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chaoticneutralwriter · 4 years

Text

Star-Crossed

“ A phrase describing a pair of lovers whose relationship is often thwarted by outside forces. The term encompasses other meanings, but originally means the pairing is being “thwarted by a malign star” or that the stars are working against the relationship. ”

guardian demon!jimin x reader

genre: supernatural, romance, fluff, angst, comedy, slow-burn

word count: 12.9k (once again, back in that 12k territory i didn’t mean for this)

related works: see Masterlist under guardian demon!jimin au

Continuation of Fifth Act: Diligence

A/N: WOW, SO I DIDN’T MEAN FOR THIS TO HAPPEN. THIS WAS HARD BUT I DID IT. WOW. I should’ve known it would take long T^T but here it is finally!! Thank you all so much for your support once again!! <3 I hope this chapter won’t disappoint! T^T

@cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatina @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct @beautifulparisiangirl @taelieninvader @ggukjitaejin @xakemi-chiix @vantaenims @atulipandarose @moments-of-melancholy @xclo02 @cherub-kookie @gottadreamitallaway

Your mind goes completely blank for what felt like a good ten minutes, reacting purely out of the baser, instinctive need to survive – body thrashing wildly like an antelope fighting to get out of a lion’s hold, kicking and screaming. It’s not until you sink your teeth into the soft flesh of your attacker’s hand are you finally released along with a pained shout of surprise.

“Bloody HELL poppet that fucking HURT!”

The force in which you were flung sends you toppling over onto the pavement, unceremoniously landing on your side. Your own groans of pain join in with the male nursing his injured palm and getting over your heart attack, you’re finally able to process who it is; raven hair that falls in long waves, tall, muscular figure and decked out from head to toe in black, complete with combat boots. You sit up if only to yell indignantly, “Well maybe you shouldn’t go around jumping people out of nowhere like that you weirdo!”

Jungkook straightens himself up from being bent over, giving his hand one last massage before he shoots you with a pointed look, “Well I’m not the one who was running around in the open like a headless chicken while an entity from Hell was out trying to kill you.”

His retort makes your mind screech to a halt, “…What?”

At your wide, clueless doe-eyed look, Jungkook’s mouth snaps shut just as he was about berate you some more. Turning his head away, he takes a deep breath in before exhaling through his nose, mussing his dark locks a bit with a furrowed brow as if he’s deep in thought. Then he turns back to you, offering a hand and gestures for you to take it.

“C'mon get up, let’s go somewhere else to talk.”

Your eyes dart from his proffered hand to his obsidian eyes, face set into a neutral expression but you already understand that this is of serious matters. Not like you’re going to refuse him anyways, Jungkook appearing like this was the saving grace you wanted – the key to potentially all of your answers.

So you reach up, enough to clasp your own hand into his larger ones and as soon as he gets a good grip, you’re being tugged by more than the immense strength of a demon; your stomach unintentionally does a flip at the sensation, a familiar whirlwind of colours and images passing by too quickly to be discerned before they abruptly stop altogether and you’re on wobbly knees again from the aftermath.

“Jungkook I swear….” You seethed in disdain, even though you’re holding onto his hand like it’s your lifeline. And again, you hear his snickering that he always seems to fail at hiding. At least this time around, it doesn’t last as long.

“You can’t deny me my simple joys in life. Besides, what’s a little apparating in comparison to nearly dying at the hands of another dark creature, am I right?” He jabs, pulling you until you’re standing upright by yourself and then walking off. It’s only then that you notice you’re back on the garden rooftop again, the stretch of the city skyline before you as you’re surrounded by the shrubberies and wispy grass. This time however, the garden’s greens have significantly yellowed in most places and what little floral that was here had begun to wilt, their blooming cycle coming to an end. You wonder briefly if the rain fall just now would be enough to help revitalize the place. The dark rain clouds from before have since dissolved and migrated further south, away from the city to shower onto some other area, yet the sun still struggles to peek through the denseness they leave behind, the skies remaining a gloomy overcast.

“About that,” You start, following after Jungkook’s long strides down the gravel path. “what do you mean by ‘another dark creature’? As far as I know, I only know two demons and I swear I haven’t done anything to offend any other spawn of satan.”

Jungkook shoots a disbelieving look over his shoulder, actually stops in his tracks so that you can get the full impact of it; arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, head cocked and lips pressed into a hard line. He screams, ’oh really?’ without having to say it.

“You know poppet, sometimes I think you’re either really ballsy, or just plain stupid. But I do suppose that’s what makes you entertaining to watch.” Scoffing, he mutters as if to himself with a shake of his head, “Maybe you two really are meant for each other.”

You don’t get a chance to ask what he meant by that, cutting you off the same time he continues walking again, forcing you to tail after him. “Anyways, it’s just what it sounds like; you went and gotten yourself a new 'friend’ when you decided it was a smart idea to try your hands at summoning a demon for the first time.”

Your steps falter, suddenly feeling lightheaded at the shock overtaking you, “W-Wait – that…I thought it didn’t work…I mean…I didn’t see anything when I was done?”

“Or so you thought. You might not have gotten the demon you wanted but it did the job getting some other lesser creature of darkness for you.”

A chill runs down your spine unintentionally at the thought, memories flitting back to those near misses, now with some twisted, shadowy monster being the cause, lurking around each corner you had turned, stalking and waiting for that perfect moment to kill you off. You had stepped so close to death’s grasp, all because you had so blindly messed with something you had absolutely no understanding of. If it weren’t for Jimin showing up…. You shake away the thought, not wanting to even think about it but….

“So then how did….Jimin and you find me? Is that why you’re here?”

He turns his head, a lopsided smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah, when you’re a 'spawn of satan’ it’s kind of hard to miss that ominous amount of dark energy that came with the summoning. I’m surprised that you didn’t attract more than just three in a ten kilometre radius so when you think about it, you got what you wanted – congrats.”

In hindsight, Jungkook is right; though it was unconventional, you did indeed manage to somehow get Jimin to show himself finally after days of being missing. But, successful as it is, by no means had it been the way you wanted and thus, the praise came out too back-handed for it to feel anything remotely celebratory.

“And that’s the curious thing,” Abruptly, Jungkook stops walking and it nearly has you crashing into him. Luckily, you catch yourself in time, at the expense of stepping on your toes and nearly falling back on your ass again.

“Your little handy work might’ve been amateurish at most, but… evidently that’s quite some potent things you used there.” He pauses for a second, and then he’s facing you, staring down from his full height that makes you feel infinitely much smaller than you should as he almost accusingly says with narrowed eyes, “Including that thing in your pocket.”

You’re left blinking, pupils shifting left and right like you’re a criminal caught in the act for a good minute before you give yourself a pat down, instinctively going to your pants pocket, feeling nothing but then realizing your tote bag is still clinging onto your shoulder, barely holding on by one strap. You’re actually in disbelief that it made it this far. Grabbing a hold of it, you dig through until you pull out the one possession that the demon could possibly be talking about.

The little black velvet pouch remains unassuming as the day you had received it, so you had thought nothing when you opened it again, expecting to see the same stone crystal inside. To your utter shock however, the stone falls out in broken pieces, chunks split in half as if you had taken a hammer and smashed it. Along with that, the once whole stone had visibly lost its lustre, the natural glow dulled into something much more clouded and opaque. You don’t know what had caused this, racking your brain for an explanation; perhaps this was the only damage resulted from the whole accident fiasco you went through, but considering the forces at work here, you won’t necessarily rule out any other more supernatural possibilities.

“Where did you get that?”

Your confirmation is given by Jungkook’s question, his eyes trained on the remnants of the crystal and tone tinged too much on being apprehensive and wary that you can’t simply brush it off as overthinking this time.

Carefully, you reply, “….From the shop that I got all the other things from. Why?”

He goes eerily quiet, dark brows furrowing into a troubled look that mars his youthful face, and he chews his lips in deep thought. Just when you think he would say something, he schools his face once again, turning away.

“Nothing.”

Your face contorts into a bewildered expression because that sure doesn’t sound like nothing. But you’re not here for that. Huffing through your nose, you stuff the broken stone back into your bag, hand shooting out to grab Jungkook’s wrist to stop him from walking off.

“Look, I know you know something is wrong with Jimin and I wouldn’t have done what I did if he just told me what’s going on. He’s been gone for….I don’t know how many days now, wouldn’t even answer any of my texts or calls, but then still manage to show up when I’m in serious danger yet the first thing he does when he sees me is run?” You let go when you see Jungkook’s attention is back on you except the way he’s hiding any sort of emotion right now is just reigniting the same frustration and anxiety you’ve had bottled up for so long, too long.

Jaw clenching, your gaze hardens as you take in a fortifying breath if only as a last ditch effort to not explode right then and there.

“I need you to tell me everything. No more secrets.”

The words still come out with barely restrained anger.

Jungkook remains unfazed, eyes unwavering as he studies you. He sees the fiery temper waiting to be unleashed through the burning of your irises on him, the strain in which you clench your hands into fists until the whites appear in your knuckles, a tremor that rumbles through you like a volcano just before it erupts – no doubt anyone who valued their well-being would know best to avoid being on the receiving end of your wrath now that it has reached such a peak (he almost feels sorry for Jimin, almost). But amongst the flames, he sees the fan that stokes it; desperation, fear, and….

His lips twitch, bemused.

Jungkook finds you very commendable, maybe even to a fault and perhaps it’s why with one last sigh, he relents.

“All right, relax – don’t bite the hand that’s going to feed you.”

Your heart picks up in pace, anticipation pulsing through you in tandem as you brace yourself. Silently, Jungkook gestures with his chin for you to follow him over to the open space and towards the bench under the tree.

“Has Jimin ever told you how he ended up being your guardian before?” Jungkook asks mid-stride, hands shoved into his pockets casually. His sudden question pulls you away from burning a hole into the back of his head.

“Uh….Maybe once? Something about trying to worm his way out of doing dirty grunt work in the lowest levels of hell after causing trouble.”

“Did he say what he did?”

“…Only that it was quote, 'complicated’.” You respond after some thought. Your answer elicits a snort from the demon in front of you, along with some rueful muttering. Before you can ask, you both have reached the tree and the sight of it surprises you. The branches were now covered fully in bright emerald green leaves, providing the proper amount of shade to the bench that situated below it compared to the first time you’ve seen it but more than that, its even sprouted fruits. Round in shape and about the size of your palm, its colour grades from a yellow-green into rosy reds along the skin and its then you realize they were apples.

Jungkook stops just underneath the tree, side stepping in order to clear a path for you to the bench.

“Get comfortable poppet, it’s a bit of a story.”

Tentatively, you make your way over to sit down, gaze never leaving Jungkook’s and evidently the tension is still running high for you – you’re quite literally sitting on the very edge of your seat. Seeing as how that’s as comfortable as you’re going to get, Jungkook releases another deep sigh, rolling his neck as he begins a tale he loathed to repeat.

“That 'complicated’ thing that your guardian did? That was tempting an actual guardian angel to fall from grace.”

The words took a minute to process for you, not knowing what to expect but when they do, the impact hits you head on like a speeding train. For a split second, you’re trapped in a frozen world that’s numbed you of all your senses; you’re left stunned, speechless, jaw actually dropping and you wonder if you’re breathing still. After your mind was done tripping over on itself do you manage to stutter, “He – I mean how….?”

Jungkook crosses his arms, leaning back on the trunk of the tree as a far off look takes over his gaze.

“Trust me when I say if you knew Jimin like I did, you wouldn’t be half as surprised as you are that he would manage to do something like this. Heaven is only blissful to those who are complacent and live by their rules. There’s no room for doubts because to doubt is to question in your beliefs, and in turn, His beliefs which to angels is blasphemy. And angels, above all, are representatives of that. It is their duty to carry out His will, to be the shepherd to guide the lost sheeps because only you can lead them to salvation, even the most wayward ones; for His love is always gracious, accepting and forgiving. They’re really good at selling that righteous fantasy – makes you feel all high and mighty.”

He exhales deeply, the barest hints of an underlying bitterness carries out with the breath, made more obvious when he says, “But even that in itself was a test of faith. How cruel is it to tell you that your sole purpose is to protect and guide a soul that’s supposedly so precious when they prove to you time and time again to be so undeserving of that love? It makes you start to question a lot of things, like whether all your effort is worth it in the end or��.” A sharp inhale. “Maybe you’re simply not good enough.”

You listen quietly, not wanting to interrupt Jungkook but immersed in your own thoughts too. Even though you’re not terribly religious, you’re still somewhat familiar with the concepts. So long as you live your life honestly, commit no sins and do no wrong unto others, you’re more likely not to end up going to hell and be tortured for all eternity. And even if you do, you have the chance to repent and thus be forgiven.

Of course, people twist the words they read to suit their own philosophies but in the end, there’s still that clear line between evil and good. It’s all….very black and white to you. So it should be no surprise to you that beings who serve God would have that followed to a tee, only there’s no room for second-guessing or evidently, second-chances.

You see the unfairness in that; to be expected as someone who’s so devout and pious yet not be given that same mercy as humans.

You think….it’s quite sad.

“Nevertheless, those are thoughts no angel should have. Not unless you want to attract the attention of a demon.” He sneaks a glance at you and you catch the mischievous twinkle peering through the long bangs before he averts his eyes to the horizon in front of him again. “And that’s where your little guard dog comes in.”

You don’t deny the way you perk up a little more at that, pulled from your previously more sombre reveries.

“'Jimin’….He was everything you humans thought demons would be – conniving, heartless, and selfish creatures who takes pleasure in causing misery and suffering on others while indulging in all forms of obscenities as a pass time. He, like many demons, saw the world as his little sandbox and everyone in it his own personal plaything; doesn’t bat an eye to even the most heinous of crimes.”

You find the comparison jarring when you think of the demon you know now as being the very same one who did all those morally skewed things. It’s like talking about two different beings altogether. But the more you ruminate on it, the more you saw the plausibility; for one, Jimin is a demon, his entire existence is to be the devil’s advocate so how can you, a human no less, judge him for doing his job? And secondly, Jimin always did have that cockiness about him, like he knows he’s better than everyone else and he’s not afraid to let everyone know they’re beneath him – you included. It was very prominent when you first met, but now it’s tamed to a cheeky sassiness he uses to lightly tease you with (an impressive feat if you’re going to be honest; safe to say that was quite the learning curve for both of you).

However, it just proves to you that even someone like him could change for the better.

“But unlike many demons, Jimin was…remarkably ambitious, uncharacteristically so because while others are satisfied with living that otherwise lawless, cesspit lifestyle, he grew bored of the monotony – had a need to conquer new challenges, push boundaries, always a hunger for more. And it worked in his favour too.” He pauses to let out a short scoff, a humourless chortle under his breath as his voice lowers to an almost melancholic tone. “Maybe that’s what made him so dangerous; being so good at finding even your most darkest secrets and enticing you with sweet words that it makes it hard for anyone to resist.”

Again, there was something in the way Jungkook is telling you all this, the way his voice would inflect with a deep-rooted emotion without meaning to and you can’t shake off this feeling. It’s almost like….he’s recounting, reliving memories from a different time.

Dark eyes slide to yours and you find yourself locked in an endless abyss, one that you’ve seen before in Jimin’s – swimming behind centuries worth of history, you’ll catch glimpses of a long lifetime of loneliness and bitter sorrow that are much too alien to belong on such youthful faces. “So imagine how easy it was to get to a guardian angel who deep down, knew he wasn’t cut out for the job anyways.”

…. And suddenly there’s meaning to the familiarity in which he speaks of everything; of Heaven, of angels, of this guardian angel….

Cocking his head, Jungkook smiles at you but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Don’t start crying for me now poppet, you should save those tears for something more worthwhile.”

You hadn’t even realized the way you were staring, practically gaping at him with unadulterated shock. Overwhelmed is an understatement to what your mind is going through; so many thoughts racing a mile a minute yet feeling completely empty of any at the same time. You wouldn’t have imagined that this was Jungkook’s story.

At your prolonged silence, he tears his gaze away from you, not wanting to admit how he can’t stand seeing the sad look you’re giving him any longer. Pity was not necessary here.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t regret it. Jimin might’ve done it out of boredom and as his way to fulfill his self-gratification but it was the first time in so long that I felt like someone was listening to me and didn’t judge me right away for my 'impure’ thoughts.”

You can almost hear him rolling his eyes as he says that.

“Before him, I really thought that I was going to live a miserable life being stuck watching over this poor excuse of a human being who does nothing but just….rot away; self-entitled, greedy, stepping on others for their own selfish gains, never to redeem themselves in the eyes of God. Jimin understood me – offered me an out, something I didn’t have when I was made into a guardian angel and never thought I would get even afterwards.”

“So I took it; in exchange for one insignificant soul, I got my freedom.” Jungkook tilts his head upwards, as if he means to burn a hole right through the clouds themselves, or maybe the place that lies far beyond them. Instead, he reaches out to pluck a shiny red apple from its branch, one of the few you think that are early to ripe. “But to willingly hand over a soul to a demon under your watch was an unspeakable act, one of the surest ways to get you thrown out those golden gates.”

He tosses the fruit up in the air once, catching it smoothly and shooting you a roguish grin. The way his lips curl back gives you a more full view of his canines – you swear they look a lot more sharper than what they were supposed to be on his human visage.

“And yes, it did hurt like a bitch when I fell from Heaven, in case you wanted to know.”

