass pane of the door. 

Yoongi.

You remained frozen in place, unable to move from the wave of anxiety that swallowed you whole. Your throat was dry and your tongue felt like it was cemented to the roof of your mouth. Turning back around to face the piano, you tried to wipe the remaining tears as discreetly as you could, but you realized that your puffy eyes and red nose betrayed you. 

Facing back to the door, you pressed your lips into a thin line and hoped that it would mask any indication that you had just bawled over a stupid piece. God, you felt so pathetic...

Through the reflective pane, you tried to make out his expression but felt your heart hiccup when you zoned in on his face. He sniffled once before looking down at his feet, then back up at you, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his glassy eyes. 

Was he—crying? 

Blinking hard through your still-puffy and damp eyes, you squinted to try and get a clearer view of him through the glass, but in the blink of an eye and almost as soon as he had appeared, he was gone; vanishing like a figment of your imagination in a dream you had rudely woken up from. 

Your feet felt like they were cement blocks weighing down on the pedals. Unable to come to your senses enough to stand up and stop him you could only stare blankly at the door as the illusion of his echoing footsteps deadened into silence.

Today

You: 4A in 20 minutes? [5:22 p.m.]

Min Salty: sure [5:26 p.m.] 

Trying to push past and cross the awkward tightrope of a situation that you had created, you felt your breath hitch in your throat and form a hiccup instead. You weren’t sure what surprised you more, the fact that he had replied quicker than you anticipated or the actuality that he had replied to you at all. 

Biting your cuticles raw, your nerves were stinging you like a swarm of angry bees. You were already in the studio, of course, and had been practicing for an hour or so before the idea popped into your head. After that, the text had been saved as a draft for about ten minutes before you eventually swallowed your ego and placed your finger on the dreaded send icon. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Exactly two-minutes had passed since his response and��each tick of the clock was like the ring of a bell, signaling that it was feeding time for the growing monster that was your anxiety. 

You hissed through your teeth when you accidentally bit down too hard on your cuticle too hard and made a pool of bright red blood flood the edge of your nail. Simultaneously, the click and turn of the doorknob made you snap your head up and freeze, halting your pacing steps. 

Smoothing over the top of his hood, Yoongi fashioned a plain black shirt, tattered burgundy jacket, distressed jeans, and scuffed white sneakers. It didn’t take you a second longer to notice the black dust mask he had over his mouth, either. Whether it had become a habit of yours or a natural inclination to study him from afar, you always found yourself staring for a moment too long before you spoke. 

“You’re—” you cleared your throat. “—early.” Glancing at the clock, you made sure that you read it right. “Really early.”

He pulled out a chair and slung his bag onto the floor. “I figured you’d be here already.” His voice sounded rough, but not the abrasive kind of rough—the sick kind. When did he get sick? Did he take any medicine? Why was he here?

“Shut up...” you reminded yourself. “It’s none of your busine—”

“Are you sick?” Repressing your negative subconscious, you cared more about his health, for now, more than your ego could force you not to. He shook his head no rather than give you a formal response, refusing to speak and therefore, confirming your suspicions. 

He hadn’t even taken off his mask yet and you were pretty sure it was about 75 degrees outside; more than toasty enough for him to walk around without a mask to keep his mouth warm. 

“Yoongi, you should go home and rest,” you sighed. Instant guilt began to gnaw at you. 

Another forceful head shake and a few suppressed coughs later, he sat down on the chair and pulled out his notebook. It was bad enough you had your own pride to deal with, and adding Yoongi’s into the mix wasn’t going to lead anywhere. You weren’t putting him through this today. 

Taking his notebook away from his lap, you set it on top of his bag and kneeled down, placing your hand on his forehead. As you expected, it was slick with sweat. 

“Christ, you’re burning up...” you swore, flipping back and forth between the palm and back of your hand to make sure that he was really that hot. Gently grabbing your wrist, he craned his neck away from your reach and pulled your arm away from his vicinity.

He took his mask off agitatedly at your relentless nagging to try and prove his point. “I’m fine.” His voice was stern but still weak, a clear indication that he was anything but that. Frowning with concern written all over your face, he simply stared vacantly into your eyes while still maintaining his hold around your wrist. 

Shaking your head at his hardheaded attitude that mirrored yours, you pried his fingers off of your wrist and pressed the back of your hand to his damp cheek. Yoongi’s eyes went wide as his face instantly heated up and flushed at the contact. 

“You’re running at least a 100 right now, Yoongi,” you scolded. “We can practice anytime, but right now, you need to go home and rest.” Your hand was still resting on his cheek while you spoke while he continued looking at anywhere but your eyes. 

You pulled your hand away from his cheek and let out a near-inaudible gasp when he clutched your wrist again. Bringing your cool hand back to his face, you swallowed tensely when he slid his grip up to your hand and guided it to the side of his face, cupping his large hand over yours so that it was now cupping his cheek. 

He closed his eyes tenderly at the coolness of your hand, relishing the soothing and comforting touch that only you could ever provide. Your eyes fluttered a few times before you gave into his silent plea. Running your thumb over the delicate skin of his cheekbones, a twinge of woe struck your chest at the sight before you. 

“Why do you make me feel this way...” you murmured to yourself. 

“If only I understood the way I felt about you...” Yoongi thought. 

A soothing and not-entirely awkward silence filled the room. Yoongi’s throaty breathing and occasional sniffles were the only other noises that were distinguishable, and your intermittent hiccup decided to grace you with its presence towards the last three minutes of the hour. 

“Yoongi?” you whispered. Had he fallen asleep? Sitting up? Was he secretly a horse? 

“Mhm?” he hummed. Whew—still awake. 

Holding back the tiniest grin, you sighed. “Let’s go back to your dorm.” 

Mumbling something in his enervated state, you helped him up to his feet and slung his arm over your shoulders to keep him upright and on his feet. You could only pray that he was still conscious enough to have control over his legs. 

That day, you learned that dragging a barely conscious man who was twice the size of you into the boys’ dorm block was a sight worthy of earning a couple tentative stares. The childishly logical part of your brain wondered how serial killers did it. 

“Hm, I don’t know _____, maybe the fact that they’re absolutely maniacal psychopaths who possess four times the upper body strength you do helps,” you huffed, verbally exercising your strain as you tried to walk straight while propping Yoongi up. Was he drunk or really that sick?

Where was the RA anyway? Paying that high price of tuition should at least warrant a decent resident advisor for safety reasons. 

Brushing the shoulder of a stranger, the guy stared at you with terribly confused eyes as he stopped brushing his teeth. Panting heavily, Yoongi grumbled another illegible sentence of nonsense as you took a breather to ask the stranger where his room was. Logically, it had to be one of the only single-dorms in the building, so you prayed it mirrored the layout of yours and was at the end of the hall. 

The doe-eyed boy pointed to the end of the long corridor, the minty toothpaste bubbles foaming around the sides of his mouth as it remained parted open in confusion. You quickly thanked him and stumbled slowly but surely down the length of the hallway. Even though it was safe to assume that his door was locked, you turned down the lever and were surprised when the door swung open. Yoongi apparently doesn’t lock his door on the regular...

Thankfully, the layout of the room did, in fact, resemble yours, so you were able to find his bedroom with ease. You convinced yourself that fact that you had woken up there one fateful morning certainly played no part in it. Flinging himself (along with the frustrated force that resulted from your built-up and rushing endorphins) onto the mattress, he landed into the rumpled sheets with a thump. Apparently, he also didn’t have a habit of making his bed before he left his dorm. 

You let out a final harsh exhale. You did it. Stretching out your shoulders as a reward, you were more than positive that they’d be sore tomorrow. When was the last time you worked out? A trick question with a secret option C. You couldn’t be bothered to. 

Pulling off his shoes and peeling his jacket off of his body, you started to question whether he was secretly blackout drunk or truly terribly ill. He was out like a light within the first few steps into his dorm. You splayed his crinkled blanket over his body loosely, careful to keep him insulated but still allow some room for air to circulate and allow breathability. 

When your fingers brushed away the blonde hairs that were stuck on his sweat-dampened forehead, he shifted from his side-lying position, reaching out instinctually to grab your hand again. Yoongi kept his grip on your wrist firm, locking it close against his chest like a child’s teddy bear. He nuzzled his head into your wrist like a puppy, nosing the soft skin between your pulse point and prominent vein. He couldn’t help it that the cool skin of your poorly circulating limbs felt like ice packs on his burning hot skin. 

You blinked a couple times trying to process the options you had. Each tug in an attempt to free your arm from his grip only resulted in him clutching tighter, and he seemed to mumble something as his face contorted into a recognizable expression of discomfort. Nightmare?

Finally realizing that he wasn’t going to let go of you anytime soon, you gave up. It’s not like you had anything better to do today. Kneeling down beside the bed, you placed your free hand underneath your chin and propped your elbow on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position and wait for the situation to pan out for a couple minutes. He’d have to let go of you eventually. 

You couldn’t hold back the burning desire to admire his sleeping features. He looked so at peace compared to his day-to-day mood, almost like an entirely different person. Rubbing over his knuckles involuntarily, you didn’t even realize you were doing it until you felt his grip relax with your touch. Judging from how he had his mouth slightly parted and the steady rhythm of the rising and falling of his chest, you concluded that he had fallen asleep. 

Not wasting another second, you stealthily slid your hand out of his caging hold and folded the remaining edge of the blanket over his arms. You stood up and brushed off your red kneecaps and tip-toed to the door, closing it as softly as you could. Yoongi needed to sleep his heart out. 

Was it wrong to just leave? You stopped dead in your tracks when you realized that by the time he’d wake up, he would be starving. It wasn’t easy eating when you were sick, and Yoongi’s comment last week about him knowing what a month’s long diet of instant noodles and coffee looked like made you shudder in guilt. Gathering every single bit of patience and empathy you had left in the degrading bones of yours, you diverted yourself away from the exit and to the kitchen. 

Single-dorms on the university campus were like miniature studio apartments. Usually reserved for students on an as-needed basis, there were only six or seven in total. So far, Yoongi was the only other person you had met who occupied one. You hated to admit it, but he was probably the only other person you had talked to and gotten to know this much in all your years of attending the school. Would you dare go as far as to say he was your only friend? 

You quickly shook off the thought and went back to digging around his kitchen. His fridge and cupboard inventory didn’t come as much of a shock to you. It was, for lack of a better word, horrendous. 

The small refrigerator was practically empty, and the only things occupying the near-empty shelves were a couple apples, a half-dozen pack of eggs, a measly portion of fruit salad (probably from the mini-mart down the street), a package of mixed and chopped vegetables for soups and stews, one styrofoam takeout box, and a suspicious looking tin-foil boat. 

Don’t even mention the side compartments. Those were reserved for a few energy drinks, half-opened caffeine shots, packets of takeout condiments, a full-sized bottle of ketchup, a block of cheddar cheese, and a torn open foil pack of butter. Quirking the edge of your lip into a dumbfounded pucker, your face relaxed into one of comedic amusement. How could anyone live off of this—garbage? You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word “food.” That would be offensive to the existence of food itself. 

His freezer was completely empty, so moving onto the cupboards was either going to be a big mistake or a happy accident. You prayed deep down it was the latter. Then again, you also could not have been more wrong. 

The cupboards weren’t any better. If anything, they were worse. The grey-painted plastic backboards were the only things visible, usually a sign that a student had just moved in days ago. In one corner of the lowest shelf was an almost-empty box of granola bars; the shitty 99 cent ones every seasoned uni student stocked up on in bulk before the semester started. Beside it was a newly opened bag of rice. At least that was the one food item in this crapshoot that seemed remotely new. 

The rest of the shelves held two worn-out, rusty frying pans, and chipped glass china. Those were probably hand-me-downs from senior students who couldn’t be bothered to throw their old belongings away after graduation. There was a whole recycling bin full of them in the storage shed by the cafeteria 

You bit your lip, trying to think of what to make with what little you were given. Omelet? Boring. Soup? Painfully more boring. Curious, you unwrapped the mysterious bundle of tin-foil and discovered a very fresh marbled flank of beef. Cheering internally, you set to work on your favorite childhood dish that you were most confident in cooking: fried rice.  

You were more than willing to buy him another pack of meat. Hell, after the shock of seeing his fridge? You were more than willing to buy his groceries for a whole damn month if it meant he would take care of himself. Your grandparents always sent you too much money at once anyway. It wasn’t as if you had friends to go out and drink with, so paying for dinners wasn’t a usual activity you took part in. 

You started off by washing the rice and setting it up on the stovetop to boil. It would take the longest to prepare, so it was only natural to get that out of the way first. Next came the simple process of chopping up the meat, cooking it thoroughly, combining the packet of pre-cut vegetables, and then mixing in the rice last. On any other given day, you would have seasoned the meat with at least a pinch of pepper, but you didn’t exactly have that option considering the given circumstances.

It didn’t take long since the limited and pre-measured ingredients boxed you in along the way. Plating the rice onto the only dish deep enough that Yoongi had available, you used the same pan to quickly fry up two eggs. The smell of steaming hot food made your stomach grumble in response. 

Not to stroke your ego or anything, but you enjoyed patting yourself on the back for your accomplishments every now and then, no matter how small. Self-assurance was good for the old pessimistic soul. 

You tried to think of any other thing you could add to the meal and ogled the table when you nearly forgot. Shuffling back to the fridge, you cut up half an apple and arranged the slices into the plastic mini-mart bowl of fruit salad. Then, you eagerly jumped towards the bottle of ketchup and shook it vigorously with arms that were already starting to feel sore from lugging around Yoongi earlier. 

Drizzling the condiment over the golden heap of steaming rice, the red zig-zag streams finished off the orange and green vegetables quite nicely. You covered it with the only other dish Yoongi had in his cupboard and hoped it would still be warm by the time he woke up. Sighing in satisfaction as well as exhaustion, you didn’t pause to check the time. 

“Shit...” you muttered. The sky was already pitch black, meaning that it was well past 9. You facepalmed. How long had you been here? Mind you, you also completely forgot that you still had an essay due next week. Do you know how much easier life would be if your laptop grew its own set of hands and just wrote it for you? 

If you checked up on Yoongi before leaving, you had a feeling he would wake up the minute the doorknob clicked, so you thought it was best just to let him rest. Sneaking out of a dorm for the first time in your life, the door creaked ever-so-slightly before latching shut as Yoongi and his dorm returned to their all-too-familiar state of vacancy. 

Getting up the next morning was certainly an interesting process, to say the least. You sat in your tangled mess of bedsheets for about ten minutes before coming to the realization that yesterday was everything but a dream. It hit you like a bucket of cold water that had just been dumped over your head.

Throughout the entire day, you hobbled through your classes with hunched shoulders and a rounded back, feeling a constant strain in your upper body each time you tried to straighten out. “Working out” was a mistake. 

As the deadline for the performance was almost at the two-month mark, you grew more and more anxious with each passing day. It wasn’t anything special. You always had a healthy amount of anxiety revolving around academia but your performance nerves were on a completely different level. 

Humming to piece to yourself, your phone buzzed from your pocket as the blaring of your ringtone sounded. Your parents didn’t call you during the weekdays and you couldn’t think of anyone else who had your phone number. “Perks of having no friends,” you thought. Fishing it out of your coat pocket, your eyes widened when Yoongi’s name flashed across the screen. 

Your fingers swiped across the green icon absentmindedly, accepting the call with little hesitation. “Hello?” Didn’t he usually prefer to text you rather than call?

“Hey,” he replied. He sounded a lot better than yesterday but his throaty tone made it clear that traces of his cold still remained. “Are you free?”

You hiccuped. “Wh–yeah. Yeah, I’m free.” Of course, he knew you were free. It was a trick question. After following you around and trying to catch your tail, he had familiarized himself with your schedule, just as you had done a few weeks prior. “Do you want to book a practice room?”

A sniffle suddenly sounded from behind you and echoed in the receiver, making goosebumps sprawl across your neck. Not a millisecond after, the line clicked dead. Rip it off like a band-aid or peel it off slowly and painstakingly? Opting for the former, you closed your eyes tightly and mouthed a silent swear, turning around in slow motion like something out of an action film. 

Low and behold, there was Yoongi shifting his weight back and forth on his heels. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to go on a—” he paused to rub the back of his neck; he only did that when he was nervous. “On a hike?” 

“A hike?” The word felt foreign in your mouth. As far as you were concerned, yesterday’s fiasco was enough physical activity to last you for the rest of the year, but Yoongi wanted to go on a hike? “Aren’t you still sick?”

He shrugged. “A little cardio might help me burn it off and do me some good.” 

“You’re not plotting my murder, are you?” you gulped. Why was that always the first logical explanation that presented itself in your head?

Blinking at you for a moment, he chuckled and shook his head at your comment. “Not unless it's by physical activity. And it’s only up to the viewpoint. You’ve sprinted to classes farther than that.”

He had a point. The school was built atop a hillside and the viewpoint was, as its name entailed, a spot where you could look over the entire campus. It was about a five-minute walk outside of the gates and the climb wasn’t too steep. It certainly beat running a whole campus-length to each of your classes. 

“What about practice?” you sputtered, tongue weighing down your mouth like an ankle weight. “We haven’t gone over the piece in weeks.” 

Throwing his arm over your sore shoulders and bringing you close to him, he sighed. “Learn to live a little, _____. We still have two more months. A walk might clear your head.” Since when was Yoongi the voice of reason? 

You allowed him to walk a few steps ahead of you and ducked under his arm swiftly when you got the chance, freeing yourself from his hold. The concept of space bubbles around Yoongi had grown dangerously close to popping now. 

“Okay,” you cleared your throat. “Fine, fine, let’s go.” Picking up your pace, he trailed behind you with an amused smirk. 

Was it the cough medicine making him loopy or was he just particularly charming today?

“Min Yoongi, yo–I swear to God—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before collapsing onto the grass like a sack of potatoes. “If I ever get the strength back in my legs, I am going to smother you with a pillow,” panting between each word. 

By the time you made it up to the top of the hill, the sun was already set, making vivid orange and dusty pink colors streak across the darkened sky. The air was colder up here than back down on the campus level but you tried your best to hide your discomfort whenever your hands throbbed from the cold. 

Yoongi laughed as his eyes crinkled and his pearly white teeth showed in a gummy smile. “Good luck with that,” he chuckled. Making himself comfortable and sitting down beside your limp body, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, breathing in deeply. The walk actually did in fact, miraculously clear up his stuffy sinuses. Wonderful. 

Sitting up, you tried to rub your hands as discreetly as possible so as to not make him worry but failed when cracking of a few knuckles caused him to snap his gaze to you. He unzipped his jacket and flung off his hood and you immediately stopped him. 

“Nope,” you retaliated quickly. “No. Put it back on. Don’t even think about doing anything textbook cliché or I’ll roll you down the hill like a Lincoln log.”

Raising his eyebrows slightly at your distaste and choice of a non-threatening threat, he shrugged his jacket back on with a quizzical pout. “Don’t you have a pair of mittens or something?”

You grumbled a no in response, embarrassed that even he was aware of how ridiculous it was. A calming silence cast over both of you, the only sound coming from a few crickets chirping and the murmuring city far below. Your teeth started to chatter a couple minutes in, making genuine concern spread across Yoongi’s face. 

“Come here,” he sighed, gesturing to his open arms. Widening your eyes, you raised your hands assuringly.

“I’m fine,” you chuckled nervously. “I just have really bad circulation, that’s all.” It wasn’t a total lie. You really did have awful circulation and it constantly made your hands and feet cold. Not a day went by when you didn’t wear socks and a thick wooly sweater around your room. 

“Do you want to get sick too?” he asked with a bite in his voice, almost as if your stubbornness was beginning to get the best of him as well. “We’ve done worse things with fewer clothes on anyway...”

“Hey!” You jabbed his side. Narrowing your eyes at him in a silent message that he had won this round, you scooted over beside him as he wrapped his arms around your frame. It never ceased to amaze you how no matter the situation, whether it was his hands around yours or his arms around your body, you seemed to fit perfectly in his hold like a matching puzzle piece. 

Nestling yourself into his warm figure, you felt yourself relax into his touch. It would be a sin to deny that he had an unexplainable effect on you. The softness of his jacket, the heat radiating from his body, and his natural scent lulled you into a dazed state, too relaxed to even care about boundaries anymore. 

“Can we talk about it now?” he whispered, voice coming out muffled because his cheek was squished on the top of your head like a child’s. 

Fluttering your eyelashes open at his sudden request, you swallowed tensely. How did you not see this coming? You pulled away to get a proper glimpse of his face. “What is there to talk about, Yoongi?” 

“Don’t say my name like that,” he cut off abruptly. Had you already ticked him off? Giving him a look of confusion, he shook his head and looked down. “Don’t say my name like you pity knowing me...”

“Yoongi,” you exhaled faintly. He didn’t interrupt you this time. “I don’t understand what you want to talk about. We got angry at each other, we fought, and we made a mistake. That’s all.” Forcing out the last phrase felt like swallowing a jagged blade. You hated admitting it because of how untrue it was. 

“It didn’t feel like a mistake to me, _____.” His face remained firm as he used your name, speaking with an unflinching air of confidence and assuredness that only he could muster. 

It was your turn to shake your head and scoff. “What do you want me to say? That it was amazing? Because it was. It was amazing, okay? Everything felt so fucking perfect and I hate admitting it—” Pausing to breathe, you groaned and tangled your fingers through your hair at the sudden outpour of emotions you’d kept bottled inside of you for weeks. 

"Because feeling that good and happy for once scared the shit out of you, didn’t it?” he finished for you. Looking up at him, his gaze remained glued onto you, completely unfazed at your expected outburst. 

The question that made your heart race like the beating of a butterfly’s wings suddenly presented itself on a silver platter. 

“How did you know about my RA?” Your throat went dry as the words felt like chalk on your tongue. Had he told Powell yet? 

Leaning his head to one side, his jaw muscles tensed. “It doesn’t take a doctor to see that you're in pain outside of class.” He said it with a tone of dripping bluntness. “Not to mention how sensitive you are to the temperature changes; how you always rub your hands when it’s cloudy outside because it’s cold; even after playing a long piece because your fingers start to ache, and how abnormally swollen your joints get after a long day.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed into a dumbfounded frown. How did he know all of that? You weren’t even remotely aware of the fact that he was cognizant of your existence, much less your usual habits and mannerisms. “How do you notice all of that?”

Yoongi's jaw muscle tensed but he didn’t respond. 

Licking your lips nervously, another equally anxiety-inducing question made its way to the tip of your tongue. Moving your hands down to his sleeved arm, Yoongi’s breath hitched in his throat when you looked at him softly, silently asking for his permission. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, hesitant for a brief second, before tipping his chin down once.  

Your fingertips lightly brushed across the smooth skin of the top of his hand before grasping the edge of the sleeve cuff. Sliding it up slowly, the scars that were hidden became exposed, the milky tone of his skin contrasting with the rough and darkened scratches that were scattered across the entire length of his arm. 

“Gnarly, isn’t it?” He let out a nasal scoff. These were the only battle scars he was sure he would never flaunt in all their glory. The pads of your fingers carefully brushed over the delicate skin, studying the textured pattern like an ancient relic; one that would leave an impression in the mind for all the wrong reasons. 

“What happened afterward?” Your voice was cautious, coming out just shy of a whisper. Would he trust you enough with this? 

Yoongi’s jaw clenched again. Before he could say anything, you slid his sleeve back down over his arm and instinctively held his hand for support. Gripping yours back in response, he took a deep breath to compose his thoughts before speaking. It was now or never. 

“Powell found me. Whether it was because of fate or some bullshit theory of the universe, I don’t know, but he rushed me to the hospital and stayed with me for the entire week in the recovery unit.” A cold gust of wind blew and he was the one who held your hand tighter. “I didn’t tell my parents of course,” he chuckled dryly. 

“They never supported me in music until the day I got my scholarship here. Before that, they practically forced me away from anything having to do with music. ‘You’ll die starving and poor; you won’t have a proper job; and when you’re on the streets, homeless and begging for money, we won’t be here to help you. Just to tell you, We told you so.’ If I told them, I knew they’d force me to move back in with them and take on the family trade; scrubbing pots and serving drinks for drunkard business mongrels until 3 a.m.”

Yoongi’s Adam’s apple bobbed at the memory but his eyes remained centered. “I took a semester off to recover and decided that it was probably best for me to just drop out since I couldn’t play anymore. PT was a crapshoot. There was nothing left here for me.” His eyes glazed over momentarily but returned in a split second. Did physical therapy really not work? Had he even tried a single session? 

“Then Powell spent the entire semester practically begging on his knees to try and convince me to switch majors to composition and theory instead,” he grinned faintly, even letting out a ghost of a chuckle. “It took a month or two, but I figured I owed him that much. The old man practically raised me like his own son ever since freshman year.”  

He turned to face you, gaze landing on your intense ones with a soft smile as his thumb rubbed over your hand. “Everyone thought I got sucked into the party scene, failed all of my classes. I think some of those idiots assumed I got hazed into a gang or a cult. Like those morons knew anything about me...” 

You bit your lip. People were truly the worst. Not to mention immature, gossip-mongering, feeble-minded pre-burnout college pricks. 

“The hospital seemed like heaven compared to the hell I stepped into when I got back. I was like an animated corpse. I rarely ate, couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t even bother going to classes. I’d just sit my bed all day and stare at the ceiling like a rock. I was too afraid to sleep because every time I did, I’d have nightmares about it.” 

He frowned at the pang of contrition that struck him. “The headlights centimeters away from my face and blinding my eyes, the sirens ringing in my ears, the creaking metal wheels on the gurney...” Shaking his head, tears flung off his face and a droplet landed on the top of your hand. 

Your eyes fell to the grass at you held back your own budding tears. No matter how badly you wanted to scream that it was all over and in the past and that you were there for him, all you could do was sit and listen.

“Everything just felt so fucking empty…” he whispered, tugging hard at the edge of his lower lip between his teeth. “That night with you in the practice room was the first good night’s sleep I’ve gotten in two years.” The confession took you by surprise, your eyes lighting up like a spark from a firework. 

His eyes softened at your reaction. “When I got rolled into the ER, a nurse was rushing down the hall with me, holding my hand the entire way. I was busy blacking in and out of consciousness.” He stopped to grab your hand and bring it to cup his cheek, closing his eyes instantly at the contact-comfort. “But she had her hand by me the entire time until I completely knocked out in the operating room.”

Stroking your thumb over the sleep-deprived hollow that sunk in under his eye, his eyebrows knitted together and he clutched your hand tighter, afraid that if he let go, you’d dissipate like a figment of his imagination that was too good to be true. That’s why he wouldn’t fall asleep yesterday...

“It was dangling there like bait in right in front of me; taunting me, insulting me, mocking me like I was nothing—like the universe was reminding me that I was never going to be able to love anything else ever again and that I’d just have to live with it,” he continued with his face strained, expression taut as he tried to focus despite reliving the painful set of memories. 

He hadn’t bothered touching a piano since that night, refusing to accept the fate he’d have to gamble in anticipation of finding out whether he still had the ability to play or not. In reality, he didn’t know whether he could still coordinate his muscles—and he had absolutely no desire to find out any time soon. 

Yoongi let out a huff through his parted mouth. “Do you know how easy it is for people—things—to come into your life, give you everything that you would ever want and could possibly ask for, and then have them take it away just like that?” Seeing his breath through the frigid air, you had a feeling it wasn’t the weather making his words sound cold, but the emptiness and distance he had created within himself.

Gnawing on the corner of your lower lip, you kept your gaze focused down at your hands. It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. Somehow, you finally found the courage to speak. “Is that why you hated me?” you asked in the barest of a whisper, your voice quieter than the rustling of the leaves on the trees. “Because you felt like I took that away from you?”

“No,” he replied instantly. Fluttering your eyelids at his unexpected and confident response, you frowned at him, confused. 

“I never hated you—didn’t—hate you because you played the piano,” he shook his head, eyes directed to the ground wistfully. “I was jealous.”

Your gaze softened at the confession as you swallowed nervously, awaiting his next words. “You looked so happy,” he smiled, letting out a chuckle that was too full of melancholy. “I knew from the first moment I saw you playing by yourself in the studio...” Yoongi’s voice trailed off, face melting into an expression you couldn’t read. 

Staring into his eyes, you silently pleaded him to continue. The corners of his mouth lifted into a gentle smile as his pearly white teeth barely peeked through his lips. “From the moment I saw you on my first day back, I knew I was screwed,” he grinned. “I wanted to hate you so badly but you were so perfect, how could I?”

A rosy flush crept onto your face at his heartfelt words. “You were alone in the studio two hours before any classes started and you were just playing your heart out,” Yoongi remembered the day clearly, the vivid details of the first time he encountered resurfacing like the fresh morning air after a rainstorm. The way his heart raced in his chest made it seem like it had just happened yesterday. 

“I thought you were some competition kid who got a free pass into school because of personal connections or an arranged acceptance, but I just heard you playing and—” he chuckled, shaking his head again. 

“You weren’t just reading notes and playing the piece like a robot; you were breathing the music and I could feel it.” Yoongi’s fingers stroked the palm of your hand. “I could feel you. In every single piece I’ve ever heard you play: Campanella, Liebestraum, Fantaisie, Moonlight Sonata...”

Your pulse was racing like the engine of a sports car. Judging by how confidently he listed down the pieces, he knew each of those pieces by heart, recalling each exact moment when you had played the melodies like a page out of the book of his recollections. Campanella was the piece you’d chosen for your junior year exam, Liebestraum your senior, Fantaisie was simply one you practiced for fun, and Moonlight Sonata was the piece Powell had asked you to play for an exhibition recently. 

