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stilemawillow · 3 years ago

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Journey’s Parts [Levi | Reader | Reincarnation AU!]

[841]

[the beginning]

"Watch where you walk, cadet." The superior, who you later acknowledged as Lance Corporal Levi Ackerman, spat in your direction as you recollected yourself and glared at him defiantly, fingers clutching tighter the stack of papers you held close to your chest.

"I apologise, sir. I was told to give these papers to you." Your jaw clicked as you suppressed your distaste towards the individual before you, exactly three inches below your eye level, and called forth your supposed respect for his title whilst handing him the pages. He took them from your hold sharply, like he was afraid you'd infected them with something.

"By whom?" His grey hues scanned the lines of the document before pinning your orbs in place. Despite your hostility towards soldiers (what an irony that you would one day become a part of them) you considered the dark-haired superior in front of you ravishing in terms of facial features and body structure and, say he hadn't nearly cussed at you a second ago or wasn't currently scrutinizing every inch of your visage with his intimidating gaze, you'd even dare say he was handsome.

"Petra Ral." You stated shortly, attempting to ignore the way he briefly raised an eyebrow at the sound of your condescending tone. You'd accidentally let it slip, but it couldn't be helped since these were your first few days in the actual army.

Your tragic backstory included the fact your father used to be in the Survey Corps prior to his death six years ago - his squad let him be devoured during a mission and the Squad Leader did literally nothing to save him despite the fact they'd been close enough to do so. Cue your hatred for soldiers. The years without your father were hard and forced you to take on a job early, but the only thing suitable for a kid your age was training camp that would later become the profession you hated ever so much. Spoiler alert, as the only option in store, it was obviously the chosen one.

"And your name is?" Fast forward, after five years of training, you graduated and were currently in enemy territory, surrounded by people you disliked and thought unloyal lying bastards. You had to kiss up to superiors who'd most likely let you die on a mission and 'bond' with comrades who'd stand to the side unharmed and watch. You returned to reality and though your mind was clear of memories, your voice was still unfiltered in regards to odium and so were your eyes.

"(Y/N) (L/N), sir. Am I dismissed? I have other matters to attend to as well." Maybe if only that one sentence of yours had been different you wouldn't have spent the following two years in an unofficial war against the Lance Corporal. Your silent games, unbeknownst to both of you having started this very moment, were all wit and unfair punishments, mostly on his side as shown by his following words.

"I suggest you take your jacket off instead, (L/N). The weather outside is hot and you'll be spending the next hour running laps in it." The raven-haired male's eyes narrowed dangerously at you. Even if you hadn't actually talked back to him openly, he was surprised by the lack of respect in your speech and the substituting it distaste. In his opinion, there was little to understand as to acknowledge the reason for that distaste and the one thing he actually cared about at the moment was that he wasn't in the mood for a rude know-it-all brat with obvious issues that were none of his business. "Dismissed."

You walked away extremely frustrated with your fists clenched at your sides and your eyebrow twitching. As a clear statement of defiance (and stubbornness you almost regretted later) you kept your uniform jacket and started running laps in the heat. It took you twenty minutes to get tired, ten more for your mouth to dry to a dangerous degree and an additional fifteen till your muscles felt like they were melting under your sweaty skin. You could barely produce a coherent thought when your vision became blurry and your lungs stopped listening to your brain.

You had no idea exactly when you passed out or how long you were out of it for, but you were woken up by a kick to the side and a small flask that was thrown at your abdomen right after. Your fingers clutched the cold metal as your eyes slowly opened up. Your tongue was dry and your throat was scratchy but you distinctly remembered the frowning corporal's grey hues staring down at you as his frame protected your eyes from the direct sunlight.

"Off to the shade. Wash your face and report to my office, you look filthy." The cold words were accompanied by another nudge of his leather boot to your ribcage. Taking his features in as if he were something like a mirage in the middle of a desert, you closed your eyes as your head fell back into the dirt in defeat. Your vocal cords were so strained you didn't even have it in you to groan in exasperation.

"... yes, sir." The mangled whisper left your lips weakly, but then the boot was gone from your side and so was the shadow from your face. You lay there for another minute, waiting to hear the slam of a door, before chugging down the water he'd brought you for unknown reasons. He couldn't have actually gotten worried about your well-being - it was too weird a notion taking into account how you'd met less than an hour ago and the first thing he did was punish you for speaking a tad bit too confidently.

You spent the next few minutes gathering the strength to get up and enter the building. Once inside, you followed the Corporal's orders and washed your face before gulping down as much water as you could take. Relief was coursing through your veins instead of blood and your mind was in a state of such euphoria that the kindly supplied flask full of fresh water brought to you by the raven-haired man was neither remembered nor questioned. As you made your way to the superior's office, there was little to no gratitude in you and a smidge too much discontent.

You knocked on the door, entered without waiting for approval and stiffly saluted the male sitting behind his desk. He offered you no seat though there was a chair less than a foot away from you and you took it as a direct insult, much like he had taken your annoying show of lack of proper mannerism seconds prior. There were no greetings nor any respectful nods of acknowledgement, there was only silence and glaring until the Corporal got to his point.

"Your excuse for fainting in the middle of a punishment?" The fact he wasn't even looking at you as he fired such a ridiculous question your way (how was one supposed to know they'd black out as to find themselves an excuse for it?) infuriated you so much you could walk out and not care about the follow-up punishment he'd give you. In fact, you couldn't care less about any punishment he'd give you if you earned it through honesty and some witty comebacks. That little moment of epiphany was maybe what added fuel to the fire of the war that could've been otherwise avoided.

"Middle? The hour had almost passed." You dropped your salute and openly mocked your superior with a glare, quickly finding out that he was not one to buckle under pressure and a bit of disrespect. Maybe it was what made your war so infuriating yet fun later on - the Corporal would always cock an eyebrow at you mockingly and give you a punishment right after, and even then you'd never stop thinking of how hot the gesture was.

"Almost." His bored voice underlined heavily as you received the honour of watching the first of many raised eyebrows on his forehead. At the current moment, in contrast to many future experiences to come, your knees didn't exactly buckle and your mind didn't immediately scramble not to think of how good it would feel to just wipe that haughty expression off his face using your fist... or your lips. "Your phrase just won you an additional one." It was a cold statement that knew just how much it weighed on a powerless little thing like you.

"Why do you not like me, sir?" You fired casually with a neutral expression instead of asserting your opinion on the topic of your new punishment. A punishment you greatly wished he would forget about by the end of this conversation. The male seemed, for the first time since you'd entered his office, to look up at you with a face you could almost read.

There was this little thing hiding in the furrow of his eyebrows that told you he was somehow testing you. And another little thing roaming his emotionless grey hues told you he was actually surprised to hear that question out of your mouth so soon. Maybe, his eyes spoke boldly, you'd say it in a month or two, or maybe even a year - just not now, they blinked at you wondrously. And you, baffled by your odd newfound skill of reading the expressionless corporal's thoughts, blinked right back at them, not knowing what else to do.

"Is that the impression I'm giving off?" Then his lips moved and you realised you could no longer hear what he was thinking. There was just a wall of grey and a pair of knitted eyebrows, and you suddenly reached the conclusion that what you'd seen was a simple delusion - you were dehydrated and dizzy, and you couldn't read the raven's thoughts. The mere idea sounded completely delirious.

"It is." You nodded in affirmation confidently, eyes trailing over the male's features in search of something legible. If you didn't find anything that would only verify your very sober theory that you'd been delusional up until now due to exhaustion and leftover giddiness. But then you saw the way his eyes flickered mockingly prior to fleeing from your gaze and you knew you were still quite delirious indeed.

"Good. Because I'm not the only one." The words out of his mouth seemed to faze you to the point you were almost rendered speechless. He'd just straight-out informed you that he was being a stubborn mule who only wished return the favour of disliking you for no actual reason whatsoever. His slender fingers grabbed the pen he'd obviously left upon your arrival and then came the cold verdict you wished would stay in your imagination only. "Two hours of laps outside instead of dinner tonight. Dismissed."

[844]

[the middle]

"I thought you liked the Corporal." Your head was tilted innocently to the side at your only female squadmate, Petra Ral, as she calmly ate opposite you at the table. She seemed to be briefly choking on her own spit prior to recollecting her composure. Your eyes followed the movement of her fingers as they let go of the spoon she'd been using seconds ago, only to wipe nervously at the corner of her mouth right after.

"It's not like that." She explained, strain added to her voice very subtly due to the avoided choking-fit. You nodded at her slowly and raised your hands in the air in defeat. Maybe she didn't want to talk about it - that you understood, but denying it was straight-up foolish of her, moreover when you knew for a fact she did like your raven-haired superior. The air around her when he was close oozed 'please give me some personal task'.

"I get it, sorry for being nosey." Your gaze went back to your food and you made a mental note not to pursue the topic of love interests ever again. It was strange how people avoided talking about that, no matter who they were talking to. As far as you knew, Petra was an outgoing girl but you were the only person who was remotely close to her as a friend and she still wouldn't feel comfortable enough as to share with you. It was ever so unbelievable that you would one day be so close to a soldier yet the experience itself was nowhere near the horrifyingly disgusting scenario you had in mind.

"No, I just---" The strawberry-blonde whisked her hands through the air in a panicked manner, cutting herself off in the middle of something that could've been a legitimate sentence. Your eyes went back to her face, only to see her features contort in tender bashfulness as her gaze fled to the wood beneath the food before her. "I don't like talking about it since the Corporal is the last person I should've fallen for. I doubt he'll ever notice me as anything besides an underling." A heavy sigh of hopelessness tore itself from her peachy lips as she tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

"An underling who's doing a brilliant job at surviving and helping him on a daily basis." You justified for the sake of making your closest thing to an actual friend feel a bit better. Petra looked up at you as you scowled in the general direction of the Corporal you were talking about. "He loses if he doesn't notice you." Maybe that exact phrase, out of your lips, was part of the reason Petra never gave up on your ebony-haired Corporal - even when he would already be taken, even when he would brush her off just as she had gathered the courage to confess, even when she would die and he wouldn't be there to save her.

"Problem is - he's giving me signals, I just can't read them." She gestured his way in a desperate manner, making you cock an eyebrow at her mockingly. Yeah, sure, the stone-cold Levi Ackerman was giving her signals. The only signals coming from him you'd ever recognise would be his usage of flare guns during a mission outside the walls. Or the straight-up statement of 'come to my room, I want to have sex with you', which, in actual fact, was nowhere near an actual signal.

"What signals? With flares? Those would surely be easier to understand." You joked with a smirk, making your squadmate chuckle as she dug into her soup once more, feeling a tad bit more comfortable talking to you about her love problems. Maybe, just maybe you actually managed to find yourself a friend in the squad you once hated ever so much.

Two and a half years later things (ever so unexpectedly for you) had changed drastically. The people you'd have never thought you'd come to believe in, now you trusted with your life. They also returned the favour of not doubting you. In the beginning, you might've thought that was a mistake on their side because it made them naive and too kind for their own good, but then you came to understand they were just good people who, despite their own hardships, had learned to trust others because there was no way for them to survive on their own and they'd come to realise it - maybe the hard way.

"True." Petra was smiling as she dropped her spoon in the empty bowl of soup, but then the look on her face contorted into a slight inner conflict and a bunch of confusion, like she was trying to untangle the big ball of yarn her love interest had tossed her way. Of course, things always got confusing when it came down to the Corporal's behaviour, furthermore when you were attempting to read into a bunch of alleged signals unrelated to flare guns. "I mean he's always looking this way. Be it during lunch, missions, cleaning duty or sparring. When we walk the hallways, too. He's just always looking."

"I hadn't noticed." Your voice was laced with innocent oblivion that could be regarded as straight-up stupidity and your eyebrows were raised in slight wonder. It was indeed something you'd missed - this staring of his, but you wouldn't have if that wasn't the initial idea in the first place. There was a small part of Petra's explanation that kept you on your toes during the rest of the conversation as your mind worked on the problem at hand. "Maybe he's keeping an eye on us in case we do some shit, we are his squad." The strawberry-blonde accepted it as a reasonable explanation and proceeded clearing the table of her used utensils. Before she left for the kitchen, a small 'thank you' alongside a genuine smile floated through the warm air in your direction.

That very same evening you made your way to your superior's office with a pair of crossed arms and a glare full of reprimand - your mind had arrived at a marvellous conclusion earlier this afternoon and you were quite eager to share it with your Corporal. You knocked on his door three times and made your way inside without even announcing your name, only to find the sole inhabitant of the candle-lit room glaring at you from behind his desk.

"You're being obvious." You stated coldly before he could open his mouth to scold you for your bold behaviour and question 'what if somebody else had been here with me?', to which you'd counter him with your all-time winner 'as long as that somebody isn't me it doesn't really matter, does it now?'. That conversation would not go down as usual. Actually, you'd even mark it deceased for the time being since you had way more urgent matters to discuss.

"Your implication being?" There was the usual cocked eyebrow but this time his gaze, contrary to most others, was devoid of any kind of mockery. There was just doubt and a smidge of annoyance, which annoyed you more than anything because he was feigning ignorance when you were sure he very well knew what your implication was. Moreover, he could read your expression with skill that almost equalled perfection since day one and now of all times there were he seemed to be pretending (very badly at that) that he'd lost said skill. Obviously alongside his vision as well, because your face showed brilliantly how you weren't in the mood for his crappy acting, not to mention his crap altogether.

"My statement being that Petra's noticed you stare at me, sir." The second emphasis fell on his title mockingly, making him understand you were set on degrading his authority and most likely making fun of the fact he was the one to establish a certain set of rules you two strictly had to follow and now he was the one going around breaking them. "She just hasn't figured out that it's me, not me and her." You put your hands on your hips and looked at him challengingly, as if telling him 'please go ahead and try to deny everything'. Unfortunately, mostly because you really weren't in the mood for his shit, he did just that.

"I'm just supervising my squad, cadet." He copied your former stance by leaning forward in his chair and crossing his arms, but you were left unfazed by his cold words. There was no way in hell he'd been supervising his squad if Petra's explanation dared include the word 'we' when the rest of your squad was absent at the table, leaving you and her exclusively. That meant your Corporal had looked at the two of you which eliminated the possibility of him babysitting the whole squad and having to look after all its members.

"Don't play dumb with me, Corporal." An unattractive kind of smirk appeared on your lips, but the male in front of you kept looking as indifferent as any other day. "It's not good for your worry wrinkles." You innocently tapped your cheek as he blinked at you, both of you being fully aware of the fact you'd just said exactly what he wished he'd never hear.

There was this little tradition of yours where you made fun of him for being old and he, in turn, blew you off with the nonchalance of royalty amongst peasants whilst becoming increasingly self-conscious about his looks which, as you would later assure him repeatedly, were as perfect as the first time you'd seen him. But for you to use this in the middle of an argument as a legitimate attack meant something entirely different - and maybe it hurt a small bit of his pride for real.

"I don't have those." Though his mouth formed defensive words, his eyebrows distinctly displayed the aforementioned wrinkles by knitting together fretfully in the face of your insult. "And this isn't a dumb act, I do keep an eye on you in case you decide to fuck up. Petra's just noticed it." His attempt at simulating composure and boredom was a rather useless exercise of his acting skills when you already knew everything about this story there was.

"And I haven't? It means I was never meant to in the first place." You stepped forward and leaned your forearms against the back of the chair in front of the raven-haired male's desk. Your (e/c) eyes glared into his as your brows furrowed darkly, distinctly displaying your own worry wrinkles. "When did you plan on telling me about this? And what would've happened if somebody like the Commander had noticed it a bit faster than Petra did?" Your questions came fast and harsh - slapping the pale superior's ego as well as his face. "You are putting us at risk." That little statement seemed to make him finally snap.

"And you aren't?" He stood up abruptly, chair screeching against the wooden floorboards as his hands slammed on the desk, making the stacks of paperwork on top of its surface wobble weakly while you attempted to fight the glare in his eyes. It was very obvious you'd pissed him off beyond repair. "Need I remind you of the way you almost called me by my name mere days ago, (L/N)? Or how you forgot to lock the door on your way in last week and shitty-glasses was seconds away from catching us making out on the desk?" He leaned forward threateningly, voice dropping in both volume and pitch, and you had to admit - you were intimidated enough to back off.

You stood back up, hands crossed in front of your chest as if it would protect you from him. You were still glaring but your face formed neither a scoff, nor a sneer. Your jaw clicked and your eyes were glazed with indecisiveness, but you still spoke, not wishing to seem weak and fragile in front of a man so stoic and strong.

"Then maybe we should break this off, sir. It was never safe to begin with." Your voice didn't waver, but you caught your eyebrow twitching in doubt. It was strange to hear yourself say that after approximately a year of considering yourselves a so supposed couple. It was odd hearing yourself call his title even though you were suggesting you stop visiting his office with a cup of tea as he did his paperwork, stop brushing his hair before his meetings in the morning, stop letting him caress your face as you prepared yourselves for the next expedition, stop staring at him as if he was the only thing that kept you alive, stop your heart from skipping a beat every time he'd take your hand. It was odd and strange, and it took you a lot not to react drastically to your own words.

"But it was my idea." You were scared of admitting you felt too much so you hastened to make it seem like you felt nothing at all, and when he spoke your eyes glanced at his form nervously. He looked like he'd just come back from a bad expedition and was sitting in his chair for the first time in days. "And I stand by my ideas." He added, eyes flickering upwards to meet yours. To your biggest surprise he wasn't glaring - and that, in addition to his words made your heart skip a beat, which resulted in your lips pursing in slight deprecation. Then his face hardened and he was back to being the stoic superior who punished you for every speck of dust you didn't manage to clean. "You'll be running a lot of laps if you try to break up with me again, cadet." It was a final warning and his voice hinted it would also be the very end of this topic.

"It was just a suggestion, sir." You justified stiffly, eyes meeting the floor bashfully as your hands fell to your sides in defeat. Your mind was filled with slight embarrassment, but there was also a great amount of alleviation you'd never allow yourself to express vocally. The fact you'd lost this argument was more than enough - the fact Levi had made the effort to win just this once was more than enough.

"Good." There was a hum at the back of his throat before he reclined in his chair and grabbed a pencil off the surface of his desk. "Now lock the door and come massage my shoulders." Was his next command as your shoulders sagged in relief and you made your way to the door as to obey his orders. With your back to him, you bit back a very obvious smile and spun the key in its hole until it clicked and you were forced to turn back around. When you did, the Lance Corporal wasn't looking at you anymore. His elbow was propped on the desk and his cheek was leaning on his fist as his other hand wrote something down on the papers before him.

"Only massage and nothing else?" The corner of your mouth formed a smirk and you heard the male huff before his lips parted so he could speak. As always, his phrase was nowhere near being romantic or loving, but it just went to show you he actually cared to some extent he wouldn't admit anytime soon.

Maybe the fact he wouldn't say it for three additional years made the moment all the more special that time he lay in the infirmary, having woken up from an unsteady slumber you feared would last forever. Maybe he was just high on painkillers and the smell of chemicals, or maybe it was the sight of you crying in relief by his bedside (where you'd spent the past half a week) that actually made him finally tell you he loved you. Of course, now you had no idea that would happen, and then you cared very little that it had. In comparison to him having woken up, a small 'I love you' meant close to nothing - or so you kept telling yourself for the entirety of a month after it occurred.

"We'll get to that later if you behave." He didn't look at you but you felt his shoulders sag in relief once your hands started massaging them. A smile crawled across your lips and unbeknownst to you, Levi was paying very little attention to the paperwork he was supposed to be doing - his mind was occupied by a bunch of erratic thoughts he had to sort and a small number of overwhelming emotions in need of some suppressing.

[852]

[the end]

"You ready for tomorrow?" As always, you had walked in without waiting for Levi to even register you'd knocked before that, but the difference this time was that you shared the room and you needed to check up on your raven-haired boyfriend urgently. You'd spent the last few hours thoroughly discussing plans with Hanji and helping Connie and Jean prepare the weapons for tomorrow's mission, so now you felt like the only thing you could do was sit still and fall asleep against a random wall.

"Think so." Levi's voice was nowhere near being as soft as yours, but it was too tired to produce its usual sharpness as well. You might've looked like you were capable of falling asleep against a wall, but Levi looked like he planned on dying before he even blinked. It was very unfortunate that you both resembled living corpses ever so closely since this whole carnival had begun, but there was nothing you could do about it - except, of course, end this thing before you died for real.

"Go to sleep. I'll keep watch." You took a seat next to the small fireplace in the room as the raven-haired male shook his head and stood up from the bed to further prove he needed no sleep whatsoever to function. As of lately, you'd started mocking this obstinate behaviour of his, but he never seemed to give it up - no matter how harsh or kind you appeared, and then you realised it wasn't up to you anymore.

"No need." He snatched the rifle lying next to him and started loading it, perhaps not yet aware of the fact it was your rifle and he didn't even have one of his own to maintain. You were speed and precision and he was strength and agility, but his mind's agility had come to sleep more than he did. Unfortunately, your squadmates had started noticing that, too. When the rifle in his hold was loaded, he started cleaning it with the handkerchief from his pocket and you could almost see the muscles on his legs twitch as he stopped himself from pacing.

"You haven't slept in three days. Hanji's worried." You argued as your hands pushed you off the cold floorboards and Levi glared into the perfectly polished rifle he was trying to clean. In actual fact, you hadn't counted with precision the restless nights he kept spending next to the smouldering fireplace as you lay in bed, trying to ignore it, but you did know for a fact they were more than three. As sharp as she was, Hanji hadn't noticed Levi's sleep deprivation up until two days ago, mostly because she had an awful lot to deal with at the moment.

"I'm also worried about her not bathing in the past week but it's a thing we'll both have to deal with. We're not in the HQ anymore, we can't do anything about anything." The raven kept furiously scrubbing at the spotless surface of the rifle, blinded by his annoyance and tiredness, stopping only when your hand grasped his wrist and let him see the reflection of the spiteful furrow of his eyebrows in the metal. He didn't face you, but you saw his expression relax the littlest of bits when you spoke.

"We can do a lot about this. We can win." There was this little thing in your voice (maybe insecurity) that told him you didn't feel as determined as you tried to make your words sound. Sure, you could do something about it, but it wasn't much and if you failed you faced certain death. The stakes were a bit too high and your performance was vital to the whole mission - you both knew that almost as well as you knew that no mistakes were allowed tomorrow. Another thing Hanji had made very clear during your personal meeting some time ago was that Levi's life was to be preserved to your best ability; generally, every person on the team was important because they were all to play an important part in the fight, but if anything happened to Levi prior to a victory of any kind then a lot more would be lost.

You swore not to tell him about it and tried not to think about the very small possibility of such a scenario eventuating, but the closer time pushed you to tomorrow, the more intrusive the thoughts became. They made you desperate and your small smile twitch in times you attempted to show it.

"We're facing an army." He countered stubbornly, frowning at the rifle his fingers kept clenching and not making an attempt to shake your hold off his wrist even though he could easily do it. There was something heavy on your shoulders and something way heavier in your chest, but you ignored it for the time being and kept fighting Levi's logic with what was left of your optimism. Sadly, it wasn't much.

"We're an army." You pressed with determination, showing yourself almost as stubborn as he was. You took the rifle from his hold and pulled him along in the direction of the bed that barely kept itself upright in the corner. His eyes met yours when you took a seat, beckoning him over as well. "Hey, give me some sweet talk, I don't want our possibly last conversation to be war-themed. This shit has taken up too much of our lives already, I don't want it occupying my last hours on this Earth too."

"Possibly last." There was reprimand in his voice and a cocked eyebrow on his forehead that made you bite the inside of your cheek. He resisted the urge to sit next to you and instead stood, relishing in the warmth of your hands holding his. Under normal circumstances, you'd laugh, but it was as he'd said awhile ago - you weren't in the HQ anymore and you felt like you couldn't allow yourself even something as small as laughter. In spite of that, you didn't grow pensive either, attempting to sustain a healthy amount of mockery in your eyes instead.

"Yeah, you're rusty." Your voice was pointed and your fingers lightly squeezed his palms as you looked up at him in the dim lighting, remembering your first punishment under his command and how his eyes had been ever so sharp yet beautiful. How funny had it been for him that your last punishment was an exact replica of the first? Despite the constancy of your character, quite a few things had changed in the span of time between those two punishments - none of which you came to regret.