A throaty giggle comes out unintentionally along with the huff of air you release through your nose, one which you try to cover up by clearing your throat.

That was a good reference.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, actually looks proud of the jab he made before his grin starts to slip away, expression turning into something a little more morose as his eyes drift to the apple in his hand.

“The rest was pretty much history; as punishment, Jimin was made to take responsibilities for intervening with the duties of a guardian angel – quite lenient I might add – and once he gets his stamp of approval, he would go back and take me under his wing.”

“So imagine my surprise….” The grip on the apple tightens a fraction, the words are enunciated slowly, deliberately, like its taking all of his self-control to not completely crush it. You would’ve been convinced he was doing a pretty good job, if it weren’t for the flickers of a deep golden glow that begins to burn behind his once onyx irises and the air around him resonates with a charged energy that had goosebumps appearing on your arms. “When half-way through, he asks me if there was a way for demons to become a guardian angel.”

Right before your eyes, the red apple starts to decompose as if it were in a time-lapse, browning and shrivelling in on itself until all that’s left is a dried husk in Jungkook’s hand. You swear you feel the colour drain from your face along with it, a cold sweat breaking out at the back of your neck. Unsparing of the way your mind is hanging by a thread, the demon turns so that you see the twisted smile stretching across thin lips and he sneers, “The irony of it all, am I right?”

You don’t answer because you physically can’t. It’s like your body is going into shock, eyes unfocused and head spinning to the point where you’re thankful that you’re actually sitting or else you think you might tip over and pass out. Your heart is pounding rapidly in your chest, each beat hammering against your ribcage. You try to take in deep breaths to calm yourself but every inhale and exhale comes out short and shaky, every swallow leaving your throat drier.

“Deny it all you want poppet, but this is the truth you wanted – your little guardian demon wants to become a guardian angel.” You wouldn’t have realized you were shaking your head to yourself if Jungkook hadn’t spoken up, voice too nonchalant after dropping a bomb like that on you. He’s dusting his hands off on his sweatpants, picking and inspecting his nails now that the remains of the rotten apple had dropped onto the ground beneath him. By that time, you finally begin to stumble through your words, more or less thinking aloud in hopes of trying to make sense of this extreme turn of events.

“T-That’s….that can’t be, I don’t – why would he do that?”

Jungkook’s gaze whips to you with a quickness, the gold of topaz so piercing that it startles you and just when you thought you could be any less prepared at receiving bombshell news, Jungkook proves you wrong by hitting you with another one more devastating than the last.

“Do you really not know?” He asks, the question nothing more than a hushed tone filled with disbelief, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s you. You’re the reason.”

You.

The reason is you.

It’s like you’re hit by a physical blow that knocks the wind out of you and you brace your hands on your knees, letting out a sharp exhale. All of your questions are getting answered yet the answers you get are only producing more questions; questions that you don’t even know if you want answers to because you’re terrified of what you might hear. You don’t know if you can take much more of it. But you’ve made it so far. With this, you’ve come closer than ever before to finding Jimin and be able to help him. It’s a huge jump than what you had thought possible in accomplishing. So you take a deep breath in, mustering all of your courage to continue forward.

“Is it even possible?” Your voice comes out in a quiver, hoarse as you try to push past the lump that’s formed in your throat, your confidence left much to be desired. Jungkook offers you a half-shrug.

“It’s the same way I became a guardian angel myself once upon a time ago, only you’re more likely to die attempting it as a demon; as they say, it’s easier to fall than it is to redeem yourself.”

That has you jumping to your feet, so fast that the blood rushes to your head and you momentarily feel lightheaded but you’re more alarmed by what Jungkook had informed you.

“That’s just insane, he can’t – I can’t let him do this!”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, poppet.” Jungkook shakes his head firmly, arms crossing and halting any sort of protests that were about to spill from your mouth. “He’s already evoked the process, and now it’s only a matter of time before he fully succumbs to its effects.”

“Wait, what do you mean…?” You ask, full of apprehension, eyes never leaving Jungkook’s.

“Becoming a guardian angel involves being imbued with holy magic over a period of time; the process is slow, but otherwise painless….if you’re talking about an ordinary soul that is.” He pushes himself off of the tree to stroll forward a few steps, “With a demon? Even I don’t know what will happen to him. As you can imagine, to have both holy magic and demonic powers inhabiting one body is dangerous because they’re two conflicting forces; it leaves you unstable and vulnerable until one rejects the other, or your body gives out and you simply perish.”

A horrified gasp rushes past your dry lips, and you’re once again short of breath as an acute surge of panic overtakes your entire body. You’re moving before you realize what you’re doing, latching onto Jungkook’s sleeves with trembling hands like you’re afraid at any moment, he would vanish and abandon you to suffer this cruel twist of fate. Jungkook stumbles back, caught off guard by the strength of your grip, nails digging into his arms and how frantic you look – wide eyed and pupils shaking.

“Where is he?! I need to find him! Tell me where he is Jungkook!”

His larger hands grab ahold of your wrists to stop you jostling him for answers. “I don’t know that poppet. And even if I do, what does it matter? He’s doing this so he can be with you. Is this not something you wanted?”

Your eyes shut in anguish, head lowering as you can only muster a weak shake. “Not like this…” Never like this…

You hear a soft scoff from above you, and you don’t notice the way Jungkook has yet to let you go nor the way he can’t seem to bear looking at you, gaze set out on the horizon in front of him, the unnatural golden glow long since receded as he thinks bitterly to himself, 'That makes the two of us.’

He doesn’t want to admit that the sight of you like this, devastated and conflicted at what you had learned, stirs up his own complex cocktail of emotions – things he has kept buried in the recesses of his mind. When Jungkook had told Jimin of how he could possibly become a guardian angel, he felt like he had owed him some kind of debt, something to repay for allowing him to break free of his own miserable life – only to be the one who leads someone else back to the same place he was in. Maybe this is why he still hasn’t let go of how resentful he is of Jimin’s choice.

Jimin was a fool – a fool in love. Does he truly understand the consequences of what entails afterwards? He thought Jimin would see just how folly it is to pursue this pipe dream, give up the longer he’s subjected to the gruelling effects of completing the acts but Jimin is not Jimin without that stubborn, ambitious streak.

Worse of all, Jungkook resented himself too because deep down, he dares to envy Jimin for his tenacity, for finding a purpose in a life he saw no worth in and to have someone who is willing to fight for him as much as he is for them.

Maybe through this odd sense of kinship with you….. this is the closure he needed.

It takes a few good minutes for you to gather yourself again, minutes of holding yourself back from breaking down completely because you can’t afford to, not now. Not when its suddenly a matter of life or death. The cogs are turning double time in an effort to come up with something, anything to fix this. And that’s when –

“What if there was another way?”

Jungkook pauses to look at you before letting out a short incredulous laugh at the very idea, “Don’t be ridiculous poppet, as if Heaven – “

“I’m saying what if there was another way Jimin can stay without becoming a guardian angel?” You cut him off and the brief moment of silent questioning allows you to blurt out perhaps the second craziest thing you’ve thought of in your life, “What if I give my soul to him?”

Another long silence drags on, only because Jungkook is practically gaping at you like a fish now; jaw dropped, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen before. You both spend minutes that feel like an eternity just standing there, staring at each other as if to see who would break away first. It makes your nervously racing heart seem ten times louder in your ears and you grow self-conscious. Just when you go to explain yourself, defend your case, Jungkook lets out a wheezing laugh. At first they were short and breathy sounds but as they continue, the volume grows until it’s a full blown cackle as does the almost crazed grin on the demon’s face.

You’re frozen in your spot at the sight, even when Jungkook steps back from you to turn away and pace around, hands on his hips and occasionally running through his hair. You hear him choke out jumbled words to himself, phrases that start but drown out by more incredulous bouts of laughing. When it seems he’s finally able to calm himself, Jungkook whirls back around, eyes locking onto you intensely. “You’re serious? You’re actually serious?”

You sputter at the sudden accusation, “Wh – Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it’s crazy?” Jungkook shoots back, “You do know that most of the time when someone wants to give up their soul to a demon it never ends well – and I’m saying this from one demon to a mortal.”

“Well I imagine if that wasn’t the case then more people would do it right?” You scowl, rolling your eyes. “And besides, it’s not like I haven’t thought about doing it before this….”

Jungkook reels a bit again at the additional confession, scoffing lightly. You can see the thoughts play out across his face as his gaze fixates on a point past the buildings and trees surrounding you and after seemingly reaching a conclusion, you see him subtly shake his head.

“At most, you might be able to remain bound to him.”

“That’s more than enough.” You say, “He shouldn’t have to risk his life for me like this, not when he’s done so much already.”

“Heavy emphasis on the might poppet.” The tall demon holds up a hand as if it means to stop you from flying off to tear the whole city apart to find Jimin in this instance (which, he’s not wrong given if you had that ability). “And even if you do, I can’t guarantee what will happen to Jimin, whether this will stop the process or not.”

“Then help me find him Jungkook.”

He groans, throwing his head back like a child who’s been asked to wash the dishes and you’re flabbergasted at the response.

“You’re really going to leave your friend to die just like that?” You ask aghast.

“It was his choice.” Jungkook replies apathetically. “I warned him that if he were to go through with it, I won’t be able to help him with what would happen afterwards and he did it anyways. Now it’s out of my hands and I’m starting to regret saying anything because of the headache this is causing me.”

“All the more reason!” The rush of urgency threatens to overwhelm you as you step towards Jungkook, “We won’t know if this will work unless I try!”

Yet still, he remains unmoving and it only serves to freak you out even more. It’s like you can already see this last chance slipping away, right in front of you the more Jungkook becomes reluctant.

“This is because of me isn’t it? So let me fix it.” You beg, grabbing ahold of him. “Please Jungkook, this is the last thing I need from you.”

The weight of your pleas hang heavily in the air around you, almost to the point where you felt suffocated yourself. You hate how everything is riding on whether Jungkook would agree to help or not, is literally what would make or break this. You watch with bated breath, hyper-focused on every small movement Jungkook makes; the way he breaks away from your gaze to look off into the distance, jawline tensing as he clenches them and a deep furrow pinching his brows.

Jungkook watches with unseeing eyes the way the first rays of the setting sun breaks through, the streaks of orange so vibrant that they cut through like a knife and set aflame the dense clouds surrounding them. More and more the sky parts to reveal this fiery blaze until the light is burning into his eyes, even long after he eventually slips them shut.

There’s no doubt that once Jimin gets wind of this, he’ll miraculously summon enough strength to slam him through all seven levels of hell and then some. He’s already overstepped by even telling you what Jimin’s really been up to but it’s not his damn fault that the elder demon really dropped the ball on this one.

… Agh fuck it, he’s already in deep now, so what’s a little more help gonna do? Especially when the blazing desperation in your eyes currently rivals that of the departing sun, still clinging onto the last few minutes it has left before the oncoming night swallows it whole. It’s in the last bit of dying light that Jungkook lets out one long, drawn out sigh through his nose and you see him turning back to face you, eyes softly aglow once more and a meaningful look. You gulp, trying hard not to make it so obvious on how nervous you’re feeling but who were you trying to fool? At this point, you’re ready to drop down on your knees and grovel.

You’re actually a split second away from doing that when Jungkook rolls his head back and with another begrudging sigh, so heavy that his shoulders slump inward, says, “Alright fine! I’ll try to track him down.”

Jungkook settles by telling himself the only reason why he agreed to do this tedious task is because: 1) He’d already come this far in telling you basically everything that’s been going on with your guardian demon, might as well go the full nine-yards, 2) your daring plan of action and commitment was something that undoubtedly piqued his interest once more, enticed him into new territories of what-ifs. Again, commendable, he thinks frustratingly so; it’s like a force of its own getting him to root for you. As well, what kind of demon would he be if he didn’t play the part of being the shoulder devil that eggs you on to do stupid, reckless things?

And 3) ultimately, this isn’t his mess so however way it ends is none of his business and though yes he’s helping you track down your missing demon, he doesn’t have any control on what you intend to do after confronting Jimin. He’s essentially just the messenger, and once he’s done with this ’last favour’, he can dust his hands off and continue on his merry way.

As entertaining as this all had been, you had proven to be more of handful than he had imagined. His first impressions of you was that of a strange human who wasn’t totally obsessed with the idea that a demon had decided to take on the appearance of her favourite idol. In fact, you had even seemed highly unamused by it. But you had rolled with the punches and made do with your equally strange circumstance.

And then things took a turn for the stranger; the two of you end up developing an unlikely friendship but more than that, it bloomed into something more. That was when Jungkook had dropped his metaphorical popcorn. The thought is still unfathomable because…what kind of demon falls in love with a human?! And on top of that, what kind of human falls in love with a demon?! That’s just something someone who’s had a few too many screws loose in their head would do and neither you nor Jimin had strike him as one such person.

Apparently, he’s sorely mistaken.

As it turns out, both of your knuckle-headedness knows no bounds, having expected most of it to come from Jimin (given his track record) but you’ve proven yourself to be in equal competition with him, not one to be left out.

If he had thought you were reckless with trying to do a demon summoning ritual on your own before, you’ve blown his expectations out of the water (once again) by declaring you would willingly give up your soul to a demon – in order to save him no less! What an absolute mad lass!

He lets out a snort, kicking at the remnants of your handy work, finding himself back at the scene of the crime in search for a lead. Initially, Jungkook had arrived to the spot out of curiousity on what was causing such a concentration of dark energy to appear and after poking around, had found traces of your aura still lingering about – that was how he had managed to eventually find you. The discovery however made him do a major double-take; for one, not having expecting you of all people to be the cause of this supernatural phenomena but most importantly, how you even managed to come into possession of the materials to make it happen.

That was perhaps the most troubling bit Jungkook finds about this conundrum.

Not just anyone can get their hands on some of the things required to do a summoning ritual, let alone anything remotely authentic. People just kind of fill in the blanks on what they think they need but somehow you almost end up getting it down pat.

This ’shop’ you supposedly went to apparently has the good shit.

And that’s not all.

Along with the ingredients to a demon summoning ritual, you had also walked out of there with something he had thought he would never see in his new lifetime again.

Angelus Tactus.

Or better known as Angel’s Touch – a stone made of pure starlight, said to be plucked from the Heaven’s themselves which imbued them with magical properties that offer protection from much more malicious entities and energies.

So by every means, it was not something some little shop just has lying around as a trinket for sale no matter how niche they supposedly are.

Jungkook unconsciously gnaws at his bottom lip, mulling over this tidbit of information. None of this sits well with him and he had half the mind to hunt down the identity of the shop owner himself, if only to satisfy his curiousities.

….No, he shouldn’t. If he does then he’s only digging his own grave instead of getting out of it like he’s supposed to be doing right now.

With a shake of his head, he banishes the thought (…for now) to focus back on his surroundings. Eyes scanning, Jungkook notices that the rain had washed away what remains of the chalk pentagram that was etched into the asphalt and whatever dried herbs or salt left over has sunken into the soil where they have been pushed. They soak up the natural energy that’s provided by the earth, enough to give off a low pulse. It’s very weak but as he carefully steps around, it’s enough for him to use in order to help him sift through and amplify other aura signatures that might’ve passed the area.

Yours and the creature you summoned were prominent, and given Jimin’s state of limbo, it takes a little bit of 'feeling’ around before he begins to pick up another faint trace of someone else’s. He closes his eyes, honing in on it and lets his feet guide him until he comes upon a spot where it emanates the strongest. He lets it wash over him, familiarizing it with his senses before his eyes slip open, the topaz glow taking over his irises.

Bingo.

Logically speaking, tracking down a demon would take some time, you figured maybe two or three days because demons are discreet creatures by nature; doesn’t help that the wanted demon in question most likely doesn’t want to be found either. So it makes perfect sense that your only option right now is to wait and use this time to go through exactly how you’re going to give your idiot guardian demon a piece of your mind.

Well, at least try to.

You’re a bit of mess right now, to put lightly. After Jungkook spilled the secret on basically everything and you begging him to find Jimin, swearing that this will be the last he’ll ever hear from you, you find yourself strapped into this Tower of Terror of emotions – going from one extreme to another in what feels like split second intervals. You’d arrived home feeling numb and exhausted, heading straight to the safe confines of your room to sit on your bed in darkness and total silence. You felt like a zombie in which your mind and body were not connected, simply breathing and staring off into nothingness.

There was a distinct tightness in your chest, suffocating in its weight that it has you struggle to properly breathe. You don’t know how long you remain like that, but after what felt like an eternity, the strongest desire to scream had overcome you. It’s a rather delayed reaction, you think, moments after you had snatched the closest pillow to you to let out your pent up anger into. You throw your bag violently in the direction of your closet for good measures, the resounding thud pacifying you slightly.

Heaving, you push away the fallen strands of hair out of your face, eyes squeezed shut. You feel your throat closing up in a tell-tale sign of angry tears but you stubbornly keep them at bay. You won’t cry for Jimin, as much as you want to. Though hurt, you’re also livid with what he’s done, is doing…

You shake your head to yourself; you still can’t process the fact that he’s so willingly risking his life for you like this, all at the chance to stay with you as your official guardian angel. But to also not tell you anything about it – just makes you think when would he tell you then? Or was he even planning to tell you at all? The thought of him quietly erasing himself from your life if things went wrong, with you knowing no better and him just….accepting that?

