#but it's always wild to me just how big of an effect the weather actually has because if it doesn't rain for a while I forget it does this

[thethingything]

it's raining at the moment and I always forget how much the weather affects us physically. like when it's rainy we get so lethargic in such a specific way and you can feel it in your joints and bones

[midwestbramble]

Backwoods Witchcraft Book Review

I have always had a curiosity of how other live. I am not personally Appalachian, though I have ancestors who lived in those mountains for over a century before moving west. This book caught my interest in both ways. Maybe to learn something about the way my ancestors may have lived and also just some good old folk magic from another region. I originally read this book when it came out and I am expanding on a book review I did for Pagan and Witches Amino at that time. That book review is no longer on that app though you can find it on Good Reads under a different name.

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Contents:

Synopsis

What I Liked

What I Didn't Like

Overall Thoughts

Conclusion

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Published 2019

"In Backwoods Witchcraft, Jake Richards offers up a folksy stew of family stories, lore, omens, rituals, and conjure crafts that he learned from his great-grandmother, his grandmother, and his grandfather, a Baptist minister who Jake remembers could 'rid someone of a fever with an egg or stop up the blood in a wound.' The witchcraft practiced in Appalachia is very much a folk magic of place, a tradition that honors the seen and unseen beings that inhabit the land as well as the soil, roots, and plant life.

The materials and tools used in Appalachian witchcraft are readily available from the land. This 'grounded approach' will be of keen interest to witches and conjure folk regardless of where they live. Readers will be guided in how to build relationships with the spirits and other beings that dwell around them and how to use the materials and tools that are readily available on the land where one lives."

-from the back of the book

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What I Liked

This book starts broad and then narrows down to the work. Richards starts with the land, which if you've been around my blog you'll know that speaks to my heart. He talks about how the seasons and terrain effect the weather and how people live, including the why of people practicing this folk magic. He talks about the way the oil companies have changed the land, gives advice on how to connect to the land that are helpful for those who aren't in Appalachia as well, and actually encourages you to GO OUT experience and learn from the land. Not just learn from books and other people. One of the ways he says you can connect to the land is learning about your ancestry, if they've lived there for a long time. I love this idea and, looking back, when I was doing genealogical research myself and learned that my grandmother's family was from the area I had been living in I felt SO much more connected, even finding my great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents' graves. Knowing that they had walked the same trails I had been walking unbeknownst to me was wild.

An important factor he talks about is that in Appalachia there is a difference between a witch and your average folk practitioner (which he calls a healer or doctor). I think a lot of us forget that just because you practice magic wouldn't have made people automatically believe you were a witch, and still today. Context, connection to community, and the type of works you do is a big factor.

There is so much spirit work in this book. A lot of working with the dead in particular, especially in graveyards. I enjoyed learning about the cultural things they do in the graveyard for the dead, and was able to see some similarities in how I grew up. Not just the dead but also working with animal spirits and how to respect them, a very insightful section. And there's talk about the little people of Appalachia, called Yunwi Tsunsdi by the Cherokee, and different stories of encounters and the best way to handle meeting them, or keeping them away.

Richards acknowledges the Cherokee influence on the practice of this folk magic, from superstitions and beliefs to plants used in specific ways. It's important to recognize when a marginalized community has had influence on our culture. Doing otherwise is just erasing their presence, and for Native Americans that's even shittier since this is their ancestral land.

Of course, I have to talk about the gardening and wildcrafting! He talks in depth about gardening by the signs and also using them for knowing the best time to get a haircut, for example. This is something my great-grandparents did. My grandpa told me they would hang an Old Farmer's Almanac calendar in the kitchen that told them when the signs where in the best place for different things. The harvesting also reminded me of things I've learned from my grandpa. Different signs and omens when harvesting can foretell misfortune or even weather conditions. And when you're life depends on what you can grow, that's a big deal.

I'm a sucker for old folk practices, they tend to be things people not from the area or with more "modern" sensibilities would pause at. Like the time my grandpa gave me a turkey beard to put under the truck seat of "the guy you like" (grandpa didn't know I didn't have a crush on anyone). This book is, of course, chock full of folk practices along a similar vein (though not that one in particular), like buying warts. Though this book focuses more on the formulas that are followed than specific workings themselves, though you will find those as well.

There's a specific section as well that focuses on different forms of divination common to the Appalachian mountains. One of them being reading playing cards, and it reminded me of learning to read them when I was a kid. This book is basically nostalgia for me, I'm realizing.

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What I Didn't Like

Richards makes the claim that the Cherokee are the only tribe in America that don't live on a reservation. This isn't accurate. I know this for a fact because there is a Native American settlement near me that is NOT a reservation, and they are quick to correct you. Maybe he meant that they never had a reservation or are the most well know? I'm not sure, it could be a wording issue.

He also seems to have a misunderstanding of how Catholics view saints. At least when I was growing up in a Catholic household, we viewed them as intermediaries or advisors not spiritual beings with more power than the average human. You choose a saint upon confirmation as someone to look up to and aspire to live like (I had chosen Joan of Arc). Though this is a common misunderstanding among protestants, I have noticed. The way he works with saints in the book is the way my mom views them, anyway.

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Overall Thoughts

I love this book. It really made me think about what I saw growing up and how we do things differently or similar. Whether or not you are in Appalachia, this book can give you some advice and maybe jog some thinking on the folk practices around you that maybe you never noticed. It is Christian. The folk practices in Appalachia use Psalms and call on saints and prophets, among other Christian iconography. There's a lot you can get out of it still if you aren't Christian (such as myself).

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Conclusion

There is magic all around us if we know where to look. Reading about where others have found it in their own lives can help us to see it around us too. Just make sure you go out and interact with it. You can find this book on amazon, Thriftbooks, Google Books, Woodshed, Coyote Supply Co., and more!

[starsailor-kinthepast]

I’m actually considering being either hearted with or identifying as a species of basal human! I’m not sure but I think It’s either australopithecus or paranthropus. Would you mind talking about your experiences being a neanderthal, and what it’s like emotionally and behaviorally? What are some “instincts” that come to mind? Basically anything about yourself and your identity I’m interested in! Thankyou for your time :)

This is tricky to answer, since I'm very unsure what parts of me came about because of my identity versus what parts of me caused my identity, but I'll write them out as best I can!

A list of things I associate with/attribute to my otherhumanism is, in no particular order:

Sleeping habits

Sleeping with furs in my bed (I have some sheepskins) makes me insanely euphoric. I have a fake fireplace as well that gives off the perfect light, and I often have nature ambiances playing on my computer. Even then I long for sharing my bed with someone - not in a romantic or sexual way, just to share space and warmth. Back-to-back or front-to-front or anything at all; I've always slept better with someone else near/present. Discord sleep calls have been my saviour so many times before!

Clothes and fashion

Neanderthals weren't big on decorating their clothes, and like many cultures throughout history we only have a few outfits - usually just for cold and hot weather, maybe an extra overcoat for traveling/hunting. I carry much of this over to today, wearing loose clothes and caring very little about what it looks like. Easy and plain is best for me, and bonus points if it's in natural colors like tan or ochre.

Despite not having an eye for details in clothes in that regard, the visually pleasing is still very important! I'm very sensitive to things like symmetry and geometric shapes, as well as high quality of tools.

Physical contact and touch

All my friends go through a "touching" phase. I go from zero to a hundred rather abruptly with people I get close to; with strangers and acquintances I'm very little touchy out of cultural conditioning. Then, the moment I'm more comfortable with someone, I'll start touching them - just little prods at their arms, touching moles or freckles, plucking at their hair, fiddling with their sleeves or fingers. They usually take this in stride, haha. This is very similar to how we act in our families-tribes-caves-clans! Grooming each other, casual closeness, etc.

Ease with the uneasy

Gremlin mode! I'm the wild child that never grew out of the phase; I'll get dirty and crawl on my hands through mud and wilderness, and it feels so much more natural to just live and exist this way. It's the 'gross' and 'weird' habits many modern societies cast aside.

Interest in pre-history

Ancient humans have always been one of my huge interests. Whether this is because of my otherhumanism, or my otherhumanism came about because of it, I have no idea. But it's there, and now it only serves to strengthen/be strengthened by our connection.

As the seasons go...

Every single aspect of me is affected by the seasons. With autumn I feel restless/the need to hunt, to gather, and prepare. With winter I'm lethargic, sleepy, almost dormant in a way. Spring and summer are similar to autumn, I feel the call of nature and the need to harvest, to gather. Weather has a direct effect on me that's more than just heat. This is also connected to my disability, but serves as yet another tie to neanderthals.

To love the wild

Nature is my soulmate more than anything else ever will be. I love the beauty of it, the rawness of it, that we all came from it. With the reverence that comes from living in it, it isn't surprising. It's more than aesthetics for me; it's life, too, and death. It's everything, it's home. Caves are comfort; fire is comfort. I live in the capital nowadays, and it's killing me in slow-motion. I need wild nature as much as I need air.

Living together

As with sleeping, living in the presence of someone else is... essential. This is more connected to all human nature than anything else I've spoken about; homo sapiens, as a rule, are pack animals. This is only heightened for those of us who yearn for a time/place where the same applies. Communal living is just ideal, really. I miss it.

The physical differences

There's less dysphoria related to otherhumanism than other forms of otherkinity, I've experienced, but it's very much still there. My body is too wrong: too tall, too slim, too weak, too straight. This, despite being short and stocky in build. It's been a point of shame for me before, having broad worker hands and un-attractive proportions, but now it's a source of comfort. It brings me closer to what I should look like.

Instincts

The instincts of neanderthals and sapiens are not very different, and I can't exactly pinpoint them. Still, I can say that my hunter-gatherer instincts are stronger than they've ever been before. Most notably is perhaps the way I feel out-of-place among humans when in nature: I pay a different sort of attention to my surroundings. I change. I scan plants, listen for sounds, try to analyze all I hear and see and feel. A survival instinct wakes up: to be on guard, to look for food, to be watchful and aware. I've never known anyone IRL who reacts to nature that way: like a hunter, like someone hunted. It is out of my control and has made me feel very isolated at times.

Thank you for this ask <3 I really appreciate it! I hope this helped somewhat. Feel free to keep me updated on your journey; I'd love to hear from moder otherhumans!

[bahamutgames]

AFTERTHOUGHTS - ROUNDUP ROUND 16

October - November 2024

Alright that's the end of November! We're actually really close to the end of the year and that's wild to me. It feels like it came both incredibly quickly and also insanely slowly. I'm not sure how much gaming I'm gonna get done in December though. I plan on buying Fantasian and that's all I have planned for the whole month lol.

BUT Fantasian isn't even here yet, so let's focus on what I've already played! I'm also gonna slip some stuff in from October I forgot I wanted to talk about! Might as well, right?

And as always, these aren't reviews! Just me throwing up my thoughts onto the internet! Please play anything I talk about if it interests you!

Webfishing (October 11, 2024) - PC

To get us started, it's Webfishing! This game just started popping up on my feed one day. And I thought it was so cute I just had to grab it so I could play with my sibling and friends (I need to play with my friends more actually)

There's a lot to love in Webfishing. I love the graphics, the music is so relaxing (I love the title screen theme), the vibe is incredibly peaceful while still having room to be funny and vibrant with a surprising amount of cute NPCs. I love that it's a social focused game so you can play with friends and even total strangers and just kind of parallel play with them and chat it up. It's super cute! And I love just HOW MUCH there is to do. A super cute character creator, tons of unlocks, tons of fish to get, hidden treasures to find, all the random drinks, the random props to add to the atmosphere, barking and what now, drawing, playing music. So much of this is completely unneeded in a fishing game but it's just SO cute and adds to the overall experience of just having a fun time with people online. Fishing really is beautiful.

I do have some complaints though. For one, I think the game could use a skybox. I think it's really missing a day/night cycle, even if the time of day didn't impact the fish, it's something I think sticks out like a sore thumb. Similarly more weather than just rain could really add to it. I also wouldn't mind additional maps, you're always in the same area no matter what room you enter and it's a GREAT and super cute map, but I think you could make even more super cute maps! And lastly, I actually think the mashing isn't hard enough, and this might be just a me problem cause I'm a crazy masher. But I feel like now one click clears 10 points when reeling in, and for someone like me that just means there's no challenge to fishing anymore.

But regardless it is a SUPER cute game I'd love to play more of ASAP. I got the spectral rod, I have a big gator in my aquarium, and I love my dog girl. But I haven't really played with my friends as much as I'd like so I'd love to fix that soon! There's still tons to do and this game is endlessly charming!

Pokemon TCG Pocket (October 30, 2024) - Mobile

Here's one (kind of) hot off the presses! A brand new phone game I've been playing way more than I'd like to admit! Recently I've been in a HUGE card game craze, but haven't really had the funds to play them much. The only deck I currently have is 1/2 of a Final Fantasy Deck (it's a fire deck I got for free from a convention and I'm so happy to have it I have plans to upgrade it with some stuff when I get more money). So when they announced a free to play smaller version of the Pokemon TCG, of course I was interested!

And this game is pretty dang good! There's a ton here I really like! I like getting to open up booster packs for free, that's always fun even if you don't play games. And I feel like 2 a day is actually shockingly generous for a phone game, especially since you build up the timer things to open bonus packs at a pretty good rate! And of course the art is lovely and it's great to be able to collect and see these cards in a way that doesn't take up space, and I love you can look at them in 3D and some of them even have neat effects. The Wonder Pick is a cute feature, I love that you can make displays and binders of your cards. I think the password system for playing with friends is really nice and simple, it's all set up good. But I think the shining point is actually playing the card game itself! I like that matches are so quick, I think cutting it down to 20 cards works PERFECTLY for quick bite-sized battles. And I love that I can customize and play around with my own decks and strategies, I'll have to upload some of my collection and and my decks later! It's a ton of fun to experiment with different cards in a space where I can try a smaller version of the game for free!

However, while the actual gameplay is probably my favorite part. It's probably also my least favorite part??? Combat in this game can really suck sometimes. I think if you're playing this game currently you probably also have a few random complaints you've built up while playing. Mine boil down to: Too much of this game comes down to coin flips. I am not convinced coin flips in this game are truly 50/50 odds. I've had TONS of opponents pull that Misty card on me, I've seen it work maybe twice. But secondly, and way more annoyingly: EX Cards ruin this game. I think EX cards you have to evolve to are annoying, but manageable and you at least have to earn it. But Stage 1 EX cards? I HATE these things. They are so unfair and if you draw a bad hand, how will you EVER defeat someone running 2 Circle Circuit Pikachu and 2 Zapdos EX? You just can't. And that Mewtwo + Gardevoir combo is INSANE! I know Mewtwo discards 2 energy when it does the attack, but that's clearly not enough. Me? I personally have taken a hard stance already against EX cards and have removed ALL of them from my decks. They are not fun to fight, they are not fun to win with. So I won't be using them. More power to you if you do, but I'm good. My last complaint is that Fire Types suck and I can't use Charizard because of this. What a horrible oversight, fix it.

There's other nitpicky stuff like no trading and I think the icon selection is miserable (let me use any card art??) But I know a lot of this is probably growing pains from an app that JUST came out. I'll give it some grace while it finds its footing, cause the game for sure is still a ton of fun!

Work Time Fun (December 22, 2005) - PSP

This is a little game that was introduced to me by a friend of mine while we were hanging out and now it's kind of become a new obsession of mine. If you've never heard of Work Time Fun, the simplest way I can describe it is "shitty Warioware". You play horribly unfun minigames for horribly long amounts of time to get horrible pay so you can buy horrible prizes. It sounds awful but... I absolutely love it. I wouldn't say it's fun in a traditional sense but it can be oddly fun to just waste time with mundane tasks (like I genuinely enjoy the 5 fingers game) and the whole crazy and chaotic energy of the game makes it incredibly enjoyable. It's an anti-game but it's actually so charming and fun anyway.

The game is so short and simple that I don't really have much to say on it in specific. I like the visuals and how everything is drawn in different styles, sometimes even using real photos (like the most hilarious: the save file screen which uses a photo of a trash filled car for no reason.) The minigames are stupid and short but they're all just fun enough to keep me coming back. And again the whole premise and atmosphere is what makes it great. Getting emails from total strangers talking to you like friends, the game acting like you're working real jobs, collecting useless garbage out of vending machines. From more minigames, to silly tools like the amazing Ramen Timer (really works!), and even completely garbage knickknacks. It's just, funny! And I can't even get the full experience because I can't do the multiplayer stuff like "outsourcing work to friends??" whatever that means.

The only REAL complaints I have, because it's a little silly to complain about a game meant to be bad. Is that it's annoying you have to wait for the minigame of your choice to show up in a selection of 4. The more you unlock, the lower chances you have of pulling something you actually want to play. But it's whatever. Not a big deal.

Before I wrap this section up I just want to say that this game NEEDS a new entry. I don't think Sony would be able to make something with the same energy nowadays sadly. And I wouldn't want an indie version of it to be like, horror and / or meta filled. But I know SOMEONE can do it. Maybe it's me? Maybe it's you? I think WTF would work SO well as a phone game, I've been playing this PSP one on my phone and it's a blast. But having a new one that can actually be updated to add more awful games and more weird prizes as the game goes on, as well as being able to take advantage of all the stuff phones can do nowadays (like tracking steps, maybe even location stuff??? idk) I think there's LIMITLESS potential for a Work Time Fun Reboot.