"It's been weeks since the last time I made time to have sex with you and now you're asking for words?" He was glaring down at you half-heartedly, not annoyed just yet - only bugged by how time never ceased to flow and worried about the final outcome of his sleep deprivation and nerves colliding in tomorrow's fight. He was too tense to sleep yet too tired to do anything overly productive - if the clash of those two proved too overwhelming the following day and as a result weakened his performance he would have a hard time forgiving himself.

"That's just real bad, Levi." You laughed and suddenly he wasn't listening to his thoughts anymore. You let go of his hand so you could cover your mouth and muffle your cackle to some extent but it was in vain - you were so very amused at how unromantic he could be in situations that desperately required it, to the point tears brimmed your eyes.

"Efficient nevertheless." He spoke boredly, expression not changing as you wiped at the small clear drops before they had the chance to fall. He could feel his heartbeat, he could sense how strained his muscles were and he could hear exhaustion whisper in his ear annoyingly, but it all turned to white noise when you spoke. No matter how much he denied it, he needed this talk - this supposedly disgusting emotional conversation that proved to him all the more how much you seemed to care even after all these years.

"No." You grasped his hand again and snorted in his direction with what could be called the highest forms of hauteur. "I'm taking over. Warning for sappiness." Your hold turned into a weak vice grip and though he knew he wasn't going to pull back he made some effort to add atmosphere to the situation - act as himself in the face of something he couldn't fight, if you will.

"Spare me." There was a groan in the form of 'let me die first' at the back of his throat right before his bored voice left his lips. You chuckled and tugged on his fingers lightly, a scoff sitting on your face - you knew he wasn't serious just as much as you knew it would take you less than twenty seconds to annihilate all and every effort you'd put into easing him into some kind of calm state.

"Begging won't help, no matter how pained your voice sounds." You mocked pointedly before your shoulders sagged considerably and you looked down at your lap as if it would gift you the courage to keep talking as confidently. "I have a bad feeling and I don't want to say I'm always right when it comes down to it, but I am always right when it comes down to it. And I'm going to assume I'm the one who's going to die so this might as well be a farewell dialogue." You looked back up at him, but he was glaring and his mouth had twisted downwards like he'd bitten into something extremely sour. The worry wrinkles you loved so much were distinctly displayed on his forehead.

"You're not dying. I'll keep you safe." A normal person wouldn't consider themselves sane if they heard those words whilst observing that expression, but you weren't a normal person and you were already used to tying that face of his with him being angry at you for saying something ridiculously stupid. A smile made its way onto your lips but there wasn't nearly as much happiness in it as there was sympathy.

"As sweet and non-rusty as that sounds I doubt you can do that and take care of Zeke altogether." The thought of Levi going out of his way to keep you safe wasn't exactly what you wanted at the moment, no matter how sweet he'd let himself sound. You'd appreciate the firm resolve in his voice and the soft silver in his hues after the battle was done and you got to walk back here together. You'd think of how rare these moments were after you got to lay with your arms wrapped around him the following night. Just not now.

"I can. Humanity's Strongest and all that crap." Suddenly, his fingers gave yours a determined squeeze and you were smiling again - this time with a little bit of pity thrown into the mix. Even during your days as a cadet, you got to face his skill of brilliantly reading your expression and knowing what each line on your face meant. Back then you found it both annoying and weird - annoying because he knew what you felt without having you voice it out and weird because why could he even do that at all? Now you thought of it a bit differently. Now it was a useful skill of his during moments like these when words just didn't seem to be enough for you.

"You're a human now, Levi. You're sleep-deprived and hungry and worried all the time. We're both just people. None of us bear titles anymore." The only tension in the room was the one in his shoulders before they sagged and he snorted at you pointedly, not saying anything in return mostly because he knew you were right as could be. During the following silence, the ebony-haired male kneeled in front of you and wrapped his arms around your torso, laying his head on your lap right after.

There was an unsteady sense of tranquillity filled with numerous unspoken promises and speculations - things like 'I'll come back', 'be safe', 'what if something happens' and 'I don't want to lose you' weren't your style and they certainly weren't Levi's either; there were your fingers brushing through the raven's hair as he let out tired wishful sighs into the fabric of your uniform; there were his pale hands clinging to your waist like he couldn't allow himself to let you go; there was the soothing pattern of a heartbeat - two of those actually, and two pairs of closed eyes.

"How many brats do you want after we're done with this?" Levi questioned amidst the silence and though the question might've been abrupt you knew exactly what to say. The scenery was in front of you as your lips parted - a white house in the outskirts of a lively town, a lonely tree to the side, maybe a river on the other. There are a few other houses close by. The grass is green and there's a grumpy voice calling orders like a habit that stayed forever.

"Three." You could see yourself sitting on the porch of that same house, rocking a baby in your arms as two toddlers rolled around playing in the grass a few feet ahead. The sun is shining down on their messy hair and the wind is making their voices echo like the chime of a bell. The grumpy voice gets louder before its owner appears at the doorstep, worry wrinkles between a set of two thin eyebrows, and you shush him with a half-hearted glare because the baby is sleeping.

"That's too much." Levi argued lightly, hands wrapped around you protectively as you played with his hair. You imagined the worry wrinkles dispersing as he walks towards you, crouching and admiring the baby in your arms. Their hair is the same colour but the baby's currently closed eyes shine like yours do. Levi looks up at you and asks if you're still on for your walk in town and you inform him you've already called a babysitter. There's a kiss placed on your cheek.

"Two then." You corrected stiffly, not making an effort to open your eyes. Levi let out another sigh into your uniform before squeezing your waist and burrowing his nose deeper into your scent. You see his grey eyes shine brightly at you - two pools of silver you love too much to ever put into words. You admire the halo the sun creates around his ebony hair and then you smile - freedom is a nice feeling, but it's times better when he's there too.

"I was joking. Three doesn't sound bad. You already said you wanted a big house." Levi's voice was soft and husky. He was tired, but there was this feeling of not wanting to sleep just yet that kept him awake. He could easily drift off like this, but he wanted to stay awake some more - he wanted to listen to your voice and relish in the feeling of your fingers in his hair a bit longer. Just a few more minutes and he would probably go back to polishing weapons and nervously cleaning everything around him.

"That's because you need at least two closets for all your cleaning supplies." Your voice was soft and though the sentence it spoke was a joking phrase everything the ebony-haired male could hear in it was a kind of feeling that always made his throat tight with unspoken words he couldn't allow himself to say. He could see the house, too - two floors and a lot of bedrooms; two offices and two closets for his cleaning supplies; a big kitchen facing east so he could watch the sun reflect in your (e/c) eyes as you drank coffee in the mornings and a spacious porch facing west so you could sit there and watch the sunset in the evening.

"And because we'll need space for your office. I'll sign you up for type-writing classes." He said seriously, readjusting his position in your lap and keeping his eyes closed all the while. There was a time in his life when he thought he'd never get to experience this kind of attachment to another human being - it was painful and amazing at the same time. Maybe the best part was that he knew he belonged somewhere - not in all those dreams about a house and kids, not in this small room or on the battlefield, but next to you, wherever you went and whatever was to come.

"After we open the shop." Your fingers beckoned for him to look up, so he did. You stared down at him and took a small moment to scold yourself for falling in love before giving in and smiling. He seemed to notice you'd overcome some kind of inner conflict but there was no commentary on the topic whatsoever. There was him, looking into your eyes boredly, trying not to think too hard past the things you were discussing.

"Right. Where do we take the stock from, though?" His hands let go of your waist and you sat further back on the bed, giving him some room to climb on as well. He waited for an official invitation, mostly because he wanted to see what you'd do. You knew him a bit too well, so you waited exactly three seconds before reaching out and grasping his collar. He was pulled on the bed and you were shrugging nonchalantly at his question.

"I guess we steal it. Or we think it through after this." The little upturn of your lips was a thing Levi could probably stare at for hours. His eyes couldn't move away from yours and he gave a slight nod prior to grabbing your hand and detaching it from the collar of his uniform.

"Sounds good to me." There was a hum at the back of his throat as you brushed a strand of hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear gingerly which reminded him of your promise to cut his hair after tomorrow's battle was over. He decided not to bring it up, but made a note to himself not to forget it either. He didn't believe your sixth sense - not when you were so close to victory and freedom, so close to all those images of a white house and three kids, so he wasn't going to rely on your bad feeling and put himself down additionally.

"Same here." You were smiling and a small comparison suddenly popped into his head - your smile hadn't changed one bit since the first time he got to see it. If he tried he could see the teenager who detested soldiers so much she earned herself a punishment in less than two minutes; the teenager who hated him for a solid two years; the teenager who deliberately chose to defy him when she knew it was a lost cause; the teenager who, despite saying she'd never be part of a team, helped her squadmates numerous times; the teenager with the most beautiful laugh; the teenager who, at one point, stopped screwing up his tea and started smiling more in his presence; the teenager who hated cleaning almost as much as she hated waiting for him to say 'come in' after knocking. "I love you, Levi." Now in front of him stood a tired but beautiful woman whose resemblance with the teenager seemed to disappear bit by bit each day, telling him something the teenager never did.

"I won't help you make this any more into a farewell than it already is, (Y/N)." Levi scoffed and a glare pierced your eyes but you were quick to soften it by putting a hand to his cheek affectionately. You were smiling and he knew there was very little he wouldn't do to protect that smile.

"Fine. You'll tell me afterwards then." It was already a promise, Levi decided, so he wouldn't argue with it. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, sealing the deal officially and making you grin at him.

"I will." There was a hum at the back of his throat as you pulled him into another kiss. This time you could feel a smile he hadn't let out in months pressed against your lips.

Unfortunately, there was no afterwards for you two. There was you, fighting exhaustion by feeding off of worn out adrenaline and survival instincts, and Levi managing not to miss the Jaw Titan attacking you from the back. There was a scream and blood all over your clothes, and your conscience blacked out so hard you could barely remember the massacre you caused afterwards. Later, when you managed to drag the casualties back to your hideout there was you hearing a small raspy 'I love you' as Levi's eyes closed and his chest went from heaving up and down erratically to not moving at all. You stood by his bed, overwhelmed by denial for the next twenty hours, waiting for his eyes to open again. Only they didn't.

[2019]

[the beginning]

"Watch where you walk, idiot." The male, who you were yet to look at, spat at you as you recollected yourself and went from glaring at the ground where your notebooks would've been sprawled had your grip been a tad bit weaker to glaring holes into the eyes of the person who dared insult you ever so quickly. You may have bumped into him but not giving you any room to apologise first surely didn't work in his favour either.

"I'm sorry, maybe I could run a few laps outside as an apology." You stated mockingly, huffing right before meeting the male's glare. Your heart started sounding like it was in the middle of a marathon and about to give out and your mind did a double-take on what it was seeing like, four times. It took you less than a second to recognise him, or, at least, who you thought was him, but there was no mistaking it - you'd dreamed of him a bit too much not to recognise him now. You just feared you were becoming delusional and he wasn't real at all, and you were currently still sleeping in your bed, late for your first day of college, or you'd blacked out on the bus because of a caffeine overdose, or even worse - you'd lived through all of this but you'd bumped into thin air instead.

"Take off your jacket beforehand." He warned half-heartedly, rolling his eyes at you boredly. He had to be real - your mind couldn't really project his words and behaviour that well, moreover when it only saw him in some old-timed version of a stupid apocalyptic reality. You tried to compose yourself to your best ability, but then you thought of the few times you'd dreamed of him dying - you remembered sitting upright in your bed in the middle of the night, sweaty and crying, sometimes even calling his name.

"Will do, thanks for the concern." Your eyes narrowed at him mockingly as you smirked, thoughts contrasting actions as always when it came down to you thinking of him. The ebony-haired male's glare hardened considerably at your words but there was something in his grey hues that prevented you from feeling too intimidated. Then you noticed you were only one inch taller than him. Now that was unfair.

"It wasn't concern." He argued stubbornly, making you whisk your free hand through the air dismissively. You tried to keep your eyes off the little creases that would soon begin to form his worry wrinkles - the ones you'd heard yourself make fun of so many times. Your feet were rooted to the ground and you had a comeback at the tip of your tongue, but the thought sitting closest to the surface of your mind voiced your curiosity on the matter of him choosing between continuing to waste his time bantering with a complete stranger or resuming what he was doing prior to the minor inconvenience that you seemed to be. You strongly wished for the former though you would never admit it openly.

"Sure sounded like it." The comeback came strong and confident, like it had during all those arguments you'd dreamed about. You wondered if he'd dreamed of them too. If he had maybe he'd recognised you as well. However, he would've shown it in some way by now. Right?

"Maybe because you only like to hear whatever you want." He crossed his arms, but you were too busy pursing your lips at the cocked eyebrow on his forehead to admire the gesture properly. You considered the male standing in front of you the most handsome person to walk this Earth and under different circumstances, say he hadn't played a big part in almost every dream you've ever had, you'd even probably dare try to ask him out.

"Maybe. So what's your name? Or should I try hearing it as you cuss at me?" The sass coming out of your mouth had cleverly hidden the true motive you had, which was learning his name. If it was the same as the guy in your dreams then you were either some kind of psychic or this whole situation was a big 'oops' in the form of a very twisted deja vu. Or maybe the dreams were memories from your past life - who knew? You were personally betting on the guy having a different name and you two never bumping into each other again. Sounded not only legit but good as well.

"Levi Ackerman." There was him being sceptical for the overall of a whole second before he came to crush all and every little hope you held of him having another fucking goddamn name. Then you panicked and, in spite of how loud you were screaming on the inside, there was this small flicker of determination in your eyes that proved very hard to put out.

"I'm (Y/N) (L/N). Free this Friday." There was no handshake and if you had to be completely honest you felt weird - it was like looking into his eyes made focusing on your breathing and sustaining your composure a bit harder than supposed to. They were a narrow wall of grey, surrounded by long curved lashes and supported by a pair of lilac crescents. Then there was a flicker of not only mockery but acknowledgement as well and you were officially classified as both blessed by the Gods above and cursed with some kind of delirium by mother nature herself.

"Good to know." There was the slightest of curls at the corner of his mouth before he left you there, completely and utterly dumbfounded, and about to be late to class. You snapped out of it in a few seconds before looking down at your hand, where Levi had placed the small slip of paper with his number on it seconds prior, and your head started spinning. You had to be delirious because you could've sworn you saw his eyes flicker like he already knew what you'd say. Now Friday seemed too long a wait and the conversation you would surely lead - all too curious a topic to ponder. But, you guessed, this was just the beginning.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #reader insert #reincarnation au #snk imagine #snk fanfiction #because i'm cool with reincarnation #and it makes things sappy #but is cool #levi is an asshole but also #husband material

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fangirlings-things · 4 years ago

Text

Rescheduled Lesson

❦ PART. II

Fandom: Enola Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x female reader

Word count: 3K

anon said: Can I request a Sherlock x reader where she visited Enola often when Sherlock left on long cases, so they became good friends? And when Enola runs away to find her mom, she goes to stay with the reader, which Sherlock deduces and tries to get her to let him find Enola and talk to her? -&

A/N: this request was amazing and I loved every bit of it!!! I put all my inspiration in this, tried to make the personality of the character good, so I hope you like this piece, love, I did my best!! (also I’m thinking about a part 2? if you guys like it let me know, I would be delighted to write it) (had to repost guys, I'm sorry!!)

also, the tag list for this fandom is open!!!

gif credit: @henrycavilledits

❧ You knew the Holmes family was nothing like the other families that lived in the countryside. The father had died many years before. The two oldest sons had already left home, to live their lives and follow the careers they desired. On that incredibly big house, where once lived a family, there was only a mother and her youngest child left. Perhaps the fact that you yourself was considered a little off by other people, was the fact that made you become friends with them.

You lived completely alone, surrounded by books in a small house. Your life was made of studying, researching and writing texts about science. You loved it, great authors of the matter being your inspiration. You tried to learn their teachings and with luck, wanted others to learn as well. You almost couldn’t believe when one day in the middle of a sunny afternoon, Eudoria Holmes had showed up at your door and invited you to her house, where she asked you to be Enola’s science teacher. She educated her daughter not for society, but for herself, so that she could find her own path when she came to grow up. That instantly made you respect that woman and accept her offer.

Twice a week you would go to the Holmes’s house and spend hours and more hours teaching the girl. Darwin, Copernicus, Newton, Galilei. She was eager to know and you were eager to teach her. She was the first student you had that actually wanted to learn and that was amazing. Made you proud and happy, more than you could say. At the evening, Eudoria would ask you to stay for dinner. You would put lessons aside and talk and laugh together. They were like your family, the one you didn’t had.

You were always excited for the days of teaching Enola to come soon. They were your absolute favorites of the week. In the beginning of the afternoon of one of those days, you had been incredibly surprised by a knock on your front door while you gathered the books you would make the girl read and study. Frowning, because you never had visitors or received letters, you went to attend the door.

And when you opened it, you saw that your visitor was Enola herself.

“Hi, Miss (Y/L/N)” the girl smiled at you, a little forced smile that instantly made your frown grow deeper. She was wearing boy’s clothes, even a hat, and her long brown hair had been hidden inside of it. “I’m afraid today’s lesson will have to be rescheduled”

“Enola, what…” you began, confused. You had seen her dressed in boy’s clothes before around her house, that wasn’t a big deal. She did find them more comfortable, she had told you before. But the fact that she concealed her hair as if she wanted to hide it and the expression on her face, something that you couldn’t quite identify but resembled urgency, was enough for you to get anxious.

“Please, Miss (Y/L/N), can I come in? I promise I’ll explain everything you want to know” she pleaded, eyes locked on yours as she did so. The tone on her voice made you nod and take a step to the side, locking the door once she was already inside. “I had never been here. Your house is really amazing” the girl seemed overwhelmed by all the books and unfinished texts you had around, laying on tables and shelves.

“Thank you” you said, mind still running fast as you tried to understand what was happening. You walked after the girl, that had advanced until she reached the next room of your house, one who only had two couches and a table. “Enola, what is going on?” her face instantly lost the admiration she was having for your belongings. Her eyes went to the floor, and she went silent. That made you sight. “Enola, you promise you would explain. And you know you can trust me”

That seemed to make her come around, because she sighted as you had just did and sat at one of your couches. Or better, she laid down on it, placing her head over a pillow and focusing her eyes on the roof. Her hands were joined over her chest. “I came here because I wanted to hide, Miss (Y/L/N). I’m running away”

Your eyes went wide at that declaration and you sat on the other couch, realizing that would probably be a long conversation. “Enola! Think about your mother! She loves you. Your disappearance will hurt her deeply”

“No, no, I’m not running away from my mother. I’m running away to find her” the girl sat straight on the couch, eyes meeting yours again like they had before at the door. She could see the confusion in your eyes grow by each word she spoke. “My mother went missing a few days ago, Miss (Y/L/N). She didn’t say goodbye or said where she was going. She only left me clues, here and there that I’ll have to use to find her”

Worry got a hold of you, the same worry you had recognized on Enola’s eyes. Eudoria. Where would she have gone? Was she fine? Not knowing you realized, was terrible. As you thought about what Enola had just said, another question got to your mind. “If your mother is missing, who are you running away from, Enola?”

“My brothers. Sherlock and Mycroft. Well, especially Mycroft, because he wants to send me to a finishing school, that prepares young women for society” the clear disgust in her voice would have made you laugh if you weren’t so worried.

“Where will you go to find your mother, Enola? What plans do you have? Do you want me to go with you?” all questions left your mouth in such a rush, that it seemed like you had just spit out the words one after the other.

The young girl smiled kindly and got up, going to sit right next to you on the couch you were on. She grabbed your hands in hers gently and squeezed them tightly. “Thank you for offering to go with me, to support me, Miss (Y/L/N). Is more than my own brothers have done. But this is something I have to do alone, I have to be the one to find her and know why she left. And I think that the less you know, the better it will be”

Oh, that girl. You smiled while you looked at her. Eudoria had raised her to be a force of nature and had achieved that goal, brilliantly. You squeezed her hands back in affection. “When will you leave?”

“At sundown today” she said, so quickly that you realized she had already thought about everything. At least, on that phase of that 'plan' to find her dear mother. “Will walk to the train station, not the closest one but the next, and get on the first train in the morning tomorrow. In this way, I’m quite sure my brothers won’t be able to understand my intentions soon enough as to catch me”

“Very well” you passed your arms around her and hugged her tight, sighting. “Let’s get you some food for your journey, then. If you find Eudoria and she finds out I let you almost starve I’ll get in trouble”

Enola laughed as she hugged you back.

════ •⊰❂⊱• ═══════ •⊰❂⊱• ════

Enola had left at sundown of the previous day, just like she had said she would. Carrying nothing more than money her mother had left her, a bag of food you had given her and her favorite book of yours, Origin of Species, you had watched her walk away into the night alone, as her name backwards spelled.

You had spent the whole night incapable of sleeping, wondering if she was fine and if she hadn’t encountered any dangers as she travelled on foot. You worried so much but all you could do, was hope that she would stay safe and find her mother. Soon.

On the next day, you had spent the morning and the beginning of the afternoon distracted. Tried to complete some of your works, but couldn’t. Your mind would always go back to the gone girl and her well being.

You had frustratedly been trying to read the same page of one of your books for fifteen minutes, without being capable of keeping any attention on it, when for the second time in a long time, you heard knocks at the front door.

You got up instantly, leaving the book forgotten upon the closest table as you rushed to the door, already smiling at the thought at Enola had came around on her idea of going alone and was back to ask you to go with her.

When you opened the door though, you realized that it wasn’t Enola who had knocked. It had been a man. A man you had never seen before.

He was tall, it was the first thing you noticed. The fact that he had no beard, was the second. And then, details of him came rushing into your mind through your eyes. He had short, curly hair, bright eyes and memorable features. He wore a white shirt, a brown vest with small white details in it and a brown suit as well as trousers of the same color. No tie which was insula for men that well dressed.

“May I help you?” you frowned at him, holding the wooden door firmly with one of your hands. To receive the visit of men, had always made you nervous. You lived alone, after all, and the world was becoming a more violent place day by day.

“I hope so” he said, which such confidence on his voice that it actually made you raise your eyebrows at him. His eyes were fixed in you, analyzing your face with much intensity. Far more than you thought it would be appropriate. “I’m Sherlock Holmes. And I suppose you are Miss (Y/L/N), my sister’s science teacher”

You took a moment to watch him again, trying to put into your mind that the man in front of you was the Sherlock Holmes, the detective who was making a name on England, solving the most incredible and difficult cases on his own. After long seconds of silence where you only stared at each other, you cleaned your throat. “I am in fact Enola’s teacher, Mr. Holmes. How did you know?”

“I found her works, studies on great science authors. They all had writings on the borders where she constantly mentioned a desire to please and make a 'Miss (Y/L/N)' proud. It only took me a visit to one of the closest houses to ask who it was and get pointed in your house’s direction” he explained, in an impersonal tone quite fitting to a detective. He saw the incisive tone look you were giving him, filled with suspicion, and smiled slightly as he looked at his feet, before focusing his eyes back on yours. “I came here because Enola ran away from home, Miss (Y/L/N). And I think she would come here to see you if she needed help”

You sighted, looking into his eyes. You remembered Enola’s words, where she had told you Mycroft was the one who wanted to send her to a finishing school, the one who had made her run away. If that had been Mycroft Holmes at your door, you would have denied being her teacher or even knowing the girl, wanting to cut the conversation short. But that was Sherlock Holmes. Enola hadn’t expressed much anger towards him and honestly, he would for sure find out the truth on his own. He was the best detective there was in the nowadays. You tell him, would just spin faster the process and you would be able to send him away sooner.

“Come in, Mr. Holmes” you took a step aside, motioning for him to come in. He did, in slow calculated steps and once he was inside you closed the door, sighting. You expected him to say something, but he didn’t. Not at first. Instead he walked around just like Enola had done, eyes floating through the uncountable books you had, all in a complete mess over the tables, piles and more piles of them . “She was indeed here, your sister”

He turned his head to look at you, a genuine smile on his lips. “I was already certain of that” then he walked towards one of the tables, fingers running through one of works. The paper was a bit kneaded, but he didn’t seem to care. “The works you did with Enola, the amount of things she learned… they were quite impressive”

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to contain your surprise to know you had impressed the most impressive man of all, Sherlock Holmes. You waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t, just kept on walking through the room and inspecting your things with his perceptive eyes. “I don’t know where she is, Mr. Holmes. She left many hours ago”

He placed his hands on the pockets of his trousers, turning completely to you the resemblance of his previous smile on his lips. “And I believe she didn’t tell you what were her plans?”