And assuming you would be okay?!

The audacity reignites the flames of your fury.

You’d fallen into a restless sleep in the early hours of the morning, or rather closed your eyes for a long period of time because you don’t think you actually slept. You had tossed and turned, too riled up for any sort of fitful rest. Before you knew it, pale morning light had seeped through your blinds.

Yet you continue to lay there in bed, still as drained as you were the day before, only you’d fallen into a pit of listlessness. The amount of strength you mustered up after a while was to grab your phone, remembering the shift you had later that day and though you hate to be that person, you know there’s no way you’ll be able to work through it. At least, not that day.

But much of your time passes that way, mulling on your thoughts over and over again until you’re giving yourself a headache, the same questions repeating like a broken record in your mind; when did it all start? How could you not have noticed any of this and for so long? How did you let it get this bad?

How long do you have now? Or are you too late?

It has you scrambling to bring forth memories, searching for any kind of answers lost in the past. You dissect each and every one of them, and more and more you begin to uncover the signs; a flicker of melancholy that slipped through before quickly being masked by indifference and teasing, feather-like touches, so light they made you think you’d dreamt it, and…

That night.

The biggest kicker of them all was that night. In a spectacular combination of Jimin’s deflective skills and your tendencies to not be confrontational, you had assumed that it was just as he suggested; some unfortunate, rotten timing on his part that he’d ran into something vicious – another demon, an angel, a hunter, a witch…

Who would’ve thought it was him going through the process of becoming a guardian angel.

Fuck, it all made so much more sense.

As all the puzzle pieces fall into place, it made you realize that the signs had been there all along, just hidden away so well by Jimin.

And every time, you hesitated, faltering on taking action when given the chance.

The regret of not having done more when you could’ve begins to grow inside you and soon, it’s what ate at you the most.

Waiting becomes tortuous. You’re going through the routine of living on autopilot, scatterbrained and anxiously watching for Jungkook to show up at any day, hour, minute, second with news that he’s found a lead. You’re hoping and actually praying to whatever God up there that would listen to give you this one chance to make things right.

So on edge you were that when you came home from what you think was the biggest struggle you had to getting through work to a cryptic message smeared across your mirror, like you’d walked straight into 'The Shining’, you nearly blacked out right then and there.

The yelp you let out was embarrassingly loud, enough to alert Jaehee who came rushing to you, stumbling with shoes half-off from surprising you with an afterwork dinner date. Amidst her frantic questioning and the blood pumping loudly in your ears from your heart that’s ready to bail on you, you come to the realization that while you saw the beginnings of your own paranormal activities movie, Jaehee only saw a plain, ordinary full-length mirror.

It took a lot of nervous laughing and some very poor half-ass excuses to eventually pry your friend off, ushering her out of your room with the promise of properly resting. Once you shut the door, you take deep breaths before turning to look at the offending message that’s ruined your mirror. Now that the instinctual fear wasn’t clouding your judgement, you see clearly that – thankfully – the substance staining the surface of the glass is not blood but something akin to black ink. As for the message itself, it simply states:

’The Whiskey Serpent,

Tomorrow. Midnight.

JK.’

A beat passes and when you fill in the blanks to give context for this obscure set of instructions, your eyes close in exasperation as you heavily inhale.

You’re going to strangle him.

Tomorrow midnight doesn’t come nearly as fast as you wanted it to and your body and mind seems to resent that fact by compromising your sleep (again) and making you feel so jittery you can barely stand still for five seconds. You leave your afternoon shift all nerves and with still too much time on your hands for your liking, even after doing a trial run to the appointed place with the directions you found. You find it easy enough. To no surprise, it’s located in the more luxurious part of the city’s districts, surrounded by sleek sky-rises that hosts either penthouse apartments or five star hotels, streets littered with more expensive cars than you’re used to seeing, upscale boutiques and of course, private lounges and clubs.

The Whiskey Serpent was amongst them, a minimalistic looking building with sleek, black granite stone cladding that gives off the slightest hints of sparkles in the bright sunlight, accented by its polished, dark cherry wood double doors and large, stainless steel handles stretching nearly top to bottom. Atop the entrance sits a metallic amber snake, rearing up and curling around the outline of a slender arm holding a crystal glass, jaws agape and fangs bearing as if ready to strike. It’s all people would need in order to know the name of this establishment.

It’s currently closed; opening hours start once the sun begins to set. So you flounder a bit, not knowing whether you should hang around at a cafe until you have to meet Jungkook or head home. Either way, you know you’re going to fail at any attempts of trying to be prepared for whatever Jungkook is going to say. Perhaps its with that in mind that you choose to go home – if you’re going to be stewing in your anticipation and nerves, you might as well do it in the comforts of your own room.

Your stewing consisted a lot of breathing exercises, fiddling around things on your desk and shelves, standing in one place waiting for a command like a Sim, and pacing. Lots of pacing. You tried stress eating but realize you have no appetite for anything in such a state, a mild inconvenience you know will come back to haunt you later as dinner quickly comes and goes without you so much as consuming a single bite of anything.

As soon as the clock hits half past eleven, you jump on the opportunity to head out, no longer able to wait. You fire off a hasty text to Jaehee the same time you’re speeding to get your shoes on and you’re out the door in record timing. You’re breathless by the time you arrive, breaking out into a half-sprint in your haste. Catching your breath, your eyes take in the way the exterior of the lounge has been illuminated by the little well lights that beam upwards along the walls with a golden glow, now that the skies has darkened. The snake as well has been lit up with its own spotlight, giving it a menacing look as it seems to bore down on you, daring you to enter its domain.

You swallow thickly, squaring your shoulders and with an exhale, mutter to yourself, “Okay, let’s do this.”

Pulling open the doors, you’re greeted by a dimly lit waiting area; black marble floor, an upholstered seating bench on one side and a hostess desk perpendicular to it. Behind the desk was a beautiful dark stone and granite wall fountain, the water cascading down in a steady stream, shimmering against the rough edges as its lit by spotlights lining along the bottom and top and giving off an almost rippling effect. Fixed to the surface were brass vines that crawled from either side, intertwined amongst them were two large snakes that seem to undulate from where they are stuck to, their bodies subtly lifting higher in some places, one head tilted outwards more than the other, as if to give the illusion that they were alive and at any moment, would slither off the wall they were on.

You stand awkwardly, not sure how to approach the elegant looking hostess; a tall woman dressed sharply in an all black suit with hair tied up in a high ponytail, face painted immaculately with well-blended eyeshadows, complimentary lip colour and crisp liner. But you need to if you want to get into the lounge. You’re made painfully aware of how out of place you must look, no where near looking like the type of person to be visiting places like this and the fact makes you freeze up a little.

God, why did Jungkook have to pick a place that screams in your face that you’re poor? Why can’t he just meet you at a cafe or – ?!

“Hello miss? Can I help you with something?”

Your loathing inner ranting is interrupted by the woman behind the desk, who peers at you questioningly, long lashes fluttering as she blinks.

“Uhh…” You stutter, shifting nervously and hugging your bag closer to you in an attempt to comfort yourself before meekly replying, “I’m uhh – here to meet with someone…?”

“Oh,” She sounds surprised and you’re not offended by it. The woman begins to tap on the tablet she’s holding. “Do you a have a name for the reservation?”

You feel like your going to choke on air, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you scramble for an answer until –

“Don’t worry about it, Xenia. This one’s with me.” You jump at the sudden feeling of a large hand clamping down over one of your shoulder and the sound of a timbre voice above you. Whipping your head up, your face contorts into a scowl at seeing none other than Jungkook who, upon feeling your heated gaze on him, shoots you a side-eyed, shit-eating smirk, thick wavy bangs falling over one eye and giving him a wolfish appeal.

Immediately, memories of his little stunt with your mirror resurface and you hold up an accusing finger, scowl deepening further. “You – !!”

Xenia, the pretty hostess, recovers quickly, interrupting you as she smiles and holds out a hand towards the direction of the short hallway that must lead off to the actual lounge.

“Please, go right ahead then. Would you like me to have the usual ready for you?”

“Yes, please and thank you.” Jungkook waves casually, then you feel him nudge you forward and you have no choice but to go. He leads you to round the corner and you finally get to see that the lounge is just like the rest of the building; all dark colours, dimly lit and refined with a luxurious elegance that you’re both in awe and intimidated by.

Around the perimeters of the large room, there are alcoves with black leather sofas, decorated with lavish throw pillows and low tables, each booth separated by corinthian style columns outlined in gold that matches the designs running along the ceiling moulding while much of the middle space is taken up by velvet ornate chairs gathered around tables with tall cylindrical lamps emitting a soft warm glow to serve as lights. There wasn’t much in terms of decor, other than the sleek black grand piano situated in the farthest corner of the room, currently empty with no pianist.

You don’t see many people here, only a few couples interspersed in some of the booths and chairs and the occasional individuals having a quiet drink to themselves. Despite the abundant of open tables, Jungkook doesn’t lead you to any of them, instead directs you to the only other place of sitting which was a long bar taking up most of one side. He takes a seat in one of the bar stool and the bartender wordlessly places down two cozier, crystal glasses and a bottle onto the brown marble counter in front of him, the liquid inside a deep russet colour, before leaving.

“Are you going to keep standing there or are you gonna come sit?” Jungkook gestures to the empty seat beside him. His voice snaps you from your momentary gaping and you kiss your teeth in frustration, annoyed that you keep getting distracted.

“You have some explaining to do. What the hell were you thinking when you decided to vandalize my mirror like that?!” You hiss as you take your seat carefully, acutely self-conscious of not wanting to draw any attention to your presence here – silly considering there’s hardly anyone here.

Still, this is such a new place for you that you can’t help feeling like you’re in over your head being here. Sure you’ve been to a few bars and pubs but the places you go to don’t have mini crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and their liquor selection is equivalent to what you find in your local liquor and beer store; you don’t think you recognize any of the bottles lining the vast glass shelf in front of you.

Jungkook ignores you by choosing to down his glass in one shot and lets out a loud noise of satisfaction, smacking his lips.

“That’s some good shit.” He seems to say so more to himself.

“Jungkook.” You say with warning. The patience you would have had to humour him tonight was long gone, spent on the time waiting to hear any news from him.

“Don’t be so upset, I didn’t have any way to contact you. Plus, you were out with your friend so I highly doubt you would appreciate me just waltzing up to you with her there.” He pushes the extra glass of liquor towards you. “Also would be too suspicious because I don’t think you’re someone who knows that many good-looking people.”

Glaring, you push the glass back stubbornly, crossing your arm. “If you think I’m here to drink with you, then you’re wrong in inviting me out.”

The demon lets out a long breath, flipping his hair. “So serious….” You hear him mutter flippantly before he addresses you again. “Fine, fine…” He takes the bottle and pops the cork off, filling his glass generously. “It took a while, only because his signature aura was so convoluted given the state he’s in. So I lost his trail a couple of times.”

“But you found him right?” It comes out in one rushed breath. You’re leaning expectantly towards him and the pressure of your gaze is so heavy that it makes Jungkook shift a little. He clears his throat, taking a sip from his drink again and then goes digging into his pocket. From it, he produces a folded slip of paper, holding it between two fingers to show you before sliding it across the smooth marble towards your direction.

“Lucky you, he didn’t stray very far – turns out he’s got a place not far from here; one of those fancy new penthouse apartments.” You hear him scoffing in bemusement, “He can be on his death bed and the bastard still won’t let go of his expensive taste.”

The slip reveals an address when you unfold it, messily scrawled in blue ink. You stare at it, not believing that the whereabouts of Jimin is now sitting in the palm of your hand. It makes seeing him tangible again instead of the hopeful prayer you’ve been clinging onto for the past days. For once, you feel confident that you have a fighting chance now.

“….Thank you.” You whisper to Jungkook, clutching at the piece of paper, afraid that it would vanish at any moment. “You have no idea how much this means to me, I really owe you with this one.”

The sincerity and reverence in your voice catches Jungkook off guard, so much so that he doesn’t know what to do with himself for a short second, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he avoids meeting your eyes. He settles to grab a hold of his glass.

“Yeah, well you better 'cus I had my work cut out for me.” He mumbles around the rim before taking a hearty sip. You bite down a small smile, catching a glimpse of redness tinging the tips of his ears, made more noticeable thanks to having his hair pulled up into a bun. After swallowing his drink, Jungkook speaks up, shifting the topic back to you as he asks, “So what’s your plan?”

“I’m going to confront him.” You reply assertively.

“Like, right now?”

“Well, yes. At this point, I’m done waiting.”

The demon barks out a laugh, head thrown back at your sheer determination. He nods along, agreeing with you as he gestures to your still untouched glass.

“Then drink up poppet, you’re probably gonna need the extra boost.”

You eye the glass of expensive whiskey uncertainly, having wanted to keep a clear head when you see Jimin in order to get across everything you have pent up inside you but at the same time, you’re shaking with so much anxiety that you can barely think, let alone hope to articulate your feelings properly.

Maybe just a sip or two, you decide, reaching out to take the glass which seems to satisfy Jungkook. He holds his up in cheers, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

“To love, which conquers all.”

The groan slips out loudly and you bury your face in your hands, embarrassment taking over every part of your being. “Oh my God no….”

Jungkook’s cackling doesn’t help, much too deafening in the quiet atmosphere of the lounge that you just want to leave as soon as possible. You get in three sips before you can’t take the burning anymore and promptly ask for a glass of water.

Though it was just three sips, you feel the liquor coursing through your body, warming your veins with the liquid courage you need as you watch the numbers climb on the elevator. After making a quick exit from the lounge, Jungkook had so graciously offered to walk you to the high-rise apartment, getting you past security with ease (must be a demon charm thing) and leaving you at the mirrored elevators.

“As much as I would love to see you drag him through the dirt, it’s never a good idea to be caught in the crossfire of a lover’s quarrel.”

He’d said before walking off, throwing you a two fingered salute over his shoulder.

And now here you are, alone and with sweaty palms as the elevator finally chimes, letting you know that you’ve reached your destination; PH58.

You step out into the hallway, peering around and taking in the deep mahogany walls that perfectly accents the white marble floors and neutral beige and brown decor, giving a very chic, modern look. There are only two doors located on either ends of the hallway, both the same deep wooden colour as the hallway – the one you’re looking for is to the farthest left; PH58A.

Your heart is racing as your eyes lock onto the gold plated number and you feel like you had to force your legs to move, steps heavy the closer you get. You can’t believe this is it, after so much chasing and wondering, the person you’ve been looking for all this time is just behind this door.You close your eyes, steeling your nerves, then raising your fist, you give three firm raps.

You wait with baited breath.

But after a minute and a half, the door remains unopened.

You try again, and wait once more.

….

Yet still, nothing.

Brows furrowed, you begin to question whether or not this was the right address but a quick glance at the slip of paper Jungkook handed to you proves that you are. Was he out at the moment? You take out your phone and dial his number, pressing your ear close to the door and listen. It’s a long shot but you’re willing to try anything at this point.

It rings once on your end, then twice…

And that’s when you hear it, the unmistakeable rumble of a phone set onto a table. The buzzing lasts for a short second, however, it’s all that’s needed to have you straighten up with a renewed zeal.

“I know you’re in there.” You say loud and clear, not caring if you might potentially disturb the only other tenant in the vicinity. “So there’s no point in hiding from me anymore because I know everything.”

Silence.

It rings louder than your words and slowly, your temper flares to life, rearing its ugly head.

“Listen, I don’t care what you were thinking, I deserve an explanation in all of this from you and if you’re just going to be a… a self-sacrificing jerk about this! Then – !” Your voice steadily grows louder, all sense of maintaining some semblance of level-headedness thrown out the window and pushed to the brink of your wit’s end, you shout mindlessly, “I’m never talking to you again!”

The door suddenly snaps open and you nearly choke on the gasp the rushes out, startled. Your eyes dart to the figure standing in between the gap and immediately they widen upon seeing who it is.

Jimin’s shock mirrors your own, obsidian eyes boring into you as if not believing you were there standing in front of him either and for a moment you get lost taking each other in.

He is still breathtaking in every sense; dark raven locks swept off his forehead, slightly damp as if he had just showered, the ends of his fringes grazing delicately over his eyes – longer than what you had remembered. He’s dressed in a simple white t-shirt that’s distractingly thin with the neckline dipping so dangerously low that you can’t help but let your eyes trace over the smooth expanse of his clavicle and sternum exposed to you as well as black jeans that never fail to hug his thighs in all the right places with cuts just above the knees, revealing more skin than you can handle right now.

But as you drag your eyes away and to his face, you notice the pallor of his skin has significantly lost its glow, the paleness turning his flawless complexion lifeless, almost cold. Dead. The ashen bruises under his eyes are more noticeable now and the more you look, the more you’re convinced that he might’ve lost weight too; his face slimmer and jawline more prominent to you. An ache blooms in your chest then, muting the resentment briefly.

He looks exhausted, more than you’ve ever seen him before.

And your heart is breaking seeing him like this.

“Cherub…” Jimin breathes in disbelief, the tiredness reflecting even in his voice. “How…”

Like a spell being broken, you break from the trance that’s taken over you and you surge forward.

“You – !”

Caught off guard, Jimin steps back into the foyer of his apartment but you follow after him with a fierceness, driven by the storm of emotion tearing through you right now.