Donkey Kong Land 1-3 (June 26, 1995 - October 27, 1997) - Gameboy

So I actually tried to play DKL1 a while back. But it was not hitting, so I decided I wouldn't bother unless it got on NSO with rewind. Well, it happened. So now I have to put my money where my mouth is. I'll give a little rundown on my thoughts on each game in the trilogy:

DKL1 is easily the weakest of the bunch. The visuals are really muddy and hard to see. It's impressive they were able to translate the prerendered SNES sprites to GB. But at what cost? Similarly the game just feels kind of bad to play. It feels slow, WAY slower than actual Country. Rolling covers NO distance and moves soooo slowly for example. I think where this game shines is actually with its original stuff for the most part. Things taken from Country1 are lackluster, I'd rather just play Country1. But stuff like the plot in the manual, the sky world, the city world, that's new and unique! And it stands out the most. Except for the boss fights and the music which are both original (iirc) and very weak. The less said about that the better.

DKL2 is easily the best of the bunch. Sadly it stops doing anything original and is just a straight up port of Country2. While that's less interesting, I do think it helps make the game more solid over all. Visuals are massively improved, while still looking muddy you can tell they made an effort to redraw more of the sprites and it helps make things clearer and makes the game look way better! Similarly the GB versions of the Country2 songs are delightful to listen to! It's just a shame Mining Melancholy, my personal favorite, appears to be the only one left out. It was also cool seeing actual levels I recognize from Country2 translated into a smaller game like this. I was particularly impressed with the fact they had bee hive levels, roller coaster levels, Arctic Abyss, and stuff like that. Gameplay is improved, bosses are improved, level design is improved. And while it may be because it's taken from Country2 directly, you can't deny it does make it a better game. The only REAL issue I have is that the animal buddies use Select for their special abilities, which is odd for my hands to do.

DKL3 is, at the time of writing this, still weirdly NOT on NSO and idk when it will be. So I emulated it. I think Country3 is a really underrated game, but I will admit I remember the levels a lot less than 1+2. So it's a little tougher to speak on how it compares to the SNES counterpart. But a lot of what applies to Land2 applies to this one. Good gameplay, good music (GB Rockface Rumble was a treat lol), better bosses, and an overall more interesting experience than Land1. However, I can't help but feel underwhelmed by the stage selection and their lack of interest in doing some of the Country3's weirder level gimmicks. No levels with the sniper in the foreground, no levels with thunder and water, no levels where they reverse the controls. I know it may have been too hard on GB. But still, it's a shame. Even the Bleak fight is massively downgraded and is no longer a random snowball fight minigame. Is it easier? Sure. Is it as fun? Not really.

But regardless, 2 and 3 are both good. And if you're curious about playing just one. Maybe play the one that corresponds to the Country game you're most familiar with. If you're familiar with all of them then Land2 is absolutely the best one of the bunch. And if you're not familiar with ANY Country games. Skip the Land trilogy and just play the Country games.

Battle Fantasia (April 26, 2007) - PC

Next up is an INCREDIBLY charming fighting game I actually bought all the way at the start of the year. But haven't had the time or energy to really sink my teeth into it until now. Battle Fantasia is an Arc System Works fighter made (I believe) during the time they lost the rights to GG. And is one of the first attempts to reboot the 2D Fighting Game Genre for modern ages. Even before Street Fighter 3! It's based on RPG tropes and is in my opinion, SO charming and cute.

There's almost too many positives to count. I think its aesthetics are immediately what jump out to me. The world is so cute and vibrant and really does feel like a fighting game for a JRPG that doesn't exist. My favorite example I've been showing people is the cave stage. Which has a treasure chest, but also what appears to be a Save Point in the upper left corner.

There is NO reason for that to be there. It's a completely unneeded detail. But it's SO cute and really helps to drive the JRPG theme home and that detail is what made me realize I was gonna love this game. The next best part are the characters themselves. They're ALL cute. My favorites are the Princess Olivia, Odile and Dokurod, and Deathbringer. But all the other characters are all cute or at least have great designs! From Watson the mage bunny to Urs the protagonist with a chainsaw motorcycle sword. The only character whose design I dont really gel with is the Priest/Cleric dude. And I think it's just the short shorts. But the music is great, the graphics are great and also make it feel like a PS2 RPG. The plot is interesting and cool. And the gameplay is simple and easy to grasp while still having enough depth that I actually missed entire mechanics during my playthroughs!

BUT... It's not perfect. I think where this game kinda stumbles for me is the Story Mode. I was really expecting a cool JRPG scale story, or at least an overarching plot where you get to play as everyone as the tale unravels... But ultimately it's kind of just a shorter Arcade ladder for each character with cutscenes in between them. And while some of them contribute to the plot (like Deathbringer) I can't really see how they could possibly exist in the same universe (see, again, Deathbringer). So while the story is cool, it's not really as satisfying as like, Xrd's story. Which is presented in a better way with this kind of ladder story being a prequel to the true story mode. But I understand why they didn't do that. Also, I find it weirdly difficult to remember my moves in this game. I can remember most of them, but for some reason I just cannot recall how to input them and had to keep checking the movelist. It's not too bad cause most movesets are easy to grasp, but it's an odd thing I haven't experienced this badly before. And I think it's cause none of the move names are just saying specifically what the moves are lmao.

BUT YES this game rules and deserves more love! It's on steam and I think if you like small fighting games you really should give it a shot! I hear the netcode is garbage and hopefully it can get rollback eventually. But for now, it's fun!

Dadish 3D (April 22, 2024) - PC

OH YEAH BABY IT'S TIME FOR A NEW DADISH!!! MY GOAT IS BACK!! I actually ALMOST missed this one, with everything happening this year it just slipped my mind. But I was able to get it at an INCREDIBLE price during the Steam Fall Sale. So please, if you like Dadish, pick it up yourself!

Dadish is the 5th installment of the Dadish series I believe. So I certainly think it was time for a change of pace, and I think swapping to 3D was the PERFECT call for the series! The simple gameplay where Dadish's only real abilities are a double jump actually work perfect in 3D and still makes for compelling levels. The graphics are GREAT and super cute, the environments in particular just look really lovely in this one. They were able to bring the style from the 2D games over flawlessly in my opinion.

The music, similarly, is still great! The Toksa Park theme in particular was a banger! And the level aesthetics themselves were also nice, I can't believe there hasn't been a snowy mountain yet as far as I recall? And the plot is so very Dadish, I actually liked the return of Durnak, which is usually something that bugs me. And the bosses were cute too, I liked the gimmick of Dadish guessing their names all horribly wrong. And being 3D really helped making hunting for the stars more interesting than it's been in earlier entries. Similarly, translating the Madish and Burgurgular levels into something similar to Mach Speed sections from Sonic is GENIUS.

However, I'll admit. This game is not perfect. I have one specific issue with it. It's too easy. Like, WAY too easy. Dadish 3 was the hardest game yet, by far. But this one is like the total opposite. I think the biggest reason why is that the enemies are all taken directly from the 2D Dadish games. Down to how they function. Which means most enemies just walk in a straight line. Deadly for 2D, but for 3D? Basically no enemy presents a challenge to you unless it's a whole line of pizzas. But the burgers just aimlessly avoid you, the hotdogs (usually the bane of my existence in this series) can all be easily jumped around. And even the bosses go down SO quickly. Subwoofer should've had the spike appear in a random place, rather than the same place. Stabby should've probably had some sort of projectile cause he can basically never reach you. I think maybe even just second phases for the bosses could help up the ante a bit. Similarly I can't help but feel like I wanted MORE from these 3D Worlds. I think the next game has TONS of potential based on the groundwork here. But it may be time to give Dadish and his foes some new abilities maybe? Or even giving me more to collect through the levels could be huge.

Regardless, it's Dadish. It's peak. This series can do no wrong. Play the Dadish series.

Killer Instinct (November 1995) - Gameboy

And last, but certainly not least. While I was playing through the Donkey Kong Land trilogy, is suddenly dawned on me that Killer Instinct ALSO got a Gameboy port. And if you know me, you know I ADORE KI. So I had to give it a go. It's the only KI I haven't played previously!

Right out the gate, it's remarkably similar to the Land trilogy. The graphics are insanely muddy, maybe even more than the Land games? To the point where if you don't know KI already, I believe you may not understand what's happening in most battles.

Similarly the game just plays so crazy. It's 2 buttons now, and most commands work pretty similarly. But let me give you a secret tip: ALL FALL BEFORE THE MIGHT OF SABREWULF! Since he mostly uses Charge inputs anyway, just mashing left / right and A / B will have Sabrewulf just tear into foes with little they can do about it. I died in the normal arcade ladder TWICE. Once against Sabrewulf, and once against the final boss. It's EASY pickings. Also no Riptor or Cinder. Actually a crime. I'm shocked my favorites all made it in, but in KI1 I play Sabrewulf and Glacius so those are probably some of the safest picks outside of like, Fulgore lmao.

BUT... DAMN IT... IT'S KINDA COOL!! The GB versions of the music honestly kick ASS. Particularly the main theme sounds GREAT on GB. And like, there is a training mode which, from my understanding, is not something to take for granted especially with older weirder fighting games. And unlike Land1, this game is FAST. Like maybe not as fast as actual KI but it keeps its own pace and it's not insanely slow and clunky. Plus every character has their own ending and there's a unique final boss with Eyedol. And there's still combos, and combo breakers, and finishers. Like... It's all here with very little compromise.

Like, it's obviously worse than just playing any other KI game. And just like the Land games, I wish they had maybe drawn new sprites from the ground up rather than trying to scale down the prerendered stuff. And also maybe do some original stuff (COULD YOU IMAGINE IF THIS HAD ITS OWN EXCLUSIVE CHARACTER THAT CAME BACK FOR 2013??) But like... It's so charming. And truth be told, I'm realizing I don't have much bad to say for it considering it's a small 2 button GB fighter. It makes me wish KI got ported to more stuff! Imagine them trying to do the 3D Backdrops from the arcade versions of KI1/KIG on Gameboy Advance or DS? Imagine a Killer Instinct 2013 port to 3DS in a similar fashion to the Street Fighter 4 3DS port? I would have been OBSESSED with that. Much to think about... I may have to revisit KI Gameboy. What a weird world.

Seriously though put this on NSO and I will run tournaments (probably not but I'd love to fight someone in it)

[sofiadragon]

Scheduled addendum I wrote after I finished crying, to talk about it in a place where people don't have to click "read more." I was absolutely traumatized by this book by the standards of the antis. As stated, I cried about this story. I cried again just writing that synopsis. A synopsis that likely has some errors due to more than twenty years of time between then and now. It's about an abused and starving child in the worst possible situation as seen through the eyes of a friend too sheltered to understand at first. It's six months of a girl moving to a new town and having her understanding of all adults as safe and good utterly obliterated in less than ten minutes in the last chapter.

You know what the effect of this book was on me? Open eyes that could see.

I lived in a tiny bit of track housing on a dead end street where the developer ran out of money between an abandoned christmas tree farm gone wild and grown four stories, a sheep field, a grain field, and actual wild pine forest. Isolated little patch of cheap split level homes. There was a boy who had always been mean to me, and suddenly I saw that he was always outside even when the weather was bad. No adults were ever home before dark even on weekends. He had had a key to his house on a necklace as long as I'd known him, and most kids in the area were younger than me. There was a five year gap in age above me for the next youngest person in the neighborhood, and about 11 kids clustered into the five years below me that made our social group. I was often the one responsible for the younger kids when something happened. With no through-roads and nowhere to go for more than a mile in any direction, we were pretty safe to just be outside in our little development three streets deep and two across.

Platinum blond and his family had more money than mine, but that didn't mean he had more than me.

I invited the fairy boy over on a rainy day when he lost his key. He wasn't sure, but two boys from the second house down were going to be there until 7 when their mom got home so it wouldn't be just girls. My sister and I played with Barbies and Barbie accessories and the boy's had GI Joe, some little green army men, and Ken. Mom made a big pot of stew out of leftovers he called dog scraps when she had me help get everything out and ready and asked for a frozen dinner like "normal people." I'd never actually eaten one of those at the time, they are expensive.

The whole experience blew his mind, and he came back every so often after that. We all sat and did our homework when my dad got home - including my dad with the newspaper - and we just asked my dad questions while he was reading and he paused to answer whatever nonsense we were on about. We were also allowed to talk to each other so long as that was about our homework. My parents disagreed about some political thing in the paper and just talked about it.

He said my family was straight off the TV. Maybe, but there was one thing about us that no sitcom would touch. Well, maybe one.

He stopped coming over for a while when his parents realized I'd never been to a church. They asked me something and I had no idea what they were talking about. Gasp horror, how can they be good people if they don't go to church? What do you mean your father believes in science and your mother is magic?

He showed back up after a while because how would they know where he'd been. He was never one of my closest friends, and between him becoming a teenager when talking to a girl meant you had to be dating and my family moving into town (half a block from the public library? Yes!) we lost touch.

All the latchkey kids knew my house was where to go if they needed an adult, and that had been true long before I read this book, but I didn't see it until the tears washed the scales from my eyes.

I’m not trying to attack you, but do you know that proshipper means someone who supports and romanticizes pedophilia, incest, and abuse? Your reblog on that post seems to read that you think antis just hate on people for having ships they don’t like. But it’s completely different than that. Just looking on the proshipper side of Tumblr and the internet and you can see people happily shipping children and adults and making nsfw content of such things.

i appreciate that you're not being outright hostile, but i have to say, that on its own put you above basically every anti i've interacted with.

i understand where antis are coming from, i really do. there are a lot of things on the internet that make me deeply uncomfortable, including the minor/adult ships that you mention. i don't want to anything to do with those kinds of ships and i would be happiest if i never saw them again. which is why i'm proship.

nine times out of ten, if i see that kind of ship brought up on my dash, it's because i was following an anti without realizing it, and they brought it up unprompted and untagged, to talk about how bad it is that they exist. they are the ones putting that kind of content in front of my face and making it harder to avoid.

the thing about people who ship those ships is that they're generally very aware that not everyone wants to see that kind of content, and so they tag it. they make sideblogs to talk about it. they don't go out of their way to shove it in people's faces. that means i, and everyone else who doesn't like it, can avoid it.

what antis want is for it to not exist at all. they want the tags to be purged and blocked, and for anyone who uses those tags to have their accounts deleted. and sure, that might get rid of some of it, but do you know what would happen to the rest? it would stop being tagged. people who don't want to see it wouldn't have the tools to avoid it. this isn't just a hypothetical, that's what's happened any time a fan space has tried to do that.

that's not even getting into the rabbit hole of what should be banned and what shouldn't. obviously any content that depicts real children or real life abuse shouldn't exist and shouldn't be allowed to be posted, but basically any platform that people use already enforces those policies, and there's not much of a slippery slope to go down there. if it involves real living breathing people being abused, it's bad. end of discussion.

but the same can't be said for fiction. ask ten antis for a specific list of all the content that should be banned, and you'll get ten different answers. what about kink? what about roleplay? what about horror and murder and anything that involves fictional characters being graphically tortured? what about people using art to process terrible things that have happened to them? what about art that uses dark themes as a horror element? if you just want to ban anything questionable to anyone, that's the line of thinking that gets any mention of lgbt existence banned. and again, this isn't just a hypothetical, this has happened before, and that's generally where it leads.

i know, from personal experience, that antis do, in fact, send harassment to people just for shipping things they don't like. i've gotten accused of absolutely vile shit for shipping two fictional characters who were both consenting adults. i've seen ship wars turn into moral battlegrounds, over ships that an average person wouldn't bat an eye at.

the thing about "romanticization" is a whole other can of worms. the anti logic goes like this: if someone sees something (even if it's very obviously fictional) in a positive light enough times, they will start thinking it's okay in real life, and go on to hurt real people. the problem with that is that it's just. blatantly untrue.

if it were true every horror movie fan would be a serial killer, every person that studies dark media would be an unhinged psychopath, and everyone who is into ddlg would be a pedophile. but they're not. they just aren't. people have directed movies just as fucked up as the darkest shit on ao3, and are still capable of being normal human beings who know right from wrong in real life.

even if someone is that impressionable, scrubbing away the existence of every piece of questionable content isn't going to solve their problem, because they're still going to be vulnerable to con men, scams, and cultists. the only thing that would actually materially help someone like that is developing their own morals and critical thinking.

children are also more impressionable, and there's a lot of content that's not suitable for them, but that doesn't mean that content shouldn't exist. it just means that they should stick to spaces designed for them (which most social media sites, tumblr included, are not) or, if they're old enough to be responsible for their experience online, they, or a trusted adult in their lives, should block and filter out things that they aren't comfortable with.

which is what everyone on the internet should be doing. it's what i do, and it's made the internet a much more pleasant place to be. and it's why i sometimes worry for antis mental health, especially teenagers, because they're being told it's right and moral to seek out content that makes them uncomfortable and to engage with the people making it. and that's just. really bad. it's not good for the creators that they're harassing obviously, but it's also really bad for them! it's not healthy to seek out things that make you feel bad, and it's a terrible internet safety lesson to teach minors that it's okay for them to seek out and engage with people making adult content.

individual harassment and crusading is never going to succeed at removing dark content from the internet. it just isn't. at best you might get a small percentage of people who create that content to stop sharing it, at worst you're just going to make people stop tagging it, and either way, you're exposing yourself to things that make you feel bad, when you don't have to.

if you want to materially change the type of content you see, you can. the block button is your friend, use it liberally. same with content filtering and tag blocking.

