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kpopfanfictrash · 1 year ago

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Elemental (M) Pt. 1

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 17,287 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. Part I is here, and Part II will be uploaded shortly. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts. (also, if you haven't already realized based on the premise, Y/N does break up with Jungkook in the first part of this fic lol so, if that's something you don't want to read; fair warning!)

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

Magic, to you, has never been a boon.

Despite its romanticization in movies and stories, the reality of magic is messy and unpredictable. As dangerous as it can be fickle, your mom likes to say. Usually followed by a glance in your direction, swift enough for you not to notice, although you always do.

Either that, or an unconscious tilt her chin towards the photograph on the mantle. You aren’t sure she even realizes she does it, acting on instinct alone. The photo is of your dad, holding you on his shoulders with an ear-to-ear grin. He was the other Elemental in your family.

Even with only one magical parent, the Elemental gene tends to be passed on to children. Your dad’s magic was water, skilled in manipulating and calling forth the element. He was lauded for it, which was in itself unusual. More often, Elementals are run out of town by other humans. Although time has gone by since societal integration, there are still many who view your kind with suspicion.

You can’t say that you blame them – not really. Because again, the reality of magic is it can be dangerous. Based on experience, bad things tend to happen when you lose control.

Head tilted, you squint through the fog at your boyfriend’s apartment. For centuries, fog has been heralded as an ill omen and maybe there’s some degree of truth to it. Maybe the first speaker lived near a temperamental water Elemental, unable to keep their emotions from manipulating the weather.

Thoughts souring at how close to reality this feels, you shake your head once and some of the fog clears.

A pep talk, you think. That’s what you need to convince yourself to enter. Unseasonably chilly this late in the summer, your fingers curl into the ends of your sweater. Going inside would be preferrable to standing out in the cold, and yet you can’t manage a single step.

Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.

Again, you remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and again, this doesn’t help. If anything, it makes you clutch your sweater tighter. For once, you wish doing the right thing meant what’s right for you. Exhaling deeply, your eyes shut as a train passes and shakes the ground.

You began dating Jungkook three months ago and within a week, you knew it was different. You have a tendency to hide pieces of yourself, knowing most people won’t like what they find. Jungkook never allowed that to happen. The first time you ghosted, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop the next morning and asked what had gone wrong. Taken aback, you responded honestly and to your surprise, Jungkook listened.

He stayed. Stayed when others had run, cementing himself on a short list of people you can trust. Three months into dating, things have moved at once fast and slow. Fast because typically, you exit relationships long before feelings like these ones develop. Slow, because you haven’t given Jungkook every part of yourself.

Physical intimacy comes to mind. On several occasions, this has proved… difficult.

Eyes opening, you stare at the door. Memories of last night rise to the surface. For a long time, you’ve known this relationship has an end date. Knowing this doesn’t prepare you for the difficult conversation ahead.

The last time you saw Jungkook was after midnight. Fat raindrops chased your footsteps while you ran from his place, descending the subway at a record pace. The look on his face remains stuck in your mind and even now, you find the thought hard to revisit.

Imagining hurting Jungkook again is unfathomable. Stifling a gasp, you spin on your heel and march away. Halfway to the gate, you get a grip on yourself. Coming to a stop, you remind yourself this isn’t about you. Jungkook will hate you – there’s nothing to do about that now. Now, this is about Jungkook and ensuring he’s safe.

Slowly, you turn around and make your way forward. In the name of procrastination, you stop at a trash can to clean out your purse. Old receipts, gum wrappers and a crumpled-up napkin shake into the bin. You pause at the napkin, staring at the embossed name of the restaurant you work at. Or – more accurately – worked at.

Slamming the trash lid, you turn. You began work at Pierre’s Bistro two months ago as a temporary measure. Ideally, you paint but lately, inspiration has run dry. Waiting tables pays the bills, leaving time at the end of the day to stare at a blank canvas.

Pierre’s is an upscale French restaurant a few blocks down with semi-decent food and waiting tables would be fine if the owner – Pierre – weren’t a massive asshole. Now that you don’t work there, you can be honest about that. Pierre was the most sexist, elitist, capitalistic piece of shit you’ve ever had the displeasure of working for. While on his payroll, you tried to make the best of it but now, you have nothing to lose. Pierre was a dick.

A point he proved yet again last night, much to your mortification. You prefer working the lunch shift to dinner, and weekdays to weekends. Saturday nights are worst of all, and last night Pierre didn’t arrive until well after six. You were forced to cover the entire front section, picking up for a co-worker who called in sick.

Rushing from the bar, you nearly crashed into your boss removing his coat. Grabbing you by the elbow, Pierre steadied you, his hand lingering.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.

You forced a smile. Experience has taught you the best thing to do in those types of situations is to smile and laugh.

“No fire. Lots of customers! Excuse me,” you said and tried to move past.

Pierre didn’t release you. If anything, his grip on you tightened until you turned your head.

“Yes?” you said, impatient.

Pierre didn’t respond, looking you slowly up and down. Eventually, he released you to take a step backwards. “Nothing,” he said carefully. “Be careful out there tonight.”

Trying not to gag on his words, you moved on. Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Pierre’s notice once caught. From that point on, each of your flaws were held under a microscope. First, it was that you didn’t fold the napkins correctly. Next, you took a wandering path from kitchen to table. Each time you entered the dining room, scornful words were covered by simpering smiles.

By the time your shift end approached, you could barely keep going. A large group had entered and, seeing the host occupied, you took it upon yourself to seat them at your last table. Fixing your apron, you hurried through the restaurant and into the kitchen.

Grabbing another table’s dishes, you thanked the cook and pushed open the door. Immediately, arms shoved you back in. Startled, you barely had time to recognize the host, Vanessa, before the doors swung shut.

“Vanessa?” you said, adjusting your grip. “What’s going on?”

Harried, she glanced over one shoulder. “Sorry,” she sighed, curly hair slipping from her messy bun. “I wanted to warn you before you went back out. Pierre is pissed.”

Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”

She nodded, another dark curl escaping. “Something about saving the table up front for his friends? Bullshit, yes,” she said at your expression. “But you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. Deciding there was nothing to be done but keep moving, you hefted your plates higher. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I need to get these to table ten.”

“No problem,” she said and stepped out of your way.

You walked inside with slightly less spring in your step. Pierre lounged near the bar, surrounded by a group of people you could only assume to be friends. Although you felt his gaze on your face, you avoided him the best you could while you made your rounds. Taking the long way to the kitchen, you passed in front of the window.

Which was the moment you noticed Jungkook waiting for you on the curb. He stood beneath a streetlight, light pooling around the ends of his dark hair. When he saw you approach, his face lit up and he smiled.

Cursing beneath your breath, you smiled back. You were supposed to be done a half-hour ago, but there hadn’t been a good time yet to stop. Waving back, you mouthed, just a minute, and frantically pushed through the crowd to the back.

Merely seeing his face lifted a weight from your chest. It was easy to be around Jungkook because he liked every part of you. You never felt the urge to pretend, to curve yourself into something someone else would find pleasurable.

Well, he liked every part except one – and you were working on telling him that.

Hurrying into the staff room, you forgot your plan to avoid Pierre. You nearly jumped a mile when a hand grabbed your elbow, spinning you to face your fuming manager.

Pierre stared down his nose. “Follow me,” he snapped, releasing your arm to spin around.

He passed tables full of patrons, leading you to the bar before turning. “Y/N,” Pierre said, his voice dropping. “Are things okay tonight?”

“Yes,” you responded, deciding one-word answers were safest.

“Then why, exactly, are you fucking this up?”

Your jaw tensed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing so,” you said carefully.

“The napkins?” Pierre made a tsk-ing sound. “How many times should I say that presentation is important? Not to mention your laziness. One of your tables had to flag me down to ask for a refill. And now, you gave away the front table.” His expression darkened. “What makes you think you, a fucking waitress, can step in for a host? You sat someone at the table I personally reserved for my friends!”

You shouldn’t have responded. You should have stayed quiet and yet –

“There was no name in the book,” you muttered.

“What’s that?” Pierre waited and, when you stayed silent, shook his head. “I hadn’t had time to write their name down, but I told Vanessa, who assured me it’d happen. Of course, she wasn’t taking into consideration Y/N, the wonder waitress! Taking everyone’s jobs and making them harder.”

At your sides, your hands balled into fists. It took a greater amount of concentration than normal to keep your emotions from spilling over.

Of course, there were explanations for Pierre’s accusations. The napkins were correct before he jostled the table. You had been circulating your tables and if you were unavailable, it was because of his poor staffing. Oh, and – he didn’t make a reservation for his friends.

Slowly, you exhaled and stuffed down the responses. Deep down, with other emotions and magic. Beyond Pierre, a glass trembled but once you relaxed, the water went still.

“I apologize,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll do better next time.”

Pierre sniffed. “See that you do,” he said, brushing past. Grabbing a beer from the bar, you heard his friends burst into raucous laughter. Apparently, your humiliation was entertaining.

Heaving a small sigh, you turned – and froze where you stood.

Outside, Jungkook stared into the restaurant with murderous eyes. Too late, you realized Pierre had pulled you in front of the window. Away from anyone dining, but in full view of anyone on the sidewalk. Like your boyfriend, who witnessed the entire spectacle.

For a moment, your emotions overwhelmed, and you felt magic crack the walls you kept hidden. Embarrassment crept past your boundaries. Humiliation. Fury. Stuffing everything back, you quickly turned to rush through the tables.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped towards you, his brow furrowing. Reaching the staff room, you paced up and down. Jungkook saw you. He saw Pierre’s outburst, which meant you’d have to explain. You’d have to explain to Jungkook – the only person whose opinion you cared about – why you allowed other people to walk all over you.

He’d start to ask questions. Questions like, when was the last time you really got mad? You’d have no good response. Not because you don’t get mad, because you do. But because you don’t ever allow yourself to act on the feeling.

Faced with the prospect of brushing him off, you buried your face in both hands. Your usual excuses wore thin in your ears.

Pierre isn’t so bad. It was a one-time thing. You promise you’ll talk to Pierre tomorrow.

None of it would be true, and you didn’t want to lie to Jungkook. People never understood why you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but the answer was complicated.

Your last date said you lacked emotions, but you don’t think that’s it. Of course, you have feelings, but those feelings are buried beneath so many layers, they can be hard to see. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that you cannot.

When you feel, your magic reacts, and people get hurt.

That was the last part of yourself you kept hidden. Jungkook is normal and he doesn’t know you’re an Elemental.

You know that by now, you should have said something. Obviously, but the timing was never right. Twenty-five years old, and you still aren’t sure how to broach the conversation. Few people know what you are, so you haven’t had much experience with the explanation. Your magic isn’t something you use if you can help it.

Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.

Your dad, an Elemental, died when you were five. Before, you lived near the ocean on a flat strip of sand. Your memories from before then are faint, but whenever you try, you can hear his booming laugh. Can feel the salt sting your cheeks, your mom tossing you in the air while you spun around.

Everything afterwards faded. At five years old, a hurricane swept past the barrier islands and that, you remember. You recall your mom at the door, pleading with your dad not to go as he donned his jacket. You remember him holding her hand, kissing the top of your head, and saying he’d return soon. Not many Elementals lived in your area, and even fewer had water magic.

You recall the hours passing, stretching longer and longer until dawn approached. Flashing lights followed, a woman climbing from her car to speak to your mom. You recall the sound of your mom sobbing, the policewoman’s voice floating into the house.

The storm surge was stronger than expected, but your dad managed to divert the worst. He saved the town only to be hit by a bolt of lightning. Instant death, the policewoman said, her tone implying this might be a comfort. Chest tight, your fingertips dug into the railing. Comfort meant nothing when your dad was gone. The irony struck you even back then – your dad saved others, and no one came to save him.

For weeks following, your mom was a ghost. At first, neighbors stopped by to drop off casseroles and condolences. Soon though, their sympathy stopped, and the whispers began. You were young enough not to notice, too consumed by the enormity of your own loss.

Eventually though, you noticed something was off. Suspicious eyes followed you down the sidewalk. Mothers clutched at their children, hurrying them to the side of an empty street. One day, you traipsed downstairs and overheard your mom on the phone.

She sat at the kitchen table, facing away from the staircase. You paused on the landing, listening to your aunt’s voice blast on speakerphone.

“Nonsense,” she was saying. “Your husband was a hero, and anyone saying otherwise is cracked. He saved your town!”

“I know.” Your mom blew her nose. “But now, people are wondering if he caused the storm. They’re saying maybe he… made the hurricane. It’s this new mayor,” she said, frustrated. “He hates Elementals and keeps insisting our family orchestrated this to collect money. He says –”

“Oh, no.” Your aunt sounded furious. “Don’t you repeat a single word that hateful man says.”

“He has a point, though,” your mom said, her voice low. “Did you hear about Uniontown? A fire Elemental accidentally set their barn on fire. Nearly burned the whole town. Magic is dangerous. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now –”

“When was the last time your husband lost control, though? Are you saying you think he caused a hurricane?”

“God, no!” You watched your mom straighten. “But there are people saying… awful things.”

“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”

“I know.” Wearily, she exhaled. “They’re talking about Y/N, too, though. Apparently, she caused a tidal wave at the pool last weekend.”

Hearing your name said out loud, you shrank back in the shadows. You weren’t aware your mom knew about that, or that she cared. Bobby Clemmons teased Judith Bryce about her hair until finally, you snapped. Bobby was swept to the other end of the pool, much to Judith’s relief. She thanked you repeatedly.

Bobby was fine, except for some water up his nose. From the way he carried on though, you’d have thought he broke his arm.

Your mother lowered her voice, as though magic was something to be mentioned only in whispers. For the first time, a sense of shame crept over you. Your dad had always been open about magic, though stern. Stern in his belief magic should help people, not hurt. Never once did your dad insinuate magic itself was the problem.

Magic is dangerous.

Your mom’s words on the phone sank in as, your head pounding as you turned around to run up the steps. Even at six, you felt panic. If magic was dangerous and you were magical – that meant you were dangerous, too.

Slipping beneath your comforter, you stared at your shaking hands. Rain hit your windows, snowballing your worry to full-on fear. By the time your mom rushed upstairs, you were rocking under the covers as a storm raged.

She helped to calm you down, got your magic under control and a month after, you moved far away from the sea. A version of yourself vanished as you passed the pier. Despite this, you felt instant relief at the thought of control.

You remember your mom smiling when you joined the highway. “This will be good,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A fresh start, away from it all. You can be whoever you want to be, Y/N.”

Except for the person you actually were.

Her meaning was clear, even if she didn’t say it out loud. At the time, you found the thought soothing. If you didn’t want to use magic, you didn’t have to. You never had to become your dad, who all your friends said had caused the bad storm. Even the news had turned against you.

Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!

Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!

Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!

Always the exclamation point. Always the lurid fascination that blame could be pinned on a single person. New rules were implemented in the house. No magic, except in your mom’s presence. This soon became no magic at all, but you didn’t mind. Whenever you did use magic, it felt wild, chaotic – the opposite of how you wanted to feel.

Your early years were marked by the struggle to conceal your powers. Years passed without incident and then, something would happen, and you’d have to move. Your mom never begrudged you, simply packed the house to travel to the next city. Each time, you promised you’d do better but by the time you realized school wasn’t for you, you had moved no less than six times.

Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.

Creation meant tapping into emotion, but you found methods of coping. Painting was the only place you loosened the reins on your magic, and so it became an outlet of sorts. A release, preventing your emotions from spilling into unwanted places.

There were other strategies, as well. Deep breathing. Counting backwards from one hundred. Focusing on one point, then on another until the magic calmed in your veins. Until you forgot the dangerous and destructive water around you.

Some people proved more reactionary to you than others. With some people, your magic responded so strongly, you were forced to cut them out completely. The first person this happened with was your best friend, Katrina. You were fourteen when she confided in you her family was fire Elementals. In response, your magic surged.

For a glorious summer, you practiced magic in secret. Each morning, you and Katrina bounded through the woods towards the far creek. You summoned great waves of water for Katrina to singe into mist. Everything was fine until late one evening, your mom caught you. She witnessed the combined magic and lost her temper.

Dragging you from the woods, your mom slammed the front door in Katrina’s face. She sat you down at the kitchen table, delivering a scolding you’ve never forgotten.

Do you know how reckless you were? What if a tree had caught fire? What if you altered the town’s water supply? What if someone saw and the next time a disaster happened, they blamed it on you – or Katrina?

Stricken by these very real possibilities, you promised not to do it again. Although you begged not to move, your mom packed the next day – your fastest exit ever.

The second time you cut someone out was after high school. Elliot was an artist, a quiet guy who dabbled with oils. He saw you painting one day in the park and silently set up his easel beside yours. This happened for weeks until he asked you out. Your ensuing romance was brief and sweet, and your feelings grew within a short period of time.

When Elliot told you he loved you, you dissolved into panic. You could feel how your magic responded, reaching for water that surged through his tiny apartment. Tossing on clothes, you stammered apologies and fled into the night.

For weeks following, it rained. Enough for the reporters to forecast local flooding. The fact terrified you – imagining people trapped on top of cars, small businesses flooded, the Red Cross called in to ferry locals to safety. It took your mom flying out to put you at ease, clearing the skies and regaining control.

Since then, you haven’t let anyone else past your inner walls. Until Jungkook.

Swallowing hard, you stare at his apartment and wonder if you’ll survive. Breaking up with Elliot is one of your worst memories and you only felt a fraction of what you do for Jungkook. Maybe you’ll conjure a hurricane, bringing the events of your life full circle.

Shutting your eyes, you rub at them dully. There’s no point in wondering what-if. You need to end it now, before things get worse. All day, you’ve gone over the facts and arrived at the same conclusion.

As expected, Jungkook was livid about Pierre last night. He wanted to confront your boss himself, although quickly backed off when he realized this was your battle. This though, turned to confusion when you said your intent to do nothing.

Although you tried the usual excuses, none of them stuck. Even if it was just once, Jungkook argued, it shouldn’t go unnoticed. You snapped slightly at this, insisting you’d deal with things in your own time.

Getting angry near Jungkook was peculiar. Suddenly, you became aware of the water around you. Thick, leaden pipes lacing Jungkook’s walls. Moisture that hung in the air, in the clouds – within his very veins. The thought terrified you, wondering what you might do accidentally.

Your panic must have been visible, because Jungkook instantly softened. Crossing the room, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s just… I hate seeing you hurt. Of course, you know what’s best. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

His grip grounded you, enough that your magic dissipated, and that you realized a truth you’d hidden for some time.

You were in love with Jungkook.

No one in your life had ever been like him. Someone who was always in your corner, who protected you when they could and lifted up parts they couldn’t. Someone who liked everything about you – even the parts you weren’t brave enough to admit.

Studying his face, you tried to ignore the sudden ache in your chest. Even last night, you knew the inevitable. Memorizing his face, you tried hard to hold on. Jungkook’s slightly rounded nose, his full bottom lip accentuated by two piercings. Dark hair fell over his forehead; strong features contrasted by a soft gaze.

Jungkook watched you as well, and you wondered if he felt the same. Wondered why he’d commit you to memory, since you were the lucky one. He was the miracle, and you were biding your time.

Bending, he lightly brushed your mouth against his. Instantly, you melted. It wasn’t your first kiss and prayed it wouldn’t be the last, but something about last night felt different. Walking the two of you backwards, Jungkook pressed you against the wall and kissed you harder. His touch became desperate, one hand sliding beneath the lines of your blouse.

Your breath hitched at the brush of his fingers, delicious and warm against skin. His touch unknotted a hidden, tangled piece of your soul.

Ever since you met Jungkook, you’d held yourself separate. When you asked him to go slow in the beginning, he agreed. Touching was fine. Kissing was fine. Anything more, and you lost control.

About a month into dating, you met Jungkook at a bar and got tipsy. Three drinks in, you were frantically making out in an alley outside. Jungkook panted, “my place?” against your mouth, and you nodded. The journey back to his place was fast and slow, pausing in every dark place to drag his mouth to yours.

The second his door shut, you found yourself stumbling – into his bedroom, his bed, the confines of his heart. Shoes were discarded with every step, and Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. You returned his fervor in spades, nipping his lower lip to watch him smile.

When he fell back on the bed, you saw his pulse quicken. Staring up at you, Jungkook watched your clothing disappear with a gaze so dark, it bordered on onyx. Climbing onto him, you resumed kissing with a newfound reverence. Eyes falling shut, you did your best to stay present.

Each brush of his lips was combustive, each touch of his hands filling you with sharp, pulsing light. And then –

The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.

Startled, you pulled away and realized it had been you. Your magic had caused it, flooding his bathroom with water. Swearing under his breath, Jungkook scrambled out of bed to hastily turn off both faucets.

You sat there on his bed, heart pounding with fear. By the time he returned, you were already dressed and mortified. Jungkook was all apologies, certain he’d moved too fast, but you assured him he hadn’t. Anything that happened, you were an equal participant – too much maybe, although you didn’t say so out loud.

Lying in bed that night, you stared up at your ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though you were six and under the covers at your old house. Magic was dangerous. You would eventually hurt someone. Dread pooled in your stomach, recognizing the truth. If you couldn’t control your magic around Jungkook, you’d have to end things.

Heartache chased the thought, filling you with so much panic, you nearly drowned. Pushing this aside, you simply resolved to do better. To be better and keep both Jungkook and magic. This was simply another challenge; you owned your magic, not the other way around.

Thus, began the two best and worst months of your life. The best, since you’ve been dating Jungkook and the worst, because at every moment, you’re terrified of hurting him. Walking a line as thin as a razor, you’ve fallen in love while trying your best not to feel.

Until last night, you thought you’d been successful. Life was mostly under control, but then the Pierre debacle took place. Then Jungkook kissed you with such intensity, you forgot who you were and why you’d been holding back. Two long months of restraint and suddenly, you came undone at the seams.

Before long, you were again in his bedroom. Jungkook stripped off his clothes, bare skin pressing to yours with a searing intensity. Pulling you over him, a low hiss escaped while he kissed your throat. Even through his boxers, you could feel how hard Jungkook was. How badly he wanted this; a need you returned.

The thought of him inside you made you frantic. Pushing Jungkook onto his back, you straddled his waist and rocked forward.

Jungkook lay underneath you, his hair a dark halo. Suddenly, you could feel water everywhere. Magic, everywhere – it was in you, around you, in Jungkook’s walls and molecules. Everything felt so utterly fragile, and your magic responded.

Ferocious, it strained at your self-crafted bonds. Realizing how precarious your grasp on control was, your emotions slipped into panic.

You had to leave. Now.

Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurted, scrambling off him. Bending for your pants, you pushed one leg through and hastily zipped. “I need to go.”

Jungkook stared, frozen in place. “I…” Shaking his head, he pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Stomach dropping, you roughly shook your head. Part of you ached to correct him but your magic was barely leashed, and you weren’t certain how much longer it’d hold.

Your magic wasn’t something you wanted Jungkook to see.

Frantically throwing on your shirt, you rushed towards his front door. His dog, Bam, whined from the couch and lifted his head as you passed. Yanking open his door, you escaped to the hall and downstairs. You heard Jungkook call after, but he didn’t follow, for which you were grateful.

Remembering his face broke your heart as you entered the subway. You kept your magic at bay until reaching your building, at which point rain swept the city in waves. Soaked through, you got in the elevator and saw Jungkook had texted. Shaking, you responded you’d talk to him tomorrow and turned off your phone.

Rain poured all night and you barely slept. By the time you woke, your mood had gotten worse. Work was torture. Even the lunch shift couldn’t save you, the looming specter of Jungkook impossible to forget. When Pierre showed up around one, you knew you were doomed. His glower could be felt all the way across the restaurant and no matter what you did, you somehow stayed in his way.

With little to no sleep and haunted by last night, the grip on your magic was tentative at best. Your entire shift, it hovered at the edge of your fingers. When Pierre commented you looked tired, the rain outside worsened. When a table of middle-aged men called you ‘girlie,’ their water glasses shook.

It was miraculous nothing happened until the end of your shift. That was the moment Pierre’s friends arrived, seating themselves at the table you gave away last night. One of them laughed as you poured them water, and you managed to push down your snide remark.

Glasses full, you turned around to go and the same one grabbed your waist.

You went still.

For so long, you’ve hidden your magic to protect others. You’ve kept them from hurting and there you were, broken, and no one cared about you. Just like no one cared about your dad, in the end. Teeth gritted, you whirled – and the entire water pitcher dumped itself at him.

At him, not on him.

You didn’t trip. Didn’t throw the water, although either would have been preferrable. Instead, the water leapt from the pitcher to slap the man in the face.

Horrified, you stared as reality sunk in. You had just assaulted a guest – a friend of Pierre’s, at that.

Shocked, the man wiped water down his visage. The entire restaurant fell silent, every eye in the room locked on you. Panic-stricken, you stammered an apology, flung a napkin on the table and fled into the kitchen.

The moment you crashed through the doors, you were hailed a hero. Izumi, your line cook, wistfully recalled the one time she punched a guy who grabbed her ass. Georgina added that once, she spit in the drink of a man who called her a bitch.