“You fucking asshole!” You continue to lash out, hands flying at him and you land a push that forces him back again. You’re relentless in your pursuit, hate that you’re reduced to pushing and shoving because the words come out in broken pieces, barely formulated enough express the fraction of the hurt you feel because of him. He catches your wrists as you go in for another hit.

“Y/N – ”

You rip away from his grasp easily, flinging your bag to the ground in the process but that’s the least of your concerns as your eyes are trained on him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?!” You shout, shoulders heaving. “Were you ever going to tell me truth?!”

“Y/N, what are you – ” Jimin struggles, confused at having not expected you to find him.

“Were you ever going to tell me that you’re trying to become a guardian angel?!”

He freezes, like a deer caught in the headlights but as your words finally sink in, his eyes slip shut and he brings a hand to run through his hair, sighing.

“Was it Jungkook?”

“Does it matter?” You spit back. “What matters is that you hid this from me!”

“I was going to tell you once I transitioned.”

“And what if you didn’t?!”

“Wow, I love the amount of faith you have in me….”

“That’s not what this is about!” You yell, body heating up and trembling from the intensity, “Do you not see yourself?! How can you risk your life doing this and not tell me anything?!”

“And performing a demon summoning ritual isn’t putting your life at risk?” He argues with a hard gaze. “If I hadn’t found you on time, you would’ve been killed!”

“I wouldn’t have done it if you had just told me what the fuck was going on!” You snap back just as quick.

“I was trying to protect you!” He finally confesses, voice rising to match yours in volume, his own distress peaking. “I wasn’t going to risk anything more than I need to. If I have to put my life on the line in order to guarantee your safety then I don’t care.”

“BUT I DO!”

Your words resonate loudly throughout the room, reaching to a pitch that has it ringing in your own ears. It felt like time itself had come to a stand still with the way Jimin is frozen in stunned silence. You’ve never been one to scream during a confrontation, hadn’t counted yourself as the type but you suppose this is your first time being pushed to the extremes of your limit. When neither of you speak, you take in a ragged breath.

“Did you think I wasn’t going to notice that something was wrong?” You ask, voice hoarse and breaking from the emotional and physical stress. “That I was going to sit around and do nothing?”

Jimin swallows thickly, suddenly unable to meet your eyes and you see his jaw tick. After a pause, he admits quietly. “….I can’t protect you, Y/N. Not the way an angel can because demons aren’t meant for it – I’d only end up hurting you if I try.”

“Hurting me?” You scoff at the audacity. “You thought avoiding me, ignoring my calls and texts with no explanation wasn’t going to hurt me? You didn’t think that if you – ” You choke, and you had to fight to get the next few words out. “If you died because of me, I wouldn’t be hurt?”

He says nothing in response, can’t hope to because any words die on his tongue at the sight of you. He thinks this is the second time he’s seen you like this – distraught with glassy eyes wet with unshed tears – the first being that night when he had showed up bleeding on your bedroom floor. It makes him want to reach out, to hold you and brush away those tears before they fall but the guilt keeps him where he is, away from you.

Yet despite how close you are to breaking, there’s a quiet determination that’s ignited in you and it’s what dares you to take a step closer to him.

You’re not going to run. Not from this, not from him.

“You might look like Jimin, might sound like him and I might’ve watched hundreds of videos of him…..But I don’t know him….” You say, shaking your head. “I don’t know Jimin.” And your next words you say with a softness so tender that it’s heartbreaking to hear. “But I know you.”

The way you’re so sure of every step you’re taking makes him withdraw back. His mind is at war with itself; he knows he shouldn’t let you come this close, afraid of what he might end up doing when he feels what little self-control he has left slipping away, like sand between his fingers. It was so much easier with you hitting and screaming at him.

Jimin feels the sofa hit the back of his thighs. You keep going.

“I know you won’t hurt me without meaning to.”

“Y/N…Don’t –”

It’s a feeble attempt; he knows it’s no use, not when there was no meaning put behind those words. He can smell you now, your scent overwhelming and tempting, and it further empowers his traitorous heart. When he swallows, he swears he can taste you.

He’s losing focus, his senses being filled with nothing but you.

“If you think you can scare me by saying that, you’re wrong.”

You tentatively reach out, waiting to see if he’ll turn you away but all he does is watch you entranced, to see what you’ll do next. Gently, you place your palm against his cheek.

Jimin inhales sharply at the touch, melting at the warmth against his chilled, clammy skin. He can feel himself come alive again, the dull constant ache of his body soothed for the first time, and his eyes flutter shut. He looks so serene this way and your heart squeezes, wanting to offer more solace. To let him know that he has you. You lean in until your foreheads touch and you feel the light caress of his breath brush against your cheeks and lashes.

“So I don’t need you to be a guardian angel. All I need is for you to stay beside me just as you are, like you always have.”

Muted crimson eyes are suddenly peering at you through a half-lidded gaze, the colour dulled but they bore into you intensely. There’s a flurry of emotions flitting through them as they flicker over your face, searching for any traces of hesitation yet finding none. Your willingness astounds him, and he’s almost afraid that it’s all a delusion conjured up from his carnal desires. But you mean to prove him wrong the moment you catch his eyes lingering on your lips.

The first brush was as light as a butterfly’s wing, chaste and soft, but it’s enough to subdue him completely, bring him to his knees and have him craving you like a starved man in the middle of a dessert. The moment seems to last too shortly for him. Even when you barely part away, Jimin mourns at the lost of contact.

“Stay with me?” You whisper.

He answers by closing the gap between you again, pressing firmly this time and sealing the words against your lips. You sigh out and he swallows the sweet sound, finally getting to savour the taste of you. Like taking the first bite of the forbidden fruit, the newfound hunger takes over, consuming him.

And he gives into the lust, leaving him wanting more.

#guardian demon!jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin reader insert #jimin fanfic #jimin fic #jimin scenario #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfics #bts supernatural au #jimin fics #jimin fluff #bts jimin fanfic #bts jimin imagines #jimin imagines #jimin x mc

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ironxkid · 4 years

Note

👨 = What’s your muse’s relationship with their father, what made it that way?

Family Headcanons

((dfgjdghj I was literally just talking about this to my best friend yesterday xD

so, Carter’s relationship with Tony is... messy, tbh - and, I just wanna make a disclaimer again real quick, this is just going off of Carter’s general canon and can absolutely be different if plotted otherwise with Tony muses!

Carter absolutely adores her father - no doubt about that. And she always has! She loves him dearly, and it was definitely a blind adoration for him when she was little - he was still the self-destructive mess we see in the movies, but he managed to keep her sheltered from it all. Honestly, that... all began to fall apart when she was 11, shortly after her father was kidnapped

her inability to communicate was something she absorbed from her father. She developed severe separation anxiety when he returned home, and became codependent on him during this time - while the separation anxiety was something she was able to curb and basically free herself from it completely, the codependency... is still an issue, and something that definitely plays a role in why their relationship is messy

the reason why things began to fall apart, was because of said codependency and separation anxiety. Upon returning home, Carter was practically glued to her father’s side - because of that, she began to see his flaws. She began to realize he was not the perfect person she had fully believed him to be, and began to see his self-destructive behavior. At first, a lot of that was covered by him working on the Iron Man suit, and it all came crashing down when he went back to Gulmira to destroy as many of his weapons as he could

I’ve actually been meaning to write something for this, but Carter overhears Tony telling Pepper, “There is the next mission, and nothing else.”

and that is something that continues to haunt her. She needed her father (she still does, but far more then), and to hear him say that, with absolutely no regard to her or Pepper... really messed her up. She never said anything about it to him, of course, and she still loved him dearly, but it changed something in her - she began to realize there was so much to him that she was overlooking, and it just continued to go downhill from there. The communication became an even bigger issue when she learned Tony had been dying from Vanko - when he’d called Tony and Tony said he sounded good for a dead man, which prompted him to throw it back at him, Carter was there. She heard the entire exchange because she was sitting next to her father, and it did shake her trust in him temporarily

but, the biggest issue that carries on as she grows older is her codependency and inability to communicate. She... went through a lot, privately, at school that she refused to speak of to anyone, even though she needed to (especially given that, with one of those events, the school had more or less gotten Tony involved), and although her trust had been fully restored in her father, she couldn’t get herself to tell him. She knew there was so much he was going through, that she didn’t want to add to it - she didn’t want to become a burden. It’s also the reason why she never told him just how bad she’d gotten during the events of IM3, because she didn’t want him worrying about her stability and she was far too ashamed of how low her mental state had plummeted

I feel like this is getting dangerously close to suggesting that Tony’s to blame, so I want to clarify this now: a lot of this is fully Carter’s own doing. They’re similar in many ways, and, unfortunately, it does include being self-destructive. Carter has put herself in a position, something she is fully aware of, that has ultimately led to her being stuck in her father’s shadow, and she’s choking on it. She won’t say anything to him, won’t do anything to help herself, and won’t even talk about it to her therapist - unfortunately, that is from her inability to communicate, which did stem from her father. So, in that regard, Tony is, inadvertently, to blame for that, but the rest is on her

anyway, her keeping herself in his shadow, and ultimately seeing herself as an extension of him and not her own person, has ended up straining their relationship. She won’t reach out to him for help unless she feels like she has no choice, but it’s also made her becoming his champion, albeit... rather reluctantly at times. She knows he’s a good man deep down, and she still loves him dearly, but she feels like she has to defend him when people try to rip into him, even if it’s on a matter of his own doing, and it takes a toll on her. There’s only so many times she can run in circles insisting he’s good while he does something that suggests otherwise, and she knows it

and there are times where she does get angry with him. With AoU, there’s an obvious tension between them - she’s angry that he’d built Ultron in the first place without talking to anyone other than Bruce, especially considering he used the very thing that had mind controlled Clint and so many others thanks to Loki a few years prior. She doesn’t understand why her father went to that extreme, and with him shutting her out, it doesn’t do either of them any good

going backwards a bit, in regards to what I mentioned in the headcanon of her relationship with Maya, there is an underlying fear of Carter’s that, maybe, her father doesn’t want her. That he took her in out of obligation, and her shutting herself down around him is her way of minimizing any risk of him regretting his decision or resenting her. What she fails to see (despite wanting to believe it true), is that that isn’t even remotely the case at all, and it’s just something else she unintentionally is hurting herself with. Mix that with her codependency issues, where she needs him to be able to remain steady, she’s going to do everything in her power to keep herself in the background and keep the appearance of someone far more put together than she actually is

it’s just... Carter feels the need to try and protect him, and actually, another huge reason for that stems back to when she was 11. She had seen Obadiah rip out Tony’s reactor, and she had fought him in a futile attempt to save her father - in hindsight, she blames herself for not staying hidden. She knows, had she done so, she would’ve been able to get the other reactor to her father much sooner, and believes she would have been to blame had her father died that night. She feels the need to make up for that, even if it ends up wearing her down

however, Tony is the first person Carter is going to turn to if she ever needs someone else there for her. She trusts her father and still loves him dearly despite it all, and there is a part of her that still looks up to him. She enjoys helping him in his workshop when she can, and he was the one who had gotten her fully invested in astronomy, because he had seen her interest in it and encouraged her to chase it. He was the one to teach her about the different constellations and the stories behind them, and had supported her after she’d dropped out of college the first time around when she was 17, even though she had believed he was going to be majorly disappointed in her. He means the world to her, just as much as she means the world to him

#asks #headcanons #death mention tw #kidnapping mention tw #((please let me know if there's anything y'all want me to explain/revisit/add on!!#I'm hella tired and I'm gonna head to bed now bc I stayed up later than intended #but I'm not sure if this stayed coherent or if it ended up messy fsdghjfdjhk))

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a-singleboat · 5 years

Text

Dead Light Green Light

Word Count: 2212

Smosh Summer Games: Apocalypse Masterlist

You stood next to Damien, right before the cameras started rolling. The two of you were talking about nothing in particular, mainly comments here and there about the crew as they moved to set up their equipment. You swapped stories on what you had done before Smosh, him being an actor for So Random before it ended and you being an assistant to the director of some Indie Film company.

Smosh was one of the more limited opportunities you had found yourself with and you weren’t sure if you were going to stick around. You loved the energy everyone gave off and would want to continue to be friends with all of them despite Joven having almost run you over not ever a few minutes before the start of the day.

You and Damien got one last joke in before places were called and everyone bunched up together for the shot. In hindsight, standing directly behind Lasercorn was not the smartest as you were not the tallest person you had ever met.

“Smosh Summer Games: Apocalypse!”

Starting each video like that would eventually get you hoarse if you weren’t already. You tried to step out from behind Lasercorn to appear in the camera’s view but realized that if you stepped out anymore, you would be out of the shot.

Damien, noticing your struggle, took you by the shoulders and switched places with you as Sarah explained the game and its rules.

“Welcome to Dead Light, Green Light! So, this is kind of a complicated game but its kind of like, ‘Marco Polo’ meets red light green light, kind of musical chairs. It’s a lot of hybrids of everything.”

Courtney turned around and did her wiggles, prompting you to wiggle along with her, creating a bubble between you two.

“So basically, one team will be humans and one team will be zombies, who are also blindfolded with masks on their heads. So when music is playing, the zombies can move. Humans cannot. When there is no music playing, humans can run away from the zombies. The point of the game is for the zombies to tag the humans, whoever has the most humans alive at the end of the round gets that many points.”

Ian leaned forward over Ryan. “It’s also a cross over of weekend at Bernie’s, the dead people only move when there’s music playing.”

Matt Raub confirmed that it was just like Weekend at Bernie’s before Sarah continued with rule explanation.

“Each team will have the chance to be zombies,” she looked around to the child-like adults gathered around her. “Any questions, comments, or concerns?”

“Are we all going at once?” Ian asked, a look of confusion overtaking his features.

“Yes, you are,” Sarah confirmed.

Matt held up a zombie mask and shook it around. “Alright, who wants to go first?”

Lasercorn was quick to offer up the Mushroom Clout team to bat first, no arguments ensued. Shortly after you all disbanded, a few members at a time were taken aside to interview for the upcoming challenge.

It was you, Damien, and Keith that was grouped together for the interview. The question was asked on how you would catch the humans.

“My strategy is, you know those blow-up dolls outside of car dealerships? The funky noodle men that just wave their arms and their bodies around? Yeah, that’s basically going to be me.” You started to wave your arms around in demonstration, making the big swooping motions around you.

“Yeah, well if I’m a zombie, my strategy is just to listen,” Keith said, bringing up a valid point. “Right? ‘Cause if I’m blindfolded, I’m just gonna take it the old-school way, just listen. Hopefully, they don’t try to stir me the wrong way, but beyond that just listen.”

“That’s good conflict resolution in life,” Damien nodded, a dopey smile across his face.

“Are you guys listening to me right now?”

“What’s up?”

Soon enough, we were sent out in our zombie masks, all on an outer circle around the other team. It was kind of like fishbowl-style, the outside looking in. Except the outside couldn’t see and the fish could escape the bowl.

From the opposite side of the circle, you could hear Courtney yell, though you couldn’t make out what she was yelling exactly. Shortly after, you heard music playing faintly behind you which signaled you to move.

You couldn’t see anything, which was the point, but you were terrified of either tripping over yourself or another person. You took your steps forward slowly but surely, making sure you had a solid foot on the ground before taking the next step. You were sure that it looked comedic to anyone who would be watching later on.

You moved your arms around in a big sweeping motion, hoping to catch someone this way. The music stopped playing, causing you to falter in your steps.

You heard Mari get out before the music started again, you continue to sweep your arms out. You ran into another person, causing you to stumble back a little.

“You guys are hitting each other!” Sarah called out, causing you to step back and giggle.

“Aw, that’s adorable,” you heard come from the person you ran into.

“Damien?”

“Yes, that is I.”

You felt your cheeks flare up at the compliment, though you weren’t completely sure that the compliment was even directed at you.

You took a few steps in the opposite direction and froze when the music stopped playing.

You heard Shayne and Olivia both get out, getting the slightest it frustrated. “I know I’m already blind, but this is taking it to a whole ‘nother level,” you said, opting to make a joke instead of letting the frustration get to you.

You took a mental count in your head, if Olivia, Shayne, and Mari were out, that only left Ian, Wes, and Joven.

During the next silence, Joven got tagged out and all you could hear was Shayne screaming. Your body shook with laughter as he continued to screech. Somehow, they got him to calm down enough so that music could play again.

In the next silence, Shayne started to screech again. You wouldn’t know if you could keep this up if he screamed during each silence.

Lucky for you, the next two people were quickly eliminated, bringing Mushroom Clout’s turn as zombies to an end.

There was a break to allow people to drink water, which was important on a hot day such as this. You and Damien found your way to each other once again.

“Hey,” you greeted him. “I’m sorry for running into you.”

“We can’t know who ran into who, we were blindfolded.”

The two of you had found a secluded corner away from all the chaos that ensued after a section was shot. Luckily, the spot you had chosen was shaded over by the miniature set that had to be constructed for the crew to stay cool.

“So, what do you plan to do after this?”

“I might go back to trying my hand at becoming a director,” you rolled your neck, getting the kinks out from having to keep your head upright to prevent the mask from falling off. “I know some people who could at least get me back into the filming arena.”

“Why don’t you stay on with Smosh?”

“If I’m going to be honest with you, Smosh doesn’t seem like the end-all for me right now. You guys are all my friends, but I don’t see me staying really. I don’t have much to stay for and even if I did, if I got an offer to work on a movie I wouldn’t say no.”