“No and if she had, I wouldn’t tell you” you said and went to sit on a chair, at the table he had been studying with his eyes previously.

“Mind if I take off my suit?” he asked simply. You just nodded for him to go on, not giving it much thought. He took off his brown suit in gracious movements, then placed it in one of the other empty chairs close by. “May I ask why you wouldn’t tell me my sister’s plans, Miss (Y/L/N), if you knew them?”

“Enola said your brother wants to send her to a finishing school” you replied, watching as one after the other, he folded the sleeves of his white shirt until they got close to his elbow. Unconsciously, you noticed how his muscles could be seen from under his shirt. “To try to turn such a brilliant, incredibly smart young girl into a 'lady society' would be a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t be forced to do it” at the end of that sentence, Sherlock Holmes had grabbed two books in his hands and after reading the tiles, he went to the shelves and started placing them there. “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I am organizing your books, Miss (Y/L/N). In alphabetical order, of course. Like I’ve noticed you do after a quick inspection” he smiled at you again, placing those two in place. Then, he went to the table and grabbed a few more. “I personally agree with you. I don’t think Enola should be sent to such a place, but she is my brother’s ward. It is out of my hands” he read the titles, then turned around to return to the shelves. “I suppose you weren’t raised as a lady of society also, for you live by yourself apparently and your academic interests”

“You’re wrong” you said with a little smile taking a hold of your lips, and that made him stop organizing the books and look at you with a frown. She shouldn’t be wrong often. “I was raised to be a lady, until the point where my parents died. After that, I started to live on my own, for I had no more relatives. It gave me a chance to become who I wanted to be, instead of whom I was being carved into”

“You chose your own path” he said with a bigger smile this time and when you nodded in agreement, he returned his look at the shelves. “How did your parents die?”

“They were murdered” you tried to swallow the knot on your throat. Even though they had been controlling parents to the most when regarding your future, they were still your parents, and you loved and missed them. “The police never found out by whom”

“The police can be quite… inefficient” he turned back around with his hands already empty. “I’m really sorry”

“Thank you” you said, squeezing your lips in a thin line as old memories came to surface. Things you hadn’t you thought about in a long, long time. “If there isn’t anything else, may I escort you to the door?”

Your polite way of sending him away made him smile.

He placed the books he had just gathered back on the table, grabbed his suit and accompanied you towards the door, not bothering to dress the piece again. You opened the door and he stepped out, turning to look at you once more. His eyes were curious, interesting. Full of something you couldn’t quite identify, so mysterious as his sister’s.

“If you find Enola, don’t stop her from trying to find your mother” you told him, trying to repress the emotion in your voice. “Not knowing what happened… can be quite disturbing”

“I promise, stop her, is not my intention” he looked down at his feet once again, as if he was thinking for a brief moment, before his eyes went back to yours. “I could try to find out what happened to your parents. Who was their murderer”

“I don’t have much money, Mr. Holmes” you told him, your turn now to look down at your feet.

“I never said you would have to pay” he replied and with that your gaze snapped back up to meet his, and that made him chuckle. You couldn’t deny he looked quite beautiful when doing that. “You were there for my sister through much time and when she needed help, when I wasn’t. That is enough paying for me. Think about it, Miss (Y/L/N). After I find my sister and discover where is my mother, I am willing to take over your case. If you want me to” he nodded his head in your direction in a silent appreciation for your reception in your house and began to turn to walk away, but stopped himself in the middle of such movement. “May I know your first name?”

You smiled softly at that. “It’s (Y/N), Mr. Holmes”

“Please, call me Sherlock”

And after that, he walked away.

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #enola holmes fanfic #enola holmes imagine #enola holmes #sherlock holmes fanfic #Sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill sherlock holmes #henry!sherlock

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moon3thereal · 3 years ago

Note

Hiii one request! Nat meets R in a bar or something while she is trying to be far away from the problems of being an avenger,the read head tries to have a date with her and R accepts, then in the midel of the date R takes the initiative and start to be a little/much sassy 😏 and convinces Nat to leave the place to be in somewhere more private. But when they are alone R start to fight with Nat trying to knock her out but Nat pin her down and asks why she is doing that, R admitt that she is a widow and was sent to cach her and bring her back to the red room. The end can be as you wish.

Thanks!!

Title: Eyes on the prize

genre: fluff, angst-ish

warnings: guns, violence, alcohol, knives, mention of memory removal

the bottom: (dont ask why, but leah forced me to credit her at the bottom and technically i did!) credits to @midgardianweasley for practically co-writing and building the foundation for this fic, i could NOT have done this without her, thank you so much, and please go check out her fics everyone!

a/n: one of the longest fics i've written, i hope you guys enjoy! ends with fluff dw

2.7 K words

Natasha brushed a hand over her face in fatigue, she’d been to more than 3 countries within the time span of a week for missions and had done so much paperwork she thought she might pull out her hair if she laid eyes on another mission report. The cadets that S.H.I.E.L.D recruited, in her eyes, were no more than children who didn’t even know how to hold a gun properly, not to mention shoot.

What the Russian needed right now was tequila, a shit load of tequila. Fortunately, there was a bar that the redhead frequented whenever she needs to put some distance between her and the problems of the avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D

Picking up her leather jacket that was tossed carelessly on her couch and the keys to her Chevrolet, Natasha set off to a bar about 3 blocks down the Avengers compound, in fifteen minutes, she was met with a glowing neon sign, she was regular at the dim bar and was almost always seen there on a Friday night with her red hair in a braid and several locks framing her face in effortless elegance

Usually, people didn’t approach her and if they did, she never paid much attention to them. However, today when she sat down, there was a y/h/c haired woman already locating the seat next to her with a beer in her hand. You were idly swirling the beer in its bottle and staring off into space when the redhead settled down in her usual seat.

She ordered 10 tequila shots and you raised a brow at her “you sure you can handle that?” she turned to you with a smirk “I can handle twice as much as that but I have work tomorrow” you hummed in acknowledgement “I haven’t seen you around here before, you’re new?” Natasha asked downing a shot without so much as a grimace “I’m looking for a job, bartender” you said propping your foot up on the counter “well you sure don’t look like one” she remarks and you frowned “is there a specific look for a bartender?” and she downed a second shot and gestured to a woman taking orders from drunk customers “sure there is, there, like her”

You scoffed “hm maybe I’d be an exception to the standard” the corner of the redhead’s lips quirked up “good, it’d be nice to see some change around here” you stretched your arms out in front of you “it would be, if they hired me, but they didn’t, which is why I’m sitting around moping about the fact they rejected such a pretty face” Natasha downed another shot nodding in agreement. You looked at her, genuinely impressed at her alcohol tolerance. “Your mom never taught you that it’s rude to stare?” your face fell for a second at the mention of your mother, she was dead, like all the mothers of the widows who attempted to pry their daughters out of the red room’s grip. But you restored your poker face before she could catch your look of discomposure.

“If staring at you was considered rude, then the whole world would be douchebags” you quipped. Natasha only laughed and shook her head at your obvious flirting “you come here often then?” you asked after watching her down another shot “obviously not enough if I can’t remember a pretty face like yours.” The redhead said lightly. she was studying you though, she noticed how you were sitting, back straight, shoulders back, she wasn’t unfamiliar to that posture at all, in the red room, all widows were trained to be on the defense, on alert at all times, always anticipating anything and everything, nothing could go amiss that way. And she’d also noticed the way you had barely taken a sip of your drink, resorting to swishing the liquid idly in its bottle.

Against everything logical and her own unmistakable and uncannily accurate instinct, Natasha stopped her brain from analyzing and evaluating these signs and allowed them to be overlooked as a side effect of her falling into a trance simply by observing you, how your eyebrows arched perfectly, the curve of your lips, the perfect ridge of your nose and the captivating color of your eyes and how all of your facial parts are completely flawless to her, she could’ve sworn she’d seen you somewhere before. Natasha had met many interesting people in her line of work but she’d never yet met one as intriguing as you were, the quintessential mysterious girl in the bar.

If you had told her two days ago, that she would ask a stranger in a bar over to her apartment to drink with her, she’d have called you crazy. However, it didn’t seem so crazy to her now, it was unlike Natasha, but she asked you to come over to have a drink, an unofficial, casual date. You raised an eyebrow “now, now, was that an attempt to get me drunk?” you clicked your tongue in faux disapproval “simply seizing the opportunity to get to know you better” she said with a shrug. You hid a smile behind your beer bottle, taking the first sip of the night. You had tried to convince yourself that it was simply your success at scoring a date with the Russian therefore giving you a chance to lure her somewhere private to eliminate her, but something in you told you it was more than that, the way she smiled, how her lips curved and her perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifted, it was all so familiar yet you simply couldn’t retrieve the memory.

But one thought was clear, raging even, at the back of your mind. You didn’t want to hurt her, whoever she was, you didn’t want to lay a hand on her, couldn’t bear to see her in pain, you’d defy Dreykov, defy the red room, defy Russia and all of their stupid organizations if it meant you could figure out this mystery of a woman, discovering her secrets one by one, layer by layer. Not to report back to the red room but just to see Natasha as she was. Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way, it never worked that way, if you’d done it, Dreykov would’ve been notified and you’d be dead before the sun rises the next day. Your eyebrows knitted together momentarily at the thought that the woman before you would be dead at your hands before dawn before you arranged your features to hide the moment of doubt.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Natasha Romanoff. She’s a problem, a threat, a danger to the future of our widows, I need her terminated, and there’s no one better than you, y/n, for the job. Don’t let me down” Dreykov’s voice flashed in your mind, his orders were clear, kill her or there will be consequences.

Natasha’s voice brought you back to the conversation “what do you do? Before you decided to look for a job at this dingy bar I mean” she asked, the shot glasses were all empty now where there had been at least 5 more before, you must’ve been too entranced by your thoughts, or how strands of her hair had escaped her braid and curly wisps of ginger hair were framing her face perfectly. You both had decided to get out of the bar, more patrons had walked in making it stuffy and crampy, you were walking out the door with Natasha, presumably to her apartment “a primary teacher, English.” You said without hesitation, you always spent hours reciting the information of your cover, sometimes you felt as if you were really the person you were pretending to be with how fluently you could deliver the lines you’d practiced in front of a mirror until they were flawless.

She laughed; a clear, melodious laugh that made your cheeks heat up “you? An English teacher? Wow.” She said “what are you gonna say I don’t look like one?” you glared at her with indignation on your face “no, you don’t, you don’t at all” she said, her expression turning into a serious one, for a second your heart dropped, thinking your cover had been blown and you’d have to resort to shooting her in the middle of the street, which wasn’t exactly ideal “you look like a zookeeper” she said biting her lip to hold back her laugh at the look on your face. you raised your eyebrows in amusement “that wasn’t funny” you said “oh but it was” the redhead laughed showing her impossibly white teeth and her cheeks were pink from walking in the cold night air, you couldn’t help but stare at her lips, her perfectly kissable- snap out of it y/l/n, you thought to yourself, that isn’t what you’re here to do.

“But seriously, I’m actually happy about how tonight is going, better than drinking alone” she voiced out, you looked to her with a smirk evident on your face, you’d just reached her apartment and she was unlocking the door letting you in behind her. “Going soft for me Romanoff?” she scoffed before her face fell into an expression of momentary confusion, in a split second you both had your guns pointed at each other “who are you? How do you know my name?” the carefree Natasha was gone now, and in her place stood the infamous black widow.

Deciding that hiding your identity from her was pointless now, you attempted to attack, kicking the gun from her hand and vaulting to get your legs around her neck to choke her. Unfortunately for you, that was textbook red room and a trick Natasha had used countless times on enemies of various sizes. Blocking you, the Russian pinned you, one hand on the small of your back and the other at the back of your neck, holding you down “I knew I should’ve spent the night alone.” Refusing to be defeated so easily, you swept her feet out from under her, but once you got up, she’d punched you in your side causing you to double over in pain. She moved to her gun but you weren’t the star student of the red room for no reason, in the blink of an eye, you had a knife to her throat.

The both of you had stood there for a few seconds, breathing heavily before you felt a familiar feeling of cool metal, the barrel of a gun, through your thin shirt. “You didn’t think I just had one, did you?” she said pressing it into your side in warning. Gritting your teeth in frustration, you released her with a shove and dropped your knife with your hands raised.

“If it was anyone else, in any other situation, I would’ve shot you and be done with it, but you’re intriguing, there’s a story behind this. I trust you won’t pull anything?” she asked watching you stare down the barrel of her Glock. You nodded once, albeit grudgingly. To your utter surprise, she placed the gun down and gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the table and sat down herself. You’d utterly demolished the rest of her kitchen with your fight. Sitting in the chair rigidly, Natasha raised an eyebrow at your silence, you noted how if you made a run for it, she had the ability to shoot you before you even stood up with the proximity of her hand and her gun. Her gun, you had the exact half to the one on the floor across the room, your gun. You furrowed your eyebrows, you had one half of the twin guns, the other half was hers. But that didn’t make sense, unless there was a reason why she’d seemed familiar to you?

Natasha seemed to think the same, her eyes flickering from the gun just inches away from her fingertips to the one across the room, hers had your initials engraved at the bottom, and yours hers. But you’ve never understood why there was two letters engraved on to your favored gun “N.R. Natasha Romanoff” you said, more to yourself than to her. She spoke two letters, your name.

“What is this, who are you?” you said struggling to even out your breathing. “y/n y/l/n” she said. “no it cant be” she said disbelief streaked over her face. “The red room is gone, I killed Dreykov” she said shaking her head and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes “I hate to break it to you, but Dreykov is very much alive” you said “I’m a widow, I was sent here to kill you, you’re a threat to them” you said staring her directly in the eyes. “Whatever you did, unsuccessful” you said. “do you even remember me?” she said a crease in her forehead and looked up at you “you seem familiar. But no, not really” all hostility had gone out from both your voices, you were both just doing your jobs

She started humming a song, the music sounded eerily familiar, the same feeling you’d felt previously looking at her painted lips flooded you. Familiar, but the memory was just out of reach. “with the lights out, it’s less dangerous, here we are now” she started singing softly “entertainers” you breathed out disbelievingly. It suddenly came rushing back to you

When you’d snuck a radio from your trainers’ office

When you’d sneak out of the cuffs on the beds at night to share hidden kisses with each other

How you’d trained side by side

How a redheaded girl had been by your side when you threw up on your first kill

Natalia. Natasha. You had loved her in secret, between the shadow and the soul. You had loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

Shock was written clearly over your features. You hadn’t seen her since she’d gotten out, ten years ago. Now that you remembered, you couldn’t believe you didn’t recognize her. The same fiery red hair, same eyebrows, same emerald green eyes, same smile. Same Natalia.

Guilt rushed in like an overwhelming wave, Natasha couldn’t believe that you were still alive, she’d attempted to search for you, almost went crazy when you went completely off grid after the Budapest mission. She’d meant to defect, and then go back for you. She had it all planned out, but you seemed to vanish off the face of the earth “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so sorry, I tried, I really did. You were just gone, I thought you were dead” You stared back at her in shock “its okay, we were separated, I was sent to Italy, remember? It wasn’t your fault.” You said still in a daze

After moments of confusion over how you didn’t remember someone that important to you, an expression of realization found its way onto your face. Memory removal, of course. The red room had the technology, attachment to anyone, anyone at all was nothing but a weakness. Love is for children, that was what the red room had burned into the widows’ minds.

Hatred shone in your eyes when you realized that Dreykov had practically had his scientists cut the part of you that had loved Natasha out of your brain. “you’re an avenger. Means Dreykov won’t hurt you” you contemplated “or your comrades” you supported your chin on your heel of your palm. Natasha nodded slowly in confusion. “They can’t afford to” she said “so if I was your comrade, they would lose any and all ability to do me harm” she nodded again “I suppose so, yes” when you both locked eyes again, you both knew what the other was thinking. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Natasha asked with a smirk “to burn the red room to the ground? Yes.” You said with a matching smirk

If love was for children, you were both toddlers. After everything the red room and the world had done to keep you apart, you had somehow found your way back to each other again. And you weren’t planning on letting her out of your sight any time soon.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha fluff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow fluff #natasha romanoff angst #natasha angst #black widow angst

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1kook · 4 years ago

Text

card swiped (3)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love. GENRE romance, smut, teensy angst WARNINGS eventual smut, mentions of sex, virginity plays a huge role OTHER college crushes, childhood friends to lovers, besties to lovers, volleyball player!jk, student council pres!oc, seokjin is 32... and a a coach lol<3 RATING m (18+) WC 1.5k

NOTES (!) seokjin being a hot 32 year old <3 jk gets progressively more dumb as it goes, prayer circle <3 lmk what u think !

[ masterlist ]

The truth is, the reason Jungkook doesn’t lie that much is because he’s terrible at it.

His mother had found out soon enough who put that dent on the car after a slip-up at the dinner table. His high school coach had learned he had purposely skipped out on practice after an accidental snapchat and jealous teammate had snitched. And, well. Fifteen minutes after the end of practice finds him sitting outside the gymnasium, a grimace on his face as he considers running back to your room and confessing to all his lies. Admitting he’s still a virgin— which was practically of no use to you —and maybe even revealing his own recently uncovered feelings was the easy way out.

Thankfully, Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is there to knock some sense into him. The hard plastic of the clipboard they use to outline their attacks smacks him hard over the head, making Jungkook’s bones rattle from his skull down to his toes as he steps up behind him. He whirls around to glare at the perpetrator, only to come face to face with the aforementioned assistant coach. “Go home,” Seokjin says, twirling the gym keys in one hand. “I’m trying to lock up.”

“What’s stopping you,” Jungkook huffs, tucking his knees to his chest, ignoring the awfully rude manner in which Seokjin nudges him away, foot against his back as if he’s just an annoying pile of cardboard boxes in his way.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Seokjin asks casually, doesn’t sit next to Jungkook on the steps because he’s always been a little too posh. According to Taehyung, Kim Seokjin graduated from some elite university in another country with near immaculate all-around player statistics before Jungkook even knew what a volleyball was. His success and fame in the world of collegiate volleyball is why he never wears the standard-issued slippers around the court, always some high-end, luxury brand. One glance slightly to his left has Jungkook meeting the black stripe of the frequently sought after Givenchy sneakers head on.

He scoffs, a sound that Seokjin doesn’t approve of if the karate chop he lands on the back of his neck is anything to go by. “Ow,” Jungkook flinches, pushing him away with an irritated sigh before eventually slumping over his knees again because it’s the exact same thing you do to him sometimes. Study nights— dates, his brain supplies now —where he begins gazing off into space are filled with numerous karate chops to the neck in an effort to get him to focus on his homework. “Come on, Jungkookie,” you always tease, playful smile, lithe fingers toying with the corners of the pages in your book in a way that was almost sensual. But then he does a double-take because he’s aware of the rose-tinted lens he’s unknowingly slapped over it, something he would have maybe not noticed pre-realization of his feelings. And even he is shocked by the absolute seductiveness his brain inserts into an otherwise innocent memory. He’s pretty sure you haven’t called him Jungkookie in years— was his brain trying to hint at something here?

Jungkook groans, knocking his head against his knees as a form of self-punishment for his lecherous thoughts concerning his best friend.

But his show of emotions must move Assistant Coach Kim because, after a moment of trying to concuss himself against his own knee, there’s a hand placed on his shoulder that makes Jungkook pause. He doesn’t even bother turning around, just throws his head back to look at Seokjin upside down. He’s got a double chin from this angle. “It’s a girl, isn’t it,” his coach sighs, looking at Jungkook with what can only be described as an unimpressed expression.

“No,” Jungkook defends even though it’s true. “Can’t I just be sad for oth—“

“I heard Jimin call you a simp on the way out,” Seokjin says rather bluntly. And then he surprises Jungkook a second time as he throws aside his posh status to sit on the dirty concrete steps beside him with a sigh. “What did you do?”

See, Jungkook could lie here and prance off to deal with his own problems. Leaving Seokjin and everyone else in the dark concerning his personal life was, honestly speaking, the smartest thing to do. He didn’t mind his volleyball teammates and friends (in this case, his coach), but he also wasn’t too fond of being relentlessly teased throughout the entire five or more hours they spent together almost every day of the week.

But also…

If what Taehyung had said is true— that being, if Kim Seokjin is the illustrious bachelor who charmed his way into multiple foreign panties all whilst demolishing the spirits of liberos and defensive specialists in another country —then Jungkook needed to capitalize off his presence immediately.

So he lays his cards out flat. “I… might’ve told my best friend I’d take her virginity,” he blurts out, turning to face Seokjin. For the most part, the older man doesn’t look too surprised. If anything, mildly amused. Jungkook quickly adds, “while also being a virgin.”

“You’re a what,” Seokjin exclaims, chokes on his own saliva in an admittedly not Casanova, bachelor-esque fashion that ends with him coughing into his elbow and Jungkook hurriedly patting his back. “You?” Seokjin repeats once he’s composed himself. “Are a— don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Jungkook’s cheeks warm. “No, Coach. I do not have a girlfriend,” he emphasizes, because who knew sharing the details of his (lack of) sex life would be this embarrassing?

Seokjin frowns. “What about that girl?” he asks, and Jungkook raises his brows. “You know the one. Carries around stacks of papers to sign, goes to all the games. The one who pats you on head all the time.” And he’s talking about you, of course he is, but the insinuation that other people might, maybe, possibly, perceive you as his girlfriend makes Jungkook malfunction.

“She’s— That’s—“ he sighs, dropping his head down until his chin touches his chest, brushed against the lucky necklace you’d given him two years ago during their first trip to Nationals. “That’s… my best friend.”

Beside him, Seokjin says, “the one you’re gonna fuck?”

Jungkook lets out a long exhale. “Yes. The one I’m going to fuck.” And it’s so blunt and crude, not that it’s surprising coming from him, but it’s surprising because he’s talking about you. Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love.

The thought must show on his face because Seokjin snorts. “Well, good luck.”

And then he stands up and begins walking down the sidewalk and Jungkook can’t spring up fast enough. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his forearm. He feels like a dorky character in those dramas you like so much, the ones you force him into watching every time he comes over. Like he’s some disgraced son looking for his father’s approval. Except Assistant Coach Kim is neither his father nor someone he really wants approval from anyway.

What he does want is pointers. From an experienced pro, if you will.

Jungkook has to swallow down all his pride as a man to ask his next question. “H- How do I—“

Seokjin beats to it him with a flick to the forehead. “I’m your volleyball coach, kid,” he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not your sex coach.” It’s a sensible rejection, one that Jungkook expected, but still. He deflates, let’s the weight of the world and his heavy gym bag nearly knock him onto the ground.

But Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is kinder than he lets on and, after one annoyed sigh, let’s him in on the secret Jungkook has been chasing for all his life. (Or, well, for the past few hours since he first propositioned you.)

“The key to impressing your partner is to always act like you know what you’re doing,” he tells him, arms crossed over his shoulders. It’s night now, the campus shrouded in darkness. But Jungkook swears a heavenly light shines down on Kim Seokjin just then, a halo appearing over his head when he jabs a finger against Jungkook’s chest. “Confidence is sexy.”

“Confidence is sexy,” Jungkook repeats, feels like a kid who’s just met his favorite wrestler after years of being an avid fan, watching every match, memorizing every finishing move, collecting every figurine— it’s a little too specific but it makes sense in Jungkook’s case. You would understand this analogy perfectly, having grown alongside him during his iconic wrestling phase (before volleyball). You had indulged him in his interest, had let him practice those Do Not Try at Home moves on you again and again, even when you knew it ended with you bruised and crying, the twin pigtails you used to rock as a kid uneven and messy. But as your best friend, you had let him twist your arm and pin you to the count of three, because that’s what a good best friend did.

And as your best friend, Jungkook was gearing himself up to completely, thoroughly rock your virgin world. Because that’s what a good best friend did.

#networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #mine

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starlingflight · 3 years ago

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Welcome to the Family.

A/N: This started as a joke on discord and now, apparently, it’s a one-shot. I hope you all enjoy learning Charlie Weasley’s deepest, darkest secret.

Charlie couldn’t sleep. It was always the same his first night back in The Burrow. The house was loud and, seemingly impossibly, more cramped than usual. Mum and Dad were on the sofa, having given up their room to the Delacours. Hagrid had been forced to sleep in a tent in the neighbour’s field and in a strange way, Charlie thought he might have felt more at home if he’d joined him.