“I tried so hard to avoid you and hate you and completely despise your existence,” he scoffed at himself. “You glowed brighter than the stars when you played. Seeing it from you made it hurt so much more because I missed that feeling more than anything,” he paused. “But I couldn’t. I was already in too deep, so I just ignored you.”

For the first time, a lengthy and comfortable silence befell the two of you.

“I didn’t know what who I wanted to be until I started college,” you admitted suddenly, confidence stemming from the seed Yoongi had planted with his truth. 

“My mom taught me how to play the piano when I was four. She’d put me in her lap while she played and let me press the keys.” You chuckled at the flashback. “I didn’t think much of it until I fell entirely in love with it in middle school. It was this weird need, this urge to play whenever I was happy, angry, sad, annoyed, and frustrated. I felt like it was the only friend who understood me better than the actual people I knew.”

Yoongi gave you an understanding smile, sympathizing with your logic by the nature of personal experience. 

“In high school, everyone thought I was the one who had my whole life plotted out like a map: a loving family, supportive parents, good grades.” A ghost of a smile grazed your face at the distant memory. It felt so close and yet so far like you could reach out and touch it, yet it was a fingertip’s length from being torn away from you.  

“During senior year, I found out that I really didn’t have a passion for anything. Not even for music—at the time,” you filled in. “I shut everyone out with these gates I built. I hated how lonely I was, but who else could I blame? I didn’t want people to see me for who I thought I was: a passionless, unmotivated, lazy, worthless failure who would never amount to anything.” 

Shaking your head, tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision, yet refused to cry over something as stupid and insignificant as this. Seeing this, Yoongi simply laced his fingers through yours firmly, wordlessly showing his support for your endurance. 

“I auditioned for fun one day after seeing the posters stapled across our school’s bulletin board. Didn’t expect much at the time since I didn’t think you could do anything with a degree in music, and in the beginning, I actually thought I was right,” you laughed wryly at yourself. 

“Undergrad was pretty awful. Playing as a student with a major was so much different than playing for fun. I was so stressed with deadlines and projects and practice hours, I almost forgot why I started playing in the first place.” Your mind wandered back to the long, sleepless nights you spent in the studios trying to perfect what would never even come close to the synonym of perfection.

“Then in my sophomore year, I got to take more classes with Powell and he completely changed my life. I wish I was exaggerating, but he really did change who I was as a person, not just a dazed university student. I don’t think I’d still be here without him.”

Your lips formed into a tender smile. “I started getting my passion for playing back and I learned to appreciate the value of my scholarship. I guess now, I’m just hanging in the middle.” Yoongi’s eyes studied your features intently, concentration remaining unswayed for the entirety of your release of emotions. 

A couple moments skimmed by before you resumed speaking. 

“I like spending time at coffee shops, taking the bus to the bookstore when I have free time, and sometimes I even make an effort to actually greet some of the people there—but I like being alone,” you admitted. Yoongi’s ears perked up at your last phrase.

“I like doing things by myself and being able to have control over everything in my life so that I don’t have anyone to blame other than me when shit goes downhill,” you rambled, swallowing your words while you spoke like bitter medicine. Yoongi’s smoldering gaze, as it lay on you, was intense enough to start forest fires.

You sighed heavily. “But frankly, I don’t like being lonely.” The confession bled past your lips like spilled ink from a bottle, leaving a splattered and stained trail as it seeped through your mind. 

“No one does,” he responded honestly. Directing your watery eyes to his softened gaze, you looked down at the pair of your hands entwined together.

What was this in his eyes? 

Who were you to him?

Yoongi, on the other hand, didn’t waste a single second before cupping the sides of your face and bringing you into a kiss. The force took you by surprise and made you land on your back with a soft thud, causing you to burst into a fit of laughter against his lips.

It didn’t take you longer than a couple of flashes in your brain synapses to give into his magnetizing touch. Making out on a hilltop in front of the city lights never crossed the line of sounding appealing other than outside of a cheesy rom-com, but Yoongi’s warm lips preoccupied every train of logical thought that ran cross your mind. God, what was he doing to you? 

You’d slept with him once and you still managed to get butterflies like a giddy teenager who was in their first relationship; immature and blind with infatuation. You tangled your hands through his hair like second nature as his weight pressed on top of you, making you feel secure under him. The kiss was tender and patient—a stark contrast to the last time you had locked lips with him. 

“Can I be alone with you?” he asked suddenly, breath fanning across your lips because he refused to pull away farther than three centimeters from you. 

You laughed heartily, making him flash his pearly whites and peeking pink gums again. “Is this your dumb way of asking me out?” Smiling widely in response, his lips connected with yours again, effectively shutting you up. 

“I don’t want to pretend like I don’t have feelings for you anymore, _____,” he murmured into your ear. “Do you know how hard it’s been having to act like I hate your guts for the past three years when I can’t stop thinking about you on a regular basis?” 

Another awfully timed blush graced the tops of your cheeks. You shoved his shoulder playfully at his seemingly sarcastic yet sincere compliment. “Stop being such a softie, it’s gross.” Yoongi pouted, feigning hurt at your teasing comment. His childish face made you burst into laughter, vibrant and full of life. You’d swear on your life that he had a million personalities buried deep underneath that facade of a stone-cold gargoyle. 

Biting your lip, you shook your head, picking at the grass to distract yourself. “What if I’m sleeping and this is all some dream that’s way too good to be true?” you mumbled. How did you go from avoiding each other like water and oil to melding perfectly like paper and ink? 

“Then it’d be your dream and my nightmare...” he murmured, keeping his forehead pressed against yours as his lips remained centimeters away from contact.

You laughed shyly, shoving him away teasingly at his admirably honest nature. “So three years, huh?” 

Again, Yoongi chose not to respond, allowing you to take note of yet another one of his habits: refusing to answer a question he knew he was guilty of.  

You only had one shitty, wonderful, stressful, joyous, short life. Might as well make it worth living with what you were given. 

As you gazed deeply into the dark eyes that belonged to the person who you once thought hated your very being, you realized that you were entirely and utterly screwed—because you were completely captivated by each other. 

The best part? You had a million more reasons to discover exactly why. 

Relationships were never you or Yoongi’s thing. Whereas the typical couple would spend hours at a time arguing over stupid things, trying to work it out but only tearing their hair out in clumps and eventually breaking up, you never saw the point in arguing in general. If you argued with your partner, you would request to break up. Simple. Clean. Painless. Well, at least for one.

It was a really black and white way of seeing the complex web that composed a relationship, but to you, it was just blatantly obvious. Some called you cold but that was just another opinion. 

Why argue if you’re “in love” with each other? Why fight if you’re “in love” with each other? Why hurt the person you love if you can choose not to be with them and let them be happy? Holding onto people for the sake of a quote on quote, “relationship” despite hurting each other was selfish and pointless. 

To you, that wasn’t love. It was self-sabotage. 

“You okay?” Yoongi’s voice peeped from above you, mumbling into your hair. 

“Hm?” you hummed, snapping out of your daze. He chuckled deeply at your deeply unwavering expression, pressing a kiss to the top of your head tenderly. You were currently tangled in the sheets of his bed after waking up from a nap. Today marked the first week of your official relationship and you had to admit, it was pretty nice. 

Okay, nice was an understatement. It was perfect. 

You had yet to get into an argument, as both of you had quite passive and anti-argumentative personalities. Then again, you were still technically in the honeymoon phase of your relationship, so it was bound to pop up at some point. 

Your days together were few and far between spending time in the studio practicing, sleeping over at his dorm (courtesy of his ever-so diligently working resident advisor), walking each other to class, texting and video calling for hours until one of you fell asleep, and occasionally going up to the viewpoint when the weather conditions proved to be favorable—and you had chugged four cups of coffee. 

It was like something of a fairytale, and you were always worried that you’d wake up one day to find out that it was just that: a false reality you had conjured up in your own head. But if it was a dream, it was one you never wanted to wake up from.

“Hold still,” you scolded for the tenth time. 

Yoongi grumbled. “I’m trying, but it’s hard when you’re tickling my neck.”  

Huffing at his fidgety muscles, you blew a hair out of your face and kept your hands busy. “It wasn’t my idea to dye your hair, dummy.” He hummed an off-beat tune in response to your incessant scolds. 

In the early hours of the morning, you had gotten a text from your loving and selfless boyfriend that he needed to save a few bucks and needed to touch up his hair. You, being the only other person he spoke in the whole universe (practically), so graciously agreed. It was about five minutes into the hands-on activity that you were beginning to regret your generous and giving disposition. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to deal with the fumes of bleach as Yoongi had opted to dye his hair back to his natural dark brown color. He mentioned something about his growing lazy temperament and it becoming too time-consuming to continuously touch up the dark roots every few weeks. It wasn’t exactly the best for his hair either, the blonde ends breaking off due to the harsh chemicals and his inability to spare the extra five minutes to use conditioner. 

“Then why did you dye it in the first place?” you laughed, dumbfounded at his odd reasoning. 

Mumbling something in an inaudible hush, you shot him a confused glance. "I was going through a phase...” he said clearer this time, tucking his chin down in shame. 

Lifting your eyebrows, you nodded, accepting his answer and sensing that he wasn’t going to elaborate any time soon. “You know, you could just let it grow out and style it like that, grown out roots and everything” you offered. “I’ve seen a few celebrities who pull it off pretty well.” 

“Eh,” he let out a disgruntled sound, crinkling one of his eyes.

You snorted through your nose from holding in your laugh, making him flinch as your breath tickled his sensitive neck again. “Sorry,” you giggled. Continuing brushing the pitch-black gel over his roots, you were trying to be careful and not let it get on his skin. As far as your experience in hair dye went, the stains would wash out easily with some warm water and soap, but you didn’t enjoy the extensive process of cleanup it would lead to. 

“Does it bother you?” you asked, referring to the color differentiation of dark roots to beige blonde hair during the grow-out process. 

Thinking over it for a minute, Yoongi pouted and gave into his perfectionist attitude as he clicked his tongue with a “yup.” Holding back a grin at his undeniably soft personality, you couldn’t believe that you still hadn’t woken up yet. You intentionally blew a puff of air in his ear, causing him to jolt from his seat. 

“Hey!” he was the one to scold this time. 

“My advisor is going to kill me.” 

“If you die, I’ll kill you.” 

Scrunching your nose at his menacing threat that made absolutely no sense, he let out a sleepy grumble, nestling his head into your hair and inhaling your scent. 

“Just because your advisor is shit at his job, doesn’t mean that mine doesn't notice when I’m gone,” you pointed out. 

Yoongi mumbled lazily into your hair in the hopes that you’d drop the topic and go to sleep. It was an idle Friday night and the two of you had spent the entire day at the studio practicing the piece. Since you only had classes from Mondays to Thursdays, you got into a routine of meeting up and spending the whole free day in the studios. 

The last day of the week was what Yoongi looked forward to more than anything because it usually ended with you burying yourselves in his bed sheets with a random episode of The Office playing on your laptop and falling asleep tangled in each other. 

“Yoongi,” you groaned. “What if I get in trouble?” 

He hummed something inaudible into your chest once again, tickling your collarbone with his whispers. No way were you letting him fall asleep that easily. It was only fifteen minutes past 8. 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Poking his shoulder playfully, his mouth was still closed, indicating that he was indeed fully awake. He always parted his mouth slightly when he was asleep, another habit you picked up early on the way before your relationship started.  

Then an idea struck you. There was that favor you needed to repay him for...

Prying your body away from his arms gently, you bit your lip coyly, smirking at his clueless sleeping body. Your hand trailed down to the band of his sweatpants slowly, making him gulp. Running your fingers along the bundle of fabric near his hipbone, you were surprised when your hand met his already-hard length. 

Yoongi’s eyes were now fully open as you shot him a questioning gaze. “Your fault for being so goddamn attractive all the time...” he defended, jutting his lower lip into a pout and not bothering to hide his blatantly obvious hard-on. 

Dropping your mouth in a mock offended gape, you raised your eyebrows as a chuckle of disbelief came out. “I haven’t even touched you yet!” 

“I get hard just thinking about you,” he admitted all-too casually. Smacking him on the shoulder from embarrassment, you shook your head and couldn’t help but bury your face in his chest. 

“It amazes me the same Min Yoongi who despised me a few months ago would turn out to be the softest cheeseball I know,” you scoffed. 

Kissing your nose, he wrapped his arms around you and turned onto his back, rolling you on top of him. The change of angle made you immediately feel his hardness pressing under you. You rested your chin on his chest innocently, rolling the piling lint on his shirt between your fingers. 

Yoongi’s eyes started drifting off again, too tired to keep the ball rolling, but not before giving you another idea. Keeping your chin resting atop his chest, you began rolling your hips slowly against his, making him suddenly choke while exhaling. 

Lifting his head to look down at your seductive grin, you batted your eyelashes sweetly, feigning innocence as you continued grinding your hips over the growing tent in his pants. 

“_____,” he whined, rubbing his tired eyes. “You know there’s nothing or anyone I’d rather be doing right now, but I’m a little sleepy.” Pressing a swift kiss to his lips, you ignored his excuses and slid down to pull down his sweats. 

“Who said you had to do anything?” Your voice was too cocky for your own good and Yoongi was, as he had mentioned, too tired to even sit up and watch what you were doing. You had all of him to yourself and at your mercy. 

Snapping the band of his boxers against his skin, Yoongi let out another soft whine as he started growing more impatient and harder with your teasing pace. His clothed member was straining against the tight cotton of his briefs and made you lick your lips in anticipation. 

You palmed him through the thin fabric, drawing out teasing him for as long as possible to make his pleasure greater in the long run, but it forced another throaty growl out of his mouth. His gruff tone made wetness pool immediately between the junction of your thighs. 

Unable to handle your own slow pace for much longer, you yanked down his briefs in one swift tug as his length immediately sprung out against his toned stomach. It was just as perfect as you had remembered. 

You were seconds away from biting your lip to the point of breaking the skin. Wrapping your hand around his hardness like a magnet, it throbbed underneath your fingers, already oozing precum from the red and swollen tip. Each time you pumped up and down his length, it caused a bead to well up and pool around his slit. Fuck—how was he was so perfect?

“_____,” he moaned through a strangled whine. Watching his face with every precise stroke, Yoongi’s face flushed bright pink as he clenched his jaw and rubbed his forehead in frustration. Words of encouragement weren’t needed to put an end to your teasing; your own blooming arousal took care of that. 

Gnawing on your lower lip, you couldn’t hold back your desire anymore as your tongue darted out to lick a slow line along his tip, grazing the dimple of his sensitive slit with the flat edge of your tongue. He arched his back off of the bed instantly and almost came with a single touch. 

Unable to talk and already breathless from the contact he had been waiting for since that night, you peppered kisses down his thick member and licked a stripe on the prominent vein beside his tip, causing him to jolt again. Your core throbbed seeing him in such a vulnerable state, while Yoongi knew that at that exact moment, he belonged to you, and only you.  

Finally wrapping your lips around his head, your tongue smoothed over his cock, sucking with just the right amount of pressure to keep his nails digging into the mattress. Swirling your tongue around the tip tantalizingly slowly, you guided his hands into your hair, directing him silently to tug your tresses. 

Obeying instantly with a moan, lewd sounds began filling the room as you began bobbing up and down mercilessly, varying your speed and pressure occasionally to keep him on edge. You even went as far as to grasp him with your hand and drag his tip across your slick and swollen lips which earned you another deep moan from him.  

“Fucking hell,” he moaned, throat raspy and rough from holding back his cries of pleasure. Pausing your unholy administrations, you gave your jaw a break by gripping his base tightly with one hand and swirling your tongue around the index finger of your free hand. He craned his head back in an overload of pleasure as you used it to rub over his slit, toying with his red tip. 

Everyone had a different piece of advice regarding giving head. Some said you needed to focus on the tip; others said that the balls were highly disregarded; a few said that the spot where the head met the length was the most sensitive. All in all, it really depended on the person, and to be quite honest, you weren’t that experienced. 

Yoongi was an exception, as both of you had learned your respective kinks out of genuine interest and desire for mutual pleasure, not as a nagging chore or contract payback. 

Not to mention the first time you’d slept with each other was—enlightening. 

“Fuck, _____,” he growled, moving your hair out of your face to gaze into your eyes. “How are you so fucking perfect?” Huh—even when he was blissed out, he was still the romantic type. 

You broke your character of confidence as a shy grin escaped. Wrapping your mouth around him again, he let out a grunt and threw his head back onto the bed. The sloppy, obscene sounds returned once you repeated your actions, his knuckles moving out of your hair to grip the bed sheets for fear of hurting you. His fists were clenched so hard, his knuckles were white. 

Yoongi’s body grew warm, a sheen of sweat formed on his forehead, and he began pulsating in your mouth more frequently; he was close. Closing your hand around his throbbing length, you gripped him firmly and coordinated your pumps with your mouth, making him throw his head back in pure ecstasy. 

His hands found their way back to your hair, trying to pull you away as a warning that he would cum soon, but you swatted them away. Grabbing your hands instead, he laced his fingers through yours in a death grip, heart pounding so hard that it nearly burst through his ribcage. 

His pants grew increasingly urgent and his moans were primal. He found his release with the cry of your name as his cock shot hot spurts of cum into your throat and on your readily cupped tongue. The sensation of him throbbing in your mouth as his breathing calmed down was such a powerful feeling, and add to it the pleasure of seeing him writhe in pleasure beneath your fingertips? 

It sounded like a recipe for a perfect Friday night in both you and Yoongi’s books. 

Sucking his remaining release off of his softening length, you savored the satisfying, salty taste like fine wine as it coated your tongue and throat. It felt so wrong but too right. You wiped off whatever you could from his spent cock, hating to waste anything. Once you were done, you tugged his boxers back on as Yoongi brought you into his hold and wasted no time kissing you deeply, exploring your mouth with his tongue. 

Parting your mouth to calm your breathing, Yoongi’s eyes bore into yours with blown out pupils, still coming down from his high. “I didn’t know that’s what you meant by sleepyhead.” His euphoric chuckle reverberated like the baritone of a bass. 

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” you moaned softly under your breath, licking the remnants of his release off of your index finger as you nestled into his side.

He gazed at you warmly as his mouth broke into a gummy smile and eyes into half-moons. “That’s supposed to be my line.” 

Suddenly, a mischievous expression glassed over his features. You narrowed your eyes. “What is that face?” Smirking with a sinister gaze, Yoongi was now wide awake, giving you no time before flipping you onto your back and tickling your sides. 

“Hey!” you giggled, trying to swat away his arms like flies. Without giving you a formal warning, he tugged down your shorts making you yelp in surprise when the cold air hit your dripping core. 

Licking his lips in excitement and carnal instinct, he flashed a far too innocent grin at you before he delved in, unable to hold back his mundane hunger for another second. 

It was going to be a long weekend.

Digging around the fridge, a bundle of asparagus landed in Yoongi’s hand as he caught it mid-air from falling. You were already crouched down and braced for impact, but unfurled your wound arms, taking a peek at the grinning figure above you. 

“You okay there?” Yoongi’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, helping you up from your hunched position. Taking the bag from his hands, you beamed at him in response, turning back to the stovetop. 

He sighed. “You really didn’t have to stock up my fridge, you know.” Sneaking a carrot off of your cutting board, he popped it into his mouth like a 12-year old badgering their mother in the kitchen. “The apocalypse isn’t until—” he snuck a glance at his imaginary watch, filling his cheeks with air and pursing his lips into a puffer-fish face pout. “—400 years from now.”

You rolled your eyes at his ever sarcastic jokes. “If the apocalypse doesn’t kill you, your diet of energy drinks and expired caffeine shots will,” you lectured. 

Yoongi couldn’t help but smile warmheartedly. Not at your nurturing actions, but at you. He still felt like this was all a dream, too good to be true. Wrapping his arms around your waist, you fit into his larger frame like a lock and key as he nestled his head into the crook of your neck. 

“What’s on the menu today?” he asked, voice producing ticklish vibrations just under the shell of your ear. 

Turning to face him, you scrunched your nose. He wasn’t just a cheeseball—he was officially the biggest, softest, sweetest, weirdest, and most amazing person you had ever met. You never thought you’d say anything even remotely close to that in your entire life.

“Your favorite,” you answered in a sing-song voice. 

The corners of his mouth turned up into a cheeky smirk you knew too well. His hands trailed down slowly to your hipbones, rubbing soothing circles into them out of habit. He licked over his bottom lip teasingly, all while keeping his eyes glued on you. Yours were focused on washing the rice. 

“Yoongi,” you warned playfully, knowing his expressions like the back of your hand. You could feel his eyes drinking in your features, your very existence an oasis for him, a once deserted and desperate man. “Don’t even think about it.” 

He pouted, jutting his lip out as his eyebrows furrowed into a dramatic scowl. “But I’m hungry!” he whined impishly into your hair. 

“I’m making lunch,” you giggled. “Just wait.” Your eyes widened at the last word, emphasizing your point. 

Trailing gentle pecks long your neck, he murmured softly into your ear.  “Not for fried rice...”

Your hands froze in the midst of opening the bag of spinach.

“Yoongi!” you groaned. 

Another Wednesday, another solitary four hours spent in the studio alone. After your classes were over, you texted Yoongi saying you needed a few hours alone to practice freely. Just because you were in a relationship didn’t mean you had to spend every waking moment with each other. 

Besides, he and you were both aware of your respective personal space and private time you needed to spend doing your own things. Yoongi also mentioned that he needed to finish up a beat he was making for a friend, so it worked out well. 

You walked out of the studio with a scarf wrapped around your neck, sheltering you from the biting wind that graced the campus grounds. Skipping down the stairs, you were greeted by the back of a person whom you had become very well-acquainted with. 

Hearing the sound of your gleeful steps he had memorized down to the last click, he turned around—with a pair of to-go cups in his hands. 

Your eyebrows raised up as your mouth broke into a mixture of an endeared laugh and astonished chuckle. Leaning down, he pecked you on the cheek, feeling his heart flutter at your effortless beauty. 

“Was she even real?” he wondered.

“You didn’t have to,” you awed. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to get dinner anyway.” 

Yoongi handed you the cup marked with the symbols you knew by heart: double-shot of espresso, a pump of mocha, a single packet of hazelnut creamer, and two packets of sugar. 

“Your hands need to stay warm,” he insisted, rubbing over your hands that were now wrapped tightly around the cup. 

Biting your lip, your cheeks were hurting from smiling so much at the simple but meaningful gesture. “Thank you,” you blushed sincerely, not just from the wave of emotions that washed over you but also from the cold. 

Was he even real? 

You nearly twisted your ankle trying to catch up to his speed-walking figure. 

“Hey!” you shouted, panting heavily at how quick he was on his feet. Was he training for a marathon behind your back? “Yoongi! Hold–wait up! Slow down!”

No matter what you said, it didn’t seem to faze him as he continued walking. Hunching over and putting your hands on your bent knees to hold yourself up, you took a couple deep breaths before sprinting as fast as your burning legs could carry you. 

“Min fucking Yoongi, if you don’t stop right now, I will—” You didn’t manage to finish your sentence before stumbling over a jagged crack in the pavement and falling with a gasp. The impact was abrupt, the shock not giving you a chance to let out a proper scream. Silent accidents were the ones that hurt the most. 

Yoongi was by your side in the blink of an eye, almost tripping over the ditch himself when he ran back to you. “_____!” he shouted in pure panic. Well, that certainly broke his vow of silence...

Helping you get off of your stomach and sit up straight, he winced when he saw your forearm. The injury was nothing more than a wide scrape on the damp cement, but the rocky debris and dripping crimson trail made it appear all the more appealing for a Stephen King movie. 

You cringed at the wound yourself, but more so at the stinging pain that began to spread over your elbow. Minor cuts and scratches were gifts sent from Satan himself. The thought of it getting infected made Yoongi pull out a pack of tissues from his bag as he pressed the bundle firmly over your wound. His face was still locked in an uncomfortable grimace. 

“Let’s go back to my dorm. I have a first-aid kit,” he mumbled, helping you onto your feet and bending down on one knee. You raised your eyebrow at his odd position, only realizing a few seconds afterward that he was offering you a piggyback ride. 

You let out a nasal scoff. “Yoongi, my legs are still perfectly mobile. Get up before you get your clothes wet.” You had enough to deal with his bitchy mood today and it certainly didn’t help that it had been raining a few hours prior to his temper tantrum. 

He pressed his lips into a firm line, refusing to respond or get up from his crouched position. Was he messing around? After a minute of complete silence, you huffed, annoyed at his ridiculous and adamant form of an apology, and saddled onto his back. 

Hooking his arms beneath your knees as you looped yours around his neck, you realized how much of a cheeky shit he truly was. Yes, he hated acknowledging it, but even he knew how ridiculous this argument and wanted to use the close proximity a piggyback would give to his advantage—even though the two of you were as stubborn as garden weeds. 

“Are you going to talk to me now?” you asked, propping your chin comfortably on his shoulder like a perched bird as he began walking the two of you back to his dorm. 

Sniffling once, he prodded the inside of his cheek in an effort to distract himself, too prideful to answer you right away. 

“Yoongi...” you sighed faintly, saying his name the way you did whenever he tugged at your heartstrings. He exhaled harshly through his nose once before finally speaking. 

“I don’t like how nice you are,” he said bluntly with an obviously sheepish tone of shame coating his voice. What?

“What?” you repeated out loud this time, unable to hold back your animated face of utter confusion.  

When he didn’t reply, you tugged on his ears like you were scolding a child who’d just been caught licking dollops of icing straight from the piping bag. “Min Yoongi,” you called out half-threateningly. 

He let out a whiny grumble, a sound that was a combination of a grumpy obese cat and worn out AC motor. 

“I don’t like how nice you are to everyone,” he repeated. “Especially to guys.” 

Your mouth was parted in an ‘o’ shape and your eyes were narrowed like an animated character’s. Was he—no way...

Your eyes widened to the size of the moon when he blushed. Oh my God. “You’re jealous?!” you screeched. He jumped at the volume of your voice. It was the first time he had ever heard you genuinely scream and he imagined it was what you would sound like if you were at a concert. 

Were you a Liszt or Chopin person? Rachmaninoff? Maybe Beethoven? He nibbled on his lips to hide his grin. Why were you so cute? 

“Earth to Yoongi?” you deadpanned, waving your hands in front of his face to get his attention. Snapping his eyes to you and blinking out of his daze, he returned to his stern expression. Tipping your head to one side, you stared at him with half-lidded eyes, tired of his antics. 

No wonder relationships didn’t last long; human beings were naturally and wholeheartedly stubborn as fuck. Flaring your nostrils at his unyielding disposition, you clicked your tongue between your teeth, resorting to blatant, unfiltered honesty. 

“Jungkook was just being helpful—and I was being polite.” Enunciating the word, Yoongi paid no attention to it, as it wasn’t one he had registered in his dictionary. 

There it was. Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat at your ability to lay out your non-implicit thoughts onto the table. “You could’ve told me he was the idiot who told you where my dorm was when you were hauling me into my room that day.” He defended his reasoning, still unconvinced. 

“I didn’t even know who he was until we met him today,” you groaned, repeating what you had said earlier for the fifth time. This was all so torturously textbook newly-blooming relationship bullcrap and was making your head pound in your skull. 

Jungkook, the boy you’d seen that day when you dragged Yoongi down his dorm corridor and who had directed you to where his room was, recognized you during lunch today. Being the social butterfly and sweetheart he was, he found it in his best interest to introduce himself to you formally.

During the conversation, which lasted just short of a minute and a half, Yoongi’s glare was practically burning crater-sized holes into Jungkook’s face the entire time, imagining his face as target objects ranging from a checkered dartboard to a chipped wooden knife block. 

He jutted his lower lip into his signature pout. “Well I didn’t exactly enjoy seeing the little prick recognize you and shout like he’d just won the damn lottery...” he remarked bitterly, irritation directed purely towards Jungkook and not you. 

“Did he really not have a better way to grab your attention? I was this close to filing a lawsuit for hearing damage.” Unable to bring his fingers up to mimic a pinch, he narrowed his eyes tightly instead. “Nearly burst my damn eardrum running over to you and calling you 'superwoman lady...’”

“Yoongi,” you hummed, a chuckle escaping your lips like a song. “You’re jealous because of some sophomore who happened to recognize me from carrying her boyfriend—” you emphasized. “—to his dorm room because he was sick?” 

Coming to terms with your lawful point, he mumbled something under his breath that you could’ve sworn was, “Not back then I wasn't.” 

“I’m in love with you, you idiot.” Poking fun at his jealous side, it was quite endearing to know that he cared about you to the extent of fuming like a kettle in the presence of other guys. Grabbing one side of his face with one hand, you gave him an affectionate peck on his cheek, causing him to blush like a middle-schooler. God, he was so innocent. 

After a couple more leisure paces in the direction of the boys' dorm, you stopped for a moment to look at you properly. 

“I still think you’re too nice,” he closed with a ‘hmph,’ continuing his way back to his room. You could only hold back your hearty smile for so long before it burst. 

“No freaking way, buddy,” you scoffed. Tossing another kernel of popcorn into your mouth, Yoongi pointed to his open mouth. Popping one into his, respectively, you returned to your bantering debate. 

“Liszt is obviously far superior to Chopin,” Yoongi remarked snarkily. You’d gone over this for the past hour, killing time while the pre-packaged cookie dough you bough baked in the oven. 

Another sarcastic puff of air left your lips. “Are you kidding me? Other than the fact that he had freakishly large hands and made a pact with Paganini and sacrificed both of their souls to the Devil, I don’t think this is even a real topic up for grabs.” 

Snatching the kernel from your fingers in the midst of bringing it to your mouth, Yoongi chortled at your gaping jaw. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” His straightforward and genuine eyebrow raise made you shrug. 