Both tactfully avoided the fact that you were an Elemental, which you appreciated. You were starting to feel marginally better – maybe you wouldn’tbe fired, after all – when the door to the kitchen swung open and Pierre stormed through. Seeing his face, your heart sank.

“You!” Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed. “Y/N – pack your things! You’re done here. Fired. You think you can insult my friend, pull some magic bullshit on him, and continue to work here? Fuck that. Get out – now!”

A pin could have been heard in the silence. Coming to your senses, you did exactly as asked and got your things. Pierre hadn’t mentioned pressing charges, and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.

Outside, you stood on the sidewalk and stared at the bus stop. Storm clouds brewed above, a visualization of your inner turmoil. Eventually, you turned and trudged down the subway.

Things had reached a point you couldn’t ignore anymore. You were beyond out of control. Emotions surged and strained against your internal walls, threatening everyone you held dear. The city didn’t deserve to be punished, even if no one within it knew of your sacrifice. Pierre’s friends were awful, but you could’ve just as easily lost your temper with someone you loved.

Someone like Jungkook, whom you couldn’t seem to be around without incident.

That was the reason most people feared Elementals. It was selfish of you to put your desires ahead of another person’s safety. The only way to protect someone you loved was to stay away.

Starting with Jungkook. You just wished he didn’t have to get hurt in order for that to happen.

Standing outside his building, you take a deep breath and press the buzzer. You wait for several long moments, wondering if he’s home and then –

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Leaning in, you press 316. “Hey. It’s me. Y/N.”

A weighted pause, and then –

“Come in.”

The door unlocks, and you push it inside. Climbing the steps to his place, your heart starts to pound. The last time you saw Jungkook, you were running away. The last text he sent was, ‘ok,’ in response to your message. If you were Jungkook, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see you.

Coming to a stop outside 316, you lift your hand and knock. A howl responds, followed by the patter of gigantic dog footsteps. Unable to stop your smile, you shake your head at the chaos.

“It’s just me, Bam!” you say, and he stops.

Bam’s howl is replaced with a whine and the sharp thwack-thwack of his tail on the door.

“Bam, out of the way,” Jungkook calls, his voice coming closer. A few seconds later, the door flies open to reveal your boyfriend.

You only catch a glimpse before Bam barrels out, nearly knocking you over. Legs and tail akimbo, he slobbers all over until you bend to pet him. Once satisfied, Bam turns around and trots back inside.

Silence falls between you, and you look up to see Jungkook. He’s dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt bought at a concert you attended. He hasn’t moved aside, blocking you from entering.

Uncertain, you straighten. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, he nods and moves. You walk past him, trying not to focus on the heat of his shoulder. This might be the last time you see Jungkook, so you try to focus on that. Not the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Hearing the door shut, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I can’t stay too long,” you admit, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

Jungkook regards you warily. His expression makes your chest ache, unused to him with such a stern expression. After last night, you suppose it’s earned. You should probably get used to it.

“Y/N.” His jaw works. “What’s going on?”

Deciding honesty is the best policy – up to a point – you force out your next words. “I think we should break up,” you say in a rush.

With a low whine, Bam slinks in the direction of the bedroom. Jungkook glances at him, distracted, before facing forward.

“What do you mean?” His head tilts. “Like, you want to take a break?”

Steeling yourself, you shake your head. “No. As in, I want to break up. Permanently.”

A train passes by the building, rumbling the floorboards underneath. Most people would avoid living in this building for that reason, but Jungkook was overjoyed by the prospect of discounted rent.

He doesn’t seem overjoyed now, though. Instead, he looks stricken.

“Walk me through this,” Jungkook says, walking closer. The set of his mouth has turned stubborn. “I don’t follow. Why are we breaking up again?”

The knot in your chest tightens. You should have known Jungkook wouldn’t make this easy on you. “We’re not good together,” you say, only to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m not good for you. I’m not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

He comes to a stop. “I can wait, Y/N. I don’t mind.”

Reaching for you, Jungkook’s brows crease when you take a step backwards. His hand falls between you, and he stares at the empty space. The crack in your heart widens, made worse by his silence.

“I mind, though,” you force yourself to say. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Jungkook. That’s not fair to either of us. It’s too much pressure.”

The words make your heart splinter, reaching a point you aren’t sure can be reassembled. Maybe the pieces will simply lodge in your muscle, bruising your insides each time you draw breath.

“I won’t pressure you,” Jungkook says, automatic. His frown deepens. “Tell me what this is really about, Y/N. Is this about sex? It’s fine if we don’t have it.” Stepping closer, he takes your hand and you let him. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

Somewhat manic, you shake your head – and then nod.

Sex is a part of the problem, but it’s not the root cause. Sex with Jungkook is unthinkable. You can barely remain in control when you kiss, let alone allow more. With your past partners, this wasn’t an issue, but your past partners weren’t Jungkook.

Never have you met someone able to scramble your thoughts with a kiss. Whose gaze melted inhibitions and tore down every wall. You have little doubt that with Jungkook, you’d lose full control, and the thought is terrifying. Already, your makeshift barriers are weakened.

Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Jungkook says, returning your attention to him. “What’s this about? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

He takes your other hand, and you realize how close he stands. “Is it work?” Jungkook asks, a crease between brows. “Is there… some reason you can’t quit? You can tell me, Y/N.”

An odd zing of disappointment goes through you. For a moment, you thought Jungkook had guessed your secret, and this could all be avoided. If Jungkook knew what you were and that you lied to him – well, he’d end things for you. Hesitant, you consider revealing that truth but can’t seem to form words. It would devastate you, seeing fear replace love in his eyes.

“Work isn’t the problem,” you say at last. “It’s us, Jungkook. Or – it’s me. I don’t want to be together anymore.”

Disbelief flashes across his expression, and you idly wonder what will happen if Jungkook refuses. Even as you think this though, his expression shifts. Jungkook takes a careful step backwards, dropping your hands entirely.

He’s never been good at hiding emotion. Jungkook is your opposite in that way, revealing every shift of thought and desire. You watch confusion become anger, then bitterness a moment before he turns away. The set of his shoulders is still, staring out the window as yet another train passes.

Restless, he turns to drag a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe you,” he declares. “This is so out of nowhere, Y/N. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything,” you say, panic rising. “And this isn’t out of nowhere! I’ve been telling you for months I need to take things slow and this – well, this is the opposite of slow, Jungkook!”

Jungkook stares back at you, heated. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the tension thick in between you. Eventually, you look away first and pull your bag tighter.

“Right,” you exhale. “Well, I should go –”

Striding forward, Jungkook reaches you to cup your face with both palms. Gently, he lifts your face towards him, and all thoughts cease completely. Gaze searching, his breath fans across your parted lips.

Jungkook’s gaze intensifies. “I don’t believe you,” he murmurs.

Adrenaline zips under your skin, stirring your magic into a deadly storm. Entire body tense, you suppress the urge to fight or flee. So often, you’re the one running but right now, you feel more compelled to fight.

A knife in you twists, knowing you’re a coward. If you were stronger, you could keep Jungkook. No matter how understanding he is, the fact remains that if he stays with you, Jungkook remains in danger. Each passing day only worsens the pain.

His face blurs. With a start of surprise, you realize there are tears on your cheeks. The furrow between Jungkook’s brows deepens, noticing as well.

“You’re not listening,” you blurt. “I can’t see you any longer, Jungkook. It’s in your best interest, I promise – I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

Reaching up, you remove his hands from your face and head for the door.

Jungkook follows close behind. “Which is it, then?” he demands. “You want me to go slowly, or you feel too much?”

Pressure weighs every inch of your skin, demanding you answer. Anything that comes out now will only make things harder. Reaching the door, you feel Jungkook’s hand on your shoulder. Caving, you don’t fight when Jungkook turns you to face him.

He’s too close to you. Too much and too close, his one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, his thumb strokes the elongated line of your throat. You swallow, hard, and his gaze follows the motion.

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to yours. “You keep saying you’re no good for me,” he says, his voice low. “But what if I don’t care? Don’t I get a say in this decision?”

The force of holding in your magic worsens, becoming near impossible. Hastily built walls threaten to collapse, and reality blurs between one moment and the next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, your hand searching behind you. “I have to go.”

Finding the doorknob, you twist and stumble backwards. Jungkook watches you go, the look on his face physically painful as you turn around. Each second that follows is pure concentration, trying not to break before getting outside.

The ocean is only a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment.

Reaching the harbor, rain pelts your face in a way that feels punishing. Magic makes your limbs tremble, escaping your body in wisps of fog and rain. The moment you arrive at the harbor, you shatter, collapsing forward to grip your knees with both hands.

Eyes pressed tightly shut, you hear the storm howl. Waves churn the harbor, sloshing over the sidewalk in an attempt to get closer. No tidal waves, you plead in an attempt at reason. No whirlpools, no water spouts.

Your magic listens in this regard, at least. By the time your eyes open, a curtain of rain mingles with tears on your cheeks. Staring out at the ocean, each inch of your body is numb.

Jungkook will never forgive you for this.

The thought banishes all the rest. You can’t say that you blame him. Slowly, you exhale as you lift your gaze. The chasm in your chest widens, becoming something unbreachable. This is all your fault. You wish there was some satisfaction in knowing this, but there isn’t.

Eventually, the rain dulls, and you push yourself upright. Your sneakers squish with every step, the silence all-encompassing as you ride on the subway. Entering the building, you remove your shoes and collapse on your bed, fully clothed. Thankfully, your roommate isn’t home, so you aren’t forced to explain the events of tonight. Seokjin would have wanted to discuss, and you aren’t sure you can without breaking down.

Burrowing your face into the pillows, you manage to cry yourself asleep. Rain doesn’t let up the entire night.

“Tell me again.” Taking a seat at the table, Seokjin spoons yogurt and berries into his mouth. “Why did you have to end things with your boyfriend?”

Cracking open one eye, you glare from where you sit, slumped forward. “You know why, Seokjin,” you grumble. “Not all of us can be air Elementals in perfect control of their magic.”

“You could be, though,” he says, pointing with his spoon. “If you put in like, five seconds of training and embraced your water powers instead of running away whenever things got bad.”

“I am not running.”

“No.” Seokjin lifts a brow. “You’re cowering, which is far less attractive.”

“I’m not cowering, either.” Scowling, you bury your head deeper into your arms. “I’m wallowing. Big difference.”

Scoffing, his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl. Pushing his chair back to stand, Seokjin heads for the sink and turns on the tap. The water itches a spot deep in your chest, almost taunting.

“I can’t be too hard on you, though,” Seokjin says as he cleans. “You did get fired and dumped in one day – that’s pretty rough.”

“Does it count as being dumped if I did the dumping?”

“I’ll allow it.” He opens the dishwasher. “But only because really, you didn’t want to break up with Jungkook. You’ve just convinced yourself the world is better off without you – something I highly disagree with, by the way, but can’t fault you for feeling. It’s too sad.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, and close your eyes.

Two days have gone by since your decision to end your relationship with Jungkook. It hasn’t been great, to put things mildly. On Monday, you barely left your room and rain poured from the sky. When you did enter the kitchen, the weather person on Channel 9 predicted local flooding.

Seokjin arrived from his business trip that night, took one look at your face and helped stop the storm. You sagged with relief, falling into a fitful round of sleep that only lasted three hours.

Seokjin is one of the few Elementals you know who embraces their power. Both his parents are air Elementals, and he was raised to take over their magical consulting business. Said business does well, leading Seokjin to own a gorgeous, three-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. He got bored last winter, decided to post for a roommate and here you are. One of the few people in the city willing to room with an Elemental.

You don’t care what Seokjin does with his magic, although his laissez-faire attitude can occasionally be unnerving. You’ve lived your entire life with the assumption your existence is dangerous. All you need is a quick Google search to reinforce this fact. But then there’s Seokjin, living his life, seemingly none the worse for the wear.

He discovered your powers about a month into rooming together. Coming back from a trip, Seokjin opened the door to stare, slack-jawed, as plates washed themselves in the sink. Glancing up from your book at the table, you immediately sent two dishes crashing onto the floor.

Seokjin stared at this for a moment, then looked up. “You owe me new plates,” he declared and walked into his bedroom. After a moment, he popped his head out. “Hey – you think if we combined my wind and your water, we could create a waterspout but on land?”

“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”

“Right.” He slapped the doorframe once and disappeared. “Well, something to think about!”

Months later, Seokjin still doesn’t understand your avoidance of magic, but respects the decision enough to leave it alone. At least, until something like this happens and he’s again at a loss.

“Listen.”

Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”

Seokjin raises both hands. “Nothing, nothing. Far be it from me to comment on your mistakes. I’m sorry – did I say mistakes? I meant, ‘learned life experience.’ Through mistakes.”

“Was there a question in all that?”

“No question.” Loosely, he gestures. “Just wanted to say you can stay here, rent-free, until you figure this out. You know I’m only taking your money because you insist. I don’t need it. This place is already paid for.”

“Only because you frightened the seller so badly, they cut the price in half.”

“Listen.” Seokjin’s smile turns slightly sinister. “If they were willing to let their ingrained fear of Elementals influence their selling point, that’s on them. Not me.”

“Fair enough,” you sigh and sit back. “But seriously – thank you. This will give me some time to come up with a plan.”

Seokjin nods, tracing the rim of his coffee. Absently, he glances down the hall at the empty third bedroom. “You know…”

“No,” you say, automatic.

His right brow lifts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest I use this time off to work on my art.”

“Okay.” Seokjin shrugs. “Maybe you did know. But seriously, Y/N – why not?”

Weary, you exhale. “Because every time I try to paint, I get this… block. I can’t explain it. Watercolors used to be the one place I felt comfortable using my magic. Now… I don’t know. I can’t seem to use my magic anywhere. Even my art.”

Seokjin tilts his head, thoughtful. “How long has this been going on?”

“Don’t know – a few months?”

“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”

Staring at Seokjin, you realize he’s right. That’s exactly around when you began dating Jungkook. The block happened not long after. Thinking about the early days of dating are painful though, and so you choose not to.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you declare with a shake of your head. “Right now, what I need is a job. And to earn money. Preferably in that order.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “Let me know if the order changes. I know a guy.”

Before you can consider his offer too seriously, your phone rings on the table. Glancing down, your heart constricts at your mom’s name. It isn’t that you don’t want to talk. It’s that if you do, Jungkook’s name will come up, and you’ll be forced to explain why you two aren’t together. Right now, you’re managing to cope by avoiding the topic. You aren’t sure what will happen if you’re forced to confront it.

Not to mention the very real possibility your mom will be happy. She liked Jungkook, but she always worries whenever someone new enters your life.

Also glancing at your phone, Seokjin scowls. “Don’t answer it,” he says, walking past. “Whenever you talk to your mom, things get even worse.”

Seokjin’s not wrong. Your mom means well – really, she does – but talking to her tends to leave you exhausted. Still, you know from experience it’s better to answer now.

“I know,” you sigh and stand up. “But if I don’t pick up now, she’ll just keep calling. Hey,” you say, pressing answer. “One second, mom.”

Ignoring Seokjin’s sad shake of his head, you scoop up your coffee and head for your bedroom.

Closing the door to your room, you lean backwards. “Hi, mom,” you say, lifting your phone to your ear. “Sorry about that. I was eating breakfast. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” your mom says, and you can practically hear her smile. “Same old, same old. The better question is, how are you? I saw on the weather there’s some flooding by you. Hope you’re alright!”

Grimacing, you move the phone to speaker. You should have known your mom would check in. Reading between the lines of her question, you can hear what she’s really asking. Your mom wants to know if you caused the flooding – an answer which is undeniably yes, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Setting down your half-empty mug, you flop face-first on your bed. Less information tends to be more with your mom. You’re debating what to say when she solves the problem for you.

“I know you haven’t had a slip in years,” she continues. “But if there’s another water Elemental in town, you should try to steer clear of them! Being around them could set you off – that’s what happened to Becky’s nephew, she said.”

Fighting an eye roll, you roll on your back. Becky Mayweather is your mom’s best friend in the entire world and one of your least favorite people. She’s the type to bake cookies, offer a shoulder to cry on – and then promptly turn and gossip to the neighbors about it. She fancies herself an Elemental expert because a few of her friends married them. Funnily enough, neither you nor your mom have met these friends in person.

“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”

“It’s true! You know that I worry, Y/N. All alone in the city with another Elemental for a roommate…”

Annoyance spikes in your stomach. “His name is Seokjin, and I’m an Elemental too, mom. His mom could say the same thing about me.”

Seokjin’s mom could be saying that, but she wouldn’t because Seokjin’s mom and dad are both magic enthusiasts. The few times you met them, they were nothing but kind.

“Oh, Y/N.” Your mom sighs. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Watch your tone,” she says. “I’m only telling the truth. You work hard on controlling your magic. Your roommate, on the other hand, uses his magic willy-nilly. In broad daylight! You two couldn’t be more different.”

Your mom isn’t wrong about that, although not for the reason she thinks. Seokjin does use his magic freely, but you’re the one at risk of hurting others – not him.

“Seokjin is a good guy,” you say tightly. “He’s letting me stay here, rent-free, while I search for another job.”

“Another job?” Her voice pitches. “What happened to the job at that restaurant?”

Cursing yourself for your own stupidity, you close your eyes. “Um… I was let go. Difference of opinions with management.”

“Oh. Well. That’s too bad, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s probably for the best – you don’t want to be working for someone you don’t respect, right?”

Some of your anger lessens at her genuine sympathy. It’d be easy to paint your mom as the villain but truthfully, she comes from a good place. You know that she loves you; she just doesn’t want to lose you the same way she lost your dad.

Exhaling deeply, you reach to grab a pillow. “I’ve been trying to paint,” you say. “It hasn’t been going well.”

“No?”

You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admit.

“Well…” Your mom draws the word out. “We always knew art was a risky hobby, Y/N. Painting. With watercolors. Something could easily go wrong and put you in danger.”

“I know, mom.”

“Actually,” she adds, her excitement growing. “Maybe this is a sign. Y/N – what if this means your powers are weakening?”

Your entire body goes still. “What?”

“Yes!” she says, oblivious to the panic in your voice. “You always loved watercolors because they made sense to you, right? Because of your… well, magic. What if a block means your powers are growing weaker? I wonder if other Elementals ever lose touch with their magic. I’ll have to ask Becky.”

Irrational anger surges within, and you hear the faucet in your bathroom turn on. Hastily, you work to turn it back off.

“You don’t need to do that,” you blurt. “I’ll research it myself. Actually, I should get going – I wanted to apply for some jobs this morning.”

“Oh, yes – good call, honey. You go and apply. Let me know if you need help. Becky has connections with the local university. I’m sure someone could help you update your resume – or even apply, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Thanks,” you say, although it absolutely does not. “That’s a nice offer.”

“Have a good day, honey – I love you!”

“Love you, too,” you say before hanging up.

Dropping the phone onto your bed, you hug your pillow tightly. It takes several long minutes to relax, wading your way through an anxious sea of thought. Although your mom means well, conversations with her tend to leave you feeling drained. Since you were young, it’s felt like your mom has an idea of the perfect child, and they aren’t you.

Eventually, you stand to bring your mug to the kitchen. Seokjin is busy making another pot of coffee, the delicious scent wafting overhead.

Passing him by, you eye this warily. “Isn’t that your third pot this morning?”

“And?” Seokjin reaches for his mug. “You’ve had three cups yourself.”

“Touché,” you sigh, collapsing on the couch.

Minutes later, Seokjin enters the living room and hands you a mug.

Staring into the drink, you say, “Thanks.”

Settling onto the sofa, Seokjin examines you over the rim of his coffee. You ignore him, taking a long sip of your drink. A summer breeze wafts through the window, and with a flick of his wrist, Seokjin sends it back out.

A stab of envy goes through you, although you know it’s irrational. Seokjin always makes magic look easy, but you’ve never found it to be so. Maybe when you were younger, before the crippling fear and anxiety had a chance to set in. The only time magic ever felt normal was when you painted and now, you can’t even do that.

Thinking about painting makes you think about Jungkook though, causing the dull thud in your chest to become a sledgehammer. You miss him. Miss the easy way Jungkook made you laugh. How he insisted on constantly touching some part of your body.

Cupping your mug of coffee, you take another sip and sink into the sadness.

“Far be it from me to dole out advice.” Seokjin interrupts your tiny pity party. “But I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”

Too exhausted to argue, you merely exhale. “What’s the right way, then?”

His head tilts. “I don’t know. But I find it weird your block appeared around the same time you started dating Jungkook. You’ve…” Seokjin hesitates, and you recognize his how-do-I-put-this-delicately face. “You’ve given up a lot over the years, Y/N. Maybe this time, you gave up more of yourself than you realized.”

Silently, you wonder whether he’s right. For too long, you’ve gone through the motions of life without really living. Too scared of letting people in, scaring them off, of being yourself. Perhaps giving up Jungkook will be the final straw. The thought doesn’t comfort you, and you have no response.

After a moment, Seokjin turns on the TV. The morning slips by, though you can’t help but think about his earlier comments – could you control your magic if you tried harder? The moment you think this, you instantly banish the thought. You’ve been attempting for months, and nothing has worked.

With this cheery thought, you allow yourself to sink further into melancholy. Only this time, the water rushing overheard isn’t your friend. You aren’t sure it ever was.

Wednesday morning, you leave the apartment in a haze. You thought that by today, things would be better but if anything, the situation seems to be worse.

Missing Jungkook is painful.

It hurts more than you thought, which might sound stupid, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When you and Elliot broke up, it was sad, but you knew it was for the best and that lessened some of the pain. Now though, each beat of your heart prevents the wound from closing. A tentative scab in one second, only to be torn open the next.

Jungkook always sent you good morning texts. Not because he was up before you, but because he went to bed so late, it was only an hour or two before you awoke. His words were the first thing you read in the morning, smiling sleepily at his rambling. Sometimes, Jungkook would include a late-night snack recipe. Always, he’d end with something he liked about you.

His silence is deafening. Something not even your favorite coffee shop can fix, although you try. Standing in line, you aimlessly flip through songs on your phone. Today, you promised Seokjin you’d attend at least two interviews. The first one is in an hour at a sushi restaurant. Before then, you plan to load up on caffeine and organize your thoughts.

When the line moves forward, you flip to your messages. No new texts. Unsurprising, but it rends the scab in your heart anew.

Facing forward, you remove an earbud to order. “Hi,” you say, mustering a smile. “I’ll have an iced americano with rose syrup.”

“Got it.” The barista barely looks up. “That all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want a receipt?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.” She nods. “That’ll be ready soon at the end of the counter.”

Nodding your thanks, you replace the ear pod. Cranking your music louder, you wait for your coffee and lean against the counter. The coffee shop is tiny, empty for a weekday after the morning rush. Aimless, you glance over the clustered tables.

Your thoughts are on Jungkook before they can be stopped. You wonder what he's doing, what he’s wearing, whether he’s blocked your number yet from his phone.

A talented graphic designer, Jungkook works mostly on commission and on his own time. He does well for himself – enough to afford rent on his own place. Your mutual creative streak was something you had in common. Not your sleeping hours, that’s for sure.

Jungkook usually slept until nine or ten, then went to the gym before he made breakfast. You used to tease him about that, saying he couldn’t call it breakfast if –

Your heart falters. Jungkook must be on your mind since you seem to have hallucinated him here, at the coffee shop. You blink once, and then twice, but the mirage doesn’t fade, and you’re forced to conclude Jungkook is actually here.

Unfolding himself from a chair, he heads in your direction. Panicked, you glance at the counter, then back up. Your coffee hasn’t finished, which means that you’re trapped. Straightening, you do your best to seem natural and are certain you fail. Jungkook doesn’t just look natural, he is so as he approaches. At least, until you notice his hands in his pockets.

Jungkook does this when he’s nervous. Likely, he’s playing with the inside pocket lining. It hurts, knowing him so well, and not being his. When Jungkook comes to a stop, you stand mere inches apart.

“Jungkook,” you say, his name punched from your diaphragm.

He nods. “Hey.”

Uncertain, you glance down at the counter to check for your drink. Still nothing and, looking back, you tilt your head. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s hands go deeper, if possible. “Getting coffee. Is that allowed?”

Your lips press together. “Sure. Theoretically, you can get coffee. What I’m asking though, is why you chose this coffee shop, five blocks away from your place. Usually, you’re not awake before noon.”

His expression is inscrutable. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

The silence between you lengthens, and not in a good way. You know why you’re quiet but can’t tell what Jungkook is thinking. You suppose that it’s possible he woke up early, forgot this was your favorite shop and went on a long walk for coffee – it’s possible, but unlikely.

At last, Jungkook exhales. “Alright, fine. I wanted to see you.”

“Y/N?”

Both of you turn at the sound of your name. Glancing between the two of you, the barista seems to pick up a weird vibe, dropping the cup to hurry away. Grateful for the interruption, you reach for your coffee and attempt to reset.