Damien sat in thought for a while, nodding along to what you were saying. “Why don’t you just stay on part-time then? Like Lasercorn and Joven are doing?”

“I hadn’t really thought about that actually.”

“Yeah, I’m sure something could work out.”

You looked at Damien, taking a sip of your water. “Why do you want me to stay so badly? We hardly know each other.”

He shrugged and opened his mouth to answer. Before he could get the words out, however, Joven came crashing into your little bubble.

“Hey guys,” he stopped to look at how close the two of you were sitting. “Whoa, am I interrupting something?”

You shook your head no, accepting Damien’s hand in helping you stand up. “We were just talking.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” he glanced between the two of you and you felt your cheeks heat up. “It’s time to get back to filming.”

You were in the same groups as last time, with the question on being how you would avoid the zombies.

“As a kid, I would sneak out of the house to go to the dog park and meet all the dogs there because I wasn’t allowed out,” you shared the bit of insight on your life. “I found that walking on the side of your foot is quieter than walking on your toes. I don’t know how that will translate to this game but we’ll see.”

You all stood in the middle, backs facing each other. As soon as Sarah gave the go-ahead, you darted out to the space in between Mari and Olivia. You turned around to see Noah take off his shoes and throw them in the opposite direction of where he would be traveling.

You crouched down, using whatever flexibility you had to your advantage. You froze in your spot as the music started to play, making yourself as small as possible. You watched as Mari and Olivia walked in the opposite directions from you, suppressing a snicker when you saw them meander away.

You watched as three members got out right off the bat, Wes tripping over Noah, Joven getting Courtney, and Lasercorn tripping up both Shayne and Mari.

There was a close call with Joven, you falling backward before having to scramble out fast right when the music stopped.

A few more rounds passed you by, you found yourself creeping along the end. It wasn’t until Shayne ran headfirst into Wes’s nether regions that you decided you had made it far enough into the game. You laughed out loud, unintentionally. Figuring that you cover was already blown and that no one was close enough to you, you made a comment.

“Shayne!” you called out. “Don’t hurt the man, you know he wants to be a dad!”

“Yeah, Shayne!” your teammates, rang out, trying to create more sound to confuse the blindfolded zombies.

That was apparently the wrong move because Joven steadily stumbled in your direction, getting lucky and catching your shoulder with his knee. You squeaked, turning away before getting up and walking to your tagged teammates.

You watched as Damien tripped Wes in an attempt to get away, the big giant looking as if he was falling in slow motion. When Damien joined you in the shade, he pushed back the fabric he had draped over his head and let it rest around his shoulders.

“Would you want to go on a date?” he asked, nervously pulling at the bottom of his shirt.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that,” he was quick to turn away. “I don’t even know why I asked, I never usually do.”

You caught his hand when he tried to walk away from you. “I would love to go on a date with you, name a time and place and I’ll be there.”

“Awesome,” he pulled the black fabric back over his head and you both made your way back onto the field to watch the game that had become multiple cats and one mouse.

Eventually, Joven stupidly caught Keith around the waist with his outstretched arm, effectively ending the game. The round was called and Toxicitea tore off their masks to hear us walking towards Keith while chanting, “MVP! MVP!”

You got called for after-game interviews, you being paired with Keith and Noah for the end. You mockingly made a heart around the two with your hands. “I ship Koah.” Noah lightly pushed you as you mussed up his hair like an older sibling would.

You listened as Keith talked about winning the round, crediting the team for making sounds to throw off the other team. Ian and Mari crashed your interview, comedically calling Mushroom Clout out for cheating.

Eventually, you were given another break for water and you and Damien found yourselves standing with Shayne and Wes.

“How are your nuts doing?” you asked.

“They’re fine now, I’ll still be able to have kids,” Wes faked a dirty glare in Shayne’s direction before the four of you dissolved into laughter. “But good game.”

“Good game,” you agreed, taking a few more sips of water. “What’s next?”

“Scores and then we break for lunch,” Shayne answered.

“And it looks like they’re calling us for scores now,” Damien commented.

You all made your way back to the cameras, arranging yourselves around Matt and Sarah. Mushroom Clout had won with an extra thirty-eight seconds on the field. You had hugged Damien out of excitement and he left his arm slung around your shoulders for up until you all screamed, “Smosh Summer Games: Apocalypse!”

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lilyginnyblackv2 · 5 years

Text

“You strike me as quite feminine and gentle, too.”

That’s from the English dub of the episode. The Japanese subtitles are basically the same:

“Well, you strike me as feminine and gentle.”

The only difference is that the dub places slightly more emphasis on Tohru being “feminine” over her being gentle (due to the use of “too.”). Both of these translations are pretty literal translations of the Japanese that gets used here, with Akito stating that Tohru is 女らしく (onna-rashiku, specifically “woman-like” aka feminine) and 優しい (yasashii gentle). Now, I don’t have the original Japanese version of this scene from the manga nor do I have the Yen Press or Singaporean version (which had a different translation to TokyoPop and likely Yen Press as well). But, I do have the TokyoPop translation of that scene:

It’s a bit blurry, but it essentially says “...What a lovely young woman you are...And you do seem kind.” The TokyoPop translations read (and feel) like they were more literal, 1:1 translations than Yen Press’ versions, which definitely feel more loose and liberal. So, I wouldn’t be surprised if Akito really did call Tohru “a lovely young woman” and “kind” in the Japanese. Meanwhile, here in the 2019 reboot, in all versions: Japanese, English subtitles, and English dub, we have Akito calling Tohru “feminine” and “gentle.” It’s in the small details like these that we really get to see the affects of having a completed work to adapt, rather than one that is on-going. The manga was well crafted and a lot of care went into the threads and strings that tie the stories and characters together. But it was still a piece of fiction that was being created. And any writer, or creator of any kind, really, can tell you that sometimes the creation will go in some directions that you can’t or didn’t fully expect or anticipate. And as any writer can tell you, no matter what it is you are writing, the moment you finish it, you realize there was a scene, moment, segment, or bit of dialogue that you could have written better or clearer. And sometimes you even realize the missed opportunity that you had. Hindsight, essentially.

And this reboot has a ton of hindsight! It has a whole completed series, with a manga-ka who is involved, and the individuals involved with the translations are putting a lot of love and hard work into the translating they are doing. So a moment like this one just highlights this fact even more!

What delicious foreshadowing! What a brilliant contrast!

As manga fans (and anime only fans who have been spoiled) know - Akito is a woman. But, she was a woman who was forced to present herself as a man. She was brought up to use common male speech patterns and to essentially conceal any part of herself that could be considered womanly or “feminine.” Traditional femininity was completely barred from Akito. And that is okay, in the sense that being “feminine” isn’t the end-all-be-all of being a woman. A woman can be a woman in many different ways. But the inside of the Sohma family/clan, especially, is extremely traditional and Akito wasn’t even allowed the option of femininity. So as Akito stood there, looking at Tohru, and seeing everything that just screams “FEMININE!”

Tohru’s long hair, the ribbon in her hair, the skirt, the girl’s school uniform, the way Tohru speaks, and even the general soft spoken, demure, and “gentleness” that Tohru represents and expresses...

It must all just slap Akito in the face. So having the dialogue change from “a lovely young woman” which does still play into the “woman” aspect of things, it is still a very standard and generic phrase. But in this reboot, we have Akito specifically stating that Tohru is “feminine” and “gentle.” Standing in front of Tohru, with a fake smile plastered on her face, and saying those words to Tohru...!

Gosh, Akito must have been burning with jealousy. Not only because of how Tohru is (unintentionally) straining the bonds between the Zodiac members and God, but also because - in that moment especially - Tohru encompassed everything that Akito was never allowed to be.

So her later admission of Tohru “being ugly” and “being stupid” really fit into, not only the general jealousy aspect, but also into Akito’s own struggle, confusion, and perhaps even a dash of her own self hatred about her gender presentation.

Oof! What wonderful and powerful writing!

#Fruits Basket #Furuba #Tohru Honda #Akito Sohma #Fruits Basket manga spoilers #Furuba spoilers #Fruits Basket spoilers #FB spoilers #long post

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

Note

You know what kind of confuses me in Broadchurch? The mother of Danny being hostile towards Ellie when she was about to give birth and they were walking on the grass and she was like yelling or something at Ellie, I'm just confused as to WHY she's a bit hostile towards her, is it because Ellie's husband killed her son?

Yep—to put it simply. There’s a lot going into Beth’s reaction.

Though they don’t interact much, Ellie is meant to parallel Susan. That’s actually the moment I figured out Joe had done it. Susan swears up and down that she didn’t know her husband had raped/murdered her daughter and Ellie’s response is, “How could you not know?” That’s when my brain went, “Ah shit. That line is gonna come back to bite her” and sure enough it did. Now Ellie is in Susan’s place and the rest of Broadchurch is in hers, only it’s a thousand times worse because: “He’s your husband and you’re a detective. How could you live with him over all these weeks and never realize?” So part of it is that, Beth’s feelings of, “Did she know? How could she not know? Even if she didn’t WHY didn’t she realize because then she might have saved my boy. Danny would be alive if you’d been a better detective and realized you were living with a monster.” For the record the show makes it clear that Ellie couldn’t have known—Joe was a superb actor—but all this ties back into her character growth. She starts out (from Hardy’s perspective) as a terrible detective because she’s too trusting of everyone around her. In hindsight that extended to her husband too.

Part of it is their friendship. These are two families who did everything together, roasts on Sundays and their kids are BFFs. When Mark first hands off the list of suspects they’ve made Ellie is horrified. “But these are all your friends.” No one wanted to believe that it was someone close, but they knew it was possible. Likely even. Despite this, it’s implied that Ellie and Joe aren’t on the list. Ellie is helping to head the investigation—she’s the one who is meant to fix this horror in as much as it can be fixed—and Joe is attached to her. They’re completely above suspicion in the eyes of everyone but Hardy, the outsider. So when it’s revealed that not only was a friend involved, but Beth’s closest friend, it feels like another loss. Like a betrayal. It’s not entirely logical, but the feeling is there.

So you take these major feelings and you combine it with the general discomfort of Ellie’s new label: the wife of the man who murdered your child. You then combine that with a general need to blame someone. Grief that big is going to spill over, until you’re pointing the finger at everyone and everything in an attempt to understand how the worst could have happened. Joe is obviously guilty, but that’s not enough when it comes to a tragedy like this. He’s just one part. Mark’s to blame for cheating on her while Danny was being killed. Tom’s to blame for not telling them about Danny’s secrets. Beth herself is to blame for not checking in on him that one time. Again, feelings that aren’t logical, but there. So Ellie gets caught in the web. Beth blames this woman—for not realizing, for unintentionally ruining their friendship when Beth needs her support the most, for just being there and being easy to blame—and then Ellie winds up being the only person around who can help her in a vulnerable and cherished moment, the birth of her next child? Beth can’t take it. She needs to lash out, no matter how far past logic she is at this point. She looks down at her water breaking and says, “Look what you did.” Ellie is the scapegoat she needs to keep herself sane.

And Ellie is willing. Being the scapegoat is her penance. She lets Beth avoid her, blame her, scream at her while they’re digging up Danny’s body… whatever she wants. The only time Ellie denies Beth what she wants is when needs override desire, like when she’s going into labor and, sorry, but I’m not leaving you alone in the middle of a field. No matter how much you detest my company.

It’s also telling that the next scene is Ellie’s breaking point. She treats Beth’s blame like a penance, but one person can only take so much. It’s Hardy who pushes her over the edge because, by Ellie’s logic, he has no right to blame her for whatever is convenient. He’s not the one with a murdered child here. So when he comes in screaming about Ellie letting Claire get away, refusing to acknowledge that, funny story, but there wasn’t much she could do about an enraged pregnant woman distracting her. Going so far as to cruelly ask, “What’s the point of you, Miller?” She rightfully loses it for a moment. Ellie screams that she’s sick of everyone blaming her for things outside of her control, a rant she’s more than deserved ten times over (combine all this with her putting up with Hardy’s crap all through the investigation. Their season 1 relationship is based ENTIRELY on Ellie shouldering undeserved blame, suspicion, and Hardy’s general need to lash out). She can just barely deal with Beth using her as an emotional punching bag. Hardy doesn’t get to do the same.

Lucky for both of them, they’re the sort to hurl horrible barbs at one another, cool off, regret the outburst, and quietly come back together, doing something simple like exchanging takeaway cups as an apology. They easily bounce back and, notably, Hardy learns. He doesn’t try to put all the blame on Miller again and their relationship improve immensely from then on. Beth, with her far more complicated feelings, needs more time. She continues to use Ellie as her scapegoat up until she hears something so shocking it finally knocks her out of the habit: Mark was going to leave her. Right then, when Ellie is hugging her, the need for some kind of comfort outweighs all those complex feelings she has. Ellie the friend is suddenly needed more than Ellie the punching bag. Finally, Beth is able to start thinking more clearly. Ellie didn’t know. Ellie couldn’t have know. It’s not her fault and I’m wrong to keep putting that kind of responsibility on her.

Like with Hardy, there’s no heartfelt apology scene. They just move on and start rebuilding their friendship, but sometimes that’s what you’ve got to do. I know I treated you horribly. I understand why you did. We’re both on the same page now, so let’s just move forward.

#broadchurch #broadchurch spoilers #mymetas #Anonymous

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fmdjoosungarchive · 4 years

Text

location: gold star building and element’s dorm/daisuke’s apartment studio

date: mayish 2020 and some days in later 2019

word count: 1288, not including altered lyrics

tldr; verification for @dawonfmd’s candy. partial lyrics, composition, & production. obviously lots of mentions of dawon, quite a bit of mentions about daisuke as well. beware a mention of dieting, an allusion towards ~fornication~, & some reference towards sung’s bad relationship with sexuality n communication, but only if u squint. continuing the trend of ‘sung dislikes throwing beats on every song but gold star does it for him anyway’

company camaraderie, ‘or something’.

that was the only reasoning sung got on why he was producing this song for one of the company’s idols. --don’t get him wrong, sung had been thoroughly enjoying the backseat role he’d been taking lately in writing and producing for others’ releases, and loved that gold star took the songs he’d sent them seriously. this one was a bit sudden, though.

nonetheless, he’d agreed, after a good chunk of listens to the finalized demo. he listened to it, even as he opened the grandiose door to the gold star building, earbuds blocking out the bustle passing by him, fingers wrapped snugly around a notebook tucked against his chest, hair messy enough he was glad barely anyone followed him around like they did for more well-known idols.

he paused, a little over halfway through the song, before opening the door to the studio he’d been directed into.

and there, it made sense.

at least, it made sense for a second. of course gold star had kept this schedule from him, when dawon was the person he’d be producing for. there was no animosity between them, but it had been a long while since they’d been able to chat easily as friends. years.

the thought cracked pretty quickly. gold star’s employees didn’t know anything about his relationship -or lackthereof- with dawon. there was no way they could have sneakily planned it out. this was just... fate.

sung hadn’t intended for the song to be written with dawon in mind, but looking back, he could see how gold star thought of it as the right fit.

lyrics came first. sort of.

gold star had him on a diet for a music release, though he couldn’t remember which one. sung had never been fond of dieting, as he ate healthily and exercised well, but some part of him had trouble standing up for himself with the company when it came to his looks. leftover worry from his trainee days, he would guess.

some day of his dieting, he’d awoken from a dream with a craving for sweets, and in his dreamlike state of mind, wrote down a list of food that sounded good to him right then.

turns out, sung had written in his lyrical notebook, as he found out a few days later, coming across the barely legible and overlapping words. he’d laughed about it, at the time, and left the page for his future self’s amusement.

however, they came back, eventually.

sung found himself in the studio, a few months later, trying to write for himself. and like with many of his songs, he was slowly coming to realize the composition would better suit a vocalist. ideas hadn’t been coming to him as easily because of it, and as soon as he’d scrapped the idea of it being for his own releases, everything opened up.

it could become brighter, lighter, less of the punch that was currently expected of him. he wanted it to feel like soda pop, a sonic expression of carbonation. it could lose stringency, and leave room for the vocal talent to shine through. it could build upon the vocalist, and work with their melody to lift them up.

if it was up to sung, he’d have chosen a main vocalist for the composition, which, he did end up getting. just not who he could have guessed.

he greeted dawon and the other producer working with him warmly. they chatted shortly, small talk, while sung ignored the pit in his stomach sinking deeper by the minute. when the topic shifted to the situation at hand, discussing expectations, the concept of the song, what he and the other producer wanted, what dawon wanted, sung could feel his cogs turning another notch, helping him slip into ‘producer mode’.

however, it was only when dawon was in position, the two separated by the glass between them, that sung truly felt like he was in the proper element. dawon was a good person, and despite his upset, sung was going to do his best to make dawon’s solo debut worth it.

as the first run of the backtrack started, filling the room around him and the space of the headphones around dawon’s ears, thoughts flit. he’d noticed it as soon as he’d received the finalized demo. it was more simple than when he’d sent it, and had a line of beat across it that he hadn’t added himself. both were things sung had come to get used to, especially with gold star’s songwriters. the latter, he supposed, went with the vibe and sound gold star wanted out of current releases, especially for newer groups. sung wasn’t entirely convinced it made compositions more trendy, however, he hadn’t seen the figures. maybe it did. the former... sung understood, especially in this instance. his demo that he sent off to gold star had daisuke featuring as his vocalist. therein, the productional stylings were tailored towards daisuke, and the way he experienced the song, especially around the bridge, which he’d written as the place to lift.

in hindsight, he could see the humor in having daisuke perform the demo for him when the song was only ever finished because of him. it was around when he’d finished the basis of the bridge’s melody that he came back to the lyrics. unintentionally, at first.

sung was feeling insecure. a general day of insecurity that festered itself and infiltrated all different areas of his life. and that day, he felt insecure about daisuke, too. even knowing it was silly of him, sung still felt fear that he wasn’t enough, and that daisuke would see he wasn’t giving enough to their relationship, to him, and wouldn’t want him any longer.

and so, while his boyfriend was out on schedules, and sung was at home, stewing, he picked up his pen and notebook, and wrote down his feelings. amongst them, was:

alone in a dark box i crack little by little painful thoughts do you know what it means to lose flavor?

his heart had felt the slightest bit lighter, after getting out his feelings in some way. it was enough that he could move about the house, getting things done, and that when daisuke came home, sung could ask for reassurance without balling up and crying.