“I don’t know. You listen to La Campanella and tell me.” Mirroring his inquisitive expression and raising your eyebrow, his voice vibrated in a lengthy hum. 

“Hm... Well played, _____. Well played...” Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, trying his best to seem intimidating like a dollar store Sherlock Holmes. “But you mastered Campanella in your junior year, so who’s the real soul-sacrificing Devil here?” 

You poked your tongue out, launching another piece of popcorn into his readily awaiting mouth to shut him up. However, your aim was a little too northbound and it ended up hitting his forehead. You laughed to the point where your stomach was cramping. You assumed it was karma taking your side. 

Days blurred into weeks and before you knew it, it was the night before the performance exam. No matter how many times you’d been forced by your school assignments to play for an audience, it never ceased to get your heart pumping—for the wrong reasons.

Sighing, you flung your body into your freshly washed bed sheets. It was only 10, but you figured since it would take you a few hours to fall asleep from the nerves, it’d probably be best to knock out early. 

“Not too late to sneak over and cuddle with me, you know,” a voice reverberated from your phone speaker. 

You chuckled at Yoongi’s determined and unwavering stubbornness that stemmed from his giddy fondness for you. Your advisor had eventually caught you sneaking into your dorm room a few days ago and if you had, oddly enough, listened to Yoongi’s pestering and stayed in his room for the night, you wouldn’t be on room lockdown right about now. You felt like a prisoner in your own dorm. 

Wrapping the blanket around yourself like a swaddle, you hid your gleeful smile with the bundle of sheets as his equally gummy grin displayed on the bright screen of your phone. Both of your room lights were all off so his cheeky face was all the more visible. 

“She let me off easy and didn’t give me a suspension and that was because I’m one of the good students on this block,” you reminded. “I don’t think I want to push my luck.” 

Yoongi huffed exasperatedly, irked that he wouldn’t be able to hold you tonight. “Are you ungrounded tomorrow?” He spoke in pout. That damn pout...

Burying your face in your blankets and clamping your hand over your mouth to hide your squeal, your mind couldn’t help but wander to the crude beginnings of your relationship. Was this real? 

“Yup,” you mumbled sluggishly through the fabric. “You’re buying dinner after the performance is over.”

Letting out a sigh, he lied down on his bed and rested his hand comfortably beneath his head, allowing you to get a full glimpse of his body, only now realizing that he was shirtless. Despite the darkness that cascaded both of your rooms, you could clearly see the definition of his lean but built muscles, the veins on his forearm rippling with each time he shifted on his mattress. 

“Who gave you permission to be so hot?” you yawned out, accidentally letting the lewd thought slip past your lips as you grew increasingly sleepy with each sentence. He laughed huskily in a low voice, admiring your state of sleep-drunkenness, as you liked to call it. 

His raspy voice wasn’t just the thing you’re ears were blessed with in the mornings, but also at night when he was equally as exhausted as you. It was like a second piano to your ears, lulling you to sleep each time whether it was through video calls or cradled by his side.  

Bundling the sheets around his body, you whined faintly at the loss of your favorite sight. “I don’t know, my girlfriend. She’s cool or whatever,” he whispered, eyes beginning to droop shut like yours. “But don’t tell her I said that.” 

The word still felt like a new muscle stitched his tongue, every sentence that contained it sounding a million times better with the coined phrase. Yoongi continued cherishing his new reality: he had a girlfriend and it was you. 

You couldn’t respond with words, just a fuzzy, softhearted grin. “Love you, dummy,” you yawned again. 

Yoongi yawned in tandem with you, lips curling into the gummy smile you loved.  “I love you, _____...” he managed to say before allowing sleep to consume him.  

Neither of you even bothered to end the call, a habit you had developed from the hundreds of times you had rung each other and fallen asleep to each other’s voices. The first few times resulted in you both waking up with absolutely no battery and having to forgo your phones for the whole day, however, you quickly learned that splurging $30 on a portable charger just for these occasions was well worth it. 

What if you mess up? Are your hands warm enough? 

What if you forget a section? You should’ve fit in a few extra hours in the studio yesterday. 

What if your fingers cramp up? 

Did you remember to take an Advil? Should you have taken two? 

A million questions pestered your mind like a plague, buzzing and ringing in your ears loud enough to make a swarm of steroid-filled bees jealous. Pacing around backstage as the muffled sounds from the auditorium filled the space, you were a few paces away from boring holes into the ground. Performance jitters were the worst and your anxiety made them all the more unbearable. 

“Hey,” Yoongi interrupted, placing his hands on your shoulders to snap you out of your pool of overwhelming thoughts. “Calm down. Breathe. You’re starting to make me nervous.” 

Running your hands through your hair, you groaned and uttered out another apology. Why were you so stressed out? It wasn’t a full audience. Just your entire class plus the comp majors and table of judgmental executioners, more commonly known as the board of music teachers. The entirety of their presence was the icing on top of your cake of nightmares. God, what you would do for a slice of double-chocolate cake right about now...

“What—” you started but Yoongi knew better to cut you off early and derail your train of thought before it arrived at the station. 

He cupped his hands around your flustered cheeks, his cooling touch bringing relief to the blistering hot skin that began to rise with your heartbeat. 

“Do you know how absolutely phenomenal these past few months have been?” Articulating his words in unison with his heartfelt gaze, his thumbs stroked over your cheeks softly, assuring you wholeheartedly with the fewest words he could. 

“I know how much pressure you put on yourself, but I also know how much more you love playing the piano,” he spoke soothingly. “Don’t think about them or messing up. Hell, don’t even think about sticking to what we fixed and picked on during practice.”

He brought you into his arms, making you lean onto his chest and listen to his steady heartbeat that thumped through his shirt. “Think about enjoying it to the point of not having any regrets. Of what it feels like while you play. Think about how you love it unconditionally through thick and thin, and how you wouldn’t give up anything in the world to let it go.” 

His words flowed like a stream in your head, smoothing over the rocky slopes of your worries and fears and replacing them with ripples of passion and confidence. Just as you pressed a kiss to his lips, the stage coordinator signaled to you with a frantic wave. It was your turn. 

Yoongi held onto your hands tightly for just a moment before giving you a small grin and going to find a seat in the audience. You took a deep breath. You only had one chance at this; you were going to make it count. 

Taking even-paced steps onto the stage, you closed your eyes and murmured a  wordless prayer to whoever might be listening. Whether that’d be the piano gods themselves or the ibuprofen coursing through your bloodstream and numbing your nerves, it didn’t matter. You needed to play for you. 

Not hesitating or wasting any more valuable seconds, your fingers brushed the cold keys, a sudden rush of eagerness filling your previously buzzing nerves. Your muscle memory activated like the flick of a light switch, the soft melody of the beginning exposition filling the echoey stage all the way to the back of the concert hall. 

Your fingers stroked the keys with such accuracy and precision, nailing each of the complex chords with ease. The development was coming up next. Changing your tempo from the quick-paced and exciting beginning to a mellow and even-toned pace, a pre-recorded track suddenly flooded through the onstage speakers but you didn’t have time to react.

You could recognize that beat from a million miles away. 

It was the same solemn tune that Yoongi was playing in the studio that night alone; same melodic chorus, orchestral strings, deep bass, and right down to the synth pad that started towards the end of the section. The flowing melody and tempo blended with your playing harmoniously, producing a euphonious sound that pushed you to play with more urgency and passion. 

The unexpected harmony made you smile, on the verge of tears as you could only comprehend one message that rang as clear as a bell: he wrote this for you. 

Before you knew it, you were already finished with the last recapitulation, the final remaining notes trailing off gently into what you assumed would be the end of the track, like that night, but it didn’t stop. It continued into another excerpt that melded perfectly with the coda you’d composed; vibrant, fuller, lively, vivid, and colorful—happy. 

The full-bodied and adagio resonance of Yoongi’s composed track with what sounded like a philharmonic orchestra and synth board contrasted like day and night from your constantly moving fingers. High off of the adrenaline of playing and euphoria of music, you paid no attention to the burning that had spread in your fingers during the first two minutes of the piece, instead choosing to bask in the utter state of bliss you were in.  

The track slowed down in sync with your playing, toning down the fast-paced and riveting chorus that had reverberated through the room seconds ago and replacing with it with the delicate and gentle closing notes that finished the piece.

It was over. You did it.

A momentary pause enveloped the auditorium, silence washing over the audience like a crashing tide. Your fingers were resting on the keys for a second before a roar of applause replaced the dead silent concert hall. 

You did it.

The panel of teachers were all standing on their feet, their warm smiles and nods of approval and continuous claps almost making tears trail down your cheeks. Looking around the crowd of people to try and find Yoongi, a finger gently tapped your shoulder, making you turn around with glassy eyes.

There he stood in all his gummy cheesiness, smiling his heart out. You sniffled, unable to hold back the tidal wave of tears that overwhelmed you as you burst into sobs and threw yourself into the safety of his arms. Enveloping you into his ever-warm and comforting embrace, he pressed soft kisses on the crown of your head, keeping you secure in his hold. Refusing to pull away even for a brief moment, he stroked your hair soothingly, urging you to take your time to breathe.

Sniffling once more, you managed to croak out a word or two. “When? How? Why—” you couldn’t finish before breaking into tears. You were a mess.

Even though the entire auditorium was still filled with the continuous applause and praise from the audience, Yoongi leaned down and chose to whisper into your ear. “I told you. Ever since that night when I saw you in the studio alone…” You could practically feel the happy smile that danced across his voice.

It was the first dream you didn’t have to wake up from.

It was real.

All of this was real.

The first thing you did after finishing your presentation was sprint like a marathon runner to the dressing rooms and change out of your quote on quote, “formal” attire. Consisting of a pair of black dress pants and frilly blouse with heels, your feet screamed in relief when you changed to your usual outfit of straight-cut jeans, oversized sweater, and frayed sneakers. 

Yoongi handed you a bouquet of flowers as you strode victoriously out of the concert hall to the stairwell at which he was waiting. You widened your eyes and had to blink a few times to make sure that this was still real life.

“Is this a practical joke or rom-com gesture?” you giggled, accepting the arrangement of dark red roses, lemon leaves, white snapdragons, and baby’s breath buds. He went the extra mile by personally requesting a gold ribbon to be weaved through each of the rose buds, making a sentimental warmth spread throughout your chest. Breathing in the fresh scent of the flora, the earthy and undeniably pleasant scent filled your airways.

Yoongi’s lips quirked in a shy grin and hid his gummy smile, rubbing the back of his head like he always did when he was apprehensive about something. 

“I figured I missed out on doing this on our first official date,” he shrugged as his tongue caught on the unused word. “So, I felt like surprising you on our twenty-something official one. And I might have snuck in a slice or few of cake in your fridge... ” 

Your jaw dropped to the floor. His face shifted back into the cheesy Chesire Cat grin you adored before humming a soft ‘ah’ and pausing his steps to reach for something in his bag. Was there anything that could make this day any better? 

Fishing through his disarray of loose papers and crumpled notes that decorated his bag, he pulled out a box that had miraculously not gotten squished or dented inside. It was wrapped in rose gold colored polka-dot wrapping paper and adorned with yet, another glittery gold ribbon tied into a neat bow. 

Making a shy face at the extensive detail, you carefully tugged on the end of the ribbon as flecks of glitter flew up in the air, the knot coming undone with ease. Yoongi offered his hand out to hold it.

Smiling, you moved onto the wrapping paper. Trying your best to peel it by the tape because you hated to tear it and make a mess, you finally got to the box. You pulled to top off to reveal another layer of tissue paper. A fluffy bundle of fabric was folded neatly underneath, making you take on a puzzled frown. When you took them out and unfolded them, you couldn’t muffle the gasp that escaped.

A pair of fuzzy mittens with a matching beanie.

“Yoongi...” you gawked. Rubbing over the feathery light, cozy fabric, he was still smiling widely at you, feeling pure happiness at seeing you so overjoyed from a pair of mittens.

Taking the bouquet, crumpled wrapping paper, and empty box from your hands, he set them down on the ledge beside the stairs. He first put the fluffy tasseled beanie on your head and smoothed out your baby hairs. Then, he rubbed your already-cold hands for a couple seconds to warm them up before sliding the plush gloves on.

“I don’t like it when you’re cold…” he said softly, rubbing circles over the tops of your hands through the wooly fabric. Cupping his cheeks with your warm and well-circulating hands, you pressed a single deep kiss onto his readily puckered lips. 

“Your room or mine?” His breath grazed your pink lips, a distinct warmth emanating from his body compared to the crisp winds that blew against the pair of you.

Biting your lip at his query, you shoved his shoulder teasingly. He already knew the answer.

Making out and walking backward was anything but a non-hazardous concoction. You practically topped over the door ledge while walking into Yoongi’s dorm, continuing to stumble over the bumps and dents in the poorly boarded floor. He managed to pull off his shirt and unbuckle his belt before shoving you onto the bed, and you only made it to the zipper of your jeans before landing on your back with a soft thud.

Caging you in between his forearms, he reunited his mouth with yours in a heated and feverish kiss. You captured the delicate of his lower lip between your teeth, nipping, tugging, and sucking on it to tease and satiate him for the time being. You had the whole weekend for yourselves.

His eyebrows furrowed as he couldn’t resist anymore and gave into his body’s demands. Grinding his clothed member into your aching center, you moaned at how hard he was beneath the fabric of his jeans. Satisfaction and adrenaline surged through you and you couldn’t help but be the least bit proud at the fact that only you had this effect on each other. Undeniable lust triggered by unconditional love, aided with consistent support and mutual understanding; a thing so many people craved but so few had the ability to cultivate.

Yoongi let out a husky growl when your hands tangled into his dark hair, gripping firmly at his scalp and trailing down his bare back. Although your nails were trimmed short, they still left red lines down the defined ridges of his shoulders and back as he moaned into your mouth at the sensation.

Grasping you by the roots of your hair, he maneuvered your head to bare your neck to him, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses at the exposed and delicate skin. Nipping teasingly at the junction of your ear and pulse point, he bared his teeth in a grin before sucking a deep purple bruise into the skin, causing a rush of arousal to flow down your thighs.

“Yoongi,” you moaned out hoarsely. His pouty lips continued trailing down your neck before stopping, giving you to a moment to hastily take off your sweater and throw it mindlessly onto the floor. You’ll pick it up later. He licked his lips at the sight of you in all your beauty, pressing a soft kiss to the dip of your collarbone. He couldn’t help it when his lips instantly attached to your breast, massaging the other with his hand and lapping at your nipple skillfully. Moving onto the neglected side, you arched your back into his firm erection when he grazed his teeth over the sensitive nub.

Another gush of wetness flooded your thighs as you rubbed your legs together instinctually at the dampness. Yoongi noticed this like a hawk, eyeing your every movement keenly. Smirking, he slid down your unbuttoned jeans with one firm tug, swiftly yanking the loose-fitting pants down like a candy wrapper, except this sweet treat was one he could never get enough of. The best part? He didn’t have to worry about cavities.

Taking a moment to admire the string of arousal that trailed from your core to the string of your thong as he pulled them off, he gulped, saliva pooling in his mouth at the mere thought of lapping up all of your juices. His sculpted fingers rubbed small circles over your drenched folds, bringing the arousal coated digits to his mouth for a taste. He couldn’t wait another second.

Yoongi delved face first into your center, not caring to clean up the trail of wetness that painted your thighs beforehand. His cheeks were coated with your essence and he licked up as much as he could, his entire mouth cupping over your core in a desperate attempt to hear your delectable moans that spurred him on. Hearing your vocal sobs and whines of pleasure made him moan as you gripped his hair, the vibrations of his gruff voice making your body tingle with even more pleasure. It was a never-ending cycle of mutual pleasure.

You were in absolute heaven. Alternating the use of tender flat-edge of his warm tongue with the firm tip, you could’ve pulled a muscle in your back from how much you were contorting into the bed. Each time he sucked harshly at your swollen clit, it forced out a euphoric cry from you, teetering amidst the peak of your pleasure and the brink of startling ecstasy.

You tried to be gentle with his hair, but when you pulled your hands away from his tangled mess of locks, he growled in disapproval, immediately demanding that you return your hands to where they were by moving away from your aching core and biting at your thighs.

You wanted so badly to take his throbbing and dripping cock into your mouth. You salivated at the utter thought of it and it sent another stream of arousal down your thighs and into Yoongi’s mouth. Two fingers slowly stretched you out, pumping deliciously into your tight heat in sync with the flick and suckle of his tongue as it produced a high-pitched gasp from you.

His free hand came up to knead your breast, pinching and twisting your sensitive nipple agonizingly slow. He gazed into you with jet black pupils, a carnal aura surrounding his every breath, leaving you with no choice but to surrender to him willingly. He continued sucking at your clit while curling and pumping his long fingers into your heat at the perfect pace, earning a drawled-out moan from you each time. His dick twitched against the straining fabric of his boxers, begging for some kind of attention, but Yoongi ignored it.

Tonight, it was all about you and he was going to make sure you knew that.

The obscene sounds of his tongue working relentlessly against your drenched and throbbing pussy made you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood in a feeble attempt to drown out your moans. As he pinned your hips down with his forearm, his fingers suddenly changed pace, moving faster and curling deliciously against your tight walls. His mouth wrapped over your clit and fingers began pumping furiously, the bursting pressure of your peak shattering like glass with one last suck.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you exclaimed, grinding into his mouth during the first few moments of your high to ride it out as long as possible. Feeling like a boneless pile of jelly from your staggering orgasm, you felt him smile against your dripping center, lapping up your flowing juices like an oasis in a desert. Your clit throbbed from the remnants of the overwhelming pleasure gifted to you by his talented tongue. By the time he was done, the only evidence that you had just had the best orgasm of your life was only visible on his face, his chin completely drenched in your essence.

Yoongi licked over his lips and swiped over his chin with his thumb to collect the remnants, popping his finger into his mouth to savor the taste he could never get enough of. His forehead glistened with a light sheen of sweat, chest rising and falling visibly from the effort he had just spent. How did he still have the stamina for more?

Lost in the blissed-out haze that came from your high, you chuckled lazily, still swimming an orgasm-induced trance. You’d never came like that before and you were more than sure you’d never be able to without the help of Yoongi. Smiling drunkenly as your post-orgasm blush dispersed along your face, a soft giggle left your lips when Yoongi hovered over you before flipping you over.

Lying on top of him, your hands ran down the svelte muscles of his chest and abs as you tasted yourself on his lips, the remaining wetness that spread over his chin coating yours in an act that was too sinful for you not to relive in the years to come. Literally.

Your mouths tangled in a fervent kiss full of desperation and need, running your hands over his toned body without any logical thought. The faintly metallic but not too bitter taste of yourself on his tongue made another pool of arousal stream down your folds. The pleasure was all yours now.

Before you scooted down to his desperately throbbing member, you made sure to appreciate the beauty that was Yoongi. You captured the delicate flesh of his vascular neck between your teeth and sucked blooming marks into the delicate skin, grinning in satisfaction when they mirrored yours but were half the size.

Nosing at the skin beneath his ear where his pulse pounded like the delicate wings of a hummingbird, your exhaling breath tickled the shell of his ear, making him let out the barest hint of a giggle. Tugging on the small hoop earring that decorated his ear lobe with your teeth for a sweet moment, you moved back to his torso.

Tracing across the picturesque sketch of his abs and the V-line that led down his pelvis, his skin felt hot beneath your lips, evidence that his blood was rushing just as much as yours had been not too long ago.

You forced out a grunt from him when you palmed his hard length through his unbuckled jeans, wasting no time and pulling the thick fabric down along with this cotton briefs. His immaculate length sprung up against his stomach with a soft slap, the head of his cock red and oozing precum. Rubbing over the dripping slit with your fingertip, his knuckles turned white from gripping the sheets so hard. He couldn’t think straight.

“_____,” he begged, Adam’s apple bobbing to expose his dewy neck. The glossy sheen that glossed over his entire upper body made your body hum with pure desire. He was so perfect…

You rubbed over the head of his cock a few more times just for the sheer satisfaction of watching a bead of precum form at his tip and pool around your index finger. Placing your now-glistening fingertip in your mouth, you hummed at the musky taste that coated your tongue. Without teasing any longer, you finally pumped his throbbing cock, licking down the length for more lubrication while trying to focus on his head.

“Fucking–God, _____,” he choked out through a guttural moan. With clenched teeth and hands now tangled in your hair, he didn’t have to guide you as you went to work pleasuring him. “Fuck.” He was like putty in your hands, melting into a pool of boiling hot magma with one single touch.

Stroking the base of his cock while you bobbed up and down the upper half, he jolted with the pace at which you were going. Your tongue swirled around his sensitive head and into his slit every few seconds, making him writhe in absolute ecstasy.

Yoongi let out a carnal growl, pulling you up by your arms up and up to his body. He cupped his hands your ass while his mouth locked onto yours in another deep kiss, exploring your mouth with a hunger he only possessed when he was with you; one that no matter how much time passed, would never be satiated.

Massaging your pillow-like cheeks with his firm grasp, you both moaned into each other’s mouths when your dripping wet slit found his dick. With the feeling of your slick pussy grinding over his bare length and your hands raking through his disheveled head of hair, Yoongi almost came right there.

This was completely different than the first night you two had spent together. The first time was entirely filled with sinful lust, primal hunger, and frantic passion. It resulted in a battle of teeth clashing against tongues, bruising grips, and hasty eagerness, allowing neither of you to feel the full extent of your deepest desires. 

However, the deeper you fell in love with each other and the greater time you spent in each other’s company, sex became less about the physically pleasurable aspect and more about the raw emotional and near-spiritual bond you felt while connected.

Legs and arms entwined in a mess of tangled limbs; sticky bodies glistening with sweat; his hair sticking to his forehead and yours strung across his damp chest; the soft puffs of faint panting and the warmth of your bodies wound tightly against each other that lulled you into the best slumber you could possibly ask for. That was what you loved more than anything. The total submission of your barest state exposed in all its vulnerability and your mutual ability to look after one other unconditionally was more than you could ever ask for. He was yours, and you were his.

Yoongi’s hands ran over your shoulders and the small of your back, reuniting them with the plush pillows of your ass, admiring your rosy flushed face with awe.

“You’re so beautiful…” he said in a quiet voice, afraid that if he spoke with valor that you’d vanish like an illusion conjured by his deepest desires.

Calming down your heavy breathing, you placed a hand against his beating heart, the pronounced thumping of it underneath your fingertips causing goosebumps to scatter down the back of your neck. He placed one of his hands over yours while the other found your free one, cupping it against one of his cheeks tenderly. Nosing the delicate skin where your wrist met its socket, he inhaled gently, drinking in the feel of your soft skin against his.

Your fingers traced over the hollows of his cheekbones, marveling at how he appeared more beautiful than a millennium-old sculpture. You always took the time to admire and cherish every part of his body and his eyes were no exception. The deep-set and piercing gaze you had first feared was now a sight you hated to part with. Running alongside the hairs that stuck to his forehead, your focus settled on his lips, smiling heartily before pressing a slow and patient kiss to them.

“I love you so much, Yoongi,” you whispered against his mouth, earning you a smile back.

He clasped your hands tightly, pressing fluttery kisses to the tops of your knuckles before locking his gaze onto you. “I love you, _____...” He spoke in a hush like he was keeping a secret, you name rolling off of his tongue like a sacred hymn he held closest to his heart. 

Studying the darkened gaze that cast over his eyes, your instincts clawed at you. “I need you inside me now, Yoongi.” Your voice came out in a whining sob, begging him to take you. 

Slowly sitting down to guide his member into your aching heat, he kissed you with even more urgency and passion than you thought was possible, basking in the feeling of you consuming each other through the linking of your bodies as he buried himself hilt deep. 

“Fuck, you’re always so tight for me,” he hissed. Dirty talk wasn’t really something you two prided yourselves in, preferring to voice your desires through physical actions alone, but you sure as hell didn’t have any complaints about it. It always seemed to come naturally for both of you and ended up sounding like praise rather than command. 

Your velvety walls wrapped around his thick length and made him twitch inside of you. Grinding into his hips from your dominant position, Yoongi nestled his head into your chest as he began pounding into you mercilessly, all while paying equal attention to your sensitive bundles of nerves on your breasts. 

Words weren’t needed to direct each other when you knew one other like clockwork; every kink, erogenous zones, sensitive spots—especially pace. 

He leaned back onto the wall and lifted you by your hips, allowing you to hover over him at an angle that made him drive into a spot deep inside of you and gasp. “Oh my God, Yoongi, right there!” Your moans turned into pants and sobs of overwhelming delight at the deeper angle at which he was filling you.

A drop of sweat beaded at Yoongi’s furrowed brows, his tense expression a result of him also feeling the torturously delicious feeling of you encasing him. He couldn’t hold back for much longer and neither could you.

“Yoongi,” you warned, feeling your walls tense with each additional thrust he managed to power through his growing exhaustion, not from the physical act of relentless thrusting, but from the pure willpower he was exerting from holding his orgasm back. Your nails dug deep crescent half-moons into the ridges of his shoulders while his fingers pressed blossoming bruises into your hips, reminding you to gawk at them later.

Feeling your tense body, Yoongi used up the last remaining bits of his energy to pound into you furiously, exerting as much force as he had left. A sharp intake of breath came from deep inside his chest when you came around him without further warning, your unbelievably tight and utterly drenched cunt clenching around his cock and making him finish not a second later. 

Bottoming out completely before sliding out and back in, it was almost too much when he continued hammering into you at a slower pace, his pulsating member shooting continuous spurts of hot cum deep into your heat. With his teeth bared in a silent snarl and your mouth parted in euphoria, you rolled your hips over his a few more times before collapsing on top of him, his spent cock still somehow twitching and filling your heat with thick spurts.

Yoongi’s eyes were half-lidded and dazed from his equally powerful orgasm. Staying inside of you for a few more seconds to ensure that as much of his cum remained inside of you as possible, you yelped when he slid out and replaced his cock with his hand, cupping your cunt to prevent any from seeping out. You giggled lightly at his concentrated face when he flipped you onto your back.

He also took great pleasure in scissoring your mixed fluids together between his fingers and bringing them up to his lips for a taste; another one of his post-sex habits. Curling into your drenched lips to scoop out more of the unholy mixture, you didn’t need to ask as he slid his coated fingers into your mouth, swiping over your readily cupped tongue as the evidence of your releases slicked down your throat.

“Kinky...” you giggled, running his fingertips along your lips before pecking them.

Yoongi gave you a half-parted gummy grin and chuckled. “You love me more for it.”

Completely spent, he kissed you deeply before he climbed into the covers, comfortably nestling his head into the valley of your breasts and nosing the soft skin. You cradled his head and pressed a delicate kiss to the top of his frizzy hair, raking through the messy knots with your fingertips. His exhaling breaths grew soft, indicating that he was on the verge of falling asleep.

Even though he mumbled the words into your chest, you broke into a heartwarming smile at his entirely too pure personality and held him in the security of your embrace. “I love you, _____.” 

There it was again: your name. 

It never sounded as good as it did unless it flowed from his lips. 

“I love you too, Yoongi,” you whispered, your soft whisper lulling him into a deep slumber as his eyes drooped shut while his steady breaths coaxed you into the darkness of sleep as well.

It was real. 

Some time in the near future...

You woke up to an empty bed, frowning in confusion instantly at the cold sheets that greeted you. Where was Yoongi? Almost as soon as you had asked the question, the smell of bacon and fried eggs filled your nostrils, making your mouth water.

Throwing your legs over the bed and climbing out of the disheveled bundle of sheets, you threw on one of Yoongi’s wrinkled shirts over your bare body, smiling sheepishly at how it draped over your thighs and stopped right above your knees. Brushing your teeth and rinsing your face in a record amount of time, you made your way to the kitchen and were greeted by the amusing sight of Yoongi dancing to the playlist you used when cleaning your room.

Jumping around like a maniac, he was too absorbed in his dancing and oil-spattering bacon to notice you leaning on the counter. With a cheeky grin gracing your face, Yoongi’s eyes bulged out of their sockets when he saw you. Clearing his throat harshly, you broke into a bright fit of laughter at how bashful he was. Was that what you looked like when he caught you dancing in your room?

“Good morning,” you giggled, nibbling the corner of your lip to hold back a snort.

Yoongi turned off the stovetop with the click of a knob, plating the hot food onto your dishes. “Good morning,” he played off cooly. Carrying the two plates to the small dining table, he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before setting them down.

“Happy Anniversary,” he exclaimed, returning to you to give you a proper kiss. Smiling onto his lips, you laced your arms around him as he wrapped his around your waist.

You scowled playfully but broke into a smile. “A little birdy told me a while ago that anniversaries were stupid…” you hummed jokingly, referring to the surprise you gifted him a year after you started dating. It was just a handwritten card and matching set of hoodies, but Yoongi let it slip that he thought regular anniversaries were cheesy and a little cringeworthy. 

But he wholeheartedly appreciated your gift though, refusing to wear anything other than that exact hoodie for the majority of his classes. Often times, he asked you with puppy eyes and a pout to wear yours—even on some days when it was 80 degrees outside.

“Must have been a really drunk bird then,” he shrugged. You weren’t terribly hurt by his statement that night because you truly did understanding where he was coming from. Those couples who had hebdomadal anniversaries did, in fact, make you want to gag. Anniversaries in your mind were supposed to be reserved for monumental occasions and milestones, not as petty excuses to receive stupidly expensive gifts from each other.

You beamed, pecking his lips once more. “Mhm, not a very cute peeper either.” Your comment made Yoongi raise an eyebrow, nuzzling his mouth into your neck and blowing raspberries against your skin until you surrendered.