It’s not fair of Jungkook, corning you like this. You were already forced to end this once – unfair, making you do so again. Breaking up with him once was barely possible; twice is unthinkable.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?”

His voice interrupts your train of thought and, gripping your drink tightly, you turn.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like, I don’t know.” His brow furrows, frustration obvious. “Anything, Y/N.”

Behind the counter, the barista fills a tea kettle to set this on the stove. You watch it instead of Jungkook, unsure how you’re going to do this again. The pressure of the water boiling is near tangible, mimicking the internal state of your mind.

Biting your tongue, you decide a safe exit is best. Jungkook will get the hint without you being forced to break his heart. Counting backwards from ten, you exhale and attempt to walk past.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” you say in a murmur.

You’re nearly past Jungkook when you hear a soft swear. Only one more step happens before his hand grips your elbow.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook breathes, turning you towards him.

Your gaze lifts and you start at his obvious pain. Staring back, Jungkook searches your face for something unspoken. Whatever he seeks, he must find it, since determination enters his.

You tear your gaze away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”

“I want to know if you were serious about breaking up.”

He’s still holding your elbow.

You must notice this at the same time, but neither of you move. Your gaze returns to his, drawn like a magnet and you realize your mistake when you can’t look away. Romeo’s line about Julie being the sun comes to mind, making sudden sense. You orbit around Jungkook, whether you like it or not.

In the background, a tea kettle whistles. “I meant what I said, Jungkook,” you say, forcing yourself to speak first. “I’m not good for you.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “But why,” he demands, frustration seeping through. You can hear in his voice the long nights of desperation, of little sleep in your absence. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Y/N. What did I do?”

A chasm in your chest opens, hating how easily he jumps to self-doubt. Before you can think better of it, you move closer.

“Nothing,” you say, one hand on his arm. “You did nothing wrong, Jungkook. I’m just not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

“But why not?” His gaze sharpens. “Everything was fine between us until Sunday.”

“Everything was not fine.”

Jungkook pauses, then barrels on. “When you say you can’t be in a relationship… what you’re really saying is you can’t be in a relationship with me.”

“With anyone,” you correct, although you aren’t sure that’s the truth.

Your magic has never been this temperamental. Possibly because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love. Dating someone not Jungkook would be safer, but the thought is abhorrent.

If you can’t have Jungkook, you don’t want anyone. That will be your punishment. Jungkook will move on, fall in love, and be happy with another person. Not you. No one else will compare, and if you can’t now, you doubt you’ll move past this crippling fear.

“You keep telling me that,” Jungkook says, growing heated. “But I’m the one you’re breaking up with, so it’s a little bit about me. You need to give me something, Y/N. Is this about your past? I know you don’t like to talk about your childhood, but I want to know.”

A loud buzzing fills your ears, gaze darting around. You haven’t told Jungkook much about your family, not wanting to invite questions about being an Elemental. The thought of him guessing sparks panic again, and the tea kettle on the stove whistles louder.

“People in my past hurt me,” you say in a rush. Magic itches beneath your skin, begging for escape. “That’s part of it, but not all.”

“What’s all, then?”

Frustration seeps past the wall, and several things happen. Your magic lashes out, a loud noise makes you jump, and the tea kettle shatters while hitting the floor. Water sloshes across the tile, steam hissing as the barista jumps back with a yelp.

Startled, you whirl around. One barista turns off the stove, another grabs a towel while a third finds a broom. Luckily, none of them seem injured – the tea kettle missed their skin. Taking a half-step towards them, you force yourself to stop. Although you want to help, that might make you seem guilty.

Already, the guilt within you is rising. You felt your magic overpowering you and chose to stay. If a barista had been hurt, it would’ve been your fault.

Turning back, you find Jungkook staring at the mess. He looks similarly shocked, twisting the knife in your gut. If he knew you caused this, he’d look at you that differently.

“You see?” you blurt, and he glances in your direction. “Everyone around me gets hurt. I can’t hurt you, too, Jungkook.”

Shoving open the door, you’re halfway outside when his words reach your ears.

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he says softly. “You already have.”

The door shuts behind you, and you almost make it home before starting to cry. The skies open again above the city.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” you mutter, staring through the window.

The slightly dilapidated Ramen-rama tables stare back at you until the owner walks past. Catching you standing there, he motions you on.

Somewhat chagrined, you trudge down the sidewalk. Reaching a playground two blocks away, you collapse on a bench and attempt to be rational. Four different interviews. Spread across two different days. Each one ending the exact same.

One crappy interview, even two, and you’d understand. But four crappy interviews in the same way? Something weird is happening. Each interview, you arrived, greeted the owner, answered a few questions, and were thus informed the position was filled.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t gotten a job. It was that your interviewers seemed nervous, staring hard at your resume and never your face. They seemed relieved when you left, as though you were liable to break something for fun.

“Hey. Did you interview this morning at Ramen-rama?”

Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.

You don’t recognize him; certainly you’d remember if you met before. Dressed in a Ramen-rama t-shirt, his dark hair is gathered in a bun on his head. His hair makes your chest ache, since Jungkook used to wear his like that.

“Um, yeah,” you say, yanking yourself from your daydreams.

He smiles and nods. “I thought that was you. Listen – I overheard the manager talking this morning on the phone while I was unloading the truck. I think he was talking about you, so I thought I should tell you what I overheard.”

Concerned, you straighten. “Uh, okay. What was he saying?”

“He was talking to your old boss – Pierre? Apparently, he’s calling around and warning people not to hire you. Said that you stole from him, or something. Not sure if it’s the same story for everyone, or if he’s making up shit up in the moment.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” The guy’s smile turns wry. “I’m assuming none of it’s true. You don’t look like the thieving type, but the boss is running a business, I guess. Can’t be too careful.”

“Right.” You pause, then shake your head. “I didn’t steal, just so you know. A guest was an ass to me, so I dumped water on him – on accident,” you add.

Laughing loudly, the guy clutches his bicycle. “Wow, I’d love to hear that story. Especially the part about it being an accident,” he adds with a wink, sticking out his hand. “I’m Wooyoung.”

“Y/N,” you say as you shake. “So. Pierre is calling people?”

Brow furrowed, Wooyoung pulls back. “Yeah. Sorry I had to tell you like this. Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to know, but figured I should.”

You push yourself to stand. “I do appreciate it. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.” Sheepish, he glances down the road. “I should actually get back if I don’t want to lose my job. Delivery,” he explains, nodding towards his bike. “Need the extra income.”

“Makes sense,” you say, forcing a smile. “Good luck.”

Wooyoung nods, then pauses in a way that feels familiar. He’s checking you out, you realize after a moment. Although flattering, it’s instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Wooyoung is cute and in another life, you’d say yes, but in every life, it’s hard not to want Jungkook.

Waving goodbye, Wooyoung climbs onto his bike and takes off. You head in the opposite direction, needing to put distance between you and Ramen-rama. If Pierre is shit-talking you across town, you’ll be hard-pressed to find another job at a restaurant. Owners are notoriously clicky and for how many restaurants there are, there are surprisingly few out of the loop.

Maybe you can ask the coffee shop if they’re hiring. Although you should probably avoid work with water for a bit. This drops your mood, your thoughts turning desperate. You’re so deep in an anxiety spiral, you nearly run into an open door on the sidewalk.

Jerking upright, you stare at faded, golden letters. Creative Courage is spelled in looping cursive over a frosted window. Art supplies fill a display case, while the other is clustered with art of all kinds. You spot sculpture, pottery, painting, and sketches before losing count.

Before you can chicken out, you push open the door.

Stepping in, tiny bells chime to announce your arrival. Soft, ambient light fills the space – a shop that’s two-fold, you realize now that you’re inside. The front sells art supplies while in the back stands a classroom. There’s a class in session now, several artists seated on stools before easels.

“Can I help you?” someone asks, stepping into your path.

Blinking, you focus. “Um, no – thank you! I was just looking.”

“Of course!” The woman beams, reaching up to arrange a clip in magenta hair. “That’s what we’re here for. If you do change your mind, let me know – we’ve got art supplies out front, and classes are held daily in back.”

“Classes?”

“Mhm.” Crossing her arms, the woman nods. “Mostly still life and figure drawing, but we’re hoping to add some more soon. Are you an artist?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

Immediately, you stiffen. “No. At least, not right now.”

Her lips twitch. “Not sure it works like that, unfortunately. Who you are can’t come on and off like a jacket. I like that, though,” she admits with a laugh. “Might borrow it the next time the muses aren’t singing.”

You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”

Her head tilts, surveying you with unnerving intensity. “My name is Taryn. I co-own this place with my partner, Micah. They’re the one teaching right now.”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat wistful. “That’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Her smile widens. “So, what was your preferred medium? You know, ‘back when’ you were an artist.”

You can’t help but laugh when Taryn lifts her hands to use air quotes. Some people have a way of making you feel included in their jokes, and Taryn is one of them. She teases you in a conspiratorial way, letting you know she understands. People often call art a labor of love, which can be true but more often, it’s a complicated tangle of love, pain and frustration.

“Watercolors,” you admit. “And my name is Y/N.”

Her eyes brighten. “We’ve been meaning to add a watercolor class for ages. Some of our regulars have asked, but Micah and I are both hopeless. Potter,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And Micah prefers charcoal. Sometimes sculpture.”

“Wow,” you say. “Those are very different.”

“You don’t say.” Taryn laughs. “Micah likes to keep things fresh. What about you? Have you ever taught be– hang on,” she blurts, her eyes going wide. “Did you say that your name is Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N?”

Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Whirling, Taryn hustles through the front room to duck behind a counter. Digging through several drawers, she pulls out a print to hurry back.

“Is this you?” she demands, thrusting this in your face.

Even cross-eyed and close, you recognize your most popular work. A watercolor series on the majesty and destruction of sea storms. Looking at this makes you feel raw, and so you look up.

“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”

Pulling back, Taryn looks at the print reverently. “You’re amazing. Micah was trying to do something similar but couldn’t capture the right feeling.”

Shuffling awkwardly, you shrug. You’ve never felt as though your work deserved acclaim, although it’s nice to know the series resonated with others. One of your favorite aspects of art is how it can be intensely personal but once shared, takes on a universal quality. You find it constantly surprising; how many people seem to share the same burdens.

“Seriously.” Taryn shakes her head wryly. “If you ever wanted to teach a class, let me know. We’d be lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing both hands in your pockets.

You hadn’t realized your desperation was obvious. Or possibly Taryn is just incredibly good at reading others. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you stepped foot in the art world. Even before dating Jungkook, you felt your passion lagging. It’s been a long time since you wanted to connect with your inner voice, although merely the act of being here calls the tide in your blood.

Dangerous.

Recognizing this, you reinforce an inner wall. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m not really looking for something right now.”

Taryn nods. “Sure. If things change though, just let me know – before next week,” she adds. “We try to publish our class schedule on the first of each month.”

“Will do. Thanks, again.”

“Anytime!” Beaming, Taryn spins to restock the next shelf.

Realizing your conversation is finished, you continue down the next aisle. The shop’s materials are superb, and your fingers are itching to reach out and touch. Reaching the front, you notice a quote painted over the register: Creativity takes courage – Henry Matisse.

You stare at this for a while, unsure why it hurts. Courage isn’t something you’ve thought about in a long time. When you were younger, you pushed people away because it was safe, but now you find yourself wondering who was that for – others? Or yourself?

Maybe the reason you keep yourself separate is because you are afraid people might leave you. Like Katrina. Or Elliot. Or even your dad.

Suppressing magic was hard at the start. Everything about it felt counter-intuitive but you reasoned doing the right thing often took effort. This is what you told yourself, anyways. It made said effort more bearable.

When you first began painting, the relief you felt was immense. After so long spent ignoring your emotions, you found a space to be free. Your series about the sea was oddly therapeutic, working through complicated emotions; your love for the ocean, coupled with fear of its wild beauty. Similar clashes within yourself about magic. And always, always, the desire for more.

For a few hours though, those feelings could be a part of you. Magic could be a part of you, so long as you remained in control – and with brush in hand, you were.

Only now does it occur to you that maybe, this wasn’t healthy. Maybe you shouldn’t feel the need to compartmentalize, as though certain pieces of yourself can only exist in certain spaces.

Tearing your gaze from the words, you exit the shop and gently shut the door. Pulling your jacket tighter, you head down the sidewalk and let your thoughts drift. Jungkook only saw you paint once, but the memory is hard to forget.

You had just started dating, barely past the stage of calling him ‘boyfriend.’ The constant influx of emotion was difficult to manage, and after a few weeks, you were exhausted. Most of your time spent without Jungkook was seated before your canvas. After one particularly frustrating session, you set down your paint to stubbornly stare at the canvas.

A throat cleared from behind.

Startled, you spun and found Jungkook standing there. His gaze moved quickly to yours, but you realized he’d been staring at your half-finished work. Normally, you felt panic at the thought of someone seeing a work in progress. That night though, the look on Jungkook’s face eased your concerns. Awe; pure and clear.

Yanking down giant, over-ear headphones, you hastily stood.

Jungkook lurched forward. “No!” he blurted, only to halt. “I mean – you don’t have to cover the painting. I liked it.”

He seemed flustered, which made you slightly flustered, but you took a slow step sideways. Eager, Jungkook’s gaze traversed the canvas.

Eventually, he looked back. “Sorry about that,” Jungkook said and walked closer. Warm hands found your waist. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How did you get in?” you laughed, burying your face in his chest.

“Seokjin.” He paused. “Did he not say I was here? I texted you a half hour ago, but you didn’t respond. I figured I’d stop by, and Seokjin said to come up.”

Softening, you made a mental note to chastise Seokjin later. Tightening your arms, you lifted your head and smiled.

“So.” Jungkook glanced over your shoulder. “This is you.”

This sent a thrill down your spine. He spoke as though he’d known you before, but only on a surface level and now, he understood. Jungkook knew your art was part of you, as much as your heart or your soul. You had often felt the same, but never said so out loud.

Magic swelled, and you pushed it back down, but it was difficult. When Jungkook bent his head, you forgot to be scared and let yourself feel. The brush of his lips. The tightening of his hands. The current within you, swelling against your highest walls.

Loudly, someone knocked on the door. Breathless, you jerked backwards and found Seokjin in the door.

“Hey.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Wanted to let you know our dishwasher broke. Flooded the kitchen.” Pointed, Seokjin looked at you. “Everything is all good, but I’m calling a plumber tomorrow. Carry on.”

In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly ended the evening and sent Jungkook home.

Remembering how the night ended, you stifle a groan and walk faster. Once more, you couldn’t control your magic and put Jungkook in danger. Hardly the creative courage Henry Matisse imagined.

You always assumed suppressing your magic was the best choice. But the best choice for who? Certainly not for you, who lives isolated, inert and in fear of yourself. Your dad used to call your magic a gift, but it’s been a long time since you felt that way.

This memory brings with it a sharp stab of pain. Since your dad passed, fear has replaced any joy your magic brought. Fear of falling victim to the same fate he did. Of others’ rejection. Of failing to live up to your father’s example.

You have little doubt that if your dad could see you now, he’d be confused by your actions.

You push others away in the name of saving them. Again, you think of Jungkook and for once you allow it. The entire way home, you wish that he’d call.

He doesn’t though and eventually, you stop hoping.

By Friday, the threads keeping your feelings at bay are nearly worn through. Intrusive thoughts push against fragile bonds, threatening the haven you’ve carefully crafted.

With more force than needed, you toss clothing into the washer. Your usual laundromat was closed, forcing you to walk five blocks to the next one. Sweaty from suddenly sweltering temperatures, your arms sore from the hamper, the situation does nothing to improve an already crappy mood.

Wiping your forehead with one arm, you slam the door and press start. The machine whirs to life, laundry tumbling in a way reminiscent of your inner turmoil. Up, you did the right thing by ending it with Jungkook. He’ll swiftly move on and find someone else. Down – but you don’t want him to find someone else. You want him to find you.

Teeth gritted, you turn and grab your hamper from the floor. Placing this on the washer, you wearily tug your cell phone from your pocket. By the time you walked home, you’d have to come back, leaving you with forty minutes to kill. You could read more of the book you just started. Or submit your resume to a couple of restaurants.

After yesterday’s disaster at Ramen-rama though, the interview process has stalled. Instead, you’ve found yourself thinking more about Creative Courage. For a brief moment, you even walked into the third bedroom to paint.

You immediately walked back out again, but merely the act was more than you’ve done in months. The thought of creation brought mostly panic, since it’d involve you being honest. Something you haven’t been with yourself in a while.

Because if you were honest, you know what you’d find. You would regret breaking up with Jungkook. Maybe even find that, deep down, you want to be selfish. You want to keep dating him, even if Jungkook gets hurt in the end.

After all, you saw what loving an Elemental did to your mom.

Putting down your phone, you scan the laundromat and find your gaze catching on the person in the next aisle.

No. No, no, no – absolutely not.

The universe – or whoever’s writing your story – must be cruel and unusual, since standing beside you is Jungkook. You’d recognize his head anywhere. Straightening from his hamper, Jungkook turns to face you and goes still.

Eyes wide, he seems stunned until someone slams shut their dryer. Both of you jump, breaking eye contact and time seems to reset. Pressing start on his machine, Jungkook grabs his gym bag and hoists it over one shoulder. He strides towards the exit, halfway there when you spring into action.

Dashing towards him, you cut him off at the dryers. Footsteps slowing, Jungkook meets your gaze with visible confusion.

“Sorry,” he says, tugging his gym bag behind him. The thick, grey strap of it cuts across his hoodie. “I was just leaving. I can come back later if you want to finish your load.”

Again, he tries to move past you, but something inside of you snaps. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but somehow, find your hand gripping his sleeve.

Startled, Jungkook stares.

Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”

Head spinning, all your words seem to fly out the window. Nothing about this was planned. You have no idea what to tell Jungkook besides I’m sorry, and even this would be woefully inadequate without explanation. Which you can’t give.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” you say at last.

A singular brow lifts. “No? You didn’t seem to think that way on Wednesday.”

You suppress a wince, although you try your best to hide it. “I know,” you admit. “It’s just… this is your usual laundromat. I don’t want you to leave because of me. I wouldn’t even be here, expect the one near me is broken and –”

“Got it,” he interrupts, the words tight. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.”

Swallowing hard, you stare down at your shoes. You know you deserve this, but it’s just so hard to see Jungkook hurting. He deserves to be happy, not wasting his energy on hating you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your eyes start to burn, and you squeeze them shut to prevent a reaction. You absolutely cannot cry in front of Jungkook. Not when you’re the one who started this; the very last thing you want him to feel for you is pity.

“Hey.” Something in his tone shifts, and you hear Jungkook step closer. When you open your eyes, he watches you intently. “What’s wrong?”

A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.

Anyone else could have asked those words, and you would have been able to answer. For Jungkook to do so is unthinkable. You’re the one who ruined this. The one who hurt him, who ended this and still, Jungkook is concerned about your well-being.

“I was fired on Sunday,” you say in a rush. “Before I came to see you.”

He blinks only once before his face hardens. “Before you broke up with me, you mean.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, Jungkook glances away. His expression is taut, and you feel a sharp pang of envy. It’s so easy to read Jungkook. You’ve spent so long hiding your emotions, it strikes you as luxurious how easily he feels.

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Y/N,” Jungkook says, turning back. “What are you doing?”

“What… do you mean?”

Fear spikes your heart, wondering if Jungkook has finally pieced the facts together. Maybe he saw more than you realized at the coffee shop. Maybe he finally knows what you are.

“Why are you… torturing me?” he clarifies, a slight rasp to his voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were fired? That sucks, but it doesn’t make this okay. It doesn’t make us okay,” he adds, gesturing to the air between you.

“I – I know,” you stammer, nearly blurting out something you’ll regret.

Like that you’re an Elemental teetering close to the edge. One who can feel every pipe, every spin cycle within the walls of this laundromat. All of them churning, pulsing, begging for your magic to release the water inside.

“You know?” Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. “Again, Y/N – what do you want from me?”

Since you started talking, you’ve moved several steps closer. Another breath, another reach and you’d be in his arms. Glancing down, you notice how quickly Jungkook’s chest rises and falls.

He’s afraid, you realize. Jungkook’s fear isn’t the same one as yours, though. He isn’t afraid that you’ll see him, but rather that you’ll destroy him.

Realizing this, a barrier within you crumbles. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, somewhat desperate.

“You keep saying that.” Determined, he steps closer and somehow, your hand entwines with his to press against his chest. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but you won’t tell me why. Won’t tell me anything, Y/N – you were fired, and this is the first time I’m hearing it.”

“I couldn’t tell you!” you blurt. “I can’t explain it, Jungkook, but I couldn’t tell you when it happened.”

His gaze sharpens. “Then, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off broken up.”

Releasing you, Jungkook brushes past you and heads for the exit. You stare blankly at the wall before you, your whole world caving in as your head starts to spin. Magic seeps beyond your fractured walls, flooding your veins in desperate search for an exit.

“That’s not true,” you protest, spinning around. “I’ve told you more than anyone else in my life, Jungkook. I’ve let you in in ways no one else has.”

Jungkook stiffens at the door, his entire body taut. For a single, long moment, it seems as though he might reconsider but the longer you stand there, the more you watch the fight drain from the lines of his shoulders.

“I don’t doubt that’s true,” he says, hand hovering above the doorknob. “But that’s not the same as letting me in.”

He starts to go.

Everything around you becomes white noise.

When you were ten, you passed a famous dam on one of your cross-country moves. Your mom took you to see it, swinging your hand while entering the viewing platform.

The moment you saw it, you went wholly still. Trillions of gallons of water, trapped behind concrete, constantly pushing but unable to break. It felt like your magic. Raw, untamed power contained by a solid wall. You stared for longer than any other visitor, until your mom pulled your arm and said you should leave.

The entire way to the car, your mom was silent and once you were buckled in, she twisted around to see you. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said, her voice serious. “That dam will only work if the wall holds. If the wall breaks, do you know what happens?”

Silent, you shook your head.

“The water will flood the whole valley. Everyone in its path, all the forest – they’d be gone. The wall can’t break, or bad things happen. Do you understand me?”

Solemn, you nodded because even then, you understood. Although your magical dam was intangible, it held equal importance. You had to hold in the magic, otherwise bad things would happen. So long as the wall was in place, you were safe.

Now though, you squeeze your eyes tightly as the wall starts to crumble.

Emotions break with the force of a tidal wave, racing ahead and drowning all in its path. Memories you thought were long buried continue to rise, crushing you further. Your walls are destroyed in a matter of seconds.

You remember your dad, kissing you on the head before leaving the house. Katrina’s stricken expression when the door shut in her face. Jungkook, asking you what he’d done wrong again.

Each memory drags you under, and you shudder against the onslaught. It takes everything you have to remain standing while your restraint dissolves.

Hands grip your arms.

Surprised, your eyes fly open to find Jungkook before you. His neck muscles strain, yelling to be heard over thundering water. You try your best to focus, to rein your magic back in – only to realize with horror, it might be too late.

The laundromat around you is in chaos. Several ceiling pipes have burst, water crashing down in torrents of water. Already, waves lap at your ankles. Noise filters back in, flickering before solidifying to something substantial.

People are screaming, abandoning their hampers in an attempt to get out. The door has stuck though, unable to open under the onslaught of water. Jungkook yells again, and this time you hear him.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, close to your face.

You stare upward, stupefied. Another pipe bursts, and you think that was you, but it’s hard to be sure. Hard to understand which parts are in control and which parts are not. What particular emotion is holding the reins at any moment.

Determination replaces fear in his face, and Jungkook bends before you have time to blink. In an instant, you’re tossed over his shoulder. A yelp escapes, upside-down but he’s already wading through the aisle of washers.

Jungkook shouts at people to move, but no one is listening. After a moment, you feel him exhale and surge forward. Although you can’t see, the people seem to be moving, so Jungkook must appear confident.

Grasping the door, he pulls on it, hard. Nothing happens. Exhaling, Jungkook grips your waist tighter and mutters, “Hold on.”

You don’t have time to ask why, since he yanks harder and the entire frame shudders. Jungkook does this again and another pipe bursts, drawing your gaze. By the time you look back, the door has budged an inch and water is pouring out. With a final wrench, Jungkook yanks open the door.

People shove past him, rushing into the street with the tide of water. Spinning around, Jungkook shields you with his frame from the wet crush of bodies. His grip never wavers, feet anchored to the ground as though they’ve rocks themselves.

With each breath, your pulse slows until finally, you locate the faint threads of magic. Before, you felt too much at once. The crush was overwhelming but now, you manage to breach the surface. For the first time, you see your panic influencing the tide.

Realizing this, you reach inward and try to – turn. With great effort, you identify the source of your power and disconnect. Water in the ceiling slows to a trickle, and then, nothing.

Exhaling against your neck, Jungkook’s hand moves lower.

You can’t help but shiver. “Jungkook?” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Could you… you know, set me down?”

“Oh.”

Somewhat sheepish, Jungkook lowers you to face him. He doesn’t step away, and neither do you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to be selfish and make it as long as possible.