--and it was a heart-stopping reassurance.

when in the middle of the night he managed to unstick himself from daisuke’s body, the lyrics he ended up writing around those few lines he’d liked best took a completely different meaning. he wrote them separately, on his dreamstate ramblings page, and connected through taste. the taste of their love, of himself, of what he desired to give daisuke every waking hour.

the lyrics altered again when he came back around to the composition he’d left unfinished, as he realized the carbonation fit his sweet treats like a glove. the composition changed too, though more as he found himself adding onto this culminating song’s scape to better fit the vision he had in his head.

it was a vision that dawon fit perfectly into. the thought hadn’t occurred to him in the entire process of creating the song, but it really was a great match. he spent their entire recording session thinking of how he might alter the final production to add back in those building sounds that would lift up the currently-somewhat-dull sounds ringing through his ears.

he’d felt hopeful enough in where this project was going that when he greeted dawon after the recording, he’d hugged him. it’d been many years since they’d hugged, he was pretty sure, though he shoved those anxious thoughts away in favor of the sparks of happiness shooting through him. maybe... maybe he could try harder, to get closer to dawon again. maybe, he’d ask for his thoughts as he mixed the track. ...maybe.

#fmdverification #dieting tw #im not proofreading bc this took ages to write already n im TIORT #solo #dawon #daisuke

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 5 years

Text

Trouble [Hector Doyle]

Warning: This has absolutely no real direction, other than being smut. It haunted me in my dreams until I wrote it.

With the inmate breathing down the back of her neck, Minatsuki knew in hindsight it had been a mistake to refuse the offer from Mr. Tokugawa to go home early. But she desperately needed the money.

She’d been working overtime at the underground arena for a week now, trying to collect enough money to pay her landlord back for extending her rent. It wasn’t the greatest occupation, but it was easy money; sweeping the stands and cleaning up whenever there was a fight.

Honestly, she was grateful for her new job, and the kindness Natsue Orochi showed her by convincing her husband to find one for her – Mr. Tokugawa and Doppo were close friends she was told. This is why Minatsuki was happy to swab the floor of the entrance ramp; she already finished two of the four before she noticed her boss center stage of the octagon.

He was standing with a tall man – unmistakably a foreigner – who she had never seen before. A logical guess was that he was the old friend Mr. Tokugawa said he was going to lunch with, but Minatsuki, being honest with herself, doubted the old man had many friends that she didn’t already know about. She mopped closer to the entrance of the ramp in hopes that she could satiate her curiosity by overhearing their conversation, which is why she didn’t hear the footfalls behind her until the person they belonged to leaned forward and tapped her on the shoulder.

“I believe you are in the wrong place at the wrong time,” a soft English voice stated.

Minatsuki gasped in shock; her entire body shivered uncontrollably. Their breath – which smelled of sake – on her bare neck brought goosebumps to her skin. She didn’t understand exactly what she was feeling, just that whoever this person was brought her into a state of panic. The helpless, young woman couldn’t even compel herself to speak, not even when the stranger leaned into her and whispered into her ear.

Her eyes widened. Did she hear them right? He – she told herself – was asking her if she was the person who could give him what he wanted. This made her stomach churn with dread. Not only did she not know what he wanted, Minatsuki also didn’t know what he meant. Was he being a pervert, or was this some kind of western phrase she didn’t understand? Either way, she furiously shook her head no.

He blew into her ear, unintentionally causing her to stiffen. She was embarrassed to admit that the action felt almost pleasurable.

“No,” he restated softly. “Then you should leave before you get yourself into trouble.”

Again she shook her head. She couldn’t, not yet. Mr. Tokugawa might not like her leaving in the middle of a job, even if he offered her to leave in the first place. Opening her mouth to speak, she felt her throat constrict before she even got the first word out, taking a crack at the English she learned in middle school. “Not yet. I h-have to finish.”

Minatsuki took a wobbly step forward and spun around, clutching the mop handle against her chest. Her narrowed eyes met his with an irritated gleam. “Better yet … you leave. I just mopped this floor and your tracking I don’t know what all over it.”

The red headed foreigner widened his eyes and diverted them to his feet, lifting a boot. He was indeed tracking mud on her clean floor. “My apologizes. I didn’t see a sign.”

Because there isn’t one. She hadn’t put it up yet. Minatsuki, feeling embarrassed, averted her attention; the westerner made her feel like a trapped mouse waiting to be devoured. “I should finish up. If you’d be so kind as to move, I’d appreciate it.”

He thankfully did as told and moved around her. She didn’t have to look back to know where he was going – it was obvious. His business was none of hers, and so Minatsuki continued to mop, trying her best not to get involved with whatever was going on behind her.

Stupid … this is the exact opposite of what I said I was going to do. Minatsuki cursed herself for her lack of restraint; she was merely curious.

Who was this foreigner that she had met? She searched the online news site from her phone while she waited for the metro. So far, nothing came up. This wasn’t much of a surprise; she honestly had no idea who she was looking for. He may not be someone of importance – she only assumed so because he knew of the arena. All she could remember about him was his bright red hair and matching eyes.

Such a pretty color for a man such as him. By this she was referring to his good manners. He certainly didn’t seem like the type to apologize for anything – it took her completely off guard. Minatsuki just couldn’t get his intense gaze out of her mind. She huffed in annoyance and took her failure to locate him as a sign to stop. Besides, the subway was pulling into the station.

Minatsuki waited patiently for her turn to board, then squeezed into a tight space at the rear of the last car. She was thankful to be given a hanging strap to hold on to and faced the end door, nose buried in her phone – the ride would be 20 minutes from this station to the next. While she waited, she sent a quick message to her friend in Shibuya asking to meet him at the store for a late lunch. He replied back quickly – what are you thinking? – but before Minatsuki could answer, a memorable voice interrupted her.

“Do you have the time?”

“It’s 9:20,” she answered while keeping her eyes glued to the screen. The hair on her arms stood up in fright. This was all too familiar to her. She willed herself to look into the reflection of the window and visibly shook. The same red haired man was standing directly behind her.

They stared ineptly at one another for a good minute or two until Minatsuki couldn’t much take the silence.

“Did you follow me?” She lowered her voice so that none of the other passengers could listen in, hoping that he’d get the message.

The westerner shook his head no. “It’s merely a coincidence that we’re on the same tube.” Leaning in he inhaled the scent of her dark hair. “However, I saw you on the ramp and followed you inside. Did you know you smell like the arena … of blood? It wouldn’t be hard for someone like me to stalk you, had I been.”

Minatsuki felt her face turn warm. “Stop that. It’s super creepy.” She shook again as he blew in her ear. Frankly, she was a little unnerved at what he said. Blood … I don’t smell it. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she curled it in disgust. Body odor from the man asleep to her right, and the faint scent of cigarettes from the foreigner were about the only things she could smell.

To her surprise, he grasped her by the hip and pulled her against his chest. She whined in protest, about ready to spin around and smack him upside the head, but his intense stare made her rethink this action. The same dread she felt earlier churned her stomach.

“What do you w-want?”

He reached up with his other hand and traced along her jaw. “I want to taste defeat; you can’t give me that.” The hand on her hip sank beneath the edge of her dress and between her legs. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a need for you.”

“The hell do yo–

Covering up her mouth, he shushed her before she could bring attention to them. She watched the stranger in shock through their reflection as he motioned with his head to the sleeping man across from them. Noticing him rousing, Minatsuki stiffened up. She didn’t want to be caught in such a lewd position with a stranger.

But I can’t just let him continue this. She didn’t know this man, or what he was capable of. On the off chance, he’d panic if she called for help. However, she knew this to be untrue, because she saw him with her boss earlier. Anyone with connections to Mr. Tokugawa were dangerous. This fact alone made her consider doing nothing at all; let him take advantage of her. Minatsuki was too afraid to admit that she might enjoy it.

Her decision was made for her the moment he slid his tongue over the length of her ear. She sighed through her nose and wobbled back into him. It felt delightful, almost enough to make her eyes roll up.

The stranger teased her as he pressed his fingers against the thin cloth of her cotton panties – Minatsuki was already a little wet from the attention he was giving to her – stroking over her clit with deep, tender movements. She made a panicked noise behind the palm of his hand and when he thankfully removed it, she gave him a stern glare.

“I can’t breathe.”

He released her ear and grinned. “Keep it between us and I won’t have to cover your mouth.”

Kind of hard when your practically fingering me. She rolled her eyes, but almost squeaked as the foreigner moved aside her panties and slipped a thick finger into her pussy.

“You’re a tight fit,” he stated with a chuckle. His finger hooked then flattened, rubbing against her inner walls. “Relax a little, or this is going to hurt.”

Minatsuki scowled at him again, but made an effort to do as he had requested. It thankfully didn’t bother her so much when he added a second finger, repeating the action. Her hips bucked forward in pleasure.

“Why are you doing this? H-have you no idea h-how disrespectful you are being? This is a metro; people don’t h-have sex on public metros.”

“Should I have followed you home? Would that have made it any easier for you?”

She couldn’t believe him. No, it wouldn’t have made this any easier. Not to complain, but he didn’t exactly answer her question either. Why was he doing this to her?

His fingers went idle as he stared at her. Minatsuki realized he was awaiting an answer, and shook her head. This was frustrating. She wanted to get off. Her hand slid down between her legs and began coxing his fingers into a steady pace.

He took the hint and pushed them knuckle deep inside of her, thrusting hard enough to bounce her small breasts. She panted and softly moaned as the coil in her stomach tightened. It felt so enjoyable; beyond anything she could grasp at the moment.

Minatsuki bent forward and utilized the hanging strap as she rocked her hips to excite her clit. Her muscles were beginning to tighten; she was close.

“Please … almost there. Don’t stop,” she begged. Warm tears gathered in the corner of her eyes.

A few seconds later, her orgasm came. Minatsuki nearly cried out as an intense, pleasurable feeling devoured her, compelling her eyes to roll up in bliss. Exhausted pants left her slightly parted mouth as she came down from her high. She thought her legs might buckle from the lack of sensation, but the stranger brought her against his chest and allowed her to rest for a moment – the absence of his fingers made her shiver in discomfort.

A lazy snort left her. “That was messed up. I don’t even know your name.” All she knew about him was that he was somehow affiliated with her boss.

“It’s Doyle,” he told her.

She glanced at him in the window. Doyle. She wasn’t sure if this was his last name, or his first. Either way, there was now a name to go with his face.

“I’m Minatsuki … in case you were wondering whose body you were knuckles deep in just a moment ago.”

Doyle laughed at this. “Minatsuki. Can’t say I am disappointed. Though, I never thought I’d spend my day knuckles deep in someone, as you put it.”

She too chuckled. In a way, she was a little flattered.

#hector doyle #new grappler baki #oc #blah #public #smut

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writer-and-artist27 · 5 years

Text

Scars and Pledges

When you’re studying for finals, feeling particularly stressed (not helped by numbers on a weight scale), writing comes out.

I hope Arturia comes to my Chaldea one day because I do not have a SINGLE Saberface and I want her to be the first. For now, I’ll just keep writing.

Healing Over Time Chapter 5 Preview. Takes place immediately after Chapter 4. So far inspired by the official Garden of Avalon drama CD. @withanina has been the only person who has seen this so far, so here you go. Something new to share since I’ve been quiet.

(@chiefladylightyay, I’m looking at you.)

This is for everyone else wondering wtf is going on with me. ANGST-FLUFF. Because finals prep can do that.

Trigger warning also applies for implied past violence and flashback mentioned.

------------------------------------------

“Tomoko. My Lady.” Saber started the conversation at an empty kitchen table, having sunk to one knee while keeping eye contact. She wasn’t even sitting on a chair, leaving me to look down at her. “You know that we are in a contract as Master and Servant.”

“Mm,” was the little noise that left my throat. My stomach was churning in that not-so-happy way and my face must’ve reflected it because Saber’s green eyes seemed sad somehow when looking up at me. “I… I wish it wasn’t such a formal thing, though.” I wanted to reach out to Saber, to hug her, to hold her hand and comfort her because this looming talk didn’t seem to be one either of us wanted. It was a reminder of how, as much as I wanted to be equals with her, this entire position made it feel like it was not that. “Because, Saber…”

My throat closed up on the words. I love you and you deserve better.

Saber’s eyes softened. Did she hear my thoughts? “I know, Milady,” she said dutifully, taking one of my hands in hers. “And I am forever grateful for that. Still, I must apologize for not addressing this sooner. Your kindness has been something that I have been taking for granted, and in hindsight, I should not have done so.” She squeezed my hand tightly while bowing her head. “I should have informed you of the nuances that come with our being Contracted so that this morning would not have happened.”

Oh. “The dreams?” I said softly.

“The dreams,” Saber confirmed, her thumb rubbing my knuckles. “From my knowledge of magecraft and of past Holy Grail Wars, dreams are something Master and Servant share. The contents can be faded, at times erratic, but it always pertains to moments we have experienced in the past. From my own recollections, my previous Masters could see my memories as King, but…” her grip on my hand loosened. “This is the first time I could see memories of my Master.”

A sharp pang of “ow” rang through my abdomen. This morning, she had a hand on my stomach. She had looked at me like she had seen me die before. It all confirmed it. She saw my fall. She knew about October Tenth now. All I could do was open my mouth, trying to hide my quivering lip. “I-I’m sorry.”

Saber raised her head to look at me incredulously, green eyes wide. “Milady, why — why are you apologizing?”

I ducked away and broke the eye contact, feeling far too ashamed to look at her in the eye. “I saw things that were really personal to you and unintentionally exposed you to things from my past that I’m still trying to grasp myself. I’m really sorry. For not knowing, for showing you all that.” My cheek wasn’t bleeding, but I could faintly taste the aftertaste of iron. Memories or phantom pain, I didn’t know anymore. I just messed up, and for once, it felt like there was no fixing this. Like there was no going back. Like I was going to lose Saber, and that was terrifying. “I-I’m sorry, Art-san.”

“Milady,” Saber said softly and a hand was tilting my chin up. My vision was blurring a little, but there was no mistaking the emotion in her emerald green eyes. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I should be the one apologizing, simply because I did not tell you before it happened.” Her hand slowly traveled upwards to cup my cheek, her thumb wiping at the edges of my eyes. “There’s no need to cry.”

I bit my lip while trying to look into those emerald green eyes. I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t. “I still looked into something personal to you, Art-san. I violated your privacy.”

I saw someone you haven’t talked to in what looks like a long time — I stepped into a memory that should’ve been yours alone.

“But I did the same, Milady, and I did not warn you.” Her smile seemed mournful, regretful somehow as her shoulders slackened in her long-sleeved sweatshirt. “The fault is all mine.”

There is nothing to blame yourself for, echoed in my mind’s ear and a shiver traveled up my spine. Do not take this all on yourself, Master.

How could I respond to all that? How could I?

“A-Are,” I shakily raised one of my hands to rest over hers still on my cheek, grasping it. “Are you okay then, Saber?”

Saber blinked slowly at me. “In a moment,” she acquiesced finally after a small pause, her thumb still pressing against the edges of my eyes. “When you have calmed down.”

This Knight. This selfless, ridiculous Knight. The first tear was already trailing down my cheek once I fell from my chair and into Saber’s arms. She gasped against the side of my head, her hand on my cheek having long gone away to support both of our weights against the carpet. The first sniffles had started leaving my nose and I did my best to hide in her shirt, inhaling as much oxygen as I could. “S-Saber… Saber, Saber, Saber…”

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should be better, but it all hurts, my stomach hurts, just, just—

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m scared of hurting you and I don’t know what to do.

“Oh,” she said breathily in realization, fingers already threading through my hair. I didn’t even realize I was broadcasting my thoughts until she tucked me into her arms, straightening her posture to properly accommodate for a hug. “Milady, Milady, it is alright. It is alright. You did not hurt me.” A soft kiss pressed against my head as the hug became tighter. Warmer. Safer. “It is alright. I am alright. You did not hurt me, Milady.”

I clung to her, the tears falling like rain against her shirt. If she minded, Saber didn’t seem to be up to voicing it, instead brushing through my long hair and humming gently. “Tomoko. It is alright. Calm your fears. You do not have to cry.”