“Okay, okay, okay!” you gave up, choking your submission through joyous laughter. “Let’s eat, Yoongi!” Eyes lighting up in victory, he pulled out your chair for you before sitting down himself.

“Happy Anniversary, Yoongi,” you chuckled, lips forming into a loving grin at the gummy smile that blessed his sparkling eyes.

Reaching over the table to hold your hands and rub comforting circles into them, he blinked slowly, imprinting a picture-perfect snapshot of this moment in his long-term memory for years to come. “Happy Anniversary, _____,” he beamed.

“Are you sure about this, Yoongi?” you asked cautiously, rubbing his hands in the hopes of soothing his buzzing nerves. “We don’t have to do this today…”

He pressed his lips into a firm line and nodded, keeping his eyes glued on the black and white keys that lie before him. “I’m ready.”

Releasing his hands from your grasp, you patted them softly before letting them hover over the keys. Not having touched a piano since before the accident, the unfamiliar cold feeling of the wood made Yoongi’s breath hitch in his throat.

His fingers suddenly started to shake as bile rose in his throat and his face went pale, turning colorless enough to make the piano keys look off-white in comparison. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like epoxy glue and felt heavier than a cement block. With his pupils dilated dangerously wide and beads of sweat forming along his hairline, his throat closed up, restricting his airflow.

Your eyes widened immediately, alarmed at his visceral reaction as he snatched his hands away from the keys and couldn’t bear to face the instrument for another second.

“I ca—I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do it,” he choked, shaking his head vigorously while hiccuping, trying to take in breaths of air as he began drowning in the memories that suddenly poured in.

You cupped the sides of his face and smoothed your fingers over his tear-stained cheeks gently. “Yoongi—look at me.” Shutting his eyes tightly, more droplets of his painful memories trailed down as his hands shook, the pads of his fingers squeezing coin-sized bruises into your forearms.

“Look at me,” you said more firmly the second time. Opening his eyes slowly with shaky eyelids, he swallowed the lump in his throat before making direct eye contact with you. “I’m here, okay? I’m right here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I’m right here with you, Yoongi.”

Relaxing his grip, his fingers that were pressing into your skin moments ago slowly began rubbing small circles into your forearms, soothing the numbing pressure as your blood began to circulate again.

“I’m so—,” he sobs choking on his tears, your lulling shushes helping his breathing calm down and slow. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—” His repetitive please continued into mumbled whispers. 

As he continued to mutter his robotic sayings, you soon realized that he wasn’t apologizing only to you—he was apologizing to himself.

“Yoongi, it’s okay,” you whispered, allowing his head to fall into the crook of your neck as his tears left trailed down your chest, leaving a glistening trail of wetness that made your eyes sting with your own tears. Your heart shattered seeing him in such a state of distress, but all you could do was murmur softly into his hair while his shoulders continued to shake. 

This too was real. 

“Bach Invention No. 8 already?” you gawked. “Yoongi, how?”

He shrugged, shoulders rising up to his ears in humble yet clearly visible accomplishment.

“You were playing Hanon a few weeks ago, what are you putting in your cereal?” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief and awe at his consistently growing skills.

“I had a pretty great teacher,” he smiled warmly, patting the seat beside him and inviting you to sit down. Shaking your head at his lively and glowing image, you set down your two cups and made yourself comfortable.

It had been nine steady months since Yoongi had composed himself to start playing again and it would be a lie to say that it hadn’t been a time-consuming process. Slowly but surely through tears, overwhelming breakdowns, neverending hours, long nights, and emotional outpours, Yoongi’s natural instinct and eagle-eye muscle memory kicked in, aiding his subconscious breaking down the mental barrier he had formed since the accident.

The first few months were a struggle as he was stuck in his own head and high expectations. He stayed up constantly trying to master the most basic warm-up exercises, refusing to give up until he knew it by heart. Even during the deepest pitfalls of exhaustion, you stuck by him, likewise refusing to leave his side until he was half-asleep and drooling on the keys.

You, on the other hand, had finally gotten around to accepting physical therapy, regular check-ups, and after four years of putting it off, had your prescription officially signed off by your doctor. 

The short-span of your potential professional career was inevitable, but you processed and accepted the outlook better than you did when you were first diagnosed. You had grown up since then. You weren’t a young, naïve, immature, want-it-all child anymore; you were just you, and that was more than enough. Life wasn’t about doing as much as you could for the quantity in hopes of happiness, but rather for the quality of happiness that you were living with what you could accomplish to your heart’s extent. 

“Why not 13?” you asked curiously, referring to the piece that was in the solemn and dark minor key. Yoongi’s lips curled into a sheepish grin, sensing where you were going with your question.

“Major keys are nicer to listen to,” he mumbled. Fumbling with your fingers in his lap as he usually did when he felt the need for a distraction. “Minor scales are too depressing.”

Nodding your head in agreeance with his response, a soft chuckle reverberated from deep inside his chest. You gave him a comical eyebrow raise. He brought your hands to his cheek for what felt like the millionth time in the span of your relationship, leaning into your easing and tranquilizing touch as he melted in your hands. 

After years of ignoring the adverse effect of your struggling circulation, the effort you dedicated last year in looking after your health had paid off; your hands were finally warm. All the more inviting for Yoongi to cup them around his plush cheeks. A healthy diet, consistent sleeping schedule, and regular hikes up to the viewpoint with Yoongi really went a long way in terms of lifestyle. 

Thinking over his words, he shook his head rightfully so. “There are too many good things in life to do instead of drowning in that kind of ocean…” His kissed the top of your hand as his eyes met yours in a stare that radiated unconditional affection, complete fondness, and total selfless love.

Life was, in fact, too good to spend it wasting away in the shadows.

Some time further in the future...

Shuffling through the array of papers that littered the desk, you were seconds away from ripping your hair out. How were you going to do this? You started with the syllabus. That was probably the first step in starting a lecture, right? Then the expectations for the class? Goals? Learning outcomes?

God, were you even speaking English at this point? The abrupt buzz of your phone alarm snapped you out of your thoughts instantly. As crowds of students in what seemed like the hundreds flooded the lecture hall within seconds, you started to panic. Anxiety flooded your throat like thick smoke, forcing you to gulp a hiccup down. A gentle nudge on your shoulder caused you to turn around, coming into the view of none other than Yoongi.

“You okay?” His eyes voiced concern, eyebrows turned downwards as he studied your face with flowing sympathy.

You nodded, pressing your lips into a tight line. “Fine. Fine. All fine. Everything’s great.” Your speech flowed out like dreaded word vomit.

Yoongi rubbed your shoulder to ease your rippling waves of uneasiness, trying to relieve your bubbling apprehension. “Powell asked us to sub his class for a reason, _____. “Don’t doubt yourself. You’ll be amazing and I’ll be right by your side to help,” he convinced. “Okay?”

Swallowing down the sheet of sandpaper that lined your throat, you nodded.

The students were now fully seated and quiet, the soft hums of a few sorting through their bags and pulling out their laptops. The sea of L.E.D. apples and brightly lit block print logos made you nauseous. Once they were all settled, you cleared your throat.

“Thank you all for coming to today’s class,” you greeted with as much authority in your voice you could muster. “My name is _____, and this is Yoongi.” Pausing to direct your attention to him, he tipped his chin up lazily, reminding you of the first day you’d encountered him in a setting much like this one. Your eyes softened at the reminiscent memories. Time flies... 

“We will be substituting for Professor Powell, as he is out sick for the week,” you explained. 

A few scattered hollers and applause were heard from parts of the hall, making Yoongi shoot you a smug grin. You frowned quizzically for a brief moment before shrugging it off. “As former graduates ourselves, we are very aware of the immense pressure Professor Powell puts on you as first years in the graduate division. Trust me.” You turned your body to Yoongi, signaling him with a small nod. “We’ve both been there.”

He chuckled, taking the reins of the conversation smoothly while you began handing out the syllabus for the final project. “Powell might have discussed this project with you last semester or you might have heard legends about it from your upper classmates while you were freshmen.”

Yoongi didn’t bother using the title of “Professor” before he spoke, making some students gasp audibly. His voice was the epitome of confidence, self-assurance and clarity coating his voice like velvet as he articulated his words with consistency.

“The syllabus that is being handed out to you explains the details of your final project. Your partners have been chosen for you and will not, under any circumstance, be altered to fit your personal preference.”

Whispers spread across the entire room like a swarm of bees, students gasping and mumbling, appalled as they analyzed each detail written on the page. Your echoing clap silenced into their incessant grumbles. That seemed to grab their attention.  

“As Professor Powell has said multiple times prior to the start of this semester and I’m sure as far back as your undergraduate days.” A grin formed on your lips and you glanced over at Yoongi, who was already smirking and staring back at you with his lip in between his teeth. “The audience needs to see who you are through the music; experience your deepest memories, feel your deepest pain, and live through your life up until this point.”

“You’ll laugh, cry, scream, and want to rip each other apart with your bare hands,” Yoongi added on with conviction in his voice, standing up straight and no longer leaning against the wall. “But above all the setbacks and obstacles, you’ll come out as stronger musicians and even better artists.”

“Complain and fail. Choose to work independently from each other and that implies that you are working against one other,” you noted. “You are there to help each other through difficult times, not leave the other person hanging when things get tough.”

Yoongi sighed. “It sucks, we know.” He glanced at you thoughtfully, a ghost of a smile dancing across his lips. “But we promise it’ll be worth it.”

At this, a student in the front row raised her hand, a wide-eyed curiosity glinting from her eyes. You smiled and gave her the cue to speak. “By chance, you guys aren’t the seniors who passed this same assignment with a full grade four years ago, are you?” Her naïve and self-answering question made you and Yoongi look to each other knowingly, embarrassed and honored that the rumor was still flying about, alive and well as ever. “You two are like living legends!”

The class erupted into another wave of applause and gasps, sounding like a sound effect out of a comedy club’s built-in soundboard. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled, leaning his head to one side and side-eyeing you lightheartedly. You also found yourself blushing and chuckling awkwardly, sighing as you avert your eyes to anywhere but the crowd of eyes glued onto you and him.

“It’s kind of a funny story…” you hummed. 

“Why did you start liking me?” you asked. Lying down on the blanket that was strewn on top of the grass, Yoongi shifted beside you, admiring the spot on the viewpoint he picked out. The view of the campus never ceased to take your breath away. 

The longest three seconds of your life passed before you turned on your side and he peeled his eyes away from the dim sky, redirecting his gaze to you. Taking your hands into his, the edges of his lips curled into the tiniest smile, staring thoughtfully at the sight he had never imagined in his wildest dreams would be here right in front of him. 

“Because you gave me everything I could ever ask for without wanting anything in return, and I don’t deserve it.” His words flowed like ink from a fountain pen, soaking through the pages that bound your love for him. 

Pausing before continuing, you couldn’t prepare yourself for what he had to say next.

“It’s like you’re too good to be real. Here. In front of me.” he clasped your hands tighter. “I still feel like don’t deserve you.” At this sudden confession, his tense expression softened. “Like I’m not enough for you...”

The dark and piercing stare you used to cower in fear at had now revealed itself to be the only one you knew that was full of vulnerability and as delicate as a glass menagerie. They were eyes you had grown fond of, admired, and more than anything—wholeheartedly and unequivocally loved.

Running his thumb over your cheek, you cupped over his hand in response, making your heart flutter at the delicate flush that spread across his face. 

“Min Yoongi...” you sighed as your eyes began to form budding tears. Shaking your head while trying to hold back the painful smile that threatened to escape, you took a deep breath. 

The lump in your throat returned tenfold when you looked up and saw that his eyes were glued onto yours, his deep brown orbs watering with glassy tears and lip quivering with the infinite ocean of amour he felt for you. You had already fallen in too deep to drown.

All these years later and you still made each other’s hearts race like a soaring kite. 

Whether it was from the cold or the bursting dam of repressed emotions, it didn’t matter. You cupped both sides of his face and brought his forehead to yours, pressing lightly and maintaining contact so that you were trapped directly in-line of each other’s eyes. You couldn’t help but smile and allow a tear to trail down your cheek when his hands cupped over yours.

“You’re right. You aren’t just anything to me,” you whispered, your voice near barely audible to anyone except Yoongi. “You are absolutely everything I could ever ask for and more. 

Yoongi swallowed the rush of nostalgia that flooded his mind and closed up his throat. “I have never in my entire life met someone who comes close to how you understand me, wait for me, and push me through my bad days,” he croaked through blurry eyes. 

You sniffled, brimming tears finally spilling like the puddles of your youth you once basked in. “You make me the happiest and the best person I can be, and I love you more than anything else in this entire world...”

“And I promise that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way.” His Adam’s apple bobbed when he finally spoke, completing your words like the last piece of a puzzle fitting perfectly in its place. 

His words and soft lips sealed a kiss on your forehead, your eyes fluttering softly at the ardor you felt only while in his warmth. You kissed him back, the saltiness of your mingled tears leaving watercolor thin streaks down both of your cheeks.

Words would never be enough to express the bond you and him shared. He could only pray to whoever was listening that you felt it as strongly as he did, and you for him. 

A song composed with no more than the painful memories of your past, tender youth of the present, and limitlessly unbound fate of your future, your paths entwined with the string of fate and aria had brought you together to this exact moment in time.

Passionless pursuit in the chase for perfection; a journey filled with sorrows in the hopes of leading to the smallest sliver of happiness; an outcome neither of you had expected to come to fruition in your wildest and most distant dreams.

Everything else is arbitrary. Happiness through the darkest of times stemming from the willingness to fight and determination to be happy—that is what you made your lives out to be. 

The faint glint of the rings you both bore reflected against the lamp post bulbs, an even brighter light emitting from both of your smiles. Had it already been a year since he’d asked for your hand? Yoongi’s fingers ran over the engraved metal, tracing the near-microscopic words that were etched into the band. You did the same with his, the loop of silver feeling cool against your fingertips.

It was real.

This was real.

[ilovemygaydad]

title: thievery and trickery

the unneeded sequel to yeah, no

summary: (again, a totally cursed crack fic) as deceit’s things start to go missing, he must venture into the light side to retrieve them. unfortunately, a former acquaintance is finding it the perfect opportunity to make him uncomfortable

pairing: one-sided roceit

warnings: spoilers for dwit, deceit, remus (once), ambiguously sympathetic deceit (it could go either way tbh), lots of sexual innuendos, suggestive language, swearing, frustration, yelling, anger, teasing, intentionally making someone uncomfortable, virgil is a major asshole, caps, implied sexual attraction, embarrassment, and possibly something else

@royallyanxious, since you asked to be tagged

special thanks to @fandomsandanythingelse for being my consultant on this

consider buying me a coffee (god knows i need it after this)

---

Deceit didn’t entirely remember why he had needed to venture into the lighter side of the Mindscape in the first place. It had been something to do with Virgil, that much was sure. Probably retrieving something that had been taken to the Light Side without permission that Deceit had tasked himself to retrieve. He couldn’t remember.

He did remember that he had entered the Light Side and immediately went to the nearest door to find good old Anxiety, only to find the room devoid of the side. Naturally, Deceit had gone further in, hoping to catch Virgil to complete his task. As he walked down the long hallway to the stairs, he checked the game room and the memory vault in case Virgil, for some unknown reason, had decided to skulk around like the emo disaster that he was.

Still nothing.

Deceit had sighed. He loathed having to go into the Light Sides’ common room. They were all, quite frankly, very rude to his person, and Roman was always there being his usual, pretty annoying self. However, he had a goal that needed to be fulfilled, so he trudged down the stairs with only a bit of a pout.

And the second that Deceit stepped into the commons, he knew that he was absolutely, royally fucked.

Because of course Roman chose this day of all days to drape himself on the couch like a god damned living painting. Sure, Creativity was in his normal outfit, but that didn’t make Deceit’s mind go any less haywire. For the briefest moment, Deceit’s mind flashed with all of the other, much better places that he’d like to see Roman in that position, but he put a harsh clamp over them faster than he could say his own name. He’d been assaulted by Remus enough for merely flirting with Roman in the courtroom doing his job; there was exactly zero way in hell that his ass wouldn’t get kicked if any of his stray thoughts ended up in Remus’ hands.

Not to mention that in the corner of the room, staring right at him was Virgil freaking Sanders with the same shit-eating grin that Deceit used to love seeing. The sickeningly sweet smile that foretold mischief.

Yeah.

Deceit was fucked, and he wouldn’t even have finished whatever the hell it was that he’d come to the Light Side to do!

“I don’t need something from you, Virgil,” he said regardless of his forgetting. There needed to be a reason for him to come here, or the others would get suspicious. Lying was what he did best, after all.

“No, of course not,” Virgil said. “You need it from someone else.” His eyes flicked subtly to Roman, who wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation, and back.

Deceit flushed. “That is what I meant.”

“No? I suppose it wouldn’t have been a need so much as a want, right?” He smirked; darkness glinted in his eyes with every word. “My mistake.”

“Oooh!” Roman said suddenly, looking up at the two. “Virgil messed up?”

“Wha—Do you only ever listen to make fun of me, Princey?” Virgil’s smirk turned into a scowl.

“I was merely surprised that you admitted to a wrongdoing. That’s a rare feat.”

“Dude, whatever.” Virgil stood up and walked to the stairs. “I’m gonna do some activities to work out my newfound frustration.” Then, just as he passed by Deceit, he winked and whispered innocently, “Maybe you should, too.”

“I will never understand him,” Roman sighed as he watched Virgil climb the stairs. “I do hope that he paints today, though. His pieces are always more interesting when he’s worked up.”

“Yeah,” Deceit laughed weakly. Without another word, he turned and left.

---

Life had a really fucking funny way of messing with Deceit. Hilarious, one might say.

To him, it was genuinely devastating.

Not three days after his little incident with Virgil, he was forced to go back to the Light Side because another one of his things went missing, and the first still hadn’t been returned. Undoubtedly, Virgil was making some attempt at payback for the courtroom by stealing his precious belongings (you didn’t just steal a guy’s heated blanket--that was cruel). Deceit just wished that he’d get his fill of revenge in a more tasteful way like salt in the sugar bag or bugs in his pasta.

Once again, Virgil wasn’t in his new room, and Deceit was forced to go to the commons. Where, once again and just to his luck, he was greeted by Virgil and Roman. Creativity was sitting on the floor, flipping through a book of jungle animals, and Virgil was next to him, pointing at the ones that looked cool. 

Deceit was unsure if either had noticed his presence until Virgil placed his hand on a page with a yellow and black snake. “What do you think about snakes, Ro?”

“Oh! I think they’re rather magnificent creatures! A truly misunderstood and beautiful animal indeed.”

“Uh huh. Y’ever touched one?”

Roman squinted his eyes, obviously trying to scan his memory for a time that he might have. His eyes seemed to have finally noticed Deceit, and he sent a small wave over before replying, “No, I don’t believe that I have.”

Deceit moved to the kitchen. He didn’t want Roman to think that he was staring or being weird.

Virgil looked over his shoulder at Deceit with a smug expression. “Do you want to touch one?”

Deceit had never been so close to dropping dead on the spot.

“I mean, why not?” Roman said, starting to flip pages again. “Their scales look so smooth, and I’m sure that they’re lovely to hold. Oh, and they do that little blep thing, which is just terribly adorable.”

“I’m sure that snakes would think that you were adorable, too.” The smile on Virgil’s face held a saccharine sweetness as he mouthed ‘Don’t you?’ at Deceit.

Roman cooed, and the anxious side turned his head at the exact second that Roman glanced back over at him. “Aw, Virgil! That’s so sweet of you to say.”

“It’s no big deal,” he muttered, feigning embarrassment.

“No, it’s really nice of you to say. Even Deceit would agree, right?” Creativity turned an eager smile to Deceit, who nearly flinched at the sudden attention.

“No. It isn’t nice,” he managed to choke out.

“See! You’re a nice guy, Virge.” Roman turned back to his book once more.

“Yeah.” Virgil innocently grinned at Deceit. “I guess that I am.”

---

The other things, Deceit could cut his losses and live without. He had extra blankets, and he had extra socks, but this? This was just plain criminal. 

What the fuck kind of a guy stole someone else’s snake?!

And it wasn’t just the snake herself! Virgil had taken the entire terrarium, all of Deceit’s supplies, and the entire freezer’s worth of food. If he weren’t so fucking pissed, Deceit would have been proud of the scheme.

“Virgil,” he growled as he pounded on the anxious side’s door. “Don’t give her back.”

The door opened, and Deceit almost lost it when he saw Virgil with Daisy on his shoulders, smiling softly. “What’s that?”

Angry venom dripped from Deceit’s words. “Don’t. Give. Her. Back.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Yeah, of course.” He snapped his fingers, and all of the snake stuff that had been littered behind him disappeared. 

Deceit was infinitely jealous that the laws of reality didn’t hit as hard in the Light Side as they did in the Dark Side. The only one who could summon things while in the Dark Side was Remus, and no one wanted to ask him for things. It had taken Deceit three weeks of fighting tooth and nail to get Roman to give him Daisy. It had been the worst three weeks of his entire life.

“And the snake?”

Virgil shook his head, softly. “Yeah, sorry. I thought you’d want to take her home with you, so I didn’t snap her with.” He gently lifted Daisy from his shoulders and placed her in a small heap in Deceit’s hands.

Deceit knew that he should be happy. His baby had been returned with little resistance, and he could go back to some normalcy, but at the same time, something was up. Virgil hadn’t been this cordial in... well, ever. 

“Right...” He looked at his wrist as Daisy slowly curled her way into a sentient serpentine bracelet. “Well, I’m gonna--”

“Oh my goodness! Is that the snake I summoned for your room?”

Virgil gasped, but Deceit could see the mischief in his eyes. “You summoned this cutie? I was just about to ask Deceit where he got her.”

No, you weren’t, you lying bastard.

“I almost forgot about her. How is she? Does she have a name?” Roman’s voice was gleeful, and it just made Deceit want to run away.

“Her name isn’t Daisy,” he said as he turned to speak to Creativity. “And she’s doing terribly.”

“Wow.” Roman looked completely starstruck. “Wow. I’ve never held a snake before; can I hold yours?”

It was subtle—it could barely be construed as something even minutely sexual—yet Deceit saw Virgil’s surprised smile at the unknowing bait. With full intentions to rush away, he stuttered, “Oh, um, I don’t know...”

“Hush,” Virgil drawled, pushing just a bit too hard on Deceit’s shoulder to be considered friendly. “Let him hold your snake.”

“She’s just too cute, Deceit! Please?”

Slowly, the side in question nodded and slipped Daisy off of his wrist. With the utmost care, he placed the coil in Roman’s hands. It honestly couldn’t get any worse.

Daisy lazily slithered her way up and around Roman’s arm, raising her tiny head right in front of Roman’s. Her little tongue darted out and touched his nose. Roman let out a tiny giggle.

The moment was swiftly ruined for Deceit by Virgil saying, “You know, I’ve never seen her like that except in Deceit’s hand. She just isn’t that perky on her own.”

“Ha ha,” Deceit said with fake enthusiasm. “Virgil, you are so funny! May I please have Daisy back so that I can go back to my room?”

“Of course,” Roman murmured as the snake was taken back. “She’s beautiful. May I visit her some time?”

Virgil latched his arm around Roman’s shoulders. “I’m sure she would be very happy if you did! Right, Deceit?”

“No.”

“Perfect!” Virgil began to lead the prince away. “Goodbye!”

“Bye...”

—-

“Roman, I need to be honest with you,” Virgil said a few minutes later. They were on the couch watching reruns of Parks and Rec, and Roman was still being very happy about his new snake friend.

“What about?”

“Well...” Virgil didn’t exactly know how to break the news. “The last few times that we’ve hung out, I was using you—“

“What—“

“Just to get back at Deceit! It was just so I could make him uncomfortable, okay?”

Roman’s eyebrows furrowed. “Make him uncomfortable how?”

“He has this massive crush on you, and I found out about it right after the courtroom thing, so I’ve been using you and your pretty, unaware face to form, uh... innuendos? I was stealing some of his stuff so he’d come to our side of the Mindscape, and I made sure to be with you.” Virgil laughed awkwardly, hoping Roman wouldn’t hate him forever for his evil scheme.

“You... you’re kidding, right? Deceit is thirsty for me? I mean, I know that I’m a snack and a half, but him?”

“Yeah.”

Roman looked at Virgil with a disbelieving expression. “And you used me to get into his head?”

“Mhmm. A couple of well timed questions here, your idiocy sprinkled in every so often... Poor guy was outie in less than five minutes.” Virgil smirked, resting his head on the back of the couch. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Man,” Roman laughed. “I can’t believe we vanquished Deceit so quickly, and all it took was him having a simple crush on me!”

“SO HE DOES WANT TO FUCK YOU?!” Remus screeched from his new perch on top of the kitchen table.

The two sides on the couch screamed. Well, nothing was truly a perfect solution...

[crowkingwrites]

Something Awful

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader // Words: 4697 // Ao3 Link // Masterlist

Author’s Notes: SO THIS HAS TO BE THE LONGEST ONE SHOT I EVER WROTE and it really got away from me lol. 

I actually have an entire series that is based on this request? For those of you who know Vicious, it’s similar to this request. (You can start reading it here.) However! This one-shot is going to take a very different turn. Enjoy!

You felt your heart breaking when you met Talisa. The muscles in your chest pulled apart string by string which made it all feel so much better to see her pregnant body on the ground bleeding. The last thing you saw inside the Twins was Robb crawling to the girl he loved more. Robb deserved his fate, you thought.

Roose Bolton took you away from the whole thing. You were never meant to be at the Red Wedding, so when Roose saw your face he secretly told his men t not touch you. You were grateful to him while you both rode towards Winterfell.

“I am sorry to have put you through that. You were supposed to be with—

“I know,” you told Roose. You looked down and away from Roose. He bluntly gave you a reminder.

“You would never have been happy with the Young Wolf. He loved someone else much more than you. He already had his family planned with her. You deserve someone with much more loyalty and respect. Don’t cry over a dead man who would have been happy to see you gone.”

Lord Roose Bolton was right. As much as you wanted to follow his advice, it was difficult to harden your heart. Your brown eyes and black hair gave away that you were truly your father’s daughter. Robert told you stories of Lyanna Stark, and it reminded you of how you spoke of Robb Stark.

You desired Robb more than anything. You remembered Sansa’s smile and how her eyes were filled with delight in wanting your brother. You supposed both of you felt differently now. You knew your mother to be a hateful woman towards everyone else except for you and your siblings. You never thought she would go as far as to destroy houses and families to not have you marry a Stark.

Winterfell was in ruins when you arrived. The direwolves were all smashed in. The Stark banners shared a similar fate as Robb; in the ground, covered in shame and almost forgotten. Roose had shared news of your safety with your mother, but you decided to stay north. You weren’t ready to go back home yet.

You didn’t want to face your hateful mother who took Robb away from you. You couldn’t possibly face Sansa who was to be your sister. You figured that what you had with her was now gone. You wouldn’t be surprised if she wished you dead.

You mostly kept to yourself at Winterfell for the first week. Most servants cursed you, and other Northerners had plans to hurt you. Roose had noted that and called you to a meeting to discuss your security here at Winterfell. With power and money and a new lordship in his pocket, Roose had set his sights on a new goal: the Iron Throne.

Keeping you, the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, safe and sound and happy in his home was in his best interest.

“I’m sure you are aware of the several people who have made threats to you,” Roose explained in front of his other men and you. You sat with your hands folded at a table of men who have betrayed House Stark. A fire crackled behind you.

“I’m aware. I believe my last chambermaid tried to poison me,” you confessed. “It may be time for to return home.”

“I would advise you against that,” Roose said. A map of Westeros sat in front of you. Roose pointed towards the Twins. “The knights of the Vale have boldly positioned themselves near the Twins. It wouldn’t be safe for you to return now with the Riverlands and the North this tense. If I can guarantee your safety here, would you like to stay longer?”

“Guarantee my safety? How?” you laughed at the Lord. It was impossible. You were a lion alone with direwolves and those loyal to them. Even if you attempted to go outside the walls of Winterfell, you were scared of any man or woman who saw your birthmark. Well, at least that’s what Cersei told you.

A large burn mark on your face reminded you how awful your father was. King Robert, the one who liberated the Seven Kingdoms, put your face near a fire as a babe because you were a girl. Cersei couldn’t face him much after that. How could a King hurt his daughter like that? What kind of man was that? Still, no one could know that the King hurt his daughter. Not after he took the throne from the Mad King.

The burn mark went from the corner of your mouth and stretched itself across your left cheek. Joffery always teased you about it. He claimed you and the Hound would make a lovely couple together. He also claimed you would never find any real love unless it was inside a brothel. Of course, you never really searched for any kind of love. You always thought Robb Stark would be your husband.

That is, until you saw Talisa.

Until you saw the way Robb looked at her.

Until you saw Robb crawling on the floor towards her, reaching her. Even in death, he still did not want you.

You could mourn over dead men and their dead lovers or you study at the young man in front of you. He had dark curls, hungry eyes, and a mouth that smiled at you like you were made of gold. His hands were folded in front of him. His emblem was the Bolton cross. Not one thing about him looked off to you.

“This is my bastard son,” Roose introduced you. “Ramsay took Winterfell from the Greyjoys and saw that their rebellion was paid their own blood. I trust him to protect you at all costs.” Ramsay took your hand and kissed the top of it. His hand pulled you up to his level.

“I never thought I would ever protect a future queen, much less meet one,” Ramsay told you. You felt color rush to your cheeks and you couldn’t meet his eyes much longer. Not many men gave you affectionate attention. Cersei would never leave you with a man alone for long, so you didn’t have much experience.