He stares back at you, waterdrops caught between his lashes. In the background, water continues to drip from a pipe. The soft plink-plink echoes the thud of your heart.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Jungkook’s hands remain on your waist, his touch scrambling all semblance of sanity. You aren’t sure how to answer without being honest.

Truthfully, you’re not okay.

An okay person wouldn’t break up with their boyfriend and then, six days later throw themselves in their path. An okay person wouldn’t be hiding their magic, they wouldn’t be lying to the person they love and most of all, wouldn’t continue to place that same person in danger.

Silent, you survey the aftermath of your outburst. Deep down, your magic itches in response to your panic. Seeping outward, it seeks to mold to the fear, but you manage to stop it. Something about the wall being gone makes your power less alien. No longer an unknown variable, but a constant.

“No,” you exhale. Steeling yourself, you take a step backwards. “No, Jungkook, I’m not okay. I… this is exactly why you should stay away from me. Bad things happen, and I can’t control them. I’m so sorry.”

Again, you brace yourself for his anger, but it never comes. Jungkook is unusually quiet, head cocked to one side. He sees right through you, a sensation unnerving enough that you drop your gaze.

“I should go,” you repeat, stepping around him. Reaching your washer, you hastily unload your soggy clothing. “I have to go.”

Jungkook says nothing, although you feel his gaze on the back of your head. Hefting your hamper, you slam the door shut, and turn. The water level at your ankles has dropped, no more than a centimeter remaining in the room.

Sirens wail in the distance, likely on their way to investigate. Your stomach lurches, recognizing the cost of your magic. As soon as possible, you should reach out to Seokjin. His company might be able to cover the damage if the laundromat can’t.

Nearing the exit, you look anywhere but at Jungkook’s face. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, unsure what else to say. “Really, I am.”

Again, he lets you move past. Water rushes out when you open the door, seeking the street, then the gutter. Hurrying past, you can’t shake the feeling something has changed.

Not only with you and Jungkook, but with you and your magic. Silent, you prod the place deep within from which your magic stems. You’re used to a wall, feeling closed off but now, it seems your mom was right.

Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.

A weightlessness accompanies this that you didn’t anticipate. Despite the terror of your outburst, there was a moment near the end when you stopped it. When you felt what was wrong and controlled your outburst of magic. You haven’t done that before.

The thought is followed by regret, remembering Jungkook. When you broke up, it was supposed to save him. Instead, you’ve only put him – and yourself – in greater danger. Maybe because you’ve continued to see him. Everything would be fine if you moved or kept your distance.

But then, another part of you wonders if you were wrong from the start. Maybe instead of providing distance, you should have come closer. Should have allowed Jungkook to decide whether he wanted to stay. After all, today, he experienced the worst of your powers, and he didn’t run. If anything, he moved closer.

Suddenly exhausted, you hail a cab. The driver grumbles at your wet clothes but allows you inside, and you tip him extra upon reaching your place. What you should do is find another laundromat and finish your load, but there’s an itch in your fingers you haven’t felt in some time.

Dropping your hamper at the door, you shutter yourself within the third bedroom. Not allowing yourself to second-guess, you sit down at your easel and pick up a brush.

For the first time in a long time, you allow the magic to flow. You paint.

Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! Continued in Part II, here.

#bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts au #bts fic #jungkook au #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction

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sadnymi · 10 months ago

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「 ✦ how would Slytherin boys react to you having a crush on them ✦ 」 [part2]

Regulus Black

Regulus might be rendered speechless. His eyes would widen momentarily, reflecting a mixture of surprise and something deeper, perhaps a flicker of hope. He might stammer slightly, struggling to form a coherent response.

A part of him yearns to reciprocate your feelings, to revel in the unexpected joy of your affection. But another part, burdened by family expectations and a sense of duty, might hold him back. This internal conflict could manifest in his behavior – becoming withdrawn, avoiding eye contact, or appearing lost in thought.

Regulus might shower you with subtle yet meaningful gestures. He might anonymously send you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, the kind you once mentioned admiring in Herbology class. He might "accidentally" bump into you in the library, leaving behind a rare book on a subject you expressed interest in. These unspoken acts of affection would be his way of expressing his feelings without defying the expectations placed upon him.

might yearn for a life where he could openly express his love, a life free from the constraints of his family legacy. This longing might manifest in fleeting glances exchanged across the Great Hall, filled with a bittersweet tenderness.

He'll initiate more physical contact, such as touching your hand, hugging you, or leaning in closer when talking to you.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco's usual composure might crack for a moment. Expect a stammer, a flushed face, or a poorly disguised attempt to act nonchalant.

To mask his fluster, Draco might resort to his usual arrogant demeanor. He could make snide remarks or try to downplay your feelings.

He wouldn't openly declare his feelings. Instead, he might subtly show his care: offering you his notes in class, anonymously sending you a rare magical ingredient, or "accidentally" bumping into you in the halls.

He might subtly brag about your crush to his friends, trying to appear nonchalant while secretly basking in the attention.

Despite his initial awkwardness, Draco would be a surprisingly protective friend (if not yet a boyfriend). He wouldn't tolerate anyone bullying you and might step in to "defend your honor" (even if you didn't need defending).

Tom Riddle

Tom wouldn't reveal his emotions readily. He'd observe you with a calculating gaze, trying to understand your motives and the potential benefits of your affection.

Tom might see your crush as a tool. He could use your feelings to gain your trust or influence your actions for his own agenda. A sudden "kindness" or excessive charm.

If he deems you valuable, Tom might become possessive and controlling. He might use threats or fear to keep you in line.

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Tom might confide a secret or hidden desire, testing the waters of your loyalty and trust. A deep sadness might cloud Regulus' eyes at times.

become obsessed with you, it turned dangerous. He might resort to dark magic or manipulation to keep you close, regardless of your feelings.

Blaise Zabini Blaise

would likely seize the opportunity to tease you mercilessly. Expect witty remarks, playful nudges, and a barrage of "friendly" jabs about your crush.

The teasing might morph into playful flirting. He'd test the waters with compliments, winks, and suggestive innuendos to see how you respond.

Blaise would exude an air of confidence, perhaps boasting about his irresistible charm (though secretly hoping you find him genuine).

If he truly likes you back, the teasing might lessen, replaced by genuine conversations and attempts to get to know you better.

Blaise might turn surprisingly protective if he senses someone else vying for your attention. He'd use his wit and charm (and maybe a subtle threat or two) to scare off any competition.

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 6 months ago

Note

hey! I'm pretty new to your stories: currently reading curse words and loving it! (I started the first book with the mindset that I wouldn't be caught enough to miss some real life stuff because of reading... guess what, I missed some real life stuff reading.)

but now I have a question: the books have a pretty intricate plot with a lot of good payoffs for small things. which is very cool from a reader's point of view, but from the writer's one— can you maybe share some stuff about your process? especially in the early stages, how do you go from the initial spark of an idea and what this is about to a fully formed plot? would be cool if you're willing to share

anyway have a great day I'm off to start the third book hehe!

One thing to know about me is that I have just the worst possible imagination. Absolute pisspoor garbage imagination, nothing going on up there. When I want to plot, my process is simple:

Find a problem, then solve it.

Curse Words was born of several disparate story ideas coming together, but mostly I wanted to play with the magic system -- I wanted to write a story where spells were metaphysical parasites that possessed mages, and each mage could only cast their unique spell. The whole thing came about when reading The Princess Bride, specifically the chapter where Buttercup dreams of being a perfect baby and the doctor looking her over and regretfully informing her parents that she was born with mo heart -- I was possessed with this powerful impression of a slightly wacky doctor peering over the top of his rose tinted glasses to inform a pair of parents that their baby had a curse trapped in her heart. From there, it's find the problem, solve the problem.

I wanted to separate Kayden from his family and put him in an unfamiliar environment for the story so that he and the audience would be on a pretty similar level re: world information; isolated magic and a magic school is the easy way to do that. Okay, so why is this school isolated? Why is the curse thing not common knowledge? Why do the public fear curses and have such limited access to magic that it's not a part of Kayden's day-to-day, if it's so useful? Solve the problem; look at the economy. The unique nature of spells makes them difficult to scale up, and the unpredictable nature makes them inferior to technological solutions to problems in most large-scale issues. What does this say about how the Industrial Revolution would've affected the usefulness, and therefore the public perception, of magic? The logical conclusion is the Purity Revolution.

This school is gathering and teaching all these students; why? I wanted a clear division between witches like Kayden and a privileged elite that formed most of the school body; why are they different, how are the elite kids here, why are witches accepted and integrated into the student body? Solve the problem; look at the economy, the politics. Where are these rich kids getting their magic? Why pull in witches? One question answers the other. Why didn't Kayden and Kylie know that curses were spells in advance? Seems something that should be common knowledge. Look at the politics; tie that in. Logical conclusion: magic trap. We have this magic lake with a monster in it that we introduced super early for dramatic purposes and haven't explained yet. What can we do with that? Let's invent empowered water. Let's look at what that means for the creation of potions worldwide. Let's tie in the management of unmanageable spells. Let's elaborate on the structure our magic trap.

Now we have a channel of power. Curses parasitise witches; some are blessings, some are more trouble than they're worth. The school collects curses, domesticates them, makes them more useful, locks away or renders harmless that which it cannot make use of. More curses are collected over time, the school grows and grows and Refujeyo becomes stronger and stronger as they control more of the world's magic supply, but every system has a capacity. What's the effect of this infinite growth? Here we have a clear and unavoidable economic metaphor, so obvious that not centreing the story on this concept would basically be dishonest. Who's managing this collection, what does it say about the power of the school within mage society? How would such a school relate to the rest of Refujeyo; how would Refujeyo, collecting power like this, relate to and be viewed by other magical traditions, and by nonmagical society? Run through the reasoning, solve the problem.

Why would the school only approach Kayden as a teenager, after his curse caused problems? Surely the school would want to collect as many curses as if could as early as possible. There has to be a reason why they waited. This is a good one because it flows directly from the complex political relationships between Refujeyo and commonfolk politics that have to exist, AND ties neatly into critical character motivations that have to exist for book 1's main twist to function (notably, Malas Aksoy's actions). Sort this out for book 1 and accidentally create a critical political point for the rest of the entire series.

I started writing book 1 with the idea of the court case and subsequent twist about Kayden's curse being the big mystery, but Kayden still needs something to actually do at school. We have this mage who we threw in to rescue Kayden and Kylie from the lake, and had Max hero worship her for flavour; she seems to be becoming central to a lot of interactions for some reason. A lot of dramatic stuff is therefore automatically happening in her presence, but why is this incredibly accomplished and intelligent mage fucking up so much? We've established her as careful and thorough. We need a reason for all these accidents beyond random chance. Someone's sabotaging her -- why? Let's look at our established characters and figure out who has means and motive, and who the most fun red herrings would be.

How could a place like Refujeyo, such a complex and time-consuming project that would have to involve the cooperation of so very many mages, even get built? How would it survive long enough to be powerful? When and where did this happen? We've already established the Purity Revolution; maybe there was something more coordinated than just random undirected economic forces. We've established some incredibly powerful mage families and the old system of apprenticeship and inheritance; we know that the most powerful family in Refujeyo used to have a prophecy and owned a very powerful place that helps prophecies specifically. They could coordinate something, given enough motivation and the help of enough other powerful mages. What kind of motivation? Let's go back to the Purity Revolution. If tech develops alongside magic without central oversight of some kind, what could magic enhance? What problems could be foreseen that would make this kind of investment worth it? How does Refujeyo save the world?

Tie this into our power channel. Refujeyo's attempt to save the world endangers the world due to infinite growth and power being passively collected by those who benefit from the dangerous status quo. It fits our economy metaphor, because they're essentially the same thing, just putting in magic instead of money as a means of power.

Find a problem, then solve it.

The important thing with this method is to keep your solutions cohesive. If you come up with a new different reason for every thing, your plot will look scattered and disorganised. We don't want to look like we're just pulling the story out of our arse. I mean, we are pulling the story out of our arse, that's what writing fiction is, but it's a big part of our job to help our audience suspend their disbelief on that. Whenever possible, you should look for answers that solve multiple things and weave disparate parts of the story together; this is especially true when they relate to the core plot or central theme of your story.

Also, leave gaps for reader inference. You don't have to answer every single question, you just need to make sure that some plausible answer exists for every single question. Sometimes this involves saying less, not more, and letting the audience figure it out.

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forgetme-eternally-blissfully · 4 months ago

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“So, babysitting?”

Alberu follows after the delinquent. From the record the vice-principal gave him access to, Cale frequently drinks alcohol, he often gets himself into a lot of fights, and he barely passed his classes at the end of the grading period. The teachers never call on him in class, girls and boys avoid him alike, and he is- supposedly- completely intolerable.

Which is why Alberu Crossman, who’s only a little older yet infinitely more mature has been assigned by the principal (his father) to get the troublemaker under thumb. Cale's father is quite wealthy, actually, and since there isn't much known about the successor to the Henituse family... it'd be bad if he had to be expelled.

Cale scowled. “Yes, babysitting, your highness. Please, leave if you must,” He jeers at Alberu, but internally he thinks, 'No, really. Please leave.' Otherwise, he might get caught in the act.

Of not actually being Cale.

Roksu aims a sour expression at Alberu, who returns it with a more flowery one. Acting as his twin for the day had been easy enough, mainly because being trash is great!- until Alberu Crossman strolled into his lunch period and introduced himself.

He is even following him out of the school to his job. Well, this job is Roksu’s and not Cale’s, but because he can’t ditch work nor can he get glib-tongued Alberu off his tail-

Well shit.

Thankfully, the kids call him hyung. Except Raon, who calls him human. Hopefully Alberu doesn’t look into it too much. If everything goes right, Alberu Crossman will be Cale's problem to deal with tomorrow. As it should have been.

“I didn’t know you liked kids, Cale,” Alberu smiles charmingly, walking side by side with Roksu. “Can you introduce me?” Roksu struggles to not put on his own disarming smile out of spite, instead plastering on a classic Cale Sneer™. It fits on his face perfectly, like he’s playing a character in a play.

They enter the building and ‘Cale’ guides Alberu to a colorful playroom, decked out in toys and a fountain of running water as the centerpiece (A gift from his father, who is still upset that Roksu doesn't visit more often). There’s a tray of fruits and oatmeal on the small table in the corner of the room, except not a soul to be seen. Picking up a bowl of oatmeal and finding the ceramic to still be hot, Roksu almost smiles.

Alberu frowns. Where are the kids he's supposed to babysit?

Roksu tells the empty air, "Come on out."

Three children appear out of nowhere in front of them.

“Hyung!”

“Human! You’re back!”

“Hyung, nya.” On examines Alberu some more.

All of the kids had been revealed the moment that Roksu spoke, as Raon unveiled the invisibility on them.

Raon runs up and grabs Roksu’s hand, who places it on his head, rubbing the black hair comfortingly. “Mm.” Raon beams at the affection.

“Raon, On, Hong,” they each look up at him at the call of their names. “This is Alberu Crossman, he is doing a report on my trashy behavior. Don’t be rude."

All three children become hostile immediately. “He isn't trash!”

On observes Alberu with an intense glare. Raon shifts under Roksu’s hand, his deep blue eyes glinting with magic. Roksu positions him away from the older teen’s view. Raon grips onto Roksu’s pant leg with a vengeance. Hong stares openly, offensive.

Alberu smiles at them.

"I'm visiting with Cale Hyung for today, nice to meet you."

Hong gasps suddenly.

“He-!” On gives her brother a look, and he clamps his hands over his mouth. Alberu feels a deep curiosity, as if something isn’t quite as it seems.

Roksu sighs. It’s going to be a long hour.

At the midway point, Alberu has easily disarmed the children. They look fascinated at the magic he shows them, while Roksu can only rub a palm over Raon’s shoulder as a warning to keep his dragon magic under control. He's still just a child that wants to brag. Everything is going well.

Bang!

“Hey Roksu! How was-“ Cale bursts through the door, bright red hair equipped with a shit-eating grin, wearing clothes far less fancy than his usual. He tenses up, frozen in place when he spots Alberu on the floor, politely sitting "crisscross applesauce" with the children. Roksu narrows a withering glare at his twin.

“… Roksu?”

Alberu looks at ‘Cale,’ sitting next to him, the one he's spent the entire day with, who is trying to send what must be the real Cale into the sun with his eyes.

“Ha… ha?” Cale winces. Roksu wipes his expression from his face.

“Cale-hyung, run! That’s the human’s bad look!” Alberu’s eyes widen as he watches the confirmed real Cale bolt back into the hallway and out of the front door. Alberu whips his head back toward the stranger behind him, who is a perfect replica of the Cale who ran like Hell. Cale has an identical twin?? Since when? Why doesn't he go to school?

Roksu levels an emotionless gaze at Alberu. “Hello, your highness. Don’t mind me.”

Alberu can only watch in astonishment as this stranger walks out of the playroom, with a smooth and deadly gait as he hunts down his twin like a predator would to prey. He recalls the look 'Roksu' gave him and it sends a shiver down the principal’s son’s spine. That gaze held secrets.

Something about this stranger is even more interesting than the sudden appearance of a twin.

On walks up to him, sitting down in his lap and looking into his eyes. “Roksu-hyung will be back soon, nya!” Hong bounds over and sits next to his sister, grinning widely. Raon huffs and looks at the door. He wants his human to come back.

#Roksu is Cale's lost twin who reunited with the Henituse family at 16. he went to a charter school and speedran his education #which is why he doesn't go to high school with Cale #Roksu didn't want attention from the public so his existence is kept secret from most everyone outside of the family and tight-lipped staff #Cale wanted to skip school that day (he heard Albert would be coming to monitor) and tricked Roksu into dealing with it for him #not that Roksu didn't receive something in return for pretending to be Cale... but now he's going to 'negotiate' a better deal with his twi #anyway that's all I remember about this #hong was going to say 'He thinks Roksu hyung is Cale hyung!' but stopped himself from revealing it in time #kim rok soo #kim roksu #cale henituse #og cale henituse #lcf #lotcf #lout of the counts family #tcf #totcf #trash of the counts family #fic #ughhh I'm not as diligent with my tags as I used to be #tcf raon miru #lcf ohn #tcf hong #yayay #posting old writing so it doesn't rot in my notes app any longer #if I was smarter I would post it on ao3 but I don't really write enough words to bother doing that #not a reblog #alberu crossman #alver crossman #alcale #I put the ship tag but not because it's a ship thing. I just think the shippers would appreciate this

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shallyouobeyme · 1 year ago

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Fortune

Platonic Yander Malfoy!Family x Dragon!reader (GN)

Summary: A long time ago there lived a species of dragon-hybrids with magical gifts. You - one of these hybrids - had the gift of bringing good fortune to whoever was close to you, but as you'd soon learn, using your gift to help others would only endanger you...

! Minors do not interact !

TW: Not Canon Complainant about the Malfoy's backstory, imprisonment, manipulation, kidnapping, infantilisation (kinda), I do not condone this - this is all fiction

One or two Centuries ago, when muggles still believed in magic and fantastical creatures roamed the earth almost freely, many more kinds of species lived in nature. Some of them were closely related to creatures still on this planet in the present. One example of such a case was a kind of dragon that had long since left the face of the earth, one that shared many similarities with the humans around it. In fact, these dragons had the ability to shift from their full dragon form to that of a bipedal, humanoid dragon-person hybrid. Further than their ability to shift though was their ability to innately use magic.

Now, their abilities were not like the abilities of wizards and witches who could put their magic into words and gestures, using their magic as a medium to achieve many different goals. Instead, they tended to be born with a specific magical talent that differed from case to case - some could control different elements (since these dragons did not naturally have the ability to breathe fire or water), some could communicate with nature, some changed the weather, and others could use their scales to make themselves invisible to any living and dead being.

One of these dragons, still a young fetchling when this story began had a rare and sought-after ability - the ability to attract fortune. Something every dragon with a knack for hoarding (so almost all) would kill for, which was why the little dragon-hybrid was told from a very young age to keep hidden from creatures that would use them and their powers for their own gain. This young dragon was you - and often, when you now fell asleep, you still dreamt of the night that would turn out to be the one to doom your entire life.

You had barely just started to fly without your parent's supervision and after being kept at home for your entire (short) life in hopes that no one would try to use you, your curiosity for real life and everything beyond the mountain you called home grew restless. So you did what any curious child with the ability to fly would do and you took off to where you knew the nearest village to be. You landed a few miles away from it, well aware that your parents would be furious beyond belief if you went into town and let your existence be known to humans. After all, your parents always did make a point of mentioning just how greedy and selfish humans tended to be.

You were a fool to not believe them. You were in your humanoid form - comparable with a human child of about eight or nine years - as you stepped into a clearing. The sound of sobbing echoed through the trees around you and your eyes fell onto a form hunched onto the floor in sobs. They looked similar to you, but a lot smoother, and without any horns or wings protruding out of their back. Honestly, they looked really strange, but your parents had described something similar to what you were seeing and they had said that these smooth wingless things were humans. Obviously, you were intrigued.

"Why are you crying?" you asked in your young, squeaky voice and the human jumped up, turning to look at you in shock. Their eyes widened even further at your appearance, but they seemed too shaken to properly realize what was going on.

"You-You're a - You're a dragon?" they finally stuttered out, their tears long forgotten. You couldn't help but giggle, of course, you were a dragon, what else were you supposed to be?

"Yes I am, and you're a human, right?" you asked and they only responded by nodding, "then why were you crying, human?"

"I-" They seemed to question their reality for a second, probably wondering if they should tell a random little dragon-hybrid their sorrows, but they responded nonetheless, "My mother... She's very ill and I don't have the money to buy the medicine she needs, I fear that she'll pass away soon and then I will be all alone in the world."

As their tears build up again, you feel yourself sympathize with the human. Sure, you had your parents, but they were travelling all of the time, leaving you to your own devices and even your siblings had been allowed to leave the nest and make a way of their own, it was just you who was kept alone in the cave under the pretence of protection. So you very well knew how it felt to be alone, to be lonely. And so you knew that if you could do something against someone else feeling like that, then you would.

"I can help you!" you exclaimed excitedly at the thought of doing something good.

"What? How?" the human - you decided that if humans were at all similar to your own kin then they must have been a man - asked, completely perplexed as you walked towards him, stopping just a step away.

"It's my gift, I can bring fortune to people, I can help you make the money you need for the medicine," you were smiling brightly now, but the human still seemed confused. 'How,' he just asked and you told him to kneel down. Usually, your presence alone was enough to attract riches and riches beyond most people's dreams, but you knew that if you wanted to help someone attract fortune without being near them, you had to use a different tactic. And so, once the man had knelt down, you pressed a kiss to his forehead and a shimmer of silver light sparkled over his face - the same silver of your scales.

After that you left for home, but before you could take off the human called out to you: "What's your name? Will I see you again?"

"I'm Y/N - and I don't know, I hope so," you responded as you took flight and the last thing they shouted to you before the distance was too large to hear them was that their name was Layton Malfoy.

After that, you used every chance you had to fly to that clearing where Layton was usually already waiting for you - he'd tell you all these amazing stories of his life and he'd entertain you, trying to be your best friend. At least you thought that was all he wanted. What you didn't realize was that slowly but surely he was trying to keep you by his side longer and longer, always finding another reason as to why you should stay, telling you how your parents were using you, about how they weren't these amazing dragons that you thought them to be. And maybe because you were just a lonely child who was just desperate for the attention or maybe because Layton was your first friend and you didn't believe friends would lie to each other, you believed him. And so after he kept telling you all these things about how he was the one who would actually protect you, about how he'd finally let you live a normal life, you left the clearing with him towards his home town - thinking about how you'd return home one day and tell your parents about how wrong they were about humans and about all the great things you lived through.

You never returned home though, in fact, you never saw your parents again. Decades later - you were now comparable to a human teenager - Layton's grandchildren had told you that the dragon-hybrids had been declared extinct after they had been hunted for their powers and their horns. The Malfoy heir told you that he was so happy that his grandfather had 'taken you in' and how the entire family just felt thankful that you hadn't been hunted as well. He elected to ignore the fact that you were shackled to a wall in a secret Cellar below their large estate - possible only because they had you locked away to attract them money,.

After finding out about the cruel fate of your kin, you shifted into your dragon form attempting to not give the Malfoy any sense of result by responding to them or even just paying attention to them. You rolled into yourself, closed your eyes and stopped things but eat, drink and sleep. No matter how often the ever-evolving generations of Malfoys tried to get you to interact with them, you just stayed silent. Honestly, you were surprised that after decades of silence, they still tried to talk to you - wasn't your presence in their cellar enough? You were still attracting fortune for them, what more did they want? Over the years they tried to get you out of your shell by decorating your cellar with numerous pillows and blankets and things that dragons loved in their hord. Your Chamber probably had more money, jewels and riches in it than their bank account. And yet, as much as you secretly appreciated your new horde, you stayed silent.