[kedreeva]

Hi! Sorry to bug you but I know you have meeces and I have some Mice Questions. I'm probably not going to get any anytime soon but after trying to deal with wild mice around my property I've realized how cute and soft and funny they are and it's like Oh. I Like Those.

How hardy are they? I know when I've looked at pet rats in the past everyone talked about how sensitive their respiratory systems were and how they were prone to respiratory issues and tumors.

Do they scare easily? I have a dog who's very loud and stompy and has a HUGE prey drive and I would prefer if their enclosure is in the dining room by me, but that's where he is. I know animals like rabbits can straight up just like... Have a heart attack and die if they get scared. Is that a thing with mice?

Are they relatively friendly with each other? I know males will fight, but I only want females because I have nowhere to put tons of babies. Will it be a problem to get mice from different breeders and introduce them?

Are they smelly? I have a 75 gallon aquarium I could use for an enclosure and obviously I would clean it and not overcrowd it but I don't want my parents to complain about smells. What kind of bedding is best and how often to change it?

Are there reputable breeders that ship? I don't know if I can find any breeders locally (I live in Wisconsin) and I don't want to buy from a pet store.

Are there any sort of colors or forms that are more prone to health issues that I should avoid buying?

I'm so sorry for all the questions oof

Many questions!!

They're pretty hardy, I mean, the mice out here are somehow still here after -40F and 100F+ weather. The thing about respiratory issues is that either you're using bedding that's way too dusty, or they've got a mycoplasma infection. Option A, change the bedding to something less dusty, see if it clears up. If not, it's PROBABLY mycoplasma, and that's actually pretty easy to treat in rodents with a combo of doxycycline and enrofloxacin. Mycoplasma is pretty endemic to captive rodents in the US, but more commonly seen in rats.

It is not a thing with mice. They do not care. They are stressed by constant loud noises, and experience some stress from loud noises in general, but I think that's a function of being alive.

If you're getting females from a breeder, you should be able to put them together without issue; breeders SHOULD be selecting for this kind of thing. Whether they DO is another issue. Personally i do; if I combine does and one of them starts immediately attacking the others (beyond normal hierarchy sorting), she gets culled out. As such, you should be able to get mice from any breeder and be fine. I would not get less than 2 per breeder; you want to put any new mice through quarantine, and they should have a buddy in there, and they should be introduced with that buddy so they had least have one buddy if the established mischief doesn't like them.

They definitely have a smell! What type of bedding can have an effect on smell, but the bigger issue is usually how dry you can keep the enclosure. Wet bedding smells worse and can grow things that smell worse. Mice try to be tidy creatures, they will often pick a potty corner or section of their cage to use to pee in, and the buildup of waste there can cause a big smell. Personally I use cob bedding and shredded paper products (I make my own), but I always liked the Kaytee paper bedding. Carefresh is awful; the chunks are too thick and chunky for mice, and do not dry out so it smells bad constantly. Newspaper is wayyyy too dusty. Aspen or kilm fired pine is fine (most pine beddings are kiln fired). Raw pine or cedar are bad. How often you change it depends on what kind it is, how much of it there is, how much smell you can tolerate vs how much disruption the mice can handle. There's no way you'll eliminate all the odor though, no matter how much you clean it, so if the smell is a problem, they might not be a good fit.

This is actually 4.5- 75 gallon aquarium is too big. Counterintuitive I know. But large spaces stress mice out really badly. In order to use a 75g aquarium, you would need to heavily pack it full of hides and other equipment to make it full of small spaces. The typical enclosure size for a few mice is closer to a 40 quart storage bin. You CAN use the 75g, but just be aware it'll be a LOT of work to maintain in a way that's healthy to them and doesn't smell terrible to you.

Shipping isn't really done for mice because it's prohibitively expensive. The only reason labs get away with shipping rodents is that the companies who produce them do the trucking themselves. Your best bet is to find the local FMBA or ARFMA or other breeder group in your state, and find breeders through them. The FMBA lists 4 members in your state! Craigslist is another option, although that won't really tell you anything about the quality of the mice on offer.

This is actually 6.5, but local pet stores (as opposed to big chain ones) may be your friend. They may be able to put you in contact with folks who breed, or they maybe willing to post an ISO for you. Local pet stores also sometimes breed their own or get their stock from local breeders! It's worth looking for little mom and pop type shops and checking into it.

Anything with an AY gene (yellow, brindle, snow tiger, etc) will be prone to obesity. Tumors are more a genetics of the individual line not specific to a color. Manx mice should be avoided due to bone structure issues. If you're just keeping pets, some breeders may offer mice with faults for less- for example I soft culled a line recently because several babies had kinked tails. Since you're not breeding and a kinked tail doesn't affect overall health, that's a fine mouse to own, but ethically you would want to be sure the breeder isn't breeding FOR that or ignoring the issue and continuing to breed the parents. Anyone breeding toward show type is selecting for qualities that are fine, health wise; unlike some show standards, mouse show standards include health stipulations and traits that would degrade quality of life are frowned upon heavily.

They are, wholly speaking, pretty uncomplicated pets. They need a fairly clean environment (not totally clean, they determine hierarchy largely by scent and take comfort in the scent of home), fresh food of decent quality, fresh water, plenty of hides, and basic enrichment.

[separatist-apologist]

Aaaaand part 6 ideas - I think the timing works out and Starfall is coming. Lucien says he can’t come (a calculated lie), but Elain sends down the bond that she went to that shop along the sidra to wear under her dress. They manage to secure a private balcony. Smut ensues.

You know, I thought about doing a serial where like, Elain accidentally accepts the bond and her and Lucien hate fuck for a while before they get to know each other, but I guess we're doing this instead.

Time has no meaning in this ficlet, do not ask me about the timeline or seasons, they change based on a whim and my needs so anyway WELCOME TO COLD WEATHER AGAIN (I think? I'm unsure when Starfall actually is? And honestly, it doesn't matter).

This is, as per usual, NSFW, 18+ and unedited beyond me just glancing at it to make sure there were no red squiggles in word.

--

--

He hadn’t meant to be gone for so long. Spring had fallen to shit and what was supposed to be a two-week stay had morphed into months of trying to convince Tamlin to eat, to legislate, and enforce his border all while Tamlin used him as his personal punching bag. Lucien was exhausted and irritated when Feyre’s invitation for Starfall dropped in his lap.

No I don’t want to go to a party, he thought privately, quickly scrawling back a much politer response. What he wanted was a week of uninterrupted alone time with his mate in which he did every filthy thing he’d been fantasizing about while she begged him for more. Lucien could still taste her in his mouth, could still smell her in the air. She was a brand on his skin, a ghost trailing him everywhere he went. He wondered about her constantly. Was she thinking about him? Did she miss him? Want to see him?

Lucien hoped openly declining an opportunity to see Elain might spur her into reaching out to him in their game and admitting she not only wanted him, but she needed him, too. He was playing aloof, like always but she was just silent. He couldn’t pretend that didn’t disappoint him.

Feyre sent back her disappointment two days later and let the invitation open if he changed his mind. She swore up and down Cassian wanted to chat with him and perhaps the General did. Their friendship was an odd one but comforting and a little familiar. Of all of Rhysand’s inner circle, Lucien liked Cassian best.

He was walking to the stables to patrol Tamlin’s border when a vision slithered down the bond. Elain, standing in front of a mirror, wearing a gown that seemed to be made of pure starlight. Silver and low cut, with capped sleeves and a skin colored lining made it seem as though she only wore the glittering diamonds and nothing else. His mouth went dry at the sight. Had she meant to send it?

Yes. A note followed the image, appearing in the air before him.

Starfall?

That was all she’d written. She might have written pages and pages, for the effect that one word had. Lucien tugged his response back, a resounding yes, absolutely, if I have to crawl I will— and turned abruptly to let Tamlin know he was officially retiring from Spring, and to write if he needed any more assistance.

Back in Velaris, Lucien paid an obscenely large amount of money to secure one of the last private balconies in Velaris. It was far from where Rhysand and his ilk would watch, but still very much out in the open. The edge of the balcony, cut from smooth, gray stone, was thick enough he could hoist Elain up and fuck her brainless if he wanted to.

Lucien very, very much did.

The day before Starfall, Lucien sent Elain only the address and nothing else. There would be no polite teasing, no stolen glances. They would be together…maybe even talk and get to know each other outside of just kissing and touching. The thought of hearing her speak excited him more than anything else, though seeing her stripped of her dress was a very close second.

He dressed in a jacket of silver and trimmed in white to match the fitted white pants he’d worn. He’d neatly combed his hair and tied it off his face after debating for too long whether he ought to leave it down or not. He slipped on clean, black boots that hugged his calves, slipped a knife inside his boot just in case, and forewent wearing any other weaponry.

He’d just made it to the balcony he’d rented when the glass, double doors that led from the building they and others were borrowing, opened, and Elain stepped out. Lucien made no show of dropping to his knee, one hand pressed against his chest, jaw hanging open. He’d lost all rational ability to speak or stand when Elain, his goddess, stepped onto the balcony, a vision in silver stars.

Her cheeks darkened with what he hoped was pleasure, though she made a big show of rolling her eyes. “You’re dramatic,” she accused as he staggered back to his feet.

“Absurd. You’re beautiful,” he replied, caressing those same, heated cheeks. He suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of marring one inch of her body and wondered if perhaps they’d just have a nice, romantic evening with nothing else between them.

She walked to the balcony, illuminated beneath floating fae lights. Lucien stood beside her, resting one of his hands over her own, unable to resist. She smiled faintly at the touch and pressed her shoulder against his.

“I missed you,” she told him without looking up, her eyes still firmly focused on the city below. His heart pounded in his chest at the admission.

“Not half as much as I missed you,” he promised, squeezing her hand. A smile bloomed fully on her face, lighting her up like the sun across the sea and Lucien thought he was ruined entirely for anyone else, regardless of what happened between them.

She turned, suddenly, her sweet smile morphing into something wicked. His body instantly tightened as anticipating thrilled up his spine. What was she thinking? She ran her hands up his chest, dragging her eyes up with them until they were firmly focused on his lips. She didn’t need to ask him to kiss her. He’d happily spend the rest of his life attached at the mouth if she wanted.

That first, sweeping kiss wrecked all Lucien’s promises to himself. She tasted like citrus coated in honey and somehow like sunshine. He was frantic, unable to get enough and all at once, desperate for more. His tongue caressed her own, licking in time with the hips he was grinding into her beautiful gown.

Elain broke the kiss with a gasp, her fingers yanking on the laces of his pants. “Before everything starts,” she said, making quick work of them. He began hiking up her dress but Elain swatted his hands away.

“The first time you have me will be private,” she informed him, her brown eyes glittering with promise. “And somewhere nice.”

He started to ask what her plan was, then, but Elain dropped to her knees and Lucien’s head immediately emptied. The last remaining shred of rationality snarled at the sight of her kneeling when he thought it ought to have been him while the animal that typical slumbered in his chest roared with appreciation at the sight of his mate eye level with his cock.

“I borrowed one of Nesta’s dirtier books,” Elain informed him, her breath curling along the skin of his hard, twitching cock. “I don’t suppose this requires any amount of skill.”

Lucien took a shallow breath as her hand cupped the base of him. She ran her tongue up the broad side of his shaft and he reached for the railing behind him in an effort to keep himself steady.

She hummed softly to herself, pumping him once. She could have done only that and nothing else and he’d have come quickly, undone at just the sight of her. She glanced up at him, her lips moistened, her eyes mischievous.

“Will you beg, Lucien?” She asked.

“Would you like me to?” He choked in response. She smiled, lowered her mouth, and sucked just the tip of his erection into her mouth. Lucien concentrated all his effort on remaining utterly still despite his body’s urge to thrust into her mouth and fuck her throat. It was her first time, he reminded himself. He didn’t need to scare her.

“Yes,” she replied, withdrawing her pretty little lips to lick his head like a piece of candy. Lucien groaned loudly.

“Elain, please—”

His words choked into another groan of need as she took as much of him as she could into her mouth, her cheeks hollowed and her hand making up the difference. Her mouth was hot and wet and utterly intoxicating in its softness. Lucien was desperate and somehow building hotly towards release despite how little time and effort she’d put into the act of sucking him.

She hummed again, the noise vibrating along his skin and settling in his tightening sac. Saliva from her mouth pooled around her hand, making it easier for her glide up and down the length of him as she licked and sucked.

First time? His mind demanded, unable to believe she hadn’t done this before. Had it been so long since someone took him in their mouth that he’d forgotten? Was the act made better when it was his mate who sucked?

Shut the fuck up, the animal in his chest demanded of his wild, out of control thoughts. Lucien’s hips jerked a little as he built higher, fire racing through his blood.

“Elain,” he gasped, unsure what else to say. She quickened her pace and Lucien hung by a thread just long enough to offer a warning. “I’m going to come, Elain—”

She didn’t pull away, didn’t withdraw and a moment later Lucien exploded into a million pieces, yelling so loud he was sure Feyre heard him, wherever she was. He pumped hot into her mouth and Elain, the angel, took all of it without moving her mouth. She waited until he relaxed to withdraw, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You,” he gasped, pulling her to her feet so he could kiss her. “Next, you next—”

A shooting star streaked through the sky and Elain twisted in his arms, her swollen, red lips parted with delight. Lucien quickly pulled up his pants and retied them, swallowing against the aftershock of his release.

“Another day,” she replied, letting him pull her against him, her back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. He kissed the top of her head, aware of what she’d done.

She’d put him in a situation that forced him to see her again.

Did she not know Lucien wanted to see her all the time?

She wiggled a little, sighing sweetly, content in his arms.

He’d show her what he meant.

[jjkpls]

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 💜

[dayseternal-blog]

OK OK OK, I know I sound kind of weird but, could you pleaseee recommend some of the kinkiest naruhina fanfics?😳

Thank you so much🤍🤍

OK OK OK, you know you came to the right place 😳

I don’t know what you mean exactly by kinky, but I was thinking...I’ll just sort this by kinks hahahahahahha

OMG

This is going to include some of the MOST KINKY Naruhina fics I’ve ever read, EVER.  SOOO majorly inappropriate.  Also this will have some of the ones I’ve recommended before, but I’ll put everything under the cut.

NaruHina Smut & Kink

um hmmmm

Everything that follows is Rated Explicit.  Some of these fics are meant to be read with HUMOR.  Please enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!

BDSM

“Echoes of Silence” by @ellaroundpanda - Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Hinata Hyuga was trapped. Her relationship with Toneri was leading to nowhere and she wanted to find a new Dom. Naruto Uzumaki seemed to be the answer to all her prayers, but her fiancé wouldn’t give up that easily…

“Professor Passion” by omegas - College AU, Dom!Hinata & Sub!Naruto One-shot. Naruto is a new university student with a crush on his professor; Hinata Hyuga. Shy first dates and kisses quickly turn into a relationship, and Naruto discovers his professor’s provocative secret – along with one of his own.

“Secrets of the Hidden Leaf” by Sessakag - Includes a ton of different kinks. Canon-Divergent. Multi-chapter, Incomplete. The author’s summary hints at NaruHinaSasu, but they never got that far in the story. Naruto and Hinata push the boundaries of propriety and decency in a budding relationship of profound love and wild, sexual exploration.

“Out with the Old” by agitosgirl - Includes cheating, Modern AU. Two-shot. Hinata’s been mistreated by her current Dom, Toneri. Thankfully, another Dom has had his eyes set on her for awhile now.

“dorks.” by EroPrincess - Canon-Compliant, Multi-chapter, Complete. Random sexual exploits featuring Konoha’s most innocent couple.

“I want you to cry” by Devahhole - Includes a ton of kinks and things like dub-con and graphic murder, Multi-chapter, RECENTLY COMPLETE!!! A sociopath blinded by revenge runs into his greatest opponent.

“Some Like it Rough” by Cheating Death - Modern AU, One-shot. Yet she couldn’t help the thoughts that had been racing through her mind lately. Thoughts of her fiance using less restraint than he usually did.

Clones

“Clone Present” by @carny-writings - Canon Compliant (lol), One-shot. So it’s Hinata’s birthday; does this mean a Naruto Shadow Clone Gangbang is in order for our best girl?

“Hinata’s Rose Lips” by Plump_Hinata - Includes extreme Bimbo!Hinata, Canon Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto and Hinata are sent on a mission to find a mysterious flower. But they will get a big surprise when they find out that the "Rose Lips" flower has a special power. A power to turn young ladies into ultra-hot, super-busty, sexy bimbos, and Hinata will be its victim!

Stamina/Multiple Orgasms/Cum Inflation/Size Kink

“Honeymoon” by Prestige Frost - Canon-Divergent. One-shot. During their honeymoon, Hinata learned something new about her husband: he was an absolute stamina freak in the bedroom. How was the beach? Why, they never even left the room!

“Adventures of the Warlock’s Apprentice” by pizzansushi - Includes lactation and furry kink, Fantasy AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. One rainy night, a warlock, finds a stray cat in alley. He takes Hinata in and breaks her curse. Turns out, his smitten kitten is actually a young lady. Naruto the Warlock allows her to stay beside him as his apprentice, although her looks and wiles will likely be the death of him.

“Sweet Love Bakery” by pizzansushi - Includes lactation kink, Fantasy AU, One-shot (but supposed to be multi-chapter?). Tender and sweet. Love makes people feel full and satisfied. Naruto Uzumaki the Warlock and his wife Hinata Hyuga open a bakery tavern.