Now, you were going to spend a lot of time with a bastard named Ramsay.

--- 

“Who is your mother?” you asked the bastard one day. He sat next to you eating another apple. He used his flaying knife to cut off bit by bit.

“She was a miller’s wife.”

“Did your father—

“No,” Ramsay cut you off. “He didn’t love her. He had his way with her while her new husband hung above them. Did you parents love each other?”

“No, they did not. I hoped things were different up here,” you confessed to him. “According to you, things are more of the same. Maybe worse.”

“Worse? I am to be Lord and Warden of the North one day. You are to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I don’t see much drawback from this.” A guard came into the room before you could go further in the conversation.

“We found another one,” he said. “Caught ‘im trying to send a letter out.”

“Well, what does the letter say?” Ramsay narrowed his eyes.

“Says where she sleeps. How to get past the guards.” Ramsay stopped the guard with his hand. He heard enough. He left his spot next to you by the fire.

“Milady, I expect this threat will take some time to take care of. I’m afraid I won’t see you until tomorrow.” You cocked and eyebrow. “Why does it matter if I won’t see you until tomorrow?”

Ramsay started to close the door behind him. “I was starting to like you. Don’t ruin it with silly questions.”

---

Ramsay had slain anyone who plotted to hurt you. He had displayed their skins and corpses and parts in the courtyard of Winterfell to remind everyone who House Bolton should be loyal to. Ramsay stood next to you spinning a yarn about the unfortunate soul in front of you. You felt something turning in your stomach.

It could the gruesome sight in front of you. The young woman’s toes were caked in her own blood. Her mouth was agape, and you could see bugs enter and exit her mouth. As if the small critters used her body for warmth and food.

Or it could be Ramsay. As handsome as he was, he was also terribly something awful. His smile when describing how she held strong until the end. He loved what he did to people. He was good at it. Still, something turned your stomach.

“Milady!” The maester came rushing to you. “There’s something you need to see.” His frown and worry concerned you. You followed the maester with Ramsay right behind you. Ramsay followed you wherever you went not because he felt obligated to, but he enjoyed your companionship.

Every morning, you helped take the hounds out for walks. Ramsay and you would share meals together. More recently, your new favorite hobby was mending Ramsay’s clothes. He liked the flaying man you embroidered for him.

The maester handed you the letter from King’s Landing. It was written in your mother’s hand. You read the words, but you couldn’t register them. It wasn’t real. You felt too much all at once. You did the improper thing and started to cry and curse out loud.

“Fuck! Fuck! No, this isn’t—I—No! Fuck this!”

“What? What is it?” Ramsay grabbed the letter from you. He read the words. “Your brother was poisoned by his enemies. The King is dead. Come home.”

---

You sat in your room alone. It had been a week since your King Brother was laid to rest in the Sept. Myrcella was in Dorne. You were in the North. Your youngest brother held the crown now. You knew gentle, loving Tommen. His grave was already dug. You needed to go home.

You spun a yarn in between your fingers, trying to focus on something, anything. The world around you became a blur of noise and shapes. You didn’t understand how this happened. All you knew was you wanted to destroy who did this to your family. Who put Myrcella in Dorne? Who married Sansa? Who wanted your brother dead? “You need to eat,” you heard behind you.

“I’m not hungry,” you answered back watching Ramsay roll his eyes. He pulled up a chair next to you.

“You mourn them too much,” Ramsay picked at the bread on your tray. “You want to cry and cry and cry. Go on. The world won’t stop for you.”

“That’s mean. My brother just died.”

“And you’re going to sit here and cry about it?”

“What else can I do?” you cried out in frustration. Ramsay laughed at you.

“You are the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and you believe there’s nothing you can do?” Ramsay shook his head at you. “Do I what I would do.”

“I don’t torture people.”

“No, but you can end them. You could end them all,” Ramsay put the idea in your head. “You told me your uncle did it. So, let’s kill him.”

“He’s being put to trial first. We have processes. It’s only fair.”

“Fair? You want to be fair with a man who has hurt your family more than once? Tyrion has been a stain in your family line since the day he crawled out of your grandmother’s stomach. You know that.”

“With what resources then? I don’t have spies to do this work for me. I know no assassins. My family is a month’s ride away from me. Do you expect me to kill my uncle myself?”

Ramsay shook his head and left the comfort of his seat. He offered you his hand and guided you to a window.

“Look outside. What do you see?”

You did not like this game. You sighed and played along for him. “Snow. Land. Peasants.”

“The North,” Ramsay corrected you. “Five hundred miles that way, you’re still in the North. Another four hundred miles another way and you’re still in the North.”

“Your point?”

“This all belongs to me, but mostly it belongs to you, would you agree?” Ramsay placed his hands on your arms. They slid up to your shoulders.

“I agree. I still don’t see your point.”

“My father has proved his loyalty to your grandfather with what he accomplished at the Red Wedding. Tywin and Joffery made him a lord. Because of your grandfather, I have power, money, and land. I wonder, if I kill your enemies and hurt those who have hurt you, what will you make me?” Ramsay whispered the words into your ear.

You didn’t need spies. You didn’t need the same resources they had in King’s Landing. You had Ramsay Bolton, the flaying bastard.

---

Ramsay and you arrived in King’s Landing in complete secret. Ramsay didn’t bring an army with him, only twenty good men. You roamed the empty, abandoned brothels that Petyr Baelish left behind. You heard Ramsay exchange words with one of your mother’s spies. He left in haste, leaving you and Ramsay alone.

“Your mother knows you’re here. Along with someone named the Spider?” Ramsay asked, pulling at his shirt. You studied the young man. You noted the sweat on his brow.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying the warmer weather,” you smiled.

“I hate it. Why is it so hot? Isn’t it supposed to be nearing winter? This is ridiculous.” He looked around in disgust. His face made you giggle. Ramsay shot a look at you. “What?”

“You’re so miserable about the weather. It’s funny.” You smiled at him. You watched color rush to his face.

“I’m not funny.” He responded, turning away from you. You grabbed his arm and rested your head on his shoulder. Ramsay often let you do this, but you were never sure why. You’ve known Ramsay to have his girls. He slept with some on the way here, yet all of them had dark, long hair like yours. No, you were being silly. You were awful to look at. Your burn mark made sure of that.

Still, the tension between you was noted whenever a man looked at you wrong or when your fingers touched his sleeve. You wanted to say something was there. You wanted to ask, but your brother’s cruel words echoed in your mind.

“No one could ever stomach to look at that face every morning. The only love you’ll ever find will be in a dark brothel.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you. It wasn’t my intent. I was only teasing,” you said quietly between both of you. Ramsay placed a soft kiss on your head.

“I know, sweetling. We have to leave here. I don’t think your mother would want to find her daughter in a brothel with a bastard.”

---

Tywin welcomed you back to King’s Landing with open arms. He was more than delighted to see one of his granddaughters. You would claim your grandfather to dote on you, but he was a disciplined, conservative man. He noted how close Ramsay Bolton and you became.

“What happened in the North?” Tywin asked you.

“What do you mean?” you sat drinking wine with your grandfather. You finally wore your favorite summer dresses. It was a purple dress embellished with gold details. Golden flowers, golden stags, golden lions all delicately decorated your new gown. It felt light and pretty, nothing like the heavy layers you had to wear in the North.

“You experienced what happened at the Twins and you chose to stay in the North, why?” Tywin always questioned you like was trying to teach you another lesson.

“I was promised over and over to a young wolf. In one night, he was taken away from me by my family. The same family who told me I would be marrying him. Don’t you think a little distrust would form after that?”

“You don’t trust your family?”

“I needed time. The Boltons have been incredible hosts to me, and they reminded me why the Starks are traitors.”

“Roose Bolton reminded you? Or did his son remind you?”

“If you’re implying something, I suggest you get to the point,” you said in a cross manner. Tywin blinked and smiled.

“If you were a boy, you would have made a better king than your brother.”

“And I can’t be a queen? I’m in line for throne. Remember?” you said to Tywin. Tywin cleared his throat. His eyes followed a figure that entered the room. The first thing you saw were the rich red sleeves and collar. You suspected they hid armor underneath. The next thing you saw was a black tunic with the flaying man sewn into the fabric. A black belt held it together along with his sword and two daggers.

“Am I interrupting?” Ramsay spoke to Tywin. Tywin shook his head.

“Not at all. Is the South treating you better?”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes. “Why do all of you waste time with your small talk?” You quickly stood up from your seat and walked over to Ramsay.

“Forgive him, grandfather,” you smiled. “He wasn’t raised in castles like you and me. He doesn’t know how to be a lord.”

“Because he’s a legitimized bastard. There seems to be a lot of you in the North.” Ramsay’s hand went to his dagger, but you held onto his hand. You guided him away from murdering Tywin and towards the gardens.

“Do not anger my grandfather unless you wish to die,” you warned him.

“Tywin is as weak as his age. I doubt he could hurt me. Tyrion is in the dungeons. I plan to kill him tonight,” Ramsay said.

“Tonight? So soon? Don’t you think we need to wait and pla—

“There’s already a plan. I told you, I only need twenty good men. Do you want your uncle Tyrion to face justice or do you want him to escape?”

“Escape? What are yo—

“Your mother told me her whispers. The Spider has plans to help Tyrion escape justice tonight.”

“No, Tyrion will be put to the sword. There was a trial by combat. He dies tomorrow.” You assured him.

“No, he dies tonight. If you don’t let me do things my way, that throne will never belong to you.” Ramsay pulled you away from the public eye of the gardens. Behind tall bushes, Ramsay grabbed your hand again. “Must I remind you why I followed you here?”

“For the throne? You want power.” You said.

“As true as that sounds, I’m not an idiot. I was never raised in a castle. You were.”

‘Is this another game?” you asked. Ramsay pulled you closer to him.

“No, this is a reminder,” Ramsay brushed away the hair in front of your burn mark. He place his lips on yours and sent you into a trance. You didn’t realize your first kiss would be so wonderful. Ramsay wrapped his arms around you and deepened the kiss. You broke it apart when you felt dizzy in his arms.

“Ram—

“I never thought I would care for a southern girl, yet here I am. Our place is here. I’ll kill every single one of your family that betrays us to get you on that throne.” Ramsay kissed you once more. Leaving you almost breathless and filled with silly thoughts again.

Late in the night, you heard the bells go off. Those were alarm bells. You rushed to your door and locked it. It wasn’t much, but you had hoped you would be safe there. You waited and waited until you heard three sharp knocks.

Ramsay.

You opened the door slightly to see the roughed up young lord with a monstrous smile on his face. Five of his men were behind him now. Each of them were a bit bloodied up, but Ramsay had a lovely sword cut on his face. The blood dripped down his cheek.

“My lady, I have some wonderful news to share.”

---

Ramsay and his men had slaughtered Tyrion who attempted to escape his fate. Tyrion’s mistake was murdering his own whore lover and Tywin. Ramsay was revered as a hero by your younger brother, King Tommen. Ramsay stood before his king, smiling as Tommen stroked his ego.

“You have done Westeros a favor. You and your family have served the realm well. Whatever you ask that is in my power, it is yours,” Tommen smiled to Ramsay. Nearly everyone inside the court that day wore black. Ramsay’s black outfit was outfitted with gold and red details. Your family’s colors and his.

“You honor me, my King. I come to you as a young lord. I come to you humble and grateful, but if I were to ask for one thing,” Ramsay glanced at you for a moment and then met the King’s eyes. “I would ask you for your sister’s hand. I’ve grown quite fond of her. I’d like to make her mine.”

You smiled from ear to ear. You guessed your late brother was right. You did find love in a brothel.

---

While Tommen tried to be a pure king, you had already consummated with Ramsay several times before your own wedding night. Ramsay’s favorite part of you was your neck and your chest. He left his own marks all over you, so that your mother would know that you belonged to him now.

“You’re covering them up, aren’t you?” Cersei said. “His little love marks.”

“How did you kn—

“Have you forgotten that I know everything?” Cersei smiled at you. You’ve always felt your mother’s warmth. That never changed. She pushed your hair back to see both your burn mark and the marks Ramsay left on you. “I was once your age too. I hid mine better. Try wearing your hair down more.”

“You’re not angry with me?” you asked her.

“No,” Cersei took your hand and lead you with it. The day had begun to cool. You kept your mother close to you. She continued. “I’m not angry with you. I want you to be happy. Are you happy with him?”

“Yes,” you confessed. “I am. He makes me happy.”

“Good,” Cersei held you close. “But the minute he doesn’t make you happy anymore, tell me. And he will be ashes before you could shed a tear. Do you understand?” As you nodded towards your mother, a guard burst into your private moment. The Mountain glared at him with his bright red eyes.

“My queen, my lady,” the guard greeted. “The Sparrows have invaded the Red Keep. We need to get you to safety now.” Locked away in Cersei’s room, both you and she were protected by the Mountain. You heard yelling and fighting on the other side of Cersei’s door. You sucked in all of your breath and held onto her before you heard a familiar voice enter the room.

“Those religious fuckers,” Ramsay laughed. You eyed his armored body and cut arms. “Does your son take criticism? Or do I need to convince him how bad this is?”

---

You did not need to convince Tommen. He stood there raging, fuming mad at the poor figure of his mother. How little she was. How hurt she was. Tommen no longer hid, he roared.

You see, you only knew Joffery and yourself to have a temper. Myrcella and Tommen both were entirely too gentle to hurt anyone or anything. When Tommen saw the condition of Cersei when she returned from her walk of shame, he looked at your betrothed, Ramsay Bolton, and spoke to him.

“How many men do you need? How many to take down the Sparrows?”

You wished your king’s rage continued. You hoped Tommen would see how terrible the Sparrows were. Once you saw both Queen Margaery and King Tommen join hands with the High Sparrow, you knew it was over.

---

You clearly remembered that morning. You wore all black just like your mother and your betrothed. Chains hung from Ramsay’s chest and arms. A brand new, obsidian sword was his to touch. You wore your hair down, not to hide Ramsay’s love marks, but to hide the bruise on your neck. Something you earned last night when you challenged your lover to hurt you.

Ramsay’s fingers brushed against yours. You both quietly held hands and watched the sept. Everything had been so quiet. You didn’t realize how quiet King’s Landing could be until you heard the explosion. A bright green colored your vision as smoke filled the air. It was astonishing and awful. Your mother had managed to defeat both threats at once. The Sparrows and Tyrell House were gone.

Ramsay wore the biggest smile on his face. He looked on the spectacle in awe. If your mother could do that, what kind of damage could you do? He started to get ideas in his head. How could he get away with killing the king? How far would he go to put you on the throne? How far could he go to put himself there?

Being a king meant that you had access to power like this. You could do whatever you wanted. Ramsay found himself daydreaming of both of you on the throne. He sat on the iron throne while you stood by, holding a small bundle. Now, he wanted it. He was so close.

Ramsay didn’t realize how easy it was.

You were frozen to the spot when Qyburn came to tell you the news. Cersei had followed Qyburn to his lab while you stood there trying to digest what you had heard.

“Tommen killed himself.” You said quietly. “After everything my family has been through. Joffery was murdered at his wedding. Myrcella was cold before she touched land again, and now Tommen kills himself?” You felt the anger warp you into something awful.

“Y/N. Sweetling,” Ramsay called out to you. He snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Focus.”

“My family is dying around me,” the words came out cold. They cut Ramsay’s face and he delivered the same cold truth to you.

“I told you. You spend too much time mourning the dead. Do you realize who you are now? Who we are? What power we have together?” Ramsay kissed you and you felt the world melt away again. Before you could deepen the kiss, he broke apart from you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. Ramsay held your face in his hands.

“Nothing,” he shook his head. For the first time, you saw his genuine happiness. His face softened and gazed down at you with something more than what your mother gave you. His fingers combed through your hair. He saw nothing else in the world but you. “This world is ours. Yours and mine.”

---

Your coronation was held only hours after the incident. Ramsay watched you walk in complete awe. You had never looked more beautiful in your life. A crown of stag antlers was placed on your head. The Seven Kingdoms was now yours to have and control. You looked sad for the occasion, but when you were alone with the man who helped put you there you smiled.

“My king,” you teased him. Ramsay kissed you deeply once more.

“My queen,” he tenderly said back. The pair of you walked together to a small council meeting to discuss immediate issues. The Sept needed to be handled. Your brother’s funeral was to be planned. The people of the city needed to be addressed.

When Ramsay’s lips touched yours in front of the people of Westeros, he became King Ramsay Bolton, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Both of you had everything you ever wanted now. A crown adorned his head like a halo. Ramsay felt like a god among his new subjects.

While you rested inside taking in the new feeling of being so very much loved, Ramsay pulled Varys and Littlefinger aside. The small council chambers were empty with the exception of the three men. Everyone enjoyed the wedding estivates outside. Ramsay twirled his flaying knife between his fingers.

“Varys, Littlefinger,” King Ramsay began. “Tell me about this girl and her dragons across the sea.”

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[georgeharris0n]

The Exciting Adventures of Tiny Paul

Rated: PG (They curse, but that’s it.)

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Tiny Paul McCartney/John Lennon

Chapters 1/1

Note: I had to do some Tiny Paul after seeing @macca-is-art create the most beautiful Tiny Paul art I have ever seen!!!! Check out the one, this fic is based on Here !!!! Auro, I hope you like it, and that it captures the beauty of your art.

Also- this is set when Paul is turned Tiny in Help!, but stays tiny for a bit longer… enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Ringo was fast asleep in the comfortable beddings of Her Majesty’s cool satin pillows. This moment may have been the only instance in the last few days that he appeared to be able to sleep again without any strange nightmares or just not sleeping at all in fear of getting nabbed while his eyes are closed. With a murderous cult and a pair of kooky scientists after him.

Getting shacked up at Buckingham Palace was probably the most well deserved hide away he needed.

On the outside it seemed all was normal. In fact, Ringo was in such a deep sleep he hadn’t even noticed George detangle his arms from his waist and get up to take a piss, which typically made him whine, or at least stir. He finally perceived that in such comfortable quarters, and with the extensive security, he would certainly be safe from any outside dangers that could be praying on him.

Unfortunately, Ringo wasn’t quite as “safe” from the inside dangers. One in particular, being the small bassist currently taking notice to George’s bathroom departure…

Since Paul’s mishap with the shrinking syringe. The boys came to realize, very quickly that a Tiny Paul was big problem. Paul may have shrunk indefinitely for the time being, and despite his small stature and increased vulnerability (which John pointed out repeatedly). Paul managed to make most of his situation and have a bit of “fun” with it…

In this case, with a unconscious Ringo.  Paul quickly took his chance once he saw George close the bathroom door. Sneakily, Paul wiggled his way out of his makeshift bedding- one of John’s clean socks folded on the nightstand. He peered over his shoulder to the opposite bed, and sure enough John was fast asleep.

Tightening the grip on his gum wrapper, Paul stood over at the edge of the nightstand to the two inch gap before him, which- at his height appeared more like five feet.

Paul took a quick breath and without wasting anymore time, leaped from the nightstand to the sheets of Ringo’s bed.

He was enveloped in the satiny softness of the Queen finest thread count. He finally understood why the lads had been sleeping so blissfully since arriving to Buckingham Palace. It was 10 times more comfortable than John’s crummy sock.

Lucky bastards.

Paul stood on the sheets to see Ringo, his target, sprawled out under his covers. Lifting up an edge, Paul slipped underneath, completely undetected…

Ringo’s good night sleep only could have lasted so long. Without a word of warning, Paul’s little feet were using Ringo’s stomach as a catwalk to which he could sashay across.

The lad jolted awake as his leg and abdomen involuntarily spasmed at the ticklish sensation creeping up and down his torso. Immediately, the cover was jerked away, and Ringo frantically searched for what had tickled him so suddenly. It wasn’t till he felt the sensation again on his thigh that he realized what the cause of these ministrations was.

Of course, he only realized that after he had given it a swat with his bejeweled hand, and saw it fly across the room into the nearby couch.

“Shit! Paul?” Ringo sat up on the edge of the end bed, squinting in the dark guest room for the tiny Beatle.

Ringo heard a stirring coming from the other bed.

“….P…aul? What ‘bout Paul?” A grumbly John murmured from his pillow on the bed directly beside Ringo’s. John was barely awake given he was a deep sleeper, but- the sound of Paul’s name was enough to get him conscious at most. John’s eyes pried open to the night stand between him and Ringo and immediately noticed the empty sock.

It was like he turned a switch. John sprung forth from his bed in a crazed panic.

“WHAT- Ringo, where’s Paul?”

Ringo was already standing up inspecting the couch cushions for any sign of him, avoiding John’s eyes as well as he could, either because of how tired he was or not wanting to see the guitarist’s panic turn on him.

“He was in me bed, I think? Gave me a real-”

“Your bed! You crushed Paul? You crushed Paul in the bed?!” John went wide eyed, taking a step back to steady himself with the night stand.

“No I haven’t crushed im’! I must of just hit him or something. I could’ve sworn I saw him on the couch.”

“Hit him! You daft git! What’d you do that for? You know he’s small now, what if he’s hurt or-”

“I didn’t do it on purpose John!”

“Well where is he then!”

“I’m trying to figure that out! If you’d stop yelling and help me look-”

The tiny fellow in question watched as the two argued. John reprimanding Ringo about how “delicate” he was and how easily he could get squashed.

The two were arguing so much they hadn’t even noticed Paul practically in stitches behind a discarded throw pillow. He was having a big laugh as John’s face fumed with panic after George stepped out of the bathroom unaware of what on earth they could be fighting about at 2 in the morning.

“Not another step Harrison!”

Tiny Paul knew how to have his own fun, and how to keep the lads on their toes for a few hours.

___________________

 The Palace, even in all it’s royal glory, had been a bust. Apparently not even the queen’s guards could protect the infamous Beatles.  The police of Scotland Yard now lazily were keeping track of the lads as they attempted to go about their day.

With a killer cult after Ringo, Paul in his still unrelenting miniature state, and the constant hiding from country to country, the boys took to the streets to frequent some pubs and shops. Since even the farthest getaway was foiled anyhow, they may as well stay on familiar ground.

John had Paul snug in his jacket pocket, as per usual, with Ringo and George in tow. They marked along the pavement past the next pub till John spotted some local entertainment. A rather loud group, playing bagpipes had caught his eye. John stopped in his tracks, and pointed ahead to them

“Look! A band!”

Paul’s antics may seem like a pretty great strength, in terms of an upper hand over his cautious bandmates, but John’s constant worrying was not without merit. Paul was much smaller, and though all 4 Beatles had been protected and sheltered in the last few days. Noticing, and keeping an eye on him was tedious. Being out an’ about in public was far more dangerous considering only the other 3 Beatles knew of Paul’s condition. It wasn’t as though every individual would be watching out lest the stumble upon a small Paul McCartney… unfortunately Paul was going to find this out the hard way.

“Boys! It’s too loud!” In John’s pocket, Paul’s little ears couldn’t quite stand those bolstering bagpipes as he un-curled himself from deep in the pocket void to peak out with his ears covered.

The other fellas may have found the band entertaining, but- from Paul’s view of the the nearest pipe he saw something fishy was in their midst. He pipe was… leaking? Red? Like red paint of some-

Paul was over the edge of the pocket seam when he saw the pipe suddenly sputter and squirt out a stream of paint at the direction of his friends.

“Guys! Hey! Watch out! John?”

It was that damn cult! They had been duped again! George frightfully guided Ringo forward with a protective hand on his back, running from the scene, John right beside them, flashing a cheeky “Fuck you” smile behind as they all sprinted to the nearest pub.

Well… almost all.

Paul had been so caught off guard in the initial sprint that he had fallen out of the side of John’s pocket and down onto the side pavement. He was completely panicked as his friend ran for dear life and disappeared from view.

“Come back! John! I’m here, please!” To no avail, Paul’s cries were drowned out, and his mates were long gone, currently too preoccupied by being chased to notice Paul was now stranded.

The terrified Beatle was enveloped by busy pedestrians who probably couldn’t tell him apart from a crumpled gum wrapper. Curling in on himself, he was left in utter shock unable to move. Body just hoping and praying that in the next moment he wouldn’t be trampled by a neighboring high heel. The tiny lad shivered and shook with tears brimming in his eyes.

John left. He left me.

John had become Paul’s protector in a way these last few days whether Paul admitted it or not. Always so attentive and snippy about keeping Paul safe. Paul hadn’t realized how much he needed John till this moment. How reliant he was on him.

Paul felt the concret go cold and dark. A shadow came over his small little body, probably a shoe coming to smash him like a little bug, a meaningless little thing to kill without a second thought, a small nasty Beetle on the street-

“M-Macca?”

In a fearful whisper, John cradled Paul in the palms of his hands, looking down to see the bassist tearfully open his eyes.

“Is he alr-” George didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Paul began to cling to Johns shirt.

He couldn’t help but to sob uncontrollably against him. Letting out the smallest tears onto John’s red dress shirt.

John hadn’t even noticed his own tears fall out of worry and self resentment. He couldn’t help but cry when he saw Paul quivering and sobbing in his very own hands.

“I’m so sorry Macca…”

John let the tears fall. That- or maybe he hadn’t noticed he was crying in the first place, no matter the reason, Ringo and George could see the guilt in John’s eyes. Both laying hands on his arms for comfort as John gently rubbed the top of Paul’s head.

He may be Paul McCartney, but even the great McCartney needs his Lennon…

__________________________________

That night, once tears were dried and were apologies made. Paul refused to leave John’s side. Not that John was complaining. After the incident, he couldn’t bare the idea of Paul alone tonight in his sock.

Though John was reassured it had been an accident, he still couldn’t shake his being responsible. He had been so protective before, and hated the fact that he let this happen after being so forceful regarding his smol Paul.

Paul was snug on John’s breast pocket now. Not having been the same since that afternoon, he was shaking with fear from on and off nightmares…

“Oh and This boyyy…”

Whenever John woke from his dozing, to Paul’s shaking, he soothed him with loving touches in his soft hair and sang him back to rest.

It was the least he could do,

[stardust-and-blades]

Hurricane

small drabble I thought to write

Summary: The blade and voltron are paired up on a mission. Lance is assigned with Keith, who he hasn’t seen since his departure. They are short on words, but a brush with death leads to unexpected consequences

---------------

The blade found another planet with human and alien prisoners on it. It was initially a recon mission, Kolivan ordering his soldiers to keep an eye on the ball. But when Keith’s team returned with not only the entire fleet intact, but new information on those who participated in revolts within the galra empire sent to prisons, they knew they could not pass up on handing this intel to the voltron coalition.

The catch was it was heavily guarded. Carefully hidden, so that those of the planets assume those who rebelled were immediately killed or assumed dead upon being sent to one of the labor camps. Possibly sent to the arena, where anyone and anything could be deemed a gladiator and fend off against ruthless creatures and bloodthirsty purebred galras. The purebreds are the ones to always make it out unscathed.

While the others are lucky to come out with gashes and bruises. Shiro and Matt would know. They lived it.

It had been months since the team has heard from Keith. A few discussions on him, like whether he was taken care of or if he should visit. But it would die down in moments, the paladins shut down by Shiro, who claimed they needed to keep their eyes on the ball. By doing that, they must dedicate their time to training. It became so intense that even Allura questioned Shiro’s actions, noting how exhausted and worn out the paladins--humans close to her age and her heart--riddled with dark circles under their eyes and bleeding hands. She agrees they need more practice, but not to the point of overexertion. It is what Coran taught her after their first meeting. And what she is reminded of after the encounter with the evil Alteans. 

When Lance is assigned to Keith, he isn’t sure what to feel. Anger? Frustration? Glee? Worry? He was swirling with so many mixed emotions, he could have been mistaken for a cocktail of stress rather than the easy-going, laxed boy he was prior to the war.

And when he met up with Keith, it only got...more awkward. 

Lance knows he feels strongly. Felt strongly over Keith’s departure. He doesn’t hate the guy. In fact, he thought they were getting along really well before he left, what with the two working on Keith’s leadership skills and Lance being his newly appointed right hand man. He began to forget about glory. Cast away his flirtations to the princess, who hardly exchanged so much as a quirked brow whenever he attempted to woo her with his suave lines. However when he did try in the presence of Keith, he always noted how the ex-red paladin laughed, as if he hadn’t broken a smile in years. It left Lance in awe, for he never noticed how...open...friendly...handsome Keith could be when he smiled. When he laughed, it ignited a strange phenomenon in his belly. One he turned over late at nights, amping up the volume of his headphones as he grumbled to himself and lost hours of beauty rest. 

Why did his heart race so fast. Why did his cheeks light up with pink dust, Lance internally cursing his body’s natural instincts. 

Those feelings are dredge back up as blue meets purple. He couldn’t even utter a joke, but rather a breathless “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Ready for the mission?”

Keith shrugs. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He turns away and settles himself in the aircraft’s seat. “Lets go. Kolivan wants us there as soon as possible.”

“Roger that, team leader.” Lance says automatically, forgetting it is Shiro who pilots black again.

Keith froze. “What?” 

“What?”

You said--”

“I said roger that, loser.” 

Wait shit wrong word. But it is too late to turn back, Keith just sighing and turning back to the controls, pressing several buttons and snapping his seatbelt in place. Lance wants to smack his head against the wall. This is off to a great fucking start. 

Things are a little rocky during the mission, mostly because the base is so big everyone had to split into pairs with a blade member to relinquish the prisoners while also ceasing any contact with outside galra forces. The paladins kept their focus on rescuing and handling the beaten and malnourished rebels, and the blades fought sentries and galra soldiers. Paladins there to protect, blades there to risk their lives. Unfortunately for Keith and Lance, they were given a well-guarded area, Lance half expecting Kolivan to be sent with the two boys. 