At least until a new Malfoy was born and old enough to come down to you on his own. Lucius was just a child when he saw you for the first time lying curled into yourself in your pile of riches and pillows and blankets, but even he could see the sadness in your form. And so he tried to talk to you, but like his parents and grandparents had told him, the dragon in their cellar did not talk. But he didn't stop, he told you about how he thought the family had enough money already, about how he thought they should let you free and how you'd be able to breathe fresh air again once he became the patriarch of the family. Maybe it was the earnestness in his voice or the fact that he reminded you of yourself when you were a hatchling, still trusting in the world around you, but you caved and you shifted for the first time in what must have been over 100 years.

It was safe to say Lucius was ecstatic and the two of you soon became close. You talked to him and him only, and he enjoyed it immensely. He tried to spend as much time as possible down with you and was so close to you that you actually let him nap with you in your horde (he always got to lie on the parts with lots of pillows and blankets, because you knew humans were a lot more sensitive than you). And as he grew older you tried to remind him of his promise and at first he agreed, but the older he grew the more unsure he seemed. Still, he agreed - probably knowing that you'd stop your friendship with him once you realized that he didn't intend to keep his promise anymore.

It was only once he came down, dressed all in black, now an adult with his own child, telling you that his father Abraxas had passed because of a case of Dragon Pox - a cruel wink of fate as you couldn't help but think - that you excitedly ran towards the bars of your cage, believing that you'd finally be let out of this horrible prison. Only that Lucius didn't open the door. 'Why?' you asked him, silver streaks of tears streaming down your cheeks, 'Don't you have enough Fortune? Is the money really worth it?'.

"It was never about the money, at least not for me if it was just that I would let you go in a heartbeat, but I know that the second I let you out you'll be gone. You'll leave me behind, here without you, and I don't think I can do that Y/N. I need to know that you're here, safe, where I always know you're well cared for. I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me - even if I'm not there to experience it."

That was the day you realized that Lucius and Narcissa - and after his son Draco as well - would never let you go. They did try to make your living 'situation' more comfortable, changing out the bars to your cave with an actual door after putting enough spells on you to keep you from ever leaving the premises of their mansion, keeping you from kind of violence against them and keeping alerting them should you ever be in any kind of distress or danger. Soon they had integrated you into their everyday life, treating you like a child to be protected and not like you've had lived longer than they could ever imagine. Even Draco - who grew up with you as a constant in his life - developed the same sense of protectiveness that his parents had, as if he wasn't a literal child, and when it was time for him to leave for Hogwarts he insisted you writing him at least once a week, because otherwise he was sure he'd go insane with worry (at least that was what he said).

And so, while for a few decades, you had actually thought freedom was close, you soon realized that you had just switched one prison against a slightly more glamorous one - and it seemed that as long as there were Malfoys, you'd never be able to escape it.

A/N: This is based on another great idea by @sol565 so I wanna give them a big thanks and a big shoutout ❤️❤️❤️

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izzabela · 6 months ago

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Hi there! Can you write about the female reader being adopted into the Lin Kuei family (similar to Tomas) and was raised along the Lin Kuei trio, Kuai Liang develops romantic feelings for the reader but doesn't know and understand those feelings until years later Kuai Liang overhears one of the earthrealm's champions trying to ask the reader on a date?

Set My Heart Ablaze - Kuai Liang x fem!reader

in which Kuai Liang finally understands the slight ache in his chest every time he sees you

a/n: i love the premise, but i'm tweaking it a bit since adopted siblings are a grey area

ship[s]: kuai liang x fem!reader

warning(s): story deviation?

i seriously would not mind being in between him and bi han

=====================

Before the first signs of his fire powers manifested, Kuai Liang always noted the odd feeling in his chest whenever he saw you.

First meeting as children, probably no more than five years old, Kuai Liang always felt that little beat in his chest. You and Kuai Liang became fast friends, practically inseparable as your childhood played out.

From doing little play-spars, to eating, napping, and playing, you two were always together doing something.

Kuai Liang remembers him telling Bi Han and his father about the "weird feeling" in his chest. His father told him it was him playing too hard, while Bi Han teased him for liking a girl. Heck, even Harumi, when she was able to visit, would always ask him about his "new friend".

Of course, when Tomas was adopted, you and Kuai Liang integrated him to create the trio of mischief. At that time, he wasn't fluent in the language, but Kuai Liang mentally sighed as he realized even he looked between you and him like he liked you.

As you and Kuai Liang grew up, you two grew closer. From little kids who'd chase each other around one another's homes, you guys had become teenagers who would train with one another. More changes came along with the passage of time: his powers had come to him, your own magic came as well, learning the ways of both your clans, more responsibilities, training.

Not to mention puberty.

Though both of you still rather young, it was clear to Kuai Liang that you were going to flourish into something beautiful. Your body was experiencing changes, like how you grew taller. Your eyes began to sparkle a little more, and the air around you seemed... softer.

Over all, you just grew more pretty in Kuai Liang's eyes, and that same feeling in his chest kept clawing at him.

To keep himself focused, he came to the conclusion that this feeling was a side effect to his pyro powers. In order to master them, he needed to truly focus- and that meant isolation until he could get it right. As he honed his powers during that time, Kuai Liang noted that the thumping went away. Maybe he got it right, until you sent him a letter.

The rhythmic feeling came back, this time doubled its speed. He had to get it checked by the mages in the palace, but they concluded no magic resided in the ink or parchment. It was strange, and it kept Kuai Liang's mind muddled with thoughts and what-ifs. When he confided to his family about it, it was a mixed bag of reactions.

"Your magic is reactive, so cease any feelings not related to mastering your magic," Bi Han scolded him. Tomas was a bit kinder, though.

"Perhaps you need rest, your magic is a lot harder to control."

That was but many years ago. Now, here you were, with him and his brothers watching you spar Raiden as part of a joint training session pushed by Lord Liu Kang. In the many centuries he had been doing this, he had called upon your clan to role-play Empress Sindel's daughters in spars.

This time would be no different.

Kuai Liang watched as you held deadly metal fans in your hands. You stood against Kung Lao, who also bore a deadly weapon as part of everyday use. He watched as you circled one another, before Kung Lao practically pounced at you.

You moved like water, fluid as you dodged everything he threw at you. You were practically dancing as you parried his attacks, blocked, or threw your own arms and legs at him. He was lost in a trance at you impeccable skills, awed by your talent, and stumped by your undeniable beauty as you downed the farm boy.

Kung Lao was flat on his back on the ground. His head was pinned between the dagger-fans, and his hat was in your hands and against his neck. No, you weren't cutting him, simply cornering him until he conceded- which he finally did after a groan and a hefty sigh.

Kuai Liang's chest had been going at it all day, but the sight of you helping Kung Lao up with the same face you always gave him made his chest squeeze tighter than ever. He tried to keep the knotting feeling at bay, but it was too much for him. So much for fire magic mastery.

His hand is on Bi Han's shoulder, gripping it tightly as he doubles over and begins to heave for air. It's constricting, like someone keeping him in a chokehold in the air. It's so bad that everyone begins to look over at them, including you.

"Are you alright, brother?" He asks with a hint of worry in his gravely voice.

Kuai Liang shakes his head, "I am fine, just the magic." Bi Han is skeptical, but he accepts it.

Tomas's anxiety is more evident in his voice. "Are you ill? Do you need to head to the infirmary?"

Kuai Liang tries to answer again, but his eyes accidentally catch the concern in yours. You approach him slowly, like one does a frightened animal, but he just turns away and leans on Tomas to take him up on his offer.

"Brother, we are taking our leave," Tomas announces. You're shocked at how quickly Kuai Liang rejects you, but you bow to them in respect as you watch Tomas carry a limping Kuai Liang with a worried Bi Han trailing behind them.

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

Kuai Liang wakes up to a mixture of hushed whispers from within and outside the infirmary. He blinks the blurriness from his eyes, and he sits up to be met with his brothers at the bedside.

"Agh," he groans, holding his head. Bi Han just tuts his tongue, getting up from his seat to get some stuff. Tomas smiles in relief, sighing as he gets closer.

"Oh thank goodness you're awake!" he says happily. "You crashed right before we entered the infirmary, and you began to overheat to the point I almost burned."

Kuai liang chuckles nervously. "Apologies, brother. Are you alright?" Tomas just nods, and Bi Han comes in with his own words.

"If it weren't for me, Tomas would have been on a bed as well." Bi Han sits back down on the bedside chair, dipping the rag in cold water and slapping it (yes, slapping it) on Kuai Liang's forehead. He sighs at the coolness, sinking back into bed once more.

He's relaxed, sitting in the comfortable silence of his brothers, but he picks up on a couple of voices outside the infirmary. There's a window right above his bed, and it's cracked just enough for him to hear the conversation outside.

It seems Tomas and Bi Han notice his behavior as well, vigilantly watching Kuai Liang's expressions as the wind carries the voices.

"Not everyone who smiles at you is in love, Johnny," a semi-deep voice scolds. "Besides, when will we possibly have free time for you to take her anywhere?"

Kuai Liang's eyebrows go up ever so slightly, but he keeps his breathing steady to make sure his chest doesn't beat him into a stupor.

"Come on, Ken doll," Johnny says, "We could just eat privately from everyone else during lunch! All I gotta do is ask."

Kuai Liang is nervous, especially since he thinks he knows where the conversation is going, but he doesn't want any emotions to take over until he gets the bigger picture.

He hears your name coming from a youthfully arrogant voice, and that's when everything becomes clear.

"She is too good for you," Kung Lao interjects. "If she is anything like a clan leader, she will reject you on the spot."

Johnny scoffs, "That's why we call it 'shooting your shot', but you wouldn't know since I'm the one who'll do it first, Razor-rang."

Kuai Liang shuts the window with a harsh thud, but it doesn't filter out the fight between Kung Lao and Johnny over you. He closes his eyes and tries to control his breathing that gets more haggard every second. One hand over his heart and another on his head, he's hyperventilating as the thudding in his chest grows more and more incessant.

"B-Brother?" Tomas stutters as he removes the blankets over him, "Kuai Liang, talk to us!"

Bi Han's palms are immediately hovering over his body, emitting a bit of frost and snow to try and cool him down. There's a burning smell that comes from Kuai Liang, and the sweat coming from his body only adding more fuel to the fire (haha punny).

It isn't until Bi Han literally freezes a part of Kuai Liang's arm that he snaps out of his fiery episode.

"Kuai Liang! What in the realms!" Bi Han scolds as he sits his brother up against some stacked pillows. The heat from Kuai Liang's body is melting his arm, but it doesn't stop his thoughts.

Ask her out? Kuai Liang thinks. Again, that stupid thumping racks his ribs at the thought of of you out on a date with one of them- especially Johnny.

His mind plays visions of you laughing at something the actor says, the sound of your laughter not his anymore. It flashes to your smile, but it isn't directed at him.

As Kuai Liang steadies his breathing, Bi Han is the first to piece everything together.

"Is it her?" Bi Han asks as your name slips from his mouth.

Bi Han is frustrated when Kuai Liang shakes his head and plays an excuse.

"As stated before, jus' my magic," his voice slurred just a bit.

Bi Han just groans again, and it is Tomas who tries to egg him on, playing off Bi Han's idea.

"I did hear that she'll be going on a date soon. Raiden did mention to me that Kung Lao would be planning to ask her out..."

Tomas hit the sweet spot with that one. Kuai Liang's chest squeezes once more, and he takes deep breaths to try and alleviate his heart burn.

Bi Han and Tomas have never had a moment like this before. Their usually level-headed brother, one with perfect battle plans and proper thinking, was lost and disheveled at the mere mention of your name.

Scratch that, not even mention. The sight of you, the smell of you, the look of you. He had been felled by love, a double-edged sword if not properly handled.

And right now, the sword was cutting him deep.

"You are... in love with her?" Bi Han asks carefully.

At this declaration, all of Kuai Liang's memories of you and him come flooding in like a tidal wave. Strong, powerful, and overwhelming, it ironically soothed the pain he had in his chest. Dulling it completely until he felt a new rhythm in it.

His heart boomed with a quick, but not suffocating, rhythm at the thought of you. His eyes were soft, his breathing stable, and he sunk into the comfort of his pillows as he stared into the ceiling.

"Oh," is all he manages to say.

Tomas wears the shock all over his face, while Bi Han stares with a singular raised brow. They turn to one another before looking back at Kuai Liang.

Was that all it took for him to finally piece together his own feelings?

As Bi Han and Tomas are busy cleaning up, they hear a knock on the door. Kuai Liang is silent as he hears your soft voice speak to his kin.

"I brought food for him," you say in a hushed voice. "Knowing him, he must be starved."

He sits up again and meets your eyes. Shining like stars, you smile brightly as you sat down next to his thighs on the edge of the bed. In between you two are rice balls and steamed buns, and in a bakers dozen. Thirteen each food, all for you two to share.

"How are you?" You ask him as you took a bite of the steamed bun. "You looked so... nervous earlier. Are you alright?"

Kuai Liang nods dumbly as his body is on autopilot. He begins to eat a rice ball robotically, and Bi Han rubs his temple in disappointment.

"U-uh, we'll be taking our leave!" Tomas announces as he bows. He takes his brother's wrist and walks out, leaving you a little sad as you wanted to share the food.

"Poo..." you huff. "More for us!"

It's quiet between you two, but it isn't awkward. The beating in Kuai Liang's chest, you both keep eating away at the food until he takes a break to inform you of some interesting news.

"Kung Lao seems to have an eye for you," he says. "The actor as well. He plans to ask you to a private dinner."

Your eyes are wide at first, then you break down into hysterical laughter. Kuai Liang smiles nervously, but you just keep going in your fit of amusement.

"Funny you are, Kuai Liang. I mean, where did you hear that?" As you wipe your eyes from the tears of joy, you're met with the confident stare of Kuai Liang's eyes. Still, you are innocent to how he actually feels, and you continue to provoke him with your thoughts.

"Perhaps I will accept just because. Perhaps someone will win a bet with my boldness." Kuai Liang huffs at you with a glare, and you're shocked to say the least.

"I only jest, my friend." You go back to eating your food, and the ambience is awkward.

Kuai Liang, without thought or warning, slams his food down and moves closer to you. Shuffling out of his seat, he sits right next to you, and he takes your hand to place it over his heart. You gasp at how warm he is, despite the many layers that are between him and his body. You're very close to him, smelling the natural scent of burned lumber on his body as he tilts your chin up.

"Kuai... what is this?" you ask quietly, almost breathlessly, as you focus in on that rhythm in his chest. His heart, racing and pulsating, moves even faster at your tender touch. Kuai Liang responds just as softly.

"Do you feel this?" he asks you. "Do you feel what you do to me?" he's motioning you to the feeling in his chest. Dumbly, you nod, unable to focus as all the fine details of the assassin are right in front of you.

His deep brown eyes stare at you deeply, and you can see the little scars and scabs from years of battle. His brows, usually in one position, are softened and relaxed. And dear oh dear, his lips are thick and full, kissable- wait, did you really think about that?

"Your heart beats," you answer the obvious. "But... why is that an issue? Is it your magic?"

He shakes his head, "I guess, one could say it is magic. However, it is all you. Your smile, your laughter, presence, everything has a magic bind over me."

If you were shocked before, you'd probably have a heart attack by now. This was a hearty confession, one he had kept for years, and you'd also be lying if you said you didn't have a crush on him as well.

"So then... it isn't your magic?" you tease him, patting his chest lightly. He chuckles and moves his hand from under your chin to your cheek.

"You set my heart ablaze, my dear." Your own heart probably exploded right about now. It doesn't stop you as you move your other free hand to his cheek, pulling his face closer to yours as you give him the confirmation he had been looking for.

The healing spell to his chest problems, if you will.

"Give it to me, your heart," you whisper confidently. "I'll keep the flame alive for as long as I live."

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

bonus scene:

Tomas smelled something funny when he went to check on Kuai Liang after he and Bi Han left.

As a hunter, he developed a great sense of smell, and he was very useful to his family before the accident. He could smell when it was going to rain, whether threats lurked, or if there was game near by. He could also smell the scents of people.

As he, Bi Han, you, and Kuai Liang stood side by side, outside watching the champions train in a 2v2 match, the wind carried a scent he never thought he would smell in his lifetime.

By the elder gods, you two had sex when he left.

He keeps a brave face on, using his hand to over his nose and mouth to seem like he was in deep thought, but his nose couldn't lie. The pheromones of his brother's natural smell and yours were mixed in the air, and it was suffocating as the stench was stronger than any screen of smoke he had released.

"Does anyone smell that?" he asks to test the waters, but you and his brothers shake your heads.

There were times he wanted his untrained nose back- this was one of them.

He sighs as he keeps up the façade.

I think I might meet my end here, he thinks.

=====================

why was kuai liang hard to write for LOLOL

no yapping today, still trying to finish my requests

see y'all in the next fic!

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mk1 #kuai liang #scorpion #mortal kombat 1 2023 #mortal kombat x reader #kuai liang x reader #kuai liang x you #scorpion x you #scorpion x reader

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jacktheeldergod2 · 2 months ago

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You find a weird folded paper in your wallet. It describes how 3 months from now a monster will come to your area and you have to deal with it. Below is the list of monsters,one of which you must tick off,lest all of them arrive. Your choices are the following:

Sinless Steve:a dazzling wrestler with long thick messy hair,blessed with the ability of no one realizing when he does a sin or breaks a law or even says something bad. He's also strong enough to walk through steel as if it was tinfoil and durable enough to get run over by a car and be pretty much unscathed,thus he has to turn his powers off to wrestle. Apart from that he is a normal human serial killer through and through. No details were given on why he kills people instead of just robbing a company and buying enough drugs to kill an elephant like a normal person would

An invisible dinosaur with human intelligence. While not specifying the type of dinosaur an image of a car with a stepped on,crushed front was provided so that's a way to gauge its size. The dinosaur was described as a callous,sadistic creature that is very racist towards humans and said its feathers were a mutated ochre color. No mentions of what this mutation is were present in the letter

A strigoi which means a mythical nosferatu looking ass vampiric undead. It is strong as hell and more aggressive than a hyena. In its previous life it was a renowned fisherman and it still uses a fishing rod haunted by his wife. He uses it to catch people. If you hold religious faith holding a religious symbol up will hurt him a little. You could torture some occult knowledge out of him maybe

Hisia:a decrepit looking smelly sludge amoeba that eats plant life. It's a slime monster basically. Sings a weird bellowing song that makes people tremble,those who get close enough having their organs rupturing from the sound. Smells like rotten food,so much so that flies constantly die trying to go towards it

Lebo Nigoryx:a 10 meter tall troll with 4 heads and 9 arms. their blood is acid,their mere breath poison and the touch of their scorched palms is a wildfire,setting aflame all they touch. Weakened by lead. Has a specific grudge on native americans. Or it prefers their taste. Afraid of hawks

Kevin Jameson Jones:a man from a parallel earth with multiple steampunk enhancements in his body. The machine implanted on his chest allows him to change into different mutated forms including an anglerfish form,a really tall hermaphrodite human form,a beastly canine form,a hyper fast feline form,a songbird form and a fire breathing pangolin form. This knock-off Ben ten does human experimentations to test new forms he could make. If you beat him he will willingly transplant his machines to you and then live to serve you as long as you allow him to add more forms. Has baggy eyes and messy black hair but his machines keep him from going pale or frail

Alertharax: an angel of another world that has come to "cleanse the unclean". It looks like a pangolin the size of a rhino,with platinum plates,golden claws and scaled grey skin. Only attacks at night and never appears under the sun's gaze. Seems to be able to mind control young teenagers and children to a minor degree. Speaks calmly but in a shrieky,gravelly voice

The truest warrior:a man that has a life extending item called the pugilist's polyhedron that lets him lengthen his life in purpose of training. Knows most martial arts armed or unarmed. Is supernaturally physically abled due to training for more than 14000 years. Cannibalizes the random people he chooses to fight and always beats. Looks 40 years old,has scars older than your family name. Has a satchel with an unknown amount of weapons that all magically fit there

Ogallon the river scourge:a maroon colored dragon as tall as a rhino with a torso as long as a bus and 12 legs. Swims around in sewers,rivers,lakes and other places of water. Eats humans just to bring misery,hates loudness. His tail has a scorpion stinger with a poison that turns those hit into undead wraiths. He has never lost a battle and never had a scar given to him by anyone who wasn't themselves a dragon. Hoards metals of any kind

@1969chevycamaro @whereserpentswalk @everythingismadeofchaos @techiekittie @trashsouppossum @ononpetitecroissant @parsley-and-lesbianism @polkadotsunshine @strange-and-stupid @doyoudreamofwater @dackychansworldofhoshino @dh-ng @decoysender @foxundermoon @frozen-antifreeze @gloriousvermin @kinkshame-puncher-666 @kirkland-brand-witch @leavesswaytoday @bisexual-bat @bellaphomet3 @mmmmmmky @mun-urufu @moonsfavoritedaughter

#polls #my polls #poll time #random polls #tumblr polls #poll #dinosaurs #dinosaur #monsters #monster poll #monster #monster fucker #maybe

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thefandomdirtymind · 1 year ago

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Please a OPLA Sanji x fem shyreader magic user? The crew caught them making out ☺️☺️

A/N IMPORTANT: Hello Anon ! Thank you for your request, I admit it gave me some kind of problem since I'm the exact opposite of shy, but I had fun trying to wonder how it look like and how Sanji would succeed to make himself understand without scaring the reader. I hope you will like it !

The Magic of a Kiss

OPLA - Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji series : SFW Shiny Offering - NSFW The Small Favor - SFW The Mermaid Dream

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.

—

From as far as you could remember, you're always been able to make the object around you levited . A power who had created a lot of fun games and yes, a few childish misfits. But, it was your family heritage and you couldn’t be more proud to have inherited it.

Based in a small village near the water, populated mostly by other magical folks, your family had a small shop you never truly learned to love. Your interest was more in the water and the many ships sailing on it. It's why one day, after a heated argument about your lack of implication in the family business, you decide to leave for the city.

Shy by nature, you weren't the kind to show off, even if as a magic user, your power would have opened many doors ordinary people couldn’t even dream of reaching. But, after a few disastrous interactions, when even meeting the gaze of the Captain was above your force. You finally meet Luffy and his straw hat crew.

Their warm approach toward you and your power made you quickly feel more comfortable. But, as they tried to get to know you more, you could stop yourself from feeling nervous to open up and bore them. You usually end up silently smiling,fidgeting your fingers, listening to their fantastique adventure and executing the heavy duty since gravity isn't a problem for you. As the time passes, they all accept your shyness, still including you in their conversation and other activities.

Sanji was by far your favorite member of the crew, to not say you had a pretty hard crush on him. Things who’s even more complicated the task to answer him as he asks you the simplest question or tries to make you happy by cooking your favorite dishes. Of course, the blond chef would never make fun of your betterave red cheeks and often stutter, but he couldn’t help himself to flirt with you. He never had seen something more cute than your reaction as you enjoy his food and he had to admit that nothing makes him more proud than the way you look at him when you thought nobody saw you.

It’s why one evening, as you were helping Usopp to repair the mainmast, effortlessly sending him the multiple parts of wood he needed. Sanji took place at your side, lighting a cigarette nonchalantly.

“ It amazes me each time watching you use your talent Madam“ He confessed, watching absently the plank of wood gaining altitude. “ Isn’t it exhausting to keep control of the object ?”

“ No…I just think of it and…then they float…” You replied, already feeling the tips of your ears warming.You would for nothing share with anyone, the humiliated time it takes you to learn how to push them in the right direction and stop before reaching your face.

“ Oh, so you have to think at every separated item to make them fly…But what happens if you aren’t in a situation to think, like say overwhelmed ? “ His tone, serious, but clearly flirting. Even if you could feel a trap, you couldn’t think of a single time when you could become so self absorbed that you couldn’t even think. “ Like let's say we kiss, will all the objects of the room start to levitate or just our heart ? “

The loud “ BAM “ of the plank slamming against the lower desk makes you jump, you face bright red. Up in the air, Usopp asked what happened, worried that something had occurred to you. It push as well Zoro and Nami out of the own preoccupation, concern if it was a normal noise of a sign of a near danger.With the warrant on Luffy head, your Captain who’s right now was snoring somewhere, they didn’t take any chance.

“ Sanji ! Don’t tease me like that…please ! “ You plead, your gaze fixed on the floor, embarrassment clearly making you want to disappear on the floor.

“ I’m not teasing, I’m truly curious to know…We should try one day” He proposed, a smile playing on his lips as he finished his smoke before heading back to the kitchen “ I make your favorite breakfast tomorrow don’t miss it please”

That conversation spined in your head for at least a few weeks before you accept the meaning of it. Sanji had in his smooth way, confessed his affection for you and waited for you to be ready to do the same. Meantime, he didn’t push you further more, dosing his usual flirt and neither talked about it in front of the others, knowing clearly how you would be mortified.

Until that day.

The crew had stopped the ship alongside an island reminding you of pictures of jungle you often saw in exploration books. Each taking a different path to explore the village and his surrendering, you quickly become bored and decide to come back to the ship, certain that you were alone aboard.