B-But, but—

“Y-You don’t mind?” I whimpered, feeling my tongue dry from the sobs beginning to echo in my throat. “I-I’m ruining your shirt, Art-san. I-I—” I’m being a burden. I should be better than this, I’m not being the best for you—

Two hands were gently pushing at my shoulders to break the hug and a sniff left my nose as soon as Art-san’s eyes were boring into mine. I shut my eyes almost immediately. She shouldn’t have been looking at me like that. She shouldn’t need to. “Tomoko.” Her forehead bumped mine. “It is alright. Please look at me.”

“…”

Two firm hands were covering mine, preventing me from wiping at my face. “Please, Milady.”

I did my best to gulp down another sob before opening my eyes. My vision was still blurry, but there was no mistaking the pure relief in those emerald eyes as Saber smiled. “My lady,” she breathed in relief and I tried not to flinch once she leaned over to press a kiss to my forehead. “You are alright. And I am still here, unhurt and by your side. I am not leaving.”

Those were words I had heard time and time again. From Kei, from Obi, from Ricchan, Kashi, Papa, Mama — everyone. And yet again, darkness curled in my veins. It was such a sweet saying, why was I—

“Are…” my voice became quiet, shy as I did my best to not look at her. “Are you sure?” I had no clue where I was going with this. But life was never fair. Bad things just happened and sometimes, there was no way to fix them. “I’m… I’m not as great of a Master as your previous ones may have been, Art-san. I’m not perfect.”

I don’t know if I’m good enough for you. I don’t know if I ever will be.

I had no clue if I was anywhere close to fixing myself, even after October Tenth was over. Even after Kei and the others came back from Kannabi alive.

I was still scarred. I was still broken.

Even after Hisako had disappeared years ago, a part of me was still that scared little girl, missing her Nobody and wondering whether everyone would leave if she messed up again.

And no matter what I did, no matter how much Kei fought, there would always be someone who would light the fuse to war because they wanted something more from the world.

How could I—

------------------------------------------

In all of her days as King and Heroic Spirit, Arturia Pendragon was familiar with the concept of tears. Slowly becoming human again during her time with Shirou and Rin in Fuyuki was proof of that, because seeing them flee after Caster had taken control pained her beyond anything else.

Saber thought that she was familiar with pain.

But the world was proving her wrong yet again with her new Master currently sobbing in-between her arms. Even after a tight hug and muttered reassurances into that rosemary-scented hair, Tomoko still looked so small when not meeting her gaze, the occasional jolt of her shoulders through her crumpled white nightgown the only proof Saber had that she was listening. Her cheeks were pink for the completely wrong reasons, not helped with the glistening tear trails on her face.

Even with all her experiences, Saber had no idea of how to proceed. After all, she had failed in informing her lady of the concept of shared dreams and even if she was shocked at seeing Tomoko fall in the past, the simple fact that Tomoko knew she saw the event and was then reduced to this state — it all accounted for a situation that Saber wished she could have avoided sooner.

A Servant should have known better.

A Knight should have fought harder so that these kinds of moments would not have occurred.

Arturia once took up the Sword of Selection in the hopes of bringing Britain prosperity. She had done her best as King, in spite of the Battle at Camlann, but now, as a mere Servant and ally of this civilian girl, being unable to stop her tears, where did that leave her?

“A-Are…” Tomoko was finally speaking and Arturia leaned in desperately to hear. “Are you sure? I’m… I’m not as great of a Master as your previous ones may have been, Art-san. I’m not perfect.”

Her heart could have broken from those words alone, but what made something truly snap was the single thought echoing in Arturia’s head.

I don’t know if I’m good enough for you. I don’t know if I ever will be.

This girl. This selfless, foolish girl. There was no need for such worries. And yet she worried anyways.

Was this how the King of Conquerors felt when looking at Arturia years ago?

Tomoko could have resembled Shirou in how hopeless she sounded.

Saber inhaled slowly before channeling her mana. The familiar feeling of her armor overtaking her clothes was comforting and the winds that came with it were enough to jolt her lady out of whatever dark stupor had taken her. Those blue eyes were wide in her direction, still filled with tears and red-rimmed, but they were focused on Saber and Saber alone, so she could not afford to lose this chance.

“Master. No, Tomoko.” Saber gently pulled Tomoko to her feet before sinking to one knee in front of her. Tomoko was yelping in what sounded like surprised embarrassment, but quieted once Excalibur had shown itself in Saber’s right hand. Arturia merely rested her Gift from the Lady of the Lake in front of her Master too.

Nothing could truly match the person in front of her. Nothing, and no one.

“A-Arturia-san?”

It was a quiet voice, but it was still the voice of a lady that could have been greater than Guinevere. Kinder than Irisviel.

How many people out there truly cared for others like Tomoko did?

How many people in the world truly doubted themselves over simply “not being enough” for a Servant?

How many people treated a Servant like they were human again?

Arturia simply kneeled.

Tomoko was wrong in how she didn’t deserve Arturia.

Arturia felt that she did not deserve Tomoko.

“Please, Milady, believe this. On my honor as the King of Knights, the leader of the Round Table, the former King Arthur, I, Arturia Pendragon,” she took a breath, “I vow to be your sword. I pledge to stay by your side, to use this Holy Sword of Excalibur to protect you.” She raised her head while taking one of her Lady’s shaking hands in hers, gripping it tightly through her armor.

Tomoko’s kindness could not be taken for granted, but that did not mean leaving it to fade into darkness.

Arturia had seen far too much darkness, far too much corruption in her past lives to let such virtue disappear again. Especially after Lancelot.

Kiritsugu may have had a point with his ideals, but he would have forgotten a girl like the one standing in front of Arturia right now. It was strange to think about him, but knowing he had sacrificed Irisviel for a hopeless wish made Arturia all the more determined when looking upwards into those blue eyes.

As a lone Knight, she had someone to protect again.

Arturia had someone to remind her she was human again.

“S-Saber…” Tomoko’s blue eyes merely filled with more of those thick, pearly tears. If Arturia did not know any better, she could have resembled Guinevere in her final moments. Thankfully, this was different. “You… Y-You can’t just say—” a sound that was caught between a sob and a laugh left her throat. “Art-san…”

Arturia slowly shook her head, silencing whatever protest that was on her lady’s lips.

Perhaps this was too soon. Perhaps this was a hasty, a foolish decision. It could turn out to be a mistake paralleling her time in the Fourth Holy Grail War. But it felt just. It felt correct. It was a decision Arturia Pendragon could call her own and not one decided by fate or Merlin’s old foretellings.

It felt like the right decision.

Perhaps Irisviel would have loved to see this moment.

Perhaps this was how Lancelot felt when first making love to Guinevere in secrecy. It was not the same kind of love, but there was no mistaking the warmth in Arturia’s chest reverberating from this girl’s mere presence.

Like Shirou in some ways, other angles, not so much. Like Sakura, maybe, but more outspoken. Like Rin in their shared forwardness, but different.

Tomoko was her own person and there was no mistaking those blue eyes still trained on her.

Arturia was not sure of her exact feelings, but the words alone were genuine enough.

“I can say this and I will, Tomoko.” There was no going back. Arturia did not want to lose here. “It is because of your unrelenting kindness that I vow to care for you. I vow to love you, now and forevermore. For as long as you will have me, I will be by your side. I promise you.” Saber smiled before leaning in and pressing a kiss to the soft shaking fingers in her grip. “My clumsy, insecure, lovely Lady.”

It was the least she could do to keep that light shining. Mistakes and cracks and all.

Kei was right. Tomoko was sensitive, insecure. Perhaps fragile too, if not for that dream last night. But it was all imperfections that made her so human, and to see such pure emotional honesty was something Arturia unknowingly longed for after so many years.

Perhaps, if Tomoko was in Camelot so long ago, maybe—

Could Mordred have not rebelled in the face of such purity?

There were so many what-ifs.

Suddenly, there was a large sniffle and finally, finally, Arturia could see a smile on her Lady’s face. Tomoko was laughing — still shaking, but laughing, finally returning the grip Arturia had on her hand. It was so human to see her like that and in spite of how sudden the gesture was, Arturia could not help but feel relieved. “Y-You, you, you silly Knight,” she chuckled, falling to her knees to reach Arturia’s height before throwing her arms around her neck. Arturia blinked but did not hesitate to hug back, gently resting her armored gauntlets against that tangled long mane of black hair. “You shouldn’t have to dedicate your life to me—! Y-You should spend your life for yourself… Not for meeeeee…”

Oh.

Arturia chuckled too, resting her nose against her lady’s neck. Rosemary again. “It was my decision to say all that, Milady. And it is my decision to embrace you like this, to stay. If it means I am foolish and naive, so be it. A King can be selfish as well. Please remember that.”

Something wet was starting to build up against Arturia’s shoulder, soaking her dress past the armor. The chest pressing against her breastplate was warm and real, and Tomoko was nodding jerkily. “D-Dork,” she cried, sniffling. “I-I just can’t win against you…”

What was there to win? Arturia Pendragon could not lose.

“Tis was my intent, Milady,” Arturia smiled while tightening the embrace. “I suppose I should take your response as an affirmative?”

There’s no way I’m okay with you leaving after saying all that!

Ah.

Instead of voicing the thought that just rang through Arturia’s mind, there was another, weaker, chuckle. “Aye… aye… D-Dork.” That phrase again. Said through a shaky voice, all the more hesitant and weak. Yet Tomoko pulled back and the sheer relief and love in her gaze pointed at Arturia alone was enough. “I-I’ll have to make you a large feast for breakfast now, Art-san. Knights need to eat too. A-And, let’s just talk about the dreams and the contract after that, okay? A-And no offense intended, but no more vows like that. I appreciate it a lot, but I don’t want to keep c-crying on you forever. Mama and Papa will wake up soon and I don’t want to be a baby forever.”

This girl. Arturia merely chuckled and leaned in to press another kiss to Tomoko’s forehead. She spluttered loudly in surprised protest, but it was the desired reaction. Teasing was not beyond either of them. So, it was an improvement.

Praise could not be brushed off so lightly, so Arturia whispered the words against her lady’s hair.

“You have never been a ‘baby’ in my eyes, Tomoko. You are already a proper Lady no one can ignore.”

#healing over time #writing #hoshino tomoko #arturia pendragon #fanfiction preview #long post #tw: long post #feeling like shit = good writing somehow!#i'm okay now though

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juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years

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A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning | 04

Genre: Smut, Romance, Angst, Stepbrother AU

Pairing: Stepbrother!Namjoon x English student!Reader

Warning: Possessive/Toxic behaviour & relationships, self-harm

Summary: Love comes in many shapes, but does not always have a prosperous fate. However, whereas parents might have found it, all the children can do is live in kalopsia.

Forbidden yet denying the mourning of the path chosen for them by Fate.

Previous part / Masterlist / Next part

Remorse is at times an unrighteous sentiment begotten from a crime that is inherently not the accomplice’s but for which blame is felt regardless of knowing the true culprit, the factor that moved the hands of an innocent bystander who tried to fight against temptation. Notwithstanding, even when it is deserved, it will be tried to be avoided with assumed white lies which cover up the impact of the evoked disillusioning chaos. Just to maintain a sense of clarity, of logic.

Of Sense.

Right now, it is endeavoured to be found in the steps of onyx lacquered shoes and equally dark worn sneakers stained with Scottish mud over mustard and brick tiles leading towards the historic city centre pierced by canals and where it is more likely to get run over by a bicycle than a car. Yet, it is not enough for there are no explanations for why it cannot return when they cross the bridge and walk towards the plaza of the Holy Virgin.

Halfway through the street with furniture stores, cafés and individual shops, however, a worrying distraction - but one, nonetheless - appears in the form of the accidentally revealed novel pinkish scar by an unconsciously pushed up dusk-shaded sleeve, the friction of which also moves the scarlet shirt underneath. The rigid misplaced colour palette on caramel makes feet stop immediately, the sudden action making the silver wolf whose hand is held also halt to look backwards at the frozen ashen Red Riding Hood.

This is something that should have been put in the past a long time ago.

Had been, for the canvas of white scars did not seem to be altered for a long time. Then again, when had it last been looked at in recent times, carefully inspected on a regular basis during any period in the past two years?

Face almost as pale as a ghost, a mirror of the ghastly expression in frightened eyes which are near tears with grave concern, the wound is meticulously investigated now that it is broadly on display. Old habits have been abandoned in favour of pleasing a koala ignorant of the mutual feelings of the protector, but it would, unfortunately, seem not all are left behind.

‘When did this happen?’ Speech has been reduced to a frightened whisper, rapidly closing the unintentionally established distance to trace fingers over the fresh cut. ‘When did you do this?’

‘Do what?’ With a firm tug, the wrist is attempted to be freed from the unsuspectingly suddenly firm hold yet fails in doing so. Instead of another try, there is faked dismissing bewilderment in espresso irises despite knowing full well the signs shown by Reality cannot be denied. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Joon, there’s no use in playing pretend. Especially not now.’ The palm covers the hideousness from the sight of the world, silent pleads enforcing the repeated inquiry with a gradually breaking voice, reduced further and further into the rubble the heart has become at the bodily discovery. ‘When? Please, I need to know.’

Already once it had been too close to a disastrous ending and ever since there has been an unspoken oath to the grey-haired poet and the wordy girl living under the same roof.

It was on the night shortly - six months or so ago - after commemorating moving in as step-siblings a year earlier when, in hindsight only realized, forbidden feelings towards an unworthy student of English Language and Culture had begun to develop in earnest. The far from hushed arguments about missed Skype calls or very vague answers making the Korean Fox suspicious of adultery that had become more frequent resonate anew in the ears now, that night vivid once more as the shapes on the cave wall change to portray past shadows instead of their contemporary counterparts.

Sleep did not come easy as the bladder was continuously complaining about the grand amount of two cups of coffee it had to endure, one right after dinner before going to the gym with Namjoon - the usual sport buddy - and later the second while comfortably reading the short stories for the next seminar until lids began to feel heavy. Annoyed by the incapability of the Body to ignore the need until dawn, the bed was reluctantly abandoned as the first October breath blew through the open window, padding slowly down the attic stairs only to speed up to a run when low sobs disturbed the noisy creaking of the steps. Jeonja and Da were still downstairs, the television so loud it could be clearly heard upstairs, seeing as the latter seems to be annoyingly hard-hearing, and thus the soft crying was easily tuned out for those sitting in happy comfort in the living room.

The scared red-rimmed puffy eyes holding the horrifying resignation of the broad-shouldered bear clad in a simple raven-toned hoodie and monotone alabaster T-shirt looked up at the intruder, a panicked figure outfitted in a shirt stolen from the one on the tiled floor which held a sliver of the scent of smoke and coffee - the elements of late summer nights together - and who was turned to stone like during the recent event on the plaza of the Separated Church while staring at the trembling horrific boxcutter and flow of dark crimson.

Punishment. That one simple word formed the answer after the cursing outcry and the vulgar language that followed in its wake but was stopped as soon as the faucet provided the water to wash away the blood. Attention turned then to cleaning the wound precariously close to the pulse, ignoring to the best of personal ability the absurd excuses that it was well deserved. That this care was not necessary.

That I needed to stop.

But all of the begging was in vain, commanding to keep the wrist under the running jet of a million white healing drops as bare feet rushed out to the parental bedroom. A fist smashed the light switch to turn it on and shaking hasty digits searched for the first-aid kit in the lowest drawer of the wardrobe by the window providing a view of the small backyard, finding it to a small curt elevation to a sense of relief after noisily turning the whole thing upside-down.

Fearful of every second being potentially the last one, a sprint was pulled in the return to the bathroom and knees fallen to on the ground with a low thud that made Namjoon reach out toward the naked thigh, carefully, as if it were made of china, caressing the skin with ironic concern. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘This isn’t the time to worry about me, Joon.’ The most nearby towel was pulled from the radiator on the wall after ending the limitless stream of rushing water, the big tanned hand remaining in place on a much smaller body and occasionally tightening the hold with the need to hang on to anything real when the surface beneath the touch moved. The conflicting corrupted sentiments about Love were oppressed entirely by the overwhelming panic speeding up the beat of a heart that normally could reach a similar pace just by being together, thus nullifying the ability to take notice of the intimacy and let it add to futile Fancy. ‘It’s you whose important now.’

As if having been a nurse in a former life, the right wrist was taken into the lap and properly taken care of, bandaging it up while applying pressure to stop the scarlet flow damaging both present parties. Afterwards, when gazes met once more and the one of the then ashy brown bear was noticed to be watery, a small palm automatically placed itself on the warm salt-streaked cheek, a thumb lovingly wiping away the tears. Ever since, the gesture has had the same calming effect on the poet, be it in when sorrowfully sitting by the bathtub with a shining sharp boxcutter in hand to cut open flesh to end the influence of Life or when raging with jealous menace at seeing the chances with one who should never be threatened on academic grounds.

Though not really affectionate in general, sometimes exceptions are made for a koala and thus the guardian let the one he protects till this very day crawl into the lap and run digits through hair after removing the dark twilight hood, arms sprinkled with the traces of past wounds, revealed by pushed up sleeves, strongly embracing a hapless girl who buried her nose in comforting smoky skin with the wish to never have it taken away. The boxcutter, however, was dearly wished to be erased. Vanished to never return.

Just once the renewed flight to cigarettes was excused.

Because Love is not trivial.

But it is filled with compromise.