“The Pinocchio Effect” by Silent_Soul_Ken - Fantasy/Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto goes to see a Fortune Teller for a view into his luck however after his insult he'll find that he has a big problem and it's just getting bigger and bigger…

“Lord Hokage” by EroPrincess - Canon Compliant, Series of One-shots. Naruto loves it when Hinata screams out "Lord Hokage" during their lovemaking.

“Engaged or whatever…” by Devahhole - Rated E, Multi-chapter, Complete.  Shenanigans, jealousy, and sex ensue when Naruto and Hinata decide to tie the knot.

Squirting

“Unless the World Were to End” by @bunny-hoodlum - Modern AU, One-shot.  Anonymous internet friends decide to meet up IRL and give each other their first times.

“I’m in Here” by @bunny-hoodlum - RTN!Hinata, Canon-Divergent. One-shot. Thanks to Hinata’s newly acquired boldness, she and Naruto begin to explore their boundaries with each other – partly for distraction, partly for fun – But is Hinata the same Hinata anymore or not?

Voyeurism

“Unseen Audience” by @vegebulsoup​ - Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. He wondered what she might think if she found out about his new hobby. Surely, she would be mortified, embarrassed, and/or thoroughly creeped out. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Caught in the Act” by HoneyWriter78 - Modern/College AU, One-shot. Hinata decides to watch one of the adult videos at her workplace, not knowing that someone is watching her…

“Let Me See You” by callmesenorita - Canon Compliant (lol), Two-shot. When Naruto wakes to an empty bed, he is surprised to discover his wife indulging in an old habit. He’s also seriously turned on.

“Money Shot” by callmesenorita - College AU. Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto can’t help noticing that his soft-spoken, new girlfriend bears similarities to PearlPrincess…but there’s no way Hinata, of all people, livestreams those kinds of videos, right?

Cheating

“A Maid’s Responsibility” by agitosgirl - Modern AU, One-shot. It had been a year since he and Sakura had been physical. Now he had Hinata, sweet, kind, caring Hinata.

“All Kinds of Wrong” by Kieren - Crime AU. One-shot. It was ironic how something so pure had sprung from such a sordid arrangement. They were perfect for each other. But they had met at the wrong time.

Drugged/Dub-Con/Non-Con

“Side Effects” by Cheating Death - Includes graphic non-con/dub-con, Modern AU. Multi-chapter, Complete.  Naruto and Hinata decide to participate in a high-paying clinical study, but the pay turns out to be too good to be true.

“Shinobi Passions” by HoneyWriter78 - Canon-Divergent AU. Multi-Chapter, Incomplete. When a mission takes a surprising turn for the worse, only Naruto can help her through the night…

“A Love Never Seen” by HoneyWriter78 - High School AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata Hyuga attend Konoha High she is part of the athletics group. She is friends with Ino and Shikamaru but is secretly in love with Shikamaru who is oblivious and loves someone else. She tried to fight her feelings not noticing that a certain senpai has had his eyes on her…

“Warped” by BountifullyBeautifullyBlessed - College AU. Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata can’t sleep and her roommate, Naruto, is more than willing to help her out.

“Heavy Sleeper” by InTheMist032000 - Canon-Divergent AU, Two-shot. Hinata has a peculiar way of sleeping, and a knack for sleeping through all kinds of things. Naruto is intrigued and makes it a game to see how far he can go before she wakes up.

Semi-Public/In Public

“The Lustful Maid” by HoneyWriter78 - Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata Hyuga wakes up in an unknown room on an unknown bed, after one of the most worst days of her life. Her only memory is knocking into a tall blonde handsome guy with her juice spilled over him! Was it a dream? I think not as now she has signed a contract to be his very own personal maid!

“The Superstar Falls in Love” by HoneyWriter78 - Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto Uzumaki is a superstar, he and his band Kyubi set off clubbing after their opening night in Konoha. There he meets a blue haired beauty that immediately captures his attention. Will this blonde superstar playboy finally fall in love?

“A Shirt, a Neckerchief and my Bag on my Shoulders” by @badluckbrebis​ - Summer Camp AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Hinata is freezing cold as she washes up in a nearby stream despite the poor weather, until Naruto unexpectedly shows up to shelter her…

“Nighttime Workout” by Breezyanimetra - College AU, Two-shot. Shy Hinata doesn’t usually have the courage to speak with her long time crush Naruto. All she does is watch him workout wishing she can do more. A snow storm one fateful night changes that for her.

“21 Days” by @bunny-hoodlum - Includes dub-con, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Anonymous internet friends decide to meet up IRL and give each other their first times.

Pregnancy

“Vacation” by Prestige Frost - Includes foot fetish among other kinks, Canon Divergent AU, One-shot. Their honeymoon was just the beginning. For Naruto and Hinata Uzumaki, the love they shared only grew with each passing day.

“The Art of Seduction” by katraine - Canon Compliant (?), One-shot.  ...as only Uzumaki Hinata can do.

“October Tenth” by ShiroiNoKiba - Includes lactation kink and miscarriage scare, Canon-divergent. Two-shot.  Naruto’s pregnant wife surprises him at home for his birthday.

Dark!Naruto/Demon/Kyuubi

“Calming the Beast” by Goldfishlover73 - Includes cheating, Canon-Divergent. One-shot. Naruto can’t understand why his relationship with Sakura just isn’t working. Hinata has a solution.

“Honeymoon” by DemonOfTheFridge - Includes graphic rape/non-con, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto always left on a secret mission once a year for a whole month. A curious Hinata finally had enough and followed him to an underground house. A house she finds herself trapped in, with a dark Naruto. Curiosity Killed the Cat.

“Breeding Season” by BlackMajjicDuchess - Includes rape/non-con, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Completely out of pattern, Kyuubi leaks free and causes terrible destruction that Naruto cannot suppress. There is a solution, but it comes at a terrible price.

“In a Demon’s Possession” by HoneyWriter78 - Demons AU. Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Pursued by the snake demon Orochimaru for their mysterious bloodline, Neji and Hinata accidentally trespass into Lord Kyuubi’s territory.

Furry/Mating/Alpha/Omega Dynamics

“A Wild Love” by agitosgirl - Fox!Naruto and Bunny!Hinata, Two-shot. They are a mix of humans and animal. They form communities and societies with their own species. Unfortunately, Hinata from the bunny section of the wood, finds herself in danger of being eaten.

“Love at First Sniff” by agitosgirl - Fox!Naruto and Mouse!Hinata, One-shot. Finding your one true love is the easiest thing that anyone can do. Hinata sets out to find the one male who will become the love of her life.

“Drainage City Tales” by Silent_Soul_Ken - Includes mutation/gender changes, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto is a young man working in Fume City's mining operation recently orphaned he struggles to survive and out of desperation eats some fish. Unusually large and bloated fish eating them will cause a change he never wanted but must now accept. But when Hinata a young noble girl who loves him, finds he's missing she'll do all she can to be with him.

“Naruto’s Mate” by funkychicken67 - Canon Divergent AU, Two-shot. Naruto receives a...gift from the nine tails. And Hinata gets in the way.

“When the Devil Picks Up a Stray” by callmesenorita - Rated E, A/B/O Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata, an Omega, questions buried feelings when she decides to help a childhood friend who has adopted a new persona under the name Menma. Although their attraction is instant he is no longer the Naruto she once knew, and soon enough Hinata is thrust into a dangerous yakuza conspiracy.

“A Fate Worse than Death” by Caelestia - A/B/O Canon-Divergent, One-shot.  Naruto, improperly socialized and traumatized as a child, rejects his inner Alpha, which has devastating consequences on his family and marriage.  “A Risky Bet” is its fluffier follow-up (One-shot).

I feeeeel like I might be forgetting some, but that’s a lot! :D  Happy fic reading!!!!

[sidespromptblog]

The Accident

Warning: Medical scene, mention of broken bones, blacking out (once mentioned), cast, and Logan angst.

Summary: While out on a date with Remus and Janus, Logan falls and hurts his wrist.

Word Count: 1,631

“Are you sure that it’s alright?” Janus asked suspiciously, as his cold fingers gingerly touched the tinder flesh of Logan’s wrist. His eyes were narrowed as if he was already on high alert to see if Logan was going to dare even lying about something like this.

“It looks a little swollen,” Remus helpfully added, circling around them like a wild hyena protecting his little pack, his eyes barely stood still long enough to even get a glimpse of Logan’s wrist.

But when he did, without a moment’s worth of hesitation…

He cringed every time.

That should have told Logan everything he needed to know about the situation. Remus wasn’t making jokes, and was well past being worried. Janus was using his literal body as a shield so that no one could even dare to get close, and there wasn’t the slightest bit of sarcasm coming from him. Logan should have been more worried about the state of his wrist, in his writing hand no less. But all he could feel was the sharp throbbing of where Janus’ grip was, and the occasional fleeting touch from where Remus would look over his shoulder and down at his injury.

Stupid.

He had been so stupid.

Of course there would still be patches of ice, even with the weather being over the standard freezing of thirty-two. The wind chill matched with it being later time of day should have made it obvious, he had been too careless. Too…

Stupid.

“Logan?” Remus’ worried voice struck up again, as he took up the position on his other shoulder. “You’re not going to black out again are you?”

Ah yes, that one moment of pitch darkness the moment his head had connected with the frozen sidewalk. He doubted that any of them wanted to recall that, especially given the way that Janus had screamed and he had come to being cradled in Remus’ arms like a limp noodle.

Swallowing thickly Logan attempted a smile. “It hurts,” He honestly said, because what was the point in lying with a human lie detector right in front of him. “But, I’m sure that once we return back to Thomas’ mind, the injury will go away. Just like they’ve done before in the imagination… right?”

An uncertain whine curled in Remus’ throat, like he was a dog that had been left chained outside on a rainy day.

That alone told Logan that even he wasn’t exactly sure just how much the imagination could and couldn’t cure.

“No.” Janus firmly shook his head, “If we don’t know then there’s no use in going back and just causing you more pain. We’ll…” Here Janus grimaced just a little bit, the scales in his face shifting into something more socially acceptable. “We’ll have to take you to the hospital for an X-ray…”

Two groans accompanied this declaration.

It was almost three hours later that Logan was able to see the doctor in question.

But by far the most annoying and anxiety inducing tribulation was the fact that he had to be separated from the other two sides when he needed to have the X-ray done. Which he had known going in, of course he had known it. But knowing it and actually having to do it we’re two entire different things. When it had come to him leaving the mind space, he had never been alone. Usually he’d had Thomas, or some of the other sides to accompany him on his days out and to be without them for some terrifying and quite painful procedure, was… scary.

He was scared, and also quite a bit embarrassed about the whole ordeal.

Sitting back in the doctor’s office with both Janus and Remus on either side of him waiting for whatever news was to come, made him feel both worse and better at the same time.

“I’m sorry.” He finally mumbled, a bolt of shame ramming itself into his guts.

A part of him wasn’t even sure what to be sorry for, but another part deep and loathing knew exactly what he was apologizing for.

Janus who had been staring ahead at the posters decorating the walls immediately snapped his attention back to Logan, his brows furrowing for a moment before an unreadable expression took over his face. It was an expression that both Remus and Logan knew all too well. “Sorry?” Janus asked, his voice carefully clipped. “For what might I ask.” Having just started he shifted his entire body to face Logan. “For having an accident? For slipping? For falling? For doing something that wasn’t your fault to begin with?”

Behind him Remus cringed back, they both knew what was coming.

“I ruined our day.” Logan tried to argue, trying being the key word there.

Just for Janus to immediately shake his head, his cold fingers seeking out Logan’s cheeks and cupping them carefully enough to avoid the scrapes on his face. The look on his face was adoring and yet exasperated at the same time, as his eyes watered but no tears seemed to fall in Logan’s presence.

“You,” Janus choked out, “Didn’t ruin anything. We can always have another day, hopefully with you being hurt a little less. It’s okay Logan… I promise. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Behind him Remus dug his fingers into the fabric of Logan’s thick winter coat as he buries his face into the logical side’s neck. His bristly whiskers tickled as he merely held Logan in place, bestowing all the love he could possibly give to him.

A laugh then shook Remus’ middle, “Hopefully Thomas has insurance.” His muffled voice finally got out.

And just like that the other two sides were tearfully giggling, knowing that thanks to Virgil’s worrywart tendencies Thomas had the best possible medical insurance he could get. And whether Logan knew it or no, which he did, he was technically going to be committing insurance fraud simply by the fact that he looked so much like Thomas.

Almost another several hours later though, with a dark blue cast now seated on his hand and wrist with the instructions to come back in a months time it was time to go home.

“So,” Remus popped the word out of his mouth, as he took up the duty of spoon feeding Logan some ice cream before they actually had to go back. “What are you going to tell the others, you know… about the cast and everything?” There was a quick glance shared between him and Janus. “The truth?”

It took genuine effort to not snort in Remus’ face after swallowing his mouthful of ice cream, and by a lot of effort it obviously meant that he coughed right into the crook of his arm in an attempt to hide it.

“No.” Logan answered back almost immediately, “Are you kidding me?! Virgil would never let me leave the house again if I came back looking like this. Roman would more than a little bit blame you. Patton would go along with it, in an effort to keep me ‘out of harm’s way’, and Thomas would just be concerned.” He gestured with his newly casted arm, they all knew that if it was discovered that Logan had left to go on a date with Janus and Remus, and had come back with a broken wrist they would be dramatic as possible when it came to any future dates with the dark sides.

He wouldn’t allow that.

Janus hummed as he nodded his head, his lips twisting just a little at the unpleasant thoughts that came with the scenario that Logan had just explained. “So what are you going to do?”

Surely Logan couldn’t just hide in his room until a month passed, and then get the cast off.

“I’ll just stay in my room until it’s time to get the cast off,” Logan shrugged, “I’ll put a sticky note on the door saying that I’m working on a big project and I don’t want to be disturbed. They usually listen to my sticky notes, a lot better than me since there’s no actual listening involved.”

“Are they threatening, these sticky notes?” Remus teased.

Instead of replying to his teasing with a retort Logan merely rolled his eyes, grabbing the front of Remus’ shirt to pull him in for a short sighted kiss.

“You know,” Remus mumbled in between kisses, “You can just stay with us right? The couch is always open for you, and so is any of our bedrooms.”

Logan pecked one last kiss on the corner of the creative side’s mouth, a warmth stirring in his chest at the offer of another place to stay if he wished to.

But…

It would be easier to recover in his own bedroom without Janus’ or Remus’ room effecting him in anyway, and recovering from a broken wrist on the couch didn’t exactly sound like fun to him.

“I know Rem,” The warmth he felt blossomed onto his face as a loving smile. “And rest assured you and Janus will see me in this month. But my room is probably easier for me.”

Satisfied with his answer, Janus nodded as he threw away the plastic spoons and cups that they had been eating from. Finally ready to head on back to the mind space, as both he and Remus held tight to Logan’s hands on the way back. It’d be a while before they could go on another date again, and maybe a little bit longer before it was anywhere in the wintertime again. But that was okay, because he could wait.

So with him lovingly holding onto the blue cast that kept Logan’s broken hand safe from the world, Janus felt at peace for the first time since the accident.

Everything would be okay.

[dreadwulf]

2: The Black Mountains

Post-Apocalyptic Modern AU. Chapter 1 is here.

The last thing his right eye ever saw was Brienne. 

In that eye she is shouting. Of course he couldn’t hear her at the time over the jeers of the Bloody Mummers tying him to the table. Their laughter had been right up against his ears and the sound of it drowned out everything else in that abandoned mall. The image is soundless: her mouth is just open, her throat pushing out a word that looks like No. Her blue eyes are also open wide, both frightened and angry, a righteous fury that came to him as a surprise, at the time.

She is a still image that resides in the abandoned nerves to that empty eye socket. If he cares to, he can still see her there, superimposed over everything.

She hovers over The Spider’s right shoulder just now. Still saying No.  

He tries to focus on the Spider’s face instead. Varys raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow on his immaculate bald head.

“You can’t shoot anymore. Not like before, not with one eye. You know this.”

“I don’t mean to shoot.” Jaime shows his palms. “I have two hands still. I need a weapon I won’t have to aim.”

Varys measures this statement. He is a man who deals in knowledge more than goods, but he has an armed guard, and a collection of interesting weapons. Both for his own protection, and for use in acquiring the most valuable intel.

“In that case,” the Spider presses a button on the trailer wall. To one of the bikers, a large man with a burnt face who looks in the door in response to his call, he instructs, “bring me the Widow’s Wail.”

The same scarred man reappears with a comically oversized weapon in his hands. Turns out Widow’s Wail is an axe. It is a huge, two-handed, double-bladed axe and when the burnt biker hands it to Jaime his hands dip with the weight.

Axes, Brienne used to tell him, are the best weapon for killing Others. You don’t need to reload an axe. It can’t jam, doesn’t recoil. Simple and effective. 

Messy though, he had said back. He had always preferred his rifle -- clean and fast, one shot and done, and hopefully at a distance. The Others would fall down like carnival targets, one after another, and his favorite jacket would remain spotless. But after they took his eye, he had needed a new weapon, and his jacket was long-ruined by then. 

This is messy work, she had replied.

Now, he lifts the weapon, turns it one way and another. Both edges gleam in the fluorescent light. This axe has been sharpened recently. It is spotless. This weapon has never seen battle.