The Burrow was full of noise but it was all the wrong ones. The wind that whipped through the trees which lined the reserve in Romania was missing as was the distant rumble and roar of the dragons. Instead, he could hear Bill’s soft snores beside him and a suspicious pattern of banging coming from the twin's room on the floor above.

It was no use. The clock had rolled all the way past midnight and Charlie was no closer to sleep than he had been two hours ago. Knowing that he was risking his life if his mother caught him, Charlie sighed heavily and rolled out of bed.

What he needed was some relaxation. A way to unwind after the long hours spent travelling and the responsibility of socialising with so many people in one day. With that in mind, Charlie headed for the bathroom, passing carefully over the second step on his way up to the third floor, which he knew from many years of experience creaked loudly if you were foolish enough to step on it in the middle of the night.

He was only mildly surprised to find a faint trace of light coming from the gap beneath the bathroom door. With this many people in the house, it was near impossible to find the bathroom empty, even in the small hours of the morning. Charlie leant back against the faded floral wallpaper of the landing, the hallway illuminated by the glow emanating from the tip of his wand and waited.

The minutes crept by slowly. Charlie checked his watch. Five minutes passed, then ten. After fifteen long minutes, Charlie frowned at the bathroom door, unsure who could possibly be taking so long in there at this hour.

After twenty minutes his patience had completely eroded and Charlie knocked softly on the door.

A moment passed and nothing happened. Charlie reached out and placed his hand on the cool metal of the door handle just as a shadow flickered across the gap below the door. It opened and Charlie found himself face to face with Fleur. Her usually immaculate silver hair was piled messily atop her head and her sapphire blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“Sorry,” she whispered, casting her eyes to the tiled floor beneath them. “I didn’t realise anyone was awake.”

Charlie, thoroughly unprepared to deal with a crying woman he hardly knew at almost one in the morning, froze for a moment. Fleur began to shuffle awkwardly around him in the doorway. She was almost past him when Charlie finally came to his senses and gently placed a hand on her arm.

“Are you alright?” He asked, concerned.

Fleur nodded wordlessly but even as she did so, more tears began to slide down her cheeks. “It’s very stupid,” she said, swiping at her face with the back of her hand. “Please don’t worry about it.”

Charlie had always proclaimed that he was better with dragons than people but even he knew that if you found a woman crying in the bathroom just hours before her wedding you should probably be at least slightly alarmed.

Without considering how strange it might look to anyone who happened to pass by, Charlie tightened his grip on Fleur’s arm just slightly and gently guided her back inside the bathroom, placing a silencing charm on the door as he closed it behind them.

Fleur immediately perched herself on the edge of the bathtub and covered her face with her hands. “It’s just terrible timing!” She exclaimed.

Charlie frowned down at her. “What is? The wedding? I know it’s not perfect but Dad told me about all the security measures and -”

Fleur finally looked up from her hands, the sharp expression on her face was enough to silence Charlie instantly. “Not the wedding! This!” She pointed at her cheek. For a moment, Charlie was utterly perplexed at what he was supposed to be looking at. He crouched down and squinted and finally saw a small, red blemish upon Fleur’s otherwise flawless face.

“A spot,” he said.

“Yes!” Fleur said, her voice so loud she may have woken the whole house if not for the silencing charm Charlie had thought to cast. “I have never seen anything so hideous! It must be from the stress!”

Charlie didn’t bother to clarify if she meant the stress of the war or the stress of the wedding, he had a feeling he already knew the answer to that.

“I have tried everything!” Fleur continued. “Maman’s potions, Fred and George’s Wonderwitch products, even some Muggle remedies!”

Fleur looked frantic. Her eyes were wide and wild with panic and a hot, red flush had begun to creep up her neck and across her face.

Charlie hesitated for a moment, shuffling nervously from foot to foot. He barely knew the girl sat in front of him. He’d seen her compete in the tournament years ago and he’d been impressed with how she’d handled the Welsh Green. He’d witnessed less elegant handling on the reserve by wizards who’d worked with dragons for years.

And he’d agreed to be Bill’s best man. Charlie supposed a good best man would do everything in his power to help the bride if he stumbled upon her crying the night before the wedding.

“If I tell you something, do you swear to keep it a secret?”

His question seemed to catch Fleur off guard. She stared at him for a moment and then slowly nodded her head. “I promise.”

Charlie sighed loudly, still not sure if this was a good idea. He waved his wand in front of him and a second later a glass bottle appeared out of nowhere, landing securely in the palm of his hand.

“What is that?” Fleur asked, peering curiously at the bottle.

“This,” Charlie said. “Is for your face.”

Fleur leant back over the bathtub, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. “What is it?” She asked again.

“It’s my secret recipe,” Charlie said, aware of the heat rising in his face. “I make it in Romania. Put it on your face for twenty minutes and I guarantee that spot will vanish.”

Fleur reached out and tentatively took the bottle for him. She inspected it closely before rising to stand before the mirror above the sink. “You use this on yourself?” She asked, the reflection of her eyes meeting Charlie's.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I er- I do self-care Sundays.”

Fleur smiled as she tapped her wand to the top of the bottle, removing the stopper. With no further hesitation, she began to smear the rosy pink paste liberally across her face. “It smells incredible.”

Charlie nodded. That would be the vanilla extract he added to activate the dragon’s blood. Not that he was prepared to share that with Fleur.

She finished applying the mask and held the open bottle out to Charlie. For a moment he wavered, this had been his plan when he’d first made his way to the bathroom but he’d expected to do his pampering routine alone. Still, he supposed he’d already told Fleur the worst of his secret, what harm could it do at this point? Tentatively, he dipped a finger into the mask and began to spread it across his face.

“I think we are going to get on very well!” Fleur announced happily once Charlie had finished applying the mask to his face.

“Just don’t tell anyone!” Charlie said urgently.

Finally, the minute hand informed Charlie that twenty minutes had passed. He nudged Fleur gently on the arm and then gestured to the sink. She washed the mask off eagerly, the pink mixture mingling with the water and disappearing down the drain.

Fleur nodded dismissively, turning her attention to the stack of magazines beside the bath. She selected a copy of Witch Weekly for herself and tossed an old, battered issue of The Magizoologist to Charlie. They sat perched on opposite ends of the bathtub and began to read. The only noises inside the bathroom were that of Fleur and Charlie’s magazine pages rustling as they flipped them and the tick of Charlie’s watch counting down the minutes until they could wash their faces.

Charlie handed her a towel and Fleur began to pat her face dry whilst he took her place at the sink, washing warm water vigorously across his face.

It was impossible for Charlie not to smile at Fleur’s squeal of delight as she looked in the mirror and discovered the spot had disappeared just as he’d promised her.

“Merci! Merci! Merci!” She cried, wrapping Charlie in a firm hug as she jumped up and down in excitement.

“It’s alright!” Charlie said through a chuckle. “What are brothers for?”

Fleur stopped jumping and looked Charlie in the eye, a dazzling smile upon her face. “I’ve never had a big brother before.”

“Yeah, well, I have a little sister and I can already tell you’re going to be just as much trouble as the other one already is.”

The smile slid from Fleur’s face. “Thank you,” She said earnestly.

“Don’t mention it,” Charlie replied. “Ever.”

#charlie weasley #fleur delacour #hp fanfic

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cherrycocaineee · 3 years ago

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13. Dean Winchester - Confession

Bobby was sitting at his desk flipping through the millions of dusty, old, torn books he had collected over the years when I came down the stairs, carrying my purse along my shoulder. The sound of my small feet thumping against his creaky wooden floors caused him to look at me. He was already drinking scotch this early in the morning and the tired, purple bags under his eyes proved that he had a restless night just like usual. I smiled sympathetically at him as I approached, getting a large whiff of the liquor he was pouring down his throat. I could hardly count the number of times I’ve warned him and the boys about drinking so much, yet they never listened. Though I didn’t really expect them to, considering all of the things they’ve seen in their lifetime.

“Where are you off to?” He asked, pouring himself another glass of scotch.

“We’re low on groceries,” I hummed, “so I’m going down to the market to pick some stuff up. I’ll make breakfast when I come back, okay?”

“I’ll hold ya to that. You need any money?”

I shook my head and patted the side of my purse before leaving for the market. It wasn’t a long trip, it was literally a block from where Bobby lived. When I arrived at the small, yet vibrant place, I inhaled the sweet scent of freshly picked produce and other aromas. Inside I pushed the basket around and collected everything we needed for the house: fresh produce, meats, bread, eggs, and much more. Considering how much fast food I use while travelling with the boys, I was happy to find a place that sold freshly grown fruits and vegetables, and freshly cut chops of meat, and more. I spent an hour in total at the market before paying for my groceries and heading back to the house.

While carrying all of the paper bags inside, I could hear talking going on inside. I shook it off as Bobby being on the phone and continued.

“Bobby, I’m home,” I called, “I’m about to start breakfast, so why don’t you trade that scotch in for a cup of coffee.”

The voices from the other room quieted down just as I placed the groceries on the kitchen table. I walked out of the kitchen and saw Bobby standing in the middle of the room with none other than Dean and Sam. My eyes widened at the sight of them. The last time I saw Sam was when he jumped into the cage, holding Lucifer in and knocking Michael inside too. And Dean, well, I hadn’t seen him since he went to live with Lisa and Ben. It had hurt a lot when he left too, not wanting to stay with Bobby. Not wanting to stay with me. But I didn’t make a big deal about it despite being madly in love with him. Though I’d never tell him that since he was in love with Lisa.

“Hey, Persephone,” Sam and Dean said simultaneously, making my eyes water.

“Hey,” I whispered, a smile forming on my face.

I walked over to them and embraced them both, feeling their large, muscular arms wrap around my thin frame as they held me close. As I pulled away from the hug, Lisa popped her head around the corner. My chest was tightening as I saw Dean walk over to her. They went off to speak to one another, I cleared my throat and turned my attention to Sam.

“When did you get back from hell?” I asked.

From the look on his face and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck with his rough hands, I knew there was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell me. Or at least the truth anyway. But he decided that he’d tell me in the end.

“A year, actually,” he muttered.

My forest green eyes widened at his words. I spent the next fifteen minutes tearing a new one into both Sam and Bobby, who had been hiding this from me the entire year, then returned to the kitchen to cook breakfast. There was a mix of frustration, betrayal, and other emotions mixing up inside of me as I started scrambling the eggs and cooking the sausage and bacon. Quiet sizzling could be heard throughout the kitchen, masking the sound of my humming while I cooked. As I was moving on to the coffee, I heard footsteps coming from behind me so I swirled around to see Dean walking in. He didn’t look too happy either.

“Did you just find out that Sam’s been back for a year too?” I questioned, throwing away the old coffee grounds into the trash.

“Well yes,” he stated, “but that’s not while I’m upset.”

I had started plating the food by then, starting off with Ben’s since he was here and was probably hungry.

“What’s going on?”

I set a cup of coffee down in front of him.

“Sam needs my help hunting a Djinn,” he answered, “and I’m worried because the things might come after Lisa and Ben.”

Honestly, I should have seen that coming. Sam, despite being back from hell, wouldn’t have asked Dean for help if it wasn’t life or death. It made me wonder if they’d only come to drop off Dean's family or to ask me to help. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t jealous of Lisa, in fact, I was happy for her and Dean. It just hurt every time I saw them together.

“So that’s why you brought them to Bobby’s,” I whispered, buttering some fresh French bread, “so we could watch them while you guys hunted the Djinn?”

“Well actually,” Dean said, placing his cup on the table, “just for Bobby to watch them. You’re coming with us right?”

A small, sad smile appeared on my face as I lifted up Bobby’s plate while shaking my head.

“I don’t hunt anymore, Dean. When Sam jumped into that cage and you left to go live with Lisa and Ben, the two of you left me behind. So I just stopped hunting. Now I just clean up and cook while studying.”

“Studying?”

“I started going back to school. Granted it’s online but I figured I might as well get an education.”

It was silent between us, so I just walked away and headed towards Bobby with his breakfast. He was sitting at his desk once again when I arrived and graciously welcomed the warm food. I went back into the kitchen, where Dean was still sitting, and picked up the plate for Ben then headed upstairs to give it to him.

Lisa was unpacking their overnight bags when I reached the room they were staying in. Ben was sitting on the bed, playing some video game on his gaming device. Tapping on the door, I caught their attention and smiled welcomingly.

“Hey,” I said, “I’m Persephone, a friend of Sam and Dean’s. I made your son some breakfast if he’d like to eat.”

A smile appeared on her face in return, “thank you, Persephone. I’m Lisa and this is Ben.”

I didn’t tell her that I already knew her name, that would be rude. Instead, I shook her hand and placed Ben’s food down on one of the nightstands. He thanked me and started shoveling food inside his mouth fast. It reminded me of how Dean would eat when he was in a rush. Swallowing the forming lump inside my throat, I left the two of them to finish unpacking. Halfway down the stairs, I froze and gripped the railing tight. My heart felt like it was racing, tears were streaming down my cheek as I tried to collect myself. Wiping away the unwanted water leaks, I sighed softly and went downstairs. Sam and Dean were getting ready to leave when I made it to the main room. The two Winchester brother’s faced me when I entered.

“You sure you don’t want to come, Perse?” Sam inquired.

I held up my hands and giggled, “no thanks. You guys be safe.”

I hugged them tightly, almost relaxing when I felt the safety of their embrace. They said a final goodbye to Bobby and I then left for wherever it was they were going to hunt this monster. Bobby returned to his breakfast and I went into the kitchen to pack up the leftovers and clean up. Once the kitchen was tidied up, I headed back upstairs to my room to get some reading done. I had some homework assignments that were in desperate need of doing before midnight tomorrow and I liked to stay ahead of the clock.

Hours and hours passed before I finally passed out while reading my book. No dreams occupied my slumber while I napped, however, I was eventually awakened by the sound of someone knocking on my door. Stirring around in my covers, both eyes pried themselves open and stared at the dimly lit ceiling before looking to my right and seeing it was well past three o’clock in the morning. Another knock echoed throughout the room and I finally dragged myself out of the comforting quilt and onto the assaulting, cold floor. I rubbed my eyes to wipe the sleep away and pulled the door open. Lisa was standing on the other side, holding a plate in her hand.

“Bobby said that you were up here studying, and you missed dinner,” she said, “did I wake you?”

“Yeah,” I groggily whispered, “but it’s okay.”

I took the plate from her and saw that she had cooked some chicken noodle soup. It smelled great, reminding me of my early years in life when I still lived with my mom. She followed me inside of the room as I sat criss crossed on my bed with the soup in hand, smelling the melted butter on the toast. My eyes met the clock once again and was astonished to see that I had slept and studied for such a long time. It felt like only seconds ago that it was morning and I had just finished cooking breakfast.

“Persephone,” Lisa said while I slurped the soup up, “I’m sure you’re aware of the things Sam and Dean do, right?”

“Of course,” I answered before scooping another spoonful of soup in my mouth.

“How were you okay with it? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Dean and I understand that he’s gotta do what he has to, but sometimes I worry that he’ll come home hurt or something will follow him home.”

Though there was a ping in my chest when she said she loved Dean, I couldn’t help but smile at how worried she was for him. It was something that he definitely needed since he was always worrying about other people. I placed the plate onto the empty nightstand and scooted closer to the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to me. When Lisa sat down, I took her hands into my own.

“It’s a lot to process,” I whispered, “when I met Sam and Dean, I was so unsure about leaving everything I knew to travel with them and fight all of those monsters. But I know deep down in my heart that they would never let people they love get hurt and they’ll die trying to protect those they consider family. Especially Dean. What you can do for him, is just be there, even if it’s hard. Because at the end of the day, he needs that most of all.”

The two of us shared a hug before she agreed she would do her best to make Dean feel loved and secure. After saying goodnight to me, she retreated back to her room, closing the door behind her. When she was out of sight, I grabbed my soup again and slowly started slurping it up again. It was comforting knowing that she would be taking care of Dean. Once he came back, I’d persuade him to go back with Lisa, telling him that he deserved to be with someone that made him happy.

The next day came quickly and I hadn’t fallen back asleep after my conversation with Lisa, so I spent the rest of the entire night reading. Soft, illuminating rays of sunshine burst through the clear, white curtains in my room as I finished throwing on a short-sleeve, white, shirt that only tied close. Running my fingers through my brushed hair, I fixed up any lumps that were visible.

Bobby was asleep at his desk when I reached downstairs, so I went over to him and wrapped a blanket around his snoring body. Picking up his almost empty bottle of scotch, I carried it back to the kitchen to put it away and make a new pot of coffee. Wanting nothing more than to sit outside with a non-school book and my delicious morning nectar, reading as the sun played against my pale skin. There was no telling when Sam and Dean would be home, along with there being no way of knowing when they would wake up. So I wanted to get in as much peace and quiet as possible before the day began.

With the coffee cup in my right hand and a good book in the other, I sat on the back of one of Bobby’s rundown cars and started reading. Four chapters in and I was already getting up to make myself a second cup of joe. Just as I slipped off the back of the rusted car, Dean and Sam pulled up. The sun was only just inching towards the middle of the sky when they arrived. Both climbing out of their seats, I noticed that they were not only tired but relieved.

“How’d it go?” I inquired, “seemed pretty quick.”

“It went fine,” Sam replied, “except Dean’s got a big slash on his arm. They came right at us.”

I went over to Dean and saw that he had wrapped his cut in a cloth but the blood was still leaking through. Clicking my tongue, I shook my head while leading the two of them inside. Sam explained on the way that they had figured that the Djinn were targeting both of them, so they went back to Dean’s home and waited there. When Dean noticed that his friends and neighbors were being killed, he ran to help and ended up almost dying. But Sam helped him. The fight raged on but in the end, the Winchester boys came out on top. Sam went to wash up while I started taking care of Dean’s wound.

With the First Aid Kit laying beside me on the kitchen table, I unwrapped his wound and gulped at the sight of it. Dean chuckled.

“Makes you miss the old days, huh?” He laughed.

“Not really,” I giggled, “a lot of it may have been great but watching the two people I cared the most about get injured was never easy.”

“It was never easy watching you get hurt either.”

I cleaned up the wound and sprayed some of the cleaning solution on it causing Dean to wince. It made me laugh because of how soft he had become in the last year. After rewrapping the wound in a proper bandage, I threw everything else away and put the first aid kit back in its rightful spot. When I looked back at him, I saw that he was staring at his hands.

“Are you thinking about leaving Lisa and Ben?” I asked, returning to the table.

“I’m not sure,” he stated, “if I leave them, more monsters could show up looking for me and hurt them, but if I stay then even more monsters will show up and hurt them to get to me.”

“But at least you’d be there to protect them.”

His perfect, bright green eyes met my own darker, emerald ones.

“If you left Lisa and Ben today, then you would never be able to forgive yourself if they got hurt without you being there. However, I know, and Lisa knows, that you would do anything for the people you love. So maybe you being there is what’s best right now.”

The words seemed to sink in before he nodded in agreement.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll be going back with Lisa and Ben when they wake up.”

I squeezed his shoulder and sat down at the table. Running a shaking hand through my hair as a soft sigh left my lips. I don’t know what came over me, all of a sudden I felt that maybe I should say something to him if this was the last time I’d see him. I had no intention of breaking him and Lisa up but I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. It was practically tearing me up inside.

“Dean, there’s something I need to tell you before you go,” I whispered.

“What is it?” He asked, his eyes never wavering away from me.

My palms felt sweaty and my throat felt drier than I had ever felt before. Taking a deep breath, I faced him and smiled. I chickened out.

“I’m going to miss you.”

I went to go back to my room, but Dean grabbed my wrist stopping me from leaving. I clenched my fist tight and turned around, not ready to face him because I knew he could read my face like a book. He stood there holding my arm, not tight but not lightly so I would stay there.

“That’s definitely not what you were going to say,” he said, “tell me.”

With a final deep breath, I nodded my head, “I love you.”

His eyes widened and he dropped my hand, letting it drop to my side. I felt it sway before coming to a slow stop. Then I held it to defend myself.

“I’m not saying this to break you and Lisa up,” I said, “I want you to go with her and be there for Ben. But I also wanted to let you know, in case we never saw each other again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He croaked, and I thought that I could see tears in his eyes.

I could only shrug my shoulders, “with everything going on, it just didn’t feel right. And then you wanted to go live with Lisa after Sam was gone so I just never told you.”

Our conversation was interrupted by Ben and Lisa running into the kitchen, Bobby walking behind them, and embracing Dean. They were happy that he had come home with hardly any injuries. Dean wrapped his arms around them both but he was staring at me. I smiled sweetly, holding my hands in front of me while watching them be reunited. Lisa and Ben were ready to go home with Dean, and even though I knew Dean wanted to stay and talk more about what I had just confessed, I helped push him out the door. If he stayed any longer, I was definitely going to want him to stay forever. But I couldn’t be selfish. Sam, Bobby, and I stood at the front door and waved as the three of them drove off. When they were out of sight, my hand dropped. I felt Bobby place his hand on my shoulder and look at me with understanding.

I wasn’t sure when the next time I would see Dean again, but I knew that it wasn’t going to be any time soon. And if I was being honest, I didn’t want to see him again. He needed to be with Lisa.

#dean winchester #dean #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #supernatural imagines #dean winchester fanfiction #fluff #dean winchester fluff #imagines #one shot #fanfic #dean winchester x reader #smut #supernatural fluff

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babymetaldoll · 4 years ago

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DIWK - Chapter six: "I don't know everything, despite the fact you think that I do"

My gif

Word count: 12,6K

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of drug use, drug detox, physical violence. Spencer being a jerk.

Summary: (Y/N) had enough of Spencer's attitude and plans an intervention on her own.

A/N: Hello! how are you? how's your week going? my life is a mess and I'm fighting with a lot of anxiety and stress after the month I spent with my grandparents, so I've been taking everything with calm in the latest days. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Spencer is... and then reader... ok, read it, and see you in the comments! Stay safe, kids!!!

Series Masterlist

───※ ·❆· ※───

(Y/N)'s point of view

After New Orleans, I thought things were starting to get a little better. For a few days, Spencer was a lot like himself again. It was refreshing and exciting. He smiled. He even looked like he had slept. And he wasn't rude. Not at first. Not until that Friday.

- "Hey, pretty girl"- Morgan appeared next to my desk and tapped on the pile of files I was working on- Got any plans for tonight?

- "I was actually going to meet my boyfriend. Why? What do you have in mind?"

Yes. Paul and I had a date, 'cos I hadn't seen him in two weeks. We had spent San Valentine's apart, 'cos we were out on a case. And I barely noticed it. I didn't have my hopes high for that night, though. Maybe pizza, a movie... I didn't feel like having sex, even when it had been over a month since we had done it.

- "I'm clubbing tonight, and I know you are a party girl. So, do you wanna come with me?"

- "As tempting as it sounds, I pass"- I smiled at my friend and shook my head- "All I can do today is have a quiet evening, eat something, watch a movie and then call it a day."

- "Are you sure? 'cos Emily is on board, and you two are my party sidekicks."- I chuckled and kept shaking my head- "Ok, alright. You lose. What about you, pretty boy?"

Spencer had been awfully quiet that whole afternoon. He was buried in his paperwork and only moved from his seat to get coffee.

- "Reid? are you listening?"- Morgan waved until he got his attention. But Spencer apparently didn't want to talk- "Hello? Earth to Reid."

- "What the hell do you want?"- I brought up my eyes to my best friend, 'cos his voice was as annoyed as rude.

- "Hey, hey, slow down, kid. What's your problem?"

- "I'm trying to work, and you don't let me! That's my problem!"- Morgan raised an eyebrow and took a deep break.

- "Ok, my bad."

Spencer glued his eyes on his files again, and I kept looking at him closely for a minute. He was fidgety on his chair. He kept scratching his arms, and he had flipped from human to whatever he was when he yelled at Morgan in a blink.

Of course, shit wasn't over yet.

- "Hey, do you want a ride home?"- I asked him and stood by his desk on my way out. He was getting ready to leave too.

- "I can take the subway on my own"- he talked to me like I was insulting him- "And I don't wanna get in the way of your fake date,"- he grumbled and put on his coat

- "Sorry, what?"- I wasn't sure I had gotten that right.

- "Yeah, you have a date with your boyfriend, and I don't want to get in the way."

- "What are you talking about, Reid?"- I couldn't believe his words. He was acting like a jerk.