“There is a lot more than the other areas...” Lance comments, him and keith hidden behind a vacated hallway.

Keith takes out his blade and angles it to see how many sentries and soldiers there are, a form of mirror since sticking their heads out could result in their beheading.

“Been through worse.” Keith says. He grips the blade tight and on command it morphed into a longer sword, the stubby, tiny dagger a full fledged weapon.

Lance furrows his brows. What?

“What do you mean, been through worse? Keith, is something going on?”

Keith blinks, opening his mouth but nothing coming out. Lance waits, concern slowly coming to a boil in his blood. He has been...MIA lately. Enough that the few calls he made to the team is nonexistent now, and when Lance peers into those striking eyes, they almost seem...dead. Dull. Consumed by something Keith isn’t telling him, nor the team.

Rather than answer Lance, he shakes his head and clicks his mask on, his face shielded by anonymity; by the display of all fighters, the unremembered and the sacrificed. 

The mask bugs Lance. But now more than ever. A part of him wants to click that button and demand answers. Considering their situation though, they have no choice but to clear out this side of the camp.

Keith is the first to run in. He doesn’t hesitate, sliding in their blind spots and stabbing from behind. He uses his blade to maneuver his body, kicking armor and jumping from sentry to sentry, avoiding the gunshots scattering the atmosphere. If Lance wasn’t so busy using his shield to protect him and the prisoners he gathered behind him, he would have stood there in awe. Keith’s combat moves were usually raw; scattered, intended on recklessness rather than survival. Right here he is displaying a different flow. A grasp on an objective, quick to act and muscles taught with fierce protection. He ducked, dodged, landed fists, and sliced sentries in half. He is a dragonfly, seeming slow but on his guard, following his senses and desire to come out of the mission without any casualties. 

As Keith finished the last blow to a sentry, he is surrounded by mechanic bodies, a mountain to rival the cemetery of those lost in the efforts for peace. He flicks his sword, blood and oil mixing with the flickering lights of a sentry’s system shut down.

Keith looks back at Lance, not removing his mask. 

“We should be good. Did you get everyone?

“Yeah, not a scratch.” Lance smiles. “Good job, man.”

Lance senses a smile. “Than--”

It happens in a flash. One moment Keith is speaking to him, his full attention on his partner and the victims, the next he is shot in the chest from the side, a cry emitting from Keith as he tumbles to the ground. His sword clatters against metal, a death rattle in Lance’s ears. 

There are galra soldiers coming in from an area Lance and Keith thought was clear, the exit being compromised.

And Keith is no longer moving.

Lance instantly puts up his shield and activates his bayard, the prisoners shielded by Lance. He glances at Keith, hoping he would see the boy twitch. His chest move up and down. For his hand to so much as inch towards the blade. 

A pool of blood grew underneath the fallen blade member, Lance’s mind going white. 

No. No this isn’t the plan. This isn’t supposed to happen. No. No. No. No.

Not another blade. Not another ally. Not another friend. 

His bayard continues to fire shots, some landing on their target, others hitting an equally as powerful sickly violet surface. Everything is bathed in purple, but all Lance could register is how much blood is pouring out of the small boy. He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t aim correctly, because all he sees is what he could have prevented. If he acted more, if he wasn’t so used to being on the back-burner, if he were nicer to Keith, if he told him--told him--

How dare they steal not only his and Allura’s home, hurt and imprison innocents, but the person he loves?

Bastards. Bastards. Fucking bastards.

Hot rage ebbs away the ice in his bones, the sting behind his eyes switching out for a clenched jaw. The calm ocean waves cloud over, a hurricane roiling in his gaze, destruction and hatred becoming one. He is the roaring waves; the snapped palm trees scattered about the area, the thunder booming in the distance, the darken clouds drowning anyone who treaded on his land. 

He is the blue paladin, and they have unlocked a part of him he had kept at bay ever since he discovered the ruination of thousands of planets and lives. 

His bayard, which was altered into a pistol so he could use one hand while protecting with the other, manifests into another weapon. A familiar one. A sharp one. A partner to Keith’s, though the shape is not of earthly design.

A sword. His bayard became a sword.

And he is ready to use it, the weight of steel not bothering him in the slightest.

He quickly moved the prisoners in a nearby room, shutting them in with a code and telling them not to come out until he returns or another paladin or blade member arrives on the scene. The galra aren’t getting in, there will be no more casualties today.

As soon as they were safe, Lance whipped around, the hurricane in his eyes pushing down electricity poles and setting fire to its surroundings. 

His scream reverberated off the walls, a wail of raw anger and heartbreak. He charged the sentries and galra soldiers, intending to leave no survivors. He sliced his way through the wall of mechanic soldiers, the cleaved limbs adding more to the pile Keith had created. The sword is hefty, but that doesn’t get to Lance. He used every fiber of his trained muscles, breaking a sweat yet never hesitating. Never staggering. 

The galra soldiers aim for Lance’s middle, but he dodges each one, putting his long legs to use. He dove down, tripping some with a hard kick and slicing their necks open. He activated his shield when more shots were made at him, the head galra of the group attempting to catch Lance off guard by hiding behind his men until he was behind the paladin. But Lance saw that coming, whirling around and burying the blade into the galra’s stomach. He yanks it out, the soldier down and bleeding out alongside his friend.

As soon as their leader was down, the remaining galra soldiers were frozen in place, pure fear etched in their yellow scleras. They began to back up, but Lance isn’t about to be merciful. Why be merciful to the beings that imprisoned and murdered thousands of innocents? Why be merciful to the empire that forced Allura and Coran into a sleeping pod for 10,000 years, their home and all they knew eradicated? Why be merciful to those who caused the rift between honorable galrans and bloodthirsty ones, shunning anyone who beheld an inkling of the race. 

Why be merciful to the soldiers who killed his best friend?

By the end, Lance’s blade is covered in crimson, the fury in him quelling to a small pit-fire, ignoring the walls and ceiling dotting the floor with its loose drips. 

He hears a shift behind him, Lance’s head perking up. So there is one last survivor afterall.

He turns and moves the blade to puncture the still conscious galra, about to impale them in the chest when he realizes it is not a normal grey and red armor sitting up, but the deep purple with lines running across the chest.

Keith groans, a hand going towards where he was shot. He is about to stand up when he takes note of the pointed, sharp metal an inch from him, his eyes growing wide as he stilled and looked up. 

“Lance?”

Lance takes in a sharp breath, losing his grip on his bayard. A hand flies to his mouth, as if the smother the cry tearing through his throat. How is he alive? He was shot. Bleeding out right in front of him. Is this a hallucination? Did he crack?

“You...I saw you die...” Lance whispers, the shock keeping him in place.

Keith looks down at his damaged armor. “Oh...I...Allura and Kolivan created this new armor. It takes the brunt of the damage and releases a red liquid similar to blood to fake our deaths, giving us an element of surprise when the enemy is vuln...er...able...” Keith looks around him, his sight taking in the dead sentries and soldiers. His mouth hangs open, caution and a tinge of fear entering his recovering look.

“Lance, what did you do?”

Lance doesn’t answer the question. Instead he crumbles next to Keith, pulling him close to his chest. His arms wrapped around him tightly, the other boy wincing from the squeeze due to bruising, but not exactly pulling away. He is freaked out by the damage. The blood covering the hallway not too far from them, by the aftermath of a force of nature Keith has never seen in Lance.

But he doesn’t have the heart to act coldly to the paladin, noticing how while the two were silent, he can feel Lance’s body shake with relief.

He just holds him. Letting him know Keith is there. Staying in place so Lance doesn’t feel the need to pick up the drenched bayard again.

Keith hopes he doesn’t. Not for this purpose.

They will need to talk. But for now, he leans into the touch. 

[thelowlysatsuma]

If you’re still doing the trope mashup, 6 and 13 (bookstore and detective) with Remile, please? Thank you!!

oh yES I CAN

Remulus Nox is a hotshot cop, and he looks damn good doing it.

So naturally, when he got a tip that a major-league drug deal might be going down at a local college in a week, he is on it, babes. Those poor bastards aren’t gonna know what hit ‘em.

So Remy’s got a week to kill, right? And while suuuuure, maybe he should be., like, investigating shit like his boring-ass partner is, Remy’s a bad bitch, and Mama needs his caffeine before he can get anythin’ done, hun.

The nearest Starbucks is inside a local library, and while Remy’s kinda sick of all these tiny gremlin children gawking at him – listen, he knows he’s hot shit, but come on. They’re like five years younger than him, which ew – he must say he’s intrigued when, while pushing past people to get to the drinks line like he’s parting the Red Sea, he bumps into an admittedly hot guy around his age wearing a fuckin’ sweater vest, of all the damn thing.

“Sorry, babe,” Remy replies, instinctively taking a step back to look up at the flippin’ giraffe. “Didn’t see ya there.”

The man giggles – frickin’ giggles, what the fuck? – and smiles at him. “No worries, there!” he chirps. “I shoulda been lookin’ where I was going.”

A second too late, Remy takes in the book cart the guy was wearing, and rolls his eyes. “So I’m guessing you work here, then?”

The man grins. “Yep!” He runs a hand through faded pink hair in desperate need of a dye job and leans back on the trolley. “Name’s Ethan, how about you?”

Remy flutters his eyelashes, snickering internally at the action. “Remy Nox, hon,” he replies smoothly, pushing his glasses up into carefully mussed hair. He slinks a hand into his jacket pocket, then offers Ethan a business card. “But you can call me whenever you want.”

Ethan blinks, then goes (an unfairly pretty) pink and begins to chuckle. “Well shucks,” he says, taking Remy’s number and slipping it into a back pocket, “I’m a little bit caught up in my studies right now, but I’m definitely going to call when I can.”

Remy raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms and cocking his hip. “College kid, huh? What’re you studying?”

Ethan bites his lip, distractedly adjusting his sweater. “Psychology, actually,” he says. “Hoping to become a licensed therapist, if possible.”

Remy tilts his head, furrowing his brows, and gives the man an appraising once-over. “Yeah,” he says, “I can see that.” His back pocket buzzes, and he scowls. “Ugh,” he says, “gotta get this.” Picking up the phone, he rolls his eyes. “Trevisan, this better be good.”

His partner’s clipped tones are biting even through the line. “Unlike some people,” Remy hears Logan say, “I’ve actually found a lead, and it’s time-sensitive. Get over to the corner of Sixth and Main – I have a possible suspect, but I can’t keep them here for long.”

“Fiiiiine,” he says. “But you owe me a coffee, bitch.”

“Dumbass.”

The line goes dead.

Remy grins apologetically at Ethan, who’s been watching the call curiously. “Gotta go talk to my business partner about a thing,” he says, easily lying through his teeth. Not that normally he’d be against telling the hot guy he’s a cop, but even he’s got some sense of when to keep shit hidden – and a few days before a drug deal when you don’t know who you can trust sounds like a pretty damn good time to withhold information if Rem’s ever heard one.

Ethan, for his part, just smiles at him. “Well,” he says, “I’ll still be here when you’re done.” He furrows his brows in thought, his tongue absently sticking out – and damn, if that’s not some cute shit right there. “I’m in here Monday through Wednesday,” he tells Remy. “Come see me when you can!”

Remy grins slyly. “Maybe I will,” he drawls, spinning on his heel and leaving the store as he lets his sunglasses fall back into their rightful place. “Maybe I will.”

Ohhhh, days like these, Remy hates being a cop. Not only is he stuck in the flippin’ drizzling rain with the biggest nerd he’s ever met, but his pants are ruined because of the mud they’re crouching in, his jacket is absolutely soaked, he’s not wearing his glasses, and the hot guy from the damn library is one of the fucking criminals.

Damn it.

“NYPD; hands in the air,” Logan calls out as he and Remy move in on the deal. “You’re surrounded!”

The criminals – as they so often do – make to scatter, but Remy isn’t too concerned. Their back-up has a damn sweet track record, after all. However, he thinks, as he races towards the bubblegum dumbass in the centre of the deal, gun at the ready, this was a lil too personal. Remy trusted his instincts, and having flirted with a criminal? Well, that just stung.

“Hands in the air, babe,” he hisses venomously, pointing his gun at Ethan. The guy’s either a moron or way too trusting of Remy’s general human decency, however, because all he does is narrow his eyes and take a step forward. “Nope!” Remy calls, weapon steady. “Nuh-uh, hon; not another step.”

Ethan rolls his eyes, and wow, not what Remy was expecting, and unfortunately, still kinda hot. “I’m gonna take out a piece of identification from my jacket,” the suspect says irritably, slowly broadcasting every move he makes as he haltingly reaches into his coat. “And after that, hopefully everything’ll make sense, ya Durland.”

Remy narrows his eyes, but allows the movement, watching the man carefully in case he tries to make a break for it. Instead, Ethan carefully unzips an inner pocket in his jacket, and takes out a bracelet with a barcode on it. “Scan it,” he urges, offering the offending rubber jewelry to Remy. “The hell?” Remy replies.

Ethan huffs, childishly pouting and sticking out his tongue at the cop. “Just do itttt,” he whines. “This’ll make a darn heck of a lot more sense and make everything easier if you do.”

Remy hesitates, and Ethan locks eyes with him, gaze fiery, piercing. Remy, feeling oddly vulnerable without his glasses, flushes.

“Do you trust me?”

The cop huffs out a, “No, what do you think?”, but obligingly takes the bracelet, scanning it using the barcode scanner on his phone. Two words flash onto the screen: The Doctor. Remy scoffs.

“What is this, some kind of weird roleplay?”

Ethan actually looks amused at that one, despite the obvious annoyance still present on his features. “Look that up in the deployed agents archive,” he urges.

Remy actually bursts out laughing at that one. “Bitch,” he says, “you think I have the clearance to do that from this dusty-ass street in the middle of nowhere? Please.” He straightens up, adjusts his jacket, and withdraws a pair of handcuffs. “Now, hon, if you’ll excuse me, I’m taking you down to the station for questioning.”

Ethan’s gaze cranks up from hot to blazing, and he actually nearly growls. “Remy,” he pleads, “you have no idea the kinda trouble you’re making right now. Just let me talk to another cop, someone who’ll look me up, for Bugs Bunny’s sake, and-”

“Picani?”

Logan’s absolutely shocked tone has Remy and Ethan snapping their heads to look at him. “Well hey there, Peridot,” the criminal says sheepishly, flashing the newcomer a wave with the hand he was previously using to hold out the bracelet. “You and your partner kinda. Uh. Messed things up for me here.”

Remy looks from the suspect, sheepishly grinning, to his partner, who seems absolutely flabbergasted. “Okay,” he says, “is anyone gonna bother tellin’ me what the hell is going on here?”

Logan grabs him by the arm, ignoring his partner’s squawking protests as he practically drags Remy to a more secluded area. “That,” Logan hisses, “is Emile Picani.” At Remy’s blank stare, he smacks himself on the forehead. “Picani, one of our best operatives, has been undercover for a year under the code name of The Doctor. Nox, we have gotten ourselves into a situation well above our pay grade here!”

Etha- no, Emile strides up to them, twirling a lock of hair around his finger, locking eyes with Remy. “And, hon,” he says, scorching annoyance fading now into easygoing resignation as he pushes his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, “now we need ta figure out how to get me back in the game.”

Remy cocks an eyebrow, pushing down the hot, flighty burning at the back of his neck with practiced ease. “We?”

Emile grins. “Yep!” he replies cheerily. “Like it or not, you two are in on this now.”

He claps his hands delightedly, looking from one tot the other and back. “So! Let’s get to work.”

Remy groans – god, now he really needed that coffee – but, ever obligingly, follows the other man’s lead.

wow shit i have no idea if a n y of that is in character or if i’m just hella sleep deprived lmaooooooo

Send me two tropes and a ship!

[soul-scenarios]

Onsra | Part XI

(v.) - to love for the last time; a bittersweet feeling of knowing a love won’t last

Words: 11.6K

Genre: Demon au, angst, smut

Read: Next Part | Masterlist

Warning: Swearing. Smut.

A/N: It’s been such a long time... I hope this chapter makes up for it T_T

“So you’re actually ok with this?” She asks quietly, her voice barely a whisper as her knuckles turn a ghostly white. With utmost rage, she grips the edge of the desk tighter. The air seemingly thickens as she turns her attention over to the demon, her eyes demanding a response.

“I’m not quite sure what you want me to say. Is there an answer you’re looking for?” He asks, wondering how he was going to get out of this mess; he hadn’t expected to be dragged into this empty classroom to get stuck with of all people, her. His long fingers gingerly brush his hair back before he folds his arms over his chest. What made him nervous to be alone with her wasn’t that he held feelings for her in the slightest, but the idea of seeing her again in such a circumstance. Again it was regarding that bastard, Jeon Jungkook; who would’ve thought?

“He literally pulled Y/N away with him, away from you; he literally pulled her out of your hands— you can’t be stupid... they’re having an affair!” The anger in her voice elevates and all the tall demon does is shake his head and sigh in response to her outburst. If only she knew how untrue it really all was. “What do you mean? No? You just shook your head; So you know they’re fooling around?”

“Do you even hear yourself? Whatever it is, she’ll come back to me. I’m not worried,” He lies through his teeth, unsure if he would even be able to convince himself with those words less he manage to somehow convince someone like Yoojung.

“How can you even say that? Come on, Taehyung.” She says through gritted teeth. “He longed for her the whole time he was next to me. I felt it, and he once looked at me like that, so I know.... Who knows how long they’ve been fooling around; he didn’t even want to touch me anymore...” Her voice lowers as she begins laughing hysterically at the situation.

Taehyung’s eyes narrow upon hearing her words; he didn’t even want to touch me anymore.

“He… He didn’t touch you?” Shock was evident in his voice and it was almost offensive to Yoojung.

“And the only reason why he wouldn’t want to touch me, wouldn’t want to fuck me, is because there’s someone else; and that someone is her.” Yoojung’s eyes flicker about, her laugh dying away and her lips forming a tight line. “You’re a fool, Kim Taehyung. She’s fucking around with you and with him. Are you even really with her? You wouldn’t be so nonchalant about—”

What a hypocrite, Taehyung thought.

“Yoojung...” His eyes narrow, realizing she had most definitely picked up on more than she had initially let on. Had she always been this way? She was completely obsessed with him…

“Fuck, Taehyung. If you’re willing to let your woman be snatched away by Jungkook, then that’s you. I will not stand idly and watch.” The petite girl stands up and clenches her fists by her side. “I won’t let go of him. He’s mine, Taehyung... I won’t let her get in the way and I won’t let you get in the way... You won’t be getting in my way, isn’t that right, Taehyung?” She says darkly, turning to face him and he swallows quietly.

“What?” He musters the strength to ask before chuckling. As human as she was, her presence was nothing but dominating and demanding. She was completely different from the girl he had fallen for; it was Jeon Jungkook’s fucking fault. His thoughts begin to run through his mind, his fists unconsciously clenching.

He ruined her. He would ruin you too…

“You really want her, don’t you? Fuck, I don’t see why she’s so desirable... but you want her. You want her more than Jungkook wants her, don’t you?”

“What are you proposing?” He asks almost intrigued as a smirk slowly spreads across her face like wild fire.

“Can I at least say, I told you so?” She elbows you, your arm instinctively lowering to protect your ribs from anymore of her physical jabs. A sneer spreads across her face as she throws her arm around your shoulder. “Come on! Please just let me say it once! You have to admit I saw this coming... you saw this coming too.”

“Didn’t you already say it?” You cock an eyebrow in her direction as she laughs in her realization.

“Right,” She laughs cheekily. “But ok, you really didn’t see it coming? He was shooting heart eyes at you ever since the first class we had at the beginning of the semester. I’m surprised it took this long for something to come out of it—”

“I didn’t honestly, Jieun.” You mumble defensively. “Plus, the feelings are just mutual now, that’s all... I think… It’s not like we’re official yet or anything.” You whisper, pausing hesitantly while storing your books away in your backpack. That’s all it was; there was no boyfriend or girlfriend talk, nor was there a talk of exclusivity. Jungkook and you were exclusive now, right? You didn’t even know if he knew what official exactly was. All he did was confess he was falling in love with you. Yes, that was all he did... Your face begins to burn just recalling his words before clearing your throat, closing up your backpack.

“Was it really him that time, Y/N? Walking out of the classroom with another girl…?” Jieun whispers and your hand freezes on your backpack momentarily before slinging it over your shoulder. “He broke it off with whomever it was, right?”

Did he?

“I don’t know.” You answer truthfully before standing up to leave. “We’ve talked about it. It’s complicated, Jieun,” You mumble to her, hoping she wouldn’t talk about it anymore. As much as a sore topic as it was, it was something that still needed to be addressed. It had only been a couple days since then after all.

Now that you were thinking of it, he barely laid a hand on you since that day. It bothered you more than you wanted it to.

He barely touched you, only kissing you gently and lightly like you’d break if he kissed you harder... as if you’d break if he’d touch you more like you honestly expected him to.

You wanted him. You wanted Jeon Jungkook more than ever. Fuck, with how little he was touching you, dare you even say you wanted him more than he wanted you… It was frustrating and you didn’t understand why things felt so different with him now.

Jieun flings her hair over her shoulder before following you quickly out of the classroom. The silence between you doesn’t go unnoticed as Jieun begins to question whether or not she went too far with her teasing and ‘interrogating.’ Or perhaps she went overboard for bringing up that ‘other girl’.

“That’s seriously so fucked— I mean, I just want you to have the best, you know? I don’t want you to get hurt.” Her voice softens, eyebrows furrowing with concern and you nod reassuringly, letting her know you knew she had nothing but good intentions.

“Thank you.”

“Y/N, I— you know, about Kim Taehyung and everything...” She adjusts her voice. “I’m not sure he’s so into me, you know?” Unfortunately,`, Kim Taehyung was also a relatively sore topic, but you appreciated her effort to attempt discussing something other than Jungkook.

“Why do you think that?” You felt horrible, as your eyes fall to your feet, counting your steps to just keep your mind distracted and busy. It was fairly obvious he wasn’t into Jieun. Honestly, it should’ve been more than obvious that he was oddly into you— no, into your energy. Of course it wasn’t because he had feelings for you or anything of the sort; he just wanted to sleep with you.

You didn’t want to think about it too much, but you noticed he hadn’t even attended class since that day. You surely would recall if he did since he’d bother you without fail if so... but, honestly you hadn’t seen him. As much as he annoyed you, it was a bit concerning that he had seemed to completely disappear.

“Oh—” Jieun’s startled voice suddenly pulls you out of your thoughts as you look ahead. Despite wanting to speak, you couldn’t; your mouth just hangs open stupidly. You muster all your strength to just keep your jaw from falling to the floor at the sight of him not too far down the hall. Not to be over exaggerating, but why was he so attractive?

His outfit was neither extravagant nor anything extraordinary; It was a simple, loose black t-shirt that easily looked like something thrown on with minimal effort and thought. It looked good on him though. It was tucked in for the most part, the front of his shirt only slightly spilling over the black belt he had on wrapped tightly around his slim waist. The look was completed with a pair of fitted ripped dark blue jeans and a pair of boots. Fuck.

Your gaze meets his and you can tell immediately that he had been taking note the whole time of your wandering eyes, drinking him in from head to toe. In your embarrassment, you quickly turn your eyes away not missing the smallest curve of his lips and the flick of his dark brown hair.

“Stop drooling...” Jieun elbows you, wiping the corner of her lips in mockery and you hiss in annoyance. And then there he was, standing before both you and Jieun as he gives a slight courteous smile and nod of acknowledgement. “Hi Jungkook,” She greets him quietly, hesitance nothing but obvious in her voice.

“Jungkook,” You mumble his name as his hand reaches out towards you, his fingers intertwining naturally with yours. Shock was instantly written all over your face and Jieun’s eyes bug out almost in sync with yours. As much as she teased you and Jungkook always having a thing, it was honestly something new to her— and to yourself as well, but you didn’t pull away as much as you reprimanded him for doing so in the past.

“I’m going to take her off your hands for a bit, Jieun. I hope you don’t mind.” He mumbles looking in Jieun’s direction as she slowly shakes her head. “Thanks,” He simply says before pulling you along gently with him back in the direction he came in.

“I’ll talk to you later, Jieun!” You turn to shout back at her before giving Jungkook’s warm hands a tight squeeze, following him instantly without question. “Jungkook, did you finish class just now or something?”

“I did earlier, but I was waiting to come get you after your class ended. Sorry for being late,” He says quietly. “To be honest, I would’ve picked you up right away but Jimin got in my way though.”

“Jimin. Why?” You ask hesitantly, knowing fully well that Jimin wasn’t ever fully onboard with whatever you and Jungkook shared to begin with. What you did know, is that Jimin for one was definitely more ok with you and Jungkook, than him and Yoojung… He was just being a protective friend if anything, you understood that.

“It’s nothing bad. I’ll tell you later.” A small chuckle escapes his mouth as he bends over, swooping down to press a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Does he not approve—”

“Whether he approves or not, we don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Y/N.” Jungkook answers quickly, his lips lingering against your forehead as your free hand grabs the collar of his black t-shirt. Jungkook’s large brown eyes widen as you pull him down lower towards you, your mouth meeting his— finally. It takes him a second before his other hand rests gently against your face, his thumb slowly tracing your chin and lower lip before he pulls away.

Your face flushes and you release his shirt from your iron hold— he pulled away...

“Shit— I’m sorry.” You say softly, trying to mask the hurt in your voice from getting rejected. You apologize again after realizing you had stretched the collar of his black shirt.

“Did you really want to kiss me that badly?” Jungkook asks and raises an eyebrow.

“What kind of question is that even? Y-You just looked really nice today.” You answer him shamelessly, not daring to even meet his eyes as you gently attempted to straighten the fabric of his messed up collar. It wasn’t long until you began to feel self-conscious, cheeks heating up as you notice wandering eyes looking your and Jungkook’s way. Yet, you couldn’t help but still take the time to slowly run your fingers over his collar bone.

The feel of your feather touch against his skin sent bolts of electricity shooting through his body. If only you knew what your simple touches did to him.

“I always look nice, no?” He says coyly before tugging you closer to him. “If you keep touching me like this, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself, Y/N.” Jungkook whispers quietly in your ear. Again, with his teasing insinuation and innuendos.

“I don’t see why you have to,” You mumble under your breath, not realizing you had even said anything aloud. It was almost immediate that you felt his hand tighten around yours, and it causes you to wince before he knowingly releases his grip entirely. “Ow—”

“Let’s go,” His voice is undeniably stern and coarse, the words straining to escape between his lips as he reaches back down again, taking your hand clumsily in his. The way his jaw clenched didn’t go the slightest bit unnoticed as you continue to walk down the hallway with him, still completely unaware with where he intended for the both of you to go.

What happened?

It was quiet and impossibly awkward to the point that you didn’t even know what to say; it was best to keep quiet. You didn’t understand what happened to cause the sudden change in atmosphere. In fact, you didn’t even know what you could’ve even said to cause the sudden tension in the air. It wasn’t long until you found yourself standing outside of his dorm room as he clumsily reached around for his keys. It had been a while since you had been by here again.

“You know why, right?” Jungkook asks in a tired voice, breaking the silence as he pushes open his door. You pause before entering, your feet dragging behind you as you attempt to process what exactly he was asking you to recall.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” You answer truthfully before shutting the door behind you. The heavy backpack on your shoulder slowly slides off, the weight of it creating a loud thud on the floor. You find yourself approaching the demon slowly as he sits by the edge of the bed, annoyance strewn all over his face.

“You said, ‘I don’t see why you have to’, Y/N. You of all people should know why I need to control myself.”

“No, unfortunately I don’t.” You answer with a straight face as he looks up at you with an incredulous look of confusion written all over his face. You look away from his accusatory gaze, trying to remember if he had even said anything to you regarding this matter...

All you knew, is that he hardly touched you since that day beyond holding hands and kissing your forehead here and there. And you didn’t know why nor understand, but you were supposed to?

“Well?”

“I don’t know why, Jungkook. All I know is that you don’t touch me like you used to,” Or like he wanted to before at least; He couldn’t keep his hands off you before, always making sexual innuendos with incessant teasing. He would always say he needed more energy from you to sustain himself. And now?

“Y/N, you know why I’m not though,” He insists. Your eyebrows furrow in utter confusion; Didn’t you just say you didn’t know? Was he even listening? If you didn’t know better, you wonder if perhaps it was something he didn’t want to admit aloud or repeat. His body language seemed to show that with the way he avoided looking in your direction, refusing to even face your general direction.

“I already said I don’t, Jungkook. You’re the one who needs energy. You’re telling me that you’re satisfied as is?” That wasn’t the case before.

“I’d be lying if I said I was, but, I just…” Jungkook pauses and shakes his head, clearly agitated.

You chew on your lower lip, catching Jungkook’s eyes now watching you, seemingly mesmerized by your actions. Upon getting caught, he averts his eyes fast, turning his attention back to his hands firmly placed on his lap. A heavy sigh escapes your lips and you approach him slowly, noticing the way his body stiffen and tense up as you sit yourself down beside him.

The bed dips slowly, but there was still a good distance between your body and Jungkook’s and even more distance between your hearts despite the mutual feelings.

“I’m sorry, if you could just remind me why, I—” You hesitantly reach over and place your hand on top of his and he freezes.

“Fuck, Y/N, when I met you… everything changed.” Jungkook begins before opening his mouth, pausing, trying to figure out what to say next. “Old habits die hard; Fucking around without commitment and attachment was just something I had grown used to and then there was you. You were different and I… didn’t realize my feelings for you. I didn’t want to, especially with how hurt I had gotten before. I… am very flawed. I’m not proud of the things that I’ve done, and the things that I’ve said. I’m a horribly selfish demon, and an even more pathetic excuse for a man.”