It was why the sound of metal brushing against what seemed to be the same component took you by surprise. Making your way to the kitchen, you discover Sanji, already busy cracking eggs in a bowl. Lifting his head, he smiled as he discarded the empty shell.

“ Already back ? Are you hungry? I am planning to make an omelet for dinner, but i’m not sure if the other will be back so I will make small ones. “

Nodding slowly, watching nervously around you, you decided that if you had to respond to his previous invitation it was now or never.

“ Sanji I…I...You remember that…you know that conversation...about...my talent and...Kiss…” You succeed to say, your hand sweating against your pants.

“ Yes, I remember” He replied, careful to not scare you away.

“ I would like to try…” You finally quickly confessed, your whole body burning like if you had a fever.

Washing his hand with the rag hanging on his shoulder, Sanji gently smiles contouring the kitchen island to place himself in front of you. Putting delicately your chin between his thumbs and his index, he lowered his head trying to meet your evasive gaze.

“ I would like to see your pretty eyes Madam before kissing you “ He demanded, as you nervously turned your gaze to meet him. “ Much better” He smiled.

His lips meet yours with tenderness, as his other hand makes himself a home on your hip. Slowly, you closed your eyes, making yourself melt in the multiples sensation of his soft mouth against yours, followed after a certain time by the teasing of his teeth nibbling your bottom lips. Your tongue quickly follows his invitation, brushing against each other, as you hand find their way to his broad shoulder.

Inclining your head slightly higher to accommodate your difference of height, you instantly reach again for his lips, not wanting to let him go yet.

Lost in the moment, you didn’t hear the rest of the crew come back, dinner being an abstract place in time way ahead of the feeling of Sanji against you.

“ WOAH Y/N you can make people levitate now, that’s so cool ! “ You heard Luffy exclaim as Nami, knowing how embarrassed you should be, tried to drag him out.

Feeling the floor meet your feet, as the cacophony of gravity regain his control of every none fixed item in the room, you promptly separated yourself of Sanji, who’s for once, was as much blushing as you do.

“ I guess that means dinner isn't ready, “ Zoro said, unmoved by what he just saw, already taking his place at the table alongside Luffy.

“ Guys we should maybe go eat somewhere else “ Nami tried, eyeing you hoping that it wouldn't push you to close up yourself more.

“ No need Nami, dinner almost ready just, give me just a minute “ Sanji protest regaining his composure before clearing his throat, whispering gently to you “ Now since we know that you make float everything around you and everyone you kiss…please Darling, let me be the only one to fly with you”

Blushing even more, you couldn't resist laughing in front of the embarrassing but joyful event.

“ I swear “ You promised, already excited for the next time.

#opla!sanji x reader #sanji x reader #one piece netflix #opla #opla sanji #vinesmoke sanji x reader #one piece #one piece sanji #opla vinesmoke sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #Request #Sanji Request

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shadowknightapologist · 2 months ago

Text

miscellaneous shadow knight headcanons because i love love love them and one day i will have a proper post dedicated to them.

WARNINGS FOR: cannibalism, murder, minced meat mention?, angst.

in a sick, sad way, shad sees most of the shadow knights as his children.

shadow knights don't necessarily have to kill someone for immortality, but they do have to consume the flesh of someone living.

it doesn't ACTUALLY matter who they target; shad (and gene) just frame it as having to kill your lord or an individual you hold in high regards because 1) getting rid of lords helps in the long run, and 2) shadow knights with attachments to anything other than shad are harder to control. so convincing baby knights to get rid of those obstacles early on saves shad a lot of trouble.

as for how our shadow knight cast handled the munchies...

gene ate his lord as well as the upper-ranks sent with him (which is part of why he ranked up so quickly).

zenix ate his lord in the midst of the fire staged to kill him and his family.

vincent ate his lord/brother but he's still in denial over it (he acknowledges that he's immortal and that this immortality comes from his brother, but in his head, his brother was sick and begging for mercy; in reality, vincent flew into rage after finding out how far his brother had fallen and brutally murdered him).

amethyst attacked her father. he survived and amethyst experienced her first false death; this sparks an influx of rumors and stories about shadow knights (previously, shadow knights were extremely low-key, and only existed as folktales).

vylad attacked zianna. she survived.

sasha attacked castor's brother; castor managed to scare her off, but his brother passed away from the injuries. this is what leads to castor going "mad" and essentially being outcasted :( he was grieving and in denial and couldn't bear to tell laurance, who was grieving both sasha and joh at the time.

glenda was NOT immortal, she was planning to sacrifice cadenza + eat from her while she was still alive but aphmau kicked her ass and then laurance killed her.

and laurance, of course, hasn't attacked anyone, but he does struggle with severe intrusive thoughts and it is very, VERY hard for him not to bite while in his knight form.

shadow knight armor is attached to the skin like a shell. yes, they get parasites. yes, it hurts to have it removed or tugged on the wrong way. yes, it grows out of their skin and yes, that also hurts (only for the baby knights tho).

baby knights (and sometimes even immortal shadow knights) are known known to curl up into the fetal position and shift into their shadow knight form when they're scared. it's a defense tactic that protects their heart, especially since shadow knight armor is so hot/sharp (even to other knights). people unofficially refer to this as "armadillo-ing".

SHADOW KNIGHTS ARE NOT IMMUNE TO LAVA. that shit WILL disintegrate them. HOWEVER, since shadow knights getting perma-deathed by lava in the nether would be really bad design, this just rebirths the knight. the only exception to this is sasha and potentially one other character. some knights have come to see it as a religious thing, like a baptism.

shadow knight hair often turns into flames when they're upset, and if they're really angry, their entire body gets lit. very destructive.

shadow knights can be temporarily paralyzed by brain trauma (usually stabbing something through their head; they'll be mobile again once the object is removed or the injury closes up) and weakened by being doused in water or left in the cold.

baby knights can be killed via holy magic, decapitation, mincing the body, water, the cold, or old age (they actually age much faster in the overworld, but slower in the nether). they can go months without food, water, or sleep before it starts to take a toll on them.

immortal shadow knights cannot truly be killed unless their heart is devoured (more on this on the next point). mostly, their bodies are permanently destroyed and they become a shadow soul. immortal shadow knights do not need food, water, or sleep but will sometimes indulge if they're feeling... nostalgic. or particularly empty.

shadow knights can only absorb power from each other by eating the heart. this is 1) difficult because you have to LITERALLY tear the shadow knight apart to get to their heart, and 2) terrifying even to shadow knights. it's called "the final death". this is why zenix becomes so infamous.

"false deaths" are only experienced by baby knights. baby knights don't ACTUALLY die to most mortal deaths, but because they're not immortal, their body still thinks it needs to take care of itself like usual and tricks the brain into thinking they're dying when they're not (it's similar if they're stabbed or something; the body goes "YOU ARE BLEEDING OUT" and assumes the result is death). when this happens, they go dormant from anywhere between a few minutes to a few days. when they wake, they'll be perfectly fine. no scars, no nothing.

inspired by @/chvsire and some other users i can't find (thanks tumblr)—shadow knights occasionally have traits resembling real-world predators or nether mobs. whether this has a rank/role purpose or just happens, i've not decided lmao.

shadow knights may also be based off biomes. bc pretty.

some ideas for predators that i have are: bird of prey (shad), feline (gene), dog or wasp (laurance), shark or alligator (zenix), snake (sasha)... and then i got nothing LMAO.

immortal shadow knights don't really... reincarnate? they have to be magically assisted in order to cross over the purgatory, where their memories will be locked away and they'll be sent to live again. it's kinda like what death does for sam winchester in supernatural—if they were to push too hard, the memories and power would be fully accessible. this is different for other souls, who face judgement and then are either permitted or forbidden from reincarnating. if they ARE reincarnated, their memories are completely removed. or something. i'll figure it out.

om i think that's gonna be it for now :3

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ussgallifrey · 1 year ago

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Home for the Holiday | Part 3

✦ Summary: Never let it be said that you weren’t willing to do just about anything for your squadron. As you find yourself roped into an elaborate ruse to help fool Hangman’s mother for Christmas all seems to be going according to plan. But when that plan spirals out of control, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.

✦ Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Anxiety, arguments, fake dating, hurt/comfort, Jake’s family being fake and generally awful towards him, mentions of divorce, mentions of past abuse, minor angst.

✦ Word Count: 9.9k

✦ Author’s Note: Hi, has it been over a year since I posted anything for this story? It must be a Christmas miracle! Anyway, this one has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, slowly getting added to every few months. And here we come to the end of Jake's annoying family. The next two chapters will be decidedly happier, I promise.

[Master List]

You’re woken neither by your own internal clock nor the backup alarm on your phone but by the irritated slamming of something across the hotel room. It takes you a second to properly assess the sound as being of the non-dream variety. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you push up onto your elbow to stare into the unsettled darkness.

The golden light from the bathroom spills out into the entryway where a shirtless Hangman seems to be fighting a losing battle with the foldup ironing board.

“You good?” you call out, voice still hoarse with sleep.

His eyes snap up to meet yours, mustering out an almost guilty, “Shit, sorry Pits.”

You wave him off, sitting up properly - the white sheets spilling over your thighs.

The bedside clock informs you that it’s still early in the morning, though not unreasonably so. He had told you the drive to his father’s place would take a while, so it made sense for him to be up at this hour but less so for whatever the hell he was trying to accomplish across the room.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, scratching at the back of your neck as you pad your way over to find out.

“What’s with the iron?”

There’s a seafoam green shirt on the board with a plugged-in iron on its end, that much you can see.

“Damn thing won’t turn on,” he flicks the buttons on the iron up and down, on and off.

Quirking your brow, “You know it takes time to heat up, yeah?”

He pauses, fixing you with an exasperated look, “Fifteen minutes enough for you?”

Throwing your hands up in a defensive hold, you take a step back.

“Shit. Look, I’m not trying to be a total ass here. Just, I didn’t exactly go packing a lot of options and I can’t go wearing what I did yesterday because Josh saw it already - ”

“Got it.”

He sighs in defeat, grabbing hold of the shirt. Giving it a good flap, you can see the clear wrinkles on the front.

For a lazy day in, the shirt would be fine. But this was a family get-together and Jake Seresin was a naval officer. His closet was likely similar to your own when it came to precision-pressed and properly hung items. Wearing this shirt, the way it was, would not fly.

“Well, before you go complain to the front desk - give it here, and let me try something.”

His own brow rises but he ultimately hands it over by the scruff of the collar. Swiping up your toiletry bag, you head into the bathroom, looking over your shoulder to give him a small smile.

“Let’s see if the magic of steam can’t work a miracle on this.”

His features drop in a way that says he hadn’t even considered that as an option before he grins, “Here’s hoping.”

After hanging the shirt on the towel bar, you take an extra long and heated shower. Letting the water massage your back and shoulders with its pressure. You certainly missed the little things like this when you were aboard the carrier. Uninterrupted, hot, lengthy showers where you didn’t feel like it might be a biohazard to touch any surface.

No, this was nice.

And when you step out of the tub and wrap a towel around your middle, you crack the door open to inform Jake that his shirt is just about good to go.

“But I can hit it with the hair dryer still. We got time, right?”

He hums in reply from the other side of the room, though you can’t see him.

Turning on the exhaust fan, you wipe down the steam-covered mirror with a hand towel and go about finishing your routine. Making sure your feet are actually dry, you step back into the room - walking over to your bag in search of another outfit.

Jake had pushed aside the blackout curtains in your absence, filling the room with natural light. He’s sat on the edge of his bed again, but now he has a plain white tank on to go with his jeans. You can hear the faintest clearing of his throat, making you look back at him.

His gaze drifts down your back for a second before he seems to busy himself with his phone again.

“I’m guessing this one is a little more casual?” you ask, pulling out three different shirts.

“Mmm, yeah,” he clears his throat again with a cough, glancing over towards the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get your shirt out in a minute. I’m just letting the steam work its last bit of magic on it.”

His eyes finally meet yours and he frowns slightly, “I wasn’t - y-yeah… okay.”

And then it seems to dawn on you: you were only wearing a towel.

And while it might be common for the guys of your squadron to walk around shirtless in the gym, or when they were changing out of sweaty flight gear, it wasn’t exactly a frequent occurrence for you to be seen in anything but your usual navy-issued tank and shorts. And while Hangman himself had been in nothing more than a towel yesterday morning, during the rush to get ready, that seemed like an entirely different situation to your own.

Your heart races as you become aware of just how exposed you are right now.

Grabbing hold of your entire bag and muttering out an embarrassed: “Sorry, I’ll just - ” as you hurriedly flee back into the bathroom.

Hangman, for his part, seems too stunned to even form a reply and you can’t exactly blame him.

Jesus, what were you thinking? You might be comfortable around your squadron but nothing over the past two days had elicited that level of comfort between the two of you.

Taking far longer than necessary to choose an outfit and get dressed, you’re slow and methodical about your hair and makeup this time too. Only when your nerves have settled down from the encounter, do you finally grab his shirt and return to the room.

“Well, what do you think?”

You hold the shirt up for him to examine. He nods, standing from his spot on the bed to take hold of it by the shoulders.

“Thank you.”

You just nod, tight-lipped, as you go about putting your bag away in its rightful spot. Jake tugs his arms through the sleeves before heading over to the full-length mirror by the front door. You watch as he methodically rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, creasing the cuff perfectly each time. When he’s done, he twists his watch around - back and forth, a few times.

And then he clears his throat, looking over towards you as you slip on your boots.

“You look good, by the way.”

Slowly, your eyes meet his and you offer him a gentle smile.

“Not too shabby yourself, Bagman.”

He ducks his head down for a second, grinning all the same. But then he’s glancing down at his watch and frowning again, patting his front and back pockets as he checks his EDC.

“You ready to go?”

Rising from the desk chair, you fix him with a questioning look, “Are you?”

With a smirk, he shakes his head. Offering an honest, “No.”

Jake holds the door open for you as you leave the room, heading down to the stairwell. You make an off-hand comment about it not being the way to the free dine-in breakfast. But he just keeps walking and eventually, you're in the parking lot. Slipping into the passenger side of the rental car, you watch as he adjusts the rearview mirror and his own seat.

Before he even starts the ignition, he looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Well, someone wouldn’t let us go down to the lobby for breakfast.”

“Ha,” he chuckles. “Come on, I know a better place.”

Raising your brow as you buckle your seatbelt you say, “I’m intrigued.”

Hangman just grins, grabbing hold of the back of your seat as he backs out of the parking spot.

You're not sure what you expected, but when Jake pulls into a busy Sunoco gas station ten minutes later, you can't help but raise your brow skeptically at him.

“Trust me,” he grins - all teeth - as he snags his aviators from his shirt collar.

“Tell me they have the best donuts around at least,” you call, following him out of the car.

He had parked off to the side, away from the entrance of the food mart. Digging his hands into his jean pockets, he waits for you to meet him on the sidewalk in front of the hood of the rental car.

Grinning with all the smugness of a higher power, he nudges your arm with his elbow and leads the way. Avoiding the building entirely, which makes you even more curious. The two of you round the other side of the gas station where the smell of smoked meat and spice fills the air.

There are two food trucks, a yellow tear-drop-shaped repurposed camper, and a smaller red build. Each has its own canvas tent with tables and chairs set up underneath. Fancy chalkboard signs bring the promise of amazing food as do the long-stretched lines outside of them both.

“Okay,” you admit, “You had me concerned for a second there.”

He chuckles, getting into the yellow truck's line, “Gotta keep you on your toes, sweetheart. Anyway, I wanted to give you the chance of having an Austin staple.”

Well, if the menu wasn't enticing enough for you, then the smell certainly was. You find yourself nearly floating along the line with Jake. After ordering, you grab an empty picnic table to yourselves and proceed to dig into the absolutely massive breakfast burritos.

“Have you eaten here before?” you ask after swallowing another absolutely sinful bite.

“No, actually,” he wipes his mouth with another napkin. “This place didn't exist until two years back. Found it online when you were, uh, getting ready.”

Your chest aches as you recall the awkward encounter from this morning. Slowing your chewing, you manage out a pinched, "Well, god bless online reviews. This is incredible."

After another bite, you rub your lips with the back of your hand, glancing across to meet his gaze - his sunglasses remain folded on the table now, so you're able to see the green of his eyes once again.

“I mean it,” you swallow. “This might be the best breakfast I've ever had.”

He stares for a moment, swallowing his own bite before a slow smile graces his lips.

“Better not let your momma hear you talking like that.”

You laugh, “I'm sure she'd understand.”

Jake gives a warm chuckle, shaking his head, “Hell, think you know more about my family than I do about yours at this point. Not even sure I can remember you ever talking about them.”

Setting the burrito down carefully in the foil wrapper, you contemplate his small accusation. While you had certainly heard your fill of just about everyone else’s families while on deployment, you can’t recall if you really ever dove into talking about your own.

Obviously, you had heard all about Jake’s very extended family at this point. But even you knew about Freud and his weird association with his mom’s current husband - her fifth husband if you were remembering things correctly. Cosmo had a close relationship with his sister Cecilia but not his sister Lucia. Slab had a complicated connection with his adoptive parents but got on okay with his older brother. And so on.

“They’re not very interesting,” you finally settle on.

He raises a single eyebrow, “I highly doubt that.”

“Compared to yours?”

That makes him smirk, “Fair point.”

From there, it takes you a little longer to realize that you’re both eating at a leisurely pace and that Jake isn’t constantly checking his watch or telling you to speed it up. It’s a strange occurrence, given his usual attentiveness for being timely. Jake Seresin lived by the motto that if you’re early, you’re on time and if you’re on time, you’re late.

So, as nearly a full hour of the two of you sitting there and shooting the shit passes, you start to grow the slightest bit concerned. Going on to ask:

“How far did you say your dad’s place was?”

His lips immediately fall into a sort of scowl as you pull him away from a very amusing story about his time in officer’s school.

“Two hours,” comes the almost robotic reply.

“Does that mean we should start, you know, heading out?”

Your breakfast had long since been finished and the wrappers thrown away. Your drinks were little more than melted ice and semi-chewed straws at this point.

After ruffling his hair and twisting his watch around a few times, he finally sighs.

“Yeah, probably.”

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, you slap his shoulder as you finally stand up from the picnic table.

“Come on, Seresin. You got me as your wingman for a second round today. No time like the present.”

Grabbing hold of both of your near-empty drinks, he too lifts his leg over the side of the bench and stands up with a playfully annoyed, “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up now, Pits.”

The ride to his dad’s house is filled with Christmas music played by two different country radio stations. As the odometer slowly creeps up mile by mile, you can see the difference in your companion’s composure. He started out relaxed, almost lounging in his seat. And then it grows more rigid; with his hands clutching the steering wheel like it had personally wronged him.

Last night, the two of you had talked about the upcoming shitstorm of a holiday get-together.

You knew Josh would be there again. But you would also be meeting his other brother, Justin, and his wife and kids of course. And then there was his sister, Jess, and her brood - as he had put it.

Just from the way he talked about his siblings, it was clear that Jake did not get on with - nor keep in close contact with - any of them. He seemed particularly hung up on his sister more so than his older brothers. And while you were sure there was a story - or two - there, you didn’t feel it was the time, or place,to pry.

And then, of course, there was the infamous Mr. Seresin himself. Of him, you knew the least amount of information. Only being told that you should keep your conversations limited if not just nonexistent. You weren’t sure how well that idea would apply in reality, but for your friend’s sake, you promised to keep things to his plan.

As the radio DJ announces yet another Thomas Rhett song, Jake finally hops onto an exit ramp, signaling that you were close to the inevitable get-together.

In almost two hours, you had covered a variety of topics pertaining to work. But seeing the great amount of tension currently attacking your wingman, you finally relent with a different story.

“I got my pilot’s license at seventeen.”

Only because you’re at a stoplight does Jake look over at you, wide-eyed and mouth slightly ajar as the beginnings of a smirk curl into place.

“Do tell.”

You chuckle as he turns the wheel.

“Whole line of aviators, actually. Great-grandpa was a paratrooper during Korea and I guess he just missed the adrenaline when he came back to the States. His son took up commercial flying and my dad got his license just because it seemed like everyone else in the family was doing it.”

“And you?” his sage green eyes meet yours for a quick second before he focuses back on the road ahead of you.

With a shrug, you draw your knee up on the seat and stare out the passenger window. Swatches of dusty farmland and wooden fences pass you by.

“Guess I was always just growing up around them. My grandpa took me flying all the time when my dad was busy working. Did my first solo ride at fifteen in a glider and got my license two years later.”

You can see his grin from out of your peripheral and count it as a victory.

“Any other incredible talents you’ve kept hidden under that smartass exterior?”

“Hey!” you gently slap his arm, pulling a fake pout. “If there was, I’m not telling you now.”

“Alright, alright,” he bites his lip, tapping the steering wheel as a sense of ease washes over him. “I’ll play nice.”

With a roll of your eyes, you mutter under your breath, “Fat fucking chance.”

There’s a seemingly dramatic sigh from him which is immediately followed by a hand being jabbed into your flank and a screech of laughter erupting from your lips as Jake proceeds to tickle your side.

“G-god fuckin- STOP, y-you asshole,” you try to squirm away from his touch, but his fingers seem to know your exact weak points and there’s only so far you can scramble away.

“Give it up, Pita,” he croons sweetly, still somehow managing to drive the car steadily down the road with his left hand.

“Mercy! Mer-cy, you jackass!”

You shove at his hand until he finally relents. Absolutely beaming as he looks over at you, unable to stop his own chuckle from seeing the state of you. He sighs, the bubble of laughter on his lips as he turns down a dirt road.

“Sure know how to distract a guy.”

With a huff of indignation, you say, “I’m sure there’s more alluring ways to do that.”

Only when Jake chokes on his own spit do you throw your head back in a howl of laughter.

“Christ, the look on your face, Seresin.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans, catching your gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “Laugh it up, sweetheart. Cause we’re almost there.”

That does seem to sober you both up almost instantly.

The radio sways in and out between bits of static break-up. As the houses fall further and further back from the road, it seems like you’re looking at nothing but straight-up copper-dusted fields.

Hangman leans forward on the wheel as he peers out at the stretch of dirt road, checking the numbers on the mailboxes that pop up every mile. And then, at last, he finally slows the car down to a steady roll.

And while Lady A is singing about it being an absolutely Wonderful Christmastime, you watch as all signs of joy seem to drain from your friend’s face as he turns onto the long-winding drive of his father’s ranch. The tires kick up dirt and pebbles, leaving a trail of dust in your wake. You’re jostled in your seat from the rough terrain of the unpaved driveway.

“Can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” he murmurs, staring up ahead at the trucks already parked next to the white barn.

The house itself is a massive ranch-style home, with wood siding that almost makes it look like an older cabin. But the windows are clearly modern and sleek. It was no question at all that Jake’s father had some serious money to his name here. If the accompanying acres of farmland weren’t already a dead giveaway.

You wait for him to park, killing the ignition and resting his arms on the steering wheel with a resigned look in place of his usually bright eyes.

“When, uh, when was the last time you were here?”

With a sigh, his chin resting on the wheel now too as he stares up at the sprawling house.

“All the time as a kid. It was my granddad’s. Went on to my uncle until he ran himself straight into debt from all the gambling and drinking. Then this one - ” he jerks his head in the general direction of the house once again, “ - got it passed onto him. Haven’t been back since my granddad passed. So maybe… fourteen years?”

With a singular blink, you mutter an equally pressed, “Jesus, Seresin.”

“Yeah, well…” he just shakes his head, having already given you the gist of everything last night. No point in rehashing old news.

“Looks like everyone is here,” you comment after glancing around at the other numerous vehicles in the drive.

He nods, finally pulling the keys from the ignition and swinging the chain into his hand.

You follow him up the path to the front porch – a once beautiful piece of craftsmanship now deteriorating and stained. The floorboards of the deck squeak under your shoes and a handful of the railings seem to be either broken-off or missing entirely. A black bear carved out of wood greets you both with a simple welcome sign held in its fur-textured paws.

Jake gives a solid rap to the door before he grabs hold of the handle and shoves it open. More of a courtesy knock than anything.

With a little squeeze to his bicep, you give him your best encouraging nod and follow after him as he slides through the entryway where a massive pile of boots and shoes has been deposited.

You’re only afforded a sliver of a proper view into the main living space, but the noise level is already on par with an F18 ready to take off from the flight deck.

As you kick off your shoes into the sprawling mess of footwear, you’re assaulted by the sound of screaming children, raucous cheers, a football announcer blasting through surround-sound speakers, and the faint twang of Christmas music radiating out from a speaker somewhere in the middle of it all.

Mixed with the pungent smell of sweat-soaked shoes and rosemary-scented turkey roasting in an oven, you reach out to grab hold of Jake’s arm – simply from the overwhelming amount of things happening all around you before you even see a single person.

“You good?” he murmurs, a shocking amount of concern etched onto his usually playful features.