- "You know, I don't get it"- he was mad. Furious. And he snapped in front of me, out of the blue- "Why are you still dating that jerk if you don't even love him? does he fuck you that good?"

I could see from the corner of my eye how every head in the bullpen turned to us. I looked at my best friend in the eyes and didn't say a word. I just nodded and grabbed my purse.

- "Enjoy your weekend, Reid."

I knew I didn't have to take those words personally. Spencer wasn't himself. But I was growing tired of justifying him in front of the team and myself. It was time for the big guns.

I tried to ease my mind that night, preparing myself for what I knew I had to do the next day. But I couldn't shake Reid from my thoughts. I needed to know what he was doing if he had dinner. If he was able to sleep. Shit! I needed to know if he was getting high all alone in his apartment.

What if he overdosed? What if he just decided to go a little further and his body couldn't resist it? He was too skinny. He wasn't eating correctly. Shit! He could die.

- "Hey, babe. Are you ok?"- Paul asked me all of a sudden. He was kissing my neck and trying to get under my shirt, and I wasn't even moving. I was thinking about Reid and how to help him. And meanwhile, my boyfriend was trying to have sex with me.

- "Sorry, what?"- I know, that wasn't a good answer.

- "Are you even here?"- he sighed and let me go- "Let me guess, you are thinking about a case."

- "No, I'm just worried about Reid."

I know. That wasn't a good answer either, considering Paul's angry face as soon as he heard his name. Paul hated Reid. Ok, Paul hated every single one of my friends, but he despised Spencer. He would almost see him as his sworn enemy, and they had seen each other in person twice in over a year.

- "Now you think about that nerd when we are making out?!"

- "What?! No! that's not what I meant!"- I tried to explain, but it was clear that wasn't going to work- "He is going through a tough time after the abduction and..."

- "Yeah, yeah"- he cut me off and stood up- "Everything about Spencer is more important than me! I don't wanna hear that shitty and sad kidnap story again!"

- "I'm just trying to say I am worried about him!"- I stood up and followed him around the apartment.

- "You are always worried about him!"

- "He is my friend. He is in pain!"

- "And what about me?! Do you even care about me?!"

- "Sure! of course, I do!"

I knew that was it all of a sudden. I didn't even want to argue with Paul, and neither explain to him how much I needed to help Reid. So I didn't say a word. I only stood in front of him. He brought up his eyes to me and sighed. It took him a few seconds to gather the courage to say what he wanted to say. But when he did, it wasn't good.

- "You are in love with him, aren't you?"

His question made my blood boil. I hated he made such a presumption only because I was worried about Spencer. I loved him, sure, but because he was my best friend. I was with him all day, every day. I saw him more than my own family. More than Lu, Mikey, or Frank. And I knew Reid was in pain and in real danger. Of course, Spencer was my priority.

- "No, Paul. I am not in love with him."- I looked right into his eyes and tried to make my point clear- "He is going through a shitty situation, and I wanna help him. That's all."

- "And do you love me?"

He had never asked me that before. We haven't talked about "love" in the whole year and a half we had been together. And, to be honest, I didn't want to lie. I didn't want to hurt him either, but it was the end of the line, and we both knew it.

- "Paul..."

- "That's a no,"- he said and folded his arms across his chest- "If you don't love me, why are you with me?"

- "Do you love me?"

- "Of course, I do!"- I raised an eyebrow and stared at him for a second - "Don't profile me!"

- "I'm not profiling you. I'm just sure you don't! And that's ok. Paul, we... This is not a relationship. It's two lonely persons holding onto something that didn't work."

We just stared at each other and didn't say a word for what seemed to be for ages.

- "Despite what you might think, I know you, (Y/N)"- he took a step closer to me and kissed my forehead- "And I know you love him."

- "Paul, I really don't. He is my friend, and I'm worried about him"- he simply nodded and sighed.

- "Sure thing. Take care"- started walking to the door and never looked back.

I stood alone in the middle of my apartment. That was it. The easiest breakup because neither of us was in love. And yet, I felt empty and sad. Tears started falling down my cheeks, and I didn't notice them until I was sobbing.

I wasn't sad I had lost Paul. I didn't understand where that emptiness and misery were coming from. Maybe it was grief for a relationship that was never meant to work. Perhaps I was sad because I had failed to maintain a relationship. After all, work had turned into my life. I was just like my father and my brother.

A part of me felt I was slowly turning into what I had fought not to be. And letting Paul might mean I was no longer the old (Y/N). And the new (Y/N) scared me: I was a Fed, I worked over 50 hours a week, and I had killed people. Bad people, but I had pulled the trigger. I knew I had the job of my dreams, and I knew I loved working at the BAU. But with every day that passed, I was walking further and further away from the version of me I loved.

And I was scared of what the new (Y/N) was going to be like. Was she going to be like her dad and lose her family due to her work? or like her brother? who couldn't have a normal life 'cos being a detective was more significant.

I knew we all made our own personal decisions, but a part of me felt it. We were all cut from the same cloth, and I was meant to grow old, alone, and the BAU was going to be my whole life until the day I retired, and the loneliness consumed me.

- "I need a drink."

Spencer's point of view

I took a cab home. I didn't want to take the subway because it would take longer to get there, and I couldn't wait that long. I needed one more fix.

I had been telling myself the same for a whole week now: Just one more. One last time.

But it never was the last time. Every night I failed, and that Friday, I was so eager to forget, I wasn't thinking straight. I snapped at Morgan and (Y/N), just 'cos I was going insane, craving Dilaudid.

After New Orleans, I decided to stop using it. And for two days, I did it. But, of course, I couldn't handle the need. That needle was going to be my end, and I was struggling every day to quit. It was impossible to stop on my own when I needed to quieten the pain somehow.

You don't know how much pain you are into until you numb yourself, and the weight of all your troubles and regrets is lifted from your chest. I knew it was eating me alive, but I had to be strong and quit. So, every day I tried. And every day, I failed. Just like that night, when I laid in bed and slowly unwrapped my belt from my arm, losing all connection with reality.

I had yelled at my friends, and they were probably angry at me. But shit! It was worth it. Nothing was even relevant as long as I could feel the relief Dilaudid gave me.

But it never lasted. And the following day, I regretted it all. I woke up dressed on my bed, a needle next to me and an empty bottle of Dilaudid by its side. Just like a junkie. Tears filled my arms as soon as I realized what had happened. What I had done: I had failed yet again.

My whole body was shaking. I needed to eat something. My last proper meal had been Thursday when (Y/N) and I stopped for dinner on our way back home. And I guess if it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have eaten at all.

I took a long shower, trying to wash away the guilt. It's obvious to say it didn't work. But I consoled myself thinking last night had been the last time. That day I was going to be strong enough, and I was going to quit. I had decided. Nothing could stop me that time.

My breakfast was miserable: I made coffee and took a look in my fridge. Nothing. All I ate that morning was a bowl of cereal (without milk) and two cups of coffee and sugar. Sugar and coffee, actually, like everybody teased me.

I tried to read for a while, at a normal peace, because my head was still fuzzy. So I sat in my living room and grabbed a book from my coffee table: "The Illustrated Man."

After a few hours and four books later, my mind kept coming to the same place. I was out of Dilaudid. And it was a good thing, 'cos now I just wasn't going to get any more. That was it. I had officially quit. Yes. And I felt good. It was a new day, and I was ready to be clean and sober. So I made myself another cup of coffee to celebrate and took a look at my bookshelf. I picked another three books and sat on my armchair, ready to keep on reading. I didn't need drugs to be happy.

Around three in the afternoon, I couldn't stop moving on the couch as I read the sixth book of the day. I drank yet another cup of coffee, even when I knew what I really needed was to get some real food. But I didn't care to starve at that moment. There was only one thought in my mind: Getting high.

Maybe I wasn't ready to quit. I should try leaving it periodically. Actually, perhaps having a bottle around the house could help me ease my mind. Knowing it was there made me feel better. As good as using it.

I was going insane. I kept debating whether I should stay home or find my dealer and just get a little dose. Just enough for one more time. Maybe two. I kept walking around my apartment, creating excuses in my head to get high.

And that was when I heard a knock on my door. I stopped on my tracks, confused. I wasn't waiting for anyone, and I wouldn't really have many unannounced visits. So I walked silently towards the door and looked through the peephole.

- "Shit"- my voice was a whisper I prayed (Y/N) hadn't heard.

What was she doing there? Maybe she had come to talk about my attitude at the BAU. I had said some awful things, but that wasn't really a good moment. I didn't want to see her. I didn't want her to see me like this. I didn't want anyone to see me. So I didn't open the door.

But she knocked again. I didn't move and almost didn't breathe as I stood still by the door, waiting for her to leave. But she wasn't leaving. Instead, she kept knocking over and over again, driving me insane until I snapped.

- "What the fuck do you want?!"- I opened the door and yelled at her face. She widened her eyes, surprised, and didn't move.

- "You just came to stand there and look at me?- I shouted, and she flinched. She had to leave. I wanted her out of my house. But rather than leaving, she walked in and stood in the middle of the apartment.

- "What is wrong with you?"- she was making an effort to stay calm, but I could tell she was scared. She kept biting the inner part of her cheeks and crossed her arms on her chest. Was she scared of me?

- "Spencer, why are you acting like this?"

- "What the fuck is your problem, (Y/N)? Why are you in my house uninvited?!"

- "I called you like three times. I wanted to invite you to my house for dinner, but you didn't answer, so I got worried."

- "As you can see, I'm fine! And no, I don't wanna go to your house for dinner!"

Her eyes were wide opened, staring right into mine, and I swear it physically hurt to see her. She shouldn't be there. I needed her out. I didn't want her to see me like that, and I needed to get out and get some more Dilaudid. Now more than ever.

- "I'm making lasagna"- (Y/N) whispered- "Mikey, Frank, and Lu are coming."

- "I don't care, I don't wanna go to your house, I don't wanna go anywhere! I'm fine here."

- "But, honey bunny..."

- "Stop calling me that!! I hate it!! It's a stupid nickname! I'm not your fucking honey bunny!!"

The silence in my apartment was so deep, I could hear my own heart racing inside my chest. (Y/N)'s eyes filled with tears that soon started falling down her cheeks. She dropped her shoulders, and her arms hung at her sides, slacks.

- "Please"- she begged- "Tell me what's wrong. I want to help you, Spencer."

- "There's nothing wrong! don't you get sometimes I don't want to be stuck at you?! I already have to see your face all day at work. I deserve a break during the few weekends we have off!"

- "I know you don't mean that"- her voice broke, and her chin trembled, but she still made her best not to cry.

- "You don't know that. You don't know shit, (Y/N)."

I stayed quiet and looked away from her. I couldn't stare at those sad eyes for another second.

- "Please, leave"- I managed to control my voice for a second, in a poor attempt not to hurt her anymore. But she shook her head and sniffed.

- "No, Spencer, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong with you. I am worried."

- "There's nothing fucking wrong with me, (Y/N)! Don't you get it?! I just don't wanna be with you!"

- "Please"- she begged, sobbing in front of me. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't bear to see her anymore.

So I ruined everything and hurt her. I pushed her. She nearly fell back but managed to stabilize. She was shocked by my actions, but I didn't even have time to think about what I was doing. All I could think of that minute was that I needed her out of my house to buy drugs and get high.

- "Spencer, what the hell are you doing?"

- "I asked you nicely, but you didn't leave. So now I won't be nice anymore. Get out!!"

I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of my sight. She cried, pleading I would tell her what was wrong with me. But I didn't listen. Instead, I dragged her out of my apartment and slammed the door. I could hear her crying in the hall for a moment, and it enraged me. I thought if she was crying, she herself had caused it. She had appeared at my house at the wrong moment, unannounced.

It wasn't my fault. I just wanted her to leave. I did what I had to do.

And I didn't regret it.

Not until Sunday afternoon, when an announced knock on my door forced me to drag my stoned body from the couch. It was a delivery boy who gave me a package and left. It had nothing written on it. Not even my name. When I opened the box, I found a computer and a note.

- "Play me."

I knew I was still stoned, but not enough to be imagining those kinds of things. I took the laptop to the couch with me. There was a video ready to be played in it. So I pushed play.

- "What the fuck do you want?!"- my heart dropped. It was me, but I could barely recognize my own face- "You just came to stand there and look at me?"

It was a recording of me yelling at (Y/N). She had taped everything, and I couldn't believe my own eyes. I was a monster.

- "I'm making lasagna"- my chin quivered at that scene. Her voice was a whisper, and I was out of myself- "Mikey, Frank, and Lu are coming."

- "I don't care, I don't wanna go to your house, I don't wanna go anywhere! I'm fine here."

- "But honey bunny..."

- "Stop calling me that!! I hate it!! It's a stupid nickname! I'm not your fucking honey bunny!!"

I paused the video, 'cos I couldn't take it anymore. That wasn't me. I couldn't believe I had said all those things to her. It hurt (Y/N), so I could get drugs.

I covered my face with my hands and cried. I was done. Not only did I not know how to recover from my drug addiction, but I also didn't know how I could ever look at my best friend again in the eyes after what I had done.

I remembered she had cried, and I knew I had been mean. But when I saw the extreme hate in each one of my words, I knew I had reached rock bottom. I needed help.

After a few minutes, I pushed play again. I knew I needed to see the whole thing actually to understand what had happened.

- "Please, leave!!"

- "No! Spencer, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong with you. I am worried."

- "There's nothing fucking wrong with me, (Y/N)! Don't you get it! I just don't wanna be with you!!"

- "Please... Spencer, no! What the hell are you doing?"

- "I asked you nicely, but you didn't leave. So now I won't be nice anymore. Get out!!"

I hit her. I pushed her. She was there to invite me for dinner, and I hurt her. Who was I? What kind of beast does such a thing to his best friend?

Who would do such a thing to the woman he loves.

I curled on the couch, crying. How could I let that happen? When did I turn into a downward version of myself? Ethan was right. I had been dumb enough to think I could control it when in reality, drugs were controlling me. I was losing who I was. I could lose my job. I was losing my friends.

I knew things had been hard for me growing up, but I had finally reached a point in my life where I was happy. I liked my life. I loved my job. For once, I had real friends, and I was making good, catching bad guys. I had actually fulfilled my dream to work at the BAU. So why was I wasting it all?

- "Spencer"- I heard (Y/N)'s voice at the end of the video and saw her face on the screen- "I am here if you need to talk. I'm not mad. I just wanna hug you. Please, call me. Let me help you."

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't talk to her after what had happened. I dragged her by the arm out of my apartment. I made her cry. I didn't deserve anything. I couldn't deal with reality and the consequences of the monster I had become into.

Sunday, March 4th. That was the day it all changed for good.

(Y/N)'s point of view

Spencer didn't call. I wasn't surprised, though. I knew he would be affected by the video and probably felt like he didn't deserve my help. So I did what I knew Frank would say I shouldn't do. I put on my shoes and got ready to go to his apartment and pick him up. I was not going to leave him alone when I could see he was struggling to survive.

But when I opened my door, Spencer was sitting in the hall outside my apartment, hugging his legs, shaking. His eyes were puffy, and his lips were shattered. He looked at me, afraid I would be mad. But how could I? I just wanted to help him.

I kneeled in front of him and touched his hands. They were stone cold. His lips trembled as I looked into his eyes, and after a few seconds of hesitation, he finally threw his arms around me, crying.

- "It's ok, honey"- I whispered and felt his whole body shaking as he held me tight- "I've got you."

- "I'm sorry"- I mumbled, sobbing against my shoulder.

- "Shh, it's ok, it's ok"- I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed his cheek.

- "Please"- I had to bite my lips not to cry with him, but I knew I had to be strong for him- "Help me."

- "Always."

I poured two cups of tea on my kitchen island as I looked at Spencer eating a bowl of soup. He was swallowing it like he hadn't eaten in days, which was probably true. We had barely spoken in the last hour. He kept asking for forgiveness as I helped him walk into my apartment and sat with him on the couch. He held onto me like a castaway holds to whatever shipwrecks he finds to survive.

When I finally convinced him to eat something, he followed me to the kitchen and looked at me in silence as I cooked. I didn't know what to tell him, so I just did my best to stay calm. I knew what was happening next, and it wasn't going to be pretty. But I was ready to go through it with him.

- "Thank you"- he whispered and sighed as soon as he was finished.

- "Do you want some more?"- but he shook his head. I smiled at him and handed him his cup of herbal tea.

- "Cookies?"- he didn't answer. He just looked at me with those big puppy eyes and broke my heart.

- "I'm sorry"- he spoke so softly I almost didn't hear him.

- "Don't be."

- "I was a monster"- he stared at me, and I knew he was thinking I was never going to forgive him, when the truth was, I wasn't mad at him at all. I was just worried sick.

- "Are you ready to get better?"- I was afraid to ask, 'cos I was afraid he could change his mind. Still, I trusted the video had shaken him deeply enough to erase from his head any thought of relapsing.

- "Yes."

His answer was clear. Even when it was a whisper, there was no hesitation or no fear. Pure determination. It made me smile to hear him like that. And he smiled at me for a second, filling my heart with hope.

- "Ok, then this is what we are doing"- I walked to my desk and took a folder I had prepared for that day. I gave it to him, and he frowned, confused.

- "What is this?"

- "Our home detox plan. You and I are locked in this apartment for the next fifteen days."

Spencer looked at me, baffled. I just smiled and walked to the fridge to show him how prepared I was.

- "I got all the food we need, and the meds you might need, and a nurse that will come to visit daily to put an eye on you."

- "What? How? What about work?"

- "I'll talk to Hotch."

- "What are you gonna tell him?"

- "The truth"

I wasn't going to lie to my boss, not when he also knew what was happening with Reid.

- "Honey, he knows there's something wrong with you, and I'm sure he will understand our absence for two weeks. You and I have enough vacation days saved to cover that time. And you need it."

Spencer looked at me in silence. I couldn't read his face because his eyes hypnotized me. Even under those circumstances, his eyes were beautiful and sweet. Filled with hope.

- "Ok"- he nodded, and I hugged him right away.

- "I'm so proud of you, honey"- I whispered and caressed his hair for a second.- "Come on. We are doing one more thing before we start."

- "What?"

- "Cleaning your apartment."

I took Reid back to his place and got rid of the Dilaudid he had gotten that weekend: All of it. And the needles. I helped him clean because I didn't want him to find a messy apartment when he would get back there. Then, we packed a bag of clean clothes to take to my place. He looked weak but determined to change, which made me feel so relieved. My heart was joyful.

- "Do you have everything?"- I whispered and held his hand as he stood in the middle of the living room and took a look around- "Do you want to take some books?"- he didn't answer- "Spencer? are you ok?"

- "I don't want to be a burden"- he whispered, and I took a deep breath right away, trying to find the right words to convince him he wasn't and that there was no way on earth he could ever be a burden in my life.

- "You are not, I swear"- he looked down and played with his fingers in my hand- "I mean it."

- "It's not going to be nice"

- "I know"

- "And..."

- "And I want to be there, with you, all along. Ok?"- he looked at me, and my heart skipped a beat.

- "(Y/N), withdrawal symptoms from opiates include anxiety, sweating, vomiting, and"- he cleared his throat, embarrassed- "And diarrhea."

- "I know... but we are going to go through this together, one day at the time."

Spencer kept his fingers in my hand, tracing paths on my skin. I looked at him and bit the inside of my cheeks. I didn't want him to doubt himself, 'cos I knew he could do it.

- "One day at the time sounds good"- he murmured and looked at me with a tiny smile. I nodded and kissed his cheek. I don't know why I did it. I just know how much I liked it. The sensation of his skin, and his two days beard, I don't know what it did to me. But I even shivered.

- "Let's go"- I whispered and held his hand tight. He nodded and grabbed his bag. It was about to get real.

The first night with Spencer was wild. He hadn't used it in over a day, and the withdrawal symptoms started around midnight. We were on the couch watching a movie. I was already half asleep when I felt Spencer constantly moving. He started biting his nails and scratching his face every two minutes.

- "Are you ok?"- I whispered and looked at him. He was pale.

- "I'm not gonna be able to do this."

- "Honey..."

- "No, I mean it."

- "You can, and you will."

- "How do you know? I was weak enough to start using."

- "You were forced to start using, and you are strong enough to stop"- I sat straight and held his hands. He was freezing- "What do you say we put you to bed? I'll make you a cup of tea, and we'll see how you feel in the morning."

He didn't move. I kept his hand in mine, and he held it tight. Real tight. I don't know what he was thinking about, but after a few seconds, he sighed and looked at me.

- "Bed and tea sounds nice,"- I nodded and stood up, but he didn't move- "(Y/N)?"

- "Yes?"

- "Where are you going to sleep?"

- "On the couch"- he sighed, and his face was filled with guilt.

- "I can't let you do that. This is your house."

- "Don't worry about that now. Come on. You need to rest"- I caressed his hand with my thumb, and he finally stood up. But halfway to the bedroom, he stopped.

- "I feel so guilty to put you through all this."

- "I want to do this"

- "But..."

- "No, but"- I turned to him and cupped his face with my hands- "I love you, and I'm not gonna leave you alone. No matter what."

My words resonated inside my head for a few seconds as I stared at him. My stomach was fluttering, and my heart was racing inside my chest.

That wasn't good. But I didn't have to overthink my feelings because my best friend needed me.

Reid walked to the bathroom and put on his pajamas while I made him a cup of warm tea. I knew what was coming: nausea, shivering, throwing up, stomach ache, and more. But I was ready. Two weeks and Spencer was going to be ok.

I had talked about my plan with Hotch earlier that day, and he agreed to give us two weeks off and cover us. Spencer was going to be in Vegas, 'cos his mother had had an episode, and I would be in New York, helping my brother on a case. Seemed convincing. Having the two of us out of town would stop any of our friends to stop by unannounced.

- "(Y/N), thank you for doing this for Reid"- Hotch said before hanging up. I felt lucky to have him as my unit chief. He surely cared for all of us. I don't think anyone else would have done the same.

Retchings from my bathroom were the first thing I heard as soon as I stepped into my room.

- "Honey, do you need help?"- but Reid didn't answer. So I ran back to the kitchen and got him a Gatorade from the fridge, set it on the nightstand. Then I ran to my closet and grabbed a clean towel.

I opened the bathroom door and found Reid kneeled by the toilet. He had already flushed but didn't stand up.

- "Here"- I dampened the towel and put it on his forehead. He closed his eyes and sighed- "Better?"

Spencer just nodded and stayed still for a moment. I took off his glasses and pulled his hair back carefully. He started retching a second later, and I rubbed his stomach, cooing him. When he was done, I flushed and helped him stand up. That wasn't it, and I knew it. He knew it too.

- "Did you know brushing your teeth right after throwing up damages your teeth?"- he whispered, making me smile. It felt good to know deep down, even under those shitty circumstances, he was still the same good old Reid.

- "So, mouthwash?"- I moved the bottle closer for him, and he just nodded- "I'll be outside."

Reid drank a little Gatorade and made a sad effort to read after getting into bed but fell asleep in less than five minutes. I took the glasses off (again) and took the book from his hands. My heart felt warm just to see him there, resting.

But that lasted less than half an hour. I stayed by Spencer's side to make sure he was ok. I was reading when he started retching again. I grabbed the bucket I had already set underneath the bed and rushed to help him. His stomach was already empty. He was basically just vomiting bile.

When he finally fell asleep again, he started shaking. I touched his hand, and he was freezing, so I took an extra blanket from the closet, placed it on top of him, and set the room's thermostats to make it a little warmer for him.

I stayed by his side, reading until he woke up again. This time, he was sweating. I took a clean pajama top from his bag and helped him change. Then, I took the dirty pajamas and the clothes he had worn that day and put them in the washer.

I sat next to Reid on the bed and looked at him. He was awake, rolling over and over, not able to stay still.

- "Come here"- I whispered and tapped on my lap- "Put your head here."

I thought he was going to argue, but no. Instead, he did as told with no hesitation as I ran my fingers through his hair slowly, scratching his scalp carefully. I felt how he inhaled deeply and relaxed, at least for a little while.

But it didn't last. And the rest of the night was a long loop of puke, shivers, and sweat. Spencer finally fell asleep for good around six in the morning, and I dragged my exhausted self to the couch. Night one was done. Nine more to go.