“It’s new,” Varys fills in immediately, “but it was designed to kill Others. Old valyrian steel, made the old way. We haven’t yet had opportunity to test it, but it will strike true.”

Jaime doesn’t ask how Varys would be able to make a valyrian steel weapon. Knowing how is what he does. 

The Spider watches him curiously. “Are we square then, Slayer?”

“Almost.” He sits again, crosses the long weapon over his lap with both fists grasping it tightly. “Where did it happen?”

“In the North. What exactly happened is unclear even to me, but we know for certain she had traveled north with a small gang. There are reports of her at Winterfell, and then she went with Snow and a small band of Starks beyond the Black Mountains. They returned without her.”

Jaime nods shortly. “Winterfell, then the wilds.”

The Spider frowns. He is perhaps a little perplexed by this conversation, or by Jaime himself. He likes to think he knows people, knows how they will react. But recent years have made a different man of Jaime Lannister. The fall of King’s Landing, his father’s death, the business with Cersei -- after all that, the arrogant and impetuous adventurer of his younger days is long gone. He is a ghost of himself, and the Spider doesn’t know what this ghost will do. He doesn’t like that.

He sits up a little bit straighter on his couch.  “Then it isn’t our local outbreak you intend to fight? I expected you would be nearby. Kill some Others, burn off some steam, and incidentally clear out some of the infestation in the Riverlands, which would be convenient for me. But you aren’t doing that, are you? You mean to follow her? To what purpose?”

Jaime’s eye flickers briefly right. “Hunting.”

“It will be pointless to mount a rescue mission, I assure you.”

“That isn’t the point.”

Their eyes meet for a moment. Jaime isn’t about to elaborate on his intentions, and Varys is visibly frustrated. His silky tones shorten, revealing something sharp beneath. 

“I ought to stop you. You have brought order to the Westerlands, and you’re starting to bring it here too. Alliances, patrols for the roads. Your brother, clever as he is, did not do that. If you abandon these lands, it may all fall apart.”

Jaime feels a flicker of guilt for that, but it is quickly doused by everything else happening inside him. No, this is important. Maybe the most important thing he has ever done.

He shrugs stiffly. “If it falls apart without me, it was too fragile to last.” 

“You’ll need more than an axe and your motorbike to make that journey. You have favors to trade, certainly,” Varys cuts him off before he can argue, “but not that many. The scouting party went beyond the Black Mountains, across them, into the far North. There are few enough waystations on the way to Winterfell, and everything North of Winterfell belongs to the Others. There will be no shelters for you along the way, no refuges, no refueling.”

Jaime is unconcerned. “If she made it there, then I can too.”

“The Blue Angel had a party of supporters, specialists. She would have been outfitted with the best supplies and equipment. She was welcomed everywhere she went, and at the peak of her powers. No offense, Slayer, but you are past your prime, and your powers lately end at the borders of Lannister territory.”

He smiles thinly as he stands. “I didn’t know you cared, Spider. Thanks for the weapon. We’re square.”

Jaime takes the axe outside, and stands staring up at the moon, while the bikers retrieve his motorbike.

Anytime he looks at the moon, anytime there is a moon, he thinks of her. Remembers how they had looked on it together, during those long nights on the road, even though they had parted years ago now. Her on to glory, him back to the arms of his family. They delivered the girls to Winterfell, and he left her to the Kingsroad. It was her territory after that, what once had been his. She had earned it in sweat and tears and blood. She tended it well without him. He had gloried in tales of her exploits.

Whenever he looks at the moon, he has always wondered if she is looking too. Wherever she is.

He thinks he will not be able to look at the moon anymore.

When he turns his head, Varys stands on the steps of his trailer, his bald head gleaming against the fluorescent light. Jaime has never seen him outside his trailer. It’s confusing, a little like seeing a penguin in the jungle.

“The Others of the Black Mountains are different,” The Spider warns him. “Worse.” 

When his bike comes rolling back with two of the Spider’s bikers, it comes with a few more gifts. Two metal spheres, one the size of a softball and the other the size of a chestnut.

Grenades, obviously Old World. Gods know where Varys got them from, certainly they aren’t made this way anymore. What they’re calling grenades now will mostly just make noise. But these two could probably blow a hole in a tank. He packs them onto his bike carefully.

Any old-world weapon would be priceless now, Jaime knows. Varys would not overpay a debt.

He squints up at the Spider, who makes a silky shadow in the doorway against his light. “And the cost?”  

The Spider smiles -- he can’t see it, on a shadow, but he can hear it in his voice. “If you come back, tell me what you saw. I hear very little of the Black Mountains and none of it first-hand.”

Jaime can promise that easily enough. He knows he won’t be coming back.

He walks his bike in silence about a mile up the road before waking the engines and roaring away.

He rides the motorbike until the last of his carefully hoarded gasoline is run out, rides right through the next day and into the night. Gets more miles out of it than he would have gotten with his creaky armored car, and certainly faster. 

Along the way he sees no other travelers. Five years ago there would have been at least a few others, some other vehicles, perhaps spaced out and alone, perhaps all in a big caravan for safety. But there is not much fuel left anymore. And North is not a direction people go in now.

It was how he had met her, actually. On a road much like this one.  He had been on a different motorbike and she had been driving a sedan. Obviously following him, less obvious why. He made it a chase - weaving between the stopped traffic, blasting around the walkers and cyclists and parades of cars going nowhere. She had somehow kept up with him, pushing her poor little car to its limits. Eventually he decided whoever it was had earned his attention for at least a few minutes, and he pulled over on the road to watch the tallest, ugliest woman he had ever seen unfold herself out of her car. 

She kept his attention considerably longer than a few minutes. .

Of course, he could enjoy a chase back then - you could still count on petrol, could siphon it out of most any vehicle you encountered along the way. The cars along the road here are bone dry by now, haven’t moved in years, and the electronics, trunk supplies, and even promising upholstery have been stripped out of them long ago. The cars pass by now in muted streaks of blue and red, dulled by layers of paint-stripping weather damage and snow. 

When his bike sputters to a stop, he leaves it right out on the highway. Packs his equipment onto his back. Then he begins to walk.

Without the headlights of his bike, it’s quite dark. No streetlights, of course. He has a torch in his bag, but he’s saving that battery as long as he can. Anyway, the moon is out, and once his eyes are adjusted he sees well enough. The trees encroaching on the interstate have not quite overtaken the shoulder, and the glow of moon and stars light up the cracked concrete in front of him, and glitter in the frost.

His boots echo his footfalls up and down the highway. First the gritty sound of gravel, and then the crunch of ice, and then the quieter scrunch of snow. 

There are no other sounds to hear out here -- no bird cries, no insects. They aren’t sure if the animals are dead, hiding, or run away, but no one sees them anymore. Means he doesn’t have to worry about being eaten by bears, at least.

The last bear he has seen was that time with Brienne, actually. It might have been the last bear, period. He hasn’t heard of any other ones since. That would be a shame, if that had been the last bear, and they’d killed it. He hadn’t wanted to. He can’t take it personally, the bear trying to eat them. He was only hungry, and they were all very hungry that winter. 

He didn’t know he would be fleeing the last bear in Westeros with her, when he met Brienne on the road. He only knew she was capable, and she was following him, and anyone out in the wilds could be dangerous. Out here other people were either foolishly overconfident, robbers, or competition. 

Brienne proved to be the last type, possibly also the first. She was after the Stark bounty, same as him. She had a personal stake. He could keep the money, she said. He had a lot more experience and knew where he was going, but she could be an ally. She could help.

He had laughed in her face, more or less. Said she was free to make the bounty herself, but he traveled alone. Newbies tended to die almost immediately, and he hadn’t stayed alive this long by babysitting foolish college students. He would locate the missing Stark girls and deliver them home. But if she wanted to return them herself she’d have to beat him there. 

A few weeks later they had wound up with one Stark girl apiece -- him with Sansa and her best girlfriend Jayne, her with Arya and her mate Gendry -- and again she had proposed an alliance for the trip up to Winterfell. No one had made it to Winterfell since the disaster, but their chances were better together, she said.

His better idea was that he could take the two valuable girls to Winterfell and she could take the two spares and go back to King’s Landing where it was safe, or jump in a lake for all he cared. But that conversation had been interrupted by the Bloody Mummers, and after that… things were very different after that.

Jaime slows to a stop with this remembrance, digs in his bag for his water bottle and takes a long pull. He’s tiring faster than he expected. He has tried to keep himself in fighting shape the last few years, but he hasn’t made a journey like this in a long time.

You’ve grown soft, he thinks, but inside his head it sounds like Brienne’s gentle ribbing. The tone she had taken after she stopped insulting him for real.

I’m refined, he answers back, slinging his pack over his shoulder and walking again. Answers between breaths, like he’s actually speaking. I’m a diplomat these days, remember? 

Will you try to negotiate with the Others then? She laughs in his ear. What will you trade them, wine? Broken electronics? The only economy they know is violence, and we trade them blows. 

He smiles to himself, despite everything. Young lady, it’s a good thing you didn’t come back to King’s Landing with me. You would have knocked out the Small Council within a day, and we’d both have been out on our asses.

And King’s Landing would have better off with us in the street than you in that office. We might have saved it. Old man, whatever have you done without me?

Jaime stops a moment, breathing hard, looking up at the moon.

I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ve been doing, where the time went. It all blurred together without you.

He has been having these conversations for years now. It isn’t exactly imagination. More prediction. He knows exactly what she would say in every instance. What she would think of the people he meets, the places he goes. He hears her critiques of his private practice sessions, when he tries to stay in shape for the inevitable invasion. Her quiet, private commentary. Her icy rejoinders to his jokes. They come to him like a reply. Like she has heard him gods-know-how-many miles away, and answered him back. 

It’s painful now, hearing her voice. He doesn’t know why it would be different - alive or dead, he is only talking to himself after all. Perhaps it is only more obviously futile this way, knowing she is gone. 

He was never going to see her again, he knows that. The things she does, they were always eventually going to get her killed. Hells, he told her that himself more than once. 

Even now it still isn’t entirely real to him. It doesn’t seem possible. But the Spider knows things, and if he knows them they aren’t just rumors. It’s true. It’s sinking in. Brienne is gone. 

She doesn’t walk the same world as him anymore. He will hear no more tales of her adventures, and smile privately at the things nobody else knows of her. He will not wonder if it snows where she is, or if the sun shines. Whether she ever thinks of him, the way he does of her. They traveled together only a year, but she carved a place for herself in him, in the slow and brutal way water carves a cliffside. He has kept her there all this time. Now in that space there is emptiness, a brutal, sucking vacuum that might just pull him apart if he stops moving long enough.

So he starts walking again. Keeps walking, on and on, without rest, for as long as he can stand it.

Here and there one of the Others comes onto the road ahead of him. They wander on and off aimlessly, looking lost. At a distance they look nearly alive, so long as they aren’t missing any limbs, and only the directionless of their movements give them away. As you get closer you can see their clothing is wrong -- it’s not enough clothes for the weather, or their clothes are torn, bits are missing. Maybe the clothes are rotting right off their bodies, if they’re been out long enough. Closer still and you can see the blueish tinge to the skin that the Others are famous for, the thin layer of frost that covers them head to toe. At ten feet or so you can make out the ice blue eyes that glow like cat’s eyes in the light. But by then they’ve seen you, and they move much faster than you think they can. Best not to get that close. Best to stay well away, and let them turn and wander in another direction out of sight. 

As always, one wonders what they’re looking for. Where they’re going.

Some of them will wander away before he catches up, and he pays them no mind. If he is quiet, and they didn’t take notice of him, it is easier to let them pass by. Fighting can be loud, and that sort of noise could bring more of them running.

But eventually one is too slow. They can be damaged, and those stumbling steps can be frustratingly deliberate at times. This one is fairly tall, and drags its foot in the snow. On the highway, it reminds him of an elderly driver occupying the fast lane at a crawl. Even as he slows his pace, he gets closer and closer, and the dead thing shows no signs of changing direction.

Eventually he can wait no longer. He will have to overtake the creature. At least he hasn’t seen any other Others nearby. This Other shows no sign of noticing him. Jaime slowly draws the axe off his back, and makes six rapid, long strides in the thing’s direction, winding up for a massive crossways swing.

Varys didn’t lie; the axe cuts true. One good blow across the back is enough to bring it down, and he remembers where to strike. Sever the spinal cord, destroy the brain, or burn them, that destroys them. The axe is so sharp it cuts the thing nearly in half. There is a quick, sharp sound of impact and the thud of a body hitting the ground, and then silence. 

They don’t scream, the others. They don’t make noises of any kind. Maybe because they don’t breathe anymore; who knows. He pulls the axe out of the thing’s bulk and wipes it in the snow. 

The first Other to fall to him in five years that he didn’t hit with his car. It feels good. It doesn’t relieve the great sucking void he has inside him but it does feel good.

He shoulders the axe and keeps walking. After that, he strikes down one of them every few hours, until the sun comes up, and then he huddles on the embankment, dozing, for most of the morning. It’s not so cold he’ll freeze - not yet, anyway - and there aren’t so many Others around that he can’t risk it.

He’s lucky, for the most part. There aren’t any big clusters of Others out here. Those tend to form up around settlements and cities, or lingering around empty houses. Not out here in the open space, where there aren’t travelers anymore. 

He passes the next night in a car, after crawling in a broken window. It’s not especially safer, but it is more comfortable than the ground. He sprawls across the backseat and thinks about the red wood-paneled station wagon he had found buried in a parking lot and managed to start. He and Brienne drove that car all the way to Harrenhall, the now five children sleeping in the back. The seat was so wide even Brienne could lay down in it, and she was inches taller than him. 

This car is blue, and he has to bend his knees and curl up to fit on the seat.

Keep watch for me, Angel, he tells her, before he drifts off.

Days of steady walking pass this way, with fitful bursts of sleep. 

The Black Mountains are looming in the far distance when he nears Winterfell. So tall he can see them all these miles away, staining the low edge of the horizon like a shadow. 

Jaime keeps his eyes on the ground mostly. He’s only been here once, and it wasn’t an enjoyable visit. It was a destination, and it meant the end of a long journey. He’s never much liked those. Endings. He tries to get those over with. If he can help it, he’d rather turn around and begin again right away, try to get back to the middle.

Wintertown is relatively intact, patrolled by fur-clad soldiers with shotguns. The town has grown since he was here last. The streets have people on them now, much more than in Lannisport or anywhere in the Riverlands. No cars, but regular people, old folks and even children, strolling about. He has to stop and stare at that for awhile. Pedestrians. It’s been a long time.

Perhaps things are better in the North? Maybe they are safer than they were. But Wintertown is small, and easily guarded, and in the shadow of the old Winterfell fortress these people know they can flee within its walls and be safe, should the Others attack again. That’s more reassurance than most places have. 

For a little while he walks up and down those streets, just another window-shopper. The buildings are mostly refitted as residences, but on the sidewalks people sell goods out of carts, or spread out on the sidewalk. Wanderers come through and trade the trinkets they’ve found. There aren’t prices. Most likely they will take food, and medicine, and more practical items, in trade. He didn’t bring anything like that, unfortunately. But there isn’t anything he needs here.

At the end of a long boulevard Jaime finds himself before the gates of Winterfell, and he pauses.

This was where he had parted from her. Right here.

He grimaces past that memory. He was an ass about it, of course. Tried to sneak away. She caught him. There was a confrontation. Things were said. 

Things? Brienne-in-his-mind prods him indignantly. Have you forgotten already?

I remember every word. He sighs. Unfortunately.

The gates to Winterfell stand open for now. Probably so that Wintertown can run inside, if someone rings the alarm. Jaime passes through and takes the gravel path to the old castle. It’s a sturdy thing, for being several hundred years old. Solid and undecayed. Sure, they have to replace the wood every few decades, but the stone is thick and unbroken. There are walls behind walls, like any medieval keep, and courtyards and gates separating them. Guards stand atop the fortifications with guns, and they watch him approaching. Wary, but welcoming. Anyone not undead is allowed to pass through, at least to the midden.

The kids are here at Winterfell, probably. Somewhere. Many of them stayed, he has heard. The Starks for sure, and maybe some of the other strays he and Brienne had picked up along the way. Any of the running kids in Wintertown could have been Apple, that baby that Willow and Sansa had fawned over. He would be five, six years old now. That is, if he were alive. 

He doesn’t want to see any of them if he can help it. Best not to go inside the Great Keep then. He goes to the Great Hall instead. The velvet ropes are all taken down. It was a tourist trap for a lot of years, before its fortifications became unexpectedly useful again. Used to be you could get a feast inside, with cosplayers and a jester and a bard, and then you could get back in your car and drive away home. 

Bit different now. The fires are still roaring, but put to more practical use. Broken furniture surrounds the great fireplaces where they have been stripping the upholstery and feeding the fire. Laundry is strung up before them, and boils in great kettles. Nearer to mealtime the laundry will be replaced with soup and stew. The fireplaces in the living quarters had been stripped out long ago, replaced with appliances that no longer work. They have to do nearly everything in the great hall now, and gather in smaller rooms. 

The head washerwoman takes his message back to the living quarters and Jaime sits down to wait. There is an armchair that is strikingly comfortable for as old as it looks, upholstered in a velvety material. It might be some kind of antique, something with a PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign on it back when this was a museum. There isn’t much use for antiques anymore. He sits in the chair.

He sits back and stares at nothing for a time. He might have fallen asleep, because the girls appear as if by magic, just as he remembers them but taller and leaner, their chubby faces hollowed by early adulthood. 