“Mhmm,” you manage.

A warm hand eases its way onto the small of your back and you feel the madness fall into a pinpoint tunnel where it’s easily manageable and not so disconcerting.

“Never better,” said through a set of clenched teeth is all you can work up for him.

With another squeeze to his arm, you allow Jake to guide you – by the hand still on your lower back – down the front hall to the large open-plan living space. To your left, several women lean against the russet-colored cabinets, with glasses of dark red wine in hand and ringing laughs as short blonde-haired children weave their way through the space.

To the right, near the stone fireplace sits the majority of the men on overstuffed leather couches and recliners as they stare up, with rapt attention, at the game currently projected on the large flat screen mounted above the mantel.

“Uncle Jake!”

Your eyes lock onto the blur of yellow and red that comes charging toward you both. Stepping out of the fray, you watch as your companion drops to his knees to scoop up the girl with the maroon ribbons laced through her platinum hair.

“Kenna Kenna Kenna,” he grins, grabbing hold of the young girl around her waist as he hefts her up and swings her back and forth in his embrace.

A smile that you can’t seem to control graces your lips as you watch the scene play out.

Oh, the guys back on the carrier would kill to see this side of Hangman right now. What a privilege it was for you to bear witness to.

From over his shoulder, you’re presented with the curious brown eyes of the girl who then jabs her hand against Jake’s chest and demands:

“Who’s that?”

You watch as your companion’s grin slips down for just a brief second before he forces a tight smile.

“That,” comes the familiar voice of the older Seresin brother, who rises from one of the leather recliners with a beer in hand, and a too-smug smile on his face. “Is Uncle Jackie’s girlfriend.”

The girl gasps, staring up at Jake with a pure look of wonderment, “You have a girlfriend?”

Out of instinct alone, you wrap a hand around his right arm – encouraging the act from him.

“I do,” he nods at last, glancing over at you with those piercing green eyes. And then he’s laughing, dropping the girl back down onto her feet as he says, “God, when’d you get so big?”

“Probably sometime between your last visit and now.”

Your gaze snaps over to the woman in a denim blouse in the kitchen area, swirling her wine before she finishes it off.

If you had to take a guess...

“Jess,” he greets, short and to the point with a curt nod of his head.

Bingo.

As the girl, Kenna, skirts off to join the other kids currently hanging back by the patio doors near the massive Christmas tree, another man wanders over. Similar to Josh and Jake, he’s got dimpled cheeks, darker blonde hair, and a distinctive swagger to his walk.

“Hey man,” he claps Hangman on the shoulder, presenting him with a bottle of beer in his other hand. “Long time no fucking see. Look good though.”

Jake takes hold of the drink before he slinks his arm back around your waist, guiding you forward and into his side.

“Justin,” he nods, half in greeting, and half in explanation for your current confusion.

Ah, brother number two.

“And you’re the mysterious girlfriend,” his eyes slip past his brother to land firmly upon your face.

You offer your hand in return, along with your name.

“Never thought we’d see the day,” he grins in return. And then he’s backing away, gesturing toward the fridge, “Something to drink? Beer, wine, Coke?”

Surrounded by so many people who all seem to be particularly interested in scrutinizing your every move, you merely shake your head, “Think I’m good for now, thanks.”

Jake squeezes your side and you look to your left to see him already staring down at you with a soft smile. Emboldened by his apparent approval, you begin to make your rounds with him never far from reach.

You’re introduced, quickly, to Gwen. His bubbly stepmother with dark roots and straw-colored hair who hands you a glass of wine without taking no for an answer. She’s brightness personified and the definition of a doting host. Beside her stands a rather quiet fixture in the kitchen.

Marissa is the curly-haired young wife of Justin Seresin. She watches on with a bottle held between her chipped-red nails as Jess hollers at Kenna from across the room when she tries to drop a handful of slime on her uncle’s head.

The woman remains silent, though she holds an amused smile, as she watches the madness of her inlaws take place. There’s a brood of children that moves and weaves through the adults who remain largely indifferent to their antics.

From the countertop, where an array of appetizers are laid out, you watch as the two seven-year-old twins – Dawson and Dixon – gulf down scoops and scoops of bean dip. While their sister - Brynlee, as Jake’s stepmother manages to tell you over the noise of the get-together – seems content to cling to Marissa’s pant leg as she stares up at the towering adults overhead.

Your nerves begin to ease as a sort of familiar feeling washes over you. If you convinced yourself hard enough, you could almost pretend this was one of your mom’s extended family reunions.

Sure, you weren’t well-acquainted with everyone yet. But if you forced a good smile and made an effort to be courteous, you were sure you could get through the ordeal without tarnishing your wingman’s reputation.

Slowly, Jake guides you through the room, until, at last, you’re sat on the armrest of one of the leather recliners, watching with distant interest as the announcers recount the last play in the game before halftime.

“So, you gonna introduce us properly?”

Your eyes shift toward the couch where you spot the gray-haired tresses and stern sun-baked face of Daniel Seresin. Your companion, who had been standing off to the side of the living room speaking in quiet conversation with his eldest brother, seems to straighten up to full attention as if an admiral had just entered the room.

With a twinge of discomfort, your gaze tracks Jake as he strides over to you, a hand resting on your shoulder when he finally comes to a stop. You can feel his breath on your neck, the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

In a rigid tone bordering on inspection-line worthy, he introduces you by name and rank to his father.

A smile flits across the older man’s face as he beams up at you, rising from his lounged position on the couch to properly shake your hand. He looks the part of a typical rancher with his light-washed jeans and buttoned-down shirt tucked in with a flashy belt buckle.

“Real pleasure to meet you,” he grins. His hand is large, calloused by years of work. “I can’t tell you the last time Jake mentioned a girl catching his interest. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

You feel rather than hear the clipped mhmm that Jake gives in return. His gaze remains largely focused on the wall behind his father where an array of framed family photos resides. Never affording the man with the respect of holding his gaze.

Daniel claps your shoulder warmly and invites you to sit down with promises of their dinner being a real feast.

“She’s a saint, Gwen,” he tells you as you resume your position on the side of the armrest.

Jake, pointedly, slouches down in the actual recliner, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle as he stares – unseeing – at the TV.

“Hell, damn near blew myself up last year with the fryer. Don’t think she’ll let me in the kitchen, will ya, honey?”

He shouts the last part, to be heard over the crowd. Followed by a ringing you bet your ass I won’t coming from the vicinity of the stove.

You watch as Josh shakes his head in amusement, cradling a wriggly toddler in his arms. But your attention ultimately falls to the man seated to the side of you. Lost in his thoughts, trapped in his own head.

Reaching down with a tentative hand, you squeeze his fingers with your own.

It takes a minute, but then those welcomed meadow-green eyes meet your gaze and you can almost see the momentary relief that crosses his face as he squeezes your hand in return.

Dinner at the Seresin house is a decidedly casual affair in comparison to the meal you had shared with Patricia the day before. Gwen dishes out the seasonal fixings onto Christmas-themed heavy-duty disposable plates. Accompanied by wrapped bundles of plastic cutlery in Santa Claus paper napkins.

Balancing your plate on your lap is a true feat of talent as you’re the main entry and exit point to the kitchen, still settled on the armrest beside Jake.

The nieces and nephews, all eight of them, are situated on the floor on a big fleece blanket that quickly becomes an absorbent towel for their stray food bits more than anything else. Your hostess has the foresight to turn the game down to a more reasonable level, though the noise in the living room is still on par with a jet engine firing.

You find yourself shouting to be heard whenever anyone graces you with a question, which isn’t many... at first.

“ - anyway, after he pulled them over,” Jess continues her story about her husband, Nick: the Statetrooper. “He told them that he – god damnit! MacKenna Jaymes, are you or are you not watching your sister?”

Your attention, involuntary, falls to the oldest grandchild who has a mouth full of food as she stares helplessly at her younger sister who’s let her plate slip and spill all over the blanket.

“Fucking Christ,” Jake scoffs in heated breath, too quiet for anyone besides you to hear. His anger isn’t directed at his niece, of course, but at his sister.

Shoving his plate onto the other armrest, he peels himself up from the chair and crouches down to the oblivious toddler who has orange cheese sauce all around her lips – which he wipes clean with a napkin.

Jess, for her part, rolls her eyes and continues on with a biting tone about children needing to take care of their own messes. But Jake merely scoops up the girl’s food and settles the plate back down on the floor in front of her with a gentle ruffle of her sweet blonde locks.

You hold his plate for him when he returns to the chair, running a hand through his own hair.

“Thanks, honey,” he says in a cadence so natural it almost makes you drop his plate.

When he’s settled, you chance a look at him before you find your gaze trailing over to the far too smug brother seated on the chair adjacent to yours.

“See? This is the shit I was talking about last night,” he waggles a finger between the two of you as an example.

“Dad, do you remember when he brought over that girl? God, Jackie, what was her fuckin’ name?” Josh perks up, sitting on the edge of the cushion as he grabs his father’s attention, and, inadvertently, Jake’s as well.

“Oh, gosh,” Daniel starts, slapping his knee in thought as he stares up at the ceiling for the answer.

After a beat, you hear the soft utterance of, “Sarah.”

You glance down at Jake who keeps his head bowed under the weight of old memories.

Josh snaps his fingers, “That’s it! Fucking head cheerleader wrapped around his damn finger and did he even spare the girl a glance? I swear to God, he - ”

“Christ, can you knock it off with the swearing already?” Jess snaps.

The mischievous brother merely grins at you in a way that seems to say you see what I’m dealing with here?

“Must be all that growing up that’s got you so enamored.”

Settling your hand on Jake’s left shoulder, you give him a reasurring squeeze. You’d already dealt with his brother’s annoying antics and personality last night, what was a few more hours of unending torture under a familial microscope?

He lets out a long ragged breath, but you can feel his shoulders loosen marginally.

You almost miss the biting sound of the Seresin sister when she mutters, “Doubt it.”

But Jake doesn’t.

And he latches on to it like an enemy target on his radar system.

“Something you wanna say?”

The room falls to a stifling silence like the distant whistle of a falling shell about to make impact. You fear for the fallout from the impending crater.

She has the audacity to look aghast, a hand held to her heart in surprise as she manages to finish off her potato salad in one quick bite.

“Jacob. If you can’t say something nice, you don’t say anything at all.”

“And yet you always manage,” comes his lightning-quick response.

“Well,” she drawls. “On a holy day like Christmas, I think you can find a way to keep your opinions sealed up.”

The other occupants watch the sparring of words like a tennis volley. But someone seems to have had enough.

“Oh, bless your heart dear!” Gwen says, standing quickly from her position on the couch beside her husband as she makes her way over to you. “You’re all out of casserole. Come on, now. Let’s get you fixed back up.”

Your chest tightens as you’re literally pulled to your feet by the determined woman, who quickly leads you into the depths of the kitchen. The words from the two siblings are still just as biting, but slowly the trickle of grandchildren also make their way into the kitchen.

Just another Christmas get-together for them as the grown-ups row.

As Gwen tops your plate to the point of sagging with more food, you watch MacKenna as she settles her younger sister on her hip while holding a hand on top of the toddler’s head.

“You’ve got your hands full,” you manage to say, hoping the smile you offer her isn’t tight with worry as the noise in the living room continues to grow.

The girl shrugs, as much as she can with a one-year-old in her arms. She tracks her siblings as they settle onto the hightop stools and begin to rummage through the lower cabinets.

Josh has his hands out as he tries to delegate between the bickering siblings, but Justin and Marissa just have the peace of mind to leave the scene altogether – also journeying over to the sanctuary of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” the eldest brother says to you, leaning on the counter as he carefully pushes his twin sons away from the bowl of Chex mix. “They always get into it when they’re together. Has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh,” is all you can say in return.

“Here, hun,” his wife says to the nine-year-old struggling to hold onto her baby sister any longer. “Give your arms a break.”

With a handful of chips in his mouth, Justin points at his wife, “We’re not having another one.”

She nods congenially, patting the baby’s back with her hand, “I know that.”

Jess is on her feet now, pointing a dangerous finger at Jake, but you feel rooted to the spot because this was never a discussed topic of possible scenarios between the two of you back at the hotel.

“Abandoning your fucking family because you have goddamn daddy issues. Get the fuck over yourself, Jacob!”

For all the hostility his sister throws his way, your companion remains level and coolheaded as always.

He stares up at her with a perfectly blank face, “Can’t go one damn holiday without throwing a tantrum can you?”

Gwen coughs, pulling your attention away for just a moment as she all but shoves a platter of cookies in your face.

“Want one? Got more than the two of us can eat here. I made peanut butter, peppermint, pecan – ”

“ - and you think you can just show up here like it’s all water under the bridge and everything’s fine and dandy just because you have a girl on your arm? That doesn’t make up for the last decade of your shit.”

You take a step toward the living room, where even Josh has shrunken down onto the couch with his head between his hands. Daniel remains completely stock still as he watches the seemingly one-sided fight drag on.

“Just ‘cause you found the first broad to give you the time of day, doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here and – ”

Before you can even register the words, Jake is on his feet.

Staring down at his sister with a heaving chest and balled fists.

You break away from the cluster of family members as you make your way to his side. Tentatively, you reach for his hand – easing his fingers away until you can entwine your hands together. His nostrils flare as words that have been building up since childhood begin to battle their way up to his lips, but it all comes to a halt when you murmur a gentle:

“Baby?”

With a slow turn of his head, he looks down at you – fight dissipating from his eyes as you squeeze his hand. Giving a gentle tug, Jake follows you over to the sliding doors of the back deck.

Behind you, you can hear Josh give an admonishing, “Never known when to close your massive fucking trap, do you?”

But you push aside the door and lead your wingman into the fresh afternoon air before you can hear her likely cutting response.

Having no real idea of the lay of the land, you pull him down the back steps and find yourself traversing a small pebble path around the back of the house. Jake, still in a state of silence, allows you to guide him forward without so much as a peep.

Near the back wooden cattle fence dividing the backyard from the actual farm property, you stop under the shade of a large tree. The billowing branches bring not only cool shade but a sense of privacy away from the prying eyes of the bickering family inside.

Releasing your grip on his hand, Jack takes a few unsteady steps forward before he drops down onto a faded old wooden porch swing. It creaks under his weight but seems sturdy enough as he eases his heels into the ground and pushes back and forth.

You stand there, staring out at the vast fields for a long long moment before you hear your name whispered into the breeze.

Turning back to your wingman, you take a seat beside him, your knees brushing as he continues to make the old swing sway.

Out here, if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine you’re in the cockpit on a smooth return flight. The only noise comes from the gentle breeze drooping over the tall grass that bends like ripples in the water.

But your attention ultimately falls to your friend. With his knuckles gripped white on his knees, his head bowed down with his shoulders hunched high to protect him.

This version of Hangman would never be seen by your squadron, nor would it ever be mentioned.

With a steadying breath, your voice cracking as you force out the words, you say, “I have a soft spot for disco music.”

It takes a second for the words to register, but Jake slowly lifts his head and stares at you with pure confusion.

“What?”

“Disco. It’s my... thing? And I’m swearing you to fucking secrecy, Bagman. But... I belt out ABBA songs when I’m alone. Donna Summers too.”

The making of a grin begins to form on the corner of his lips.

“I’ve got it bad for the Bee Gees.”

His brow raises ever so slightly.

“Do those private serenades also include a dance number?”

With a bark of laughter, you tuck your hands between your knees as he rocks you further back on the wide swing.

“Oh, absolutely.”

When you look up, you find his eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. But not in a harsh way. More like you were a puzzle he was just only now figuring out the missing pieces of.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Giving a shrug, you say, “Because I wanted to. Also, no one will ever believe you.”

There’s a beat of silence before his lips tug up into a radiant smile that has him shaking his head.

“God damnit, you’re right.”

You let your left shoulder bump into his right as his laughter slowly ebbs away to silence once again.

He spares the house a furrowed expression before he lets out a slow exhale of breath.

“This thing,” he starts, twisting his watch back and forth on his wrist. “Between me and Jess, it goes back years.”

“You don’t have to explain it,” you assure him with a soft utterance.

But he presses forward despite it.

“Josh and Justin were already out by the time things got bad. Just me and her in the house. Not that she paid much mind. She was ‘bout to graduate and I was just some snot-nosed ten-year-old.”

He eases into the swing, dipping his head back over the headrest to stare up at the swaying green leaves above the two of you. You find yourself turning to face him, pulling your left knee up onto the seat.

“Mom started drinking ‘round then after she found out he was fucking his bowling buddy. Had been, for the last two years or so. But Jess didn’t know that shit, just saw Mom passed out on the couch with an empty bottle on the floor.”

Jake shakes his head, pushing away the memory.

“They never said it to my face, but I know. I was the save the marriage baby.”

“Jake...”

Offering you a tight grimace, he continues.

“Spoiled as hell, got whatever I wanted and then some. Private school, the works. Brothers didn’t care much, but Jess...” he trails off.

Your hand settles onto his forearm, offering a squeeze of comfort when your own words fail you. He dips his chin in return, welcoming the touch of familiarity.

“That’s what I meant by it the other day. They sided with him and I went along with her because I found out what was really happening. Don’t get me wrong, Gwen’s a good lady and the two of them are better off divorced. But... put a wedge between me and the three of them.”

Clearing your throat, you ask, “Is that why you left to join up?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Couldn’t fucking stand to be around either of them by the time I graduated. Just wanted to start over, do something for myself on my own terms.”

And then he scrubs his palm over his face, wincing as he does so.

“Christ, I don’t know why I’m fucking telling you any of this.”

“I said you didn’t have to, you know,” you nudge him with a teasing tone.

With a look of pure exasperation, he holds his hands out like a confession, “Got me bleeding my heart out here like I’m Freeze or something, Pits.”

“Eh,” you sigh, twisting your body to pull up both of your legs onto the bench – only to deposit them both right across Jake’s lap with little fanfare. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it.”

Something funny flits over his features for a moment before he places his hand over your calf and resumes his gentle rocking of the swing.

Eventually, you both manage to peel yourselves off the swing and wander back into the house. Jake says something about being completely okay with ditching the whole thing and heading back to the rental car. But you have to remind him that your shoes are still currently lost in the massive pile in the front entryway.

He then tries to convince you to leave them, going so far as to say he’ll buy you a new pair before your flight.

But, reluctant as he is, you walk hand-in-hand back into the house. You get lost in the excitement of the kids who want to open up all their presents right this very second and it seems like, for the moment at least, the fight has been put on hold to allow the true joy of Christmas to take place.

Though Jake and his sister remain on opposite sides of the room for the entire duration of the madness that is eight kids scrambling to unwrap their numerous presents the fastest.

While Justin plays the role of gift hander-outer, Jess lounges on a barstool in the kitchen, watching the mess play out with a stink eye. Jake, for all his hold-ups on the day, also drops to his knees to help the younger nieces unwrap their gifts.

Which leaves you, surprisingly, with a small bundle of drooling baby in your arms since her own mother would rather watch from afar than interact with her own children.

June is happy to suck on the left foot of her new stuffed buddy, lounging out in your lap as you rock the recliner back and forth. Jake shoots you several amused glances before he gets tugged into the decidedly un-fun realm of opening up all the plastic-wrapped toys for the kids.

The living room floor is heaped with wrapping paper and ribbons, loose twist ties, and chunks of cardboard and plastic molds by the time he returns to your side. This time, he’s the one resting on the armrest as he gently taps the snoozing baby’s foot with his fingers.

“Out like a light.”

“No better way to celebrate the day,” you agree.

The sleeping babe must be used to the chaos that is the Seresin family, as her siblings and cousins run amok with their new toys that beep and jingle. Tiny feet thundering against the hardwood floors as they zoom up and down the long hallway separating the living area from the rest of the house.

“Now that’s a picture if I’ve ever seen one.”

You lift your gaze to Gwen as she rounds the corner, a wine glass in hand as she settles in next to Daniel on the couch across from the three of you.

“Think you two will ever settle down stateside?” he asks with a true glimmer of hope in his graveled voice.

Jake winces, hand falling to your inner thigh for support.

“I, uhm, I could never ask Jake to put his career on hold for that,” you find yourself saying.

“Same for you,” he adds a second later.

Gwen, for her part, gives an understanding nod – settling a hand on her husband’s arm to stifle the topic down.

“How long have you two been flying together?”

Your wingman seeks out your gaze as the two of you mentally run through the tangle of memories.

“Three, almost four years now?”

“Mhmm.”

“And what set this all off, if you don’t mind me prying?”

Jake clears his throat, and you have to turn your head to hide the beginnings of laughter that bubble up to the surface. He shifts his weight, draping his right arm over the back of the chair, a finger playfully tugs at the fabric of your shirt.

“It was after a mission debrief. Fourteen hours, dead on our feet,” the story, completely fabricated, comes to him with a true sense of ease.

“And, I dunno. Everyone was shuffling outta the room and I just looked over and saw Pita and thought...”

At the pause, you turn your face to look up at him only to find his softened eyes seeking you out.

“Wow. I can’t have this girl out of my life.”

That piercing expression nearly takes your breath away and you want to applaud Jake for his terrific acting on the fly.

Pulling your gaze back to the seated couple, you add, in jest, “I’m sure my greasy hair and flight suit was what did it for him.”

“Hundred percent!” he grins, tugging a strand of your hair.

At some point, the others filter back into the room and Marissa kindly takes the snoozing June from you. You have to shake out your arms just to return the blood circulation. Who knew kids that little could be that heavy?

And while you get lost in the rushed conversation of two seven-year-olds trying to tell you all about the mechanical workings of their new RC cars, Daniel pushes up from the couch and weaves his way over to Jake, before saying something in his ear. You can feel the way he goes rigid as he slips his arm away from you and slowly stands and follows after his father.

You watch as the two men disappear down the hall, toward one of the bedrooms or office from the looks of it. A cold dredge of worry washes over you, cooling your insides and twisting your stomach into another uncomfortable slosh of concern. He had just started smiling again.

“He’s really got you bad, doesn’t he?”

Pulling your gaze away from the empty hall, you find the piercing eyes of Josh inspecting your face as he leans across his chair to speak to you.

“You. You’re worried about him.”

“Comes with the job,” you say.

A smirk tugs his lips into a twisted look as he too glances down the hallway.

“He’ll be fine. Little testy with whatever Dad’s about to try pulling. Won’t be too surprised if that’s the end of our little visit.”

Your brows pinch, “That bad?”

He chuckles, easing back into his recliner, “Always.”

You try to focus on the happy children occupied with their new toys and the soft lull of the TV sportscaster, but you find your primary focus pulled toward the long empty hallway.

He had told you all about the history between him and his old man, both in the backyard confessional an hour prior and the day you arrived in Austin. Yet now your mind was conjuring up worse and worse scenarios of what was happening in a closed-door room several feet away.

Another few minutes pass where you try your best to ignore what could be transpiring a few yards away, but the sound of a door opening followed by a pleading voice saying:

“Jacob, come on now. Jake. Jake.”

You crane your head just in time to see your companion striding down the hallway, directly toward you – pushing both Justin and Gwen gently out of his way. You’re on your feet by the time he reaches you and before you can even ask are you okay, he’s grabbing hold of your arm.

“Think we’re done here, sweetheart.”

Trying to get a read from his expression alone is useless, so you merely nod in return.

“Okay.”

As Jake directs you toward the entryway once again, with a trail of family members walking a few steps behind you both in silent anticipation, Daniel Seresin finally makes a reappearance.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he just shakes his head in return to his wife’s questioning look.

Hangman can’t seem to move fast enough, even as the nieces creep past you to get to him.

“Are you leaving now, Uncle Jake?”

“When am I gonna see you again?”

He’s halfway between tying his left boot when he looks up at the little faces curled with worry and childhood innocence. Frozen, unable to find the right words to explain his hasty escape as he peers up and over their heads at his father standing silently at the end of the hall.

“Oh, that’s my fault, I’m afraid,” you say, leaning down to grab your own boots as three braided-blonde heads turn to look up at you.

“We need to hurry to the airport to catch our flight, don’t we, honey?”

A flash of gratitude in his eyes and a slow exhale has Jake nodding, quick to play along to your tune.

“That’s right, sweetheart. We have to go see Pita’s family now. Wouldn’t be fair to keep her away on Christmas, yeah?”

Shelby clings to his leg, her face squished into his thigh as she murmurs, “But I’ll miss you.”

Jake shoots you a clear help me look, but your rescue comes in the shape of Josh Seresin who swoops in and collects the five-year-old up into his arms.

“I’m sure you’ll hear from Uncle Jackie soon. Won’t you?”

Your companion gives a fast nod, “That’s right, kiddo. Soon as we’re back on the carrier, I’m gonna call you right up.”

The little girl peers over her uncle’s shoulder and you meet her soft gaze.

“And Pita too?”

Jake almost laughs, but he curves it into a smile instead.

“Yeah, her too, honey.”

Oh, your breakup in a few weeks was gonna be fun to talk through with a kindergartner.

Pushing that thought from your head, you righten your boot into place and fall back into Jake’s easy embrace, his hand finding a too-familiar spot on your waist.