Spencer's point of view

My whole body ached. I opened my eyes, disoriented. All I knew was that I felt I had been beaten up, but I didn't recognize the room. I did recognize the smell on my pillow, though. It was (Y/N)'s. That's how I remembered what was going on.

Adding to how bad I felt, physically, I felt worst knowing everything that had happened the night before and in advance for everything I knew would happen that week. But even knowing that, and even when I was embarrassed to be a burden, I was glad to be there. I was happy to feel taken cared of and loved. It was a change I never imagined I could experience. The one who always took care of his mother now had someone who took care of him. It was under a miserable context, but I felt loved anyway.

Even when I was loved only as a friend.

I stood up slowly. I was fatigued, probably 'cos I had spent half of the night puking. I drank what was left of the Gatorade on the nightstand and walked to the living room. (Y/N) was asleep on the couch. My heart ached to think how uncomfortable she probably was while I slept on her queen-sized bed. No one had ever cared so much about me before. So I walked to the kitchen and made her breakfast. A classical Reid breakfast. Coffee, cereal, and milk. That was it. That was all I could cook.

- "Hey, what are you doing?"- (Y/N) appeared suddenly and smiled at me so sweetly, I nearly dropped the coffee pot.

- "I'm trying to make you breakfast"- I confessed and blushed- "And as you can see, I'm not much of a cooker."

- "You made coffee, you covered the most important part"- she held the cup I had filled for her and smiled- "What if you get comfy on the couch while I make you something to eat?"

- "I can't let you do everything, (Y/N)"- the way she looked at me, my heart skipped a beat.

- "I'll tell you what: If I ever get sick or hurt, or anything happens to me, you are going to be the one taking care of me. Ok?"- I nodded and stayed quiet- "Now, go to the couch. It's a lazy Monday."

- "What does that mean?"

- "We stay in our pajamas, watch movies, nap, and do nothing."

How could anyone say no to that?

I wasn't hungry at all, but (Y/N) really applied herself with everything she cooked: she made chocolate chips, hotcakes, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a smoothie, and also forced me to eat a bowl of fruit. She said I needed all the vitamins I could get, 'cos I had to get strong.

She sat next to me, ate the bowl of cereal I had prepared for her, and drank the coffee I had made. It was relaxing just staying there, covered with a blanket, watching Dr. Who. I felt my body losing up little by little. Until detox hit again. The light was bothering me, burning my eyes, and my body felt weak. Nauseous started kicking in, and before I knew it, I was throwing up on (Y/N)'s carpet.

She held a bucket in front of me and pressed a damped towel on the back of my neck.

- "Better?"- (Y/N) whispered and smiled at me. Her fingers tucked some of my hair behind my ears gently- "Do you want to lay down for a while? You are shaking."

I just nodded.

- "Ok, come on, let's go"- she held my arm and helped me stand up. She was right. I was shaking, but not just because I was cold. It was the withdrawal.

I was so embarrassed and mortified. With each symptom, I was a little more certain (Y/N) would never look at me the way I did. She would never fall for me after what she was witnessing. No one in their right mind would.

- "There you are"- she whispered, fixing the pillow behind my head as I laid on her bed again.

- "Can you please close the curtains?"- I whispered, covering my face with both hands. The light was too painful to deal with.

- "Sure, honey. Headache?"- all I could do was nod- "I'll get you ibuprofen, that will help with your body aches and the migraine."

I stayed still, eyes closed, hands covering my face, thinking how I had gotten to the point of having to detox my body from drugs. It was, without a doubt, the lowest moment of my whole life.

- "Ok, honey, try to get some rest, ok?"- (Y/N) whispered after I took the ibuprofen and drank half the bottle of water she had brought.

- "Can you..."- I studied because I was afraid to tell her I didn't want her to leave me alone. I was afraid to be on my own. I didn't trust myself or my mind.

- "What is it? Do you want another blanket?"

- "Can you stay with me?"- I finally asked and held her hand. She just nodded, smiling, and sat next to me on her bed, making sure I was comfy and cozy, fixing the pillow again and the blanket. I looked at her as she laid by my side on top of the covers and held her book.

- "I'm here, Spencer. And I'll be where when you wake up, ok?"

- "Can you read to me?"- I closed my eyes 'cos the light was killing me.

- "And your headache?"

- "Your voice is soothing, and it would help to concentrate on something else but the pain."

- "Ok... then prepare yourself for some horror, 'cos I'm reading, yet again, "Something wicked this way comes."

- "It's one of my favorites"- I whispered and sighed.

- "Why am I not surprised?"

I tried to fight the waves of nausea, the pain in every muscle and headache, and only focused on the sound of her voice as she read. It took me back to when I was a kid, and my mom would read me every night. (Y/N) kept caressing my hair and reading to me. It was the closest I had ever been to heaven, even when physically, I felt like dying.

When I woke up, (Y/N) was asleep by my side. I tried to move, but my body was limp. It was too painful for me to get up on my own, and all I could think of was one simple thing: Dilaudid. I was craving it. I would never feel so bad if I had a fix. Just a little one. To make the pain go away.

I was making excuses to justify my need for drugs. I wanted to feel better, 'cos right there, on (Y/N)'s bed, I felt dead already, and my whole body was rotting. I just wanted to get a little high. It wasn't going to hurt anyone. Right?

Wrong. The bruise on (Y/N)'s arm was the reality check I needed. I hurt her. I hit her. I pushed her away from me. That's how low I had gotten. I would not let that happen again, and more important than anything else: I was never going to hurt (Y/N), ever again. And that I swore to myself that day on her bed.

There was no use in denying the fact I was in love with my best friend. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me. And I knew I was going to love her forever, even when she would only be my friend. I didn't even know when I had fallen so hard in love with her. I tried to remember the moment my feelings had changed from friendship to love, but I couldn't find it. I just knew I loved her, and nothing was ever gonna change that.

The kind of love that makes you think you'd die for that person. I would die for her, just to make sure she is safe.

I felt so pathetic thinking those things. Not because I didn't want to feel that way, but because I knew (Y/N) would never look at me like that. But still, I'd give her everything she could ever ask me for.

I just laid by her side and looked at her as she slept. My eyes were finally able to slide on every detail of her face. Her freckles, her nose, the color of her lips that even without makeup looked like a cherry. And the bruise on her arm. I was never going to forget about it and neither forgive myself.

- "Hey"- she whispered, fluttering her eyes- "How are you feeling?"

- "Good"- I lied. I didn't want to tell her I felt like dying. She stayed still, looking at me for a few seconds.

- "Are you hungry?"- I shook my head, even that hurt- "How's the headache?"- my eyes were killing me.

- "Better"- she nodded and sighed.

- "I know you are full of shit, Spencer Walter Reid. You don't need to lie"- I just closed my eyes and refused to open them again for a few minutes.

- "I just don't want you to worry, (Y/N). That's all."

- "Do you want to sleep some more? I'm gonna go..."- but as soon as she moved, I stopped her.

- "No"- I looked at her and held her hand immediately. Every muscle in my body hurt with that movement, but I didn't regret it- "Please, don't leave."

- "Ok, I won't go. I promise"- she held my hand and caressed it slowly and smiled so sweetly, I think I even smiled back.

We laid in silence for a while. I closed my eyes again, trying to breathe normally. (Y/N) was lying next to me. That would get my heart racing in a second.

- "The nurse is coming around five. She will put an eye on you every day if you need any medical attention, ok?"- I hummed as a response and kept focused on her fingers playing with my hand- "Maybe we can ask her to help you take a bath."

I wide opened my eyes at those words and noticed how my best friend was blushing.

- "What?"- she chuckled at my reaction- "I can take a bath on my own!"

- "Really? You should consider it then"- she stuck out her tongue to me and giggled- "Though your two days beard is cute"- she ran her fingers along my jaw and sent shivers all over my body. The proximity felt so new, yet incredibly natural, almost familiar.

- "Thanks?"- I answered with a question 'cos I had no idea what else to do. I just stayed still and looked into her eyes. She didn't say another word either. Her eyes were following her fingers, playing with my jawbone slowly.

I wanted to move a little closer to her and hug her, maybe. But I couldn't. Not only because I physically couldn't move without crying, but because her phone rang and made her jump on the bed.

- "Hey! Paco, how are you?"- I heard her pick up the phone in the living room and walk back to me, holding another bottle of Gatorade.

- "No, I'm on a case. In New York. I don't know how long, I wish I could predict how long it's gonna take to catch a fucking serial killer, but I can't."

I looked at her as she walked around the room, talking with Frank. Of course, it was him. She always called him Paco. I slowly sat down on the bed and sighed. I was paranoid about the shower. Maybe I stank. I hadn't bathed since... Saturday. Obviously, I smelled terrible. I had been sweating all night long.

I made my best effort and walked to the bathroom. Everything hurt. When I finally managed to take off my pajamas and ran the shower, I was weary. But the warm water made me feel a lot better.

I took a long shower. Not just because I wanted to stay forever under the warm water, but because I couldn't really move that fast. I washed my hair and considered shaving. But I didn't have a razor on hand, and if (Y/N) liked my tiny beard, I decided to keep it.

- "Hey! everything ok?"- (Y/N) asked from the other side of the door.

- "Yes, I'm ok"- she walked in, and I froze.

- "Ok, I'll leave a clean towel next to the shower, ok? It's warm"

- "Thank you."

I stayed still under the water until she exited the bathroom and nearly held my breath at the thought of her being there with me. It was too much, and to be honest, I was too weak to overthink it. But I knew it was going to be a thought that would hunt me back home.

(Y/N)'s point of view

I sat on the couch and drank my tea after leaving the towel for Spencer in the bathroom. My heart was racing, and that shouldn't be happening. Why was I so affected by my best friend? I knew I was worried, and all my attention was focused on him, but that didn't explain why my stomach fluttered when I looked at him.

- "Put your shit together!!"- I yelled/whispered to myself and shook my head.

Frank had called to know about Spencer, but I had to lie and act like I was at work. I couldn't just tell him what was going on in front of Reid. So I texted him the short version of the fact, and he asked me to keep him posted. He also told me he was going to keep Mikey and Lu away from my apartment those days.

Spencer took a shower and sat with me on the couch. I had cleaned the vomit from the carpet and kept a bucket near in case he felt sick. We read in silence for a while, and I kept checking on him every few minutes. He was nervous and looked anxious. I wasn't going to ask him what was wrong, 'cos it was obvious he was craving Dilaudid, and to be honest, I was scared he might start yelling and getting violent. So, I stood up and prepared him a smoothie. I knew he hated healthy eating, especially salads, but he was doomed. He had to put some vitamins in his body.

He looked at me disgusted as I gave him the glass but drank it quietly and gave it back in a minute. I was impressed.

He threw it up in less than ten minutes, though. So far, not so good.

He also vomited lunch. I knew his whole body ached, so I put on a Star Trek DVD to keep his mind busy in anything else. When the nurse came, she did a brief check-up and told me to continue with the same diet and ibuprofen in case of severe pain. We had to put an eye on dehydration. She also suggested we'd engage in some physical activity as soon as he felt better. Walks to the park were her recommendation.

I couldn't imagine Spencer walking out of the house under those conditions, but I had high hopes by the end of that week, he was going to feel much better.

The second night was worse than the first because his body aches hit him harder. He rolled in bed in pain, shivering. I stayed with him until late, trying to soothe him. I read and caressed his sweated hair. At a certain point, I just sat there with his head on my legs, and he started crying. His tears soaking my legs and his sobs breaking my heart.

I didn't know what to say. I don't know if there was anything to be said at that moment. So I just leaned in and kissed Spencer's temple. I rocked him like a baby and did my best to calm him down. He just kept crying on and on, tearing my soul apart. I couldn't handle watching him like that. I didn't know what to do to help him feel better too. All I could do was be with him throughout the process and hold him tight to make sure I kept all his pieces together. I didn't want him to fall apart.

When I opened my eyes the following day, Spencer was asleep in front of me. He was pale, and the rings under his eyes were darker than ever. But at least, he was finally sleeping.

I stared at him for a few minutes, planning the day. But soon, I realized I couldn't concentrate. I just looked at him. I knew my friend was handsome, even when he always argued when I let him know. But at that moment, he made my heart beat faster. His hair was messy and with some curls. His brown beard kept growing. I had never seen Spencer with facial hair, and I loved it. I wanted to tell him to keep it, but then I thought it might be inappropriate. Not that telling him was wrong, but what he was making me feel.

I refused to think I had a crush on my friend. Because I didn't. I was just worried sick for him, and my head was confused. It wasn't the time to think about that. I had to be a good friend and help Reid. His wellbeing was all that mattered to me.

So I got out of bed and ran to the kitchen to make sure everything was ready. I cooked breakfast and lunch, cleaned, and took a quick shower. I was walking out of the bathroom in my clean clothes when Spencer woke up. He rolled in bed and looked at me, confused.

- "Hey, how are you feeling, honey?"- I whispered and sat next to him on the bed. He yawned and nodded.

- "Better."

- "Great, I hope you are hungry, 'cos breakfast is ready"- he scratched his head and yawned again. And I swear, I had to mentally slap myself because I thought he looked adorable and couldn't stop staring.

- "Do you want to take a shower?"- I asked him and stood up. I had to do anything to keep me from being stupid- "I can also run you a bath. I got some salts that could make you feel better. They might help with your body ache."

- "Thank you"- he whispered and sat down. He just looked at me in silence as I kept myself busy opening curtains, folding blankets, and cleaning the bathroom, to get it ready for him

- "Did you sleep?"- he asked me suddenly- "You look tired."

- "Nah, I'm ok. I think I went too heavy on the coffee earlier."

- "How long have you been up?"- I looked at my wristwatch and sighed.

- "A couple of hours."

It was ten. I got up at eight. Spencer had finally fallen asleep at five. It didn't take a genius to see I hadn't slept properly.

- "Why don't you nap?"- he asked and tapped on the bed- "You look like you could use some more sleep"- that was tempting, I won't deny it. But no. I couldn't.

- "Tell you what, why don't you eat something and then we can watch a movie together?"- Spencer nodded and moved slowly. That's when I remembered he felt like shit.

- "Come here"- I stood by his side and held his hands- "Can you stand up?"

- "Yes"- he whispered and tried to move on his own. His legs were shaking, and so were his hands. He did his best to stand up, and after a few tries on his own, he succeeded. But after giving two steps alone, he stumbled and nearly fell.

- "I've got you!"- I said, wrapping my arms around him and keeping him steady. His whole face was red, in anger maybe, or embarrassment. I didn't want to push him to talk or do anything. I just made sure he wouldn't fall.

- "Wanna stay in bed?"- I suggested

- "No"- he murmured and took a step ahead

- "Ok, let's go to the living room then."

Spencer didn't reply. I was sure he was ashamed and upset. I just walked with him to the living room, trying to think of anything else: anything but the butterflies in my stomach.

It was getting harder to ignore the mental fuzziness I felt each time I looked at him. But I refused to think about it. It wasn't the right time.

But it got worse that evening.

We spent the whole day on my sofa, napping, reading, and watching Star Trek. I was getting dinner ready when Spencer's phone rang. We both stayed still. He looked at me with widened eyes, almost scared. I smiled and walked to my room to get the phone. It was JJ.

I'm not proud to say it, but an overwhelming sensation of insecurity and concern filled my body. Why was JJ calling Spencer? Were they closer than I thought? I don't know why I kept thinking all those things.

- "It's JJ"- I announced and gave him his phone. He hesitated for a moment and finally picked up. I walked back to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. What was wrong with me?

- "Mom is fine, thank you for calling"- I heard him say and closed my eyes. I had to focus on the food. I had to focus on helping him get better.

Why was I so upset JJ had called him? It was nice to know more people cared about him. Not as much as I did, of course.

- "Sure, I tell her. I'll see you in a couple of days"

I walked back to the living room carrying a tray with soup and salads. Spencer sat down properly and looked at me with a small smile.

- "I know you hate veggies, but you are doomed"- I whispered, reading his mind- "These are packed with all the vitamins and minerals your body needs."

- "Thank you"- he murmured and kept his eyes on me until I sat next to him and grabbed my bowl.

- "How was JJ?"- I had to ask. He cleared his throat and played with the lettuce on his dish for a moment before saying.

- "She was ok. She wanted to know if everything was ok with my mom."

- "Oh"- I didn't know what else to say. I tried no to think about it anymore, 'cos it was useless.

- "I kind of felt bad everybody swallowed our story"- Spencer confessed and sighed.

- "That's because I make up the best lies, honey,"- I smiled at him, but he just stared- "Everything ok?"

- "I'm not hungry"

- "Come on, at least have the soup, please?"

- "I don't want to barf all over your carpet, again"- he whispered and kept playing with the lettuce.

- "What if I tell you I made brownies? and you can have a brownie if you eat the soup?"- Spencer bit his lips and shook his head.

- "Why are you treating me like a kid?"

- "I am not! I'm blackmailing you with sugar as I would do under any other circumstance."-

And I wasn't lying. I would definitely try to force him to eat or do something with the promise of a brownie.

- "So? What do you say? Eat that soup, and we'll have brownies... with vanilla ice cream."

Reid stared into my eyes, and I held my breath. He was so pale, so thin. And yet, so beautiful.

- "If I vomit..."

- "If you vomit, you vomit. No hard feelings"- I smiled and tapped on his leg- "Besides, you need to get some vitamins in your body. You are too thin."

He didn't reply. He started eating slowly and kept watching Star Trek in silence.

Spencer successfully ate his bowl of soup and ate a little bit of the salad. I knew he hates veggies, so I didn't push him. As a reward, I prepared a big tray with brownies with ice cream, chocolate sauce, and hot chocolate with marshmallows and put it on the coffee table in front of us. We were about to start eating when we heard a knock on the door.

- "That's the nurse"- I said and stood up quickly. But I was wrong. It was Paul.

- "Babe... hey"- he smiled at me as soon as I opened the door and tried to walk in. But I didn't let him.

- "What are you doing here?"- I stood at the door and raised an eyebrow. I knew we didn't have a bad breakup, but after what he had said that night, I was afraid he might freak out to see Spencer in his pajamas watching tv on my couch.

- "I couldn't stop thinking about what happened the other night, and..."- he made a pause and looked inside- "What are you doing?"

- "I'm having dinner"

- "Alone?"- I didn't answer- "Can I come in?"

- "No"

- "Are you with someone? are you on a date?"- Paul pushed the door and stormed into my apartment. Reid turned around and looked at him, embarrassed.

- "What the fuck do you think you are doing? get out of my house!"- I grabbed my ex-boyfriend's sleeve and stopped him.

- "Hey, Paul"- Spencer waved from the couch, looking scared. His shoulders were tightened, and his eyes wide opened.

- "What is this nerd doing here?"- Paul turned to me, ignoring my friend.

- "What are you doing here? That's the question!"

- "I wanted to apologize for what happened the other day."

- "Well, sorry to crack the news, but if this is an apology, it sucks!"- I swear, I could feel my pulse speeding- "And there is nothing to talk or forgive, we broke up, and it was ok!"

- "Yeah, and now the nerd is here to make you feel better!"

- "You have no idea what you are talking about! And would appreciate it if you stop calling him that!!"- I freaked out and clenched my fist. I was going to lose it with him.

- "Good luck with the Ice Princess here!!"- Paul yelled at Reid- "If you are lucky, she is gonna hug you once!!"

- "Get out!"- I stood by the open door and slammed it as soon as he had left. My hands were shaking, my lips were quivering, and my eyes were tearing up.

- "Are you... are you ok?"- Spencer stood up and walked to me. He stumbled a little but managed to hold me. I didn't reply. I just broke into tears.

Why was I crying if I was glad I had broken up with Paul? Why was I so upset to see him at my house? Why was I shaking in anger?

Maybe I was just human, and I was tired of all the shit. Perhaps I was just sleepy or stressed with everything going on with Reid. Or the fact he kept thinking I had feelings for my best friend was too much for me.

Even the fact he called me "Ice Princess" hurt me. Yes, I wasn't a very physical person with him. But that was just because I wasn't in love with him.

For a few minutes, I just cried, soaking Spencer's pajamas as he held me tight, just like I had done for him the night before.

- "I'm sorry"- I whispered and sighed. I let him go and fixed my hair- "I shouldn't let Paul affect me so much, but I wasn't expecting to see him."

- "What happened?"- Spencer held my hand and took me to the couch with him. He handed me a dish with brownie and melted ice cream, and a spoon.

- "We broke up a few days ago."- my best friend looked at me in silence as his shaky thumb wiped off the tears on my cheeks.

- "I was actually planning dinner with the guys to give them the news, 'cos I knew they would like to celebrate... but that doesn't matter. You were right; I didn't love him. I don't know why I was still dating him."

- "I'm sorry"- he whispered and carefully wrapped me on a blanket.

- "Don't be. I really wanted to break up with him. I was just scared to lose who I used to be..."

- "You are never going to lose who you are, (Y/N)"- Spencer whispered and cut me a smile- "Frankie, Lu, and Mikey would never let that happen"- I sighed and nodded- "I won't let that happen either."

- "Thank you, honey"- I grabbed the spoon and took a big piece of brownie- "You know what bothers me? I don't know why I'm crying so much! I'm not sad! I'm angry!"

- "Actually, when you get mad, your body produces a flood of hormones that stimulate strong reactions in your body, like racing your heart and getting sweaty palms. In response to the elevated stress level, crying stimulates the release of oxytocin and prolactin. These two chemicals can bring your heart rate down and otherwise calm you after a stressful event."

- "Well, my fucking body makes me look weak and stupid!"

- "You could never look weak..."- Spencer hesitated for a second. It felt like he wanted to add something to those words but finally just stayed quiet.

- "Thank you, honey bunny. You are the best friend I could ever ask for."

- "Don't say that. You are the best friend I could have ever asked for."

We just stared for a few seconds. His eyes on mine, my hands still shaking, though I didn't know why.

It was a moment I knew I could never forget, 'cos it was the moment I first considered kissing Spencer.

It was a thought that only lasted for a second, but it was there. And like a seed planted on my brain, once I knew it was there, it could only grow and hunt me, like a ghost.

Spencer's point of view

My heart ached to see (Y/N) crying because of an asshole who never deserved her. And it also jumped of joy knowing she was no longer dating that jerk. I knew I could never make a move on her, but just to know she wasn't stuck with him made me happy.

But the fact she had gone through all that alone and didn't even talk about it for four days because she was too busy taking care of me made me feel awful. I didn't deserve any of that.

- "How are you feeling?"- she whispered and smiled at me after finishing her brownie- "Want me to heat your cocoa?"

- "I'm ok, thank you"

I stared at her in silence and decided to make the boldest move I have ever made with her, and opened my arm for her so that she could cuddle. She didn't hesitate and moved closer. I wrapped an arm around her, and her head rested on my chest. And trying not to make it look like a big deal, I also held her hand and caressed her skin, tracing random patterns on it.

- "I'm sorry for being such a bad friend"- I said and kissed the top of her head. I didn't plan it. I just did it. And it felt so good.

- "Don't say that."

- "I've been an asshole since Tobias."

- "You haven't... I mean, you have, but you had your reasons"- she made a pause and sighed. I knew something was bothering her, and I was hoping it wasn't our position because I loved how her warm body felt against mine.

- "Honey?"- she whispered, and I hummed as a response- "Would you call me a cold person?"

- "Never..."

- "I know I'm not a physical person, but..."

- "Me neither, and look at us"- I pointed out the obvious, and she softly giggled. He raised her head from my chest and turned to look at me. I swear all I could think of that minute was kissing her.

- "I am more loving with you than I ever was with Paul"- she confessed and sighed. Her eyes were sad. Clearly, what he had said to her had affected her more than she wanted to admit.

- "He didn't deserve it anyway"- she added and moved back to lay her head on my chest- "You do."

And after that, we just stayed like that, hugged on the couch, until the nurse knocked on the door.

- "You look much better"- I smiled at the nurse and nodded- "Still nauseous?"

- "Yes, but not as much as yesterday"- I whispered and looked at her, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around my arm, right next to all the marks I left with the needles. I wanted to hide them from everyone, and I thanked (Y/N) wasn't in the room. Of all people, she was the one I didn't want to see those marks the most.

- "They are going to fade soon"- the nurse whispered. I wasn't too subtle with my reaction, I guess. I just nodded and looked away.

- "Your girlfriend is taking excellent care of you. You are a fortunate guy"- I'm sure I blushed and turned to her immediately.

- "She... she is... she is not my girlfriend"- I felt I needed to explain it, I don't know why.