“Where are you even going with this? W-What the fuck are you saying? Jeon Jungkook, stop—” Your eyes widen as he berates himself. “What does this have to do with anything?!”

“I feel like I’m slowly changing, because of you. There’s so many things that I have learned from you, that I have yet to learn from you, with you…” Jungkook says, turning his head away from you completely as he stared out the window. He refused to let you see his face at this point. “I— what I’m trying to say is, I want to treasure you. I want to respect and understand your feelings…”

Your rib cage at this point feels like they’re about to shatter at any minute with how fast your heart begins to thrash in your chest.

He didn’t touch you because he wanted to treasure you?

“C-Can you rephrase that?” You ask softly.

“What?!” Jungkook’s shoulder drops, the words slipping out of his mouth in a whine. Had he done a horrible job in explaining it to you just now? All this time he thought you knew exactly why he felt reluctant to touch you. “I…” He pauses, struggling to string the words together.

“Sorry, Jungkook—”

“I don’t want you to think I’m in this for energy. I don’t want to be with you just because of that. I didn’t know, and still don’t know how else to convince you or make you believe that I… that I meant every word that I had said that day.” Jungkook’s voice lowers into a soft whisper.

“So you didn’t want to touch me, because you thought that I thought you only wanted my virginity and energy?” You furrow your eyebrows, tilting your head and wishing Jungkook would look at you. Instead, he keeps his head turned, eyes avoiding you still as his hand trembles under your touch and scrutiny. You take his silence as a yes. “I-I see.”

“I thought you would’ve known,”

It made sense now, and you weren’t sure how you lost sight of his reasoning. It went without saying that he was only in it for the energy initially. But you took his confession seriously, and you believed him— the fact that he was trying his best to respect your feelings and was so worried about what you’d think of him made your chest tighten.

He wanted to treasure you, each and every moment with you. God did that get lost in translation somewhere especially when you couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t touch you when you wanted him now more than ever…

“It’s just that I mean it you know… when I said that I was falling in love with you. I thought this would be the best way to show you: taking it slow.” Jungkook answers, head turning back as he gazed at your small hand placed gently over his in his lap. “Some times I just don’t know what you could possibly see in a wretched demon like—”

“Don’t even fucking finish that sentence.” You scold him, giving his hands a tight squeeze. “You’re not. And you don’t have to do this for my sake, Jungkook.” His face suddenly twists. You don’t get to finish as he tilts his head slightly, his dark fringe now covering his eyes as he chuckles solemnly.

“There’s more…” His voice lowers an octave before he started to get noticeably more frantic. “Fuck, I need to be honest, Y/N. Wanting to treasure you is definitely a reason behind it, but there’s more. I’ve been selfish and the guilt has been fucking eating away at me—”

“What do you—”

“I let Yoojung touch me.” Jungkook cuts you off quickly, his voice unwavering as he prepared for the consequence; It was also guilt that made him think twice about touching you like he did before. You slowly let go of his hand, and Jungkook notices your warmth leave his immediately, but he deserved this. It was hard to ignore the feeling of hurt evident across your face as you turn away from him.

When did this happen? Again?

The room gets overpowered by an icy silence once more before Jungkook continues: “It was more than once because I thought letting her touch me was all she wanted, that she would leave immediately and never find out about you. I should’ve heeded your warning, and I should’ve listened to Jimin. I thought I’d tell her off but each time I ended up completely immobile under her touch and manipulated by her words.”

“D-Did you like it when she touched you?” You squeeze your eyes shut, afraid to hear the answer. While you had a feeling something had happened between the two of them while he was gone, it was just that much harder to hear it come directly from him.

Of all questions for you to ask...

“Of course I fucking didn’t!” Jungkook raises his voice and you couldn’t help but hear how offended he was; but you had to ask. He notices how quick you are to shrink away, not even realizing how loud he was just now with you. His intentions were to deny it as quick as possible. As hurt as he felt with that question directed towards him, it was absolutely valid on your part to ask. You were hurt too after all. “I mean… Sorry, I swear I didn’t, but my demon instincts fed and reveled from the energy she gave me. I can’t help that, and I hated myself for it. Yoojung wanted me to give in and fuck her of my own volition… I-I didn’t— no, couldn’t.”

“I-I see,” You try to say, hoping your voice wouldn’t come out shaky. What could you say?

“I fucked up when I went to see her. I… I should’ve listened and I didn’t. I’m ashamed, and I’m guilty for what I did and I’m disgusted that I had let her in again. Please believe me when I say that I refused to touch her back… I-I’m so sorry.” Jungkook’s voice dies down in a whisper, his head hanging low. Here he was, trying to tell you he wanted to treasure all that he had with you. Yet in the end was it just a mean to cover up the guilt eating away at him?

“That’s…” You start, voice trembling as you clear your throat slowly to buy time. “Quite a bit to take in.” The words tumble out of your mouth all at once with an exhale. At this point, trying to formulate the correct words to say was beyond difficult, because you really didn’t know what to say. “I feel like I kind of knew something happened between the two of you… especially when you disappeared.”

As shocked as you were, he was being honest and being open. Jeon Jungkook without a doubt struggled the most with that and as much as it hurt you to hear that something did actually happen… it hurt you more to see him now.

His whole body stays hunched over with his elbows resting against his knees.

“I’m sorry, Y/N…” Jungkook whispers brokenly. His voice was low as he continues to speak hesitantly. “I-I’ll tell you everything and anything else…”

“If you’re asking if I want to know what happened play by play between you and Yoojung, I don’t.” You say, unconsciously eyeing the door as you swallow nervously. “I don’t want to know…” Did that come out too harsh?

“I didn’t sleep with her.” He answers.

Could you even get angry or upset over this? The two of you weren’t dating, the two of you weren’t even exclusive. In fact, you weren’t even aware he had feelings for you of any sort back then. It didn’t mean that finding out something had transpired between the both of them hurt any less than it did. After all, you also had feelings for him. You refuse to let your mind run wild but if he didn’t sleep with her and she just touched him… well, you could think of a few things.

He had a feeling you’d stand up soon and just walk out. While he wanted to treasure you and be able to love you, he fucked everything up. He needed to be honest with you now, but he felt like he broke your trust. He never meant to take you for granted; Jungkook wouldn’t dare.

He shouldn’t have gone.

His eyes squeeze shut immediately, feeling the bed rise beside him and his stomach churned.

This was the consequence of his actions. It was his fault this time and he’d lose you for it. He wouldn’t be able to hold onto you this time and he wouldn’t try to convince you to stay. As exaggerated as it sounded, it felt like it was getting harder to breathe for him. It was alright. He was used to it: being alone.

Half expecting to hear the door open and slam behind you any minute now, he slowly opens his eyes. To his utter shock and surprise, there you were kneeling in front of him, face only inches away from his.

“You’re finally looking at me. Now before you look away, I just want to thank you for telling me.” You reach and take his hand gently in yours. It must’ve been difficult on him. A quiet sigh escapes your mouth and you bite on your lower lip, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’d be lying if I said I was ok with what happened, but I know you can’t forget about her so easily. So please rely on me more like this going forward. Please keep being honest with me, please trust in me and I will do my best to be by your side. You won’t need to go back to her again.” Your eyebrows furrow as you look down at your hands holding onto his. Jungkook goes quiet and you wonder if it was perhaps something you said incorrectly, but you said nothing but the truth. With Yoojung being back, it was like old wounds being ripped back open and all the time it took for him to heal and recover went to waste.

Except you were here for him this time.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak again, your eyes widen when you feel a wetness hit your hand. One… two… three, you count the drops before you tilt your head up. You almost couldn’t believe the sight before you. Through everything the both of you have gone through, seeing Jeon Jungkook cry was something you weren’t prepared to see ever. It almost brought tears to your own eyes watching the way his lower lip quivered, the tip of his nose turning a slight red as another tear threatened to fall.

He turns his head away and squeezes his eyes shut in the attempt to stop the tears as you stay speechless. Even he himself couldn’t remember when the last time it was that he cried, but in front of all people, it was you. Somehow, it’s just always been you... Jungkook raises his sleeve up to wipe at his eyes.

“Sorry for everything…” He apologizes for the nth time, hoping that he could regain his composure quickly.

“Jungkook…” Your chest ached seeing him like this. Without further hesitation, you wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him close to you. “Did you think I’d leave?”

“Yes.” Jungkook answers, hoping his voice didn’t sound strained. He didn’t know what overcame him so suddenly, but the last thing he expected was for you to stay; He also sure as hell didn’t think he’d be so emotional about it. What were you doing to him? Were these tears of relief? He couldn’t process it all at once; He just wanted to hold you close and never let go as his hands itched to reach out for you. “Why would you stay, Y/N?”

“Because I still have feelings for you regardless,” You whisper quietly. “And I want to be with you.” With that, Jungkook in turn wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to him.

“I-I want to be with you too... It will not happen again,” He whispers in turn, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” You pull away slowly to take a closer look at him. A tiny smile erupts onto your face as you bring your hand to gently brush at his hair, the other hand pressing lightly to wipe any remnants of his tears. “Jungkook...” His name leaves your lips breathlessly as you raise up slowly from your kneeling position.

His eyes never break from yours, his grip around your waist tightening slightly as you place both hands alongside his cheeks. You climb slowly onto the bed, knees pressing onto the bed beside his thighs as you straddle him. His breathing was growing heavier and you feel his fingers sinking into your skin, afraid that he could lose you any moment now.

“I never knew someone could look so good when they cry,” Your thumb brushes against his sharp jaw as a small chuckle escapes from the demon.

“You haven’t looked into a mirror before then—” Jungkook answers, stopping as your finger tips gingerly trace his lower lip. His chest rises with anticipation from your ministrations, wondering how he could possibly resist you anymore than he has already. Your feathery touch leaves a burning trail behind as your hand returns to brushing at his hair by his ear. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” He says and a shy grin spreads across your face.

“So cheesy,” You mumble before laughing quietly.

“I mean it... You’re beautiful on the outside and inside,” Jungkook reaffirms, whispering to you as his large hands gently rest on your thighs now. “You have taught me so much. I am still learning every moment I’m with you. And I am grateful that you are by my side still after everything. I mean this, truly... I didn’t ever think someone like you would come along. Honestly, I was sure when I told you I was a demon, I thought that was it. I never... I never thought I’d feel like this.” He had absolutely no idea how you were able to make him feel so loved and cared for, and at the same time, you made him feel fear: the fear of losing you was by far greater than what he had ever felt about her.

“I’ve learned a lot from you too.” You simply answer, choking up and unsure how to even answer him. “What does it matter if you’re a demon anyways?” Jungkook’s eyebrows quirk upon hearing the question muttered under your breath.

“It’s definitely not conventional, Y/N.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked for that. If I did, do you think I’d still be here?” You fire back at him.

“You’re sure of this?” His voice is deep, knowing well now that his ability to control himself was really wavering. He can’t help but marvel at the sight of you, still completely awe-struck that you were really here.

“Yes, I’m certain I want to be with you, so just kiss me already.” You don’t have to say it twice as Jungkook closes the space between the two of you, mouth hungrily moving against yours. His lips curve up into a smirk when he hears you moan softly, his hands now running along and tracing your lower back. He missed this. He pushes your body flush against his before grabbing at the lower hem of your top before stopping abruptly.

“W-Wait,” His breath is shaky when he uses all the strength in him to lean away from you.

“What?” You ask, pressing your lips eagerly against his a few more times before moving your hands from his cheek to caress his dark hair.

“I just need to make sure, Y/N... I’ve wanted you for so long, but I just—”

“I know. I just want to feel more of you right now.” He groans as you tug slightly on his hair and press your mouth against his. He leans in to deepen it, licking at your lower lip as you in turn pull away. You smile before reaching down, pulling the article of clothing off, leaving you in front of him with a simple lace bra. Almost as if complying, he in turn tugs off his own shirt, discarding it quickly to the floor.

Your mouth drops as you admire his well built body even if it wasn’t your first time seeing it. Another smirk tugs at his lips as he watches your eyes drink him in. Your hand slowly rests against his chest as he leans forward to latch his lips to your neck. A whimper leaves your open mouth as you toss your head back, feeling a weird sensation in your lower region, heat pooling between your legs as you attempt to grind against him.

“Y/N...” Jungkook hisses warningly, feeling your hips roll dangerously once more against him. A hand shoots down to still your hips as he takes his other free hand, palm kneading gently against your clothed breast.

Just as he cranes his neck to lean up and kiss you again, he hears you fumbling with his belt. His eyes shoot open and he opens his mouth immediately to protest, but stops, swallowing thickly as you tug his belt loose. A lusty haze overcomes him and you can’t help but wonder where the assertive Jeon Jungkook you had initially been introduced to had gone. His hands suddenly leave your body as he leans back, his hands fisting the bed sheets almost to give you an easier access.

Your eyes peer over at him and you nearly salivate at the sight before you. Jungkook’s chest rises slowly with anticipation as his gaze locks onto yours. The way his mouth was parted, and the way his brown hair clung to the light layer of sweat on his forehead sent another aching surge to your lower region.

You chew your lower lip as you begin to fumble with the buttons of his tight black jeans. You wanted to do this for him. Your body slowly inches backwards, but as you start to fall to your knees, a loud rapping sound comes from his door. A loud yelp escapes your mouth as you jump away from Jungkook and land roughly onto your ass.

You watch in horror as Jungkook flies up to a sitting position, buttoning his jeans fast before groaning into his hands. He lets out an exhale of annoyance before brushing his hair back, hands reaching out to take yours to pull you to your feet. Jungkook bends over again to pick up your shirt and his own before sighing again.

“Jungkook—” Your heart starts to race with anxiety as the knocking continues. You look over frantically at the demon, but Jungkook shows no sign of distress in the slightest.

“I’ve been waiting for so long already... I think I can keep waiting.” He whispers before cupping your cheeks gently with his hands and pressing his lips to your forehead with a quick chaste kiss. “Oh, and it’s only Jimin, Y/N,” You sigh with relief before sitting yourself on his bed, watching Jungkook head towards the door. What timing, but at least it wasn’t anyone else.

Jungkook opens the door and cocks an eyebrow at Jimin who can only grin sheepishly, feigning complete innocence. You watch Jungkook shake his head before letting the older demon into the room.

“Hey... Y/N.” He greets you with a smile and a wave.

The blonde demon had come to talk with Jungkook again, wanting to make sure he was serious and doing alright. You had a feeling he also wanted to know what your intentions were and how you felt about well, everything.

Without thinking too much of it, you instill shock in the older demon by accidentally telling him Jungkook had cried earlier. To much of Jungkook’s sheer horror, Jimin couldn’t seem to stop talking and teasing him about it for what seemed to be forever; He almost couldn’t recall if Jungkook had ever shed a tear in front of even him before. What you had initially thought would be a stressful encounter with the older demon, turned out to be a relatively light hearted scenario.

Jimin approved and in the end, it almost seemed to be a nice way to bond and be on the same page for once.

You and Jungkook took things slow for the most part, just enjoying your company and time with one another. He never pushed you, and you never pushed him for anything more. For him, this pace was entirely new but he didn’t mind so long as you were there by his side. Not only that, but it was nice to have Jimin’s support as well, not that any obstacles arose that required too much of his assistance.

It had been a couple weeks, but things still didn’t completely return to normal. In fact, Kim Taehyung had come back out of the blue. But it was different; he was different. Taehyung would always bother you in the past, whether it was teasing you, trying to get you to sleep with him or berating you for your affections for Jungkook.

You recalled saying hello to him for the first time in a while... and the response you got back was quite underwhelming:

You were walking to class on your own since Jieun wasn’t feeling well that day. Ironically, she was the one who was trying to convince you that the reason the both of you hadn’t seen Kim Taehyung was because he transferred again. She also insisted in letting you know she was completely over him; it was almost a relief really. It wasn’t that he was a bad guy or anything like that, you truly believed that. Upon stepping into the classroom, it was needless to say that she was false about him transferring. He sat in the corner, dawning a darkish brown hair similar to that of Jungkook’s hair color.

You half expected him to give you his signature boxy grin, or at least raise an eyebrow at you in acknowledgement at the very least. Yet he said nothing, and didn’t even look over at you.

“Taehyung?” You called his name, finally sitting down in the seat in front of him. Only then did he avert his eyes from staring out blankly through the window, turning his attention towards you. “Where’ve you been? You haven’t been here in so long I was actually worried.” You answer honestly.

“You couldn’t have been that worried.” He mumbles under your breath before resting his chin on his open palm. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It does to me,” You say and your eyes narrow at his assumption and accusation.

“I’m thinking you and Jungkook are fine now despite after everything,” What was he trying to get at? “He’s been all over you.” Your face flushes and you nudge his arm with your elbow almost regretting that you were concerned in any form of way; You didn’t miss him judging or annoying you anymore, nope.

“Don’t be like that. I want to make sure you were alright,” You attempt to change the topic from Jungkook.

“Despite me telling you everything that happened between him and I, between him and Yoojung... You’re still by his side? Did you even ask him about it?” The demon asks in a low voice out of curiosity.

“I didn’t bring it up with him. It’s in the past... And, he’s different now.” You whisper back to him as Taehyung sighs and shakes his head. “You’re doing alright though?”

“You don’t need to be falsely concerned with me, Y/N.”

“I just... never did get the chance to thank you for covering for me that day,” He scoffs in response.

“I barely think she believed it honestly. You didn’t help make it believable at all,” Taehyung teases as you roll your eyes. You reach to push at him again and shake your head. “Just needed some time to myself is all.”

“Welcome back,” You say as Taehyung finally chuckles before nodding. Whether it was believable or not, you were at least glad he was alright. It did trouble you to some degree, not knowing whether or not Yoojung had said or did anything to Taehyung after Jungkook had pulled you away. After all, Taehyung and her had a past as well. Despite her being human, it was always crazy to see what an immense ability she had to manipulate others... How horrible.

With that, you turn around in your seat, leaving Taehyung to his own thoughts once more as he stared at the back of your head. His lips press to a firm line, wondering if it was even suitable to laugh at how naive you were. After everything, you were really concerned for his well being? Honestly, he was more worried for you than you were about— His eyes widen and he ruffles his hair in frustration. Since when did he become this aware of you?

His hands balled up into a tight fist, nails digging into his skin as he clenched his teeth. Fuck, you honestly had no idea.

There was definitely something off with him, you thought.

“Y/N?” You’re snapped out of your thoughts and you look up immediately at none other than Jungkook. He reaches forward to brush your hair behind your ears and your face heats up immediately. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to not get flustered by him. His warm hand caresses your cheeks as you lean into his touch. “Are you doing alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, why?” You ask, not wanting him to know why you per say blanked out.

“You’d been staring at that problem for 10 minutes... and I asked if you needed help again,” The demon takes his pen and taps at your notebook impatiently and raises an eyebrow. “This one is quite similar to the last question I helped you with— in fact, it’s worded almost exactly the same.” Your face flushes and you sigh.

“I see.” You mumble pursing your lips; you didn’t even read the question before your mind trailed off to thoughts of Kim Taehyung.

“Do you need me to explain it again?”

“If I could just look at your notes, I think I’ll be able to get it on my own. I didn’t read the question closely enough,” You answer and grin at Jungkook as he shakes his head. “Hey, you’re supposed to be helping me—” You whine, eyebrows knitting in the middle, pursing your lips again.

“I can’t help you read, Y/N,” He answers snarkily as you grab your notebook and threaten the motion of whacking him with it. “I’m just kidding...”

“I know you are, but what am I going to do for this exam? I’m so serious, Jungkook.” Your hands run through your hair in distress, attention not completely focused on the notes and practice questions in front of you.

“Have you ever failed one since I started helping you? Don’t worry,” He answers nonchalantly and goes on to flip his page of practice questions over. His eyes quickly browse over the questions before shrugging. “I’m not worried and you shouldn’t be either.” That was easy for him to say; your jaw nearly drops when you realize despite having started the same time as him, he was on question 20 and you were stuck on question 5.

“You’re too smart, Jeon Jungkook,”

“I know,”

“And humble...” You roll your eyes at him and close your notebook, eyes glancing over quickly at the darkening skies out the coffee shop’s window. “It looks like it’s going to rain. The café here is going to close soon anyways. Did you want to finish later?” He nods with agreement, shuffling around to shove things into his backpack when his head snaps towards the sudden roaring thunder outside. “Shit... we’re going to get caught in it.”

“You know my place is closer; let’s go there.” He simply murmurs, knowing fully well that even his dorm was still considered relatively far from the café the both of you were studying at. All you can do is nod, mentally cursing yourself for not checking the weather this morning and for not bringing an umbrella.

“Wait, but it’s pouring really heavily...” You hold your hand out once both you and Jungkook exit the café, heavy droplets falling onto your open palm. “It probably won’t be lightening up any time soon,” He reaches out to your extended hand and holds it tight.

“Looks like we’re going to have to run for it. Don’t let go, alright?” It wasn’t like there was time to say no as Jungkook tugs you straight into the rain. You couldn’t help but shriek at this point as the rain continued to pelt the both of you.

“This is fucking crazy, Jeon Jungkook!” You scream over the thundering rain hitting the cement and you swear you hear him laugh.

“F-Fuck...” You cross your arms over your chest, shivering from being drenched head to toe. “W-We’re getting sick for sure,” You stammer as Jungkook shakily fumbles around for his keys. The both of you rush into his room and as soon as it opens, you drop your soaking backpack to the floor and kick off your shoes. You stand in the middle of the floor shivering as you watch the demon bustling around, tossing his phone to the night stand and rummaging through his closet.

“Come here. You’ll definitely get sick if your hair’s this wet...” Just as you turn towards him, your vision gets suddenly blocked, his large hands rustling around with the towel thrown over your head. A small laugh erupts from the back of your throat at how strangely concerned and affectionate he seemed. It would be a lie to say that you didn’t enjoy the way his hands worked diligently between your strands of wet hair. “What?”

“Nothing,” You smile to yourself, your hands reaching up to assist him with drying your hair. “Jungkook—” The towel slides away slowly and you’re finally able to see him again. You watch how the water drips slowly from the front of his hair, his fringe sticking to his face and your eyes widen. He was attractive even now. Was there honestly ever a time where he wasn’t though?

“What—” Your face flushes and you grab your towel, throwing it over his head.

“Y-Your hair is soaked too...” You mumble trying to change the topic, fingers massaging through his scalp to dry his hair. A deep groan is suddenly heard and your eyes pop open as Jungkook’s face peeks out from underneath the towel.

“You’re pulling too hard on my hair,” He mumbles with his brown hair brushed back exposing his forehead; fuck, he looked so good like this too.

“Sorry,” You apologize, tip-toeing with the sudden urge to kiss him. Your fingers grip the towel and just as your lips were about to touch his, he speaks:

“Y/N. Your bra is showing.” Halting immediately, you glance down at your wet grey sweater, noticing immediately that your black bra was exposed.

“Nothing you haven’t already seen, right?” You chuckle boldly and he raises his eyebrow, lips curving up into a smirk in agreement. His hands slowly around your waist now as he leans down to press a kiss to your nose.

“That’s cute,”

“Mhm,” You hum with a smile to your face. “We should both probably get out of these wet clothes...” Your voice trails off and your hands wander to Jungkook’s chest, fisting the damp shirt. Silence overtakes the room as you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Suddenly you find yourself backing up as Jungkook steadies his hands against your waist. He moves forward again to guide you and this time, you find yourself by his bed, the back of your legs pressing against the side of his mattress.

“Y/N,” He chokes out your name, eyebrows furrowing as you chew you lower lip with anticipation. “Are you sure about this?” It comes out in a whisper as he watches you, hair still slightly damp as it stuck to your face, eyes wide and gazing right back at him.

“I...” You pause, slowly raising your arms around his neck and tugging him forward slightly. “I’ve never been more sure,” You say confidently, tugging at the bottom strands of his hair behind his neck as he lurches forward and presses his lips hungrily to yours. You gasp as the force of him knocks you flat onto his bed. You can’t help but moan as he deepens the kiss, his teeth now nipping gently at your lower lip, pulling eagerly.

“Take off your shirt, Y/N,” Jungkook commands between kisses and you comply immediately, peeling off your wet top and tossing it to the floor. He takes a second to marvel at your body before following suit, leaning back and before tugging his own damp shirt over his head and discarding it. “Lift your hips for me,” His hand slowly settles on your lower back as you raise your hips off the bed. You let out a soft laugh as Jungkook climbs over you, scooting your body up towards the topside of his bed.

You smile up at him as he towers over you. He brushes his hair back before leaning down and attaching his mouth to your collar bone, kissing and nipping at your skin. With ease, his fingers maneuver to the back of your bra and within seconds, manages to unclasp your bra. He throws the flimsy article of clothing aside and you can’t help but feel shy all of a sudden as Jungkook lets out a shaky exhale as he simply stares, admiring your bare breast and torso.

“If you keep staring—ah...” Your sentence is cut off with a moan as he leans down and attaches his mouth to your breast, his other warm hand kneading at the other. Your back arches involuntarily and without having to press yourself even remotely firmly against his body, you could feel how uncomfortably hard he had gotten. “J-Jungkook...” You moan his name again and he hums with approval before stopping altogether.

“Lift your hips again for me,” He says, voice low as he gives your other breast a squeeze. You nod eagerly as he yanks at your pants, peeling them torturously slow as you sit yourself up, resting on your elbows. He finally manages to pull them off, staring intently down at your pair of black matching panties. Feeling self conscious, you try to cross your legs, but Jungkook’s a step faster as he places both of his palms against your inner thighs to keep your legs spread apart. “A-Are you ok?” He suddenly asks hesitantly upon seeing you cover your face, his face full of confusion. He hadn’t done anything to hurt you, maybe you weren’t ready—

“I-I’m fine. Embarrassed.” You whine as you feel the warmth from his hand disappear from your body. Your heart was racing in your chest; this was really happening. Despite having covered your eyes, you already knew what Jungkook was doing next from the sound of his belt unbuckling, and the sound of him kicking off his pants to the side. You peek through your hands to see him in nothing but his black boxers and you nearly groan at the sight of him. He slowly crawls back up towards you, his hips squared firmly to yours, your legs resting gently on either side of his muscular thighs. “Mhm...” You could feel him press against you and your heart skips a beat when you feel his warm hands on your wrist.

“If I’m doing something wrong, you’ll tell me, won’t you?” Jungkook asks, concern evident in his voice as you allow him to remove your hands from your face. And then you saw something that you had nearly forgotten; The flickering of Jungkook’s eyes from dark brown to a daunting and dark colored red.

“Y-Your eyes...” You whisper, freeing one of your hands from his grasp to reach up as he turns his head away.

“It’s taking all of my fucking control right now, Y/N... Not to just take you right here and now. Your smell, your energy... It’s making me feel almost feverish and I can’t bear it.” Jungkook groans and you lean up and kiss him gently.

“Take me then...” His ears almost perk up upon hearing your words. “I want to be yours.” You shudder when the demon snakes his hand down your chest, past your breast and down your lower torso towards your panties. Jungkook’s fingers linger, tracing your thin fabric covered region back and forth tauntingly slow as your hips involuntarily rock to meet his touch. Finally, he hooks his fingers around the fabric, and with one quick swoop, tugs them down your thighs. The damp fabric flies to the floor where your other clothes lay strewn.

Your face flushes again being completely on display for his eyes, and his eyes only. You couldn’t even look him in the eye at this point as you heard him remove the last article of clothing on himself; you watch through the corner of your eyes as his boxer this time gets thrown across the room in his urgency.

“Y/N...” Jungkook calls your name softly, realizing your eyes were looking at everywhere and everything else, but him despite his face being mere inches from yours. He leans forward, eyebrows knitted as he presses a gentle kiss to your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat when you suddenly feel a stretching sensation, knowing fully well now that his fingers were pushing in and out of you.

“Ah fuck,” You moan, eyes screwing shut as you toss your head back.

“Does it feel good?” He cheekily asks, and you nod before he stills himself completely, fingers still inside of you. Realizing the pleasure had stopped, you open your eyes, sitting up both confused and in a daze. “Does it feel good?” Jungkook repeats the questions once more, voice now a bit sterner, lower and deeper.

He wanted to hear you.

“Yes... yes, please...” He hums, happy with your response as he begins to slowly push his fingers in and out again at a torturously fast speed, and then his thumb finds your clit. A sharp gasp rips through your throat when he begins to circle gently, then with more force. “I-It feels so good, Jungkook...” Pride seems to bubble in him like none other as he chuckles now, feeling your walls tighten around his fingers. Pleasure builds in your abdomen, coiling in your lower belly and you heave another breath— and then you come apart fast. Jungkook presses his mouth against yours, swallowing your moans as you call out his name.

You squirm underneath him as he removes his fingers from you.

“J-Jungkook...” You call his name as he kisses your cheek, eyes finally meeting his. They nearly bulge out of their socket when you see him raise his hand towards his lips. This time, you watch intently as his tongue laps up everything. As sensual and erotic as it was, you couldn’t look away. The demon suddenly leans above you, and you turn your attention towards his night stand. He grabs and rips off a square packet—a condom and you suddenly look back wide eyed at him. “Hey, hang on. C-Can demons impregnate humans?” You ask, genuine concern written all over his face and he fucking chokes, nearly dropping the ripped package out of his hand.

God, why the fuck would you ask that right now?!

“Fuck, I-I... I wouldn’t assume it’s impossible, I don’t know,” He stumbles, caught off guard by your question. “I wouldn’t know honestly... It’s just better safe than sorry.” Jungkook adjusts his voice as you sit up and nod. Your nerves were starting to get the best of you as your attention is drawn towards his fully erect, hard standing member. “Would you quit staring at it like that?! You’ve seen and touched it before.”