Sansa is quite tall, for a Stark anyway. She looks like her mother otherwise; red-haired, high-cheekboned, very pretty. Her sister looks like their father, sturdy and strong-jawed, Northern. They stare at him owlishly, and he wonders what he looks like to them. He is not nearly so changed -- grew a beard, added some lines around his eyes -- but they were children when they saw him last, and they are not children now. He has to look up to see them.

“You came for Brienne,” Arya says abruptly -- as usual she realizes the obvious first and doesn’t hesitate to speak it aloud. 

Jaime nods. There isn’t much more to say than that.

“We had a memorial,” Sansa hovers over him awkwardly, looking unsure. “All of Winterfell came, much of Wintertown as well. We would have waited if we had known you would come.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?” He says it more sharply than he intends.

Arya snaps back. “You’ve been gone a long time, and not a single letter. What else could we think?”

Sansa stops her with a hand to her shoulder. She was always an empathetic child. “You’re welcome here now. Can I get you anything?”

“Your brother. If he’s here.” His eyes drift to Widow’s Wail, where it sits on the floor beside him. “I’ve heard he was there when it happened. I need to hear it from him.”

Sansa leans forward and touches his hands, briefly. “We can take you to him.”

He can only nod. 

He follows the girls through the old fortress into a more modern living area. Home, most like. The Starks have all congregated here, the ones left.

Jon Snow he has never met before. The girls’ half-brother. Lord Snow of Winterfell, now. He stands straight and stiff, trying to look older than he is. He has a warm parka on over his polar fleece, something puffy and filled with down. It’s hard to be serious in a puffy coat without coming off at least faintly ridiculous, but the young man manages it somehow. 

“She was a great help to my family,” Jon says, and shakes his hand vigorously. “A great fighter, the bravest of all of us, and the kindest too. Every one of us here at Winterfell thought very highly of her.”

“And your mission?” Jaime shuts down the reminiscence quickly. He does not want to remember Brienne here. Certainly not with the Starks.

Jon hangs his head. “It wasn’t a complete waste. But it wasn’t quite what we wanted, either.”

He gestures to a sofa. Jaime sits on the edge of it, unwilling to relax. This is rather too much civilization for him right now. Jon sits down expansively on an easy chair, and runs a hand through wild black hair. 

“We were hoping to find something that would explain where the Others come from. We thought the Black Mountains might have the answer, the mountains and the land beyond. It’s hard to find much on the Mountains though -- only one road is passable, everywhere else is ice and deep snow. Beyond the Mountains there is a place they’re calling Craster’s Keep. We knew something was very wrong there. We should have stayed away.” Jon shakes his head, so serious. 

Jaime waits.

“We suspected they were colluding with the Others somehow. The ones on the Mountain. The old man… it was terrible. What he was doing. We had to put a stop to it. Brienne followed one of the men to their meeting place, where the Others come down the Mountain. She never came back.”

That is rather less definitive than Jaime wants to hear. 

“That’s all? Did you search?” he asks sharply.

Jon looks defensive at first, but softens quickly. “I assure you, if there was anything to find, we would have found it. We were very fond of her. There were signs of a battle, and several Others fallen there. But of her there was no sign. There was no body.” Jon looks reluctant to continue. “We did find this.”

Hesitantly, he holds out the wrapped bundle to Jaime. He knows it immediately. Takes it like he took the grenades, carefully and reluctantly.

His hands unwrap the thing before he can think twice, to show himself what he already knows. It’s Brienne’s titanium bat. Bloodstained, dirty, with a single chip in it near the tip. 

They had nicknamed it Oathkeeper, way back then. It was more like a mythical sword than a bat. Titanium bats weren’t even allowed in baseball, in any league. They hit the ball so hard it was dangerous to the other players. They probably shouldn’t have been made in the first place, and they stopped making them decades before the Others came and their true usefulness became apparent. 

Jaime holds the bat. Brienne had carried this thing for so long. He puts his fingers where she would have put hers, the way a player held it  to hit a ball. He can see the mark of her fingers there, slowly rubbed into the metal across the years. 

Jon is still talking. “These Others are different. Our Others will kill and turn. But these... We suspect that they consume the bodies instead of raising them. I think there was nothing remaining to find.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Jaime stands.

“If you will insist…” Jon rises as well, solemn. “My friend Sam stayed behind there. If you reach Craster’s Keep, ask for Sam. He’ll tell you what you need to know.”

*****************  

He passes a night there, lying awake in a bed. 

They gave him her room. A quiet, out-of-the-way guest bedroom with little in the way of modern amenities. It has a homey feeling, just the same. It feels like her.

She left some things there; little knick-knacks. She liked to pick up small things, put them in her pockets. Her coat had loads of pockets hidden everywhere. By the end of the day she would have lots of little treasures. You could turn her upside down and shake her and all sorts of shiny treats would come rolling out. Figurines, stones, tiny toys. They’re arranged all around the room, on the windowsill, on the dresser. Probably if he went through her clothes he would find more things still hidden away in her pockets. The coat, though, that wouldn’t be there in the closet, he knows without looking. She would have it with her, wherever she has gone.

Jaime leaves her things alone. It’s enough to know they’re there, waiting for her. 

Brienne slept in this bed. This is the only home she had, so far as he knows. She stayed here after he left, here at Winterfell. She would have rested here -- she was still a little sick. It had been a few weeks, at least, before she went back to the Kingsroad. After that she came back here between adventures, making the long, dangerous journey there and back again. In the dead of winter she would rest here at least a month, from what he could tell, every year.

He should have stayed with her. 

She never asked him. Not out loud. But he knows, deep down, he would have been welcome. He knew it then, too. But he had left her at Winterfell and gone back. Back to the arms of his family who needed him more than she ever would. Back to his father and his expectations, to his siblings who needed his protection. The job was over, and he went back to where he belonged. 

Not a day has gone by that he doesn’t regret it. 

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

In the morning he is lacing his new boots in the great hall, a gift from Jon. They are a little large, but warm, and useful for maneuvering on ice. He suspects they had once belonged to Ned Stark; certainly none of the Stark boys have feet this big.

Jon has also given him a down parka like his own. Such a thing would fetch a lot in trade these days, but he insists Jaime take it. “This is the least I can do, for bringing my brother and sisters home.” 

Jaime promises to return it, though he can see that Jon does not expect to see him at Winterfell again. Neither of them do.

His pack has been refilled with food, bandages, antiseptic, and an icepick. Arya had thrust the bag at him wordlessly and turned on her heel and left and he does not see her again. How much and how little people change from when they are small; he can still see the dark-eyed child in the woman she is becoming. It makes him feel positively ancient.

Sansa accompanies him to the gates of Winterfell, gliding elegantly over the snow in her warm winter coat. She chatters as much as she always did, though it was never to him before. She used to keep her distance from him, as she had from most men. She misses Brienne, he realizes, looking at her. She must have been like an older sister, or an aunt, or...

He never did lay eyes on Rickon, did he? He is probably running wild somewhere, running with the wolves. He doesn’t ask, though he suspects Sansa would like him to. Nor does he ask about Willow, or Gendry, or any of the others. He has too much to carry already.

“You’re different,” Sansa tells him, nearing the gates.

“You’re older,” he says. “You see me better.”

“Maybe.” The auburn beauty frowns. “Do you think she’s still alive out there?”

He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to see the concern on her face, not if it’s for him.

“Do you think Brienne would want you to do this? Go after her like this?”

No. “That won’t stop me.” 

“She would want you to go on with your life.”

“I don’t care.” He can’t quite look at Sansa. He couldn’t look at Arya either. They remind him of too much. 

“Why did you never come back? She waited for you. She was still waiting.”

He shuts his eyes against her. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t. Not now.”

Sansa sniffles, and her voice trembles. “I’m so sorry. You were both so good to us. I’m so sorry,” she repeats, and tries to put her arms around him, but he’s already walking away.

He’s going through the gates of Winterfell, straight down the boulevard of Wintertown.

He doesn’t stop. He turns to the Black Mountains, and keeps walking.

[missgeniality]

“Kittens, They Love To Enslave Us”

prompt sent by @shadowsremedy​ : “ yoongi + sfw please haha + something cute!” - thank you so much for sending me a prompt gray!! i hope this does some justice! on a side note, i do feel terribly handicapped when things are fluffy and cute ;_;

find out how to send me prompts on the post here!

➺ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

➺ Genre: Fluff, Established Relationship!AU

➺ Rating: PG

➺ Word Count: 1.1k

➺ Warnings: None

“But he is looking at me.”

“Y/N, they’re all looking at you. People walking outside are staring at you. You’re like a wild Beyblade in a ring, spinning from one kitten to another. Just pick one.”

To a third person, Yoongi’s comment would sound like an annoyed grouse. His half-mumbled words, paired with the lazy cadence of his tone; it’s a reasonable assumption.

But you know better.

The way he is admiring you as you pout in confusion tells you most of it. There is a light mocking in his speech, a lilt of levity, something you are able to pick up on due to your years of togetherness. He’s not miffed; merely amused at your inability to choose from the deluge of furry babies lined in front of you. 

“I can’t just leave him,” you’re trying hard to push out the one wild voice in your head browbeating you to empty your savings to become the crazy cat collector of your street, “his eyes are - LOOK AT HIM - they’re calling me!”. The youngling in question, seated on a bright, puffy cushion tilts his head, in expected confusion, probably wondering why this eccentric specimen is almost on their knees, wailing in his direction. You groan out loud, sitting cross-legged on the floor, stuffing your face into your hands in the hopes of an answer in the lineament of your palms. 

The only sound populating the air around you is the mirthful snickers of the highly entertained boyfriend of yours. “You know, you don’t have to make a decision today.” 

You vehemently deny the option, your shaking head hurling your hair side to side, accentuating your opinion. “But you’re not free any other day!”. You and Yoongi had decided to adopt, so it is rightful of him to be present while making the decision. You didn’t want to have that privilege to yourself, although with the passage of time your wishy-washy nature feels like a handicap - all the more reason to want Yoongi there.

With your head still in the sanctuary of your palms, you reason out with yourself. You know you’re being dramatic - you’d like to think you’re reasonably self-aware. But it’s not the sole idea of getting a pet that’s causing you worry. 

This might be the first big step in your relationship with Yoongi, after moving in with him. And you don’t want anything to sabotage what you consider a smooth-sailing. Adding a variable to your equation might rock the ship you’ve steadied for all these years, the variable being a cup-size blob of hair with glimmering buttons for eyes. You’d like to think you and Yoongi have weathered quite a few vicissitudes, by placing your trusts in your partner’s hands. Getting a pet isn’t the end of the world, but the domino effect it could possibly have is affecting your decision-making skills. 

Your head hasn’t left the sanctuary of your palms when you feel Yoongi’s fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging them towards him to have you meet his eye. 

If there’s one thing about Yoongi, it’s that his eyes do a lot more talking than his lips. The gaze he’s giving is gushing with love, the soft apples of his cheeks plumped up into rosy globes as he simpers at you, just for being you. His eyes, brown and lax under the mellow late-afternoon rays flooding through the window, pacify you, quell the turmoil that runs in your brain, and offer the reassurance that you need. Under Yoongi’s loving gaze, you feel a metaphorical fuzzy blanket wrapped around, instantly putting you to comfort. 

You’re going to be all right. One cat can’t sabotage a relationship as durable as yours, and if it does, it wasn’t durable enough to begin with. 

From a corner, the agent walks in, papers for the adoption rustling in her hand. “Were you able to decide?” She’s startled by the position she finds you both in, you in an unflattering cross-legged pose, with Yoongi kneeled beside you. But as usual, Yoongi’s calm and tranquil demeanor sets her at ease. “I have the papers ready, so we can start whenever you want.”

“We’ll probably come back later.” Yoongi opines, understandably so, but you’ve made up your mind.

“Yoongi, no we ca-”

In a flash, a black ball of fur rolls in out of nowhere and lands on your lap, soft bean-paws pressing into the flesh of your thighs as it stomps around for the sweet spot. Turning to Yoongi, this young, fledgling kitty gives out, what is its own mind, probably the loudest, most intimidating roar in the world of felines. 

The soft, elongated meow that actually leaves the kitten traps your heart in its cage, and even catches Yoongi by surprise. A defensive stance, the little one throws its best threatening glare at him, in presumably an attempt to guard you. Yoongi clutches his heart at the dramatism, and the agent is chuckling in awe of the runt’s behavior.

“Minnie!”, she coos to the munchkin backing up on your thighs, “You can’t just climb people, you clingy baby.”. The addressed one haughtily side-eyes her, as if to say ‘watch me’, and settles into your lap comfortably, with no intention to move visible. 

“I’m so sorry. She’s usually not like this,” The agent moves to rid you of the furball, “usually it takes a lot to have her get along with people. She’s very feral, but,” pausing to look at the both of you, she chimes “she seems to like you two!”

“Well, she sure does like Y/N.” Yoongi extends his hand to cup the kitten’s face, whiskers tickling the side of his palm as he tries to get on her good side. A soft, low purr tells you all that his peace offering had been accepted. It makes Yoongi grin, his gummy smile brightening up the whole room better than any ray of sunshine. 

The agent, looking over the whole interaction, affectionately quips “Well, you may not be able to choose one, but she seems to has chosen you!” You’re still looking at him. In your core, you have decided to take her home. Yoongi, admiring the kitten’s sparkling blue eyes, raises his gaze to meet yours, and at that moment you know; she is the one.

Cruising through the paperwork, Minnie had decided to give Yoongi’s lap a try. Now, her head is resting on his acid-washed jeans, and if it were possible, you’d have hearts for eyes observing this scene. Your constant, Yoongi, the one always by your side, and your new source of joy, Minnie. Having them, you don’t need anything else. 

“Ah,” you sigh, as Yoongi finishes signing the last page of the document, “kittens, they just love to enslave you.” You can already envision the amassment of toys you’re gonna bring in for this one small being, just to keep her happy and fulfilled. 

“Hmmn, yeah.” Yoongi hums in reply, but something about the way he’s smiling at you tells you he’s not just referring to the floofball in his arms. 

[rebamacncheese]

THSR Designer’s Notes: The Ruffle Dress

This is the third in a series of posts where I break down the design choices I made for my illustrated Frozen 3 fan-script, True Hans Soul Rebel. Link here if you haven’t read it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113293/chapters/66207733

So. THSR is broken into three acts, like a good Gisnep feature, but it can also be broken in half, if you like. The first seven sequences, and the last seven. The center piece, on which everything hinges, is the Spring Ball. 

Up until now, I hadn’t talked about the non-Hans/Marie character designs, because there’s not much to say with them. Of course, in the fully realized movie, there would be updated wardrobes for the whole cast - spring palettes for Anna and Kristoff, Elsa’s fifth spirit outfit is made more combat-ready - but I didn’t have to think very hard about them, for my purposes in illustrating my fic. They’re all about what you expect, more or less, from “Frozen, but make it spring”. This changes with the ball. 

All of the main cast get new outfits - showcased in the character posters. They were all designed with each other and the setting in mind, and to weather the emotional/physical gauntlet that is THSR’s second half. This is going to be lot. Let’s break it down. 

First up, the ruffle dress:

In my notes, this is also called “Elsa’s DTF dress”. 

And that is what it is. Elsa has a crush, and she wants to dance with her. 

Romance is a new frontier for the character, a side of herself she’s never had to confront directly before. The tumultuous mix of love and fear causes her to lose control of her powers for the first time in years. She can’t keep her ice solid, one of the consequences of which is that she can’t dress herself with magic. The ruffle gown is wholly analog, made from repurposed material in the back of her old closet with the help of castle servants. (I give them six hours in-story to make it, which is still insane. But if you want a realistic depiction of dressmaking, you’ve come to the wrong genre)

The challenge for the ruffle dress was that it had to both feel like Elsa - and not like Elsa. Show her out of her depth, out of her element, and also asserting her new desires. Show the influence from Marie, which means true warm colors foreign to her palette. And, of course, make it work for the Frozen spring collection.

Here’s a very early draft (the middle one) which didn’t work at all. I tried to keep the exposed shoulders, and have the ruffles more period-inspired. The good idea of having the ruffles mimic water is there, but it looks like she’s wearing melted ice cream. The pastels are also wrong - immature. I was trying to keep within the rules Frozen’s artbooks laid out, that if you go too dark or too warm, Elsa stops feeling like herself. 

See the dark blue and black she wears at the height of her encloisterment. And the dark magenta nightgown, when the story is about how Arendelle is not where she belongs. 

I was being cowardly, in other words. The break through came with the realization that that the look would be better the more paradoxical it seemed. If it has the structure of an Elsa gown that shows her embracing herself - open shoulders and back, giving you anachronistic high femme eleganza - and the colors associated with her insecurity. By her own choices, too - Elsa’s an artist, she expresses herself through her clothes. This is her expressing what romance is to her, something dark and unknown, but strangely familiar, like the deep sea. 

The pinned hair is a compromise on these lines - bringing back the waves in the braid, but keeping it free, as in her fifth spirit look. 

Here’s another draft:

Now we’ve got something. Abyssal blues, dark but highly saturated jewel tone, with ethereal aqua lining and passionate red accents. The ruffles also echo hellebore, the winter rose - like the spring palace’s chandelier. 

The halterneck is in line with Frozen 2 concept art. 