- "Really?"- and the nurse seemed to be in shock- "She surely loves you."

- "She is my best friend"- I whispered and felt how my heart was nearly bursting inside my chest.

- "You are lucky to have her"- she added, and I agreed.

I knew I was lucky. Even when (Y/N) wasn't my girlfriend, I knew I had to be with her. Always.

After thirteen days of home detox, I was back to being my old self again. I felt happy, healthy, and strong. I don't think I had ever felt that good before.

I loved spending those days with (Y/N), and I was pretty bummed I had to go back to my apartment the next day. The fact I had lived with her for two weeks was incredible. I knew it all happened under dark and miserable circumstances, but it had been life-changing.

Now I knew everything I wanted to know about her to help me make her day better and all her little quirks. Her favorite brands of tea, her favorite snacks. How she liked to take the last cup of tea of the day in bed, reading. Her favorite bands. How she always cooked singing. She always slept on her left side. And how after all those days, we would be so comfortable together, we would cuddle naturally, even without asking.

I don't want to overreact, but it was pretty heavenly to me, like the sensation I felt with the romantic poems mom used to read to me when I was little. Just don't tell anyone I said that.

- "Ok, dinner is ready"- (Y/N) announced and took the lasagna from the oven. I held a bowl of salad and walked with her to the dining room.

- "What do you wanna drink?"

- "A glass of wine, you?"

- "Red or white?"- I asked her and walked back to the kitchen. I didn't even wait for her answer. I took the white and two glasses. She smiled and sat down.

- "This looks amazing, (Y/N)"- and I wasn't lying.

- "Wait until you see dessert, we have three colors of Jell-O"- the fact she knew I loved jello wasn't what got me. It was how happy she looked to spoil me with my favorite dessert.

- "Thank you for cooking all my favorite meals."

- "You are welcome, honey bunny"- I smiled at her and poured a glass of wine for her and one for me.

- "Can I ask you something?"- I whispered, and she nodded- "Why do you call me honey bunny?"- she looked from her dish and giggled.

- "It took you forever to ask."

- "Well... I didn't want you to think I didn't like it..."

- "You don't?"- I wide opened my eyes and shook my head frenetically.

- "No! I love it! I just... don't know... where does it come from? You said I gave you the "honey bunny" vibes, but... what does that mean?"- (Y/N) chewed her lasagna and looked at me.

- "Well, I always loved that nickname. I thought it was adorable and never used it on anyone because no one ever gave me that vibe. I had never met my honey bunny before."

"My Honey Bunny." That woman was killing me, and she had no idea.

- "And I took it from Pulp Fiction"- she finally confessed and waited for my reaction- "Have you seen it?"

- "No"- I admitted and shrugged.

- "Then we are watching it after dinner tonight"- (Y/N) decided, and I nodded- "You still don't give me a nickname, by the way."

She had no idea, but I had a list of nicknames for her. I had written all the cute names I wanted to call on a notebook I kept in my satchel. But I didn't dare. I could call her cute names in my head all the time, but never out loud.

- "You don't have to do it if you don't want to, by the way"- she added and kept eating.

- "I have never done it before"- I accepted, feeling embarrassed- "Sorry."

- "Why are you sorry?"

- "I don't want you to think I don't want to call you by a loving nickname. I just..."

- "Come on, how would you call me? Do I give you any nickname vibe?"- I chuckled, and she smiled childishly.

- "I really like the story behind "nugget." I think it's brilliant"- she shook her head, and her cheeks blushed- "But for you... I think I have three options."

- "So you've given it some thoughts!"- I nodded and took a sip of wine- "Let me hear them."

- "Well... after that case in Oregon when you got lost in the woods, I thought I could call you "chipmunk"- I confessed and watched her face light up.

- "I love that!"

- "Really?"- I chuckled and looked at her holding my breath- "Well... then I remembered how we became friends and your obsession with cupcakes, so I thought I could call you that."

- "I love that too!!"

- "And..."- since I was honest, I took it a little further- "After last Halloween, and all the carving we did, and our movie marathon, I thought "pumpkin" was pretty sweet too."

(Y/N) sighed and smiled at me, her cheeks blushing and her eyes shining.

- "They are all awesome, so you should use them all, and I can look for more nicknames for you"- I simply stared at her and felt how my heart melted.

- "Ok"- I whispered, and she raised an eyebrow playfully.

- "Ok, what?"

- "Ok... pumpkin"- I whispered and held my breath at the sound of those words leaving my lips.

She really didn't have a clue about what she did to me.

DIWK Taglist:

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Spencer taglist

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General Taglist

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Next update: May 19th, 2021

#Spencer Reid #Matthew Gray gubler #Criminal Minds #mgg #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #fluf #angst #Criminal Minds rewrite #babymetaldoll edits #babymetaldoll writes #DIWK #Spencer Reid x reader #matthew gray gubler

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goldenraeofsun · 3 years ago

Text

4:01 PM

Dean sips his whiskey and glowers across the bar at his own reflection. His wrist is burning like a brand, but it’s probably all in his head. The stupid timers don’t cause physical pain when they reach T-minus zero, Houston we have a problem. The numbers freeze, and that’s that.

Dean’s had counted down to nothing at exactly 4:01 PM, fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes of running into his soulmate, getting his number, continuing on his way to this bar, and telling the bartender to keep ‘em coming.

He refuses to look at the far corner of the room, the booth he had reserved like an idiot. Four PM, party of two, under the name Winchester.

On the bar by his glass, his phone is still lit up with Cas’s texts from the past hour.

Cas 3:11 I’m so sorry I have to move our appointment. My client just unexpectedly switched our time to 4pm.

Cas 3:21 I think I’ll be able to escape by 4:30. Can I meet you then?

Dean had responded with a thumbs-up emoji. He didn’t have it in him to say any more.

Cas 3:50 This city is impossible to navigate. How does anyone live here?

Cas 3:58 You were right, I should have rented a car.

Three minutes after Cas’s last text, Dean ran into his soulmate. Right on schedule.

As far as first meetings go, it hadn’t been as much of a shitshow as Dean had expected.

The dude was attractive, at least, and the first thing he did after bumping into Dean was apologize. But he was wearing a tailored suit and glued to his phone, so it definitely could have been better.

His soulmate would’ve run off none the wiser, except Dean had to blurt, “Wait!” because, despite his disappointment, Dean couldn’t let his soulmate disappear into the throngs of Michigan Avenue. Dean wasn't about to fall to one knee, but he also couldn't let his best shot just go.

The man stopped, irritated. His gaze refused to linger on Dean, instead fixating on a building at the end of the block.

Head swimming with too many thoughts to name, Dean couldn’t get the right words out. He gestured mutely to his wrist, pulling up the flannel to show him.

Eyes widening with understanding, his soulmate quickly tugged up the cuff of his sleeve, only sparing a second to verify his own timer stopped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice.” he said, distracted. “My name is James. Here,” he fished out a pen and something to write on from various pockets of his trench coat, “my number. We… should talk. Later.” He scowled, raising his other wrist to check at his watch. “I need to go.”

“Sure, man,” Dean said, mostly grateful he didn’t have to stick around and have some heart-to-heart with a stranger that was apparently meant for him. Whatever the fuck that actually meant.

“Thank you,” James said swiftly. Without another word, he took off back down the street.

Dean didn’t bother to watch him go. He had a barstool waiting with his name on it.

Sam will laugh himself silly once Dean tells him his perfect match wound up being some corporate suit. Dean once told him he’d rather microwave his own head than set foot in an office cubicle.

Sammy was the big soulmate skeptic in the family. He found his non-timer approved other half while he was protesting an illegal dismissal of a disabled employee. Three years later, when Sam bumped into Gabriel Crawford in a strip club at midnight on Dean’s birthday, he discovered Gabe was perfectly happy to let Sam live his apple pie life while Gabe continued to party like it was 1999.

Gabe made Sam promise to look him up if Eileen was ever down for a threesome.

Turned out, Eileen was.

Sam most certainly was not.

He still sends Gabe a card for the holidays, and usually Gabe sends him back candy samples from wherever he’s vacationing for the winter.

But everyone else Dean knew bought into the soulmates game, hook, line, and sinker. His parents were soulmates. Benny and Garth both settled down with theirs. Charlie and Aaron were holding out for theirs. Hell, even Jo had her weird thing with Bela Talbot.

Dean would’ve counted himself among their number - until he met Cas.

Well, until Cas messaged him on Bobby’s new ask-a-mechanic feature on the garage’s website. Cas had inherited a banged up 1967 Mustang and had no idea where to start with restoration. Apparently Gabe of all people was staying with Cas at his place in southern California, and he recommended Dean.

Why Cas couldn’t just look up a local place still baffles Dean to this day, but he has never been more grateful for Cas’s weird-ass logic.

Their relationship had stayed strictly professional until Cas’s actual car broke down on some random highway in California. Dean had tried to talk Cas through the repair himself, but it was no use. Cas either didn’t have the equipment for the fix, or Dean didn’t diagnose the right problem. Dean was about to hang up, when Cas had asked, clearly embarrassed, “Would you please stay on the line? I have this irrational fear of being murdered in the middle of nowhere where nobody can find my body for proper rites.”

Dean, almost surprising himself, didn’t laugh. Instead, he said, “Sure thing. Wanna put me on hold while you get in touch with Triple A?”

He spent an hour and a half on the phone with Cas, telling him stupid stories about the worst things people have done with their cars.

In return, Cas told him all about the stars that were just coming out in the darkening desert sky.

The week after, Bobby’s garage received a gift certificate in the mail. It was for a weeklong stay at the Chicago location of the five-star hotel chain Cas works for, in Dean’s name.

Those little chocolates on the pillows ruined Dean for motels everywhere.

At the bar, Dean signals the bartender for a refill. He glares down at his phone. The little rectangle contains his entire history with Cas, call logs, text receipts, everything.

He can’t look at it any longer. He shoves it in his pocket, and the receipt with his soulmate’s phone number crinkles in protest. With a sigh, Dean takes out the flimsy piece of paper.

James’s handwriting is neat, so Dean doesn’t even have the excuse of not being able to read a digit or two.

Maybe Dean will give him a call after his drink with Cas. Hopefully, once James finds out that Dean’s just a mechanic, lives in a shoebox apartment in Bucktown, and has never been to Aspen or the Alps, he’ll tell Dean to take a hike.

Dean flips the receipt over, and his stomach gives a sickening lurch. In pretentious curlicue lettering, the first words Dean reads are, The Nine Spheres.

James is staying at Cas’s hotel.

Fucking great. Dean crumples the receipt and shoves it back in his pocket. With his luck, James will probably want to meet in the restaurant on the first floor, the fancy-ass place with the steakhouse burger and truffle fries Dean would actually sell his soul for.

Dean actually dreamed about that burger, a few months after his Cas-sponsored stay. When he told Cas about it, Cas let out a bark of laughter.

In the next breath, though, he told Dean he does the same when he’s scoping out a new location and can’t stay at a nearby Nine Spheres.

Dean tips back his glass of whiskey. It’s stopped burning on the way down his throat, a good sign.

He was so stupid, thinking he could fuck with destiny, fate, or whatever shitty power up there decides soulmates.

Once Cas told him about his business trip to his neck of the woods, Dean had taken one look at the numbers on his arm counting down and did the math. He would meet his soulmate smack dab in the middle of Cas’s window in Chicago.

He could make Cas be his soulmate. Cas never brought up his timer, if it was still ticking, if he’d already met his other half. And Dean, coward that he was, never asked. If he didn’t know for sure, then there was that slim, slim chance that theirs matched up after all.

But no, Cas had to go and switch up their meeting time at the last second, and Dean had run into James instead.

His pocket buzzes with a new text. Mood lower than Cas’s voice register, Dean slides his phone out.

Cas 4:38 My meeting is over. Should I still meet you at the same place?

Dean 4:39 Yeah Hope its okay I got started without you

Cas 4:40 More than okay, considering my scheduling difficulties.

Dean 4:40 See you soon

Dean sighs and drains his glass.

Foot jiggling on the barstool and eyes trained on his hands clasped in front of him, Dean deliberately does not look around as the door opens.

And opens again.

And again.

Confused and irritated, Dean takes another look around. Above the bar, a chalkboard clearly proclaims Happy Hour from 4:30-6:30 PM. Dean ducks his head, scowling into the remains of his drink. He probably overlooked the sign before because of his single-minded quest to get shitfaced like a freshly-dumped senior at prom stuck next to the spiked punch bowl.

His phone obnoxiously tells him it’s 4:43.

That’s just great. Dean hops off the stool, meaning to ask the hostess if anyone’s asked for Winchester, when James pushes open the door.

Dean stops dead in his tracks.

James freezes, his eyes going wide. His trench coat swishes ominously to a stop.

Should Dean turn around? Pretend he didn’t see? Cas is going to be here any second.

Before he can make up his mind, James is walking towards him. “Hello,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”

Dean swallows. “Me neither,” he says honestly.

James scans the small crowd now gathered around the bar, brow furrowing in concentration. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

Dean lets out a silent exhale of relief. He musters up a weak smile. “No problem, man. I’ll leave you to it.” As he turns back around, James steps up to the hostess stand.

James says, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the din, “I’m a bit late, but is there a reservation for Winchester? For 4:30?”

Dean could not possibly have heard what he thinks he did. But the timing is right - for once. He spins around, practically losing his balance thanks to the booze he already drank.

The hostess scans her sheet of names, shaking her head. “There was a reservation for Winchester at four PM, but that’s it.”

James’s face falls. Shoulders slumping, he pulls out his phone, squinting as the screen lights up. “He said he was here,” he mutters.

He can’t be Cas. That would be crazy - like, dingo ate my baby, crazy.

“Could be at the bar,” the hostess says flippantly, tilting her head to the crowded area. “Most of ‘em don’t check in.”

James’s lips press together. “Thank you,” he says to the hostess, his tone clipped. “I’ll wait there.”

Dean steps in front of him before James can get lost in the throng of people. “I heard you’re lookin’ for me,” he says with a confidence that’s only 99% bullshit.

James blinks. “You?”

“Dean Winchester, at your service,” he says, spreading his arms wide.

“Dean,” he echoes, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s body, drinking him in with his new eyes.

“Gotta say,” Dean drawls as his heart pounds with nerves. Doubt niggles at the back of his mind like an itch he can’t scratch, but he’s already made his memory foam bed. Might as well lie in it. “Cas is the weirdest nickname for James that I’ve ever heard.”

“My full name is James Castiel Novak,” Cas says, flushing. “James - that’s what I go by professionally. My family calls me Castiel.”

Dean can’t hold back his broad grin. “Family, eh?”

Cas’s expression takes a swift dive from embarrassed to mortified. “And friends,” he tacks on. He takes a step closer, staring at Dean’s face in wonder. “But you’re also my soulmate.”

Dean laughs giddily. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t beat around the bush. Not your style.” He jerks his head towards the bar. “I think I see an open seat. You wanna have that talk now?”

Cas hesitates. “Would you like to go to Nine Spheres instead? I’ve had business dinners every evening I’ve been in Chicago so far, and, while the food has been good-”

“It’s not the steakhouse burger?” Dean finishes for him.

The corners of Cas’s mouth turn down into a slight grimace. “Last night, a client treated us to tapas. I woke up starving.”

Dean smiles. “You know I’m always down for that burger.”

“Excellent,” Cas says with relish as he pushes open the door.

They walk onto the street, and it’s almost offensively quiet after the noise of the bar. It’s a balmy Spring evening, the sun still relatively high in the sky.

“You don’t seem disappointed anymore,” Cas says out of nowhere as they reach the end of the block.

So Cas caught on to that, back when they first ran into each other. Dean shrugs. “I just got stood up by the guy I’d specially set up to meet me at 4:01. Wouldn’t you be?”

Cas clears his throat, asking hoarsely, “You wanted it to be me?”

Dean throws him a look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Cas just shrugs. The light changes, and they step off the curb.

“Were you… disappointed?” Dean asks hesitantly.

Cas lets out a surprised laugh. “Of course not. I didn’t even think - well,” he falters, casting a sidelong look at Dean, “I’m not disappointed. Believe me.”

The automatic doors to Nine Spheres open, hitting them with a burst of perfectly conditioned air. Dean hasn’t stepped foot in the hotel since Cas paid for his stay, but it hasn’t changed one bit. The same tiered giant chandelier glitters overhead. Giant pillars bracket the concierge desk to the left and the enormous staircase to the right that leads up to the second floor rooms. The tiled floor, so polished Dean can practically see his reflection, stretches the length of the lobby.

Dean sticks out like a flannel-wearing sore thumb. “Cas,” he hisses, “hold on. I don’t think I’m dressed right for this place.”

Cas sucks in a breath. “No,” he says as Dean’s heart sinks, “I suppose not.” He jerks his head towards the elevator bay. “Room service?”

Dean blinks.

“I’ve called for the burgers on several occasions at other locations,” Cas assures him. “It tastes as good.”

Was Cas actually trying to convince him to go up to his room? What a dumbass. Dean laughs.

Cas colors, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Forget it,” he mutters. “We don’t-”

“You know, if you invite me up to your room,” Dean cuts him off, “you’re going to have a bitch of a time getting me to leave, right?”

Cas stares at him.

“Dude,” Dean says, “I’ve never stayed anywhere this nice in my life. Between the food, the water pressure, and the robe that felt like I was fucking a cloud, I had enough of a hard time leaving last time.”

“I’m glad,” Cas says stiltedly. “We strive to provide the optimal experience to all our guests.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “’M saying, add you to the mix, and they’re gonna have to drag me out of here, kicking and screaming.”

“And if I don’t want you to leave?” Cas asks in an undertone as he pushes the up button for the elevator.

“Then I guess we don’t have a problem,” Dean says, winking.

Cas’s responding grin falls as the doors close behind them and the elevator starts moving. He shakes his head. “It’s a shame there are cameras in here.”

Dean leans in closer, whispering in his ear, “Doesn’t bother me much. Whaddya say to giving the peeping toms a show, then?”

Cas bites his lip, and this close, Dean can see how his eyes have blown black with want. “I - I can’t.”

It’s like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water. Dean steps back, shame filling him. That’s fine. He can regroup. Hopefully Cas will be more receptive behind closed doors. It’s not the first time this has happened, anyway.

“Dean, I have to work with these people every day,” Cas hisses, wringing his hands. “The last time an executive got… busy with a coworker in the pool, the mocking didn’t end for weeks. Not to mention her rebuke from upper management.” He throws Dean a desperate look. “I would like for you to be fully clothed by the time you meet my coworkers for the first time.”

Cas is already planning for Dean to meet his people?

The elevator dings, and Cas steps out. “Are you coming?” he asks hesitantly.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says quickly. As he follows Cas down the maze of rooms, he has to ask, “You were planning on introducing me to your coworkers?”

Cas’s cheeks pink. “Unless you were opposed to it,” he mutters as he stops in front of Room 1518. He sighs, making no move to insert his keycard. Instead, he lifts his head to meet Dean’s gaze squarely. “I’ve put in a transfer request to Chicago.”

“What?”

“It was before I knew you were my soulmate,” Cas says quickly. “I’ve never felt like I fit in in California, and my parents live in Pontiac. The Chicago office is decently large, and, well, I knew you were here,” he says, his voice going quiet near the end. He straightens. “So there were many reasons.”

“You’re staying?” Dean says, his mouth dry.

Cas bobs a nervous nod. “I hope that’s okay.”

Dean grins. “Sure is.”

Cas touches the inside of his wrist, his expression turning almost shy. “Of course, when I first pictured introductions, it was strictly as a friend. I don’t really know anyone else in this city well, and I’ve told you about my difficulty in social situations, so it would’ve been more for moral support than anything else. But after this evening -”

Dean interrupts his rambling. “Are there cameras in the hallway?”

“What- oh,” Cas says, his eyes flicking down to Dean’s lips before back up again. “Yes?” He points. “They’re all the way down there, though, so they can’t -”

Dean cuts him off with a heated kiss.

#destiel #fanfic #destiel fanfic #soulmates au #businessman Castiel #mechanic Dean #profoundnet #rae writes fic #i post something new every Sunday #this one kind of got away from me #but hopefully in a good way #deancas #deancas fanfic

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jjkpls · 4 years ago

Text

set your world alight (m)

genre : fluff, smut, tiny lil bit of angst

pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

word count : 24k (eye-)

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

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

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

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

“No, it won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

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

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

But you don’t. Obviously, you don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“You’re so mean.”

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

“I don’t know, Tae.”

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

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

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

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

“Romania.”

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

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

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

A real joy.

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

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

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

It’s ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

“You do.”

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

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

An easy escape you’ve come up with.

Everyone needs those.

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Mrs Umbridge!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of her words successfully reach you to stick around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeon Jungkook?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I have my dragons to exercise. Sorry.”

“Oh. It’s ok.” It is not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When have I ever-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[“Oh. Holy Dumbledore!”

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

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

[“It’s him. It’s fucking him!”]

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

[“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

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

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

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

“Oh, Merlin's beard.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now he is here.

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

“Hi. Do you mind if I sit here ?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's a lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I finished early, and um-"

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

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

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

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

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

You really like him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe not this part."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I should probably go."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They are. You should meet them."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tina. You'll meet her tomorrow."

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

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

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

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

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

And what the fuck is going on, now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need to focus on the pets.

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

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

Therefore you grant him a glance.

“I’m fine, Jungkook. Really.”

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

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

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

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

“How uncomfortable?”

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

“Is it dangerous?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's cosy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck, what- ah!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, they can be real brats sometimes."

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you?"

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

"Oh, I have those?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not enough.”

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

“Touch me here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s perfect pleasure, pure satisfaction.

But of course, you’re human.

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t have you on this bed.”

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

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

You want to cry.

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

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

“But you sleep on it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You never told me that?”

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

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

“Yes- uhm-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wish you didn’t have a class-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s right. This fucker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two...?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

« Thanks for earlier. »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“Liar.”

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

Your airy smile flatters until it disappears completely.

Way to ruin the mood.

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

Obviously.

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

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

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

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

“Does it matter now, Jungkook?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Smooth."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But another time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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itslieutenanthawkeye · 3 years ago

Text

Three Firsts

Day 2 of Jeankasa Week 2021: First Kiss

Ao3

There are different types of first kisses: The one at the beginning of a relationship. The one to seal a relationship forever. The one to welcome a new life into a relationship.

Another nightmare. Three years, and they haunted him at least thrice a week –the faces of his fallen comrades, the millions of children stomped into the ground, the thousands of families left without a home to return to. He faced them in his nightmares; they accused him of not having seen the signs in Eren earlier, they accused him for not running after him the day he’d left, for not forcing him to tell Mikasa -once and for all- how he felt about her.

Perhaps this was why he’d become so dead set with Armin’s ideals of peace. He wanted to help the world and the island, yes, but above all, Jean wanted absolution.

“Jean,” a voice called, and in the crowd of millions pointing fingers at him, Jean recognized it immediately. His friends’ voices anchored him to sanity, but this particular voice was also anchored in his heart. “Jean, wake up.”

Jean came back onto his senses. He’d fallen asleep at his study table in the royal library, where most of them spent their time now that the negotiations had started. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and stretched against the chair; budgeting wasn’t his forte…nor was it to try and convince a rich western president to spare scraps for the refugees. But Armin had trusted him with the tasks and Jean couldn’t let him down. Besides, he didn’t have the heart to leave all the work to his negotiations partner, who had surprised them all with her abilities with numbers.

“Hey,” Mikasa said to his right, reaching out to graze his arm with the palm of her hand. Jean jolted in his seat, confused at the sight of her. Mikasa drew her hand away and recoiled, and he wanted to slap himself in the face for his stupid reaction. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“No, I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice.” He hurried to say. Mikasa’s lips formed an O and nodded, looking more relieved that he hadn’t been terrified of seeing her. Jean smiled, noticing her rucksack lying on the table…and the empty tables around. “What time is it?”

“Midnight, almost.”

“Huh?” Jean said, rubbing his eyes. “What are you doing here? Wasn’t Armin leaving at six today?”

Mikasa shook her head. “He left at five,” she corrected, giving him a sideways glance. “I was waiting for you to wake up. I didn’t want you to walk back alone.”

Jean’s heart leaped in his chest, and he pictured a small rabbit bouncing inside his torso. He shouldn’t be surprised, his mind reminded his heart. They’d exchanged letters before his arrival, they’d been comrades at arms in the battlefield, they’d stopped the end of the world together. Of course, she would be concerned about him. That didn’t mean she felt anything special for him.