Yet, protecting one another is not one. It is a lasting promise.

Forevermore.

Reality returns as shadows figure themselves again to their earlier shapes, a grey wolf mockingly and hesitantly attempting to avoid having to reply to the inquiry when the latest scar was added to the hideous canvas. ‘Let’s just go for solely coffee instead. I’m not that hungry.’ A step forward cannot happen, merely advancing half a meter due to being held back by deceivingly powerful determined hands. ‘Y/N, let’s just go. It’s nothing. Come on, bear.’

‘Answer me.’ Speech begins to crumble, slightly distorted by bordering on the edge of annoyed anger because of not getting any reply that could let a secret protector of a five-years-older man execute the duties accompanying the oath.

An indignant huff both causes a shot of hurt that clearly shows up in attitude and evokes another reason to stand tall, push through. ‘Why is it so important? It’s a one-time happening, a stupid slip-up. Besides, it happened a while ago.’

‘A while ago? It looks brand new to me.’ More recently healed wounds are remarked upon, not all of them faded into bleak alabaster. All of them punishments for different reasons or maybe the same. ‘Stop beating around the bush and just answer the fucking question!’

I should have checked more often. Looked for a knife or box cutter or just fucking anything that you could use to do this to yourself.

‘You’re making a scene.’ The roles are reversed, the pull on the hand more powerful this time to the extent it cannot be resisted, thus having to give in and stumble along until the Bagels and Beans on the corner of Mary’s plaza is reached, too concentrated to not fall flat on the face as earlier had been the risk.

‘Oh, as if you didn’t at the Dom. We’re not going anywhere before this issue is resolved.’ Composure is recomposed, revolting against unwavering leadership anew by putting a firm foot down, much to the annoyance of the neatly dressed debtor manager.

There is nothing human about the half-made comment being snarled in response to the resistance. ‘There is no-’

‘Obviously, there-’ But the vocal reaction to the cut-off one, going paired with a roll of the eyes, is also disregarded halfway through being formulated by the same speaker who was prematurely stopped too.

‘Last night!’ Panting like having run a marathon, Namjoon caves at last. Jeering confidence transforms into fragile remorseful uncertainty quickly at noticing the flinch frightened at the idea of potential harm for Namjoon has proven himself unpredictable, the softness of a baritone breaking voice repeating the same two words heart-wrenching. ‘Last night.’

‘Why?’

‘The breakup, it- I don’t know. My mind just turned off and all is a black hazy mess. It was- how to describe it? It was like waking up. Suddenly, I was just there, boxcutter in hand and blood was flowing. Oddly tranquil. Some idiotic side of me blamed me for giving up and pursue you, instead.’ A self-deprecating head shake goes paired with a dangerous smile displaying stark white teeth. ‘This part, it loved Heungji despite not recognizing you were there, the better alternative. That she was meaningless, a hopeless pursuit. But not you, you’re definitely worth it.’

A suffocating sense of doom tightens the throat, the next inquiry almost too horrifying due to the flashing images of more unseen wounds tainted with liquid life force. ‘It? Can you... elaborate?’

’The scars, the nights staying up trying to compose, be a better man. Be yours.’

‘You don’t need to harm yourself to be mine.’ The rapidly spoken assurance is met by no reaction, merely an absent glance sideways that signifies not getting any further information about the subject. Nonetheless, if not talking about the specifics of the topic, the broader aspects remain to be discussed. ‘And the others?’

The creepy glint lighting up espresso irises does not bode well, increasing the unease and confirming it upon speaking. ‘Recent fights between us, being there too little for you, failed music. A lot of variety in the reasons, so take your pick.’

‘I’d rather you take up smoking again than doing this.’ The established distance, just a step or two, is bridged as the formerly tightly held wrist is let go of. The face is buried in the musky scent of the scarlet shirt as quivering arms hug the beloved stepbrother turned lover, murmuring words into the fabric. ‘I thought therapy helped, that this was in the past.’

You’ve changed, but not entirely it seems. Stay with me, Namjoon.

For a moment, the gesture is not registered nor answered, but soon it is with gratefulness when warm arms quickly wrap themselves around narrow shoulders. ‘It’s needed for discipline, to remind myself you won’t miss me even if I were to disappear.’

‘Then what about what you said? You want to be there for me, provide for me but you can’t if you aren’t there. I couldn’t even for myself if you weren’t here. Remember what you said earlier?’ Eyes look up into those which have to stay, have become such a beloved sight despite the original distrust. Heavy heaves begin with the killing vision of a prospect without the bear who is occasionally a wolf, the morning coffees, the book dates, the help with studying. There will be nothing. Nothing but an emptiness which cannot be filled. ‘You need me and I need you. I don’t want yo- your company in the fo- form of a-’

Grave.

‘I’m still here, baby. I’m here so don’t think about that. On the good days, I can and do take care of you but there will be days when I can’t. Yet, please, don’t think about them even if they are a real risk. Because, after all, I want, no, need you to be happy. Either with or without me.’ Hands lovingly caress the semi-long grey-toned locks pressed against the stomach once more, the manner of which is to the contrary of how they were treated in the monastery gardens. And when looking up with mascara-streaked cheeks again after a moment of merely enjoying the intimacy, it is the old Namjoon gazing back, the sweet encouraging poet who was met two years ago. ‘Let’s not talk about this anymore, okay, bear?’

Foreheads briefly rest against each other, a firm palm on the right forearm maintaining a bit of distance as the left thumb removes the watery ugliness with a rare affection, before lips find each other in a chaste kiss reserved for innocent lovers. Something that will never be anything more but a kalopsia in our case, but for now it is a sweet white lie to believe.

Cold is replaced by warmth, stiff muscles losing their tenseness as the mind relaxes and settles into the current Reality.

Of us.

Together.

Alive.

There is no chance to get lost in the contact, push the boundaries a bit to end the innocence just enough to be imprinted with a rougher touch out of fear of never feeling that kind of love, his, again in the shadows of the end. Unfortunately, the silver poet retreats with a last peck on the forehead though a hand on the hip maintains the closeness. ‘I think you’ve also lost your appetite, so shall we just get a coffee at the station and go home?’

A meek nod confirms the agreement to the proposal, although day to day obligations have priority over spending longer amounts of time together during the week. Hence, to endeavour to measure this brief shared repose, hoping it can for once be stretched beyond the usual half hour, they are inquired after. ‘Don’t you have to return to work?’

‘It’s pretty quiet at the office so I don’t think I’ll be missed much.’ A playful shrug dismisses the topic, nothing left to be said, but that same hurtful sadness sneaks back into the only temporarily lit up dark brown irises of the tall guy, the smile on full lips fading into a straight line. ‘Finally some time for just us again.’

‘Joon?’ The hazy veil over the staring blind gaze lifts at the nickname, blinking in confusion before realizing what has happened. ‘We should make more time in our schedules to do this.’

‘Yeah, we should.’ Absent-minded fingers glide over arms clad in the camouflage winter jacket lined with brown wolf fur to entwine with ones they actually should not hold with the same sentiments that form the foundation of the gesture yet do. ‘We see so little of each other. We’re barely home and if we are, our parents are as well. I wish... I wish we had a place just for the two of us. There wouldn’t be a need to hide and we can live however we want. Be whoever we want to be, choose our own persona. Just you and me, living under one roof as a young couple.’

The concept sounds incredibly tempting and Sense hates it, which makes it even more so. It is an ideal situation that can only be truly accomplished if both parties involved put in the necessary effort because, thinking it through in rational terms, the sole way to acquiring a home with the current estate market is by sharing the financial burden. Especially if the plan is to buy instead of renting and all the more so in this part of the country where great important cities connect by means of a great multidimensional network. Furthermore, there is the conflict with morals. ‘I’d like that, but don’t you think we’re going a bit fast?’

‘We’ve been together for two years almost. I don’t think it’s such a drastic idea to play with at this point in time.’ As before, the way is guided by a compelling hand that is too gladly taken every time, exactly like Charles Dickens who took every opportunity there was to share a fact.

‘Two years as siblings, not as a couple. There is a difference.’ Fact.

‘I’ll make it happen. I promised you I’d provide and I shall.’ But the truth is dreamily though blatantly disregarded in favour of remaining under the influence of Fancy. ‘I promised...’

And both floating in surreal imaginations in a Reality painted on the unstable rocky walls by fire, a koala and bear continue the path to caffeinated rest.

Ignorant of facts.

On the top floor of the grand station is a small coffee shop where they serve exclusively the coffee by the great entrepreneur who took over the established general grocery shop in a town nobody has likely heard of by a slightly more known father and made it into a specialty store dealing in coffee, tea and tobacco. Till this very day, it is one of the most beloved brands of caffeine addicts just like the stylish and cosy cafes serving the various types of the same beverage are, even more so in the big urban areas.

None of the other customers seated behind the dogwood counter or on the lush green faux leather sofa nor at the grand table overlooking the mass of people below looks up or only shortly with disinterest before reverting focus to a newspaper or laptop, resuming the work or study. Nevertheless, as is expected of the individual fulfilling the function, the eyes of the female barista dart to the glass door of the cube in which the coffee shop is grounded and gain an awed lustre as soon as Namjoon sets one foot inside.

It is silly how unjust jealousy can evoke uncharacteristic behaviour, seething, boiling under the gaze of unwanted attention towards a beloved from a stranger. Henceforth, arms wrap around a well-formed one, holding onto it as a show of dominance to a denied peer with whom there should be no competition in the first place. After all, if women start to fight each other then all power they have gained through fairness and hardship will fall into the hands of corrupt men again. And if that happens, all the hard work put in place by ancestors walking in footsteps similar to Wollstonecraft will be in vain. Withal, the default sentiment towards cat fights does not even begin to nullify the envy hardly endeavoured to be suppressed, instead giving off a silent warning shot with multi-coloured irises.

He is taken.

He is mine.

The anchor clearly notices the unusually possessive clinging, raising an eyebrow in wondering amusement when being halfway to the counter. ‘Y/N, what are you doing?’

Not getting an answer aside from an ashamed huff and sideways glance, the answer is found regardless with a look at the counter and the person behind it. The flirtatious barista futilely tries to appear occupied with polishing a very clean cup but obviously has furiously blushing cheeks when accidentally locking gazes with Namjoon. The puzzle pieces form a complete laughable image, the corners of full lips curving upwards. ‘I see. My God, you are a paradox, bear. First claiming you’re not into me, slapping me in a public place only to have you,’ the smugly grinning stunning silver wolf leans in, a finger tracing the shape of the mouth not daring to speak after compelling the face to turn by the chin, whispering, ‘on your knees, happily sucking my cock.’

The blunt comment now renders the ability to form a response entirely nullified, tongue numb with the sinful memory of what happened in the monastery gardens and the salty aftermath. Within the small space, there are now two crimson faces.

A low chuckle is followed up by a quick yet slightly lingering coy kiss. ‘I’ve always been and will be yours. Go find a spot for us, babe. I’ll get you your reward.’

At first a tad reluctant to let go but trusting the tanned comforting man without restriction, a two-person seat is sought in the tiny café. Fortunately, the last one on the end of the fake dark green long couch can be snatched at the last second under the watchful gaze of the poet who is a few steps away, the hint of a scowl on a handsome face when noticing the eyes of some male customers wander to a recently claimed woman in forbidden love.

However, when sitting down and dividing the ordered drinks, the experienced discomfort at being apart from each other and left bare to the influence of strangers, however briefly, ebbs away. Like an innocent couple, lovers regard one another while sipping at the edge of the cups containing caffeinated liquid heaven. The only thing that gives away true sentiments is when occasionally foamed milk is licked away from the edges of the mouth as Joon watches silently with dark intentions, sometimes biting down on a plush bottom lip with a low barely audible groan, the gesture and sound of which drives the mind across the table reeling all over again.

Eventually, though, the hush is broken off in favour of inquiring shyly about the nagging sensations regarding what was said in the throes of pleasure. ‘Joon... what you said back there... in the cloister.’

Interest is evidently piqued, the espresso put down before fingers weave together and a listening demeanour is taken on. ‘What about it?’

‘Did- Did you mean it? Were you really pla- planning on doing that?’ The cappuccino is put down as well as a similar attitude is taken on, a finger gliding over the edge of the half-filled cup. ‘Bree- Breeding me?’

There is no hesitation upon answering, no sign of genuine lies in attitude while speaking. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you still... I mean-’ Lips purse in a temporary moment of contemplating jumbled words to form a coherent sentence which is formulated shortly afterwards, ‘Are y- you still planning on it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh.’ The tips of fingers tap nervously together, waging one emotional conflict after another due to Sense endeavouring to press in on Fancy to gain terrain as in a great epic but finding a powerful enemy in them who is not so easily defeated. ‘You do.’

It is a meagre reply, this being emphasized by the sarcastic tone in a baritone voice remarking upon the comment. ‘That’s all you have to say? Just ‘oh’?’

‘It’s just that... that it feels like we’re moving so fast. I’m nineteen, barely an adult. I get your clock is ticking differently at twenty-four, but I don’t think I’m ready to have kids, if ever.’

‘I understand, baby. But,’ big hands reach out to envelop heavily hesitating ones which should have pulled away in disgust immediately at being enveloped yet remain stuck in the limbo-inducing warmth they emit, stranded in the hypnotizing heat after the cold breeze outside in the hardly alive world, ‘I think you’d make a great mother. And if you’re scared about raising a child alone without the security of a husband, then, of course, I’ll marry you. In fact, I want to start a life together as soon as possible.’

‘Joon...’

The softest whisper contains the proposal that should have every woman squealing with joy but does not trigger such a reaction now, for once agreeing with Reason it is too far a leap to make regardless of Time. ‘Marry me.’

‘No.’ A shake of the head closes the topic, determined in the refusal of what causes a joyous spark despite the need to hold on to the denial of being tied down while being in the prime of youth. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t want to in the near future. Someday. On a good day in a far future we could, but, right at this point in my life, I can’t for various reasons.’

‘Such as what?’ The sharpness of the inquiry in combination with the fierce unforgiving look makes the hold on fingers that much scarier when it slightly painfully tightens, only refraining from retreating due to knowing for a fact the silver wolf would never actually hurt a harmless koala bear past an actually damaging boundary. ‘Give me one good reason why it isn’t possible.’

‘University, living at home, financial instability, wanting to see more of the world before being tied down. Do you need me to go on?’ Despite the awful snarl which continues to show on full lips, sympathy and empathy manage to surface without letting the anxious sentiments about having crossed the limits preventing real hurt shine through. All the while, the powerful grip on digits is endeavoured to be ignored, the grimace tried to be suppressed as a convincing stream of speech is conjured. ‘Please, try to understand I’m in a different period of my life than you. That’s not to say I don’t want you with me, because I do, but there are factors that make me think it’s perhaps for the better if we keep our relationship as it is now.’

‘I could search an apartment for the two of us, simply say to your father there is room for an extra person to move in. I can pay for the rent or mortgage until you start to earn a bit more, after your studies. I think it’d be good for you, for us to move out and find a home of our own. And you can still travel across the globe, either with or without me.’ A melancholic grin comes forth from the hideous earlier expression, the light squeeze weakening the force with which hands are held greatly to a comfortable level. ‘Though, I’d rather have us together when you do, of course. Just to make sure nobody can harm you. That there is somebody to care for you if you get sick or anything else happens.’

‘Namjoon, as much as I like the idea, I also need space of my own every now and then. It just so happens I can find it when journeying by myself or locking myself away in my room for a while.’ Lips pout in trembling hesitance at seeing desperate begging mix with wishful longing, instilling a chastising sense urging to rapidly make this right before the wrong message is conveyed. ‘For me, those are the best methods to calm my mind aside from being with you.’

A slight brightening in attitude, some of the wantonness flowing over in purposeful determination, seeing an opportunity to put in a decision-making argument. ‘But if being with me also-’

‘It doesn’t always work, Joon. And it won’t always now that we’re in a relationship. Sometimes safe havens can’t provide the rest we need. I simply need time alone every now and again, you know that.’ A bright smile closes the topic, or at least hopes to do so with a final statement. ‘I’m nineteen bordering on twenty, perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’m a big girl.’

A hand frees itself to cover the snigger at the determined utterance before trusted eyes gain the dark shadow that also had befallen them in the cloister. A signal the wrong answer has been given and the subject is not done with. ‘You’re adorable, Y/N, but you’re my baby girl. And there is at least certainly one thing only I can take care of when you’re acting all cutesy like that, almost forcing me to give it to you before anyone else can right in this very spot.’

‘And what might that be?’ An eyebrow raises in defiant challenge, but thighs clench together underneath the table and cheeks colour a bright crimson with the knowledge presented in mental images.

To keep the perverse conversation from being heard by outside ears, the bear turned wolf again lowers the baritone voice to a hypnotizing yet dangerous purring, amused by the apparent effect dominance has over inherently subjective prey. ‘You know exactly what I mean. You gagged on it earlier, wishing I forced it in somewhere else and pumped it full, bred you until you’re nothing more than a whining leaking mess.’ A teasing lip bite evokes an awkward wobble, suddenly needy with the craving for what, indeed, only the merciless poet can and is allowed to provide. ‘I can smell you from here, baby, creaming your panties. Finish your coffee. We’re going home.’

#BTS #BTS smut #BTS x Reader #kimnamjoonnet #hyunglinenetwork #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Stepbrother!Namjoon

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