“I know that, it’s just hard to believe that that is going... to fit... you know?” You draw out each word and Jungkook covers his forehead with his hand.

“If you’re having second thoughts—”

“No! I’m not,” You quickly shout. “C-Can I do it?” He nods as you inch closer to him. You pause hesitantly, realizing this was your first time having to do this. It was beyond obvious that you were completely shaken with your nerves as Jungkook takes your hand in his, instructing you and talking you through it. Another deep groan leaves his parted mouth as you finally manage to slide it on his member; he wouldn’t be able to take this anymore. “I guess Jimin’s not going to be interrupting us this time—”

“Y/N, don’t jinx it... Do you have to be talking about Park Jimin right now with your hands on me?” You laugh before Jungkook growls and knocks you down, your back planting firmly against the bed as he silences you with his lips.

“Sorry, nerves talking.” Just as you begin to wrap your arms around his neck, he pulls away suddenly despite his body still hovering over you, his hands still pressed firmly beside your head.

“You’re not the only one nervous,” Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut before looking back down at you underneath him. Your face was flushed, hair still damp from the rain earlier and strewn all over his pillow. You were beautiful and god, despite having done this so many times before with other girls, it was different this time. Being with you has always been different, and this was no exception. “You’re not the only one with nerves.” This whole time, all he wanted was reassurance from you, that you wanted him as much as he wanted you...

“It’s ok, I trust you...” You brush at his fringe lovingly and smile. “Honestly.” Your fingers gently caress his face, fingers brushing against his jawline as he nods. He presses his lips to your open palm and says:

“I’ve really fallen completely for you, Y/N. I’m yours...” Your smile widens, thinking back to when you first confessed that he fully assured you he’d never grow feelings for you like that. With that in mind, you recalled very clearly that you said you would never sleep with him. Yet here he was, yet here you both were. “And I-I need to be inside you, I’m pretty sure I can’t hold out anymore,” Jungkook groans, voice strained, lowering one of his hands to give himself a few pumps. You swallow nervously, a sharp shiver running through your spine when you feel him pushing in.

“O-Ok, oh my god...” You exhale and nod, your hands quickly wrapping around his neck, fingers interlocking as Jungkook leans down to press his forehead against yours. “O-Oh my god,” He rests on his forearms now, sliding in as slowly as he could muster the strength to; Fuck, he wanted to grab your hips and slam into you, but he couldn’t—no, not until you gave him the ok to move.

“Y-You’re so tight...” You wince, flushing at his words. “Almost...” The word comes out strained as he clenches his teeth, groaning when his hips come to a full stop. An animalistic growl rips straight from his throat as his hand squeezes your thigh as if to almost keep himself sane and from moving.

“Fuck, Jungkook...” You whimper, finally searching to meet his gaze to give him the ok. Instead, you were met with those red stricken eyes, the corner of his lips pulling into a lopsided smirk as he revels in the raw energy he was receiving.

“Incredible,” Jungkook rasps out. “Please... Please tell me it’s ok to move. Fuck—Y/N, Y/N...” The demon chants your name in low moans as you unlace your fingers from around his neck to pull him towards you. You kiss him lovingly and embrace him close as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, hips already grinding against yours desperately.

“Yes, move. I’m not going to break... Just move.” You didn’t have to tell him twice as your legs wrap around his waist. He growls lowly, and you wince when you feel him slightly pulling out of you, to thrust back in all at once. “Jungkook!” You cry out his name and it eggs him on; He grinds his hips again before pulling back, and snapping his hips forward again. And again, and again. Faster and faster.

The rooms suddenly filled with your high pitched moans and the demon’s low grunts.

“H-Hang on, Jungkook—” You whine, turning over when you hear his phone suddenly start to buzz loudly on his night stand. “Y-Your phone!” You squeak as he pushes in again.

“Fuck the phone.” He groans, taking his hand and swiping it aggressively to the floor to let it become forgotten. “Just tell me that you’re feeling good...” Jungkook murmurs and you sob a ‘yes’ as he continues to deliver another thrust of his hips so powerful, it causes you to clench tightly around him. “You’re doing so good, Y/N... You feel so good...” He releases his grip on your thigh, bringing both his hands up to cup your face, crushing his mouth to yours as you slowly become undone in his arms.

“P-Please, Jungkook...” You sob and stammer, feeling like your lungs would give in from how heavy your breathing had gotten as he snaps his hips again.

“Alright, alright,” He groans moving his hand back down. An unearthly sound leaves your lips, another surge of electricity shooting up your spine as he presses against your swollen bud, pinching and moving once again in small circles. “Ah fuck Y/N, I’m going to need you to come for me...”

“Ah, yes, yes...” You moan at the pleasurable sensation before a chain of incoherent words leave your lips. And once more, an orgasm more powerful than you’ve experienced before seems to overtake you and you’re seeing white, thighs trembling as Jungkook continues to thrust into you. His name leaves your mouth in a cry and Jungkook swears he’s never heard anything more perfect than that before.

He bites his lower lip, chasing his own release as his hips begin to stutter, thrusts becoming more erratic as he pushes into you. Both his hands now gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin to create black and blue bruises for days as he sits back on his knees.

“Y/N... Y/N...” He breathes, moaning loudly as you grip the bed sheets. You turn your head away from him briefly just to gather yourself. Just as you do, you hear him growl, “Look at me, Y/N... Look at me...” You oblige, vision feeling blurred still from your previous orgasm and now overstimulation as you watch him. You were beautiful... He drank in the way your mouth was agape, the way your breasts moved from just the snap of his hips and the tears slipping from your eyes at how good he was making you feel.

I love you.

“J-Jungkook!” Then he finally comes. His sloppy thrusts come to a slow as he bucks his hips a few more times into you, before collapsing forward. An exhausted groan leaves his lips as he slips out carefully, removing the condom and tying it tightly before throwing it in the trash can beside him. He swallows nervously, and swings his legs off the bed. You weren’t speaking, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. The entire room was filled with heavy breathing from the both of you, but why weren’t you saying anything? He fumbles to slip on a new pair of boxers from one of his top drawers before grappling at a fresh t-shirt for you to wear.

He returns hesitantly over to the bed as you sit up slowly, holding your arms out for him to help you gently slip it on. Jungkook ruffles his hair, unsure about the whole aftercare part.

“Was it ok?” You finally speak up, and ask. Jungkook nods furiously, wondering why of all things for you to possibly say, you asked him if the sex was ok. It was more than ok.

“Of course it was, Y/N... What about you? Was it ok for your first time?” Jungkook asks awkwardly before clearing his throat awkwardly. What he really wanted to ask was, was it ok that he was your first time? He sits down on the bed beside you, his back facing you as he rubs his neck anxiously. “Sorry, I’m not... I’m not good at this part...” He admits and you smile, wrapping your arms around his bare torso and resting your chin on his shoulder.

“It was good,” You kiss his shoulder as you feel his muscles almost relax with relief. “Did you... get a lot of energy from it?” You had to ask; after all, your virginity was what was initially sought for after all.

“Yes,” He places a hand over yours. “But, it wasn’t just that for me. You know that, right?”

“Mhm,” You hum in agreement before chewing your lower lip. “So are we supposed to just... cuddle and sleep now?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow as your hands move away from his waist. He turns around to face you and you shy away with a small, shy grin on your face.

“Why?” You simply shrug before tracing your hand gently down his stomach, fingers trailing over the definition of his abs and stopping right above his boxers.

“I want to go again,” You whisper softly, innocent eyes meeting the demon’s as a smirk slowly creeps onto his face.

“Go again?” He teases, and your face flushes with full realization he wanted to hear you say it.

“Yeah, I want you to fuck me again.” You didn’t have to say it anymore clearly this time. The demon wastes no time and pushes your shoulders until your laying back down once again. With ease, Jungkook settles himself between your legs once more.

“Don’t cry if you can’t walk tomorrow... I thought I’d go easy on you. Do you know how much I had to resist not going for at least another round?” Jungkook runs his hand up and down your thigh before placing a kiss on your inner knee. “And Y/N, I wouldn’t call this fucking. But I’ll make love to you as many times as you want me to.”

“Ah, is that right? Make love to me then.” You giggle at how out of character he seemed before he lurches forward to silence you with his lips.

Everything hurt.

You lost track; you lost fucking track of how many times you both went at it. As sore as your body felt in the morning, you couldn’t help but smile. Something as little as rolling over already made your body ache, as you wince, but all you wanted was to wrap your arms around him.

“Jungkook?” You rub your tired eyes and sit up, looking beside you on the bed for the demon. Panic begins to set in, your stomach churns and you feel like throwing up when you find the space beside you empty.

Where was Jeon Jungkook?

[hobbledhobbit]

Scrutiny of the Scrivener

The first thing I ever wrote about the Institute Green. I hope to one day have enough of these for an anthology

When the house is in order, there is order in the house. At least that’s what the idea is.  Was kind of recursive, redundant even. But what was life without the consistent churning of themes and intent.

Choices abound, inaction being one of them. There were no wholly innocent parties when it came to the wrongs of one’s life. That is, if one ascribed to the blame game. But truly, strife can make for interesting stories.

They’re all alone, you see. Each of those specs of consciousness floating on that blue sphere. They can see each other, certainly. Destroy, connect, create with one another, most assuredly. But in the end, when their light flickers and changes to something new, each is completely alone.

The place in which all of those specs end up is very posh. Hardwood, marble, and iron clad. Each is sent through the correct channels in an orderly fashion to record how they viewed their lives.

Seated in slightly uncomfortable leather chairs, they dictate their stories to those that record them. Some would call these recorders angels, but they are yet different types of consciousnesses, they glow a green instead of a yellow.

Dressed sharply was one of these consciousnesses called Mr. Pale. He had, as his name implied, a paleness to him. His suit was a Gainsboro gray, lending nothing to the ashen blonde hair nor the pallor of his skin. Even his eyes looked more beige than hazel.

Across from him, in the slightly squeaking leather chair sat a young and yellow young man. He looked well dressed. Stylish collared blue shirt, paired with bark brown slacks that cut a lovely figure. He had dark hair and eyes, and like all who sat there, looked apprehensive.

Confusedly, he asked, “Where am I?  I was just getting ready for bed,” asked the young man.

Mr. Pale almost sneered, but settled with a quick smile, smoothing out the wrinkle in his rather long nose. “Ah, a surprise then,” he said in a bland manner, “No matter. Shall we get started?”

Shuffling some papers on his desk, Mr. Pale pulled a page out and nodded, setting it into his typewriter.

“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand where I am. Who are you?”

Mr. Pale rummaged in his desk and pulled out a box of cigarettes, Offering one to the man and being rebuffed when he shook his head. He pulled one out for himself and slid it behind his ear, placing the box on the desk next to a clean ashtray.

“You may call me Mr. Pale. Sir, I’m here to take down your life story. Let’s start with the basics. Name and age.”

The man sat up straighter, clearing his throat, “My stage name is Roland Pierce, but the name on my license is Pedro Montoya.”

The clicking of the typewriter was light, Mr. Pale not taking long. “Which would you like to be called by?”

The young man smiled, “I’d like it if you called me Monty. My friends and family do back home.”

Mr. Pale nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t overly fond of getting too friendly with those that sat before him, but he only showed a thoughtfulness as he typed more.

“This is your story. You may state anything you like for the record but I much prefer honesty and candor. I will state that you would prefer that too...Monty.” The name was said with a bit of a low pitch, as if he were trying it out for the first time.

Monty smiled and nodded, “I understand. Where do I begin?”

Mr. Pale stretched his shoulders, “Wherever you think the beginning is.”

Monty nodded and crossed his legs, trying to get a bit more comfortable. “Okay.”

“My childhood was fairly average, school was a little hard for me because of the dyslexia, but I managed to get through to highschool and graduate. Family time was good when it happened, both of my parents-”

Mr. Pale held up a hand to stop him, “I should mention that this is your story. If you are going to mention anyone else, it must be in passing or direct effect on you. No pressuming motives or actions of others without your direct witness… For posterity...Monty.”

His name still sounded foreign in Mr. Pale’s mouth, but Monty nodded in understanding. “Right, okay.”

“My parents were not around much, their absence is why I started to look for attention elsewhere.” Monty raised his eyebrows at Mr. Pale, checking to see if that was alright.

The typist nodded and made a gesture with his hand to say continue.

“Though reading was hard, I started to go to the library to research acting after getting the stage bug from highschool. My town didn’t have a lot of resources for that kind of thing, but they did have some play scripts.

“The papers said there was a community theater offering auditions. I prepared for all those weeks, pestering all my friends and family to read with me and make sure I got everything right. I was tenacious and felt more confident with each read through.”

Monty laughed, wiping his tears from the memory.

“I bombed the audition so bad. I was so nervous that I tripped over my own feet and fell right off the stage onto the director’s daughter, who was the leading lady.” He was interrupted again by a fit of giggles, “I got up and tried to apologize, but threw up right on her face.”

Mr. Pale sat back, taking the cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it. Try as he might, he enjoyed when someone found humor in their social gaffs, the giggle fit allowed him to take a few clean hits.

The smell of the smoke was sweet, almost too sweet, but just enough to set a calming atmosphere in the room.

Monty rubbed his cheeks from smiling too much and adjusted in his seat again. “Sorry, I haven’t thought about that in ages.”

“Quite alright,” Mr. Pale said, sliding his blazer off to hang on the back of his chair, placing the cigarette on the ashtray. “Please continue.”

“Oh, I thought that was the end of acting for me. Everywhere I went I heard giggles and heard people fake retching. Couldn’t get a date or a job because I was too embarrassed to even show my face.

“The director’s daughter came to my house and told me that it was okay, but acting was probably not for me. Made me sad and I decided to look into something else as a career.”  Monty smiled knowingly.

“It was hard to get into the programs I wanted in college. Didn’t really have money, but ambition managed to get me out of there with a few broken hearted times and a masters in criminal justice. It was around graduation that I had met the girl who I would eventually marry. We had gone on a few dates, but opportunities drove us different places.

“My opportunities drove me to law enforcement. First a sheriff’s office, then a police officer in a big city, finally landing as an FBI agent. It was a pretty good gig until I got an injury in the field. Guess “female fbi agent made into swiss cheese in standoff” wasn’t a good look.”

Mr. Pale paused and gave a warning look, plucking and taking a drag of the cigarette.

Monty held up his hands, “Alright, alright, you’re right. I’ll keep to just me and not speculate on others’ motives.”

Mr. Pale found himself smirking, “I’d appreciate it. While I love a good narrative, we must keep to protocol.”

“Maybe we’ll gossip and speculate over drinks after we’re done, huh?” Monty offered.

Mr. Pale smiled genuinely, “Maybe.”

Monty wagged a finger, “Careful, Mr. Pale. It looks like we may be friends after this.”

Mr. Pale gave a shrug, “Nothing is certain, Monty.”  The name now sounding more natural.

Monty wiggled in the seat again to find a good position. A lost battle, unfortunately.

“Okay, so I was in pretty bad shape. Physically not okay. But my lady showed up while I was recovering and literally claimed her undying love for me!”

Monty grunted at Mr. Pale’s raised eyebrow, “Her words! Not mine!  ‘My love for you never faltered and should you have died, Beatriz, I would have died with you!’” Monty had stood with the recitation, giving a flourish.

“It was so romantic that I was rendered speechless. Took a full five minutes before I managed to squeak out, ‘Cool. Let’s get married.’” Monty was laughing again, leaning back in the chair.

“That woman, my Reina, could take all my composure and suavity in just a look. I was a bumbling fool and worked my hardest to get back on my feet, missing a few organs or not! I wanted to do everything in my power to get back to work so I could provide for my magical bride. So I could always be worthy to look upon her face and earn all her smiles.”

Mr. Pale stamped out his cigarette and got another behind his ear.  He looked to be in a much better mood than when he had first laid eyes on Mr. Pedro Montoya.

Monty closed his eyes and took a breath, “I eventually was put back on duty, though in another department. Because of my voice, I was set in a unit devised to take down child predators. It was hard to read and report on the sickening habits of fellow humans. It took a lot out of me to pretend over a microphone to really be a child or teenager that wanted that putrid attention.

“It was only two years that I could last before problems really started to show at home. My lady encouraged me to resign and go to therapy.  She went with sometimes. The doc was a bastard at first, making me admit to the feelings I tried to hide to protect Reina from, to protect myself from...It was hard.”

Monty rubbed his face and slicked back his hair, “But because of it I could admit to myself that I was scared for a long time. It let me go through with becoming Pedro fully, not just in the bedroom or at clubs. I could breathe easier with the monsters no longer hidden in my dreams or under my bed.

“I named myself for my father. My family supported me and accepted Reina when we visited. It was there that the funny story of my failed acting career reached my darling wife. With chanting and pressure I acted out the whole audition scene for my family.

“Of course I still remembered it, you don’t religiously do something hundreds of times and forget.”

Monty put a hand over his eyes and smiled, “Reina claimed to be star-stuck and started on a mission to get me into acting. Unfortunately for us, I still had horrific stagefright. But despite my continually diminishing confidence, an opportunity arose.

“Someone in somewhere had heard my rehearsing in the next room, specifically my making fun of a script.  They insisted that I try voice acting. And lo and behold!  Roland Pierce was born.

“I went for several years with pretty consistent gigs, usually playing a lady or a child, but I didn’t mind. Acting was acting and I had made it!

Monty was sitting upright again, thinking of where to go with his story. Mr. Pale took the opportunity to light up again. “Favorite part?” He offered.

“That would be a villainess role. Claw Rissa, from the teen cartoon Sweet Purrfection. Rissa had a large fan following, I was surprised that most villains do.”

“Reina and I liked to answer fanmail and respond. Only very seldom did we get anything awful. Only had to hand a letter to my old colleagues at the FBI once…” Monty thought, “Maybe twice.”

“I never truly felt threatened, all the mail was taken in by several proxies and we weren’t millionaires, so everything was pretty nice. A little lonely when Rei was away on a set, but otherwise very peaceful.”

Monty’s brow furrowed, “She’s away now. I have a surprise waiting for her on the kitchen table. Found a place that does adoptions. Wanted to run it by her before setting an appointment. Would be a good reason to redecorate the reading room.”

Mr. Pale let out a long drag, eyes scanning Monty. He wondered if the human before him realized what had happened yet. He motioned for him to continue.

“I had just done the dishes and was getting set to retire for the night, maybe watch one of her movies while I waited for her goodnight call. The house felt spooky somehow. I’ve never felt like that unless something was amiss.”

Monty closed his eyes and thought, “I remember feeling watched, then there was a crash. Near jumped out of my skin. I grabbed the baseball bat from the bedside and went to the front door. That’s where I had heard it.

“There was a frame on the floor, I accidentally got some glass in my foot and was cursing. The picture was her and me in college. A picture we kept in the office down the ha- the hall… Then there was pain and…”

Monty’s nose was pink and his eyes were starting to puff. He took a breath and covered his face, letting out a sob. Mr. Pale gave him time, offering a tissue. Monty instead used the collar of his shirt to wipe his eyes.

“It’s all gone, huh?” He asked, his voice a little choked.

Mr. Pale shook his head, letting out a drag with a sigh, “No. It’s still all there, Monty. Only you left.”

“Why?”

Mr. Pale shook his head slightly and shrugged, “I don’t have the answers to those questions.” He pinched out his cigarette with his fingers and placed it back behind his ear. “All I can do is ask if you’re satisfied with everything you told me.”

Monty fixed his collar and thought. They sat in silence for a while, Mr. Pale folding his hands on the desk in front of him, tilting his head slightly as he watched the human.

Finally, there was movement. Monty stood and nodded, “I had a pretty happy life, all things considered. I’m satisfied with it. Thank you, Mr. Pale.” He held out a hand to the typist for a shake.

Mr. Pale stood, looking into the light that shone behind Monty’s eyes. He smiled and nodded, shaking his hand.

In the next second, Mr. Pale is alone in his office again. He looked down and grinned, nodding to himself. Stacking all the papers with fresh, golden and glowing ink, he placed the pages neatly in a box.

“It was a pleasure, Monty, my friend.”

The scribe packed the box on a stack of other boxes next to a door labeled “Out” and took a box from a door labeled “In”.

He thought for a few moments, chewing on his bottom lip and shook his head. He opened the box and watched  the next yellow energy flow from it and into the slightly uncomfortable leather chair.

[rancoeur-the-unfortunate]

Pills (Chapter 12)

(1958 words!!!)

Packing his things wasn't the hard part, nor was the realization that he had just agreed to go camping with Zim alone where if one of them got 'lost' no one would ever find them. No, the hardest part by far had to be the part where he has to tell his dad and little sister that he's going in the woods with his worst enemy to save his life from a paranormal tracking group that Gaz and his dad had no concept of. That was the hardest.

He sat at the dinner table, it was one of those days where his dad was working home and had the time to have dinner with them. Beans for dinner, the usual.

Dib knew it was now or never. He couldn't just disappear after all.

Dib cleared his throat.

"Ahem so uh dad, Gaz I um have to tell you something."

Only his dad looked up at him.

"And what would that be, son?"

"Well um, you remember Zim right? The green alien I'm always talking about."

"Of course! I remember your little foreign friend." The spoke proudly.

"He's not my-" Dib let out a sigh.

"Well Zim and I have decided to go camping... in the woods... alone... together." Dib bit his lip.

"Alright then just remember to bring your bug spray and stay safe. I know how rowdy you boys get." His dad chuckled.

"Wait really?"

"Of course I knew it was only a matter of time until you to decided to spend some quality time to together. I'll call the Skool in the morning and let them know the two of you will be absent."

"What? Wait, what about you Gaz?"

"I don't care Dib." She didn't even look up from her food.

"Huh."

Once dinner was done Dib let out a sigh of relief. That was a whole lot easier then he expected. Dib packed a few extra snacks and a pair of alien sleep cuffs just in case Zim wanted to do anything funny during their trip. He slung his backpack on, it was one of his dad's advanced backpacks with lots of storage. He made sure to pack a tent and other essentials. 

The big-headed boy then made his trek to Zim's house. The alien was waiting for him on the fence post with the most unidentifiable expression he had ever seen on him.

His eyes were half-lidded and glossed over as if he fell asleep with his eyes open.

"Uh, Zim?"

"Huh, Wha?" Zim stood up with a start and in turn fell off the fence.

Zim stood up and glared daggers at the human before him.

"Took you long enough Dib-smell!" Zim hissed at him.

"Whatever you stupid alien let's go."

"Humph!"

The two started their walk to the forest, by the time they got to the campsite the sun was already setting. Dib started to gather kindling for the fire while Zim sat down on a rock. Once Dib believed he had enough wood he grabbed some flint and steal from his backpack and started trying to make a spark. It took him three tries before a fire finally started and Dib got started on making his tent.

Zim just sat there, staring deep into the fire as if he were searching for something.

The alien couldn't explain it but his whole body felt... weird. Like his body wasn't his anymore like it belonged to something else. He felt so fatigued all the time and he found himself feeling so sick. But he barely ever ate so all he was ever throwing up was spooch acid and white foam, but no blood thank the Tallest.

That wasn't all though, sometimes when Zim was alone he could swear he was hearing a disembodied voice but it was so faint he couldn't even make out the words.

Right now it sounds like the voice was yelling at him but it was still so faint he couldn't understand it. So the alien tried to focus on the crackling of the fire.

"So do you have your own tent?"

Dib's voice broke Zim from his haze.

"What?"

"I said do you have a tent."

Dib stood in front of his finished tent with a look of boredom on his face.

"What is a tent?"

Dib pinched the bridge of his nose and pointed to his tent.

"That! Zim do you have that?"

Zim shook his head.

"Should have thought." Dib shook his head.

He couldn't leave Zim out here it was freezing and he doubted Zim's body was built for concealing heat.

"Ok then, you're going to have to stay in my tent then."

"What?! In there?! With you?!"

"What would you rather freeze out here?"

"Yes!"

"Whatever I don't care Zim."

Dib crawled inside of his tent and zipped it up leaving Zim in the cold.

Zim glared at the tent for a little bit before deciding to climb up a tree and rest there for the night. Though the cold never the left him the sleep came easy though it felt restless not to mention Irkens SHOULDN'T sleep at all. Zim took off his disguise and fell asleep.

Zim sat up, he didn't know where he was. It was dark and quiet when suddenly the lights turned on and Zim had a chance to look around. He was in an Irken hospital, doctors and nurses surrounded him and it seemed as though they were trying to pin him down. It was only then did he realize he was struggling and shouting things in Irken. Words that Zim had no control of.

'Get off me, you worthless slaves! OFF! OFF!'

'Zim we're only trying to help you.' One of the doctors replied in Irken.

'Like hell you are! OFF ME! Before I blow this building to the ground with all of you useless pests in it!'

Zim managed to get his arm free of one of the doctors and socked one in the face knocking him to the ground.

'Zim! You need to take your medication!'

'Get that pill anywhere near me and I'll bite your hand off!' Zim hissed as more nurses came and repinned his arm.

'Who said anything about a needle?' The doctor smirked at him.

Zim struggled hard and snapped whenever a hand or arm got within range as the doctors in the back prepped his needle. If he was going down he was going down with a fight!

Zim jerked his legs and kicked the two unfortunate nurses who held him down, to the ground. Zim then used the leverage to kick the nurse to the right of him in the eye using his flexibility and scratch the nurse holding his other arm down. Some of the doctors were backing up at this point.

Zim tried to activate his PAC but the doctors must have disarmed it. 

So instead Zim stood on the bed eyeing the head doctor who was down currently holding the needle and standing in the way of the door.

'Now Zim we only want what best for you.' He tried to sooth.

Zim wasn't buying it.

'Shut up! You are nothing but an incompetent servant to those tall bastards!'

'You're sick Zim. The mighty Tallest only want you to get better. Same for the rest of the Irken race."

'WRONG! YOU'RE ALL SO STUPID! YOU'RE ALL IN A DRUG INDUCED HELL AND YOU'RE SO HIGH YOU CAN'T EVEN NOTICE!'

'Get over here Zim!' The smaller Irken could tell the doctor was losing his patience.

'NEVER! I'll be dead before I surrender my free will!'

'That's it!' The doctor lunged at Zim just as he predicted.

Zim jumped over him and landed on his hand and jumped for the door.

'Ah! You won't escape Zim!'

Zim smirked at him, turned to open the door, and right there staring at him were his two worst enemies. They blocked the door and grabbed him by the arms before he could run.

'I thought you said there would be no problems, doctor.' Tallest Purple spoke with that cool calmness in his voice that made even the tallest of Irken's shack in their boots.

'Yeah, looks like Zim had a little bit of a struggle.' Tallest Red scanned the room noticing all the unconscious, convulsing, and cowering medical staff.

The doctor coughed.

'Um yes, that was a bit of a miscalculation on our part I am truly sorry my Tallest.' The doctor bowed.

'You wallowing pig!' Zim squirmed kicking and thrashing, but even with his immeasurable strength, he was no match for the Tallest.

'But it's great that you are here so we can finally test the effects of Ventive!' The doctor smiled up at them.

'What the hell is Ventive?!'

'Just a specialized drug that will finally stop your worthless attempts to bring down the empire.'

Zim snarled and snapped at the doctor as he drew near like a cornered animal.

The doctor then stuck the needle into Zim's neck.

Zim felt his body go limp against the Tallests' arms. Soon he felt two-fingered hands gently petting him. He smiled and leaned into the touch. He was sat down on the floor where he sat for a bit in a daze. Then he looked up and saw his mighty leaders. He turned and hugged their legs.

'My Tallest!'

Zim woke up to Dib's human hand poking him. He yelped and backed up promptly falling off the branch and onto the ground. He sat up and snarled at the human now currently laughing at him.

"What was that for?!"

"You wouldn't wake when I was calling you."

Dib climbed down the tree and sat on a log he had placed near the campfire that had burned itself out in the night.

"Want some snacks?"

"Zim brought his own." Zim huffed and sat on his rock and reached into his PAC and pulled out some Irken rations while Dib reached into his backpack and pulled out some chips.

The two ate in silence for a little bit before Dib spoke up.

"So... what did you dream about last night?"

Zim snapped at him.

"I dreamt nothing filthy human!"

Dib rolled his eyes. 

"Didn't sound like nothing." He muttered, eating some chips.

"What are you talking about?"

"You kept screaming in Irken last night."

"What?! Wait, how do you know what Irken sounds like?"

"I don't. I just guessed."

Zim growled at him. This human was really testing his patience.

"My dreams are none of your concern Dib-beast."

"Whatever Zim."

The two sat in silence for a bit longer while they finished their respected snacks and sat up.

"So now what?" Zim crossed his arms.

"Don't know never been camping before." Dib shrugged while Zim's blood boiled.

"Don't worry though I brought a book that's full of suggestions for camping." Dib pulled a book from his pack labeled 'Boy Scout Handbook'. 

"Ah! Here's one let's have a scavenger hunt!"

"A scavenger what?"

"A scavenger hunt. It's where we write off a list of objects and set out to find them.  Whoever brings back the most that are on the list wins."

Zim thought about it for a bit and sighed, it was better than doing nothing this could give him the chance to study earth ground specimens.

"Ok."

"Cool here." Dib handed Zim a premade list.

"I was kinda already writing it this morning."

Zim rolled his eyes and looked at the list which (thankfully) had pictures.

"We meet back here by noon. Good luck Zim!" Dib ran into the forest.

Zim glared his way and shouted.

"ZIM NEEDS NO LUCK DIB-STINK!"

Zim then turned around and went his own way looking for the Earth objects.