The creative team decided against this - I’m guessing because it was too dark/warm, and didn’t contrast well enough with Anna’s dark autumn leaf palette. But this shows the high collar is possible keeping within Elsa’s style - the ruffle dress actually exposes more of her shoulders.

The rich blue and red lipstick is also much like the concept art, though with the dramatic eyeshadow she reminds me of another iconic queen. 

Queer Villain Couture. This is what we are here for, this is everything Elsa’s relationship to Marie is. And come Act 3, this is exactly the aesthetic for slinging wild magic down from a volcano. 

The ruffles could use some work, though. The real cascading effect I want, I’m not sophisticated enough to draw from scratch. 

Here’s an attempt to articulate the ruffles in a uniform flow: 

I try, but it’s not right. Ends up looking jagged, not flowy, and oddly like a flamenco dancer. Which isn’t bad in general, but wrong for Elsa and too much at odds with the setting. (side note, wtf is up with Marie’s hair here? Girl, hang on, we’ll get to you in a minute) I made many attempts to get the cascade effect free-hand, and I always just ended up with something like this.

In the end, I just cheated. I found a real prom dress with the ruffle shape I wanted on google search, traced them on. Now you know. Regretfully, I then deleted the layer, and now I can’t find the exact dress I stole by searching again to credit them. Ah, well. Maybe somebody bought it?

I only cheated once, though - every subsequent illustration with the ruffle dress I winged it (as you can probably tell).

Forget everything else I’ve said, this thing was really designed to make 2D animators cry. 

In all, the ruffle dress is THSR’s answer to the snow queen gown, and the fifth spirit gown - Elsa’s big statement piece of the film. The thing kids would beg their parents for come Halloween. And I think it does it’s job, as something that both stands up to the rest of Elsa’s wardrobe, and stands out alongside the other Disney heroines in their finest. 

But, to Elsa’s astonishment, her ruffle dress in all it’s glory is not the real showstopper of the ball. 

Watch this space :)

[getdownkyh]

Through the Storm | M | Sungjin | smut | 1.8k words

A flash of light, an angry thunder roaring through the heavy raindrops knocking on the window, and you were jolted awake from your sleep. Right cheek pressed to the pillow, warm, unlike the rest of your body that were in equilibrium with the temperature of the surrounding. 

“Cold.” you muttered, your hand blindly sweeping under the covers, looking for your primary source of warmth, of comfort. But the space next to you was bare and cold, indicating said person had not been there for a while.

You squinted, the darkness of the outside a clear sign of the time being way too early to leave the bed, the lack of light coaxing you to keep your eyes shut and rest. The coldness from the rain creeping into your skin, desperate for an embrace into a deep slumber.

But the angry storm outside had a different effect to you than it did to him. 

Rubbing your eyes, you left the bed, in search for warmth and to provide comfort for him. The harsh lights coming from his study stung your eyes, but the blurry figure, writing busily in his notebook, too engrossed in his work, was too beautiful for you to look away.

You walked towards him, the telltale sound of your feet scuffing through the wooden floor making him spare a glance, a tired smile gracing his face. Standing behind him, you carefully wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. You felt him tensing for a while, before relaxing under your touch. 

Sungjin was not a big fan of physical affection, you had learnt but once he got a touch of yours, he was beginning to embrace the physical forms of assurance and belonging, and frankly, the feeling was amazing. It was worth getting used to. 

“The storm woke you up?” you asked, voice muffled in his shirt. He smelled amazing, he always does. It was his one too many perfume but it was also just the familiarity, making you feel safe around him.

“Mm,” he nodded. “I couldn’t fall asleep in the first place, but when the storm started I gave up trying to sleep.” 

“But you’re tired.. I can hear it in your voice..” you whined, feeling bad. You could hear it in his voice, and if you could see his face you were sure there were creases under his eyes, from lack of sleep. 

You pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

He shuddered, “Your lips are so cold.” 

“Yeah, I’m freezing.” You tightened your hold on him, slightly shivering when you feel the cold air on your legs, your sleeping shorts doing almost nothing to keep you warm.

Sungjin took your hands in his, rubbing them together to warm you up. You rested your chin on his shoulder, looking over to the paper strewn over the table. “New song?”

He blew hot air onto your hands, “Hmm maybe?”

“Sing for me?”

He laughed, “Nice try, but no spoiler.” 

“Not even for me?” you giggled, your breath tickling his neck.

“The neighbors might hear and plagiarize me. We can’t let that happen can we?” He joked, clearly not ready to show you his work.

You rolled your eyes, kissing him on the lips, unwrapping your arms around his neck, pulling away, “Alright, alright.”

Sungjin held onto your hand, “Where are you going?” 

“It’s cold. You don’t want to sing for me,” you moved your gaze towards the window, “the weather is so loud though. I’m pretty sure no one can hear anything but the storm for a while.”

You’re cold, I can’t sleep and the neighbors can’t hear us.

Sungjin gave you a lopsided smile, “You’re right.” He pulled your hand, bringing you in front of him, the back of your thighs meeting his table. His hands were quick to find your thighs, running his fingers through the cold skin, effectively warming you up in more than one way. 

“So cold..”  He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your thigh, his hands now squeezing more aggressively. You tangled your fingers in his hair, the feeling of his warm, large hands running through your cold skin a pleasurable experience. 

He kissed your thigh again, “Actually you were right.” 

“Hmm?” You questioned.

Sungjin nestled his face deeper into you, “No one can hear us for a while.”

Tightening his grip, each thigh in one hand, he started nipping on the soft skin of your inner thigh. You held your breath, your hands now supporting yourself by holding his shoulders.

Nipping, licking and sucking on your skin, he smiled, brazen as he felt you gradually warming up. He pulled back, looking at the marks he left, running his fingers over them as he gazed upwards to see you looking at him through hooded eyes. 

He inched his face closer to your center, nuzzling his nose, inhaling your scent, a wet patch forming on your shorts from the lack of panties. He tugged his fingers into your shorts and pulled them down, you obligingly kicking them off your legs. 

He kissed your sensitive spot, briefly, teasingly and you shuddered, feeling everything in your system wavering. Holding your hips, he hoisted you up, sitting on his table. He rolled his chair forward, spreading your legs open and trapping himself between your legs.

He ran his hand over your thighs, looking at you with an unabashed smile, “I can’t spoil the song for you, but I can spoil you in another way.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. He delved in, kitten licks on your inner thighs, moving closer to your core. You felt his hot breath right in front of you before you feel his warm tongue licking your opening. 

Your thighs clamped around his head, and he grunted disapprovingly, pushing you back open and wrapping his arms under you thighs, forcing you to stay opened. He licked between your folds again, the sound sinful to your ears, the occasionally rumbling thunder adding to the intensity. 

You feel his tongue prodding your entrance, the deft muscle grazing your walls at various angles, you squirmed, your fingers tensing in his hair. His lips moved an inch upwards, pressing a kiss to your clit before gently sucking on it. You responded, back arching, moans leaving your lips, wiggling your hips closer to his face. 

He sighed into your core, before putting your clit back in his mouth and sucking again, this time carefulness thrown out of the window. You tugged on his hair and he grunted, the vibration to your bud going straight to the pit of your stomach, and you feel the familiar fire coursing through your body, your hips rolling as you came, moaning his name through your high.

Sungjin stood up, letting go of your legs and rubbing your thighs gently. You took off your shirt, as he stood in front of your panting figure, placing his hand in the small of your back, hovering over you as you slowly leaned backwards, until you laid flat on his table, his face above yours. 

He kissed you, inserting his tongue inside your mouth, you smiled, tiredly kissing him back, tasting yourself as your tongues swirled together. Your hand travelled from his chest, down to his abdomen. He groaned, shifting his leg, and you felt his erection pressing into your thigh. You blindly reached down and tugged, freeing him from the confinements of his pants, feeling the warm, thick member on your skin.

He kissed you deeper as he felt your fingers, lithe on his erection, slowly pumping him, your thumb grazing his tip every now and then. He nibbled on your bottom lip, both your eyes shut as you got trapped in each other’s mazes, never wanting to leave. 

A particularly bright light flashed once, followed by a deafening thunder, and your heart jumped against your ribs, your squeeze on him tightening as you pumped him faster as a response of shock, him hissing into the kiss from the stimulation. 

He untangled your hand that was wrapped around his member, moving to kiss your collarbone. “Can’t make a mess here.”

Gripping your hips, he positioned himself in front of you and pushed in, grunting with bated breaths, “Can’t let my releases spill through your small hands and drip on the floor.”

Sungjin fucks like an insatiable man. He likes to take as much of you as he can, imprints as much of him on you and the way his energy heightens when fucking you drives him crazy. Somehow there was a line between being compliant yet assertive and you were exactly there, sitting on the line, laying down inviting him to take what he wanted, but putting up your own fight, not fully yielding to him. 

His pace had your senses going haywire, barely able to focus on one sound, between his low moans, your whimpers, the storm wilding outside and the dirty sounds of your skins bumping into each other’s. Somehow you could still make out the sound of his pens rolling down to the floor, the table shaking with every snap of his hips. 

Standing up, he splayed his hand on your lower belly, pressing down to keep you in place as he continued ramming into you. Your hands grasped onto your own breasts, stopping them from bouncing with every thrust, squeezing them to pleasure yourself even more. You heard him cursing under his breath, “Fuck, you feel so good and you look like an angel.”

Your hand traveled south, but Sungjin beat you to it, as he pressed his thumb on your bud and rubbed, the stimulation from the delicious spots both inside and outside causing you to let out a particularly sharp moan, clenching around him. He bucked his hips upwards, and you clawed at his hand, gripping onto his wrist, losing control. 

“That’s it love, come for me, let me know how good you feel.” 

You whined, struggling. He snapped his hips harder. And you felt the warm feeling spreading through your body again, your eyes seeing tiny sparks, your walls convulsing around him, drawing out more grunts.

When you opened your eyes, Sungjin was still thrusting into you, chasing his own high. You squirmed, whining from the discomfort of overstimulation, reaching out to take his hand in yours. You entwined your fingers together, eyebrows knitted to hold yourself together for a few more seconds just for him. 

The sight of you so fragile, already disintegrated in front of him yet firmly holding yourself together for him tipped him over the edge, hips stuttering as he reached his own climax. You sat up, bodies still connected, wrapping your legs around his waist as he brought the both of you back to the bed, his softening length buried inside you. 

You softly mumbled in his ears, “Oh, the storm has stopped.” 

Sungjin yawned, fatigue fully taking over his system now, “Great, it’s perfect for cuddling now.” 

You laid facing each other, him playing with your hair, you drawing circles on his arm, “Get some rest.” 

“Okay.” 

[holy-hyuck]

Our Maybes

It’s 3am, you can’t sleep, and Yeonjun can’t get you out of his head.

Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Swearing

link to my masterlist -> please be aware that this content is 100% mine and you are not to distribute it or take it without my consent

let me know what you think! 😊

Your eyes shut close, and open a minute after - it feels like that, at least, but the time on your phone tells you it’s been two hours. It doesn’t matter anyway because by seven you’ll feel tired again, and your 8am class won’t let you get any sleep.

It takes a minute but eventually, your eyes adjust to the dark and you stare at your door a little longer. Perhaps you could will yourself back to sleep.

Nah, who are you kidding?

Throwing the covers off, you put on your slippers and the bright orange hoodie haphazardly thrown on the floor the night before. As your feet drag across the carpeted floor, you notice how silent the house in. You can hear everything; your own thoughts, for once, the ticking of the clock, a dog barking outside, Changbin’s snoring, and...glass breaking? Someone cursing?

Who on earth is up at half-past three in the morning? Oh, right. You.

The stairs creak ever so slightly as you descent down them, praying you won’t trip in the darkness, but the floor and the walls are brighter than usual. Then, you notice the light coming from the kitchen and some shuffling, the crispiness of glass breaking underneath a heavy object.

“Fuck.” You hear someone mutter and take a peek into the room. It’s Yeonjun, still in yesterday’s clothes, hitting the plastic edge of the dustpan against the bin, emptying it out. You’re grateful you put on slippers - Yeonjun can’t sweep to save his life.

You watch him chuck the brush and the dustpan into the cupboard below the sink and close it with a slam, startling himself. You let out a giggle and he turns around, only spotting you now, leaning your hand against the wall.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He scratches the back of his neck and smiles at you sheepishly.

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” You walk up to the kitchen island and hop on the marble. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. I have a test to study for. You too?”

“Something like that,” you answer, then thank him with a nod for the glass of water he slides your way. You watch him take a sip before staring off into space.

You’ve always found Yeonjun attractive, ever since the first day of university when he helped you carry your things into your room, his hair a dark brown colour. A month later, it was silver, and before Easter, a navy blue. Now, he’s sporting a platinum blond colour, but it doesn’t really matter if he has the rainbow on his head or if he’s completely bald - his visuals are out of this world either way.

Your drop your gaze before he has a chance to catch you staring, and play with the strings on your pyjama shorts. You wrap them around your finger, then release, over and over until Yeonjun coughs and you will yourself to look up at him. He gives you a smile you can’t help but reciprocate; he has that effect on you sometimes.

“Hey, put on some shoes. I’m gonna take you somewhere,” he tells you, dropping the glass into the sink rather harshly and running to get his coat and shoes on.

“What?” You’re perplexed but don’t have time to protest, for Yeonjun is nowhere around to hear it. With a sigh, you hop off the kitchen island and do as you’re told, debating whether you should put on some pants but disregarding the idea when Yeonjun’s bright smile meets your expression, and all you can think is how much you want to make him smile like that again.

“Let’s go.” He grabs your hand, grabs his keys, and locks the door of your shared apartment behind him.

The air outside is still, and again, you can hear everything. You can feel everything. The city is asleep, but everything is so alive as you’re trudging through the small streets of your equally small town, side by side.

“I thought you had a test to study for,” you finally say.

Yeonjun releases a ghost of a laugh. It’s warm, like the air around you. “It’s only ten minutes from our house. I promise you’ll like it. Maybe it’ll help you sleep better.”

You nod, though he can’t see you because he’s looking from left to right to cross the street, grabbing your hand and making you follow him as he crosses the road. You don’t know why he looked both ways, or why he wants you to be safe - the city’s sleeping, much like you should be. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to hold your hand.

“Here.”

“Where is here?”

You look around, and all you see are rows of houses, lined up like dominoes. You’re standing in front of a tall gate, the blue paint old and chipping away with every harsh wind and icy winter, and it’s not long, you think, before it falls apart.

“Come on.” You watch as he climbs up the fence, the swaying of the metal making your heart skip a beat as it moves one with his body, and then he jumps off at the other end, leaving you amazed at his agility.

“I’ll catch you if you need me to.”

He motions for you to do the same, and though with hesitation, you grip the metal, surprised by its warmth, and follow his actions. He doesn’t catch you when you jump off to join him; he doesn’t have to, for you do so with ease, but you want him to. Maybe you just want an excuse for him to hold you.

You follow him up some creaky stairs, ending up on a roof of an abandoned warehouse. It’s almost entirely flat, aside from the raised edges preventing your fall, and a gradual slope in the middle, its top flat as well. It’s big enough to room one, perhaps two people.

Yeonjun’s quick to hop on the top, his long legs helping him up the slope. It’s a bizzare structure for a roof, but perhaps that’s why Yeonjun likes it so much; he can sit here and watch every sunset and sunrise, colours seeping into each other like on an abstract painting.

You don’t follow right away, opting to lean back and watch the city, but he reaches out with his leg and nudges you with it, forcing you to go up and join him. He holds your hand until you’re safely next to him, and you’re quick to jerk it away, afraid he’ll notice the sweat coating your palm. It’s his fault for making you so nervous.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He grabs your attention with his words and you nod in agreement. “You should come up here at sunset. It’s even better.”

Again, you nod and stare forward. The city shines, mimicking the stars in the sky, and it’s funny how the first thing you think of is light pollution.

You like the town the way it is; small, quiet, homely, but your heart races thinking of the wildness you could experience just the next town over, a city of life and bright lights, where the night never ends, and the sun never comes up.

Yeonjun coughs again and you wonder if he has a cold, looking at him quizzically.

“So...” He gives you a smile.

“So...” you repeat, furrowing your brows. Why is he acting so weird? “Don’t you have an exam to study for? What are we actually doing here, Yeonjun?”

“Yeah, about that...” He scratches the back of his neck, letting his legs hang over the edge, bringing his hands together. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“We’re talking.”

Your reply makes a frown appear on his face but you laugh it off, and so does he, only after a pause.

“Go on then.”

You look ahead, closing your eyes as you enjoy the gentle breeze of summer on your skin. This is what content feels like. The hot and humid weather gets to you sometimes but you love summer nights; there’s something in them that brings you back to when you were ten, careless and free, like the wind that blows in all four directions without caring what or who it stumbles upon, unable to be controlled.

Suddenly, you feel extra warmth on the skin of your left hand and look to Yeonjun’s hand holding yours. Before you have time to question the action, he speaks up.

“Listen, I-I like you. I’ve honestly liked you since I met you; you were so cute struggling with all those boxes, and then I told you should have taken a suitcase instead, like the others. You remember what you said? That you’re not like the others-”

“-that apparently I’m stupider. Yeah.” You laugh, recalling the memory. Really, you procrastinated buying a suitcase large enough to fit all your years of unhealthy hoarding, and forgot your family were taking theirs on vacation, and you couldn’t be late for your first day at university, now, could you?