The drive back to the city is shared in silence with only the familiar Christmas tunes from the radio there to fill the void between you both. And even then, the holiday spirit has already seeped out of the vehicle and into the vast countryside. No amount of classic jingles could fix that at this point.

When you arrive back at the hotel, it’s as though you’re waiting for the missile to hit. That weapon of course being Jake himself.

But the man in question is as silent as ever as he drops down onto the edge of his bed. Too tired to even remove his boots as you carefully tread around him to take care of your own shoes.

His silence makes you even more cautious in your moves, tiptoeing across the carpet to your bag and back again. Afraid to make any noise that could set him off. Oh, you could handle the fallout, of course. You’re just not sure if he could at this point.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed in your sleepwear, Jake is lying flat on his back with his legs hanging over the edge. His eyes open and staring, almost unseeing, at the popcorn ceiling.

After spending a moment to assess your situation, you unceremoniously flop down on the bed beside him, a hand plopping down on his right knee.

And there you sit, in the stillness of the hotel room for a series of long-passing minutes. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, curling your fingers tighter and then looser on his jean-clad knee. Until, at last, he speaks.

“Should have never did this to you.”

You wait until his eyes land on you before you respond.

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.”

It takes a second, but he eases up onto his elbows.

“I’m serious. Yesterday with my mom was one thing. But this shit? Today? God,” he drags a hand down his face in annoyance.

Releasing a breath, you lay down beside him on the bed. He stares down at you for a long moment before he falls back down next to you.

“I told you, I don’t care. I agreed to this entire insane endeavor and I told you I was gonna see it through no matter what. So, lose the bullshit grief, and don’t worry about me.”

Tugging on the loose fabric of his seafoam-colored button-down, you give him the space to respond or not. Hell, you were gonna be the last person to try and press the man for anything right now.

“I just...” he exhales, resting a hand on his chest. “I dragged you across the country, away from your own damn family, just to do this.”

Rising up slightly so you can stare down at him, you retort, “Which I agreed to. If I didn’t want to do this for you, do you honestly think you could force me to do any of this? Honestly?”

Jake glances back at the ceiling before a smile graces his lips.

“Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you reply, dropping back down.

“Well... at least it’s over.”

You hum in response.

Come morning, you would take the rental car back to the airport and board separate flights. You up to Michigan and Jake back to California. You would enjoy a family-filled holiday and he would be...

Your stomach turns at the thought.

Alone.

After everything that had transpired over the past forty-eight hours, after all that he was dragged through. Jake would be alone come Christmas day. Alone with his own damn thoughts and whatever reemerged trauma that came with this particular visit produced.

Maybe that’s why, after several more minutes have passed you both by, that you turn toward him and say:

“Do you... I don’t – well, that is to say, uhm...”

You can feel the look he gives you but you have to crane your neck back to properly look him in the eyes. There’s something there in the meadow green of his irises that emboldens you – allowing the words to come easily.

“Jake, would you like to come home with me for Christmas?”

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#jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #top gun fan fic #series: home for the holidays #my fic

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yall-batman-fanfic · 3 months ago

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The Time We Got Caught Skinny Dipping | Bruce Wayne/Batman x Magician!Reader

Synopsis: A fluff piece! An admirer of Vivian's gets on Bruce's nerves. After a call from that admirer disturbs their date, Vivian realizes that a man like Bruce Wayne also has his insecurities and can go green in jealousy. So, she makes up for it by doing something that might get them in trouble... or not.

Warning: NSFW! Scenes and descriptions of sexual acts are mentioned.

She saw the familiar brand of shoes walking at the edge of the pool as she did her laps. Without needing to look up to see, she knew who came to visit her at her personal time on campus.

One of the many perks of being a professor at Gotham University was the access they got to the campus' olympic-size pool used by their swim-team. Vivian, though not part of the team, did love to swim as a girl. She would beg her parents to have a beach day just so she could swim the waves and learn how to surf. When she moved to Gotham there weren't any beaches but docks and the water wasn't inviting anyone to jump in. So, she settled with the university pool, making sure to do her laps there after her day at work.

Aside from the exercise it also helped her regulate her magical powers. It was easier to control the powerful force of magic inside her underwater where no one could get hurt.

As she came to the point where she started, Vivian held onto the edge, removed her goggles, and greeted Bruce with a smile. "What's with the look?"

Bruce squatted down and played his fingers in the water, deadly close to her swimsuit's hemming. "I was thinking if I should have an Olympic-sized pool at Wayne Manor."

Vivian scoffed. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"So you can do your everyday laps there instead, and I get to enjoy the view," Bruce leaned in for a kiss, but Vivian placed a finger on his lips to stop him and turned to the direction of the door where a couple of gossiping students and professors were.

"We're on campus, Bruce, control yourself," she teased him.

"How can I restrain myself when you're making it hard for me?" He kissed her lips and got back to avoid the splash she sent his way. He laughed at her childish retribution and then gave a curt nod at their audience by the door. "One of the reasons why I should have an Olympic size pool at Wayne Manor."

Vivian pulled herself up from the pool and walked to the bench to get her towel, but Bruce beat her to it and wrapped it around her. "Do what you want, it's your money. But as a fan of history and the architecture of your family's home, please don't ruin the aesthetic with a big ass pool. It's the beauty of Wayne Manor that has me visiting almost every day."

"Really? Not the one living in it?"

"Oh yeah, Alfred too. He gives me a sense of home -- have you heard Alfred speak English, I mean someone who actually lives in England-English? It reminds me of our little house in Liverpool."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "What about the one who owns the house?"

"That's a manor, not a house. And yes, Wayne Manor's master has a way of pulling me in its doors."

"And the sheets." He added in a whisper.

Vivian bit her lip to hide her laugh but Bruce knew he got her giggling like a high school girl. As she entered the locker rooms, Vivian sent Bruce a look of warning to not even think about stepping in there. This was a university. And it won't tolerate such public displays of indecency. Sighing in defeat, Bruce decided to wait for her near the lounge where the professors would be at this hour, and where a certain colleague of Professor Pryor had been making advances despite knowing she was in a relationship. Bruce liked making himself known there, mingling with the other professors that he encountered while studying, and getting on Professor Justin Kirk's nerves. Vivian's admirer. Especially when he asked him: "Is Via still in the pool?"

That pissed him off on multiple levels.

"She's just getting dressed? Does Gotham University have a swim club for their staff?" Bruce said.

"Nah. I was part of the swim team back in uni. Before Via started here, I would swim there as well. We make it a habit to have sessions together so we'd have a friendly competition."

"Really now? She didn't mention that."

"It was all fun and really just for physical health. Just one of the common things we share."

Like that was enough to make him insecure. Sure he and Vivian work in different fields -- him in business and sciences, while she was in history, arts, and literature -- but they find themselves at peace with one another. There was fondness, deep care, and attraction. He can spend hours just listening to her discussing something interesting she found in one of her researches, and she would engage with him whenever he talked about his work both in Wayne Enterprises.

Whatever Justin Kirk was trying won't intimidate Bruce Wayne. He wouldn't be at the top of Wayne Tower if he was easily bothered by something as simple as that!

“Justin, going for a swim?” Vivian appeared hair dried and styled in a way both men have not seen her do before. She changed out of her usual clothing when she’s teaching and to something more ‘fancy’ in her words. Usually, Vivian wore high-waisted, tweed pants, a button up blouse, sometimes paired with a vest or a tie, but always a tweed jacket. She admitted her style was based off of her favorite fictional character Robert Langdon who was portrayed by Tom Hanks in the movie franchise. While it was far home how the other female professors dress, it made Vivian stand out. Not in a bad way, but in a smart-attractive way. There were a couple of times that Bruce would hear some girls giggling when Vivian would pass because she could pass for a knight in shining armor with her attire.

This time she wore something different, which she must not have worn in the university before because Justin Kirk let out a “whoah” when he saw her. Even Bruce had his breath taken away.

It was a body-hugging dress that emphasized her physique while still having a bit of modesty with the square neckline, and three-fourths sleeves. The dress was in the color of sapphire which complimented her auburn hair. The heels made her look tall but she still had to get on her toes to place a kiss on Bruce’s cheek when she greeted him.

“Sorry, I took so long. Some girls in the locker room insisted they fix my hair when they saw me all dressed,” Vivian told him.

“And they put makeup on you too,” Bruce observed the light touches made.

“Is it too much?”

“You look perfect, Vivian,” Bruce smiled and took the duffle bag from her. With a dress like that, she shouldn't ruin the style by carrying the thing. When a couple of students passed by, Vivian pulled down her hair to the side to hide her face, but didn't really work as the students greeted her and gave a couple compliments, and teased her about dressing up for her date with Bruce Wayne. All fun and games, nothing too bad.

“I've been trying to hide myself from anyone passing by,” Vivian had her hair as a shield as more students looked at her and started teasing her by calling out, ‘lookin’ great, Professor Pryor!’.

“You shouldn't,” Justine tucked away her hair. “You look beautiful Via, you shouldn't hide it.”

Was he serious? Bruce thought as he glared at the man.

“Thanks. I think we should get going before we’re late for the double date,” Vivian told Bruce. “I'll just get my purse and we can go.”

“I'll wait right here, and don't take too long,” he teased her.

Alone once again with Justin Kirk, Bruce noticed the man's lingering gaze at the door where Vivian disappeared into. It irked him that he was making moves, just like earlier, even when he was around. It made him wonder what else was Justin Kirk doing just to sway her attention to him? He had no doubts nor suspicions of Vivian entertaining his advances – if she notices them – despite his the advances that Batman would make whenever he would visit her apartment, Vivian would always have a line between them, making it clear that she was seeing Bruce Wayne, and unless the Batman reveals his identity then their meetings were nothing more but friends. There was no chance.

It was hard remembering which mask he wore whenever he was with her. There were times when he would try to kiss her as Batman but she would stop him before he could by saying, “you know that I'm seeing someone. And he's a really good person, and I don't want to break his trust.”

It was flattering to know that Vivian would remain loyal to Bruce, and he, as Batman, respected her. But it was hard for him not to just remove the mask and show to her the truth. It was hard to remember who he was whenever he was with her.

But this man, Justin Kirk, was getting on his nerves. Ever since he heard from one of Vivian's students that Kirk has a huge crush on Vivian, and that they have been paired often “shipped” by others because of their friendship and the fact they were in the same department, Bruce has been making sure to let him and everyone know that she was with him.

Vivian came back out with her things and took Bruce's hand, pulling his attention away from Kirk. “Let's go, I don't want to be late for this dinner with the District Attorney,” Vivian said.

Bruce chuckled. “Don't worry, Grace is usually late, so we got time.”

“See you, tomorrow, Justin!” Vivian waved at him but her eyes were on Bruce the entire time, and her smile only grew as they continued on.

~*~

They were late for dinner. When they got to the restaurant, Harvey Dent and his girlfriend, Grace, were already there, both dressed up, and were on their second glass of wine. When they arrived at the table, Harvey was the first to greet them by giving Bruce a hug and said, “I got here first this time.”

“You said seven, and it's just seven,” Bruce told him.

Harvey shrugged. “I might have done that on purpose. Said it was seven but really I had the reservation at six-thirty – come on, I gotta make a good impression with our celebrity here, who is not Bruce Wayne, for the first time in a long while,” he held out his hand to her. “Professor Pryor, it is an honor to meet you.”

“Please, Attorney Dent, the honor is all mine, I've read all of your cases on the paper. Gotham owes you for everything you've done for her,” said Vivian.

Harvey can only smile with pursed lips as he accepts the compliment. “I can't say I've had the pleasure of reading your book but Bruce has been talking nonstop about it and about you.”

“Is he now?” Vivian blushed. She turned to Grace and greeted her as well before taking a seat on the chair Bruce pulled out for her.

“Yes, it's been driving me crazy – the day before your second take for your first date, he won't stop asking me how he could make up with you. The man was genuinely worried. It's the first time I've seen him like that,” Harvey was enjoying embarrassing Bruce, but the man in question only laughed and held Vivian’s hand. “It took a while but I finally got to meet the woman that’s taken Gotham's remaining eligible bachelor.”

“I think that's too early to say,” said Vivian, who had Bruce looking at her. She noticed his glance and she shrugged, “We just started seeing each other a couple of months ago. I just don't want to jinx it.”

Bruce took her hand and placed a loving kiss on her knuckles. “It won't. Trust me.”

Vivian could only smile whimsically as she looked at the man still holding her hand. Never had she dated someone like Bruce Wayne. Sure, she had good and long relationships before, and some she thought would really be the real deal but nothing like this. With Bruce she felt adoration, companionship, and a friendship. And with Batman there was an equal partnership, high respect as an intellectual individual, and a sense of protectiveness but he also trusts her to have his back after she saved him from getting ripped apart by Deacon Blackfire’s cult.

“How come you don’t look at me like that,” Grace teased Harvey, but really it was to break the lingering gaze between Bruce and Vivian. It worked since Vivian turned to Grace and asked her about her day and her work.

Grace gave a vague answer, she works in one of the foundations that help Gotham citizens, and then returned the topic to Vivian to ask if she was willing to do a book read or a lecture on her book for one of their events in the foundation.

“It’s actually a charity that we’re hosting. We’ll be putting up some collections from some of the families here in Gotham. Since you’re a professor in symbology and iconography, history and arts, you might know some of the things there in storage,” said Grace.

“I’d have to check with my calendar, but I’d be happy to. But if there’s a catalog that I can look into first, I'd be sure which era we’re looking at – I’m more of a classics person, really, not the whole modern and contemporary movement. But I am learning them too, just…”

“We understand, something about the classics is just interesting,” said Harvey. “And speaking of the classics, has Bruce showed you his family collection of antiques?”

“He did. I’m currently doing research on the Wayne family history right now. When Bruce offered his family archives, I couldn’t pass up the offer,” Vivian explained.

The waiter came to their table and asked about their orders. Aftering giving them their choices, and when the offer for wine came, Vivian asked if she could have scotch instead. It surprised Harvey and Grace but they didn’t mind. It didn’t take long and the wine arrived, along with her double scotch.

“Not a wine drinker?” Grace asked.

“Vivian prefers it hard,” Bruce said purposely as his hand came to her thigh.

Vivian had to stop the smile from creeping up by focusing on her drink. “My stepfather’s influence. You won’t find a bottle of wine in our house, just scotch and bourbon for special occasions. I remember on my eighteenth birthday, he opened his really special bottle of scotch so we could celebrate.”

“Your first drink,” Grace smiled.

“First legal drink.”

Harvey and Grace laughed at that, Bruce too found it amusing but his attention was mostly on his hand on her thigh that was inching closer to the hem of her dress, and Vivian did nothing about it. She’d see how far he would go with it. To make things interesting, she secretly reached for his hand and brought it closer, leading him to more dangerous territory. Thank god she had her coat over her legs after claiming the place was a little chilly.

The conversation went on with more casual conversations, they kept away from politics, which had them focusing more on their work, daily lives, and some things in their childhood. Harvey and Bruce had a lot of fond memories together as they were good friends in school. And the entire time Bruce's fingers would rub her inner thigh, making Vivian hum which she would disguise as acknowledging what Harvey and Grace were saying.

When their meal came, Bruce had to reluctantly retreat, which gained a teasing look from Vivian. The meal was delicious, to say the least, and the chef came out to serve the dessert himself when he heard Bruce Wayne, the District Attorney, and Vivian Pryor were one of the guests for tonight.

The chef was Italian and he gave Vivian an Affogato since he read in her book’s author's biography that she is fond of coffee. It was then that Bruce learned something new about Vivian. She knows Italian. When the chef said something in Italian, Vivian complimented him in the same language which amazed the humble man and told her, “the next time you come here, Professoressa, the meal is on me.”

“Grazie, grazie,” Vivian slightly bowed in appreciation.

“If you could sign this for me – it's for my son. He wanted to go to your book launch then but was busy at school,” he brought out his copy of her book and a Sharpie.

Laughing, Vivian accepted the favor and request and signed the book and added a dedication in Italian for the chef's son who was applying to Gotham University to take Symbology and Iconography, and that she was one of his favorite researchers. “Grazie, Professoressa, please, enjoy the rest of your night.”

Alone at their table once again, Bruce turned to her and said, “You never said you knew Italian.”

“We were offered to learn languages in Gotham University, I took Latin and Italian, since it helps with the job. A lot of documents are in those languages. And so you won't look like a gaping fish the next time, I also know French. It's one of the languages taught in school.”

“You never cease to surprise me, Professor Pryor.”

Finishing their dinner, and Bruce paying for their dinner (Vivian offered to cover half but Bruce kept the bill away from her and told Grace to hold her so she can't get the bill). The couples said their goodbyes and went on with their night. While Harvey and Grace went home, Vivian and Bruce decided to walk around Upper-West Side, Gotham. They talked the entire time, continuing the conversation they had at the table.

“I managed to polish my Italian and Latin when I went to Italy. GU had this program of having the top students go on the trip to Italy. I got to work with some of the best professors in there, and became part of his research team too. He was the one who helped me with my Italian.”

“Sounds like you both were close,” Bruce raised a brow at her.

Vivian had a guilty look. “Yeah, you know the full Italian experience kind of trip?”

“Oh.”

“I can't say I'm proud of it, but it was a nice experience. Italian wasn't the only language I learned then.”

Bruce smirked. “I can vouch for that.”

“What about you, did you go on a trip too?”

“Yeah, I took a trip for a while. Truth be told it was to find myself. After my parents’ death I just got lost and I decided to take that trip to help myself.” To prepare to be Batman.

“I hope it helped,” Vivian said.

“It did. It’s late, do you want to head back now?”

“I’m not really tired yet, but what about you?” She didn’t want the night to end, but she could see that he just wanted to give her a good night before leaving to go to his other job.

Bruce was about to say something, a lie about an early board meeting until Vivian’s phone rang. She apologized to him before answering it. Bruce didn’t like who called her at this time.

“Justin, hi. What can I do for you?” Vivian asked. “Really? I haven’t really checked the portal. I’m still outside right now – yeah, still on my date – I’ll check it later… uh huh… I’d really appreciate that. You know my schedule anyway, just sign me up in the same slot as you. Sure, thanks!” Ending the call, Vivian sighed and told Bruce, “It was work. Gotham University’s conducting some sort of training for all the staff. I hate those.”

“What kind of training?”

“With Firefly at large, again, we're being asked to go on some fire prevention training. Imagine me going down a building with a rope or jumping in a pool. It's insane.”

“And you'll be attending with Kirk?”

“Yeah, thought why not have someone I know be there. Besides, Justin knows this stuff more than me. Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn't realize he was frowning at her until she pointed it out. “Nothing.”

“Bruce, come on, what's up?”

“It's nothing.”

“Don't think I didn't notice the way you looked at Justin earlier. Is it because of him?”

Bruce sighed. “You do know that he likes you, right?”

“I heard talks but he never really made a move,” Vivian shrugged.

“And you're still close with him?”

“He's a friend, Bruce, a work friend who is around my age — I'm sure you saw the department right? Not a lot of young people there.”

His frown deepened. He was older than Vivian, a couple of years older, still he was older than her. Realizing what she said and the look on his face, Vivian apologized and said, “that's not what I meant. She took his hands and brought them close to her heart as she looked at him. “You know that, right? Bruce, what we have is different – hell, I won't even call our age gap to be a generational gap at all, we're still within the bracket… are you jealous of Justin?”

“Jealous isn't the word I'd call it.” A yes and a no.

Pride, Vivian sighed.

“Well, if it would make you feel better, he's not really my type,” she shrugged.

“You're just trying to make me feel better.”

“It's the truth.”

When he still had that gaze, Vivian sighed and took his hand and his keys. “Come on, old man,” she teased him. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“What are you planning?”

“Just come on. Don't worry, I won't dent your expensive car.”

The drive was quick and Bruce found himself at Gotham University's parking spot. Specifically the back parking, near the gym and the field. When he would ask Vivian what it was she was planning, she only told him to be quiet and follow her. They ended up in the indoor campus pool. The vicinity lights were turned off but for the pool lights which they keep on for security purposes. With a wave of a hand, Vivian had a glamor on the security cameras to hide them from the recording.

“What are we doing here, Vivian?” Bruce asked.

“Giving you some memories that would erase the ones you’ve imagined of me and Justin in this school. Starting here,” she removed her shoes and then, slowly, her dress. “So, whenever you would see this pool or this campus, you'd have a little picture of this and not whatever Justin told you earlier about us swimming here after classes.” This time she took off her bra. Bruce had to look at the cameras and see them… turned off? A whistle, Bruce turned to Vivian and saw her holding her underwear set in her hands. “What are you waiting for? Never skinny dipped before?”

He has. He even did it in this very pool with a girl he was dating then. But he didn't really care that much about her then. But Vivian…

Vivian got into the pool and waited for him in the pool.

Damn it all.

He didn't care if they get caught.

He didn't care if he had to replace the water in the pool too.

Bruce removed his clothes and left it beside Vivian's pile and joined her in there. As he came to her, Bruce took hold of her body, brushing his hands against her waist and up her breast where he brushed his thumb across her nipples, making her moan, and then her lips. He gave her an open mouth kiss as Vivian wrapped her arms around him.

His free hand went between her legs and slowly brushed against her sex making her shudder. “You've been teasing me all night, Wayne,” she managed to say as he kissed her neck, specifically at that spot that would make her knees weak.

“I couldn't help it,” Bruce said. “You don’t know how hard it was to restrain myself during dinner. I wanted to take you while you wore that dress.”

Vivian laughed. “Next time… You can take me any way you want while I'm wearing it.” She gasped when he felt him push two fingers inside her. “Fuck…”

“Focus, Vivian,” Bruce teased. “The cameras might be down but there might be security outside.”

Vivian was panting as he kept his slow and torturous pace, she may like this sweet and loving pace but he knew she liked it rough. He liked it too. He loved how he could go all out on Vivian without worrying about hurting her. There was a time when he held too tight and left a bruise in her waist which she just shrugged and wore with pride. She whined when he pressed his hard sex against her backside and continued to toy with her breast as he kissed her neck.

She was close, he could feel it, and he could feel her magic coming around them. She would do it unintentionally whenever she was experiencing overwhelming emotion, and right now she was experiencing an overwhelming ecstasy which Bruce took pride in.

“Where else does Kirk pester you in this campus?” Bruce asked.

“Want to make more memories to replace the ones in there?” Vivian chuckled.

“I want to give you an experience that would make you forget about everything whenever you come in to that room and just think about the things we did there,” Bruce pressed himself to her. “I want me to be the only thing you think about in every room of this damn campus, and remember how good I made you feel. Did that excite you, Professor?” He smirked as she felt her clench around his fingers.

She hummed as an answer as she focused on her climax.

Knowing she was close, Bruce had her turn to him so he could kiss her as she –

“Holy shit!”

Vivian broke away from Bruce and sunk in the water to hide her body.

“Vivian?!”

“Justin?!” Vivian exclaimed as she saw the face of her colleague at the entrance, and he wasn't alone. He had someone with him. A woman. “I-I can explain.”

Bruce went to cover her under his body. “I think we don't need to explain since Kirk has the same idea.” Getting out of the pool, Bruce didn't mind that the new faces saw him naked as the day he was born to get dressed. He put on his pants first and went to grab a towel from the rack for Vivian. Out of the pool, Vivian grabbed her things and accepted Bruce's coat to cover herself.

“We'll leave you to it here,” Bruce smirked at Kirk's way as the man looked at them, green with jealousy.

Carrying Vivian's clothes, Bruce led them both out of the vicinity, passing by Justin who Vivian avoided to look at, but she did see the face of the woman he was with. She was a student there. But Bruce had a smug look on his face as he passed by Justin.

In his car, they turned on the heater as the cold night gave them a chill, and not long, he drove them out of the space.

“Sorry about the upholstery, I'll pay for it,” Vivian said as she put on her underwear.

“Don't worry about it,” Bruce chuckled. “Are you worried that he might tell on you?”

“No, not really. I saw the woman he was with. She’s one of our students… so…”

“Blackmail.”

“Guess so… while it was embarrassing to get caught by your colleague getting finger-fucked in the pool, how do you feel?”

“Better. A lot better, too bad you didn't get to finish.”

Vivian chuckled. “You know, Wayne Manor's a long drive.”

“I thought you didn't want to spend the night there on a school night?”

“Exceptions can be made,” she pushed back her seat and reached for his pants, specifically at the bulge that was growing again. Bruce smirked and gave room for her. Luckily the car has a paddle shifter than a lever, making it easy for Vivian to get down and –

“Shit…” Bruce had one of his hands on her hair as he felt her lips around him.

“Both hands on the wheel, Mr. Wayne,” Vivian said in a seductive tone and took him in again.

Bruce did what he was told and held onto the wheel with a tight grip, and pushed back on the gas to prolong the drive to the manor. He'll still take her later but now, but right now he'll enjoy the ride home.

#batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne #dc comics #dc fanfic #dc batman #fanfic #batman fanfiction

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