Friendship love was still love. He didn’t aspire to anything else. Five months had passed since their arrival, and he was content with just spending time by her side, seeing her smile come onto her more and more naturally.

“Buses aren’t running anymore, are they?” Jean guessed.

“Last one must be leaving now. Historia took the last royal car about an hour ago,” Mikasa said, looking at the pocket watch Armin had brought for her from the continent. “It’s going to be a long walk back.”

Jean sighed and gave her an apologetic look. Historia had given them rooms in one of the newest buildings in the district, with beautiful views of the countryside and rivers and only a fifteen minute drive away from her own residence…and a whole hour walk away from the royal palace. “I’m sorry, Mikasa. You shouldn’t have waited for me.”

“It’s alright.” Mikasa replied, coming to her feet, grabbing the pink cardigan she’d laid out on her table. “We need to get going, though, before all the drunk people come out of the pubs.”

“Allow me,” he said, standing from his chair and taking the cardigan from her hands. She blinked up at him, almost startled, and Jean had to chuckle. “Turn around, please.”

She did as he requested, and Jean helped her put her arms into the sleeves, then flattened the wrinkled fabric on her shoulders. Mikasa looked at him over her shoulder, locking her eyes with his for a moment that stretched an eternity. “Thank you,” she whispered, her low voice creating a pocket universe around them even in the empty room.

“We need to get going,” Jean said, clearing his throat and reaching out to grab her backpack from the table. He focused on the books he’d laid out and began stuffing them in her bag. “Can I put these books in here? I’ll carry it for you. Mine’s already full.”

“I can carry it.”

Jean shook his head. “No, let me. I’m the one that’s taking all these books home.”

“We’re both working the budgets, Jean, I can carry my own backpack.”

“I can do it.”

Mikasa pressed her hand against the paper he’d been about to stash away, stopping him midmotion, narrowing her eyes as if examining a new life organism. “Are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Not a ghost, but the outlines of his desire for her, which he’d worked so hard to suppress the past months. The impulse of kissing her overcame him whenever they did their runs to Historia’s orphanages, whenever he saw her smile and play with little Ymir and her friends (who loved clinging to her three at a time, since they knew she was the strongest around), when she was focused doing calculations he was too dumb to understand…when she spoke to him.

She’d grown so talkative the past month. At first, it had only been with him and Armin. But the more time passed, the more he noticed her opening to people. The other night, he’d seen her having dinner with Pieck, Hitch, and Annie. From their table, he and Armin had heard her laugh alongside for something Pieck had said about Annie. Later that very night, she’d walked back to their apartments with him, talking about the littlest matters and court gossip Historia filtered down to them whenever she felt bored.

Being her friend was his most precious treasure, and Jean didn’t want to ruin it by putting his romantic love for her first.

“I’m fine,” Jean replied, turning to look at her after a deep breath, counting to ten as he always did whenever he felt the urge to kiss her. The curiosity in her deep eyes pierced through him, and in the enclosed space, Jean’s almost felt as if an invisible force drew his body to hers. He straightened before he got any closer, clearing his throat yet again, ignoring the pink tint of her cheeks. “We need to get going.”

_________________________________

In the end, she hadn’t let him carry her backpack for her. He seemed tired enough as things were, and a couple of extra pounds on his back would do nothing to help his health. He ate well enough, but he never got many hours of sleep, and it concerned Mikasa. She wanted to wake him up before, at eleven, when Historia had sent her errand boys to let her know the last car was leaving the royal library…but he’d looked so cozy on the chair, she hadn’t had the heart to wake him. She’d decided to wake him until the nightmares started, certain they would catch the night bus.

Not that she didn’t enjoy walking the whole way back with him. They’d done it plenty of times these months, when their work extended long hours into the night. In most occasions, they’d walked back in a group, accompanied by the banter of Pieck and Reiner, or by Connie’s longing remarks for his girlfriend at the continent.

Besides, she’d taken a liking to dinner with Annie, Pieck and Hitch the past couple of days.

All in all, it had been a while since the last time it’d been the two of them alone on the road home. She liked being alone around Jean; his presence gave her reassurance. At first, it had been like a firm, sturdy ship that had pulled her out of a sea of monsters and terribly high waves crawling with corpses. But now he was a tree; a tall tree overflowing with beautiful ripe fruit, perfect words for any situation, with astonishingly wide branches to cover her from the searing pain of guilt and grief.

It had taken a while for his roots to take hold in her heart. But they were there, growing deeper with each day, cementing themselves further and further into her soul.

She’d felt this before, when her first home had been ripped away from her, when that little boy with the green eyes had reached out to her and offered her a new one. Back then, they’d been surrounded by so much horror that she hadn’t figured out exactly what the boy with the green eyes had meant for her. Now she was an adult, however, well past her first heartbreak, her first lost love. And she recognized the same warmth in her heart whenever she looked into the hazel speckled eyes of the man walking by her side.

“The moon,” she said, pointing at the sky. “It’s really pretty tonight, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Jean said, looking at her instead of the sky. “Are you cold? Do you need my sweater?”

“I’m fine,” Mikasa shook her head and rubbed her hands together. “We just need to walk quicker.”

“I can carry that for you.”

“Jean.”

He hunched his shoulders. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you carry it,” he said with a kind smile. “But if your back is sore tomorrow, don’t blame me.”

“I won’t.”

“Because I’ll tell them the truth, Ackerman,” Jean said, chuckling as she turned to look at him with her brow furrowed. “I’ll tell them you’re as stubborn as the will of kings, three times more stubborn than the queen of Paradis itself…I know, I know what you’re going to say. ‘You’re an idiot, Kirstein’.”

“You are. And you’ve learned from the best,” Mikasa quipped back. “I mean Connie.”

Jean laughed, his voice mingling with the echoes and faint music coming from the pubs around them. Mikasa covered her mouth to laugh; she’d never thought anyone would ever consider her funny…no, she had never thought she would ever feel compelled to tell a joke, or just act her age, ever again.

Her friendship to Jean was her most precious treasure after those three years. Her love for Armin had not wavered, he was still the only family from her past she had left, but Armin would have his own family soon, at the continent. And she couldn’t blame him or force him to stay. She wanted him to move on from the pain, even if that meant leaving her behind.

The thing was, Mikasa didn’t want Jean to leave her behind.

“You look thoughtful.” He pointed out as they passed another pub.

“I’m thinking about Armin,” she replied. “About the wedding.”

“Are you excited about it?”

“Not more than he is.” Mikasa said. “I’m just shocked.”

“Shocked?”

She nodded. “We fought so much against them, the Marley warriors, the titan shifters. And now we’re dining with them, and Armin is marrying Annie.”

“Strange turn of events?”

“It’s weird how life doesn’t go as you imagine it,” Mikasa replied, tilting her head back to look at the moon, its surface rough and damaged, and still the most beautiful sight in the sky. “If you’d asked me five years ago how I imagined my life, I would’ve told you…”

Her voice disappeared gradually as she realized she’d almost mentioned Eren. Jean didn’t mind talking about him; in fact, that’s all they had done the first couple of weeks, reminisce about the past, about their time as soldiers. However, the more time they spent together, the less she liked bringing him in conversation. Why, she didn’t understand. He’d been Eren’s friend, after all.

“You would’ve said you wanted to spend the rest of Eren’s years by his side.” Jean finished saying. “You don’t need to be ashamed to say it. You love him.”

“I loved him.” She corrected, not wanting to look at Jean. Her love for Eren was there, of course, but there was only so much love she could give a dead man. “And you’re right. That’s what I would’ve said…and I would’ve had no idea of what to do afterwards. That would’ve been the end of the line for me. I never thought I’d be alive after Eren’s death.”

“What do you think you’d say now?” Jean asked. There was no hidden message in his words, just genuine interest for her wellbeing, for assurance that she would not drown in grief again, as they’d found her upon their return. “If someone asked you how you imagine your future now, what would you say?”

“I’d say I want to keep living,” she said, with much more certainty than what she’d expected. “I want to keep living with you guys. I want to see little Ymir at school. I want to be at Armin’s wedding, and at Connie’s wedding. I want to keep hearing Hitch’s jokes. I want to keep walking home with you after work and make dinner together.”

“I wanna keep making dinner with you too.” Jean replied, with the longing look she’d come to recognize so well the past few weeks.

Mikasa brought her hands up to her face to blow hot air into her palms, hoping the gesture would cover the color in her cheeks, thinking perhaps she could blame the cold, if he asked, or if he stared too much –he did tend to stare at her every now and then.

“Hey. The skin in your fingers is cracking,” Jean said. He grabbed her hands to examine them, stopping in front of another pub. “I know you’re saying you want to keep living, but catching a cold isn’t precisely going in that direction.”

“Are you going to scold me like a kid for forgetting my gloves?” Mikasa asked, her gaze threatening to turn into a glare.

Jean gave her a playful smile. He brought out a set of bandages from his pockets and began wrapping her fingers with the soft fabric. “Exactly. Papa doesn’t like when children forget their winter clothes, especially when it’s starting to snow.”

Mikasa snorted again. “You’re such an idiot. Please don’t call yourself papa.”

Jean laughed, and they wrapped themselves once again in their little universe. It happened often, when they cooked, gossiped about the court or simple when they worked their budgeting books in the library. One look from either of the two, and they became separate entities from the reality around them, with their attention solely on the other. It was a nice little trick they had; it was what had turned this friendship of theirs into her treasure.

“Put my gloves on, please,” he said, putting them in her hands. “I don’t want you hurt.”

“Jean, a cold isn’t deadly.”

“Still.” He said, his face growing serious. “I don’t want to see you hurting.”

Mikasa opened her mouth to say something, but the crowd coming from the pub to their right was louder. A group of twenty people or so, all their age, surrounded them in a circle of drunken laughter and cheers, their voices too loud for her liking, their faces red and bodies oblivious to the snow that had started falling from the sky. A man older than the rest had a violin in his hands, and despite his efforts to play the cheery little melody, Mikasa and Jean cringed at the dissonant sound from his strings.

“We need to get home. They’re not dangerous, but they’re too loud.” She told him, huddling closer to him. Jean put a hand on the back of her head and the other to her waist, as if to shield her from the crowd. A group of girls pulled the violinist to an empty stretch of street. The man, emboldened by being in front of the crowd, stood on a bench near him and played even more passionately.

Jean turned to look at her, laughing. “He’s really bad, isn’t he?”

Mikasa felt her chest moving in laughter. She closed her eyes as another set of high notes pierced the night. “He’s awful,” she laughed, huddling closer as two couples began to jump nearby. She opened her eyes, cringing still. “Take me home, please.”

Her eyes met the hazel in his; he was staring at her again. There were snowflakes on his hair and face, and his cheeks were more blushed than the cheeks from the people around them. She felt herself relax in his arms and the stupid little tune from the violin became muffled in her ears. “You have snowflakes,” she pointed out, lifting herself up on the tip of her toes to run her thumb along his eyebrows.

She traced a line with her finger down his jawline, wondering when he’d grown into such manly shapes. He leaned in, barely half a centimeter, and her body took that as all the invitation she needed. Mikasa grabbed his face with both hands and touched his lips with hers, moving them in an awkward, simple motion she’d seen other people her age do.

She thought he would push her away that second he held his breath; she thought he would reject her advance, tell her he saw her as nothing more than a friend –a possibility that, she was shocked to realize, made her feel as if an iron fist squeezed the blood out of her heart.

But after that moment of initial shock, Jean wrapped her waist with his arms and lifted her in the air, kissing her as a longtime lover. Whoops and cheers surrounded them, and the violinist stopped playing for the blessed seconds their lips moved against each other.

He put her on the ground and pressed his forehead against hers once they’d finished, catching his breath while the drunken crowd clapped and cheered. He closed her eyes and so did Mikasa, both at a loss for words of what they’d done.

“Oi!” the violinist shouted, and the crowd quieted around him. “Aren’t you the Ackerman girl? The titan-killer? Stronger than a thousand men?”

Mikasa tensed in his arms; she was accustomed to being antagonized by some groups in the island, but she’d hoped the alcohol would keep them from recognizing her. She didn’t like the idea of getting into trouble with Jean there.

“Yes,” Mikasa said, lowering Jean’s arm, which he’d begun wrapping around her protectively. If this was going to be an argument, she didn’t want them to antagonize Jean. “I am. Why?”

The violinist smiled, playing an out-of-tune chord in excitement. “I knew I recognized ya! I didn’t know you had a sweetheart!” he shouted happily. “I saw you in Trost! You saved our lives and you were just a little teenage kid! I never thought I’d see the day I’d see you happy and married.”

“Oh,” Mikasa said, relaxing. “We’re not married yet.”

“Yet?” Jean asked suddenly.

“That’s a lovely sweetheart you’ve got there, boy. Take good care of her or she might as well will rip your balls off,” the violinist half-shouted, half-laughed, putting his instrument under his chin and bowing in their direction. “For the happy couple.”

“For the happy couple!” the crowd cheered on. The violinist resumed playing –or rather, he resumed murdering the song— and the crowd resumed their celebration, forgetting about them as soon as another couple began kissing. Mikasa pulled him by the shirt, leading him into an emptier street. They stood under the shadow of a tall building, away from the crowd but near enough to still hear the violin, although this time the song didn’t sound quite as bad.

“They didn’t take anything from your backpack, did they?” she said, clutching on the floor to inspect hers.

“Did-did you say yet?” Jean managed to stammer. Mikasa looked up at him, and a smile came to her at his shocked expression. It was just so easy to smile when he was around. “Did you say we’re not married yet?”

“You’re going to get a nosebleed, Kirstein.”

Jean laughed and dropped his backpack next to hers; he clutched, close enough that she smelled his cologne. He inspected the contents of his bag for a brief second and then gave her another look. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Do you want to?” Mikasa said.

“I’ve wanted to for a whole month now. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, though, Mikasa. Just tell me to fuck off if I’m being pushy.” He said in an urgent whisper. The raw intent of his words took her breath away; he’d grown into such a good man, he’d become such a good friend. She couldn’t deny him another kiss. No. It wasn’t that she couldn’t deny him a kiss.

She just wanted another kiss. From him. Not anyone else. “You’re not.” Mikasa said, cradling his face with both of her hands. “Your kiss did wonders to cheer up the night.”

_________________________________

Mikasa waited for the music to begin while tapping her slipper on the cobblestones, ripping another flower petal off the bouget to rob its soft surface. At this point, she’d walk in with nothing but skinny branches in her hands. She fanned herself with the bouquet, thinking should’ve cut her hair beforehand; It was late spring, but the heatwaves were already upon them. Her dress was light enough, but Mikasa guessed the nerves were playing against her.

He liked her hair long, though. And she loved feeling his hands running through it.

“Are they ready yet?” she asked Armin the moment he walked around the corner.

“Historia’s ready,” Armin said, then scratched the back of his head. “Jasper is tuning the instrument.”

“We’re just signing those documents,” Mikasa said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her back against the wall. “None of this has to be this grand…he can just play that silly little tune of his and be done with it.”

“Weren’t you the one who got insisted on getting this violinist guy? You went all the way into the inner districts to find him. Something about it being special?” Armin said, arching an eyebrow. Mikasa gave him an icy look, but that didn’t erase the knowing smile on his face. “You’re going to get your dress stained against that wall.”

She straightened and turned around, allowing Armin to shake the dust of the back of it, her eyes set on the birds flying overhead. “Was he nervous?”

“He had to change his suit twice from sweating so much.”

Mikasa lowered her head to snort. “I’m not surprised.”

“Turn around,” Armin asked. Mikasa did as he requested and allowed him to wrap her up in an embrace; she leaned her face against his shoulder and took a deep breath, steadying herself. Her feet had been trembling in anticipation for a good hour. “I’m so happy you get to smile like this.”

“Me too.” She said, coming apart from him, tucking her hair behind her ears. Soft, mellow notes drifted to them from inside the greenhouse Historia had provided for them and Armin gave her an excited smile.

Mikasa sighed in relief; the violinist had assured her he was good when sober and she hadn’t doubted him, and she was glad Connie had kept him from any pubs until the ceremony. She wouldn’t have minded to hear the same stupid tune from their first night together, but the prospect of queen Historia officiating a wedding ceremony with a drunken violinist…Connie aand Reiner would’ve found it hilarious, to be fair.

“Are you ready?” Armin asked, offering her his arm. Mikasa looked at the birds once more before focusing on her childhood friend.

“Yes.” She said, intertwining her arm with his. Armin kissed her cheek and looked away to wipe a stray tear from his cheek against his shoulder, Mikasa guessed. “Thank you, Armin. I love you.”

It was so easy to tell the people she loved that she loved them. He’d done that for her; he had managed to open her constricted heart by just being there with her. He’d saved her from herself in such a kind, gentle way, and it was something she would forever be grateful for. It was one of the many thousand reasons why she’d fallen in love with him.

She felt like a giddy schoolgirl by seeing him at the end of the hallway, hands clasped in front of him, staring at her with tears in his eyes. The feeling grew as her friends turned to look at her, all smiling, even Levi. And while she knew her head ought to have focused on happiness, Mikasa was reminded of all the horrible things they’d seen together as Armin walked her down the aisle. All the people that were missing in that crowd of friends, people they would never see again.

It made her wonder. what was it about her that was so special? What was it about her existence that had given her the right to keep living, make new friends, fall in love with this wonderful, perfect man waiting for her at the altar…why was her heart so full of happiness now. Why couldn’t she share this happiness and her love for Jean with Sasha, Hange, Mina, Marco, Eren?

“Hey,” Jean whispered as Armin let go of her arm. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the matter?”

Mikasa lowered her head. “Not everyone’s here to celebrate with us.”

“They are here.” Jean said. “They’re all watching over us.”

He took her arm in his gently, not to lead her to the altar, but to hold her steady. He’d noticed her change of expression, a change not even Armin at her side had seen. And, putting his own desires aside -as always when it came to her-, he spoke in the low, caring voice she adored so much. “We don’t have to do this right now, Mika.”

“I want to.”

“Are you sure?” Jean asked. “If you want to call it off—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Her hand went up to caress his cheek. “I love you.”

He smiled at her, looking as charming as the princes from little Ymir’s fairytales, awakening that childish giddiness in her heart that had escaped her so quickly at the thought of her fallen comrades. “I love you too, Mika. But I mean it, if you don’t feel—”

She kissed him in the lips for a long couple of seconds, uncaring about the curious gazes from their friends on the seats. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. It’s been like that for a while. It’ll be like that forever,” she whispered in between kisses. “It’s time we make it official.”

Historia cleared her throat from the other side of the altar, and she and Jean turned to look at her serious gaze. A childish giggle echoed across the place, and Mikasa guessed that was little Ymir, delighted to see someone other than herself had gotten in trouble with her mother. “You’re not supposed to have your first wedding kiss yet.”

“Let’s go,” Jean whispered. “She’s gonna bring firing squads back.”

“I heard that.” Historia replied, not without a hint of annoyance. Mikasa giggled, intertwining her arm with Jean.

“Are you sure?” he asked her in a low voice as they finish making their way to the altar.

“I told you before, haven’t I?” she said without looking at him. “Your kissing works wonders.”

_________________________________

Jean knew he shouldn’t have left for the coastal towns with the welcoming party for the Hizuru commission at this point. But she’d insisted. And she was as stubborn as the will of kings.

Luckily, the little influence he had had gotten him an overnight train ride. And then, he’d found a horse. Few people used horses at the island anymore, but it’d been the quickest way to avoid the traffic of the newly built roads. And since he couldn’t take a horse into the grounds of the royal hospital, Jean had had to run.

He stumbled into the hospital room with sweat running down his forehead, hair sticking to the nape of his neck despite his ponytail, out of breath, but just in time. Armin was at her bedside, his face purple due to the pain of having his hand being squeezed by her.

“You’re here!” Mikasa sighed at the sight of him, then looked at Armin. “Make room for him.”

“I’ll let your mom know you’re here, Jean.” Armin informed him, running out of the room. Something in Jean suspected he was just relieved to have the chance to get some ice for his hand.

He ran to her bedside, brushing hair away from her flushed face. “How much longer?” he asked, his chest aching from seeing her twisting on the bed from the pain.

Mikasa cringed as another contraction came over. “You came just in time.”

He kissed her forehead. “Is it bad?”

“I could say I’ve felt worse,” Mikasa said, closing her eyes as her pain increased. “But I’d be lying.”

“You’re perfect,” he said, kissing her forehead one more time. “I wish I could do this for you.”

“You’d be crying like a baby by now, Kirstein, you and I know that.” She teased, and Jean laughed in relief. If she had energy to give him snarky, serious remarks, she would be fine.

“Ah, this is dad?” a woman he guessed was a physician asked, coming in the room escorted by two young nurses. Mikasa nodded, and the doctor acknowledged Jean with a polite nod. “You made it just in time, sir, she’s all ready to push.”

Jean swallowed hard, exchanging a look with Mikasa, noticing fear in her face for the first time in a long time. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “You can do it.”

“I know I can,” Mikasa said, taking a breath through her mouth. “Just hold my hand through it.”

He took her hand into his and suppressed his squeal of pain when she began pushing, thinking he would look like a complete dumbass if he complained from some hand squeezing when his wife was giving birth right in front of his eyes. Despite her quiet nature, it didn’t take long for her to start screaming as their child came out of her, and Jean could only whisper encouraging, love-filled words to her as she brought forth the life they’d created. The life she’d grown and carried for a whole nine months.

Jean had never thought his love for her could grow larger, but he’d clearly been mistaken, he thought as Mikasa crumbled back onto her chair and tiny little squeals filled the room. The physician and two nurses began cleaning their child, and Jean fell to his knees at the side of her bed. “Are you okay?” he asked, kissing the hand that had almost broken his just a moment ago.

Mikasa nodded, kissing him once on the lips. “And our baby?”

“She’s fine! A perfect, healthy baby girl!” the doctor announced, bringing her over to them wrapped in a yellow-colored blanket. “Want to hold her first, dad?”

“Let mom have the honors,” Jean replied, staring in awe at the tiny human crying in the doctor’s arms. “She just did all the work, didn’t she?”

The doctor placed their baby in Mikasa’s arms, who grabbed one of her tiny hands and kissed it while making shooshing noises. Jean stared, mouth wide open, at the sight of his wife and his child. Two perfect beings living comfortably in a peaceful world; his family, all he’d ever wanted. He swallowed hard, wondering what he’d done to deserve such a beautiful, perfect sight, what he’d done to deserve to be loved back by her.

Jean looked away, wiping the tears spilling down his eyes with the back of his hand as their daughter fell asleep at the sound of Mikasa’s voice. “Hey, dad,” she called gently. “Come see her, don’t cry.”

He leaned forward on the bed, and Mikasa kissed his cheek, using one of her hands to wipe his eyes. “She’s so beautiful. Look, she has your black hair,” he whimpered, running a careful finger across her soft arm. She gave him another smile, the type of smile he’d grown so accustomed to see these past years, a smile that people had doubted it even existed during their years at war. “Mikasa, I love you two so much.”

“I love you too,” she whispered while kissing his neck. “I love you so very fucking much.”

“Hey, language,” he said, kissing her lips and then grabbing their baby’s tiny hand again, speaking with a silly, childish tone of voice he’d heard other fathers use with their newborns. “We’re gonna need to get a swear jar or something. Mom and uncle Levi will fill that one up nicely.”

“Want to give her a kiss?” Mikasa asked.

Jean nodded eagerly, leaning forward to give her a small peck on the top of her tiny forehead; their baby stirred in her sleep, and it didn’t take long for her to begin crying. “It’s okay, Jean. Don’t be scared. Do you want hold her?”

“I’m fucking shaking here, I’ll drop her.”

“Language, Kirstein.” She reminded him, faking that serious expression from her teenage years. “Give her another kiss, come on.”

“She’s going to cry.”

“Just do it?” Mikasa said. “I want to see something.”

Jean sighed and leaned in to place a peck on her daughter’s cheeks, copying Mikasa’s shooshing noises as he neared her. Soon after his lips touched her, their baby quieted down again, closing her eyes as she settled against her mother’s breast. “Hey, how did you know that was going to happen?”

“She’s just like her mom,” Mikasa said, setting her eyes on the baby girl they’d created, the baby girl they would pour their love onto for the rest of their lives. “Your kisses do wonders to cheer up the women in this family. Remember that.”

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