“Yeah.” He sighs. “And I was so glad I decided to live on campus. And then Yeri found out about my crush and told me to confess, and I swear I was so ready until your crush on Hyunjae came out and-”

“Ugh.” You make a face and Yeonjun burst out laughing. “Don’t remind me. How could I ever have a crush on someone so self-absorbed?”

“Beats me.” His words make you laugh. After a pause, and much debating inside his head, he speaks up again, “Summer came and I thought I could let go of this crush, but we both just had to decide to come back for the summer.”

He turns you towards him, and you don’t have it in you to push away as he grabs both your hands into his, holding them in front of his chest. “I never let go of you. And I don’t really want to. Maybe I’m crazy, and this will never work out, not in a million years. But I’m also the guy who ignores all the signs of balding, like the clumps of hair after I shower, and continues dying his here like my life depends on it, and I’m still going to ask you to be my girlfriend.”

“Woah there,” you vomit out the words, an action fueled by your twisting stomach, the butterflies’ wings tangled up, unable to escape. “Shouldn’t you ask me on a date first?”

Yeonjun furrows his brows, tilting his head to the side. “Would you say yes?”

You shrug in response, teasing the boy. “I don’t know. If you make it worth my time.”

“You little-” He lunges at you, his hands slipping underneath your jumper, fingers dancing on your skin. The tickling causes your body to jerk backwards, yelling for the heavens to hear, until you’re almost falling off the edge and let out a shriek.

Yeonjun has quick reflexes, though, and catches you, holding you so close to him you feel the rise and fall of his chest. He looks from your eyes to your lips, to his hands holding your shoulders.

“Don’t tell me you planned this,” you breathe out, mixing your breath with his in the stillness of the air.

He shrugs in response, and you expect a small smile on his face, but there’s nothing, not even a trace; his expression is unreadable.

You sigh, detaching yourself from him, then shifting so it’s comfortable for you to lay your head on his chest. You feel his heartbeat - erratic and uneven - as it’s thumping against your ear, and your hands clutch his shirt. His are holding you close like you’re still slipping over the edge, and his lips sigh against your hair.

“We should probably go,” you mumble, “before the sun rises and everyone notices we’re missing.”

“Let them notice. I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.”

You smile. “Then neither am I.”

[del-uxie]

Genesis

Genesis

You woke in a forest.

Even before you could react to your surroundings, you became acutely aware of just about everything. The sway of the breeze, the way the leaves would crunch if stomped on by some stray beast. The way that stars, vast expanses away, would explode and be reborn. The knowledge that eventually, the universe would die out, but eventually, it would come about once again, and nobody would know what came before or what will come after. Just the knowledge of existence in the moment.

You have just been born. For any other organism, this would be quite a lot to deal with, but owing to your unusual circumstances, you’re getting along just fine. The cold breeze flows around you, and towering trees emanate from just about everywhere. You cannot see the sky, or the heavens above. Your base life form couldn’t, anyhow, even though you know exactly what it would look like without the canopy above.

You hurt. Something seems to pang at the top of your body, somewhere you can’t quite detect, and you believe it’s due to straining your imagination too much. ‘Imagination’ is a strong word for it, when it’s really just a completely certain premonition – then that pang comes again. You realise your digression, and realise you’ll have to travel around to navigate your new environment. This form of yours is weak, and not at its full potential.

Burrowing through the earth, tunnelling through the dark depths of parasites and worms, you emerge once more in a bush. It’s a startling height for any life-form to traverse, but you are acutely suited to this sort of travel. A creature resides on the top of it – it has wings for swift flight, and eyes that glow in the dark. It has tall ears, and fur, yet there’s evidence of evolution from some kind of snake or reptile, a life-form that’s present quite far across the universe. You get another little pang, and decide to focus on your little discovery.

You inch closer. Now, you can feel the warmth of its body upon yours. It does not flee in spite of its strong hearing, and you realise there must not be many predators around. You do not feel that pang, and instead feel a little glimmer, knowing that your powers of deduction don’t affect your physical state. Its nose twitches, sensing something else – yet, its pupils do not dilate. The darkness around must not allow for such evolutionary advances – and in spite of yourself, you feel some sort of kinship to it.

You emerge from the bush, staring at it directly. It moves, but again, does not flee, instead deciding to sniff you curiously. You couldn’t possibly tell what it thought of you, but in that moment, it scurried off at not too fast a pace, leading you off into a clearing where several more of its species were situated. A family, it seems – two adults and a litter of their young, one of them looking rather sickly. They are all resting, and the one you met joins them for the night.

You pause for a moment, observing the way their chests rise and fall, and the way the adults curl up to one another, as if to say ‘Your warmth needs my warmth’. You feel a little self conscious about your lack of warmth, and then realise you have nothing to be self conscious about. You scurry back up into the bush you came from, and remain there for the rest of the night.

--

Midnight.

You’ve spent a lot of time thinking. You spent a lot of time observing those spaces you cannot see on this planet – and learn much of its past. This species is one of the few that survived a cataclysmic event many moons ago, its surprise evolution of wings due to cross-breeding being its sole saviour. They are due to die out due to strongly hereditary heart problems, but if they were conscious of this – or, indeed, if anyone but you were, you’re sure this could easily be bred out. They are all to die of something they have no control over, or knowing part in.

You enter the clearing again. Only one of them is awake.

When the sun rises, the clearing is empty.

--

There is still something you’re missing.

As you travel across this planet, you wonder how you’re going to get about. You have nowhere near enough energy to simply teleport yourself – something only you, an entity borne of uranium could do – that energy would have to come from the GREEN SUN, and having just been born, you’ve not had a trip over there. Well, ‘just been born’ would be an overstatement – you guess it’s probably been about 5, 10 years so far? On this planet, at least. Whatever, time is of no essence to you.

You don’t really think leaving this planet and getting more energy to truly explore further would fill that void, though. There’s something you don’t have that the mere mortal organisms do, and it’s eating at you. Not in an emotive sense, but in one of a severe incompleteness. You want what they have. You want what these pathetic creatures have – you want ears that prick up at noise. You want a leg that will bend if you tap it with a stick. You want a nose that will twitch at the smell of fresh berries.

In fact, you do just that as a tall figure lands, her wings flapping in the wind as she sets herself down to crouch by you. You can already tell she’s not a native of this planet. Her green skin and skeletal outside tell you as much – she must be a species specifically designed to weather almost any conditions, as she doesn’t react to the cold wind around her.

She speaks to you, in some tongue you don’t recognise, and after a few words more, you start figuring it out.

“…little guy. You don’t look like those other fellers I saw elsewhere. Some big meanie get your friends?” she says, her shawl fluttering in the wind. She has a distinctly rural accent, you decide, and prick your ears up at her, sniffing her.

“Guess you can’t understand what I’m sayin, huh? C’mere, little man.” She says, picking you up and placing you in her pocket, dangerously close to falling out. You rummage around in there, trying to get more comfortable, and she chuckles. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna getcha. Lookin’ for those folks that went n hurted your friends, that’s all.” She jumps up from the ground, flying up and away with her white wings, and spiralling out of the trees – and from there, you see light for the first time. A beautiful, pastel pink sky, with two small, dim suns in the distance. It’s about sunset, and you can see a castle on the hill.

You guess that must belong to her.

“See that place up there?” she says, stroking the bit between your ears while she flies, about ready to land. “That’s my place.”

“I’m Prosperity, by the way.” She smiles, her green, full cheeks lighting up.

“Pleased to meetcha, little no-face guy.”

--

You take up residence with the strange alien on this strange planet. You haven’t actually spoken to her, mind you – you’ve spent your time observing the way things work around here, attempting to get by without your immediate potential knowledge. You’re still not that good with your powers, you know that. You’ve got to get to the Green Sun, but for now, you’re stuck with this lady.

She looks at you one morning, curious. You stare at her back, in the middle of eating the gruel that she always feeds you. The lady doesn’t move, but gives you a hauntingly knowing smile – one that you don’t recognise. Your ears fall back, and you stop eating your food.

“I know what you are now. Asked around some.” she says, sitting down next to you. You don’t know what to do. If she’s figured you out, she might see to it that you never leave this place. These puny forms couldn’t possibly withstand a trip out to space, no matter what you devour and assume the likeness of – like it or not, you’re tethered to this woman. You just thought she assumed you were some defenceless critter of sorts, but this look in her eyes has scared you.

“Yer a changeling, aren’tcha? Those little critters that hop around galaxies, hiding by turnin’ into random animals.” She says. You pause for a moment, and realise she’s wrong – so you double down on the effect, pretending to be ashamed. Prosperity smiles at you, looking genuinely proud of herself. “Knew it. Y’don’t havta keep that form around me, y’know. I’d like to think we’re friends by now.” The lady places her clawed hand in her sharp jaw, observing you quietly. “Could at least gimme an apology. I unno what I did to inspire yer total silence, but unless yer under some monastic oath, y’could ‘splain to me a few things.”

You pause for a moment, and debate what to say.

“…I’m sorry I made you feel bad, Prosperity.” You say, mouth unmoving. Her smile alters a bit, as if unsettled by this – but then she does a little gasp of surprise, her wings fluttering.

“Haha, it’s no sweat, little guy! Why don’tcha tell me what a beastie like you is doin’ all the way out here in the schticks, huh?” she chatters, looking genuinely interested now. You relay the whole story to her, omitting a vast majority of the details, but still getting across your need to flee this planet. She gives you vast attention, more than you were used to from the wild animals and her disaffected small-talk of before, and it feels good.

“Well, little man, I dunno where this Green Sun of yers is. Plenty’a suns out there, and not one of ‘em that I’ve seen has ever been green. Guess I could scout a place like that out for ya, if ya need it.” She pauses, getting up and putting her jacket on, as if planning to leave immediately. Instead, she simply steps just outside to water the flowers on the windowsill, to which you clamber up on the counter to hear her better.

“Us cherubs have always been mighty good at space travel. Entirely independent of our host planets, didja know that?” she says, tending to her flowers. “I guess without that our race woulda died out long ago. Hell, for all any of us know, we already have. S’not like I’m seekin out any’a my kin, even though I’m ‘sposed to.”

You tilt your head at her, and she jerks her head over. “Oh, c’mon, y’can’t pretend you don’t understand me now. Y’owe me a little small talk, no-face.”

“…sorry. Do you really have to seek out others of your species? Why?” You say, feigning interest. She doesn’t pick up on this social cue, and grins, carrying on.

“Matin’ purposes, and suchlike. I tell ya, I don’t give a damn hoot about it.  I mean, we’re fated to fuckin’ DIE as soon as we repredouce! Reprodooce? Reproduce. Yeah, that’s it.” Her watering can empties, and she heads inside to fill it up again, the water clinking against the metal sides of the can. “So I just said, fuck it. I’ll be a ranger of space or some shit. Then I did just that. I wander around, helpin’ out whatever planet needs it. Not that I’m ever in time for some sentient conversation, so in that sense, you’ve been a huge help, little guy!” You frown internally, and decide next time you’ll pick a form that’s a bit less small.

“I can tell we’ll get along just fine.”

--

One morning, you notice she’s taken out a device of some form. It produces sound waves of differing frequencies, depending on the tension she applies to different parts of the object. You don’t understand it, so you hop up to her on the sofa, having gotten back from your daily exploration.

She doesn’t seem to really notice you, having gotten used to your rather free-spirited nature. The sounds continue playing, and she looks as if she’s about to open her mouth to create similar frequencies, when you realise she’d noticed you all along.

“What is that?”

“Ah, this ol’ thing? Lil’ relic from my home planet, this. Bet you’ve never seen anythin’ like it out here.” She says, her eyes glimmering. You detect a little something behind them, and say nothing for a bit, before continuing.

“What does it do?”

“Why, it makes music, little guy!” Prosperity grins, and scratches you between the ears again. It feels nice, and you don’t like that she can just do that. “Here, I’ll show ya… just sit tight, I gotta figure out how this one goes again.”

She plucks a few of the strings with her claws, their wornness becoming more apparent to you as she plays. Though her initial tones are erratic and confused, a tune begins to eke out once more, and once she gets going properly, she begins to sing. Her voice is beautiful, and like no sound you’ve ever heard before. It melds with the soft chirping of animals in the background, and her dulcet tones, singing of a home sweeter than this and a fire warmer than ours, reminds you of something. Something that you won’t ever have.

The song makes you sad.

She take note of this before long, and pauses, cuddling you up to her. She’s warm, and it feels nice. You feel warm now, too, and you realise that’s one thing you’ve gained on your time here, even if you haven’t managed to escape this planet yet and even if you haven’t managed to get to the Green Sun. While she cuddles you in her muscular arms, she smiles softly, strumming tunes idly in repetition.

“Y’know, there’s a reason us cherubs are s’posedta mate.” She says, still strumming softly. “When we’re lil’ kids, there’s two of us in this one body. We live like that n’til one of em’ fights for dominance, a fight that’s gotta be fairly won. ‘Therwise, yer fucked fer life, and can’t ever ‘scape yer homeplanet.” She strokes your back, and you shuffle over, prompting her to carry on petting your head again. “Anyway, in ‘xchange for bein able to live alone, there’s a price that’s paid.”

The tune changes slightly. “When ya separate, yer body chemistry alters permanently. T’that of the body you were always destined ta have, but fer some reason, those receptors for the other chemicals stay there. N’yer body always expects em.” Her eyes flit to the distance. “Causes some kinda deep, primordial loneliness. One that can only be filled by matin’, or so the old legends go.”

“…so why don’t you?”

“Huh? Well…” She stops playing for a moment, realising she’s lost track of the tune she’s playing. Prosperity gets up for a quick drink of water to clear her throat, then sits back down again, as you hop back into her lap, the instrument resting there as well.

“…I guess I just don’t wanna die. I mean, that sorta fear- it’s not meanta be part of our psychology. Otherwise, we’d all literally die out. I guess… fer some reason, I just had that fear.” Her finger circles your fur, getting under your wing and warming up the spot there. “I don’t have a lot ta leave behind, ‘part from you and the lil’ critters I find out in space. I guess I don’t even know there’s anything out there but you an’ I, unless I believe those ol’ scriptures on my home planet.”

“But I guess ahm… ahm still scared. I dunno what’s out there, and I don’t wanna find out. So I think- I think-“ You look up at her. Her eyes are wet. “I think I’m just gonna try an build a good life fer you’n’I. And find that Green Sun’a yers.”

“…you think you’ll make it?”

“Someday, little bit.” She says, scratching your ears. “Someday.”

--

You hear a thud from outside. She’s arrived home from her travels while you were resting. You scurry outside, pushing the door open with all your might, and see her standing there.

“I’ve found it.” She picks you up, and you nestle in her pocket, finally able to get comfortable. Prosperity is wordless as she packs the few supplies and bits she’ll need for the second journey, but you can tell it’s not that far. Otherwise, she’d be packing more.

She flies up out of the atmosphere of this planet, the deep purple sky leaving you behind and the murky abyss of space emerging. Little glimmers of light emanate all around you, and though she’s fast, you can still see just about everything around you. The lights spiral around, and you realise that there’s something bigger than even you out there. There’s something bigger than you, and you’ll either meet it or become it someday.

The thought scares you.

You wonder why she isn’t talking. You’re really thankful she did all this for you, and you want to express that, but the words just wouldn’t come out right if you said them now, so you stay quiet for a bit, before making some idle conversation. “Is it far?” you ask, and she says no, no it isn’t. She darts below and through some asteroids, dipping expertly around the terrain, and flying past planets – ones very different from the one where you were born, and ones that are similar.

There’s a peculiar spot not far up ahead. As you approach, it seems to get narrower and thinner, yet your speed increases – Prosperity shoots directly for this spot, and you tunnel through it, landing straight on the surface of a large asteroid with far more force than either of you could really withstand.

Her blood spurrels out of her jaw. You panickedly tell her that she didn’t need to go that fast, and that you had all the time in the world, trying to tend to her wounds, but she laughs and says it’s alright. It’s oddly silent out here, without the strum of her guitar and the quieter sound of her voice against the space atmosphere, and she says it’s alright. Her eyes are lowered, and you know she will be. Cherubs are built to withstand anything.

Right?

Right, she says. She leans up, and looks at you. She can go no further, she says. “Do you see this?” she speaks, pulling her half-burnt wing over to you. You didn’t even noticed, you were so focused on getting there together. It’s charred green, and you can barely look at the festered infected wound starting to grow there, tumours bubbling. “I- I can’t go near that thing. Not in a million years. N’you can’t… you told me you can’t live without it.”

She stands up, staring at the Green Sun. Though it doesn’t hurt her eyes at this distance, if she walked any further, the few remaining bits of her nigh invincible evolution would burn away. She holds something in her hand, and you realise why she looked so worn that day.

“…you didn’t.”

It’s an egg. An egg, with two spirals within it – one red, and one green.

“Little bit, I ain’t got anythin’ else in this world to care ‘bout no more. Ah- I knew when I first saw you that you’d be trouble, n’I guess you weren’t wrong.”

“So, here. It’s mine. N’with this exchange, ah- I had to kill another cherub. The only one I’ve ever seen, I had to- his body is out here.” She says, shaking, holding onto you. “His body is out in this fucking- the place, the one place, the place you told me to find. The place you’d be safe, and- I-“

“There’s nowhere to go from here, is there?” you say, staring out at the sun.

“No, there ain’t.”

She stands in front of you. You know what she wants you to do, and you know you can’t do it.

And the next morning, there isn’t a cherub in front of you anymore.